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temptingfatetakingnames · 4 months

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The Last Steve Harrington Part 13

AO3 Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12

Steve’s first few days at Family Video passed by without incident. He started during the week so it wasn’t very busy and Robin was a good teacher. She talked a lot. A constant stream of chatter. It made him feel comfortable, oddly enough. She never seemed to mind that he didn’t have a lot to say himself, but he tried to contribute. Tried to share bits of himself with her.

She had been going on about the other part time employee who called in sick all the time, Rick. He always left her high and dry on Friday afternoons. After the first few times, Steve would have stopped scheduling him for the shift but apparently there were rules that Robin had to follow. Sounded like bullshit to him.

“So, last weekend I had to work alone and there was a huge rush, because there’s always a huge rush after five. And this woman kept yelling at me, like that was going to make me go any faster.”

“But Robin,” Steve deadpanned, “the customer is always right.”

She barked out a quick laugh.

“She sounds like a real bitch, though. At least if Rick calls in again this Friday, I can come and help you.”

She looked over at him with a smile. “Thanks, Steve.”

They went back to their separate tasks and worked quietly for a few minutes. Steve knew it wouldn’t last long.

“Nancy has really been nagging me about college since she’s been back,” Robin said, breaking the silence. Steve kept his finger on the rewind button and looked up at her.

“What were you gunna do?”

“Criminology.”

“What the heck is that?”

“The study of crime and criminal behavior.”

“Sounds cool.” He didn’t know what job you could do with it, but it did sound badass.

“Yeah, it’s cool.” She said and laughed a little to herself.

He wanted to ask her why she didn’t want to go but he already knew the answer. She didn’t want to leave him. It made him incredibly angry, all of a sudden. Because if the kids had left him where he belonged, Robin would probably be ready to move on. She had been heartbroken when Steve died, and all her plans had fallen apart. Now, she was putting them on hold again. For him. Making sacrifices. For him. And she shouldn’t.

“Nancy is right, you should go,” was all he could think to say.

She went quiet again. Steve took the tape out of the machine and put the next one in.

“Not yet,” she finally said. “I’m gunna save up a bit more. Apply next year.”

As if Steve wouldn’t be able to see through that. Saving up for college wasn’t why she didn’t go last year and it certainly wasn’t why she didn’t want to go this year.

“That’s a long time to wait.”

She hummed noncommittedly. “It’s not that long.”

“I don’t –” Steve paused, trying to get his thoughts together. He ran his fingers through his hair, frustrated with himself. “I don’t want you stay or put your life on hold for me.”

“I’m not.”

“Rob –”

“Steve!” She interrupted. “I’m not!”

She wasn’t looking at him.

“I’m not him, Robin. You don’t need to stay for me. I don’t want you to stay for me.”

“I’m staying for me, asshole!” Robin yelled as she walked over and shoved him hard. “I know you’re not him. I am so aware you are not him, Steve. I want to stay because I want to know you.”

Steve rubbed his chest and gritted his teeth. Robin glared up at him. He glared back.

“You stubborn ass – I told you I wasn’t leaving. You trying to push me away isn’t going to work. College will be waiting for me when I’m ready to go.” Her face softened and she reached for his hand. “And even when I do go – I’m not leaving you. You’re stuck with me forever. Got it?”

He looked away and swallowed against the lump in his throat. He didn’t want to start depending on her, didn’t want to keep liking her so much. Better to push her away now, let her get on with her life, than have her leave him after he became attached. As if he wasn’t attached already…

Robin was the first person he could reasonably call his friend here. He knew Dustin wished they were closer, but he couldn’t get past the weight of expectation in his eyes. The eyes that still saw Steve and not… him. It hurt, because Dustin was his brother and he was holding himself back from him. Eleven and Will – well, he was starting to love them dearly and that scared the shit out of him. And Eddie was becoming something…maybe. Which also hurt and scared the shit out of him.

But Robin? She didn’t hurt him or scare him. She didn’t treat him like something fragile that was on the verge of breaking. She shoved him and got angry and called him out when he was being an idiot. She was a good friend and deserved better than Steve trying to push her away.

Gripping her hand back, he nodded.

“Got it.”

She smiled and shoved him – more gently this time.

“Good. Now get back to work.”

Steve laughed and went back to rewinding tapes.

---

The day continued. Robin went into the back to do some paperwork leaving Steve to main the front store. The bell chimed as the door opened, signifying a customer had walked in. He looked around the display he was setting up to see a teenaged boy standing at the entrance, looking around with wide familiar brown eyes.

“Can I help you?” Steve asked.

“Stephanie?” the boy asked, eyes squinted in confusion.

“Uh… no. Steve.” He corrected.

“Steve? Steve Harrington?”

“Yeah, Steve Harrington.” The words were barely out of his mouth when the boy threw himself at him. Steve caught him on instinct, thinking about the last time a teenager threw themselves at him. The boy was skinny but damn was he strong. When he was done hugging the absolute life out of Steve, he leaned back a bit and started poking at his cheeks and touching his hair.

“So strange,” he said wide-eyed. “My Harrington was a girl.”

Steve blinked down at who could only be another Eleven.

A boy Eleven.

And his universes’ Steve was a girl!?

“I am so glad you lived!” Eleven said with the same devastating conviction and happiness that the other visiting Eleven had used. Tears immediately sprang to Steve’s eyes. Because this time he knew it was a choice. He had chosen to live and every day he chose it again, the beautiful and painful torture of it.

He looked into Eleven’s face, picking apart the similarities and differences between him and the other Eleven’s he had known. It was always the eyes that were the same. The wide brown eyes that always seemed innocent despite all that they had been through. He realized that they really were all looking for him. That an infinite number of Eleven’s couldn’t accept that he was gone, that just needed to find one of him for it to all be okay again. He thought his chest might burst with the feelings building up inside him.

Steve didn’t know what else to do so he smiled and said, “hello, Eleven.”

Eleven beamed up at him and stepped back from their hug but stayed close to his side.

“Who’s this?” Robin asked, coming out of the back room.

“I am Eleven!” he said, “and you look like Rob!”

Robin eyed Steve questionably before turning back to the boy. “I’m Robin.”

“Robin,” Eleven exclaimed in wonder and went over to poke at her cheek too. She allowed it for a moment before waving him away when he started playing with her hair.

“So, I’m guessing you’re from another universe then? Visiting Steve?”

“Yes,” Eleven replied with a smile. “I am visiting.”

“Is everyone the opposite gender to us?” Robin asked. “Our Eleven is a girl.”

Eleven scrunched his nose at that, Steve understood the feeling.

“My Stephanie was a girl and my Rob is a boy,” Eleven said and shrugged.

“Stephanie!” Robin shrieked. “Oh, I wish I could have known her! Steve as a girl…”

“I bet she was badass and hot. Tell Robin she was badass and hot, Eleven.”

“Stephanie was very bad ass… and hot.”

Steve winked at her and she rolled her eyes.

“What about Dustin?” Steve asked.

“Dustin?”

“Henderson.”

“Ah. Tina Henderson.”

“Tina!” Steve repeated, cackling at the thought.

Robin laughed too. “He’s going to hate that!”

They talked and traded names back and forth. Eleven was just as curious as they were to find out how different their universes were. Steve wasn’t surprised by most people’s parallel names and he and Robin were able to figure out most of them. Mike was Michelle, Nancy was Nathan, Max was Max. It was only Eddie’s that was holding them up. There just weren’t that many feminine ways of changing Edward. Robin guessed Edwina and Edith and Steve guessed Emily and Emma. All no goes. Eleven seemed to be really enjoying stumping them on this one and Steve had a feeling they already guessed it but he was messing with them.

“Edie.” Robin tried. Eleven shook his head.

“It’s Lucy,” he finally admitted.

“Lucy!?” Steve and Robin exclaimed at the same time.

Eleven nodded. “Lucy Munson.”

“Well… that doesn’t make any sense at all!” Steve spluttered.

Eleven just smiled and shrugged.

Steve narrowed his eyes at him suspiciously. “You’re messing with us, aren’t you?”

Eleven laughed full out and shook his head. “Her name is Lucy! Friends don’t lie.”

Friends don’t lie.

Steve’s heart clenched. Those damn echoes.

“I should get back,” Eleven said. “I have never been gone this long before and everyone will be worried. Is there anything you would like me to tell them for you?” he asked, looking at Steve with the weight of infinite Eleven’s in his eyes.

“Tell them,” Steve began slowly. “Tell them that I’m okay, and that I love them. Tell them that I know that surviving is hard and moving on is harder but that their Harrington wouldn’t want them to – to hurt themselves with missing her. That if she was anything like me, she’s proud of them. So proud of them. She would be proud of you too, Eleven. Tell them to look after each other like she would have and remember her with laughter. Did she like to swim?”

“Yes,” Eleven replied softly.

“Tell them to go to the lake if they want to feel close to her. It’s where I would choose to be. They can go there to – to swim with her and talk to her… if they need to.”

Eleven nodded, tears pooling in his eyes. “I will tell them.”

Steve moved closer and opened his arms and Eleven fell into them as his tears turned into sobs.

“Thank you, Steve.”

He knew the words were coming but they still felt like a punch to his gut anyway. He didn’t need to ask what for this time.

For living.

He looked up and blinked quickly, holding Eleven tighter. Suddenly realizing that every time he was visited by an Eleven… he healed an entire universe full of the people he cared about most – simply by living. By being here to say that everything was going to be okay and to let them say goodbye. And if that was true… it meant helping an infinite number of Elevens, and Dustins, and Eds, and Robins… and on and on and on.

And Steve thought about the sacrifice of that.

Of taking on an infinite amount of love and grief. He wondered if this was the moment that Other Steve had mentioned feeling to Robin. A different sacrifice, he knew. But a sacrifice all the same. And he couldn’t help but rage inside… at the injustice of fate. Because if it was Steve Harrington’s destiny to die saving his loved ones but leave them in grieving pieces – how was it fair that it was his destiny to put those pieces back together? How was he supposed to heal an infinite multiverse amount of grief?

He didn’t know if he was strong enough. His own grief was a black hole that sucked in every sliver of happiness he managed to feel. But… maybe that was why he could do it. Because he knew it. Had become intimately acquainted with it. Felt it. Understood it. Breathed it. Lived it. Cherished it.

The loss.

The grief.

The guilt.

… and the love.

And they helped to heal pieces of him, too. The visiting Elevens. The first had found him, pulled him to safety and gave him a home and a family. The second had saved him from a literal cliff’s edge, and then gave him a reason to try living again. And this Eleven…proved just how much the universe…loved him.

Every instance of him.

Another sob broke free at his side and he looked over to see Robin with her head in her hands, shoulders shaking as she tried to cry quietly. She didn’t manage it. She cried just like she did everything else – loudly.

“I miss you,” Eleven said into his chest.

“I know,” Steve replied softly.

He took a deep breath and then stepped out of Steve’s arms, wiping his eyes.

“It helps to know you are here. I can’t wait to tell the others about Steve Harrington. They will be so shocked!”

“I’m excited to tell everyone about you, too.”

Robin came over and slipped her hand into his and Steve was grateful for her grounding presence.

“Good-bye, Steve,” Eleven said and smiled brightly, despite the tears still in his eyes.

Steve smiled back. “Good-bye, Eleven.”

The bell over the door jingled as he left. Back to a universe without a Steve or Stephanie in it. To tell them that he loved them and that everything was going to be okay.

Because he did.

And it was.

Part 14

@just-a-tiny-void @mx-jinxous @child-of-cthulhu @awholedamnmesstbh @phoenix0bird @bookworm0690 @estrellami-1 @a-gae-af-racoon @nailbatandfreak @novelnovella @meela86 @lenathegay @vampireinthesun @penny00dreadful @questionablequeeries @espressopatronum454 @r0binscript @seths-rogens @fruity-nerd @sani-86 @n0-1-important @swimmingbirdrunningrock @ellietheasexylibrarian @manda-panda-monium @paintsplatteredandimperfect @viridianphtalo @goodolefashionedloverboi @13catastrophic-blues

Huge thanks to those who offered to be sounding boards for an idea: @newtstabber @stevie-crow @queenie-ofthe-void @tinytalkingtina @hbyrde36 Thank you all so so much!

-I have all of the alternate names written out and I am so mad I couldn’t figure out how to get Wayne (Winnie) into this conversation. -I don’t know why everything I write turns out sadder than I originally intended. This was supposed to be a fun chapter and instead it became…This. Cried like a baby writing it. That said, it's my favourite so far so I hope you all like it!

#steddie #stranger things #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #multiverse #angst with a happy ending #robin buckley #the last steve harrington

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crookedkryptonitebeliever · 3 months

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Best and Worst of Both Worlds (part 10)

Tw: injury on Yves, mentions of vomit, short chapter

Vote on da poll below ill start writign after 20 voters

Short chaprer today guys and omg i didn't expect the reaction towards the fight between monty n yves, a good number of yall seem to root for monty??

