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cherryblossomtease · 3 years

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Chapter 7

18 + only

warnings and summary - Masterlist

Last years collection my ass you think holding your head high as you slip your hand around Zemo’s arm. This dress is so killer you could slay a few of the rich old dragons watching as the Baron escorts you into the ballroom.

You have to give him credit, not that he’s hurting for it but the man has taste.

The dress is black, long sleeved and stops mid-thigh. The cut of the shoulders is exaggerated just enough to draw attention. But what does it for you—the little bit of something special that no one else can see— is the fact that he had Maureen do some extra tailoring and now you know why he wanted you in this particular dress.

When Zemo stood behind you earlier at the apartment and zipped you up, the high turtleneck slowly closed around your throat mimicking the Baron’s own firm hold on your neck. You’d gasped with a fleeting sensation of panic but calmed when he kissed the spot behind your ear, and grabbed your hips, pressing his erection against your ass as he inhaled the scent of your hair. His muffled moan had vibrated through your shoulders and for the first time you realized the level of restraint his particular kind of kink required on his part too and you felt strangely bonded to him through your wonderful suffering. His lips brushed the curve of your ear as he’d whispered… “So that you don’t forget who you belong to.”

After that he’d given you permission to take off the underwear saying that the dress was enough and you’d thanked him, happy to be free of those perfectly evil things.

So now, you’re walking through this opulent ballroom collared and claimed and thankful to be so cared for by a man you can trust with your body enough to let him do these things to you.

“Remember to stay in character.” He says, eyes scanning the crowd “We can not let them know who we are.”

“Of course…Stavro” You say really emphasizing the fake name you deiced he needed on the ride over. Having given up on convincing you it wasn’t necessary he just laughs and kisses your temple before leading you further in.

You love to see him happy even when it’s fleeting and you steal a glance at Zemo in his dark blue suit and crisp white shirt, all of it tailored to the last stitch. He looks Breathtaking as usual… if you could breathe. You run your fingers down the center of your collar and flush feeling a resurgence of that deep connection. You are his and he is most certainly yours. It’s a good thing too, because this place is crawling with horny old men…

The ballroom of this grand hotel has been set up for a casino themed fundraiser. The sort where getting in cost a yacht. Zemo however seemed to have little trouble faking his way onto the list— at least you think he lied— and now you realize you haven’t done anything like this in forever, and certainly not with stakes this high.

The point of being here (as Zemo explained in the car) is to get this guy Polinsky to either give up what he knows about the serum Zemo is tracking down or get his hotel key to search his room. Either works, one is more desirable than the next but When Zemo’s target turns out to be the first man to openly flirt with you, the Baron lets the fates decide and whispers “Go with it”

Acting as though you aren’t here together, he goes down to the side of the craps table, pretending to be interested in the gambling while watching you two.

Polinsky is loud and crude and you really think you might shove the dice in his eye if he looks at you like that again, but Zemo is still calm and collected so you continue to play along. When Zemo motions for you to drink, you take one off the servers tray and share it with Polinksy who probably doesn’t need much more.

Just when you think this is going no where and you’re tired of being used as a ploy, Zemo does his thing.

He brings up Polinksy’s accent and it’s revealed that he’s Sokovian. They become fast friends and after a few more wins, the target is telling the Baron everything, unfortunately it’s not what he needs to hear and you can tell that he’s starting to grow impatient.

You’ve only ever seen what happens when Zemo is sick of you not listening to his commands, and it's cruel in the best way. So what happens in the real world when a dangerous, genius man with a military background is tired of waiting?

When Polinksy tells you to blow on his dice for luck and casually reaches to get a good handful of your ass as you do, you know you’re about to find out.

Zemo moves without much effort or thought, you see it and spot the instinct to protect what’s his immediately. His grip on Polinsky’s arm is shocking and the man’s face goes red instantly with drunken outrage.

Jaw clenched and eyes wide, you see that Zemo is ready to break Polinsky’s arm, but you quickly step between them and lay a hand on Zemo’s shoulder. “No.” You mouth shaking your head. “Follow my lead” You say low enough so that only he can hear.

Zemo gives you an intrigued head tilt, glances up at the man one last time then flings his arm away. “She’s not available.” He snaps at the man who is more annoyed than ready for a fight.

“Forgive me for speaking without asking sir.” You bow your head to Zemo then look up at Polinsky. “He likes to be the one to say when and how I am touched. But he let’s other men do much more than that for the right price…”

Polinksy quickly catches on and shoots a look at the Baron.

Zemo understands instantly and straightens his head. “Apologies, I should have made it clear. She can be yours, but not without me there to insist she be compliant.” He reaches and slides his finger down the side of your face, his hand going around the back of your neck. His thumb strokes your collar and you lift your chin and shut your eyes so that Polinsky can see what sort of situation he’s being presented with.

Someone yells for Polinsky to roll the dice which he does. The small crowd goes wild with another win, but the three of you stay silent.

"How much?”

“Six thousand.”

“Done”

“To watch. Eight to touch.”

He frowns, but when Zemo smacks your ass and you give a little yelp, Polinsky nearly drools. “Sold.”

You’re standing in the middle of the hotel room. Zemo is in the chair in the corner and Polinksy is sitting on the bed.

You’re scared, wondering how far this will go, but one look over at him and you know Zemo would never sell you like this. Not really. He’ll protect you.

“Turn around and bend over.” Polinksy says unzipping his pants.

You glance at Zemo who gives the nod to obey.

You do and you can hear the man moaning when he see’s the line of your pale pink underwear.

“Spread.” He growls standing.

The blood is rushing to your head as you look over to Zemo not bothering to hide your fear.

The Baron is quietly standing up. You reach back and lay your hands flat on your ass and start to, but it’s too much. You don’t know this man.

“I said spread!” Polinksy shouts and you shut your eyes half expecting to feel his hand make contact with your skin, but it doesn’t come.

You quickly stand in time to see Zemo grab his arm and punch the man once before kicking him down and onto the floor. You back away wide eyed, your heart racing and you pull your dress down.

Polinksy is groaning and reaching up as if to grab hold of something but Zemo doesn’t give him a second chance. With a swinging kick to the head, he knocks the man out and you are stunned to see what the Baron is capable of.

“ I needed him off his guard completely. I would not have let him touch you.” Zemo says still looking down at Polinsky who is out cold. He turns away from the gross sight to find you.

You nod but you’re shaken. “ Please, just get what you need and let’s go.”

For a change he listens to you and you watch him rip the room apart until he finds what he’s looking for which seem to be a card, with a name on it? He stares down at the object in his hand, distracted only by the pinging of Polinsky’s phone on the floor.

When Zemo looks down at it, you see the color drain from his face.

“Time to go.” He says grabbing your arm and you try to get him to tell you what’s wrong but he won’t listen or talk, he just moves and pulls you along with him until you’re back downstairs and going through the chaos of the casino.

When he stops, you look up at him trying to figure out what the problem is. “Are we being followed?”

He doesn’t answer, it looks like he’s waiting, or perhaps getting his timing right. You know the latter is true when he falls into step with two waitresses carrying drink trays, with you still held firm.

As they turn to go towards the bar, he goes the other way heading for the doors and the two of you are outside and practically running towards the waiting car.

“Drive” Zemo says once you’re safely inside.

As you speed off, you look over at him. The night took an unexpected turn but you made it out, doesn’t that count for something. “Didn’t you find what you were looking for?” You ask.

He doesn’t look at you, just nods and looks out the window.

You haven’t seen him like this before —wait— yes you have. “It’s all right. I’m sure everything will fall into place now.” He doesn’t say anything, and you, for the first time don’t know what to do. He reminds you very much of that silent, broken man he was eight years ago.

Giving him space, you sit back and look out your own window until you feel his hand lay over yours on the seat and you spin your head around surprised but relieved.

He holds your hand tight and raises it up, kissing your fingers before pulling you over.

“I could have killed him.” He says starring ahead angrily. He is stroking your arm gently but you know what these hands can do. “And you…”

He looks down and you see the way his anger fades, but he holds onto it long enough to say “You broke rule one.”

You laugh a little and shrug. “I knew I could get you into his room.”

“Perhaps don’t offer yourself to strange men next time?”

“You went along with it while it was working!”

“I did, but I didn’t like it.”

“Me either.” You say looking off.

Zemo hooks his finger around your chin turning your head to face him again and he slips his hand up to cradle your cheek “You, are an extraordinary woman. And I—am lucky to have you.”

You melt in his arms trying your best not to profess your true feelings and wonder what’s stopping you, but before you can let the thoughts progress, he kisses your head and raises your chin a little more to look deep into your eyes. “You will take off your dress.” He says softly and you realize he’s got a hold of your zipper with the fingers of his other hand. “You will lay down in the middle of the bed on your stomach and you will wait for me.” He whispers in your ear as he pulls the closure down to the center of your shoulder blades and stops. “Understood?”

You nod “Yes Baron.”

He does that soft, deep moan that is equal parts pleased and aroused as he looks you over, smoothing a wayward strand of hair from your face, his brows knitting together with concentration before relaxing again. “I will thrash the memory of that man from you until you remember that you belong only to me.”

#baron zemo #zemo fatws #zemo x reader #zemo x you #baron zemo fanfiction #zemo smut #anticipation #submisivegirl #strong female characters #yes sir #yes baron #jelousy #he adores you

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korissideblog · 3 years

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[slams my guitar into the stage bc im past my teen years and yet still full of unbridled teenage rage]

so this ending is dumb and stupid and I hate it 😭 pretty much the plan for this fic was just a bunch if monologuing, and I didn’t know how I was gonna end it till I was. ending it.

ok, groveling aside, fic uses characters labled in part 1. I’m very sleepy. Here’s part 2 of

The Hedonist

“Jetsam Kisa?”

“Yes.” Aito shuttered, as if a sudden cool wind had blown through the room. “He was my best friend… and… well look at me now.”

Normally when this was said by someone draped in silk and gold, it was supposed to be a positive thing, but the pain in Aito’s face told the real weight of it all. How heavy the luxury really was.

“I’m sorry.”

“No need to be.” Aito mumbled, quickly waving off the comforting words. “You haven't done anything to cause it.”

“I'm not sorry for something done wrong, I’m sorry that I can’t help you through it.” Sakura said, her voice lowering as she explained herself, frowning a bit as Aito finally removed his hand from her’s.

“Again, no need.” Aito repeated, stepping back from the settee. “Despite appearances, I’m fairly settled in it. Despite… everything...” she said, gesturing vaguely. “I know who I am. And who I am is a villain.” a small smirk tugged at Aito’s lips as Sakura handed the book back. “I’d even go to say I'm your best villain.”

“I’m not one to disagree, pet, but may I ask,” Sakura continued, watching Aito over her shoulder. “Why would you label yourself so?”

“Simple.” Aito chuckled, walking the book back to the shelf it belonged to. “Given my background, I know more about any hero we encounter than anyone else.”

Sakura squinted as Aito slipped the book back into the empty spot. “Given your background?” she repeated.

“As a past student of UA, I’d say I know most of the heroes out there- and their abilities- fairly intimately.” Aito hummed, pleased with the shocked face Sakura made when he turned to face her.

“Checkmate… you have a long leash- I let you associate with who you please, I let you go and come from this place as you wish, you have more say in my plans than I afford to many- but… I hope you understand my… insecurity in this.” she said, lowering her voice as if Aito’s education was something to be kept secret. “The implications alone are dizzying.”

“I know, but believe me, Sakura san.” Aito said, his face falling back into its usual stoic expression. “I buried my sympathies for my classmates a long time ago.” Sakura still felt a tinge of nervousness, but it melted away as Aito returned to her side. “I do what I want now, without regard for good or bad. Interesting how I seemed to fall right in line with people like you.” he hummed hurmously, patting Sakura’s shoulder in a rare display of affection.

“I’d say.” Sakura laughed as Aito quickly removed his hand. “Interesting though, that people’s suffering is what you want.” she mentioned, tapping her cheek as if considering it. “Masochist.”

“The word you’re looking for is sadist.” Aito corrected her. “The correct word is schadenfreude- but I prefer hedonist.” Aito noticed Skaura’s eyebrow raise minutely, as if asking a silent question. “Hedonism being the philosophy of pleasure. Though not a slave to my whims, I still try to give myself anything I want. My goal is to maximize pleasure, and I think I do it well.” she explained further. “Villainy… Well, if heroism was this fun, I would be a hero.” he paused, shrugging, “but it’s not… so I’m not.”

Sakura smiled, seemingly pleased with the answer as she resettled herself on the settee. “Authur Ashe once said ‘True heroism is remarkably sober, very undramatic. It is not the urge to surpass all others at whatever cost, but the urge to serve others at whatever cost.’ I believe myself heroic, at least in the sense that I serve villainous causes.” Sakura reasoned, purposefully perverting the message “But you… you don’t serve anything but yourself?” she asked, her smile widening as she looked up at the villain before her. “How do you justify it then? All of this.” Sakura continued, grinning as Aito sat down next to her feet, unusual behavior for the distant and stoic man Sakura knew. “Who does your heroism serve, pet?”

Aito paused, thinking hard as he leaned against the back of the little couch. “I don’t believe it serves you, Sakura san.” Aito reasoned, his hands slipping behind his back as if in thought. “Nor any specific villainous cause… I guess I’d say that my heroism serves my friends, my community, and my family.” Aito settled, her posture straightening as she turned to face Sakura. “As well as the heroes of Japan.” and before Sakura could even process the sentence, Aito was already tackling her to the ground.

The fight was short, Aito quickly getting the upper hand on the villain, and pinning her on her stomach as he cuffed her hands behind her back. “Checkmate!” Sakura barked, struggling under Aito’s knee. “What are you doing!”

But she was ignored, the character Checkmate immediately falling as Aito came back into the spotlight. “I already told you! I’m doing what I want!” he giggled, Sakura shouting in protest as he stood up and kicked over the settee. From his pocket Aito produced a small folding knife, which he used to cut open the bottom of the couch. Aito stuck her hand into the space and pulled out a bulky handheld radio. She flicked it on and messed with the knobs till there was a definite beep, quickly pressing the button on the side. “Iku! Yessam! My 9 months are up!” she chirped, Sakura stunned by the difference between her teammate and this new person, both somehow seeming to share the same body. “Yua Sakura is detained, I’m gonna need help for transport though.”

“Detained- you can’t detain me you brute!” Sakura barked, the chains around her wrists clattering as she fought against them. She was happily ignored by Aito.

There was a pause, and then a scratchy voice came through the other side of the radio. “Great job Aito!” the man replied, seemingly just as excited as Aito. “We'll be there in half an hour! Just keep Sakura entertained till then.”

Aito nodded quickly, looking down on the villain with a grin. “Awe you should have seen it, Ikuto! I was monologuing and everything! I was like a real life villain!” she giggled

“Troubling how well you can do that.” a different voice now, one Aito seemed just as pleased to hear. “But still impressive, good job Aito.”

“You bet your ass it was!” Aito yelled in excitement, practically bouncing in place. “Awe, I missed you guys so much! My hair is… wow, it’s rough. Blonde is not my color.” she laughed, noticing Sakura messing with the chains on her handcuffs and immediately realizing what was going on. “h-hold on there!” she barked, kicking Sakura’s side to discourage her from using her quirk against the metal.

“I-I can’t believe! You were nothing when I found you!” She yelled, curling in on herself to guard against any other attacks.

“God she’s a pain to deal with- but whatever! Jetsam! You have to take me to get my hair cut! Long is cute but it makes everything so much harder! Do you know how many times I’ve been grabbed by the hair? It’s wicked what people do to me.” he whined, glaring at Sakura before stepping away from her side.

“Sounds like a plan Aito.” Jetsam laughed, the background noise probably coming from whatever vehicle they were using to find the hide away. “Are you starting on the scene? We may not have a lot of time before the rest of the villains arrive.”

“Already on it!” Aito laughed, shoving her shoulder into a nearby bookcase and watching it fall into the ones behind it. “After this we only need to torch the place a bit, and it’ll look just like a kidnapping!” she giggled, watching all the books spill onto the floor with a chaotic glee.

“You- you traitor!” Sakura screamed from her spot on the floor, seemingly not enjoying the mess like Aito was, and still struggling against the cuffs. “I’ll destroy you- ruin you- I’ll burn- your heart.” She had actually managed to sit up by the time Aito had strolled over, but was quickly stopped by the hero.

“Awe…”Aito cooed, leaning over a bit to look the woman in the eye. “You’re cute when you’re mad, too bad you weren’t this entertaining the entire time. Hell, maybe I would have become an actual villain.” he joked dryly. “Sorry for this, but I can’t have you getting away.” Aito smirked, not looking sorry at all as he threw a punch at her temple, knocking her out cold.

“Mama always says never to hit a lady.” Aito sighed, talking back into the radio

“I think these are extenuating circumstances. Mama would understand.” Ikuto laughed, back in control of the radio. “Jetsam’s driving, we’ll be there soon. Have fun destroying the place.”

And have fun, Aito definitely did.

#Nico said I should have fixed the beginning #And I really really agree but I didn’t know how and #[rattles the bars of my cage with. malice]#this is the first fic that I actively dislike #Hoooo it gets so off topic and aisgjsvsjsbshs #Why must I write Good Stories with a Coherent Plot #Isn’t it enough for me to just Have Thoughts on philosophy?#Bnha oc comeback #knha // kimi no hero academia #aito takao #jetsam kisa #ikuto maekawa #Literally punching the air as we speak I hate this fic so much

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the-odd-job · 3 years

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Ashes of Icarus chapter 5 - (Don’t) Take a Hint

Rating: Explicit Warnings: Chose Not to Use Category: Other Fandom: Transformers Characters: Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, Megatron Relationships: Megatron/Sunstreaker, Sideswipe & Sunstreaker Additional Tags: Dubcon, Unplanned Pregnancy, Mechpreg, Sticky Words: 5365

And then they FUCKED.

It’s dubcon, so watch out for that.

( Previous )

It turned out that the Decepticons had probably gotten what they wanted before Megatron called their retreat, because again there was a length of time with absolutely nothing happening. Ratchet fixed him up good, as he did with Sideswipe, they touched up their paint jobs and polished themselves to a fine shine Sideswipe was inevitably going to ruin within the span of a couple of hours–

And things went back to normal. Although Sunstreaker did get reminders from Optimus, Prowl, Ironhide, even Jazz about how he shouldn’t fight Megatron all on his own.

Were they all so damn worried about him dying? Primus, he’d survived worse. Now, if Megatron had actually fired, that was one thing, but…

Okay, so maybe he had possibly come very close to losing his damn life, and maybe no one just wanted to see him dying despite how talented he was at making everyone’s life hell on Earth.

As he proceeded to do with Tracks. Again. Something or other about their simultaneous washrack use. Again.

Prowl deemed it not severe enough to throw him into the brig this time, but he did assign him to the less desirable patrol routes.

And it didn’t show in his expression or voice, but Sunstreaker could have sworn the tactician took sadistic pleasure in doing that, knowing how much Sunstreaker hated the backwoods dirt roads. Sideswipe didn’t particularly enjoy them either, for that matter. He didn’t care so much about the dirt itself, or the rocks that flew up to ding their finish, but it was just uncomfortable to drive on. They were sports cars for Primus’ sake! They barely had any ground clearance.

The moment there was a bump on the road, it was their undercarriage that hit it.

That, that right there, was torture, and Prowl just put them to it, because it was that or something even more unpleasant. And oh, Prowl would come up with something even more unpleasant if he was pushed.

Past experience told as much. He could get deviously creative when he wanted to.

Or maybe he collaborated with Jazz for the best/worst ideas. It was a surprise Optimus even allowed some of the things he’d put the twins up to over the years.

At least he hadn’t denied them access to washracks, this time. That was the only thing that made the damned patrols even somewhat bearable, knowing he could have a hot shower afterwards, followed by a few hours of tending to his finish.

Sideswipe only ever stuck around for the first half an hour, but that was fine as long as they got all the parts he couldn’t reach on his own before his brother ran off to do whatever he was itching to do that time. It provided Sunstreaker with some quiet alone time that he was never too opposed to—a chance to bring out his other paints and the canvases that weren’t just his own frame.

He had some creativity he needed to unleash regularly, after all—besides finding creative ways to tear others apart.

What could he say, he was an artist of several kinds.

And it kept him out of public spaces, even if just momentarily. Everyone except Red Alert was just happy when he stayed in their quarters for a bit, Sunstreaker himself too.

Red Alert, he just thought they were only moments for Sunstreaker to plot something nefarious. To be fair, he sometimes did. Painting freed his mind for other things, detached him enough that he could let his thoughts loose without physically letting loose on the same go. Mix colors, brush strokes… Planning the ways to achieve the results he wanted. It was all so familiar. Just as familiar as taking life was.

Only considerably more peaceful, no?

Sadly, the relaxation never lasted long after he had to return to the day to day grind of putting up with everyone’s raging stupidity. How his comrades didn’t tear each other to shreds, he didn’t understand. Or was it just him who found practically everything they did aggravating?

Could be that.

But as much of a dark and broody loner as he was, he did have some company he kept relatively peacefully. Everyone got along with Jazz, for one, and Mirage… As different as their backgrounds were, they shared enough similarities that they’d—eventually—bonded.

After Sunstreaker had torn the noble to pieces enough times for being a stuck up little bitch.

They got along now, though, much to the surprise of many.

And Bluestreak. Mech had a way of worming under your plating. The grey Praxian sat next to him now, with Sideswipe on his other side and Jazz and Mirage opposite of them on the other side of the table. They talked and laughed around him, naturally incorporating him into the conversation through Sideswipe, but letting his contribution be little more than the occasional grunt or half-smile.

If he felt like saying something, he would, but… Really, he was content to let Sideswipe handle that part.

He knew these were mecha that were glad Megatron hadn’t offed him. Friends. Around them he could almost feel relieved that Optimus had shown up when he did.

Almost.

A larger part of him still wanted to find out what would have happened without the Prime’s interruption.

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

“Two more patrols of this, then we’ll be free!” Sideswipe rejoiced as they turned from one dirt road onto another. The scenery at least was about as pretty as an organic planet could ever manage, lush forest surrounding them from two sides. Only their engines drowned out the natural sounds of the place.

Too bad he was a little too busy trying to avoid the unbecoming bumps and dips on the sorry excuse of a road to pay much attention to it.

“Two patrols too many,” Sunstreaker grumbled as another rock was sent flying by his wheel and hit him on the side of his chassis.

Fuck this, seriously.

“Shh, focus on the upside!” Sideswipe admonished him, revving his engine and accelerating just in time to really launch himself off the top of the small hill they were climbing.

Sunstreaker ignored the rocks and discomfort and followed suit, enjoying the short moment of his frame suspended on thin air–

Before gravity pulled him back down with a hard shove to his shocks.

More or less worth it, anyway. This would’ve been so much more fun on asphalt, though.

“Besides, isn’t this good inspiration for your art?” his twin continued, and Sunstreaker grunted noncommittally. It was, once he would be able to review his memory files. Incorporating the alien aspects of organic lifeforms into his work was a project he had worked on for a while now.

The results were pretty good, so far. The touch of unrealness of alien worlds added a nice new dimension to things.

No doubt Sideswipe would have had more to say, but he didn’t get the chance before their scanners picked up a Decepticon signature ahead of them. That was… Unexpected.

Then again this had to be a patrol route for a reason. Maybe that reason was about to become apparent to them.

Once they got close enough to scan for a spark signature, though…

“What the pit is he doing here by himself?” Sideswipe hissed at him urgently at the same time as a surge of emotions he probably shouldn’t have felt burst in Sunstreaker’s core. Curiosity. Excitement. Anticipation.

