#never let this boy unsupervised with a video game

[marisashinx]

Riddle Gamer Moment.

#UUUGGYYEEEEEEHHHH #YEEEAAAAARGHHH #never let this boy unsupervised with a video game #azul en una esquina como que omg yes i can use this against him #idia enjoying it but at the same time praying for his controller's well being #twisted wonderland #riddle rosehearts #mari draws stuff #artists on tumblr

[p3ski]

Pairing: RK900/Gavin Reed

Tags: Post Pacifist Ending, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Smut, Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Masterlist

Read on AO3 here:

Summary: A lot has changed since the revolution. Crimes against androids are now being treated with greater severity, with many being subject to the same penalties as crimes against humans. While anti-android attitudes are on the decline, transforming the mindset of an entire city is no simple task.

A reluctant Gavin Reed and his new partner RK900 have been assigned to investigate a string of disturbing murders. Despite the shift in Detroit's social climate, Gavin still holds reservations about whether or not androids are truly alive. Will his developing feelings for 'Nines' prompt a shift in perspective?

Warnings: Graphic Violence, Depression/Self Destructive Behaviour, Smut

Word Count: 4K

Storage Locker C was a squalid, closed-off room filled to the brim with emptied crates and shipping containers. The CyberLife branding was worn and faded, and all surfaces coated in a thick layer of dust. It looked abandoned, as though it had not been accessed since before the Revolution. 

“Colt, I'm getting really sick of you telling me what you're about to tell me”, Gavin said, addressing the man standing with him in the middle of the densely packed room. 

Sanders let out a clipped huff, tracing a circle in the dusty floor with the tip of his boot. “There’s nothing here. Save dirt and cobwebs. We're gonna sweep the perimeter outside and see if we pick anything up - but I wouldn't count on it."

A couple of scattered Forensics Officers were standing by the entranceway, packing up lights and Thirium analysis kits, ready for transportation. Sanders ushered them towards the exit with a tilt of his head, and they started to head out, the door closing behind them. Despite this, the draft persisted, a consequence of the poor insulation. Gavin hugged his hands to his armpits in an attempt to keep warm, pacing around in fractious circles. 

Nines stood a few feet away, scanning the access panel next to the entranceway. "Keypad secured, accessible via a six-digit code issued to CyberLife employees." He removed his hand from the panel, skin melding back into place. "I suspect the Reaper left the room accessible for a short window. Just long enough for Mr Finch to deposit the phone."  

"Or maybe that didn’t happen." It had been a quiet, introspective grumble as the detective continued to move aimlessly. He had not demanded a response, but he received one nonetheless. 

"There was no sign of forced entry, and I doubt he would have been entrusted with unsupervised access." 

"I don’t mean that. Maybe the reason why it looks like no one has been in here for months is because no one has."

"I am not following you." 

Gavin groaned. "I mean, come on, isn’t it convenient that Finch hands off this phone to some random guy and then has no idea where it goes? What if the exchange never happened, and he’s just fucking with us?" 

"I would know if we had been misdirected", Nines swiftly reminded him, pointing to his temple with a two-fingered gesture. "While the lack of evidence is disappointing, it is not unusual given what we have come to expect in this case—

When the Reaper leaves something behind, he does so with intent. If this place holds no significance to his puzzle, then there would be no reason to leave his usual markers."

"Doesn’t really help us, though, does it?" Gavin came to a halt, reaching into his pocket to check the time on his phone. There was a notification for an unread chat log previewed on the lock screen. "May as well stay here until Sanders and his boys are done. Fowler won't expect us back for a while, and I'm in no hurry to tell ‘im this was another dead-end." 

Unlocking the phone, he was taken to the conversation history that was already opened. He tucked behind a large shipping container, angled away from Nines to ensure he couldn’t see. Scrolling his way to the most recent message proved an difficult task and left him feeling a little uneasy: 

Russian Nesting Doll 

[Saturday at 9:05 am] Good Morning Gavin. How are you feeling today?

You

[Saturday at 11:35 am] like someone is taking a drill to my skull. 

need to stop drinking like that. getting too old. 

Russian Nesting Doll 

[Saturday at 11:36 am] Nothing good ever comes without cost.

I hope it was worth it for the sake of an enjoyable evening. 

You

[Saturday at 12:38 pm] not sure. I dont remember all of it

sorry if i got messy

Russian Nesting Doll 

[Saturday at 12:45 pm] No need to apologise. 

I meant what I said. 

If you ever need someone to talk to - or someone to spend time with - I'm there. Just say the word. 

[Saturday at 1:35 pm] Nothing implied, of course. I am happy to just be friends :) 

Russian Nesting Doll

[Sunday at 1:05 pm] Have a good day at work tomorrow.

I hope things aren’t too uncomfortable with your partner.

You

[Sunday at 3:34 pm] shouldnt be 

talked things out. were okay now. 

Russian Nesting Doll

[Sunday at 3:35 pm] I see. Well, if you think it’s enough, then I won’t tell you otherwise. 

Just don’t let him take advantage of your goodwill. 

You 

[Sunday at 3:55 pm] ???

dont really know what u mean by that? 

we were both being dicks and now we arent

so its fine

Russian Nesting Doll

[Sunday at 3:56 pm] You were not in a good place the other day. 

I wouldn’t be so quick to put your faith in him. 

You might end up getting hurt.

Russian Nesting Doll

[Sunday at 9:23 pm] I hope I haven’t upset you. I am just concerned.

These situations always end the same way. 

Thumbs drumming idly on the screen, Gavin deliberated on the best way to proceed. Tact had never been his strong suit, nor something he typically concerned himself with. However, his recent experiences with Nines had left him a bit more empathetic than usual.  

You

[Draft]

Alex u seem nice but im really not interested

we went on one date you dont know my life

Can i have some time to think about it?

As Gavin tried and failed to formulate a suitable response, another message popped up on the screen:

Russian Nesting Doll

[09:50 am] I can see that you’ve read my messages. 

It’s a shame that you've been unwilling to accept help.  

"Unless he did leave a marker."

The sudden address shocked Gavin back to reality. Quietly locking his phone and placing it back in his pocket, he emerged from his obscured position and back into view of his partner. "What do you mean?" 

"The code to the lockbox", Nines’ LED spun yellow as he accessed the requisite information. "22 42 15 11 44. Knowing our killer, I doubt the numbers are inconsequential. It could be another message." 

"You seemed to think so during Finch’s interrogation." There was a teasing edge to his words as Gavin recalled the events that had led them to their current location. "If he had decided to hold out much longer, I thought you might beat the numbers out of him."

Nines seemed flustered by the suggestion, his cheeks dusted with flecks of blue. "I don't believe my approach was excessively forceful. Having said that, I was...distracted that day, so it is possible that I exercised less patience than I could have." 

Distracted by your 'personal matter'? Gavin pondered but stopped himself from saying. It almost felt like teasing how painfully ambiguous Nines was acting. 

He had been torturing himself the entire morning, clinging to hope over every perceived spark of interest. The glances that had lingered for a little too long on their drive up to the Storage Locker and the way that Nines had brushed his hand upon their exit. Each time he dared to believe that his partner might be feeling it too, the moment dissipated, leaving the detective to wonder if he had been a product of his imagination. 

"So, what was the message?" 

"I am unsure. It appears to be a new code system, one he has not previously used. I have one solution, but I suspect it is not the one we are looking for." There was a biting spite to the way Nines said this, as though casting doubt on his own abilities. "It seems incomplete—much like many of my deliberations as of late."

"I've hardly been much help on the 'cryptic bullshit' front." The detective acknowledged his limited contributions with a wry smile, folding his arms as he did. "Let me pick that big brain of yours. See what I've got." 

Nines seemed receptive to the suggestion, his troubled expression softening into one of quiet gratitude. "The message in the rA9 scripture: ‘Those who worship false prophets will be punished’, followed by a series of incomprehensible numbers and symbols. I have no idea what they could mean." 

"So you think it is a code within a code, right? Like the message that led Robert here?" 

"Correct."

Gavin recalled the slip of paper his partner had shown him previously, trying to follow the same line of reasoning. "If we are getting closer to finding him, maybe he wanted to throw us a curveball…." He tutted at his inability to fully recall the details, looking to Nines with a hopeful shrug. "It's hard to say without seeing the scripture. Is there a way you could show it to me?" 

"My eyes do not come equipped with projectors." 

Then embarrassment washed over him, intermingled with a twinge of guilt. "Right, of course they don't. Sorry." 

"Fortunately, I can show you this way." 

Nines extended his hand as a small beam of light bloomed from the palm. It spread outwards, and a small image came into view. Gavin reeled back from the visage, completely stunned. 

"Right, no projectors in the eyes because they come equipped to your fucking hands. That makes so much more sense."

Nines’ lips, which had been pulled into a forced scowl, twitched in subtle amusement. "If you wish to complain to someone, I’d suggest you contact CyberLife." 

Having gotten over the surprise of the sudden manifestation, Gavin focused on the image. He scrutinised it intently before narrowing his eyes at a particular element. 

"...Are these the numbers you're trying to work out?" he asked, leaning closer to his partner as he pointed to the projection. "He leaves a gap before the start of the sequence. Then all of a sudden, he's squeezing shit in, like he's run out of space. Why would he do that?" 

"Human penmanship is often inconsistent, particularly when rushed."

"So he took his sweet time to decapitate the victim and leave the body posed like a statue, but he decided to rush this? You said it yourself that he does things deliberately. I don't think this is an accident."

Nines paused, his LED cycling yellow as though considering the possibility. "What are you thinking?"

"That maybe it's not the same message. It's two—using different code systems." 

Gavin continued to analyse the sequence. In addition to the densely packed nature, the numbers were penned with far less clarity than the ones that preceded. The edges were softened, forming a strange cursive-like script as one digit flowed into the next.

"Nines, when a human writes a message, what do they sometimes do at the end?" He paused, smiling to himself before he continued. "Also applies to smartass androids sending annoying texts." 

His partner seemed less than enthralled by the teasing jab but responded to the question nonetheless. "They sign it." 

"Exactly. So what if that’s what he’s doing? This has been going on for a while now, maybe the fucker is getting cocky."

"There is cockiness, and then there is stupidity", Nines fired back, eyebrows raised. "I doubt he would reveal his true identity with such transparency."

"I dont think so either - but what if it's another title? Like God's Wrath or His Servant. Except this one is special; he went to more of an effort to hide it."

The android looked across his shoulder at the man peering over it. "Gavin, if you’re right, this could be pivotal."

"If?", the detective fired back, pulling away with an indignant scoff. "Come on, I know it's shocking that I worked something out before you did, but give me some credit. I don't always need to copy your homework." 

"I know you don't. You have always been capable."

A notification pinged on Gavin’s phone, breaking the flow of their conversation. He inwardly bristled—well aware of the likely sender—but fought to conceal his irritation as he continued. "Capable? That’s high fucking praise. Better stop now before I get a big head."

"I am being genuine. You are a remarkable person - of whom I am continuously in awe." 

Another notification and the annoyance escalated, comparable to being trapped with a fly in a moving car. "Okay, now you're going too far with the flattery."  Making a subtle glance at the message, Gavin’s thumb was poised on the volume button, ready to turn it down. "Keep trying, you'll get it eventually." 

"I understand that my actions may not have assisted in giving my words credence...I hope he can express such sentiments in a more articulate way." 

The statement caught him off guard enough to delay the action. He? 

"What are you talking about?"

When the detective looked up, he noted the android's focus was trained on his hand. The diplomatic veneer of his prior words contrasted sharply with the unsettling intensity of his eyes. It seemed he wanted nothing more than to crush the phone into a thousand tiny pieces.

"The man who invited you to dinner. I can only assume that he is the one who is messaging you."

"How did—" The initial surprise Gavin felt gave way to irritation. He levelled an accusatory gaze at his partner. "Assume, my ass. You're scanning my phone." 

"I respect your privacy enough to refrain from using my scanners," Nines retorted, sounding a little offended. "There has been a change in your behaviour recently, which seems to coincide with this new contact. Heightened physical responses that would imply a strong romantic or sexual interest." 

Then Gavin’s annoyance turned to bewilderment. Perhaps Nines’ system was glitching, or he’d misinterpreted the spike in his blood pressure—because that definitely wasn’t what he was feeling.   

"Words can not attest to how lucky he is. I hope the relationship proves long and fulfilling." The forced smile he gave him betrayed something deeply incriminating. An emotion that was hard to mistake. Jealousy. 

Realisation hit him like a hook to the jaw.

He had been feeling what Nines was describing, but Alex was not the object of interest. There had been another inciting incident, one which happened to coincide with the receipt of the initial USwipe message. Something that his partner seemed to have cataclysmically misinterpreted. 

"Nines, I think you've got the wrong idea about where those feelings are coming from." 

"You do not owe me an explanation."

"I'm single." Gavin said, laughing at the absurdity of the situation. "Like 'jacking myself to sleep' every night single. So yeah, I went on a date, but I'm never gonna see him again." 

The forgotten phone in his hand pinged to life once again, and he felt another creep in his blood pressure. "Problem is, the guy can't take a fucking hint." 

"Was his company not as pleasant as you anticipated?" Nines inquired, a strange hopefulness in his voice. However, this optimism quickly shifted to trepidation as his expression hardened. "Did he do something to upset you?"

"What? No, nothing like that. He was fine, I just—" 

Another ping. 

Okay, no, that’s done it. Any concerns of consideration or politeness were promptly thrown out the window as Gavin glared daggers at the message, planning a suitably scathing response:

You

[10:19 am] U need to back off right fucking now. 

I dont know u and u dont know me. so stop with the intrusive bullshit

I dont want to see u again. thats it. were done. 

He had barely removed his thumbs from the screen when he received the man’s response:

Russian Nesting Doll

[10:20 am] I know you well enough - but that’s fine, Gavin. You’ve made it quite clear what it is that you want.

I hope you’ll be happy with your choice. :)  

Glancing over the message, Gavin wondered if he ought to feel guilty, but this concern swiftly gave way to an overwhelming surge of relief. With a triumphant huff, he blocked the number and returned his now undivided attention to his partner. 

"It wasn't what I wanted." The admission came as a leap of faith but one that was decidedly worth it, as Nines finally seemed to realise what he was suggesting.

His jaw tensed, as there was a pronounced bob of movement visible in his throat. "What do you want?"  

Gavin released a heated snarl, seizing Nines by the jacket and pulling down sharply. They stood nose-to-nose, his unsteady breath cascading over the android's face. "Take a wild fucking guess." 

Their kissing was desperate, almost frenzied, as the detective firmly balled his hands into the back of his partner's hair, seeking additional leverage. Nines responded by slipping his arms around the shorter man’s back, pulling him close as he clawed at the threads of his jacket. Their bodies were flush, and it wasn’t long until they started to move in rhythm.

Heat pooled in Gavin’s stomach, travelling downwards, and his hips jerked forward brazenly. Through the motion, he came to an unexpected but wholly welcome discovery. Nines had opted for physical upgrades—evident in the distinct swell that could be felt through the threads of his pants. It brushed against him in smooth, measured motions, and Gavin could feel himself harden almost instantly. Lost in the movements, he didn’t notice that he was stumbling backwards until the corner of a shipping crate had wedged unwelcomely into his back. 

As he hissed in pain, Nines broke the kiss. He tilted back to assess his partner, his grey eyes wide and startled. "Are you alright? Did I hurt you?" 

"Nah, you’re fine. It’s these damn crates." Gavin winced, massaging the sore spot with his hand. A cloud of dust had displaced itself upon contact, with the particles now floating above their heads. "Barely able to breathe in here." 

"Perhaps we should delay this until later." The android scrutinised the grime-filled air as the man gasped to breathe it in. "These are hardly ideal circumstances."  

"We could be wading around in a sewer right now, I couldn’t give less of a shit."

"That sounds repulsive", Nines chided. Nonetheless, his body betrayed a continued interest as he leant towards him, settling his face against the crook of his neck. "You seem to have deflected my question, Detective, about what it is that you want."  

The title was spoken with a sinful richness that should have been illegal. It danced across Gavin’s ear, signed by a teasing nip on the shell. "Would think the raging hard-on would be a tip-off", he hissed, struggling to suppress the moan that was building in his throat. "I want you, all of it—smug asshole." 

"That is rather non-specific." 

"How vivid do you want me to be?", he snapped. "I indulged in a hefty amount of ‘self-care’ after you ditched me the other day. Almost ascended thinking of all the filthy things we could have done." 

Nines chuckled in satisfaction, trailing kisses along the edge of his stubbled jaw. "I would be quite happy to atone for my mistake, but it would appear that you are still withholding some critical information." 

"Seriously, jackass, use your imagination." 

Strong arms tightened around Gavin's back before hoisting upwards, lifting until he was perched on the edge of a crate. Just as he was about to protest the forceful handling, he felt his legs be pulled apart with equal assertion as his partner nestled between them. 

"Unless I hear it from you, I will have no choice but to put a stop to this." A hand came to cradle Gavin's jaw, applying firm pressure as his head was forcefully tilted upwards. "After I left. What did you think about?" 

Lust overwhelmed any lingering reason as Gavin felt his mouth move of its own accord. "Your lips", he confessed, his gaze flitting subconsciously to the feature as he spoke. A perfect pink bow that demanded attention, sitting inches away from his face. "They felt so good. I wanted to know how much better they'd feel wrapped around my dick."

"Better." Nines' touches grew hotter, reaching fever, as though he were burning from the inside. The bridge of his nose and swell of his cheeks were tinged a royal blue. Gavin may have been concerned if he wasn't so willing to pliantly melt into the forceful caress. "Keep talking." 

"I wish I'd known about this." He punctuated the word with a buck of his hips, catching his partner off guard. He watched in delight as his LED flickered. "I'd have spent more time thinking about how it would feel shoved down my throat." 

Nines’ grip on his face loosened, and he worried that he might have crossed some unspoken boundary. Then he felt a thumb run languidly across his lip, gently pulling down. "I have pondered a few times on ways I could shut this filthy mouth of yours. I imagine fucking it would prove effective."

The pants that Gavin had allowed to escape gave way to a guttural moan. "It's so fucking hot. Hearing you talk like that." 

"I'd rather do more than just talk about it."

The sound of a metal door swinging open rudely interrupted them, followed by a pace of footsteps. "Okay, boys, we're gonna wrap things up now." 

A shared look of horror passed between them as Gavin squirmed from his seat on the crate, clambering to find his footing, and Nines straightened up, adjusting his rumpled jacket. Sanders, engrossed in his tablet, seemed oblivious to the situation.

"He'll send our report to Fowler now. If you need anything else from us, we'll—" As he looked up, the older man paused, regarding the other human officer with a perplexed look. "You okay, Reed? You're a little red." 

"Yeah, I'm fine. It's just… warm in here." Gavin’s breath puffed out in a visible cloud as he said this. He awkwardly crossed his legs to avoid revealing anything incriminating but inadvertently offered a clear view of the crate—as well as the distinctly human-shaped print. 

The residual dust was no doubt settled on his legs and backside, a detail not which had not gone unnoticed by Sanders. His dark eyes trailed him up and down, lips pinched inwards in amusement. "Like I said, we're heading out. You two gonna stay and look around, or are we following you out of here?" 

Just then, a low dialling noise could be heard from the direction of the android. The light of his LED pulsed softly, in and out like a breath, signalling an incoming call. "It would appear we ought to leave as well", Nines said with a hint of disappointment. "The Captain is sending through a dispatch request."

"Where does he need us? Back at the station?"

The gentle pulsing stopped abruptly, turning to static red. "No. At a crime scene."

"... Shit." Gavin kicked an empty packing container that was lying at his feet, propelling it across the room. "They've found another body, haven’t they?" 

"Bodies, I -" 

The android fell, dropping unceremoniously to his knees. A hand clasped to his mouth as his body shook in violent tremors. His LED flashed like a siren, so quick that it was almost blinding to look at. The two men watched on, stunned, before rushing in to assist. Gavin was first to drop to the floor, placing hands on his partner's shoulders as he delicately pulled him close. 

"Nines, are you okay? What's wrong?" Each word was met with a gentle tap, to which his partner failed to respond. He stared ahead, grey eyes large and unfocused, as though fading in and out of consciousness. A rumble of static passed from his lips as he moved his head in slow, jerky motions that were decidedly artificial. 

It chilled Gavin to his core and told him something was seriously wrong. Delicate taps turned to shakes as he tried to snap Nines from his daze. "Fucking talk to me, what's happening?" 

