#seriously for the love of god label your chapters with the fandom at LEAST???? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

iwrestlenow · 3 years

Text

It All Starts And Ends With You, Chapter One (Stories from THE EMERALD)

TITLE: It All Starts And Ends With You, Chapter 1

FANDOM: Sanders Sides (Necromancer AU)

SUMMARY: The nature of a drake, human versus dragon, isn't just tragic backstory. The supernatural halfbreeds are a living duality, two creatures in one skin. Every drake is, essentially, a twin soul.

Unlike most twin souls with a Necromatic match, however, a drake can choose.

For Janus, giving Patton his human soul was easy...but a secret from his past means that his choice has consequences...consequences he was never supposed to face, because Patton would never be free.

So much for a sure thing.

SHIPS: Moceit (Patton/Janus), Dragon Witch/Original Male Character and background Dukexiety (Remus/Virgil)

WARNINGS: Future smut--warnings for all pertinent chapters will be posted.

...so apparently there's going to be a few side stories in this series? This takes place shortly after MANY MORE TO DIE, but it's not the big sequel. It's very much a side quest type thing because Janus Has Backstory and I Have Moceit Feels(TM). XD

Also, later on there WILL be smut in this story, but the chapters will be labeled--and I'm planning to make them skippable if I can. Otherwise I'll summarize plotty things in the end notes. So you filthy minded animals can have your debauchery, and those less inclined can still have all of my feels. :P

Per usual, unbeta'd self indulgent drivel, all mistakes are mine. ONWARD TO SHIPPYTOWN!

Also located at AO3 over here.

1019, A.A.

“Jay! A word?”

Eleven year old Janus Ormor looked up from the book he was reading on the floor of their living chamber. Father was captain of the guard, and as such they had better quarters in the palace than some other soldiers—shutters on the windows, softer beds, and the rug in their living chamber was far more comfortable than his bed, especially with a fire going.

Janus always had trouble staying warm—which never seemed right, since he was half dragon, but if Father wasn't worried then neither was Janus.

Marking his place carefully, Janus set his book aside and got to his feet so he could dash across the room to crawl into his father's lap. Yeah, it was kind of juvenile—he was eleven, Shadow's sake—but Father ran hot, and Janus was not above stealing a little of that warmth from him.

Knowing that, Timothy Ormor smiled and loosened the top couple buttons on his collar, allowing Janus to press his forehead to the curve of his neck as he crowded close with a satisfied sigh.

“What's going on, Father?”

“Nothing, really, just...well, your birthday is in a couple days.”

“Uh huh! I'm really excited! I love surprise parties.”

“How did...”

Janus looked up at his father with a smile, earning one in return. Father finally laughed, shaking his head.

“Sometimes I forget how good your ears are, wriggle worm.” Father sighed, tugging Janus closer. “No matter—yes, we're throwing you a surprise party. Think you can pretend?”

“I'm real good at pretending!” Janus assured him before cuddling up to Father's chest again.

“Well, that's good...but, uh...we need to talk 'bout something else.”

“What's that, Father?”

“Well...you know the story I told you about how you were born?”

Janus nodded, tucking his head against Father's neck again. “You and Mother loved each other very much, so you--”

“Not that part, imp!”

Giggling, Janus continued.

“--after Mother found out she was with child, you guys let me be born in the way of the dragons: she changed form, carried me for a year, and I was hatched a few weeks after the egg came. I didn't get my human form until I was a month old.”

“Well...that's the thing, kiddo...Shadow's Balls, there's no easy way to say this...”

“Say what, Father?”

“I...damn it, but I promised her you'd know your people. Thing is, Jan...your mother didn't have you with me.”

Janus felt his stomach get cold inside.

“What do you mean? You...you're my father.”

Timothy ran a hand through his son's hair, staring into his bright and confused little face. He wasn't overly fair, but his jet black hair washed out his complexion some, his dark eyes glittering in the firelight.

He was so easily mistaken for human with that beautiful face—until he heard things no child his age should. Until he stuck his hand in a fire and came away unburnt. Until he grew slow and lethargic in the cold...until those dark eyes bled yellow as daffodils, pupils lengthening into reptilian slits.

“I'm your dad, wriggle worm,” Timothy confessed, “but the truth is...I'm not actually your father.”

********** 1033, A.A.

“Sneak attack!”

Janus dropped his book as Patton rushed straight at him, flinging himself into Janus's lap and wrapping his arms around his neck to squeeze tight.

“I could see you coming, sweetie.” Janus pointed out with a sigh that didn't match the fierce swell of affection in his chest, hot and restless, compelling him to hold Patton in return with arms wrapped carefully around his waist.

Patton's giggle, right in his ear, sent a pleasant shiver up his spine. “But you didn't know I was gonna hug you!”

“Your arms were open for one.”

“So?”

“You also do this at least three times a day.”

“Only because you said four was too many!”

Patton drew back to pout at him this time, and that hot swell of affection stretched in his chest to the point of pain. Since Mori's death and Roman's installment as regent until the coronation, Logan and Patton had been given free reign of the castle, along with a few other Necromata prisoners the pair had vetted. Until their freedom was voted on by the citizens, they couldn't be released, but they could at least be made comfortable, and given room to reclaim some shred of normalcy.

Which meant Patton could, and did, visit Janus far too often, greedily devouring every hug, cuddle, hand hold, or simple hair ruffle he could gain access to. Janus could hardly deny him...and Janus wanted it all just as much.

Gods, Janus wanted, too much and too soon and too...inhuman.

Staring into Patton's face, Janus's vision was tinged with rays of gold. A gilt to every dark curl on Patton's head, flecks of gold in those deep blue eyes turning them into true lapis...shimmering gold lips pooched into a mock scowl, gold dusting the faint array of freckles he was acquiring after a few weeks of sunlight...

Pressure. Warm, steady, gentle...

Janus blinked, realizing Patton had his forehead pressed against Janus's. He was talking, words Janus couldn't hear but felt, soft and soothing and endless to fill his ears and press back the shimmering film over his vision.

The gilt edges faded away. His eyes were blue, deep and still and endless. He was Patton again, not...not some worthless hoard.

Just Patton, soft and sweet and bloodthirsty, infinitely more precious.

“...got you, Janny, my beautiful Janus. I got you, you're doing so good, you're so good for me...”

...okay, that couldn't be allowed to go on. Not when it made warmth pool far lower in Janus's body, made him want something entirely different—and wow, he was not ready for those kinds of personal revelations today.

Clearing his throat, Janus reached up to gently touch Patton's cheek.

“I'm all right, Pattycake. Promise.”

Patton watched him dubiously, a far more serious version of that pout forming on his face again...Gods and Souls, he wanted to run a fingertip over that lush lower lip. Or maybe bite it.

“You were growling.” Patton replied suspiciously. “And you were feeling cold. You're never cold, you're always warm as toast.”

“It's nothing, truly. I was just...distracted.” Janus tried again. “Work related, got me a little upset is all.”

Patton narrowed his eyes—then leaned back in to hug Janus again. Janus hugged him back without thinking...and felt his breath catch when he swore, swore to all the dragon gods, that he felt the tiniest press of lips against his neck before Patton burrowed in, pressing his face there.

“No one's 'llowed to upset my pretty dragon.” Patton mumbled against his throat. “Gonna eat their liver.”

Janus knew enough to know that was a very genuine threat, petulant as it sounded—and the promise of bloodshed should not make his heart throb with the softest pulse of tenderness and adoration. And yet...

“No more cannibalism, remember, darling?”

“It was one time, and it was an accident!”

Janus had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing as Patton drew back to whine at him in protest.

“Yes, darling. Of course—entirely accidental. Naturally.”

“Humph. Not talking to you anymore.”

“Understood.”

“...the Lord Father is here to see you.”

Janus felt his blood turn to ice at that.

“Janny? You okay?”

With a sigh, Janus gently patted Patton's knee.

“No, but this was inevitable. Up, Paddock darling. I've business to attend to.”

********** He seemed bigger than Janus remembered.

Walking into his office, he was unsuprised to see Josiah Crofter standing within its walls, back turned as he stared out the window, arms folded across his chest. He wasn't, technically, allowed to be here and leave free, but Josiah had made it clear to the prince regent he knew how to access the castle at will—and had been given leave to do so whenever he wished to see his family.

When Janus was thirteen, he'd been a hungry giant, and now...now he was exactly the same despite the fact that Janus was now a grown man. Tall, too, thanks to that seven foot frame in his ancestry. Somehow, even still, Josiah himself was the bigger, the prouder, the more intimidating.

Clearing his throat, Janus announced his presence. Josiah didn't even turn around.

“You got good men servin' you, Deceit.”

“Do not call me that.” Janus replied flatly, sauntering over to his desk. “The walls have ears. Granted, most of them are mine, but loose lips and all. Unlike the rest of you, I take protection of my True Name very seriously.”

“Unlike the rest of us, son, it can't be used to hurt you. Not anymore.”

“Yes, you saw to that, didn't you?” Janus bit off tersely, sinking into his chair.

Josiah fell silent, taking a moment before he finally turned to face him. He was a stoic wall for several seconds before his expression just...melted, cold gray eyes going smoke-soft as he watched him.

“You look so much like your momma it hurts.” Josiah murmured, one corner of his mouth twitching upwards. “It's a good hurt, mind, but...I know you don't believe me, but seein' you's a balm on old wounds, little ember.”

That caught Janus by surprise—and he hated that. He was the one with the surprises, the tricks, the knowledge...but this man had things he never would.

Father knew who Janus was, but Josiah Crofter...he knew where Janus came from. He knew the why, the history and the parts and how they worked together, because they were a part of him as well. They were, quite literally, part of his soul.

“Which part?”

The question left Janus without his permission, torn from the small, secret part of him that had been inexorably drawn to his birth father's doorstep from the moment his human half had truly awakened for the first time.

He wasn't sure what he even meant, but somehow Josiah knew all the same.

“Both. All.” he replied, deep voice heavy with affection that settled over Janus, warm as fire and soft as the heaviest flannel blanket. “You got her scales and her hair—and in human form, her eyes were always that same shade of yellow you got on the one side.”

The knowledge hit him hard, formed a fist and plunged straight into his chest. It was comfort, it was agony...and it was a much needed reminder.

Josiah Crofter knew him as even his own father couldn't—and far too late, Janus learned to fear him for that reason. Far too late.

Janus's True Name was proof of that.

“Is there a reason you're here to see me, Lord Father?” he replied instead of addressing the observation. “Or did you come her to merely wax sentiment?”

A flare of hurt, then anger passed through his expression, clinging to his bones with its painful familiarity. Timothy Ormor was a man slow to anger, patient and steady—unlike Janus, whose swift mind was only outpaced by his heart, burning with the fire of the dragons.

Lashing out with anger instead of grieving or showing fear. This man was where he got it from.

Like Josiah did now, composing himself and folding his hands behind his back, he would default to a steady and inscrutable mask, cover the truth with strength and decorum.

“I came here to check on you.” he replied evenly. “Your situation with the Morrel boy ain't exactly a common one. Does he know?”

“About my condition? No.” Janus replied flatly. “And he never will.”

“That ain't an option, and you damn well know it.”

“It is if we aren't together.”

Josiah's brow furrowed, expression clouding with confusion. “You a Jadeheart?”

Janus rolled his eyes. “That term is archaic as all Seven Hells—no, I am not aromantic. Nor am I asexual, which is hardly your business—oh, I'm sorry, Soultouched.”

“You love that boy. You're bonded to him.”

“Your point?”

“...so you did give him your human soul.”

Janus fell silent, stubbornly holding the other man's gaze until he grit his teeth with a growl.

“Ah, Hells...”

Janus didn't like the way Josiah's breath left him in a rush, the way he cursed as if he'd just lost something precious. He didn't like the way he hung his head, shoulders slumping in something like defeat.

Janus didn't like the way he felt suddenly like he'd done something to deliberately hurt him.

“He was a Black Dog with a pure heart.” Janus hissed. “The purest heart...anyone who didn't know would assume he had a soul already, how could I give him anything else? How could I kill that human heart with a monster's soul?”

As he said it, he felt the reality of it sink into him for the first time, saying it out loud like that.

Because unlike most twin souls, a drake could choose.

And when Janus gained an inkling of what might be happening, when he felt that moment come—to give of himself, to release something of himself into Patton's care, of course—of course he chose to give Patton, to trust Patton, with everything in him that was human.

“You know what's gonna happen if you hold yourself away from him, son.” Josiah warned.

Janus narrowed his eyes at him, but could no longer bear up under Josiah's scrutiny, his eyes flicking down to his desk.

“Tell me this, Father: if you knew that you were going to become every foul thing the Animator stood for, if you knew that you were going to turn into your own father, would you have married my mother? Would you have exposed her to that monster?”

There was no answer from Josiah. Janus didn't expect one.

The closer he grew to Patton, the worse it got—and now that the sweet little killer was no longer safely tucked away in the dungeons or sequestered in a single wing of the palace, Janus was slipping.

Consumed by the hunger for possession. Tormented by visions of riches. Haunted by the knowledge that, if given half a chance, he would consume Patton whole just to sate his growing thirst for more.

Without his human soul, Janus was losing his grip on himself—and if he couldn't do something soon, the dragon—Deceit--would be all that was left of him.

#janus sanders #patton sanders #moceit #sanders sides #fanfic #necromancer au #fic series: the emerald #my name is liz and i swear to god i will fic again

5 notes · View notes

jade4813 · 4 years

Text

The Lies We Tell Ourselves, Chapter 9

Fandom: Zoey’s Extraordinary Playlist

Title: The Lies We Tell Ourselves

Rating: PG (I’m assuming it’ll stay there?)

Pairing: Zoey/Max

Synopsis: Max would do anything for Zoey. Including posing as her fake boyfriend to give her father one last “big moment” to celebrate with her. Nothing could possibly go wrong. After all, it’s only his heart that stands to be broken. Right?

Chapter: 9/?

Author’s Notes: Takes place after Zoey’s Extraordinary Glitch.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

“Hey, guys. Sorry we’re a little late. You didn’t start the movie without us?” Zoey asked as she opened her parents’ front door and walked inside. Reluctantly, she shrugged out of the coat he’d wrapped her in, wishing she could think of an excuse to keep it on. She didn’t really need the warmth, but it smelled like him and so it brought her a measure of comfort. She turned to ask him if he wanted it back, but he was looking in the other direction, and she wasn’t strong enough to get his attention. So, instead, she hung it in the coat closet.

“Of course not,” her mom replied cheerfully, giving her a hug. “Your dad decided he wanted to start with charades anyway. I decided to have a little fun with it, so tonight’s theme is movie titles. Max, everyone’s in the other room, setting up, if you want to go on in.”

He brushed her, heading into the living room, and Zoey found herself starting at his back with such longing, it took her breath away. What would he do if she called out to him? Asked him to come back? Told him she needed him to hold her?

Maggie made a soft sound. “Zoey, I was just about to grab drinks for everyone. Do you want to help me?”

“Is this another one of those things where you pretend you need my help, but secretly you want to grill me about something?” she asked dubiously as she followed her mom into the kitchen.

“Of course not!” Maggie lied smoothly. Then, her eyes wide with deceptive innocence, she asked, “Why? Is there something I need to grill you about?”

She reached into the refrigerator with a sigh as she asked morosely, “If I said no, would you believe me?”

Maggie reached for some glasses. “I’m your mother; of course I would believe you,” she answered. “And I wouldn’t even think of mentioning the fact that you look like you’ve been crying. Or the way Max was looking at you until you turned to look at him. Or the way you looked at him when his back was turned.”

“He was looking at me?” she asked in a tiny, hopeful voice.

“Zoey, what is going on? Is everything okay with you two?” she asked, in lieu of answering the question.

Her shoulders slumping, she admitted softly, “I don’t know what to say, Mom. I…I screwed up, and I hurt him. A lot. He’s…he’s giving up on me, and I just don’t know how to fix it.” She felt the urge to cry again, but she fought back the tears, scared that if she cried now – in front of her mother – she wouldn’t be able to stop.

Maggie gave her a sympathetic look. “I can’t imagine you did anything as bad as all that.”

Resting her shoulders on the counter, she placed her chin in one hand and threw her mother a morose look. “I wouldn’t be too sure about that.”

“Have you tried talking to him?”

“I’ve tried! But he doesn’t believe me, and I don’t know how to make him! What if I can’t, and I lose him completely? I can’t even imagine my life without Max.”

Putting the glasses on the counter, her mother wrapped her in a tight hug. “Oh, Zoey. I know it’s hard, and you’re scared, but if there’s one thing I don’t doubt for a second, it’s how much the two of you love each other. And if there’s one thing that I’ve learned from a lifetime of loving your father, it’s that as long as you love each other, you can work through this together.”

Zoey pulled back and threw her mother a skeptical look. “I appreciate the advice, but I don’t think you and dad ever screwed up as badly as I just screwed things up with Max.”

Her mom laughed. “I know it seems like that now, but we were still so young when we met; we still had so many things we had to learn. You don’t think we ever did anything stupid or thoughtless? That I never worried that I’d driven your father so crazy, he might just be done with me?”

“But…you guys always have always seemed so solid! You have, like, the perfect marriage!”

Maggie snorted. “Oh, sure, it seems like that now, but it took us some time to get there. You know how Mitch loves his big moments? Well, we’d only been dating for a couple months and he decided he wanted to take me to a basketball game and do this huge gesture using the Jumbotron. In retrospect, it was very sweet, but I wasn’t really ready for anything like that.”

As Maggie dropped her arms and started to gather the drinks onto a tray, Zoey asked, “But you love those big gestures!”

“I do now! But back then, it was so different from anything I’d been used to. I mean, when you’re having an affair with a married man, you don’t really do big gestures. It’s more discrete sneaking around and clandestine rendezvous. So, needless to say, I didn’t respond very well, and we ended up having a huge argument.”

Zoey bit her lip. “So how did the two of you get through it?”

Lifting the tray and turning towards the living room, her mom replied, “We remembered how much we loved each other, and holding on to that was more important than any argument we could have.”

Grabbing the two bottles of beer her mom couldn’t fit on the tray, Zoey followed her into the other room. As she walked in, she saw Max sitting on the couch, next to her dad. Emily was standing in front of him, and Zoey watched as she took his hand and pressed it against her stomach. “Do you feel it?”

If Zoey didn’t love him already, she thought she would have fallen for him all over again when she saw the look of wonder on his face at the feel of the baby’s kick. “Emily, that’s…incredible. Thank you.”

Oblivious to her daughter’s emotional turmoil, Maggie walked towards the group, calling cheerfully, “Okay, who needs a drink? Max, how about a beer?”

“Ah, sure,” he agreed, pulling his hand off Emily’s stomach and throwing Maggie a smile. “Thank you.”

“Oh, gee. I don’t seem to have one,” Maggie replied, the regret in her voice a little over-the-top as she thrust the only one on her tray into David’s hand.

Somewhat startled, David began to protest, “Actually, I was going to ask for -” Since Maggie’s back was to Zoey, she couldn’t see the look on her mother’s face. But whatever David saw there, he wisely changed course. “A beer, of course. Thank you.”

