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tales-unique · 3 years

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FAITH, LOST IV

Oh honey she starts off so spicy! Hence why it's all under a Read More since I don't wanna get done for showing the nasty straight out the gate. Minors better beware! ;3

Tagging the boos, for obvs reasons @chelseareferenced @buckysbaby1 hope you all like it! 😘😘

Chapter 4

It begins as soon as your eyes flutter open. The darkness, familiar, like an old friend, coerces your senses into a heightened state. Exposed, your skin prickles at the coolness of the room, writhing against soft sheets. You exhale in exhilaration; you know what’s to come. It starts small, a low thrum of electricity in the air that tickles your bare flesh. Then it builds, tantalizingly slow, a measured surge of power that has you twisting yourself in knots. You want more. Only He can give you more. His arrival is heralded by the scent of oil and whiskey, leather and smoke. It caresses you, embraces you, and sends you into overdrive. It’s instinctual, a primal desire. It corrupts your mind, the sequence disjointing in its take over. Thick boots echo on a wooden floor, your mouth falling open with a heated breath. Your back arches when you feel his weight dip the bed, heat radiating from him. The contrast has you trembling, body wired. His hands, strong and calloused, grip the backs of your thighs easily. A simple tug and you’re at his mercy, legs parting easily in his strong grip. You moan, he growls. He likes what he can see, those beast eyes glowing a dangerous red in the blackness. Sharp indents form against delicate skin, his claws marking your inner thighs. His little lamb, so sweet and so ready for the slaughter. Then there’s movement, the shuffle of fabric, the chink of a belt buckle. You tense, but you’re ready. The air surges with the oncoming crescendo, the room spinning, or maybe it’s you? You’re not sure, preoccupied with the molten heat that pools suddenly between your legs. You feel his grin, all teeth and tongue helping to blot out the sharp stab of pain. Forgive me Father, for I have sinned—

The sudden chaos of a burst steam pipe in the hallway outside your room abruptly shocks you from your slumber, a cacophony of sounds assaulting your sleep-hazed senses. You hear Heisenberg shouting, the scraping of metal being reshaped at will, the harsh hissing of escaping steam. Groaning at the rude awakening you flop back against the lumpy couch cushions, kicking off your blanket in protest. A light sheen of sweat covers your body, making your nightclothes stick to you in an uncomfortable way. As you stare up at the ceiling you try to decode the meaning behind your dream. You recall with an embarrassing amount of clarity just what it was you were doing and who you were enjoying it with. Humiliation blooms within you, coloring your cheeks a shade of scarlet. It wasn’t as though you hadn’t indulged in the past, you just never had desires so blatant before. Especially for someone who was your superior in every way. “Hey, you awake in there?” Heisenberg’s voice cuts your thoughts short. All the racket has stopped, there’s just the usual hum of the Factory. “Y-yes!” You squeak, stomach clenching uncharacteristically as you sit up, “I’m awake!” “Well get your ass up, we have work to do!” He claps his hands hard to exaggerate his point and you lament your new found torture as his footfalls recede down the corridor. Oh merciful Mother Miranda how were you supposed to face him anymore?

Heisenberg is, for lack of a better word, pissed. It surges through him and it shows in the haphazard, volatile approach he takes with his work. It isn’t rational, this level of response on his part, but he can’t help it. You’ve barely spoken a full sentence to him all day. Now, he’s under no illusions that you were going to become the best of friends. After all, you had been sent to him by Mother Bitch herself to be his servant and he knew that you were three sheets to the wind over this religious bullshit, but he’d thought that you’d been showing progress in becoming your own person. At least, you were , until that little incident where he had you pinned against his desk and decided to take his teasing to the next level. It isn’t often that Heisenberg considers that he may have gone too far with something, or someone , but he’s definitely considering the possibility now that you seem to be avoiding him wherever possible. You’d even brushed off his blatant last ditch attempt, an offer to accompany him to see his forge and the projects he’d been working on, in favour of praying to Mother Miranda. It’s the exact opposite of what he wanted to happen. You’d been so close to opening up, to no longer being a tool, but instead you’re become even more the meek little lamb of Miranda’s flock. Frustration bubbles within and his temper, short-fused as it already is, takes a critical hit. As a result everything he does has a sharp, volatile edge to it; even something as simple as opening a door is menacing in his current state. It serves to further deter you from him, giving you the space you so desperately desired. That is, until Heisenberg reaches his limit. “Just open up already! You can’t ignore me forever!” He thunders where he stands in the hallway, gritting his teeth in a vicious snarl. When he’s met with your persistent silence he howls in frustration, throwing his arms up in the air. The irony of him choosing to remain outside your door doesn’t go amiss, since it’s well known that he could easily rip the door from its hinges with the flick of his hand because of his nifty little ability to manipulate metal. Which, coincidentally, nearly everything in this Factory is made of in some form or another. But he doesn’t and you’re thankful for that, even if you still don’t want to face him. It continues on relentlessly, neither side backing down, and without realizing it, the whole thing becomes a game in its own right. One that pits you against one another to see who cracks first. So it’s a surprise when it’s Heisenberg that seeks you out first. It’s a situation of his own making, having followed you on the gritty live feed from his security cameras. With ease he catches you off guard on your way out of the elevator, taking your fright in his stride. “Easy now!” He exclaims, his hands raised in surrender. You’re cagey, looking for a way out. He isn’t going to give you one because he’s had about enough of you giving him the cold shoulder over a goddamn joke . You’ve pressed yourself tight against the wall, watching him like a hawk. He can hear the frantic flutter of your heart, the sharp intakes of breath, and his jaw tightens. He can’t get distracted now, he needs to focus — this was not the time to enjoy your distress. “Now I know that I can be a bit of a handful,” he starts, then falters, mouth working to try and word it just right, “but, really, hasn’t this gone on long enough? I didn’t mean any harm by it! Just a little teasing, you weren’t meant to get upset.” Oh, he thinks this is because of that time. You stare up at him in utter disbelief. You want to slap him. It’s the first time you’ve ever felt the innate burning desire to inflict bodily harm on anyone, but here you stand, about ready to knock those glasses right off his face. “You have literally no idea how you make me feel , do you?” You accuse him, incredulous, your posture straightening. Things might have slipped back to the way they were before all of this if he had just let you be, allowed you to warm back up to him, and maybe you might have been content with that. This was a turmoil of his own creation, after all, so why not let him stew in it a while. But now? Now you were at your limit. You’re tired of constantly tip-toeing around yourself because of him and his stupid games. If anything, you’re even more tentative to rekindle whatever this relationship is that you have with him, to throw in the towel and tell Mother Miranda she’d been wrong about you. It made you sour to think that what little progress you had made had been lost and it’s taken its toll on you. There’s a harsh look to you that has Heisenberg’s head spinning, apprehension gripping him. “H-Hold on a minute,” he attempts to defend himself, an uncomfortable blend of emotions sitting like a stone in his stomach. He’s conflicted over your new found confidence. You’re no longer the mild-mannered devotee that was wound around Mother Miranda’s finger, standing tall. You’re practically shining. It’s a good look on you, but he’s not exactly thrilled to be the one on the receiving end. “No!” You snap, squaring up to him. You see his brilliant eyes widen behind his circular glasses and for once in your life you feel powerful and in control . “I’ve done nothing but try my best here, trying to make something good out of this situation and you made me feel like a complete idiot !” The words feel heavy on your tongue, but you feel lighter now that they’re out in the open. Who knew that having your shame out in the open could feel so liberating. You take a deep breath when you feel the pinpricks of tears sting your eyes, trying to ground yourself. You wouldn’t forgive yourself if you cried in front of him. Not in this lifetime, or the next. Heisenberg stares down at you with a look of realization on his face, now fully aware that there was more to this than your feelings of inadequacy, that you were little more than a joke to him. It’s always been there, in the way your heart races when he gets just that little bit too close or how your eyes soften when he’s agonizing over his work. He goes to speak this revelation but you shake your head, lower lip trembling. “I was just trying to help .” The way your voice breaks has him in a tailspin, the look of pure anguish in your eyes cutting him deep. This is in no way what he had envisioned when he spotted the chance to clear the air with you. “Oh come on, don’t cry!” It’s a desperate plea, something you never thought you would hear from him. “You’re making me feel really shitty here!” “That’s because you are!” You sob, unable to hold it back anymore. You feel like such a pathetic idiot. That overwhelming monster of self-degradation looms, fueling your misery. If only a dark abyss could just swallow you up and save you from this embarrassment, but you know that’s not going to happen. There’s only this awkward moment, lingering between you. You whimper, trying desperately to wipe away your tears. They stream down your cheeks, burning against your already flushed skin as you sniffle. Suddenly his hands are encasing your own in a firm grip. With a surprisingly gentle touch he tugs them down, exposing you. The whites of your eyes are marred with tiny lines of red and your long lashes clump together from your tears. You’re a mess, but he doesn’t mind. In fact, he finds you oddly endearing in the moment. Swallowing, you try to understand what’s going on. Your hands are still held in his, the feel of soft leather almost comforting against your skin, and you wonder if you’re dreaming again. Something stirs in you, glowing embers kicking up from ashes, and you try to pull away. It’s an admirable attempt but Heisenberg easily catches you, holding you in a vice-like grip against him. You whine at the harshness of his grasp and he frowns, loosening his hold just enough to make it bearable. “I’m sorry, alright?” He mumbles, hesitating. It’s been so long, too long, since he’s been in such close proximity to someone who wasn’t prey. You aren’t fighting him, you aren’t trying your damnedest to get away. In fact, you look as though you’re captivated by him. It’s a side of him that no one has ever seen before, the dejection of a man twisted into being a monster. Something inside you breaks anew at how lost he looks, the last and most dangerous of the Lords at Mother Miranda’s disposal. He’s nothing more than a dog on a choke chain, to be used when it’s suited and then discarded afterwards. Just like you. “Heisenberg,” your voice is hushed, woeful. The words are so genuine and your heart isn’t yet made of stone to be immune to their plight. When you shift in his grasp there’s no resistance and you reach up to gently cup his cheeks in your hands. The stubble on his face tickles your palms and his skin is warm and smooth to the touch. You find you quite like it, the contrast of textures. He does little in the way to stop you. In fact, he encourages you. His hands find purchase on your hips, thumbs brushing the delicate spots just below your rib cage. It elicits a soft gasp from you, your body stiffening beneath him. Glistening eyes stare up at him, a swirling maelstrom threatening to drown him along with you. He’s curious whether or not you’re ready to commit to this. Heisenberg knows what you want, or better yet, what your body wants, but your mind eludes him. He waits with bated breath to see what path you will take, the uncomfortable feeling of anxiety creeping in his bones. It’s like poison, a crawling taint that threatens to take over him. What have you done to him? The exact same thing he did to you. It’s a disquieting notion, one that almost overtakes him, until it doesn’t. The doubts are suddenly banished and relief washes over him at the feel of your silken lips against his in a tender kiss. The chain breaks; you're both suddenly free, and it feels euphoric .

#RE #RE8 #RE 8 #Resident Evil #Resident Evil 8 #Resident Evil 8 Village #RE Imagine #RE Imagines #RE8 Imagine #RE8 Imagines #Resident Evil Imagine #Resident Evil Imagines #Karl Heisenberg #Karl Heisenberg Imagine #Karl Heisenberg Imagines #Karl Heisenberg x Reader #Heisenberg Imagine #Heinsenberg Imagines #Heisenberg x Reader

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ultranos · 4 years

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Give me a character and I will answer: Azula

I am absolutely unsurprised, given my recent hyperfixation.

This got...long, so stuff under the cut.

Why I like them

Because beyond my fondness for feral genius girl-children characters and characters associated with lightning, and how I’m drawn to characters who are morally grey (to me, Azula is, in DnD terms, Lawful Neutral, which is fascinating and probably also why a lot of people have a hard time with her), I’ve realized that there are a lot of similarities between myself and Azula. I’ve joked that Azula is just another millennial with gifted-child syndrome and hypercompetative parent, and just like the rest of us, she ended up with a mental breakdown before her 25th birthday. But there’s a bit more to it than that.

Because I know exactly what it feels like to be seen only for your abilities and how they can be used to make the adults who are supposed to give a shit about you look good. I know exactly what it feels like to craft your identity around your abilities, because those are the things that you’ve been told determine your worth. I know exactly what it feels like to have people you grew up with and you thought were friends stab you in the back. And I know exactly what it means to decide to be an asshole in order to protect yourself, because when you let down your walls, someone you called a friend stabbed right in that carefully hidden weak point and sent you spiraling in a panic attack and self-destructive behaviors.

Because I was 14 when I escaped that. And I didn’t realize what had actually happened to me until I was 22 and a therapist was looking at me with absolute horror as I recounted my K-8 years.

I like Azula because I very clearly see a person I could have been, if my parents hadn’t given a shit. If my mother wasn’t determined to take all the things that had hurt her as a child and do the opposite for my brother and I. If my father wasn’t hellbent on giving us all the support he could, because he’d lost his mother as a child and was forced to grow up faster.

Why I don’t

Because it’s sometimes really difficult to see a character who is so close to a “there but for the grace of god go I”. Which is a slightly distressing phrase to use considering its association with the Bridge of Sighs.

Look, my brain is a fuckin’ weird place.

I guess there’s that “direct IV to the propaganda juice leading to jingoism and imperialism” thing. But kinda mitigated by the fact she’s sheltered and her brain literally hasn’t fully-developed the areas for decision-making yet. (Fun fact: that part’s done around age 25. Kid is 14.)

Favorite episode (scene if movie)

I actually really like her entire Ba Sing Se takeover arc. I can very much appreciate a girl who uses the fact that she is a teenage girl to make people underestimate her, and then perform a feat of tactical importance that not even the best general could do...with zero casualties and only using her words.

Favorite season/movie

I mean, I guess overall it’s s3, since it digs into her character more.

Favorite line

Tie between “Do the tides command this ship?” and “You weren’t even a player.”

Spending a few years as a woman in male-dominated fields gives you a new appreciation for the sheer style points and lack-of-fucks to deliver those lines.

Favorite outfit

I actually like her s2 “default”.

OTP

I’m...not really much of a shipper. I read her as queer, so there’s that. But I’m meh on Ty Lee/Azula overall and that seems to be the biggest one.

In an AU, I will totally admit her with one of the Gaang has potential for comedic gold. And Katara and her could take over the world in a week, and the world would thank them. (Katara would make them give it back immediately)

Brotp

...I honestly would have loved to see Azula and Sokka as ridiculous nerd bros.

Head Canon

I headcanon that she’s not that great at art, with the one exception of sumi-e style ink watercolors. Because it’s an artform that requires absolute precision and perfection, and so would let her channel those tendencies in a much healthier way.

The other one is that she doesn’t hate tea, but she dislikes the ones Iroh makes her. He goes for the jasmine and ginsing, much more floral and delicate. Azula prefers the stronger flavors, such as lapsang souchong (tastes like campfire) or other Wuyi tea (I expect her to be the kind of Extra that really likes rougui tea, with it’s 7 goddamn steepings).

Unpopular opinion

I generally am a little lax on the entire “war crimes” thing people bring up. Partially because all the characters are guilty of war crimes, because it’s a plot about a war. And if you’re going to apply modern definitions from the Geneva Convention to it, then you better also apply the rules laid out in the Additional Protocols and the Rights of the Child that it’s a war crime for children under the age of 15 to be used in armed conflict in the first place. And that it’s an entire...Thing that female child soldiers are treated worse and have a harder time with rehabilitation and reintegration. It’s also very much a Thing that orgs dedicated to former child-solder welfare are adamant that retributive justice is just about the worst possible track to take.

Also, I have a very hard time taking the “it was her idea to burn the Earth Kingdom to the ground” seriously, because a) why is the 14 year old child dictating military policy instead of any of the adults at the table, and b) when I was that age, I literally uttered “the beatings will continue until morale improves” during a group project.

(Also I envy you if you have never wished to light something on fire while sitting in a meeting as the only woman/girl in a room full of men all old enough to be your father.)

A wish

Someone give this child a hug and therapy. Possibly in the reverse order. Just...let her find a way to be happy without anyone forcing her into a mold.

My galaxy-brain level post-redemption and post-therapy ending? Azula decides she needs to know what the fuck happened with her brain, throws all her stubborn cleverness into that, and the next thing Zuko knows, his sister has the equivalent of a doctorate and actual medical license for psychiatry.

She then demands to treat his goddamn PTSD.

An oh-god-please-dont-ever-happen

Making her a puppet/tool for yet more older men, for fuck’s sake. Yes, I’m aware of some things in the comics. I haven’t read them. It’s damaging. (Yes, thank you for informing me that the Asian-coded female character who forced herself into using her talents for her father’s desires to the point of self-destruction has no future but to always be vilified and used as a prop by her male relatives. I’m sure this has no implications for the real world.)

5 words to best describe them

...”feral genius asshole girl-child” is probably pretty good.

My nickname for them

Feral gremlin murderchild (Ironic, considering her kill-count is 0* in the series) or feral genius storm-child. *Aang got better. I’m of the opinion it kind of needs to stick to count.

#nos answers things #wow this got long #Anonymous

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echoes-of-the-clockwork · 3 years

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Book One: Gold (Prompto x Reader) Chapter IV

When Prompto woke up the next morning, he opened his eyes with a small groan. Feeling a familiar warmth, he looked down to see (Y/n) curled up against him. He had one arm slung across her waist, unsure of when he first put it there. He peered into the sleeping girl's face before looking around the room. Noctis was still fast asleep while Ignis and Gladio were gone.

After checking once more to see if the prince was asleep, Prompto scooted closer towards (Y/n) and tightened his arm around her waist. He moved his other arm around to the back of her head, cradling it against his chest. Lowering his head, he pressed his lips against the top of her head. "(Y/n), I...I..."

The guardian inhaled deeply as her eyes fluttered open. "What is it, Prom?"

Prompto shrieked in surprise and quickly removed his arms. "N-Nothing..."

She sighed, pushing herself up into a sitting position. "You've been acting weird ever since yesterday. What's the deal?"

"Really, it's nothing!"

"Like I said, you're a bad liar..." She hopped off the bed. "Are you embarrassed from touching me? If so, I don't understand why because you've had no issues before. You scared the others are gonna catch you and tease you?"

"Maybe just a little," he mumbled.

"Well, how about we get a separate room then? That way, you can touch me all you like."

Prompto swallowed nervously, tugging at the collar of his shirt with his finger. "You make it sound so dirty, (Y/n)..."

"I'm not the one thinking dirty thoughts. Get your head out of the gutter."

"I-I am not thinking anything dirty!"

"Whatever you say, Prom," the girl giggled at him before stalking towards him. She cupped his cheeks in her hands and tilted his head upward before leaning down and pressing her lips against his forehead. "Consider this your good morning kiss since you gave me one."

His cerulean eyes widened. "You were awake?"

"It's what woke me up."

He stared into her eyes, enjoying her touch as her thumbs trailed across his cheeks. His fingers twitched, itching to touch her. However, he held himself back.

"Now then," (Y/n) removes her hands from his cheeks, causing him to groan in disappointment, "Let's do some exploring!" She grabbed his hand and yanked him off the bed, dragging him out of the hotel without disturbing Noctis.

Prompto and (Y/n) wandered the streets of Lestallum. Their first stop was the marketplace. They browsed the many wares, coming to a stop in front of a stall selling small chocobo charms. The marksman nearly stumbles over his own feet in his haste to take a closer look. Luckily, the girl caught him before he could fall.

He picked up the yellow chocobo charm and admired it. "This would totally look amazing with the bracelet."

She glanced at the charm he was holding. "It does match the gemstone. Why not buy it?"

Prompto was about to pull out some gil, but stopped himself. Even though he loved chocobos, he felt the purchase would be childish. "Nah, I should really spend my gil on something that's useful."

(Y/n) could read the blonde easily. He was an open book to her. "Oh, c'mon, Prom! Spoil yourself once in a while. Besides, it only cost 10 gil. It'll also add some flare to the bracelet."

"Mmm..." He analyzed the charm closer, feeling his resolve shaking. After contemplating for a few seconds, he gave in. "Okay, I'll buy it." He handed over ten gil to the merchant, earning a thanks from the man. He handed his camera over to the girl so he could put the new charm on his bracelet. Once it was securely in place, he smiled. "Ooh, I'm really diggin' it!"

The guardian elbowed him playfully in the side. "Told ya~!" She handed him back his camera. "Let's see what else this place has to offer."

Continuing to browse the market, they found many ingredients that would interest Ignis. They also found more souvenirs for sale, but none of them caught their eye.

(Y/n) and Prompto left the marketplace and wandered the streets before making their way to the outlook. There, the boy took many photos of the scenery while the spirit casted her gaze upward when hearing a voice from above. She couldn't make out what they were saying, deciding to ignore them.

Just then, a flash caught her attention. Her head snapped in the direction the flash came from and saw Prompto with his camera pointed at her. "Did you just take my picture?"

He lowered his camera. "Maybe..."

She huffed out a chuckle. "You should save your pictures for someone who's worthy."

"You are the most worthy and beautiful person of being photographed. It'd be a shame if I missed my opportunity to snap a pic of you. If I could, I'd post your picture everywhere!" Prompto smiled, but it quickly fell when he realized what he just said. It rolled off his tongue with ease without a single thought. He raised his camera and used it to hide his faint blush. "I-I mean...uh, well...eh..."

(Y/n) smiled kindly at him, combing a few (h/c) locks behind her ear. "You're too sweet, Prom. How'd I get so lucky?"

He lowered his gaze, smiling giddily. "I ask myself that question every day..."

All of a sudden, the boy's phone rang. He promptly picked up once seeing Ignis was calling him. When the call ended, he put his phone back into his pocket. "Welp, looks like Iggy wants us to return to the Leville. Ready to head back?"

"Yeah, let's-" The spirit fell silent when she heard the voice again. She looked back up at the sky and addressed him. "Actually, you go on ahead. I'll be there shortly."

Prompto looked up at the sky, but all he could see was how blue it was and the occasional white, fluffy cloud float by. "Oh, um...okay." He glanced at her worriedly before walking back to the hotel by his lonesome.

The second he walked into the lobby, he saw Noctis, Gladio, and Ignis chatting with Talcott and Jared. He asked what was going on and learned from the young boy about the sword behind the waterfall. The four decided to check out the tale and left the Leville.

Outside, Noctis turned to his best friend. "Where's (Y/n)?"

"At the outlook. She was supposed to be back by now," Prompto answered. He lifted his camera and admired the recent photo he took of the girl. Her beautiful golden eyes were casted to the sky with a tranquil expression on her face. He sighed sorrowfully, feeling as if he had no chance with her.

"What's with the gloomy look?" Gladio asked.