Nines muttered repeatedly to himself as though he were sitting alone in the room. The exact same phrase, over and over: 

"It isn't possible."

#dbh #reed900 #dbh fanfiction #dbh nines #dbh fanfic #dbh gavin #detroit become human #dbh rk900 #gavin reed x rk900 #gavin900 #dbh gavin reed #gavin reed #gavin x nines #gavin x rk900

[nochi-quinn]

campaign 3 episode 51: like a fucking fiddle

I am Afraid

sam riegel has never played a video game in his life

dslkjfskl he has to read all the disclaimers for the audio-only people

oh nooo

laura you're the main character how could you

"polishing the knobs"

I got distracted playing with my moon lamp

I can theoretically make it red but eh

the monitor I'm watching on trends warm so the lighting tonight is gonna be fun for me

do we need a deep dive on fcg right this fucking instant

donna noble voice: sometimes you need someone to stop you

poor laura

she probably had so much tea that day. or that weird chinese cough syrup they seem to swear by

stop spending all your spells on sending

"that wasn't an accident"

ira's gonna kill xandis and gank the ship

like I'll be very happy to be proven wrong but magic 8 ball says Unlikely

"sam did a lot of pharmaceuticals before this game"

threaten ira with nana morri

sam suffering for his art

sam's gonna fuck with laura about her voice all gd night isn't he

am I the only person old enough to remember Big Guy and Rusty the Boy Robot

I'm a simple bitch, I hear "three-pronged claw" and I think Doctor Loboto

someone get him some tinfoil

him leg too big for him got-dam robit

"how do I see - " "take the glasses off"

samuel

damn, nobody can talk tonight

okay where's the bioshock au fanart

they're ALL gonna fuck with laura about her voice

ashley

sam's fuckin gas can

"traveler's garments" they're all wearing green cloaks

NATURAL 20 OF FUCK OFF

oh shit

dunamis bunny

oh somebody finally commented on the warder/water thing

notohan

not the "son"

oh that's not great

ngl I dozed off until everybody yelled @ initiative

I am saving my attention span for when the moon hatches

"wiz kids exists!"

this can obviously only end well

"I'm going to then shit"

rapidly hiding and scarfing food OR me playing breath of the wild

"massive explosions" found caleb

oh NICE

NOT NICE

it was a good idea tho

PROJECT CHICKEN LITTLE

[puts xandis in a bubble]

pls no break ryn

NO BREAK RYN

not the Guess I'll Die

who left the robot unsupervised

HEY

PUT HIM DOWN

"uh-oh-regard"

UH-OH-REGARD

CAN WE HAVE A KEYLETH PLS

we need the Marisha Convergence

every time with the petrify and the arms

I WOULD LIKE TO ORDER AN AIRSHIP PLEASE

HEY WHAT

HEY W H A T

PUT TIME BACK WHERE IT CAME FROM OR SO HELP ME

YEAH

godDAMMIT

LET US HAVE NICE THINGS

"and that's when scanlan shorthalt arrived" listen I'm still crossing my fingers for kiki to bring grog

fcg! buzzsaw!

oh thank GOD xandis booked it

correct response

fucking reddit atheist bro

MATTHEW

that was a hair you didn't need to split

oh cool now I'm crying

"looks important, better push everything"

WHERE KIKI

IS KIKI??

KEYTEOR???

KEYTEOR!!!

MARISHA CONVERGENCE

NO

matthew

sir

matthew you have to drive home with her

HE

THE BOY

he's gonna be in so much trouble with his mom

BUT

liam piecing his brain back together in real time

"he's just so attractive~"

I need this animated. vax as described in the dalen's closet one-shot but animated

nooooo he was so close

god there's not even half an hour left what happens

MONKEY

"let a monkey end this"

WEREWOLF OUT OF FUCKING NOWHERE

okay that was a good line, I'll give chetney that one

godDAMMIT

like a bird off a windshield

hey I hate it

god I'm so glad my kid's off school tomorrow, no way I sleep after this

noooOOOO

they fucked with keyleth to draw her in bc they knew it'd bring vax in??? is that what fucking happened???

HEY MATT WHAT THE FUCK

NOW WOULD BE A GOOD TIME FOR GROG

oh we have LAURA book-on-head

that's never good

somebody get liam a goddamn fainting couch

they just got fucking BLASTED

is robit on moon???

they're on WILDEMOUNT???

what the FUCK

okay I mean this very legitimately somebody get liam a bottle of water and a blanket. like shit.

somebody get ME a bottle of water and a blanket.

#critical role #spoilers #crititag #liveblog #reaction post

[blindeye6]

Over the years I have cooked some interesting things. Never really a recipe just shoot from the hip.... and generally while inebriated. For the longest time I thought the worst meal was a Cheeseburger MAC. I started off with ground meat, Instant MAC... Except I did not have any milk in the house at the time. As it was roughly midnight and I was half into a bottle of Rum and unable to walk, let alone drive to get actual milk. So what would help to make Milk when you don't have milk.... Powdered Coffee Creamer was my answer. Down side however is that I didn't have normal coffee creamer, so Caramel Coffee Creamer was used. This resulted in a very sweet mix of macaroni, Cheese and browned meat. By this point the Rum was gone and I was making decisions based off of fuzzy logic and numb taste buds. To lessen the sweetness I used various condiments that I would put on a cheeseburger in general. So when I was done, the levels of mustard, ketchup, relish, made the mix soupy, but it tasted ok at the time.

The next day at work, I reheated this to the looks of my horrified co-workers as I described what the meal was at it smelled horrible before it was warm and reeked of road kill after the fact. After reassuring everyone that it was fine, I had one mouth full that was the sweetest // saltiest // foulest thing I had yet to eat. To which I was taken pity on by my friends and they bought me lunch with the cavate that they retell this embarrassing story at any time that any of them deem fitting.

Fast forward to June 7th 2021. It was the end of the first full school year for Covid-19. My oldest was in Kindergarten, and my youngest was 2. I had been transferred in the company that I was with to a plan that I was not happy to be with - for a client that I now loathed. For myself it was a very long school year that really only helped by drinking heavily - Alone as I never saw anyone outside my family during that time. Isolation, Stress, Burned out, and not mentally healthy by any means.... My family was leaving for the week as it was the last day of school - to go to my oldest’s grandparents house. The boys were to spend the weekend outside the home, and I was working without being able to take time off. I hugged them and waved good bye as they drove off to southern states, leaving me unsupervised for the rest of the week.

It was a warm June with temps in the upper 90's and muggy as fuck. I had a hankering for a good steak and decided I would cook the meal at night when it was cooler. I had finished my work shift and went to the store to buy supplies for my one person celebration of the end of the school year. This would soon be the very worst meal that I have ever cooked.

At some point during the evening I started early with the libations, some video games, and whatever for movies. Dark and stormy drinks of a bottle of 90 proof rum and Ginger beer, Snake Bites of a bottle of Yukon Jack (100 proof Whiskey) and lime juice, and a bottle of Wine as I ran out of the other stuff. I found myself cooking around midnight thinking it was cooler then. The Steak had been cooked and was resting and the toppings were being cooked in the wok on the stove top. I had work in the morning and needed to set myself up to sleep at some point and the alcohol wasn't working regardless that I drank three bottles. So I popped a 50mg edible, pushed the food off the heat and sat on the couch to wait to sleep and start work in a few hours.

Looking back on all this, it's amazing that I had gotten to the point that I could drink my self sober, that I was able to consume that much, and that even in mixing things hadn't gotten worse previously. For the next parts of this story I do not remember what happened. I just have pieced together what I knew from what others told me. This game of the "Hangover" plot line, was relatively familiar over the past year in retracing my steps to see what I had actually done, or who I talked to.

At some point I fell asleep and what I thought was taking the food off of the burner was not the case, and the onions/peppers/garlic that I was sautéing had dried up, caught fire and did a slow burn on my apartment. The smoke from the stove and fire triggered the fire alarms that were linked to the entire building. This was roughly around 1-2am. My upstairs neighbor had attempted to get me out of the apartment but we had a child safety lock on the door that prevented her in opening it. I was awake at this point, while blacked out, and in the thick of the smoke filled kitchen and saying that everything was ok and I could save the food. Somewhere after this my lungs filled with smoke and I passed out. Face down on the floor with a chunk of smoldering kitchen resting on my back, the first responders that arrived had busted down our front door to remove me from the fire.

At the time that I was removed, I hadn't been breathing. I guess I had a pulse or maybe I didn't, but if you are looking for rock bottom as a starting point, being considered dead is good enough place to start as any. I was revived on scene and placed into the back of the ambulance and taken to the hospital, with the expectation from the professionals on site that I wasn't going to make it. My neighbor above, and my neighbor/land lady/friend below all made it out. Myself and our cat were the only two to be affected in the fire. While I have been untangling my mind since the incident I have yet to be able to grieve for my friend. I may some day just not sure when I get to that section of the tangled web of grey matter.

Around the time I was in the triage department, my memory kicked in and I became aware of what was going on. I can only guess that I got pumped with various drugs to kick start my brain. I was told later on that I was very open with how much I took and at what frequency that all was, a bit of a chatty Kathy between hocking up lung biscuits. My first memory after sitting on the couch was to be talking to mother while coughing up grey chunks that looked like my brain and asking if the food was cooked. That lasted for a bit and then the rest was very in and out of what was real or not.

From my side of the looking glass, I was handcuffed to a bed while a grumpy nurse refused to give me water. For the life of me I could not remember her name correctly, and whenever I would get her name she would only give me a drop of water soaked que tip to drink. There were 3 rooms that I was in where I interacted with the occupants. I say occupants as they changed while I was there. A room with aliens that were serving me drinks and talking to me about the logistics work that I did. A room of computers that I was playing games in and talking to people, about the remote work tasks, and another that felt like a scene from Dante's Inferno with bodies scattered over the floor, while I flew over them as if I was in a helicopter. At a certain point I became more aware of where I was and understood that I was in a hospital being prepped for a conference demonstration regarding the new procedures they had done on me and that is why they hand cuffed me to the bed so I wouldn't  run away.

On the sober side of the lens, the story was much less trippy. I was incubated twice, the first time I ripped the tubes out and it took 4 grown adults to strap me down so they could attach the tubes that needed to be so they could vacuum out the amount of ash and soot that had settled into my lungs. I had a normal catheter inserted twice and then attached as a Texan Catheter and that was ripped off once before staying on. Along with adding the medicine to pump out the poison that was killing me. Due to the lack of oxygen to my brain for an unknown amount of time there was a concern for brain damage. When I came in I apparently did not know I had kids, or that I was married, who or where I was. I was belligerent and foul mouthed to the staff till I regained my sanity and the night/day mares cleared.10 days in the hospital - 7 in intensive care that I don't really remember and 3 in the recovery ward. I'm lucky to be alive, and have spent a fair amount of time learning to be in the present. I am still held hostage by my past and have a fear of the future, but I'm learning to sit in my own shit and take responsibility and accountability for how I got here. And here is still sober, choosing life each day as both the villain, victim, and hero of my own story. When I was in the recovery ward the Fire Chief came in to ask what it was that I was cooking when I set the fire off. I said I tried Cajun Kitchen.... and that it was the worst meal that I have ever cooked

#sobercommunity #rebirth #choosinglife

[arhvste]

❝ kuroo tetsurō - tetsuhoe ❞

in which kuroo is confused by the ‘playboy’ image pinned onto him after a practice match at fukurodani much to you, his long term girlfriends, amusement

tetsu week masterlist

“did you see the captains for nekoma’s team yesterday?”

“oh their tall middle blocker with the bed hair? he was something else!”

“i just know he’s got girls crawling all over him back at nekoma. i think i’m gonna transfer schools!”

your eyebrow raised in amusement towards the girls nearby who were mindlessly babbling on about a particular rooster headed captain you were familiar with.

the high praise he was recovering in your classroom would certainly give him an ego boost, realistically though, these girls couldn’t have been further from the truth; you were partially thankful for that.

akaashi took notice of your entertained expression as he took his seat beside you in the unsupervised classroom.

“ah,” he clicked his tongue gesturing towards the squealing girls. “they’re talking about kuroo-san when they had the practice match here yesterday.”

you nodded towards your own school teams setter and smiled. “listen to them.” you hummed as akaashi leaned a little further on his desk facing towards the small group of girls nearby.

“what was his name again?”

“i’m not sure, i never got the chance to go down and talk to him!”

“whatever his name is i know it’s one i want to scream”

“you’re so bad!”

akaashi cringed at the rawness of these girls vocabulary. so they thought kuroo was hot? why they couldn’t just word it like that and leave it at that, akaashi would never know. he turned to face you as you pulled your phone out to discreetly record the girls fussing over your boyfriend.

“y/n, isn’t that a little... intrusive?” akaashi quirked an eyebrow towards your smug expression.

“this isn’t an act of jealousy but rather amusement. besides, aren’t they being a little intrusive speaking about my boyfriend like this? tetsu’s gonna shit himself when he hears this, they’ve mischaracterised him completely.”

akaashi nodded before casting his gaze back over to the girls before looking back towards you while you were texting the very boy the girls in your classroom were raving about.

“aren’t you bothered by it?”

you laughed and shook your head firmly.

“no no! not at all, i can’t blame them for being head over heels for him i mean, i fell for him too didn’t i?”

“by some miracle.” akaashi shot back to which you scoffed before turning your attention back down to the device in your hands.

you made quick work of sending the video to your boyfriend and captioning ‘can i tell the girls your name? they want to know for when you have them scream it’ before shutting your phone off and going back to casual conversation with akaashi before the teacher entered and the class simmered down for work.

back at nekoma, kuroo was currently scrolling through the multiple automated notifications piling up on his phone until your name caught his eye. quickly tapping the screen to open snapchat, kuroo smiled softly at the sight of the little purple square under ‘pretty one <3’.

he wasted no time in pressing down on the video to watch whatever it was you had sent him. turning up the volume, kuroo’s eyes widened a little at the caption you had typed out to go along with the video.

“scream it?” he muttered quietly to himself but not quietly enough to miss kenma’s ears.

“what are you watching?” the bleached haired setter asked bordly.

“y/n’s sent me a video but i don’t really understand.” he mumbled pressing down on the outlines square to get the video to replay once more for kenma to see what he was talking about.

kenma’s face twisted into one of disgust as he feigned a gag to kuroo’s offence.

“is it that unbelievable others find me attractive?”

“it’s not even believable y/n finds you attractive yet alone other girls.”

“you wound me.”

“not physically so you can’t complain.”

kuroo snickered before sending back a picture of himself with a puzzled expression and a grossed out looking kenma with the caption ‘kenma didn’t appreciate the honest content, glad to know the girls at your school have working eyes though?’.

he frowned after shutting his phone off as kenma took a seat besides him on the bench besides the court.

“that was weird, i don’t come across as that type of boy do i?”

kenma shrugged and pulled his own phone out, his attention now divided between his bestfriend and his devices.

“not here you don’t. the girls at fukurōdani just sound annoying and superficial minus y/n obviously.”

kenma muttered, his fingers tapping across his own screen.

“well then, i don’t suppose it’s matters too much then. i hope y/n isn’t too bothered by it though, as much as i love the praise, i don’t want it from anyone but her in that sense.”

“whipped.” kenma tutted quietly as kuroo smiled.

“that, i am.”

a week had passed and the two of you had forgotton about the fuss that the girls in your class had made over kuroo. there was no practice match to attend, but bokuto had insisted yourself, kuroo, kenma and akaashi all come over for dinner by the request of his mother and sisters who had complained how they hadn’t seen the four of you for a while together.

kuroo and kenma (kenma begrudgingly however), agreed to meet the three of you outside the entrance of fukurōdani to join you on your journey back to the bokuto residence.

kenma was reluctant to stand out in what obviously wasn’t a fukurōdani school uniform, but kuroo didn’t mind. it wasn’t rare for students from neighbouring schools to wait for other students after school hours as friendship groups outside of schools obviously existed.

kenma was leaning against the wall of the school gates and kuroo was stood beside him texting the group chat that the two of them had arrived and were waiting for them outside. his attention on his phone and not to those around him, kuroo failed to noticed the high pitched shrills of excitement ringing through the air at the sight of him.

“it’s him! the nekoma captain!”

“i’m gonna talk to him this time, do i look okay?”

“you look fine but i’m the one who’s gonna get his number so don’t get in my way.”

“you can’t say that! it’s whoever he picks!”

by now, kenma had picked up on the bickering of the girls which he considered impressive because usually he’d be able to block out anything outside of his psp.

“annoying.” he muttered coldly before doing his best to turn his attention back to his game.

“hi!”

kuroos head snapped up and he was met with a small group of girls that seemed to be growing with each student that left the gates of the school.

“um... hi?”

his face twisted in confusion as he silently begged yourself, bokuto or even akaashi to come out the gates and rescue him.

“so, you played here the other day didn’t you? you were really good.” one girl praised, her index finger twirling around the front strands of her hair.

“obviously he is. we go to a powerhouse school.” kenma muttered sharply more to himself than anything but it didn’t fail to garner a few dirty looks from the girls. not that kenma could’ve cared less anyway.

“uh thanks. you guys are kinda blocking up the path, you might wanna uh, go home?” kuroo suggested his concern growing at the same rate the group of girls were.

other students were beginning to take notice and while some girls added themselves to the group, other student shot kuroo an apologetic glance to which he half smiled back to.

“this is our territory, we’ll go home when we get your number.” one girl boldly stated to which other girls agreed.

“my girlfriend wouldn’t appreciate it.” he stated matter-o-factly.

the girls faces pulled in disgust and others humour while the ‘leader’ of the group scoffed.

“you don’t have a girlfriend. boys like you don’t settle so just give a few of us your number and eventually you’ll fall for one of us, although it’s more than likely going to be me.”

“actually, i’ve fallen for a girl already and i’ve fallen in deep. there’s no pulling me out so you might aswell run along no? are your parents not worried as to why you’re coming home so late?”

kuroo was growing more irritated than amused by now and he wanted nothing more than your hand in his at that very moment.

“stop lying and just give it to us. why do you treat the nekoma girls differently from us?”

“kuroo-san treats all girls other than y/n, his girlfriend of over a year differently. you’re not deprived so i suggest taking your leave before you cause any more disruption to anyone else.”

“akaashi!” kuroo smiled thankfully to which akaashi only nodded curtly before allowing you to walk by him wide smile drawn across your face.

“tetsu! kenma! i’m so glad to see you both!” you shoved past the shocked girls as you pulled yourself into kuroo’s arms as he happily accepted the gesture.

“i’m relieved to see you kitten.” he replied, the nickname stirring loss over the rest of the girls.

“whatever, you weren’t that hot anyway.” the main girl huffed purely out of embarrassment because not only had she been outdone by yourself, been rejected in public, but she’d also been told off by akaashi and his cold and flat tone did nothing to sugar coat the scolding.

“lying is a bad habit you know!” bokuto added earning a soft laugh from you.

if the girls weren’t embarrassed before, they certainly were now seeing as their own schools captain was now joining in.

“let’s just go.”

the girls filed down the street, embarrassment and regret written across their faces.

“why did you take so long?” kuroo whined as he pulled away to look at you.

“well, if there wasn’t a group of girls rushing through the halls to go see the ‘hot captain from before’ blocking the hallways, i would’ve been faster coming out.”

“i’m just glad you’re here now.” he smiled as the four of you began to walk down the street towards bokuto’s house.

“we’ve never had another captain stir so much commotion before, you must’ve really caught their short minded attention.” akaashi commented as kuroo told you all about the comments about him not having a girlfriend were made.

“yeah tetsuhoe.”

“what did you just call me?”

you snickered as you squeezed his hand.

“you heard me womaniser.”

kuroo groaned as kenma smirked at your teasing.

“you’re the only woman i want.” he sighed as bokuto awed at the two of you.

“yeah? good to know, glad i’m special enough for your attention.” you teased further as the others slowly began to join in much to kuroo’s dismay.

feigning annoyance was hard to do around you, but kuroo was just glad you weren’t bitter over the whole situation. he knew you knew you were the one for him.

playboy reputation or not, kuroo was happy just knowing you were confident in your postion in his heart.

and he’d be sure to remind you the next time he got you alone.

dt - @aislastetsu

general taglist → @atsumuwoah @bloody-bella @bbymilkbread @miracleboy420 @doggonudez @tsumue @peteunderoos @tsukkisbean @saturnfarie @toffees-main @zumisace @boosyboo9206 @totorosleaff @27kei @dai-tsukki-desu @angrylittleriri @tsukkaria @kuxredere @warakou @mattsuny @lovinnoya @sophiashortcake

ALL CONTENT BELONGS TO @KUROOSKULT ON TUMBLR 2020 PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, CHANGE OR PLAGIARISE

#kuroo tetsurou #kuroo x reader #kuroo x you #kuroo fanfic #haikyuu #haikyuu!! #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x you #hq #hq x reader #hq x you #tetsu.week<3

[dumb-but-also-red]

👏it's👏Autobot 👏Starscream 👏time 👏

This is gonna be long so prepare yourselves.

