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thevindicativevordan · 3 years

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On Kong Kenan/Super-Man

It should've been him. He should've been the Superman of 5G/Future State/right now not Jon, and he should be the one getting an HBO Max series not Val. Hell he should be getting a movie!

God this dude is literally the best legacy character Superman has ever gotten, wholly his own person with his own lore and status quo while still building on the idea of "Superman". I am so pissed at DC for essentially just dropping him after his ongoing ended, what the hell Lee? You keep trying to make the Wildstorm characters happen, I need you to get my man Yang another Kenan book.

Have to admit I was a bit nervous at first about whether or not Kenan would be a worthwhile character. Yang's New 52 Superman run had been a disappointment to me overall, with only the the arc where Superman has underground wrestling matches against forgotten gods really sticking with me. Now he was introducing a brand new Superman? Didn't feel like he had "earned" that yet. But from the first issue I was hooked on this new character.

Kenan was unlike any other member of the Superfamily. He wasn't kind or sweet, he was an asshole! He was a bully! He was fantastic! Right from the start Kenan was set up to undergo a very different kind of character journey than the other members of the Superfamily. Empathy, humility, respect for people weaker than himself, these are all traits most heroes wearing the S-shield already posses by the time they first don the crest, but not Kenan.

Like all bullies he was even a bit of a coward himself at first, trying to bail on the experiment meant to give him Superman's powers right as it begins. After "saving" Lixin (the kid he bullies and steals lunch from every day) from Blue Condor he demands all the money Lixin has on him as payment. He's not courageous or selfless either at the start, Kenan is as much of an opposite of Superman as you can get short of being Bizarro. Learning the appeal of these traits formed the basis for his growth over the course of his series.

Seeing Yang bring in a lot of recognizable "Superman" elements in the series, but with a twist, was also great. Kenan is the one who bullies "Luo Lixin" rather than the traditional Clark/Lex friendship of Pre-Crisis and Birthright. Initially Kenan develops a crush on intrepid reporter for Primetime Shanghai, Laney Lan, but she dismisses him as too young and Kenan eventually ends up pursuing Avery Ho (Flash) instead. Baxi the Bat-Man of China has a similar relationship with Kenan as the traditional Superman/Batman in terms of being vitriolic best buds, however Baxi is the one who has the most respect for authority while Kenan is the rebel. Kenan is a part of the "Justice League of China" which does not meet with the approval of the already established Chinese superheroes, the Great Ten. That contrasts nicely with the good relationship the Justice Society and Justice League have, as well as seeing Yang lampshade the "Chinese copy" trope and incorporate that into his storytelling.

One of the funniest differences is how Kenan chooses to immediately reveal his identity as Super-Man to the world by taking off the compliance visor he was forced to wear, contrasting with Clark's choice to hide his identity. He was so eager to impress people that he never gave any thought to the danger he could put himself or his family in by revealing his identity until it was too late, something Clark is well aware of and has taken great pains to keep his identity secret. Was a missed opportunity for DC to have Kenan comment on Clark copying him for once when he outed himself under Bendis.

But one of the most poignant differences between Clark and Kenan is the gulf in separation between their relationship with their parents. Clark has a loving relationship with Ma and Pa Kent, trying to live up to their lessons as best he can. In contrast Kenan's mom was believed to have died in an airplane crash when he was just a child, and he never really knew her. His father was distant from him after that and the two weren't really close despite Kenan's attempts to impress him. So Kenan lacks that strong connection while still clearly loving both of them.

Pa Kent's death is one of the most tragic examples of Clark's love for his parents, and I've always been a fan of takes where Clark promises his father to fight for the powerless on Pa's deathbed. Kenan gets a similar scene at the start of his career, his dad "dies" (after being exposed as Flying General Dragon, a pro-democracy "supervillain" from the Chinese authorities perspective) and wants Kenan to promise he'll fight for Truth, Justice, and Democracy. But because Kenan's dad never really bonded with him, Kenan doesn't know what those mean, and can only promise that he never wants to see people die, something his father takes comfort in at least. In classic comic book fashion it's revealed that Dr. Omen, Kenan's "boss" and the one who gave him his powers, saved Kenan's father, because she is Kenan's mother! Kenan's relationship with his parents forms a lot of the crux of his character arc, and seeing how Yang utilizes the classic Superman concept of family kept the storytelling exciting.

Yang's brilliant exploration of the concept of "Superman" through the prism of Chinese culture was a great way to differentiate Kenan as well.

I absolutely freaking love how he tied to the concept of Qi to the S-shield in particular. Connecting the shape of the shield with the way Kenan has acquired his powers along the path of the Bagua (eight trigrams used in Taoism that represent the fundamental principles of reality), with his octagon S-shield outline representing all eight principles together, was mindblowing! So was the idea of restricting Kenan's access to his powers unless he was actually acting in a Superman manner, that tied his character growth to his power growth in an entertaining manner. There were so many characters and concepts that meshed Chinese and DC lore together, like how Emperor Super-Man was Kenan's "Doomsday", they even recreated that iconic dual kill shot! The Chinese Wonder Woman Peng Deilan, being based on the Chinese Legend of the White Snake! There was even some Korean mythology referenced with the Aqua-Man member of the JLC "Dragonson".

Yang also managed to do a Superman Blue/Superman Red story with Super-Man Yin/Super-Man Yang!

Shameful that it took me a while to realize what Gene Yang was doing but once I caught on I was touched. You can tell how much Yang loved Superman and his mythology, and how he was excited to incorporate as much from Clark as he could, while still using it in a way that was solidly Kenan's. And not just Superman's mythology, but the history and lore of the entire DC Universe. I-Ching got to be brought in, fleshed out, and used as Kenan's mentor! The "Yellow Peril" villain from Detective Comics #1, the comic DC gets its name from was brought in and revamped as I-Ching's twin brother All-Yang! Hats off to Yang for taking a racist caricature and attempting to make him into something more.

This series was a beautiful attempt by Gene Yang to build a space for Asian heroes and villains where they could be more than stereotypes, Kenan himself being a defiant mold-breaker in every regard as the complete opposite of most Asian characters in Western media (a jock, a bully, loves his dad but not on great terms with him, a powerhouse as a hero, etc). So much thought and hard work was poured into this by Yang and his team of artist collaborators.

Especially the costumes, man Kenan had so many great looks. From his starting outfit (which is my favorite Superman variant not worn by Clark himself), to the one with the Yin/Yang shield he acquired later on, to his Super-Man Yin & Super-Man Yang outfits, Kenan looked damn cool. Part of me is bummed they didn't go with the Chinese character shield they toyed around with, but I loved how Yang used the "s-shield" as a plot point, so I'm not too broken up over it.

All that great work Yang did to build that space up has been more or less forgotten sadly. It was nice to see Kenan in the DC Asian Month Celebration issue. Avery is going to be in Justice Incarnate at least (unsurprising considering she was created by Williamson). So fucking bummed that Superman Family Adventures cartoon didn't happen, they were going to have Kenan and John Henry Irons in it! Would've been a dream come true for me to see Irons in animation again, and Kenan making the jump to outside media! Maybe that would've encouraged DC to let Yang keep writing New Super-Man, or at least encouraged them to use him elsewhere instead of allowing him fall into Limbo.

Unfortunately I'm not sure what the future holds for Kenan. Jon is being pushed as Clark's replacement in the comics, with DC keeping all the other contenders such as Kon benched. Calvin is leading the Justice Incarnate team likely due to the upcoming Coates reboot that will make Clark black. Val will probably get something once Taylor leaves Jon's book or once they officially announce the HBO Max show is happening. So where does that leave Kenan, my new favorite PoC legacy hero? Currently my only hope is that Yang is working on something for DC involving him. Yang left Batman/Superman, where I was hoping to see a Baxi/Kenan team up, to go work on "exciting other opportunities" per his Twitter. So fingers crossed that there's something in the works for Kenan!

One day I hope he gets his day in the sun again.

#kenan kong #new super man #gene yang #justice league of china #superman #dc comics

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princessjaqulinechess1031 · 3 years

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by the bedside

Characters: Damian Wayne, Marinette Dupain-Cheng, Adrien Agreste, Jason Todd

Summary: A job goes wrong, and Marinette fears the worst until Damian wakes up.

Notes: Cross-posted on Archive of Our Own.

Sequel

"À la claire fontaine," a soft voice sung, pulling Damian out of his hazy daze. "M'en allant promener, j'ai trouvé l'eau si belle…"

Damian groaned and tried to turn on his side, to try and reach whatever it was singing, but the moment he did, the song stopped and was replaced by a gasp. Damian blinked his eyes open, ignoring the sting, and saw sitting next to him was a disheveled and red-eyed Marinette sitting next to him.

"Damian….," she whispered. Damian tried to reach out a hand to her, but found that it felt like lead. Moving it felt like a splitting pain, and it was weighed down by a cast. Damian shut his eyes and leaned back into the pillow. The building, the explosion, and –

"Adrien?" Damian croaked. Marinette nodded her head and took the hand not enclosed in a cast in her hands. She gave it a gentle squeeze and smiled.

"He's fine," Marinette said. "He's doing damage control with your brother."

Ah, yes. Dick. Nightwing had come to Paris as one Dick Grayson, something to do with Wayne Enterprises or other, when he had realized what Damian was up to. Robin had become an unofficial third member of Paris's own dynamic duo, Ladybug and Chat Noir once all their allies identities were exposed. Hawkmoth was long gone, so it was just petty criminals and the like, but adding a fourth member to that so suddenly had thrown everything off. Even if it was for one mission. A bomb was missed, and now –

"How long was I out?" Damian asked. He narrowed his eyes and looked around and saw a familiar location had enveloped him. "And ho-how did we get to the Batcave?"

"Two days," Marinette said breathlessly. "And a Zeta tube."

Ah, Zeta. He should have known. Damage control probably meant making sure Paris still had someone patrolling and keeping it's citizens safe.

"Nightwing insisted we bring you back here," Marinette said. "Said you should be with family."

That meant it was touch and go for a moment. Damian felt unfrazzled by the brush with death, how many times had he had one since he was born? Not to mention he actually had died once. He looked down at Marinette's outfit, and saw she was wearing the same purple sundress she had been wearing before her transformation two days ago.

"H-have you been here the whole time?" Damian asked softly. Marinette looked down at her fingers sheepishly.

"I-I had to be sure," Marinette said. "When the Lucky Charm didn't work, and –" Marinette cut herself off with a chortle of tears. "Ma moitié, I had to make sure you weren't dead."

Damian shut his eyes. This was what frazzled him. He knew in their line of work, one got hurt. Sometimes you didn't walk away. But to hurt Marinette, to make Marinette feel hopeless and lost as Damian fought on a hospital bed. Marinette was the one good, pure thing he had ever been able to keep, and to make her feel pain felt like a betrayal.

"You should have gone home," Damian said slowly. "I'm fine. Don't worry about me."

Marinette shook her head and squeezed his hand.

"If you expected me to do that, then you don't really know me."

Damian turned his head to the side, and tried to ignore the sharp burst of pain at the top of his back from the movement. But try as he might, he still winced. Marinette reached forward and put a hand on his shoulder to try and steady him again.

"Be still, ma moitié," Marinette said. "Monsieur Pennyworth said it was best for you to remain as you are."

Marinette was so polite, and despite Alfred's continued insistence, Marinette continued to call the man by his proper name. Damian found it was one of many adorable things about her to love.

"Nawaret aynaya," Damian said, "I promise I'm fine –"

"No you're not!" Marinette busted out. "You're hurt, you- you nearly died! All because I couldn't keep my team – I got distracted and –"

The young girl burst into tears, and Damian took his hand from her grasp and reached up to caress her cheek. Oh, Marinette. She always took ever mistake, every misstep, as some misgiving on her part. To Marinette, the safety of all Paris and all of her friends sat squarely on her shoulders. She might shoulder that responsibility with her brother Chat Noir, but Marinette would always hold it as a personal stake in her heart.

"It's not your fault, nawaret aynaya," Damian said softly. "This – this comes with the mask, you know that. If you had or had not been there, this would have happened eventually." He wiped away a tear form her cheek, and Marinette reached for the hand still caressing her. "I love you Marinette. And I know you would never hurt me. So stop blaming yourself."

Marinette gave a weak smile.

"If you expect me to stop just like that," she hiccupped, "then you don't really know me at all." She sucked in a deep breath and rubbed her thumb across his wrist.

"I love you too," she said. Damian's heart sang. For seventeen years he had waited for something and someone that would look at him and not see a monster. Not see an assassin or a danger or someone to fear. And by some miracle, that person turned out to be the love of his life.

And he'd be damned if he let her go.

"He's flatlining, I'm calling it," a voice said, breaking the moment around them. Damian retracted his hand and Marinette wiped away a last tear. In the doorway stood one Jason Todd, mask gone but still wearing spandex and his leather jacket. "Mari, time of death?"

Marinette bit her lip and looked down at her hands, but Damian could see the beginnings of a smile on her face. Jason stepped into the room and dragged a chair from the corner and sat down next to Marinette with a loud thud.

"Papa Bat should be here in a little bit, Brat Bat," Jason said. He took out his gun and began to fiddle with it, probably to clean it since he pulled out a white cloth from his pocket. Damian frowned.

"I'm not a brat," Damian said. Jason rolled his eyes.

"You might be seventeen, but you're still a brat sometimes," Jason said. Marinette looked up from her hands, that familiar mischief shining in her eyes.

"You're kinda. Sometimes," Marinette said softly. Jason laughed and slung an arm around the girl's shoulder.

"Ah! I got the girlfriend on my side!" Jason said. "I win!"

Normally Damian would keep going and insist he wasn't a brat, but Jason was as transparent as a plane of glass. Jason was trying to cheer up Marinette with this joke, and Damian was not going to try and ruin that. Marinette was going to be happy and not worry too much about Damian, that was his mission.

"What did you win?" Adrien asked, popping his head into the med bay. His blonde hair was still damp, meaning he probably just got out of a post-patrol shower. He came up behind his adopted sister and hugged her from behind, placing a kiss to her temple.

"Marinette admitted Damian was a brat sometimes," Jason said.

"I am not!"

"Yeah, you are," Adrien said. Tim and Dick entered the room, and Tim was texting someone on his phone. Probably Stephanie, telling her he was okay. Dick pulled a chair over to the other side of Damian's bed and leaned back, his long legs stretching out underneath the medical bed.

"Be nice to the injured child," Dick said. Damian frowned.

"I am not a child," Damian said. "I am the same age you were when you went solo, Grayson."

Dick raised a brow. "And? I was a child then, henceforth, you're a child now."

Damian furrowed his brow again and Marinette laughed softly, but once again he did not fight. If it made Marinette smile, it was worth it.

His father finally materialized, Alfred behind him. His father was as stoic as ever, his eyes steeled and guarded thanks to the new visitors to the Cave. Despite the Miraculous duo having been unofficial members of the Batfamily for a year and a half, Father still seemed opposed to giving them official membership. Damian wondered if it had anything to do with Marinette being his girlfriend. He hoped not.

"Master Damian," Alfred said, and a phantom smile overtook his professional form. "I see you are recovering well. I assume Miss Marinette has made sure you've stayed where you should?"

"He only woke up a little while ago, Monsieur," Marinette said. Her lips upturned wickedly. "The real problems in that regard have not started yet."

Adrien laughed and hugged his sister tighter.

"Trust me, mi'lady is here is plenty capable of keeping Damian in line."

Once upon a time, Damian had been jealous of Adrien's nickname for Marinette. Now Damian knew better. Adrien may have once been desperately in love with Marinette and Ladybug, but once one Kagami entered the picture it was game over. Now, the nickname was mere relic of that time and a testament to the depth of their bond.

"I expect nothing less," Alfred said. Father stood at the foot of his bed. He was still dressed in his suit, but his cowl was down, revealing his identity. That made Adrien and Marinette's lack of inclusion even more baffling – they knew who all of them were, the biggest secret they had.

"Are you alright Damian?" Father asked. Damian nodded.

"Yes Father," Damian said. A sigh of relief left his father's form. Despite medical evidence, after everything that happened with Jason, Father would never be certain of his kid's state until he heard from them exactly.

"Well, I mean, wasn't he just fighting with Jason?" Tim asked. He looked up from his phone. "Me and Dick heard them outside. If he's in a fighting mood, he's fine."

"I almost died, and you guys treat me this way," Damian said. Jason rolled his eyes.

"Shut up, this is how we show our love," Jason said. He eyes Dick. "Except for Dick. He does the whole normal shit. Damn well-adjusted asshole."

"Damn non-well-adjusted asshole," Dick shot back. Marinette giggled. Father turned to Marinette and Adrien.

"You two can stay here as long as you need, to make sure Damian is okay," Father said. Damian tried not to let his surprise be palpable. Marinette and Adrien were barely allowed in the Batcave half the time, now Father was offering to let them stay while Damian recovered? What had happened in the time he was asleep? "You can Zeta home for clothes, if you need them. But we have enough clothes that might fit you Adrien, and I'm sure Cass left some things behind before going to Hong Kong."

"Thank you, Monsieur Wayne," Adrien said for the both of them. Marinette smiled and then turned her attention back to Damian.

Damian for seventeen years wondered what it would be like to be purely loved.

Now he knew. It came from Marinette Dupain-Cheng, that kind of true love

#miraculous ladybug #batman #BatFam #daminette #Damian Wayne #miraculous marinette #marinette dupain cheng #damian x marinette #angst #fluffy angst #hurt and comfort

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problematicfavesareproblematic · 4 years

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On Days Like This (Part 1)

Carwood Lipton x reader

Carwood Lipton never once doubted that you were good at what you did.

If anyone were to ask, he’d go as far as to say that you were brilliant- your skills as a mechanic having saved the Company’s collective ass several times when Lip had been positive the lot of them were doomed.

Just yesterday he’d seen you dodge enemy fire while running to siphon gasoline from a wrecked civilian car to the Jeep had enough gas to get the injured men to the aid station, his heart in his throat the entire time and every bone in his body wanting to do something to help you.

He’d have provided cover fire, run into the open as a distraction to the gunmen who seemed determined to end your life, anything to make sure you didn’t get hurt.

No, he knew how lucky he was, they all were to have someone of your skillset- you’d gotten your German down well enough that you could pass for an expat of some kind.

And, because of your gender you had the unique position of being able to wander into occupied towns in advance of the company and confirm that all of Nix’s intel was correct.

Without you, Carwood had no idea where they would be (or, more importantly, how many more of them would’ve been dead by now).

But Carwood still didn’t like that you were there.

He loved you more than he’d initially allowed himself to think possible, your very presence a healing salve to the aching hopelessness that tried to eat away at the warmth in his chest. He couldn’t imagine a world without you in it, he didn’t even want to entertain the notion.

