#these kids need some supervision

[radioactivepeasant]

Snippet Thursday: Mistaken Identity

Actually quite long (about 42 pages in my tiny notepad), because it's a full one-shot rather than part of a multi-chapter idea. Although that's not to say I won't add pieces later

The distress beacon had been Sig’s, but the shape lying limply in the dust was most assuredly not Sig. The gathered Wastelanders looked at each other with grim expressions: this felt like a trap.

"Circle around," Damas signed to the driver of the second car, "Check for an ambush. I'll see if it's one of ours."

"Be careful," the woman signed back. A dimple between her brows suggested that under her heavy scarf she was frowning.

"I'm always careful."

Even so, Damas took extra care in approaching the crumpled form, gesturing for Kleiver to follow him in case of attack. He'd assumed that the person -- or corpse, hard to tell at this distance -- would be larger up close. But as he drew near, the figure remained small, and slight. They were dressed like a Havenite from the Slums, wearing stained, threadbare layers of clothing. A filthy scarf and dismally battered goggles half covered matted green hair; they didn't seem to have any more protection from the sun than that. Foolish Havenite.

Two small animals lay beside the stranger, breathing shallowly. Pets? That seemed an unusual step for Haven, letting an exile take anything important to them.

Damas glanced at the stranger, but kept his attention focused on the ground, looking for Sig’s beacon. It didn't take long to find, considering it lay beside the stranger's hand. Damas picked up the beacon and turned it over in his hand. There were no obvious signs of tampering. No blood or scorching or anything else to indicate that the beacon had been taken by force.

"How did you get this?" Damas murmured, not really expecting an answer. Whoever this was, they were barely alive.

"Er...lordship?"

It was not like Kleiver to sound hesitant.

"Do you...know this kid?"

An odd question. Damas looked up with a quizzical expression and found the big Wastelander peering down at the face of the figure. Kid?

The king pivoted on his heels to get a better look at their find.

Sunken cheeks. Dark circles under large eyes. A pitiful patch of stubble that might’ve been a first attempt at a beard on an otherwise startlingly smooth face. Precursors, he was a kid, wasn't he? He could've been anywhere from sixteen to nineteen -- in his state, it was hard to tell.

"Scrawny thing, isn't he?" Damas remarked. He took hold of an iron ring strapped to the boy's chest and tried to shake off a nagging sense of familiarity in the boy's features. "A channeler, maybe? We could use one of those. Honestly, I'm impressed that he's still breathing."

He glanced up. "What makes you think I'd know who the whelp is?"

Kleiver looked back at him with an unusually uncomfortable expression. He gestured awkwardly to the boy's face.

"Well he's...I mean- well look at 'im! 'S just weird, is all."

"What's weird?" Damas scoffed and hoisted the boy up by the iron ring.

The boy's head fell back and for just a moment, something around his neck glittered in the fading sunlight. With a curse, Damas dropped him as if he'd been burned. He scrambled to his feet and stumbled back a step, swearing under his breath.

"What fresh hell is this?" he demanded.

That was where Phobos found him after completing her perimeter check: staring in horror down at a much younger version of his own face.

Phobos crossed the space between their vehicles to touch his shoulder.

"Damas?"

"I...who is this?"

"Damas." Phobos shook him gently. "Hey. Hey. Are you just going to leave him lying there?"

The king blinked and inhaled sharply as he seemed to come to. "Right," he muttered, "...right. Pho, take my staff."

"What? Oop-!" Phobos hastily grabbed at the staff Damas all but dropped. "What the-!"

In a daze, Damas knelt and slipped an arm under the boy’s shoulders.

"Gods. He really is scrawny."

He shook his head and hoisted the boy up.

"Kleiver, get the car started. And someone grab those animals!"

Phobos's eyes flicked from Damas to the half-dead castaway, and narrowed.

"Damas...who is that?"

Her husband turned to face her, a disturbed shock stamped clearly on his face.

"I don't know," he said grimly, "but he's wearing a Maridius amulet."

■■■■■■■■■■

The Rift Rider idled, ready to take Samos and the child back in time. Ready to begin the cycle of pain all over again. Jak bit his lip and folded his younger self's fingers back over the proffered amulet.

"No, buddy, you keep it," he said gently. "Try...try to remember something about your family this time. Maybe remember me."

The tiny boy pouted, then threw his arms around Jak’s neck. "Za?" He whispered in Jak’s ear, the closest he'd ever come to saying his name.

Jak closed his eyes and hugged the kid tightly. Precursors knew he wouldn't get a lot of hugs in Sandover. "No, buddy. Za can't go with you this time. You have to be really brave for me, okay? There's...there's a kid on the other side of that gate who really really needs a friend. Can you look out for him for me?"

Sniffling, the little boy let go and nodded. "Brave like you," he signed. Then, rubbing his eyes, he sat back down in the craft.

Jak took a slow breath, then looked to the younger Samos. Doubtless this version of the sage was going to withhold just as much information as the older one. Jak didn't trust him to warn Mar about Errol. And he'd be blasted if he let that swine get his hands on the amulet in any timeline.

"You know, I didn't have the amulet when I got back to the present," he said casually. "I think you locked it up for safekeeping right before we fixed the Rift Gate, but I never saw where in the house you put it."

Samos took the bait too easily. "Oof! Yes, I suppose it would be bad for the kid to meet the Baron with that thing on. Thanks for the heads-up."

All too soon, they were gone. And not long after, so was Jak, headed for Dead Town. It had been a selfish ploy, a bid to give himself some semblance of a connection to his past. He couldn't remember having the amulet yet -- but he'd had trouble remembering a lot of his early years ever since the experiments began. "Traumatic amnesia", Daxter called it.

But if the amulet was there, if his ploy had worked, then maybe he'd get something back.

It took him an hour to sift through all the debris in the old hut, even with Daxter's help. The ravages of time hadn't left many places for treasure to remain undiscovered in. But just when Jak was beginning to fear that someone had found it decades before, his hand brushed over a brick in the old planter circles that lacked the same grout as the others.

Leave it to Samos to hide such an important artifact under a giant, vicious, carnivorous plant. Had he fed it to the thing?! The amulet was down where the roots had once been!

Still, Jak could admit to a sense of relief that washed over him once the amulet was in his hand. Clearly he'd changed the past at least enough to have an emotional connection to the pendant. He tucked it into his tunic, resolving to put it on a chain the first chance he got. He wasn't going to let anyone take it from him again.

■■■■■■■■■■

The last thing Jak remembered was collapsing beside a boulder, desperately trying to stay conscious only to fail seconds later. He could hear a voice -- not Daxter or Pecker -- nearby, and as he focused on that, other sensations began to filter in.

Softness beneath him.

The smell of eco med-gel.

An itch in the crook of his elbow.

A sticky dryness in his mouth, like cotton.

And something off about his skin. He couldn't put his finger on it, but his skin felt different somehow. Cleaner? No, that didn't make any sense. Why would it be clean?

It took a monumental effort to open his eyes, and he regretted it immediately. Light stabbed into his retinas pitilessly, and Jak let out an involuntary grunt of discomfort. In response, a shadow fell over his face, shielding him from the unforgiving glare. First a blur, then a shape, a face slowly swam into focus.

"Ah, you're back with us! Thank the Precursors, that was a close one, eh?"

Jak blinked up in confusion as his brain slowly processed the presence of one of the most beautiful women he could ever remember seeing. Not that he could remember seeing that many women in his life. Her skintone was so deep that the light framing her glanced off her cheekbones in little flashes of garnet and amethyst. Coils of hair spread out behind her head in an artful halo, providing most of the blessed shade across Jak's face. He squinted up at her for a long moment, trying to determine whether he was hallucinating in the desert.

"....'m I dead?" Jak croaked, then winced at the dry soreness in his throat.

The angelic stranger laughed in surprise. "Dead? No, quite the opposite, kid. Although you got pretty close."

"Where am I?" Jak tried to sit up, and something tugged at his elbow.

Instantly, he froze. He knew the shape of a needle.

Bile crawled up his throat, and his heart thundered in his ears as he forced himself to turn his head and look.

A bag of clear fluid hung from a stand beside a cot he'd been laid on. Descending from the bag, a long tube fed the fluid through a needle secured to his arm with bandages. A high whine escaped him, and the room seemed to spin.

"Whoa whoa whoa- kid, kiddo, look at me."

The mysterious woman suddenly took his face in her hands -- rough hands. A warrior's hands.

"Ssshh, hey, you're okay. You're okay, chico. It's just saline, that's all."

"W- what-?"

"Saline. It's a...kinda like a saltwater solution you give to people suffering dehydration."

One of the calloused hands cupped the back of his head, rubbing a thumb comfortingly over stubble.

Stubble?

Jak's breathing quickened and the room spun faster.

"What-!" he gasped, and his breaths began to squeak. "What did you do to me?!"

"Hey now, breathe. Breathe." The woman began to sway back and forth where she sat, dragging him along with the rocking motion.

"Inhale with me, yeah? In and out, in and out. I've got you."

"M- my h- my h- hair-!" Jak squeaked.

The woman clicked her tongue. "Oh, ohhh, you can feel that, huh? Yeah, you were overheated. The mats in your hair were just doing damage to you, longterm. The doctors didn't have any time to waste, so they shaved it out to cool you off."

She continued to cradle his face with her other hand, offering him a full, apologetic smile.

"I'm sorry we couldn't get your okay, chico. But...I mean, you wouldn't wake up! Not even your orange friend could get a response. He gave us the go-ahead."

For the first time since waking, Jak felt something like relief. "D- Daxter?"

"Mm. The mouthy one? Yes."

"Where-?"

The woman pulled back and turned away for a moment. Jak wondered why he felt minutely disappointed by that. He wasn't that touch-starved, was he? When she turned back, she held a cup and pitcher in her hands. The sight of the water trickling from one container to the other made Jak's throat ache all the fiercer.

"Here. Slow sips now, little bird. Don't make yourself sick like your friend did." The woman settled back into her seat at the edge of the cot. She made a vague gesture with the hand not holding the pitcher.

"At least he made a quick recovery. My husband took him back up to our place. When you're cleared by the doctors, we'll take you to him."

Jak gulped down the water, ignoring his visitor's protests. It was cool, although not cold, but even that was like heaven on his irritated throat. Droplets leaked from the corner of his mouth, and the IV tugged painfully as he reached up to catch them. He didn't think he could afford to waste even one drop.

"Hey hey!" The woman reached for the cup, and Jak jerked back out of reach.

"Not so fast, chico, you'll make yourself sick!"

Jak growled softly behind the rim of the cup and hitched up his shoulders. If this lady wanted to take the water away, she'd be in for a fight.

"Whoa!" The woman raised her brows. "Calm down. The water isn't going anywhere, I promise."

"I don't know you," Jak retorted, "How do I know you keep promises?"

Now the woman began to look a little annoyed.

"Fair enough," she begrudgingly allowed. "Considering the state we found you in, am I to assume that if I take that cup you'll bite me or something?"

"I might," answered Jak coolly.

Something bittersweet passed over the woman's face and lingered there at the corners of her mouth as she forced a smile.

"Well that wouldn't be very nice of you, but I can't say it wouldn't fit with every other kid in Spargus."

Jak lowered the cup slowly. "Spargus?" he asked, tilting his head, "What's that?"

"It's home," she answered. "The city of the forgotten and the betrayed -- and the hunter."

Jak raised the cup again and muttered darkly, "Well that's ironically appropriate."

"Let's start over, huh?"

The woman leaned back and carded a hand through her teased-out coils.

"My name is Phobos. I was with the convoy that found you and your friends in the Strider Range."

"...oh."

Jak grimaced. This woman had rescued him, hadn't she?

"I'm, um. I'm Jak."

Embarrassed, he gestured to the cup, the IV, and looked away. "What do I owe you? I don't...I don't have any money."

Phobos shook her head. "It's fine, chico- er, Jak. When people come to Spargus, those who have life debts pay it back by contributing to the overall survival of their new home and neighbors, depending on how old they are when they arrive."

"How old they are?" Jak fiddled with his now empty cup awkwardly. "What does that have to do with anything?"

Phobos gave him an amused glance. "Uh...kids are kids? This isn't Haven, hey? We don't even let people take the citizen applicant training course until we know they're eighteen or older."

She scooted closer and held up the pitcher. "Cup."

"Huh? Oh-"

Jak tilted the cup toward her but didn't let go. He watched her refill it and puzzled over the idea of a city in good enough shape that kids didn't have to work. Maybe there weren't metalheads out here.