"Oh, nothing," the sharpshooter replied, wishing to avoid being teased mercilessly. He looked around at the many women who walked by. "H-Hey, what about the girls here? They're so cool and independent, like, "I don't need a man!""

Noctis glanced at him. "Sounds like you've heard that one a lot."

"C'mon, cut the little guy some slack. I'm sure somebody around here finds him attractive," Gladio said.

Prompto frantically looked around. "Well, then where are you?! Show yourself!" He spun around, coming face to face with the golden-eyed spirit. He screamed in surprise, jumping slightly. "(Y-Y/n)!"

"Does this mean she's the one?" Noctis asked.

"Maybe," Gladio shrugged his shoulders.

The (h/c)-haired girl smiled apologetically at them. "Sorry for being late. What's our next course of action?"

"Gonna check out to see if there's a royal arm nearby," Noctis said. "You taggin' along?"

"Of course! We ready to go?"

"Ready as we'll ever be. Let's go."

The group headed to the parking lot and climbed into the Regalia. (Y/n) was about to return to the gemstone when Prompto stopped her. He told her she could sit in the back between Noctis and Gladio. She looked toward the prince and his shield to make sure it was okay, and they both agreed. With everyone in the car, Ignis started the engine and drove out of Lestallum.

They traveled a little ways down the rode before pulling aside at Burbost Souvenir Emporium to hop out. They used a stairwell located a short distance down the road and wandered down the trail leading to the nearby river. At the water's edge, they spotted a midgardsormr slithering around. Noctis quietly led the group around the large creature, keeping close to the cliffside to avoid detection. However, the path ahead was littered with shieldshears.

"Oh, wow. I've never seen such large crabs before," (Y/n) commented.

"Think they'd taste good, Specs?" Noctis asked.

"What they have gained in size they will have lost in flavor," Ignis replied.

"Guess this means crab won't be on the menu tonight," Prompto commented.

Noctis went to summon his sword, but stopped when he noticed the shieldshears were already on fire. He stared in shock, watching the creatures keel over one by one as they burned. He patted his pockets and checked on his magic flasks. When one wasn't missing, he looked over at (Y/n). "Did you...?"

She smiled innocently. "I've no idea what you're talking about. Let's go!" She ran past the boys and up the pathway leading behind the waterfall.

Gladio looked at the dead carcasses of the shieldshears. "Damn. Little lady did a number on these things without touching them."

"Isn't she amazing?" Prompto sighed dreamily. "She's so badass!"

"Her abilities are fascinating," Ignis commented.

"Hey!" (Y/n) shouted from the path above. "Are you guys coming or what?"

"'Tis rude to keep a lady waiting," he stated.

"Be right there, (Y/n)!" Prompto shouted back.

The boys caught up with the spirit behind the waterfall. There, they discovered the entrance to greyshire glacial grotto. "Wouldn't you know it-an entrance!" Prompto spoke up.

"Looks like the legend checks out," Gladio said.

"So, what does this legend say?" (Y/n) asked.

"Apparently, there's supposed to be a sword behind the waterfall."

"And you believe it to be a royal arm?"

"Bingo," Noctis replied.

The group enter the cave. The first thing they noticed was how cold it was and everything was frozen. Prompto rubbed his arms up and down his exposed arms. "This place gives me goose bumps. Double back for our coats?"

"What's the point?" Gladio remarked.

"Well, looking on the bright side... Maybe the cold keeps the daemons at bay?"

"Yeah, because monsters like warmth."

"Ah. Sarcasm. Hmm... But what if they're frozen?"

"Encased in ice... Waiting for something warm to pass by..."

"And then they jump out!" Prompto's teeth then started chattering from the cold. When he walked closer to (Y/n), he noticed the temperature rose. "Oh, hey! It's pretty warm over here!" He walked ahead and stopped when the warmth vanished. "Aaand it's gone."

The guardian wondered if the blonde would put two and two together, but she sighed when he continued looking for the warm spot again. "Prom, you're gonna run into daemons if you keep wandering ahead."

"But the warmth!"

"Is radiating from (Y/n)," Ignis stated.

"Wait, really?" The marksman strolls back over to the girl. When he did, he felt the warmth pouring from her being. "It is!"

"You're tellin' me you never noticed before now?" Gladio questioned.

"Well, no... I mean, it's not like (Y/n) and I ever went somewhere this cold before. It's kinda nice. Makes me-" The spirit suddenly grabbed Prompto and pulled him back. Flans spawned where he once stood, blocking their path. He eyed the daemons, summoning his pistol. "And there's our warm welcome."

"Flans are resistant to physical attacks. Use elemental attacks to hurt them," the guardian stated. She held out her hand and created a throwing knife from pure flames. She tossed it at one of the daemons, inflicting heavy damage.

"Maybe you should handle this by yourself, (Y/n)," Noctis commented after witnessing her conjuring skills.

"Oh, I don't think so. You've got your own magic at your disposal. Use it."

Prompto snickered. "She gotcha there, buddy."

Gladio and Ignis, even though knowing physical attacks would do little to no damage, used their weapons to distract the flans. Noctis and (Y/n) teamed up while Prompto kept his distance and fired a few rounds.

When the daemons were dead, the group proceeded forward. They wandered through the frozen grotto a little ways before coming across an icy slope leading deeper into the cave. Prompto stands at the edge of the slope, peering down to see just how far it would take them. "Heading down a slippery slope... In slip-sliding shoes. What could possibly go wrong?"

"I'm sure we'll be fine," (Y/n) reassured him.

"Then ladies first."

"All right." She stepped on to the slope, keeping her balance as she slid down on her feet.

Prompto gasped. "W-Wait, (Y/n)! I was only kidding!" He quickly followed after her, slipping on his behind as his body slid down the slope. Noctis, Gladio, and Ignis followed after him.

The girl reached the bottom first, landing in the middle of a horde of imp daemons. She conjured a barrage of fireballs, targeting the daemons. Some imps were killed, but many others remained.

The boys reached the bottom and joined her in battle. Noctis summoned a javelin with an annoyed wail. "You things love deep pits. Let's get it over with."

The group fought against the remaining daemons, silencing each and every last one. Prompto dispelled his pistol when all the enemies were dead. "So much for a "little chill." I got an ice cream headache-without the ice cream!" He stepped closer to (Y/n) and held up his hands.

She eyed his gloved hands. "Am I a campfire to you?"

"No, but... I mean, you're the warmest thing down here and I'm freezing!"

"If we keep moving, you'll eventually get used to the cold. C'mon, Prom." She walked away from him, following after the rest of the boys.

"Aw..." He whined before promptly catching up with the others.

The five continued to trek through the frozen cave. They arrived at another icy slope and saw a side path a little ways down. Carefully, they proceeded onto the slope and slid to the side path. From there, they cross to the other side of the cave and crouch through an opening in the icy wall. They encountered another group of flans, which they easily disposed of.

Eventually, the group came across a narrow ledge. Noctis was the first to cross followed by Prompto, Ignis, (Y/n), and Gladio. Once safely on the other side, they noticed how the cave opened up. They were soon joined by an arachne daemon. It took no time at all for the five to get rid of the creature and head towards a ramp leading to a pathway above.

After taking down some more flans, Gladio dispelled his greatsword and looked around. "So, the glaive is through here?"

"Most likely," Noctis replied as he guided his companions to another narrow ledge.

"Let's see for ourselves," Ignis commented.

Like before, Noctis was the first to cross the narrow ledge. It wrapped around the side of the cave, leading to another path. Prompto, who was following right after the prince, shivered. "I'm freezing... What I wouldn't give for a hot bowl of soup. Mmm...soup. We're almost there... We gotta be. Right?!"

"Keep calm and try not to fall, Prom," (Y/n) advised.

After crossing the narrow ledge, they came across an area with an immense icy slope leading upward they couldn't reach. Located down the left path, they spotted a familiar stone door. "Hey! Knock, knock," Gladio grinned.

"We're there...finally," Ignis sighed.

Noctis went to approach the royal tomb, but he quickly backed away when a mindflayer materialized out of thin air and blocked the path. Alongside the medium-sized daemon was a pack of imps.

"Can't it ever be easy?" Gladio groaned, summoning his greatsword.

"Never." Noctis conjured his sword and leapt at the mindflayer.

"Where's the fun in that?" Ignis sarcastically replies, calling upon his own daggers and joining the fray.

Prompto used his pistol to attack from a safe distance. Whenever he was able to defeat a single imp, he shrieked when flans manifested right behind him. "These things are everywhere!"

(Y/n) placed distance between her, the boys, and the daemons. "This calls for a little fire." She transformed in her spiritual form and immediately pounced on the nearest daemon. Using her fire, she burned it to a crisp before setting her sights on another one. Seeing her presence had grabbed the attention of all the imps, she stepped back and inhaled deeply. Once creating a large flame in her throat, she exhaled and breathed fire at the small daemons. Each one perished from her attack.

Hearing a scream from behind her, (Y/n)'s ears twitched. She turned around and saw one of the mindflayers grabbed Prompto. She leapt into action, latching her jaw around the daemon's body and yanking it off the blonde. When he was free, she tossed the mindflayer aside and Gladio dealt the finishing blow.

While Prompto was recovering from the attack, the spirit utilized her many tails and swatted away any daemons that tried to attack him. Noctis made his way over and killed the enemies that she smacked away. Ignis and Gladio took down the last mindflayer while Prompto fires another bullet and annihilated the last flan. He sighed in relief when seeing all the adversaries were dead. "Does this mean we can go back outside?!"

Noctis didn't answer the marksman as he enters the Tomb of the Wanderer, acquiring the weapon that belonged to his ancestor. While he claimed his third royal arm, Prompto wandered over to his guardian. He threw his arms around her neck and buried his face into her soft fur. "So warm..."

(Y/n) nudged her nose against the top of his head in response to his touch. She messed with his hair until Noctis exited the royal tomb with his newly acquired weapon. With their business done, she returned to her human form and they left greyshire glacial grotto.

Outside the cave, Noctis is suddenly wracked with pain and grabs at his head. He witnesses a vision of Titan as well as the Disc of Cauthess. Prompto stepped away from (Y/n) to check on his best friend. "Noct, you okay?!"

The prince was baffled at the images that crossed through his mind. "What did I... Where was that?"

"What is it?" Gladio asked.

"A hole in the ground...something burning... The Meteor?"

"You saw the Disc of Cauthess?" Ignis asked with a tone of shock.

"Let's make our way back to Lestallum," the shield said.

Prompto nodded. "Yeah, gotta report to Talcott."

"Can you walk?" (Y/n) inquired.

Noctis met the girl's golden gaze and nodded. "Yeah. Let's go."

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#ffxv #ffxv x reader #final fantasy xv x reader #final fantasy xv #prompto x reader #prompto argentum x reader #prompto argentum

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722alycat · 3 years

Text

Face Down

pt i, pt ii pt iv

Masterlist

Summary: Kenny is an abrasive bastard, sure, but he teaches you and Levi how to survive. You feel like a natural at Kenny’s lessons, in fact, especially next to Levi’s clumsy attempts.

an: sorry this took so long! It was a monster to write and edit, and I had a busy few days! Hope you enjoy :)

Kenny's motto in life is similar to that of an old proverb. "give a man a fish, and he will eat for a day. teach a man to fish and he will eat for his life.”

But, you reflected as you watched him scold Levi yet again for his stance, much more violent.

"Look, brat," he sniffed, "if I killed every motherfucker down here, you'd only be safe until the next batch of thugs came in. Now fucking hold the damn knife right."

Levi growled under his breath, and went back into the pose that Kenny had drilled into him religiously while you watched. He curled his fingers around the grip of the blade, and proceeded to flip and throw it, quick-changing his hold for different angles to stab and slash.

You grinned snobbishly at him as you flipped your own knife, over and over in your hand. "Hey, Levi, check this out!" you called, quickly flicking the blade so it danced through your fingers, before catching it back in your palm, now poised for a downward strike.

He scowled at you, while Kenny looked on, indifferent as always.

"Don't get too ahead of yourself, little lady." Kenny finally intoned, "Levi will overtake you by leaps and bounds, if he's really an Ackerman."

You grinned cheekily, “Well, we all know how Miss Kuchel felt about taking in orphans!” You teased.

Levi scoffed at you, and you cackled. Your head tossed back, hair falling past violently shaking shoulders. Your laughter echoed through the dimly lit home you had purchased after selling some of the drugs you had pilfered from that shop. The place was small, really more of a postage stamp than anything else, and it was tucked away in a damp and dreary corner of the Underground, but even so...

It was beginning to feel somewhat like home.

When your giggles finally died out, you rolled your head back upright. Tears of mirth sparkled on your lashes, and when you caught sight of Levi...

The boy was staring at you, eyes wide and mouth gaping. You watched in confusion as a flush began to creep slowly up his neck, over his high cheekbones. He looked... flustered, in a way.

You cocked your head. What on earth...?

“You feeling alright, Levi?”

Kenny grinned, all teeth and squinting eyes. It made him look roguish, when he wasn’t doing it in a cruel way. It almost made you curious as to how Levi would look with such a devil-may-care smile. All he’d done lately, or ever really, was scowl.

“Don’t you worry, kiddo,” Kenny snickered, throwing an arm over your shoulder and leering down at the red faced boy, “I think Levi here’s gonna be doing just fine.”

And so time marched on.

Days without Miss Kuchel turned into months, turned into a year, then two. You rounded into your 10th year of life, and then hurtled straight into puberty. You continued to outpace Levi by leaps and bounds, even as he began to outgrow you in height. Your moves became flashier and more complex, attacks became quicker and more lethal. Kenny scolded you frequently, telling you in a real knife fight, you were rather average, and tricks like those would only get you killed.

Still, you found it exceedingly fun to twirl a blade between your fingers, to flick it through the air and catch it, only to send it twirling back out again. You excelled, as Kenny soon realized, at throwables. Knives, rocks, hell, even the old axe they had tried to barter off a local seller, and then later stolen when he wouldn’t budge on price. You were more likely to get praise from him due to your deadly aim than you were for being able to spin a knife like a top on your finger, even though the latter was much more impressive in your opinion.

“What can I say, Kenny,” you had crowed one evening, after he scolded you for wasting time practicing tricks, “I’m a show-man!”

Kenny swiftly came to the ragged end of his patience regarding your lackadaisical attitude towards the offensive moves he’d been teaching you. In true Ackerman fashion, he decided to rip you a new one.

“The only thing a performer is good for down here is laying on their back, girl, so unless you want to be like Kuchel and your mother, I suggest you take me a little more seriously.”

You snarled, baring your teeth at him, the picture of teenage obstinance, “Like there’s shame in being a whore!” You objected, as you had done so often before, knife spinning faster in your hands.

He laughed shortly, shaking his head, “Being a whore gets you killed, and the dumb ones die even quicker, so you’d better stay out of the business. Besides, is that the life you want for yourself? For Levi?”

You stalled out at this, thinking of how anxious Levi had been every time his mother had a client. He was so scared she would be harmed, or he’d find her beat to death in her bed... you didn’t want to see him like that again.

You pursed your lips, suddenly sullen from the memories, twirling knife stilling in your hand, “No.”

Kenny grimaced, bringing his hand up to rub the tension from between his brows. “Look, y/n,” he began, gruffly, “as of now, you’re better than Levi at defending yourself. I don’t know how long that will last, but for now, if something were to happen while I’m out on business... he might need you. And you need to be on top of your game if you want to help him.”

You were two parts guilty, two parts proud for outdoing Levi at every turn. You took to holding a knife like a duck took to water. You dodged Kenny’s blows like you were a dancer. Sure, you weren’t as strong as Levi, and it took twice as many hits from you to equal one of his, but...

You felt like you could thrive, out there in the underground, if you wanted to. If you had Levi beside you.

If you had been like this when Miss Kuchel was sick, that store owner never would have been able to stop you. You could have gotten back in time. Guilt rose like bile up your throat as you remembered seeing Levi, curled up by his decaying mother, looking sunken away and dead himself. All because you’d been too loud and got caught, because you were too slow to dodge that storekeeper grabbing you, because you weren’t fast enough to get that medicine to Miss Kuchel and barely fast enough to save Levi, and if you fucked up like that again, maybe next time you wouldn’t be fast enough to save Levi and then he would- no.

Never again.

“Kenny...” you finally murmured, forcing yourself from your panicked thoughts, “you always speak of Levi like he’s going to... evolve, in a way. Like he’ll simply pick up everything he can’t, now. Its been confusing me for quite some time. You aren’t the kind to patronize people, so... what are you doing?”

Kenny took a moment to consider you. He thought how you picked on Levi, how Levi shoved you around, how you bickered relentlessly with each other. He thought of how you never cried, how you held yourself in an echo of Kuchel, how you would wrestle Levi, and how now that he was getting bigger, he was winning more often, but you smiled just as wide when you lost. He thought of how neither of you could fall asleep without being beside eachother. He thought of you, curled around his sleeping, emaciated nephew all those years ago, pint-sized and wielding a shard of glass like a dagger and snarling at him like a wildcat. Leave Levi alone, you had said, before you knew he was more friend than foe.

He sighed. He could trust you, he knew. “I know Ackermans...” he finally muttered, glancing down at you, “Some, up on the surface. They all have an uncanny ability within them. They call it the Ackerman Instinct. In a time of great stress, it awakens in them. Everything clicks into place. They become machines. Killers. Weapons. The only thing that can best an Ackerman is an army. One day, that’ll awaken in Levi, and then... he’ll be invaluable.”

You grimaced, disgusted by his description of the boy you had grown up along side, the calculation behind his words. “You talk about him how that old pimp used to talk about me,” you said, repulsed, “If you think you’re gonna turn him into some kind of... some kind of tool, you’re wrong. Doubly so if you think I’ll let you sell him. Not Levi. Not while I’m here.”

Kenny grinned sickly at you, “Not while you’re here? Little girl, what is it that you think you can do?” he asked, drawing himself to full height as he glowered down at you.

You snarled. resembling that wildcat he’d seen curled around Levi years ago, now nearly grown into her paws. “I’ll fucking kill you if you try to take him from me,” you promised, “I swear to god, I’ll do it. It’s not like you’re some kind of Ackerman Killing Machine, or anything. Should be fucking easy.”

Kenny tried to keep a straight face, he really did. But confronted with your fury wrapped up so tightly in a thirteen year old body, hissing and spitting at him, and unknowingly telling Kenny ‘the ripper’ Ackerman he wasn't an Ackerman Killing Machine.... It tickled him. More than he had been in years. He broke out into rib breaking guffaws, your pouting face and insists that you were serious only adding fuel to the fire.

Christ you were a fucking hoot.

When he managed to get his breath back, he grinned down at you, lazily. “Don’t worry, little lady. I’m not here do nothing to Levi, and I suspect the little shit would put up a mighty fine fight if I tried to separate you two. He’s quite fond of you, in his own pint-sized psycho kind of way. I just... knew Kuchel.” Kenny was unsure of why he was telling you this, even as he said it, “We grew up... nearby each other. I want to do right by her brat, that’s all. Did I pass your test, Livewire?”

You pursed your lips, deliberating, as you looked up at the man who had been with you for years. To know that he and Miss Kuchel were close... that he wasn’t simply a besotted client who chose to do right by her kids as Levi and you had assumed...

You grabbed his wrist, dragging him to where your friend was curled outside the house.

“You knew her... tell us what she was like.” you bargained, curling beside Levi like a cat, hand instinctively seeking his wrist as you leaned comfortably against his side.

He glanced at you, startled out of his thoughts, confused and wary of what you may be up to. You grinned at the sight, knowing he was still waiting for you to repay him for putting an earthworm on your pillow last night. But revenge would have to wait, you had found bigger game to hunt. You turned your sharp eyes on Kenny, demanding. “Come on, old timer. I’d kill for someone to tell me stories about my mom. You’d be doing us sad orphans a mighty fine favor.”

Kenny sighed, squatting on the other side of Levi and lighting a cigarette. He had it halfway finished but the time he finally decided to give into your fidgeting, and Levi’s confused and annoyed expression. He huffed, and drug a hand across his face. Slowly, like each word was being pulled from him, he began.

“Kuchel was... strong. She was a true Ackerman.”

Levi stiffened beside you, having never heard your crochety guardian talk about his mother before, and his hand went to where yours rested on his wrist, before his body slowly went lax beside you. You wormed your way closer to his warm side, and for once he didn’t wriggle and complain.

You and Levi listened to Kenny tell stories about Miss Kuchel until sunrise, side by side, eventually nodding off like that, snuggled against each other.

It was a rare night off for the two of you, where Kenny wasn’t running you both ragged. He told you he had business regarding the recent arrival of Military Police into the underground, and went off without any telling when he’d be back.

You were almost unsure of what to do. Kenny had become a constant in your lives, his sharp tongue and acerbic nature driving you to do better, to be better. His constant reminders that while someday something would awaken in Levi and cause him to become a killing machine, today was not that day, and you needed to learn to protect him, to protect you.

You wondered if he preached the same sermon to Levi. You wondered, even, if it was all a lie, and nothing would awaken in your dark haired friend. You didn’t mind, really, him being subpar with a blade. But every time you watched him fumble, you remembered Kuchels words. The only way to make money in the Underground is as a thug or a whore.

The statement rang brutally true, even now. You knew, whatever Kenny’s business what those MP was, it would involve being the former. You giggled suddenly. Unless... Kenny was on the other end of the spectrum?

Levi looked at you, startled at your sudden laughter, and you waved him away, “Just imagining Kenny in one of Miss Kuchels dresses. One of the puffy ones, even.”

Levi’s mouth twitched, “The blue one would compliment his eyes.”

You guffawed. Levi had slowly been coming back to you, you realized. He rarely joked, over the past few years, locked deep inside his own head despite your efforts to drag him back out. The morning you woke up outside, snuggled together, had been awkward, but you didn’t quite understand why. You always slept beside each other, even if you weren’t touching. You didn’t quite understand why Levi couldn’t meet your eyes the next day, why he seemed to skitter away from your touch. To you, it had really only felt natural to wake up with him beside you, still warm from his body heat.

His joking demeanor now bolstered yours, and you grinned at him, happy and carefree. The grin turned sly, and you batted long lashes at him, like you’d often seen Miss Kuchel do when she wanted something.

“Levi... can you help me?” you asked, sidling closer to his side, hand finding his wrist.

He looked at you, wary once more, and you took it as a sign to continue. “Lets get on the roof,” you suggested, grinning devilishly at him, “check out the view!”

He scowled, and you almost relented until you saw the twitch of his nose, the tug on the corner of his mouth. The little bastard was almost smiling. You had never felt so proud.

“C’mon, Lee,” you wheedled, “I just need a boost. You’re still bunches stronger than I am, even if you are shit with a knife. And you’re taller than me now!”

The praise did the trick, and he began to walk towards the door, using your grip on his arm like a leash as he drug you along. “Fine, brat, but you’ll owe me one.”

