#It might be better for me to pin this post rather than just chapter 1 of the Anonymous World so here you go | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

tarabyte3 · 1 year

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I Want You to Show Me Weak

Fandom: Andor

Pairing: Kino Loy/F!Reader

Chapter 10/27 (4.5k words)

->start at chapter 1<-

<- Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 ->

Summary: You're pretty sure Kino Loy hates you. He screams at you, grabs you, and shoves you against the wall, and it's becoming a problem because, well...it shouldn't fluster you as much as it does.

Warnings: Explicit rating, Smut, Prison, Prison sex, minor non-graphic injuries, Dom/Sub, sexual tension, dirty talk, praise, hair-pulling, light choking, unprotected sex, oral, angst, orgasm denial

A/N: Prepare yourselves for this chapter. There's a reason it took me an extra day, and not just because it's the longest one yet. I'm sure you will all understand how I suffered when you read it. 🥵 Work title is from "Poison" by Vaults. Chapter title is from "Fly" by Bloodwitch. Previous chapter links up above. I also got smart and am going to pin the most recent chapters as I post them. I swear I'm getting better at Tumblr, guys.

AO3 Link

Chapter 10 - I'm waiting for your lips to bring me round, my life's shame and sorrow falling back

After the foundation for operation get the kid laid is, well, laid, you excuse yourself to head back to your cell. Because the later it gets, the more distracted you find yourself, which makes you poor company. Now there's less than twenty minutes, and what if he decides to show up early? The one time you aren't there! He'll never be early again to teach you a lesson or as punishment. Then you'll have to—oh no. Oh god…you're pathetic, aren't you?

You want to please him and fuck him so badly, it's completely rewired your brain. He's all you can think about. You like to hope that once you finally do, you'll be able to at least regain some focus. But if you're being honest, it might actually make your Kino brain worse because you'll have to carry the very real knowledge of what it's like around instead of fantasy. Then you'll know exactly what you're waiting for every day or missing out on when you don't have his hands on you. God, this is going to be a long twenty minutes.

You know for a fact you've never been this possessed by a man before. And you know exactly why: not a single one of your flings or previous short-lived boyfriends had EVER recognized what you needed the way Kino did almost immediately. Even when you yourself didn't understand it or had been ashamed of wanting it, he'd known exactly how to turn you into a horny wreck with one grab. All the others had been straight to the point, minimal foreplay, "did you come?", roll over and go to sleep. Now that was pathetic.

You make sure to stop and give Taybus a double thumbs up and then shoo him to go down the hall himself on your way back. And shout, "You're an idiot!" after him. Otherwise you are a woman driven by need. You don't let anyone get the opportunity to talk or stop you before you reach your destination. Head down, feet forward.

Edii must have seen you rushing back from above in his cell, though. Because shortly after you sit down on your bed, he peeks his head around the wall, gives you his own thumbs up—which is a new mannerism he picked up from the rest of you—but doesn't say anything, and is gone. You really do have the best fucking table in the whole prison.

You get a bit lost thinking about how close you've all gotten. You try to pinpoint the moment things clicked for you at the table and away from it. But there wasn't any one significant event. It happened in small moments. Jokes, triumphs, small admissions about yourselves. Even you getting into trouble. They all built one rather dysfunctional found family. In prison.

The reflection is enough of a distraction that Kino's voice from inside the doorway startles you.

"Should I be worried that you were clearly plotting something and now you're so lost in thought you didn't see me?"

"Kino!" You jump to a sitting position. "Has it been twenty minutes already?!" You look around confused for the clock face on your wall panel.

"I'm early, actually." He moves over to stand closer to the bed.

"You are?" You ask in astonishment.

"I am." He reaches out for you, to pull you to your feet, and you go willingly. His hands find your hips and you rest yours on his shoulders. It reminds you of dancing in your youth and you wonder if he likes to dance. If he would enjoy flirting and swaying with you in the low light of a cantina until the early hours of the morning. If he would give you his jacket and wrap an arm around you as you walk home. Maybe stop to press you against the wall of a building and kiss you until you're breathless.

Fuck.

You clear your throat and push that thought as far down as it will go into your subconscious. "I'm a little surprised! I always hope you might show up early, but I know how you love to make me wait."

He leans in slowly with a grin. "I know." Then he gives you a kiss that is soft and leisurely. Nothing more than a gentle meeting of your lips. It's nice, even as desire begins to coil in your belly once more.

When he pulls away, you give a content sigh. "Well, now I am very pleasantly surprised."

"Good." Then he's staring at you expectantly. "Now, you wanna tell me what that was all about earlier?"

"What what was all about?" You give him an innocent look.

"Try again." His voice lowers.

"Okay, fine. I'm not supposed to, but it's you and who are you going to tell?" He narrows his eyes at you and your own eyes widen in alarm. "I meant that as a compliment, I swear to god."

"Sure," he huffs. "Continue."

"Alis and I are trying to get Taybus a boyfriend. Or at least get him laid."

He sighs and removes one of his hands so he can rub the bridge of his nose. "I should be actively discouraging this."

"Oh come on, there's nothing else to do in here! And I can say with complete certainty that getting some is a huge boost for morale." You press your hips against him and run a finger down his chest.

"If you're trying to distract me, it's not going to work." He frowns.

You tilt your head. "Really? I can't distract you?" You trail your finger lower to his stomach. He shivers with a groan, but still manages to reach between you and grab your wrist in a vice-like grip. It stings.

"When I finally get your mouth on me, it won't be because you're trying to distract me." He growls. "It will be because you begged for it."

And just like that, you've fallen for your own distraction because any thought you had before what he just said is completely gone.

"Fuck, Kino," you whisper.

"You're also getting very close to talking back. Did you want to miss out on my mouth that badly?"

"No!" You cry out. "I was just teasing, I'm sorry. I'll behave." You pout at him, and he releases your wrist.

"Good." He cups your jaw to stroke your cheek with his thumb. "Because I want to taste you just as much as you want to come from my tongue."

You melt against him with a barely audible, needy whine and your eyes become heavy lidded as you look up at him. "I haven't stopped thinking about it all day."

"Is that so?" Without warning, he slips his hand between you, nudges past the waistband of your pants, and his fingers find their way straight to your arousal. You gasp and loll your head back as he teases your wet opening with his finger. "All day like this?"

You nod in a daze.

"You poor creature," he leans in to brush his lips against yours. "Let's see if we can ease your suffering." He removes his hand from your pants and tilts your chin up so you're looking into his face. "Sit on the bed."

You obediently, if a little off balance, take a small step back with your arm behind you to feel for your mattress. You know you're making it more difficult for yourself, but you can't take your eyes off him. After you're seated, he steps to stand directly in front of you. You finally look away from his face when your eyes are drawn down to the tent in his pants from his very prominent erection. The only thing you want more than his mouth on you at that moment is to feel him, hard and pulsing in your hand.

"Can I…" You hold your hand out to hover over the bulge at the front of his pants. "Can I touch you?" You hurry to clarify, "Over the uniform!"

He stares at you intently as he considers it. You can see his shoulders rise and fall with deep, even breaths.

"Seems dangerous." He finally replies, his voice strained and husky.

"I'll stop when you tell me too." You give him a pleading look. "I just want to feel you."

He's silent for another moment and you brace yourself for a no, but then he gives you a curt nod and your heart starts racing. You tentatively close the few inches of distance between your palm and his arousal, and both of you gasp at the contact. They don't give you underclothes. Which has always bothered you, up until this very moment when the only thing between his thick length and your hand is a thin layer of cloth.

You give him a gentle squeeze, as if you're trying to wrap your hand around him, to get a feel for him in your grasp, and he moans above you. You savor the sound for a moment, enjoying the fact that you can draw it out of him. Then you run your cupped hand over his hardness and feel the contour and outline of him, which earns you a heady, strangled groan from his throat. You glance up to see his face grim with intense concentration. It almost seems like he's in agony from your touch, and you know, despite the depth of his willpower, he's also been teased by your meetings and left wanting. That he also aches for his release—for you—and it's a powerful act of will not to give in right there.

"I want this," you whisper up to him. " I want to stroke you and wrap my lips around you so badly. I need it." The movement of your hand speeds up. "Let it be tomorrow. Please. I want to make you come," you beg.

His hand shoots out to grab yours and you think he's going to stop your exploration of him, but he covers you with his palm and drags your hand up his length. He grunts as the pressure runs over the sensitive head, and you feel him throb against you. You give him another little squeeze and his hips buck forward into your hand.

"I think we can do that," he says in a low rumble. You nod, and he does remove your hand from him then. "But first, you. Take off your pants."

Your hands automatically find your waistband and he watches as you lift up off the bed to try to push your pants over of your hips. You struggle getting them out from under your ass because he's too close for you to lean forward or get any of the leverage you need, but he doesn't move to help or make it easier on you, either. He's enjoying it. Loves making you squirm. You wiggle side to side, a little exaggerated for his benefit, to inch them down until they're free. Then you slide them off your legs and they finally drop to the floor. He immediately glances down to your bare thighs and the thatch of hair in your lap. You blush at the blatant hunger already on his face, even though your legs are still closed. Without looking, he toes your pants off to the side and out of his way.

"Slide over," he orders.

He guides you with a hand on your hip until you're in the alcove at the end of your bed. The ceiling is low enough that you can't properly straighten up without your head touching. He kneels on the bench in front of you.

"Now I want you to flip over so you're on your hands and knees."

Your heart skips a beat as you realize he wants you on display for him. That he doesn't want you to see, he just wants you to feel. You shakily push yourself up to turn over and do as you're told.

"Very good." His hand moves to your back and feels its way up to the spot between your shoulder blades, dragging your shirt with him so it's hiked up to your waist. He presses down, then, forcing you to lower to your forearms so your bottom half is sticking up in the air. "Spread your legs wider for me."

Once again, you silently obey. You can sense just how exposed and open you are now. If anyone were to walk down there, they would get a very full view of all of you facing straight at the hallway. The thought makes you flush in shame and arousal. He sits down once you're in the position he wants so that he's eye level with your sex. You glance back at him. One leg is bent in front of him on the bench, and the other is hanging over the side with his foot on the floor, as if he's casually sitting for a chat and not to fuck you with his tongue.

You want to feel irritated at how collected he is. Then he touches you. Just a light skim of his fingers on the back of your thigh, but you startle. You're wound up and taut with anticipation so any attention is electric on your skin. He lets out a deep, husky chuckle.

"Tense, are we?"

"Can you blame me?" You whine and you try to stick your hips even further in his direction.

"No. I suppose I can't." He lets his hand wander over your thighs, your ass cheeks, letting it dip closer towards that aching spot between your legs, but not too close. Not yet. "I've been thinking about this all day, too. You're quite the lovely sight."

You begin to squirm, desperate for any friction or touch where you need it. He puts a forceful hand on your hip.

"Hold still," he growls. You let out a grunt of protest, but he sighs in fake exasperation. "Patience. The more you move around, the longer this will take." He then lets his hand trail closer, up your inner thigh, and you freeze. You're hoping that holding still will earn you more. He gives you a pleased hum and rewards you by tracing a fingertip around the mound of your sex, then along the bend of your groin, teasing you with proximity.

"Kino," you give a frustrated huff, unable to continue being patient, "please!"

"Please what?" He kisses the spot where your thigh meets the swell of your cheeks.

"Please touch me!" You beg, your voice desperate.

"Isn't that what I'm doing?"

"You know what I mean!" You jut your hips back a little to encourage him, but don't get very far with his hand on your hip.

"But I'm admiring you." He drags the back of his knuckle across your folds as you let out a helpless whine. "And how wet you are."

Suddenly, you realize you can feel his breath against you and it's the only warning you get before he swipes his tongue up your slit. You bury your face into your folded arms to stifle a loud moan.

"Hmm. Maybe patience is overrated. I think I like it better when you beg."

"Then for the love of God," you plead, "put your mouth on me, please! I'll be so good, I promise. Please, Kino, I need you."

He licks you again, but instead of pulling away, he begins rubbing his tongue along your folds, and you bite down on your arm to keep from crying out. His hands shift from holding your hip and teasing, to gripping your ass. His thumbs massage your lips further open and hold you there as he laps into your entrance.

"Exactly like that," he growls against the heat of your arousal. Then his mouth moves lower and his tongue runs firmly over your clit.

"Yes! There, please," you sob. You want to turn and see him, but you're trembling so hard, you can barely hold yourself up. And you don't want to risk shifting his attention even for a second. Not when he's so close to focusing exactly where you need it.

"Since you said please." Then his mouth latches over your clit and he's working you with this tongue and lips. You're back to biting and muffling your wailing into your forearm.

You can feel the scruff of his beard occasionally brush your groin and thighs as his jaw moves, and it sends goosebumps up your back and down your legs. His prominent nose is pressed just inside your opening, and it nudges into you and teases you every time he shifts the angle of his mouth. It shouldn't feel as incredible as it does, but you can feel every exhale against your quivering sex. And god, how can even his nose be so fucking sexy? And the sound. It's wet and slick and filthy every time he moves his mouth.

Occasionally he releases your swollen clit from his lips to sweep his tongue over you and tease you with his fingers, but eventually he returns to continue driving you mad. An itch starts at the back of your skull and heat pools in your belly as your climax edges closer under his ministrations.

He must sense it in the way your legs are quaking and how you press back onto his mouth and nose because he releases you with another drag of his tongue.

"Flip back over," he commands, husky and breathless, and oh god that mouth was just on you.

You immediately maneuver so you can gracelessly roll over, and you're too far gone to care how ridiculous you might look. The bed isn't wide enough for you to lie down flat on your back. Instead, you lean against the wall, your ass at the edge of the bed. He directs your knees back and hanging open so your hips are tilted and your sex is exposed to him again. And you're propped up for a perfect view of all of it.

You also finally get to see his face. He's flushed, his pupils are so dilated that it makes his blue eyes look darker, his hair is mused, and the entire lower half of his face is glistening with your juices. His nose, his beard, his chin, his swollen lips.

"God, Kino," you whimper. You know your own face is flushed, your hair is a mess from burying your face and muffling your cries, and your eyes are watery from nearly weeping in pleasure. He briefly meets your eyes and licks his lips.

Before you can react to that, he's bending forward and his mouth is on you again and his tongue is plunging inside of you. Now you can see his lips and jaw move over you. How his rough cheek brushes against your sensitive skin as he nuzzles your folds. You can stare down into his eyes and see the lust and hunger in them as he looks back up at you, watching your face as he works you with his mouth. Then when his tongue pulls out to lick up your slit as he makes his way back to your clit, you can see his tongue on you as well. Not just feel it. It's an entirely different and fucking erotic experience.

Because you're watching Kino Loy absolutely devour your pussy.

And you're definitely not going to last very long.

Within moments, your legs begin to shake again. You hook your hands under your knees to hold yourself still for him, to keep yourself from thrashing.

"I'm so close," you whine, and he groans against you. The sound of it vibrates through your core, and then you're undone. You sit up and grab the back of his head to hold him in place as your orgasm takes you. Your hips roll uncontrollably, driven by the need to ride each wave against his mouth. He continues to make little noises of satisfaction onto your clit, and each one causes you to gasp and shudder.

When you finally slump back onto the bed, your shoulders and head thumping into the wall, he quickly sits up. Then he presses his hand on the bulge of his erection, and closes his eyes to take a few deep, calming breaths.

"Did you…?" You pant and nod to his hand.

"No. But it was a near thing." His voice sounds strangled.

"You can, you know." You whisper. "You can touch yourself if you want to." You pull your legs up and put your feet on either side of your hips, putting yourself back on display for him. He stares hard at the mess he made of you, his shoulders heaving as he begins to breathe heavily, and you know he's really considering it. "You can touch me and come. Or just look. Wherever or how ever you want."

He clenches his jaw.

"You're going to fucking kill me," he growls, and lunges at you. He grabs your hips and hauls your lower half at an angle to make room on the mattress. Then he's between your legs and hovering over you like he was last night, but this time you're not wearing pants. So when he presses against your still tender flesh, you feel the outline of him with much sharper relief.

He ruts against you a few times before grabbing a fistful of your hair and wrenching your head back. You cry out in surprise, which turns into a moan when his lips find your neck. He kisses and grunts against your skin while he continues to thrust. You can feel him leaving smudges of your own wetness behind.

"After feeling you clench and throb on my fingers and tongue, I can't wait to feel you to come on my cock." He bites the side of your neck, and you're already too breathless from his voice and the sensation between your legs to make a sound. "I want to fuck you so badly. Do know how hard it is to say no to you when you offer yourself like that?"

"Yes," you sob.

"Because you do it on purpose!" He snarls. "I should get up and walk out of here." He stops and you're terrified he might, but he just adjusts his knees for a better angle. Then he's dragging his erection over you again and tightening his grip in your hair. "But you make me weak."

He gives one last, hard thrust and tenses, frozen with pleasure, as he finally finds his release against you. You can feel his length pulse where it's pressed along your entrance. Then he slowly rocks through his climax, groaning and gasping at every slide over his now sensitive member.

Once his hips stop, he collapses on top of you. You can feel his heart pounding where his chest rests over yours, and where your heart is also pounding. Twin heartbeats, you think. Like binary stars, bound and endlessly drawn towards one another until they're destined to merge—or to destroy each other.

It's quiet. Both of you are reeling and panting, trying to find the words to say after that. He releases your hair, then runs his fingers gently though it, soothing your burning scalp.

"Did I hurt you?" He asks quietly.

"Yes," you whisper back, "but not in a way I didn't enjoy."

He lets out a sigh of relief and pushes himself to his hands to look down at you. His face is partially wiped clean, and you know it's because most of it is now on your neck.

"Do you regret it?" You can't stop your worry from sleeping through.

"No," he says fiercely. "Never."

"Good," you sigh, also relieved now. "Because I sure don't."

"My knees might tomorrow," he grumbles, and you burst out laughing. What little tension had been there dissipates and leaves you able to relax and bask in your afterglow. He pushes himself off of you and you stretch out on the bed, letting your hips relax and getting your thighs to unclench after being tense for so long.

"Well, I feel incredible."

"Good."

You lazily look him over while he's standing there and stretching out his own tight muscles. That's when you notice the fabric at the front of his pants has become damp with a mixture of both of you, and you are absolutely enthralled by the way it clings to him. And by the fact that its become a little…translucent. You can see the vague suggestion of the hair on his groin and the outline of his softening member.

"Um. Kino?" You sit up and hang your feet over the side of your bed." Maybe you should change into my pants before you go back." You nod to his crotch.

He looks down to see what you're referring to and swears. "Wouldn't that just leave you with a mess?"

"Yeah, but it will be dry by the time I have to leave in the morning." You stand up to give him a kiss. "I can handle the mess to save you your dignity." You glance down at his lap again. "As impressive as it is." His cheeks redden, and you're absolutely pleased with yourself because you got Kino to have an orgasm and blush all in the same night.

You don't want to add that you don't have to be talked into being able to curl up with his lingering scent in your bed as you sleep. Or being driven slightly wild with his release rubbing against your crotch…even though that might become less appealing as it dries.

"Okay," he relents. You hand him your one size smaller, but dry pants, and turn to give him privacy. Behind you there is the sliding of fabric and then his pants are tossed onto your bed. You resist peeking, but it's very difficult to know he's half nude a foot back and out of your line of sight. Then there's more sliding of fabric as he redresses.

"Better?" You turn back to him.

"They're a little tight, but yes."

You nod. "Certainly leaves more to the imagination."

"You should get dressed, too. It's getting late. I'm surprised people aren't heading back yet."

"Hmm. Fair point." You quickly get into his wet pants, but you're giggling at the thought by the time they're pulled up.

"What's so funny?" He frowns.

"It's terrible," you warn, "but I was realizing I'm finally getting into your pants." You grin at him.

He rolls his eyes at you, but there's a hint of amusement on his face. "I can see what you mean by leaving little to the imagination. Not that I have to try very hard anymore."

"Cruel." You pout.

"Well, there's always tomorrow night." He pulls you in for one last, deep kiss. You keep your hips pulled back so you don't rub against him and ruin the clean pants he's wearing, too.

"There is." You smile at him. "Now go before I decide to keep you here all night."

"Bit bossy, aren't we?" He huffs and heads towards the open doorway.

"And Kino!" You call after him, causing him to stop and look back at you. You run your hand along the front of his still damp pants and cup it between your legs, pressing the fabric against you. "Goodnight.'

He lets out a grunt of frustration, then hurries out and down the hall.

If you didn't know any better, you'd think you were starting to get to him.

A/N: There is no one on this Earth that could ever convince me that Andy Serkis doesn't have the perfect nose for that part of the scene. And now you're thinking about it too. You're welcome (because Andy Serkis is fucking sexy).

NEXT CHAPTER->

#andor fanfic #kino loy #kino loy x reader #kino loy x f!reader #i want you to show me weak fic #andor #fanfiction

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makeste · 3 years

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but I just feel too tired to be fighting

this is a follow-up post to what I said in my recap the other day about this arc being the Deku Angst arc, as opposed to the Villain Hunt arc or the Deku SIXQUIRKS Exhibition arc. I feel like the fandom discussion tends to focus on the flashier parts of the chapters -- the sexy villains and the new quirk reveals and the Shindous -- each week, and so the quieter emotional beats sometimes get overlooked, especially since the character arc here is playing out in little bits and pieces over time rather than all at once.

this has always been a very reactionary fandom, and there’s a tendency to judge the chapters week to week without ever going back to look at how they all fit into the big picture. so I figured I would try to attempt that, and basically go chapter by chapter here to look at what exactly Horikoshi is setting up and how it all fits together.

so let’s start with the end of chapter 306, which is when the arc officially kicks off. specifically with the very last page:

this is imo one of the best pages Horikoshi has ever drawn. I got the sense that this was a scene he’d had in his mind’s eye for quite a long time, and that he was excited to finally get to this part of the story. it’s extremely effective as both a chapter-ender, and an arc-opener. like, look at this:

it establishes the initial premise of the new arc -- the world is in chaos, and Deku is now seemingly on his own

it leaves the readers with a number of questions. why did Deku leave U.A.?? is he really on his own now?? why does he look so beat-up and exhausted?? what is he up to?? what is the world like now that all these villains have been unleashed and the heroes have been decimated?? and most importantly of all, what the fuck is going to happen next??

it pays homage to some of Horikoshi’s comic book influences -- Batman in particular

it dramatically hits us with that “THE FINAL ACT BEGINS” and lets us know that shit is getting real now

that’s some good shit. so much so that I think people tended to overlook the other notable thing about this page amidst all of the initial excitement and discussion and speculation about where the series was headed. and that is the fact that the final panel in this chapter is NOT the panel of Deku standing above the city. the very last panel, the one that this chapter actually ends on, is instead the close-up of Deku’s face. his face, which is covered in shadow; and his eyes, which have dark circles under them and are prominently missing the usual flecks of light that give him his signature “sunny optimistic shounen protagonist” look.

not to mention this last line here, which is a call back to the very first time we saw the 14-year-old Deku way back in chapter one.

I don’t think it’s a coincidence that Horikoshi chose to throw this reference in. nor is it a coincidence that THIS is the scene he actually chose to end the chapter on. what this does is show us the drastic shift in Deku’s emotional state of mind, and his attitude towards being a hero. he’s gone from being thrilled and excited to being jaded and exhausted. he’s matured, but at a great cost. it’s always been his dream to be a hero, but “be careful what you wish for” is a popular adage for a reason. and right now he looks the furthest thing from happy.

and this is the emotional beat that Horikoshi chooses to end the chapter on. this is the panel that closes out the War arc, and begins the final act. to me the message could not be clearer -- this arc will be about the exploration of Deku’s character, and his struggle as he tries to live up to the expectations that have been placed on him as the Last Holder of OFA and quite possibly the World’s Only Hope.

it’s a character arc that builds on a lot of the things we’ve already learned about Deku over the course of the series, such as the fact that he is reckless, and that he focuses on others often at the expense of himself. but more importantly, it’s an arc that finally expands on the dark side of what has up until now been a net positive for Deku -- the power of OFA. up until this point, despite its ups and downs, it’s been a boon for Deku overall and has allowed him to pursue his dream. but now we’re finally reaching the point where the monkey’s paw part of the OFA blessing/curse finally starts to come into play. OFA gives Deku more power than he could have ever dreamed of, but it also comes with a built-in destiny that he can’t opt out of whether he likes it or not. AFO is on the loose and out there trying to destroy the world. and now everyone has pinned their hopes on this sixteen-year-old kid, and the question of whether or not the sixteen-year-old kid is ready is apparently not one that anyone feels inclined to ask (possibly because they’re afraid that the answer might be “no”).

he doesn’t have a choice in the matter. he has to do it, because there’s no one else who can. that’s the kind of pressure that is on Deku now.

and on that note, we begin the Deku Angst arc.

chapter 307

this in hindsight was mostly just a set-up chapter to better establish the current state of the BnHA world at large (spoilers: it’s not good), while also providing an answer for one of the big initial questions of the arc -- namely, “what happened to all of those villains that AFO released from Tartarus?” these are important things to touch on, but the pacing could definitely have been better, and the bulk of the chapter was dedicated to providing fanservice to all of the Shindou fans who spammed the most recent popularity poll (which, whatever lol). anyway, so this was the sole chapter thus far with absolutely no Deku development. thankfully the arc picks up from there.

chapter 308

on to the next one! this was the one and only chapter thus far which I think actually qualifies as an “exhibition fight.” this was definitely all about showing off Deku’s current powerset, as well as introducing us to another of the SIXQUIRKS. however, there was Deku development here as well, most notably in this scene:

this is the scene that got a lot of people speculating that this arc was going to focus on Deku hunting down all of the old villains. but I think people got so caught up in that speculation that they overlooked what this scene tells us about Deku’s mindset. and yes, there is new information being revealed here, and it’s not just a rehash of the stuff we already knew. like yes, we know that Deku was shaken up by the recent encounters with Dabi and Tomura, and we know that made him start questioning why villains become villains in the first place, and all that good stuff, and that’s great. however, there are two additional important things that this scene helps establish for us.

the upcoming battle with TomurAFO is weighing heavily on Deku’s mind. this is something that will become a recurring theme in this arc. Deku is thinking about this constantly. the question of what to do when he finally encounters TomurAFO again is knocking incessantly at the back of his mind, and this won’t be the last time it comes up.