Sideswipe took note of that. Sunstreaker could feel his exasperation and the is this seriously how we’re going to die, but nevertheless his brother just asked, “Do you want to report this in?”

No. No, he didn’t want to. Even if getting answers cost him his life, he didn’t want to.

It turned out they couldn’t have even if they’d wanted to, once he checked. Someone was jamming communications signals.

Which likely suggested Soundwave was present, too.

It was like they were driving straight into a trap.

So be it.

They drove until they reached a small clearing. Megatron was standing there in the middle of it, his back to them, arms clasped behind him—and sure enough, Soundwave was standing off to the side, watching their arrival.

They could’ve flown away if they’d wanted to, with the power of Sideswipe’s jetpack. Or tried to. Megatron and Soundwave could’ve tried to shoot them down, too, but the fact remained that they weren’t fully cornered even if they had no way to contact someone for backup.

And no will to do so, but no one needed to know that.

They were at a significant disadvantage, though. Soundwave they could’ve taken on, but Megatron… And that wasn’t even going into the fact the host might have his cassettes ready to be ejected. For all they knew they could be outnumbered as well as outclassed within a moment’s notice.

Sideswipe wasn’t fearful, but tense and cautious, prepared for the worst. Sunstreaker wasn’t fearful, but vibrating with anticipation. That could easily be mistaken for the anger he was known for, though, after they pulled their fields in tight.

If they weren’t in the presence of a telepath, anyway.

Whatever this was… They’d play.

“What’s this?” Sideswipe asked after they’d transformed, a smile on his face and none of the tension in him visible on the outside. “Weren’t expecting company on this fine day! Came to enjoy the scenery too? Gotta say, it’s pretty awesome for a mudball like this, Sunny’s getting so many ideas to use in his paintings.”

No one cut him off, but no one acknowledged what he’d said, either.

Silence only reigned for a moment, though. Megatron was the one to break it, finally turning to face them. “I was interrupted last time,” he said, his optics zeroing in on Sunstreaker.

Sunstreaker bared his denta and growled.

“That will not happen this time,” the warlord went on to announce, ignoring the threat aimed at him.

“What, gonna finish what you started and shoot me dead?” Sunstreaker asked before barking out a laugh. “Over my dead body.”

No fear, no hesitation, call it bravery or call it stupidity, but it was Sunstreaker that closed the distance between them, attacking the tyrant and no one else. Sideswipe went for Soundwave instead, and it was such, such a bad idea to split themselves up like this…

They did it anyway. One on one.

Make it real.

Megatron was ready for him, of course he was. He took his attack, deflected it, made one of his own… Treated him like an opponent. Fought.

And Sunstreaker made him do it. He didn’t hold back, and he was aiming for the kill, because what else could he want to do? Megatron had to step up to the challenge or lose his life.

That was how things were supposed to be. Earn your right to live. Nothing was handed to you for free. You had to take.

And Megatron, if anyone, should understand that. Look at the hole they’d both crawled out of—the Pits were behind them, their parent and mentor. They spoke the language. Fighter. Warrior.

Gladiator.

Between this attack and the next, Sunstreaker pulled out his thermal sword, activated the blade, and sliced at Megatron’s armor. Even at partial heat the edge cut into the warlord’s plating with all the ease a heated weapon would.

Megatron had to jump out of the way, although actually putting him on the defensive was nigh impossible.

Sunstreaker would try anyway.

“I remember you.” The words were growled, sending a shiver down his back.

They didn’t distract him.

“Do you, now?”

“You and your brother.” Megatron released his own sword, and he could almost hear it—the roar and dull pounding of spectators, bright lights bearing down on them to make them visible for all to see…

They’d been here before, just like this.

“What do you remember?” Sunstreaker asked, his face twisting into a snarl as one sword blocked the other.

But his spark was spinning like a wild thing, excitement and the rightness of the situation driving it mad.

If he’d die, this would be the way to go, testing his mettle against a worthy opponent—just like he would have in another lifetime.

“A deathmatch,” Megatron answered, and Sunstreaker’s optics burned brighter. “Between you and I.

“Only, we were interrupted.”

They were.

Sideswipe was paying more attention to him and Megatron than he was paying to Soundwave, but it was clear why. It was as if both Sideswipe and Soundwave were trying to keep the other from getting involved in the fight between Megatron and Sunstreaker—and when their goal was mutual, there wasn’t a whole left for them to do except some token attacks that hardly even constituted as proper fighting.

This was between Sunstreaker and Megatron.

As it had once been.

“You spared me,” Sunstreaker grunted. He bolted to the side, but Megatron’s sword managed to cut him. Shallow.

“You were there against your will,” Megatron gave the same reason he had given then.

“You made an example out of us.” A feign to the side, then a strike, the heat of his blade melting Megatron’s armor–

Sideswipe. Sideswipe had lifted the gate into the arena and ran between him and the killing blow.

No!

The fight never should have happened. Sunstreaker never stood a chance, did he? Not against Megatron.

But he didn’t get to say yes or no to who he fought.

It was the folly of a greedy mech and it should have cost him his life. It should have cost Sideswipe his life.

Instead… Here they were. Still fighting.

“You represented everything that was wrong with Cybertron,” Megatron said, with heat—just as he had spoken with passion then when he had addressed the crowds, fearless of their reaction.

When he had gone against every rule of the arenas and not killed in a fight to the death.

But Megatron had already been a champion. He’d fought his way to the top, bought his own freedom, he’d rallied together a rebellion—you didn’t tell that Megatron what to do.

Especially not when he believed in something.

“Yeah, well, thanks for that.” He rather liked living, it was nice to get to continue to do that. Was the rumble of Megatron’s engine amused now, though?

He could be imagining things.

“You were a berserker,” Megatron said then, a heavy torrent of attacks forcing Sunstreaker to jump back once, twice, thrice, before he brought his sword up and put an end to it.

Because he could. He had the skill for it. The strength, even if that was lesser than Megatron’s. “I was.” He could turn the tables, go on the offensive—force Megatron to think his actions carefully, lest the smoldering blade struck him somewhere important.

“I haven’t seen you snap even once here on Earth.” But just the same, Megatron could flip that table right back around, and he did so, violently. Sunstreaker strafed to the side before he had his arm chopped off.

“I’ve gotten better.” Pits. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed this. War, battles… War was messy. There were too many players and moving parts for it to be anything else. Guns, mines, missiles, bombs. Even once the frontline charged and clashed together in close combat—so many players. There was motion everywhere around you, dozens of targets and threats you needed to track at any given moment.

It was a desperate struggle for survival.

He loved it.

But this. To have just one to focus on and have their focus entirely on you, to give your all against that singular opponent. It tested a slightly different skill set, for sure, but it felt like the truer challenge, cleaner—a true test of your artistry.

Or maybe that was just the gladiator in him talking. He was that before he was a soldier… Always would be.

“Is it something to get better from?”

What..?

Surprise, that damned thing. It should never take a hold of you when every fraction of a second counted.

But like he was a damned rookie, Sunstreaker faltered from the unexpected, and paid for it. Megatron could have cut his helm off in that moment, or impaled him somewhere painful, but he… Didn’t. Oh, he used Sunstreaker’s momentary distraction, but only to slam his arm to the side of his helmet—and Megatron was big, as were his arms. The strength and momentum of that one strike were well enough to send Sunstreaker flying into the ground, landing heavily and without finesse.

His grunt was a quiet thing, and his mind—reeling for a moment too long. Megatron’s pede landed on his chassis, he snatched his sword from his grip, and just like that, it was over.

And Sunstreaker had lost, again, due to a stupid mistake he should have had all the experience to avoid.

“A-a-aa,” Megatron tutted when Sideswipe tried to break from Soundwave and come to Sunstreaker’s aid, as he always would. Instead of being allowed to do that this time, instead of being allowed to change the course of things… Megatron’s fusion cannon came to life, aiming at Sunstreaker’s helm.

Sideswipe took the threat for what it was and stopped, glaring at Megatron. Soundwave followed a step behind him, and just like that they continued their scuffle, although this time their goals did not align.

With Sideswipe distracted by his Third, Megatron shifted his attention back to Sunstreaker. The cannon… Moved away, died down.

Huh. Apparently he wasn’t going to get shot today. Fancy that.

“If you’re not going to kill me, what the slag do you want?” Sunstreaker growled, digging his digits into Megatron’s ankle, but it did him no good. The pede stayed right where it was, pinning him into the ground with enough force to test the strength of his armor.

He might’ve asked, but Sunstreaker… Had an inkling already.

And if he was right…

Primus. He didn’t want to show it, and he didn’t know if Soundwave informed Megatron of it, but his spark was fragging fluttering from what wasn’t anything other than hopeful excitement. His field he kept to himself, but it would’ve been a sickening thing of heat and anticipation.

His ventilations ran hot, but that could just be because of the fight.

Yeah right.

But he snarled at Megatron, engine revving in fruitless threat. What threat was he? Oh, he was a threat just by existing. He hadn’t lost because he couldn’t take it anymore, he had lost because of a mistake he wouldn’t repeat—Megatron would have to defend himself all over again, it was just a matter of time.

Unfortunately, while waiting for that moment the tyrant did have him in a rather precarious situation. Sideswipe went down with some angry cursing too, and Soundwave pinned him there very thoroughly.

He could watch, but it was clear the Decepticons on the scene didn’t plan on letting him be an interruption to whatever it was Megatron wanted.

And it would still be a while before anyone on the Ark would notice they weren’t checking in as they were supposed to.

In short: no one would save him this time.

A smelting puff of air escaped his vents at the thought. His digits on Megatron’s pede tightened, but he glowered up at the tyrant towering over him.

Tall, imposing, and powerful.

Primus help him.

Megatron raised an optical ridge at him. “Do you not know already?”

“I have a few ideas.”

“I’m sure one of them is correct.”

Bastard was fragging teasing him. Sunstreaker growled in earnest, but Megatron merely crouched, removing his pede from his chassis only to grab him by the throat instead.

And Vector Sigma but the hold was tight. Sunstreaker’s servos grabbed at Megatron’s wrist, but he could tug and claw it all he wanted, twist and buck with all his might—Megatron didn’t even bother to react to his struggles.

By the Thirteen, he was going to lose his mind at this rate.

His engine was roaring, definitely out of anger and not… Anything else, but when he’d thought it was going to throttle itself out–

Megatron reached between his legs and cupped his scorching panel–

And his engine reached a whole new level he wasn’t sure it had ever visited before. Sunstreaker stared at the blue blue sky far above with its occasional puffy white cloud, trying not to pay too much attention to the red optics focused on him and just him.

He was going to fragging die, and Megatron was going to be the cause of it.

“Want it, hm?” the tyrant asked, his claws digging into the seams of his interface panel.

Sunstreaker found the state of mind to growl, and even managed a glare at his assailant despite the static dancing in his vision. “Go to hell.”

Megatron ignored him. “Open.”

No one to save him.

Sideswipe was looking, struggling against Soundwave’s hold the same Sunstreaker was struggling against Megatron, but it got neither of them anywhere.

So utterly helpless…

Because they were so severely outclassed. Maybe not by Soundwave, but definitely by Megatron. The leader of the Decepticons, one who’d managed to keep his position for a very good reason despite the many rumored attempts to overthrow him–

He was holding Sunstreaker down, his claws painful where they pressed into the sensitive paneling, demanding.

Not asking.

Demanding.

His vents were blown wide but even that wasn’t enough to cool him.

“Do you want me to tear this off? That’ll be quite something to explain, won’t it?” Megatron asked casually, and Sunstreaker… Considered it.

“Bastard,” he snarled, bucking away from Megatron’s hold—definitely not into it—but it did nothing to dislodge the claws hooked into the covering protecting his array.

And he considered it.

Those marks alone would be difficult to explain, but at least they were something he and Sideswipe could try to get rid of on their own.

There wouldn’t be much they could do about an entirely missing cover, damaged in the process of its removal. That would lead to questions, ones he’d really rather not answer.

Sunstreaker grit his denta, glared harder, but sent the command to retract his valve cover.

Megatron’s digits dipped into his valve instantly and this time he couldn’t keep his frame from jerking into the penetration. He had to bite back a groan.

“Soaked,” the tyrant noted after he fetched his digits. Lubricant was dripping down them liberally, and that was nothing compared to the pool his valve was leaking onto the ground between his legs.

Legs that Megatron forcibly spread, despite Sunstreaker’s attempt at kicking him. It did him no more good than anything else he’d done so far had. Megatron pressed on his throat harder, practically digging his frame into the dirt, and he should’ve hated it. Did hate the grime that was digging into the gaps of his armor.

That’d be hell to clean later.

But his core ached. The temperature of his frame kept on rising despite the best attempts of his fans and vents, and Megatron was between his goddamn legs…

A click. Sunstreaker couldn’t look, not with Megatron’s hold of him, but oh, Sideswipe could, and Sunstreaker trembled at the things he saw.

He would love this, Sideswipe informed him.

Sunstreaker had few doubts about that.

Megatron’s digits returned to his valve, shoving inside and scissoring—stretching him, prepping him, and Sunstreaker writhed. This time he couldn’t contain his strangled groan, his valve rippling around the invading claws despite himself. He was panting, hard, and Pits but Megatron had barely even started yet.

Death by overheating, that was his future.

He cursed, rather loudly so, when Megatron removed his digits again. This time the rumble of the tyrant’s engine was definitely amused, but before Sunstreaker could take offense with that, something big nosed up against his valve entrance.

...But didn’t enter.

He was going to glitch.

“Do you want me to put it in?”

It took him an embarrassing amount of time to gather his thoughts enough to snap a sharp, “Frag no,” complete with an angry growl from his engine.

Megatron didn’t take heed. “Mmm, your body disagrees,” was all he said, brushing his damned spike against his valve again, but not going in.

And Sunstreaker’s self control was quickly unraveling. That only angered him further, and Sideswipe’s amusement didn’t help matters any—but what the pit was Megatron waiting for?

For him to say yes? Tell him to put it in? Beg for it?

Hell no. He’d rust before he did any of that.

Or rather, redlined his systems from frustration.

“My body’s mistaken,” Sunstreaker nevertheless found the strength to snarl, bucking—to fight against Megatron’s grip, of course, and not to force the spike into his valve already.

But Megatron pulled back just enough to keep that from happening. Sunstreaker’s engine revved and he had to bite his glossa to keep himself from just screaming.

Sideswipe was chortling to himself.

“I’m not convinced,” Megatron growled too this time, and then–

Then, in one thrust of his hips, he’d driven his spike into his valve, all the way, until it rammed against his ceiling node.

And now Sunstreaker screamed. His frame arched out of his control, overload—just from that—tensing him from helm to pede to a painful degree. He ground his denta together, twice as hard when Megatron began to move through the crest of his climax, extending it, turning his vision into a bloom of static.

He couldn’t but feel, the strength in Megatron’s frame that he effortlessly translated into fucking him hard. Hard as he fought, and just as violent, he drove into Sunstreaker’s frame without a shred of mercy, rutting him into the goddamn ground until he ached. Every thrust in split him wide, filled him to the brim—opened him up like only someone of Megatron’s size and demeanor even could.

He’d never enjoyed interfacing with Optimus, despite the Prime’s titillating size. He was too kind, too gentle, too worried about his partner’s comfort.

Megatron was the black opposite. He didn’t give a fuck about Sunstreaker’s anything outside of how he could best use his frame to derive his own pleasure from it. Or so it felt like. Hell, maybe this was Megatron’s way of making sure Sunstreaker’s needs were seen to as well, because his lines sang with charge until not one thought shot straight.

He hadn’t been fucked like this since the Pits. He’d almost forgotten what real interfacing was like.

This was real. His frame made good of what limited freedom of motion it had to rock into Megatron’s thrusts, driving their arrays together ever harder until he was sure something was going to dent. Megatron seemed intent on exiling all lucid thinking with the way he pulled out almost all the way before pushing in a single smooth motion that wreaked havoc on his sensors, fast and hard and faster and harder.

Considering the way Sunstreaker’s thoughts scattered to the four winds, he was doing a very good job of that.

Sunstreaker couldn’t stand it. Pinned to the ground and utterly marauded, the charge in his systems rapidly climbed higher until peaked, again.

And then he came crashing down, screaming anew at the strength of the overload that pulled every cable tight, arching his frame against Megatron’s.

His valve tightened and rippled around the intrusion, and after three more jerking thrusts against him, Megatron rumbled, tensed, and heat bloomed at the end of his valve. The charge from Megatron’s release jumped into his frame and drove him over the edge into yet another overload of his own until his vocalizer spat fitful static.

Sunstreaker slumped into the ground in the aftermath, his extremities shaking, vents pulling in all the cool air they could.

It wasn’t enough.

He was given a moment. Megatron took a moment. Both their frames were cycling air desperately—or maybe Sunstreaker just wanted to believe Megatron was even halfway as affected as he was—slowly making their way down from the summits of physical rapture.

The tyrant pulled out soon enough though, leaving Sunstreaker’s valve an abused, gaping pit. A veritable flood of fluids followed his retreat, too, lubricant and transfluid mingling together into a holy mess.

And Sunstreaker…

Sunstreaker snarled. “You son of a bitch–”

But he didn’t get further than that before Megatron caught him by the jaw, silencing him. The tyrant was staring down at him with baleful optics, and a small portion of Sunstreaker wondered if the warlord wasn’t going to kill him now, after having had his fun.

If that was the case, his corpse would tell a story he did not want told.

But Megatron didn’t immediately remove his helm from his shoulders. “You will say,” he started instead, glancing briefly but meaningfully at Sideswipe before his optics returned to Sunstreaker, “that you ran into a small number of my troops. A battle ensued, and you drove them away, but not without damage to yourselves.”

Sunstreaker’s optics flicked to Sideswipe as the jam on their comm. systems was lifted. Sideswipe stared back at him for a second before opening a comm. line to Ark. “Sideswipe to Ark,” he said, outloud as well as over the link. “Hi Jazz! Yeah, sorry for not checking in, buuuut we actually found something. I think.

“We ran into a few of the Constructicons and a couple of Seekers at these coordinates. No clue what they were after ‘cause this is the ass end of fragging nowhere if I do say so myself, but me’n Sunny fought ‘em off. Sustained some injuries, Sunny especially, but we’re fine.”

A pause as Sideswipe listened to Jazz’s response. Sunstreaker had no doubt Soundwave was listening in on that side of the conversation too.

“Yeah, sure, we’ll have a look around. I’ll call ya back if we come across anything, else we’ll wait until Grapple and co get here. Sideswipe out.”

Sideswipe cut the call and looked at Megatron. The tyrant nodded his approval at him before Sunstreaker became the target of his attention once more. The grip on his jaw tightened a fraction before Megatron pulled him up and leaned down himself–

His helm tilted, their lips touched.

Sunstreaker’s optics blew wide and he could hear the shocked stutter of Sideswipe’s engine.

It was a brief thing, but not without fire—rough, just like the rest of Megatron. Intense in the way the warlord’s lips pressed hard against his own.

Then it was over. Megatron released him and Sunstreaker barely caught himself with his arms before he would’ve fallen back down. In one fluid motion Megatron rose to his pedes, retracting his equipment as he went and closing his spike behind its panel, towering above Sunstreaker.

Soundwave got up too, releasing Sideswipe.

Neither twin tried to get up just yet.

“Think about what I said, Sunstreaker. Until next time,” Megatron said with intent before he walked over to his Third. Soundwave transformed onto the tyrant’s palm, then Megatron transformed into his jet mode around Soundwave. A wave of displaced air washed over the twins as the Decepticons left the scene.

They listened to the retreating sound of Megatron’s thrusters until it was gone and silence fell back onto the area. True silence, not even the critters of the forest making sound after the amount of disturbances in the area. There was nothing but the rustle of wind in the leaves.

And disbelief.

“…So…” Sideswipe eventually spoke up, getting onto his hands and knees and crawling over to Sunstreaker, inspecting the damage on his frame and the… Mess at his crotch. “…That just happened.”

That it did. Sunstreaker nodded slowly, trying to sort his thoughts into some semblance of order, but… He’d probably be working at that for a while still.

“We should… We should probably make things a little less, uh… Incriminating,” Sideswipe continued, glancing around. There were signs of fighting around them, but they should probably add to them after lying about the amount of mecha present. Plus some marks of gunfire maybe.

And… Clean Sunstreaker.

And do something about the puddle he was sitting in.

…And the paint transfers.

Sunstreaker nodded again and reached into his subspace to begin the process. They'd want to be done with all that before their comrades arrived, after all.

( Next )

#transformers #maccadams #megatron #sunstreaker #sideswipe #fic #2020 #ashes of icarus #ashes

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toomuchponytail · 4 years

Note

Hello amazing writer! I was wondering if I could request a fic where the whumpee just cannot be broken, and in the end, defeat their captor? Thank you.

Oh, Anon I thought you’d never ask, (Also I cannot accept that title, but gosh almighty I’m flattered, thank you Anon, you’re way too good to me!) I’m a huge sucker for this prompt, I feel like it’s a trope we really don’t see enough. Everyone wants broken characters who forget everything about themselves and suffer until that’s all they are anymore (Don’t get me wrong, I like that too sometimes) but man, oh, man I love a good unbreakable whumpee staring at the whumper and just going: “No.”

To sum up because I got super long winded:

Me: Big sucker

You: Really exceptional at submitting prompts/requests

I hope you get to be as happy today as you made me by requesting this! (That means standing in a forest far from the city and your flashlight burnt out, marveling at all of the silent darkness gathering around you comfortingly like a cloak.

You superb forest spirit you. Live your dreams.

(Also this came out a tad darker than I expected, but never let it be said I’m all cotton candy clouds and sunbeams and never gunmetal and alleyway gravel, I am gunmetal flavored cotton candy clouds goshdarnit!)

Also long, so sorry! (If for any reason this isn’t what you envisioned I can scratch this and do it again but slightly to the left, just let me know!)

He’d been at it for three weeks.

When he’d agreed to take this job it had seemed easy enough, get the message runner to turn on their friends, and collect fifty G’s for their troubles, and an additional ten for every address that the messenger coughed up.

He expected to be able to induce one hell of a case of pneumonia in the delivery boy.

The Whumper was meticulous, he’d done his research, the messenger didn’t come from a violent background, he had a solid head on his shoulders, and was a little on the younger side, all of this made getting information easier.

He’d been proved correct when they’d grabbed them on the street, at the first growled threat of starting to attack bystanders the messenger had hardened up, clenched their mouth in a firm line, (as if he couldn’t see their lower lip tremble) and come quietly. Idealists were very easy to deal with if you knew how to get to them.

And of course the man did. Sometimes when he was between jobs he wondered if he should teach a class: Interrogation for the financially unstable and morally questionable. He’d make a shit ton of money too, nobody was better than him, he’d gotten hardcore family guys to break in just 16 hours, they’d cried and begged for forgiveness afterward, but he’d informed them rather helpfully that he wasn’t a priest and that they could shove it. In fact he’d never met anyone he couldn’t get to turn inside of a week, and that was hardened career criminals!

At least he hadn’t until he’d taken the messenger.

The man had been interrogating and enforcing for all sorts of people for almost twenty years now, working with the Foresters for almost ten, he’d gotten good at ‘reading the room’ so to speak. He’d expected the ‘canary’ to start singing long before he’d even gotten him to the abandoned motel on the outskirts of town, he seemed the skittish types, he had figured it wouldn’t even progress into too much violence, let alone anything heavy.

This delivery boy was just a kid after all, some idealistic fool that had picked the wrong side in this when the Foresters had taken over. No biggie.

