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mostlysignssomeportents · 7 months

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The (open) web is good, actually

I'll be at the Studio City branch of the LA Public Library tonight (Monday, November 13) at 1830hPT to launch my new novel, The Lost Cause. There'll be a reading, a talk, a surprise guest (!!) and a signing, with books on sale. Tell your friends! Come on down!

The great irony of the platformization of the internet is that platforms are intermediaries, and the original promise of the internet that got so many of us excited about it was disintermediation – getting rid of the middlemen that act as gatekeepers between community members, creators and audiences, buyers and sellers, etc.

The platformized internet is ripe for rent seeking: where the platform captures an ever-larger share of the value generated by its users, making the service worst for both, while lock-in stops people from looking elsewhere. Every sector of the modern economy is less competitive, thanks to monopolistic tactics like mergers and acquisitions and predatory pricing. But with tech, the options for making things worse are infinitely divisible, thanks to the flexibility of digital systems, which means that product managers can keep subdividing the Jenga blocks they pulling out of the services we rely on. Combine platforms with monopolies with digital flexibility and you get enshittification:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/01/21/potemkin-ai/#hey-guys

An enshittified, platformized internet is bad for lots of reasons – it concentrates decisions about who may speak and what may be said into just a few hands; it creates a rich-get-richer dynamic that creates a new oligarchy, with all the corruption and instability that comes with elite capture; it makes life materially worse for workers, users, and communities.

But there are many other ways in which the enshitternet is worse than the old good internet. Today, I want to talk about how the enshitternet affects openness and all that entails. An open internet is one whose workings are transparent (think of "open source"), but it's also an internet founded on access – the ability to know what has gone before, to recall what has been said, and to revisit the context in which it was said.

At last week's Museum Computer Network conference, Aaron Straup Cope gave a talk on museums and technology called "Wishful Thinking – A critical discussion of 'extended reality' technologies in the cultural heritage sector" that beautifully addressed these questions of recall and revisiting:

https://www.aaronland.info/weblog/2023/11/11/therapy/#wishful

Cope is a museums technologist who's worked on lots of critical digital projects over the years, and in this talk, he addresses himself to the difference between the excitement of the galleries, libraries, archives and museums (GLAM) sector over the possibilities of the web, and why he doesn't feel the same excitement over the metaverse, and its various guises – XR, VR, MR and AR.

The biggest reason to be excited about the web was – and is – the openness of disintermediation. The internet was inspired by the end-to-end principle, the idea that the network's first duty was to transmit data from willing senders to willing receivers, as efficiently and reliably as possible. That principle made it possible for whole swathes of people to connect with one another. As Cope writes, openness "was not, and has never been, a guarantee of a receptive audience or even any audience at all." But because it was "easy and cheap enough to put something on the web," you could "leave it there long enough for others to find it."

That dynamic nurtured an environment where people could have "time to warm up to ideas." This is in sharp contrast to the social media world, where "[anything] not immediately successful or viral … was a waste of time and effort… not worth doing." The social media bias towards a river of content that can't be easily reversed is one in which the only ideas that get to spread are those the algorithm boosts.

This is an important way to understand the role of algorithms in the context of the spread of ideas – that without recall or revisiting, we just don't see stuff, including stuff that might challenge our thinking and change our minds. This is a much more materialistic and grounded way to talk about algorithms and ideas than the idea that Big Data and AI make algorithms so persuasive that they can control our minds:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/11/06/attention-rents/#consumer-welfare-queens

As bad as this is in the social media context, it's even worse in the context of apps, which can't be linked into, bookmarked, or archived. All of this made apps an ominous sign right from the beginning:

https://memex.craphound.com/2010/04/01/why-i-wont-buy-an-ipad-and-think-you-shouldnt-either/

Apps interact with law in precisely the way that web-pages don't. "An app is just a web-page wrapped in enough IP to make it a crime to defend yourself against corporate predation":

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/27/an-audacious-plan-to-halt-the-internets-enshittification-and-throw-it-into-reverse/

Apps are "closed" in every sense. You can't see what's on an app without installing the app and "agreeing" to its terms of service. You can't reverse-engineer an app (to add a privacy blocker, or to change how it presents information) without risking criminal and civil liability. You can't bookmark anything the app won't let you bookmark, and you can't preserve anything the app won't let you preserve.

Despite being built on the same underlying open frameworks – HTTP, HTML, etc – as the web, apps have the opposite technological viewpoint to the web. Apps' technopolitics are at war with the web's technopolitics. The web is built around recall – the ability to see things, go back to things, save things. The web has the technopolitics of a museum:

https://www.aaronland.info/weblog/2014/09/11/brand/#dconstruct

By comparison, apps have the politics of a product, and most often, that product is a rent-seeking, lock-in-hunting product that wants to take you hostage by holding something you love hostage – your data, perhaps, or your friends:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2021/08/facebooks-secret-war-switching-costs

When Anil Dash described "The Web We Lost" in 2012, he was describing a web with the technopolitics of a museum:

where tagging was combined with permissive licenses to make it easy for people to find and reuse each others' stuff;

where it was easy to find out who linked to you in realtime even though most of us were posting to our own sites, which they controlled;

where a link from one site to another meant one person found another person's contribution worthy;

where privacy-invasive bids to capture the web were greeted with outright hostility;

where every service that helped you post things that mattered to you was expected to make it easy for you take that data back if you changed services;

where inlining or referencing material from someone else's site meant following a technical standard, not inking a business-development deal;

https://www.anildash.com/2012/12/13/the_web_we_lost/

Ten years later, Dash's "broken tech/content culture cycle" described the web we live on now:

https://www.anildash.com/2022/02/09/the-stupid-tech-content-culture-cycle/

found your platform by promising to facilitate your users' growth;

order your technologists and designers to prioritize growth above all other factors and fire anyone who doesn't deliver;

grow without regard to the norms of your platform's users;

plaster over the growth-driven influx of abusive and vile material by assigning it to your "most marginalized, least resourced team";

deliver a half-assed moderation scheme that drives good users off the service and leaves no one behind but griefers, edgelords and trolls;

steadfastly refuse to contemplate why the marginalized users who made your platform attractive before being chased away have all left;

flail about in a panic over illegal content, do deals with large media brands, seize control over your most popular users' output;

"surface great content" by algorithmically promoting things that look like whatever's successful, guaranteeing that nothing new will take hold;

overpay your top performers for exclusivity deals, utterly neglect any pipeline for nurturing new performers;

abuse your creators the same ways that big media companies have for decades, but insist that it's different because you're a tech company;

ignore workers who warn that your product is a danger to society, dismiss them as "millennials" (defined as "anyone born after 1970 or who has a student loan")

when your platform is (inevitably) implicated in a murder, have a "town hall" overseen by a crisis communications firm;

pay the creator who inspired the murder to go exclusive on your platform;

dismiss the murder and fascist rhetoric as "growing pains";

when truly ghastly stuff happens on your platform, give your Trust and Safety team a 5% budget increase;

chase growth based on "emotionally engaging content" without specifying whether the emotions should be positive;

respond to ex-employees' call-outs with transient feelings of guilt followed by dismissals of "cancel culture":

fund your platforms' most toxic users and call it "free speech";

whenever anyone disagrees with any of your decisions, dismiss them as being "anti-free speech";

start increasing how much your platform takes out of your creators' paychecks;

force out internal dissenters, dismiss external critics as being in conspiracy with your corporate rivals;

once regulation becomes inevitable, form a cartel with the other large firms in your sector and insist that the problem is a "bad algorithm";

"claim full victim status," and quit your job, complaining about the toll that running a big platform took on your mental wellbeing.

https://pluralistic.net/2022/02/18/broken-records/#dashes

The web wasn't inevitable – indeed, it was wildly improbable. Tim Berners Lee's decision to make a new platform that was patent-free, open and transparent was a complete opposite approach to the strategy of the media companies of the day. They were building walled gardens and silos – the dialup equivalent to apps – organized as "branded communities." The way I experienced it, the web succeeded because it was so antithetical to the dominant vision for the future of the internet that the big companies couldn't even be bothered to try to kill it until it was too late.

Companies have been trying to correct that mistake ever since. After three or four attempts to replace the web with various garbage systems all called "MSN," Microsoft moved on to trying to lock the internet inside a proprietary browser. Years later, Facebook had far more success in an attempt to kill HTML with React. And of course, apps have gobbled up so much of the old, good internet.

Which brings us to Cope's views on museums and the metaverse. There's nothing intrinsically proprietary about virtual worlds and all their permutations. VRML is a quarter of a century old – just five years younger than Snow Crash:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/VRML

But the current enthusiasm for virtual worlds isn't merely a function of the interesting, cool and fun experiences you can have in them. Rather, it's a bid to kill off whatever is left of the old, good web and put everything inside a walled garden. Facebook's metaverse "is more of the same but with a technical footprint so expensive and so demanding that it all but ensures it will only be within the means of a very few companies to operate."

Facebook's VR headsets have forward-facing cameras, turning every users into a walking surveillance camera. Facebook put those cameras there for "pass through" – so they can paint the screens inside the headset with the scene around you – but "who here believes that Facebook doesn't have other motives for enabling an always-on camera capturing the world around you?"

Apple's VisionPro VR headset is "a near-perfect surveillance device," and "the only thing to save this device is the trust that Apple has marketed its brand on over the last few years." Cope notes that "a brand promise is about as fleeting a guarantee as you can get." I'll go further: Apple is already a surveillance company:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/14/luxury-surveillance/#liar-liar

The technopolitics of the metaverse are the opposite of the technopolitics of the museum – even moreso than apps. Museums that shift their scarce technology budgets to virtual worlds stand a good chance of making something no one wants to use, and that's the best case scenario. The worst case is that museums make a successful project inside a walled garden, one where recall is subject to corporate whim, and help lure their patrons away from the recall-friendly internet to the captured, intermediated metaverse.

It's true that the early web benefited from a lot of hype, just as the metaverse is enjoying today. But the similarity ends there: the metaverse is designed for enclosure, the web for openness. Recall is a historical force for "the right to assembly… access to basic literacy… a public library." The web was "an unexpected gift with the ability to change the order of things; a gift that merits being protected, preserved and promoted both internally and externally." Museums were right to jump on the web bandwagon, because of its technopolitics. The metaverse, with its very different technopolitics, is hostile to the very idea of museums.

In joining forces with metaverse companies, museums strike a Faustian bargain, "because we believe that these places are where our audiences have gone."

The GLAM sector is devoted to access, to recall, and to revisiting. Unlike the self-style free speech warriors whom Dash calls out for self-serving neglect of their communities, the GLAM sector is about preservation and access, the true heart of free expression. When a handful of giant companies organize all our discourse, the ability to be heard is contingent on pleasing the ever-shifting tastes of the algorithm. This is the problem with the idea that "freedom of speech isn't freedom of reach" – if a platform won't let people who want to hear from you see what you have to say, they are indeed compromising freedom of speech:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/12/10/e2e/#the-censors-pen

Likewise, "censorship" is not limited to "things that governments do." As Ada Palmer so wonderfully describes it in her brilliant "Why We Censor: from the Inquisition to the Internet" speech, censorship is like arsenic, with trace elements of it all around us:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uMMJb3AxA0s

A community's decision to ban certain offensive conduct or words on pain of expulsion or sanction is censorship – but not to the same degree that, say, a government ban on expressing certain points of view is. However, there are many kinds of private censorship that rise to the same level as state censorship in their impact on public discourse (think of Moms For Liberty and their book-bannings).

It's not a coincidence that Palmer – a historian – would have views on censorship and free speech that intersect with Cope, a museum worker. One of the most brilliant moments in Palmer's speech is where she describes how censorship under the Inquistion was not state censorship – the Inquisition was a multinational, nongovernmental body that was often in conflict with state power.

Not all intermediaries are bad for speech or access. The "disintermediation" that excited early web boosters was about escaping from otherwise inescapable middlemen – the people who figured out how to control and charge for the things we did with one another.

When I was a kid, I loved the writing of Crad Kilodney, a short story writer who sold his own self-published books on Toronto street-corners while wearing a sign that said "VERY FAMOUS CANADIAN AUTHOR, BUY MY BOOKS" (he also had a sign that read, simply, "MARGARET ATWOOD"). Kilodney was a force of nature, who wrote, edited, typeset, printed, bound, and sold his own books:

https://www.theglobeandmail.com/arts/books/article-late-street-poet-and-publishing-scourge-crad-kilodney-left-behind-a/

But there are plenty of writers out there that I want to hear from who lack the skill or the will to do all of that. Editors, publishers, distributors, booksellers – all the intermediaries who sit between a writer and their readers – are not bad. They're good, actually. The problem isn't intermediation – it's capture.

For generations, hucksters have conned would-be writers by telling them that publishing won't buy their books because "the gatekeepers" lack the discernment to publish "quality" work. Friends of mine in publishing laughed at the idea that they would deliberately sideline a book they could figure out how to sell – that's just not how it worked.

But today, monopolized film studios are literally annihilating beloved, high-priced, commercially viable works because they are worth slightly more as tax writeoffs than they are as movies:

https://deadline.com/2023/11/coyote-vs-acme-shelved-warner-bros-discovery-writeoff-david-zaslav-1235598676/

There's four giant studios and five giant publishers. Maybe "five" is the magic number and publishing isn't concentrated enough to drop whole novels down the memory hole for a tax deduction, but even so, publishing is trying like hell to shrink to four:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/07/random-penguins/#if-you-wanted-to-get-there-i-wouldnt-start-from-here

Even as the entertainment sector is working to both literally and figuratively destroy our libraries, the cultural heritage sector is grappling with preserving these libraries, with shrinking budgets and increased legal threats:

https://blog.archive.org/2023/03/25/the-fight-continues/

I keep meeting artists of all description who have been conditioned to be suspicious of anything with the word "open" in its name. One colleague has repeatedly told me that fighting for the "open internet" is a self-defeating rhetorical move that will scare off artists who hear "open" and think "Big Tech ripoff."

But "openness" is a necessary precondition for preservation and access, which are the necessary preconditions for recall and revisiting. Here on the last, melting fragment of the open internet, as tech- and entertainment-barons are seizing control over our attention and charging rent on our ability to talk and think together, openness is our best hope of a new, good internet. T

he cultural heritage sector wants to save our creative works. The entertainment and tech industry want to delete them and take a tax writeoff.

As a working artist, I know which side I'm on.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/11/13/this-is-for-everyone/#revisiting

Image: Diego Delso (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Museo_Mimara,_Zagreb,_Croacia,_2014-04-20,_DD_01.JPG

CC BY-SA 4.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/

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laughingwith-bluelips · 10 months

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I finally got why I love so much the "dragons are gone" ending in the books while I hate it in the movies:

The books set the dragons free.

The movies simply sent them away.

That's basically the idea but I had a vision yesterday at 3am so I will be getting into detail below the cut.

The books have a very strong message about slavery. Some would say that it is a concept that is only important within the context of the last five or four books, but the ones that have been paying attention to the saga as a whole knows that there are things happening in the background. You know, stuff like

People eating dragons

People stealing dragons from their families so

The dragons can serve the vikings

And they're expected to obey because

People threaten to turn them into bags.

That's mostly the first book.

Dragons are constantly showed as unsatisfied with the status quo trough out the books, some more annoyed with the vikings than others. We have complete monologues from different dragons before the war is even a possibility. Sincerely, when it happens, it feels natural.

The idea of freeing the dragons is not one that comes up in the last book, not even close. The first time it is considered an option is in book 9 (I think), and, by the time being, we've already stablish lots of concepts as slavery within human beings, the dangers of a war, how this could lead to the end of all and freeing the dragons is the only option.

It is fatalist to say the least, but it's not going out of nowhere. There is a lot of worldbuilding (more on that later), but it is also the right thing to do. By the time Hiccup is presenting the option, Cowell has made us root for the dragons to be free and wild and do whatever they want, even if what they want is to hide under sea for thousands of years. Or if they don't want, or if the want to but just not in that moment, they can do it.

Oh, yes, because they leave GRADUALLY.

It is a sad ending, but still manages to get as satisfactory because, yet again, we know this happens and the books remind us this will happen eventually every time they can. “There were dragons when I was a boy” is literally the first phrase in the saga.

And then we got the movies.

The movies never followed the books. Like, not very much. The writers decided that they wanted to tell a story of a broken relationship between a father and a son while using dragons, the heroic and prophetic aspects of the books were getting on the way of that and they scrapped the idea. So, no, you can't tell me the movies actually follow the books.