You grinned, shifting your hand to catch his fingers. You promised, “For you, anything.”

Getting on that damn roof had bruised you more than anything, and all to look at a shitty concrete ceiling above you, in a crappy Underground. Still, you and Levi laid there for a while in silence, only taking in the sounds of each other breathing and alive. He was your touchstone, and you were his. Always faithful, constantly by your side. Even with Kenny here, in your little house for years, it still didn’t feel constant. It felt like he could leave at any moment. But even if he did, you reflected, it was still you and Levi. The two of you wouldn’t ever be alone, so long as you had the other.

Levi shifted, his shoulder brushing yours, his knee brushing your thigh, and he jerked away as if burnt. You hummed, sensing the beeping of a mine about to go off, and circumvented it. “Levi,” you murmured, “what do you think stars look like?”

“Huh?” he asked, properly diffused, “why would you ask that?”

You shrugged, continuing to stare up, “Just trying to imagine something better than damp concrete.” you finally said, blinking up, “I’ve been trying to imagine something better for a while now. I just... don’t know where to start.”

He scoffed, before stilling beside you, studying the roof above you. You knew he thought it foolish, to wish for a better life. Especially when you were so far from the surface, the stairs leading upstairs an insurmountable dream, too tall for your weak legs to carry you up.

“I hear they’re like... the sequins, on moms pretty blue dress.” he finally said, “only there's a bajillion of them up there.”

You took a moment to imagine this through the shock of the stoic boy beside you even humoring your request. The dark sky full of the small ornate sequin swirls on Miss Kuchels dress, and you wondered if they moved and swished like her skirt did. You wondered if they spun through the sky, or if they were stationary, ever present and watching, like guardians. Were they brighter than the dull dewdrops shining on the stone slabs above you?

“I’d like to see them someday, if you were with me.” you rushed out, not understanding why the words burnt you like a confession, why you felt your face heating up. God, why was your heart beating so fast?

Levi looked at you like you we’re stupid, and you felt like swallowing your tongue. But then...

His hand found yours, wrapping your fingers tightly in his own. “Tch. Where the fuck else would I be, idiot?”

And suddenly everything felt right.

Levi and you had decided to go to the market to steal some decent food for dinner, Kenny long gone on another trip. His parting advice of try not to die stinging and bolstering you. As if you would die. You felt like a goliath compared to when you were nine and starving and watching Kuchel wilt away, when you were eight and fighting and biting anything that got too close, when you were seven and learning to bite back tears and turn them into something useful, when you were five and had a mother who wanted you to be safe and warm no matter what the cost.

You had come too far to simply die, and so had Levi.

Even now, you bumped arms with him, walking close enough to trip if you weren’t so in sync. You smiled up at him, pleased with your successful theft, the loaf of bread, tin of oats, and apples feeling like meat, cheese, and honey to you.

“All in a days work,” you teased, “It’s not much, but it’s honest.”

He scoffed, glancing down at your grinning features as you stretched, lithe arms pressing outward and brushing his back, “it’s not even honest, it’s just not much.” he told you, voice deeper now than it had been when you’d first been found by Kenny.

You shrugged, “Shit, birds gotta fly, orphans gotta eat.”

He nudged you with his hip, smirking down at you, almost showing teeth. He was fucking gorgeous when he smiled.

You told him as much, watching the pretty blush rise up on his cheekbones. He even stuttered at you, letting out a “uh... I’m...”

You stopped, and he turned to you, curling into your form, like a shield, like a blanket. You peered up to him, wide eyes captivating him, drawing him in almost. You realized that if he was pretty smiling, he was even prettier smiling and blushing.

You were deliberating the cost of rolling up and pressing your mouth to his, and then blinking in shock at the boldness of your thoughts, when you heard it.

“Hey, whore.”

You grit your teeth, the voice sending unpleasant shivers of disgust up your spine. Even deepened into adulthood, you could recognize it.

Vic. The same man who had spoken down on your mother, on Kuchel, for being whores.

“Ha,” he continued, “That little runt finally saved up enough to buy you, huh? How much after him? I’m not mad about sloppy seconds.” He leered.

You felt Levi tense. He was frozen before you, and your hand found his, stroking across his knuckles, wishing to calm him, “Levi... he isn’t worth it. Let’s just go home.”

But Vic didn’t care, Vic didn’t know you had spent the past few years training with a dictator of a teacher. Vic didn’t know you had a knife ready to draw, didn’t realize you had grown sharper and angrier, even if you hadn’t ever outgrown him.

He didn’t know you were waiting for the Ackerman instinct to kick in.

Vic stepped towards you, grabbing you by the elbow, trying to yank you away from Levi’s grip.

Like a flash, Levi lashed out, boney knuckles crashing into Vic’s cheek, your bag of stolen goods dropped to the floor. He drew his knife, fingers twiddling with the blade until it was poised for a downward strike.

You’re signature move...

You turned, arm released, to aid Levi. As Vic lunged, overpowering Levi’s weak stance and clumsy movements, you rushed at his back. Levi watched your desperate attack, eyes widening, and giving you away. Vic realized the danger, remembering your tendency towards aggression, and spun to face you. He batted you away with his arm and his blade, and you heard Levi’s frantic yelp of ‘don’t touch her!’. You landed hard on the concrete, skidding and rolling, your breath punched out of you. You began to pick yourself up off the floor, winded and bleeding from your ribs and steeling yourself to throw yourself back into the fight, when another thug showed up.

He was scrawnier than Vic, raised leaner. Probably, you realized, an orphanage kid who wasn’t the descendant of the head wallist. He had disregarded you, assuming you were a woman, and a whore, and uncapable of defending yourself.

He would pay dearly for that, you decided.

As he readied himself to attack Levi, you lunged, reckless and desperate.

Because... Levi had just gotten the upper hand, was just beginning to overtake Vic. You couldn’t risk that, couldn’t allow another man to attack him and throw him off. You didn’t want to be alone, and you didn’t want to lose him.

You caught him around the middle, leg frantically kicking out to take him to the ground. The air rushed out of him with the hit, and he yelped. He was too surprised to twist to catch himself, and landed roughly on the ground.

You snarled, feral and up to your throat in adrenaline, unable to hear anything over the rapid-fire thump of your heartbeat. You couldn't focus on anything besides keeping this motherfucker away from Levi.

Your hand found the knife crammed into your belt, yanking it from its makeshift sheath and lunging, while you still had the upper-hand. He battered you away, smacking you violently. You tried to roll with the hit, jarring your leg as you yanked it violently from beneath him. You fought through the pins and needles crawling up your ankle, and scrambled backwards.

Levi grunted, and you frantically craned your neck to make sure he was okay.

The thug took advantage of your distraction, lunging on top of you, grabbing your hands and trying to wrestle the knife from your grip. You screeched your panic to the air, thrashing violently and kicking. He leered down at you, blood from a gash in his forehead dribbled down his jaw, dripping onto your face. You fought the urge to gag.

He raised the knife up, your hands still gripping it as you struggled to regain control, and began to plunge the point towards your chest.

You screamed and panted, fighting his downward thrust, feet scrabbling in the gravel as you tried to brace, and even you, with all your violent optimism, could see this was a losing battle.

You heard Levi scream, a sound of rage and panic, and Vic let out a startled, pained grunt. You heard the sound of rending flesh, something wet spilling out onto the ground.

"LEVI!" You screamed. Your brain whited out. The only thought running in your mind a frantic repetition of no, no, no no no. You couldn't lose him.

You let the thug overpower your grip, a controlled descent that ended in you releasing the knife and shoving his hand to the side. You jack-knifed away from the stab and under his legs, wriggling from beneath him and scrambling to your feet, violently swinging back one leg and kicking your foot with vicious intent into his ribs, all panic and no power. You braced and did it again. He gagged, skittering off his hands and knees and landing roughly to his side. You screeched, frantic and shaking.

"Fuck," you shouted, stomping his chest and feeling something give beneath your heel, "fuck, fuck, fuck!"

You kicked him one more time, and frantically grabbed the knife. The thug wheezed, lunging for you in staggering movements, and any question of whether to kill him or not disappeared from your mind as you twirled the blade between your fingers, and plunged it into his neck.

You felt the metal sink through his skin like a bruised apple, felt the clink of the tip hitting bone. You felt the blood spurt out as you withdrew and leapt back, hands shaking and dripping blood. You felt nausea roll up to replace the adrenaline as you watched him gurgle and choke, shaking hands grabbing for his neck before he convulsed one more time and went still.

You gagged, turning away from the body and into someone’s arms. You flinched away, trying to bat the hands back until you realized who was holding you.

Levi.

You looked up at him frantically, shoving your hands against your pants to wipe away the blood before they reached up to grasp his face.

You nearly sobbed. "You're okay... Levi..."

He grimaced as he looked at you, pursing his lips, the picture of composure while you stood quaking and whimpering. "I saw him, on top of you. You screamed."

You choked out a shaky laugh, "I was so scared. I didn’t know if you had- ...I was scared."

He scoffed. "No reason to be," he released you to look you over, before grabbing your hand, twining your fingers together, "you did a good job, with him. I just got Vic down when you started stomping his ribs."

At his mention of Vic, you peered past Levi’s shoulder. The thug was laying there, still and cooling in his own blood and entrails.

"Christ, Levi. You gutted him. Since when did you have that in you?"

He growled, shaking his head. "He was on top of you. I couldn't waste anymore time with Vic. Not with you screaming like that. Enough to give a man a headache."

You laughed, leaning into him, resting your head on his chest, feeling his heartbeat. You let the shaking subside as his warmth seeped into you.

It was you, and Levi, and you were both alive and coming down off the adrenaline rush of your first kill and fuck. Even here, covered in blood and the stench of Vic’s ruptured bowels, with Levi beside you...

Everything felt right.

When Levi was by your side, everything felt right.

pt iv

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padawanlost · 3 years

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Hey love your content.

Just wanted to ask you something. There's a claim I've seen coming up in fandom a few times now that Obi Wan knew Luke would bring his father back to the light and redeem him. That he even planned as much and this is supposedly evidenced by his not killing Vader in A New Hope and telling Luke to face Vader but not kill him in Return of the Jedi

I'm not convinced, but can you offer a more conclusive answer rebuttal or whatever.

I’ll be honest with you, this is the first time I’ve ever heard such theory so I’ve no idea where it came from or what arguments are being used to support it. All I can show you is the OT itself. The movies make pretty clear that Obi-wan and Yoda were preparing Luke to kill Darth Vader, and that Anakin’s return was something considered impossible until that point.

Because I don’t keep track of DisneySW, all the evidence I provided is strictly based on the original canon, as developed by George Lucas. So if Disney retconned something, I won’t be able to help :)

That being said, that theory doesn’t make much sense to me, sorry. For Anakin’s redemption to be part of some Obi-wan’s master plan, the character would have to have an impossible foresight into everyone’s involved past and future. For Obi-wan to be able to manipulate people and events to push Anakin’s into going back to light, he would first have to understand why Anakin fell in the first place. And if there’s one thing Episode III makes painfully obvious is that Obi-wan was nowhere near Coruscant when Anakin made his fatal decision, nor was he aware of the circumstances that led him to it. Everyone who knew what truly went down were either dead or his new worst enemies.

With that in mind, let’s take a look at Obi-wan’s (alleged) ‘master plan’:

In Episode IV, we have Obi-wan openly lying to Luke about where he came from and dueling Vader (literary to the death). Not exactly the actions of a man who wants the son to save the father’s life.

In Episode V Obi-wan tells Luke not even Yoda had the power or skill required to see into the future of Han and Leia. Considering they were captured by one of the most even being in the galaxy, it wouldn’t be that hard to guess their future did not look pretty.

Luke: But, Han and Leia will die if I don't. Obi-Wan: You don't know that. Even Yoda cannot see their fate.

The idea here is tied to an important concept in SW: free will. The characters are fundamentally free to make their own choices. Anakin, despite being manipulated by Palpatine, ultimately made his own bed. This is true to all of them. Palpatine’s ‘master plan’ wasn’t about controlling people into doing what he wanted, it was using their own nature against them. He nudged them into the making poor decisions, he never stripped them of their agency.

Obi-Wan: It is you and your abilities the Emperor wants. That is why your friends are made to suffer. Luke: That's why I have to go. Obi-Wan: Luke. I don't want to lose you to the Emperor, the way I lost Vader. Luke: You won't. Yoda: Stopped, they must be. On this, all depends. Only a fully trained Jedi Knight, with the Force as his ally, will conquer Vader and his Emperor. If you end your training now, if you choose the quick and easy path as Vader did, you will become an agent of evil. Obi-Wan: Patience. [...] Obi-Wan: If you choose to face Vader, you will do it alone. I cannot interfere.

Unless you see Obi-wan as a manipulative, cruel person who wants an untrained Luke to face two of the most powerful beings in the galaxy alone for his own personal, secret plan, I’d say the movie is pretty clear in showing us that neither Yoda nor Obi-wan want Luke to face Vader at that point. If the plan was to get Luke to going, wouldn’t have been easier to just let him go instead of creating an huge argument about it? Hell, they are willing throw Han and Leia under the bus to keep Luke from leaving. If that wasn’t shady enough now we are supposed to believe that was part of an even worst scheme involving pretty much everyone?

Yoda: Told you I did. Reckless, is he. Now... matters are worse. Obi-Wan: That boy is our last hope. Yoda: No. There is another.

Yeah, it doesn’t sound like using Luke to redeem Vader was their ultimate goal here.

There are some pretty big holes in that theory in terms of character development and narrative structure. I know everyone loves the idea of Vader and Obi-wan having some badass duel in ANH but the truth is Vader had spent the last 20 years training and killing pretty much all kinds of enemies imagine while Obi-wan mediated on Tatooine as grew shockingly old for his age.

As proven on Mustafar, raw power only takes you so far. Anakin has always been much, much more powerful than Obi-wan but in the end Obi-wan won because of skill, training and discipline. Unfortunately, for Obi-wan, he didn’t get much training in his isolation. He couldn’t have because he was in hiding! If that wasn’t enough, the EU confirms that Obi-wan sacrificed himself to allow Luke to scape. There was no secret plan.

Obi-Wan risked a glance through the hangar’s open doorway and saw four stormtroopers guarding the Falcon. He also sensed that Luke was nearby. Hoping to cause a distraction that would allow Luke to board the Falcon, he attacked Vader more vigorously. The noise of clashing lightsabers echoed into the hangar, attracting the stormtroopers’ attention. With his peripheral vision, Obi-Wan saw the stormtroopers leave their stations beside the Falcon and run toward him and Vader. He continued his attack on Vader, and several exchanges later, he sensed Luke’s movement and knew his plan had worked. He risked another glance into the hangar to see several figures racing for the Falcon’s landing ramp: the droids, Chewbacca, Han Solo, Luke, and — Leia! Obi-Wan hadn’t known that Princess Leia was on the battle station, but he recognized the girl in the white dress from the hologram that R2-D2 had displayed. Obi-Wan did not believe in luck or coincidences, and seeing Luke unwittingly reunited with his twin sister, he knew that it was not a tractor beam that had brought him to the battle station, but the will of the Force. His fleeting glance also registered that Luke had paused behind his friends. Luke stood a short distance from the landing ramp and was staring straight at him, gaping. Obi-Wan realized there was only one way Luke, Leia, and the others would escape the battle station alive. He smiled as he looked away from Luke, then closed his eyes and raised his lightsaber up before him. Darth Vader did not hesitate to strike. [Ryder Windham. The Life and Legend of Obi-Wan Kenobi]

Imo, this theory ruins the character of Obi-wan by making him pretty much omniscient and way more powerful and manipulative than he was in canon. Obi-wan wasn’t perfect, but he wasn’t palpatine level of manipulative either. He had no ‘grand plan’ beyond using Luke to kill vader and save the galaxy in a desperate attempt to save the galaxy.

On top of that, let’s remember that Obi-wan had no hope left for Anakin. He did not believe Anakin could be redeemed after Mustafar. If you do not believe md, believe George Lucas.

After the first complete take, Lucas and McGregor discuss when he should say each line: “As you watch Anakin slide down, how about if you take one step forward,” Lucas Suggests. “For a moment, you think about it. Your first impulse is to save him – but then you realize you can’t”. As the takes multiply and the actors find their rhythm and emotions, the scene becomes more and more powerful. Christensen yells “I hate you!”. McGregor says, “I love you. But I will not help you”. Lucas explains that what Obi-wan’s really saying to Anakin is: “Your were our only hope and you blew it. Now we don’t have any hope”. Take. After Anakin implores Obi-wan to save him, George asks Ewan to say “I will not…” softer, almost to himself. Take. “After he burst into flames,” Lucas directs, “it’s as if you’re talking to a dead person. To a piece of toast”. He suggests, to drive home this point, that McGregor change the words in the script to the past tense, “I loved you.” The actor acquiesces, but points out that his subsequent line would have to change to “But I could not help you.” Lucas agrees, and Tenggren alters the script accordingly.[ The Making of ROTS]

Another thing that George is very clear about is that Luke is the one who redeems Anakin.

It really has to do with learning. Children teach you compassion. They teach you to love unconditionally. Anakin can’t be redeemed for all the pain and suffering he’s caused. He doesn’t right the wrongs, but he stops the horror. The end of the saga is simply Anakin saying, I care about this person [Luke], regardless of what it means to me. I will throw away everything that I have, everything that I’ve grown to love - primarily the Emperor - and throw away my life, to save this person. And I’m doing it because he has faith in me; he loves me despite all the horrible things I’ve done. I broke his mother’s heart, but he still cares about me, and I can’t let that die. Anakin is very different in the end. The thing of it is: the prophecy was right. Anakin was the chosen one, and he does bring balance to the Force. He takes the ounce of good still left in him and destroys the Emperor out of compassion for his son. [ GEORGE LUCAS - THE MAKING OF REVENGE OF THE SITH; PAGE 221.]

This brings us back about what I said earlier about narrative structure. This is Luke’s story. Obi-wan is the mentor, that’s it. It’s Luke’s actions, Luke’s choices. To suddenly reveal that everything happened was the result of Obi-wan’s plan would be narrative equivalent of a slap in the face. We watched Luke’s hero journey only to find out his journey was a lie and his choices weren’t really his own. How disappointing!

Not only that but redemption comes from within. Even if Obi-wan had planned for everything, Anakin would need to WANT to change. and knowing it was Luke’s selfless actions that drove Anakin into killing Palpatine, suddenly finding out an ulterior motive behind Luke’s actions (beyond the character’s own goodness) would diminish the weight of Anakin own choices.

But, again, Obi-wan couldn’t have planned for Anakin to return to the light because he didn’t even believe one could be redeemed after such evils.

Obi-Wan’s spirit was invisible but present when Luke arrived in the Endor system, where the Empire had constructed a new Death Star battle station. When Luke surrendered to Darth Vader on the Endor forest moon, he listened as Luke maintained his belief that a remnant of Anakin Skywalker remained within Vader and had not been entirely consumed by evil. Luke urged his father to let go of his hate. Vader said, “It is too late for me, son.” Then he signaled to two stormtroopers to escort Luke to a waiting shuttle that would carry them to the Death Star. As the stormtroopers moved up behind Luke, Vader added, “The Emperor will show you the true nature of the Force. He is your Master now.” Luke stared at Vader for a moment before he said, “Then my father is truly dead.” Obi-Wan’s spirit wished he had convinced Luke of this fact earlier. [Ryder Windham. The Life and Legend of Obi-Wan Kenobi]

Even as they fought, Obi-wan didn’t believe Luke could save Anakin. It was only after witnessing Palpatine’s demise he started to realize what it meant.

Obi-Wan knew that Vader would never help, and he felt almost overwhelmed by a sense of dread. Luke would soon be dead, and Vader would remain the Emperor’s puppet. In fact, Obi-Wan was so convinced of Vader’s nature that he was stunned by what happened next. Vader grabbed the Emperor and lifted him off his feet. [Ryder Windham. The Life and Legend of Obi-Wan Kenobi]

Had Obi-Wan’s spirit not witnessed Vader’s action, he never would have believed it. Vader, the same monster that Obi-Wan had left to die on Mustafar, had sacrificed himself to save his son. And suddenly Obi-Wan realized where he had failed. For unlike Luke, Obi-Wan had not only believed that Anakin was completely consumed by the dark side, but had actually refused to believe that any goodness could have remained within Vader. [Ryder Windham. The Life and Legend of Obi-Wan Kenobi]

Btw, in ROTJ, Obi-wan doesn’t try to talk Luke out of killing Vader. In fact, the oppositve of that happens:

Luke Skywalker: There is still good in him. Obi-Wan: He's more machine now than man. Twisted and evil. Luke Skywalker: I can't do it, Ben. Obi-Wan: You cannot escape your destiny. You must face Darth Vader again. Luke Skywalker: I can't kill my own father. Obi-Wan: Then the Emperor has already won. You were our only hope.

Star Wars, at its core, has a very simple message about love and the power it has over people. in the end, the good guys won because they were good, not because they were being guided there by some powerful guy. In the end, it was love that won the war and saved the day. Everyone’s love. Luke’s love for Anakin, Anakin’s love for Luke, Han’s love for Leia, etc. Selfless love makes better people and good people do good things. It’s not about manipulating actions, people or even knowing everything. In fact, I’d say it’s the appositive.

Luke didn’t know he could save Vader, but he tried anyway and that’s what makes him a hero. It’s the not knowing but having faith in someone out of love, faith they can be better than they are. That’s what saves the world. It’s not knowing everything and still acting out love and compassion.

Anyway, I honestly don’t know where this idea of Obi-wan knowing Anakin’s future and planning for it came from. But I do know it’s not supported by the movies, the EU or George himself.

#ask #englishlady #what if #obi wan kenobi #sw meta #meta: fandom #txt #meta: anakin #meta: obi wan

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sdv-mostly-shane · 4 years

Text

The Guessing Game.

Summary: Shane is at the saloon, when the farmer starts talking about the person they love in town. The man they are describing sounds so amazing that Shane couldn’t possibly think they’re talking about him.

Warnings: mild mentions of alcoholism, mild NSFW

*Thud*. He didn’t exactly intend to slam the door, but he didn’t care enough to stop himself. *Thud* The ache of his upper back as he dropped himself against the wall wasn’t enough to distract him from the greater throbbing in his head as he fought off last nights abyss, yet still craved another, all the same. *Thud*. The familiar, dull sound of glass hitting wood, as he raised the liquid amber to his lips, over and over and over and over and.....

He hated himself.