Deku is using these villain encounters as test runs. can Tomura be redeemed?? is he just being stupid and naïve?? or is this really something worth attempting?? the interesting thing about this is that Deku’s resolve to save people is usually so strong and unwavering that it’s more than enough to overcome any doubts that he might have. but this time it seems like the repeated objections posed by the Vestiges and Gran Torino have really gotten to him. it’s possible I’m just reading way too much into things, but to me it really feels like Deku’s recent attempts at Talk no Jutsu were meant to do more than just show his growing awareness that the line between heroes and villains is thinner than he once imagined. they’re also serving as trial runs for the real test, when it finally comes. if he can “save” even a villain like Muscular, there’s hope for him being able to save Tomura as well. and so that moment when Muscular rejects him out of hand is all the more disappointing to him, even if it wasn’t really unexpected. basically it wasn’t the answer that he had been hoping for.

aside from those little notes though, like I said, this was unquestionably an exhibition fight first and foremost. which is fine; we needed to establish where Deku is currently in terms of strength, and it was also just fun to see him kick some ass, ngl. in terms of story purpose this chapter was similar to 219, which showed us how Shouto and Katsuki had powered up after getting their provisional licenses. people who don’t care about those characters might argue that these fights weren’t necessary, but as someone who stans all three characters hard, I would disagree! but anyways, moving on.

chapter 309

in contrast to the previous chapter, this chapter focuses more on establishing Deku’s current mental state, as opposed to his physical state. and this is what we learn:

(1) Deku is ~technically~ being shadowed/accompanied by All Might and the Hawksquad (but in practice he’s avoiding them).

(2) it was Deku’s own decision to leave U.A., and he did it because he didn’t want anyone else getting hurt in order to protect him.

and finally, (3) Deku’s game plan is to stop Tomura and All for One before they reach full power.

this last part is very important, because it means there’s a countdown in effect. as far as Deku is concerned, there’s only a finite amount of time before TomurAFO becomes unstoppable. which means that he’s not only under “gotta get stronger” pressure, but time pressure as well. he doesn’t have the luxury of taking his time and training in safety. he’s being rushed now; this is do-or-die.

this chapter is also the first in this arc in which we get to see Deku’s expressions without the hood covering up his face, and what we see is very telling. as previously stated, the light is gone from Deku’s eyes. he keeps his expressions very neutral, and the only time we even see a hint of a smile is when he hugs his mom in the flashback, and it’s clear from the dialogue (“it’s okay, I’ll come home to you”) that he’s doing it for her sake in order to comfort her.

but aside from that, this is very much not the Deku we’ve grown accustomed to. this is the chapter that really establishes his current mental state imo. above all else, he’s afraid that more people will get hurt because of him, and so he’s distancing himself from everyone around him. and he’s also morbidly preoccupied with the inevitability of having to face TomurAFO again, and soon. the chapter ends on the flashback of Gran giving him his cape, and telling Deku that “killing can be another way to save someone.” there’s a lot on this kid’s mind, to say the least.

chapter 310

this chapter opens with a gang of civilians who are trying to open fire on a nice fox lady whose only crime was walking around in the rain at night. Deku intervenes to save her, and it’s the first time in this arc that we see anything close to the “old” Deku, who just wanted to save people with a smile.

but it’s bittersweet, because all the lady can talk about is how scared she was, and how horrible everything is right now. and so Deku, who feels responsible in a lot of ways for everything that’s happened, just feels that much more pressure to somehow make things right again.

there’s also this extra throwaway line which is especially heartbreaking:

“I can’t afford to be around anyone.” fucking ouch. just reinforcing once more how incredibly isolated Deku is right now -- not by choice, but because he feels like it’s not safe to let anyone else get close to him. and so he’s out here running around this dystopian cityscape in the middle of the night in the pouring rain all on his own, and neglecting himself to the point where All Might practically has to force a bento on him.

but does he complain? of course not. because his focus is never on himself. instead, when he settles down to eat, his thoughts immediately drift back to, guess who...

it’s that time pressure once again. “unless I draw out One for All’s full power, I can’t stop any of this.” it’s just nonstop, I have to get stronger, I’m running out of time, I have to do better, and constantly thinking about that inevitable confrontation.

Deku is a thinker, you guys. and when left to his own devices he will overthink, every time. his mind will run in endless loops while he mentally works his way through all of the possibilities. and that’s one of his greatest strengths, don’t get me wrong, but at a time like this it’s also one of his greatest weaknesses. it’s just so fucking easy for him to get stuck in his own head, in his endless rambling thoughts and analyses. and without anyone else there to help distract him, or help him focus, he’s become fixated on his mission, and it’s slowly consuming him.

this, incidentally, is also the chapter in which we finally see Two and Three’s faces, and learn why Two in particular is so reluctant to lend his power to Deku. he appears to be the lone holdout at this point, so stay tuned on that, because I don’t doubt this will wind up being crucial to Deku’s future development, however it winds up playing out.

chapter 311

this chapter flips back to the Hawksquad for the first half, so we get a brief respite from the ongoing Dekuangst. right before we switch back though, we do get confirmation of something we had pretty much already guessed:

like, that much was already apparent based on what we’d seen (the bags under his eyes; the fact that he refused to sit still in any one place for very long even at night), but it’s always nice to get the official confirmation so that people can’t dispute it lol. so yeah, Deku isn’t sleeping much. and not eating much either, if all he’s getting is the occasional bento from Dadmight. so basically not taking care of himself at all, huge shocker there. but this is something that’s important enough to the story that Horikoshi took the time to point it out in the dialogue, in addition to all of the visual clues we’d already gotten.

and just in case we needed to drive that point in any further, this chapter ends with the appearance of Lady Nagant! like yeah, no shit Deku isn’t getting much sleep, what with him having to fend off racist civilians and hired assassins every five fucking minutes. smdh. can he live??

chapter 312

so this is the chapter that properly introduces Lady Nagant, who maaaay or may not be one of the primary antagonists of this arc?? like, it’s really unclear right now tbh, but she gets hyped up by Hawks and AFO, and has a flashback and a mysterious past and a weird trump card (where did you go, Overhaul) and all that good shit, so yeah? one can hope at any rate.

but anyway. so to his credit, Deku’s first thought is to retreat, but he quickly abandons that plan once he figures out Nagant’s location. this is played off like a logical strategic decision at first, but the subsequent chapter quickly makes it clear that Deku’s decision to take the fight to Nagant is less rational than he might have you think.

chapter 313

so yeah. last but not least, the most recent chapter, in which Deku’s real reason for targeting Lady soon becomes apparent:

what’s more, it quickly becomes clear that he miscalculated and probably would have been better off following Hawks’s advice, seeing as he promptly gets himself shot, and subsequently realizes that AFO gave Nagant an extra quirk, something he hadn’t taken into account. but instead of cutting his losses and running at this point, he doubles down instead and not only breaks out Smokescreen, but also the Third’s quirk which he has never even used before.

it’s worth noting that both En and the Third start telling him to chill at this point, and warn him that what he’s attempting is too dangerous. but tbh if they were expecting him to listen, they haven’t been reading the same arc I’ve been reading. once again, Horikoshi makes it clear that Deku has one thing and one thing only on his mind right now.

of course. once again it all comes back to this. hunt down AFO. it doesn’t matter that he’s exhausted. it doesn’t matter that he’s just been shot twice. it doesn’t matter that Hawks, despite knowing what Deku was capable of with his OFA abilities, specifically warned him away from this one person only. it doesn’t matter that even the Vestiges are trying to tell him you’re going too fast and you’re trying to do too much and it’s too dangerous.

he just doesn’t care. long story short, the only thing that matters to Deku right now is tracking down and defeating TomurAFO. and as the person who knows him best once so aptly put it, “he doesn’t take himself into account.” and therein lies the major challenge of this arc.

and so this is where we’re currently at now. and this has been a very long post, but if nothing else, I hope I was able to get this one point across: there is absolutely no way that Deku will be able to defeat TomurAFO as he is now. not a chance in hell. somehow he’s managed the uncommon feat of waging a war of attrition against himself, which is really quite an accomplishment. he’s not taking care of himself, and he’s refusing to listen to sound advice from the people surrounding him, and is trying to skip ahead to the final boss battle before he’s ready, because the guilt and pressure from feeling responsible for the current situation are eating him up. the only way that the world can go back to normal is if he can defeat AFO; therefore he has to do it as soon as possible, because time is running out and everyone is counting on him. this is who Deku is. and this is what inevitably happens when his saving mentality is taken to extremes, and left unchecked.

anyway so to wrap up this post now, I do think this arc is a lot more cohesive than it’s gotten credit for thus far, and Deku is the glue holding it all together. I for one am loving the exploration of his character and all the subtle little angsty touches as we build up to the big moment, whenever it finally comes. just keep in mind though that if his decisions right now seem reckless and short-sighted, it’s because they’re supposed to seem that way, because Deku is not in a good mental state right now. the cracks are finally showing in our perfect protagonist, just like everyone has been wanting this whole time. he is just a kid. he is doing his best. he is trying far too hard to do his best, and it is hurting him so badly, but he doesn’t even realize. this arc is not an endorsement of the Angsty Nomad Hero lifestyle, lol. it’s the exact fucking opposite, and I think it’s being wildly misinterpreted with all of the emphasis on “oh look at that, he mastered another quirk with no effort”, as opposed to “oh look at that, he is shutting down emotionally and is a few more missed nights of sleep away from a complete and total breakdown.”

tl;dr the overarching storyline of this arc is all about Deku slowly falling apart due to his trauma from Jakku, and the subsequent pressure that was put on him by the Vestiges with their whole “GUESS WHAT, YOU’RE THE LAST USER OF OFA, THAT’S RIGHT, IT’S ALL ON YOU BUDDY” pep talk. and mark my words, things are not going to go according to plan. something is going to go terribly wrong here. whether it’s something happening to All Might, or AFO setting up a trap for him, either way Deku is being set up to fail in a major way. unless of course, someone (or a group of someones) manages to intervene first, and possibly stage an intervention or something. it’s what he needs right now, but idk if Horikoshi is going to make it that easy.

anyway, but in other words, the point of this arc is not to show how much stronger Deku has gotten and how he doesn’t even need his friends anymore. it’s the exact opposite -- the point of this arc is to show that Deku needs his friends now more than ever. that in spite of OFA and all of its mystical trappings and fancy SIXQUIRKS, Deku can’t do this alone. he needs his friends. that’s the core message. and right now, we are at the “I can get by on my own” part of the story. and the part we are all waiting for, but which is coming -- I guarantee it is coming, you guys -- is “the thing is, you don’t have to.”

and that shit is going to slap hard you guys. and I for one can’t wait. but until then, enjoy the angst.

#bnha 313 #midoriya izuku #bnha meta #deku meta #bnha #boku no hero academia #bnha spoilers #mha spoilers #bnha manga spoilers #makeste reads bnha #long post #like 'long' is really an understatement here lol #our little green protagonist is really going through it you guys #and I just have a lot of thoughts and feelings about it

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that-damn-girl · 4 years

Text

(1) Daze of Pollen

(Work in Progress - 1 of 8; Slow updates)

Daze of Pollen Materlist

Pairing: (cis)fem!Reader x Bucky Barnes x Steve Rogers x Sam Wilson

Words: 1800+

Warnings: None except language?

Summary: Bucky, Steve, Sam and you are in the safe house post mission when a retrieved Hydra device activates, releasing a kind of pollen you don’t know of, but the effects of which are soon discovered.

A/N: To all my horny bitches out there, I’m sorry the first chapter isn’t smutty. I didn’t plan on keeping the entire first chapter as the intro but it just...happened. Also, This is my submission for @buckyssoul ‘s Rae Hit 1k Marvel Writing Challenge. I’m sorry for the delay. Hope you like it!

It is a strange concept, really. We don't always get what we want. But if we do, it's when we least expect it, in the most strangest of ways as well.

Call it your good luck, fate, destiny, a simple mere coincidence, or whatever. You were grateful for that night in the safe house regardless. For the first and the last time, you could say that you were thankful for a little Hydra contraption.

It all started during a peaceful dinner. You and your group of friends were relaxing after a successful mission, treating yourselves with any and all comfort food available in the safe house. The mission was anticipated to be much harder than usual; the only reason why Bucky and Sam had asked you and Steve to accompany them. Quite unexpectedly, the mission went smoothly and it seemed there was no need for the extra help they had requested. But considering the mission consisted of scoping out an abandoned Hydra base, being overly cautious was preferred than being overconfident. One never knew the levels of villainy Hydra truly possessed.

Oh, you were about to discover the truth in that statement just fine.

Bucky sat across from you on the dining table, Sam to your right. The duo played catch with a balled sheet of paper, their half eaten meals abandoned on the table. You and Steve conversed with them while enjoying your respective sandwiches.

It was true that Steve had given up his Captain America mantle to Sam, a man just as deserving of the title, but hadn't completely retired. He didn't get out on the field anymore, but used his excellent strategic skills in planning the missions sometimes, especially if it included Hydra.

All of you would have been enroute to the Compound had Rhodey and Scott not hogged the quinjet. None of you minded though. With the four of you together, it was very much like a quiet night in with close friends. Unbeknown to you, it wasn't going to be particularly quiet much longer.

"Does it smell funny to anybody else here?" Bucky asked, pausing midway while rocking his chair. Squinting his eyes, he glanced around himself to locate the source of the smell, a deep frown etched onto his features.

Steve took a tentative whiff, you and Sam doing the same. "No pal, I don't smell anything."

"It's…" Bucky closed his eyes, taking in deep inhales. "It's faint but it's there. I'm sure of it."

You and Sam glanced at each other, a raised eyebrow followed by a shrug. Suddenly Bucky sat up with a start, his gaze fixating on a corner of the room. Following his line of sight, you found the hard black stacked containers with the Shield logo which held the Hydra files and devices you had retrieved from the base earlier in the mission.

"It's coming from there, I think." Bucky stood up and reached the stacked containers in only a few long strides. Before any of you could stop him, he lifted the cover to inspect its contents.

Immediately a puff of bright yellow powder-like substance was released from the inside, as if a smoke bomb had been triggered. Bucky coughed as the coloured dust hit his senses. It didn't take long for the particles to dissipate in the air. Soon the clean air around you was shrouded with the yellow dust, leaving all of you a coughing mess.

"What is it?" You wondered, one hand waving in front of your face to get rid of the dust while the other protectively covered your nose. It was no use though. It was everywhere, the particles so fine they slithered through the gaps between your fingers. You could do nothing but inhale it as you coughed helplessly. The particles stuck to the insides of your mouth. You couldn't feel them on your tongue or the roof of your mouth, but the dryness that followed was a sure shot indication. The tangy scent of it overwhelmed your senses, making you wonder how could you have missed it.

"Look inside the container, Bucky. See what released it." Sam instructed with broken words in between the coughs.

"Fucking Hydra," Steve muttered under his breath.

Following Sam's orders, Bucky peeked inside and pulled out a wooden cube. It was small enough to be grasped in his palm. One of its faces had the ugly red symbol of Hydra painted on it. The cube was heavily cracked along the sides. Had Bucky not held onto it firmly, it would have fallen apart right then.

Sam, you and Steve drifted closer to Bucky as the yellow dust gradually dissipated into nothing - or rather as the most of it was already inhaled by you all. The cube appeared to hold some carvings in a language you supposed was Russian.

"I...don't...understand…" Bucky's fingers drifted across the letters as he tried to make sense of it. "Fuck!" With widened eyes, Bucky retraced the words, confirming what he had read. Throwing the cube across the room, he started pacing the room, his head hidden behind his palms.

"Come on, man, you're scaring me." Steve said, approaching his friend.

"You should be!" Bucky yelled, all his frustrations coming out on the wrong person. He loudly groaned, rubbing his forehead, "I'm sorry. It's just that…"

"What is it, Bucky?" You asked.

Bucky looked at you, his gaze sweeping over your form. He bit his lip, an almost remorseful look coming over in his eyes. In a much softer voice, he said, "I don't know how to explain it. I don't know where to start."

"Do you know what the yellow dust we all inhaled was?" Sam asked.

Bucky replied after a long pause. "It was a sort of pollen which Hydra had engineered."

"Hydra modified...pollen?" You asked. The idea sounded as bizarre to you as snow in the Sahara. "What?"

"No- Well, um, yes," Bucky took a deep breath before he started explaining. "Hydra could never replicate the super soldier serum they used on me. But they needed more super soldiers. It hardly ever happened that anybody else would succeed in recreating those serums so that Hydra could steal. They decided that if they couldn't transform using the serums, they would...breed super soldiers. That's when Project Growth started. These pollen were engineered to assist in it."

"How did the pollen assist Project Growth?" You asked, confusion dripping from your voice.

Bucky glanced at you but quickly diverted his gaze, unable to keep the eye contact. "Project Growth was about using super soldiers like me and those four others to... impregnate willing women. Conception with super soldiers is harder than usual for some reason. So they came up with this pollen to aid the process. It's an aphrodisiac. They called it sex pollen, because well, it increases one's sexl drive... by a lot. So much so that it might be fatal if the person exposed to it doesn't, you know, climax."

"What? Are we gonna want to fuck like rabbits then? Become Hydra's breeding bitches?" Sam asked, crossing his arms in front of him.

"The experiments were never successful. They did it a couple of times and it never resulted in a pregnancy. This box," Bucky gestured to the broken cube lying on the floor, "I don't know how or when but it got activated somehow." He shrugged helplessly. "I have no idea if the pollen inside it was a sample of those failed experiments or if that of a new one. Either way, we don't have long before the effects would start showing."

There was a lull in the room, the implications of what Bucky said sitting heavy on everyone's minds.

"We can keep ourselves locked in our separate rooms until it wears off to...get ourselves off." Steve's cheeks were tinged a deep shade of red as he proposed the idea.

"It's not that easy. Trust me, I've been through it." Bucky looked at Steve. "It's something about needing another person's touch; a sense of intimacy. No matter what you do on your own, it won't ever be enough. It would send you in a daze of lust, where the only thing you could focus on would be to anyhow satiate yourselves. You would desperately want another person to touch you, no matter who or what gender. You'd need them to touch you." He glanced at each one of you. "I'm sorry, but it's going to be nasty."

"So what you're saying is, it's basically fuck or die?" Sam said.

"When you put it that way…" Bucky tried to think of a better phrase but finding none, he replied, "-Well, yes."

"I don't know what to say," You crossed your hands in front of your chest. To say that you were shocked was a massive understatement. You couldn't even begin to believe that any of it was true.

Unconsciously, your gaze drifted over each of the men in the room. They all stood with a hard look on their handsome faces, lost deep in thought. You weren't sure if it was you or the pollen due to which you felt yourself get wet, your panties gradually dampening and sticking to your form.

Truth be told, you had always wondered what being with these men would feel like, what fucking them would be like. Would Sam choke you in a sensual manner with those bulging arms of his? Would Bucky keep you pinned to the bed with his thick thighs? What would gripping America's Ass feel like when Steve would be pumping his length into you?

You bit your lip, your mind conjuring up a train of lewd images. You wondered if it all would come true that night. Though you had considered them insanely attractive since the day you had met them, you never dared to act upon any of your desires with either of them. They were your close friends, and you'd be damned if you'd destroy it for a night of pleasure.

Now though, you had no other option but to fuck them if you valued your life. On any other day you would have laughed boisterously had anyone suggested such a thing, but it was your reality right then.

You realized it didn't have to be a necessarily bad thing though

Huffing dramatically, you stood straighter, hands falling by your sides. With a newfound confidence, you asked, "Well then, what are we waiting for?"

"What?" Steve asked, dumbfounded.

"At one point or the other, we would eventually go crawling to someone. I don't think we'd be in control of ourselves if it would make us that desperate. Avoiding the inevitable makes no sense. It's better to start it while we are still able to make conscious decisions and consent to being with each other. At least I'd prefer that."

The men looked at each other, a silent conversation happening amongst them. Bucky asked, "Are you sure, Y/N?"

You smiled. "I am, Bucky. If it's gonna be this way, then I'm glad it's the three of you. Are you guys sure though?"

Bucky glanced at Sam and Steve before smirking, "You bet we are, babydoll."

You walked closer to Bucky, standing on the tip of your toes as your arms curved around his neck, excitement thrumming through your veins. "Let's get this show started then."

Chapter 2

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#bucky barnes x reader #steve rogers x reader #sam wilson x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky #steve rogers #sam wilson #bucky barnes x you #steve rogers x you #sam wilson x you #bucky barnes x y/n #steve rogers x y/n #sam wilson x y/n #sex pollen

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kindness-ricochets · 3 years

Note

I’ve been seeing a lot of thoughts and hc of autistic wylan lately and you seem to also be a fan of the concept. May I ask why? Exactly? I could definitely kinda see it but wanna hear you thoughts you’re always so eloquent

Hey there anon! Sorry for the delay—I’m guessing you already found an answer to this elsewhere while I was off Tumblr for a bit, but just in case, here are my thoughts. This will be heavily personal, but… well, you can’t very well ask an autistic person about autism and expect neutrality!

Autism is different for everyone and can be difficult to pin down, so while Wylan is arguably autistic, he misses several beats that for me would have made him definitively and undeniably autistic. For example, when the bells start to ring, triggering black protocol—I work in a place with a lot of bells and am frequently caught too close to one and normally press my hands over my ears until it’s over because that sound is like shrapnel raking across my insides. All of them. Not just the ear and brain parts. Wylan doesn’t have that sort of visceral reaction, but that may just mean he doesn’t have the same sensitivities that I do, or to the same level. He also never, that I recall, eats meat—as weird as that might sound, eating meat is incredibly complicated with heightened sensitivities to taste and texture. I’m not sure how old I was when I realized it was strange to get up from the table to spit out my food because it viscerally repulsed me. So it might be that Wylan is autistic and has different experiences than I do. Those are things I would include in a story as major indicators of a character being autistic. This might also mean that his father’s way of raising him taught him to hide unusual reactions and stimming behaviors. It’s not that much of a reach to assume a man who tried to abuse the dyslexia out of his son would take the same approach to autism. (More on autism and abuse later.)

So while I’m going to lay out why I read Wylan as autistic, that’s why I think it’s valid to read him as not being autistic as well. Both are valid.

A final caveat, I am well overdue for a reread of the books, so I likely left something out or could have found better examples. Take this as a few of my reasons for a personal headcanon. Anyone who feels differently, that's fine! We can each read things our own way :)

1 - Hyperfixation: The way Wylan loves music

Most of the Crows’ backgrounds color how they see the world: Kaz’s shrewdness, Matthias’s tactical thinking and superstition, Inej’s faith and Suli wisdom, etc. That’s a sign of good character writing. But very little of Wylan’s upbringing seems to have influenced how he sees the world. It comes closest when he thinks about how his father would scorn his new friends, but we never see that scorn from Wylan.

The way a hyperfixation feels, it’s like you’ve always lived in a close parallel world, never fully been a part of the other one where it seems like everyone else lives, but suddenly there’s this bright shining piece of your soul laced through the other world. It lets you connect, it lets you exist in their realm, and you can’t help but filter everything new through that lens because it’s the brightest, most wonderful thing. (I had been between hyperfixations for a while when I started a new job; six months into that work, I read Crooked Kingdom. One of my coworkers thought I had fallen in love, it was that marked a difference.)

So, combining these: Wylan never really acts like he was part of his father’s world, and indeed is in some ways separate from the other Crows, but he parses everything through music, his hyperfixation. He sets words to music to remember them, like he does with the contract. Even his own anxiety is made sense of through music, when in his first narrated chapter, he sets it to music: what am I doing here what am I doing here…. When he’s overwhelmed, his thoughts are “a jangle of misplayed chords”. The Crows have backgrounds that influence how they react to the world, but Wylan’s hyperfixation is his means of experiencing and understanding the world.

2 - Literal thinking: Wylan responds to exact words

In this post, I went into detail on the line where Wylan suggested waking up men to kill them. Wylan is generally unsupportive of killing people—Oomen, Smeet’s clerk, his father… he advocates not-murder in each of these situations. Accepting his aversion to murder, his suggestion to wake men up and kill them seems like a genuine reaction to Jesper saying he doesn’t want to kill unconscious men. Wylan takes things literally.

This happens the most with Jesper, probably because Jesper talks to Wylan the most. Nina and Matthias don’t really register him past how he might be useful, Inej is usually quite direct, and Kaz is very deliberate when he speaks with Wylan. This really interests me because Kaz tends to vary his speech more than the others do, he adapts more to being around other people. He jokes a little with Jesper, spars with Nina, speaks more openly and more sharply with Inej, and he’s precise with Wylan. Kaz may not know what autism is, but he recognizes what’s effective with Wylan.

Another example is when Wylan is sketching the Ice Court plans and Jesper says it looks like a cake. There are plenty of valid responses here: pointing out that concentric circles look like lots of things, that it’s just a sketch, telling Jesper to stop looking over his shoulder. Instead, Wylan says that the Ice Court is sort of like a cake. That… doesn’t sound like something Wylan would normally say. He’s not addressing the whole situation, he’s addressing the specific words Jesper said.

One of the most heartbreaking examples of this (to me, anyway) is with Marya. Wylan does the same thing with his mother, when she asks if he’s there for her money and says she hasn’t got any, and his response is, ��I don’t either.” We understand as readers that what Marya is communicating here is that she is so accustomed to being utterly ignored unless she is being used, and if she told Wylan that no one visited but to take advantage and she assumed he was here for the same reason, he would say it wasn’t the case. But he just responds to the immediate statement.

There are a lot of examples of this.

3 — 0% perception, 100% creativity

Wylan can identify things that don’t make sense or that he doesn’t understand, but at the beginning of the series he can’t make leaps, only ask questions. On the Ferolind, he wonders about the source of water at the Ice Court; though Kaz doesn’t say as much, he was clearly wondering, too, because he eventually figured out the underground river. There’s an interesting parallel here where, in the beginning of Crooked Kingdom, Wylan asks a question about how they’ll break into Smeet’s and Kaz tells him to use his eyes instead of running his mouth—at which point Wylan is able to figure it out. I don’t think this is because he never tried before, though, but because no one ever bothered to teach him. Kaz can be harsh but he gives harsh corrections rather than harsh rejections and Wylan learns from him.

It’s hard to understand the world for people with autism. The world is designed and run by and for people whose minds are fundamentally different from ours, whose thoughts and experiences are unlike ours. Imagine trying to learn English or Spanish or Mandarin or any other spoken language if your first language was olfactory. That’s sort of what it’s like for someone with autism to just get dropped into the world and expected to figure this out.

