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dragonmuse · 2 years

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i am very much in love with your whole Leda verse and it’s many variations but I ESPECIALLY love this newest one with Eddy and Izzy being married!! Going off of canon and general responsibility vibes, Izzy seems to be the one who takes care of her most often — I would love to see something the other way round, with a minor illness/migraine/idk twisted ankle or something that means they’re in charge of taking care of Izzy for a change. I’m picturing her being a good nurse for someone who’s sick but not worryingly sick? and picturing Izzy being an ATROCIOUS patient? idk I would love to see your take!

(I am so on this particular timeline train at the moment that I did not even hesitate, anon. Here's Izzy with the flu and his Eddy.)

It crept on him through the day. He woke up a little fuzzy around the edges, stuffed up and tired. Eddy wasn’t due back until noon, so he kept it a quiet morning. He wasn’t one to stay in bed, but he just made himself coffee and drank it on the couch instead of doing one of his usual early morning chores. A shower woke him up a little. Probably just a bad night’s sleep then.

The cough started while he was sanding down his latest project, he figured it was the dust and took a break to drink some water. His hands were a little shaky. Wearily, he took a break to sort out lunch. Eddy usually came in hungry and it was good to eat together after they’d been away for a bit. He made a chicken salad with last night's leftovers and studded it with dried cranberries.

He kept coughing which was more than a little annoying. Refilling his water cup, he stored the chicken salad in the fridge and decided that the rest could wait. The couch seemed like a good call. His eyes kind of hurt, along with his head. Might as well just rest them for a second.

“Iz?” Eddy stood over him. How had she gotten in without him hearing? He was getting rusty.

“Hey.” He opened his eyes and that was a mistake. His head was killing him and the light wasn’t helping.

A hand dropped to his forehead. Her fingers were cool from being outside and it was instantly soothing.

“Holy shit,” she groaned. “You’re burning up. What are you even doing out of bed?”

“Oh,” he considered his morning. “Yeah, that makes sense. I made lunch.”

“You want to eat it?” She challenged.

The idea was not particularly appealing now that she mentioned it. “No.”

“Go take off your pants and get back into bed,” she ordered. He lifted his eyebrows. “Absolutely the fuck not. You’d pass out in the middle.”

“Never,” he contended, but bed sounded fucking amazing as it happened, so he got to his feet and made his way there. He could hear her banging around through the house, but gave up figuring out what she was doing in favor of shedding his clothes. Then getting into the bed very fast because he was also freezing.

It was too early for a nap, but he drifted anyway. Eddy came in and prodded him in the ribs. “Open up.”

A thermometer was stuck unceremoniously into his mouth. It beeped after a few seconds.

“Bad?” Izzy hazarded a guess when Eddy didn’t say anything.

“Is a 102 good?” Eddy asked skeptically.

“No,” Izzy snorted. “Definitely the fucking flu. Told you Olga got it and we drove together the other day. Probably gave it to me before she took sick leave.”

“So what do we do?” Eddy set the thermometer down on the side table.

“Nothing. I’ll drink liquids, watch day time tv, take some decongestant if I need to. It’ll go on its own.” He waved it away. “You should go stay with Bonnet or you’ll get it too.”

“Wow,” Eddy sat down beside him. “Nice. Really nice, Iz.”

“What?”

“In sickness and health, you fucking martyr. Pretty sure it goes two ways.”

“You smoked for way longer, this shit gets in your lungs, it'll be a fight against pneumonia,” he protested.

“Great, you can worry over that when it’s my turn. For now, I’m not actually going to leave you here to manfully die alone. Fuck.”

He reached out and found their hand. They let him tug at it and then with a huff amusement, let him drop it on his forehead. Their fingers were cool anymore, but it still felt good.

“Fine.” He mumbled around their thumb. Then after a second’s thought, he nipped at it.

“I’m going to sell you to a sideshow,” she declared, flicking his nose gently then retreating. “You are such a little freak.”

“Good luck getting full price when I’m not in mint condition.”

“You want anything?”

“Water. Advil. Box of tissues.”

“Anything else?”

“Nah.”

Eddy deposited all the requested items. He sat up enough to take the pill and get down some of the water before he started coughing again. The creeping grossness was finally full upon him, head full of cotton and face full of snot. Great. It wasn’t a graceful landing back on the mattress.

“Here,” Eddy shoved his phone in his hand. “Text me if you get worse. I’m going to eat something. And not whatever fun special lunch you coughed in for me.”

That was probably a good call. He rolled over and shivered himself to sleep.

When he woke up again, he was warm. Eddy was definitely in bed with him, her feet pressed to his calves. He turned over, muffling the resulting cough in his elbow. She was sitting against the headboard, laptop on a pillow as she watched something with a lot of color on the screen.

“What’s that?” He asked blearily.

“It’s a comedy thing that Roach got me into. British. Comedians trying to do weird tasks in funny ways.”

Izzy sneezed into his elbow, grabbed a tissue and blew for what felt like a year, then sagged back against the headboard.

“This is a real look,” Eddy eyed him speculatively. “Could enter you in a zombie shambling contest.”

“Do they have those?” He asked groggily.

“Yeah, it’s a whole thing. C’mere.”

Izzy wasn’t going to resist that. It took a little doing, but he wound up with his head on her chest, and her arm wrapped around him. The show didn’t make a lot of sense, but some of it was funny enough to get a laugh out of him. Eddy idly tugged at the ends of his hair.

Eventually he felt something in the neighborhood of hunger for the first time that day and started to get up.

“Where are you going?” She asked.

“Gonna eat something.”

“Yeah, okay what?”

“Toast?”

“Fine.” She set the laptop down. “Don’t suppose you’d eat it in bed?”

“Fuck no,” he got his feet under him. Crumbs in the sheets gave him a particular horror. He had a full on screaming match with them over it once. It was one of the few times they hadn’t been able to make him back down and it had become a bit of a symbolic battle ground. He didn’t care if he was half-dead, he was not opening the door to them feasting on literal crackers in their literal bed again. Because he would kick them out, charming saying or not.

When they got to the kitchen, Eddy pushed him toward a chair and he couldn’t really do much more than collapse into it like wet tissue. Everything ached.

“What time is it?” He frowned at the window. It looked darker than it should.

“Seven.” They stuck two slices of bread in the toaster.

“Ugh,” he decided and dropped his head into his hands. “Someone put fiberglass in my brain.”

“Arguably they did that a long time ago,” she said untroubled. “What do you want on it?”

“Got any of that lime-raspberry stuff left?”

They had a truly epic collection of jams these days and it took Eddy some perusing to find the right one.

“This one?”

“Yeah. You have a good weekend?” He asked.

“Learned how to stone fabric,” she said happily. “I’m going to look like a fucking disco ball.”

“Which one is this again?”

“Purple thing. It’s new, you haven’t seen it yet. You’ll like it,” she smirked. “It’s sleeveless.”

He really did like when their shoulders were exposed.

She put too much jam on the toast, but he could probably use the extra calories after a day of just coffee. While he ate, she thumbed through something on her phone. His plate clattered into the sink when he finished and then she herded him back into their bed.

“I’m going for a walk before it gets too dark,” she declared and then handed him his phone again. It was ringing for some reason. “Enjoy.”

“What?” He watched her go.

“Hey, Iz,” Lucius said from the phone. Izzy stared at it then put it to his ear.

“Hey. Sorry.”

“What for?”

“Eddy dialed you, didn’t know if you were in the middle of something.”

“Why did- you sound like shit. What’s wrong?”

“Just the flu, I think. Got a bit of a fever.”

“What’s a bit?” Lucius pressed.

“Not sure, actually.” He fumbled for the thermometer. It was under a growing pile of tissues. He popped it under his tongue then checked it. “101.”

“Yeah that’s a bit,” Lucius was definitely rolling his eyes. “You taking care of yourself?”

Izzy blinked, “No. Uh. Eddy is.”

“Oh. What’s that like?”

He thought about her messing with his hair and making him toast. It was rough in a way, he supposed. She wasn’t the type to dote. But it was a kindness that they couldn’t have afforded him even three years ago. Maybe not even a year ago. He definitely wouldn’t have been able to accept it then either.

“Good,” he said softly. “I like it.”

“Aw, Iz,” Lucius’ voice softened. “Cute.”

“Fuck off,” he grumbled. “My brain is cooking.”

“Why’d they dial my number?” Lucius wondered.

“Went for a walk. Probably wanted to make sure I didn’t try to do anything dumb.”

“Like what?”

Izzy huffed a laugh. “Might be remembering when I tried to work on my bike when I had a concussion.”

“Sounds sensible. How’d you even get a concussion?”

“Got hit by a car, apparently.”

“What?!”

“Yeah, that’s what I said. I don’t actually remember it.”

Lucius squawked about that for awhile, then changed the subject entirely, rambling on about something Izzy wasn’t really up to following. It was nice to just hear his voice anyway. By the time they said good night, the front door had opened and closed. Izzy tracked her movements through the house. Kitchen, cabinets. Microwave. Late dinner then. Pacing and talking while they ate. That was Bonnet, most likely. They talked almost every night even if it was only to say good night.

Then up the stairs, into the bathroom. Sink running for tooth brushing and the careful skin regime that Izzy could admit did something if not something worth the amount spent on it. Down the stairs again, probably for something they forgot because they came right back up. Hall light flickered out, bedroom door opened. Closet door opened. Shuffling off of the day’s clothes. Closet light off and then the bed dipping down.

“Still alive?” They checked.

“Mostly.” He agreed.

He dozed again while she messed around on her phone.

“Hey, how hard is to make that soup you do when I have a cold?”

“Easy,” Izzy yawned into her ribs. “Just saute garlic, ginger and onions then throw in a can of Campbells.”

“That shit is from a can?” Eddy asked incredulously. “All this time, I’m thinking you’re doing from scratch Susie Homemaker stuff and it’s from a can?”

“I used to do homemade and you told me it didn’t taste right,” he said amused. “I figured you liked the metal aftertaste.”

“Fucking con artist,” Eddy determined. “Why the ginger and shit then?”

“S’good for you,” he yawned. “And it smells good even if you’re stuffed up.”

She put her hand between his shoulder blades, digging her fingers in until he groaned. It felt fucking amazing.

“Stede says you feed a cold, starve a fever, but being hungry fucking blows.”

“That’s not about food anyway,” Izzy muttered. “It’s about temperature and it’s wrong. Don’t make me soup.”

“You can’t fucking stop me right now, can you?”

“Eddy,” he tried to say reasonably, but it came out more as a whine. “Don’t burn my fucking pans.”

“I’ll do what needs to be done and you’ll fucking shut up about it, plague rat.”

He shut up about it, but he did it with a smile and fell asleep feeling like dog shit and also pretty fucking great.

#leda house and the kraken verse #you're awful i love you

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boypussydilf · 1 year

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I'm going to throw you a curve ball and say Sherly and that one guy whose name I don't remember who you ship him with (I think it's Soseki?)

idont know how to say this without unintentionally sounding mean but this is the second funniest ask ive ever gotten. (i was going to say funniest, but i cant lie even for comedic purposes- the funniest ask ive ever gotten was “shouldve KNOWN an AKESHU shipper would RIP MY THROAT OUT IN PUBLIC for mentioning shusumi”) i got curious and looked at all the relationship tags for dgs on ao3 until the site wouldnt let me anymore and i can almost conclusively say tht no one on this earth ships sherlock and souseki, which, to be honest, is kind of a surprise. on my journey i learned just how dire the state of the dgs ao3 relationship tags really are. i hadnt looked that hard, and i had thought, “oh, woe is me, only about 200 of these are homumiko” There are less than 30 with the susahao tag. theres like, a Small Handful of fics with kazuma interacting w iris or yuujin. This is. This is awful. Someone needs to fix this. What’s wrong with you people? You could have filled this website with one hundred Kazuma Asougi Gets Forcibly Absorbed Into The Greatest Family fics and you’re still asobaroing away? Unbelievable. Unbelievable.

Anyway it’s completely understandable to mix up souseki and mikotoba when you havent seen a ton of them they do both . have mustaches. thank you for thr ask and also for always calling him Sherly bc its cute here we go

describe their canon relationship/dynamic

*putsmy head in my hands* they have like 2 hours of screentime interacting its hard to describe a dynamic beyond “God they are so mean to each other”. its ok though. Its ok. the concept is very clear honestly. World’s Most Hyperactive and Completely Insane Man & Completely Normal Guy Who Goes Along With It. Oh My God They Were Roommates. lets see. serious notes. they trust each other completely and implicitly (mikotoba has to find a good home for The Baby He Was GOING To Raise But CAN’T and asks sherlock and he IMMEDIATELY agrees On The Spot my god ……) look . what do u call devotion if not saying “our home” about a place youve been away from longer than u ever lived at and thought youd never even see again & acting like you were never separated in the first place. Unreal. unreal.

anyway the fact of the matter is theyre literally just another variation on the Holmes & Watson concept go read an acd sherlock holmes story and imagine if they were ace attorney characters and idk i think youd more or less have it

your ideal/headcanon version of it? how does it differ from how it is in canon & why is this your favorite version? any other alternate versions of it you enjoy?

*pulls out my giant conspiracy board and 90% of it is just screenshots of fanfic The Legendary Pair by Meowzy on AO3* IF YOU LOOK AT IT. THE NOT-REALLY-INDICATED-BY-CANON BUT MORE FUN AND COOL TO ME VERSION OF IT. it makes this A Necessary Relationship. sherlock is. smart in Some places. definitely observant. But has. 0 common sense. you would think hes never been to this planet before with his apparent complete lack of frame of reference for what is or is not plausible or likely. there is too much shit going on in his brain for him to figure out which ideas are Actually Likely without taking like 2 days to work it out. Give him someone who actually has common sense and can crossreference What Sherlock Has Actually Noticed And Figured Out with What Actual Human Beings Generally Would Do.

OHGOD MAYBE I CAN TRY TO ELABORATE IN A MORE SERIOUS TONE ON MY FUCKING “YUUJIN MIKOTOBA SILLY ARC” POST. GOD. what im attempting to drive at is thinking abt . the idea proposed of 16-years-ago sherlock being more of a prickly little bitch and, Much More Importantly, mikotoba going to britain to try and escape the Grief Of Losing His Wife & subsequent Depression That Made Him Unfit To Take Care Of His Baby . and then theyre . again, worlds most hyperactive and completely insane man, and, again, GUY WHO TAP DANCES DURINVG INVESTIGATIONS ?!!!!?!???????????

basically fuck you *gives you by chance a fundamentally life altering friendship right when you need it*

Anyway i dont think theyre that different in my head than in canon but its hard to say.

what do you like about their relationship, why is it interesting or enjoyable to you?

i like it because i think they are neat. i like it bc i love families and fuck dude they sure do have one. i like it bc i am a dgs sherlock holmes kinnie and this drives my behavior,

what about the individual characters involved? what does this relationship mean to them, what makes it unique among their relationships?

*SCREAMS* BESTIES. anyway,

sorry for once again saying serious concepts in the dumbest fucking ways possible but Pov u are yuujin mikotoba age 26 leaving ur home to try and run away from the deepest pain of ur life & deciding not to stick with ur very close friends uve known for quite a while as you do so? For some reason? AND IT WORKS ???????????? in some part bc of this weirdo freak u moved in with impulsively who keeps almost blowing the fucking house up?

This is basically something i already said in this post earlier and i STILL . cant think of an actual good way to say it. I guess just . as many people on this blog may have noticed. me wh. me when stories involve the way positive connections with others help people <3

Also basically the only 2 reactions sherlock seems to invoke in people are “this guys insufferable” and “this guys insufferable but i also admire him” - god the trajectory of this train of thought just changed drastically im laughing so hard Bear with me . mikotoba is of course in th second camp bc thats where all sherlocks Positive relationships are. this is known to us. see: thr dialogue where hes like “Well your methods are unusual but ive always been willing to try them :)” (and then sherlock yells at him for being stupid.) anyway thats wonderful and its also Wonderful. mikotoba shortly after meeting sherlock watching this man rip up a handful of grass an d just eat it and then solve an entire mystery and mikotoba has to work out if this guys a genius or insane. He quickly realizes it is both. Anyway i guess to yuujin mikotoba sherlock holmes is his dear friend and partner & also the guy who cursed him to occasionally think “i DO wonder what that grass tastes like” at inopportune times

I don’t know WHAT the fuck i just rambled about for like ten minutes. So anyhow. sherlock describes mikotoba as “the only person i could truly call a friend” so shoutout to this friendless man i guess . no but literally hes a little weirdo freak and people dont tend to. like him. societal perceptions of ND people are not conducive to sherlock holmes having close friends . (Also he might not be. or might at some point not have been. particularly social in the first place - But this is my extrapolation based on acd canon and nothing in dgs at all so it cant be counted as anything other than my female hysteria.) and like. epic win for him finding someone who can Tolerate Him Enough To Live With Him and not just that but like . Actually Likes Him. Actually Likes Being Around Him And Would Like To Be His Friend. Congrats! also a win 4 him having like, a normal human being around. who can keep track of him and yknow. Help him remember important things. make sure he actually sleeps and eats instead of spending 42 hours straight trying to make The Sequel To Toasters (It’s Also A Juicer!)

favorite interaction they have in canon

oh,my god you know the thing is theres not a Lot of them but what there is is Really Good Actually.

on one hand we have the shit from the legendary pair scene like “:/ only JAPANESE mice go Chu. make a RUSSIAN mouse noise” or “YOUR BIRTHDAY? THATS FUNNY BC AS OF TODAY YOURE DEAD TO ME :D” “measured as always.” On the other hand we have the part from the scene after the last trial where sherlock thanks mikotoba for leaving iris in his care.

Basically i dont know how to decide. im going to say the Other part of the scene after the last trial where sherlock is excitedly telling mikotoba a story about something he did. With mikotoba. like a day before. and mikotoba lets him get through thr whole fucking thing before going Yeah i was. i was there.

favorite interaction they have in your head/a situation you want to put them in

OH GOD I DONT KNOW ACTUALLY. what is there to say beyond the Default List Of Every Homumiko Fans Shared Interests. its all been done. “Remember That Time They Raised A Baby Together For A Month”; “Have You Heard Of Arthur Conan Doyle’s Adventures of Sherlock Holmes? Great Here’s My Adaptation-“; “Put That Beast (Sherlock) In Japan LOL”. i will say that like. i dont remember where but theres some tiny bit of optional dialogue where iris says that sherlock playing the violin was a detail she wrote into the stories for fun and then after that he felt obligated to actually learn. i think a lot of people dont know this or dont use this. which is fine its a tiny random one off line i wouldnt even be able to track down. and a lot of people have the order of events go sherlock has violin -> mikotoba learns to tap dance, Look another musical thing matchy matchy :) . which again is FINE. BUT. isnt the other order of events - the order that it’s only reasonable to assume is canon - more fun ? Sherlock goes HEY GUESS WHAT I LEARNED VIOLIN NOW WE CAN MAKE MUSIC TOGETHER. He has not seen mikotoba in person in 9 years

thats the end of the post thank you i like the dads

#OH GOD 8M SO FUCKING SORRY !!!!!!!#THIS POST TOOK OVER AN HOUR TO WRITE #I REALLY. I THOUGHT IT WOULDNT GET LONG #AND THEN IT GOT LONG.#AND ITS PROBABLY COMPLETELY AND UTTERLY FUCKING INCOMPREHENSIBLE TOO.#HIIIIIII #basilask #dgs from my brain

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haloud · 3 years

Text

things we could burn in one go (eminence) - chapter 11

also on ao3

Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Isabel Evans & Max Evans & Michael Guerin, Michael Guerin/Alex Manes, Forrest Long/Alex Manes Additional Tags: post-s2, Canon Compliant, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Starts Forlex Ends Malex, Other Characters May Appear, Tags Subject to Update, Mutual Pining, Breaking Up, Getting Together

Chapter Summary: Jones lets Michael in on a secret.

Excerpt:

He took a step back, but the symbols he’d touched continued to glow, burning into the surface of the pod. They pulsed, gold and fiery, for several seconds, before dimming, the colors of the pod pausing, like it was holding its breath.

Then it flickered; Michael yelled in shock as the symbols lifted from the surface, shimmering and gold and shaping themselves into a familiar-unfamiliar form.

A young woman, hair pulled back severely, wearing a stark-white uniform—at least, it looked like a uniform, almost like scrubs—looked down at Michael. The corners of her mouth turned down, a line formed between her brows that Michael saw most days in the mirror, but her eyes gleamed with some other, indefinable emotion.

Michael couldn’t breathe.

