#he is willing to take in incredible amounts of pain and responsibility just to understand himself and his previous life a bit better

[aslyran]

Visions

#i have so much love for botw link #he remembers nothing but the weight of the sword #he is willing to take in incredible amounts of pain and responsibility just to understand himself and his previous life a bit better #its not as if he’s not responsible and courageous #but this iteration of link has lost so much-even before the game it seems taking his destiny has made him quiet #dunno remember who was it who wrote #‘the sword became a needle snd with the thread of destiny; it sew his lips’ #but apart from the desesperation of looking for a trace of himself in all things #he is also guilty and scared of what his past holds #anyways i should write a fanfic not pour this into tags #botw #breath of the wild #link #legend of zelda #master sword #animation #procreate dreams #link botw

[specialagentlokitty]

Farah x reader - not all bad

Staring at the woman in front of you, you narrowed your eyes a little bit at her.

“You think I don’t know what I am doing?” You asked.

“I’m not saying that, all I’m saying is that my students are still in danger and you are doing nothing to protect them. You have been here for half a year and yet they’re still in danger.”

You slowly crossed your arms across your chest as you looked at her.

“Do you understand it is my job to deal with this without your students knowing?”

“I am aware of that (Y/N).” Farah sighed.

“Right, and do you understand how incredibly hard that is? Right now I have people trying to find out how they’re infiltrating Solaria, and some of these demons attach themselves to people. I can’t exactly be rid of them that easily, it takes time and precision.”

Farah sighed, running a hand down her face as she sat on the edge of her desk.

“I know. I need to know why they’re coming after my students. Yet you’re not telling me anything, I thought you were supposed to be the coordinator between Alfea and true cross.”

“And I am, and somethings I am instructed on who I can tell, right now we’re not sure what the plan is. We’re not sure what’s bringing them here. It could be the amount of power they can sense coming from the school.”

“Then what are you doing to stop this?!” She snapped.

“I am under orders Farah! I can only do so much!”

“They’re children!”

“I know!” You yelled.

You ran your fingers through your hair, and sighed as you tried to calm yourself down.

“I know. But until I get the orders there’s nothing I can do I’m sorry. All I can do is kill the ones that come on site, that’s my orders.”

“So you’re willing to put my students at risk for orders?”

“I’m sorry.”

You turned around and started to leave.

“If any of my students get hurt (Y/N) you better be ready to accept responsibility for that.”

You spun around, pointing at her.

“Don’t you dare do that Farah Dowling. You know the situation, you know what has to happen.”

“And I meant what I said.”

“I’m trying.”

You turned around again and she stormed forward and grabbed your hand.

“Don’t try! Do! Because I will rain down hell if anyone gets hurt because you won’t stop this!”

You spun around and slapped her hand away and Farah screamed in pain and you looked down at your hand seeing the blue flames licking at your skin.

Then you looked up at her, looking at her red hand.

The fire died down and you stared at Farah as she stared at you in horror, looking at the flames surrounding your body.

“Farah I..”

“Get out of my school right now.” She hissed.

“Farah listen to me…” you whispered.

The door was thrown open and Saul rushed in and he looked at Farah holding her hand and then looked at you.

“What the hell…?” Saul whispered.

“They sent a demon to clear the demons, that’s why’re they’re here. Because of (Y/N).”

Saul drew his sword and you did the same thing, activating the flames again and you looked at them.

“They’re not here because of me… why do you think they sent me? I can see them no problem, I can sense them and kill them quickly.”

“You’re the child of Satan!” Farah yelled.

“You need to go.” Saul growled.

You sighed, lowering your sword as you lowered your gaze.

“I’m nothing like my father…”

“You’re father is responsible for the blue night! I do not want a demon inside my school!”

Putting your sword away, you kept your flames out as you looked at them, stuffing your hands in your pockets as you backed away a little.

“I am so sorry Farah.. I.. I never meant.. I’m sorry..”

You turned around and left.

You didn’t bother to gather your things, you simply just left Alfea, leaving your flames out so people would move out of your way.

You hung your head sadly as you walked down the road, taking one last look at the school you turned to the man stood at the gates.

“Bring in more exorcists, I’m going home, if anything changes let me know.”

He nodded his head and you carried on walking, waving your hand up, you opened a small flaming gate and you walked though it.

You left Solaria all together, sitting on the roof of the other school, you sighed to yourself as you looked over the water.

“This is why we don’t grow attached to people.”

You glanced at the purple demon next to you.

“Shut up Mephisto.”

He raised his hands and sat down next to you, and you punched his shoulder.

“Ouch, what was that for?” He pouted.

“I’m mad, that’s why.”

“Well you do still have a world to rule over, that’s better than anything some fairy can offer you.”

You shrugged a little bit.

“I’m going to stay here for a while.”

You only stayed for a day because you got tired of your brother pestering you, so you went back to the first world.

Sitting on the throne, you rested your head on your hand as you looked down at the bustling demons below you.

You were bored of this, bored of babysitting them and making them behave.

You were bored of being a ruler, it’s why you went to Solaria in the first place, for a change of pace.

“Is everything okay your highness?”

You flicked your eyes to the demon next to you.

You ignored her and went back to staring at nothing.

Farah approved the increase of exorcists that were sent to Alfea to help protect the students, and she sent an angry letter to the people that had sent you.

She was furious, and that was an understatement to say the least.

But just as it seemed like everything was fine, there was an influx in attacks from the demons, and they were struggling to keep them away.

“We need to bring them back.”

“I am not bringing them back and that’s final.”

“As an exorcist who has been in charge of them, I, Owen Peterson, can confirm (Y/N) is the only one who can deal with this!” He snapped.

“They’re a demon!” Farah snapped back.

“And as it stands right now you have a higher class demon awakening in your forest attack the school! If that demon wakes up this school, this realm is done for!”

“They’re the child of Satan himself! I’ve seen their flames! Blue flames!”

Owen threw his hands into the air.

“They’re one of the demon kings! Each realm aside from Solaria has a demon king ruling over it. (Y/N) is the ruler of the first world, they’re a direct descendant of Satan yes. And that means they’re the most powerful demons, the only one who can bring a demon down like this and who would.”

“Can’t your people deal with this?” Farah asked.

Owen sighed, shaking his head.

“We can hold it off for a few more days, a week at most but that’s if. We can put up a barrier but that thing will break through it in a matter of hours, we need (Y/N) back.”

Farah placed her hands on her desk and sighed, looking at the bandage around her hand.

She wanted to protect her students, but she didn’t want to bring you back to Alfea.

“As this demon grows it’s going to release spores, these are going to attack to everything, they will slowly kill everything. I’m sorry but regardless of what you want I’m bringing them back.”

Owen left before Farah could reply and she sighed, sitting down at her table as she ran her hands down her face.

She didn’t know what to do.

You haven’t moved from your chair in hours, and you looked to the side when your phone started to ring.

Reaching over you declined the call and it rang straight away.

“Lorzo answer that, I’m not interested in taking the call.”

“Of course.”

The demon picked up the phone and answered it for you.

“It is a Farah Dowling requesting to speak to you.”

“Put it on speaker.”

He nodded and put it on speaker.

“I need to talk to (Y/N) immediately.”

“Their highness does not wish to speak.” Lorzo replied.

You heard Farah sigh on the other end.

“I need their help.”

“You made it perfectly clear you do not want me there, so I am not there.”

“(Y/N) please, we don’t have the people to handle this. Owen said you’re the only one who can kill this demon.”

You took the phone from the demon and waved him away.

“One minute you don’t want me there now you do?”

“Stop this nonsense. Stop being childish.”

“Simply stating the obvious Farah.”

She sighed again and you stood up, setting the phone down you listened to her talk as you looked at the doors that opened.

You gestured to the man to be quiet and he nodded as he walked over and handed you your sword.

Putting it on your back, you stretched a little as you looked down at your phone and shrugged leaving it there.

You followed Owen out and quietly closed the door.

“Did you really have to leave her on call?” He asked.

“I don’t want her to know I’m actually going.”

He nodded his head and you assessed the situation as he showed you some maps.

“Right, let’s go.”

You travelled back to Solaria and began to make your way to the forest where the waking demon was slowly infecting the area.

Farah stopped talking and stared at her phone and she hung up.

“Anything?” Saul asked.

She shook her head.

“I don’t know if she muted herself or if she was just refusing to talk to me.”

“Then what do we do?”

She shook her head, unsure as to what they were supposed to do now.

You started to walk up the trail and stopped, reaching down, you placed your hand and the little white spores growing on the ground and lit them on fire.

“I thought you send it was waking up.”

“It is. That’s what we were told.”

“Owen, it’s already woken up, it’s spores shouldn’t be this far, you need to evacuate everyone from this area, now!”

You drew your sword, flames surrounding you as you looked at him.

“Take them all back to Alfea, create a barrier to stop them from reaching the school.”

He nodded and ordered the evacuation and you ran as fast as you found, cutting through anything that was on your way.

You could easily see the demon, it was huge, and it seemed to have spotted you because it began to attack you.

Farah watched as the exorcists ran back towards the school and her and Saul rushed outside.

“What’s going on?” She asked.

“Immediate evacuation, it’s already awake, we need to brace the school.”

They looked out at the forest where the spores slowly crept closer.

You were hit to the side, and you rolled over some rocks but you quickly stood back up and the wounds had already started healing.

You jumped over the next attack, using this as a chance to get closer you ran along the wall of spores, swinging your sword as they tried to get you.

Running up the large creature, you looked for the opening you needed to kill it, you needed to stab it’s eye, the only part of it that would kill it.

But you couldn’t find it.

Enhancing your flames, you just ran around blindly attacking, your flames growing larger and larger by the second until they burned the sky.

Everyone stared at the blue flames, the bursts of flames that appeared in the sky before vanishing again.

“(Y/N)!” Farah yelled.

“Their fine, we have to wait.”

Farah nodded but watched the flames anxiously.

You landed on the ground and looked up at the demon, and it seemed to study you for a minute.

“You recognise your own kind you ugly bitch?”

It attacked again, and you jumped, but you didn’t jump high enough before you were throwing into the trees.

They snapped as you impacted them and eventually you stopped and hit the ground with a heavy thud and you groaned a little.

It was moving closer, and it hit you back again.

Slowly standing up, you let go of what you were holding on.

You released all your power in a terrifying burst of demonic flames that shot out in every direction, taking over the forest by storm but not burning anything but the spores.

Farah and a few others stepped back at the sight of the flames shooting closer, but they stopped just after the trees.

All she could do was stare.

Yelling, you jumped, digging your sword into it, you swung yourself up again and started to run around once more.

You dragged your sword up it’s arm, letting it on fire, and you did the same on the other side.

Jumping down, you dragged the flaming sword down it’s body, igniting it in a bright blue fire and it stumbled back a little.

And you saw it, you’re opening.

Running back, you saw the attack coming out the corner of your eye, and you threw your sword just as it’s arm collided with you, slamming you into the cliff base.

You slumped to the bottom and you looked at the demon burst and die.

You kept your flames where they were, killing the spores so they couldn’t spread and to make sure everything was okay.

Bringing a hand up to your mouth you wiped a bit of blood as you sighed, resting your head back.

Owen looked at the flames and he held his hand up and the barrier was dropped.

“This is now a rescue mission, find anyone that didn’t make it back and bring them here. Medics get ready, and if you see (Y/N) shout!”

The exorcists ran in different directions and Farah didn’t hesitate to run to the trees and she stopped.

She watched the people run through the flames and she looked at them, hesitant to go.

Slowly, she reached out a hand and touched them, and they didn’t burn her so she slowly walked in and started to run.

“(Y/N)!” She yelled.

She kept calling your name as she ran up the trail, following the path of destroyed trees.

She found your sword but didn’t see any sign of you, so she shouted your name again.

You heard Farah calling your name, and you reached up a shaking hand, moving your hand down, you created a stream of fire that rushed along the ground.

Farah looked around, and she stopped when she saw the flames creeping closer.

They stopped, and the rest of the fire died down to nothing aside from this one trail.

So, she followed it, and it receded as she carefully watched it.

You watched her walk through the trees getting closer, and you lowered your hand making it vanish, and you drew a small breath, holding your hands over your ribs.

“Here… to yell at me again..?” You mumbled out.

She looked up and walked over, kneeling in front of you she set your sword down and shook her head.

“Are you okay?”

You nodded your head.

“Yeah, it’ll heal soon. Just.. need to sit here..”

Farah nodded her head and reached out, wiping the blood from the corner of your mouth with a small frown.

“Why didn’t you say anything..?”

You sighed a little.

She looked at you, blue flaming horns on your head, pointed ears, eyes glowing slightly and flames covered your wounds, slowly healing them.

“For that exact reason..”

You turned your head away from her.

“I didn’t ask for this… I never wanted to be this..”

Farah reached out, placing her hand on your face to tilt your head towards her.

“I was putting a lot on you, I’m sorry. I was just so worried for everyone. I should’ve trusted you.”

You looked at her and she smiled.

“I’m sorry.. I didn’t mean to hurt you Farah.. I.. I lost control..”

“It’s okay. It’s alright. It’s healed, good as new.”

You nodded your head and you closed your eyes as you rested your head back, furrowing your brows a little bit.

“Thank you for coming (Y/N).”

“You called.. I came..”

“And I mean it. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, thank you so much.”

You peaked an eye open to look at her.

“You owe me.”

“Whatever you want.”

You grinned a little.

“Dinner?”

“Are you seriously asking me out on a date right now?”

“So is that a yes?”

Farah laughed a little.

“Yes. It is.”

You grinned a little more, and Farah looked at your shirt as it moved.

You reached down, lifting your shirt to show her a tail that was coiled around your waist and you uncurled it, and it moved from side to side.

She looked at the tail then looked at you amused and confused.

“Any self respecting demon knows one much hide their tail unless they’re comfortable with whom their showing it to.”

Farah reached out and you took her hands, lacing your fingers with hers.

“Absolutely not. No touching.”

“Alright, I won’t touch it.”

You kept your fingers laced with hers as you pushed yourself up and grabbed your sword with your other hand, resting it on your shoulder.

“Let’s get back.” She smiled.

You nodded and started to walk, and Farah glanced back at your tail swaying happily behind you.

When she was sure you weren’t looking she reached down but you lightly tapped her hand away.

“Bad.”

#fate the winx saga imagine #fate the winx saga x you #fate the winx saga x reader #fate the winx saga #farah dowling imagine #farah dowling x you #farah dowling x reader #farah dowling

[notdoneintentionally-blog]

Atypical friendships: Aguni-Ann

Notes:  DISCLAIMER: this has nothing to do with the other Aguni-Ann content in my blog. I just think they both exude ‘tired uncle/aunt’ energy and they’d be able to channel it together. They’d also bond over a mutual exasperation over Hatter’s antics. I’m tagging @aguniiguess​ and @agunimorizono​ as Aguni, and @an-from-forensics​ as Ann, so they can tell me how many I got right!

If you want to see the other parts of ‘atypical friendships’, look under this tag in my blog.

- Aguni is the only person willing to help her out in the dissection room without vomiting in the process. He's also strong af, which comes in handy whenever she needs to break bones. They’ve performed several craniotomies together! Friendship goals✨ 

- Every time he comes back from a game, he comes back injured, and she's the one to take care of his wounds. He trusts her expertise, and he's the only person willing to endure the amount of pain that comes from getting treated by Ann (since she's used to working with corpses, she isn't very good at not making her living patients suffer). 

- When they're in a game together, it’s cleared within two seconds. They're so efficient together, Ann just has to say two words and Aguni is on it. They've perfected the art of understanding each other without saying a word, so sometimes Ann just has to look at him and he's already moving. 

- Aguni will not tolerate any of the militants doing/saying anything disrespectful about Ann, no matter if it's in private. He knows she's worth more than all of them. Also, in a game, if any of the militants suggest using an as bait and getting her killed to help them clear the game, they mysteriously never end up alive. 

-They’re the only ones capable of handling Hatter, to an extent. At executive meetings they’ve developed a way of communicating with each other with body language so they know who has to deal with Hatter. Aguni crosses his arms in front of his chest and he’s really saying: ‘I was the one to convince him that we shouldn’t make a zoo next to the annex. It’s your turn now.’ Ann tilts her sunglasses and she’s replying ‘How do you expect me to tell him the executives aren’t going to throw an Unbirthday party for him? This sounds more in your lane.’  

-Speaking of Hatter, they play a game together called ‘how many bottles can we steal from Hatter’s minibar without him realizing it?’ (It’s not a game it’s just them trying to prevent him from dying of alcohol poisoning). It’s incredibly amusing how Hatter installed the ‘you can only wear beach clothes’ rule to prevent anyone from hiding firearms and yet Ann once managed to hide two bottles of vodka and a wine one right in front of his nose.  

- Ann is interested about Aguni's time in the yakuza military, and Aguni is interested about her job. They have profound conversations about death and life that come from both of them having jobs very centered around that. 

-Whenever he has a headache, he excuses himself saying Ann called him to go help her in the dissection room and just goes there to have a few moments of peace, which is impossible to have literally anywhere else in the Beach. It’s quiet there, and Ann doesn’t mind him being in the room as long as he doesn’t distract her. She gives him an Ibuprofen, he gives her something he picked up from the vending machine for her, and they sit in silence until Ann’s done with her work. 

- Aguni has taught Ann how to handle a firearm, just in case. He suspects she keeps a small handgun in her room but he isn’t going to check (he trusts her to be responsible with a firearm more than any of the militants. He also knows that if she’s hidden it, he’d never find it in a million years. She’s too clever).

-Ann is on a mission to find out what the borderlands are and sometimes uses the militants to get her stuff, no matter how strange. Aguni makes sure they bring back exactly what she asked. ’She told you to bring five kilos of soil and the scale says there’s only 4.8. Start digging.’

-Ann is the only person Aguni trusts enough to leave Akane with, because she’d be the only person Akane would actually respect and not be sassy with. It does come with the disadvantage of Akane being extra sassy to him when he gets back, just to make up for lost time. 

-Their love language is sarcasm. About 90% of their interactions are sarcastic. Here are two examples: 

#aguni morizono #an rizuna #alice in borderland #aib #aib headcanon #aib season 2 #atypical friendships

[datastate]

do you ever kind of fucking lose it over the sheer amount of things shigeo does for total strangers. taking the time to befriend a traumatized, ill-informed guy whose clearly being manipulated by his boss despite it being the middle of a crisis. saving a bunch of random kids because his brother cares about them. getting hit by a truck for a kid he doesnt know because he doesn't have enough time to use his powers. he's not 100% (heehee) selfless and he constantly does not do things for other people that he could definitely do but there's an emotional aspect to risking yourself for someone you love and an entirely different one for risking yourself for someone just because theyre a person and they dont deserve this

it's genuinely one of the most appealing parts of the series!!! shigeo's still young, but it's because he's been shaken to the reality of what his powers are capable of so early on that he ends up. taking this responsibility in crisis. he's doing what he can to prevent destruction/death (without using his powers on living beings, because he considers that in itself. dangerous), and will show people the destruction they've brought as well. not in a malicious way, but because he is giving them the benefit of the doubt that they don't understand the gravity of misuse.

many of the other espers them are reluctant to admit this because they've already experienced isolation due to their powers and have found relief in being able to show that. you can see the catharsis at shigeo's breaking point in the mogami arc -- finally reclaiming this and feeling justified in it at this point. my words may be a bit messy here & i apologize, but. i really loved this arc for how painful it was to watch by comparison to what shigeo actually wants. and it was very interesting to me seeing that it's not just his memories of the people he personally cared for that brought him back, but what brought him here at all: "i came here to save someone" ... that moment brings back the heart he tried so hard to keep, even when his classmates wouldn't bother with him. he instead directed it to other living beings whose provocation he could understand - and because he now understands that this reality was intentionally meant to provoke him, that's when he understands he's the same as other human beings in justifying his right to exist. everyone is trying to guarantee their safety; the ambitious see safety as 'power' and others may see safety as 'apathy' ... but granting someone that chance to step into actual safey -- unconditional support -- is incredibly important for setting that first stone of a new path that doesn't rely on violence to guarantee it. and with all he's gone through, he's been forced to save himself from the brink of that, too. re-realize that acting upon violence would begin to carve into his personal bonds as well. it goes against what reigen asked of him, and it would force ritsu to relive the pain mob put him through with the added fear of his intention.

just! ahhh, this is specifically within the context of mp100's message, some parts i find to be a bit more difficult to apply on a large scale -- but again, this is an anime meant for younger audiences and it does so, so well at conveying the importance of having that stance that ignorance is one of the main causes of interpersonal conflict. whether it's willing or unwanted, that's what a lot of the antagonists end up confronting ... or even force shigeo to acknowledge!!

i was surprised (in a good way!) when i first realized that ritsu was going to be the antagonist, especially because it put his kindness toward shigeo in a new light that is really valuable for both of them! it plays into a fear that both of the kageyama kids have, and having ritsu admit that aloud finally gave them both a chance to. acknowledge this and work toward finding a healthy balance again. he'd seen proof of shigeo's improvement when fighting suzuki, managing to control its extreme when he recognized ritsu was afraid of seeing him fall to that psychic overdrive. &... in a weird sense, i feel like ritsu would be relieved seeing that mob's final psychic overdrive wasn't merely the cause of stress, but near-death; an uncontrollable situation where something had to take hold to make sure shigeo survived. this was a sudden shock to shigeo's whole that forced him to confront the internal conflict quickly instead of that slow process of reconnecting with that part of himself; & ritsu now has the power to help shigeo. not defend himself, but extend what he'd been asking for so long & never pushed mob to confess: is something wrong ?

i am getting. a bit off-track but just. handshaking you. this series is so, so good and i love the connections they manage to find and keep after battles. shigeo is such a good character for this because he carefully balance's a child's hope for others along with confronting the results of his own psychic breakdown, leading him to a much wiser position of how to help other people realize their own naivete;;

#SOMETIME... WE SHOULD TALK ABT MP BECAUSE. RAHHH #it's really good. it's a minor interest atm but it's So so good TT_TT & I LIKE HEARING YOUR THOUGHTS ON THINGSSS... the few chances we get #mp posting #ask #friends #dysaniadisorder

[aminiatureworld]

Return to Me

Characters: Albedo, Scaramouche, Xiao, gn!reader

Word Count: 4,538

Warnings: Violence, Minor villain death

Premise: What is it like when the one you most adore becomes a stranger? And how’re you supposed to pick up the pieces?

In which the reader loses their memory.

Author’s Note: Just a note that this is not how actual amnesia works, and if you’re experiencing memory loss please contact your doctor.

That being said the amnesia is really good for angst and pining so how could I resist? It’s one of those guilty pleasure tropes I like to read and think of so I hope I did it justice.

Albedo

Albedo loved two things in this world, alchemy and you. They were what kept him centered, what kept him sharp and curious and full of life. So how could it be that one of those things should cause him such great unhappiness, and that said unhappiness should be the other’s suffering?

It had been a dangerous experiment, from the beginning Albedo was well aware of that. Testing whether or not elemental energy contained traces of elements via water could yield incredibly useful results about magic’s interaction with the ordinary world. But it could also backfire massively. Noxious gases, explosions, anything was possible.

But he’d thought he was prepared. After all you two had hiked all the way to the edges of Windrise specifically so no one would be around, and Albedo had even put up a barrier with the express intention of keeping anyone from getting hurt. It should’ve been fine, everything should’ve been fine, and yet when the Electro Slime condensate hit the water and the explosion knocked you both off your feet, slamming into the ground three meters from where you’d originated, he could only wonder how things had gone so wrong.

Picking himself up after a few agonizing seconds, every bone and muscle in his body stiff and aching from the sudden impact, Albedo crawled over to where you lay. To his horror you appeared to have hit a rock, and your head was bleeding slightly. Cupping your face in his hands the alchemist rasped out your name. The relief he felt when you opened your eyes was only momentary, replaced by shock and a sense of utter emptiness when you made out a groggy: “Who are you?”

Electro slime elements appear to contain no small amount of Chlorine, which, combined with only the hydrogen as a result of the electricity splitting the water molecules apart, caused an explosion. Although normally Albedo might’ve been thrilled by the discovery of an element only found mixed in the natural world, now he could only look upon that experiment with a raw sort of hatred that he hadn’t known he’d possessed. The ice around the alchemist’s heart had been burned away, and now all that remained was a burnt and shriveled up little thing, determined to make up for the lack of emotions by throwing its owner into the pits of despair.

Albedo spent all his time at first in the hospital and then in the apartment you two shared. You’d made an offhanded remark about how empty it looked, and Albedo had smiled awkwardly, not having the heart to tell you he could barely look at a piece of science equipment without a deep sense of loss. The doctors had said the effects should fade with time, but Albedo knew that there had been magic in the air, and a sick, twisted part of himself jeered that he was holding onto false hope.

It didn’t help that Albedo had been absolutely unprepared for the reality in which you couldn’t remember a thing about him, or your relationship. Never again would you rush up to him as you had before, excitement in your eyes and questions in your head. Memories of gathering crystal flies in the sunset and staying up all night, notes on old ruins swapped with sweet kisses and phrases that meant nothing at all, the beach where Albedo had sketched you for the first time and you had given him your first gift, all that was nothing to you, the stories of a stranger told by another.

“The first gift you gave me was a flower preserved in a solution of Cryo.” You said, words awkward and unsure in your mouth. Albedo knew that you weren’t really remembering it.

“That’s right,” he replied, voice light and calm, trying desperately to keep the despair from showing on his face. “It was a Cecilia. You said that it looked as if it was made of snow.”

“It sounds beautiful,” you replied, speaking more to yourself than to him, “I wish I could remember it.”

“You will someday, I’m sure of it.” He smiled, but the movement felt like too much effort to keep up and soon his face collapsed once more into an expression of melancholy. As if noticing this you smiled slightly in turn.

“Does it still exist?”

“Yes,” Albedo gazed out the window that faced you two. Beyond the buildings, only a few streets away lay his laboratory, locked away and gathering dust, “it does, but I cannot get it right now.”

“Oh,” you seemed at a loss for words, glancing down towards your hands, “that’s alright. I’d rather remember it on my own anyways.”

Albedo said nothing to this. Moving to place his hand on yours he paused. He was a stranger to you. This little act of comfort, all the little gestures he’d gotten so used to were now impossible. Dropping his hand to his side he moved to get you a glass of water, desperately trying to ignore the pain burning in his chest and in his heart.

_____

“Are these yours?”

Albedo placed the bag of groceries he’d just gotten on the floor. Moving over to where you were sitting, you were taking a break from adventuring until you remembered more, a decision made by the doctors for fear you’d forgotten how to control your vision. You had recently moved on from mostly sleeping to exploring your once familiar home, and now you sat curled on the couch; in your lap was a familiar book. Leaning over Albedo glanced at the page you were on.

“Yes, they’re mine. I like to sketch in my free time.”

“It’s beautiful,” you murmured, running your hand reverently over the slightly stained page, “I can see the different shades in the mountain, even if it’s only a pencil drawing.”

“I’m glad you think so,” Albedo smiled to himself, the memory of that day offering him some solace, “it was quite a difficult thing to draw.”

“It had an odd name.” You scrunched your nose slightly in concentration, an expression so cute Albedo could help but let out a huff of bittersweet laughter.

“Dragonspine. That’s the name of the mountain.” Turning to put the groceries away he paused when you spoke once more.

“No. That wasn’t it. It was something else. V-Vida something.” Albedo watched, incoherent thoughts and emotions clouding his mind as you retraced the circles you’d been making on the page beforehand. Suddenly your fingers stopped and you looked up. “Vindagnyr, yes that’s it! There’s a fortress up there, a, what did you tell me they were called, a domain. And that’s the name of it.” You closed your eyes once more. “Something happened there, something to do with you. I can’t remember it, if I was there or if you told me about it before, but something’s there. Something important.”

Albedo felt as if he must’ve been dreaming. The same sort of emptiness that had filled him at the beginning of this catastrophe was there, but this time there was something else, the bitter feeling of a hope that he couldn’t be sure of filling his lungs and his mouth. He turned back towards you, teetering forward as he tried to grasp the situation.

“Yes. That’s right. Vindagnyr. The name it had before it was essentially destroyed by Durin. I met the Traveler there, a week before I met you.” He sat down on the chair adjacent to where you were sitting, memories filling his mind. “It was also the first place we performed an experiment together.”

“I’d like to go there again then.” Your face was one of open triumph and excitement, and there was something in your eyes that Albedo thought he might never see again, a sort of recognition that he thought had been lost, “I know you haven’t been to your work once. I suppose it would make sense, considering what happened, but would you take me there?”

“Of course.” Albedo’s voice was sure and solid.

“Even though I might not remember more.”

“Even then.”

You reached your hand out to the alchemist, and after a second Albedo took it. He ran his thumb over the back of your hand slightly, and you made no move to withdraw, instead squeezing his palm slightly.

You had remembered something. It wasn’t everything of course, and there was no guarantee that there wouldn’t be heartbreak up ahead, wouldn’t be frustration and sorrow and moments when hope seemed very far away. But as long as moments like this existed, Albedo could hang on. The anger and despair that had burned inside him remained, but now something stronger resided there.