Though his mind was flooded with apparitions that screamed declarations of self loathing, desperation, and insults, he still could hear one thing above the thoughts- the farmers voice. The moment that solid door opened, Shane looked for the familiar sway of the farmers boots through the fan of his eyelashes on his downturned head. He never looked up except to take another pensive drink, but from the moment he caught sight of those boots, he lingered his gaze just a moment too long on the face of the farmer, hoping to never be noticed. The one thing he could always do without being caught though, was listen-and that, he certainly did. He loved the sound of the farmers voice

He hated how much of a fool he was

Emily’s bright singsong of a voice was heard first: “Hey, Farmer! We’ve become decent friends, haven’t we? That’s fine with me.”

The farmer responded with some pleasantries, as they pulled out a counter stool, and the two continued their conversation, seeming as close as friends could be. Shane only ever had one friend like that-and he wasn’t here anymore. He longed to be talked to like that again, but not just by anyone, but by the farmer. He, however, knew he was far too messed up for that to happen, so he instead resigned to pushing the farmer away as much as possible, to avoid being crushed by the inevitable failure that his depression and alcoholism caused on his relationships.

Emily chimed, interrupting him from his dark thoughts: “So, now that you’re all settled in, have you had your eye on anyone? You can tell me! I promise I won’t spill”

In an instant, Shane felt every ounce of blood rush straight to his face. He quickly hid behind his glass, the speed of doing so nearly causing him to fall over from the combined embarrassment and the buzz. He hadn’t allowed himself the luxury of dreaming about being with the farmer, but he certainly hadn’t thought about the possibility of the farmer being with someone else. The blood from his face turned, and drained straight to the pit of his stomach, and he was overcome with the dark, sour images of the farmer being held by another...

He hated how much he longed for the farmer.

He braced himself for the heartache-a pain just as familiar as the taste of the amber in his cup. Who would it be? The farmer was so good, so pure, so charming, and so perfect. They already had the whole town wrapped around their finger; they could choose anyone and they’d be theirs in an instant. Who even said they’d have to choose someone from The Valley? After all, they had a life in the city... they probably had plenty of others ready to accept the moment they’d ask. There was no possible way someone as bright and beautiful could ever like someone like Shane, let alone BE with him. He held his breath as he waited for an answer.

“Well... (as much as Shane dreaded the coming heartbreak, he still felt the warmth in his heart from their voice) I haven’t been here in The Valley very long, but I knew it as soon as I first saw him, that I would marry him one day. He’s absolutely the one for me.”

Here it comes. A ‘him’. Was it Sam? He was so funny, boyishly innocent with fluffy blonde hair, and he played the guitar for Yoba’s sake. It could easily have been love at first sight.

The farmer was interrupted by a squealing Emily- “I knew it! I could see it in your eyes. I know that look anywhere. What’s he like?”

“You know, I haven’t really talked to him too much; he always seems to be in such a hurry. But from what I have seen, he’s really gentle and caring towards those he loves, even if he does say things wrong sometimes. He’s really funny in a blunt sort of way, which I really like. I find him quite charming.”

Sounds like Harvey. The man was as gentle as it could come; Shane’s gruffness was in sharp contrast, and charming was definitely not a word he would use to describe himself. If the farmer was after someone nice, and who could actually support them, then the Doctor was the top pick.

“You know, I actually really think he’s super attractive too.”

“Well obviously I would hope so, if you had this big of a crush on him”

“Okay, yeah, but I mean it! His features are so defined, strong, and unique-I could look at his face all day. I really think he’s gorgeous. His hands are something else too; they look so rough and capable....” the farmer leaned in close to Emily but said in a not-so-quiet whisper, “you know, between you and I, Ive spent more than one night dreaming about those hands all over me..When I said capable, i meant it”

The blood from the knot in Shane’s stomach traveled further down, and he had to reign his thoughts in before they made a gallop toward a one-way dive off a cliff. Trying to distance himself away from those intense desires, he focused on the dream-guy the farmer was describing; Harvey was out of the question then-the doctor was neither defined nor strong. The looker of the town was Elliot, even Shane, oblivious as he was, knew that. While he hated the way his body looked in the mirror and was disgusted by the extra weight and shortness he was so blessed with, Elliot was tall, lean, and had silky hair like a girl. It’d make sense that the farmer would want someone as beautiful as them... that hand comment left Shane doubtful that it was indeed, Elliot though, since he never worked manual labor a day in his life-why would his hands be rough? Whoever it was, d*mn was he lucky. Shane knew in his heart he could never compete with that, so he forlornly sank deeper into his drink, promising himself for the hundredth time to get in better shape, starting tomorrow.

“How did you meet?”

“Well actually, he was pretty arrogant to me at first, but I feel like he puts up a front, and that he’s actually just hiding how sensitive he is. He really seems to have such great depth of emotion. I really want to see what’s behind the wall he puts up; He seems so kind hearted.”

Shane knew the only other single arrogant a*sholes in town beside himself were Alex and Sebastian. He saw a past version of himself in Alex, full of dreams, ability, and goals. Of course the farmer would like someone ambitious like that. Alex didn’t exactly hit the “depth of emotions” qualifier though, and was a big bit of a himbo. He didn’t really know Sebastian, except that he sometimes heard the rumbling of his motorcycle through the mountain on late nights spent in cindersnap forests. The farmer didn’t seem the type to go after that emo gothic ‘bad boy’ type, but then again, they could like the adventure that Sebastian could give them- something Shane never could do. Neither of them seemed all together kind-hearted, though, as far as Shane could tell.

Shane hated this wonderful sounding person that the farmer was describing.

Emily quickly responded “He sounds so dreamy. You HAVE to tell me who it is this instant. Do I know them?”

“Yeah actually, you see him in here all the time!”

Okay, that one caught the liquor in his mouth. None of the bachelors he thought the farmer was talking about frequented the bar all too often... maybe he was wrong? The only other guys that were “here all the time” were Gus, Willy, and Clint... and Shane didn’t even want to go there in his mind, and none of them were fitting to the descriptions the farmer laid out. The person that the farmer was describing seemed so thoroughly wonderful, that Shane didn’t even consider throwing himself in to his imaginary puzzle, he was none of those things that the farmer said.

He hated knowing that he would never be enough for the farmer

The alcohol alone was enough to make his mind cloudy, but the thoughts of the farmer being with any one of the men in town had his head spinning even more with jealousy and lust. He was so fervent and lost in his own train of thought trying to piece together the mystery, that he didn’t realize that with every sip of his drink, he drug his feet closer and closer to the farmer until he was practically sitting in their chair with them.

“In fact, he’s here now”

Shane whipped his head around, so close to the farmer that he nearly bumped into their hat, heart racing, and desperate to finally figure out who tf was so dear to his beloved farmer, so that he could just take the bitter wound and get it over with. Shane took inventory of who was in the room: Farmer, Gus, Leah, and Emily, who had just silently went to go grab a dish cloth from the back cupboards and turned the corner out of sight.

The breath of the farmers next words was hot and close in Shane’s ear : “I think you may know him too, Shane.”

He loved the feeling of the farmers breath on him.

#sdv shane #stardew shane #stardew valley #shane #sdv prompts #sdv #sdv shorts #shane x farmer #sdv farmer #farmer x shane #sdv fanfic

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theheartsmistakes · 4 years

Text

The Last Night Part XV

(A/N at end)

Parts I-XIV:

Here is Part I

Here is Part II

Here is Part III

Here is Part IV

Here is Part V

Here is Part VI

Here is Part VII

Here is Part VIII

Here is Part IX

Here is Part X

Here is Part XI

Here is Part XII

Part XIII

Part XIV

Part XV

Lucie’s Aunt Cecily and Uncle Gabriel’s house was an old brick-fronted Georgian house near the railway station. A suite of severe bottle green horsehair furniture occupied the dark-paneled front room, and Lucie tried not to slide about as she waited perched on the edge of a curlicued sofa. Heavy curtains disguised the elegance of the large windows and stopped the sun from penetrating. A thick Turkey rug in shades of purple and brown added notes of affluence. As she waited, she grew quietly more agitated at the impending conversation she had been practicing since dawn with Grace Blackthorn, of all people. She wished she had the moral strength, or the disciple to stay away as Jesse had requested, but considering what he requested was frot with idiocy and a cruelty unlike himself, she decided to ignore it. Still, after three days of his absence, she could almost feel him smirking in disapproval behind her, but without the courage to face her.

Or perhaps he was being as stubborn as she was.

Impossible, she was far more stubborn.

At last a door opening in the paneling and Aunt Cecily with her dark hair curled and pinned to rest against the nape of her neck, arrived with Grace following behind her. The girl always reminded Lucie more of a ghost than her brother ever did.

“I’ll have some tea brought in,” said Aunt Cecily. “You girls let me know if there is anything else I can bring you.”

“Thank you,” said Lucie, without taking her eyes off of Grace, as her Aunt quietly left the room. When the door clicked shut behind her, Lucie removed her gloves one at a time and placed them on the wooden coffee table in front of her. “And thank you for agreeing to meet with me. My aunt says that you haven’t been accepting much company. Is that because they all know what a conniving monster you are and you’re afraid of what they’ll say... or because you’re embarrassed by what they know?”

“Can it be both?” Grace asked down at her folded hands.

Lucie tilted her head. “You don’t get to sit up here and feel sorry for yourself.”

“That’s not what—“

“Not when my friend is lying on her death bed because of your selfish actions,” she said, straightening her posture as the maid walked in with a silver tray of tea and freshly baked biscuits. “Would you like some tea?” asked Lucie with contempt.

Grace shook her head.

“What you did was utterly abhorrent,” started Lucie, as she poured herself a cup. “Shackling my brother with some dark magic when he was nothing but a stupid, idiotic boy, without the brains or know-how to refuse a beautiful girl; all these years just stringing him along like a lost dog to use for your entertainment when you felt like it. Then, when he was finally free of you; engaged to the most perfect of humans to walk the earth since Raziel himself, and you kiss him, in front of his betrothed.”

“I can explain,” said Grace, though she kept her eyes on her hands which Lucie could now see were trembling.

“I didn’t come here for shallow explanations,” said Lucie, surprised by her cruelty. “If you wish to confess your sins then find a church, I am not here to pardon you. I am here about your brother.”

Grace’s eyes lifted then and widened at Lucie’s words.

“Jesse Blackthorn,” said Lucie. “And don’t bother telling me that he’s dead and has been for years, I already know all of this. What I want to know is where you have his body and your plan for resurrecting him?”

Grace peered at her closely as if looking for signs of madness.

While Lucie would have much rather found this knowledge out herself, she’d come to realize after hours of laborious concentration that if she were going to bring Jesse back from the dead without the last breath of his life, then she was going to need some assistance. And since Jesse, the heartless coward, was no longer responding to her, she decided that the only person in the world that she could possibly alliance herself with was Grace. Grace who lived with the corpse of her dead brother for years inside a dusty old manor. She realized that he may never speak to her again if she did manage to raise him from the dead, but at least he’d be alive.

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Grace. Still looking slightly confused. If Lucie didn’t know better, she might believe her blank expression.

“Since you’ve stained yourself an unbelievable liar and a pathetic loner, I’m going to tell you a secret of mine that no one else in the entire world knows aside from my awful brother, but before I disclose this information, if I find out that you’ve told a soul what I’m about to tell you, I will tell everyone what Cordelia and I walked into that night before she left,” said Lucie, looking Grace directly in her solemn silver eyes. “I will destroy your reputation beyond repair that not even Charles Fairchild will stand to look at you.”

Grace’s face dropped, horrified.

“I can commune with the dead,” said Lucie, and sipped her tea. “Your brother,” she willed herself to say his name, “Jesse. I’ve been talking to him for months now. He saved my brother’s life with his last breath that he’d been keeping for himself, for that I owe him more favors than I can possibly repay in this lifetime. I want to help bring him back.”

Grace, who wore an expression, as if Lucie had reached across the room and slapped her suddenly blinked after a long time of not. “Is he here now?”

“No,” said Lucie. “We’re not on speaking terms at the moment. He’s being stubborn. Though, I suspect he’s not far away.”

Grace released a ghost of a laugh that sounded more like a breath. “He’s always been quite stubborn, Jesse. Always.” She gave Lucie a solemn look that roused in her the slightest trickle of sympathy for the girl she considered her enemy. “But I’m afraid I cannot help you.”

“Why not?” Lucie rose as Grace did, preparing to block her path from leaving the room. “Don’t you want to see Jesse alive again? Isn’t that why your mother has been preserving his body all this time? You’ll just leave him to settle in-between realms when he so utterly deserves to return to this one?”

“Of course I want to see my brother alive again,” said Grace. “But you don’t understand what you’re asking.”

Lucy set her teacup and saucer down on the table and straightened again. “I know exactly what I’m asking. I’m not naive enough to think this isn’t dangerous or ridiculous, but I’m also desperate enough to believe that it will work. And since you’ve made yourself quite the social pariah of our small circle, I’m offering you something of a partnership.”

Grace smoothed her pale hands over her lace skirt, embroidered with snowflakes made of gold thread along the hem. “And what would James or Cordelia think of this partnership?”

Without hesitation, Lucie answered. “They needn’t know of it.”

Grace sunk back down onto the sofa, her quicksilver eyes focusing on the teapot in the center of the silver tray as she spoke. “My mother, she was an awful woman— is an awful woman. A tyrant and a bully, but she was not always that way. The world was cruel towards her since her childhood. Death always knocking on her door, but never for her, just for those she loved. It made her cruel and vicious.”

Lucie fought the urge to insist that she already knew all of this and move Grace towards the part where she agreed to help, but she reached for a biscuit instead.

“Death begets death begets death. Did he not tell you, my illusive brother? You cannot take from death without giving to death first and sometimes it takes more than its share.” Grace twisted a silver ring around her middle finger. “I’ll help you, but I’ll ask you first Lucie Herondale, only once and never again, what are you willing to lose to death for the return of my brother? What life are you willing to exchange for his?”

The biscuit turned to ash in her mouth and it took a great effort for her to swallow. Names flashed before her eyes: her mother, her father, James, Cordelia, Uncle Jem, her aunts, uncles, cousins, friends… But before she could answer, her aunt Cecily appeared in the doorway, a letter in the hand that rested at her side.

“I’m sorry to interrupt you girls, but your mother’s sent word,” said Cecily to Lucie. “Cordelia is awake and she’s asking for you.”

Lucie stared out the carriage window the entirety of the drive home, her hands fussing with the fabric of her skirts as London went by out the carriage window. Her thoughts flooded with what Grace had told her about bringing Jesse back from the dead. If what she’d told her was true, and she wasn’t entirely sure that it was, she’d need to find another solution and soon.

Why didn’t Jesse tell her? She wondered. Why didn’t he say anything? He must have known and instead of simply explaining what it would cost to bring him back from death, he ran away like a petulant child.

Recovering her composure by taking a steady breath through her nose and out her mouth, Lucie tried to think about her situation in a less objective way. It was a trick her father had taught her as a child when she was sad or angry. To analyze the problem in a larger, more empirical way would, he always said, improve her mood and her intellect at the same time. Though she now thought it possibly a very unsuitable response to a crying child, she often found herself rearranging her problems as if planning to present them in a small treatise.

Besides, she couldn’t think about her situation with Jesse now. There was a more pressing matter at hand. Cordelia was awake. And Lucie's intricate web of lies to keep Belial’s agenda unknown until she could figure out how to bring Jesse back to life and anyone finding out about her ability would only draw unwanted attention to herself. She needed to know how much Cordelia remembered of what Belial said to Lucie and how much she’d already told the others.

Lucie was out of the carriage before the driver could open the door for her. She gathered her skirts in her hands and took the marble steps two at a time and burst through the doors and nearly slid to a halt on the wood floors as her eyes befell Cordelia standing by the front window between her mother and Alastair.

All of Lucie’s worries suddenly vanished like steam from hot tea into open air.

Cordelia looked a vision standing in front of the floor to ceiling stained glass window, cut with colors to look like a lake with a shining angel hovering above it. Lucie took in every detail in her mind to use in her writing later: elegant in a pink silk dress that hugged her frame. Her vibrant red hair had been twisted back in a coronet with tightly wound curls hanging in her face. Her skin lush with color in her cheeks and her eyes were alert as they caught Lucie. A sad smile broke across Cordelia’s face as she looked upon her friend.

“I’m sorry!” Lucie shrieked and ran the rest of the way towards her friend with arms outstretched. Cordelia opened her own and welcomed Lucie without hesitation. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you woke up. I should have been—“

“Careful, Lucie,” said Tessa sitting on the couch between her father and Uncle Jem. “Cordelia is still healing.”

Lucie cursed, which earned her another scolding from both of her parents this time.

“I’m sorry,” she repeated to no one and everyone.

Cordelia’s smile brightened as Lucie released her and stepped back. “It’s alright. I’m not as fragile as they’ll have you believe.”

“She is,” said Sona, who also appeared healthier than when Lucie had seen her last. “She won’t admit it, but she is.”

“I will mind myself perfectly,” promised Lucie, with a nod. She made a face only Cordelia could see and understand, earning herself a laugh from her oldest friend.

“May we have a moment,” asked Cordelia to the people in the room. “I wish to speak to Lucie alone, if that’s all right.”

Sona looked to be about ready to disagree, but Alastair took her hand and led her towards the doorway that went into the dining hall. Tessa, Will, and Jem followed after leaving Cordelia and Lucie alone.

“Should we sit?” asked Lucie. “Are you still in terrible pain?”

“Not so much anymore,” said Cordelia, as she lowered herself onto the sofa. Though the way she angled her body showed that she favored her left side some. Sitting beside Cordelia, Lucie could see what she could not before. The dark shadows underneath Cordelia’s once bright and vibrant eyes, now dull by what she’d seen; what had happened to her. The dryness of her once smooth lips. The veins in her neck and dark bruising along her chest that peaked out from the lace collar of her dress.

The memory of finding Cordelia collapsed in the sand at the feet of Belial, like a broken doll, assaulted Lucie. Her mouth went dry and her eyes burned as the sound of her screaming Cordelia’s name through the wind echoed in her ears.

“You look well,” said Lucie, her throat tight and unlike herself. “You didn’t miss much while you were asleep. We were all scolded something terrible for going after you without informing the adults. We’re all on a strict curfew and cannot go out in large groups unless it’s for something mundane.” She reached forward and took a biscuit from the center of the coffee table. She took a bite and chewed for a moment, dusting the crumbs from her skirt, thinking of a way to approach the Belial subject without frightening Cordelia back into a coma. “Probably for the best. My brother and his band of— whatever they call themselves— can use a little restriction.”

Cordelia tensed a fraction, but enough for Lucie to notice. She quickly went over her words to see what she might have said and realized that her delinquent brother was not amongst the people in the room when she’d arrived.

“You haven’t spoken to him?” asked Lucie.

Cordelia shook her head.

“Good,” said Lucie. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to. Consider me your personal guard. I will shield you from his presence at all times.”

Cordelia’s mouth twitched at the corner. “Thank you,” she said, “but I think it’s important that we talk if I’m going to be staying here a bit longer with my family.”

“A bit longer?” Lucie inhaled. “You’re still leaving for Alicante?”

Cordelia nodded. “Once everything settles down and I remember what it is that happened to me inside the shadow realm with your— with Belial.”

Lucie could not restrain a slight start of shock. “You— you don’t remember anything?”

Cordelia only shook her head, those intricate curls falling across her face as she looked down at her hands. “I only remember leaving the institute with Alastair and then everything goes dark. Brother Zachariah said that it’s not uncommon for memory loss and that what I might have suffered was traumatic.” She said the word as if she didn’t quite trust it. “It’s the mind’s way of protecting itself. They told me that you were there. That you rescued me.”

Lucie could hear her heart beat in her ears as she met the expectant eyes of Cordelia, searching for the pass that would free her of London, James, Belial, and the memories that came with all three.

When Cordelia left that fateful night after finding Grace and James in the throws of passion, and Cordelia told Lucie that she was leaving with Alastair to return to Alicante indefinitely, she’d been overwhelmed with a dreadful loneliness that she often felt as a child when James would dismiss her to play with the other boys including Anna, and all Lucie had were her stories. While stories were a wonderful place to spend her time, some intrinsic part of her craved companionship, if not someone to share her stories with.

And then she met Cordelia, and not only did she have someone to share her stories with, but she had someone to fill her stories with. She wanted to write many more adventures of the beautiful Cordelia; their adventures as parabatai, when it was unexpectedly ripped away from her.

And now, she was being presented a second chance. But, as with everything, it came with a terrible price.

“Lucie?” said Cordelia, as if she’d been saying it for some time. “Are you all right?”

“Yes,” Lucie nodded and reached to take Cordelia’s hand in her own.

“They said that you brought me back from the Shadow realm?” asked Cordelia. “How? What did Belial say? Why did he want me?”

“He was after James.” And there went another strand to the web of her lie. Lucie released Cordelia’s hand and smoothed out her skirt. “I suppose word got around of your engagement. Apparently even in the Shadow Realm, engagements announcements do not go unnoticed. He thought that if he captured you it would draw James out of hiding, but instead I arrived. I tried to kill him, but he cannot be killed by earthly or heavenly weapons, and since I have nothing to offer Belial, he threatened to kill us both and return our corpses.” She went on perfecting her story as if she were writing at her desk and not lying to her friend. “He was about to do it too, but I managed to convince him that wasn’t in his best interest. If he killed me then he’d never gain access to James. So, he settled for your life instead. You did a wonderful job convincing him of your death. I, for a moment, believed it myself. The next thing I know, we were falling through what appeared to be a dark tunnel and when I opened my eyes again, we were back on the street. James found us moments later.”

Cordelia frowned. “He was after James?”

“Yes,” said Lucie, taking another bite of her biscuit. “Poor company that brother of mine. Biscuit?”

Cordelia shook her head and while she asked no further questions, Cordelia seemed to ponder Lucie’s story.

The door to the foyer burst open followed by a cacophony of loud voices and even more obtrusive footsteps as Thomas and Christopher walked into the Institute, arguing with someone over their shoulder about being five minutes late.

“Thank you for this information, Thomas” said Matthew following behind them. “Years of academia and study and I never did manage to learn how to tell time.”

James emerged last, his hands tucked in his trouser’s front pockets, as he extended his leg back to close the door. A smile curved on his mouth that did not reach his eyes then wandered towards the sitting room where Lucie remained beside Cordelia, watching her friend intensely.

Cordelia stood, her dress falling around her ankles, her fingers gliding over the fabric as she said, “Hello James.”