A secret, guilt-filled part of him wished you’d get a little sick or lightly injured, just so you would be taken out of rotation and spirited off to relative safety- even if it was just for a night.

He’d insinuated, not too gracefully, that you take some time to rest after you had nearly got yourself killed for gasoline, and you’d looked so disappointed in him that he’d begun to apologize before he’d even finished speaking.

You’d just nodded sadly, and Lip knew he’d really stepped in it this time.

“Well, I’m sorry you feel that way, Sir. Maybe next time you’ll get lucky and I’ll be out of your hair.”

That had been a week ago. You’d disappeared while out looking for Dike the next day.

Six days, and no one could find any trace of what could’ve happened to you.

Six days. Six goddamned days and Carwood didn’t even know if you were dead or not.

He didn’t want to think about that possibility too much.

The forests of Foy were cruel and unforgiving, with trees seeming to explode like random pressurized volcanoes and shrieks of explosives rattle his bones and swallow his screams.

He’d thought of his home and his ma and how’d he’d ever be able to look at fireworks without wanting to cry.

He thought of you.

He thought of you, lost in the woods in the middle of enemy fire and all alone. He thought of how your hand had felt in his when you’d first introduced yourself at Toccoa. He could see you laughing and smiling and screaming in sorrow when you’d thought he wouldn’t survive Carentan.

“Don’t you dare make me spend the rest of this war alone with these boys, Carwood. I swear to God I will Frankenstein you back to life just to kill you myself if you start talking like this is goodbye…!”

“—No fucking way!”

Carwood startled out of his worried thoughts, eyes instantly scanning for signs of a threat at Liebgott’s exclamation. “What? Tanks?”

Joe kept looking through his binoculars at something across the snowy field, along the edge of the clearing- the part of the forest closest to the town of Foy. The young man was making sounds of disbelief as he leaned forward as if to get a better look.

“Got your fucking binoculars, Lip?” he asked, and Carwood quickly got to work pulling them from his pocket and bringing it up to his eyes.

“‘Where you looking—?”

“Two ticks past one o’clock,” Joe said with an undercurrent of adrenaline, nervous energy rolling off of him in waves and crashing over Carwood. “By the stone fence with the moss on it…”

Lipton got his lenses to focus and pointed his binoculars to the place Libegott had directed, at first seeing nothing but muted earth tones and white snow.

But then an SS officer steps into his line of sight, turning and pointing to the ground beside him like he’s directing something to the spot.

Any fear Carwood had felt seeing you shot at before now seemed insignificant compared to the absolute terror he felt when you stumble forward and reluctantly stand before the German officer, your hands bound and your stride hitched.

“No fucking way.”

This was worse, this was MUCH worse than the gasoline scare.

Lipton quickly drops the binoculars to rub at his eyes, wondering if this was just some strange waking dream and he was simply seeing things.

But when he brought the binoculars back to his eyes he knew that even his imagination couldn’t concoct something as horrifying as seeing you captured.

“Liebgott, get Winters and Nixon.” Lipton was giving the order before he really thought about it, fear making his methodical, protocol following side take over while the part of him that loved you as a man loves a woman went into full-on panic.

“Should I get the Doc—?”

“I don't know, just get them here now—!”

If Liebgott took issue with the impatient tone Carwood had taken on, he made no mention of it.

As much as Carwood cared for you, he wasn’t so blind as to not be aware that several other soldiers held you in high standing as well. To Liebgott, he knew you were like one of his sisters- had been since the two of you had realized you were both from the Bay Area.

If anyone could relate to the sickening fear he felt, it would be Liebgott.

It seemed almost cruel to have them be the ones to finally find you

Lip tensed as he watched you sneer at the Officer who was addressing you, and he was unable to help the pained sound that escaped his throat when he saw the man backhand you across the face and grab you by the hair when you didn’t immediately fall to your knees.

He could taste blood in his mouth as you licked your split lip, and in that moment Carwood made a promise to whatever higher power would listen.

Carwood Lipton promised that he would never raise an arm against another man for the rest of his life.

He swore he’d finally settle down like his mother wanted and give her grandchildren to dote on. He promised he’d be the best man he could be, a better man than his father had been and a better father than he had been to his brothers.

If he had to go to church every morning for the rest of his life he would do so gladly.

But only if I can do all of it with her. I don’t want it to be with anyone else. Please let me keep her.

Tightening his grip on the binoculars, Lip stares out into the cold.

You’d been alone for six days. Lip would try his damndest to make sure there wouldn’t be a seventh.

(YIKES A DOODLE, here yall go. Probably going to post part 2 even if no one likes this bc i’m an adult whoops)

#band of brothers imagine #band of brothers x reader #carwood lipton x reader #it's vv bad but I'll just add it to the pile of already burning garbage pile that is my bibliography

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captainjimothycarter · 4 years

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How about that AU where single parents Steggy meet because their kids meet each other in Pre-school and seem to recognize each other, and you get Steggy dismantling some horrible institution realizing their adopted from overseas toddlers were twins intentionally split up for 'reasons' and obviously you just gotta live together now man, twins can't be split again, guess we're together. Cause Maximoffs in New York, and Steve vs the hellion that is 4 year old Pietro.

Something tells me that if I apologize for this being long, no one will complain, but anyway: I’m sorry for what I’m about to do and how I butcher this. OP, I love these prompts so much.

“You’re serious?”

Steve is fully aware that he doesn’t even know Peggy and he’s never seen her look more serious. She’s staring at him over the rim of her steaming coffee mug with an expression that says, you’re an idiot. Laid before them are a few folders, binders, and files, the contents spread out. This marked their life together.

The start of their life together.

It was late at night, Wanda was asleep with Pietro, curled up in his bed. The kid insisted she slept in the same bed and wouldn’t be told no and fuck, Steve couldn’t tell Wanda no. Not when she made that cute, little face that knew she’d get whatever she wanted. Besides, they couldn’t tear them apart again. They were toddlers who barely understood the situation. It’s not like the adults were doing much better.

Rubbing at the bridge of his nose, Steve let out a loud sigh and tensed. He waited to hear Wanda’s whimpers or Pietro’s groans, but none came. His eyes fell to the stranger before him, wondering how did they miss each other.

“You do understand that this isn’t our fault?” Peggy asks him in a soft tone as if she’s trying to convince herself. She lays her hand on his wrist, the pad of her thumb rubbing over the inside of Steve’s wrist. “We had no way of knowing. None. Even though background checks, I didn’t find anything that said this.”

“Doesn’t mean I feel any less guilty here.” He downed the rest of his coffee like it was a shot and made a face at the coffee grounds sliding down his throat. Ugh. That’s what he gets for a shitty coffee maker. “We didn’t do this but now we have the consequences. How do we repair…four years of that?!”

“Steven.” The way she said his name made him frown at her. He looked like one more surprise news away from a breakdown. Poor guy. He really has been working himself to the ground. “I adopted Pietro when he was three months old. You adopted Wanda when she was two. They were separated for whatever goddamn reason. We both took the kids to give them a better life. How the hell we wounded up meeting is-is fate, is all it is. It’s fate.”

“Reverse Parent Trap.” He muttered under his breath and Peggy snorted, looking utterly embarrassed that she snorted. He deserved that slap to his shoulder. It was odd, how close they felt and barely knew one another. All he knew that she was from England, she now lived in America, and she adopted the twin brother of his daughter. “So what do we do now? We can’t keep them away from one another, that’s fucking torture! We’re lucky they remembered each other. Or had some weird twin connection, hell if I know.”

The man was clearly frustrated and Peggy wanted to soothe him, but she had to keep her head on here. She looked back at the paperwork. The second they’d realized something was odd when she picked up Pietro from pre-K, Steve had rushed home to go get every document he ever had of Wanda and brought it back to her place.

The twins had to have some connection, didn’t they? They recognized one another, had some draw to it. When Steve saw them together, she gasped out loud because they looked so similar and not in the manner little kids do when they’re young. It took a DNA swab test designed by Stark Industries to work in under an hour to confirm their suspicions.

Explaining that the kids were not so much easier. There were endless questions and Wanda’s assumptions they split them up before Peggy had to prove that no they didn’t. It was the people in the hospital. Then Pietro’s declaration that all hospital people were bad and Steve tried to gently explain no they weren’t because sometimes bad, bad mistakes happen. So far, that’s all they could do was chuck this up to mistakes. They weren’t exactly sure. Besides, his ma was a nurse and she wasn’t bad.

“What do we do now?” Peggy mused, taking their coffee mugs and setting them in the sink. She started to clean the table with Steve’s help, carefully organizing everything together. She stared at the photo of Wanda on Steve’s shoulders in front of some museum, then of hers with Pietro on a goddamn child leash because he loved to try to run off. “I think you know. We can be civil about it.”

“Or…” Steve stood up and gently took the binder from her arms. There was a glint in his eyes as he took her hands and gently pressed a few kisses along her fingertips. It’s the boldest he’s been since he arrived at her apartment. “We don’t go about it civil. The first thing you did when you saw me was check out my ass.” Peggy’s ears turning pink told Steve he was right. “We can go about this the right way or…our way.”

If Peggy had anything to say, Steve didn’t hear it. Her lips were on his, his arms around her waist and pulling her close.

“So when is their birthday?” Howard asked, frowning as he watched the toddlers play with the water guns in the kid’s play area of Stark Industries.

Steve hated this. It felt like an interrogation room with the mirrored glass. They weren’t criminals. They were kids. Confused kids. “We don’t know,” he replied, turning to look at Peggy where she was bending over to study some flight plans charted on the table. That was Peggy, alright, newly appointed aviator of Stark Industries, Steve’s girlfriend [God that made him giddy], and an old-fashion soul. She loved computers but loved everything else handheld and on paper, so the charts were easier. “Pegs? Peggy.”

Peggy jumped and turned around, her cheeks flushed. “Sorry. I was double checking my courses. I swear, I didn’t lose that shipment,” she mumbled, still hung up on the situation. “Anyway, yes? What is it?”

“Birthday, Pegs,” Howard rolled his eyes and slid in the rolling chair to the table she was at. He rolled up the chart much to her pouting. “When are their birthdays? If you want me to get their paperwork right and set up properly, I need to know.”

Steve wasn’t sure if he liked Howard Stark. The man was eccentric, a ball of energy. He didn’t know when to sit still and bounced from one side of the room to the next. He was balls to the wall when hyped up about something. But he was Peggy’s friend and boss, so he set his opinions aside to focus on the matter at hand. They couldn’t trust many people with this information, Peggy had asked Howard to design the twins paperwork to reflect that they were twins and family and Steve and Peggy both were their parents.

“We’re unsure. Steve’s paperwork for Wanda says April 19th. Mine says September 12th.” She pursed her lips in thought, her eyes on Steve. A silent conversation passed through them, leaving Howard confused. Her head just ever so slightly nodded. “October 1st.”

If Howard had a complaint, he said nothing. Or at least Steve didn’t hear him because at that point Pietro had cornered Wanda with the water gun. Howard turned back to Peggy with a fond smile. “The guy must really like you. He’s quiet. Thoughtful.” She rolled her eyes at him, causing the genius to smirk. “And no, you didn’t lose the shipment. It was stolen. I got guys working on it.”

“Peggy!” Steve’s voice betrayed the emergency of the situation, causing Peggy to abandon Howard and run straight to the playroom.

She gasped at the sight of Steve held in the air, a screaming Wanda in his arms, surrounded by red energy. The second she got close, Steve fell to the floor on his backside but held a terrified Wanda tightly to him.

“We have a situation,” he groaned to her.

As if their already situation wasn’t tricky enough.

So that’s it.

Steve was married to the wonderful Peggy Carter, aviator for Stark Industries. He was a stay at home father with a pair of twins. Twins separated shortly after their birth and now reunited. Twins with powers. Confusing powers that not even they understood.

Their relationship had changed in a matter of weeks. With the secrecy of everything that happened, they agreed it was best to get married ASAP. Bucky wasn’t too happy about them skipping a wedding and getting to embarrass Steve with a speech but even he agreed.

So that was it then, huh?

Not quite.

Wanda’s powers were difficult to understand and anytime Steve thought he could understand how she manipulated things or levitated them, or controlled minds, he was reminded he barely had control of the situation.

Pietro was almost just as worse with his speed.

They were kids, toddlers at that. Confusing toddlers were bad enough, but toddlers with superpowers? Now that was just a daily headache. They couldn’t control them. Once Pietro sneezed and jolted back all the way through the house and into his bed. He just thought it was fun and showed his mama as soon as she got home.

So what were they supposed to do? The only thing they could.

Move to a bigger home in the countryside. Steve took up being a comic artist, but more focused on stay at homework. Peggy continued her job at Stark Industries because part of her didn’t trust Stark. He knew about the powers but they worried through every test and blood sample that he might betray them. Now that Howard seemed to be that guy but Peggy couldn’t take her chances.

Thankfully Howard’s contacts had come through and they found a teacher, someone named Xavier who could help with the twin's powers. The only problem was, the guy was somewhere overseas and it would be after the new year before he could come to assess the problems. For now, Steve would send him daily updates and Xavier had started to couch Steve through working the twins through some testing or obstacle or stuff.

Their improvement showed and the father couldn’t have been more proud.

All Steve could say was, yes this situation was certainly an odd one. He never thought he’d adopt a child, much less a better half of a twin, a powered twin at that. Never did he thought he’d be with someone the likes of Peggy. A beautiful woman that took no shit and had no problem dishing it back out or putting Steve in his place when he needed it.

He never thought he’d have a successful career as a comic artist or even be a stay at home dad, but here he was.

Here he was in a loving, beautiful home that was chaotic at the best times, with two loving kids who just always wanted a family to belong to. And really, Steve and Peggy had done their both to give it to them.

Life was chaotic but it was good.

It was their life.

One Peggy and Steve had decided they’d carve it out together.

#Steggy #StevePeggy #Modern Steggy #Avaitor Peggy #wanda maximov #peitro maximoff #They're hell beasts but love their parents #Parent Trap Reverse #Steggy Prompt #Nonny Prompt #I hope this is what you wanted #It's 2k

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permanentlyexhaustedpossum · 4 years

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A Red Riding Hood Story - Madatobi Fairytale #4

Elements: A serial killer, deception and honesty, Someone gets Eaten

Inspiration: The VERY Messed Up Origins of Little Red Riding Hood | Fables Explainedhttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o3-XJSwWTLk

Music to Listen to While Reading:Brian Reitzell and Alex Heffes - Wolf attack (Red Riding Hood)https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ew5T4iayAmw&list=PL596FDB32F122DE52&index=8

---- This wasn't the first time he'd traveled to visit the Oracle. Most of the time it was with a small squad of adults but since he'd come of age, Tobirama was intent to take the path alone. His brother warned him though,

"Don't stray from the path." The young man rolled his eyes and pulled the dark red cloak on, grabbing the basket of offerings. "I'm not a child, Hashirama." But his words fell on deaf ears, as all the elder boy could do was watch with worry and anticipation as his snowy haired fourteen year old brother left before dawn, the darkness falling over his shoulders like an ominous drapery that neither could escape. It was winter solstice and dawn would be with them soon, but the light only lasted so long in the heart of winter. He paced, watching the darkness of the forest envelop the red cloak and the lantern. And he felt despair.

Ignoring the rising uncertainty in his heart, the young man pressed forward in the darkness. Tobirama had been walking this path since he was eight, taking the burden of the Oracle's offerings from his brother who took it from his father. It was his turn yet again, and it would be until Kawarama turned eight in one more year. Sure steps became shorter in the darkness, as the path trailed it's way from left to right, around trees and through the ravine he remembered well. What he didn't, in the early light of morning as it splashed across dead and sleeping trees, was the rock slide that wasn't there weeks ago when he'd made his last trip. He stopped, raising the lantern to see better in the just barely there morning glow. He frowned. What ever had happened up on the mountain side, this was the effect.

"Problems?" A deep voice rumbled from off the trail. "None that concern you, Spirit." Tobirama quipped, not excited at all that he'd been watched this whole time. "Guess it doesn't." It huffed, a low growl and Tobirama straightened, making no quick movements. This was no spirit. This was a wolf. "Then I guess you won't need help getting over it... or... around..." It teased. The red eyed boy turned slowly, looking to the sides for a way around, the rocks only piled higher on the right and on the left... a drop off to the forest floor below. "Tch." The sunlight was slowly creeping over the hillside, through the trees and Tobirama needed to think fast. "And what? You know a way around?" "As a matter of fact-" "No." "Hey I wasn't finished!" The wolf padded out as Tobirama started to climb the rocks in an attempt to get over, only realizing afterwards how hard it'd be with the offerings. He clung to the side. "You're gonna fall." "No I won't. I am sticking to the path." He could almost hear the wolf roll his eyes.

The wolf watched him struggle for a good half hour with the rocks only to slide or almost fall. "You could just let me carry your basket. You've almost broken the damn thing just trying to get over this rock." "Tch." Tobirama was only getting madder by the moment, having to listen to the goading wolf, no doubt waiting for him to fall or fail, tired and miserable so he could tear into him like the beast- "Ugh you're so annoying." The wolf bounded up and around, grabbing at the cloak tied securely around Tobirama and tugging. The boy began to fight. "Stop! I will skin you!" The wolf let out an annoyed huff, dragging him the rest of the way up the hill without remorse only to drop him at the top and sit back on his hind legs. The damn thing had the audacity to look smug. Tobirama grunted, moving slow and getting up, watching in the morning light. "Suppose you want a thank you." The boy spat, watching the black wolf and his unusual red eyes. "A kiss would be nice.. yes?" The wolf barked the moment the rock hit him in the face. "I deserved that." A huff from the snowy teen under the red hood. "You're an asshole." It huffed right back. “I'm only trying to help you. This path is dangerous. You need to take another route." "I won't." Tobirama denied it, unsure what the wolf's intentions were, but ignoring him for the rest of the morning as he struggled to get down the other side of the rocks without damaging the offerings or breaking a leg.

Halfway through the day and most of the way down the trail, Tobirama realized the wolf was either really patient or really bored. Neither would bode well. He gripped the dagger inside his cloak tightly, on edge and wondering when-"You know you should really watch where youre-" "Ah!" "Going." The wolf stood at the edge of the small drop off Tobirama managed to not see and fall right into. "Fuck you!" He shouted from the bottom of the ravine. "That... would be nice however-" "Disgusting asshole!" A groan escaped the wolf and he almost looked human the way he brought a paw to his face. "I'm coming down there. Don't stab me with that pig sticker!" "Don't you dare-"

The dark wolf bounded down, paws crunching in the snow and twigs and Tobirama stiffened until-"Get on." The wolf bent down, a dark contrast in the snow. Tobirama fought the idea for a moment before he realized he wasn't going to shake the wolf like this. "Fine. But no funny business." "Wouldn't dream of it." Pale hands gripped dark fur as the young boy climbed onto the wolf's back and held the basket close. And off they went, bounding around the snow and rocky drop offs, through the sleeping trees and in the warm sunlight. The wolf didn't try to steer to far from the path, though they could not reach it from where they were below. "What's your name?" "I wish I could remember." Came the reply. "Most wolves do not speak." "How clever of you to have figured that out." Tobirama looked up at the sky, feeling the warmth of the fur beneath his legs and in his hand.