And that was hope.

 Scaramouche

“Do you see them?” You whispered, raising your head slightly above the rock you were hiding under. Scowling Scaramouche made a cutting gesture with his hand.

“Yes I see them. And get back down!”

Although his tone of voice was harsher than usual you smiled a smile of understanding as you lowered yourself once more out of sight. Scarmouche took a deep breath in response, trying to control the coiling tension that sat in his stomach. Today’s mission was an unenviable one, made only worse by your presence, for Scaramouche knew these were no ordinary enemies, and though you could take care of yourself just fine there was a nagging in his head that refused to be silenced.

Your targets sat encamped up ahead, completely nondescript in appearance, although that was hardly surprising of deserters of the Fatui, especially ones of such high caliber as them.

Scaramouche’s expression twisted into a scowl of concentration once more as he thought about the moment when you two had received your orders to get rid of those who knew of the dealings of the army of the Tsaritsa, and who were certainly willing to dispose of said secrets for the right price. Although they were no doubt traitors of the worst sort and worth less than dirt, there was still something unpleasant about fighting people who had once been comrades. You’d mused it was because of the bonds of mutual struggle and culture, but Scaramouche suspected for himself it was more the annoyance of fighting people who were at least somewhat trained.

Scaramouche gave the signal and you crept once more out from behind your hiding spot. Manifesting your polearm Scaramouche could already see the well worn metal steaming. This battle was going to be bloody.

At first everything had gone well enough, being hidden on a ledge about the camp you’d managed to do a great deal of damage, made easier by their surprise and ill planned position. However things quickly began to turn sour. The ex-Fatui might not’ve had the equipment of their army days, but they retained the ruthlessness that had once made them so efficient and now made them so dangerous.

There was an odd smell running through the valley, the smell of electricity and something burning. Scaramouche stood in front of a man who had certainly once been a vanguard and a woman who appeared to have been a Cryo mage. Sweat coated their faces but Scarmouche felt cold with the thrill of battle. Electricity crackled to life in his hands and already bits of electricity were dancing on the charred and dinky armor of his enemies. What were they thinking sending a Harbinger against a pathetic group such as this? It was laughable, really.

“Such a pity that members of such an elite force are going to die like dogs.” He drawled. The woman in front of him gritted her teeth, summoning a trail of icicles which Scaramouche easily leapt over. “Is that truly your worth?” He laughed, before the calm that always came with killing washed over him. “Your best is hardly worth my worst.” Gathering electricity, Scaramouche prepared for the final, searing strike.

The man in front of him smiled a sickening sort of smile, the kind that one made only when they knew that it was the end, and then it all went wrong.

The sound of your voice was muffled by the energy approaching Scaramouche from behind, as the outline of a transparent sort of figure clipped his vision. Quickly whirling around Scaramouche was unprepared for the third ex-Fatui member, an agent who had apparently learned his skills well, bearing down on him. Raising his hands, the Harbinger was suddenly thrown aside by an unknown force. Fire made contact with lightning and the ground exploded.

Fighting to retain consciousness Scaramouche was aware of the sickly smell of burning flesh. Blinking away the confusion he glanced at the carnage around him. The agent lay haphazardly, face half obscured by a mass of flesh that must’ve once made him up but now seemed out of place. Behind him the other agents had hardly feared better, and the charred visage of mangled flesh replace what had once been arms, legs, necks. It was an unsettling view, and though Scaramouche couldn’t say it was the worst thing he’d ever seen it still left a vile taste in his mouth. How quickly a fragile little human could come undone, made into that which was unrecognizable.

Finally he fixed his gaze towards you, relieved to find that there was no apparent wounds, although that perspective shifted slightly when viewing your hands, which were covered with welts. Your fire must’ve mixed with his electricity, causing an overload of energy, and you two lying in the eye of the storm. Scaramouche looked at his own hands, and realized they were similarly reddened. Ignoring the pain he shook your shoulder. “Get up.” He let out when you finally opened your eyes.

However it was apparent very quickly that something was wrong. You eyes held no recognition in them, instead they seemed as blank and transparent as a mirror. Looking at him you furrowed your brow slightly.

“Where…” your gaze drifted towards the scraps of humanity around you and then there was nothing but screaming and a wetness on Scaramouche’s cheeks that felt suspiciously like tears.

“You need to get back to work.” Signora’s voice betrayed no sense of pity. Scaramouche was glad for it, he wouldn’t’ve been able to forgive her if there had been.

“I doubt those imbeciles need me for something as simple as the daily regime. If they do it’s their fault, not mine. I owe them nothing.”

“You owe them your work, it’s your duty as a Harbinger,” Signora’s eyes narrowed, “or have you forgotten that in your folly.”

“I’ve forgotten nothing!” Scaramouche snapped, eyes boring into those across from him. “I am well aware of what my obligations are and what they aren’t. As I said there is nothing of importance fir me right now, and I don’t wish to waste away my time with trivial matters.”

“What would our dear Tsarina think of such words,” Signora let out a dramatic sigh. Raising the glass she was drinking from to your lips she paused, “you best be careful. I cannot shelter you from your folly forever. Either you learn how to deal with this… unfortunate incident and your work, or I shall have that person thrown out into the snow.”

“You wouldn’t dare.” Scaramouche’s tone was like acid and he felt for the moment as if letting go of himself wasn’t such a crime, for now there was no one to chastise him about it anymore.

“I’m warning you. Don’t forget what happens to those who cannot fulfill their duty to the Tsarina,” Signora paused, a cruel smile gracing her face, “or have you forgotten who caused this in the first place.”

It was all Scaramouche could do not to set the tent ablaze.

“Get. Out.” He commanded. Signora sighed, shaking her head and downing her drink in one go before walking out and leaving Scaramouche with the feeling of falling apart.

_______

“Do you sing?”

Scaramouche lifted his head at the sound of your voice, surprised by the question. You hadn’t said much since the aftermath of the incident, and Scaramouche hadn’t forced you to. After all it was one of the things he’d first appreciated in regards to you, you’d never forced him to talk when he didn’t want to. Now he felt the need to afford you the same courtesy, knowing that intelligence still lay behind those eyes even if recognition had disappeared. Now he put down the document he was reading, smiling wryly and shaking his head.

“No. Why would you think that?”

“Because that’s what you’re called isn’t it? Your name, one of your names. The… the Balladeer?” You said it as if it was a question, and perhaps it was. Scaramouche couldn’t think however, couldn’t think over the rushing in his ears.

“Where did you hear that?”

“I don’t know. I just heard it. Or I remembered it. But that’s who you are, isn’t it?” You smiled, and for a moment Scaramouche could almost imagine life was as it was before. “Can you sing for me?”

“No.” This conversation had happened before.

“Fine,” you shook your head, “but one day I want you to sing for me, when I remember everything, then I want you to sing for me.”

“Fine.” Scaramouche managed to get out, afraid of the rising emotions he felt, afraid they might break through his voice.

“You’re missing work, aren’t you.” You continued on, gaze piercing through him. “I can tell, I can hear people whispering about it when I go out. I’m not supposed to be here, and you’re supposed to be working. If what you told me really is what happened, you should work.”

“Ridiculous,” Scaramouche scoffed, “I can manage my own affairs. Besides,” his voice grew softer, as if he didn’t want to reveal himself to you. You were too familiar, but still a stranger, and a part of him hid behind the walls he built up around everyone else, the walls only you could climb over. “Besides, who would look after you.”

“I can look after myself.” Your answer was as confident as it had always been. “I have to, since I trust what you’ve told me about myself, about this work, this world.”

“It was you not looking after yourself that lost you your memory!” He was shouting by now, he was shouting but he couldn’t stop because if he stopped shouting he’d be crying.

“Perhaps. But it’s not looking after me to end up like the people we fought. So go to your work. And maybe one day when you come back, I’ll remember.”

He couldn’t say no to you, eventually you won. It had been that way since the beginning, you tearing down his bluffing and his empty promises. Perhaps it was what he appreciated most about you.

Every moment Scaramouche was away from you felt like he was betraying a part of himself, a part he had hid for so long. But you were right, just like before, and just like before you’d won him over with your honesty, your refusal to back down, and your view of the Harbinger for what he truly was, someone who was deep down truly afraid. That part of you remained, somehow without memory and without certainty it remained.

And if that part of you remained, well maybe some day the rest would return.

 Xiao

“Xiao look!” You let out a cry of delight as you threw yourself off the tall stone mountain, glider unfurling in a vibrant waves of color as you began circling in the air. Xiao scowled from the tree in which he was perched, unwilling to humor you in your folly.

“You’re going to be injured.” Although he hadn’t meant for you to hear that you still laughed at the comment, shaking your head as you once more carved shapes into the sky.

“It’s a lovely day for gliding! The air is so fresh and the breeze is just enough to keep you upright!”

“It’s too windy.” Xiao’s voice was flat. This was foolish, what you were doing was foolish. He could feel the currents, feel their laughter, their excitement. They were surely up to no good.

But you weren’t paying attention to that, instead you were gliding about as if you were born to fly. It was a beautiful sight, Xiao had to admit. The beauty of those immersed in what they loved. And what Xiao loved was you.

“Come on Xiao!” You called out. “Come fly with me!”

“No.”

“Oh c’mon, I know you can do it!” Screwing your face into a pout when the adeptus once more shook his head you shrugged. “Your loss.”

Xiao knew you were disappointed, but he couldn’t help it. It seemed somehow out of place for him to join you in whatever you were doing. Besides, he needed to keep track of the currents, just in case.

You dove down for a moment, and Xiao felt his stomach clench, knowing full well what you were doing, but unable to keep the worry out of his mind. And yet then you were flying up, up, up, up and though Xiao wanted to scold you, wanted to tell you to come down once more, he was rapt, in awe. You were too beautiful, and it stole his breath away.

A gust of wind came blowing through the stone monoliths and as your wings buckled and you plummeted towards the ground Xiao found that he was truly unable to breathe at all.

Perhaps it was a blessing that you were unconscious. Then you didn’t have to feel the way Xiao held onto your shoulders as if he’d never let you go, the way he gasped for the air he was supposed to be in charge of, the way his eyes were devoid of everything but fear. You hadn’t fallen so far, he told himself, you hadn’t fallen so far it was fatal. You were breathing, you were going to be fine. But he found himself unable to believe those words. If you had said them he would’ve, but there you were, a crumpled mess and he barely able to process the world around him.

Crashing onto the Inn balcony, not caring about the odd looks thrown his way, Xiao made his way upstairs. You were going to be fine. You were.

If only he could believe himself.

“They’re out of danger now.” Verr Goldet’s voice was calm, unnaturally so, and Xiao only softened a little at the knowledge, sure something had gone wrong. “But…” the innkeeper continued, confirming all of the fears Xiao had been secretly nursing.

“But.”

“But there seems to be a problem with their memory. They were very confused at first, unable to remember things such as Liyue, their duty as adventurer, this place, things like that. At first we thought it would clear, but now it seems that isn’t so. Their memory might be affected for quite a while.”

“I want to see them.” Xiao brushed past Goldet, determined to help you if this was to be your fate. But Goldet’s next words stopped him in his tracks.

“Xiao, they can’t remember you.”

At first there was the feeling of falling. And then, as Xiao vanished, there was nothing.

______

At first Xiao was determined to stay away completely. It hurt too much, hurt to think about what had happened. At first he’d managed to survive on anger, anger at the world, at you not listening to him, at himself for letting it happen. But quickly the anger faded and what replaced it was a loneliness so vast he couldn’t believe that he had managed to survive in such a way before he met you.

Still he didn’t want to go, didn’t want to see you as you were now, unaware of him and perhaps destined to remain so. How cruel fate was. It took everything he knew from him and just when he began to live again it took that to. It took away your memory, your livelihood, and for what? To punish him? It seemed unfair, so unfair.

So he’d stayed away, afraid that something would happened again to you if he were to show himself again. But the knowledge of such emotions as love is something that doesn’t fade, and Xiao found himself unable to continue on as before, finding the pain too great. He had to see you. At least to say goodbye, he had to see you. It would be unfair not to do so.

The moon was full, casting a silvery light on the landscape. Xiao drifted over towards the roof of the Inn, thankful that he was invisible, so as to not have to experience the moment your eyes reached him but you didn’t.

Your silhouette appeared quickly enough in the darkness. You seemed somewhat preoccupied, and yet there was a purpose to your step, made all the more evident by the Qingxin grasped firmly in your hand, a brethren of the other flowers which lay scattered on the railing.

“I know you’re there.” At first Xiao jumped, thinking perhaps you’d somehow managed to sense him. However he calmed down once you continued, it appeared you weren’t truly talking to him.

“I know you’re there. And I wish you’d come back,” You continued, gazing out on the landscape around you. “I don’t remember your name you see. They told me your name of course, but I wish they hadn’t, I wanted to remember it myself. It must be why you left, of course you didn’t want to see me like this. If what they said was true…” you shook your head, “I know it was true. I know that it had to have been true, that I cared for you, that you cared for me. I know because I miss you.” Xiao felt his heart pound in his chest, so loud he could barely hear you.

“I miss you so much. Isn’t that odd? I don’t know you anymore and yet I miss you. It’s as if something is missing. I mean, of course something is missing but it’s more than just the memories themselves. It’s the feeling. Like going outside without a coat on. I miss you, even if I can’t miss you because I can’t remember you I do, I miss you dearly.”

You paused, placing the flower on the railing next to the rest.

“I hope you see the flowers before they fade,” you called out softly to the dark, “and I hope one day I can look at you again. I remember you had such lovely eyes. I’d like to see them again to be sure.”

For a moment Xiao didn’t move, frozen by all he’d heard. But the minute you turned to leave he was already there, bound by the feelings he had for you, by the knowledge that continuing as he had been would kill him, would only hurt you.

“Do you remember me?” It was a silly question to ask, but he had nothing else to say. You turned towards him and smiled softly. It was true, your eyes didn’t recognize him. But there was something in your gaze nonetheless.

“Xiao.” You whispered, and the yaksha knew that he’d never be able to leave again.

#Don’t ask me why Albedo is mixing hydrogen with something that contains a halogen he and I are both just stupid like that #genshin impact #genshin impact fanfiction #requested #albedo #scaramouche #xiao #albedo x reader #scaramouche x reader #xiao x reader #scenarios #mine

[feralphoenix]

a thing that i really love about hollow knight is that part of its incredibly strict Show Don’t Tell policy means it works a lot in juxtapositions. comparisons and parallels.

like, rather than Telling us what makes for a good and responsible ruler, we get to know about various different heads of state in the various nations of the crater, and we can observe how they handled international relations, public policy, etc and the consequences/effects of their choices, and draw conclusions by ourselves.

there are lots of different parent-child relationships, and sibling relationships, so that we have many examples to compare ghost and their family to.

there are also a number of higher beings around and you can compare them to each other to understand their different approaches to godhood, how they handled being the center of a culture & the responsibilities that entails (radi, unn, tpk) or the ways they sidestepped those roles (white lady, grimm). in addition to forming our opinions of these characters this also contextualizes what ghost does when they attain godhood in the godseeker endings & after the delicate flower variant, in godseeker mode.

like you can use these points of reference for a lot of different analysis topics!!! but one of the things that always Gets Me In My Emotions is the direct juxtaposition between herrah, radiance, and tpk and how differently these three characters handle the cost of fighting Existential Crisis.

the pale king’s policy is officially No Cost Too Great, but just like the hunter says in hollow’s bestiary entry, for tpk “cost” was a thing for other people to pay, and he was not willing to risk any sort of harm to his own person. his plan to deal with the infection involved sacrificing the dreamers & the hollow knight, and his plan to create a hollow knight involved birthing hundreds of thousands of children who were designed to be expendable - they were there so he could experiment on them, select a candidate, cull the failures, and then sacrifice said candidate.

the worst tpk might have experienced through all this is emotional turmoil, and it’s left ambiguous in-game whether he was actually conflicted about the child sacrifice/felt attachment to hollow or whether his personal low point throughout all this was being butthurt about his wife walking out rather than birth a second batch of vessels for the slaughter. (he must’ve been pretty darn butthurt to have lied to the kingdom that the white lady was dead.)

as soon as his plan failed and he had no other recourse, tpk fled rather than expose himself to any potential harm. he was willing to - perhaps desperate enough to - expend any number of chess pieces if it would save hallownest, but his own life and safety was NEVER on the table.

just like tpk, radiance is trying to protect herself and her people. just like tpk and herrah, she too is willing to go to any lengths necessary to get the settlers to fucking step off, give her children back, and leave her alone.

for her this entails being willing to bend her own principles - i’ve talked about this in depth before so you can find all that in my essay tag if you’re interested, but in-game evidence points to radiance having been a pacifist like the rest of her tribe pre-hallownest. and the infection is a curse that’s only sometimes fatal, but it causes extreme amounts of harm and fear and chaos to inflicted parties. and this level of harm is something she’s willing to do just to threaten/pressure tpk into backing down.

her method also causes a large amount of collateral damage (including lateral harm to other indigenous bugs!), suggesting that she either doesn’t have the emotional wherewithal to worry about who might get hurt, or just plain doesn’t care. if you squint, it’s possible to make the argument that radiance might have warned unn before her counterattack against hallownest, but even then forewarning was the only mitigation she was able and willing to provide. if this is what it takes to protect herself and her tribe, then so be it.

so, compared to tpk, who chose to actively sacrifice the lives of individuals to protect the institution of hallownest, and radiance, who doesn’t care about splash damage to bystanders as long as she can save her tribe... what i find extraordinary about herrah is that when she determined that sacrifice was necessary to protect deepnest, she took all that sacrifice upon herself.

most obviously herrah accepts the role of dreamer in hopes of ending the plague, sacrificing her life. in order to keep tpk from taking advantage of that to conquer deepnest, she also negotiates that he has to provide her with an heir, thus ensuring deepnest’s sovereignty... but this means she has to have sex with the very creature who has been trying to commit genocide against the spiders for generations. she has to let her lifelong worst enemy who she’s been fighting alone since the death of her husband impregnate her. this decision had to have come with some form of emotional distress for her, and yet herrah shoulders it and soldiers through it.

and then even through this, it’s implied in the white lady and midwife’s dialogue (+ posed in the dev notes/style guide) that tpk snatched up hornet when she was a child to raise her in the white palace. it’s unclear whether he did this to keep hornet as a hostage to make sure herrah couldn’t renege on their treaty now she’d got what she wanted out of the bargain, to ensure his offspring would be raised in the culture he created rather than in deepnest, which he clearly believed to be barbaric and uncivilized, or both.

yet instead of calling bullshit and flouncing on the deal or trying to steal hornet back, thereby exposing deepnest to the threat of both the infection And aggression from hallownest once more, herrah stuck with it. midwife says that herrah paid dearly for her involvement with this plan, but herrah valued deepnest’s survival over her own individual life, and saw it through to the end no matter how tpk’s plan caused her to suffer or hurt her dignity.

there’s an incredible amount of nobility and integrity herrah shows here. she refuses to let any harm come to her country, and insists that any and all sacrifice required of her as a leader be her sole responsibility. her courage, her political intelligence, and her strength of character as a leader are all nothing short of awe-inspiring.

at the same time, there is still a downside to herrah’s spirit of self-sacrifice. as anyone who’s ever watched steven universe can tell you, self-sacrifice is actually kind of a shitty solution to one’s problems because self-destruction hurts the people who love you.

we get glimpses of hornet’s intense emotional torment over her mother’s fate and her understanding that it’s necessary to let ghost murder herrah to change the status quo; similarly we can understand the crushing amount of personal responsibility hornet feels towards the whole crater comes from knowing the cost of her own birth, and having front row seats to her parents’ political power struggle.

we hear from herrah herself that everything she does is done for hornet, so hornet’s pain is probably the last thing herrah would have wanted, but ironically what hornet goes through in hollow knight is a direct consequence of herrah choosing to martyr herself.

anyway all of this speaks SO much for herrah and radi and tpk’s individual priorities and problem-solving strategies and also their blind spots... plus, there’s a lot about herrah’s character that goes underappreciated and this is one of those unsung aspects. fandom... fandom blease be SAD about SPIDER MAMA with me

#hollow knight #herrah the beast #the radiance #the pale king #hollow knight meta #essay #this got longer than i meant it to be i just have a lot of FEELINGS about HERRAH HOLLOWKNIGHT #also about radi hollowknight too but everyone knows that already lol

[hlizr50]

Update: The Raven and the Songbird

Chapter 8 (It's a long one, y'all)

A choice, a conversation, and a question

Read on AO3

Azriel’s body was perfect.

Anyone who disagreed was surely blind.

Gwyn had been watching him for the better part of half an hour, choosing to sit in silence when he hadn’t acknowledged her presence. There was no possible way he didn’t know she was there – he would have scented her at the very least. Azriel was one of the most accomplished warriors in the history of Prythian, after all, and no-one could ever enter his sphere without notice. She had only managed a handful of times, and she had a sneaking suspicion that his shadows had been responsible.

Those shadows were coiled tightly to their master tonight, looking like they might snap from even the slightest brush of a finger. They mirrored the tension that rippled over the shadowsinger’s bare back. Gwyn smirked to herself as she silently cursed the Illyrian for focusing his frustration solely on the post in front of him, facing away from her and cruelly limiting her ogling. He’d opted for punches and kicks, no doubt requiring impact and pain to relieve whatever it was that had weighed on him today. She would have quite enjoyed the sight of that gloriously elaborate eight-pointed star, appreciating how the sweat would bead and trickle down his spine or between the muscled ridges of his stomach.

Mother above, he was beautiful.

Both of the Illyrians in her life were impossibly tall and built of solid muscle. They were the definition of power. But Cassian and Azriel were so utterly different. The general was brute force, hulking muscle, arrogant. The spymaster, though… He was leaner, strength hidden underneath an unfair amount of grace for a male of his stature. Gwyn had seen him shirtless many times, but rarely did she have the chance to appreciate the vision that he truly was. She wanted to memorize the tangled strokes of the tattoos that waterfalled down his neck and over his shoulders. She marveled at the ease with which he moved, even with his long legs and arms. His wings were magnificent, even as silver ribbons of scars streamed over the thin skin. She’d heard Nesta, Cassian, and Emerie talk about wingspan and how it related to other parts. That wasn’t particularly important to her, but it had still made her blush.

And his hands.

She knew Azriel was determined to hide and hate them, just as much as she was to love them and prove to him how special they were. She nearly crumpled in tears every time she recalled the cruelty that had marked them, fire and torment melting the flesh as quickly as it could be woven back together. The story of his childhood had shattered her heart, and she was even more awed that he had somehow grown into someone so considerate, noble, and kind. Gwyn longed to hold those hands, to trace her thumbs over the mottled flesh and make him feel her adoration for them. But she wanted them to adore her, as well. To feel those graceful calloused fingers gliding over her skin…

She felt warmth coil deep in her belly as it crept into her cheeks. Gwyn blinked away the haze in her eyes and chided herself. There was no reason to think things like that – she shouldn’t get ahead of herself.

The priestess scowled as she saw blotches of red blossoming over the strips of cloth wrapped around his hands. Enough was enough. She pushed herself up off the stone and strode over to where the Illyrian continued to batter the post, shadows still taut around his rippling shoulders and incredible wings.

“What’s wrong?” she called, making sure he could hear her over the echoing thunder of his fists against the padded wood. Azriel paused but didn’t turn to face her.

“Nothing.” He squared his shoulders again, but she would not have it.

“You’re a liar, Shadowsinger.” He straightened but didn’t respond. So Gwyn continued. “You were tense during training this morning and you skipped dinner. And I can only assume you were here instead because, violent and powerful as you are, it would take you longer than the last half hour or so to beat your hands to a bloody pulp.” She crossed her arms, the billowing blue of her robes tucking under her wrists. Gwyn bore into his back with her eyes, willing him to turn around and face her. She’d be damned if she let him shut her out, not after things had been going so well. She could feel her heart beating in time with his measured breaths, those toned shoulders shimmering as they rose and fell in the moonlight. She was so entranced by his breathing that she jumped when he flared his wings.

He finally turned around. His shadows had loosened, if only slightly. But it was a start. Gwyn shot him a grin, daring him to tell her that she was wrong – to deny that something was eating at him.

“It appears I’m caught, then.” Azriel’s voice was quiet and measured. Most wouldn’t understand how it differed from his usual tone, but it set the priestess on edge. She looked into the dark gaze of the spymaster, and somehow the angles of his face had sharpened. “Interesting training attire.” Gwyn ignored the lightning that seared through her as his eyes swept over her body, even though she knew there wasn’t much to see thanks to those robes.

“I didn’t come here to train.” She rolled her eyes. The shadowsinger’s cold stare flickered for a moment, a crack in that practiced stoic expression.

“Then why –“

“I came out here to make sure you were alright, Azriel.” Cauldron, he could be so dense. She cocked her head, watching his face relax as her words sank into him. And she might have heaved a relieved sigh as his shadows started twirling like candle smoke and hazel gleamed back at her in his widened eyes. Satisfied that she had been able to reach through his veil of detachment she strode toward him. Gwyn did not move her eyes from his, even as she stopped in front of him and pulled at one of his battered hands. She cradled it in both of hers, allowing her fingertips to caress the whorls of skin and blood-soaked rags. “Why don’t we go inside. I’ll take care of these and you can tell me what’s bothering you.” She kept her hold on him gentle, though she couldn’t help but tighten her fingers around his for fear that he might pull away. The priestess studied his tanned face, trying desperately to read any hint of where his silence was leading them. The spymaster mask had slipped, but aside from the pooling light in his hazel gaze and the easy wafting of the shadows there was no breath of what he was thinking.

Gwyn lowered her gaze, frustrated that he was still so reserved. But she would not give up – that was not her way. So she sighed as contentedly as she could muster and focused on his hand. She drew her fingers softly over his knuckles, surely cracked and stinging under the crimson stains she traced. Her fingers followed the paler lines of scars to the end of one finger, then the next, until she had attended to every piece of exposed skin she could find. Then she folded his fingers into his palm and raised his hand to her chest. She dared a glance up at him and found it difficult not to cower away from the intensity in his visage – burning liquid pools of hazel seemed to pierce straight into her soul. But she gathered her courage – from where she did not know – and stared back, lowering her chin and brushing her lips over his knuckles. Gwyn felt his intake of breath, even though his lips barely parted and his face betrayed nothing. The air around them grew thin and taut and she waited, once again, for him to pull away.

When his hand squeezed one of hers, she knew her cheeks had flushed a deep crimson. Mother, she was sure her face looked giddy with child-like hope, but she smiled up at that perfect face when she squeezed back. She earned a soft crooked grin in return.