"So...do you people normally pick up half-dead people and bring them home?"

"As long as they aren't half dead because they tried to kill us, yeah," Phobos said with a careless shrug. "Strength and survival: it's the two things Wastelanders respect the most. So when we find somebody in the badlands who isn't a dried out corpse, we know we've got the makings of a tough little survivor."

Surviving was, by necessity, Jak’s best skill. But considering the kind of jobs he got when people knew that, and how it had turned out last time, Jak decided not to advertise that fact. It already nagged at him that someone had seen his scars, and the bruises from the arrest, and every other injury he'd gained in the name of helping a city that hated him. Spargus wouldn't get the same freebies.

Eventually, Phobos stood up and put the pitcher back on a low counter that extended out of sight behind a curtain. She dusted off her yellow tunic and stretched her back with a soft grunt.

"Alright. I guess somebody ought to tell Damas you're awake and talking," she said, more to herself than to Jak.

Before Jak could ask who Damas was supposed to be, something careful and calculated slipped into Phobos's voice.

"So...just you and the critters, huh? Your parents know where you are?"

Hands tightened into claws around the wooden cup.

"I never had parents," Jak growled.

One more thing to "thank" Haven for, apparently.

"Ah." Phobos's eyes widened in an oddly dismayed expression. "Sorry, I..."

"Why?"

Jak's eyes narrowed at her.

"Literally no one has ever asked if I even had parents before you. You're fishing for something. What do you want?"

Then it hit him: if the woman had seen his scars, she had seen his amulet as well. Was that what she was getting at? Probing to see if any other ill-fated Heirs of Mar existed?

"Uh..." Phobos puffed out her cheeks and blew the air out. "It's...complicated. I'm gonna let Damas take this one."

"Who's Damas?" Jak demanded.

Phobos made another odd grimace and lifted a radio from the countertop.

"Hey, Damas, the kid's awake," she said, ignoring Jak's question.

A raspy voice crackled through the speaker.

"He is? Has he said anything yet?"

"Well, he threatened to bite me," Phobos joked before growing serious. "Take it easy when you come down, he's pretty worked up. Bring the orange guy if you can."

"Understood. Anything else I should know?"

"Yeah," Phobos sighed. "He doesn't know who we are, where we are, or how he got here. I don't think you're going to get any answers out of him."

"......oh."

The guy she called Damas sounded strangely...emotional.

"Er...alright. I'll...I'll see what I can do when I get there."

Jak glowered at Phobos's back. He hated when people talked about him like he wasn't there.

Out of habit, he reached for his collar to run his fingers over his amulet. That always helped him slow down when his thoughts were racing too fast. His fingers brushed against loose linen; the tunic he was wearing were not the one he'd had on the last time he was awake. Jak's stomach felt like it was plummeting from a precipice as he finally looked down at his body. Someone had dressed him in loose, lightweight clothing. There was no sign of his own clothing.

Or his amulet.

Fighting down feelings of violation and revulsion, Jak gripped the thin sheets in hands like claws.

"Where are my clothes?" he snarled, "What did you do?"

Phobos didn't look overly concerned, which only agitated Jak more.

"They're being checked for trackers or other bugs," she said with a shrug. "Haven's been trying to find our city for years. Can't be too careful. Look on the bright side: it's probably the first time they've ever been washed."

She leaned over the cot, and Jak jerked away.

"Don't touch me!"

There wasn't much room to retreat on the small bed, but Jak tried anyway.

"Who stole my amulet?"

"Hey, calm down," Phobos raised a placating hand, but dropped it quickly when Jak flinched. "Nobody stole it."

"Don't lie to me!"

Jak was over the verge of panic now. He was alone, powerless, right back to being poked and prodded like a doll. Like a lab rat.

"What do you want?!"

Grimacing, Phobos stepped back and grabbed her radio again.

"Hey Damas? Hurry it up, will ya?"

"I'm en route."

"Good. Because he just noticed the absence of a Certain Something and he is losing it right now."

"Rot. Okay, just- rot! Try to keep him calm, I'm bringing it, okay?"

The man's voice rose and fell oddly. It almost sounded like he was running.

Phobos ran a hand through her hair and puffed out her cheeks. This was not going as well as they'd hoped. Could've been worse, she acknowledged, but this kid's reactions were giving her a bad feeling. The scars, the reaction to the IV and having been given new clothing without his knowledge, it all painted a pretty grim picture.

"Damas is bringing your amulet down," she said in what she hoped was a soothing tone. (How did one talk to agitated teenagers?! Why weren't they as easy to calm as toddlers?) "He'll explain everything, chico, I promise. Just...stay here a minute, okay?"

Jak warily watched the woman walk through the curtain, listening and counting her footsteps. By the sound of it, he was in the back of a narrow building. There was someone else up there, wherever Phobos had gone, but they rustled around opening drawers instead of speaking. If there were guards, Jak couldn't hear them. He hoped there were none. In his current state, he doubted he'd be able to fight them off.

A door slid open with the sound of a chime, and Jak stiffened as a heavier tread entered the building.

"About time!" he heard Phobos greet the person, "He's all yours."

"Allegedly," the voice from the radio answered.

"Mmhm. You're cute when you're in denial. Better get back there before the poor kid has a heart attack."

When the curtains parted, Jak was in the act of climbing off the cot to look for something -- anything -- to defend himself with. He froze, locking eyes with a weathered Wastelander covered in scars and armor. He looked like the kind of guy Sig would run with. Jak stared at the man and wondered if this was the guy who allegedly had his amulet. Were those piercings on his skull?! Despite himself, Jak wondered how the man slept without ripping whatever he used for a pillow.

"Easy, young one," the man murmured, holding out his hands as if approaching a skittish animal. "Easy. You're in no danger."

"Usually when people tell me that, they're lying," Jak retorted. He backed up, silently cursing his shaky legs, until his back touched the wall and the IV tugged painfully at his arm. "Where's Daxter? What do you people want with us?"

The armored man lowered himself to sit on the end of the cot and folded his hands in front of him. "Your friend is perfectly safe," he soothed, "Well, unless he tries to use the water wheel as a carnival ride, I suppose. But he doesn't really seem the type to do that kind of thing."

"You didn't answer my other question," Jak said pointedly. "What do you want?"

"Answers," the man -- Damas, probably -- replied steadily, "Just answers."

"Like what?" Jak edged closer to the IV, trying to relieve the horrific sensation of the needle.

Then his visitor reached into a cloth pouch at his belt and drew out a familiar shape.

"What can you tell me about this?" he asked, holding up the amulet.

Forgetting the needle, Jak lunged for the pendant. Pain lanced through his elbow for an instant, hot and dull, and he pulled up short. He'd learned long ago not to rip needles out. There would just be more if he did.

"Whoa!" Damas dropped the amulet on the sheets and reached out as if to steady Jak. "Slow down, boy, you're going to hurt yourself! You shouldn't even be standing right now!"

Jak, unfortunately, agreed. But he locked his knees and kept his eyes on Phobos's friend, just as he had on Phobos.

"Give it back," he rasped, holding out a demanding hand.

Damas frowned thoughtfully. He picked up the chain and considered it for a few seconds before dropping it into Jak's outstretched hand.

"Where did you get this?" he asked.

With time-travel being too unbelievable an explanation even to those closest to Jak, he settled for the most open-ended version of the truth he could manage.

"Ancient ruins," he muttered.

The chain slipped down around his neck, and he visibly relaxed once the familiar weight rested against his collarbone.

Damas made an interested sound and folded his arms. "Ruins, eh? How did you find it?"

Evasively, Jak shrugged. "I just...knew where to look."

"And does this happen to you often? "Knowing" things?"

Hm. He might’ve been a little too open-ended there. Jak braced his back against the wall and begrudgingly clarified.

"I'm not a seer. It's just with eco stuff."

Damas nodded. "Ah! I understand. So what made you decide to keep such an odd little trinket?"

He wasn't being very subtle. Jak could do blunt too.

"It's mine. That's it. And I know what you're trying to do."

A hint of tension lined Damas’s neck and shoulders as he tried to play casual.

"Oh? And what am I trying to do, young one?"

Jak curled his lip at the man. "You're trying to get me to say I'm an Heir of Mar, probably so you can get some of his artifacts. What, do you want the Precursor Stone too? Well you're too late."

Any semblance of relaxation dropped from Damas like a cloak. He straightened, and the air filled with an undercurrent of warning. It was almost like eco -- enough that Jak wondered if the man could channel.

"Explain that, please."

It didn't sound like a request.

"What, exactly, do you know about the Precursor Stone?"

Jak gripped his amulet for calm.

"Not a myth," he said shortly, "Not meant to be used as a weapon, and not a rock."

He lifted his chin and met Damas’s hard eyes.

"I opened it. It can't be used anymore."

"Opened?!" Damas recoiled slightly. "You've touched the Stone?"

Suspicion colored his voice, but strangely he didn't seem to be getting hostile.

"Where did you find it?"

Agitated, Jak snapped, "In a tomb designed by some sadistic obstacle-course lover obsessed with "manhood", guarded by a bunch of loudmouth Oracles. Be glad you missed it."

He wondered if he was just setting himself up for problems later. If the Wastelanders knew he could speak to Oracles and traverse ruins, they'd probably make him pay off the medical care by finding artifacts for them. Story of his life.

But Damas looked shaken by the statement, not shrewd. He seemed almost to pale, and drew a hand over his face to rest over his mouth. His eyes bored into Jak's with an unsettling intensity.

"The amulet truly belongs to you, then," he finally acknowledged, in little more than a croak. His fingers pressed into his jaw hard enough that Jak wondered if the man would have fingerprints there later.

"How...how old are you, boy?"

What did that have to do with anything? Annoyed, Jak shrugged.

"Like I know? Fifteen, sixteen, what's it matter?"

"You don't...you don't know?" Damas looked even more shaken. "No one told you your own birthdate?"

Jak didn't want to talk about this. He finally slumped to sit at the head of the cot and crossed his arms sullenly.

"Y'know what, that's none of your business. Where's Daxter? I'm not saying anything else until I see him."

"I can arrange that."

Damas stood and absentmindedly picked up the wooden cup.

"You should er...try to sleep some. Heat exhaustion will leave you weak for a good several days-"

"Are you Damas?" Jak interrupted suddenly, as Phobos's attempted reassurances came to mind.

Damas turned. "Yes?"

He looked like he almost expected something else to follow.

Jak pulled his knees to his chest and rested folded arms on top of them. "The lady who was in here said you'd explain what you people wanted from me. And why you took my amulet."

The Wastelander looked, Jak thought, rather like he had just swallowed a bee. He made a few awkward hand motions -- some of it almost looked like signs -- and tugged on a tuft of hair at his chin.

"Ah...that is..."

He picked up the pitcher and splashed water into the cup clumsily. He was unsettled.

"The crest of Mar has...connotations. Doubtless you've learned by now, but when people see it they form...expectations."

Damas cleared his throat and handed the cup over to Jak.

"I removed it from you before the monks could see it and develop those expectations. I...wanted you to be able to focus on healing without the distraction of history zealots."

Well, that was marginally better than Jak had been imagining. He didn't exactly trust that the man was telling the truth, but at least he hadn't tried to sell it or something. Jak acknowledged his visitor's words with a curt nod and sipped at the water slowly. Idly, he wondered if his general age fit this city's "too young for serious work" bracket or not. After Haven, he honestly didn't know whether he hoped so or not.

Damas was staring at him. It was subtle, but intense, and Jak could feel his eyes. It made his brain itch, and he felt the urge to squirm uncomfortably.

"Are you in any pain?" Damas asked suddenly, apparently in response to the squirming.

"I don't like being stared at," Jak answered gruffly.

"...ah." Damas cringed and looked away. "Apologies. You just...look very familiar. I was trying to place whether I might have met you or someone you were related to in the past."

"Not unless you were in Haven before Praxis took over," Jak grumbled bitterly, "Or you took a tour of his prison labs in the last two years."

You're talking too much, Jak. Wait for Daxter. Why are you volunteering this information?

Well. He knew. He was scared and disoriented and angry, and he wanted to shock someone. Anyone. It was the dark eco talking.

"The labs?!" Damas dropped the pitcher with a crash. A terrible look flooded his face. "Did...was your whole family there?"

"Rot! Why are you guys so obsessed with information about my parents?" Jak was getting tired of repeating himself. "You know as much as I do! Even the freakin Oracles wouldn't tell me what the amulet meant until I got to the Tomb!"

From the front of the building, the third person finally called out.