-- Hashirama nearly wailed when his father forbid him from going after Tobirama. "It's his duty. You will not interfere or the Oracle may see it as a threat." "He should have been there an hour ago! And the crystals haven't glowed!" He watched Butsuma's face twist. He knew it too. Hell they all did. But this was Tobirama's first time alone and he was determined that nothing should go awry. "Fine. But you're not to approach the Oracle in anyway!"Not needing another word, Hashirama snatched his axe and cloak and bolted out the door. Butsuma grumbled. "Those Uchiha better not have gotten in the way. They know how sacred this is. Kawarama!" "Yes Father?" The boy of seven came running from the other room. "Fetch your cousin, Touka. I need to send a missive." --

"What are you doing?" "Taking you around. Would you rather die in another ditch?" "Don't be an asshole." The wolf carefully jumped down further away from the elevated trail and onto rocks, going further down. "Besides I think you'd like this. To-bi-ra-ma." The boy rolled his eyes until they rounded the corner and his ruby eyes widened. He'd never seen a frozen waterfall before. His grip tightened in the fur. "See? We should stop for a moment." "We should not." But his words were breathy. "Come on. It won't get you killed." The wolf padded closer and bent down for the boy to get off. "If anything it might save your life." He grumbled. "How?" Tobirama quipped. "Knowing where water is, is always a good idea." The wolf backtracked quickly, not realizing at first how impressive Tobirama's hearing was. The boy played with the idea for a moment but his curiosity got the best of him and he bounded off, crunching through the snow to get a better look. It was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen, glistening in the sunlight like giant crystals of clarity. Time slipped away from him and before he knew it, Tobirama was watching the sun grow golden and his heartbeat sped up. "You! You tricked me!" "I did no such thing." The wolf lazily cleaned his paw, finishing his tiny rabbit meal. Tobirama lost his cool, stomping up to the big wolf and kicked the carcass and snow in his face. "You kept me here!" "You wanted to stay. 'Explore the cavern' you said. It's not my fault you took all afternoon!" He huffed, right in the boy's face. "Take me to the Oracle! Right! Now!" The snowy boy demanded, an accusatory finger at the wolf. Who for a moment, looked like he was debating something, hesitating. "Right now!" "You really don't wanna go." "Why not?!" "She's not like you think-" The indignant sounds the boy made only aggravated him, "Look kid, you need to be more careful, you donno what you're walking into!" "I know just fine." The boy pulled his dagger and the wolf rolled his eyes. "You're just a kid, you don't know anything!" He pawed the thing right from his hand, and huffed, leaning close. "I'm trying to help you." The boy's face twisted for a moment, seeing no way out. "Take. Me. To. The. Oracle." "No. I'm not going anywhere near that witch. You can go if you're so dead set on it. But it's not my fault if you wind up dead." He huffed, almost disappointed and for a moment, Tobirama missed the warmth of the wolf's fur. "Fine." He turned on his heel and crunched across the snow heading North where he could find another trail. The wolf settled down in the snow, watching the red cloak disappear in the white and black forest, angry at himself and the boy.

-- "Grandmother!" Tobirama called from outside the cozy little shack surrounded by twisted trees and curling bushes. Silence was his answer and he began to worry. "Grandmother! It's Tobirama! I am here with the offerings!" He crunched in the darkness of the snow, lantern high, and inwardly cursing the wolf that kept him away for so long. A flicker of light caught his eye and he moved closer, realizing the door was open. Wonder and worry shot through him and he quickly opened the door, pulling back the red hood. "Grandmother!" "In here, little one." Came the slightly unfamiliar growl of her voice.

Tobirama paused, remembering the wolf's words and wondering for the first time that day what it meant and why a wolf would tell him such things. He was no fool. His grandmother was a witch and a vindictive woman. He had no idea how old she was really or if she was even his father's mother. "Coming." He slowly set the basket on the small table, littered with her ingredients... that were covered in dust. He hesitated, then pushed the door to her bedroom open to darkness. "The path was blocked today, Grandmother." "Of course it was, my dear. Come, it's been weeks. Let me look at you.." Tobirama inched closer, eyes already bad enough with poor vision, trying to adjust to the darkness. "Are you sick? Your voice is deeper than I remember." "All the better for you to hear me, my dear." She beckoned him closer and he moved very slow, fingers on the edge of her bed sheets. "Your eyes.. they glow, Grandmother.” "All the better to see you with." She continued, and he felt the panic began to rise in his chest, drawing closer to see the fur poking out from her long gown sleeve. "What big hands you have now..." He was no fool, but any sudden movement would likely set her off. He had no idea what'd become of her. "All the better to hold you with my dear." "And your teeth? They're so sharp and long." Hoping she'd drop whatever illusion this may be, because the old hag was truly starting to unnerve him, Tobirama pressed on. "All the better to," She jerked forward, grabbing him by the arm and startling him, "eat you with, my dear."

Tobirama scrambled in her grip, somewhere between human and wolf, reaching for his dagger when- He remembered the dark wolf had batted it away in the snow. Within seconds, he was thrown across the room, clattering into other objects and slipping as he scrambled for the window only for the wolf to slam it shut, snarling in front of it, ripping the gown as it grew to full wolf frame. He scrambled backwards, bolting for the bedroom door instead, and coming face to face with the red eyed wolf from earlier. A paw reached out and shoved him to the ground. "DOWN!" He roared, then snarled, squaring off with the old woman turned wolf between the bedroom door and her tiny room. Tobirama felt the brush of fur as the male pounced forward, and heard the crash of everything breaking, two giant wolves battling in the small bedroom. He gathered his courage and scrambled for the door, pausing just before exiting. In a moment of clarity, he snatched the offerings basket and made his way back out into the snow.

-- It lasted maybe thirty seconds, but the fight was brutal. Two massive wolves, clawing the inside of a damaged bedroom, tangled in its many fabrics and intricacies when the dark wolf heard the final growl and whimper of the old woman, her throat hanging from his jowls. He panted, dropped the flesh and limped back, making sure she was dead when he heard Tobirama's voice from outside the cabin. "Don't! It's not what you think!" The panic alone made him worry when his nose caught wind of the small party that'd shown up, namely a boy that smelled awfully familiar and the scent of steel. His fur raised. He couldn't take them all. And all he could do was run. He leaned up and when he heard the front door burst open, bolted through the window crashing through the glass and wood, landing in the snow. "The wolf!" One of the boys cried and Tobirama let out a strangled sound of protest. The wolf looked over and then bolted for his life. Hunters.

Without a second thought, the boys ran after the wolf, crying and screaming about the dead oracle, Hashirama in the lead. There was no way for Tobirama to catch up, no way for him to track down the wolf. He sank into the snow, feeling the cold of the night seeping through his clothes and his torn cloak and fought the urge to weep.

When the yelling had slowed, the darkness too much for the hunting party, he dragged himself from the snow and back into the cabin. He couldn't make heads or tails of the bedroom, so he shut the door and sat down at the table in the main room. Where did he go wrong? What happened to his Grandmother Oracle? Why did- He paused, realizing what he was looking at and reached across the table to pick up the jar.

"A human heart?" He turned the jar, watching the organ float in the liquid and took a look around. The wolf knew about her. Wanted to warn him that she was not who she appeared to be. Was she killing humans? The boy set the jar down and threw open all the cabinetry doors, the pantry, and stepped back, horrified at the human remains stuffed in jars. That's when he wondered. How long had he been visiting her? How long had she kept this hidden, fed him and his brother! His father! Fed these people to them?! Tobirama turned sharply, vomiting into an empty pot and shaking.

"Brother!" Hashirama's voice cut through the fog of disbelief, and the young man must have not realized what the room held because he lurched for Tobirama first, grabbing him and looking him over. "You're alright. Thank god you're alright! That wolf he- he ravaged the Oracle!" "No." "What?" "She... He was trying to protect me." The dumbfounded look on the darker boy's face made Tobirama angry but he only snatched his chin and made him look around, telling him to pay attention.

-- "Tobirama?" "What?" The boy finished stitching his cloak back together, his brothers and father watching him with worry as he grabbed the offering basket, now three days later, with fresh meat and bread instead of odd jars of things the old woman wanted. He grabbed a bottle of wine and secured it all. "You can't be serious." "I am serious!" He whirled on Hashirama. "And I've never been more serious in all my life. You saw that cabin! Every man in the village saw was was inside! And he's a wolf! He can talk! I'm going to find out why he knew!" "He may not even be alive. We ran him down the mountain." "He has a name! That means he was human once like her. I just have to find his name." "You really believe that old tale?" Butsuma was skeptical, watching the young man tie the red cloak. "I do. I have to." And with that, he was off to the bottom of the mountain, towards the other side in haste.

He had to find him, and he needed to find his name. He walked for hours, calling out to the wolf, trying to remember where he'd found him before, while on his way towards the Uchihas. Unsuccessful at finding the wolf before dusk, he moved as fast as his legs would carry him towards the encampment he'd been told his whole life to stay away from. For good reason too. Tobirama cautiously approached the gate, hunters watching him with red eyes, arrows trained on him. Pale hands went up. "Please! I need to speak with your leader!" "State your business!" He bit his lip, knowing he was going to sound just as crazy but upon seeing their red eyes and dark hair, he was more sure. "I have reason to believe one of your own has been turned into a wolf!" Whispers and murmurings. He continued, "He speaks! Says he doesn't remember his name and-" "That's crazy! Get out of here kid!" "No please-"

"Let me see him." A deep voice cut through and the hunters looked surprised as an older man opened the small door in the gate, walking through. "A son of Senju. I received a letter about you..." He eyed the red cloak. "Speak quickly, boy." As quickly as Tobirama could, he recounted his tale of the wolf and the oracle, what he'd heard and seen as darkness fell upon them. "That's... a wild tale. Our people go missing from time to time on hunting trips. I'd like to see this cabin." "Not until we find the wolf. We need to know his name." "He could be anybody." Tobirama frowned, insistent on his case. "But, we do have a list of missing. Perhaps calling their names may... bring this wolf close. It is dark. You'll perish out there. Come." Slowly, Tobirama followed the man inside the camp, on edge and unsure, but hoping for the best.

-- The next morning, as the snow fell, Tobirama left the encampment with twenty Uchiha men, each carrying meat, armed with bows and swords, each calling a different name. "This one is yours." The man handed him the paper to memorize. "Won't you call a name?" He simply shook his head, looked onward as if pain had hit him too hard."Ma-da-ra." Tobirama breathed, wondering about the oddness of the name on his tongue. The man took a deep breath and the boy wondered if 'Madara' must have been his son. Tobirama instantly remembered the warmth of the Uchiha home the night before, the four boys taking care of each other, their mother worn and tired.

Slowly, as they moved into the forest, spread out and shouting names, waving the meat in the air, wolves crept forward. Tobirama shook his head at each one, and meat was thrown to keep them at bay, the group circling around to find more. One or two wolves fell victim to their greed, only to be downed by four hunters at a time, and then hauled up for their fur and meat, back to the encampment. The rest seemed to be smarter than those, only circling the group as they moved. "This is becoming more dangerous." "Please we have to keep trying and you wanted to see the cabin. I can show you where it is." The older man huffed, wary of the whole situation, but nodded and they continued. Rounding a rocky slope and moving North, Tobirama picked up speed, crunching through the new snow and calling out loudly."Ma-da-ra!" He moved up the embankment, seeing the frozen waterfall and wondered, calling again. "Ma-da-ra!" "You're so loud!" A huff came from inside the cavern behind the ice and the boy's heart leapt. The man froze in his tracks, halting the hunting party. "Wolf! You're here!" A grunt, the sound of sliding and a soft bark of pain before the wolf emerged from the cavern, limping. "Yeah- What's the idea, kid?" It froze in it's tracks, seeing the hunter party and the wolves. "We were trying to find you." "That's obivious." He snarled.

"Madara." The old man breathed and the wolf's head jerked to look at him. The man nearly cried. "Madara." "Ma-da-ra." The wolf repeated, slowly moving to the pair, wondering why it sounded so familiar. Tobirama's eyes widened, seeing the change in the fur first, and tugging on the old man's sleeve. "Keep saying it!" "Madara, come home." He reached for the wolf and the closer he got, the fur began to fall away, his face contorting back to humanoid, paw reaching and slowly turning human. The old man grabbed the clawed hand and pulled him into his arms, kneeling in the snow, holding a now human teen wracked with scars. "My son." He cried, "Tell me you remember me." "I.. I think I do." The young man croaked, unsure of his limbs and wary of whats around him. Tobirama quickly pulled his cloak off to cover the naked boy. "The woman.. she... took me and I escaped...so.. I think she cursed me. I could never... go home." He seemed lost in his own memories but the old man only held him tighter, wiping is face and looking him over. "You're okay now. You can come home." With a grim realization, Tobirama followed them back.

-End-

#madatobi shenanigans #madatobi #madara uchiha #Tobirama Senju #red riding hood #fairytale rewrites

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shannygoatgruff · 4 years

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My Brother’s Keeper - Chapter II

Genre: Psychological Thriller

Modern Ivar X Modern Hvitserk

Rating: MA

Overall Warning: Dark story told from an emotionally distributed person’s POV with graphic and sadistic material including rape, terror, torture, kidnapping, drug use, slash, implied incest, necrophilia and insecurity. Heavy trigger warnings.

Chapter Warning: Talks sexual assault, murder, joy kills

Summary: Mama always said to be their brothers’ keeper. Now there is absolutely nothing these two won’t do for each other. Boys will be boys…

Chapter II

The sun assaults my eyes as soon as I open them. It's all I can do to raise my hand to shield them from the blinding light. Who the fuck opened the curtains These things are never open. I bought blackout curtains for a reason. I want it dark in here.

Ivar must have come in, in an attempt to get me out of bed. He could have just woken me up, instead, he tries to blind me out of bed. Any other day I would be annoyed, but right now all I can seem to concentrate on is the scent of coffee creeping under the crack of my door.

As I lay here rubbing my forehead, I close my eyes and try to piece together anything from before. I wonder how I got here. I don't remember coming home, much less stripping out of my clothes and landing in the bed. Then I look down at what I'm wearing. How did I end up in my Vikings t-shirt? I thought for sure I lost it weeks ago.

The sound of the ashtray hitting the floor when I swing my legs around pulls me out of my own head for a moment. Ivar is going to be pissed about that. Not only does he hate it that I smoke in bed, but he hates when there are ashes on the carpet. I'm not one for vacuuming and when he comes in here and sees a black stain against this white floor he's going to have a fucking fit.

I wish I could sit here and collect my thoughts…give me some time to let the morning fogginess wear off but I can't. I gotta take a leak and the smell of the coffee is making my stomach growl.

The sounds of Skynard’s Simple Man playing in the distance and clanging of frying pans on the stove tells me right away that Ivar's in a good mood. That was Mother's favorite song. All that racket he's making downstairs as he tries to sing along with the song can only mean one thing: he's making pancakes, bacon, and eggs. It's what Mother used to make us when we were little; our special meal when she wanted us to know that we were her special boys. Now, Ivar cooks it when he wants to celebrate.

If we're celebrating then we must've had a good time. Damn. Why can't I remember it? I don't have one clear memory of last night, only flashes of things that might have happened. I assume Ivar and I took that girl out, but I don't have that exciting feeling that I always have when I know that we had a great night.

I never noticed how cold the bathroom tiles were until I lean against them so I won't drip on the side of the toilet. He hates it when I do that. He's always bitching about having to clean my piss up from around the toilet and off the floor, like I don't help clean up the mess he makes when we party. He says that's just an occupational hazard and not him being a fucking slob. Whatever. I call it him being a fucking neat freak.

Still, I can't stop the chuckle coming from my lips when the stream hits the side of the bowl but then the pain makes me wince. Something's wrong, I think. It hurts to piss. Not like on the inside, more like my dick is raw; like I fucked so much and so hard that I broke the skin. It feels like that one time I got a friction burn the first time I tried anal. I think I was rushing and didn't move the underwear over enough so the material rubbed my dick raw. I don't even remember who that was with. I just remember seeing the blood on my dick and this raw patch. I guess it felt good because I still like anal, but sometimes the thought of it makes me nauseous. It doesn't look like I did anything to myself. There's no broken skin or anything, but it still hurts.

What the fuck did we do last night? I wasn't that fucked up. I hardly had anything at the bar and I know I didn't do more than two Percocet. I was going light for a reason. I was so fucked up when we went out the night before that I could barely get it up when we entertained our guests.

I wonder if Ivar had me doing some crazy shit to that girl like I did to that one a few weeks ago. Damn, I wish I could remember it. Remembering helps keep the hunger away. Right now, I feel like I haven't done anything. It’s almost like I missed out on a night of partying. This feeling is enough to make me salivate.

I pull my shirt over my t-shirt as I walk toward the stairs, hoping that I'm not forgetting anything. The wooden steps creaking under my weight is enough to alert Ivar that I'm awake. I still don't know what time it is. All I know is it's too early to be up, but late enough that I won't make it into work on time. I don't really care. I feel out of it today. I'll call them and tell them I'm sick or something. I just don't think I could concentrate on that shit today if I tried.

Ivar is already sitting down to breakfast, looking like he's been awake for hours. I never understood why he wakes up so early or why he insists that we dress for breakfast. He has this thing where he likes for us to be presentable at the table. It's not like we ever have company. It was how Father did it. He liked all of his boys dressed and looking our best around the table when he sat down. It seems pointless to me, since it's just us two. I think it's cold and stuffy; Ivar finds it intimate. I don't know why we need to be intimate over pancakes but it seems to make him happy, so do it.

I like it when Ivar's happy.

The chair screeches on the hardwood floor as I pull it back to take a seat. He's sitting there quietly sipping on a cup of coffee and reading is iPad. He never looks up at me in the morning; most of the time I doubt that he even knows I'm here. "Morning."

His blue eyes lift from the printed text on the screen. The slight way his head turns in my direction before his eyes makes me feel uneasy, but then he smiles. "How'd you sleep?"

I reach for a pancake and break off a piece before sitting it on my plate. My coffee is already at my place on the table, loaded with two shots of vodka, cream, and a shit load of sugar, no doubt. Dunking my pancaked into my coffee, I shrug my shoulders. "Okay, I guess. Why didn't you wake me?"

"You needed to rest." He answers as if I should already know that. His voice is calm and soothing. I don't know how he always manages to put me at ease. "I called work for you."

"Yeah? What'd you say?"