Thanx for the comments, reblogs n asks , even tho i may not reply to all i very appreciate them and i read them

Enjouy

Part 11

You rested your head on his lap as the policemen took his statement. Yves spoke politely and gave them all the necessary facts over what had happened. He stroked your hair and soothingly rubbed your shoulders.

As it turns out, he paid for your consultation as soon as he came in. Said a few words of caution about Montgomery to the receptionist, giving her time to assemble an army of mall security officers.

"All done." He whispered into your ear. You woke up choking on your snore, he patted your back as you coughed over his shoulder.

The policemen were finished, you and him are free to go home.

You and him arrived at your place by 6pm. Your housemates were of course nosy pricks, crowding around Yves to ask him about his recent injury. He dismissed them with impeccable manners, ushering you into your room and locking the door behind him.

You wanted nothing but to flop into your bed. However, Yves urged you to take a shower first and have a change of clothes before doing so. You begrudgingly did what he asked of you, taking a longer time because you're lethargic from today.

But that gave him just enough time to prepare a delicious bowl of clear chicken soup. How lucky you are to have dinner freshly ready as soon as you get out of the bathroom.

He fixed a bowl for himself too, sitting down next to you.

You slurped on the soup as if your life depended on it. Hell, you didn't even need a spoon, you simply began drinking from the rim of your bowl.

"You're going to upset your stomach again. Take slower sips and please use your spoon." He lectures you, paying no mind to the 7 pairs of eyes watching him from the hallway.

You felt like an animal being observed at the zoo. Yves must have sensed your discomfort, as he offered to take the meal back to your room. You nodded and followed him past your housemates' ogling eyes.

In the end, you found peace by having dinner with him on your study desk. He borrowed a chair from outside and brought it inside.

You have caused two of his injuries so far. The burn on his hand and the bruise on his face, the guilt is eating you up because Yves treats you so well, it felt too good to be true. With this much sacrifices he made, he must be expecting something of equal value in return. You know you can never fulfil it no matter how much you tried.

He's too perfect, you can't keep up with him. You feel like a crusty, ugly gremlin next to him.

You're starting to feel uneasy again in this relationship, you want to get out before you're in too deep. So you started to ponder on ways to break the news of your decision, maybe if you tell him over text--

"I want to talk about us." He spoke out of the blue. You feel chills down your spine, you don't fare well with serious, heavy topics. But you can't just run away from your own home.

You gulped and decided to tread carefully, asking him to go ahead. He set his spoon down and looked at you with his good eye. The other one is concealed by his perfect curls.

"I regard you as my romantic partner and you think of me the same way."

That is... true. But you think that Yves saw you as a trial run. He probably is seeing other people in the meantime to find the best fit, something akin to getting a job. You know that's how people in big cities date.

"I'm a monogamous man, (name). I expect you to be monogamous as well." He dabbed the corners of his mouth with a piece of facial tissue.

You remained silent, not knowing what to say as usual.

He lets you squirm for a bit under the uncomfortable pressure of quietness. However, it was this awkwardness that caused the gears in your head to turn.

You think he is implying that he has no one else aside from you, so he isn't... trying out other tasters? You're too shy to ask, so you took your revelation at face value.

You didn't have to. Because he clarified what he said a minute later.

"I am not seeing anyone else. You shouldn't be either."

That's much better. You let your shoulders sag in relief. You might think that went unnoticed, but Yves is also elated that you're also hoping he had no more space in his heart for others.

He thinks that is enough for now, Yves knows you get overwhelmed easily. He will save his other expectations and boundaries when you're a lot more settled into life.

You picked your spoon back up and continued drinking the soup, enjoying chunks of chicken and carrots along with it. You wonder if this simple dish was elevated because it's made by someone you admire. Because you knew on normal days, you would find this excruciatingly bland and even make fun of it.

When you finish, Yves bowl still looks untouched. He is undoubtedly the slowest eater you've ever met, watching him eat was like witnessing a real life posh etiquette class take place. He never fills his spoon to the brim and he scoops his soup using the edge, pushing upwards at 12'o clock on the bowl. He only drinks from the side of the spoon, never the tip nor did he ever put the entire spoon into his mouth.

He wouldn't hunch down, instead having the spoon come to him as he maintains a straight posture. His other hand rests on his lap.

He's so silent when consuming his dinner. Yves never slurped or let his teeth hit the metal spoon.

You're bored but you wouldn't want to talk to him. It will only serve as a delay in finishing his bowl. It would be rude of you to tell him to eat faster, so you don't want to do that.

"(name), could you please prepare me a glass of water?" He requested without looking up from his bowl.

Say less. You're already at the door. Finally, you have something to do.

He smiled as he heard you closing the door.

"Thank you, dear." He took your phone that you carelessly left on the table, in his hands. He removed the cable that's attaching your device to his power bank.

Yves keyed in your password flawlessly, unlocking it for him to access everything.

"Whaat!? That's so badass though!"

"I know, right! You lucky bastard, I wish I had a man like Yves."

"God, he's so dreamy..."

Your housemates hounded you in the kitchen, pestering you for information and actually treating you nice. All you wanted to do was fill two cups with nice, crisp water.

"Well, when's the wedding?"

"Yeah, he's like.... he's like a perfect malewife. You gotta put a ring on it."

"It's too early for them to marry! And don't you mean a husband?"

"No, a malewife."

"That's not a word, it's husband!"

"S-T-F-U CEO of simp, don't try to steal him away from (name). You don't even have a chance!"

"You all are always so mean to me!"

"We wouldn't be if you didn't steal every date that we invited over!"

You quietly slipped away while they were distracted with their bickering.

You entered your room and closed the door behind you, locking it so none will try to barge in. You apologized for taking a while, your housemates were holding you back.

He's still eating his soup! He barely made a dent in it since a while ago.

He thanked you as he took his cup.

"They're childish, aren't they?" He commented, taking small sips of his drink.

You agreed, but you knew they're just not compatible with the likes of you. And you didn't say more because you wanted him to finish his soup as soon as possible.

He took another piece of tissue, folded it and daintily tapped his mouth.

"Would you like to finish the rest of my bowl?" He asked, you said yes because you didn't want it to go to waste and you're still mildly hungry. He stroked your head as he rose up from his seat, collecting your empty dish.

He left your room to clean up.

___

Yves left after dinner and you felt relieved that you didn't need to explicitly tell him you want him out. Regardless of how you feel about him now, you still have a "Yves-interaction" quota daily. And yesterday's events exceeded that far beyond the limit. It's not that you dislike him, you feel yucky if he lingers for too long, you felt suffocated and watched. You're not used to that yet since you're alone for most of your life.

It would be a lie to say that you weren't disappointed that he didn't give you a kiss this time, not a hug either because he said he was filthy. That made sense, despite him running numerous wet wipes over himself and changing into his spare clothes he kept in his car after the fight, he did fought a man who was covered in dust, paint and your own vomit- in a clinic; where germs run amok. Plus, you showered already, you wouldn't want to do it again.

He blew you a kiss instead, which was equally as heart fluttering as an actual kiss to the cheek.

You sat on your bed, kicking your legs into the air. Thought about Yves is keeping you occupied for a while. It's late and you should be going to sleep, but you're too giddy and perhaps mildly nauseous because you end up helping yourself to another serving of the soup after he left.

You were snapped out of your trance when you heard a ping from your phone. You muted the notifications from your group chat so it couldn't possibly come from your housemates. You don't have any friends to speak of, hence it only leaves two possible options: Yves or your phone carrier demanding payment.

You got up and picked your phone up from the desk. It was charging using the outlet there since Yves found the plug next to your bed to be faulty. You wonder how he caught that.

It was a text from Yves. It says:

"Just reached home. I will visit you at noon tomorrow."

Looking at the time, it's been half an hour since he left.

It takes thirty minutes to drive from your place to his, and you know that there's a high-end neighborhood that takes a two hour long bus ride to get to. You managed to get yourself lost there on the day of your move-in.

That checks out. He belongs to the affluent.

What does he see in you? The feelings of insecurity came rushing back and your urge to pull away again is as strong as ever. This isn't right, you're going to have your heart broken to bits!

Acting on impulse, you began drafting up a long paragraph telling him that you're not so sure if this relationship is going to work. But you were interrupted by another text from him.

"Do not stay up too late. You tend to catastrophize at night."

Oh.

You deleted your paragraph. Wait, how does he know that? Look! You're doing it again! He is right, you do see the world as a worse place when the sky is dark. You should go to sleep now.

You sent him a short "good night" message. Yves sent one back.

You went to bed a little jittery.

You couldn't sleep. The adrenaline or stomach butterflies didn't wear off at all. It's now five in the morning and you're still wide awake, as if you took fifteen shots of espresso.

You so badly want to bother Yves, but he's probably asleep and you might seem clingy. And that's cringe to you.

So you grabbed your bag and contemplated going somewhere, you have 7 hours before he comes by.

The mall is closed and Montgomery probably frequents there, so that's a no go. The library in the University is open 24/7, they provide free tea, coffee and snacks before the sun comes up. But you have enough money to get something decent from a convenience store, a 10 minute bus ride away.

You're not necessarily hungry now and the weather is quite nice before dawn. You think you would enjoy sitting at the park, watching joggers of all ages try to get their steps in. However, it's going to take a longer bus ride to get there since it's in the city.

You scratched your head and weighed your options, keeping in mind that your judgement is slightly impaired due to sleep deprivation.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere oc #yandere male #yandere concept #tw yandere #yandere x you #yandere oc x reader #male yandere oc x reader #oc yves #oc Montgomery

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vashtijoy · 1 year

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thank you for such a comprehensive answer! does make me wonder though — the game clearly has no qualms with saying that akechi did kill people directly and did cause deaths indirectly (e.g. the bus incident explicitly stated to have caused fatalities). so why on earth does p5 say the subway train derailment caused no deaths?? this is probably a very weird detail to zero in, but i feel like a heavier train in an enclosed space carrying more people than a bus is much more dangerous. ngl it broke my immersion on my first playthrough a little lol

I know what you mean, lol. Tbh, Akechi is obviously intended to be sympathetic—to be the worst case example of what happens when a kid is exploited by rotten adults and has nobody to help them.

This is why there are so many parallels between his tragic backstory and the stories of a lot of the PTs—he has Futaba's abusive family background, Ryuji's single mom, Yusuke's orphanhood and exploitative father figure, Haru's terrible father, and I'm sure there's something there for Makoto as well.

This is why, at the end of the engine room, he's met not with condemnation but with grace and understanding. This is why, though he does feel sorry for himself at the end and mourn what he's lost, he doesn't squirm and beg and justify himself like the earlier palace bosses—with the exception of Sae. This is why he gets a dramatic self-sacrifice and gets to come back as an antihero, who goes all-out to save the world at the cost of his life in passing, because it's in his personal interests to do so. Akechi is intended to have been sinned against as much, or more, than he has sinned.

At the end of the day, Akechi is a Phantom Thief, even though he's not really on the team, doesn't align with their motives, and almost nobody really likes him—just like them, he's a kid who was placed in an impossible situation, and they all get that. Even while they understand the reality of who he is and what he's done.

This raises the complicated "is he a victim" question again, of course, and the reality is that he's both a victim and perpetrator—like, of course, most criminals. Akechi isn't special. His backstory lets us understand what he's done; it doesn't undo it—and he knows that.

So what's going on, if I can go all Doylian for a second, is that there's an attempt to soft-soap the reality of what Akechi does—to keep him sympathetic. He doesn't shoot people in real life, for instance (with two notable attempted exceptions)—he gives them "mental shutdowns", giving him a layer of insulation from not only the physical reality of murder, but the moral reality of it.

Like the moment he sees Futaba unexpectedly in Leblanc, and ends up chattering oh shit, you're Wakaba Isshiki's— Like the moment on 10/11 that he walks up to Sae to see what she has on her laptop, and it's the Okumura death video, and he nearly vomits; he claps a hand over his eyes, and only then moves it to cover his mouth.

This is the reason he's so visibly unsettled a lot of the time in the interrogation room, why he stares at that dead guard wide-eyed for so long, and stares at dead "Joker" for so long during that cutaway to Sojiro that the gun stops smoking. He is—and we are—almost always insulated from the reality of his acts. tl;dr: you aren't meant to have to think too much about what it means that the pretty boy is a murderer and terrorist, if you don't want to. And that's fine! There is no wrong way to understand the game, no wrong way to play. A huge part of interpreting a work of fiction is what we bring to it ourselves.

But if you want to dig into that reality, it is there to be found. The fact that psychotic breakdowns obviously can be fatal, that Akechi performs them for Shido from the start, from two years before canon. That he performs so many of them that he becomes a detective, to make sure they're properly "cleaned up" himself. The fact that he makes two of the Phantom Thieves orphans. That Shido considers "proper use of the Metaverse" to be eliminating those in his way. That he sells Akechi's services to anyone suitably wealthy and controllable he can find. That, at the start of the game, all of Tokyo is terrified of this plague of accidents, of psychotic breakdowns, and that, per Sae, the incidents have been going on at least since Wakaba Isshiki died—two years before canon.