This can be attributed to Wylan’s upbringing, but I disagree with that because none of the others were brought up in the Barrel, either, and Wylan doesn’t understand trade or politics with any special skill. Kaz wasn’t born in the Barrel, but he managed to go from “stealing is wrong” to “wrong isn’t my concern” real quick; Colm Fahey didn’t raise his son on gambling and firefights; the Ghafas never expected their daughter to be away from the family. Only Nina has relevant training—and even that’s precious little, she left school way too early. The others figured it out; Wylan needed a bit more help. He also seems surprised by the way his father conducts business. Wylan takes things on face value—like the time he’s surprised someone would do something, simply because it’s unlawful. This is something he expresses to a group of gangsters. He’s never been taught the way of any world and these things are not intuitive to him.

But Wylan isn’t stupid.

He doesn’t know how to understand the world, but he does understand how things go together. Given a pointy diamond, a handle, and a screw, he cut through Grisha glass. He carries flashbangs and magic napalm, he recreates military hardware—Wylan understands how to make things interact for a specific result. But to me the most telling thing isn’t just that he puts together chemical pieces, it’s that he figured out Jesper controlled bullets. He saw the pieces and put them together.

Wylan can understand when things don’t make sense, but he can’t make sense of them—yet when he understands things at their basic level, he understands them without preconception, for what they are. This is a very autistic way of thinking about things, it goes back to the literalism. He can’t make the leaps of logic other people can, but he also doesn’t make the assumptions they do—“I’ve never heard of a bullet Grisha, so that’s not a thing” vs “Well Jesper’s an almost impossibly good shot and he controls metal and bullets are metal, so why not?”

4 - Broken brain/body connection

Wylan’s great at chemistry and drawing and playing flute or piano—but he’s something of a disaster other times. This is in particular contrast to the other characters, all of whom are physically adept. Meanwhile it’s a challenge for Wylan to climb a rope ladder and he spends a full paragraph trying to figure out what to do with his hands. It’s easy to say, well, he’s used to a sedentary lifestyle, but at this point he’s not. He’s worked in the tannery for months. He’s just physically awkward.

I have less to say on this point only because it’s about something I don’t fully understand myself. I don’t really understand what it would be like to have a body that just… does things? Like normal stuff? Without tics and stims. No idea. Only that Wylan’s discomfort in and seeming lack of mastery of his own body feels very relatable to me.

5 - Abuse

One of the most familiar things about Wylan is how he has been so thoroughly abused and broken down that he’s afraid to do or say much of anything. Again, this is a place his background can be an obscuring factor. Of course Wylan didn’t think to blow up the walls when the first met the parem-juiced jurda and got trapped, he’s a spoiled rich kid! Except, he also startled when Jesper said his name later. Wylan didn’t hesitate because he was spoiled, he hesitated because he had no confidence.

He also thinks Kaz would laugh at him for playing music at his mother’s grave. Now, personally, I can’t see Kaz laughing at Wylan—being indifferent, thinking it’s pointless sentimentality, shaking his head, maybe commenting sharply that they need to go if they don’t have the time. But not laughing. Kaz is a snarky, sharp-edged jerk sometimes, but he doesn’t go out of his way to criticize, he just lets people know when they inconvenience him.

Wylan has been trained to identify attention as negative by an overbearing abusive father who literally saw him as less favorable than a demon. Now, that may have been hyperbole, but Jan criticized everything he could about Wylan—art, music, emotion—and made clear that he was worthless and competent to nothing. (Jan Van Eck can suck a rotten donkey dick but that’s neither here nor there.)

A lot of people with autism experience levels of bullying that have similar impacts. Or as the kids these days are calling it: we go to school. We go to school where we are weird. Where we look weird and move weird and talk about weird things and there’s a whole little bevy of asswipes to makes sure we know it. I got teased more for playing Pokemon and sitting alone reading than the kid who pissed himself onstage at assembly. (This was before Pokemon was cool. I’m old.) And that is not unusual for autistic kids. It’s also not unusual for this to be compounded by relatives or even parents who may be trying to help but don’t understand and can make things even harder.

So we can’t read social cues and we’re taught at a vicious age that everything that comes naturally to us is wrong. Imagine trying to interact in society with that background. There is no guide and most advice from neurotypical people isn’t actually what they mean. It breaks you down.

Wylan’s anxiety isn’t definitive of autism, but isn’t something that was incredibly familiar as someone whose neurodivergent experiences created a strong level of anxiety.

6 — High Compassion, Low Social Competence

Wylan isn’t very good at making friends. In fact, none of the Crows likes him much in the beginning, and only some of them soften toward him by the end. (Matthias and Nina come to respect his skills as a chemist but neither seems to particularly like him.) But you can see throughout the books that Wylan wants to connect with them and be one of them, he just… isn’t. He’s off-beat. He’s weird. He asks questions and mimics behaviors (trying to be cool and tough like Jesper, saying “mission” like Matthias does, imitating Kaz’s scheming face) but he doesn’t quite get how to adapt.

But he still cares about people. Not just them. Everyone. He cares about the people they leave in the ditch outside the prison wagon, he cares about Hanna Smeet, he cares about Alys. He cares about the people who’ll take a hit from Kaz’s sugar caper.

Wylan’s awkward social skills have undeniable big autism energy. I posit his compassion does as well. This is simply who Wylan is, and that means being someone who cares about everyone. I have nothing to back up that this is related to autism. I can say that it’s like me. (Not to brag.) I can’t turn off the part of my brain that says everyone matters. Individuals can opt out of that compassion, but they have it by default. There’s a certain agony in feeling a pull toward and love for just about everyone and yet an inability to develop meaningful connections with them, and that keen loneliness… it just burns.

Again, it’s not definitive of autism, but it’s very similar to an autistic experience.

I said in the beginning that I didn’t think Wylan certainly had autism and I stand by that, but he is a powerfully honest reflection of many people who do. So he can be understood to have autism, and that’s part of the reason some people have that headcanon.

#six of crows #wylan van eck #autism #actually autistic

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heyyyharry · 3 years

Text

Deep End - Chapter 2: Birthday Boy

…in which Harry gets the birthday surprise he didn’t ask for.

Word count: 4.7k

AU: famous!harry, siren!mc, adult modern retelling of the little mermaid? lol, fake dating, enemies to lovers.

WARNING: MATURE THEMES

All chapters / Synopsis / Moodboard / Playlist

Wattpad link

A/N: Thank you for all the love for Harry and Ezi after chapter 1. Please let me know what you think about each chapter so I can be motivated to write faster 😆

“Humans are so funny. You make up false stories about us and refuse to believe anything that isn’t the same as your imagination,” the siren said.

Harry tossed his head back and laughed. He held out a finger at her. “No, mermaids aren’t supposed to exist. You’re not supposed to exist.”

The siren narrowed her sharp gaze, and Harry quickly moved back a bit in fear of her grabbing his leg and pulling him into the water. To his surprise, she said, “And who are you to decide that? A useless human with a useless tail–”

“Okay, enough with the tail joke.”

“–can’t even survive the drowning deep. You don’t want to believe we exist, so you won’t have to carry the guilt of trashing our homes and murdering our kind.”

Baffled, Harry worked his jaw while silently cursing himself for never taking part in those debate classes back in school. Well, to be fair, he couldn’t have known that one day he would have to debate with a deadly siren in a cave on his goddamn birthday!

He shut his eyes and sucked in a breath. “Look, lady. I’m only one small human, with a bigger than average human tail, FYI.” The siren eyed at his crotch in disbelief, so he quickly crossed his legs. “But that’s beside the point! What I was trying to say was that, if you’re seeking revenge, I can’t satisfy you because I’m not responsible for trashing the ocean or shit like that. I’m a singer, alright? And I don’t even live here. I’m from London. A land far away. If you wanna murder a human, I suggest looking for Elon Musk.”

The siren stared at him like he was the mythical creature. “I’m not familiar with all the names you mentioned,” she said, folding her arms across her chest, which had been a big distraction for him. Good to know that he could still get horny while facing death.

“Don’t you guys have fish Wikipedia?” he asked, and she tilted her head, looking rather confused. Harry pinched the bridge of his nose. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed that you should know all the facts about humans. That sounded like discrimination against sirens.”

For the first time since Harry met this siren, she actually smiled at him. “You have a lot of funny words, you strange creature,” she said, her eyebrows knitted in fascination.

“You know what?” Harry exhaled sharply. “Since you’re my kidnapper, I’m gonna stop arguing with you in case you still wanna kill me. But today is my birthday, so I can’t be kidnapped. I haven’t posted a thank you message on Twitter yet, and I might get cancelled for that. Celebrities get cancelled for literally anything nowadays. It’s annoying.” The siren blinked at him, her pink lips slightly parted. “Right,” he breathed. “You don’t have a Twitter account.”

“You said you were a singer.”

“That’s all you got from my long speech?”

“What is it? Singer.”

Harry bit his dry lip and frustratedly combed his fingers through his damp hair. “I sing. Use my voice to entertain other people.”

“Oh, like sirens.”

“I guess.”

“Except that we use our voice to kill people.”

“What?”

“Sing for me,” said the siren despite Harry’s horrified look. She seemed excited as she rested her folded arms on a boulder and gazed up at him with a twinkle in her crystal clear blue eyes. “Let’s hear it. I didn’t know humans could sing. Let’s see if it’s good.”

“Fine.” Harry blew out his cheeks and cleared his throat.

He began to sing.

“Walk in your rainbow paradise–”

“What’s a rainbow paradise?” the siren asked, but he didn’t stop singing to answer her.

“–brown skin and lemon over ice.”

“Why are you singing nonsense words?”

Once again, he ignored her, this time, closing his eyes. “I get so lost inside your eyes. Don’t you believe it? You don’t have to say you love me.”

“Love,” the siren repeated the word as if she had never heard of it in her whole life.

Harry opened his eyes and found that she was looking at him as if she could see right through him. He went on, “You don’t have to say you’re mine. Oh honey, I-i-i-i walk through fire for you. Just let me adore you.”

“Why would you walk through fire for someone?” the siren wondered out loud as she stared off into the distance, her strong brows knitted. “That's stupid. Fire is hot. I saw the humans on the boats use it one night. I almost burned my fingers trying to touch it.”

“Yeah, don’t play with fire.”

“Then why would you walk through it?”

The siren pouted, and Harry caught himself smiling at her naivety. “It’s supposed to mean that you’d do anything for the person you love. Even risking your life.”

“That’s stupid,” the siren repeated her earlier remark. For a second, Harry saw a curious little girl and not a dangerous sea creature from earlier.

“Well, it’s just a song,” Harry told her. “I personally wouldn’t do that for anyone, either, but some people do love with all they have, and would sacrifice everything for the one they love.”

An angry frown had replaced the siren’s previous perplexed expression. “Some humans murder the ones they claim to love,” she said in a cold voice. Harry felt a chill running down his spine, but then the siren went on with a softened expression. “Sirens are not supposed to love. Love is a weakness for my kind.”

Harry nodded. “Bet you don’t even have a heart.”

The siren cocked her head; a corner of her mouth raised subtly. “Every living and breathing thing has a heart. Sometimes it’s valuable. Sometimes it's not.”

“Only valuable if it’s the heart that you want,” replied Harry.

For a long moment, the siren looked into his eyes as if she was trying to read his thoughts. Could she do that? Read his thoughts?

Beads of sweat were trickling down his back as his heart began to race; he could hear it in his ears. Suddenly, the siren was pulled beneath the water. Harry stiffened at once. The ocean was still for a moment, then two sparkling tails burst through the surface. Harry’s jaw fell slack with a soundless scream when he saw another siren sinking her fangs into the first one's neck.

The other siren had bright red hair and a silver tail. There were visible scars all across her pale, lanky arms, and he couldn’t see her face. Legs too stiff to run and hide, he stood on the edge and watched in absolute terror. The scene in front of him was madness as the sirens screeched, their tails flapping, creating violent waves as they sank their claws and teeth into each other’s flesh. Harry could see blood. The first siren was not as strong as the one that was attacking her. He must save her. Maybe a part of him knew that she wasn’t entirely evil. Maybe because she was the only hope for him to get home. Either way, he couldn’t just stand by and watch her die.

Before Harry could even think of a way, a bony hand wrapped around his ankle and dragged him into the sea.

Harry’s dreams were thick with blood and haunted by the siren’s face. He’d been in the dark water, drowning, and the last thing he’d seen was her sapphire eyes glowing with the sunlight above as she’d stretched out her arm to grab him before he sank deeper. He woke up gasping, still feeling the saltiness of the ocean on his tongue and the pressure of water on his lungs.

He found himself lying on his bed, fully naked under the covers. Had he been dreaming?

Kneading his temple to chase away the headache, Harry scanned his sore eyes around the room and screamed when he saw her sitting in the corner. Naked. He looked away as soon as he caught her ocean blue eyes staring back.

The siren was in his room. And she had legs!

“You’re alive!” she exclaimed.

He heard her standing up but couldn’t bring himself to look. She sat down on the edge of his bed, smelling like the ocean. Not the fishy kind of smell; one that was unique, and Harry liked it even though he shouldn’t.

“This is a dream. This is a dream. This is a dream,” he mumbled to himself while clutching the duvet to his chest.

The siren, now a human girl, let out a sigh. “It’s not. This is real. I’m real.”

“You’re not.”

“Look at me.”

“I can’t.”

“Why?”

“You’re...naked.”

Even though Harry wasn’t looking, he could feel her questioning gaze pinning on him. He grabbed the covers and shoved them at her. “Cover yourself.”

“Oh...okay.” The siren did as she was told as Harry quickly placed a pillow on his private part. He finally looked at her, and she smiled while covering her upper body and the area between her legs with the duvet.

Harry let out a sigh of relief. “Better. Okay, why are you here?”

The siren’s eyes widened. “You don’t remember?”

Harry shook his head.

“We were talking when my sister attacked me, then dragged you into the water. You were lucky I saved you twice and brought you back to where I’d found you. This is the only palace on this beach, so I assumed it was yours.”

Harry sat and stared her face, trying to detect a lie but failed.

The siren rolled her eyes. She seemed disappointed as she swept her long black hair over her shoulder, exposing the huge bite mark on her long pale neck. The skin had healed, and the blood had dried, but the area was still bruised. Harry fought the urge to touch it. There was no way this was really happening.

The siren shot a glance at his ankle. And that was when Harry noticed the red claw mark around it. He shivered at the flashbacks of a siren with red hair and a silver tail charging straight at him with her mouth wide open, her sharp teeth ready to tear off his flesh.

“Sorry about my sister. She could be very...deadly,” the siren in front of him said, looking remorseful.

Harry eyed her up and down once again. Finally, he broke his silence, “What happened to your tail?”

The siren refused to look him in the eye as she said, “My mother found out that I saved you, a human, so she cursed me.”

“Cursed you?”

The siren said nothing; the corners of her mouth lowered as she stared down sadly at her legs.

What kind of The Little Mermaid plot is this? Harry thought to himself, yet didn’t say it because it shouldn’t be a joke. She’d lost her tail, which meant she couldn’t go back to the ocean. Ariel from The Little Mermaid had wished to become a human. This girl had been cursed with the life she never wanted just to save him twice.

Harry buried his face into his palms. “Shit. Fuck. I’m sorry. This is all my fault.”

“It is your fault.”

His head whipped up at her honest response. “You always say what you think, don’t you?”

“Why shouldn’t I?”

Harry sighed and ran his palm over his face. “Never mind. How...how do I get you back to your mermaid form?”

“Siren.”

“Sorry, siren. How do I help turn you back?”

“I don’t know,” she said sadly, clutching the duvet to her chest. “But I need a place to stay until I figure it out.”

Harry thought for a moment and nodded. “I’ll pay for your hotel room.”

“What’s a hotel?” the siren asked, her eyes round. “And why can’t I stay here in your palace? It’s big and you live alone.”

“This is a house, not a palace,” Harry said. “But I’m going back to London tomorrow, and I can’t take you with me.”

“Where is London? I want to see London.”

Seeing her so excited made Harry laugh. “No, you don’t; trust me. It’s not sunny there. Always dark and gloomy and raining.”

“It’s not sunny underwater, either.”

Harry held up a finger and kept his mouth open for a moment as he pondered over what she’d said. “Good point. But I’m still not taking you to London. That’s not a good idea.”

The siren’s eyebrows drew together. “It was your fault I’m in this situation.”

Harry gasped. “You’re so manipulative!”

“I don’t know what it means.”

“It means you say things like that to get me to feel sorry for you, and so I have to help you.”

“Oh, then, yeah, I’m manipulative,” the siren said. “Take me to London with you, or I’ll find you in London and make your life hell.”

Harry tossed his head back and groaned. As if he hadn’t been traumatised enough by all the events that had happened today, now he had to take responsibility for the life of a mythical creature. If he had been a bad guy, he would have just let the government have her and keep her in a lab like that Oscar-winning movie about the dead girl and her fish lover. But Harry wasn’t a villain. Sure, he could be an asshole, but he couldn’t betray someone who’d risked her life to save his. Twice.

Maybe if he’d just say yes and then leave quickly in the morning, he wouldn’t have to deal with her. He’d ask someone to take care of her, pay for a place for her to stay and her food. Her mother would have to take her back eventually. He didn’t know about sirens, but even in the animal kingdom, mothers never abandoned their children.

“Fine, I’ll take you to London,” he said. Seeing the smile on her face, he was lowkey thankful that he was so good at lying. “First, you have to put some clothes on. Wait here.”

Carefully, he slipped out of bed, holding a pillow in front of his crotch and one behind him to cover his butt, then padded awkwardly to his closet to change and get her something to wear. When he returned, she was still sitting on his bed, humming a familiar song and kicking her feet as if testing out her new body parts. He found it endearing, but of course, he wouldn’t tell her.

He handed her a bathrobe. “Put this on. I’ll find some real clothes for you later.”

The siren accepted the bathrobe and stared at it as if she’d been told to put it in her mouth and chew. She glanced up at him. “I don’t understand the purpose of this.”

“To cover up your private parts.”

Suddenly, she seemed sad. “I think I’m broken.”

Harry blinked. “What?”

She looked at him again, pouting. “I don’t have a tail.”

“I can see that.”

“No, I mean, a tail like yours.”

When Harry realised what she meant, his face burned, and he cleared his throat into his fist. “You’re not supposed to,” he said awkwardly. “You’re...a female. I bet male sirens don’t look the same as you, right?”

“There’s no male sirens,” she told him.

Harry cocked his head to the side, squinting his eyes. “Huh? Then how do you guys...you know?”

She blinked innocently at him. She didn’t know.

“Mate.” The word made Harry cringe. “How do you mate?”

“Sirens mate with mermen. We only need them for children.”

“Okay, that’s...new…”

Harry would be glad to find out more, but this was definitely not the right time. He waved his hand, urging her to hurry up. Clumsily, the siren got to her feet. Harry didn’t intend to stay here while she changed, but since she could barely keep her balance, she had to hold onto his arms. He stood there, staring at the ceiling as the duvet dropped. She was completely naked in front of him now and so dangerously close. The voice inside his head was telling him not to peek. Fuck. Why did she have to be sexy?

“Do you...um...do you need help?” he asked as she seemed to be struggling with the bathrobe.

“No, thanks. I got it!” she said between ragged breaths, then, “Hey your tail is growing!”

Harry’s eyes dropped to the front of his boxers, his face heating at the sight of his erection. He gently pushed her back onto the bed and rushed to the bathroom.

“Where are you going?” she shouted after him. “I need to see it in its full form!”

“This is its full form!”

“It’s still small.”

“Shut up! It’s not!”

Ezili felt bad for lying to this human.

Well, lying was the whole point of her mission, but he had been so nice to her when he found out she couldn’t return to the ocean. She blamed her new human heart for these emotions. Siren Ezili would never feel sorry for this ugly creature. No, wait, this one wasn’t ugly. The mermen were ugly. As much as she despised humans, she must admit that most of them were beautiful.

When this human wasn’t looking, Ezili would regard him with as much curiosity as he had regarded her in secret. The way his brown curls swept back messily. His defined jawlines. The deep dimples in his cheeks. The look of wonder in his eyes. He looked about her age, but his eyes were innocent, greener than seaweed.

She looked away as he caught her gawking. They were sitting at a small table on the floor. The room was darkly lit by the light in the corner. On the table was a mushy pile with little fire sticks on top.

“What is this?” Ezili asked, inspecting the object.

The human smiled at her, the firelight dancing in his leaf-green eyes as he said, “It’s a cake. We’re celebrating my birthday.”

“You told me not to play with fire.”

“We’re gonna put it out anyway.” He winked at her. “A little fire won’t hurt.” Ezili watched the human take out a little black thing and flick his thumb. Fire flared out, making Ezili flinch. “Relax,” he chuckled and the fire vanished. “This is called a lighter. It makes fire. This is a cake. These are candles.”

“What do we do with the cake?”

“We eat it.”

“You eat fire?”

The human laughed at Ezili’s distressed look. “No, silly. We blow out the candles, then eat the cake.”

“Oh,” she said, making him laugh harder. She found it disrespectful and annoying. Was this creature making fun of her? “What’s so funny?” she asked through gritted teeth.

The human stopped laughing, yet his dimples were still visible. “I can’t believe I’m celebrating my twenty-fourth with a siren,” he said.

“Who do you usually celebrate with?” Ezili asked.

“My friends or family,” the human said. “My friends were supposed to be here but their flight got cancelled due to bad weather.” The sadness in his eyes disappeared as he gave a dismissive wave and laughed. “Oh well, it’s not bad being alone. In fact, I’ve been alone my whole life.”

“That’s sad,” Ezili murmured, mesmerized by the candles.

“It’s not,” replied the human. “Some people live their whole life surrounded by others, and yet, they’re still lonely.”

As he closed his eyes, took a deep breath, smiled, and blew out the candles, Ezili sat there and pondered over his last words.

They didn’t eat the cake right away, because the humans said they ought to eat it after dinner. Apparently, humans ate three main meals a day—breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Sirens ate when they were hungry, so this was very new to Ezili. She picked up the small shiny thing that shaped like her mother’s trident and pushed around the foods on her plate. “What is this?”

“Fish,” the human said with a smile.

“Dead?”

“You expect me to eat alive fish?”

Ezili scowled at him. “That’s what we eat.”

“You’re human now. Try cooked fish.”

When she didn’t do anything but stare at the plate, the human nudged her hand with his knuckles. “Come on. If you don’t like it, I’ll get you the raw fish in the fridge.”

Ezili doubted that this imbecile creature would poison her with these colourful foods to get away with his responsibility, but at the same time, nothing was impossible.

However, she would probably faint if she didn’t eat. This dinner actually smelled good, and her stomach was rumbling because she hadn’t eaten since yesterday. And so she stabbed the fish’s burned flesh with her little trident, closed her eyes and put it into her mouth. It was soft, salty and a bit spicy, and...surprisingly delicious. She quickly took another bite, and another, and another.

“Wow, you’re really hungry, huh?” The human chuckled. “You like it?”

Ezili nodded fast, unable to answer because her mouth was full.

The human seemed satisfied. “Good. Means I’m a great cook.”

Ezili chewed fast and swallowed as the human began to eat. She tried to copy the way he held the little trident and the knife, and felt like she’d changed. Her mother would hate her so much for enjoying this. And Koa would make sure everyone in their kingdom knew and turn her into a laughing stock.

“Do you have any questions for me?” she said, breaking the silence, mostly to distract herself from thinking about the mission and her family.

The human thought for a second. “Hmmm, I have a bunch so I don’t know where to start.” Then, after a pause, “Why did your mum do this to you? Doesn’t she love you?”

Ezili wished she could stab him for bringing up the topic she’d been trying to avoid. Instead, she sucked in a breath. “She does. It’s just...the way sirens show love is different from humans. We teach our children to be strong from the moment they are born. Sirens live dependent on one another to survive, and so we always have to look out for one another. I guess that’s love for us. My mother is the Sea Queen. She’s very powerful, and so she has high hopes for my sister and I. My sister is better than me, though. I’ve always envied her.”

“Your sister is scary as hell,” the human remarked. “But if your mum is the Queen, you must be a princess.”

“Yeah.”

“Wow, so does that make me Prince Eric?”

“Your name is Eric?”

“No,” the human chuckled. “It’s a reference from The Little Mermaid. You should watch that film. You’d probably hate it though. Anyway, it’s so weird that we don’t know each other’s name. I’m Harry.” The human, well, Harry, put his hand across the table. Ezili didn’t know what to do with it so she just stared.

“I’m Ezili.”

Harry smiled, picked up her right hand and shook it. His hand was bigger than her and warm. She liked it.

“Cool name. Can I call you Ezi?”

Ezili instantly pulled her hand back. “No, you filthy creature. That’s not my name!”

“Ezi is short for Ezili.”

“What?”

Harry ignored the look of confusion she was giving him. “Or I could call you Bubbles. That’s a cute nickname.”

“Why Bubbles?”

“Because…” He tossed his head back and groaned. “Damn, woman, you gotta read the story, too. I can’t make these jokes if you don’t get the references.”

Ezili had so many questions. Just as she was about to ask, the black thing on the table lit up and started playing a song that startled Ezili.

“Sorry. My mum’s calling,” Harry said as he picked up the thing and swiped his fingers across it. “Right on time.”

“Is your mother trapped in that thing?” Ezili asked, clutching the hem of the shirt Harry had told her to wear. It was too big on her but she loved that it was comfortable and kept her warm.

“No, this is a phone,” Harry said, shaking the magical device with light coming out of it. “So my mum’s in London, and when she calls me on the phone, her voice gets transferred through it, and I can hear what she says.” He pushed himself up and told Ezili, “I’ll be right back.”

Once Harry was gone, Ezili sat there and tried her best to process all the new information. It was only her first night on land and she was already going through it. This mission was harder than she thought. Still, she had no choice but to continue. She must have that heart, and her mother would be so proud.

When Harry woke up this time, he was on his private jet.

“Hey.”

He screamed, causing Ezi to fall back into her seat in front of him. He whipped his head around and saw that they were the only two people in this cabin. Before he could even come up with a question, Ezi got up, her hand resting on either side of his seat as she leaned forward, until her face was so close to his that he could smell the vanilla scent of the cake in her breath.