Headcanon: since he's a seeker, he's gonna want to form a trine. But there are no fliers in Team Prime, so he will be lonely. He accepts that and pretends to be okay with it.

If he hangs out with Fowler, he's gonna have access to the hangar, and if he is left unsupervised near the hangar he probably would try to chat with the human made jets whenever he can. What if there's a cybertronian among them? No one knows.

He would 100% perch on Magnus' shoulders. The larger mech is annoyed with the new recruit, but lets him do it since he knows a bit about what the seeker had to suffer from Megatron's unfiltered rage. Magnus is there to lead the wreckers, as Optimus' second in command, not a torturer to further traumatize his soldiers.

He would probably ask Ratchet if he has some spare paint laying around. This version of Starscream wants some bright colors on his frame, something flashy but also fashionable. He doesn't like how his factory made frame looks, it's so dull and lifeless.

(you can disagree with me on this but idc man he'd be cute as shit in G1 colors)

He most definitely would LOVE to get his wings rubbed or gently scratched. He never allowed anyone near them before, so maybe the first few times he's a little scared to let others touch him where he can't reach.

He purrs in his sleep. Loudly. Starscream doesn't really see the connection between himself and the earth animal called a cat, there's no physical similarities, but the humans insist he's a big flying cat.

He loves headpats and being praised. Call him a good boy and his spark will radiate with happiness.

He is really ticklish. Ratchet is the only one who knows this.

He is afraid of medical examinations of any kind.

He is very claustrophobic. Put him in a small space and he'll start shaking like a leaf in the wind. Whenever they have to leave the base and he has to get into Optimus' trailer, he tries to make excuses and not sit in the tight, dimly lighted box. The kids put some more lights and a lot of soft blankets in the trailer to make him a bit more comfortable.

Starscream isn't afraid of showing his emotional weaknesses anymore. The feeling of belonging came with the comfort of being able to cry and hug people openly. The first time he hid and cried at the base because all of the pressure, Miko just sniffed him out like a bloodhound and hugged him like he wasn't the one threatening to kill her a few months ago.

He would die for the humans. They're so nice to him after all he has done, and they even offer their limited time to just talk about what he's thinking or feeling. No one has ever done that for him, so he obviously wasn't expecting that. Especially from organic creatures who's lifespan is over in a blink of an optic.

Raf made him play a video game once, and now he can't just stop it. It's so much fun to play, some of them are like battle simulators, some are racing games, but they're all very amusing.

---

I'm so very sorry for blabbing about my headcanons on Mr. "imma overthrow Megs" Starscream I just had to do this or my brain wouldn't let me relax

#transformers #transformers prime #tfp starscream #autobot starscream #headcanon #shut up its my imagination #i know he wouldnt do any of this #also Miko would make sure to tell him about his legs

[emiefaunwrites]

A massive sleepover with all the group (so Leon Taka Hiro Mondo and Chihiro)? If it's at Leon or Taka's house I think it would be extra fun and chaotic!

(also I sent in the ask for Chihiro and Mondo and I LOVE IT your hcs are always so heccin pure!)

Hey anon!

Ahhh I'm glad you enjoyed! And thank you so much for another ask. I'd be happy to write it for you!

I got super excited for a split second since a HC I'd been thinking of since yesterday could have fit SO WELL here. But I've already said that Taka's first sleepover had something in it that means I can't do that here. No worries though, that can come another day! And this one has been super fun to write as well!

So here's Taka's first group sleepover! I hope its what you were after!

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

• Every year, Leon's parents go on a weekend break to celebrate their wedding anniversary.

• When Leon was younger, he used to go with them but for the last few years, he's stayed behind and he's always been allowed to have friends stay to keep him company.

• The year before he had Hiro and Mondo over and it was pure chaos.

• This year though he has a boyfriend and another frien to add into the mix.

• Taka's stayed at his house a few times now and has gotten used to the Kuwata household.

• But he's never been there when other friends have been there.

• And he's so excited.

• He tells his father that he's staying at Leon's with a few friends. Takaaki is SLIGHTLY worried, what with his son hanging around unsupervised with a group of teenage boys.

• But he trusts his son not to do anything reckless and he also trusts Leon not to force him into anything he doesn't want to do. And also, who is Takaaki to deny his son time with friends he never had growing up?

• And so he drops him off bang on time, giving Leon the same speech he gives Taka before he goes.

• No one else has arrived yet but Leon is already SO excited - it's his first sleepover with friends since he turned 18 and he's DYING for a few actually legal beers.

• Taka, on the other hand, is still 17 - the only one of the group that's still underage - and he's eyeing the rows of beer that Leon has laid out on the table wearily.

• 'Will I be the only one not drinking?'

• 'Nah, I don't think Chi fancies drinking tonight either.'

• 'You won't get...too bad, will you?'

• Taka feels incredibly guilty even asking. But after Leon's...messy 18th birthday, he's not keen on spending his first group sleepover sat on a cold bathroom floor looking after his sick boyfriend like last time.

• And of course, Leon promises to be on his best behaviour.

• Before Mondo and Chi arrive, Taka decides to take it upon himself to arrange snacks - whipping up some cookies for them all.

• He would have made a proper meal but Leon's parents insisted they order themselves a pizza.

• A luxury Taka has only just come to terms with as takeaway was not something he was able to enjoy.

• Mondo arrives first, followed by Chi and eventually Hiro - who seems to have gotten lost on the way.

• True to his word, Leon doesn't go straight into the alcohol like Mondo does - although Taka can tell he's itching for a drink.

• They start by playing a few video games in the lounge and have a few goes at Mario Kart, Just Dance and Let's Sing - the last two Leon's choices (not at all as an attempt to impress his boyfriend...)

• Even Mondo, the most self conscious of his dance abilities, gets in on the action.

• Eventually they settle on Grand Theft Auto and take turns causing as much destruction in the city as they can.

• The pizza finally arrives and they take a break to eat it - everyone rolling their eyes as Leon tries to feed Taka pieces of his own pizza.

• After that, they move into the next stage of the evening - booze, movies and onesies.

• Yes - onesies.

• It was Chi's one request, which Leon leapt onto wholeheartedly.

• Partially because he wanted to see Taka in the adorable dinosaur onesie he bought him.

• But mostly so he could rip the shit into Mondo and Hiro in their too small onesies!

• Hiro takes it in his stride - enjoying the Snorlax onesie Chi had helped him find.

• Mondo is embarrassed at first - seeing as the only onesie he could find short notice in his size was a giant pink unicorn...

• But seeing Chi in his Spyro the dragon onesie and Leon in his Minion onesie cheers him right up.

• They all settle down in a big lump to watch some films - Leon, Mondo and Hiro drinking some beers (in a responsible manner, considering Taka's there).

• Taka and Leon cozy up together on an armchair whilst Mondo sits in front of them with both Chi and Hiro cuddled up against him.

• And even though Taka and Chi aren't drinking, they still feel tipsy on the good vibes - letting their guards down fully.

• Taka even lets out a curse - responding to a stupid moment in the film with a 'Oh for fuck's sake!'

• No one but Leon have heard him swear before and are in pieces, asking him to say more and more vulgar things.

• And because he's so happy and feels so safe, he obliges - enjoying everyone's laughter with him and Leon's dazzling (and slightly drunk) smile.

• It all wraps up quite slowly - Chi falls asleep first, huddled into Mondo's side.

• Taka's next, curled up against Leon's chest whilst the three remaining boys play one last video game.

• Hiro actually falls asleep with his head in Mondo's lap once they've scooped Chi up so they can all be lying on the sofa - Chi now a small ball on Mondo's chest.

• And eventually Leon and Mondo tap out at around three am and cuddle up happily with their respective people.

#kiyotaka ishimaru #leon kuwata #mondo oowada #chihiro fujisaki #yasuhiro hagakure #ask request #anon ask

[dearchikkie]

Truth or Dare

MARICHAT MAY 2020

Day 5: Dare

A/N: I.LOVE.TENSE.TRUTH.OR.DARE. The drama, the divide, just everything!! jskhdakjhd I had fun writing this one, you can probably tell by now but I really love when Chat and Mari are just chilling together as friends and being dorks. You'll probably see them geeking out on my day 7 fic, so watch out for that ;) Anyway: hope you enjoy this one!

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Marinette was bad- no, scratch that- terrible at sleepovers. From the age of nine, she could barely sleep in her own room without crying out for her mother or father in the night. Tom and Sabine had tried everything ranging from nightlights to singing toys, but none comforted her fears. When she finally made a friend at school to have sleepovers with, she ended up vomiting in their sink after drinking too much soda and begging her mom to come pick her up.

She had been apprehensive to try again, but after being begged to attend a classmates slumber party, she dedicated herself to getting over her fears and having a fun time. Unfortunately, she hadn't trained hard enough. A few hours into when she should have been sleeping, she thought she had heard a ghost. Young Marinette had tiptoed down the stairs to investigate, and saw standing in the kitchen a deathly zombie.

In her defence, she didn't know the birthday girl had an older brother, so seeing a mysterious boy lit only by the fluorescent lights of their fridge, it seemed perfectly acceptable to scream as loud as she could.

In the end, her father came and picked her up. Marinette would have preferred to stay, but after awaking the entire house at 3am, she decided it was best if she just went home.

After that, there wasn't really a strong desire to embarrass herself anymore, so she avoided sleepovers entirely. She didn't go camping with Mylene, she didn't jam out with Juleka, she couldn't even braid her hair with Rose! By the time Alya transferred, everyone knew Marinette just didn't do sleepovers, so when Alya invited her to one it came as a shock to the young teen. Although anxious, Marinette gave sleepovers one last chance.

She didn't cry. She didn't vomit. She had fun.

Alya introduced her to all the iconic sleepover traditions: gossip, movies, snacks, skincare, more gossip and [most importantly] sleepover games. Marinette fell in love with them instantly. Of course, she had played these before, but never in her pajamas at 1 AM loaded on sugar.

So with her parents out of town and Alya stuck at a convention in the states, it seemed only fair she throw a slumber party with her second best friend.

✧✬✧

"What brand did you buy? This is taking forever!" Marinette glared at the sizzling pan. She had trusted Chat to bring the popcorn since bulk-buying packets would have been suspicious to her parents [the same parents she promised could rest easy knowing she wouldn't have people over] but he had shown up wielding a fancy looking packet of kernels. Marinette frowned at the pan's foil; it should be rising, but instead stayed pathetically flat no matter how high she raised the heat.

Chat snatched the packet off Marinette's kitchen counter, "Some brand called 'Papa's Organic Snacks', the store clerk said it was the best!"

"Let me see that," the noirette left the stove, the popcorn wasn't going to pop any time soon so she felt safe leaving it unsupervised, "Chat! This was 70 euros! You shouldn't waste money just on some popcorn,"

"It's not wasting money, this is our first super fun sleepover and I didn't want to just get some cheap popcorn!"

"You sound spoiled."

"Maybe I am." not maybe. He was. He didn't want to admit it, but Adrien knew he was spoilt. He had all the video games he wanted, all the clothing he tried, all the books he read, he got them no questions asked. Hell, look at his room! Flatscreen TV's, a rock-climbing wall and a personal library, no one even cared when he suddenly required masses of expensive cheese.

As Adrien, he was spoilt with material objects. Unlimited amounts of money and recognition, celebrities knowing him by name and fangirls flocking him as he walked down the street.

"Yes! It's popping! After I butter these up we'll finally get this sleepover started!"

As Chat Noir, he was spoiled like this.

✧✬✧

"Chat, truth or dare?" the leather-clad hero pondered for a moment, before replying,

"Truth!"

"What? Boring," Marinette threw a handful of popcorn at Chat. She laughed as he tried swatting it away, "aren't you supposed to be brave or something?"

"Who says I'm not being brave? Who knows what dastardly questions you'll ask," the cat feigned a horrified gasp and fell back onto Marinette's chaise.

The noirette grinned at him, tugging back on his tail, "I'm sure you can handle an innocent teen girls question. Sit back down, I'm gonna get serious."

Slowly, Chat slid off the chaise and regained his place besides Marinette, munching on another large chunk of caramel popcorn. The teenage girl slowly gestured for Chat to lean in closer. Then closer. The closer, eventually, he was so close he could feel her warm breath on his ear, the hairs on his neck sticking on end.

"Chat Noir..." she whispered, Who's your civilian identity?"

"WHAT?" in a rush, Chat fell back. Popcorn spilt all over the ground as Chat stared wide-eyed at the giggling girl in front of him. "P-Princess, I c-care about you and you a-are one of my closest f-friends, b-but I- I can't just- my i-identity has t-to be, Ladybug would kill me!" Chat stumbled over his words, eyes sporadically moving back and forth. 

His rambling stopped when he heard a quiet laugh. When he looked up, he saw Marinette barely able to contain her amusement, but a single look at Chat's flustered face broke her control as she burst out laughing.

"Oh, Chaton- I'm kidding! There's no way you'd just be able to reveal yourself to a civilian," before Chat could object Marinette spoke again, "My REAL question is this: Why do you keep coming over?"

Chat frowned, "And here I thought you enjoyed my company." he huffed. Marinette set a hand tentatively on his shoulder,

"Silly cat. I do now! But even back when we barely knew each other, you still showed up to chat; why?"

"Nice pun,"

"Not the point." Marinette scoffed, but Chat now grinned eagerly as he sidled up beside her.

"Well, It's kinda complicated," Chat shoved another handful on popcorn down his throat, causing Marinette to have to wait another minute before he could start speaking again. After taking a long sip of soda, Chat continued,

"I don't really know why I kept visiting you. I just, I didn't feel like being my civilian self and talking to people as myself. But the only person I could talk to as Chat Noir was Ladybug, and you know she's never out late unless there's an akuma. Then I remembered the Evillustrator and Wereded akuma's."

"When we first met,"

Chat nodded, "You didn't put me on a pedestal and suck up to me, nor did you completely ignore me and just ask about Ladybug. You were just... yourself. Now that I look back at it all, I have no idea why I chose you. I just saw you gardening, munching on a cinnamon roll and decided to talk to you. While I severely regret being so weird at first, that was probably one of the best decisions I've ever made."

The room became eerily silent. Chat could feel his face redden, desperately avoiding eye contact with the girl beside him. "...And, I'm probably the biggest sweet tooth in Paris; befriending the Bakers daughter was bound to happen at some point!" he chuckled nervously. When Chat finally got the nerve to look Marinette in the eye, he saw just how badly her flushed face matched his.

"Ah! I forgot! Papa made some snacks earlier and I snuck some away- let me go get them!" Marinette bundled down the stairs, slamming her hatch behind her. Chat exhaled after he heard Marinette's footsteps fade into the background. Good job Chat! Go ahead and gush all about how 'amazing' she is and make things awkward! He gulped down a full glass of soda, chugging it all in one go.

After a few minutes, the bedroom hatch burst open, startling Chat. Marinette reappeared at the top holding a tray filled with sugary macarons. Chat drooled at the sight of them, pupils dilating as he gazed over the pink and green desserts, "They're raspberry and green tea, I hope you like them,"

"They're incredible, Mari! Thank you so much, thank your père for me." Marinette smiled as Chat grabbed a pink macaron.

"You haven't even tried them yet,"

"I have trust in your father." hesitantly, Chat took a small bite. After chewing for only a few seconds he shoved the rest of it into his mouth, eyes shut with pleasure. "These are incredible, Princess," Chat moaned.

Marinette's cheeks glowed a similar colour to the macaron Chat was so affectionate of. She pulled him back to their seating arrangements, "C'mon, It's my turn to be asked,"

After licking the tips of his fingers, Chat turned his attention back to Marinette, "Fine, follow up question then, mademoiselle. Why did you keep letting me in?"

Marinette froze, "What?"

"Back then, I know why I kept showing up, but you also kept letting me into your room. Sharing sweets, showing me designs..."

"I, uh..."

"Hmm?"

"Maybe I just felt bad for the stray cat that kept appearing on my rooftop."

"What's wrong Marinette, afraid to tell me just how enamored you truly were by me?"

Chat laid his head down on Marinette's lap, ignoring the evil gaze that followed him down, "I wasn't 'enamored' by you. I just," she set a hand on Chat's hair, slowly petting it as if a blonde cat laid in her lap. Technically, one did.

"I don't know why I let you in those first few times, I guess it just seemed polite? But then after a few times of you visiting me, I got to know you. I liked hanging out with you, and I still do. You're one of my closest friends, Chaton. Truly."

Marinette stared back down at Chat. His eyes were trained solely on her, his cheeks tinged red. "You really think that?"

Marinette laughed, "Of course I do, Kitty. Why do you think you're here right now?"

Slowly, Chat sat up. He angled his face just in front of Marinettes, his eyelids drooping ever so slightly, "Truth or Dare?"

"Well, we've already had two truths in a row so I kinda have to choose dare," laughed Marinette. Her laughter ceased when she noticed how serious Chat's face had turned.

"I dare you to kiss me."

Her breath hitched in her throat. Marinette could hear her heart beating louder and louder as Chat inched closer to her face. His hot breath spread over her face as her skin tingled at the feel of it.

Suddenly, Chat's eyes widened and pushed himself away from her. His face now more red than ever, he stood up and turned around, "Sorry! Sorry, I shouldn't have said that. I probably just ruined everything- I should go." Chat ran to the rooftop, but Marinette grabbed his tail and pulled him back. Gradually rising to stand in front of him.

Wordlessly, Marinette forced herself forward, embracing Chat as she closed the distance between them. Their hearts burned. Chat wrapped his arms around Marinettes waist and pulled her closer, heat staining both their faces.

They never started the next round.

#marichat #marichat may #marichat may 2020 #marichat fanfic #marichat fanfiction #miraculous #miraculousladybug #miraculous ladybug #miraculous fanfic #miraculous fanfiction #miraculous ladybug fanfic #miraculous ladybug fanfiction #marinette #marinette dupain cheng #chat #chat noir #marinette x chat noir #truth or dare #truth or dare fic #dare #spicy #ejskd #idjelqkmdsa #AAAA

[sixwingedbee]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Kingdom Hearts (Video Games) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Braig & Ienzo (Kingdom Hearts) Characters: Braig (Kingdom Hearts), Ienzo (Kingdom Hearts), Luxu (Kingdom Hearts) Additional Tags: Soft platonic family moments, Fluff, Apprentice family Summary:

Ienzo had a bad habit of sneaking away.

When Ienzo went missing during the day, everyone noticed almost immediately. Almost. Sometimes Even wouldn't notice until an hour later that his charge was no longer sitting quietly within the lab, but he noticed. Dilan and Aeleus would notice when they found the two troublesome teens sneaking in through a new way, knowing they must have seen Ienzo come out of it on the other side.

Ansem noticed when it was brought to his attention after the boy was brought back.

Whether or not Braig ever noticed was never important. He rarely came for the boy. Ienzo always considered that a fortunate thing, Braig was trouble. He always found him right away, always taking the boy by surprise. All the other adults Ienzo could hear coming a mile away. With their grumbling and heavy footsteps. Braig just appeared. Ienzo never heard or saw which direction he came.

He couldn't help but wonder if the man had magic, too.

Even so, daytime was the worst to wander. Daytime was too easy for them to be aware. But it was when Ienzo felt the most trapped. Daytime was full of noise, scratching pencils and loud arguments in the upper labs, and full of people he didn't care for. Strangers that would give a supposed lost boy a second look and try to grab him. And while this world was very beautiful in the shining sun, with its abundance of flowers blooming all over, it had another type of beauty at night. Night time brought quiet. It brought the shining stars in the sky and a calm that Ienzo craved.

When the sky turned dark and the young boy was sure all in the castle were asleep, he'd make his move. Quietly, he made his way out of his room and down the long and much too large halls of the castle. Sometimes Ienzo wondered what lived in here before Ansem the Wise. Before Radiant Garden got its name... It couldn't have been humans. This structure was much too big for them. Maybe giants. That would explain Aeleus thought the boy. The man's stature made him a giant, even among the already too tall residents of the world.