Thursday, 8:30 am

Wiping his hand across his forehead, Michael squinted down into the guts of the Acura that was his latest patient. An easy fix, the job should have been done half an hour ago, but Michael’s mind wandered mercilessly, pulling his eyes to empty space, turning his thoughts to white noise worse than the static on Sanders’s busted radio blaring out oldies from the office. With a final jerk of his wrench, he declared the Acura done and dropped the hood, pacing over to his water and taking a swig. The water did little to cool him off; he paced back to the next car of the day, popped it open, and immediately slammed it shut again with a frustrated sigh.

Fuck, he’d barely been here an hour; he had a backlog a dozen deep or more; what the fuck was wrong with him?

No breeze disturbed the air or lifted the heat, already heavy on the skin even in the early morning. On a normal day, Michael worked methodically in the peace, savoring the solitude, time slipping away under the satisfaction of skill applied and challenge met. No matter how much Sanders griped, Michael always got the job done and the customer satisfied, keeping the lights on, no matter how old and dusty they might be. But today, Michael couldn’t reach that meditative place; his skin crawled in the silence, and his teeth grit at every sound.

Walk. He needed to—walk, exercise off some of this nervous energy. He’d been cooped up after Jones, too long, his feet restless, buzzing all in his veins. It was too early for him to take a break without catching shit from Sanders, but he’d live; Michael would work late, maybe, after the strategy meeting, however long it took, to make up for it. Right now, he couldn’t stay, penned in by the junkyard fence, rattling around in it like a caged dog.

A mile in, Michael realized he had a direction. The buzzing inside him tuned to a frequency, and he followed it, a call sense-familiar, a call like the one that bound him to Max and Isobel and them to their pods, a full-body variation on the sensation of touching alien tech.

Shading his eyes, Michael pulled out his phone and dialed Isobel—nothing. No signal. Of course. With no way to know if this call resonated in Max and Isobel too, he couldn’t do anything but continue on into the desert, following a familiar heading. On foot, it might take hours. It might mean everyone coming to meet him and him not being there, everyone panicking, Alex, panicking. Could he really do that to them again? Reckless, irresponsible, selfish—but none of those thoughts penetrated past the ineffable signal, and Michael walked, to the source of it, the origin.

The cave, at least, dewed cool and refreshing, sheltered from the sun and sand. Michael’s lungs thanked it too, a sanctuary from the hot late morning filling them every step of his trek. Once inside, it was only a short distance to the pod chamber, where Michael stopped.

What the fuck? Like coming out of a trance, Michael whirled around to see the way he came, no memory of it but the body-memory of aching feet.

Nothing there. The pods shimmered on. They had no answers; they weren’t even asking him why he was there, though he asked them. Silence.

Michael crossed the cave and stood in the center of the triad. First, he touched the pod that held Isobel for their new life and held her against death, running his fingers along the cool, frictionless surface. Next, he caressed Max’s pod, and finally, he stood in front of his own, if he could call it a possession, and slid his hands into his pockets.

“Well, I’m here,” he said aloud. “What, did you need something? Spit it out.” He snorted.

“Michael?”

He flinched at the sudden noise, but turned on his heel as his mind caught up with his instinct.

“Max!” he called back. “Dude, what the fuck are we doing out here? Have you talked to Isobel—”

The entrance to the pod cave was short, barely a crevice in the rock that held this chamber, unlike the deeper mines and systems that dotted these hills. Sound traveled fast from the entrance, and so did feet.

It wasn’t Max.

“Michael,” Jones said solemnly, with a shake of his head and a cluck of his tongue. “It disappoints me to have to call you out like this. I thought, after the conviction you showed last time, that you’d return for another lesson.”

“Jones,” Michael replied, taking a step back.

“We could have walked here together; I have plenty of stories to tell to pass the time.”

“Why did we have to walk here at all?” Michael demanded.

“You may have experienced the joys of traversal, but it isn’t something to be done lightly. It takes a great deal of energy and mental focus and fortitude—”

“I’m not talking about walking,” Michael snapped, “I’m talking about here. Why am I here? Why are you here?”

“Well, call me curious,” Jones replied pleasantly, folding his hands behind his back as he began to circle the trio of pods. “I had such a small sample of the woman’s handiwork to study during my confinement, I had to see her stasis pods for myself. The craftsmanship is truly remarkable. Truly remarkable.”

He gave Max’s pod a condescending pat. Michael clenched his fists.

“Most pods have a tendency to decay or have a decaying effect on their inhabitants.” Jones continued his circuit of the pods, passing Isobel’s. Michael stepped to the side so they circled each other, unwilling to let him too close. “But the timed release on these specimens taught them to ration their energy, and here they are, close to a century after crash-landing. Remarkable.”

“Are you telling me my mother built our pods herself?”

“Built, engineered, programmed, grew…” Jones waved a hand. “All of the above. Don’t be so limited in your thinking; you know better than that.”

“You don’t know me.”

“Don’t I? I thought we were getting to know each other quite well. How has Max been lately?”

“Shut up,” Michael snarled.

Jones chuckled. “That’s no way to speak. I didn’t come just to monologue; I came to give you a gift.”

He stopped beside Michael’s pod, and Michael stopped when he did. The entrance to the cave was at Michael’s back; he should cut and run from this vantage and let Jones do whatever he wanted with the pods—but in the middle of the desert, where was he supposed to go? His phone still had no signal, and there was nothing for miles. It would be child’s play for Jones to catch him. Or Jones would wait until Michael was home, until he thought he was safe, and crawl inside his mind to pull him out again. Was anywhere safe? Could Michael be trusted now, or was Jones inside him, somewhere beneath his skin, a trigger buried beneath Michael’s jumbled memories of that day waiting to be tripped?

“When I first came to make my observations, something clever caught my eye.”

Laying a hand on the surface of the pod, Jones’s eyes gleamed as a symbol drew itself beneath his touch, the familiar three-pronged alien sigil.

“It was on the door to your cave,” Michael said. “We’ve seen it our whole lives. You know what it means?”

“Of course. But that can wait. Come closer.”

Michael stalked a few feet, still keeping a wide berth. As he approached, one side of the symbol burned brighter, a circle with a bold, askew cross within. Jones touched a few more symbols in sequence as they rose to the surface.

“If you had persevered through your ordeal instead of running straight to Max, you would be able to read this,” Jones said idly.

“That’s a funny way of saying ‘gee, Michael, sorry for the attempted murder.’”

“Apologize?” Jones still didn’t look at him, face impassive, barely a flicker of irritation passing across it. If Michael didn’t know Max so well, he would know nothing about this man at all. “What good is an apology? I told you before—pain is an excellent teacher. Of course, there are those who disagree.”

Then it flickered; Michael yelled in shock as the symbols lifted from the surface, shimmering and gold and shaping themselves into a familiar-unfamiliar form.

Michael couldn’t breathe.

“I hope you never hear this, darling,” Nora said. Or—she didn’t speak, but Michael heard her all the same.

She said, “I hope the journey goes smoothly and we land softly in a new life, and my attempts to find some kind of goodbye can just be deleted like a bad dream. But I’ve been having a lot of bad dreams, baby, and I can’t let this go without a contingency.” She huffed a short sigh. “So here I am.

“You’re sleeping in your room right now. You know its your last night in your little bed, but I’m not sure it’s sunk in exactly what that means. Is it wrong that I’m glad for it? I don’t want you to be afraid. I never want that.

“But if you’re seeing this, it means I’ve likely already failed on that front, so what is there to say except I’m sorry? I’m so sorry, baby, if you’re seeing this. I love you so, so much, and I’m so sorry. I don’t know how to tell you how much I love you without holding you in my arms—these words, these feelings, they aren’t enough. Nothing I say could be enough. But baby, just know that you are the only thing in my heart. Your brilliant mind, your big heart, you are so wonderful, and having you in my life has been my life’s greatest blessing. No matter what, I know you’re out there—even if the worst comes to pass, even if you’re out there alone, even if you come to hate me for abandoning you, any word with you in it is worth saving, no matter what else has been destroyed.

“I love you, I love you, I love you, my son. I’ll love you even more tomorrow, for every day we’re together and every day we’re apart. Goodbye, and goodnight.”

Nora’s form reduced to gold once more, sinking back into the pod, and the silence that followed sucked everything in with it, sucked the air straight from Michael’s lungs. The whole world blurred behind his eyes, his left hand clawing over his chest, over his racing heart, his mouth working to find the words, words his mother hadn’t even known in the much more primal language of thought and emotion sown softly directly into his mind.

He'd felt, all these things, all those emotions she spoke of, hand to hand, through the grime and glass, condensed into one split-second, the atom before the bomb. The love, she’d poured it into him, a vessel too cracked and flawed to hold it. Would having words put to it help him understand? Lyrics to the harmony and melody?

“Touching,” Jones murmured.

“Shut the fuck up,” Michael said, voice cracked to pieces.

“What? I mean it. A mother’s love. No force like it in the world, wouldn’t you say?”

Jones began to circle again, approaching Michael.

“That love brought you here across the stars. Would you like to thank her? Or condemn her? She left you the burdens you bear, after all.”

“It’s not her fault the military locked her up and tortured her!” Michael shouted, a boom to his voice that shook the cave around them, shedding dust like the old days, when Michael’s rage moved furniture and shook art from the walls and moved minds to thoughts of hellfire.

“You really don’t hold a grudge? Not even in the slightest?”

“Why do you care? You hated her, right? Because she got one over on you, she got Max away from you. And she outsmarted you again here on Earth.”

At that, Jones sighed. He took a step closer, and this time Michael stood his ground, his mother-made pod at his back. Jones’s eyes shone glassy in the low, shifting light.

“Thank you, Michael, for that eloquent declaration of your loyalties. I’m disappointed in you, but it does uncomplicate things.”

He flicked his hand and Michael flew across the cave, head slamming sickly into the wall, like Michael had flung Jones when he fled from him the last time. As the world swam and a hot trickle wound down the back of Michael’s neck, Jones approached leisurely.

“See, for a sec, I thought the soft approach was working on you, Michael. I thought my charm was still good, even after all these years. You want to learn. You want the knowledge, the understanding. You want to stand in the light of the truth. Don’t you?”

Michael spat, and Jones ground him a few feet up the wall, his back scraping stone inch by jagged inch.

“So loyal. So dedicated. There is so damn much of that woman in you, no matter what kind of taint this rat-hole planet has left you with, human.”

The word oozed off his tongue like a slur.

A sneer on his face, Jones continued, “I hope it gives you solace while it can. I know it has a certain soothing effect on my own guilty conscience.”

“You’re fucking insane!” Michael gasped out. He flung his mind at every loose object around him, but nothing budged, his powers weak and fickle and inadequate.

In rage, they’d never failed him. But beneath his placid face, in Jones was something stronger than Michael, stronger than rage. But not stronger than Michael’s mother; not stronger than Nora Truman; not stronger than her by any other name she may have claimed in languages Michael would never speak.

Jones wasn’t stronger than her. So Michael would find a way. She sacrificed too much for him to give up now.

“Even on this life-forsaken psych-dumb wasteland planet, you have to understand that there are crimes and there are punishments,” Jones seethed. His composure was cracking, the man they’d first met in that cave pushing through the veneer he’d constructed over the months he’d been among them. He didn’t wait for Michael to respond, ranting on, “She stole from me. Ran from me, a fucking pirate! She stole my healer! My people! My heir. She had no right! And, not content in her flagrant audacity, she put me in a fucking hole in the ground! There are crimes and punishments. But she is beyond me now.”

Michael’s back lifted from the wall and slammed down again. He groaned as his vision went gray and his stomach heaved.

“She got what was coming to her. A fitting enough end, destroyed by the world she thought would hide her. But how can I be satisfied without a little vengeance of my own? Now that I’ve seen her message, my path at last is clear. You’ll do.”

The invisible iron bars pinning Michael six feet in the air disappeared, and he slumped to the hard-packed floor, air sawing through his chest, ribs screaming with every wheeze.

“Wouldn’t she be proud to see you now,” Jones murmured, and everything went dark.

When Michael came to, the world swam dim and gold into view, and squinting and wincing it took him a full minute to absorb his surroundings. He was slumped on the ground beneath the ladder of his workshop. Every bone and muscle ached; every breath seared inside him and ached its way back out.

“Michael! There you are. For a moment I was afraid in my excitement you’d gotten a little ahead of me,” Jones cried jubilant from across the room.

Staggering to his knees, Michael groaned, “Don’t fucking touch—how do you even—know this—”

“Either I plucked it out of your ripe mind when you offered it to me or I know someone who knows you,” Jones said. Something clanked as he tossed it. “Believe whichever, it doesn’t matter to me.”

He flung the tarp from Michael’s worktable, baring the console skeleton before his greedy eyes.

“This—” He laughed. “You truly are a marvel, you stupid boy. What I wouldn’t give for time and space to study you. Mold you. It’s almost a pity.”

“If Max is what you want, he’ll never forgive you if you kill me,” Michael slurred.

“Max is a piece of the puzzle. One piece,” Jones said. “And there have to be three. Or hasn’t anyone told you?”

Jones whirled away and went back to rifling through Michael’s papers, muttering to himself. Inching a little more upright, Michael craned his neck to look at the opening to the bunker, thrown wide, sunlight streaming down. He blinked in the sunlight piercing his pounding head, frantically trying to calculate the time. How close were they to crossing paths with everyone? Had Michael’s stupid wandering called the fox right in? Alex, Isobel, Max, Maria—

“I know, I know, no time to waste,” Jones said. “As entertaining as your little drawings are. We have things to be getting on with.”

With one hand, he seized the console, and with the other, he seized Michael, seized each of his organs in brutal turn, Michael sputtering and choking, writhing for relief that wouldn’t come, a beetle crushed beneath a boot.

“Let’s go somewhere we won’t be interrupted.”

#malex fic #my fic #malex #michael guerin #alex manes #mr. jones

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liukangmybeloved · 3 years

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everyone else is fighting for second {Mortal Kombat (2021)}

SPOILERS FOR MORTAL KOMBAT (2021)

Summary: Canon Divergent AU. Crack & Fluff. The team develops into something of a found family, which happens to include Cole's actual family. They take a day off from fighting to go to the fair, where the biggest question is 'who is Cole's daughter's favourite in the team?' Besides her dad, of course. Kano is very competitive about this question.

A/N: 1968 words. I will take a meat-tenderizer and FIX the canon and make it SOFT. i love cole young and mk 2021, if you don't like that, you've been warned. everybody lives/nobody dies AU & kano isn't a traitor. also imagine there's just like.... more time before the tournament. enough to become a found family. like i said, fluff & crack. warnings for swearing.

If Cole had it his way, Emily and Kano would have never met. He would be perfectly happy letting everyone else on the team meet her, but he's yet to hear a single sentence leave Kano's mouth that didn't include some colourful variation of 'fuck', 'shit', 'wanker', or 'cunt'. So unsurprisingly, he wasn't exactly eager to let his teenager daughter near the man who Sonya had literally called 'scum of the Earth', but alas.

"I'll be on my best behaviour, pinky-swear!" Kano's grin was all teeth as he'd held his pinky finger up to Cole's glowering face, wiggling it a little when Cole made no move to finish the pinky-swear.

"If you say - cunt -" and the word sounds so uncomfortable coming from Cole, he damn well looks uncomfortable just saying it, "within a hundred feet of her, I'll get Kung Lao to cut you in half." And he gesutres over to where Kung Lao and the rest of their ragtag bunch of misfits; the man in question had forgone his usual weapon for a more modern, soft-brimmed sunhat, but his jaunty wave to Kano at the sound of his name still managed to be menacing. The Australian shuddered in horror at the mere thought; at least he took the threat seriously.

"You don't have to be jealous, man," the threat seemed to only have dampened Kano's jovial attitude momentarily, as he's got a spring in his step as he follows Cole to the rest of the gathered champions, "Uncle Kano's gonna set a fuckin' - flippin' -" he corrects himself as Cole shoots him a warning look, "great example." Sonya barks a loud, derisive laugh as Cole sees fit to remind him that he's not Uncle Kano.

"Emily's a good kid," Liu Kang assures, kind and sincere.

"Yeah, she never even believes me when I tell her Kano's a dirty, little rat," Kung Lao smirks in the face of Kano's sudden outrage, and Cole is pretty sure that, despite it being Emily and Alison's idea, to give the team a day of levity and to bond, this might be the worst plan he's ever agreed to.

"This is a day of bonding, not of infighting," Raiden's voice joins them, followed by the God himself only moments later, which is enough to unite all the champions in confusion at his choice of wardrobe for the day. While still sporting a majority of his usual attire, somehow he'd managed to procure a t-shirt with a meme of all things on it, a personalised meme!

"I designed it myself, I think it turned out pretty okay; whaddya think?" Kano sounded far too proud of himself, looking at the cartoon drawing of what could only be Raiden himself pointing awkwardly at Thor as depicted in Marvel Comics, who was pointing back.

"We are both Gods of Thunder," Raiden explained, pointing to his own shirt; Sonya had gone wide-eyed, unsure of how to react, while Jaxx was doing his utmost not to burst out laughing.

"I... didn't know you knew what a meme was," Cole admits, though honestly, once the shock had worn off of, it was rather charming.

"I didn't know you knew what a meme was," Kano fired back, equally confused.

"I have a thirteen-year-old, of course I know what a meme is -" but then it seems to hit him just as it hits Sonya and Jax, and the three of them turn to the pair of confused, cave-dwelling, internet-free champions. None of them knew where to begin trying to explain the whole situation, but thankfully, Raiden chose that moment to open a lightning portal, and they all headed through quickly.

----

The night that Cole and his family had gone home after everything had gone down, the fighting, Sub-Zero, and the man he's pretty sure is the ghost of his ancestor, Emily had looked him dead in the eye and called him a super hero.

And then told him that his friends were really cool.

This was a sentiment that his new friends seemed to share about his family.

Cole quickly comes to realise that family isn't something a lot of the rest of the team have nowadays; they have each other, but for a lot of them, that's mostly it. He sits on an invite to dinner that he'd already ran past Alison several days ago, before inviting Liu Kang and Kung Lao over, if nothing else, to repay the hospitality they'd shown him so early on.

Alison's rule was that there was to be peace on their property; no training, no fighting, but the team was welcome as long as they didn't bring trouble to the door.

So then it was Sonya and Jaxx, who brought dessert when they came over.

Emily once asked what Thunder Gods ate. Did they eat? Cole wasn't sure. He extends an invite to Raiden anyways, but it's politely declined. The next time, however, he took up Cole's invite, mostly for the company, and to thank Alison and Emily for their patience; having Cole away so often wasn't easy, he'd be the first to acknowledge that. Alison appreciated the sentiment, as did Emily, though she was also just bursting with questions for the God, and he did his best to answer what he could.

Then finally - finally - after so long spent with the team, of most of them coming to find comfort and serenity in his home on the occasions that they need it, Kano is invited to Sunday lunch too.

----

"I know us champions and our super powers are pretty cool," Kano says to Emily, the moment they step through the lightning portal and emerge into the sunshine and the noise of the fair, "but I'm your favourite, right? Besides your old man, of course," and he rolls his eyes a little at that, as does Cole, for very different reasons, while Alison shoots Cole a questioning look. Thankfully she still does not trust Kano as far as she could throw him.

For her part, Emily answers incredibly diplomatically, sounding much older than her thirteen years, and quite a bit like her mother;

"Kano, you're a grown man, my approval shouldn't matter to you," she sounds sincere, which is completely undercut by Kung Lao sliding into step beside Kano.

"Which means you're not her favourite," he teases, and Kano practically growls back, embarrassed, while Emily calls out to Raiden that she likes his shirt. He practically beams.

"Not a lot of people will really get it, though," she points out, and Raiden muses on that for a moment.

"But I get it, and it's mine."

"Fair point," Emily nods at that, as their strange group steps up to buy tickets.

---

Emily spends more of the fair of people's shoulders than she does actually walking, which delights her endlessly. Mostly she's up on Jax's shoulders, and charges her cotton candy for the ride, ripping a small chunk from the one Cole had bought for her.

"It's weird seeing you all look so normal," she says to Sonya, the two of them in line for the Dodge 'Em Cars alongside Liu Kang and Kung Lao. Sonya grins, knows exactly what she means, gaze turning to the two members of the Shaolin Order of Light, not that anyone would know simply from looking at them now. Where Liu Kang had found a pair of trendy, ripped jeans was beyond Sonya's imagination.

"You look cool, though," Emily amended quickly, "I didn't realise you all would come to the fair, but I'm glad you did," she's smiling brightly as they get closer to the front of the line.

