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queen-of-deans-booty · 2 years

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Blood Brother: Final Part

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1.4k

Warnings: canon angst and violence

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Supernatural. All credit goes to their respective owners. Any and all comments on these are appreciated.

You look at Dean and see him with blood on his face and clothes, and you're brought back to Purgatory once again.

"What the hell do you know about the value of life? You're a vampire," Dean snaps at Benny.

"Yep, and I think we both know which of our kinds kills more humans."

"Well, statistically speaking, that'd be your—"

"Yes, thank you, Cas," Dean glares at his angelic friend.

You put a hand on Castiel's shoulder as if it would bring him some kind of comfort.

"I get it. You're worried what I might do if we make it topside. I'll start eating your little piggies. I already told you, man, by the time I got iced, I was strictly on blood transfusions—donated blood. Not donated to me, I'll give you that, but I paid good black-market scratch for it."

"Why not go to a hospital and steal almost expired blood? It's not like they have any use for it," you shrug.

"I'll have to remember that for next time."

"If you even get a next time," Dean says. "So, what is that? Like the vampire zone diet?"

"Look, all I'm saying is I started seeing something in humanity, okay? Something that shouldn't be taken. I drink blood. I don't drink people."

"Why the hell should I believe you?"

"What does it matter what you believe? You got your head so far up your ass, Dean, you don't even realize we're already done for. The angel knows it. We are never gonna make it with him next to us glowing like a beacon."

"We're not leaving him," you say sternly.

"You're pregnant, Y/N. I can hear the heartbeat. You really want to stay here with a baby?"

"Do I need to remind you of our deal? Of what you committed to?" Dean steps in.

"He is gonna get us killed."

"We may get to test that theory," Castiel sighs.

"More monsters?" you groan.

"Leviathans."

"Great."

"Why don't you blip out of here?"

"They're too close. I can't run."

"Come on, we need to save Benny," you say.

You rip off a piece of cloth from a vampire's jacket and hand it over to Dean who wipes his face clean of any blood. He cleans his machete and slides it into the holster, motioning for you to follow him. You two sneak back into the main part of the house carefully. You believe you got all the vampires but Sorento and Andrea, but you don't know if either vampire was made aware of yours and Dean's presence.

The closer you get to the room Benny is in, the more you can hear their conversation.

"I suppose with you coming back from the dead--well, that's the definition of mutiny, isn't it? All of this has me feeling so tired," Sorento sighs.

"You should have let me go."

"Benny, I don't let things go."

"Really? You lived so long, how is it you have so little, hmm? Nothing but a beat-up old harpsichord and nest of hyenas."

"I have the sea, and I have Andrea."

"No. You don't have her." You peek inside the room to see Benny holding up a pair of handcuffs that Andrea must have taken off him. "At least that much I know."

"Oh, that dumb bitch. You're right, Benny. I've been here so, so long, seen all the outcomes, and all the patterns a trillion times. It all means so little. This universe is a pyramid of despair, nothing else."

"A little dark, don't you think?"

"I am evil, after all. At least I've had that much to keep me cold at night. You never had that, did you? Everything had to be thought about--considered."

"You know what Socrates said about a life unconsidered."

"Yes, but the thing we have in us? Benny, that's not life. That's what you still don't get. That's why it's always been so hard for you, my poor Benjamin."

Benny growls and lunges at Sorento, shoving him into a glass pane and causing it to shatter.

"Get up."

"This is the one last thing I can take from you," Sorento laughs with blood trickling down his nose.

"No. You try, damn it. You try and kill me again," Benny dares.

"This is my story, you gnat."

"Get up!" Benny screams.

"It ends the way I choose, not you."

Benny hauls Sorento to his feet by his collar.

"Well, at least I can finally show you something new, old man."

Benny uses his sharp nails to cut Sorento's head off. The older vampire didn't actually think that Benny would do this to him, which is why he wasn't prepared for it. You gasp and cover your mouth to silence yourself. And then there was one left. Speaking of Andrea, she comes into the room with a look of uncertainty in her eyes.

"The old man is dead. Let's go," Benny says and offers her his hand.

If he thinks she is coming back to the mainland with you and Dean, then he is sorely mistaken. She takes his hand, but she doesn't move from her spot.

"Where, Benny?"

"What are you talking about? Anywhere." Andrea looks down, and Benny realizes what she is trying not to say. "You're not leaving here, are you? You never were."

"We have everything we need right here. The operation is still perfect. We can ride the high seas and plunder together. We can have the life we always wanted."

"What I wanted was to leave a burning crater behind. I wanted to put your memory to rest."

"I'm not a memory. Benny, I'm right here."

"What I loved isn't here anymore. It was snuffed out a long time ago by monsters like me... like what you've become."

"You think you're better than me now?" she grows subtly angrier.

"No. I think we're all damned."

Andrea snarls just as her fangs descend. You rush into the room to save Benny, drawing out your magic like a sword. She is going to kill him if you don't do anything. You swing your sword like a baseball bat toward her neck, slicing off her head as cleanly as possible. Her body and head drop to the floor with a loud thud, and Benny stares at her.

"She was going to kill you, Benny."

"I know," he sighs.

Dean walks into the room with a tired look on his face. It's time to get off this island and face the wrath of Sam. There was no boat to take Sam to the island, so you know he will be waiting for you when you get there. You three walk out of the house and back to the boat. Dean helps you inside while Benny reaches for the rope.

"Why'd you do it, Dean?"

"Do what?"

"Resurrect me. You could have drained my soul into any culvert, and no one would have been the wiser."

"What the hell are you talking about?" When Benny doesn't answer, he turns to him. "Hey, are you good?"

"Man... I don't know what I am," he sighs.

Benny doesn't say another word as he unhooks the rope from the wooden pillar. Everyone else piles inside, and you set off back to the mainland. The entire ride is spent in silence with the occasional grunt coming from you due to being uncomfortable. Once you can see the shore, you spot Sam standing there with an angry look on his face. Joanna is in his arms and Zeus is sitting by his side.

Zeus sees you and Dean, and he wags his tail and barks happily. Dean throws the rope to Sam when he gets close enough, and Sam wraps the rope around his hand to hold it steady. You toss the bags onto the dock while Dean jumps out. He grabs your hand and helps you up, and you greet your daughter with a smile.

"Hey, baby girl."

You take her out of Sam's arms, and he ties the rope to a wooden pillar to stabilize the boat.

"I'm Benny." Benny offers Sam his hand, and Sam takes it. As soon as he does, he knows what Benny is. "Heard a lot about you, Sam."

As if he's moving in slow motion, Sam undoes the cover of a knife holster at his side. You immediately shake your head and touch his army to prevent him from harming Benny.

"Don't do it," you whisper to Sam.

"I can see you three have a lot to talk about," Benny says and lets go of Sam's hand.

Benny pats Dean on the arm as if to say goodbye, and he gently squeezes your shoulder. He steps between you and Sam before heading to his pickup truck. You and Dean look at Sam who has the worst bitch face he's ever given you two.

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stevie-evans-dom · 2 years

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AUCTION HOUSE JOURNAL ENTRIES

DAY ONE:

Dear Journal,

I know that statistically speaking, the odds are that i'll never end up here. But, being walked through while everyone acted like it was just a field trip, I don't know, something about that just felt weird to me, like they were prepping us for something. I worry about Sky. Sam too, but Sky most of all. He can't handle this like I know that Sam can and I don't know how to help him, I can't help him. I can't help anyone. I can't help Delilah, I can't help myself. They're going to be sleeping in cells tonight scared, and I'm going to be fine. I feel so horrible knowing there's nothing I can do. I can't even think about anything else. I know we're supposed to reflect and listen to what everyone who works here and what the slaves here have to say, but I just can't. I keep picturing Sky and Delilah being here and it makes me feel so helpless.

DAY TWO:

Dear Journal:

The look on Madeline's face hurt me so much. I know she consented, and I get that, but, part of me feels like I hurt her. Like I'm some sort of monster for touching her like that when I know that she doesn't enjoy it. My stomach was in knots the whole time.

I've never been touched like that by a man. Delilah...she's the only person to ever touch me there and, god. I shouldn't have liked it so much. It was humiliating and degrading and I liked it. I enjoyed a guard touching my vagina while calling me a tranny. How fucked up am I?

DAY THREE:

Dear Journal,

Serving was shockingly not as bad as I expected. The Mayors friends or whatever he calls them weren't too harsh. Honestly I'm just grateful they didn't touch us...I didn't want to go down that road again and have to deal with another crisis of trying to figure out how a man touching my vagina gets me off. I've always thought I'm supposed to be in control with men...that gives me power, but, if I don't want power over them then what does that make me?

I can't wait until tomorrow. Even if it's ten more days if this whole charade, at least we can do it from the comfort of the Institute.

#auction house field trip #journal entries #tw: transphobic language

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kyberphilosopher · 3 years

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Androphobia

Requested? No Word Count: 7014

An Android attempts to offer comfort to someone with sleeping trouble.

Androphobia [an·drow·fow·bee·uh]; Fear of or aversion to men. A related concept is misandry, the hatred of men, but not necessarily fear of them.

* ✭ ˚ ✧* ･ﾟ * ✭ ˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ *

Every woman or female born member of society has experienced an off putting encounter with a man.

This is not to be entirely blamed on men- not as a whole, no. But individuals, the ones you run into on your way out of the grocery store, the ones who stop you on the streets, they are the ones to blame. Some women have the guts to tell them off. Not an easy task with the given anxiety, but one to take pride in for the capability that comes with it. Some women stay quiet, rush away as fast as their polite feet can take them and hope someone will see the problem. They usually don’t. And some women are outliers, tricking their ways out of interactions with these men one way or another, and to them I take my hat off.

There are men who are easily construed as monsters, when in the dead of night their silhouettes flash beneath the tallest of streetlights. And there is no reason to not believe them as such right then and there, for as spoken by our Lady Galadriel, “the hearts of men are easily corrupted.” And any look into statistics will back up this fear, any personal experience, any hug that’s gone on just a bit too suspiciously long, any catching of those wandering eyes and it’s easy to feel in your heart that men are not to be trusted. They are not to be confronted, nor left alone with, and they will jump at the opportunity to put down anyone for the validation of other men.

This is the reality of women and men in 2021. It is the same for several in 2039.

* ✭ ˚ ✧* ･ﾟ * ✭ ˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ *

You step out of your old, dusty car. Chips of the dark red paint flake away as the raindrops hit it. Above you, the gloomy, warm gray clouds roll against each other in different shades and sizes, high above the skyscrapers and the stress of the world.

Gathering your belongings for the day, you shut the door with your hip and shoulder everything. Then you make your way towards the Police Department, your work, with the heels of your shoes scuffing against the parking lot.

Across the way, you can see Detective Reid, who rubs his brow while he does his usual slamming of the car door. There’s no point in looking for Hank at this ungodly hour, he’d never be in on time. He’ll probably park his car next to yours as usual- a little too close so it’s hard to squeeze into your own and pull out without causing his vehicle damage, but you never say anything. Not because you are one of the people who feel threatened by Hank as a man- It’s more because you trust Hank as a person, that you’d never bring up the obvious annoyances he places upon you and everyone else. Though, once you had tried.

(“Cars parked a little close, don’t you think?”

“Shut the hell up.”)

The inside of the Department is bustling. A female Android brushes past you briskly, the others at the front desk all seemingly click clacking away in their own brains. Even months after they’ve gained independence, it’s not uncommon for you to remember how they were before. How still and lifeless they were. And looking back on it, it was awfully sad. They seem busier now, more alive and fast. A strange image, in your mind, but not an unwelcomed one.

You reach your desk in the lobby, on the right side of the room slightly separated from the officers. You’re a psychologist, so it’s not plausible for you to be seated next to bias. Instead you’re in your own corner, with a rather cluttered desk on the top and empty rows of drawers. You do, however, keep a small japanese cherry blossom tree on the top, courtesy of Hank, though his has all but fully withered at this point.

And then you’re ready to start your day. Pull out your chair, click your pen and type away reports and notes on the computer to send to the detectives. You don’t have any meetings scheduled today, so there’ll be no need to prepare questions or anything of the sort. Just an easy day.

And then...

As you and I, the dear reader, have already discussed, finding men to be generally scary is an easy task. And even though you are smart enough to know that it’s simply not possible to truly believe that every man or male presenting individual is terrible, or has done terrible things, or has experienced the desire to do something terrible, there are times where you can’t help the cautiousness. You can’t help the flinch, the distrust, the physical distance, the hand in your pocket grasping for anything to use in self defense. Seeing men like Detective Reid in power, brutish and given guns and easily agitated, certainly doesn’t help.

So when you swish your chair around and come to a stand, your heart drops. You’re looking into the presence of someone tall, with broad shoulders and a strong chest. A man.

[Sort of.]

“Good morning, Doctor L/N.”

“Connor,” you breathe out, eyes flitting down as you attempt to quiet the thump thump thumping of your heart in your throat. “I- I didn’t-”

“Your heart race has increased. You appear stressed, Doctor L/N.”

He cocks his robotic head to the side, his eyebrows creasing as the literal gears in his head turn.

“You just startled me,” you admit, grabbing the back of your chair and moving it over as an excuse to create a bit of distance between you and the [possible] threatening force. “What is it, Connor?”

Now, for context, you and he were not considered close. You’ve spoken a few times, though never as friends, only friendly. You remember seeing him last Winter, when he would stand out in the snow outside the station, just gazing up after Hank had already returned to his own home. You remembered how he was different from the other Androids, besides being more advanced to begin with. You’d never said anything about that. It was obvious the only person it would’ve really mattered to, Hank, was already aware of this. And Hank liked Connor. There was no point in interfering.

In Connor’s eyes, you could really do no wrong. You were smart, intelligent, and diligent in your work. Your job had been threatened by the presence of Androids for years by the time Connor had showed up, but it still appeared that they wouldn’t have done your legacy justice. But despite this, interactions were scarce. You were not friends. You were friendly. And you were always on your guard.

“I was hoping to hear your thoughts on a case Lieutenant Anderson and I have been working on,” Connor tells you. He’s always made efforts to keep eye contact with people, and the tilt of his head tries to follow your eyeline to do so. But it’s never to any avail. “I apologize for the abruptness, but the thought only occured to me last night and I think it could be a good one.”

“Yeah, sure,” you answer. “I can help with that. I’ll get the details from Hank when he comes in.”

“No need,” the Android quickly assures you. When you look up to him for a brief second, you can see his tongue sway against his bottom lip, creating the softest of imprints. His dark eyes glitter like a beatles in the catch from the light above.

He produces a light, manilla colored folder lined inside with papers. “I hope you’ll find all the details you need here,” he explains, offering the file to you.

You take it after a moment, watching his thumb let go in the softest, most normal way possible.

“Thank you, Doctor L/N,” Connor smiles. “I’ll go get you your morning coffee.”

Connor is like a dog in that way. Not in an insulting way, or an obedient way. In a kind way, in a warm way. With his chocolate eyes and the dimples when he smiles, it’s hard not to want to just believe that he is incapable of hurting anyone or anything. Especially a woman.

But when you snap back to reality, you can see his male form. His set back shoulders, the robotic strength, the fact that he was programmed to execute any task he so desires. And then you’re right back on edge, wanting to step back from him until you’re sure you can take a full breath.

It’s easier when he’s taken himself away. You can see him through the glass walls in the kitchen, waiting for the pot to heat up. Doesn’t seem so bad from far away, like most of them do.

You return to the chair and open the file. At first, your eyes flit to the pictures attached at the top- one of a woman that looks so familiar, another of a man whose angry brows cover his eyes. Then they move to the written report, and something clicks.

The woman in the picture was an acquaintance from college. The man next to her was the main suspect, and apparently her lover.

* ✭ ˚ ✧* ･ﾟ * ✭ ˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ *

“Morning Doc,” Hank waves tiredly. Then his tone changes slightly. “The fuck are ya doing at my desk for?”

You push yourself from your lean on the edge of his property anxiously. “I read the report on your case. The Carla Rodriguez one.”

Hank sighs in his classic sigh, tired and grumpy from the morning and being alive. “What about it?” he questions, rummaging through his large bag of prescription pill bottles he’s brought with him every day this year. You suspect Connor has something to do with this.

“I had a... personal relationship with the victim,” you begin, crossing your arms. “I knew her.”

Hank looks at you, bewildered. “You were sleeping with my victim?”

“What? No. What? I- anyway. Carla and I were in college together.”

Hank’s face changes. He leans back with high raised brows in the way he does when processing something.

“The boyfriend did it. I remember him from back then, I think. Real angry guy.”

“You’re sure you know what you’re talkin about?” Hank questions you, though not in an insulting way. You know it’s anything but that.

“I’m sure. I can tell you what you need but you know I can’t testify. You won’t be able to use my bias in your report.”

“But the bias is the whole point.”

Your eyebrows shoot up, along with your shoulders. It’s the universal symbol for ‘I don’t know what to tell you’.

“You talked to Connor about this?”

“Well, no. I- he wanted my opinion but I didn’t tell him this part.”

Hank glances around. “Where's he at anyway?”

You shrug again. You’re thinking about the disposable coffee cup on your desk, left there by Connor a few hours ago, that you’d never brought yourself to touch.

“Run it by the Android before we do anything,” Hank advises you. “Nutjob’s got this whole system in his head.”

“Yeah,” you mutter as Hank seats himself. “That guy’s weird.”

“Tellin’ me?” Hank groans.

And the rest of the morning you spend avoiding Connor, thinking at your desk, barely doing your job while you let yourself get lost in thought. You’re not usually like this. You’re very professional at work- you love this job. The thrill, the learning about criminals and their rehabilitation- it makes you feel so tranquil. Complete, even.

But knowing a victim, knowing the perpetrator, still adapting to the change of Androids looking happy for once, knowing Hank pretends you’re the child he lost- it... it...

You snap your drawer shut.

What’s wrong with you today?

You huff out dry air. When you turn ever so slightly, you can see Hank at his desk, eyes already on you with concerned and empathetic brows. Seeing him calms you down a little, at least makes you feel more in the real moment. After a moment, you turn back straight. Then you smooth back your hair, and open a your file again.

“Doctor L/N?”

You look up slowly, recognizing the boyish, sturdy voice of Connor. Sure enough, there he is. Tall, looking down at you with his warm, brown eyes. They remind you of an excited, loyal dog. Yeah, you think, Connor seems like a dog person.

And then you catch the sharpness of how broad his shoulders are, how little effort it would take for him to kill you, or pin you down, or come at you in the dark.

“Can I speak with you candidly, Doctor L/N?”

“You...may,” you say slowly. Connor begins to squat, until he is level with your eyeline, though he’s over on the other side of your desk. From your view, your cherry blossoms pink petals stand out against the paleness of his skin, and then the darkness of his hair.

“I heard what you said earlier to the Lieutenant,” he begins.

Truthfully, your eyes flicker around his face, mostly between his lips and his nose and his eyes. They’re all so realistic. Well, obviously that was the point in his creation, but still. They’re so human. Connor is human. Even the way he seems to move his mouth, like his lips are just a little dry, is human. Such a strange detail. Perhaps you would never have noticed it if he hadn’t gotten this close.

“When?” you question.

“About 3 hours ago, about the file I gave you.”

Your eyes snap away. Connor’s own eyes follow your movement.

“I know that this must be difficult for you-”

“Connor,” you sigh, slightly exasperated, but still holding it together. Your eyes close like you can’t bear to look at anything in the present moment right now. You must be trying to pretend that you’re somewhere else. “I’ll be alright. This was in my job description.”

The Android’s eyebrows knit for a split second, confused. “Overseeing the psychology behind your friends death was in your job description?”

And it’s a genuine question from him. That’s what makes it so hard to contain your laughter, no matter how frustrated or overwhelmed you are right now.

“Yeah,” you finally muster with a light chuckle. “Apparently.” Then you’re back to business. “This is my job. I’ll be alright. Thank you for your concern.”

“I just considered that, since you’ve been on the news before, the suspect could know that you’re involved.”

“So?” you ask, slightly more snappy than intended.

“He may know you’re here and subsequently attempt to cause you harm.”

There are two conflicting sides in your brain right now. The first one says: Now think about this. How could he harm you in a place full of cops? It’s not like he knows where you live or anything. How could he even find that out? When they bring him in, he’ll be in custody the whole time. Gavin won’t let him out of those handcuffs. Everything will be just fine.

And the other part? It shows you a dark, masculine figure, looming over you. Police department or not, he is there. He will cause you grief and harm, do something so terrible to you you could not even fully imagine it enough to anticipate yourself.

And, despite your better judgement, and to your full awareness, you listen to the second half.

“Okay, so,” you breathe out. “So what are you saying?”

Connor’s eyes draw to his left in a stutter, his mouth parting as if he’s in consideration. “The Lieutenant and I had talked about... having you stay in a... safer place.”

Your eyebrows pinch together. “What do you mean by that?”

Connor looks so human in this moment. it’s so apparent, and piercing in this exact second. The details in his eyes, slightest of blemishes on his cheekbones.

Connor leans in, his eyebrows raising. Subconsciously, you lean back ever so slightly in response.

“We were thinking of taking you to the Lieutenants place.” He sees your eyes widen, getting ready to give a vocal response. “It’s a very safe place,” Connor promises. “I can assure you there are many rooms to your liking.”

You take a minute, looking the Android right in his warm, hopeful, perfectly symmetrical eyes. “Connor, I’m not interested in having this discussion right now.”

“It’s just-”

“Back off,” you snap. It’s assertive. Something you don’t usually do towards masculine presenting beings.

As soon as you say it, you regret it, however. The person across from you just looks so heartbroken, almost. His big brown eyes, the ones that remind you of a loyal dog, are looking right at you. How could you not feel bad for snapping at Connor? Sweet Connor, who doesn’t take pleasure in hurting people no matter how much you convince yourself he does.

* ✭ ˚ ✧* ･ﾟ * ✭ ˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ *

The Carla Rodriguez murder case went on for two more days. Her boyfriend, unfortunately, was not yet found. Hank was working on obtaining a warrant based on your instincts that would give him access to search family members houses for the man. Things were becoming focused.

Each night you went home, you struggled to sleep. You did in fact, find out that Connor may have been onto something when he suggested the consideration of safety. You indeed stayed up later than usual, using both locks on your dirty apartment door for once. It was hard to fall asleep. Whenever you did, it became all too easy for you to imagine a solid, big, broad shouldered figure standing over the foot of your bed, waiting to strike.

A man, as usual.

Ironically, you did feel better when Hank- a man- would come into the station. And then there was Connor, who was somewhere between a puppy and a wolf, half following Hank, half fully capable of loading and discharging a gun. Connor made you feel safe too, but only by association. It felt bad to think about him after the snapping that occurred Thursday, but it could’ve made you feel worse to act unprofessionally in the work place. It was best you try to forget it, and try to forget that Connor has unlimited and invincible memory.

On Sunday, you and Hank had your weekly scheduled lunch. Nothing fancy, just fast food from a food truck by the train tracks. You’ll both probably get burgers, except Hank will try to add lettuce and some vegan bullshit to convince you he’s sticking to his diet. Of course he will.

You throw the keys to your locker in the backroom into your desk drawer, and slip it closed. Across the floor, Hank is already ahead of you, tugging on his crappy jacket and somehow standing patiently and grumpily at the same time.

“Ready to go?” you ask as you approach him, your own jacket in hand.

“Yeah, just waitin’ for the kid,” Hank replies casually.

“The kid?”

“I’m ready to go, Lieutenant,” the enthusiastic voice of Connor rings out. He has one of those voices where you can tell when he’s happy and smiling too, and he is in this very moment.

Nobody ever joins you and Hank. You knew Hank had taken Connor to the truck before, but that was just between them, and this was just between you. An odd decision on Hank’s part to make such a change.

“Alright,” Hank calls back. Then he turns to you, the smallest of knowing grins on his face. “Ready when you are, Doctor.”

You just nod your head and start walking out to Hank’s car, unsure of what to do think. In the end, you decide to just not think at all.

“What are you doing this for?” you’d ask Hank as you were walking, when the Android known as Connor was out of earshot.