Ienzo would sometimes wonder if he was from this world proper. He felt too small. Too quiet. Too listless.

But that couldn't be possible, he thought as he finally made his way outside, emerging out of a hidden door within the southern garden. Dilan knew of this one, but it was far too obvious to sneak into. Sneaking out of was another story. He looked around for signs of those two boys before he moved again, towards the wall. There was a ladder that reached to the top, an easy way for the guards to move around and do a quick visual sweep of the world outside of the castle. Ienzo looked up at the stars as he climbed. Slowly, rung by rung.

No, he couldn't be from anywhere else. Even if he couldn't remember much before coming here- Even often talked of an injury he had on his right temple- he had to be from this world. They didn't know getting to the other Worlds was possible until recent. That boy had to have come from another world, right?

But, how. How did they get here?

This World had stories, yes, but not the means to make a myth reality.

Ienzo pulled himself up onto the wall, steadying his feet for a moment before he started walking again. From South to East. It was a long walk, but it gave Ienzo a good look at the World they were on. From the sleepy buildings with their blood red roofs, to the tall forest that separated some of the sectors of the town. He could hear the rushing waters of the fountains as he passed by them, just out of reach from the plants that were crawling up the walls and attempting to take over.

On the far east he could sit, out of view from anyone else that could be up at this hour. Ienzo could look out on the calm waters that surrounded this not-quite island. Seeing the floating gardens that welcomed the rare trading boat. Occasionally he'd see a splash as a fish snapped at the bugs that tread the water's surface. While the humans slept, the world continued on as it should. It was a comfort, knowing that when they were all gone, this World would always go on.

It was a thought someone so young shouldn't have. But Ienzo's thoughts often drifted to how fragile he was. How quickly a human life could be snuffed out, with everyone moving on around it. He was proof of that. His parents were presumed dead, and he was placed in the care of someone else. Expected to continue living and grow up without them.

He lost track of how long he sat on that wall, staring at nothing and everything while he thought. The air was cool and he kept his knees pulled close to conserve warmth. Every breath let out a small puff of vapor. Maybe he should have grabbed that too big coat? Far too late now. He took a deep breath, enjoying the way the chilled air filled his lungs. It stung, but it filled his nose with the scents of the night. The air was crisp, and the smell of the water around them was strong. The start of decay in the leaves was on the slight wind, as well as the lingering smoke and ash from nearby chimneys. Autumn was around the corner. Another turn in the wheel.

“Got pretty far this time, didn' ya?”

Ienzo would have jumped if it wasn't for the heavy hand that rested on his shoulder. He looked up at the man that caught him, eyes wide. When did Braig get here? He would have heard him!

Braig didn't look mad. In fact, the man looked more amused than anything. Here was the King's ward, all the way out on a border patrol wall, by himself. The poor thing looked like a scared mouse caught in a trap. But Braig wasn't going to let him go, he knew that Ienzo would run. He was a tiny thing, but he was fast when he wished to be.

“You know you're not suppose to leave the castle unsupervised.” Braig knew he knew he wasn't suppose to  leave at all. Especially at night, when anything could happen. Honestly, they had all hoped that the scare in the courtyard with those creatures would have curbed the boy's urge to run away. Obviously that wasn't the case, as he was getting more bold with his attempts.

The grip on the small boy's shoulder was adjusted slightly as Braig lowered himself to sit down next to him. He wasn't letting go, but he'd be on his level. “It's a nice spot, but not too great for hiding.” But he could see the point wasn't to hide. Not really. If Ienzo wanted to hide and not be found, then he would be in a better spot. Braig and Xehanort had found the boy in the most impossible spots before. Braig knew the boy well, and Xehanort seemed to have a knack for thinking of where an upset child would go.

Ienzo frowned up at him, still not saying a word. Braig chuckled, use to that little pout. He was cranky he was caught. Cranky that it was him and not the big one that found him. Braig knew he wasn't the favorite, and that was fine.

“They're going to worry when they wake up and you're not in your room.”

Ienzo looked away from him, shaking his head. He didn't want to go back, not yet! His little fingers twitched, tapping at the cold stone below him. He could talk, when he wanted. But he did it so rarely that he was finding it difficult to find the words he wanted to say. Why he couldn't-

“It's okay, little dude. We don't have to go back just yet.”

Ienzo blinked, looking back up at him. Did he hear him right?

“Or did you want to go?”

Another head shake and small hands tugging at his jacket. Just a few more minutes. It was so calm.

“Okay, okay.” The hand finally lifted up from his shoulder to the top of Ienzo's head to still him. Maybe ruffle that hair, mess up the part Even tried so hard to keep neat. He stared down at the one bright blue eye that wasn't hidden by his hair. Sometimes it was so familiar. “I get it.”

Braig took a breath, content when he heard Ienzo do the same. Good, he was calming down. He was slowly realizing that he wasn't in trouble. Yet. He watched the boy settle down once more, looking back out at the waters. At the edge of the cliffs that seemed to surround them on all sides. Like they were in a crater.

Braig looked towards the horizon, seeing the deep purples and blues of the night sky start to shift. The sun would be coming up. How long had the boy been out here?

“You're very lucky it was Xehanort that noticed you were gone.” He said, not looking down. He didn't need to look at Ienzo to see the look of surprise and doubt. Why would Xehanort check on him? “He's got a weird tick he has. I'll catch him, walking in the middle of the night. Making sure everyone's breathing. I wonder if it's a habit he doesn't realize he remembers.”

Ienzo looked down. Xehanort also couldn't remember anything from before the castle. Only his name. A habit like that... Did Xehanort have siblings? He adjusted to living with many people fast. He wasn't too old, he couldn't have had kids yet.

“I was getting coffee for my evening round, and he got me,” continued Braig. Why Xehanort didn't wake Even or Ansem was in the back of Ienzo's mind. But if Braig was already awake... Xehanort must have heard him in the kitchens.

Braig could still see that Ienzo's body language was closed off. He was stiff, holding his knees closer so he could be smaller. He knew he couldn't run away, but he could close Braig off completely. That wasn't going to work out. Braig could just easily pick the boy up, but he didn't feel like getting punched by those tiny fists. His face was still sore and healing. His undamaged eye looked from the sky to the boy, then back to the sky again.

“I'll cut you a deal,” he began, knowing Ienzo was listening. “We'll stay out here until the sun rises. Then we go back home-- to the castle.” Braig mentally smacked himself for that one. Calling the castle home always seemed to upset the boy. It was understandable. He was young, and new to life there.

As much as Ansem and Even tried to make him comfortable, to teach him and prepare him for the future they saw for him... Ienzo seemed to resist every step. Ienzo clearly adored the two men, and followed them around like a baby duckling when allowed. But something in his heart made him waver. Braig could see that even now.

“Hey now, I get it.”

There was that phrase again. Ienzo seemed to doubt that Braig understood. But he didn't question it. He'd let the man believe whatever lie he spoke into existence.

Gold and blue looked out again, watching the colors slowly turn. A pale blue appeared at the very bottom edge. Clouds would become more defined as the light of the sun just barely started to peek out.

Ienzo felt himself more at peace as he watched the sun rise. Hearing the birds start to chirp before the light was even visible, feeling a little bit more warmth. Not quite enough to be comfortable, but enough for Ienzo to relax and stop locking himself up.

Braig felt the boy shift beside him, patting his head once more. He never did let go. “Pretty, ain't it?” He asked, keeping his eye on the mix of colors that painted the skies in front of them. On the stars that were slowly fading from view. “No where near as beautiful as the sunrises from my own world, but it's pretty damn close.”

Ienzo looked up at that statement, staring at Braig. This pulled a laugh at the older man, such a serious look!

“Yeah, yeah. Don't go blabbing it to everyone. But I ain't quite from these parts, y'know?” Braig grinned down at the boy, holding a single finger up to his lips. “As if I need to tell you to be quiet, eh?” A little tease where it was earned. Ienzo was a very quiet boy.

But Braig knew how to listen to him without ever hearing a word.

“Where I'm from the sunrises were the most beautiful across the Star Ocean.” He lifted his other hand up, gesturing to the last few stars they could see. “My town was known for it. The beginning of a new day was so special to us. It was proof we were alive. Proof yesterday happened, that tomorrow was a promise.” He let that hand drop to his side, his other moving from Ienzo's head back to his shoulder. He smiled a bit as he felt the boy scoot closer.

If he had to listen to the man talk he might as well steal his warmth. Ienzo let him continue, enjoying the precious minutes he was gaining from letting an old man go down memory lane. Ienzo's quiet was ruined, but he didn't seem to mind just one voice speaking. He was outside, he had space. He seemed content enough.

Braig described a World so similar to Radiant Garden. Ienzo was sure he never actually left Gardens at all. The tweaks were slight and it seemed too perfect, that Braig would leave somewhere just to end up in a land almost identical. But there were some details, that Ienzo couldn't quite focus on, that stood out just enough. How tall was that clock tower again?

Ienzo closed his eye as he listened, letting the image come alive in his mind. The rays of the sun felt different. The smell of the flowers belong to different species that were rare on their world. Slowly, Braig's voice was blending in with the sound of the birds and the waves that lapped at the edge of the world. Of the hums and voices rising in the air as the earliest of risers started to wake. Ienzo could smell fires starting once more. The bakery was getting ready for its day. For a moment he thought he heard kids shouting, but it was far too early for them.

Braig was still talking. What did he say? “Y'know, you remind me of him.” Of who? He couldn't bring himself to listen to the words he was saying. His tiny body was overriding his want to stay awake.

“Maybe one day I'll bring it back and show you.”

It was said so softly, Ienzo wasn't quite sure he heard it at all.

Braig felt Ienzo lean against him and waited for a few seconds. The breathing was slow and steady. He fell asleep. The illusion that had been summoned around them faded into reality. The man let out a slow, shaky breath as he watched a memory dissolve. This kid was trouble, using his magic like that without realizing it.

He looked down at the sleeping boy, gently fussing with the hair in his face. That was the ultimate test if he was asleep or not. As he almost moved it out of the way, he paused. No slap, no flinch or cowering away. He was out like a light. Carefully, he scooped the tyke into his arms, standing up with ease on the wall. Only a few steps to see if anyone could see them where they were before he let the air and space warp around both of them.

He walked right out of the void he summoned, laying Ienzo down into his own bed. He tucked him in, gently ruffling his hair, before stepping back through his own portal to return to the post he should have been at. No one else needed to know he got out of bed or what was said.

He really was getting too soft on the kid.

#ienzo #braig #fanfic #kingdom hearts #kingdom hearts fanfic #vibee write

[astyle-alex]

[Fanfic] Museum Mishap | the BatFam

I’m posting an older fanfic to kick off my attempt to be more involved with the Tumblr Fandom community!

Museum Mishap  |  Chapter 6/6

Fandom: the DC Universe, Batman & co. Pairings: Jay x Tim Characters: Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson Rating: Gen Audiences Warnings: None

Total Word Count: 38,590

Summary:

Middle-School Tim Drake is on a field trip to the Science Museum, but with a WE exhibition of top-secret new technologies being staged in the basement, Tim separates from his classmates and breaks into the staff-only areas by using the skills he's developed over years of stalking Batman and Robin.

Current-Robin Jason Todd catches him in the act, but he's not there to confront Tim for trespassing or truancy - he's there because there's a rumor on the street that Tim Drake knows Batman's real name. And the rumor's gaining ground, quick, drawing in the wrong kind of attention.

When a Drug-Lord decides to take the rumor seriously enough to kidnap the little genius, Jason jumps into the crossfire. It all goes downhill from there. Fast.

(Jason is 14, Tim is 12)

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Museum Mishap Chapter 6: Safe

           It’s five weeks after Jason disobeyed Batman’s orders to drop the idea of investigating the rumor that a random rich kid knew the vigilantes’ secret identities.

           Five weeks since Jason let himself be kidnapped by the upstart drug lord Lorenzo Sabini in an attempt to protect the kid who was Sabini’s real target – the kid rumored to know impossible things about Batman and Robin.

           Five weeks since Jason’s leg was broken – in the line of a duty he never should’ve been asked to shoulder, never should’ve been allowed to feel bound to carry – and Bruce Wayne rediscovered the impossible duality of being responsible for the life of a child that he’d somehow managed to forget. That had faded from his mind when Dick had grown up enough to go off on his own – without his Guardian having any legal say in stopping him.

           Batman has been able to bury the raging concern, the guilt he bears for introducing Jason to such a dangerous lifestyle – for not doing more to discourage his interest. Batman is able to silence the voice that says Jason acted honorably, if stupidly, by insisting that Robin needs to do better, to be better, so that he can keep the boy inside the costume safer.

           But Bruce is having trouble letting Jason heal.

           ‘Suffocating’ Jason calls his attentions, merely ‘stupid codling he doesn’t need’.

           Jason submitted to three weeks of strictly bedrest – a godsend if Bruce could ever believe in such things. He’d offered only mild resistance to being benched for six weeks – to rigorous and thorough PT, and light, careful exercise and a slow return to the training regimen that kept shaping Robin’s growing body into something more heroic than the average simple human.

           But there was no point in even trying to bring up the idea of retiring Jason’s pixie boots for good – of trying to convince him to stand down from the Vigilante fight.

           Bruce knows that, but he still tries it – once, in a terse conversation that gets shut down before he even makes it to the first point of reasoning – and then he swallows the rest of the worry and buries it in silence alongside his fury at Jason’s constant reckless disregard for his own safety. Bruce knows he can’t stop Jason, can’t force him out of the cape, so Batman vows to train him harder, push him further, make him stronger, make him faster, more durable, more prepared – keep him safer.

           It’s a compromise.

           And it has to be enough.

           Because Jason is already back on his feet.

           He broke his own way out of the cast almost a week ago – refused to apologize or sit for another casting – and though Alfred’s managed to somehow force him into a sturdy brace, guilted him into maintaining his use of the crutches… Jason’s been back inside the Cave twice already while Batman has been out – at least twice.

           The Cave’s security cameras have caught him on the Salmon Ladder the last two nights in a row – going through two sets his first night back, and four the next. So that was two nights, at least, that security footage showed Jason working out inside the Cave, but it was possible there were nights he wasn’t tagged on the Cave’s security footage. Dick had certainly learned to sneak down without being caught on camera. Bruce doubted that Dick would share his secrets with Jason – but it was not beyond possibility.

           Bruce kept meaning to add more cameras, to ensure that every inch of the cave was covered by an unblinking eye equipped with filters in Starlight and infrared, but that project kept getting sidelined somehow. He kept getting distracted.

           Because his kids kept getting hurt.

           But it’s been five weeks since Jason got hurt.

           He’s getting better, and his bullheaded determination is just the same as it was before the injury – the stubborn streak still apparent, now even more so if anything had changed.

           But there’s something else about Jason that’s different.

           Bruce almost can’t see it – almost convinces himself it’s not happening, because he’s so damn hopeful that it is happening that his chest constricts with this strange kind of joy or pride or something and he doesn’t know what to do with it.

           Because Dick and Jason are talking.

           Not fighting, talking.

           Alfred’s caught them playing video games. Together.

           They were supposed to be doing homework – Jason’s been back at school for three weeks and while Dick’s purposefully selected freshman college classes don’t require constant attendance, they do give assignments that need to be turned in online – but still…

           Dick and Jason are getting along.

           His adopted sons are becoming brothers.

           Bruce notices.

           And wants it to be real so badly that it hurts.

           Batman notices, too.

           But Batman notices other things, as well.

           Batman notices how the Wayne Boys have befriended the kid Jason got himself kidnapped alongside.

           Batman notices how Nightwing volunteers to swing off on his own every night for a cursory once over of deterrence through Coventry and around the area in the Upper West Side where Sabini’s gang and the rumors they’d acted on had run amok – had being the operative word, seeing as how the entire area had been scared so straight there hasn’t even been a purse snatching in over a month.

           Batman notices how quiet the supposed-civilian kid at the center of those rumors is when he’s home alone – which is often – how the only thing he talks about out loud, in range of Batman’s listening devices, is how much he admires the caped crusaders and how much he wants for their ramshackle team to work together as brothers and sisters in arms – to work through their issues and be a kind of family.

           Batman notices.

           And he watches.

           And he’s concerned by what he sees.

           So tonight, as Nightwing swings off towards Coventry – with a big smile and a wholly unnecessary flip – Batman decides to investigate the kid firsthand.

           The civilian’s name is Timothy Jackson Drake and he is twelve years old, enrolled as a sixth grader at Gotham Preparatory Academy Primary Campus. His parents are Jack and Janet Drake, famed globe-trotting researchers and archeologists, and the second generation of Drakes to head up Drake Industries – a leading Wayne Enterprises competitor. The Drakes reside in the mansion that neighbors the Wayne Estate – another statement of how DI both complements and competes with WE.

           Timothy Drake seems mostly unremarkable.

           He’s skipped two grades, and his teachers say he’s got a remarkable mind, but he lacks significant social skills and spends most of his time alone – tinkering with some project or other. He’s never demonstrated a particular drive to be anything when he grows up, but he’s applied to the Wayne Tech summer camps three years in a row – despite being under the age requirement – and his bedroom is littered with DI equipment and half-finished robots he’s clearly engineered himself in the hours and hours he spends unsupervised.

           Lucius Fox likes him.

           In the way that some people like puppies.

           Bruce isn’t even entirely sure how Lucius Fox discovered the Drake kid, but it’s in his files in the Batcomputer – Fox has his name on a recruitment list, circled in red sharpie with a smiley face next to it.

           So, Timothy Drake is a smart kid.

           But he’s just a kid.

           According to all of Batman’s information, Timothy Drake is just a kid.

           A civilian who happened to have a bad stroke of luck and got his name wrapped up in a rumor founded on nothing more than a junkie’s word and some evidence that the kid in question was a vigilante fan.

           Is still a fan, somehow, despite the circumstance that admiration landed him in.

           Timothy Jackson Drake seems like nothing more than a dedicated fan – a child, not a threat. But the evidence is so peculiar – there are ridiculously strong indications that the rumor carried truth, and yet… the notion that the child knows nothing is so convincing that Dick and Jason agree on it… which in and of itself makes the evidence seem suspect…

           Thus, Batman is set on investigating the matter further for himself.

           A twelve year old civilian would be in bed at this time of night, tucked safely into the labyrinth of the Drake Mansion.

           So as Nightwing peals away to the west, Batman plots a course northward.

           He’s planned this carefully. His choice of direction does not immediately alert Nightwing to his intentions. He’s been rotating where he patrols after splitting off from Nightwing, moving counterclockwise by a dozen blocks every few days. Now he’s pointed right towards the Robbinsville area, where he’s stashed one of his getaway vehicles – a rather bland, all-black motorcycle that’s nothing special, but is quick and maneuverable enough to get him to the Drake Estate and back before Nightwing realizes he’s deviated.

           He even has Batgirl prepped to back Nightwing up if something happens – Barbara is visiting her father this weekend and doing research for her own case in Chinatown. She might not be actively patrolling, but Batman had been sure to give her warning of his activities.

           He trusts her discretion, and he knows she would be as worried as him about Nightwing's probable – and possibly willful – oversight of the threat posed by Drake. Batman does not want to think Nightwing would be so foolish as to dismiss a threat simply because it doesn't seem actively threatening – or worse, because he wanted to curry favor with his adoptive brother – But it’s always better to be safe.

           So, Batman is tracking north – from slightly further east than he’d originally planned, drawn off course by what seemed to be a mugging, but quickly resolved as Batman ID'd a drunk man resisting as his friend took away his keys – and he’s determined to get to the bottom of Drake’s capabilities and influence.

           He’s about to swing down to the last tall building before the midrises and family homes of Robbinsville take over Gotham’s footprint when he spies a figure huddled on the rooftop.

           Had Batman been approaching from his planned route, he wouldn’t have seen the figure until he touched down on the roof – within easy knife throwing distance of the stranger, with no chance to react if an attack was imminent.

           Carefully, Batman swings around to the far side of the building and climbs silently up to roof level after landing on a balcony. He creeps close enough to ascertain that the would-be assailant is small – even with a massive jacket attempting to keep out the late January chill, the figure is miniscule… a child.

           Concern leaps, unbidden, into his chest as he wonders what could possibly bring a child onto a freezing cold rooftop in the middle of the night. The apartment building is not the lowest rent residence in the region, but it has its fair share of alcoholics and abusers. It would not be unheard of for a child to sneak away for what respite they can get and the Bat knows that this situation takes precedence to his Drake investigation.