He lays one hand carefully over the iPad, covering up most of the article he's reading. Placing his coffee cup back on the table, he tilts the iPad back up to his eyes. "I told Ubbe you were taking off the rest of the week.” If I keep missing work like this, my older brother is going to get pissed. I’m sure he’ll be calling me later today to see why I begged off. He’ll perform his brotherly duties, and make sure everything is alright. I guess I need to think of a real excuse before that time comes.

A bemused look hits Ivar's face and he points to a section of the screen as if I can see it. "Listen to this, ‘The police discovered the body of a runaway that was already presumed dead, in an abandoned apartment complex. According to crime scene detectives, the victim was tied up, tortured, and raped. 'I feel sorry for this young woman,' says Detective Torstein, Homicide. 'From the information we've gathered, she ran away from an abusive foster home two years ago and was thought to be dead. The reason it took us so long to find her was that no one reported her missing."

I can't help but notice the mirth in Ivar's voice as he reads the article. There's something in the gleam in his eye that tells me right away she's the girl we picked up at the bar. Poor thing. It sucks that she had such a rough life. "Well at least nobody can hurt her anymore." The dry pancake is thick in my throat but a few sips of coffee quickly remedy the discomfort.

"The cause of death was blunt force trauma to the face…” I feel like I have a massive migraine all of a sudden. My head doesn't really hurt but the flashes of light that shoot through my head are blinding.

“’An object of substantial size was used to crush every bone in her face sending fragments of her skull to her brain.' Detective Torstein adds, 'More than likely, the victim died on impact.' Jesus, Hvitserk. What did you do to her?”

It's like a dream almost. I can't really remember anything specifically; it just comes back in snippets. I remember sitting down and talking to her. I remember enjoying a cigarette, but that's it. "Me? The beating and shit, that's your deal." I can feel a smile tickle the corners of my mouth.

"Not this time. Why her face?" Ivar folds his hands on the table and studies me with great interest. He's not upset, more like in awe. He gets so excited about these things.

As I reach for my coffee cup again, I notice my left hand. It's red and swollen at my web between my index finger and my thumb. I can see a set of perfectly outlined teeth prints that have turned purple from where the skin was broken. Now, I can remember how that happened. "She started screaming, so I covered her mouth." I can even feel her bite me, sending a sharp pain through my hand when I struggled to pry her legs open.

I wish the memories were vivid, but they're more like me watching someone else through a dense fog. It's vague and not necessarily in order, but the one thing that remains constant is the sound of her screaming. "She bit me."

"The victim's underwear was found in her throat." Ivar's actually laughing at that detail. "That's fucking awesome." He acts like that is something that I should be proud of or that maybe it's something that he wants to try.

"My hand was bleeding and it kept sliding off of her mouth. I had to stop the screaming." A flash of memory comes to me of and I recall taking the white laced panties and pushing them into her mouth. It muffled her voice, but I could still hear it. It bothered me. "But then she started gurgling. She was getting on my fucking nerves."

"'The victim's undergarments were lodged in her esophagus, cutting off the oxygen supply to her brain,' explains the Detective.'Whoever did this crime was truly an animal.'" Ivar reads along with the article as if to back up my story.

I open and close my hand, staring at the colors it has turned from the bite. There are scratches on my knuckles too, but it doesn't really hurt. Why didn't I notice this before? I should have remembered all of this before Ivar read all of that to me. "That sound was horrible. There was a cinder-block, I think. Just a big chunk of something concrete on the floor. I didn't hit her with it. I dropped it on her. I just wanted her to shut the fuck up." I guess that's what killed her.

"Well, Astrid's not screaming anymore." Ivar's smile is so wide that his eyes crinkle at the corners.

"Who?"

"Astrid. Her name was Astrid." As soon as he says that, I open my mouth and piece of pancake, coffee, bile and everything else that was resting comfortably in my stomach land on the table. I clutch the sides of the table, when my stomach muscles contract, forcing more vomit to spew from my lips. I can't really see due to the tears in my eyes, but I do notice Ivar stand up and carry his coffee mug and plate to the sink. He moves so gracefully, so calmly. He's doing this like it's no big deal that I'm puking on the kitchen table.

I think my stomach is finally returning to normal, but I don't know what made me lose it. Maybe it's the fact that she had a name. I hate knowing that they have names. It almost makes them seem as real, when I know what people called them. I can live with the fact that I killed a girl. But, can I deal with the fact that I killed Astrid, the throw-away, runaway girl with the annoying voice and the shitty past? Fuck. Why did I have to know her name?

Ivar's hand fists my hair and brings my head to rest against his stomach. He presses the damp paper towel to my forehead and then dabs the corners of my mouth. "Shh." His hand cups my neck as he rubs his thumb against my jaw to calm me. "It's okay, Serk. You told her not to scream. She didn't listen to you. This wasn't your fault, it was hers."

I don't understand how we got to this point. Ivar is the one into torture and pain and hurting and shit. I'm just there for the ride. I fuck them. That's all I do. Sometimes he does things to them and when they're almost broken, I fuck the shit out of them before he finishes them off however he wants. Sometimes they're alive when I get them; sometimes they're not. But one thing remains constant, I don't kill. That's not what I'm there for. We don't switch roles. Ivar has never fucked any of them, ever. He gets off on watching me do it. Just like I get off on watching him so happy fucking with them. And then we come home and talk about it and laugh and drink and get fucked up. It's what we do. It's how we have fun. Why did I change that?

I bury my head in Ivar's stomach as the last of my tears come out. I guess I'm crying for her, or at least I feel like I should be. But I can't really concentrate on that right now because I happen to notice the iPad sitting on the table. I slide it over and look at him confused. "Wednesday? How the fuck is it Wednesday?"

"You slept for three days. You always do when you make a mistake." He leans down and places a soft kiss in my hair. "It's okay, though. I made everything better. They'll never know. You got nothing to feel sorry for. You just need some rest. You'll feel better after a hot bath, and then you can sleep it off. I’ll even talk to Ubbe, if he calls." He helps me from my chair and leads me to the stairs. "Go run your bath. I'll bring you some tea and toast to settle your stomach."

I nod, because I know he's right. I do need to rest. I know he'll take care of me while I try to make peace with what I've done. He'll make sure I don't blame myself. He'll see to it that I eat, sleep, Ubbe is off my back, and that there's no evidence to link me to the crime. Ivar will take care of everything.

He always does.

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we-are-inevitable · 4 years

Text

love and it’s decisive pain

Prompt: "Could you make a modern spin where javid is established but they are hiding it at first. And David’s parents find them and tease them cause they knew already?" (i had to repost this and can’t remember who sent this ask, but thank you!)

Rating: M (for good measure)

Warnings: Mentions of violence and homophobia (to third party, unnamed characters), vague NSFW concepts, coming out anxiety. feel free to message me if i need to put any other trigger warnings, and i will gladly do so!

Word Count: 2,364

Read on AO3! Fic under the cut.

The decision to never come out was something that David had made peace with long ago.

He had been fourteen when he made the vow. Fourteen and vulnerable. Naive. At first, he had wanted to come out. He had known something was different about him, since the first time he heard Sarah talk about a boy she liked, and realized that what she was describing- what she felt for a guy in her class- was the same way that he felt about guys, too. At the time, he had been twelve, just now starting to realize that liking guys was even an option- and apparently, it was the only option that he saw fit for himself.

At age twelve, David realized he liked men.

At age thirteen, David realized he liked only men.

At fourteen, David realized he was in love with his best friend who had just moved to the school.

David had thought about the possibility of bringing it up to his parents, but he had never found the right time, never found the right way to say it. He had even considered trying to tell Sarah first, or maybe even Les, but he figured that Les was too young and Sarah just wouldn’t understand that her baby brother was anything other than straight. Nonetheless, David had made… a plan, per se, of just how he was going to do it. He had written it out and everything- he was going to wait until he left for school one day, maybe kiss his Ma on the forehead and give his Dad a goodbye hug. Then, he was going to walk to the door, yell, “Hey, I’m gay!”, and take off like a shot down the flight of stairs in their apartment building.

It was a plan. He never claimed it was good.

But that was before he saw just what could happen if he did. He saw a news report, of a couple being attacked on the subway for daring to be brave enough to hold hands in public. He remembered seeing the pictures on the TV, seeing the bruises and the bloody noses, and that struck enough fear into his heart that he had resigned himself to being alone. He would lurk in the shadows. Give his unconditional love and support to others. He would be the best damn ally he could be, but after seeing the pain, the heartbreak, the fear in the faces of the men on the TV that night, he knew his choice was the right one. He wouldn’t be able to survive if something like that happened to him.

He had successfully made it three years without anyone knowing the biggest secret of his life. Not even his closest friends knew, even though most of them were in the community themselves. It wasn’t as though he didn’t trust them- no, no, he trusted each of them with his life. Crutchie, Race, Albert, and Elmer, along with many others, had already told him that they would take care of him if anything ever happened. It had been joking, but David didn’t doubt their loyalty for a minute.

But then there was Jack.

Jack, the guy that David had been crushing on for three years.

Jack, the guy who had the most intense stare, most beautiful smile, most effective puppy dog eyes, most lovely laugh and talent and, God, David could listen to him talk, listen to his accent, for hours on end.

It was Jack that had caused his crisis, who had been the guy behind the story, the guy he wanted to come out for. He remembered the night that Jack told him he was bi, a conversation that had happened at four in the morning one summer night when they were both sixteen. Oh, how Davey longed to tell Jack then. How he longed to lean over, gently cup his cheek and kiss the worries and insecurities out of him.

Instead, he had just reassured Jack that he didn’t care, that he would always be safe with him, and that he was always there if Jack needed to talk.

They had been in a similar situation about a year later. Another late night, safe on Jack’s fire escape, where they had been for hours watching the sunset and idly talking about the people that passed on the streets below. Jack had kitted it out with everything- some christmas lights wrapped around the railings, two thick blankets laid out on the floor and an old-fashioned radio playing some music behind them. In a way, that fire escape felt more like home than any other place on earth.

It was everything that David had ever dreamed of.

They had gotten pretty silent, but it was a comfortable drop in conversation as they both watched the bustling streets of New York. It was Jack who broke it eventually, taking in a deep breath as he looked down. “‘Ey, Dave?” “Yeah, Jackie?” David asked softly, pushing himself up from his back. He stopped about halfway, kicking his long legs out in front of him, braced on his palms.

“You… You know how I told ya, that I’m into dudes?” Jack approached the subject carefully. Davey gulped. His mind immediately went somewhere bad- that Jack had a boyfriend, that Jack had found out that he really only liked women, that Jack had been... hurt. “Well, I-... There’s a guy,” Jack started, and Davey could see him tapping a familiar rhythm onto his knee. Jack did that when he was anxious. “And, well- I like ‘im. A lot. But… But I dunno if he’s into guys, and even if he is, I don’t think I’m the kind’a fella he would like--”

“Are you kidding?”

“Huh?”

“Jack,” David said with a sad grin, furrowing a brow. “Any guy would have to be crazy not to like you back. I mean, have you seen yourself? You’re hot,” David said with a soft laugh, gently nudging Jack’s shoulder with a fist. “Plus, you’re talented. You’re crazy good at art, you can sing and play guitar, you’re wicked smart. Unless a guy just wasn’t into smartasses, I don’t get why anyone wouldn’t be into you,” David joked softly, but every word was the truth. He didn’t understand why Jack was so insecure, why he was so self deprecating, but he knew it had been something he had struggled with for a long time.

“...For sure?” Jack asked, his voice smaller than David had ever heard it. “Jackie, I wouldn’t lie to ya,” He said with a grin. “Everything I said is true, y’know. You’re an amazing man, any guy would be lucky to--”

David was cut off with hands fisting his shirt and dragging him into a kiss.

Time stopped for a moment.

David could feel his eye’s widening, could feel his heart pounding, mind racing a mile a minute. He must have froze, because suddenly, all too suddenly, Jack was pulling away with a flushed face and a look of terror in his eyes. “Fuck, Dave, I’m so sorry, I didn’t--” He cut himself off with a deep breath, immediately turning away from David to face the New York skyline yet again.

David took in a shuddering breath a few moments later. “...Jack, you idiot,” He muttered, and Jack winced, turning to apologize yet again, until Davey pulled him in for another kiss. This time, he was in control. The kiss was soft, hesitant at first, until the both of them got confident enough to take it to the next level.

David had his arms wrapped around Jack’s waist, the angle a bit awkward, until Jack had fixed it by moving to sit in David’s lap. That was when it hit David that this was real. He was kissing Jack Kelly, and Jack Kelly was kissing back.

After that night, they kept things lowkey. David still wasn’t ready to come out to the guys, which Jack understood wholeheartedly. Their relationship may have been a secret, but it didn’t mean tht they didn’t like it. No, sneaking around was fun. Making out in the school bathroom, going on dates disguised as hangouts, even being there for each other on their eighteenth birthdays was something so much more magical than anyone knew.

They lived in that bubble of safety until they finally told the guys the night after their high school graduation. They had been together for close to a year that night, and it just felt right. All of them were together, hanging out in the park and discussing the crazy graduation parties that had happened the night before. Something must have lit a fire in David, because Jack made eye contact with him as Race was telling a story, and David kissed him in front of everyone else. They had to fess up- after Race finished his agonizingly long story, of course- but David had never felt happier.

That next week, David was riding the high of finally making it. He had a boyfriend, he was officially moving on to college in the fall, and he was finally, finally safe and accepted.

Until that next Friday came along.

David had thought that they had the apartment to themselves. Jack had even climbed through the window for good measure, but David knew that his parents were going on a weekend getaway in Boston, and Les would be at a friend’s house until Sunday, so he didn’t think to lock the door.

It started out as cuddling and watching some old western movie that Jack had fallen in love with, before cuddling turned to kissing, and kissing turned to David pressing Jack down against the bed as he nipped and sucked dark marks onto the tan skin of Jack’s neck. Jack was a blushing mess, murmuring soft pleas as his hands carded through Davey’s dark hair. “Davey, baby, come on, stop teasin’,” Jack muttered pitifully, eyes shutting, before they suddenly flew wide open at the sound of David’s bedroom door opening. “David, we just came back because your father forgot his wallet, and-- Oh, my good Lord!”

The door was shut just as fast as it had opened, and David was so thankful that they were still clothed, until he realized what had just happened.

He could feel himself visibly paling as he launched away from Jack, hurrying to stand up. “Oh, fuck, oh, fuck--”

“Babe, babe, calm down, it’s--”

Jack didn’t have time to say another word before David was already out the door and down the hall.

“Ma!” David said quickly, chest heaving as he came to a standstill in the living room. He was red faced in shame, and could already feel the tears welling in his eyes. “Ma, it- it’s not what it looks like!” He rushed out, gulping when he heard footsteps behind him. He turned and saw Jack, looking just as scared as he did, as he desperately buttoned his flannel to try to cover the marks. “We-- I didn’t-- I thought- Ma, I’m not--” “David.”

David went silent, staring at the floor with wide eyes, refusing to meet his mother's gaze. He vaguely registered his father coming into the room, who stopped mid sentence when he saw Jack and his son.

David could feel his world crumbling, but then he felt Jack’s hand gently grab his, ever so slightly intertwining their fingers. He glanced over at Jack with wide eyes, who looked at him and gave a gentle nod, taking a deep breath.

Slowly, David looked back up, gulping. “...Mama, Dad, Jack and I--” “We know, dear.”

“You-- You know?”

David finally took a good look at them. His father was standing behind his mother, a strong hand on her shoulder, but they didn’t look… angry. Or upset. Instead, they were smiling at him. “David, hunny, we’ve known for years. We… found a note that you had written- something or another, of how you wanted to tell us. At- At first, we were… shocked. We didn’t really know what to do, so we decided to wait it out until you told us yourself, we just didn’t expect it to take four years,” Esther added with a gentle laugh.

“It didn’t shock us to find out you were with Jack, either,” Mayer noted, glancing between the two boys. “Jack, you spend an awful lot of time at our house, more than any of the other boys. As long as you don’t intend on hurting our son, you’re part of this family, too.”

That was David’s breaking point.

He couldn’t hold in the sob that rose up from his chest, and though the Jacobs family had never been the most physically affectionate, David found himself running across the room. He pulled his mother into a tight hug, crying softly into her shoulder, and he took in a deep, shuddering breath as she rubbed his back. He pulled away and wiped his eyes, only to be pulled into another hug by Mayer, which was a shocking moment in itself.

One of them must have gestured to Jack to come closer, too, because when David looked over, Esther had him wrapped into a tight hug. David stepped away, and watched with a fond smile as Jack shook his father's hand.

Things seemed to calm down after that, though David still had watery eyes, but he couldn’t help the immense joy that flooded his chest. He gulped and wrapped an arm around Jack’s waist, who in turn began rubbing his back.

“Like I said,” Mayer spoke firmly, “take good care of our boy. Now, we have a reservation at the hotel to meet by midnight, so we should get going,” He said, looking down at Esther, who nodded.

They said their last goodbyes, but just as the door closed, it opened again. Esther poked her head in and grinned. “One more thing- use protection!” She said quickly, before the door shut with a final click.

David would have been mortified, if not for the bright laughter that bubbled out from the boy beside him.

Yeah, this was a happiness he could get used to, he thought as he pulled Jack in for another kiss.

#javid #javey #davey jacobs #david jacobs #esther jacobs #mayer jacobs #sarah jacobs #les jacobs #newsies #newsies musical #jac writes #ask a jac !

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lo-55 · 3 years

Text

Shattered Chains of Fate Ch. 15

A Lifting Fog

Ichigo sat patiently on the cot while Unohana poked and prodded him. He didn’t have a lot of injuries left. Mostly scrapes and bruises, but she was taking a very close look at his eyes, balance, and short term memory. .

Apparently laughing hysterically at the murder of 46 people was a sign of head trauma.

“You don’t seem to have any lasting damage,” she finally concluded. “Most of the injuries you sustained earlier have already healed.”

“That’s Hanataro,” Ichigo says with a smile. It fell quickly. “I mean, uh. I threatened him into helping me. He’s very talented.”

Unohana looked faintly amused under her serenity. “Of course you did. I’m sure you held your zanpakuto so close to his throat he couldn’t even use his shinten to knock you unconscious.”

Ichigo nodded solemnly. “Oh, yeah. Definitely. But anyways, I’m fine. Is Rukia doing better? She was really wiped out…”

“Both of Kuchiki’s are fine. I believe they’ve had a long overdue discussion, actually. That technique you used when she was fighting was certainly… unique. Who taught it to you?”

Ichigo considered his answers before he decided to tell her the truth. They were allies for now.

“I made it up on the spot.”

