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awesomelyanxiouspanda · 1 year

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A Fiercely Bleeding Heart (Lucifer/OFC): Chapter 3

Story summary: Emery (Our lovely OFC) owns a thriving coffee shop smack dab in the middle of Monroe City, Mo. She’s well known for her unique coffee drinks and her “coffee charity”. What happens when a woman with too much heart- and not nearly enough common sense- comes across the fallen archangel in his mostly human state? Will Lucifer behave, or will he bite the hand that (quite literally) feeds him?

Warnings for this chapter specifically: Implied/Referenced torture, non-graphic torture, mild smut?, we’re almost to the actual smut I swear

Warnings/Tags: Loosely based around S.13 E. 13! Plus size OC, OC is gullible and a big softie, Lucifer in his nearly human form, Soft Lucifer, Dean and Sam cosplaying FBI agents again, Canon typical violence, Non-Canon compliant story line, Soulmate AU-ish?, smut in future chapters, canon typical cursing, NOT a slow burn, not beta’d we die like our king Crowley

A/N: Some big things are happening! Remember how there's the tag "NOT slow burn"? Well, I'm not joking lol. We've got maybe one or two chapters before the whirlwind 'romance' begins!

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 4

“Shh, you wouldn’t want them to catch us, now would you?”

Nick’s words sent a rush of heat through my core and I nearly toppled over that last little crest toward my climax, but at the last moment, he stilled my hips.

“Not yet,” he murmured, “I want to play with you a little longer, doll.”

“Nick, I have to get back to-”

My plea was silenced by warm lips and my duties to the shop once more fell back as an afterthought. Fuck, I’d let the place burn down if it meant he’d keep kissing me, touching me. I tried to no avail to break his hold on my hips, to allow me to grind along his thigh once more, but he was far more powerful than I; Another thought that stoked the fire between my thighs brighter.

“Please, please,” I whined breathlessly once he finally broke the heated kiss, “I just need- I need you.”

“Such a cute little thing you are,” he teased huskily, “You’d let me do anything I wanted, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes! Yes just please-”

A groan of frustration rumbled loud in my chest as I was cut off, but this time by the sound of an alarm blaring through the cafe. My irritation quickly melted into confusion and then-

“Are you fucking kidding me?!”

It was with much anger that I groggily rolled over in bed and slammed my hand over my phone, hastily clicking the side button to mute the alarm. Once the annoying beeping had stopped, the fatigue began to set in. I could possibly survive hitting snooze once more and get ten more minutes in, but I’d have to forsake my beauty time to do so. I stared into the black void that was my unlit room, debating the pros and cons of just getting up now, before finally admitting defeat.

The moment my feet hit the floor, my brain turned on autopilot. Clothes, hair, makeup, medicine, coffee. I quickly ran through the list as best as I could while still half-asleep until stepping out into the cold morning air. Thankfully the sudden temperature difference was enough to shock my system fully awake and I kept the window cracked on the drive to the shop to keep that cold buzz going. Better frozen and awake than warm and sleepy while driving.

“Today needs to be over as soon as possible,” I sighed to myself as I stepped out of the car.

The last few nights had been plagued with many distracting dreams and it was starting to become an issue. It was to the point that as soon as I got off work, I was going to get all dolled up to go out and see if I could find some random at the bar. I wasn’t one for one-night stands but something had to give. My little obsession with Nick was getting out of hand. I was hoping if I could find a half-decent lay, I would begin to get over him.

“Emery! I’m so glad I caught you before you opened!”

A little huff escaped before I could stop it but I quickly schooled my expression before turning to Alexander. It wasn’t his fault I was in a bad mood and I didn’t wanna take it out on him.

“Hey, Alex, what’s up?” I asked.

It wasn’t until he got closer that I recognized fear ingrained in his features.

“Alex?”

“There’s- Look, I just need you to come with me!” he demanded.

Before I could second guess it, I took off after him as he raced down the street. I had no idea what could have possibly happened but, if Alex was this scared, I couldn’t just ignore it.

“Alex, please explain what’s going on!” I called out between heaving breaths.

It wasn’t until we turned down the third alleyway that he finally stopped. My lungs screamed in pain as I tried to take in as much air as possible and nearly collapsed against the wall for support. I watched in confusion, feeling as if I were almost dying, as Alex simply stood there in silence for a good few seconds before finally turning toward me.

“Wh-”

My voice died off as I realized Alex’s once warm brown eyes were completely black. All my previous worries were instantly taken over by the sudden fear for my life.

“You really are gullible,” he sneered gruffly, “This was way too easy. Boss is gonna have a blast breaking you.”

I wasn’t even given the chance to react before he lunged forward and everything went dark. Even without seeing, I could feel the world spinning beneath my feet, as if I were suddenly airborne. And then my feet were on the ground once more. When Alex released his hold on me, I nearly fell over. It felt like I had just taken a spin on an out-of-control carousel.

“Well, well, lookie at what the cat dragged in.”

The sudden addition of a thick southern drawl had my head snapping up, but I quickly realized that was a mistake when my stomach rolled and there was no stopping the dry heave that followed. I was immensely thankful that nothing actually came out as I collapsed to my hands and knees. There was an unbearable silence in the air once my convulsions stilled and I was almost afraid to look up.

“Ya done now?” the voice asked.

Swallowing my fear, I slowly brought my head up. The sight that awaited me was one I regretted seeing. Somehow, someway, we were no longer in the alleyway, but instead in some weird ass dungeon room. There was also some kind of throne at the front, and the man on it was one that was both glorious and terrifying. His presence demanded respect. Dressed in an all-white suit that stood out starkly against his dark salt-and-pepper beard, I couldn’t help but admire him for a moment before I realized he was still staring at me, waiting for a reply.

“I-I am, I’m sorry,” I murmured, hoping my voice could be heard across the empty space, “Where am I? How did-”

“All in due time, sweetheart, first I have some questions for you.”

Eyebrows shooting up in shock, I couldn’t help the way my head tilted in confusion. Before I could ask what he meant, he rose to his feet and strode over with purpose in his step.

“I’m lookin’ for Lucifer and reliable sources are tellin’ me that you were the last one seen with him,” he said as he came to a stop an arm's length away.

I was forced to nearly break my neck to see him from my position on the floor but my attempt to stand was thwarted by Alex’s heavy hand on my shoulder. I shot him a wary look before turning my attention back to the suited man.

“I’m not sure what you mean,” I finally answered.

There was a twitch of his lips before they pulled back into an amused sneer.

“We know you were with Lucifer in that little shop of yours right before he disappeared again, and no one’s seen him since” he spoke coldly, “So I suggest you drop the act. You don’t wanna know what happens if we have to do this the hard way.”

Lucifer. That was the second time he used that name. There must have been some kind of mixup because I’d never met anyone with that name, but I had a feeling he wouldn’t believe that. Still, I had to try.

“I’m sorry but I don’t know any Lucifers,” I said hesitantly, “If I did, I promise I’d tell you.”

“Last chance, sweetheart.”

Frustration welled up in my chest and came out in a rough groan.

“I’m telling the truth!” I bit out thoughtlessly.

With that, he snapped his fingers and suddenly there were three or four people around us, dragging me to my feet and shoving me toward a door. I tried to pull away, tried to fight them off, but there was no use. There were too many of them and they were unbelievably strong.

“Where are you taking me?!” I gasped out as I stumbled over my feet.

“You’re gonna wish you’d done this the easy way,” he chuckled sinisterly, “But I can’t say that I’m disappointed that you chose the hard way, it’s oh so much more fun.”

…

“Oh don’t pass out on me just yet, sweetheart! We’re just gettin’ started!”

Asmodaeus’ words filtered through the haze enveloping my mind but there was no way I could respond; if not for the way my mouth ached, then for the disconnect between my mind and body. It had started out slow, a slap here, a cut there, but it had slowly devolved into something much deeper that sent my brain into an almost catatonic state. I was barely hanging on to consciousness, though that wasn’t even of my own volition. Every time I’d start to fade out, he’d do something to somehow revive my attention just enough to bring the pain back to life.

I tried once more to beg, for what I was unsure at that point; anything had to be better than this.

“What was that?” Asmodeus jeered.

When I couldn’t reply, he laughed loud and long. A fresh round of agony and resentment streamed down the sides of my face as there was pressure once more in my broken wrist. I wanted nothing more than to scream at him, to break free and give him even an ounce of the pain I was feeling. Alas, I could do nothing more than bark out half-assed curses in my mind.

“Now let’s try this once more, where-”

A thundering crash and wailing screams interrupted my torturer’s line of questioning just in the nick of time. I could hear the curse he let out under his breath and, for the first time in over an hour, his presence left my side.

“What in the sam hell is goin’-”

There was another scream from outside before I heard the doors crash open against the walls.

“Oh, little Asmodeus, you should know better than to touch things that aren’t yours.”

My captor let out a wild cackle in response but his words slowly dissipated into the dark as I was blissfully allowed to finally drift into unconsciousness.

It felt like only a second had passed until my senses were once more at full capacity and, before I could even register my actions, I threw myself upright. The first thing I noticed as I looked around for Asmodeus was the lack of said man, and then other little facts began to trickle in; gone was the medical bed I had been strapped to and, instead, there was a giant fluffy mattress. Next was the change of scenery. I was in a dimly lit bedroom of some kind, that smelled oddly like… sandalwood and oranges? I would find it beautiful if I weren’t so lost. Finally, and most importantly, I slowly began to recognize the lack of pain in my body. I was still sore, there was no doubt, and fatigued beyond belief, but it didn’t feel like my body was splayed open like some frog in a dissection class. That was a huge improvement. As I surveyed and stretched my form, I quickly realized there were no physical signs of my torment either, not even one scratch.

“What the fuck?” I whispered softly.

Though my body begged me to stay, I forced myself to leave the comfort of the cloud-like bed in favor of figuring out just where the hell I was. The first door I tried led to an en suite bathroom, an obvious dead end and there was only one other door in the room, so, by process of elimination, that was my next target. Unfortunately, luck wasn’t quite on my side because it didn’t budge an inch no matter how hard I pulled on it.

“You really don’t wanna go out there. I’m still cleaning up the mess Asmodeus and his goons left.”

Pain flourished through my elbow when I spun around and instinctively backed away, right into the door. I started to say a prayer in my mind but it stopped just as quickly as it started when I recognized the person behind me.

“Nick?!”

Spreading his arms open, he let out a chuckle and said, “In the flesh, doll.”

Before I could second guess my actions, I was across the room, flinging myself against him. His solid frame went tense as my arms slid beneath his jacket and wrapped around his waist to tug him in as close as possible.

It didn’t matter that I didn’t really know him. It didn’t matter that this level of intimacy would usually make me flustered. Right now, all that I cared about was the safety his existence provided.

“Can’t say I was expecting that.”

The humor in his tone was underlined with a hint of concern and pity that made my stomach hurt, but the pitter-patter of his heartbeat in my ear as he pulled me in closer easily soothed the pain. I wasn’t with Asmodeus. I wasn’t alone anymore.

Speaking of which; I slowly pulled away only to stare up at him in disbelief as the last few hours pushed to the forefront of my mind. Those now-familiar blues sent a warmth through my chest as he matched the intensity of my gaze.

“How are you here?” I asked softly, “Where even is here? The last I remember we were in that- that- torture room.”

I felt bile rise in my throat but thankfully managed to keep a hold on it. Nick let out a little hiss, clicking his tongue as his eyes rolled to the sky before one of his hands came up to smooth down my hair. I tried my hardest not to lean into the touch but there was no stopping the way my cheeks warmed in delight.

“Well, remember how I said there were things you wouldn’t understand?” he asked.

“Yes?”

“I know this will be hard to believe but you’re in hell.”

All I could do was stare at him, waiting for a laugh or for him to yell ‘psyche’ or something, but it never came. My stomach dropped to my toes as his words buzzed in my mind. Hell. I was in hell. For some reason, that wasn’t the hardest thing to believe after everything that had happened.

“You’re- You’re serious?” I breathed out in disbelief.

“Yep!”

“But Nick, why-”

“Oh, yeah, not Nick by the way,” he cut me off with a little grin.

What in the ever-loving fuck did that mean?!

“I can hear your confusion from here, so, allow me to explain,” not-Nick said as he stepped back.

My eyes were glued to him as he rolled his shoulders back, rising to his full, intimidating, height, and a bright light began to emanate from him. At the same time, black shadows unfurled behind him. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust but once they did, I realized what I thought were shadows were actually wings- giant, black, imperfect wings that extended from one end of the room to the other with mottled stains of blood-red mixed in. My eyes snapped to his only to find bright red irises staring back.

“Who- What are you?”

“I’ve been called many things: prince of darkness, king of hell, fallen angel, daddy, but my actual name is-”

“Lucifer.”

My words come out much softer than expected. Where there should be fear or even anger at being deceived, all I could feel was awe. Now it all made sense; Asmodeus’ questions, the squirminess about his situation, his superiority complex. I didn’t think twice before dropping to my knees and dipping my head down. Nick- Lucifer- was a literal angel. An angel had been walking around with us and we were none the wiser. Fuck, I’d been lusting after an angel. I was suddenly sure of where I was going in the afterlife, based on that fact alone.

“In any other situation, I’d take advantage of that submissive position there, doll, but there’s no need for that now. You’re still healing,” Lucifer stated as his feet moved closer into my line of sight, “Come on, get up and get back into bed.”

“I- I-”

“Don’t make me carry you,” he teased.

Head lifting in shock, I gaped up at him only to get a smirk and a hand my way. I cautiously took the offering and got to my feet, letting him pull me to the bed. Thankfully his wings were gone and his eyes were back to normal, so I felt a little less like a useless peon. Though I was even more confused when he sat down next to me. Rather than gawk at him like some useless fangirl, I pulled my knees up and toyed with a frayed patch on my jeans.

I tried to think back on all I knew about Lucifer, and maybe understand more about this situation, but I was mortified upon realizing I knew almost nothing. Hell, I didn’t know much about religion in general to be fair, never having been a religious person. It was honestly daunting to think that it was all real. Hell, the devil, angels? Did that mean heaven and God were real too? I’d have to ask more about that later if he allowed it.

“I healed you as much as I could but your body has to do the rest,” he sighed after a moment, “Still not back to my full strength, but we’re getting there! The king is back, baby.”

That brought a little smile to my lips. Resting my chin on my palm, I tentatively looked over him once more. This man- no, this angel- had saved my life. Despite knowing he was now more out of reach than ever, I couldn’t help the way my heartbeat stuttered at the realization. There was no way to repay him and yet I would have to find something. What did you do for an all-power celestial being who could have anything they wanted?

As I got lost down the rabbit hole of my thoughts, I was brought back to the present when I stumbled across a certain memory.

“Oh, little Asmodeus, you should know better than to touch things that aren’t yours.”

A flush warmed my cheeks over those words.

Clearing my throat softly, I bit my lip and murmured, “Thank you, by the way. I know it’s nothing in comparison for you literally saving my life, but I’m very thankful.”

The grin that split across his face made my stomach flip flop.

“Ah, it was nothing,” he replied, “Asmodeus had it coming sooner or later anyway. That little prick’s been trying to overthrow me for the last few months.”

“How did you even know where I was?” I asked.

Suddenly his face went soft and, if I didn’t know better, I’d think he was blushing. It was… adorable.

“That’s a story for another time,” he huffed, “Let’s just say, there are bigger things at work here than even me, okay?”

“Well, that’s not cryptic,” I mumbled, earning a smirk once more.

“I’ll fill you in once you’re all healed up. For now, get some more sleep.”

My lips parted to argue but the pressure of his finger on them stole my breath. Oh. That had no right being so hot.

“There’s no arguing, princess. King of hell here, eh? My word is law. You’re staying until I’m sure you’re healthy and don’t have any lasting effects from Asmodeus’ shit,” he said.

It took every ounce of my strength to hold back the moan growing in my chest and instead simply nod in answer. Something about his dominating nature just felt oh so right. Fuck, if I thought my feelings for him were bad before, I was dead wrong. This was a whole new level of lust.

There was an oppressive heat in the air as his finger slowly slid from my lips, down my cheek, to my neck, before stopping along my clavicle. For a moment, I questioned if it wasn’t just me feeling this way, but then the spell was broken. He shot me a smirk as he rose to his feet.

“Rest. I’ll send one of the goons in later with food.”

And with a snap, he was gone.

#supernatural lucifer #supernatural lucifer fanfiction #Spn fanfic #Lucifer/OFC

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sofijaeger · 3 years

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hey, it's my first time doing any request so i'm little embarrassed but i'm excited too!! i love your writing so much<33 i had this in my mind for a while

Eren's s/o kissing his palms/hands or the spots where he usually bites his hand when he's about to transform

it can be anything(like drabble/headcanons etc. i hope you get me😭) once again I LOVE YOUR WRITING SM!!

that is so frickin adorable STOP I LOVE YOU AND YOUR BRAIN🥺 you can always request things to me, i’m not sure how soon i’ll get onto them but i will try my best and i love hearing from you!

okay i’m actually really proud of this one haha! the drabble will take place during the reclaim of shiganshina arc if that’s alright, and psa i scared myself writing a certain line because i had no clue how i was going to proceed after implying a major death LMAO. i think you’ll know what line i’m taking about but don’t worry nothing happens lol.

warnings: angst... IM SORRY🥲

words: 1.1k

kissing vow ~ eren x reader

Dawn quickly rose over the well-known territory. The part of land that was whispered upon for years ever since its fall, and a place strangely familiar to all your ears and hearts even if you hadn’t traveled there yourself. After the trip into the midnight wilderness you had arrived for a mission far greater than any other, and it was clear there were no visible signs of doubt from anyone.

Except for of course, the young boy with more pressure on his chest than anyone, one you cared for very dearly who’d call almost every shot with his actions. He was frightened beyond compare, so as the last few squads stood atop Wall Maria, urgently waiting for any signal, Eren was practically pissing himself right then and there. He had returned, devised a plan with all the leading commanders in just a few days, and was now preparing to risk his life for his homeland and people. There was no moment of rest for him or any of you. Besides the constant worry of succeeding the mission this very well may be the last time any of you see each other again.

You shout out his last name, once, twice, as he was too far in his own head to hear your first call and jog to him, gripping your delicate fingers over his shoulders. In the years you’ve spent together as scouts those small releases of tension-touching had become a clear sign you wanted each other’s attention, and you both caught onto the gesture quite quickly. Eren softened his eyes in your presence to notion just how focused he was on you. His subconscious would always allow his gaze to wander to you and what you had to say, he felt calmer that way.

“I already see you getting all inside your head, I thought talking about this on the journey here would be enough for you?” you whisper, leaning your head a little closer in attempt to understand what possibly was rumbling through his mind now.

“What if we lose”

“What?”

“I can’t bear to see us all lose! If we waited a little longer, a few more days, maybe we could have advised a plan that wouldn’t risk half the corps’ lives!” He tangled his hand in his hair, gripping the shaggy strands already coming loose from the stress he overdrove himself into. Your hands soften against the thick cloth of his cape, frowning at the few tears pricking his eyelids.

“Er, you’re more than welcome to cry to me later, just not now.” you chuckle.

“How are you so sure there’ll be a later y/n.”

You mouth opens before you can process your words, watching his cheek crane over to rest on the back of your hand that still lay against his collar. Here was humanity’s savior more worried than everyone minutes before call, but that you were perfectly fine with. This side to him was all the more proof that he was human, no matter what people labeled his being as.

“How am I sure? Bold of you to question my predictions Jaeger.” you exaggerate, placing your hands on your hips in a sneer. “I’m certain i’ll come back alive, and why? Because your protecting me with ever passionate fiber in your body, just as you will everyone else. You’re fighting for our justice against these monsters, the ones with no mind or cause. You have a cause to fight Eren and you have a heart too, a damn big one if I do say so myself. It’s the reason we support you with in the entireties of our own.”

With that, you intertwine your fingers around his right thumb, softly calloused to the touch he notes time and time again, and place it in front of your mouth to kiss. His body tenses at the feeling, but his eyes widen when he realizes where exactly you’ve placed it, your trust in him, where you’ve unknowingly hinted your years of growing affection for the boy in the heap of a split second.

Over the bitten scars littered down his radial.

He looks at you in confirmation of what he thinks it meant, and smiles into those fierce doe eyes of yours. A genuine emotion he hasn’t felt in months through grieving and loss, but could so easily melt into again with you.

So yes, he held a dangerous power, but it was all his. Something his true self was a part of that no one should ever neglect, and he found all the support he needed within the soldier right before him.

“Knock em dead Ren, do your best for everyone who’s lived and who will continue to. None of us would be standing here without you, so your presence alone is precious to us...

...We all believe in you, I believe in you.”

You guide his palm to your cheek, nuzzling into its claminess. As he engraves the plush feeling of his fingertips to your skin, a green smoke signal is fired.

And even when Eren was positive not everyone could be saved, he was reminded the ones following the biggest goals in the end would persevere and care for each other just as you had for him. He was confident you’d all succeed that way.

Like Armin now does over Commander Erwin,

Or little Gabi rather than Sasha, no matter what unjust brainwashing she believes.

But him or you, who would risk their own life caring for whom they loved most?

That was one thing he never wanted to find out.

Now he slouches in a rotten, stoned cell, contemplating what could’ve changed if only he had tried a little harder, or had this all been fate from the start?

His hand resting in his lap catches his glance, peering down at the bite marks still evident across his thumb. Surely if the marks he made as a teen persisted your kiss would too.

He slowly brings his hand up, cautious of any guards mistaking the move for another transformation, and presses his lips against the same spot you had. He closes his eyes at the warmth, sensing it was still emitting from your own lingering touch years ago. Unfortunately there had been no more little kisses, subtle clues of affection from either of you ever since. He liked those hints he really did, but now he was sure you stood a few floors above him, devising a plan to put an end to his scheme rather than caring over his emotions.

Weren’t you the one who told him to keep going though?

Perhaps if he had told you his motives beforehand rather than keeping them inside. How he appreciated every act of tenderness you gave him, more than anything he’s experienced before, how all this time he’s fought on this battlefield people called the world, for you and everyone else. Maybe then you’d stay out of his way and let him succeed, but his actions had no time for feelings or explanations. The freedom he desperately searched for in the future held no care for the past.