           Batman is just about to announce his presence – From far enough away to hopefully prevent the kid from falling off the roof in fright, though he has his grapple gun ready just in case – when the kid shifts.

           An eerie blue glow lights up the crouching figure’s face as his phone flares briefly to life.

           It's Timothy Jackson Drake.

           Batman frowns, continues to silently observe.

           Drake curls more tightly around his knees. He huffs – breath turning instantly to steam that catches in the city's light – And mutters, “He should be here by now... There’s no sirens, no breakouts, nothing to keep him away… unless he’s not coming this way tonight… but he should be… he’s been moving north… but maybe I miss-counted the interval, or maybe I’m too far north… but this is the best vantage to check on Robinsv-”

           His mumbled monologue – which Batman is certain he is not intentionally speaking aloud – is interrupted by a sneeze.

           “Bless you,” Batman says, stepping from the darkest shadows.

           “Thanks,” Tim returns.

           A beat passes, and then Tim whirls around with a string of oddly pronounced Chinese curses spilling from his tongue.

           “Batman,” Tim breathes, awestruck and a little bit fearful.

           “Timothy,” Batman returns, “I hear you’ve been looking for me.”

           It’s true, the kid had just mumbled as much. There was no one else he could possibly be waiting for here, not with the details he’d murmured about having tracked to find him.

           “Um, kinda,” the kid admits.

           He’s not as surprised by Batman’s recognition of him – of the Bat using his name directly – as Batman would’ve thought. He is nervous though, antsy. Batman scans him for weapons, but nothing notable shows up in any of his cowl’s filters and the coat is too cumbersome for any shapes beneath it to be positively identified.

           Tim does have something in his hands, though – something he’s clutched close to his chest. Bare fingers glow ghostly in the night, tremble in the freezing air.

           It’s not a weapon that he’s holding, or a camera – like might be expected and acceptable from a fan. It’s a set of note cards. Note. Cards. Like he’s practicing for a speech.

           On an ice cold Gotham rooftop in the middle of the night.

           Bruce Wayne is thrown by that. Far enough to make Batman pause.

           Batman regards the kid standing before him in the darkness.

           Timothy Drake stares back.

           “Did you have a reason?” Batman asks eventually.

           “Huh?”

           “To be looking for me, did you have a reason?”

           Timothy looks down at his hands, at the half-crushed note cards he’s holding. “Yeah,” he says slowly, quiet with the kind of resignation Batman knows is guilt.

           “Well?” Batman prompts when Timothy offers nothing more.

           The kid flinches, and Batman fights a wince of his own.

           The obvious reasons Nightwing has for underestimating this kid assert themselves plainly. He is a child, small for his age and easily frightened. There seems no reason to suspect him of anything – except that he was waiting on a rooftop for Batman, intentionally. A rooftop even Batman didn’t know he would be visiting until about a week ago.

           “I’m worried about Robin,” Timothy admits. “And Nightwing, and Batgirl, for that matter, but mostly Robin.”

           “Why?”

           Another flinch. Bruce Wayne consciously tries to reel back the Batman ‘grr factor’, as Dick has termed it. And yet… Timothy clearly knows more than he should. Perhaps the gravel and growl is worth it to extract that information.

           “Because they need you to listen to them – that’s why you fought with Nightwing to begin with, right? You, um, you passed his mantle on without letting him explain why he didn’t want you to?” Tim’s actively struggling to make eye-contact.

           Batman doesn’t verbalize a response.

           He’s evaluating how this kid could possibly know what he does without knowing the names beneath the masks – it’s possible, he supposes, but extremely unlikely.

           “I get why you didn’t, he was still a kid and not very good at making his important points clear, but when he went to California, he didn’t want you to let him go, he wanted you to bring him home,” Timothy rambles, losing his battle for eye-contact.

           Batman scowls.

           Timothy swallows dryly. Consults his notes.

           “They need you to help them,” Timothy says.

           Batman’s scowl deepens, and he must make some sound because Timothy doesn’t just flinch this time, he yelps and curls into himself. His cards get squeezed so tightly they pop out of his hands and scatter across the rooftop. Timothy dives after them, but the roof is wet with the afternoon's snow shower and the antifreeze that keeps it from becoming ice.

           There is no recovering the careful presentation Timothy clearly had planned for this meeting. But Timothy isn’t willing to admit defeat immediately.

           “Timothy Jackson Drake,” Batman says as the kid in question scrambles with his wet paper, frowning at the smudged and ruined ink like he should have been able to plan for that – like he should’ve had a contingency.

           At Batman's voice saying his full name, Timothy freezes and stares up at him like a frightened deer.

           “Tell me how and why you have come to know so much about the relationships between the Gotham masks.”

           “That’s not important,” Timothy says. Quick, dismissive, like the point truly doesn’t matter in his world-view, or to his understanding of his place in it.

           “It’s not?”

           “No. What’s important is that you’re not letting them do their jobs,” Timothy accuses.

           And then he promptly freezes and stares up at Batman like he just then has realized not only what he said, but how – how direct and confrontational it was.

           “They don’t have jobs,” Batman replies, level and calm. “They are children.”

           “Not when they're wearing masks,” Timothy snaps back immediately. “When the masks are on, they’re vigilantes. Nothing else.”

           Batman narrows his eyes at Timothy's temerity.

           And fights himself to keep from agreeing with Timothy’s point. But his disagreement doesn’t make it any less true. No matter how much he wants to remember that under the masks the heroes who have joined his crusade in Gotham are children, he can’t ignore the truth of Timothy Drake's words: when the masks are on, they’re not children – They can’t be.

           Batman cannot ignore that – can’t pretend it away.

           But he can insist on one smaller truth. “They do not have jobs.”

           Timothy glared – actually glared at Batman in full cape and cowl and scowl – and said firmly, “Their job is to make sure you remember why is it that you do yours.”

           Batman blinked behind the lenses of his cowl.

           “That’s not how it works,” Batman defends. Weakly – he knows.

           But he’s not entirely sure what to do with this child, this strangely mature tiny human with hope and sweetness and innocence – and uncomfortably valid points – lecturing him like Batman is the errant child here.

           “You can’t possibly be that stupid,” Timothy says – a moment later looking wide-eyed and horrified by his words, yet still going on with speaking as if his mouth had detached itself from is brain and was running on a will of its own. “They care about what happens to you, which makes you care about it. They need you alive, and you – on some level, at least – recognize that need. It keeps you safer. And it makes you be a better person, in trying to set a good example for them to follow. And that’s important.”

           Tim pulls more air into his lungs, enough for another leg of his tirade, and goes on, “Without Robin, Batman is too violent, too aggressive… like Green Arrow starting to gain ground in Star City; you’re too much like the criminals you hunt to make a genuine, lasting difference. Without Robin, you’re just scary. Robin tempers you; makes you an inspiration – makes people believe that you aren’t just hurting bad guys, but also protecting good ones.”

           Tim manages to close his mouth and keep it shut after that – if only by the simple force of his clear mortification sealing off his words.

           “Timothy.”

           Terrified eyes peer up at Batman.

           “What do you know about us capes? There was a reason Sabini had an interest in you and I’m not convinced it was just a junkie’s word and evidence that you’re a fan,” Batman lays out simply – calmly, regaining control of this discussion.

           “I know that you’re necessary,” Tim replies in a squeak.

           Eyes narrow behind the lenses of the cowl.

           Tim ducks his head, fully aware that he has not answered Batman’s question.

           “I know that Gotham needs you,” Tim reiterates. “I don’t know who you are beneath the masks, and I don’t want to know. I just want to help you keep Gotham safe. Because I’m not a mask, I’m just a fan… but I can still help.”

           Batman regards the young civilian carefully. He has Jason’s spirit and determination, Dick’s unyielding sweetness, and Barbara’s practical acceptance of humanity’s flaws.

           “You don’t know our civilian identities?”

           Tim shakes his head. “I don’t care about them.”

           Batman does not believe him – does not believe that he doesn’t know, or that he doesn’t care. Timothy Drake knows more than enough to be dangerous.

           Dick has always been a terrible judge of character – in some ways, he always sees the best in people, in their potential – so his support of Timothy Drake as a non-threat means little.

           But Jason is the most astute observer of humanity Bruce has ever encountered – he can read a person’s entire psyche in a gesture, find their cracks and weaknesses and apply just the right leverage to break them. And he’s never thrown from thinking that a seemingly innocent person is capable of doing a great deal of damage – would never underestimate a threat like that.

           Case in point: how he hadn’t let go of the potential threat Tim posed to begin with.

           Jason had decided Tim was safe.

           Batman decides to trust his Robin’s judgement; Bruce puts faith in his son.

           Batman heaves a sigh.

           “It’s time to go home, Timothy,” he says. “This is no place for a child to be, and you shouldn’t be out at this time of night.”

           Timothy frowns.

           “It’s my city, too,” he mumbles.

           Batman takes no quarter and as soon as he gets a nod of permission – Jason’s taught him how to work with children who aren’t like Dick, with an insatiable desire for physical contact – Batman hoists Timothy up and settles him on his hip. Batman holds tight to the child and shoots his grapple gun to carry them down to street level. He sits Timothy on his motorcycle and speeds across the city to Drake’s own door.

           There is no one home.

           Concerning in a very different way.

           Batman knew the Drakes were away. Bruce didn’t realize the implications of that beyond how Timothy was left unsupervised – hadn’t until right now.

           “Do you want me to come in,” Batman asks, awkward and uncertain of whether it would help at all to walk the kid to his bedroom. Batman should not linger – should not even consider the idea of tucking this neglected child into bed – but Bruce cannot quite bear to drag himself away just yet. He needs to know that Timothy is safe.

           Timothy is staring at him like he’s shown up as Batman to a career day at school.

           “Why?”

           “No one’s home.”

           “No one’s ever home,” Timothy replied blankly, adding. “I don’t need a real babysitter, let alone Batman. But Nightwing probably needs backup.”

           Batman nodded. Accepted that he needed to push the Bruce in him down until they finished with the night’s patrol.

           Tomorrow he could look into Timothy Drake’s circumstances.

           “Be safe, Timothy,” Batman fare-wells. “Stay off the streets, and be careful, or this will not be our last conversation.

           “You be safe, too,” Timothy replies. “Or I’ll just have to find you again.”

           Batman almost chuckles. He waits until Timothy locks the door behind him, and then he takes his motorcycle back to where he’d stashed it across the bridge from Robbinsville.

           He meets up with Nightwing and finishes patrol.

           If he’s more reticent than usual Nightwing doesn’t comment.

           The teenager is still wearing the blinding goofy smile of his, broader now after a successful sweep of Coventry – no new rumors of Tim Drake. And he’d saved a cat from where it had gotten stuck on a gargoyle after it had slipped out of its apartment and ventured off an inopportune ledge beside the balcony.

           And because that’s the kind of hero Dick is, he chatters on incessantly about the cat and how it wailed and scratched him at first and yowled as he swung around the building, but then it purred and refused to let him go when it realized he’d brought it home.

           Beneath the cowl, Batman almost smiles.

           When he and Nightwing make it back to the Cave, Jason is not down there – the only evidence that anyone has been down there since he and Nightwing left is the snack left out for them by Alfred. Jason is in bed, asleep and dead to the world when Bruce slips in to check.

           Jason is safe.

           And Dick is safe.

           And Alfred and Barbara are safe.

           His family. Safe.

           And Tim is… safe enough for the moment.

           Tonight, Bruce will sleep.

           Tomorrow he will reevaluate the child and his circumstances.

           But tonight, Bruce Wayne basks in the truth that has a Family.

           And his family is home, and safe.

           It’s a foreign feeling.

           But a good one.

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[lesetoilesfous]

ON THE RIGHTS OF MAGES - AND THE LIBERATION OF THEDAS

(Here’s my version of Anders’ manifesto. I wrote it for my Fenris/Anders fic, A Song of Love from Long Ago, but I figured it might be fun to share with y’all. I cannot believe I have now written a manifesto for a video game, but here we are. Also, writing manifestos is HARD. Please be kind)

The Maker’s Children

Andraste suffered at the hands of magisters. Thus, she feared the influence of magic. But if the Maker blamed magic for the magisters’ actions in the Black City, why would He still gift us with it? The oppression of mages stems from the fears of men, not the will of the Maker.

Andraste said “Those who bring harm without provocation to the least of His children are hated and accursed by the Maker.” Perhaps mages are the least of the Maker’s children: if they were, would not harm without provocation break the law of the Maker?

What provocation justifies the harm of children in the eyes of the Maker? If a child breaks a pot, is this provocation? Without magic, certainly not. And yet with magic, I have seen children barely walking harmed severely for far lesser crimes. At what point is a mage child provoking harm? By using magic? This is as natural to them as breathing, weeping, laughing.

Can a follower of Andraste truly say they have listened to Her words, and obeyed them, when they would harm a child for existing?

Furthermore, are not we all children in the eyes of the Maker? Magic is more than just a weapon. It heals. It brings joy. Only turn your gaze to such apostates as the Darktown Healer for evidence of this.

If those who bring harm without provocation are accursed and hated by the Maker, what of those who prevent healing? Who would stop mages using their Maker given gifts, who would extort the free citizens of Thedas for the privilege, and keep their healers locked and beaten behind walls built by slaves?

No citizen of the Free Marches should live in fear of abuse. This includes the mages.

The Fereldan Blight

Where do donations to the Chantry end up? Following the Fereldan Blight, thousands of refugees found themselves on the shores of Kirkwall, neither welcomed into the city nor able to return home. This, surely, was a time for the holy sisters and mothers of the Chantry to act - for the Templars to act, to provide aid and safety to all in need.

Are we not all the Maker’s children?

But such action didn’t come. Hundreds died of their injuries below the cliffs of Kirkwall. Hundreds died of starvation and disease. Many who survived those first months and years came to regret it later, forced into work that was dangerous or illegal or both. What freedom is this? Can it be called Justice?

The plight of the Fereldans, like so many in our free lands, could have been eased by magic.

Mages can heal: even the most common hedge witch can prevent infection. They can help boil water and purify it, clearing disease. They can cook food, prevent illness. But where were Kirkwall’s mages, when they were so badly needed?

They were locked in their tower. They are still locked in their tower. Reader: the mages wanted to help. The Circle would not let them.

On Community

There is much that the poor of Thedas and its mages have in common. If you have lived as a citizen of the Free Marches, you have seen its injustices. You have seen the way in which ordinary people are treated by the rich and powerful. How many amongst you have lost a sibling or a child to an Arl’s lustful eye? How many have served in so-called noble houses only to be kicked and beaten like dogs? This is not justice. This is not freedom.

If you have lived with your head bowed, afraid of meeting the eye of the rich and powerful, then you know what is to be a mage.

We are not so different! Together, we are so much stronger than the sum of our parts. Kirkwall was reclaimed by a slave rebellion. We can free Thedas. Freeing the mages returns power to the people of the Free Marches, redistributing it across our lands. No longer are the mighty only those with coin enough to buy a sword. Our power is in our children and our neighbours, our friends and our lovers.

Our oppressors seek to divide us. They seek to make us hate one another, because it is so much easier and less frightening than engaging in a battle we may not win.

Remember these words: We can. We shall. We will.

The Matter of Tevinter

If Mages are to have their freedom, it cannot follow the route of destruction cleared by the Tevinter Imperium. Freedom built on the backs of slaves is no freedom at all.

Many believe that mages in Thedas see Tevinter as a paradise. This is not true. Consider the following, and you will understand why no mage should ever wish to be a magister.

Point the first: the matter of the elvhen. In the Circles of the Free Marches, there are many powerful, respected elvhen Enchanters. First Enchanter Orsino is a great example, a man with a reputation for kindness and just dealings. The human mages of Thedas are not taught to see elvhen people as below them. They are their colleagues and friends. No human mage would wish the perverse brutality of the Tevinter magisters on any one of their friends, on anyone at all. This includes the elvhen.

Point the second: the question of power. Not all mages are powerful. Their power, like the body’s strength, varies from person to person. If one woman can lift a hay bale, another boy might not. It is the same with mages. Some apprentices may only ever be able to summon sparks. Others can rain down fire storms. In Tevinter, weak mages face slavery and humiliation as much as those without magic. As with the body’s strength, ‘weak’ magic is normally tied to factors like diet, lineage, and illness. Our weak, our poor, our sick, would be enslaved. That is no paradise.

Point the third: common suffering. Do you truly think a mage who has fled across the Free Marches - who has risked Blighted townships and beast infested mountains just to seek their liberty, has no concept of how it might feel to be a slave? It’s true that the brutality faced by slaves in Tevinter is exceptional, and not every Circle is as cruel as that of Kirkwall.

But mages do know something of captivity. If you have too, you will understand why they would not wish to inflict it on another.

The Brutality of Templars

One of the most crucial arguments for the liberation of mages is the abuses of the Templars. Founded under allegedly noble principles, the order has become a sanctuary for the cruel and cowardly: people who hide behind the name of Andraste, and use Her name and kindness to excuse everything from needless humiliation to the torture of children.

Both within and without the Circle, the Templars rule with an iron fist, and it is the poor, the elvhen, the mages, who suffer for it. Unsupervised, corruption runs rife, with Templars extorting innocent neighbourhoods for protection money and inspiring fear in the vulnerable populations which they claim to protect. This is to say nothing of the illegal trade in Lyrium.

The working people of Thedas do not see a Templar and relax, knowing themselves to be safe and guarded by a servant of the Maker. They get out of the way. There is something wrong, here.

If you have ever known the edge of a Templar’s blade, consider now the plight of the mages. Most are sent to Circles in childhood, where they are kept away from the sun and open fields, where their magic is monitored and leashed. They are not taught to fight: why would they be?

Never mind that their Harrowing will demand the greatest struggle of their lives. It serves the Templars far more effectively to see their mages defanged and dull. If the result is a few teenage corpses which could have survived their Harrowing, had they only been taught how to lift a sword? So be it. It is a sacrifice the Templars are willing to make in the name of Andraste, regardless of Her will.

Free mages: apostates and hedge witches, must learn to fight if they are to survive, and resist the attentions of thieves and slavers, as so many citizens of the Free Marches are forced to do. But if you are an ordinary person, if you must work to eat, if you have ever known a Blight or been a refugee - then you understand the profound disadvantage at which lack of coin might leave you.

How can a poor hedge witch who has only ever served his community afford anything that will protect him from greatswords and plate armour? How can an apostate, with her stolen staff, hope to protect herself from cavalry and crossbows? We are hunted, like animals. And we are beaten when we are caught.

Magical Knowledge

The improvement of magical knowledge is a thing that is not only of use to mages.

Any person who has been treated by a magical healer should know this: because almost every healer owes what they know to the mages who have come before them. Circles have long been centres of study and learning.

Reader, it is not the Circle itself with which I take issue, necessarily. It is the removal of choice. It is control by the Chantry. It is the abuses of the Templars. It is the limitation of magical knowledge.

Due to an increasing atmosphere of paranoia and outright slander, the Chantry has begun to stifle magical learning with more and more prejudice in recent decades. The progression of magical knowledge in Thedas has ground almost to a halt, whilst our neighbours in Tevinter have moved forward in leaps and bounds. I do not, perhaps, need to explain to you the danger of having a power-hungry slave-trading nation at our borders which knows more of how to weaponise magic than we do.

Beyond the practicalities of war, perhaps the most egregious area in which this suffocation of knowledge has taken effect is that of healing. Issues that were solved in Tevinter half a century ago are barely understood here: treatments for chronic illness and disease, ways to ease pregnancy and childbirth, effective and safer methods of surgery. For what possible reason could the Chantry wish to limit this knowledge, and restrict the movement of those who could use it for good?

I can find only one conclusion. They fear mages more than they claim to care for their people. To use a Fereldan idiom: they would cut off the nose to spite the face. The Chantry has decided your sacrifice, your illness, your injury, is a price they are willing to pay. Have you?

Safety in the Circle

The fundamental principle behind the Chantry’s interference in the Circles of Thedas is, ostensibly, one of safety. They claim that the Templars exist to protect the mages - from external threats, from demonic temptation, and, if necessary, from themselves. The reality of course is that the Chantry oversees the Circles in order to control them.

The Chantry has at its fingertips a concentrated force of every healer and magic user powerful enough to present a threat to them. Thus, they stifle the possibility of rebellion. Thus, they wield more power across the Free Marches than any city-state.