Plowing ahead, Maggie continued brightly, “But I think Zoey has a beer for you. Zoey?”

Max watched as Zoey, blushing bright red, crept forward, holding out one of the bottles for him to take. It was all he could do not to laugh aloud at Maggie’s not-so-subtle maneuvering. He didn’t know what the two had talked about in the kitchen, but he’d learned long ago that nothing much got past the heads of the Clarke family. But knowing Zoey as he did, he also knew she was equal parts touched and desperate to set herself on fire, so he threw her a week and a cheeky grin, mouthing, “Subtle.”

“Sorry,” she mouthed back, blushing even brighter red if that were possible, but he just shook his head slightly, silently reassuring her. She handed over his drink, and he let his hand linger a little longer than necessary when it brushed against hers.

“Okay, now that I have the beer I definitely wanted, let’s get this party started!” David interjected cheerfully, rubbing his hands together. “Zoey and Max, Emily and I are willing to take pity on you this time and let you go first. It’s the least we can do, since we’re about to totally obliterate you.” It was possible David took charades a little too seriously.

Max snorted. “You say that, but you’re going to need that beer to have something to cry into when we’re done with you,” he joked in return. “Zoey, swee –” He caught himself mid-endearment, choked slightly when he realized what he was saying and the word got caught in the back of his throat, then tried to continue when he remembered that it was just the sort of thing that would continue to sell their fictional relationship. “-eetheart,” he finished, the word tumbling awkwardly off his tongue, broken in half by a strange hiccup in the middle. With a strangled cough, he tried to recover. “Do you want to go first?”

He’d seen Zoey flinch when he mangled the pet name, but she plastered a smile on her face and nodded. “Of course.” She took a quick drink of her beer, then he watched as she reached into the bowl and grabbed a piece of paper, giving it a quick glance before tossing it aside.

God, she was so beautiful.

He shook his head, trying to dislodge the thought. If he was ever going to convince his heart that it didn’t love her anymore, he had to stop thinking like that. Though he imagined the heat death of the universe would happen before he managed to fall out of love with her, he had to try. Picking at the peeling label on his beer bottle, he pondered the cute girl at the gym that flirted with him every time he came in. It probably wouldn’t be fair to ask her out just yet, but maybe one day…

He shouldn’t be thinking about this now. Not in front of her parents, when they were supposed to be pretending to be a couple. The more he thought about it, the more miserable he became, and he was struggling as it was to smile and keep up the act. When all this was over, he was going to need to ask Zoey for a break. He needed to take some time to get his head in order. As much as he kept telling himself to close off his heart and keep his distance, one look in her eyes shattered his resolve. When she cried, his body ached to do anything he could to take away her pain. Which only left him with his own.

Lost in thought, he didn’t hear what David said, but he chuckled softly when he heard the rest of her family laughing in response. Rubbing his hand across his forehead, he tried to stifle his melancholy sigh. He had to pull his mind off her, off his heartache, off the bewilderment he felt when he tried to decide which was worse – the ache in his chest now, or the emptiness he would feel if he couldn’t get a hold of himself and lost Zoey completely.

No, he was getting ahead of himself. He wouldn’t lose her. He just needed some time. If he couldn’t stop loving her, perhaps he could find a way to lock those feelings deep inside himself and move on with his life. Yeah, maybe he would ask out that girl at the gym. What was her name? Sandy? Carol? Maybe it was Alice…

“All right, enough fooling around, you guys. We need to focus,” Emily cut in, leaning forward and staring at Zoey with the kind of laser-like intensity usually reserved for scientists tasked with splitting atoms. David wasn’t the only one who took charades very seriously.

Max chuckled and caught Zoey’s eye, subconsciously wanting her to share in his silent amusement as he took another long sip of beer. He was going to have to slow down a little if he didn’t want to get tipsy and make a fool out of himself, but he wouldn’t mind a slight buzz, if it helped take away his memory of his earlier breakdown and confession. Not to mention, well, everything else.

“Okay, Zoey. You ready?” Maggie asked as Mitch reached for the button to start the timer.

Her eyes locked on Max, she opened her mouth, presumably to respond. Instead, she started to sing. “What did you think I would do at this moment…”

Surprised, Max sucked in a sharp breath mid-swallow, accidentally inhaling his sip of beer. He spluttered, choking, trying to catch his breath as he sat up abruptly on the couch. Zoey clamped one hand over her mouth and stared at him in horror, a tiny, frantic shake of her head the silent answer to his unasked question. She was not doing this intentionally.

Maggie let out a small, surprised laugh. Emily threw Zoey a confused look while David slapped Max on the back, trying to clear his airway. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” he wheezed, scrambling to his feet.

Zoey clearly tried to hold her hand in place, and it shook as it fell away. She continued, “When you’re standing before me with tears in your eyes…” She snapped her jaw closed, pressing her lips together in a futile attempt to bite back her song.

“Zoey, what are you doing?” Emily pressed. “This is charades, not karaoke.”

Max forced a loud laugh, trying to divert her family’s attention from the impromptu musical number that was about to play out in front of them. He had to do something to get Zoey out of there. Fast. Before the situation got any worse. Boxed in on both sides, he realized it would take too long to scoot around the coffee table in front of the couch, so he jumped over it instead, nearly stumbling in his haste to get to her side. “Ha! Oh, yeah. It’s okay, Emily. This is…um…this is just a little thing…Zoey and I do. She, uh, lost a bet earlier and, um -”

“Trying to tell me that you have found you another, and you just don’t love me no more…”

Raising his voice to drown out her singing, he blurted, “Actually, would you guys excuse us for a second? We should really…” he gestured vaguely. “Outside.”

Zoey couldn’t stop herself from singing, so he bent down and pressed his lips against hers. She made a tiny little squeak of surprise, but when she opened her mouth, he deepened the kiss. Anything to help her stop singing until he could get her someplace private. The day would probably come when she would have to tell her family about her mysterious superpower, but this was probably not the place, and it was definitely not the time.

She grabbed onto him, cupping his face in her hands, and he honestly didn’t know if she was clinging to him because she wanted to continue their kiss, or if she was just desperate to stop herself from singing. Max shot a quick look towards the front door out of the corner of his eye and, at a loss how else to move her without breaking off the kiss, swept her into his arms.

“All right, all right you two! Take it outside!” David grumbled good-naturedly, and Max raced to the exit as fast as he could while still trying to act casual.

Behind him, he heard some movement, the soft crinkle of paper, and then Emily mumble in a bewildered tone, “Okay, but what did that song had to do with The Princess Bride?”

Max was in such a rush to get out of the house, he tripped on the threshold and tumbled, having to shift his hold on Zoey as they careened down the porch steps. Off-balance by her weight, he did a strange half-spin as he hit the ground, barely breaking his stride on his mad dash down the walk. If he could only get her to the street. Surely her parents wouldn’t hear her from the street. Just a few more seconds, Zoey. Give me just a few more seconds.

She made another surprised squeak and moved her hands to his shoulders to keep from tumbling out of his arms, but it was enough for their kiss to break off, and she began to sing again. “What did you think I would say at this moment? When I’m faced with the knowledge that you just don’t love me…”

She began to wiggle in his arms, trying to regain her feet, and he barely made it to the street before he had to put her down. Panting from the exertion, and almost certain he had pulled something when he fell off the front steps, he didn’t struggle when she wrapped her hand around the back of his neck and pulled him closer, pressing her forehead against his as she crooned, “Did you think I would curse you, or say things to hurt you? ‘Cause you just don’t love me no more…”

“Zoey,” he moaned, squeezing his eyes shut. “Please.” If this was a heart song – and he was certainly willing to believe it was, since he doubted she’d have started singing in front of her family – he knew she couldn’t control herself. That didn’t make it any easier to hear.

Nuzzling him with her cheek, she sang softly in his ear, “Did you think I could hate you? Or raise my hands to you? Now, come on, you know me too well. How could I hurt you, when darling I love you. And you know I’d never hurt you.”

She trailed a line of kisses along his jaw, and he moaned again. He knew he should release her and step back, but he couldn’t force his arms to let her go. She trailed her hands along the line of his neck and then down his chest, her fingers exploring a soft path across his stomach. His knees buckled, and he pulled her harder against him.

She brushed her lips against his, and he told himself he shouldn’t kiss back. True, it was a heart song, but she wasn’t entirely in her right mind at the moment. She wasn’t in control of her words. Or her actions, he reminded himself when she nipped his lower lip with her teeth.

“What do you think I would give at this moment? If you’d stay, I’d subtract twenty years from my life. I’d fall down on my knees -”

He couldn’t look at her and retain any self-control, so he kept his eyes squeezed shut as he caressed her collarbone, his fingers caressing the back of her neck as held her to him. Tilting his head, he breathed her in. He shouldn’t kiss her. He told himself he shouldn’t kiss her. But how much could a man take? As soft as a whisper, he pleaded, “Damn it, Zoey. Tell me to stop. Tell me to walk away. Tell me you don’t want me to kiss you.”

She hesitated, but he sucked in a ragged gasp when she relaxed against him, her body pressing against his. Her breath was as warm and soft as the caress of her lips against his as she whispered, “Max? I think…we have a lot to talk about. Take me home.”

#the lies we tell ourselves #zoey clarke #max richman #zoey's extraordinary playlist #zep #zomax #clarkeman #fake dating au

35 notes · View notes

solynaceawrites · 4 years

Text

Promise Me Forever [4]

Fandom: Devil May Cry Characters: Dante, Lirael Thorne (OC) Tags: Slow Burn, Romance, Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe, First Time, Friends to Lovers Chapters: 3/14 co-written by @lickitysplitfic Summary: An old, long-forgotten promise between gods comes back to haunt Dante when it deposits an unfamiliar woman on his door. Claiming to be the descendant of Ler, she says that they’re meant to fulfill the oath made by Sparda centuries ago, and all he can do is watch as she turns his life upside down. Yet when her parents come knocking, demanding the oath be fulfilled, he’s forced to choose: return to the bachelor ways he loved so much, or give in to the emotions brewing between him.

»»————-　⚜　————-««

It turns out to be another sleepless night for Dante. At first, he simply cannot get comfortable; blaming it on the humidity caused by a storm rolling in, he opens the windows and strips himself nude, and kicks the covers to the foot of the bed. Then comes the restlessness he knows all too well, the kind that can usually be solved with a nice little round of masturbation. Yet the second his hand touches his cock, the image of Lir comes to mind, and he releases it with a curse. He might be an asshole, but he's not that kind of asshole.

All of that serves to leave him irritable and more than a little wound up the next morning, and he spends a long time in the shower, trying to get himself under control. If he doesn't, he'll snap at her sooner or later, or worse, and she doesn't deserve that. Dante is careful not to drip too much water on the floors as he dries off, and then he dresses and heads down into the shop.

“—will be alright," he hears Lir say. Pausing, he leans over the railing, his brows going up at the sight of her sitting on the couch with a woman sobbing into a tissue. "Dante will be able to take care of it."

Her position lets him drink in her figure, the braid of her hair exposing the elegant sweep of her neck. He swallows thickly, listening to the conversation unfold. "Are you sure?" the woman sniffles.

"Yes. He's very good at this. I've seen it," Lir reassures her. "I know you must be feeling hopeless, but he can help you."

"Help with what?" he calls as he takes the stairs two at a time.

Lir stands and gestures him over. "You have a new client," she says, beaming with pride.

Dante remembers the fuss she made over him killing the demons last night, and he clears his throat uncomfortably as he sits at his desk. "What's the situation?" he asks.

The woman sniffles as she describes what sounds like a very basic haunting: Demons have taken over her garage, nasty little devils that are eating the stray cats. "My poor babies," she sobs, blowing her nose. "I leave food out for all the neighborhood cats. I tried to keep them safe, but they've been devoured, one by one!"

"That must have been very upsetting," Lir says sympathetically.

She nods as Lir pats her shoulder. "Misty had a litter two days ago, and I know they'll be next. Please, you have to help me!"

Lir looks at him expectantly. It's obvious she wants him to say something comforting, but he frowns. "Why are you feeding all the vermin anyway?" he asks. "Stray cats are a nuisance."

As soon as the words leave his mouth, he knows his mistake. Lir's eyes go wide as the woman leans forward and hisses viciously, "Listen, you, those are God's creatures you're talking about, and those evil, disgusting demons need to go straight back to hell where they belong!"

Dante holds up his hands to defend himself, but Lir quickly interrupts, "What Dante meant is that you should feed them elsewhere until he can take care of the demons for you. Didn't you, Dante?" she finishes, giving him a pointed look.

". . . Yeah." The woman deflates, her tears returning, and he feels a brief stab of irritation he tries to ignore. "It sounds easy enough. You and your . . ." Lir shakes her head subtly. "You and your friends should find a place to stay for a few days, until the job is done."

Watery eyes fix on his own. "You'll be careful, won't you? Those . . . those things have caused enough damage."

He does his best to hold in a sharp retort, though his voice is clipped when he replies, "I'll do what I can."

"Come on," Lir says gently, helping the woman to her feet. "Let me make you a cup of tea, and then we can work on getting your contact information, okay?"

She leads her away, Dante tracking the sway of her hips. It's only been two days since she arrived, bringing another mess for him to sort through, yet he's finding himself more and more adjusted to her presence, more at ease with having her around. And it helps that she's pretty to look at, even if that train of thought is likely to lead him to other, less polite ones.

After Lir serves tea she produces a contract for her to sign, which the woman does as she rambles on about her cats. Dante tunes out Lir's polite questions after the felines to wonder how she had found them—hell, after Morrison had given him a stack of boilerplates years ago, he stuffed them in a drawer and forgot about them. Did she clean his desk too?

The woman leaves and Lir makes sure the door is firmly shut before bursting into giggles. "That was a strange one!" she remarks, walking over to his desk and handing him the contract. "Are all your cases so interesting?"

"Yeah. Hey, how did you do that?" he asks.

Lir blinks at him, her arm still extended, holding out the paper for him to take. "Do what?"

"That. With that client. She left . . ." Dante grasps for the word. "Happy?"

Her brows furrow, and he's filled with the sudden, ridiculous urge to kiss the indent between them to smooth it away. "Do your clients tend to leave unhappy?"

"Maybe. I dunno." He takes the contract from her and leans back in his chair to get a little more space before he does something she'll regret. "They certainly aren't saying thank you, or smiling."

"I . . . I was just nice to her. That's all." Lir tugs at the hem of her shirt, her fingers worrying the fabric. "I was taught how to be a good hostess, in case I ever needed to be, so I just . . . talked to her?"

"Talk to her," he muses, opening a drawer in the desk. "I'll have to try that some time.”

He looks down and frowns again, spying hanging file folders neatly labeled and lined in order. When did she have time to do all this?

"Are you hungry?" Lir asks. "I didn't get much done with the client here so early, but I did manage to bake some muffins and brew some fresh coffee."

"Come here," he says, pushing the drawer closed with his foot. She does as he's asked, stepping around the desk until she's next to him, and there's the same nervous energy from the other night, when he'd cornered her in the laundry room. Slowly, he stands, leaning down to study her face. "You sleep at all?"

"What? Yes, of course." She looks up at him, a faint rosy hue to her cheeks. "Why do you ask?"

"Just wonderin'. You got a lot done over the past few days."

Lir chuckles. "I've never been one to need a lot of sleep. Besides, I've been training my whole life to take care of a son of Sparda. And I . . . like it." The last part is almost a whisper, and she blushes and looks away. "You've been very kind to me, letting me stay here. It's the least I could do."

"Show me these muffins," he says, and Lir gives him another smile that leaves him a bit hot under the collar.

He is on his third when the phone rings back in the office. "I'll get it," Lir says, breezing out of the kitchen.

Her voice filters in with, "Devil May Cry, how can I help you?" as he looks over the remaining muffins, when Lir calls, "Dante! It's Lady!"

"Alright!" he calls back. Snagging a blueberry muffin and popping as much of it as he can into his mouth, he saunters back to his desk, swallowing as he grabs the receiver. "'Bout time you called."

"Yeah, yeah." Her voice is a bit crackly. "Almost thought I had the wrong shop for a minute. When'd you let her start answering calls?"

Dante glances over to Lir, who is carefully sweeping the rug by the door. "I don't let her do anything. She chooses to. I just don't stop her."

"Well, aren't you getting soft?" Lady laughs. Ignoring his sputtered protests, she continues, "I found her home. It's a town called Llyrlen, about three hours away from Fortuna by car. Pretty self-contained, too."

"Llyrlen, huh?"

"Yeah. Seems they take this god thing pretty seriously." She sighs. "But, from what I could gather, it's all true. Sparda and this Ler met and made a promise, and Lir, as the god's direct descendant and the only of her sisters eligible to marry, was sent to fulfill it."

He rubs his lips. "What happens if she doesn't?"

"From what I heard, exactly what she said. She'll be an outcast, stripped of everything and sent to work in the archives for the rest of her life. Kind of like a nun, only less pleasant."

"Okay." He glances at Lir, who watches him expectantly. Can he really let that happen? "Thanks for doing this. I'll see you when you get back."

"Yeah. Don't let Lir leave, okay? I'm going to make a quick stop but I'll be there in a few days. Then I'll help her figure out what to do."

Dante feels a bit of a burn in his throat at the implication that he wouldn't bother doing the same. "Yeah. I won't. And, hey, listen, they didn't know you were there, right? Lir's family?"

"What do you take me for? I'm a professional."

With that the line goes dead, and he sighs as he hangs up the receiver. "What did she say?" Lir asks tightly.

Dante shrugs. "You were right. We're supposed to get married."

He waits for the accusatory response, but instead she looks at him, her eyes more hesitant than he'd like. "What do you want to do?" The question startles him; shouldn't he be asking her that? "Should I pack my things?"

"No! No, you're not goin' anywhere." He runs a hand through his hair, leaning heavily against his desk. "I don't think marriage is in the cards and, after you seein' what I'm really like, I'd be surprised if you still wanted to. But you can . . . Having you around is nice. If you want to stay, you can."

Dante expects her to respond with her usual enthusiasm, but instead, she seems to deflate. "I can't impose on you like that."

"Sure you can," he says. "I don't mind."

Lir shakes her head. "It's not . . . you're the son of Sparda, and—"

"Would you lay off that son of Sparda stuff?" Dante snaps.

"Well! It's the truth!" she fires back, taking him by surprise. "And I can't stay here if we're not married. It's not proper."

Her expression is furious, but Dante bursts into laughter. "Proper? Like marrying a stranger is proper?"

She folds her arms in a huff. "That's different."

"How?"

"Because it was . . . It was . . . It just is!"

"I'll pay you," he chuckles, trying not to focus on how cute she is when she's mad, her cheeks flushed and her eyes bright, trying not to wonder if she'd look like that after he kissed her. It's not the time, it's not the place, and he's got no right to think those things about her. "You stay here, work the phones, greet clients, and I'll pay you in room and board."

"Forty percent," she says.

"What!" he exclaims. "No way. That's robbery."

Lir shrugs. "Fine. Thirty."