“Lead the way, priestess.”

~~~

Azriel kept his wings tucked close as he was silently led through the house. It had not gone unnoticed by him that Gwyn had not released his mangled hand, choosing to keep those long fingers of moonlight tangled loosely with his own. He couldn’t quell the warmth that spread through him, and he couldn’t stop shadowy tendrils from circling down his arm and looping around the contact. If the priestess noticed she didn’t show it as she pushed open the door to the library.

“The library?” He raised his eyebrows, but his question was soft. He had assumed she would guide him to his room, but realized as soon as he’d voiced his surprise that it was a ridiculous assumption to make. Being alone together in his room would feel extremely intimate, and she was likely not ready for that.

“Is that alright?” Gwyn asked him as she turned to him with that lovely hand still grasping his own. “We could have gone to your room, but I know your privacy and space are important to you. I didn’t want to intrude on that.” Her head cocked as she blinked toward the ceiling, freckled nose scrunching in thought. Azriel felt the corner of his mouth quirk, unable to suppress his fondness for how expressive her features were. The warmth inside him took root as her words registered. She’d been thinking of him. Of his comfort and not her own. Irreverent and spontaneous as she was, her consideration for those she cared for was thorough and thoughtful. As surprising as she always was with her candor, Azriel was floored by the depth of her compassion.

“Actually, I’m not even sure I know where your room is so,” she shrugged and tugged him over to the settee, “the library will have to do. Now sit.” The spymaster dropped onto the cushions as if his body were unable to resist her command for even a moment, though she let go of him when he did so. The absence of her gentle touch left him aching and he looked up at her gleaming teal eyes. “I need some things to tend to your hands. Promise you won’t leave?” His heart pinched at the earnest plea as he tried to understand the emotions churning in that ocean-deep gaze.

“You have my word, Gwyn.” He hadn’t meant for his voice to be so rough, thick with other promises he wanted the priestess to ask of him. But he was inwardly smug as he watched the blush stain her freckle-painted cheeks.

“I’ll be right back,” she whispered and scurried out into the hallway.

Azriel allowed himself a chuckle at her reaction, running a hand through his dark locks. Then his mirth settled, a weight in his gut replacing the contentment he had felt only seconds before. He didn’t want to talk to anyone about his distaste for Illyria, least of all Gwyn. He didn’t want to see her eyes darken from his own sorrow, and he couldn’t bear for her to realize that just by being Illyrian he was a potential danger to her – a monster.

But, Mother above, this was Gwyn. He’d promised that he wouldn’t pull away, that he wouldn’t decide how she would react instead of giving her a chance. And somehow that beautiful warrior would not see the same things he did. Something inside him just felt it. So he would be brave and he would lay himself bare to her. Again. And he knew, terrifying as it was, that he would do it over and over – she need only pin him with that hopeful, caring gaze.

A clinkinterrupted his reverie, and he saw a porcelain bowl sitting on the coffee table, the water still rippling from its sudden appearance – no doubt a request to the house from Gwyn. As if on cue Azriel shifted his attention to the door and found the lovely copper-haired priestess pulling it closed behind her, a basket in her hands. He allowed himself a grin and let his gaze follow her as she crossed the room and placed the basket next to the bowl of water. Then she hiked up the waterfalls of blue robes and sat – somewhat unceremoniously – facing him on the couch. She chewed on her bottom lip for a moment, surveying her supplies and formulating her strategy, and the shadowsinger could feel the heat coil low in his stomach at the sight. It was a small mercy that she gestured for his hand and released that lip from her teeth.

With less trepidation than he expected, Azriel placed his scarred hand in Gwyn’s alabaster grip, but kept his focus planted on where they touched. Her long fingers were nimble as they worked against knots to unwrap the crimson-stained rags. As he might have expected, the wounds had already closed, his Illyrian blood providing swift healing. When the priestess scowled playfully, nose scrunched, he couldn’t stop himself from laughing.

“I suspect I might not have required your medical expertise, Berdara.” But the priestess just shrugged a shoulder, unaffected by the turn of events.

“It was only an excuse to get you to stop and talk to me,” Gwyn admitted before looking up at him, beaming that her ruse had succeeded. “So I’ll wash off the blood and make sure everything is fine. And you’ll start talking.”

Azriel just stared at her for a moment, shadows flaring in his periphery at her unabashed statement. Her hair shone like flames in the fae light as it fell over her shoulders, her focus firmly on his hand. She had dipped a cloth in the water bowl and started dragging it gently across his knuckles, cleaning the red stains from his mottled skin.

“I’m waiting, Shadowsinger,” she cooed.

“I have to go to Illyria. Tomorrow. With Cassian and Rhys,” Azriel sighed, and had his hand been free he might have flopped dramatically into the back of the settee. When the priestess remained silent he whispered venomously. “I hate it there.” Gwyn still didn’t look back up at him, and he wondered if she did that purposefully, as well, so as not to make him feel more pressure than the anxiety that already gnawed into his chest.

“You don’t lead the armies. Why do you have to go?”

Cauldron, if she only knew how many times he’d asked the same damned question.

“For… status checks such as these my primary purpose is intimidation.” He let his eyes wander over the rainbows of book spines filling the shelves on the end wall, once-vibrant hues dulled by time and dust. “We present a united front, the leadership of the Night Court and their forces.” Azriel felt the warm cloth on his hand pause and he turned his attention back to the Valkyrie who now looked up at him, head tilted in curiosity.

“So you, Cassian, and the High Lord?”

Azriel nodded. “I believe the High Lady will be joining us, as well. Sometimes Mor accompanies us, as a representative of the Hewn City. We’ve tried a few different strategies regarding who makes these visits.” He couldn’t hide the contempt in his words. “But we’ve found a strong female presence is… rarely helpful. Even though it is proof of the point that Rhys and Cassian are trying to make.”

“Rhys and Cassian, but not you?” The shadowsinger inwardly cringed at the implication that he may not share his brothers’ beliefs about the value and potential of Illyrian females, but the priestess before him held no judgment in the depth of those teal pools. Azriel ran his free hand through his hair.

“My brothers have been quite insistent that Illyrian females have the opportunity to train, should they choose, as well as putting a stop to some of their more barbaric traditions and practices.” He stifled a gasp as Gwyn’s fingers traced over his now-clean knuckles, examining them for any remaining injury. Apparently satisfied, she set that hand in his lap before lifting her gaze.

“But you don’t include yourself in that effort?” Her eyes narrowed, but her lips lifted in a wry grin. “I know firsthand that you also believe that females should be trained and can be capable in battle –“

“More than capable, priestess, as you have proven.”

Gwyn’s smile widened. “So why is it that you separate yourself from them?”

“Of course I share their beliefs, and I would love nothing more for wing clipping to be a figment of a dead past and for camp leaders to stop insisting that weapons must be buried once females touch them. I just don’t have faith that the Illyrians will ever change.” He loved his brothers. They were the best males he’d ever known, their hearts and minds full of so much hope. But Illyria would always be a cesspool of brutality and carnage.

“You believe so little in their potential?” Gwyn’s face had softened, no lines crinkling her nose or the corners of her eyes, swirling orbs of concern. His shadows held tight to him, unmoving with his bitterness. Not a single tendril reached for the warrior who gingerly grasped his other hand and pulled it into her lap. “You and Cassian and the High Lord are all Illyrian, and the three of you have grown into quite exemplary males.” After that soft statement she turned her attention to the bloody wraps, sighing contentedly. He watched the top of her copper-tressed head.

“Cassian and Rhysand are the best of us. I’m not –“

“Azriel.”

His throat bobbed at the quiet reprimand in her voice. Gwyn’s grip on his hand had tightened considerably and the rest of her body had tensed. Silence thickened the air and it fell over him like a blanket, urging the shadows closer to him, to safety. When she looked up at him again his mouth nearly fell open at the intensity of her expression.

“Why do you do that?” He was taken aback by the roughness in her voice, usually a sweet, soothing song. “You are one of them. You are. Their hearts and souls are no more pure and precious than yours. And even if we spoke only of you, what about being Illyrian would damn you so?”

The shadowsinger gaped, and Gwyn’s bright eyes challenged him to prove her wrong. Just like he knew she would. But, no matter how many times she proved to him the depth of her empathy and understanding, he still felt the pang of shock simmer through him. His fingers tingled in her grasp.

“Tell me, Azriel,” she whispered her near-silent plea.

“Gwyn, you know how the Illyrians are. You’ve seen it with your own eyes and experienced it.” Azriel took a breath and shifted his gaze to their hands, still entwined in her lap. “Illyrians are bred to be brutal in all areas of their lives, violent and entitled and possessive and selfish. They take what they want without thought or regret. They… indulge themselves freely, taking females for their own pleasure with or without consent. And that is the heritage I share. I was created there, just like the other brutes, to be a monster. Powerful, yes, and lucky as fuck to have found myself under the care of Rhysand’s mother. But a monster, nonetheless.”

The spymaster kept his lidded attention on his bloodied hand and Gwyn’s delicate pale fingers tightened impossibly further around it. He focused on the contrasts – his darkened, ruined skin under the freckle-spattered moonstone of hers; her two hands unable to wrap completely around his much larger one.

“You’re not a monster. You’re not a brute. And no matter what happens, I will always be here to remind you of that.” Azriel closed his eyes, shuddering at her conviction. He felt her hands moving again but kept his eyes closed, unsure of how to continue. He felt the wet cloth against his skin and knew his priestess had resumed her ministrations, washing away the stains of his frustration and contempt.

Minutes passed in silence as he focused on the dampness against his skin and the soft, comforting breaths of the incredible female in front of him. Then the cloth was gone, his fingers guided to fold around her hand, and then he felt two fingers lifting his chin. Azriel took a breath to gather his courage and lifted his gaze, finding full lips in a soft smile, constellations of freckles dusting pink cheeks, and the most incredible, impossibly expressive teal eyes shining with emotion. The fingers left his chin but he barely noticed, lost in that ocean.

“When you go to Illyria, I want you to remember what I’m about to say.” He gave a nod when she paused, waiting for him. “Nobody is just one thing, Azriel. Being Illyrian does not doom you to a life of committing atrocities and causing pain. There is hope there. Remember Balthazar? He aided Nesta and Emerie during the Blood Rite. I know there aren’t many, but they are there. Think of Cassian and Rhysand, who you say are the best of males. They have far outshone the picture of damnation that you’ve painted.” Gwyn squeezed his hand and he squeezed back. His eyes must have been playing tricks on him, as he swore he saw a fine line of silver on her lower lashes.

“But what I really want you to think about is you. You’ve shared your history with me, Azriel. You have experienced pain and loneliness and darkness greater than most can even imagine, and your power is some of the greatest that Prythian has ever known. You had every reason and every opportunity to become a monster. If anyone could have become the most fearsome, brutal male it could have easily been you. But you didn’t.” Azriel felt pinpricks in his eyes, and the way the priestess smiled at him… that light seemed to breach his very soul. “You are here, a dedicated servant to your court. You do the things you must, to protect your family and your home. You are thoughtful and kind and more generous than you probably realize. You are not a monster, but you areIllyrian. And you are sitting here with me, holding my hand. Being Illyrian has not defined who you are. And there are likely others out there who are the same. Try to remember that.”

Azriel let out a disbelieving huff, but he felt his lips curl into the slightest grin. This warrior priestess was going to be the death of him – a certain death of broken-down walls and encouragement and fierce rebuttal of the self-loathing that had been with him far longer than he could truly remember. It was uncomfortable, and he almost didn’t know who he would be without it. But the way Gwyn looked at him, the way she saw him. Maybe he could find himself there.

“Well,” she patted his hand and gave it back to him. “Your wounds are healed, the blood is gone, and hopefully now you can get some rest.” She hopped up and began cleaning up her rags and water, only to give a soft ‘squeak’ as the house vanished them away. He snickered, earning a withering glare, which only made him laugh harder.

“I’m going to bed,” she huffed, sticking out her tongue at him before stalking to the door. Azriel rose quickly to stop her.

“Gwyn,” he called, halting her at the door. She turned to look at him, an expectant eyebrow raised. He reached for the back of his neck, suddenly nervous. “Thank you. For listening. And… and for your encouraging words.” Watching her expression change was like magic, like watching the sun transform the sky as it breached the horizon. The irreverence and playfulness fell away, replaced with that delicate gentle smile and burning compassion in her ocean depths.

“Thank you, Azriel. For trusting me. I am so grateful that you didn’t pull away from me.” She paused before turning back to the door. “Be safe, Shadowsinger.” And then she was gone.

Azriel just stared at the empty doorway, confounded and delighted and… awestruck. And there was nobody to hear his quiet vow when he finally spoke.

“Anything for you, Berdara.”

~~~

He was all but running down the ramp to one of the lower levels of the library. His long legs loped, carrying him closer to his goal – the sweet voice echoing a lilting melody through the stacks. Azriel kept his wings tucked close, knowing that if he unfurled them even a little he may be tempted to fly.

He was sure Clotho and the other priestesses would not appreciate such brazenness.

He didn’t think he would ever describe a visit to Illyria as pleasant, but even he couldn’t deny the optimism that had somehow permeated his soul. It had helped him open his eyes beyond his own bitterness. She had helped him. Of course he had been every bit the feared spymaster that he was required to be, but he had surprised Rhys and Cassian when he had joined them for every meeting and observation, choosing to utilize those few moments of downtime to execute his more covert tasks. They were to debrief immediately with the rest of the Inner Circle – given only enough time to wash before they were required at the River House. But as soon as he had smelled the air of Velaris all he could think about was the lovely Valkyrie priestess who seemed to be a balm to his scars.

He was breathing hard when he spotted her, shadows flitting at the enchanting picture before him.

“Gwyn.”

Her singing stopped as her head whipped to face him, face splitting into the brightest smile. “Shadowsinger! Welcome home!” If their relationship were different – if it were further along – he might have run to her, gathered her up and swung her around in his arms. Gods knew he wanted to. But he had to keep himself in check, at least for now. So he settled for a grin and walked briskly toward her. Her eyes darkened in question. “Do you need something? When did you get back?”

“A few minutes ago. I don’t have much time – we’re supposed to go debrief at the River House with Amren and Mor. But I do need something.” Gwyn’s smile had softened but she giggled.

“Alright, well I’ll do whatever I can –“

Her voice halted when she noticed that Azriel had extended his hands to her in silent question. He could never just grab her, but he prayed to the Cauldron, the Mother, to all the gods above that she would take his scarred hands in hers. Confusion fluttered over her features, but he grinned, hoping she was encouraged. He released the breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding when she cautiously lifted those robed arms, placing her palms in his open ones.

“Az?”

“I do need something. I need to ask you… if you would join me for dinner tomorrow?” For once he could be smug, seeing the surprise light in her eyes and knowing this wasn’t what she expected. He was emboldened. By her. So he brushed his thumbs over her knuckles as he continued. “I know it’s only been a few weeks. And I’m sure I haven’t done nearly enough to prove myself, but I just –“

“Yes.”

His eyes had to be wide as saucers, and his breath seemed to have escaped his chest. But he didn’t need it. Not when Gwyneth Berdara, hands still safe in his own, smiled at him that way – corners of her eyes crinkling above flushing cheeks.

“You came straight here – knowing you were needed immediately by the High Lord – just to ask me to dinner?” Gwyn snickered but it caught in her throat, betraying emotions that stormed in her beautiful eyes. He released one of her hands, only to grasp the other with his scarred fingers.

“Yes,” he breathed, lifting that pale hand and brushing his lips lightly over the soft skin of her fingers. A shadow twirled down his arm and danced where they touched, but Azriel’s focus was pinned to her face. He was relieved to see no sign of discomfort, but a furious blush had painted her cheeks and the points of her ears. And he chuckled. She could not be more lovely. “I want to see what comes next, Berdara.” She shook her head.

“We need to work on your priorities, Shadowsinger.” She scrunched her nose and then gave him an easy shove with their tangled hands. “Go, you’re going to be late.” He kept ahold of her, jerking her forward lightly. Smirking, he kissed her knuckles again before letting her go.

“I’ll see you in the morning, priestess. I hope you haven’t been slacking in my absence.” Azriel winked at her – Mother above the things she made him do – and turned on his heel, moving much more slowly to leave than he had to find her.

“You’re going to wish we had!” she threatened. And he laughed, throwing his head back, reveling in the joy he felt. Whatever was next, he was ready to face it. And he wanted to face it with Gwyneth Berdara.

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#gwynriel #gwynriel supremacy #gwynriel fanfic #fanfiction #gwyn x azriel #azriel shadowsinger #gwyneth berdara #azwyn #ao3 #ao3fic

[scripttorture]

You mention in posts how torture doesn’t make people obedient and usually makes them spiteful (which obviously makes sense), but isn’t it realistic for someone to comply out of fear rather than loyalty? Whether that was giving up information or obeying orders or something else entirely. I imagine it depends on the person, and they would probably still be willing to turn on their torturers if given the chance, but would it be possible for them to obey orders in hopes of avoiding more pain?

This is a much more nuanced and complicated topic then we’re taught to assume.

 When it comes to giving up information it’s pretty clear cut. No, torture can’t lead to accurate information for a lot of interconnected reasons. I have about six separate masterposts covering the reasons for this.

 One of those is the antagonism torture produces. Another is the memory problems torture causes. Another is the effect that the use of torture has on organisations and the chain of command. Another is the effect torture has on torturers.

 Torture drastically increases the chances of memory loss and it also increases the chances of inaccurate memories. So not only is a torture victim less likely to talk, they’re more likely to be wrong if they do talk.

 But the effects on victims aren’t the main reason torture doesn’t work as a way of getting information. You’re assuming that torturers have access to people who have information.

 The reality is that torture destroys an organisation’s ability to gather accurate information. Most information comes from volunteers: when torture comes into play less people volunteer information. This means that an organisation which tortures is more likely to be questioning someone who knows nothing. That person is then abused until they start making things up.

 Because there’s less access to volunteered information and because humans are very bad at telling when someone is lying, a lot of these made up stories are believed. And this then effects who else the organisation arrests and tortures. This creates a sort of spiral, with lies leading to more lies.

 Additionally the torturers themselves make things worse. There’s less quality research on them, but the research and anecdotal accounts create a pretty clear picture of their behaviour. They undermine the chain of command, they lose the skills the originally had as they turn to torture, they’re aggressive, incredibly competitive and they have a… fracturing effect on their organisation.

 Basically they’re incredibly difficult to work with and totally convinced of their own importance. And this effects their colleagues. It totally divides organisations. The worst case I’ve read about involved members of the same organisation killing each other over access to prisoners.

 That’s a short run through of the main factors. Torture, in the legally defined sense, means all of these factors are in play. Plus a few more I’ve omitted to keep this shorter.

 With all of that together you just can’t get accurate information.

 If you want longer posts I’ve made on the subject I suggest looking for the ‘torture doesn’t work’ tag and the ‘torture as interrogation’ tag. You can also read the masterposts. If you want a much more in depth look at why torture consistently fails as a way of getting information I recommend O’Mara’s Why Torture Doesn’t Work and Rejali’s Torture and Democracy.

 O’Mara is a neuroscientist and goes through the effects torture has on the brain in a way that’s accessible, explaining the damage torture causes and how that destroys the evidence torturers claim to be seeking. Rejali’s book is a breeze block but it’s really a must, it is the textbook on torture in a broad sense. He ties together information from across the globe creating a broader picture of what torture does, not just to victims but to societies.

 The question of compliance under threat and pain… is more complicated.

 People can be forced to do some things. That much is obvious from a brief glance at human history and things like slavery. But it’s important to listen to what people in these scenarios say.

 And my opinion, based on what I’ve read, is that what these people say doesn’t support the idea that humans will easily obey instructions when they’re hurt or threatened. I think instead these people are making hard headed, rational choices in absolutely awful situations. I think when we don’t have these experiences of torture or slavery, it’s easy to look at the surface of the situation and assume that pain alone assures obedience. I think that happens because it’s hard for use to understand the rationale when we don’t have that lived experience.

 Let me give some examples. So it probably goes without saying that slavery goes hand in hand with physical abuse. One of the major researchers on slavery, whose data I quote pretty regularly, assumes throughout his writings that pain is the deciding factor which ‘makes’ people obey.

 But he also describes a couple of very obvious consistent patterns in the ways slavers behave. Slavers almost universally do the following things as well as using physical abuse:

Separate enslaved people from their community

Bar enslaved people from other forms of support

Make enslaved people financially/materially reliant on the slavers

Tell enslaved people that going to the police/authorities will lead to the enslaved person being arrested

Try to convince enslaved people that they will be better off if they comply, usually by framing it as a debt to be worked off with promises of riches after a period of time

 Now here’s the thing: we know from studies on cults and studies on ICURE techniques that a lot of these strategies will result in obedience when there is no violence or physical abuse.

 Given that I don’t think we can assume that violence is the deciding factor. In fact I think the evidence we have from forced confessions under torture suggests the violence may lead to less obedience and a lower ‘success’ rate then a set up that used emotional abuse or other exploitative techniques without violence.

 We have two sources of historical data that are used for statistical studies on forced confessions. One is from historical France. We think that this data set only involved torture to force a confession; no other method of coercion just violence. The rate of forced confessions varied a little in different areas but over all it’s about 10%. The second data set is from the ‘London Cage’ a British prison during the second world war. Here we know that torture was combined with blackmail, bribery and other kinds of coercion. The rate of forced confessions there was about 30%.

 And while this is just two studies, while the data is lacking… That is one hell of a jump.

 Let’s circle back to ICURE. ICURE stands for Isolation, Control information, create Uncertainty, Repetition and Emotive responses. It’s a set of techniques which can, sometimes, change someone’s beliefs when it’s applied consistently over a long time.

 Notice the effort slavers put in to isolating their victims. Notice that the behaviour pattern I’m describing means the slavers are creating uncertainty over seeking help and repeating those messages as well as messages that the victims will be better off if they just go along with it.

 Slavers will generally also try to control the information their victims have access to, taking phones and blocking access to news sources and other resources. Now a lot of slavers will transport their victims to other states or countries putting a language barrier in place. They sometimes also use emotive responses in attempts to persuade victims to comply.

 I’ve read multiple accounts where survivors of modern slavery described slavers telling them that the money they were making was being sent to the victim’s family and without it the family would not survive. (Sometimes the slavers do send small amounts to the families of their victims, sometimes they pocket everything.) I’ve also read accounts where gangs of slavers used religion and oaths taken in a religious setting to persuade their victims they’d be punished by God for not complying.

 Even with all of this, all these techniques we know can sometimes ‘work’- lots of people refuse. Lots of people disobey. Lots of people escape. Lots of people actively sabotage the operations the slavers put together.

 And if you look at that same history of slavery, that shows us people can sometimes be forced to work, you’ll see that this has always been true.

 We have records of historic enslaved people attacking slavers, forming organised militias, forming parallel societies, sacking towns, taking over an entire Caribbean island and beating off four European armies in the process. We also have records of smaller acts. Sabotage, worship of banned deities, speaking banned languages, destruction of property, aiding in the escape of others.

 What I’m saying is: this isn’t black and white. The evidence, modern and historical does not paint a clear picture of violence leading to obedience.

 Instead I believe that it shows humans are resilient, stubborn, adaptable creatures. People can survive all kinds of horrible situations. It is more accurate, more human, to assume that people make rational choices.

 Sometimes those choices involve short term compliance while looking for a better option or a way out. But we tend to hear less stories about the people who completely refuse to comply. We tend to treat that as an impossible fiction when it is a recorded historical and modern reality.

 Bringing this back to writing as a general rule the more complicated the act the less likely you can force someone to do it. Because the more complicated it is the more opportunities they’ll have to sabotage it or use it against their abuser.

 I recommend reading up on the history of Haiti pet. Then Brazil via Palmares.

 I’ll end this by bringing it back to those statistics on forced confessions in historical France. Imagine the conditions with me for a moment. Unsanitary, cramped cells. Dehydration, starvation and disease. Plus the kinds of scarring torture that are conjured up in the minds of most Western people when the word ‘torture’ comes up; thumb screws, leg irons that tighten until the bone snaps, whips.

 Picture it. Try to imagine the pain those people went through.

 And remember that 90% of them did not comply long enough to sign their name.

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[candychronicles]

yes sir // i. midoriya

A/N: my take on the bnharem workplace au collab! this is pretty much porn with plot, there’s no real interesting background. i just wanted to write sexy times with midoriya hehe

CHARACTER PAIRING: Izuku Midoriya x F!Reader

WORD COUNT: 2,765

WARNINGS: an obnoxious amount of pet names, soft-ish dom, dubcon maybe?? if you squint??, power dynamics, possessive izuku

SYNOPSIS: an infatuation with one of your bosses turns into something much more interesting. 

Click here to go to work on admiring all the other pieces!

work was never fun but when you directly responded to three equally attractive ceos, it tended to make things easier. despite them all being incredibly attractive, you found yourself particularly drawn to one man in specific: Izuku Midoriya.

he was the face of the operation, the one who greeted the media with a smile and ran lectures, pep talks and gatherings with the employees. not only did he have the charm, but he was smart and analytical, something that came in handy when dealing with other businesses and creating interpersonal relationships. he strived to make everyone feel like they belonged and that’s why you never put any thought into the bright smiles and big waves he gave you as he passed your office every morning.

Bakugou was who you usually worked under, the man being brash and loud but incredibly intelligent and covering a lot of ground when it came to running the company, especially when it came to logistics and timelines. you weren’t his secretary and yet often found yourself in his office helping whenever he called. you would say it was annoying except it meant that he favored you and you often got added perks because of that, like a flexible work schedule and unlimited premium coffee from his personal stash. 

Todoroki was a man who you seldom interacted with but had nothing but pleasant things to say. he was cold and standoffish at first but as you chatted he became more relaxed and willing to talk. he handled a lot of the behind the scenes, keeping up with IT and using his connections from his wealthy family to bring in new business. nonetheless, he was a pleasant man and tried to interact in his own odd way at any appropriate chance he got.

you never realized you had any special treatment outside from your own boss but it became more apparent over the months that they had all taken a liking to you in some form or another. you became absolutely ecstatic when you learned you had a chance with Midoriya, an awkward and yet sincere drunken love confession thrown dramatically your way outside of a business gathering. since he wasn’t technically your personal boss and you harbored a secret crush on him, it was all too easy, with the alcohol flowing through your veins, to say yes to a date with him.

despite his inebriated state the night before, he stayed true to his word and took you to a relaxed and private restaurant, one that you were sure wasn’t cheap as there wasn’t even prices on the menu. he told you to not worry about it and just enjoy the night and enjoy you did. after some awkward laughs here and there, you really got to know him and what he was like: funny, charming, truthful, determined, emotional, raw and bursting with the desire to be understood the way he understood other people. 

you took his truth and ran with it, confiding in him about anything you could think of that was appropriate for a first date and then some, over time learning all there was to know about one another. you spent many a night laid on his chest, confessing your hopes and dreams, listening to his own and promising each other that you would both work towards your desires as hard as possible. 

things outside of the bedroom, however, stayed incredibly private. you understood that he was a shy man by nature and was nervous that your position would be undermined or belittled by the other employees if they found out that you two were together but as time went on, you grew more and more frustrated about him keeping you a secret. all of his reasons, he claimed, were to protect you but you didn’t care and if he didn’t tell you the honest truth soon, you were going to burst.

it only took a few more weeks before things took an interesting turn. you had yet another argument with Midoriya, begging and pleading with him to not hide you anymore, to wear you on his arm with pride and shower you with even the tiniest of affection, but he was not budging, claiming he didn’t want you to get hurt and sad over the other employees judging you despite him not being your actual boss. when you confirmed to Midoriya that this wasn’t a real relationship and cut things off, you were intrigued to find Todoroki at your office door with a bouquet of flowers asking you on a date.

whether it was out of spite or a sheer desire to be seen and acknowledged, you accepted without any hesitation, donning your best dress and heels for the icy man. he took you to a much fancier and flashy restaurant than Midoriya did, flaunting his wealth without a care in the world. you tried some of the finest wines and foods, enjoying the live music and chatting casually with Todoroki. outside of his awkward demeanor, it was a good first date and you had fun, certainly appreciating all that he did for you, but you realized it didn’t matter because you were still head over heels in love with the green haired guy with the golden heart. every little thing Todoroki did, you caught yourself comparing and contrasting with what Midoriya would’ve done and with a sad smile, told him you had fun but that you were going through some personal problems and needed some time before trying anything else. he was nothing but a gentleman and insisted that it was okay but despite his words, you still felt a pang in your heart, guilty for leading him on in the first place.

work the next day was rather uneventful, time spent chipping away at paperwork and organizing events for the next day, Bakugou sliding into your office with an unusually sad look on his face as he handed you your favorite coffee and slid back out, not acknowledging you otherwise. you hummed appreciatively nonetheless, savoring every sip like it was your last. just as you were walking out the door, the last person in your department to stay behind, you got a text from Midoriya asking you to meet in his office to discuss something.

you swallowed thickly, knowing there may be another argument approaching and hoping your heart could handle the pain. with a soft knock to the large wooden doors, you stood, waiting for him to invite you in. 

the door creaked ominously open before you were yanked into the room, wood slamming heavily back into place as he crashed his lips against your own without any warning, harsh and fierce and nothing like he had ever been before. 

you tried to create some space, some sort of distance between you two in order to process the situation but he was relentless, attacking you with such fervor that you had no choice but to follow along, desperate to know what he was thinking.

you didn’t have to wait long before he slowed down, pressing his forehead against your own, breath fanning against your face as he collected his thoughts.

“you went on a date with Todoroki,” he stated simply, eyes shut as he focused on you, your body movements, the way your heart leapt into your throat and your pulse point jumped at the comment. 

“i did,” you replied, squinting your own eyes at him as best as you could in your position, trying to figure out what his next move was.

“why would you do that?” he questioned, hurt laced in his voice.

you contemplated for a few moments on what to say, finally deciding on the truth: “i was hurt and thought that maybe i could get over you by going out with him but i couldn’t. i just wanted someone to show me off for once, not be ashamed to be seen with me.”

“sweetheart,” he sighed into your mouth, lips ghosting over your own. “i was just trying to protect you from the judgement you’d get being with me, but if you’re that insistent in being shown off, then let me show you off.”

one gentle kiss after another was placed on your face, from your temple to your nose to your cheeks to finally your lips, sealing them with yet another searing kiss. you whined into his mouth, enamored by the taste of coffee and mint on his tongue. he pinched your ass and smiled when you squealed, taking advantage of the sound to pick you up against the door, hiking your skirt up to your waist and pressing one experimental finger to your clothed slit, noticing each and every breathy moan that left your body.

“let me take these off, yeah?” he asked, not waiting for a response before he not so delicately ripped your panties off your body, assuring you he’d get you a new pair after you protested against his actions. 

he walked casually over to the desk, setting you down and spreading your knees apart as he kneeled, face cooing over your cunt. you tried to squeeze your knees together in embarrassment but he only pulled them open again, tsking as he brought his thumb pad up to your clit, rubbing delicate circles around the bud as he watched your mouth open into an o.

he continued to rub in circles, changing the pace and pressure as he analyzed your every move, watching to see what made you feel the best. when he was satisfied with the pace, he brought his other hand up to delicately insert a finger into your dripping hole, curling to try to find the place that made you see stars behind your eyelids. it only took a few moments before he hit the spot, your head fallen back and toes curling in pleasure. 

“look at me and nowhere else or i won’t let you cum. do you understand?” he asked, forcefully grabbing your chin.