You also have things like the fact that he clearly negotiates what he does, as you can see in the post-interrogation room conversations with Shido—he can talk his way out of kill orders, or postpone them, as long as he doesn't push it, and he does this. There's no reason to think this isn't part of their dynamic all along. Shido manipulates Akechi with praise, sure, but Akechi also manipulates Shido as much as he can get away with.

There's also the SIU Director, on 7/10, complaining about how "he" (Akechi) is insufficiently brutal and doesn't come up with usably brutal plans. On the other hand, Akechi will, later, come up with the vicious detail of the plan to murder Joker in the interrogation room; that's his plan. He's told what to do (we join that incriminating phone call conveniently halfway), but he comes up with the details himself. He's on an arc, albeit one that isn't always obvious, and a large part of it is that Joker is slowly driving him out of his mind.

I just think Akechi is way more interesting, and that his manner and behaviour make far more sense, if he has done a lot of these things. The main thing that draws my eye is the visible lack of response he has to the atrocities he causes. Going back to that nice conversation you both have on 7/11, you know what he's almost certainly just done there? He's triggered the Goodness Foods car crash, which the evening news will report takes place at 8am on 7/11.

(and writing about this clarified so many things that it, again, became its own post oops.)

The crash kills four people. By the time you're on the train to school, the news is reporting this. Akechi seems completely fine with it all, better than fine—except there are tiny suggestions of something else, if you squint, something far below the numbness to what he does and what he's become; far below the bright surface. Something that will later be riveted in disbelief to the dead guard on the floor of the interrogation room.

That's interesting.

#asks #persona 5 #p5 meta #goro akechi #interrogation room

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pisupsala · 8 months

Text

Of All The Stars in The Sky | 14 | Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw

Summary | War looks different from high above in the sky. But when Bradley finds himself on the ground, far behind enemy lines, it becomes a race against the clock to get out. And try not to look back at what he’s leaving behind.

Pairing | Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x fem!reader / Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x fem!oc (no use of y/n)

Warnings |Mature content | 18+ only[WWII AU] swearing, war, violence, death, explicit smut

Words | 7.9k

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Chapter 14: Shadow Waltz

Bradley sinks into his seat before his legs might give out from under him. What did he just see?

His breath comes out in short bursts like he can’t fully draw a breath before it forces its way back up from his lungs.

It’s like his throat is being constricted. Why didn’t he call out? He could have jumped. Pulled the emergency brake and jumped out. Ran to you. Warned you.

The thoughts are coming and going in quick succession, nothing fully taking hold. Burying his head in his hands, Bradley tries to calm himself. Eyes screwed shut, he replays that moment over and over. The figure closing in on you. You’re oblivious. Why didn’t you turn around? Didn’t you hear the footsteps?

Why didn’t he call out?

He could have done something. Helped you. Saved you. The doomed scene replays in cutting sharpness every time he closes his eyes, leaving his insides quaking. Every heartbeat is like a sledgehammer coming down.

Bradley doesn’t know how long he sits there, hunched over on the hard wooden seat, backpack weighing him down. Everything is distant like he’s not really there.

He is stuck in the moment you disappeared.

“Don’t draw any attention to yourself once you get on the train,” Your voice is so close and clear that Bradley is suddenly back in that small room, in bed with you. A moment in time when this was all just a plan. A rough sketch. Bradley’s reality was entirely between those four walls. You’re laying on top of him, naked, soft breast pressed against his chest. Even now, it feels more real than the jerky cadence of the train. Fingers gently caressing the quickly forming scars on his face, your tone is distressingly businesslike. “It’s your one chance, Bradley.”

“I’m sure I can manage,” He replies easily, leaning into your touch, lips brushing against your fingertips. Your hands are warm.

But you never said it would be at the cost of you. The thought shoots through him like lightning, distorting the peaceful scene and drowning it in panic. Your giggle sounds strange in his memory, the once beautiful sound.

Time passes strangely; Bradley has no sense of how many stops the train has made, how many people flittered past him. Everything is a blur. The city is far behind him now, replacing the colorful buildings with green hills and lush forests.

The train should take several hours before it reaches its destination. You told him so. Finally, Bradley’s breath evens out. It’s not the first time he’s seen someone seconds before their demise. Hell, he’s been the cause of those doomed final seconds plenty of time. He’s seen his brothers-in-arms go down in a ball of fire.

He remembers all of them.

But it was never supposed to be you. No matter how blasé you were when you told him you could have died many times over already. How bravely you faced danger. Because Bradley remembers how softly your voice was when you admitted you didn’t want to die.

No matter how much he tries to calm himself, focus on his breathing, and steer his mind to here and now, the strange tension won’t leave Bradley. It’s like a cold hand wrapped around his neck, setting him on edge. He is far from safety and should focus on the task at hand. Your sacrifice—the icy fingers tighten, constricting Bradley’s breath for a second as the realization that you might be dead sets in a little bit deeper—he cannot let your sacrifice be in vain.

He is alive because of you.

He needs to go to the coordinates that you got for him. Find his contact. Get instructions. And get out.

It’s deep in the afternoon when the train stops in a nondescript town near the southern border. Most people have gotten off in the last large city about an hour ago—when Bradley looks up, only two other people are left in the wagon.

This is the place.

Getting up, his muscles and tendons creaking in protest, Bradley disembarks. He’s been sitting the whole journey but feels like his body has been through a marathon. Tiredness is seeping into his bones, overflowing from his brain.

He looks around. The station is no more than a concrete slab and a small abandoned building in the middle of the forest. A single dirt road leads up the forest—the only sign of life is a sliver of smoke billowing up through the trees. There must be a house there.

“The station is here.” Your voice is eerily close again. Leaning over the table, one knee on the chair, your finger prods the map. Bradley leans closer. The map is slightly too large for the small table, with one side hanging off the edge. His compass, which he didn’t even realize you had, is in your other hand.

“From there, you need to head…” You narrow your eyes as you think. The little crease between your eyebrows suddenly becomes evident again. “South-west.” You conclude.

“That will take me in the opposite direction of the path,” Bradley observes, his fingers brushing against yours as he traces a route over the green fields of the map. Nothing indicates there is anything for miles in that direction.

“Look for a game trail,” You look up, your face so close to his. Even now, Bradley can smell your soap. “A small path in the high grass, an opening in the underbrush.”

Your fingers follow his toward the small ‘x’ you’ve drawn on the map, the exact spot of the coordinates. On the map, it’s in an indistinct area in the middle of the forest. There are no marked paths or landmarks around. It has to be. It’s a delicate balance, as it needs to be a spot where you wouldn’t wander past wholly by chance but is also not terribly suspicious to be waiting there.

Bradley will know when he sees it.

As suddenly as you appeared before his mind’s eye, you are gone again. Not even the smell of your soap lingers in the spring air. Opposite the dirt road, a trail of flattened grass disappears into the forest. Just like you said there would be.

As he starts walking, he tries to remember how you looked as you did the mental math, trying to figure out how long he would be walking, figuring out which train to get. Your lips were pursed, still hunched over, fingers tapping against the map quickly.

“It should take me about 90 minutes,” Bradley offers. Your eyes flash, almost defiantly, as if you’re determined to prove him wrong. Mouth open, like you’re about to say something, he can practically see you do the math in your head.

“Yeah, 90 minutes sounds correct.” You finally admit, although not without difficulty, pulling away from him. It makes him laugh—you’re so determined to figure it out and do everything right. To eliminate every variable, be ahead of everyone and everything. But distance and speed calculations are daily chores for Bradley. There’s a surprising amount of math involved in flying—had he known that before he enlisted, he might have paid closer attention in school.

The track doesn’t stop when he reaches the forest. There are no markers, but the path between the blueberry bushes and ferns is clear. Now that he is sure no one is around him, he digs his compass out of his pocket. Heading south-west. Ninety minutes.

Bradley glances around. It’s quiet—no one seems to be around. Although he’s only a few meters into the forest, it’s secluded. Quickly slipping the backpack off his back, Bradley digs through the neatly packed contents. You’ve taken so much care getting him everything he’ll need; you had it all thought out. For a moment, Bradley’s movements slow. No. He needs to be on time. From the bottom of the backpack, he pulls his carefully wrapped gun. It feels strange in his hand, even though it’s his—he hasn’t seen it since you took it from him months ago. Unwrapping it, Bradley inspects the piece. It’s clean, and it’s still loaded.

He desperately hopes he won’t have to use it. He has no spare ammo—it’s a tool of last resort. Choosing not to dwell on it, he double-checks the safety before tucking it into the waistband of his pants on his back.

There is still no sound but for the forest. It doesn’t bring him any piece of mind.

Looking back, Bradley can barely remember the hike. Let alone the train ride. It already feels like everything happened in the past—a different lifetime. He’s lived so many now. The small room under the roof in Prague is just as far away as his barracks room in England. But the anxiety stays—it wanes in moments, only to come back full force suddenly as his thoughts inevitably turn back to you. You’re so intricately woven into every aspect of his life in the past months; almost nothing doesn’t remind Bradley of you.

The sun is streaming through the pine trees. In the forest, the air is cool despite that. Bradley needs to keep pace. Glancing at this watch, he knows he should soon be coming up to the rendezvous point—just ten more minutes.

His stomach growls. He hasn’t eaten since breakfast, too distraught to eat anything on the train. Everything is still just passing by him. Bradley isn’t hungry. When he was in boot camp, fresh out of high school, he was never hungry either—so much was weighing him down. His mother’s death, Mav, and the horrid reality of boot camp. But Bradley also knows it’s not about being hungry; it’s about survival.

A clearing appears—although clearing might be too much credit for the sudden widening of the path. It’s just a few meters across where the ground has been walked bare to the mud. Overgrown with moss, a large log peeks out on the edge of the clearing.

This should be it—nothing strange about a weary traveler sitting on a log to rest.

Bradley sits down heavily. The hike wasn’t strenuous, and the weather is pleasant, but the ever-present tension and the feeling of being caught between fight and flight are steadily sapping his energy. Unwrapping some of his provisions, he chews mindlessly. The bread, the cheese—everything tastes like nothing to Bradley right now. The water in his canteen isn’t in any way refreshing; it instead feels like it’s a stone on his stomach, weighing him down further.

Sitting there, the sounds of the forest suddenly intensify. Bradley can hear how the wind picks up through the crowns of the trees. Leaves rustle, branches creak—something small is scurrying through the underbrush. A mouse or a squirrel, perhaps. Bradley focuses back on chewing. The food still tastes like nothing.

From here on out, he has no idea how long or far he has to go. He has provisions to last him several days, hoping it will be enough. Sitting on a large log in a quiet forest on a sunny afternoon is strange—Bradley feels like he should be running, fighting, doing something. Anything. Not just sitting here, waiting.

But right now, he can’t go back. Neither can he go forward. Bradley is precisely where he needs to be right now, and it’s out of his hands. Truly, everything had been out of his hands the moment that night fighter tore his fuselage to shreds with a well-aimed salvo of bullets.

It was easier to just go along with it when you were by his side. It distracted from his doomed fate well enough and for long enough. But now, Bradley feels more powerless, more aimless than before. Despite all the precautions, it might not have been enough for you. To save you.

For all you did to save him.

Deep inside, the cold rationale of years of training, years of seeing comrades die, and the many decisions Bradley has had to take are clear. Going back for you would mean you both die. It would render everything you’ve done for him useless. You fulfilled your mission. Now, he has to fulfill his.

He doesn’t want to think about that now.

Bradley swallows heavily, trying to get the acrid taste out of his mouth. You were not just part of a mission—he is pretty sure it was not just a mission for you anymore. It wasn’t for him.

A pack of cigarettes is tucked into one of the backpack's side pockets. Just when he reaches for it, tension creeps up his spine. Bradley is not alone anymore.

The man appears suddenly like he just materialized in the clearing. Not a twig that snapped under his boot, not a rustle of leaves as he moved. His face is tan; the skin is weathered from this sun, aging him. He looks at Bradley top to bottom—the man is dressed like a tramp in old and faded clothes, patched up with mismatched fabrics, holding himself awkwardly, almost as if he's injured, but his eyes are sharp. Discerning.

When Bradley observes him a bit closer, he notices the man's boots are outfitted with new soles despite his overall shabby appearance.

Grinning, he tips his hat.

“Flash.” His voice sounds raw, like he hasn't spoken out loud in years.

“Thunder.” Bradley replies automatically. The man grins a little bit wider but doesn't say anything else. Bradley waits for him to say something, to introduce himself, or to start a conversation. However, the man seems comfortable in his silence, simply grinning at him in a friendly manner, beckoning Bradley as he starts walking off the path into the thick of the forest.

He passed the challenge; this man is the contact, of that, Bradley is as sure as he can be under the circumstances. And while it's not like he expected this to be a hike between friends, the clearly self-imposed muteness of the man is unsettling.

Quickly repacking his rucksack, Bradley leaps up, following the man.