"Ten."

"Twenty-five."

Dante growls. "Twenty and I'll take you to the aquarium and the zoo."

"Deal!" She sticks her hand out with a grin. "See how good I am at negotiating?"

"Damn near ruthless," he agrees, clasping her fingers between his own. Yet he finds it harder than he'd like to let go; blaming it on whatever it is that's making him so horny, he forces himself to drop her hand. "Well, looks like we've got the rest of the day to ourselves. Anything you want to do?"

Lir taps her chin. "I need to see what I can cook for dinner tonight, but, before that, I'd like to finish cleaning upstairs. If that's okay?"

"Be my guest."

She smiles at him. "Okay. I'll make a fresh pot of coffee. Oh! And you need to start getting ready for that job, right?"

"Right. Cat lady." Lir gives him a look and he rolls his eyes. "Fine, fine. Sooner I get that done the better." He walks around his desk and grabs the guitar case, slinging it over his back. "You'll be okay for a few hours?"

"Yup!" she says. Then Lir smiles shyly. "You'll be safe, won't you?

That makes him pause. When was the last time anyone had been worried for his safety? Usually everyone assumed he would be fine, and he always was, but something about having her ask makes him feel warm in a way he doesn't quite understand. "Don't worry that pretty head too much. I doubt I'll need more than the girls to handle this." Seeing her confusion, he amends, "The guns."

"Oh! I see. Well, then. Hm." Dante waits to hear whatever it is she's trying to say, but what he's not expecting is for her to brace her hands on his shoulders and lean up to press the briefest of kisses to his cheek. "For luck."

His skin burns with her kiss, and Dante quickly spins, giving a weak salute as he heads out the door. Suddenly filled with way, way too much energy, he decides to head to the job on foot, whistling to himself as he moves through the city.

»»————-　⚜　————-««

Dante practically crawls back to the Devil May Cry, sighing with relief when he turns the knob of the front door.

He winces, his fingers and hands covered in scratches that leave tracks all the way up his arms and over his chest. They don't hurt terribly bad, but the sheer amount of scrapes all combined cause him to ache every time he moves. The rest of him hadn't fared much better, his clothes splattered with now-dried blood, sweat and dirt making his cuts sting.

All he wants is a beer and a nap, maybe in that order. But the second he steps inside the shop and smells the cleaning products and fails to trip over some stuff on the floor, he remembers he's not alone anymore.

"Dante! You're back!" Lir calls excitedly over from the couch. He turns around and gingerly takes off his coat, hanging it on the door as her voice gets closer. "I was starting to worry. I didn't make anything but I can heat up—oh my goodness! You're hurt!"

Her hands are on his arms, pushing up his sleeves as she chews on her lip. "Nah, I'm fine," he says.

Lir gives him a sharp look, making him feel scolded. "What happened?" she demands.

"Those damn cats," Dante growls. "The demons were no problem, but the cats didn't like me much."

"Oh," she breathes. "I'm sorry, I didn't even think to . . . Of course they'd be aggressive towards you. Cats can sense demons, and one was attacking them. Sit here." She tugs him to the couch, and he allows her to guide him, sinking onto the cushions with a sigh. "I'll be right back. I think I saw a first aid kit in the bathroom."

Dante waits until she's gone to lean his head back, and it isn't long until he's dozing. The sensation of cool hands against his skin rouses him a bit. He cracks open his eyes to find Lir kneeling between his legs, her hair tucked behind her ears as she carefully dabs antiseptic over his scrapes, a bottle of beer sitting next to her on the floor. He lifts a hand to graze his fingers over her cheek, and her eyes flick to his face, a soft smile curling her lips.

"I didn't mean to wake you," she says quietly. "How are you feeling?"

"Sore," he chuckles. "But I'm good."

Lir gives him a shy smile. Then she shifts to lean over him, brushing his hair back so she can swab his forehead. "These don't look too bad, you know. They'll be healed in a few days."

"Sooner than that," he murmurs.

Dante can feel his healing working already, but some part of him wishes it wouldn't, so she can still keep working on him. Lir searches his face before going back to checking his arms, and he uses the opportunity to just gaze at her.

It's not the first time he's studied her, but it is the first that he's been this close while doing it. Her brows and lashes are darker than her hair, an ashy gray, and they almost seem to glow with the pale amber of her eyes. There are no freckles or other markings on her creamy skin, though a faint scar tracks along her temple, and, with her straight nose and full lips, she's gorgeous. Dante brushes a few strands of hair from her face, his heart thudding uncomfortably when she leans into the touch after a second's hesitation.

When she looks up again, they are close, close enough that he can feel her breath fan on his lips. His own part and her eyes dart down, and Dante feels his heart thudding as her mouth curves up into a smile. "I think you're going to live," she murmurs.

"Lucky me," he replies.

Lir licks her lips. The gesture makes something inside him tighten, but then she eases away, leaning over to clean up her supplies. "I was thinking of doing a delivery order," she says, her back to him. "Now that I'm staying I can get more groceries in. There are also some items that I can use to make different oils and potions you can use."

"Potions?" murmurs Dante, his eyes sliding along her spine.

She peeks at him over her shoulder with a grin. "Yeah. Like for when you come back from fighting some stray cats covered in cuts and bruises?"

"As long as you're the one putting it on me." She stiffens for a moment before laughing quietly, and he decides that he likes the sound of it almost as much as he does the sound of her talking to him. "You know, I gotta ask. Pretty girl, good head on her shoulders, and her family sends her off to marry someone she's never met? How'd you wind up with this gig?"

Lir hums, latching the kit. "I have three older sisters. One of them is married, and the other two are betrothed. I was next in line. That's all."

"Three sisters?"

"Older sisters," she corrects. "There's a younger one, as well."

"That's a . . . lot." He chuckles, the sound cutting off when she stands.

Lir shrugs. "I guess they figured they needed enough daughters in case one of you showed up."

"And what if I didn't?" Dante puts his arms up on the back of the couch, the soreness already faded. "How did you even find me?"

"Fortuna," she answers. "Kind of hard not to notice you."

Dante huffs a laugh as he shakes his head. "Yeah, that was a fuck-up in every way. But suppose I hadn't been there. We wouldn't have ever met."

It isn't a question so much as a realization, and he ends up frowning as she nods in agreement. "I probably would have been married off. If my sisters and I did not marry the son of Sparda, then we would be tasked with creating the next generation of brides."

She offers him a smile before carrying the first aid kit away, her steps soft on the steps. Dante scratches his head, thinking on what she told him. Honestly, it was creepy as hell.

"The next generation of brides," he mumbles. "What the hell did you do, you old bastard?"

Not wanting to get anywhere close to that conversation topic again—at least, not now—he grabs the remote from the coffee table and turns on the television, flicking through until he finds Netflix. Patty had set it up for him and given him one of the slots on her account, but he's never really used it; but maybe there will be something Lir will like. Though why that matters, he doesn't know.

She comes back as he's scrolling through different horror movies, and he hears her gasp and looks up to find her covering her mouth with her hand. "What . . . What is that?"

"This? It's . . . Oh. Shit, I'm sorry." Cursing, he flicks back up to something far less gory. "It's called Netflix. All sorts of movies and shows to watch. Thought you might want to pick something for tonight, if you're up to it?"

Lir plops down on the couch next to him, one leg tucked under her, but he notes how she still sits very straight, as if it is practiced. "I don't know," she says very matter-of-factly, turning to look at him. "What kind of entertainment do you like?"

"Uh . . . I guess action? Or maybe a scary movie?"

She shakes her head. "Nothing scary, please. But action would be okay."

Dante nods and scrolls to the right screen. He chooses a movie about aliens invading, the world sending its best fighters to fight, the hero's girl trapped and needing rescuing. Lir had brought him back a plate with some reheated lasagna, which he tucks into as she relaxes just a bit, her eyes on the screen.

But his eyes drift to her again and again, gauging her reactions. At first he tells himself because he wants to see if it's too intense, or if she understood a joke, but eventually he realizes because he just likes watching her. It's almost like reliving it through her, and when she shouts at a lame jumpscare he chuckles. Lir leans in towards him a bit, her eyes glued to the screen, and Dante decides to experiment, pretending to yawn as he reaches his arm up and around her back.

She looks at him, a mixture of concern and confusion playing across her features. "Am I crowding you?" she whispers. "I'm sorry, I'll move."

"No, no, I thought . . ." He yanks his arm back and places it next to him. "Nevermind."

Lir gives him a curious look before turning back to the television. Dante clears his throat, shifting a bit, but now way too distracted by his crash and burn.

It occurs to him briefly that Lir might not know he is trying to flirt a bit, so he decides to take a more direct approach. "Hey, Lir," he murmurs, tilting his head towards her. "Did you know—"

"Sh," she hisses, her eyes glued to the screen.

He sinks back into his seat, steadfastly keeping his own gaze focused on the movie. This no longer seems like a good idea; between her semi-ignorance of the things outside of her home and his inner turmoil growing the longer she's around, being on this couch with her is probably the worst way to be, and it's all made worse by the dull, insistent ache in his groin. Not that it's her fault. Well, maybe it is. Lir readjusts next to him, and her thigh feels like a brand when it brushes his own.

What he needs is a magazine, a bit of lotion, and a bit of time to himself.

"This is really fun!" Lir exclaims, flashing him a grin.

"Yeah," Dante sighs, stretching his legs out and propping them up on the table. "It's swell."

#dmc #devil may cry #dante sparda #lirael thorne #lir #dante/lir #dante/oc #dante x oc #dmc oc #fanfiction #writing #story #my figures #collab #promise me forever #pmf #whoops i'm late sorry

11 notes · View notes

realityhelixcreates · 4 years

Text

Lasabrjotr Chapter 56: Breaking the Fast(Over Someone’s Head)

Chapters: 56/? Fandom: Thor (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe Rating: Teen And Up Warnings: none Relationships: Loki x Reader (There We Go) Characters: Loki (Marvel), Thor(Marvel), Stephen Strange, Tony Stark, Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers, Vision Additional Tags: Post-Endgame: Best Possible Ending (Canon-Divergent), Bitches Gonna Bitch, When Shall We Three Meet Again, Here Have Some Foreshadowing

You woke in incredible comfort, tucked into Loki's arms. You'd never been in a more comfortable bed; the pillows and blankets were like clouds, and the company even better. Loki lay silent and still, his hair mussed, his pale face serene. You'd spent so much time kissing, and caressing, and cuddling that you had just eventually fallen asleep holding each other.

You stared into his sleeping face, absorbing everything that had happened. The way he had cupped your face and kissed you with such sweet ardor. How he'd held you in his lap and let his hands roam over your body, enthusiastically praising you, telling you about how he had been falling for you over all this time. You couldn't help but to babble about how you felt about him, in between kisses.

What it all boiled down to was that Loki Odinson, Crown Prince of Asgard, Scourge of New York, royalty, alien, and god...was totally into you. Somehow. And it sounded like he had been for some time.

In hindsight, it was really kind of obvious.

You smooched his nose, and he yawned, his eyes opening into an expression of delight.

“It wasn't a dream.” He whispered, and held you even tighter. “We're going to stay right here all day.”

You giggled. “As much as I'd love that, you know we can't. There's stuff to do, and royal guests to see...”

Loki mock-frowned. “You just had to bring them up, didn't you? And it was such a perfect morning. Speaking of, did you sleep well, my darling?”

“Um, yeah. Really well, actually.”

“Good, that's good. I want nothing but pleasure and comfort for you, when you are in my arms.”

He began kissing you again, heedless of any pointless little concerns like morning breath, but you knew from how he'd acted last night that you really would be here all day if you didn't do something.

You let it go on for a few more minutes-he really was intoxicating, after all-then pushed at his chest.

“Is something wrong?” He asked as he pulled away.

“We've gotta get up. Get some breakfast. Bathe.”

A sly smile broke across his face. “If you insist...”

“Not like that!” You slapped his chest. He released you, and you rolled out of bed. Your had slept in your dress, and it was badly rumpled now, the metal clasps cutting into your skin. Loki was up and out of his tunic in one motion.

“You know, it's okay to bathe together.” He said. “We do it all the time. I won't try anything.”

“Yeah, but...” But today was not the same as yesterday, and there wasn't any reason not to, was there? And Loki's hunger for intimacy was still clear and present. “Well...okay. But no funny business!”

“Yes, my Seidkona.” He breathed. His voice sent a shiver spiraling down your spine. You might be the one needing to keep a rein on yourself. You had seen Loki naked before, and it was a sight to behold.

You both changed separately, and Loki turned his back so that you could get into the bathtub. He was very gentlemanly, and you allowed him to scrub your back, which he did reverently, kissing the little marks the metal in your dress had left on your skin.

Watching Loki wash his hair was very distracting; the soap and water trickled down his body in the most alluring way.

This was so much like a fairy tale. The handsome prince, the steamy bath, the myth, the magic. Were you sure this was real?

“Is something wrong, dear?” He asked, soaping your arms. “Are you...rethinking?” The nervousness was palpable in his voice.

“No, no, nothing like that! It's just...What are we now? How will we make this work? Do we have to keep it secret? Will this cause a huge scandal?”

“Of course it will cause a scandal!” Loki laughed. “Why, when Thor brought his mortal home to Asgard, I was in solitary confinement in the dungeons, and even I heard about it! Such a thing had never happened! But once people got past the initial shock and outrage, they were mostly fine with it. Not entirely, of course, but he didn't have the whole of Asgard against him. This is where we have an advantage; we aren't the first to do this. For once, I'm not the lead in a scandal. And we are here, on Earth, surrounded by humans. Mixed relationships won't be uncommon. We shall be pioneers, you and I.”

You took the soap from him and shyly rubbed the suds over his chest and shoulders.

“So...does that mean you're my boyfriend now?” It was a strange word to apply to someone like Loki.

“You're my inamorata, yes, if you would like to be. I would like you to be.”

“And is this, um, is this an exclusive thing? I'd prefer that personally, but I get it if you want to keep your options ope-”

Loki snatched you into his arms with fierce speed, squishing your body against his slippery torso.

“I would have no one but you.” He nearly hissed. “I will not split my affections. I couldn't even think of it.”

“Oh. Well that's very reassuring.” You said, heart pounding. He had said he wouldn't try anything. “I just kinda want to know where we stand, what we are, you know, all that.”

“What we are is glorious.” Your skin slid against his, the muscles rippling under the soap, bringing a pink heat to his face. “And very slippery. Please pardon me, I got a little carried away.” He released you, stepping away. “I just wanted to assure you that I take this seriously. I am not toying with you; I would have this relationship grow, if you also would.”

You nodded, satisfied for the moment. This was real, not a fluke, not a seduction, not a dream.

The dress that awaited you was a soft and luxurious thing of green, orange, gold, and red, snake and floral embroidery trimming the hem. All of the warm layers had been taken in for you; you could tell from the brand new stitching.

Your book of sagas had illustrations in it as well as stories and, true to Saldis' explanation, all the women dressed like you now did, all the way down to the big, oval brooches that fastened to your shoulder straps, and the beads strung between them.

You still found it rather sweet that the tailors here were trying so hard to put you in what they thought would be 'familiar' clothing, and to dress you like what they felt was a fine, high class human lady.

High class American ladies didn't dress like this. In fact, nowadays, classy clothing was almost indistinguishable from everybody elses' clothes, just better tailored. It was less about the garment itself, and more about the name on the label. And the jewelry too, but the jewelry you wore with these lovely clothes was also very different from the classy ladies back home. A simple, minimalist approach was the preferred method for displaying wealth and importance back home. A diamond tennis bracelet, pure gold studs, a delicate chain with a single diamond drop.

Your jewelry, though no lesser in quality, definitely reflected an older approach. The oval strap brooches were large to you, the size of an egg-though the illustrations in you book showed that such brooches had one been much larger-and delicately engraved with elegantly knotted horned serpents, green stones winking from their eyes. Three strands of beads were strung across your chest between them; one of gold and silver, one of amber, and one of pearls. These were different than your usual strands of glass beads, or brightly colored yarn braids. In fact, everything was top of the line today: there were charms hanging from your beads, little moon-shaped crescents with intricate granulation, multi-looped clasps shaped like swans that you were meant to hang your chatelaine from. That consisted of your tiny, cylindrical emergency sewing kit, made of bone and silver, a silver, scallop-shaped hand mirror, a silver and shell compact containing tweezers, nail clippers, a file, tiny scissors, and a weird little spoon shaped object that you didn't yet know the function of, and the key to Loki's quarters.

Your apron was decorated with many strips of woven ribbon; red, orange, and yellow in geometric patterns, and the seams of your sleeves were trimmed with thick, clearly visible contrasting stitching, your belt embroidered with birds, their long necks and long tails interlocking, flower-shaped silver buttons tacked on along its length, the ends clasped in decorative metal tips.

It was very cold this morning, so a warm, woolen cap, and a pair of gloves had also come along with the ensemble, just as finely made as the rest of it. The cap had shimmering beads embroidered all around the rim, looking to you like a crown.

Everybody in this whole palace complex knew what you had gotten up to last night, didn't they? And now they were pulling out all the stops, or at least, as many as they were allowed to. They had sent you earrings, matching the little crescent moon charms on your bead strands, and an entire separate necklace, made of amber beads, and yet more crescent charms. Your slippers were embroidered velvet, and the stockings underneath were so soft and smooth that you almost couldn't stop touching them. Even the little phone holster that clipped onto your belt was touched with small details, the leather embossed with the image of a tree.

You wondered if the clothiers had beads and brooches and charms just sitting around in piles, or stashed in boxes. If, every day, they strung beads and charms onto strings and paired them up with whichever dress they had chosen for you that day. These brooches, with their green-eyed, horned snakes, seemed awfully specific for them to have had already made, and you wondered if Loki had had them commissioned. And if so, when?

Loki met you at the door, almost as decorated as you were. Asgardian men did not tend towards jewelry, beyond the occasional bead in their hair or beard, or the coronets that you assumed only Thor and Loki had the privilege of wearing. Instead, most of their precious metal and jewels were embedded into their clothes, in the form of armor or strap embellishments. Loki himself seemed to prefer asymmetrical hems and diagonal elements, and he was properly decked out in both. In fact, the cut of his black overcoat made it look like some kind of odd, tailed tuxedo, trimmed in silver and covered in embroidery, also black, that was only visible when the light struck it in a certain way.

“Ready for breakfast, precious?” He asked with a smile.

“We're laying it on a bit thick just for some oatmeal, aren't we?” You laughed, and he offered you his arm.

The banquet hall was full, for the first time since you had been there, full of Aesir and Avengers, Icelandic officials and Asgardian nobles. They all stopped talking, turning to look at the two of you, Loki standing tall and proud, his expression bright, you hanging off his arm, wearing something that evoked the image of a crown, and you were suddenly very aware of how all this must look.

Today was very different than yesterday.

“Good morning friends.” Loki said. “I hope the day finds you well.”

“Not as well as it finds you, evidently.” Tony grumbled. Pepper elbowed him in the side.

Nobody else said anything about it, going back to their conversations, but the sly looks, knowing grins, and glares followed you to your seat at Loki's side.