“y-yes sir.”

he nodded, satisfied with the eye contact before resuming his movement, eyes boring into your own as he watched you struggle to breathe and watch him back, his cock straining in his pants as he watched your eyes water, tears spilling over your cheeks as he brought you so incredibly close to your orgasm.

“sir, please let me cum. p-please, i don’t think i can hold on any longer,” you finally begged, giving into what you knew he secretly wanted.

“my sweet angel wants to cum? i guess she’s been such a good girl that i’ll have to indulge her,” he cooed, picking up the pace and inserting another finger, making it just enough to have you unravel in seconds. 

your head remained still, eyes locked on his own, but your body shook from the mere exhaustion you felt as you forced yourself to not throw your head back in pure ecstasy. he helped you ride your orgasm out with steady thrusts, his long, scarred fingers hitting all the right ridges. 

“look at you being just a doll,” he murmured, opening your mouth to stick his dripping fingers in, pressing down harshly on your tongue, smiling when you gagged. 

“i think my sweetheart deserves a bit of a reward for being such a good girl, hmm? what do you think?” he asked, removing his fingers from your mouth to allow you to speak.

“please sir, please, i need,” you stopped, hiccuping, not realising you were crying as you begged for him.

“you need what angel? c’mon, use your words.”

“i need your cock, please, i need you inside of me. i’ll be good, i’ll be so good, i promise. just please fuck me.”

before you had a chance to realize what was going on, he pulled you off the desk, flipping you around so that your ass was on full display. he gave it one appreciative slap before his belt was being unbuckled, his pants falling to the floor as he pulled out his cock, aching to be buried inside your wet cunt.

“relax for me sweetheart. i’ll take care of you.”

the tip had you instantly pressing yourself into the desk, but as he continued to push into to you, you relished in the way he stretched you out, making you feel so full and warm.

“more, m’need more, please,” you begged, squirming around as you tried to fill yourself up with as much of him as you could.

he obliged without hesitation, sheathing himself fully into you, eyes rolling back into his head as he felt you squeeze around him, pulling him impossibly closer. he placed his hands against your hips to steady himself, pinching the flesh and breathing deeply through his nostrils as he attempted to control himself but once you started begging again, hands gripping the other edge of the deck as you attempted to ground yourself, he lost all control.

“don’t say you didn’t ask for his angel.”

his hips snapped out before surging forward, thrusting hard and deep, his tip kissing your cervix and fingers bruising into your flesh. you cried out, not sure what you were feeling but incredibly happy anyways. his cock pounded in and out of your squelching cunt, your cream dripping down your thighs and his. you felt every little vein, the curve of his shaft, how he fit into you so perfectly, how he was made for you. your vision went white and you held onto the desk for dear life as your legs gave out from under you, your cunt clenching aggressively around his cock as you came.

“i’ve got you, just relax.”

your body went limp as he leaned over you, propping you up against the desk as he continued to thrust into you, moving smoothly as your liquids pooled around his pelvis. your hands kept gripping the desk for dear life as you tried to catch your breath but with every snap of his hips, every nip to your shoulder, every searing hickey left on your neck, had your head reeling and the coil in your stomach building once again.

“‘Zuku, i don’t know how much longer i can hold out. m’gonna cum again,” you whined, breathing heavily as you tried to prolong it for as long as possible.

“c’mon sweetheart, you can do it one more time, just cum for me, it’s okay. i’ve got you.”

it only took three forceful swirls of his fingers on your aching clit to have you squirting all over his cock, your cum gushing everywhere as you arched your back and dug your nails into the glass of the desk. as you squeezed around him, you felt Midoriya cum, burying himself deep inside your pussy, head coming down to rest on your shoulders.

without saying anything, he pulled out gently, wincing as he saw the disheveled state you were in. he helped you sit back on the desk, pulling out some napkins to clean you and then himself up, offering you some water and helping to pour it in your mouth, wiping away your mascara stained cheeks.

“are you okay?” he asked once you had settled down a bit, pulling down your skirt and shakily standing on two legs.

“what are we Midoriya?” you replied, not wanting to let the post sex haze ruin what you had orignially come for.

he sighed, walking over to you and holding your hands in his own, bringing them up to kiss them before responding, “i wanted to protect you but i see how selfish that is now considering the fact that you didn’t care. i’m sorry i didn’t listen but i won’t hide from you anymore and i won’t hide you from the public, no matter what.”

you nodded at his response, eager to be with him again and not be held in the shadows. 

“but in order to do that, i have got to put a few mutual friends in place.”

quizzically, you watched as he sat down in his computer, motioning for you to sit in his lap. he tapped away at a few folders, watching in confusion and then embarrassment as he pulled up a video, one of the encounter you just had. 

“i’m sending this to Bakugou and Todoroki. they always talk about how they could fuck you better, how they could make you scream louder, make you listen, make you theirs. this will prove otherwise. you want me to show you off, have you be mine unconditionally? well you’ve got it babe, loud and clear. you’re mind, understood? and nobody will get in the way of that, not even them.”

#izuku midoriya #midoriya x reader #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #bnharem collab #bnha #mha #bnha x reader #mha x reader #boku no hero academia x reader #my hero academia x reader

[euphoricsunflowers]

touch — lee hoseok/wonho

a/n: wbk i haven’t been writing much recently, but today i felt a sudden rush of motivation so i wasn’t gonna let it go to waste!! gif is mine!!

a/n: thank you for 1k followers!! i hope to repay the vast amount of love i receive from my anons and my darling mutuals!! love you all <33

word count: 1.6k

content: sub!wonho, dom!afab!reader, no pronouns used for the reader, reader doesn’t cum so take that as you will, unprotected sex (i never put that here but uh wrap it up kids), choking, riding, hickeys, overall just another fic about how much i adore lee hoseok thank you

disclaimer: as this fic contains choking, i just want to remind you to please be aware that kinks are inherently dangerous and if you are going to partake, please do your research into doing it in the safest way possible. always have a safeword and safe signal. thank you.

summary: he comes home after a long day, and you always want him after so long.

one of your hands cups his cheek while the other holds his waist close to you. your touch isn’t demanding or possessive, it’s simply just adoring. your fingers brush a bit of his hair out of his soft, doll-like eyes, pressing a gentle and fleeting kiss to his lips as he exhales quietly, playing with the hemming of your shirt with his fingers absentmindedly. all feels well and peaceful as you greet your sweet lover, “how was your day, hoseokie?”

“my day was really long, but being with you makes it all fade away,” he sighs comfortably as your hands stroke his sides, shuddering when your grip tightens a bit, “ah- how are you, my love?”

“i’m well, darling, i’m very well now that i have you,” you say with your voice suddenly lower and much more deadly, “you’re so pretty,” your hands just keep touching his waist and his chest, fingers brushing his nipples over his clothes just to keep him on edge, “baby,” the pet name with your voice so seductive makes him whimper.

“ahh- yes?”

“what are you so nervous for, angel? i just want to touch you—,” he whines at your words, “—i just love touching you like this. you’re so passive and docile, you let me do absolutely anything to you, hm?” it’s not true, he knows that. it’s comforting to remember that you know his limits, you know how far you can push him, but you also know how he likes to be spoken to. it’s hot, more than anything.

“i- yeah, you can do whatever you please with me,” he groans as his eyes shut when your hands start touching a little lower, moving from grabbing his ass to rubbing his inner thighs teasingly, “b-but, uhm, could you please not tease me? please?” he pouts subconsciously, knowing if you said no and continued teasing him, he wouldn’t stop you, he’d just get progressively more whiney and would beg you even more to make him feel so good.

it’s an appealing idea to leave him teased and denied for hours until his body cant physically handle it anymore, to make him squirm with need, but when he begs so softly for you to not tease him, it’s hard to not give in and give him everything he wants, and as such, you find yourself complying, touching him as he wishes.

he moans as he clutches your shoulders for any kind of support, and it’s cute to watch someone as big and strong as him just absolutely fall apart with just a few touches, “oh, my darling, is this really all it takes? just a few little brushes of my fingers against your cock and suddenly hoseokie can’t even keep himself together? that’s cute.”

“ahh, please,” he looks down, trying to avoid eye contact, he knows your gaze is too strong and he’s shatter immediately under it.

“please what, baby?” you taunt, making his shyness incredibly apparent as he’s forced to be more direct with his words.

“can we continue this in the bedroom?”

you giggle, “sure, i’ll ride your dick until you pass out, how does that sound?” you ask, already walking over to the door.

“that- uhm,” he gulps, “t-that sounds good,” he whimpers shakily as he watches you walk away, following behind you like a puppy as you lead him away.

he sits on the bed nervously as you sit beside him, cupping his cheeks and caressing his skin the way you did before in order to relax him, pressing kisses to the edge of his lips before moving down his jaw, spending a significant few minutes sucking and biting a hickey into his skin. he breathes somewhat shaky in pain, but it’s not major enough to really hurt him. he can take a lot, and you intend to do a lot.

as such, when your kisses find his neck, kissing right over the vein on the side, his heart rate picks up anxiously. you leave another love bite just above his collarbone before pulling back to trace you finger over it, “you’re so beautiful.”

the intimacy of the moment flusters him, but you always fluster him intentionally as you say, “and don’t think for a second i only mean your body. of course i love your body, i love the way you squirm and moan and whimper, but you have the most beautiful personality, my hoseok.”

his cheeks turn redder, loving the praise but still so unable to handle it, “p-please,” he’s also getting so needy as you talk, with every moment you’re not riding him, he becomes even more desperate for you.

“take off your shirt,” you command suddenly, and he does as you say with ease, discarding his shirt to some random corner of the room, pulling you closer to him once his hands were free. you press kisses to his chest, taunting him with a lick against his nipple.

his whole body reacts, squirming even more for friction against his cock when your fingers play with his other nipple, groaning helplessly, “fuck- oh! oh my-,”

“oh? does that feel good?”

“p-please,” he murmurs, burying his head into your shoulder, “please just get to it already, i-i cant handle your teasing. i need you so badly, my love,” he’s demanding, sure, but he knows he can be demanding. he knows that as much as you control him right now like a puppet on your strings, he knows what to say to mess you up just as much.

“alright, alright, i understand. take off the rest of your clothes, baby,” you kiss his forehead as you get off of him to take off your clothes too.

“do you- uhm, do you want me to do anything?” he fidgets nervously as you walk back over to him. his eyes never leave your body, still so overwhelmed by your presence and, for all the love his body gets from you, he adores you physically just as much. you’re absolutely everything he wants, “i could eat you out! or uhm, i’m not sure, but i can do something. i want you to feel good too,” he frowns.

“baby, trust me, i feel amazing right now,” you smile, leaning down to kiss his chest as you climb back on top of him.

“yeah?”

“to have someone like you so willing to please me, so desperate for me it ruins you, is my greatest pleasure, baby,” he seems adequately comforted by your words, so you take that as a sign to continue, “and besides, i’m already thoroughly turned on, so you don’t have to worry about that.”

there’s a response lingering in his throat, but it doesn’t meet daylight as you being to play with his cock, all that leaves his mouth are throaty moans and helpless whimpers.

before he knows it, you’re already on him, sinking down, moaning freely for the first time this evening, and it makes him endlessly happy to see you feel pleasure. he’s just as wrecked, but you show it less than he does, because it’s so visible how he sighs, eyes fluttering closed, as you start to rock yourself back and forth.

“f-fuck,” he stutters, feeling your hands rest on his chest for stability, and he knows where that’s going, “oh, you’re so- so perfect, you just feel so good, can i touch you? please?”

“go for it,” you mumble, feelings his hands reach to hold your waist, enjoying the way his hands caress your skin just like you did to him before.

he groans as he gets more riled up from your movements, feeling a building feeling in his stomach, “please keep going,” he cries softly, “and uhm- could you- could you choke me? please?”

you smile almost sadistically as your hands wrap around his throat, feeling his pulse with your fingers. you push against the sides of his neck, watching his eyes roll back and his lips parted in an ‘O’ shape.

“good boy,” you mumble, and he faintly smiles at the praise before breaking out in moans, “you’re so per- perfect to me, hoseok,” he can’t coherently respond, but you can tell how happy compliments make him. he’s so easy to impress, so easy to sweep off his feet, “can i get you to cum for me, baby? really good and hard for me?”

“o-oh fuck, i’m so close-,” he stutters cutely.

“already, sweet thing? it hasn’t even been that long and you already want to cum inside me? you’re so adorable,” he whimpers again, his body seizing up as it hits him, and you don’t slow down one bit, “there you go, cutie, there you go, ride it out. you look so hot and slutty when you orgasm, my pretty boy.”

his voice is heavenly, drowning out your words as his head clouds over and he feels a kind of fleeting euphoria he’s missed, the kind only you give him. he wants to feel this way forever, but eventually, the feeling dies down, and his thoughts return to him.

“hope that made your long day a little better, my love,” you whisper, and suddenly your voice loses all that intensity and returns to be the comforting whisper in his ear, a lullaby he could fall asleep to, “now let me clean us up, and we’ll cuddle till we fall asleep, alright?”

he tiredly nods, and it takes all of your self control not to burst from how cute he is as he murmurs, “i love you, you know.”

“i know, baby. i love you, too.”

—

taglist: @lovingonrepeat @neosincity @sub-hoshi-enthusiast @maknaeronix @multidreams-and-desires @foenixs @hobilluvvr @vanillaknj @yr-domxfantasies @treasure-hwa @fleurshopsub @rubyscloud9 @silencefavarchive @nct99 @bigkpopstan @monstaxdirtywonk @domreaderrecs and always feel free to ask to be added to/removed from the taglist <3

#subidolnet #monsta x #sub!monsta x #sub monsta x #sub monsta x smut #sub!monsta x smut #monsta x smut #monsta x wonho #wonho #lee hoseok #shin hoseok #wonho smut #sub!wonho #sub wonho #sub!wonho smut #sub wonho smut

[lover-of-skellies]

Marked

So uhh, this isn’t off the prompt list thing and literally no one asked for it, but I decided to go back and edit a super old thing I wrote. It’s supposed to be part of something a lot bigger, but for now, the whole thing’s been discontinued

Essentially, this is an OC insert kinda thing with my girl Adrienne. She’s been trapped in Horrortale for a little while, and since Sans decided to be merciful, she’s been allowed to live in a spare room in his and Pap’s house. She has free roam of the house and can do pretty much whatever the hell she wants (as long as it doesn’t involve getting into the pantry and digging into their reserves), and in exchange for all of that and being allowed to live, he and Papyrus have some super basic rules they expect her to follow

Rule number 1 is that she is to be helpful, and try to maintain the house while they’re away. Rule number two is that she’s not to leave the house without covering her face and hands. Rule number three is that she’s never to leave the house alone, without one or both of them nearby

Out of boredom and hunger, she leaves the house one day, following the smell of food. This doesn’t seem like it’d be anything huge, but it’s a major no-no, and it doesn’t go unpunished

Papyrus is also surprisingly good at giving advice, too. He might not have much experience with dating, but he knows exactly what he's talking about

If you make it to the end, I have to give you kudos because this is a complete cringe-fest ^^"

((Gonna add some potential trigger warnings for: angst, slight violence, and public humiliation))

Pain.

Searing pain.

The once blue-nette had been exploring the town, much to her guardians’ displeasure. She’d known it wasn’t a good idea, and for what reasons, she was well aware, but she had to do something. Staying holed away in the house every moment of every day was a completely new level of boring, one that she hadn’t even known existed. Her guardian had made it very clear that she was to never leave the house unless he or his brother were to accompany her, but today… well. His brother was away, probably at the capital getting physically and verbally abused by their queen, and he himself? She wasn’t sure what he did while he was away, but she’d learned not to ask too many questions. The first few times she tried asking, he’d been quick to change the subject or dodge her questions entirely, or he’d simply laugh and make a joke which he deemed hilarious when in reality, it wasn’t. Once he got tired of her asking, his humor quickly dissipated and was replaced by anger. He didn’t even have to look at her for her to know he was upset; all it took was a few short, clipped responses, and how she could practically hear him frown when he spoke. That’s beside the point though.

At the moment, she was suspended in mid air by her throat, her legs flailing as she began clawing at her assailant’s arm, her teeth bared as she struggled to free herself. The slightly withered fire monster shrugged off her attempts to attack him as if they were nothing at all; even though his strength had been diminished and was now only half of what it used to be, he was still far tougher than she could ever hope to be. Having smelled food, she made the mistake of slipping into the bar he owned, her hood tugged as far over her face as possible. She had glanced around the establishment, taken note of the other monsters nearby, and made another mental note of where all the exits were, should she need to run. After very cautiously crossing the bar and taking a seat at the old, worn counter, the flamesman had wordlessly poured a glass of water. He nudged it in her direction, and she’d eagerly accepted it, being mindful of how much of her face was concealed as she sipped the cold beverage.

For a moment, she was relaxed, and she nearly forgot the very real danger she was in. She was snapped out of her brief feeling of serenity as the Grillby fully shifted his attention to her. He made a soft, questioning sound, and she kept her head low, speaking just barely loud enough for him to hear, “What’re ya serving, Grillby?” He grunted, well prepared to offer her a short, yet simple answer, but was cut off by another monster who seated himself beside the girl, “I don’t think I’ve seen you around these parts before, friend… where are you from?” The teen lowered her gaze to the countertop, catching a glimpse of what looked to be faded blue fur. She didn’t know what monster could possibly want to talk to her, but she remained as calm and casual as possible in hope of not drawing any more attention to herself, “The ruins.”

With their interest now fully piqued, the monster beside her hummed incredulously, “The ruins, huh?... I take it you’ve met our former queen then. Toriel.” Upon hearing the familiar goat monster’s name, the teen saw images flicker in her mind; memories of her time in the ruins before she managed to escape. How Toriel had guided her through all the traps and puzzles that laid in waiting. How she held her close and allowed her to sob into her shoulder. How she’d convinced Adrienne to go back to her house, where there’d be a warm bed, food, and all the love and care she could ever want. Toriel had baked a cinnamon and butterscotch pie, very excited to share it with her, but not long after the teen had eaten a small slice, she’d felt her stomach turn. Her world went black, and when she awoke, she was tucked into a bed in a dimly lit room, which looked as though it had once belonged to a child. She felt incredibly ill and had almost no strength, and she could barely stand without feeling light headed. To her surprise, however, her willing ally, Flowey, had made a surprise return. Adrienne had seen Toriel had burn him alive, so she didn’t understand how he was even still alive.

Flowey had been through this exact same situation too many times to count, as it turned out, and he’d revealed Toriel’s true intentions: make the teen weak enough to require constant care and attention, and make her stay in the ruins forever. Or at the very least, until she died. Taking advantage of a distraction provided by Flowey, she’d waited for the goat monster to disappear to another part of the house. She’d then made her way to the kitchen and began to search around the floorboards. According to Flowey, there was a panel that could be removed, and underneath it, she’d find the remedy she needed to regain her health. She’d found the vial and downed it without question, only to look up and see the crazed goat monster staring at her from the doorway. The look on her face was one that still occasionally haunted Adrienne's dreams, and she’d been trying to go as long as possible without thinking about it. It appeared as though she’d be getting no such luck today, though.

Clearing her throat and trying to force down her growing anxiety, she nodded, keeping her head down, “Yeah, I have. I’ve met her.” The blue furred stranger watched her with an unnerving amount of intensity and she fought the urge to squirm and lean away from them. As they spoke again, their voice held a curious edge, “Huh. I can only imagine how that went.” Nodding silently, the teen returned to her glass of water, more than ready for the stranger to go away. She knew what would happen if she was discovered, and she wanted no part of that whatsoever.

The monster leaned closer to her and sniffed the air, letting out a pleased sigh before mumbling, “Friend… you don’t exactly smell like one of us. Monsters have their own natural and unique scents... But you, however,” A fuzzy paw-like hand seized her arm with a vice-like grip, and the stranger's voice shifted from a mumble to what was more like a hiss, “you smell like you belong on the grill.” Adrienne began attempting to yank her arm back out of the monster’s grasp and they laughed, simply using their free hand to tug her hood down, revealing her identity to Grillby and the other bar patrons that surrounded them. Her faded grey eyes widened in fear as the monsters began to shout at the flamesman, excitedly demanding that he cook her for them. Despite how the teen shook her head in protest, the mass of living fire moved closer to her, rapidly snatching her up by the throat. She was lifted off of the ground, and he ignored her pained screams as the heat from his hand began to scorch the skin of her neck.

With adrenaline now coursing through her veins, she let out a string of expletives and pulled both of her legs up until her knees touched her chest. The flamesman took a single step toward his kitchen, and then froze as both of her deceptively weak legs shot toward him, delivering a sharp kick to the space just below his chest. She didn’t expect her little stunt to actually work, but to her pleasant surprise, he’d released his grip on her out of shock, gingerly touching the now injured part of himself. Adrienne dropped to the floor and quickly regained her balance, paying no attention to the few monsters who rushed to Grillby’s side. She proceeded to climb over the counter and sprint toward the door, the footsteps behind her a clear indicator that she was being pursued now. Not that she could blame them for any though; food was insanely hard to come by, so if you had a chance to eat but the food got up and ran, wouldn’t you go after it too?

Reaching out with a clawed hand, some unseen monster snagged a fistful of her hair and harshly pulled, causing her to yelp and almost tumble to the floor. She glanced around, surveying her surroundings and checking the exits again. Part of what looked to be a dog’s muzzle could be seen in her peripheral vision and she winced, struggling to free herself from the creature's grip. She only received an amused cackle from the monster in question, followed by him instructing some of the others to grab her and haul her back to the kitchen for Grillby. Looking around again and seeing them approaching her, she stuffed her hand into one of her pockets and fished around, searching through the various items inside for a moment before revealing a pocket knife. Unsure of what she might do, some of the monsters around her stepped back, but the one still pulling her hair only growled. Though she felt the hair on the back of her neck raise at the sound, she lifted an arm and made one single, fluid slicing motion with her hand, the blade of the pocket knife slicing through her hair. While she hated having to cut her hair and knew it’d take forever to grow back, she bared her teeth at the large dog monster, her lips curling into a smug grin as she noticed the look of surprise on his face.

Taking advantage of the moment, she darted to the nearest door, fully prepared to run out into the freezing streets and make a mad dash back to her protector’s house. Freedom and safety were so close and within her reach now, but as she whipped the door open and scrambled to get outside, she slammed face first into yet another monster. Letting out a frustrated and startled screech, she began trying to squeeze past them. They simply chuckled, wrapping an arm around her nearly size-zero waist and pulling her flush against themselves. Hearing the chuckle, realization dawned on her; this was her protector. She would be safe now.

She stole a glance up at his face and his scarlet iris flickered briefly down to her, his amused grin shifting into a taut line. Oh, she knew that expression all too well by now.

From that look alone, she knew someone would be hurt today.

Though his arm was almost uncomfortably tight around her, she said nothing, only turning her body slightly and burying her face in the front of his heavily blood stained shirt. The teen whimpered, wordlessly admitting just how scared she really was at the moment. He shifted his focus entirely to the other monsters that were now staring at both of them, and sensing their gaze, the teen whined faintly, her guardian lightly squeezing her in an effort to reassure her.

Thoroughly confused as to why she wasn’t dead yet, someone called out to her protector, “Perfect timing, Sans. Now how about you kill her so we can all eat already?” The skeleton’s normally rough voice held a bitter edge and he practically growled, “She ain’t free game, pal. I’m sorry ta say it, but I won’t be hackin’ this one ta bits for ya.” A crowd was beginning to form now and Adrienne tried to press as close to her friend as she could, wishing everyone would hurry up and leave. She already hated crowds on their own, and knowing that this particular crowd all wanted to see her get roasted alive didn’t exactly make her feel any better. Clearly taken aback, the same monster that’d addressed Sans spoke up again, “Oh really? And why’s that? You never helped the humans that fell before her, so what makes her so special?”

Curiosity piqued, she glanced up at the skeleton again, though he didn’t return the gaze. He just continued staring the other monster down, his iris nearly glowing now from the extent of his agitation, “Because she’s mine. Ya hear me? This little slab a’ meat belongs ta me.” A tiny burst of heat rushed to her face upon hearing his response; was he really claiming her right now? Claiming that she was his, and using his power over the others to coerce them into sparing her? Unbelievable.

Another monster decided to interject, countering Sans’ statement with, “Then how come you haven’t marked her yet?”

Oh boy. Of course someone would ask. Why wouldn’t they? She had no idea what she was expecting, but it clearly wasn’t that. With an annoyed huff, the skeleton spun her around, making sure everyone could see her face as he fired back with another sharp retort, “Heh, funny you should ask. I was on my way home with the intention of doin’ just that, but I guess we won’t have the privacy now. Oh well. All you fuckwits better be watchin’, because I’m only gonna do this once.”

Wait, he was going to mark her? Here? In front of everyone?

Face burning with embarrassment, she dropped her gaze to the floor, letting out a soft squeak as he grabbed the collar of her shirt and jacket and pulled them aside to reveal her shoulder. Not bothering to give any indication of what he was about to do, a faintly glowing blue tongue snaked out of his maw and traced over a very specific patch of her skin. The feeling of his tongue - which consisted solely of highly concentrated magic - on her skin was like nothing she’d experienced before. There was some warmth to it that was followed by a tingle, which was likely caused by the magic itself, and another involuntary whimper slipped past her lips. Her face grew hotter at hearing herself make that sound again, which to her horror, Sans had also heard. It earned a soft chuckle from him and his mandible shifted into a pleased grin.

And then he sunk his teeth into her shoulder.

It happened so fast that she didn’t even have time to register what happened, but at the lack of the expected pain, she unconsciously fidgeted. Wasn’t this supposed to hurt?... What was preventing her from being in pain right now? She felt his tongue trace over her skin again, accompanied by more tingling and… numbness? Had he intentionally numbed her shoulder before biting her?

Seeing that he had been true to his word and had in fact marked her, the other monsters quickly grew bored, the vast majority of them also visibly disappointed as they returned to their prior activities. A sense of relief washed over her and she sighed, stealing a quick glance at her friend as he slowly released her. His tongue lingered behind momentarily and lapped up the blood that seeped from the injury, and his voice took a husky tone as he purred, “Ya taste good, kiddo. I think I could get used ta this.” Her already flushed face became a much brighter shade of red than before and she scoffed, refusing to look at him, “Don’t count on it, mister.” “Awe, c’mon Addy. Help me out here… it’s not my fault that ya taste as good as ya look.” Growling softly, Adrienne scrunched her face up into a look of annoyance in hopes of masking her embarrassment as she rolled her eyes, “Pervert.” “No idea what you’re talkin’ about.” “Uh huh, right. I definitely believe that.” He lightly jabbed her side with the tip of a phalange and she squirmed, yelping in surprise. She tried to twist her small frame away from him and he laughed softly, “Whatever. How about we ditch this place and head home now? This bar is no place for a little lady like ya.” Looking back at him over her shoulder, she flicked her tongue at him.

They’d left the bar and began to walk home in uncomfortable silence. The moment they made it back to his house and he’d set her down, she found herself being roughly shoved against the closed front door with one of his large hands catching her wrists and pinning them above her head. Her eyes widened in shock and she squirmed, “H-Hey, what the hell are you-” Meeting her gaze, the look he wore was enough to silence her, his completely dilated red iris both captivating and terrifying her all at once.

Then he spoke, his gruff voice low, “You disobeyed me, Adrienne.”

Forcing her voice out and reaching nothing louder than a whisper, she frowned, “I… I know I did. I’m really sorry, Sans. I won’t do it again, I swear.” “Do you have any idea what would’ve happened if I didn’t get ta you in time?” “Yes, I do! Really!” “If you knew the risks, then why’d you do it?” Feeling much smaller than before as he continued staring her down, Adrienne sheepishly looked away from him, “There’s just.... Not a lot to do here when you and Paps are gone, and I was bored. I did a bunch of cleaning and reorganizing, and I even tried to fix the TV. I dug through the hallway closet and looked through the games, but do you have any idea how hard it is to actually play a game by yourself and have fun at the same time?”

With his free hand, the skeleton cupped his face, letting a deep sigh, “You risked your life… you risked dying, because you were bored? Am I hearin’ that right?” Feeling guilty, she slowly nodded, choosing to keep her mouth shut this time. Catching her completely by surprise, what sounded like a giggle could be heard, and though it took a moment to fully register, she had a realization that made her blood run cold; the giggle came from Sans.

Nervously lifting her gaze again to look up at him, the only thing that began to pulse within her was regret. Regret that she’d disobeyed him, regret that she went against his wishes, regret that she’d upset him so badly, regret that she even opened her mouth at all to speak to him, and most of all, regret that she’d decided to look at him.

He leaned back the smallest bit, one hand still firmly pinning her wrists above her head. Her eyes widened in complete terror as his giggling began to escalate, growing louder and louder until he was roaring with laughter as blue tinted tears pricked at the rims of his sockets. Not bothering to wipe away the tears, he placed his free hand on his face. His open palm rested on his cheek as he curled his fingers, the first two settling inside his empty socket; judging by the slight movement his arm made, he’d begun lightly tugging on the rim of it. That was never a good sign. Yes, she loved it when he relaxed enough to laugh with her from time to time, but this display right now? This was the stuff of nightmares.