They walk, with only a drink break, until dusk. The hilly terrain is turning more rugged, with boulders sticking up from the forest floor higher and higher. When the man finally stops and motions for Bradley to sit down with him, pulling out a tin of beans from his pack, Bradley cannot help but ask.

“Where are we going?”

The man, focusing on prying off the lid of the can, ignores him, scarcely looking up to acknowledge Bradley even said anything. Hesitantly, Bradley starts unpacking some of his own food—bread doesn't sound so bad now. The long hike hasn't done much to make him any hungrier. But he needs to eat. And bread is better than the cold beans the guide seems to be spooning down without blinking, anyway.

After what seems to be a much too short time, they are up on their feet again, walking through the dark forest. He sets a relentless pace for all the posturing the guide does to appear awkward or injured, he sets a relentless pace.

Bradley can't help but try again.

“How long do we have to travel?”

No reply.

“Are we going to walk all night?” He grumbles under his breath, annoyed now. The guide is the first person he has spoken to, besides you, in months. The only other people he ever saw were your fellow resistance fighters—the officer from the signal corps and his angry sidekick. The disconnect from everyone and everything around him is a constant irritation, like a weeping wound.

“Patrouille.”

The sudden, raspy reply has Bradley snapping his head up.

Pointing west, where the sun is rapidly setting, he continues: “Kaserne.”

The guide simply turns around and resumes his path as if that explains everything. German wasn't exactly on Bradley's curriculum, and languages weren't his strong suit. You would know. And if you didn't know, you would probably figure it out, if only to to outsmart him.

You would never fully admit it, but the reason you really didn't like doing crossword puzzles with him is not because you couldn't take on the challenge—it's because he would always guess the answer faster than you. And as it turns out, you are an adorably poor loser regarding intellectual pursuits.

What Bradley would give to see you frown at him again, just knowing you were safe.

So they travel at night. It’s cold and dark—the ground uneven and slippery, as you warned him. When dawn breaks, they hide in the undergrowth or caverns scattered through the mountainside. Bradley feels like he hasn’t slept in days, but neither has he been fully awake. He is sure he can hear your voice somewhere between dreams and waking. It’s always so close like you’re next to him on the cold ground—your breath ghosting over his skin as you whisper to him. He can hear but can’t see you; he’s scared to look around, only to find nothing.

The small square of cloth stays securely tucked in the breast pocket of his coat. Close to his heart. Bradley’s hands are so dirty he’s scared to even look at it. Sometimes, he brushes his hand over the pocket, imagining he can feel the folded edges through the thick fabric. Imagining you are still with him, however intangible.

He scratches off the wax from a match with shaking fingers before lighting it. The faint light from the burning tip is the only clear shape he can see. Everything else is formless, different shades of dark. In the absence of snow, like when you led him down the mountain, there is nothing to reflect the starlight. It makes the forest feel emptier and darker—the sound echoes louder, and strange noises travel.

His mind is leading him in circles, down a well-worn path.

By now, Bradley has replayed those last few seconds of you on that platform so many times in his head, he’s not even sure anymore what he saw. Were you grabbed? Did they run past you? Did you turn in time?

He’s not sure if his brain is playing tricks on him through the sleep deprivation, or his heart is trying to protect him in the most horribly cruel way—but the memory that was once so clear, seared into his mind’s eye, is playing out just a little bit differently every time he thinks about it. You turned. You moved out of the way. Dashing past the figure, you hid in the winding medieval streets you know so well. You would be alright.

You have to be.

The cold rational pierces his heart, but Bradley knows he has to accept it. He made the right choice. He shouldn’t have turned back—you wouldn’t want him to. Every time he thinks about it, the knife twists a little bit more, not allowing the wound to heal. Somewhere, he doesn’t want it to. He deserves to suffer. If - if something happened to you, it’s because of him. The pain should be all his.

As the days and nights melt into each other on the way to the airfield, Bradley is less and less sure of what he actually saw. Just existing is sapping him of every bit of energy now. The food you have packed for him is running low, and Bradley would kill for a hot coffee by now.

The guide doesn’t answer when Bradley asks how much longer. Whether he doesn’t understand or chooses not to understand is moot. It’s not like Bradley has the energy to argue with him. He just wants to get out of here.

Three nights in, Bradley feels like he's at his limit. The dark, the silence, and the uncertainty grate him to the bone. But he has no choice but to carry on. Gritting his teeth, he keeps walking. His feet hurt. His head hurts. His heart hurts.

The torch's strange moving light, deep at night in the cold mountain air, gives Bradley more time to think than he is comfortable with. There is nothing to distract him from himself. People pay good money for a hiking holiday in Europe, but Bradley can't help but be bored. It's like every emotion is slowly getting filed down to a stump.

It didn't take him all that long to figure that "patrouille" was German for patrol—freely inferring that "kaserne" is a base or stronghold of some sort, which is the reason they travel at night. Barely enough of a challenge to keep his mind occupied.

When you are continuously exposed to danger, when your fight or flight instincts are constantly kicked into high gear, everything becomes dull. The tension and anxiety are always there; they are just so constant they are now background noise.

Sometimes, when Bradley wakes up and he sees the open sky above him, his heart clenches. Like he expected to wake up somewhere else. Like he wanted to wake up in that small room again. At the same time, it fills him with dread. Making his heart race in panic. The idea of being locked up in a small room again terrifies him.

Another long day and an even longer night go by.

It’s late, pitch black all around, when Bradley feels tarmac under his boots for the first time in months. It’s a strange feeling. He has no idea where he is or what day it even is, but the tarmac and the vague smell of jet fuel lingering in the air feel familiar.

As they emerge from the forest, Bradley looks around in awe. This is an airfield. In the middle of the mountains, shabby and clearly long abandoned. But an airfield.

This must be it.

At the far end of the runway, he can make out the familiar, terrifying shape of a German warplane.

A man disembarks from the cockpit of the plane, waving them down.

Bradley walks around the plane, inspecting it with fingers trailing over the body. He's been up close and personal with many makes of enemy planes, but never like this. It's fascinating in the most morbid way.

The men are talking to each other in low voices. Circling the plane, Bradley sees it's a one-seater.

“Am I flying?” He asks, interrupting the tête-à-tête between the two other men. Finally, he receives a full verbal reply—although it comes from the other man, a rather young-looking and even younger-sounding man, and not the guide.

“With me, yes.” As he steps closer to Bradley, he can now see he is dressed like a pilot. A German pilot, specifically, the iron cross displayed prominently on the collar peeping out from this thick lambskin jacket. His accent, however, is very precisely British—too precisely, it’s almost caricature-like.

Bradley doesn't get time to dwell on it, or ask any follow-up questions, as he is quite unceremoniously and forcefully helped into the hold where bombs are normally stored. The pilot hands him another jacket and together with the guide, they slide an oxygen bottle into the hold with Bradley.

“It gets quite cold, I'm afraid.” Everything the pilot says sounds strangely rehearsed, like he never held a conversation in English before. “Put on the mask when we reach altitude.” He adds.

Bradley just nods. The guide is grinning at him again, simply tipping his hat in greeting.

“Thank you.” He replies, nodding back at the guide just before the hold closes.

It's safer for everyone if no one knows everything. Not even names. That also means you will never know who you owe your life to.

Oxygen mask clutched in his hand, Bradley closes his eyes. The sound of the engines, the smell—it’s like coming home. Not the home where he wants to be, but the one he knows best. Despite his nerves—this is the most dangerous part of the journey, relinquishing the last bit of control that he had—he starts dozing off.

Bradley is exhausted, physically and mentally. It’s bitterly cold.

He can feel your weight draped over him as he slips out of consciousness. He can smell your soap. Bradley’s fingers brush over his breast pocket.

“Bradley, my love,” Your whisper floats through the air. The slightly lilting syllables of his name—only you say his name like that—still send shivers down his spine. It feels so familiar.

The engine's drone fades into the background, warping into a soft hum.

It’s not cold anymore. Bradley can feel the sun on his face, and he knows, without opening his eyes, that he is home. It’s high summer, and he’s sprawled out on the beach. And you are here with him. His heart soars at the realization—but his eyes are so heavy.

“Don’t fall asleep,” Your sweet voice sounds distant and incredibly close at the same time. Bradley blinks heavily against the burning sun. You are leaning over him, your hair blowing around your face. The sky behind you is cloudless, such a heavenly blue.

Bradley’s limbs are heavy; he feels like he can’t move. He can barely keep his eyes open, but he wants nothing more than to see you. He can see you again. He still wants to tell you so much—the words stick in his throat, tongue paralyzed. You’re smiling down at him fondly. The summer sun is bathing you in a warm light, casting an ethereal glow around your body.

“Shhh,” Your fingers trace over his lips. “You need to breathe.”

Bradley blinks slowly. He is breathing. Like you can hear his confusion, you giggle—the teasing sound wrapping around him in impossible patterns, like it’s carried on a gust of wind.

“You need to breathe,” You reiterate, grin still on your face, hands cupping his face. Brushing your nose against his, Bradley allows his eyes to close again. He’s fighting to stay awake. He wants to stay here with you.

“The air is getting thin, my love,” Your voice sounds strangely distorted, overlapping like an echo without a source. His thoughts are sluggish, struggling to comprehend what you could be talking about.

“You need to breathe.”

Your voice sounds more urgent now. Bradley peels his eyes open; you’re still smiling down at him, your face not betraying any of the urgency in your voice. Reaching out, his fingers trace over your bare shoulders—your skin is so warm from the sun. The silty sea air is crisp, brushing through your hair. Bradley shakes his head, still lacking the strength to say anything. He shouldn’t have to; all you need to do is lean closer and kiss him.

As if you can hear his thoughts, you move toward him again. Your lips are brushing against his tantalizingly. Why do you insist on teasing him so? Don’t you know how worried he has been? How much he has missed you?

He reaches out for you, limbs heavier than lead, intent on closing the space between you. Bradley is not in the mood for your games and teasing—not right now. He needs assurance you are okay. You are laughing, so light and carefree, but he wants to feel you. His fingers tangle through your hair, pulling your face to his.

“Put on the goddamn mask.”

The sudden loudness of your voice, callous and commanding, like it’s been amplified to an almost deafening volume, forces Bradley’s eyes wide open. His heart is racing. It makes no sense; you’re still smiling above him. The blue sky is flickering with darkness, like someone is playing with the lights.

Suddenly, Bradley’s neurons start firing again, and he forces the mask clutched in his hand over his face. As the oxygen fills his lungs, it’s like he’s waking up: the strength returns to his body, and his vision sharpens.

Unfortunately, all he sees is the darkness of the hold.

It’s bitterly cold again.

***

“Let me go!” You jerk yourself back so violently, desperate to free yourself from the iron grip in your arm, you nearly send yourself keeling backward, pulling your assailant with you. Stumbling, he pulls you back harshly, using his much more extensive and heavier form against you.

“Don’t make a scene!” He barks at you.

You never liked Jan. But now you hate him.

“Make a scene?” You hiss venomously, digging in your heels. “You’re dragging me through the train station like livestock.”

You know people are watching, although they hurry past you without a word. People don’t like getting involved—no one wants trouble. You’re dressed for a day out in the country; Jan is wearing an old, ill-fitting suit. You make an odd pair if you were just walking down the street, but arguing like this, you’re practically a sideshow.

A man in a dark coat passes, staring at you both a little too long, disapprovingly. The moment Jan’s grip loosens, you yank your arm away from him, clearly awkward under the man's stare.

“Stop being so goddamn difficult,” He bites at you. “And start walking.”

You want to tell him to go fuck himself, turn on your heel and leave. But there’s a reason he made it out here. After the decimation of the resistance network, the survivors split off—some staying in the city if it was safe enough, like you. Others reformed as partisan fighting groups because their identities were leaked to the authorities, and they couldn’t reintegrate into society like Emil, or simply because they saw that as the way forward, like Jan.

As much as you hate to admit it, as much as you despise thinking about it now, Jan’s sudden appearance means something is happening. It’s probably urgent, but it’s undoubtedly important.

For five seconds, for five fucking seconds, you want to not think about the war. Whatever message Jan has for you should wait. You want to crawl into bed and cry, mourn having to say goodbye to Bradley.

Because you will never see him again.

You can wish, you can dream—but realistically? If you both make it out alive, god knows how long the war will be. He will have forgotten about you by then.

You always knew this; you felt it in your bones, especially in the last few days. You set yourself on fire to silence that nagging voice in your head, so determined to experience everything about Bradley that you could, to the point you allowed yourself to believe him. Truly believe him, even just for a few days. Because no matter how much you want to soothe your hurting heart with his sweet promise, the illusion that he will come back, you need to face reality. The world didn’t stop. People are still disappearing, still dying. Every day, you still wake up in a country under brutal occupation. And Bradley is gone.

But you’re not even getting a chance to feel sorry for yourself, you think angrily. Crawl into bed and cry, drink too much with Eva, and probably cry some more—normal things.

Except you haven’t had a normal day in years.