Her eyes sharpened at once. “I know you were trying to get rid of me.”

“No...I didn’t.”

“You did, Harry. You were going to leave me at your beach house. I heard you talking on the phone last night with someone else after talking to your mum. You mentioned a hotel room.”

Harry had booked a room for her on the phone last night. He should have done it on the website.

“But guess what?” A corner of her mouth lifted. “I might not have the ability to control tides anymore, but I still have my voice. And so I can control humans with it. I sang you to sleep last night. Then when your servants came to take you to this metal bird, I made him carry you to the magic black carriage and I came here with you. You think you’re one step ahead, you’re wrong. Try that again. I dare you.”

Harry swallowed hard. He could feel his palms sweating as he rubbed them against his thighs. “Okay, I’m sorry for that,” he said. “But you can’t control people like that. If someone found out what you’re capable of...what you are...you’d be in big trouble.”

Ezi arched an eyebrow as she slowly backed away and stood straight with her arms across her chest. Thank God, Harry’s mother called just in time. He immediately got up and excused himself to answer the phone. He left a pouty Ezili in the cabin and went to the exit to talk to his mother.

“My precious boy, are you on the plane right now?”

“Yes, Mum,” Harry sighed.

“Good. I just need the name of your date for the seat arrangement.”

Harry stiffened for a second then quickly glanced over his shoulder to check if Ezi was eavesdropping. Fortunately, she was distracted by a magazine.

“Like now?” he asked his mum.

“Yes. Last night you told me you found one.”

Yes, Harry remembered that part, but he’d only said that so his mum would stop pestering him.

He took a deep breath. “Yeah, I did.”

“Her name?”

He hesitated before saying, “Ezili Hans.”

Hans as in Hans Christian Andersen. The writer of The Little Mermaid. If he had the energy to be happy, he’d give himself a pat on the back for the creativity.

“Great,” his mother said, sounding as if he’d just told her he was getting married. “I’m so excited to meet this girl.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes, dear?”

“I-I said ‘Well, of course’,” Harry said and covered it up with a nervous laugh.

When he got off the phone with his mum, he felt a light tap on the shoulder and turned around to see Ezi. Shit, had she listened to–

“I promise I won’t use my singing voice to control you again,” she said, to his surprise. "Please. I cannot survive on my own." She twisted the hem of his band-tee uneasily. Even though she looked super cute in his t-shirt and joggers, she was still too underdressed for someone that was travelling on a private jet.

“Fine. You can stay,” he heard himself say while trying to imagine her with actual clothes that fit her.

Ezi’s blue eyes lit up, and the smile that rarely showed up on her face caught Harry off guard. He almost forgot what was happening.

“Really?”

“Yeah.” He nodded. “But we need to set up some rules.”

#harry styles #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagine #harry styles imagines #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry styles smut #harry smut #harry styles wrting #harry styles writing #harry styles x oc #harry styles series #harry styles one shot #harry styles one shots

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danny-chase · 3 years

Note

hello! if you're still taking requests for your bthb card, could i request Insomnia with Dick Grayson?

Thanks for the request! In case anyone's wondering, requests are still open :D

Insomnia - Read on AO3

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Titans (Comics), Nightwing (Comics) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Major Character Death Relationships: Dick Grayson & Roy Harper, Dick Grayson & Donna Troy, Dick Grayson/Joseph Wilson, Dick Grayson & Jason Todd Characters: Dick Grayson, Roy Harper, Barbara Gordon (implied), Donna Troy, Joseph Wilson, Jason Todd, Lilith Clay (briefly), Danny Chase (briefly), Lian Harper (briefly) Additional Tags: Emotional Whump, Dick Grayson Whump, Protective Roy Harper, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, Dick Grayson Gets a Hug, Kissing, POV Alternating, POV Dick Grayson, POV Roy Harper, Black Eye, Minor Injuries, Minor Violence, Sleep Deprivation, Angst with a Hopeful Ending, Pancakes, IHOP Series: Part 7 of Bad Things Happen Bingo Summary:

An old friend comes to visit when Dick finds himself unable to fall asleep.

Full story under cut

Now: A doorbell sharply buzzed as Roy walked through the glass door, a half-asleep attendant perking up in front of him. The room was cramped, the flooring tacky, unkempt ancient wallpaper peeled at the seams. A bucket sat in the corner catching a steady drip of – what he hoped was – water.

The lady gave him an unimpressed look, her manicured nails clattering against the keys of a dusty old laptop. “You here for a parole meeting?” Roy rolled his eyes.

“Lady, do I look like I’m here for a parole meeting?” She shrugged, shuffling some papers. Her icy blue eyes lingered on his sling for a moment.

“Could have fooled me, you get in a fight?” Crossing her arms, she stared at him challengingly.

He widened his stance. “Nah I’m here for-”

“Robbie Malone.” A robotic voice chipped in his ear.

“Robbie Malone, you can charge bail to this card.” He finished, slipping an envelope out of his pocket.

Clacking away, she sliced open the envelope. “I’ll need proof of ID.” She continued, not giving him a second glance. He bristled, placing his left hand on the counter, flexing his muscles. The clattering sped up, growing louder as she determinedly focused on the screen. “Waiting room is over there.” She titled her head towards a dark hallway.

“Everything alright?” The earpiece buzzed. Dingy lights flickered as he made his way to the room. He sighed as he entered the room, finding a too-small uncomfortable looking chair.

“Peachy.” Leaning against the doorway, he rubbed his aching right arm, breathing deeply. Crossing the room, he took his place in the shitty chair. Tilting his head back, he stared at the off-white, water-stained ceiling.

How the hell did we get here?

Last Night: Dick aimlessly stared up, counting the holes in the safe-house’s ceiling tiles. If he counted one row and one column he could multiply them – but he kept messing up and starting over.

This wasn’t productive. He should be doing literally anything else. He was moping, this was pointless, he ought to-

Shit, I lost count.

He started over. In truth – he’d tried getting up but a weight in his chest pinned him to the spot. Stars danced above his head – mixing with the holes - but he couldn’t bring himself to care – he was just… so tired.

There’d been a human trafficking ring – it was gruesome sure, but he’d seen gruesome before - he’d been managing fine – then obsessed – he let this happen - this was his fault – Bruce would be disappointed – Babs too –

Fuck it, he didn’t care anymore. And he lost his count.

He felt awful – like his body was imploding. He needed a shower. Couldn’t remember the last time he ate. He hadn’t slept in five(?) – he wasn’t keeping track anymore but he didn’t even have an excuse not to sleep anymore.

He could sleep any time he wanted.

Yeah - he chose not to sleep…

Totally.

He closed his eyes. The case was over – that’s what was bothering him right? He could sleep now – he was fine – the kids were safe – everyone was safe – everyone was –

Don’t think about it.

His eyes shot open before he could see her face. His insides squirmed – he rolled over, picking himself off the floor, compelled to do something – he couldn’t patrol, Bruce had helped with cleanup and ordered him home – the thought of food was nauseating, that was out – he could clean… but he didn’t even know where to start – he could –

Someone knocked on the door… was he expecting someone? At… what time was it? It was dark out and the clock was too blurry to read. Another knock and he lost his train of thoughts.

Drawn forward, as if in a daze, he gripped the door-knob, twisting before even bothering to look through the peephole.

That’s how Barbara got shot. Bruce’s voice chided.

He grinned as he swung open the door, revealing a shining face. “Donna.” He nearly tripped over the doorstep, Donna laughing at his antics, spreading her arms wide.

“Good to see you, Boy Wonder. Heard you were having a rough night, I thought you might want to talk?” Dick nodded, already enveloping her in a tight hug, lost in the faint scent of coconut shampoo. “Let’s take a walk.”

Now: Roy sat, watching a clock across from him tick. His ass hurt – arm hurt – he hadn’t eaten breakfast. He was supposed to spend the day with Lian – but fuck – here he was cleaning up after the batboy. Dick owed him pancakes. With chocolate chips. Maybe eggs. Homecooked – like he used to make post-successful mission.

Who was he kidding?

He was sitting in a county jail waiting around for a friend he hadn’t talked to in nearly a month. They couldn’t just eat pancakes and magically fix everything. Rubbing his eyes, he tried to ignore the awkwardness of the situation.

It was a shame – Dick’s pancakes were amazing. Yeah. Pancakes…

Had the clock grown louder when he wasn’t watching?

He pulled out his phone, resolving to find the nearest IHop. If things were going to be awkward, he would at least have food to distract him. “You owe me a meal.” He whispered into the earpiece.

“There’s an iHop 5 minutes away. Turn left coming out and it’ll be on your right.”

“How did you-”

“I’m amazed you think I can’t get into your phone.” Showoff. He quietly whistled.

“Rob’s got friends in high places.” The voice was silent for a moment. It was the weirdest thing (albeit not the weirdest thing that had happened to him) – someone had just slipped an envelope and earpiece on his kitchen table – a letter O was written on an attached sticky note.

“You’d be right about that.” There was an unspoken rule in the superhero community – never turn down an assignment for Oracle.

Last Night: Metal squealed as he swung back and forth on a little swing set. “I miss this.” He pumped his legs forward. “We should do stupid shit more often.” He flipped off the swing – doing a perfect double flip before landing. “You see that?” He beamed, turning to face – “Donna?!”

“Yes, yes, you’re brilliant. The crowd goes wild.” She rolled her eyes, politely clapping. “But I came out to talk to youuu, and you haven’t even told me how you’re doing.” She swung her legs, keeping her swing impossibly still. Well. She was Donna – she was perfect – she could do things like that.

“I’m fine.” He solved the case after all – that was what had been keeping him up – he could sleep after this.

“Dick…” The corners of her mouth turned down, pulling at the strings of his heart as they went – Donna was perfect, he was having fun – things were fine.

“Don’t – please – I’m fine, I don’t want to fight right now.” His mouth went dry, his pulse speeding uncontrollably. “Could we just… keep hanging out on the swings? Like we used to?” His legs shook, knees threatening to give out. “Please?” He croaked.

“Okay.” She pulled out a camera, smiling. “Next time, I’ll take a picture.”

Now: This was taking forever. He impatiently tapped the side of the chair, staring at the blank wall ahead of him.

“I can play music.” The voice offered.

“How long is this going to take?” He groaned – his arm throbbed; he left his ibroufen at home. Fuck. His. Life.

“Maybe thirty more minutes.” Came the guess.

“I’ve been here forever.” He complained; he was starting to suspect the lady was purposefully taking her time.

“It’s only been one hour.” The voice deadpanned. “Quit whining or I’ll play country.” Roy sighed.

“You got Rob’s playlist?” Maybe it was silly, but listening to his friends’ playlists made him feel a bit closer to them. And dammit, he missed Dick.

“Mmmhmm.” If nothing else, Dick’s trash taste in music was better than country.

Last Night: He caught a glimpse of a familiar face walking towards the playground. His heart swelled, chest lifting as he leaped off the swing.

He fumbled the landing, recovering quickly – and running, he spread his arms open wide. “Joey?!” His feet pounded on the grass, and he launched himself into a flying hug, momentum accidentally carrying them both to the ground. Dick laughed, hugging Joe tight, hands racing through his golden curls.

Empathetic eyes found his, concern clear, swimming behind stunning green irises. It was as if Joey was looking in his soul – or rather - his heart. Joey started signing. ‘Are you-’

Dick cut him off. “I’m fine, can I just – have this?” Joey’s face softened, leaning forward. Dick closed the gap between them, cradling the back of his head in his hands. Their lips met, butterflies filling his stomach – he was on top of the world - completely invincible in the moment. He slipped a hand up, feeling Joey’s steady pulse, and moved down, adorning his neck with a kiss.

Joey tenderly pressed a kiss to the crown of his head. ‘Not here.’ He signed. They were in public – not that he cared.

“I love you.” Dick protested, standing, and pulling Joey to his feet. He kissed his hand, tugging him into another hug. “I should have told you sooner.” He whispered.

They stood, illuminated by moonlight – melding into one. Joey was soft and warm, and smelled of honeysuckle. He felt nineteen again, dumb and in love, with everything to lose – but everything to gain, spending reckless nights flirting and teasing. Donna cheered in the distance. It was breathtaking, he was happier than he’d felt in years.

Perfection was something he was always searching for – and this – right here – he’d finally found it.

Joey pulled back, signing again. ‘I love you too.’ He smiled softly, studying his face. ‘You haven’t been sleeping.’ Reaching out, he gently pushed back Dick’s bangs, leaning forward for a quick kiss before pulling away again. ‘You promised not to do this.’

Dick brushed off his worry, taking Joey by the hands. “I swear I’m fine – I feel better than I have in years now you’re both here.”

Someone laughed behind him. No. It can’t be. The laugh continued, tinkling like a little bell. Joey placed a hand on his shoulder, tears welling in his eyes as he turned.

“Jason?”

Now: “Rob?” Dick stepped into the little room, stonily staring at the floor. Stubble decorated his unshaven face, his left eye swelling – bruises blossoming across his face. The skin under both was dark and puffy, his eyes bloodshot. Roy rose to his feet - automatically rushing forward. The lady stepped between them, getting in his face and handing him a thousand papers to sign.

“You’ve got to be kidding me, he needs medical attention.” Roy bit back a scream. Dick crossed his arms, refusing to meet his eyes, as he tried to get a better look. His mouth was set in a taught line, as if determined to show no emotion.

“He refused. Sign the papers.” The lady spat, shoving a pen at him.

“You better fu-”

“Play nice!” Chided the voice in his ear. “Just sign the papers. I’ll pay for all the pancakes you can eat.”

“Excuse me?” Frost tinged the woman’s words. She turned on her heel, whipping her hair around – almost hitting his face as she stormed back to her desk.

“I’m signing the goddamn papers.” He aggressively clicked the pen open. Fuck this. He scribbled his signature as fast as he could, flying through the papers, throwing them each at the lady as he finished.

Dick remained silent, staring at the floor, standing completely still.

“What the fuck did you even do?” The woman sneered at him disapprovingly. He shoved the last paper at her, throwing the pen on the counter. Dick remained silent.

“They picked him up at 3rd street park this morning.” The voice supplied. “He’s charged with loitering and resisting arrest.”

Last Night: “It can’t…” He trailed off, looking at Jason’s grinning face.

“Sure it can.” Jason asserted, darting forward. “Tag!” His heart leaped, as he ran after. Laughing, Jason took the steps to the little castle two at a time, meeting Lilith at the top.

“Oh no, I don’t want to play.” She put her hands up. “Get Danny instead!” He turned, watching Danny wave from over by the fountain. He kept contorting the water into different shapes.

Dick grinned, running forward. “No way, I’m going for my baby brother!” Jason snorted, flaunting around on top of a slide. His smile was so wide – always so wide –

Robin gives me magic.

Dick doubled his speed, they should go for ice cream after this – just the two of them, like old times.

“Please, as if an old geezer could catch me.” Jason taunted, doing a cartwheel as Dick started climbing up a rock wall to the top. “Especially with the shape he’s in.”

“I’m in better shape than you!” He teased back.

“You really aren’t.” Donna’s face appeared at his side startling him, he found himself losing his grip – falling back off the rock wall. His shoulders hit woodchips, knocking the wind out of him. “If you were, that wouldn’t have happened.” She pointed out.

Dick couldn’t breathe – his lungs were frozen – he couldn’t –

Joey kneeled on his other side, helping him sit up. He wheezed, desperately sucking in air.

“See you can breathe.” Jason’s head popped out overtop the wall. “Must be nice.” He muttered.

“What -” he panted, “do you… mean?” A coughing fit overtook him. Donna slapped his back.

“Really?” Jason looked at him mournfully. “You’re being pathetic.”

“Jason!” Donna chided. “Quit reminding him we’re-”

“Don’t!” Dick sputtered, burying his chest in Joey’s shirt. It smelled like honeysuckle – honeysuckle and lilac. “Please!” This was all he had left. “Don’t take this from me. Please, Jason – PLEASE!” Broken fragments and shards of memories.

“Robin?” Tears spilled over into Joey’s shirt. His heart was bursting in his chest. Let him have this. Please. For just a moment more. Joey pushed him back slightly.

Jason popped up in front of him, looking at him accusingly. “I thought I was Robin.”

Now: “Dick, what happened to you?” Roy asked, rummaging through the trunk. No response. He looked up through the rear-view mirror. Dick stared out the window – looking at nothing at all. “Dick?” What the hell?

His hands closed around the first aid kid. He slammed the trunk walking back up to the front seat.

“How is he?” Roy nearly dropped the kit, anger overcoming him.

“How is he?! How is he?!” He flailed his arms. “That’s it! You fucking Bat people just keep pushing and pushing each other - tell Bruce he’s FUCKING OUT OF THE GAME – that’s all you fucking people care about isn’t it-”

“-Roy you don’t understand-”

“I UNDERSTAND JUST FINE!” A couple across the street stared at him. He shooed them off, putting his phone up to his ear belatedly as a cover.

“We love him too.” The voice insisted. “I only want what’s best for him. So does Bruce.”

“Then where the fuck is he? And why isn’t he the one bailing him out?” The line went silent for a moment.

“I said I wanted what’s best for him. Why do you think I sent you?” Roy found himself speechless – not a problem, the voice continued. “Wally was busy, and Garth is still in the hospital, and you should visit him by the way, Dick’s only been stopping by at night - they haven’t even talked! ROY! Don’t talk to me about understanding Dick Grayson, you aren’t the only person who gives a shit about him.”

Roy pinched the bridge of his nose. What the fuck was going on? “Does Bruce even know?” Another pause.

“No.”

“What do you want me to do?” Roy watched cars whiz past on the little town road.

Finally, the voice replied. “I don’t know.”

Last Night: A calloused hand rested on his shoulder. His fists still clenched Joey’s shirt, tears blurring his vision.

“Dick, aren’t you going to turn around?” Jason asked, squatting on the ground. Panic overtook him.

“I can’t.” He tucked his knees to his chest. She can’t see me like this. He was pathetic.

“Mm.” Donna hummed knowingly. “Why not?”

“You know.” Joey gently patted his back as he squeezed harder.

“I do.” She dropped down slipping an arm over Jason’s shoulders. “But I’d like to hear you say it.”

“Why are you doing this?” He choked back a sob. “Can’t we just… talk on the swings – and Jason we can go out for ice cream you can meet Danny and Joey and Lilith can come and - ”

“Dick. Look at me.” Donna placed a hand on his shoulder, waiting until he met her eyes. “You know we can’t stay.”

“You can’t tell me you don’t know this is all in your head. You’re smarter than that.” Jason kicked wood chips without spraying any around. “We didn’t die so you could end up like this.” Joey tapped his shoulder.

‘What he means is, we love you and it hurts to see you like this.’

“Dick, if you won’t talk to us, could you talk to them.” Donna sadly smiled.

“I’m sorry.” He was a disappoint – a failure – it was his fault – his –

“Deep down you know I made a decision.” Donna stated. “And that I don’t regret it.” Dick jumped to his feet. “What do you mean you don’t regret it – you fucking DIED FOR ME, DONNA. HOW COULD YOU DO THAT TO ME?!” He grabbed her by the front of her overalls, she just sadly smiled as he shook her. “YOU LEFT ME ALONE! IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN ME – DONNA – HOW COULD YOU!?” She shrugged as he screamed, dropping to the ground. “It’s hard for you to look at me?! Try looking at your graves and knowing that you’re the reason you died!”

Joey placed a hand on his shoulder. Dick stared at him. “I’m so tired of being alive.” He confessed. Joey pulled him into a hug. “Just. Let me stay with you… please.” He breathed in, but the scent of honeysuckle was long gone - the warmth of Joey’s body fading. “Please?”

“Dickie.” He’d nearly forgotten the sound of his father’s voice. “You have someone to get back to.”

“Multiple someones.” Donna added.

“A new little Robin.” Jason noted. “Take care of him for me, okay?”

“Can’t you just stay?” Joey shook his head. The hand slipped off his shoulder.

“Sleep well, love. Take care of yourself. We love you.”

He turned, diving for a hug, finding nothing but empty air, as he skidded through woodchips, splinters tearing through his skin. Someone grabbed his shoulder and he screamed, clamping onto their wrist. No. No one was getting away this time. Just as he looked up, a blow finally sent him into darkness.

Now: “So… How are the pancakes?” Roy shoved another scoop into his own mouth. Dick poked at his plate without actually eating anything. “Hey, I bought those. You’re going to eat them.” Dick wistfully swirled a piece around in syrup. “Lian’s going to be jealous.” A spark of recognition passed through Dick’s eyes at the mention of her name.

Alright. New tactics then. Talk about his daughter. Oh, this would be easy. “She’s been getting math homework recently. Math homework! Can you believe it? She’s in first grade and this teacher is already giving out math!” He blundered through the conversation, Dick slowly looking up to make eye contact. “And it’s not the crap we learned as kids either. They want them to count a whole different way! I mean how on earth do you count differently.”

“Binary.” Dick suggested, Roy tried not to cringe at how rough and raw his voice sounded.

“So, you could help her with that, yeah?” Two birds, one stone. “She needs help and you’re the best math nerd I know.” Dick turned to stare mournfully out the window. “Finish your food, we’ll go back to my house, you can sleep, and I’ll bring home Lian, and when your brain’s working again you can help her with math, sound good - yeah?”

He probably failed to keep the panic out of his voice, but at this point he didn’t know what else to do if Dick said no. They weren’t kids anymore – he couldn’t force Dick to do anything he didn’t want to, or call in Bruce. It felt like he was teetering on the edge of losing another friend.

Now: He was hurting Roy – Roy’s smile was forced, his shoulders were tense, he was holding his fork too tight. Dick looked out the window, avoiding his gaze.

You have someone to get back too. Multiple someones.

Lian needed math help. Roy needed someone to talk to. Tim needed more training.

Donna could have helped Lian. Joey could have talked to Roy. And Jason should have been the one training.

They weren’t here anymore.

When are you going to face reality?

“Okay.”

He stabbed into a piece of pancake and stuffed it in his mouth. For the first time in days, he ate something that didn’t taste like ash.

Later: Roy flipped through channels, as casual conversation continued in the kitchen. “Okay so if you cut the pancake like this, it’s in thirds, so there are 3 pieces. Get it? Like halves but now there’s one more piece.” Dick had been trying to explain fractions for the past fifteen minutes.

“Mmmm, do I get to eat the pancake?” Lian giggled, smacking the table excitedly. Roy admired her ability to avoid talking about math, that – that was something she got from him.

Time had passed, Dick was rebounding – he always did, and Lian got a perfect score on her last test. Things were good.

For now…

One day, they wouldn’t bounce back – maybe he would die or Dick would shatter, but for tonight fractions were being taught with pancakes – and that wasn’t something he thought possible a week ago. And as Lian served him his piece, he painted on a smile because that’s all they could really do anymore – real smiles seemed to have died with Donna – but maybe if they kept surviving, they could go back to living.

Dick knowingly cocked an eyebrow and placed a hand on his shoulder, ducking down to whisper thanks in his ear, wrapping his arms around his neck, squeezing tighter than usual. Dick’s chin settled on his shoulder, warm puffs of air a constant reminder of his presence.

Tomorrow was unknown, but tonight Dick was alive and healing and Lian was smiling and squealing, and for him, that was enough.

#bad things happen bingo #titans #nightwing #dick grayson #roy harper #dickjoey #joey wilson #donna troy #my writing

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gallavictorious · 3 years

Text

I was delighted to be tagged by Our Lady of Words and Joy @howlinchickhowl Cheers, dear!

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

Earlier today it was 40. Now it’s 39. WHAT GIVES? Did someone eat a story? Which one? I am so confused.

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

137 098. At least that hasn’t changed...

3. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Highs, and Your Lows (i will weather them)

This Time (We'll Be Fine)

Teenage Tales

To Keep Your Gentle Heart

Captive Look

Huh. Would you look at that. All Gallavich stuff!

4. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Eh. Well. Listen, I always want and mean to respond to comments, because as a commenter I always love a response from the author, but I am procrastinator supreme so a lot of the time I just... don't. Not for a great long while at least. Then, two years AFTER you left a comment, you might get an e-mail notification about me responding. It's horrible, really, because I keep the comments in my heart and treasure them so much and the lovely people taking the time to leave a few words on my silly stories really do deserve better.

5. What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

Life, Still to Come has the one main character Jim Moriarty killing himself and his lover Sebastian Moran after he's diagnosed with incurable brain cancer, so I guess that's pretty angsty? The tone of the fic, however, is... kinda soft and peaceful, really. It doesn't feel so very sad, I think.

For Gallavich, I've got Chapter 7 of my ficlet collection Highs, and Your Lows (i will weather them). It's an Wild West AU kind of deal, where Ian Gallagher is visited by the ghost of the young fiend Mickey Milkovich after his dad beats him to death. That one is sad, but there's the glimmer of a promise that they might meet again one day, in a better world.

6. What’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending?

My fics mostly end on a happy note, and I have a hard time pinning down which is the happiest. Hm. I'm gonna say Pressure or possibly Foreign Country, if only because the happy endings there are offered in contrast to the otherwise angsty story and so seems all the happier for it.

7. Do you write crossovers? If so, what is the craziest one you’ve written?

I have, once. Well, started one, really. Notes Regarding the End of the World is a crossover between Sherlock BBC and Mark Lawrence's The Broken Empire trilogy. I still feel there's a bunch of potential there, but I'm very hesitant I'll ever finish it.

8. Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Not to my recollection, no. Back when I posted my SW fic on the Jedi Council forums you might receive critical comments at times, but no hate.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Not really, no. I'm not very interested in reading it, and so see very little point in writing it. There's been a few semi-explicit depictions of sexual acts – most notably in Claim – and I'm not averse to writing kink fic, even if they don't typically include actual sex when I do. For instance, I did The Ways We Bend and Break and Mend for X-Men, and the whole point was Charles first whipping Erik and then cuddling him – except in the end it turned into a character study with lots of emotions, and I think any attempts to write smut would be like that for me. Accidental character drama. XD

I might have a Gallavich thing for kinktober that is likely to be pretty explicit and kinda messed up. We'll see.

10. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I don't think so. There have been a few instances of stuff popping up bearing a strong resemblance to things I've written, but there's also been times when I realize that things I have written bear a (very much unintentional) strong resemblance to other stuff that predates them, so I really think that's the nature of the beast. In any big fandom, the same ideas are likely to occur to multiple people, and we are all, often unconsciously, inspired by the same things and by each other.

11. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yeah, to Chinese and Russian.

12. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Yes! Pathoftheranger and I co-wrote (How to Break the) Alibi Armistice, which was fun!

13. What’s your all-time favorite ship?

I'm a creature of ever-changing affections, so I'm not so good with ”all-time favourite” and to be honest, I mostly tend to have favourite characters and ship them with everything in sight... Currently it's all about Gallavich but pretty much all ships including Jim Moriarty is forever gold to me (though MorMor is The Best. Or is it Sheriarty? Or maybe Mormorlock? Or Moriadlock? Or Johmlock – notice the 'm'?). Cherik's a big one too!

Ask me again in six months and my answer might well have changed!

14. What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

The aforementioned Notes Regarding the End of the World. And I have this superlong Star Wars fic I started writing when I was 16 and wrote for years and years and then just... stopped writing, when I was maybe 20 pages from the end? It's currently at 180k words. This one I DO have some hope that I will go back and finish one day, although it's likely to be a jarring experience since I'm very much not 16 years old any more and my ideas about writing and the characters and everything have shifted quite a bit.

15. What are your writing strengths?

I do pretty well with the short format, I think. And with dialogue? Finding the voice of the characters (some more than others, certainly). Writing in my native Swedish, I think I'm pretty good at offering decent prose – I'd like to think I have a fairly developed ear for the flow of the text, and the melody of it? But when writing in English, that gets quite a bit harder. This really annoys me, because I'm rather preoccupied with the stylish elements of writing – though I've found that a lot of people seem happy enough to overlook clunky writing as long as they find the story otherwise engaging, which is a huge blessing for me. I believe I can build a decent plot, but since I can't write anyting longer than a few K these days there's no telling, is there?

16. What are your writing weaknesses?

Primarily getting any writing done at all. Mostly, I stare at a blank page and despair and then I give up. This is why I no longer write long fic. I also tend to reuse favorite phrases or themes far too often. And there are so many subclauses... Proofreading happens to other people (I'd like it to happen to me too, but I'm terrible with it). I'm not good at accepting constructive criticism, even when I ask for it. I will often favour style over efficiency, and I'll stubbornly refuse to admit that this can be a problem.

17. What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

This question makes me feel like I ought to have developed thoughts on this, but I don't so much... I don't mind it? I've used it. Uh. It's a good idea to do a bit of research and not just rely on Google translate for it? If you don't like it, don't use it. Those are my thoughts.

18. What was the first fandom you wrote for?

Star Wars. <3

19. What’s a fandom/ship you haven’t written for yet but want to?

Buffy/Angel/Spike. The Book of All Hours. Heroes. Maybe something based on The Coldfire Trilogy... ? Oh, and the Bible. I'm sure there are others.

20. What’s your favorite fic you’ve written?

I really don't have one. There are a few I'm particularly happy with, but no one that truly stands out... That said, I was quite chuffed with how the first ficlet in Or Else Into the Light, my (tiny) collection of Anakin redemption one-shots, turned out. And Claim. I’m very pleased with Claim.

Tagging @dreamylyfe-x @fiona-fififi @pathoftheranger @abundanceofnots and @captainjowl

#tag games

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sweeterthankarma · 3 years

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Druck | SKAM (Germany) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Fatou Jallow/Kieu My Vu Characters: Fatou Jallow, Kieu My Vu Additional Tags: S6E10: Bis in die Unendlichkeit?, Post Mittwoch 18:31, more healthy communication between kieutou, aka what we deserved in canon Summary:

“I wanted you from the day I met you. Really,” Fatou tells her, and she wonders how many times she’s going to have to say it for Kieu My to get it, how many old texts between her the Cash Queens are going to have to be dug up, displayed as half-ashamed, half-victorious evidence of her infatuation. “You were the only one on my mind, all the time. From the very beginning.” “You were too, you know,” Kieu My says.

Title comes from the song "Worst Behavior" by Ariana Grande.

I adore these two so much! If you enjoyed this fic, please let me know, comments and kudos make my day!

“I hated fighting with you,” Fatou says. It’s barely audible, just a murmur in a room robbed of sensory indicators— nearly pitch black, with a white noise fan to the left of the bed, a radiator pumping heat in the diagonal, perched between a bookshelf and a closet. Fatou wonders if it’s intentional, meant to drown out the sounds; if Kieu My’s parents are home, if they know anything about her. That’s a question for another time.

“I forgot what we were even fighting about after a while.”

Kieu My doesn’t react, not right away, but Fatou knows she hears her both times she speaks. Tonight, she’s heard her more than ever, perhaps more than anyone ever has, and Fatou is hoping, praying, willing with all of her might that that statement alone will remain true for a long time to come.

Kieu My’s heartbeat is steady against Fatou’s ear, slow; her chest smooth, heated, bare. When Fatou nods, mostly to herself, Kieu My feels it, her chin bobbing with the movement of Fatou’s head beneath it.

“But I think at the time, we needed to be on our own, to process things. A lot was happening, you know?”

Kieu My chews her lower lip, looks up at the ceiling. Fatou doesn’t have to look at her to know this. She sees it even when she closes her eyes, lets the darkness of the room blend into the blank shield her eyelids provide, so similar that when she opens them, there’s no way to even tell the difference. Kieu My is all new, rapturous, something to be discovered, but just the same, Fatou knows her well. She wonders, distantly, if Kieu My knows her tics and habits too, if she can predict minute reactions seconds before they happen, almost like second nature. A part of her doesn’t want to know the answer; another part of her wants Kieu My to know every single piece of her, every ounce of spirit and soul, chopped up and served for her observation alone, her entertainment.

“But not anymore,” Fatou finishes, and it’s palpable: Kieu My’s exhale. Her relief.

It takes some maneuvering, some twisting of blankets and bedsheets and a shove of a pillow that somehow got caught under her armpit, but then Fatou is on her stomach, a leg slung across Kieu My’s splayed thighs. She keeps her eyes on her, watching, and Kieu My is reluctant, wavering, when she responds, “I was afraid you didn’t want me anymore.”

Fatou frowns. Doesn’t know how to react, what to do, except spit out the only truth she knows: “I always wanted you.”

Fatou isn’t sure what time it is. Two AM, maybe, maybe earlier or maybe far later. Time is bending in Kieu My’s room, becoming a clandestine oasis, defying physics, shifting just for them. She’s thankful for it, knows it’s working in her favor either way, especially when Kieu My hums beside her. Fatou knows what that means, can interpret it like broken English that’s slowly finding its way into a pile of knowledge in her brain marked “I get this”: Kieu My is thankful, honored, a little bit indignantly disbelieving.

“It’s true,” Fatou says. She tightens the hook of her knee, her ankle around Kieu My’s legs. Irritation brews in the pit of her stomach, primarily directed at herself because Kieu My doesn’t get it, Kieu My doesn’t know—

“I wanted you from the day I met you.”

This time, from this position, Fatou can see it happen as Kieu My worries her lower lip, twists minutely under Fatou’s weight. Not protesting, not leaving, just reacting.

Fatou’s hand breaks away from its position, sandwiched between the two of them and now dangerously close to being encompassed by pins and needles, falling asleep. She finds Kieu My’s face, turns it toward her. Kieu My doesn’t protest, not this time.

“Really,” Fatou tells her, and she wonders how many times she’s going to have to say it for Kieu My to get it, how many old texts between her the Cash Queens are going to have to be dug up, displayed as half-ashamed, half-victorious evidence of her infatuation. “You were the only one on my mind, all the time. From the very beginning.”

“You were too, you know,” Kieu My says.

It surprises Fatou. It’s not the kind of conversational turn that she was expecting— Kieu My’s hand is pressed against the arch of her spine, snaking up the lower seam of her bralette— and suddenly the fan in the corner seems ten times louder, almost deafening.

Fatou doesn’t mean to sound so meek when she replies, “really?”

Kieu My laughs, full-on and vibrant, and Fatou can’t help it, she’s sitting upright, wide awake and giving Kieu My a glare she won’t be able to decipher. Damn the dark, Fatou thinks, why doesn’t Kieu My own a nightlight or something, because she wants to see this now, wants to see everything. She could before, back when the moon was lower in the sky and traffic passed by consistently. Now, she finds Kieu My’s knee under her clasped hands, an unintentional touch but certainly not one she’s going to pull away from under any circumstances, and uses her imagination to see everything she wants to, everything she knows is there.

In the heavy seconds that follow— it can’t be more than six, but Fatou swears it feels like sixty— she’s almost expecting Kieu My to abandon the idea she’d brought up altogether, to give up talking and kiss Fatou until she’s dizzy instead.

(Or maybe rush off to the bathroom, come back with water and snacks— two things that she had done earlier when Fatou had asked, love-drunk, if Ismail had ever brought up the top or bottom discourse to her as well. To be fair, Kieu My had proved the question to be rather invalid moments before, so she’d giggled, skipped the whole way to the sink, almost tripping on the rug in her effervescent haste.)

“You really didn’t notice?” Kieu My asks. She sounds small again. She’s shifting, ever-changing, maybe more like a chameleon than a turtle, and Fatou marvels, reaches out again. She strokes her thumb atop Kieu My’s shin and Kieu My finds her fingertips in the dark, holds on tight.

“It was always you for me, too,” she admits. “I was just…” she trails off, turning to look the other way— Fatou only knows because she hears the swish of her hair against her tank top, the creak of the bedframe beneath her— “...I wasn’t sure you’d ever go for someone like me.”

“Serious?” Fatou replies. She can’t help the way it comes out a bit like a laugh, one that shatters the sanctity of the moment between them, or at least transforms it into something of a different breed. Something lighter, fuller, sanctified for the hundredth time in one evening. “You are so my type.”

Kieu My laughs then, too. Fatou feels herself breathe, relax again, become giddy in that way that she’s only ever known as love love oh scheiße I’m in love. This time, somehow it’s better, different, stronger than ever before. This time, it feels like it’ll last.

“Like, you’re completely my type. One hundred percent, in every way. How did you not get that?”

Kieu My gasps out another chuckle, slings her arm around Fatou’s neck. She finds her lips in the dark, Fatou’s eyes closed long before she gets there. “Well, I know that now.”

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starshine583 · 4 years

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Le Paon Part 14

(Hey guys! So I’m going on a long trip tomorrow that might leak into Sunday so I’m posting this chapter two days early. Enjoy!)

Part 1 / Part 13 / Part 15

Le Paon spread his arms out, inviting the full force of the wind with a smile as he soared over the Paris streets. The evening was perfect- a cloudless sky, a warm breeze, and a bubbly feeling in his chest that threatened to burst at any moment.

He never did end up talking to Marinette about their almost kiss, but the time he spent with her at home coming was just as great. They danced, they talked, and best of all, they were undisturbed. Not a single soul interrupted their time together, not even an akuma.

And now, Felix could only shout with joy as he ran to meet her as Le Paon. How he managed to escape Father’s new security was anyone’s guess, but he was out and that was all that mattered.

Of course, after such a wonderful night, Le Paon needed to run off some of his excitement before visiting Marinette again. She might get suspicious if he suddenly appeared on her doorstep with a shining grin despite how their last rendezvous together ended.

Le Paon stopped on a small rooftop, watching a few people on the streets below. Sirens blared in the distance, but he didn’t pay it any attention until the flash of blue, white, and red caught the corner of his eye. There seemed to be a good few police cars gathering in one of the streets a few blocks away, which was odd. Le Paon didn’t hear any gunshots or alarms beforehand, so why would Police be called to that area?

Curious, he took off across the rooftops again. It only took a minute for him to be right on top of them.

The sirens were still on when he got to the street with the police, so he could barely hear what anyone was saying, but they seemed to be talking about something rather important.

Le Paon balanced himself on a chimney just above the cars and knelt down, hoping to get a better look. One police officer was talking to another officer that was slightly separated from the crowd. (perhaps that was the main officer?)

“What do we do if we find him?” The first officer asked, a tentative expression on his face.

“Take him into custody by any means necessary.” The main officer replied firmly. “That old lady’s sights may be nearly gone, but if she said he was here, we can’t risk ignoring it.”

“He”? Who’s he? Who were they looking for?

A few of the other officers glanced around the street, as if they were worried something might jump out to get them. Le Paon looked around too, but there was nothing. It was only them for the time being. Nevertheless, he’d like to know what had them so worried.

“Le Paon is dangerous. He hides in the shadows and attacks when you least expect it. Stay together and watch each other’s backs.” The main officer continued.

Le Paon’s eyes blew wide at the statement. Him? Attacking random citizens? That was ridiculous! He’d never hurt anyone if he could help it, and anytime he did hurt someone, it was during the akuma attacks and completely accidental. Did Paris really think that he prowled around as a bloodthirsty monster for no reason? (not that he was a bloodthirsty monster either. That’s just what the news media liked to paint him as)

Before Felix could fully register the fact that he was the one they were looking for and not some petty criminal, the main officer pointed upwards. “Watch the rooftops too. He’s been spotted up there the most.”

Le Paon’s blood ran cold as every single one of the officers’ eyes turned upwards, with quite a few landing on him directly.

Guns were out and pointed at him in seconds, and Le Paon sprang to his feet from sheer panic. Unfortunately, that was enough for the police to start shooting.

Bullets started flying past him, and Le Paon stumbled back. his foot slipped off the back of the chimney, causing him to flail his arms a bit for balance. This unfortunately allowed one of the bullets to graze his waist, pushing him back onto the rooftop below anyway. Le Paon hissed in pain, instinctively grabbing his side as his back hit the rooftop. The wound burned his skin with a sharpness that had him gritting his teeth.

Bullets were still flying around him, but now they were hitting the chimney in front of him. The chimney wouldn’t last, though, and the police were bound to climb the building soon. He needed to escape, but how could he when his own blood was pooling around him and his vision was blurring from the pain?

Le Paon, through short breaths and groans, somehow managed to start pushing himself back. His strength was surprisingly intact, but he wasn’t sure if that was the adrenaline or the miraculous or both.

He bit down hard on his lip as he forced himself to his feet, and the metallic taste of blood quickly started filling his mouth as well. Pain and agony overwhelmed his senses, but he drove it to the back of his mind as best he could. If he was taken now, he would never see Marinette again, and a life without Marinette.. well.. that was a life Felix didn’t care to live.

Le Paon threw himself into a sprint, despite his body screaming for him to stop, and jumped to the next rooftop. Then to the next. Marinette’s house was somewhere around here. He just needed to run far enough to get there.

~~~~~~

Marinette twirled around her room as she brushed her hair, remembering the way Felix held her as they danced. She never wanted to forget it.

“Oh, Tikki, I wish you could have seen it.” Marinette sighed wistfully. “He was so handsome in that tux, and the way he smiled at me just- ugh.”

Tikki offered a sweet smile. “I’m glad you had a good time.”

Marinette chuckled. “I had the best time. He even complimented my dress-” She gestured to her dress that was now draped across the chaise “-and asked me to make his next suit! Felix really is wonderful.”

Tikki chuckled, but before she could reply, a thud came from the balcony.

Marinette’s eyes snapped upward, her grin growing. First, she got to have a grand evening with Felix, and now, Le Paon’s finally come back to see her! That landing was a bit rougher than usually, but undoubtedly him. No one else visited her at night via balcony.

She scrambled up to open the trapdoor, briefly thinking over the fact that she was currently dressed in pajamas. He probably wouldn’t mind, though. It was late.

Marinette pushed open the trapdoor with a smile, but whatever banter she was about to use died in her throat when she saw him.

Le Paon was curled on the ground, a hand to his side and a scowl of pain on his features. Something was soaked into his clothes, and she felt a wave of panic at the thought of what it might be.

“L-Le Paon!” She said, shocked and worried and confused. How did this happen? Wasn’t the miraculous supposed to protect them? Did Hawkmoth lash out at him somehow? “What- what happened? Are you okay? Who did this to you?”

Le Paon twitched slightly, his glazed eyes rolling up to get a glimpse of her. He seemed on the verge of being delirious. “Police… guns.. I didn’t..”

Marinette gripped her shirt over her heart. The police? Did he have a run in with the police? Wait- had he been shot?!

“I’m taking you inside.” She said sternly, even though her hands were shaking. If he truly was covered in blood, she needed to clean it up and patch up the wound as soon as possible. Who knew how long he’d had the injury now?

Marinette wrapped her arms around Le Paon’s waist and tried to ignore his pained gasps as she tugged him downwards.

This is for his own good. She told herself. He’s going to be in pain no matter what you do.

As gently as possible, Marinette carried him to her bed- thank goodness for her Ladybug training -and carefully set him down across the sheets. Le Paon squirmed at first, but settled a few moments later.

“Stay right here.” Marinette instructed softly, even though it was clear that he wasn’t going anywhere. “I’m gonna get you a towel to help with the bleeding and then get some bandages.”

Le Paon managed a nod, and Marinette spared him a quick glance before rushing downstairs to her bathroom. She briefly wondered how she was going to explain all of the blood to her parents later, but that was a question for later. Right now, the main problem was Le Paon’s gunshot wound.

A gunshot wound! For Pete’s sake, how did he even get it? She thought the miraculous suits were supposed to protect them from the brunt of those things, though she’d never really been shot with a bullet as Ladybug before either. How did he get here with that injury? Did he run all the way there?

“Gosh, Le Paon..” She muttered to herself, yanking a towel from her sink cabinet. Should she call an ambulance? What would they do? He was technically a convicted criminal. Wasn’t that similar to turning him in?

Marinette climbed back up to her bed with towel in hand and quickly pressed it to Le Paon’s wound.

“Keep it here to help stop the bleeding.” She told him, putting his hand over the towel. “I need to get bandages now.”

Le Paon just closed his eyes, which fueled Marinette to quicken her pace. She scurried down the steps again, heading back to the bathroom. She grabbed a small, silver tray along the way and dumped out the sewing contents on it. Her parents had given it to her from the bakery to help keep her pins together, but it should work to hold the medical supplies as well.

Bandages.. Bandages.. She rummaged through the cabinets and drawers, finally finding a roll of bandages in the bottom left drawer. She then found a clean washrag and soaked it in water to clean the wound, along with another clean towel to dry the wound afterwards.

Once she had the necessary items, Marinette rushed back up the ladder to Le Paon. Panic spiked in her chest when she saw how limp he was, but a quick check of the pulse proved to simply be asleep.

“Probably passed out from blood loss.” She pondered aloud as she knelt beside him.

The tray was set aside so she could pry away the bloodied towel. Thankfully, the bleeding had slowed, but she needed to work quickly so it wouldn’t get worse. Marinette lightly cleaned the bullet wound with the washrag, glancing at Le Paon every now and then to make sure he wasn’t in too much pain. Once the blood was cleared away and she could clearly see the wound, Marinette got to work wrapping the bandages around him. It was a bit difficult at first, since he was laying down, but with some coaxing, she got Le Paon to sit up in a near-asleep state so she could wrap the wound swiftly and efficiently.

“Do you think that’s enough?” Marinette whispered to Tikki after a few minutes.

The kwami glanced over from her hiding spot behind a dresser and nodded.

Marinette blew out a small, relieved sigh and cut the bandage strip before sticking it to the rest of the wrapping. “There. That should work for him until he can get back home.”

If he can get back home.

Marinette gathered the medical supplies back onto the small tray she had and stood. He would probably be asleep for a while. She might need to get some extra blankets to sleep on the chaise tonight.

As she turned to go find some blankets and put up the tray, a frantic, high pitched beeping reached her ears. Marinette’s heart sank into her stomach when she realized what it was, all too late.

A flash of light illuminated the room, and she squeezed her eyes shut.

Le Paon just detransformed. In her bedroom. Of all the places he could have detransformed, it just had to be her bedroom.

A squeal-ish groan came from what Marinette assumed was the kwami.

“I.. I think I’m just gonna take a small nap.” It said groggily.

Curiosity urged Marinette to open her eyes, but she ignored it. She couldn’t see who Le Paon was, not without his permission. She’d want him to do the same, after all.

Marinette felt around the room so she could find the ladder, wondering how on earth she would get around with her eyes closed the whole night. Should she really try to go down the ladder blinded? That didn’t seem like the best idea.. But could she trust herself not to look at Le Paon while her eyes were open?

A pained gasp sounded from behind her, and Marinette whirled around before she could think about what she was doing, eyes wide open to see what was wrong.

And in all truth, there were way too many things wrong with what she saw.

Felix Agreste, the boy she’d been pining over for a good few weeks now, was lying on her bed.

The tray slipped from her fingers, clattering to the floor.

Felix Agreste, who she’d danced with that very night, who she almost kissed a week ago, was Le Paon, Paris’ most wanted villain, her most unusual house guest.

“I don’t..” Marinette put a hand to her head. “I don’t understand.”

Tikki was suddenly by her side, ancient eyes filled with worry. “Marinette-”

“How can-” Marinette stopped again to swallow down the lump in her throat. “-How can Felix be here? He can’t- He can’t really be Le Paon, right? That’s not- that’s not possible.”

Tikki tried to say something else, but Marinette couldn’t stand long enough for the kwami to do so. Her legs buckled, causing her to stumble onto the ground next to the spilled medical supplies.

It wasn’t possible. It wasn’t.

But there Felix was, still sleeping somewhat peacefully, still holding patches of blood from his gunshot wound.

Oh gosh, Felix got shot.

Marinette put a hand over her mouth, suddenly sick to her stomach. How did this happen? How did he get the peacock miraculous? How long has he had it? Has she been fighting him as Ladybug this whole time?

Tears burned in the corner of her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. This was not the time for grieving. Or rage. Or whatever emotional was swirling inside her. Felix or not- he was still injured horribly. She needed to stay focused.

..But how could she? How could she help him with a clear mind when she knew that the man who had been terrorizing Paris and the man she’d so desperately fallen in love with were one and the same? For Pete’s sake, she’s fallen in love with Paris’ most wanted! What was she going to do? What was he going to do once he woke up? Would he try to get rid of her now that she knew his identity? No, no, Felix wouldn’t do that, right? He wasn’t that kind of person.. But does she really know what kind of person he is anymore? He’s been hiding this for months now. What else was he hiding?

Felix shuddered again, bringing her from her thoughts, and curled into himself with a grimace.

The pain must have increased when he detransformed. Marinette thought with a slight frown. Should she help him? What could she do? If she tried to wake him up to take medicine, he would know that his identity’s been revealed, but if she left him alone, he might wake up from the pain anyway..

Tentatively, Marinette moved a bit closer to Felix’s side, watching. His chest rose as he drew in a deep breath, and he shifted to the side, causing his head to fall to the right towards her. It made her wish he were as innocent as he looked in that moment.

Marinette sighed and closed the distance between them to brush the pale, blonde wisps of hair out of his face. Felix might have been keeping his identity a secret, but she’d been keeping her identity a secret too. Besides, it’s not like he could just up and tell her that he was a super villain, now, could he?

Marinette brushed her hand over his, hoping he wouldn’t wake up from it, and gave him a light kiss on the forehead. “I don’t know how you got into this mess, but I’m going to get you out. I promise.”

She was about to pull her hand away- didn’t want him waking up on her -but something else caught her eye first.

Another light, this time pink, flickering around his bandages.

Marinette frowned, because Le Paon’s magic was blue, not pink. Was something wrong? What was the light doing around the bandages?

The light grew brighter, slowly but surely shining through each bandage wrapping around Felix’s injury.

Marinette, now panicking, let go of Felix’s hand to inspect the spontaneous source of light, but as soon as she drew back, the light faded away.

She sat there for a moment, dumbfounded and staring, wondering what she should do next. “What.. what was that?”

Tikki gave her a knowing smile. “That was a part of your miraculous magic.”

Marinette blinked. Her what?

“What are you talking about?”

Tikki settled in the covers next to Felix. “When a new miraculous holder is chosen, they are partly fused with their miraculous and their kwami’s magic. It’s a minor effect that is necessary for you to transform.”

Marinette furrowed her brows. “So.. that bright light just now.. That was me?”

“Yep!” A chipper voice spoke up before Tikki could reply. “And that was some of the best magic I’ve ever seen from a holder! They usually can’t unlock their true potential so quickly.”

Tikki and Marinette turned to see a blue and pink kwami sitting up on Felix’s stomach with a bright smile.

“O-Oh..” Marinette faltered. In the whole “Felix being Le Paon” ordeal, she’d forgotten about the other kwami that had flown from Felix’s miraculous when he detransformed. “Um.. hello. You’re Felix’s kwami, right?”

The being nodded. “That’s me! You can call me Duusu.”

Marinette offered Duusu a smile. “Nice to meet you. I’m Marinette.”

“I know who you are.” Duusu smiled. “My chosen never stops talking about you.”

A heavy blush bloomed across Marinette’s cheeks. “F-Felix talks about me?”

Duusu nodded. “Only when he’s alone, though. My chosen doesn’t like being overheard.”

“Oh..” She replied dumbly, still reeling from the fact that Felix talks about her. “That makes sense.”

“I’m sorry for not introducing myself earlier. Sustaining that bullet wound drained more of my energy than I’m used to.” Duusu apologized.

Marinette glanced down at the miniature god. “Oh, don’t worry! Is your energy still low? Do you want me to get you some snacks?”

Duusu’s eyes lit up. “Would you? I’m famished.”

Marinette giggled and stood up. “Of course. Is there anything specific you want?”

“Truffles! You’re guys’ truffles are the best!” Duusu answered eagerly.

The image of Felix nervously waiting in their bakery for the first time flicked through Marinette’s mind, and she nearly face palmed. That’s why he went to the bakery for truffles!

“I’ll be back in a few minutes.” Marinette smiled, before racing down the ladder again. She didn’t want to leave Felix alone for too long, even if he was in the care of two ancient gods.

By the time she returned with a small plate of truffles and chocolate chip cookies, Tikki was also sitting on Felix’s stomach, next to Duusu.

“So, Tikki,” Marinette began as she handed them the treats, “You said the glowing light was part of the magic I inherited from you, but what did the magic do?”

Tikki hummed. “It’s hard to say. The Ladybug miraculous is the miraculous of life and creation. It can create things, reinvent things.. But judging by the way you seemed to use it, I would say it probably healed some of his bullet wound, or at least got the process started.”

Marinette’s eyes widened. “You think so?”

Tikki nodded.

Marinette turned to the bandages. “.. Should.. Do you think we should check?”

“Unwrapping the bandages now might cause more damage if the wound didn’t actually heal..” Tikki replied thoughtfully. “It’s probably best if we leave it alone.”

“But I’m sure he’ll be grateful to you later if it is healed!” Duusu said helpfully.

Marinette froze. “You’re not gonna tell him, are you?”

“He can’t know about this, Duusu.” Tikki added firmly.

Duusu glanced between them, a slight frown taking on her expression. “If my chosen asks me what happened, I cannot lie to him.”

“..And if he doesn’t ask you?” Marinette asked hopefully.

Duusu smiled again. “Then your secret’s safe with me. The fact that he’s detransformed will be a dead give away, though.”

Marinette bit her lip. Right.. That was another problem.

“I don’t suppose you can transform him without the magical incantation?”

Duusu tilted her head back and forth. “It takes a bit more concentration, but sure!”

Marinette’s shoulders slumped slightly from relief. She hadn’t realized how tense she was until that moment, but it was fine now. Everything would be fine.

As Tikki and Duusu continued catching up, Marinette found herself studying Felix’s bandages again. Stains of dried blood were on the wrappings from earlier, but not a trace of fresh blood seemed to be present. It was as if the bleeding had stopped all together.

She hummed, brushing her fingertips against the stain.

Miraculous of Life, huh?