But he’d been wrong, so wrong, for the first time in his career, now looking at him, still tired pitifully to the chair, hanging against the zip ties that held him there, not even seeming to care that they bit viciously into his skin. In short the guy was wrecked, beaten repeatedly until his upper body was mainly one solid bruise, a rainbow of muddy painful color and swelling, beaten until his eyes swelled almost closed and teeth were knocked out, beaten bloody and senseless time and time again.

And still he’d said nothing!

He’d given no names other than his own which the man had already known and not cared about, to the man the messenger was a tool, an unwilling Swiss army knife that worked to make him money, but boy, that guy had to have some screws loose or something, the man had never had anyone last this long without breaking!

He’d tried electricity then, jolting him until he convulsed without the aid of the rusty clamps. Until he went into shock and the man had had to take a break so that he didn’t kill him without getting what he’d wanted from him.

When he’d come back from that place of panic the man had threatened him again with the electricity, knowing that he couldn’t use it again so soon but hoping for a chink in the armor, a ray of wicked hope…

“I’ll keep going until your skin sizzles off, tell me the names!” He’d struck him, making the chair wobble under the force of his blow, “You smell that burning? It’s you! You’re fried, dead already, so tell me the names! Where are your contacts?!” He’d screamed in his face, expecting tears and a final break through, that was what normally happened to him.

But the messenger had smiled weakly up at him, his head only being held up by the man’s grip in his tangle of dirty dark hair, “If M’dead, th-then thanks, S’been a pl-pleasure,” the messenger had rasped back between shallow panting breathes, causing the man to let go of his hair with a sneer of disgust, the messenger’s head hung limply on his chest, “Dead m-men tell-tell n-no tales,” he’d gurgled through the blood in his mouth, choking and wheezing through his ground up lungs.

This was when the man had decided to get serious, that has been five days ago, and other than bodily the delivery boy hadn’t broken at all.

He’d broken his knees, his hands, bone by bone listening to him cry, and then the odd shell shocked silence accompanying each snap for the other hand, he figured his boy had been though some trauma that hadn’t been in the file. At this point the man started to respect him, just a little, nothing crazy, he’d decided that when the time came and he’d gotten what he’d wanted, he was going to kill the messenger cleanly and end his suffering the quick way, not his normal triple gut shot and then bounce routine he’d relied on for years.

If he broke that was. It was starting to seem doubtful.

Finally, he’d caved and decided that it was today or never, his boy the messenger didn’t have many days left in him as it was, he’d taken his long Bowie knife and driven it through him and into the chair on the other side, the guy was too far out of it to do much more that gasp and shudder.

“Tell me,” the man had said gently, cupping the messenger’s chin in his large bloody hand to lift it up, something the messenger had lost the strength to do more than a week ago, “Tell me and I’ll end it right now, no more hurting, Tell me and I’ll let you rest in peace.”

The messenger didn’t respond, he continued to gasp for breath that didn’t seem to come, to the man it seemed like his messenger was emulating a fish left to die on a dock, so close to the water, so close he could smell it, but instead he’d chosen to dry drown.

The messenger was looking him straight in the eye, for some reason this made the man uncomfortable, he’d killed several people in his days, in fact, he’d go so far as to say he’d killed a lot of people, women, men, no kids on purpose, but sometimes when you’re working with the Foresters you gotta fish or cut bait.

And he’d always been a fishing man.

But the way that this unbreakable delivery boy was looking him in the eyes while they could both hear his blood dripping onto the old mud caked carpet felt deeply wrong, and the man looked away before the messenger did, feeling not exactly guilt or empathy, but as close to it as he’d come in a great long time.

The man was shaken, just enough to go out and smoke a few cigarettes until his hands stopped shaking. When he’d finished his third he decided that he was probably just hungry, maybe he needed to sleep, this kind of work took a lot out of a person, and he’d been at it a long time.

Three weeks.

Longer even than when he’d had to get Mal Gerring’s number from his favored son and lieutenant Paulie Gerring, that had been before the Foresters had taken over, crime had been better organized then, not on the books in your face like it was now, but there had been something to admire about it. The romance of seedy hotels and driving his beat up car around the country, listening to regional radio and chain smoking, taking body parts back to waring mob families… Now he had a nice car that had cost more than his first house, but the job hadn’t changed–it never did, just the people paying changed.

He sighed in nostalgia as he watched the sky darken, Paulie had only lasted five days. Message boy had him beat by two weeks. Maybe no more after this, maybe the messenger was his last, maybe he’d teach that class to other guys the Forester’s wanted to hire, working for the government had a lot of benefits–especially for the morally questionable.

The man shook his head, if he hadn’t been busy reminiscing, if he hadn’t been so sure that he was the best, he might have heard the stood creak, he’d untied the messenger days ago, he hadn’t thought he’d been able to move if he could barely hold his head up, plus with the mangled hands he didn’t think he’d be able to do much harm.

For the second time in his long and questionably successful life the man was wrong.

Before he realized what was happening there was a sharp pain in the men’s temple, a crushing thunk that faded almost immediately to darkness, he didn’t even have the time to groan before he lost consciousness and slipped into the inevitable.

Standing, or rather, sort of hunched over kind of holding himself up on the raining and swaying violently over him the messenger dropped his weapon, it was the handle of the Bowie knife he’d had to pull it out by degrees, stopping every time his eyesight started to darken, he clutched a hand over his dark wound and staggered over to his would-be murderer’s collapsed body, he raked numb broken fingers over pockets, searching until he found what he was looking for: the small black burner phone that the man had taken from him when he’d first gotten here.

Phone cradled in broken hands he slumped to the porch, mostly laying on the stoop, he didn’t have long now, every movement was white hot and unsteady, to say that he hurt would be an understatement, but he still had a job to do, he was a messenger after all.

He carefully dialed the number, pushing the buttons almost make him pass out, he kept whiting out with pain as the broken bones in his hands shifted, he cried out as he did it, not allowing himself the mercy of stopping now.

Finally, after long agony filled minutes he pushed send, thank god for the universal cell towers! thank god for jamming software! the phone rang, he laid his head down on the stoop, fighting to keep his eyes open.

It rang again, a droning buzz in his ringing ears.

Please.

It buzzed.

Please pick it up! God, he’s so tired.

It rang again, his heart sunk into his stomach, he knew that he wouldn’t be able to dial another time, he was already more out of it than he should be, this was it.

It rang once more, he figured he’s have to leave the message on the voice mail, he knew that wasn’t allowed, too many people died that way, but then again, he wouldn’t be around for the higher-ups to yell at him.

“Hello?”

God bless her.

“Nez,” he rasped, surprised to feel a lump of tears forming in his throat, he figured hearing a friendly voice after so much was making him sort of sentimental.

“Shit! What happened to you? We’ve been so worried!”

The messenger ignored her, he didn’t have enough energy to explain, “Nez, four-ten Walnut, lots of kids there, you’ve still got some time, bring Ralphie, the combo is 6899437, got it?”

When Nez speaks again she’s quiet, it’s almost intimate like she’s whispering in his ear, “Where are you?” There is horror in her voice sure, but also hope, Nez hasn’t grasped yet that hope can kill you.

“Last one Nez, I’m going dark,” he croaked, his eyes slipping shut, he focused on the voice at the other end of the line.

“Oh Fuck, We’ll track you! We’re coming! Just don’t hang up! Please! Don’t hang up!”

The messenger assumes Nes says more but he can’t decipher it, message delivered he sinks below into the dark.

#Whump #tw gore #tw broken bones #whumpee #whumper #Messenger #broken hands #broken knees #stabbed #I guess not a prompt?#huh #weird #drabble #unbreakable #OC?'s #I'm sorry

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tigerkirby215 · 4 years

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5e Josuke Higashikata build (JoJo’s Bizzare Adventure Part 4: Diamond is Unbreakable)

(Artwork by David Productions. Image from the JoJo Fandom Wiki)

OI JOSUKE! Koichi showed me this cool board game called Dungeons and Dragons! I’m a Half Orc Barbarian; ain’t that wacky? But Koichi said that I can’t use 『ＺＡＨＡＮＤＯ』 to erase the enemies he puts down!

In my constant determination to beat Tulok at uploading JoJo builds here’s Josuke! Well, Part 4 Josuke. Diamond is Unbreakable is my favorite of the JoJo parts as I loved the small town setting. All the characters were lovable and memorable and the part had by far one of the best and most charismatic villains in any anime. But even though a David Bowie build would be fun (maybe someday!) I’m here to make a build for the JoJo of the part: Josuke Higashikata - Joestar by blood but not by name. (As Joseph is forever loyal to Susie and hates the Japanese; clearly.) Giorno had a more clear-cut ability to create life which translated into summons but Josuke just heals... with his fists. Man that would be hard...

What? Way of Mercy? Life Domain? I have no idea what you’re talking about.

GOALS

I feel utterly refreshed! - Josuke is the main character but is also the party medic. Good on Araki for recognizing the usefulness of the healer!

I'm gonna “fix” that spaghetti - Crazy Diamond can fix anything, not just wounds. Punching up temporary walls is a favorite tactic of Josuke... and yes: punching spaghetti too.

I won't be "bullying the weak" then, now will I? - When push comes to shove we’ll need to be able to DORARARARARARA our foes. Just be sure to heal them first so it’s a fair fight.

RACE

Josuke only has Joestar blood, not vampire blood, so that makes him human. High ho it’s Variant Human time! Variant Humans get an increase to two ability scores of their choice: increase your Dexterity and your Wisdom by 1. You also get a skill of your choice: take the Perception skill to notice when a few letters are missing from a sign. You also get a language so again pick whatever you want: Josuke probably knows English well enough to speak to his dad.

Of course the main trait of Variant Humans is that you can take your choice of a feat and how about a Crazy Noisy Bizarre Talent? The Wild Talent feat from the Psionics Unearthed Arcana will give us a boost to our skills that don’t necessarily have to be psionic. You get a Psionic Talent die that can be used for two different uses: Psi-Boosted Ability will let you roll the Psionic Talent die on an ability check to boost its ability, and Psi-Guided Strike will let you roll it on an attack roll instead. The Psi-Talent die has a bunch of unique features that I won’t go over here (you can read the UA yourself) but in short:

It grows in power as you level up.

If you roll a 1 the die size increases, if you roll the highest number it decreases.

You can reset the die to its original size with a bonus action.

The feat also increases one ability score of your choice so increase your Wisdom further.

If your DM doesn’t allow the Psionics UA take the Observant Feat instead.

ABILITY SCORES

15; DEXTERITY - Josuke is quick on his feet and quicker with his punches. Typical Joestar stand rush.

14; WISDOM - Josuke is quite the emphatic person. Only natural when you love your town so much you develop a spirit that heals people.

13; CHARISMA - Have you seen that hair? It’s GREAT!

12; CONSTITUTION - Damage is interesting in JoJo, but you need enough durability to get hit with a couple of explosions and survive.

10; INTELLIGENCE - Josuke’s a student but not necessarily a good one. Hard to study when you’re trying to find a serial killer.

8; STRENGTH - As the joke goes JoJos get less buff as they go later in parts, and we don’t need Strength much.

BACKGROUND

Unfortunately there isn’t a background that can give us both Intimidation for those who insult our hair and Investigation for... investigation, so make your own background. Call it the “punk detective”, since it hardly fits the “punk with a heart of gold” description.

(Artwork by David Productions)

THE BUILD

LEVEL 1 - MONK 1

Starting off with our stand at a young age, Monks get proficiency with two skills from the Monk list: Insight will let you tell if that weird injured blond guy is lying, and Athletics will help you CHASE YOOOOU! ANYWHERE I’LL CHASE YOOOU! You also get proficiency in a musical instrument or artisan’s tool of your choice so pick up the Lute to play the guitar in your theme... unless Barber’s Tools are available to keep that hair in check.

As a Monk you get Unarmored Defense equal to 10 plus your Dexterity and Wisdom modifier, which is good because a schoolboy’s outfit hardly counts as armor. You also get Martial Arts so Crazy Diamond can punch with your Dexterity, up to twice currently since you also get a punch with your bonus action. DORA!

LEVEL 2 - MONK 2

Level 2 Monks get Ki points for some crazy abilities from Crazy Diamond. Flurry of Blows lets you attack twice with your bonus action instead of once for three DORARARAs, Patient Defense lets you dodge the hand with a bonus action, and Step of the Wind lets you dash or disengage as a bonus action while also doubling your jump distance so you can CHASE YOOOU!

Speaking of Chase by batta you also get 10 feet of Unarmored Movement, letting you run 10 feet faster than the guy you’re trying to ＣＨＡＳＥ. By the way the jokes about Chase won’t stop it’s a good OP stop being mean.

LEVEL 3 - MONK 3

At level 3 Monks get their Monastic Tradition and the Way of Mercy is perfect for those with a diamond heart. You get Implements of Mercy which give you proficiency in either Medicine or Insight... but you already have Insight proficiency so just Medicine then! You also gain proficiency with the herbalism kit and the poisoner’s kit, which isn’t too in-flavor but it could be useful.

Of course the main strength of Crazy Diamond is its Hands of Healing. As an action, you can spend 1 ki point to touch a creature and restore a number of hit points equal to a roll of your Martial Arts die + your Wisdom modifier. You can also replace one of the unarmed strikes you make with Flurry of Blows with a use of this feature without spending its ki cost, so instead of going DORARARA you can go DORARA and also heal Jotaro!

But if you end up healing your allies you also have Hands of Harm to punch extra hard. When you hit a creature with an unarmed strike, you can spend 1 ki point to deal extra necrotic damage equal to one roll of your Martial Arts die. Don’t use it to pick on the weak, however, because if the creature is incapacitated or poisoned, the creature takes necrotic damage equal to three rolls of your Martial Arts die instead. You can only make a Hands of Harm punch once per turn, so make that DORA count!

And you also get Deflect Missiles as a monk, letting you use your reaction to reduce the damage of a ranged weapon attack by a d10 plus your Dexterity modifier and your monk level. You can even throw it back if you reduce the damage to zero, so punch away those arrows and CHASE YOU! I told you the references to Chase wouldn’t stop.

LEVEL 4 - MONK 4

Level 4 Monks get an Ability Score Improvement and I’m actually going to suggest increasing Wisdom over Dexterity so we can heal more than we harm. (Don’t worry though we can still do plenty of harm.) On the bright side Crazy Diamond can now help us Slow Fall, reducing any falling damage you take by an amount equal to five times your monk level.

LEVEL 5 - MONK 5

5th level Monks see their Martial Arts die increase to a d6, and get an Extra Attack for up to 3 attacks total and up to 4 with Flurry of Blows, so you can DORARARARA! And you can punch an opponent particularly hard with Stunning Strike, forcing them to make a Constitution save or be stunned as you prepare for a beatdown. (Pro tip: being stunned counts as being incapacitated for Hands of Harm!)

Oh and you know that Feat I told you to take at level 1? Your Psionic Talent Die increases to a d8.

(Artwork from the Diamond is Unbreakable Manga)

LEVEL 6 - CLERIC 1

“Ha ha well this was expected!” I hear you say. “Bet Josuke’s going to be a Life Cleric so he can heal more, right?”

Nope! Forge Domain! Along with proficiency in Heavy Armor (which you can’t wear as a Monk) and Smith’s Tools you get Blessings of the Forge. After a Long Rest you can have Crazy Diamond reforge a weapon or piece of armor to be sharper and sturdier, turning it into a +1 weapon.

As a Cleric you get access to Spellcasting. You get three cantrips from the Cleric list: Mending is an obvious pick (though the repairs aren’t as fast as I’d like) along with Spare the Dying to... spare the dying, and Sacred Flame will let you direct a piece of radiant glass that ignores cover.

A Forge Cleric can Identify spaghetti whenever they want, or cast Searing Smite which you... can’t, because you don’t have a weapon. Well Monks can still use weapons, even if it isn’t in flavor. But of course the majority of our spell slots are going to be used for healing! Cure Wounds for more touch-range heals, and Healing Word for long ranged heals. And while they probably aren’t too useful all the time Detect Poison and Disease along with Purify Food and Drink will let you make sure there’s nothing wrong with that previously mentioned spaghetti. Or the water.

LEVEL 7 - CLERIC 2

Second level Clerics get access to their Channel Divinity: all Clerics can Turn Undead, which perhaps isn’t too in-flavor but hey gotta have a backup if you mess up with healing someone.

Forge Clerics however gain Channel Divinity: Artisan's Blessing. You can spend an hour to turn up to 100 gold worth of materials into something. Technically it has to have some metal in it but that’s a small restriction. You lay out the materials to create the object, and after the hour is done the created object appears at your feet. Unfortunately you can’t use this to deconstruct something, but technically you could turn a sword into a different sword or other similar things.

And you can also prepare another spell: Shield of Faith will let you preemptively prepare a shield for an ally if they get attacked... or yourself!

LEVEL 8 - CLERIC 3

Third level Clerics can prepare second level spells. Forge Clerics have Heat Metal and Magic Weapon innately prepared: sharpen a sword or punch it until its a Red Hot Chili Pepper!

For your prepared spell Locate Object will let you send an object back to its source so you can find who it belongs to. Is this thematically accurate? Yes. Is this spell highly situational? Yes. Should you prepare another spell instead? Yes.

LEVEL 9 - CLERIC 4

Fourth level Clerics get another Ability Score Improvement and since we increased our healing last time we’ll increase our damage this time with a Dexterity increase.

You can also prepare another spell and another cantrip at this level. I’m going to hold off on the spell until next level but for your cantrip Guidance will help you motivate the idiots in your party to win the fight! But be gentle: he’s not that smart.

LEVEL 10 - CLERIC 5

5th level Clerics can Destroy Undead of CR 1/2 or lower with their Channel Divinity. Again not really in-flavor, but your great grandfather knew a lot about that.

But you also get access to third level spells! As a Forge Cleric you have Elemental Weapon always prepared, as well as Protection from Energy. Producing elemental effects out of nowhere is more of Koichi‘s thing but you can certainly block some electric attacks!

For your prepared spells Mass Healing Word is obvious, and Beacon of Hope will let those heals have the maximum value. There’s a lot of good stuff at third level so if not for the spell slots I’d say prepare more stuff from third level!

LEVEL 11 - CLERIC 6

6th level Clerics get another use of their Channel Divinity, which doesn’t impact you much since your Channel Divinity is more for utility. Speaking of things that don’t impact you Soul of the Forge only works if you have heavy armor! Well at least you’re resistant to Fire damage: should help if you’re ever hit with an explosion, not that that’s going to happen anytime soon...

And you can also prepare another spell: Remove Curse can let you remove any negative stand affects hurting your party. Frequent crying? Skin loss? Sounds like a curse! Or just good cooking.

And your Psionic Die increases.

LEVEL 12 - CLERIC 7

Level 7 Clerics can prepare 4th level spells, which is why we went into Forge Cleric: you know the Fabricate spell innately, which will let you reconstruct raw material into something useful! Fabricate has a ton of uses as long as you have the materials, so use your imagination to make something useful with the environment thanks to that stand of yours. You also get Wall of Fire; perhaps not in flavor but perhaps you’re punching open a lose gas pipe?

You can also prepare 4th level spells, but since none of them really work for our character I’d suggest the Unearthed Arcana spell Spirit Shroud, which will make your punches do more damage and keep enemies close to you. DORA!

LEVEL 13 - CLERIC 8

The 8th level of Cleric gives you another Ability Score Improvement, and I’m actually going to suggest an increase to Dexterity again for the hardest punches. Speaking of hard punches you also get Divine Strikes to do an extra d8 fire damage on hit. Technically it says weapon damage but it’s been confirmed that your fists are weapons as a Monk, and you can still use a weapon for your first two attacks if your DM’s really stingy about it.

You can also prepare another spell and... I dunno. Prayer of Healing from second level? You honestly have all the spells we need for roleplay so prepare the spells you need, because that’s the point of Cleric.

(Artwork by XenonVincentLegend on DeviantArt)

LEVEL 14 - MONK 6

Getting into tougher stand fights? Well now your punches can finally bypass magical resistance with Ki-Empowered Strikes. But more importantly you get some 5 foot range stand power with Noxious Aura: As a bonus action you can spend 1 ki point to create an aura with Crazy Diamond. The aura surrounds you for a minute unless you’re incapacitated or you end it early.

While the aura is active ranged attacks have disadvantage against as Crazy Diamond strikes them away. Any other creature that starts its turn within 5 feet of you must succeed on a Constitution saving throw or become poisoned until the end of your next turn, taking poison damage equal to your Wisdom modifier. Consider it your desire for justice pushing you forward!

And your Unarmored Movement also increases for more CHASE.

LEVEL 15 - MONK 7

7th level Monks get Evasion to dodge things like... explosions, taking half damage on a failed save or no damage on a successful one. You also get Stillness of Mind, allowing you to use your action to end an effect of being charmed or frightened. Consider this you being too angry to look at some dumb manga; that guy just insulted your hair!

LEVEL 16 - MONK 8

8th level Monks get an Ability Score Improvement so it’s about time to cap that Wisdom score to cap off Crazy Diamond’s power!

LEVEL 17 - MONK 9

Level 9 Monks get an Unarmored Movement Improvement to run across water and walls as long as you end your turn on solid ground. I’d flavor this as you reshaping the terrain around you so you can move.

And your Psionic Talent Die gets its final size increase.

LEVEL 18 - MONK 10

10th level Monks are immune to Poison and Disease thanks to Purity of Body. You got over the stand fever as a kid, after all. Your Unarmored Movement also increases to 20 feet for 50 feet total of running.

LEVEL 19 - MONK 11

At 11th level Way of Mercy Monks get Healing Technique, letting them remove an effect of being blinded, deafened, paralyzed, or poisoned when they heal an ally with Hands of Healing. You can heal people’s wounds: fixing their eyes and ears is the next logical step. Your Martial Arts die also increases to a d8, letting you heal on-par with Cure Wounds with your own hands!

LEVEL 20 - MONK 12

Our final level is the 12th level of Monk for another Ability Score Improvement but instead I’m actually going to suggest a late feat for the final fight. If you want to mimic someone’s dad on the phone take the Actor feat for +1 to Charisma along with advantage to mimic someone and the ability to mimic someone’s voice. Is it a little late for this feat? Yeah probably.

FINAL BUILD

PROS

Pearl Jam - You have a lot of healing. Like, a lot of healing. 12 Ki points to spend on essentially Cure Wounds, spell slots for a variety of healing spells and Beacon of Hope to maximize those heals.

Highway Star - You also have a very wide effective range with 50 feet of movement to run in to heal or harm, and that mobility is further increased by the tricks you can do as Monk.

Echoes - You have a lot of utility outside of just healing. You can keep enemies at bay and buff your allies’ weapons and armor, and have tons of out-of-combat utility with Fabricate to make whatever you need and your skill checks all being above average with Wild Talent boosting them further.

CONS

The Lock - Your powers have limitations just like your stand. Your Channel Divinity only works on metal, and Fabricate is an expensive spell slot that also needs materials. What’s more is that a lot of your powers take a lot of time to use, so no instant builds like in the anime.

Boy II Man - Cleric levels are cool and all, but in order to get Fabricate we skipped a lot of the Monk’s stronger abilities like Tongue of the Sun and Moon and Diamond Soul, which is practically named after our stand!

Enigma - There’s such a thing as too much of a good thing, and this build possibly has too much healing in it. What’s more is that Forge Cleric really doesn’t benefit this build much since you can’t wear Heavy Armor.

But you aren’t fighting alone; you have a whole town to back you up! Your job is to keep the shining resolve of the people alive while also being ready to give a beatdown to any punk who threatens the people. Or if they insult your hair; it can be tough to keep your cool.