Templars do not protect mages. Some might claim to do so, might even mean to do so. But throughout their training Templars are taught that mages are poisonous and corrupt, fallen from the Maker’s light, spurned by the mercy of Andraste. Combine this with the common side effects of the lyrium onto which they are weaned: obsession, paranoia, waking nightmares and delusion - and perhaps you can imagine how a Templar begins to abuse their charges.

Heavily armed as they are against unarmed mages as young as six, there is little that can be done to protect oneself from a Templar within the Circles. They see crimes and disobedience everywhere - agitated by their lyrium, haunted by their faith. And this is only those who would not otherwise have seen the opportunity to bully and intimidate hundreds of unarmed people and exploited it without hesitation.

Templars of both schools run rife throughout the Circles of Thedas - mad and cruel, they rarely see consequences for their actions. Instead, mages learn to live with these abuses, and do as they are told, even when what is asked for them is violent or humiliating. Even when it is a violation.

I repeat. There are mages in the Circles as young as six. Is this the will of Andraste?

The Freedom to Love

In the Circle, love is only a game. It gives the Templars too much power over the mages in their care if there is something they couldn’t stand to lose.

Can you imagine that? Being afraid to love, from childhood, for the rest of your life, for fear that you and your lover would be torn apart?

Over the centuries, mages have found other ways to share these things: coded languages and secret intimacies that are all we can borrow from the simple freedoms enjoyed by the people of Thedas outside our towers. We cannot marry, we cannot have children. We can only exchange secrets, and take one another’s hands in the hope that no one sees us.

If you are one of those who has loved a mage, you will understand something of the agony of this. If you have been in any way imprisoned, or abused, or enslaved, then you may well understand the things of which I speak. If you have not, I am afraid I cannot explain it. Only look at the people you love, and imagine being as afraid of your own affections as you are commanded by them. It is a terrible thing, to be afraid to love.

Instead, within the Circles, mages are forced to perform a twisted mockery of love. It is not uncommon for Templars to become fixated on one or more of their charges, driven by the madness of lyrium and obsession. The mages are asked to do ‘favours’ for their captors. I will not detail the nature of these things. Suffice it to say that there are children in our Circles, and that these are things that should never be asked under threat of violence, from anyone.

Tranquility

The Rite of Tranquility is intended to protect a mage and those around them from suffering the devastating effects of demonic temptation. It is, legally, meant to be used only on mages who have not passed their Harrowing. A mage who has passed their Harrowing has proven, at risk of their own life, that they are able to resist the many dangers of demons in the Fade.

However - not only have multiple mages who have passed their Harrowing been illegally made Tranquil, many more have been prevented from undergoing their Harrowing in order to force a Rite of Tranquility on mages deemed troublesome or, in too many unsavoury cases, desirable, by their Templar keepers.

Some mages request the Rite of Tranquility. This, to an uninformed reader, might be difficult to understand. I must remind you: we are taught from birth that we are poison. Corrupted. Demonic. Evil. We repeat these lessons daily. We are taught to love Andraste, we are taught that she despises and fears us. The most common cause of death for mages in a Circle is suicide. It is not difficult to find books on parenting in Thedas that suggest drowning a child is a better fate than letting them live with magic.

I am sure that there are some mages who make the choice to become Tranquil with a clear mind and peace in their hearts. But I am also sure that there are many who make the choice out of fear and self-hatred, sickness of the mind and grief of the heart.

Imagine how unhappy you must be to willingly forego the right to dream, to love, to laugh, to live freely and with feeling as you once did, only in order to cut away a part of yourself.

Then imagine that you could not, would not part with those things. Imagine the anger that has kept you alive when you were in danger, the grief you felt for those you lost, the love you have for your companions. Remember the joy you feel when you dance. Imagine these things being taken from you, against your will, because you disagreed with a Templar.

The Rite of Tranquility is unjust.

Every mage in Thedas fears it, and the Tranquil themselves - who are still thinking, living, breathing people - are treated as little more than slaves. At best, they are tolerated. But they receive no care, no reprieve. They make convenient workers because they do not possess the desire to protest. So they work.

If the mages of Thedas are to be free, the Rite of Tranquility must be abolished.

If the people of Thedas are to be free, we must treat the Tranquil with respect and dignity, as we should do to all. They are people. They must be treated as such.

Revolution and Freedom

It has often been said that if those who are oppressed seek freedom, they must pursue their cause with non-violent means. It strikes the writer that it has most often been said by those who wish to perpetuate oppression, or else live among the ranks of those powerful and privileged enough to live freely and safe from harm.

Who, in our society, defines what we count as violence?

Is it violent to imprison someone for the rest of their life because of who they are?

Is it violent to remove children from their parents?

Is it violent to force lovers apart?

Is Tranquility violence?

Peace is, always, an ideal to which we must aspire. Violence is chaotic and unpredictable. It is not moral. It cannot be moral. None of us can ever predict the true consequences of our actions.

However, if one group of people assigns moral superiority to their own violence and calls it Justice, what must we do then?

We are asked, told, taught, to turn the other cheek as we are beaten. Our priests demand that we accept our suffering as divine, even when it is borne from the hands of men.

I do not wish to start a war. It has already begun. I only want it to end.

We cannot defeat an army without violence. Others have tried. They were murdered.

My people are dying. Our people are dying. Children are dying.

We must fight.

It will not be perfect. It will not be right. The greatest lie ever told is that there is morality in violence. There is only suffering, and survival.

But I am a man, and I love my people. I want to survive. I want to be free.

I believe it is the right of every person, in every land, to live freely, to love freely, and to exist without fear of abuse.

If you agree, reader, I have one final question.

Will you join me?

#long post #anti chantry #da2 #anders #anders was right #mage rights

[quirklove]

As payback for Eri, headcanons for Chisaki being forced to babysit a bratty kid while working around his new prosthetic arms? Let's make the bugger suffer! >:D

this ends on a cute note, but rest assured that before they got that point, tHIS MAN SUFFERED GREATLY HE IS STILL SO TERRIBLE AROUND KIDS

it’s kinda long, oops, ya girl went wild XD

and I FUCKED UP THE READ MORE AGAINS, SORRY

KAI

Well, first things first, nooooobody trusts this man to look after a child totally unsupervised… even his S/O. Well, probably especially his S/O. He isn’t left alone with the kid for longer than maybe a minute, is closely monitored, and probably also has a ton of cameras trained on him that he doesn’t even know about. (He probably assumes he’s being watched like that, but he’s never told about it.)

The kid is, simply put, a super-powered super-brat. He has the ability to negate the Quirk of anyone he touches for five minutes if he wants to, and in fact the child was specifically chosen because his Quirk is similar to Eri’s. The people observing Kai’s interactions with this kid wanted to tempt him, because at this point in time, a lot of the limits in his prosthetics have been removed; he has access to Overhaul with very few restrictions, which means he could very well attempt to use the child the same way he used Eri. By choosing a child with a negation Quirk who has boundless energy, is a handful, and thrives on pushing people’s buttons, Kai is in a situation where he has to exercise restraint and prove that his views and ideas have changed.

… Luckily for Kai, he truly has changed by this point. That doesn’t mean he isn’t frustrated by the child’s behavior, of course. He’s never had to chase a kid around before, especially without the use of his Quirk to tear down and build up things that might be in the way. His S/O is there if he needs help, and yet, every step of it is a challenge. It’s the kind of thing that Kai has never once in his life prepared for. Good thing he’s a pretty physically fit man or he might really struggle keeping up with this kid.

Getting the child dressed? Nope, he wants to wear his underpants on his head and run around naked. At the very least, this doesn’t affect things too much, because Kai can still dress a screaming little boy without the use of his Quirk. Feeding the child? Well, Kai usually cooks using his Quirk, so… the kid’s probably getting a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for lunch instead of the nice meal he was going to make. Playing with the child? Okay, here’s where most of the problems are. Kai… isn’t good at ‘playing’. Particularly with these prosthetics, he has a hard time getting into that mindset because he’s just such a serious person. He doesn’t get on hands and knees to give ‘birdy rides’, he doesn’t do video games, and he’s definitely not going to the playground with the kid. Things are ― honestly pretty rocky.

This child does not listen!! He keeps touching Kai’s mask! Even when told not to! He even asks if he can try it on, which is so horribly offensive to Kai’s sensibilities that he can’t form a response to it beyond a wide-eyed, incredulous look toward his S/O. This kid can’t be serious.

Eventually, Kai says that if the kid stops taking away his Quirk and stops touching the mask, he’ll show him something really cool. What he ends up doing for the child is taking apart different action figures and making new ones from them, with the promise that he’ll turn them back to the original way they were if the kid doesn’t like them. Thankfully, though, this child is absolutely mesmerized by the process and adores that he’s got new toys that were made from his old ones. He even manages to get Kai to join in on playing with them, with the two of them creating a story with the action figures that’s all their own. Once Kai has used Overhaul to do something that makes the kid happy, he relaxes. He’s more in his element. He plays a great villain with the figures he takes over, and the kid loves it. He also probably gets bonked on the head several times because this child thinks the face he makes is hilarious.

Nap time is the best, hands down. Kai’s S/O sits down on the couch, with his head in their lap, and the child curls up against Kai… though, this is immediately after bath time, naturally. (Name) turns on some quiet music and Kai does his best to guide the kid in a sort of meditation until he’s asleep. Kai is next to fall asleep, and although his S/O stays away, they do close their eyes, running their fingers through Kai’s hair and through the child’s. Bonus points if Kai wakes up partway through, thinks his S/O is asleep, and runs his own hand through the kid’s hair before drifting back off.

When it’s time for the child to leave, he touches Kai’s arm one last time, taking away his Quirk before grinning and giving the man a big hug while saying something along the lines of, “I had fun today, Chisaki-san! Can we do this again?”

Maybe… not right away. Kai isn’t ready for this kind of thing on a regular basis yet. That said, he’s surprised to find that he did have a good time too, once the kid stopped being a gigantic pain in the ass. He knows things could have gone smoother, but it wasn’t so bad, and he’s finally starting to learn what is and isn’t acceptable when it comes to children. The officials observing are very likely also cautiously optimistic about the results of this visit.

“― Wait a second. (Name).” “Yeah, hon?” “That little brat stole a pair of my gloves.” “Oh, whatever.” The fact that this doesn’t make him irrationally angry or run after the kid demanding the gloves back is… serious growth, as far as everyone else is concerned.

#My Hero Academia #Boku no Hero Academia #Kai #Kai Chisaki #headcanons #platonic #romantic #drama #domestic #hOW THE FUCK ELSE DO I TAG THIS???? #keep in mind that this is him TRYING dhfdklajfadlk

[namjoonchronicles]

rkive | nj

↳ namjoon, you

↳ 5k words

↳ 1/3 ‘take your wife to work’ fic

↳ husband!namjoon, domestic au, fluff

A soft caress on the side of his face as he lay asleep in the middle of your bed, invading the side that you assigned to yourself. You glide your hand down the length of his shoulder down his forearms before leaning down for a trail of kisses all over his cheeks.

“Wakey, wakey, baby…” you brushed your lips and spoke in gentle hushes, “you told me to wake you up at 8.30am, it’s now 8:35.”

He moans sleepily in return, eyes shut while his hand wildly search for the ends of the duvet, attempting to pull them up to cover his shoulders again. Of course. You passed the opposing wall a blank stare, the I-knew-this-was-gonna-happen face. You climbed on the bed, over his sleeping body, and to the curtains before yanking it open. Namjoon did nothing more but whine, rocking his body side to side--just like a child throwing morning tantrum. “Come on,” you knelt next to his lanky legs, his toes peeping out the ends of the duvets that didn’t manage to cover his whole being. He sat up after a while and leaned his forehead on your back. “I’m so sleepy…” he murmured.

“I can see that, so I brought coffee…” you reached the back of his head with your right hand, fluffing his bed hair. You feel him smiling against your back and how his lips moved to the back of your neck. “This is honestly why I married you…” he added a low deep chuckle that wasn’t intentionally sexual.

“Glad to be your honorary coffee maker…” you retorted and switched to face him, sitting on the bed still, to cup his face, “I am extremely underpaid.”

He began thumbing your side with a drowsy smile, almost drunken, chuckling. “With added benefits, I believe…” he pursed his lips, with his heavy-lidded eyes, fishing for a kiss. You clicked your tongue after a quick peck and pushed his face away before he could deepen them, giving him a lopsided smile, “In this economy? Sounds too good to be true if you ask me…”

“Am I asking, though?”

You took in a steady inhale, and your eyes turned into thin slits, peering at your husband and his snarky reply so early in the day.

“You will treat me with respect. You will treat me as a wife,” you prodded his chest with your index finger, “Or you will no longer have one.” You cocked an eyebrow and moved away from the bed despite him holding on loosely, “Hurry the fuck up, the pancake is getting cold…” you disappeared outside. Namjoon pushed both the heel of his palm on the mattress with a smile playing on his lips. His wife is feisty and he loves it. He won that conversation and he knows it. As soon as he stepped outside with the mug you coaxed him awake with, your phone camera was on him. He is being followed very closely.

“May I know what these footages are for?” He said, looking down the water washing down his mug. You zoomed into his fluffy arms. He wore tanks to sleep and his BCG Vaccine scar showing up pretty nicely from the distance you were filming him at.

“For days that I terribly miss you,” you passed, “Because even though you’re always on your phone, you never have time to send me a cute self-portrait, so I’m making a video for myself…”

He fills his mug with plain water now, leaning against the counter, his black tank showing his ribs from this angle, he took a mouthful sip before talking through the mug, “For days you missed me? Am I hearing this correctly?”

You nodded from behind the camera, and Namjoon lifts his face and placed his mug aside, “Come here,” he ordered.

“Why.” “Just get here.” “No.” “If we’re saving that for our times away, shouldn’t there be a memorable scene.”

Intriguing, you thought.

“What do you have in mind--” “--you know what I have in mind.”

You had to stop recording because he was getting rather bold with his words and facial expressions. Sitting on one chair, you sat on his lap while sharing a plate of pancake, drenched with honey. You grimaced at the first bite he fed you. “How are you eating this much sweetness…” you commented.

“To chase away the bitterness of the coffee…” he shoved another bite-sized into his own mouth. You set your phone to lean against the vase, to shoot horizontally. “We’re back filming?” he asked, his palm gliding up and down your lower back, glancing once in a while at the camera.

“Is this camera going to follow me when we arrive at the studio building later?” he asked, looking at the food and then at you for confirmation. “Yes… you have a problem with that? You want to sue me for it?” you challenged him a smile, biting your lips and he broke eye contact immediately, scoffing. “Can you afford the legal fees going against me?” Namjoon licks the residue honey on the corner of his lips. “Now you’re just showing off your big dick energy, big boy…” you circled your arm around his neck and retorted, “Isn’t that what got you interested in the first place?” “Wow, almost six years of marriage and you still don’t know that I’m only after your money,” you nuzzled the tip of your nose on his.

Namjoon closes in, whispering hotly against your mouth, “I don’t care if you’re only using me for my money, I only want to earn for you...honey.” He embraces your lips with his own, kneading the flesh together in a rhythmic motion, with literal honey still lingering on his tongue, fully aware that your phone is filming his every move. He made sure that his tongue made a glimpse as it enters yours, him passing a glance at the lens from the corner of his eyes as if to remind himself that he was being recorded.

“I want a copy of this footage later,” he spoke in hushes, against your ear as you give the camera your clothed back. His dark brown eyes darting at the camera as he sinks his teeth onto your shoulder, playing the staring game with it.

“Who cares about what you want,” you darkly chuckled.

Brushing your teeth next to each other become a routine, now that he’s home more than he leaves the country. He pokes your side and pinched your cheek at any chance he gets, so that’s something. Something about being home with him felt natural but extraordinary because he rarely gets to do so in the early years of your marriage. “You know, when you rap, there’s this vein on the right side of your neck protruding out, and I think it’s so sexy…” you traced the length of the vein with your index finger, tiptoeing next to him, by memory.

“You think everything I do is sexy,” he shot back, and spit out foams into the sink before rinsing off with little thought. “But am I wrong though,” you pushed his entire body as he bends over with little strength, and he stumbles to the side a bit.

He leaves the bathroom with a playful kiss on your clothed butt cheek, hollering, “Of course you’re right. You’re always right…” on his way out. “You’re choosing my outfit today!” You reminded him.

“Got it!” He yelled from the walk-in wardrobe.

“I’m thinking of something sophisticated yet modest...something shapey but not too tight, maybe a little loose,” his index finger on his chin as he trudges forward then back repeatedly, “I’m thinking Versace?” He took out a printed silk blouse with blue pants.

You walked out with a black purse, commenting, “I look like a rich man’s mistress on a Mallorca getaway, spending his hard-earned money while he fucks another 19-year-old blonde, and I get to purchase a very handsome male companion with an Italian name like, Emanuele, whom I bore a child with; so I can get a run for the rich dude’s money when I file for divorce.”

Namjoon let out a delicious moan, “Very scandalous. I like it too.” He lifts his butt from the couch and followed you out the door.

“But if you were my mistress, I wouldn’t be fucking anyone else and Emanuele shall never exist. It’s just you, me and Mallorca,” he shut the door behind him and it automatically clicked locked.

He fastens his seatbelt while you fixed the rearview mirror because it’s been tilted in a weird angle after a sudden roll in the car the other day. You just can’t stop touching each other whenever you guys were left unsupervised. This is why you both have no friends apart from his members. “If you liked the veins in my neck, then I love the sexy mole on the apex of your left thigh…” the belt clicks while the car engine hurls on.

“How on earth did you remember I have a mole there? What’s with the sudden compliment about my body?” you eyed him with suspicions read all over your face. “It’s super sexy. When I think of it, I get super horny? Also, you have like three very prominent moles, from my memory… the thigh, the pinky toe and one behind your right ear,” he clicked his tongue while the car moves out the parking lot.

“The details of that description is honestly disturbing,” you shot, steering the wheel with both your hands, “We’re not going to be long in the studio building right? I don’t trust you being there with me without getting handsy, knowing your touchy ass.” You eyed him up and down, giving him a side glance with a slight warning. “Whenever I see you, I don’t want to behave…” Namjoon leans over to your side, grinning.

“See, this is what I’m talking about…” you darted emotionlessly.

You have never been inside of Namjoon’s office. Not since they moved. Namjoon said he renovated his studio again, changing the soundproof walls--or as you call it, sponge walls that offers a great cushion for any rough acts. Both of you are terribly explicit and have too many inside jokes for anyone to keep up with. Most of your friends can’t tell if you both were fighting or basically roasting each other to no end. The sarcasm gets too raw and merciless at times, coming from two very sensitive people the world had ever seen. Namjoon and you are like lovers who secretly hate each other when you’re around people and strangers, but can be very lovey-dovey when it’s least expected. That’s why when you took yourself inside the building after waiting for about twenty minutes in the car, you declared an insult to Namjoon who was on the phone at the time.

You immediately retracted silently and blinked repeatedly. Even as he extended his arm at you, you were cautious at the receptionist who was there waiting on her work station, standing up at Namjoon’s wave--that indicates he needed a paper and pen. You stood next to him as he listens attentively to the caller. When he hangs up, he scribbled a few more words that made no sense to you. “Babe, I think our trip is going to drag a bit longer since someone will be expecting to meet me in an hour,” he underlines a name twice and the receptionist bowed to you while Namjoon used his keycard to gain access inside the staff-only area. You saw that the place had large lounges.

“Can I expect an exclusive building tour with my husband?” you gave a pair of hopeful eyes and he was honestly so whipped for you, that it took very little for him to abide by your request. He had always wanted to offer you a tour of his new studio. Since he had been actively requesting several rooms and units in this new building to be made under his orders.

Staff lounges. Game room. Pantry. Everything is sleekly designed, with modern vibes. High ceiling and good lighting.

“This is where Taehyung sometimes lives, the game room,” Namjoon used his keycard to gain access to the exclusive room. “Where the recording studios at?” you wondered and Namjoon’s face switches into a goofy smile. He pointed his thumb to the hallway behind him, “This way, ma’am…” he walked sideways in order to continue looking at you.

The studio was everything you imagined and more. The intricated equipment on display, the recording booth. Your lips parted slightly in a wide smile, at awe of the place your husband spent most of his time in. This is where Namjoon regularly works in. He’d be sitting in one of these chairs, monitoring the recording session with high fidelity headphones around his head. You imagine him being all serious with his music and your heart flutter like a schoolgirl having a crush on a bad boy down the alley she wasn’t supposed to fall in love with. Namjoon pulls a chair out and sat at the same time you did. You couldn’t stop scanning the whole room with sparkling eyes. You never thought you would see it in real life. You’ve heard many songs recorded in this very room and you couldn’t help being absolutely awestruck.