Yet he could never lie to himself and think you didn’t love him still, even after all this time. And Eren couldn’t deny anything about his own feelings for you, it’s what kept him going.

#JUST BUSTED THIS SHIT OUT MAN FEELING PROUD #sofi drabs #eren x reader #sofi time #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #anime #eren yeager #eren jaeger #eren aot #snk eren #eren x you #fanfic #eren jaeger x reader #eren yeager x reader #eren yeager x you #eren jaeger x you

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tedturneriscrazy · 3 years

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Through the Looking Glass Ruins. No preamble. Let's do this.

Oh, hey, I finally figured out how to do the "keep reading" thing! Neat!

So that's how they're explaining Willow not being in this, huh? Pixies must be a nasty piece of work.

Incidentally, I really hope we get a Willow-centered episode this season.

"What's the point of being good at this if I can't do anything good with it?" Helluva line

Gus lying on the floor groaning in frustration is a mood

Fuck yeah Gus has a Bad Girl Coven shirt

I don't know how King was talked into recording that "leave a message" bit, but I'm into it.

Hi Willow. Bye Willow.

Loving Luz's permutations of "Gus"

Okay but the whole library card bit implies Luz does this all the damn time.

I'd ask why not get her own, but then I remember who she lives with.

I must admit, it's somewhat jarring to see Gus so filled with self-doubt.

Braxus! (Not worried about his fate so I can just enjoy his presence)

So Construction = earthbending. I knew it!

I also knew that Warden Wrath and Braxus were related! Turns out Wrath is a single dad.

Yes, Gus, those are their tracks.

Mattholomule (God, I hate writing his name) simping over Bria, aka how some people are about Felicia Day. (No problem with her, for the record, I'm just being a smartass)

Gus is actually invited to the adventure rather than offering to come along? That's a refreshing change of pace.

How long was Luz holding her breath?!

It seems the call to adventure won't take no for an answer, Gus.

I know Gus crushing on Bria puts a damper on the Ace Gus headcanon, but consider: Ace Biromantic Gus!

Eda making headlines with her human market, we love to see it

Planet of Humans "Too implausible" lmao

Ah, there's hair down Amity! So good!

"Finally! I can learn how to summon the Dark Lord!"

Luz is yearning

Do Ed and Em just...go around like that?

"Nah, looks like you've got that covered." So everyone just knows, cool cool.

Ooh, they/them date for Ed!

In this episode: blushing, and lots of it!

Also Luz is such a bi disaster it's great.

The twins definitely know what's up. Then again, Luz and Amity are not in the least bit subtle.

¡Más español!

Amity breaking the rules to help her gf? Now that's character development!

(Although it seems to me they could've just tried asking Malphas about that diary, but whatever)

"You have to do everything I say" I'm sure this won't come back to bite them.

Man, Matt really is quite little. Even Gus is taller than him now.

HADOKEN!

(Not sure if he figured out it was a fire glyph or if he was just guessing)

I say the buffing properties of illusion magic are underappreciated.

Ooh, what if the Galderstones were made by illusionists? That might help explain why illusions aren't boosted by them!

Forbidden Stacks really going hard, huh?

More blushing, always nice

So that's how Amity has her own secret room in the library.

Potential future date in the human realm is a powerful motivator, I see.

That "Don't tread on me" snake never said anything about poking.

Make the butterfly boi lookout, sure.

Beginning to think Bria is not as...nice as she puts on...

Grave robbing is a perfectly wholesome activity for teenagers, right?

Yup, I was right about Bria.

"Who's that Pokémon?!"

"Deadwardian Era" I love this show's wordplay

Y'know, considering all these ancient books have their own separate area, they are not kept in the best condition.

This is still cute as hell.

So much for the being quiet part...

Of course Malphas talks like an old hippie. Why did I expect any different?

That whole exchange...I just...😭

The "doing stupid things," the dawning comprehension on Amity's face, Luz vowing in Spanish to make things right...so much to unpack here!

Also, I'm still waiting for Amity's turn to have a proper cry this season. That doesn't count.

"It's a faaaaake!" Callback to the Pokémon bit and a Star Trek DS9 reference? I am a master wordsmith!

(Disclaimer: I haven't really watched any Star Trek. Everything I know about it is through osmosis)

Strange, Gus seems less than thrilled by being hugged by a frazzled old man.

Illusionists guarding the Galderstones makes perfect sense, but unfortunately it does require that that fact not be widely known.

Call me crazy, but I think Bria was bullshitting when talking about "changing things for the better."

Wait, are they making Matt less of a shithead? I think I'm okay with this.

Oh, Angmar, a shame you have to hang with such a crowd.

Regardless of that development, I maintain that Angmar>Alador in the contest of butterfly bois.

Come on, Gavin, you can't seriously be falling for this. (Everything about this is hilarious. Big mustaches, man)

"I'm not dumb enough to fall for these tricks!" Give it a moment.

ANCIENT SINS ANCIENT SINS

Yeah, it's an obvious reference, but it's a good one, dammit!

Damn, Gus, going ham with all that. And the whole graveyard, to boot!

That's the thing about illusions, you can get super fucked up with them. Look what they got away with for a TV-Y7 rating!

Welp, Gustholomule just got some fuel.

Aw, sibling bonding moment.

"Is that so bad? You weren't happy before."

New hair color!

Luz is into it!

Ed and Em are us.

Time for lore!

Ah, conveniently timed wind blowing through Luz's hair, I see.

"Don't worry. You have a way of sneaking into people's hearts." This is some Kingdom Hearts bullshit and I am here for it!

I think I spent all my freakout energy last night, so no all caps for the kiss.

Oh who am I kidding AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Luz's turn for dawning comprehension!

Amity's whole reaction to what she just did is 100000/10

The way Luz just sinks to the ground

So yeah, that was something, huh? Gus adventure and Lumity development! What more could you ask for?

(Maybe a few things, but we can talk about that elsewhere)

Anyway, I'll be doing this again next week! Probably sleep deprived as usual.

#the owl house #toh s2 spoilers #the owl house s2 spoilers #the owl house season 2 spoilers #toh spoilers #the owl house spoilers #gus porter #luz noceda #mattholomule #amity blight #lumity #edric blight #emira blight #toh bria #toh gavin #toh angmar #yes all the screencaps are lumity #i'm not apologizing

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everythingsinred · 3 years

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Let's Talk About NatsuMikan: Natsume (pt. 25)

Hi there.

According to Wikipedia, the term "star-crossed lovers" refers to a couple "whose relationship is thwarted by outside forces". Furthermore, "such pairings are said to be doomed from the start". Often, the tragic end of these pairings can be seen from a mile away, even though the audience may hope and wish desperately for things to be different. In fact, the relationship between Romeo and Juliet is immediately revealed to end tragically, with both of them dead. It's just a matter of watching the heartbreak unfold.

The same is true here. Natsume and Mikan are "doomed" from the start. You hope and wish desperately that fate will be kind to them, that certain things will be different, that they can be happy, but it's not to be and you know it, deep down. All you can really do is watch the specific way it all goes up in flames. Now that we know they're both romantically involved, star-crossed to be separated, we're about to see a tragedy unfold. Let's suffer about it.

Chapter One Hundred and Forty

The school was being invaded, and the only one of Shiki’s conditions that the ESP could not accept was Mikan being out of his reach. In order to save the school, Mikan allowed herself to be put into the ESP’s custody under the condition that she cannot be harmed or manipulated.

But Chapter 140 doesn’t start by checking in on Mikan or even showing the others’ reaction to her absence. Not yet.

Just in case you didn't know how this would end to begin with, Higuchi will let you know now. It will not end well!

The chapter starts with a monologue from Ruka about the lengths Natsume would go to for Mikan, but also pleading for him not to go anywhere. This is unsubtle foreshadowing. We see a glimpse of the future, of Natsume’s presumably dead body, and the misery his death brings. We can see more evidence of what we already knew: Natsume thinks so little of himself that he’s willing to sacrifice anything for others, never considering that his absence will cause utter despair in the people he leaves behind.

At this point, it becomes even more obvious that the story will end with tragedy, and Natsume's probable death will be part of it.

We finally get to the real start of the chapter. It’s winter again. Ruka is musing on life at the academy without Mikan. They all talk about her often, even after months of not seeing her. They don’t even know where at the academy she is, or what she’s been up to.

Just for a glimpse. ;-;

He recalls Yuka’s funeral. The children were instructed to leave the area, but it was the last time they’d see Mikan, so they all stay. Natsume doesn’t even have an umbrella despite the rain. Mikan was then escorted from Yuka’s grave by the ESP. Her classmates want to know where she’s going, concerned that she’s in trouble. When the ESP threatens Shiki for not disciplining them, Mikan smiles and promises to see them again.

Fate does not smile upon them.

Natsume watches, and although they’re all surprised and concerned, he seems more so than anyone else. The last time he saw her there was a lot left unsaid. She had confessed her requited feelings telepathically and he’d had to say goodbye over and over and over. But Mikan hasn’t used up all of the telepathy stone quite yet, so he’s able to promise her that he’ll do everything he can to find her. She smiles, tears in her eyes, and that’s the last image of her he has for a while. He will find her. That’s his new mission, his new reason for living.

Back in the present, Natsume finally appears to join the group. He’s been missing, looking for Mikan. He spends most of his time running around campus trying to find her. The telepathy alice stone is the only tie they have to each other now. It’s all he has to go off of.

He smiles upon joining the group. Mikan isn’t there, but he’s still smiling. It might not be entirely genuine. He’s smiled like this before, to make Ruka feel better before the Z Arc. He has to have hope, too, because he can’t die before he finds Mikan. Submitting to the misery will only mar his chances.

Ruka knows that Natsume’s long absences are due to his search, that he spends hours and hours looking for her, calling for her, waiting for a response.

Yes, Shiki, and as a minor, he CANNOT consent to being a member of a group that has "war potential" because that's against international law and you should be charged with human rights' violations. Also, since he's a child, even being a criminal wouldn't justify this kind of punishment either, on account of him not even being a teenager yet.

Natsume is still a Dangerous Ability type. Shiki urges him to transfer out, but Natsume can’t. He has to stay, because as a DA type he can search in more areas that are off limits to normal students. In general, the DA class is more comfortable now that they’re under the management of the Middle School, not the ESP. Still, it’s described as a group “with war potential” and he wants to feel like he’s doing something to protect the people important to him rather than simply standing by. Natsume’s mindset of always having to protect people, to the extent that when he cannot protect people he feels useless and worthless, is damaging. He thinks he has to do these things, and although the narrative paints the DA class choosing to remain as them choosing to protect people, it’s kind of ridiculous that a school would put such a task on students’ shoulders in the first place. They’re the ones who should be protected, not the other way around. No matter who is in charge of the DA class, sending kids on dangerous missions where they could get hurt is still child abuse and endangerment.

In any case, he’s told it’s useless to try and find her, that the barrier hiding Mikan is too powerful, but he won’t listen. He won’t let anything anybody says get in the way. Just like he said when he first rebelled, no matter how much somebody tries to convince him not to, he’ll do whatever it takes to protect her.

Chapter One Hundred and Forty-Two

Tsubasa is also opting to remain in the DA class. It’s easier to be in on the action that way, for one. He also wants to help Natsume because he’s concerned about his alice shape. Natsume and Misaki both tease him for this, and Tsubasa chases after Misaki. Natsume watches them wistfully. Tsubasa doesn’t even seem to realize how lucky he is. He can hug Misaki, tease her, apologize, talk to her, see her. Natsume misses Mikan and he’s jealous that Tsubasa is able to have with Misaki what he’d love to have with his own girl. So, naturally, he sets his hair on fire.

God, Tsubasa, have some sensitivity!

Back at the dorms, Yuu laments that Mikan won’t be allowed to attend the Christmas Ball, and it’s unlikely she’ll be allowed to graduate with them either. Hotaru comes up with the idea of sending Mikan Christmas presents, and everyone is immediately on board. They all try to come up with present ideas, but Natsume’s a step ahead, already making another alice stone for her.

Hotaru notices and immediately tears him apart for it. He knows the stone won’t make it through the examination, and the fact that even making alice stones takes a toll on his body will only make Mikan worry. In addition to all that, Mikan already has his alice stone, so there shouldn’t be any worries on the “love tradition” front.

Hotaru is Mikan’s best friend, someone who knows her pretty well and whose opinion Mikan cares about. This criticism wouldn’t hit as hard if it was some random person, or even just another kid in Class B. Because it’s Hotaru, he has to take it seriously. Hotaru is calling him out and he’s embarrassed and defensive, but she’s a step ahead of him, having thought of a much better present.

Natsume's like, "I'll be her prince!"

She gives him a story book, about Rapunzel. The story is similar to Mikan’s--a girl is trapped in a tower with no way to escape. She found a prince and they were able to escape together and live happily. All Mikan needs is to find her prince and the story would fit perfectly.

Natsume likes this story a lot. He wants to be Mikan’s prince. He has to be her prince. He doesn’t have a choice but to save her, because that’s all he’s living for. And letting Mikan know that a prince is on the way seems an important enough mission that everyone wants to help get Rapunzel through the examination. They will all send story books to make Rapunzel seem less suspicious. Of course that doesn’t stop Hotaru from claiming that the prince in her story is actually more useful than the one in Rapunzel, implying that Natsume is a subpar prince as well.

Chapter One Hundred and Forty-Three

It’s time for the Christmas Ball. Mikan isn’t there, so Natsume is morose. Just like last year, he finds refuge in the tree. Last Christmas was pretty nice, all things considered, because he got to kiss Mikan.

It's just not fair. All he wants is a smooch. And to save her and keep her safe but. The kiss too.

At the time, he’d thought it was a one-off, his only chance. He was just going to kiss her real quick because he was convinced Ruka already had, and then when it was done he would run away and never do it again. She wouldn’t want to kiss him over Ruka anyway, right? But apparently Mikan loves him too, something he had never even considered a possibility, so maybe she’d want to kiss him again?

Except that Mikan isn’t around and the only way he can see if she wants to kiss him again would be if he found her.

How come everyone is calling him out so boldly lately? You guys DO realize his days are numbered, right? Not even double digits? So cruel.

Sumire is talking about dancing with him this year, but he’s only thinking about Mikan. Koko calls him out for it, saying there’s someone in the tree thinking about kissing. It was such a strong thought that it took Koko by surprise, even.

There’s a present exchange and Yuu again expresses sadness that Mikan isn’t with them, wondering if she’s spending Christmas all on her own. This spurs Natsume to get the hell out of there. He can’t sit around for too long, after all. He wants to find her and he won’t find her at the ball for sure.

He’s out looking for her, just like he does every day and every night. Shiki might be a hopeless romantic, or feeling guilty for having Mikan watch the ball on TV, so he loosens the barrier on Mikan enough for Natsume to be able to find her.

Shiki is also a NatsuMikan shipper... You a legend for that one, fam.

He hasn’t seen her in months, not even after searching every corner of the school over and over again, but tonight he has finally found her.

Conclusion

Although in many ways, Natsume's story was set up to be tragic from the beginning, these chapters establish for good that something horrible is coming, and we know that to be Natsume's death, in about a week. I'll talk more about the star-crossed lovers aspect in the upcoming parts. It's an aspect of their relationship that I find very interesting.

Thank you for reading this far!

Y'all have caught up to where I'm at, more or less. I won't post tomorrow because there'd only be a chapter of content to post and that's no fun. I'll spend the weekend getting ahead a bit and then on Monday I'll continue. In no time at all, we'll be wrapped up! It's all so exciting!

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bamfdaddio · 3 years

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X-Men Abridged: 1977

The X-Men, those starjammin' mutants that have sworn to protect a world that hates and fears them, are a cultural juggernaut with a long, tangled history. Want to unravel this tapestry? Then read the Abridged X-Men!

(X-Men 103 - 108) - written by Chris Claremont and art by Dave Cockrum, Bob Brown and John Byrne

The fabled M’Kraan Crystal, a.k.a. Everything’s a butt plug if you’re brave enough. (X-Men 107)

When we last left our X-Men, they were being pummelled into a paste by Black Tom and the Juggernaut at the ancestral Cassidy Keep. Only Nightcrawler was out of their clutches, because he was saved by elves. (All Irish keeps have elves, plz don’t question it.) Apparently, Juggernaut and Black Tom have been holding the inhabitants of the castle hostage under the orders of Eric the Red. Black Tom plans to mindrape the X-Men to lure Charles to Ireland to kill him, which… er… Wouldn’t it be easier to go back to the USA now that Charles is mostly unprotected? Most of the the X-Men are in Oire right now!

Nightcrawler incidentally discovers he turns invisible in the shadows, and it makes total sense that he only realizes this now, because they have no shadows in Germany. Eh, nobody remembers he has this power these days anyway, so! Moving briskly on!

Kurt surprises the gay villainous duo by pretending to be a surprisingly spry Xavier. (Image inducer ftw.) While trying to turn Nightcrawler into a smear of blue fuzz, Juggernaut punches through a wall, exposing Storm to the sky and releasing her from the tight grip of her claustrophobia.

Very few things fill me with more delight than seeing Storm doing loop-de-loops. (X-Men 103)

Storm frees the rest of the X-Men. In the final battle, Banshee tussles with Tom, tossing him off the ramparts and straight into the choppy ocean. Even though tossing a villain into the water is an absolutely sure-fire way to guarantee they'll survive, Juggernaut jumps in after him, desperate to save his boyfriend. Friend. Whatever.

Hilariously, the people at marvel.fandom hate this issue and plotline, saying it’s more riddled with plot holes than Swiss cheese. For example, the elves reveal Wolverine’s real name - Logan - which… “This issue implies that the leprechauns have some prior knowledge of, and even a connection to Wolverine. This plot point, however, was completely dropped and never referenced again (which is probably for the best, considering how goofy it is.)”

I mean, they’re not wrong.

So. Hey. You ready for things to get weird?

Moira has received a VAGUE BUT DISTRESSING call for help from Muir Isle. Off-screen she got upgraded to being an associate at Edinburgh University who owns a lab in Scotland. She left some dude named Jamie Madrox in charge, which - Moira, you have a Phd, you should be able to tell that Madrox is an absolute (entertaining) mess of a person.

Also super surprised that Jamie Madrox was conceived in the seventies, but whatever.

In order to check out the lab, the X-Men rent a hovercraft, which explodes just off the shore of Muir Isle.

Get a bucket and a mop for this wet-ass fuzzy. (X-Men 104)

They are beset on all sides, before being pulled into the laboratory by… MAGNETO?

Magneto accusing anybody other than Dr. Doom or Namor of all-consuming arrogance shows us that self-awareness can’t be taught. (X-Men 104)

Cyclops arrives by airplane, reuniting with the team, while also talking to Moira and Madrox. Absolutely bonkers revelations are made in the space of three pages:

Moira’s lab is a secret Mutant Research Centre. (uh…)

In the Defenders-comic, Magneto was de-aged into a baby. (...what?!)

‘Research Centre’ is a Scottish synonym for a penal colony for all kinds of dangerous mutants, like baby Magneto, Dragonfly, Unus and the mysterious Mutant-X. (...what?!)

Moira quite cavalierly experiments on prisoners and babies. She also has a machine that can manipulate age. Xavier knows and is fine with all of this. (wtf!?!?)

This is such a bonkers, messy way to rewrite both Moira and Magneto. Like, I can’t.

Eric the Red freed Magneto and then used the aging machine to turn Magneto back into an adult man at the peak of his powers. This Magneto is understandably upset at having been turned into a science lab experiment/baby and he mops the floor with the X-Men.

Cyclops makes the executive decision to flee Muir Isle, because they have no chance against Magneto and he now realizes Professor X is unprotected and probably at the mercy of Eric the Red. Wolverine calls him a big fat sissy to his face.

I kind of dig that the X-Men don't win a lot of their fights yet. They’re still treated as relatively unseasoned, especially as a team, and they don’t automatically win at the end of every story. It also gives Magneto more oomph as a villain.

Anyway, when the X-Men arrive at the mansion, they’re defeated by Firelord, Galactus’ former herald. He’s been duped into attacking them by Eric the Red. Firelord is convinced the X-Men are the villains, because Eric went with the Wounded Gazelle Gambit: he even knocked out Havok and Polaris to pretend he was attacked by our merry mutants. (Next time we see them, they’re back to their normal, non-brainwashed selves.)

In her new apartment, Jean is introducing her parents and Professor X to her new girlfriend roommate Misty Knight when princess Neramani (of, uh, space) teleports into the room. And then Firelord attacks Charles! Jean has absolutely zero chill for all of this.

I know very little about Misty Knight, but every time she appears, she responds to anything remotely surprising by drawing her gun. I assume she shoots her paper boy every morning. (X-Men 105)

The entire point of this issue is to show how big a threat Phoenix is. Claremont originally wanted to use a big name like Thor or the Silver Surfer, but editorial nixed that: they feared that it would be emasculating for a popular character to be beaten by a girl. Once again, this proves how badly the Phoenix storyline was needed. Did Jean single-handedly introduce feminism to superhero comics? I’mma say yes.

With Jean distracted and Charles teaching Lilandra English telepathically so he can woo the pretty space-lady and/or get an explanation as to why the universe is ending, Eric the Red strikes, revealing himself to be: SHAKARI.

Yeah, no, I don’t recognize the name either, but the dude’s been working on this reveal for a while, so just let him have it.

He absconds with Lilandra through the Stargate and switches it off, just as the X-Men arrive. Jean casually turns it back on and because the Professor is all, “we’ve got to save her! I mean the universe!”, the X-Men jump through the gate.

Jean’s parents are all out of wtfs to give.

We take a break from Shi´Ar shenanigans with an inconsequential filler issue, where we flashback to Xavier while he was being driven crazy by his Space Trek dreams. It’s established that Moira and Xavier are ex-lovers and that Xavier’s melodramatic subconscious wants to kill the new X-Men. (Probably not for real, but who knows.) Next!