However, if you're very technical, you know the Hiccup we see in the movies resembles Hiccup I, the one that stopped the war between vikings and dragons in the books, stablishing an equal relation between the two races. And this idea of the movies being a prequel can work for the second and specially the first movie, disregarding the fact that there are no prophetic or magical elements at all.

But THW exist and... Exist.

Suddenly the writers and producers decide that they want to follow the books and want to get rid of the dragons, something that is completely against the message of the other two movies.

(I am just talking about the movies, the shows-books relationship is very different and I will someday make a post ranting about it)

The movies do NOT talk about the dangers of dragons being with vikings or how the vikings mistreat the dragons or how bad is slavery or anything like that. The second movie does, yes, but the second movie also sends a message about how people benefit of being with dragons. They have their dragons and they're strong because of that friendship. Being at war with one another only brings loss and suffering for both bands while being together promises an actual future. A bright future that no one imagined before the first movie and that now they cling to.

Dragons and vikings are friends and together cand do basically anything.

That's a very strong message, you know?

And you know what? The third movie decided that such a strong and important message about friendship should leave the franchise completely.

“Free the dragons” it's a concept that doesn't fit with the movies. They're not slaved, they're not away from wildness and, most importantly, they CHOOSE to be with the vikings in the first place. They are already equals, they can do what they want and, you know, they are with the vikings because they want to.

But no, let's do a movie about letting friends go as if it could actually fit in the saga.

(I know it could actually fit but the execution was terrible).

As I said before, the movies resembles Hiccup I befriending dragons and we know how it ends. And someone who has never read the books will go and say "well, it was bound to end that way, why are you mad?” I tell you the difference right now: there's 1000 years of difference between the befriending and the parting in the book, 1000 years in wich we witness the deterioration of said friendship (from being friends and equals to being slaves). That's no what happens in the movies. The films give us 6 years and the only deterioration is within Toothless' character and how they made him a horny dog.

The dragons shouldn't have leave. This was a whim from the writers that thought that ending both stories the same way would be cool. It isn't. At all.

Long story short, it doesn't fit thematically. The movies and the books have different themes with different concepts and different characterizations of the dragons. While the books got story building and present the theme's since the beginning, the movies get it out of no where ignoring the themes in previous works.

Anyways, go read the books they're jewels and the ending isn't as shitty as thw make it look

#httyd #how to train your dragon #httyd 2 #httyd the hidden world #httyd book #httyd books #im angry about the ending #probably because I'm watching rtte and i llve the relationship wuth the dragons #and the characters themselves #freeing the dragons is an actual theme in rtte but not in the movies #that's sad #also i don't think the shows follow better the books but #they actually use themes from them #english is not my first language #sorry if i wrote anything wrong #i love the films #i know it sounds as if i hate them but i don't #they're basically my favourite movies of all time

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aealzx · 9 months

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The heavy drum of rain cascading down the windows several rooms over was a hard lullaby to ignore for most people. But with it barely even being the hour creeping on midnight Leon found it easy to keep his eyes open. A myriad of stolen items were the newest objects in the abandoned room. A mat spread out on a recently mopped area of the floor, a battery powered space heater closeby. A pile of common medical supplies, disinfectant, bandaging, antibiotic spray, painkillers, anti inflammatories, anything that Leon could find that might be useful. A proper tourniquet had replaced his headband on Raph’s leg, the blue fabric back across his own eyes, surprisingly not bloodied. April’s jacket hadn’t been as lucky, but it was currently scrubbed with hydrogen peroxide and propped up on the other side of the heater from where they were huddled together. Thick blankets over their forms, Raph’s head once more in April’s lap while they both dozed on each other, exhausted. It had been an ordeal to change out the makeshift covers on Raph’s leg for clean gauze and bandaging, but it still wasn’t completely fixed. Leon needed more than painkillers and antibiotics to fix that injury. A scalpel for one thing. And a very detailed series of videos for another. Plus a sterile site. Which, while they were currently in a hospital the amount of dust and dirt was enough to make them all sneeze repeatedly over the hours they had been there. It had been enough to motivate Leon into making another trip to mostly empty stores to grab cleaning supplies as well shortly after they had arrived.

One day.

They had discussed their options, and come to the agreement that they wouldn’t try anything risky with Raph for one day. Leon had mixed feelings about it. He knew it was a horrible idea to leave a wound like that unattended for that long. His brain was screaming at him that it was a bad decision. But he would be lying if he said he wasn’t terrified of trying to surgically straighten the bone without Donnie there to help him. Sure, Donnie hated blood and squishy things. But when it mattered he was the best assistant Leon had ever had. And the only assistant really. Without Donnie and Mikey there with them Leon was feeling horribly alone. It was enough to motivate him to keep his swords materialized and held against his chest while he leaned against April, the blades consciously dulled to prevent injury. He wasn’t planning on sleeping, but the slow rise and fall of their forms brought him comfort. One side of his brain justified his defiance by telling him someone needed to keep watch. Or that he shouldn’t sleep because he had a head injury. But really it had been long enough that it wasn’t serious. Sleep should be fine.

He was just scared.

He hadn’t mentioned it to April, but just two hours earlier he’d felt something different from Donnie. Before it had been a quiet pool of eerie silence, like what Leon usually felt when Donnie was in a dreamless sleep, but stretched into a faint uncertainty like he was behind an ocean of water. But while he had been away from the others he’d had to take a moment to recollect himself as other things had bled through. Fear, anger, distress, protectiveness, rage, then a jumbled pool of scrambled thoughts and feelings that Leon knew usually led Donnie to screaming in a desperate attempt to get rid of some of it. Even just a little. Leon had had to force himself to keep moving to help Raph and April at the time, but it had been hard to hide the fact he knew Donnie was in trouble. At least, he had been. There was something odd almost an hour and a half ago. A hesitant release, followed by a stretch of tense stillness. Then one moment of semi uncertain comfort before the dreamless sleep returned. Leon was clinging to the hope that that last sensation meant that Donnie, and Lil Mikey were okay now. But doubts plagued his mind and kept him easily, stubbornly awake.

And for once he was grateful they did.

The dim light on his arm displayed a screen that had only part of it changing regularly. Three sections of vitals making it easy for Leon to keep track of his own physical state as well as that of Raph’s and April’s physical well being. The rest had no feed. At first Leon had thought there was none to give, but now he was clinging to the hope that it was a technical malfunction. And it seemed they had been right about that. It took him a moment to notice the change, the device screen only within his peripheral sight. But after a confused blink he looked down at it, only to gasp and sit up.

Donnie and Lil Mikey’s vitals had flickered back to being displayed.

“April!” Leon hissed, turning to start patting his big sister’s shoulder rapidly. “April, wake up. They’re okay! April they’re okay!”

April returned to the land of consciousness with a startled snort, but was quick to chase the sleep haze from her mind. “What? Who’s okay? What?” she asked rapidly, finding her glasses to put back on so she could see what Leon was looking at after he squished into her, a hand grabbing his own arm and showing it to her. She immediately noticed the difference. “Heartbeats… They’re okay,” she breathed, relief flooding into her form. It was one thing to hope, but another thing to have that hope confirmed into truth.

“It was out of range. That had to be it. They were just out of range,” Leon rambled, starting to tap at the device to switch to a different screen. The map Donnie had installed didn’t completely match what was actually there, but it still managed to pull up everyone’s general locations. Just like how they’d wanted. “Donnie used the satellite to increase the range of this thing back home. But if our phones aren’t working then the satellite that he piggybacks off of doesn’t exist. Of course! I’m so stupid to have not realized that.”

“Leo, it’s okay. We haven’t had to rely on that for tracking for months now,” April assured, but it was hard to get Leon’s full attention. Donnie and Lil Mikey’s signal was coming towards them from the southeast, and completely out of state.

“Wow, that’s fast. They must be in a vehicle of some sort,” Leon detoured, reaching out with his other hand to grab his swords. “I’m going to go get them.”

“What? Leo, not on your own,” April tensed, leaning forward and curling her hands around Raph a little more. Her poor brother was so tired that he was still asleep, but he was starting to stir.

“It’ll be fine, April. I’m just going to wait for them to stop, pop in, grab them, and pop out,” Leon assured, getting to his feet and backing up.

“Leo…,” April protested, not able to put her wants into words. There was just so much that could go wrong, and then she had no way to find any of them. “What if you can’t come back?”

That was enough to get him to pause, and he thought for a moment before coming back to her. “Give me your phone,” he directed, tapping the screen on Donnie’s arm computer again. With a few taps he triggered a prompt for an additional device, then grabbed April’s phone and hand to pull it gently against the computer. After a moment an icon flashed steady, and a mirror of the screen appeared on April’s phone.

“Give me until noon tomorrow, then come get me,” Leon directed, changing the screen back to the tracking map and swinging in to give April a quick, but tight hug. “I promise I’ll see you before then. Make sure you and Raph stay hydrated.” He didn’t give her much of a chance to protest after that. A familiar blue portal appeared behind him for him to drop backwards into, a smile and a wink being the last April saw of his face.

Pursing her lips, April looked down to Raph and started soothingly rubbing the back of his head. “Sorry Raphie. I just got startled by the rain. Go back to sleep,” she lied. She didn’t want to cause him more stress, and he was inevitably too worn out to resist.

___________________

Previous Next

___________________

How about a little check in with the other group.

#my art #rottmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #cross dimension kidnapping #rise + 2003 crossover #rise leo #rise april #rise raph #long post #writing

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crysta1ized · 3 months

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a theory on ep11’s preview

firstly, if you’ve guessed/ theorized that non was still alive, you get 10 points!

if you also guessed that perth would help him (in that case, thanks to tee) you also get 10 points!

knowing that tee helped non escape, was definitely a plot twist. he basically lives at his uncle’s mercy, is forced to work for him and has to follow every single one of his orders so his father doesn’t die. which is a pretty shitty situation!

we saw previously that he showed guilt after non got busted for the fake accounts instead of him, but to help him escape from that very uncle? you’ll never fail to surprise me, tee!

after that, tee gives an envelope to non and tells him he’ll get him out of there.

now, what is in this envelope? my first thought was obviously money. but i also thought, what if it was a plane ticket? it’d be safer for non to get the hell out of bangkok (or even thailand) to be sure the uncle and his men could never get him. a one way flight, non leaving without looking back.

i think that with the help of perth, tee could’ve gathered enough money to pay a ticket. i mean, that would’ve benefited tee a whole lot too. non forever out of his hair, not causing any more problems. disappearing without a trace. his uncle thinking he got rid of the troublemaker.

but what happened to mr keng then?

firstly we have no idea of the extent of his injuries. we guessed that non’s were only bad enough to knock him out on the roof, but the uncle might as well have killed keng for good.

i mean, he was hit with a car, which is way worse than a few punches. in the best case scenario (for him, cause i want that bastard dead), he only got a few bruises, but the most logical one would be that his legs are broken, as well as a few ribs maybe (depending on how hard the car hit him).

if we assume he’s alive, like non (which i seriously doubt), i don’t think tee would’ve helped him at all. he’s already risking everything to save non, he wouldn’t try saving both, especially because keng doesn’t mean anything to him. he probably never even had a conversation with him.

so in my opinion, we won’t see the teacher ever again, unless he found another way to escape, such as being rescued by the police as his disappearance could’ve been noticed after some time.

now onto the fun part!

white is seen entering the arcade place, where we’ve already seen non & phee meeting up and making out at.

which means we’ll finally get teewhite whole’s backstory!

my depressing theory is that we’ll get a cute little montage of their love story, and they’ll show us how cute they are, with their little puppy love, opposites attract shit just to snatch it from us right after.

mark my words, they’ll make us love teewhite and after those little flashbacks with bright colors that distracted us for a moment, we’ll get back to our depressing and dark present.

4 possibilities after that:

best case scenario: while we get a contrast between the past and how in love they were and acted, nothing terrible happens. tee explains to the group what was revealed to the viewer in the flashbacks, that he ended up helping non and that he’s still alive. he righted his wrongs and while white is shaken up, he’s glad tee isn’t just a bully who guilt tripped a kid into money laundering, he did feel guilt and saved him from his uncle.

same as above, tee reveals everything to the group but white doesn’t forgive him. he feels betrayed and mad that tee hid that from him for so long. in white’s eyes, tee is no longer someone he can trust, or hide behind.

tee dies

white dies

while i believe those 2 last options can happen, i don’t think they’d happen at that moment. tee’s reveal scene will probably be at the beginning of the episode while the following one with phee & new may happen soon after, which is why those 2 options seem less likely to happen then.

new is clearly urging phee on to shoot.

but how? in the last scene of ep10, fluke is the one who has it and he clearly doesn’t want to let it go. he let white out of his grasp and is now pointing it at tee.

but fluke is clearly out of it, and is the one suffering the most from hallucinations, which made him shoot top even though his only principle was clearly to never act, to keep his hands clean of anything that could prevent him of becoming a doctor. too late now!

someone could take advantage of his delirious state and while he’s distracted, take the gun from him, like white, who’s on the ground, kinda behind fluke and now out of his sight. which is when phee could take the gun, as he’s the unofficial new leader and appears trustworthy as he just exposed new.

but who is phee pointing the gun at?

i think it’s most likely fluke. he’s clearly losing his mind and the hallucinations are making him aggressive, like top. which is why they may have to kill him before he kills someone else.

phee clearly wants to make the right decision, surely wants to kill him or just hurt him because fluke is an active threat. but tan just wants to see them all gone! he clearly has nothing to lose left, now that phee exposed him, this is his last chance to avenge his brother.

alternative theory:

phee might be pointing the gun at someone else.

according to how tee’s revelation ends, especially how non’s story ends, something might happen after that.

phee wouldn’t be pointing the gun at someone who didn’t deserve it, who wasn’t a threat to the group.

so why would it be tee? in my opinion, non escaped the country, end of story. but maybe something happened to him just before he could get out. then new would get mad at tee, blaming him. tee fights him. then he would represent a threat. or maybe the hallucinations come back and he gets violent.

then of course new would be happy to see phee shoot tee, who was the whole reason non even got involved with dangerous mafia shit in the first place.

the last scene is new, lighting a cigarette.

why would he be smoking in the middle of all this? like he has time to do that?

maybe it’s just a meaningless scene they’re throwing in the preview so they don’t have to spoil too much stuff.

but, still, new is the only one who's going through with his plan, and he wouldn’t waste time on lighting a cigarette! unless it’s truly chaos, and like we know, he smokes to de-stress.

creepily, when i saw the scene the first time, i thought ‘this is his last cigarette. they’re holding him at gunpoint and they allow him to smoke one last time before they pull the trigger’ because he’s clearly shivering. but that may be way too far as i don’t think any of them would shoot anyone in cold blood if they weren’t actively threatened.

but a more plausible theory would be that they’re forcing him to smoke. in the scene where new is urging phee on to shoot, phee looks at him ‘like, what the fuck?’ like he’s not liking new telling him what to do at all.

maybe then, phee doesn’t shoot anyone, not fluke, not tee, but instead turns on new and points the gun at him. maybe phee really doesn’t want any kind of revenge for non anymore as his brother became too violent for his liking. but phee wouldn’t shoot new.

he could however hold him at gunpoint, and force him to smoke one of the drugged cigarettes, one with an X. maybe so he isn’t an active threat to them anymore, urging them to kill each other and to cause more chaos. they’d be on equal ground as he’d start hallucinating too.

what do you think?

#dead friend forever #dff #dff theory #dff the series #thai bl #dff ep 10 #dff white #dff new #dff tan #dff phee #dff jin #dff fluke #dff top #dff por #dff tee #dff teewhite #dff pheejin #asian lgbtq dramas #lgbtqia

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maleyanderecafe · 1 year

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Duality (Visual Novel)

Created by: NightmareWeaverz

Genre: Romance/Horror

I've been waiting for Duality's release for a while now, and on Halloween, it finally was released! In this game, there are two yanderes that can be pursued, both in the same body, Keith and Tenebris. For an r18 game, this is one of the few where I do think having a polyamorus relationship with the two kind of makes sense as it doesn't seem like either of them can leave the body that they inhabit. If you are curious about this game, you can learn more about it at @dualityvn.

From what I can gather, there seems to be about five different endings- one with each of the two love interest, one with both of them, and two bad endings. The placeholder name for this game is Alex, so I'll be using that name as the MC's main name.