“What? You got a problem with Connor?” You shake your head no. “Well good. Because besides bein’ a freak he’s perfectly fine.”

Yep. Thanks, Hank.

The drive over is silent, besides Hank’s music. You like his taste, but it doesn’t make you feel less tense around Connor. On the other hand, Connor is completely oblivious of said tension. You can see him in the rearview mirror, smiling and looking out the window every now and again.

Once arriving to the scene, Connor gets out first. You click your seatbelt away, about to pull the handle open when you notice Hank hasn’t moved at all.

“You coming?”

“Mm,” Hank fake thinks, flipping through his cd cases. “Nah.”

“Well then... well then are you even hungry?”

“I got food back at the office,” he sighs, not even looking up at you. “Indian from last night. Gonna wreak havoc on the ol’ plumbing.”

“Then what did you bring me here for?” you question finally, developing a tension headache from how often you’ve been knitting your brows together lately.

Hank looks up and over, an almost offended expression on his face. You can see it in his wide old eyes, the angry eyebrows, the slightly opened mouth.

“Because I’m trying to create a warm and loving social circle.”

“You one time told me die because I ate your jar of pickles!” you cry. “Oh my god- Hank, is this about me and Connor? Is that it? You want us to get along?”

“Yeah, and what if I do?” Hank turns to you fully, putting an angry hand on the steering wheel to clutch something.

“It doesn’t matter!” you exclaim. “It literally doesn’t matter at all!”

Hank is quiet. You can see his beady, angry eyes on you, his jaw clenching. “Get the fuck outta my car,” he says at last.

“Gladly,” you mutter. You open the door and slam it closed.

Looking across the wet, rainy street, you can see Connor looking up at the sign of the food truck known as Chicken Feed innocently. You breathe out, feeling the heat from the previous ‘discussion’ beginning to melt away.

Okay, Y/N, you tell yourself. Just go talk to him.

You begin your walk across the street, hearing the light tapping of the rain hitting the asphalt all around you. His back is getting closer and closer. You still have a chance to turn around.

“Hey, Connor,” you say lightly.

“Hello, Doctor L/N,” Connor greets in return warmly.

“Whatcha... thinking about eating, there?” you ask, both of you knowing damn well Androids can’t eat.

“I’m not sure,” he admits. Then he shrugs, and very genuinely says, “I guess I could have some french fries.”

“Alright. I’ll get you some.”

And you do. And you feel so stupid while ordering it. The guy in charge, Gary, looks at you with an ‘are you sure?’ expression on his face, but you only continue with the order, confirming that, yes, you are sure. Then you and Connor sit next to each other in silence, waiting for your food to be ready. You pretend to be very interested in a stain on one of the back menus for about three straight minutes.

“Here you go,” Gary hands you the food. You take the bags and speed off immediately to an umbrella by the place. Even though you’re essentially powerwalking at about 6 miles per hour, it doesn’t feel fast enough in the moment. Connor is right there beside you the whole time.

“Here’s your fries,” you mutter, pushing the bowl towards him.

“Thank you,” he says, formally. Then Connor just stares down into the bowl.

“I appreciate you paying for this meal, Doctor L/N,” Connor decides to say after another moment. When you look up, you can see he’s leaning down ever so slightly so that he’s closer to your height, and making pretty sturdy eye contact. It’s moments like this that you think you’re talking to Connor’s social programming, and probably not him naturally.

“You don’t have to call me Doctor, Connor,” you breathe. “We’re not at work right now.”

“I apologize. How would you like me to address you then?”

“Well... how would you like to address me?”

Connor thinks for a moment. You can tell because his led is switching between yellow and white. Then the beginning of his eyebrows start twitching, along with the corners of his mouth, just like a human would when they have several thoughts on the tip of their tongue but none of them seem just right. It’s cute when he does it.

“You can just call me Y/N,” you rush out in an attempt to save Connor from quite possibly exploding.

He does the twitching once more, then looks up to the top of the umbrella without moving his head. “And, is this outside of the workplace or in it as well?”

“What would you prefer?”

His led goes yellow again. He looks back to you. “That depends whether or not you consider us friends, Doctor L/N.”

This takes you back. You’re silent, stunned, looking at him with slightly widened eyes for a few seconds- maybe a whole minute- before you make the decision to look at your burger and change the subject.

“How’s been adjusting to life as a free man?” you ask, unwrapping the foil from your warm food.

Connor adapts to the subject change after a few seconds, and you know that he’s seen right through you. “It’s strange,” he tells you, deep in thought, but sincere. “But, people seem happy.”

“Are you happy?” you prompt further, biting a big bite into the meat.

Connor thinks again. He thinks a lot. “Yes,” he decides. “I suppose I feel alive,” he admits. It sounds like a confession, and when he turns his head to look over to you, he sees your eyes are already on him. “Are you happy?”

“Am I happy?” you repeat in question. “I... guess I am, overall.”

“Do you enjoy working as a criminal and forensic expert?”

Now it’s your turn to think. You swallow down your bite. “Yeah, I think so. It’s what I’ve wanted for a long time. And now I have it, and I’m comfortable and all. So yes... And you? As a detective?” You bite into the burger again.

“Well, it is what I was created for,” Connor tells you, with an almost charismatic, joking tone. It looks like he’s smiling a little, too. Cute. “I think so. Working with Lieutenant Anderson has gotten better.”

“God, I remember when you first came in,” you roll your eyes. “Hank was all in a mood. One of the grouchiest days for him. But he likes you now.”

Connor watches you pull the burger away from your face. He’s thinking again, but also admiring your features from up close. He doesn’t usually get to do this with you. The proof is in the lack of response to the ‘would you consider us friends?’ question.

“You know,” Connor says, and you can hear the sincerity in his voice for the millionth time. “I really admire how talented you are in your line of work.”

You feel heat in not just your cheeks, but in the rest of your face as well, as if you have a very sudden fever. You decide to keep your face down, trying to naturally make it not look like you’re using your burger as a shield. “Thank you,” you respond.

The heat begins to subside, so you look back up to him. “I admire your...” and you can’t finish the sentence. Not because you can’t think of anything to admire. You know you had a good one in mind to say to him. But when you look up at his boyish face, with the innocent smile and the comforting eyes and the most human details in his skin, you lose your train of thought.

It seems too late and rude to continue by the time you regain it, so you just decide to leave it and eat your burger as quickly as possible.

“Are you done with your fries?” you ask, as Connor looks down at the untouched basket.

“Yes, thank you.”

You don’t even look into the waste of 2 dollars as you speed walk to the trash can and dump it full of everything. Then you hop across the street, Connor right behind you.

Getting back into Hank’s car makes you roll your eyes. It’s not that you’re mad with Connor anymore so much- not that you would describe the feeling as mad in the first place. You’re not even sure you’re ‘mad’ at Hank so much anymore. It’s more like you’re in the area that you previously had a yelling match in, so all that energy is still there. So stupid.

“Hey, you two,” Hank greets, though to you it sounds condescending.

“Hello,” Connor chirps back.

You just shoot Hank a glare.

“How was lunch?” The old man prompts, holding your eye contact knowingly the entire time.

“It was fine,” you tell him.

“Fine?”

“Yeah,” you practically seethe. “Just fine.”

* ✭ ˚ ✧* ･ﾟ * ✭ ˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ *

You stay in your house for another two days. Sleeping has become far more difficult, though you’d never openly admit it. Hank can see it in your face. There’s dark circles under your eyes, far more noticeable than before. Your eyes are dragging themselves down, along with the rest of your body which seems to be in a constant slump.

You’re like a zombie. You’re just carrying yourself around, mindlessly doing your tasks while you try not to nod off at work. Hank hasn’t said anything. He just watches you from afar, not knowing how to apologize because he’s never been able to pull himself into one.

Connor hasn’t said anything either. Hank’s pet has continued his daily routines around the precinct, going where he’s told and sitting on the other side of the older man. You haven’t been observing them much lately. Been a bit too preoccupied with the threat of sleep paralysis to do anything that you find matters in a social sense.

Carla’s case is still open. Her boyfriend is still out there, watching and waiting. Maybe for you. Maybe for some other innocent woman. You keep picturing him towering over you, his shoulders looming, strong jaw twitching with anger. Those masculine brows, defined with the intent to strike at you. Kill you, like your old friend.

Finally, on the fourth day of little to know sleep, you fell asleep at your desk. Completely zonked out, your head slumped against the surface, squishing your cheek in the process. Connor jumped up from his seat, Hank following shortly after. But there was no threat, you were simply resting. Once the two realized this, they calmed a little. Hank opted to send Connor over to you to check you out, crossing his arms as he got ready to observe.

The Android creeps over. Your breathing is steady. So is your heartrate. You’re not in shock or anything at all. You’re not even hurt.

“Y/N?” he prompts lightly, now crouched to be close enough to your ear so he can whisper. His chocolate eyes glance around the precinct, looking for anyone who might have noticed you to try and save you some embarrassment. Then he glances towards the Captain in his office, and he knows he has to hurry himself so you don’t get caught and reprimanded.

“Doctor L/N?”

No response. Connor looks back at Hank, who shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly with little help.

“Doctor L/N, you have to wake up,” he tells you, poking the back of your slumped shoulder.

You were asleep, yes, but apparently not very deeply. You stir from your slumber, raising your head and your mousy appearance to look over at Connor with confused eyes.

“What happened?” you strain, stretching. Connor detects a bit of drool on the corner of your lips.

“You fell asleep at work,” Connor explains slowly.

“I did?” you squint, obviously still out of it.

“You have... drool on your lips.”

You wipe the left corner. “The other side,” Connor gestures lightly to his own lips. “Yes. You got it.”

“Was I out for long?” you look around, adjusting to the so very bright lights of the building.

“No,” Connor answers in that sweet, sweet voice of his. “Maybe a minute, or two.”

“Oh,” you say, your eyes wandering around.

* ✭ ˚ ✧* ･ﾟ * ✭ ˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ *

That night, it rains.

Thunder echoes, with ripples of light from the lightning that bears across the sky like great claw hands.

You watch the view out your window from the middle of your bed for a long time. You’re curled up in a ball on the blankets, not even under them. You’re just there, watching the sky that reflects in your eyes.

A sudden stir in you gives you a change of heart. Something you can’t explain to the fullest extent, something not even I, the one in charge of relaying all that’s happening to you, could explain the exact feeling. It’s like the snapping of a rubber band at 2:15 in the morning.

You can’t stay in this apartment anymore. Not even two locks are enough to protect you. Not your kitchen knives, or the gun given to you from the department for self defense. None of it seems like enough, because all of those things are used after something happens. They don’t prevent it.

You’re in a hurry. The comfiest pajamas you own are soaked in the salty rain water and protected only by the simplest of winter coats you own. It’s nice, though not appropriate for the current weather of course. Your hair gets drenched fast. Every individual drip that falls from the tip of your nose is felt, like you’re more hyperaware than usual.

Now you’ve arrived at a house. A one story, fairly inexpensive home with a garage and recognizable old car out front. As you approach, you can already hear the barking of a dog, see a neighbor turn their lights on briefly to observe you, and feel the shivering of your knuckles as they tap on the door sporadically.

Come on, Hank, you think. Please protect me. Please do this for me.

And, believe me, Hank Anderson would’ve done it had he been awake. But he hadn’t been, and so he didn’t answer the door. Instead, the door swings open, and inside you see an Android.

A tall one, with soft facial features. He has long, dark eyelashes framing dark eyes, surrounded by dark hair. He’s clean and clear cut, very put together. It’s Connor, Hank’s pet that you’ve never been able to get the hang of knowing. And he’s as shocked as you are.

Your drenched hair, shivering body, distant look in your eyes. Though, Connor’s unsure of how he would appear if he had to show up to anyone’s house at 2:34am. Probably unwell. Probably a little bit like you.

“Doctor L/N,” he says, though it seems mostly to himself. His parched lips barely move, though you notice how pink they look in comparison to everything else right now.

“Can I come in?”

Connor is still for a few seconds, obviously still processing your appearance. For what, you don’t know. Must’ve been one of the few things he’s simply unable to calculate. But then he moves himself to the side, and you carry yourself in.

As soon as the door closes behind you, everything is so much warmer. You haven’t been to Hank’s place in months, but it still feels as homey as it did before. It’s cleaner than it was a year ago. There’s more pictures on the walls, more clutter lining the shelves. He’s starting to care about things again. That’s good.

“What are you doing here?” you suddenly ask, turning around to face Connor.

That’s right- what is he doing here? He and Hank couldn’t be living together, could they? Or is... or is it that Hank is pretending Connor is someone else, too?

Connor’s led goes yellow, then blue, then back to yellow. “Lieutenant Anderson has offered me a place to stay until I’m ready to go on myself,” he explains, though the way it looks at you makes it seem like Connor doesn’t want to tell you this. Like he feels the need to explain himself.

“Are you alright, Y/N?”

You wipe your face, smearing your leftover makeup from your eye with the rain water. It burns, but you can’t feel it over the cold. “I uh- um... I’ve been having trouble- trouble sleeping.”

Connor’s lips close, and he looks at you in understanding as you stand there, now feeling your own pressure of having to explain yourself.

“Just like... at my place I can’t- can’t sleep. Not a lot of it.”

Connor knows he shouldn’t, but it’s right there on the very tip of his tongue. It’s so close to just spilling out, until finally it does, all at once. He’s too curious to try and stop it. “Why?”

“I just- I can’t-”

You’re looking everywhere. The floor, the wall, covering your eyes with your arm or your hand, shifting back and forth between feet, making a soggy spot on the floor from your dripping clothes.

“Can’t sleep.”

When you look up to Connor again, you feel better. Still panicked, but like you’re not in trouble. His eyes are so soft. They’re so human, and comforting. He looks at you like he understands, and like he’s not upset. You can see why Hank would pretend he is who he is now. But there’s no one for you to pretend who Connor is. He’s just Connor. And he’s better than you.

* ✭ ˚ ✧* ･ﾟ * ✭ ˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ *

Connor lets you wear one of his sets of identical clothes. It’s a grey t-shirt and blue pajama pants. Your hair is still wet, but Connor doesn’t say anything. He lets you sit on the couch and watch one of Hank’s basketball recordings while he goes to make tea.

He brings it to you and sets it down on the coffee table in front, but like days ago, you can’t bring yourself to touch it. Connor’s made himself a cup too, but doesn’t drink it. It’s deadly silent, the only light coming from the faint glow of the tv, the only sound coming from the biases of those annoying sports commentators.

“Connor?” you whisper hoarsely, turning your body to face him.

He looks over at you, at full attention. Such a soft boy.

“Do you think I’m afraid of anything?”

Connor’s led goes yellow. It flickers in circles until finally he says, “What do you mean, Y/N?”

You look down at your hands. “W-when I try to sleep, I see someone,” you say, not bearing to look at anyone from that gender for a moment. “He never leaves me alone. I feel like I- like I’m seeing this thing everywhere. I can’t avoid it. It won’t leave me alone.”

“What is it?” Connor prods gently, leaning in in that innocent, but curious way he does.

You open your mouth like you’re going to answer, but then your mouth goes dry. Instead, you just shrug your shoulders in a weak attempt of lying.

“Um... why are you still awake?” you ask instead.

“Androids don’t need to sleep,” Connor explains to you. “We just power down to conserve energy, but I don’t need as much as others.”

A light puff of air escapes your nose in time with the flickering of the corners of your lips. “Sounds like you’re bragging,” you tease for a second.

Then it goes quiet.

“I don’t think you’re scared of anything,” you hear Connor’s voice say clearly. “At least, not that I’ve seen. You’re very diligent in your work.”

You take the compliment. It warms your chest for a moment, but the pit inside you is not so easily gotten rid of.

Your nails scrape against each other, breaking while you pick at one of your index fingers. “I think I have like... this fear of men. Fear of something.”

Connor’s led goes yellow.

“Androphobia, also known as the fear of male presences, affects nearly one third of the current female population.”

Connor watches you continue to pick at your nails. The memory of you standing at the door step, shivering like a kitten, drowning in the rain water stays on his mind. “Is this what you think you have, Y/N?” he asks, though this time it’s far more soft.

It sounds like he really cares.

You look up to him, your eyes glossing over from stress and the incoming wave of tears you can feel in the back of your throat.

“I can assure you, Doctor L/N, you are safe here,” Connor continues, holding eye contact as he speaks. “I won’t let any kind of harm get to you.”

The tears in your eyes seem less violent now. Like they’re disappearing already. And that’s how the story ends, in fact. With you, looking up at Connor, seated on Hank’s couch with your hair dripping around you- him promising not to hurt you. It ends on the silence that follows, right between the stare the two of you share.

* ✭ ˚ ✧* ･ﾟ * ✭ ˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ *

This is the first thing I’ve proof read. Also one of the longest things I’ve written somehow? It was fun. I apologize for any mistakes as English is not my first language.

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villainsandvictimsalliance · 3 years

Text

When you think about the individual statistics of the bnha / mha characters, no other person has lost as much as Shigaraki Tomura has.

Let's see a list of the people he has lost so far:

Nana Shimura, his grandma from his father side (dead).

His grandma from his mother side (dead).

His grandpa from his mother side (dead).

Nao Shimura, his mother (dead).

Kotaro Shimura, his father (dead).

Hana Shimura, his sister (dead).

Mon-chan, his dog (dead).

Kurogiri, his parental figure (captured).

AFO, another terrible parental figure (that man never loved him I mean).

Magne, a friend (dead).

Twice, a friend (dead).

Mr. Compress, a friend (captured).

Giran, a friend (captured).

Toga, a friend (unknown location).

And now he doesn't even have his own body. This boy has lost like no one on this manga. And the people who hasn't died, they have several consequences like losing fingers, losing arms, etc.

The deaths surrounding Shigaraki are also more explicit and terrible than the rest. He has witnessed himself a good number of those deaths, at least half of them. All of them have been directly related to him, which means Shigaraki can freely blame himself for what happened, even if those were accidents and even if the people actively choose to participate on the actions that lead them to their deaths.

Shigaraki has the greatest killing rate, thanks to the big waves of his quirk he used both on the MVA arc and the War arc.

He has all the reasons to believe he's a monster. The problem comes when you realize he is a created monster, he wasn't born like that, contrary to what AFO has suggested before. What happened on the MVA and the War arc are twin situations to what happened with Tenko the night his quirk awoken. He lost his mind and the control over his quirk, leading to great catastrophes. We have evidence that he was not thinking clearly on those moments of great kill, but he was rather in great pain and very very scared, tortured by his mind. That pain and fear was caused by a great abuse that generated the feeling of pure hatred. In his three big killings, there's a pattern of him remembering his past and what happened with the Shimuras.

Now, almost half of the people on the list above choose to sacrifice themselves. Three of those people do it in order to save Tomura: Nao Shimura, Kurogiri and Mr. Compress. They have in common that they acted as Shigaraki's parental figures. We could include AFO, but only if we see what happen on Kamino from Shigaraki's perspective. We could include Twice but he was not exactly sacrificing himself consciously, he wanted to scape alive.

Two people on that list tried to kill Shigaraki: Kotaro and AFO. Both tried to shape his mind into what they wanted it to be and that lead to Tomura being unstable and sometimes unpredictable. We can see the symbolism of this in the fact that Kotaro's hand was always over Tomura's face, almost wanting to erase his identity, and when AFO possessed Tomura one of the first things we saw was him tearing apart Tomura's face. Other moment related to this is Tomura's confession to Doctor Ujiko in the beginning of My Villain Academia, were he states that he couldn't remember clearly his life before AFO. With limited information, including the years of manipulation from AFO, Tomura came to the conclusion he would never be satisfied and he would rather destroy it all– except what his colleagues wanted to save.

However, the majority of the people on that list loved Tomura and wanted to see him safe. What does this boy has that people keeps sacrificing themselves in order to try and save him? What makes them want to save Tomura?

Not matter how hard AFO tried to make a monster out of Tomura, we see how people keep reaching for him seeking comfort or even seeking a better future. For some reason, Tomura generates love in the hearts of those closer to him. Magne, Twice, Giran, Kurogiri, Mr. Compress, all of them gave beautiful speechs of love and acceptance, of protecting the people they like, of working towards a better future. Nao ran towards her son, Hana apologized for leaving him while being scared.

Or if you like, let me give you the maximum example: Deku changed drastically his hero path after witnessing himself who exactly was the real Tomura Shigaraki.

The reason why Deku looks like a villain on the last chapters is because there's a war inside of him– and also because it's the closes he has ever been to understanding the villains, by being on their shoes. While peeking through Tomura's mind Deku finally realized the reality of the hero society condition, and Deku is currently on a painful progress of growing, along with going through a phase of being an outcast and a rejected kid himself. Like a child exposed to war, or like a child getting more mature after a big trauma, Deku is reshaping himself in the light of what he knows now but didn't know before. Living on the streets, not eating enough, having people wanting to put you aside so you wouldn't alter their safety or peace, being painted as a problem or an object or a weapon rather than being seen as a human being in need of help...

While AFO's plan was to make Tomura suffer to increase his hate, he couldn't predict that Tomura would be the one to inspire Deku to love in a way he has never love before. Tomura's breaking point was also the breaking point for Deku, but while Tomura dives into the darkness, Deku fights his way over the stormy clouds to reach for the light.

Ultimately, everything surrounding Tomura is exactly what allows MHA / BNHA to be the story of how Deku became the greatest hero out there. The fact that Tomura refused to give up, refused to be who everyone wanted to be... even if he fails again and again, what counts here is that he is unbreakable. Even in the deep of his conscious, he awaits for another chance. Deku and Tomura are the ones who surpassed any limits, any expectations, in order to produce a real change in the roots of society itself.

So you can say that in parallel with Deku, (and there are some interesting implications in this one), Tomura hasn't been defeated by the rain either. Like two sides of the same coin, either they drown together or rise together.

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aggressive-positivity-network · 3 years

Note

Tf2 headcanons? Aw yeah! So let's say a new merc joins the team. They're a total asshole: Cocky, sarcastic, overconfident, refuse help. But both Spy and Scout see right through that, it's a defense mechanism. How do they go about making this person comfortable enough to not be an asshole?

*chanting* HURT COMFORT HURT COMFORT HURT COMFORT HURT COMFORT HURT COMFORT HURT COMF

Okay, jokes aside, this is one of my favorite tropes. Maybe I’m too naïve to believe that some people are just mean to be mean, or maybe it’s a sort of comfort to know that even the worst people can be understood, but either way, WOOOOOOOOO!

*****************

An Ass For An Ass

Headcanons

Scout:

To be honest, Scout’s threshold for asshole-ery is pretty high. Growing up with eight brothers will do that to you.

But when the new recruit came around, something immediately rubbed him the wrong way.

Recruit always stole his thunder with the crass jokes and over-the-top displays. Every battle turned into a competition, which messed with Scout’s system of fighting. He never had to focus much on his own team before, and now he had to worry about keeping his own reputation upheld while trying not to get stabbed, shot, or blown up.

Recruit also kept hitting on Miss Pauling - even after reminding them again and again that she was lesbian, and was not and never will be into dudes.

“Come on…you just haven’t been with a real man yet…”

“No, no, I’ve been with a lot of men. Real men. I just wasn’t into any of them. After a while, it was kind of obvious.”

But what really pissed a lot of people off was Recruit’s fighting style.

They were an absolute monster on the field - that’s why they were chosen - but every interaction was treated as some sort of survival scenario.

One would think that would be a good thing, but Recruit was ridiculous.

No matter what the situation was, he was fine, he was okay, he could take it, he could fix it.

He could be killed only inches away from a Medic because he would never yell for one. Sometimes Recruit would even show visible anger at being healed. It got to the point where Medic didn’t heal him at all, and just allowed him to die as to not waste time he could give too more grateful patients.

Missions were even worse.

He followed orders to a T, but Pauling had to beg him to leave a failed mission, or to leave without completely destroying the site.

Everyone just took it as Recruit showing off, or having something to prove as a rookie.

It was annoying, but ultimately harmless in most circumstances.

However, it all came to a head when Recruit tried disengage a sentry by himself and was severely injured.