"Who did you expect to come along today?" Liu asks, eyes wide and curious. It wasn't that he was as competitive as Kung Lao or Kano, but he still found the child's interpretation of their group to be interesting. She knows, in some capacity, what they're capable off; she'd watched her father slice, dice, and kill Goro after all. The fact that she could think so highly of them speaks a lot to her capacity for kindness, or perhaps her childish naivety, but Liu preferred to think it was the former.

Emily, however, goes quiet, seems to be a little embarrassed. She mutters something, avoiding eye contact with any of them, and Liu goes to ask her to repeat herself, but she interrupts him while doing so;

"I wanted Dad to have a day off," she admitted, before adding, "and... and Lord Raiden; I don't think he's had a day off this millennium."

"It's good of you to look out for them," Sonya tells her fondly, "our team can be pretty single-minded, but we needed this day off, I think." And she gives Emily a pet on the shoulder, and lets her steer the tandem Car when they finally get a turn.

----

"It's me, right? I'm your favourite," Jax asks Emily over lunch, not because he genuinely believes it, but because it riles up Kano, and to a lesser extent, the competitive Liu Kang.

"Jax is one bad day away from pledging his allegiance to Skynet, he can't be your favourite -" Kano grumbles.

"Dad's my favourite," Emily reminds them sternly, and Cole has to hide his proud little smile, before she adds, "and mom's my favourite too, the rest of you, well of course you're all badass as hell -"

"Is it Liu? 'Cos he's pretty and you're, yanno, a teenage girl," Kano scowls at the warrior who'd been attempting to just quietly enjoy his basket of fries. Both Cole and Alison are wearing similarly murderous expressions, and Kano raised his hands in mock surrender, dropping his gaze.

"Actually," Emily said pointedly, despite the embarrassed flush on her cheeks, though she was mirroring her parents intensity, "my favourite is Raiden because he's literally a God that shoots lightning out of his hands, and you're now my least favourite because you're a rat bastard."

"I taught her that," Kung Lao was grinning from ear to ear, and when he and Emily look to each other, they share a definitive nod.

"How come he's allowed to teach her words like bastard?!" Kano demanded to know.

"Because you're a bastard," Sonya interjects.

Kano is thankfully quiet for the remainder of lunch, sulking at his end of the table as chatter returns to normal, returns to talk of how everyone else had been enjoying the day.

----

At the end of the day, Kano shoves a large, stuffed kangaroo at Emily that he'd won at the booth where you had to knock over bottles.

"Didn't even use me eye or anything; lost an hour of my life and fifty fuckin' dollars," he was grumbling, while Emily was examining the prize.

"You won this?" She seemed endeared by it, endeared by the thought that he'd put the time into winning it for her.

"'course I won it, can I stop being your least favourite now?" He asked, and Emily tucked the kangaroo beneath her arm, giving him an appraising look.

"You can't buy my loyalty -"

"Wouldn't want it if it could be bought, I know that shit from experience," Kano interjected, crossing his arms defensively, ignoring where Cole was glowering at him every time he swore.

"But you put time in, and effort, so you're back to third with everyone else."

"As long as none of those bastards is beating me, I'm okay with that."

As they headed to the exit, to where Raiden had created a lightning portal for them all to go home through, Emily reached out and punched Kano lightly in the shoulder.

"Thanks, Kano, it's pretty sweet that you care so much."

"Don't tell the others," he grumbled back.

"We've been with you all day," Jax calls out, "we already know."

#mortal kombat #liu kang #mortal kombat 2021 #kano #kung lao #cole young #raiden #jax briggs #emily young #alison young #sonya blade #mortal kombat fluff #mortal kombat fanfiction #lkmb

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illinformedcomicfan · 3 years

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Why does the Spider-Man in your profile and banner have the colors flipped?

I see you asking, my devout follower. Begging, praying that I give you the answer to this elusive, long-running mystery. Well, it’s been about a week now. That’s basically a year in these COVID-19 times, so I figure it was time for an answer. Sit down my friend. This is not simply sPidEr-MaN wItH tHe cOlOrs fLipPeD. Let me introduce you to one of the greatest and most underrated characters in Spider-Man comic book history. Or in comic book history as a whole, really if you want to go that far. I present, Web-Man. Now I see you asking. Who the fuck is Web-Man?

He wonders that himself every day, as well.

Web-Man’s a weird character. At first he seems pretty simple. You saw the image and probably thought “That looks like an evil version of Spider-Man that has the colors of the suit flipped”. And that’s correct. It’s that simple. But the circumstances of his creation and history (or lack thereof) are what interests me most and how crazy they are, so let’s take a trip down... well not memory lane because I’m sure you didn’t even know he existed until now. He represents such a weird phenomenon of superhero comics history that I love explaining him. The Trope of “Opposite Bad Guy With Different Colors”

This is a well-known trope in superhero stories. It’s a great storytelling and visual element that’s easy for audiences to wrap their head around. There’s a good guy. There’s a bad guy. The bad guy looks pretty visually similar and tends to have the same base powers as the hero but they’re eviiiiil. It sounds cheap, and to some extent, it kind of is, but opposite villains are so fun that no writer, or fan can resist them (especially when they’re done well). There’s so many examples of this that it’s almost absurd. Every superhero you can think of most likely has an opposite. -Zod is Superman But Bad -Bizarro is Superman But Bad (sometimes) -Superboy Prime is Superman But Bad -Cyborg Superman is Superman But Cyborg Bad (You get the point by now) -Reverse Flash is Flash But Bad -Black Adam is Captain Marvel (Shazam) But Bad -Owlman is Batman But Bad -Sinestro is Green Lantern But Bad -Malcolm Merlyn is Green Arrow But Bad -The Frightful Four are The Fantastic Four But Bad -The Crime Syndicate is The Justice League But Bad The biggest example of mass-media cape stories these days, the MCU, tends to pull this trick often, and most of the time they get a lot of shit for it regardless of how well made the actual movies are, and rightfully so in some cases. -Iron Monger is just Iron Man But Bad -Abomination is Hulk But Bad -Whiplash initially has the cool electric whips at the start but then he gets a suit of armor so he just becomes Iron Man But Bad BUT Also Has Whips -The Winter Soldier is, to some extent, Captain America but bad (This isn’t a slight against the movie or Bucky’s character, just another example) -Yellowjacker is Ant-Man But Bad -Kaecilius is Doctor Strange But Bad (and Mordo is going to be Doctor Strange But Bad 2.0 in the sequel) -Killmonger is Black Panther But Bad SPOILER FOR WANDAVISION -Agatha is Scarlet Witch But Bad

By now no further explanation is needed. You already knew that there’s a very common trope of The Good Guy But Bad. Thing is, when most people think of Spider-Man But Bad, they tend to think of Venom, who is sort of the gore body horror sci-fi 80s version of Spider-Man But Bad. At some point he gets enough of his own lore and enough of his own comic series that he kind of loses that, but that original context is always tied to him. There’s never really been a straight, 1:1 opposite of Bad Spider-Man that’s taken off in popularity. Tarantula sort of fits the bill? Maybe? Not really? Especially with that name and get-up.

But the concept of Web-Man, Spider-Man But Bad With The Colors Flipped, sounds so simple and surefire that it’s a wonder why he never took off. You’d also believe that, due to it being SO PAINFULLY OBVIOUS, he was created early. On the contrary, it took about 15 years after Spider-Man’s introduction for Web-Man to hit the pages of a comic story. The most wonderful (or most horrendous, depending on how you want to see it) part of him is that he’s not main 616 Marvel universe canon. Spider-Man But Bad!... of Earth-57780

Created as a tie-in to the Spidey Super Stories segment of The Electric Company’s children program, this comic ran for a good few 8 years, in what was basically a more over-the-top and zany version of Spider-Man for the kid audience of Electric Company. (Fun fact, the Spider-Man of this reality was part of the Spider-Verse events that have been a part of Spidey comics for a few good bit of the 2010s now.)

In August of 1977 with #25, Marvel editor/writers Jim Salicrup, Nicola Cuti and Bill Mantlo, along with artist Win Mortimer introduced Web-Man in the lead story “Spider-Man and Web-Man”.

Created by Doctor Doom as an evil clone of Spider-Man (a couple years after The Original Clone Stuff, and some 17 years before The Clone Stuff Everybody Hates), his deal is pretty simple as you can see from his masterful and devilish creation by Marvel’s resident supervillain. (Side note, I love the sheer power visible in the panel where he breaks the containment tube).

Endowed with Spidey’s knack for quips, fast zingers and the ability to piss off pretty much everyone he runs into, Web-Man robs an armored car to get Spidey’s attention. What follows is some pretty cheesy but endearing joke-exchange and fast paced action. They go back to Doom’s lab, and the best part of the story? He’s not even the only Web-Man in it.

Yes, that’s right. It’s not just ONE Web-Man we’re dealing with. It’s TWO WEB-MEN.

Unfortunately, in a pretty uncharacteristically Spidey move, he brutally and violently viciously maims and murders the two misguided souls. Ok, its not really that graphic or serious in the story, but those were real dudes with like, meat and bone and feelings. And now Spidey’s recklessness has cost them their life. Pretty uncool, Peter.

After that, regular Spidey beats Doom and presumably sends him off to jail. There’s no follow up to the Web-Men or how precisely they ceased to exist beyond “Spider-Man broke the mirror”. A fun and breezy story to kill time with. What boggles me the most, is that in the 41 years since, he hasn’t come back a single damn time in literally anything.

Requiem For A Web-Man

(Before you ask, yes, I made that edit. I have a bunch of them)

Web-Man never returned to Spidey Super Stories. He was never introduced in a 616 Spider-Man comic. He’s never been in one of the cartoons, movies, games, or external media. The closest thing we have to a mass-media version of him is his design is one the featured alternate suits in the great Spider-Verse movie. Even then, that’s all it is. A funny nod in the background. I even doubt that the producers of the movie actually intended that as a Web-Man, Earth-57780 reference more than they just went “Haha wouldn’t it be funny if one of his suits just had the colors flipped?”

And it’s that lack of return that both baffles me, and that I understand. He’s not exactly the most creative idea. His design isn’t new or a twist on the classic costume. His status as a villain doesn’t really achieve anything that guys like Venom and Carnage already don’t do, and better than he does it. There’s really no reason to bring him back in a big story. Then again... does there really need to be?

In a genre with talking dinosaurs, mutants, like 7 different Superpeople, legions of super-heroes, gods, dragons, magic, vampires, aliens, stories that ask us to pretend that Darkseid, Thanos, and Mongul are different people, but most importantly, where there’s half a dozen stories (one of them an Oscar winning movie) all focusing on the core idea of “There’s infinite versions of Spider-Man with countless variations meeting up!”, I find it hard to believe that there’s really no plausible way to bring him into the spotlight again.

To quote his character bio on ComicVine (which I swear a million times I didn’t write, but I love) “fans are eagerly waiting for a new appearance where he returns as a hero, not a villain.”

Web-Man is such a fun and absurd example of the Opposite Villain, that I hope he at the very least gets referenced, or lord willing, actually make an important appearance in a Spider-Man story before I die. He deserves to. (Credit to my good pal Nutz, who introduced me to Web-Man so many years ago. I thought he was joking and that he wasn’t real, but he ended up leading me to find one of my most favorite forgotten characters in comic history, and one I proudly use as my internet avatar everywhere I can.)

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fukurodaze · 4 years

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haikyuu!! third gym squad taking the ib diploma programme

ok... my friend and i got rlly stressed the other day and made headcanons for these guys if they were to take classes in the ib... it’s like a levels but like... a bit more death!

for my ib diploma folks you can just hop on over and read what i’ve hc’d but for my non-ib folks, lemme give you a bit of an introduction to the ib diploma programme.

characters included: bokuto koutarou, kuroo tetsurou, akaashi keiji, tsukishima kei, haiba lev, hinata shouyou

THE IB DIPLOMA PROGRAMME is a rigorous two-year pre-college program in your last two years of high school. a full programme consists of one class from each of the six required groups (totalling to 6 classes), which are G1 - first language; G2 - second language; G3 - social sciences; G4 - natural sciences; G5 - mathematics; and G6 - arts (though, arts is optional, and can be switched out with another subject from G3 or G4).

within these six courses, students are required to take at least three high-level (HL) courses and three standard level courses (SL), but some students may take four HL courses and have two SL courses (kind of a rough one tho).

just to note: there’s two types of math courses - applications and interpretations (Math AI) and analysis and approaches (Math AA). MAA courses are known to be harder than MAI courses because students do more theory work and have non-calculator sections in exams, unlike MAI courses where calculators are required for every exam. also, it is possible for a person to take IB courses instead of the full diploma programme, but i’m not very well acquainted with that variation of the IB programme so we’re just going to assume all the boys got 6 courses.

okay. i am so sorry i just lectured you on a whole school curriculum. anyways. back to haikyuu!!

BOKUTO KOUTAROU : Japanese Language and Literature HL, Mandarin Ab Initio SL, Geography HL, SEHS (Sports, Exercise, and Health Science) HL, Math AI SL, Economics SL

ok so it’s canon that this dude is not doing very well in math but his parents made him do higher level math at first poor boy >:(

he started the year off in higher level and thought he was gonna be fine

no. he was not fine.

so he ended up switching his math hl to sl and his japanese sl to hl

IT IS CANON (special chapter in volume 19 titled “i just forgot” where bokuto has a wholeass crisis about words) that bokuto’s really one to actually really like to think about how words work and function as systems in the same way ib language courses do!!

actually having him do japanese ll hl is just an excuse for me to keep him in math sl sorry

i mean koutarou may be my fav tax evader but he really did sit through two years worth of econ classes... smh

mans is Not listening and has to rely on yukie for notes but he just memorises case studies for exams and does not do anything else

i feel like he just takes mandarin because he thought it was the easiest one... he also thinks the words sound similar so it’s easy to memorise

he’s a pretty good communicator so he practices his mandarin quite a lot. as in, he’s made friends to talk to in mandarin. we love to see it!!!

also. um. i hc that he’s pretty decent at memorisation so geography!! this goes for memorising all the kanji and mandarin characters too

i think SEHS is pretty self-explanatory. mans already known he wanna be a pro athlete might as learn about being healthy as an athlete

KUROO TESTUROU : Japanese Language and Literature SL, English B SL, Business Management HL, Chemistry HL, Math AI HL, Biology HL

now... we all know this mf been taking chemistry hl. it is CANON

and as per his career path... DEFINITELY business management hl

i feel like he’s so analytical in the way he sees things that he likes to explore many areas of knowledge where there are different ways of thinking

takes english as a second language because... whew.. aint it sexy when mans wanna be multifaceted in business

also takes higher level biology because he’d rather not with the languages... but later on i believe he ends up in a higher level language class because he might as well

i feel like kuroo’s classes just give me a vibe i know too too well...

mans takes math ai. he does not wanna fuck around with a pencil proving a theorem he just wants the answer bro

like in volleyball, he’s a quick thinker. so he’s pretty g with math and business stuff

i literally know someone with this class combo ... it’s not very chill but it screams “you never see me do any course work but i always get at least a B+ in every subject”

AKAASHI KEIJI : Japanese Language and Literature HL, French Ab Initio SL, Psychology HL, Chemistry SL, Math AA SL, Visual Arts HL

now... this subject combo radiates such pretty energy

pretty subjects for a pretty boy

he was originally going to do biology sl but then found out there is chemistry in biology so he just decided with chemistry. plain and simple.

we all know akaashi is both emotionally and academically intelligent

he’s logical and analytical, and when faced with a tough time he works through it well albeit going through a little bit of struggle

this automatically puts him in math aa... i just see him actually liking proving theorems???

but maybe he just thinks his calculator is a nuisance sometimes and would rather solve everything by hand

also art boy! this dude likes graphic design more but when it comes to traditional art he does Not Hold Back

i like to think that he’s into painting backgrounds and mixed media

if he didn’t take VA, i’m pretty sure he would take economics. because. it’s quite systematic and i think akaashi would take a liking to it

as for japanese ll hl... we all know this dude was supposed to be a part of the literary section in a magazine/manga company but was moved to editor

goes hand-in-hand with psychology, likes to know how words convey meaning and how they affect people

he also thinks french is kind of a cool language. i feel like this guy just wants to do it because it sounds cool and novel for him

all in all, pretty solid subject combo!

TSUKISHIMA KEI : Japanese Language and Literature HL, French Ab Initio SL, History HL, Biology SL, Math AA HL, Instrumental Music HL

4 hl’s... here we are folks

honestly does it for colleges to go like “holy shit this dude is kinda crazy”

but does suffer... coursework tings :)

first of all this dude takes french (even though it’s a beginner’s class) because he just loves to sound cool huh

the summer before his courses started he would have had the basics down after looking through free ib textbooks

plus, being the guy that’s super good at a new language in the class is a huge ass flex and a big ass ego boost. and anyways, with language, he thinks it’s just a lot of simple patterns working together.

this also applies to japanese ll hl... finds writing essays and making arguments ez (at least that’s what he tells himself - he’s kinda nervous when it comes to japanese but he holds on anyway)

practices extra hard on pronunciation. sounds hot tho

math aa hl??? there we go. another crazy one. thought he could ace the class at first.... no. no he couldn’t

thinks about moving down to sl. probably does. (at least it’s not math ai)

history and biology go hand in hand for him. he has significant interests in prehistoric times, and likes to learn about the origins of life - that’s a given

but he does get tired of the politics talk in history like... goddamn all these people making so many mistakes? just stop making them smh

and instrumental music was just something he got onto because he really would like to just have a course where he could enjoy himself while also learning about the stuff he likes

nobody knows what music he listens to... but i think he’s willing to listen to anything as long as it’s music and it has the kinds of vibes he digs

HAIBA LEV: Japanese Language and Literature SL, Mandarin Ab Initio SL, Psychology HL, Chemistry SL, Math AI HL, Theatre HL

i don’t know how to explain it but lev has such strong psych and chem energy

yes haiba lev’s classes are the ones i picked via roulette wheel

jk not really

here’s the thing though, lev takes psychology because he thinks econ, business management, history, ess, all that jazz is just... absolutely boring. like. super. mf-ing. boring.

so he’s like ooh cognitive processes!

kinda hates that he has to study research methods and research methods ONLY at first but when he gets the hang of it he really finds it one of his fav subs

i actually have no explanation for mandarin ab initio sl... he just seemed like the kind of guy who would wanna do the class solely because he thinks mandarin sounds cool with their intonations and everything

plus he heard that the teacher gives mooncakes every lunar new year ad he. loves. them.

okay now hear me out.

lev is good at math.

maybe not lightning speed analysis or calculations like akaashi, but he finds solving problems fun! except for when they’re without a calculator bc he HATES doing calculations by hand

he can get a bit clumsy with his hand calculations too so it’s nice to just have a calculator on hand

literally only does math ai for the sake of using a calculator at all times (a/n: i take this class, and this was the reason i took it too. COMPLETELY VALID)

and then does theatre for the fun of it!!! confidence levels high for presentations and performances... good fit

kinda thought that ib theatre would be his easy A but oh how he was wrong... hates the research tasks at first but he gets used to it

HINATA SHOUYOU: Japanese Language and Literature SL, Portuguese Ab Initio SL, SEHS HL, Geography HL, Math AI SL, Theatre HL

his classes are bokuto energy but with theatre and portuguese

MANGA SPOILERS! we all know he started thinking abt going to brazil in his second year of high school, and the ib diploma programme starts in the last two years of high school so it fits PERFECTLY

lowkey most of the boys take japanese ll sl because they just. have to.

this is also hinata’s case <3

SEHS HL!!! he has a vision for the future and it definitely involves him understanding health and sports and everything like that, especially after nationals in his first year :(((( still sad abt that

but he’s motivated for this higher level class because he’s really just gonna go all out with the research

math ai sl because... he prolly don’t give a fuck about numbers!!! (it hasn’t been made clear already, but math ai sl is the lowest level math course)

he also took theatre hl because even though he does get scared at first, he’s a natural when it comes to learning new cultures

he’s just so curious about it all and it makes him quite engaged in the class as well!!!!

also kinda took theatre because the other subjects were just not it for him

about geography... he hates memorisation but he also hates everything else in the social studies group so

he just gets by by trying to find the little details of the things he’s studying interesting because really... geography class is just the base of all the places on his bucket list

hinata’s def one of those dudes who picks his subs purely off of liking because we all know he’s going. any subject that isn’t based off of liking is usually a mandatory subject anyways

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hasmashdoneanythingwrong · 4 years

Note

Please! The Elder Scrolls lore!

Oh man bad wording on your part, we’re going to start from the beginning and I am going to have fun with this!