"My lord, if you keep getting him worked up, I'm tossing you out. He's supposed to be resting!"

"I'm working on it, Petros!" Damas retorted sharply.

He closed his eyes and made a visible attempt to calm himself before turning back to Jak.

"Sorry. I know this is confusing. I am...having a difficult time finding the right words to ask the right questions." He made a helpless gesture. "Finding you, practically on my doorstep, with that amulet has upended my understanding of the world and my place in it."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Jak demanded.

Damas gingerly took a seat at the end of the cot again and, sighing deeply, reached into his pouch again.

"The last time I was in Haven for an extended period of time was about fifteen years ago, at the end of the last major campaign against the metalheads."

He opened his hand, revealing a second amulet of Mar in his palm.

"After Praxis betrayed me- after the hardships our city has faced over the last few years-"

He shook his head with furrowed brow.

"I- I thought I was the only one left. And now here you are, and I have more questions than answers."

Jak blinked, then blinked again.

"Well," he said in a strangled voice, "That makes two of us."

#jak and daxter #free day thursday #fic prompts #writing prompts #mistaken identity au #dadmas #king damas #captain phobos #Damas is trying to do the math and he is Very Confused #Phobos is like 'it was the middle of the war and I'm not mad if something happened you can't remember' #but Damas is more freaked out by 'DOES THIS MEAN I'M A DEADBEAT DAD? DOES HE HATE ME? I THINK HE MIGHT HATE ME.' #jak has to deal with both mistaken identity and Damas and Phobos projecting their Mar Feels on him #ironically he IS mar but also he's a teenager and doesn't need this much supervision #Daxter thinks the whole thing is grade A entertainment #he's encouraging this nonsense #at some point Jak gets so confused by his parents' conviction that he starts questioning if Kor lied about him being Mar #but hey he's being treated like an actual kid for once. maaaaaybe spoiled a little bit. #needles tw #tw iv #my edits #digibash #digibash with raya and encanto #fake screenshot #fake screencap

[blye-flower]

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#my thing is always gonna be this #how are you upset with me because im trying to have a boundary??? #how are you upset with ME that YOURE ALWAYS OVERSTEPPING MY BOUNDARIES #like yes i babysitter im a babysitter but you cant expect me to babysit just cause you need a babysitter!?? like what??! #“oh we needed to go to another church and the kids didnt wanna go” okay?? so you just dropped them off without saying anything to me??! #you didnt even ask if i could you just assumed i would cause im home??? like i dont deserve a moment??? #like im not a parent #i dont have any kids and i definitely dont fucking plan on it so why tf do i feel like a single mother in my day to day?? #why do i never have any free time to myself why is my free time volunteered to making sure children are supervised??! #“well since you decided this im just gonna come get the kids” yeah im within my fucking right so why are you phrasing it like im wrong #god ive never been this frustrated that im fucking crying like can i have some fuckinf breathing space AWAY from other ppls kids #blymi rants #update:: my sister did in fact come and get them #and told the kids “yall cant stay home cause auntie doesnt feel like watching yall” #definitely feels like shes putting the blame on me cool cool cool #just peachy. #love that for me lets make it MY fault whatever #god i really cannot catch a fucking break #and trust and believe im gonna have to hear some stupid ass better than thou speech about how i need to help out my sister #“because shes a student a mother AND working” as if any of those choices are my fucking concern yep wonderful #especially for a sister. that while i love her. feels entitled to peoples help because shes “going through so much” #and now i cant even fucking relax or draw or write because im so fucking pissed #which is why i wanted the afternoon to myself ANYWAYS so no matter what the fucking days a goddamn bust for me regardless

[hell-heron]

I don't think I've had a single night I didn't have a dream about being at the summer camp and generally fucking up some aspect of the organisative machine since I left it

#tonight i had a combo of summer camp stress dream + 'i have prepared to play some moderately important part in a play i have lots of opinion #on the character and the costume ready #(but no lines memorised) yet the dream never fucking gets to me bsing #onstage one unexpecred hassle after the other' stress dream + 'damaging object stress dream + i react to being treated injustly with 0 r #restraint screaming insults and breaking things and then i have to live with the aftermath' stress dream #it was not fun! #i did get to see some of my kids in my dresm at least bc the damaging object drama happened in my absence while i was away with a group that #didn't want to stay in the theatre and needed supervising and then there was a scene where i went to say goodnight so ❤️❤️ #the damaging object was like. some kid broke a property of the cameraman (stupidly expensivs book) while i was out snd it was decided i was #the one who should have been supervising him so i have to pay. hence the breakdown #op #whining tw #usually the dream is more like 'after the end of the first camp you now need to readapt to another ' so i dont often see the kids

[blookmallow]

literally why is it even a rule in schools that you have to ask to go to the bathroom. why do teachers have the right to say no. i understand not wanting kids to just get up and leave in the middle of class without saying anything but just saying “I need to use the bathroom” should be enough. thats how it works at my school, if a student asks for the bathroom we just immediately go, no questions asked. why would you tell a kid they cant go to the bathroom or they cant go get some water. is your lesson really that important that it’ll be destroyed utterly if you have to wait for 5 minutes

#we go with them to the bathroom bc its a special needs school and they need supervision #but like. no matter what we’re doing if a kid says they need the bathroom we just go. they need water? we just go get some water. #i have only seen a student do this to get out of doing something exactly once and we still had him go back to the task after the bathroom

[beastofwant]

I remember so many of my friends (myself included) lied about our age so we could open up pa/yp/al accounts and start taking commissions to save up money so we could leave our abusive homes. that was fucked. none of us should've had to do that. but there's no efficient, safe way for kids to self-report abuse and actually have action taken in a way that doesn't automatically subject them to immediate retaliation, incarceration, or otherwise further the abuse they experience. they're fucking helpless.

#mad scrawl #youth shelters rly aren't enough #and where I was from we didn't HAVE any #and I wouldn't have known about one anyway #like. #we need some sort of SOMETHING that lets kids get the fuck away from their families of their own volition #while still being able to ensure wherever else they're ending up is safe and good for them #the current system DOES. NOT. WORK. #there HAS to be something man #idk. group homes for teenagers with an adult or two also living there to supervise and help them #you could prepare them to live on their own while still giving them an in-between for them and the 'adult' world #I really could've used something like that #and if shit like this DOES exist then it needs to be fucking promoted #there need to be school programs that inform kids what is and isn't abuse and what to do and where to go if they're being abused #and want to get out #'but what if a kid LIES to get away from their family?' #I mean the kid probably has a reason to want to get away then??? but if they really want to go back they could. idk #i think a better society is possible

[tardis--dreams]

I feel like someone needs to take my hand and encourage me to do difficult things as if i was a child and not a grown ass person

#I know i need to send another ba thesis supervision request #I always am too afraid/feel like I'm not ready #But that's dumb because i need to start in order to get anything done #But idk what's so difficult for me to do that #I hate myself lol #I feel so guilty because I've been lying to my mother for months now because i can't bear the thought of telling her that I'm in fact not #Even close to finishing my degree #I told her i finished the thesis in March because i know she's inpatient by now #And i can't stand her judgment and disappointment #I know she sees me as a failure and she's right of course #But i don't want to prove her point by confessing i really can't get anything done #Today she said she'd pay for a new desk chair (?) as a gift for my bachelor degree 'you're almost done with that right?!' #And i almost started crying in that shitty story because i fucking hate it when she does that #I also immediately transferred the money to her because i certainly don't want her to pay for something on the base of me having succeeded #In something #Because i have Not succeeded and i feel so bad i can't stand it #Like no kidding this brings up some old thoughts where I feel like I'd be better off dead because i know I'm a failure and a burden #I'm a prime example for 'failure' lol #shut up amy

[biggest-gaudiest-patronuses]

i watched My Neighbor Totoro for the first time, here's my chronological viewing experience:

woo-hoo! dusty old japanese house with japanese architectural details aplenty

these kids got some ENERGY my goodness

family dynamic's adorable. peak quality dad humor

kids: our house is haunted. parents: that's so cool!

hell yeah, wrinkled old lady rep. we need more friendly old women with potato faces and warts like storybook witches. the backbone of society, these ladies

Plot Summary: Small Child Bothers Local Wildlife

sacred tree sacred tree sacred tree

Introducing Totoro! nobody said this fucker's got TEETH???

Uh-Oh! Inadequate Parental Supervision Detected

(you misplaced your four year old! you're not supposed to do that)

4-year-old: i met a magic forest spirit. dad: oh shit fr?

4-year-old: *angrily hugs sister* missed u bitch

this small child has a smile like a toad. like a really really cute toad. like the cutest toad in all existence. i love her she's perfection please just let this child be happy

rice paddies are so pretty....so back breaking....rice is such a prissy crop

*my crush is stranded in a rainstorm* takethisumbrellait'syoursnowBYE *runs away in panic im so good at flirting*

Giant Chinchilla Learns To Hold Umbrella, Is Fucking Delighted By Experience

take this, it will help you on your quest! *hands u trail mix wrapped in a leaf*

LO-FI HIP HOP STUDY LIST!

crouching down to peer at dirt--A++ top notch foundational childhood experience

mom has a big ass forehead

honey! the chinchillas are performing Rituals in the backyard again

help yeah let's jack and the bean stalk this shit

huh so we're all just climbing aboard the giant chinchilla's tiddies now ok

class trip!

the pure adrenaline of Vegetable Gardening

no! the small child is crying! she is bawling her eyes out. no no no. i can't cope with this. emotionally i cannot cope 🥺🥺🥺

i've only had Mei one hour but if anything happens to her i will raze this earth and everyone on it

please someone make this small child smile again

oh no the tall child is crying too

i can't take this. my heart can't take this.

i need a drink

small child running determined to deliver magic veggies to the hospital. this kid is my hero

she is also unsupervised. so, so unsupervised

babe you are FOUR

godDAMMIT ghibli, you cannot give me watercolor sunsets while a small child is missing. u are killing me. my heart is giving out. this is me, experiencing heart failure.

Totoro to the rescue!

no wait CATBUS to the rescue!

i admit i initially thought the cat was a creep. alice in wonderland prejudiced me. i have revised my notions of smiling cats

i've decided the cat is a metaphor for the magic of a robust public transport system

MEI'S OKAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!

and so is mom. she's a lovely lady im sorry for what i said about her forehead. it's a noble forehead.

happy ending YES bitch!!!!!!

ok. ok ok ok. that was magical.

(as a first-time adult viewer i was worried i wouldn't be able to Access the Magic. but i could and i did and it was incredible. that was culture. that was ART. joy distilled into animated form. holy rites of childhood. i understand now. how glorious, this world we grow out of. how full of marvels. i'm going outside to smell grass and sun and get dirt under my fingernails. miraculous.)

#mr ghibli please you cannot do this to my heart #totoro #my neighbor totoro #spoilers #? #initially i misspelled Totoro as Tortoro throughout the entire post #i fixed it but dear heavens i was tempted to leave it in. you're WELCOME

[chuluoyi]

✎ the babysitters' club

- gojo satoru x reader

in which yuji, megumi and nobara are tasked with the most important mission ever by their teacher—watching over his baby son!

genre: total crack, first years are trying their best to babysit your son to save their grades, an attempt at humor, gojo is irritating as always, fluff, fluff, fluff

note: this is sooo incredibly silly :') some inspiration are taken from the baby starfish onesie, this ask, and this illustration -> if you're wondering how gojo dressed his baby, he's looks just like that :)) tagging @3zae-zae3 <3

a part of gojo's love entries

series masterlist | oneshot masterlist

"Gojo-sensei... what is that wiggling starfish!?"

On one sunny day in jujutsu school... trouble is once again brewing in the form of Gojo Satoru bringing his baby son to the class.

"Starfish? No, no," Gojo retorted with a displeased expression, directing his gaze towards Yuji and clicking his tongue as he patted his squirming baby, which was still hidden from their view. "He's my pride and joy! Don't refer to him as starfish!"

"But you've got him dressed up as one..." Nobara pointed out, her tone flat and unimpressed.

"That's his kid," Megumi provided, wearily sighing. God, he knew already today was going to be a long day.

No one from school had seen your seven-month old baby son yet, and Gojo was determined to make it an occasion to remember.

Beaming with pride, he gently removed his baby from the starfish-themed onesie, revealing him in a tiny black jujutsu outfit specially tailored for him, complete with miniature black glasses. He held him up, presenting him for everyone to see.

"Behold, everyone... my son! Isn't he just adorable?!"