Both Engineer and Medic, who had had to fix most of Recruit’s past and current recklessness, ripped him a new one, one chewing out after the other.

“What we’re you thinkin’, son?! One crossed wire and you woulda blown the whole base!”

“Zhe only reason you are allowed in my lab at all is because it’s in my contract. Personally, I vould have rather left nature to it…”

Since then, Recruit did exactly as he was told, and nothing else. And most of the team liked it that way.

But Scout recognized some warning signs immediately. Fatigue, near silence except for missions, self-isolation, snapping when people got too close…it all paved the way for a pretty nasty (and, for Scout, very familiar) result.

One night, Recruit was sitting on the balcony, and Scout came out with two bottles - a beer for Recruit and a root beer for himself.

(Scout can only drink on the weekends because one, unlike most, he can’t go to work hung over because his job requires a lot of movement, and two, he has no restraint and can’t stop once he starts.)

“What do you want?”

Scout shrugged. “Depends.”

“On what?!”

“What are ya willin’ to tell me?”

Recruit just looked at the beer and sneered.

“Can’t we just skip this?” Scout said. “Maybe get to the part where you tell me what kinda Sally Sob Story we’re dealin’ with here?”

Recruit looked away.

“Aw, c’mon, don’t tell me you don’t got one. ‘Cause you do. I can see it a mile away. So what happened? Pop leave? Somebody died? Lotta brothers and sisters? Ma had a few too many and smacked ya around?”

Recruit didn’t turn around, but Scout could tell he was crying. He had hit a sore spot. Hard.

“Hey, pal, listen…”

Scout trailed off, then slowly began again.

“…the only reason I know is ‘cause I’ve been through it, ‘kay? Outta everybody I knew, I only trusted me. And that was great when I did a good job, ‘cause I knew I put me there.”

Scout opened his bottle of root beer and took a long swig.

“But when I screwed somethin’ up, it’s like everybody I ever knew just let me down. The one thing I could count on was gone.”

Recruit looked at Scout with tears in his eyes.

“But ya can’t do everything by yourself,” Scout continued. “Believe me. I learned that the hard way.”

Scout laughed, but it was mostly to clear the air. He didn’t get serious very often.

Recruit hadn’t touched his beer, but was leaned over the balcony with his head in his hands.

Scout sighed and looked up at the stars.

“But here’s somethin’ that nobody told me - it gets easier, y’know that? You just gotta relax and cut yourself some slack.”

Recruit shifted uncomfortably. “But the Administrator said…”

“Yeah yeah yeah, I know what she said. Gave ya that whole speech about how bein’ part of the team means discipline and focus and whatever. It’s all bull crap. She don’t know the first thing about bein’ on the field. If she did, why’d she hire us?”

“Sh-she said my perseverance was an asset to the team.”

“Perseverance, my ass. You know what would be an asset to the team? Stayin’ alive for more than fifteen minutes!”

Recruit looked at his feet. He had blinked away his tears, but he still looked on the verge of falling apart.

Scout put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it a little.

“You’re a great fighter, Recruit. You’re one of the best…that’s why you’re here. You got nothin’ to prove to nobody. Not to me, not to the team, not to the Administrator…not even to yourself. You’ve made it, kid. You’ve made it.”

Scout slid his hand off Recruit and started to walk away.

“Hey.”

Scout turned to see Recruit in the process of opening his beer.

“Thanks.”

Scout smiled. “No problem, pal. Plenty more under Demo’s mattress.”

“No, I mean…for that. I needed that tonight.”

“Oh…yeah! Sure. Don’t worry about it.”

Scout went back inside and to his room - but not before checking the cameras on the balcony a few times. Just in case.

Over the next few months, Scout kept helping Recruit break some old bad habits.

Recruit learned to take criticism without getting angry, to leave tanked missions, and to take care of himself.

He still occasionally flirted with Miss Pauling, but it was now more of an inside joke than anything.

Recruit still isn’t perfect - he still cringes a little when he’s healed, and falls back into survival mode when times are stressful - but he is now a much happier, much healthier person.

Spy:

Spy’s asshole wasn’t a merc, per se.

They were more of an informant, usually giving out important facts about locations, missions, and a target’s history.

Sometimes they would even use the Administrator’s PA system to announce new rules and reminders.

This would be perfectly fine - after all, you get kind of tired of hearing the Administrator all the time - except for the fact that Informant was the most sarcastic, most nasally, most apathetic, most matter-of-fact person on earth.

Even outside of a work setting, which was rare because they stayed in their office most of the time, Informant would go out of their way to be as condescending as possible.

Especially to whoever they considered to be in the “less intelligent” category: Heavy, Pyro, Scout, Demo, and Soldier.

To all the “others,” he turned every briefing into a contest to see who knew more at any given time…which, of course, usually meant he won.

“Now, does anyone know where his address is? Come on, any takers? Yeah, I thought so.”

Unlike Recruit, which would only warrant a few grumbles here and there from the team, Informant was the subject of a lot of hissed complaints and terrible rants from even the calmest of members.

Informant was the only one who could get under Heavy’s skin - a personal pet peeve of his was being considered less intelligent or less of a human being because English wasn’t his first language, which Informant chose to remind him of constantly.

It began with a few simple jabs at his grammar or word structure, but once Informant figured out that Heavy wouldn’t hurt a fly outside of battle, the taunts grew more and more daring.

Heavy would usually ignore Informant, which would only exacerbate their need to be noticed. This led to some pretty nasty interactions - from spouting the statistics of Russia’s average intelligence to even saying Heavy was a disgrace to his country by being a literature major.

“How’s that Russian literature major treating you? You know - in America.”

Sniper and Medic had tried to set Informant straight, but Heavy refused to accept any help. This was something that was his to bear, and his alone. He knew that they both took their own helping of harassment.

But one day, Informant went a little to far.

He did the one thing you should never do: insult Heavy’s family.

“You mother and sisters can’t do anything more than wait for you. No wonder you’re the only source of income.”

Before he knew it, Informant was against a wall, struggling to breathe, blood running into his eyes.

Heavy walked away after the incident, and told Medic about it, but he refused to heal him. Informant had called Medic a Nazi on more than one occasion.

This, finally, is where Spy comes in.

Spy was walking by Informant’s office, when he heard a strange sound - barely suppressed hiccups and sobs.

Despite his aversion to displays of emotion, the promise of seeing one of his greatest enemies as their lowest was too amusing to resist.

He knocked lightly on the door, then slowly opened it - always the master of drama.

Informant was under their desk, bloodied and bruised, sobbing into their knees.

Spy entered noiselessly, sitting in Informant’s office chair and lighting a cigarette.

It was only when Spy made a dramatic exhale of the smoke that Informant looked up, tears streaking their face.

They stared at each other for a moment, and then Spy finally spoke.

“Oh, how the mighty fall. Flown too close to the sun, have we?”

Informant couldn’t do much more than snivel and retreat farther below the desk.

“Who did it?” Spy asked. “I want to give them my regards…and maybe a bottle of wine.”

“H-Heavy…”

“Oh? Well, if anyone can bring him to blows, it’s you.”

Spy put his feet on the desk and continued to blow smoke out of his nose, thinking.

“It’s strange,” he said. “Most offices have at least a few pictures of family. A trip to the beach, perhaps the zoo…?”

He took a quick glance around.

“No children. No army mates. No graduation photos or a large catch at a local lake. The only personal item you have is this…”

Spy picked up a Rubik’s Cube. The plastic still around it crinkled.

“Unused.”

Informant looked at the floor.

“I like to keep my personal and professional life separate.”

Spy pursed his lips and squinted.

“How noble of you. But I don’t think that’s the case. You know what I think, Informant?”

Spy took his feet of the desk and bent down, looking Informant in the eyes.

“I don’t think you have a life.”

Informant’s eyes went wide for a moment, then his face immediately crumpled. Bullseye.

Spy smirked and got up from the chair, starting to leave.

Informant’s sniffling turned into sobbing, and before Spy could put his hand on the doorknob, muffled wailing filled the office.

Spy closed his eyes and clenched his teeth. He was trying not to remember something. But the imagery was too strong.

He remembered hiding under a table, like Informant was. People screaming and cursing at each other in French. His knees all scarred and his nose runny from a cold that should have resolved weeks ago. Waltz music coming from next door, trying to drown out the fighting. Glass breaking. Biting his knuckles so he wouldn’t whimper or cry.

Spy’s hand closed into fist. He took a deep breath, and turned to face Informant again.

“But to be fair…”

He walked towards the desk, putting his hand in his suit pocket. He got on his knees and pulled out a pink handkerchief.

“…I don’t have one either.”

He offered the handkerchief to Informant, who put it to his face, still staring at Spy through red eyes.

The pair were silent for a moment, with Spy putting out his cigarette and lighting a new one while Informant cleaned themselves up.

“But the difference between you and I,” Spy said, his voice wavering a bit, “is that I am a Spy. If my information got into the wrong hands, it could be the end of me and my team.”

He tapped his cigarette on a nearby trash can, letting the ashes fall into it.

“But what are you hiding from?”

Informant took a shaky inhale, the handkerchief still covering his nose and mouth.

“W-what?”

“Why do you feel the need to be, as Scout puts it, a tier five jerkazoid?”

Informant sniffled. “I…I didn’t think I took it that far.”

“Took what that far?”

“I just…snrk…I thought that’s what I had to do to get them to take me seriously.”

Informant laughed, but their heart wasn’t in it.

“I’m five foot four with red hair and freckles. I look more like someone’s Andy doll than a contract killer. I thought maybe if I knew everything…I’d be worth it.”

They shrugged.

“At best, they’d be impressed. At worst, they would never get close enough to me to know the truth: the only reason why I’m here is because I can rattle off a few names and that I had good grades in school because I had nothing better to do.”

Spy’s chest ached. He didn’t know why, but it was a strange feeling to him.

“Mon ami…”

He cleared his throat.

“If half of the team is any indication, you don’t need to be Nikola Tesla to be hired. Hell, the fact you can read is an anomaly in itself. But there is something you must understand…”

Spy cleared his throat again. His voice had gotten quite unstable all of a sudden.

“Intelligence is measured in different ways. Scout could never read even the simplest of children’s books, but his physical intelligence - reflexes, spatial awareness, aim - is phenomenal. Medic would have to put my spine back together if I even attempted to do what he does on the field.”

Informant snickered at the joke, or perhaps the image it conjured.

“And me,” Spy continued. “I can speak almost any language, adjust to any social setting, charm anyone, fool anyone…kill anyone. Just like you, I can remember, and I use the information I absorb mostly to show how superior I am to all my lowly colleagues.”

Spy furrowed his brow and looked away.

“But I know less about myself than even my enemies. I have hidden it so deep within my mind that I can hardly remember…or perhaps would rather not remember…who I was before this mask of mine.”

Informant hesitated. “I…I’m sorry, Spy.”

Spy sneered and puffed a few smoke rings.

“I don’t want your sympathy. I want you to have some self-respect - and respect for my teammates. Because next time you are beaten within an inch of your life, you might catch me in a less generous mood.”

With that, Spy got up, reached into his suit pocket and presented a small MediKit, which he tossed to Informant.

“I’d suggest freshening up before going to any more briefings.”

Informant nodded, and set to work healing himself.

Spy started to leave, then stuck his head back in.

“And hang a few posters, would you? Your office looks like a prison cell.”

Finally, the Frenchman took his leave, adjusting his suit and nodding solemnly to the team members he happened to pass - or scowling at them, depending.

He glanced over the security feed, and once he was satisfied, made his way to his smoking room.

Spy closed the heavy oak door, poured himself a small glass of scotch, and sat down in his chair next to the fireplace.

He put a magazine on his knee and began to flip through the pages, but his gaze soon started to wander.

He closed the magazine, tossed it into the fire, leaned into his hand, and wept.

…So what became of Informant?

Well, after a reluctant heal from Medic and a few well-deserved apologies, Informant began to try and break the cycle of self-sabotage.

The process took a lot longer than Recruit’s did - especially since Informant’s transgressions were a lot more egregious - but, little by little, they began to heal.

A lot of the time, the other mercs would have to tell them to tone it down a bit, or to cut him off completely if necessary.

Informant still almost has a panic attack if he doesn’t have the right papers, and his office is still pretty bare, but he took Spy’s advice - a few AC/DC posters hang on the leftmost wall.

As for Spy, well…he needs to have a talk with Medic.

******************

I am so sorry…this is all so messy and weird. One is so much longer than the other, and I’m not even sure half the dialogue sounds right.

The two headcanons were just typed out at different times, the first where I had less motivation and the second when I had more motivation. This wasn’t on purpose, it just happened.

I hope you still like it, though!

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dannyboyzone · 3 years

Text

Why these Lookism Bad Guys are liked, a rant by me

Alright, so I have came across a post talking about how Johan is hated on despite being a "bad person", and trashing other characters for absolutely no reason other than guilt tripping people. I personally think the post is immature, but due to my own personality and mental state, it has still got me kind of pressed, because it all sounds ridiculous. This post will be about some people in Lookism that are viewed as a bad people and or are hated on, and why I think they are liked. I won't speak for everybody liking these characters, and it will include some characters that I hate. This post is just to give a general idea for people who are really ignorant about why some characters might receive love. You might have come across that post, and if not, I am talking about this one below. - Well, only a small part of it, that threw me off. -

I didn't include the person's username out of respect and also so they don't feel attacked or anything of the sort.

Before starting this off, there are a few things I would like to say. If I sound petty, I truly don't care. I never saw anybody hating on Johan, at max maybe give criticism, I also don't hate Johan or try to disvalidate anyone's feelings, just get some things straight. Liking someone's looks does not immediately mean you are attracted to them, neither does liking the person's look you are attracted to mean you are toxic. It means you are loving. If you like someone's personality, you will find them beautiful consciously or subconsciously. If someone finds a character handsome, it is not a crime, people have types and preferences, and if they do it's none of your business. Hating good looking people doesn't make you woke, neither hating on people who are attracted to good looking people. What are you, Crystal Choi? And yes, people will be attracted to looks, it's a normal human act. People will notice if they find someone more attractive or unattractive which is not a bad thing. What is a bad thing when they start treating people different because of it. I assure you, most of the lookism fandom that I have came across doesn't do that.

This post will not include Seong Yohan because I never saw him get hated and I don't think nobody knows where he is coming from.

Samuel Seo

Yeah, so what seemed to be a surprise for me is that not a lot of people like Samuel, or at least understand why the people liking him would. Now, I personally feel no romantic attachment towards him. - Which is yes, normal, even if he is fictional. It's called fictophilia and I better see no judgement about it. - However, I do love Samuel a lot, and would love to care for him and grow a strong bond. To me, Samuel is not a monster. At all, believe me, Samuel isn't liked only for his looks. For me, personally, I love him so much because I can relate to him. I absolutely hated him at first, but grew to love him because he is human. He is complex, has a hard life and isn't perfect. That's exactly why I love him, and someone else I really adore does too. Yes sure, as you grow to like someone's personality, you find them handsome and or pretty. It's so much easier to say someone is pretty than to say, 'Hey, I love this person because they helped me go through so much.' Not everyone has the same love language, not everyone is comfortable with blunt affection. Besides, Samuel can and will achieve anything he wants. He has SO much sides to himself, not just 'good looking violent guy with big tits'. That's not Samuel at all. Besides, if PTJ oversexualises him, it's hard to not notice his body.

Yes sure, Samuel hits women, but I personally, don't f%cking care. Your vagina doesn't define if you deserve violence or not, your behaviour and the person's you face personality does. I am personally someone that doesn't mind violence as long as the person deserved it, because some scumbags in this world do. If they happen to be a woman, that's not on me, they shouldn't have done whatever they did. If you are not a violent person, I am not even sorry to tell you this, but you are probably sexist. It's not like all women are fragile and unable to get hit. Besides, if his violence is the problem, why is it fine that he hits men? Because men can handle it? According to statistics women have a higher pain tolerance. By your logic, you should call him out for hitting anyone in his way. Stop acting like hitting women is a necessarily bad thing, start saying that hitting innocent people is a bad thing.

If you must hate on him, maybe use the fact that he killed his abusive and neglective parents. Don't give a hard time to others for liking him though.

Ahn JongGun

Does Gun seem like a bad guy? Absolutely, he has done some horrible things. Then why do we like him? Because he seems to have a smaller character development coming, he has so many things to him and he is an absolutely incredible and complex character. I am very curious of his background and what caused him to be so violent and yet so calm. I like him because he allows himself to be human. From his religion, to his knowledge of material arts, to his adoration towards Vasco's material arts teacher - I forgot his name, so excuse me for that -, to his attention to details, to his fashion sense, it all makes him human. It's nice to see someone be a human, instead of just 'hot guy' or 'villain'. He is a nice character that brings many depth to the story. I could list a hundred of reasons why I love him, and no, none of it is his "weird" fashion sense. I do find him incredibly stylish, I just think some people in this fandom don't understand fashion. - Oops, I guess. - My main reason to liking him is that he is most likely either bisexual or pansexual. That he has a crush on Daniel. I might seem like I have a weird fetish or something, or that I am a crazy "fangirl". That's not the case though. I am a part of the LGBTQ+ community, and while not huge, I adore the hell out of the representation. It's nice to see such a smart, elegant and powerful guy be the representation. Because he is a character that's not there simply to be gay and full of stereotypes. Like, no hard feelings if you fit into stereotypes, but as a person who doesn't fit into them, it's a refreshing thing to see someone that's allowed to have many sides to himself other than just 'the gay friend'. Of course I am sure there are a lot of people who have many other reasons to love him, like his endless knowledge of material arts. There is so many reasons to be interested in his character, and just because you can't see it that doesn't mean others are blind to it too.

Yeah, he might have slept with countless women, but the main reason you can't count it is because he never stated the amount of women he slept with, neither did anyone else. Sure, he did say that Daniel is better than any women he ever slept with, but for all you know that could have been 3. Even if, it doesn't matter. He could have slept with 3, or 70 women. It doesn't matter, because not everyone's sexual life will reflect your own. And other people's sexual life is none of your business. Sure, you can say it's only fiction, and that I am overreacting, but when it comes to such small or personal details, people tend to put their own personal view into it. It's really not fine to shame others for their sexual life. As long as he uses protection, and didn't make anyone pregnant and doesn't play with the feelings of anyone, who gives a f%ck.

Some people tend to lash out sexually if they experience trauma or stress, and no, I don't mean they go and r%pe people, I mean that they go and have sex with different people who give consent. Even if he doesn't do it because of that, why does it bother you so much? Sex isn't a disgusting act. Some people like it, some people don't. Whatever their decision is, as long as no one is hurt, you should respect their decision.

Kim JoonGoo

Alright, this got me f%cked up. Goo is such a good character, and no way he would ever cheat on his S/O. He has morals and a lot of good sense in himself. Sure, he might have said that Samuel will be his secret friend, which led OP to believing Goo would cheat, but that's... a terrible reason, in my opinion. Gun knows that Samuel works for Goo, and Goo owns up it too. Besides that, nothing, absolutely nothing would lead to the fact that Goo would cheat. Because he wouldn't.

Now, why do I like Goo, and why some other's might like him too. He is such a well put together character, unpredictable yet so simple. He damages people to a point they have to retire, doesn't get scared of murderer, is a money maniac and hates his boss. You would think, he is dirty and fits the "gangster" stereotypes. That's not the case at all. He is more hygienic than most of the characters of lookism, if not the most hygienic one. He hates drinking and smoking, doesn't have tattoos - not that there is anything wrong with that - and is incredibly patient.

He might be a money maniac sure, but his ability to control money so well the way he does just shows how high his IQ is. I find that amusing, since it's something hard to do. What I completely love to the moon and back about Goo is his creativity.

When he gets into fights, he is patient and maybe let's himself get hit a few times. That's a good thing because he has time to learn about what he is facing. I think that's neat, because not a lot of people think about that during fights, and he taught me to do that. Also, the way he harms people is very creative too, no matter how harsh that sounds. He stabs people with chopsticks, kicks people with a glass piece stuck in his shoe and harms people with a katana. It's all so unpredictable yet fits him so well. I really love the way he fights and handles situations because it tells so much about him. Also, he is so fun, who would do karaoke after beating a bunch of guys unconscious? Only your one and only Kim JoonGoo. He is such a fun person to study and to read about.

So, no, I will not put up with the bullsh%t that he would cheat on his s/o, because he is a very respectful and none judgemental person. Just because his fights look violent to you, and his friendship with Gun unstable, that doesn't mean he is a bad person. It just means he is different from you, and yeah, he does f%cked up things, I won't deny that. That's exactly what makes him an interesting character.

Xiaolong

Now, I personally don't like Xiaolong that much, so this will not come from heart, but a place of logic. For a disclaimer, I am not caught up on the latest chapters, because I want to binge read it.

Now, even though I do not like Xiaolung, I can see why other people would.

He is a responsible person, who takes good care of himself even though he has to look after Vivi 24/7. He is not only good in his job, but takes it very seriously too. He isn't afraid to take action to make sure his job is going smoothly, and that everything is on it's place. He would do anything to protect Vivi, which can be appealing to some.

And from what I saw from spoilers, he is very strong. No, admiring his strength does not make the person toxic or fragile. It means they find the place in their heart to appreciate the type of struggle and hard work he puts into it. He has an unique way of fighting, which I could only see a small portion of. However it's clear that he must be impressive. I completely understand if people find that neat.

Also, Xiaolong seems like such a f%cking loyal person. That's so incredibly important. A lot of people can find that appealing, for various reasons. I am aware there are poly people, or anything similar to that, but loyalty is so important for some people and can form a very deep sense of love.

Yeah, he might take care of Vivi when she is drugged and let her get away with drugs but consider this that's his job. He is payed to do that and swore to do his best in it, as it's very important to him.

Outro;

Yeah, I don't care, like who ever you want to and defend them, but if you drag down other characters and guilt trip people because of liking specific characters, you are not going to be "woke" or special. And I will find you, and e a t you. - For legal reasons, that's a joke. -

That is not the only post that I saw shame those characters and people who like them, but is the one that made me messed up.

This fandom absolutely loves shaming people if they love the character design and looks of their favourite character. Let me tell you something though; You are missing the point of the whole manhwa you are reading.

Finding people attractive and beautiful is completely normal. Treating them differently because of that is not. As far as I am concerned, I never saw any lookism fans hate on characters they find less attractive. - Rather on the attractive ones. -

People have a type and that applies to looks and personality. Literally everyone does, even if it's unconsciously.

If you want your favorite character to get more love, don't make other people's comfort characters look bad on purpose, because in their eyes they aren't simply the bad qualities you see in them. And if you highlight them at least make sure they are true or at least reasonable bad qualities.

Well yeah, that was my little rant. And I didn't even mention the psychological aspects of why each character is like, or in other words what people they might attract. Or, the difference kind of personal life experiences people had to go through to appreciate each kind of little detail about the characters.

Yeah, this is the end of my little rant. If this post will get actual mature answers and discussions, I will make a similar one for Vinjin, Logan, Olly and Jiho. Yeah, I hate all of them, but other people might not.

END

#lookism #외모지상주의

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milstrim · 3 years

Text

Comfort in My Shadow

Chapter 3: You Oughta Know

By @iwritedumbshit for @iron-mum

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Minor Pepper Potts/Tony Stark

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Pepper Potts, Ned Leeds, James “Rhodey” Rhodes

Summary: Soulmates are definite in the universe. Nobody knows exactly why they exist, or what dictates who is bonded to who, the only thing known is that they are never wrong. But Peter’s not so sure about that.

Living at the group home had taught Peter a lot about laying low and how to stay alive when nobody cares. But he’d always clung to the hope of the shadow at his feet reflecting his soulmate that had watched over him for years.

Typical that his soulmate is actually a superhero that Peter is convinced shouldn’t want anything to do with him. Maybe, just this once, the Universe was wrong.

But Tony Stark is desperate to prove that it is right.