“Where do you sit?” you asked him. “Right in that seat, you’re sitting in, recording engineer. BangPD sits here and Pdogg hyung, on that chair, usually,” he pointed to the long couch in the room.

You rested your elbow on the armrest, your chin on the heel of your palm, spinning softly in the chair that belonged to him. “Look how far you’ve come… this is. This is amazing, you’re amazing, you know that baby?” you gave him a glance, pursing your lips and returned your attention to the setting of the studio. Namjoon appeared bashful and you didn’t have to look at him to know that he’s turning red. “I’ve always wondered about your early days...how you began. How you bravely chose a path none of the people in your shoes would. You go against the wishes of your folks, and take the storm head first,” you paused, speaking with a little shake of your head, and, “Why are you so goddamn brave? What triggered you? Who was Namjoon before he is Namjoon? Do you know how much hazards there is for boys your age to embark on a hiphop journey? Drugs? Prostitution?... missing classes? The horror your parents must have faced, you naughty boy.”

Namjoon covered the upper part of his face, hiding his laugh right after, giggling. “I wasn’t a naughty boy…” he said.

“Sure you are.” “Am not, I promise…” he rested both of his elbows on his knees, thigh widespread as he sat facing you. The view of the studio as the background from your side, “I just remember wanting something so much that my inside feels like it’s ripping if I ever abandon it. I knew, I just knew that I want to be a musician, no matter how difficult it was going to be, or whom I may lost on the way...even if it means, myself. It’s not just hiphop to me, I found family, a brotherhood, a pact, a passion I couldn’t find anywhere else…”

You mirrored his actions, and touched the tips of his fingers with yours, lacing and unlacing them, “You’re capable of everything. That’s what your teacher told you.”

“Yes, I was capable of a lot of things… but none of it appealed to me. I could bow under the demands of conventional educational system, do what I do without an ounce of soul in my power--forever wondering if this was the life I truly wanted, knowing that I’m good at something else…it was very difficult to tell my father, especially,” Namjoon reminisce, his eyes dropped to the floor as the pain clearly never left his mind.

“You were starved for days, and stood at a corner within a circle as a punishment,” you spoke in place of him. He drops his head and then nodding. His pocket money was taken away. He had curfew. His family did everything they can to prevent Namjoon from seeing his brothers from the hiphop scene. He skipped classes while simultaneously doing well in his studies despite pouring his entire passion into music instead of his school books. The boy who sleeps in the back of the class from attending rap battle almost never failed any of his quizzes and exams. His treaty with his parents was as follow: if I manage to maintain a good score in classes, you’ll let me do music.

You cupped his chin in response to his silence, and made him stare into your eyes, “I, am proud of what you were, what you are and what you’ll become… and my love may not be enough to fill the holes you have in you, all the flaws you thought you have, and shortcomings that you’re afraid of showing… but I will always have your back, through thick and thin,” you granted him a chaste kiss on his lips, making a squeaking sound, “Even if we ever end up divorcing.” You smiled against his ear lobe. “If I ever made you think about divorcing me, you can rightfully pull me by the dick and I’ll make you want me again,” he commented.

“Can I go in there?” you pointed to the booth. “Absolutely,” Namjoon shot.

He watched you skipped towards the entrance of the recording booth with a fond smile. The speaker buzzed on, and the green light above turns on while the white tile outside the studio indicating, “In Session” lights up, simultaneously.

He lowers his mouth to the microphone, and pressed the intercom button before he speaks. “There’s a headphone on the neck of the tall stool if you put it on you’ll hear my voice better… without the echo,” he watched you put on the very headphone and you gave him a gleeful thumbs up like a kid putting on a fire suit at the fire station tour. Such an excited little baby, Namjoon thought.

He increases the receiving volume and told you that the microphone in the recording booth is up and ready to receive any sound and that you could say anything you want.

“Nice tits,” you bit your smile and pointed to him while drawing a heart shape with your index fingers. Namjoon gave you a fool in love grin, with a dumbfounded chuckle. Of all the things you could have said, you settled on that. This is what he loved about you. The fact that you could be tastefully affectionate, riddled with deep conversations he truly enjoys--at one point, and be an idiot, the next. It’s true what they say, that the union ripens with time like a fine wine. The longer you were together, the more you’re helplessly in love with one another. The secrets to the everlasting marriage? Consistently hitting on each other to no end.

Namjoon had to leave for the meeting. He is monitoring a recording session in the studio next door and at first, you were there to watch him work. But after a while, you felt like you haven’t finished exploring the entire building. As he stood by the chair of the sound engineer-in-charge, you tugged on his sleeve to have him leaning down so you could whisper in his ear. He nodded in return, crossing his arm, putting on his work mode as he straightens up. You grabbed your purse from the black long couch to leave the studio in a hurry and grinning excitedly all the while. Before you leave, Namjoon reminded you to, “Be careful. Keep your phone on at all times…”

Not long after you stepped out the studio, Namjoon tutted his tongue, shoving his hand to the back pocket of his jeans for his keycard, before rushing out the same door. His keycard at the end of the lanyard dangling meters away from the floor. You spun around at the call of your pet name and sped back to him. He had his lower half of the body inside the studio still, wanting to make sure you get access to all the rooms in this buildings. You kissed his chin and put the lanyard around your neck, turning away. Namjoon watched you enter the lift and you waved back at him enthusiastically. He is very much enamored by his wife. 

You’ve always wanted to know what it’s like to be in their wardrobe area. Most of the attires are owned by the company, and the stylist sometimes designs clothes that would suit them.

“No, I want my Gucci’s here today!” You heard a fairly familiar voice, coming from the hidden halls of the large space intended for clothes’ only. “Taehyung?” you guessed. The pretty boy came out from the dividers as if he walked out of a magazine shoot. Pink tinted glasses, flowery printed dress shirt with striking yellow trousers. Wrist decorated with multiple bangles and rings on fingers. Once he locked his eyes with you, he puts away his phone immediately. The person on them was still talking. He taps the ‘end call’ button and you blinked at him.

“Mrs. Kim Namjoon…” he recalled, letting on some sleazy drawl at the end of it. His expression was nothing at all polite. “Who’s day did you ruin with that abrupt end call, Taehyung…” it wasn’t a question, just a mild reality-check for the fantasy-stricken boy who sometimes needs to be called out.

Taehyung visibly shrinks twice in size as he plopped on the couch next to you. “...what’s bothering you sweetie?” you rubbed his back, joining him.

Taehyung took some time to reveal what’s on the inside, but that’s just typical Taehyung. He’s a little-guarded soul with glittering fences. Let’s so few in, but entranced all others. How could he not, with his handsome good looks and honey-dripped voice. He wanted to become a good lyricist, just like Namjoon is. You could tell their work apart because even though Namjoon’s work is poetic, Taehyung prefers to fall into the beauty of imagery as well as metaphors. Taehyung has a vivid imaginations a fellow artist and writers share, but he describes it differently.

“Retail therapy isn’t a thing, is it, noona?” he added an awkward chuckle at the end of it, laced with the bitterness of a lonely soul. “It is only a thing when you do have money,” you replied honestly, and from the sparkles, in his eyes, as he beamed at you, you knew he appreciated the sincerity.

“I’m trying to write a love song, but it had been sitting on my desk for about a week now… I kept trying to imagine a situation of being in love, but I’ve never been in it, so how will I write something I know nothing about…” his shoulders dropped as he sighed out the words, “I kept getting dissatisfied with the imagery I come up with, feeling that it’s not enough or too much… Namjoon hyung won’t have these problems, would he?”

You propped your elbow to rest on your knee, chin on the heel of your palm. Your wedding ring sparkling under the light of the hall. Nose scrunch as you showed disagreement on Taehyung’s accusations. Your eyes shot to the corner of the room along with a click of the tongue.

“Namjoon has a different approach on solving writer’s block. Yours happen to be retail therapy, and Namjoon, well Namjoon, sometimes he reads a comic book.” “Namjoon hyung has you. I have no one…” “That’s not true! Sometimes when we both deal with something difficult, we don’t talk about it to each other from the get-go, and that’s one of the flaws in our marriage that we’re still working on,” you paused and inhaled, “Being in love and staying in love are two different things… love is flawed. It’s nothing perfect. Listen, about your songwriting… Have you consulted anyone about it?”

“I’m consulting you…” Taehyung goofs, “But literally I’ve spoken to everyone including Yoongi hyung about it, but nothing helps.” “Your efforts will pay off, buddy,” you patted his forearms twice, “...maybe you’re too focused on it and it has stopped you from viewing in another perspective.”

“You guys talk back each other a lot, even in front of us, is it really like that back at home when no one sees?” Taehyung asked, and you could see from his face that he was a little amused. “Sometimes, I mean… Namjoon and I, we don’t hide anything from anyone. What you see is what you get. If I don’t like something he’s doing, I’ll call him out on it. Vice versa. We tease each other to no end, if that’s what you’re asking…” you shrugged. “Do you guys ever fight, like really fight…” he mirrored your movements, clawing his chin, as he scratches the stubbles under his jaw. “Definitely...Definitely,” you stressed on the second time you said it.

He’s stubborn, you’re stubborn. You want things to go your way, he wants things to go his. You’re all about managing finance, and he’s all about spending it. He wants a house outside the country and you want one close to home. You talk about priorities and often questions his. Emotional, spiritually, physically.

“Things will change when we have children, I promise you,” Namjoon once said. The way he laid it out so frankly, didn’t convince you one bit. This conversation has occurred once too many time and you’re starting to feel that the marriage you built on this foundation is beginning to brittle underneath the weight of his fame and responsibility. “I hope so…” you said in a whisper, barely believing what you said.

“I guess in marriage there is a lot of tolerance and understanding? Because when we think about the things that we did in order to build this relationship as strong as it is, makes you want to keep it that way, even through the occasional ‘earthquake’ and ‘mudslides’... He got options, I got options, but we’re here now, and that’s all that matter isn’t it?”

His lower lip protruded out, as he was thrown deep in thoughts. The common understanding is that love and marriage co-exists, but the longer a couple stays together, the more their friendship is put to the test. That’s why it’s important to befriend your partner before falling in love with them. At least, when the love ends, the friendship remains.

You excused yourself for wanting to see the rest of the building before Namjoon comes back and wanted to go home. It’s not every day you could roam around the most famous building in the country, home to many famous producers and their studios. This is basically your version of Disney World. This is where the magic happens. Seokjin once took a picture of the building rooftop garden and ever since you saw it, you’ve always wanted to take a look at the views from up there. It was as breathtaking as you expected.

The blue cloudless sky is turning to orange zest, floating in the air as the sun descends to indicate the day is almost ending. You’ve been here all day.

“It will take two minutes, he says,” you spoke to yourself, “It won’t be long, he says.” You carefully leaned your elbows on the wooden rails to watch the busy streets downstairs. All the red light and the white light decorating the traffic underneath you. Busy people everywhere. All rushing to go home to their loved ones, finding food and winding down after a hectic day. Namjoon never gets to spend that. He never was the one for a 9 to 5 job, because to him, inspiration can strike him anytime. There was this one that he stopped in the middle of eating because he had an idea on how to change the beat after the chorus belonging to a track. Or this one time he sat in bed, stripped down after a steamy lovemaking session because he knows what verse to write. You’re still salty about that.

Not because he started working right away. But because he doesn’t give himself a time to be just Kim Namjoon, the Kim Namjoon that has a wife and a normal life. Is this what he’s going to be when he has a kid, later?

We’ve spoken about kids before. We spoke about that a lot.

“I guess in marriage there’s a lot of tolerance and understanding…” your own voice piqued your thoughts as you rode the waves of reminiscing.

From Namjoon’s point of view, he understood that you too had given up so much for his work. You were patiently waiting at home, dutifully understood your responsibility as a wife, the homemaker, and he knows what troubling thoughts you might had had whenever he’s away. Just the same as he is.

As he works, as he tries to tirelessly be present in this studio where he stands, you are always in the back of his mind. And things don’t change even if he’s out of the country, performing, lecturing, educating, analyzing, designing. He ensured that you get calls from him, texts from him, pictures of what he’s doing and where he was. Always making sure you feel safe despite the distance. Because he saw how little you thought of yourself because he saw how your smile faltered when he spoke to his stylist, because he caught the hesitance in your voice when you feel slightly inferiored. He understood all the thing you didn’t have to say out loud. Because it’s hard to be in love when you’re two continents away.

“Because hey, you’re the famous one between us two,” Yeonjun spoke through the microphone. He got the pronunciations clear and in pitch. Namjoon slammed the stop button and tapped the pad of his index finger on his chin. “Alright, go home. We got it,” Donghyuk--also known as Supreme Boi; managed the recording with little hiccups. Yeonjun skips outside, beaming because it had been a long day for him as well. Namjoon gave him a shoulder squeeze and acknowledged his skills. Donghyuk carefully wraps up while noticing that Namjoon had plunged into exhaustion onto the black couch. “You gotta go thank your wife for that line, bro,” he gushed. Namjoon shuts his eyes and laid the back of his head on his wrist. “I’ll tell her that…” he drifts. Donghyuk spins his chair to face Namjoon, and tilted his head to one side, “I thought you said you came here with your wife?”

Namjoon rolls off the couch and dashed out the door at once. He tried to call her but she was on the phone with someone else. He walked past the pantry, past the lounge, past the wardrobe hall--but she was nowhere to be found. She’s not in the cafeteria too.

Namjoon headed back to his studio and there you were.

Sleeping on your side, on his black couch, curled in a ball. Koya the koala plushie in your arms, you don’t even use the armrest as your pillow. Namjoon slowly shut the door, making as little sound as possible, and knelt next to you. Wonders in his eyes, his dimples shallow and his lips curved into a small gentle smile. Softly, he tucked your baby hair behind your ear and thumbed your cheek. He ghosted his lips over the skin just above your eyebrow and shut his eyes as he stamped a kiss on them. You didn’t even stir, you must be really tired. He hooks his finger on a drawer underneath his work desk and took out the blanket you knitted for him to use on his nights away from home and spread them on you so you could stay warm.

With the lights dimmed to perfection, Namjoon manages to move you on top of him. “We have to head home…” he whispered. And it your dazed state, you said, “I am home.” Your nails scratching the thin fabric of his shirt, as you nuzzled your face into his chest where your ears are pressed against the soft thuds of his heartbeat.

“Home is wherever Namjoon is.”

And whenever he isn’t around, you’re homesick. He placed his palm over the back of your head, and slide it down your spine and then up again. With a soft exhale, he shuts his eyes and held you tighter--in the comfort of his studio, Rkive.

“So…” he begins, flickering eyes towards the on-going streets and then to you, who was driving beside him, “There’s no chance I’m going to get the footage you had been earnestly recording, right?”

“Correct,” you shot. The car radio plays rather dimly, in the background, just as preferred. You had a feeling that Namjoon will exercise his rights as a husband or as he’d like to call it, your non-negotiable life partner to gain his portions of the videos you made for his own selfish pleasure, so you attempt to hide the smile that was itching to get out, because right here, is where he lay out his arguments.

“You know, I’m the one that came up with Jungkook’s nickname ‘the golden maknae’...right?” he slowly shifts in his seat, covering his philtrum with his index finger, panning the view outside the moving car. “Known fact for someone who had been supporting you for a while, yes…” you quirked, in an elegant tone of someone who has the upper hand of the situation.

“Don’t you ever wonder if I were to give you a nickname, what it will be?” “...no, not really.” “A dictator.” “You’re just picking fights with me because you know you won’t get your hands on the videos. Are you seriously going to call me a dictator because I didn’t give you what you want? Did it ever occur to you that you don’t deserve the footage?”

Namjoon lands his palm over the expanse of your clothed thigh, a very possessive gesture that you’ve grown numb to. “Let’s negotiate…”

“Negotiate what…? All the negotiation is not up for discussion.” “I can make your footages a lot spicier.” ‘I like them sweet and bland; unlike your corrupted mind.”

He smirked, “Do you? Do you…?” “Siri, play Do You by RM.” And just like that, his smirk is gone. There’s no changing your mind, is there? Namjoon has to be a tad more creative. But he liked the challenge.

That’s why the moment he stepped into the apartment, his eyes darkens and his lips turned into a Cheshire grin.

Read the rest of ‘take your wife to work’ fics!

#rkive #bangtan bys #bts #bts fnafic #bts fics #kim namjoon #namjoon #namjoon scenarios #knj #nj #bts x reader #bts fanfictions #namjoon smut #rm #kpop #namjoon x reader #angst #husband #husband bts #bts sma 2019 #namjoon x y/n #reader insert #fluff #namjoon imagines #namjoon x you #namjoon x oc #marriage au #domestic fluff #husband fics #domestic au

[omegawizardposting]

thisisahideaway replied to your post: BotW may be the only video game I ever make fan...

Tell us about your characters, do you have a Rito one?

/KICKS DOWN YOUR DOOR

YOU ASKED FOR IT!

Right now they’re all mostly concepts; I don’t have any names, and I’m still working out their backstories. I want to make them so that they can be independent from the main storyline, but also be integrated into it if I ever decide to give them any relation to Link.

Anyway, so far, I have:

A Sheikah youth who blames the Sheikah for the fall of Hyrule, and as such has abandoned his tribe to forge his own path. In short, he believes that if the Sheikah had left their ancestors’ technology buried, Ganon wouldn’t have had the army he used to devastate Hyrule--and perhaps Princess Zelda would have had the time she needed to seal him away. He could be treated as somewhat of an antagonist, trying to stop Link from seeking Impa out and learning of the Divine Beasts in the early game, and then facing him again before entering each of the Beasts.

The above Sheikah probably has a twin brother still with the tribe, but I don’t have much on him yet. He’s definitely the gentler of the two, and might set out in search of his brother when he realizes Link has awoken. (Hyrule becomes a pretty dangerous place after that; he can’t let his brother run around unsupervised!) Could serve as a companion to Link, or a fellow traveler he meets now again, like Kass.

A former Yiga Clan member whose heart was swayed by Link’s courage and determination to protect Hyrule. Big comedy relief vibes, but also lots of potential for a tragic past. I’d like to explore the psychology of a Sheikah raised to hate Hyrule, and I think he’d have some interesting dialogue with my other Sheikah defector.

Trans man Gerudo? Hello? Imagine the chaos! Male Gerudo are destined to become king, so what do you even do in that situation? Does Riju have to step down? Do Gerudo recognize trans folk? (I’d imagine they would have another name for it, of course.) What if Riju does step down, and the trans Gerudo doesn’t want to be king? What if he leaves Gerudo Town specifically to avoid having to deal with a huge political scandal?

For the Rito, I’m leaning towards a secretary bird. Hell, Rito are so fun and can be so varied, I might make multiple, but right now, I’m definitely thinking a hardass secretary bird. He’s an accountant; somebody has to help the local shops keep track of their sales, especially when Link’s in town. Also, he may or may not keep pestering Link to drag Kass home by his tail feathers, “HE HAS FIVE DAUGHTERS, CHAMPION! FIVE! THIS IS WHY I NEVER ASSOCIATE WITH BARDS!”

Still thinking on my Zora. You’d think I’d have him pegged first, since the Zora are my favorite race in BotW, but choosing a shark to base him on is harder than I thought. There are so many good boys in the sea.

Of course, I’ll have Hylians as well, but they’re a little less fun to work with than the other races, so I’ll just have to wait for inspiration to strike.

#thisisahideaway #replies #god #my rito's gimmick #is just that if you go back to the places kass was after solving the shrine puzzles #he's there #'FIVE DAUGHTERS CHAMPION!' #you hear him cry #and you ride away very quickly #zach's ocs

[alwaysbewoke]

"You know, he's only mean to you because he likes you!"

Cast your mind back to the playground. Aaron and the other boys are playing tag, and he won't let you join in. The louder he insists, the harder you try to insert yourself, the situation escalating until Aaron sticks his leg out and you go flying. If he was trying especially hard to embody a cliche, he might even pull your pigtails. So far, so normal. Kids are cruel and weird. As a kid yourself, you're doing a pretty weird/normal job of processing the exclusionary nastiness ... until you hear from Mom that sometimes being treated badly is actually a good thing. "You know, he only does that because he likes you!" she says, spinning the meanness as a compliment.