(Artwork by DGraySpartan on DeviantArt)

#DnD 5e #dnd monk #dnd #dnd build #dnd cleric #diamond is unbreakable #Josuke Higashikata #jojo's bizarre adventure #jojo's bizarre adventure diamond is unbreakable

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rainymeadows · 5 years

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I rewatched Eternal Diva and this time I took notes as I went through

Dive under the cut if you dare to experience my mad in-the-moment ramblings (warning for spoilers for pretty much the entire prequel trilogy)

- Don Paolo’s voice sounds like what Papyrus’s voice probably should

- Winter Layton is precious in that giant coat

- Janice is so pretty omg an angel

- Layton geeking out over the Detrogan is goddamn adorable

- I love how everything is greyed out in Janice’s flashback

- Suuuuuuuuper subtle indication that maybe “Janice” seeing how young this little girl was is what prompted her to find a way to put an end to this whole thing

- Whether it’s a moped or the Laytonmobile, Emmy drives like crazy XD

- Bitch you ain’t on Top Gear

- God her big sister relationship with Luke is adorable tho

- Aaaaaaaaaaaah Layton smiling at their banter dad’s so happy for his son

- They did such a good job reusing the game’s music for this movie

- The opera house looks so cool but so precarious – my first thought upon seeing it was “when is this thing going to sink”

- I MEAN IT’S ON A CLIFF

- Janice’s voice is so pretty TToTT

- I like that they kept the Japanese vocals for her singing

- SONG OF THE SEA-SHADOWING

- I hate that Layton and Luke were the ONLY people to honestly applaud the performance. Everyone else is a DICK

- First time I saw this dude, I thought “that’s a puppet, no ordinary person moves like that even in animation”

- Once again, Layton putting a polite and gentlemanly spin on “fucked if I know, my dude”

- Lol I love that even the people who didn’t applaud and thus apparently knew what they were in for weren’t down for dying

- Fuking cowards

- Layton is always DTF (down to fight)

- GROSKY OF THE YARD

- FUCK YES

- This dude’s manliness is infectious

- “Gee, I wonder who’s behind this-“ *Descole’s theme starts playing* “-oh well never mind”

- Honestly who else but Descole would be this fucking extra tho

- �� Gotta admit I love the twist of the opera house being a ship, I was totally expecting it to just go plunging into the ocean at a moment’s notice

- Aaaaah the CG in this movie is really well done

- Layton’s angry face is kinda ridiculous but I love it

- I love that it’s pointed out like “where tf did all these sharks come from”

- I prefer Cartoon Saloon’s Song of the Sea, but this one’s pretty too

- Lol as if a MAN-EATING SHARK could keep down GROSKY OF THE YARD

- I’m surprised he can see over the top of his chest hair

- God, the detrogan is such a cool instrument and I really wish something like it existed irl

- Ah, it’s only like fifteen sharks, Grosky will be fine

- I love the air of mystery surrounding Oswald Whistler

- Layton’s hat is made of 100% pure uncut husband material

- AAAAAAAAAAAAAH I LOVE HOW PUZZLES ARE USED IN THIS MOVIE IT’S SO GOOOOOOOD

- I’m so glad they didn’t scrap it entirely coz I mean they’re so integral not only to the Layton games, but Layton himself

- This music box tune kinda gives me Gravity Falls vibes tbh

- I think the backing melody sounds pretty identical to the tune’s intro

- I love that this movie actually lets us see inside Layton’s head and his thought process, it’s so much better than just having him put everything together seemingly offscreen

- Tbh any puzzle where “the night sky” is the solution is bound to be a good puzzle

- I just fucking love the implied MASSACRES in this movie

- God Luke is so goddamn precious

- Pffft pumpkin dude is so subtly duplicitous

- Okay I have ot pause for a bit to rant about layton’s design because it’s SO GOOD. Warm colours make him seem welcoming and kinda comfy and the simple facial features, while a bit Ditto-esque, do combine nicely with his overall shape to scream “friend”. Professor Layton is friend shaped. And of course there’s the popped collar to show that he’s cool, the high collared shirt gives a scholarly vibe, his shoes which I stg are plimsolls show a practical side and of course the quintessential top hat shows that he’s a Gentleman first and foremost. Add the amazing voice to that and BOI I DIE

- Although I can’t help imagining that gif with the teddy bear slapping eyebrows onto its face to look angry whenever he gets mad

- Luke is not friend shaped. Luke is son shaped.

- Precious bab shaped

- Wpw a sea captain I would never have guessed other than the “sailor” accent and the fact that you’re wearing a sailor’s uniform

- Ugh I love these quiet moments where things can sink in and characters can just talk to each other, I really wish more movieswould do this

- I love that even if you don’t have a literal look at his thought processes, you can still see Layton THINKINg

- Agh Amelia is SO CUTe this series is so good at designing beautiful women and cute girls while also making them look DISTINCT

- I like that they hinted at her intelligence by having her solve the puzzles by herself

- One advantage a film has over the games is that the visual novel format kinda limits the dialogue, coz it’s hard to convey one charafter talking over another

- I really like the side characters. They’re simple, yes, but they don’t really need to be complex

- I will admit that the limits of Layton’s simple facial features means it can be hard to tell who/what he’s looking at sometimes…

- “that man” asked me to write an opera, huh

- WHY DOES NOBODY ASK WHO

- Fuck descole’s theme is SO GOOD

- WHERE DOES HE GET THE FUNDING FOR ALL OF THIS THOUGH

- And Grosky boards the ship just in time for it to blow up XD I love this dude

- I can only imagine his gigantic pecs act as a flotation device

- Layton preventing Luke from looking at the exploding ship THIS MAN IS SUCH A DAD HE’S SO GOOD

- I love this scene with Emmy investigating because these parent’s appearances are just enough to make it ambiguous whether they’re Nina or Amelia’s parents

- Seeing them all wrapped up in blankets is kinda cute tbh

- LET. THEM. SLEEP.

- I wonder what Layton uses to keep his hat on?

- Lol Emmy pushing a fossil aside to look at the map

- I can only assume, given that they set off from the White Cliffs of Dover, that this island is SOMEWHERE off the coast of mainland Europe in about the same region as Spain

- Ugh I LOVE Emmy’s uppercrust accent, the fact that she sounds like such a refined lady is such a fun contrast to her literal arse-kicking

- Also this is totally BBC news lol

- I love the detail of the historian’s scrapbook being kinda hodgepodge with bits falling out

- And I love the Ambrosia Seal being super detailed but the subtle incorporation of a sheet music design

- Gotta admit I totally thought this little banquet was poisoned on my first watch

- Lol I love that pumpkin guy just KEEPS POURING THE WINE

- Ugh that beach looks SO PRETTY, I want to go there

- Janice is totally crushing on Layton, pass it on

- D’awwwwww luke trying to befriend ‘melina’ is SO CUTE this boy must be protected at all costs

- Layton how did you hear what she was humming from all the way over there

- Why do so many anime characters have inexplicable super senses

- Those wolves’ eyeliner is on point lol

- “I’m not built for running” lol mood

- FUCKING HELL DESCOLE WHO IS FUNDING ALL YOUR SHIT

- HOW MUCH DISPOSABLE INCOME DO YOU FUCKING HAVE

- Admittedly on my first watch I wasn’t as familiar with descole’s theme, but I saw that castle and I just thought “it’s descole, only he can be that extra”

- The twist of using the cages for personal protection rather than to trap the walls is simple, but so clever

- I love that Mr Whistler was one of those accidentally trapped outside. Keeps suspicion off

- And I love Layton saying “well that solved PART of our problem”

- YOU SHUT UP LADY THE PROFESSOR IS AMAZING

- And then he trips and falls lol that’s what you get for wearing old man shoes

- “Even a good gentleman needs to get some exercise!” pfft

- Oh hey, they found the starter house that Descole was using while he was building that castle. I wonder what texture pack he’s using?

- And here Layton puts MacGuyver to shame in the most Ghibli way possible

- I’d love to see someone try to build this thing XD someone call the Mythbusters

- Bjut I adore how even LAYTON isn’t sure how this fucking thing works

- Fucking NERD

- Yeah, these filmmakers were TOTALLY influenced by Ghibli

- This is so Castle In The Sky, it hurts

- “Hang on tight! NOT TO THE PILOT!” – best line in the movie

- You can’t escape it, Layton. You is a dad

- DID YOU GUYS NOT SEE LAYTON LAPUTA-ING HIS WAY IN

- It’s great how all those puzzles seem like they could be ripped straight out of the Layton games, complete with outside-the-box bizarre thinking required to solve em

- I’m so proud of Luke for solving it!!!!! Such a good boy

- RUDE

- Yeah, just stand in the middle of the suspiciously empty room, I’m sure nothing will go wrong

- That’s what you get for shoving Layton aside, bitches

- Lol I guess luke could just step through the bars if his head was a bit smaller

- DESCOLE HOLY FUCK YOU ARE THE KING OF EXTRA

- “humble scientist” GOOD GRIEF WHAT A LOAD OF SHIT YOU DRAMA QUEEN

- I love that Emmy can FLY A PLANE

- Holy shit grosky there are better ways to signal for help

- And LESS GROSS WAYS TO DRY YOURSELF OFF IN A PLANE

- Yeah, see, you lost your knickers

- Ugh, god. I adore this scene with Layton in Melina’s room. It’s so quiet, the soft evening lighting… aaaaaaaaaaah so peaceful, but you can still feel the tension in the air, especially after Melina comes in

- Oh my god, Layton plays like an angel *swoon*

- The lack of background music in this scene is what makes it so perfect, the tension is so REAL

- Lol I love the historian just standing there like ‘welp there they go’

- NOOOOOOOOO LUKE DON’T CRY

- BIG SIS IS HERE

- Oh fuck yes

- EMMY I LOVE YOU

- God she and grosky are so fantastic XD

- WHERE DID YOU LEARN TO FIGHT LIKE THAT EMMY

- Somehow emmy gives me Michelle of the Resistance vibes

- God, I kinda love it when you can tell Layton’s already put it all together and is just biding his time

- �� AAAAAAAAAAH I love the subtle resemblance between Layton and what you can see of Descole’s face

- In hindsight, that… stole? Is that what it is? The fur thing isprobably to hide his face shape because it most likely ups his resemblance to Layton

- But he’s totally wearing black converse like the extra hipster nerd he is

- God, I can’t even imagine the nightmare of having your memories overridden and personality suppressed

- Aaaaaaaaaaaand here’s the summation. I love this part in pretty much every Layton thing

- “Assisting you was the scientist, Jean Descole!” Descole: lol hi

- LAYTON YOU ARE SUCH A DAD I LOVE YOU

- Him being gentle with kids is so sweet

- Also damn this backstory is a lot. I can’t imagine the pain of losing a loved one, but I’m not surprised a father would do anything he could to keep his daughter alive

- “When did you realise I was involved” “ur an extra bitch who lives for drama, who else could it be”

- That brief bit of Luke without his hat just makes him look even more BABY BOI MUST PROTECC

- Okay real talk when did Janice get hold of the key

- I’m guessing it was in the commotion when Mr Whistler grabbed Luke

- SUCH A GOOD TWIST I LOVE IT

- My heeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaart goddammit

- In hindsight, the hint of Janice wearing Melina’s pendant was really subtle and clever

- GODDAMMIT DESCOLE CAN YOU STOP BEING EXTRA FOR LIKE TEN SECONDS

- It’s kinda cool that he’s an archaeologist too though. It really does run in the family.

- The way Descole and Whistler’s schemes intertwined was really cool

- Yeah, it just wouldn’t be Descole if there wasn’t some over-the-top machinery

- YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSS MAGIC MUSIC THIS IS MY SHIT

- When escaping from a crumbling castle, do be sure to grab your boy.

- AAAAAAAAAGH THE SCENERY IN THIS MOVIE IS SO FUCKING GOOD

- Good lord, there it is. Descole just can’t function unless he has some ridiculous Humongous Mecha at his command

- This thing looks especially monstrous and I love it

- I don’t think I’ve seen ANY faults in this movie’s animation, jesus Christ

- Descole, did you learn nothing from the attempted excavation of Troy? It’s very possible that your efforts to unearth Ambrosia will be what destroys it!

- Aaaaaaaagh this flying scene is intense as FUCK

- Layton and Luke are SUCH A GOOD TEAM

- WHAT IS THIS MUSIC I LOVE IT

- Luke you are SUCH A GOOD BOY

- Sorry but you’ll never be mob tho

- Mob is perfection

- JESUS CHRIST DESCOLE ARE YOU TRYING TO KILL A CHILD

- I was about to ask where that explosion came from but then I realised it was probably a petrol-powered chainsaw

- Layton who told you that you could look this goddamn epic

- But I love that he’s taking on the sword-armed Descole with a PIPE

- That footwork tho

- Layton must be an amazing dancer

- So cool that he’s patiently explaining why Descole was wrong

- Sun, stars and sea. I feel like that’s a Dothraki term of endearment meant for oceanfairing

- MORE MAGIC MUSIC I AM BLESSED

- AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH I LOVE THIS SO MUCH THIS IS THE FUCKING COOLEST

- I’M SUCH A SLUT FOR MAGIC MUSIC GODDAMMIT AND THIS IS DOUBLE TEAMING ME WITH SINGING AND PIANO

- I do enjoy that despite its emergence, Ambrosia is still partially submerged. Some movies would’ve had it rise from the sea completely

- Lol at Descole losing his shit because SOMEONE ELSE found the answer

- Yeah, bad idea attacking someone right on top of your humongous mecha’s control panel

- “DESCOLE!” dude he’s fine you really think he’d die

- I was going to ask why Emmy didn’t use her plane but she probably couldn’t get to it in time

- Yeah, this is SO Ghibli. The gigantic industrialised machine self-destructing on the ruins of an ancient civilisation lost to nature

- Noooooooooo don’t do this to me movie, nothing kills me like sad flashbacks

- Ow my heart

- This hurts

- “I’m sorry, Father. I’ve only ever brought you grief and sadness, haven’t I” as someone who’s struggled with depression this is a whole-ass mood

- NO THIS HURTS STOP IT

- Also the lil detail of Whistler’s waistcoat being the same shade of purple as Melina/Janice’s dress

- NOOO DON’T MAKE LUKE SAD

- “I’m so glad all of you were my very last memory.” Damn that line hits hard

- GIVE THE GIRL A HUG, LAYTON

- I said a hug, not a hand on the shoulder, she needs a HUG

- Seeing the destroyed detrogan really hammers it home, huh

- It’s very kind of Grosky to let Whistler play one last time in memory of his daughter

- When I got into the Layton series, I was no expecting to be hit so hard with the FEELS

- “Do you know that a man is not dead while his name is still spoken?”

- GNU Ambrosia, I guess

- Ugh it’s so PRETTY tho

- Fucking sparkles and shit

- D’awwwww, I love the image of Luke patching up the wolves, he’s so sweet

- Knowing the truth about Emmy and seeing her being so happy with Layton and Luke makes it really painful :’(

- The world needs more of Layton with a big, happy smile

- Awww, Author Lady and Pumpkin Dude kept in touch

- GROSKY GOT HIS UNDIES BACK

- Ugh seeing Layton and Luke peacefully listening to that music is SO CUTE and SOFT

#professor layton and the eternal diva #professor layton #hershel layton #luke triton #pl #The Amazing Adventures of Rainy Meadows #this movie is so good holy shit #delicious finally some good fucking video game movie

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bethhxrmon · 6 years

Text

All I Ask of You Pt 5

“Live in my house, I’ll be your shelter.” -”I’ll Cover You” from RENT

Pairing: Peter Parker x Original Female Characters

Word Count: 4,014

Warnings: The tiniest bit of angst, cussing

Summary: The one with some relationship development

A/N: Not much canon character action in this one whoops! Tell me what you think!

MASTERLIST

What Annie needed to do was redesign the White Swan costume. Remaking her beaten up costume into a dream suit was easier said than done. It wasn’t even designing the suit that made things difficult, though drawing was far from her forte and the suit hardly ever looked proportional to an actual body. The difficult part was finding the time to draw inconspicuously without anyone seeing just what she was doing. Getting caught drawing her suit and having someone figure out her superhero alias would have been the death of the girl.

On a chilly, late November morning, Annie laid on the dark yellow carpet of her bedroom while sketching the suit. She didn’t lay on her pillowtop mattress because of how likely it was that she would crawl under her purple comforter and fall back asleep. There were various showtunes playing in the background coming from her laptop that was sitting on her desk across the room as she tried to work. It wasn’t just any showtunes, though, they were a playlist of all the possible audition songs she had been thinking about between Ned, Peter, and herself. Even songs for future use for herself were being thought of. Annie simply couldn’t get herself to stop multitasking.

Besides, part of what had convinced Peter and Ned to audition was her promise to find the songs for them. That promise was easier said than done, though. Finding simple songs that weren’t overused was quite the challenge. Only because she was normally looking for soprano pieces, not tenor and bass ones. Though the time spent in her room was cut short when she decided that the solution to her losing focus due to being tired was coffee instead of getting more much needed sleep after the long night she’d had coupled with regular patrolling and talking to Spider-Man.

~*~*~*~*~

“Did I ever tell you about the time I stole Captain America’s shield?” Spider-Man asked, shoving some nachos supreme in his mouth.

Annie rolled her eyes as she swallowed some of her taco, “Yep, only every other time we get food, you say something about that damn fight in Germany.

“Oh… well, I mean I fought Ant-Man while he was giant… Germany was really cool, you know. You would’ve probably liked it,” the male replied with a shrug.

Annie’s jaw dropped, “What the hell?! That guy was, like, my idol!”

“He’s a war criminal… you know that, right?” Spider-Man questioned, his eyes squinting almost as though he were accusing her of something.

Annie gave a small shrug, “He’s a good guy though, morality is perceptive… you’re just getting all defensive because you have your dick out for Tony Stark.”

“Do not!”

“Do too!

“I wasn’t getting defensive, Swan, but you’re siding with people who were helping a murderer,” the male hero pointed out.

Annie scoffed, “You and I both know James Barnes was a prisoner of war first. That was mind control, all that shit wasn’t his fault.

“But he killed people, that’s not right. It was someone’s fault,” Spider-Man replied.

Annie shook her head, “Then blame the people who put him in that situation. Not the guy who was caught in the middle of everything.”

“So… what you’re saying is that if you were in Germany we wouldn’t have been on the same side, would we?” he questioned.

She shook her head, tugging on her white hood, “I’m afraid not, Spidey… but we argue a lot anyways, does that surprise you?”

Spider-Man shrugged in response and they both ate in silence the rest of the time. Though, Annie wasn’t sure how to feel about it. She hadn’t been involved in the fight, and maybe that was for the best. The side she’d been on was decided to have been in the wrong, but she wasn’t sure she cared. Maybe she just needed to stop thinking about it.

“Um… anyways, are there any girls you’ve been crushing on?” Annie asked in an attempt to change the subject.

Spider-Man looked over quizzically, “You’re asking me about girls?”

“Well unless you’re into guys, that’s totally cool too. I was just wondering, obviously you have a life outside of this,” Annie responded.

Spider-Man sighed a bit, “Okay, fine. I guess that there’s this one girl…”

~*~*~*~*~

Of course, the coffee machine was still unpacked and most likely buried in one of the boxes that was supposed to have been unpacked, but between her parents and herself being busy it just wasn’t done. That also meant that there probably weren’t any coffee grounds either, so she wasn’t going to bother digging through all the unpacked boxes that were left precariously around the apartment. She had been living in the new apartment for nearly a month and she still couldn’t make coffee there.

“Hey, dad, I’m going to the corner store for some coffee, you want something?” she asked, watching as her father was creating a slide show on his desktop computer. It was most likely for one of his university lectures, and he would most likely come back and complain about how nearly none of his students had nearly enough passion for the topic. That was how it was with Annie’s dad, people were never interested in his passions even if they actually were.

It took the black-haired man a few moments to look up from his computer screen, “Oh, um, yes, could you get me a black coffee?”

“Yep, have fun making that lecture, dad,” Annie commented as she pocketed the money that her father handed her.

The man hardly looked up from the computer as she left. That didn’t exactly surprise Annie, but sometimes it left her feeling a bit ignored. Sometimes, more often than not in reality, it felt like he barely noticed her. It felt as though she could get up and run away and he would never even notice. It wasn’t that Carter Hardwick was neglectful. At the end of the day, he would seem to care about her in his own odd way, but work often came before her. Annie had commented on it before, but he would just point out the amount of money that he made from being a professor. It was to the point that she had stopped trying to point out that maybe, just maybe, he should focus on her and her mother a little bit more than he did. A part of her just wished that money didn’t matter.

Most of the time, Annie wouldn’t bring up how much her mother made from being a lawyer. Let him justify his bullshit, she thought as she walked down the block. It wasn’t like she had ever gotten him to stop, and she had spent years trying to do just that. A cool breeze cut through the black leggings Annie wore and she tugged her dark blue hoodie around herself. The late November chill proved that Thanksgiving was less than a week away, meaning that Christmas as well as the audition were just around the corner.

Walking into the store, the first thing she felt was the warmth of walking inside, the heated air feeling amazing against her cool legs. Then, Annie did a double take as she scanned the store. A girl with crutches and short, kinky black hair seemed to be looking around at some of the candy and chips. It was definitely Tina, there was no question about that.

The initial plan was to avoid her at all cost. She didn’t have to go anywhere near Tina, there was no reason to even talk to her in the first place. It wasn’t like the other girl would outright accuse her of being a superhero, but that didn’t ease her racing heart. While, walking over to her to see how she was doing did feel tempting, Annie doubted that it was worth it. She just wouldn’t take any risks, not today when she was still rubbing the sleep from her eyes. However, there was only one way to get to the coffee and that involved passing by Tina. They were complete strangers, though, it would be fine. Her costume had kept her hidden for a few years, it could continue to do so for ten seconds or less. At least, that was what Annie kept telling herself in attempt to calm herself down. There was nothing for her to worry about. Although, that wasn’t going to plan when walking behind Tina completely surprised her. It had caused Tina to fall, of course, she couldn’t just leave Tina on the ground like that.

“Shit! I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you like that, oh my god I am seriously so sorry,” Annie rambled, offering a hand to help the other girl up.

Tina had a frown as she accepted the hand and used a crutch to get herself to stand back up, “You coulda said something. Ya know, told me you were coming behind me.”

“R-right, I’m really sorry about that. Seriously, I could get you something to make it up to you,” Annie offered, looking at the linoleum floor.

Tina shook her head, “No, I don’t need your pity.”

“It’s not about that, I just wanna help,” Annie insisted, crossing her arms.

Tina huffed, “I don’t need it.”

“But, Tina, you do, just- “

“How do you know my name?”

Annie gulped and choked on the mixture of saliva and air in her throat. Her light brown face turned into a shade of bright red. She mentally kicked herself as she tried to think of an excuse. Only, there wasn’t one. It was just her being stupid and not thinking before she spoke. Maybe she should have just laid on her bed and slept instead of trying to persevere through her exhaustion.

Tina blinked, “Um… don’t die?”

“I uh… I work at the soup kitchen,” Annie replied with coughs in between some of her words.

The other girl glared, her dark brown eyes almost looking like they turned completely black, “That’s bullshit and you know it. Are you stalking me?”

“No, not that at all, I swear. Woah woah woah, you can put that crutch down I’m not gonna hurt you… put that crutch down… ow! Fucking hell!” Annie exclaimed as the crutch dug into her foot, earning a few weird looks from the handful of people in the store.

The crutch only dug into her foot more. It was placing just the right amount of pressure to where it was nearly unbearable. Annie couldn’t even stop a barrier of energy from forming and then bursting, pushing the crutch off. Thankfully it had just been Tina and herself there to see it. What left Annie worried was whether or not she would do something else like that again. It wasn’t like she was trying to make a point, it just kind of happened. Almost as though she had lost control for a split second, but she stopped worrying as much once nothing else happened.