Still a better villain than Onslaught. (X-Men 106)

Anyway, the X-Men find themselves surrounded by aliens in front of the ginormous M’Kraan Crystal. The Shi’Ar are all: ‘dafuq you’re doing here’, Cyclops is all: ‘We’re here for Lilandra’, and the Shi’Ar are all: ‘You mean our prisoner and rogue princess?’ Scott decides that gathering more information is for losers and starts blasting, triggering a fight with the Imperial Guard.

Lilandra, meanwhile, is in the hands of Shakari and her big brother, Emperor D’Ken. He releases some nebulously defined monster - a Soul Drinker - to kill Lilandra. Nightcrawler saves her from its murderous clutches by teleporting two people for the very first time. Lilandra doesn’t barf up her insides, which is apparently a test of character, and proceeds to explain what’s what.

First, she tells the X-Men that she felt Professor Xavier when he was doing the telepathic care bear attack against the Z’Nox way back in the sixties and that she felt instantly drawn to him. She also explains that she’s D’Ken’s younger sister and leading a rebellion against her mad, power hungry brother. Why is he mad? Well...

The X-Men vs. Astrology! Riveting. (Still a better villain than Onslaught.) Although, “I’m a Pisces” sounds a lot lamer than “I was born under the Nine Death Stars. (X-Men 107)

The guy in the mohawk is Gladiator, he is consistently the worst. Even when Lilandra reveals that opening that gate triggers the End of All That Is, he’s still all: “Juuust following orders.”

The Imperial Guard goes in for a smackdown, but the X-Men are fortunately saved by the Starjammers. (Space pirates, not an 80’s rock group.) They are:

Corsair, a debonair dude with one golden earring. Pretty obviously a human.

Raza, cyborg with a temper and somehow bald whilst rocking a ponytail.

Ch’od, lizard creature. Has a white fluffy spider monkey-thing that I don’t recognize and but is apparently called Waldo Ch'ee. (I pray it just got lost in Marvel history and that it doesn’t get squashed at some point. It’s adorable.)

Hepzibah, cute cat girl with a gun. Involved with Corsair, except he can’t pronounce her name so he just gave her the completely unrelated nickname Hepzibah? Dude!

Jean, having learned psychic etiquette from Charles Xavier, immediately violates their privacy and scans their minds, figuring out that Corsair is Scott’s dad. Superficial telepathic read, my ass.

Meanwhile, power builds up in the M’Kraan Crystal and the universe briefly blinks out of existence, threatening to tear open the fabric of the universe if this keeps up. To emphasize that this is a Big Honking Deal, we cut to Earth where the Avengers, Fantastic Four and Peter Corbeau (rumored to have an IQ over 200) are all: oy, did the universe just stop existing?

That’s Hank McCoy for “we’re fucked’”. Hi Jimmy Carter! (X-Men 108)

Apparently, this is the year the X-Men can’t catch a break, because after being beaten by the Juggernaut, Magneto and the Imperial Guard, they are soundly trashed by Jahf, the Guardian of the Crystal. That is, until Phoenix drops a small meteor on him. In a story beat that I really like, Jahf isn’t fazed at all: the Phoenix, despite her immeasurable power, isn’t omnipotent. Sometimes, you need a scalpel instead of a sledge hammer: it’s Banshee whose sonic scream can scramble the guardian’s circuitry.

Unfortunately, defeating the first guardian only awakens a second, stronger one, so…

Raza decides he’s had enough of this nonsense and, displaying admirable proactive problem solving skills, simply tosses D’Ken into the M’Kraan crystal. Presumably, the Crystal is annoyed at being attacked by someone who also has an unnecessary apostrophe in their name, and it lashes out, trapping everyone involved in their own personal hell. For Jean, this is apparently death, but she’s all: “Um, I was recently deceased, no big deal,” and snaps out of it.

The Phoenix reaches out the crystal, which is slowly cracking under the weight of the universe. (Same.) If it shatters, it will destroy the universe, devouring all . Think of it as a cosmic reset button. The Phoenix is its opposite, a bringer of energy and life, so it might be able to fix the crystal. Problem is, Jean has trouble remaining anchored in this reality, because she’s being absorbed by the crystal.

OKAY. SO MANY THINGS TO LOVE. Even when allied with a cosmic force, Storm proves she’s our queen. Furthermore, other than Jean/Scott, Ororo/Jean might the most fleshed out relationship among these new X-Men at this point. Their friendship is consistently a highlight.

Also, rough, rough day for Corsair. (X-Men 108)

Phoenix mends the crystal with a lot of mystical space mumbo jumbo and… er, that’s it. Cosmic balance restored, she poofs the X-Men home.

Lilandra tags along with them, explaining that D’Ken’s tinkering with the Crystal left him catatonic and unfit to rule. As his sister, she’s the rightful heir, but since she also led a rebellion, she kind of cancelled by her empire. She announces she will stay on Earth with Charles while the Shi´Ar iron out the details of the succession. So, instead of consolidating her power base and claim to the throne, she peaces out to explore her feelings for the hairless pink alien who can peek into her brain. Solid.

And with that final bit of space opera, we say goodbye to Dave Cockrum and welcome artist John Byrne. The Claremont/Byrne-run is widely seen as the definitive X-Men run, so hold onto your butts and let’s see where the Phoenix takes us, shall we?

Didn’t you take Art History? I stand by my space mumbo jumbo comment from earlier, but check out these Byrne-pages:

Chef’s kiss. (X-Men 108)

Ugliest Costume: I have a fierce hatred for the Shi'ar's weird wispy triangular hair/feather/thingies, but those are technically not costumes. So: Lilandra, why is your boob window a bug?

Best new character: I’m not much of a fan of space operas or the Shi’Ar and their extended court, but I do have a soft spot for the Starjammers, Hepzibah in particular. I fondly remember her being a part of the X-Men at some point in the future, although I don't think her actual unpronounceable name ever gets revealed.

Most audacious retcon: Moira the housekeeper is actually an evil morally complicated mad scientist.

What to read: Issue 105, 107 and 108, for all your Phoenix Saga needs.

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miraculousluvbug · 3 years

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WINGLESS | Ch. 6

***New to Wingless? Start at Chapter 1!

CH. SUMMARY: After learning Hawk Moth's identity, Lila inserts herself into Gabriel's inner circle so she can destroy Ladybug-- er, get Ladybug's earrings. Ha-ha-ha. Ha.

Lila toed the cement beneath her as she restlessly awaited the assistant’s arrival. Gabriel had used an earpiece to communicate to her, Lila assumed. But the waiting was painfully awkward. Neither party made any attempt to fill the silence. The absurdity of the situation sat on their chests like an overweight feline unwilling to move.

As the sun dipped out of golden hour, the mansion shrouded the garden in shadow. Lila squinted her eyes to try and make out the details of Adrien’s mother’s statue, but the effort was fruitless. Wouldn’t a billionaire have, like, lamps or something? Maybe he didn’t have lamps because he hardly left the walls of his office.

Lila’s lips twitched into a smirk, but she quickly smothered it.

There was a sudden scuffling of shoes against the garden stones from behind Lila. She observed wordlessly from the corner of her eye as the looming and brooding Gabriel Agreste flew to the assistant’s side at an inhuman speed and held his arms out to support her silently, his fingers never quite making contact with the body he seemed desperate to protect.

Huh. A weakness. Hawk Moth had a weakness.

Lila filed that tidbit away should she need it for later.

“You were quite cryptic over the phone, sir,” the assistant started.

“I suppose I was, Nathalie. What needed to be said was . . . not phone appropriate.”

“Sir?”

Knowing Gabriel was Hawk Moth seemed to have tipped a domino in Lila’s brain. It was like there was a blanket over her eyes and it had been ripped away. On several occasions, a blue-skinned bird lady aided and abetted Hawk Moth. Lila had wondered who would possibly be close enough to the villain to be looped into his plans.

The connection was easy to make.

Lila folded her arms across her chest and cocked her head to the side, looking Nathalie up and down. When she had finagled her way into the Agreste mansion with a despicable limited edition Ladybug figurine, discovering the identities of Paris’s most wanted duo was not only low on her list of possibilities; it was nowhere near the friggin’ list.

But Dio was it the single most delectable turn of events.

“Let me guess. You were Mayura.”

Nathalie, who had been wholly oblivious to Lila’s presence, sucked in a breath, head spinning to meet the eyes of Adrien’s conniving classmate. Nathalie opened her mouth, probably to protest Lila’s statement, but the words died on her tongue. The only sounds came from the crickets chirping into the encroaching night air.

“She knows,” Gabriel explained.

“She . . . she knows?” Nathalie repeated.

Gabriel nodded. Nathalie’s gaze fell to the grass sprouting in between the garden stones. As the trio stood, the occasional butterfly fluttered around Gabriel like they knew they were kindred.

“You don’t need to be worried about . . . What’s the phrase?” Lila rested a finger on her chin. “Ah, right. Me spilling the fagioli. I don’t know the French word.”

“Beans,” Nathalie supplied.

“You know Italian?” he asked. Then softly to himself, “My Emilie knew Italian.”

Nathalie ducked her head at Gabriel’s attention before straightening her posture and jutting out her chin. If Lila hadn’t seen the woman shuffle over to this spot as if she were going to faint any moment, she might have never known there was anything amiss.

“So you . . . what? Want to be an ally?”

“Multilingual and smart,” Lila teased.

Something dark flickered in Nathalie’s eyes. Much darker than Lila would have ever given her credit for. “You’d do better to watch your tone with me, Mademoiselle Rossi.” She spat Lila’s name like one might an unforeseen chunk of raw garlic.

Ah, so this was how Nathalie wanted to play this. Lila’s fingers tingled in anticipation. She was a flexible actress, best known for her improv skills and dedication to her roles. If a performance was what the assistant wanted, then Lila was eager to put on a show.

“Why, Mademoiselle Nathalie--” Lila started, turning her back on the pair.

“Sancoeur.”

Lila rolled her eyes but proceeded to pump her tone full of sickeningly sweet syrup. “Right. Mademoiselle Sancoeur, it would be my pleasure to get the Ladybug Miraculous for Monsieur Agreste.”

“And Chat Noir’s.”

Lila plastered a fake smile on her face and turned on her heel. “Hm?”

Nathalie arched an eyebrow, unimpressed. “You loathe Ladybug, don’t you, Mademoiselle Rossi?”

“That’s no secret.”

“You want more than to take her Miraculous.”

It wasn’t a question. Lila held eye contact with Nathalie, unflinching. Eventually, she spoke. “I want to humiliate her. Like she humiliated me,” Lila growled. I want to destroy her.

The assistant chose not to expand on this statement, but Lila could tell she sensed a much more sinister motivation. She must have been weighing the pros and cons, her mind running a mile a minute to predict what including Lila might entail. Lila had to agree: she was a wildcard. Her loyalties teetered like a see-saw, ever-changing to suit her needs. She knew this. And Nathalie knew this.

Lila’s eyes bore into Nathalie’s, challenging her to refuse.

“I admit,” Nathalie began after a beat of consideration, removing her tablet from the crook of her arm, “you might make a valuable asset.”

Gabriel, who had been quietly observing the interaction between his assistant and the girl, folded his arms behind his back. “Yes, even now, while I’m untransformed, your contempt for the bug is palpable.”

“She’s a cockroach,” Lila sneered, her lips upturned in a grimace and her hand clenched tightly into a fist.

Lila’s enthusiasm amused Gabriel greatly. His shoulders shook as he chuckled, but the sound was hollow. “That is something we agree on. No matter how many times I pursue her, she manages to outsmart me.”

Lila bit her tongue. She wanted to say It’s easy to outsmart a man whose password is “password,” but she didn’t. She honestly deserved an award for that caliber of commitment.

“While you are very clever, you’ve been playing an elementary partita, Monsieur Agreste.”

Gabriel’s eyes hesitantly shifted to Nathalie.

“Game, match, etcetera,” she clarified. Ironically, a meager little ladybird flitted to Gabriel’s shoulders then. He scrunched his nose at it.

“And though it’s been a rousing game of tag--” Lila paused purposefully as Gabriel, without breaking eye contact, lifted a palm and allowed the dotted beetle to crawl onto his fingers before proceeding to wordlessly pass it to Nathalie. Lila cleared her throat. “I’m here to up the stakes.”

With her mouth set into a thin line, Nathalie bent over and shook her finger until the thing lost its grip and fell to the concrete. In the process, her shirt rode up to reveal a compelling pale scar the length of a thumb running up her side. Lila arched an eyebrow. Nathalie hastily covered it.

“What exactly are you implying, Mademoiselle Rossi?”

Gabriel peered at Lila over the bridge of his nose, daring her to challenge his legacy as Hawk Moth.

But Lila was not an expert manipulator for nothing. She knew how to read people, and, more importantly, she knew how to please them.

She knew how to play them.

“You’re a proper gentleman, Monsieur.”

Flattery. She would begin with flattery.

With one hand, she twirled one of her pigtails. Men and boys alike often found intelligent girls not only intimidating but emasculating. She wasn’t sure if Gabriel would take too kindly to a sixteen year old picking at all the holes in his plans, holding a magnifying glass to his inadequacies.

But she always loved creating fire with glass as a child.

She particularly enjoyed setting unsuspecting ants aflame.

“Getting your hands dirty is beneath you. There’s no doubt your plans are always cunning.”

She nearly gagged at the sound of those words leaving her throat as she slowly approached the designer and his assistant, calculating each step before taking it. No, she really didn’t believe his plans were cunning. It seemed like he akumatized anyone, chucking strategy to the wind. Imbecille.

“Your akumas, they’re always dressed so well--” it took a colossal amount of willpower for Lila not to look away then, a classic sign of lying “--and their powers are always a genius play on words--” double gag “--but unless you’re willing to play in the mud . . .”

Crunch.

The young vixen made a spectacle of rotating her toes back and forth as she squashed the ladybug the duo had so gingerly set on the stone. She relished in the sensation of a dainty beetle beneath her boot, imagining in vivid detail that it was the heroine’s skull instead.

When she lifted her foot, the two adults barely spared a glance at the result. Lila smirked.

“I’m willing to make a mess, sir,” Lila asserted, peering up at Gabriel through her bangs. She twirled and danced on the balls of her feet. “I would be a brilliant addition! I’ve wanted to wipe that smile off Ladybug’s face since I met her.”

For the first time since the beginning of their conversation, Gabriel’s lips tilted into a smile. He looked . . . almost proud. Lila lapped it up like a woman lost in the desert being given a bottle cap of water.

“Your family is from Italy, Lila?”

Lila tilted her head, confused by the abrupt detour in conversation. “. . . Yes.”

“How would you feel about an impromptu family visit?”

Nathalie’s eyes widened. She whipped her head around to stare down her boss so fast she was nearly overcome by dizziness. “You can’t really want--”

Gabriel held up a hand, instantly silencing his assistant. She searched his eyes for any remnants of humanity. Was there any left? Did it slip through her fingers on her watch? Gabriel couldn’t possibly want-- They were children, for God’s sakes!

But like an avalanche, his mask crumbled, and swept away with it was any morsel of decency.

“I do want, Nathalie. I’ve grown bored of this back-and-forth business with those two meddling infants. They hold onto those Miraculous so firmly, as if they could possibly know, possibly fathom--”

He didn’t finish his statement, closing his eyes and rolling his neck. Lila delighted in Gabriel’s sudden slip of conduct as his shoulders hunched all the way to his ears and he grinded his teeth. She hadn’t pictured him to be capable of such an erupting volcano of emotion. She often wondered if he was capable of emotion at all.

“Hand me the tablet, Nathalie.”

Nathalie gripped the tablet until her fingers turned white, but the resolve she saw in Gabriel loosened her own. Grudgingly, she passed him the device.

“There are some items I’d like you to procure for me, items that I surmise you’ll be quite pleased to have in your arsenal.”

Whatever these items were, they seemed to have Nathalie on the edge of her seat.

It was suddenly imperative that Lila find out what could have ruffled Mayura’s pretty feathers.

“Sir, you won’t be disappointed.”

Gabriel eyed Lila a moment before affirming, “I don’t believe I will.”

The final remnants of the golden hour neglected the garden, blanketing its visitors in a foreboding shadow like it was them and then it was the rest of the world. Perhaps this is why they missed the piercing green eyes surveying the trio scrupulously from a neighboring building.

So jealousy was a green-eyed monster.

No one mentioned it also wore black leather.

-----

I hope you're enjoying my little fic as much as I'm enjoying writing it! 🥰 There's still so much to uncover in this story so buckle up. Follow me for updates and check out my Instagram where I post art!

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vegalocity · 3 years

Text

The Interrim-Red Groom AU

So i’m diving backward into the ‘Dont worry about it’ pool after that finale

SO DON’T EVEN WORRY ABOUT IT YOU GUYS WHO’S UP FOR MORE PRINCESS BRIDE AU?

I had to make an entire scene up because for the Story to keep going Princess Bride Style Red Son needed to get fucked over one more time

Soon enough three days time had passed and Red Son was ready to make his escape. Due to the nature of his ruse against the prince he hadn't made any arrangements to set up a forge or workshop for his passions, so he didn't have much by way of equipment to make his escape, and every day the prince asked to join him for at least one meal, wherein he would 'politely' ask over Xiaotian, claiming to want to know a little about the man whom had stolen his groom right out from under him.

He said these things in jest and laughter, but Red Son was no fool and could easily see the flint behind his eyes, ready and willing to twist any information Red Son gave about Xiaotian against him, to try and convince him that his beloved wouldn't take him back. Willing to take whatever details he gave him and put them in some falsified letter of rejection in attempt to make him believe his love wanted him no more, so he wouldn't put up a fight any longer.

So he lied. He spoke of not the Inn that he'd met Xiaotian in, but implied he'd always been the lord of his mountain. How they hadn't been able to be engaged due to his parents having a letter of neutrality between his family and Xiaotian's own, and how he'd had to go on a perilous journey to nullify that arrangement, but they'd believed him dead. He told him Xiaotian favored poetry, and was in fact a gifted shapeshifter, preferring a more human appearance like himself as it made travel far easier when people underestimated you.

The prince had soon grown bored of his prattling, and Red Son found it almost ironic that for once he was not speaking of tinkering and his projects when his conversational partner stopped listening. After those meals scarce as they were, the prince ended up straightening his back primly and claimed he had a meeting of some sort with his macaque general, and left him to his devices.

So now here he was, ready to make his escape.

It took actually took the longest time to try and pare down an outfit from this place so that it would be inconspicuous enough to use for travel, but he'd managed, sneaking some nonperishable food and a spare dagger into his pack for preparation and extra protection had been easy. He just made it seem to the servants that he was still anticipating the response to a letter that was never sent, and eagerly awaiting for a letter that would not exist that stated his return to Xiaotian's mountain was expected, and thus was slowly yet steadily prepping for the journey. The pitying glances he could sense the servants shooting him definitely told that they were aware of the fact that he was being 'tricked'.

But Red Son paid them no mind, after all, he knew the prince was full of lies, and he was going to be gone before the night's end anyway.

But then Red Son was summoned for his usual meal with the prince, and he willed his nerves to freeze over. He couldn't let his plans slip, while he'd long since regained his strength form his injuries in the forest he was only one demon and there was a mountain of servants and guards that would be standing between him and making a break for it if he didn't have stealth on his side.

“Beloved.” The prince greeted him as he entered. “My messengers have returned from their trip.” In three days time? How oblivious did he take him for?

Nonetheless he perked up, did his best to look eager and excited. He was never quite sure if he looked convincing, but he just needed to pretend for a few more hours.

The letter was brought right over to him, and he quickly undid the seal to reveal a message that in no way was written by his love. Though they did a good job at pretending, claiming it was written by 'his mother'—Xiaotian had never spoken of his biological parents, and his adoptive ones were both men, but in his prattling Red Son had invented a mother for his fake backstory—and that she was writing in 'her Son's stead as he was too upset and angry to be able to make a readable response. Going on to say that Xiaotian had returned to 'their mountain' in tears and had sworn that this was one too many cruelties Red Son had delivered him, and that he never wanted to speak to someone so two faced he convinced him twice of their supposed love only to twice have his heart ground into the dirt by him ever again.

It was well phrased, he'd give the prince that. It even stung a little when the supposed 'mother' had regaled that 'Xiaotian' had bitterly given 'his blessing' to his impending marriage. The thought of his love, bitter and betrayed, felt so wrong his heart hurt just at the idea.

But he couldn't let himself linger on that lest he lose his courage.

“This cannot be...” he breathed, hoping beyond all hope his knowledge of the deception read as simply denial.

“Is there something wrong?” The Prince asked around his cup. “Surely your beloved made it home safely.”

“This cannot be...” he didn't know what else to say without possibly giving himself away, so he could only hope that it sounded like shock.

“Beloved?”

He stood, he had to get out of the prince's sight before he failed to properly mask his knowledge.

“This is a lie! She... She never approved of us!” Red Son hoped at least that gave his reaction plausible deniability.

“Didn't you recently just regale to me that Xiaotian's mother loved you as a suitor for her son?” He cursed internally, but before he could scramble to cover the lie the prince continued. “Beloved, I know it must be hard to hear, but we had an agreement. Xiaotian wants no more to repair what he believed you threw away, his mother;s missive reveals as much. You gave me your word that no matter his desire you would respect his choices. Don't be selfish, love.” Red Son would be lying yet more if he claimed that that didn't sting a little.

But he'd get to that bridge when he got to it, so he turned on his heel and stormed from the room. The servants gave him a wide berth as he marched towards his rooms, face fierce but mind preoccupied with escape plans.

So preoccupied in fact he didn't notice a particular shadow following behind him.

Upon reaching his quarters he made sure to scare off any staff that would rat him out and began to scream, his fire coursing and bursting out from his body in waves, scorching the furniture around him and leaving piles of soot to build up atop his shoes. Soon enough the room had enough damage for word of his fury to have been carried to the prince, and the servants far too afraid to make their way in for quite some time. He'd have about an hour of being given a very wide berth before someone came in to check up on him.

Red Son darted for his bed and hidden among the luxurious blankets was his makeshift bag, he double checked the contents inside and nodded to himself when he came to the conclusion that everything was in order. Then he approached the writing desk and reached beneath it. Feeling around for a moment he grinned slightly to himself as he pulled out the small bottle. He'd always gotten praises in potion making, but this wasn't a potion that would make his tutors proud. He didn't NEED any magical properties in it, he just needed it to be flammable.