The story starts with Alex running into a flower shop to shield themselves from the rain. There, they meet an employee there named Keith and buys some flowers, and afterwards decides if they want to ask for his number or not. Asking for his number prompts him to refuse for what seems like safety reasons and then leave, not before seeing a strange expression on Keith's face. The next day while walking to work, Alex sees what seems to be Keith but with blue splotches, before heading to work. Afterwards while exiting the building, they see this blueish Keith again, this time coming up to them and asking for their number, which they can accept or deny. Accepting it causes him to be flustered and Alex proceeds to write the number on his hand. He then asks if they were just doing it so that he would leave him alone, to which Alex can either agree or disagree.

Depending on the choices in this beginning section shows whether or not Alex gets with Keith or Tenebris (the blue version), both, or a bad ending.

If Alex equally flirts with both, upon going home, Tenebris has broken in and pins them to the wall. Both Tenebris and Keith seem infatuated with them, switching sides (as they share a body), with their eye bleeding as both of them attempt to take control.

If Alex only flirts with Tenebris, he will break into their house where they can either try to get rid of him or try to befriend him. Befriending him allows Alex to ask about his hobbies (playing games) and knowing more about him, learn more about how not used to human behaviors as he's used to as well as just straight up flirting with him. At the end, Tenebris leaves by jumping out the window and crushing the cars beneath him. Alex can also just kick Tenebris out (nicely, of course) or threaten to call the police on him, to which Alex runs out and Tenebris chases them for a bit. Being rude to Tenebris (aka calling him ugly) will cause him to break in and seemingly kill or incapacitate Alex.

If Alex only flirts with Keith, Tenebris will initially break in, however, Keith will take control again. Keith begs Alex not to call the police and promises that Tenebris won't hurt them while also explaining briefly the relationship between him and Tenebris. Alex can ask him to stay longer and learn a bit more about him before Keith ends up going home (though this time they have the option to ask for his number, to which he does actually give it this time). Alex can also lie to Keith and proceed to get him to leave and then call the police, though it runs an unsettling feeling of having to see him again.

Duality's concept of having two datable yanderes is pretty interesting, especially since they inhabit the same body. From what I remember, Keith has problems with self image (to a certain degree) and will attempt to be what the MC likes (aka a mimic yandere) while Tenebris doesn't want to appear scary to the MC and has a hard time being accustomed to human traditions. In the future, you're allowed to pursue both of them leading to a poly ending, which I think in this case makes sense, as the two share a body. Normally I'm sort of iffy on this kind of situations since yanderes normally aren't built to handle poly situations (since in general, they get very jealous and violent towards anyone that goes near their love, and since they only will ever have one love I would imagine it would be difficult to maintain something like that without it falling apart), but in this case since they don't have any other way and are kind of forced to coexist, they don't really have a huge option of not sharing.

Anyways, in terms of yandere behavior, there's not a whole lot as of yet since it's just the intro stages. I would say Tenebris probably has a bit more since he does stalk Alex from the flower store to their work, as well as break into their house afterwards, though you could say part of it is because Tenebris doesn't really understand how human relationships work (considering he doesn't understand that breaking into peoples houses isn't a good thing, even if you're not taking anything), but it still would be considered yandere behavior regardless. Since it's mostly Tenebris doing a lot of the more questionable work, we don't necessarily see as much behavior from Keith, but I can imagine he's more clingy and manipulative as compared to Tenebris since he cares very strongly about his looks and how people perceive him. The one that has the most seems to be when both characters like Alex, with them attempting to both control the body and making his face bleed. From what I can tell on their tumblr page, Tenebris does a bit more of stalking and is more violent and Keith does more of becoming what Alex wants them to be and is possibly more manipulative, and it's nice to see the two different types of yandere behaviors from these two characters.

I will say that personally the textbox makes it a bit hard to read the text at times, especially from afar. It's probably due to the gradients, and maybe it's just me but I did have a bit of difficulty reading what the text says sometimes. I also think that having a stronger outline on the characters would make Tenebris and Keith stand out more since at times it does look like they blend into the background a bit as well.

Obviously I have to mention that I'm finally getting fed with a sub yandere, thank you for making Tenebris a sub, I'm very happy about this situation. Keith being jealous is also extremely cute plus he dresses up in dresses which is also a win in my book.

Anywho, I do think that the idea and demo so far are pretty interesting. I'm curious to see what else will be added into the future for this game, and I'm especially curious how the poly ending will play out.

#Duality #male yandere #yandere boy #yandere #recommendation #visual novel #games

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softomegaposting · 9 months

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in honor of my backache from sleeping in my nest on the floor last night (a hardwood floor covered with a sheepskin and a throw blanket) i wanna talk about nest mattresses! in real life and worldbuilding. disclaimer that my knowledge comes from mostly online so it’s probably not completely accurate.

so! cool floor beds i found that would make good nest bases.

the type of bed i could find the most on online is the Japanese futon. it’s what the western futon/sofa bed was originally modeled after but it’s very different. it’s basically a very thin mattress (shikifuton) over tatami mats (rush grass outer layer with a foam or rice straw core). both parts are much more moveable than a western style mattress. another important consideration i think is relevant is that futon covers go all the way around the mattress and can be washed (unlike western sheets which leave the bottom of the mattress uncovered which if it’s on the floor can get gross). futons are also meant to be aired out in the sun, which helps the whole dust thing.

another cool bed type i found are montessori-style house beds. they’re typically used for young children (toddlers and preschoolers) but do come in larger sizes (the biggest i’ve seen is a full). the bed frame sits directly on the floor with a thin mattress and a wooden house-shape on top that can support a canopy/curtains (which would be super cool for a nest lets be real). some also come with bed rails and bumpers so little kids don’t fall out, which i think would also be good for a nest because it’s more cozy.

of course i must mention the “human dog beds” which gained popularity in 2022 from going on shark tank but i remember first hearing about them around 2015-ish (and of course going that would make a great nest!). it is what it sounds like.

another, probably the cheapest option here, is camping mattresses. you know what these are. super thin air mattresses with foam tops. some come in double width (better for a nest imo) but most of them are made of that terrible slippery fabric (good for camping, bad for everything else). this might not be a problem for most people but i’m autistic and i gag touching them. you could cover it with a rug or blanket but those might slip off of it due to the gross slipperiness of the fabric. idk.

the last thing i can think of are traditional mattresses that are just. thin. you could use a mattress topper but a real mattress would definitely feel better even if they’re the same height because real mattresses have a comfort layer and a base layer and a topper only has the comfort layer (=more back pain for you). consider: dorm mattresses (at least my dorm had them, and it made an amazing nest), rv mattresses, and trundle mattresses. they’re all basically the same thing just different keywords (and slightly different sizes for the rvs). my sister has slept on a 4 inch mattress for six years or so and she only occasionally complains of back pain but for occasional use it would be fine (she also has scoliosis so. could be that).

now for some quick worldbuilding notes:

i definitely think that in an omegaverse society nest mattresses would be common. i think they would mimic traditional mattresses but shorter, like rv mattresses, but have an all-around washable cover/sheets to protect from floor grossness, sort of like dorm mattresses but able to be washed more easily. i also think they would come in more square or round shapes instead of the typical rectangle twin shape. i can see them having folding capabilities like some rv mattresses do, so that people could sun them like futons to get rid of dust mites.

i can also see nest frames being a thing, sort of like the montessori bedframes, with pillow bumpers to make a more enclosed vibe. i can also see a huge market for both frame-mounted or ceiling-mounted canopies, because who doesn’t want that.

maybe houses would be built with specific nest areas in mind, maybe with softer floors like tatami vibes or carpet. i’ve heard talk about conversation pits which are absolutely so cool but i can also see the advantage in an elevated nest space. my favorite nest of all time was in a ceiling cabinet because i could see the whole room but was harder to see myself, which made me feel really safe. so maybe houses might be built with raised nest platforms, or even small ceiling lofts overlooking a larger room (i couldn’t find an exact picture of what i’m thinking but this is close:)

#happy omega thursday everybody #i made this instead of doing morning chores. sorry to the pets and also my ma.#this is a cool post i prommy #miscecanis #miscelupus #misceanimalis #alpha beta omega #omegaverse #omegaverse headcanons #omegaverse worldbuilding #omegaverse nest #nesting #a/b/o verse #a/b/o dynamics #sorry everybody who follows more than one of these tags

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abiiors · 4 months

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been thinking HARDCORE about the absolute most vanilla Ross smut ever for days now (my sleep scenario for real 😳)

this reminds me of a rough-ish blurb/fic idea i had the other day about ✨trying to induce labour✨

you are just about DONE with being pregnant. everything is really fucking uncomfortable--forget walking, even breathing seems like a chore when she's pushing against your ribs. your back hurts all the time, your feet are swollen and achy and ugly and you just want this baby out of you already and into your arms.

every day you find ross on his phone furiously googling new ways to induce labour (because let's be real, he's way too excited to meet his baby now. he's already waited nine whole months and at one day past due date, you're both losing patience quickly.)

you immediately reject the option of going for a walk and wrinkle your nose at the thought of eating spicy food. which leaves the third, obvious option.

"i look like a fucking whale," you moan when ross tries to pull you into a kiss.

"you look like a hot milf," he teases and laughs at the way you waddle away.

"you're only saying that to get into my pants!"

that makes him laugh harder and he catches up to you quicker than you would have liked. "and is that so bad? we have a whole baby now because i got into your pants."

you giggle at the memory. he is right about that part and you know this could very well be your last time for a loooong time till things calm down a little with a newborn in the house.

"nothing kinky though."

he snickers like a teenage boy and runs his knuckles up your arm, making goosebumps erupt all over. "just lie back and let me take care of you."

and so you get on your back, surrounded by comfy pillows and with your husband kissing you sweetly. his hand drifts over your rounded stomach and up to your tits. you haven't failed to notice how he's been obsessed with them, and in his defense, they are massive now. and sensitive too. enough that you hiss when his thumb brushes over your nipple and ross grins.

"d-do that again," you moan and he obliges quickly, flicking his tongue around one nipple while his fingers continue to massage the other. his teeth graze against the sensitive skin again and again and your head swirls with pleasure.

he's gentle though, careful enough not to press down on you too much--hovering just over that you have to desperately paw at him and pull him closer.

ross moves his hand lower, caressing your stomach lightly before pushing it inside your leggings to find your soaked underwear. groaning, you pull his mouth towards yours and kiss him hard, sucking on his lower lip and pulling it between your teeth until you feel his fingers plunge inside you. your back arches, belly brushing against him and ross groans into your mouth.

his fingers move faster, pumping in and out of you, thumb pressing against your clit until you're vibrating with need and practically clinging onto him.

"ross, ross please," you beg and fumble with the buttons and zipper of his jeans, desperate to get rid of his clothes and feel him closer.

"please what?" he prompts knowing damn well what you mean but you know how he loves hearing you say it.

"need you inside me, please!"

ross straightens, hands moving to your hips so he could get rid of the leggings. your tank top has ridden up fully now and your stomach and boobs are on full display for him--something he can't look away from as he pulls his jeans and boxers down. you salivate at the sight of him--hard and red tip leaking with pre cum.

"so fucking beautiful," he breathes, and your eyes close on their own just as his tip teases your entrance. your toes curl at the thought of him inside you, stretching you out, slamming into you over and over again.

gently, ross pushes in--inch by inch until your eyes roll back into your head and he's fully in and still, giving your body time to adjust. one hand firmly squeezing your ass, he bends down again, kissing you, licking your lower lip until you're begging him to move.

ross pulls out almost all the way out and slams into you again, increasing his pace with each thrust until you move your hips up, trying to keep up with him and wanting to feel him deeper inside. your breaths come out in pants, beads of sweat gleam on his forehead and his mouth stretches into a smile every time you kiss.

you let your hands roam all over his body--his arms and his chest, down to his ass and up his back until your legs are shaking with pleasure and your body tenses up with the need to cum. his thrusts grow wilder, practically pounding into you.

"wish i could fuck another baby into you," ross growls and his words make your head spin, make you clench tighter around him until you're seeing stars and cumming all over his cock.

the sounds that echo in the room and wet and filthy, mixed with lewd curses from both of you as ross fucks into you throughout your orgasm, and then with one final thrust you feel him empty inside you--warm cum shooting up your walls and eventually running down your thighs till they feel wet and sticky and your whole body feels alive with electricity.

he doesn't pull out for a long time, he spends that time kissing you instead, letting his hands roam all over your stomach and tits until you finally try to move. only then does he pull out and lie down next to you, pulling you into him for a cuddle.

"that should work," you snicker when you finally manage to speak.

"we could always go for a round two," he teases back and presses a kiss in your hair.

suffice it to say, when your water breaks the next day, you both thank whatever website suggested the method and rush to the hospital to meet your baby <3

#MINORS DO NOT INTERACT #✉️#ross macdonald #ross macdonald x reader #ross macdonald x you #♡: ross blurbs #dad!ross

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missaccuracy · 4 months

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Note: if your choice is the "other" option, please, explain in the comments what it is.

Well, here we are, "Firebending teacher" has won. I have to say, I'd go with that option too. Specifically, I'd like to combine Firebending teacher with General and let me explain why.

"An artist" Azula can be interesting, but what bothers me about this concept and its popularity, is that for the most part, it relies on the notion that Azula didn't enjoy being a great firebender and military tactician in the show, and she did it just for Ozai's approval, therefore it's toxic and Azula should get rid of her father's influence.

I just don't think it's true. Azula was under Ozai's influence, but that doesn't mean she didn't like firebending and commanding. It's important to remember that Azula is a LEADER herself, and removing that part of her character wouldn't be satisfying.

I guess people just link Azula's tactical military abilities to an imperialism, which is something she needs to unlearn. So they headcanon her doing something completely unrelated to it.

But while an imperialism is wrong, there's nothing wrong with having a military mind, because it can be used for good.

It just feels like rewriting her character from a "bad" girl, who canonically enjoyed fighting, scheming and planning, to a "good" girl, who's now enjoying "peaceful" things instead.

The same reason applies to a "therapist", even though it's an intriguing idea.

Azula would be an effective politician, but she would have to work with Zuko in this case. Not that I think they can never repair their relationship, but I just want for both Zuko and Azula to live their own lives, apart from each other, even if there's no bad blood anymore.

I personally believe that the best way to do that is to make Azula a teacher and a commander of an elite firebenders. Sort of what we saw in the comics, but doing it right, when she would teach not only fighting, but also command her warriors. Maybe she would even help her students, being kind of a therapist in the process and giving them her own piece of advice. Maybe in her own free time she would learn some arts, as well.

But everyone's free to have their own opinion. What many people have suggested in the "other" option was also very interesting to read. Thank you for voting and leaving a commentary unser this poll.

#atla #azula #redemption #poll

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 6 months

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AITA for faking orgasms?

This might come as a shock given the title but I'm a man, and so is my boyfriend. However I'm much more sexually experienced than him, as in I'm his first sexual/romantic partner meanwhile I've had sex with at least 30 different guys before. I also generally have a more consistent libido, and I'm desensitized down there to a degree, AND I also often get stuck in my own head due to certain neuroses and ocd and whatnot -- all this to say, it's REALLY hard for me to reach a real climax with another person.

And my bf is aware of this. I've told him many times. I've also reassured him (truthfully!) that partially due to this, an orgasm is not the end-all-be-all of sex for me, and that I can absolutely enjoy myself without "finishing." And if he still feels bad, I will not only take a backrub or something essentially as a replacement for him making me finish, but I in fact often prefer it. I promise I've tried everything; this is not a communication issue.

But. Basically no matter what I say or do, he just doesn't believe me. Or he isn't capable of accepting it, idk. He's insistent that it makes him bad at sex and it means he couldn't please me if I don't come... all the while that he almost never actually takes initiative to do any dominant role? So tbqh he's not totally wrong about that self-assessment but it's still ridiculous bc he doesn't even know WHY? Anyway.

Telling him things that he could do to ever make it better doesn't really work either, because the moment I "criticize" him during sex, even if it's just telling him to move his legs into a different position, he often takes it incredibly personally and just stops wanting to have sex altogether bc he's suddenly not in the mood. And if it's after he's finished, he's basically conked out. He never has any energy by that point except to more or less demand that I come, as nowadays he counts my capacity to jerk off afterwards as something evident of his "ability to please me," I guess. By that point, I'm still just jerking off by myself while he plays on his phone or falls asleep next to me, which I hate and find a huge turn-off and have expressed multiple times that it's at least "weird" and "funny" to do so. But he keeps doing it.