Ch 1 // Ch 2 // Ch 4 // Ch 5 // Ch 6 // Ch 7 // Ch 8

---

Tony dropped down onto the grass near an empty playground just by the water, laying Spidey on the ground gently before breaking his way out of the suit. The mechanic kneeled beside the teenager, grabbing his wrist and tearing the webshooter off of it. He pressed two fingers against the boy's wrist, sighing in relief when he could make out a surprisingly strong pulse. The relief only lasted for a moment before he moved onto the fact that the kid still wasn't moving.

Hesitating for only a moment, he reached for the mask.

A hand shot up just as his fingers brushed against the fabric, slapping his own hand away sloppily. Tony didn't mind, only letting out a sigh and sinking back onto his knees in relief as Spidey sat up, coughing so hard his whole body shook. The kid tore his mask up to his nose to throw up mouthfuls of murky water before settling back onto his elbows and pulling the mask back down harshly. Tony resisted the urge to pat the kid on his back, instead keeping his hands wrung and watching the vigilante sharply.

He coughed, "Uh, hey, Mr. Stark."

"Hey, kid." Tony offered him a smile. "Jeez, I leave you alone for one day and you almost drown. I think you're more danger prone than me, if that's possible."

"Yeah, you'd be surprised," Spidey said, sitting up farther before freezing and turning to regard Tony suspiciously. "How did you find me? Did you put a tracker on me or something?"

"No. No, kid, I didn't, I promise. My AI's been keeping an eye out for you, and she seemed to think you were in trouble."

"You're spying on me?"

"No, not--I'm not spying on you, kid," Tony rushed to assure. He paused and then conceded with the decency to shrug in embarrassment. "Okay, sorta maybe. Yeah. I'm kinda spying on you, but I also just saved your life, so."

"I had it," Spidey muttered, but it was ruined by another cough. Tony raised an eyebrow at him. "I did! At least, until that vulture guy showed up."

"Vulture guy?"

In a flurry of words, Spider-Man explained, and Tony was happy to listen. He was happy to hear anything the kid was willing to say to him, even if it began with him stalking out a weapons deal and ended with a man with metal wings grabbing him out of the air.

"--and then he just, he just, like, swooped down like a monster and he picked me up and, uh, he took me up, like, a thousand feet and just dropped me!"

Tony shook his head, wishing desperately he could see beyond the suit at any injuries the kid may have as he reattached his webshooter. He did seem okay though, if a little thin, if the way the soaked suit practically hung off of him was anything to go by.

"What were you thinking?" Tony asked, unable to keep the scornful fear from his voice.

"The guy with the wings is obviously the source of the weapons that I've been seeing. I gotta take him down!"

"Take him down now, huh? Steady, Crockett, there are people who handle this sort of thing."

"The Avengers?"

"No. No, no. This is a little below their pay grade," Tony explained. Spidey's eyes narrowed at him. "Look, forget the flying vulture guy, please."

"What? No! He's putting weapons out on the street, my street, I've gotta keep looking for him."

Tony pursed his lip, resisting the urge to argue further and wrap this kid up in bubble wrap. He relented, for the time being. "Fine. I won't stop you."

"Not like you could anyway."

"You're meaner than I remember."

"Yeah, well, get used to it I guess."

"Does that mean I get to hang out with my soulmate from now on? Possibly know their name?"

Spidey froze, staring past Tony in a tired manner. He slumped down onto the grass dramatically. "What time is it?"

"You're not gonna run out on me or anything are you? Or if you do, can you at least leave something behind for me? Like, a boot maybe?"

"Are you calling me Cinderella?"

"Sure. Cinder-kid. Cinder-whatever-your-name-is."

Spider-Man turned his head to glare at his persistent fishing. "I'm surprised you don't already know."

"I've got a list. Twenty-eight kids so far."

"I'm not a kid," he mumbled. Tony smirked.

"Nice try. I know your birthday." Spider-Man groaned. "Still no name?"

A moment. "Ben."

"There's no Ben on the list," Tony answered immediately.

"What, you just have that memorized?" When Tony didn't answer, save for the raise of an eyebrow, the kid groaned again. "If I tell you my name will you please tell me the time?"

Tony checked his watch. "8:17."

A very long, very tense moment before finally, "Peter."

"There's no Peter on the list either."

"Then your list sucks." Tony stared at him. "I'm not lying, you just need to be better at being a detective."

After a moment, Tony accepted it, though he didn't completely believe it. "Fine. Nice to meet you, Peter. I'm Tony."

"Yeah, I knew that."

"Are you always this mean or are you just in a bad mood?"

Peter ducked his head guiltily. "Sorry. Just kinda hungry. I didn't--uh, I didn't eat dinner. Yet."

"I can fix that," Tony said, holding out a hand. Peter stared at it for a moment before hesitantly taking it and allowing for Tony to pull him up. Both of them glanced at where their shadows switched. Peter tensed before tearing his hand away and shoving it in his pocket. Tony tried to not let his hurt show.

Peter let out a groan of annoyance, distracting Tony from where he'd been staring at the switched shadows to look at the kid, who had pulled out a phone as wet as it was cracked. The billionaire grimaced just looking at it.

"Yikes. If you need to call your parents, I have my phone with me."

Spidey winced. "No, uh, it's fine. Just, ah, I left my friend at a party, he's probably wondering where I'm at."

"Okay. If you're sure," Tony said. Peter nodded. "So, dinner?"

"I'm okay, Mr. Stark. I've got to get back to the party. My friend's mom is picking us up in an hour."

"Then, can we talk?" Peter dug his boot into the ground in such a childish manner it physically hurt. He clearly didn't want to talk, but that didn't stop Tony. "Here and now would be preferable."

"About what?" the kid rasped.

"A few things. The fact that we're soulmates, why you got involved in this, why you run around as a vigilante in the first place--"

"--I literally told you last night--"

"--and why you ran away yesterday," Tony finished, ignoring him.

"I have a curfew."

"What's your curfew?"

"Ten," Spidey muttered.

"So you were already late. If you'd waited a little bit longer I probably could've explained to your parents why you were late."

Spidey's head shot up, eyes narrowing. "That I was out being a vigilante?"

"That you were meeting your soulmate."

"Oh. That." The boot scuffed against the ground again, and Tony tried not to let his sullen voice get to him. "I don't think he would've cared."

That sounded horribly wrong to Tony's ears. He asked incredulously, "Your dad wouldn't have cared that you met your soulmate?"

"He's not my dad."

Oh.

"Who do you live with then?"

"Group home," Peter answered with a shrug. "Our curfew has no exceptions, so."

Tony hesitated. "Peter, can you take off your mask?"

"Why?"

"I mean, why not? I already know your name and birthday. I can find you pretty easily."

"I'm okay, Mr. Stark. I'm good. Besides, I should be getting back to my friend, so."

Peter moved to walk away, but Tony grabbed his arm hastily, desperate for this not to be how his first real meeting with his soulmate to go. Peter flinched immediately, and the mechanic let go as the kid stumbled back. That horrible suspicion in his chest only grew.

"Sorry," Tony apologized as Peter continued to stare at him. This wasn't going how he had envisioned at all. Soulmate meetings were usually thought of with an air of overwhelming happiness, maybe a few shed tears and a lot of hugs. But all Tony had was a first name, a smattering of depressing facts, and the knowledge that this kid didn't want anything to do with him. "Not an Iron Man fan, huh?"

Peter shrugged, but Tony noted it as a small victory that the tension leaked out of his small frame. "Thor's actually my favorite, so."

"Well, as long as it isn't Mr. America, then I'm good." There was an awkward silence only broken by the mechanical whir of Spidey's goggles as he glanced to the side, clearly searching for an escape. Tony bit down a sigh. "Go back to your party, kid. I'll see you around?"

"Sure. See you around, Mr. Stark."

Well, he didn't sound completely miserable about it, so Tony counted it as a win. He watched as the kid swung off of the trees back towards the neighborhood, a hint of hope warring with his hurt. Only once the hood slipped off of his shadow did the mechanic start moving again, stepping into the suit, which lit up as he fired into the sky.

"Okay, Fri. Find me a kid named Peter born on August tenth, 2001 with all the earlier guidelines."

"There isn't one, sir."

Tony thought for a moment. "Oh! Remove siblings as a statistic, look for one in a group home instead."

"One match."

"Save it to the file. I'll check it out when I get home."

---

Toomes stared at the retreating figure of the Iron Man suit, his mask highlighting the flying hunk of metal before he turned away to stare at the playground where he and Spider-Man had been talking. Peter, apparently. Stark's soulmate.

He'd have to be careful, very careful, about how he played this.

Adrian had been set on flying away immediately after dropping the vigilante so that he could chew out Brice for being so reckless, but the sight of the Iron Man suit dipping under the water had stopped him. What the hell was the billionaire doing near his house? It had made him wary enough for him to dive down and perch a football field's length away, allowing for his helmet to pick up on the two's conversation.

That decision had probably been one of the best ones of his entire life. The kid was clearly very insistent to go after him and his business, while Stark not so much, but that didn't stop the fact that Peter was clearly desperate to take him down and had Iron Man even more clearly wrapped around his little finger. That was dangerous, and it was bad for business.

After checking once more that Iron Man was no longer nearby, he shot back up into the air towards his warehouse as he made a note to put Mason u[ to finding out who this Peter-kid was and he searched through multiple names in his personnel, looking for the best to keep an eye on the kid. No one was going to mess with his business. With his family.

---

"Alright," Tony said as he entered the lab through the window, stepping out from his suit and back over to his desk. He grimaced at where the web fluid had exploded over the desk while he'd been gone. Hopefully that would fizzle out in an hour or two. "What have you got for me, Fri?"

A screen popped up immediately, and Tony was shown his first true glimpse of his soulmate's face. His heart tugged both at the adorableness of the kid pictured in front of him and the fact that he was seeing the kid for the first time through a screen. He shook it aside, taking in the kid in front of him.

Peter.

The yearbook photo left the smile hilariously forced but no less adorable, especially with the way the kid's eyes read embarrassment and boredom in only a way a teen's could. His hair was tamed down generously for picture day, but a few stray curls forced their way loose. Somehow, he was exactly what Tony had imagined.

"Okay. Full life synopsis. Let's go," he ordered the AI.

"Peter Benjamin Parker was born on August tenth, 2001, to Mary and Richard Parker, both head researchers at Oscorp before their deaths in 2006 in a plane crash. Guardianship was transferred to Richard's brother and sister-in-law, Ben and May Parker. They were killed during a mugging six months ago."

"Yikes, kid. Not a super easy time for you, huh?" Tony glanced at the picture of the kid again. "Where does he live now?"

"At the Queens Pinehill Group Home for Boys under the guardianship of Andrew Fowler."

"Pull up his file. Any records of abuse or illegal activities?"

"Fowler has two DUI's from when he was nineteen and twenty-three, but nothing else. Nothing unusual about him, boss."

Tony hummed, crossing his arms and pursing his lips. After all of Peter's little flinches and shakes, he was still skeptical, but with nothing to prove, he left it alone. For now.

"Mr. Parker does, however, have a record."

His head turned. "He does?"

"He does." Multiple files were shoved in his face. "Nothing serious, sir, but he has multiple accounts of sneaking out and degenerate behavior. Smoking, loitering, and two misdemeanors."

Tony hesitated for a moment, but shrugged it off. He was a kid who'd had a rough life, and, really, Tony had done some similar shit when he was the kid's age, and the sneaking out could be easily waved off by Peter's vigilante actions. He moved on.

"How's the suit coming along?"

"Trials are finished and ready for 3D printing. All that's left is the fluid, boss."

Tony glanced at the table still completely covered with the white formula. He grimaced. "We'll deal with that later. Go ahead and print the suit, and I'm gonna need a couple of things before we completely shut down for the night."

---

I, Peter thought, am an idiot.

After returning to the party, he had changed back into his regular clothes and managed to draw Ned out from the crowd, who had been more than a little confused at his dripping wet hair and slightly bruised face.

"Dude," Ned had asked. "What the hell happened? What happened to the plan?"

"Sorry," Peter had muttered. "There was some weapons dealers. They got the drop on me and dropped me in the lake. And, uh, I met Mr. Stark again."

Ned had gasped. "Really!? Oh, my gosh, is he here? Can I meet him?"

"No, he left, Ned. He saved me actually."

"This is the coolest! You're superhero buddies!" He'd gasped again. "Oh, my God! Are you Iron Man's sidekick?"

"What? No, Ned. I'm not his sidekick." I'm his soulmate, which was honestly worse. Peter would be a better sidekick than a soulmate. "It was probably just, like, a favor thing since I saved him yesterday."

"Super. Hero. Buddies."

There hadn't been any arguing with Ned, he'd been too excited. But, thankfully, the arrival of Iron Man had distracted his friend from going back to the party and they'd called his mom so they could leave early. Not ready to take anymore chances that night, he'd asked Mrs. Leeds to drop him off right at the group home. Mr. Fowler hadn't been there when Peter had tiptoed through the door, so he'd just slipped up the stairs and taken a hot shower, not even bothering to try and take something from the kitchen. He didn't have the heart for another strike.

His spider sense had been going off the entire time, just like it had when he'd been talking with Mr. Stark. It had prevented him from falling asleep that night, thankfully it had been a Friday. But the fact that his senses wouldn't calm down, even now on Saturday morning, was more than a little concerning. Was he dying? Maybe it was the lack of food? Or were his senses trying to warn him about Mr. Stark?

That was the worst thought of all, but it'd popped into his mind whenever he'd caught sight of his shadow while he was eating breakfast the next morning. Everyone in the group home was at the table to watch his nervous jitters as he tried not to look too starved while eating his cereal. Tim and Eric had glanced at him a lot, clearly desperate for him to play some games with them today. The other two younger boys, Aaron and Juan, were much more calm, staring down at the table in an attempt to not draw attention to themselves. Though Jeremiah was winning that competition.

Mr. Fowler sat at the head of the table, a plate of eggs and bacon sitting idly in front of him as he rifled through the mail with annoyed mutters. The man had a lot of junk mail--seriously, he had more magazine subscriptions than Peter could count--so the boys could usually tell when he finally stumbled across something he liked in the mail. His muttering would pause, the rifling would stop, and he would hum in approval before setting the piece of paper aside. This morning, he found something he clearly didn't care for.

Mr. Fowler's muttering paused, the rifling stopped, and Peter waited for the quiet hum, but instead there was a displeased grunt. Heads turned as the junk mail smacked onto the table and a vanilla letter stood out in Mr. Fowler's hands with large letters scrolled on the front of it. Peter's name sat scrawled on the corner.

"Who the heck is 'TS?'" Mr. Fowler asked, glancing at the letter again. "With no return address?"

Peter panicked, almost choking on his off-brand Cheerios as he searched for an excuse that wasn't as flimsy as a feather.

"It's, uh, a pen pal. Thing."

Sure. Not flimsy at all, Parker.

"A pen pal?"

Peter nodded. "Yep. Um, through--through school. It's new. And we deliver them, by ah, ourselves. I delivered mine yesterday, so, no return address?"

"Fun... What's their name?"

He took another bite of his food to stall, mumbling through the soggy cereal, "Tony."

"Tony...?"

"Smart." Mr. Fowler glanced at him. Idiot, idiot, idiot. "Yeah. Tony Smart. He goes to Bronx... Anyway can I have that letter please?"

With a grumble, Mr. Fowler tossed the letter on the table in front of Peter. He quickly pocketed it, finishing his cereal as fast as humanly possible and placing it in the dishwasher. He passed by the table, promising to help the other kids with their dishes and their homework, before walking out the door and sitting on the steps outside the small and rundown building, ignoring the way his senses were still going off.

Peter muttered confusions under his breath as he pulled the surprisingly thick letter out of his hoodie, turning it over in his hands once before finally ripping it open. There were four things inside. He grabbed the letter first, unfolding it to read the loose lettering scrawled inside.

Dear, Mr. Parker,

Letters aren't really my thing. I'm more of a talker, as you may have realized last night, so I've left a new Starkphone in the envelope to replace the one you broke last night. For talking. And whatever the hell teenagers do with phones too.

Peter blinked, narrowing his eyes and his chin dropping as he fished the phone out of the envelope. It was horribly expensive under his fingers and he immediately flushed as he thought about how much it must cost. He didn't think it was even on the market yet. He shook his head and blinked furiously, returning to the letter.

I've also included a Stark Industries badge that will get you into the tower for the next week or so until we move to the compound. You'll receive a new one once badges are printed for the Avengers Compound. My forehead of security will be very excited to be on the job. There's also a credit card connected to my account if you're ever in trouble or in the mood for something to eat. Of course, I don't know what your schedule is, but call me whenever, and you're always welcome in Casa de Stark.

-TS

P.S. Stop by the tower if you can today. I've got a surprise I think you'll like.

Go to the tower? Peter glanced around the street nervously. He guessed it couldn't hurt, as long as he got all his Saturday chores done first.

After a moment of hesitation, the teenager folded up the letter, stuffing it in his pocket before turning back to the rest of the contents in the envelope. Like Mr. Stark had said, there was a Stark Industries badge, with his embarrassing yearbook photo and his name printed in bold letters, and an ebony credit card that practically gleamed even in the weak light of the gray day.

"The hell..." he muttered, staring at it. He didn't even want to begin thinking about how much stuff he could buy with this thing. The thought made him nauseous, and he moved to stuff it in his pocket as well, when he paused. His pocket was a horrible place to put this thing. He didn't plan on using it, but he'd have an actual stroke if he managed to lose it, or worse, if someone stole it. Mr. Stark already didn't seem overwhelmingly thrilled to have a snotty kid as his soulmate, no need to disappoint him further.

Peter went back inside, placing the card in his thin leather wallet that he kept in his bag, clipping his badge to the backpack, and then stuffing the letter underneath his mattress. Before he went to move back downstairs, his stomach rumbled and his eyes strayed back to the card. Mr. Stark had said he could use it whenever...and it wasn't like snacks were going to drain his account or anything. He bit his lip, forcing himself to turn back around and down the stairs. He wasn't a charity case, and he wasn't going to just abuse Mr. Stark's money like that.

The teenager shook his head as he hurried back to the common floor to begin cleaning up the kitchen as he tried not to think about how hungry he was going to be tonight. Only breakfast was allowed when grounded at Queens Pinehill Group Home for Boys, so tonight was going to be so much worse without a school provided lunch. And falling asleep last night had been almost impossible thanks to the gnawing pain in the pit of his stomach. Whatever. He'd figure it out somehow.

Cleaning the kitchen didn't take very long, both him and Jeremiah burning through the dishes and putting away food in less than ten minutes while the younger kids sat silently at the table, trepidatious noses stuck in books, though they'd been allowed a moment of calm reprieve when Mr. Fowler had stumbled upstairs for a few minutes before plopping back downstairs into his usual seat. Once the two were done, Jeremiah went to take out the trash while Peter stepped over to Mr. Fowler, who was just finishing scribbling on a thin piece of paper.

"I expect the receipt as usual, Parker. Not a penny missing." The man thrust the list in his hand along with a wad of tightly wrapped cash that Peter accepted more than a little nervously. Mr. Fowler was very particular about his money. "And don't forget to check the eggs to make sure they're not broken."

"Yes, sir," Peter nodded.

"And take the others with you. I need a few hours of peace."

"Yes, sir," he said again.

He motioned for the children to grab their bags from the hooks by the door while Peter dashed up the stairs and back down again with his own. He never left home without it, and the kids needed something to hold their stuff. Not that he would mind carrying a couple of books, but they had to carry all the groceries back, so the more free hands the better.

The ragtag group bounced onto the cracked sidewalk, the kids waving goodbyes to Jeremiah as they headed off towards the nearest grocery story. There was some excited babble as they all crowded around Peter, words tumbling from prepubescent lips as they all finally got their chance to inform Peter of their very eventful week. Mr. Fowler was never very excited to have the kids talking all at once. It disturbed his constant hangovers.

"One at a time, one at a time," Peter said with a reluctant smile. The chatter died down. "Youngest first."

Eric grabbed Peter's hand in response, the nine year-old babbling away about something new he'd learned in class and something funny his friend had said on Monday that he'd been waiting all week to tell Peter. Next was Juan, who had similar tellings, but the teenager responded just enthusiastically as he did Eric until they went all the way through the stories and ended up at the cheap grocery store.

Peter stopped them before going inside. "Rules?"

"Don't touch anything," all four chorused, continuing down the list. 1. Don't touch anything. 2. Stay by Peter. And 3. Hold your buddy's hand the whole time. Once they'd repeated them all, Peter nodded and led them inside.

The teenager tried his best to get everything on Mr. Fowler's list quickly, but refused to not double check for the cheaper brands that Mr. Fowler was always so insistent he buy. It irked Peter off, especially since grocery money came from the state and not the man, but there wasn't anything Peter could do without getting another strike, so he grabbed the blandest cheerios and the most unhealthy oatmeal and placed them in the basket in annoyance, doing his best to avoid any aisle with some kind of bright sugar. He still caught the other kids looking at cookies and cartons of ice cream longingly though.

Finally, after an agonizingly long time, they were all checked out and laden with groceries as they headed down the sidewalk back to the group home. There was more chatter from the kids as they pointed at fluttering pigeons and scurrying rats. There was even a parrot at one point that Peter was sure someone was looking for. He'd check around online later and see if he could give someone a tip about the scarlet bird that's shit narrowly missed Eric.

All was going well until the chime of an ice cream truck began down the small neighborhood street. Feet stopped and heads turned as the bright pink vehicle stopped in front of a group of clamoring kids. Peter could practically feel their want for something other than the same breakfast and dinner they got every day. Their most interesting meal was usually their school lunches, which was honestly more pitiful than anything the teenager could ever dream of.

Peter bit his lip as he stared at the ice cream truck and then sighed, setting down his groceries and opening the pocket of his backpack where he'd placed his wallet earlier. The wallet that now had a shiny black card connected directly to a billionaire that could give these kids a fun morning for once.

The wallet that was nowhere to be seen.

"Fuck," Peter muttered.

Eric gasped, pointing at Peter who was now practically tearing apart his backpack looking for the thing, panic rising in his chest. "Peter said a bad word!"

"Shit," Juan said in response. There were some giggles from the older kids but Eric gasped again. Peter ignored them, strangling in a reluctant breath as his hands finally stilled after coming away with nothing.

How the hell had he lost it? He'd had it for barely an hour! Think, Parker, think. It had been in his bag, he knew that. He'd put it in the second lowest pocket of his backpack, which he'd left upstairs. All the boys had been at the table, and Jeremiah had been cleaning the kitchen with him the entire time. Had someone stolen it at the store? It was possible but unlikely, what with his spider sense and the fact that four kids who'd grown up in New York's foster system paying constant attention to him. So how could it have--

Peter paused, bringing his hands up to cover the bottom half of his face as he clenched his teeth harder than he remembered having ever done before. Mr. Fowler had gone upstairs. And Peter's story had been complete bullshit. He must have found his wallet and taken it upon seeing the shiny black card just perfectly poised for the taking.

His legs stiff with terror, Peter stuffed everything he'd taken out of his bag back into it haphazardly, zipping it shut so harshly the tab ripped completely off. He grunted, throwing the piece of plastic to the ground and clutching his groceries back in his hands before stomping off. The kids stumbled after him once they'd realized he'd begun to move.

"Peter!! Wait up!" Tim called.

Peter forced himself to pause for them, but continued on the moment they were caught up to him. He tried to calm himself, but he couldn't stop the way his face contorted and he seethed in fury. He didn't give two flying shits about the crumpled bills in his wallet the man had taken, or the few personal items he'd kept in the wallet from his late uncle, but he was horribly angry that the man had taken something that was barely even Peter's.

There was no way in hell the teenager was going to explain to Mr. Stark that the card had been stolen from him not even a day after he'd gotten it. There was no way in hell was Peter going to explain that he, an enhanced that had just touted last night that he could take on the flying vulture guy, that he couldn't stand up to his foster father. Mr. Stark dealt with aliens. Peter could deal with Mr. Fowler.

His steps faltered.

He could. He could do it.

As he later found out, he couldn't.

---

Peter crept up the stairs of the Queens Pinehill Group Home for Boys, having already set all the groceries he'd had on the kitchen counter for the other kids to put away. He tried to keep the shaking from his fear, unsure if it stemmed from fear or anger, but he was largely unsuccessful as he stalked past the kids' rooms and approached the one at the end of the hall.