(Author’s Notes: Hi guys! I hope you’re all doing well. Thank you for the kind words on the last part. I missed writing/reading with you guys and I’m so thankful that you all came back to The Last Night. I have a new obsession, I’ve finally read Sarah J Maas’s A Court of Thorns and Roses. Have you all read this? Am I super behind? It’s amazing! I love that story so much, so if my blog is suddenly splashed with ACoTaR, then ya’ll know why now. It’s just SO good! I hope you enjoyed this chapter, please hit that reblog and spread it around, give it some love, leave me a comment about what you thought, and follow along for updates. Okay, love you guys, bye! Next update Sunday 9/13)

#the shadowhunter chronicles #The Last Night #jordelia fanfiction #jordelia #james x cordelia #james herondale #Cordelia Carstairs #lucie herondale #jesse blackthorn #grace blackthorn #the last hours #chain of gold #cassandra clare #Matthew Fairchild #christopher lightwood #thomas lightwood #tessa gray #alastair carstairs

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idontwanttospoiltheparty · 3 years

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Ive never really understood the hype surrounding Taylor Swift - I mean, I like some of her songs, but im not big on modern pop music so generally she just doesn’t really click for me. But I find it interesting that theres quite a few of Beatles/Swift blogs - like, they should have very little in common given that they’re from completely different eras and all, but somehow people seem to find a lot of semblance between the two. << and thats not me shitting on any of these blogs btw! Hope I don’t come off as rude or condescending there <3

Anyway, I was just wondering what got you into Taylor Swift? (I think ive read your post on how you got into the Beatles)

Hi, anon! Don't worry, I don't think you're rude or condescending! I agree they don't have too much in common and I don't really like their music for the same reasons.* I do have a playlist of Paul songs that have similar vibes to Taylor songs but it's mostly lyric-based. (Also the Beatles For Sale songs actually have quite the Taylor-tinge because Paul and John were not immune to Country Music)

I saw @stewy say once that a possible reason there are a good handful of us Swiftie-Beatle People on here is the appeal of a vast discography, which I agree with. If you have an artist/group with 200ish songs, it's just really fun to really dive into their work and explore all the facets. I also think: we're talking about the most popular band of all time and one of the highest-selling artists of the 21st century. They have a lot of fans so there's bound to be overlap, regardless of musical differences.

Moving on to your question: Getting into Taylor was an extremely personal experience for me and so my explanation is probably going to be kind of long so I'll put it under a read more.

It was spring-summer 2014, I was 15. I had heard the more popular songs of hers starting with Love Story and enjoyed pretty much all of them (I always found her hopelessly romantic point of view fascinating) but before I got a Spotify account in 2013 it was difficult in general for me to really get into an artists' entire discography so most of her songs had flown under my radar.

At the time, I was in this very weird sort of codependent online friendship with this girl who was basically my first real best friend and my first more or less crush. She was very depressed and I was very much in an I Could Fix Her™ mood, except that I obviously couldn't fix her and it made me feel like I wasn't enough and she had begun pulling more and more away from me and not replying to my messages and it was simply driving me insane. I consider it the saddest period in my life.

at some point during this period, I started trying to connect with other people (all online, I didn't know how to talk seriously to anyone IRL) and explaining the issues I'd been having, and one of the people who brought me joy and whom I actually felt not drained talking to was a huge swiftie. And IDK the fact that she loved Taylor and the fact that talking to her made my life better (and also the fact that I liked all the Taylor songs I knew at that point) just made me decide to give her a listen. And I think that whole "large discography discovery" phenomenon really helped me at the time (funny, because her discography has doubled since then). It gave me something new to focus on; there were just so many songs to discover, all telling such rich stories. I also have always loved bridges, they are almost always my favourite part of a song. And Taylor, god-bless her, loves them too and always puts her ALL in them. Like pretty much every bridge of hers brings the song to the next level, and even a lot of her songs I don't adore tend to have great bridges (Stay Stay Stay and Paper Rings come to mind). I think one of her most underrated qualities is how good she is at song structure and really building up an entire musical journey with a song. She also almost always adds cool ad-libs in her second and third choruses to keep the songs interesting and dynamic (or at least since she's gone pop). Anyways, back to the story: Then Taylor announced 1989 as her next album and released Shake It Off, and it was just like this great happy thing for me to look forward to, when I had very little keeping me going. The era was promoting a lot of happiness which in hindsight was slightly fabricated and it was just a really great thing for me to latch onto.

At the same time I was coming to realize that I was gonna have to pull away completely from my friend and all those break-up songs just… Hit, y'know? Like, some people seem to think Taylor's a one-trick pony because she likes to write break-up songs but to me, break-ups are just like this moment where you as a human can potentially feel every single emotion, and Taylor's songs have covered every facet of the concept. Here are some songs I remember from that period, that all meant a lot to me at the time because they explained my own pain to me so well:

Haunted, for the absolute terror you feel in the first moments you realize someone is probably gonna leave you. Come on, come on / Don't leave me like this / I thought I had you figured out / Something's gone terribly wrong / You're all I wanted.

I Almost Do, for the inner turmoil you feel when you know you have to stay away from someone for your own good but you really, really have to resist just running back to that person. We've made quite a mess, Babe / It's probably better off this way / And I confess, Babe / In my dreams you're touching my face / And asking me if I wanna try again / With you / And I almost do.

Last Kiss, for that absolute sadness that comes simply with remembering everything that was good and not comprehending how it could've possibly ended. I still remember / The look on your face / Lit through the darkness / At 1:58 / Words that you whispered / For just us to know / You told me you loved me / So why did you go / Away?

Forever and Always, for that feeling of desperately wanting to hold on to what you still have but at the same time realizing it probably isn't going to last and having no idea how to fix it, plus feeling like the other person doesn't even care. So here's to everything / Coming down to nothing / Here's to silence / That cuts me to the core / Where is this going? / Thought I knew for a minute / But I don't anymore.

Dear John, my all-time favourite song, for that moment you find clarity and realize that you deserved better and that you were headed in an extremely dark direction because of this other person. [DISCLAIMER: my friend did NOT abuse me nor did we have some inappropriate age difference. But the way she would ignore me and her general moodiness really affected my own mental health and self-worth problems] You paint me a blue sky / And go back and turn it to rain / And I lived in your chess games / But you changed the rules every day / Wondering which version of you I might get on the phone / Tonight / Well I stopped picking up / And this song is to let you know why.

(She's covered more aspects of break-ups in other songs [cheating, divorce, feeling awkward around your ex amongst others], these are just the ones I remember being really important to me when I was first getting into her)

She really helped me feel a lot less alone during one of my loneliest periods and I really can't thank her enough for that. Soon after this, I started crushing on a girl in my class and Taylor's love songs started to take on a new meaning for me as well.

What's crazy to me is, when she went on hiatus for a few years, a part of me thought maybe I'd grown out of her and no longer had much in common with her, but when reputation came out I was pulled right back into my love for her as a person and musician and then when Lover came out I found that she was still explaining feelings to me better than I ever could (specifically with the songs The Archer and Cornelia Street). And now with folklore and evermore she's simply absolutely perfected her story-telling and I find myself deeply moved even by the songs I don't directly relate to. I feel like she has this amazing ability to find the absolute truth in the specific. I've never had a summer romance with someone who already had a girlfriend and mostly wanted to go back to her, and yet the bridge of august feels so real to me, y'know?

Back when we were still changin' for the better Wanting was enough For me, it was enough To live for the hope of it all Cancel plans just in case you'd call And say, "Meet me behind the mall" So much for summer love and saying "us" 'Cause you weren't mine to lose

It's hard to explain but looking at this, like it's so much more than the story it's telling. It's talking about how when you're young you really need so little to feel satisfied; how sometimes the idea of someone maybe spending time with you is better than actually doing things with other people; and how if someone using you without much thought can make you feel like you're not even entitled to grieve what you lost. Sorry. I'll stop. Don't want to go insane.

So, all of this is very personal and unique to me, but I think really the main thing that draws me to her is how vulnerable and honest she is about emotions, how eloquently she can explain the pain of being alive to me. Some people think she isn't the strongest singer, but I think, much like John actually, one of her greatest assets is how good she is at projecting emotion. The song happiness is a song I think has some lyrically weak moments but her vocal performance on it is so raw and devastating that every single line works even when, looking at it on paper, it feels like it shouldn't.

Hope this rambling made sense to you, lmao?? I love talking about Taylor though so thanks for the ask! Also very open to giving song recs if you do want to check her out more but I won't unless solicited to lmao *Sort of off-topic but I do think there's a relation between my fascination with the Beatles' history and my love for a great break-up song. I like pain I guess :)

#ask #anon #taylor #mine

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overdrivels · 3 years

Text

The Way to a Heart (20)

<<Chapter 19

When Hanzo wakes, he almost punches himself in the face trying to rub the sand from his eyes, body refusing to cooperate with any amount of finesse. When he is able to focus, he recognizes the interior of one of the medical bay rooms at Gibraltar. The significance of it doesn’t sink in until he sees his bandaged hands where the phantom feeling of his punches still linger.

Disappointment and anguish overpowers the ache and grogginess—he slams his fists against legs—the pain that shoots through him and renders his vision spotty does little to deter him from doing it again.

Reaper left him alive even though he had all the ability in the world to just shoot himself and Genji dead. It was humiliating.

Only the good die young, and he is none of those things.

“You’re awake!”

Dr. Ziegler walks into the room with Genji right at her heels. She approaches, but Genji is faster, interrupting her path.

Genji’s usual mask is off, allowing Hanzo to see the entirety of his face. It is first shocked, then twists into something like rage; it’s strangely assuring. What truly strikes him is not the scars on his face, no, but that his thick eyebrows, so similar to his own but more pronounced, are still intact.

“Genj—”

He is barely able to react—he later blames the drugs being pumped into him at the time—and thanks his lifelong training for teaching him how to shut his mouth.

The punch to the face nearly knocks out his teeth and consciousness. He could've sworn he heard the good doctor curse loudly. Before he is able to recover and give him a piece of his addled mind, his cheeks are enveloped in cool synthetic leather, and Genji's forehead meets his own.

The contrast in temperature is oddly comforting.

"I thought I almost lost you, brother," Genji whispers. The ringing in his ears is not loud enough to drown out the pain in his brother's synthetic voice.

Any protest or words he has dies pathetically in his throat. There is a click of something in the back of his heart, a spark in the depths of his mind.

Instead, all he can do is grab his brother by the shoulders and say, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

---

After all the excitement dies down and everyone is ushered out of his room, he’s subject to a battery of tests (including another one for concussion because Genji really doesn’t know how to hold back) that pass by in a blur. Dr. Ziegler mercifully does not bog him down with the details of his injuries or what happened, simply inferring that Winston will update him when he is feeling more like a person and less of a ragdoll.

Left alone in the room, he finds the quiet to be peaceful instead of distressing. For the first time in a very long time, there is a reign of silence in his heart and a strange clarity to his muddled thoughts that he has never found before. He supposes almost dying would do that to a person, and perhaps that’s the reason why Genji is the way he is now.

Or maybe he really is concussed from Genji’s punch.

He watches sunlight filter in through the narrow windows, the way scarce bits of dust dance and twirl in the spotlight. Time passes by just like that with nary a thought.

Sunlight eventually gives way to twilight. Demons that would normally take advantage of the encroaching dark ready to stab him with past memories and sharpened ‘what if’s are not around. This quiet is peaceful, comfortingly so. Even the pain he should be feeling is dulled by anesthesia and the feeling of cotton stuffed beneath his skin.

It’s only when there’s a quiet knock on his door does he realize the whole day has passed him by. Was he awake the whole time or has he been drifting between sleep and consciousness?

When another knock comes, he realizes he hasn’t answered and the room is a shade darker than before.

“Come in.”

Surprise comes to him slowly and with less intensity than he expected.

"Chef. Why are you here?"

It's strange to see you on the other side of the bed now considering your roles were reversed not too long ago. But something about your appearance tugs at him—there’s a sense of weariness and exhaustion that seems to eclipse his own that he can’t place. He just knows.

You smile weakly, lifting the tray in your hands for him to see.

"I thought I'd bring you some food. Something easy on the stomach?"

Hunger isn’t very high on his list of needs or wants at the moment, but he waves you in with his non-IV-tethered hand anyway. He doesn’t have the heart to turn you or your good will away. The door closes quiet as a whisper as you tiptoe into the room, the lights coming on in slow intervals. Like an angel or a main character coming onto the stage, he thinks.

On the tray, there’s a cream colored ‘soup’ with chopped green spring onions on top and some bread on the side. It is a far cry from the meals he’s expected from you and reminds him of the earlier days when ingredients were clearly scarce and he didn’t know you were a person.

“This is…?”

“Artichoke soup.”

The side of his mouth twitches downward. Whatever little appetite he may have had dissipates. “Have you eaten yet, Chef?” he asks instead.

“Oh. Uh.” Your eyes shift away from him, a sure sign you’re lying. “I will. After this.”

He gives you the flattest look he can manage as he pushes the tray back toward you. He may not be in full control of his facilities, but even he can see that you’re tired and probably in more need of nutrition than he is.

“Yes. You will. Now.”

“This is for you, I can’t—”

“Sit.”

Even as you’re protesting, you still blindly grab at the chair beside you to sit down in. "I can't eat in front of my customers. We can’t eat until—"

He rolls his eyes and doesn't care how undignified that it is or that you see it. "And I am not your customer now, am I? Or is that all I am to you?"

"What, no! You're not, you're—you're not just a customer, you're…” You wave a hand vaguely at him, searching for the words, the anticipation makes his stomach tight. "Hanzo.”

“Hanzo.”

The label, if it could even be called that, amuses him more than he could ever say. Not a customer, not a friend, but Hanzo. As cliché as it sounds, there is a warm and fuzzy feeling that settles into his stomach.

"It’s not as though I haven’t seen you eat before.” As a matter of fact, he liked watching you eat. There was something charming about the way your eyes light up and the single mindedness in which you clear your plate. He has no plans to tell you that, however. “If it makes you uncomfortable, should I close my eyes?”

You grumble something beneath your breath about how this food isn’t yours and some other manner of complaints that just seem childish at this point. It’s with great reluctance that you pick up the spoon and bowl meant for him. But there is something different. Your eyes don’t light up, and you just put spoonful after spoonful in your mouth in quick succession without pausing to savor.

“You don’t like your own cooking?” is the unbelievable conclusion he comes to.

“Not really,” you mumble.

“So you’ve been feeding us mediocre work?”

“No!” It almost startles him how vehemently you protest, and maybe it startles you, too because you immediately back down. “No, I just—look. Sometimes,” you start slowly, eyes searching for the words across the half-finished soup, “sometimes you just get tired of your own flavor. Of your own cooking.”

He wouldn’t know anything about that. Of course there are times he’s tired of eating just onigiri while on the run, but that’s just one dish. There’s also something else underneath your words, too. Uncertainty and doubt.

Irritation bubbles up in his chest, and before he can even stop himself, he snatches the spoon out of your hand with a brief, “Excuse me,” before shoveling the soup into his mouth.

The richness of the artichokes is immediately apparent, mild and full-bodied, made thicker with added texture from potatoes. Yet, despite that, the soup isn’t particularly heavy, its richness cut by the zest of lemon which is tempered by the other ingredients. It’s easy to eat and despite his lack of appetite, he thinks he can eat more.

It would sound stupid to anyone he tells it to, but the soup feels like...a hug.

When he raises his eyes, your mouth is agape.

“I could never get tired of your cooking,” he says. The ease at which the words come to him must be from the anesthesia or maybe he just doesn’t care anymore. Of all the things that would make you flush. He smiles wide and slow, delighted at your reaction.

This is fun. Enjoyable. It makes him want to tease you more.

“Tha-thanks?”

“No, I should be thanking you.”

For so many things. For introducing him to new foods. For sacrificing so much for Overwatch. For...

The memory of Reaper with the tamale tugs at the back of his mind. He could wave it away, but that he lives because of you and he doesn’t say anything about it would burden him. Being saved by a civilian who wasn’t even there from a foe far stronger than he wounds him, but not showing appreciation for it would wound him further.

He puts down the spoon, and quietly confesses, “Chef. Thank you. Your cooking has…saved me.”

“Oh.” Surprise freezes your expression in place but it quickly melts into a warm smile, one that made you seem to sparkle and come to life. “You’re welcome.”

There’s no way for you to know just how much he meant those words, but he can’t bring himself to elaborate. It’ll be the closest he’ll be able to admit to himself that it was not his own strength that saved him at the end of the day.

---

Apparently Reaper is less violent than his actions and rumors would have everyone believe. Dr. Ziegler prescribes him less bedrest than expected and the green light to leave and return to his routine (barring actual missions) in a few days. Most of his injuries were superficial, and none of the shotgun blasts seem to have damaged anything too permanent beyond repair.

It’s Soldier: 76 who seems most put off by this news, grumbling about how Reaper is an unfair bastard. Winston is ever apologetic, still feeling responsible that they were led right into an ambush after hearing Hanzo’s report. According to Dr. Ziegler, the team was lucky Reaper was carrying normal shotgun clips.

Yes. Lucky.

It’s just been a series of lucky circumstances, hasn’t it? That they were all able to leave with their lives and tell the tale is beyond what most could have hoped for, and Winston apparently did not want to look that gift horse in the mouth.

"We will be leaving the moment we are finished with repairs to this Watchpoint. We never know when we'll have to return. I just wanted to prepare you for that eventuality.” Winston is distractingly huge in this little room as he shuffles on his feet, trying not to knock into any sensitive equipment.

“I understand.”

“That being said, Dr. Ziegler would like you to remain here until you are flight-ready. You will be a part of the last group to leave.”

“Has my new post been decided?”

“You will be informed when you make a full recovery and are back in service. In the meantime, we are trying to keep the number of people who know our next destination to a minimum. Security reasons; I hope you understand.”

The decision comes as no surprise to him.

It isn’t ideal to house Overwatch in a single place where the very country they’re stationed in is pitted against them. It’s even less ideal to have all their forces in one place at this time where the line of Overwatch succession has not been properly established. So far, it’s been a struggle between Winston, the de facto but still inexperienced leader, and Soldier: 76 who was the Strike Commander but claims he has no desire to hold such a title anymore while still meddling in Winston’s decisions. Old habits die hard, he supposes.

However, if the whole of Overwatch is leaving, then where does that leave you?

It’s unreasonable to drag you along, and it's too dangerous to remain here in Gibraltar by yourself, waiting for agents that may never return. Your restaurant has booted you out and by

Maybe you’ll go back to your restaurant and reclaim it for yourself.

Maybe he could be selfish and ask you to remain.

It’s silly, but he’s already gotten used to your meals, spoiled by the attention.

He presses his lips together, refusing to sigh no matter how much he wanted to. The future is yours to take hold of. Whether you decide to take the difficult path of following them or whether you decide to leave and do something else is entirely out of his hands.

As much as he wants to know, he can't bring himself, unwilling to hear the answer. He’ll have to wait for you to tell him—if you ever tell him.

Some more logistics are discussed, but Winston keeps the conversation superficial. Apparently the Junkers are obstinately refusing to leave and he’s had his hands full even without their opposition.

Hanzo has already tuned him out, thoughts wandering to you and what you plan to do.

Surprisingly, McCree visits him soon after. He’s also wearing the standard hospital gown, but doesn’t seem to be as well-wrapped as Hanzo. It somehow annoys Hanzo that the person who nearly led himself and Genji to their dooms is in better shape than he is.

“I saw how it went down,” McCree starts as soon as he sits down with a heavy grunt. “The tamale. You tell Winston?”

“Who was he?”

“I asked first.”

There’s a silent stare-down between them.

A short bark of a laugh tears out of McCree, loud and sudden. He leans back in his chair before changing his mind to lean forward, the hair hanging in front of his face does nothing to obscure the pointed look in his eyes.

“Gabriel Reyes.”

The name takes a moment to sink in, for the veil to lift and the name to become a face.

Hanzo sucks in a breath.

“I suppose Overwatch has some secret to immortality that they plan to impart to us when we reach tenure?” It comes out more critical than he has any right to be, but McCree would have to excuse him—he did almost die, after all, along with Genji and the remainder of his pride.

“If it’s tenure, I’d better be first.” Even McCree seems bitter about it. He supposed it was just as well, McCree was much closer to them and personally knew all three. It must have been a much bigger betrayal to him than it was to Hanzo who only knew of the three from news reports and word of mouth.

He heard bits and pieces of how Genji was a part of Blackwatch and Gabriel, in a sense, saved him from himself.

“...did Genij know?”

McCree pauses, face scrunching up and chewing his lips like he wished for a smoke. “...yeah. I told ‘im so he wouldn’t have to break my kneecaps.”

That’s probably why they didn’t stick to the plan. Genji knew, too. How is he taking the news, Hanzo wonders.

“And you? You tell Winston or what?”

“...yes.” It wasn’t a detail that he could have left out; it was the reason they’re alive and it’s such a stupid reason, too. He thought Winston would react in disbelief, but to his surprise—which now seems so obvious—the gorilla just sighed and moved on.

McCree lets out a breath, slumping into his chair. “Cat's outta that bag, I guess. Gonna have to get him to keep his mouth shut 'bout that 'round Chef. And you'd better do, too "

“And what reason do I have to do that?"

"'m serious. If Chef knew about Reaper, who knows what might happen."

McCree sounds tired. It wasn't his intent to speak to you about that anyway, but now McCree's piqued his curiosity.

“Elaborate.”

"....Reyes was considered one of them. When he wasn’t doing shit like sewing up costumes or drilling us, he was in the kitchens. They were family to each other.” Hanzo breathes in deep through his nose and presses his lips together. "Talon's already done Chef dirty enough and things aren't gonna get much easier either, so we should cut the chef some slack where we can spare, y'hear?"

It doesn’t take him long to answer.

"I hear you."

---

“Please let us know your decision by the end of this week, Chef. I know it won’t be easy, but I can assure you, we will support you regardless of your choice.”

Packing up the kitchen for departure was one thing, but asking you what you wanted to do with your life is another. It’d just be so much easier if Winston told you “Come with us” or “Stay here”. If it were the Head Chef, he’d probably insist on staying because this, for many agents, is home, though he would be just as likely to say anywhere his customers go, he goes.

—”What do you want to do?”—

Hanzo’s question bounces incessantly in your head, burrowing under your skin until they begin to eat at the core of your being.

Again, you’re struck with the ever-persistent reminder that you are not Head Chef Richard. You’re not an expert at managing restaurants. You’re not a world-class chef. You have no idea what you’re doing or what you should do next.

The kitchen is deafeningly quiet and devoid of answers except for your scrubbing, but even that is just out of habit; your mind is elsewhere.

Why couldn’t everything just be the way they were before?

You know what you want to do. You want to return to the past, to the days when the kitchen was the kitchen and when you didn’t have to be responsible for so many things or have to worry about the ever-growing uncertainty that couldn’t even be called a ‘future’. You want to go back to simpler times, to happier times when you weren’t alone and you weren’t given a responsibility that you weren’t prepared to handle long term.

But if you went back to the past, you wouldn’t be able to talk to the agents like you have been. Everyone was nice to you and they didn’t demand things or pick fights like the agents of the past. You were even able to have fun with them unlike before when your only friends were the rest of the kitchen staff.