Breakfast was an elaborate affair that morning; to reflect the importance of the guests, you thought. Fruit carved like flowers, the fluffiest eggs and pancakes, plump sausage links, lingonberry preserves, and hot, sweet coffee. There was oatmeal and toast for those who wanted it, milk and juice as well.

Thor and Brunnhilde had seated Dr. Banner next to them, and were chatting amiably away. Banner looked a bit rougher than you expected him to, but you assumed that makeup and hair gel were a regular part of the photoshoots. Dr. Banner was notorious for not making live appearances, interviews, or PR tours, and you supposed you couldn't blame him. If anyone prized their alone time, it would be him.

Natasha Romanoff and Clint Barton had been seated next to you, though Clint seemed less pleased by the proximity to Loki. He kept shooting wary glances at the prince, who made no indication that he noticed. But as Natasha chatted with you about daily life in Asgard, Loki pressed his leg against yours under the table, gently nudging your foot with his.

He would become shameless, if you let him.

It was tempting.

After breakfast was a time of mingling, Aesir, Avenger and officials. Many of the nobles left, but those that stayed were drawn to the Avengers; new faces, reputed to have been strong and resourceful enough to pose a challenge to their prince. The language barrier posed a problem, but there were enough of them who could speak English to provide translation to their fellows.

Several of the officials approached you for various reasons; to inquire about your health and safety, to ask about the human encampments and the recent fight, and even to compliment you on your dress. You weren't sure how much information you were meant to give, and kept your answers short and polite. You didn't want to cause any trouble by being too loose-lipped.

The dour, somewhat scruffy fellow you recognized as being the Winter Soldier-but not anymore?-approached you on Steves behalf. “He wants to say he likes your dress, and that he's sorry for causing you problems last night. He didn't know you were involved.”

“None of that is his fault.” You pointed out. “I asked him to dance, and Loki wasn't communicating as effectively as he could have. Neither was I, I guess. I'm pretty sure it's safe for Captain Rogers to talk to me himself. Sorry you've gotten tangled up in this, but I'm putting an end to it now, Mr....?”

He paused, wearing an expression somewhat like a confused dog. He must have expected you to know his name already, but you only knew him by his former moniker.

“...Barnes.” He said, after along pause.

“Mr. Barnes. I don't want anyone playing this silly 'telephone' game. People are allowed to talk to me face to face, Loki doesn't actually control that. If he wants to get jealous about it, I'll just remind him why he shouldn't be.”

One corner of his mouth ticked upward, giving his sleepy eyes a rakish look. If he really was the same age as Steve, then he was probably a charmer, in his day.

“Couldn't happen to a nicer guy, I'm sure.” He said, then threw a look over his shoulder, to Steve. “Hey!” He called. “Talk to her yourself!”

You snorted in held-back laughter as Steve put his face in his hand, and Loki perked up like a cat who had just heard the scratching of a mouse. This was so much like something Tara would do.

Speaking of which...

“Excuse me for a moment.” You said, finding an unused corner of the hall and snapping a selfie, which you sent to Tara and your father, with a morning greeting. The phone was a godsend of the most literal kind, allowing you contact back home, so you didn't have to worry about how everyone was doing, and they could know how you fared as well.

The bakery at the grocery store you used to work at was apparently famous now. They sold baked goods themed after you and Loki, Thor and Asgard. It was ridiculous and goofy, and you were utterly charmed by the pictures Tara sent you; of cupcakes with sparkly icing to represent your magic-the cat was out of the bag on that-of croissants in Loki-themed packaging.

You were profoundly relieved that the people back home had decided to celebrate all this, rather than condemning and hating you, and you hoped the bakery would be wildly successful. You had to show Loki those croissants, though. He would love them.

You noticed Loki, the wizard Strange, and one of the Avengers you hadn't been formally introduced to-a tall, but relatively average looking man-all slipped into one of the banquet halls' many smaller side rooms, and wondered if you were supposed to be with them. But no, if you had, Loki would have come to collect you. They were probably just discussing something about magic. Maybe that unknown fellow was another mage? It seemed like there was always someone new on the team, however temporary.

“My mistress says that you are even more a fool than she first thought.” Said a barely familiar voice. You turned away from Mr. Barnes to the unwelcome sight of Gloa, and her maidservant.

“Oh, it's you guys again. Were you at the table? I hadn't noticed.”

Gloa spoke; her servant translated.

“She had believed that humankind was without manners or decorum, but you have proved it this morning by flaunting yourself so shamelessly. Who do you think you are?”

You heard Barnes shifting uncomfortably behind you. An Asgardian catfight was probably beyond his experience.

“I am Loki's Seidkona.” You said simply.

The servant sighed at her mistress's words. “You are Loki's harlot. You think it gives you importance, but you are nothing more than a powerless, decorative, and above all, temporary creature.”

“You know, the last person who called me something like that ended up in jail. So, what does she hope to get out of this? Is she jealous or something?” You were tired of this already, and it wasn't even lunchtime yet.

Gloa went red in the face.

“She says she would never have a creature so low and debased as Loki, that, prince or king, he will always be beneath her, and that only mortal slime would accept such as him. She says that he should start preparing your funerary boat early, and learn what it really means to mourn.”

You drew yourself up as tall as you could-still shorter than both Gloa and the maid-suddenly aware that you had at least as much jewelry and at least as fine clothing as Gloa did. She was probably stinging at your status being elevated to hers, as if she had done anything other than being born to earn hers. You were also aware that Mr. Barnes was no longer behind you, and was, in fact, nowhere to be seen.

You were alone in this.

“Your threats are pointless, and you are wasting my time, you useless, catty bi-”

*****

“We need to keep in touch.” Strange said.

“I disagree.” Loki answered.

“Let me guess; it's because you hate me.”

“Very astute! I did not think you had it in you.”

“There are things we must discuss.” Vision interrupted, calm in the face of the other's ire. “About the stones.” In this private room, he had abandoned his human appearance, the yellow gem sparkling brightly in his scarlet forehead.

“Well, I've got mine, and he's got his, and you clearly have yours. What is it that we need to discuss?”

“Do you have yours?” Strange asked. “It's obvious that Vision has his, and quite clear that mine is still in my keeping.” He gestured to the pendant resting against his robes. “But all we have to assure us that you still have yours is your word, which, you understand, holds about as much water as a sieve here on Earth.”

Loki glared, holding out his hand. A ball of blue ice glowed in his palm, which also slowly turned blue.

“Just because I do not flaunt it like you fools, does not mean I don't have it.” He dropped his hand, the icy orb gone. “So are we done? You showed me yours, I showed you mine, are we a secret society now?”

Stephan grimaced at the innuendo, but Vision just tilted his head, not comprehending.

“There have been some odd fluctuations that I cannot quite explain.” He said. “I can sense when they are happening, but not what is causing them, nor whom.”

Loki took a seat, brow furrowing. “Fluctuations in the stones? What can you tell us about it?” That was indeed something worth discussing. Four of the stones were on Earth right now-something Loki thought very dangerous, but it couldn't be helped. The stones had chosen their own guardians, finally settling into balance. Loki didn't have any say in it.

“As near as I can describe it, since the stones are all at least somewhat sentient, the Mind Stone can sense them, perhaps even communicate with them. I cannot; I believe the higher functions of the Mind Stone work at a higher frequency than my matter-based body can reach. But I can feel it sometimes, and I believe what I am sensing is someone utilizing the power of at least one of the stones.”

Strange and Loki stared at him.

“That is very concerning.” Loki said. “Well. It's not me. I have not used the Stone for most of a year. I will use it again, but only to help better our Bifrost, and only when our engineers have worked out more of the stabilization problems.”

“Haven't used it at all.” Strange said. “No need for it.”

“And I use this only inasmuch as it allows me to exist.” Vision stated.

“The space pirates?” Strange ventured.

“Impossible.” Loki said. “It took all of them together just to contain the Power Stone, and they can no longer safely wield it without the flora colossus at full strength.”

“And our...ally on Vormir has not contacted us.” Vision pointed out. “He is not very loquacious, even with the technology we left him, but I am certain that if someone made an attempt at the soul stone, he would tell us.”

“Damn.” Loki said. “My brother is going to kill me.”

“As entertaining as that would be...why?” Strange asked.

“Because I believe we are going to need to contact Dr. Foster.”

“Ah, the sting of lost love.”

“Do they not get along?” Vision asked.

“Well, no...it's not that. It's a little complicated. But my brother has been extravagant in his vows never to bother her again.” Loki explained.

“You however, have taken no such vows.” Stephen pointed out.

“I have not.” Loki confirmed.

“So what is it with Asgardian royalty, and human women?” Strange asked. “Is it a fetish, or...”

“That's none of your-”

The door popped open, and Bucky peeked in. “Hey, Merlins. I think your girl's gonna get in a fistfight with some other lady. Tall dame, acting like a real pill. Doesn't speak a word of English, had someone other lady translating for her.”

“Gloa...” Loki said darkly. “Excuse me gentlemen... and Stephen. I have to go head off an incident.”

#lasabrjotr #loki x reader #loki (marvel)

14 notes · View notes

five-wow · 5 years

Text

Author Asks

Rules: answer these questions and tag five other fic writers to do the same.

I was tagged by the wonderful @novemberhush. Thank you, omg, because I love rambling about writing and this is the best kind of opportunity to do so, handed on a silver platter, ahh. 😊

Author Name: Square / Squares / SquaresAreNotCircles

Fandoms You Write For: I’m a fandom hopper! In the past year or so it’s been Hawaii Five-0 (a truly ridiculous amount), Shadowhunters, Venom, Harry Potter, due South and Stargate Atlantis. Other fandoms I’ve written at least one fic for are Twilight, Doctor Who, Torchwood, Glee, BBC Merlin, BBC Atlantis, Teen Wolf, In The Flesh, Star Wars, Supernatural, the MCU and High School Musical. And uh, Alexander the Great/Voltaire fic (which would be... history fandom? RPF?) and one (1) Judas/Jesus Biblefic. If we’re getting really technical, also a tiny little bit of One Direction fic.

It should be noted that all of this is about fic that ended up getting posted somewhere on the interwebs - there are multiple Star Trek (TOS/AOS and DS9) fics lingering in my drafts (!! one day I will finish one of them), as well as some How To Train Your Dragon, The Good Place and Deadpool stuff, and definitely more I’ve forgotten.

Where You Post: Since I made the switch to writing in English everything has landed on ao3, but I used to write mostly in Dutch, so there’s still close to a million words, I think, under my name on quizlet.nl (not to be confused with quizlet.com, which is a very different website).

Most Popular One-Shot: That depends on how you’re measuring popularity! Going by kudos, it’s Tell me I’m perfect (but tell me the truth), a Magnus/Alec Shadowhunters fic. It’s the truth is a really old fic about Percy Weasley/Oliver Wood from Harry Potter that has the most hits out of all my works, and That time Steve kissed every single Avenger (and also Bucky), an MCU Steve/Bucky fic, has the greatest number of comment threads.

Also, since this is an h50 blog: for my fic in this fandom Wanted: partner (in crime) has the most kudos and hits; You had me at meow has the most comments.

Most Popular Multi-Chapter Story: I’m working on one for h50 (going slowly, so slowly), but I don’t have any posted to ao3. I used to write a lot of multi-chaptered work in my quizlet.nl days, and I think my most popular fic there was probably the second fic I ever wrote, when I was fourteen or fifteen, which was a next-gen Harry Potter fic with shifting and overlapping POVs from the three Potter kids. It was kind of, well, not great, but it’s probably what really cemented my writing habit, it’s still my longest fic ever (over a 100k!) and I got my first fandom friends out of it, including one I’m still in contact with to this day, even though neither of us writes much if anything for Harry Potter anymore.

Favourite Story You Wrote: Ohhh, that’s such an impossible question, especially because I’ve been churning out one-shots like I might actually be getting paid for it, so there’s so much to choose from, which is a thing I have difficulty doing at the best of times, holy shit. Uh, I once wrote a 70k Remus/Sirius (Harry Potter) modern college-ish AU in Dutch that I still like; weirdly, I think that Biblefic holds up (also Dutch), and the HSM fic is fun to reread once in a while because of the fourth wall break, as is That escalated quickly, a Percy/Oliver fic. Ooh, and the fic about Shuri and Stucky and a goat!

For h50, it’s even harder to choose, because my preferences change pretty much weekly (a combination of newer fic being shinier, looking back at fic from even just a few months ago and finding things I would have done differently now, and comments influencing the way I personally look at my own fic), but right now, I’d say I still really like the fic where Steve adopts some guinea pigs, the one with the slightly tipsy team bonding by talking about mutual crushes and this 9.11 coda fix fluff getting together thing.

Story You Were Nervous to Post: That Biblefic, haha, because it’s a very complicated topic and my aim was definitely not to offend. People were really sweet about it, though! Mostly, they were kind of shocked it wasn’t crack, but that’s fair, because so was I.

Also pretty much anything I post in a new fandom, really, and low key just... anything at all. I’m always a little scared I tagged something super badly or accidentally copy-pasted the wrong text or unknowingly wrote something super offensive or whatever, despite my double- and triplechecking of the posting form. (I’m also still kind of scared people on ao3 will randomly decide they hate my fic and my writing and me personally (ao3 is really big and very anonymous and coming from the small town that was quizlet.nl even in its heyday, that’s scary), but that fear has abated as I’ve posted more, just because the data is showing pretty conclusively that thought is as irrational as it sounds. Everyone is always so nice, gosh.)

How Do You Pick Your Titles: Mostly, I steal lines from random songs. I have a small pile of song lyrics to use as potential titles, because going on a seperate hunt for every new fic would take most of my waking hours. Sometimes, I’ll use a pun (like You had me at meow or Retail Therapy) or something else that I think sounds good, especially if the fic is mostly comedy and/or has a specific premise that would do well in a title (like Five times the Governor of Hawaii suspects his taskforce leaders are violating fraternization policies (and one time they tell him they are)).

Do You Outline: I’m mostly writing fic of (sometimes much) less than 5k at the moment, so not really. I do sometimes write tiny bits of a bunch of scenes and then fill in the rest around that, which is a kind of outline, in a way. For longer works, I usually make a one page bullet point list of things that need to happen and work from there, because I can’t do really extensive outlining or I’ll just get caught up in the details and lose all of the oversight a tool like that is supposed to give you, as well as most of my enthusiasm for the project.

How Many Of Your Stories Are Complete: Of the ones posted? On ao3, all of them, because unfinished posted one-shot works would require some strange bending of those concepts. On quizlet.nl, I do have some abandoned works, but I think 80% is finished.

In-Progress: SO MUCH. Seriously, just, so much, oh god. I’d really like to write another Stargate Atlantis fic (and I have 30% of one done), and something more for due South, too, and maybe a small Percy/Oliver thing again some time because they were my very first OTP and I kind of miss them, but mostly I have, like, 100+ half written things for h50. I really wish that number was an exaggeration. There’s no way they’ll all get finished, but maybe... a third? Mayhaps?

That One Truly Long H50 Fic that I was already talking about way back in October last year is also eternally “in progress”. The thing is that it has about 25k now, after a year, and I think it needs... at least four times that. Probably. So either I’ll have to stick with this fandom and my slow progress for another three years to have a shot at getting it finished, or I’ll need to find a way to up the speed a little. Maybe I could try working on it for NaNo this November? That would be pretty awesome, but honestly, part of why it’s moving this slowly is because NaNo-style fast and messy writing for this scares me a little, because I might end up writing a lot, decide it’s not what I wanted for it, and become too intimidated to ever edit and/or rewrite the entire thing. But idk, I probably just need to get over my own fears, because I really do want to write Longer Fic again. Short stuff is fun and feels really productive and that’s great, but I miss the actual slow burn and build-up that only 50k+ words can give you.

Coming Soon: Hopefully a lot? For h50, that is. I have no idea what’s getting posted next, because I’m never entirely sure what’s going to be finished next and something really random might come jumping in, but at the moment I’m trying to direct most of my energies at a slightly longer fic I’ve been working on for months (not The Long Fic, a different one), a fic labeled “9.01 memory loss fic”, another one temporarly entitled “Perfect Kauai beach house vacation”, and maybe an ace!Steve fic I’ve been working on, if I ever manage to uh, actually finish that, instead of rewriting three sentences during every round of editing and never actually adding anything to fill in the gaps it still has. There will also be more season 10 codas, in all likelihood.

Do You Accept Prompts: I’ve never done that before in the traditional way, but I’m thinking about it! I’d love to try (and it would be a breath of fresh air, in some ways!), but the main thing holding me back is that I have way too much on my plate with just my own ideas to work off of, and I don’t want to disappoint people. Maybe if I do drabble-ish prompt fills? It’s definitely been on my mind.

Upcoming Story You’re the Most Excited For: I’m excited for a lot of stuff, but honestly, the top spot right now probably goes to the ace!Steve fic. I’m not even sure it’s that good, necessarily, but it’s, idk, really cathartic, I suppose. Seriously self-indulgent in strange but very good ways. I really like writing it. (Second spot goes to the beach vacation fic, because I haven’t actually written that much for it, but it’s been my go-to easy happy place for the last few weeks.)

I’m tagging @love2hulksmash @thekristen999 @stephmcx @girlonastring @flowerfan2 and @pterawaters, which is six people because I can’t count, but I’m about to make it seven because I’m also tagging you, the person reading this (hi there!). Say I tagged you and tag me so I can read it! I know that kind of thing can feel awkward, but it won’t be, because I’m cheering you on. Go for it, if you want to do it. :D

#tagged in #writing #*#question: [requires maybe two words to be answered]#me: [writes two lengty paragraphs]#i guess that also tells you something about what kind of writer i am

12 notes · View notes

snkpolls · 5 years

Text

SnK S3E21 Poll Results (Manga Reader Version)

The poll closed with 260 responses. Thank you to everyone who participated!

Please note that these are the results of the manga reader poll. Anime only watchers are suggested not to read if you do not wish to be spoiled about certain events! Anime only viewers, click here to view your poll results!

RATE THE EPISODE 251 Responses

As usual, the episode received good ratings! A small minority could have been more impressed, but overall people were happy.

It was great, another 10/10 episode. My only gripe is that they should've cut the opening this time as well to have more time to put some great dialogues from the manga.

A bit bummed that quite a bit of lines from the manga didn't make it into the episode, but otherwise pretty damn good.

Great one, though not as great as the previous one.

Some shots were not 1 to 1 to the manga, which was a bit sad, but overall the episode was amazing!

WHICH OF THE FOLLOWING WAS THE MOST IMPRESSIONABLE MOMENT? 255 Responses

Kruger bringing up Armin and Mikasa to Grisha was voted as the most notable scene from this episode. Behind that at 18.4% was the “Attack Titan” name drop moment. Kruger encouraging Grisha to carry out his mission came at a distant third with only 5.7% of the vote.

Everyone joking about Eren’s phase was hilarious. The lampshading of generic anime protag behaviour was great.

The end gave me c h i l l s. I loved how the outro started playing in the last little bits of krugers and grishas conversation and how the outro imagery was changed to titan history images instead. That whole scene was such a pleasant surprise.