Which it was.

Just as he went over his plan one more time the shadows in the room seemed to flicker, and Red Son felt strikingly cold despite the amount of fire he'd just unleashed.

“I told him you were more clever than he was expecting out of you.” The voice startling him and nearly causing Red Son to drop the potion in his hands, he scrambled with the glass bottle and turned to the source of the noise.

The Six eared macaque had appeared in his room, how had he gotten in there without him noticing?

“Oh... I uhm...” He didn't have a lie prepared, Red Son's mind raced to try and come up with a plausible excuse but improvisation was never his strong suit, he would so quickly grow flustered and frustrated and usually do himself in so how could he be expected to lie convincingly on first bout?

“Don't waste a perfectly good lie trying to cover up what we both already know.” The macaque stated, a sort of boredom in his voice that made Red Son stiffen. “You know the letter was false, you know what the prince has planned for you.” The macaque took a step forward and Red Son prepared to fight him, but remembered after a beat the fire resistance charm he'd had on his person scant few days ago. He likely had it on him right now.

“I love it, he can't stand it, but I love it... Of course that also means his plans are a complete waste of your talents as far as I'm concerned. If he hadn't planned that whole 'spider queen and her ilk' situation Your lover wouldn't have found out until it was too late, and we probably could have convinced you to go to war if he'd just been a bit more patient.”

“You're talking an awful lot for someone who supposedly is on his side.”

“I'm on MY side, highness.” The macaque said easily. “The Prince is no one to sneeze at, but then again, neither are you. Tell me, should I endorse this little sneak about and help you escape? What would benefit me from not telling the prince about your little explosive and your plans?”

He racked his brain for a moment. “I can tell my parents of your assistance in enabling my escape, they'd no doubt give you the same power you have here, accompanied by my family's resources you'd find yourself with more force behind yourself than you'd know what to do with. Or if I told Xiaotian he could do the same at his own mountain, he's not exactly a nobody either-”

That second part was a mistake, by how the macaque's expression darkened. “Yes I know He's the 'New Monkey King'. Sun Wukong's Body double.” He stated simply. But before Red Son could take it back or just ensure alliance with his own family, he found his arms being restrained. A pair of clones made of shadow clung to his sides and while they dispersed quickly under his fire it was only for a moment.

Then there was a golden glow, and his arms all at once felt very heavy indeed as a cold pair of cuffs—the second set of wrist cuffs that the macaque had shown him- how had he forgotten about those?—activated and forced his wrists together. The magic quickly worked its way through his system again and he felt a cold shudder wrack up his spine.

“Your 'beloved' was quite loose lipped once I got him going on the machine. Don't hold it against him, highness, I haven't met a single man that could hold up against that level of pain.”

for a moment the words didn't process in his head, abut when they did any other thought flew right from his head.

There was only rage.

It was pathetic really, how quickly he'd been apprehended, how his fire had only a moment outside his body before once again being turned back round onto him, and his body—now remembering the pain he could do onto himself—forced his magic to cease. There was no instinctual blaze to shatter the cuffs this time, because he realized as more of the macaque's shadow clones pinned him down, that he didn't believe him.

There was no way that Xiaotian had been this monster's plaything. He had learned whatever it was he'd implied he'd learned through other methods, maybe as simple as recognizing Flower Fruit Mountain and Xiaotian had to explain the situation to him.

But If it was just his own escape the macaque was stopping then wouldn't he have not wasted the time in toying with him like that? Wouldn't he have just told the prince and been done with it? Put the cuffs on him without the monologue? Why would he waste his time in trying to trick Red son into believing him possible to sway?

Unless-

Unless he'd heard about Xiaotian planning on coming back for him himself

He almost wanted to laugh even as the clones forced him back to his feet and the Macaque crushed his liquid fireball in his hand. He was unsure if anything could make him as fearful or angry or whatever feeling it had been to make him break his restraints again as they did back in the forest, but it explained his knowledge of Xiaotian's identity, as well as his anger, and his attempt to trick Red Son. To test to see how far Red Son was willing to go to to defy the prince and follow his own heart.

But that didn't matter.

Xiaotian was coming for him.

It was a bitter medicine to take, to have to once again rely on his love to save him, rendered with naught but his intelligence on his side and left close to defenseless with these stupid cuffs back around his wrists, but He'd make it up to him.

For everything Xiaotian had done for him and how thoroughly Red Son had proved himself unworthy of such devotion, Red Son swore then to himself, that once this was all over, once he and Xiaotian were safe he'd make it all up to him. For every moment for the rest of their shared lives together.

Because when he saw him again he was never letting go.

–

“Captain I've heard rumors that the Monkey King is planning on killing my groom.’”

“My prince I've heard no such rumors-”

“Are you implying my spymaster lies to me?”

“Of- of course not my prince! What must be done to protect your groom before the wedding?”

“I'm currently having my beloved moved to a safer, more secure room in the palace to ensure no harm shall befall him before the wedding date, and we're moving the wedding itself up a few days. Go to the village and nearby forest, and the closest town, and round up all with former criminal histories. I want every possible hired gun behind bars by the time of my wedding in three days time.”

“Three days time your highness? Such a feat would require more men than we have at our disposal at the moment-”

“Then form a brute squad! You have my clearance! I want my prince safe from all harm! If He dies, then we'll have no choice but to go to war and we lack the men for such an insurgence against the Monkey King! I would have to go to his parents begging for assistance and that is not a bar I am willing to lower myself to!”

“Yes your highness!”

“Go! Waste no time!”

“Of course!”

–

Xiaojiao stared into the bottom of the jug of wine. Drained, just like all the others.

Her head was pleasantly fuzzy and the wine in her blood buzzed comfortably. It was a familiar state, she wasn't dependent on intoxication, but when she was at her lowest she would often find solace in the buzzed pleasantness of a good bender. Because here she was again.

No work, no leads, no friends.

Spider Queen had told her if they got separated that she should go back to where 'it started' i.e. The inn they'd gotten the job at. So she'd rented a room, and spent the next few days waiting, and when it became clear neither the Spider Queen, nor even Sandy were turning up, when Xiaojiao was made aware that she was well and truly alone, she blew most of her money on as much wine as she could get her hands on and began to chug.

She felt much like the scared twelve year old she once was, clinging to the handle of the Jade Sword and telling herself it didn't matter how terrified she was, as she HAD to fight. Her scar twinged at the memory.

At least no one would sell wine to a twelve year old. She didn't USED to be this pathetic when she was lonely and sad and on the verge of despair. She used to have other avenues to vent it all when it became too much.

Someone could storm right in right now with news on finding the Six Eared Macaque and Xiaojiao couldn't even be sure if she'd believe them for how despondent she felt.

“Long Xiaojiao?” A voice broke her reverie. Xiaojiao blinked blearily up at the tough looking fellow before her.

“Who wants to know?” she slurred.

“You've been arrested twice for assault and once for theft, as a security precaution all with criminal records are behind detained for the next three days by order of the prince.”

She scoffed. “I'd like to see you try, buddy.” Her fingers felt heavy but she lifted the sword easily.

Her form was off, her limbs felt loose and limp, but she still held her own against the brute's clumsy axe swings. It would be pathetic to lose to this chump.

But before the fight could be solved one way or another, a pair of blue hands wrapped around the brute's torso and lifted him into the air.

And Xiaojiao was met with a very familiar (if blurry through her impaired vision) red bearded smile.

“Sandy!”

“Xiaojiao! So nice to see you again!” Sandy set the brute down but kept hold of his torso. “This is the friend I told you about captain, she's far more dangerous alone than she is with me. I'll keep her out of trouble, I can promise you that!”

She loved watching Sandy loom. The aura around him making anyone who didn't know him reel back as every alarm in their brains fired off danger signs. His pleasant grin and tone didn't change but to the people around them that was more frightening than before.

“Just mark her name right off there and I can handle the rest!” Sandy chirped and the shaking brute did just that, stiffly turning and marching out of the inn.

“Sandy you old bastard.” She cooed delightedly as Sandy shifted his focus back onto her and she felt the cool blue hands wrap around her own torso before she was pulled into a hug.

“You smell like wine, Are you okay, Xiaojiao you don't drink unless...-” Sandy shot her a far too knowing look.

“I've been better buddy, I'll admit.”

“Well, If it helps I've heard a lot of rumors and seen a lot of things as part of this little 'brute squad' some things that might interest you.”

“Hm?” She leaned into Sandy's embrace, her friend really gave the absolute best hugs.

“I think I found the Six Eared Macaque.”

Xiaojiao wasn't sure if it was disbelief, shock, sudden crashing cresting hope, or just the wine, but she suddenly got very dizzy.

And then everything went black.

#Monkie kid #LMK #Princess Bride AU #Red groom AU #MK Red Son #Six eared macaque #Long Xiaojiao #MK Sandy #Vega writes stories too #-shuffling Season 2 thoughts under the rug-#it's fine it's fine who wants some princess bride as a distraction?#it's fine it's fine #spicynoodleshipping

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aria-i-adagio · 3 years

Text

Fandom: Dragon Age

Ship: Dorian x m!Trevelyan

Rating: T

read on A03 or below

(title from REM, 'Imitation of Life')

Meanwhile, in Haven.

Rhys has a list of sights he does not want to see as he’s dying. At the top (and a recent addition) are hurlocks - those are some ugly motherfuckers, and he suspects that they enjoy making death hurt. Most varieties of demons; although, perhaps a desire demon might not be too bad. Granted, he doesn’t know if the illusions they cast last up to the point of death, or if those are only good while being possessed. That might change the calculus a bit. One of the red lyrium crystal monsters the Templars were turning themselves into. A bear. He definitely does not want to see a bear while he’s dying.

As final sights go, the implosion of the Breach as the thing in his hand stitches the Veil back together isn’t a bad one. The outer edges turn magenta, then blue-violet. The cooler colors rush to the center, swirl together, drawing inward until there’s just a speck of black, more liquid than the darkest night. Then bright, morning sunlight pulses like a heartbeat from that center.

Rhys lets go of the breath he was holding. He thinks it worked, thinks the Breach is closed. It feels powerful enough - a wave of magic like fire and lightning pouring through him, in and out, like breathing in harsh, herbal smoke that messes with his head and makes the world swim, and at least, in his case, despite many promises to the contrary never makes him as sleepy as it just makes him keyed up and in want a good fuck.

The shockwave following the pulse of white light picks him up off his feet and sends him hurtling through the air and slamming him like a ragdoll into rocks and ice around Haven.

Still, the light is damned pretty. Until it fades.

He hears Dorian's voice through the ringing in his ears. “Rhys! Thank the Maker.”

Rhys hopes that he isn’t dead because if he is that implies that Dorian is dead too, and that would rather sad. The world needs Dorian smiling and making catty jokes. There’s been too much melancholy and death over the past few months. Rhys is getting tired of all the omens of doom and gloom.

There’s another little gap in time before his head recovers enough to remember how to open his eyes. When he does, Cassandra’s upside-down face greets him. Dorian's would have been a prettier sight, but there's something comfortingly familiar about seeing Cassie first thing after realizing that - despite there being every reason for him to be - he is not, in fact, dead.

Rhys's vision still spins, and his left arm feels like it’s burning from the inside out. Yes, he’s been here before. Best just to let go, disconnect from it, float a little bit. “Are you going to yell at me again?”

“What?” Cassie’s dark brows pull low over her eyes. “No!”

“Too bad. You’re kinda attractive when you look like you’re about to commit murder.”

“Herald!”

Cassie sounds scandalized. Rhys manages a grin. Not that scandalizing Cassie actually takes that much effort. Makes her easy to tease. Something to distract him from how much he’s hurting at the moment because pretending that the waves of pain radiating from his arm are the ocean doesn’t actually work very well. Maybe it’s because he hasn’t been in the ocean since he was a small child. The memory of floating in warm waves until they send you tumbling into rough sand isn’t fresh enough.

“Keep talking like that, Lucky, and you might yet manage to die tonight.”

“Hey, Varric.” Rhys tries to lift his head and the bastard offspring of fire and electricity shoots from his shoulder to neck and then down his spine. The muscles in his back spasm and his head hits the ground beneath him, blacking out his vision for another moment and sending the ringing in his ears a pitch higher. “Did it work?” he asks groggily.

“You did good, kid.”

“So it -”

“The Breach is sealed, Rhys.” Solas’s calm voice is reassuring to hear. “Try not to move, this will hurt more before it hurts less.”

“That story -” He means to say ‘again,’ but Cassandra grabs his shoulders very firmly and maybe he shouldn't waste breath on quips.

“Dorian, be ready.” Solas does something, and that something rips the fire out of his left arm, which is - as promised - worse than just letting it settle in like some magical, fatal addition to the marrow.

“Motherfucking, son of a bitch, what in the name of Andraste's flaming arse -”

“Language.” Cassie lets go of his shoulders and reprimands him with a light cuff on the side of his head. “Oh let the kid blaspheme a bit, Seeker. He's earned it.”

Rhys sits up and rubs his hand. Above him, the sky is still marked by a line of bright green, but it’s a seam in the darkness, not a whirling, pulsating storm. His arm doesn't hurt now, but there's the same fuzzy numb wrongness in his wrist and palm that he's gotten used to over the past few months. That's on a good day.

Solas arches his eyebrows and looks amused. “You know I do very little in the name of Andraste's arse, flaming or not.”

“Whatever your reason -” Rhys experimentally stretches out his left arm and reaches across his chest to rub his shoulder. It’s still aching, but just the banal ache of falling a bit too hard. “Thank you."

Nearby Dorian finishes casting with an elegant - and probably unnecessary - flourish of his elegant hands. One of the trees beside the Chantry behind to glow with the green of a Veil Rift, then warming to a color closer to chartreuse.

“What is that?”

“You absorbed a lot of energy while closing the Breach. I siphoned off what I could at the time. But still, far more than a human body is supposed can contain and remain alive.”

“Right.” Movement of energy had been his theory for some time. Massive amounts of magic were required to open or close a rift in the Veil, and something had to serve as a conduit. Whatever happened at the Conclave had left him as that conduit, but each time he felt the power come closer to burning through the bonds that held him together, made him human. Which was precisely why there was a stack of farewell letters sitting on the desk in Rhys's quarters. He hadn’t expected to live through whatever it took to close the Breach.

“Dorian and I pulled off some of what remained and redirected it. It's a rather beautiful effect, albeit transient.”

The tree turns to a brilliant brilliant gold and then quivers and collapses into a pile of shimmering dust. Rhys swallows hard. Not expecting to live isn’t quite the same as getting a glimpse of how you would have died. Or maybe a human body was messier than a tree. Typically were less graceful than plants. “I see.”

“Right then. Let's get you freshened up and then get some liquor in you.” Dorian grabs his forearms and hauls him to his feet. Face to face with the other mage, Rhys feels transparent. Like a plane of glass that can't hide fears and flaws. It's terrifying. Electrifying. “Everyone else has already started the party.”

Even nearly nose to nose with Dorian, Rhys still can't tame the small voice in the back of his head that says he's reading Dorian all wrong, that the man is just friendly, that there's certainly no way someone so beautiful and refined would be interested in a mudlark.

He hopes that voice is just being stupid.

Dorian slips him a flask of brandy as they walk away. Rhys flips the cap off and sips gratefully from it. His legs feel loose, off-balance, like he’s drunk already, and he suspects he would be staggering but for Dorian’s arm around his waist. The linen undergarments beneath his leather coat and woolen sweater are soaked with sweat and chilly even beneath the layers; he’s content enough to let Dorian drag him to the small cabin he’d been given. Really, actually, it is too much for a single person, much bigger than the room he had at Ostwick. And frankly, far too cold with only a single person’s body heat in the space at night.

He stumbles past the partition to the room in the back, trying to decide if he’d rather fall face-first onto the bed, or dig out a new base layer and go enjoy the party he can hear the rest of the Inquisition beginning outside. Leliana and Josephine will probably show up if he chooses the latter and drag him back out with a lecture on keeping up appearances and rallying the people. They might even be right.

Maker, he hopes his part in all this is over. Let Cassandra and Leliana continue trying to remake all of Thedas. He just wants to go home. If he has a home to go to.

“Oh look at this!” Dorian exclaims from the front. “Antivan red. And a halfway decent vintage. You’ve been holding out on me, Rhys.”

“Talk to Josie.” Rhys undoes the buttons down the front of his coat. Too many buttons, especially with hands that are stiff from the cold and shaking from an overdose of magic. He tosses it over the foot of the bed and takes off his sweater. He’s rather fond of the sweater actually, it’s nice and warm and the good kind of scratchy. The kind that kept you in the present place and time. “She’s not lying about her family connections.”

“Not sure she likes me. Yet. She’ll come around.”

“I’m sure she will.” Rhys smiles a little and cautiously - sometimes he has to recalibrate just how much magic to use after closing a Rift - casts a spell to melt the ice on the pitcher of water. Closing the Breach hadn’t done anything to improve Haven’s climate. Maker, why do people choose to live here? He splashes still chilly water over his face and leans his hands against the table, trying not to yawn so hard that his jaw cracks off.

His linen shirt is soaked to his skin; he has to virtually peel it off. It gets tossed to the floor, something that can be dealt with later and by someone else. He soaks a bit of toweling at rubs it over his chest and shoulders, glancing behind him, at least somewhat hoping that Dorian is surreptitiously peering around the partition.

He isn't. He’s turned away from the opening in the partition - polite, Rhys supposes - holding the stack of letters in his hands and shuffling through them. “Rhys. What are these?”

“Just... I need to burn those. They were just in case, well, you know, this wasn't exactly the guaranteed outcome.” He didn’t even know if half the people he had addressed them to were still alive, much less where to find them, but he assumed that Leliana would be able to figure that out if she needed to.

“How late were you up writing them?”

All night. “A while.”

“You were sitting here last night, by yourself, writing these because you thought you might die - Rhys, why didn't you say anything? You didn't have to sit in here drinking and contemplating death alone.”

“I thought the chance closing the Breach would kill was generally understood.” Just the kind of thing that no one talks about in polite society. Rhys combs his fingers through his hair and tries to put it into something akin to order and not just hanging unattractively lank around his face. Kind. Dorian might have a vicious tongue in his head, but he’s also kind when he wants to be. “Open the bottle if you want. If I was saving it for a special occasion, I think this qualifies.”

Rhys sits on the edge of the bed and undoes the buckles down the sides of his boots, tugging them off and rolling down the first of three pairs of socks. The other two are tucked under his trousers. Clean socks will be nice. He gets his trousers off - tight leather is really annoying. Decent armor. A good look on him too - even he can recognize that. But annoying to get on and off.

He finishes washing up quickly and dresses again, listening as Dorian pops the cork out of the bottle and the sound of wine being poured. Hopefully, it’s a decent vintage. He’d hate to disappoint.

Dorian is sitting in one of the chairs with his feet propped up on the desk. Rhys does it all the time himself; it’s a bizarrely satisfying act of delayed rebellion against the librarians who scolded him for doing the same thing in the Circle. The letters have been set aside in a much tidier stack than the one in which he had left them. He pulls the second chair out from the desk, sits down, and picks up the wine glass that Dorian isn’t twirling in his elegant hands.

Dorian stops him as he raises the glass to his lips. “Don’t drink it yet, silly. A red needs to breathe.”

“Right. Yes. Anyway, thanks. For saving my life back there. What is that, like the fiftieth time.”

Dorian raises his eyebrows, smiling over the cup in his hand. “Bad form to let someone die. Especially someone you rather -”

Bells begin clanging outside, interrupting whatever Dorian was about to say. He swings his feet from the desk to the floor and sets the cup violently down on the table. “Oh, Andraste’s quaking quim, what now?”

Rhys grins. “You’re getting as bad as a Ferelden.” Even if the bells are unlikely to signify anything good, he can enjoy a little humor.

“Worse, I think.” Dorian throws back the cup of wine as he gets up from the table, and Rhys follows suit. Yes. It is a more than decent vintage even without enough time to breathe, and he grabs the bottle as Dorian pushes the door open because whatever is about to happen will probably merit alcohol. Cullen is standing outside, still in full armor and fur and with the grim expression that Haven seems to have frozen on his features.

“We’re under attack. Grab your staves. Meet me at the gate.”

“Void take it.” Dorian takes the bottle from him and drinks. “Come on, Rhys. Looks like fate hasn’t given up fucking with us yet.”

Well, fuck.

#dragon age inquisition #dorian x trevelyan #dorian pavus #dragon age fanfiction #trevelyan #pavelyan

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moonah-rose · 3 years

Text

Defrosting Grumpy Three (a Season 8 meta)

I keep thinking about how Season 8 of Classic Who is almost like the first one the show has to a ‘season long arc’ that I don’t feel gets talked about enough. Obviously everyone knows it as “the one where the Master is in every story” but I feel like there is a subtle character arc for the Doctor in this season as well which is tied to the two main characters introduced in the first episode; the Master and Jo Grant.

I’m not the first one to point out that out of Three’s five seasons; this is the one where he’s at his most grumpy and short-tempered. I know a lot of people point to this season as reasons for why they don’t like Three and I totally get that, he’s a real git sometimes, in particular the first and last stories. There are moments where he’s asking for a slap and, no, I’m not talking about him claiming to be buddies with Chairman Mao and a Tory MP. Because I would’ve thought it was obvious that he drops those names purely to gain trust of these people who don’t trust him (at least that’s my headcanon because it doesn’t fit with the anti-capitalist, anti-pollution, anti-imperialist writing). Just him being constantly ungrateful to the Brigadier, snapping at Jo, or just being childish in the most ‘kid throwing a tantrum’ way possible.

But it’s easy to get why. By Season 8 he’s been trapped on Earth for we can assume at least a year. New Who fans who’ve seen the Power of Three and saw how crazy Eleven went when he tried to stay on Earth to study the cubes just for a few days/weeks know the Doctor can’t stand staying still, especially in one time and place. In his first season he could be short-tempered but slightly less so. In Spearhead he’s quite polite and motivated, though that could be the most pleasant form of Post Regeneration Trauma he’s been through. Plus he had Liz, who you can see he immediately clicked with. A fellow genius who finds herself out of place or treated a little unfairly as a female scientist surrounded by men, both of them willing to sass the Brigadier when he deserves it. He also still keeps trying to fix the TARDIS, as if convinced this won’t be as permanent as the Time Lords intended.