As far as Peter knew, no one had gone into Mr. Fowler's room before. There usually wasn't a point. The man kept such meticulous track of his belongings that it was impossible to take something without him noticing sooner or later, and, not only that, but Peter was used to the click of a lock sliding shut whenever the man left his room unattended or went to sleep for the night. It left the teenager facing the unknown as he finally stepped in front of the door that was, in that moment, bigger than anything he'd ever seen.

He took in a shaky breath. Maybe this was a bad idea. The ringing of fear trembling up and down his entire self told him so.

But the anger wasn't completely overridden by the fear, and Peter was full of bad ideas anyway, so he raised a fist and knocked rapidly. There was no response, so Peter knocked again, just as forceful as last time but now more hesitant.

With a horrifying shiver down his spine, the door swung open. Peter swallowed but refused to take the step back that he desperately wanted to as Mr. Fowler towered over him. The smell of alcohol wasn't any kind of freshly strong like it had been a couple of nights ago, which was the only thing reassuring about the moment.

"What do you want?" Mr. Fowler demanded.

"My wallet." He willed his voice not to break.

Mr. Fowler's eyes narrowed as a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "What?"

"My wallet. You took it and I want it back."

"It's my house, so it's my wallet."

"No it's not! It was my uncle's!" he protested.

"Oh, and was this your uncle's too?" The shiny black card was pulled out his pocket as Mr. Fowler flashed him a toothy grin. Peter's hands twitched with the need to reach out for it, but he kept his fists balled at his side. "Lying to your foster father now, huh? That was a nice little letter under your bed, too. New sugar daddy or something?"

Peter blanched, but then his face turned ghostly white. His voice was a horrified whisper. "You took my letter?"

"Under your bed? Really? You didn't even try, son!" Mr. Fowler taunted, pulling out a piece of crumpled paper and forcing it into Peter's hands. He tore it open, but the paper was so wrinkled he could barely read it anymore. "So, Tony Stark? I don't know if you sucked his dick or something, but I'm sure this card has plenty for me to use if it's connected to his account."

"What? No! That doesn't belong--"

He was cut off by a hand tugging a fistful of his hair. Peter winced but refused to let out a yelped cry even as he was dragged into Mr. Fowler's room. It wasn't much, he realized as he peered through squinted eyes at the bedroom. It was somehow grimy and tidy at the same time, with dust and dirt covering just about every corner, but his belongings were neatly lined and organized on the desk and bedside table. The only other thing that screamed about Mr. Fowler's uncleanliness was the bottles littering the floor that Peter had to fight not to trip over, made only harder as the fist let go of his hair and slapped him into the nearest wall.

"Now listen here, you little shit," Mr. Fowler started, cornering the scrambling teenager as his voice boomed so loud that surely all the kids downstairs could hear him. "I clothe you and house you and feed you, and I will not tolerate your levels of disrespect when you do nothing but run around like the little ungrateful shit you are! Anything you earn while under my roof belongs to me!"

"No it doesn't!" Peter found the courage to shout back. Mr. Fowler blinked in scowled surprise. "And you barely do any of that shit! I had these clothes before I got here, and you barely feed me! You barely feed any of the kids down there!! What the hell is wrong--"

His face stung with the slap that met it.

He grit his teeth, blinking away angry tears. It didn't hurt, it didn't hurt. He was Spider-Man. Being dropped into a lake had hurt, this was nothing. He couldn't really be hurt while he had these powers. He couldn't.

"SHUT UP!!!"

Peter cowered.

"You know nothing about what you're talking about, son," Mr. Fowler breathed, stalking forward until his face was only inches from Peter's and there was nowhere left to run. He scrunched his nose and screwed up his eyes, holding his breath against the man's stale breath as he turned his face away to stare past the man's shoulder. "Whatever you think, this is my house, and I took you in after your last foster parent got sick of your teenage horseshit. Sneaking out wasn't tolerated there, just as much as disrespect isn't tolerated here. So I think that's another strike, don't you? Or a good enough recommendation could get you to a juvenile detention center instead."

"No, please--"

The hand was in his hair again, tearing him forward with a pained wince and forcing him through the door. When Peter smacked up against the wall, he realized it wasn't the door to the hallway.

Scrambling, he swung around just in time to see the door slam shut and then click with the eerie noise of a lock, leaving Peter in the dark closet that was full of nothing but the stench of dirty clothes piled around his feet and the clinking of dusty bottles. He swallowed, wishing desperately he didn't make such stupid decisions, that he'd just kept his head down and forgotten about it and--

"Stay nice and quiet, and you'll be let out soon," Mr. Fowler called before the sound of the door clicked shut and the groaning of wood told him that the man was walking away.

And Peter was horribly alone.

---

Tony glanced between the metal case sat on the table and the window displaying the New York night sky one last time before sighing and stepping off of the stool, Peter's shadow following him. He hadn't been Spider-Man all day, so Tony had no idea what could be holding him up. The kid hadn't texted at all either, though he was sure he'd at least set up the phone already.

Nervously, the billionaire tapped his fingers on the table, one of the last pieces of furniture that had yet to be packed on his floor. He'd delivered the letter himself, clearly addressed it to the kid and everything, but maybe he hadn't gotten it? Maybe it had been a little sketchy for a kid to get a letter with just initials on it and no return address. But he couldn't have gotten in trouble for anything like that, right? And Peter's foster father didn't have anything bad surrounding his name...

With a tired sigh, he asked his AI, "Anything?"

"Mr. Parker has still not entered the building."

"A few blocks out?"

"He does not appear on any security cameras." A moment. "It is past ten, sir. I do not think he is going to come."

"Keep an eye out for him, just in case." He continued to tap the table with a thoughtful hum. Just to double check. "Has the phone been activated?"

"Yes, sir. It started up this morning."

Okay, good, so he had gotten the letter.

"And the card?" he asked. His AI paused, and something hard settled in his stomach. "The card, Friday?"

"It has been in use multiple times since this morning." Tony blinked. That was something of a surprise, but he couldn't say he was disappointed. The kid looked like he could use a good meal or two. He took his jacket off, moving towards his bedroom.

"Great. Glad it's being put to use."

"Three hundred dollars have been spent on alcoholic beverages."

Tony froze where he stood, suspended in a feeling he couldn't even describe. Disappointment? Terror? Hurt? He stared down at the curly-haired shadow, eyes narrowing as he gaped at it. He hadn't exactly pegged the kid as someone who would buy boatloads of drinks, and he didn't even know if a fake ID would work for the kid. He looked all of twelve.

"Cut off the card until the next time I talk to him."

"Yes, sir."

"And track his phone. Where the hell is he right now?"

"His phone's location relays that he is in his foster home."

And that was that he supposed. The kid couldn't buy anymore alcohol and there wasn't anything Tony could do without talking to him directly.

Tony stepped into his bedroom, slipped into some old pajamas, and flopped onto bed with a twist in his gut. Something just felt wrong, and it was more than the kid buying alcohol that likely would barely affect him anyway.

His mind racing, Tony turned restlessly under the covers as the lights shut off around him. Peter's shadow disappeared, the room going with it, and when Tony blinked again, he found himself in complete darkness only broken by the shifting of clothes, the clink of bottles, and the sniffles of someone coming off of a breakdown.

He blinked back awake, sitting up and reaching for his phone. He scrolled through it until he found Peter's number and hit call. It rang. And rang. And rang.

"Hi, you've reached the voicemail of Peter Parker! I'm busy right now, I guess, so call me later, and yeah! Have a good day! Oh! And leave your message after the beep! BEEEP!!"

Tony didn't know whether to laugh or not.

Ch 1 // Ch 2 // Ch 4 // Ch 5 // Ch 6 // Ch 7 // Ch 8

#friendly neighborhood exchange #tony stark #peter parker #Iron Man #spiderman #irondad #spiderson #irondad and spiderson #ironman fanfiction #spiderman fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #soulmate au #platonic soulmates #not st*rker

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mewtonian-physics · 3 years

Text

my ranking of the alex rider original series (stormbreaker through scorpia rising) from ‘book i least enjoy rereading’ to ‘book i most enjoy rereading’ let’s goooo

spoilers for all 9 books under the cut

9. Ark Angel

...He went to space. He went to space. Also the entire plot could have been avoided if Drevin had actually bothered to provide a photograph of his son. I’m sure he had one. I still like this book but it’s literally so insane that I just don’t know what to do with it.

It is however really funny that Webber just goes and gives a speech insulting this super high-profile ecoterrorist group and acts like it’s no big deal and then they kill him. Shock of shocks.

8. Skeleton Key

Okay, points to this book for terrifying the shit out of me. God damn it does that shark scene scare me. Also, points for making me feel a little bit bad for a man who wants to nuke his own country because he thinks it will fix the place up. I’m still not entirely sure how that’s supposed to work, but that’s probably a good thing. I feel like understanding his thought process would say bad things about me. Still, I actually did feel sorry for him, if only a little. Dude was clearly mentally unstable and I doubt his son’s death helped at all. I also got sad about what happened to Carver and Troy. (Yeah, yeah, I’m a cringe fail American who has the American release. So sue me.) What a nightmare that must’ve been to endure... Otherwise, though, I’m not super into this book. The opening is just kind of meh and the way it leads into the rest of the plot seems a little bit unbelievable. Also, this might be an unpopular opinion, but Sabina annoys me. I would not get along with her at all and I can’t imagine her as a girlfriend. Skeleton Key does, however, absolutely excel at the emotional scenes.

Also, why are all the spy agencies so comfortable with sending in a 14-year-old? Especially when they outright admit that the other attempts have all died horribly? Bureaucracy’s a bitch.

7. Point Blank

Boo, Dr. Grief! Boo! We hate your white supremacy! I’m so glad you got a snowmobile to the face, you deserved it. (Perks of books written by Jewish people--we aren’t afraid to give the neo-Nazis an unpleasant death.) Anyway, this book definitely isn’t bad, but I wouldn’t really say it stands out in the series. It definitely does hammer home the point of just how trapped Alex is, since MI6 isn’t going to just let him go after one mission, and let’s face it, the plot with the clones is creepy as hell, if highly improbable. But I’m largely just here to see the neo-Nazi get snowmobiled. That’s right, I just completely changed the definition of a pre-established word. I’m a rebel.

Also, I hate Fiona Friend so much and overall think she just didn’t need to be in the book, but the line about ‘I’d rather kiss the horse’ made me laugh so hard. Alex, you sass.

6. Snakehead

Okay, let’s talk about how genius the plan in this book is. I love it! I love how Yu wants to kill the people involved in the peace conference without making them into martyrs, so he comes up with this whole elaborate plan to stage a natural disaster. It’s incredible. This dude was thinking so far ahead. And he would’ve gotten away with it, too, if it weren’t for that meddling kid... But anyway, I don’t see a lot of books where the villain really acknowledges that killing their enemies could just cause more problems for them via turning them into martyrs for a cause. Also, the way he’s so polite and soft-spoken while also being a complete monster... This book genuinely gives me chills. Extra bonus points for the part in the hospital, the absolute nightmare of having all your organs slowly removed and sold off and everyone around you is being so nice about it? ‘Oh, don’t worry, Alex, it won’t be so bad. Here, take your medicine. Do you need anything?’ Literally just. What the fuck.

Also Ash can fucking fight me. You put your own godson in horrible danger on purpose! You killed your best friend! Bastard.

...And just in case the book wasn’t disturbing enough, Yu’s fate at the end lives in my mind rent-free and I think about it on a concerningly regular basis considering that the chances of that happening to me are so low they’re practically in the negatives. Damn you, Horowitz.

I would also be remiss if I did not mention just how much I love the tagline ‘once bitten, twice spy’.

5. Crocodile Tears

Ah yes, the book that kickstarted my drift away from the church... I kid, of course. I drifted away from the church for completely separate reasons. But Desmond McCain is always going to scare the shit out of me. The ability to kill countless innocent people while blissfully quoting Bible verses (that he takes wildly out of context and uses for his own self-serving means) is... well, I could actually say a lot about what that reminds me of, but I’m here to rate books, not religion. Moving on. This book has some really stellar antagonists, and the plot is chilling in a way that feels a lot more realistic than most of the other books. Even if some of it is a bit farfetched (sabotaging a nuclear power plant? Really?), the idea of using disasters for your own profit... well. I’m sure I don’t need to elaborate on why that is so believable. The Poison Dome is also a really cool and chilling scene--even Alex, who has the luck of the devil, can’t get out of that one unscathed. Further scares come in with the fate of Harold Bulman--imagine having your entire existence wiped and your identity changed while you were asleep! The breakdown he has over it is almost enough to make me feel sorry for him, even though he was ready to exploit a teenager and make his life a living hell just to turn a profit. Note the word almost.

Also. The opening makes me cry. Specifically the line talking about how Ravi’s kids would ‘never meet Mickey Mouse’. I lose my goddamn mind every single time I read it. That little personal touch turns the scene from a statistic to a tragedy. Once again: Damn you, Horowitz.

4. Stormbreaker

Yeah, this one gets the special cover shot. And why not? What we are looking at here is the birth of a legend. Move the fuck over, James Bond, Alex Rider is on the scene now. Anyway, yeah, this book is pretty damn spectacular. It has its stumbles, but as the first book in a series, that’s to be expected. Still, it pulls you in from quite literally the first line and keeps you going right up until the end. (If you came here from my post of memes, you know how much the line ‘Killing is for grownups, and you’re still a child’ destroys me.) It has the debut of much-beloved characters such as, of course, Alex--but also Jack Starbright, and of course, the best MI6 agent of them all, which is to say Smithers. Hell, even Yassen Gregorovich, especially once you get through Russian Roulette... Man, that was a rough one.

Seriously, though. This is a really good book. The scene with the Portuguese man-o’-war still gives me the chills to think about. (Have you ever looked up pictures of those things? They’re beautiful, but holy shit will they make you regret being born. Nature is funny like that.)

We also get the introduction of, of course, Alex’s patented sass (his response to Sayle saying he relates to the man-o’-war is HILARIOUS) and we get the inherent humor of Alex screwing up an alias one time and then just going by Alex for the rest of the series so he doesn’t do that again. Really, kid, I know you’re not a trained spy or anything but did you never play pretend growing up? Ever? You can’t pretend your name is Felix for a little while? That sounds like a you problem.

3. Scorpia Rising

I distinctly remember when this book came out, actually. I was on vacation at the time, and I remember my brother annoying the hell out of the poor workers at a bookstore we frequented there to see if/when they were going to get it in. They did, finally, and we bought it immediately, and I was of course absolutely desperate to read it. He got to read it first, though. -_-

This is a great book, an absolute emotional rollercoaster all the way through. The way Blunt tricks Alex back into service by staging a shooting was exactly the kind of cold, brutal behavior I’d expect from him. Seeing Julius come back was shocking, but very exciting, too. And Razim makes an incredibly chilling villain, with his absolute disregard for human life and his desire to measure pain. Also, seeing Smithers’s house was so much fun. Smithers in this book was just really fun in general, but he’s really fun in every book, so... nothing unusual there. But also, I want an unwelcome mat. Please?

2. Eagle Strike

‘But Penny,’ you might ask, ‘why is this book so high on your list? It has so much of Sabina in it, and you said she annoys you.’ That is true. What does not annoy me, however, is basically the entire rest of the book. I love the tense opening, and then reading through Alex’s real-life ‘playthrough’ of Feathered Serpent is still one of my favorite scenes. Cray is absolutely incredible as a villain, with the way that he truly believes in his cause--which is undoubtedly a good one! Yet the extremes to which he will go for that cause, and the fact that he very nearly succeeds, are what elevate him to one of the most dangerous villains in the series. That scene with Charlie Roper and the nickels is something I can never seem to stop thinking about. Actually, I think about it basically whenever I think about large amounts of money paid in small increments...

Also, I really enjoy how he gets into the whole plot in the first place, and I really enjoy Smithers saying ‘ah, fuck it’ and helping him out anyway. Go, Smithers. You once again prove me right in saying that you’re the coolest adult in MI6.

The revelation that Yassen knew Alex’s father is one that absolutely blew my mind first time around. The way his life was threaded into the lives of the Rider family--he worked with John Rider, was saved by him, killed Ian Rider, and then died for refusing to kill Alex Rider--wow. Wow. It gets to me. It really gets to me. This book is a masterpiece. I heard that it’s going to be what the second season of the TV series is based off of, and I’m so hyped for that. We love to see it, we really do.

1. Scorpia

I don’t believe anyone who says this book didn’t get to them at all. I just think they are lying. I don’t think it’s humanly possible to not be affected by this book. God. Just thinking about it reminds me of why I don’t think it’s possible. I mean, come on. We get all this backstory about Alex’s parents, we get tricked along with him into thinking MI6 killed his father, then bam, that was a lie, and Alex may have just fucked himself over big time. Also, that plot is terrifying! (And I bet anti-vaxxers had a field day with it, huh.) Julia Rothman is a really great antagonist, one of the only ones who didn’t go and explain her plan in great detail to Alex--the fact that she didn’t actually being a plot point was something I personally found pretty clever. In general, this book is... I tend to hate when people say they ‘can’t put it down’ because it’s usually an obvious exaggeration, but that really is how I feel reading it.

And again. If that ending didn’t get to you... Well, I just think you are lying.

#alex rider #spoilers

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jpegjade · 4 years

Text

Hang 10! - Spencer

we’ve got a fic ladies and gents! it’s not the most interesting one but it’s a fic in the middle of my crazy life. hopefully i’ll be able to more along the way. i’ve got the next one planned out and i’m gonna start writing it soon.

wheelchair reader x crutches spencer

warnings: idk none really. not much happens. v v v domestic

________________

It was a normal Saturday for Spencer. Sitting with ice on his leg, the leg where he took a bullet only a few weeks before. He wasn’t allowed to put weight on it just yet and doctor’s orders were to keep it elevated as much as possible.

Spencer was making notes in a book he’s read a thousand times before. He liked to use his free time to read and even make notes on what the obscure quotes could mean, in and out of context.

Out of nowhere, his phone rang. Causing him to lean over to the coffee table to grab it, he saw it was just Morgan. According to the team group chat, everyone was supposed to be at Rossi’s house, christening Rossi’s recently completed pool with burgers and drinks.

“Are you getting ready, pretty boy?” He usually didn’t call Spencer unless it was important. Spencer wondered whether this was actually important.

“For the pool party I didn’t want to go to?” Spencer asked, putting his book on the coffee table.

“Exactly.” Morgan exclaimed. Spencer wondered what he was up to.

“I didn’t want to go for a specific reason. I’m supposed to be resting my leg.” Spencer sighed, looking down at the ice pack resting on his leg.

“Your bae will be there.” Derek said, nonchalantly.

Spencer understood what the endgame was now. It had been everyone’s endgame since the beginning.

“I hate that word. If you want to acknowledge that it’s a word, which I do not. I much prefer another moniker to talk about y/n. I’d love something classic and timeless but fun, like they are.” Spencer blushed, realizing he said more than he should have to Morgan.

“Ah, so pretty boy does have a huge crush on our new teammate. We suspected it but you just admitted it. Emily owes me money.” Derek chuckled.

Grabbing the ice bag off of his leg, Spencer grabbed his crutches and put the ice bag into a bowl he laid out for himself to hold the ice when he was done. He always thought ahead because he hates cleaning up messes.

“What do you want me to do about it? I’d like to maintain a professional relationship with them for as long as possible, thank you. Work relationships with co-workers when you’re working in such close proximity is very difficult to navigate, not to mention the statistics of getting married after meeting and working together is only as high as 31%. 69% of work relationships are more than likely to fail. Who knows what…” Spencer was anxiously moving around his apartment, going off on a tangent.

“Reid. Hey.” Derek cut off Spencer’s train of thought. “Come downstairs. Let’s go.”

Spencer grabbed his cardigan, slipping it on, before he and his crutches made their way to the building elevator.

In the car, Derek was humming along to the radio while Spencer looked out the window. He was glad Derek wasn’t trying to talk to him the whole drive because he needed time to plan what he was going to say to y/n.

To everyone else, this was a simple pool party that was meant to welcome y/n onto the team while simultaneously christening Rossi’s new pool. It wasn’t a big deal because for the past few weeks, y/n had been instrumental in the cases they covered. Everyone was so excited about the new addition to the team, especially Spencer.

To Spencer, this was a nerve racking opportunity to fail in front of y/n. Ever since their first interaction, when y/n corrected Spencer on a statistic about serial killers, Spencer was intrigued. He knew you didn’t have to have a 187 IQ or an eidetic memory to be smart but you were consistently going toe-to-toe with him on every fact, sometimes beating him to the punch. You had yet to interrupt him or even act like his tangents bothered you. In fact, a couple times, you pulled Spencer over to hear the rest of his tangent after everyone left the room.

“Hey kid. You okay? You look like you’re going to be sick.” Derek pulled into Rossi’s driveway with a concerned look on his face.

Spencer’s sickness wasn’t Derek’s concern. His concern was getting the smell out of his carpet once Spencer let out his stomach contents inside the car.

Derek leaned over Spencer, putting his arm towards the door but Spencer thought he was trying to hug him in an attempt to comfort him. This was not the case. So when Spencer wrapped his arm around Derek’s torso while Derek pushed open the door, Spencer was met with a very confused look from Derek.

“I read that wrong.” Spencer said.

“Let’s go, kid.” Derek and Spencer climbed out of the car and walked to the door. There was no need to knock so the boys just let themselves in.

Spencer was immediately drawn to your laughter as he and Derek entered the house. Without realizing it, he started walking with his crutches to the backyard, where he saw you sitting in your wheelchair, talking to Garcia. He paused as he looked at you, taking in how nice you looked in the setting sunlight. You weren’t guarded like you were at work but you weren’t relaxed either. It looked like you were on edge but there was something so calming about you that his nerves seemed to disappear almost completely.

“Boy wonder is on his feet!” Garcia said, noticing Spencer standing in the backyard doorway.

Spencer watched as your smile shrunk before you looked in his direction. He wanted to look away but when he saw your smile grow as you waved at him, his hand waved just slightly. So many thoughts ran through his head about you at once that he couldn’t decipher which thought he wanted to focus on.

Garcia waved him over to you before winking and leaving. Spencer looked at you as you squinted daggers into the back of Garcia’s head.

“I like the embellishments.” Spencer said, looking at your wheelchair.

You tilted your head as you looked at Spencer in confusion before you remembered: Penelope bought you some badass clips for your wheels. They were incredibly small but they were just noticeable. They looked like the clips you would put on your bike in the 70’s. They were neon colored and even though you didn’t normally like that kind of stuff, something about the thought Garcia put into it made it special. You hadn’t had anyone do that for you before.

“Oh, thank you. They weren’t my idea so I can’t take credit but without the wheelchair, there would be no clips so...” You grinned, too shy to look at Spencer.

Everyone had gone inside to get drinks while you and Spencer were silently hanging around each other. Both of you were too afraid to really start a conversation of some sort because neither of you knew where to start.

“Why aren’t you inside with the team?” Spencer asked, sitting in the patio chair next to you.

Propping his crutches against the wall, you took notice of his hands fiddling in his lap. It was like he needed to keep moving when he couldn’t go anywhere. You hadn’t noticed that about him before.

“I’m still getting used to them…” You said, looking at your hands in your own lap.

“Oh… You seem pretty comfortable with the team when we’re on a case.” Spencer said, looking at your hands. His thoughts wandered to how nice they would feel laced in his hands. He would love to hold your hand right about now.

“That’s different. I know how to do that. I know how to interact when I’m forced to in order to save someone’s life.” You grinned, thinking about the last case, when you were able to save a little girl from yet another monster of a person.

“It’s different to find common ground when you’re alone with somebody you don’t know.” Spencer said slowly.

The muffled laughter of the party inside through the back door made you smile. They were having such a good time while you were… Doing nothing next to Spencer? Not that you minded. It was easier to be around one person than it was to be around a group of people all looking at you for your next answer.