. . . a momentary silence before—

"Oh my goodness, he is!" Nobara cooed, forgetting her earlier sentiment, immediately approaching the baby with shining eyes. "Sensei, how could you manage to have a baby this cute!?"

"Heh! Only the finest technique utilized to create him—"

"Complete bullshit—"

"Hush, Megumi! No cussing in front of my baby! I'll deduct your marks!"

"Seriously...?"

"Now, class, today I have a very, very important task for you..." Gojo said, his voice dripping with mischief as he sported a broad grin. "If you succeed, I'll personally draft a recommendation letter for each of you to Yaga. But if you don't..." he paused for the suspense, scanning his three students' curious faces.

"Then I'm failing you in my class!" Gojo continued with a grin, prompting immediate reactions from his students.

“What! Why?!”

“That's not fair!”

“Sigh.”

“All you have to do was to watch over him until I come back. Everything you need is here— in this bag!”

Megumi rolled his eyes. Nobara raised an eyebrow. Only Yuji who seemed to be genuinely interested.

"Isn't that easy?" Gojo tilted his head playfully, looking absolutely stupid with his blindfold. "There are three of you here. If you can't even manage to look after one baby, then you should not even think about romance and dating."

"Nonsen—"

"Quiet, Megumi!"

And so began the day's mission: looking after Baby Gojo until his father's return.

“Lalala~ look you’re flying!”

“Fwa...”

“Kugisaki, don’t hold him like that! You’re making him cry!”

“No, I’m not— Itadori! Don’t smush his face—!”

“WAAA!”

“You idiot!” Megumi hissed, plucking the poor baby from his clueless friends and immediately soothed him, pulling him close and patting his back. He even gently shushed him, “There, there...”

And Yuji and Nobara could only look at him in awe as the baby's wails turned into soft sniffles, peaceful in his embrace.

"Whoa... Fushiguro, so babies like you, huh..."

"Unfair!" Nobara clicked his tongue, before fixing a wide smile and waved at the baby in Megumi's arms. "Hi baby~ don't you want to held by big sister—"

"He doesn't like you, Kugisaki."

And so, that was how the three of them spent half the day—constantly watching over Baby Gojo, with Megumi supervising both the baby and his two friends.

"Sometimes, I wonder what she sees in him..." Megumi grumbled sullenly, resigned to his fate, his gaze fixed on the crawling baby while he sat on the floor and threw his little sunglasses.

For all the sighs he exuded, Megumi undeniably had a soft spot for the baby. Prior today, he had held him several times, and he'd never admit it, but he'd protect him to the best of his ability, if anything, because you had done so much for him.

“Gojo-sensei is cool!” Yuji remarked. “Of course Y/N-sensei is happy with him.”

Nobara rolled her eyes. “Only you would say that.”

"Hey, don't you think he wants his milk?" Yuji suddenly pointed out, as the baby became fussy. Megumi nodded and Yuji immediately reached for the bag Gojo left. He pulled out a bottle and handed it to his friend, but in the process, he accidentally knocked the bag over, spilling its contents onto the floor.

"Ahh, my bad," the boy sighed, collecting the diapers and washcloth, until he realized that there were some more—

"What's that? Photographs?" Nobara picked one of them up, and immediately gasped. "Oh my! Look at this!"

On the picture was the same baby, but much more smaller and swaddled in baby blue blanket and tiny blue beanie. Most likely taken when he was a newborn.

"Whoa, wait, there's something written behind the photo..."

When she flipped it over, both she and Yuji studied the messy handwriting, instantly recognizing it as their teacher's.

Yaaay! ♡ Baby is here! I'm sooo happy you made it! But mama went through a lot to bring you here... so don't ever forget that she loves you very, very much, okay?

"This is sweet." Nobara looked at the picture with a genuine smile, until she realized that there were some more scattered on the floor.

The other picture was of the blue-eyed baby on his arms and knees, wrapped in an orange and black bee onesie, complete with little wings, and behind it was written:

Aren't you just the cutest bee?! And what's more, you've started crawling! Aw, papa is so proud! In no time at all, you're going to be as strong as me!

"What are you two doing over there?" Megumi asked, still feeding the baby with the milk bottle. Nobara beckoned him over.

The third photo was of you smiling so prettily while holding your baby, still in his bee suit, and Gojo also in the frame, wrapping his arm around you, clearly the one holding the camera to take the selfie.

Two my most precious treasures ♡ Sweetheart, I love you. And baby too!

Yuji smiled, as he felt warmth spreading in his chest. "Gojo-sensei really treasures his family, huh?"

"He is," Megumi agreed, because he had seen it all throughout his life.

"Well, no wonder..." Nobara giggled. "Any woman showered with this much love would be happy."

And that day, the trio also uncovered another side of their teacher, that his deepest affection was reserved exclusively for his wife and child.

Well, the sentimental feeling didn't last long though...

"This is our chance!" Nobara said in a hushed whisper. "When else are we going to get an extra family discount!?"

Megumi was so ready to burst a blood vessel as he held the baby—given that he had forbidden his two friends to lay a finger on him. "We are meeting Gojo-sensei here, not to—!"

"Hush! Itadori, don't you agree with me?!"

Yuji nudged his cross friend, trying to appease him. "Lighten up, Fushiguro! We can have more meat!"

At the last minute, Gojo suddenly told the three of them to bring his baby and meet him at the shopping center as he didn't want to waste energy to go back to the school. And like broke students Nobara and Yuji were, they decided to use Baby Gojo to snag an extra plate in a yakiniku place.

Megumi's eyes twitched. "This is not making sense at all, they won't believe—!"

"Shut up, you! Waiter~ here! We have a baby! So we're eligible for the family package!"

The judging stare of the waiter was enough to make Megumi combust on the spot, and yet somehow he passed the four of them as family eligible for the extra plate.

It was later, after they had their lunch that Megumi suddenly had an upset stomach and left the baby momentarily in his two friends' care.

And under less-than-watchful eyes...

"Hey, Kugisaki, meat on this side is the juiciest! Try it!"

"Ooh, you're right!"

The baby only blinked at them in wonder as he stayed in his spot. Not for long though... and it didn't help that they forgot his existence after they went to the cashier and headed out.

"Oi, Itadori! Don't forget to split the bill!"

"Oh yeah! Anyway, why is Fushiguro taking so long?"

Megumi got back right afterwards, and he frowned. "You done already? I haven't even gotten my ocha refill—" and it dawned to him when he saw both Yuji and Nobara with empty hands.

"Wait... where's the baby?"

"—! Oh my god!"

And when the three of them rushed back to the yakiniku place and approached their table earlier, Nobara almost screamed at the empty chairs, "He is gone!"

"You left the baby with the kids and told them to come here?!"

You were positively fuming as you scolded your stupid husband in the bustling mall.

"Well, we haven't gotten much time to spend together, just the two of us!" Satoru retorted, his tone sulky as he pouted. "And besides, Megumi is there. I'm sure they'll do just fine~"

You let out a sigh. True enough, being parents is no joke. Aside from stay-at-home dates, the frequency of the two of you going out had dwindled exponentially since having your baby.

"Technically, you are still on the clock though." You threw him a glare. "You're being a very irresponsible teacher."

Satoru smirked. "Heh, spare me. But I'm being a very good teacher to you in our—"

"One more word and I'm locking you out—!"

Just as you were about to give him your (empty) threat, the building suddenly boomed with an announcement from the mall's broadcast speaker.

"Attention, shoppers. We've received a report from three teenagers that they've lost a baby. He is seven-month old, wears black shirt, has white hair and blue eyes. He is last seen at Yakiniku Q—"

"Satoru..." your voice trembled, dread settling in the pit of your stomach. The baby described by the speaker was unmistakably your son, and the realization of him being missing sent you spiraling into panic.

"Hey, calm down." Satoru gripped your hand tightly, his voice steady as he faced you. "We're going to find him, alright? I'm here. Don't worry."

And after taking off his glasses, in a matter of seconds, Satoru figured out where he was.

Nobara's eyes welled up with tears, frustrated. "What do I do, Gojo-sensei will fail us now..." she muttered, biting her lip.

"That's what you're worried about?" Megumi replied, turning to her with a clear glare.

"He's going to be fine! He is!" Yuji interjected, trying to reassure his two friends despite his own rising anxiety. "He’s not just any random baby—who knows, maybe he can shoot cursed energy to protect himself!"

Megumi and Nobara leveled their annoyed stares on him and Yuji immediately regretted his attempt to lighten the mood.

"I still think he can't get far from the yakiniku place." Megumi was too panicked to check with the staff earlier and just went with Yuji's suggestion to report it to be announced, but now that he thought about it— "I think we should go back."

And thank goodness the three of them returned for the second time because, this time, they finally saw the baby safely cradled in your arms, with Gojo speaking to the waitresses nearby.

"Oh?! Gojo-sensei is here!"

But as soon as the three of them came into view, Gojo immediately fixed them with his unamused gaze.

"You three..." his voice was lower and it made the three kids shudder. "What did I tell you about failing this mission, huh?"

Yuji, Nobara and Megumi were visibly spooked, immediately bowing their heads in unison as they chorused—

"Gojo-sensei, we're so sorry!"

Nobara then pointed an accusing finger at Yuji. "But it was his fault! He kept eating away and didn't even oversee the baby anymore!"

"Wha!?" Yuji glared back at her. "No! You too! You kept eating my meat too!"

"Whatever it is, I'm not a part of this—" Megumi cut in boldly. "My stomach hurt so I had to go for a bit, and they couldn't even keep an eye on him—"

You soothed your squirming son as the first years were throwing blame at each other. Gaping in confusion, you couldn't help but wonder how such a simple task had turned into this incident.

"Tsk." Gojo crossed his arms dramatically, and you knew he was just messing with them, as he suddenly turned to you with a grin.

"Nah, as both a teacher and the victim's mother— Sensei~ who do you think is responsible for this? Or should I punish all three of them?"

The three kids before you were quaking in their boots, and you really didn't have time for this right now. Honestly, if if you had to quickly pinpoint the source of this chaos...

You directed your most irked glare at your husband. "You."

“Huh?!”

“You’re the one staging this by threatening their grades, and it results in our baby being missing!”

Now you were bickering with your husband and putting him in his rightful place. Nobara and Yuji gaped, while Megumi heaved a sigh of relief.

"Does this mean... our grades are saved?"

Epilogue

"They said he fell..." You pat your baby's head worriedly as he babbled happily in his crib, your expression darkening into a frown.

You didn't really blame the first years for their lack of experience, but as his mother, the news from the restaurant staff that they had found your son falling from the chair made you extremely uneasy.

Seeing your distress, Satoru’s natural response was to comfort you until you were back to smiles again. He gently tickled his boy's tummy, prompting him to squeal in absolute joy. "Look, he's perfectly fine. You don't need to worry so much, yeah?"

"But it's strange... I'm happy he's fine, but how? Most babies will get hurt or at least be inconsolable after falling. But he was totally okay..."

Satoru shifted his gaze to his son, as now his round, crystal blue eyes that mirrored his blinked back at him with such innocence and trust that even melted his heart.

"Ah, I see." Suddenly he smiled as if he had figured something out. "This is just my guess, but you know my guesses have like... 90% of probability of being correct—"

"Hmm...?"

"He might have activated Infinity by instinct. Heh."

#𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑠 #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #jjk x reader #jjk drabbles #jujutsu kaisen #jjk imagines #jjk x you #jjk fanfic #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo satoru #satoru gojo x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #gojo x you #gojo #gojo fluff #gojo satoru imagines #jjk fluff #gojo satoru fluff #dad!gojo #satoru gojo fluff #jjk gojo satoru #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jutusu kaisen x reader #satoru x reader #satoru gojo x you #satoru gojo

[angleofmusings]

guess who started the week assigned to stay at camp for learning time all afternoon every day and ended today assigned to be at the pool all afternoon teaching the kids how to swim that’s right it’s me

#it’s just bc i’m willing to be in the water with the kids and we desperately need more staff in the water with the kids they are three feet #tall and some can barely float let alone swim #im not annoyed about this at all tho like. my campers are capable of taking care of themselves with a different counselor supervising them

[radioactivepeasant]

Fic Prompts: Free Day Thursday

As determined by the randomizer, the two prompts I was working with were "Final Fantasy 7" and "Sick Day". Been a while since I played with FF7 characters, so I'm a little out of practice, but here we go!

The grashshrikes shouldn't have been a problem for a mercenary like Cloud. He'd fought worse -- these things weren't even sentient! It was way more of a pain to deal with Shinra gunners! But just a split second of distraction was enough to slip up where grashshrikes were involved.