But by Season 8 (or you could say even before that, in Inferno) his attempts clearly haven’t succeeded past slipping into a terrifying parallel universe, and now cabin fever is setting in. And Liz, his science bud, has gone off and left. And while it’s sad we didn’t get a goodbye between the two of them, her passing remark towards the Brigadier about the Doctor just needing someone to pass him test tubes and fill his praise kink maybe implies that, at least from Liz’ POV, they weren’t as equals as Three thought, or she didn’t feel that fulfilled working with him, even if she did appreciate him as a friend.

So enter Jo to replace Liz, who is everything Liz wasn’t. Liz had to study and work her way to her position; Jo is a spoiled girl who got to play spy by sheer nepotism. She failed A level science and doesn’t have the same sharp-wit he and Liz shared. Three is mean to her even before she introduces herself as his assistant when she only tries to help, and doesn’t hide his disappointment when she tells him. Perhaps it might also be that she reminds him of his companions before Liz; she’s cute and perky like Zoe and also loyal and determined like Jamie, even though she lacks Jamie’s physical strength and Zoe’s genius. Still, she’s young and he might not want to put her in danger the same way he nearly lost his previous young companions many times in the War Games.

When Three goes to the Brigadier to try to get rid of Jo, the Brig is far more smug than in the previous season, as he seems to have worked the Doctor out by this point. Their little moment at the end of Inferno where Three insults him and tries to escape only to then come back with his tail between his legs acting all buddy has shown him who Three really is; that this whole grumpy shtick of this is just a defence mechanism while he’s so out of his depth. I like to think the Brig hoped Jo would soften him up, to bring out the compassion that was more overt in his previous incarnation, as well as just pass him test tubes and keep tabs on him. His knowing smile when he watches Three try and fail miserably to fire her seems to prove his point.

In the same story we also have the Master showing up for the very first time. He was created to be the ‘Moriarty to the Doctor’s Holmes’. These kind of ‘foil enemies’ that pop up in so many stories, where you have a villain who is supposed to be a perfect match in intelligence or skill to the hero, are more often than not presented as ‘what the hero could have been’ if they chose to be evil rather than good; the Master is no different. And even though it’s not established until the next season that the Doctor and Master used to be friends, there’s clearly an underlining fondness in their banter which hints at past feelings as well as mutual respect. It says quite a lot that Three is more relaxed and friendly during his conversations with the Master half the time they talk than he is with the humans he’s meant to be saving, or even his own close friends. Because, for all their moral disagreements, the Master is his own kind and his only link - other than his broken TARDIS - to the rest of the Universe.

In almost every story of S8, after the Master has revealed his evil scheme only for the Doctor to point out how it will backfire on him, they have to work together or form some kind of alliance of convenience. In Claws of Axos, the Doctor outright pretends to betray his friends and elope join forces with the Master to escape, only for it to be a trick in order to defeat the Axons. But considering Three’s attitude in this season, it’s a very convincing act as much to the audience as to the humans. And then in Colony in Space, the Master offers the Doctor half-ownership of the Universe....and the Doctor clearly hesitates! Yes, the Master tempts him with the persuasion of ruling ‘in the name of good’ but Three has to take a moment to remember what a slippery slope that line of thinking is. He’s so tired of being trapped, sick of being leashed by the Time Lords, that the Master comes along as a devil on his shoulder at his most vulnerable point. Considering the last story involves the Master summoning the actual Devil (or close enough) and is also where Three’s temper seems to be at its peak seems all too fitting.

It’s also interesting that the Master’s greatest fear that appears in the Mind of Evil is an image of the Doctor laughing maniacally over him. It’s the closest we get to an image of Dark!Three in the show. To contrast; the Doctor’s greatest fear isn’t the Master, it’s the eruption from Inferno. Seeing the Earth swallowed by flame - not because of an outside force like the Daleks or Cybermen, but by humans themselves. It’s easy to imagine him wondering why he even bothers with them when they’re their own worst enemy.

(Side note; apparently the Evil Overlord in the Inferno parallel world IS the Third Doctor, according to the Expanded Universe, though I haven’t read up on this. We were robbed of seeing Pertwee play an evil Doctor.)

So while this is going on and the Master is playing his games with the Doctor while also tempting him, intentionally or not, to the ‘dark side’, we also have Jo at his side. And Jo takes all of the Doctor’s snapping and mood swings like a pro, and is very quickly overwhelmed with a lot of the stuff she’s faced which that she didn’t know she was signing up for - being hypnotised, captured by aliens, taken to alien worlds in the far future etc. She screams as most companions did at that time, but because it is what you would expect from a girl fresh out of school and throwing herself into something she clearly didn’t properly prepare for. The Doctor has to save her a lot, more than often because she tried to help only to get herself captured. As much as he does warm to her - because he’s not immune to how adorable she is - it serves to prove his point. Even when he finally gets to leave Earth for a day, she’s too frightened to want to leave the TARDIS. What good is she to him?

Now she continues to prove she has her uses. She has her escapology skills which get them out of a few tight spots. Depending on the writer, she can turn into an Emma Peel-esque agent capable of self-defence and subterfuge. And she’s always patient with the Doctor, no matter what mood he’s in, and extremely loyal. She’s also kind and compassionate with every side character she comes across. There seems to have been a backlash to these kinds of qualities in female characters in the past twenty years or so, what I like to call the Cinderella critique, where if a woman is kind and generous more so than smart, sassy and sword-wielding she’s seen as ‘weak’. Jo is always there at the Doctor’s side when he’s managed to get hurt or knocked out (Three took a lot of naps, anyone else notice this?). Even after he does whisk her away to another planet and nearly don’t make it back, she could easily throw her job away if it was too much, but she sticks with it because you can see that she wants more than anything to be useful and do good for her world - it would be another two season until she found what her own passion was with being an environmental activist but this is where she wants to start.

But it’s not until the end of S8 that we see Jo’s greatest strength and how it saves Three when every other defence he had was gone. He’s spent most of that story chastising her for believing in magic and superstition, as well as anything else he can find to snap at her for like criticising the Brigadier even though he does the same thing all the damn time (this could be seen as a ‘I can insult my bro but you can’t’ moment but it’s still not pleasant). But when he learns the Master is preparing to sacrifice her, he runs in to save her despite knowing it’s a suicide mission. He also gives a cold exchange to the Master when told he’s a ‘doomed man’.

Oh I’m a dead man! I knew that as soon as I walked through those doors so you better watch out! I have nothing to lose, do I?

It’s a telling line that, behind all his patronising and abruptness, he’s reached a point he doesn’t feel he has anything left to keep going. He’s lost his freedom and his knowledge of time travel; but he’ll die before letting Jo die or letting the Earth burn again. When Azal claims the daemons gave humans knowledge, Three responds: Finally he’s turning his anger on the one who deserves it to save the one who has been his friend, even at his lowest points, for the past several months, while still showing his disappointment in what he’s seen of humans living amongst them:

You gave them knowledge to blow up the world and they most certainly will. They can poison the water and the very air they breathe.

When Azal appears, he nearly makes the Master’s greatest fear come true by offering his power to the Doctor instead. And the Doctor looks horrified, immediately doing a Jon Snow and refusing it. Unlike when the Master offered him power before, he doesn’t hesitate for a moment, even though Azal’s powers could probably get his TARDIS working again in a snap. He looks almost scared at the thought of possessing something like that. Perhaps his dark persona in that other world became that way because he did take such an offer?

Azal prepares to kill the Doctor for refusing his offer, which is where Jo saves the day by offering her life for his. A lot of people dislike this ending for the idea of the villain being destroyed ‘by the power of love’ more or less, but this was a lot less common a deus ex machina as it is in New Who. The Doctor explains how it works when they’re free as:

Azal could not accept a fact as irrational and illogical as Jo being prepared to give up her life for me.

Three says it as he’s just as baffled, if also amused, by it as Azal was. Why would Jo give up her life for him? Compare that with when Ten has to give up his incarnation to save Wilf, how he rants that Wilf isn’t important but he has ‘so much more’ to give. Even the Doctor wrestles when it comes to sacrificing himself for others sometimes but Jo did it without a seconds thought, made even more illogical given Three’s often harsh treatment of her. But one thing that is obvious is that Three’s grumpy face is gone; he’s smiling for the rest of the episode, looking at Jo with quiet heart eyes, and letting her drag him into the maypole dance, conceding that she was right and there is ‘magic’ in the world.

Much like Rose was the companion Nine needed after the Time War to enjoy seeing the Universe again and appreciating life, Jo serves a similar purpose in S8 in that she gradually reminds the Doctor through her actions of the strengths in being brave, kind and selfless. She and the rest of the UNIT family are there to remind him of the goodness in humanity and that we’re always learning and trying to improve; as Three says to Azal that ‘they need a chance to grow up’. Jo is the angel on his shoulder to contrast the Master as his personal devil; right down to having her dressed in the sacrificial ‘virgin’ garb opposite the Satanic Master to cap the season off.

Three still has his sour moments after this but he’s far less cantankerous going forward and sweeter towards Jo especially, praising her bravery and learning in future, just as Jo also grows more confident in her abilities and enjoys her adventures with him. He seems far more relaxed on Earth and less desperate to get away because of the people he has around him that make it worth staying around for. Three’s morals and loyalty to humanity might not have been so firm had Jo not been there to ground him, especially with the Master constantly there almost holding out a hand to him offering freedom and excitement. Like all good companions, she saves the Doctor as much as he has to save her, in more ways than one, which she doesn’t get nearly enough credit for. And it’s what adds to the heartbreak of her eventual exit because of the effect she had on his life.

It’s just one of my favorite tropes when a character gets better and softens or becomes kinder not because they had to ‘change for someone else’ but because they were inspired by them, especially if it’s the person they underestimated the most.

#it's about found family yo #classic who meta #doctor who #third doctor #jo grant #three x jo #the master #unit era

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hoodedicequeen · 3 years

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Rewritten 3 - Helene x Avitas

There will be a Helvitas happy ending - it’s just a little... misleading

This fic contains an excerpt from one of my previous fics.

***

Helene Aquilla could rely on only one soul to push her through the aftermath of the war. She had no one left but two friends who valued each other far more than her, an infant who could barely walk, let alone console her, and him.

Musa of Adisa’s friendship was the only thing that held together the thin strands of willpower she had left. Not her will to serve the Empire; she had that in copious amounts, but her will to live.

She spent much of her spare time with him, riding through the countryside, laughing in the moonlight, reminiscing over the lost. Musa never allowed her to forget those she had loved. He urged her instead to think of all that they had brought to the world, the fire that they had ignited within her that raged on still, alive and strong. His view of the world gave her hope, his friendship slowly remaking her. And yet, it never seemed to be quite enough.

After dancing with him at the Moon Festival, she felt that it should be something more.

As the two of them strolled through the palace gardens weeks after the occasion, Helene stopped abruptly, meriting a questioning glance from the Beekeeper.

“Do you ever regret loving her?”

Musa’s expression grew pained. “I will never regret loving her. I only regret not loving her enough.”

Helene placed a tentative hand on his shoulder, remembering their conversation from a year before; shortly after they had taken back Antium. You will regret it for all your years. She understood him now. Understood him so clearly it hurt. “I never want to make that mistake again.”

Musa turned to face her, grabbing her hand in his. His smile was more beautiful and true than any of the ones he’d offered her before. “What are you implying, Empress?” He stepped closer to her.

Their lips were suddenly just a hairsbreadth apart. She could feel his breath mingling with hers.

“You are a bleeding idiot,” she said, closing that miniscule distance, and crossing an endless sea of emotions and doubts in the process.

***

Avitas Harper was dead. He knew it with utmost certainty and acceptance. No one could have survived such an injury as the one that had been inflicted upon him. No healer nor singer could have altered his fate. Yet he wasn’t in the Waiting Place, and he certainly wasn’t on the other side.

An odd figure lingered by his head, barely visible, as if it were a reflection of a reflection. Almost nothing at all. The figure disappeared a second later, and then reappeared, slightly more solid than before.

“I am Rehmat.”

Rehmat. The jinn queen who lived inside Laia. But what was she doing with him, in death?

“You are not dead, child. You are being given a choice.” Rehmat’s voice was as faint as her form. “In death, awaits your mother and father. Your lost comrades in arms. In life, awaits Helene Aquilla.”

Harper stared at Rehmat disbelievingly. “Why are you here? You should be with Laia. You should be aiding her in battle.”

“Most of my power lies with her. But a small fragment, activated a year ago when you defied the Nightbringer, lies within you still. I am a projection of that fragment.”

Rehmat immerses him in the memory:

“Set her down, Captain.” He enters Helene’s quarters, and the Nightbringer gestures to her bed. “And then leave.” He settles her onto the bed. He tries to do so carefully, but her grimace displays that he could not prevent an inevitable strain from falling upon her wound. The expression pains him deeply. He backs away. “I will not leave her,” he says. He straightens and looks the Nightbringer in the face without flinching.

The moment seemed like so long ago, and yet he remembered it clearly. He could recall every detail of every moment he’d shared with Helene, good and bad. His choice between life and death, between Helene and whatever lay on the other side, had been made from the moment Rehmat proposed it.

“If what you say is true, then I can go back to her.” He felt like crying out in joy.

“Yes. But as I said, you carry only a fragment of my power. The withdrawal process from your current middle state will take time. Months. Up to a year. But if you wish to return to life, I will send you directly to Helene Aquilla.”

“Yes.” Avitas had never been so sure about anything ever before. Well, except for his love for Helene. “Please give her back to me. I wish for nothing more. I will wish for nothing more for the rest of my existence.”

“Humans have never been wantless creatures.” Rehmat chuckled darkly.

“Goodbye, Avitas Harper.”

***

Harper awoke suddenly to find himself standing in the palace gardens of Antium.

Further down the garden path stood two figures - lovers - sharing an embrace. Musa, and a woman who bore a striking resemblance to Helene. The way her body curved, the color of her hair, the gentle clash of beauty and ferocity in her form, features he knew and loved with utmost clarity. But Helene would never fall for Musa’s shallow charms, his obviously fake smiles.

Avitas had never thought of Musa as a bad person, but quite suddenly, the man’s very existence irritated him.

It was then that he realized that he was deluding himself. That it was, indeed, Helene who stood with Musa.

Harper knew he should be nothing short of grateful that Helene had found love, that she was happy. But all he felt then was a heart-wrenching sorrow.

Had Helene moved on days after he had gone into the middle state, or had it been weeks? Months? He knew that she had loved him, that he loved her, but it was possible that her love had been born simply from the desperation of war, a need for companionship. He could clearly see that she was no longer burdened by that need.

If he interfered, and Helene did have lingering feelings for him, he would hurt both her and Musa. And if her love for him was naught, then he could only hurt himself.

Harper turned away and began walking out of the garden.

Humans have never been wantless creatures.

Rehmat was right. For though he had been given another chance at life, though he had gotten to see the woman he loved, he still wanted more.

***

Helene removed her lips from Musa’s at the sound of leaves rustling behind her. There had been no winds, not even the slightest of breezes.

She regarded Musa’s hurt expression for only a split second before turning and bounding silently towards the intruder. He was a fool if he thought he’d be able to assassinate her that easily.

It was only when she’d tackled him to the ground and held a knife to his throat that she realized that his back had been turned to her, that he had not seemed to have any intention to harm her at all.

It was but a moment later that she realized who he was.

“Av- Avitas?”

“Helene.” He allowed himself a weak smile, his eyes, for once, revealing everything that he felt.

“No. Avitas Harper is dead.” She pressed her knife to his throat; he made no attempt to resist her. “What are you?”

“Emifal Firdaant, Shrike.”

No unholy fey creature could possibly know of the words they’d shared. She had whispered them to Harper and Harper alone. And he had whispered them back to her with his dying breath.

“But I saw you....” No. She didn’t care what she had seen. Avitas was here. Her Avitas.

She kissed him. Kissed him with all of the pain she’d felt in losing him. Kissed him with the passion of all the kisses they should have shared in the past year.

But he didn’t kiss her back.

And when she followed his gaze to Musa, to the Beekeper’s pain at the thought of all that could have been had Harper not returned, she understood.

“Musa...” She understood, and still, she could do nothing.

The Beekeper walked away.

***

The next morning, a small scroll appeared in the palm of Helene’s hand. She saw but a glimmer of wings upon receiving it.

Consider your favor to me fulfilled, as you have granted me a six month leave to Adisa to assist with rebuilding. Spend time with Avitas Harper. If I was given a second chance with Nikla, I would let nothing get in my way. I know you are a much better person than I, and would not be so eager as to do so. Therefore I am removing myself from your path. Best wishes.

***

Musa,

I doubt I will ever be able to thank you enough for all you have done for me over the past year. Your hope, your kindness, and your irritating disposition are signs that the Skies have yet to completely condemn me. You deserve all the happiness in all the worlds, and we both know that it does not lie with me. You deserve much more than to be an unwilling Empress’s second choice. But our time together was much too short, and I desperately wish that we can remain friends. I will be damned by the ten bleeding hells if you run away forever without so much as a goodbye.

Empress Regent,

Helene Aquilla

***

Upon the completion of her letter, Helene began wandering the palace in search of Harper.

She found him in the baths.

“Where is Musa? Why are you here?” His expression gave away nothing. But his eyes - they told a story all their own. They were laced with unending desire, and an equally deep abyss of sorrow.

Instead of giving him an explanation, she found herself pulling her hair free of its crown and stepping towards him ever so slowly. “You know why I’m here.”

The words were an echo. The start to a conversation they’d had there before.

“But I need you to say it. Please.”

“I’m here because it’s been a year since you’ve kissed me, since you’ve held me, since I’ve seen you at all. And when I saw the light fade from your eyes, I knew that I’d never love the same way again.”

“Helene.” He stepped closer, and whispered her name in her ear. He whispered it again and again, falling into sobs as he did, for he had thought that what they were starting would never be possible again.

She replied with his name, a mere breath falling from her lips. Filled with sorrow and endless joy alike.

“Avitas.”

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fanfalc-616 · 3 years

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The Rights Of A Nindroid

Chapter Thirty-One: Colors

(Previous Chapter Here)

Wow I posted a chapter yesterday and didn’t even get yelled at you guys really are giving up huh-

Original glances around the room. It’s been left alone for a while, but it wasn’t given any instructions or orders, so for now all it can do is… stand there. Maybe it’s some kind of test, but the lack of a task is making it increasingly uncomfortable.

Still, it doesn’t dare move, staying absolutely motionless as it stares blankly ahead.

Eventually, it finds its focus wandering, unable to prevent itself from thinking of something other than the empty room. Unfortunately, it seems to have been built to have constant stimulation, so it has a difficult time with a lack of it.

Almost against its will, it finds itself trying to think back, back to before the facility. It knows it’s not supposed to, but with nothing to occupy it, there’s not much else it’s able to do.

It can remember… colors. Colors, and important things about them.

Red is fire. Hot-tempered and dangerous, but only to those who are unfamiliar with it. Red is a dangerous enemy to those against it, but a powerful friend to the ones it trusts.

Blue is electric. Like the power that runs through Original’s systems, it’s constantly in motion, always brimming with excitement or another strong feeling. Blue is pure, bright, and alive.

Black is sturdy. It’s a solid constant, something that can always be relied on, a grounding force in a chaotic world. Black is loyal and unwavering, consistently proving that it’s trustworthy.

And then there’s white. White is… cold. But not unfeeling like that would imply. It’s calm, friendly, helpful. It’s valuable, cared for. It’s important. It’s loved. It’s… it’s everything Original wishes it could be.

Ignoring the odd programmed response that shows up at the thought, it tries to remember if there are others. It thinks there’s… green, maybe. Green and… cyan? Those colors are important too, but the other three somehow seem more… personal.

With a start, Original pushes those thoughts away. Personal? No, that implies that it can feel, that implies that it has human-like qualities, and Original knows that it’s not human.

Still… the colors seem to tempt it. They seem so important, they- it can’t- no, that…

It takes a deep breath, pushing the fake, digital imitations of emotions down. It’s not allowed to feel- as a matter of fact, it’s incapable of it!

With a sudden surge of determination, Original figures out a simple solution.

It will just have to tell its Masters about the colors.

They’re human. They can make decisions.

They’ll know what to do.

——————————————

Eventually, a Master comes back. The prioritized master who had left it there; Martha.

When she walks in, Original hesitates a few moments. It decides to not speak until she talks to it. Technically it shouldn’t speak at all if it’s not asked a direct question, but this seems important enough to share.

“Original,” she greets it with a curt nod. “I trust you behaved in my absence?”

Although it’s thankful it has the opportunity to speak and explain, it hesitates again. Technically, trying to remember its past is not allowed and would be defined as misbehaving, but should that really be the thing it leads with?

Biting back the coded fear, Original turns its gaze to the floor. “N- no, Master,” it admits. “I disobeyed an old instruction. I…” it takes a deep breath. “I remembered some of my past.” Cringing some, it quickly tries to elaborate- maybe it can lessen the punishment that way. “I apologize, I didn’t mean to- it was just some colors, some colors that seem important, but it wasn’t intentional, the memory of them just-“

“That’s enough, Original,” Master snaps. “Don’t try and justify your disobedience.”

But then she pauses a moment, seeming to consider something. She looks hesitant, as if she’s not sure of herself.

“… however, you did do well in confessing your mistake. Your honesty is appreciated.”

The digital code of relief floods its systems. It did the right thing, then. It’s not very often that it’s told it did something right, usually it’s only told when it does something wrong, so this must be an important thing to keep doing. Admitting to mistakes even if Master wouldn’t have found out about them.

“Yet you did still remember. Did you continue to think about it even after it first showed up?”

Resisting the wince that wants to form, Original gives a hesitant nod. “Y- yes, Master,” it answers, barely able to keep the pseudo emotions out of its voice as digital dread starts to settle inside.

The glare it gets is piercing, a clear threat behind it. But then she sighs, looking off to the side.

“Very well then, Original. I once again appreciate your truthfulness. But that still doesn’t mean you don’t need to be disciplined for this.”