~~~~~~

Felix shifted onto his back, letting his eyes crack open. It was hard to make out the pinks and whites from the blur of his vision and the dim lighting of the room, but he assumed it to be a wall and a small dresser. His hand dug into the covers that he was laying on. Was this a bed? It wasn’t his bed. How did he get here? Where was here?

Felix let his eyes slip closed again, trying to remember what happened. His side ached a tad.. Because he’d been shot, that’s right.. And then he ran to Marinette’s balcony before-

His eyes snapped open, and he bolts upright to look down at his waist. He then tensed, waiting for the pain from moving so quickly. Nothing happened.

Felix frowned at the bandages now wrapped around his waist- had Marinette done that? -and poked at the blood stain. It still gave him a dull ache, but no sharp pains. Was the gunshot less serious than he realized that it healed already? Or was it some sort of magic his miraculous had given him?

Speaking of magic..

Felix glanced around the rest of his outfit, relieved to see that he was still covered in blue and purples. He could only imagine what Marinette might have thought had he detransformed in her house.

Where is Marinette? He hasn’t heard her yet. Come to think of it, he hasn’t heard anything yet.

Wait, what time is it?

Le Paon turned to find some sort of clock and spotted a small, pink alarm clock on the dresser.

His heart dropped when he made out the hot pink numbers.

“3am?” He almost yelled. No wonder the house was so quiet! Everyone was asleep! Oh, how was he going to apologize to Marinette? Knowing her, she was probably sick with worry. He must have stained half of her bedroom with his own blood. (Because out of everything, he definitely remembered the blood.)

And Father. How was he going to react? Felix not only snuck out, but he also won't be returning until past three in the morning with a gunshot wound. Honestly, Felix might as well kiss his social life goodbye right now. (And who knew he’d started to treasure it so much?)

I need to get home.

Le Paon shuffled on the bed to get up. He wasn’t sure how he would make this up to Marinette, but he definitely would. Maybe he could pay for a new comforter? Or simply pay her in general for the trouble of-

“Le Paon? Is that you?”

Le Paon froze at the sound of Marinette’s voice. Should he answer? Would she let him leave if he did?

Before he could decide, Marinette scaled the ladder, confirming that he was, in fact, the one making all the noise.

“Oh, good. You’re up.” She said with a soft smile, as if this entire situation wasn’t completely jarring. “How’s your waist. Are you feeling okay?”

Le Paon, despite feeling like a deer caught in the headlights, nodded. “Much better thanks to you.”

Marinette breathed a small sigh of relief. “That’s good to hear. You really had me worried.”

Le Paon grimaced, guilt panging in his chest. It was three in the morning, and he had dragged blood and filth into her bedroom- she still had some stains on her shirt, to his horror -but she was still wide awake and checking on him with a smile. Had she stayed up this whole time to watch him?

“I’m sorry.” The words fell from his lips before he could finish wallowing in his guilt. “I shouldn’t have come to your house. You shouldn’t have had to take care of me. Now you have stains everywhere.”

Marinette waved off his apologies. Of course she did. It was who she was. “You probably should have been more careful, but don’t ever apologize for having me take care of you. We’re friends, aren’t we? I’m here for you.”

Le Paon stared at her, wondering how someone could possibly be so kind.

“Besides,” She continued with a teasing smile. “Did you think I was just going to let you die?”

Le Paon swallowed, lost in the sparkle of her eyes. “No.. No, I suppose you wouldn’t.”

Marinette knelt down next to the bed, eyeing his bandages. “Do you remember what happens? You said something about the police and gunshots before you passed out.”

Ah, so that’s why he didn’t remember getting to Marinette’s bed. “I was roaming around Paris and found a pack of police officers, but I sort of forgot I was a criminal, so.. I didn’t expect the rounds of gunfire that they started shooting at me.”

Marinette pressed her lips together in a thin line, obviously displeased. “They just started firing? That’s a bit rash.. I feel like there should have been other, less painful methods that came first.”

Le Paon shrugged. “Well, I am a terrorist.”

Bad choice of words. Marinette frowned. “You don’t have to be.”

He stares at her. She stares back. A silent pleading between the two.

“I have to get going.” Le Paon finally murmurs. “I’ve already been out too late.”

Another sigh left Marinette, but she obediently scooted back to give him some to get up. “Are you sure you’re well enough to move like that?”

Le Paon offered her a small smile as he pushed himself to his feet. “I’ll be fine.”

Marinette stood as well, following him to the other ladder that led to the balcony. “Okay.. just don’t push yourself.”

“No promises.” Le Paon joked as he grabbed the bar of the ladder. “Thank you, though. For everything.”

He climbed up the ladder, noting the significant lack of pain coming from his injury. He’ll have to thank Duusu for that later.

Le Paon hoisted himself through the trapdoor and swung his feet upwards, onto the balcony, but before he could stand up again-

“W-Wait!” Marinette said, tugging on his wrist. She’d followed him right up the ladder too.

Le Paon looked down at her. “Yes?”

She pulled away, pressing her forefingers together with a nervous look. “I.. Um.. you…”

Marinette leaned forward before he could even blink and pressed a light, hesitant kiss to his cheek. “Be safe.”

Le Paon exhaled at the touch of her lips, so soft and yet so burning on his skin. It infected his very being, poured into every bit of body as his mind slowly came to realize what happened. She’d kissed him. Marinette had kissed him on the cheek. It was a common thing to do in Paris usually, but this felt different. He felt different, and he couldn’t help wanting more.

Le Paon reached forward and cupped her cheek. He’s not sure how a single emotion or urge can consume someone so wholly, but his lips find hers in an instant.

Marinette stiffened, causing him to pull back slightly. He should’ve known she wouldn’t reciprocate it. Not when he’s dressed like a villain.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t-”

Marinette tugged him forward, crashing her lips onto his and effectively cutting off his apology.

Le Paon moaned, letting his arms slip around her to pull her closer. Any thoughts or guilts or worries were drowned out far too easily by the fireworks in his soul. Her hands raked through hair, igniting every part of his skin that she touched. How could a kiss be so sweet and so passionate at the same time?

They broke apart for air, but Felix wasn’t certain he’d never need oxygen again if he only had her.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” He panted, because it was the right thing to do. Even if a bigger part of him wanted to stay, Le paon needed to leave. For both their sakes.

Marinette’s eyes met his, and he was tempted to stay all over again. “.. Do you have to go?”

Oh, if that sentence didn’t burn him alive.

He shifted to stand, but his hands remained on her, almost like he needed permission to leave. Or maybe he just didn’t want to let go until he had to. “Goodnight.”

Marinette pursed her lips and slowly untangled her hands from his hair. “Goodnight.”

And just like that, he was gone, bounding across rooftops, longing to taste Marinette one more time, and knowing full well that he wasn’t getting anymore sleep that night.

Tag List: @im-here-for-the-content @novicevoice @mewwitch@minightrose @starlit-winter @multishipper1needshalp@unabashedbookworm @unholykrow @trubel43@kaydenth3gayden @stardustrevoutionx @legendaryneckjudgestudent @aurordraws @crazylittlemunchkin @uwuteamleader @chocolatecustarddanish @iambi-thilla-meena @corabeth11 @asianfrustration13 @chrismarium @agumon1123 @luciferge @yue-caelum @persephonebutkore @constancetruggle @make-the-stars-stay @johnlockfeelz @imfreakingmagical @tinybrie @procrastinatingrightnow @bee-wrecker @dontcallmecedge @shadowhex99 @daminette-is-life @thethirdwheelfriend @myazael @sizzling-fairy-oil @sparkle9510 @chaosace @the-navistar-carol @sannsibarr @grumpy-vixen-kitten @hauntedfreakdeputyhero @utcaro @more-or-less-human-i-guess @mlbutatbspofsalt @dawn-the-rithmatist @artcart0n @mermaidreject @tori-mmm @fifaanayd @novicevoice @dreamykitty25

#Felinette #Le Paon AU #Marinette #Felix Agreste

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missroserose · 3 years

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oh right! It’s Wednesday.

Time for a reading meme!

What I’ve just finished reading

Paper Girls, volumes 1-6 (the complete series), by Brian K Vaughan and Cliff Chiang. I’d subscribed to this ages ago and then dropped off reading, so three of the volumes were completely new to me, but it’d been long enough that I just went ahead and read straight through from start to finish. A thoroughly entertaining romp; it occasionally gets compared to Stranger Things (80s-era pre-teen girls on bikes encounter supernatural phenomena) but while there’s some shared DNA, it goes entirely different places; in this case, the band of main characters encounter a temporal war of sorts, with one side wanting to work to change the future and the other invested in preserving the status quo.

Sadly for ethics nerds like me, it becomes pretty apparent towards the sixth volume that the series is less invested in exploring the (potentially fascinating) arguments on either side than it is in designing more and more fantastic cityscapes and creatures for the girls to encounter. That said, there’s still a lot of interest here, including the budding friendship between the girls and the always enjoyable stories-out-of-order gymnastics inherent to any good time-travel tale. I was particularly entertained by the recurrence of the apple/Apple symbolism and some of the ethical gymnastics of Team Status Quo (”It’s okay if we raise dinosaurs to ride! We nabbed them from just before the asteroid hit Earth, so the timeline remains intact!”). One of the writers also worked on Saga, a series whose strength has long been the contrast between fantastical large-scale scenarios and smaller, more intimate, thoroughly human drama; there’s a lot of that here, and it works better for being constrained to a smaller arc.

What I’m currently reading

The Brotherhood of the Wheel, by R.S. Belcher. This was recommended to me by @laveracevia specifically when we were talking about audiobooks with amazing voice work, and I’ll be damned if she wasn’t 100% on point—the narrator goes from Louisiana bayou drawl to Appalachian twang to “North Carolina by way of Glasgow” without breaking an (audible) sweat. I consider myself pretty good at reading aloud (in English, anyway)—I’ve been reading Gideon the Ninth to Brian at night, and have been able to reasonably approximate Moira Quirk’s voices, at least for the first few chapters—but I wouldn’t have the first idea where to start with this.

As to the story—so far it’s a solidly entertaining American road culture noir. There was one sequence towards the start that had me concerned it was going to go all-in on the Grittier And Darker Than Thou aesthetic, which, okay, valid choice, it’s just not my cup of tea—but so far (a couple of hours in) it’s actually been pretty interesting, with some killer action sequences and promising characters. I’m looking forward to seeing where it goes.

What I plan to read next

I’ve been eyeing Astrid Lindgren’s Ronja Rövardotter on my shelf, but despite having thoroughly finished Duolingo Swedish, it still seems a bit out of my vocabulary range—I managed to get maybe 30% of the first couple of paragraphs without pulling up Google Translate. So I may have to save it for when I'm willing to invest that kind of time and effort.

Fanfiction Spotlight

I recently found myself going down a bit of a rabbit hole with, of all things, Harry Kim/Tom Paris slash. This seems a little odd, given how my usual tastes (Wincest, David/Michael from The Lost Boys, Harringrove) all center heavily around shifting power dynamics and obsessive angst, and Star Trek: Voyager was hardly an angsty or particularly changeable show (they tried, in places, but were overall roundly defeated by the arguably overbearing can-do optimism of 90s-era Star Trek). I think it’s been about nostalgia as much as anything; Voyager was the first show I ever wrote fanfic for (in long-form, on a paper tablet from OfficeMax with a colorful border I can still envision), waaaaaay back in high school before I even knew fanfiction was a thing. So there’s something weirdly comforting, here in these profoundly uncertain times, in reading these stories where the stakes are relatively low and nothing feels particularly life- or universe-threatening.

I particularly enjoyed Epiphany, by @rembrandtswife. The premise is so thoroughly 90s fandom: a sexually enlightened alien culture contrives to lead our main characters—in this case, Paris, Kim, and B’Elanna Torres—through the realization of their feelings for each other. That’s it, that’s basically the story. But its genuine earnestness is honestly endearing, and the author’s clearly put a lot of thought into the aesthetic; and there’s something I can’t quite pin down about the sex scenes that really sticks with me—a certain quiet vulnerability, maybe, that I think is undervalued in a lot of contemporary fic (cue that post about how orgasms always hit like a truck or a freight train...). In any case, I enjoyed visiting that world, and it’s given me a bit to think about in my own writing. (Also, if I might indulge my inner 13 year old for a moment, I’m rather entertained at having offered up the 69th kudos. XD )

#wednesday reading #paper girls #brian k vaughan #cliff chiang #the brotherhood of the wheel #r.s. belcher #epiphany #rembrandtswife #star trek: voyager

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calligraphist-artemisia · 3 years

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Soul of a Lion

Sequel to The Smallest Blade.

Summary: After the Red Lion steals them away from the Marmora base and takes them through a wormhole, Shiro, Keith, Katla, and Lance find themselves in front of a majestic castle with nowhere to go but inside. The events that unfold while they're there will change the fate of the universe.

Also posted on AO3 under the username “kishirokitsune”.

Happy New Year, everyone! I figured there was no better way to start out 2021 than by posting the first chapter of a new fic! I hope everyone enjoys it.

☆ - ☆ - ☆ - ☆ - ☆

1 | The Red Lion

Keith tightly gripped the controls, trying his best to redirect the Red Lion away from the glowing vortex, but she didn't respond no matter what he tried. He sent up a silent prayer that they weren't being dragged into immediate danger and then had to tightly shut his eyes against the intensity of the light. It only took a second and then they broke through the other side and he was able to open his eyes again.

“Where are we?” Katla asked, her voice close to him. He glanced to his left as she released her grasp on the back of his seat so she could step forward and get a better look at the navigation system. “Wait... but this is the Javeeno Star System. It should have taken us movements to get here!”

“Instantaneous transport. I know some of our brightest scientists and engineers have been working on it, but none of them have even come close. Not even the empire has been able to replicate the technology that allowed Alteans to travel so quickly, so how did we manage it?” Shiro asked, mostly to himself.

Katla was quick with a suggestion. “The Lion?”

“You think it could have been storing the energy until the right moment?”

While Shiro and Katla debated exactly how they were able to travel so quickly, Keith took his hands off of the controls and turned his attention to Lance instead. The Altean stood off by himself, his arms crossed over his chest as he stared at the floor, clearly upset about something. Keith assumed it had something to do with the fact that he tried to take off with the Lion on his own.

He wanted to be angry. Furious. But the fire in his veins ebbed away the longer Keith watched Lance. Even after the years the Altean had spent with them, there were still times when he didn't know what to make of Lance. There was something about him that rubbed Keith the wrong way. He was just... obnoxious.

But Keith couldn't deny that he was a good friend and whatever was happening with the Red Lion wasn't his fault, no matter how much Keith wanted to place the blame on him.

“What do you think about all of this, Lance?” he asked.

Lance looked surprised to be addressed, especially by Keith. “Me? I- I don't know about any of this! I swear, Keith!”

“I wasn't accusing you of anything, I just wanted to know what you think!” Keith snapped back.

“Well, you're the one who bonded with this thing! You'd know better than any of us!” Lance exclaimed.

“Forget it!” Keith grit his teeth and turned away from the Altean. Why did he even bother? He focused instead on the screen and the readouts the Lion was giving them. They were rapidly approaching a small, blue-and-green planet which had breathable air and a plethora of plant and animal life. According to what he read, the name of the planet was Arus and the beings who lived there were simply known as the Arusians.

The only thing that made him worry was the fact that the Javeeno Star System was the territory of a fearsome Galra general named Sendak, who was as ruthless as he was loyal to Emperor Zarkon. If they were caught by him or any of his men, he wasn't sure they would make it out alive.

They would have to tread carefully.

“Why have you brought us here?” Keith quietly asked the Lion.

The Red Lion answered with a roar as they broke the atmosphere, rapidly coming in for a landing on top of some cliffs bordering one of the oceans. As they grew closer, the air rippled in front of them and Keith could make out a grid-like pattern resembling a particle barrier. Before he could shout a warning, the barrier split open and revealed a massive white castle perched on the highest plateau. They easily passed through and it closed behind them.

“They've reworked their particle barrier into adaptive camouflage! How cool is that!” Katla squealed in excitement. “I've always wondered if it would be possible to use the electromagnetic radiation emitted by a barrier in conjunction with metamaterials built into the foundation of a ship in order to achieve some sort of invisibility in flight and this might prove that theory! I have to know how it works!”

“You just might get that chance,” Shiro told her as they landed just outside the massive main door.

The lighting in the cockpit went dim as the Red Lion landed and then went perfectly still, clearly indicating that they should all disembark and go into the castle. Shiro reached out and grabbed Katla's arm when she attempted to be the first one off, gently guiding her back into Keith's arms so he could take her place and lead the younger cubs (plus Lance) out of the Lion and into unfamiliar territory.

Katla calmed once they were on solid ground, her excitement over new tech tempered by the fact that they had no idea what they were about to face once they were inside. She easily fell into step alongside Keith, one hand in his while the other was loose at her side, ready to grab her blade if the situation called for it. Keith was much the same, though he was less subtle about the way his hand kept straying towards his knife.

Lance fell somewhere in the middle of their group, weaponless but no less alert to the potential of danger. He stuck a little closer to Shiro as they walked towards the massive main door. They all slowed as they drew close, unsure of how they would get in.

The Red Lion let out a roar that shook the ground with its intensity, which caused all of them to flinch and look around in suspicion. The only thing that happened was that the door opened to allow them inside.

“What is this place?” Katla wondered out loud, craning her head back to try and take in the entire structure. “The architecture... I've never seen anything like it! I wonder who built it.”

“Alteans,” Lance muttered in a surprisingly bitter tone. As if in response to his emotions, the purple of his disguised appearance shifted to a shade closer to blue, serving to better hide the markings high on his cheeks.

Shiro chanced one curious glance back at the only non-Galra of their group. “Anything we need to worry about?”

Lance shrugged.

“Maybe the Lion disabled any sort of security when it brought us here?” Katla suggested.

“Stay alert anyway,” Shiro instructed. “Basic infiltration protocol. Anything happens, find your way back to the Lion. Lance, stay with me.”

Everyone agreed to his commands and then they walked inside. The tick they stepped through the door, the lights of the grand entryway lit up around them, illuminating white floors and walls, all of which had a thin layer of dust coating it and turning it gray. As they walked farther into the castle, the blue lights of a hallway to the left began to flicker to life as though the castle was trying to guide them to where they were needed.

Shiro followed the lights.

There was no sign of life that any of them could tell, though they passed by a number of closed doors along the way.

“It's strange that there isn't more security,” Keith mentioned.

“I guess they're counting on the barrier to keep out any intruders. And like I said before, it could be that the Lion was able to disable whatever security they did have in place,” Katla said.

Keith vaguely gestured down the long hallway with his free hand. “There aren't any cameras. Nothing to suggest any type of surveillance or space for drones to hide until they're activated. None of the doors are reinforced with pin codes. If we wanted to detour, I bet they'd open just by one of us pressing our hands to the panel.”

“I'd rather not test that theory,” Shiro spoke up.

Keith dropped his hand back to his side. “My point is this ship isn't fortified for battle. I'd argue that the barrier is its sole defense.”

“It must have a way of quickly getting out of range of any attack. Maybe it's really fast?” Katla suggested. “Or... Well, the Red Lion brought us here. Maybe that's part of the castle defense as well.”

“If that were the case, then she should have been here and not back on Venadh,” Keith argued.

Katla inclined her head, conceding to his point. “Okay, so the barrier is the primary defense and there doesn't appear to be any internal security. This definitely isn't an Altean warship, which means it must have been used for exploration or maybe as a headquarters of some sort? I just don't see why the Red Lion brought us here if it wasn't important.”

Lance kept his silence throughout their discussion, adding none of his own thoughts or opinions. No one tried to force him to speak when it was clear there was something about the castle that was bothering him.

The debate ended abruptly when they arrived at the end of the hall and the doors slid open to admit them into a strange round room. There was a podium near the center and six circular indents in the ground.

Shiro took a single step into the room and there was a hissing sound as three of the indents cracked down the middle and then opened. Slowly, three cylindrical pods rose from their hiding spot in the floor until they clicked into place. Through the semi-translucent glass, they could make out three bipedal figures.

“Healing pods,” Keith murmured in recognition. “They're different from the ones back on base.”

Katla tried to walk closer to the pods for a better look, but Keith tugged her back to his side.

“We don't know who's in there,” he admonished.

Katla rolled her eyes but didn't make a second attempt. “We won't find out anything if we don't investigate. Besides, this is an Altean castle which means they're probably Altean.” She paused a moment as her brain caught up with her mouth and she quickly turned to Lance, a new question poised on her lips.

Her words died as Lance stepped forward with an unreadable expression on his face and pressed one palm against the tank.

There was a hissing sound as the pod farthest from them suddenly released a frigid fog, the doors peeling open to reveal a young woman with silvery-white hair. She remained upright for a moment before she lurched forward with a harsh gasp.

“Father!”

She stretched out one hand and stepped down jarringly hard with her right leg, managing to stand for less than a tick before her knees gave out and she folded weakly to the floor.

Shiro, despite all of his warnings of caution to the others, was unable to resist walking over to help someone who was in need of it. He stopped a short distance away from her and held out his hand. “Miss, are you alright?”

The Altean woman tensed and slowly turned to face Shiro, her apparent shock rapidly giving way to fear and then anger. Shiro barely had time to react before she was on her feet and unsheathing a small dagger from the folds of her dress, which she held protectively in front of her.

“Who are you?” she demanded. “How did you get on this ship? What have you done with my father?”

Shiro held up both hands placatingly and took a step back, doing his best to appear as non-threatening as possible. “I'm Shiro and we were all brought here by a Red Lion. We haven't seen anyone else on your ship, but your father could be in one of these pods.”

She didn't take her eyes off of Shiro. “Why should I trust a word that you say? You're Galra!”

“You asked,” Keith muttered barely loud enough for Katla to hear.

And then a second pod cracked open and released a cloud of freezing fog and the mustachioed Altean who sprang forth only added to the tension by attempting to attack Shiro with a loud battle-cry. Shiro side-stepped him with a bemused expression.

When Keith tried to jump in and help, it was Katla's turn to hold him back and stop him from getting into trouble.

“Enough!” Shiro commanded. “We're not any happier to be here than you are in having us here, so if you could stop for a tick maybe we can figure out why the Red Lion brought us here and how we're meant to leave.”

The male Altean froze in the middle of preparing for another attack, his face rapidly paling. “The Red...? You're lying!”

Keith bristled in Shiro's defense. “Why would we lie about that?”

“You're trying to trick us into letting our guard down! Well, I won't fall for it this time!”

“No one is trying to trick anyone,” Shiro loudly cut in, giving Keith a look warning him not to speak again. “Just calm down so we can talk this through. No more arguing. No trying to attack one another. None of us are happy about this situation, so lets take a moment to calm down and try to tackle this reasonably.”

Silence followed in the wake of Shiro's words.

The Altean woman glared at him for a moment, conveying her continued anger without saying a word, before turning so quickly on her heel that her hair fanned out around her and brushed against Shiro's closest arm. She strode over to a podium and began pressing keys on the surface, causing a holographic screen to rise up and illuminate with data in an unfamiliar script.

Shiro could see Katla trying to move so she could get a better look at the tech and was relieved when Keith kept her in place. A quick glanced at Lance let him know that their disguised Altean was behaving himself and appeared to be doing whatever he could to avoid drawing unwanted attention.

The less they aggravated theirs hosts, the better.

It was as the Altean woman let out a loud gasp of shock that the third and final pod opened. The Altean within was heavyset, with dark skin and nearly golden markings painting his upper cheeks. He lurched forward and caught himself on the sides of the pod, closing his eyes as he took a moment to reorient himself.

“...Princess, what is it?” asked the mustachioed Altean after a moment of hesitation, his attention torn between his two companions.

“Coran, I...” She trailed off, her voice trembling as she stared in horror at the screen. “We've been in there for nearly ten-thousand decaphoebs. We've missed so much! Everything... everything is gone! I don't understand how this is possible. What happened to the fail-safes? How were we in the cryo-pods for that long?”

Coran looked uneasy as he joined her at the podium, sharp blue eyes scanning the screen. “I wish I could say, Princess.” He turned his head towards the Altean who was still standing in one of the pods. “Hunk, could you take a look?”

Shiro recognized the exact moment the Altean – evidently named “Hunk” – fully took note of the people around him. Eyes widened, his grip tightened, and breathing quickened.

And then, miraculously, he visibily relaxed.

“You found a Lion?” Hunk asked, his voice a curious whisper.

The Princess whipped her head up. “Impossible. They must be lying.”

“We're not-!” Keith's heated words came to a swift end thanks to Katla's elbow to his side.

Hunk seemed perfectly okay with ignoring his princess and instead continued to speak to Shiro, who was the closest to him. “We wouldn't be awake if you weren't brought here by one of the Lions. It's the only possible way you could have gotten through the barrier without breaking it and setting off a full lockdown. His Majesty made sure of that.”

It was a simple explanation, but more importantly it told Shiro that there was at least one of them who would be willing to hear them out instead of outright dismissing their words.

Shiro figured the best place to start was with introductions.

“I'm Shirotak,” he said, giving Hunk a slight bow. “Those two are Katla and Keith. Behind me is Lance.”