“I think I might like it here. It’s better than my old job.” You said, gazing off into the distance.

Spencer noticed that you slouched a little bit after saying that.

“What do you like about it?” Spencer asked, genuinely curious.

It had been a long time since you liked your job. In the beginning, you liked your old job but your boss turned mean, vindictive even, when you started to receive praise from higher ups. In fact, your skills at your old job got you here.

“It’s more than just working with a group of people. I’ve been close to some of the most brilliant minds in the world but none of them have ever felt like this. Nowhere before have I ever felt like I’m in a group of people that like each other enough to hang out when they’re not working. It’s like…” You stopped, trying to find the word.

“A family?” Spencer said, finishing your sentence.

“Yeah… And right now, I feel like the cousin twice removed that doesn’t really know anyone at the family reunion, even if everyone knows me.”

There was another pause as Spencer thought about that connection. He tried to think of something smart to say that would be interesting when his brain acted faster than he could sort out.

“In almost every state, it’s legal to date your second cousin once removed. On estimation, 0.2% of Americans alone are married to their second cousin. For clarification, a second cousin is someone you share a great grandparent with. It’s less about who married who but your relation to them. The current number is unknown as the last time the 0.2% was calculated was between…” Spencer stopped once he saw your face change.

“What?” You asked him.

“You’re smiling. And you haven’t stopped me.” Spencer said, eyebrows furrowing.

“I like listening to you talk about the probability that I’m going to marry my second cousin from this unrelated, metaphorical family.” You smiled wider as his mind started working again.

“Am I the second cousin in this scenario?” Spencer asked, blushing at the thought. He wasn’t going to lie and say he hadn’t caught feelings for you when he started to find out more about how your mind worked.

“Maybe. Only if the plan is to get married.” You said. “But you have to take me on a date first.”

“Okay.” Spencer said, grabbing his crutches.

“Okay, what?” You asked. You were so confused.

“You said I have to take you on a date.” Spencer repositioned himself to stand up with the help of the crutches.

“Are you serious?” You asked, looking up at him.

“Do you want to go on a date?” Spencer asked in a matter-of-fact way.

“Well only if you want to.” You said, sheepishly.

“We should pick a date...Saturday?” Spencer asked.

“Saturday.” You confirmed with a smile. Spencer began crutching inside before turning and looking at you.

“Are you coming, y/n? The family is calling.”

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid imagine

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outoftimewriting · 4 years

Text

Imagine (based on the incomplete fanfic Son of the Underworld) (Son of Hades! Percy AU) (5/5) or (5/10)

Hey so, this is the last part of PJO - I follow into HOO, so before you read this, check on the masterpost - and read the warnings before proceeding :)) Good reading!

Annabeth comes to him, at the end of his fifteenth birthday party, and shows her Daedalus laptop. There's a document open in it, and it's labeled Achilles' Curse.

Percy doesn't read it - he hates reading, in any way or form or language - but she does, out loud.

"I'll think about it"

They have a year. Most of them, even those who aren't year-rounders, are going back to camp, to draw battle plans and stock on the armory.

He feels kinda selfish - for a whole five seconds before he remembers he'll probably die next summer, so he just shrugs it off - Percy deserves this year.

They all leave to go back to camp. Nico seems conflicted over something - but Perseus doesn't question it, there's enough bad blood between them.

Paola is really cool - and Sally really loves her. It's kind of bizarre at first, to see his Mom dating his teacher - and of a subject he hates - but Paola is calm and well-tempered and she laughs at his stupid ass jokes.

He visits Persephone afterward - and it really feels like he has three moms to fulfill his lack of a father - well, he is absolutely grateful for the women in his life.

Percy isn't truly in good terms with his father. The man doesn't really seem to care much for him as a person - he is much more of a trophy son.

Perseus loathes being a trophy son, but at least he has someone to help with his powers - not something a lot of half-bloods can claim.

So he goes back to school with Rachel, and they pretend everything is normal. He tells her about his quests - all three of them. He thinks she understands him better now.

He opens up to her. Tells her about Annabeth - the adrenaline-fueled kiss - and Rachel stops talking with him for a week.

She apologizes when she comes back. She needed to figure some things up - firstly, the redhead tells him she is probably asexual - and maybe aromantic too, but she is not certain because the internet wasn't really clear about that.

Then Rachel confesses that she is not jealous of him in a romantic way - she is envious of his friendship with Annabeth. Percy is her first genuine friend that really appreciates her.

This is the first grudge Perseus lets go for real before it even takes place - Rachel didn't leave him because of teenage drama, she ignored him out of confusion. Everyone is allowed space - he knows this better than anyone.

They don't kiss anymore. Not because Rachel doesn't like it - no, she is all for it - but because Percy is starting to think kisses should mean something - he is saving them.

They kiss once - when Rachel father calls for the first time this year - not to ask about her, but to tell Rachel he found this amazing all-girls school. To Percy, kisses mean comfort.

They cuddle a lot, though. These past few years of fear have made Percy very touch-starved.

It's sophomore year - and Percy is in five AP classes: Macroeconomics&Microeconomics, Statistics, Calculus AB, Physics 1, and Comparative Government and Politics.

He is planning on taking both AP Computer Science classes, Psychology, Physics 2, and Calculus BC next year; leaving only Electricity&Magnetism, Mechanics, Chemistry, and World History for his senior year.

If he lives, he is working on a tight schedule here. He doesn't know what he wants yet - and if he is in constant danger, it's already pretty lucky he can do high school - but probably something with Math.

Rachel says fourteen AP courses are ambitious - that he'll burn out. But math comes to him easily enough - it's in his blood.

She is also overworking: She is taking AP Environmental Studies, Art History, Drawing, 2-D Art and Design, and English Literature and Composition.

They complete each other. Rachel is planning on taking as many Art, History, and English courses as she can - he is taking as many Physics, Math, and Science as he can handle.

(She is also going to take on Japanese studies for some reason - probably for her GPA, but Perseus just teases her that she is getting too invested in anime)

Perseus doesn't care about languages anymore - the only languages that matter to him are C++ and JavaScript now.

They study together, they take naps together, they climb to the roof together, they flee school to visit Sally together - he is the Pinky to her Brain, the Scooby to her Shaggy, the Lois Lane to her Superman, the Robin to her Batman.

They look like troublemakers - They are honor roll students, but she is always with ripped pants dirty with paint, and he is always full of flowers everywhere, even in his muddy converses - a cliche to kill all cliches.

They're both nerds - he is the classic one, all polo shirts now, the first chair for every number-related class - and she is the artsy one - there's a brush behind her ear and her hair is so messy that half the time it covers her face.

Paola gifts him a pair of cheap frames without lenses once - saying it adds to the aesthetic - he totally uses them.

Persephone just makes him flower-crowns, and giggles when he matches them with his polo shirts.

When winter comes, he goes back to his hoodies and sweaters and gloves - to find out he doesn't miss them a lot.

Rachel introduces him to polaroids - and they look eerily pretty in the winter, her hair looking like blood spilling over the snow - and he loves it.

If he survives - he can feel Rachel slapping him - when he survives, his college credits will be remarkable. The idea of doing SATs makes him want to cry - reading always does - but he'll get somewhere good - he knows it. Perhaps Stanford. Or NYU. Or the dream of his life, MIT.

He is living his life to the fullest - he starts reading comic books, he gets really (really) into Tony Stark once Iron Man 1 comes out (even if he has to kill at least three monsters just to go to the movies), he plants trees and Rachel starts teaching him how to play her ukulele - but half his mind is still on the upcoming war.

Christmas vacation comes - and he goes to visit Camp Half-Blood, before heading back to his mom. It's quite memorable, if only by the fact that Nico Di Angelo freaking betrays him.

He tells Percy to come to the Winter Solstice with him. Most of the campers are not going - the war effort is in an all-time high - but Percy has never gone before. Hades will be there - it'll be great!

Perseus should absolutely be less surprised with the outcome - seeing that Nico is inviting him in Cabin 1, post-dinner, and they don't even stop to talk to Chiron about it.

But Percy goes. Because Percy wants to make amends.

There's no time to really talk to anyone. They travel in Blackjack for the Empire State Building - and it's fine.

They go up to Olympus, Nico shows him everything in the god's land, the temples are a work of art, if not kind of old, and the meeting is kind of okay, even if the gods are squabbling children.

Then the gods leave, and Perseus thinks they're leaving too.

"My father needs a word with you"

Perseus feels the betrayal claw on him. There are no shadows in the white hall, there's no way for him to escape. Nico looks apologetic - Percy wants to clock him in the face.

"He promised to tell me more about my mother" Nico pleads "He will tell me more about where I've come from. Please, Percy."

Nico is cute. He is, for a soon-to-be fourteen-year-old. But his pretty face and exquisite white eyes don't make him any less of a freaking liar. All his handsome male straight friends betray him - it's a worrying pattern now.

He muses for a second that they also all have a crush on Annabeth - gods, the blonde attract the worst types.

It's double-crossing - Percy ends up in an all-white cell that burns his retinas without any weapons because Zeus wants praise in the middle of this freaking war - doesn't matter if a hundred demigods die, if he only has the glory.

Nico ends up with barely any information - Zeus didn't promise anything. The god of the skies is a lying-ass motherfucker - literally.

And Zeus justifies it - He says Perseus is a criminal because he awakened Typhon. So Hephaestus issues a quest so he can save a hundred demigods, he destroys a powerful titan weapon of doom, and he is the villain? Sure, Jan.

Perseus writes this grudge in his heart - that's where trust will take you. To a cell. Betrayed by a "friend". Again.

He flinches when Nico comes into his cell, pins him to the wall and promptly begins to try and strangle him. He wants to melt in the boy's shadow - to go and never give him a chance to explain - but he looks so guilty Percy waits for his repentance.

The son of Zeus saves him, but Perseus is still pissed off. The god of thunder has threatened to kill him off at least two times now, what is to say he wouldn't have killed off Percy for the sake of glory?

He half hopes Zeus had killed him off. The war is close, too close - Nico wouldn't be the Prophecy's child. There would be no child. Olympus would fall - and Percy would have seen it all from his very comfortable couch in Elysium.

He wants Kronos gone - but he kind of wants Olympus to fall with the Titan.

Nico flies him down to the Earth - the elevator is monitored. Zeus has left, like many others - not to bother with the war effort against his main enemy, but to go to the human world mess with people.

Some gods are doing something - He has heard from Annabeth that Artemis is leading the widest hunt ever, with her brother by her side; Hermes (with Hephaestus help) is delivering Celestial Bronze, other metals, old schematics and a whole lot of fuel to Camp Half-Blood every few weeks; Poseidon is fighting his own war, in the ocean; Dionysus is at Camp - and this time, he is really helpful with the battle formations; Demeter is on the Underworld - Chiron seems to think his father is preparing for war, but Percy sorely doubts it.

Percy is taking some people with him to Sally's Christmas dinner. Just Annabeth, Clarisse, Rachel, Connor, Travis, and Charles - people who don't have a present family to celebrate it with.

Grover is coordinating the dryads up in San Francisco with his second cousin, Gleeson Hedge - they are the first to fall if anything goes wrong in Mt. Othrys.

"I think you should stay." He tells Nico.

"You don't trust me anymore." It's not actually a question.

Percy doesn't trust the boy. Not at all - it's the third time he does something shady to achieve his ends based on emotional turmoil. But he is a good person - it's just his father's cursed temper and his grief.

"It's not that. You're needed for the war effort."

Both of them know it's a lie. Percy doesn't care - he deserves to be bitter a little longer.

Percy goes back home. Christmas is amazing - even if Rachel asks him where Nico is because he is talking about making amends with the boy for a while now.

He goes visit Persephone - but she is occupied, so he wanders through the Underworld after Bianca di Angelo - someone he, for some reason, never been able to reach. It's a pointless endeavor by now.

He finds her. Or else, he finds a shadow of her - she is blocked from his view. Bianca doesn't talk to him - they weren't close - but she guides him to a girl.

Her name is Hazel Levesque.

She seems lost - like most ghosts - but something in Percy calls for her. It's the color of her skin and the sparkle in her golden eyes - Hazel remembers him of himself.

He promises to visit more - even though he doesn't think she'll remember it - and leaves to go back to the surface - he will finish the sophomore year.

And Percy does. After a very distressing break, he is doing his best. His grades drop a little in English because he can barely focus - half his mind is on the war and Nico's betrayal and Hazel Levesque's golden eyes.

Miraculously, his GPA doesn't fall - he still is taking a ridiculous amount of AP classes, and barely has time to breathe - dark circles grow under his eyes, and he looks like a mess - but now he is a Junior.

That's why, as soon as the year ends, Rachel takes him on a road trip with Connor. They go all the way to Boston, then Portland, Quebec, Montreal, Ottawa, Syracuse, Baltimore, and Filadelfia, before going back to NY.

They are stopped five times by the police - because Percy is black, and it's Rachel driving the Camaro, because she has a learner's permit and Connor is, somehow, an approved license holder.

They are on a pier, enjoying the view of the beach. They did the last week alone because Connor wanted to go check on one of his cousins - at least, that's what he said, with an over-exaggerated wink that both Percy and Rachel ignored for the sake of their sanity.

She tells him about Clarion Ladies Academy - but that her father is at least mildly happy with her GPA this year, even if he disapproves of her Art focused AP classes. Percy thinks Mr. Dare would love him, with his APs on Economics and Politics, if only he was rich. And white.

This time, when Charles Beckendorf arrives in a Pegasus to tell him it's time, Rachel doesn't kiss him - she justs hugs him and makes him promise to call her.

Perseus doesn't go to the Andromeda Ship - he is needed in Camp. He is useless on the water - but they do need him to improve battle strategy.

Charles Beckendorf is dead. Thalia is the one to tell them - she was in her father's palace helping with a monster under her Lady's orders - he went on the mission alone.

Percy talks briefly with Beckendorf's ghost - is his worst developed power, and he can barely hold the "seance" for more than a few minutes. He does it with only Nico di Angelo for witness - the others are the way to close to the situation.

There's a spy passing information to Luke.

They look at him. Doesn't matter how much he does, he is always the first suspect - he is a son of Hades. He was friends with a lot of people on the other side. He was gone for a year and a half, who knows where.

Perseus wants to say that he has helped to save their asses four times now - that without him in the Labyrinth, they would all be dead right now - and that Charles was basically his older brother.

Then he points out he wasn't even here - he had no idea of any plans of anything - and he told him about the spy, so he is not the freaking spy, go point fingers at each other instead of him.

When they start yelling, he stops them - this is not the time, he was just angry at their accusations. They have to burn Charles shroud. Silena is inconsolable - Percy is not very far from it, but he is not a public crier. The last time he cried in public, Luke was dead on a cliff.

Percy speeds up the line for Elysium to Beckendorf - his brother deserves it.

They read the prophecy together - Perseus already read it last summer, he doesn't even care anymore. They look at him anxiously - no one has forgotten that he abhors most of the gods.

Clarisse and Michael Yew fight, but Lee Fletcher - with a mechanical arm built by Beckendorf himself, still re-learning how to shoot arrows and forever incapable of playing the guitar again (but the keyboard is not ruled out yet) - stops them: They can share the chariot. The war is more important - is not the time for petty fights.

Chiron shows them Typhon - and Perseus has a sliver of hope that they can destroy Kronos and be free of the gods at the same time - It's a horrible hope, because he loves Persephone and some of them are even okay sometimes, but he really wants Zeus to go to Tartarus for at least a century, so Perseus doesn't meet him again in this life.

But he also wants the gods to win, because there's a lot of dead people - innocents, people who have nothing to do with this war.

He dreams of Rachel. Rachel is painting Luke - and Percy wakes up crying, for the boy the gods took away.

Annabeth takes him aside and reminds him of Achilles' Curse. He is off to May Castellan's house - the last place Luke has been - for it's his best and only chance, its what Annie thinks. And she is scarcely wrong.

Perseus hates the gods. They wrecked a family - and for what? May Castellan - forever waiting for a son that will never come back, haunted by visions of his future, plates of burned cookies everywhere.

Perseus doesn't pity her - he rages against the gods, who brought madness upon this woman and then left her to it. Where was Apollo, the god of health? Dionysus, who is supposed to control mental health? Artemis, whose job is to protect women?

Hestia is kind - but she is still a goddess. She could've prevented this - but she hides in her hearth and abstains - and that's enabling. Hestia enables the other gods to do as they please, even when she is the oldest. She says they ignore her - oh well, she ignores them right back! He has no time for the laments of another all-powerful being.

So he goes to his mother and asks for her blessing. Then, just to be sure, he asks Persephone's too.

He thinks about his anchor - where does he want it to be in his body. He doesn't want somewhere in his back - where he can't see it - or in his gut - where anyone can stick a sword. He settles for the bottom of his back - where he can at least touch it and it's well protected by armor - and dives.

Perseus hates water - and he has an uncanny fear of drowning. He feels pain - everywhere, horrible pain.

His vision now doesn't have Annabeth's face - the blonde is his link to the demigod world, Persephone is his link to the Underworld and his mom is his link to childhood - but the person who grounds him is Rachel.

He is stronger. He feel his powers at his fingertips - Perseus feels the Underworld as a whole, and it's overwhelming.

Green flames explode from his hands. Flowers made of shadows curve around his ankles - he has been training since he was 12, but now his body can sustain all of his power. This is all his.

He goes meet with his father - Perseus manipulates him. He tells Hades he'll be the hero, but the god himself can be praised for more than being his father. That he should join the battle against Typhon - That's his chance of proving himself. Also, there's less paperwork for him if there are fewer dead people.

His father is amused with his blatant bribing, but he thinks about it, Percy can tell. In a way or another, he excuses himself and goes back to the surface where he is needed.

Persephone stalls him. She asks him to stay, just for this night. He can go back in the morning - he sleeps, and dreams of Rachel again, drawing in the sand. In greek.

He is scared for her - she is having demigod dreams, but she is mortal. Something is wrong.

Typhon is getting worse - and Kronos draws closer to NYC. It's time - he calls for Blackjack and leaves - Mrs. O'Leary, who has become more or less of a mother to his own hellhound, follows. Persephone promises to convince Hades.

They have about sixty campers able to fight heading for the Empire State Building, and five healers. The ones too young to lift a sword or string a bow stayed back at Camp with Argus - fifteen children between 5 and 9 years old.

Percy knows he looks different - he looks just like his father. He has gained a godly aura - he has no scars anymore, no imperfections. Perseus looms over all of them - he went from 5'7'' to 6'2'' - it's a weird view, from up there. It's still strange when they look at him with a mix of fear and admiration.

Perseus Jackson is officially their leader. He hates Olympus - but he will give his life to defend every single one of his demigods.

The vision Hestia shows him just makes him want to tear this throne room with his bare hands - Luke was a kid. He was a kid - and the gods corrupted him. Thalia was a kid - and the gods took her life, twice. Annabeth is still a kid - they all are - and she is here planning battle strategies.

Annabeth missed an extra year of formal education - while Percy is a Junior, Annabeth barely qualifies for a Freshman - because the gods took this from her too.

Percy rages. The ground of Olympus trembles beneath him - he wants to kill something.

Then Hermes appears - like this whole war is not his fault in the first place, the literal bastard - just to relay a message from Athena that gives them a plan that Annabeth was already putting into works and tells Percy to stay away from Annabeth.

Like she cares. Like Athena has ever, ever, done anything for Annabeth.

Perseus can't punch Athena, so he punches the messager (also, because he freaking guilt trips both of them about Luke). He has nothing to lose - he is going to die by the end of the day anyway, and they need him too much.

He has punched a god before - Ares, in a desert in the middle of Los Angeles - but this time, it's satisfactory. He feels good after it.

Hermes seems strangely resigned - He feels guilty about Luke too, but Perseus doesn't think it's enough. It'll never be enough, not while the gods leave their children to rot in a cabin of rejects and May Castellan bakes cookies for a son that will never come back.

Hermes leaves, ashamed. It's only fair, Perseus thinks. They all should be ashamed.

They see the city asleep - the prophecy is in the works.

Perseus executes their strategy - every cabin is covering a tunnel, with the exception of Dionysus, because Pollux is with the Demeter kids, and the Hecate kids stay behind to use spells to overlook the city. Lincoln Tunnel is getting covered by Ares - who, this time around, is actively participating.

The undetermined who didn't desert are with Hermes - and the minor god's children are divided by specialty - most Hypnos and Morpheus children follow him directly, but the two sons of Iris go with the Apollo Cabin.

Annabeth executes Plan 23, automatons, mounting on Mrs. O'Leary (who has strict orders to take Annabeth anywhere she wants without stopping to play around) - she doesn't need his help with this, and Percy has a tunnel to defend.

That left the rivers uncovered - until Thalia appears, with magical sand money, and made the rivers cooperate.

The hunters join the Aphrodite kids - who are half a dozen children between 11 and 19 - the oldest being Silena Beauregard, who uses a crossbow that looks exactly like her immortal half-brother's one.

His bridge is completely covered on skeletons - but no monster comes, even if he hears explosions. He leaves an English Lieutenant from the Battle of Yorktown in command of the bridge - with Tyene, the oldest daughter of Morpheus, to be in alert and don't let Clovis sleep through the battle. Because he did it before - and while it is funny, it can't happen right now.

Perseus mounts Blackjack - and go see where the noise is coming from. It's the Williamsburg Bridge - where are most of Apollo's Cabin.

They fight - and Percy almost cries when he sees Luke, who is not Luke anymore. Luke, who is a puppet controlled by Kronos.

Perseus kills the Minotaur and the weight of his stone spikes collapse the bridge - and Michael Yew dies. This time around, the bridge falls silently into shadows, and he doesn't bother about searching for the corpse - he saw the boy falling, and his screams will haunt all of them, forever.

This time around, Annabeth is not there to protect him - Ethan also doesn't try to kill him. The Son of Nemesis doesn't leave Kronos side for a second - but there's regret in his eyes.

After the bloodlust is gone, Perseus collapses - Will has to bride carry him back. Overuse of his powers - he summoned skeletons and produced shadows, melted enemy swords (with the bonus of incapacitating them without killing), and sprouted stone spikes everywhere - there's even a vine or ten that he used to hold his friends from falling.

Perseus doesn't sleep quickly enough to not hear the yell of anguish that comes from Lee Fletcher - the pain of losing a brother and not being able to fight beside him.

But he does sleep - and he dreams. He dreams of Hades killing Maria Di Angelo, not Hera, like Zeus told Nico. He dreams of Zeus cursing the Oracle - and he seethes, because he also sees what happened to May Castellan.

He keeps getting angrier and angrier at the gods - it's building inside of him. But his friends are still here, still fragile. He can't let them suffer more.

Perseus wakes up, checks on everyone - most everyone is either injured and/or exhausted, but he checks on every camper. He knows all of their names, their ages, their cabins. - and promises to sit up to talk with Thalia and Nico - war makes him prone to peace - and promptly goes back to sleep.

He dreams of Rachel. He wants to scream for her not to come: but she'll anyway.

Perseus dreams of a boy. He is his age - maybe a little younger. His hair is blonde and his skin is whiter - but Percy glances at his eyes, and there are waves in them.

There's a girl by his side - she is familiar to Percy, somehow. They're climbing a mountain.

The dream ends and Percy can't make heads or tails of it. He asks Thalia if she has a brother, but she says that she doesn't, looking wistful.

Prometheus is tempting - but he knows there's no Luke anymore, there's only Kronos. And the gods are horrible, vile and immature - but they never killed any of Percy's friends. Some of them died for the gods - but never by their hands, so for now, Perseus would toe the line.

He does want to punch Hermes again. He takes the Pythos - if everything goes wrong, he will not hesitate in going down for the sake of his friends - but there have been six deaths, and it's enough.

"Was it worth it?" He asks Ethan.

"Alabaster is alive" And it's all the answer Percy needs.

He dreams of Ethan and Alabaster. Alabaster is alive, yes, but he is missing half a leg - courtesy of Clarisse herself. Luke - Kronos - is indifferent, and Ethan curses the daughter of Ares - "The sword that took from us will take from you"

He contains Hyperion with his shadows. Then he helps Grover (who was half asleep, because of Morpheus) to make the Titan into a tree. It's a pomegranate tree - then he sets hellish fire to it and sacrifices it to Hades and Persephone.