Blinking rapidly to stop the tears, hands jammed deep into your pockets; you follow Jan like a child being led to detention. He walks several meters in front of you, stride confident, weaving past people—you follow, trailing, practically dragging your feet. To the outside observer, you are two strangers just going in the same direction. The streets around the station are busy; trams are thundering, cars are honking, and people are pushing past.

Shoulders pulled up; you stare at the tips of your boots as you walk. You can feel the corners of your mouth pulling down. At this point, you can’t even pretend to look neutral. You notice Jan turning into a side street from the corner of your eye. The narrow alleyway leads into a backstreet, connecting the city center to quiet residential areas. Sighing, you follow.

However, he takes another turn, legging it to the park behind the national museum rather than veering further up the hill, away from the crowds. Jan doesn’t look back at you once, assuming you’re following.

Your curiosity won’t allow you to turn away and go home. So, with a face like thunder, you shuffle after him. It’s a beautiful day. You hate it.

It’s good for Bradley, though. It shouldn’t be cold tonight. And at least it won’t be raining as he hikes to the rendezvous point. You hope the weather stays mild; you hope he stays safe.

Your heart sinks further as you realize you’ll probably never find out. Bradley filled your head and heart with so many dreams; perhaps the kindest thing you can do now is dream for him. He’ll make it out. He’ll be safe. He’ll return to Virginia Beach and live out his days in peace.

Maybe one day you can find peace in that.

The gravel of the park path creaks under your boots. You wonder how much further Jan will walk to ensure you’re not being followed—it’s making you impatient, but you know better than to stop him or start looking around to confirm that no one is actually following you. Glancing at your watch, you realize it’s not even noon yet. The day feels so much longer—the rollercoaster of emotions seems to have expanded time. It feels like you’ve lived full days in just a matter of hours.

Jamming your hand back into your pockets, you descend the pedestrian underpass leading out of the park under a busy road. The rolling thunder of cars, trams, and trucks resonates through the walls of the underpass, almost overwhelmingly so. Jan stopped walking halfway through—he is lighting a cigarette, waiting for you to catch up.

The further you walk down the stairs, the louder the noise gets—it’s practically shaking the walls. It’s like stepping into a liminal zone, the sparse artificial light looking strangely ominous, with no trace of the sunny spring day outside. And the stench. God. Stale alcohol and piss - it’s so penetrant you swear the air feels heavier, like a haze, as you arrive at the bottom of the stairs.

You swallow heavily, unsure if you want to keep breathing through your nose but also not really wanting to open your mouth.

Sauntering up to Jan—the smell of the cigarette amplifies the underpass's stench in a wholly new, disgusting dimension—you send him a suffering look.

“Really?” You force out, unable to keep the disdain out of your tone.

The way Jan is moving has a measure of frustration to it; the way he flicks the ash off his cigarette is a little too fast, his shoulders squared, and his movements a little too sharp. He ignores your rhetorical question.

“The Gestapo is looking for you.” Jan doesn’t look at you, keeping his gaze averted toward the end of the empty underpass.

“What?”

It’s like a bucket of ice suddenly dropped down your stomach. Your heart is suddenly beating a mile a minute. Panicking, you grab Jan’s sleeve, forcing him to look at you.

“What do you know?” You demand forcefully, trying to keep your voice stable, but the panic is rolling off you in waves.

“Someone saw you -” He jerks back, but you don’t let go of his sleeve. “Look, I don’t know. All I heard was the Gestapo was looking for a cleaner of your description who works at the Ministry of Interior.

“Why?” You’re desperate now, grasping at any straw to get in control of the situation. “And who told you that?

“You know I can’t tell you that,” He sounds contrite, gazing down for a moment, taking a drag of his cigarette. “But you need to get out of the city before they arrest you.”

Stunned into silence, you finally let go of his sleeve. Jan’s round face looks pained, his eyes darting around the underpass. You are breathing hard, the noise from the underpass in your head now, roaring and pounding. You can’t think. The stench is burning your nostrils, choking you.

“Go stay with your parents out east.” He adds, not unkindly. “Just until this all blows over.”

You shake your head.

“I need to go home.” You can’t articulate why, but you need to go home. You need to get clothes. Pack. You need to burn your false identities before they search the place. Yes, that’s it. Home.

“No!” Jan grabs your shoulder, shaking you out of your reverie. “Don’t go home. Get the first train out of here.”

Where is this sudden urgency coming from? It’s not like he just led you on a walk away from the central station. You feel a strange twinge in your stomach, but it’s so slight you barely acknowledge it.

“No,” You force out. “I must go home first—I can’t just leave.”

“Yes, you can.”

“I can’t!” Your sudden exclamation echoes. Jan, whose face is growing red splotches from frustration, clamps his hand over your mouth, silencing you. Tearing yourself away from him, you bite your tongue not to scream at him again. He throws up his hands before digging out another cigarette. He doesn’t offer you one but focuses his angrily shaking fingers on striking a match.

“This isn’t a game.” Jan cuts at you. He keeps his gaze averted like he’s too furious even to spare you a look. You are just shaking your head like you’re trying to shake your thoughts into place—to start making sense out of the chaos. In any other situation, you would never let any comment like that from anyone, but especially not Jan, go without defending yourself. Fuck.

“I’m going home.” You leave no room for argument, turning on your heel.

“Is he still here?”

The question makes you stop dead in your tracks, the blood rushing in your ears drowning out the noise around you. You feel that twinge in your stomach again, stronger this time. One thought suddenly looms large over the chaos in your brain, silencing everything: you can’t make sense of this because it doesn’t make sense.

“I can help-”

“The mission was completed.” You cut him off flatly, not turning back to face him. Don’t elaborate. Biting your lip, your mind races to put the puzzle together. Something is off. You can feel it in your gut. It just doesn’t quite fit.

How did Jan know you were at the station?

If he knew you were there, he must have seen Bradley.

And if he didn’t see him, what did Jan think you were doing there?

Slowly, you turn to face Jan again, blinking, face wiped clean of emotion. His movements are sharper now, like he’s going through the motions forcibly, never looking anywhere for more than a few seconds. He’s shuffling in place, like he wants to run from the situation, but is rooting himself in place.

As you finally take the time to observe Jan, you realize his movements don’t look like frustration. They look like nerves.

Now that the maelstrom of emotions and panicked thoughts in you has finally stilled, you can feel it. The weight of the realization is crushing—it’s just not adding up.

Trust your gut.

It’s like the world suddenly jerks into movement again. The noise is picking up into a deafening roar, the stench so heavy it’s misting over your eyes. Your body sets in motion before you can fully rationalize what you are doing. You need to get out of here.

You’re halfway up the stairs out of the tunnel when you hear Jan screaming at you, his lumbering footsteps closing in. Now is not the time to stop—lungs burning, heart pounding in your throat, you push on. You have a head start, which is your only chance to outrun Jan, who is larger and stronger than you. Nearly tripping over your own feet in your mad dash to get away from him, you cut through the shrubs surrounding the park, branches whipping against your body. When you think back to the moment later, you have no idea how you summoned the strength to scale the iron-wrought fence, nearly pivoting off the top as you tried to avoid the pointy spears decorating the top.

Don’t look around. Don’t look around.

You have no idea if Jan is still following you, but looking around will slow you down, and you can’t afford to lose a single meter of your head start. Blind panic is your fuel now.

The main street is busy. It’s nearly lunchtime, and people are filing out of offices into shops and restaurants. You’re attracting attention, dressed so casually, running like mad—but you can’t stop now. A tram is just leaving the stop, bells ringing loudly. If you go a little bit faster, if you push yourself a little bit harder—desperately, you reach out, your fingers only brushing against the open balcony's metal handle for the departing tram.

You are breathing so hard, your focus singular, to get out of here; your heart nearly stops when you hear Jan calling out your name. He’s so much closer than you anticipated.

Straining, a strangled sound escaping your lips, you push harder. The tram is speeding up, you only have seconds left.

You can’t miss this tram.

It one final burst of energy that you didn’t know you still had in you that propels you forward just enough to grab onto the metal bar. Using your momentum, you jump, crashing onto the rear balcony unceremoniously, bashing your head and elbow against the dirty floor.

You stay down for a moment, your mouth completely dry, spleen aching, head throbbing.

It’s a good thing Bradley left today. If the Gestapo really is looking for you, you couldn’t protect him anymore. Now, all you can hope is that he makes it out.

He will. He has to.

Sitting up, you roll your shoulder back to give your lungs more space as you catch your breath like Bradley showed you. It’s a good thing he isn’t here anymore, but… who can you tell now what happened? It’s like only now you realize that Bradley is not waiting for you at home. It hurts.

He’s no longer there to kiss you, ease your mind, and help you navigate this situation. Despite your ceaseless attempts to convince yourself that everything about your time was temporary, a lightning-in-a-bottle moment between two lonely souls and nothing more would ever come from it, the realization is dawning on you that you’ve grown accustomed to having him around.

The only person that you could speak freely to. The only person who could truly see you.

Bradley was the only person that knew you—the person you are now, the person you’ve been forced to become.

And he accepted you.

Suddenly, you feel like crying again. Sitting on the dirty tram floor, people staring down at you as they pass—you feel so incredibly alone.

Finally getting up and dusting off your pants, you enter the tram, trying to blend in with the crowd. A part of you wants nothing more than to go home, crawl into bed, and forget this whole goddamn day.

But you can’t ignore what Jan told you—his story doesn’t add up, but surely he wouldn’t lie about the Gestapo looking for you. It’s not even a question of why; plenty of things you have done could get you arrested at any point. Stealing, forgery, break-ins, harboring a fugitive…

So it’s a question of what—how much do they actually know? And how much more information will they want to extract from you?

Your head is still throbbing—from the impact, the confusion, and the tears you’ve been holding back the whole morning.

Whatever happens next, you need to get rid of any evidence. If the Gestapo wants to pin something on you, they will find a way, but the line ends with you. You will not give them anything that could lead them to the others.

That’s the least you can do.

The closer you get to home, the worse you feel. It feels like lead is being poured into your boots, making every step harder. You are completely unsure of what to do now. After you get rid of the evidence, what will you do? Should you stay with your parents like Jan suggested? Wouldn’t that put them in danger?

You can’t even think about that right now.

Your stomach is churning by the time you unlock the heavy wooden door to your building. Something is wrong, and if your head weren’t feeling like it was about to explode, you would probably have stopped to examine your gut feeling. But you don’t have time. The quicker you get this done, the better.

Blindly, you make your way up the stairs. Voices of neighbors are echoing through the halls—it’s strange for so many people to be out of their houses. You are not in the mood for building gossip, so you hope you can slip into your apartment without any nosy aunties catching you. As you reach the first landing, you hear someone call your name. Can you pretend you don’t hear them? You keep your head down, legging it to the next flight of stairs at the far end of the landing.

However, before you even make it to the first steps, your downstairs neighbor blocks your way—despite her being old enough to be your mother, she exudes so much class it’s age age-defying today her normally carefully coiffed blonde hair is… well, messy. Flyaway hairs are sticking out of the casual bun on the back of her hair. The sleeves of her normally crisp ironed blouse are wrinkled as she rolled them up in a hurry. It’s certainly not how your appearance-conscious neighbor, in all her vanity, would ever show herself.

“Anna, don’t go upstairs,” Worry is etched on your neighbor's face, her piercing blue eyes imploring you to stay. She is holding you by your shoulders. It’s an almost motherly gesture—it’s possibly the strangest part of an already confusing situation. You’ve known this woman for the majority of your life—she lived here before your family moved in. But you think that in all those years, you may have at most shaken her hand.

You don’t have words. Unceremoniously, with an incredulous frown, you pull away from your neighbor, pushing past her on the stairs. You break into a jog going up the stairs.

Today can’t end soon enough.

Something changes in the air the moment you reach the top of the stairs. Your neighbor’s voice still echoes through the hall as she screams out your name. Her frantic footsteps are coming after you. The second-floor landing is unusually crowded; more neighbors are looking at you in shock.

It’s like you walked on stage for an audition, unprepared. Eyes are on you from every angle, staring.

Why is the door to your apartment opened?

You should have stopped walking at that moment. You should have listened. Turned around.

But you speed up. You need to know. You need to find out exactly what happened.

Tearing through the doorway, you immediately slip on the soaked wooden floor. Clumsily, you break your fall by planting your hand on the floor. Your palms take the brunt of the impact, the ache ringing all the way up through your shoulder, your hands getting coated in the sticky liquid covering the floor as you scramble to get up.

But you cleaned up all the coffee this morning.

There is commotion behind you, but it could be on the other side of the world as far as you are concerned.

Because across from you on the floor, in the semi-darkness of the apartment hallway, Eva’s lifeless eyes are staring at you accusingly.