The literal blood sweat and tears of creation

So, like all good cosmologies, this one starts with a good old fashion “in the beginning, there was nothing”. And then, from this nothingness came two... let’s call them gods, that’s the closest term we have. Really, they’re more akin to the Greek Protogenoi In that they were closer to sapient forces of cosmic power than anything else. These two gods represented what many will call the great dichotomy: Anu, God of Stasis, and Padomay , God of Change. Another way to think of it is as order and chaos, but more in the sense of “things staying the same” and “things changing constantly”. These two just kind of sat around doing cosmic forces things...

When BAM! Another cosmic force (Likely representing the idea of creation) appeared. Her name was Nir, And she was so sexy that all two other people in creation at the time were like “Holy shit...!” And then Nir looked at Anu And was like “Holy Shit…!” So of course, the two of them immediately hit it off, got to work making worlds, and we’re really really happy together because they exist in the universe before “Being a shitty person to your spouse” was a concept. However, you know what was A concept? Murder and also maybe jealousy. Padomay Looked at the two of them being happy and was like “That should be me, those fuckers!” So he went up to Nir And was like hey you should ditch my stupid brother and go out with me instead we can make all sorts of cool shit. And Nir was like “What am I a cheater? Go away jerk”.

Padomay did not like this. So he went full Yandere and killed Nir and her 12 or so children/worlds.

Anu did not like this, because he helped make those and even in a timeless primordial void life was sacred.

So Anu was like “Stop! You violated the law! Pay the court a fine, or serve your sentence! Your stolen goods are now forfeit.” Padomay obviously said no and Anu was all like “Then pay with your blood!” And started fighting Padomay. However, unlike the average city guard that makes the exact same speech, Anu Was actually a powerful individual, and proceeded to rip Padomay So many new assholes that Padomay died. Then Anu was like “My wife... My Children... There’s only one thing left to do here...!”, took their shattered remains, and began piecing them together into something new. If this sounds weird and/or creepy to you, consider our own real world mythologies, and realize honestly, by creation myth standards, This is pretty tame and actually kind of nice.

But before Anu could really do anything...

Padomay: (DBZ teleport noise) Omae Wa Mou... Shindeiru.

Anu: Nani?!

(Both proceed to explode into massive puddles of blood and soul)

And from there, these massive pools of blood and soul (now named Sithis (Padomay’s Blood, The Primal “Is Not”) and Anui-El (Anu’s Blood, The Primal “Is”)) began to expand out infinitely. Where they touched created this weird sort of… Not order not chaos but also yes order and yes chaos area that we will simply call… The Aurbis.

Of course, truth is this is but one variation of How It’s Made Aurbis Edition. Some versions have snakes, some have Anu and Padomay simply eject their souls into Anui-El and Lorkhan/Sithis, who can say. All of them are technically true and false at the same time anyways. But more importantly, all of these variations are both canon, non-canon, and quasi-canon. Fun!

Hakuna Et’Ada

So in this bloody pit, The Aurbis was not the only thing to come out of this. From these three blood settings (Anu, Padomay, and Mixed) came the original spirits, which later peoples would call Et’Ada. Depending on who you ask, certain spirits originated from particular mixtures, But the reality is different spirits just sorta became different things regardless of which blood puddle they originated from. Some claim what would become the Daedra came only from Padomay’s blood, But if that were the case, then Jyggalag is hella weird since that would make him a Chaos God of Order. And Meridia was a Magna-Ge so... yeah. So for now, lets just assume every named Et’Ada that isn’t Lorkhan came from evenly intermingled blood.

Anyways, as all these spirits came to be they emerged to what is best described as a the metaphysical equivalent of a pyramid made of tesseract spirals colored RedOrangUrPinCyan but also YellOchErmilliFuchIte being formed into a pentagon. That is to say, hella interesting to watch. So the Et’Ada were kind of content to couch potato and watch the resulting three way of the 3rd, ith (as in the imaginary number), and -680th dimensions.

All but one. See, one Et’Ada was purely Padomayic/Sithic, and his name was Lorkhan. And being essentially the embodiment of Chaos and Change, Lorkhan was like “Man this isn’t exciting enough”. So he kept getting bored, until one “day” (day as a relative term since time didn’t exist yet) he got so bored he went to the edge of The Aurbis and saw it looked like a wheel with 8 spokes. He said “huh that’s weird” tilted his head to the side and immediately Understood(tm) because he beheld the letter and concept “I”. Except not really, because as an Et’Ada he could never Understand. But he understood he did not Understand, so he knew how other spirits could Understand. So he was like “I have an Idea” and left to tell/cajole/convince the other spirits to participate. Some didn’t like his idea, bust secretly they kind of did. So they fucked off and made their own worlds out of themselves while retaining all their power. The 13 most powerful became the Daedric Princes, and all together the spirits that did not participate in Lorkhan’s plan became known as the Daedra (An old word meaning “Not Our Ancestors, singular form Daedroth (not to be confused with the crocodile like Daedra)). Meanwhile, all the other spirits thought this totally sounded cool, especially the one who would become Kynareth/Kyne (note that many creation myths have her heavily associated with Lorkhan and/or his equivalent figures, like Shor). One of these Et’Ada, a mighty spirit of mostly Anui-El named Magnus, was of course chosen to be the Architect and planner, for he understood the concept of order and planning better than anyone save maybe Auri-El/Auriel/Akatosh, who was basically Anui-El’s equivalent to Lorkhan. And eventually, after many not-months and a whole lot of untime later, Magnus was like “It’s done, let’s put this bad boy together!”, and Lorkhan was like “It’s Just According To Keikaku”, and unfortunately he said this right as the spirits were in the middle of making Lorkhan’s Cool Thing and realized it was kiiiiind of killing them to do. Also unfortunately for Lorkhan, they all knew Keikaku means plan. So Magnus and his closest followers/diciples/apprentices were like “fuck this!” And tore holes into reality to escape to Aetherius, which is what surrounds the bubble of reality Lorkhan’s Cool Thing exists in. However, Lorkhan immediately said “It’s Just According to Keikaku” again because by doing that, Lorkhan’s Cool Thing was exposed to Magicka, and also that made the stars (with Magnus’s exit becoming The Sun).

Never let it be said Lorkhan didn’t know how plans worked.

After that the remaining gods decided to Convene upon Lorkan’s Cool Thing to decide on how to punish him for saying the old memes and also for nearly killing them. This meeting (called Convention) was held upon what would become Adamantine Tower, aka Ada-Mantia. Eventually, it was decided that Lorkhan was to be executed for being a massive tool who tricked the Et’Ada into sacrificing themselves for Lorkhan’s Cool Thing. They also decided to rename Lorkhan’s Cool Thing to Nirn as they realized that Lorkhan’s creation had sort of recreated Nir as she was before Padomay killed her (I forgot to mention his killing Nir kind of maimed the fuck out of her too) without really bringing her to life again. So eventually it was decided that Lorkhan was to be executed, but that didn’t work out as well since everything they tried to do to him just didn’t work. So Lorkhan once again said “It’s Just According To Keikaku” and Auri-El was like “Anu and Padomay dude what do you even mean by that?!”, to which Lorkhan explained:

“My Heart is the Heart of the World, for one was made to satisfy the other!” (By the way I’m 90% certain he actually said something like this.)

So hearing this, both Auri-El and a spirit named Trinimac proclaimed “If your heart is so satisfied by the world, then the world can have it!” (Not really, But it builds up to what they really did). Then, Trinimac tore Lorkhan in half and pulled the heart out before Lorkhan could be not torn in half, then gave it to Auri-El who fastened it upon an arrow and fired it from his bow.

You may know this bow, it takes a form mortals can use sometimes. Which bow? Think of Auri-El’s other names.

Anyways, as the heart was flying over what would become Tamriel, it’s blood flew all over the damn place. Most of the blood would become the metal Ebony, which is why it’s so powerful a metal as it’s essentially dried god’s blood. Other places, such as... oh, let’s throw out the middle of Cyrodiil for no reason, the blood would crystalize. Oh, and I lied because I threw out Cyrodiil for a reason and that reason is one crystalized blood lump would become the Chim-El-Adabal, and later the Amulet of Kings, a very important necklace.

Meanwhile, the other gods used Lorkhan’s halves to make the Moons, because what else would you do with dead god corpse parts?

Eventually, the Heart of Lorkhan would hit the ocean, where it would give rise to a massive volcano island people would later call Morrowind, and from this volcano Lorkhan’s heart would give one last “It’s Just According To Keikaku”, for this too was planned. For you see, by doing this Lorkhan subconsiously introduced the concept of a straight line to Auri-El, the spirit of time. And by doing that, it forced Time to go from one point to the other instead of doing what it wanted. The first two Towers were made, and Nirn was at last out of Beta and in Release Phase. Bugfixes and stability patches (more Towers) to follow later.

Realizing they could not live forever with their divinity drained into Nirn, the Et’Ada (now renamed Aedra, meaning “Our Ancestors”) began to have descendants, the Ehlnofey (Earthbones, aka Demi-Gods). These Ehlnofey were the creators of the laws of physics, so to speak, known as Truths. Some created gravity, others said “hey maybe all this magicka floating around should be usable” and invented magic, and so on and so forth. These became known as The Earthbones. That said, many Ehlnofey simply had children, what would become Mer (elves) and Men. Argonians, meanwhile, came about because a chunk of one of those old worlds Nir created landed on Nirn in the form of the Hist. And the Khajiit... uh... I have no clue actually, I’ll get back to you on that one. Something involving the moons I know that much.

Towers, the Tacks of Reality

So, I’m sure you’re wondering, since I’ve mentioned the concept at least twice now, “hasmashdoneanythingwrong.com, What are The Towers in the metaphysical sense?”, To which I say… This is actually a very interesting concept. It’s best explained with The Map Metaphor. Imagine, if you will, Mundus (the pocket of reality Nirn resides in within the Aurbis) as a corkboard. Now, lay a map of Tamriel/Nirn over the corkboard. And now, take several pins and/or tacks and place them in areas roughly akin to the following areas:

High Rock’s Adamantine Tower

Morrowind’s Red Mountain/Red Tower

Summerset Isle’s Crystal Tower/Crystal-Like-Law

Cyrodiil’s White-Gold Tower/Imperial Palace

Yokuda’s Orchalc Tower (just imagine it somewhere in the ocean. You may notice a problem here, we’ll get to that soon...ish.)

The Dwemer’s Numidium/Walk-Brass/Brass Tower (pin this one pretty much anywhere on the Daggerfall region, basically somewhere in High Rock or Hammerfell). This one’s weird because it’s techincally in the future but active now. For best bets represent it with a tack made of transparent plastic.

Valenwood’s Green-Sap

Skyrim’s Snow-Throat/Throat of the World

Keep a few other pins on hand in case Bethesda reveals a tower in either Akavir, Pyandonea, or (unlikely but possible) Thras.

So, now you imagine the map, right? These pins, The Towers, hold Mundus/Nirn together and keep them from sinking into Oblivion.

So of course here’s where it all goes to fuck. Do the following:

Remove Red Mountain, Crystal Tower, White-Gold Tower, and Orichalc Tower.

Pull Snow-Throat half way out (while not deactivated it is “damaged” somehow.)

Not a whole lot of pins left, eh? But, one good piece of news: there is one more force holding Nirn/Mundus out of Oblivion.

Do the following:

Put a metric fuckton of gold tacks around the edge of the map, and imagine them being set up to automatically pull the Tower Pins out if they all get pulled out.

What tower is that? None! It is instead Talos, who is secretly holding the world together. Horrifyingly, this means killing the dude in Whiterun that preaches about Talos is bad, as Talos needs worshippers to maintain his power. Which means the Thalmor will unmake reality if they completely remove Talos Worship.

Don’t worry, they know and are banking on that happening. Why do you think that one Thalmor in the College of Winterhold questline was so excited about “the power to unmake the world at [his] fingertips”?

Wait, no. Do worry.

And somewhere, Akatosh is complaining about his neck and his back.

Time is a funny thing on Nirn. Turns out, making Time be based on making a single god know what a straight line is is very... unstable. Unstable enough that it’s possible to Break it. Yes, capital B. A Dragon Break is what they’re called. When a Dragon Break occurs, Time goes back to what it once was and becomes... fucky. Children birth their fathers, mothers divorce men they never met until five years from a prior divorce they never had, and dogs and cats decide now’s a good time to be friends. Fun! So when this happens, the Jills come out to Shout at Time until it bitches down and stops being broken, like a hoard of shitty therapists. If you’re wondering what a Jill is, basically it’s a female Dragon. Well, female by mortal standards. See, dragons’ genders are based on whether they want to fix thing or break things, and I am completely serious on that. So far, the most famous two Dragom Breaks occured:

When the Maruhkati Selectives, a rabidly Anti-Elf cult sect of an already pretty Anti-Elf group known as the Alessian Order, attempted to purge Auri-El from Akatosh because Auri-El was the aspect elves worshiped. As you can imagine, that went horribly.

The endings of Daggerfall, where at parallel points in different timelines several factions attempted to use Numidium all at once. The end result was the Warp In The West, Mannimarco becoming a God of Necromancy, Orcs getting rights, and the Illac Bay not being a massive clusterfuck (mostly). Numidium tends to do that, being the Dwemer’s walking middle finger to reality.

More Fun Facts about stuff available upon request, But for now I need to stop or I’ll make this too long for anyone.

#not fate #tes lore #long post

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cinaja · 4 years

Text

Before the Wall part 27

Summary: Five hundred years before Feyre Archeron is born, the world is much different from the one she lives in. Humans are slaves, seen as little more than animals by the Fae who rule. But things are beginning to change. Talks of rebellion is spreading and on the Continent, some Fae territories begin to consider the potential gain of War. All it takes is one spark and everything will explode.

Masterlist

Warning: Another pretty dark chapter. Again, mentions of torture, but I think it's still not worse than some of the stuff in canon.

----

Jurian grips the wine goblet and the glass to tightly that his knuckles turn white. His heart is racing. He keeps waiting for Ravenia or one of her officials to look at him and recognize him from the meeting. One look, that`s all it would take to get him killed.

He follows the Fae down a long flight of stairs. Down and down they walk, until Jurian is sure that they must be far beneath the earth. The air feels thick, like the tons of stone over them press any oxygen out of the tunnels. There are few guards, but they will be more than enough to kill Jurian should he be discovered. Especially because he doesn`t have a weapon. And he has no idea where Miryam has vanished off to.

Don`t get separated. It was one of the main rules for this mission, but he has failed already. Shit, shit, shit. One of the slaves, a young boy carrying a chair that is bigger than him, gives him a small smile. It`s likely meant to be reassuring and Jurian forces himself to smile back at him.

Finally, they reach the lowest level of the dungeons. There are only two guards posted in front of the door, and both seem to snap to attention only when they notice their queen approaching. Jurian supposes it`s just another proof of how secure Ravenia feels in her power. He can`t wait to wipe that smugness off her face.

Jurian is last to enter the cell and he has to stand up on his toes a bit to see. It is all he can do not to gasp.

Drakon is shackled to the ceiling in the middle of the room by the wrists. He appears to be barely conscious; his wings hang limply to the ground behind him. The white feathers are splattered in blood and there are burns and cuts all over his body.

Jurian can barely breathe past the anger that surges through him at the sight. He only distantly notices the young boy setting down the chair for Ravenia to sit down into. The boy quickly takes the goblet of wine out of Jurian`s hand and goes to stand next to the queen, but he can still only stare at his friend.

“So, my love”, Ravenia says, snapping Jurian back into reality, “Does my offer already begin to sound more appealing?”

Drakon lifts his head. He looks like he barely has the strength to do so. “No”, he says, “And I doubt…” He coughs. “I doubt torturing me some more is going to change my mind.”

“We`ll see.”

Ravenia motions for the human girl, who quickly holds out a plate with a variation of snacks out to her. Ravenia picks up a date, she rolls it between her fingers once, then takes a bite.

“You know”, she says and takes another bite, “this doesn`t need to happen. It`s your choice.”

Jurian is going to be sick.

Ravenia lets the human boy pour her some wine and takes a sip. Slowly, deliberately, she picks another bit of food from her plate.

“You must be hungry. Would you like something as well?”, she asks.

Drakon doesn`t reply. Ravenia sighs and turns to a masked male in the corner who Jurian only notices now. “I told you to keep him conscious.”

The male steps forward and gives Drakon a hard shove. “Answer her.”

Jurian decides that no matter what happens, no matter how this mission goes, this male won`t survive the night. That, he`ll make sure of.

“You`re already torturing me”, Drakon says.

He lifts his head to face Ravenia, but as he does, his gaze meets Jurian`s. His eyes widen in surprise. Jurian doesn`t dare to breath. Look away, he begs silently, hoping that Drakon is aware enough to understand the situation, Don`t say anything. Please.

Slowly, Drakon turns away from Jurian to Ravenia. “The least you could do”, he continues, “would be to leave me alone while you do.”

“Oh, I will. But until then, I thought I`d give you a while to consider your options.”

So for the next couple of minutes, they simply wait. Ravenia finishes her dinner like the stench of blood in the air doesn`t bother her one bit. Jurian stands around, stares at Drakon and grows more furious with each passing second. By the time Ravenia finally stands up, he is about one heartbeat away from taking one of the bloody knives from the table in the corner and attacking the queen, consequences be damned.

“As you wish”, she says. Jurian could have sworn there is a hint of annoyance in her cool voice. “Then we continue.” She jerks her head towards the slave boy. “You”, she orders, “Stay here. Report if His Highness changes his mind.” She turns around and makes for the door. In the doorway, she pauses and jerks her chin at Jurian. “And you. Clean the blood up. This is disgusting.”

Jurian has to bite back a smile. It couldn`t have gone better. This is the perfect excuse to remain here.

The masked male waits until the steps of the queen and her entourage have faded in the distance. Then, he slowly turns around to his worktable. He runs his fingers over the knife, but then picks a bit of iron. The tip is glowing orange.

Jurian moves before he has time consider that he probably should not act before Miryam gets here. He dashes for the worktable and grabs one of the knives. The masked male turns around, but before he can do anything, Jurian runs the blade through his chest, pressing his free hand to the male`s mouth to stop his scream.

“This”, he hisses as the light leaves the Fae`s eyes, “is far too quick an end for someone like you.”

Jurian shoves the body off him and rushes over to Drakon. His friend is hanging limply in his shackles. There are so many injuries covering his body that Jurian doesn`t dare touch him for fear of making it worse.

“Hey”, he whispers. “Are you alive?”

“Yeah”, Drakon replies. His voice sounds hoarse. “Pretty sure I`m hallucinating, though. No way you`re here.”

“Of course I`m here. You didn`t really think we`d leave you to die, did you? We just have to wait around for Miryam, and then we`ll all leave this horrible place and get you to a healer.” Jurian glances towards the door, but there`s no sign of Miryam. Fortunately no sign of the guards, either.

“Miryam is… here too?”

“Sure.” Jurian tries hard not to stare at Drakon`s injuries. His chest feels impossible tight. “Just… let me get these shackles off, then everything will be better.”

Drakon doesn`t reply. Jurian isn`t even sure if he understood the question. He seems barely conscious.

But from behind him, a small voice says, “The shackles are sealed with magic. You can`t open them.”

Jurian spins around to come face to face with the little slave boy from earlier. He curses, then presses a hand to his mouth. He`d completely forgotten about the boy, but there he is, standing with his back pressed tightly against the wall like he hopes he`ll vanish into the stone. Jurian swallows and tries to look as unthreatening as possible.

“You aren`t a slave, are you?”, the boy asks, eyes fixed on Jurian. “You`re just here to free him.” Jurian nods, and he asks, “Why?”

“Because he`s my friend.”

The boy narrows his eyes at him, like he can`t imagine that what Jurian is telling him is the truth. But before he can say anything, the door to the dungeons opens a bit. Jurian has his knife lifted again in a heartbeat, but it`s just Miryam who slips into the cell. She presses a finger to her lips and quietly closes the door behind her. Then, she takes a quick step towards Jurian. She looks like she might hug him but stops herself.

“Thank the Cauldron”, she says hoarsely, “When Ravenia left without you, I thought…” She shakes her head softly, then turns to Drakon. Her eyes widen slightly, but then, she schools her features back into neutrality. “Hey”, she says softly.

“Nice to see you”, Drakon replies.

Miryam looks like she wants to say something – comforting words, something like that – but she seems to come up empty. “Can you winnow?”, she finally asks.

“And before you say anything”, Jurian says with forced lightness, “I should probably tell you that the only acceptable answer is yes. Because if it`s not, then we`re done for.”

“Not sure”, Drakon says and grits his teeth, “I`ll try.”

Jurian supposes that`s the best they could have hoped for.