Inb4 the most likely majority response to a lot of this: I'm aware that we're clearly not that sexually compatible. But leaving the relationship is not an option even if I wanted to. The routine of us having sex is, regardless of exactly how satisfying it is, essentially necessary to our mutual happiness.

Now that that's out of the way, here's the real meat: I've decided relatively recently to just... pretend to come. I can often get to a sort of mini-orgasm long before a real one is on the horizon and I just kind of exaggerate that. It really turns him on, and it gets rid of any of the tension that would otherwise be there once we're both done, and I'm able to either fall asleep or otherwise move on in peace.

Now obviously, this is lying, and I don't like having to lie, and also if he ever realizes that I fake them then he's gonna feel even worse than when I outright say I didn't come. But clearly it's also causing strife to be truthful, and it's also not that hard to fake it. Whatever I communicate to him is at best forgotten - and it most likely *is* genuine, innocent forgetfulness bc he has severe ADHD. I'd likely never know if it happened that he is straight up ignoring what I say. In any case it's to a level that it just seems like my only solution is to fake it.

Does he have a right to know if I haven't actually come? AITA?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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discount-shades · 11 months

Text

Dead or Alive: Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Bad Company

A/N: Been going down a lot of weird history research rabbit holes.

Pairing: Jake Seresin/Reader

Warning: Western themed violence. Mentions of past prostitution

Word Count: 2100 ish

Summary: Jake and Sugar spend the night camping.

Previous Masterlist Next

With your hands no longer tied you are free to wrap them around the man in front of you. As you continue down the path he varies his speed, cantering on level, straight stretches and walking to rest his horse. It is on one of these walks that you finally relax. Releasing the death grip you had on your own hands, you lean back from where you had been pressed against his sweaty back, allowing a breeze to pass between you.

“Keep your hands off my guns.” His sharp order startles you. All through the ride he had been a silent companion, not even warning you of any changes in speed or direction, leaving you to cling to him.

“My hands aren't on your guns.” You flex your fingers where they rest on his ribs. “See not grabbing the guns.” You feel him stiffen and jerk at your touch and wonder if he is ticklish.

“Your hands are too close,” he retorts, swatting at your hands and you roll your eyes.

“What could I possibly gain from grabbing your guns?”

“Something nefarious.” His answer startles a laugh out of you. “Now move your hands.” You glare at the back of his head before you begin to slide your hands around his stomach. You can feel the hard muscles of his stomach twitch under your touch. You slowly slide your hands back to his ribs before repeating the motion. “Stop that.”

“You told me to move my hands.” You are glad he can’t see the grin on your face.

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.” There is a growl in his voice and you briefly wonder if these are the right circumstances to tease the man that is supposed to be taking you to safety.

“I don’t even know your name, how can I know your meaning if I don’t even know what to call you?” One warm hand covers both of yours as your fingers meet over his belly button. You go to pull back but he presses down, flattening your palms to his stomach.

“Hangman.” At his answer you wrinkle your nose.

“I’m not calling you that, bad memories and all.” You move your hands up his stomach and he lets you. “What’s your real name?”

There is a long pause before he begrudgingly answers you. “Jake.”

“Hi Jake, nice to meet you.” You pat his sternum where your hands rest. “Thank you for saving me.”

“You didn’t give me a choice.”

His reply is sharp and he nudges his horse back into a canter. As you scoot closer and relax your body to move in rhythm with the stride of the horse you murmur, “There is always a choice, you just didn’t like the other option.”

– – –

The rescue had not gone as Jake planned. Hell, the robbery had not gone as they planned either. He had seen the woman being led to the gallows from the ridge as they began the stampede into town but he had not given her a second thought. She wasn’t his problem.

Phoenix and Bob were to release the town's horses from the Livery and start the fire. Payback, Fanboy, and Coyote were in charge of gathering the herd and keeping them going in the right direction and Jake was the one who was supposed to get Maverick and Rooster off the gallows.

That part of the plan had gone perfectly. It was only when you had made your mad dash and lept on the back of his horse had things gone sideways. He didn’t even know what you looked like. You had just been a figure in a blue dress standing next to Rooster and Maverick. He tamped down the little voice in the back of his head that hoped you were pretty. He told himself it didn’t matter despite the way your curves pressing against his back made him feel.

He didn’t even want to think about the way his muscles twitched when you slid your hands across his body. The way he reveled in your soft touch. No, the sooner he was able to get rid of you the better. He didn’t blame you for escaping the noose. He understood your motivation more than most but he still resented the imposition you were on his life. And you lost him his hat. Every time he felt himself slipping into the thought that you weren’t so bad he reminded himself of his hat, and the irritation came back like the hot sun beating down on his head.

As the day wore on the clouds gathered in the distance. When he stopped to rest the horse he found himself unreasonably irritated that he found you pretty. The type of pretty he deep down wished he could marry and leave this way of life behind. If only you weren’t so damn frustrating. The subtle roll of thunder could be heard echoing off the mountains. As he rode Jake kept glancing at the clouds. Rain would be good. It would hide any hoofprints they left behind.

He turns off the trail into a copse of spruce as the sun sets, stopping in a small clearing. “Get off.” You clutch him tighter and he fights a sigh of irritation. He knew he should try to be a little nicer. “We are making camp.” He feels you tentatively release your hold on him and slowly slide off the back of Jet.

– – –

You stumble when your feet hit the ground. You had been riding for hours without a break. Your knees are stiff and feel stuck in a bent position. It takes deliberate focus to stand with them straight. You stumble into the bushes at the edge of the clearing.

“Hey, where are you going?” You can hear Jake calling after you.

“Bathroom,” you snap back and stomp into the underbrush, looking for a tree to hide behind.

“Bring back some firewood.”

“Bring back some firewood.” You mutter under your breath in a snide voice mimicking Jake. He had refused to stop beyond a short break to rest the horse mid afternoon and you were beyond frustrated. Once you had taken care of the necessities, you did look for firewood. Slowly gathering an armload. You were careful to always make sure you knew where the camp was, unwilling to get lost. You weren’t sure Jake would put much effort into looking for you.

Jake had stretched a piece of canvas into a makeshift tent and was throwing a wool bedroll into it. Glancing inside at the single bedroll you drop the pile of wood outside the tent. “Where am I going to sleep?”

“That sounds like a ‘you problem’.” Jake doesn’t even look at you as he goes about setting stones in a circle for the firewood.

“Your sarcasm is unbecoming and will hold you back in life.” At your response Jake snorts and you see him smile for the first time. His smile is unfairly beautiful, dimples cutting grooves in his cheeks, and you feel butterflies in your stomach but you force them away.

“But seriously, where do I sleep?” Jake motions to the large spruce trees surrounding your campsite. “In the storm?” You ask incredulously, the flustered feeling you got at his grin slipping away.

“I only have one bedroll.” He motions at the tent, the frown that you have gotten used to returning to his face. “I had no idea I would have company tonight, and if I knew you were joining me, I don’t think I would have brought one for you.”

You scoff at his response but your retort is interrupted by a loud grumbling sound coming from your stomach. You had been regretting skipping breakfast all day. Without a word you stomp back into the trees to gather more wood. A lot more wood would be needed to keep a fire going all night. The air was rapidly cooling with the sun having set and the smell of rain was in the air.

When you dump your second armful of wood under a tree Jake calls out, “If you share your firwood I’ll share my food. You glance down at your meager pile of wood but hunger wins out and you pick it up and carry it over to Jake.

He hands you some jerky and hardtack. You are so hungry you don’t complain about the meager fare. He has the fire going and a coffee pot perking away. Jake hands you a tin bowl and you stare at it in confusion. “For coffee, I only have one mug,” he explains. You nod in thanks and begin to gnaw on the jerky, saving the hardtack for when you have coffee to soften it.

After you have eaten you go back to gathering firewood for the night. Jake watches as he grooms Jet. When it starts to rain you know you do not have enough wood to keep you warm all night but if you plan it right it will at least keep you alive. You scrape away the needles under the tree to create a firepit and bring a still burning branch from Jake's fire.

Jake crawls into his tent and you slowly feed your fire, alternating green and dry timber. It is mostly dry under your tree but the wind is cutting. You shiver in the cold, relieved that you are still able to shiver. You wish you would have swallowed your pride and asked Jake to wear his coat for the night. You had been too afraid he would say no and you hate being dependent on him.

Your thin blue dress is damp and your teeth start to chatter when you hear his voice. “Get in here.” Glancing up you see Jaky sitting upright in his tent motioning for you to join him. You steal your pride away and hurry to his tent. When you duck inside his tent you are soaked from the pelting rain. “Take off your clothes before you get under the blanket.”

Your heart sinks as your words from earlier about there always being a choice come back to haunt you. You have slept with men far uglier for less, but you still hate the prospect of being forced to have sex to survive. With a heavy heart you silently strip off your wet dress and remove your petticoat, laying them off to the side, hoping they dry by morning. When you remove your corset, leaving you in your combination, you glance at Jake only to find him curled on his side facing away from you.

Strange. Most men would pay extra to enjoy watching you strip. Unbuckling and slipping off your shoes you slip under the wool blanket. Jake makes no move to touch you. He is still lying on his side facing the wall of the makeshift tent. “Goodnight,” he mutters and you whisper your reply. You stare at the back of his head feeling guilty for assuming the worst of him.

Your eyelids begin to droop as the stress and exhaustion of the day catches up with you. As you fall asleep you roll over and press your back against his. Slowly his body heat bleeds into yours and you stop shivering.

– – –

With the way you had sassed him earlier he had expected you to join him in his tent even though he had said to sleep outside. When you didn’t he had waited, sure that as the storm got worse you would soon be opening the flap and crawling into the tent. Only you didn’t. You had stayed huddled under the tree, feeding your little fire in an effort to stay warm until he had called out to you.

At the feel of your cold back pressing against him Jake kicks himself mentally. His mother would be ashamed of the way he had been treating you. He never should have told you to stay out in the storm. He had originally intended to share his tent with you but when you asked he couldn’t help telling you to sleep somewhere else. He wasn’t even sure why he said it. Maybe it was just to see what you would do.

There is something about you. Your pretty eyes and innocent expression belie the fact that you are a survivor. The bump in your nose where it had previously been broken shows it. He knows you are stubborn enough to do whatever it takes to survive. His stomach clenches at the memory of your touch and the cheeky grin he could hear in your voice as you teased him. Despite the fact you didn’t trust him you were still teasing him. Jake drifts off to sleep soon after you, vowing to try to be more civil to you in the future.

#jake hangman seresin #jake hangman x reader #jake seresin/reader #jake seresin x reader #hangman #hangman/reader #top gun hangman #topgun maverick #topgun #topgun hangman #top gun fanfiction #western!au #jake seresin

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caffess · 2 years

Text

freedom ; peter ballard x reader

A/N: not the first fic i write, but definitely the first one i post in here

contents; violence, fluff, peter is not the bad one its 002, happy normal life, probably a part two, y/n and peter are cute.

summary: you and peter have been longing for freedom ever since you fell in love, now its time to finally flee the lab with a eight-year-old eleven and start living a normal life.

“Everything ready?”

“Yes, lets just hope Eleven gets here on time”

“She will. She’s very smart for her age.” Peter shuffled around grabbing the walkie talkie that you had sneaked into the lab less than a week ago; in the other line awaited an excited Russian named Yuri, awaiting to do the job he was so well paid for.

It was hard to find a way to escape the lab, especially since Peter and Eleven weren’t allowed to go outside for obvious reasons. Freedom seemed to be something they could only dream of, but if your plan worked out, it would become a reality.

“If Eleven takes the soteria off of you, in theory, you would get your powers back, correct?” You asked, as you got rid of the silly doctors hat that Brenner made you wear.

“Not in theory, it’s a fact,” Peter played with his fingers nervously, an excited smile threatening to form in his lips “We will get the life we've been dreaming of. I promise.”

He kissed you gently in the lips, and for a moment, you let it all settle in.

You would be free.

You were interrupted by the sound little footsteps emerging from the stairs. Peter let go of you and grabbed Eleven as gently as he could, indicating her to stay quiet, due to her nearly letting out a frightened squeak when one of the machines let out some steam near her.

“Follow me, Y/N is just around the corner” He told her.

In less than a second you could see how El and Peter emerged from the distance, and the nervous girl let out the breath she was holding as she saw you.

“Hi, El” You whispered, opening your arms so Eleven could launch her tiny frame into yours

“Hi, mom” She whispered, tears falling from her eyes.

When Peter told her that there was a way for you three to escape the lab and become a family, Eleven had been so excited she nearly forgot to fake playing the game of chess. The whole day she just kept thinking about the world outside the walls.

You talked to her about Hawkins; the sun, the squirrels, the music. Everything you talked to her about seemed to make her more excited and curious to know what the world outside would look like.

“So, this is the thing.” Peter said, as he placed the walkie in front of both you and Eleven. He took her tiny hand and placed it on his neck where she could feel the little bump under his skin “Can you feel it?”

Eleven nodded in confusion, and looked over to you in search of an explanation.

“Your Papa calls it Soteria” Peter said “It weakens me, it tracks me. We need your help to take it off, if we don’t he will find us”

“H-How can I help?” El asked nervously while pursing her lips. You place your hands on her shoulders and make her turn around to look at you.

“The best option we have is for you to use your powers to take it out” You said, taking one of her hands in yours. “If you do it fast enough you wont hurt him, but we have to be fast unless you want us to miss our ride to freedom”

“O-Okay” She said.

Peter took his belt off and moved in order for him to lay his back on a wall, and put his belt in his mouth, with his other hand in yours.

“When I count to three, you will pull it off, okay?”

El nodded.

“One.. Two” Peter closed his eyes hard and his grip on your hand grew tighter “Three!”

Peter’s whine is partly muffled by the belt and you hear the Soteria clink as it hits the ground.

“You okay, darling?” You ask as Peter shuffled towards the tiny chip covered in blood, his hand not once leaving yours.

“Yeah... Yeah... Im fine.” Reality seems to punch him right in the face when he sees the object shining between his fingers. Freedom was just a few steps away from becoming real.

“There they are!” A voice shrieks while kicking the door right open “Freeze!”

Peter grabs your and Eleven’s hands and makes a run for it.

You both follow him up some stairs while several security guards yell orders behind you. Peter’s grip on your hand becomes tighter signaling the fear and adrenaline going through his veins. You kick open a door and you're able to find yourselves in a hallway. It seems empty at first and you try to keep running, but just as you turn your heel, you are surrounded by guards with electric weapons pointing at you.

“All three of you against the wall!” One of them says, you slowly hide behind Peter, holding Eleven tightly in your arms.

“You don’t have to be afraid of them, El.” He tells her while looking at the guard right in the eyes “Not anymore”

In a quick movement, Peter turns around and uses his powers to push the guards behind you against the wall, and crashing the two others in front of him against the roof. The last one puts his hands up but Pete shows him no mercy, and snaps his neck before he’s able to even beg for mercy.

“Come on, El, let’s go, now!” You grab her wrist and follow Peter around the lab. Your feet run as fast as they can trying to keep up with the blonde boy. You hear Eleven’s terrified whimpers and you long to console her but now isn't the right time, and the only thing you can do is try to urge her to run faster.

She’s just eight years old, her tiny and delicate frame cant keep up with both yours and Peter’s long steps, so you stop for a brief moment and take her in your arms.

“Lets play a game, okay?” You whisper in her ear, while putting your hand in Peter’s once again “You will try to hold me as tight as you can, and I want you to close your eyes and count to the biggest number you can think of, alright?”

You can feel her nod, and her head buries itself in the crook of your neck, where you can hear clearly her voice counting as slowly as possible.

“Dont move, we will shoot!” A guard screams. Peter looks back at him and sends his crew flying against the walls. One of them fires his gun but it missed you narrowly, startling El, who whimpers in your neck.

“What was that?” She asks, her voice cracking. As soon as Peter is done with the guards you keep running, holding his hand and cradling Eleven’s head.

“It was nothing, keep counting, you were doing it so well!”

You go down some stairs and finally see the reception. Alarms are blaring around you and Peter is going ballistic throwing all the goons around the air and against the walls. When you're about to reach the door, you trip with an object and hit your head against a hard surface. You can hear Eleven whine and Peter’s too busy with the men to help you. You try to stand up but an artifact floats towards you and hits you right in the nose.