Hunk offered up a tremulous smile and a bow in return, quickly stumbling through his own introductions and finally giving up the name of the princess, who was called Allura. It was to her that he turned when he finished speaking. “Princess, maybe we should go somewhere and talk about this?”

“Yes...” she agreed, clearly reluctant. “I think that would be for the best.”

#voltron #fanfiction #kidge #kidgemas #half galra pidge #half galra keith #galra shiro #altean lance #altean hunk #Soul of a Lion

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hoodwinkd1 · 3 years

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Your Eyes Whispered Ch 1-3

I originally posted this story on AO3, but wanted to bring it to my Tumblr now that I’m back on here. Enjoy!

Fic Summary: After Eris becomes High Lord, there's only one thing on his mind, now that his father is dead and he can finally leave his horrible façade behind. A slow burn romance featuring the misunderstood prince of flame and his mate, a powerful teacher who can't seem to step out of her small town life.

Ch 4-7 here.

Chapter 1: I was enchanted to meet you

It's no small thing, murdering your father in cold blood.

Not that anyone, even Beron, was surprised.

Eris looked at the bloody sword in his hand and then at his father's corpse, lying on the ground at his feet. He closed his eyes as the power of the Autumn Court rushed over him like a tidal wave of fire.

The new High Lord knew that he would have to deal with the consequences of his coup today. But tomorrow, after the dust settled and he dealt with his treacherous brothers, he knew exactly where he needed to be.

The night turned into a swarm of activity as the castle reacted to Beron's death. Advisors fought for a seat at the table, servants spread the rumors like wildfire, his mother gently took him to bathe as it all became too much. Eris slept that night, without terrifying dreams for the first time in centuries

--- He woke to the sunlight filtering through the trees. He had to leave now, before anyone could find him and monopolize his time any futher.

Eris winnowed as soon as he was dressed, landing on the outskirts of a village that had seen better days. He had only been here once in his life, ninety-five year prior, decades before Amarantha took over. His father had sent him and one of his younger brothers to several towns in the Autumn Court as part of their duties. This one had been a bustling center of trade and power, known for its capabilities in producing talented Fae children and training them in magic.

Eris remembered his utter boredom as he watched the parade put on in his honor. His brother Marick had scoffed at the idea of watching children perform small magic tricks, but Beron had insisted they attend to find any who were powerful enough to warrant interest from him. His father always had a nasty habit of stealing children away from their parents to become part of his court.

Eris also remembered the moment his life shifted. As the children moved to the center of town square, beginning their show, his eyes drifted slightly to the left.

And landed on hers. The teacher.

The mating bond snapped, harder and faster than anything.

If she felt it, she gave no indication. Her eyes returned to her students.

Eris swore that this bond, this life-changing connection, would not be ruined like every other good thing in his life. He shoved all the overwhelming feelings and instincts deep into himself, securing his facade into place. The Autumn Court would never know another side to him besides the arrogant, powerful Heir.

But now his father was dead. He was the most powerful Fae in the Court.

Eris wasn't sure how he would find her, or if she even remained in this town. Or, Cauldron damn him, if she was even alive.

This town had suffered. Almost every building showed signs of abandonment or violence and he could sense that the number of Fae in the area had been more than cut in half.

He wandered aimlessly for a bit, unsure. He was terrified to reach inside himself and attempt to tug on the bond, anxious he would find nothing on the other end. Finally, after passing yet another empty house with smashed windows, he pulled himself together and grabbed for the bond.

Gasping as the feeling rose up from within him and overwhelmed his mind, Eris began walking, not entirely in control of his body. He walked by one block, then another, before stopping in front of a one-story building. It stood out as one of the few that looked well-maintained, with all its windows intact and even a flower bed next to the door.

His mate. Alive. In this house. His hand knocked before his mind processed the enormity of emotions at this moment.

One breath passed. She opened the door.

“Can I help you?” she frowned, wary of strangers. He took in everything about her, from her dark hair, slipping out of a frizzy bun to her comfortable clothing, probably pyjamas.

“My apologies,” he started. “I--you surely don’t remember me.”

She turned her head slightly, brown eyes taking in his face. “Have we met? I prefer straight answers from strange males at my door.”

“My name is Eris. I promise I wish you no harm.” Her eyes widened.

“My lord, you must forgive me,” she responded, sharpening her tone to hide her surprise. “It’s not often that royalty appears on my doorstep.”

Eris noted her tense muscles and reluctance to let him in. This was not a female who trusted.

“Forgive me for showing up uninvited. I have a...personal matter to discuss with you and I would rather do it in private.” He attempted a reassuring tone. “I know you have no reason to trust me, but please,” he trailed off, unsure what to possibly say to convince her. His horrible reputation probably preceded him.

She looked him in the eye. “Do you know who I am?”

“I only know that you teach children. I was here for a demonstration, decades ago.”

Shockingly, she stepped back and opened the door wider.

“Certainly, you could have blasted through my wards and yet you chose to knock,” she explained, gesturing him in with a wave of her hand. “How bad can this personal matter be?”

Eris walked in and saw a large, empty room with a mirror on one wall. She led the way over to a table next to a small kitchen. They each chose a chair, then looked awkwardly at the other.

“Can I get you something--”

“No, please, sit down,” he interrupted.

She sat. And pinned those piercing eyes on his.

“What’s your name?” he asked, his soul dying for the answer.

“Rhiannon.” And it was like the entire world shifted, as if he couldn’t imagine any name more beautiful.

“Rhiannon,” he said softly. “I have no good words to say this. When I was visiting, all those years ago, I saw you as the children gave their performance.” He hesitated.

“Lord Eris, I would rather you say it bluntly,” she jumped in. “To be quite honest, I’m extremely worried at the moment.”

“Please, just Eris,” he corrected. “And yes. You’re right. Of course. Well, I felt the mating bond that day. With you.”

If only his enemies could see him now. Keir would keel over of laughter watching him stumble through a simple conversation.

Rhiannon had gone completely still. She stared at him, as if waiting for the punchline. He shrugged.

“You did say bluntly.”

She stood suddenly, stalking over to the kitchen. For some reason unbeknownst to Eris, she began making a pot of tea. He waited.

As the kettle whined, she waved her hand, directing two mugs out of the cabinet and onto the table. Of course. The teacher of magic children would have to have magic as well.

He said nothing, still, as she brought over the tea. Rhiannon poured herself a cup and then watched him do the same.

She broke the silence as he took his first sip. “You’re being serious.”

“I would never joke about something like this,” Eris remarked.

“Why now? That had to have been, what, a century ago?” she demanded. Her dark skin seemed to glow in the daylight from the window above her head.

He looked down at his cup. “I killed my father yesterday. I didn’t think it safe to acknowledge you before that.”

“You---what?!” she yelped, almost dropping her cup. “I said blunt, not absolutely earth-shattering.”

He choked back a laugh. “My apologies. I’ve had a stressful few weeks. But truly, I worried what my father and brothers might do to a partner of mine and never would wish to put you in any danger. So now, at least, I know that threat is handled.”

She considered this. “I have no idea what I’m feeling right now.”

“I understand. More than you now,” Eris acknowledged. “I don’t have any expectations of you. I only hope that we might spend time together, getting to know one another.”

“Get to know you. The High Lord. As my...mate,” she echoed. “I could, I think I would be fine with that.”

“As whatever you want,” Eris disputed. “As I said, I don’t expect a thing.”

“Then as friends. And privately, at least at first.” Rhiannon looked him over. “You’ll have to come here, during hours I’m not teaching or with others.”

He couldn’t believe she had responded positively. Eris would have agreed to any terms she set.

“When can we start?”

She smiled at his obvious enthusiasm. "Tomorrow night. And you're bringing dinner."

Eris couldn't control the huge grin at her smile. This female would probably ruin him and his reputation. Not that he minded in the slightest.

"Anything you want."

Chapter 2: not where the story ends

TW: Mentions of past sexual assault and panic attacks. Nothing graphic or specific, but please do not read if this will harm you. I"ll put XXX before and after any mentions if you need to avoid.

So the High Lord of the Autumn Court had shown up at her door. And thrown her life entirely off-course by announcing they were mates.

Rhiannon lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to sort her thoughts and feelings into some sort of organized pattern. Her little two-story house and work studio felt suffocating, too small for all the chaos in her head. Throwing off the covers, she grabbed a pair of boots and a coat, winnowing to the street.

The town of Malefic, once a bustling city, stood quiet that night. Rhia wasn't surprised. After five decades of Amarantha, the population had decreased to only a couple thousand. She was relatively sure she could name almost every single Fae, and none of them were night owls.

She strolled down her street, aiming for a field of wheat at the edge of town. It helped to be in a wide, open space where she could see the entire night sky.

Eris Vanserra, the oldest son of the cruel Beron Vanserra, had shown up at her door. One of the most callous and powerful males in Prythian had knocked on her door and awkwardly asked to come in. And he had been, well, sweet. Kind. Attentive.

He'd explained some of his reputation, claiming that his father only valued power from his sons. He told her so much about his history, his regrets, his shame. And she had actually shared some of her life as well. The pull between them had opened her lips, despite her brain screaming at her to think rationally about all the red flags.

Because, unfortunately, even less powerful and less feared males could do so much damage. A fact Rhia knew all too well.

So many citizens had fled or sought aid from the capitol when Amarantha took over. Many others were killed or thrown into those horrendous camps. But Rhia and several other powerful Fae came together and warded the town. They could only cover a square mile, but it was enough at first. For twenty seven years, they maintained the wards, grew their own food, raised children to fight, and lived in fear, but not terror. They had all appreciated how much worse life could be.

Until a group of males snuck through the wards. To this day, Rhia never found out how they managed to get in.

The town woke the next morning to ransacked supplies and distasteful graffiti. The adults breathed a sigh of relief, for they knew how much worse it could be.

XXX

Sofine Linswell woke to her best friend sobbing on her bathroom floor.

Rhia woke to her best friend picking her up off the bathroom floor and hugging her close.

One of the males, as the group had split up, had stumbled upon a small, two-story house and work studio, probably looking for supplies like his companions. Unfortunately, this male found a sleeping, vulnerable female and did what any terrible, depraved soul would do.

Rhia hadn't been able to sleep in her own bed for months, and even now still had nights where she couldn't sleep in the small bedroom.

It had been decades and her life had returned back to almost normal, especially after Feyre Cursebreaker saved the day. She could even have casual sex again, but only with males she knew didn't have more than a drop of magic in them. The fear of being forced to lie still, struggling against invisible bounds, made it difficult for her to trust anyone with more power than she had.

Sofine, her best friend of more than a century, had talked her through many panic attacks over the years before they figured out her aversion to powerful males. Luckily, their little town saw almost no newcomers and Rhia knew her strength could dominated any of their neighbors. Not that she ever needed to, but the thought comforted her.

XXX

But the Cauldron had the most fucked-up sense of humor.

Eris Vanserra had shown up at her door. A male that had infinite more magic and power than she did.

Worse, he was awkward and kind and vulnerable with her. Her stupid brain couldn't just write him off or send him packing.

He hadn't been close enough to touch her once last night, so Rhia had forgotten about her issues for a few hours. But as soon as she closed her eyes, her mind drifted to what it would be like to lie next to him and all the darkness came rushing back.

She hadn't told Sofine yet. The night seemed like a dream, like an unbelievable story you tell yourself to fall asleep.

Eris had given her a piece of parchment before he left and told her to write if she wanted him to come over again. He'd been so obviously nervous that she would never write to him that she'd smiled and told him to keep an eye on it. Yet now, under the midnight sky, she was overwhelmed at the idea of taking a step forward.

She sat in the wheat until the sky started turning pink. Another day of teaching, lunch with Sofi, and cleaning her house.

Winnowing back to her kitchen, Rhia started making a pot of tea. Only caffeine would make this day run smoothly.

Waiting for the boil, she glanced over at the table and saw the piece of parchment glowing. Confused, she went to pick it up.

I apologize if this is intrusive. You probably think I'm incredibly desperate (because I am incredibly desperate). But I just wanted to say that I will take any part of you that you would give me. If you're willing to put me out of my pathetic misery and give me a chance.

She laughed. The rumors simply could not be true. This male couldn't be the same as the cruel, misogynistic bastard that tortured his brother's lover. She couldn't say how, but she knew that for certain.

So, as the sun spilled over the horizon and another peaceful day started, she wrote back.

Chapter 3: passing notes in secrecy

Eris couldn't believe it. It simply couldn't be true.

His advisors, his friends (well, all two of them), even his mother had commented on his mood. He was smiling, often unprompted, and making jokes. The palace full of nobles had no idea what to do with a High Lord that made jokes.

And he was getting his ass kicked in training. Gerwin, one of the two friends, looked down at where he lay on the floor.

"It really shouldn't be that easy for me to take down a High Lord," he grumbled. "First there are rumors of you acting like a fool in meetings and now this?"

Eris stood, pretending to brush some dust off his shirt. "No one thinks I'm acting like a fool. Just differently than my father." The last word got stuck in his throat on the way out, dampening his mood a bit. All of Prythian knew what he did and yet he still hadn't told the actual story to anyone. It felt like a confession, proof his guilt, an irreversible action that might suddenly inspire his Court to abandon him. Although he knew rationally that was unlikely (he had widespread support that came from not being a violent, evil bastard), Eris still felt like he could lose his throne at any second for any reason.

He faced off with Gerwin again, focusing and actually winning the fight.

Eris raced to his chambers after his training session, at a speed more fit to an energized child than the most powerful male in the Autumn Court. He threw open his bedroom door and scrambled to open the top drawer of his nightstand. There sat a glowing piece of parchment.

She actually wrote back, he marveled. Even though she had been writing back at least once a day for the past week, each message still brought Eris a flash of joy and shock.

Their first interaction had been tense and awkward. Her body language had clearly indicated she was uncomfortable with him in her home, but she hadn't kicked him out. The conversation was good, great even, but stayed to safe topics like her town's endeavors and his fumbling advisors. Eris fully believed he had thoroughly fucked up this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity and would never hear from her again. Except she kept writing.

I hope you understand this taxation argument, because I surely cannot. Some of us were meant only for brute force and fighting, not percentages and financial sheets. He had complained about one of his endless meetings yesterday, where the Financial Minister had almost burst a blood vessel when Eris suggested taxing the rich more than the poor. Outrageous.

He grabbed a pen and chewed on it thoughtfully. His responses were finely crafted to keep the conversation flowing easily and show off some of his stellar personality. His mother's voice, kindly accusing him of acting like an adolescent, floated through his mind. It was rather childish to spend this much time thinking about a female and wooing her, something he'd never really worked hard at before.

I'm glad to know you claim expertise on brute force, since apparently I no longer can. My friend just destroyed me in a training session, in a way that was very embarrassing for me and unbecoming of a High Lord. If I had more friends, I might even accuse him of treason just to avoid my utter defeat again. How are your students?

---

Did he have some sort of magic that could figure out her schedule? He must. There was no other explanation for how Eris managed to send her a message right before she had an important commitment. Rhia had shown up to her classes, a town hall meeting, and now dinner with Sofine with blushing cheeks and an unmanageable smile.

"Ha! There it is! That silly expression you keep getting," Sofine accused, pointing a finger at Rhia's dark red cheeks. "I've been complaining about my leaky sink for two minutes and you sit there staring off into the distance."

"Sorry, sorry, it's just been a long week," Rhia mumbled, turning to grab some bread off the counter so Sofine would stop trying to read her expression. "Classes, students, you know how it gets."

"I surely don't! Students make you groan and complain; this is like....this is more of..." Sofine trailed off, trying to put a finger on what could have her friend so distracted. "Well, honestly, if I didn't know you better, I'd say this was more of a schoolgirl crush." Rhia had no response to that, so she stayed quiet. Sofine gasped, her mind clearly spinning to fill in the gaps,

Maybe staying quiet was going to get her in more trouble. "Sofi, I love you so dearly, but I clearly don't have a 'schoolgirl crush' and I'm not sure how I would've managed to keep that a secret from you." Rhia hoped it would be enough. They were both over a century year old and yet sat here gossiping about crushes. Absurd.

Luckily, her friend let it go and the rest of the conversation was blessedly normal. After finishing a bottle of sparkling wine together, the females decided to call it a night. They both had the day off tomorrow and had huge plans to attend the local farmer's market.

Humming to herself, Rhia began to slowly clean the glasses off the table. Her thoughts trailed away from the town and towards the capitol. Eris. She hadn't written back to him yet.

Perhaps writing to the High Lord of the Autumn Court who was also your mate after half a bottle of wine wasn't the smartest idea in the world. Rhia hushed that logical voice in her brain and grabbed the paper to reread his response. Silly, how such a little joke about a rough training session caused her to blush again.

There was no second-guessing, no careful editing, no worry as she wrote back. The High Lord taken down by a simple training instructor? I would have loved to see it. My students are little terrors as always, though none are powerful enough yet to spar with me. I suppose I'll go through a similar embarrassment when they are.

His response came so quickly. Was he sitting in bed, just waiting for her to write him back? She giggled at the image, then giggled at her giggle because she wasn't the type of Fae to giggle normally. And the word giggle sounded funny.

My pride is quite grateful you weren't there to see it happen. A second later, as if an afterthought, another line appeared. And if you ever actually would like to see me, all you have to do is ask.

Her insides warmed. She blushed, yet again, at the shameless flirting. But at the same time, her brain kicked into overdrive at the idea that this was more than letter writing and idle flirting. The High Lord wanted to see her and she wanted to see him, a terrifying thought that would normally send her running. Luckily, the wine kept her mind open and her words flowing.

Maybe I only want to see you get kicked beaten knocked around in training.

Scratch that sentence I don't think I'm making sense. I'm not sure what I'm trying to say.

"Oh shit," Rhia cursed at her confusion. The wine certainly wasn't making anything clearer.

Let me try again. I'd like to see you in my kitchen again.

In your kitchen? How specific. I'll be there whenever you tell me. And, please correct me if I'm wrong, but I believe you would still enjoy watching someone beat me up in a sparring ring. Eloquence fails us all sometimes, it's quite alright.

Aren't High Lord supposedd to be busy? Her handwriting had started looking noticeably sloppy as her eyes began to droop. I have no plans tomorrow night.

Excellent. Tomorrow night. And no, we simply appear busy while others do all the work. It's a very simple and fun job.

I'm going to bed. Otherwise I might make more of a fool of myself. Rhia doubted that Eris would mind some sloppy handwriting and confusing messages, but she knew worse things might come out if they stayed up late in the night, writing on this stupid piece of paper.

---

Eris couldn't believe it. He was seeing her again tomorrow, technically today since midnight was long passed. He closed his eyes, feeling something that felt a bit like redemption and forgiveness grow within him.

#eris #eris vanserra #acotar #acosf #sjm #autumn court #a court of thorns and roses #beron #beron vanserra #eris stans we rise #acosf did eris dirty

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stayndays · 3 years

Text

𝐊𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐑 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆'𝐒 𝐀𝐋𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐓𝐄𝐒 & 𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐃

time to dive into this hellhole of a series once again

if you haven’t read killer king, there are MAJOR spoilers in this post! you have been warned.

So! This was highly requested in the final survey of Killer King: to reveal the other routes if you didn’t choose the Escape Route. To start off, though, I first have to talk about something that was brought up multiple times throughout the voting boxes of Killer King, which is:

“Why is Jisung helping Minho/Is Jisung aware that Minho’s the killer/What is Jisung and Minho’s dynamic?”

Minho and Jisung, to say the least, is probably the most interesting duo in the series. They didn’t met before the party, but rather, at the party before the mansion owner was killed, and quickly formed a strong bond. You could infer that Minho wanted to pull in a party guest that would most likely stay and solve the murder, just so he has a puppet to control if things go haywire. Minho was also inspired by Jisung’s poem, which results in how his killing techniques were put into place.

Because Jisung is kind of naive in this story, he ends up being manipulated by the killer himself, and accidentally becomes Minho’s #1 ally for the entire series. Minho grabbed the key from the mansion owner’s coat, and gave it to Jisung for him to protect, saying something along the lines of “If anybody tries to flee the mansion like a coward, they won’t be able to because you have the key.”

Oh, also, Minho attempted to frame Jisung by leaving the white glove in Jisung’s bag. I’m like.. slowly recovering info from this series because I already forgot most of the plot.. October was a fever dream guys wheeze

But now, this duo leads us to our first route I’ll cover today! The duos all have a certain goal: Hyunin wanted to escape, another group wanted to kill the killer themselves, and another group simply wanted to solve the murder. This duo is different, however, because Minho is literally the killer.

So the route would’ve played out somewhat like this:

You choose to align with Minho and Jisung, regardless of whether you lie or not

When the house fight occurs and everybody is split off into groups, you have the option to stay with Chan, Changbin, and Minho. If you choose this, you would get an additional chapter where you have the decision to come with Minho upstairs, or to stay behind with Chan and Changbin.

If you choose to come with Minho, you would be forced by him to throw a knife at Jeongin, who’s alone on the stairs. (this would’ve been REALLY fun to write)

Even if you chose not to follow Minho, as long as you prove that you’re truly loyal to him, he’ll eventually reveal to both you and Jisung that he’s the killer, and urge the both of you to work with him to eliminate the rest of the house members.

THIS IS THE FUN PART

Basically: Jisung doesn’t want to team up with Minho. Instead, he wants to try and kill Minho (I assume that Jisung has multiple reasons as to why he doesn’t want to tell the other members, probably because he has no evidence). As a result, since Jisung also trusts you, he tells you his plan, and now you have to choose between the two.

And according to my notes, no matter if you team up with Jisung or go solo, if you choose to betray Minho, you will die. It is impossible to succeed in this scenario. You have to team up with a murderer in order to win.

You could also try and convince Jisung to come with you and Minho’s side. Knowing me, I’d probably spin a wheel to see whether Jisung would agree with you or not LOL. If he doesn’t though, he’s gonna die. That’s that.

So if you team up with Minho (regardless if Jisung is still alive or not) and the two/three of you are able to successfully eliminate the rest of the members, you win! And you get the ending “The Killer’s Sidekick” (even better: if you identity as a female and/or use she/her pronouns, you could be “The Killer Queen” :D)

The other two routes don’t have nearly as much info as Minsung’s route, though. One of them wasn’t even planned at all. Let’s talk about them!

Changlix’s Route: Kill the Killer

Basically, if you openly state to either Felix or Changbin that you’re also interested in killing the killer, you’d be put into this route!

In this route, you’ll tend to make more impulsive decisions without thinking straight (aka your choices will be pretty dumb) because you’re after blood, not justice.

If you kill the wrong person, that’s an automatic game over.

If you hesitate to kill Minho, he’ll kill you first, and that’s a game over.

And if you successfully kill Minho, you’ll get one of those “You won.. but at what cost?” endings, kinda like the ending you guys got! (it’s because you killed somebody, that’s why.)

Chanmin’s Route: Catch the Killer

I have nothing written down for this route. It’s pretty self explanatory. Find the killer, and trap him in a room until the police come. That’s pretty much the route, along with trying not to get killed yourself.

If you chose this route, it would probably be even more stressful than the escape route, and would probably be the most boring route to write.

If you have any questions, let me know! But now let’s dive into the questions you guys put in for the survey.

1. Was Hyunjin super suspicious in the beginning as a red herring?

I think they were all super suspicious in the beginning just so the reader jumps into the story completely blind. It wasn’t intended as a red herring, but it definitely could be to you!

2. Why does Felix and Changbin want to kill the murderer?

Simple: bloodlust. I just needed that violent duo, y’know?

3. Were Jisung and Minho conspiring together? If not, was Minho going to pin it on Jisung?

No and yes, that was his intention!

4. Why does Minho have a hankering for murder?

He wants revenge on his step father, the mansion owner, for neglecting him all those years. Also the dude has anger issues. Bad temper.

5. Why could Minho pass the mattress but not 5 guys?

He is immortal. He is god. He is- just kidding. He was probably doing something stupid and unplanned, like using the bathroom on the downstairs floor. That’s the best answer I can give you for now.

6. Why did Jisung decided to team up with Minho? I mean what benefit will he get from it if there is a chance Minho might even kill him too? and also did Jisung know that Minho is the killer king in the first place?

He didn’t realize he was teaming up with the killer, and if Minho did reveal that he was the killer, Jisung would most likely try to turn on him (and fail). Nope!

7. What was Minho's motive (was it just him hating the victim or was there something deeper)?

Both that, and probably bloodlust as well.

8. How did Minho get the white glove to blame Jisung later when he wasn't with us while we were searching the room?

He bought a fresh pair of white gloves before the party started. He also, most likely, placed it in Jisung’s bag before committing the murder without him noticing.

9. If we were to just body search everybody at once, would we find the throwing knives on Minho and just end the whole thing? (this was on my mind the whole time lmao, like why didn't we search OURSELVES too??)

yeah true ngl i can’t argue with that Knowing Minho, he probably has a bunch of knives hidden all around the house, secretly planting them here and there while mingling with party guests.

10. Were really 2 killer kings?

Nope! Only Minho. There would only be more than one killer king if you ended up choosing the Minsung route. However, good idea! I should’ve thought of that.

11. Why in the hell was jisung helping minho like how did they end up as a team?

e x p l a i n e d a l r e a d y. see i told you guys a lot of people were asking this

12. I still don't understand changbins fascination with the blood type.

This was an easter egg I was proud of but nobody caught!! The same blood type mentioned by Changbin (I think it was A?) is the same type Seungmin has! After a google search or two, I learned that blood types were passed down by family members, so if you arrange Seungmin’s family tree correctly, you’d learn that him and the mansion owner shared the same blood type, meaning that Seungmin is related to the mansion owner. Far stretch, I know, but I think it works out! If you figured this out, you would realize how smart Changbin really is as a scientist.

13. Why did jeongin light two matches?

Extra precaution! Also, he’s the youngest. He thinks fire is cool.

14. Was Minsung a team for the ~ Minsung Vibes? ~

It was not intentional at first, but then I realized the rest of the duos were popular ships in SKZ (minus Chanmin) so that was interesting!

15. Just in general why were the teams aligned the way they were?

Minsung - They’re good pals Changlix - For the bloodlust similarity Hyunin - They were both emotional enough in this story to want to escape Chanmin - It’s literally Chan and Seungmin, and Seungmin is close with the mansion owner

16. Which one was your favorite route?

MINSUNG’S ROUTE!! I wanted you guys to choose this one because it would so different from other murder mysteries!! But the escape route was my second choice, thank god.