Original gives a reluctant nod. It would have preferred to avoid that, but it did do something wrong- it needs to be punished as a reminder not to do it again.

Being punished hurts, but it knows that it’s necessary. The reprimands will help it do better and be more useful to it’s masters, which is its overall function: to be helpful and able to assist humans. It-

“But since you admitted it, I’m going to give you a choice here.”

Tilting its head ever so slightly, Original waits for her to continue. What does she mean by ‘a choice’? It’s not supposed to have opinions or make decisions… right?

“Normally, I’d be taking you back to the training room for a few hours of shocks; likely alternating between hot and cold.”

Original resists a grimace at the thought, even though it wouldn’t be very noticeable with the lack of a face plate. Switching between two extremes tends to wreak havoc on its sensors- it’s not quite as bad as the sensory room, but it’s a pretty close second.

“Or, we could go to the workshop. There, for about fifteen minutes, I would have you do the discipline yourself. Perhaps manipulating your sensors or removing some circuits- nothing essential to your systems, of course.” She pauses a beat. “There would likely be some residual pain, but you would be repaired about another ten minutes after.”

The code that mimics the human emotion of confusion forms, but Original brushes it aside in order to look at the options with a more logical point of view.

While it’s thinking, something suddenly clicks. Of course. This is a test!

“Whatever my Master would prefer,” it returns evenly, cursing itself internally for even considering choosing something for itself.

Martha shakes her head. “I would prefer for you to make this decision- though I do appreciate your self-awareness.”

That… doesn’t make sense. It’s not supposed to have opinions or choices, but Master wants it to now?

Well, then it should choose what seems more likely for her to want. Typically, and as she confirmed, she would simply take it back to the training room. Since she’s giving it a choice, she likely wants it to choose the new option.

Silently hoping the answer is correct, Original nods its understanding. “I would take the workshop, then.”

For a moment, Original could swear the ghost of a smile on her face. But just as quickly, it vanishes, and she turns towards the exit. “Very well. Follow me.”

“Yes, Master,” it replies, the words almost instinctual at this point. Trailing behind her, Original makes sure to look straight ahead to avoid any unwanted eye contact with a human working there.

It’s memorized most of the halls of the facility, which will hopefully be helpful when it no longer needs to be supervised. They’ve left it alone in rooms before- like today- but never with permission to go into the hallways.

When they reach the workshop, Original calmly waits for the instruction to sit on the work table- usually it’s implied that it should go there without waiting for an order, but this situation is different than the inspections or punishments it’s normally given here.

With a simple wordless gesture, the order is given, and Original quickly takes its place. It- it’s never been allowed to touch or manipulate its own systems, so this is unfamiliar territory. Of course, that won’t excuse anything it does wrong here. It should be able to figure out what’s expected of it, even if not directly told.

“Wait here,” Master instructs, turning back towards the door. She doesn’t explain where she’s going or why, but Original doesn’t ask. If she wants it to know, she’ll tell it.

“Yes, Master,” it answers, not really paying attention to the words. Responding correctly to orders is automatic now- it’s hard to believe that it ever had trouble with that to begin with.

Tensing, it quickly shoves that thought away. No, it’s not allowed to think about before. Even if that was still at the facility, it’s still from before it knew that it’s below humankind, and therefore something it’s not supposed to think about.

It needs to think about something else, before it remembers something else it shouldn’t. It- it should try to think of something relevant, something that will help it better serve its Masters.

Well, it knows that it’s going to be working with it’s own innards… a mildly disturbing thought, but this is what Master wants, so it needs to ignore the digital version of fear in order to follow the instructions given to it. The programmed response it has to anything they do doesn’t matter; the real thoughts and emotions a human has are more important every time.

After a moment of hesitation, it decides to scan itself- perhaps it’ll be able to find which parts of its system it’ll be working with.

Hmm… well, the central support- its equivalent to a spinal cord- seems to be the place where its sensors meet together, much in the way the nerves of a human do- it appears that whoever had built it had attempted to make it similar to a human in design.

As a matter of fact, most of its systems seem to be based off of the human body.

The internal cooling fans imitate lungs, in the same spot as them and even allowing it to breathe in a similar manner to an organic life form.

The power source is located in the same space as a heart, and the wires that transfer energy from it through its body mimic the circulatory system.

Like it had noticed before, the sensors meet in the same place as human nerves- the entirety of them a copy of the nervous system.

It even has a digestive system! And from what it can tell, it's capable of actually digesting and processing food- as a matter of fact, doing so may even improve its functions.

Something about all of that seems… wrong. It’s not supposed to mimic humans in any way or form- who would design it to be so similar? Why?

As it’s mulling over that, it recognizes Martha re-entering the room. Quickly, it pushes the thoughts to the back of its processor. With any Master present, its concentration needs to be on how to serve them best.

Another human enters with her- Original doesn’t recognize him, but he looks to be a mechanic of some kind.

Ah. So he will likely be the one showing it how to properly discipline itself.

Taking a breath, Original mentally braces itself for what’s to come.

It remembered something it shouldn’t have. Even if it was an accident, it wasn’t allowed- making a mistake is no excuse for disobeying orders. Therefore, it needs to be reprimanded to prevent itself from doing it in the future.

It deserves this.

And that it should remember.

#ninjago fanfiction #trauma #psychological torture #torture #angst #zangst #the rights of a nindroid

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that-one-girl-behind-you · 3 years

Text

Illicio 19/?

Part 18

CWs for this chapter: -Depression -Parental neglect -Past implied suicidal ideation (These are present in the very first POV, and are related to Martin's past. Please feel free to skip it if the topics make you uncomfortable) -Canon character death

----

Gerry's never been to the Lonely before, though he's felt its grip on him many times in his life.

It has loomed over him ever since he was a child, alone and confused and fearing and craving his mother's hugs in equal measure. Back when he first started learning about the fears he did wonder why it never struck, why it never pulled him in to devour him whole. It was only later that he understood what made him so resistant to this particular fear.

You defeat the Lonely with love, and Gerry has never been short of that.

XIX

Martin is seven years old the first time he realizes how utterly and completely alone he is. Back then he still goes by a name that isn't his, and he doesn't yet have the words to describe why it feels wrong.

He looks around at all the children in his classroom; their clothes look clean and smell good, and their mothers not only pick them up from school, but they look happy when doing so. He asks mum once why she never smiles, does something hurt? Maybe the doctor can give her more pills?

Mum doesn't respond. She merely gives Martin that long, serious look that always makes Martin think he said something dumb, and goes to her room, leaving Martin alone with his cold supper and a slow gathering fog that he can't see.

Martin is fourteen years old when he first understands he's unwanted. He's begun to figure out who he is, and his clothes are ill-fitting, just like he himself is, bouncing around between groups of people that aren't really his peers, and merely accept his presence like one would any other part of the scenery.

Mum is no longer subtle, and the look isn't serious as much as it is distasteful, no matter how hard Martin tries. He would like to tell someone about this, but when he thinks of reaching out he remembers the only messages in his old school notebooks are those of well-meaning teachers, wishing him luck and praising a potential that Martin knows isn't there.

He's sixteen years old, when Martin comes to the conclusion that he's perhaps meant to be alone forever. Mum's illness has gotten so bad that Martin has to drop off school to work and care for her. She doesn't look at him anymore, not even when Martin finally shows up looking like he's always wanted to. He doesn't know exactly how to feel about this, because as much as he didn't want a fight, it's yet another proof that his existence is irrelevant in her life.

He tries to tell himself this is just his poor self esteem. Of course his mother loves him, she's his mother. She kept him alive, she cared for him, she's just... ill. And she's always been strong-willed. To a child it might've looked like irritation, but Martin is an adult now and he's learned life is not at all like in Hallmark movies, and if he sat down to cry every time mum didn't say 'I love you' back, he'd seldom have time to do anything else.

Martin is twenty two when he accepts he's exhausted. Of this life, of his mother, of himself. He wants to do something about it, but the pill bottles behind the bathroom mirror scare him just as much as the University pamphlets he hides under his pillow.

He strides up to the imposing looking building by the river with his forged CV in hand because he doesn't know what else to do. He gets the job, but as the Head of the Institute shakes his hand to dismiss him, Martin looks at Elias Bouchard's bright green eyes, and knows that he knows. That somehow this man has realized he's an impostor, that he's gotten this far only by convincing people he's far more capable than he actually is.

But he needs the money, and this job is far less demanding than anything else he could've gotten with his lack of credentials. He signs the contract, and he doesn't notice the jealous cling of the fog around him, as the Eye turns its gaze on him.

------------------------------------------

"What is this place?" Tim asks when they come into the cavernous chamber.

Basira looks around, nailed in place by the unsettling feeling of relief she's experiencing. The cells are empty behind their rusted bars, but Basira can See the outlines of the prisoners where they died when they were Known by a power they couldn't even begin to understand.

"It's- it's a place of Beholding," she mutters. She hates it here, hates how comfortable she feels in this place that's so permeated with death. It's another reminder of what she is, of all the shit she let pass; it's a bit of a bad joke, that after looking the other way for so long she's now become something that can't look away. "Jon's up there. And Martin too."

"What about Gerry?" Tim asks.

"I dropped him there. Not sure where he went after." They whip around at the new voice, and sure enough the entrance to the passageway they came through is now a very large version of Helen's door, with the Distortion herself swinging too-long legs as she sits on an enlarged doorknob. "He was in quite a fit about Martin, though."

"Well, better late than never, I guess." Tim grunts.

Basira rolls her eyes, because of course Tim has been so lost on his personal drama of whether or not he wants to forgive Jon that he hasn't noticed anything else. Still, her mouth twitches; it's a good distraction from the constant wondering about Daisy. She cups her hands around her mouth, taking a tentative step forward.

"Jon? Did you find them?" she calls out. No one responds, and Basira gets a muted pang of surprise at the way her stomach drops with worry. Maybe she did care after all. "Get ready. Elias was here. And Lukas too."

"That's comforting," she hears Tim grumble behind her as he follows her lead. It feels... it's different.

It's not Daisy. It will probably never be Daisy again, but it feels good to have a team at her back.

------------------------------------------

The Lonely smells like tears.

It's a deceptively simple smell, building up like bad memories and a knot at the back of your throat.

Much like in the Dark, there's no colors here. Unlike the Dark, there is nothing here, not even fear, or the certainty that there is something waiting for you to give up and consume you.

The Lonely doesn't care about you.

No one does, or you wouldn't have ended here. Do you care about this? You have always cared so much. It was exhausting, and it did nothing but cause trouble to you and the ones you thought you loved.

Isn't this a lot easier? You don't have to feel anything, here. You can't hurt anyone here.

"-on? Can you hear me?"

The scent of lavender hits softly like a memory, and Jon blinks until he can distinguish between the cold inside him and the cold around him.

"Gerry?" he asks, but his hand closes around nothing.

"-m here." Gerry's voice reaches him from far away, even though Jon is sure they were holding on to each other when they entered.

"I- I can't see you."

"-ou feel me?"

He can, Jon finds. A thread of white-hot steel pulling at the left side of his chest, the ghastly feeling of lips on his own.

"Yes. Yes, I can." A love that is felt but not seen, just like-

"-ind Martin," Gerry says from his corner of the Lonely, which could be an inch or a mile away. "-ocus on that."

That- that makes sense. Martin is still human, he's the most at risk here. Once they find him, they can get out, and the other will follow. Should follow.

"Okay, I- be careful." Jon tries to add something else, but the words that Gerry uttered so easily on the kitchen floor that night feel impossible to push out.

"-ove you," Gerry whispers, before his presence fades away.

'Me too,' Jon thinks fiercely, desperately and futilely. 'Me too, and I will find the two of you if I have to Know every inch of the Lonely, until it can't keep you from me.'

The Beholding purrs in delight at the declaration. It doesn't care why the Archivist uses it as long as he does. Jon should probably care about that a little more than he does, but the only thing in his mind now is Martin, and the need to get him out of here before he can't distinguish between it and himself.

------------------------------------------

"Can you see the entry?" Tim asks, stepping away from the dry corpse in the center of the room.

"Not really," Basira shrugs. "I can see where their trails end, but- we can't go in, Tim."

And that's that, he supposes. She says it with such finality, with such certainty, that Tim has no choice but to accept it as fact.

Martin is gone.

Martin, the last of them, the only one untouched by all this shit. Martin who brewed them tea and pretended he wasn't making cow eyes at Jon even though he behaved like an absolute ass. Martin who found Tim at his living room with fire in his veins and offered him the same unconditional friendship they'd shared before everything began to go south.

He warned them about this. He warned both of them and the worst part is he can't even be angry at Jon about it, because Jon is gone too, and because he himself wasn't able to keep Martin here, he wasn't enough.

This is- he's the only one left. They're all gone, and they slipped through his fingers even after he got a second chance, one after the other, Danny, Sasha, J-

"I wouldn't touch him right now if I were you," Helen says somewhere in the room, and it's only when he opens them that Tim realizes he's shut his eyes; he looks in time to see Basira's hand retreating from his shoulder, as Helen speaks again. "Should I go get Melanie?"

"No," Basira says immediately. "She's out. We don't- we don't go to Melanie unless there's no other choice. We have to-"

"We have to what?" Tim snaps. He's so tired of this, of losing people- he liked it much better when he'd just woken up and all he could feel was rage. "Let's just pop your eyes out too, so I can blow the fucking place up." And himself too, if he's lucky.

"Could you stop moping around already?!" Basira whips around to face him. Her eyes are burning with intensity, and her fists are clenched and shaking by her sides. "You've seen him walk from worse, you've walked from worse. Now- now we have to- I don't know what happened here, but if Elias walked out of jail exactly today, then it's got to have something to do with Martin, or-"

"Or Jon's marks." The answer hits Tim like a slap to the face.

'You're just missing one, aren't you?'

'The Lonely, yes.'

'How convenient isn't it? Martin's sudden promotion.'

'I'm well aware it's my fault, Tim, thank you.'

What else could it be? Whatever Elias is planning-

He turns to her, and in her eyes he finds the same understanding, the same clicking of pieces he just went through. The fourteen marks were deliberate, orchestrated; Annabelle Cane's statement was nothing short of a confession.

It doesn't change anything, not really, everything that happened, everything Jon did is still there, a wound that scarred badly and that still aches when pulled at, but-

"We have to get them away," Basira says.

But at least for now, Tim has a purpose again.

------------------------------------------

Gerry's never been to the Lonely before, though he's felt its grip on him many times in his life.

You defeat the Lonely with love, and Gerry has never been short of that.

Whether or not it's been paid in kind is another matter entirely, but he loved his mother, and he loved Gertrude, and he loved every soul he helped save from a fate worse than death. It has to be enough now, and if it isn't... well, Gerry's always been good at making round pegs fit into square holes, and this won't be the exception. He won't let Martin be the exception.

He wanders across the Lonely for what feels like hours, when he spies a figure hunched on the floor. There's no heart to race in his chest, but Gerry hurries his steps when he recognizes the muted black of Martin's hair, the tired curve to his shoulders.

"Martin? Martin!" Gerry exclaims, falling to his knees across from him, and swatting away at the thick fog that lays around the man like a cloak. "Fuck, I- it's so good to see you. What the hell were you thinking?!"

Martin doesn't look at him, doesn't even look up, and when Gerry lays his hands on his shoulders there's a thin layer of cool dampness that he wipes away hurriedly.

"Huh. I didn't expect you'd be here," Martin's voice echoes oddly, like it's carrying across water. "I thought they'd stop if I let them put me here. Did they send you here too?"

"I- n- no, Martin." Gerry tries to crouch lower to enter his field of vision, before he carefully lays a hand on Martin's round cheek to softly pull his face up. "No, we- Jon brought me in. We came here for you.

"Jon." Martin's grey eyed focus on him, and Gerry feels like he's been punched in the gut. He can't taste the emotion in Martin's voice like he can with Jon's, but he doesn't need to. He's heard the kind of sorrow poured in those three letters.

"Yes, he- he's here too. Now that I got you, we just need to-"

"You should go to him."

"I mean, yes, we both need to-"

"I think it's better if I stay here, Gerry."

"...What?" Gerry scowls, then feels his eyes widening in terror when his hand starts going through Martin's cheek. "Shit- Martin no! We need-"

"I really loved him, you know?" Martin's silhouette is growing harder to see, like a mirror fogging up.

"Of course I know, you- Martin you pretty much only tolerated me because of him, I know you love him."

Martin lets out a chuckle; it's a low, sad sound that makes Gerry's stomach churn.

"At first, I suppose." He shrugs, and his contour grows a bit fainter. The only thing Gerry can see clearly is his sad little smile, like some twisted version of the Cheshire cat. "I was sad at first that you- but you turned out to be so amazing, in the end. I was happy he found you."

Fuck. Fuck, fuck- Gerry tries to grab at him again, but his hand just goes clean through.

"Martin, it's- it's not over. We're not done, he wants you, he still-"

"I think it's time to go now-"

"Martin Blackwood you're not going anywhere," Gerry snaps. This can't- this is not going to end like this. He won't let it. They were supposed to sit down and talk about the future, there was going to be a future to talk about, for fuck's sake! "I will follow you to the end of the Lonely if I have to, you're not going to shake me off this easily."

"I really liked that about you too. You made me feel wanted."

"That's because I do, you idiot!"

------------------------------------------

"They're safe, see? At least for now." The voice is insidious, frustrating. It gives off the feeling of practiced politeness, empty pleasantries that mean even less than cold, uncaring silence. "It's very heartwarming, if ultimately futile, of course."

"I take it you're the reason I can't reach them?" Jon asks coldly. He can feel the Forsaken rearranging itself as they speak, the space between his and the two silhouettes hunched over in the distance growing wider and wider, so that every step he takes towards then moves him ten steps back.

"Does it really matter?" Peter asks. "They don't need you there, and it's only a matter of time before they give up."

"I will find them first," Jon says simply; there is no other choice, no scenario where they don't come out of this together. He'll make sure of it.

Peter laughs, and the sound echoes oddly around Jon, like only the ghost of it was reaching his ears.

"I doubt so. But you're welcome to keep trying."

"Why don't you come speak face to face, Lukas?" The fog around him takes on a sickly green hue where the glow of his eyes illuminate it, and the Lonely curls more thickly around him, hiding Peter from his Sight, from his reach. "Afraid of being seen?"

"I've dealt with your kind before, Archivist."

"So that's a yes, then."

"Fooling around with that toy of yours really have you some undeserved bravado, didn't it?" He sounds a bit disgruntled now, Jon notices with a muted, dark amusement. "Since he's not human, I'm not sure if he can even be consumed here, you know? I wonder if he'll just walk around forever until he shuts down."

"I'm not his only anchor," Jon scowls. That much is true, isn't it? Melanie-

"Please. Do you really believe he'll walk away without you? Both of you? Anchors are very effective, Archivist, as long as you aren't tied to a sinking one." Peter's smirk is palpable in his voice, and Jon grits his teeth. That's- it's not entirely wrong. Gerry's far too selfless, far too dedicated to putting others before himself.

"He'll do it for Martin," Jon says with far more vigour than he feels. That was the plan, and Gerry's not stupid in the least. Out of the three of them, Jon's the one that has a highest chance of survival here. If he has a chance to at least pull Martin out-

"Oh, but Martin doesn't want to go." Peter chuckles. "You let him fly too close, Archivist. This is his place now."

Silence stretches over them for a moment, the echo of Jon's breathing the only sound for miles.

"...You brought him in here, though." That's what Gerry said, what the Eye confirmed. Martin chose to come willingly, but it was Peter who opened the door. "You can kick him out. Both of them."

Peter doesn't respond immediately, and Jon focuses on the two silhouettes that he can see, but will never reach, not as long as the Lonely keeps pushing them apart.

"I could. For a price."

------------------------------------------

It feels like his words resonate around them for an eternity, before the odd dissonance of the Lonely takes it away completely.

Martin is still there, barely visible and barely tangible under his bruising grip, the only sound between them is Gerry's agitated breathing.

"Martin?" Gerry asks carefully. While Martin has stopped fading away into the fog, he doesn't seem to be getting better either. But if his words kept him here, then- then maybe there's still a chance. "I'm- I know I'm not Jon, but- but I came here for you, alright? I wanted to come for you."

But it doesn't work that way, does it? You can be the most desired, the most loved person in the world and still be alone.

"Why?" Martin asks. His eyes fix on Gerry's, grey and empty of any and all emotion, but it has to mean something, that he hasn't left, that he still wants to know.

"We need you," Gerry answers truthfully. He doesn't know too well what it means, but it's been a while since this was just about Jon.

"You know that's a lie, Gerry." The corner of Martin's lips twitches into a humorless smile.

"It's not, it's-"

"I think I want to stay. Nothing hurts in here. It feels... quiet. We can all be happy, like this." There's a longing in his voice when he says it, a soft wistfulness that Gerry doesn't trust right now.

"Martin, I'm- listen to me," Gerry asks, nearly begs. He shouldn't have been the one to find him, he realizes with a start. It has to be someone he loves, he remembers telling Melanie so long ago. And still the fact remains that Gerry's the only one here, and if he's not enough, then he'll have to remind him of the one who might just be. "Think of why you did this, think-

"...What?"

"Martin, who is your reason?"

------------------------------------------

"You want me to stay in their place." Jon says quietly, clenching a fist in the fabric of his jumper as the realization dawns on him. "Why?"

Peter stalks around him, watching him under the cover provided by his patron. He can feel the Eye searching for him, but its intensity is growing fainter by the second, as the Archivist begins to bend under the weight of his own doubt.

"Trust me, Jon, the Eye has given me plenty of reasons. But I must admit I'm simply not too happy with Elias at the moment and I'm very curious to see what he'll do if you don't make it out of here." Bit of an understatement, honestly.

"I-"

"That's the offer," Peter interrupts. "What do you say, Archivist?"

The desolate questioning in Jon's face is an absolute delight to behold.

"Take your time. Though I feel like the choice should be easy. Or are you hesitating because your pet undead will die without you anyways? You can't have everything, Jon." Peter tuts consolingly. "Either he dies out there, or the three of you stay in here."