You shriek at this and turn around to see what happened and are faced by number Two staring at you with angry eyes.

“You guys always seem to forget about me, dont you?”

Peter turns around and freezes for a second at the sight of the kid. How he has escaped is beyond you two, but he seems to be boiling in anger. Before you're able to formulate a response, you see the kid raise his hand towards you and you can feel a force pulling you up by your neck.

“Peter tries to focus on both him and the guards but the task seems impossible. Your sight starts getting blurry and as soon as you think you're going to slip into unconsciousness, you feel the pressure leave you, and you drop to the ground.

You can hear a loud crash and screams, and you feel Peter’s arms around you. When you look up, the only thing you're able to see is a huge red opening against the wall that is slowly closing in front of you, and Eleven’s tiny frame collapse in the ground.

Everything seems too blurry and your throat aches like hell, but with Peter’s help you manage to get up. He grabs El’s tiny body and cradles her in her arms and you're back to running. Peter uses his powers to open the gate to the lab and you both run off to the woods.

Your feet hurt and you're feeling dizzy, but you cant afford to stall right now. You are so close to making it that you can nearly taste freedom at the tip of your tongue.

The world around you seems to fade and theres only you, Peter, and Eleven. Running for your lives. Running for your freedom.

“I see you, Americans” You hear a voice echoing from Peter’s pocket, and suddenly you remember what you’re running towards: Yuri’s car.

Far from you, you see a glimpse of blue, and the closer you get, the better you can see it.

It’s a car.

It’s freedom

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Eleven didn't wake up until you guys arrived at a cottage far from the lab. The car ride was full of weird attempts at understanding Yuri’s less than funny jokes but in the end everything worked out for you guys.

El rubbed her eyes as she looked around the place, you were putting her down on an old dusty couch so you could look for the bags hidden under the floorboards.

You reached for a suitcase filled with money and handed it to the weird russian man, who had been drooling over his payment a whole month.

“There you go, now get the fuck out of here” You said. You watched him scurry away and didnt peel your gaze off him until he was way out of sight in the heart of the woods.

“Where are we?” Eleven asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Hey darling, we are in a safe house. We have about an hour to get cleaned up before we go to our real house”

“Real house? Where?”

“Its a beautiful place near Lovers Lake” You explained, while ruffling inside the bag looking for the clothes you had bought for her. “Go inside the room and put this on. I will help you get cleaned up in a second”

“Wheres Peter?” She asked, while grabbing the white shirt and blue skirt you had gotten her.

“Don’t worry about him darling, he’s just starting the car”

As she entered the room, you didn’t waste any time and took your ugly dress off. You pulled your clothes on and put a coat over them; you were in the middle of November and it was pretty chilly.

“The car is ready to go” Peter said as he jumped into the cabin. You couldn’t help but notice the huge red stain in his shirt caused by the open wound of the Soteria.

“Oh Peter come on we gotta get you cleaned up.” You said, hurrying to get something to stop the bleeding. You ripped a piece of your ugly nurse dress and pressed it on his neck. “Good luck I got you a turtle neck”

He chuckled at this, and you couldn’t help but smile back at him.

“Gods, I love you, you know that, right”

You chuckled and nodded.

“I love you too, Peter, you’re the love of my life”

#peter ballard #peter ballard x reader #vecna x reader #001 x reader #victor creel x reader #victor creel #stranger things vecna #001 stranger things #eleven stranger things #henry creel stranger things #jane hopper #dr brenner #peter ballard stranger things #hawkins #stranger things x reader #stranger things 4 #ST4

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yippie-ki-yay · 2 years

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Kissing Headcanons ; Main Four

Kind of a second part to my first post to make up for how short it was compared to what else I’ve posted. Looking back on it I feel a little bad for only writing five per character :’)

CW for slight suggestiveness!

[HANK]

Kissing Hank might be a little hard considering his lack of a lower jaw. It’ll be messy but so long as you don’t mind he really couldn’t care less.

If you don’t mind the mess, he may or may not try and stick his tongue down your throat.

Again, his little biting habit comes into play here. Whether he manages to catch you off-guard or you both have been cuddled up for a while expect to leave his company with a few new bruises.

It’s a 50/50 on whether he initiates or not. Hank doesn’t get too shy over things like that, he’ll do it if he damn well pleases (unless PDA bugs you, he’ll get the message eventually and try to tone it down!), but whe

If you make the first move though? Don’t expect to be leaving it there.

While he’s not going to be as vocal about wanting affection, he has the advantage of likely being stronger than you.

To put it simply, you won’t be going anywhere unless he lets you go. It’s even funnier because he’s not even being forceful about it. Hank kind of just…holds you and that’s it. Bye bye movement.

You’re just going to have to sit there until he’s done or if you manage to squirm enough to get away. Good luck <3

[SANFORD]

Has a habit of just scooping you up and peppering your face in kisses. The face you make when he surprises you like that is too cute for him to pass up seeing.

While it’s easy to get him to blush, it’s much harder to actually fluster him. He’ll probably figure it out and get to you first before you manage to succeed.

It’s okay though, he finds your frustration just as cute.

Despite his size, Sanford’s literally such a sweetheart. He’s super cuddly as well! Both of you have definitely been wrapped up on the couch before, watching some dumb movie with you giving him an occasional peck on the lips.

He’s such a sucker for domestic moments you don’t even know-

Oddly likes it when you kiss along his tattoo! Like coming up behind him and wrapping your arms around his waist and doing that is the fastest way to soften him up.

He’s also very much the type to kiss your injuries better! Once you’ve been seen to and gotten all patched up, he’ll take his time going over every single one. Sometimes he’s silly about it, other times he takes a softer approach. Really he just wants you to feel better :(

If you do the same for him he’ll be over the fucking moon. Really, Sanford’s just a sucker for little gestures like that.

[DEIMOS]

Deimos is kind of the spontaneous type. Would definitely pop up out of nowhere, give you a smooch, and then go about his business like nothing happened. You’d almost think that if it weren’t for the grin he was sporting.

Whines if you do the same, funnily enough. You literally won’t be able to get rid of him unless you give in to his (albeit cute) demands.

Like I mentioned in the first post, Deimos’ incredibly easy to fluster and it goes double for something like this. Just sweet talk him a little, trail your lips along his jaw, and you’ll have a flustered, stammering merc wrapped around your finger.

Not that he wasn’t to begin with, but still-

There are also times where things are a little softer between your two! Whether this happens after a nightmare or it’s a quiet moment you have post-mission, it’s something that sets off the ball of worry that has undoubtedly been building in you both.

This is probably one of the few times that Deimos can bring himself to be vulnerable - both of you tangled up in each other, sharing little whispered affirmations and soft kisses.

You both know how easy it is to lose someone nowadays, and even if there’s options for revival it isn’t guaranteed. It’s best to just enjoy the time you both have together. It might be the last, after all…

[2BDAMNED]

Most times he’ll begrudgingly accept kisses on the cheek, grateful that his bandages and mask cover the red that spreads across his face.

For someone who comes off as serious as he does, 2B is surprisingly soft for affectionate acts like that. So long as you don’t overwhelm him and try and keep it to when it’s just the two of you, you’ll get to see a softer side of the team’s doctor.

While he normally relies on you to initiate, normally being too stubborn to do it himself, there have been a couple occasions where he’s pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. It’s normally when you both were winding down for the night and you ended up falling asleep before him.

For the first few months (maybe even a little longer than that) you will not be kissing this man on the lips. It doesn’t really matter how much you ask him or try and convince him that it’s alright, in fact that might make it worse depending on just how persistent you are, it has to happen on his own terms.

Despite his indifference and overall rough attitude, 2B’s more than a little self-conscious over his facial scars. Despite not causing him too much difficulty or pain, the scarring isn’t the ‘cool’ type (at least he doesn’t think so). It’s rigid and rough - not exactly something someone wants to put their lips close to.

Please, once he lets you, prove him wrong.

I’ll save the actual ‘how’ for a later drabble, but once you both finally get to that point? He might be open to doing it more often...

#madness combat #madness combat x reader #hank j. wimbleton #hank j wimbleton x reader #sanford #sanford x reader #deimos #deimos x reader #2bdamned #2bdamned x reader #cw suggestive

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sihtricfedaraaahvicius · 7 months

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Haunting chapter 2

Note: looks like it will be 3 chapters oops... happy Halloween/Samhain! (extra note: info about hauntings are told as they are explained by Ed Warren in the book 'The Demonologist'.

chapter 1.

Warnings: angst/horror/paranormal stuff.

pairing: Modern!Sihtric x you (f)

summary: The hauntings continued.

wordcount: 3k

Masterlist

'This dweeb is going to rid us of ghosts?'

Shortly after Sihtric had found the Ouija board in the attic, he had to go to work. He didn't want to leave you but you had urged him to go, despite your own fright.

'If we ever want to move out of here, we'll need the money,' you said.

Sihtric agreed, but he didn't want to leave you alone in the house and looked clearly torn between wanting to stay with you or going to make some money so he can get you out of there.

'Yes, I'm scared,' you confessed, 'but so far nothing really bad has happened, right? I mean, if there really is a… a ghost or whatever, then it's only been taunting us so far. It's not like we've been hurt.'

'But whatever happened with the sheets last night, in bed,' Sihtric said, 'whatever it is, is coming closer to us.'

You were quiet for a moment. You knew your husband was right. When the sheets were pulled off the bed, it meant that whatever lived in the house with you had been awfully close while you both had been completely defenceless.

'I know,' you whispered, 'but I'll be okay.'

'Are you sure?' he asked, with clear hesitation.

'I'm sure.'

'Well, okay,' Sihtric said after a long moment of contemplating, 'but you call me as soon as something happens, okay? And I'll come home.'

You promised him you'd call when needed, and then he kissed your lips a few times before he left out the door. You went upstairs to your little office, trying to continue your day as normal as possible after the big spook, and to your surprise it seemed to go just as normal as every other morning had been. You heard the strange noises again that reminded you of the apartment building, but you tried to ignore it. The only difference was that the noise seemed much louder than any day before, and you felt uneasy after a while.

You constantly had a feeling of being watched, and every few minutes you turned in your chair to look behind you, only to stare into an empty corner. After a few hours of trying to focus on your job, you gave up and went downstairs, frustrated and frightened.

You couldn't shake the paranoid feeling wherever you went in the house, but you felt that the living room was the best option to stay in, as it was the brightest room in the house. You switched on the tv, threw the remote on the couch and quickly went to the kitchen to pour yourself a drink.

And as you were in the kitchen, you suddenly heard the tv channels switch. You froze and stared into the living room, where you saw the tv remote levitate next to the couch for a few long seconds, before it dropped down on the floor. An almost inhuman scream came from your mouth and you ran out of the kitchen, into the backyard, while you called your husband in tears.

Sihtric had barely understood a word of what you said on the phone, but he jumped in his car and came back home. He parked in front of the porch where you sat with squeaking tires, and he ran to you while you were a crying mess.

'What happened?' he yelled, panicked, as you nearly fell in his arms.

'We have to leave,' you sobbed, 'we have to leave, now!'

'What happened!?' Sihtric asked again and cupped your cheeks, 'are you hurt? Did it hurt you?'

'No,' you shook your head.

As you continued to cry, you began to tell him about the noises, the tv switching channels and the remote control that had been up in the air. Sihtric didn't know what to say, he only asked if you were sure, to which you snapped.

'Of course I'm sure!' you cried and gave him a push, 'I know what I saw and what I heard! You think I'm making this up?!'

'No, honey,' Sihtric said, 'but, I mean, we were both spooked by what happened last night. It wouldn't be weird if you're just tired and, you know, imagined it?'

'I didn't imagine it!' you yelled, 'I don't want to live here anymore, Sihtric, I'm… I'm terrified! I want to leave!'

'But- I- where,' Sihtric stammered, but then he sighed and pulled you in his arms again, 'I understand. I'll… I'll call Finan, I'm sure we can stay there for at least the night while I figure this out.'

'Something is wrong with the house,' Sihtric said.

The Irish man stared at him and frowned. Yes, Sihtric had just answered Finan's question about why on earth they wanted to stay over at his place, but also not really.

'Something's wrong with the house?' he repeated, and Sihtric nodded. 'That's a broad statement, mate. Like a leakage, or rotten wood?' he guessed.

'No, no,' Sihtric said, 'like… like,' Sihtric looked at you next to him and grabbed your hand, 'like g-ghosts.'

Finan's eyes darted between you and your husband, his brow furrowed and a heistant grin tugged at his lips.

'Ghosts?' he scoffed, 'don't be daft.'

You and Sihtric said nothing and looked down at the oaken dinner table you sat at, and you started to cry.

'Wait,' Finan said as Sihtric pulled you in his arms, 'you're serious?'

You nodded as you sniffled.

'What? How?' Finan asked while he instinctively touched his cross pendant.

'The signs were there when I viewed the house,' Sihtric confessed, 'I was just blind to them. I knew the house was too good to be true, but we really needed to move out of that apartment building.'

'Signs? What signs?' Finan looked confused, 'wait, does this also have something to do with that phone prank? When you said you couldn't find it while it was in the same spot you left it?'

'Yes,' Sihtric said, 'except it wasn't a prank. At least, not done by us.'

Sihtric went on and told Finan about everything that had happened. How the key for the door didn't seem to work, and then it suddenly did, how Sihtric felt an odd negative emotion from his past out of nowhere and how the house had felt cold despite the summer heat. He told Finan about the bathtub, the stove, his car key that was ruined, and the phone that kept on missing and then the charger that was split in two. You told about the noises you heard and how they disappeared, only to come back again, louder than ever before. And Finan heard about the bedsheet that had been pulled away at night, and about the tv and the remote control, and of course the Ouija board that was found in the attic.

Finan shook his head at the native Dane after hearing you two out.

'You little runt,' Finan huffed, 'now what, Sihtric? What will you do?'

'I don't know,' Sihtric groaned and buried his face in his hands. He felt desperate and started to cry out of nowhere, to everyone's surprise.

'Honey?' you sniffled, and he wrapped his arms around you again.

'I don't know what to do,' your husband confessed as he cried, 'all our money is in that house and… and my wife doesn't feel safe there. And it's not safe. I can't give my wife a safe home,' he sobbed, 'I can't make my wife feel safe and I don't know how to fix it, because the only way to fix it is to move, and we can't afford that. We have nowhere to go and no money,' he pulled away from you and hid his face again, 'what kind of man am I?' he sobbed, 'what kind of man can't make his wife feel safe? I failed as a husband and I don't know what to do.'

Finan looked at the desperate man and in truth, he had to fight his own tears. He understood Sihtric never meant for any of this to happen, but it had, and now he was at a loss.

'I… I might know someone who could help,' Finan eventually said.

The next morning you and Sihtric watched a young and shy man walk into Finan's kitchen, and he sat across from you both at the table.

'This is Osferth,' Finan introduced the man, who smiled awkwardly.

'Hi,' you smiled back, and Sihtric just stared at the guy.

The young man was dressed as a clergyman, and nervously unpacked his black leather bag. He took out a notebook, a pen, a bible, a cross and a small bottle of holy water, the latter which the nervous man knocked over, twice.

'I'm sorry,' Sihtric scoffed after the second time he witnessed the water being knocked over, 'this dweeb is going to rid us of ghosts?'

'Sihtric!' you hissed and kicked his leg under the table, to which he groaned.

'Please excuse my husband,' you said, 'he's just very spooked.'

'It's okay,' Osferth smiled with rosy cheeks, 'I know I'm not what people expect when they call in an exorcist. No offence taken,' he said, then mumbled, 'at least I'm not the one who bought a haunted house.'

'Hey!' Sihtric snarled, but you silenced him with a glance in his direction.

'Trust me,' Finan said, 'if Osferth can't fix it, no one can.'

Sihtric opened his mouth to make another snarky remark, but you kicked him again under the table. Osferth opened his notebook, clicked his pen and looked up at you.

'So, what's the problem?' he asked, after Finan left you three alone.

You told the priest the entire story and he made notes while you explained the situation.

'So,' Osferth said when you were done, 'it seems like you guys are currently in the second stage of a haunting.'

'Second stage?' you asked.

'That doesn't sound bad, honey,' Sihtric said optimistically and squeezed your hand.

'There are only three stages,' Osferth killed Sihtric's hope instantly.

'Oh,' Sihtric mumbled, and you gasped.