17. Will you be doing another series similar to this next year?

90% no because of how physically and mentally draining this series was to write, but you can get a sequel if the finale somehow gets 50 notes! That won’t happen for a while. Just FYI.

18. Did the knife in y/n’s hand ever come out or was it just stuck in there the entire time?

It was there the entire time until Hyunjin pulled it out at his house. I actually still don’t know if this is medically accurate or not, I literally had to ask my mom what to do in this situation. Our text messages went something like:

Me: If a knife goes through your hand, should you pull it out or leave it in? Asking because of a TV show Mom: Leave it in and go to the hospital... Me: Ok thanks mom

I think that’s it? I still have a lot I want to talk about, but that information will only come out if people ask me! So come ask me hehe have fun. Thank you, so incredibly much, for following Killer King. It is my pride and joy, literally.

taglist: @desertofdessert @crscendoforsung @cotccotc @leggomylino @skzctnightnight @freckledberries @nizhonimoon @hanniiesuckle17 @binniesbabybear @tsuki-moons @lbxgsunshine @csbverse @mangoisawesome @peachyhan @worldtriiiip @golden–rain @bubblyjisunq @kimpchi @loey-letters @pokyloky @wherevermyway @avrea-tt @bossuns @sunoo-luvs @katherineee19 @ph0ebevix @qt-k1mb @444scb @grandmasterslickfox @k-pop-valda (now we can all abandon this series for good!)

#stray kids killer king #stray kids #skz #stray kids killer king spoilers

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anthropwashere · 4 years

Text

deadfic: our indestructible days ch 1

More deadfic for the Good Intentions WIP Fest, though since the event’s over I’ll spare the poor mod yet more of my horseshit.

This was, in fact, the first fic I really tackled post 2017 BH watch! And boy does it show. I’m doing y’all a favor by editing it to hell and back before posting any of it, honest. Due to that however, I don’t know how many chapters there will be. At least 4, since that’s as far as I’ve gotten in the editing process. We shall see!

All you need to know for this one is: What if Kimblee didn’t stop Pride from possessing Ed on the Promised Day? :)

Title comes from Puscifer’s “Dear Brother.”

The air burns against his flaking skin, molten stone growing dark yet still radiating a dangerous heat. Everyone else has gone after Father, the rattle and scrape of transmuted stone fading. It's just the two of them now, the alchemist and the homunculus, and Pride has the upper hand.

“This container won’t last much longer,” he says matter-of-factly, leaping down to stand before the boy. In the dusty sunlight filtering in from above Edward Elric’s eyes shine, catlike and calculating. His breathing is ragged, spit between clenched teeth. He’s pinned by cords of unyielding shadow. If he struggles much harder, Pride might break something.

That thought demands brief consideration. It would be satisfying to take Edward apart bone by brittle bone, to take his pound of flesh for the damage incurred to his Philosopher’s Stone. The left arm would sever easily, if he but sharpened his shadows. Tempting, yes, but ultimately pointless.

“But still,” he continues thoughtfully, a new plan already fallen into place. “Like my father is, you are of Hohenheim's bloodline. We’re virtually brothers. Which means, Edward Elric, I can use your container. Your body belongs to me!”

It is an easy thing to invade the bloodstream, entering through a thin cut on the boy’s cheek. Pride fills every vein and artery with shadows until Edward’s heart is smothered, his blood sludge. He ignores the screams, the uptick in thrashing. This is tricky work, something only achieved twice before, and he hadn't seen either success firsthand. His Stone is too big for such a little cut. He spares a tendril of himself to stab the boy's chest, wrenching open a wound big enough to deposit his core directly against the thrashing heart within. Connective tissue regrows at a breakneck pace, sewing him irrevocably into a body a thousand times more complex than his original container.

With that taken care of Pride lashes out with a snap of white teeth, unfettering the strangled soul. The body still writhes, pain a thing of the flesh rather than the spirit, but there is less resistance after that. If it's lucky, the boy's soul will be absorbed into his Stone, its energy and knowledge assimilated, made useful. Then again it could simply burn up in the transference, an ember caught in a cold wind.

Either way, that which was called Edward Elric will no longer be a concern.

What a big fuss Wrath made of it, with his story of the man who became a homunculus who became King. A little pain suffered is nothing, when the alternative is death.

Edward’s screaming makes this all the sweeter.

Without its contents, his old container collapses to so much dust and an empty pile of clothing, and—

—ah.

There are memories, kept just beneath the surface of Edward’s dying panic. The mind is easy to parse when the soul is absent. Old night terrors, old horrors. Loneliness. What a childish thing to fear.

A heartbeat.

Another.

Waiting— dreading— the body’s rejection of him.

But it never comes. Barely a shudder of resistance, the only lash of alchemical reaction his Stone instinctively healing injuries the boy had incurred.

The silence after that's finished is a breathless, giddy surprise.

Pride tests his new container carefully, casting an unhappy glance at the automail arm he’s now saddled with. It’s an unpleasant weight, cold and heavy; the leg much the same. It'll take time he doesn't have to adjust to them. How pathetic, that humans must rely on machinery to recover from serious injury. Once he’s regained some of his strength he’ll have to do something about them.

Something shifts within him, a sensation not unlike vertigo stealing his breath. Pride hesitates, wobbling on unfamiliar limbs, but the feeling passes. He smiles. A strong bloodline indeed.

“Fight all you wish,” he says aloud. “I've won.”

Even his voice has changed. His true voice is marred, pitched deeper. Weighed down. He is weighed down by this new container. It's strange. This is all very strange. But he must adjust quickly, for the battle isn’t won yet.

He shakes unfamiliar blond hair from his new container’s eyes, looking up through the hole punched through the many underground floors beneath Central Command. Four thin stone pillars ascend through it, stretching all the way up to the parade grounds. Such a distance. Even the sacrifices shouldn't have been capable of stretching so much material so high without it collapsing. What did they do? What was that array they activated that allowed them to perform alchemy again?

The fight has shifted. He must return to the fray, now that he’s been renewed. Father would—

Father expects him to—

No.

Not yet. He’s not strong enough to rejoin that fight, yet. His Stone was damaged even more than they’d anticipated when he forced Mustang through the Gate.

Pride sniffs, tasting the air. There are humans nearby; more souls to consume. He licks his lips and sends his grinning shadows upward.

He is hungry.

Major General Armstrong kneels beside the body of Führer King Bradley, hating that she's been sideline for what is surely the most decisive battle Amestris has ever seen. Her men are up there, where that pale creature had ascended only minutes ago atop a pillar of molten stone. Bullets and mortars were near useless against the lesser homunculi; what could their Father be capable of?

Her pulse is still racing, a sour taste settled in her mouth. She knows acutely what it feels like to die, and the experience has left her feeling hollowed out in a way she's unsure of how to voice. She remembers a maelstrom of suffering, countless voices begging for release. It's not something she'd wish on a Drachman, let alone endure again. If not for the Elric brothers' father she'd still be trapped in that hell. They all would be.

Is it fear that still makes her heart pound, or cowardice?

Her lip curls. Fear is justified. Fear is the intelligent reaction. To fear something means you're paying attention. Cowardice, however....

She shakes her head. Four of the human sacrifices—Izumi Curtis, Alphonse Elric, Van Hohenheim, and Mustang—had been afraid, and yet still determined to stop that monster. Even blinded Mustang hadn't hesitated to fight on, utilizing the famed Hawk's Eye to direct his flame attacks. It's both begrudging and gratifying, to realize the man has a stronger spine than she'd thought.

The fifth, Fullmetal, is still below fighting Pride. There'd been sounds of combat, and then screaming, but it's gone quiet now. The distance and echo distorting the sounds had made it impossible to determine who had been doing the screaming. The lot of them on this level have been keeping a wary eye on the hole in the floor since then. They don't know what that particular homunculus is capable of and the only alchemist left here is the serial killer Scar, and he's in no shape to assist. The idiot boy had better not die while the battle's still on.

She eases to her feet, hissing pain despite her best efforts, and cats her sight on the blue sky above. A single blast of power had punched a hole in this underground labyrinth clear through to the surface. How can they defend against something like that?

Bah. Defeatist's talk. The alchemists will do all they can to do just that, and her men will support them. They're Briggs men. They'll do whatever it—

"What the hell?!"

"What is that?!"

She turns sharply toward where the few soldiers who'd insisted on staying behind as a protection detail are gathered. They've all drawn their weapons, aiming at the hole in the floor. Ribbons of—shadows—stretch up from below, splitting open to reveal red eyes and white jaws.

Damn! And here she'd thought Fullmetal had been left behind to fight the homunculus alone for good reason! Was the boy really so useless as to die now?

"PREPARE YOURSELVES!" She bellows, striding toward the lashing shadows. A glance is all she needs to know it would be futile to try and keep distance in a room as small as this. Better to be with her men. She may have lost the use of her sword arm but this is a fight she will not—cannot—leave for her men to fight alone. "Fire at Selim Bradley the moment he shows himself!"

The red eyes narrow. The white jaws grin. Grating laughter echoes off of the stone walls. "That container has been discarded, Major General," the mouths all say in the same mocking voice. "But are you really going to risk injuring this body?"

From out of the depths a figure rises, lifted up on tendrils of shadow to step lightly onto the rubble-strewn floor. Her men curse, guns dipping. Somewhere behind her Mr. Curtis and the frog chimera inhale sharply. She can't blame any of them.

The grinning boy with living shadows curling at his boots is Fullmetal.

"Edward," Izumi's husband says, hushed. The boy pays him no mind, eyes flat and cold as coins.

"It was wise of you to stay behind," Fullmetal—no, Pride—says, still smiling. The shadows stretch and curl, painting the room in streaks of black. "Your contributions to the war effort are greatly appreciated."

Too late, she understands what he means to do. "No! Don't you dare—!"

The shadows strike, and her men begin to scream.

"Edward Elric."

His name whispered out of the murk. A voice calling him awake. He can't pinpoint where it's coming from. Everything else is so loud. There are so many people nearby, all of them screaming, all of them begging to die. Everything is so red.

"Fullmetal."

He tries to put a name to the voice. He knows it. Doesn't he know it?

Fraying. He's being... stretched. Pulled apart. Losing his sense of self.

He's losing himself.

"Surely you're not going to roll over as easily as that, are you?"

He... he knows this voice.

A pinpoint of white, searing amongst all this writhing red. The shape of a man comes into focus. White clothes, long dark hair, the wide eyes of a madman, tattoos on his outstretched palms.

"K...Kim...blee...?"

The man smiles. "Ah, so you are still in there. Good, very good."

"Where... what is... this...?"

"We've both become a part of Pride's Philosopher's Stone now. Two souls clinging to our individuality amidst a howling mob of anguish." Kimblee rocks back on his heels, throwing out his hands. His face is a picture of bliss. "Isn't it exquisite?"

He looks away, out at the writhing, the screaming. Nothing but gaping mouths and dark eye sockets everywhere he looks, the barest suggestions of human shapes. Souls. How many died to make this Stone? "It's—loud. No. No, this. This isn't. This isn't what I...."

It's getting so hard to think.

Kimblee looks almost disappointed now. "Tell me, Edward Elric. Are you truly so weak as this? Unraveling at the first glimpse of something beyond your control?"

He looks down at himself. Two arms, two legs. No automail pulling insistently at his bones. Of course not. He's only a soul, nearly as red as the others twisting all around him. He's inside a Philosopher's Stone, which makes him only one more lost soul. Wisps of red peel from his limbs, chafed and scraped away by the chaos pushing and pulling at him from all sides. He's falling apart. Losing himself. Soon he'll be nothing but babbling energy, regenerative power for the homunculus he's become a part of. For... for....

"Pride."

Kimblee raises one curious eyebrow. "That's right."

"Where—Where is he?"

"A bit preoccupied eating to overhear this conversation, if that's your concern."

He—Edward, he's Ed, gotta stay focused, he can't slip again, his name is Edward—strains, struggling to remember what happened. How he came to be like this. He was.... There had been.... Pride. Selim had been badly—injured? damaged?—after forcing the Colonel through the Gate. His container was failing. He'd pinned Ed down—pain, it had hurt—and declared that Ed would be... that Ed's body would be....

Ed's just a soul now. He doesn't have a body, no skin to prickle and no breath to catch, but a chill runs through him all the same. "He. He took my body. He made me his new container. Didn't he?"

"That's right."

No matter where Ed looks it's all souls, no glimpse of what's going on outside this Stone. Ling—and Greed, for that matter—have always had a good idea of what was going on when the other one had been in control of Ling's body. How did they—

Hold on.

Ed looks back at Kimblee, who just smiles pleasantly back. Eating. Pride can't hear them right now because he's eating. The hell does that mean?

"I can't see," Ed snaps, shoving at a soul that's drifted uncomfortably close. His hand is paler, more defined than it was before. He's got a good grip on himself again. He really should've paid more attention when Ling talked about the meditation shit he did while Greed was refusing to share. "Ugh. Where is he? What's he doing, Kimblee?"

Kimblee chuckles and waves his hand. The tempest of screaming parts like a theater curtain; bright light spills in that leaves Ed blinking and shading his eyes. He goes to it anyway. He has to know what Kimblee meant—

His sight adjusts, and he's looking at a bloodbath.

There's red sprayed across the near wall, splashed along the floor, drips and splatters and scraps of tattered uniforms everywhere he looks. A single soldier is in view, firing wildly right at Ed only to have the bullets deflected by a shadow pitted with familiar eyes and bloodstained fangs. The gun in the soldier's hands clicks, the clip emptied, and the shadow cuts him down. Ed can hear the brutal crunch of bone, the muted spurt of spilled blood, the ragged tearing of meat. He hears someone laughing. His voice. His stolen voice multiplied weirdly through the shadow mouths as Selim's had been.

Ed hollers, twisting away, but Kimblee's white hands hold him fast. The man's voice roars out, ragged with terrible glee. "Don't avert your eyes! Don't look away! That's your body out there, cutting those men down. Take credit for the destruction your hands have wrought!"

"NO! NO! That's not—it's not me—get the fuck off—I don't want this!"

"Then what are you going to do about it?!"

"—no, no, I don't—I—w-what?"

Once Ed's stopped struggling Kimblee all but drops him, still grinning from ear to ear. "I thought about interfering, when Pride first tried to take your body for himself."

"What?"

"I'm perfectly content in here, but he decided to throw away his honor as a homunculus. So proud to be what he is, that very quality he was named for, but the moment he found himself in grave danger he sought to escape into the body of a human." Kimblee snarls. "He's pathetic. A disgrace."

Ed watches his body's left hand rise, pointing at—Major General Armstrong? Her face is a mask of blood, and the rest of her isn't much better. Sig's beside her, one arm slick and hanging heavily, the other supporting Scar who looks like he narrowly escaped a meat grinder. Behind them he can just glimpse Jerso in his frog form, lying so still it's impossible to tell if he's still breathing. The window or whatever out into the real world flickers as—fuck—as Pride looks at another soldier spring out from behind cover. He empties his clip in record time, unerringly aimed at Ed's chest. Do any of the bullets hit? Do they hurt? The soldier's cradling his rifle strangely, one hand clumsily wrapped in bloodstained cloth.

"Why?" Ed asks, weary. A shadow arcs out, bristling with teeth, and bites through the man. He goes down with a bizarrely muted scream and another spray of blood. "Why didn't you stop him? This—this wouldn't be happening if you'd stopped him!"

Kimblee regards him, eyes narrowed, face unreadable. "Führer Bradley is a homunculus," he says conversationally. "And Greed. His vessel is human as well, isn't it?"

Outside, sounds of crunching, splattering, chewing. Ed watches a clean white uniform stain almost black with gore. "Yeah? So what?"

"I started to think a little, that's what." Another little chuckle. Fuck, this guy really is crazy. He's enjoying this. "The homunculi make such a fuss out of being better than humans. More evolved, above our petty fears and desires. They're so proud to be the puppeteers of this country, the hands on our yokes as they've guided us to this Promised day."

Ed watches the shadows finish off the soldier, nothing but a smear of blood and a couple glistening pieces of meat left behind. The window flickers again as Pride turns his head to regard the last of the survivors.

"It's funny," Kimblee says. "For how much they talk, they so rarely deliver on their promises. So I ask you, Edward Elric. What are you going to do now?"

The General. Sig. Jerso. Scar. They're going to die. Pride's going to kill them. For all Ed knows they might think he agreed to let Pride take his body.

He looks at his hands. He's nearly himself again, or at least as nearly like himself as he can be without his body. He's got two arms here. Two legs too. An arm and a leg, and a body, and the whole damn country on top of it now. He's made way too many promises to fail here.

Ed sets his jaw and leaps out into the light.

#fma #fullmetal alchemist #fmab #my writing #murder #cannibalism #body horror #you know what i'm about at this point lbr

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snowdice · 4 years

Text

Goblin Brain Study Session Fic 1 [Day 35]

Because I don’t want to just have walls of text for my Goblin Brain Study Session posts, I’m separating them by days. If you want to read the previous chapters, click the links below. Chapter 13 and what I have done of Chapter 14 is under the cut.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12

See this post for more details and feel free to send me asks to keep me going! It’s been a lot of fun so far! I will reblog this post with the story as I write them today.

The Gobiln Brain is a problem today. I’d planned to start like 2 hours ago. :/

Remy was slumped down in his seat as Emile continued to lecture him on all the possible consequences of his actions in the past 24 hours. Jeezy creezy was Emile miffed about all of that. Remy had been trying to blow it off, but Emile was fully, painfully aware that he almost had lost his brother today and Remy was going to hear about it until Emile’s lungs aches.

“And another thing…” he said.

“Wait,” Remy said, and Emile did because there was a lace of panic to his tone.

“What?” Emile asked.

“The tracker stopped working,” Remy answered pushing buttons a little bit desperately on his device.

“It went completely offline somehow,” Remy said.

“Did it get turned off?” Emile asked. “Or run out of batteries?”

“It doesn’t turn off and the batteries are designed to last for years,” Remy said. “It can even track through 20 feet of water. The only way it could stop sending a single this abruptly is if the thing was destroyed.”

Emile paused. “You said Virgil knows what the blinking light means.”

“Yes.”

“Is it possible that he knows, or well, ‘knows,’ you’re dead? Barbara did send a man after him, he could have mentioned it.”

Remy stared down at the device in his hands.

He pressed a couple of buttons and studied the screen for a moment. “You little shit,” he groaned. “You threw it out the fucking car window, didn’t you?”

“How do you know?” Emile asked.

“Because if I look at the history, it was going at 65 miles per hour down the interstate, suddenly stopped cold, and then broke when another car inevitably crushed it.”

“Ah.”

“Well, at least the fucker’s probably okay. Dammit Virgil! Where are you going?” Remy pushed a few more buttons almost idly as he thought. “Let me get into Virgil’s head for a minute: emo music, dark clothes, would rather have his toenails ripped out than go to parties, makes split second decisions based on little info. Yep! Got him.”

Emile rolled his eyes, but Remy wouldn’t have noticed as he had his own eyes closed. “Hmm. So, I’m Virgil. My bitch mom killed my dad and sent someone after me. I have no idea what’s going on, but I bolt out of there because fuck mom. I want to get the hell out of dodge so I convince someone to drive me somehow, I guess, but where would I want to go? Someplace safe. Where’s safe? Maybe Emile, but obviously that’s not where he went. Or Janus, but he’s too connected to mom. I don’t really no anyone else, especially not someone who could help with this sort of stuff.”

Remy thought for another long moment. “Oops.”

“Oops?” Emile asked. “What oops?”

He could tell by the expression on Remy’s face that he was not going to like the answer. “I may have let something… slip.”

“What do you mean, Remington?”

“Um, well you see,” Remy said. “A couple of months ago Virgil was being, you know, himself: a little shit. He may have, possibly, found some papers.”

“What kind of papers?” Emile asked.

“They were nothing important!” Remy assured. “There wasn’t any dangerous info in them or anything, but…”

“But?”

“It is somewhat possible that they had the name on them.”

“How possible?” Emile asked, eyes narrowed on him.

“He asked what Green Bellow Foods was and why they needed 50 top of the line computers outfitted at an old factory.”

“And what did you tell him?!”

“Nothing!”

Emile glared at him.

“Okay, well I had to tell him something,” Remy mentioned. “I just kind of said that I knew the owner well and was working with him on some stuff. Then I told him not to worry about it, which was probably a mistake, because he’s Virgil. So, then I found him snooping in my car. At that point I had to sit him down and talk to him. So, I told him a bit about Logan.”

“Remy that’s not nothing!”

“I didn’t use his name or anything. I just told him a couple of really, extremely, tremendously, vague stories, so he didn’t think I owed money to the mafia. Which, yes, he did suggest.”

“That’s worse!”

“What do you want from me Emile?!”

“Some common sense!” Emile answered. “I’ve been comparing you to the rat in Ratatouille for years, but I’m starting to think you’re more of a Pinky from Pinky and the Brain.”

“Hey, ouch,” Remy replied. “Also, I personally subscribe to the theory that Pinky is actually the intelligent one who is foiling Brain’s evil plots from the inside. So, there.”

“Now is not the time,” Emile said.

“Oh, it’s not the time to discuss cartoon theories?” Remy mumbled into his lap. “Must be serious.”

“It is serious! Virgil is missing!”

“Don’t you think I know that?!” Remy snapped. “I know, Emile.”

There was quiet. Emile took a breath. “Okay,” he said, calmer. “Do you really think he’s going to Logan?”

“He’s headed somewhere,” Remy answered, “and wherever that somewhere is, it’s inexplicably down the most direct route towards base.”

“Well, Virgil is smart. I don’t think he’d just keep going so quickly without a destination in mind. We should call Logan.”

“Do you honestly believe Barbara doesn’t have your phone tapped when Virgil is missing? If you had one of Logan’s phones, I might agree with you, but as it is, we’d be giving away our position, and possibly clueing her in to Virgil’s plan. If he shows up at base, Logan will take him in no question asked. It’s less dangerous for everyone this way.”

“Fine,” Emile said. “We’ll just keep driving towards Logan and hope you’re right about where he’s going.”

“Of course, I’m right,” Remy said lightly. “I’ve got the paternal instincts going on. Course, they didn’t stop the knife throwing incident of ’09. I blame Janus for that, though.”

Emile shook his head at him.

“It is good for when he tries to steal sweets, or that one time he brought home a baby piglet and tried to hide it from me in his bedroom. Or when he’s feeling anxious about something but won’t tell me because he thinks it’s silly.” Remy’s own fingers tapped out an anxious pattern against his knee. “It also worked with the golf cart incident, but it was too late. Again, I blame Janus. He messes with the paternal instinct meter. He’s far too unpredictable and I make the mistake of thinking he’s responsible, which he is half the time, but the other half of the time I remember that he’s still mostly a kid and one that grew up in an unstable environment. Did I tell you that last month they went and won a bunch of tickets at the arcade and used them to get those 5 ticket rubber ducks and just unloaded them all over my room? Honestly, you’d think a 21-year-old would have a better use for his money or at least have the brains to go buy them at a store. He could have gotten like 500 more ducks for the same amount of money. Of course, it was his mom’s money, so I guess I can get behind wasting it on arcade games and rubber ducks. The prank was apparently based on some comedy sketch Virgil found online.”

“You’re doing the thing again,” Emile pointed out calmly.

“Stop psych evaluating me,” he shot back.

“Fine, fine,” Emile said. “Keep distracting yourself from your emotional responses with silly stories. See if I care.”

“Thank you,” Remy replied. “I will.”

Emile sighed as he started back up again mumbling something about having taken away Virgil’s Gameboy after catching him playing it at 3 o’clock in the morning. He claimed this wasn’t because the boy hadn’t gotten any sleep, but because he insulted Donkey Kong to Remy’s face. After that story had run its course, Remy continued to babble at an increasingly fast pace about all sorts of things. Emile imagined most of the stories he sprouted out were quite embellished.

He’d tried to turn on the radio once, but Remy had slapped his hand away saying, “The next one’s a really good one.” So, he had resigned himself to his fate of tuning out Remy’s coping mechanism to the best of his abilities and just focusing on driving for the next 45 minutes. Which is probably why he noticed that traffic had strangely decreased. He didn’t really pay that much mind until the traffic suddenly increased… in the form of a wall of stopped cars.

“Jenkies, what’s going on?” he asked, as he came to a stop at the end of the line of cars.

“Um…” Remy said looking out of his car window. There, staring into their car with beady black eyes was a cow. As Emile watched, said cow leaned forward to drag its tongue across the passenger side window. “Shit.”

Chapter 14

“You two doing okay back there?” Roman asked, glancing into the rearview window at them as he exited the interstate onto highway 236.

“We’re perfectly fine,” Janus replied evenly.

“Ow ow ow ow ow! You’re crushing me!” Remus complained. Janus was currently sitting on his chest, pinning him to the back seat.

“You should probably put your seatbelt on,” Roman advised.

“You’re probably right,” Janus agreed.

“No! Get off!” Remus said. “Or I’m going to scream!”

“Oh, because you don’t scream randomly when someone isn’t sitting on top of you?” Janus shot back. Roman officially liked Janus; he’d just decided. “Give me that!” Janus said, and a moment later, Remus’s phone was thrown into the passenger seat.

Remus whined and Roman glanced back at them once again, amused. That is when he caught sight of a car behind them. He glanced at his speedometer and then back at the car. Roman was currently going a little over 90mph, having slowed down a bit now that they were off the interstate. Yet, the car was gaining on them.

“Hey,” Roman said. “Wh-,” and that’s when a bullet came through the back window right past Janus’s head. “Holy fuck!” Roman screamed, swerving a bit before getting the car back under control. Remus grabbed Janus by the front of his shirt and pulled him down as more bullets rained on them courtesy of the car Roman had spotted. The glass from his car’s back window shattered over the two of them.

Roman pressed his foot down harder on the accelerator and started purposefully swerving to throw off their shots as Remus shoved Janus down onto the floor so he could lunge into the front seat. He grabbed the gun Roman stored in his glove box and loaded it with practiced ease.

“My bag,” Janus requested, and Remus threw the asked for object over his shoulder before rolling down the window.

“Methinks mommy dearest’s people may have found us,” Remus commented.

#study break stories #remy sanders #remus sanders #roman sanders #janus sanders #logan sanders #virgil sanders #patton sanders #guns #platonic moxiety #platonic remile #creativitwins #emile piccani

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