She’s wearing your skirt, the rusty color blotted with the blood flowing from her head.

note | sorry i was going through some shit and stuff and I literally just finished writing the missing scenes - sorry for any oddities, it's almost 1am here, I will revise this tomorrow again but I also felt bad for taking so long

#bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley bradshaw x female reader #rooster bradshaw #top gun maverick #rooster fanfic #rooster top gun #rooster x oc #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #rooster x you #rooster x female reader #top gun fanfiction #bradley bradshaw imagine #rooster bradshaw x female reader #rooster bradshaw fic #bradley bradshaw x oc #rooster bradshaw x oc

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banana-breaded · 11 months

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Percy has always unfairly villain-ized Nico.

Upon learning he was a son of Hades, he assumed Nico was vengeful and corrupt. In "The Battle of the Labyrinth" he assumed that Nico was out to kill him, when in fact he was going after Daedalus, who admitted himself that it was his time to go. Not to mention, Nico's bloodlust was because of Minos’ corruption, which never would have occurred in the first place had Percy stopped Nico from leaving, which should have been the obvious course of action.

You don’t let a 10-11 year old, a powerful 10-11 year old who would attract massive amounts of monsters and has just sustained serious amounts of pain, go off by themself for quite obvious reasons. Percy obviously doesn't get the memo because he lets Nico slink away twice, in the end of both "The Titan's Curse" and "The Battle of the Labyrinth." The second time he even reinforced Nico’s belief that he didn’t belong among other demigods. For lack of better words, that’s messed up.

Nico will then go on to do some arguably shady things, but never with malicious intentions (i.e. letting Hades trap Percy and not telling Percy who he is in "The Son of Neptune") and always redeems himself from such actions. Percy however, uses these decisions to discredit all of Nico's suffering.

For the entirety of the "Heroes of Olympus" series, he basically views Nico as a morally grey wild card. He even expresses contempt and aggression towards him, only reigning such emotions in out of pity for his condition after being captured by the twin giants. He often reflects upon Nico's actions in a way that leaves out context, painting him in a villainous light. I don't think he once acknowledges his broken promise to Nico regarding Bianca in the "Heroes of Olympus" series, nor does he ever acknowledge how hurtful it was to Nico when Bianca appeared to him and not her brother. Additionally, whenever remembering how Nico got him trapped, he never seems to recall that Nico didn’t intend to do so and that he couldn't have escaped without Nico. Furthermore, Nico had made his father promise not to hurt Percy, but Percy responded to the trickery with violence against Nico, not the actual guilty party (Hades).

Also, did I mention that Nico is 4 years younger than Percy? In the Titan's Curse, Percy is 14 and Nico is 10. That's a large maturity difference in the tween/teen years and will continue to be throught the series. This means that all of the things Percy holds against Nico were done by a desperate, child from the age of 10 to 12, who had no support system, no real home, and large amounts of inner turmoil and canonical PTSD.

I know I keep reiterating the whole Nico selling out Percy situation but I just think Percy’s reaction was incredibly awful. He made a point to never hurt demigods on Luke’s side, but when Nico “betrayed” him (not really) he immediately wanted to strangle/behead him. Despite the fact that Nico clearly wanted to help Percy and only wanted to detain him temporarily in exchange for deeply meaningful personal information, Percy doesn’t give him a chance for a single second.

Even when it’s made clear that Hades is emotionally abusive to him, he still later feels no remorse for choking this emotionally vulnerable 12 year old. And while it was still the right decision for Nico to negotiate his father joining the war effort, Percy mainly told him to do so to keep him at arm’s length, even though he was sending him into a place where he was clearly unwelcome and would likely be severely punished.

When most Olympian parents talk about how they regret burdening their children with their heritage, it usually doesn't mean much. Yes, they have to fight monsters but in exchange they become powerful. When the Greek deity Hades says this, however, it makes complete sense. The only 3 children he ever has end up experiencing horrific things, having to sacrifice themselves time and time again (or just the once, RIP Bianca di Angelo). On top of this, even the most congenial demigods become biased towards them whether they deserve it or not.

It's sad that there's a hierarchy within the camps and that its determined by parentage rather than character, at least until the demigods in question prove otherwise.

#hazel levesque #rick riordan #percy jackson #heroes of olympus #the heroes of olympus #nico di angelo #camp halfblood #camp jupiter #bianca di angelo #pjo stuff #pjo hades #riordanverse #riordan books #read riordan

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the-wayside · 2 years

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Porsche is not a strategist. He is not P'Chan. He's not Arm. He's not Pol or Pete. Although he and Pete are closest in temperament.

What he is, is someone driven by his feelings. Porsche made his choice last episode and sealed it with a clear declaration that no one required of him, "I love you (Kinn)". Porsche was already given freedom once before which he threw away to save Kinn in episode 6. He didn't mourn his loss of freedom because for him he didn't lose anything. He gained Kinn. He spent the next episode doing what was asked of him so he could go home to Kinn. It ended with them nonverbally committing to their feelings.

In ep 8, he ignored the whole mafia shenanigans because he was gonna take his boyfriend on a DateTM. In ep 9, he was less interested in the mole, more interested in how Kinn felt about his ex's appearance and the status of his relationship. In eps 10, 11, 12 he is very much in need of clearing his name but what ultimately comes to fruition from this run of episodes is them choosing to believe each other over anyone else. To be each other's lighthouse in the dark. No matter what your choices are, I'm here for you.

We come to ep 13 and 14. Porsche is learning all this stuff for the first time but even then, one of his main priorities is, "how could you do this to us?" How could you let us fall in love knowing what you know? Kinn offers Porsche his support and Porsche puts down his gun, not because he forgives Korn but because he knows that if he does this, Kinn will stand by him but he will destroy a part of Kinn in the process because for all Korn's machinations, he is still Kinn's father.

Porsche sometimes gets off the beaten track but his journey was one of truth and one of finding his soulmate in a harsh world and making sacrifices to stay with him because as hard as it is, the world isn't worth it if he's not with him.

Kinn is the love of Porsche's life. Porsche didn't choose the mafia, he never did. He chose the man in the forest, the man who ordered him to return himself, the man who smiled for the photos he wanted to take, the man who loves him so earnestly and purely against the backdrop of a waterfall and in a car when he's holding a gun, and he has been trying to learn to live with that ever since.

#kinnporsche #kinnporsche the series #text #spoilers

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probablynot-john · 6 months

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Oki doki, after the last season of lower decks just ended, I feel like this is a good time to point out some things.

If you think that they're " just friends" still, yeah, i get it. But in case you've forgot, here is a chronological list of everything they have done for eachother:

1. Rutherford spent the entire day looking for a job in a different department, when he already loves his job more than anything, just so he could spend time with her (S1:E2).

2. Rutherford shows her Badgy to help her train for a test (the moon walking scene is so cute). And then when Badgy tries to kill them, he admits "I was just trying to impress Tendi! She's so cute!" As he tries to sacrifices himself for her (S1:E6).

3. She is devastated when he went on the packled ship to save the crew. And when he had his implant ripped out she sat next to his bed every day and read to him every day until he woke up. And then he didn't remember her, she was on the verge if tears, but instead she just says "now we can be best friends all over again!" (S1:E10).

4. When his personality shifts by slightest degree, (he suddenly likes pears) she notices and tries to help. Violently. She was scared that he would forget her again. And rather than be mad that she ruined his date and chased him through a hallway, he gives her understanding, compassion and a hug! "Also don't date Barns" (S2:E1).

5. They built the same model ship over and over again together just so they could spend time alone together. He was so upset that he was "a year behind in being your friend" and that he couldn't remember what he did last year. To make him feel better, she got them a new model they could do together (S2:E6).

6. She thought he was dead and that it was her fault for asking him to step out of his comfort zone and try engineering on a different ship. She refuses to accept that he's gone and searches the other ship for him. He's completely fine when she finds him but she's still traumatized by the end of the episode (S2:E7).

7. They incorrectly suspect that Tendi is going to be transferred off the Cerritos so they spend the day together doing everything they loved on the ship, including the jefferies tube where they watched the stellar anomaly from S1:E2. Of course, she actually gets a promotion and he gives her a hug (S2:E10).

8. When he forgot her, he started saving 3 copies of every moment that he spent with her in his memory banks so he wouldn't forget. He spent so much time with her that it filled his brain and was causing malfunctions (S2:E10).

9. When they were grounded on earth for the trial they spent the entire time sightseeing together until they had to go do plot stuff (S3:E1).

10. Ruthorford loses control of his body to an "evil" version of himself and his first thought is "I need to contact Tendi, she'll know what to do!" And then he's so scared for her when his evil self goes to find her. This episode broke me(S3:E5).

11. Tendi is frustrated dealing with another Orian in starfleet. Honestly I didn't love Ruthorford in this episode, but "it was nice to meet another Orian, but I'd rather just spend time with you!" She's worried that he'll think less of her when he finds out she was a pirate. But he tells her that it's a part of her and he already likes her for who she is, and encourages her to embrace her heritage (S3:E6)

12. She's upset when he doesn't take her roll in a holosimulation seriously. But when she explains why she's upset, she admits out loud for the first time that she wants to be a captian. And he becomes her biggest supporter (S3:E8).

13. "It's gonna be weird not sleeping 5ft away from you, not having your muttering to lull me to sleep" she encourages him to speak up for himself so he can get the recognition he deserves so he can be promoted along side her. Also he's been declining promotions all year just so he can stay the same rank as her (S4:E2).

14. I don't want to spoil the rest of season 4, but oh my gosh, Ferangi Hearth Place. Everything about this episode is amazing. They have to pretend to be a married couple to go on a vacation."Why can't a symbol of love be gorgeous green eyes?" Or "I can't wait to walk around our shared room in nothing but a pair of your boxers completely topless. " Come on! This might be my favorite episode of the series. Not even just for the ships, Self Sealing Stembolts! *Chants Rom and Leeta to the theme of Bob The Builder* (S4:E6).

15. I don't want to spoil the season final, but oh my gosh, he was devastated, and so was I! (S4:E10).

Okay, I know Star Trek has a horrible history of ships falling apart. But romantic ships and actual ships. I would have been perfectly happy with them being best friends, but after rewatching the series, I would be quite disappointed if they didn't at least kiss.

So what do you think, are they still just friends?

#star trek #star trek lower decks #d'vana tendi #samanthan rutherford #pro shipping #Ruthorford/tendi

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medusapelagia · 4 months

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Running From The Daylight - Part 6

Part 1 , Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, (coming soon Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15)

Written for @whumpuary

Rating: Mature Relationship: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson Prompt: Exhaustion WT: Words: 957

It was supposed to be a holiday. A relaxing holiday! And Eddie can’t believe that their stay at the chalet transformed from almost boring into a fucking survival show!

The tea is already finished and there isn’t a lot of water either: Eddie knows that he will have to go outside to get some snow, but if he gets outside Steve will insist that he has to try to find help and he is not ready to leave him, so he decided to act like a coward. He waits for Steve to falls asleep and then he gets outside with both their thermos, filling them with fresh snow. A tempestuous wind blows so violently that it almost blows Eddie away, but he manages to get some fresh snow. He checks his phone trying to get some signal and notice that the battery is almost dead. Fuck!

He turns to look at the chalet: the left side of the building is covered in snow. They were lucky that the avalanche hit only part of the chalet or they would be buried under feet of snow; the front of Steve’s car is stuck in the snow and there is no way they could use it to escape from that freezing hell, someone has to get to them with a fucking helicopter, there is no other way. The road they used to get to the chalet is no longer there and the snow is too soft for any kind of rescue vehicle.

Something vibrates, startling Eddie who completely forgot about his mobile phone.

Wayne is calling.

“Wayne! Wayne! Do you hear me?! Wayne!” he yells into the phone, trying to understand what his uncle is saying, but he is having trouble hearing him on the phone “Wayne! There was an avalanche! We are stuck and Steve is hurt! Call help! Please! Call help! We are…” but before he manages to tell him the name of the closest village the battery of his phone dies. Eddie throws it against the car, not even flinching when the screen shatters in a glass web.

He leaves it there, a dark stain in the middle of the white snow.

When he finally gets back, Steve looks disappointed.

“What?” Eddie snarls while Steve keeps glaring at him.

“I thought you were going to call for help!”

“No, I went to get some snow to drink or we will die of dehydration, ok?”

“But if you…”

“If I, what, Steve? You can’t fucking move, what am I supposed to do? Leave you here alone with no water and no food and going to take a walk in the blizzard? Your stupid car is stuck in the snow, my phone battery died and I couldn’t get on foot to the village even if I wanted because the road is no longer there, ok? If someone is coming they better come here with a fucking helicopter because we are stuck in the middle of the snow and the safest thing to do is stay here and wait for help. But if you want to suggest again that I go on my own, risking my life and getting lost in the woods I’ll do it, ok? Because I’m fucking exhausted!” He snarls back.

“I’m sorry, I thought…”

“I don’t give a fuck what you thought or not, ok? We are in this together and we are going to leave together, did I make myself clear enough?!” Eddie yells and for once in his life he doesn’t feel bad after. He knows Steve, deeply, and he knows that his stupid boyfriend is always ready to sacrifice himself and he is not going to let him. They will get through, together, like they always did.