“Oh… you’re-“

“Not here, okay? Let me buy my coffee and get you something too. Then we can talk about it,” Annie pleaded, her light brown eyes widened as she hoped that there wouldn’t be any confrontation right in front of so many people.

Tina gave a sigh, almost like she was still contemplating her decision, “Okay, fine… but you owe me a huge explanation.”

“Of course, yeah, I’ll do that. And you’ll get it. Just not this second, okay?”

Getting two cups of black coffee and a bottled, sweetened black tea took all of five minutes. The whole time, the brunette’s heart was racing and she felt like she could throw up all over the polite cashier. No one had ever found her out before this. Yes, people had gotten close, but that hardly meant anything unless they actually knew her true identity. There were now so many ways that Tina could get back at her. Though, Annie hoped that wouldn’t be the case. At least, that was what she kept thinking as she stuffed the change into her hoodie pocket. If more people found out who she was, she would probably spontaneously combust and then she would never have to deal with keeping secrets ever again.

“Also, we gotta take a detour to my place, this extra coffee was for my dad,” Annie explained as she walked out of the store with Tina, the cold air practically slapping her in the face.

A cold breeze passed through again, causing Annie’s long, dark hair to get in her face. With both hands holding onto the corner store coffees, she couldn’t get the annoying strands of hair out of her face. All she could do was keep her mouth closed so none of her hair would get into her mouth. She had already choked on her own spit, she didn’t want to choke on her own hair next. At least her hands were warm. She couldn’t imagine holding a cold drink in the chilled weather.

When she glanced at Tina, she felt a pang of guilt as she saw the other girl moving slowly with her crutches and cold drink. There she was, dragging the other girl around when that was probably all Tina had gone through for who knew how long. Still, Annie knew that her dad would probably say a few things if she didn’t get him his coffee. Plus, Annie hadn’t planned on seeing Tina in the first place. Then again, it wasn’t like Annie was keeping the other girl hostage. She had questions and wanted answers, answers that Annie did feel were justified.

Once the girls made it to the apartment building, Tina cleared her throat, “Do I go up with you?”

“Yeah, j-just say you’re my new friend if anyone asks,” Annie replied, leading the way into the tall building.

Getting to the apartment, Annie didn’t know what was sadder, that her dad never questioned Tina walking in or that the landlord asked a bunch of questions about the other female. Thankfully, Tina played it cool as they left. It wasn’t that Annie wanted her dad to give Tina the third degree, but she wanted her dad to act like he cared more often. She wished he would have said hello or who he was, something that she thought normal parents did. Sure, Annie wasn’t their blood-related child, but she thought that meant that her parents had made the conscious choice to care about her. The more Annie grew up, the more it felt like only her mom had made that decision.

Tina huffed as they continued to walk some more, “Where are you taking me? This hobbling around hurts like a bitch,”

“Just across this street. You just gotta be patient,” Annie responded, rolling her eyes a bit.

“Says the one who’s not on crutches.”

“Says the one who tried to crush my foot.”

“Touchè.”

Annie and Tina made their way into the library. It took a moment to find an empty space where they wouldn’t have to worry about being overheard. Though, it took a bit, Annie hadn’t thought it took that long. However, the sigh that Tina let out seemed to say otherwise. The enclosed room was walled with green glass. Annie wasn’t sure where to start, so she took a big drink of her black coffee.

“So, what’s your name anyways?” asked Tina.

The other girl swallowed the warm liquid, “Annika, but everyone just calls me Annie.”

“Hmm… so what’re you really trying to do, talking to me?” Tina asked, opening her tea.

Annie bit her lip in thought, “With what? With you or with my own image as a hero or?”

“No, obviously, why’re you helping me?”

“Because you deserve better than you’re getting, than you’ve gotten in the past.”

“How would you know what I deserve?”

“I know because no one, and you listen to me Tina, no one deserves to be hurt in the way that you were.”

“You really think that?”

“Yes! Of course I do. I’m not a hero just for the glory… then I would’ve quit a long time ago, because there’s not much glory in it all.”

Tina nodded a little bit, “So, that Spider-Man guy… what’s your deal with him?”

“Honestly, I have no fucking clue. I know he’s a bit… ah what’s the word for it?”

“Awkward yet cocky?”

“Sure, but his heart’s in the right place, I wouldn’t say cocky… anywho, I thought maybe we could be friends or something like that.”

“Oh, no way. You’re saying that to break me down and find out more about me and to get me even more roped into whatever it is that you and that other guy have planned.”

“It’s not that at all! You need someone to talk to. I know what it’s like to be alone, just let me help you, could you do that?”

Of course, Annie wanted to know more relating to the case she was trying to crack that had everything to deal with Tina. Why wouldn’t she want that? But the poor girl in front of her was in desperate need to talk to someone. It was written in the bags under her nearly black eyes. She needed someone there for her, anyone. If talking to Tina in the past had told Annie anything, it was that she was exceedingly lonely. Odds were that Tina couldn’t get through what was happening if she were left alone. Annie worried that she would just go back to the man who had treated her so cruelly. She could get away with it too, given how little information she and Spider-Man had.

“You won’t tell your hero friend about any of this, will you?”

“No, I-I’m not trying to be involved like that. This is just me being normal and trying to be your friend simply because that’s what I want.”

“Normal people don’t hang out with homeless teens,” Tina pointed out, her dark eyebrows raised.

“Eh, I was never super normal to begin with, powers or not.”

For the first time in weeks, Annie found herself getting to Tina. It wasn’t by much, but they were just talking. Not about the past that led them to the positions that they were currently in, no, they talked about regular things. Favorite movies, getting jobs, starting at new schools, the things that regular friends talked about on a regular day. Things like how Tina wouldn’t be going to Midtown, but rather some normal high school somewhere in the neighborhood. Annie wished they would be at the same school, though, for the sole purpose of no longer being the token new-girl.

They continued talking for hours. Tina didn’t say a thing about being trafficked, but she listened as Annie blabbered on about the school musical and her other friends. Occasionally, Tina would say something, but she tended to avoid saying anything of substance. As much as Annie wanted to comment on it, she knew it wasn’t the time or the place.

Though, they did have to go home eventually and when they got to the homeless shelter, Annie hugged Tina.

“If you need anything, call me, I gave you my number for a reason, okay?” Annie said, looking at Tina dead in the eyes.

Tina gave a nod that seemed reluctant, “Okay, but I’m safe now, honestly. I’m just trying to finish school and get back on my feet.”

Annie gave a nod, “I know, but I also know that shit happens. So when it does, I’m here.”

It didn’t matter if Tina would tell her anything about being hurt or not. Annie truly did just want to help. For a moment, being successful or powerful wasn’t what mattered to her. That was all the motivation that she needed to throw herself back into being a multitasking hero who kept promises to as many people as she could. Whether she knew them that well or not. It gave her enough energy to continue getting things done at a million miles a minute. Maybe trying to do things so quickly wasn’t the best idea, but that hardly mattered to Annie either.

That Monday, Annie had gone through the day with more energy than she thought she could have had. There was this spring in her step as she finally felt herself accomplishing some of her goals. At least, she had better ideas for the auditions that she could hardly wait to tell Peter and Ned about. Not to mention how the suit she had a sketch of in her dresser drawer was starting to come together. Though, it didn’t seem that the boys were talking about anything that she was thinking of.

“What time do you want us over on Thursday?” Ned asked Peter as Annie sat down.

Annie cocked her head, “What’s so special about Thursday?”

“Um… I don’t know, maybe the fact that it’s Thanksgiving? Come on, get with it!” Ned exclaimed, sounding incredulous.

Peter nodded a bit, “Yeah, did you have any plans for Thursday? I mean, I’m sure my aunt would love to meet you. I mean, it could be fun.”

When the girl took a moment to step back, she could remember her mom saying something about her dad being gone on some literature conference in Philadelphia for the holiday. Her mom had wanted to do something, but there was still so much happening with getting settled in and it just being the two ladies in the apartment that day anyhow. Though, perhaps she could get the chance to bring Tina along too. To show that she was being serious about just being friends for the sake of friendship, not to get ahead.

“Well, would it be okay if there were two other people? I could make some food to help make up for it,” Annie offered before adding, “I make a great potato salad.”

Peter shrugged, “I don’t see why not, but you don’t need to make anything… who were you thinking about?”

“Oh, well, there’s my mom and then this one girl I met a few days ago, Tina, she’s kinda lonely and I think she could use the whole, having-people-around thing,” Annie explained, giving a tiny shrug, “She might not even come because, well, she doesn’t know you guys. It could be fun though!”

Peter spat out his chocolate milk, the liquid getting all over his food. His eyes seemed to widen a bit and he looked like he was trying to say something to Ned with his eyes. Why Peter was reacting this way, she had absolutely no clue.

“Is it because you’re nervous about meeting girls or something?” Annie asked teasingly with a small laugh.

Peter shook his head, “No, uh, I just… needed to cough and I kinda did… you’re not bringing her to set one of us up, are you?”

“No, no, it’s not that… I met her when I was getting coffee and I almost knocked her out. She’s been having a rough time and I wanna help,” Annie replied.

Peter nodded, “Yeah, we got that… um sure, that’s fine,”

Despite the words leaving the other boy’s mouth, Annie couldn’t help wondering if he had been telling the truth. Something told her that he was hiding something, but she didn’t have the ability to find out what. There was a reason as to why he had been so surprised, and she couldn’t understand why that was. Maybe it was because he didn’t know Tina and he really did have to cough. Something told her that wasn’t the case, though.

However, Annie didn’t have enough motivation to figure out what was going through Peter’s head. Besides, it wasn’t like she was a mind reader. She controlled energy, not people. That was probably for the best, even if that meant she wasn’t able to know what Peter was doing. More importantly, how Ned was involved in whatever it was Peter was doing. Though, perhaps she was just looking into it too much and needed to get a full night’s rest before she started jumping to conclusions.

Tag list: @flushings-here / @upsidedownparker / @gaypanda / @ijustdontknowsometimes / @lionsfandomsandbearsohmy (just ask to be added to the tag list)

#peter parker #peter parker imagine #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #peter parker fanfic #peter parker x oc #spider-man #spider-man x reader #spider-man x oc #mcu #mavel cinematic universe #marvel cinematic universe #fanfic #writing #my writing

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samedifference61 · 6 years

Text

Five times Hux tries to assassinate Ren, and one time Millicent tries

kylux | explicit | ~3000 words | post TLJ | AO3

Summary: Ren admits this, all of this, is far from under control.

Written for the @keepinghimclose event to celebrate the TLJ novelization.

Notes: This started as 5 times Hux tried to kill Ren, and one time he succeeded. I couldn’t bring myself to follow through with the character death, so *spoiler alert* that doesn’t actually happen. I ended up with hate sex, lots of messy feelings and a Millicent guest appearance. Also, I’m pretty sure there are more than 5 attempts to kill Ren… In conclusion, I failed at my own prompt. *shrugs* Enjoy?

It’s all under control.

Ren releases the Force hold he has on Hux. He only meant to keep him still long enough to prove something to both of them—this can be good, they can be good for each other when it’s slow and deliberate, rolling toward something deeper rather than their usual sudden collision, two starships tearing each other into oblivion, crushed into the background of an empty sky.

Hux rolls them, squirming from under Ren’s body. He claws his way on top of Ren, digging his knees in and growling when he slides down Ren’s cock once again.

Shaking with angry need, Hux gets his hot fingers around Ren’s neck. Applies pressure with his palms into either side of Ren’s windpipe and pushes, bearing down with his whole body. It isn’t enough to completely restrict Ren’s breathing, but the possibility of it makes Ren heave, anticipating the moment when Hux will go too far and Ren will have to stop him.

Hux must has killed a man like this before, under the persistent weight of his hands. Ren resists the urge to seek the evidence without Hux’s permission.

In response, Hux gives him a show of teeth, warning Ren to stay out of his head.

Hux gets his feet under him and grinds down on Ren’s cock, over and over again, eyes alight with something dangerous and beguiling around the edges.

“Beg me for it,” Hux demands.

Ren isn’t sure exactly what he should beg for— permission to pry Hux’s memories from their carefully guarded hiding place, or for his own life while Hux is poised to choke it out of him, free it from his throat.

Probably, Hux wants both.

Instead, Ren takes hold of Hux’s erection, barely has to move his hand before Hux is arching back, spilling along Ren’s stomach with his mouth open wide. He clinches around Ren’s cock, hard enough to make him writhe from the pressure.

The release of tension from coming allows Hux to ease up, though his hands stay where they are, even as he’s gasping through the aftershocks. While new sweat is rolling from his face, a pretty flush upon his cheeks and trailing down his chest, Hux squeezes his eyes shut, finally calm while Ren remains unsatisfied. Ren digs a bruise into his hip to remind him who’s still filling him up and stretching him wide. Hux twitches, but remains where he is, a stubborn deadweight upon Ren's hips.

Closing your eyes doesn’t make me disappear.

Ren’s too hyper-focused on Hux to keep this thought from drifting between them, woven through his arousal and catching along Hux’s web of consciousness.

“I know exactly who’s under me,” Hux says aloud, rolling his hips forward in a way that pulls twin groans from from each of them.

Let him try to kill me, Ren thinks. If Hux continues bearing down on him like he is, finally giving enough to let Ren spill deep within him, Ren won’t care in the slightest.

After, when Hux reaches over him for his cigarras, lights one up with Ren’s sensitive cock still buried deep inside, dragging along the slick heat of his own come, Ren admits this, all of this, is far from under control.

This could have been anyone, Ren reminds himself. There are more than a few people who would rather see him dead than continue as their Supreme Leader.

There are three enlisted docking bay attendants lined up at the edge of the Silencer, trying not to shake with fear as Ren stands with his arms crossed, frowning at their clumsy attempts to explain why the Silencer filled with toxic exhaust just before Ren was set to pilot her for an ill-advised, solo scouting run along the Outer Rim.

If Ren had taken off before the cockpit started leaking the gas, if he’d made it to hyperspeed, there’s no telling how quickly it would have killed him.

“Take them to the brig,” Ren finally decides, beyond tired of their groveling. They’re lucky he doesn’t snap their necks where they stand for being so careless. Ren will personally choose his next attendants.

Six ‘troopers drag the attendants away, still protesting. None of them have the authorization codes to enter the Silencer without permission, or the knowledge to alter her innards, they're saying.

No. It’s their job to check she’s in working condition before Ren is set to pilot her. They failed and should pay for their oversight.

There are only a handful of people with authorization codes who would know how to alter the Silencer without getting caught, Ren reminds himself as he’s stalking away from the docking bay, furious about his interrupted plans.

Hux is one of them.

Ren can smell it before he takes the first bite.

There’s a distinctive gritty texture and an earthy tinge to the sauce covering the vegetables that make him recoil with disgust. The smell sends him into reliving a traumatic event from his childhood—great tears streaming his face while he looked at Han with pure, helpless terror. Han could only squawk at him about spitting out the problem so he could help, so fearful that he’d fucked up yet again while Leia was off-planet. Ren was unable to breathe, let alone explain the problem—or scream from the pain in his throat like he really wanted.

Newly discovered Force abilities aside, that was the moment Ren realized he wasn’t as far above the laws of human mortality as he had thought.

Without taking a bite, Ren puts down his fork with care and shoves the plate away with the Force. Ren is curious to see if Hux will address Ren’s hesitation.

Hux doesn’t, just continues undressing from his shift, eyes on his comm as he moves about their shared rooms.

“Hux,” Ren says, using a slow and warning tone. “Did you order Kola nut sauce for my meal?”

Hux stops where he is. There’s nothing telling about his expression, and that’s more infuriating than an attempt at murder. This is exactly how he reacted to word of the Silencer’s exhaust problem from last week as well.

“I noticed you’ve never tried it before. It’s quite good.” The false enthusiasm makes Ren grit his teeth.

Hux has read every bit of Ren's medical history on file, and Hux knows everything anyway, including Ren’s frustrating weakness to any and all tree nuts.

If he took a bite of that sauce smothered in Kola flour, his throat would swell, restricting his breathing within seconds. If he ate enough of it and had no access to an epinephrine hypo, he would suffocate in minutes, with Hux standing over him, peering down with mild curiosity as he convulsed without a way to take oxygen into his burning lungs.

Ren keeps a hypo in the refresher cabinet just in case. He seeks it out with the Force.

It isn’t there.

Actually angry now, Ren reaches out as Hux passes, grips his wrist hard enough to earn a whimper, bones protesting under the pressure. Ren could, should, break his wrist just to remind Hux of the dangerous water he’s treading upon. The beat of Hux’s heart quickens. Ren can feel it through the pulse in his wrist—probably gets a sick thrill out of it, not because he thinks he’s in any kind of danger.

“You’re attempting to assassinate me,” Ren states evenly.

Hux snorts, leaning forward to take the fork and shove a big bite of the vegetables smothered in the Kola sauce into his own mouth. “Well, if that were true, I’m doing a terrible job. I haven’t succeeded yet, have I?” He swallows just before bending forward to press a kiss to the corner of Ren’s open mouth, the offensive sauce on his breath.

Ren is too shocked to pull away from him.

No. He hasn’t succeeded yet. Not yet.

Interlude

They’ve had a quiet, guarded understanding between them for weeks now, so Ren is stunned when Millicent takes a swipe at his forearm one morning in the refresher for no reason at all. After, she bounds away with a hissing growl, tail held high.

Ren flinches from the sudden, bright edged pain, and looks down to see three perfectly straight cuts welling up with beads of blood. It’s fitting she's the first to draw blood.

While she’s never been especially friendly, it seems Millicent is also in on Hux’s conspiracy to kill him.

It’s possible Ren has underestimated the cost involved in his plan to keep Hux near, to keep an eye on him, so that he can at least see it coming, the moment Hux will succeed in killing him.

When Ren makes it back to the Finalizer’s docking bay, Hux isn’t there to greet him, to hear him bark with seething rage at anyone near enough. Ren finds Hux on the bridge, conveniently surrounded by a handful of witnesses loyal to Hux first, regardless of what they may say to Ren’s face.

“Hux!” Ren booms, loud enough that everyone freezes and silence falls over the bridge.

All of these people know what Hux has done, and none of them protested Hux’s decision. Hux authorized an evacuation of the planet while Ren was still on its surface, without informing him. Then he ordered the fleet just outside of the range of the Silencer’s fuel stores, so it’s taken three cycles for Ren to return after a stop-over for fuel at an ill-equipped outpost. “You will explain yourself.”

Hux is at parade rest, eyes unblinking. “I have no idea what you mean, Supreme Leader. In your absence, I assumed command as agreed. I determined the fleet was in danger of attack by an unknown source and planned accordingly. Provisions were put into place to ensure your safe return. The docking bay could have easily refused your entry if it weren’t for my authorization.”

He doesn’t care that he’s making a scene, pulls Hux to him across the bridge using the Force, heels dragging across the shiny floor. There’s barely a gasp from the others. Good. They need reminding of who’s in charge here.

“Would you kill me here?” Hux challenges, voice pinched and breathless, but still so calm, even as Ren holds him in the air and Hux grabs at the phantom crush on his throat. “In front of them all in a blind rage? You could do so much better than this.”

That’s enough, Ren projects, loud enough Hux will feel its intensity searing into his nerve endings. You’ll stop this right now.

Ren releases him before he passes out, and Hux falls to the floor, gasping on all fours, but he’s also smiling, the insolent fucker.

This has to stop.

Hux doesn’t flinch when Ren pulls back, only closes his eyes out of instinct when the hot splash of come covers his cheeks and chin and eyelashes. Slowly, Ren pumps himself a few times more, smearing the last of his come along Hux’s swollen bottom lip until it’s shiny and wet. With his eyes still closed, Hux presses his lips together and licks at them with the tip of his tongue, expression carefully neutral.

Ren had ment this as punishment for insubordination, but it’s hardly working the way he wants.

Ren’s own breath is too ragged to his own ears when he wipes the sweat from his brow and grunts in irritation. He’s not sure why he’s still feeling keyed up and on edge. Hux has done everything he’s asked, went to his knees when Ren shoved his datapad and mug of tea aside to grab at his uniform shirt, only complained minimally when Ren ran rough hands through his hair until it stuck up unevenly.

And even now, Hux is somewhere else. Somewhere beyond this stifling room where Ren cannot reach him.

“Will that be all—Supreme Leader?” The title is added after a beat, just long enough Ren knows he considered not saying it. No. That won’t do.

Ren grabs at Hux’s chin, digs his fingers in before dipping two into Hux’s mouth until his jaw is pulled wide enough to earn a choked protest. Fine. Ren will make him pay attention.

Catching on quickly, Hux sucks at Ren’s fingers covered in his own sticky come, but scrapes along the skin too, pinches it between his teeth like he’d consider drawing blood if Ren challenges him further.

Good. That’s—better.

Retracting his fingers, Ren swipes the come from Hux’s eyes with his thumbs, lingers there until Hux opens them. They’re holding at a muddy shade of green in the harsh light of Hux’s office, and—yes, there it is. The fiery hatred flaring bright enough where Ren can fucking see it. That’s what he was waiting for, not the detached reverence Hux performs for the others, for him while still plotting his assassination.

Ren never wants the lie, no matter how awful the truth. He thinks he’s earned that much from Hux.

Ren grabs at Hux’s wrist, shoves his sleeve higher to reveal the blade strapped to his forearm. Ren’s never seen it up close, but has felt the edge of it brush against him more than once.

Into Hux’s ear, Ren barks, “Tell me what you want. Say it.”

Say you want me gone. Say you’re plotting my death so you can succeed me.

Hux smiles and lets out a conceded laugh, edging toward hysteria before he composes himself. There’s a pause and Ren wants to take a step back because he knows whatever’s about to leave Hux’s mouth will cut him deeply. He’s not sure he’s ready—

“You should fuck me first,” Hux challenges, voice pitched low and controlled, and there’s a show of teeth, a rabid animal cornered. “Once you’ve had your fill, I’ll tell you exactly what I want, Ren.” Almost as an afterthought, he says, “Of course that is if you can manage to keep yourself from forcibly extracting it from my mind.”

Ren takes hold of Hux by the forearm and pulls him up until they’re standing toe to toe. It doesn’t take much effort, and Ren is reminded how easy it would be to snap Hux in two when he wobbles on his feet for a moment, how easy it would be to pull his arm from the socket, rip muscle from bone just to hear the satisfying squelching crunch of it.

No.

Ren refuses to ruin the only thing that has given him any satisfaction lately.

Ren can control himself. He can.

“I should do it here.” Ren feels it all bubble over, a gush of nothing helpful while faced with his own impatience and a far deeper fear of rejection. “I should bend you in half and shove into you until you understand there’s exactly one person in this galaxy who can give you everything you desire.You need me.”

You need me as much as I need you.

“Do it,” Hux hisses, shrugging Ren’s hold from him. He looks like he’s as likely to claw at Ren’s face as he is to shove his trousers down and let Ren bend him in half like he promised. It’s enough for Ren to feel the want growing in himself, the need to march Hux out of here to someplace more private and—do something.

“Kill me before I have the chance to kill you,” Hux spits out.

That would be too easy, and nothing has ever come easily between them. Maybe this is where they back up. Start again. So then Ren can say the right things at least some of the time.

I’ll try to be better.

Hux lets out a great breath, and Hux is still shaking with rage, but he seems to come back to himself, too. He holds Ren’s gaze as he palms the blade at his sleeve, wrapping his fingers around his forearm like he needs physical reassurance its still there. Just in case. Within reach if he needs it. He takes one glance at the door, swallows, and then stares defiantly back at Ren. The fight is mostly gone.