----

Miryam is just about to begin to unlock Drakon`s shackles when she notices the boy. He stands pressed against the wall and stares down at the ground like he`s very used to becoming invisible. It takes her only a moment to recover from her surprise. Then, she smiles at him and crouches down before him.

“Hello”, she says, careful to keep her tone friendly, “I`m Miryam. And you?”

“Ti.” He looks between them with wide eyes. His face is far too thin and there`s a long scar running over the side of his head. “You’re from the human-faerie Alliance, aren`t you?” When Miryam nods, a smile begins to spread over his face. “So, you`re going to save us?”

The words seem to split her heart in two. She was supposed to help them.

“I…” Her voice breaks. How is she supposed to explain that she is here, but she won`t be able to save her people? She lowers her head in shame.

“That`s what we`re fighting for”, Jurian answers for her.

“I knew it!”, Ti yelps, “The others think it`s just a rumour, and the Fae try to keep the truth from us, but I always knew that people out there were fighting for us.”

Jurian nods. “Listen, we are in a bit of a hurry. We need to get out of here before we can But we can take you with us.”

“No”, Ti says, “I have to stay here. If I`m gone, who will tell the others?”

Miryam shakes her head wildly. She may not be able to do anything for the other humans in this palace, but this boy, she can save. “If you stay here, you will die. Believe me, I know first-hand what Ravenia does to her slaves, and –“

“You`re her!”, the boy cuts her off.

Miryam blinks at him. “What?”

Behind her, Jurian clears his throat and inclines his head towards the door. Miryam nods. They need to hurry; someone could walk in here any moment. But she needs to solve this first.

“You`re the one who escaped”, Ti says, “I heard about you – that you were a slave like me, and that you managed to run.”

Miryam doesn`t allow herself to contemplate how it is that she became a legend even children hear about. Instead, she says, “And you could run, too. You could be free.”

Again, Ti shakes his head. He looks so painfully young, yet there is determination in his eyes. “I have to tell the others. They have to know that someone is coming for them.” He smiles softly. “Besides, I have family here – I couldn`t just leave them behind.”

Miryam`s throat is so tight that she can`t speak. Jurian steps up next to her and puts a hand on her shoulder.

“You realize”, he says, “that it will most likely take us years to win this war. You may well be dead by the time we do.”

Ti lifts his chin. “I know. But even if they kill me, I`ll be able to give the others something that`s not so easy to kill.” He looks at Miryam then. “Hope.”

She squeezes her eyes shut. She wants to scream. She wants to cry. She wants to take the boy and save him even against his wishes. Instead, she opens her eyes again and says, “Then go back to Ravenia and tell her that Drakon changed his mind. If you leave now, she might not suspect that you helped us. She might let you live.”

Ti nods. Without giving her the chance to change her mind, he`s on his feet and out the door. Jurian squeezes her shoulder.

“He might make it”, he says.

Miryam wishes she could believe him. But she knows better. “No”, she says softly, “He won`t.” She turns around to Drakon. “Let`s get out of here.”

----

Drakon tries hard to focus on what`s going on around him, but his damned mind just won`t cooperate. He can`t seem to keep his attention on anything for more than a few heartbeats before his mind starts drifting again.

“I`m going to unshackle you now”, Miryam tells him.

Drakon nods. His head hurts. Everything hurts.

He must have zoned out again, because the next thing he notices is that the shackles on his wrists are suddenly gone. He tries to stand, but his legs won`t hold his weight and he nearly drops to the ground. Someone catches him by the shoulders before he can fall, but that just makes the pain worse. He groans, black dots dance before his eyes.

“Sorry”, Miryam says and carefully lowers him to the ground. “We`re almost out of here. I just need to disable the wards and when we`re back in our camp, I can look at your injuries. Give you something for the pain.”

“It`s not so bad”, Drakon says, which would probably have been more convincing if he had managed to keep from groaning in pain. He has no idea how he`s supposed to winnow like this, but he`ll have to find away. Even in his current state, he knows that there`s no way he`s letting his friends die in an attempt to save his life.

He manages to move to slide backwards a bit, until he is leaning with his back to the wall. Miryam and Jurian are talking about something – Drakon manages to focus long enough to understand that Jurian is complaining about how Miryam still hasn`t taught him how to use simple spells. They fall silent soon enough, though. Drakon closes his eyes and tries to ignore the pain. He is so tired.

“We have a problem”, Miryam finally says, startling Drakon awake. Her voice sounds tense.

“What is it?”, Jurian asks.

A pause. Then: “I can`t get through the wards.”

“What?”

Miryam shakes her head. Her face is blank in a way that usually means trouble. “I can`t figure it out. I tried, but I just can`t get behind the principle of how they work and I`m not strong enough to force my way through.” She runs a hand through her hair. “I`m sorry.”

Drakon curses softly. Jurian does too, but louder and far more creative.

“So we`re done for”, he says.

Drakon misses the first half of Miryam`s reply, but he manages to tune in again in time to hear her say, “- should be able to break the wards there.”

“We`d have to get out of the dungeons first”, Jurian says, “And since I doubt we`ll be able to pass Drakon off as a slave, we`ll likely have to fight.”

“It`s either that or die here”, Miryam says.

“Why are our options always so shitty?”, Jurian asks, sounding exhausted. “Fine. I`ll take care of the guards.”

Miryam follows him to the door. From where he is sitting on the ground, Drakon can`t see what Jurian does outside, but he hears the thud of a body hitting the ground. When Jurian slips back into the cell, there is fresh blood on his hands.

Drakon winces. “I`m not very helpful. Sorry.”

“Well, you just got tortured”, Jurian says, “so you`re officially excused from having to be helpful for the moment.”

Then suddenly, Miryam is kneeling in front of Drakon. “I`ll help you up now. Fair warning, it might hurt.”

“It already hurts”, he points out.

Miryam carefully loops her arms through under his shoulders and pulls him to his feet. She obviously tries to be careful, but he still has to grit his teeth to keep from screaming. She takes him by one arm, Jurian by the other, and they slowly make for the door.

The walk is a daze of pain. He keeps stumbling over his own feet, his legs won`t support his weight and without Miryam and Jurian, he would have fallen. With each step, he tells himself that this one is the last – unfortunately, it never is.

Step. After. Step. Drakon didn`t remember that the stairs were this long.

Miryam stops walking so abruptly that Drakon stumbles into her. To his other side, Jurian reaches for his knife.

A male is standing in front of them, blocking the path out of the dungeons. There are no weapons visible on him, but the smug smile on his face seems to say that he won`t need them. Drakon doesn`t know him, but he recognizes his light grey robes, and the symbol – a script roll and a feather – stitched on it in dark wool. The symbol of the Guild. Which makes the male –

“Artax”, Miryam whispers.

----

At the sight of Artax, Miryam`s body completely locks up. She wants to shrink back, wants to disappear. Looking at him, she is thirteen years old again, watching helplessly as he cast the spell that killed her mother. Helpless to stop what happened afterwards, too.

“I thought I noticed a little mouse gnawing at my wards.”

Smile on his face, Artax steps forward. Miryam flinches back, knocking into Drakon who hisses in pain.

“What an interesting little group”, the witcher says, “And what a cute escape attempt. But I`m afraid that`s the end of your game.”

“Miryam”, Jurian whispers. She whirls around to him. “What do we do?”

Artax laughs. “Your faith is admirable, commander, but your witch-friend won`t be able to help you now.”

This is probably where Miryam should come up with some defiant answer, but there is nothing she can say. She has faced members of the Guild before and walked away, but Artax is the High Witcher of the Guild, and this is his castle. The odds are impossible. There`s only one choice left to make. Miryam reaches for the little pill hidden in her clothes.

“I`d suggest you surrender now”, Artax says.

Her fingers close around the poison. A quick death is the best she can hope for now.

“Miryam”, Jurian hisses again.

She hesitates. She brought them here. It was her plan, her failure with the wards. The poison would be the easy way. The coward`s way out. But there may be another path yet. She lets go of the pill and lifts her hands.

“Don`t be stupid”, Artax warns, “You cannot win this.”

She wonders if he even remembers her. Probably not. To him, she must have been just another slave girl back then. One of thousands.

“No”, she says, “I cannot survive this. There`s a difference.”

Because the thing about witches is that their limits aren`t as much about power as they are about survivability. And Miryam is pretty sure that if she goes over her limits, she`ll be able to channel enough power to force her way out through the wards. She`ll die in the process, but the Jurian and Drakon will survive. It`s a fair trade.

“You don`t want to do this”, Artax warns, but there is something new in his tone. Something that almost sounds like worry.

Miryam takes a deep breath. Above her, the wards glow. Half a thought has her power rising to the surface.

“As soon as the wards are down”, she says to Drakon, “you winnow.”

Both Jurian and Drakon start to reply, but Miryam doesn`t listen. Her power is still rising. Until now, she never let it take control, carefully avoided so much as coming close to her limits. She mentally pulls at the strings that bar people from winnowing out of the dungeons with all the force she can muster. It`s a graceless attempt, but grace is for people who still have reason to be careful.

Her power surges. The familiar feeling of being caught in a strong current returns. But for the first time in her life, Miryam doesn`t fight against it.

The magic sweeps her straight off her feet. She gasps, but no air gets into her lungs. She`s only half in her body anymore. It is a struggle to remain focused on what`s about to happen.

Artax curses. The strings around him start to tremble. Power radiates off him in a soft glow, the strings move apart like they want to make space for what`s about to come.

Miryam braces herself. She whispers a few words under her breath and the strings move to follow her command. Distantly, she notices a headache forming behind her temples, but it doesn`t matter.

Artax strikes. The wave of power he sends shooting for her is strong enough to make the ground tremble. Miryam doesn`t even try to block it. Instead, she lets it hit – and as it does, she channels Artax`s power, lets it join her own. And sends it shooting for the wards.

She can`t think in the wake of the power that`s rushing through her body. Her blood is on fire, she`s burning up from within. Above, the strings that form the wards glow brighter and brighter, then burst apart. Miryam is only distantly aware that she`s being thrown through the air.

Then, the world explodes into white light.

----

The first thing Jurian notices is that his head is pounding. It feels like someone split it apart with an axe. Slowly, painfully, he manages to open his eyes and blinks up at the night sky above him.

Cauldron, his head. He carefully touches it and his hand comes away wet with blood.

Slowly, he tries to sit up, but his arms won`t support his weight. He lets himself sink back into the sand. Sand. Desert. Open sky. He blinks and tries hard to sort through the haze in his mind.

The way out of the dungeons. Magic sizzling through the air like lightning. The feeling of being thrown through the air and –

“Miryam?”, he asks.

For a few frantic heartbeats, there is only silence. Then, someone groans softly next to him.

“Miryam?” His voice is high with barely concealed panic.

There is a dark shape lying next to him in the ground. Jurian crawls over to her and carefully puts a hand on her shoulder. Her skin is far too hot under his fingers. Gently, he shakes her.

She groans again and rolls on her back. Without opening her eyes, she mutters, “I`m still alive?”

“Yes”, Jurian whispers. There are tears running down his face, but he doesn`t bother to wipe them away.

“I thought I`d be dead”, she mutters, “Why am I not dead?”

Jurian is about to reply, but Miryam`s body suddenly jerks in his grip. She twists aside and retches into the sand.

“Are you injured?”, Jurian asks, scanning her from head to toe as well as it is possible in the darkness.

“My body”, she grits out, “is on fire.” She lets herself sink back into the ground. “Drakon?”, she asks.

“Here”, comes a muffled reply from their left.

Jurian looks around. In the darkness, he can`t see further than a few feet – he can make out Drakon`s shape, but that`s about as far as he can see. Still, he is almost sure that they are stuck in the middle of a desert, well away from any civilization. Not good. Both Miryam and Drakon desperately need a healer. If he`s honest, he does, too, but he seems to have gotten off lightly compared to the others.

“Where are we?”, he asks.

“Desert”, Drakon replies. He manages to sit up and face Jurian.

“Oh, really? Could you be more precise?”

“No. It`s a minor miracle I managed to winnow us at all, but where we ended up… no idea.”

“Okay.” Jurian stares up at the sky, but he isn`t good enough at reading the stars to be able to tell where they are. Next to him, Miryam throws up again and Jurian hastily holds back her hair for her. He tries hard to ignore the worry gnawing at his stomach. “No problem. We`ll just winnow again.”

“I can`t.” Drakon`s voice is tight with pain. “I barely managed the first time.”

“Try.” Jurian feels horribly unkind saying it, but what choice does he have? They need to get to a healer. “What`s the worst that could happen?”

“We could die”, Drakon says, “Multiple ways. Horribly.”

Jurian sighs. Just once, couldn`t the worst possible option be something like a sprained ankle? Miryam leans against him and he gently rubs her back.

“But if we don`t try, we`re stuck here”, he concludes.

“Fine”, Drakon says, “I`ll try. Let me just rest for a bit.”

With that, he lets himself sink back into the sand. Jurian is content to let him get his break, but Miryam shakes her head.

“No.” She tries to push herself up off the ground and Jurian hastily reaches out to steady her. “We need to try now.”

“But I can`t”, Drakon says. “It hurts and I`m tired and I need a break.” He sounds like he`s about to cry.

“I know”, Miryam says softly, “I know and I`m sorry. But rest won`t help. It won`t hurt any less, but in a bit, we`ll all be hungry and thirsty and cold. And things will only get worse once the sun goes up.” She manages to get into a kneeling position. “We need to get out of here now, or we`ll all die.”

Drakon is silent for so long that Jurian is half-convinces that he isn`t going to reply anymore when he says, “I`ll try.”

Jurian has to help Miryam crawl the few steps over to Drakon. They both take him by the arm. And then, they wait.

Nothing happens.

After minutes of sitting around like this, Drakon shakes his head. “I`m sorry”, he whispers, “I just can`t… I need to focus on where I want to go, but I can`t concentrate enough. It hurts too much.” His shoulders shake like he`s trying to keep his sobs in.

“It`s okay”, Miryam says, “Just… try to think about something else. Something good.”

Jurian jumps onto her thought. “You were telling us about that big holiday you have coming up in Erithia. What was it again?”

“The Feast of the Mother”, Drakon says, “celebrates her creating the world.”

Jurian nods. “Tell us about it.”

So for the next few minutes, they listen to Drakon as he tells them about the Erithian traditions for their holiday. As he talks, he seems to calm down a bit.

Finally, Jurian deems it save to return to their original subject. “Remember that camp in Kerié?”, he asks. “We were there for another one of your Fae holidays a year ago.” And it happens to be rather close to the Black Land.

“They had that huge birch in the middle of the camp”, Miryam adds, “Everyone was dancing around it.”

“Yes”, Drakon says, “Yes, that might work.” He pauses. “I`ll try.”

Jurian takes him by the arm again. Nothing happens.

“Come on”, Drakon whispers, “Please.”

They fall into darkness. It is rockier than usual. Darkness presses against Jurian from all sides. Soon, his lungs are burning, but he keeps holding on to Drakon`s arm.

They tumble back into the world gracelessly. None of them can stand, so they all end up in a tangle of limbs on the ground. Jurian is the first to recover.

“We made it”, he says, still a little dazed.

“Yes.” Drakon sounds like he doesn`t quite believe it. He doesn`t even try to get up – maybe he can`t. Jurian wants to tell him that it will all be fine, that they`ll get him a healer in a moment, but his mouth won`t form the words.

“We`re still alive.” Miryam shakes her head.

And suddenly, she is laughing. Laughing and laughing like she can`t stop. Jurian wraps his arms around her and holds her close.

“It`s okay”, he whispers as her laughter turns to sobbing, “We made it, we`re safe.”

She keeps crying. In the distance, shouts ring out. People are moving between the trees, demanding who they are, what they are doing here.

“We`re from the Alliance”, Jurian shouts back at them, “And I think we need a healer over here.”

----

A/N: The next chapter will hopefully be up by Saturday!

@sjm-things @clolikescloquetas

#miryam #jurian #drakon #before the wall

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resetmypatientviolence · 5 years

Text

Labor & Delivery [TRH LI Headcanons]

Pairing: Liam x MC, Drake x MC, Hana x MC, Maxwell x MC

Word Count: 3,787

Rating: PG

Warnings: Language

Description: A glance into some head canons of TRH LI’s during labor and delivery for their bundle of joy.

Author Note: Fluff! All fluff! Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy a look into all four LI’s during labor and delivery. Ko-Fi: https://ko-fi.com/drakewalkerwhipped Masterlist is found on my blog bio.

You should have known it would happen like this: water breaking in the middle of a ball. This child has already given you a run for your money, after all. The cramps throughout the day were nothing of concern, just something you could brush off while getting ready, your one and only watching you move around with equal bits worry and excitement.

Earlier, you laughed and twirled in your gown—one that finally didn’t feel too tight and uncomfortable. You were in a great mood, really, ready for the evening to unfold. “We have a week to go!” You said in your bedroom, gliding over to your expectant partner. “Stop being such a worrywart—let’s enjoy our last ball as a couple, and not parents, shall we?”

And of course, they swept you up into a kiss, their hands sliding along the very slightly cramping round of your stomach, and said, “As you wish.”

But they were right to be worried, for now you’re in the middle of the ballroom with a ruined dress because somebody couldn’t wait.

Well, you think, locking eyes with the only other person in the world who matters right now, it’s now or never, isn’t it?

Liam

Immediately, upon the realization that this child was coming, Liam calls upon the guards and holds your hand while you laugh at the situation. He finds it no laughing matter, however. “Are you in pain, my Queen?” When you give an answer he accepts (that isn’t any variation of no, but he will accept, “It doesn’t hurt much”), you’re whisked off to the hospital surrounded by a horde of guards. On your way there, you tighten your grip on Liam’s hand when the contractions make their appearance. Liam gives you a tight smile and glances at his watch, keeping time.

At first, he’s perfect. How can he not be? Liam packed the hospital bag a month ago. He had the birth plan memorized forwards and backwards. All you need to do was play on your phone, groan when the contractions strike, and sneak food from Liam’s snack stash while he handles the handpicked team of nurses, doctors, hospital staff, and constant media requests for an update on the baby. It’s bliss. Your labor couldn’t be more… relaxing, if that’s a thing.

Liam paces an inhumane amount while you wait, labor taking its sweet time. It’s cute to watch how scrunched up his face gets when he’s worried about something. You smile for the first few hours about that.

When you take laps around the hospital halls to urge this little royal heir along, Liam holds your hand when he doesn’t have a hand on your lower back, helping you waddle. “Are you hanging in there, love?” You throw your head back and laugh. “I’m hanging is as much as this stubborn baby is, dear. You worry too much. Be excited!” He kisses your temple, creases disappearing from his forehead for the meanwhile.

He refuses to leave. Even if your legs are up in the air for all to see as the doctors make sure things are progressing as they should be. You’ve had more flattering angles and days. “Liam, you can nap, go to the palace for a few hours, they said--” But he shakes his head and kisses your forehead. You wince at the cool metal against you. “I’m not leaving your side. I’m not missing a minute of this.” And you smile, kissing him back. “You’re lucky you’re so sweet.”

Liam’s never been one to nap. A king doesn’t have time to nap, he reasons. And there’s no exception here, jolting awake every minute or so while sitting next to you, waiting. Hell, even when you manage some sleep, he’s there by your side, eyes darting between the monitor, belly, and face, the creases back.

Once active labor (finally) kicks in... you’ve only seen Liam rare form like this a few times. This is one of those times. Gone is his kingly composure and before you— or behind you, rubbing your back as you moan in pain— is Liam, stripped of everything except for himself. His hands are a comfort when you beg for a massage, fingers gently feeding your ice chips, replacing the washcloth on your forehead or rubbing the cool cloth on your face and neck and chest as the pain is all you feel.

Why did you agree to a natural birth? It sounded so nice on paper. The doctors can’t talk sense into you while you demand for an epidural, but somehow, Liam does. You look into his eyes as he says. “Love, it’s too late. Our baby will be here any minute—all you need to do is push. Push a little bit and it’ll be over, I promise.” His words soothe and you calm, gripping the bedside bars with a renewed energy to get this out.

Liam’s perfect. Almost… too perfect. So perfect in fact, you’re annoyed. You shouldn’t be annoyed. He’s just telling you everything the birthing classes discussed, holds your hand (even when you’re sure you’re going to break it), but dear god, if you hear, “Count with me, breathe,” “Push down and they’ll be here,” “You’re almost there,” (When you’re decidedly… not almost there), you’ll lose it. He’s done nothing wrong but yet—“Liam, I love you, but I need you to be quiet until this baby is born otherwise I’m going to step down as Queen.” You don’t mean it, of course, and he raises an eyebrow but holds out an ice chip. You take it, grumbling thanks.