A pig is in the sky - this time around, Annabeth and her frightening army of automatons kill it with Nico's help.

Perseus laughs - because Annabeth has about two hundred automatons under her command, Martin Luther King and Alexander Hamilton leading the charge with a giant bull being ridden by the Mad Hatter behind them.

It's weird to see historic figures Percy admires - like Jane Bolin, Sylvia Mendez, or Abraham Lincoln - fighting alongside people he downright despises - Thomas Jefferson and the goatfucker, herpes-ridden, Colombus. His Comparative Government teacher would have a field day.

Annabeth and Nico's pair up is amazing - They fight alongside like they have been doing it all life.

Nico is a force of nature, flying and commanding the winds to do his bidding - His eyes shine in the midst of the stormy clouds. His specialty is weather manipulation - he hasn't had much success with direct energy or electric discharges.

Annabeth has her mother's tenacity for war - and her clever mind for strategies. It's clear in her eyes - she is racking the weaker points of the Clazmonian Sow in her mind and destroying it. The automatons hold the pig in place - and she makes bacon of it.

Hercules couldn't do it. Nico and Annabeth can, because they have the power and the mind.

Perseus is still fighting off monsters - but they're too widespread, so they retreat to the doors of the Empire State Building.

Percy does a mental tally: of sixty-two campers, six are confirmed dead, twenty are injured and nine are out of commission on exhaustion. There should be 27 orange shirts here - but there's only twenty.

Percy wonders if the seven missing are injured, or dead, or under a pile of rubble somewhere with no one to help them. Is there someone being slowly eaten by monsters? Is there someone alone and injured and abandoned? He doesn't know.

He prays that those seven deserted them - at least that means they probably are alive and well.

Perseus looks at Phoebe's grief-stricken face, and he knows it's not probable - she had almost three dozen hunters with her, and now there's barely fifteen still fighting, Thalia nowhere to be seen.

They prepare for their last standing - Percy keeps conjuring skeletons, but they're no match for the sheer strength of the hyperborean giants. Nico is shoulder to shoulder with the Stoll brothers against a group of telkhines - Clarisse is bringing down a whole giant by herself.

After the Party Ponies save them - Chiron leads the charge against his own father, and Perseus is so proud of his mentor he can't even put in words how much - he goes to sleep. Fighting gets him tired quickly, and they'll come back.

He dreams of Dionysus. Perseus is not fond of any god who is not Persephone, but Dionysus is mostly okay sometimes. He seems to care about his children.

Perseus couldn't care less about the Western Civilization - but he'll care for Pollux. It's one of his demigods, after all, and Underworld people are possessive of theirs (i.e. Hades and Persephone).

He dreams of Thalia, in her father's palace, begging Poseidon to leave the underwater war and help with the invasion - His wife is none too happy with the presence of his immortal bastard daughter.

He wakes up to Rachel's helicopter falling - how is Rachel even awake, is a mistery.

The improbable pair Nico and Annabeth strike again: The girl knows how to fly helicopters, and the boy can fly himself. They save the redhead and the pilot - everything is fine.

"You're not the hero"

"Why did you risk yourself to tell me something I already know?"

Rachel doesn't explain - she can't. But she has a vision that says that he is not the hero. The hero of what? Perseus has no idea. But there's no way any of his cousins is dying for this stupid prophecy.

Suddenly, there's a drakon there. Rachel has another prophecy - Perseus fears she will walk the path that led May Castellan to destruction - that only a child of Ares will be able to kill it.

Bad news: All children of Ares are otherwise out of battle.

Clarisse is resting after a nasty concussion - and her brothers and Apollo's children are fighting yet again because Lee Fletcher is in no condition to stop them and Michael Yew is dead. Ares' side refuses to fight without the chariot - which Cabin 7 has hidden somewhere.

The best they can do is fend the drakon off until a miracle occurs. And it does: Clarisse, in full armor, manages to lead her brothers into battle.

Clarisse is dead. Something shatters inside of Perseus - and he leaves the drakon for the Ares' children to solve - he can't kill it anyway - and starts to vaporize the army behind it.

He is so caught up in bloodlust, that he almost misses Clarisse slaying a dragon. Clarisse, who has no armor. Clarisse, who is alive.

Ethan's curse rang true - Clarisse's weapon took something from her.

Silena is a traitor. She is also dead - which makes her a martyr, and probably going to reunite with her boyfriend in Elysium.

He remembers how easy is to fall for Luke's charm - he was - is - still in love with the guy. Percy thought the son of Hermes could do no wrong - and he wonders how much of his rage against the gods sprout from his influence.

Something evil inside of Perseus's mind tells him she deserved it. It tells Perseus that better her than Clarisse - but he shuts it down, and concentrates on his shining red friends.

He hates Ares. But he might just have an okay side if he can produce such a magnificent daughter.

Silena is the Patroclus to Clarisse's Achilles, and the Drakon is Hector - and the daughter of Ares is sure to parade its dead body.

It's the first time they feel like they are winning. It doesn't last - but as he hugs Clarisse tightly, he thinks he might cry of relief.

Clarisse looks tough - but she is a wonderful human being. She loves Silena with her whole heart - even more than she loves Chris, her best friend. Silena might've been in love with Charles - but she and Clarisse? They are soulmates.

The damned Pythos is following Perseus - and he is done with it. He knows where hope will survive best. Rachel wants him to give it to Hestia - but he owns the fire goddess nothing.

She has never interfered, not once, to help the dozens of demigods with no family that is abandoned in Cabin 11, and he won't forgive her for it.

He sacrifices hope to Persephone because that's what spring is. Spring is the hope of a new life. Maybe, Perseus thinks, it'll convince his father to come.

They go down to make their final stand against the forces of Kronos. There's not a lot of them - but they're not getting through those doors.

Well, his father doesn't come. But Poseidon does, with his whole army, Tyson and Thalia behind him, and the scales seem to turn.

And then Kronos cuts the barrier. Perseus can see his Mom (why is his Mom here with a handgun?!) and Poseidon fighting against the monsters under the eyes of extremely confused mortals.

Some are trying to break the barrier - but it's futile. Kronos has corraled them like sheep for the slaughter.

It's just him, Grover, Annabeth and Nico, fighting against Kronos vanguard - which is big, but not as strong as they are.

Kronos passes him without resistance - Ethan follows, but there's anger in his eyes - not for Percy, but for the monster he is leashed to. Alabaster is not there.

As soon as Kronos powers stop working on them, the four follow the titan - and some things never change, no matter the universe.

This time, it's Nico who falls because of Hera - it's her curse over all of her husband's bastards.

Ethan takes one look at Perseus, and they don't even need to fight. They have been friends for longer than they have been enemies - and they both loathe the gods, but Kronos is as much of an all-powerful controller being as any of the Olympians.

They battle against Kronos - Perseus has only his ax against his scyther - a true Underworld fight.

Ethan dies. And Perseus bloodlust consumes him - it clouds his eyes and he can only keep fighting.

"If... if we've had cabins... and they had thrones"

It's true, and more than ever, Perseus wishes Kronos wasn't such a bastard. He wouldn't bother killing the gods - but the titan is a way worse option.

"LUKE, PLEASE" It's Annabeth. He doesn't have her faith - she didn't saw his transformation. But he tries anyway because he loves Luke just as much as he hates Kronos.

"Luke, remember our summer" But his words are caught up in his throat when the titan throws him against the wall.

But the amalgamation of his friend and an all-powerful being looks confused, so props for his genius best friend.

Kronos shows them a rainbow message of Typhon - and that's where Perseus it's pretty sure he starts liking his father.

Because the Lord of the Dead opens up the earth and gets out in a black chariot guided by skeletal horses like a king. By his right side, is Persephone, in armor battle as a queen should be. By his left, is Demeter, who looks every single bit like the matron she is supposed to be.

Behind him, a hundred thousand dead roars. Charon is mounting Cerberus - and literal hell is unleashed upon the Father of Monsters.

The gods strike down Typhon, sending him back to be locked away - this time, in the depths of Tartarus instead of Mount Etna.

Kronos gets mad. Utterly, undoubtedly mad. He talks about burning Luke's body. Then he hurts Annabeth and breaks two promises in one fell swoop.

"Luke.... remember family" It's what Annabeth utters, but Perseus, already certain of their own demise, is crying now.

"That summer Luke, you promised to never hurt her again. You remember it? YOU PROMISED LUKE!!"

Annabeth's promise was already broken - he had hurt her, all those years ago, in Mt. Othrys. But the promise he made to Percy - that he would never hurt her again - is new and broken, in the river Styx no less.

Luke regains his own body, for a minute, and Perseus runs to him like a man in a desert with no water.

"Please, please tell me there's a way to undo this, Luke, please, please"

"There isn't one, Percy" And it's the first time he hears Luke call him Percy, Percy and not Perseus, in his own voice, in two years. Percy cries.

"We... we don't have much time, hellebore. Give me Annabeth's dagger. Before he... before he takes back"

Luke calls him hellebore and it makes him start crying all over again. He gives him the dagger - and Luke kills himself, taking Kronos out with him.

Luke doesn't need to ask if Percy has ever loved him - Percy kept loving Luke, one-sided as it was, even when Kronos was there.

He still crying over Luke's body when the gods arrive. Luke is dead. Ethan is dead. Silena is dead. Michael Yew is dead. Charles is dead.

He lost three of his best friends in two days. Ethan is dead. Luke is dead. Luke is dead.

Perseus can't stop crying. They take Luke's body away - but he can't stop. Annabeth explains what happened to the gods - most of it, anyway. Apollo says he is in shock - his father says he is a hero.

Perseus doesn't feel like a hero. Was this all worth it? Was it worth it the pain and the death and the suffering?

Persephone touches him - and he has no tears to cry anymore. She can't hug him here, but she'll do so later.

He stares at the walls, listening to his friends being awarded - compensated by their siblings and friends' deaths - with a blank stare. Perseus wants his mom.

They call for him. He raised his head but doesn't bother getting up. He just saved their asses - for the fifth time in a roll. He deserves to grieve.

They offer him immortality. A place between the gods.

He laughs. Zeus looks murderous, but he can't stop laughing.

"My apologies, but I have to refuse," he says. But in his mind, he is thinking about how could they even think he might want to sit between them and be an all-powerful being, be another god ignoring his children and messing with mortal lives while thousands die for him.

"Promise me, on the river Styx, that you'll give me the wish that I want."

They promise him, that if it's within their capabilities, they shall grant him his wish.

"I wish for every child at the age of twelve to be claimed. I wish for cabins in Camp Half-Blood, for every single minor god, and my own father. I wish for Calypso to be free, and to the demigods from the opposite side of this war to be given amnesty. It's not their fault. It's not any of our faults."

"You dare to-" Zeus begins, but Percy is really tired of Zeus.

"We fought your war, we won your battles. We, the unclaimed and rejected stowaways of Cabin 11. We, the children of minor and Underworld gods. We deserve respect. Just like my father deserves a throne, just like the minor gods deserve justice."

"Don't you fear us?" Athena asks, something weird shining in her eyes.

"I thought I would be dead today. At least if I die now, I'm dying for something I believe in."

It stays unsaid that he doesn't believe in them. The other demigods look at him worried - but he is not afraid of the gods.

They grant his wish. Some of them aren't happy with it, but they have to do it. He meets Calypso at the front gates of Olympus - and her smile can brighten the pits of Tartarus. He sees Alabaster talking with Lou Ellen - they are both crying.

He thinks it's the end - it's not. Thalia tells him Rachel left for Camp in her Pegasus - and his father has lift the curse, the Prophecy is gone, but he fears for his best friend.

Perseus is too tired for shadow travel - he does it anyway. He flickers, but anyway, he is too late.

It works. Rachel - his best friend - is the new Oracle. Someone jokes they can't be together anymore and Rachel lifts an eyebrow.

"We never were. Didn't you see the last few hours?" Well, he did out himself. Mostly - they might say it's just friendship, and he will hate the way they twist it. Luke wasn't a villain, and Perseus isn't a pure hero with a heart of gold.

Perseus is healing from lost love - and Annabeth is too. His crush on her was only a crush, he thinks - She is his best friend first and foremost. They cry together at the bonfire that burns away the shrouds of 43 demigods - from both sides - and 16 hunters of Artemis. Their souls all rest in Elysium now.

Alabaster comes back to Camp and helps his siblings to build the new Cabin for Hecate, full of spelled blocks and magic chimneys. Clovis and Tyene have their hands full with their own cabins - it doesn't help they keep getting sidetracked with naps.

Somehow, Nico, Thalia, and his bond over helping construct Cabin 13 - They are both way too invested in the goth vibe, mostly because Cabin 1 looks like a temple, and Cabin 3 looks like a beach cabin. And both of them are so over it.

Perseus doesn't want a goth cabin - he is fighting against the aesthetic for years - but sometimes, there are no arguments. His Cabin is made of black marble, and there are skulls everywhere, with torches shining with green fire. Outside, at least. Inside, it looks like Persephone's garden, with input from the queen herself. It's ready just shy of the end of summer vacation.

Rachel tells the next Great Prophecy. Perseus isn't such a positive person to think it won't affect him - he hopes at least it'll wait until he is done with High School.

That night, he dreams of the blonde boy again - it's his first night without nightmares since the battle. He has a scar in his lip, and his green eyes pierce Percy's soul. Perseus wonders if they'll ever meet, wonders if this boy is one of the Seven of the Prophecy.

But alas, Perseus lets it go. The summer is over - he is sixteen, somehow. He is alive and going to go back to his mortal life and his junior year, and grief. Not everything is fine - but eventually, it will be.

It's not the end. Not yet.

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lanzhanlanzhan · 5 years

Text

On YiZhan

Relax. It's not really a shipping post, but I do need to get my feelings out for this ship.

I am cackling and giddy about BJYX/YiZhan/BoZhan/WangXiao/etc. taking social media by storm this weekend. I noticed that the Xiao Zhan/Wang Yibo shipping has steadily been rising after The Untamed ended. (I'm not sure why, is this like the next level for us now that there are no more WangXian content?) I think the fanmeet in Thailand is even the last straw for some people, because my Twitter feed is filled with so many memes that are basically variations of: "I, an intellectual, make it a policy to not ship RPF for many reasons (Xiao Zhan and Wang Yibo appear together) YIZHAN OMFGAHHSJDKW"

Now, I have spent some years on this Earth, I have had my share of disappointments, and hell, I even work in statistics. I understand therefore that shipping is most likely just shipping. The real thing is unlikely, especially given the country they live in.

At the very least though, what I do believe is that Wang Yibo genuinely likes Xiao Zhan, admires him and looks up to him, not necessarily in a romantic sense but definitely in a "holy shit this person is amazing I really really like him maybe we can be friends" sense. Anyone who has ever been through high school (or idk childhood) must have felt or been on the receiving end or at the very least been witness to (can the Jiang Cheng's of the world say "hey" or roll their eyes altogether now lmao) something like it. Anyone who has ever had an amazing elder sibling or some similar figure must have felt it, too.

It's a pretty amazing feeling, and I am actually happy for Wang Yibo for having a figure like this in his young life right now. It especially tickles my heart given the fact that Wang Yibo, between the two of them, is actually the more seasoned celebrity. Wang Yibo is an actor, an idol (even one recognized enough to be a talent mentor), a model, a variety show host—he's been everywhere, and he is growing better at the things he knows and learning more that he does not know at an alarming rate. This kid is an absolute monster. It's like he was born to be a celebrity, and it is no surprise he debuted early. I just love how someone like this does still fanboy like every one of us, finds someone he looks up to and tails them and is an absolute dork around them, just like everyone else. I love the idea of him having fun and sending dorky texts to the gege he is very, very biased about, who then teases him about it because Wang Yibo is apparently the kind of thick-faced celebrity who uses his own memes in chats. I just love this, okay? You can take my "shiny idol finds pockets of ordinary life things with someone they like" trope from my cold, dead fingers.

And Xiao Zhan, who seems so genuinely nice that he makes everybody around him fall in love with him, who has seen the world, been "ordinary", been part of the workforce, has basically been an everyman just walking the streets and making a living, who now recognizes his own limits and works hard to bridge those gaps—him rising to fame like this just warms my heart. Xiao Zhan is the kind of guy who makes you root for him because he is oddly so approachable and relatable. Despite him being likeable though, I know he still has a lot of critics, even though his fans know he works so hard. For him to have someone like Wang Yibo liking and supporting him, validating him as a celebrity despite being a relative late-comer, is somehow so important and comforting to me and gives me the strength to want to stab those critics omg how about you say something useful and let a new generation learn and be good artists eh???

I wish there would be more opportunities for them to be friends and work together. Seeing them supporting and respecting each other is water, sunshine, fertilizer to my crops, I just can't with them, wtf am I going to do with this ginormous farm that is my love and well-wishes for them I don't really even know anymore

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jo-ho-nev · 4 years

Text

Yandere!Melone x Reader

Melone develops an unhealthy obsession with you without even knowing you. To stasisfy his obsession he kidnaps you. This is the first chapter of Obsessed with You and can also be found on ao3.

[CW: noncon/dubcon, stalking, non-consensual somnophilia, kidnapping]

It is a scientific fact that people can tell when they are being watched. You are no exception. You could tell something has been off. Sometimes your door was left unlocked, sometimes it was the occasional missing panties or bra. Maybe how the tape over your camera always seemed to fall off. You shook off the paranoid feeling and got on the already overcrowded bus to head home. You hoped this ride would be uneventful. You went to grab onto a pole to support you and brushed against a stranger's hand. You didn't bother apologizing because after living in a big city overrun by crime you’ve learned to keep your head down. But not everyone knew urban etiquette. The same stranger's hand brushed against yours, so you moved it away. It happened again, you move your hand again. If this person really wanted this pole why wouldn’t they just say? Due to the constant touching, you gave up the pole so whoever it was would leave you alone. To pass the time you opened up your phone and scroll through your social media. You didn't pay enough attention though because suddenly you heard: “This is the last stop. A second bus will be here shortly. Please exit the bus.” You looked around and found only a handful of other people were still left on. While you rush to put your phone back into your pocket you drop it. After hurriedly picking it up you noticed it was more cracked than usual. Cracked to the point where the screen was almost completely destroyed and wouldn’t turn on. Shit. Panic had begun to set in as the situation fully hit you. it was getting dark, you were lost, you had no phone, and you were completely and utterly alone. First, you thought maybe you could use a payphone! But this is 2020 there are no payphones. Then you thought maybe you could catch a taxi. But there are no taxis, haven't you heard of Uber? As a last-ditch effort you hoped maybe you could borrow someone's phone, but who lets a stranger use their phone. After weighing your options you decided asking the bus driver for help would be the safest least kidnappable outcome. Once you decided survival was more important than temporary embarrassment and began to reenter the bus it sped off. This uneventful bus ride became a nightmare and no matter how hard you tried you couldn’t wake up. At this point, you decided to accept your fate and wait at the bus stop across the street hoping a new bus would arrive soon. Except it didn’t. So waited some more. Nothing happened. It was just you and the sun until it was just you and the moon. As you waited a stranger approached you and sat down. Of course, this wasn’t weird, strangers sat next to each other all the time while waiting for the bus. The only issue was 1) the stranger was a little bit too close and 2) there was an uncomfortably familiar feeling about him. He sighed in a weirdly cartoonish manner and stared at you for a bit too long before asking “Do you know the time”. His voice was concerningly cold causing you to instinctively shiver in response. “Uh…” you paused not sure if you wanted to confess your phone didn't work, “Actually my phone isn’t working so I don’t know either”. You decided you had no real reason to lie. That was a mistake. He gave a fake-sounding laugh, “that’s got to suck.” “Yeah it does, I kinda missed my stop so now I’m a little bit fucked,” you didn’t know why you were so honest. Probably just stress and fatigue. “Buses are unpredictable, maybe I could give you a ride?” leaned back into the bench while propping an arm on the back of it. He gave a small smile that did not match the look in his eyes. “I don't know, you know don't get into cars with strangers they always say.” You tried to lift the mood with a bit of humor. It didn’t really work, it just made things more awkward. But the issue wasn't the awkward tension, more so that you really really wanted to say yes. A ride sounded amazing, the comfort of a real car compared to a public bench was tempting. And the likelihood of you getting kidnapped was pretty low, I mean what are the statistics on that? Surely you wouldn't be whatever small percentage it was. You paused to think about your response which only exasperated the already tense silence. “Yeah, maybe that works.” “Really?” he rushed out. Though you didn’t know him, the intensity of his response seemed out of character. You ignored it. “I mean, only if it’s okay with you” he added trying to regain his composure. Whether it be the fatigue or stress of waiting you ignored the pit in your stomach. That was not the right decision. Immediately after his response he stood up and outstretched his hand hoping you would grab it. You didn't respond to his hand but stood up to follow him ignoring his offer. He frowned furrowing his brow before quickly hiding it and continuing on. If you hadn't have been paying attention you would never have noticed the change in expression, even you weren't sure if you had seen it.’ Continuing to ignore the knot in your chest and sinking feeling in your stomach you followed him. He led you to a nearby fast-food parking lot. It was completely save for a single red motorcycle. You weren't completely sure if you were okay with riding the motorcycle given you assumed there was no helmet for you. As you got closer to the bike parked near a flickering light you realized that in fact there was a helmet for you. Lucky coincidence. Even more surprisingly, or concerningly, it seemed like one helmet was your exact size. “Remember, safety first! You're lucky I have a second helmet,” he remarked as he offered you the extra. As you began to put it on he gave a small warmer smile, “it seems to be a perfect fit, that's great.” the smile seemed innocent until you realized it seemed to be one more of pride and satisfaction. Almost as if he had purposefully picked it out and was happy he got the right size. You continued to suppress the alarms that rang in your head. He put his helmet on and hopped on the bike waiting for you to do the same. “Hold tight, I wouldn’t want you to get hurt.” You didn’t realize until it was too late that he never asked for where to drop you off. Maybe you should have listened to your instincts. What a shame. After you got on and nuzzled into him to make sure you wouldn't fall off he reached back and pulled you even closer. “Remember, what I said. Don't let go.” his previously chipper tone faltered back into his colder more formal tone as before. Once you stopped adjusting yourself and he felt you were adequately close he began to speed off. In the wrong direction. You didn't notice, you were too focused on the thrill of riding a bike and of practically cuddling a stranger. After a few minutes of riding it hit you: he never asked for directions, he was heading the wrong way, and you couldn't tell him to stop. You thought maybe it would be a good idea to hit him to get his attention, but you also didn't want to die in a motorcycle crash with a strange man. So you tried to accept your fate hoping that once he stopped you could explain to him why it was wrong to randomly pick up women and take them to unspecified locations. The ride took approximately 10 minutes. Coincidentally that is the same amount of time for chloroform to kick in and it did. One second you were panicked about your kidnapping and the next you half-conscious being carried by in someone's arms. That was the last thing you remembered until you were completely blanked. When you woke up you were tied to a stranger's bed, a very attractive stranger’s bed but a stranger nonetheless. Your head hurt, your body hurt, your entire existence hurt. But that wasn't the only concern. Something else hurt. Something you really didn't want to hurt. “Good! You're awake, I was kind of concerned you wouldn’t wake up,” he gave a light laugh “thank god I was able to properly calculate the amount of chloroform to body weight ratio.” You were very wrong thinking that you would be safe. You were very wrong for trusting a strange man. You were very very very wrong. Maybe don't talk to strangers was good advice after all. But this was too late, hands were places where they shouldn't be, bruises were where they shouldn't be, you were where you shouldn't be. “Now, where were we?” he hummed, the previous cold professional tone had completely disappeared in favor of a lighter bittersweet one. At the implication of 1) being molested in your sleep and 2) returning to that molestation you began to struggle against the ropes that kept you spread out before the disgusting monster. But no matter how hard you struggled it wasn't working. “Come on, you were so compliant earlier. Just calm down, you'll enjoy it soon enough” you flinched at the sudden soft stroke on your cheek. The softness of his touch didn't match the violation. “You really are my dream come true, you see I’ve had my eye on you for a while” he hummed while slowly moving his hand from your cheek to your neck to your breasts. You wanted to gag but you held it back. Slowly he began to fondle your nipples pinching and pulling on them roughly. “You have very good nipples for breastfeeding if you haven't noticed,” disgusting “we should put them to use”. Even more disgusting. He continued to grope your chest with one hand as the other moved further down caressing your waist leading down to your hip. “You don’t realize how much I’m holding back, just caressing you won't do for much longer. I need you, I need you Y/N. I need to be in you, I need you wrapped around me. Soon enough I’ll break you, I’ll put that pussy to good use.” You gagged again, harder. “Why are you gagging? I don’t even have my cock in your tight throat. Don't worry you'll have a reason to gag soon enough.” You wanted to scream. You wanted to thrash around. You wanted to fight. But all you could do was silently let tears fall down your eyes while periodically hiccuping. Why did you let yourself fall into this mess? He began to lower his hand even more down to your pussy. Oh god. Please no. God couldn't hear your begging today because this man didn't care. He began to stroke you softly waiting to see what you liked and what you didn't, ignoring the fact you didn't like any of it. “Hmm? Why aren't you enjoying this as much as I am? I've wanted this for so long” he began to rub harder, it started aching. “I've wanted you for so so so long. Why didn’t you recognize me earlier? I've been following you for months, I have your hair, your photos, your panties, your used forks, I have everything. Now all I need is you.” He kept rubbing, and rubbing, and rubbing. The knot in your stomach that was once fear and paranoia became that of terrifying pleasure. It kept building and building and building until it released. You came. You came on your kidnapper's fingers as he violated you. “Good girl” he hummed, retracting his fingers only to suck them. Once satisfied with your juices he pulled them out with a wet pop. “sleep well, I’ll be back tomorrow. And if you keep being a good girl maybe you'll get something to eat.” He then leaned down to kiss you on your forehead and give a few more strokes on your cheek. He whispered his love into your ear ignoring your whines and tears. After proclaiming his love he kissed you one last time before leaving you to cry yourself to sleep. Nothing but your tears comforted you as you waited for tomorrow. He was obsessed with you and you had no choice but to accept it.