Cloud fumbled for a Cure and shot a dirty look at Barrett as Jessie put down the last monster. Was it really worth it, working for this guy? Sure, it kept a roof over his head, but Cloud was pretty sick of being the target for the guy's hatred of Shinra.

Well. Currently he was pretty sick period.

"Ugh."

Cloud tipped his head back and let it smack against a wall of sheet metal.

Out of Cure materia, and all he'd done was lower the poison from "debilitating" to "knocked out for the next 24 hours". He really needed to get his hands on a Cura. Or a Curaga, but that sounded too optimistic for the way his luck tended to run.

(Had his luck always been this bad? Sure, he had some misfortune as a kid, but what about during his time as a SOLDIER? Barrett had a point: shouldn't he be able to remember?)

"Hey, you okay, bro?" Wedge crouched next to him with a worried frown. "You don't look so good."

"'M fine," Cloud growled.

The second he let on that he was still poisoned, they'd probably drop him. And then he could say goodbye to any chance of getting paid.

"Barrett, something's wrong with Cloud!" Wedge called over his shoulder, "He didn't even tell me to stop calling him bro!"

Barrett looked equal parts irate and sheepish -- decidedly unsettling in combination on his face.

He stomped over and squatted in front of Cloud to glare at him.

"What's wrong with you, merc?" he demanded.

"Nothing." Cloud rolled his eyes and shoved down the wave of nausea that produced with gritted teeth. "You've never seen someone sit down before?"

"You let that thing sting you, didn't you?"

With a jerk, Cloud stood upright. For a moment, the world tipped on its side.

He was grateful that he hadn't eaten breakfast that morning. If he'd had anything in his apartment worth eating, it all would've made an encore appearance as he tried to keep his footing.

The humiliating levels of concern on the AVALANCHE members' faces -- even Barrett -- made it clear that he wasn't going to be able to fool them.

"So do you normally try to distract people during monster fights?" he asked Barrett pointedly, "or am I just special?"

Jessie snickered. "Oooooo," she sang, "Tifa's gonna kick your butt, Barrett!"

"Knock it off," Barrett fired back, but secretly he agreed.

The middle of a fight with four grashshrikes really wasn't the place to be interrogating the kid about Shinra policies, he did know that. But the surly mercenary's penchant for brushing him off with "how should I know?" type answers was grating on his nerves. All things considered, retorting "what, you don't remember?" shouldn't have been that big of a deal -- at least, it wouldn't have been for one of his team. But Cloud wasn't one of them. And something about Barrett's irritable comment had made him literally stumble mid swing, allowing an opportunistic grashshrike an opening to sting him in the side.

And unfortunately, what with how Tifa felt about her home -- the one Shinra destroyed -- Barrett suspected that saying Cloud was responsible for his own injuries wouldn't pass muster with the formidable Miss Lockhart. And anyway, regardless of how Barrett felt about the merc, he was Tifa's friend -- Ancients only knew why. The kid had lost enough for one lifetime. No reason to add her friend to that list.

"Well at least that was the last of 'em," he grunted, then he heaved himself upright and dusted off his knees.

"Jessie, Wedge, you go turn that job in and collect the pay. We'll meet you at the 7th Heaven to divide it."

He waved his machine-gun hand at Biggs.

"C'mere, you're making sure Junior here doesn't drop dead on the way home."

Cloud didn't mind Biggs, not really. But with the way his head was pounding, and his shirt felt like sandpaper against his chest, the idea of anyone "helping" him was both unappealing and embarrassing.

"Don't touch me," he snapped, pulling away quickly.

That was a mistake, as it turned out. The world started spinning again, and having an empty stomach didn't seem to matter after all as bile ejected from his mouth.

"Eesh." Wedge scrambled back. "You know what you need?"

"Five minutes' peace without all of you running around like broody chocobos?" Cloud asked dryly. This was ignored.

"You need a gingerbeer and salted crackers," Wedge said sagely. "Once that poison's cured, anyway."

"Leave me alone," Cloud groaned.

(Don't leave me alone! I don't want to be alone!)

"Just give me a Cure and I'll be fine."

"You need a Cura, idiot," Barrett chided him, without the usual bite. "We've got one at the bar."

Without a second of hesitation, the big man threw one of Cloud's arms over his shoulders and began walking. Cloud struggled to extricate himself from Barrett's grip, but doing so just made the nausea worse.

"I can walk!" he insisted.

"Like a drunken moogle, sure," Barrett snorted. "Listen kid, Tifa will have my head if I let you go back to work in this condition. You're lucky she wasn't there to see that, or we'd both be dead men. We're goin' home."

Cloud bared gritted teeth. "I'm going to throw up on you," he threatened.

Barrett just tightened his grip and rolled his eyes.

"Like I've never been puked on before?"

On Cloud's other side, Biggs gave him a weird look, and Barrett harrumphed a little.

"My daughter, knucklehead. You never burped a baby at Leaf House?"

"Ohhhh, gotcha." Biggs looked chagrined. "Kinda thought you meant bar patrons or something."

"You honestly think Tifa would let somebody get that drunk in my bar?" Barrett shook his head almost grimly. "Who needs a bouncer when you've got her?"

Cloud wasn't sure how they got from the edge of the slums to a ratty fold-out couch in the AVALANCHE headquarters after that, honestly, but at some point Biggs deposited a Cura on his chest with strict instructions to "play nice".

Cloud had been more confused about the direction than his sudden change in location...until he turned his head and found four year old Marlene wearing a children's Mage costume, holding a toy Bouncy Materia.

Bouncy Materia? That was a thing?

"I," said Marlene with all the solemnity a preschooler could muster, "am a mage. I'm gonna heal ya. Say aaaaahhhh."

Cloud blinked at the tiny figure incredulously. "....what?"

"Say aahhh!" Marlene repeated. "Daddy said to make sure you didn't get outta bed while he makes us lunch. Biggs said you had a tummyache, so I gotta make sure you don't have a bad sick like the flu."

"....how're you going to tell that by looking at my throat?" Cloud croaked.

The little girl shrugged. "I dunno, that's what the doctor does! She looks in my throat and then she knows why I feel sick."

Cloud pondered this.

"Well," he said at last, "I don't know enough about doctors to prove you wrong. Carry on, I guess."

He began to regret that when the sparkly stickers shaped like bandages came out.

All six sheets of them.

#fic prompts #writing prompts #free day thursday #ff7 #ff7 remake #biggs and wedge #barrett wallace #marlene wallace #tifa lockhart #cloud strife #Cloud needs adult supervision. Cloud is not adult supervision. #sickfic #Barrett is making chicken noodle soup for Cloud but if asked he'll insist it's because Marlene asked for some. she didn't. #dadBarrett #does he realize he's acquired another kid yet? if he does he's in denial

[birdofmay]

Most people really don't seem to know what this mysterious "residential care" means when it comes to disabilities.

"This person is severely disabled, they have to live in residential care."

Do you know what happens when a severely disabled person with high support needs who isn't aware of dangers and needs constant supervision applies for residential care?

They get turned down or kicked out a couple of days later.

This happens regularly, btw. Kids grow up and parents think "Oh, residential care sounds good", and then suddenly every institution, etc. goes "Sorry, we don't specialise in that, sorry, your child is too aggressive, sorry, your child can't stick to our sleep schedule, sorry, your child is too noise sensitive, sorry, your child HAS to participate in our weekly activities even though their disability makes it impossible for them to do so, sorry..."

People who can live in residential care aren't your "the worst of the worst" example. There is such a thing as "too disabled for residential care" and it's more common than you'd think! ☝🏼

"But what happens when someone is too disabled for residential care and their family can't take care of them? Surely everyone eventually ends up somewhere!"

They get passed around from institution to institution, but everyone eventually goes "Sorry, we can't keep them here", and it won't stop. Until, maybe, one day they're lucky and a fixed team of carers "adopts" them and tries to create some kind of assisted living from scratch.

(Edit: Some people in the notes mention that many end up in prison or psych wards. That's included in what I mean with "institution" ☝🏼. But keep in mind that most severely disabled people with very high support needs simply die when their needs aren't met, so they either are passed around from institution to institution until someone builds something from scratch... or they simply die.)

Nobody talks about it, which is why it's always a big shock for parents who found a really good residential care place for their soon-to-be adult child and their child looks forward to moving out, and suddenly this wonderful residential care company turns their child down because it's too disabled. And then the next one. And the next.

So no, residential care isn't for "those with the most profound disabilities" - people with the most profound disabilities can't be in residential care at all.

#long post

[nanaslutt]

male squirting.... Satoru being overstimulated to the brink of tears ? 😵‍💫♡

contains: fem reader, kiinnndaaaa sub gojo :3, whiny gojo, hand jobs, overstimulation, squirting, multiple orgasms, praise, so much dirty talk, dacraphillia, lots of talk of cum

MDNI

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ

You were scrolling through Twitter and came across a video of a man tied to a chair, naked. A pair of hands that were neatly manicured was jerking him off rapidly, forcing orgasm after orgasm out of his cock. It wasn't anything you hadn't seen on twitter before, but twenty seconds later you would see something new. The woman was jerking him after his orgasm, the man whining and crying, his body trying to jerk away from her touch as he was pushed into overstimulation.

He started pleading with her to slow down, saying something felt weird, and that's when it happened, he squirted. It looked so intense, his body trembling and hunching over as he screamed through another forced orgasm. You squeezed your thighs together feeling yourself grow aroused between your legs, a vivid image popping into your head of trying this with Satoru. You replayed the video over a couple times, pretending the faceless pale man in the chair was your boyfriend, even though they shared no resemblance to one another.

You were sure Satoru would be up to trying something like this, the two of you had a very adventurous sex life and were always sharing new ideas with the other on fun things you could do in the bedroom, and this looked very fun. You quickly copied the link and switched to messages, sending it to your boyfriend who was currently at work. You hoped he wouldn't see your message until he had a break, but you had sent him worse things during worse moments, so it would be fine.

Moments after you had sent the video to Satoru, your phone lit up with his name big and bold on the screen, vibrating in your hand. "Satoru? Why are you calling me at work?" You asked, pressing your phone to your ear. "Tell me you want to do that to me, thats why you sent me that right?" He asked rushed, excitement laced in his tone. From the backround noise from Gojo's end of the call of birds chirping and leaves rusting through the trees with no voices besides his to be heard, you guessed he was supervising sparing and had stepped away.

"I dont think I need to ask if you want to try it then~" You laughed into the receiver. Gojo was currently leaning his head back against a building of Jujutsu high, his eyes scrunched shut as he imagined your hands on him, overstimulating him like the woman had done in the video. "Are you kidding? I'm all over that~" He cracked his eyes open, a smile gracing his features. "My pretty girlfriend making me squirt? didn't even know that was possible, I've been missing out." He sighed.

"Wanna give it a go tonight then? Wouldn't want you to miss out any longer." You said teasingly, biting your lip as you pressed your thighs together once more. "Why wait that long? I get off in an hour, I'll see you and your pretty hands then~" Gojo said singsong like into the phone. The two of you said your goodbyes before you ended the call, your fingers taking you back to the video so you could watch it over and over again, picking up some techniques the woman used that you could use on Satoru."

--

"She used a lot of lube so.. this is gonna get messy." You said, popping open the lid to the lube bottle you kept on your side table. Gojo was laid down on the bed, a towel under his ass as you sat on his thighs, one hand stroking his cute leaking cock, while your other squeezed the plastic bottle, watching the slippery substance drip down onto his cock in thick strands.

Gojo hissed when the cold lubricant came into contact with his dick, keeping his eyes on your slender hands wrapping around him. "If you make me squirt it's gonna get a hell of a lot messier too~" Gojo chimed in, biting his lip when you used one of your hands to wrap around his tip, rolling it around in circular motions in your palm, the other slowly jerking the rest of his massive length. "You will," you assured him, your eyes sliding up to make contact with his.

"Gotta say the safeword If it gets too much, kay Toru?" You asked, making sure he acknowledged your words before things got too intense. "Yeah yeah, F-fuuuck, I won't though~ I can take it." He said confidently, flashing you a cocky smile as you slowly and steadily jerked him off.

"Fuck.." Gojo murmured under his breath, his eyes dropping as he watched you work slowly on his dick, the copious amount of lube you used creating a loud and vulgar slick noise every time your hands moved on him. "It's so wet," Gojo groaned. You could feel his thighs flexing under your ass as he started getting into it. "Yeah? Does it feel good?" You asked, picking up the speed of both your hands a bit. "Yeah.. fuck- feels like I'm inside you." Gojo groaned, his jaw falling open and his breath picking up as he watched you jerk him off, both of your hands now screwing down the length of his cock together, making sure to squeeze at the tip.