Then almost as quickly as it’d started, his laughter came to an abrupt halt and his wide grin vanished, leaving only a resentful scowl behind in its place. As his focus shifted back to the teen, her heart began to race. She honestly had no idea what he planned to do now. He then began to slowly tighten his grip on her wrists, a soft growl rumbling from within his chest. Paying no attention to the grimace of pain she wore as his phalanges began digging into her skin, he leaned down, the space between them reduced to almost nothing as he hissed, “You’re an idiot. Get out of my goddamn sight, human.” Adrienne opened her mouth to force an apology out but was quickly cut off, crying out in surprise and pain as the skeleton dug his phalanges even further into her wrists and began to break skin. Rolling his single eye light, he scoffed, stepping back and suddenly yanking her to the side, releasing his grip on her wrists in time to make her small body become airborne. With the sound of something cracking and collapsing beneath her, she knew she’d landed at least partially on the coffee table.

Despite the pain that shot through her with even the smallest movement, the cold stare she was receiving from the skeleton was enough to make get back up, her head hung low as her eyes began to water up. Not wanting to show him this weaker, more vulnerable side of herself, she darted up the stairs, her feet padding across the slightly creaky wooden floor for only a brief moment. She then took refuge in the upstairs bathroom, slamming the door shut behind herself and flipping the latch, locking out the world. Trying to force down the very minute amount of guilt that began to bubble up within him, Sans let out an annoyed huff and glanced at the now completely busted coffee table. He was going to have a hell of a time explaining that to Papyrus later.

~~~

What seemed like a century had passed before the youngest of the two skeletons finally returned home, the sight of the smashed coffee table still lying on the floor enough to induce a sense of dread within him. Normally when he came home, his elder brother would greet him, or at the very least, be lazing about on the couch and offer him a half hearted wave that was usually followed by some sort of pun or terrible joke.

But no. Nothing. Sans was nowhere in sight, and neither was Adrienne. This only made Papyrus’ concern grow; he hoped beyond all hope that his brother hadn’t done anything to her.

The tall skeleton let out a soft sigh and crossed the living room. The exhaustion from the long day began to set in as he ascended the stairs, eager to take a shower and change into something more comfortable. He loved his battle body immensely, but sometimes his sore, tired bones made the item feel as though it weighed a thousand pounds. He wished he could simply change his clothes and climb into bed so he could go to sleep, but life wasn’t that simple for him; before he was allowed to relax, he needed to shower and make dinner for his brother and Adrienne, then the teen was to help him clean up the dishes once the three of them had finished eating. After all that, he was to take Adrienne to the backyard to test prototypes for new puzzles and traps. She was kind enough to help him make sure they worked correctly, so he was always vigilant, always watching to make sure she was never injured on any of them. Aside from being a puzzle and trap tester, his rather small human friend also delighted in helping him think of new puzzles, and she even designed some of her own. She seemed to enjoy partaking in games of pretend when they messed around with the action figures he’d collected over the years, and when Sans wasn’t around or flat out refused to do it, she didn’t mind reading to him before he fell asleep each night, either. They’d grown very close, and he cared for her almost as much as he cared for Sans. It was for all those reasons why he promised to protect her; he had to protect her. He’d become used to her presence and had grown to appreciate their friendship very much, and having her as his friend helped fill the void in his soul that was once occupied by the queen herself. He still considered Undyne a close friend, but the way she spoke and treated him now was… Execrable.

As he twisted the knob and nudged his bedroom door open, the scent of blood hit his nasal cavity and he felt his body tense. Gently pushing the door shut behind his massive frame once he’d crossed the threshold, he made his way to his desk and flicked on the small lamp that resided on its far left corner, the light illuminating his multitude of action figures and an old map.

The faint sound of movement caught Papyrus’ attention and he looked down toward the source, almost unable to believe what he was seeing; the human was in his bed, lying on her side and wrapped in his old blankets. An open first aid kit sat on the floor next to the bed, and cloth bandages were wrapped loosely around her slender neck. Her hair, which was once nearly long enough to reach her lower back, was now much shorter; it looked as though it was cut hastily by some sort of blade. While her arms were mostly concealed by the blankets, he could see that her wrists had also been wrapped in bandages, a familiar crimson threatening to seep through the material. As she shifted again in her slumber, her shirt began to slip down her shoulder and revealed another large bandage, more crimson staining the fabric. His brow bones furrowed as he took note of how the crimson staining it formed a half circle… as if the injury was because of a bite.

In his consternation, Papyrus reached out, a single gloved hand settling on her uninjured shoulder. He leaned down, his spine already aching from the awkward angle as he lowered his voice and did his best not to startle her, “Human?... Adrienne? Please, I Need You To Wake Up. Come On Human, Please.” As she slowly began to stir, he fought the urge to scoop her up into his arms and shelter her from whatever had left her in her current condition.

As her eyes fluttered open and she took notice of the skeleton towering over her, all traces of exhaustion vanished and her eyes widened, a sound of surprise slipping past her lips. In her momentary panic, she’d sat up and tried to move away from him, her chest heaving as she drew in one deep breath after another. Papyrus gently shushed her, offering her a weak, apologetic smile, “Hey, Hey, It’s Alright. It’s Just Me, Adrienne. I Didn’t Mean To Startle You, I Swear. I’m So Sorry For Scaring You.”

Registering who was with her, the teen released a deep sigh of relief. She gave Papyrus no time to prepare himself before she practically threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around whatever she could reach before clinging to his battle body. Though he was visibly caught off guard, he delicately encircled her with his arms, one hand finding her uninjured shoulder again before he lightly squeezed, his voice laced with concern, “Adrienne?... What’s Wrong? What Happened To You?”

The only response he received from the girl in his arms was a muffled sob and he frowned, moving his hand from her shoulder to her face. He used his index finger to tilt her head back, allowing him to see her tear stained face, and as her bottom lip twitched and another tear rolled down her cheek, he frowned; normally she was such a strong, upbeat person. To see her this way was heartbreaking.

The skeleton lowered his voice even further, reducing it to a whisper, “Adrienne, Please… Tell Me What Happened. I Want To Help You.” Her lip twitched again and she sniffled, reaching up to wipe her tears away with her sleeve, “I just… Papy… I just wanted to go outside... I just wanted some fresh air… I didn’t mean for this to happen.” Still frowning, Papyrus gently ran his fingers through her hair and tilted his head, his voice remaining low, “What Do You Mean?... Did Sans Do This To You?” Upon hearing the name of the older skeleton brother, Adrienne tightened her grip on Papyrus, her voice beginning to waver as more tears rolled down her face, gathering at her jaw and dripping down onto her shirt, “Papy… I was so stupid. I made him mad at me. I upset Sans.”

Papyrus’ frown deepened; he knew how his brother could be whenever he had one of his episodes, and never in a million years would he wish for anyone to become the recipient of Sans' delirium. The skeleton sighed as he gently stroked the teen’s hair, “It’ll Be Ok, I Promise. You May Stay Here Tonight If You’d Like, And I’ll Be Sure To Speak With Him About This. Do You Think You Could Tell Me Everything, Though? I Can’t Be Of Any Help To You If I Don’t Know All The Details.” With a heavy heart, she slowly nodded and looked up, meeting his gaze, “I… I went outside today... by myself. I went into town, and I went to Grillby’s. It smelled like food in there, and I was so hungry… I thought I’d find something to eat. I kept myself as covered as possible, but I was caught and got grabbed by Grillby,” she paused, visibly ashamed as she gestured to her neck, “…I got burned.”

The skeleton made a soft sound in understanding and nodded, silently asking her to continue, which she did, “Someone else grabbed my hair and I had to cut it to get away from them. Then when I opened the door and went to run outside, I ran face first into Sans. He told everyone there not to mess with me, that I wasn’t free game because I belonged to him. Then he marked me. Right there, with everyone watching. He was a little flirty afterward and he seemed happy enough, so I thought everything was ok, but when we got here, he… he had an episode.”

Papyrus didn’t know what to make of everything he’d just been told; on one hand, she suffered numerous injuries and nearly died, and on the other hand, she was marked by Sans.

Normally whenever a monster marked someone, it meant that they saw that person as their mate and that they wanted to claim them as their own. That they loved that person with every fiber of their body and soul. Being marked also served as a way to protect someone from other monsters, but there had been cases of a mark not being enough to guarantee the safety of a monster's mate.

Being marked was not only a big deal, but it was also something that every self respecting monster knew should be done in private. The fact that Sans marked her in the first place was absolutely astounding, but the fact that he had the absolute nerve to take something that was meant to be special, shared between mates and no one else, and turned it into some obscene gesture that he performed in front of a crowd, undoubtedly humiliating Adrienne in the process… It was unacceptable.

He needed to speak to Sans, and he needed to do it now.

Releasing a deep sigh, Papyrus lifted a hand to idly rub the back of his neck, “I See… I Cannot Apologize Enough On My Brother’s Behalf. I’ll See If I Can Get Anything Out Of Him That Would Explain Why He’d Behave This Way. Hopefully… Hopefully He Doesn’t Clam Up, Like He Seems To Always End Up Doing. Will You Be Alright Here While I’m Away? I Don’t Want To Leave You Alone If You’re Still Feeling A Little Too Overwhelmed And Freaked Out By Everything.” The teen sniffled, absentmindedly wiping her face with her sleeve again as she nodded, “Uh huh… I think so.” Catching the slight uncertainty in her voice, he offered her a reassuring smile, “I’ll Try To Be Back As Soon As Possible, Alright? How About You Pick Out Some Puzzles For Us To Work On When I Return? A Few Good Puzzles Always Help Me Feel Better Whenever I’m A Bit Rattled, So I’m Confident They’ll Do The Same For You, Too!” Adrienne couldn’t help the small smile that curled her lips upward at how eager he was to help her, and she nodded again, “Ok, Pap… that sounds good to me. When you get back, do you think maybe you could help me fix my bandages a little? Some of them are still too loose and I dunno if I missed any little spots anywhere.” Perking up at the request, Papyrus beamed, gently unwrapping his arms from around her and ruffling her hair, “Yes, Of Course! The Great Papyrus Would Be Happy To Assist You, Adrienne!” Letting go of the skeleton, Adrienne smiled up at him; he was such a sweet guy, and despite their circumstances, he was always so optimistic. He still maintained a sense of morality as well, unlike the other monsters. She honestly wasn’t sure what she’d do without him at times.

Reluctantly parting from his small human friend, Papyrus slipped out of the room, carefully closing the door behind himself. Once he was gone, Adrienne sighed, climbing out of his bed and making her way over to a shelf. As she looked over the various boxes and puzzle books, she came to the conclusion that it probably didn’t matter which one she chose; as long as it’d keep her and that goofball busy for a while, it was good enough for her. As she reached out to grab a thick puzzle book, she winced. Her free hand moved to gingerly touch the bandage on her shoulder; at the twinge of pain, her mind drifted to Sans. After earlier, she should’ve learned her lesson and given up on disobeying the very specific rules that her friends had established. She was a curious being by nature though, and she’d be damned if she had to go on without receiving any answers.

Her curiosity and desire to know why Sans would mark her grew even stronger. She grabbed the puzzle book and dropped it on Papyrus’ bed, before peeking out of the room and glancing around the hall. Against her better judgement, she began to search for the pair of brothers. The most logical place Sans would be at this time of night would be in his room, or downstairs on the living room sofa. If those two places weren’t it, then she’d have to check the basement. No biggie. As she tiptoed down the empty hallway, she briefly paused to look over the railing and down into the living room, and found that Sans was nowhere in sight. On her way toward the stairs, she caught the sound of a mumbled conversation through Sans’ closed bedroom door and froze; she knew better than to go into his room without knocking, so she opted to stay in the hall and eavesdrop, rather than barge in on whatever he and Papyrus were talking about at the moment.

Inside the closed off room, Sans rolled his eye light, trying his best to brush off the lecture he was receiving from his younger brother. It’s not like he did anything to Papyrus personally, so he didn’t understand why Pap thought he needed to get involved. Not in the slightest. Completely exasperated with Sans’ stubbornness, Papyrus pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a deep sigh, “Sans, Honestly. You Didn’t Have To Take It That Far. The Poor Girl’s Probably Traumatized And Too Ashamed To Ever Want To Leave The House Again.” Sans grunted, flopping down onto his back on his old, worn mattress, “Remind me how that’s a bad thing again, Pap. So far, I’m not seein’ any problems with it.” The taller of the two inhaled deeply, briefly closing his sockets as he tried to gather his thoughts, “Sans… Brother. I Love You, But What You Did Today Wasn’t Ok. I Don’t Understand Why You’re So Calm And Casual About It.” Gaining a very clearly agitated edge, Sans practically growled, “It’s really fuckin’ simple. If she’s too ashamed ta leave the house, then good! At least she’ll stay put then and save me a lot a’ trouble in the future.”

Not even remotely threatened by his older brother’s tone of voice, Papyrus snapped, suddenly shouting, “LANGUAGE, SANS. MAYBE SHE DIDN’T LISTEN TO YOU, BUT THAT’S NO REASON TO TREAT HER THIS WAY. IT IS MOST CERTAINLY NOT A VALID REASON TO GO AND PUBLICLY HUMILIATE HER, THEN COME HOME AND SCARE HER HALF TO DEATH, EITHER. YOU ALSO BROKE THE COFFEE TABLE, SANS. SOME OF US HAVE TO PAY FOR THINGS LIKE THAT, YOU KNOW!”

From her spot in the hallway, Adrienne flinched, her eyes widening. Not once had she ever seen Papyrus so upset that he shouted like this. This was a whole new experience, and she could already say that it was both surprising and terrifying all at once.

The shorter of the two let out an exaggerated groan, beginning to absentmindedly tap the tips of his phalanges on the bed as he stared up at the ceiling, “As far as the table goes, I’ll replace the damn thing if it really means that much ta you. What am I supposed ta do about the kid though? If I really scared her as much as you’re sayin’ I did, then she won’t want anythin’ ta do with me. It’s not like I can just walk up to her and go, ‘hey, you know that day when I got mad at you? I’m sorry and I won’t do it again.’” Papyrus hummed, crossing his arms over his chest, “Well… A Sincere Apology Is Only Half Of What I Think You Owe Her.” “Yeah? And what’s the other half?” “To Be Completely Blunt About It, She Knows What It Means To Be Marked.”

The older skeleton brother nearly choked on air, his cheekbones dusting a soft shade of blue, “What the hell?… Ok, then… What about it? Everyone probably knows what it means.” “What I’m Saying Is That She Knows Monsters Wouldn’t Mark Anyone Unless That Person Was Tremendously Important To Them, And Unless They Saw Them As Their Mate. Not Only Is There That, But She Told Me That You Were Somewhat Flirtatious Toward Her After The Incident Today At Grillby’s. You’re Sending Some Incredibly Mixed Signals, Sans. She More Than Likely Was Under The Impression That You Have Some Very Strong Feelings For Her, But Then You Came Home And Basically Told Her To Get Lost Before Throwing Her At The Coffee Table. She Has No Idea Where She Stands Right Now. The Other Half Of What You Need To Do Is Be Honest With Her. Tell Her If You Feel Something For Her, Or Tell Her If You Don’t. Just Make It Clear To Her So She Knows What She Is To You.”

Bolting upright into a sitting position, Sans stared up at his younger brother in disbelief, “So you’re suggestin’ that I go confess my love ta her or somethin’? Is that what you’re tryna tell me right now, Papyrus?” “If You Love Her, Then Yes, That Is Exactly What I’m Trying To Tell You.” Pressing his index and middle finger to one of his temples, the older of the two narrowed his sockets, grumbling under his breath, “Ya gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’ me… this is so stupid…” Taking a seat on the edge of the bed beside Sans, Papyrus arched a brow bone and tilted his head, “Language, Brother… All Of This Might Seem Stupid To You, Maybe, But It’s A Big Deal And It Needs To Be Addressed. If You Really See Her As Your Mate, She Needs To Know. And Hey, It’s Alright To Feel Embarrassed About This Sort Of Thing. It’s Completely Natural. For Starters, Maybe You Could Try To Help Me Better Understand Your Reasons For Marking Her? I’m All Ears! In A... Manner Of Speaking.”

Sans snuck an uncertain glance up at him and let out a deep sigh, leaning forward to cover both eyes with his hands, “...Don’t make me talk about this right now, Pap. Please. I can’t do it. I just can’t, what if I-” Papyrus was quick to wrap his arms around his older brother, lightly squeezing his shoulder, “Sans, No. Stop. You’re Overthinking Again. Take A Deep Breath And Try To Relax. It’s Just Me Here, And If You Preferred That I Don’t Tell Her What You Say, Then I Won’t. You Have My Word. Just Trust Me… That’s All I’m Asking Of You Right Now. Please, Just Trust Me.”

#writing #tw angst #tw mild violence #tw humiliation #oc insert #undertale #undertale au #horrortale #horrortale au #horrortale sans #horrortale papyrus #horror sans #axe sans #crooks papyrus

[firelxdykatara]

Touching Zuko’s Scar

It’s entirely possible that someone has written meta on this before, and possibly done it better/more eloquently than I’m about to. However, I have Things To Say and I’m going to say them, and hopefully my point comes across! This post is largely spurred on by a few posts I’ve seen in the tags lately which have... rather baffling takes on the whole ‘who touches Zuko’s scar and why’ situation, particularly in regards to feeling the need, for some reason, to diminish the scene in which Katara touches his scar and the importance of that moment for both of them.

From what I can tell, this was done in an attempt to prop up Maiko, which I suppose makes some amount of sense since that is a ship which can barely stand on its own without tremendous amounts of headcanoning to fill in the gaping holes left by the fact that the entirety of their relationship development happened off-screen (and the glimpse we do get into it in the ‘going home’ midquel comic leaves a lot to be desired in terms of why Zuko would even want to be with her, but that’s another discussion entirely). But it still doesn’t quite fit, because the scenes with Katara and with Song are so much more meaningful, both in terms of Zuko’s arc and the way the girls relate to him (and it also ties into Katara feeling so hurt by Zuko’s betrayal, and needing more than any of the others before she can forgive and accept him into the gaang).

Now, that out of the way, I do want to say up front that the intention here is not to be particularly anti Maiko, but to examine the situations in which Zuko’s scar is touched (or almost touched), and the similarities two of these scenes have which are not shared by the third (at which point, you’re obviously free to draw your own conclusions).

Also, please bear with me--I can’t take screenshots or anything, so I’ll reference scenes and the episodes they come from but there won’t be images.

Under a cut bc this got long

To start off, there are three moments in the entire series where a character touches, or tries to touch, Zuko’s scar with her hand. (I say ‘her’ because all three instances occur with girls near Zuko’s own age.) The first moment is in The Cave of Two Lovers, the second episode of book two--this is the moment where Song sees Zuko’s scar, recognizes it for the intentional burn from a firebender that it is, and reaches for it.

Song: Can I join you? I know what you’ve been through. We’ve all been through it. [looks at Zuko’s scar] The Fire Nation has hurt you. [she slowly reaches for his scar, but before she can touch it, Zuko grabs her wrist and stops her; she puts her hand back in her lap] It’s ok. They’ve hurt me too. [pulls up the leg of her pants to reveal the burn scars there]

The second moment comes at the end of book 2, in The Crossroads of Destiny, in a moment that is a deliberate parallel of Zuko’s connection with Song--but this time, he lets Katara touch him.

Katara: [she holds up a vial] This is water from the spirit oasis at the North Pole. It has special properties, so I’ve been saving it for something important. [moves closer to Zuko, standing in front of him] I don’t know if it would work, but... [Zuko closes his eyes, and Katara’s fingers touch his scar; the scene holds there as the music swells, before they’re interrupted]

Like Song did, Katara felt a connection to Zuko via a similar trauma he suffered. However, unlike Song, Katara knew who Zuko was--the banished prince of the Fire Nation, and someone who had been her enemy for most of the past several months. However, she still feels compassion and empathy for him, and it is for this reason that she takes his subsequent choice harder than anyone else in the gaang does (and why it takes more for him to earn her forgiveness).

Now, the third moment is... rather incongruous. There is neither compassion nor understanding involved in touching his scar, there is no real emotional connection, and it comes right on the heels of his girlfriend--someone we’re supposed to believe cares about him and his emotional wellbeing, since they’re in a relationship (which happened off-screen, but I digress)--shutting down his attempt to talk about his feelings, something that will present a conflict in their relationship later on.

Mai: [yawns] I just asked if you were cold, I didn’t ask for your whole life story. [she moves forward, smirking, and then chuckles, putting one arm around his neck and pulling his face towards her with her other hand] Stop worrying. [they kiss, and then Mai walks away, leaving Zuko to stare out at the horizon again; the wiki transcript says he looks relieved, but to me he looks resigned more than anything]

What’s interesting about this moment is, for one thing, it’s unclear if Mai is even supposed to be touching his scar at all. Giancarlo Volpe, the director for this episode, put the original storyboards for the scene up on his DeviantArt, and in them, it seems he was fairly careful to make sure Mai was not touching Zuko’s scar. This would make sense, considering that touching Zuko’s scar was presented as a very big deal--he specifically prevented a girl from touching his scar in the beginning of book 2, and at the end, he allowed another girl to touch him, showcasing vulnerability and trust in that moment. It is the culmination of one small part of his character arc, and that makes the moment that Katara touches his scar even more meaningful.

Of course, I can’t say definitively that it was an animation mistake or something that was deliberately changed during production (which, considering there is a moment later in the book where Bryke mandated a change, isn’t outside the realm of possibility), but it does present interesting implications.

However, even if you take the scene at face value and assume that Mai was intended to be touching his scar....it’s still presented in an entirely different framework than the previous two scenes, despite occurring almost immediately after Zuko’s moment with Katara in the caves (at least as far as episode count).

The different framework being, of course, the fact that it.... doesn’t mean anything at all.

In the first two scenes, Zuko’s scar and his pain--as well as the pain of the girls who are forging an empathic connection with him based on understanding each other’s trauma--is the focus. Touching, or attempting to touch, Zuko’s scar is the point--it is very deliberate, and there’s no way to argue against it because the writing is very explicit, and nothing else would make sense for those scenes. On the other hand, you could take out the moment where Mai touches Zuko’s scar and lose absolutely nothing--because the focus is not on Zuko, but rather on the fact that he was attempting to open up emotionally to his girlfriend (and note that this is the first indication we get in the show that they are together--take out the kiss completely and no one would even know they’re dating, let alone supposedly like one another even as friends), and was shut down with a sarcastic quip, ostensibly because Mai simply didn’t want to hear it. (This is in keeping with her later characterization, where she would much rather distract him and keep him from actually talking about any of his problems, but @araeph goes into the nature of Mai and Zuko’s emotional intimacy [or lack thereof] in much greater detail in this essay, so I won’t get too deep into it here.)

Mai touching Zuko’s scar doesn’t mean anything to the audience because it doesn’t mean anything to Zuko. He doesn’t react to or acknowledge it in any way, it’s as if he doesn’t even notice it happening (perhaps because it wasn’t supposed to? but again that’s speculation), and nothing in the scene would change if it didn’t. It simply doesn’t matter. On the other hand, Song nearly touching Zuko’s scar and then Katara actually touching his scar? They matter to him--and to the show, and therefore the audience--very much. Both moments are incredibly important to Zuko’s overall arc, because together, they show how far he had come in his own emotional journey over the course of the book.

Of course, it isn’t enough to keep him from choosing to side with Azula, because his journey was far from complete--but the fact that he was able to show such trust and vulnerability to a girl who had been his enemy not very long ago? That was huge. Because Zuko didn’t just let Katara touch his scar--he closed his eyes. She could have hurt him in that moment, but he trusted that she wouldn’t. He trusted that she was willing to use special water she’d been saving for something important--and he trusted that, in that moment, he was important to her.

It wasn’t just Zuko showing trust either, though--Katara showed trust in him. She trusted, after a few minutes of conversation and learning about the loss of his mother (and, specifically, the fact that the Fire Nation was responsible for the loss of his mother, just as it was responsible for the loss of hers), that he had changed--that he was different, and she could trust him. She was willing to use the spirit water she’d been carrying around for months on someone who had recently been so much an enemy that she fled from the tea shop, convinced that he’d somehow infiltrated the city and was planning something.

The fact that she trusted him in that moment is exactly why she took his next choice so hard, but it is also why their relationship cemented itself so solidly after The Southern Raiders, giving them quite possibly the strongest relationship in the gaang outside of Katara and Sokka.

Anyway, that was a lot of words for what essentially amounts to this: Song attempting to touch Zuko’s scar in the beginning of book 2 is explicitly paralleled by Katara being allowed to touch his scar at the end of it, and both moments occur during scenes where Zuko’s pain and trauma are acknowledged and validated, and where the person he’s speaking with feels a connection to him because of that shared trauma--because they understand what he has been through. It’s likewise important to note that while Song didn’t actually entirely understand, because she didn’t know who Zuko was or what being traumatized by the Fire Nation actually meant to him, Katara did--and she still was able to feel for him, connect to him, and want to help him.

By contrast, the moment with Mai occurs in a scene where Zuko’s pain and trauma are invalidated and dismissed, where his girlfriend attempts to distract him rather than help him through what is clearly a moment of great emotional turmoil. No, she shouldn’t have to be his therapist, but emotional support is vital in any relationship--especially when one party is traumatized and desperately needs support and love--and it is notably lacking from Maiko, starting from their very first romantic scene together.

Make of that what you will.

#atla #zutara #zuko #katara #mai #song #maiko salt #just covering my bases #atla meta #zutara meta

[consumeconstantly]

Those Who Are Kind

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Summary: Siblings are the last thing on Marinette’s mind as she begins her frantic search for Tikki. Really, she can’t even consider them siblings, not yet. But they’re along for the ride, whether she wants them to be or not.

Duke doesn’t know what to make of the current situation.

He’s always known that the Waynes are crazy, insane, even, but he loves them all the same, in the begrudging, cautious way he cannot shake. (This approach has served him well over the years, allowing him to avoid multiple schemes that Tim or Jason typically start up to rile up Damian. From there, everything is guaranteed to snowball. The only time things get really bad is when Cass gets involved.) To him, it’s always been a bit uncanny how similar all the brothers looked, despite the fact that none of them shared blood. All of them had the same sharp jaw, piercing blue eyes, chiselled cheekbones and defined bodies. Only Tim and Damian differed slightly, with Tim having a dancer’s figure instead of that of a body builder or demolitions expert, and Damian having green eyes instead of blue. It’s also disconcerting that everybody the Waynes are more intimately involved with have some sort of alter ego. He often joked with other members of the Justice League that heroism ran in Bruce’s blood.

With the new addition of Marinette to their family, he has to say that he’s been proven right.

A girl who had absolutely nothing to do with the Waynes in any capacity other than the fact that she and Bruce share blood becoming a hero. The leader of a team. Fighting supervillains at the age of thirteen.

He’s very, very glad that he was not adopted by or shared blood with Bruce. He doesn’t think he could have handled being a superhero at age thirteen. He can barely handle being Signal now some days, and he’s an adult. The amount of responsibility on Marinette’s shoulders is difficult to understand. To be the sole wielder of magic that can revert an entire city back to its original state. To bring people back from the dead. 

Dick is strangely quiet. A car is driving them from a pit stop near a zeta tube to Marinette’s hospital. 

Hands down, Dick is the most sane male of the Wayne family, not including Alfred. But there are times when Duke sees the weight that he carries. All the times that he refuses to talk about the burdens that he bears. Moving forward with a smile when he’s in pain. When he gets in a mood like this, he’s hard to read. But given the circumstances, it’s fairly clear exactly what’s bothering him. 

“He’s known about her this entire time,” Dick says, tinted windows allowing Duke a glance at his expression, carefully devoid of any telling emotions. “Nineteen years. He kept her a secret.”

“It’s Bruce.” The man is known for keeping secrets. 

“Yeah, but Marinette is family. She should have been, at least. And now…”

Now she’s all alone when she should be surrounded by people that love her, praising her for her victory, for how she shouldered so much responsibility at such a young age. But by bringing her to a hospital in America, she’s been cut off from her team, and any support system she should have had is gone. 

“You and her,” Duke says, looking for a way to comfort him. “You’ll get along. You’re similar, after all.” After they brought Gabriel and Lila to the a top security prison and sent Emilie to a hospital that couldn’t figure out what was wrong with her, they got two files from Tim. One detailing Ladybug and all of her exploits. The second, detailing Marinette’s life. 

Duke has watched the videos. Has watched how Ladybug leads by example, comes up with the plan and begins the execution. How she shoulders more battles than she should. 

He’s seen Marinette pull people together with a smile on her face, even while she’s running on empty after a strenuous akuma attack. 

Dick and Marinette are alike. 

“We’re too much alike,” Dick says. “I suspected for a long time that Bruce had another kid that he wasn’t telling us about, but I thought that if he was keeping her away from us, then maybe she’d have a shot at leading a good life. A normal life. Not the one she got. Sabine’s— Bruce’s biological daughter shouldn’t be somebody like me. She deserves better.”