#fanfic #jjba #jjba fanfic #not sfw #melone jojo #melone x reader #yandere #yandere melone #stalking #cross posted on ao3 #somnophilia #i am but a simple melone simp

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keelywolfe · 4 years

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FIC: Some Sense of Normalcy ch.2 (baon)

Summary: It’s Edge’s first day back to work at the Embassy, but his job isn’t the only thing on his mind.

Tags: Spicyhoney, Kustard, Established Relationships, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Mentions of Past Injury

Chapter 1 |

~~*~~

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

Read Chapter 2 on AO3

Read it here!

~~*~~

Stretch kept watch out the front window, waiting for Edge to drive off with Red at the wheel of his car and wasn’t that a question he didn’t have time to find out the answer. Then he went back upstairs to get dressed; he had places to be and of course today would be the morning that Edge decided to let his ridged adherence to his schedule slip.

It was pretty damned hard to nudge Edge out the door without making him suspicious, since all previous evidence pointed to Stretch trying to keep him in bed as long as possible and now that he was finally gone, Stretch needed to double-time it.

He hadn't lied about the video conference with his therapist, but that wasn't until this afternoon and there was something to look forward to. He had a love/hate thing going with Doc Lee, loved that she could help him collect all his thoughts back into the right baskets and get 'em back in order, hated that he had to actually talk about why they were scattered to begin with to get there.

In the meantime, he yanked on the first pair of pants and sweatshirt he found in his side of the closet. He was headed back downstairs, socks in hand, when the doorbell rang.

Stretch opened the door, leaning awkwardly on the jamb as he reached down to pull on his socks. "hey, andy."

“Morning,” Jeff said with a smile. He was dressed for work and Jeff’s style was a little less posh than Edge went for. No suit coat and his button-up shirt was a deep blue with a scattered floral pattern and a sort of long, gauzy white vest hanging open over the works. He looked good and Stretch didn’t mind telling him so.

“good thing i’m a math genius, your clothes are looking pretty acute there.”

Faint pink rose in Jeff’s cheeks. The kid didn’t take a compliment well, it was a work in progress. But he sure as heck proved his pun skills were up to par. “Thanks for going at the right angle so I don’t have to be obtuse about it. Are you ready to head out?”

“give me two minutes to feed the chickens and we can hit it.”

Stretch headed into the backyard, Jeff at his heels. Jeff stayed out of the coop in deference to his nice shoes and only watched as Stretch let the chickens out, scooping feed into their trough. Nugget came out of the coop last, not the normal order of things, gobbling her food with record speed. Probably wanted to book it back inside to her weird nest and that was another mystery on Stretch’s list. It’d keep for a day or two, and Stretch would take a dozen peculiar eggs, carton and all, to have her back home. He gave her a light pat, didn’t even mind when his affection was ignored in favor of the eats.

Meanwhile, Jeff wandered over to the freshly planted garden beds, peering down at the tiny points of green poking out. "So, do I get to hear why you didn't hitch a ride in with Edge?"

See, that was the problem with Jeff being pals with Edge; it made him concerned for Edge’s welfare and feelings and stuff. That was some double-sided sticky tape, ‘cause Stretch wanted Jeff to like Edge but not enough that he’d tattle. "that would be because he'd interrogate me about what i was doing."

"And you think I won't?"

"nah, you will, but you're more lucky to fall for the eyes." Stretch turned to him, feed bucket still in hand, and gave him the very best doe-eyed, pathetic look in his collection.

"okay, that is pretty effective,” Jeff admitted, “But, somehow, I don't think you're planning a surprise party. So, I have to ask, is what you're doing going to make Edge mad and that's why you're going behind his back?"

"nope." Probably not, anyway.

Jeff gave Stretch a scrutinizing look that would give Sans a run for his money. Well, maybe a leisurely stroll. “All right,” he said at last, “If I don’t take you to the Embassy, you’ll just take the bus, anyway. But if something is actually wrong or you need real help that isn’t solved by a quick lift, you tell me. Deal?”

“deal,” Stretch hesitated and added, “i promise.” Fuck it, Andy was his best friend, if he couldn’t confess to him at least a little, then he might as well start rethinking the title.

Stretch never really gave Jeff a rundown about how he felt about promises, but stood to reason that someone did. His expression softened into a lopsided smile and he jerked his head towards the house. “Then let’s get going before I’m late. Catty is a good boss but the last person in has to get coffee for everyone for the rest of the day.”

The ladies were still chowing down and Stretch left them to it, though he did double and then triple check that the gate was shut tight. Not that he’d ever accidentally left it open, but he was pretty resigned to being stupid about his chicks for a little while yet.

Jeff’s car was a sporty little compact with a surprising amount of legroom in the front seats and there was zero doubt in Stretch’s mind that Edge was the one who chose it with that feature in mind, along with every safety feature package that they could cram in without popping a seam. He didn’t wait for the seat belt speech, already buckling up, and they were off.

Crawling through the streets of New New Home to the security checkpoint and once they were through the gate, Jeff turned things up a notch. His cautious driving was only about a step down from Edge’s, but unlike Edge, Jeff didn’t say a peep when Stretch rolled down the window and let his arm dangle out, relishing the cool wind on his bony fingers.

Nice to be able to relax and enjoy the breeze. Edge would’ve bitched at him and he knew from experience that Blue would stop the car and refuse to move until he rolled the window back up, citing statistics about Humans losing limbs and heads all the while.

Yeah, okay, today wasn’t a good day to think about anyone losing their head. Stretch pulled his arm back in and let it sit more sedately on the window ledge. He could feel Jeff giving him a look, but he didn’t say anything, didn’t ask or probe or scold and that was why he was an awesome friend. Even if a couple times he’d asked about things Stretch didn’t like to think about, things from the past, from Underswap—

The sound of the wind through the opened window suddenly sounded a little too much like a brewing storm in Snowdin, the way they often swirled up across the narrow path that led to Waterfall. Dredged up memories that Stretch usually kept packed away, neat and tidy in a box of ‘past is past’. His head really wasn’t on straight today and—

Stop it, STOP IT—

“how’s things at the embassy?” Stretch asked abruptly. He yanked his arm inside and rolled the window up entirely, sealing out the blowing wind. Jeff didn’t seem perturbed about the sudden break in the silence.

“Great. Busy.” Jeff kept his eyes on the road, but his smile was honest and wide, “I know you’re going to put me off for saying this, but I seriously could never thank you guys enough for getting me this job.”

Stretch shrugged. “i didn’t have anything to do with it. i have less pull at the embassy than hussain, and i’ve heard what he did with the cafeteria.”

“The food is great,” Jeff agreed, “especially the falafel.” His quick side eye said a lot about how much he believed the rest of it.

It wasn’t that Stretch minded the gratitude, but it really wasn’t necessary. Yeah, sure, being his pal probably got Jeff’s foot through the door. That wouldn’t make Edge give Jeff a job that he couldn’t do or that he wouldn’t be suited for. Strategy was what Edge did, and if he thought Jeff would be great for Public Relations, Stretch was a hundred-and-nine percent sure he was right.

“anything i had to do with it was strictly by association,” Stretch told him, “you’re probably more lucky being my pal didn’t put them off, but eh, if they haven’t ditched edge, i doubt you’ll be in line.”

“I think if they fired Edge, half the Embassy would grab their staplers and follow him out the door,” Jeff snorted, “Speaking of lines, you want to stop for a coffee on our way?”

Seriously, best pals forever, “lead on, macduff, i’ll follow you anywhere.”

Jeff laughed even as he turned into the lot for the Beanery and headed for the drive-thru.

Jeff dropped Stretch off at the Embassy entrance before he went to park his car. Which was fine, he knew where he was going, and he didn’t need Jeff to hold his hand along the way.

The security guard only gave him a disinterested look as he swiped his rarely-used keycard and headed for the elevator. Not the normal elevators, the ones that led to the offices upstairs that Humans and Monsters used all day long, where you could press any button and be off.

No, the elevator to the labs was around the corner from those and needed a keycard just to open the doors, another swipe of the card with a password to activate it. Not all Monsters had access to all the labs, and their cards would only take them as far down as their security clearance allowed.

Stretch’s card would take him to any of the labs. All he had to do was swipe it.

He stood in front of the elevator, the card gripped too-tight in the clench of his fingers, staring at the closed doors.

When he’d texted Alphys yesterday, she’d been perfectly happy to meet with him, but said she couldn’t get away from the labs right now, so he’d have to come here. He’d assured her that it was fine and yesterday, it was. It’d been a relief, even.

Somehow while he’d been lying in bed the day before, lost in the tangle of his thoughts, the idea of his HP dropping again got hooked into his head. He couldn't stop thinking about it, none of his distraction techniques were working, his focus was fucking shot. All the clues that he might be having HP trouble were banging on the door, demanding to be let into his mind.

Like the fact that the lower his HP got, the wearier he was and just lately, he'd been feeling awfully damned tired. He'd gotten used to his HP being at five and the extra slice of energy that came with that. Falling asleep at random times in even more random places was becoming the exception rather than the norm and he fucking well liked it that way.

Last time Alphys checked him over, his HP was back on the rise, but it’d been a while. Lately, he'd been smoking way too much, using up a lot of magic healing, and he’d been so, so tired. He wasn’t the puzzle-fiend that his bro and Edge were, but even he could do one that only had a couple pieces.

Yesterday, Alphys’s assurances that he could stop in had been a relief, enough to make that worry back off a little and let him go back to his sour ball of grief over Nugget. Now that mourning was off the table, the reports of her death greatly exaggerated, here came his ghostly HP worries, trundling back in to for another go at haunting the inside of his skull.

After dinner, he’d gone upstairs to take a shower and stood there, looking at himself in the mirror. All it would’ve take was a quick Check, only a few seconds, and his stats would have spilled out right in front of his eye lights, letting him know exactly the state of his HP. Just a quick check and if everything looked good, he could tell Alphys never mind, he could stay home and take a day, not curled up on the bed but on the sofa, maybe, day-binging Netflix. Or outside, watching the chickens roam the yard, maybe see if Nugget would let him get a picture of that mystery egg she was so protective of.

Would’ve only taken a quick Check and Stretch just…couldn't. The magic was sitting there ready to be used and he couldn’t make himself pull the trigger on doing it. He couldn't do it and he sure as fuck wasn’t going to ask Edge. Like Edge needed any other problems on his radar? Not a chance.

So that cemented the plan right there. He was gonna go downtown and see what the deal was, and if it was bad, he would tell Edge. No secrets, not this time, no trying to hide this shit. Edge was going to have to deal with whatever fallout came down the line from his HP dropping, so may as well give him as much prep time as he could.

All he had to do was open the elevator door.

“Do you want me to come with you?”

Stretch startled so badly the world blurred around him in an aborted shortcut. The mostly empty coffee cup in his hands slipped though his fingers, spilling out a few creamy droplets when it hit the floor.

Jeff only went to the nearby cleaning station to grab a paper towel, crouching down to wipe up the mess while Stretch tried to remember how to breathe normally.

Finally, he blurted out, “you scared the shit out of me, andy!”

“I noticed and it’s extra impressive considering you don’t shit,” Jeff said. He tossed the cup and dirty paper towel into the trash can. “And you didn’t answer me. Do you want me to come with you?”

Stretch laughed unsteadily, “you don’t even know where i’m going.”

“I don’t,” Jeff agree. “What I do know is that leads to the labs downstairs. And I know you have trouble with labs sometimes, even your own. So. Do you need me to come with you?”

Jeff’s gaze was steady, calm, and beneath it was that warm gentleness, the compassion on his face as obvious as the soft green of his soul. It was hard to resist the urge to grab onto him and drag him downstairs, fuck all the security protocols, but that would be plowing over all kinds of boundaries and Stretch wouldn’t be the only one getting in trouble over it. He wasn’t about to damage anyone at the Embassy’s trust in Jeff over his own stupid issues.

“nah,” Stretch forced a smile, “you need to get upstairs before you’re the designated coffee runner for the day.” Then, when Jeff didn’t move, he said, more seriously, “but you can hit the button for me. if you want.”

Jeff stepped up but instead of pushing the button, he wrapped both arms around Stretch’s rib cage and hugged him tightly. All of Stretch’s good intentions snapped like the elastic in an old pair of undershorts; all he could do is lean down and hug Jeff back, his slim body giving in a way that bone simply couldn’t. Jeff was softer and squishy and so very Human, the best part of humanity.

If anyone came down towards the elevators, Stretch might’ve let go sooner. As it was, they stood there an embarrassingly long time for whatever security cameras were probably watching. Jeff didn’t let up an inch, held tight and let Stretch be the one to step back first.

Stretch shook his arms out, gave himself a full body shake. He could do this.

“okay, i’m heading down,” Stretch said firmly. He pushed his card into the key slot. “hit it.”

Jeff did and the elevator door slid open smoothly. Stretch stepped inside and the doors were closing almost before he could turn around.

“You can text me whenever you’re done!” Jeff called through the narrowing opening. The door closed completely before Stretch could reply but that was okay, Jeff would know his answer without him saying a thing.

He pushed his keycard into the control panel slot and tapped in his password; the calendar numbers of his wedding anniversary used in a linear equation. The elevator lurched hard enough to unsettle his non-existent stomach and started downward.

No big deal, Stretch told himself, struggling to pull his keycard back out with sweat-slick fingers. He rubbed them impatiently on his pants and tried again, and this time the card came free, just as the elevator doors opened into the gleaming stainless steel and glass of the labs, all clean sterile lines, nothing at all like his own cluttered workspace. But it was all fine, he wouldn’t even be in the lab long, Alphys always took him right to her office.

Right on in and she could do all her tests, let him know the state of his body and soul, that was it, yep.

No big deal at all.

tbc

#spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #underfell papyrus #underswap papyrus #by any other name

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teacherunicorn · 3 years

Text

Rewrite

Chapter Six

dying

The snowy forest was dense, but felt empty, like walking through a graveyard. You could tell something was waiting to jump out and attack you. hurt trying to survive

Rook had had Shadow in her life for just over six years now. Appearing at what was perhaps her lowest low, the entity had been harsh with her at first, it's words faint and migraine inducing.

The one thing that had come through clearly was the lullaby it sang when Rook was crying herself to sleep. The song was clearly old -- it wasn't your standard nursery rhyme and no one she'd mentioned the lyrics to had known what she was talking about. But her strange follower knew them by heart; never once missing a step or loosing the melody.

Perhaps it was her dependence on that song that allowed other things to come in clearly, not that they were as helpful. It was mostly gruesome threats to people she got angry at and a desire to take supplies from others at food banks and homeless shelters.

While tempting at times, such actions were simply not who Rook was. She continually frustrated Shadow with her goodwill and giving nature, and arguing with them led to further migraines.

The two weren't....friends, not really. They just happened to be stuck with each other -- literally. It didn't matter if Rook knew she could trust Shadow's instincts when it came to dangerous situations, or if Shadow's malice seemed to ebb away anytime they sang their lullaby to a crying Rook.

It wasn't until that good karma came back around; a woman she had shared her food with and given up her bunk at the homeless shelter for supplying her with pain medicine and teaching her how pads worked; as she had been unfortunate enough to experience puberty on her own, that Shadow finally gave pause.

"Sometimes kindness is enough." She'd told the spirit.

This gave way to a new form of communication between the two; an open one that involved proper conversation instead of trading insults. Shadow seemed very good at being aware of their -- and by extension Rook's -- surroundings at all times. They'd offer tips, warn of danger, and catch details that would normally go unnoticed.

Rook still wouldn't say the two were friends....part of her was still convinced that Shadow was just some trauma induced hallucination.

Until today at least.

"So lemme see if I've got this right." She said, piling up the driest twigs she could find for a fire. "You're an actual, proper ghost. You're dead."

More or less, yeah.

"Then how come you keep following me around?"

I'm stuck in limbo unless I find a soul to match to....a cracked one.

Rook paused. "So when...." a forced swallow past the lump in her throat. "when he died, you're saying it cracked my soul?"

Yeah.

She huffed. "Can't say I'm surprised. Okay, you're here, I'm here, now what?"

Well.... The spirit sighed. You already know by now that I'm not an optimistic person. But when I was alive I was....less pessimistic. I had hope for something; this place.

"This place?" Rook echoed in surprise.

Yeah. It was less broken in my time, but yeah.

"....What happened?"

Thought I could be the hero. The barrier keeps the monsters in, they're trapped. I thought I could be their angel. the air seemed to scoff Course that was before being down here got me killed.

"What does that have to do with me?"

Shadow had no physical form, and therefore no face, but somehow Rook could still feel the puppy dog stare being aimed at her.

How far do you think your kindness can really go?

*****

Rook didn't bother trying to track down the skeleton brothers. Snowdin was clearly not the sort of place to just go wandering around, and she had no doubt one or both of them would eventually find her.

So, gathering the driest twigs she could find, she sparked a small fire and went about making herself something to eat.

Filling her collapsible pot with snow, she set it over the flame to boil, making sure to keep the smoke as small as possible so as not to alert anything unsavory.

Crossing her legs as she sat down, she held her hands out to warm them. Pausing a moment, she pulled her left one back.

The cut she had received from the strange glowing artifact in the ruins hadn't been deep by any means, but it really ought to have left at least a scratch. But looking at her palm now Rook couldn't even tell she'd been injured.

Sighing to herself, she dug into her backpack for some oatmeal, taking out the teal colored shard as she did. She studied it as her food cooked. It didn't seem all that peculiar; it wasn't even glowing any more. It was just a stupid shard of glass.

So why had she felt so drawn to it in the ruins?

"HUMAN!" the sudden sound jolted Rook from her thoughts. She looked up to see the taller of the skeleton brothers standing a few paces away from her. (measured in his giant steps anyways) "SO SANS WAS TELLING THE TRUTH. DID YOU REALLY THINK YOU COULD ESCAPE ME?"

"No, I was pretty sure you or your brother would turn up." She shrugged. "You hungry? Oatmeal should be ready by now."

The bravado of the skeleton seemed to seep away. "....Food?"

"Yeah. I mean, it's just oatmeal -- I've figured out a lot of ways to mix it up over the years though!" pulling her backpack onto her lap Rook began to dig through her stash. "I've got cinnamon, ketchup, honey...."

For as loud as he had once been, the tall skeleton's voice seemed quiet now, despite it being a normal speaking volume as he inched closer to her. "There Was A Time When I Enjoyed Oatmeal That Hatched Creatures In It."

Rook blinked and stared at him a moment before looking back to her bag. Pushing a few things this way and that, she produced a small box with a cartoon dinosaur on it.

"These?" She questioned, holding them out to him.

Perhaps she imagined it, but at that moment Rook could've sworn that the small pecks of light in his sunken eye sockets turned into miniature stars. He crossed the space between them in three large strides, but stopped short of taking the box from her hand.

He looked between her and the box a moment, prompting Rook to push it closer to his outstretched hand.

"Go ahead, it's all yours."

He finally took it from her like she was handing him the holy grail. "...Why?"

"Why not?" Rook shrugged and went back to her own oatmeal. "If people didn't share with me, I wouldn't be alive." She looked up at the tall skeleton. "My name's Rook, by the way. You're Papyrus right?"

The sound of his name seemed to snap him out of whatever daze he was in. "YES! I AM THE GREAT PAPYRUS! I HAVE DEVISED SEVERAL PUZZLES AND TRAPS TO CAPTURE YOU HUMAN ROOK!"

Rook smiled at him. "I like puzzles, that sounds fun."

*****

There was something laughably insane about watching the two skeleton brothers interact. They explained the puzzle well enough, but then got sidetracked as they started arguing about frisbees.

In a strange way, it comforted Rook to observe the classic siblings dynamic.

Looking away from the still arguing pair, she turned her eyes to the orb she'd been given. It looked like a regular nick-nack, but supposedly it would guide her through the skeleton brother's first puzzle.

Watch yourself. Shadow muttered in her ear. I don't like this.

For the record, neither did she. The expanse of snow between her and the monsters looked far too innocent and unassuming.

Hang on. Was that...?

Something Rook had taken notice of in this strange underground forest was that the snow didn't shine. Not that there was any sunlight to reflect off of the frozen crystals, but whatever was lighting this place didn't do it either. The slush was matte and blank, like dust rather than water.

But was there? There was! Just about two feet in front of her something was sparkling under the snow. Only noticable if you had been looking for it, and clearly not meant to be there.

The sparkling looked odd, and not just because it was out of place. She wondered....

SNAP!

Rook gasped and jumped backwards, falling flat on her butt as her feet slipped from under her. Tossing the orb in the sparkle's direction had indeed yield result; a huge bear trap had popped out from the snow and clamped shut. It's razor teeth were rusty, but certainly effective enough to chop her in half.

The noise had caught the skeleton's attention, both turning to stare at her in shock.

"WOWIE!" Papyrus finally broke the silence. "SHE SOLVED THAT PUZZLE ON THE FIRST TRY! FINALLY, A HUMAN WORTHY OF BEONF MY PRISONER!"

"Wait...how did she know...."

"GASP!" the taller skeleton said, putting his gloved hands on his cheeks. Cheekbones? "ONLY FOUR PUZZLES LEFT! AND STILL WITH THREE FREEBIES! HURRY SANS! WE MUST PREPARE THR NEXT CHALLENGE!" Papyrus took off, dragging his brother behind him by the hood of his jacket.

Rook laughed in spite of everything. Take away the fear for her life, and that was kinda cool.

How did you do that?

"By getting extremely lucky." Rook muttered, rubbing at her neck subconsciously. Kindness or no, Papyrus hadn't seen it to make his 'puzzles' any less deadly.

Not that she blamed him, logically. One act of kindness certainly didn't make up for whatever these two had been through. Statistics didn't follow an outlier after all.

Sha had been like that once, but it hadn't stopped the people she met from being kind to her.

Least she could do was pay it forward while she tried to stay alive.

#undertale imagines #undertale au #undertale #horrortale #horror papyrus #horror sans #horror story

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