KRUGER SAID EVIL AND GOOD PEOPLE ONLY EXIST IF THAT’S WHAT THEY ARE CALLED. DO YOU BELIEVE THIS? 253 Responses

Just over half of respondents believe that “good” and “evil” are typically subjective terms, although there are a few who are objectively one or the other. 40.7% feel that “good” and “evil” are always subjective no matter what. A small 7.1% feel that “good” and “evil” are entirely objective with no room for argument.

Kruger's "you can be a god or demon depending on what you claim" is maybe the most overrated line in the story. He's musing on the fallibility of historical narrative and the ease with which people are deceived and made ignorant, not making some grand statement that there is no real morality.

DO YOU THINK GRISHA WAS THE RIGHT CHOICE FOR KRUGER TO ENTRUST THE TITAN POWER? 254 Responses

The vast majority of respondents feel that Grisha was a suitable successor of the Attack Titan after Kruger, while 18.5% aren’t certain he was the right choice.

WHAT IS THE BEST NAME FOR EREN’S TITAN? 255 Responses

69% percent (lol) of respondents prefer the official English name, “Attack Titan.” 18.8% prefer the literal translation of “Shingeki no Kyojin” as “Advancing Titan.” A few fans still prefer Eren’s long-time fandom label as the “Rogue Titan.” A few write-ins also had some fun takes:

American Titan, because he loves Freedom

Bedhead Titan

F R E E D O M TITAN

Crotchless sex on legs.

Elfian Titan / Elf Titan

Attacking Titan

Grisha, this titan has a name, it is Best Ass Titan.

WHAT ARE PATHS? 254 Responses

What are paths though? Like seriously? Okay, but seriously, 35.4% of respondents feel that they are metaphysical threads of fate. Closely behind at 32.7%, people are simply just confused and still can’t wrap their head around the concept of paths. 25.2% believe that paths are like an invisible highway between time periods. What are paths really, though?

As a manga reader i still don't get what paths are

By Ymir and the walls, every time I think I understand or at least accept paths something comes out of left field and leaves me shooketh.

PATHS IS NOT A SPOILER ANYMORE!!

EREN KRUGER MENTIONED MIKASA AND ARMIN WHEN HE WAS TALKING TO GRISHA - HOW DID HE KNOW THEIR NAMES? 254 Responses

42.9% of respondents feel it can only be explained as paths connecting all Eldians like a thread of fate, something unexplainable. 33.5% believe that Kruger simply tapped into the memories of either Grisha or Eren. 14.6% think that Eren sent this message back in time to Kruger.

I think its a message passed down through the Attack Titan

Eren confused his own thoughts with the memories

I was always thinking it was someone else talking to Eren and as Eren did something, the memories were sent backwards

The Attack Titan keeps moving forward. It can glimpse further down the line into the fourth dimension.

I don't know, hopefully Isayama will explain this one day.

I noticed during this episode that Kruger looks just like Grisha as both a child and an adult. Perhaps he... is Grisha?

This conversation is a flashback alright ? Then, it’s only Eren’s wish interfering with the flashback. It’s actually Eren’s actual mind which is deforming the thing

If the theory of the time loop is real, maybe that's how the message kinda got sent, similarly how Eren got glimpses of his future when he was a kid. Maybe they've been doing this for so long now that they've tried to send messages through time so that they know what needs to be done.

Kruger was speaking as Grisha, which means he was experiencing Grisha's memory

it's the time loop guys

I have always assumed Eren's memories were mixed up with Grisha's, which is why he'd “remember" Kruger mentioning Armin & Mikasa's names, but now I'm not sure. Maybe "PATHS" really make memories a two way street.

KRUGER SAYS IN ORDER TO STOP THEIR CURSED HISTORY FROM REPEATING, GRISHA MUST LEARN TO LOVE SOMEONE. DO YOU THINK THIS COULD BE GENERAL ADVICE FOR THE REST OF HUMANITY? 253 Responses

We had an almost-tie here, but 43.9% took the lead, with respondents feeling that “love” is a primary method for breaking a cycle of hatred, prejudice and despair. 43.1% feel that while “love” is a nice, flowery solution to the world’s problems, it’s just not that simple. 8.3% aren’t sure either way, and a small amount believe firmly that “love” isn’t a reasonable approach to solving the world’s issues.

NEXT WEEK IS THE FINAL EPISODE OF THIS SEASON - ARE YOU EXPECTING A TEASER FOR THE NEXT SEASON? 256 Responses

52.3% of viewers remain hopeful that we will have a season 4 teaser will happen at the end of the episode, solidifying another season of the anime. 38.7% are confident that a teaser will be present. A small percentage have less optimism.

HOW WELL DID THE EPISODE ADAPT THE CORRESPONDING MANGA CHAPTERS? 252 Responses

This episode didn’t get as many 5/5 rankings as most previous episodes did, with quite a bit of commentary about some of the things that were cut from the adaptation:

I missed the line where Kruger said Marleyans wouldn’t exist if the 1700 years ethnic cleansing really happened.

Felt a bit rushed and they left quotes from Kruger out which I believe are important.

They cut way too much of Kruger dialogue. They missed some of the things that made him such an interesting character.

This episode was good as always but I'm mad that they cut a lot from the Kruger and Grisha scene (mainly the mention of Grandpa Jaeger or how marley keep the eldians in the camp as weapons). Those aren't essential but important to add layers and complexify the plot. Kruger speech was what I was looking forward the most this season…

The Kruger conversation was cut down too harshly imo

I was missing the scene where Kruger tells grisha that his father was a smart man & that he was just trying to prevent losing more of his family.

They decided to cut some of the most important dialogue pieces from this episode, like "a doctor to falsify his blood test”

Less rushed than the previous episode but I really hate how they cropped the entirety of Kruger's involvment. It makes him look like more of a plot device than in the manga: the implications he had an agenda with the restorationists, his view on good vs evil explained (unrealistic ethnic cleansing and unrealistic miracles), how he perceived Grandpa Yeager (a smart man who didn't want his last child to walk on the path to hell)...

The anime also omitted a couple of things: Kruger suspecting Marley would no longer have any use of Eldians in the internment zone if they get the Founder and the past of the Eldian Empire, saying they used titans as weapons of mass destruction. The last one is important as the anime is really biased towards EMA's side.

Some minor dialogue cuts but it's not nearly as bad as manga readers are making it out to be.

DO YOU THINK KRUGER SACRIFICING ELDIANS FOR VITAL INFORMATION IS COMPARABLE TO WHAT EREN MAY BE DOING NOW? 254 Responses

43.3% of manga readers feel that Eren and Kruger’s actions are comparable as necessary evils in order to reach a beneficial goal for everyone. 32.3% feel that while the actions are comparable, the goals may not be. 11.8% feel that there’s not enough evidence to say either way. 7.9% felt that the contexts for both characters are completely different and not comparable.

I think what Kruger.did was more cruel than what Eren is doing now

Need to know Eren’s actual plans tbh.

They both believe that their goal is ultimately right - although I wouldn't necessarily call it beneficial

GIVEN THE MANGA EVENTS, DO YOU BELIEVE EREN IS BEING INFLUENCED BY HIS TITAN’S MEMORIES? 256 Responses

Nearly 40% of respondents feel that Eren is influenced by the memories given to him through his titan part of the time. 32% feel that it is happening always, and 15.2% aren’t sure.

This episode wonder if the nine titans had wills and personalities of their own. It can’t be a coincidence that the Attack Titan always finds its way to Eldians who desire freedom. It also makes me wonder about the way Bertholdt addressed Armin and seemed way different than usual in rts. Mikasa thought that Bertholdt was acting like a different person than they’ve seen. I think the Colossal influenced that behavior and was anticipating a new holder. Perhaps the colossal titan is always in love with the Female Titan also, forcing its holders to have feelings for the female titan holder. Which might explain Armin’s strange behavior in other chapters. This is just rambling and the concept of paths are still confusing though.

Regarding the influence of Titans: I believe everyone is being influenced. Having the memories of a differet person, their experiences and feelings is an influence. Wether they are acting different because of these is a different story. But even then, the current holder is still the one who decides to act different, based on their (now gained) own experiences. It's therefore not different from people changing after going thorugh something horrible themselves. 'influenced' is mostly used as 'being controlled' by this fandom, which I think is simply wrong. So: Yes, he is influenced. No, he is not being controlled.

HOW DID YOU FEEL ABOUT HISTORIA SEEING YMIR’S BACKSTORY THROUGH PATHS? 256 Responses

33.2% of respondents feel that it was a reasonable way to recap Ymir’s story while also giving closure for her character, while 28.1% found that it only made the concept of paths come off as more confusing. 16.4% feel that this will be touched more on in future manga chapters. 12.1% disagree with WIT’s decision to put Ymir’s backstory in season 2, as opposed to here.

Historia being able to glimpse into Ymir's memories made perfect sense to me. She's done that before with Rod in a moment of emotions running high, so Royal Blood+contact with DNA+strong emotions might have a role. Beyond that, I'm sticking to my belief that paths can be compared to the fourth dimension in spacetime terms.

I didn't really like the execution of Ymir's letter to Historia. The paths looked kinda cool but it's also a little out of place and just ??? The letter also kind of lost its value as well since it was cut short and seems like Ymir doesn't tell Historia anything about her past as well. Yikes

Did Ymir write the letter with her blood for Historia to see her past ????

The path scene with Historia and Ymir was odd: at the same time the anime isn't at its first when it comes to plot conveniences (sleep darts, berserk Eren), but it's also not the same time Historia got an influx of erased memories at random times (her playtime with Frieda)

I lost it when PATHS activated for Historia

WHAT DID YOU THINK ABOUT YMIR’S FATE BEING IMPLIED IN THE FLASHBACKS? 256 Responses

Nearly 45% of respondents feel that WIT did a good thing by placing the implications of Ymir’s death in this episode, rather than show it as an afternote during the Marley arc. 17.2% wish the scene would have been longer. 14.5% were simply hyped to see Porco’s silhouette.

I hated how unclear Ymir’s death was. You really couldn’t tell she died without knowing from the manga, and in the manga, it was a really impactful character moment. It really showed how little Ymir cared for herself and submitted to Marley because of her guilt for eating Marcel by accident.

I think Ymir's death should have been focused on a bit longer, because I saw ppl did not quite catch what happened. Then again, people don't seem to care much about her anyway :(

PORCO THO!!!!

WHICH SCENE FROM THE PREVIEW ARE YOU MOST LOOKING FORWARD TO? 256 Responses

Unsurprisingly, the journey to the sea is the most anticipated moment of the next episode. There are a few who are looking forward to the moments that take place during the ceremony more, though.

next episode, we will see Hitch again and I'm not ready for that.

I'm honestly not looking forward anything in the next episode, all the really interesting stuff already happened

ADDITIONAL THOUGHTS ON THE EPISODE?

The pace are a bit weird, they skipped several parts but i think isn't the problem if anime onlies had critical thinking/observation. Overall it's good and i though porco inherited the jaw titan after the timeskip(because how the flashback played in manga) but the anime cleared it and his lifespan is same as armin.

I noticed that Hanji had referred to Grisha as "Mr. Jaeger" and not Dr. Jaeger. 1) that just doesn't sound right to me. 2) is there any reason for that? I believe earlier in the series they had referred to him as Dr. Jaeger, so why the change?

Roses are red, PATHS are confusing, this episode was very amusing. Mina's best girl PEACE OUT

I want to hug eren. Both Anime!Eren and manga!Eren.

I didnt particularly like the way they did the Attack Titan namedrop

There were so many mistakes with the height of the characters this episode... What is WIT doing?

WHERE DO YOU PRIMARILY DISCUSS THE SERIES? 244 Responses

Thanks again to everyone who participated! We’ll see you back in a few days.

#snk spoilers #snk s3 #snk poll #snk polls #poll results

18 notes · View notes

thecsientist · 6 years

Text

I Know Him

read it on the AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/13157544

Oliver Queen is (kind of) dating the Flash, but he regrettably finds the cute Central City CSI's laugh endearing.

Words: 1692, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Arrow (TV 2012), The Flash (TV 2014)

Rating: Not Rated

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Barry Allen, Oliver Queen

Relationships: Barry Allen/Oliver Queen

Additional Tags: Secret Identity

Oliver didn’t know what was up with the Central City CSI. He’d turned up because something had come over the wire about a similar case in Starling so he went over to check. The case involved a warehouse belonging to Oliver — a warehouse he wanted to turn into a nightclub — that had a strange murder. Nobody in the SCPD knew what to make of it and so Barry Allen had arrived to help out.

Oliver was trying to listen to his words, but there was something incredibly familiar about him that was diverting his attention. It seemed like Barry was having the same problem — his gaze lingered on Oliver longer than he thought appropriate and his cheeks were consistently tinted pink.

Oliver cleared his throat awkwardly and Barry quickly looked away, continuing to deduce the happenings from the body and some other details Oliver hadn’t cared to listen to. It was the police’s job anyway, he was just there to overlook the investigation. Detective Lance thanked Barry for helping them discover new leads and he left him and Oliver alone as he went to inform the other officers of the findings.

“Um, Mr Queen?”

“Oliver will do. My father would be Mr Queen,” Oliver interrupted. Barry smiled and nodded.

“Oliver. Um, do you maybe wanna grab a drink sometime?“ Barry asked. Oliver rejected, “Listen, Barry. Ah… You’re cute, but I’m not available. Sorry.”

He wasn’t available, taken by the scarlet speedster of Central City. He had been in Central for business when he got cornered by two robbers, the man bearing a cold gun and the woman, a gold gun. The speedster — better known as the Flash — had come to his rescue just before the man could shoot and apprehended them. The Flash disappeared with the two criminals before he returned to check if Oliver was hurt. Oliver thanked him for saving him and the speedster stared at him speechlessly for a while before Oliver heard his vibrating voice ask him if he was interested in men.

Oliver admitted that he was rather taken aback by the superhero’s confidence in asking such a personal question, but it probably came from the fact that his face was hidden by the mask and the shaking. Oliver shrugged and dared to flirt with his savior, even, saying that it depended on if the Flash was trying to ask him out.

That was how it all started. Oliver’s increased trips to Central City and their private meetings in Jitters, where Oliver and the Flash would casually flirt as they asked each other how their day went. It was a month into their little thing that the Flash asked if he could kiss Oliver. He said of course, and it was official that they were dating (neither wanted to put a label on things yet, however). Oliver only wished that the Flash trusted him enough to reveal his identity, what with the two months of secret whatever-it-is already.

Barry raised an eyebrow, his tone playful (Oliver found that strange. He just got rejected and yet he was still all smiles) as he said, “Ah. Sorry, I didn’t know. Who snatched you up first?” Oliver stared at him for a while, unable to come up with an answer. The Flash was just a ridiculous answer no matter how true it was, so he settled for, “If I told you, I’d have to kill you.”

Barry chuckled at the joking threat and Oliver’s heart fluttered slightly, Barry’s laugh sounding like home. Why does it sound so familiar? Oliver thought uneasily. Barry was very charming, Oliver regrettably admitted. Barry said, “I don’t mind if you kill me.” Oliver frowned to himself as he came to the startling realization that the CSI he’d just met was already making a home in his heart despite having known him for a total of five minutes. There was something about him that Oliver thought felt so familiar. It was almost like the feeling the Flash gave him whenever he was around.

“Something wrong?” Barry asked. His smile hasn’t faded in the least — he was confident and wasn’t ashamed to openly flirt with Oliver — and Oliver found that it was kind of endearing.

“Nothing, you just remind me of my… partner,” Oliver said, looking into Barry’s eyes for the first time. Barry smirked — he’s cocky and just won’t back down. Frankly, it was getting to Oliver and (to his shame) making him a little hot and bothered. Barry said, “Come on, Oliver. Just a drink. I’m sure your partner won’t mind.” Oliver stared at him wordlessly. He knew he should reject the invitation, he had a boyfriend, for God’s sake. A boyfriend who could easily dump him in the middle of the ocean if he ever pissed him off. A boyfriend he shouldn’t be messing with. Yet, he found himself seriously considering the offer.

“I should ask him first,” Oliver finally said. Barry nodded, a grin still plastered on his face, “Sure thing. Ask him now.” Oliver turned away from Barry and shot the Flash a text.

Someone asked me out for a drink. Do you mind if I go ahead?

He received a reply almost immediately.

Not at all, Ollie. Have fun. x

He turned back around to face Barry who was glancing around innocently and he said, “He gave the green light, so yeah, I’ll get a drink with you. You have a bar in mind?” Barry smiled and said, “Actually, I have business in Central. You mind coming over to get coffee tonight?” Oliver raised an eyebrow and his lips twitched in amusement, “Coffee at night? Fine, I’ll humor you.” Barry grinned and said, “Okay. I’ll see you in Jitters at ten. My friend Iris works there and she has the keys so we can have the place to ourselves.” Oliver nodded and Barry waved goodbye, walking away, “See you later. Don’t be late!”

It was 10:05 and Oliver rolled his eyes, muttering to himself about the irony of Barry’s words.

“Don’t be late, my ass,” he said sarcastically. He could have been seeing his somewhat-boyfriend right now but instead he had to be here waiting for that late fucke—

“Ollie, hey.”

Oliver perked up at the familiar layered voice and turned around to see the Flash. His face was still a blur and he dampened slightly at that but was still happy nonetheless. He asked, “Did something happen? What are you doing here?” Oliver watched as the blur slowly subsided. The only thing left concealing the Flash’s identity was his mask.

“I’m here on a date,” the Flash answered. Oliver raised an eyebrow in confusion, “But I didn’t ask you out and you didn’t —“

“I did ask you out. You turned me down.”

Oliver didn’t register dropping his coffee cup when the speedster pulled off his mask, revealing —

“Barry?” Oliver barely formed the name in his mouth before he started to laugh, partially from how ridiculous the situation was and how relieved that he wasn’t catching feelings for someone else. It didn’t take long for Barry to join in, giving the coffee cup he caught back to Oliver.

“Didn’t expect that, did you?” Barry laughed.

“Not at all,” Oliver said, recollecting himself. “Honestly, I was worried that I was was gonna break up with you for, well, you.”

“Your loyalty is heartwarming. I was having kind of a bad day, but then I caught over the wire about a case in Starling, in the Verdant warehouse so I headed over immediately because I could see you,” Barry explained. Oliver nodded, smiling as he put the coffee cup back on the table, “God, you scared me. I thought I was going to cheat on the Flash. That would be horrible. But anyway, you said you had a bad day? What happened?”

“Well, I realized something,” Barry begun, taking Oliver’s hands in his. “My mother was murdered and my dad was sentenced for life. Iris never loved me back and all my attempts at a relationship always fail. I can’t save everyone and I can’t do my day job right and even though I’m the fastest man alive, I’m always so late to everything.”

Oliver was about to interrupt when Barry looked into his eyes as he said, “But then I met you and fuck me if I don’t acknowledge how lucky you make me feel. I’m always late, but know that for you, I will never be late.”