Duke is acutely aware that Dick’s parents were also murdered, but whatever relation he had with Sabine is something he’s never been willing to talk about. There are pictures in his apartment of a petite Asian woman with a soft smile standing next to him, but whenever asked about her, Dick never gives a straight answer. 

“Nobody has the ability to change the past.” Duke claps a hand on his friend’s shoulder. He sags imperceptibly under the weight. 

Well— actually, it’s not out of the realm of possibilities, given the fact that magic, aliens, and metahumans all coexisted, supplemented by the fact that multiple members of Marinette’s team do have the ability to travel back in time, but that’s another matter entirely. There’s not a lot of information on the Miraculous, and all of their knowledge is coming from Wonder Woman, Aquaman, and Zatara, and even the three of them don’t know everything. 

“But you have the chance to do good by her. Be a good older brother, like I know you are.”

A thin smile appears on Dick’s face. “She’s going to need more than just one good influence on her life. And Damian is better, but you saw how he looked at her when Bruce brought her through the Zeta tubes. Tim’s not going to react well either, and Jason is a wild card. She’s not going to get the support she needs if she stays with us.”

Duke crosses his arms, knees brushing up against the back of the car seat. “The only person whose actions you’re responsible for are your own. Don’t worry about them. If they don’t like her, they’ll just avoid her.”

That’s certainly not true— all of the members of the Wayne family are notorious for going hard after all of the things they don’t like. But... it’s comforting to hear. Sometimes temporary and known lies are much nicer than harsh realities.

#

She’s gone.

All of her belongings are missing, the IV needle is hanging from the stand, the window open, and Marinette is missing from her bed.

At least she left a note?

Be back soon — Marinette

“Great,” Duke mutters under his breath. “Another incredibly vague, cryptic Wayne.”

Dick’s face turns to ash. “Her legs. Her head. She can’t go out so soon. Hold on, maybe Barbara can pull up some footage.”

“On the bright side, there’s no blood,” Duke says. 

“That’s not a bright side.”

“It is,” Duke argues. “She fell in the worst places possible, right on top of that broken glass casket. If she’s not bleeding that clearly means she didn’t pull her stitches on her mad escape out.”

When Ladybug fell, they’re not exactly sure what happened, because the screen showed Ladybug collapsing almost gracefully. When they arrived on the scene, she flickered between Ladybug and Marinette as her earrings beeped. Her legs were slashed from falling on the glass with a seemingly unnatural force— simply falling would not have garnered cuts that large— and her head was twisted at an odd angle, debris bloodied beneath her.

Somehow, the Miraculous Cure seemed to be working backwards. Not from the epicenter out, but rather from the edge of the damage, in. It worked slowly, every mile taking minutes instead of mere seconds. It hadn’t happened before in any of the battles.

It was useful in apprehending Hawkmoth and Pavona, who were still knocked out. But Marinette, even after the Miraculous Cure washed over her, didn’t get healed. Her injuries didn’t revert. There was still a gash on her stomach from Hawkmoth’s cane, still muscles exposed on the back of her legs and blood on her neck. When she was first brought in, the doctors feared that she may be permanently incapacitated. 

Good at keeping to her word at least. She came swinging through the window with worry on her face and grief in her eyes. 

“I need to go back to Paris,” she says. 

Dick will undoubtedly say no. He’s a very protective person, and Marinette is the center of his current efforts. 

But she doesn’t look injured. He eyes her stance. She’s standing with no effort, walks with no limp. No hospital dress, no blood on her neck, no bruises in all of the places he was expecting them to be. Marinette does not look like she just faced a world ending threat less than twenty four hours ago. She certainly doesn’t look like she’s permanently lost the use of her legs. There’s the familiar Wayne Brand Stubbornness in her eyes— no way she’s not Bruce’s kid— that tells him that she’s going to get to Paris one way or another, and that they’re either lucky they were even notified in the first place or that she wants to use a resource that they have that she does not have access to. It’s fairly obvious what that resource is, considering that Paris is nine hours away by any normal plane and it sounds like she wants to get there in minutes, and not hours. Duke also knows that if they don’t take what she’s offering now, she’ll use an alternative method that definitely won’t be as nice or clear cut. 

He jumps in before Dick can say anything. “We’ll take you as long as we go with you every step of the way.”

Oh, he’s going to get in so much trouble for doing this. Dick is looking at him with his Disapproving Dad glare, and he can imagine Bruce going into brooding silence when he hears that Duke allowed this to happen. 

Marinette’s lips pinch together, but she nods. “Where’s the nearest zeta tube?”

#

Barbara gets Dick’s text and sighs in frustration.

She’s already got her hands full with watching Tim, who’s spiralling trying to find information about the Miraculous, muttering under his breath in the way he does when he gets a particularly hard case to crack. He’s gone through six cups of coffee in the last hour, and he kicked off his research with a combination of 5 Hour Energy, Monster, three packets of sugar, and 10 caffeine shots. Soon, she’ll have to start limiting his caffeine intake, but right now it’s clear that any attempt to get him to stop his research now will fail spectacularly. At least she’s not in charge of Damian and Jason. Wherever they are, they’re definitely on the move and not happy.

She never thought she'd be able to say she’s happy about being paralyzed from the waist down, but she certainly doesn’t want to be chasing after one of the two hellions. Cass definitely has her hands full and whoever’s watching Jason— wait, is anybody even watching Jason? Typically Roy gets stuck with Jason-sitting duty, but he’s been out for a while. 

Barbara groans. Jason is probably on his own, wreaking havoc.

Great.

She’ll deal with that later, even though she has no doubt she’ll regret that decision, but if Marinette is gone from her room, Dick needs the footage, and somebody needs to find where she is. The nurse put in her latest report that her legs were almost healed and that she didn’t show any signs of a concussion, but Marinette was in bad shape when she got admitted to the hospital. Even though Barbara doubts that there was any misdiagnosis, given that Bruce sprung for a VIP room in one of the pricier hospitals, in a world where magic and aliens are present, who knows what’s true or not.

“Tibet!” Tim jumps up from his hunched over position for the first time in hours. “I’m going to Tibet, the closest zeta tubes are three hours by car away, but I can get somebody to loan Wayne Industries a helicopter while I’m over there.”

“Sit down, Tim.” Barbara takes her glasses off and pinches the bridge of her nose. Why can’t Bruce rein in his children? Why is she the one stuck babysitting? “Marinette left her hospital room.”

That certainly gets Tim to put the brakes on his movements towards the zeta tube in the bat cave. 

“What?”

“I said, she left her hospital room. Just sit down while I send the information over. It’s not going to do you any good to rush into things anyways.”

A quick review of the surrounding CCTV shows that Marinette didn’t travel far, just around the hospital. She’s looking for something, calling out for it, too. Barbara grabs that file and slows it down so she can read her lips. “Dickie? Do she and Dick know each other already?”

A quick text back to Dick reveals that Marinette has already returned to the room and—

Oh, hell. 

“Well,” Barbara pushes her laptop away from her, letting Tim watch the files she’s pulled up. “It looks like we’re taking a family trip to Paris.”

#

Somehow, Marinette almost manages to lose all four of them within the first four minutes of roaming around Paris.

Luckily, their family has an almost absurd amount of luck between all of them (not all of it good) and the person Barbara was half sure she could only find in prison, beating up Hawkmoth and Pavona, runs into Marinette on the streets and herds her back to them.

“Lose something?” Jason asks, arm slung around Marinette’s shoulder, the smaller, younger girl looking rather upset at having her plans thrown off.

“I told them that they could follow me,” Marinette argues without much real bite. It’s not my fault if they can’t keep up, is the clear meaning of her statement.

Again, Barbara is very impressed that the barely nineteen year old somehow managed to shake off vigilantes with decades of experience with ease. But it is, at least, partially due to her disability. Every time she goes out in her wheelchair, her heart aches a little, especially as the civilians she passes eye her with pity. Barbara doesn’t want pity. Doesn’t need pity. She shouldn’t feel anything when people look at her like she can’t keep up, because she can keep up.

Most of the time, anyways.

It doesn’t matter how she uses her tech skills to modify her wheelchair and deck it out with all the equipment she could ever need, or that she can easily get up to speeds rivalling sports cars for short periods of time before the power runs out. When she’s stuck in her wheelchair, she loses the maneuverability she had when she wasn’t paralyzed.

She couldn’t follow Marinette through the alleyways because she was stuck. Barbara was the one who noticed her escape first. If only she were more capable, she could have—

But it’s okay now. Jason ran into her. Marinette is back with them. 

“I need to search for something, and none of you can help.” She’s not intentionally being rude when she says it, and if anything, sounds apologetic. Barbara sees the similarities between Marinette and Bruce. It makes a lot of sense that the two of them are father and daughter, when the two of them are so insistent on keeping major issues to themselves. Marinette twists herself out from underneath Jason’s arm, clutching her purse. Her head doesn’t move, but her eyes are wild. 

“We can help,” soothes Duke, ever the voice of reason. “You know who we are.”

“And I’m guessing you’ve all either deduced who I am or have been told my identity,” counters Marinette. “Which means you should know why I can’t have you helping me.”

Barbara and Duke exchange pointed glances. 

“That’s not really clear to us, actually,” says Barbara. Marinette isn’t moving, but the way her shoulders tense makes her believe that the younger girl is ready to run at the drop of a hat. 

A small group of people from the parade on the streets tumbles into the alleyway they’re resting in. They smell like cheap booze and sweat. 

“What are all of you doing in this alley?” one says, after he finished vomiting up his last (very colorful) meal. “You should be out there partying with the rest of us! Celebrating Ladybug and her team.”

“Fuck Hawkmoth and Pavona,” says another solemnly, with neon face paint and pigtails with glitter string intertwined. “Their defeat should be celebrated by even the darkest souls.”

Jason, easily amused by their antics, looks very willing to join them. “Yeah Marinette, we should be celebrating Ladybug not—”

As one, everybody looks at the place where Marinette was, just moments ago. The alley is decidedly empty of a small asian girl with blue eyes and pigtails.

“Fuck,” Jason curses.

“Fuck is right,” Duke agrees, placing a hand over his temple. 

#

Marinette manages to disappear for three hours.

Three full hours.

“She’s good,” Tim says, typing into the holographic computer embedded into his sleeve. 

Paris’ CCTVs are painfully easy to hack into, though he suspects that the lack of attention to them may have to do with the fact that everybody in the city is celebrating. Policemen, politicians, artists, students, scientists—  people from all walks of life are in the streets today, screaming and shouting and being free for the first time in years.

He spies more than just a few dozen people bawling their eyes out within a few minutes. But that’s not surprising, considering how long Parisians have had to suppress their emotions for. 

Dick and Barbara are still in the midst of profiling Marinette, trying to determine the most likely places where she’d stop by, either as Ladybug or herself. All of Ladybug’s usual haunts are decidedly devoid of the young heroine, though Tim does manage to catch a good amount of footage of the other young heroes like Carapace and Rena Rouge, who are most definitely in a relationship based on their makeout session on top of the eiffel tower (one of the first places Tim checked), Viperion, who seems to be the only one from Ladybug’s team to be seeking out the crowd which seems rather atypical considering that the hero never frequented interviews or was spotted on news coverage all that frequently,  and Chat Noir and Queen Bee who Jason insisted were in a relationship as well, though the rest of them believed they were only embracing each other out of comfort— Chat Noir looks like he’s been crying for hours, and Queen Bee looks like she’s barely holding it together.

Ryuko has not shown up on camera once today. Neither has Ladybug.

The second place Tim checks is the bakery. She is not there either, though another girl is. It doesn’t seem like the girl has any ill intent, but Duke is more than happy to pull up past files to see if she’s been there before, if she has any reason to be there, and who exactly she is. 

Just as Barbara and Dick are debating the chances that Marinette would be at Le Grande Paris, she walks past one of the cameras focused on Tom & Sabine’s Boulangerie. Tim has the system rigged up so that any facial matches for Marinette automatically alerts the room. He hadn’t been able to replicate that with Ladybug’s face for some bizarre reason which is why he, Barbara, Dick, and Jason are manually combing through the areas where Dick and Barbar think she may be (magic is why, but Tim has always believed that technology can be used against and with most forms of magic) so it’s lucky that she enters as Marinette. 

“Kagami Tsurugi,” Duke says triumphantly. “She visited often when Tom and Sabine were still alive. Potential candidate to represent France or Japan for Sabre in the next Olympics. Definitely friends with Marinette.”

“Thank God,” sighs Dick. “Now let’s get over there.”

It’s truly, truly unfortunate that they set up shop quite a distance away from the bakery.

They take too long to arrive.

#

Perhaps it was a mistake, telling Kagami first.

No, not just perhaps. It was a mistake. A bad one.

But Kagami was pushing so hard, and Marinette was so tired and so alone without Tikki at her side, without the knowledge that her parents would be waiting for her. Kagami pushed and pushed and pushed about why the house felt so empty, why there was dust on the floor, why the bakery was closed for so long, and where were Tom and Sabine? Why weren’t they there for the team yesterday, when the battle was won, when they knew how important it was to be there for Adrien who had just lost all three of his parental figures? 

The moment the words fall from Marinette's lips, she knows she shouldn’t have revealed it at that moment, because Kagami draws in on herself, lips turning downwards, hands curling into fists. 

Kagami has come a long way from the girl she was in lycèe. The thrill of victory is still something she enjoys, but not something she needs to feel secure in her place in the world. She has trouble expressing her emotions, but when it comes down to it, she communicates everything necessary to understand why. 

With the news of Tom and Sabine’s death, she withdraws into herself, shifts back into that thirteen year old Marinette first met. Logic  and rationale thrown to the wind in favor of cold anger. 

It’s no secret that Ryuko, Ladybug, and Viperion are the main strategists of their team. Viperion, out of his duty of using Second Chance and his ability to keep a level head in the face of constant death. Ladybug out of necessity as her position as team leader and the power of Lucky Charm. Theoretically, the two of them should have been enough. But over the years, Kagami became Marinette's favored confidante; though Ladybug trusts all of her team to keep a tight hold on any information she gives them, Kagami is one of the few who is able to pick apart a given situation and transform the monsters they face into manageable pieces. 

Today, it is Kagami who has broken to pieces. Very angry, razor sharp shards that seek to hurt.

“You lie to the media, tell them a pretty tale of how they died due to a break in. Why do you avoid pinning their deaths on Lila as you should? To absolve a quality woman from guilt?”

Marinette can’t look Kagami in the eyes.

Her parents deserved a peaceful death. To pass on in old age, hand in hand. Not looking on as a family member died, in fear of what would happen next for their daughter. 

“The police know. The judges know,” Marinette protests weakly, but without much eight behind her words.

Kagami just scoffs. “Tom and Sabine were kind people. To not tell the media what truly happened— that’s preventing Lila from getting the full force of what’s coming to her. What happens if she gets out of prison one day? Without any real deaths to her name, she could just flee to another country to escape it all. And when another person loses their life because of her…” 

She doesn’t need to finish her sentence. If somebody else gets injured in any way, shape or form at the hands of Lila Rossi, it’s Marinette’s fault. Marinette gets what Kagami is trying to say. She thinks the same thing, after all.

“My parents would not want their death publicized in that manner.” It’s the truth, but it’s said so weakly that the words come off as little more than a weak defense, and Kagami takes the words and twists their truth.

“You know little of your parents, considering that you’re their daughter.” Kagami stands stock still, not a single extra muscle moving. “Perhaps if you spent more time with them as Marinette instead of unsuccessfully gallivanting around as Ladybug, you’d have realized that Tom and Sabine admire truth above all else, even if it is painful.”

Kagami does not ask a single question about where Marinette was last night, or how Marinette felt over the loss of her parents or when she saw all those she held dear lying still on the ground after Hawkmoth and Pavona’s final attacks. She just purses her lips and sweeps out the door.

And then she’s gone, and Marinette is alone once more. 

#

The bakery is bone-achingly quiet.

Every step Marinette takes creates such a disturbance in the peace that moving hurts. 

But she can’t stay here. She can’t stay here. She does not deserve to stay here. Kagami is right. Marinette was a bad daughter. She could have prevented their death, could have given them justice sooner, could have— 

And Marinette can’t breathe. She tries to, she tries so hard to, but she chokes.

She kneels down on the floor— Kagami is right again, the place is dusty, because Marinette couldn’t bring herself to use the living room and kitchen without her parents, could barely bring herself to sleep in her bedroom because she knew that her parents were not sleeping soundly in the bed below hers— and scrabbles at her throat, vision coming in and out.

Her legs burn. She knows that during the final battle, her legs were cut towards the end of it, and they should be healed, she should be okay now, she’s better than this, she’s— 

Somebody gathers her in their arms. They smell slightly of Lotus flowers, just like Maman, and cradle her ever so gently.

Marinette’s eyes open— black hair, greyish eyes filled with understanding and love and— 

She can breathe again.

She falls asleep.

#

“Cass?” Dick’s eyes widen at her unexpected appearance at Marinette’s home.

“I thought you were on Damian guard duty,” Barbara says, fixating on the red around Marinette’s eyes and the barely dried tear tracks on her face.

“Where’s that Kagami girl?” Jason scuffs his shoes on the hardware floor, silently marking the footprints on the floor and getting a general idea of what occurred before they were able to get here based on Marinette’s current state and the other girl’s absence. “I want to have some words with her.”

Cass inclines her head sharply, eye sparking with anger. Jason’s fists rise unconsciously— Cass rarely gets angry, and whenever she gets angry at a specific person, that means they’ve done something very, very wrong— ready to hunt down Kagami. Marinette sniffles and shifts in Cass’ one armed embrace, to which Cass places a finger over her lip and shakes her head, a universal sign to be quiet.

 Jason scowls but settles down.

They’re quiet as they wait for Marinette to wake.

@biodad-bruce-month

Maribat tag list(to be added onto this pls send me an ask/dm): @our-precipreciousss @my-dear-friend-anxiety

Who Are You (and what will you become) tag list (to be added here just comment): @anjuschiffer @theunquiet-dead @certainmuffinbagelcalzone @cresentmo0n @allulily @myazael @zalladane @rebecarojas07 @keepingupwiththemalfoys  @frieddonutsweets @all-mights-asscheeks @thornalchemist23 @trippingovermyfeet @jiso-lee @redscarlet95 @ira-sairain @screechingflapbiscuitpeach @ramos123 @cutechip @theunquiet-dead @sleep-deprived-aroace @enternalempires @lilkymilky @woe-is-me0 @officiallydarkgeek @miyla-lokidottir @queencommonsense @demonicbusiness @iamablinkmarvelarmy 

@emark7 (i will have the edited version of these on ao3 eventually but i think the link to ch 1 on this one works)

where i ended this doesn’t feel very good but ehhhhhhhhhh my writing process is summary then word vomit that barely correlates which means nothing makes sense unless i edit but looking back at my work makes me cringe so at a crossroads yayyy

also can you guys tell which prompts ive written these for because i’m curious

#bio!dad bruce wayne month 2020 #bio!dad bruce #maribat #marinette dupain cheng #bruce wayne #duke thomas #jason todd #dick grayson #damian wayne #barbara gordon #tim drake #cassandra cain #batfam

[tundrainafrica]

Title: Lovebug (7/12)

Summary:  

“It might be a bug.”

“A bug?”

“Sometimes the developers of this application make mistakes. This is our first time meeting I’m sure so…Isn’t it a bit weird that we just met for the first time and it rings like this? And for two strangers to coincidentally ring each other’s alarms?“

Levi is the developer of the Love Alarm App and Hange is married to Zeke.

Link to cross-postings: AO3

Other Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6

Notes: Feedback is very much appreciated :D

They all called her Hange. But they said her name like it was a title, like it was something that had to be said with as little chance of a slip of a tongue as possible. It was a practiced phrase, a relished sensation.

That was the first thing that came to mind when Levi started to give a little more thought to his surroundings. There was a bigger picture that could have explained such reactions. Hange was walking next to him. More importantly, next to her was Zeke, the owner of the two hectare complex housing both a sixteen floor hospital, a medical arts building and two parking lots.

And that was just one of his hospitals. Levi liked to remind himself of that, as he followed behind, a little more perceptive than usual of the stares, the whispers and the returned smiles.

Zeke was charismatic. Hange was charismatic. When they walked straight ahead, their strides confident, Levi could only gape, slowly becoming more self conscious of his own inability to keep his back straight. Suddenly, he was aware of his own inability to greet every single one of the workers by name, greet every single stranger like he had known them his whole life.

Maybe Hange did know some of them. “Hey, Hange that one patient you just talked to, is he regular or something?” Levi asked.

Hange shrugged. “No, I just met him.”

Levi hadn’t been close enough to hear the conversation but the grins exchanged, the confident tone with which Hange navigated the conversation. They had all seemed just a little too natural at first glance. She didn’t seem at all exhausted by multiple interactions in a row.

Hange had stopped just a few inches in front of Levi before turning back at him. “You seem stressed,” she commented.

Zeke went ahead, still chatting with a balding man in a business suit. He gestured in the same manner, chattered with the same confident tone.

Yes, after staring for a little longer than what could have been comfortable. Levi had to admit to himself, he was a little more stressed than usual. “I’m fine,” he said, turning to Hange, forcing his gaze on her. Averting eyes would only make the process of being stressed, more stressful.

“It sucks Erwin couldn’t come,” Hange continued.

“Erwin doesn’t know much about how the application actually works so I’ll just document what’s needed in our proposal and we’ll just need his take on prices and on budget allocation and that’s enough,” Levi explained.

“Maybe, they’ll do it over another game of golf,” Hange mused. “If we do play golf again, would you join?”

Levi raised one eyebrow at her. “Why waste your time playing golf again?”

“To close important business deals.”

“You can do it in the office.”

Hange chuckled. “You’d be surprised how many businessmen have closed deals on the golf course. Investors don’t work eight to five jobs in the office you know. A lot of them like to play a good game of golf then go into the office and sign the actual paperwork there. It builds camaraderie.”

“Is that why you know how to play? For business purposes?”

Hange nodded. “I’ve learned golf, a few gambling games to mingle. Besides, people like to know how their business partners and their fellow investors think and what better way than watching them over a few games right?”

“I’m not a rich businessman, I wouldn’t know,” Levi muttered. He walked ahead of Hange and surveyed his surroundings. There were patients, nurses, doctors and visitors. They all had their own conversations Levi would most likely never figure out the meat of. His own disconnect from them, his much closer connection to Hange and by extension to Zeke, had made him aware of the fact that he was painfully poor.

There was a wry smile plastered on Hange's face, as if she was starting to sense the discomfort herself. “Yeah, to be honest, it is a rich man’s game. Most businessmen who play golf, have shares in private golf courses or memberships and it’s customary to invite fellow business partners for a game in your home country club.”

“How much are these shares?” Levi enunciated those words just a little slower. It was an unpleasant thing to ask that only served to aggravate his own self consciousness. Somehow, he was feeling a little masochistic at that moment.

Hange shrugged. “Depends on the club. Maybe a few tens of thousands of dollars a year, sometimes a hundred.” It turned out she hadn’t noticed his discomfort or maybe he was just too good at hiding it.

Levi still attempted a light response. “Figures why I never learned how to play then.”

“Yeah, well to be honest, although I have played as a kid, I only got to play a lot more when I got together with Zeke. His family owns shares in country clubs in a lot of countries.”

It was a question of transitivity, one Levi quickly answered. And the large numbers he was starting to lose control of in his mind, had manifested as a cough, an almost painful, raspy one.

“Are you okay?” Hange asked. It had only been a week since the drowning incident at the beach. It subsided quickly after and Levi surmised that it wasn't the fault of his own poor health. It had been his own inability to fathom numbers, to comprehend wealth and his own blatant poorness that had frozen time for him.

Hospitals. Real Estate. Resorts. Country Club Shares. Although it was only a small aspect of it, his mind was also back to tasting the free flowing tea in Zeke’s private airplane.

“I’m fine,” Levi said. I just tried to mentally calculate the amount of money your husband earns and spends on a yearly basis. A mental note he added just for himself.

Zeke would obviously have a lot of money. He would obviously be faced with the problem on how to spend the money. Those were facts Levi grappled with as he took a deep breath just to clear the remnants of burns in his throat.

And those facts only made it more difficult to move as Levi stumbled closer and closer upon a burning conclusion.

Zeke was filthy rich. Zeke was powerful.

Levi was a meagre employee who made a meagre annual salary which was probably less than their pocket money for one trip to Europe.

Zeke had proven to be abrasive, just a little bit of a bastard. He proved to be somewhat unpredictable.

Levi was under his mercy, under Zeke’s very flamboyant whims. He clambered for solace elsewhere, back to Hange who had caught up to him. Hands behind her back, she continued to walk through the hospital like she was strolling through a park.

She was a good reminder that he wasn’t alone. Hange would help him through whatever whims or threats that came with taking up the business venture of a billionaire as a typical employee. As he studied Hange’s distracted expression, Levi had to admit, he wasn’t so sure where Hange stood in that whole relationship.

Zeke loves Hange. Hange loves Zeke. But how much help would Hange be to him? Even if Hange was helpful, even if she was supportive. Until when? For how long?

He soon concluded, the only thing he could be certain of was uncertainty. What would determine the success of the application, could be Hange or it could be him. The only thing he could predict or he could control would be his own actions.

It wasn’t motivation that had him moving faster. It was discipline. “Where are we going?” Levi asked, his voice more mechanical than a second ago for sure.

“Zeke’s office is on the top floor,” Hange answered.

Levi feigned understanding. Hange had said it like she had answered the question moments back. Maybe she did and he was just a little too unhinged at that moment. Besides, they were taking too many pit stops towards the office, only prolonging the grueling journey.

Hange and Zeke were talking to everyone on the way up. After a while, Levi tuned them out, willing himself to focus on something a little less stressful like how much the finishings on the hospital could have been, how much the tiled floors below him could have cost to not gather dust from his shoes so easily.

And he thought again to every single person being paid by Zeke to even be there. Time went incredibly slowly but as soon as they arrived at the front of the room, Levi could have sworn time passed way too quickly.

“Managing a hospital costs a lot of money, Levi,” Zeke explained as he stood outside the door of what could have been his office.

“I’m perfectly aware of that,” Levi responded, mustering as much ‘professional’ as he could with that sentence.

“Well, you look a little astonished, surprised? Or maybe that’s just your natural face.” Zeke said it like it was a truth that could be easily brushed off.

Somehow, that pushed a few buttons for Levi. He clamped his mouth shut, scolding himself for not even noticing that for a good few minutes that it was wide open.

That was more bait for Zeke. “Difficult to fathom eh? Just imagine some of these machines cost more money than most people would ever see in your life.”

And Zeke had multiple hospitals, more hospitals than Levi could even count with both hands and both feet maybe, and that monkey was completely aware of how much he actually had. It was in his demeanor, his approach towards others.

The door opened with a loud click and a grating creak. “It’s been a while Mr. Jaeger, Hange,” the woman on the other side greeted.

Everyone called Hange, Hange. Levi noted once again. It only seemed natural that Hange would have preferred that anyway.

Zeke went ahead inside the office confidently like he owned the place---since he owned the place. Hange gestured for Levi to follow behind and Levi used that last few seconds to spare a glance at the small girl with black curly hair, sleepy eyes and a very mature looking face.

“You’re Levi right? Zeke and Hange told me a lot about your application and we’re very much looking forward to seeing it in action.”

Levi subtly patted the phone in his front pocket, not for anyone to see. It just served as some reassurance that he hadn’t completely forgotten it at home or it hadn’t fallen off. When he spent too much time calculating numbers, calculating assets he would never own, and maybe never even fathom, he was aware that he may have been distracted enough to forget why he was there in the first place.

“This here is Pieck,” Zeke waved his hand with great flourish. Really though, when Levi was completely aware that that man most likely owned half the country, any gesture he did could be described as something overly flamboyant.

Pieck nodded at Zeke then at Levi. “I handle the psych wards here. Hange’s been requesting permission to test here and Zeke, he’s been raving non stop about your application,” she said with wonder in her eyes.

Zeke? Talking wonders about my app? Levi attempted to sneak a glance at Zeke, withdrawing it at the last minute after noticing, Zeke was looking right at him.

“There’s a lot of potential for that application,” Zeke answered. He had shifted to a more professional demeanor.

Hange nodded. “I mentioned this over email but Levi and I have been doing a lot of testing on it. This type of technology can be used to improve the accuracy of diagnosis, the effectiveness of treatments in psych wards…”

“Yes, I read your email and Zeke and I have been discussing this already.”

Hange’s eyes widened. She turned to Zeke. “You have?”

“I’ve been working with the other doctors here on getting volunteers among the kids. We currently have an emotional management program for kids and this would be a great opportunity to see the application. We could set a date for testing the application…” Pieck looked down at her tablet, sliding her finger over it.

From Levi’s own position, he couldn’t clearly see what she was fiddling with, his own tech savvy instincts though were hinting to a calendar. He continued to watch her finger slide over it, sliding across weeks or months he supposed.