Eddie gets closer to the fire, waiting for the snow to melt back into water, cursing against the weather, the snow, the phone, and every single thing, and when he feels a little bit more settled he gets back to Steve, helping him drink some water.

“I spoke to Wayne, don’t know how much he understood because the signal sucks, but I told him that we are stuck.”

“Good. Do you think you could get in the car?”

Eddie sighs “Steve, if you are going to suggest that I take the car I told you…”

“No, I was wondering if my car battery is still working. If it was you could try to charge your phone.”

Oh, that’s not a bad idea at all, only… “My phone broke and it’s somewhere in the snow. Where is yours?”

Steve bumps his head on the floor, cursing when his wound hits the ground “I don’t know Eddie! I have no idea!” he complains tiredly and Eddie curses again, looking around the room and hoping with all his strength that Steve wasn't holding his phone when they were in the kitchen or they will never find it. He looks in Steve’s pocket and swears loudly when he hears one of Steve’s alarms and sees a little light coming from the kitchen area.

“Don’t. It could come down at any moment!” Steve tells him, trying to grab Eddie’s arm, but the metal head is quicker and is already crawling into the kitchen, stretching his arms to get to the phone.

As he suspected the phone battery is dying and, as so as soon as he grabs it, the screen turns black, but Steve’s idea wasn’t bad at all “I’m going in the car to see if I can charge it a bit, ok?” He says, grabbing the car’s key from the backpack.

Steve stares at him, his hands closed in a fist, fighting some demon he will not talk about “Take care.”

“I always do.” Eddie winks before kissing him “I’ll be back in no time.” He assures him and then he gets back to the bathroom, ready to climb from the window once more.

When he gets outside the snow has finally stopped falling and he feels a little bit more optimistic.

#whumpuary2024 #whumpuaryno6 #Exhaustion #stranger things fanfiction #steddie #whump #eddie munson #steve harrington #medusapelagia fanfic #my fanfic #medusapelagia

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diamondcitydarlin · 2 months

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I watched Damsel last night and oh my god, loved it!!! The visuals and writing kinda brought back those Game of Thrones glory days feels and I love the trope of woman who is wearing nice dress gradually disfigures it as she has to survive and become a bad ass, and the bond with the dragon !!! The themes about the destructive nature of patriarchy and classism !!!

I did have a couple of notes, but these are things that I don't know would've gotten a good answer/resolution within a two hour or so movie run time but I think they're interesting nonetheless;

Like okay, am I the only person who kinda felt bad for Prince Henry in a way? I can't have been the only one. I'm not saying he in any way deserves to 'get the girl' in the end or should have saved her or even have had a different ending, but I sympathized for him a little regardless. He did, of course, participate in his family's ritual sacrifice of at least two girls, but the impression is very much given that he has been taught to do little else than what his mother and kingdom bids him to do. He clearly doesn't want to be part of this in any way, and does of course end up pleading Flora's case (not that this absolves him, he was quick enough to dismiss those other sacrifices when suggesting he wanted to marry Elodie anyway lmaoo) and when he does his mother bitingly calls him 'weak'. I just have to wonder how he was groomed growing up to one day do this, how often he must have been told that it was his 'duty' and 'for the good of the kingdom' and thought he was prepared to be STRONG like his forefathers ('strong' here meaning willing to sacrifice innocent women, of course) but when the time came he wasn't as ready as he thought he'd be or, really, at all. In fact, I'm not really arguing his ending here because I think it's significant that he's consumed in the dragon's flame by the end, the result of his male ancestor's entitlement and violence. I think there's something being said here about how the patriarchy consumes and destroys the men within it, too maybe, like Elodie's father's death. Idk I guess I'm just trying to say I felt bad for him despite everything lmao, which begs the question of what he might have done differently to save himself from the inevitable end? Or if he even could?

I'm a little shocked there wasn't more to the healing glow worms lmao. This is probably the only place in the film I feel like there's a weakness or a hole, because I was thinking that she'd use them to restore the dragon's children to life (I mean, they presumably restored the dragon's EYE so like??? maybe it's possible??) and that would break the curse and restore all the women who died to life as well, because I thought their spirits were being contained in the glow worms!!! I really thought all that was going on! I think it should have been tbh, imagine all those women getting a second chance at life and going back with Elodie and dragon lady to her land or whatever! Maybe a little saccharine and convenient but it's what I wanted lol

Anyway those are my sort of outlier weird thoughts, on the whole it's a very good film and reminds me a lot of films from the 80's-early 00's, it's cool to see a kind of return to that style of unironic fantasy adventure. Highly recommend, 11/10 stars

#damsel netflix #spoiler #spoilers

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chishnfips87 · 9 months

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Ranking every DRDT character from worst to best

This is my opinion. Do not type death threats.

Also, there are spoilers everywhere.

Some space here because spoilers.

16. In last place, David Cheim. In ch1 and ch2 episodes 1 to 4, I thought he was okay, from 2-5 to 2-10, I thought he was good, but then 2-11 came and completely and utterly destroyed his character. His new persona just took a character with such good potential and made it a Nagito/Syobai ripoff without any of the good qualities they have, and I cannot stand the design. Again, he had good moments, but I doubt we'll get any more. I just hope he get axed off soon. I'm sorry of this comes off as mean, I try to mean no offense or disrespect, but I find liking this guy to be a red flag. He doesn't even count as an antagonist for me. I hate him. Shit, I think the creator hates him too. 1/10.

15. Min Jeung. There's a huge jump from David to Min, because I think David's the only bad character in DT. I'm very neutral on Min, because I think she'd a character that just came and went. I didn't feel as big an impact from her end as many others did, that might be because I haven't looked at ch1 ever since I first watched it. Maybe a rewatch will improve my opinion, but for now, I'm neutral. 5/10.

14. Xander Matthews. Okay, this is where the cancellation starts. I just don't see the hype. I feel like I missed something. Just like Min, he had his time in the limelight, and I don't feel like they're gonna use him again, or at least not until a later chapter as a cameo at the very least. I will say in terms of design, he absolutely wins. His design's great. Otherwise, again, I have no strong like or dislike for him. 5/10.

13. Levi Fontana. I feel like he hasn't been in the story enough yet, and I hope they use him more. Again, amazing design. It's probably within the top 3 best designs in the series, in my opinion. He's not too bad, but again, he just needs more. 6/10.

12. Arei Nageishi. Now, if it was just ch1, she'd be #16, but in recent times, she's kinda climbed the ranks. Ch2 gave her some kind of characterization and humanity. I never thought I'd see it either. Once we realize why she has a mean spirit, we tend to somewhat empathize with her and understand her faults. Only reason she's not higher is because her arc was cut short. 6/10.

11. Hu Jing. She ever so slightly misses the top 10 because of the moments where she kinda babies Nico. Like yeah, it's wholesome she wants to protect them, but it just gets to a point where it feels like she's manipulating them into becoming a murderous pawn. Now, we want a wholesome relation with the two, at least I do, but I feel like we haven't truly seen that. Also, I wanna know, who gave Nico the wire? Yeah \*Hu\* gave them it? She may be moved up in the future, but for now, she's here at #11. 7/10. Oh, and speaking of Nico...

10. Kicking off the top 10, Nico Hakobyan. Chapter 2 really elevated this character here. Nico went from a nobody in chapter 1, to arguably one of the central focuses of the current chapter. Seeing them attempt to kill Ace is such a shock, and when it happens, a chill runs down the spine. Now, Nico is only tenth because much like Hu, there are a lot of questions that need answering, and I hope we don't end up with dead ends. 7/10.

9. Ace Markey. Ace is both a funny and tragic character, and he has a lot going for him currently. Again, just like Nico, I feel like he's at the beginning of some kind of arc, and I hope there's a powerful moment with him, like him and Nico having the biggest fight of their lives, or maybe he sacrifices himself for someone, or anything else. Any scenario can work for him so far. I think he needs direction. 8/10.

8. Eden Tobisa. Just like Ace, anything can go with her. With how friendly she is, she could be deceiving everyone. She could have some skeletons in her closet, we just need to know how far she's willing to go. That, and I hope we get a wholesome moment with her. Like she's comforted or Teruko helps her with something. She has a lot of pent up emotion and masks it with positivity, and that's great. 8/10. I hope there's a moment where she can't do it anymore. If not her, then it should be...

7. Whit Young. If Eden isn't the false positivity, Whit clearly takes that title. A lot of common predictions I see is Whit dying. However, I'm more intrigued by what would happen if someone close to Whit died. Whit's boisterous and ecstatic outlook is shattered, and his emotions collapse. The ingredients are all there, and it feels like we're building up a good moment with him where he hits the climax of his arc. 8/10.

6. Charles Cuevas. A surprisingly established character, Charles actually has a lot of screen time for someone still around. He's also surprisingly supportive of Teruko, in a way. I feel like an inverse effect has happened with them. Teruko would approach Charles, and he'd get a bit annoyed and hesitant to be around her. Come chapter 2, and Charles is trying to get through to Teruko, and she's not having it at all. I like the direction Charles is in, despite it looking like he'll die soon. Even still, he's very intriguing.

5. Teruko Tawaki. I have a good feeling that she'll get some kind of full hero's journey, like Christian Bale in The Dark Knight trilogy. She overcomes being almost stabbed and left to die by someone she thought could've been a close friend, then almost getting voted in the trial and having to scramble to save herself and everyone else, and now, she's gone rogue. She's dropped the nonsense, and will not let anyone stop her. I think her trajectory is great so far, even with the edgy and sarcastic moments, and I hope it gets better as the series progresses. 9/10.

4. Rose Lacroix. Okay, this may just be bias speaking, but Rose is funny. She has serious moments and is sympathetic, yes, but I also find her more low-down, sleepy side to be oddly fitting in a serious Fangan like this. She's a character that satisfies by just doing her thing, and I'm there for it. 9/10.

3. Arturo Giles. Another very controversial placement. I'm probably the only person ever who will back my Arturo enjoyment. I actually like how scary and villainous he is, and I like that he's not just a Byakuya ripoff. He's actually threatening, he's entertaining, and he could very well have some kind of arc, even though he looks like someone who ideally wouldn't. Maybe he realizes how much of a stalker he's been, and steps off of J's back for a while, then maybe tries to bind with Veronika or something like that. Again, it's bias, I just think Arturo's got a lot going for him, and the hate he gets is undeserved. 10/10.

2. Our runner up, J Rosales. Another top tier design. It's colorful, but not in a gaudy, distracting way. It's perfectly balanced, if anything. Also, like with Arturo, their dynamic could go any way. Arturo could actually protect her from something catastrophic, and she could have a newfound respect for him. A moment like that where someone is saved by someone they initially hate would be a good way of kinda patching things up between the two, and I think they're a good vessel for that. J's also a lot like Teruko, albeit not as edgy, so she's more tolerable, and she also has moments of vulnerability, and she could also overcome those as well. J's honestly very underrated, the more I think about it. 10/10.

1. Taking the top spot is Veronika Grebenshchikova. This is how the main villain is done. She's the perfect foil to Teruko. She's bright, vibrant, unhinged, and not afraid to be completely untrustworthy and dangerous. Her popping red and white design is also a good contrast to the dim green and black design of Teruko. If I could change anything in DRDT, I'd make her the antagonist, and not David with his stupid face, and his stupid stance, and his stupid manipulation. David can get bent, Veronika is the true antagonist of DRDT, and that's a hill I'll meet my maker on. 11/10.

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ikeromantic · 1 year

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The First Wound

A Chevalier Michel fanfiction. Approx. 3000 words. This scene takes place in Chapter 10-11 of the main route and is told from Chevalier’s POV. Part 10 of a series.

First: Bravery Becomes Her

Previous: Under His Skin

Late morning sun streamed through the office window. Despite the hour, Chevalier still felt tired, but there was no time to rest. The letter in his hands was proof enough of that, if he needed it.

Nokto leaned against a bookshelf on the other side of the room, watching Chev as he read the missive. “What do you think of that, King Highness?”

“We need to take immediate action.” Chev didn’t look up from the letter as he spoke, only read through the few lines again to make sure he’d missed nothing.

“I figured.” Nokto shrugged.

“The woman from last night is the source of this intelligence?” Nokto’s ability to mix business with pleasure was of some interest. Chevalier could not fathom how he did it. The clown was able to turn his entertainment to use more often than not. A useful skill, if one Chev had no intention of cultivating for himself.

“Yup. My spy is top notch.” He grinned. “And she’s not bad in bed either!”

Chev snorted. The statement didn’t deserve a response. He burnt the informant’s letter, watching as the candle flames ate the paper, leaving only a dusting of ash on the desk. He swept it into the fireplace.

Nokto wasn’t good with long silences. Or patience. The letter was only just disposed of when he spoke up again. “So what are we going to do, King Highness?”

“I’ll call an assembly tomorrow.” Chev steepled his fingers, already working through potential outcomes and the plans he’d need to counter or further them.

“I guess we’re going to be busy then, aren’t we? I’d better go give my agent a proper thank you then, while I still can.” Nokto’s smile widened and he clapped his hands together to punctuate the statement. He started to turn as if he was finally going to leave, but he paused mid-motion. “That reminds me. I heard you’ve been enjoying your favorite mistress every night?”