Even worse, you're at that age when you can detect that "He likes you" means something different here, even if you're not quite sure what. There's an implicit idea -- perhaps in part because you don't understand -- that it's a special condition of feeling. As such, it entitles its "feeler" to a whole different criteria for good and bad behavior.

Mom is trying to prepare you for something she knows you won't understand, that soon boys are going to start acting strangely, that you're about to spend the rest of your life misinterpreting each others' motives. But "He's mean because he likes you" is such a tragic and bizarre introduction to the idea. It's like having your driving instructor begin the first lesson with "Remember, sometimes pedestrians scream because they're happy!"

Even if it seems harmless on the playground, wait until high school, the workplace, cohabiting relationships, and marriage, hoo boy. He's calling every three minutes because he loves me. He hits me because I drive him to it, his passion overflowing as violence. Even if it's true that the boy on the playground acts badly because he has a crush and this is his weird preteen way of processing it, that doesn't need any reinforcing.

"Why don't you have the party here? I'll pick up some snacks!"

You're somewhere between 13 and 18 and you are going to have A Party. It's been weeks in the planning stages. Someone's big sister has been coerced into doing the booze run. Someone's parents have been stupid enough to OK a get-together and leave their house at your collective mercy. The stars have aligned, the fates are in your favor, and this is the most excited you've probably ever been. A whole evening of unsupervised, uncomfortable, elated nonsense!

The prospect has practically had your teeth chattering. What do you wear? He'll be there. Which song will be playing when your sparkly hair clips convince him to kiss you instead of Charlotte? What is the right ratio of soda to vodka?

Of course, hearing your mom's cheerful "Why don't you have the party here?" is nothing compared to the obviously life-ruining "You're going to that party over my dead body" or even "Be home by 11." But therein lies its stealthy power. You could justify a teenage tantrum over your attendance being vetoed altogether, or even a curfew, but how to rebuff the thinly veiled bid to oversee proceedings disguised as an innocent offer to host? You are suddenly playing a subtle, deadly game.

How to articulate that any amount of meddling would crash the imaginary ecosystem of this social event, where everyone likes your shoes and laughs at your jokes? Or that you're both too old andtoo young for the kind of party where snacks play even a supporting role? How to refuse categorically without letting on that homey safety is kryptonite to a Successful Evening? You wriggle quickly and smilingly away. "Oh, Lila's parents will be home. They've already taken care of everything." Now you can only pray that she doesn't call to verify this.

"I'll leave you lovebirds to it!"

This one is said when a young girl is about to be left alone with a young boy, regardless of relationship or circumstances. Maybe he's the weird son of Mom's friend from work. No! Don't leave us to it! He breathes through his mouth!

At that age, it seems incredible that she can't pick up on how much you don't want this to happen. The intensity with which adolescent feelings are felt (I've never hated anyone as much as I hated my math teacher) would lead you to believe that they can be felt by anyone in their orbit. A teenager in love is one thing, and should be as legible as Times New Roman to anyone paying attention. A teenager seething with disgust, though, is strong as a poltergeist. How can she not know?

So while you can't believe that your mother would think you're enjoying the way her boyfriend's nephew is eyeballing your braces, she's only thinking of you when she suggests the two of you take a joint trip to the corner shop. You walk as far away from him as the pavement will permit. You shudder when the heavy breathing intensifies after bumping into each other, fumbling by the till. This will happen again and again. "Oh, here's the offspring of my roommate from college. When's the wedding, amirite?" How to break it to her that you're more interested in his sister?

"You know you can always talk to me about your sex life! I remember when your father and I first got together ..."

This invitation to spill your beans probably crops up before you even have any to spill. Sure, there's a whiff of something. Maybe she's caught you gazing at a classmate at school pickup. Maybe you tell too many stories about Amy's brother when you come back from her house. "Amy's brother doesn't listen to that band." "Amy's brother said he liked my jeans." "Amy's brother, Amy's brother, Amy's brother Amy's- brother, Amy's brother."

Anyway, someone told your mother that it's important to be open about these things. She wouldn't want you to develop a complex, would she? What better way to ease your discomfort than "I remember when your father and I first got together." WELL I REMEMBER WHEN I DIDN'T HAVE TO PICTURE MY PARENTS HAVING SEX.

"You can always talk to me about your sex life" just serves to highlight your lack of one, which is especially bruising when sex is all you think about -- tinging the corners of your heavy-breathing dreams, chronically manifest in your peripheral vision, but just out of reach. Knowing too much about it will recontextualize innocent fantasy into something scary and dirty. Hey, you've seen people making out in films. That lingerie ad. Then there was that video clip Paul sent round the class. You got through 12 seconds before switching it off like a scary movie.

Of course, these scraps and gaps have generated so many questions that it's hard to know where to start. And your mother would be more than happy to explain "why people make those noises" and that no, you don't "stand on your head to stop getting pregnant." But you will refuse these invaluable pointers. The final nail in your pre-adolescent coffin would be to hear that your parents were at it more than you are (not hard, but still unfair). Sex isn't sex yet, but what it is belongs to people your age -- fumbling, yearning, et al.

You'll get over this, but it's a hard pill to swallow that is offered A) when it is most crucially needed and B) when you couldn't be less receptive to it. Give it ten years, and you'll be calling her after every bad date.

"Are you sure you're happy? By the time I was your age ..."

You're cleaning up together -- look how responsible you are! -- after a family dinner. Back in the home you grew up in, and moved out of, just for the evening, or maybe the weekend. Either way, this is you as a proto-adult: feckless as ever, but somehow funding a life beyond the cocoon. Conversations like this are sprung when handwork is available. You don't have to look at each other, there's a time limit imposed by the activity, and silences can be filled with industrious scrubbing, etc. Variations include "How's the novel coming along?" and "Why don't you call Childhood-Friend-With-Whom-Your-Relationship-Ruptured-Very-Painfully-Somewhere-Along-The-Way?"

"Are you happy?" is the killer, though. Amidst a lifetime (or at least an adolescence) of cringing every time your poor mother tries to join in or make your life easier, this is the splinter beneath a thin nail built from half-truths and self-trickery. The end of that WMD of sentences is some version of "by the time I was your age, I had you and your sister," "I'd met your father," or "I'd already started working at [place she'll be working at until retirement]."

She asks because she worries about you, but that just means that managing her worries is another thing you've failed at. Answering in a way that will ease her fears isn't easy when the truth is you're not single out of some concerted effort to make peace with yourself before launching into a relationship, or renting because you "like the flexibility." That you are, in reality, lonely and poor.

On the one hand, maybe Mom doesn't know what a digital marketing account manager is. On the other hand, maybe that is not a job anyone sensible wants in any sincere way. Maybe she just doesn't recognize how, even though your boyfriend is always hungover at family lunch and doesn't pick up when you call on a long weekend, he's actually really artistic and authentically himself. Maybe your latest diet looks like an eating disorder, your latest phase a personal crisis -- and then again, maybe it is. God, Mom, you've sent me down a spiral! "I'm doing fine!" you'll say. And some day, you'll probably get that same answer from your own kid.

ladies, thoughts?

[d3-iseefire]

Gold to Airy Thinness Beat Chapter One

First chapter of my FemCaptainAmerica story (cause I love female main characters and I love Captain America so it’s two of my favorite things COMBINED. I also think it fits the story a lot better as I explain in a note on the first chapter but that’s just totally my opinion is all :D :D).

You can read the rest here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7597150/chapters/17288674

"You were what?" Stephanie asked, unable to keep the shock from her voice.

Bucky grinned at her, the fake one he used when he was trying to convince everyone, including himself, that everything was fine when it was anything but.

"Drafted," the words were like a death knell, the light around them dimming at the sound. "I'm going to fight."

"No, Bucky," Stephanie blurted. Bucky. No one would call him that in the military, her mind informed her irrationally. No one would know him well enough, would understand the history, the character and the personality that created the man she knew as Bucky. In the military he'd simply be a name and a number. James Buchanan Barnes, a soldier, more fodder for a war that seemed destined to never end.  

Her voice had been louder than she'd intended and several patrons in the small diner turned to look at her in disapproval. Stephanie ignored them. She wasn't in the mood to be a quiet, demure lady who sat and held her tongue while the only family, blood or otherwise, she had left told her about being drafted into a war that seemed to have a talent at taking living men from their homes and returning them in body bags.

His grin faltered and that did get her attention. She took a deep breath, trying to get herself under control. She doubted it would fool him any more than his attitude fooled her but they both played the game regardless. "Have you received your orders yet?" She managed to keep her voice steady with only the slightest hint of tension.

"No," he said, his eyes moving away from hers to some random point in the diner, "but it won't be long."

Stephanie felt sick. Bucky was exactly what they wanted in a soldier, fit, athletic and in amazing health. Not a single physical, or personality, defect to get rejected over. He was attractive too, the steady stream of girls constantly swarming him was testament to that. Even then Stephanie was aware of at least four in the diner who couldn't keep their eyes off him and two more who were trying to sneak glances when they thought their dates weren't looking. Bucky would be the one the cameras would gravitate to, the reels in the theaters using him to showcase the armed forces. It might work in his favor, might keep him safer as one of the faces of the armed forces...or it might not.  

The two of them were as different as night and day. Even if her medical file didn't read like an Encyclopedia of Disease she was too small, too fragile and delicate and, most of all, too female. She'd never added her sex to her list of physical defects before but, right then, it seemed the most glaring one. From the beginning she'd been struck by the video reels in the theaters, images of the Nazis and terrified civilians, soldiers marching forward to meet evil. She'd thought then that, were she a man, she'd have signed up, volunteered to fight. As it was, the only options open to her were nursing which she wasn't trained for, or a secretary which simply wasn't what she wanted. Now, with the knowledge that Bucky would soon be sent off without her, a face suddenly given to the mass of faceless soldiers she watched in the theaters, the war suddenly far more personal than it'd ever been before, the unfairness of it all hit home even harder. Why should she have to stay behind when she wanted to go while he had to go when he wanted to stay?

She found her eyes on one of the girls openly staring at Bucky. She was pretty, all curves and hips, long legs turned to the side and crossed in the hopes of gaining Buck's attention. On any other given day, she'd probably already have it. Bucky was a serial dater. He'd had a lot of relationships but had yet to have one either of them would classify as serious.

Stephanie looked nothing at all like that girl, or any of the usual sorts of young women Bucky dated. She had zero curves. Her chest had taken a vacation during puberty, coming back only at the very end to present her with breasts so small she could barely justify the need, or expense, of a bra. If it weren't for her hair, currently in a thin braid down her back, most would probably mistake her for a... for a boy...

She sucked in a breath and felt adrenaline surge through her. Her eyes widened and she straightened in the chair. The idea was insane but also caused a bright swell of hope to spring up inside her.

"What?" Bucky asked, his voice flat. "What have you thought up now?"

She wasn't stupid enough to tell him. Instead she simply smiled brightly at him, a genuine one this time. "Nothing."

Bucky's eyes narrowed in suspicion but there was little he could do about it. He knew better than anyone how stubborn she was.

He scowled instead. "I don't know if I'm more worried about going over there or what's going to happen to you back here without me to pull you out of whatever you get yourself into."

Stephanie rolled her eyes. "I can take care of myself."

He gave her a look of disbelief and she knew he was thinking of the many, many, many times he'd had to save her from being harassed, or outright assaulted. She couldn't abide bullies and any time one reared their head she'd find herself going after them. The fact that many of these bullies were men, and most were significantly larger than her was what Bucky claimed kept him awake at night. She'd been pushed around more times than she could count, roughed up and even outright punched in the face a few times, usually by those who'd had more than a few beers first. It had led to Bucky developing a serious hero complex around her, as well as a deep seated paranoia about leaving her unsupervised. The longer he was gone, the more likely it seemed he'd come back to find her about to get her bell rung. His worry had gotten worse now that her parents were both gone and his had moved away. Stephanie wasn't exactly what one would call social, leading to Bucky being pretty much the only person she considered a friend, or family, in all of Brooklyn. "I'll be fine," she insisted again. He'd have enough to worry about over there without adding her to the mix.

He didn't look convinced. "Just promise me you won't do anything stupid while I'm gone, alright?"

She rolled her eyes. "Like I could. You'll be taking all the stupid with you."

"You're a punk," Bucky said without heat. He reached for his wallet and tossed some bills on the table, more than enough for her meal, his untouched milkshake and the tip.

"Jerk," Stephanie retorted with a slight smile. She started to argue she could pay for her own meal only to have him raise an eyebrow in a clear challenge, daring her to try it after he'd let her slide on not giving him the promise he'd asked for.

Stephanie scowled but didn't press the issue, instead simply giving him a look that was half glare and half concession. The grin of triumph he shot back had her narrowing her eyes and almost, almost reconsidering but, in the end, she let it go.

Bucky was better off than she was financially. His job at the warehouse paid quite well while she made far less as a secretary. He was always trying to pay for everything they did together, the theater, dinners and the like. If she refused he'd pull out a hurt look that made her feel eight kinds of guilty, even if she did know he was blatantly manipulating her. Bucky was not her personal bank and, in spite of the almost constant trouble she got herself in, she did not need him to take care of her. Usually.

They left a few minutes later, Stephanie absently wrapping both arms around Bucky's bicep as he walked her home, much to the annoyance of the girls in the diner who had set their caps toward him. Stephanie barely noticed, too deep in thought over her slowly growing plan. She did notice the tension in Bucky's arm. When she was deep in thought she tended to walk into, and off, things which meant any time she held Bucky's arm, to keep herself oriented, he automatically worried. She squeezed his arm in reassurance, hoping he'd think she was just worried over him being drafted.

What he didn't know wouldn't kill her.  

***

She chose the name Steve Rogers for her enlistment form. It was close enough to her own that she felt she'd answer to it when called. The last thing she wanted to do was sit there like a dunce because she couldn't remember the fake name she'd put down.

She wrote it down five different times. Five different recruitment offices, five different enlistment forms, five different places of birth to keep them from putting together it was her over and over again.

She got in the door easily enough. She'd chopped her hair off the day after Bucky told her he'd been drafted, a fact which led to many disapproving looks from people on the street but it was worth it. Her job threatened to fire her for being unprofessional and looking like a hooligan, their words, but had calmed down when she'd claimed a jerk on the street had stuck gum in her hair and her only recourse had been to cut it. Bucky had been stunned when he saw it. She'd given him the same gum excuse she'd given her job. She was sure he saw right through it, particularly when she claimed she hadn't gone after the person responsible and couldn't give him a description so he could track the jerk down, but she was hopeful he wouldn't figure out what she was actually up too. It was pretty insane after all, even for her. Granted, if anyone could put it together, it'd be Bucky but she was banking on the fact he was too preoccupied with getting his affairs in order to put it together. It helped that she didn't see him as often. He spent all day working and the rest trying to get things in place so his life wouldn't fall apart while he was gone. It meant she didn't have to make repeated excuses to him about where she was and what she was doing. There was no possible way he wouldn't have picked up on something then.

Getting a pair of trousers and shirt was also easy. Bucky had given her a key to his apartment ages ago so she could go in and out as she wished. His place was closer to her job than her own and she would occasionally go over on her lunch break to relax when she got worn out. In return she'd prepare dinner for him and leave it in the icebox for when he got home. On one of her trips she scrounged around in the back of his closet and found an older shirt he'd planned to turn into a rag and a pair of trousers he rarely wore. He'd never miss them and she wouldn't feel as bad over having to alter them to fit.

After that it was just a matter of walking through the doors of the enlistment center. No one questioned her gender. Her age and physical ability, yes, given her size, but not her gender. The first time she tried it she was hopeful. Everything went so smoothly she was almost sure it was destiny guiding her way, right up until she was shown into a room full of shirtless men and ordered to disrobe so they could check her physical readiness.

She'd feigned sudden illness to get out of that one with her dignity, and modesty, intact. The next time she'd deliberately picked a center that had separate rooms and beds set up for medical checks. She'd hoped to beg her way in, tell the doctor her story and throw herself upon his compassion and mercy.

The doctor had, in fact, shown mercy, by not having her immediately arrested for falsifying her enlistment form. The third and fourth had not been as kind. The third had chased her out while the fourth had physically thrown her out. Admittedly she had offered him a bribe so it was understandable he'd taken offense. She really should have known better but had been at the point of desperation. The hard landing in the street caused cuts to her hands and knees from where she'd impacted the cobblestone. It had taken Bucky all of a half second to notice and she'd had to explain it away as tripping over her own feet, which had led to good natured teasing from him for days.

The fifth had been the worst experience, and the most demoralizing. The doctor had offered to help her, leading to a surge of hope only to dash it almost immediately by adding he expected a "favor" in return. The lewd way he'd looked at her had made the nature of the favor he wanted abundantly clear. She'd ended up kicking him in his knee, one of several moves Bucky had taught her, and stalked out with her head held high and her back straight.

It was only after she'd snuck into the dressing room of a nearby department store to change and begun walking home that her shoulders had started to droop and a deep sense of depression and resignation had settled over her.

By the time she reached the rickety stairs leading up to her small apartment her feet were dragging and her eyes were fixed on the ground.

She didn't notice Bucky in her kitchen until she'd nearly walked past him and he cleared his throat to get her attention.

She jumped a foot and whirled to see him sprawled out in a chair facing her, one arm resting on the table, the other on his leg. Stephanie opened her mouth to yell at him, only to snap it closed at the sight of the uniform he was wearing, the hat that completed it on the table near his hand.

"You got your orders," she said, her heart falling to her feet.

He held a slip of paper up between his thumb and forefinger. "Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes of the 107th at your service."

Part of her wanted to imagine it was someone else. That somewhere there existed a James Buchanan Barnes who would get up and go overseas while Bucky, her Bucky, would stay behind.

Dimly the rest of what he'd said registered. The 107th. The regiment her father had fought, and died, with.

It was not comforting.

"Where have you been?" Bucky continued and there was the slightest hint of an accusation in his voice that made Stephanie think perhaps he hadn't been as oblivious to her being up to something as she'd hoped.

"Nowhere," she responded shortly. She walked past him stiffly, heading toward the cupboard to make coffee. Well, an approximation of coffee. The real stuff was rationed, and expensive. "When do you leave?"

"Two days."

The mug she'd been in the process of pulling out slipped from her hand. It hit the edge of the counter, cracked and rolled off, shattering on the floor in a smattering of shards about her feet, the sound loud in the otherwise quiet apartment. Behind her she heard the sound of the chair scraping across the floor and then Bucky's boots on the wooden floorboards in the living room. He returned with the dustpan and small brush she kept in the hall closet. He dropped to one knee at her feet and swept the glass up, the shards rattling into the pan.

Stephanie tried to get ahold of herself and reached over him to get a new mug. As she did she was horrified to feel her eyes beginning to burn and mentally cursed. She angled her body away from Bucky and tried to not blink, looking up slightly as her vision blurred as if that would somehow keep the tears in check. She very rarely cried and didn't want Bucky's last memory of her before shipping out to be her blubbering like an idiot. After a moment the feeling faded and she surreptitiously reached up and wiped quickly at her face, trying to pass it off as if she was merely dealing with an itch.

Bucky dumped the shards in the trash and put the dustpan away. He dropped back into his chair and sat in silence, absently tapping the edge of his orders against the surface. He looked deep in thought over something, his eyes fixed on some spot in the far off distance. When he got like that he often forgot where he was, or that he was with anyone. Stephanie left him to it.

It was only when she set a steaming cup of not-quite-coffee in front of him, and sat down with her own, that his eyes returned from wherever he'd been and refocused on her.

"So, I've been thinking."

"That's a first," Stephanie cut in and he glared at her.

"Punk."

"Jerk," she shot back. She raised the mug to take a sip of the hot brew and did her best not to grimace. He caught it anyway and snorted before looking away with a frown.

"Ah, to hell with it," he muttered under his breath a few minutes later. He shifted in his chair, reaching into a back pocket and then tossed something at her. Stephanie caught it instinctively She felt cool metal in her hand and looked down to see a slender, delicate looking gold band lying on her palm, a diamond set into a gap at the top.

"What is this?" she asked blankly.

"Pretty sure it's called a ring," Bucky replied dryly.

Stephanie resisted the urge to throw something at him. "I know that, smartass. Why are you giving it to me?"

"Language," Bucky said absently, not meeting her eyes. "Why do you think? I'm leaving tomorrow. I want you to marry me before I go."

#Captain America #Steve Rogers #Bucky Barnes #Winter Soldier #Female Steve Rogers #Female Captain America #Marvel #romance #fantasy #fanfic #fanfiction #superhero