'What- what does that mean?' you asked.

'The first stage is infestation,' the clergyman began, 'and this simply means that a place is haunted, in this case your house is haunted. During this stage the strategy is to create fear. Fear creates a negative psychic energy, which slowly starts to break down the human will.'

'Human will?' Sihtric frowned.

'The human will needs to be broken in order to possess someone.'

'Possess someone?!' you almost yelled.

Osferth held up his hand, politely, to silence you and Sihtric.

'During the infestation stage you start to notice things,' Osferth continued, 'but just gradually. So at first you don't think much of it. For example, you said the house felt really cold,' he looked at Sihtric, 'you didn't think much of it, but as time passes you realise it's not natural, right?'

'Right,' your husband agreed.

'Right,' Osferth said, 'and then you started to lose your phone and noises were heard, right? What spirits are doing at this stage is trying to open the door for more serious phenomena. Negative spirits are either invited or attracted. In this case it seems like they have been invited, by whoever used that Ouija board. And when fear is being created, the door is opened further and further by law of attraction. That is all part of the infestation stage. Things happen but you don't recognize them as paranormal. However, once you finally start to grasp it, it has already moved on to the second stage, which is oppression.'

You and Sihtric opened your mouths to speak, but Osferth once again politely silenced you with just a gesture of his hand.

'During the oppression stage the spirits are simply trying to take over whoever lives in the house, in this case you two,' he continued, 'oppression can be targeted. You both experienced things, but from what you've told me it seems that Sihtric was the one targeted the most at first.'

'But why?' Sihtric asked, spooked.

'The spirit or spirits were taunting you, and you took the bait,' he told Sihtric, 'you realised something was odd with the stove for example and played the game, by watching the stove, wanting to prove to yourself you weren't going insane. Then with your phone constantly missing you again reacted to it. You became frustrated and started to doubt your own sanity, which is exactly what they want. The more aware you become, the more activity you experience. And for your wife it was the same, once she allowed the noise she heard to become a problem to her, it got worse. And you both discussed the idea of a haunting in your home. You literally acknowledged the spirit or spirits taunting you and as the activity became more noticeable, it also started the process of breaking down the human will, which means you become vulnerable and eventually you can open yourself up to possession.'

'Oh my god,' you cried and Sihtric wrapped his arm around you, 'what-'

Osferth raised his hand again. 'It didn't come that far,' he said, 'luckily. The form you both experienced is called external oppression, which means you can see and feel the activity.'

'What? Is there another form?' Sihtric scoffed as he pressed you into his chest.

'There is,' Osferth said.

'Of course there is,' your husband complained.

'It's called internal oppression,' Osferth ignored Sihtric, 'when that happens, your way of thinking and behaving changes.'

You and Sihtric looked at each other with colour deprived faces.

'What?' Osferth asked, 'you experienced internal oppression?'

'Well,' you sniffled, 'we did argue a lot the past months, something we never used to do...'

'Okay,' Osferth sighed, 'then yes, you experienced both forms. But that also could have been way worse, think of bad habits becoming worse. Did anything like that happen?'

'Not that I'm aware of,' Sihtric said, and you agreed.

Osferth nodded and wrote some more stuff down in his notebook. You and Sihtric both tried to catch a glimpse of his writings, but to no avail.

'Very well,' Osferth then said and closed his notebook, 'I know what I have to do, I'll get back to you in two weeks.'

'What?' you scoffed.

'Two weeks!?' Sihtric jumped up, 'and where are we supposed to stay?'

'I'm very sorry, but that is not my concern,' Osferth said as he packed his bag, 'I need to get the right tools and it takes time.'

'Time? I'll show you time!' Sihtric hissed, and Finan stepped into the kitchen just in time to hold him back from giving poor Osferth a punch between the eyes.

You apologised to Osferth on behalf of your husband once again, and the priest made haste out the door.

A few days later on a sunny afternoon, while you both still stayed over at Finan's place, Sihtric got so fed up with everything that he jumped in his car. You knew exactly where he was going, so you quickly got in the car too before Sihtric drove off. The entire drive you tried to change his mind, but without any luck.

Sihtric parked the car right in front of the door of the building, and he stormed inside the real estate office, and you followed closely behind.

'You!' Sihtric snarled at a man named Aethelwold, who had sold him the haunted house.

Aethelwold recognised Sihtric immediately and he jumped up.

'Did you know?!' Sihtric shouted as he stalked towards the man who had cornered himself by accident.

'I- I- I,' the agent stuttered.

'Did you know!?' Sihtric yelled again and grabbed Aethelwold by his shirt.

You tried to interfere but you didn't stand a chance against your husband, so you just stepped back and watched.

'I- y-yes,' the agent confessed with terror in his eyes, 'I- I knew.'

'What?' you asked, anger laced your voice, 'you fucking knew?'

'W-why did you t-think I h-handed you the k-k-k-key and didn't j-join y-you?'

'You weasel shit,' Sihtric hissed, 'how could you? Do you have any idea what's happening to us?!'

'I… the house…' Aethelwold continued to stutter as Sihtric squeezed the neck of his shirt tighter and tighter, 'anyone who would sell the house got a huge bonus, o- okay?' he confessed, 'it had been o-on the market for years. I didn't mean any h-harm, I- I swear!'

'So,' you scoffed, 'you got a nice bonus while we are currently staying over at a friend's house, because it's unbearable to live in that house you sold us. How does that make you feel?'

'I'm sorry,' Aethelwold wheezed.

'Sorry won't change anything!' Sihtric gave the man a hard shove against the wall before he let go, 'fucking fix this!'

'What?' the agent asked, 'fix it? It's your house-' Sihtric raised his fist at the man, 'okay, okay!' Aethelwold then said quickly, 'I… I'll see what I can do.'

'Find us a new home,' Sihtric threatened, 'or your family will have to find your severed-'

'Sihtric!' you said sternly and grabbed his arm, 'let's go, okay? Let's just go back to Finan's place…'

You walked towards the door while Sihtric turned back to Aethelwold and got up in his face.

'You're lucky my wife is here,' Sihtric whispered, and when he wanted to turn away, Aethelwold grabbed his arm.

'Burn it,' the weasel said quietly, but with urgence in his voice, 'that place is evil. Burn that house down to the ground and make it look like an accident.'

'Burn it?' Sihtric frowned, 'are you insane? I just hired an exorcist the other day.'

'You don't understand,' Aethelwold continued, 'burn that house down, it's the only way. Your insurance will cover it. You think the previous owners didn't hire an exorcist? Or the owners before them? And those before them? Burn it, take the insurance money, and with that money I promise I will find you a new house.'

'And that bonus you earned?' Sihtric stared down at the frightened man.

'I'll… I'll add my bonus to your budget,' Aethelwold whimpered.

Sihtric gave the agent a faint smile and slapped his shoulder, hard.

'You better don't lie to me again,' Sihtric said, 'or I'll burn this place down too, and it won't be an accident.'

taglist: @clairacassidy @finanmoghra @uunotheangel @hb8301 @bathedinheat @neonhairspray @anaeve @bubblyabs @travelingmypassion @sylasthegrim @andakth @chompchompluke @willowbrookesblog @lady-targaryens-world @skyofficialxx @diosademuerte @elle4404 @alexagirlie @sweetxime @solango @gemini-mama @cheyennep3107 @little-diable @jennifer0305 @drwstarkeyy @mrsarnasdelicious @verenahx @urmomsgirlfriend1 @moonchildrenandflowercrowns @foxyanon @djarinsgirl27 @sigtryggrswifey @liandav @diiickbrainn

#sihtric x reader #sihtric x you #sihtric kjartansson #the last kingdom #tlk #sihtric #the last kingdom fic #sihtric fic #modern!sihtric

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silvfyre-writings · 1 year

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Fukuzawa Struggles to be a Parent (BSD Fanfic)

This was supposed to be another 3 in 1 story, but it uh... kind of got away and just linked itself together? Oh well, haha.

I'm both happy with the way this turned out, but also not. After writing TMAS (which is in present tense) I've struggled to get back into writing past tense, and I think it shows, but I'm also hoping it hasn't showed. But we'll see I guess.

Either way, I hope you all enjoy the story! If you did, feel free to leave a like or a reblog! They truly make my day! :D

Fukuzawa considered himself skilled in many things. He was skilled with the sword, even though it’d been months since he’d last held it in his hands—he still had it of course, kept hidden, but safe, just in case he needed to use it again in the future; which, he hoped not to. He also considered himself skilled in martial arts, and had used the techniques he’d taken the time to learn and master several times over recent months, no thanks to a certain child of course that seemed determined to wind up in trouble more often than not. But for all that he was skilled in, there was one thing that wouldn’t consider himself overly skilled at.

And that was parenting.

Fukuzawa had never planned on having children if his own, had never sought out a relationship to even consider that option in the first place, and he’d certainly never planned on children—well, one child in particular—becoming a part of his life. His previous job as an assassin had made it far too dangerous to care for another person, and his current bodyguard job was no different, yet here he was, with a teenage boy in his care.

A teenage boy that was not like any teenager Fukuzawa had ever encountered in his life; he was yet to know if that was a good or a bad thing. It wasn’t like he’d wanted the boy in the first place—in fact, he’d tried everything to find the boy somewhere else to stay that was better suited to him. But no, Edogawa Ranpo had latched onto Fukuzawa, both physically and emotionally, and there was no getting rid of him.

At first, it’d been hard on the both of them; Fukuzawa didn’t have the space for a growing boy, and Ranpo was more than willing to voice any complaints he had about his new living situation. You’d think, after spending a year on the streets, the kid would be at least a little grateful about having a roof over his head, but oh no, the one bedroom apartment was far too tiny for him. Fukuzawa had shot down Ranpo’s complaints immediately though, stating that he was more than welcome to sleep outside again if he didn’t want to stay with Fukuzawa.

Ranpo had fallen quiet, and taken residence up on the couch for one night, and one night only, before he took over Fukuzawa’s room. Fukuzawa had gone to kick the boy out onto the couch after the third night of losing his futon, only to have the argument die before it could even form when he saw how peaceful Ranpo looked while he slept—how he looked like the child he was supposed to be.

It wasn’t just the new living situation that was a problem either—Fukuzawa had started looking for a bigger apartment to move in to when it became clear that he was stuck with Ranpo—it was everything else that also came attached to the boy. Really, Ranpo should’ve had a neon sign attached to him labelled ‘high maintenance’ because he was, at least by Fukuzawa’s standards. He was almost certain that if he had any actual parenting experience, it wouldn’t be so hard, but he didn’t, so it was. It also didn’t help that Ranpo didn’t tell him whenever there was a problem.

If Fukuzawa cooked something that Ranpo couldn’t stomach, the kid would just stare at the bowl until an opportunity arose to dump the meal.

If Fukuzawa so much as raised his voice or said the wrong thing, Ranpo flinched away from him, and would fall silent whilst Fukuzawa tried to figure out what he’d done wrong.

And if Fukuzawa wanted some time to himself—because he’d spent years alone and now he suddenly wasn’t—then Ranpo would cling to him and not let go until Fukuzawa begrudgingly let him tag along.

But over time, things got better. Fukuzawa and Ranpo moved into a bigger place where they could have their own rooms. He learnt what foods were safe to cook and what ones would be a waste of time. They both learnt how to properly communicate with each other to avoid misunderstandings, and Ranpo’s fears of being abandoned were slowly placated until Fukuzawa could finally leave the house for some peace without worry.

One thing that did not get better though, was Ranpo’s social skills.

Ranpo was intelligent; he knew it, Fukuzawa knew it, which meant that everyone they ever met also had to know about it. Which often led to… complex situations. Passerby’s could be placated with a few words, and a speedy escape, and store clerks were avoided until a suitable amount of time passed where the incident had been forgotten about in the first place. But the police force… that wasn’t as easy to deal with.

Being a genius capable of solving crimes in less than a minute, Ranpo had quickly made a name for himself in doing so, and was often requested by the police to come to various crime scenes and give his opinions with Fukuzawa trailing behind on bodyguard duty, because despite his best efforts, Ranpo was still a scrawny boy who could easily be knocked over by a gust of wind.

However…

Ranpo’s intellect, along with his inability to be socially aware in the slightest, often led to clashes with the officers in charge of the crime scenes. Words of ‘how stupid can you be?’ and ‘even a toddler could solve this’ thrown about without any regard to the feelings of others, Fukuzawa was often left doing damage control, doing his best to calm down officers that grew irate and upset at Ranpo’s words. Most of the time he succeeded, and the rest of the time they spent at the crime scene went by without further problems, but sometimes, he would fail, and they’d be thrown off the crime scene entirely.

And no matter how many times he warned Ranpo to watch what he said to others and to consider how others might feel in regards to his harsh words, Ranpo never learnt, and continued to berate and ridicule those around him when they couldn’t find the answer as fast as him.

Yeah, Fukuzawa didn’t have a handle on this parenting gimmick in the slightest.

“Fukuzawa-san, I’m bored.” Ranpo sighed, nearly throwing himself off the couch as he leaned out the back of it to watch as Fukuzawa read the newspaper at the dining table.

“And?” Fukuzawa raised an eyebrow, placing his finger at where he’d been reading before looking up to make eye contact with Ranpo. “You have the means of occupying yourself.”

“Yeah, but, they’re boring. Don’t we have any cases?”

“No, we don’t. We haven’t since the last time you asked me that either.” It was Fukuzawa’s turn to sigh, and he closed the paper in his hands, knowing that he wasn’t going to get a chance to continue reading, not when Ranpo was in such a mood. “You’d probably get more requests if you were a bit nicer to the officers.”

Ranpo’s face scrunched up in disapproval. “Bah, why? If they want me to be nice, than they shouldn’t be so stupid, should they?”

Fukuzawa sighed again. This was an argument that he’d long accepted he wasn’t going to win, but it didn’t stop him from trying at least. Maybe one day, Ranpo would understand what it was that he was getting at, but until that day came, it was his job to try and guide Ranpo to the solution.

“What? I’m not wrong. Even you thought that last officer we worked with was being stupid.”

“I may have thought he was… foolish, but I elected not to say it to his face. Unlike you.” Fukuzawa levelled Ranpo with a look, and took satisfaction when Ranpo actually looked like he regretted his words just a few days ago. “We were barred from the crime scene before we’d even set foot onto it.”

Ranpo gained a sullen look, and his face disappeared from view as he returned to sitting properly on the couch. There was a silence, and the sound of fidgeting before a quiet voice drifted towards him. “It’s not my fault that adults are so complex. I’m trying my best.”

Fukuzawa bit back the sigh that was seconds away from voicing itself. “I know. Just… try not to insult them so much when they don’t understand you, alright?”

Ranpo nodded, but didn’t say anything more.

He could only hope that the boy took his words to heart for a change.

Ranpo did, but he also didn’t, take Fukuzawa’s words to heart; he still insulted the officers of the cases they worked on, but he kept the insults more… tame; well, tame by Ranpo standards at least. Fukuzawa wanted to tell Ranpo to take it that one step further and cease the insults entirely, but he knew when to pick his battles, and right now, he’d take mild insults over what it had been previously. He’d try again in a couple of weeks; for now, he’d just settle for playing damage control.

“Oh great, who invited the brat?” Fukuzawa’s eye twitched at the displeasure in the young police officer’s voice as he and Ranpo approach the crime scene they’d been asked to attend. The officer in question was doing nothing to hide how much he disliked Ranpo’s presence. He wasn’t one that Fukuzawa recognized, and looked a bit on the young side. A new officer perhaps?

Ranpo didn’t notice, striding straight past the officer and Fukuzawa without a care in the world. “The greatest detective in the world is here! Try and keep up with me if you can, haha!”

Fukuzawa sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose at Ranpo’s antics. He could see some of the officers—the older ones—rolling their eyes, but only a few seemed to actually take offense to Ranpo’s words. Good, maybe they’re finally understanding this is just how he is. He was thankful, when the officer in charge—one of the ones that’d rolled their eyes—approached Ranpo and began running through the case with the boy. This was where Fukuzawa would take a step back, and observe as the crime unfolded itself beneath Ranpo’s eyes; Fukuzawa considered himself observant, and quite often, managed to at least keep up with Ranpo at times, but he was nowhere near the level of skill that the kid possessed.