"I feel this wet?" You almost laughed, taking note of how the lube coated his balls and was steadily dripping down the insides of his thighs. "You're wetter." He smirked back, his smile quickly fading when you paused one of your hands, opting to rub right under the head of his cock while the other kept jerking him off. You bit your lip, noticing how his eyes were rolling back in his head. "Feel good right here, Toru?" You asked, pressing your thumb into his frenulum with more force, a shaky whimper leaving his lips.

"So fucking good," Satoru praised, pulling his hip between his teeth. You slid the pad of your thumb from his frenulum to the slit on his tip in a smooth rhythm, up and down, up and down, making Satoru groan through clenched teeth. "Oh fuck- keep fucking doing that- sh-it." Gojo was humping his hips into your fist, chasing the stimulation, making your body bounce slightly on top of his thighs. "Satoru quit moving, let me do all the work." You spoke softly, giving his shaft harsh strokes that made him whine.

"Okay- okay, baby- just please don't stop, please." He replied with an aroused smile plastered on his face. You giggled at his desperation, continuing your ministrations on his cock so he didn't grow any needier. "I won't Toru, I got you~" you assured. His head flopped back onto the pillows with a groan when you started stroking him with both hands once again, rotating your hands up and down the length of his cock, making the coil in his tummy rapidly tighten itself up.

"Fuck- fuck me baby fuck-" Satoru whined through his teeth, the words strung together as he tipped his head down, nodding as you jerked his cock quick and rough, making his body wiggle around on the sheets. "You like that? Like when I jerk you off like this?" You cooed, biting your lip as you darted your eyes back and forth between his flushed cock and his pretty face scrunched up in pleasure.

Your words went straight to his cock, if you weren't gripping him so hard you might've been able to feel how hard he twitched in your hands. "God I fucking love it, baby, makin' me feel so g-good." Gojo groaned through his teeth. He really wanted to keep watching you but he physically could not keep his head up anymore. He let his head fall back into the pillows once more, screwing his eyes shut as he let you work him up to his high. "Shit.. I feel it coming pretty girl.." Your boyfriend let you know, his breathing picking up when he felt his balls start to tighten, the warmth in his belly growing warmer and warmer, all telltale signs of his orgasm approaching.

"You got this baby, gonna fuck you through it and you're gonna take what I give you like a good boy, isn't that right?" You spoke sweetly, a teasing tilt to your voice as you hyped him up. He nodded his head against the pillows, keeping his eyes shut, face still screwed in pleasure, his jaw clenching and unclenching as he tried to brace himself for what was to come. "Gonna take it, 'm your good boy, baby~" Satoru responded, trying to smile through his arousal.

You felt his warm cock pulse strongly against your fingers at the same time his breathing stilled, right before the first rope of his cum shot out of his dick and splattered onto his abdomen. Gojo groaned loudly through his teeth, his body jerking inwards at every wave of his orgasm. "Yeah~ Good boy, just like that, keep cumming for me Toru~" You praised, jerking your hands rapidly over his dick, coating your fingers and his cock in his cum, mixing with the lube already smothered on his cock.

"Shit- s-shit- nnghhh-" Gojo groaned through his orgasm, his hips jerking up into your hand as he came. You continued to stroke him through the aftershocks of his high, which was bearable for the first four seconds before he started fighting the pleasure you were giving him. Whines and gasps were being pulled from his lips when you didn't slow down your hands on his cock, keeping up the mean rough pace on his length, simultaneously twisting your palm over his too-sensitive cockhead.

His hips jerked back, into the sheets as he tried to excape your ruthless hands, his chin shot down to his chest as he watched you sit on top of him, lip pulled between your teeth as you tried to work him through his overstimulation. "Ffffffuck!" He finally vocalized, his entire body thrashing and twitching agaisnt the sheets, knees trying to curl upwards, thighs pressing together, anything to excape the overbearing pleasure that wouldn't stop coming.

"You're doing so good baby, so good, don't fight it." You talked him through it, trying to get his overwhelmed brain to slow down. "Oh-ohmygod it's too much-" He cried, his hands heaving the pillows he was gripping next to his head and slapping down on your thighs, digging his nails into the skin there. You swear you saw tears forming in his eyes before he screwed them shut once more, his jaw falling slack as he turned his head back and forth against the pillows, he looked so hot like this.

"You wanna squirt don't you baby? I thought you could take it, must not want it that bad." You teased, trying a different method to instill the confidence in him that he needed in this moment to get through this. "N-no I want it- wanna- wanna squirt-" He whined, his breathing starting to even out, his overstimulation must be fizzling out. "That's right, that's my good boy Toru." You smirked proudly down at him, finally noticing your own arousal that was throbbing between your legs.

"Goddd~ l-love when you call me that~" He giggled, his eyes cracking open as he tilted his head to the side so he could see you, keeping his head pressed into the pillows. You giggled before rubbing your thumb against his frenulum again. His breath hitched, his nails digging into your thigh right before cum shot out of his cock again, weaker this time. The ropes of his seed barely made it to his abdomen, most of it coating your fingers and easing the slide over his cock, making it impossibly more slippery.

"You really like it right here, huh?" You asked, continuing to massage the spot in little circles as you worked his seed out of his shaft. Gojo's body jerked forward, his legs shaking with the intensity of his second orgasm so soon after the first. He stayed silent, his mouth agape as he let you work him through his high. He came down with a gasp, greedily swallowing air into his lungs, panting when he was once again granted the short intermission before his cock was assaulted with your hands overstimulating him.

This time, you did see the tears fall down his cheeks when you didn't stop. The squelches emitting from his cock were sooo loud, so lewd, you guaranteed if you pulled your panties down right now, they would be flooded. The lube and cum created such a mess on your fingers as you rapidly stroked over him, your hand looking like a blur from how fast your pace was. One of Gojo's hands gripped your wrist harshly, almost stopping the movements completely. Good thing you had another hand, you used it to rotate over his tip, slightly punishing him for trying to stop you.

"Baby s-stop- stop I c-cant I c-cant do it-" Gojo cried, fat tears falling over his flushed cheeks, wetting the hair on the side of his face. He didn't say the safeword, but he sounded so desperate so you slowed your hand ever so slightly before you spoke, "This is gonna be the one Toru, just one more and you're gonna squirt for me, promise." You encouraged, nodding at him when he cracked his lids open, teary eyes locking onto yours. "Ohhhhmygod I don't know If- Ugh-" He tried protesting, raking his nails into your thighs.

"You can do it, you're so close baby, so close, it's gonna feel so fucking good." His hand had loosened his grip on your wrist, his head weakly nodding at your words. "I- I think I'm gonna cum already-" His words cut off with a whine, his chest heaving as he took sharp breaths into his lungs, high-pitched wines spilling from his lips as he felt his third orgasm come on. This time it felt a little different, it felt deeper, stronger, he couldn't really explain it, all he could do was take the painful pleasure, letting your hands milk him dry as his tired body tried its best to relax against the sheets.

The towel under his ass was already soaked with cum and lube, and you figured it was about to get a whole lot wetter, you weren't sure why you bothered putting a towel down in the first place.

Gojo started leaking under your thumb, a substance thinner than his cum spurting out of his cock in little amounts. "Baby- baby fuck- It- I cant- I cant-" He wined, losing his composure when he felt it creep over him. This new sensation was taking over his whole body, everything from the tips of his toes to his ears felt flushed, he felt like he was suffocating with how hard it was to take a good breath into his lungs, the feeling making him hyperventilate.

"You can, I got you, baby, I'm right here, let it out, squirt for me Toru~" You encouraged, jerking him off with more vigor, continuing to rub your thumb over his frenulum and flushed tip, steadily leaking the liquid. His thighs rapidly clenched under yours, his chin dropping to his chest to watch his dick, his intense eyes waiting to see something miraculous happen right when his orgasm hit. And fuck did something happen.

A clear liquid sprayed out of his cock, the stream coming out stuttered as you jerked him through it, moaning with him. "Oh my god you're doing it baby, good fucking job, fucking give it to me Toru~" You groaned, slamming your hands down on the length of his cock, fucking his orgasm out of him. He was being so loud, you were lucky your neighbors lived a good distance away, or they might call the cops because it seriously sounded like someone was being tortured, and in a way, he was.

His body shook and trembled, even after you slowed your hands on him. Tears streamed down his bright red face as his eyes fought to stay forward in their sockets, his hands weakly twitching against your thighs, nails digging into the skin. You leaned forward, wiping your hands off on the bed sheets before you took his teary face in your hands, pressing kisses to his open mouth, sweaty forehead, blushed nose, anywhere your lips could touch.

"Good boy Toru, good fucking boy." You giggled, wiping his tear-soaked hair away from his face as his glossy eyes made eye contact with yours, his hands wrapping around your waist. "How did that feel? Was it everything you thought it would be?" You giggled. His body twitched under you, your boyfriend's chest still heaving up and down rapidly. "Better, I love you, l-love you." He stuttered, closing his eyes as you pressed kisses to his tearstain cheeks and eyelids.

"C-couldn't have done that without you." He whispered, wrapping his arms around your body and pressing your weight onto him, his sticky cock sticking to your clothes in the process, but you would worry about that later, Satoru needed your utmost attention to calm down right now. "I love you too, my amazing boy~" You praised, letting him pull you tighter, your head digging into his neck as you pressed little kisses into the skin there.

#jjk smut #gojo smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk x reader #jjk x y/n #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru smut #gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #gojou x reader #satoru gojo #gojo saturo #gojou satoru x reader #jujutsu gojo #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #jjk gojo #gojo fluff #jjk satoru #jujutsu kaisen satoru #satoru smut #jujutsu satoru #gojo satoru fic #satorugojo #gojou satoru x you #gojou satoru x y/n

[apas-95]

The thing about car-dependency is that... it sucks for people without a car. Big news, right. But, it’s not like that incentive curve is something we can just ignore. When our desire or ability to leave our house at all is conditional on being in a car, that affects all of our behaviour on every level.

Kids are the prototypical ‘person without a car’, and in a car-dependent area, they become dependent on their parents. In a normal, walkable city or suburb, children walk on their own to school, they cycle, they take the bus. Instead of needing to get parental approval - and enough enthusiasm to dedicate the time - to be shuttled around to any given activity, children walk to the park, or to a friend’s house. Even in rural areas, with the infrastructure, children will cycle to school. In a car-dependent suburb, a child is trapped in a single-family McMansion on the edge of town, forced to beg their parents to be able to go anywhere, always under supervision - is it any wonder they’d rather stay inside?

Even in a city, if it’s car-dependent, this is still an issue. When the roads are 100-decibel, 6-lane monstrosities, with cyclists expected to intermingle with traffic, and the busses stuck in the exact same jam, kids aren’t going to be able to get anywhere, assuming their parents even let them cross the street. This isn’t just about proximity, it’s fundamentally related to safety. Car-dependent places are a lot more dangerous to be in, on account of all the cars, so parents feel it’s safer for their kid to be in one of those cars. To boot, when everyone’s in a car, there are less people around, less people who can notice someone in trouble, less people who can help. When places are built with the assumption that everyone will have a car, they become places for cars, which humans can stupidly venture into.

This doesn’t just apply to children. We are all, at some point or another, a ‘person without a car’ - in fact, we’re a ‘person without a car’ most of the time, until we get into one. A lot of people would prefer to remain that way; driving a car is stressful, it takes a lot of effort and concentration, and not everyone likes it at 6AM. But, when your environment is built with the assumption you’re inside a soundproof, crash-proof metal box, that becomes a requirement. The second you’re outside of those conditions, scurrying across deafening, hot tarmac, and dodging heavy-duty pickup trucks (carrying solely one guy and his starbucks order), of course you’d decide that not being in a car sucks. But, the thing is, it’s designing for cars that made it suck, even for the car-drivers.

A place designed for cars, a place that people cannot walk, or cycle, or take public transit through, is a place full of cars - you are not stuck in traffic, you are traffic. Studies have shown that the average speed of car traffic, over sufficient time, is completely unrelated to the thoroughfare of roads. Eventually, because of induced demand, the new seven-lane arterial road will have exactly the same congestion as the two-lane it replaced. The one factor that sharply determines how slow road traffic gets is, listen to this, the speed of non-car travel. It is solely when alternatives become faster that people stop driving and free up traffic. Shutting down main street, only allowing buses through, would drastically increase the speed of the rest of the road network - because each of those buses is 40 cars not in traffic. If you like driving, you should want as many people as possible who don’t want to drive to stop doing it - and whoever you are, you should want to be able to travel without depending on cars.