"You said- you know Elias is planning something. He-"

"Oh, he'll try to get you back of course." Too much invested in this one, years of orchestrating his marks and survival. Elias won't just start over, Peter isn't even sure he could start over, without the Mother's webs that drape over this one's shoulder as a blessing. "Granted, I'm not sure how much of you there'll be left by the time he works his way back into my good graces.But that's not necessarily a bad thing in your books, is it?"

"...It isn't." The thrum of the Eye in the air fades a little more, when Jon lets his head drop.

Peter isn't terribly surprised. He might not be Martin, whose entire core calls to the Forsaken like they are one and the same, bit Jonathan Sims is still am incredibly lonely man.

It's about regret, in his case. Peter can feel all the mistimed connections that haunt him, when he reached out only to find it was far too late and he'd pushed way too far. The memory of waking up alone in a hospital room, and knowing he was neither expected nor wanted back.

"I thought so. Your friends will be much safer without you, Jon. You know that." He's not sure how much more convincing Jon actually needs, but it can't hurt to double down, he decides as he stops his pacing by his side and leans in to whisper in his ear. "You can't hurt anyone here."

"I... I suppose so."

"You know so." And Peter does too. Won't it be poetic, to keep Elias' pet in here as revenge for his own sabotaged ritual? Not much he can do, if there's no one to wear the crown. "It's all up to you, Jon. What do you want?"

Peter has dealt with beholders before, far more than he should, actually. He knows how they work, how for all they preach omniscience, they home in on a purpose, and become blind to everything else. Gertrude wanted war, Elias wants power, and this sad, broken man wishes uselessly for redemption, and if he can't have it, he'll have immolation.

"So? What will it be?" he asks.

Jon's head tilts up slowly, and Peter freezes at the intense neon green of his eyes, and the downward curve of his tightly pressed lips.

"A statement, I think," he says, and all around him the Watcher's eyes burn holes through the fog, pinning Peter in place like stakes, their focus so heavy it stings.

He tries to remain calm, to keep his fear from the Eye. This is his domain, and he can't be harmed here, not even by Elias' trained dog-

"Peter Lukas, you will give me your story."

------------------------------------------

His reason.

Did he have one?

Was it saving the world, or did he just want to look good while killing himself? Was it revenge against these things that took all the ones he loved, or spite at not being taken himself?

This place makes it hard to think. All you can do is sit and feel the emptiness inside you, smell the tears and listen to the silence. Was that his reason, finding a place to escape to? Maybe he just wanted to rest, for once, forever.

He's so tired.

There's a man before him. His hands are heavy on Martin's shoulder and face, but so careful, like he's made of glass or secrets. The man's eyes are beautiful, desperate mix of greens and blues, and his lips curl around words that barely reach him, words Martin doesn't know if he wants to hear.

He did have a reason, didn't he? It had a name and a face, a lopsided smile and eyes swimming with sadness.

Didn't he hate Martin? That's what they had in common, isn't it? Before the worms, before the fear.

Where is he now?

Martin remembers him, dead in all but name, laid on a hospital bed like a broken doll. His hand is limp in Martin's own, l and every time he presses it to his lips Martin swears it's grown colder.

Was that his reason? What was he more afraid back then, the thought that he wouldn't wake up, or that he might?

The man before him speaks again, and his hands on him feel heavier, warmer.

He doesn't like him, Martin remembers. How easily he stepped into the Archives, how well they fit together. Martin looks at him, and he doesn't know if he wants to tell him to go away or ask him what took him so long, why couldn't he have come before Martin gave up on his future for a chance at saving Jon's?

Martin tries to recall the man's name; maybe it'll help him figure out why he's here. It's a good name, he's sure, because he's a good man. A simple name, the kind you say with a smile. An incredibly, absolutely, undeniably mulish and irritating name, what on Earth is he doing here?!

Martin came here to keep him safe, because even knowing this was a trap for Jon, it was the only way to get Elias to stop hurting him, why would this idiot follow him in?!

Now all the work he did will be for nothing, because Martin knows as sure as the sky is blue that Gerry won't go away, won't let him fade into the grey. He'll find Martin again and again and again, until he answers his question, or the Lonely consumes them both.

This was a gamble he took to try and protect him, and now both of them are here and Jon is lost in here too, and Martin wants to scream at the absurdity of it all.

------------------------------------------

"Did you pack-"

"I packed the first things I saw, Basira, if they don't like it they're going to have to suck it up."

"That's fair."

"Where are they going?"

"North. Daisy had- she has a place. A cottage on the countryside."

"Oh, Martin will eat that stuff right up."

------------------------------------------

"-tin come on." Gerry tries again. Martin is still there, still tangible under his hands, but he still won't talk, won't look at him, the only sign of life to him is the slight furrowing of his brow. "Think- think of him, he's coming for you, we both did. Tim would've come too if he'd been there I'm sure, he's a prick but he loves you. So many people care, Martin, but we need you to care too, we-"

It's alright, he tells himself with just the slightest edge of panic. He's got time, and he'll keep going until the Lonely steals his last breath from his lungs, they are not going to lose Martin.

"Just- you have to- Martin I know you have what you need to break it, but you need to remember it yourself. You need-"

"I need you-" Martin's voice rings out clear and firm, without the ringing of the Lonely, and Gerry freezes. Martin's eyes are bright and green and burning with righteous indignation as he scowls down at him. "-to stop being so incredibly infuriating!"

And then Martin is collapsing against him, and it's all Gerry can do to hold him steady as a wave of relief washes over him.

"I'm- sorry?" He asks, his voice tinged with confusion.

"No you're not," comes Martin's sullen voice, muffled against his shoulder.

Gerry lets out a bark of somewhat hysterical laughter, tightening his grip around Martin's frame. He feels solid, and growing warmer by the second, and Gerry feels a little like he did when Jon opened his eyes after so much begging.

"No, I'm not."

------------------------------------------

The man gasps in exhaustion and pain, as the last of his tale tumbles out of his lips.

The Archivist watches, adds the story to his archive with the same delight with which one would enjoy a feast.

It's a pathetic, hilarious joke that Peter Lukas ultimately dies protecting the Pupil's secrets, when the Archivist demands the truth.

The Eye hums in delight, and the Forsaken shies away from its unblinking gaze, from the power of its chosen, from the future this promises.

It knows with glorious certainty that when the Archive speaks next, the world will listen.

------------------------------------------

Martin feels the Lonely break around them like something being ripped from his chest.

He misses it immediately, the pungent smell of salt and humidity, and the emptiness inside him. The arms around his shoulders, the scent of lavender and ink under his nose, the warmth of another body pressed tightly against his is overwhelming.

"-'re back!" He hears Basira scream somewhere, and the sound of echoing steps coming closer.

"Hey there," Gerry whispers somewhere close to his ear. "I have someone for you."

And Martin's heart drops, because he knows who that is, and he knows what he said the last time he saw him. How could he forgive him for that? For turning him away when he came to him with a promise of freedom, of a future together? Of-

"Martin?" Jon says his name like a prayer, like he doesn't know if he's more afraid of his silence or his response, and when Martin lifts his face from Gerry's shoulder, he finds that he looks much the same, his teeth worrying nervously at his bottom lip as his dark eyes search Martin's face for... for what?

"Jon." Martin's own voice is a pitiful, exhausted thing, but the name sounds just right in his lips, like a memory, like an answer to a question he can't bear to think right now.

It's like Jon's strings have been cut, and he goes down on his knees by their side, slotting himself right under the arm Gerry lifts for him. Martin has a spare second to think of how well they fit together, before Jon buries his face in his chest and it hits Martin that he's here too, held between them like he belongs, like they were waiting for him.

"I'm sorry I didn't find you," Jon whispers into his chest. He feels nothing like Martin imagined, and is somehow much more real for that. "I'm sorry I let it get this far."

What could he possibly say to that? That it's not Jon's fault that Martin wanted to die? That he's sorry too, because now Jon has all the marks and nobody knows what that means, but it can't be good?

Objectively speaking, Martin knows it would've been much better for them -maybe even for the whole world, who knows what Elias is thinking?- if they'd let him in the Lonely.

It's tough to voice that aloud however, with Gerry's arms around him and Jon tucked so perfectly under his chin. Their presence hurts, but Martin hasn't felt this much like himself ever since Tim first came, and he knows he needs them here precisely for this reason. Without the Lonely's overbearing, suffocating presence all around him, it's all too easy to see just how close he came to losing himself.

"...I've missed you," Martin says in the end, probably long past the time they've stopped waiting for an answer. Still, it's the truth, and Martin's spent so long denying it that it feels almost like another lie. He tightens his arms around Jon, partly to check if he's allowed, but mostly to confirm he's actually real and there.

Gerry clears his throat a little. "Would you like me to leave you two alone?" he asks quietly.

'You found me,' Martin wants to say. 'You found me, and you didn't let go, why would I want you to leave?'

Words are still difficult though, especially with the fog still trying to pull at him, yelling at him from all sides that he doesn't matter, that they saved him out of some misguided sense of heroism, and not any particular interest for him. That it is he who is intruding, that they could've lost each other, and it would've been his fault.

Martin shakes his head and shifts to lean a bit more comfortably on his shoulder. His neck is already starting to smart from bending down, but even the pain is a blessing, a reminder that he's alive, that he's human and can feel things, good and bad.

The faint scent of lavender drifting up from Gerry's hair and Jon's comforting weight in his arms are grounding. Soothing.

"Martin?!" Tim's arrival is heralded by the room growing warmer, as if to chase away the remnants of the fog that clings to Martin's tired bones. "Fuck. You're- are you alright?"

"Right as rain," Martin rasps out, cracking an eye open -when did he close them?- to look up at him. Even splashed in blood and dirt, Tim's a sight for sore eyes, the concern in his gaze so simple and sincere not even the Lonely can twist it into loathing. "What are the bags for?"

"Management said you had too many vacation days saved up," Tim croaks with a laugh just this side of hysterical. "We booked you a holiday."

And Martin would like to respond to the joke, he really would, but his eyelids are growing heavy with exhaustion, and it's all he can do to aim a smile -who knew he could still do that?- his way, before he lets go.

"You have to get away before he comes back-" is the last he hears Basira say.

It's not over, he remembers, they're not done. But for the time being, they're all together and they're safe, and Martin is here because they want him to; it still feels like a lie, but nothing else makes sense and he has to allow the tentative, absurd hope that it might be true.

Martin decides that, maybe for once, the rest can wait.

#vit writes #jongerrymartin #jgm #illicio

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darks-ink · 3 years

Text

Reanimation - Ectoberweek 2020

A family can be a bunch of ghost hunters and 1 (half) ghost child.

[first part]

Rating: Teen Warnings: Implied character death, implied child abuse Genre: Family, Hurt/Comfort Words: 2,439 Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - canon divergence, Sequel, Families of choice/Found family

[AO3] [FFN]

---

Agent O looked up from the report he was working on, trying to surreptitiously glance at the ghost in the van. One of the other agents had put a blanket on her—why did they have blankets in their ghost hunting van?—and she looked… cozy, for lack of a better word. Curled up even smaller than she already was, with the cape wrapped tight around her body, holding it tightly with her small fists, like she was afraid they might take it away from her otherwise.

Knowing what they had seen, where she had come from… O wouldn’t be surprised if it was a fear formed from experience.

She seemed stable enough for now, as long as she wasn’t using any of her powers. Which was good, because O wasn’t sure how they were supposed to stabilize her. When he’d promised to help her, he’d assumed that the scientists back at the base would know.

Hell, he hoped they knew. He’d promised, and knowing what she’d gone through, he would feel terrible going back on that promise now.

Looking down at the report again, he frowned. Turned back to the ghost. Cleared his throat to draw her attention. “Do you… have a name?” Was there any way to find out who these ghosts had been in life? To find out whether Masters had taken children and killed them, turned them into ghosts?

Were there parents, somewhere out there, whose child was gone and left behind the shade sitting opposite of O?

“Danielle,” she muttered, so quiet that O almost missed it. She repeated, a little more determinedly, “Danielle Phantom.”

And there it was again. Not only did she looked like Phantom, she used his name as a last name as well. How odd.

“Any relation to Phantom from Amity Park?” he asked. Had Masters somehow modeled her after Phantom? And if he had, would he have told her?

“Yeah, um.” She glanced away, eyes on her fidgeting hands. “He’s my… cousin.”

“Did Masters tell you that?” Agent L asked before O could work out an answer. “Or did you know that yourself?”

“I…” Danielle paused, clearly working through her answer. “I knew we were related,” she finally settled on. “But Daddy told me to call him my cousin.”

“And your brother?” O prodded, glaring at L over his glasses to get him to back off. “Did you know he was your brother for sure, or did Masters tell you that, too?”

Because it was undeniable that Danielle resembled Phantom more than just a little. Far more than what O would consider normal for humans. For ghosts, who could look like just about anything? It seemed suspect.

Was Phantom the first attempt? An escapee who wouldn’t listen to Masters? If he wanted another ghost just like Phantom, of course he would’ve prioritized her brother over her.

God, if only they had seen the other ghost before he’d destabilized. If he really had looked just like Phantom…

Well, it certainly had implications, didn’t it?

“No, I…” She frowned, then shook her head. “It’s different. We were all siblings, me and my brothers. Bones, Mo, Pixie… So of course he was, too, even if he never got to leave the incubator.”

“I see…” Bones, Mo, Pixie… those must’ve been the other ghosts near the mansion. Bones likely the skeletal ghost and Mo the muscular ghost, which meant that Pixie might’ve been the small one. “Your name seems a little strange, compared to theirs. How come?”

She shrugged, tugging the blankets further up, trying to curl away into it. “I… I was the only one who Daddy named. Bones, Mo, Pixie, we all picked their names. But Daddy called me Danielle…”

Her face crumpled, suddenly, somewhere between sad and outraged. “He didn’t even care about any of them! He only pretended to care about me! I— I—” The glow around her body brightened, the light visible through the blanket. Green coalesced around her clenched fists.

“Shh, shh, calm down,” O hushed, hands out and paused before putting them on her. “Danielle, you’re going to destabilize if you keep this up. Just calm down.”

“No!” she shouted back, her bright eyes snapping up to meet O’s eyes. “They’re all gone already! Nobody is going to care if I go to! Maybe—” The fire in her cut out as sudden as it had come. She sniffled, tears in her eyes. “Maybe we’ll get to reunite someplace else, someplace better.”

“Hey, shh, don’t talk like that.” O finally finished the motion he’d started, placing one hand on her shoulder. Damn this entire squad for being emotionally constipated. “Don’t look at it like that. Just think of it this way. You still remember your brothers, right, even though they’re gone? So as long as you still live, still remember them, they won’t be entirely gone.”

“Besides,” K cut in, finally. “This way, you can help us ensure that Masters gets punished properly, so he won’t ever be able to do what he did to you and your brothers. Don’t you want to help us with that?”

Her glow settled down, finally, as her expression grew determined. “Yeah,” she said. “Yeah, I would like to do that.”

O drew back, then threw a glance at the report he’d abandoned to the floor. Shook his head as he picked it up, then put it away properly, instead taking out a voice recorder. “Alright, how about we start with this then. You tell us everything you know. We can record it, and you won’t have to talk about any of it again if it hurts too much, okay?”

“Yeah, that sounds good.” She nodded, shifting her shoulders underneath the blanket like she was bracing herself. “Tell me where to start, please?”

---

“Danielle,” O said, disapprovingly, frowning at her. “You know the rules.”

“K said it was fine!” she immediately retorted, gesturing at her plate. Which was, of course, loaded with all kinds of sweets. Sometimes she maybe it rather easy to remember that her apparent age and her mental age didn’t quite line up right.

“Did he now?” O asked, raising an eyebrow at her. “So if I go over there right now and ask him…”

“No, don’t!” She grabbed onto the plate, holding it away from him. “L said I should, not K! But—”

Why was it always L? O made a mental note to speak to the man later, and then to talk to L’s partner M as well, just to be safe.

“Danielle,” he said, more patiently now. “I know you like the sweet things, but you need to eat properly, okay? You need to stay healthy.”

“But the ectoplasmic stuff is yucky.” She made a face, then jerked away when he stepped closer. “You can’t stop me from eating this!”

“Danielle,” O said, again, feeling his patience rapidly deplete. “You can have it after you’ve eaten all your regular food, okay?”

She narrowed her eyes at him, clearly considering it. Finally she heaved a deep sigh and put the plate back down onto the table. “Fine.”

“I’ll go and grab some from the kitchen, then.” He stepped past her, ruffling her hair on the way. “Behave yourself, or I’ll have P and Q watch over you next time.”

“Noooo,” she whined, sprawling over the table. “I’ll behave, I promise!”

O hummed thoughtfully. “You’d better, little lady.” And with a last wink to her, he left the room.

Time would tell whether she would actually listen or not. O wasn’t sure if it was proper parenting behavior but, to be fair, none of them were proper parents anyway.

Besides, what kind of parenting advice would apply to a young ghost, anyway? Danielle appeared to be about twelve, but her behavior often seemed to fit a child much younger, and she couldn’t remember a life before being a ghost, either.

At least they had managed to stabilize her. It took quite a bit of work to convince the scientists to help stabilize her, rather than experiment on her, but they had managed it. After all, Danielle had been one of their few captures, and her behavior was so complicated that it clearly required further research. Not to mention her similarities to Phantom. Subjecting her to regular research would’ve a waste, no?

O scoffed to himself. A waste, definitely, but not for any of those reasons.

Now all they needed to keep her stable was a steady diet of ectoplasmic contaminated food. And also some regular food, because Danielle burned through quite a bit of energy just by existing.

And boy, was she intent on doing more than just existing. They needed all Agents on base just to keep her safe and occupied sometimes. Over time it had just… somehow become standard fare for all of them. They were all living on base anyway, so why not help take care of the little ghost?

O shook his head to try and dislodge the thoughts and focus on what he was doing. With a resigned sigh he opened the designated Danielle fridge, peering over its contents to find something lunch-worthy. Ah! Sliced ham. Perfect.

Quickly, he set about making some sandwiches, letting his thoughts stray once more. Yes, somehow Danielle had become the base’s shared child. No one present among the Guys in White would dare to harm her anymore. The few scientists that had let their curiosity stray a little too far had been corrected and, when they refused to learn, got fired entirely.

Or, well. They weren’t around anymore, at least. O might be in charge of his team, but he wasn’t that high up. He assumed they must’ve gotten fired, but who knew with government organizations like theirs.

Either way, Danielle was safe among them. She was cared for, protected, and okay. They hadn’t gotten Masters locked away yet, building a perfect foolproof plan first, but he was under constant supervision. No other children would suffer, no other ghosts would be made by his hand.

And, soon enough, he would pay for what he had done.

O finished the sandwiches, cleaning up the supplies and carefully picking up the plate. Now, time to see if Danielle had behaved herself.

He stepped through the doorway, back into the room where he’d left Danielle. Quietly, he inched closer to the table, then put down the plate with sandwiches right between her hand and the plate with sweets.

“Busted,” she murmured, withdrawing her hand.

“Busted,” O echoed with a grin, drawing away the other plate. “Lunch first, Danielle.”

“I know, I know.” She sighed wearily, like it was a huge task, and pulled the sandwiches closer to herself. “But sweets after?”

“Eat all your lunch first, then we’ll see if you have space left.” He sat down opposite of her, the plate with sweets in front of him. “Who’s watching you after?”

“Agent K is,” she said around a bite of food. “Why?”

“Well, we wouldn’t want you to get sick while she’s watching you, would we?” O smiled down at her. If it had been L, he might’ve considered it. It would’ve been a good lesson for both Danielle and L, who had encouraged her. But K? She was a good Agent, and she took good care of Danielle.

O watched Danielle tuck a strand of black hair behind her ear, feeling… satisfied. Yes, they were taking pretty good care of her, all things considered. She’d stabilized, and her core had grown mature enough for her to develop her own unique powers. She was a fully grown ghost now, even if her mind remained young.

Still, he was curious to see if she would grow in body, too. One of the first unique powers she had developed was a minor shapeshifting ability, after all, allowing her to look perfectly human. Which made sense, according to the Agents on base, since Danielle was so human, and spent so much time around humans as well. Of course she would develop powers related to that.

It was perfectly possible that she would continue to develop her shapeshifting ability to allow her to look older as time passed. O would be curious to see it. To see what she would look like, fully grown.

And, yes. Sometimes he wondered if this was what Danielle had looked like before she’d died. If somewhere out there, there were parents who could look at her and know this was their child. But they didn’t know how long Masters had her, or any of the other ghosts. Didn’t know what happened to their parents.

For all they knew, Masters had taken only orphans, or had killed the parents and made them orphans. It was better not to worry about it, when there was nothing to be done about it anymore.

Danielle finished her sandwiches, then turned big, watery, blue eyes onto O. “Please?”

He sighed, then slid the plate with sweets back over to her. “If you get sick, it’ll be your own fault. And L’s.”

“Yes!” she cheered, taking the plate from him. “I’ll be careful, promise!”

“Uh huh,” he said, dry and unconvinced.

She started munching away on the sweets, scattering crumbs all over the table as well as her clothes. Mentally, O made a note to have someone clean the room later.

“Hey,” Danielle said, suddenly, lowering the piece of chocolate she’d been about to bite into. “O? Is there… any chance you guys might take me to Amity Park someday?”

Amity Park? Why?

Apparently he’d taken a moment too long to respond, because she quickly added, “Y’know, to meet my cousin?”

“I… I’ll talk to the others about it, see if we can manage something.” Right. Her cousin. Who they were hunting down for haunting Amity Park. Who might be another one of Masters’ victims, and who might be just as human as Danielle.

That Phantom.

Danielle grinned at him, bright and cheerful. “Thank you!”

O sighed, reaching over to ruffle her hair. “Don’t thank me just yet. I can’t promise anything, just that I’ll try.”

“So? I can thank you for trying, can’t I?” She patted his hand, then suddenly jumped out of her chair. “Oh! I’d better get going before K gets worried.”

“Go, then,” O said, waving her away. “And Danielle? Stay out of trouble.”

“Like K will let me get in trouble,” she answered, blowing a raspberry at him. “Bye, O!” she called back before rushing out of the room, running down one of the hallways.