While Ranpo continued to spout off his deductions and reasons behind them, Fukuzawa made sure to stay close—just because the crime scene was sealed off from public eyes, didn’t always mean that it was safe. There’d been too many times, where there’d been a close call with Ranpo and an unhappy criminal, so Fukuzawa had taken to sticking close to Ranpo, but not so close that he was overbearing.

“What do you mean, ‘it was suicide’? He was murdered, we have evidence!” The officer from before interrupted, cutting Ranpo off from what he was saying. The officer’s glare was filled with animosity as he stormed up to Ranpo, coming to a stop just in front of the kid.

Both Fukuzawa and Ranpo frowned at the interruption, but only Ranpo chose to say anything about it. “What? Are you that stupid you can’t see a set up when it’s right in front of you? It obviously wasn’t a murder, even if all the evidence you found pointed towards it being one.”

“If it’s a set-up then who was the victim setting up and why?” The officer asked, fists clenched angrily as Ranpo insulted him.

Oh no. Fukuzawa could already see how this was going to go, and he stepped just that little bit closer. Just in case.

“His best friend.” Ranpo said, as if it was the most obvious answer in the world, and he frowned at the officer. “They had an argument over some stupid thing that the friend owned, so the victim took his parents credit cards, bought all the ‘evidence’ and then set it all up to look like a murder before killing himself in a way that made it look like he’d been murdered. Although, he probably didn’t intend to actually die, but make it look like he’d died, and then ended up actually dying.”

“That’s bullshit. There’s no way that that’s possible! He killed himself, but he didn’t want to? What kind of novel do you think we live in?”

Ranpo continued to stare at the officer with an annoyed look, and then sighed and placed his hands on his hips. “It did happen, I know it did. My skill doesn’t lie after all, but you are new, so I guess I can’t expect you to know just how great my skill is yet—”

“I don’t give a shit about some skill you have. There’s no way a skill exists like that! If there was, then there’d be no point in even having us here!”

Ranpo blinked. “Why do you think they call me every time you idiots can’t do—”

Fukuzawa reacts, but not fast enough to stop the officer from letting out a shout and throwing his fist, watching helplessly as it connects with the side of Ranpo’s face, cutting the boy off from whatever he’d been saying. Ranpo yelped, throwing out his arms to catch himself as the force of the punch sent him to the ground. He hits the ground, just as Fukuzawa grabs the arm of the officer to stop him from lashing out again.

“Hey! What do you think you’re doing, Oshikawa?” The head officer—Yamamoto was his name—jogged over with an unimpressed look on his face.

“Sir! He was disrespecting the police force!” Oshikawa shouted, face red in anger as he pulled free of Fukuzawa’s grip to face his supervisor.

“He always does that!” Yamamoto retorted. “We accept that whenever he place a call for his assistance. I even warned you before they arrived what he was like, so what do you think you’re doing hitting him?”

“But he—”

“He’s a child, Oshikawa. If you have a problem with Edogawa—” Yamamoto moved his arm to directly point at Fukuzawa, who froze from where he’d been moving to check on Ranpo. “—then you tell Fukuzawa-san and he’ll deal with it. Not you, and not me either—”

Fukuzawa tuned out the argument now that he knew it was being dealt with and hurried over to kneel beside Ranpo, wanting to make sure that his ward wasn’t hurt too bad. “Are you alright, Ranpo?”

Ranpo turned his head to look up at Fukuzawa. There are tears forming in his eyes, although Ranpo seemed to be forcing them back through sheer will, and the red mark rapidly forming on his face promised to become an impressive bruise later. His hands were scuffed and bleeding slightly as well from where Ranpo had had to catch himself against the dirt, and the boy is holding them close to his chest. Ranpo sniffed unhappily. “He hit me!”

“I know.”

“Why didn’t you stop him?” It’s an accusation, and a well deserved one at that. Fukuzawa should have been able to stop Oshikawa’s fist before it even connected in the first place.

“I didn’t expect the biggest threat to be an officer.” Fukuzawa said, trying to placate Ranpo before upset himself even further. “I apologize though, I should’ve paid closer attention. I saw him getting angry and didn’t react accordingly.”

Ranpo nodded after taking a couple of minutes to ponder over Fukuzawa’s words. He doesn’t say anything more, so Fukuzawa took it as a sign to help Ranpo up, and guided the boy to his feet, making sure to only grab Ranpo by the elbows, because until they can get home, he had no idea how hurt Ranpo actually was.

“Fukuzawa-san, I apologize for Oshikawa’s actions. He will be dealt with accordingly.” Yamamoto sighed as he approached, coming to a stop when Ranpo ducked behind Fukuzawa in order to hide himself. “We appreciate the both of you coming out, so if you wish to leave, you may do so.”

“Thank you, we’ll do that.” Fukuzawa didn’t wait another moment before he guided Ranpo away from the crime scene and the two of them begin to head back home.

Ranpo is silent as they walk, and his head his pointed at the ground, Fukuzawa’s hand on his back the only reason that the kid doesn’t trip over his own feet or walk into something—or someone. Fukuzawa too, remained silent; if Ranpo didn’t want to talk until they were back home, then he was willing to wait. It shouldn’t take them too long to get home anyway; they’d walked to the crime scene this time instead of taking public transport, a decision that Fukuzawa had begun to regret.

I knew something like this would happen… Fukuzawa thought as they walked, letting his mind play back the incident so he could devise a plan on how to handle it. There’d been many a time where Ranpo had irritated officers to the point of aggression, but they’d always restrained themselves, or taken it out on some poor inanimate object—never had one of them physically struck Ranpo. He glanced down at Ranpo, able to see the impact the officer’s fist had left; a red mark that reminded Fukuzawa of the last time Ranpo had been struck in such a manner.

When he was the one to strike the boy.

And while he knew that the situations were completely different, that when he’d slapped Ranpo, it had been something he’d done out of fear of the boy not understanding just how close he’d been to losing his life. It’d still been wrong, and he’d apologized for it several times over since they’d started living under the same roof, and Ranpo had never seemed overly bothered by it, but it would be something that Fukuzawa always regretted.

But this? This was nothing but anger and cruelty, and Ranpo had done nothing to deserve being hit by someone that was supposed to protect kids like him. Yes, he probably could’ve tried harder to get Ranpo to understand why he needed to be kinder to people, and he should’ve talked to him about it before they’d entered the crime scene just to remind him. Doing that may have prevented this from even happening in the first place.

That was why Fukuzawa didn’t consider himself to be the ideal parent to this child.

“Let me see?” Fukuzawa asked gently as he came to sit on the table he’d dragged closer to the couch just so he could do so. The first-aid kit he’d brought with him is placed beside him as he reached out to grab one of Ranpo’s hands, now clean and free from dirt and grit, but it’s not the hands he’d been asking about.

Ranpo let out a whine, but pulled away the ice pack he’d been holding against his face for several minutes now, revealing the mark underneath. The injury had begun to swell on the way home, and Ranpo had complained a little about how it was hurting, but he hadn’t said anything more when Fukuzawa had tried to ask. Fukuzawa leaned closer, eyes narrowing as he studied the injury. Ranpo’s eye was puffy and nearly swollen shut, and there was some dried blood on Ranpo’s nose where the skin had been split, and the surrounding skin was already starting to bruise. Ranpo replaced the ice pack when Fukuzawa pulled away and went back to disinfecting the scrapes on Ranpo’s palms. “Ow…”

“Sorry.” Fukuzawa apologized, lightening his touch just that little bit. “Your face doesn’t look too bad, considering how hard he hit you.”

“It hurts.” Ranpo grumbled.

“Getting punched tends to.”

“You don’t sound very sympathetic right now.” Ranpo pulled his hands away once Fukuzawa finished bandaging them and watched as he got up to throw away the supplies he’d used with a cautious look

Fukuzawa sighed as he moved about the kitchen, grabbing some painkillers before he returned, sitting on the couch beside Ranpo this time as he handed the pills over. “I’ve warned you before to watch what you say when interacting with the police, so you are at fault for what happened, but—”

“So what? I deserved to get hit?” Ranpo interrupted, glaring up at Fukuzawa angrily. “That’s stupid!”

“If you’d let me finish.” Fukuzawa narrowed his eyes at the interruption. Ranpo ducked his head and refused to meet his eyes as he continued to speak. “It was your fault for antagonizing the man, but it was his fault for resorting to violence. It is never okay to hit someone, no matter how much they push your buttons.”

Ranpo was silent for a moment before he looked up at Fukuzawa with uncertainty. “You hit me, once.”

“An action I will forever regret.” Fukuzawa admitted, shifting to drape an arm across Ranpo’s shoulders. “And one that I have already apologized for several times over.”

“Why did you hit me then?”

Fukuzawa frowned, trying to understand just what it was that Ranpo was trying to get at. They’d already talked about that night extensively, and the emotions that had—ah. Realization dawned on him then, that Ranpo was trying to find the non-existent link between the two incidents, since both had resulted in Ranpo being hit. “You don’t understand why you were hit, do you?”

Ranpo jerked in his seat, cheeks turning red, and Fukuzawa knew he’d figured it out. A genius, he may not be, but he was learning. Ranpo nodded. “I don’t get what I did. I solved the crime for them just like I always do.”

“The issue isn’t in you solving the crimes, it’s in your attitude when you speak with them.” Ranpo looked at him in confusion and Fukuzawa faltered. This wasn’t a conversation he was confident in having. “Some people... don’t react well when you call them stupid or an idiot. Or when you tell them that they aren’t smart enough to figure things out when you do it in a few seconds.”

“I have an ability—” Ranpo began.

“But the officers you work with do not.” Fukuzawa pushed on as if Ranpo hadn’t even spoken, giving the boy a look to make sure that he listened. “They are all people without gifts who are plenty smart, but simply need more time to figure things out. They would have figured out that death in the end if we hadn’t been invited. It may have taken them longer, but they would’ve.”

Ranpo remained silent.

“What I’m getting at, Ranpo, is you need to be a little more aware when it comes to dealing with people. The officers are starting to learn about you and your antics, but not everyone you work with or meet is going to be like them. You’ll come across people—like Oshikawa—who will lash out suddenly, and you’ll find yourself getting hurt.”

“But… they are being stupid…?” Ranpo frowned, tugging at the bandages around his hands. “Why are they getting mad… when I tell them the truth?”

“Sometimes the truth hurts more than it helps, and that’s something you have to learn.” Fukuzawa said, and watched as Ranpo sighed and hunched in on himself like he was prone to doing when he was unhappy. “I’ll help you, okay? And if you never understand it, that’s fine, I’ll make sure to stop any further punches before they happen.”

That draws a laugh from Ranpo, and a smile, and Fukuzawa figured he’d finally done something right.

Fukuzawa should’ve known that that one run in with the police wouldn’t have been the end of it, that it would be the catalyst that would confirm just what his role in Ranpo’s life was supposed to be, and that it would be the reason into allowing him to finally understand the boy he’d taken into his care only a few months ago.

“I don’t want to.” Ranpo huffed and turned away from Fukuzawa, with a pout that did nothing but make him look like a temperamental child. Which, technically, Ranpo still was, but that was beside the point. The point was, that Fukuzawa had been arguing with the boy for several minutes now, trying to get him to accept the latest job that the police had offered, only to be refused and rejected no matter what bribery he tried.

“Ranpo…” Fukuzawa sighed, raising a hand to drag it down his face. He was about to tell Ranpo to accept the job, when he paused and decided to take a different approach. “Why don’t you want to take this job?”

Ranpo hesitated before he rolled over and looked somewhere that was in the direction of his face, but not directly making eye contact. “That Oshikawa officer is the one asking.”

“I see…” Now it made sense why Ranpo was so hesitant, what with the memory of being punched still fresh in the boy’s mind, even though it’d happened almost a month ago at this point. Fukuzawa didn’t blame Ranpo for feeling the way he was; but the officer had apologized—even though he’d sounded reluctant to be doing so—and Ranpo had, surprisingly, apologized in return. The incident was behind them, or at least, Fukuzawa had thought that was the case. “As long as you mind yourself, and stick close to me, you’ll be fine.”

“You’re supposed to be on my side.” Ranpo muttered.

“I am on your side, Ranpo, but you cannot let one bad experience stop you from working.” Fukuzawa said with a raised eyebrow. He watched as Ranpo turned away from him once again, and bit back the sigh that threatened to follow. It really was hard, trying to figure out how to best handle the moods that Ranpo often found himself in. What would soothe him one time, would make him angry the next; it was like playing a game with an unbeatable boss; there was no right way of ‘winning’.

But, Fukuzawa had made a promise to Ranpo the night after he’d taken him in, that he’d take care of him and keep him safe from those that didn’t understand him. And if Ranpo didn’t feel safe going to the crime scene, then there wasn’t anything he could do about it. He sighed. “If you really don’t want to take the job, I won’t pressure you into it. We can stay in today if you’d like.”

Ranpo turned back to face him, with a grateful look on his face that told Fukuzawa all he needed to know, so he moved away for a moment and explained to the officer on that had been waiting patiently on the other end of the line, that Ranpo was unavailable to take the case, and in an even quieter voice, explained why he wasn’t taking the case. Oshikawa seemed to understand and thanked him, even if he sounded a bit disheartened to hear Ranpo’s decision.

Hopefully, Fukuzawa’s explanation would be enough for the man to understand that if he wanted Ranpo’s help in the future, it would be best to get someone else to make the request.

It was another week before Ranpo took on another case he was requested on, but the entire time he was at the crime scene, his eyes would flick between the officers that were also at the scene, apprehensive, as if he feared one of them would lash out at him. The boy had also taken to pretty much standing on top of Fukuzawa, sticking so close to him that Fukuzawa was surprised he could even breathe. But he didn’t tell Ranpo to give him space, or to stop being frightened, because that wouldn’t do anything but make it worse; he just stood tall and firm, and allowed the teen to cling to him.

Ranpo seemed to have finally taken his words to heart as well, for the insults against the police and their supposed incompetence died down greatly, the insults only slipping out when they were actually due—when Fukuzawa too, agreed that the police were being idiotic in their guesses. It was only when they were heading home from cases, that Ranpo would speak his mind, telling Fukuzawa about everything he’d thought but hadn’t said, and after he was done ranting, Fukuzawa would smile and tell him he was proud of keeping his thoughts to himself.

It didn’t last long though, and as time passed, and the punching incident was pushed behind them, Ranpo began to fall back into old habits, but unlike before, the police didn’t seem to care about Ranpo’s sometimes cruel insults—most of the time they ignored the words as if they hadn’t been said in the first place, but those that did react, would just loudly shout Ranpo’s name and walk away. Ranpo always looked confused when that happened, but quickly put two and two together and learnt that when it did happen, it meant he’d gone too far for that particular officer, and he’d tone it down.

It was a bit of a strange dynamic, but it seemed to be working, so Fukuzawa wasn’t going to complain.

“We have a bit of a complicated case here today.” The officer in charge explained as he allowed Ranpo and Fukuzawa to enter the most recent crime they’d been called out to solve. “We’ve been unable to determine the cause of death, so it’s left us a little out of the loop.”

Ranpo opened his mouth, yelping instead as Fukuzawa gave him a harsh nudge, a warning look on his own face. Ranpo frowned, but changed what he’d been able to say earlier. “Well, that’s why I’m here isn’t it? To… help you figure that out.”

If the officer was surprised at Ranpo’s words, he didn’t show it, and instead, led them towards the body.

It was only because of his past occupation, that Fukuzawa didn’t flinch back at the sight of the body, the state of it leaving much to be desired, with no discernible features, and like the officer had said, a clear uncertainty as to what it was that had killed them. At first glance, it looked like the gunshot wound to the head was what had killed them, but then a further look revealed deep gashes up the forearms that could’ve just as easily been the cause of death with how much blood there was. But then there were other things that could also have been the cause of death, and Fukuzawa understood why the police were having so much trouble with it.

He watched as Ranpo studied the body for a moment, glasses already perched on his face. He could almost see the gears turning in Ranpo’s head as he ran through all the information that he was taking in right now. The rest of the officers were watching intensely, because as much as they were at odds with Ranpo’s personality, none of them could refute the skill the boy had in finding the things they had missed.

One minute passed, then two, then five, and still, Ranpo had said nothing. Fukuzawa stepped closer, able to see the growing panic on Ranpo’s face as the boy’s eyes flicked up to meet his own. “What is it, Ranpo?”

“I… I don’t know.” Ranpo removed the glasses as if they were the reason he couldn’t figure it out, and then placed them back on his face. “There’s no cause of death.”