Liam didn’t plan to leave your side while you push, but when the doctor asks if he wants to help deliver his child, well, there’s no doubt what Liam does next as you give the final pushes. Sleeves rolled up, you meet your husbands’ eyes and he smiles, looking more sure than ever, as if he was always ready for this. But of course he was, you think, then give one final yell and push.

And despite the beautiful cry that bursts forth, you’ll ever—ever—forget the look on Liam’s face: a joy like no other, and one that can never be seen again.

Drake

You’ve never seen Drake turn that pale. And you should have expected that he’d drop his glass of whiskey and rush over to you, other nobles grumbles about the whiskey staining their clothing. “It’s time? Is it really time?” He says, breathless, taking your hands. You smile and nod, squeezing his hands in time to the contraction. “Mmhmm. Are you ready?” He shakes his head. “Is anybody every ready?” And Drake shoos away the crowd as you leave, well wishes to be had, but none of that matters as you hold tight onto him, ready to venture into the unknown.

“Drake, you can’t tell the media to fuck off and ignore them.” He huffs, handing you his phone. You roll your eyes—this isn’t unexpected. You type out a quick message for Madeleine to send to the press and hand it back. “Though… it would be satisfying,” you add. There’s no denying that.“But we’re literally having the heir to Cordonia… so we can’t have things completely private as we want.” Drake says nothing, but he walks over and rubs your back, eyeing the IV in your hand.

He has an odd habit of peeking out the window. At first it’s cute but then it’s annoying hearing the blinds chatter together. You’re trying to read while waiting for this baby to appear. “Drake…” You groan. He instantly turns to you, blinds making that godawful sound. “Why are you looking out the window like we’re on a spaceship?” His answer is no surprise. “There’s more and more media outside…” “You do realize that we are in a very private wing of the hospital where nobody can access us, correct?” He takes a long while to answer. “…Yes.” You nod, motioning to the blinds. “Good. Because the next time you touch those blinds, I will request that you be thrown out the window. Got it?” Needless to say, he doesn’t look outside again.

Drake turns out to be an amazing ice chip getter. In fact, he knows to get them before you even know you need more. You’re always about to ask for more, but he has a full cup with a smile and a brightness in his eyes that you haven’t seen before.

There’s a period of time while you’re dozing that Drake leaves. You told him to, anyways, because despite the water breaking making a dramatic display for all of Cordonia to see, this child is as stubborn as their father. You expected he’d get some breakfast, maybe a nap, but what you didn’t expect was to wake up to a full bouquet of flowers and a new stuffed animal for whenever this baby arrives. You also didn’t expect to cry so hard.

Good god, his foot rubs are to simply die for. And all you need to do for one is to point your foot and give a little whimper. Score.

His hair is an utter mess as the labor goes on… and gets more intense. You’ve never seen him run his hand through it so many times. He mostly does it when the doctor provides an update, when he paces in boredom, or when you’re in the middle of a contraction. One hand holding yours and urging you to squeeze his and the other in his hair, watching on with concern. It would be funny if you weren’t in so much pain.

There’s a shock when you want to walk around yourself and Drake almost doesn’t let you. However, the glare you give him shuts up his worries and he follows you around like a lost puppy, ready to catch you if you fell. He’s jumpy, too, the squeak of a gurney making him jump and stumble into a nurse’s station. The laughter that follows is what makes you realize— “Shit, it’s actually time.”

“When you said it’s time…” He trails off while you glare daggers, throwing him the finger. The nurses chuckle. “Would you sincerely like to trade places, Walker? I can assure you I’m more than willing.” He glances to the stirrups and the group of doctors and nurses observing you as you wait for the next command to push. “… I’m good. Here,” he says, taking your hand. “You can break my hand if you want to for that. I deserve it for that comment.” Despite the anger, you only smile and squeeze lightly until you push.

If you thought Drake losing all color when your water broke was funny, you didn’t expect to see him literally turn green as you push, bearing down to urge this miracle into existence. Actually, the nurses seem concerned that he’s about to pass out, but he shakes his head and looks again, greener than ever, but eyes shining with tears as you push one final time.

And despite the beautiful cry that bursts forth, you’ll ever—ever—forget the look on Drake’s face: a joy like no other, and one that can never be seen again.

Hana

She’s like an angel, gliding over to you in the middle of a crowded ballroom. She plants a kiss on your nose, a smile breaking out on her face. But… you know she’s nervous. It’s in her eyes. There’s no doubt. But, like throughout all of this pregnancy, Hana is a picture of peace and serenity. It’s a balancing act for you, her calm the perfect offset to the stress of carrying the heir to Cordonia. “Are you ready to do this?” she asks, folding your hands in hers. You nod and offer a shaky smile. Hana touches her forehead to yours, a soft smile on her lips. “Don’t worry… I’m nervous too. But… I think we’re more than ready. Don’t you?” You nod and let her guide you away from the chaos of the ballroom. She’s right, after all. You are.

As planned, the hospital room is a cozy and calm. After you’re hooked up to machines left and right, Hana hums while she sets up twinkle lights. When the doctors don’t need to check anything, she flips off the light and the room goes from cold, stark, and sterile to warm, cozy, and peaceful, Hana’s face shining in the low and familiar light. “This was a perfect idea,” you whisper, looking around like a child on Christmas morning. Hana grins and gently sets a hand on your stomach, looking at it fondly. “I saw it on one of those birthing tips lists.” You smirk, touching her hand. “And how many of those did you read?” “… I stopped counting after fifteen.”

Hana’s more prepared than you for this. No, it’s the truth. It makes sense to you, as you observe the questions she asks your midwife and doula, or the suggestions she offers you to make your labor more comfortable, helping you get into a position… that does actually alleviate the pain. From the moment you started IVF, Hana was preparing. Reading everything, taking notes, and offering any help she could to make morning sickness go away or to ease your back pain. She packed and repacked the hospital bag at least a dozen times, finding something new that offered other suggestions and tips. You’re grateful for it, really. Easiest pregnancy ever with a wife like her.

Hana refuses—utterly refuses—to leave your side. Maxwell turns out to be her errand boy… at least until you’re unable to speak. Then it’s only you, Hana, and the women who are going to help bring this baby into the world.

“I’ve been practicing this,” Hana says, dabbing your forehead with a washcloth. You raise an eyebrow. “And I think it might help this baby come by focusing on your body.” You touch Hana’s warm cheek, smiling slightly. “Hana, I love you, but I don’t think meditation while in labor will make this baby come, nor distract me from the pain.” Hana laughs, touching your hand on her cheek. “I know. But… it’s worth a shot, right? What else do we have to do?” You blink. “You brought cards though…” Turns out, the meditation was helpful. Calming, even through a contraction. But you still preferred playing cards with her over meditation. Something about how ruthlessly she made you draw four even if you’re the one in labor made you grin and forget about your worries.

She knows how far apart your contractions are before the doctors say it. Also, you don’t have to speak as to how you’re doing for you give Hana one look and she knows, relaying everything to whoever needs to know that yes, it hurts, and when will it be over.

She snaps a picture when you’re not looking, standing up and pondering what’s about to happen. Hana comes up and shows you. The past few weeks you’ve refused pictures because… well, look at you… but this moment is somehow beautiful under the low light and cradling your stomach, looking out the window. “You have never been more beautiful to me,” Hana says, chin in your shoulder. Your face gets warm. “Even if I’m a giant beach ball?” She chuckles, bringing her arms around your waist. “The miracle of birth is one of the most beautiful things in life… and the strongest, most visceral thing a human can do.” You can’t help but notice the twinge of sadness there. You grip her hands, nuzzling your cheek against her head. “Therefore, you are the most beautiful thing in the world right now to me…. Oh no! Don’t cry!”

There’s only one time when Hana leaves the room. It’s when—somehow—a rouge paparazzi got into the hospital wing. You could hear her yelling from down the hall. Your doula snickers. “Never let me get on her bad side.” You snort and nod. “You’d never survive.”

Hana gets in the water with you as you moan low, leaning on your arms. You both agreed on a waterbirth, and you have to admit that the water is a relief to sink into as the final parts of labor pick up and delivery is near. She wastes no time shedding her clothes and jumps in in only her underwear to rub your back and to pull your hair back and out of your face. “Hana…” You mumble, almost in a meditative state. “Is the baby here yet?” Her hands feel so, so good on your back. “Soon,” she whispers, chatter picking up around you. “Very, very soon. Just a little bit more and I promise they’ll be here and in our arms.”

The only time Hana breaks her composure is when you’re pushing. She’s out of the water, but she’s right behind you in the tub. You hold her hands as you yell, and she yells alongside you, tears streaming down her cheeks as she—and the midwives and doula and doctor—watch your long awaited child be born and you bring them to your arms and out of the water, Hana’s happy sob in your ear.

And despite the beautiful cry that bursts forth, you’ll ever—ever—forget the look on Hana’s face: a joy like no other, and one that can never be seen again.

Maxwell

There’s only a moment of panic before Maxwell smiles and dances his way over to you. “Alright! I told you dramatic entrances were part of the Beaumont genes! Let’s have a baby!” You’re taken aback by his enthusiasm… and apparently, so are others, everybody staring at him. Maxwell looks around, the wraps his arm around your waist. “Why the long faces? The heir to Cordonia is about to grace the world!” “…They’re not coming now….” “Well, then why stop the party because we’ve got to leave? DJ, play something good!” And you exit to Apple Bottom Jeans, bopping your head.

“Andddddddd smile!” You flash Maxwell a grin and a thumbs up. He looks at the photo and shows you. “Even more beautiful than earlier.” You laugh and lay back in the bed. “I’m not wearing make-up and my hair is a mess.” Maxwell tucks his phone away—for now—and kisses your cheek. “I said what I said. And besides, what’s more beautiful than my wife having a baby?” You arch an eyebrow. “Many things.” “You just aren’t looking hard enough.”

It’s not very comfortable having a handful of people inspect you, but Maxwell’s the perfect distraction. He’s currently doing a magic trick that he just learned and you laugh so hard you sneeze.

“Maxwell… are you… are you livetweeting this?!” The answer is there in your hand: yes. Yes he is. 5 centimeters down, 5 more to go!Maxwell shrugs. “The people want to know. Why have Madeleine give a stuffy statement when we can make birth… fun.” You consider this… and he has a point. “Well… when you put it that way, even I don’t think birth is fun… it makes sense.” And livetweeting is still a go! Stay tuned for my world record ice chip run.

You both agreed that you wanted some footage of the labor for the baby. Though, you didn’t expect Maxwell to walk around and point out everything in the room for them… you do appreciate it, oddly enough, watching him explain everything in detail. Though he has a smile on his face, you know that this is his nervousness rearing its head. It’s endearing, honestly, and when you’re not grimacing in pain when another contraction comes, you watch him with a smile. “And know, even if your Mom yells really awful things at me, we love each other but most importantly, we love you.”

You’re pretty sure Liam, Hana, and probably Drake would be appalled at the state of your hospital bag. Even the doctors look judgey but… whatever. You don’t care. You have mostly everything you need. Maybe Maxwell could have done without the yo-yo… but, to be fair, the baby is making a surprise appearance. “Maxwell… did we agree on a take home outfit?” You ask between increasingly close contractions. “And did we pack it?” “Um…” He walks over to the bag and rifles through it. He doesn’t answer for a minute, then taps his phone and slowly brings it to his ear. “Hey, Bertrand… I need you to do me a big, big favor. I promise the next bash won’t have peacocks this time.”

How many selfies can one man take throwing up an open mouthed smile while you glare in the background in half of them? The limit does not exist, apparently.

Maxwell keeps a smile on your face the entire time—only when he doesn’t, the damn phone up in your face while you start pushing. Oh, and he’s narrating the entire moment for the baby. “And now, your Mom is trying to get you out so we can meet you. As you can see, it’s great—” “Maxwell, I will shove that phone up your—” “Andddddd the next time you see us on the screen, you’ll be in our arms. We love you!” He doesn’t touch it again, but to be fair—he doesn’t have time to.

Maxwell clings to you, his smile slowly fading with each push, eyes wide as can be, watching this process… from your view. He hasn’t dared peek at what’s happening below. You hold tight onto his hands but he doesn’t wince once, only watching with his jaw dropped at your effort. “You’re doing amazing,” he breathes. “Almost there… right? Is she almost…?” The doctor glances up. “Do you want to see for yourself?” He grins and Maxwell pales. “I… I…” “See—see for me,” you huff and nudge him forward. “Please?” Maxwell gulps and squeezes back. “Okay…. I’m about to see my baby be born… totally normal thing to see….” When he gets in place, jaw dropping, you give one final push--

And despite the beautiful cry that bursts forth, you’ll ever—ever—forget the look on Maxwell’s face: a joy like no other, and one that can never be seen again.

That, and the fact that Maxwell faints a second later.

You jolt awake, heart pounding, looking around. Where were you and what—

But then you remember… and your eyes settle on the sight next to you. You smile at the moonlight falling on your sleeping partner with a perfect little bundle in their arms, sound asleep too. You brush a tear away in the quiet, in the peace. Life’s perfect, no matter how long or hard it took to get here. And they’re perfect.

The both of them.

Disclaimer: All characters and rights belong to Pixelberry Studios.

Permatag: @youwontlikewherewewillgo, @mfackenthal, @hhiggs, @ashtonmore, @enmchoices @the-everlasting-dream, @hopefulmoonobject, @krisnicjack, @museofbooks, @ladynonsense, @innerpostmentality, @thatcatlady0716, @lizeboredom, @choicessa, @boneandfur, @tmarie82, @speedyoperarascalparty, @thatspicegirlssong @zigthetwig, @craftytacotrashdream, @blackcoffee85, @akrenich, @trr-fangirl, @client-327, @thewolvesss

#trh #the royal heir #playchoices #choices #Liam x mc #drake x mc #hana x mc #Maxwell x mc #playchoices fic #playchoices fanfic #trh fic #the royal heir fanfic #long post #read more #drakewalkerwhipped fic #the royal heir fic #pregnancy

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nvzblgrrl · 4 years

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Part 1 Heyo man, I'm absolutely ecstatic that you have this whole One Piece Big Fic project in the works. I'm honestly p paranoid about interacting with words, but your works have been something I've continuously enjoyed going back to and rereading over all these years. And while you've grown and your earlier stuff feels cringe, there's a charm that Witt and Witticism and all of your earlier works have that is longlasting. And I, and apparently others, can't help but love.

Part 2 I've probably reread your fics a good thousand times by now. Like seriously I've got a good bunch of the fics you posted on AO3 saved as PDFs for my own personal reading when I feel the urge. Namely Luck of The Draw, Ultimate Symbiote, and a portion of your Chain Adventures. I've been here quietly reading for a long time and I'm gonna make sure to properly give feedback this time. Good luck in your absolutely bonkers endeavor!

Yeah, absolute mood on the ‘cringe’ part. I think the only excuse I can make for the really early stuff is that -

(this is gonna get loooong and reference child abuse + the 2000′s-2010′s meme culture, so pre-emptive apologies)

1. I had a really messed up upbringing. Not as bad as some people’s situations but still on the deeper end of bad by the ‘White American’ standard and still (albeit barely) within the bounds of Funny Sitcom Abuse Antics (at least for mid-2000′s and older stuff) most of the time. Most of it was neglect and social isolation - I pretty much left the property to go to school, church, and to visit relatives because of court-mandated visitation, the last of which probably kept me from going insane, and that was it aside from events where my dad needed an accessory to compliment his public mask - but there were some other shit mixed in that relied on the Trunchbull Rule (it has to sound too weird to be real so nobody believes it/takes it seriously) to happen.

So besides like, the PTSD from that (which has a habit of bleeding into all of my works, which you’ve probably noticed by now, lmao), I had like, zero experience on healthy relationships, social skills (well outside of a few variations on ‘messed up friendships’ and what I picked up from books, movies, and TV), and basic life skills outside of stuff like ‘boil water and follow the box directions’).

2. I got into the internet really late compared to my generation and everyone after. This was mostly because we had literally no semi-reliable internet access until I was about 11-13 and that was either the school internet or the dial-up at home (which of course was time-limited with the time shared with my brother and done on the family computer with observation in effect). Most of that was spent on like flash games or webcomics, many of which I have tried to reread only to find them gouging my soul because god what the hell was happening in 2007 - wait. Yeah.

It got better by the time we hit high school because by then we had our own computers (not scanners though, I had to pass art and passwords over to a friend of mine to get them on the internet for a couple years before we got one at home), a better internet connection, and high levels of parental disengagement as we proved to be disappointments despite our previous ‘potential’ (my dad was hoping for me to become a life-long cash cow for him, IDK what was going on with my brother and his mom), which meant I could spend more time on the internet... which at the time, meant DeviantArt and FF.net (tumblr came way, waaay at the end of my time in high school).

Yes, that’s where I started out. That should explain a good 90% of why the early stuff was Like That.

Also don’t look for my DeviantArt because I deleted the whole thing years ago, for cringe reasons - namely, a really, really stupid minor war over something I can’t even remember but it ran a lot like those old ‘Potterheads Get Your Wands’ posts, though the fact that 80% of my output towards the end were extremely banal and/or fucking insane One Piece (and occasionally Soul Eater) Demotivator Posters didn’t help.

Pictured: proof of my crimes against humanity (with some minor repeats - every single one of those demovitators are something I did and that’s not even all of them) despite my attempts to destroy the evidence, because the internet (and pinterest) never forget and often reposts without permission.

[Image description: a series of drawn images of a man. the first panel is of him looking at a computer with the subtitle ‘recognition’, the second is a close-up of him with sweat and a look of surprise on his face along with two exclamation points subtitled ‘realization’, the third and final image is an extreme close up of his intensely stressed expression subtitled ‘fear’.]

[Image description, but funny: me accidentally coming across one of those reposts a couple years ago.]

I personally can’t forget because I know my style at the time (it had a few variations, but all of them have been seared into my soul) and how inane/insane some of them read. My favorite was one that ended up turning into a word vomit about how cool Gol D. Roger was that ran so far that it didn’t fit inside the format anymore and ended up running off of the page repeatedly.

...and yes, I did make one edit that was ‘Dead or Alive? is that a trick question?’ for Brook. That one’s still circulating too.

3. While that covers a certain amount of the problems with the early work, Witt and Witticism stands out as a pinnacle because I was both using a reaction heavy style (I was pretty much doing a live-blog of my One Piece anime rewatch in fanfic form, using Witt as a mouth piece - a similar style was used with Ultimate Symbiote but fortified with a few original stories and actual non-canon stuff happening!) and going through the tail end an extreme manic period brought on by escaping (read: getting kicked out of because they were no longer socially or legally obligated to care for me anymore) my abusive childhood home + having money (from my dead mom’s social security).

Seriously, that year was bonkers. I got to go to Disneyworld, got a new cat, published an insane fic, and blew through so much money on some dumb fucking shit when my dad wasn’t stealing it because I didn’t realize he had access to my then-bank account.

Also I’m pretty sure that you can detect when my sanity/depression started reasserting itself in the last few chapters of Witt because he starts experiencing consequences, though I’m not saying you should reread it to try to locate that moment because I’m having to re-read it repeatedly for reference purposes and I don’t think anyone should have to suffer this unless they’re into that (which admittedly, might be the result of that ‘charm’ you mentioned, because I can’t otherwise account for how that fic got over a quarter of a million hits otherwise).

Not to say that all of my early stuff was bad (some of it was actually shockingly good once I found it again, even though it was flawed) but the most easily accessible stuff is... not great!

And thanks for the well-wishes. I’m gonna need that luck if I want to get through it. I look forward to the feedback!