Oliver didn’t respond for a few moments before he grinned, “Barry Allen, are you asking me to officially be your boyfriend?”

“Well… I’m not saying I am but — okay, I am. I’m asking you to officially be my boyfriend. Not just the Flash’s boyfriend, but Barry Allen’s boyfriend,” Barry said, his cheeks red. Oliver joked, “Your face is so red, you won’t need that mask of yours anymore. Barry smacked his arm playfully and Oliver laughed, pressing a brief kiss to Barry’s lips.

“I just wanna introduce my boyfriend to Joe and Iris and all my friends,” Barry said sheepishly. It was the first time Oliver was seeing the confident superhero so bashful and he was enjoying it. He asked, “Well, when are you introducing me?” Barry’s eyes lit up as he asked excitedly, “Is that a yes? Are you —“

Oliver cut him off with another kiss, longer than the previous one.

“Yes, you idiot,” Oliver teased.

“I can’t believe I’m officially dating Oliver Queen. Iris is gonna kill me,” Barry gushed. Despite the dark undertone of the second part of his sentence, he had a bright grin on his face. Oliver asked curiously, “Why?” Barry answered, intertwining his fingers with Oliver’s, “She fucking loves you. You’re on her three list.” Oliver raised an eyebrow, unfamiliar with the term, “What’s a three list?” Barry informed him, “Three people she’s allowed to cheat on Eddie with. She forced me to make a three list with her back when she and Eddie started dating.”

“Am I on your three list?” Oliver asked teasingly. Barry’s face heated up again and Oliver smirked at his silence, “Well?”

“My three list is literally just your name three times.”

#olivarry fic #olivarry

11 notes · View notes

acetokens · 6 years

Text

My (post game) opinions on the ndrv3 cast

Alright, before the game came out I made this post where I basically vomited out my opinions on how I felt about the newly revealed ndrv3 cast onto a post and it was 50% jokes, 50% venting at fangirls. But now I've actually played the game, delved into the fandom and looked at the changes between the Japanese and English versions, I feel I can make a more genuine list of how I feel about all these good kids that deserved better. I realize my opinions are just that, and I’m probably yelling into the void here. But I felt I had to do a followup to the last post because MY GOD WAS I WRONG ABOUT (MOST) THINGS. I've listed every character in ‘favorite to least favorite’ order for convenience sake. Also this post will contain Spoilers. You have been warned.

Placed under a break for your skipping convenience. Ya’ll are welcome.

1. Himiko Yumeno - I absolutely adore everything about Himiko. Her design, her lazy attitude, her voice (NYEH), her development across the game to become a more driven and energetic person...I found her really funny, really cute and oddly relatable. Himiko is probably in my top 5 DR characters of all time. Which is even crazier when I remember she’s one of the few survivors. I've never had a favorite character who survives a killing game before. So unlike past Dangan Ronpa games where my interest sorta dies off by Chapter 6, Himiko kept me fully invested in everything until the end. She’s a special bean and I love her.

2. Gonta Gokuhara - Continuing the DR trend of a Big Guy who’s a Big Friend, Gonta was so good and so pure and so friendly and deserved so much better. He was always trying to do his best and protect everyone until the very end. R.I.P Gonta. You were a true gentleman. Chapter 4 can suck my ass.

3. Tenko Chabashira - I literally D E S P I S E D Tenko when she was first revealed. I hated her stupid, sexist guts. But come Ndrv3′s release and Tenko turned out to be a dorky, kind, protective and strong willed girl who was skilled enough to be admirable but pathetic enough to be pitiable at the same time. I loved her undying adoration of Himiko (even if it was a bit creepy at times) and the two make a really cute ship. I was expecting some kind of tragic backstory in her FTE’s to explain why she hates men (I believe she mentions a drunken father at one point, and I really wish they went more into that), and the lack of a reasonable explanation for such a strong hatred is what prevents her from sharing (or even taking) the top spot in my book. But misandry aside, Tenko is a Great Gal and I wanna hug her. Although she’d probably bodyslam me.

4. Kirumi Tojou - Kirumi was my favorite when all the characters were revealed at first. I made multiple posts about how I’d die for her and how she was beautiful and whatnot and I was confident about two things when the game came out: 1) She’d be my favorite. And 2) She’d die - following in the footsteps of all previous ‘best girls’ before her. And well, I did really like her. Just...not as much as I thought I would. Kirumi is efficient, brave, elegant, caring and has a really cool design. But her talent occupies most of who she is as a person, and she isn't too dissimilar to most maid characters in anime or manga. So it made her quite predictable at times and I feel they could’ve done so much more with her..ah well. Kirumi is still a super awesome maid and a great Mom. Even if she hates being called that.

5. Kaede Akamatsu - Ahh...I remember when I was wishing someone else would be our protagonist when she was first announced...I think I cursed it. Because Kaede was just *incredible*. She was headstrong, perceptive, kind and left such a big impact on me after Chapter 1. You know that ‘Do It For Her’ meme? Yeah, that about summarizes the rest of Ndrv3 for me. Also Kaede is a huge gay and all the Ndrv3 girls are her girlfriends, pass it on.

6. Ryouma Hoshi - Congratulations to Ryouma for being the only non-standard design character not to be terrible. Far from it, in fact. Ryouma is a badass! A lil’ badass with such a depressing backstory and death that when they showed his motive video, I let out a single manly tear. Or several. Or many. I just...I just want this man to be happy...

7. Miu Iruma - Miu has zipped up and down my lists more than any other character. I had her ranked highly pre-game, lowly during the game, and mid/high post-game. Her design and talent are really cool and she makes several neat inventions over the course of the game, but her personality was so damn prickly and vulgar that I found her really offputting while she was alive. It was only after finishing her FTE’s and seeing her Love Hotel scene that I realized holy shit this girl has some serious trust and abandonment issues. It put all of her behavior in perspective and I began to feel really sorry for her all of a sudden. The hurt/comfort potential here is just WAITING to be uncovered but, alas, most Miu fanfics I've come across are just smut or crackfics. Out of all the Ndrv3 girls, Miu deserves the most headpats. Lots and lots of headpats.

8. Kaito Momota - A good, supportive friend and an effective comic relief. His optimism was a bit grating for me now and again (I never like it when DR plays the ‘’Oh we should just believe in him/her because s/he’s our friend :)’’ card because of how biased it always is. Like, DR will sometimes bend over backwards and completely 180 its own rules to make sure certain characters survive. In a game where finding the truth by objective evidence and fact is key, the times where it just says ‘’nah fuck the truth who needs proof just b e l i e v e’’ just feel so...stupid). But criticisms of the series aside, Kaito is a bro and he’s great. Who doesn’t love the luminary of the stars?

9. Kokichi Ouma - I realise putting the most popular character at 9th is going to make hoards of fangirls despise me but!!!! I don’t dislike Kokichi. In fact I like him a lot. His character is probably the most enjoyable to analyze out of everyone, his interactions are hilarious but also disturbing, the Kokichi memes are funny, and I too think the changes they made to his dialogue in the English translation was utter bullshit (almost as greater character assassination as Mukuro in the DR3 anime). But, I really love most of the characters in the game which leaves characters I’m torn on (like Kokichi or Kiyo) hovering at a position which makes it seem like I dislike them when actually I enjoy them immensely. Just...not as consistently as some of the others. Also Chapter 4 was an kick to the nads that I can’t get over. Sorry Kokichi.

10. Korekiyo Shinguuji - I was prepared to LOVE this guy so much. Seriously. I was ready for the moment where it would turn out creepy noodle man would be turn out to be a Wholesome noodle man. But uh, I think I’m with the rest of the fandom when I say that Korekiyo’s reveal as the SHSL incestuous serial killer made me drop him faster than Kirumi dropped in her execution (sorry). So, now I've establish Kork is the *real* Worst Boy...why did I put him at 10th? Why not 15th? Especially considering he killed Tenko? Truthfully, it’s the memes. Just...the Kork memes. And the fact he’s such an awful person and so obviously a murderer that it becomes genuinely hilarious to me. And his design is my favorite out of all of them. I’m so split on him. So, so split...

11. K1-B0 - Keebo made me laugh a bunch of times, and I enjoyed him more than I thought I would initially. Also his upgrades in Chapter 6 were badass as fuck. But I just don’t really feel the same affection for him like I do other characters. I’m afraid cute robot girls will always be my weakspot. Cute robot boys...not so much. (Although I’m all for Agender! Keebo that’s my jam).

12. Shuichi Saihara - This is the point in my list where I finally reach true neutral. I have no feelings on Shuichi either way. He’s deeper and has a more interesting plot arc than Makoto, which makes him a more effective protagonist in my opinion. But Hinata will always be the best protagonist in my book. And I just keep picturing what it would’ve been like if Kaede survived instead...

13. Rantaro Amami - I never understood why he was uber popular before the game came out and I don’t think I understand why he’s so popular now either. I have no negative feelings on the guy; he’s mysterious and has a ‘big brother’ attitude that I like. But the poor dude just died too quickly for me to feel anything for him.

14. Maki Harukawa - I only dislike three characters in this game. Maki is one of them. I knew *exactly* what kind of character she was going to be and I knew I wouldn’t like her much and I knew she was going to survive. I didn’t guess she was going to be an assassin! But outside of that, There isn’t much going for me for me. The tsundere is never an archetype I like and the fact the deaths in Chapters 2 and 5 are partly her fault and no one calls her out on it is kinda frustrating also.

15. Angie Yonaga - Angie’s creepiness is her most appealing trait to me. That should explain how low the bar is set here. Its difficult to write what I feel about her without coming across as a salty atheist (because most of her problems revolve around her use of her god to manipulate people) so I’m just going to leave it there.

16. Tsumugi Shirogane - Y’know I distinctly remember labelling Tsumugi as ‘’Hifumi but likable’’ on my previous Ndrv3 opinion post. I was wrong. She was hovering around mid/low level for me while I played the game, and I often forgot she existed (kinda funny considering her self admitted plainness) and her references were quite obscure a lot of the time so I didn’t find her funny either. I didn’t dislike her, I just forgot her. Then Chapter 6 happened and everyone knows the rest. It’d be difficult to truly ‘like’ Tsumugi after her reveal as the mastermind, after all. Although she was certainly entertaining when she started cosplaying as all the previous characters and I did like how her eyes glowed when she went all DanganRonpa crazy. I did actually consider putting her above Angie for those reasons, but if I dropped Kokichi’s placement because he killed Gonta then I’d be a hypocrite if I didn’t slamdunk Tsumugi into last place for technically being responsible for everyones’ deaths as well (well, responsible as part of Team DanganRonpa. I understand it wasn’t *entirely* her behind it all). You know there’s a problem when *Hifumi* looks pure in comparison...

If you read through all of this, then congratulations? I don’t know how to end long ass posts like this...just pretend I said something witty.

I need sleep.

#Opinions are subjective #no seriously I am so tired #I think my logic trailed off at the end there but you get the picture #Hopefully

5 notes · View notes

a-writing-bear · 6 years

Text

[PruCan] Chapter 4: Soft-Spoken Calling, They Want Their Shyness Back

Ao3 Link:

http://archiveofourown.org/works/11159997/chapters/24905436

This Has been cross-posted onto FF & Ao3 under Aliases: BearBooper

You can read this Fic on Tumblr under ‘Keep Reading’

Previous Chapter

Fandom: Hetalia Axis Powers

Main Pairing: Gilbert Beilschmidt & Matthew Williams (Prussia & Canada)

AU: College AU - Art Student Matthew and Media/Film Student Gilbert

Age Rating/Mature: Teen And Up Audiences (12+ due to mentions of mature themes as well as swearing)

Trigger Warnings: Recreational Drugs & minor connotations of anxiety (Future addiction to mention themes such as addiction, rape etc.)

Within his short 18 years of his life, Gilbert knew he fell short of a lot of things. Most of the time the list of his personal struggles were propelled far away from the contemptuous moments of strife that he was forced to worry about currently so in turn of all that he wasn’t used to being open to his subconscious pacing mind. All the repressed trouble he cooked up was bubbling over- much like Arthur’s attempt of ‘soup’ from last week. Whenever he seemed to not be distracted by a family issue presented by his brother, it was coursework that acted as blockade from having a social life, or sometimes the extremities faced when dealing with pesters from Elizabeta and Roderich (Only God knows what those two would be doing on a weekend...); even the occasional whining from a certain Frenchman.

A chime of a small bell over the café’s door announced his presence to the other inhabitants. The oaky smell of old counters flooded his senses and the light yellow walls plastered with generic atmospheric photos of Himaruya Academy’s campus populated some of the emptier spaces (You could tell these were taken by students as well, what with the tiny label under each photo). Aromatic aromas of freshly brewed coffee and whiffs of alluring chai lattes made Gilbert smile warmly, it was if he had been hugged by comfort itself. You would think a café would be empty at around 10 pm, but it seems like the need for caffeine for any student was a constant. The distance between his dorm hall and the small campus café was luckily close, a breeze of a stroll that delighted any exhausted student, thus his tardiness in his arrival was actually inexcusable. He mulled over trying to produce an excuse to give later to explain his delay… Of course, his overall excitement was at an all-time low considering Gilbert would have to deal with an infuriated Ludwig-

“Seriously Gil? You’re late 20 minutes”

Speaking of the organised stick-in-the-mud devil, his younger brother (Who, unfairly, had grown taller than the paler of the two) was eyeing him with annoyance and the albino could practically feel the dagger-like stares pushing into his chest. A cockier-than-usual ‘I’m more organised than you and you know it' looks of disapproval caught him off guard… Oh god is he going to say something about the new shir-

“Mein Gott, How the hell are you funding your wardrobe when you can’t even pay me back?”

“Lovely to see you too dear West, I’m doing fine, Gee thanks! How thoughtful for you to ask.”

Sarcasm and mock pleasure rolled off his tongue easily and with a sublime sense of satisfaction. But as he went to sit down at the small table he noticed the change in mood. facing diligently and apprehensively at the stern look of his brother he realised that his obvious joke will not go without consequence…clearly, Ludwig had something serious this time and the call for the older sibling was not an act of choice but instead an act of necessity. Gilbert gulped. Fidgeting slightly, preparing to be the bearer of bad news, the blue-eyed sibling attempted to keep his voice lower than usual and to keep the conversation at a seemingly okay level of panic:

“We can’t exactly quit our jobs this holiday, and my calculations state that we might even have to pick up an extra shift. There is no way we can visit Uncle this year.”

Gilbert flinched and could swear he felt his heart break a little. To others the news may not seem to be ‘that serious’ – sure it was bad but being heartbroken was an over exaggeration right? Consider the fact you had been working your FUCKING ass off your whole life, juggling multiple jobs while studying with a crappy stream of income and pay check-to-pay check funding, being robbed of countless hours of personal time that in your eyes were a privilege, never a minimum, and last but not least the breakdowns when you realised you felt so alone. This news would make your heart shatter like fragile glass. ‘Fuck karma, Lady Luck couldn’t give him a day off,’ It seemed like dog days would never be chased off. Unbelievable. Inconceivably pissed off. Flipping the table, walking out and burying himself in the nearest graveyard felt like a reasonable move as of right now.

“What. The. FUCK.”

“Calm down we can handl-“

“I can’t!- There has to be some miscalculation, last I checked we had enough for that break, I was given time off and a pay raise! This shouldn’t- What-WHY? I PRACTICALLY DIED.”

“Look I get it- I’m not happy either?! But shouting won’t do us any help either!”

He was fuming and he could see the fury shining in his company’s eyes as well. Growing up Gilbert always hid his vents and rants and kept his true thoughts away from the impressionable mind of his sibling but at times like this, it was clear what they were both thinking. Ludwig must have known this news hit his brother harder than it would him, and those awkward compassionate pats were a pitiful attempt at family comfort. They never really used affectionate gestures in the past, there was never any time for stuff like that.

Years and years, harking as far back as the tender age of 14, he could recall working for an extra bit of pocket money. Pocket money soon evolved into a college fund for himself and West within 2 years. Not to mention the small amounts he had to save for indulging to keep the sanity that prevented him from turning into an emotionless working robot. Thankful was not a strong enough word to describe what Gilbert felt for his uncle, there wasn’t any word that could achieve the level of gratitude the boy held for the old man. Respect towards the old man was something he taught Ludwig early on (Come to think of it, they moved in with their Uncle when Ludwig was only...12?), even if the latter didn’t understand their situation at that very young age. Spaced out due to the reminiscing he hadn’t noticed the warm cup of coffee that had been kindly delivered to him (Yes, a nice cup of coffee at 10 pm, go college life!), Ludwig’s strong voice started to come back to the forefront of his attention;

“You take your rest, you deserved the break, Bruder. I can do an extra shift- Feli says his shift has an extra slot anyway that I can take and it’s not very long, we just need to rearrange the bank allocations…” The blonder German was droning on and was in actual fact, talking to himself more than he was meaning to actually converse with the other.

Sighing into his now slightly cold coffee, the teen pondered over his choices and reviewed his recent schedules: wake up, eat, Attend lectures, go to multiple work shifts throughout the day during his study hours, do some coursework till the morning light and pass out, repeat. He had started slacking this continues the cycle of college-life torture. He had finally worked enough to wager a good break that his boss from his large shift (A shitty – but hey it’s decent? – 7 bucks an hour) at the local cinema, an undesirable night shift that no one wanted to partake when they could be partying. Only this month had he been throwing away his frazzled mind with hook-ups and well-deserved parties with his former Misfits. He had ached for those nights again, and for a short while, he had them back. What was the point of being a ‘creative’ mind when you can’t produce any of the garbage you actually want to?! Being stuck in the mantra of: “How many tickets sir? Which seat..? Hope you enjoy the show!” was the cause of the internal bomb of irritation that ticked faster and faster and Gilbert wasn’t even sure he would have any fuse left soon.

I’ve got to go. Was it ever possible to become unattached to reality? God I wish, with haste Gilbert suddenly got up and bolted out with mutters of incomprehensible frustration.

“Gilbe-Where are you goi-Hey we aren’t” the protests over his disappearance faded into the background as Gilbert left to walk back to his room. He could really do with some music.

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN HE LIVES NEXT DOOR?! HAS HE HURT YOU? OH MY GOD”

Matthew lamented over his wasted time, the paint covered boy had nestled down on his bed with his ruffled hair and head thrown back onto the cushy red covers, He could be actually painting right now…or y’know…seeing Tim for a drug hit. Eyes shut with another exhale of boredom as Alfred rambled on, shooting an overdose of “He’s the bad kind, he’s not good, and he could be a murderer” lecture into the strawberry blonde’s tired ears. You would think a prodigy with a near IQ of 160 would be able to identify a real threat.

Sometimes he really just wanted to forget about this.

“I don’t think we are even thinking of the same person Al” blurting out quietly, still trying to zone out from his brother’s incessant fussing. “Have you even met him?”

“I don’t neeeed to meet him. I KNOW he’s bad for you, I don’t want him touching and getting all up in my little brother’s space and…poisoning him with all the college nonsense.”