“You know I can’t kill you,” Ren says. Then quietly adds, “You know why, too.”

Hux looks tired, like he’s holding the galaxy together with two hands and cannot bear to see it crack and crumble at his feet. Ren wants to tell him, No, that’s my job now. Let me do that for you.

“In your obsession with fucking some kind of indiscernible emotion out of me, I think you’ve forgotten there is an actual military operation to oversee aboard this starship.”

Before Ren can deny any kind of obsession, because—that is just fucking ridiculous he says, “I don’t think you could kill me either. Not really.”

“I haven’t yet. That doesn’t mean I won't,” Hux says, face contorting through a series of complex emotions—fear, longing, disbelief, like he can’t settle on one way to feel about any of this.

“Okay,” Ren reassures, pulling Hux closer, and Hux goes to him easily this time, frames Ren’s face with his hands, sighs in resignation before leaning forward for a kiss.

“I still despise you,” Hux says against his mouth. He bites Ren’s bottom lip, just to make sure he’s understood.

“I know,” Ren says back. The blade strapped to Hux’s forearm slides along the back of Ren’s neck, but he doesn’t let go.

Leave me some love on AO3!

#kylux #keepinghimclose #kylo ren #armitage hux #my fic

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transtarks · 6 years

Photo

FINALLY i’ve finished @actualbird‘s christmas present! since they live on the other side of the world from me and sending them a physical present would cost both my life savings and my firstborn, and i don’t know how to draw and i’m in a writer’s slump at the moment AND i’ve already made them a mix, i decided to put together the soundtrack i had in my head for their fic, is this a forest? ‘cuz there sure is a lot of pine (yes i know there’s a comma instead of a question mark in the picture but i’m too tired to go fix it). the art is by @savedbythemell (xx)! also, since the fic hasn’t been finished yet, this is technically a work in progress. merry christmas, bird! <3

unfortunately, spotify didn’t have a couple of the songs on the soundtrack so i made the playlist on youtube.

check out the soundtrack here!

the soundtrack explanation is under the cut.

Ayuz - Rico Blanco

Second chapter. Michael finds that song on spotify, goes to school listening to it. Camera shows him listening to it at his desk in his room or something, his foot tapping to it as his face morphs into a pleased expression. As the first verse plays, you see him texting Jeremy on his phone. Jeremy is asking him where he is, probably, because for some fucking reason Jeremy is early to school. He has a text convo with Jeremy that gives some insight to their relationship with each other and how Michael is pining before the chorus hits, Michael huffs out a sigh, shoves his phone in his pocket, swings his backpack over his shoulder, and heads out the door. Cut to him in school, the camera focused on his back as he does his little dance-walk through the hallways, people passing by maybe kind of looking at him strangely. The song fades as he comes into contact with Jeremy at the lunch table, sound focused on Michael singing it.

Your Universe - Rico Blanco

End of second chapter. Even though Michael doesn’t find this song until he’s home after being at Jeremy’s, it still plays as we’re shown them hanging out and havin’ a good time. When we finally see Michael at home, he’s in bed with his headphones on, laying on his stomach and staring at texts from Jeremy again, face expressionless. He sighs and sets his phone down, rolls onto his back, digs the heels of his hands into his eyes and the camera is looking down on him. As it pulls farther away from him, the scene fades out with the music, “I’ll always be the lucky one.”

Hope You Do - Cinders

End of chapter three. The song comes in, Jeremy saying, “What are gagos for, right?” and Michael laughing in response. The guitar comes in as Jeremy heads up to the kitchen to get the brownies for Nikki. Lyrics start, Michael leans in the hallway and watches Jeremy and Nikki with a small but sad smile on his face. Nikki looks at him, and in the silence between, “i want your heart and i hope you want mine to, but it’s just so hard to tell you,” and “but I hope you do,” Michael shrugs, and the camera immediately cuts from him to Jeremy’s face as he talks to Nikki. The scene fades out. Episode ends.

Henrietta - The Fratellis

Beginning of chapter four. The episode starts out silent with Jeremy in class, where he finds out that Christine has been assigned his partner for their English project. He seems to be fine, but the second that he hears Christine is his partner, the smile falls from his face, his eyes widen, and he looks over at Christine who’s looking back at him with a smile and a wave. The guitar at the very beginning of the song starts as he looks over at her, and you can see the color drain from his face as the camera switches to show Christine smiling at him. She waves, and the camera flicks back to Jeremy right as the little, “Hello!” comes in. Cut to a bird’s eye view of Jeremy sulking through the hallways on the way to lunch, then cut to Michael at their lunch table waiting for Jeremy to join him. Jeremy sits down and the song cuts off right before the lyrics can start. Queue Jeremy screaming into his backpack. That’s all that plays of this song.

Landslide - Oh Wonder

End of chapter four. Okay, so like, the thing with this chapter is that in all the parts where it says “The thing about [character name] is,” I imagine it as Michael like, writing this in a journal to himself. Like throughout the episode, we’d hear Michael’s voiceover saying the whole “Here’s the thing about Jeremy,” but since it’s Michael writing, there would be “I”s and “Me”s instead of “he”s and “him”s when referring to Michael because, well, he’s referring to himself so you get it. So we hear Michael’s voiceover throughout the episode doing that, and for the last one—the one about Christine—we cut to Michael in his bed writing this in some journal he’s never used before because he’s always thought the whole write out your feelings coping mechanism was bullshit but he’s sort of desperate at this point. So we cut to the, “My point is, Christine, should she ever like Jeremy back—” and this song is playing. The weird pulsing sound at the beginning started playing when Jeremy laid his head on Michael’s shoulder. So the first verse is playing as he’s talking over it while writing, and then the chorus hits and he just kind of shakes his head and groans and closes the journal and lays down, tries to go to sleep. The episode fades out.

Nothing Lasts - Bedroom

K, so, this episode (chapter 5) begins with no music, and that lasts until after the incident where Michael tries to text Jeremy while he’s at the mall. Then this song starts playing as confusion comes to Michael’s face, wondering why Jeremy won’t reply to him. Transfer into a, like, semi-montage with this song playing in the BG of all the incidents where Michael is trying to get Jeremy’s attention and failing. It cuts off abruptly when the camera quickly cuts from Michael looking all antsy in the hallway to a closeup of their hands as Michael grabs Jeremy’s wrist.

Some Boys (Demo) - Death Cab For Cutie

Okay so since this song starts out kind of abrupt, like SUDDENLY IMMEDIATELY THERE’S A GUITAR y’know, I’d change it so that it fades in. This is what plays when Michael has his panic attack in the bathroom! It doesn’t seem fitting at first but like, the lyrics are p good for it and also if you think about it like I am, it’s pretty fitting. So like, Jeremy leaves, the door closes. The song starts fading in as Michael locks it. We see him stare at the door handle, see his eyes well up, and see him sink to the edge of the tub. Then the camera changes to a bird’s eye view of the bathroom and like, we cycle through seeing Michael in the tub, at the sink staring in the mirror, curled into a ball against the door, hyperventilating in the middle of the room with his hands in his hair, and then finally leaving when “some boys don’t know how to love” is sung. The song fades out as the camera cuts to Michael backing out of the driveway and driving off, the screen fading to black as well.

Oo - Up Dharma Down

This is here for obvious reasons. It’s the song that comes on Michael’s spotify when he’s smoking and going through burning shit Jeremy’s given him. It plays again at the end of the episode from his headphones, but then fades in louder as the episode closes out of the hospital room with Michael sitting next to Jeremy’s bed.

Midnight Movies - Saint Motel

Chapter 6 opening. Michael and Jeremy are back at school, it seems like things are more or less okay between them. We focus on Michael in a sort of montage as he goes through a couple weeks of interacting with Jeremy and doing his best to make things normal again, but we always see him falter when Jeremy isn’t looking or when one of the kids from the squip squad talks to him. At one point, we see one of the kids asking Michael if he wants to come hang out with them; the music quiets down just enough to we catch the gist of the exchange. When the music officially fades out, it’s when the camera pans down on Michael trying to light his cigarette by the bleachers after having been asked to hang out and Christine approaches.

O Pag-ibig - Bailey May and Ylona Garcia

This is playing on Michael’s car stereo while they’re on the way back to Jeremy’s house after school. I think it’d play again at the end of the episode while Michael is thinking about how everything is going to be okay after Jeremy snuggled him in his sleep.

Green Tea - Observer Drift

Chapter 7, after everyone sits down at lunch with Michael and he starts to get a little overwhelmed. Christine offers to watch a dog video with him. The song starts playing as Michael leans over to watch it, a smile forming on his face. Jeremy’s fingers are touching his wrist, the table is laughing, and Michael looks a bit more content now. We see Christine sneak a glance at him as she shows him the video, her own smile mirroring his own. It’s soft and resembles something like pride.

Cut To The Feeling - Carly Rae Jepsen

Michael picks Jeremy and Christine up, Christine plays this song in the car on the way to the arcade.

Sporting Chance - Observer Drift

The very end of this episode as Michael watches Jeremy head over to the air hockey table. Seriously the lyrics in this fuck me up. Make a list of all your friends— close your eyes and walk away from me. I couldn’t ask you this just one time; did you write me down? Doesn’t matter how many we have, what matters is how much they care. The episode fades out with this song.

Ligaya - Eraserheads

The only song in chapter 8. Michael’s guitar cover of this at the end of the chapter fades into the actual song as the episode closes.

audioscan - ambient noise transformed into music

Chapter 9 opens up with Michael staring at the shelf of condoms in front of him at 7Eleven, this playing on his headphones. (Thanks, Jenna.)

Major Tom - Peter Schilling

Really this is just strictly for comedic purposes/background noise. This is what’s playing on the store’s speakers after Michael takes his headphones off and starts to (accidentally) text Rich. It’s got a weird floaty feeling to it and I imagine it’d be, like, subconsciously calming to hear while having a crisis in a 7Eleven.

Start Somewhere - A Yawn Worth Yelling

Okay, so like, Major Tom ends and after Michael talks to the cashier and goes to leave the store, he stops outside and takes a deep breath. This wasn’t written in the chapter but it’s what I’m imagining if this were a TV show. This song starts playing as he exits the store, and he stops outside for a second to get his bearings. The drums kick in right as Michael takes a deep breath, gets this Well, guess I’m really fucking doing this look on his face, and continues to march towards his car. We see him drive away, and the episode cuts to the next day or something where we see Michael sitting and making the flowchart of this chapter. The song fades out.

Silakbo - Milesexperience

The song that comes on Michael’s Spotify right as he’s about to confess to Jeremy in his car.

Soft Clouds - Parks, Squares and Alleys

Plays right as Jeremy says the last words of the chapter, and the camera pans out and above the car up into the sky before the lyrics can start. The episode ends.

#be more chill #bmc #boyf riends #be more chill the musical #actualbird

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spnroundrobin · 7 years

Text

Masterpost: Round Three

Prompt: Dean has been acting sketchy for the past couple days and Sam and Cas are curious as to why. After doing a bit of poking around, they discover that Dean has been preparing for a Renaissance fair that Charlie found near the bunker and invited him to attend. Sam and Cas want to come along much to Dean’s embarrassment; shenanigans ensue.

(Remember: This is the gen fic round so no ships, please. Also, we’d like to keep this Teen rated. Obviously Charlie can be included in this round due to the prompt but other side characters will have to be over the phone or on Skype.)

Schedule and Posting Instructions

(As submissions are made, they will be posted here by the mods.)

#1 @zolaliz - Submission: 1

“Woah, Cas! Careful where you’re pointing that thing!”

“Apologies,” he said, passing the large pole-like weapon to his other hand. “I didn’t see you there.”

Sam paused a second, thrown by the look of Cas with a jousting pole in one hand and a knight’s helmet tucked underneath his arm.

“What’s with the knight get up?”

“Dean requested it,” Cas replied simply.

Sam threw his hands up in confusion as Cas continued past him, walking down the hall without any further explanation.

“Wha- Cas! Hey, wait up!” Sam jogged a few paces to catch up, “do you know why?”

“No.”

“And you didn’t think to ask?”

At this, Cas finally stopped walking to deliver Sam a flat look. “I think you and I are both aware of Dean’s tendency for deflection.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “I mean, yeah, but-”

“I must get going. Patience isn’t exactly Dean’s strong suit.”

Sam gave another exasperated sigh, “Cas, don’t you think he might be, I don’t know, up to something?”

Cas’s brow furrowed and his mouth pinched into a frown. “Of course not. What makes you say that?”

“All of this!” Sam exclaimed, motioning wildly towards everything Cas was carrying. “You don’t think that’s even the tiniest bit odd?”

Cas shrugged. “I’m sure he has good reason.”

“Good-? Good reason to want knight’s armor and a jousting stick?”

“Goodbye, Sam,” Cas responded instead, leaving Sam alone in the bunker hallway.

Maybe Cas’s faith in Dean was clouding his judgement, but Sam knew better. He could always tell when his brother was acting strange, and one way or another, he was going to get to the bottom of this.

#2 @deadlykittenkay - Submission: 1

Sam watched Cas’ retreating form go down the hallway and head towards Dean’s room. Chewing on his cheek he started to formulate a plan. He needed to know what his brother was up too. It wasn’t even October yet, so Sam immediately ruled out Halloween as a reason for the knight get up.

He decided to follow Cas only to see that Dean was not in his room. Sam stood silently watching as Cas carefully laid out the costume on Dean’s bed. The jousting stick against the wall. He chuckled hearing Charlie’s voice go along to that movie that she loved.

The sound of Sam’s chuckle made Cas turn to him. “Is there something humorous?” The angel asked.

“Sorry, I was thinking of a time when Charlie made Dean and I watch A Knight’s Tale.”

Cas’ face lit up with recognition. “The movie in which the hero wins a jousting match to win the affections of his lady, correct?”

Sam nodded. “Yeah and at one point his buddy says-”

“It’s called a Lance, hello,” Dean finished for him with a smirk.

Sam’s eyes narrow slightly, unsure if it’s because his brother is hiding something or because his brother cut him off.

#3 @jhoomwrites - Submission: 1

Determined not to be distracted, Sam pointed at the jousting equipment. “So what gives? Why you got Cas running around getting you this stuff?”

“Because it’s awesome?” Dean said as though it’s obvious.

“Uh huh.” That had to be one of his brother’s worst excuses… except it was a really common excuse for Dean, so it actually kinda checked out. “You relaly think that’s not a waste of Cas’ angel mojo? Getting random stuff for you just because it’s awesome?”

“… No?”

“I don’t mind,” Castiel said as he poked around the weapons on Dean’s shelf. He picked up the gun Dean had used to kill Hitler and looked at it closely, barely paying the brothers any attention. “We’re not working a case at the moment and there’s nothing Heaven wants of me at the moment. I’m at your disposal.”

“Dude’s bored,” Dean stage whispered to his brother. “Hey Cas, I ever tell you about the time I killed Hitler-?”

“ANYWAY,” Sam interrupted. He’d gotten tired of that story a while ago. Never mind that he knew Cas had heard it at least three times already, but still indulged Dean’s retellings. “You plan on like… just keeping that stuff in your room?”

“… Why not? It’s not like I’d wear it or anything. C’mon Sam, where you get these crazy ideas?” Dean’s nervous laughter had Sam narrowing his eyes suspiciously. Dean was definitely up to something.

#4 @blue-reveries - Submission: 1

It took another day for Sam to find a break in the case.

He was walking back to his room when he heard a phone ringing from the library. When no one seemed to answer it, Sam altered his course and wandered over to see whose phone it was. It was sitting in front of the chair that Dean favored and sure enough, the phone vibrating across the table was his brother’s.

The caller ID said “Queen of Moons.”

Smiling brightly, Sam picked up the phone and answered. “Hey, Charlie. What’s up?”

“I’ll tell you what’s up, Dean,” Charlie said rapidly, not giving Sam a chance to correct her. “The orcs are already starting to kick our ass and guess what? My newly appointed Knight of Strategy is still not here.”

“Charlie, I’m—”

“Oh no, mister,” Charlie said, sounding more frustrated than angry. “And to top everything off, the Warriors of Yesteryear are being a major pain in my ass because I promised a great plan and you aren’t here to help me deliver, Dean.” There was a pause but before Sam could talk, she spoke again. “Where in the frack are you anyway?”

“Um…this is Sam, Charlie,” he said carefully, not wanting to set her off again. Sam didn’t want to be on the receiving end of that. “Dean left his phone on the table and I answered since it was you.”

The line went silent. Sam could hear the somewhat familiar sounds of a Renaissance style camp echoing in the background. He was just about to ask Charlie if she was okay when she broke the silence.

“Holy Gandalf,” Charlie exclaimed before letting out a chorus of “no’s.” “How much would it cost me for you to completely forget everything you just heard?”

The worried guilt in Charlie’s voice struck a chord in Sam’s mind and his eyes narrowed as he mulled this information over. Dean asking Cas for medieval style clothes and weaponry…Dean acting sketchy…Charlie calling to rant to Dean about Moondor…

Everything clicked into place and Sam couldn’t help the excited grin from plastering itself over his face.

“Dean’s coming LARPing with you, isn’t he?”

The silence continued for a few more seconds before Charlie spoke again. “You did not hear any of this from me. Do you hear me, Sam Winchester?”

“Your secret is one hundred percent safe with me,” Sam swore solemnly. He even raised his right hand. “Dean will never know I found this out from you.”

Charlie sighed in relief. “Whew…okay, thanks. Can you just tell Dean that I texted you to have him call me?”

Sam agreed and wished her goodbye. He hung up Dean’s phone and placed it back where he found it. Practically vibrating with glee, Sam thought about what he was going to do. He’d promised Charlie that her name wouldn’t be tied to how Sam found out about Dean’s little hobby.

But he didn’t say he wasn’t going to tell Dean he knew.

#1 @zolaliz - Submission: 2

“So, Dean..” Dean warily turned towards Sam. He already recognized that tone; Sam used it whenever humoring Dean, which meant that Sam probably knew something Dean didn’t. “Since we’ve had a pretty light load of cases, I was thinking maybe I’d call up Charlie, go visit her this weekend.” Sam stood in Dean’s doorway, gaging his response. Dean worked his jaw for a moment, adam’s apple bobbing as he searched for a response. “You- why?” “I haven’t talked to her in ages! Besides, the finale of Game of Thrones aired and I promised I wouldn’t watch it without her.” Dean shifted nervously. “She’s probably busy.” “Yeah? I’ll give her a call anyway, ask about her plans for the weekend.” Dean jumped to his feet, flustered, eyes wide in panic as Sam ducked his head to hide his smile. “N-no, that’s not- dude, I just remembered! She was telling me about this LARPing thing.. a huge battle, she’s busy.” “She’s still doing that? She’s the queen of moods, right?” “Moons,” muttered Dean in correction. “Maybe I’ll tag along. Could be fun.” “What? No! That stuff’s stupid, Sammy, it’s for geeks and losers, which only half applies to you.” Sam paused to give him a quick, flat stare, before his smug grin fought its way back onto his lips. “If it’s so stupid, then why are you doing it?”

#2 @deadlykittenkay - Submission: 2

Sam watched as Dean’s face paled. His eyes widened and he swallowed thickly. “I-I do-don’t,” he stammered before coughing in to his fist. “I don’t know why you would think that, Sammy. I am neither a geek nor a loser.”

“Says the man who’s memorized Mel Gibson’s speech in Braveheart.”

“Of course I have. It’s an awesome speech.”

Sam shrugged his shoulders, feigning disinterest in the topic. “I think I still might go. Might be fun.”

“What about a case?”

“Dean?” Cas’ voice carried from behind them. “Is the chain supposed to go over the leather or under?” The Angel asked.

“Cas! What the hell man?” Dean quickly moved to Cas placing his hands on Cas’ shoulders and turning him around. “I don’t know crap about this junk.”

“But Dean-” Cas’s protests where cut off when Dean shoved him roughly out of the room.

Sam couldn’t help the smirk on his face. His brother being this flustered was just too fun to watch. This was far from over.

#3 @jhoomwrites - Submission: 2

Skip

(slight order switcheroo due to mod blue-reveries making a boo-boo)

#1 @zolaliz - Submission: 3

“What should I wear?” “You’re not coming.” “How about this?” Sam held up a feathered hat. “You’re not coming.” “Ooh, this looks fun. But is it nerdy enough..?” Dean ripped the plaid men’s tights from Sam’s hands, and looked Sam dead in the eye. “You. Are not. Coming.” “I can’t believe you have an entire room filled with this stuff!” Sam sidestepped his brother, snagging a Viking helmet off the dresser. “Cas! Whatta you think?” Dean flung an index finger out in Cas’ direction. “He’s not coming either-” his voice dropped as he commanded, “no one’s coming!” “Oh but we are,” Sam grinned, slapping the helmet down onto Cas’ head and sweeping up a bronze dagger. The helmet sat low in front of Cas’ eyes and for a moment he stood dazed, mouth tight in a confused frown. Dean tipped it back up as he passed him. Dean hit his knee against a old fashioned treasure chest, and cussed it out under his breath. The room was filled with all sorts of equipment and armor from different eras, tucked away in the back of the bunker. He finally lifted his eyes to Sam, bitter humiliation meeting fiendish amusement. “You…” he barked, but his voice quickly softened in defeat, “son of a bitch.” Sam pushed down his smile in vain, giving the dagger a swirl. “Aye aye, matey.” Dean cringed, and snatched the blade from Sam’s hands. “That’s an Egyptian dagger, Sam,” Cas piped up from behind him. “Not a European pirate’s.” Dean seemed to wave the comment off, before reluctantly turning to the angel. “Cas… grab my armor, will ya?” Cas raised his eyebrows. “Shut up,” was Dean’s gruff, automatic response, and Cas disappeared. He was only gone a moment, before he returned, hands full with Dean’s costume. Sam looked taken aback. “Well. That’s certainly…” he swallowed as he searched for the word, “authentic.”

#4 @blue-reveries - Submission: 2

Dean was not happy.

He slammed the trunk of the Impala shut, mentally apologizing to his girl for the undeserved treatment. She wasn’t the reason he was pissed.

That award went solely on a certain gangly moose’s shoulders.

Stupid Sam, sticking his nose into things that don’t concern him, he thought petulantly as he saw Cas and Sam walking towards him in the garage. Maybe he was being childish but Dean liked to think that he was allowed to be mad that his brother and best friend were going to be going with him to his super secret LARPing weekend with Charlie.

Ever since that awkward conversation in his room, Sam had been like a dog with a friggin’ bone.

“Oh, what should I wear,” Dean said, face screwed up as he mimicked Sam.

And the most annoying part was, Sam knew exactly what he was doing. Somehow Sam had found out about his plans this weekend and was taking every opportunity to tease him about it. No matter how many times Dean tried to play it off, Sam kept coming back at him. He wasn’t sure how his brother had found out; okay, maybe he could have been more discreet with his requests to Cas for supplies but that wasn’t the point. The point was that Sam was being a total ass and he’d managed to get Cas on his side.

Traitor.

“Are we ready to go, Dean,” Cas asked. “I’m looking forward to observing this ‘LARPing’ event though I highly suspect it will not be historically accurate.”

Sighing and realizing that there was no way he was going to get these two to stay behind now, Dean nodded and got into the car. “Yeah, now let’s get moving. I want to beat the traffic.”