“You made it up one the spot.” She repeated. One eyebrow arched high. She looked young, but when she’d healed the last of his bad injuries up earlier he’d felt the dangerous undercurrent of her power. She was at least as old as Yamamoto. It was only a shiver of fear at the idea of calling her old that kept him from asking her the same question he’d asked him. “You really are a very unique person, aren’t you?”

“It’s not that impressive,” Ichigo argued. He could feel his face turning red. “I did something similar as a human. I just pushed my energy into her. Although, as a human I could kinda heal with it…”

“Yes, that’s similar to how healing kido works,” she mused. “ Kaido is a method we use to insert our own energy inside of the body and manipulate the spirit particles, the reishi, that make up the body of the patient so we can put them back together again.”

“That makes sense,” Ichigo taps his fingers on his leg idly. His brows furrowed. With his mystic codes he’d been able to heal grievous wounds and keep people fighting, but he’d never been very good at doing it without. He could make due, he had with Uryu, but that was just jumping his natural healing into overdrive.

Ichigo looked up at her. “I get that I was your enemy not that long ago,” began the boy, “But is there a way for me to learn to heal while I’m here?”

Unohana looked surprised. “You want to heal? I was under the impression that your expertise was in combat.”

“It is,” Ichigo said honestly. “Orihime is a good healer, better than almost anyone I’ve ever seen. But we got seperated here. If it wasn’t for Hanataro, I might have been seriously screwed. Or I might have been fine, but Ganju could have been hurt. A lot of people could have been hurt. And what I can do is very basic. Humans have to study for years to be able to-”

“Yes,” she stepped in, holding up a hand to cut off his rampant justification. Ichigo couldn't help noticing the callouses on her palms and fingers. She was a fighter. She also smiled at him. “ I can teach you.”

Ichigo offered her a half of a grin. “Just so you know, I suck at spellwork.”

“I’m sure we can make due. Now, I’m going to clear you. Please behave while you’re in my division.”

Her smile turned tight at the edges and her eyes narrowed minutely. Fear shot striaght down his spine.

“Y-yes ma-am!” He said quickly. He made his escape quickly. He still wanted to see Rukia, and find out what her and her brother had been talking about. Of all the people to try to step in and protect them he could scarcely believe it was Byakuya. Maybe he’d misjudged him?

Or more likely he’d smacked some sense into him.

Typical.

Ichigo was just trying to figure out how to navigate his way out when he stumbled into someone. Which was weird, because he should have really felt them coming.

Pink kimono, straw had, wavy brown hair.

“Oh. Kyoraku, hey,” Ichigo waved at him.

The man smiled at him. He’d barely had any malice to him the last time they’d met, and now any he’d had ever is vanished behind a kind smile. His assistant, Nanao if Ichigo remembered right, was missing for once.

“Ichigo. It’s good to see you again.”

“You too,” Ichigo nodded to him. “What are you doing here? You didn’t get too banged up, did you?” He’d been worried. Those two had spirited away a man born before the human era, one who Ichigo had been informed was the strongest person in the Seireitei.

Ichigo had picked a fight with the strongest person in the entire dimension. And then started lecturing him on his morality.

That... sounds right.

“Just a few bruises,” Kyoraku clapped him on the shoulder and forcefully guided him down the hallway. “I’m here visiting Juushiro. Come along.”

It really wasn’t a question. Ichigo shot him a glower.

“I’m not a dog, you know.”

“Really? You look a little mangy…”

Ichigo elbowed him in the ribs. “Fuck you. Speaking of dogs, is that one guy okay? The werewolf.”

“Werewolf? You mean Komamura? He was in nasty shape, but he’ll recover. He’s a few doors down if you want to introduce yourself properly.”

“...Nah. I don’t think I should. He seemed pretty torn up about the whole betrayal thing and I was kinda just an enemy. It doesn’t really, I guess, feel right?” He struggled to find the right words. Even if he wasn’t the most eloquent, Kyoraku nodded along with him sympathetically.

“Anyways. You said you were here visiting Juushiro, like Ukitake? What happened? You don’t look charred around the edges.” Ichigo gave him a critical once over.

Kyoraku snickered at him and they entered a room. A private hospital room, where Ukitake was sitting up in the bed. Ichigo hadn’t noticed before, he’d been too busy assessing the man’s energy and fighting for his life and Rukia’s, but Ukitake was actually very thin. His wrist bones were too prominent, his cheeks were too thin, and with the low drop the hospital provided robes he could see his collar bones starkly.

If he was this strong sick, how strong would he be normally?

If ‘Ukitake notices Ichigo’s critical once over, he says nothing about it. Only smiles when they get closer.

“Well this is certainly a surprise. Kurosaki, it’s good to see you.”

“Just Ichigo is fine,” he waves his hand. “You helped me after all, and none of my friends call me by my last name.”

“Friends,” Ukitake repeats. His green eyes gentled. “Why don’t you sit for a while with us then. We were just visiting today.”

Ichigo doesn’t know what to do with the way they’re both looking at him. It’s friendly and kind but there’s something else there. Like they’re trying to see where his sharp edges are and where he folds and what will make him change his mind.

To be fair, they’d been enemies before.

Ichigo pulls up a chair and flips it around so he can straddle it and cross his arms over the back.

“How are you, Ichigo? We heard you didn’t very torn up during your confrontation with Aizen.”

“I’m fine. He had me locked in a kido for most of the fight. The worst things I had were some burns from where I broke out of it. Unohana took care of it for me. She’s… nice. Terrifying, but nice.”

“You asked about Ereshkigal before,” Ukitake pointed out. “Why did you-”

Whatever else he was going to say was cut off by a rough coughing fit. Ichigo lurched for him immediately, with Kyoraku only twitching forwards before grabbing the water off the bedside table.

They waited for the coughing to slow down, a full minute later, before Kyoraku gave him the glass. Ichigo was frowning at him.

“Are you okay?” He asked, once he was done with the water. Ukitake nods and smiles crookedly.

“It’s been a frequent occurrence for most of my life, I’m afraid. Even Unohana can’t do anything about it. It’ll go away in a few days, I’m sure.”

Ichigo frowns at him, but nods all the same. A chronic cough could be about a billion things. If it started as a kid that might mean less. Honestly Ichigo is trained for field medicine. Emergencies and stopping bleeding. This kind of thing is beyond him.

Still, he grew up next to a family clinic.

“Have you ever tried human medicine?” he asks. Ukitake looks surprised, but shakes his head the negative.

“No. I can’t say I have. As I understand it isn’t always very effective.”

“Maybe not a couple hundred years ago,” he admits, thinking of battlefields and field hospitals, and how hard Nightingale had had to work to get people to wash their damn hands. “But it’s come a long way recently. Maybe you should give it a try? My dad and Uryu’s both run medical facilities.”

Ukitake eyes him for a long moment, the mention of his father catching his attention. Finally, he nods.

“I may look into that. Thank you.”

The conversation moves on, Ereshkigal forgotten under the feeling that Ichigo had just fucked himself somehow.

* *

Ichigo opened his eyes to grey skies and an amalgamated landscape.

Zangetsu and Nieve were leaning over him, one of them clearly irritated and the other just as calm looking as ever.

“Uh. Hi?”

“It’s about damn time!” Nieve barked at him. Ichigo sat up, slowly, and then stood. It still felt weird to be standing up on the side of a building like this. It was completely unnatural.

“Time for what? I’ve been busy, and I can’t just pop in here whenever I want you know. In case you missed it I’m still in potential enemy territory. I keep expecting to be arrested, whether they say I saved them from something or not. Which, again, I really didn’t. I didn’t even help them unearth that coup! It’s fucking stupid.”

“Are ya done yet?” Nieve asked, his arms crossed over his chest.

“... Not even remotely, but go ahead.”

“Good. We’re bored in here and you’re an emotional disaster-”

“Hey!”

“-in the making. Just look at the sky!”

Ichigo did. It was grey, and cloudy this time.

“What does the weather have to do with anything?”

“The weather,” Zangetsu said in his deep, smooth voice, “is a reflection of you, as all things here are. It reflects your emotions. When you’re sad, it rains here.”

“And ya are sad,” Nieve poked in.

Ichigo scowled at the both of them. “Yeah so what if I am? I just found out one of my friends is now an enemy, a traitor, and I don’t even know what else right now! I lost my chance to talk to him because I hesitated, and now he’s gone full megalomaniac and he’s going to go overthrow the king.”

He paused.

“Not that I’m against that part. But I like some of these shinigami. I don’t want to see them go to war with him over a king that doesn’t give a rats left tit about any of them.”

“Next time you shouldn’t hesitate,” Zangetsu said wisely. Ichigo nearly hit him.

“What next time?! How many friends do you think I have that forgot we knew each other two hundred years ago in a timeline that’s been erased because it was the end of the world?!”

“At least three,” nieve said without missing a beat. “Maybe four.”

“Okay you know what,” Ichigo pointed at him. “I’ve decided, I don’t like you.”

“No shit? I wonder why,” he rolled his yellow eyes.

“What’s that supposed to mean, huh?” Ichigo barked. It felt good though, to speak so openly with people who already knew everything about him. How messed up was it that his best conversation basically happened with himself? He stalked toward nieve, “How did you even get here, huh? I was too busy to care before but I’m pretty sure I’m not supposed to have a hollow in my head. That is what you are, isn’t it?”

Nieve froze for just a second, like he’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. He collected himself a second later with a loud scoff and a laugh in Ichigo’s face.

“If you wanna know so bad, maybe you should ask that shop keeper. He seems to be tied up in everything else bullshit in your life.”

“Okay. So maybe he is. I’m not asking him.” Ichigo stalked forwards, effectively cornering a piece of himself against a part of a sky scraper. “I’m asking you. You were pissed that I wasn’t listening to you before. Well I’m listening now, aren’t I?”

“I-” Nieve looked over Ichigo’s shoulder at Zangetsu. “I can’t tell ya, partner.”

“Can’t, or won’t?”

“Can’t!” He snapped, glaring over Ichigo’s shoulder.

When Ichigo looked over it, Zangetsu was gone, and when he looked back Nieve was too.

* * *

Ichigo was getting really, really sick of running for his life. Shoudln’t the return home have been easier than the journey to get there?

It wasn’t, and the only thing that saved the five of them from tipping headfirst onto concrete was a timely save from Urahara.

Who apparently had a flying carpet.

Because why not.

He’s not even surprised anymore.

He catches the look in Urahara’s eyes when the man starts to turn around, but Ichigo catches his shoulder before he can do whatever he was planning on doing.

“You know where everyone lives, right?” he asks, perhaps a touch too quickly. “Once everyone’s been dropped off, I wanna talk to you.”

The others are silent. Urahara regards him from under the shadow of his hat before agreeing quietly.

Ichigo bids fond farewell to his friends and sort-of-cousin before their ride takes them back to the little shop that Urahara runs. They touch down in front and walk inside, with the blond in the lead. As soon as they are inside everyone else, even Yoruichi, makes themselves scarce.

Urahara takes Ichigo into one of the back rooms before he sweeps his hat off his head and kneels on the ground before him.

It makes Ichigo's stomach twist in discomfort.

“I know by now you heard about me. I’m really, very sorry.” It’s the most genuine the man has ever sounded to Ichigo’s ears. Some of the last threads of anger melt away.

He drops to one knee in front of Urahara and knocks his head lightly with his knuckles.

“Cut that out. I’m barely even mad at you, you know.” Now that he’s had a few days to cool his temper.

“You should be,” Urahara looked up at him, his grey eyes searching and weary.

Ichigo shrugged. “I don’t really hold grudges. If anything, you should apologize to Rukia for putting her in harms way. You were trying to do the right thing, weren’t you? And the reason you didn’t tell me anything… It was because you thought I’d run off, wasn’t it?”

“That’s right. Can you honestly tell you wouldn’t have?”

“Yeah,” Ichigo stood up. “I can. If nothing else I would have still needed you to get that gate open. And I don’t run so easy, even from shady shop keepers. Now,” He offered Urahara a hand. “If you’re really that contrite you can make it up to me.”

Urahara eyed his hand before he took it and let Ichigo pull him to his feet. His hat found its rightful home.

“And would that entail, exactly?”

“Two things,” Ichigo held up two fingers. “One; next time you need my help for something, just tell me outright what’s going on. And two; I have two questions that I’d like the absolute truth to.”

“That seems fair. What’s the question?”

“In october, 1888, did you go to the human world?”

Urahara fell silent. He stared at Ichigo for a long, hard minute before he nodded once. “I did.”

Ichigo thought as much.

“Is that when you discovered your Hogyoku?”

Urahara looked like he’d been slapped with a living lobster.

“How could you possibly know that?” he asked, stepping right into Ichigo’s space. “I told everyone that I created it. Did Aizen-”

“He didn’t tell me,” Ichigo planted his hand on Urahara’s chest to keep him from coming in closer. “There were things happening in 1888 in the human world. Things that Chaldea was involved in.”

He hesitated.

“Things that I was involved in.”

Ichigo could see the gears turning in Urahara’s head. He was too smart for his own good.

“That’s impossible. Humans don’t live that long. You were only born a couple of decades ago.”

“Nothing is ever impossible,” Ichigo said frankly.

Urahara’s eyes narrowed minutely. “This has something to do with those friends of your Kon found, doesn’t it?”

Now it was Ichigo’s turn to stare at him. “Huh?”

Urahara changed on a dime. He snapped his fan open over his mouth and shadowed his eyes under his hat. “So you’re not omnipotent. I was worried for a minute there Ichigo!”

“Wouldn’t it be omnipresent? Or omniscient?” He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. What were you talking about? What friends?”

“Not until you tell me how you knew about 1888. Everyone else I’ve ever told anything about the Hogyoku to I’ve always said I created it. Not discovered it. So it’s only fair for you to tell me,” he sang.

Ichigo scowled at him. “Would you cut that shit out? You’re so weird. Whatever, I’ll find out on my own.”

“Ichigo-”

“I’ll see you around, Kisuke.”

Ichigo gave his chest a light shove to get past him. Urahara didn’t try to stop him, for which he was grateful. He had too much on his mind. Was he really about to tell a guy he knew had played him like a fiddle once already a truth he’d never admitted to anyone who hadn’t been there with him?

Fuck, what was wrong with him?

He fled the shoten and made his way home under the pale light of the moon. When he carefully stepped through the front door (a trick he would never get used to ) he froze entirely.

In the living room, sleeping on the couch and up against a chair respectively, were two people he thought he’d never see again.

Medusa and Cu Chulainn.

He sprinted up the stairs as fast as he could move and without even a how-do-you-do to Kon he launched the mod soul out of his body and shoved himself inside of it. He left Kon sitting on his pillow before he bolted back down the stairs on light feet and skidded into the living room.

It was still enough noise and movement to have both of the legends up on their feet.

He stood there for a long beat, out of breath, eyes wild and bright.

“Ichigo?” Cu asked, slowly standing. They were both dressed like normal people. “Is that..?”

“It’s him,” was all Medusa said before decking him in the face.

Ichigo stumbled back but didn’t fall. He looked between the two of them. It was hard to see, his eyes were all blurry. How weird.

“You fool. You went rushing into danger without us,” she hissed. Her hair moved restlessly but he knew it was worry more than anger.

“Sorry, Medusa. I didn’t know you would be here. I still don’t. How are you here?” He searched her face. He touched his jaw. “I know I didn’t summon you.”

Cu touched his hand and turned it over so he could the red wings spread across the back of it. Command seals.

“You’re little friend did, using your body for it. We are yours again, master,” Cu said quietly. He didn’t move away when Ichigo’s head fell against his shoulders and when Ichigo’s hands started shaking Medusa’s arm draped over his shoulders.

“How?” He asked quietly. “Chealdeas and the grails supported eighty percent of your mana consumption. I thought there was no way anyone could support a servant outside of Grail Wars.”

“Ichigo,” Cu sounded amused. “How many of us did you have in Chealdeas?”

“Huh? I don’t know. Forty, fifty total?” He hadn’t been close with all of them, but there had been plenty of them.

“Right. So twenty percent of thirty servants equals the full upkeep of at least eight servants. Ichigo. You could have had us with you the entire time.”

Ichigo choked.

He’d been swallowing grief for so long, and he’d never had to.

Nimble fingers pulled through his bright hair.

“We’re here now. And there’s one more waiting for you. Kon didn’t have the fine control to summon someone so rawly powerful. But you do.”

“Tomorrow,” Medusa said firmly. “Tomorrow you can summon him, and tell us about your newest adventure. And,” her hair hissed with her, “You will take us with you on whatever your next one is.”

“Can I even do that? What I’m doing now is basically what Kyo was doing in North America. I know you have spirit forms, but that’s different from human souls. That’s-”

“I’ve never known you to think too much,” Cu mused. “You’re a creature of instinct, aren’t you? Rest. We’ll work it out.”

Ichigo still had questions, but he was such an emotional wreck he didn’t have it in him to fight when the pair bullied him up the stairs and into his old room. The bed was too soft.

The three of them camped out on the floor.

* * * *

Ichigo found, much to his amazement and amusement, that Medusa had basically adopted his sisters while he was gone.

She and Cu had told Isshin that they were Ichigo’s friends from Chaldeas and he’d agreed (much too easily) to let them stay in the livingroom while they were looking for a place to stay. Medusa explained that they’d been guarding his body for him as well.

The entire morning Ichigo felt warm and almost bubbling with excitement. He helped Karin with the table while Medusa and Yuzu puttered around the kitchen and Cu fed birds on the back porch.

It was the most surreal day of his entire life.

The trio left after breakfast and made their way towards Ichigo’s house. Once they were far enough to be overheard, Ichigo started to talk.

“Okay, so how do you expect to help me with what I’m doing now?”

“Well. You know that all heroic spirits have a physical form and a spirit form, yes?”

“Yeah. And that your spirit form isn’t the same as being an actual spirit, since your souls aren’t bound the way regular ones are. Instead of being a part of the cycle of reincarnation or the World, or even the time axis you’re connected to the Throne of heroes, and you manifest through a thaumaturgical anchor. In this case, me.”

“Yes. And it’s because you are our anchor that we’ll be able to do this. Any normal humans we would only be able to interact with them the way a regular human would,” Cu said cheerfully. “You leak power like a broken pipe. You always have. When we were in North America your influence started to take hold. You engraved a part of yourself on our souls, Ichigo. We can see the dead, we can interact with them.”

“We’re supposed to forget,” Medusa said suddenly. “We’re supposed to forget the events of Grail Wars we’re summoned to when we go back to the Throne. But you. You we remember. We all remember. You’re really something, Master.”

“Stop calling me that,” he said automatically, even while his mind turned over the information. He admitted to them. “I never knew I’d be fighting ghosts. I never thought anything like this would happen.”

“I doubt even that trouble maker Merlin could foresee this,” Cu laughed at him. Ichigo elbows his side.

“Quiet you.”

“Am I wrong?”