Bullshit, poison what? I already drink and take- Ahh that’s right he doesn’t know about the ‘college nonsense’ I actually do participate in. Woops.

“I have no idea what you are talking about, hell you’re starting to sound old like Artie”

“I am not-I am NOT like Artie! Why the sudden interest in this Gilbert GUY ANYWAY??” This had dragged on for an hour and Matthew needed to make a dash for Tim’s house if he wanted to get done in time to come back reasonably sober.

“Don’t you have some project to do Alfie? It’s getting late and I want to do some work-Besides wouldn’t you want to call Kiku~” 1 point to Matthew, He had gotten his brother to look off in revelation and gain some red tinge on the cheeks. Kiku, a Japanese student who his American sibling had met and been pining for, was located at Himaruya Academy’s Tokyo campus (Mostly shortlisted to ‘The Deen Campus’ after its association). The two had been introduced during their foundation year and it was clear his sibling had a very big soft spot for the guy, so much so after the Japanese student transferred back to Japan they kept in touch with long Skype calls and endless texts. They, to quote: “Are n-not dating!! Kiku’s Not even interested…in guys…..or me.”

Hurriedly and trying to look less embarrassed, Alfred scuttled out. ‘Finally’. A glance at his watch told Matthew he would need to leave now or else Tim will call him out for bailing- ‘I am not gonna lose this cus of Al goddammit’ – Grabbing his trademark and overused hoodie, the stocky 18 year old climbed out of the way too small dorm window. Armed with his phone and car keys, he clambered into the cramped car and drove steadily down out the campus to his friend’s rented house; a typical scene for bad cliché college parties – happily it was not time for any party. As idiotic as it may seem, Strolling through the front door would not be a good idea as his childhood friend always warned him his sister would not appreciate visitors at this time (Matthew was 100% Laura didn’t even know Tim did pot, nonetheless that he did pot WITH Mattie), so he took the safer route (‘Well, physically more dangerous’) and climbed onto a small balcony on the side of the house, softly knocking on the glass that had the curtains drawn-

“You’re late.” Looking up to face his taller companion, the Canadian heard the gruff voice of annoyance as he pulled back the curtains and the sliding glass door opened.

“Sorry T, Al got me caught up in some bullshit, the hoser kept me busy…” The scarfed house owner moved aside and silently invited him into the messy room. On closer inspection, messy would not be applicable – while the floor was covered in some clothes, questionable (?) magazines and beanbags, the dark blue walls hoisted clean neat shelves which held a multitude of knickknacks.

“..You know you could’ve gotten started without me?

“Hah. Yeah right, where’s the fun in that Mattie?” A small tired-sounding chuckle flowed from the taller of the two, a bong had been passed towards Matthew who had founded himself cosy in a familiar beanbag. The haze felt good already. Matthew took it eagerly and grumbled: “How much do I owe you?”

“Honestly…Too much. Hah, No but like come on Mattie, I thought we got over this already. I’m not gonna charge a friend for this stuff. Especially not you.” Grinning with humour the Dutchman took the beanbag opposite to him.

It was all very strange at the beginning of this whole ordeal with his Dutch friend. They had grown up together and Matthew had very good relations with the ‘Van-der-Berg’ family. After joining the Academy he was glad he at least had a recognisable older pal but throughout all of the years that had gone by knowing him, he always noticed the precise and businessman-like nature of this man. Yet when he offered to help Matthew get his usual weed (Something Matt had easier access to in Canada and the times he visited the Netherlands and definitely something you don’t shout about) he didn’t charge a single penny. Hell, this fucker had once charged him after Matthew dragged them to the bathroom at camp…when they were 12 YEARS OLD. This guy always needed wanted to make a dime. Except for drugs. Which…was insanely strange AND expensive. ‘Especially not me? Ah Tim, I still really don’t know you.’ He tried not to think about it so much as when there was sweet dreamy smoke being smothered and pushed into Matthew’s body.

Sometimes it is possible to forget about things, you just need the right stuff.

#prucan #aph canada #aph prussia #SoftSpokenCalling #prussia x canada #hetalia #hetalia axis powers #Hetalia Fanfiction #fanfic #multific #college au #alternate universe

2 notes · View notes

smartalker · 7 years

Text

Magpie Bridge [3/10 - Nenet]

ENTITLED: Magpie Bridge FANDOM: Mass Effect Andromeda - Reyes/Ryder RATING: M LENGTH: 50k via 10 chapters GENRE: Romance/Sci-Fi/Drama/Humor, in that order SUMMARY: With the Kett subdued and Andromeda’s terraforming system running at full power, Kadara Port swiftly establishes itself as the trade capital of the galaxy. The city’s unique combination of affluence, corruption, and growing power inevitably earns the ire of both the Nexus, and Aya. Under tremendous pressure to disavow a known criminal’s legitimacy, Ryder once again returns to Kadara hoping to broker peace, but the Charlatan wants something very different from her… ALT SUMMARY: Two people fall in love, galaxy breaks.

Suvi blinked herself awake, and her face relaxed into a dreamy smile. Ryder, handkerchief in hand, reached over to dab the bit of drool from the other woman’s mouth. “Thanks, Ryder,” Suvi slurred. She stretched like a cat, her toes pointing. “Mmm, Lexi. You have the best beds on this ship.”

Ryder felt it best not to mention that the ‘Lexi’ Suvi seemed to be talking to was a chair. “How’re you feeling? You’ve been out for almost twenty hours. I think you made Kallo cry.”

“He has a gentle spirit,” Suvi yawned. She snuggled back down. “Ryder. I highly recommend the fried barrel leafs. Oh. Did you get any video of me dancing? For science.” She smiled hopefully.

“Uh,” Ryder dragged out her disbelief. “I don’t…think there was any dancing? I heard from Kallo that you ate something, fainted, he dragged you back to the ship, and then Lexi yelled at all of us. We’re stuck eating freeze-dried casserole. Again. Also, Lexi thinks you might be naturally allergic to some plant enzyme that grows on Kadara.”

“No,” Suvi countered, in her lovely, musical voice. As often happened, Ryder became preoccupied with listening to the sound of Suvi speaking, rather than the actual words she was saying.

“I mean, it’s an allergy, you can’t really—”

“No,” Suvi said again. She yawned. “Will you tell Kallo I’m alright? He worries.”

“SAM’s on it,” Ryder assured. Suvi gave a happy little wiggle. She reached to clasp Ryder’s hand, drawing their fingers intimately together. She had very pretty, very slender fingers.

“Ryder,” Suvi breathed, “I just wanted to say, I know the rest of the crew think you’re making a big mistake. But I think you should follow your heart. It’ll lead you to where you would have ended up anyway.”

Ryder sighed. At least the delirious person believed in her. “Thanks, Suvi.”

The med-bay’s doors slid open, and Gil’s swinging, hoppy steps bounded in. “Well, well, well,” he began. Ryder could already hear the shit-eating grin on his face. “Alright, Anwar?”

“Hi,” Suvi welcomed gustily. Ryder sighed.

“Gil, be nice.”

“I’m always nice. Had a bit of a party, my fair lady?” Gil swung himself into a chair just beside Ryder, and bent his head towards the prone Suvi. “They have nice beds in here.”

“I know. I should get closer to Lexi,” Suvi whispered. Her dreamy expression sharpened into what Ryder could only label as sneaky. “If you know what I mean,” Suvi whispered. Gil chortled.

“Yeah, no. We both heard you.”

Suvi nodded, looking satisfied. “Good,” she said firmly, and settled back down. She might have winked at the chair she’d earlier mistaken for Lexi. Gil glanced at Ryder, now grinning.

“So what’re you up to with our invalid? Trying to probe for secrets while her defenses are lowered?”

Ryder rolled her eyes. “I have three purposes. One, I’m hiding from Lexi, and probably everyone else—,” she considered Suvi and Gil, “—well, you two are probably fine. But anyway, if there’s one place she’ll never think to find me, it’s gotta be in her own med-bay. Plus, if she does find me, she can’t yell at me without disturbing the invalid.”

“That’s me,” Suvi chimed in.

“That’s you,” Ryder agreed. She was still holding Suvi’s hand. The other woman had begun to stroke little circles across Ryder’s knuckles. It was actually pretty relaxing. Ryder continued, “That leads to my second purpose, which is to watch over Suvi just in case something ridiculous happens, thanks to her allergies and willingness to ingest foreign plants.”

“Atta girl,” Gil slapped Suvi’s thigh, with perhaps too much appreciation.

“I don’t have allergies,” Suvi told him.

“Finally,” Ryder wrapped up, “I was hoping that once Suvi shakes off the last traces of her delirium, she’d be able to look over some of the evidence from our current investigation.”

“She’s not delirious,” Gil protested. He was now holding Suvi’s other hand. “She’s simply reached a higher state of being. And I want to see the evidence too!”

“Is this about the cultists?” Suvi asked hopefully. “I like murder-mysteries.”

Ryder considered. On the one hand, she could potentially give her extremely drugged-up science officer some freaky hallucinations. On the other, she could make headway stopping a crazed murder cult that was most likely trying to kill her boyfriend. Her kind-of boyfriend. “SAM, get the terminal up with visuals.”

Accessing, SAM confirmed.

Lexi’s screens flickered to life, showing the green wall with its weird face carving. Looking at it again, perhaps thanks to the screen’s flattening effect, Ryder realized that there was more detail than she’d initially noticed. The carving’s eyes had been indented with pupils, which gave the face an aura of judgment, and disapproval.

“The Green Man!” Suvi shouted, almost immediately. She sat up, her pretty fingers tightening around Ryder’s own. She looked at Ryder with wide-eyed excitement. “Ryder! The Green Man!”

Gil squinted. “Green. Man. Check and check.”

“No,” Suvi breathed. “I get it. It makes sense. Well. If you’re an insane death cult, it makes sense.” She ripped her other hand free from Gil to point at the screens—Ryder, briefly, felt smug that she had been chosen as the maintainer of hand-holding privileges. “Look,” Suvi explained. “The Green Man is a sort of God, or spirit. He’s a watcher, something that appears from nothing. Usually associated with things like nature, judgment…or life, death, that sort of thing. Very scary. Sometimes he just watches, peeking out from the leaves—basically just an artistic motif, a sort of hidden image. Other times, he watches.”

Ryder watched as SAM clicked through the photos Reyes had taken. Green man. Green man. Green man. Little faces peering out of the rock. She wondered how the children’s bodies had been positioned, how their blood had been desecrated to hide the green watchers.

“What do you mean, he watches?” Gil asked. “Like a stalker?”

Suvi flapped her free hand. “No. Yes. Like, um, like a predator? Maybe. It’s very old. I think it’s more like he watches you, to take you in your moment of weakness. Because it’s such an abstract image it’s been borrowed by a lot of different mythologies. I think the first one—or one of the first? Whatever. One of the first ones was Dionysus. Not really my area of expertise.”

“SAM?” Ryder prompted.

Correct. The god Dionysus began as a god of life, death, and rebirth. At this time, he was known as Zagreus. It was only later that his existence changed to one of drink, performance, and sexual abandonment. The cult of Dionysus was one of the largest of its time, its practitioners frequently combined the two faces of this god through week-long parties many of which were thought to involve ritual human sacrifice.

“That fits,” Ryder conceded. Head computers were so helpful. “We should check out these bodies. If Suvi’s theory is right, there could be traces left behind from these rituals.”

“There could be traces left behind from anything,” Gil pointed out. “You won’t know until you scan them.”

Ryder shrugged, glancing back at the screens. Unexpectedly, she felt excited. She was on the right track. She had to be.

Suvi tugged on Ryder’s hand suddenly, and then leaned in to whisper. “Reyes Vidal,” Suvi paused, “His name means the King of Life.”

Ryder waited for SAM to offer a correction, but none came. She and Suvi simply looked at one another.

“What?” Gil said. He twisted himself over the table to join their conversation. “Hey. Don’t leave old Gilly out.”

“Just a weird coincidence,” Suvi explained, still whispering. Ryder’s mind was racing. It probably was just a weird coincidence—it must have been. She hadn’t even confirmed the Green Man theory yet.

Pathfinder, SAM piped up privately. On that same topic, it may interest you to know that during Reyes Vidal’s time as a pilot, he worked under the call-sign Anubis, the Egyptian god of mummification and the underworld. Arguably, the three names he has operated under follow a pattern close to Officer Anwar’s theory.

At some point calling something a coincidence became irresponsible. Ryder’s head was aching, and her stomach felt unstable with dread. “Thanks for all the intel Suvi,” Ryder managed to say. “You were really helpful.”

“Seriously,” Gil noted. “I thought you studied rocks and physics and botany.”

Suvi sniffed. “I am a very learned person,” she announced, and returned to sleep.

Usually, Ryder knew, one did not immediately contact the person one was busily being Righteously Angry at. Especially when what she wanted to tell him had to do with fanatic cults, loosely connected by a string of hocus pocus that was, in all likelihood, a crock of shit.

“SAM?” Ryder cued, “If you had to say roughly, how many mythological figures have some connection to life or death?”

Would you like to include fertility goddesses? How about plant life?

“It’s all of them, isn’t it?” Ryder rolled her eyes. “It’s totally all of them.”

Pathfinder, I would also encourage you to consider a number of male deities who may not have a clear association with the cycle of life, but who nevertheless remain strongly associated with the phallus—

“That’s fine. I spend enough time considering the phallus, thank you.” She rubbed her eyebrow. “Ugh. Empty your recycling bin or something, SAM. I can’t keep getting headaches like this.”

Launching diagnostics.

Liam’s head popped into view. “Are we talking about phalluses? Phallus-ez. Phallusi?”

Phalluses, SAM confirmed, via speaker. Ryder shuddered. Seriously time to change the subject.

“Hey Liam, want to look at some dead bodies?”

“You know it!” Liam beamed. “Am I the first you asked? Am I the cadaver A-team?”

For being the normal dude on the ship, Liam was pretty fucking weird. He was still talking, but now suiting up at the same time, even though it would likely be half an hour before they would begin prepping for deployment. Ryder, personally, was still nibbling her breakfast casserole. “I know we’re all about burning the dead,” Liam mused, “But you know how people used to get buried? What do you think the coffins would need to be made of, here on Kadara? I can’t imagine what the soil’s pH is like. Everything would probably just be, like, goo within a few hours.”

Ryder shuddered. “Thanks Liam.”

“Mm, pardon me—”

It figured that the two of them would go together. Jaal stood respectfully at attention, his hands clasped behind his back. “I couldn’t help but overhear that there’s to be an investigation into the murder victims. Several children were Angaran—I would like to be there, if possible. It will comfort their families to know they were not alone.”

Well shit. Like there was any way for her to refuse that. Ryder stuffed her face with casserole, wondering how to balance emotion and professionalism, with two species, at the same time. “Just me and the boys, huh?” she asked lightly. “Okay, let’s do it. But don’t push yourselves. You need to step out for a minute, just say the word.”

“Thank you, Ryder,” Jaal acknowledged, with a little bow. When he looked up again, his gaze was almost ferocious. “But I will not leave them alone.”

Thankfully, even Liam knew when to let a respectful moment stand. The three of them were prepped, suited, and back on the streets within the hour. Ryder took a few confident steps forward before wondering where, exactly, she was supposed to find the leading authority on forensic analysis and violent crimes—on Kadara.

“Perhaps we might start with the church?” Jaal suggested. “They should at least be aware of some funeral processions, and would have needed to collaborate with the morgue while the remains were transferring custody.”

“The church is good for something?”

“Liam,” Ryder growled. It was, actually, not a bad suggestion, and given that her only real contacts on Kadara probably counted as viable suspects, she was inclined to follow Jaal’s advice. “Okay. Jaal, please step in on Angaran relations. I’ll handle Milky Way species. Liam, make sure we don’t get shot.”

“Yes! A good plan,” Liam grinned. “Crisis specialist Kosta is on the scene.”

“But we aren’t on the scene?” Jaal looked confused. “Is this an idiom?”

“SAM, cue ambient noise,” Ryder said, pointedly.

One of the many wonders of Kadara, Ryder discovered, was that their church was run by a Salarian. She couldn’t help but stare. A Salarian in a habit. Ryder tried to think of a reason to take a picture that was not overwhelmingly rude—and also, how was she supposed to keep Liam from making the same request? The Salarian priest inclined his head towards them in greeting. “Welcome, Pathfinder and esteemed colleagues. May I ask why you’ve come?”

Liam looked excited, which was never good. Almost tripping over herself to answer, Ryder nodded back. “Thank you. We’re actually here on an investigation—it’s sensitive.”

“Of course. Follow me please,” the priest beckoned them, and they followed him into a small antechamber, spartanly furnished. The church’s interior had been surprisingly nice, with a nondescript dais, and rough, uniform benches. It seemed less a place of worship than one of contemplation.

“So.” The priest turned, lower lids blinking up. “Your investigation?”

“We’ll need to see some tax reports from the past few years—” Liam muttered. Jaal, thankfully, silenced him.

“I don’t know if you’ve heard,” Ryder began carefully, “But there’s been a string of child murders happening around here, and we’re trying to determine the cause. We were hoping that at least some of the victims’ families would have requested funerary rights.”

“Many of them did,” the priest said, with real sadness. “I can’t tell you a ratio, of course, I only know of the ones who come to me. The death of a child is unbearable. Many who have never walked with faith previously, become desperate to believe that their children have gone to a place of comfort. Adding to that…” the Salarian hesitated, his pained expression faltering. “Well. From what I heard, the way the children were killed…it was unspeakable. Horrific. I think that their families hoped they could find some dignity—some acquittal—by returning to tradition.”

“The victims were all burned?”

“Yes. The ones that I oversaw. The cremations were performed by the mortuary, not here.”

More difficult. She would have to rely on the coroner’s notes for analysis, rather than her own scans. Maybe there was still some unprocessed evidence waiting for her? The priest, seeming to sense her line of thinking, tilted his head and asked, hesitantly, “I’m happy to give you that contact information, but would you like me to call ahead?”

“Please,” Ryder demurred. “And ask if they have any bodies that are still awaiting cremation.” She turned back to her team while the Salarian made his call. “What do you think?” she whispered. “Dead end?”

“If they haven’t got any bodies left, I say we put a pin in it. We can swing back later to collect the files,” Liam whispered. “The way he was talking, sounds like the murders were brutal, lots of carnage. We should go to the last kill site, see if there’s anything left for the scans to pick up.”

“Excuse me?” the priest interrupted. He was shaking his head. “They’ll be expecting you, but I’m sorry to say that the last victim was recovered five days ago. Her remains were processed this morning. I’ve sent you the contact information.”

“Thank you,” Ryder answered, trying to mask her disappointment. “You’ve been very helpful.”

Jaal suddenly stepped forward, his eyes shining. He held his hand out to the Salarian priest, who took them. Jaal had to clear his throat before speaking. “Thank you. For your respect. It has helped. I hope their souls have found peace.”

The priest’s gaunt, alien face suddenly softened. “Me too,” was all he said.