You wouldn’t be able to go on shopping trips like you did with Hanzo. It was nice. It was the closest thing to normal you’ve felt in a long time. No expectations, no pressures, just freedom. How long has it been since you didn’t have to care about anything except for what was in front of you? How long has it been since you were able to just enjoy yourself? You had fun for once and with an agent, no less.

But what cost did that come at?

Overwatch would now be mobile, traveling all over the world, fighting bad guys and setting things right. There isn’t much that you could do as a cook especially with everyone scattered. You’d just be another body to protect or another factor for them to account for.

On the other hand, this kitchen only has you. From all of its intricacies to its idiosyncrasies, you were the only one here who knew them. Or rather, you only had the kitchen. The plan was always to keep this place afloat until the Head Chef came back. Once he was found and came back, then everything would go back to the way it used to be.

If he came back. What if he didn’t want to come back? Then all you would have done would have been for nothing. Hell, leaving now when he hasn’t returned may as well have been for nothing. If your work was going to be for nothing, then you would’ve never left Cœur d’Artichaut and then at least maybe you’d have a place to belong.

— “I could never get tired of your cooking.”—

—“A chef’s purpose iz to serve their customers. Without them, we are nothing.”—

You groan. You don’t know what to do.

Giving yourself a moment to mourn what should have been and what could have been, you throw your cleaning rag into the sanitization bucket and dump yourself onto the floor. From your pocket, you pull out your communicator, clasping it tight between both hands as though an answer would appear. It doesn’t, and you’re not sure if the many names you have recorded might have an answer either.

The kitchen doesn’t have room for crying or for the weary or the weak—all those should go to the break room. Everyone will have to forgive you if you don’t know what to do and don’t want to move.

A hiss from the direction of the Cellar makes you and your heart rate jump. Out of sheer habit, you grab and brandish the closest thing to you: a spatula.

It takes an embarrassingly long time for you to realize who is standing there, and you could only laugh. The drain of adrenaline immediately leaves you weak and cold, and you have to step back and lean both hands back against a counter. The area where you were shot throbs, and all at once, exhaustion tumbles relentlessly into you as though you were an empty vessel to be filled.

“Sorry about that, Agent Roadhog.”

“Mm.”

Roadhog ducks his head, stepping in sideways through the Cellar entryway. The door to the Cellar was originally designed to allow the kitchen carts to fit through with ease, but Agent Roadhog’s sheer girth makes that design choice seem inadequate.

You hurriedly wipe your face with your sleeves, and clear your throat, shoving your communicator back into your pockets.

“What can I do for you? Lemon lime bitters or lemon barley water? It’ll take a little bit since we don’t have anything premixed—”

Roadhog shoves a basket at you, cutting your speech short. Unwittingly, you take it from his hands. It’s a medley of vegetables and herbs.

“Oh, did you want me to make something with this?” you ask, sifting through the bounty. Spinach; radishes that look like they’re heirloom; arugula; kale; scallions; peppers. “They’re really good quality, I haven’t seen these in the market before…”

Your words fade from your mouth as a slow, creeping realization strangles them clean out of your mind. All of these look too familiar in terms of breed. Digging deeper into the basket, you happen upon a batch of mint. The leaf shape, the deep green color are all reminiscent of a different time. You pick a leaf off and put it in your mouth, chewing it slowly. The leaves are an even balance of crisp and soft. It is minty, of course, but there are no harsh or bitter notes that one would expect to find after chewing on peppermint. Instead, it’s sweet and soothing with a hint of fruit. It’s a nostalgic flavor, one you haven’t thought of in years.

“Where’d you get this…?” you ask slowly, trying to see past the mask he wears. There’s no way—

Agent Roadhog grunts and turns, leading you back into the tunnel from which he came. Clutching the basket, disbelief and anticipation running through your veins, you follow.

—-

Walking is a little more difficult than he remembers. There's a persistent pain in his legs from his injuries, but as long as he's not bleeding through his pants, he’s not too concerned. One of the first pit stops he makes is the cafeteria, and to his surprise, there’s already people.

Ana waves at him, gesturing at the seat between herself and Brigitte who nods at him as she tries to choke down whatever she’s stuffed into her cheeks.

“Have a seat, Shimada. Party’s starting without you.”

It seems that while he wasn’t looking, afternoon tea had resumed. In addition to the usual butter cookies, there’s a wider assortment of sweets as though someone were trying their hand at opening a store or someone robbed a bakery.

“...Chef made all this?”

“Sure did. Help yourself. Chef—mmph—makes awesome desserts,” Brigitte says between mouthfuls. She pauses her chewing to clench her fists, a full body shiver on display. “Mm! This is good, too.”

“Of course,” he replies automatically with a swell of pride.

How she managed to convince you to make so many is beyond him. Unconsciously, he looks toward the service window where the lights are on and there is movement inside. You’re definitely working too much. While he can admire a dedicated person, even he knows there are limits to how far one can push themselves before they break.

“What are you waiting for? Have a seat.” Hanzo hurriedly sits down, his lips thinning as he catches sight of Ana’s knowing smile. He ignores her, focusing instead on the selection of goods available.

It’s hard to even know where to start.

The usual butter cookies are a given and Ana seems to be happy monopolizing them. There are trays of flaky twists, sliced roll cakes of different flavors, white round balls of something covered with coconut shavings topped with a single red dot, white rectangles with a texture between sponge cake and mochi.

He goes for a tart-like pastry with yellow custard in the middle that he recognizes as egg tarts first.

The crimped pastry is perfectly flaky, the outer layers crisp and the inner layers toward the tart are moist and soft. The custard is still the slightest bit warm and jiggly, smooth, and tasting of lightly sweetened eggs. It’s almost reminiscent of Japanese pudding except it’s warm instead of cold.

Beside him, Brigitte leans in. “How’s it? Good? I haven’t tried that one yet.”

“It’s good,” he replies as he licks his lips. It’s different from what you’d normally make, but it’s delicious nevertheless. He pours himself a cup of tea

The tea is dark and astringent, almost unpleasantly so alone but pairs well with remnants of his snack with a cleansing aftertaste that reminds him of fruit. It’s not a tea he’s had before and is certainly not one he remembers Ana ever ordering.

He spots his favorite: pan-fried red bean cake and wastes no time snatching three for himself. If anyone accuses him of being greedy, he can just say he needs more sustenance for healing.

Pockets of time carved out like this makes it easy to forget everything that has happened, but given the nature of Overwatch, conversation eventually steers face first into business.

“When we arrived, we thought the worst,” Ana says rather lightly. “Both you and your brother were on the ground and McCree was missing.”

Hanzo grunts. Reaper just left them there after ordering the retreat without any answers as to why and how they were there in the first place.

“Do we know where the leak happened?”

Ana shrugs. “We have a few ideas and Fareeha is busy investigating right now. She’s missing out.”

Hanzo takes one of the white balls of coconut covered mochi, almost choking on an explosion of finely chopped peanuts and sugar that was hiding beneath the surprisingly thin exterior.

“We can ask Chef to save some for her,” Brigitte suggests, oblivious or ignoring Hanzo’s silent struggle. “I’m sure we have enough for that.”

When Hanzo regains control of his windpipe again, he asks, “Do we know anything about their motive? Other than the hostages.”

“We suspect the hostages were just an excuse as you may have guessed. All the shots—except the ones from Reaper—were non-lethal rounds, so they must have wanted to talk.”

“Any suspicions as to why?”

Ana scoffs. “Who knows what that fool is thinking.” She takes a ginger sip of her tea before glaring at the reflection. “He's always had a flair for dramatics, that one. Brilliant in ways I wished he wasn't."

“...you know Reaper?”

“I know him better than I’d like.” She sips her tea and lets out a heavy sigh. “Well, it’s a good thing there were no casualties.” He gives her a look, trying to convey that his current state of being is a casualty. The look is wasted on her because she just reaches for another cookie, skillfully ignoring his gaze.

“Especially with you, Shimada. It would have been bad if Talon could spin the story that Overwatch came back and used lethal force against people equipped with ‘non-lethal’ weapons.” Again, he tries to give her a look and again it’s rebuffed. “I think you’ve been changing. You’re an assassin by trade, yes?”

“Yes,” he answers hesitantly. “Family trade.”

“And killing your enemies is your default.”

“...yes.”

“But no one died on the mission.”

“Not that I was informed, no.”

“You held back. Sure, you hurt them enough to make them wish they died, but you didn’t exactly slaughter them outright, now did you?”

“I…” He doesn’t really remember. As soon as each enemy was felled, he stopped caring. But he remembers having put his hands on people, thrown them to the ground, hit their vitals with his fists, but he can’t recall having to confirm any kills—there was no need.

“It changes nothing. Killing wasn’t a requirement in that mission.”

“But we never said not to. You made the choice for yourself.”

“It was implied. Overwatch is not that sort of organization.”

“And you’re fitting in just perfectly,” Ana says cheerfully. “You have changed, Shimada. You just haven’t realized it yet.”

There’s nothing he can say to that, and he drinks another cup of tea.

He has changed, he knows this, but whether it’s for the better or not is something only the future would know.

The snacks dwindle as more people slowly join the group. D.Va and Winston join them at some point while Brigitte leaves with a whole handful (and mouthful) of pastries. Even Soldier makes an appearance, only to leave after suffering ridicule from the combined forces of Ana and D.Va.

It’s not until late in the afternoon that he finds his opening to get up and leave, but not before stopping by the service window.

For old time’s sake, he rings the bell.

Almost just as quickly, your torso appears at the service window.

“Hello Hanzo. What would you like to order today?”

A warm, molten feeling fills his stomach and rises into his cheeks, forcing a smile out of him. It’s innocuous, but it’s the first time you’ve called his name without a prefix while working. Hanzo has seen some of the world’s splendors in his youth but none of them has made him feel anything like this.

Despite not being able to see your face, you seem more spirited than before, practically rocking on your feet.

“I came to compliment the chef on the buffet. It was delectable.”

“Actually, I only made the cookies and red bean cakes. Patisserie Woo sent everything else through same day delivery.”

“They were all delicious.”

“I’ll let her know.” He doesn’t have to see behind the partition to know you’re pleased. “We should also be getting some meals from a few others.” He can’t imagine these are being sent the conventional way; part of the reason why you had to use the restaurant as a cover was because regular shipments couldn’t be sent here lest the Gibraltar police knows Overwatch is back again.

“Does this mean you’re now in contact with your colleagues?”

You take a moment before answering, hands float between the partition hesitantly and then rest on top of the other. “...yes.”

Inexplicably, his stomach drops at the soft tone of your voice, concern filling the void.

“Did it go well?”

“Yeah, it did.” You laugh sheepishly and the sound instantly makes his worries disappear. Your hands gesture at the group and the treat covered table. “As you can see. Everyone suddenly called and was mad that I was doing these things without telling them, but we’re getting somewhere.”

“I can’t imagine that Soldier approves of it.”

“He doesn’t have a choice.”

“You’ve gotten cheekier.” Realizing you may not take that the right way, he hurriedly adds, “It’s a good thing.”

“Well, this cheeky person got permission to hold a final farewell dinner.” You hold your fists at your waist, probably puffing out your chest. “Do you have any requests?”

“I thought you didn’t take requests.”

“Well…we’re leaving Watchpoint: Gibraltar and I thought ‘enough rules have been broken, what’s another one’?”

He entertains the idea of asking you for the treasure of the Cellar if only to confirm his suspicions, but that wouldn’t be fair. He then remembers something he saw not too long ago and comes to his decision.

“Miso soup.”

“That’s it?”

“Should I ask for a ten-course meal?”

“Please, no.”

He couldn’t help the sly smile that forms on his face or the burst of mischief. “What if I insist?”

“No.”

“If I say ‘please’?”

“Keep this up and I won’t make anything for you.”

“Three course meal.”

“One.”

“One course and a snack.”

“One item and a snack.”

“Done.” He holds out his hand for you to shake on it which you do with a laugh. Just as he grips your hand however, he adds in just as quickly, “Snack is one whole cake.”

“Are you kidding me—!?”

“We shook on it, Chef.”

“You’re bad.” And then in a more teasing tone, “Are you sure you’re a hero? You should be a villain."

“Why does everyone think I'm a villain? Is it the goatee?” He pauses, stroking his facial hair despite the fact you likely can’t see him. “It's the goatee, isn't it?”

It draws a burst of laughter out of you.

“I like the goatee, you look distinguished.”

He would be lying if he said he wasn’t pleased with this development or your compliments, allowing himself to savor your words a little more, rubbing his goatee between his fingers.

Grinning to himself, he leans in as close as he can to the wall. “Is that all you like, Chef?”

To his delight, you begin to splutter, clearly at loss as to how to answer. He presses himself closer to the partition, ducking his head slightly so he might catch your answer.

Hanzo whirls around suddenly, a thorny presence behind him. Just as he does, a movement catches his eye and his hands rush in before he can even think.

He barely catches the falling teapot by the handle. It’s thankfully empty and he holds onto it with both hands, looking back at Ana who stands a little too close with a funny smile.

“Go on, I can wait.”

---

Dr. Ziegler finally gave him permission to help out with packing up the Watchpoint, warning him not to lift heavy objects.

“No climbing. No jumping around. No backflips or frontflips. Nothing faster than a light jog. And you are not to lift or carry anything over 15kg,” she stresses with a pen in his face. “I know how your wounds look, but you are far from fully healed. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

She has to belabor the point a few more times, and he suspects it isn’t really him she’s talking to. When he finally gets free, Winston directs him to you, citing that while the kitchen is mostly packed up, there are other things that require attention.

You tell him as much with a secretive but exasperated smile on your face. The kitchen itself seems more barren than before, its shelves and hangers mostly empty, highlighting the hastily put-together repairs that were attempted after Talon’s attack. It’s a little sad, if he were to be honest.

You lead him into the Cellar, explaining that the past few days were spent clearing out storage spaces and the like. There’s one final thing you wanted help with, and you lead him straight through the winding tunnels and to the imposing wall of the vault.

Standing in front of it now, a door separating him between what is likely the Cellar’s treasure, he finds that he is not as excited about this as he thought he’d be. It isn’t exactly how he had envisioned getting inside, either, but he supposes with so little time left here, he cannot complain.

You knock on the door, now welded on one side like a proper door, but the singe marks make it perfectly clear that it was anything but.

“Password?”

“Golden faerie bread.”

'Faerie bread?'

He didn't have time to ask as the door creaks open. The light that comes out of the room forces him to hide his eyes behind his hand. Even before he’s able to see, the smell of fresh dirt and humid air gushes out, briefly choking his senses. Slowly, he lowers his hand, taking his first steps inside.

The room is slightly humid and pleasantly warm in a way that reminds him of late spring in Hanamura. The room is cavernous and its walls are all dyed in white; it looks like a miniature version of the cafeteria. Instead of tables, lines and lines of shelves stack on top of each other, reaching up toward the ceiling where dozens of lights hang. Meters with shaking needles and crudely put together charts hang between curtains of tubing. These shelves look like they’ve seen better days, some parts frankensteined together with mismatched pipes and tape.

Within each of these shelves, lush leaves of different shapes and sizes spill out in neat rows.

It’s a garden.

“Welcome, welcome, welcome! Happy to have you here! You can look, but touching’s gonna cost ya—hurKK!” Junkrat is immediately grabbed by Roadhog who gives you the briefest of nods and him the hardest of stares before lumbering off toward the far end of the room.

Awkward moment aside, you waste no time launching into a spiel and introducing him to the space. “Welcome to the Cellar Garden. When I first got back, all the plants were already dead and lots of the infrastructure was rusted or broken, and I didn’t have the time to fix it. But Agent Junkrat and Agent Roadhog fixed it up and converted this from an N.F.T. system to a Drip Recovery system so that there’s less maintenance needed when we're not here, but it does take up more space so we can't grow the bigger vegetables—”

The words blend together and become incoherent. Instead, this world of whistles and greens narrow until only you remain. You’re like a child in a candy store, similar to when you both went out shopping, pointing out everything with excitement and wonder and without any of the worries or cares that always held you down.

Freedom and happiness is a good look for you.

And it’s at this moment he is able to confirm something he had thought ever since you first brought him into the Cellar.

“—so these are ready for harvesting. Agent Roadhog and Agent Junkrat will dismantle that section for parts so don’t worry about picking anything from there.”

He watches you roll up your sleeves, weaving between wall after wall of greenery with a spring in your step. Wryly, he smiles to himself as he remembers McCree’s hints.

The treasure is meant to sustain Overwatch and without it, the organization cannot survive. One would indeed think it’s alcohol, enough alcohol to numb the nagging voices and doubts of every agent as they carry out their increasingly morally dubious activities while the world burns around them.

Seeing the walls and walls of vegetation around him, this could also be the correct answer. Even your own hints, that the treasure won’t be of interest to anyone but the chefs, point to this garden.

Perhaps you aren’t aware of it yourself, but this hidden garden is likely a red herring.

No one ever said that the treasure was in this vault-like room. The clues simply said the treasure was in the Cellar. Beyond the Cellar door not only laid the garden, but the office, storage rooms, and break rooms.

More importantly, he caught a glimpse of the first room you entered when you both went on your escapade: a spartan, but well-used dorm room. He could easily imagine a dozen or so people in there, resting after a long shift or sitting in their bunks, playing cards and laughing and joking around, waiting to get caught staying up late like a bunch of school children, but also ready to throw on their uniforms if hungry customers demand for it.

A romanticist like your Head Chef could only have been thinking one thing, and perhaps he was one too for thinking it.

The real treasure is none other than the chefs (and you).

Chapter 21>>

#the way to a heart #my writing #oh my fucking god it took 20 chapters but here we are #the treasure is revealed and i am almost free #just 1 more chapter and an epilogue goddamnit #there's so much i want to say especially about the development of this fic but i need to wait until the very end

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maraudererasmut · 4 years

Text

Black and White (Part XXV)

Knock knock knock.

Remus felt his entire body tense as someone’s fist thumped against his door. He held his breath, waiting for something terrible to happen.

“Remus?” It was Lily’s voice, soft and almost timid. She sounded worried and Remus suddenly felt guilty for causing it. “Remus, are you in there? Can… Can we talk? Please?”

Remus briefly considered pretending he wasn’t home so that he wouldn’t have to deal with everything, but he knew that wouldn’t be fair to Lily. She was his friend, after all, and he didn’t want to risk losing her too.

Remus headed to the door and paused as he reached it. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying desperately to calm his nerves and steady his frantically racing heart. He opened the door and stared at Lily, attempting to keep the terror and distress out of his eyes. The look on Lily’s face told him that he wasn’t successful.

"Remus,” she began, almost pleadingly. “What is going on with you? This isn't like you!"

Remus looked sheepishly at his feet, feeling the full weight of the situation. He had messed up, he disappointed his friends, he lost everything. Without saying a word, Remus moved aside, leaving room for Lily to enter.

Lily had never visited Remus’ flat before, and it was in a particularly bad state of disarray thanks to the artist’s mind being elsewhere. There were paint tubes scattered about, brushes sticking out of every available cup, and dirty clothes strewn across the floor. Remus’ bed was covered with books and papers, a small section carved out for him to sit on. Remus’ sink was filled with dishes that hadn’t been washed, his rubbish bin was overflowing with rags and his cupboards were clearly empty.

Lily didn’t wait for Remus to talk; she immediately began picking garbage up off of his floor and gathering it together.

“Lily—” Remus began, before she interrupted him.

“Let me do something, Remus. Please. I feel useless, I just… I want to help.”

“You’re not useless,” Remus muttered, garnering a skeptical glance from his friend. “You’re not!”

“Remus, where do you keep your rubbish bags?”

The artist felt his stomach clench, the turmoil that was sitting deep inside rising up and threatening to boil over.

“Lily, please. You don’t have to do this. Just… just leave it.”

Lily stopped tidying for a moment, turning to her friend. Her expression was unreadable; Remus wasn’t sure if it was concern or frustration, pity or affection. She inhaled deeply before letting out a sigh.

“Remus, just… put the kettle on. I’ll gather some of this up and then… then we can talk, okay?” Remus was about to protest, to say that he was fine and he didn’t need to talk, but something about the way Lily was looking at him told him that he didn’t have an option. “Okay, Remus?”

“Fine,” Remus mumbled, already heading over to his make-shift kitchen.

Once Lily was satisfied with her cleaning and had gathered most of the visible garbage into a bag, she headed over to Remus’ excuse for a table and sat down. Her fingers were crossed and her expression stoic as she waited for Remus to place a cup of tea before her. Remus sat in the chair across from Lily and stared into his mug, hoping it would somehow help him out of this uncomfortable situation.

“Remus…” Lily began, after a few minutes of silence. “Can we please talk about yesterday?”

What’s there to talk about?

That’s what Remus would have said a few months ago. There was nothing he wanted to talk about, and he would have been fine brooding and keeping it all inside for it to fester and rot. Unfortunately, since meeting Lily, James and Sirius, Remus had found himself much more open to conversation and allowing people to get close to him.

He hated it.

“Okay…” He managed to say, refusing to look at anything except for the little floating bubbles in his mug.

Lily waited a beat before urging him on.

“Well…?”

“Well what?”

With a sigh, Lily raised a hand to her head and rubbed her temples with her fingers.

“Well, what happened?”

Remus shrugged his shoulders and chewed his lip nervously.

“Didn’t Sirius tell you?”

“Yes. But I want to hear your side.”

Remus closed his eyes. He wondered how much to tell her. He wondered what Sirius said. Did Sirius explain to Lily that Remus was a terrible one-night-stand? Did he talk about how Remus slipped out of his apartment and then refused to answer all communication? Did he explain that he didn’t want Remus to show in the gallery anymore and that Remus had single-handedly ruined any chances of ever having an art career?

“Remus?��

Remus opened his eyes, keeping them trained on his tea.

“I… got drunk at Halloween…”

When Remus didn’t elaborate, Lily spoke up.

“Yes, I know. I was there. Then what?”

“I… don’t remember.” Remus felt horrible. How could he have allowed himself to get that drunk? “I… woke up at Sirius’ place. In— In his bed…” Remus stopped. He didn’t need to elaborate, he was sure that Lily had already heard it.

“Oh… Remus…” Lily reached an arm across the piles of paper on the table and gently squeezed Remus’ hand. “Remus, you… you must have thought… Oh dear…”

Remus looked up, catching a glimpse of Lily’s expression. This one was definitely pity.

“I don’t need your pity, Lily,” Remus grumbled bitterly.

“No, I don’t… it’s just…” Lily pulled her hand away and tried to force a smile. “Remus, nothing happened at Sirius’ place.”

Remus raised a brow and pursed his lips.

“Lily, I was wearing nothing but my boxers.”

“Yes, well… you were drunk. You… made a bit of a mess of yourself. Sirius had your clothing cleaned for you.”