“... not even remotely. But he gave me back the two of your so I feel like I should be a little nicer to him than normal.”

Cu laughed at him again.

It was interesting, seeing the two of them outside of a war zone and outside of Chaldeas Cu was relaxed in a hawaiian shirt, with his silver earrings glinting in the mid-morning sunlight. Medusa looked smart in a black turtleneck with her hair braided back tightly.

The three made quite a sight.

They were about to make an even weirder one.

Ichigo let them into his house and headed for the basement, flanked on either side. He touched up the magic circle and gathered up two stones in the middle. One grey, one red.

“Is this a piece of your spear?” Ichigo asked, holding it up to Cu.

“A piece of an earring, actually.”

Ichigo’s fingers ran over the rune engraved in it.

“So it is. And this is a piece of your artwork right?” He held the grey stone up to Medusa, who smiled and nodded. That was morbid. Ichigo went to the cardboard box sitting on the table. The one he’d abandoned in his internal crisis. If he’d just opened his damn mail he could have taken Seireitei without any trouble at all.

“If I switch to my own spirit form, will you still be able to draw on my power?”

Cu hummed. “Normally I would say no. In your case? Probably.”

“Lucky me,” Ichigo said. For once he actually meant it.

He pulled out a soft orange scarf. It was tattered and torn, and utterly ancient. Over 3000 years old.

Ichigo laid it down delicately in the middle of the circle and stepped back. Medusa handed him a knife. He cut his palm across an old scar and stepped to the edge of the circle where he held his fist out and over the chalk circle. Blue light crawled across the floor and raced along the edges where it crackled and sparked.

“Let silver and steel be the essence. Let stone and the archduke of contracts be the foundation. Fill, fill, fill, fill, fill. Repeat five times and after each is filled, destroy it,” The blue light turned red and lashed upwards.

“I shall become all the goodness of the heaven’s. I shall embody all evils of hell. My will creates your body, and your sword cleaves my destiny. If you obey this will and reason, heed my call! Let shut the four cardinal gates and open the three-forked road winding to the Root. Appear now, thou Guardian of the Scales.”

Romani had told him once that each war used a different summoning chant in their rituals. Participants and factions tailored their to specific desires, ancestors, and faction colors in some cases. Ichigo’s was an amalgamation of a half a dozen.

It worked. Ichigo could feel the energy of life swelling up under his skin and filling his magic circuits as he drew it out of the planet and into himself. He was a conduit. The mana of the world rolled through his veins.

He poured it through the circle, filling it until the limits were fit to burst. His blood sang with power.

The light grew, rolling over and over until it was too bright to see beyond it.

Ichigo felt the world give way and shift as the atmosphere made room for someone new. Someone powerful.

“I ask you,” came a familiar voice, “Are you my master?”

“I ask you; stop calling me that already.”

The light parted light a curtain and Ichigo found himself yanked into a sudden, strong embrace. Powerful hands clapped his back firmly.

“I thought I heard your voice!”

“You said you would come whenever I called. No matter where or-”

“When, I remember. I do keep my promises when I’m able to, master.”

“I swear to god,” Ichigo smacked him and shoved the servant away. Green hair, tanned skin.

Achilles grinned down at him.

* * * * *

Before Kyo, before America, before the dark circle was printed on Ichigo’s chest, he stood in a city bathed in fog.

It was thick and filled with the scent of sorrow.

From the second they landed they were in a fight. Dolls, a strange girl in armor, and homunculi. It was after the last one that Ichigo finally decided they needed to find a base of operations.

Ichigo touched Mash’s shoulder gently. “Let’s get a move on.”

There was something bothering her. She wouldn’t say what. She blamed it on the environment, but Ichigo had known her too long to buy into that.

They get blitzed by a servant before they can find a safe place to hunker down, but just as soon as the fight is over Ichigo forgets what they look like. Mash and Romani are the same. It’s a frightening power. How can they fight someone if they can’t remember anything about them as soon as they’re gone from sight?

They need back up. They need to find a Ley Line so he can summon Cu and Medusa to help them.

Help comes in the form of a brash spitfire of a blonde in knights armor. The same strange girl they’d met earlier.

Her name is Mordred, a knight of the round table. She has a safehouse, and a doctor.

There’s something about Jekyll that makes Ichigo’s skin prickle. He’s a sweet faced young man, with kind green eyes, but there’s something dangerous about him.

Ichigo peers out the window while he gently chides Mordred for revealing her name. The streets are full of ghosts here, that walk uninhibited and forlorn in the mists.

There’s a lot of blondes in this city.

* * * * * *

#bleach fanfiction #Ichigo Kurosaki #BAMF!Ichigo Kurosaki #Ichigo Kurosaki is Ritsuka Fujimaru #mash kyrielight #jack the ripper #urahara kisuke #medusa fate grand order #cu chulainn #Achilles #Achilles Fate #Zangetsu #yoruichi shihouin #hollow ichigo

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domesticsns · 4 years

Note

This AU is INCREDIBLE! I can't believe I only just found it, I have been missing out. But what I want to know (and I don't think has been written about???) is when the first time was that the Uchiha family went 'oh shit, Sasuke can fight' and who was the first to get their ass kicked by him? Also, has Itachi ever physically fought him, seeing as those two adore each other?

Thank you! I am glad you enjoy it! I work hard on keeping it active and coming up with ideas, even when I don’t have time to write them in story form.

Amma gonna take you back to the journey of Sauske Uchiha.

So Sasuke,Itachi,Izuna,Madara and Shisui were close as kids, they have known each other since they were born and they all lived in the same country which makes it easy to visit one another (they did no live too far from reach other) so they basically grew up together.

So Sasuke was this energetic, smiling and loud young kid...Until he was eight and his mother shot herself in the head in front of him which left a very big traumatic strain in his mental health and left him speechless for several years. The kid could not speak a word. He became quiet, more preserved and kind of the type that needed constant protection especially since he did not talk. This is why Shisui,Madara and Itachi always kept an eye out on him. (Izuna is the same age as Sasuke and couldn’t really comprehend the situation).

So Sasuke was doing a better in pre-teens years, especially after meeting his best friend and he started talking again and feeling more comfortable, but then his dad send him away to boarding school which Fugaku had pitched to anybody that asked as, “Special school that could support Sasuke’s special needs” it would “tough him up” “prepare him for the world” and everybody just bought it.

Although they got skeptical when they were talking about it. What school had no summer break or let their students go home for X-mas. Something was up, but Fugaku wouldn’t budge. At some point Madara talked to Shisui and said that Sasuke was probably dead in a ditch and Fugaku was just hiding the fact from Itachi and feeding him fake letters and photoshopped images that he was “fine”.

Then four years past when Sasuke returned and nobody really recognised him at first. Like when he was staying with his uncle Kagami before going to the police academy and Shisui coming over to his father and introducing himself to Sasuke who was just like, “It me...Sasuke.” And Shisui’s first words to him were, “You’re not dead in a ditch?”

and they talked a little, but Sasuke didn’t really mention what boarding school he was send, just that he graduated top of his class. He got reconnected with his cousins and his brother who was still very suspicious about the whole ordeal.

So, this happened before Sasuke was accepted into the police academy. They were having dinner together and talking, well they were talking, Sasuke was just listening to them talk and just looked at peace for a moment. Madara asked him what his plans were now that he graduated high school. Sasuke says he was going to go to the police academy and see it from there.

This sort of surprised the others because Sasuke hadn’t mentioned wanting to be a cop since he was like five years old.

Shisui mentioned that Konoha’s police academy require a bachelor diploma at least if he wanted to do anything else than stopping people for speeding.

Sasuke mentioned he went to a pretty well boarding school and they were bound to accept his application. Would be really weird if they didn’t. Besides he figure if he graduated from the police academy he could start working part time and then maybe go to university, get a degree in something that could help his career in the long run.

Madara started picking on Sasuke, because that Uchihas do. He mocked Sasuke for being way too shy and way to introverted and what he was going to do, stare people to obeying the law? Then the mocking took a turn to Sasuke’s appearance and then to him probably having gone his entire life with people looking out for him, how the hell was he going to go through 6 months of brutal training where they were going to physically and mentally challenge his limits.

Sasuke didn’t respond to the mocking and just let it slide by him. It wasn’t until they were having bruch a week later when they were talking again and Shisui asked if Sasuke heard anything from his application to the academy and Sasuke said yeah he got accepted like the next day he applied. So Itachi and Shisui were very impressed and said they were excited for him while Madara commented how the standard for officers had gone down if they accepted a ‘fairy’ like Sasuke.

Sasuke glared at Madara and told him he should watch it.

Madara chuckled, asking what he was going to do? Ignore him? Walk away? disappear for another four years?

And this had triggered something in Sasuke because he got up to leave and Shisui and Itachi were trying to diffuse the situation, but it didn’t really work because Madara wouldn’t stop mocking Sasuke and Sasuke got fed up and proceeded to push Shisui aside, jump over the table and pin Madara on the ground, hand wrapped around his throat, bread knife in other.

Everybody just kinda stood there, frozen, not sure what was happening and how it happened.

Sasuke stabs the knife an cm from Madara’s face before whispering, “I think I wanted to fucking leave for four years?” He gets up and looks down on at Madara, “The shithead of a father of mine just dropped me off at military boarding school and wouldn’t let me leave. I didn’t go by choice.”

And then some of the cards were laid on the table and they knew as much that everything they thought they knew was a lie and throughout the years and one netflix documentary later...They realised they have trained assassin in the family.

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thelastspeecher · 4 years

Text

Recoil - Chapter 4: Squib Load

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 AO3

I was too busy working on my thesis last week and getting sick this week to upload this chapter. The fic is already written, but it takes time to post, especially since I sometimes edit while I’m posting it. But! It is here. And things go from bad to worse...

(Again, this fic was inspired by “1 Step Forward, 20 Years Back” by @infriga)

Squib load (noun): a firearms malfunction in which a fired projectile does not have enough force behind it to exit the barrel, and thus becomes stuck

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Stan paced anxiously by the side of Ford’s bed, glancing at Ford every now and then. Ford was sleeping peacefully, his chubby, cherubic face particularly angelic. Stan scowled.

He has no right to look so relaxed when he did this to himself. Why the hell did he eat that plant? He knows better than that! Hell, I know better than that, and I’m a dumbass.

“Yer bound to wear a hole in the floor like that,” a voice said. Stan spun around. Fiddleford had returned from his house. He handed the plastic bag he was holding to Stan. “That oughta fit him. Yer lucky that I’m a bit of a hoarder. Children’s clothes are expensive.”

“I know,” Stan mumbled, thinking back to some of the price tags he’d seen at the mall, what felt like years ago. “Why didn’t his clothes shrink with him this time?”

“The cause was dif’rent,” Fiddleford said. Stan rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, I got that, Fiddlenerd. I’m complaining, not actually asking a question.” Stan set the bag down next to the bed. “It looks like he’s done shrinking, at least.” Stan looked at Ford again. “No clue how old he is now.” Fiddleford crossed over to the bed and sat on the edge. He stroked Ford’s hair out of his face.

“I can’t give ya an exact age, but he looks to be ‘bout three. Maybe a young four or an old two. Depends on whether he was larger or smaller than average as a child.” Fiddleford looked at Stan expectantly. Stan shrugged. “Well, the range of old two to young four ain’t exactly an easy one. If ya thought he was difficult ‘fore, he’s goin’ to be extra difficult now.”

“Why did that plant do this to him?” Stan asked. Fiddleford let out a heavy sigh.

“I don’t know, and I won’t until I get a chance to observe it more closely. Unfortunately, Stanford was the one who knew biology. Combine the fact I ain’t that knowledgeable in the first place with the current state of my mind and ya wind up with someone tryin’ to shoot with both eyes closed.”

“You figured out what was going on with the energy whatever,” Stan protested. Fiddleford shook his head.

“Stanford collected most of that data hisself. And it was regardin’ a machine’s impact. This time, it’s a plant’s impact. My knowledge on plants is strictly from growin’ up on a farm. That plant wasn’t alfalfa or an apple tree.” Ford made a small noise and rolled over. Fiddleford smiled faintly. “These are terrible conditions, to be sure, but I’m a sucker fer a cute face.” Stan sat on the edge of the bed as well, watching Fiddleford watch Ford.

There was no doubt that Fiddleford was a loving, caring father. He radiated an aura of gentleness while he looked at Ford. Stan felt an ugly jealousy unfurling in his chest, thinking of his own childhood. Dreading the sound of heavy footsteps on stairs, being ignored until he succeeded or, more often, screwed up.

Why is this hick who looks like there’s a chicken nesting in his hair a better dad than I got? Fiddleford looked up. He furrowed his brow thoughtfully.

“Somethin’ wrong?”

“No, just-” Stan looked away and tried to fight back his sudden irritation. “Just thinking about when we were this small before.”

“Ah.” The sound was small, but full of understanding. Stan looked back at Fiddleford. “I ain’t privy to the details, but Stanford told me a few things ‘bout his – your – parents.” Fiddleford gazed down at Ford. “I forget sometimes that not everyone had a ma and pa that took care of ‘em as well as mine did. When ya grow up with somethin’, ya tend to not realize that there are folks who don’t have that thing.” The jealousy that had arisen out of nowhere began to settle into a low simmer.

Right. The reason why he’s a good dad and Pops wasn’t is because this guy actually cares about other people. And he had a good dad, so he had someone he could copy. It was like a stone had been tossed into Stan’s stomach. It’s for the best I haven’t had kids yet. Maybe I shouldn’t ever. It’s not like I had someone who could show me how to do it right.

“What’s in the past is in the past,” Fiddleford said, breaking the uncomfortable silence. Stan snorted.

“Sounds like something someone who had a good past would say.”

“Or it’s somethin’ someone would say if they’re beginnin’ to learn the hard way that they need to find a healthy way to move past negative events,” Fiddleford said sharply. Stan raised an eyebrow.

I touched a nerve, didn’t I? The urge to keep pushing was strong, especially since Fiddleford had been strangely specific. Stan fought back that urge. Don’t. If you push him, he might leave. And if he leaves, you’re stuck with three-year-old Ford and no idea how to take care of him, let alone cure him. Stan frowned, a stray phrase that Fiddleford had mentioned earlier suddenly catching his attention.

“What did you mean by your ‘current state of mind’?” Stan asked. Fiddleford stilled. “You’ve mentioned it before. That your brain isn’t what it used to be.”

“That’s private, personal business,” Fiddleford said tightly.

“Not really, if it’s gonna make curing Ford more difficult.” Stan had touched another nerve. Fiddleford’s jaw clenched.

“Then it serves him right, ‘cause his actions ‘re what led me to it,” Fiddleford growled.

“So it has to do with whatever happened between you and Ford,” Stan said. Fiddleford nodded reluctantly. “What was it? Bad breakup?” Stan joked. Fiddleford completely froze, every muscle tensed. Only his eyes moved, darting back and forth like a bee trapped inside a room. Stan could practically hear the gears frantically turning in Fiddleford’s head. Finally, Fiddleford relaxed.

“No.”

“…That’s it? That’s all you’re gonna say? ‘No’?”

“What more do ya want me to say?”

“I want you to tell me what happened with you and Ford. And why it might make curing him more difficult. You might have a beef with him and I do too, but he’s still my brother, okay? I want him to get back to normal!” Stan began to pick up steam as he spoke, physically shaking by the time he bit off his last word.

“Fine.” Fiddleford carefully pulled Ford’s blanket higher, covering Ford’s shoulders. “I’ll tell ya.” His voice was soft but firm. He looked up at Stan, meeting his eyes unflinchingly. “But only if ya tell me in turn ‘bout yer own issues with him.”

“Hell, no,” Stan said immediately. “That’s my business.”

“It’s only fair fer you to share with me, if I have to share with you.”

“Your shit is relevant to the situation! Mine isn’t!”

“So you don’t think that there’s even a slight chance Ford might use whatever bad blood is between the two of ya as a weapon?” Fiddleford shot back. “He’s a toddler. Toddler’s aren’t exactly known fer their self-control, and honestly, Ford wasn’t particularly good at that as an adult! He’ll get frustrated at some point and use it against ya, to get ya to back down or hurt yer feelin’s ‘cause he’s upset he can’t stay up past eight! It might not be relevant in the same way, but that don’t mean it ain’t!”

“You goddamn fucking-” Stan started. Ford let out a loud groan and began to move. Stan and Fiddleford froze. Stan belatedly realized that his voice had been getting louder, as had Fiddleford’s. Fiddleford seemed to have come to the same conclusion. Once Ford stilled again, Fiddleford got up.

“Maybe we should have this conversation in the living room,” Fiddleford said quietly. “A toddler is one of the worst people to wake up from a nap. A toddler who will wake up and know he’s not supposed to be one? Bound to be even worse.”

-----

Stan entered the kitchen. Fiddleford looked up from the papers scattered across the kitchen table. Stan held up the bottles he had found.

“Time to get liquored up!” he said cheerfully. Fiddleford raised his eyebrows.

“You can. I think I’ll avoid imbibin’ fer a while.” He pointed at a cup sitting next to him, likely leaving water rings over everything. “I’m fine with my water fer now.” He looked back down at the papers, frowned, and picked one up. “I don’t need to mess up my mind with alcohol. It’s a bit like a hamster in a wheel as it is.”

“Suit yourself.” Stan opened a pantry and grabbed a glass tumbler, then poured amber liquid into it from one of the bottles. He picked up the glass and sniffed the liquid experimentally. “Hmm. Smells like some fine whisky. Ford’s got good taste.” Stan joined Fiddleford at the table. Fiddleford set down his piece of paper.

“So. Tell me about yer history with Stanford,” Fiddleford said, nonchalant.

“One sec.” Stan gulped down half of his glass of whisky. “All right. Ford and I were best friends when we were kids. Mom would call us ‘joined at the hip’. We…” Stan trailed off.

You don’t need to spill the whole thing. He doesn’t need to hear it. Stan cleared his throat.

“But when we were in high school, Ford made this science fair experiment. All of a sudden, colleges were looking at him like he was gonna solve world hunger or cure cancer or whatever. He decided that he wanted to go to one of ‘em. I was pretty pissed, ‘cause we always planned on doing stuff together when we were finally old enough to leave New Jersey. And I went to go yell at his experiment about it.” He managed a weak laugh. “Like that was gonna help.”

“Better ‘n yellin’ at Stanford,” Fiddleford said, his tone carefully neutral.

“Not really. I bumped a thing, something fell, and the damn machine broke. I tried to fix it, but I couldn’t.” The memory filled him with a hot, pulsing shame. “That screw-up screwed up his shot at going to a fancy school out west,” Stan finished. Fiddleford nodded.

“I knew he was bitter ‘bout not gettin’ to go to West Coast Tech, but I never knew why he didn’t go there.” Fiddleford rolled his eyes. “He complained about it all the time at Backupsmore.”