Thankfully, Sam decided to keep his mouth shut on the way to the fairgrounds. There was a distinct air of brotherly smugness emanating from the passenger seat the whole drive there but he didn’t actually say anything besides suggesting that they stop for lunch around noon. The good thing was they made good time and soon they were pulling into the crowded parking lot. It didn’t take them long to unload the bags containing their gear and, at Sam’s knowing smirking, Dean begrudgingly took the lead in showing them through the camp even knowing that he was only giving Sam more fuel for the fire.

He should’ve brought some Nair with him.

It wasn’t until they were almost to the ornate tent decorated with the familiar crest of the Kingdom of Moons that he realized he’d totally forgotten one fact. Charlie was so going to be pissed that he was a day late to the battle. He was so freaking screwed. Taking a deep breath and bracing for the verbal chewing out he was due for, Dean led Sam and Cas to Charlie’s tent.

Dean guessed it was time to face the music.

#2 @deadlyangelkay - Submission: 3

Castiel followed the Winchester brothers in awe. He had seen this very park many times, in fact one of his and Dean’s more profound conversations in the very beginning of their friendship over to the right. But to see it now, now that the LARPing community had taken over, it was a thing of wonder.

A small smile finds it’s way to Castiel’s face as once again, the cleverness of humanity, of his father’s own creation, was able to transform the simple park to something that looked as if it had belonged in an episode of Game of Thrones.

“Will the Mother of Dragons be here as well?” Castiel finds himself asking. Dean doesn’t answer, his shoulders tense up as he walks faster towards one of the larger tents. Sam’s of no assistance either as he laughs and shakes his head, taunting his older brother.

Castiel doesn’t quiet understand why Dean is so upset. To be able to create the wonder such as this, Dean should be happy to enjoy it. The colors of the tents, rich maroons, golds and jades, give the feeling of majestic wonder. The men and women, dressed in period clothing, some with weapons, some without, chatter happily with each other. Even the smell of the food is getting to Castiel, making him wish more than ever that food and drink tasted more than molecules too him as he sees a pig – a full pig! - slowly roasting on a spit.

“Dean!” Cas calls out. “The have a full boar roasting!” he points to the spit where the Winchester brothers turn and smile fondly at the angel.

“Yeah, Cas.” Sam agrees.

“Come on, Cas. We don’t want to leave the Queen waiting.” Dean says, motioning for Cas to keep up.

# 3 dropped

#4 @blue-reveries - Submission 3

Ah, now Sam can see why Dean has been acting like there’s a stick up his ass ever since they made it to the campground.

“---seriously Dean. You were supposed to be here yesterday, I’ve got that dude from Yesteryear on my ass and you promised you’d be here to help me out---”

Yeah, Charlie did not seem pleased.

Sure Sam had known from her phone call that Charlie was going to probably be a bit peeved at Dean but at some point he must have forgotten how seriously she took her position as Queen of Moondor. Dean, despite the evidence to the contrary on their way to the event, seemed unaffected by Charlie’s tirade besides looking slightly uncomfortable but Sam still felt a slight tinge of guilt at having held Dean up with all his purposefully annoying questions back at the bunker.

“Well, I guess I should just be happy you showed up,” Charlie sighed, flopping down in her throne ungracefully. “I’m honestly surprised a hunt didn’t pop up again so that you’d have to miss the whole weekend to chase down a chupacabra or a werewolf or something.”

“Actually, the moon isn’t in the correct lunar stage for a werewolf to turn,” Cas piped up. They looked over to see him poking at Charlie’s crown, peering intensely at the decorations.

Dean rolled his eyes and shook his head but let Cas’ comment go. “I told you I was sorry I missed the last one, Charlie. I definitely would have rather been here than shooting up ghosts with rock salt.”

Standing back up, Charlie walked over and gave Dean a hug. “Yeah, I know; it’s just been a super stressful weekend and it’s barely started. These assholes are really trying to rain on my parade and you know how much I love my parade, Dean.”

Chuckling, Dean gave her a squeeze before they parted. “Believe me, I get it. But now that we’re here those dicks are going to really get it.”

Nodding, Charlie turned to look over at Sam and Cas. She smirked and gave them a speculative look. Sam wondered just what she was thinking and hoped that whatever evil plan she was hatching had to do with the Yesteryear guy or whoever was trying to take her down as Queen.

“I guess we can call it even,” she said to Dean before nodding at Cas and him. “I mean, you did bring me two strapping additions to my Queen’s guard.”

Sam and Cas both looked at her with keen interest while Dean made a sound of protest.

“Now wait a minute, you made me be your handmaiden since I was ‘still new’ for ages before I got promoted to knight but Sam and Cas just get to be knights right off the bat,” Dean grumbled, looking more than put out at this suggestion. Sam tried to resist the brotherly urge to preen while Cas just seemed content to sit back and watch the proceedings.

“Oh, you know I only called you handmaiden to mess with you, you’ve always been a knight,” Charlie said, waving away his protest. Dean scowled and proceeded to pout without looking to obvious about it and Sam fought the instinct to tease. Charlie nodded at towards him and Cas again. “I think a trio of bulky men-types such as yourselves is exactly what we need right now. Can you imagine that weenie from the orcs’ side’s face when he come for negotiations and sees you guys backing me up. He’ll be shaking in his boots.”

The evil smirk on Charlie’s face made Sam make a mental note never to underestimate her again.

“Let’s get you boys geared up. We’ve got a meeting with the enemy to get to.”

#round three #masterpost #round three: masterpost #gen fic round

31 notes · View notes

codezeta-liveblog-blog · 7 years

Text

Bonds 1.3

It was hard to sum up my feelings as the van drove up the long driveway to Hillsglade House. It was supposed to be sanctuary, but it felt like the opposite. Layered in snow, branches of the overlarge trees bent with snow and ice, the house was pale against a dark gray background. The light siding only accented the effect. If I closed my eyes enough to let my eyelashes blur the view, it looked almost like the windows were floating there.

It was ominous, and it was a symbol of everything messed-up that had just happened to me. Maybe all the bad things that had happened to me from the start.

Sometimes things don’t have to be grim or properly scary out-front. I personally like the unsettling-ness of things that are supposed to be graceful, or in this case, maybe... noble? Just checked out the anime “Land of the Lustrous”, for example, where the “monsters” are these goddess-like figures that float around pinkish clouds in the sky with their beautiful instruments and song playing as they pop up into reality from these blooming, black, Rorschach test blotches in the sky. Pretty good. Check it out if anime is your thing, first 3D one I see that gets the job properly done.

And as Blake states “from the start” I have to question myself how far back can Blake pinpoint fucked-upness in his life. And I hope we get to see more of that.

“You going to be alright?” the woman in the driver’s seat asked me. She had a weariness to her that made me suspect she’d been getting up too early for the majority of her life, but she had been kind and exceedingly gentle, and her idle questions and conversation had helped ground me, distracting me from the possibility that the bird things could catch up and stop this car like they had mine. With the snow, it looked to be a slow day at the rest stop, and she’d asked her boss if she could give me a ride.

“I don’t know. Probably not,” I said, honestly. I felt indescribably weary, and it had little to do with the exhausting run or the fact that I’d woken up four hours after I’d turned in. Rose, in the rear-view mirror, didn’t look any better than I felt. I fished for my wallet. “But that doesn’t have much to do with my getting lost in the woods, or a few scratches.”

“No money, it’s not necessary,” she said, as I pulled a twenty out of the wallet.

“For the cost of gas,” I said.

“I did it to get out of the prep work, that’s enough for me.”

“Then buy yourself and your boss a few beers after you’re done for the day, tell him thank you for letting you drive me,” I said. I tucked the bill into the cluttered space in the dash, by receipts, crackers and kleenex packages. Before she could give it back or argue, I opened the door and grabbed my bag.

I’m sure I said it before, and I’ll say it again as long as it surprises me in a good way and doesn’t get overused. Seeing people doing acts of kindness just for doing it is a refresher and warms my heart. Thanks van lady. And good on you Blake. Oh and did the creatures really just die out? Or maybe they received some order to stop pursuing, but if so, why? Hm. Maybe its just that now there were people around.

I was closing the door when she said something. I had to open it and poke my head down. “Sorry?”

“Do you want me to wait, make sure you make it inside okay?”

Could I make it inside? I didn’t have a key, and there was the possibility that something could happen to me in the distance between here and the house.

“Yes please,” I said.

I closed the car door, making my way up to the front of the house. There was something like a bike lock attached, with a container built into it. Four digit combination.

I kicked at the doormat until I found a plastic bag with a thick manilla envelope attached, a pad of paper within.

The first sheet had only a simple message, penned in a curling script I almost envied. ‘Birth date’.

I tried the year I’d been born. It didn’t work.

Day, month? One-eight-oh-one.

The container opened. Two keys rattled within. One was older, the other a standard door key.

I opened the door with the usual key, then waved at the good Samaritan.

I stood inside the house, watching her pull down the long driveway. When she was gone, I closed and locked the door.

It didn’t feel like enough of a barrier.

I wonder if the lock thing is new or is something Blake was expecting, something that maybe the lawyer left behind? Because I’m thinking that birth date is his from the way the text is written.

“Molly!” I hollered, loud enough I should have been audible throughout the house. “Anyone!?”

No response. Somewhere, in my general confusion and the mess of stuff I didn’t know or understand, I’d hoped that Molly being alive would be one of those things that caught me off guard.

When I had first visited, the house had been my grandmother’s. She’d marked every surface with some token of her particular tastes and personality. Molly, it seemed, had been systematically dismantling those touches. Boxes sat by bookshelves, filled with books, paper-wrapped knick-knacks stowed away in the spaces between the books. Pictures were gone from the walls, neatly packed into more boxes, some stacked and shoved into the spaces beneath the few bookshelves that weren’t built into the house.

It wasn’t yet done, and it wasn’t an organized process, either. Some books here, some books there. A few shelves on one bookcase, another shelf across the room. Most seemed to be centered around the living room.

Near the center of the living room, Molly had set up blankets and pillows on one couch.

“Blake,” I heard, so quiet it was barely even a whisper.

I looked up. In this quiet, mundane setting, free of the delirium of sleep, I was a little unnerved to see Rose’s vague shape reflected in the black screen, instead of my own.

“There’s a mirror in the bathroom at the end of the hall,” she said.

I let my bag drop to the floor, then tossed the pad of papers and envelope onto the coffee table. I pulled off the hat I’d been lent, running my fingers through sweat-soaked, unwashed hair. A rub of my chin suggested a light scruff.

Maybe Molly died because she displaced something that was meant to be protective. After I’m done here I’ll re-read some past posts to see if she died because of something that has already been established, I’m remembering something about her going outside? But I might be imagining that. Doesn’t invalidate my point though. And I think the papers and envelope prove that, yes, the lock and the rest are the lawyer’s.

I hated being unshaven and unwashed.

I hated the feeling of being overwhelmed. Of feeling like I was out of the loop. There was too much to take in, here. I felt more than a little confused as I made my way back to the hallway and figured out the direction I needed to go. I moved slowly, taking everything in. The things of my grandmother’s that Molly hadn’t put away, the things that Molly had left behind. There were clues here, stories, and I didn’t want to miss any details.

The layout of the books made me think of a ruin. The layout of the books that remained were like the weathered remains of a brick wall that only partially stood. Patches. There were only traces of the personality that had once infused the place, like any ruin might hint at the people, culture and purpose that it once held.

I found the bathroom, but I left the mirror where it was, above the sink. I could see Rose there as I dug through the medicine cabinet and found a few things I needed to take care of the cuts.

“Is it bad?” she asked.

“Been hurt worse,” I said.

“That doesn’t answer the question.”

I slowly opened and closed my hand. The cut throbbed in the wake of the movement. “I can move my fingers. It’s not the injury that’s spooking me, here. Those things were dirty, their fingernails especially, and they got me a few times.”

“What can I do?” she asked.

I began unbinding the setup that was supposed to keep the bandages in place. I got the needle and thread out of the kit and set them aside. “I don’t know. You helped, didn’t you? With the ice?”

“I tried. I’m not sure it mattered. I wish I could help more.”

“Do me a favor, then. Keep an eye on me. If I get a fever, or if I start to look ill, let me know. Make me go to a hospital.”

Aside from more comments from me of noticing how Blake HATES or GETS ANGRY at something, I’m seeing a lot of the characteristic Wildbow characterization on small stuff in here. And even the character itself pointing it out on the things around him.

I DID NOT consider at all that infections from the floating ghost-men was a thing. I don’t usually think about those things much at all in real life either, probably because ever since I was young I was taught to just pour H2O2, wait for it to stop bubbling, rinse, clean, iodine, rinse and clean after a while. Since it’s a thing I do every time on auto, I don’t actually register the WHY behind it, so infection ends up being the afterthought, as ironic as it is.

“It didn’t hit me until I saw you back there,” Rose said. “How different we are. I wasn’t even in any direct danger, and I couldn’t think of what to do.”

“If I learned to deal with bad situations, you will too.”

She didn’t respond right away. I opened the packages.

“You know how to do sutures?” She asked.

“I’ve done it once.”

“When did you need stitches?”

I didn’t feel like answering that one. “They weren’t for me. It was for a friend. This’ll be the first time stitching myself up.”

My good hand shook so much I couldn’t get the thread through the hole. I swore under my breath on the fifth failure.

“Blake-”

“Shh. One second,” I said, and my frustration made my response more curt than I’d intended.

I ended up having to rest the sides of both hands against the edge of the sink to have something concrete to rest against, minimizing how much the thread and needle shook.

Once I had it threaded, I took my time disinfecting the area and the needle both. I was rough with myself, all things considered, searching the wound for any fragments. I didn’t want any trace of those things in or on my body. When my hand throbbed and involuntarily jumped at the pain, I grimly assured myself I was at least getting the infection out.

I had told Rose ‘one second’, but she remained silent while I worked, and I didn’t break the silence, except to swear. I used pretty much every curse word I knew, almost every step of the way. It helped.

I raised my hand. “How’s that look?”

“Better than I could ever do.”

“That doesn’t answer the question,” I said.

“Ha ha,” she said, humorless. “It looks good.”

Rose didn’t “exist” prior to this event, correct? But she already has a lot of personality traits that differ from Blake. The insecurity is one that doesn’t seem to be there, for one. Also, I’d never suture myself. REALLY don’t have it in me to hurt myself, even if its for my own good.

I slowly patrolled the house. The ground floor consisted of an expansive living room, a generous dining room, a smaller kitchen with only the basics, the hallway and a half-bathroom the size of my regular bathroom.

One floor up, I found my grandmother’s bedroom, the same as I’d seen it, though the bed was stripped bare, a small bathroom, a little tea room that might have been a bedroom at one point, and a narrow guest bedroom. Molly had barely touched anything on the second floor, by the looks of it. She’d used this bathroom, with a handful of items littering the counter, but that would be because it was the only bath and shower.

She’d been cooped up in this house, and she’d barely touched anything? The living room, kitchen and this bathroom suggested she’d spent some time here, but how had she managed without losing it? It had been four months.

Wow wow wow, hold on, its been all this time? I had the impression it’d been like, A DAY. Things are suddenly a lot weirder

The third floor had only three smallish rooms, though ‘small’ was something of a misnomer, with a house of this scale. Two bedrooms on the right side, with little more than beds and a dresser each, and a small sewing room that was apparently assigned to storage.

A staircase took up the rest of the space, curving up and around to the fourth floor, but the door was locked.

I fished in my pocket, found the old key, and weighed it in my hand. I hadn’t found a single locked door in the house. The key was of the old ‘skeleton key’ variety, a round bar as thick around as any of my fingers, with an ornate head and a tab on the end with the teeth.

I knew just by looking at it that it didn’t fit the keyhole. I tried anyways.

No such luck. I hadn’t seen anything that needed opening, which raised one big question. Why was it important for me to get the key, without any lock to go with it?

I made my way back to the ground floor, stopping by the bathroom to lift the mirror free of the wall, then carried it back to the living room, for Rose.

Skeleton keys always interest me. Its funny that the key designed to open many locks doesn’t open the one that is closed. Maybe it locks all the others though?

I fiddled until I found I could use the mounts to hang it off the bookcase. It was just tall enough that it fell between eye level when I was standing and eye level when I sat. I pulled a cushion from the armchair and placed it beneath, in case it fell.

When I’d finished, I did another look around the ground floor, peering out the windows to see if there was any sign of trouble. The town was starting to come to life, with cars and a few kids with backpacks on the road, heading to school.

Though a sidewalk ran alongside the outer wall below the house, it seemed to be habit for people to walk on the other side of the street.

No bird masks, no crooked men. I moved back to the living room to look out a different window for a different angle.

“Well?” Rose asked.

“It’s too ordinary,” I replied. I rubbed at my face. “God damn, I’m tired.”

“Ordinary?”

“It’s a house. A boring, ordinary house that my grandmother lived in for her entire life.”

“Our grandmother,” she replied.

“It’s soulless, sorta. Our dad and aunt Irene and Uncle Paul were raised here, but there are no toys or mementos left around for the memories. Even my mother and father left some of my stuff around.”

“I really don’t want to be pedantic,” Rose said, “But they’re our mother and father.”

“Are they?” I asked. I leaned back, propping one foot up on the corner of the coffee table, looking over at the mirror. “Because I think the dad you got was very different from the dad I got.”

Gotta remember how frustrating it is that they are both stuck with each other and none of them have the answers. Also, it IS pedantic Rose, that you that only has memories but knows wasn’t alive until half a day ago, demanding that Blake considers that the both different versions of your parents should be considered the same. Maybe a disguised plea from her to be considered quote-on-quote real. I say quote-on-quote instead of actually quoting because she clearly IS real, but, you know… all that stuff that would take too long to explain that you already know about.

“Same person, different circumstance,” Rose said, her voice firm.

“Sure. Fine, let’s go with that,” I said. I dropped my foot and abruptly leaned forward, grabbing the envelope with the pad of paper. I took a look.

“What is it?” Rose asked. “I don’t have a copy, here.”

“Legal documents. Let’s see… forty-one pages. The transfer of Rosalyn D. Thorburn’s estate from custodian Molly Walker, grandchild, to custodian Blake Thorburn, grandchild. The first page outlines the terms of the contract. The property is mine in a general sense only. The lawyer manages it until I’m twenty-five, at which point the custodian label is removed and the heir is appointed.”

“Rosalyn D. Thorburn senior,” Rose said. “I remember him saying something like that at the gathering.”

“I do too. The second page… is going out of its way to outline that the notes accompanying the text ‘aren’t binding nor are they intended to be read as such’… looks like the rest is about a fifty fifty split between legalese and explanations for the legalese, for us plebs.”

“No answers? About the monsters?”

“Not on the surface,” I said. I paged through the papers, noting the headings “Times of effect, terms, stipulations…”

Hm, how is the senior thing important? I’m not much familiar with its usage given the language breach. I’m thinking it has to be a “minor” if there is a “senior”. Is it meant to point out that Rose is named after the grandmother?

“Stipulations?”

I went back a page.

“Taking care of the house, paying upkeep from the account accorded to the custodian of the property to ensure the driveway, lawn and gardens are looked after, attending meetings with the firm, ummm,” I paused to look over the next bit. “Right at the end, a note saying possession of the property can be revoked if the custodian doesn’t meet the requirements noted by the client, Mrs. Thorburn.”

“What requirements?”

I shook my head. “No clue. Something to keep in mind. After stipulations, there’s a section on stipend, with a regular allowance, notes on how often the lawyers can be called without incurring a debt. Oh, right here. A mention of the bird-skull monsters.”

“What?” I could see Rose move, standing from her seat.

“I’m joking,” I said, with zero humor in my voice. “There’s nothing. A few pages with pictures of the property and the boundaries, some stuff on the adjacent woodland and marsh, a blurb on council meetings, nonsense on contacting the lawyers, and-” I stopped.

“What?”

“A means of opting out. Not joking this time.”

“Somehow I don’t imagine it would be that easy,” Rose said.

Honestly seems like more work than its worth, even if no magical demonic curse was involved. Imagine you fuck up once and the firm gets to take the house out from your hands? Sounds kinda bullshit and probably something that Grandma Rose arranged to piss off the person who is currently owner of the property.

How actually easy would it be to just get out of this? Sounds like a win-win for Blake who just wants to cut… wait for it… his BONDS with his family.

“It’s pretty easy. Phone or email the lawyer, and custodianship transfers to the next available candidate.” I reread the legalese and the plain-text to be sure.

“That’s not what I meant,” Rose said. “This whole situation is a trap, right? She’s got some goal in mind, she basically, what, let the world know that she picked Molly as her heir, so all of her enemies come crawling out of the woodwork… and then she does the same for you, even going so far as to set up me for some kind of loophole. She used the situation to force us into this.”

“Right,” I said.

“Does it make more sense that we’re really truly free to walk away, or that there’s a trap waiting for us if we try?”

“A trap,” I said, sighing a little. If I’d let myself hope just a little, that hope was dashed.

“Just off the top of my head, maybe she announced that she picked her heir, but she doesn’t let everyone know that the heir has stepped down. Meaning we’d lose all of the protections and resources we’d have, but we’d still be in just as much trouble.”

“It’s a way to weed out anyone too stupid to consider the ramifications.”

“Or anyone too weak to face the situation,” Rose said. “Knowing her, it fits.”

“You do know her, huh?” I asked. “All this while, you were immersed in this.”

“All this while,” Rose said. “Except I didn’t know this part. Um. Give me a minute. I’m wearing pyjamas, and I feel grungy. I’m going to change, if I can figure out how.”

Yeah, that’s what I thought. I ALSO want to know how to change clothes in the Mirror Dimension.

With that said, she disappeared from the frame.

I remained where I was. Big key, legal pad…

I rifled through Molly’s things. She had kept a duffel bag with her things in it, but it was only clothes and a few cables and a set of headphones for a smartphone.

I felt guilty and more than a little creepy going through her clothes, so I stopped there.

Was I damning myself, with fingerprints and the like? Would the police find her dead and then find that I’d moved myself in, already aware that she was dead?

It was a daunting thought. Another trap? Was grandmother testing me?

It raised another question. Why? Why had she pit us against one another, picking through us for some candidate that could meet some specific, crazy standard? Why was she testing us by putting us through this gauntlet, where we were unprepared and ignorant when these monsters came after us?

“You look pensive,” Rose said.

I looked up. I saw her in the mirror. Wearing a decidedly old fashioned women’s blouse with pearly buttons up the front and a bit of lace on the collar, and a pleated skirt. Her hair was mostly straight, with two lengths from the sides drawn back and pinned with something.

I raised an eyebrow.

“Don’t say a word. There are only so many places with mirrors in the house. What were you thinking about?”

“Traps. Tests. Somehow, I imagine this is about more than looking after a house. You don’t get enemies from property alone. Well, you do, but not really in this era.”

Where IS Molly’s body? Also, how much can Rose interfere with the outside of the mirror? It still seems inconsistent; did she just pick clothes from looking at something? Did she physically grab them or something else entirely? Guess I won’t ask =P

“No, you don’t, but this is a world we don’t fully understand.”

I nodded. “We’re left in the dark. Let’s assume this is a test… you said the lawyers were picking up books?”

“I only glimpsed it, because the light was hitting the windows at the right angles. There were books piled on the table.”

“Describe them?”

“Old books. Like those on the bottom shelf, below me.”

I got up and picked up the book. It had a hard cloth cover, and the spine had been abused by wear and age, cracking and fraying.

“The ones I saw looked like they were in better shape,” Rose said. “I think. It was hard to make out, but he saw me looking, and he approached, and I did get a look at one. There’s a lot of books in the house. We’d be talking about needles in a haystack, here.”

“Why would he clean them up if he was going to put them on the shelves?” I asked. “They deserved his time and attention. Let’s go back to the idea that this is a test. Grandmother’s not holding our hands here. She never did, I don’t think. I mean, mother and father never really got that whole ‘support your kids’ thing either.”