Another call to the mortuary revealed that they, thanks to Kadara’s size and lack of infrastructure, were essentially entirely responsible for handling Kadara’s dead. They managed forensic analysis, detailed case files, cremation, and transfer of remains or evidence to both law enforcement, and families. They were overworked, underpaid, and stretched to breaking from lack of resources. Many people died in Kadara Port, and a lot of those deaths were from foul play.

It was, all in all, a pretty terrible call.

“They do not seem happy to hear from us,” Jaal noted, as Ryder hung up. She sighed.

“At least we got our nav-point. SAM, set location. We can worry about what they’ve already processed later—we should be focusing on the evidence that’s already disappearing now. Let’s start with the most recent kill-site.”

“Police-procedurals in space!” Liam sang, as he and Jaal followed Ryder to the Nomad. Jaal, who had been unusually solemn since their meeting with the priest, paused as he was climbing into the backseat.

“What is a police procedural?”

“Did I already explain television? Sitcoms?” Liam tried cutting off Ryder to take the driver’s seat. She Judo chopped the back of his neck without breaking stride.

“Sit—oh. Yes, you have.”

“Police procedurals are about law enforcement solving mysteries. Usually there is a lot of sexual tension between partners—I mean, sorry, cops are usually assigned partners for safety reasons. They go through a lot of shit together, get pretty tight. On television there are a lot of hot young people who partner up, ideally both single and open to a usually heterosexual relationship.”

“Seat belts!” Ryder barked. The boys kept talking. Liam, as usual, was suspicious when it came to seat belt use.

“But I don’t understand,” Jaal was arguing. “Terrible murders and drug rings are not conducive to a romantic atmosphere. If you are to court someone, you must first relax them.”

Liam groaned. “I don’t know Jaal, they probably added the romance because they thought it would draw in more female viewers.”

Jaal seemed offended. “That is ridiculous. The romance is obviously the more interesting story line, as it spans across multiple seasons. The murder is solved within forty-five minutes. Why are you watching?”

Ryder sniggered through Liam’s stupefied silence. Finally, the crisis specialist pulled through. “Alright. You have a point. Love makes the world go round. One day, once I grow out of my toy soldiers, I’m sure I will realize and appreciate this.”

Jaal nodded, with real sympathy. “It is not an easy transition. I would encourage you to take your time.”

Liam groaned and kicked his feet around. When one such kick collided with the back of her seat, Ryder swiveled back to glare. Doing so made her feel like a mom—was Liam older than her? She refused to entertain the possibility. Looking appropriately chastened, the boys settled down, and they spent the next several minutes in a comfortable silence as the Nomad bounced off of Kadara’s many obstacles.

Liam cleared his throat. “So. Since we’re on this topic. About Vetra.”

Ryder blinked. “What? What about Vetra?”

In the rear-view mirror, Liam was looking suspiciously casual. “You know. She’s cool.”

If by cool he meant totally fucking rad. Ryder twisted to squint at him. While driving. Whatever. The Nomad could totally take it. Liam, as expected, already looked guilty, but Jaal was also doing weird things with his face.

“What is that? What are you trying to say?” Ryder pointed at Jaal. “Out with it.”

“I, ah, I also think she is cool.”

“Oh my god!” Ryder yelled, just as they plummeted off a cliff. Jaal and Liam, who could see through the windshield, looked terrified. Ryder, who wore her seat belt at all times unlike certain individuals, remained confident in her vehicle. “Seriously!” she kept yelling. “Seriously? You’re both crushing on Vetra!”

“Please let me drive,” Liam begged.

“No.” Then back to both of them, “Both of you! I guess we’ve found it—the common ground between humanity and the Angara! It’s Turians!” a momentary pause, “I mean, I can hardly fault your taste—”

They smashed into what Ryder would have liked to call a landing. Experience kept her from biting her tongue off. Jaal and Liam reached to hold each other’s arms at the same time. Ryder kept her foot firmly on the acceleration. She checked her navigation system for a half second to be sure they were still pointed due north. “This is fantastic!” Ryder screamed. It was literally perfect. On top of feeding her own amusement, a love triangle’s dramatic entanglements diverting her crew (along with Suvi’s inevitable seduction of Lexi) could only serve to shift the focus away from her own poor choices.

Liam and Jaal both suddenly screwed their eyes shut, whimpering. Sure enough, the Nomad abruptly collided head-on with one of Kadara’s absurdly oversized boulders. Ryder lurched forward, her seat belt catching her painfully. “Okay. My bad.”

“I sometimes wonder,” Jaal wheezed. “Are you even licensed to operate vehicles?”

“I’m the Pathfinder,” Ryder said immediately. “I have all the licenses.”

Liam groaned. “Unfortunately.”

Deciding she was uninterested in hearing further criticism, Ryder rolled out of the Nomad and began surveying the area. Unlike the alley in Kadara Port, most of the kill sites had happened out in the wastelands—all of them, strangely, about the same distance from Port itself, as SAM had been quick to note. From her call to the mortuary Ryder had learned that due to the remoteness of location, it had sometimes taken up to a week for the body to be found and reported.

This particular location looked like an old Outlaw camp. There were traces—old fires, some trash, a stolen Initiative bunker, easy to set up, easy to take down. It would be hard to carve a face into a metal alloy meant for space stations. That shit didn’t break.

She was looking for the green wall. Jaal and Liam knew about the green wall, and the face. But they didn’t know about the Green Man. Ryder swiveled slowly, now squinting. “SAM, see anything?”

Perhaps on the other side of that boulder?

Ryder began walking, her scanners out. There was an overgrowth of green lichen on the boulder’s far side, which briefly excited her—but no face. She kept trying, adjusting her angle, hopping up on her toes—when Jaal suddenly shouted. She rushed to his side, gaze following the direction he pointed.

“That grass. It’s been burned.”

Ryder didn’t understand, at first, until SAM’s scanner suddenly chirped. A second later, SAM borrowed her omni-tool to project his composite overhead view—the burns were, of course, a face. The green face. And there was something else too—a dark circle that ringed the face, a trace of bio-remains placed, systematically, perfectly.

Liam, looking at the projection, now scanned the ground around him. “No way. Pathfinder, we’re on top of them.”

Hurriedly, Ryder canceled the projection, throwing her scanners back up, pointing to the ground a few meters from where she stood. SAM chirped a confirmation. Trace amounts of human remains detected. Female. Eight years old.

Dread made her hands clammy. Ryder swung the scanner wider—follow the path of bio matter, which lit up beneath her sensors. Trace amount of human remains detected. Trace amounts of human remains detected. Eight years old.

The child’s body, obliterated, now forming a perfect circle at least ten meters in diameter.

“They tore her apart,” Liam said from her side. Ryder felt sick. Liam reached out and, gently, pushed her scanner back down. The three of them stared at the silent, drifting grass. “They killed her here,” Jaal said quietly. “On top of the face. The rain has washed most of it away but the soil is rich with iron, where she bled. It helps the plants grow.”

“Later,” Liam muttered sternly. Ryder swallowed.

“Jaal, was there—was there a picture? I mean, her blood. Reyes said that always they covered the face with a picture.”

Jaal paused, clearly thinking. “I don’t…think so? It would have been hard to tell.”

Numb, Ryder wandered over to where the face was burned into the grass, and activated her scanner. Jaal was right—the trace amounts of bio remains were less obvious here, disturbed by the fire and the rain. The soil composition was different in the place where the girl had bled most heavily, but other than that, no clear pattern or recognizable shape emerged.

Pathfinder, SAM suddenly chimed. The ground is freshly planted. Scans indicate that there are a number of seeds growing below. In fact, they are close to sprouting.

“What kind of plant is it?”

Hedera, commonly known as Ivy. Needless to say, the species is not native to Kadara. With enough time, the plants will cover all traces of the Green Man. Finally, I would like to note that the positioning of the seeds themselves are a perfect overlay of the constellation Taurus, the bull.

“Hey,” Liam’s hand fell on her shoulder, and she spooked, leaping away from him. Liam let her go, only watching. “We should get out of here,” he said. “You’ve got enough.”

Ryder licked her lips. “Yeah. Okay.” She followed him, trudging back to the Nomad. “SAM, any of this fit with Suvi’s theory?”

Dionysus is heavily associated with Ivy, the Bull, and death by dismemberment.

“Oh, cool. So all of it fits.” Ryder wondered if being proven right actually made her feel any better.

Additionally, the other face of Dionysus, Zagreus, can be simplified as a god of Rebirth. The circle, for obvious reasons, falls within this pattern. An argument could also be made that the circle is meant to symbolize a serpent, which is another Dionysian motif.

Ryder threw Liam the Nomad’s keys. For once, she did not want to drive. “Let me guess. The reason all the kill-sites are the same distance from the center of Kadara Port is because they’re drawing a big, bloody circle around it?”

SAM did not answer. Liam started the Nomad. For several minutes, they drove in silence. Ryder pressed her forehead against the window glass, her eyes closed. The Nomad bumped gently along.

“I don’t mean to be rude,” Jaal spoke hesitantly. “But perhaps you could have Liam drive more often?”

Ryder ignored them. “Drop me off in Kadara Port,” she ordered. “I’m seeing Reyes.”

Both of them looked like they were about to say something. Ryder put an end to all dissent by hissing, “Vetra.”

She had a headache again. He could always tell. The skin around her eyes got tighter. “You should see a doctor,” Reyes said, by way of greeting. “When something’s hurting all the time, you’ve got a problem.”

She ignored him, swallowing. Something was wrong. Him? “I’m sorry about yesterday,” Reyes said—or shouted, he had to shout over the bar’s music. She winced. The lights were probably killing her. He took her wrist, pulling her away and out the back door. The night air was cold, if sooty. He waited to see her relax. “I’m sorry,” he said again.

“What?” Ryder blinked. He could feel, in her wrist, the barest thought of resistance. He held on more tightly. She stared up at him, looking lost. Something was wrong. Her gaze cleared. “Oh,” she laughed, shakily. “That. It’s fine. I’m not here for that.” She licked her lips, and this time when she pulled on her wrist, he let go. “I’ve been looking into the murders. It might be a load of shit, but so far my admittedly circumstantial evidence points to a creepy death cult.”

“That’s too bad. I was hoping for a death cult that wasn’t creepy.”

Ryder sighed, too loudly. Exasperated. It hadn’t been an easy day. “No, I mean—I think something’s off. I think, it might be a message. For you. For the Charlatan.” She divulged further, going into detail her findings, their mythological connections, the patterns—all of it. And he listened, more to her fear than the facts, remembering again why he hadn’t wanted to involve her.

She was sweating, hair freed from its usual ponytail. Messy. He had thought, fantasized, about seeing her like this, but now that the moment had arrived, it disturbed him. The way her hands twitched, how she’d been biting her lip since the moment he’d seen her. He caught her arm, stopping her from pacing, trying to stop everything.

“Listen. There are bad people on Kadara. But—”

“Don’t patronize me,” she snarled. “Bad people on Kadara. Please. There are bad people everywhere. Like I’ve—like I’ve never seen a murderer before. God.” She paused, dragging herself in. “Sorry. Rambling. I meant—be careful. I came here to tell you to be careful. I think they know—they suspect—who you are. I don’t know. I just have a really bad feeling.” She had captured whatever emotion she’d allowed to escape before, now slammed the lid on it. She smiled, though only with her mouth. “Did you know you have a pretty grandiose name?”

Reyes smiled. “I didn’t choose it myself, if that’s what you’re implying.”

She just stared at him, slowly shaking her head. “Please take this seriously,” she mumbled. “Even if you think I’m totally wrong.” She reached up to rub her left eyebrow, kneading at it. There were strange and beautiful things on the other side of the universe.

He wondered, for a moment, how things would change if he’d stayed an ordinary man.

“We should get out of here. Just this once, with full innocence, I think you should lie down.” He wanted to roll her up in blankets, in darkness, in locks. He wanted to protect her. The thought made him nervous.

The look she gave him was withering, but weak. “Where do you even sleep?” she asked him. They were failing. He could see it on her, the way her body had begun to pull away from him, always braced for impact. He didn’t want to think about that.

“Would you like to see?”

“Actually, yes,” she said. She didn’t blush. She refused to be teased. She just looked at him. “Yeah, actually, I would like to see. Maybe it’d help me believe that you’re a real person.”

Her insistence made him wonder. But her life was easy to imagine. Most ships looked the same, and he’d spent a decade working them. Minimalist décor, uniforms, good paintjob. He should brush her off. He should distract her. She looked at him like she was already disappointed.

“Alright,” he said. He hadn’t meant to. Too late now. He wasn’t the sort of person who went back on a dare. “Alright. Let’s go.”

He turned before she could see his face. She had to rush to catch up. “Really?” she asked, her voice almost sparkling. “Really? For real, though—you’re not just going to take me to some hotel, right?”

“I considered it,” he answered. That long, slender body, so new. He wanted to bury himself in her, to flatten his hands against all her young, unmarked skin, claiming the things he touched, saying this is mine, this is mine, this is mine. Reyes looked down. She was there, just beside him, biting the edge of her lip. Still. Almost bloody, now. His hand reached up despite himself, his thumb untucking her skin from her teeth. “Did you know how hard I tried to make you like me?”

She was pretty. She kept getting prettier. “I mean. Obviously.”

“I’m usually pretty patient, so I’ll just warn you now. You should be careful,” Reyes said mildly. “The more chances you give me, the more I’ll think about just taking you.”

She only took his hand. “Great,” she said. The fine muscles around her eyes were tightening again, a return to tension. To pain. “That would be great.”

As promised, he led her up to the rooftop apartments, to one of the many nearly-identical apartments he kept. It was nearly empty, without ceremony or character. He didn’t spend much time in any of them. They were all registered to different names, different bank accounts. For some reason, he told her as much.

Ryder sat on the edge of his bed, then fell back. Her eyes closed. He stood, watching her breathe. “Your mattress sucks,” she complained. “Some crime lord. I guess you wanted power more than money.”

He started to reply, then faltered. Had he wanted power? Power had always felt more like a circumstance, a tool. He sat next to her, and her eyes opened as the mattress dipped below his weight. She waited.

“I want you to stay,” he said.

“I’m a long-term rental,” she joked. He lay next to her, pulling his fingers across her hairline. Her eyes closed again, as her head rolled toward him.

“I know,” he said. He could smell her; sweat and metal and ozone. Something musky, a man’s cologne. Something sweet. Her breathing was slowing down. “Stay with me,” he said again.

Very slowly, she shook her head. Her eyes opened. “My crew’s waiting on me,” she whispered. “I shouldn’t have been so long. They can’t go back to the Tempest without me.” But she lay there a moment longer, just looking into his eyes.

“I could walk you back?” he offered. She sat up, rolling out her shoulders. He wanted to see them, under her armor. He wanted to give in, but not before she did.

“No,” she said unsteadily. “No, that’s fine. I can get back on my own.”

When he’d been an ordinary man, repeating the same day, he used to smoke. He missed it now. Reyes smiled, watching her leave. “You see? You never needed me at all.”

The journey back was short, but hard. The headache Ryder had been fighting all day was reaching its crescendo, overwhelming her. She couldn’t bring herself to speak to Liam or Jaal, both of whom took a turn catching her arm when she stumbled. She couldn’t stop thinking. Anubis, The Green Man, Zagreus. The King of Life. The cycle of rebirth. Those little bodies, chopped to pieces. Something, that curled up around the heart like a worm, like a disease. Like ivy.

Liam said something. It was hard to hear him, hard to think of dealing him. Ryder waved what she hoped was a comforting hand in his general direction, already staggering towards her quarters. She just wanted to lie down. Reyes was right. Doctor, for sure. First thing in the morning. As soon as she felt better.

Ryder had barely made it to her cabin when her headache, already unbearable, mutated into something worse. It felt like her mind was under attack from a biotic, as though some foreign, malevolent spy was forcing their way inside. The buzzing was back, but louder than it had ever been before, jamming her ears as though a real, physical veil had blanketed her. Ryder crammed the heels of her palms hard against her eyes, disguising her whimper as a hiss. “SAM, what—what are you—are you installing something again, or—?”

P-P-Pathfinder, I have—failure to—synchronization levels exceeded—

She couldn’t see. Blindly, Ryder threw one hand out, and lurched forward until she felt herself connect with a wall. She fell forward, distantly aware of her own limbs, her body curling on itself. “SAM!” she could hear herself yelling, but distant, though water. It was more that she could feel the vibrations of her own voice, in her jaw and her throat. “SAM shut it off!”

—t—predict—scenarios are—idal—t-t-t-t-t-t-t—

She saw. A flash of someone’s ankle, smashing into the ground inches from her nose. Reflexively, Ryder rolled away from the missed collision, and her head cracked hard against something, a pain that came with the sound of a bell ringing and then—

—t-t-t-t-t-t-t-t—

Figures that moved without real form or purpose, mannequins that came around corners, but she could see their guns, and she could see—Reyes, with his hands raised in surrender, but something unknown and resigned in the way he walked forward, arrogant but beaten and then a hard sound and then his chin came up and his head jerked back, and she saw the moment he lost his gravity, his body gave out—

—t-t-t-t-t-t-t-t—transfer error. Prediction forcibly terminated.

Pause.

Pathfinder?

Ryder remembered herself. Pathfinder. Ryder. Sara. Her head was in agony, her eyes and nose both streaming. She was afraid to move, afraid of more pain. Slowly, she lifted one arm, and felt carefully beneath her hair to check for blood. Her fingers found the spot, soft and wet.

I have called Lexi, SAM reported. Please wait for assistance. It is recommended that you do not move.

“Did I just have a seizure?” Ryder whispered. She felt herself shaking, a sort of post-nausea trembling. Her chest felt cold.

No. There was a problem.

“No shit.”

My predictive matrices for combat installed incorrectly with your brain. Synchronization spiked just now at 237 percent. The only cause I can determine are the unique characteristics of your individual brain. You evidently have exceptional observation skills.

Through the cheek she had pressed against the floor, Ryder could feel footsteps drawing closer. “SAM, what does that mean? What happened?”

Our artificial and organic information processors temporarily merged during a period where you experienced extreme stress. The stress, which is meant to act as an organic cue to trigger combat predictions, forced our joined systems to simulate a prediction into the future, based on what data we have presently observed. The subject, naturally, was the cause of your stress.

“SAM what does that mean?!” Ryder yelled. One of her eyes was fucked up, swelling shut. She couldn’t remember hitting it. The door to her quarters was opening, Lexi was in the room, throwing herself to the floor, med-kit in hand.

Current predictions indicate there is currently an overwhelming probability that Reyes Vidal will die.

“Ryder? Ryder, it’s going to be alright. Don’t be afraid,” Lexi soothed. She was pressing something cool to the back of Ryder’s head, against the soft, wet spot.

“No,” Ryder whimpered. Her throat was closing. Lexi leaned over her, probing her neck for a pulse. “No,” Ryder said again, and fainted.

#nakmor drack #pathfinder #magpie bridge #sara ryder #reyes vidal #reyes/ryder #cora harper #jaal ama darav #mass effect: andromeda #suvi anwar #kallo jath #liam kosta #peebee #vetra nyx #keema dohrgun #kadara #grosscreations #ryder/reyes

4 notes · View notes