#asks #the big fat one piece fic project #Anonymous

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galaxae · 3 years

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3, 7 and 18 for as many as you can answer; btw do you still have an ocs page? like with introductions and all that

wow this took forever oops!

tysm for the ask!! i’ve been meaning to make a carrd or something with oc intros, but i have so goddamn many ocs and so little time now that i’m in college and all that. and i have the code saved from my old pages before i remade, but those are kind of outdated and incomplete

that being said i’m probably gonna end up making that carrd regardless of how busy i am cause special interest indulgence and all that, so i’ll post about it when i do

anyway! i’m putting the actual oc answers under a readmore because i’m gonna try to do all the ocs i listed and it’ll be kinda long lol

3. What does your oc’s voice sound like? (Or, if you have one, what’s their voiceclaim?) Can they sing, whistle, or roll their rs? Do they have any speech impediments or notable dialects/accents?

how does one even describe voices... ok here goes

avani: she’s my character for a ttrpg campaign, so her voice sounds basically like mine (which might not help much cause you don’t know how i talk lol), but when i’m talking as her i pitch my voice up a bit and make it a bit more nasally. she’s not much of a singer, nor can she whistle, but she can roll her r’s pretty well. also, since she’s autistic and hard of hearing, her tone of voice often comes off the "wrong” way

farhan: he’s another ttrpg character i play lol, or at least he will be next semester, so his voice is again kind of like mine. but when i talk as him i pitch my voice down and it’s a bit hoarse. ig his voice would also be more “masculine” than mine but whatever. he can sing and whistle but has a pretty small vocal range (since he’s, like, 13 right now and will be 16 when i rp him next semester)

carter: i imagine his voice as low and on the quiet and raspy end, with a tiny bit of a lisp. he’s way too insecure to try to sing or even whistle or anything like that, though if he practiced at it he’d probably get pretty good

calira: she’s mute so n/a i guess. but she talks pretty formally in her dialect of elvish sign language, which is definitely unusual

sam: they have kind of a low voice that’s also raspy, but with quite a bit of pep and variation in their tone. they can even sing pretty well and they like to whistle constantly while working. that creates some kind of whiplash cause sam comes off as a typical edgy teen a lot of the time

jizoriel: high-pitched with lots of voice cracks, peak pretentious preteen/early teen jerkass. he can’t really sing or do anything similar, nor does he want to very much

victoria: so quiet and raspy that you can barely make out that it’s low and has a soothing and pleasant tone to it. she can sing well, or at least she could once upon a time

rowan: just! the happiest and most cheerful voice you can imagine! so much love behind how she talks! her voice fills up her whole head and the whole room!! and she whistles sometimes while she walks

ace: defies any masculine or feminine labels, smooth and cool in theory but they stutter quite a bit

charity: gruff but with a hint of cheer and clarity behind it that comes out when she’s startled. she loves to sing but can’t whistle and can’t roll her r’s either

jamal: i actually have a voiceclaim for him! it’s this (the voice that sings from 1:51 to 1:58)

kimberly: her voice is a bit high and a bit... idk how to say it exactly... i guess shrill would be the word?

fabián: his voice seems higher-pitched than it actually is cause he talks higher when he’s anxious, and he’s always anxious. it’s a bit hard to describe his voice otherwise tbh. i can hear it in my head but i can’t quite put it to paper oops. oh yeah also he has a great singing voice but never uses it sooo

7. What song reminds you of this oc? Does this match up with the type of music your oc likes to listen to?

this question opens up a wormhole cause i have playlists for many of these guys but instead i’ll just provide one (1) song for each and vaguely describe their music taste, how does that sound

avani: honestly “mr. capgras encounters a secondhand vanity” by will wood is a “her” song to me. her music taste leans a lot more toward older music though (like some classics from the 70s and 80s and such)

farhan: he’s still very new so i haven’t really found a song for him yet. but i know he absolutely loves peppy and energetic pop music and also sappy gay love songs

carter: (slaps my hand away when i try to type another will wood song) “fantasy island” by the shins always launches me into daydreams about him. which kinda roughly aligns with his music taste, he listens to a lot of those “mainstream indie” artists. he’d also listen to will wood because he’s gay and mentally ill <3

calira: one of my favorite songs on her playlist is “maximillian von spee” by dirt poor robins. but the music she listens to is basically all invigorating church-loving stuff with medieval-era instruments lmao

sam: “sometimes” by nick lutsko is an absolute bop and very much a sam song. sam actually doesn’t go out of their way to listen to music though, but when they do they listen to either the most soothing and relaxing stuff or to the angriest metal emo music. no in between

jizoriel: i’ll go the less emo angle here and say a song that reminds me of him is “upside down” by jack johnson. jizoriel’s music taste is like. old choir music and shit plus incomprehensible magical music that doesn’t even sound like music. if he was from earth he’d like my chemical romance

victoria and rowan: i’m grouping these two together here because a song that reminds me very strongly of both of them/their relationship is “human” by dodie. which actually fits very well into both of their music tastes!

ace: again, going the less edgy angle here, “auntie earth” by walter mitty and his makeshift orchestra. but ace mostly listens to uh, classical flute music and flute covers

charity: absolutely “dance and cry” by mother mother, that’s pretty much her theme song. it’s among her favorite songs in canon too

jamal: “tire swing” by los elk, since his arc is about letting go of childhood and all that jazz. he’s more inclined to listen to fun. and other pop artists and rappers and such. he likes janelle monae

kimberly: “best tears” by the happy fits for sure. in terms of her music taste though, her taste is pretty similar to jamal’s. they bond over being janelle monae fans

fabián: by god does “heal” by so much light fit him. his taste is that he rotates through three (3) specific obscure indie artists lmao, so theoretically i guess that specific song is included in there

18. How does your oc see themself? How does this compare to the way other ocs see them?

i am gonna do my best to keep these short cause this is a loaded question for all of them hoo boy

avani: how she sees herself: honestly the worst person alive. unless she spends every moment of her time trying to make up for what she’s done, she’s worthless, and she doesn’t deserve to love herself in any capacity how others see her: her brother (farhan) really looks up to her! most of the time. the superhero team she’s on (other people’s ocs) all think she’s generally smart and capable enough, and her boyfriend in particular thinks she’s incredible

farhan: how he sees himself: as of right now? a misunderstood emo middle schooler who’s still kind of cool i guess how others see him: his sister (avani) thinks he’s quite an impressive and charismatic young man

carter: how he sees himself: 1/10 awkward and annoying how others see him: carter reminds calira too much of her old self, so she love-hates him. sam thinks he’s weak and cowardly but admires his kindness. and jizoriel clings to him as a caring father figure and loves carter’s passion for natural studies

calira: how she sees herself: it goes back and forth between “i’m the greatest chosen one ever im such a strong warrior” and “wow i’m literal trash why did the gods pick me for this” how others see her: carter is a bit intimidated by her but appreciates her attempts to vibe with him, sam thinks she’s an annoying pretentious self-important bitch (but their opinion softens over time), and jizoriel sees right through her facade and feels comfortable around her because of it

sam: how they see themself: evil and in need of redemption, kind of similar to avani ig but with 10x more confidence in their skills and also much more violent how others see them: carter knows theyre doing their best even if theyre kind of an asshole, calira is a fan of their strength and determination, and jizoriel Hates Their Guts (at first) because they baby him too much

jizoriel: how he sees himself: a fucking fraud of a prince. all he has going for him is his abilities as a mage, but even then those are shaky how others see him: carter knows he’s very insecure and wants to comfort him, calira admires his magical prowess and noble air, and sam thinks he’s a snarky little pretentious douchebag but also he reminds them of their late brother and they want to protect him at all costs

victoria: how she sees herself: basically dead. only good for interacting with ghosts. not worthy of the human world or of friendship how others see her: she reminds rowan of her old self. rowan sees a glimmer of love and hope in her and wants to bring it out

rowan: how she sees herself: a fucking mess but she’s trying her best and that’s what counts! how others see her: victoria very much appreciates her cheerful air even if she doesn’t act like it

ace: how they see themself: way too weird to be human, way too weak not to be. their self-image changes constantly. theyre very confused about everything please help how others see them: charity is literally dating them lol she thinks theyre the cutest person alive, jamal appreciates how hard they try as a friend, kimberly thinks theyre an alien invader whom she can study and use to get further in life, and fabián knows more about ace than anyone else and loves them for it

charity: how she sees herself: a Teenager who’s struggling. she desperately wants to be young without the burden of her trauma but whether she thinks of herself as emo and sad and angry or not depends a lot on her mood how others see her: ace adores everything about her, jamal loves how cool and fun and sociable she can be, kimberly is annoyed with her rebelliousness, and fabián worries very much for her well-being and can’t shake the image of her as helpless (oops that’s gonna cause some drama)

jamal: how he sees himself: just a chill guy trying to get by. unremarkable. how others see him: ace is grateful for how forgiving he can be but is still terrified of him being angry over [spoilers], charity loves how sociable and fun he is and how protective he can be of his friends, kimberly secretly envies his carefree nature, and fabián sees him as a solid acquaintance to whom he did not give a good first impression

kimberly: how she sees herself: not good! if she can’t grow up fast and do science well then she’s useless how others see her: ace wants to be friends with her but doesn’t know how to do that, charity is annoyed by her rule-bound-ness, jamal thinks she’s cool but should unwind a little, and fabián resents her at first but would still like to play chess with her sometime

fabián: how he sees himself: he has a moral responsibility to help people Or Else. way too anxious and stuck up but he doesn’t know how to change that how others see him: ace fuckin Loves this guy, charity loves him too but she gets pissed when he tries to help her with anything, jamal genuinely thinks he’s a great guy and wants to get to know him better, and kimberly is actually impressed by him and envies his apparent confidence and charisma

ok ok that’s it i promise. sorry this is so long and tysm for reading if you made it this far!! feel free to ask more oc questions literally whenever, that goes for anyone reading this <3

#pey talks #ocs tag #this was so fun to write thank you for asking ;-;#ace #avani #calira #carter #charity #fabián #farhan #jamal #jizoriel #kimberly #sam

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beerecordings · 5 years

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“You think you know what pain is?” Henrik to Anti. ;)

okay… I am proud to report…. I have this done.

Bee why did it take you so long??? CAUSE I WAS OBSESSED WITH IT FOR WEEKS OH MY GOSH I LOVE THIS STORY. look it is unpolished AF alright maybe the most unpolished fic i’ve ever posted but that is okay cause i love it and I’m proud of it and if i want to clean it up later i can! also! you should know it is very long! so buckle up if’n you want to read it!

can you believe i wanted to have this done for schneep week i’m so late… but i loved writing it. thank you for requesting nikkil!!

Warnings for major abuse, blood and torture, pneumonia, and hypnosis with mild sexual themes (Anti kisses, strokes, at one point runs his hand over Jameson’s stomach. That’s the worst of it but no read if it will be too creepy)

Since writing this, I used it to create a story-blog about a variation of these characters (though this scene is not canon to that universe) called @my-brothers-corrupted. Feel free to check it out.

The Missing Piece

Citylights rush like wind across the glass of the window, casting him,intermittently, in gold and in darkness.

Doktorstares down at his feet.

Thedirty silver floor of the bus rattles against his torn up dress shoesas he shuffles uncomfortably, trying not to let his shoulder brushagainst that of the sleeping stranger at his side. Above the smell ofsweat and someone’s heavy magnolia perfume, the smoke of the citycurls around him in a gasoline purr, staining his mouth with thetaste of engines and fast food, dripping down his throat to sit inhis lungs, in his chest, near to his slow-moving heart.

Hewishes he had the strength to be annoyed.

Mosteveryone on the bus is silent, pressed against the backs of theirchairs or the cool, vibrating window panes, worn into quietude bylong days and long journeys. It’s late and everyone would rather beat home, asleep.

Doktorwishes he could sleep. Sleep and sleep and sleep and sleep and sleep.Sleep and sleep and not wake up again.

Themissing piece is the only one who seems to have any energy.

Glancingacross the aisle, Doktor’s eyes land on the boy’s black dress shoes,tapping rapidly against the floor. Higher up, he sees his worn handsgripping hard at the thighs of his slacks, clenching and unclenchinghis fists around the soft fabric. There is blood on his whitebutton-up shirt, but it is dark enough that no one has noticed. Smallmercies.

Jamesoncoughs frailly. His head is still but his eyes flicker wildly aroundthe bus, like the rolling pupils of a horse trapped in a house onfire. Henrik supposes he’s looking for help. For comfort. Foranything and anyone to save him.

Poorthing.

Jamesoncoughs again, a little louder. Doktor realizes he is doing it onpurpose, trying to attract attention to himself. Not easy with aguard dog at your side. Doktor shoots him a warning glare and thensits back, trying not to look at him.

Buthis hands are making a small sign, over and over again, shaking butdetermined, stiff but desperate –

“S,”signs Jameson, his mouth quivering. “C. H – ”

Ahand shoots out to snatch his wrist and Jameson jumps hard, curlingback against the seat of the chair, his face losing color in therapid-passing shadows of the city rushing past.

Redsqueezes the missing piece’s wrist so hard Doktor knows it willbruise black. Then he leans in, close enough that his hood brushesagainst Jameson’s downy brown hair, and he whispers – in words onlyheard by his brothers – with a voice so harsh as to cut the ear –

“Youso much as lift a finger and I will deliver your corpse to thedumpster personally.”

Thelight of a nearby casino rushes over the bus. Jameson’s tears areilluminated in gold.

“AmI understood?”

“Yes,”knocks Jameson, biting hard on his lip.

Redlets him go in silence and sits back.

Doktorsits back too.

Theyare just passengers like everyone else.

Amemory flashes across him the same way the lights do, here and thenleft behind in an instant.

Heremembers, with a nauseating effort of the will, a happier day, withJameson perched at his side just the same. His face was full of joyand he was smiling at him, his hands moving in rapid words now lessthan half-remembered. Their train raced past little white sheep inlittle green pastures, and Jameson spent half the trip staring at thewindow, slumping back occasionally to rest against Doktor’s shoulder.He was as warm as an engine against him, healthy, whole, andunharmed. He called him by a name Doktor can no longer recall.

Hecan’t remember where they were going or why. But he seems to rememberthat joy.

Thedarkness swallows him whole again. He closes his eyes and tries toforget.

It’seasier, these days, to obey.

It’seasier not to remember.

Thisis a time of pain.

Steppinginto the reach of the monster is a relief so heavy it is bettercompared to opium than home-coming. Outside Anti’s power there isconfusion, fear, guilt, and doubt above all else. Within it?

Doktorsteps across the thresh-hold of the abandoned house where they havetaken refuge and breathes in deep, shuddering hard as the darknesssteals back inside of him.

Bliss,bliss, bliss, bliss, bliss –

Hewishes he could spend every second of the rest of his life in thevery heart of Anti’s control, mindlessly numb, overwhelminglycontent, but unfortunately there is only so far his master canstretch, and so whenever he is sent away on missions like this one,he does his best to return home quickly.

Jamesonseems less relieved to enter the run-down little house. His wide eyesstare at the room around him, flickering over squirming rats andpatches of white mold patterned along the walls, until at last hisgaze lands on Trickshot, and he stiffens as though impaled.

Trickstares right back.

“Holyshit,” he whispers, and then his mouth breaks into a smile coldenough to re-freeze icebergs. “You found the little mouse. Donerunning, bitch?”

Jamesonflinches, turning his gaze away. Trickshot gets to his feet,approaching easily and grabbing JJ’s chin, lifting his face up to thelight.

“C?”signs Jameson frantically, forgetting his guardian for a moment.“What’s happened to – ”

Redsnatches his hands and yanks him towards his chest, throwing him offbalance and then shoving him hard to the ground, where nails and anundrying moisture found perpetually on the wooden slats of the floorpress against his palms. Jameson, mouth open with pain, gasps andcrawls backwards, clutching at the wounds from the fight –

Trickshotgrabs the boy by the back of his shirt and drags him to his feet.

Punishedfor speaking, Jameson makes good use of his large eyes instead,staring at what was once his brother with an undeniably agonizeddesperation in his eyes, reaching out to cling to the soft fabric ofthe torn grey shirt Trickshot wears.

“Getthe fuck off me,” snaps Trick in a voice so thin he can barely beheard, shoving his hands away. He decides to grip his hair instead ofhis shirt and Jameson scrambles as the pressure on his scalp pullshim onto his tip-toes, his face contorting with pain.

“Poorlittle thing,” purrs Trick in a babying voice, still rasping fromhis purple-bruised throat, using his spare hand to grab Jameson’schin and tilt his head up to what little light comes from theflickering overhead. “You beat him to hell, Hoodie!”

Theirony of this is that Trick is hardly better off himself. For everybruise, broken bone, and cut that Jameson’s body took tonight, thereis at least one match on Trickshot’s skin. His master has not beenkind to him. When it comes to a hierarchy, they all know whereTrickshot falls – the very bottom of the pack.

Tricktries to lift Jameson off his feet, but a sudden bout of coughingforces him to let his brother go. He doubles over, shaking handsclutching at his aching chest, and coughs so deep and so hard that itsounds as though pieces of bone are being shaken off his ribs.

Doktorwatches wearily, a little irritated. One more sickness he’s going tobe expected to fix. Red reaches over to smack the back of his head.“Do something, Deutsch!”

Yelping,Doktor grabs his smarting skull and staggers away, well wary of Red’stemper. “No medicine,” he whispers, scuffing his way towards theother room.

“Oh,that’s your fucking excuse? You’re supposed to be a doctor!”

Doktorhides his face in his hands, cowering against the wall, but all Reddoes is roll his eyes and turn away, shoving Trick to the side. Heheads toward the stairs, his victory only barely soured by hisbrothers’ stupidity. “Master, I found him!” he calls, smiling ashe moves down, down into the darkness of the basement. “I broughthim back for you!”

Removinghis hands from his eyes, Doktor turns to see if Jameson is afraid,but there is nothing in his eyes but worry. He’s helping Trickshot tostay standing, rubbing warmly at his chest. Trick does not have thestrength to push him away.

Andthen the darkness is upon them.

Jamesonwhirls wildly, his fighter’s hands out-stretched. Doktor catchessight of Trickshot staggering away, retreating from Anti’s attention.He knows it would be safer for him to run too, but he needs Antiright now – needs something to extinguish these thoughts in hishead – pity and guilt and concern, all useless remnants of a timewhen Jack was the one who pulled his strings.

Heneeds Anti to make his brain stop asking his mouth to say, Jameson,I’m sorry, run, now, while there’s still time –

“Arzt,”calls Anti’s voice, a whisper that echoes from every side, and Doktorjumps to attention, staring around him. “Bring my new little puppydown here.”

Jamesondoesn’t turn to run fast enough. Doktor’s grip on his wrist is tightas a blood pressure cuff.

“H-E-N-R,”he begs, and Doktor grabs his other hand and begins yanking himtowards the basement, dragging him across cold cement and oldbloodstains.

“Doctor,doctor, doctor,” signs Jamie again and again, using what littlemobility his hands have. He has begun to cry. Doktor will not look athim. Cannot look at him. “It’s me, it’s me, it’s me, brother,brother.”

“Child,be silent,” Doktor whispers.

Henever does anything more than whisper these days.

“Youwill only make this harder.”

Hedrags Jameson down to his master.

“Wereyou a good boy?”

“Iwas such a good boy,” Red swears, collapsed against Anti’s chest,his eyes shining with adoration. “I was so, so good. I brought himback to you, right back to you.”

“Yeah,you took good care of me.”

“Itook good care of you, you’ll be safe now. All the threats are gone.”

Red’seyes well with tears and he chokes, so overwhelmed with love that fora moment he cannot breathe at all. He shudders and puts his head downon Anti’s shoulder, stroking a hand through his hair. “I was nevergoing to let anything hurt you,” he promises, a sacred whisper.

“Iknow,” Anti soothes, running the flat edge of his blade alongJackie’s throat. “I know you weren’t, good boy.”

“Littlebrother,” hums Hoodie, daring to plant a kiss on Anti’s cheek.“Little brother. I’ll keep you safe.”

“Iwant to ask you something.”

“Yes,Anti.”

“What’sthe boy’s name?”

“JamesonJackson, Anti.”

“Jackson,do you like that?”

“Um,I don’t know. Do I?”

“Isthere anything you could shorten that to?”

“LikeJack?”

“Yeah,you could shorten it to Jack. Or maybe Jackie, would that be good?”

“Doyou want me to call him Jackie?”

Antigrins, dark and sweet.

Victorytastes like blood.

“No,sweetheart,” he purrs, pinching Red’s cheek. “Just wanted tocheck if that meant anything to you. You did so well today. You canhave something to eat tonight. Alright, time’s up. Get up. Good boy.Go sit with kitty for a minute.”

Simmeringwith pride, Red makes his way to the corner of the room and sits downat Blue’s side. The cat is sleeping, chained tightly to the wall, tooexhausted to wake up even for a newcomer. Red curls up fondly at hisside, playing with a length of his brother’s hair.

“Doc,”calls Anti warmly. “You come here.”

Doktorstartles, turning to look at Anti, adorned in blood on his throne, arotting wood chair in the basement. At his feet, Jameson Jackson isso unconscious Doktor cannot see his chest moving for air.

Antiattacked him like a shark in a frenzy.

Heldhim up in front of Doktor and Red and Blue one at a time and askedhim, mocking, which one of his big brothers would be the one to savehim now.

Promisedhim that it would be only a few days before he, too, was swallowedwhole by Anti’s power, begging like an animal for attention andaffection.

Beathim until his whole face was slicked in blood and bruises.

ButJameson did not beg or cry or complain. He took it with courage.Doktor remembers, very distantly, a time when he was more courageoustoo. Someone was torturing him, he remembers, but he tried so hardnot to give in. The details are slipping away from him.