“He- wait, you went to college together?”

“We were roommates.”

Oh my god, they were roommates.

“Even if he got into West Coast Tech, I doubt he’d have enjoyed it. That school might be years ahead of the general population in terms of technology and science, but it’s way behind in…how should I say it? Social progress.”

“Sounds like you have experience with them.”

“A bit.” Fiddleford took a drink of water, his eyes stormy. “I got in. West Coast Tech accepted me to their engineerin’ program. But then they found out somethin’ personal about me. Don’t know how. Maybe some spiteful feller from my high school told ‘em. But it don’t matter. Once they found out, they decided they didn’t want to be associated with my ‘lifestyle’.” Fiddleford etched quotation marks in the air, a distinctly sour look on his face.

“They couldn’t rescind my acceptance over it,” Fiddleford continued. “I mean, they could’ve. But my ma was a lawyer ‘fore she married my pa, which they knew, ‘cause I mentioned it in my cover letter. So they knew I’d make a stink over it. Them backin’ out on their decision to accept me over a rumor.” Fiddleford swallowed. “A rumor that was true, but I didn’t confirm it to ‘em. I ain’t always wise, but I ain’t dumb, neither.

“They didn’t want to deal with the bad press, so they quietly changed the rules fer financial aid. When I first got in, I qualified fer all sorts of grants and scholarships. Practic’ly a full ride. But after they changed the rules, I didn’t qualify no more. And without financial aid, I couldn’t go.” Fiddleford downed the rest of his glass. “They effectively shot me in the legs. Didn’t kill me, but wounded me enough that I couldn’t go on.” Fiddleford’s voice broke. “Absolute horseshit, the lot of it.”

“I’d agree with that,” Stan said solemnly. Fiddleford sighed.

“Anyways, I doubt Stanford would’ve thrived in an environment like that.” Fiddleford shook his head. “Never mind. Was that the end of yer story?”

“…Basically,” Stan said. Fiddleford took off his small reading glasses and busily rubbed at them with his sleeve. “I don’t know how that’s gonna help you clean those. Your shirt’s even dirtier.”

“Hmph.” Fiddleford set his glasses down on the table. He locked eyes with Stan. Without a thin layer of smeared glass covering them, his eyes were a bright shade of blue, something that took Stan by surprise. He wasn’t completely sure why it startled him, but nonetheless, it did. “What happened when Stanford’s machine was broken?”

“Ford got pissed.”

“And yer father?”

“Even more pissed.”

“What did he do?” Fiddleford’s questions weren’t purposeless. Each one was sharp, short, and thought-out. A chill ran down Stan’s spine. Fiddleford knew there was something Stan wasn’t saying. Something Fiddleford was determined to find out.

“Why do you care what my dad did?” Stan snapped. “It doesn’t have anything to do with- with anything! Back off!” Fiddleford’s mouth straightened into one flat line. After a moment, he leaned back.

“I mentioned before that Stanford told me a bit ‘bout yer parents. Not a lot, but enough to know that yer father would not have reacted well to this.” Stan was silent. “I don’t consider myself a busybody, but-”

“You’re doing a pretty good job of pretending to be one, then.”

“Am I wrong?” Fiddleford pried. Stan scowled. “Am I wrong in that somethin’ particularly awful went down that day?”

“I don’t need to answer any more of your questions!” Stan thundered. “I said I’d tell you why Ford and I weren’t on good terms. I did, so I’m not gonna tell you anything else.” Fiddleford held up his hands placatingly.

“All right. I’ll drop it. Fer now.” Fiddleford looked down at the spreading water ring from his glass. “I s’ppose it’s my turn to share my bad blood with Stanford.”

“Damn straight.” Stan leaned back and took a swig of his whisky. “Talk, Fiddledork.”

-----

“That’s essentially what happened,” Fiddleford said. His mouth was dry from talking for so long. “Both to make things…tense between Stanford and myself, and to leave me in my current state.” Fiddleford’s shoulders drooped. “I’ve felt scatter-brained before, but nothin’ like this.”

“Huh. I get it now,” Stan said thoughtfully. Fiddleford was too weary from the weight of his decisions to respond energetically. He picked up his glass of water.

“Get what?” he asked.

“Why you and Ford used to get along so well. You’re both dumbass geniuses.” That startled Fiddleford out of his tiredness. He slammed his glass down on the table and glared at Stan.

“Excuse me?”

“Hey, don’t get me wrong, I’m a dumbass, too,” Stan said airily. He ran his finger along the rim of his glass. “But I’m not the kinda dumbass who makes sci-fi villain weapons, I’m the kinda dumbass who licks a metal pole in winter.” Stan shook his head. “How the hell did you think it was a good idea to make something that would erase memories? That’s like, the plotline of half of Ford’s favorite books.”

“Being able to erase traumatic events would revolutionize treatment! Think of all those folks with PTSD-”

“Look. I’ve been through plenty of traumatic shit I’d rather forget,” Stan said. His voice was level but firm. “There are things that haunt me. But forgetting ‘em would mean I- well, if I don’t have my memories, I’m not me anymore. And isn’t that the same problem you’ve got? You used that thing on yourself and started forgetting and now you’re not the same guy that got into West Coast Tech.”

“To be fair, there have been side effects from prolonged use,” Fiddleford said. “If I had worked out the tweaks more before beginning to use it-”

“Maybe you wouldn’t be dealing with this,” Stan finished. “But maybe you would. I stand by what I said. Everyone’s got things they wish hadn’t happened, or that they could forget happened. Erasing them, though, changes who we are.” Stan was silent for a moment. He looked out the window, his eyes mournful. “I don’t always like who I am. That doesn’t mean I’ll try to become someone else. I don’t know how to be someone else. I barely know how to be me. Y’know?” A heavy silence filled the room.

“Yer quite the philosopher,” Fiddleford said finally. Stan shrugged.

“I think a lot. Not enough to be like you or Ford, but my head isn’t completely empty.” He cracked a small grin. Fiddleford managed a weak smile in return. Quiet footsteps sounded in the kitchen. Stan and Fiddleford looked over. “You found the clothes,” Stan said to Ford. Ford looked down at himself. He was wearing bright red shorts and a white T-shirt that Fiddleford remembered having a lizard on the front. The lizard wasn’t visible at the moment, though. “Your shirt is inside-out,” Stan said helpfully. Ford scowled.

“I’m aware. My coordination is currently lacking.”

“Tots aren’t really known fer their gracefulness,” Fiddleford said, in what he hoped was an empathetic tone. Ford rubbed his eyes.

“‘Tots’? I take it I’m a toddler, then?” he asked, his voice shaking.

“Looks like,” Stan said. He seemed to be taking the tactic opposite to Fiddleford’s. Rather than keep Ford calm by commiserating, he appeared to be downplaying the seriousness of the situation. His voice was light and cheerful, like the latest wrinkle to occur could be smoothed out easily. Fiddleford nodded slightly, appreciative.

Stan might try to deny it, but he has very good instincts. Children pick up on the emotions of adults and will mirror them.

“What brought about this development?” Ford asked. Stan got up from his chair and crouched down in front of Ford.

“You ate a weird plant in the woods. Lift your arms.”

“Why?”

“Why did you eat the plant or why should you lift your arms?” Stan asked. “I don’t know the answer to the first one, but the answer to the second one is so that I can fix your shirt. C’mon. Lift ‘em up.” Ford did as he was told. Stan slid off Ford’s shirt, turned it outside-in, and put it back on Ford. Through the process, he was gentle and careful.

“Do you not remember the plant?” Fiddleford asked Ford. Ford rubbed his chin, an action directly contradicting his current youthful appearance.

“No. Do you happen to have it? Seeing it might jolt my memory.”

“It’s in the lab,” Stan answered. Ford nodded.

“Excellent. I’ll need to run some tests on myself anyways. Two birds with one stone.”

“Oh, hell no,” Stan said firmly. Ford’s eyes widened, taking Fiddleford aback. He’d expected a scowl or frown. Ford seemed less angry than startled.

“What? Why?” Ford whined. Stan stood up.

“You’re three.”

“So?”

“Your lab isn’t safe! There’s all sortsa weird, dangerous stuff in there.”

“Stanley!”

“Calm down, gents,” Fiddleford said. “Stanley, Stanford’s right in that more tests need to be run on him. Stanford, Stanley’s right that it ain’t really safe fer ya to be in the lab. Yer too lil to do any experimentation anyways.”

“I beg to differ,” Ford muttered, crossing his arms and looking away. He let out a small squeak as Stan picked him up. “Hey!”

“Fiddlesticks, think you can run the tests on him?”

“I can do my best,” Fiddleford said hesitantly.

“Your best is gonna be better than mine,” Stan said. “Let’s go get those tests done. Then…I dunno, maybe we put Ford down for a nap.”

“No!” Ford protested. He squirmed in Stan’s arms. “Put me down!”

“I thought you didn’t wanna be put down for a nap,” Stan said snarkily. Ford stopped squirming to glare at him.

“That’s not what I meant and you know it! I can walk downstairs myself!”

“I’m not gonna risk it. Those stairs are steep. I don’t want you to trip and break your nose.” Fiddleford watched the bickering with some amusement. It wasn’t quite the same as an argument between siblings, which Fiddleford had plenty of experience with. But it also wasn’t quite the same as an argument between a parent and child, which Fiddleford also knew well.

Whichever fightin’ it’s most like, it’s kind of cute. Though that might have somethin’ to do with the people who are arguin’. Fiddleford flushed slightly. Now what did I mean by that?

“Fine, dad,” Ford grumbled, giving in. Stan was facing away from him, but Fiddleford could still see him tense slightly. “You can carry me down the stairs. But I refuse to be carried all the way to the lab. I can walk to the stairs.”

“Sure,” Stan said quietly. He set Ford down. Ford immediately set off, his bare feet slapping against the hardwood floor. Fiddleford got up and walked over to Stan. He placed a hand on Stan’s shoulder. Stan startled.

“Somethin’ wrong?” Fiddleford asked softly. Stan looked away. “…All right, I won’t push it. But ya seemed mighty tense just now.”

“It’s probably nothing,” Stan muttered. “It’s- Ford’s never called me ‘dad’ before. Even jokingly.” Stan rubbed the back of his neck. “But he was joking, so yeah, it’s- it’s probably nothing. I’m probably just a bit on edge about all of this.”

“It’s understandable fer ya to be on edge.” Without thinking, Fiddleford squeezed Stan’s shoulder reassuringly. Stan eyed him.

“You’re a bit touchy, aren’t you?”

“My apologies,” Fiddleford mumbled. He removed his hand. “I’ll grab what I need to. You bring Stanford down to the lab.”

-----

By the time Fiddleford arrived in the lab, Stan had found an old blanket and covered the large window through which the portal could be seen. It was a challenging task, in that he had to do it one-handed, with Ford constantly trying to break free of his hold. Now, Ford ambled around the lab, standing on his tiptoes to try to see over the edges of counters and mumbling to himself. Stan couldn’t quite make out all of Ford’s words, but he recognized a few as frustrated swears. Ford’s cussing was incredibly endearing as he puttered around in the distinctive toddling gait of a very young child.

“Sorry ‘bout the wait,” Fiddleford said, finally arriving in the lab, carrying a cardboard box. He looked around. “Why haven’t ya turned the lights on?”

“There’s a light switch?” Stan asked. Fiddleford reached a finger out and flipped a switch that Stan had seen before but assumed turned on some sort of death ray. The lab was filled with light. Fiddleford glanced at the window tensely. Stan was relieved to see his face relax.

“I see you’ve hidden that bad decision.”

“Yeah.” Stan shrugged, passing off the action as inconsequential to him. “It hasn’t done anything good so far, so I figured, why stare at it?”

“Very sound logic,” Fiddleford said. He flashed an appreciative look in Stan’s direction. “Stanford, c’mere. Let’s get you all tested. Sooner we’re done with that, the sooner you can have lunch and take a nap.”

“I don’t need a nap,” Ford protested, but he toddled over to Fiddleford obediently. Fiddleford set the box on the ground, got down on his knees, and pulled a device that looked like a grocery store scanner out of the box. “By the way, how long was I unconscious?” Ford asked. Fiddleford moved the scanner up and down Ford’s body.

“A coupla hours,” Stan answered. “Not too long.” He glanced at his watch. “We went on a hike around nine, you passed out around ten, it’s noon-ish now.” Ford’s stomach rumbled. “Fiddleford was right about lunch. We need to get some food in you. Any requests?”

“I’d think somethin’ not too strong,” Fiddleford said. He looked at the screen of the scanner, his face grim. “Toddlers should be restricted to blander food. Maybe somethin’ like chicken nuggets or mac ‘n cheese. Do either of those sound good to ya, Stanford?”

“Either one should be fine.” Ford craned his neck around to try to look at the scanner’s screen as well, but Fiddleford put the scanner back in the box. “What were the results of that?”

“Odd.”

“Odd how?” Ford pressed.

“Yer no longer givin’ off the energy of a dif’rent dimension. Yer cells seemed to have realigned with this one.”

“That’s good, right?” Stan asked. Ford rolled his eyes.

“Duh, dad,” he scoffed. Stan’s chest tightened. Fiddleford looked up at him. Their eyes met. Fiddleford nodded slightly.

He thinks it’s weird, too. For weeks, Ford never called me ‘dad’, even though I acted like one. But since he turned into a toddler, he’s called me that twice. Jokingly, yeah, but what if he starts saying it seriously?

“On the surface, yes, it’s good,” Fiddleford said carefully. He removed another item from the box. Stan squinted. It looked like a pair of tweezers. “I’ll see ‘bout testin’ some of yer DNA.”

“You don’t have much experience with that,” Ford said.

“I’ve seen you do it plenty of times. I think I can figure it out. And if I can’t, I can always ask ya.” Fiddleford plucked a strand of hair from Ford, who let out a small yelp. “Sorry ‘bout that. It’s not a pleasant feelin’, but I figure it’s better ‘n blood samples.” Ford paled.

“Yes. I prefer this over taking blood samples. Needles…” Ford trailed off. He shivered violently. Fiddleford’s mouth pursed in concern, but Ford’s reaction didn’t surprise Stan. He remembered well his brother’s childhood fear of all things medical. As a medical anomaly, he was in and out of doctors’ offices near constantly, and not just to try to fix something. Filbrick used to brag about the number of studies they’d been paid to have Ford participate in, back when Ford was too young to protest being treated like a lab rat.

“Needles suck,” Stan said, trying to take some of the focus off Ford.

“No disagreements here,” Fiddleford said, feigning cheer. He took out a third device from the box. This one looked like a cross between a satellite dish and ray guns on the shows Ford used to watch. Like with the scanner, there was a screen on it directly facing Fiddleford. “This is the last test I’ll be runnin’ fer now.”

“Really? There are so many others!” Ford said. “You haven’t even taken my vitals, for one.”

“Well…” Fiddleford set down the satellite dish-ray gun. He pressed the back of his hand against Ford’s forehead. “You feel fine temperature-wise. Hold out yer wrist.” Fiddleford silently took Ford’s pulse. “Heart rate is also fine.” Fiddleford placed his hands on his knees. “There ‘re plenty of other vital signs, but those two are the ones I’d be most concerned ‘bout. I can listen to yer breathin’ ‘n whatnot later, but ya seem fairly healthy to me.” Ford’s stomach rumbled again. Fiddleford managed a small smile. “And ya sound pretty hungry, so goin’ through this as fast as possible to make sure ya get to eat soon is a good idea. Let me get a quick readin’ on ya and then Stan can take ya upstairs fer some lunch.” Fiddleford held up the satellite dish-ray gun again. He pulled the trigger. There was a flash of light.

“Well?” Ford prompted impatiently. Fiddleford nodded slowly, staring at the gun’s screen.

“Yer givin’ off a bit of magical radiation.”

“Wait, Ford’s magic now?” Stan asked. Fiddleford tilted his head one way, then the other.

“Yes and no. I’ll need some time to properly interpret these results, but just goin’ off what I see here, it looks like Ford has a slight magical aura. Prob’ly from eatin’ that plant in the woods.” Fiddleford playfully poked Ford’s nose. Ford wrinkled his nose in response, eliciting a small smile from Fiddleford. “Go on upstairs and have yourself some food, okay? Once yer done with lunch and yer nap after, I can go over these results with ya if ya still want to.”

“Okay.” Ford looked over at Stan hopefully. “Mac ‘n cheese?” Stan nodded.

“You got it.” Stan strode over to Ford and picked him up. To his surprise, instead of attempting to wriggle free, Ford settled against his chest. He began to head upstairs. “And this time, I won’t even make you eat a vegetable with it.” Ford beamed up at him.

“Thanks, dad.” A lump appeared in Stan’s throat. He choked it down and forced a smile.

“No problem, Sixer.”

#Gravity Falls #fanfiction #Stanley Pines #Fiddleford McGucket #Stanford Pines #deaging #Recoil AU #my writing #my stuff #speecher speaks

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turdblossommm · 5 years

Text

Marry Me {7}

Summary: Bucky and the reader are hopelessly in love with their best friends who are getting married, where the pair first meet. Will there friendship turn into something more or will it crash and burn?

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

A/N: Hiiiii sorry I haven’t been posting! I was up in Elk camp for awhile and didn’t take my computer with me. Good news, I got one! And the thanksgiving part of this is legit the shit my family does

part six // masterlist

You smiled as you teased Bucky’s hair and put a little makeup over his face. He may look like a

like a hobo but damn was he looking good. You pulled your costume on and put your arms out and Bucky smiled, trying not to laugh

“This is actually pretty great” Bucky wrapped his around your waist and you kissed his cheek as he snapped a picture and posted it to his feed with the caption ‘castaway’. You and Bucky walked the three blocks to Sam’s place instead of driving.

“Hey!” Sam swung the door open clad in a pirate costume. Bucky pulled you along to the kitchen where he poured you a drink and found Steve who was dressed as a army man and his girlfriend Peggy in a women’s version of the costume.

“ I don’t think we’ve officially met, I’m Steve and this is Peggy” He stuck his hand out

“Y/N” You shook both their hands “Pleasure to meet you” The song changed and a smile crept onto Bucky’s face

“We have to dance this is my favorite song” He grabbed your hand as you shook your head

“I do many things Barnes, but dancing is not on of them” Bucky stuck his bottom lip out

“Y/N” He whined

“I don’t dance, I’m form the town in Footloose” YOu looked over to him “I’m Kevin Bacon”

“Shut up and dance with me” He tilted his head to the side and pouted again

“No! Don’t do that thing with your eyes” You covered your eyes

“Please” He pouted

“The lord in my shepherd” You whispering towards the ceiling while pinching the bridge your nose “Fine” Bucky pulled you along and he started to move to the beat

“Stop being a damn board” He wrapped his arms around your waist and you moved your hips in sync with his. You dance for multiple songs until Bucky pulled you from the very full living room to the equally full kitchen

“I’ll get drinks, I’m smaller” YOu smiled and started to weave in and out of people until you reached the bar.