When Rose replied, her voice was quiet. “I have to disagree with you there. They support me. Supported me, past tense, I guess.”

“Okay, fine,” I said, pushing that idea out of my head. “Point is, she’s not coddling us. There are books, they’re important, and the only two options are that the lawyers have them, and the test is as simple as ‘figuring out how to get in contact, or they’re hidden.”

Blake’s mom and dad keep being garbage, if the mirror version of them aren’t any different like Rose would like to think, they truly, for some reason, HATED having a son. WAIT, Grandma Rose did say that she’d have only picked the girls as possible inheritors didn’t she? I almost forgot that, but Blake is kinda supposed to be a surprise for him to be only second in line right? Maybe that’s why, so to top it off, parents don’t treat Blake well, Blake doesn’t treat them with respect in return and it becomes this hate cycle that so distinctively sets his and Rose’s version of the parents apart so much. I don’t much faith in this “test is as simple as getting books” thing. I actually don’t much buy into this whole “this is a test” thing either.

“Hidden?”

I held up the big key. “Took a look around, no idea where it goes. Except I’m not even sure where to begin looking.”

“She’s harsh, cold, but I wouldn’t say she’s unfair,” Rose said. “If she expects us to figure it out, then we have the information we need. Information Molly would have available to her too.”

I looked up at the mirror, but Rose was looking down.

“The documents,” I said, as I realized what she was looking at. “You think Molly got a copy too, along with the key? Or a key?”

“It’s possible,” Rose said.

I picked up the document. This time I flipped through to the image of the property boundaries. Square footage, notes on utilities, restrictions on renovations…

In the midst of the briefs and warnings regarding renovations, I saw a floor plan. Room layout.

I hopped out of my seat, the map in hand. “One second. Can’t take the map and the mirror with my hand like it is.”

“Okay,” she said, but she didn’t look happy.

I got to the third floor and stopped. I held the map up.

Map: Three rooms on the left, one room and the stairwell on the right.

What I saw: Two rooms on the left, one room and the stairwell on the right.

Have we got some non-euclidean geometry going on? Also, I’m fully expecting something to be hidden amongst Molly’s clothing that Blake just neglected looking at. Maybe there is something important there and we will never even know of haha. That would be pretty hilarious, Wildbow comes out and says: “oh yeah, that very simple thing that Blake never did? It would have cut the story in half or so”.

I looked at the floor plan, then made several very deliberate paces down the length of the hall. I stopped. About twenty-one. My friends were artists and artistic types. I had the unfortunate distinction of being a less than stellar artist. But I’d owed them for the help and support they’d given me, and in helping them with their jobs, I’d stumbled onto a bit of work. Setting up their work, installations, as well as all the other grunt jobs. Sure, they could go to a carpenter to get something put together in the way of a display stand, but that carpenter wouldn’t necessarily know what was at play with the art. Along the way, I’d settled into being a go-to handyman and delivery guy in the local art community. I knew the gallery owners, I knew who was who, and if I couldn’t do a job myself, I knew who to call. Not so glamorous or fancy, not exactly stellar pay, but I had stupid little skills that I could use here. In a pinch, I could use my stride or my arm length to help me figure out measurements, thirty three and a half and thirty-two and a half inches, respectively. Mostly, I tended to eyeball things, and maybe that was a factor in what had kicked my instincts into motion in the first place, when the rooms had felt small, despite all evidence to the contrary. From one outer wall to the next, the map said the house measured thirty-seven feet in length. My estimate put it at twenty-one feet in length. I tried again, going in the other direction, and I got the same estimate. Houses were supposed to expand and contract with temperature and the like, but not that much. To experiment, I crossed the hallway and tried once more.

More info on Blake’s job. Always fun how autonomous work always seems to allow you to meet the biggest variety of people.

I’m studying chemical engineering, which means I’m no engineer at all and much less a chemist, but I had some classes where it definitely helped knowing to eyeball respective parts of my body, like spaces between certain positions with my fingers and such. Yes it is easy to just use a ruler, but who said I remembered to always carry one with me?

So, entire SECTIONS and chunks of the house seem to be missing, invisible or something of the sort. That is more interesting still. Maybe Molly didn’t touch much of the rest of the house because she was preoccupied with THESE rooms?

One hallway, with right angles at each corner, twenty-one feet in length down the north side, thirty-seven down the south side. The ends were each an equal six feet across.

I narrowed my eyes, looking down the length of the hallway. There was no distortion in the floorboards, and every bookshelf on one side somehow had a bookshelf opposite, of matching dimensions.

I began moving books aside on the shelves down the ‘short’ hallway.

It took me two tries to find the keyhole. Tucked in the corner just beneath one shelf, at bellybutton level.

The key required a fair bit of effort to turn, and rewarded me with an audible, heavy click.

The bookcase swung inward. Oversized hinges managed the heavy burden as it swung all the way around and sat flush against the wall.

“Fuck me,” I muttered.

The room was a study. A library. There were two parts to the room, suggesting it took up two floors in the house. The upper half was a ring, looking down through an opening, bordered with bookcases on the four exterior walls, with a wrought iron railing keeping people from falling through the hole in the middle. Soft, mottled light shone down from a dust-caked window in the ceiling, lighting both halves of the library better than lightbulbs lit the rest of the house.

I slowly circled around, taking it in. Each wall had ornate stepladders on wheels, which could coast along rails that had been inset in floor and ceiling. Another stepladder led from a gap in the railing on the far end to the floor below.

I looked at the books, noting the differences from the ones in the rest of the house. They were better taken care of, for one thing, and they tended to be narrow.

Aha! Are these taken care of in the way the lawyer, maybe purposefully, led some books with him while he talked to Rose? Are these demonic tomes maybe?

Cassandra’s Gaze.

Deleterious Craftings

Draoidh. The book had a little ivory mask inset in the spine, with round staring eyes and a very curly beard.

Glamour.

Poppets.

Shamanism: ‘Animus’, volumes one through six, and Shamanism: ‘Umbra’, volumes seven through ten.

Vestige: Glimmers and Gasps.

Wū zhěn: Eastern Vodun Practices.

I finished reading spines along the one wall. I traced spines with my fingertips as I passed on to the next wall.

Blessed Wrongs.

Dryads, Varieties.

Jokes from the Faerie Folk.

Lilith’s Children.

Maddening Things.

Observations on Bacchae interacting in Modern Society.

On Others. Editions from 1964 through 2012 were lined up on the shelf. Thicker texts.

Pitiable: Transcriptions from informal dialogues with Vampir.

Seems like it. Also, may I suggest “On Others”? Seems like the proper read, just a guess.

The next shelf seemed to be a continuation from O to Z, in the same theme. The bookshelf adjacent to that one seemed to be in a variety of different languages. French, German, and a language with characters formed out of triangles.

The barrier to understanding was a reason to stop, where I might have kept walking and reading indefinitely.

Here, in this library, were the explanations and the rules. It was, theoretically, a way to make it all make sense. Except there was so much here, I couldn’t begin to take it in. Where did I even start, when it came to trying to look up bird-skull undead things? I’d gone from having no answers to having too many.

Its like when I’m trying to explain the lengthy confusing and twisting story of Drakengard+NieR’s to someone. Its always daunting to have something like “no but you have to understand, that the beginning of NieR states that its summer, but its snowing, to indicate that it is NOT snow, its actually salt because of the White Chlorination Syndrome, a disease that turns people into salt because it is trying to make a magical pact with the dead god from another dimension that is the final boss of Ending ‘E’ of Drakengard, which falls into 21st century Tokyo after you and your dragon plunge into its pregnant belly as it produces giant baby monsters that were killing off everyone on the main world of the game, and after you defeat it, the military bombard you both, dragon and giant bald statue lady, spreading your alien particles that end up bringing the world into an apocalyptic state. Not kidding, that’s the ending, congratz. The rest aren’t much better either. And that is not even GETTING into why this is just the intro of NieR in 2000 something, when the game is actually clearly mostly set like 12 thousand years later in a medieval setting but with the same characters you see in the intro”. Play or at least read about Yoko Taro’s games guys, they are super good, insane, bizarre but always just outright beautiful . Stylistically but ESPECIALLY musically. Give NieR’s OST a listen Trailed off a bit huh? Gotta shill what’s good, that’s how I got to know Worm and Wildbow in the first place =)

I felt a little cold, despite the general warmth of the room. I rubbed my hands against my sleeves.

Feeling restless, I reached the ladder that led down to the first floor and climbed down.

A desk and chair, a cozy armchair, a leather psychiatrist’s couch, a book stand with a book on it, and cabinets. There were more bookshelves, but many were smaller, squat, set on top or beneath the cabinets. More private, with personal books. A blackboard on wheels that could be flipped over to write on either side.

A blanket was thrown over one piece of furniture. I had any number of reasons not to touch it, but there was a shape to it, tall, narrow, and flatter than the blackboard. I could see the metal feet…

I walked around to the side, then lifted up a corner of the blanket, where it wasn’t facing me.

Because in this fucked up situation, with all this, I wasn’t going to trust anything.

“Rose?” I asked.

“Yeah,” she said.

“Sense anything funny?”

“No. Except for light appearing from nowhere.”

“Covered mirror,” I said, as I threw off the blanket.

I sat back while I watched her take it all in. In the frame of the mirror, she turned and walked over to a bookcase, picking up a book.

No effect on my end, I noted.

This answers something I said earlier, yeah, I totally forgot that Rose’s mirror dimension has the same stuff Blake’s side does. Obviously. Its just that last chapter it seemed a lot was set in the dark. I had thought how odd would it be that Rose hadn’t noticed the existence of this place, the likelihood of there being absolutely nothing reflective kinda threw me off, but of course there is, BUT, the fact that it is a mirror, thoughtfully covered, tells me even more. A lot of this is pre-planned, and makes me feel like maybe Molly didn’t get the same mirror buddy that Blake has, which was something I was building up. Unless Molly truly has been limiting herself to three or four rooms this entire time. I’ll hold on to my doubts.

I turned my attention to the desk. The wood had brown leather inlaid into it with big brass buttons. I saw pens and inkwells, regular pens, pencils, a calculator, a brush and scalpel and other tools in jars and cases in the corners. A mug held what might have been tea or coffee, though it had sat for long enough that the milk had congealed into a cloud of white on the surface. There were books and papers, too.

The papers included one pile of legal documents, virtually identical to the ones I’d left downstairs, only they were addressed to Molly, with some changes in wording here and there.

What caught my eye, however, was the letter.

“Rose,” I said.

“What?”

I grabbed the pages of the letter, then walked around until we could see each other. I stood by the mirror, holding it up so we could both read it.

!!! But wait!! There are CERTAIN THINGS that Rose doesn’t have on her side! She said before, she didn’t have the law papers. Either they are imbued with something, which I don’t have much hopes for, or the mirror dimension has some sort of temporal limitation, like it locked in some place in time and has no people in it except Rose? Maybe I’m close, maybe I’m way too far, maybe it doesn’t matter at all.

Molly et al,

Please accept my graceless apology. At this juncture, you’ll likely be frightened and confused. Chances are good you’ll see outside parties at work, if you haven’t already, helping you to conclude that this isn’t nonsense. That helps us move on to business. If you find yourself here and are already injured in body, mind, heart, spirit or other more esoteric departments, you may need to jump straight to instruction number one in the list below, sacrifice sleep to see it through, and then move on to a great deal of research. The Index is a catalogue of all things found in my library, which I penned myself, and will help direct you to solutions to whatever ails you.

I could explain, justify, and make excuses, but that is very much not my manner or style. You have a library of explanations sitting around you. With study, perhaps, you’ll see how I justified what I did. We can do without the excuses entirely.

I’ll be succinct. The family line is a long one, and we have had some involvement in more anagogic sciences since the early 1800’s. We have resources touching on the craft, the arcane, or whatever you wish to call it. Magic. However, all things have a price, and it is impossible to become rich, powerful, wise or strong without paying in some form. For this reason, among others, practitioners rarely ascend to any great status and remain there. But our predecessors tried, they accrued a karmic debt, and they have passed it on to their children, and their children’s children, and so on down the line.

“You caught up?”

“Yeah,” Rose said.

I turned the page.

Perhaps this seems unfair, but modern standards of fair and unfair are just that: modern. In this world I’ve imposed on you, there are very old things, and there are very old traditions. Here, the sins of the father are visited upon the son. Or mother and daughter, rather. Beings as long-lived as powerful Others have trouble telling us apart, when we live and die so quickly and when we often look the same, and it helps to establish a pedigree or pattern. Some have ornaments of office, others carry on with seventh sons. We use daughters, and we keep to a smaller community. If they call you Rose, Elizabet, Frances, Esther, Ruth, I recommend you take it in stride. You are, as of now, simply one piece of a long thread.

Is everything here truly Rose’s making? Impressive, but for what reason? This whole system and the way she acted and was described doesn’t seem to imply that she cared much about her offspring’s wellbeing, and unless something was at play there doesn’t seem to be any reason to instruct them each into this entire thing beforehand. So why write it down for people you don’t care about? Or does she care on the same page that she wants things like “the name of the family” to keep going? They used daughters then, I like how this is all described, and then there’s Blake. Whelp.

My diaries can be found on the shelf behind the desk. I welcome you to read them if they might shed light on matters. Perhaps my own realizations will help you find a way to your own.

Now, I charge you with tasks. To demonstrate the gravity of this, know that you may lose custody of the property if you do not address these tasks. On a graver level, you may well doom yourselves and the bloodline with your failure, depending on how it plays out.

1. Read Essentials. It sits on the book stand. A novice’s guide to the most basic things, it outlines the steps to awakening yourself. Be warned, these steps open the door to becoming Other, in a respect. The oldest of them made agreements in times well beyond us, to guarantee safety and maintain a kind of peace. Foremost among these agreements is truth. Should you lie, you may well forfeit your power for a time. Break a promise or an oath, and you will be forsworn, and you will be stripped of every protection afforded to even the common, ignorant people that decorate this Earth. On finishing Essentials, awaken yourself.

Yup, seems like “keeping the bloodline” is the thing here. So if you read a book and manage to do, what I imagine is a process, you ‘awaken’ and become Other. Cool. I thought the title was reserved to the folklore folk. The implications of a system that requires you not to lie are VERY interesting too. Everything must be omitted and filtrated through layers upon layers of disguises.

“Oh fuck me,” I said.

“Oh hell,” Rose echoed me.

Conduct the remainder of these steps in any order. Monumental as these steps are, you must be suitably armed against your enemies. You will be asked about your progress with some frequency, and failure to make sufficient progress in the next five years will see your rights and access to this house terminated.

2. Study and enact the ritual noted in Famulus. The familiar is your greatest ally, and will serve as a tool, a wellspring of power, an ambassador to dealing with more abstract things, and will be a lifelong companion. Make this choice with the same respect you would with undertaking marriage, only know there is no form of divorce. The Familiar is to be a part of you for life. You gain their services, and they gain a chance to be mortal, even if it is a small mortalhood, in addition to whatever other terms you negotiate. Do not allow your familiar to take the form of a rat or dog.

That cute SCP territory where stipulations are made on the do’s and don’t’s and the don’t’s are super bizarre and random and you can’t help but ask yourself “why” and it just makes butterflies in my stomach because I KNOW the writer knows why haha.

Also, familiar seems to be different from whatever Rose is. It requires a ritual and Blake already “has” Rose, in a sense. Grandma’s Rose must’ve been the cat. “A chance to be mortal” sounds foreboding. Are we talking about previously non-living things or about immortals things that want to die? I wonder who makes the contacts, the lawyers? Molly’s things were here so did she receive all this and left it here or did she not receive them at all? Will I ever stop asking questions? Yes? No? Maybe? Its good to frame stuff in my head as I read though, easier to catalogue it all back if I ever need to backtrack through my past readthroughts

3. Study and enact the ritual noted in Implementum. Your choice of tool will shape how you interact with this world, your craft, and will be your badge in the eyes of many. The book is dreary, page on page of examples, but study it thoroughly, for there are many meanings, and a poor choice of tool may well cripple you.

I won’t do the obvious Homestuck joke with this one.

4. Study and enact the ritual found in Demesnes. Baba Yaga had her hut, I have my room. Unfortunately, the rest of the house has been claimed by our predecessors, and while it is a haven, you will need to find your own place to make your own, where the rules bend as you need them to, and where your power is greatest. The three rituals noted here are fundamental in determining how you access, hoard and focus power. Note, however, that your real power will be in how you act with others and Others.

5. Find a good man to marry. By this, I don’t mean that he should be decent and kind. Such may be a detriment. You will need an ally in this, and a man who can support you in more mundane matters will give you strength in this world. I reckon many of the best partnerships in the recent past came about when our family married bastards rather than gentlemen.

6. Attend the council meetings. Second Saturday of every month, at the park, in the twilight hours. In a five year term, there will be sixty such meetings. Miss six in total, and your rights to the property will be forfeit.

Demesnes is a term that I’ve read before in reddit posts, also Labyrinth, but mainly something I expected to be covering whole houses and just a general protection zone. I’m glad there is more to it! I wonder if its okay to talk about Others with commoners that are not from a certain Bloodline. The meetings remind me of Nightvale’s Dog Park.

“I think I’m faced with an issue, here,” I said.

“You can’t sit through meetings?” Rose asked.

I shot her a look.

Hahaahahaha. Okay, Rose has the same sass Blake has though.

She giggled a little, and it was an uncharacteristic, unfitting, nervous sound. “I… I don’t know how to react to this. I tried to make a joke. It’s laugh or cry, right? And I was awfully close to crying before I read any of this.”

“I’m supposed to marry a guy. I’m getting the impression this isn’t the first obstacle I’m going to run into.”

“Gay marriage is legal,” she said.

“I’m not gay.” I said. “I wonder if the lawyers will allow me any leeway, here.”

“The lawyers?” she asked. She gave me a look, eyebrow arched. “Think about it.”

I sighed, and then I did.

“They’re involved in this,” I thought aloud. “Cleaning up after Molly, they know enough to move the books… they’re setting all this up, so things are prepared for each heir-to-be.”

My voice took a more serious tone as I finished “…and the legal documents made less than specific references to debts.”

“They’re not friends, Blake. Resources, maybe, but not friends. We should think long and hard about when and why we contact them.”

I fidgeted, biting my lip as I thought. Unwilling to dwell on it, I turned the page.

Oh yeah, THAT. Huh. I wonder if any of these rules apply correctly at all since Blake breaks the first one of, well, not being a woman, which is this bloodline’s symbol of being “the next one”.

7. Finish three out of four of the books in this library. You will need some assistance with foreign languages. Making a bargain with an Other to learn Sumerian may be novel, I know, but it is easier to ask for it to be translated aloud by a servant or summoning.

8. See our bloodline to the end of the fifth year with less of a debt than we had at the start of your custodianship. I’m hoping you can see this through until the end of your lifetime, but I can only focus on these next five years and hope you are on the right road.

Remain out of the north end of Jacob’s Bell until you have completed two rituals and developed a foundation. Stay out, perhaps, even if you have. Some individuals are not to be trifled with.

Make no major deals or bargains. Until the end of the custodianship, you’ll need to run any major deals past Mr. Beasley (including the three major rituals. He will protect you from other decisions, or lend his aid if he can’t, but he will exact a price.

Mr. Beasley, as well as individuals you’ll find in Jacob’s Bell and the surrounding area, is described in a little black book I playfully dubbed Dramatis Personae, when I was younger.

Our family has made enemies, and I confess that I have turned allies into more enemies. I will not compel you to read this book, but I impel you to. It may well be a deciding factor in your survival. Use all tools I’ve bestowed on you. We are powerful, we hold a noteworthy position, and this is much of the reason we have the enemies we do. Chances are good you will need to use everything at your disposal to survive them.

As the sins of the mother pass to the daughter, I’ve passed my enemies and the debt on to you. I won’t ask forgiveness or understanding. I suspect you may find those things when the time comes for you to bear an heir and visit these wrongs on them.

Yours, R.D.T.

Well, fuck everyone I guess. It is a bold move from Wildbow to limit so much knowledge of the setting to books in a library the MC has access to. I’m hoping this is translated well into the story.

I was never good at sitting still when stressed. Now that there were no more pages to go through, I found myself pacing.

“We have answers,” Rose said, as if reassuring me.

“I don’t like these answers,” I said, raising my voice a little. “That old bitch.”

“It doesn’t sound like she had a lot of choice,” Rose said.

I spun around to stare at her. “You’re awfully sympathetic to the old woman who has your name,” I said. “Can we verify, again, that you’re really a female me?”

Her face settled into a serious expression, as cold as mine was heated. I was breathing hard, and my sutures were hurting where I clenched my hand.

“Ask me anything,” she said. “Anything about growing up with mother and father.”

I didn’t respond, scowling and looking away instead. I was fidgeting with my good hand. She was right.

“We’re allies, Blake. Allies, understand? Look, the letter said a magic user can’t lie, right? I’m a unicorn from outer space, and I can’t speak English. See?”

I broke from my pace, crossing the room to the bookstand, where I snatched up the book that was open on it. I tossed it down on the desk. Essentials.

Another series of books, in a stack in the corner, where the lawyers had left them. Famulus, Implementum, Demesnes. Orange, purple and green cloth covers, respectively, they all matched otherwise, in size and the script on the spines. I glanced each one over, then tossed them onto the desk, where they rewarded me with a series of satisfying impacts.

I found Dramatis Personae. I flipped through it. There were tabs. One for ‘allies’, which was virtually empty, with only the lawyer’s number.

Enemies… they took up almost all of the remainder.

It didn’t make a sound, much less a satisfying thud, when I added it to the pile. I was left without anything more to throw. Nothing I wanted to risk, in any event.

I’m most interested in Demesnes to be fair, how exactly do you find out the place for you? How will Blake do it, if I gathered it correctly, knowing that the house is already fully taken by other people?

“Are you mad at me?” Rose asked. “We’re supposed to be allies, Blake.”

“I’m not… no, I’m mad at this,” I said. “Look at this. How many books do we need to read, here? How many books do we need to read a day, just to keep up?”

“Maybe that’s the cheat? If we’re both the same person, technically, can we argue that the eldest child of Brad and Christina Thorburn has read half the books?”

“I don’t know,” I said.

“There are answers. See? Look…”

She turned away from the mirror, heading to the nearest bookshelf.

I saw her stop. She remained where she was.

“Rose?” I asked.

She didn’t move.

I felt a bit of anxiety, and turned away, walking over to that same shelf, on my side of the mirror.

The Worst of the Others.

Devils and Details.

Dark Contracts

Classifying Others: Fiends and Darker Beings.

Hellfire: Bindings

Infernal Wrath

Pacts and Prices

I tried to swallow, but my mouth was too dry. I didn’t know much, but I knew this was a bad idea of the worst kind.

These were the books that held a place of prominence on grandmother’s bookshelf. These were the tools she expected us to employ.

No small wonder she’d made the enemies she had.

These books? They each had the same set of initials on the spine. R.D.T.

She’d written them.

The plan for them to both read the books and share the details each is good, if it is all dealt in a legal way, they could 100% argue that the individual has read the books if each read half of them. Sounds like something paranormally plausible in my eyes. I WAS going to ask if Blake was a reading person, because he doesn’t seem to be and this confirms it for me.

So, THESE are the books the lawyer cleaned up, am I correct? How does she expect to lower the accumulated, what did she call? Karmic debt? I feel like she used another name as well, anyways. How does she expect to lower that when one of the main things is “Pacts and Prices”?

Kinda surprised the chapter ended there!

#CodeZeta liveblogs #pact #PactArc1 #Pact1.3 #wildbow

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