More than enough time to get an application ready for testing.

“What about sometime this week? Would Wednesday do?”

“Wednesday? To test the love alarm app?” I thought we’ll be doing it now. He turned to Hange who seemed visibly confused as well.

Hange furrowed her brows. “We could test the love alarm now,” she suggested.

“Oh yes, definitely. But what about the test build of the application we requested?” Pieck asked.

“You have a test build already right?” Zeke turned to Levi. “If I remember correctly, you mentioned working on something… Hange, you’ve been neck deep on that proposal right?”

Levi opened his mouth to speak. It’s not ready. That was a lie. There was no build but Levi couldn’t even allow himself a sliver of confusion in his expression. It was a professional meeting. He was supposed to have everything under control.

“I have been working on something…” Hange started.

But it’s far from ready. We barely have anything out.

Pieck seemed too expectant. She turned her ipad over to him, clear enough for him to see. “We’ve informed the doctors of some free time around this week. It would be best to have it before most of the younger kids go on summer vacation. The cycle of our emotion management program ends this week and the doctors are already very familiar with the kids---”

“When does the next cycle end? We could get something available by then,” Levi said.

“We won’t be holding them during the summer unfortunately. We’ll be using that time to process data and results… So would December do?” Pieck turned to Zeke.

“What do you think Hange? This is one project you want to do right?”

Try another hospital. Another group of kids. Another program. Levi’s mind was racing with too many alternatives.

“Yes, but I don’t think the test application will be ready by then,” Hange argued.

“Where are you two now in the process?” Zeke asked.

The planning stages. Levi couldn’t even bring himself to say it.

“We don’t have anything worth presenting yet,” Hange said.

“Well, we’re not asking for a perfect product.” Zeke wasn’t addressing it at Hange. HIs blue eyes were fixed on Levi. When Levi found himself unable to even force a hint of indignance out of his mouth, he started to realize, those weren't just eyes. They were millions of dollars worth of investments, billions of dollars worth of assets in one long stare.

Levi tensed up on his seat. They weren’t asking for a perfect product but with that much money on the line, he didn’t have much room for his own decisions.

“You could do something right? Take some code from the love alarm just to get something ready?” Zeke suggested. They were reasonable suggestions Levi could easily expound on himself.

“What do you have in mind?” Levi forced himself to meet the man’s eyes.

“You’re the developer. I’m merely an investor.” Merely. The word, the way Zeke had emphasized it with an almost mocking tone, implied the complete opposite. “Tell me Levi, If he put his mind into it, what do you think a developer can do?”

They didn’t test the love alarm that day. Levi left the hospital two hours earlier than planned and went directly to his office.

***

He couldn’t have gone there any slower. The train couldn’t have run any slower and of course, he probably wouldn’t have wasted so much time fiddling with the key over his door knob if his hand hadn’t been shaking.

It was as if the whole world was trying to slow him down. He had two days---less than 48 hours--- to get something for testing. With the amount of work needed, the mountains of code needed to be written, copied and pasted, tested, Levi wasn’t seeing it in days, he was seeing the countdown in his head. When he stared at a clock, he was seeing numbers moving backward, sweet sweet time, pulling away from him.

Time was a precious asset, a precious resource and somehow, such a prospect had Levi clumsier than usual. He fell into the chair on his desk with a thump. He had leaned far back enough for a split second, that he had almost expected his chair to topple backwards.

He didn’t have the time to recover from such a terrifying prospect. While his hands were still shaking, his breaths coming out ragged, Levi forced himself forward. He turned on the computer, allowing himself a brief respite while it booted up.

His work computer was still one of the fastest of his kind and had only allowed him less than a minute to catch a breath. He typed out his username, password. He opened up the server manager.

Anger. Sadness. Happiness. Levi said aloud. That was what Zeke had promised them. As quickly as he repeated those requests to himself, Zeke’s other words echoed in his head, an unwelcome visitor.

You can break down the love alarm into that right? We’re not asking for a perfect application.

He took a deep breath, letting it out as a hard firm huff more than an exhale. As if the force in his chest would be enough to wake him up. The work was overwhelming. He should  be calling someone else in to help out.

There were other factors pulling him back though.

For one, it was a Saturday. He saw himself working all the way until Monday. Just recalling Zeke's face, his question had Levi’s head spinning, his hands hovering much more quickly over the keyboard.

It was a challenge from Zeke to him. And he concluded for himself, he didn’t even wanna get Hange involved.

It would be nice to have her here---. Something inside him attempted to argue.

To cheer you on? It was a selfish proposition so Levi scolded himself and concluded that a good punishment would be to just focus.

He did first what he knew best. He copied the necessary code from both the frontend and backend. He worked efficiently. While importing data, he was copying and pasting code. While booting a phone up, he was opening necessary tabs on Github and Stack Overflow.

By the time the sun was completely down, by the time his eyes started to get just a little too crusty and a little heavy, he had a sorry excuse for an interface, a sorry excuse for an API on the server.

He looked at the clock at the lower right of his computer. Eleven in the evening. How long had he been staring at a screen? It was a waste of time to calculate that, so he quickly calculated something a little more pressing.

He had far less than forty eight hours until he needed to submit something.

He had finished a framework in only a few hours but he had more than enough experience developing the love alarm to know, the hard part wasn’t in the actual building. It was in the data loading, it was in the actual testing.

He didn’t allow himself to relax. Around three in the morning, after spending hours cleaning the interface, he fell back dead on the backrest of his seat and he allowed himself a few minutes to close his eyes.

Few minutes turned into hours in a split second. He had forgotten to set an alarm. “Fuck,” Levi hissed. That word hadn’t been enough though to carry the frustration that had bubbled inside him since hearing those words from yesterday afternoon.

What can a developer do if they put their mind into it?

Hange’s words were a savior in their own way. Levi, I’m in no hurry. Take as much time as you need. They were comforting but they didn't do much to stop Levi from sitting up and going back to work.

Had it been for Zeke? Or had it been for Hange? Or had it been his own pride that had him pushing himself to restart the boot up the idle computer.

Zeke was the important stakeholder. He held the funds. Hange was just a benefactor of the funds. Ultimately, Zeke made the final choice.

He took one deep breath, letting out a shout at the exhale. He pulled himself to a kneeling position and pressed the power button on the computer. Pulling himself up by the base of the chair, he walked sluggishly towards his white board and wrote out three words, right next to each other.

Happy. Sad. Angry.

He had no time to make an algorithm. But he could make estimates. He wrote out the basic model under each word.

“When numbers are above this line, the alarm rings,” Levi muttered to himself. When he was speaking out loud, he seemed to make some sense.

It wasn’t as easy as that though. A machine learning model after all relies on probability, it relies on prediction and the only way to get the machine to figure out probabilities was to give it data to mine from.

He turned back to the computer and typed a query. Exporting the data would take a while. Another opportunity to rest.

He used that moment to take a glance at his phone. A notification from Hange was at the top of his lock screen. He immediately unlocked his phone.

5:34 AM

Ping me if you need any help.

It was just 6:30. Hange sent the message an hour ago.

5:35 AM

Sorry for checking in late. Zeke took me out for dinner

Maybe Hange had sensed the slight irritation Levi would feel at seeing the first text sent more than twelve hours since they separated at the hospital.

5:35 AM

He wanted to spend the night with me.

5:35 AM

Just the two of us.

5:37 AM

No Phones

Out of spite or out of exhaustion, Levi kept his reply stone cold and professional.

6:36 AM

Complete the table below:

Happiness: Endorphins, Serotonin, Dopamine, Oxytocin

Anger: Adrenaline, Cortisol

Sadness: ??????

Hange’s reply came before the data export even finished

6:50 AM

Sadness: Lack of neurotransmitters.

It was a shitty reply. So Levi gave a shitty reply in return.

6:50AM

?????

Lack of neurotransmitters? Somehow, Levi didn't trust Hange to reply on time. A quick google search later and a few hours of stress later, Levi had derived the sadness model form happiness model. The models were done, they just needed to be coded.

That did nothing to placate the turmoil inside him. For some odd reason, he thought looking at his phone could pacify him somehow.

8:28 AM

Sorry Levi, Zeke took us out golfing. I’ll try to be there before lunch.

8:37 AM

Zeke’s calling the shots today :’) I’ll still try to be there before lunch.

Levi kept his reply minimalistic.

10:36 AM

K

Technically, it was already ‘before lunch’ so Levi wasn’t expecting anything. They haven’t seen each other in a while. He whispered to himself, just to placate whatever irritation had settled within him, manifesting as an almost permanent grimace as he started to code again.

Lunch came and went quickly with a half finished burger and fries and just a passing thought that Zeke and Hange were probably having a feast at whatever country club they were in.

“Be here before lunch my ass.” Levi said those last two words with bitter burning venom, loud enough to echo in his small office space. It would be nice if somehow she could hear it wherever she was. “My. fucking. Ass. ” He repeated, channelling all the irritation, the exhaustion, the impatience into three words. In another space, maybe she could have heard it. “Fuck me in the ass.” He let out another taut swear, enjoying how that at least sent a splits econd long wave of euphoria through him.

Maybe it could count as therapy if he typed out the words ‘my fucking ass’ or ‘fuck me in the ass’ to Hange’s message box. He didn’t have to send it though.

2:37 PM

Zeke wanted to go shopping. I swear I tried to leave.

Fuck me in the ass. Levi typed. Under it, he typed something else.

Lunch time. My. Fucking. Ass.

It would have been nice to send out. For at least a few second, it sounded like a good idea to send it. Levi had enough self control though and he had enough forward thinking skills not to send it. The profanities on the message box were enough to at least calm him down.

No, you haven’t seen your hubby in a while. Take your time :-)

Was the sarcasm apparent? He focused for a little longer on the smiley face at the end.

4:35 PM

No, you haven’t seen your hubby in a while. Take your time :-) :-) ;-)

Then he added two more just for authenticity's sake. And he went back to coding, assuring himself that the burger and the regular fries would be enough to last him until he finished the damn application.

7:30 PM

Levi! You want anything for dinner?

Levi saw that message in between reviewing a hundred compiler warnings all on the same line of code. He ignored it. Instead, he decided sending himself a pull request and reviewing the code himself as a mental exercise was a better use of his time.

8:47 PM

Hey, I might be a little late. We went out to dinner but I bought you take out. :D How are things going?

Despite the compiler warnings, the code managed to compile, so Levi allowed himself the luxury of a quick break.

10:10 PM

Fine.

After replying, Levi sat up from his seat, shifted his weight to his legs one by one. The window was a good few feet away but he saw that as a good chance for exercise. He opened the window, allowing the fresh air in, first as a weak wave only thin enough to fit through the peek. He opened it a little wider, popping his head through the gap, noting how the streets were completely empty. He stared back at the clock on his computer screen.

Ten on a Sunday evening. Typical.

He sat back on the chair, with a loud and firm plop, freezing for as long as it took for the chair to stop shaking. He leaned back and pulled the test device from his drawer. A part of him was tempted to close all the Stack Overflow and GitHub tabs.

He wasn't ready to call it a day though. He didn’t trust his ability to code anything accurately with that short of a time frame.

A few minutes later, the APK file was loaded. He booted up the application, stifling a cringe at the shitty interface.

The shitty title screen with the shitty plain white background flashed on the screen.

ALAR

M

He wasn’t particularly good at front end and UI engineering so he closed his eyes and begrudgingly whispered to himself Zeke's words. “It doesn’t have to be perfect.”

Really though, it would have been nice to submit a perfect test application. Just to show up Zeke. Just to impress Hange. It would have been great and Levi allowed himself a grin as he leaned back on the chair and stared at the ceiling.

A good few hours later, he started to test. Soon after, he started to theorize something else. Maybe he jinxed it. Maybe he shouldn’t have been so hopeful.

Suddenly, he was scolding himself for just being a little too ungrateful at the shitty user interface. His mind continued to wander, his threads of imagination continued to wind, interweaving against one another, tightening to uncomfortable knots in his brain. And suddenly he was scolding himself over the hundreds of compiler warnings he ignored.

The application should alarm when someone angry, sad or happy holds it. That was how he programmed it.

Or at least, that was how it was supposed to work. When his brain was muddled with confusion and eventual frustration, heavy with tension, he took a quick break to stare at his phone.

11:58 PM

Zeke got a little drunk. I just have to bring him home.

Levi decided then, (and he was certain of it), he’d rather not have Hange there.

11:59 PM

No need to come here. Go take care of him.

His phone volume had been set to the lowest level. Just in case, Levi put his phone on silent as well.

He turned his attention back to the test device. “Come on, fucking hell. Work.” Levi hissed as if the code, the computer understood anger, as if it understood frustration.

“It’s the exact same fucking code. I just changed the algorithm,” Levi said louder, as if the code understood verbal arguments.

All to no effect. So he went back to the compiler warnings.

1:38 AM

Just tucked Zeke in bed. I’m taking a cab now. I swear, I’m really on the way now.

Levi had conveniently checked his phone around the time Hange texted. He had been checking the phone anyway in ten minute intervals.

1:39 AM

No need.

He started to use his own phone for testing, just in case a diffeent device suddenly made everything work. Besides, he liked to see the notifications there. He liked her messages. Yet at the same time, he didn’t want her there. Frustrated and confused, he slid his phone towards the end of the desk and it hit the wall with a resounding clatter, loud enough to make Levi wince.

He slipped out of the chair and onto the floor with a crash, loud enough to rival the impact of the phone on the wall just a second ago. His back was sore, but still he couldn’t help but entertain the thought that he would have been willing to experience that again, just to get the application to work.

You’re angry now right? He asked himself, as he held the test device in front of him.

The alarm didn’t ring.

You’re sad? Right? He was sad. He was sure his eyes were red rimmed from lack of sleep. His eyelids were a little crusty for sure. And as the application stayed silent, stayed inactive even when it was right in front of him, even when he had dropped almost painfully on his face, the phone remained silent, still.

Maybe his application was an idiot. Maybe it fell for fake smiles. So he forced a smile then, as he pressed his back on the ground, stretched his legs forward and stared at the ceiling above him.

Silence.

He broke the silence himself, with one grunt as he slammed the phone on the floor next to him. “Fucking hell.”

The one curse had him reflecting. How angry was he? Who was he angry at? And why wasn’t the alarm going off?

Anger was a negative feedback loop. The more he let his anger take over, the more frustrated he became. Then the more the device should have rang but it didn’t. Then the more frustrated he became.

The frustration should have been enough to make it ring. If it had been working correctly.

Eventually, the anger became strong enough to take control elsewhere. It pushed him to turn towards the desk, push himself up, just high enough to be able to stretch his hand up and pull his own personal phone back down with him on the floor. He lay back down on the floor, raised his phone on front of him and booted it up. He turned on the application and looked through it again.

No response.

Happy. Sad. Angry.

No response for any of them.

A banner appeared, falling over the application.

1:59 AM

Levi, I’m here, where do I go?

No need. He willed himself to type it again. He didn’t want her there, but he did. Conflicted feelings had him frozen on the floor, the phone just above him, his eyes fixed on the screen.

If Hange came, then she came. Who was he to stop her?

2:00 AM

Do I go to your office??

2:05 AM

If you don’t answer, I’ll just assume you’re in the office.

2:07 AM

Even if I waste my time, It’s my fault anyway.

2:07 AM.

I’m sorry.

Hange wasn’t in any obligation to be there anyway. She was an investor, not an employee, he reminded himself. He was watching the banners shift like he was watching paint dry. The former though was far more interesting. More than interesting. It was a relief. It was a consolation.

It was home. In the dim room, all alone, he wanted her there. By god, he wanted her there.

There were footsteps and they quickly got louder, the sound of a bag hitting the door, then the sound of the rustle of belongings.

He had left the office door unlocked at least and she was impolite enough to barge in. He liked her impoliteness, it had just made everything flow much better.

He followed her with his eyes, as she slipped through the crack of the door. He watched closely as her face shifted from that of pure surprise, worry… Then pity.

Was that pity? Did he look that pathetic?

“Hey, are you okay?” Hange asked.

“Tired,” Levi answered. He gave her a once over, allowing himself a sliver of a smile at her cocktail dress, the jacket over her, the light make up on her face, the golden studs on her ears. God she was beautiful. “Fun night?”

She nodded. “Zeke wanted to have fun tonight. I humored him by tagging along,” she said lightly.

He’s a lucky man. “Must have been fun.”

She put a hand to his face, and gave him a light slap. “I brought takeout, some sandwiches. Did you have dinner already? We can have it for breakfast.”

She had slapped him hard, not hard enough to leave him burning definitely, but still, he felt some heat resonate from his cheeks. “I tried,” he muttered.

“Tried what?” Hange asked.

“Building the app.”

“Levi, don’t kill yourself over it. You could have asked Petra, Gunther, Eld or Oluo for help right?” It was just like Hange to mention their names like she knew them her whole life.

“They’re on leave.” It was a natural excuse and that had been one reason why he refused to ask for help. He surmised that maybe some of it had been more than that.

“I tried to ask for an extension from Zeke,” she said.

“How did that work out?” It was a half assed response at best. He didn’t want the extension.

“He said no. He expected a lot from you. Besides, he promised the hospital already… Without consulting us.”

"Without consulting us?" Levi repeated. He slammed his fist down on the floor. "Fucking hell."

"Yeah, it's our fault. Zeke did that. I should have helped you and I know I made you wait…" Hange's voice was warm, it was a melody to his hears. ".. .so when I was stuck with Zeke, I made a few calls, picked this up from a good friend of mine." She pressed something cold into his palms.

He didn't even have the energy to crane his neck.

"It's a USB, with data from previously made research, on neurotransmitters, responses from people who've taken tests. I thought it would help build the app so I made a few calls and --"

"I'm done."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm tired."

"Hey, we could cancel tomorrow. I'll just tell Pieck. We can rebuild the app, focus on getting something out."

"Hange, I'm done."

"You're giving up?" There was a crack in her voice, something that sent a twinge to him

He let out a soft chuckle. "No. I managed to make something.”

Hange's eyes widened, a smile curled up her lips. “You’re kidding.”

“But it barely even works."

"What makes you say that?"

"It doesn't ring."

No matter how angry, no matter how sad, no matter how happy, it didn't ring. The algorithm was broken. That had been Levi's conclusion. The same conclusion he had come across when they had tested the love alarm again a few days back.There were just too many compiler warnings maybe?

Hange wasn't a developer and maybe that's why she had been a little hopeful. "I'll test it out, send me the file?"

One APK file later, a few clicks on the phone, and the alarm rang in the dim narrow room.

It made his head pound, but still, it was music to his ears. He had been too tired to even let out a strong exhale, a sigh of relief. "Are you happy? Sad? Angry?" He whispered.

"It says here, I’m happy," Hange answered.

"At least we know it works," Levi said.

"Why don't we try yours again?" Hänge pulled his hand up, guiding the phone back in between his finger tips.

"It didn't work the first time," Levi argued.

"Again." Hange was insistent and at that moment, she was much stronger than he was.

He unlocked his phone, and opened the application.

"Turn on the alarm," Hänge said.

He didn't need guidance, he made the application after all. Her voice had been coaxing, she had made everything go smoother in her own way.

He dropped the phone on his chest, stared up at the ceiling, frozen as the phone vibrated in his chest. "What does it say?"

Hange let out a short laugh. "This application can read multiple feelings at the same time? Is this expected behavior?"

"Why?"

“It says you're angry."

"I'm tired. Of course I'm angry."

"And sad," Hange added.

" Oh really?" Something started to sting at his eyes.

"And guess what, it also says you're happy."

"Am I?" Levi asked. All he could feel then was relief, relief that in the end it had alarmed. "I guess that means we're at least kinda ready for tomorrow…" He could have said more, if his voice didn't crack.

"Hey, rest. It doesn't look like you slept well."

"I slept a bit last night."

"People need at least six hours of sleep at night… and really, Levi you don't look so good."

He didn't need to see it to understand. His eyes were heavy, his rims were prickling at one another and one cheek was wet, and it brought the 'wet' all the way down to his chin, in one straight trail. A few more soon followed.

Sad. Angry. Happy. But he liked to think he was just exhausted. That feeling loomed far above the others anyway.

It rang for no reason then. He concluded. Maybe it was a bug. After all, how did something just start magically working after not working for hours before that?

Hange spoke up again in the slience. "Hey, are you crying?"

He only noticed it when she asked. His mind was quick to explain it. "Sometimes, people tear up when they're sleepy right?"

***

Hange was there when he woke up and he was glad to see her. Her eager presence was a reminder enough that she didn’t have to be there.

“Happy Monday!” Hange chirped joyfully, as if that had been the best thing to say while Levi was still getting used to his surroundings.

He never completely got used to it. The back of his head was throbbing from having fallen asleep on the hard wooden floor. The front of his head pounded. He couldn’t even lift his head without feeling some protest from his back. A light prickling sensation had settled on his fingers, all extending from an ache in his wrist. “Happy Monday,” Levi muttered. Was she mocking him?

“Sorry, I didn’t think it would be a good idea to move you,” Hange said wryly.

Not moving him might have been the better option. He barely got any sleep at night. In the small office, if it were between falling asleep sitting down on a comfortable chair, falling asleep on a floor, the floor won by a little more.

The phone sat on his hand, cold and hard. Levi pulled it up to his face to check the time.

6:30 AM. Work starts at eight. Fuck. He forgot to deploy application changes the night before.

“You should take a leave.” Hange could have been reading his mind or the stress could have just been apparent in his heavy eyelids and his voice, a hoarse whisper.

“What makes you say that?” Levi asked. He had hoped to use that moment to prove how okay he was. Sitting up was enough to leave him wincing, dealing with his exhausted body that had protested such a simple movement.

“You don’t wanna take one?”

“I forgot to deploy the changes. We’re supposed to do a sanity check today,” Levi said.

“Do it over breakfast?” Hange suggested, pressing a brown paper bag on his hand. "I brought sandwiches from last night."

“You know you can go home now. We can meet later at the hospital.”

“I wanna have breakfast,” Hange said, her voice firmer than a second ago.

“Go have breakfast with Zeke.”

Hange’s face was like that of a wounded puppy. It came quickly as a flash before shifting to something a little more sly. “I’ll take you out to tea? You never had your tea time at the country club.”

It could have been tea or maybe it was the efforts Hange had taken to insist. Sometimes, insisting was more than enough. Particularly then, when he was overwhelmingly and unbearably tired.

“What do you have in mind?” Levi asked.

“We can see what’s open,” Hange answered.

He let out a sigh, as if deciding to take a break was the hardest thing he could have done. All for the sake of one Hange Zoe. On the contrary, it was a surprisingly easy decision to make.

Levi opened up the messaging application on the phone, running his mind through quick calculations. Three hours. Just enough time for quick tea, enough time to get home and shower and get back to the office by ten.

Running late. Deploy fixes to production. We sanity check when I get to the office at around ten.

He sent over that message to the group chat of his own team, making sure to tag Eld and Petra.

He felt a little guilty but something else won over. A weak suggestion, heavily supported by his sore back, his swollen eyes and his trembling hands. Maybe he deserved a break.

***

They moved the goalposts. Levi was in no shape to brave the public transportation crowds on a Monday morning with a total of less than six hours of sleep the past few hours while his mind was complete mush at having coded an entire application himself.

Hange had alternatives. “I could have called a car to pick us up.”

Alternatives Levi wasn’t completely in good terms with. “No thank you, I’d rather not impose on your dear husband.” On top of that, he wanted his tea now.

The only shop which sold tea the least painful walking distance away was the convenience store just outside the building grounds. The convenience store had enough variety that he could be at least a little creative with his breakfast.

Paper tea cup in hand, Levi popped open the cup, He had asked for an extra large cup for one reason.

The green tea bubbled inside the container and Levi was a little adventurous that morning and maybe a little crazy. The past two days were crazy. He reminded himself, obliterating the guilt and the fear of risking his own health and sanity.

He poured ten shots of espresso onto the cup of green tea. He couldn’t be too sure how it would taste. Then he remembered, no one actually drank caffeine for the taste anyway. He drank half of it in a gulp. It could have been the bitterness that burned, or the actual heat of boiling water. When he was still making a conscious effort just to be aware of the streets in front of him, just to stay sitting up on the pavement, he couldn’t be too sure.

He took a big bite of his sandwich to drown it out. Then another. Then two more before crumpling the brown paper bag and pocketing it.

Hange humored him, sitting down next to him on the pavement just in front of the convenience store. She was still in her cocktail dress, a jacket over it. The corners of her eyes were still a little darker from the make up from last night. She looked ridiculous, like an overgrown teenager out on a wild night and had failed to get home on time.

His mind was running on too many scenarios, a total waste of brain power. The espresso would kick in eventually. And maybe it had been the espresso that had him suddenly laughing like an idiot.

Or maybe he was going crazy.

“Are you okay?”

He probably was going crazy. At that point, Levi was already skimming the stages of acceptance. “Where the fuck did you even go last night?”

Hange sighed. “Drinking, a little gambling. Zeke wanted to celebrate the new deal. ”

“And that’s why you played golf that morning. ”

Hange hummed in response. “Zeke and Erwin played. I probably would have invited you but yeah, with the application… Would you have had time?”

Somehow, Levi was slightly offended that they hadn’t even invited him. He blamed the caffeine. “Really? Well, fuck it. I don’t even play golf.” The caffeine continued to bubble, the irritation followed suit. “I’m sure they had a good sleep the past few nights,” he added.

“Well, they can’t do what you did.”

“Who cares? I’m at the mercy of money--- Zeke’s money. Rich people like to throw around orders then money,  as if money’s just magic. As if developers --- employees are just bunnies or trick monkeys.”

Hange put up her hands in surrender. "You have every right to shit on rich people."

Levi dropped his shoulders and leaned back on the wall. “What can I do when millions of dollars are on the line?”

“You could have said---”

“Said no? And what? Risk losing this deal?” Risk losing you?

“I told you before, this is my pet project. This is my timeline. I can decide how long it takes. Zeke just wants---”

"Wants what?" Levi challenged.

It was a challenge for Hange but it looked like the world was on a mission to accept it. "Hange, what are you doing here?"

It took Levi a few seconds longer to put two and two together. After all, imagining that big ham of a voice within proximity of a place that sold teabags by the dollar was preposterous even for him.

"Zeke, what are you doing here?" Hange asked.

"Just need to drop a few legal documents at Erwin’s office. I saw you two on the way here, in a convenience store parking lot of all things?" His voice was judgemental, as expected. Still it was softer than that of two days ago.

It was easy for Levi to surmise that the blonde was most likely nursing a hangover. He relished the view of Zeke struggling to approach them. Misery loved company after all. Zeke’s gait was a little slower and if Levi squinted, he was sure the ungraceful wobble would have been more laughably noticeable.

“Right, you had the lawyer look over it already?”

Zeke nodded. “I’ve set up a post dated check.” He turned to Levi. “You’ve finished developing a build for testing?”

Levi managed a nod, closing his eyes as he did, to alleviate the pounding. And of course the irritation.

Zeke had been professional about the question. Levi couldn’t help but sense entitlement in it. When he was in a bad mood, any request reeked of entitlement. He spent a good few seconds after, reminding himself, Zeke was paying millions for it, and deserved every right to ask questions and expect.

“Zeke…” Hange sounded, almost breathless. “This is more money than I expected.”

How much money? Levi didn’t wanna know but from the tremble in her hands, her wide eyes, Levi didn’t think he even wanted to know.

“Think of it… as compensation for forcing you to delay your PhD,” Zeke said. “That was your plan before we got married right?”

PhD?  Now that he did think about it, Hange mentioned something about delaying a PhD, all to marry Zeke.

“Yeah, if this study… this testing goes well, I could publish it for my doctorate degree,” Hange said, a ghost of a smile on her lips. A ghost of a smile for just a second. It soon got wider.

Levi only noticed a second later, his mouth had gone the opposite direction as realization dawned on him.

Right, Hange wanted to do research.

Right, Hange wanted a PhD.

And Zeke was the one who had put everything together for him at that moment. “This is your dream right?” He pressed the cheque deeper into her palms.

Hange nodded. Was that the first time he had ever seen her struggle to find the right words?

The hints were all there. The pet project. The doctorate. Hange Zoe who was just a little too interested in neuropsychology.

Why didn’t you tell me this was your dream? This was your PhD? It seemed most criminal that he couldn't even put two and two together. Levi would have wanted to scream back then. He wasn’t in any position to break anyone’s good mood though. Hange’s smile was too wide, her eyes too bright.

“I have a meeting at nine. Breakfast?” Zeke asked.

“I had something to eat already,” Hange said. “But we could get a quick brunch.”

Zeke turned back to Levi. “You’re free to join us.”

“No, I have work at ten,” Levi said. “I’ll see you two later, in the hospital.”

“I’ll see you later.” Hange gave Levi a softer smile, one just for him. He couldn’t read too much into it then. Still, he continued to stare, as she turned back and got into the car.

Zeke stayed outside for a second, leaning on the door. His eyes fixed on Levi’s.