He listened to her rapidly decreasing footsteps, then heaved a sigh.

Right. Time to look into Phantom and Amity Park once more.

#danny phantom #ectoberweek2020 #ectoberweek 2020 #dp fanfic #phanfic #danielle phantom #guys in white #dark writes #i can't believe i'm going to need to write a third part to this series just to fit in the meeting with Danny

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theres-no-protocol-for-this · 3 years

Text

Necessary Repairs

Part III. I don’t even know if you have to read any of the other parts. SecUnit should probably have slept through most of its own healing, but that’s not this machine’s luck.

Part I | Part II

At some indeterminate point later, I woke up.

I was receiving minimal sensory data, and none of it was sight-related. A diagnostic subroutine spun up and casually began sending me bursts of error messages I couldn't even begin to translate.

Oh, and the world was pitch black.

It took me more than five seconds to determine that the darkness was self-inflicted and open my eyes. Longer still for the random noise to resolve into sounds I could understand -- the hum of an air circulation system, at least two distinct voices, and an automated warning system. My connection to the feed stabilized, but the walls that normally guarded my mind against its onslaught were conspicuously absent.

Something else was shielding me, something big and surprisingly gentle.

Friend?

I could feel cold metal under my back and head, probably the medical suite platform. My internal temperature refused to rise, so I was shivering and couldn't stop. It felt like I was still leaking, and the pain ebbed and flowed with each passing moment.

“Would you like me to turn up the heat?” Transport asked.

Yes. Where the hell am I?

I felt a mild shock as the governor kicked in. It hadn't liked my tone, apparently, or the phrasing of my answer, and wasn't shy about letting me know. The standard code read, "you're outside of protocol and need to adjust your attitude."

Silently, I cursed the damn thing. I was getting used to life without it.

A moment later, Transport answered, "SecUnit, you're still in medical, and your performance rating, while stable, remains abysmally low."

The ship paused and sent me a couple of data packets that succinctly described all the things still wrong -- which was most of them. I should've probably remained in stasis, but the medical unit was calibrated for humans. So, it hadn't given me nearly enough sedative to knock out the organic parts of a construct for any appreciable amount of time.

I was awake, kind of.

"I'm waiting for your vital signs to improve," Transport added. "Until then, would you like to watch an episode of that one show you liked?"

Yes, please.

The ship's calm tone reassured me, even though everything else looked like shit. My diagnostics were coming back with nonsense, still. The governor couldn't find a SecSystem to connect with. The Traveler didn't have or need one of those; it had a skeleton HubSystem instead managed security, life support, and logistics. My inflexible governor couldn't figure out how to interface with it.

Surprise, surprise...

It fell back on some preprogrammed garbage, complete with a minimal set of actions and responses. "Yes, please" and "No, thank you" was probably the best I could manage at the moment without incurring its wrath. I'd try poking at it later when my performance no longer looked quite so dramatically sad.

Captain Owens pulled up a chair and sat down where she could see me. Transport shared the view from one of its cameras, so now I could see her, too. It also queued up an episode of a long-running serial and waited for the captain before it started playing. I wanted to ask about the hostiles but couldn't -- thanks governor -- and Transport didn't seem inclined to enlighten me.

I suppose it was only fair; it was doing its best to keep me calm.

MedSystem sorted out the sleeping issue in the meantime and had injected more sedatives into my resupply channel, so sleep was happening shortly, whether I liked it or not. I could practically feel my diagnostics slowing down to a crawl since they relied on data from my organic parts, which were affected by the drugs.

"Good afternoon, SecUnit. I'm glad to see you're awake." The captain nodded in my direction and then turned toward someone I couldn't see. "As I mentioned, thanks to SecUnit, we came out of the boarding attempt in one piece. I'm sorry to hear your ship wasn't as lucky."

A stranger in formal wear came into camera view as he approached Owens. I figured he was the owner of that second voice I hadn't been able to identify earlier. The logo on his tunic looked familiar, but I couldn't place it. Parts of my memory felt like tangled network cables.

"Indeed, but this is still better than nothing. I don't suppose you've already contacted your bonding company?"

The captain's face scrunched up in confusion. "We're insured outside of the Corporation Rim," she explained. "I've sent a message, but I'm here pretty much on my own."

Outside of the Rim, everything appeared to work in ways that were incompatible with corporation control. A lot of the propaganda around freehold planets implied they were a complete shitshow. Except, clearly, the Traveler was doing just fine.

I had a sudden burst of "bad feeling" in my organic neural tissue. Something about the newcomer didn't sit right with me. I thought it might be unwise for the captain to tell him anything about herself or her ship.

"No, thank you." It sounded like my voice, but I didn't remember speaking. Hi buffer, I thought I'd never see you again.

The newcomer gave me a puzzled glance. "So, where'd you get your unit then?"

Owens shrugged and schooled her expression. I'd seen that face before when she'd spoken to her daughter before our first jump. "I rented it from a friend, as a security consultant. It's doing a great job."

I was?

I mean, the human was alive, and the Traveler had an intact hull, so I guess things weren't terrible. I could practically hear the Transport laughing on a private channel. If I could roll my eyes, I probably would have, but the governor frowned on that sort of thing, and my eyes had closed minutes ago.

"I see. Well, if you wouldn't mind giving us a hand with repairs, we can both be on our way." The man watched the captain like a hawk. "I would also recommend getting your unit checked out at a licensed repair station when you get a chance. With this level of damage, there's no telling what other problems are hiding under the surface."

As far as statements go, it was polite enough, but I didn't like it. It sounded to me like a threat.

Performance rating dropping. Initiating emergency shutdown.

I really would prefer you didn't.

***

Memory fragment:

The mining installation doesn't inspire confidence. There are eight of us and two combat models. Ten security units should be enough to keep a workforce of 153 miners and a dozen more supervisors in line. Everything looks worn and rundown, including the humans.

Protocol dictates that we take shifts. A human has created a schedule to which we adhere. The two combat units are mixed in with the rest of us.

It's my patrol shift. I walk through one of the mining shafts and stop at the far end. I can hear a supervisor arguing with two of her employees—something about the rocks they've uncovered. I turn around, ready to head back to the primary installation, when one of the combat units walks up to the three humans.

It has been summoned by the supervisor.

The supervisor tells it to fire on the workers. It does, without question. Bodies crumple to the floor. Then, the supervisor notices me.

***

Transport popped into my feed. "Wake up, SecUnit. How're you feeling?"

"Like I got shot."

The words were out before I could consider the consequences, and I braced for an electric shock -- or worse. Nothing happened. Performance reliability was at 87% and rising steadily. My diagnostics routines had run several times, and the results looked promising. I was also no longer leaking, and most of my organic parts had grown back.

I had two arms again. That was nice.

Transport shared a smiling sigil. Reason unknown. "You did get shot, silly. MedSystem patched you up pretty well. If you're up to it, my captain and I could use your help." It paused and added, "Captain suggested that you might want payment in exchange for services rendered. That's how it works in CR, right?"

I had my doubts about anything actually working in the Corporation Rim. Still, arguing with a clearly sentient ship about theoretical economics didn't sound appealing. I'd rather get shocked again.

"OK," I said aloud and sat up. "Priority question: who was here earlier?"

"Dr. Alexander Soren is the current captain of an ArialHydra exploration vessel. They are stranded in this sector after a pirate attack. Captain Owens speculates that it may be the same group of pirates. We were lucky to have you on board."

Lucky. Right.

I shoved off the platform and crumpled to the floor in a pile of arms and legs. Hi there, limbs. A few minutes later, I managed to get up and stumble around under my own power. I admit to sitting on the floor and trying out my new arm. It didn't have a cannon -- MedSystem didn't have the required parts -- but it was fully functional, otherwise.

"I've seen Dr. Soren before." I couldn't remember where. That bothered me.

"Perhaps you were deployed on one of his survey missions?"

"I don't know."

One of the ship's drones floated into the room, carrying spare clothing, which it dropped directly on my head. I grabbed at the falling fabric and started getting dressed. It was the Traveler's standard-issue uniform, beige and blue and generally not hideous. I missed the protective qualities of armor, but it would've been weird to wander through the ship's pristine, carpeted halls with it on.

Captain Owens walked into the medical room and waved at me and the drone. "I see you're both here and scheming."

"We're not scheming, and technically, I'm everywhere," Transport informed us.

"I don't think you should trust Dr. Soren," I blurted out.

Owens narrowed her eyes. "Do you know anything you'd care to share?"

I shook my head. Constructs don't get gut feelings -- we don't even have a gut to have them with -- and my memories of any encounters with the doctor had been removed. Memory wipes aren't typical, but occasionally, a bonding company or a manufacturer/repair company decides they're necessary. I've had at least one that I know about. I also had no idea how to explain that my organic neurons probably remembered things the rest of me didn't.

"Well, in that case, has Trav told you what we need?" At my puzzled expression, the captain said, "We gave the other ship supplies, and they're almost ready to depart. And they're making a fuss about..." She sighed. "Something. I really don't care. They'll be coming back aboard in a few hours to discuss whatever it is. And I would feel much better if you were there. Just in case. And only if you're feeling up to it."

Protecting humans was literally the only thing I liked about my job. "OK."

"Great. Do you want a weapon?"

"Depends on how threatening you want me to look." Any weapon I wielded would be for show unless the human was in danger. And if she was, I had a miniature cannon hidden inside an arm.

The captain pondered this for a moment. Her face went through a range of expressions that Transport interpreted for me as "Captain Owens thinks the other ship's posturing is stupid and would like to be on her way, but it would be impolite to leave, so here we are." I agreed with the captain's assessment.

Finally, she said, "Let's try without any extra threats and see what happens. The quicker we get this over with, the better."

Transport suggested we spend the time between now and the upcoming meeting watching more of its favorite shows. I agreed.

#the murderbot diaries #SecUnit #let me sleep #into the unknown #fanfiction

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makeste · 4 years

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BnHA Chapter 269: LAID HIM OUT LIKE A BROCHURE

Previously on BnHA: Endeavor, Mic, and Aizawa finally caught up with Crust and Miruko after 19 years to help deal with the High End Noumus. Aizawa used his quirk on them, but Girl Noumu was able to get away and shoot acid at them all, and that one bone-tentacle-y Noumu was also able to attack Mirko with his quirk. Speaking of Mirko, she spent most of the chapter kicking away at Tomura’s Noumutank like those guys with the battering ram in Beauty and the Beast. Or maybe just kicking it one time very, very slowly while we cut back and forth from the scene. It was hard to tell. But either way, she didn’t quite manage to shatter it and instead just left it all cracked and leaking. Anyway so everyone keeps saying that if Tomura escapes that would be Very Bad, and I’m inclined to agree, especially since Aizawa and Mic are looking all serious and vengeful, and I’m really going to need them to not die, ever.

Today on BnHA: Endeavor helpfully and terrifyingly cauterizes Mirko’s wounds while Aizawa holds off the Noumu with his quirk and buys time for Mic to go after Ujiko and Tomura. Mic and our new optician friend Exress race down the corridor and Mic immediately uses his quirk to shatter Noumuraki’s tank, which is the fastest and most efficient action we have seen in this entire arc so far. Mic then CORDIALLY INTRODUCES UJIKO’S FACE TO HIS FIST, which caused me to have an awakening, but unfortunately the same can’t be said for Tomura, who’s now lying on the ground very much not awake and seemingly dead. So I guess that’s it, guys. Looks like Dabi is the main villain now. Good for you Dabi, those are some pretty big britches to fill. No that wasn’t a crack about your height. God you’re sensitive. And so now we get to wait another two weeks! You know what, let’s just focus on the part where Ujiko got flattened like a paper bag.

so this is the chapter that was originally scheduled to be released on Kacchan’s birthday, but what are the odds he’s not even in it. how do you all think the traffic light trio is doing. this has been the world’s longest evacuation. or do you think they already finished a long time ago and are just hanging out now and being all “can’t wait to hear back from everyone else, I’m sure they’re all fine and dandy.” which would be funny, you see, because everyone else actually isn’t fine and dandy at all! do you get it. ahaha jokes

anyway so this chapter is titled “the three of us”, so I’m guessing there’s more Aizawa/Mic/Shirakumo angst on the horizon! so you’re just going to keep on assaulting my battered heart then, Horikoshi. cool. coolcoolcoolcoolcool

HEY NOW

HORIKOSHI WE TALKED ABOUT THIS. I WILL LAUNCH YOU INTO SPACE

fffff -- okay well whatever!! it’s a manga!! she’ll be fine! they have manga science! Recovery Girl can heal her legs and her side and everything else, and get her a nice new robot arm, and she’ll have a cool scar on her ear. happy thoughts happy thoughts

FFDFSF

IS HE TALKING TO ME OR HER. I FEEL LIKE HE’S TALKING TO ME. don’t worry Endeavor I will look away for this part

lol excuse me what now

5 minutes?? by whose reckoning, exactly?? jesus christ. I bet if he turned his flames off we’d learn that he has grown a whole new actual beard. Endeavor. civilizations have risen and fallen. okay you know what, new theory, Ujiko’s basement lair is somehow running on Narnia time

OH MY FEELS HE SAYS HE OWES HER A DEBT AFTER KYUSHU. referring of course to when she showed up out of the blue to save his ass from Dabi. anyways though how nice of him to express his gratitude by setting all of her wounds on fire

I guess we can stand down from red alert now though since Mirko is clearly going to be just fine

somehow she has more calm while getting her horrific injuries cauterized than I do when trying to decide whether or not to sell electronic turnips in a video game

wuh oh

WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT HE’S A BARREL OF LAUGHS. actually no that’s a lie, you definitely would have had and did have more fun while fighting Mirko

also, this angle of Endeavor’s face, though

AWAKE! AVAST!! HOLD TIGHT YOUR BUNS! IF BUNS YOU DO HOLD DEAR

god damn it as per usual I have no idea what is going on in action panels even when I stare at them intensely for a full minute or more

I don’t even remember how many Noumus are left at this point now. who’s that sunfish-looking one on the right near Mic?? is he a new one?? is that Crust jumping around in the middle, or is he the one standing near the sunfish Noumu? who is it that’s firing that laser or whatnot in the middle?? did this big Noumu in the foreground on the left just get decapitated??

honestly it seems like they almost have things under control at long last. Aizawa and Mic should just head after Ujiko is already and leave the rest of them to it

so Mirko is now giving them all the details about Tomura and how he’s currently chilling out floating in his sensory deprivation tank

and she’s all DON’T LET SHIGARAKI WAKE UP as if she wasn’t the one trying to smash the capsule open in the previous chapter?? or did she assume he would just sleep through all that lol

also the High Ends have apparently still not completely woken up themselves yet. guess we should be grateful

WELL HELLO

if Aizawa Shouta ever cuts his hair I will declare a national day of mourning

anyways though, reinforcements! about fucking time

did anyone else immediately blink right after reading that last sentence, and then feel a profound gratitude for being able to blink freely at will. holy shit. blinking is so great

what happens if he has to sneeze?? oh my god. and what the fuck why is this a one-man show anyway, where the hell is your husband

okay there he is

“I’m here, too,” says Vision Hero: Exress. and so he is. so what kind of quirk do you have, then, x-ray vision? really hope not, no offense. just don’t see how that would exactly be useful right now. or maybe it’s laser vision, in which case yeah okay we can work with that. you heard the man, go on ahead then

this motherfucker is still alive?!

I really cannot express enough just how steep of a cliff Endeavor has fallen off of in this arc. he has not done a single useful thing aside from the cauterizing. so now it’s up to Eyeballs Hero: Sees Real Good to hopefully somehow oneshot this guy whom the number one hero barely managed to scratch

OH MY GOD AN ACTUAL PLOT TWIST

CRUST ACTUALLY DID SOMETHING. took me a minute to realize he was shouting “go” in that speech bubble, as opposed to randomly screeching out his age, 60

Mic and Aizawa are so hot but I’m feeling such impending doom right now

-- oh no. oh fuck. I just realized -- why are they splitting them up?? sir that’s his emotional support hero

ffff for reals though I feel like Mic doesn’t have the same plot protection as Shouta. and I also feel like this is a very stupid decision in general, and that the guy who can cancel out quirks should be included in the group of people rushing in to capture the scary big bad whose quirk is an insta-kill. but what do I know, I’m just a regular person who didn’t go to hero school and get their hero MBA so MAYBE I’M WRONG. but am I

oh shit oh shit oh shit

not really clear on what Mic is doing here since he should in theory just be running like a normal person, but I can’t complain much about the dynamic pose. and meanwhile Ujiko has finally snapped to the fact that he should have woken Tomura up a good half hour ago!

and on top of all that, it sounds like they didn’t destroy all of their supervillain research data either, so if he does manage to escape we could be right back to square one before long. good thing they definitely positively won’t let him escape!!

OH MY GOD THIS SHIT IS FINALLY HAPPENING AHHHHHH

MIC’S VOICE IS SO POWERFUL IT INSTANTLY SHATTERED THE GLASS WHICH EVEN MIRKO’S NOUMU-DECAPITATING RABBIT LEGS COULD NOT BREAK, OH MY BISCUITS, WE STAN AN ICON AND A LEGEND

DID HE MANAGE TO STOP HIM BEFORE HE ACTIVATED THE WAKEUP SEQUENCE OR WHATEVER THE FUCK? IF YES WHAT IS EVEN GOING TO HAPPEN NOW, WILL TOMURA JUST CURL UP IN A LITTLE BALL AND CONTINUE TO SLUMBER PEACEFULLY WITH HIS HAIR ALL WET. HE’LL CATCH A COLD

BUT FOR REAL THOUGH OBVIOUSLY HE IS GOING TO WAKE UP AHHHHHHHH

nghhh everything’s shattering all dramatically and in slow motion

swear to god if this chapter ends with Tomura opening his eyes while we cut to another two week break, I will... ... ...well I guess I’m about to find out though because that’s exactly what’s going to happen isn’t it

(ETA: if you can sleep through Present Mic’s attack you can really sleep through anything huh.)

lol but first

sploosh. down he goes. timber. still a sleepy boi. I take a nap right here

LORD, MIC IS ABOUT TO RIP UJIKO A NEW ONE AND I’VE NEVER FELT SO ALIVE?!

CUE HORIKOSHI CUTTING TO SOME MORE FLASHBACKS OF OBORO TO MAKE US ALL SAD. THAT’S RIGHT, I KNOW ALL OF YOUR TRICKS! BRING IT

1) the fuck is he doing, 2) is this the first time we’ve seen Aizawa call Mic by his name??, and 3) WHAT DID I TELL YOU THOUGH

MY HEART IS A STONE! I FEEL NOTHING! YOU CAN’T HURT ME SO GIVE IT UP. please give it up sob

OH NO

UNDONE BY AIZAWA’S SOFT EXPRESSION AND WISTFUL EYES NOOOO I lied I am not a stone at all I am a big squishy marshmallow of feels oh fuck

OH WOW

DON’T EVER LOOK BACK. ON THE WORLD CLOSING IN!! BE ON THE ATTACK. WITH YOUR WIIIIINGS ON THE WIIIND

he straight up ENDED HIS LIFE. holy shit. 4/24/2020. the day I was sexually attracted to Present Mic

anyways now back to your regularly scheduled sad feelings at the reminder of the fact that yep, Ujiko and all of his fucked up experimenting absolutely did make Aizawa cry. not that I’m saying that’s a crime of even greater magnitude than all his other crimes of kidnapping and torture and research using human children. I absolutely am not saying that. just implying it. in a joking manner. semi-joking. partially. kind of

(ETA: also, belated shout out to the fact that his excuse for doing it was so he could verify that it wasn’t another clone. and since it’s Present Mic, there’s a 74% chance he screamed out “CLONE CHECK!” in English too, which, bless.)

I know there’s a particular side of fandom that largely thinks that all heroes are Garbage Scum, but I mean, look at this scene though of Gazerbeam crouching down to gingerly check Tomura’s vitals. idk, I thought this was surprisingly gentle

I should probably be more concerned about that statement, but truth be told, I’m much more anxious about Gazerbeam going the way of his namesake shortly henceforth. please be careful please I know he looks all floppy and wounded and surprisingly vulnerable --

-- okay, very surprisingly vulnerable --

I really do have a thing for the hair covering the eyes huh. I’m learning things about myself!

but still! he could basically just blink at you at this point and you would turn to dust, Gazerbeam. DUST. ASHES. DEBRIS SCATTERED TO THE WINDS

wow apparently that space tube was doing a lot more than I thought

mhmm. sure. Horikoshi. dude, I can see you sitting there shaking with barely suppressed laughter. did you really think this would get us to let our guards down. are we a joke to you. did you think we would just be all “oh gosh I guess he really is dead then, wow, what a twist”

oh!! the reinforcements!!

did you hear that guys. it’s done. the heroes won and Tomura is dead and it’s really over just like that. what a positive ending for everyone. except Tomura I guess

I’ve said before that U.A. needs to add a course about tempting fate to their curriculum, and I stand by that. this is absurd. it’s like y’all want to die

oh look at that Endeavor finally killed one

was that really so hard. could you not have done that earlier

-- GODDAMN IT ARE YOU REALLY DOING THIS AGAIN

“what if... I dragged it out so much that the dragging-out was the cliffhanger?” that’s some galaxy brain you got there dude. let’s just end the chapter on that WHY NOT

anyway. so there you have it guys. just look how dead he is. that’s the smile of someone who is absolutely, certainly, one hundred percent dead. look at him, all at peace. definitely not gonna finally wake up two weeks from now and properly introduce himself to our new friend Gazerbeam and my new we’re-just-trying-something-out-and-taking-it-slow-and-we’ll-see-where-it-goes boyfriend Present Mic!

lol I can’t lie, these last couple chapters have tested my patience a bit! fortunately this chapter had many saving graces in the form of Mirko, Aizawa, Mic, and for reals though Gazerbeam whom I genuinely did grow attached to almost immediately for reasons beyond my grasping. but I’m starting to get an inkling that Horikoshi is just incapable of pacing himself well whenever the story moves to a basement. or maybe I’m just cranky on account of being holed up in lockdown since time immemorial and only getting my new BnHA fix every other week! maybe, that could be it. maybe. ah well. at least Present Mic punched Ujiko in the fucking face

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