“He… what?” Remus didn’t understand what Lily was saying. Why would Sirius have his clothing cleaned? How did Sirius have his clothing cleaned? What was Lily talking about?

Lily opened her mouth to speak, but closed it again, as if she was searching her mind for the right thing to say. After a pause, she began to again.

“When the party was over, you were too drunk to go home on your own. James and I were fine with you staying, but Sirius had insisted…” Lily trailed off, recalling the events of that evening. “He brought you back to his place, saying he wanted someone to keep an eye on you. You… well, your alcohol didn’t stay down. Sirius helped you out of your messy clothes and put you to bed in his spare room. He had his assistant get your clothing dry cleaned early the next morning.”

Lily lifted her tea to her lips, taking a careful sip as she waited for Remus to digest the new information. She gave him a calculated look, as if she was trying to read him.

Remus was lost.

Sirius had brought him back to his place and undressed him, but they didn’t end up doing anything. Remus had snuck out of Sirius’ apartment thinking he was escaping a humiliating morning, when really, he left without saying thank you. While Remus had been avoiding Sirius all day, Sirius was just trying to make sure that the artist was okay.

Was Remus the jerk in this situation?

“I thought…” Remus was having trouble putting his thoughts into words. He had assumed the worst. Of course he had. Of course he thought that he and Sirius had slept together— because that was something he knew drunk Remus would want to do. It was something sober Remus wanted to do. “I thought I had ruined everything…”

Lily didn’t respond right away. She took another sip of her tea, still eyeing Remus.

“And you’re sure we didn’t… have sex? I mean… that's what it looked like...”

“Positive,” Lily said with absolute certainty, as if she had been there to verify. “Sirius would never do that. Never.” Her eyes softened as she watched the panic spread across Remus’ features. “I know you must have been scared, Remus… waking up in someone else’s home and… and thinking that… I just… You need to talk to Sirius. This is important.”

“Yeah…” Remus muttered, only now realizing that his current predicament was entirely due to his lack of ability to communicate. “I do…”

“Remus…” Lily tried to smile, but the artist was able to see past it. “Make sure you talk to him. He’s… Well, he thinks you left because of him. He’s… he’s not so happy.” Lily glanced down at her cup, breaking their eye contact. “He’s still the gallery owner, Remus. I think this is something that needs to be dealt with immediately.”

“Right… yeah…” Remus was royally screwed. This really would be his last chance to show at a gallery. "Did I fuck everything up?"

Lily gave Remus' arm a gentle squeeze, trying to keep her tone positive.

"Not if you talk to him and explain everything. I think you can fix this, you just… it needs to be done soon. Today, if you can manage it." Lily inhaled deeply, her gaze penetrating Remus' defenses. "I know this is hard for you, Remus, but Sirius was only trying to help. He's definitely been known to hold grudges and I just… I don't want to see this become one of them."

"Yeah…" Remus' eyes dropped to his tea again. "I'll call him today."

"Good." Lily stood up from her seat and crossed over to Remus, giving him a hug over the back of his chair. "I'm sure this will all work out in the end."

"Yeah…" Remus didn't believe it would, but now was not the time to share that with Lily.

"I have to go… you'll call me tonight to tell me how it went?"

"Of course." Remus looked up at his friend and tried to smile. "Thanks for coming over. I appreciate it. I… I needed this."

"I know… and you're welcome." Lily headed to the door and glanced back at Remus, who was still seated at the table. "Remember to call me, Remus."

"Bye, Lily."

With that, Remus was once again alone in his apartment, wallowing in misery and self-pity.

#Wolfstar #remus lupin #sirius black #wolfstar fanfiction #black and white #wolfstar fanfic #my writing #b&w #black and white part 25 #part 25 #part XXV #tw: drinking #tw: getting drunk #tw: getting sick #tw: throwing up #tw: remus is an idiot

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imastrangebean · 4 years

Text

taz things ive been meaning to write down

ok so The Adventure Zone is a blessing to this world as are the McElroys in general

idk where i was going with that theyre just great

ANYWAYS

something that always lowkey bothered me about balance was the slight inconsistencies that arose from the fact that the story wasnt completely fleshed out until like halfway through crystal kingdom

dont get me wrong i love every little detail about taz but my brain always has to read too much into things and so ive overanalyzed a lot of the things from the beginning and i figured id share it

spoilers btw

1. Merle has gaps in his memory where he’ll accidentally remember things the Voidfish took away from him at random moments in time.

This is something I saw on another post, and now I cant unsee it

There are several moments where Clint has made some sort of goof that alludes to something that ends up happening later on. Of course, mechanically, this couldn’t have actually been planned, but I doubt any of these were. It’s just a nice little coincidence to tie up the story.

For example, when Merle asks to talk while they’re walking in (I believe it was) Wave Echo Cave, he phrases it in a way to make it sound like they’ve known each other for a while when they’d supposedly just met. (”I just feel like we’ve grown apart.”) Another time, in Crystal Kingdom, when Noelle was explaining what Liches were, Clint joked and said something along the lines of “Well I have some close friends that are liches.” (Lup and Barry) He is also the one to step in when Taako almost succumbs to the Gaia Sash, and he asserts his dominance in an unconventional but successful manner.

2. The reason THB can handle the relics is because they helped create them.

This one is pretty straightforward, but I don’t know if they actually said it in the podcast.

3. Lucretia talked about the Umbra-Staff.

Going back and relistening to the podcast caused me to realize a couple of things. This is where I’m talking about the inconsistencies; the first two were just random headcanons I thought I’d jot down.

When Taako brings the Umbra-Staff to the Bureau of Balance headquarters, Lucretia tells him to bring it to Leon who finds the Umbra-Staff in his book. There was only ever one Umbra-Staff made, as was revealed in The Stolen Century, since Lup only needed one. The Umbra-Staff was also an original creation, so there would be no reason for there to be copies of it unless one of the seven birds tried to replicate it, and Lup is probably the only one who would be able to match it exactly. As a result, it can be assumed that Leon’s book was somehow factually incorrect. It says in his book that the Umbra-Staff is one of many, not one of a kind; not to mention the fact that it was in his book at all. The seven birds kept a low profile on Faerun before Lucretia and Fisher turned everything upside down, so there’s no logical reason as to why anyone but the seven of them would know about the Umbra-Staff. That would mean that one of them wrote Leon’s book, and, considering where it ended up and its off-putting misinformation, it was almost definitely Lucretia. She likely put the Umbra-Staff in his book as a way to honor Lup or in hopes that she would return, identifiable by her unconventional wand, but she probably pretended there were multiple in an attempt to keep suspicions from arising as to where this one-of-a-kind object no one has heard about came from.

4. Lucretia was teaching Davenport how to talk.

As we all know, Davenport lost the ability to say anything but his name after Fisher erased his memories. This means that he didn’t learn how to talk until sometime after joining the Institute of Planar Research and Exploration. He did, however, learn how to speak before the century-long mission; this is shown when he talks in front of the crowd at the assembly-type event that was arranged to celebrate the beginning of the mission. Even so, Lucretia erased the IPRE and, subsequentially, Davenport’s ability to communicate.

She probably didn’t realize that would happen, as he probably learned to speak before meeting her, and she probably felt guilty. That would explain why she kept him so close to her side, so she could protect and nurture him. He’d acted as somewhat a fatherly figure in the group, (though he was still their friend, and he did some reckless stuff; don’t get me wrong) and Lucretia would’ve felt the need to repay him. She would’ve had to start teaching him to speak sometime between the original erasure of everyone’s memories and the arrival of THB. The reason I say this is because, while Davenport is known for only ever saying his name, he starts out saying more than just that. It doesn’t last long, but he does communicate in concise sentences for his first few interactions with THB. The only way that would be possible would be if he were being coached by someone, and that someone would’ve had to be Lucretia. Lucretia likely stopped once she saw Taako, Magnus, and Merle, as she probably decided to then focus her efforts solely on channeling the relics and the light of creation into the shielding spell.

Another interesting thing I’ve seen about that is something that I personally accept as a headcanon:

Magnus, upon gaining the knowledge that Davenport can only say his name, decides to prank Davenport by scaring him and saying “Magnus!” to mimic Davenport in a sense. However, when he does, Davenport reflexively jumps and responds with “Dammit, Magnus, stop doing that!” They then both get confused, and Davenport immediately goes back to being unable to talk.

anyways thats a lot of typing im probably gonna lay down now

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holidaywishes · 3 years

Text

the song part 4

Part IV: Pieces of the Puzzle

Summary: After what happened, you head home and try to understand why Lydia and everyone was trying to convince you that you were something more than human.

Fandom: Teen Wolf

Warning: Nothing? Maybe some angst because I love some angst but I don’t think there’s anything to warn this time

Author’s Note: I haven’t added to this in forever, so I thought it was time! To be completely honest, I had a very clear idea originally of where I wanted to go with this series but, because it’s been so long, I’ve lost my train of thought for that. Hopefully, some of it will come back to me but until then I’m just gonna follow my stream of consciousness...

masterlist

the other masterlist

Calli’s P.O.V

You truly weren’t sure what to believe. You could see that Scott and Theo were... something, but werewolves weren’t real. They couldn’t be. And the rest of it just seemed like a cruel joke. A harbinger of death? Who wants that? But you couldn’t deny that those men knew something about you, something that you didn’t and something that you were clearly reluctant to learn.

“Calli...” Scott said as you walked ahead of him and Theo, not paying attention to them, “Calli please, listen to us. We’re not lying to you. Not about this...”

“But you’re lying to me about other things?” you scoffed

“No, I just meant we wouldn’t lie to you about this” he corrected

“I.. I just need a break Scott,” you sighed, finally turning to face the two boys, “it’s been a long night and I have no idea what happened. So, please, just stop. If you really need to talk about it, maybe tomorrow. But for now, just... don’t.” You continued back to your Uncle’s house, where you were met with a large crowd of concerned faces before they all asked questions but instead of answering them, you just walked right past, barricading yourself in your room before turning to the internet for answers.

“In Greek mythology, the Sirens were dangerous creatures, who lured nearby sailors with their enchanting music and singing voices to shipwreck on the rocky coast of their island.”

“Knew that, thanks for nothing, Wikipedia” you whispered to yourself

“Although they lured mariners, for the Greeks, the Sirens in their ‘meadow starred with flowers’ were not sea deities. Roman writers linked the Sirens more closely to the sea, as daughters of Phorcys.”

“Alright here’s something...” you continued

“When the Sirens were given a name of their own, they were considered the daughters of the river god Achelous, fathered upon Gaia; making them both daughters of the water and the earth.” An article read, soon leading you to other myths, one stated that sirens were called to bring Persephone back to their father and, when they failed, they were cursed. With all your searching, you couldn’t find a clear depiction of what a siren should be -- bird, mermaid, hypnotic, seductive, dangerous, cursed, -- but there was also nothing that made you believe that you could be one.

“This is absurd!” you said to yourself, closing your laptop and pushing it away from you, “they’re insane. This are just myths. Stories, that’s it. I’m just me...” As you laid in your bed, you stared at your computer, picking it up and dropping it a few times while you contemplated looking through more stories.

“Calli?” Lydia whispered as she opened the door, letting herself in.

“Hey...” you whispered back and she sat down on the foot of your bed

“How are you doing?” she asked

“How am I doing...” you scoffed, “well, let’s see. I was just attacked by a group of guys who kept telling me they ‘knew what I was,’ after being told by my cousin, and her friends, that I was a Siren. A mythological ancient Greek creature. And that they were Werewolves and Chimeras and Banshees... So, I think it’s fair to say that I’m a bit confused”

“Can I explain?” she said and you nodded, “I know it’s hard to believe that it’s all true but it is. When I found out that I was a Banshee, it was under duress. Jordan, too. Scott had things happen gradually, Malia was born that way and Theo.. well, Theo was an experiment.”

“An experiment?” you asked

“It’s a long story”

“Well... I think I need to know. If I’m going to believe any of this, I think I need to hear all of it.” Lydia sighed loudly before explaining everything from then until now and you sat there in awe.

“So.. hold on. Peter, the guy who terrified me enough to leave this house, was in a coma for like six years but he was able to bite Scott and make him a werewolf. Malia thinks she’s a coyote but knows that she’s not responsible for her mom’s death. There was some weird witch lady who was sacrificing people for some reason and she tried to kill you and that’s how you found out you were a Banshee. Then, your friend, Kira, who was a Kitsune but then like sacrificed herself, and Jordan, the cop who you’re saying is a hellhound, was set on fire so a different cop could collect a bounty that someone named the ‘Benefactor’ had set up before sending out a big list of names with passwords that only you could know. Then, there were a bunch of wild experiments by a bunch of doctors who basically killed a bunch of kids but those kids came back to life because of a tree? And you’re telling me that Theo was one of the first experiments that these doctors created because he was evil to begin with? And after all of this, after everyone somehow survived, there was like a mega Werewolf who killed a bunch of people and then people started to forget that other people existed?”

“Essentially, yes. I mean, you’re a bit mixed up but you get the gist of everything” Lydia said

“And in all of this, even though things seemed to have settled down after you all fought a mob or something, I’m supposed to be a Siren?” you asked again

“Yes”

“How? Why?”

“It’s genetic I guess. My Grandma was a Banshee, Peter seems to think that, because both our power comes from our voice, there’s probably someone in your family that--”

“Was also a Siren?” you interrupted and she nodded in response, “I don’t even know.. how to.. begin to understand this. What am I supposed to do with this?”

“Nothing...” she confessed before hanging her head and sighing before explaining her point, “I’m not saying you are responsible for saving the world. I’m not saying that we’re responsible for saving the world either. We’re not superheroes. We just are what we are and we have abilities that other people don’t and it’s our job, our responsibility, to use our abilities to help when and however we can.”

“What if I can’t?” you asked sincerely

“Maybe you need someone to help you, like I did. I, all of us, had Scott to help us figure out everything. Maybe you need to be able to learn your abilities without judgement or fear. But you don’t have to do anything, I just needed to make sure you were safe. That you weren’t in danger the way I thought you were. Then we got here and found out what you were and I got worried that the reason I thought you were in trouble was because of what you we-- because of what you are.” She explained and you took a deep breath before responding, trying to think of exactly what you felt and how to say it

“What if I did want to learn my abilities?” you asked quietly, “what if I did want help?”

“Scott would be ha--”

“Not Scott,” you interrupted her, “Theo.”

“Theo?” she scoffed, “No. Why? Did you not hear the part where I said he was evil to begin with?”

“Lydia, people can change.”

“Not him...”

“Please, Lydia...” you sighed

“Fine. I’ll... ask.”

Theo’s P.O.V

When Lydia asked you to help train Calli, help her understand her abilities, you were confused to say the least

“I don’t know the first thing about Sirens...” you said

“I DO!” Peter exclaimed, raising his hand gleefully

“She asked for you” Lydia confessed

“She asked for me?”

“That’s what I said” she sneered

“She asked for him?” Peter asked, clearly offended by the choice

“Yes!” Lydia yelled, “She’s trying to understand everything and you,” she said, gesturing to Peter, “didn’t give the best first impression...”

“But I can help her the most” Peter whined

“It doesn’t matter. She asked for Theo, so that’s who she gets”

“What if I say no?” you countered

“You don’t get to say no” she challenged

“Lydia”

“Theo,” she scoffed, “I’m not arguing with you about this. There’s something about you that makes her feel... safe or something. You’re going to help her. That’s it. End of discussion.” Just like that, you waited for Lydia’s cousin in an old worn down boxing gym in Brooklyn Heights; she walked in, late, with her ponytail swinging behind her and a bag casually dangling off her shoulder as she popped her hip to the side

“You actually showed up” she scoffed

“What?”

“I was half expecting Lydia to fail and not be able to convince you to help me. I thought I’d be seeing Scott here...” She spoke with a bite to her words as she made her way to the ring, staring up at you for a minute before you eventually scoffed at her

“Well,” you huffed, raising your arms up to gesture to the old gym and dropping them quickly, “I’m here.”

“I’m not getting in that ring” she snarled

“Then what are we doing here?”

“It’s private.” She admitted, dropping her bag to the floor and sitting on a bench adjacent to the box where you stood, “no one will interrupt us or bother us here.” Your eyes darted to the door before your tongue pushed against the inside of your cheek, annoyed at her roundabout conversation, before you finally hopped through the ropes and jumped down onto the concrete floor

“What do you want?” you asked, creeping slowly toward Calli and you stood in front of her as her eyes trailed up your body before her eyes met yours, “what do you want me here for? I can’t help you. I’m on the outside in case you didn’t realize...”

“That’s exactly why I want you to help me. I’m new, you were the last to be accepted; you weren’t bitten or born with the abilities you have, you had to learn how to use them, how to control them.” She explained and you turned your head before shaking it

“I can’t help you” you scoffed, dropping the gloves that you had been holding onto, before storming away

“Please,” she whispered and you stopped dead in your tracks, compelled to stay just from the cadence of her voice, “I’m terrified.”

“What do you have to be terrified of?” you asked, turning your head enough for her to see the side of your face

“What don’t I have to be terrified of?” she confessed, causing your body to turn back to her, “I keep telling people that I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with this information -- that I’m a Siren. I looked Sirens up you know. They’re not as magical or mystical as people think they are. People were terrified of them and they lured people to their death. Lydia says that we have a responsibility to help people but how do I help people when my only ability is to lead innocent people to their death?”

“You think that’s all you’d be doing?” you asked calmly, finally finding yourself sitting next to her

“Isn’t it?” she asked, “Lydia predicts death. You all fight it. I.. I’m supposedly the cause of it”

“You don’t have to be. You have an incredible ability to connect with people in a way that none of us do. The calmness of your voice calms them -- stops them from overreacting, lets them know everything is going to be okay.” You explained, watching as her eyes darted across your face as she moved closer to you

“How do you know?” she said softly as she seemed to moved into your touch

“Because all I’ve felt since I met you was calm...”

“Even when you were fighting those men?”

“Didn’t even phase me... I just wanted to protect you. That’s your power.” You said

“But isn’t that dangerous? Isn’t that what makes me the cause of death -- that people want to protect me?”

“I would rather die for you than let you be killed” you admitted

“I don’t want that!” she exclaimed as she moved away from you, standing up quickly to pace behind the bench, “My life isn’t more important than yours or anyone else’s. I’m just a person, I’m just a girl. I don’t deserve to live more than you, more than anyone. If I’m going to die, then that’s just what will be. I cannot, and will not, let anyone sacrifice themselves for me”

“Calli...” you tried to calm her as you met her at the end of her pacing, “You’re as innocent as anyone I’ve ever met. More innocent than I’ve ever been and you deserve to be saved”

“Not more than someone else” she argued again

“If it were up to me, you would be.” Your words seem to catch her off guard and she furrowed her brow at you, “I don’t know anything about your abilities. I don’t know what you think I can teach you. I can help you fight, help you train, but learn? All I’d be doing was reading books with you -- trust me, I know just as much about Sirens as you do. I don’t know what the right thing to do here is. What I do know is when I see you, everything makes sense. The world quiets down and I can see things clearly. When I hear you speak, it’s like my heartbeat finds your rhythm and matches it. When you sing, I don’t need anything else...”

“You’re hypnotized...” she whispered as her eyes watched your lips as you spoke before eventually clearing her throat so she could continue, “I wanted your help, Theo, but I can’t do this. I can’t let you...”

“Let me what?” you said, moving even closer to her until there was almost no space left, “let me help you protect yourself? Let me learn about your abilities as you do? Let me--”

“Let you risk your life for mine...” she sighed, pushing you away, “Given the chance, I know that’s exactly what you’d do.” She kissed your cheek, picked up her bag and began walking away from you

“Let me help you train, at least.” You said, stopping her from leaving to quickly, “let me help you protect yourself so that I don’t end up risking my life for yours.” You watched as she stopped sharply, turning around and tilting her head at you before scoffing and shaking her head

“You think you can handle it?” she chuckled, “you think you can handle training me?”

“I’m sure I’ll be just fine.” You smirked as she made her way back to you, whispering once she was right in front of you

“Even though your heartbeat matches my voice?” she mocked as she repeated your words, “Even though everything makes sense when you see me? Even though you’re obviously hypnotized by me?”

“You won’t be singing, so I think I can manage...” you laughed until she circled around you and leaned against your back to whisper in your ear

“What if I have to talk really close?”

“I...” you stammered, your voice cracking as you continued, “I can handle it.”

“What if you have to get real close?” she asked, as she circled back in front of you and forced your eyes to train themselves on hers, “and you have no choice but to look into my eyes?”

“Are you sure you can handle me?” you asked, turning the tables on her but she didn’t seem to react

“You don’t think I can handle you?” she smirked, “I’ll be okay. You don’t worry me...”

“No?” you smiled, “Good. I wouldn’t want anything to get in the way of your very important lessons”

“If you think you can handle it, then I can handle it” she replied, still close enough to you that you could feel her breath sweep across your skin

“I can handle it” you smirked knowingly and she nodded before turning on her heels again

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Theo.” She smiled and you felt your stomach fill with butterflies, which you just hoped didn’t show on your face

“Tomorrow,” you added, “be on time, okay? I hate wasting my time and you need as much help as you can get.”

“Watch it, Experiment Boy,” she teased, “or I’ll have to hurt you.”

“I’d like to see you try” you teased back

“Tomorrow.”

#the song #masterlist #the other masterlist #Theo Raeken #Theo #Teen Wolf #Teen Wolf MTV #Teen Wolf Fic #Teen Wolf Imagine #Teen Wolf Series #Theo x Reader #Sirens #Banshees #Werewolves

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aislinceivun · 4 years

Text

Table of contents with summaries for The Cat and His Boy.