When I was in the biggest depressive slump of my life, and I could barely get out of bed, I still went shopping for food nearly every day, and even traveled to visit my partner. The supermarket was 10 meters out the door of my apartment, and I could walk five minutes to either train station if I had to. It was peaceful and quiet outside. My disabled mother doesn’t like living in cities, but she loves public transit, and will always take a train ride over a long, tiring car journey - and when every store doesn’t need a parking lot twice as big as itself, whatever walking she does have to do is over a much shorter distance. When I’ve had to call an ambulance in a ‘car-hostile’ place, it has arrived inconceivably faster, on those clear roads, than when sitting in the traffic of the highway-lined carpark that makes up so many cities.

Car dependency sucks for everyone, including car drivers, but it sucks the worst for people already suffering. It strips you of independence, and forces you into a box you might not fit in - and I haven’t even touched on pollution. Car-dependency makes cities and suburbs into dangerous, stressful places, devoid of everyone except the most desperate. The only people it benefits are, really, the CEOs of car companies.

#car dependency #walkability #cars

[flamingpudding]

Message to the past

Was one nice family dinner in the Wayne Family really possible? Jason was starting to think it wasn't. The evening started out so well, for once he did not have any sort of beef with Bruce for the moment. He got to spend time with Alfred preparing the dinner. Neither Demon Brat nor Pretender were at each other's throats because of a case yet and there was no argument about to happen with Dickie either and he didn't feel like avoiding Bruce. Did he mention he didn't feel like leaving the Manor at the first sight of his old man?

Everything felt like it was gearing up to be a nice and well deserved family dinner with all his siblings being in one space for once.

That was until a Lazarus Green portal opened and a fucking silver green tin can smack dab hit him square in the face. Causing him to fall backwards in his chair and hitting his head painfully on the floor. Why didn't they have carpet in the dinner room again? Oh right, someone -one of his siblings- got mud all over it after patrol and Alfred decided the dinner room didn't need it anymore.

Once the first shock of what had just happened passed. They got to inspect the tin can and found a letter inside it.

Dear future Dad,

Gramps Clockwork spoilered that there is a mess up in the timeline because of the speedsters and I can fix it like this, which is why I am writing this. Please pick me up in the attached location marked on the map. My current self is in need of saving and I honestly would like to spare myself at least a little of the trauma that's about to happen.

Also please bring some explosives. You always regretted not blowing up a corupted govermental facility, so here is your chance of doing so! Be proud, though. I blew up a bunch of them in the future, with supervision, of course, from my uncles and aunts, so great grandpa wouldn't worry.

Please pick me up? Thanks if you do!

Your future adopted son.

PS: please ignore any complains my current self might have. I was in server need of a real parental figure and as you like to say as stubborn as grandpa.

PSS: also please stop antagonizing grandpa about my adoption. It's bad enough that you had to fight him over it in the first place.

PSSS: please bring great grandpa's cookies, I beg you please! I swear I will do all my schoolwork and be a straight A student if you do!

The girls of the family started to pout while the boys exchanged glances. Jason narrowed his eyes at his brothers. There was a silent argument happening and Bruce was watching them all also.

But if there was one thing Jason was sure about. It was that the tin can smacked him in the face. Which meant the letter was his and the time shenanigans arson kid with sass was going to be his kid. His brothers AND Bruce can fight him over that.

Like the kid has said in his letter.

#dp x dc #danny fenton #jason todd #bruce wayne #dick grayson #damian wayne #duke thomas #cassandra cain #tim drake #danny phantom #dpxdc #crossover #dcxdp #fanfic #danny wrote a letter to the past #asking his future dad to come save him #jason is set on getting the arson kid #he will fight bruce over it #a kid thats willing enough to mess with time and blows up corrupt goverment buildings? #that just screams red hood junior #tho some of his brothers might fight him over it #maybe cass will too anyway #just because the letter was adressed to a dad didnt mean she couldn't fight for the kid too #let the adoption battle begin #clockwork got the popcorn ready to watch the chaos unfold #can be kind of crackish i think...

[kneelingshadowsalome]

I Never Missed You 1/3 (Bodyguard!Ghost x F!Reader)

Word count: 3.5 k

Tags/warnings: 18+ only. Romance, eventual smut, fluff, light angst, banter, pining, flirting, minor injuries, major character death, HFN ending. Lady/Knight dynamic. Unequal pairing trope. Bodyguard AU. Reader is a rich bitch (how else could she afford a PPO?)

Summary: 1/3 You hire a bodyguard to protect you and hunt down the one who's been sent to take your life. This man was your lawyer's first recommendation, and you never even looked through his file because you had better things to do. But it soon turns out that this man – this Simon Riley – is very talented... Talented in driving you crazy.

A/N: A three part fic based on this request. The first chapter features banter and pining. If you're here for smut, stay tuned. There is an entire chapter of it coming right up.

Your lawyer says it would be a good idea. He even dares to look at you from under his brow like you're a child who doesn't know what's good for her.

And you don't.

Because that's exactly how you feel like: a grown woman who's stunted to a kid, now being supervised by adults. 

The bodyguard they assigned you - the one you accepted because he was your lawyer's first choice - is exactly the broad, brooding type you have always imagined bodyguards to be like.

But he's not wearing sunglasses, and he's not wearing a suit. He says the point of a bodyguard is that they don't look like a bodyguard. 

The first thing you actually pay attention to is the milky-white eyelashes. Only days after you hear that this man rarely shows his face. You were given a file on him, but you never peeked inside it because you were pissed that such drastic measures had to be taken in the first place. You just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Now you pry it from the pile of papers you buried it into, open it, and the first - and only - photo you see is a perfect portrayal of what Death looks like. 

He's the Reaper himself when adorned with that human skull. Keen but emotionless eyes stare from the pits of the sockets to somewhere in the distance, but that look is a stare into the past. The photo raises thousands of questions, and not only the need to know why this man prefers to wear human bones when he's shooting people.

Because apparently, that’s what he used to do before he became a bodyguard. He's buff, that you already know. But in that picture, he looks even more packed, with what you suppose is a bullet vest beneath that blouse. He’s holding an ugly-looking gun – not a pistol, but a rifle of some sort. The gear on him no doubt weighs something close to 60 pounds. His sleeves are rolled up and expose the crisscross veins on his forearms along with war-ugly, crude tattoos, and you swallow. 

Were you really looking at a picture of a barbaric soldier like it was some peculiar soft porn now?

You flip the file closed and toss it on the table, rather disgusted with yourself.

The next time you see him, you look into those brown eyes a moment longer. That stoic stare is the only thing you recognize as that of the man in the picture. That, along with his size, although photos really can't convey how this brooding grunt makes you feel: small and insignificant. Nor do they illustrate how the man looks like he’s the most graceful bull in a china shop when moving inside your house.

You suppose he grew up poor, the way he looks at your furniture, your half-a-mile bookshelf, and the latest art piece you got last month in your living room. He's judging you. 

You're posh. And clueless. And a child.

And this brute lives with you, for now. He's placed downstairs until the target is neutralized. And he's not just a bodyguard: he's hunting the hunter while you're the bait.

It should give you a thrill; your friend giggles when you two gossip about him over a lunch while he's standing only a few feet away. But this situation does not give you a thrill. It just makes you pissed.

And it's not just the situation, it's this... Simon Riley who makes you pissed.

Couldn't they teach manners, some conversation skills at the bodyguard school or wherever the hell this pale, emotionless Hulk came from?

You recheck his file and snoop some more details about his past. He didn't go to bodyguard school (of course he didn't); he used to work for some PMC. The brute's a cold-blooded, cold-hearted mercenary. To put it more eloquently, he's an elite soldier of some tactical unit. But all of that is classified, as is almost every other detail about him. The only thing you are left with is that he's British through and through, but you can already tell that by his accent - the thick Mancunian that makes your stomach and heart flip.

It's gruff – of course it's gruff – and sometimes chafes your ears like they were being grated with the softest grater. You find yourself thinking about him while you're in the shower, when your fingers start to drift and wander.

And for the love of god, you are not thinking about that accent and those eyes while you're masturbating. You're not going to mourn the fact that he never rolls his sleeves when he's with you. When he's at work.

"I saw your file," you start to chitchat over breakfast one day.

"I reckon."

He won't even touch the coffee you poured him but proceeds to drink almost all the tea. The delicate china looks miniature in his hands as he pours the Earl Grey into his cup. The cups are dainty, too – this savage would prefer a large, black mug, perhaps, from which to gulp his tea.

"So. What made you become a soldier?"

"Joined the SAS when I was 17."

And another thing he won't do is look at you when you speak. No manners at all in this man, only rough, sharp edges. He sits as far from you as he can, at the other end of the table, as if you were in a meeting. Or a war council.

"That's not what I asked."

"I know."

You roll your eyes. Conversation skills, god. Just give this man at least some charm…

"I'm going to do some shopping," you declare. "You can stay here."

Finally, he raises his stare. It's full of tired distaste.

"Nah. That's not how this works."

You rise from the table, gracefully and with a neutral face, indicating that you are an adult and won't be needing a babysitter at a store.

"Lady." 

The command is dark and stops you before you have taken one step from the table. It's a slur, almost.

He rises from the table too, and you almost feel sorry, noticing he hasn't yet finished his toast.

"You hired me. And I'm gonna do my job."

He looks big and broad, like a beautiful storm, with that piercing stare and the most alluring lashes you have ever seen on a man. Your voice turns into a meek, pitched attempt to reason with a giant.

"...I'm just going shopping."

His head tilts with a mock: you're only a child in his eyes. 

"Then let's go shopping."

…......…......

Sitting next to this giant in a taxi must be a hilarious-looking scene. A charming, vibrant lady and a sullen, intimidating Theseus – what a pair.

You've also never been this close to him. The man always sits with a wide spread. One heavy thigh almost touches your knees, which you have turned towards him for some unfathomable reason. You were taught to sit with knees closely set together, and that’s what you’re trying to do now: make yourself as small and feminine as possible. It only accentuates this man's size compared to yours. There's a pile of shopping bags between you two, and your gaze is directed outside the window, but you can feel his presence like there's a thrumming monolith beside you.

And he's always dressed in black. You kind of enjoyed how you two looked at the store: you in your heels and a pearl white suit, he in black, tactical ripstop and boots. You wouldn't define the man well-dressed… but he is sharply dressed in his own field, that's for sure. Even a commoner like you could see that.

He had complained about your clothes. White draws too much attention and makes for a bigger target. You had brushed him off with a scoff. You’re not going to change the way you dress because of this.

"You're from Manchester, right?"

You're only trying to make the journey home more enjoyable, but feel like you're snooping again, this time from the man himself. The less you know about Simon Riley, the more you want to learn who he is. It is only natural to get a little curious when his file barely had two paragraphs and a photo. You suppose even that single picture was taken and given forward with reluctance. 

And the only thing you learn is that small talk is a completely foreign concept to this man.

"You're quite the Sherlock," he mutters with that fat accent that gave him away the minute you two shook hands. You Sherlock about some more, look at the left hand that rests on his thigh.

There's no ring. Not even a tan line. He must be lonely: no relationship could stand working hours like these.

"Do you still live there?"

"...No."

"Do you miss the place?"

"No."

The short answers are guttural and spoken from the back of his throat. You don't know if he's doing it on purpose, or if this Simon is like this with everyone. He's not annoyed, though, not the way you're beginning to be.

"Aren't you a chatty one…" you mumble while watching cloudy London pass by. You figured he might hear it, and perhaps that was your purpose, even if your voice was barely a whisper.

"I'm not here to talk. Ma'am."

…......…......

You are told to stay away from the windows. The dinner table is moved so no one can aim at your head through a glass. And even then, most curtains must be closed at all times. 

He goes through doors first, and advises against going out at all. You get a list of things you should take into consideration if you do go out.

And you’re not going to give in to fear.

You simply take different routes to your friends and family, have lunches at different restaurants than usual. He says you should get an armored car, but you don’t have a license. Of course your brooding bodyguard could drive, but what will you do with some armored tank after you're finally through this thing?

What's far more interesting is that it turns out this Simon Riley is a smoker.