“That’s not possible, something had to have killed them!” One of the officers exclaimed. “Are you sure you’re using that ability of yours correctly?”

But it’s not an ability. Fukuzawa thought as Ranpo shouted. “Of course I am! And I’m telling you, there’s no cause of death!”

“Then what killed them?”

“I don’t know!”

“That’s enough.” The officer in charge spoke, coming to place a hand on Ranpo’s shoulder. “It’s okay if you can’t figure it out. You’re still just a kid, and I’m sure your ability has limits you don’t know about yet. We’ll take over from here. Thanks for coming out.”

“But—” Ranpo sputtered, eyes wide as he frantically looked between the body and the officer again and again. “I can solve this!”

“Ranpo.” Fukuzawa interrupted, stepping forward to guide Ranpo away. “We’ve been asked to leave. We can’t do anything more here.”

“We’ll contact you if another body shows up.” The officer said, walking away to fall into discussion with the rest of his team, even though they didn’t understand the situation any better.

Meanwhile, Fukuzawa led Ranpo away, keeping a watchful eye on the boy as they walked. He didn’t like the look in the kid’s eyes; it reminded him too much of when he’d first met Ranpo, when the kid hadn’t been able to understand that he was different from the rest of the world and thought that everyone was making one big joke of him, when he’d thought of everyone else as monsters. Fukuzawa kept his hand on Ranpo’s shoulder as a way of providing him support; this was the first time that Ranpo hadn’t been able to figure out a case before, so he wasn’t sure how Ranpo would handle it in the first place.

He wasn’t surprised at all when they got home and Ranpo pulled away to shut himself in the bathroom.

Ranpo didn’t come out for the rest of the day.

That body ended up only being the first of many bodies. There was another body that popped up a few days later, and like before, Ranpo was called out to assist. But like before, Ranpo had been unable to figure it out, and he’d returned home looking even more dejected than before. And then there was a third body, and then a fourth, with no answer still as to what was killing these people. And with every body that showed up, it was easy to see how frustrated Ranpo was becoming; he snapped at the officers for more information and grew angry when they had none to give, he stared at the body for minutes on end—the longest being a full hour—hoping to find the one thing that would help him figure out what he was missing, only to gain nothing.

The worst part, Fukuzawa found, was watching as Ranpo pulled away from him. The moment they got home from the crime scenes, Ranpo would go to his room or the bathroom and just hide away until the next day, and no amount of coaxing seemed to be enough to get him to come out and talk to him. Fukuzawa didn’t know what to do, didn’t know how to handle this. Ever since he’d first met Ranpo, the kid had always been able to see straight into the truth of matters, so to see him stumped like this… it wasn’t easy.

Any attempt that Fukuzawa tried to make at talking to Ranpo about it, even to just offer another set of eyes that might help find a clue, was met with straight up refusal, Ranpo either changing the subject or just rapidly leaving the room.

“What if it’s an ability?” One of the younger officers suggested on the seventh body that appeared. Immediately, all the heads in the vicinity snapped towards the officer, including Fukuzawa and Ranpo, who’d been called out despite being of no help the last six times they’d been called for. The officer faltered at the sudden attention, but continued to explain himself. “We’ve—We’ve seen it before, where despite an obviously murdered body, there appeared to be no actual crime, and it turned out to be because an ability was at work. It could be a similar case here.”

“If it’s an ability, then wouldn’t Edogawa have seen through it with his own ability?” Another officer speaks up, and the attention is thrown onto Ranpo, who remained crouched beside the body, refusing to lift his head, although he was clearly paying attention to what was being said. Fukuzawa stepped closer to the kid, uncertainty filling him at the direction this conversation was taking. The last thing he wanted was the police to start throwing accusations that Ranpo didn’t have an ability at all—which was true, but only Fukuzawa knew that.

“Edogawa’s ability probably needs information to work properly, but if there’s no information to gleam, then that would explain why his ability hasn’t been working.”

“You would be right!” Ranpo smiled and leapt to his feet, hands on his hips. To anyone else he looked ever the confident and arrogant boy he was, but Fukuzawa could see through him; Ranpo was bluffing. “But now that I know there’s an ability involved, I know who you’re looking for!”

“You do?” The young officer asked. “But it’s not a guarantee that—”

“Have I ever been wrong before?” Ranpo interrupted. Silence and shakes of heads greeted him. “That’s what I thought! It’s an ability, one that—”

“We’ve got him! The killer!” An officer shouted. “We caught him in a warehouse a few blocks over, in the middle of trying to kill someone!”

“How was he killing the victims?” Another called out, and several officers joined in with the questions, desperate to know the truth.

“Some complex machine. Apparently he’s a former engineer or something—”

Fukuzawa stopped listening then, eyes swinging towards Ranpo, who looked very much like his world had just come crashing down, because he’d just been telling the police that the killer was killing these people with the help of an ability.

Only to find out that it wasn’t an ability at all.

“Do you still need us here?” Fukuzawa asked the head officer.

The officer looked at him with a frown. “No, but—”

“I’ll be taking Ranpo home then.” Fukuzawa doesn’t give the man a chance to speak, and walks away before he can try and convince Fukuzawa to hang around a little longer. He knew it was rude, and that his actions would raise questions, but he wasn’t focused on that. No, he was focused on getting Ranpo out of there before the kid had a complete breakdown over the fact that for the first time in his life, he’d been wrong.

Ranpo didn’t say a word as Fukuzawa grabbed his arm and dragged him to his feet, and followed behind obediently as Fukuzawa led the two of them away from the scene. They weren’t going home, not yet. There was something that Fukuzawa needed to say, but it wasn’t something he could very well say in the presence of police; Ranpo seemed to understand that something was happening because he remained silent, and didn’t say anything, even as Fukuzawa turned down a side alley and let go of him.

“You cannot lie to the police to protect your pride.” Fukuzawa didn’t yell, because yelling never helped, and Ranpo was already spooked enough. “You’re lucky that they caught the man before they had the chance to believe you, because then someone innocent could’ve ended up behind bars.”

“But I—”

“No buts, Ranpo!” Fukuzawa placed his hands on Ranpo’s shoulders and forced the boy to look at him. His touch was gentle, but still, Ranpo flinched under it. “You cannot lie. Not to the police, and especially not when murder is involved. The police trust you when they ask you for help. Lie to them and you’ll break that trust.”

“But I’m never wrong!” Ranpo cried out, and suddenly, there were tears forming in the boy’s eyes, and his lower lip was trembling. “I’ve never been wrong before. I can’t be wrong!”

Fukuzawa sighed, and brought Ranpo close to him. He really didn’t know how to handle this. Ranpo was such a complex child on the best of days, but had never outright failed at something before. Fukuzawa had a very strong feeling that the usual placations wouldn’t be enough to soothe him this time, but he’d still try. “Ranpo, you were wrong, and that’s okay. There will be times where you are wrong, where someone gets the better of you. It just so happened that this criminal was a little sma—”

“No! I don’t get it!” Ranpo interrupted, throwing his arms around Fukuzawa, and burying his face into his yukata. There weren’t any tears, not yet at least, but with the way Ranpo’s voice cracked as he spoke, they couldn’t be far away. “I am special! I am gifted! I’m supposed to see the truth to any crime!”

Fukuzawa winced at Ranpo’s words. The smart decision would be to try and tell Ranpo that he wasn’t actually an ability user, that he was just a regular boy that was insanely intelligent. But Fukuzawa wasn’t a smart man, and right now, the child he was supposed to take care of was in his arms, visibly distressed. He couldn’t add to that distress, even though it would probably help in the long run. So, he tightened his hold on Ranpo and brought him closer. “I know, Ranpo. But even gifts have limits, even yours.”

Ranpo sniffed, but kept his face hidden; not that Fukuzawa needed to see it to feel the tears that slowly stained his clothes.

Ranpo hid in the bathroom the moment they crossed the entryway into their shared apartment, and Fukuzawa watched the boy run off with a pensive look on his own face. Ranpo hadn’t cried for long before he’d wiped his eyes and began to walk, although he’d still looked upset. Fukuzawa had tried to cheer him up by offering to buy him some sweets, but Ranpo didn’t even respond to him. And he’d remained that way the entire journey. Fukuzawa had to admit, it scared him a little. He hadn’t seen Ranpo in such a state since the boy had come into his care, and he didn’t know what to do to help him. And it wasn’t like he knew anyone that could even help him—the few people he’d acquainted himself with were about as good with children as he was.

So, Fukuzawa resigned himself to doing one of the few things he thought might help; cook a simple dinner. He’d cook a meal and use that to coax Ranpo out of the bathroom and then sit the boy on the couch and try and talk to him again. And if Ranpo still didn’t want to talk to him, then that was fine too; they could try again tomorrow. Fukuzawa pottered around the kitchen, putting together one of the simple meals he usually made—one that took maybe ten minutes tops—and separated the dish into two servings.

Normally, Fukuzawa would make Ranpo eat at the dinner table with him, but just this once, he was feeling indulgent, and took the bowl with him as he went to try and coax Ranpo out. If he failed, he’d leave the bowl outside the door, instead of the microwave like he usually would. “Ranpo? I have some food for you.”

No answer, although Fukuzawa could hear soft, muffled cries from within the room. His stomach clenched, and he wanted nothing more than to throw the door open and comfort Ranpo, but the door was closed for a reason, and Fukuzawa wasn’t about to break into the safe space that Ranpo had chosen for himself. “Would you like to come out and eat with me?”

Still no answer.

“Alright…” Fukuzawa sighed, and placed the bowl just beside the door. “I’ve left your dinner outside here. Please try and eat some of it.”

He walked away, back towards the kitchen to grab his own meal when he heard the click of the bathroom door and glanced over his shoulder to see a small hand reach out and grab the bowl, the door shutting again. Good, a meal will help him feel better. But even though he knew that Ranpo was eating, he couldn’t dispel the worry that had built in his chest, and kept one eye on the bathroom door as he ate, silently hoping that Ranpo would come out.

But he didn’t, and the sounds from within the bathroom had ceased, so Fukuzawa could only assume that the boy had fallen asleep in there, and cracked open the door to find that he had been correct. Ranpo lay, curled up on the floor with a flushed face and tear stained cheeks. Silently, Fukuzawa stepped into the room and carefully lifted Ranpo into his arms before taking the boy to his own room, and tucking him into bed, making sure that Ranpo was buried underneath the absurd amount of blankets that the boy kept on his bed.

Fukuzawa took a moment to study Ranpo while he slept, observing how, even in sleep, the boy still seemed bothered by something. Today probably affected him more than he realizes. Fukuzawa sighed as he left the room, shutting the door behind him with a gentle click before making his way to his own room. He was almost certain that today was only the start of something bigger; he didn’t yet know what, but there was a feeling in his gut that was telling him to prepare himself.

So he would. He would watch and observe, and be there if he was needed.

For two days, Ranpo remained in his room, and ignored every attempt that Fukuzawa made in trying to talk to him. Fukuzawa tried not to let it bother him too much, assuming that Ranpo wanted some space to work through whatever was going through his mind. Trying to force Ranpo to talk to him would do nothing but make the boy shrink away from him further. He had to remember that they’d only been living together for a few months; not nearly enough time to have the level of trust that was probably needed in this situation. Because, despite Ranpo’s overly trusting nature, the boy wasn’t actually that trusting, even though he did a good job in making you think he trusted you.

Fukuzawa would be patient, though, knowing that when Ranpo was ready to open up, he would. But until then, Fukuzawa would do what he could, and that was make sure that Ranpo knew he was there if he did want to talk, and also make sure that the boy was eating. As far as he knew, Ranpo had holed up in his room without any kind of sustenance, so Fukuzawa always made sure to leave a few sweets on the tray that had taken residence outside the room, along with some water and a few words, before leaving to do some work of his own.

And every time he came to collect the dishes, they were empty, so that was something at least.

It was the middle of the night when Fukuzawa woke, and he didn’t know what it was that had woken him in the first place, but his instincts were screaming at him, the ones that only came to life when something was wrong. And considering that there was nothing wrong with him, and Ranpo was the only other one in the apartment…

Fukuzawa was worried.

He didn’t throw himself out of bed and dash from his room, but he wanted to, wanted nothing more than to hurry and check on Ranpo, but he forced himself to walk calmly, leaving his room to find Ranpo’s bedroom door wide open, and a light coming from the bathroom; the door cracked open just enough to let the light enter the hallway.

“Ranpo?” Fukuzawa called quietly as he came to a stop outside the door. There’s a noise that sounds like a whine, but not quite, from within.

“Leave me alone.” Ranpo said quietly, his voice muffled.

“Are you alright?” Fukuzawa asked, just as quiet.

Silence.

Fukuzawa hovered outside the room for just a moment, weighing up the pros and cons before ultimately deciding to enter the room. He pushed the door open slowly, giving Ranpo plenty of time to protest but the boy didn’t, and Fukuzawa was allowed entry.

Only, he wasn’t sure what to do now.

Ranpo was sat on the floor, back pressed against the tub with his face buried into his knees. At his feet, laid one of the kitchen knives, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out why it was there in the first place. Fukuzawa’s breath hitched, which seemed to shake Ranpo out whatever thought he’d found himself lost in, because he looked up at Fukuzawa, his eyes reminiscent of people long since passed; eyes that belonged to people who were tired of life.

Eyes that didn’t belong on a fourteen year old boy.

“I didn’t do anything.” Ranpo murmured, eyes falling onto the blade. “I wanted to, but I didn’t.”

“I believe you.” Fukuzawa entered the room and paused. “May I sit?”

Ranpo nodded and Fukuzawa moved to sit beside the boy. Despite Ranpo’s promise that he hasn’t done anything, Fukuzawa still reached over and took away the temptation. Just in case.

“You could’ve come to me.” Fukuzawa said after the silence had dragged on for a while.

“I wanted to try and figure it out on my own.” Ranpo sighed, falling to the side to rest against Fukuzawa’s side. “I’m feeling things I don’t understand, and it just got too much.”

“So you took a knife to… what exactly?”

“I’m sure you can figure it out.” Ranpo huffed, dropping his head back to his knees and winding his arms around them. Fukuzawa was ashamed to admit that he tried to see if there were any wounds on the skin he could see, but was relieved when there were none. “I’ve felt this way before though. Before I met you. It was worse then, though.”

“How worse?” Fukuzawa asked, already fearing the answer.

“I had a plan worse.” Ranpo sighed, a heavy sigh that showed how tired he was. “I haven’t been doing well lately.”

“Do you want to tell me about it?”

Ranpo hummed, and turned his head so he could look Fukuzawa in the eyes. “What if you don’t understand either?”

“I’ll do my best to.”

Another hum before silence descended upon the room, but Fukuzawa waited, knowing that Ranpo was simply trying to find the words that he needed to describe what he was feeling exactly. Fukuzawa already had an idea of what was bothering the boy; memories of angry police, and an unsolvable case coming to mind.

Finally, Ranpo spoke. “I don’t get people… not in the way you and the rest of the adults do. It was the same before we met, and… it got a little better after I found out I had an ability, but now… I feel like I’m right back where I started, and it bothers me. You kept getting mad about how I talked to the police, and they kept getting mad at me… and then those murders happened and you got more mad at me, and I failed, and… I just don’t know anymore.”

Fukuzawa thought over Ranpo’s words for a minute. He really didn’t have any idea on what he should say, how he could soothe Ranpo’s worries and fears without making things worse. The only thing he could really do was tell the truth.

So that’s what he did.

“I don’t have the answers you’re after, Ranpo.” Fukuzawa said, reaching over and wrapping an arm around the boy’s shoulders. Ranpo let out a sigh, but Fukuzawa continued to push on. “I’m doing my best to guide and raise you, but this is all so new to me; I’m not sure I’m handling it correctly. I don’t yet understand you in a way that I can help you through this without making it worse, but… I will do my best as I’ve always tried to do since you’ve come into my care.”

Ranpo leaned into the embrace. “I get it. I think. I also think you’re doing a good job.”

Fukuzawa nodded, glad that Ranpo was approving of the job he’d been doing. Maybe he was finally starting to get a handle on this parenting thing. “We’ll talk, and do some research, and maybe, together we can get through this and figure this whole people and emotions thing out.”

Ranpo huffed a laugh, a small smile on his face. “Together then."

#bsd #bungo stray dogs #bsd fanfic #edogawa ranpo #fukuzawa yukichi #hurt/comfort #angst #writing #fanfiction #fukudad

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