“You know Bucky’s my best friend” Steve leaned his back against the bar while facing the living room

“I do” You trend to face him “Is there a problem with my friendship with him”

“I just don’t think he’s in a state to be seeing someone”

“Whatever happens between Bucky and I really doesn’t concern you Steve”

“It does when he’s going to be the one getting his heart broken” He sneered and you chuckled

“It already is Steve” You walked away “And Steve” He turned to you “We’re not seeing each other, were just friends” Bucky took his drink from you

“What you were guys talking about?”

“Nothing and everything” You smiled and chugged your drink “Want to get out of here” He nodded and followed you actions and dragged you out of the apartment.

“Hey what are you doing for Thanksgiving?” You asked during the lunch you two took together

“Nothing” He shrugged and continued to eat his sandwich

“I’m sorry what?” you looked at him dumbfounded “Did you just say you were doing nothing for Thanksgiving” Bucky shrugged and nodded

“It’s not a big deal in my family” YOu smiled and Bucky paled

“Buckle up, I’m about to give you the best Thanksgiving you’ve ever had” Bucky scoffed at your antics knowing damn well that T’Challa only give Thanksgiving day off because he doesn’t celebrate it because he’s not American. So when Bucky found himself on a red eye to Oregon a week before Thanksgiving he was shocked

“This is going to be the best Thanksgiving you’ve ever had” Bucky shrugged, his parents were immigrants so Thanksgiving was just an excuse to not have school for a few days or have a few days off from work. Bucky was pulled out of his thoughts when a beat up red pick stopped in from of them at the terminal.

“Hey Ben” You yell as you threw your bag in the bed and Bucky followed your actions. You climbed in and sat in the middle while Bucky took the passenger seat

“Hey sis how the big apple”

“Too fuckin big” Your brother glanced at Bucky

“Ben this is Bucky, Bucky this is my younger brother Ben” Bucky shook hands with Ben, being 18, Ben tried to crush his hand “Pitter patter” You swatted your brother’s hand away

“You ready for this year, I’ve been practicing for months” YOu shook your head

“You’re going down baby bro, I am, and will forever the youngest ever champion”

“Not unless I get it this year, then we’ll be tied” You ruffled his hair

“Focus on the road” Bucky marveled at the scenery as the closer to your house the greener it became. You watched Bucky take in Oregon, the hidden gem in the US, hidden by constant cloud cover. You fidgeted in your seat as Ben turned down the familiar gravel road and the house came into view

“I can never park this thing”

“Double pump the clutch dumbass” you yelled as you practically shove Bucky out of the truck

“There’s my green bean” You spun and saw your parents on the porch and quickly jogged to the porch and hugged your parents.

“Who’s this young man” Your dad looked over your shoulder

“Ma, Dad this is Bucky he’s a friend from the city” Bucky shook your dad’s hand and gave your mom a hug

“Where do you plan to sleep”

“I assume Muriel has my room so I was thinking we take the barn or the mother in law house, where the mother in law should be” You smiled as you refused to call your grandfather’s fifth wife grandma and pulled Bucky along to the barn

“You’re welcome to have the barn” Your mom smiled. You and Bucky settled into the hay loft and he smiled as you introduced him to all the horses and shook his head as you promised to show him the steer and goats later.

“Green bean were going shooting a final time before we head out tomorrow” You gave your dad a two finger salute.

“I can’t believe you grew up like this and now live in a city” Bucky chuckled as you led him back to the other barn

“I know” You giggled “I always told myself I’d never live in the city” You two were staying in the biggest barn where the horses were kept, the other barnes held feed and other tools. You started to back out the ranger while everyone started pulling up on their quads.

“”Y/N/N” Bucky watched you become a completely different person since getting here, it was like the city changed you and here you were completely you. He smiled as you crouched down and squeezed a little girl and ruffled the boy’s hair

“Can we ride with you?” They asked excitably as you looked over you shoulder to a shrugging Bucky

“Course you can, riding with your daddy isn’t any fun anyway”

“I take offense to that” Your oldest brother hugged you before handing you their ear protection “They’re yours now”

“Be nice bother, they go back to you when I’m done with them” You brother rolled his eyes at the mischievous glint in your eye

“You must be Bucky” You brother looked over your shoulder

“That’s would be me” Bucky took your brother’s hand

“Braxton, pleasure to meet you” Braxton and Bucky watched as you strapped the kids into the Ranger and a smiled formed on Braxton’s face “I haven’t seen her this happy since Frank, make sure she stays that way” Bucky watched you make goofy faces at your niece and nephew

Bucky’s found himself watching you a lot more. He loved watching you laugh, that was his favorite. Watching you be surrounded by your family and loved ones, he felt special to be considered that to you. Bucky could tell you were closed of and maybe that’s because of this Frank, or maybe Clint. Bucky wasn’t sure, he just wanted you to be happy

“Ever shot a gun?” Bucky’s jaw dropped as you pumped a shot gun, taking him out of his trance “I’m taking you silence as a no” You looked over to him

“My cousin’s pistol when I was like 12”

“Alright listen close cause we don’t have a lot of time” YOu pulled him in “Biggest rule, don’t point the gun in anyone’s direction, keep it to the sky loaded or unloaded.” He watched you click a button now showing red “This is the safety, red means dead okay. Always have the safety on”

“Anything else I should know?”

“Don’t miss” You push your other shot gun in his hand

“You got the right choke in there?” Someone yelled at you and you nodded. Bucky watched you walk to the edge of the ridge

“Pull” Bucky watched in awe as you hit a three of the clay pigeons, he chuckled as you jokingly blew on the end of the barrel. You joined him with a smile on your face, adrenaline pumping in your veins

“Ready?” You smiled and You laughed as his face paled “I’ll go up with you” You walked with him up the ridge, showed him how to properly hold the gun and aim

“What if I miss?” He asked and you gave him a small smile

“Then you miss Buck, I can’t tell you how many times all of us have missed. You learned from these things” You kissed his cheek and took a step back. He missed all three, he missed all three the second and third time he went up, but the fourth time he hit the last pigeon

“I hit it?” He smiled as you nodded and everyone cheered for him. Bucky didn’t know there were families like this, only in movies. He couldn’t remember if there was ever a time he was surrounded by his own family and felt like this

“Alright everyone” Your dad tried to calm everyone, Bucky listened not being able to take his eyes off you. “We have an early morning tomorrow, have dinner and get some fuckin' sleep cause at dawn we ride” Bucky watched as you shook your head at your father

“I’ve never known anyone to take hunting this serious”

“We’re rednecks Buck, this is life for us” You laughed as you led him back to the house.

Taglist:

@hailqueenconquer

@2ptonpt

@sebbbystaaan

#bucky #Bucky Barnes #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes au #sad bucky #winter is coming #Winter Solider #winter solider imagine #winter solider x reader #winter solider fanfiction #marvel #Marvel AU #avengers au #Avengers

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crossbows-and-moonshine · 5 years

Text

Such a Softer Sin (chapter two)

Lila gains a job and makes some friends...some very handsome Irish friends :’)

(Chapter one)

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

Three days passed since she was caught in the storm and things hadn't been much better for Lila. She still had no job and it was stressing her out. Her grandfather had some money saved for them to get by, but she hated using his money. She didn't really know where else to look for a job and she was at her wits end. Her grandfather seemed to be loving being back here though which was something. An old friend of his had come over to visit and relax with him so she decided to make herself scarce for a few hours. She was wearing a dark green t shirt and jeans, her knee high doc marten boots and a black hoodie, she learnt her lesson last time to bring a jacket.

She didn't really know where to go, the last time she was in Boston, she was 10, so she was unfamiliar with the place. She wandered around for a bit before coming back to the pub she had seeked refuge from the rain. It was around 8pm, and she had to be home by 10pm, when her grandads friend would be heading home. She looked at the pub and decided to go in, she could have a couple of beers and just relax in there knowing she was safe. The city put her on edge after what had happened to her father, she didn't feel safe just walking around the streets on her own.

She pushed the door open and walked in, this time going to the bar instead of a booth. Her eyes scanned the place taking everyone in and at the bar over to her left she saw the men from three days ago with another man with wild hair. They were all laughing at something the hairy man said and seemed like they'd been already been drinking a while. She felt a little bad for not talking to the man more when she was here last time, but she just wasn't naturally outgoing like that. She wasn't exactly shy but living in New York meant she was just used to keeping to herself and not talking to people she didn't know. When she got to know someone, she was outgoing, loud and downright cheeky, but with strangers she was just reserved. The barmaid recognised her and gave her a bright smile, no doubt happy Lila was alive and didn't die of hypothermia from last time. She knew she looked much better. When Lila had returned home after her last visit she was shocked at how she looked. She knew people had been concerned and she knew why. She looked like she had been aboard the Titanic when it had sank. Now she was dry and healthy looking. Her red wavy hair down and flowing past her shoulders. Her cheeks had a healthy blush and her pale complexion looked healthy, not like she was on the verge of death.

“Ye came back! Ye look so much better.” The woman smiled warmly at her as she stopped in front of her. Lila blushed slightly at the fact she was just thinking the same thing. She was unaware that the barmaids loud voice had alerted her presence to the young men sat a few seats away at the bar.

“Yeah, a little less like a drowned rat today.” Lila snorted a little as she smiled at her. The woman grinned and poured a shot of whiskey, setting it infront of her.

“On me. I’m glad ye came back, we were worried about ye.” She admitted, looking all motherly. She glanced at the men as she said it, indicating they too had been worried and Lila braved a glance at them. The dark haired one gave her a lopsided grin whilst the blonde one gave her a smirk.

“Aye lass, we had half a mind te follow ye te make sure ye got home alright.” The blonde spoke up with a grin.

“Hmm… because that's not creepy.” She teased playfully before downing her shot, enjoying how it burned a little on the way down. The darker haired man barked a laugh and got an thwack across his head off the blonde one. She found it amusing watching them together.

“I’m Connor. This is me brother Murphy, and the hairy mess over there is our good pal Rocco.” He grinned, nodding his head to the very drunk man hitting on a woman across the room, unsuccessfully. Lila snorted a little and shook her head as she looked from the hairy man to the boys once again. She was feeling better about talking to them since she wasn't soaked through and grumpy.

“Lila.” She replied, tilting her head a little with a smile. Murphy bit his lower lip as his lips turned up into a slight smile as he watched her and Connor just gave her a cheeky grin as he sipped his beer.

“Are ye new here? Don’t remember seein’ ye around.” Murphy spoke up as he glanced at her through his lashes, fishing his smokes out from his pocket. Connor gave him a side glance, knowing the words left unsaid. ‘Cause we’d remember a pretty lass like you.

“Kind of. I was born here, left when I was ten. But my granda wanted to come back. He’s sick.” She explained with a sad smile. The boys nodded in unison as Murphy passed his brother a smoke and they lit up at the same time. The pair had a way of moving that was synchronised and she found it fascinating.

“Sorry te hear he’s sick lass. I noticed ye call him granda but yer not Irish.” Connor looked at her curiously. He said it more as a statement than a question but she knew what he was getting at.

“My parents are Irish. Hence the hair.” She snorted. “I don’t have the accent but I guess I still use the terms. I’m the only one in my family that doesn't have the accent.” She smirked.

“Ah… thought ye had a bit o’ Irish in ye love. Can see it.” Murphy gave her a bit of a once over as he said it and she felt her cheeks heat up ever so slightly at his gaze. She doubted it was anything sexual though, despite his smoldering eyes. These two were ridiculously attractive. She had no doubt they had the pick of whatever girls came in here.

She was broken out of her thoughts by Connor calling the barmaid over, Aileen apparently, and ordering them all a round of beers. She would have protested but she was never one to turn down free drinks.

“Should sit over here lass, easier te talk te ye. We don’t bite.” Connor grinned, his eyes twinkling with mischief. The pair looked like handsome men yet they exuded a boyish charm that made them seem so young and carefree. She grabbed her beer and walked over, Murphy stood and slid onto a stool to let her sit in between them. They were sat so close that her arm was brushing Murphy's and her leg was touching Connors. It was a tight squeeze and she couldn't work out why neither of them made an effort to move away a little when they had the room to do so.

“So, is it just you and yer granda?” Murphy asked curiously, turning his head to see her. He had his arms resting on the bar as he watched her.

“Yeah. I’m his carer. I didn't really want to come back here but he wanted to, I couldn't say no. He’s with an old friend tonight, it’s why I came here for a bit.” She replied, looking at him shyly. His eye contact never wavered and it almost unsettled her with how intense it was.

“Whats wrong with him, if ye don’t mind me askin’?” Connor asked, making her look away from Murphy and to him instead. Connors eyes were soft and caring as he looked at her.

“Lung cancer and dementia. It’s pretty bad. He doesn't remember who I am most times now.” She sighed, her brow furrowing a little. The boys nodded, they had heard her on the phone days before and they figured it was something like that. They had seen just how upset she had gotten and they felt for the poor girl.

“It’s nice that he has ye te look after him though. Why didn't ye want to come back here?” Murphy asked. She felt like she was getting whiplash looking back and forth at the pair as they fired questions at her.

“I uh...My da was murdered when I was ten. Caught in the crossfire of some mafia war. Ma and granda took me and left. It was too hard to stay here after that and they thought we wouldn't be safe.” She explained softly, not looking at either of them. She missed the dark look the pair shared over her head as she sipped her beer.

“Sorry to hear that love. Don’t seem to have much luck aye?” Murphy offered her a small smile, and she couldn't help but return it. It was so easy to talk to these two, it was nice. She was worried she wouldn't make any friends coming back here, but it turned out she was wrong.

“Thanks Murphy. Oh hey, do either of you know somewhere that's hiring? I've asked everyone and no one wants me. I really need something part time to pay the bills.” She sighed, looking between the pair. They looked to each other, sly grins creeping across their faces that made her squint suspiciously.

“Aileen!” Murphy yelled over to the barmaid, making Lila jump a little at his unexpected loudness. He looked at her and snorted a little, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and pulling her so close to him she almost slid off her own stool.

“Sorry love, didn't mean to scare ye.” He smirked, he didn't look sorry in the least and he made no effort to move his arm either. Lila could feel the heat radiating off him and he smelt quite pleasant. The woman came over looking at the boys curiously.

“Ye still need a hand in the bar? Our girl Lila’s lookin’ for some part time work.” Connor grinned, looking all innocent like butter wouldn't melt, despite the firm hand that came to rest on the girls knee. Aileen huffed a laugh at the pair and shook her head in amusement.

“Ye have any experience sweetheart?” She asked her kindly. Lilas face lit up a little of the prospect of a job, one that she could definitely do.

“Yeah, my ma works in an Irish pub back in New York, I went and helped out a lot for some extra cash.” She smiled. Aileen nodded and looked over the three of them.

“Well then, can ye start tomorrow, come about 8?” She asked. Lila beamed a smile at her and nodded. The day was looking up now. She had a job and friends. Maybe things wouldn’t be too bad.

Time flew by as the trio sat together and spoke about anything and everything. The boys took great pleasure in telling her embarrassing stories about each other and she laughed nearly the whole time. It was like they were having a competition to see who could make her laugh the most. Rocco was passed out in a booth, not being able to handle his alcohol. Murphy had laughed his ass off about it as Connor dumped him in the booth, telling Lila how it was because he wasn't Irish, he couldn't keep up with them. They kept touching her, little touches here and there. Arms briefly wrapped around her shoulder or waist, hands touching hers. She didn't think too much about it though, they were just being friendly.

She glanced at the clock and noticed it was 9.45. She knew she had to leave, it would take 15 minutes to get back home. She felt sad at having to leave. This was the most fun she’d had in a long while and she dreaded going back home to her granda. She had an overwhelming guilt at the thought, she knew it was bad. But she couldn't help it, it was killing her seeing him the way he was.

“Alright boys, I need to go.” She sighed as she finished off her beer and stood, putting her hoodie back on. The boys glanced to each other before back to her.

“How ye gettin’ home lass?” Connor asked as he turned on his stool to look at her, Murphy mirroring his brother.

“I was gonna walk, but I think I’ll just take a cab, it's easier and honestly I’m tired, it’s been a long ass day.” She smiled, zipping up her hoodie. She missed the looks of disappointment cross the brothers faces briefly. They had hoped she was walking so they could offer to walk her back, a chance to spend more time with her.

“Aye alright, we’ll see ye tomorrow then?” Murphy asked looking all hopeful and she stifled a laugh at his ridiculously cute face. It felt good that the boys wanted to see her again, the feeling of the blossoming friendship wasn't just in her head.

“O’ course ye’ll see her tomorrow ye twit, she works here now.” Connor laughed, loving embarrassing his brother at every chance he got. Murphy scowled at him and Lila couldn't help but feel like he was about to pounce on his brother. She had encouraged them enough tonight with their sibling rivalry and she didn't want to stick around and watch it get physical.

“Yes Murph, I’ll be here.” She smiled brightly at him, making him look at her, his scowl melting off his face and replaced with a beautiful full smile. She decided she rather liked that look on him.

She was about to head out when Murphy slipped off his stool, sauntering the few steps over to her with such grace that contradicted the brooding young mans features. She was suddenly enveloped in strong arms. She hadn't expected a bear hug, any hug for that matter, but it was nice. It had been far too long since she had friends and she couldn't remember the last time someone had actually hugged her. She wrapped her arms around his middle, she was a little short and he rested his chin on her head as his arms tightened just a little. She wasn't sure how long they stood like that for, it felt like forever yet it seemed not long enough, but someone clearing their throat snapped her out of it. She moved away but before her brain had time to register anything, another pair of arms were wrapped around her. One thing she figured out was, the boys gave equally good hugs, they were comforting and made her feel happy.

When Connor was finished hugging her, she moved away and smiled at them both. She couldn't wait for the next night to see them again and start her new job. To feel like she had some semblance of life other than being a carer and having her heart broken over and over as she watched her beloved granda get worse every day. They said their goodbyes and she left, flagging down a cab. She felt the dread settle in her stomach as it got closer to home, it always set her on edge not knowing what she would come home to. If he would remember her or not. Not knowing what he would say. One time he asked after his wife, Lilas grandmother who passed away years ago. And when she told him she had died, he lost his shit, screaming at her. She’d never seen that side to him. Now she just told him she was out shopping, she learnt sometimes the truth wasn't the best course of action and it would settle him enough until he remembered again. She rested her head on the cool glass of the window, her hoodie smelt like the boys after the hug they shared and she smiled to herself. Maybe they would become good friends and she wouldn't have to feel so alone anymore after all.

#boondock saints #boondock saints fanfic #murphy macmanus #murphy macmanus fanfic #connor macmanus #connor macmanus fanfic

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