Disgusting, you think at first, then think about him all sweaty and grimy after some gunfight, reaching for a cig, curling those thick fingers around a pure-white coffin nail. No, wait – he had gloves in that picture; he wouldn't bother to take them off before he smoked, he would just lean on his gun and on some crumbling wall and sigh from the joy of being alive, of being bloodied and dirty and victorious before taking a long drag from his cigarette.

Ugh.

Reluctantly you agree that perhaps there is an odd charm to this man after all. Either that, or then you are in need of some serious therapy.

Breakfasts are torturingly quiet with Simon, and you can hear the slow roll of eyes every time you make plans to go to a party or an art gallery.

Once, a zipper gets stuck and you have to ask him for help. It’s mortifying, and he doesn’t say a word, only mocks you with his eyes as you turn around for him to place a warm hand on your hip and another on your back to pull up the zipper you had fought to reach and drag up by yourself for at least 10 minutes.

A week passes, and he’s buried in work, not only because he’s guarding your body 24/7, but because he’s trying to locate the hitman. The fact that Simon Riley is technically speaking a hitman too - to think that you have hired a killer - is something you don’t have the mental strength to delve into right now.

"Found the one who's hunting you."

Another file is dropped before you at the end of the week. The man marches into your office like there's no door there at all. Doesn't even bother to knock. 

This isn't what you meant when you politely told him to make himself home…

You roll the glass of water on your temple and sigh. The file reveals another photo, this time of a man who looks like an executioner.

"Goes by the name König," he says and clasps his hands over his crotch while taking a wide stance in front of your desk. "Austrian war criminal. Skilled with knives… Likes to torture people first."

Nice. More brutes.

"Why are you telling me this?" 

You're tired, there's a headache approaching, and you really don't care to go over some details about a professional lunatic killer right now. But Simon Riley - codenamed Ghost, you’ve lately learned - looks down at you like a storm cloud over a carefree meadow.

"Because you clearly don't understand the danger you're in." 

He adds "Ma'am" as a footnote. Purposely forgotten...

And you wish he would forget that silly, overly courteous term.

"Well–" you sigh your frustration in the air between you two, then realize that perhaps you're being treated like a child because you behave like one. "What are you going to do about this man...?"

"Gonna kill him," he simply shrugs, the eternal, distant look in those eyes gaining a smug tone to them. 

He enjoys this. Enjoys killing, but what's even worse, enjoys seeing how his ruthlessness makes you shift uncomfortably in your chair. Or perhaps he just likes shocking you with that file with an image of a lyncher in it. You know perfectly well that you're in trouble and under threat. That's what you've tried to forget, but no one lets you forget.

Simon takes a deep breath before placing his humble petition before you.

"Ma’am. I'm gonna need your help."

And nothing in this man is humble. Even though he rarely speaks and never shows his talents, not to talk of showing off, he reeks of pride and testosterone.

You set the glass on the table and straighten the file to align with the leather pad on your desk. Your fingers are not trembling. Yet.

"What do you mean?" 

He gives a hoarse laugh. The sound drills straight to your core and starts to bloom there. You realize you have never seen him smile before. And he's not smiling now: the short laugh is just a dark chuckle that mainly stays inside his chest; it only makes those stocky shoulders rise and fall.

"Not like that," he looks down at you with a tad of mercy. "You're gonna serve as bait."

"Isn't… that what I've been the whole time?"

"Yeah. But this time, we're gonna lure him in."

The way he talks makes your thighs rub together without your consent. You wonder what it would feel like if you were trapped between that solid chest and a wall, what it would be like if those hands woke you up with a calloused caress of a thigh.

You don't quite understand the difference between bait and a lure but find yourself willing to do whatever you can to help him. Help Simon…

"Sure... I'll help you," you say as if this man wasn't on your payroll.

"That's the least you could do."

That barely hidden bite in his dry retort doesn't escape you. This man's audacity buries whatever odd want you have started to feel for him and replaces it with searing, womanly fury. 

He could be a little more sensitive.

You're the one who has a target on their back. You're the one who fears going to sleep at night and feels lucky they're alive come dawn. If he wasn't so crude and uncaring, you would've asked him to sleep in the same room with you from the start. But he has to be a brute, has to follow and mock you with those ink blot eyes at every turn.

You rise from the chair when he turns and walks toward the door. It's almost a snappy jump, an attempt to reclaim your power. You're sore and thoroughly peeved.

"I never wanted this," you tell him with an annoying timbre in your tone. He stops right before the door but doesn't turn.

"Neither did I."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Could be somewhere warmer with no damsels giving me their cheek."

The BDU blouse you saw in that picture was yellow, burnt yellow. Desert wear… He wants to be in a hot desert with a cold gun in his hand. Dropped straight from some plane, working alone, in a place where damsels aren't giving him their cheek. Where there are no damsels at all. 

You're relatively sure there is no Mrs. Riley. No woman could stand this man.

"Then go somewhere warmer," you snap, almost stomp your heel on the soft carpet. This man is simply intolerable. The way he never reacts to anything makes you want to throw things at him. 

He must be trained to be so calm, but you're not. You're used to making men a little stupid and flustered. You're used to men eating out of your hand. He's not behaving at all like he's supposed to. Simon Riley is just a mountain without emotion.

He turns with that eternal, downgrading look in his eyes. There's a flash of amusement there, too.

Soddy bastard…

"Nah. Not until I've done my job."

His voice is warm now; the gruff and gravel make way to a smoothness that goes directly to your knees. Your lips part, and his eyes fall on your mouth just before he lifts his chin a hair of an inch.

"Your job…" you breathe, too furious to even rage or shout. 

Your fucking job.

Why did you even want this job if it's so–

"Yeah. My job. Some people got one."

You have to take support from the table with your fingertips. 

"Excuse me?"

There's the tiniest curve at the corner of his mouth before he takes his leave.

"Good night, ma'am."

…......…......

The next day, you start the breakfast by apologizing. 

You barely slept that night, first because of this man's utter nerve, then because your wrath eventually cooled down into a bleeding consciousness of how you must look in his eyes. 

He has accepted this job, something different from what he usually does, for reasons unknown to you. He might not be on some faraway battlefield where bullets fly past, but this is no less risky. The picture he showed you, the file on König, haunted your restless sleep last night – when you finally did get some sleep. 

You have been running around like everything’s normal when it’s not. The man’s just trying to do his job. 

And you're the one who hired him. Not your lawyer.

"I want to make peace," you coo while spreading some jam on toast. You expect Simon to finally melt a little. You might even get a smile. You secretly hope your reward is that this brute turns into a tamed lap dog you can feed some treats every now and then. 

The situation is thrilling: the beefiest man you have ever seen is going to kill someone for you. Even if he's being paid to do so, he is prepared to die for you. There's something incredibly sexy about that.

But there is silence at the other end of the table. Only the crunchy sounds of toast getting sugar on top can be heard.

"That so?" 

He doesn't sound like he's melting. He doesn't sound at all domesticated. He only sounds more and more amused.

"Yes. I'm happy that you're here," you put the toast down and turn to look at him with angel eyes.

He laughs. When he stops, he looks you up and down, then laughs some more, a silent, shoulder-shaking chuckle.

"I'm… I'm serious," you hurry to add. "I mean it. I haven't been treating you the way I should–"

"That's for sure."

You see more warmth in those eyes. But it's not because of your humble apology.

His eyes are trekking down the neckline of your blouse, and to your horror, you notice – feel – how one of the top buttons has opened, revealing much more than just some skin. You're pretty sure he gets an ample view of the fuchsia bra you're wearing underneath.

If you reach for that button now, you underline that he's not supposed to look, even if it's your mistake that you're so obscenely exposed. If you close it now, you tell him he's not allowed to look. And that's not entirely true.

"Will you forgive me?"

You feel like you're offering peace, or at least a truce, with more than just that peepy question. Because your breasts swell inside that blouse. They rise and fall with your breaths, your nipples grow hard from that look that stays down a bit longer before drifting back up. 

"There's nothing to forgive," he says, voice dropping a note or two. 

"Good," you swallow. The following sentence comes out so weakly that it's almost a whisper. "After all, I hired you."

"Ain't that the truth."

The dim glint in those eyes still holds you as a prisoner, and his tea is growing cold.

"Are we going shopping today?"

"No," you utter, dreading the next inevitable question.

"What then?"

"I… I have a yoga class."

"Of course you do."

…......…......

Taglist: @cumikering

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[woso-dreamzzz]

Helper

Lia Wälti x Child!Reader

Leah Williamson x Child!Reader

Summary: You're the best helper

When auntie Leah tears her acl, Mummy moves you and herself into Leah's house.

She says it's because Leah will need some support. You think it's because Mummy thinks Leah won't eat proper meals. Sometimes, Mummy says Leah eats like she's rationing which means she's got a bad palate and the taste buds of a kid a lot younger than you.

But Mummy is insistent that auntie Leah just needs a bit of support and some help.

Thankfully though, Mummy always calls you her best helper so you make sure to be Leah's best helper too.

"Morning, guppy," Mummy greets you one morning.

"Hi, Mummy," You say, giving her a big morning hug. You're still very little, not yet old enough to go to school but you're getting there. Mummy says next year, you were born just a few days too late to go to school this year.

That's fine though.

That gives you time to be a big help to auntie Leah.

"What's for breakfast?" You try to peak up at the counter but you're still too little and Mummy smiles.

"Pancakes."

You gasp. "Really?"

"Really, guppy. Now, before pancakes, what must we do?"

"Wash our hands."

"That's right. Your auntie Leah is still sleeping. Do you want to wake her up for me? So we can all have pancakes?"

You nod.

"Okay, off you go."

You hurry up the stairs to auntie Leah's room and slip inside.

Mummy is right. Leah's fast asleep, like a big lump in the middle of the bed. Her crutches are on the floor near the door and you move to lean them up closer to her, so she can grab them.

You also move all of the clothes out of the way of the path to her door.

A few days ago, Mummy caught you trying to clean Leah's room for her but she said Leah's an adult and she doesn't need help keeping her room tidy and just because yours is always neat doesn't mean that Leah's had to be the same.

That was a little confusing because Mummy's room is also clean and tidy so you'd just assumed it was an adult thing.

You shuffle the clothes out of the way though just so it's easier for her.

Leah doesn't like the big light in the morning because it always scares her awake so you half-open her curtains before finally properly approaching her.

"Auntie Leah," You whisper, shaking her shoulder," It's morning time."

Leah grunts a little, trying to roll over. "Five more minutes."

"Mummy's making pancakes," You tell her," And she told me to get you up. We need to wash our hands before eating."

Leah seems a bit more awake at that and you help her pull her covers down so she can get out of bed.

"Thanks, guppy," She says as you help her with her crutches.

"That's okay, auntie Leah! We still need to go to the bathroom to do our hands though. Mummy says it's very important to wash the germs off our hands before eating."

"Oh, wow," Leah says as she walks with you," Thanks for telling me."

"That's okay," You reply, holding the bathroom door open for her," Mummy also says two squirts of soap to make sure you're hands are very clean and the germs go away."

To demonstrate, you stand on your stool and squirt two loads of soap on your hand and wash your hands like Mummy's shown you since you were little.

You supervise Leah washing your hands before helping her down the stairs, picking up all the things that were strewn across them last night.

"Mummy," You say," Auntie Leah and I washed our hands."

Lia turns around just as Leah slides into her seat. "Well," She says," You're right on time because I just finished the pancakes." She helps you up onto your own seat, cutting up your pancakes for you before sliding the plate towards you.

"Mummy," You say as you eat," Do we need to do dishes?"

"I do, yes," Mummy says in amusement, knowing exactly what you want to ask.

"Can I help?"

"I don't know, guppy," She says," Are you sure? You can go and play with Leah."

You shake your head. "No thank you, Mummy. I can help you. Auntie Leah can relax."

Leah snickers at your side. "Jesus, Lia, are you sure you're raising a child? I've never met a kid so well behaved."

Lia rolls her eyes. "I'm raising her to be polite. It's not my fault she's naturally like that."

You beam proudly at that, puffing out your chest whenever anyone tells you that you're being polite.

"Are you sure, guppy?" Auntie Leah checks with you," We can sit down and play FIFA."

"No thank you, auntie Leah," You say," I'd like to help Mummy clean up first."

"Well," Leah says, sticking her hands up," I tried."

Lia laughs as she picks you up, dragging another one of your stools over so you can be high enough to reach the sink. "Thank you for wanting to help me, guppy."

"It's okay, Mummy," You reply," If we do it together then it'll take half the time!"

#woso x reader #lia walti x reader #lia walti #leah williamson x reader #leah williamson #woso community #woso imagine #woso fanfics #woso