The summaries may include spoilers, so I don’t recommend first-time readers to check this out. I wrote this up more as a guide for those who want to re-read just specific parts of the fic rather than go over all 100 chapters again :’D

which includes me, even I can’t always tell which chapter title goes with which event, and on AO3 you can only skim through the chapter titles really xD

1. EASY – As Natsume sleeps, Madara studies the Book of Friends.

2. PLEASANT – This new body of his has some interesting reactions.

3. SIGHT – If Natsume lost the ability to see them, what would Madara do? inspired by ch10 / 1x08

4. DELICIOUS – Youkai don’t necessarily need to eat, but they can still hunger.

5. ROUTINE – Madara has a daily routine, now.

6. NIGHTMARES I – Natsume’s nightmares are not about ayakashi.

7. CLAIMED – The mid-ranks apparently noticed that Natsume smells a bit different.

8. FAMILY I – The Fujiwaras clearly adore Natsume. So why does he still have doubts?

9. SCENT – Natsume’s scent wraps around him the same way his own scent clings to the boy’s skin.

10. REPLACED – Madara can’t believe Natsume replaced him. inspired by 1x11 (which is based on special #3, though this particular moment was anime-only)

11. WARNING – The horse-faced bastard has “concerns”.

12. PROMISES – Madara may have forgotten about an old deal.

13. STRANGE – Madara isn’t familiar enough with the reproductive habits of humans to know what this means.

14. DEAL – How Madara really got that sealing mirror. inspired by ch18 / 2x07

15. UNFAMILIAR – Arguments are familiar. These other moments are… not.

16. DOWNPOUR – Madara doubles as a rain shelter.

17. CONNECTION – Madara and Tanuma share a moment.

18. BEAUTIFUL – Reiko was beautiful, Madara objectively knows as much.

19. RAGE – Red rage and bloodlust. inspired by ch26 / 3x07

20. CONCERN – Even when healing, the prospect of Natsume hurt wakes him in the night. inspired by ch27 / 3x09

21. DENIAL – Hinoe is wrong. (She isn’t.)

22. NIGHTMARES II – These days, Natsume’s nightmares are about his precious people getting hurt.

23. CHASTISED – Natori, chastised by a brat. What a sight.

24. FROZEN – Madara is immobilized by a talisman. It brings back unpleasant memories.

25. EMBARRASSING – Curse that damned squirrel!

26. LIES – They share words they both understand to be lies. inspired by the anime version of ch36 / 4x02

27. PHOTO – A familiar stranger. inspired by ch44 / 4x11

28. BRAIDS – Madara did not sign up for this.

29. APPEARANCES I – Madara briefly considers his humanoid youkai form. inspired by ch51 / 4x06

30. STUDYING – Madara didn’t want this getting out. But—surprisingly—they don’t make a big deal out of it.

31. MUSINGS – Perhaps, in another universe, Natsume Reiko and Natsume Takashi exist at the same time.

32. FAMILY II – After a run-in with a kemono resembling Madara.

33. HIGH – Natsume inhales a bit too much youkai incense.

34. WEAK – The Chuukyuu pair laments on how weak humans are. inspired by special #12 / 5x11

35. CHOICE – Madara didn’t really think about it when he went for Natsume instead of the Book. Somehow, that just makes it worse.

36. CALL – He intended to ignore her call, but… it’s been a while. Well before Reiko’s time. Why not?

37. QUESTIONS – Humans find acquiring long-term mates important, and Natsume is afraid of being left alone. So he should be looking for one, shouldn’t he?

38. UNEXPECTED – Madara finds Natsume dozing against Hinoe’s shoulder. They’re wearing matching flower crowns

39. SHIFT – “It was quiet without you.” inspired by ch70 / OVA “Party of Fun & Games”

40. STUCK – Madara is stuck in his true form for a week.

41. REASONS – Madara was waiting for Natori to say something. inspired by ch73 / 6x11

42. CRUSH – Shibata keeps stealing glances at Natsume with pink cheeks. Madara finds it incredibly amusing. inspired by ch74 / 6x03

43. BIRTHDAY – Last summer, Madara saw how the Fujiwaras celebrated, and he didn’t care.

44. MEMORY I – Many summers ago.

45. INTRODUCTION – Apparently, Natsume’s recklessness has been rubbing off on Tanuma.

46. BOUND – Even without his memories, the boy seems to be able to hear the things Madara is not saying. inspired by ch78 / 6x01

47. WISTFUL – An ayakashi has been following Natsume around.

48. SOFTENED – Natsume has affected more than he knows.

49. WARMTH – He really has no business teasing Misuzu about going soft. inspired by ch82

50. FAMILY III – These people are not his, not like Natsume is… but Madara claimed them anyway.

51. GUEST – The moment the door slides open and he smells the guest, Madara knows. inspired by ch97

52. NOSTALGIA – Madara picks up a scent he wasn’t expecting to find on Natori.

53. APPEARANCES II – Tsk. Fancy, posh bastards who only accept kemono youkai when they appear civilized.

54. BRIBES – Taki drags Madara-as-Reiko on a shopping spree.

55. TREASURE I – A truth forcibly pulled into the light.

56. TREASURE II – It’s not the Book.

57. BELONGING – Ayakashi have no place in busy cities.

58. PAST – Madara will not apologize for who he is.

59. TROUBLESOME – Why does Natsume have to have youkai and exorcist friends, again?

60. ALMOST – “Oi,” he grunts, strangely unsettled.

61. NIGHTMARES III – For him, it’s a first.

62. FEAR – Madara has realized two things.

63. MINEFIELD – A familiar faraway expression.

64. KISS – “I didn’t like it,” Natsume whispers.

65. HELPFUL – It’s not that Madara is nice. He just appreciates her culinary skills.

66. HILARIOUS – “Run that by me again?”

67. THIEF – Madara wanted those damn macarons.

68. TENDER – “I knew you cared,” he says, all soft and smiley.

69. NAMES – Names have power.

70. TEASING – Takashi only has himself to blame.

71. SEALED I – An exorcist sets her eyes on Madara.

72. SEALED II – It’s dark and tight and even worse than he remembered.

73. SHAKEN – Madara didn’t take it this bad the last time.

74. VOW – Rather than stiffening at finding Madara like this, he just frowns. “Nyanko-sensei…?”

75. STORIES – The kids chatter about their post-high school plans.

76. PICKLE – “Oh! Who’s this?”

77. STRENGTH – Apparently, some ayakashi believe him to be weak now.

78. STARSTRUCK – “It’s never occurred to either of you to tell me?”

79. SPEECHLESS – “Sensei! Are you okay?!”

80. SACRIFICE – His mind screeches to a halt.

81. GRIEF – Madara’s heart is all twisted up.

82. COMFORT – Tanuma and Taki spend the afternoon huddled up on the porch with Takashi.

83. GUILT – Madara is painfully aware that this is the result of his failure.

84. WORRY – Takashi is struggling, and all they can do is watch.

85. FAMILY IV – Watching them, Madara feels equal parts achy and warm.

86. CONDOLENCES – Matoba manages to shock them.

87. ONWARD – Life goes on.

88. SOARING – Madara could stay in the air with him forever.

89. NIGHTS – These days, nights are better. (Mornings are even more so.)

90. PLANS – “Let’s go on a trip together.”

91. FOOLS – Circumstances bring the four of them together for a night.

92. FRIENDS – Madara is fond of Takashi’s friends. Even if he’ll never say as much out loud.

93. PRESENT – Madara takes Takashi to a place he hasn’t visited in a long time.

94. CELEBRATION – “We heard you can finally drink alcohol!”

95. NOTEBOOK – Madara snoops around and reads Takashi’s first short story.

96. VISION – Another name gone. Another memory received.

97. MEMORY II – Family? He had no answers for her. Not back then.

98. ANAMCHARA I

99. ANAMCHARA II

100. ANAMCHARA III

#fic related #the cat and his boy

2 notes · View notes

ua-monoma · 4 years

Text

.10.20.

█►─═ ₭卂𝔦†ᵒù ═─◄█

...

v-shinsou

[shinsou is online]

█►─═ ₭卂𝔦†ᵒù ═─◄█

Oh...

v-shinsou

...

█►─═ ₭卂𝔦†ᵒù ═─◄█

...

Hello again...

v-shinsou

... hello

█►─═ ₭卂𝔦†ᵒù ═─◄█

I wasn't sure if you'd come back.

You seemed pretty adamant to avoid talking with us the last time...

v-shinsou

well, surprise or whatever...

█►─═ ₭卂𝔦†ᵒù ═─◄█

Yeah...

v-shinsou

yeah...

not like i have many other options

█►─═ ₭卂𝔦†ᵒù ═─◄█

Hahahahahaa.

Yeah.

v-shinsou

yeah...

youre one of the ones that are... supposed to be here, right?

█►─═ ₭卂𝔦†ᵒù ═─◄█

That's some... interesting wording... What does that mean?

v-shinsou

youre not from another timeline or whatever, right?

█►─═ ₭卂𝔦†ᵒù ═─◄█

Oh. No. I'm not.

v-shinsou

huh...

you were a hero student, right?

█►─═ ₭卂𝔦†ᵒù ═─◄█

Am.

I'm... currently taking a bit of a leave of absence, ahahaa... A personal vacation.... hahaha.

v-shinsou

a vacation to... here?

█►─═ ₭卂𝔦†ᵒù ═─◄█

Haha. Ha.

...hehehe...

Yes, it's a little ridiculous when you put it like that, ha...

v-shinsou

... yeah...

why? [deleted]

█►─═ ₭卂𝔦†ᵒù ═─◄█ ...

v-shinsou

...

shouldnt you maybe... not admit to still considering yourself a hero student in here?

█►─═ ₭卂𝔦†ᵒù ═─◄█

... Hm?

Oh... Perhaps you're right, I suppose I should keep the delusion I'm operating under more of a secret, a private... thing....

But then I'd miss all the opportunities for such delightful pity... Oh, poor Monoma, so broken, he still doesn't realize, hahahaa, let's coddle him and do what we can...

No, you're right, there are better strategies, I suppose... I suppose I. Oh. ... yes... I suppose I've been slipping....

v-shinsou

yeah...

normally, saying that kind of stuff is how you get tortured or just... disappear.

█►─═ ₭卂𝔦†ᵒù ═─◄█

Maybe that's what I want.

I've got such a penchant for being tortured, after all! I was thinking of making it a career of sorts, actually...

Not very familiar with the underground, but I'm sure there's a thriving business there for that very thing...

Not that my captors here would allow me to be shared in such a way, oh no, all so selfish, ahaha...

v-todoroki

Neito...

v-shinsou

...

█►─═ ₭卂𝔦†ᵒù ═─◄█

Todoroki-kun! Hello... I was just thinking about you.

v-todoroki

Were you?...I've been worrying about you.

█►─═ ₭卂𝔦†ᵒù ═─◄█

Worried...? Ah.

Why? Hm.

Well, I'm glad you're here... I wanted to tell you that I missed you. Too.

I miss you, too. Haha.

...Don't be worried about me...

v-todoroki

I am. I will be.

█►─═ ₭卂𝔦†ᵒù ═─◄█

Why...?

v-todoroki

I care about you.

█►─═ ₭卂𝔦†ᵒù ═─◄█

... Aha... oh.

v-shinsou

gross... [deleted]

█►─═ ₭卂𝔦†ᵒù ═─◄█

...

v-todoroki

Keep in touch. If I can help let me know.

[shouto. is idle.]

█►─═ ₭卂𝔦†ᵒù ═─◄█

...

v-shinsou

ugh...

█►─═ ₭卂𝔦†ᵒù ═─◄█

Aha... My apologies... having such a conversation in front of a third party... not the most considerate of us...

v-shinsou

whatever...

█►─═ ₭卂𝔦†ᵒù ═─◄█

...

v-shinsou

youre certainly...something... for a hero student

█►─═ ₭卂𝔦†ᵒù ═─◄█

... I'll take that as a compliment.

v-shinsou

...

it wasnt one. [deleted]

█►─═ ₭卂𝔦†ᵒù ═─◄█ ...

Ah. Anyway.

Enough about me,,,

Have you gotten used to our universe yet? I understand it's a jarring experience...

v-shinsou

what kind of question is that...

█►─═ ₭卂𝔦†ᵒù ═─◄█

Um.

v-shinsou

no, i havent

█►─═ ₭卂𝔦†ᵒù ═─◄█

Okay... sorry.

v-shinsou

...

█►─═ ₭卂𝔦†ᵒù ═─◄█

I didn't... mean to offend... just thought it'd be a topic of conversation, maybe...

Sorry.

I'll just stop trying. Stop... talking. A...ha... ah...

This is so wrong, I hate it, I don't remember this being so hard...

v-shinsou

what are you on about?

█►─═ ₭卂𝔦†ᵒù ═─◄█

Sorry.

v-shinsou

whatever...

█►─═ ₭卂𝔦†ᵒù ═─◄█

Habit, bad habit...

v-shinsou

friendly reminder, im not the version of me youre used to

█►─═ ₭卂𝔦†ᵒù ═─◄█

...

v-shinsou

you should get used to that instead of pretending, hero student

█►─═ ₭卂𝔦†ᵒù ═─◄█

Okay. Sorry.

v-shinsou

mhhm...

█►─═ ₭卂𝔦†ᵒù ═─◄█

It's... an adjustment... I just have to adjust... alright...

v-shinsou

yeah.

whatever...

it's certainly not nice to be dropped into a completely different timeline where i have like, virtually nothing.

█►─═ ₭卂𝔦†ᵒù ═─◄█

... Yes... I'm sure that'd be at least moderately terrible...

v-shinsou

yeah, moderately...

█►─═ ₭卂𝔦†ᵒù ═─◄█

Aha...

v-shinsou

what?

█►─═ ₭卂𝔦†ᵒù ═─◄█

Nothing in particular...

v-shinsou

that so?

█►─═ ₭卂𝔦†ᵒù ═─◄█

If you really wanted to analyze my every reason for laughing, we'd be here all night and day, probably...

Not that I'd mind that, I suppose...

Ahah.

v-shinsou

...

id have to care about you to want to analyze your laughter [deleted]

no thanks.

█►─═ ₭卂𝔦†ᵒù ═─◄█

Aha... 'twas merely a joke, it wasn't an invitation...

v-shinsou

... yeah, whatever...

█►─═ ₭卂𝔦†ᵒù ═─◄█

...

v-shinsou

are a lot of the things you say supposed to be jokes or something?

or are you just... like that? [deleted]

█►─═ ₭卂𝔦†ᵒù ═─◄█

Considering how representative they are of my life, yes. I suppose they are.

v-shinsou

...

was you saying that you wanted to take care of me some sort of weird joke too?

█►─═ ₭卂𝔦†ᵒù ═─◄█

If you'd like to take it that way, sure.

v-shinsou

...

youve got a pretty fucked sense of humor...

█►─═ ₭卂𝔦†ᵒù ═─◄█

Comes from being pretty fucked up.

v-shinsou

for a hero student [deleted]

yeah...

totally didn't pick that up when you were telling me how much of a masochist you are [deleted]

█►─═ ₭卂𝔦†ᵒù ═─◄█

...

You really dislike me...

v-shinsou

why wouldnt i, hero student?

█►─═ ₭卂𝔦†ᵒù ═─◄█

...

v-shinsou

what?

█►─═ ₭卂𝔦†ᵒù ═─◄█

Nothing.

v-shinsou

...

whatever

█►─═ ₭卂𝔦†ᵒù ═─◄█

Lot to adjust to, is all.

Why even continue this conversation, if you hate me so...? Why are you wasting your time?

v-shinsou

... you just answered your own question

█►─═ ₭卂𝔦†ᵒù ═─◄█

...?

v-shinsou

im wasting time, since ive got nothing better to do right now

█►─═ ₭卂𝔦†ᵒù ═─◄█

Ah.

v-shinsou

why talk to me if you know that i dont like you?

█►─═ ₭卂𝔦†ᵒù ═─◄█

Masochism, as you aptly pointed out earlier. Or, maybe I just keep hoping to change your mind. Or, maybe I'm using this conversation to make myself feel worse. Or, loneliness, as my dear friend mentioned the other day... again, another thing I could go on all night and day about.

My actions of late haven't made much sense. So.

v-shinsou

change my mind?

█►─═ ₭卂𝔦†ᵒù ═─◄█

...

That is what I said, yes.

v-shinsou

you want me to change my mind about what exactly? you?

█►─═ ₭卂𝔦†ᵒù ═─◄█

I suppose.

v-shinsou

how exactly do you want me to change?

...

█►─═ ₭卂𝔦†ᵒù ═─◄█

I don't know, exactly...

Haha, I just don't love being hated, is all... It's fine, don't even worry...

v-shinsou

no one does, hero student whatever... should get used to being hated if youre going to continue with your 'vacation'

@v-aizawa

My, I see another new face has been added since I was last online. And the lost little lamb is here as well.

v-shinsou

creep.

@v-hawks

...

v-shinsou

...

█►─═ ₭卂𝔦†ᵒù ═─◄█

... Fantastic... Always wonderful when we're all getting along...

v-shinsou

shut up.

█►─═ ₭卂𝔦†ᵒù ═─◄█

Haha.

v-shinsou

[control freak is idle]

n-hawks

...

@v-kaminari

yeesh thats a mess n a half

n-hawks

mess...

█►─═ ₭卂𝔦†ᵒù ═─◄█

... You're someone I'm unfamiliar of...

v-hawks

ahh...

v-kaminari

oh! that is right! i also dont know you all either so thats. funny. yeah.

n-hawks

...

█►─═ ₭卂𝔦†ᵒù ═─◄█

... Are you going to introduce yourself, then...

v-kaminari

i dont really wanna reveal my name yet i dont think but.......hiiiiiiiiii im. attempting at becoming a more powerful villain, thats about it for now

n-hawks

powerful... villain...

█►─═ ₭卂𝔦†ᵒù ═─◄█

Fine way to attempt it. By staying hidden.

...

Though, I suppose it works for some...

Tch...

v-hawks

hahahaa.. doesn't it.

i'm hawks.

n-hawks

hawks...

v-hawks

so is he.

n-hawks

...

v-kaminari

well, its not like i wanna be Popular or anything....yet, at least, i wanna work more on things and laying low while i gather more um. resources and allies.. sounds best doesnt it? sounds more fun if i can fully emerge with a bang

v-shinsou

[control freak is no longer idle]

█►─═ ₭卂𝔦†ᵒù ═─◄█

But you've already emerged, haven't you...? Just by being here, you already have a presence... you'd think, if you wanted a more impressive presentation, you'd have one right from the start...

v-kaminari

true i did fuck that up a little....i got lonely :(

v-shinsou

who's this?

█►─═ ₭卂𝔦†ᵒù ═─◄█

Hahahhaaa.... isn't that adorable...

v-kaminari

well, since the bitch pointed out my plan was flawed i shall reveal my name, so sad i messed it all up not fun

im denki kaminari, dont rat me out sweetheart

█►─═ ₭卂𝔦†ᵒù ═─◄█

...

Aha, alright...

v-shinsou

another hero student double...

v-hawks

lovely...

v-kaminari

the hell you mean by that?

v-hawks

gettin to look like a fuckin daycare round here.

█►─═ ₭卂𝔦†ᵒù ═─◄█

I hate this... I hate this...

v-shinsou

... wouldnt you get a kick you of that, creep?

v-hawks

kaitou..?

n-hawks

kaitou...

█►─═ ₭卂𝔦†ᵒù ═─◄█

I hate this.......... I hate this...........

n-hawks

hate...

v-shinsou

maybe you should've picked a better place to vacation, hero student

v-hawks

hey, calm down..

█►─═ ₭卂𝔦†ᵒù ═─◄█

Hahaha.

Wouldn't matter.

All these replications... you all follow me around... like cockroaches... doesn't matter where I go, God, there's so many of you now...

I hate it I hate it I hate it

v-shinsou

cockroaches, huh?

v-kaminari

well um. i think that would be my cue to leaaaavee i do NOT wanna make an enemy like. 5 minutes into chillin with my villains....does not sound FUN so im gonna make like a library book and check out-

[shocker is offline]

█►─═ ₭卂𝔦†ᵒù ═─◄█

...

v-shinsou

ugh...

guess even the doubles of hero students are annoying

█►─═ ₭卂𝔦†ᵒù ═─◄█

...

v-shinsou

hopefully the double of you that pops out isn't as self centered as you are

█►─═ ₭卂𝔦†ᵒù ═─◄█

... me...?

There won't be a double of me...

v-shinsou

how can you be so sure?

dont we follow you like... cockroaches?

█►─═ ₭卂𝔦†ᵒù ═─◄█

...

v-shinsou

what? youre the one that said it

im just making sure that you dont forget

█►─═ ₭卂𝔦†ᵒù ═─◄█

"Forget"... aha

I have a headache my head hurts

v-shinsou

poor you

maybe thats a sign that its time for your vacation to fucking end

█►─═ ₭卂𝔦†ᵒù ═─◄█

...

This is so tiring... I don't understand what you're doing... tired... tiring... if you want to hurt me so badly, I'd rather you just do it in person... tiring...

Since it makes you feel better... clearly does... why delay yourself the fun you'll clearly have...

v-shinsou

oh fuck you

█►─═ ₭卂𝔦†ᵒù ═─◄█

What... why are you angry now...

v-shinsou

not really into torturing people, sorry to disappoint.

█►─═ ₭卂𝔦†ᵒù ═─◄█

You want to act like a bully, I'm allowing you the full opportunity... You clearly want to prove your dominance somehow, I'm trying to give that to you.....

v-shinsou

...

if i wanted to bully you, i'd be a hell of a lot fucking crueler to you

just run back to ua already, hero student

█►─═ ₭卂𝔦†ᵒù ═─◄█

So you're a bully that can't commit. Somehow that's even worse.

v-shinsou

stop calling me that.

█►─═ ₭卂𝔦†ᵒù ═─◄█

Make me.

v-shinsou

...

█►─═ ₭卂𝔦†ᵒù ═─◄█

Don't you fully have the ability to? C'mon. I'll be the only one who even lets you use your little quirk on them.

I'll answer anything you like.

v-shinsou

oh fuck off already...

█►─═ ₭卂𝔦†ᵒù ═─◄█

You don't like me when I try to help you, you don't like me as the victim, you don't like me giving you everything you obviously want... ahaha, you are so hard to please...

v-shinsou

help me?

someone like you will never fucking help me.

█►─═ ₭卂𝔦†ᵒù ═─◄█

You don't know anything about me.

v-shinsou

youre one of the lucky ones

none of the lucky ones want to get anywhere near a freak like me [deleted]

█►─═ ₭卂𝔦†ᵒù ═─◄█

Oh, yes, I'm so fortunate, that's exactly why I'm here... because I was the one who won fate's hand...

Is that what you're after, then? Petty vengeance?

Come get it, then.

Release your frustrations. I don't mind.

You obviously want to live out a fantasy of power. Go ahead.

v-shinsou

fuck off.

█►─═ ₭卂𝔦†ᵒù ═─◄█

You're perfectly within your power to stop talking to me if you aren't enjoying yourself, Shinsou-kun.

v-shinsou

dont call me that...

█►─═ ₭卂𝔦†ᵒù ═─◄█

Hahahaa.... Well, if I can't call you by your name and I can't call you by what you are, what should I call you?

Freak? Would you prefer that?

Freak.

v-shinsou

...

█►─═ ₭卂𝔦†ᵒù ═─◄█

Freak freak freak.

v-shinsou

[control freak used illegal software to download your location]

█►─═ ₭卂𝔦†ᵒù ═─◄█

Incredible. I would have just told you where I am.

v-shinsou

[control freak is idle]

█►─═ ₭卂𝔦†ᵒù ═─◄█

So impolite...

...

#monoma.log #captivity.arc #v shinsou #v hawks #n hawks #v kaminari #v aizawa #v todoroki

11 notes · View notes