Tired eyes on tired eyes. Levi though wasn’t sleepy enough to hear those last few words.

“Levi, thank you,” Zeke said.

Levi was taken aback for just a second at such a seemingly uncharacteristic expression. Fortunately, pleasantries were basic and automatic if he just put on the right facade. “You’re welcome.”

He watched Zeke get into the car and he stood still for a second longer, watching the car get smaller before it turned the corner of the parking of their building. He started to reflect while recalling the interactions until then. He should have been somewhat grateful for the pleasantries exchanged. After all, the man was worth billions and there weren’t many who did receive the honor of being personally thanked by billionaires.

Somehow, that exchange had only made him sadder. Hange being there next to him suddenly going absent had only made him lonelier. He gulped the rest of the concoction of a while ago, coughing out the bitterness, shaking his head to feel that last buzz.

He checked his phone. 8am. He needed a shower before work but his legs were deadweight.

So he called a taxi, not bothering to calculate the cost. After all, he did deserve a break.

#levihan #levihan fanfiction

[tallstars-rewrite]

Chapter 24

chapter list / previous / next

Tallpaw was instructed to remain in camp for several days, and regularly check into the medicine den. Miraculously, none of his bones were broken, but the nasty gashes across his back were still at risk of infection and nearly every part of him was horribly bruised. It was torment having to remain still. Dawnstripe came to see him regularly to bring him food, and he wished her presence brought him the comfort it used to. For the most part he couldn’t help just feeling bad that she was having to deal with him at all. Her first apprentice that she’d been so excited for had become such a mess.

 Briarpaw was in and out of the den. Hawkheart, providing his apprentice more sympathy than he offered anyone else, did not give him duties. Tallpaw wasn’t sure where Briarpaw had been going the rest of the day. He didn’t speak much when he came in save for the same pleasantries. “How are you feeling? Is the pain manageable? I’ll get you some wet moss to drink from.” The words were caring but his voice was stiff, like the life had been drained out of it. Sometimes he just sat in the dark corner of the den and stared at his paws. Tallpaw wondered if he still saw his mother's blood on them, or if any amount of grooming would make them feel clean. He was too ashamed and afraid to reach out. Briarpaw might see him as responsible for his mother’s death like Shrewpaw did; someone Tallpaw gratefully had not seen at all. 

Tallpaw's relationship with him had always been a bit precarious, the easy affection he and Briarpaw had--or at least used to have--was never Shrewpaw’s strength. They had been as much friends as rivals could be, but Tallpaw sensed that night, in the hate in his eyes, that something had broken in him as well, and their unstable foundation crumbled.

Woollycloud was around him the most, just as subject to bed rest as Tallpaw. He offered him friendly chatter which Tallpaw rarely reciprocated, but Woollycloud graciously pretended not to notice. He had a nasty cut on his head where a rock had struck him, but unlike Tallpaw, his legs and movement were fine and he was able to be more active. In between the comforting talk Tallpaw had to endure, there was nothing to do but sleep. And he really did not want to sleep. When he closed his eyes, the rumbling of the earth and world collapsing on top of him returned, along with his father's voice calling out from far off. But it was only when he was asleep that he didn’t have to suffer the pity and concern from his clanmates. Or worse, their uncomfortable silence. As if a frightening air surrounded him, a discomfort that remained since the formerly well mannered and quiet apprentice’s violent outburst against the rogue. The rogue the rest of the clan apparently cared for more than Tallpaw and his father. The fear in his dreams was, marginally, still preferable to facing others.

After nearly a full day of not speaking, Tallpaw was staring absentmindedly up at the stars. Each star a warrior of the past, so he’d been told. Brackenwing would be among them. But a horrible thought nagged at his mind the longer he stared at those stars. So at last he dared to speak to Woollycloud.

“What about Sandstone, Woollycloud?” He could barely manage more than a whisper. “If we couldn’t lay his body out, how will he be free? How can the wind carry his spirit if it can’t find him? He’s trapped. He’s trapped down there alone, isn’t he?”

Woollycloud curled his tail behind Tallpaw.

 “Don’t worry, Sandstone will not be lost. There is something we can do for him, but the tunnelers want to wait.”

“What for?”

“For you, of course. You should be there. StarClan knows to welcome him, and we will help his spirit how we can. I’ll show you as soon as we’re strong enough to.”

Tallpaw nodded quietly and lay his head back down. 

Woollycloud continued, “You and your mother will have closure. Did Palebird not tell you about the tunnelers tradition?”

“I... have not seen my mother.” Tallpaw said. He didn’t want to think about her. Of all the cats whose presence filled him with a deep set guilt, Palebird was among the worst.

“You haven’t? I...I see.” Woollycloud sat up and hummed in concern. Tallpaw wished he wouldn’t do that. “I haven’t seen her myself...I should look for her.”

“You don’t have to.” Tallpaw said quickly. “Really.” The last thing he wanted was for any cat to pressure his mother into seeing him. Before Woollycloud could argue, he continued, “do you think I’m strong enough yet? I know the third sunrise hasn’t passed, but the herbs have been working and I...I really want to do something.”

Woollycloud sniffed at his shoulder, “Perhaps we could ask Hawkheart. I understand why you don’t want to wait. In the meantime, I’ll see if Mistmouse can find Palebird. She must be grieving heavily, and I know she’ll want to come.”

Tallpaw had a hard time imagining his mother wanted to do anything. But with Hawkheart’s begrudging blessing, and a small lie about not feeling any pain anymore, Woollycloud led him to the camp entrance. Mistmouse had told the other tunnelers it was time, and they were waiting for them. To Tallpaw’s surprise, even the retired tunnelers Fennelpelt and Whitetooth were waiting. 

Woollycloud gazed at Whitetooth with a slight trace of worry. “You’ll be alright making the journey? I hope the pain in your legs has eased some.”

Whitetooth sniffed proudly. “I won’t let anything stop me from doing this for Sandstone. He always spoke up for us and didn’t let anything stop him. I’ll be fine.”

Fennelpelt nodded “It’s only right for us to give the proper send off in the place his body rests, or as close as we can get. I know StarClan can find him wherever he is, but...this has sadly become a new tradition, the more we lose to the tunnels. I always hope the present one may be the last.”

Woollycloud nodded sadly, “StarClan willing it be true this time.”

Hazelnose turned to Mistmouse “So...did you find Palebird?”

Mistmouse shuffled her paws “No, but Lilywhisker told me she has an idea where she might be.”

“I haven’t seen her since yesterday morning,” Crowfur said with a displeased flick of his ears. “She can’t mean to miss her own mates’ remembrance.”

“She doesn’t want to, perhaps they will meet us there," Mistmouse said quickly.

Tallpaw couldn’t help sharing Crowfur’s frustration. Palebird was so rarely where he wanted her to be. It was one thing to avoid him, but she shouldn’t avoid Sandstone at a time like this. Unless...it was because he was there? It was hard for him to ignore how out of place he felt here. Once he had assumed these cats would be his closest companions, but that was before his apprenticeship. He’d never been able to figure out if they were as disappointed in his choices as Sandstone was. They ought to be, he thought bitterly Because if I had made the right choice...maybe I would have known how to save him. Maybe I could have gotten to him faster.

The patrol made the trek quietly, as the last light of the sun started to vanish and the sky turned from orange to cool dark blue. Tallpaw had some difficulty keeping pace, even Whitetooth walked faster than him, but he forced himself not to wince. He wished his muscles didn’t still ache from the bruising all over his back. That restless feeling of being somewhere he didn’t feel he had a right to belong still gnawed at him. Unfortunately Woollycloud, in all his endless sympathy, padded behind with him. I wish you wouldn’t waste your energy worrying about me, Tallpaw wanted to say. 

Instead he asked, “What are we going to do?”

“Right now, we are going to collect every strong smelling moor plant we can find. I’ll explain when we arrive.” Woollycloud replied.

Tallpaw couldn’t pretend he wasn’t nervous about returning to the place where he’d nearly been buried twice, and where his father had disappeared forever. But he wouldn’t let that apprehension stop him now. Some of the patrol split off on the way, returning with herbs and plants plucked from the ground, smelling of new-leaf growth. Woollycloud gestured for Tallpaw to take his heather flowers as he picked additional sprigs of sage. Tallpaw hadn’t a clue what they were doing, but he followed obediently. 

When he finally caught his mother's scent, he almost thought he was imagining it. But as they approached the hill that led down to the soft earth where the old rabbit burrow tunnels used to be, he saw her approaching the group. Lilywhisker was with her, and carried some brightly colored flowers in her jaws that she passed off to the small white molly, but as she watched Palebird come to join them, the former-tunneler did not follow. Palebird padded soundlessly into the muddy clearing, placing a rather large bundle of marigold on the ground. “I wanted to find the best flowers I could,” she said quickly, as if expecting someone to ask for an explanation. Her voice sounded weak and cracked. “I apologize it took so long.”

“We are here now,” Woollycloud replied gently, “that is all that matters.”

No cat asked why Lilywhisker had not joined them. Perhaps it was because she’d left tunneling behind so long ago. It made Tallpaw wonder even more if he deserved to be here himself. Because he was family was surely the reason, but Sandstone saw his tunnelers as better family than he ever was. None of them know how Sandstone really felt about me… he realized miserably. 

Tallpaw felt incredibly on edge to finally be in his mother’s presence. He could feel her gaze drift toward him. She at last padded over to him, and gave the scar on his ear a soft lick. He looked up at her timidly. He hadn’t noticed before how awful she looked. Her eyes were dull and tired. She looked smaller and thinner. Palebird had been a frail, skinny cat for as long as Tallpaw could remember, but now he could more clearly see the bones in her back. Her fur was messy with bits of dust clinging to her legs, showing she hadn’t been grooming much. 

She offered him a weak smile “I’m glad you’re doing better, Tallpaw.”

Her voice carried that familiar hollowness he remembered from when he was a kit. When she told him things would be ok in that empty way. Even back then her words felt practiced and obligatory, with little feeling behind them. As empty as her eyes. She seemed to be looking through him. He quietly nodded in response.

Woollycloud padded closer and leaned forward to touch her nose in greeting, which she stiffly reciprocated.

“We were worried when we couldn’t find you earlier,” he said “Where have you been?” He looked at her with deep concern in his soft orange eyes, surely noticing her disheveled appearance as well, but not wanting to comment on it directly.

“I’ve...been sleeping in my own den. Not far from camp. I just wanted some air. I’m sorry, I really didn’t realize I had been gone so long. Time just slipped away from me.”

Woollycloud didn’t look fully content with that answer, but he didn’t want to push it. The tunnelers had placed down what they carried and gathered around the collapsed entrance of the tunnel. It was hard to discern where the hole had been, as the mud around it filled in the cracks. Slowly and meticulously, they began to dig.

Tallpaw looked to Woollycloud “What are they doing? I thought...I thought we already tried to dig through to the tunnels.

“We did. Believe me, Plumclaw especially was out for ages digging holes above and below. We will not dig into the tunnel anymore. Only a shallow ring around the entrance. Come with me, and I’ll tell you.”

He led him to the muddy ground, and together scooped out small pawfuls of earth. Tallpaw suppressed a shudder from the feel of the cold dirt seeping into his paws, and he tried not to remember how it felt to sink into the ground while it buried it from above and below. He focused on Woollycloud’s voice.

 "In the rare cases where we have no body to lay in our sacred place, we will go as close as we can to where we know the body is and lay a separate grave, as we do in the Sleeping Glade's burial grounds. We’ll collect every strong smelling moor plant we can find. The familiar scent of the open air will guide the lost spirit out.”

“How will he sense anything trapped underground?” Tallpaw asked quietly.

“He will. Trust me.” Woollycloud said firmly, “The Wind Runner never abandons her children, wherever they are, she will find them again. Her son knows the earth and hidden places of the moor. It may be a harder journey, but Sandstone will hear him and find his way to our ancestors.” 

“But...how long will it take? How long will he be trapped?”

“Worry not, young one,” Whitetooth croaked. He was doing his best to dig, making slow progress, but there was a sureness and prescivion to his movements that spoke of his experienced seasons in the tunnels, even despite the stiffness in his joints. “Your father wore the tunnels like a second pelt. He will not be afraid.”

Tallpaw struggled to imagine anything alive in the ground. Well, not alive exactly. But he’d only ever felt hostile eyes on him down there, the kind belonging to monsters that frightened him as a kit. Could there be anything else? He felt his fur tingle as he struggled to pull one last pawful out of the earth. He imagined Sandstone watching him with that cold disapproving glare at how much clumsy effort it took to do this small task. It felt like the ground wanted to suck him down, just waiting for him to put his weight on an unstable patch. He backed up from the hole, but luckily it seemed the other tunnelers had decided they dug far enough. All around the burrows entrance, they weaved the flowers and herbs in a ring bordering the shallow dip. When they had finished, all the cats sat around their work, and were silent. Tallpaw was silent with them, but he didn’t expect to feel any peace wash over him. All he felt was empty and sad. In that stillness, Tallpaw could only dwell on what he really lost. 

His father had not loved him for some time, not really. Perhaps Tallpaw would not have to fearfully creep around camp anymore, or carefully check over each rise on the moor to make sure he wouldn’t accidentally run into him on a bad day. But Sandstone being gone also meant that the cat that had loved him once, the cat Tallpaw dutifully waited for everyday in the nursery, the cat who made him his entire world for those often lonely cold moons...that cat was gone too. Some part of Tallpaw, even at his most frustrated and scared, still held onto hope that maybe someday they could figure things out between them. Sandstone could at last let his guard down when the clan wasn’t facing so many outside threats, and he wasn’t putting himself under so much pressure. There was still a small chance that Tallpaw could have that old father back, and this wouldn’t last forever. Sandstone would tell him he didn’t really mean what he said before, and he was only harsh because of all the troubles weighing on him. But no. Those words could never come. There was only one last cold glare of disdain, and now that was all there ever would be.

After what felt like a lifetime, Whitetooth stood, bony shoulders weighed down by grief. “May StarClan welcome you as you find your way to them,” he rasped.

One by one the other tunnelers bowed their heads and left. A solemn Plumclaw followed Mistmouse away, and Hazelnose and Crowfur offered to walk back with the elders. Woollycloud, Tallpaw, and Palebird sat there alone. Woollycloud was surely waiting for them, but Tallpaw felt like his paws had rooted to the soil as he stared into the shallow hole. How could he feel like those he lost were still with them, when the air around him felt so dead and still? What good was their presence if he couldn’t really speak to them, couldn’t see them, couldn’t show them that he could be better than he was when they left? It was one thing to imagine they were far away in the stars, but even here, even in the earth, he couldn’t feel anything. There was no solace here.

“Woollycloud?” he whispered “do you really believe that there are spirits on the moor that watch over us?”

Woollycloud was quiet for a moment.

 “I do. I feel them with me often. Our moors are so close to the sky that on the right nights, StarClan can touch the ground and walk alongside us, even in the darkest places. WindClan’s guardian spirits are not only with us when we hunt,” Woollycloud looked a bit wistful. “I believe they led me to save you that night.”

Tallpaw stared blankly into the earth. “But why would the spirits make the tunnel collapse in the first place?”

Woollycloud grimaced “I don’t believe they did. I think...These tunnels were our own doing. And perhaps it was only a matter of time. Not every cat can be saved. But it was not your fate to die that day. And I’m glad of it.” Woollycloud touched his nose to Tallpaw’s head “You’re father will always be with you Tallpaw.”

Those words were clearly meant to comfort him, but they didn’t. Not at all. Woollycloud didn’t know how disappointed Sandstone was before he died. Even if he was here in some way, all he would see was his son's continued failure, continued hesitance and fear. It should have been you buried here, the shallow burrow seemed to growl, perhaps Woollycloud could have saved Sandstone instead. He’d do more good for the clan than you. 

Sandstone died angry. He died resentful. What if he couldn’t find peace? A frightful chill was working its way up Tallpaw’s spine. He was too afraid to ask.

Woollycloud pressed softly to Palebird for a moment, and said he’d be waiting for them at camp. He wanted to give Sandstone’s family time to grieve, and Tallpaw didn’t want to tell him how uncomfortable it was to be with his mother. 

He couldn’t remember the last time they were alone together. The few times he’d spoken to her...Brackenwing was usually there. He never really realized until now how she rarely left his mother's side. When Palebird wasn’t with Sandstone or Woollycloud, as she was less and less often, it was Brackenwing fetching her prey, taking her on walks through the moor, Brackenwing who knew her pain from the kitten she’d lost moons ago and who remembered her grief when the rest of the clan hardly knew the kit existed. It was Brackenwing who would encourage them both. 

But Brackenwing wasn’t here anymore. And neither was Sandstone. Instead, it was just Palebird and Tallpaw. They were both there together, and they were completely alone.

The silence between them hung thick in the air. 

“Are you going to be alright, Palebird?” Tallpaw asked. He had to know.

Palebird took in a small breath. “I am…” her sentence trailed off. “...I am alive.”

She sounded so far away. It wasn’t really an answer so much as it was a statement. Yes, they were both still alive. For whatever that was worth.

Tallpaw shifted. “...Where were you really? Before, I mean?”

“Not far. Mostly I was walking where she used to take me...I didn’t realize I had just been wandering the same short trail for so long. I should have been back sooner.”

She didn’t have to say it for him to know she was thinking of Brackenwing. 

“You don’t have to apologize,” he said, and he meant it. He didn’t want her to feel worse.

“I should have been there…” she whispered, so quietly he almost couldn’t hear it.

“Where?”

“The patrol. She really wanted me to go. But I was…” she sunk to the ground and lay her head on her paws. “I shouldn’t have left her side.”

 Tallpaw felt his heart twist in a knot. I wouldn’t have left her like you did, he imagined her saying. It was surely what she wanted to say. Then at least, Brackenwing would be here to comfort her for Sandstone. Yet another death he was present for, and couldn’t stop. He wanted to ask her if she blamed him. If she resented him. If she had ever stopped thinking of that kit she lost so long ago, and if she wondered if Finchkit would have been strong enough to save the ones she loved, in a way that Tallpaw wasn’t. If she never wanted him to speak to her again, he would honor that. He wished he was brave enough to just ask, so he didn’t have to wonder anymore. But he wasn’t.

“Palebird?” he whispered.

“Yes, Tallpaw?”

“I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

“For... everything.”

Palebird’s expression was unreadable as she stared into the earth. “I’m sorry too.” 

Tallpaw wasn’t sure if either really knew what specific thing they were referring to. Sorry for Brackenwing. Sorry for Sandstone. Sorry they were in so much grief. Or worse, like Sandstone, sorry that he turned out the way he had. He didn’t expect her to elaborate, and she did not. 

All Tallpaw’s life he had simply had to guess what went through his mother's head. He’d long since given up on her telling him. She had cared for him just as much as was physically necessary, and all the while he felt like a stranger to her, like there was a wall of brambles between them that perhaps had always been there. But right then, he felt like he understood her a little. The emptiness in her voice. The hollowness in her eyes. She was quiet and drowning in her grief, in a hole no one could see. But he saw it now. How much easier it must be to simply feel yourself be swallowed up by that hole. He used to wonder when it was exactly that she had started sinking, what had first set the seed for the thorny wall separating them. She wasn’t always like this, his father's voice echoed. But she had been at least as long as Tallpaw had known her. Perhaps it really was as simple as that. Still, he was not brave enough to ask. 

But now he felt certain that he had no parents anymore, all in one terrible fell swoop. Palebird did not speak after that. Her mouth hung open and empty. She didn't even have any practiced phrases of comfort left to offer.

After that night, Tallpaw would not hear her voice again for a very long time.

chapter list / previous / next

#cw depression #cw self loathing #FRU24 #chapter 24

[oliverwvvd]

the devil in me, part ii

Back to writing these two, inevitably, at long last. This is for the lovely anon who dropped by and mentioned this one, despite it having been years since the last post. This is slightly trigger heavy, so sorry if the triggers contain spoilers, but people's mental health comes first so they can choose whether or not to engage with the content.

This is part of a series. You can find part one here.

pairing: Marcus Flint x Oliver Wood

premise: When Marcus wakes again in the endless white of St Mungo's, Oliver is still there, and his wand is still gone. Marcus thinks it's about debts owed, or at least, that's what he's trying to tell himself. Whatever other reasons might keep Oliver Wood at his bedside aren't remotely within a framework he's equipped to handle. [possible triggers: severe PTSD, hospitals, battle situations, Legilimency, implied invasion of the mind, implied intention not to survive]

When he wakes, one needle is back in his arm and Marcus’ first inclination is to be pissed off about it. Of course it is. Being angry is the best alternative, sublimation for all of the other emotions he should be feeling and isn’t. He doesn’t need any St Mungo’s trained therapist to tell him about that, mainly because it’s deliberate on his part.

“For fuck’s sake,” he mutters. “I don’t want painkiller withdrawal on top of everything else. The dosage has to be sky-high for me not to be feeling anything.”

“So you’d rather have the searing amount of pain that makes you pass out within minutes instead? You’re right; being a masochist is a much better idea.”

He closes his eyes. “Why are you still here, again?”

“Waiting for you to take your head out of your arse, though it seems I’ll be in for a long wait.” The tart rejoinder in a lovely, rolling Scottish brogue that he instinctively wants to wrap himself in doesn’t help his temper. Neither does the fact that Oliver is still too earnest despite the familiar barb in the words, as though he thinks he owes Marcus something. The stubborn set to his jaw is familiar too, viewed more than once when facing him on a Quidditch pitch.

It makes Marcus want to push him away for his own safety, because don’t you know what I am? Instead, his gaze is sulky, as though he’s a teenager again in a way he hasn’t been in years, and it’s solely fixed on Oliver. “I don’t like you, and I don’t want you here,” he says, and if that’s not the biggest lie he’s told in the past couple of years, he’s not entirely sure what is.

Oliver shrugs. “That’s too bad, Flint, because I’m not going anywhere.” He’s wearing a poloneck jumper, just like he used to at school when it got to winter weekends out of uniform, and Marcus has the fleeting, horrifying thought that maybe it covers bruises or worse. A second thought just as horrifying resurfaces: he still doesn’t have his wand.

That thought makes him abruptly change the subject. “Alright, Wood, since you’re here, be a good boy and tell me why I don’t have my wand.” It’s not a question. He doesn’t phrase it as one. To punctuate it and make it clear he’s not asking, Marcus opts to verbally twist the knife for good measure. “You owe me. That’s why you’re here, right? To settle the debt. So start talking.” That’s not a question either, because why else Oliver might be there is more than he can possibly handle getting into.

Oliver’s (Wood’s, damn it) expression darkens momentarily, as though he’s about to pick a fight. Marcus wants him to, because at least that would be normal, but he sees it the moment that Oliver registers he’s in a hospital bed all over again, sees the way his gaze turns pained and then the shutters draw closed again so he’s at a loss for what the other is thinking. He doesn’t like it. Oliver was always an open book, no filter, no love lost on his side of the equation. He doesn’t know what this new thing is.

He clears his throat brusquely. “Well?”

Oliver sighs. “They’re concerned about your mental state as well. That’s why you don’t have your wand. They thought you might try something you’d regret.”

Fury is, of course, the quickest and most reliable reaction. “So they thought they’d improve things by taking away the only piece of autonomy I had available to me for months? That’s genius thinking, that is. Who do I need to see to recommend them for promotion?”

Oliver’s lips twitch briefly then, clearly catching the sarcasm, but at the same time seemingly unable to smile at it. That’s fine, because it’s not funny at all.

Marcus exhales a sharp sigh, one that’s less exasperated by this point than unimpressed. “I suppose they thought I’d curse the whole place down, eh?” This time, it is a question, and the smile that goes with it isn’t genuine, it’s mean and sharp-edged. It’s an echo of all the ugly things that have stained his hands and his mind, and it occurs to him that throughout that, Oliver has been the only good thing, a pure thing he’d constructed for himself, a secret he kept that was sometimes the only reason he didn’t give in altogether. Now that’s done and it’s back to reality.

To his consternation, Oliver shakes his head, as though he can sense what Marcus is thinking. “No one believes that after the battle. You threw yourself in the way of someone that would have been dead if you hadn’t, without knowing whether you’d survive.” The words seemed hard for Oliver to speak, as though it was like a demon lived in his throat for as long as they sat there. “They didn’t know if you were going to pull through, the first couple of days.”

An eye-roll is Marcus’ first response to that, and he averts his gaze from Oliver then. “That was sort of the bloody point, Wood.” The words fall heavily in the room between them, but this time it’s not out of malice, it’s from defeat, an admission that he should have kept to himself. The anger hasn’t emptied its well yet, but for the time being, it’s quiet, a savage thing made somnolent again by the fact that he can feel the needle in his arm start to pour more potion into him. Presumably, it’s going to knock him out eventually.

Oliver’s own exhale is shaken, as though Marcus has punched him square in the solar plexus and it hurts, badly. After all these months of silence, it’s as though the casually cruel words aiming to drive him away are doing more damage than even the war has managed to. “Flint, you can’t just…”

Marcus wants to sit up again but the potion, damn it, feels like it’s got him pinned in place. That makes him edgy, makes him feel the cold sweat of panic beginning to prick, and he absolutely will not have a panic attack of any kind in front of an audience. He swallows hard, and Oliver seems unable to finish the sentence. It hangs there between them, unfinished.

That’s the moment that the door creaks open and the healer walks in, oblivious to the conversation that had been happening beforehand. Oliver leans back in the chair beside Marcus’ bed.

Marcus’ lip curls just slightly. “Come to check I’m still breathing?” he asks snidely. “Sorry to disappoint. You can go now, your duty is done.”

The healer does no such thing. “I’d hoped you’d be asleep by now,” he says with a tsk tsk sound that reminds Marcus of the teachers from school whenever he didn’t do his homework correctly. It does nothing to endear the man to him at all. “Evidently we need to increase your dosage. You shouldn’t have ripped those needles out of your arm as soon as you did, but Mr Wood tells me you have a remarkably high tolerance for pain.”

That causes Marcus’ gaze to narrow in Oliver’s direction, and it’s as accusing as it gets.

Oliver, to his credit (the little of it that Marcus is currently willing to give) doesn’t look away. “I’ve been in the Hospital Wing with you multiple times,” is the reminder that unexpectedly arrives, softer than he’s ever deserved. “You never took your painkillers. You always cast Evanesco.”

On the one hand, Marcus’ glare only intensifies, because Oliver’s just ratted him out to the healer. On the other, what does it even mean that Oliver remembers; how there seems to be something dark and sad behind his gaze ever since a few minutes ago. It doesn’t correlate with his real life knowledge of Wood, only the fantasy version he constructed in his head to have a reason to go on, and Marcus is fully aware of how incredibly unhealthy that was and is.

It’s only the healer’s voice that interrupts their charged stare, clearly ready to go for another lecture. “Well, there will be no hiding painkillers here. What were you thinking, taking those out? Did you just not realise the degree of damage you took?” It isn’t an indignant pair of questions, instead asked with the tone of someone who wants to understand the subject they are studying. It presses all of the wrong buttons for Marcus, and he endures it in silence until he can’t.

This is the moment he snaps. But it isn’t like every other time he’s lost his temper. No, this is different; his voice is surprisingly quiet and unsteady when he speaks. “Why does everyone want to know what I’m thinking suddenly? I’ve just spent the last two years having my mind pulled apart at a moment’s notice. All that I want is for everyone to stop trying to get into my head because I don’t want anyone in there ever again. Got it? It’s none of your business what I’m thinking.”

Dimly, he registers that Oliver has gone pale as he starts to understand what Marcus means. The healer looks appalled, because evidently, this was something undetectable while he was unconscious, and he’s beyond lashing out, because this has hit places he doesn’t want to go.

“Get out.” The words are quieter still, and there’s a flat, dulled down, deadly note to them.

Even half-conscious on a bed, drugged by the potion, it leaves to question what Marcus is capable of, the one thing no one has dared to think about so far. It’s a weak threat, but his voice carries all of it, like it’s every atom of a star at the moment of destruction.

The healer leaves. Oliver doesn’t, because Oliver hasn’t learned to be afraid of him, even though he should have.

When Marcus looks at him again, he thinks that he sees Oliver flinch, just a little around the eyes, and he knows he’s going to say something unforgivable if he isn’t left alone. “I meant you as well.” The words are empty. You need to go before I do any more things that I regret, and I can’t live with any more.

Oliver doesn’t listen. Instead, he does something that Marcus can handle even less. He climbs onto the bed and rests there next to him, close enough for Marcus to feel him breathe. “You’re really not a good listener, Flint. I already told you. I’m not leaving.”

Marcus’ hands suddenly feel too heavy, utterly ineffectual when he tries to raise them to push Wood right off the bed. Land on his arse. That’ll show him. Instead, his head starts to nod forward, and Oliver, the scheming bastard, must have known that the potion would take effect soon, had kept him talking until he had no choice but to go back to sleep again.

He’s so angry. He’s exhausted. He’s repeating the same cycle, inescapable, stuck on a loop of his own making. There’s wool against his face, something warm against his back. Oliver’s voice is there, he can feel it rumble in his chest, but the words don’t even register. It’s a warm sound, like copper and firelight, and it’s the last thing in his dwindling awareness before the world is lost altogether.

The frightening part is that he’s starting to want to wake up again. 

That wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

#the devil in me #ol writes things #flintwood #flintwoodnet #marcus flint #oliver wood #marcus x oliver