Chevalier felt a flare of annoyance. It was to be expected, of course. His every action was scrutinized, discussed, analyzed, and then passed around, growing further from the truth in each retelling. “It seems there has been quite the embellishment added to the rumors I heard yesterday.”

“Clavis was gleefully spreading half-truths around, last I saw.” Nokto smirked.

“Ugh.” Chev couldn’t suppress a sigh. Of course Clavis was the source of the most ridiculous falsehoods.

Nokto’s smirk widened into a full smile. “That’s why the rumor that the Belle is your mistress spread so far so fast.” His expression turned serious. “You know what that means though. The extremists have to know by now and there’s no way they’re going to ignore it. Worst case scenario, she could die -”

“And what if she does?” Chev cut his brother off with a gesture. His disregard was the best shield for her, or so he told himself. And if he needed to sacrifice her, he would. He would. The mental repetition did not ease the thorn in his heart.

“I guess it doesn’t matter, but if Emma disappears . . .” Nokto smirked again, “there won’t be a single girl left in Rhodolite that will smile at you.”

Chevalier fixed him with an icy glare. “Ridiculous.” He got up to leave, signaling this conversation was over. He had something to take care of, something he needed to do now.

“Are you really just going to let her die if it comes to that?”

“Yes. If worst comes to worst. Understand?” He didn’t look back at Nokto when he replied. He wasn’t sure the clown would be convinced, seeing his expression.

“Interesting.” Nokto sounded as if he wanted to say more, but was wisely silent as Chev walked quickly away.

Luke was easy to find. Lazing in the garden, a plate of honeyed candies on the ground beside him.

“Get up.”

“Wha - King Highness?” Luke blinked and rubbed at his eyes. “What do you want?”

Chev grimaced. It was hard to believe sometimes that this was his brother. At least he had no pretensions toward the throne. Not that his obsessions were harmless but for now - “I need you to take this list to the Belle. She’s the only one who will know where to find these books.” He pulled out a hastily scribed list of titles.

Luke pulled himself up with a groan. “But I was just getting to the good part of my nap.”

Chevalier continued to glare in silence.

“Yeah yeah. You don’t care.” He scratched his rear and yawned. “So where’s Emma?”

“She went into town with Clavis. I’d like her to pick these up before she comes back.”

Luke finally took the note and read over it. “These look really boring.”

Chev felt his back teeth grind as he held back his annoyance. “You will need to hurry.”

“I’m going, I’m going.” Luke grinned. “Maybe she’ll be so happy to see me that she’ll want to stop for honeycakes.” He ambled past Chevalier as placidly as a bear with a full belly.

As much as Chev wanted to hurry him along, he needed this to seem like just another selfish request. Merely a well-timed errand. He hoped it would well timed. If Luke was too slow - no, he would not worry over it. This was merely a test, a step in the larger dance, with little real danger.

Still, for the rest of the day he wondered how Luke’s errand went. He kept glancing toward the window as if he might catch sight of the youngest prince returning with the Belle. Chevalier reassured himself that she must be fine. Any other outcome would have gotten back to him sooner.

Yet when the soft knock came at his door, something in his chest loosened. She was alright. She was here. He stepped out of the hot bath and pulled on a robe. He wanted to see her far more than he wanted another moment in the hot water of the tub.

The Belle came into his room with an armful of books. Her gaze drifted across the room, but she didn’t see him as he stepped into the room from his bath. Her shoulders fell and she let out a sigh. The disappointed look on her face pricked at Chev’s heart in unexpected ways. After a moment, she raised her chin, straightened, and turned to leave.

Chevalier quickly crossed the room and closed the door just as she opened it. “Wait.”

She jumped and let out a gasp of surprise. “P-Prince Chevalier?”

He gave a faint smile when she turned to look up at him. A shiver ran through her body that he could feel all too well through the thin fabric of his bathrobe. Desire rose in him, thick and hot and hungry. It would be all too easy to press her back against the door and claim her lips, her body . . .

Chev forced his racing heart to slow. He moved his gaze from her face to what she carried. “Ahh. I see. This is why you’re here.”

The Belle looked down at the book as if she were almost surprised to see them there. “Oh! Yes! These are the books you sent Luke on an errand for. And -” She pulled a book from the stack with a flourish. “The foreign title I promised you awhile back.”

He examined the cover, the style of the lettering and the author’s name. “This is another of the books based on the legends of King Arthur?”

Her smile was beautiful. “So you’re familiar with it?”

“From hearsay.” He took the thick volume from her.

“This is one of the love stories about the knight Lancelot and Queen Guinevere.”

Chevalier stepped away from her and toward his reading couch. “Oh?”

She started to reply but only then seemed to really notice his state of undress. Her eyes moved slowly down his frame, tracing the lines of his body where the thin bathrobe hugged his damp skin. Her face flushed with heat. After a moment, she looked down and took a deep breath.

Her reaction amused him. He’d been around many women that could play the game of seduction, pretending attraction, blushing at will. Fake sighs and fluttering eyelashes. With Emma there was no pretense.

“Did you come alone?”

“Hm? Yes. Of course. It’s not that late so I thought it would be fine.” She raised her head briefly and then looked down again, cheeks still hot.

He laughed softly. “So you don’t value your own life?”

Her chin snapped up at that. “What does that mean?”

“I suppose I have to spell it out for you.” He pretended exasperation, well enough that she took a little step back from him. “I assumed you already heard about the anti-war nobles and their ridiculous rumor.”

She frowned as if only now considering what this would look like. Her coming to his room alone, at night. And she still hadn’t considered the very real danger to herself.

Chevalier wished she was a little more selfish. A little more concerned about saving her own skin. “For someone who might be attacked anywhere, anytime, you walk around alone quite often.”

The Belle shrugged uneasily. “Well . . . I wouldn’t expect to be targeted here in the palace, with such tight defenses.”

He scoffed. “Do you think I would ever need to draw my sword if the palace defenses were perfect?”

Realization dawned on her slowly. Chevalier could almost track the memories as they made their way through her mind.

“This palace is a lair of beasts. It is a place where the weak are subjugated, exposed to cruelty. Devoured.” Chev took a step toward her, conflicted in purpose but drawn forward either way. He wanted her to be afraid. He wanted to protect her innocence.

He took her chin in his hand and captured her gaze. “You’ve meddled, Belle. And now you do not have the option to simply stay out of it.”

She stared at him like a frightened rabbit, her courage only embers.

Chevalier picked her up and set her on the bed. He pinned her hands above her head, letting the books fall to the side. The urge to devour her was almost overwhelming as he pressed her back into the soft sheets. He could feel her warmth, smell her light perfume.

Fire leapt in her gaze, bright and hot, and unafraid. “What do you think you are doing?”

He leaned close, his lips grazing her cheek. “Trust no one. Not me, nor the servants, not the other princes . . .” Chev felt a tremor through his own flesh, the tension of self-denial. He used it to harden his gaze. “Consider anyone and everyone your enemy.” He drew a line along her neck, down to her collar bone, toying with the clasp that held the top of her gown closed.

Though she shivered at his touch, she did not back down. “Is that how things are in the palace? A matter of fact?” She tried to pull from his grasp but could not budge him. “You can’t trust even your family because anyone might betray you someday?”

Chevalier smiled. “That is the way of royalty.”

“Isn’t it painful for you?”

The gentle appeal in the question was what surprised him. Not the question itself. He hid his reaction behind a mask of disinterest. “Why would it?”

“Because for me, a life of distrust would be painful. And lonely.”

His smile twisted for a moment as her words struck too close to the icy walls of his heart. “You see, Belle, that is what makes you a decent human being.” And I, only a beast, he did not add.

Her eyes clouded as she studied his face. “Prince Chevalier, are you saying that you are not a decent human being?”

Chevalier gave a mocking laugh, ignoring the way it pained him to speak of this to her. “Of course not. They call me the Brutal Beast, remember? I harbor no human emotion.” The words twisted in his gut uncomfortably. No human emotion . . . a lie, and she was proof, though she did not seem to realize.

She reached out and grasped his fingers where he held her arms pinned above her head.

He almost let go as she gave him a gentle squeeze of reassurance. “What?”

“Prince Chevalier.” She gifted him with another sweet smile. “You are no beast. You are a person.”

For a moment, he was stunned to silence. He’d killed in front of her. Held a bare blade to her throat. Even now, had her pinned to his bed as if to deflower her, and this - this was her reaction? He could not help but laugh. “I never expected you to say that.” He toyed with her earlobe, eliciting a sharp breath from her. “What have your eyes been seeing all this time? I have no recollection of humane behaviour on my part.”

“Mmm, if that’s what you think, then it’s only because you haven’t realized it yourself Prince Chevalier.” She moved her shoulders in a slight shrug. “I won’t deny that you can be as cruel and merciless as a beast. But that’s not all you are.”

He didn’t know how to respond. The carefully cultivated ice within him cracked, and a trickle of warmth opened in his heart. A vulnerability. A weakness. Yet he could not find it in him to do what he must to staunch that flow before it grew. And it would. Even now, her warmth penetrated his cold depths, and he could not bear to let go nor to push her away. Chev looked at the scattered books rather than let her see the struggle in his gaze.

The Belle was relentless in her affection. “I want to learn even more about you, Prince Chevalier. Everything about you.”

“Ridiculous. You would risk your life for something so trivial?” He fought himself, pulling the mask back into place. “You realize if you get further involved with me, you increase the possibility that you will die?”

She nodded, her jaw clenching with that stubborn streak of hers. “I was chosen as the Belle. It’s my duty to judge whether you and the other princes are worthy of the throne. I won’t -” she cleared her throat, “I won’t back out now.”

He let her pull her hands away this time as he slid his palm down her arm and along her side. Barely grazing cloth and skin. She seemed to fragile, like blown glass, that he could forget the steel core of her. That foolish bravery that burned in her heart. “You’re a fool, you know?”

She pressed into his touch, breath catching in her throat.

“If you’re going to talk big, prove here and now that you have the brains to protect yourself.” He laid his other hand on her chest, over her heart. Chevalier could feel the way it galloped beneath his palm, reckless as its uncautious owner. “Consider the risk. What if you were captured by the anti war faction? What palace secrets could you leak . . .” He exerted a light pressure, a warning.

Her eyes widened.

“It could be to my advantage to just kill you now.”

“No!”

Chev pressed his forehead against hers. “Then use your brain. It’s the only weapon you have.” This, he thought, was a battle of will. The Belle against herself, and he was coach and referee and audience in one.

Her breath was ragged now, and coming almost as fast as the wild beating of her heart. Daring and fear and lust and other, darker emotions fought across her expression as she battled for control.

He watched her slowly exert calm, forcing her breath to even out and even her pulse to slow.

“Prince Chevalier, are you familiar with the story ‘One Thousand and One Nights?”

“Of course.” He smiled. “The tale of a mad king who brings a young girl to his bedroom and then threatens to kill her the next day, night after night.”

She nodded. “Y-yes. And she risks her life to tell him a story each night. She survives by stopping each time on a cliffhanger and promising to finish the story the following night.”

“Yes and eventually he amends his ways and becomes a good ruler. Get to your point.”

The Belle gave him a wry smile. “I’ll tell you a story now, Prince Chevalier. And whatever it is you want to do to me, you can do it when I finish. If you still want to. Deal?”

He didn’t much like being compared to the mad king but he was curious what story she wanted to tell. He gave a noncommittal grunt, and let go of her. “It’s simplistic. But fine.” He laid down next to her, pretending not to notice the way she rubbed her chest where he’d pressed down against it.

She turned to face him, her mouth opening in surprise as he slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her against him. Chevalier knew he shouldn’t. But he could no more stop himself from holding her in this moment than he could stop himself from breathing. The feeling was nothing like described in his romance novels where characters always understood their role, even if they could not see how it would end.

For Chev, it was the opposite. He saw all too clearly how this would go. A handful of tragic possibilities. But he could not discern himself in the pattern, or analyze why he gave in when he knew the potential cost to them both. What he knew was that she felt right and good in his arms. He gave her a smug smile, “Just know that if you waste my time, you will pay the price.”

“Alright.” She took a deep breath. “Once upon a time, there lived a prince . . .”

He let the words wash over him, meaningless words, lost in the music of her voice and the sensual movement of her lips as she spoke. Chevalier watched her until her eyelids grew heavy and she fell asleep, still in the middle of her storytelling. Then he tucked her carefully against him and let himself doze. If he dreamed, it was of her. And when he woke, she was there too. And whether it was the beast in him, or the man, her presence left him calm and tensed all at once.

In the throne room, another petal fell from Beauty’s Time. A warning and a measure, the petal lay beneath the glass dome, as red as blood. The first wound scored in a duel of hearts, but whose?

Next: Rumors and Bad Tidings

#ikemen prince #ikepri chevalier #chevalier michel #otome #otome guys #fanfiction #fanfic #fluff

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