“Deutsch,”calls Anti, a warning in his voice now. He does not like to wait.

Doktorhurries to his side.

“Howabout you?” he asks, getting up from his throne. He steps overJameson’s fingers. Doktor winces at a cracking sound. “Were you agood boy today?”

Whitewith terror and relief – Doktor does not know how he can besimultaneously so happy and so scared to see someone – he manages asmall nod, trying to smile.

“Youbrought the missing piece back to me, didn’t you?”

Anothernod. He can’t breathe. He wants to drown. With shaking hands, hereaches out, desperate for some comfort.

“Youdid well,” murmurs Anti, and takes him in his arms.

It’slike crashing into a river when you don’t know how to swim. But thewater is warm and he is little more than a corpse in its grip,sliding forward in Anti’s hands, a low groan trembling its way out ofhis mouth.

“Idid well,” he whispers. “I did, I did, I did…”

Henearly trips over Jameson and his eyes flicker down over his body,his poor face shattered into bone and blood, an agony written uponhis silent mouth even in sleep, and he is small and thin and so veryworn, still injured from the battle with Red, which must have hurthim in more ways than one –

“Doktor.”Anti has his mouth close to his ear, holding him tight. “You focuson me. Focus on master, there’s my good boy. You like being here withme?”

Doktorsways in place, swallowed by a wave of dizziness. “Yes, of course.”

Antitakes his chin gently in his hand and lifts up his head. Deutschmeets his gaze and shudders, and then smiles, his eyes glazing over.

Anti’seyes are dark and endless, colder than the stomach of the ocean,deeper than philosophy. Doktor chokes, collapsing against him,gripping at his brother’s shirt.

Theday is slipping away from them. What did he even do all day? Wherewas he?

“Closeyour eyes,” whispers Anti.

Doktorobeys. He always obeys. There is no other way to live. Just drowning.Just drowning. Anti curls his fingers through the hair of his nape ofhis neck. Yanks just hard enough to hurt, but Doktor doesn’t careanymore.

“Oh,I’m so tired,” Doktor whispers.

“Iknow.”

“You’rethe only thing I care about.”

“Iknow, baby.” It tooks him months to perfect this, but it’s done.Doc was his, and then the others, and now – oh, and now, his lastlittle missing piece. Jameson will be his too, soon enough, soonenough. “But listen, I need you to do something for me.”

“Yes,Anti, anything.”

“Red,you listen too.”

Redjoins Doktor at Anti’s side. Jealousy stings through them both, butthey’ll bottle up the anger for later, taking it out on each other inunexpected blows and stitches tugged too tight.

“Ineed time with my new puppy. He has to be broken in. You two willkeep things running while I work. Okay?”

“Yes,Anti,” they promise in sync.

“Red,anyone gets too close or too suspicious, you’re the one who takescare of it, alright? Doc, I want you to clean this little bitch up atthe end of the day when I’m done with him. And get rid of Trickshot’sfucking cough. If I have to hear him wheezing anymore I’ll go chophis head off.”

“Yes,Anti.”

“Good,then. Kitty cat, go with your brothers, you’re boring me.”

Blueopens pained eyes and drags himself to his feet. There is blood inhis hair. Doktor doesn’t remember who attacked him. Red takes hisbrother under his arm and leads him towards the stairs, pausing togive Anti a winning smile.

Hashe always had those scars, scattered like cross-hatching across hisface? Doc doesn’t think so, but he can never remember anymore. He cannever remember anything.

Forjust a second, he sees as though before his eyes Red and Blue inanother life, both smiling like twins, healthy and whole, unscarredand reaching out to him, the third star in their triangulum, a littlefamily, completely whole.

Wasthere a time before Anti?

“Goon, Doc-Doc.”

“Yes,Anti. But are you sure… are you sure you don’t need anything?”

Antilooks up, anger flashing through his eyes. Doktor backs slowlytowards the wall, turning down his gaze.

Hedidn’t mean to question. It’s just that he’s a doctor. He’s supposedto look after his brothers.

AndAnti?

Antilooks exhausted to the core of his being.

Athis feet, blood is leaking from Jameson’s eyes.

“Can’tbelieve this,” grumbles Red, pacing around the room. “Can’tgoddamn believe this.”

“Justgive it to me,” rasps Doktor. “No use complaining.”

Fuming,Red hands over vaporub and cough medicine and stalks away again. Thedull light of the paneless windows cast him in a cold evening light.

“Idon’t feel good,” moans Trickshot, writhing with fever in Doktor’slap. “I don’t feel good, I don’t feel good, I don’t feel – ”

“Hush,”orders Doktor harshly, shaking his shoulders. “Hush, you will annoyAnti.”

Trickwhimpers and falls into silence, but his rough breaths are scratchingtheir painful way up from a chest that is heavy with infection.

“Thisis pathetic,” gripes Red, glaring down at his little brother. “Hecan’t keep getting sick like this. We could have spent that money onfood if he wasn’t such a little bitch.”

“Ican’t handle pneumonia without better equipment. He needs to go tothe hospital,” mumbles Doktor, wetting someone’s spare t-shirt withwhat little water they have and pressing it to his forehead, openingup the chest rub with his free hand.

“Shutthe fuck up,” snaps Red. “You know we can’t do that. Keep himalive.”

Doktorcloses his eyes, rocking gently back and forth over Trickshot’s body.He stopped screaming or weeping or breaking down a long time ago, andnow he just shivers and rocks and hides his face when he needscomfort, understanding that none will come.

Redand Trick tell him he’s losing his mind. But it’s better than livinglike they do, devolving into panic attacks on the daily, so desperatefor Anti’s attention that they can barely function without praise anddirect orders. And meanwhile, Blue…

Redgrits his teeth at the low sound of skin grating against wood. “Blue,cut it out,” he growls, stalking over to drag his brother’s wristsaway from the sharpest piece of rotting wall he can find in thehouse. Blue’s collar jangles as Red pulls him to his feet and moveshim away. “You can’t even kill yourself properly, can you, kitty?Hey, hey, come on, look me in the eyes, you can do it.”

“Don’tmake him,” sighs Doktor, rubbing Trickshot’s chest slowly. Hisbrother stills under his hands, mumbling Anti’s name in what could bedreams or nightmares.

Redsighs and sits down with Blue slumped against his shoulder, strokinghis hair absent-mindedly. Blue doesn’t respond. Blue never respondsanymore.

“Youshould be more concerned about Trickshot,” whispers Doktor, in arare show of defiance. “He’s not well.”

“Don’ttell me what to feel, Deutsch. Ask me, you’re both wastes of fuckingoxygen. Hey, maybe he will die! It could just be me and Blue andAnti… the kid too, I guess…”

Doktorshivers, clutching Trick closer to his chest. Sometimes he’s scaredRed will kill him. Then again, he knows better than anyone where hisweak spots are – the slash in his stomach that JJ gave him in theirfight, the pains in his back they never seem to go away, everytrigger to send him into babbling terror, his eyes blown wide withconfusion and distress, screaming about the memories he’s lost –

Well.He just hopes it doesn’t come to a fight.

Bluebegins coughing low, low in his chest, trembling against Red’sshoulder.

“Oh,not you too,” groans Red, squeezing him close. “Oh, oh, Anti willbe furious if his pet gets sick. Doktor, stop it. My twin…”

“I’mdoing my best with vaporub and cough drops,” growls Doktor, tryingto get some water into Trick’s mouth.

Downstairs,Anti begins shouting. All four of them flinch as one, and Trick’seyes flash open full of panic.

“I’msure he’s going to finish with Jameson soon,” says Red, with bothadoration and terror in his mouth. “Then he’ll be happier. He’sjust doing what’s best for him.”

“Anti,Anti,” cries Trick. Doktor doesn’t know if he’s calling for him orcalling for help. Blue has gone so stiff he could be a corpse,staring dead-eyed at the wall. If he thinks anything on his ownanymore, he doesn’t show it.

Thisis a house of pain.

Doktorstares at the pathway to the basement.

Thisis a house of pain.

Whydoes he stay?

Hisstrings are slipping.

Antigags on a wave of weakness and throws JJ hard to the earth, steppingdown on his throat and turning away, taking deep breaths while thelittle one chokes.

“Glitchbitch,” signs the boy, between useless attempts to shove the footoff his neck. “Bastard, monster, virus, asshole.”

“Stupidlittle puppy,” croons Anti, pressing down on his throat. “Stillacting like you can defy me.”

He’shad Jameson for three days. It’s going well with the missing piece.Everday Jameson slips closer to his control.

Butthe problem is he’s stretching himself too thin. Even the bestpuppet-master can only move so many toys at once. Corruption takespower. It takes energy. Anti is running out. But he just needs tobreak this last little creature, this last little puppet. Just onemore corruption. He will not fail now.

“Iwill defy you,” Jameson promises. Anti finally lets up on histhroat and he draws in huge gasping breaths, slumped against theconcrete.

“Youdo your brothers a disservice,” says Anti. “Don’t you know theysaid the same? And now, what are they? I will make a liar of you too,little doll.”

Thebasement is cold as gravestone. Anti is the heater in the middle ofit, radiating warmth too heavily without any of it transfering to theroom around him. The only way to share his heat is to be touched byhim.

Hetakes a deep breath. For once in his life he needs to keep his calm.He leans down and puts his hands on Jameson’s wrists, falling to hisknees to straddle his hips, pinning him down against the stingingcement.

Jamesonturns his face away but does not protest. He is losing strength witheach day that passes. Anti knows how weak to keep him to stop himfrom using his powers, cutting frequent blood out of his back andstriking his aching head several times a day. He has not slept oreaten and any attempt to change the course of time will destroy him.He’s considering it.

Themoments where Anti tries to drag him under have become warm relief inthe middle of the torture.

“Comehere, baby,” purrs Anti, stroking his knuckles over his cheekbone,running his fingers across his mouth. “Come here, look at master.”

Jamesontries to get his hands together so he can sign the “h” thatbegins the word “hatred.”

Antigrabs a knife and slams it into Jameson’s shoulder. Pain sends hiswhole body into spasms, his body contorting with agony, his eyesrolling back in his head, and he is losing consciousness fast.

“It’sokay,” whispers a soft voice, and he knows it is Anti, but it couldso damn easily be any one of his brothers, torn away from him, couldbe Marvin or Henrik or Jackie or Chase –

Heis crying so hard he cannot breathe. When was the last time anyonetouched him? All he’s done for months is run.

“It’sokay.” Anti is stroking his hair. Stroking his stomach. Strokinghis wrists. He’s been starving to be touched and Anti is wonderfullywarm, even if his nails are overgrown and his teeth are just a littletoo sharp and one of his eyes is venomously black, a single greeniris shining down on Jameson’s smoke-grey face. “I’m sorry, I knowthis is scary. But listen, you’re going to be with your brotherssoon, right? You’ve missed them. Haven’t you?”

Hehas, he has, he’s been so lonely, he nods –

“Iknow,” sighs Anti, putting a firm pressure on Jameson’s shoulders,making his collarbone ache. He smells of blood and sleep. “Iunderstand. I can see every part of you, you know. I understandeveryone and everything. It will be so easy, once you’re mine. I’lltake that pretty clock and tie you up like Marvin and you can be mylittle puppy. No one will ever hurt you again. You won’t have to feelanything but this.”

Andwarmth and joy and relief and love come crashing over Jameson like ahigh, come flowing down the folds of his brain, trickling down histongue and down his throat, and he is melting like a witch in water,sinking down into Anti’s power –

“Openyour eyes,” calls a voice, gentle, gentle. He is held, carried,carressed. “Just open your eyes for me. Be a good boy. It’s alleasy after this. It will feel so wonderful. Open your eyes, Carver.”

That’snot his fucking name.

Justlike Doktor isn’t Henrik’s and Red isn’t Jackie’s and Trickshot isn’tChase’s and Blue isn’t Marvin’s, damn the glitch who stole his familyaway from him!

Hejerks up and slams his elbow into Anti’s nose, sending blood gushingfrom the demon’s nose. Falling back, Anti lets out a horrible screamof rage, the sound that metal makes as it grinds together, and thenhe is up again, coming forward again, holding a knife again, and whatcan Jameson do but cower?

“Iwill teach you pain,” Anti snarls. His teeth are gritted tight andhe no longer looks human. He is warm. He is too warm. He burns. “Iam pain and you will know me better than you know yourself, and then,before this is over, you will be mine, and forget the taste of yourown name, puppet kid.”

Doktordreams of bloodshed and video games.

Heholds a warm little computer mouse, shifting it across a pad on awooden desk. Everything is bright and clear and clean. He feels welland there is coffee next to his hand.

Fromthe speakers, a recorded cough and a splutter. A spray of simulatedblood hits the other side of the screen and Doktor adjusts in hisseat, reaching out to click on a button to order a lung exam for thepatient.

“Don’tworry now,” he narrates to the computer character, smiling at theblinking red eye of a camera near to his head. “The good Doktorwill make everything better, you will see!”

Thecharacter coughs again. Doktor realizes the game has not reacted tohis order. “Gah,” he growls, throwing up a hand and clicking onthe button again. “Come on, dumb machine.”

Still,the game does not respond. The character coughs and then groans,doubling over for a moment, its face still drawn into an unmovingsmile, dead-eyed and cold.

“Gottverdammt,”hisses Doktor, clicking once, twice, thrice. How frustrating, to knowwhat needs to be done and be unable to do it.

“Stopcoughing,” he begs, as the character shivers. “I’m trying to fixit. I will not have you die.”

Thecharacter reaches up to touch its chin and then draws away again.Startled, Doktor recognizes the sign for “please.”

“I’mtrying,” he says. “I am, I’m trying. I’m doing my best. I’m doingwhat’s right. I am, I am.”

Heclicks the button. Clicks, clicks, clicks. Why won’t it goddamn load?

“Stopdying,” he cries, slamming the mouse against the computer. Thetaste of copper is filling up his own mouth. His chest aches. A waveof heat rushes over him like sunlight exploding over the earth in themorning light. “Please, I’m scared, don’t die.”

Heneeds to get out of the whole program – he should get out of thewhole program – but how can he leave his patient behind? The othersare too sick to run with him. He cannot go until he saves them. Hecannot lose them! The memory of joy is sudden and present in hismind, but only for an instant, and then it is swallowed whole againby this terrible pain, pain, pain –

“Please!Let me save him!” he screams, and the character, deaf to his cries,is begging “please, please, please” in return, coughing harderand harder and harder. Blood drizzles down the screen. Doktor reachesout to touch it and his fingers come away red now, perhaps not sosimulated after all. He strikes the side of the computer and shakesit and click, click, clicks, but nothing happens, nothing saves him.There is only the heat of the patient’s fever and the dry heaving ashe chokes on pneumonia, bent over, collapsing, and Doktor lashes outtoo suddenly and spills his coffee, only it is blood that pours downfrom the edge of the mug, filling up the room like a flood –

Hedoes not scream upon awakening. Only gags, and whimpers, and rocks inplace, tears drizzling down his face.

Trickshotis hot at his side, trembling, coughing, conscious. Across the room,Anti’s twins sleep side-by-side, hunger and fatigue making themghostly in the moonlight, Blue touching Red with an out-stretchedhand abandoned on his shoulder.

“Trick?”whispers Doktor, trying to ground himself again, trying to banish thedream. He would call it a nightmare but he’s had far worse. “Trick,why are you awake?”

It’sstill dark out. It often is. Doktor guesses it is around three.

“Whatdid you dream of?” mumbles Trickshot, staring up at him withover-bright eyes. “Something nice?”

Hesmiles a little flicker of a smile, his mouth trembling.

Doktorsighs, calming. Just a bad dream, right? He’s not stuck. He’s notfrozen. He can take care of his patients. “Should not speak of it,”he tells him, pulling him straighter up, to help him breathe.Coughing must be keeping him awake. “You are weak. Go back tosleep.”

“I– I feel very weak,” concedes Trickshot. He sniffles and tearscome running out of his eyes. Doktor presses a hand to his foreheadand finds him burning. “Do you think Anti will let me die? Do youthink he will kill me? Did you dream of something nice?”

“Stop,Trick, stop, stop.” Doktor smooths down a bandage hanging off hischeek from where somebody struck him hard enough to break flesh.“You’re delirious. Don’t upset yourself. Go back to sleep.”

“Something– b-bright and lovely, maybe something where you were happy, didyou dream of – did you dream of something – ”

Hebegins coughing and must clutch at his heart, curling in on himself,agony coursing through his body. “Did you dream of something nice?”he stammers out, wheezing, working himself swiftly towards a completebreakdown. “Did you dream of – ”

“Trick,stop!” snarls Doktor, grabbing him by the throat in a sudden flashof fury. Trick gags and whimpers, collapsing against the floor,shivering in the cold night air.

Doktorreleases his throat, a rare twinge of guilt making itself known inhis stomach. As apology, he reaches out and touches the side ofTrick’s head awkwardly, frowning down at his blueing mouth. “Youreally are so sick,” he whispers, brushing down a strand of hissweaty hair. “Poor thing.”

“Don’tfeel good.”

“Iknow. Why don’t you tell me what you dreamed of, huh? I don’t want totalk about my dreams but you can. Did you dream of something nice?”

Trickshotpauses, biting his lip, and then nods, tears welling again in hisbright blue eyes. “A baby,” he whispers.

“Ababy?”

“Alittle dark-haired baby, so, so warm, so, so beautiful, and I washolding him and I reached out and he wrapped his tiny little handaround my finger and fell asleep in my arms.”

Doktordidn’t mean to make him cry. Trickshot devolves into sobbing againsthis brother’s stomach, shaking with fever and grief alike.

“Quiet,quiet,” begs Doktor, gripping at his shoulder. “Don’t disturbhim, don’t make him angry.”

“Mybaby,” gasps Chase, growing closer to death. “I want my babies, Iwant my baby, where is he, where is he, where is he?”

“Stop,stop, don’t say such things, Anti will kill you.”

“Antiwill not give me my child back,” weeps Chase. “Not even thememory of him, not even his name. I can’t remember my baby.”

“Trick,”says Doktor. “Trick.”

Andthen there is the static warning of their brother’s appearance, andthey both stiffen like scarecrows, curling in on each other as theywait for him to turn shadows into form.

Glitchessplit the air around them and Trickshot pretends to be asleep againstDoktor’s stomach, near to passing out anyway. Cold static ringsthrough the air like a tornado warning.

“Cleanhim up.”

Antiis standing behind him so suddenly that Doktor nearly gasps aloud,rocking faster and faster. “C-clean Trickshot up?”

“No,you stupid little bitch,” snarls Anti. He grabs him by the hair andDoktor gasps hard enough to hurt the back of his throat, staggeringupright. “Jameson. In the room on the other side of the house. Go.Let him die and you cannot imagine the pain I will inflict upon you,am I understood? Darling?”

“Yes,Anti.”

“Go.”

Hereleases him and disappears back into the shadow.

Tricklies at his feet, trying not to cough. Blood stains the corner of hismouth.

Doktorreaches down to touch him – but no, he cannot care for him, notnow. He must go the missing piece.

Panting,he abandons Trick to his coughing and heads towards the spare room.They think it used to be a kitchen once, before the house was halfwaydemolished and then abandoned, but now there is nothing but missingtile and cockroaches and one drawer full of knives in the corner.There certainly isn’t any food.

Jamesonis chained to the porcelain body of what might have been a sink. Heslumps back against the clay, his chin fallen onto his chest. He isbreathing, but only slow, only thin.

Doktorapproaches.

Litteredwith wounds, frail as a broken-wing bird. He coughs. Doktor cleansgashes and stitches them back together, wipes away blood and wraps upbruises, relocates a broken wrist and makes the boy scream, his eyesrolling back in his head as he staggers about between consciousnessand shadow.

Hecoughs.

Doktorreaches out to touch his cheek.

Hecoughs.

Doktorswallows back memories of him.

Bright-eyedbrothers moving like light through a window, clean whole faces andthe steady rising and falling of the breast, a smile on the boy’sunspeaking mouth –

Hecoughs.

Doktorburies his face in his hands and rocks, rocks, rocks, cries until hecannot breathe either; listens, despairing, to the coughing of hisbrothers, scattered like weapons cast aside through Anti’s house.

Howcan this be worth it?

Howcan this pain be worth it?

Fromthe darkness, Anti is watching.

Doktorwas the first one to lose the fight to his power, and now he is thefirst to feel the strings loosening about his throat. Something mustbe done.

Buthe is too tired to drag Henrik back under.

“Givein.”

“Iwon’t.”

Bloodsplurts from Jameson’s throat. His mouth jerks open in a horriblesilent scream and he writhes in Anti’s grip, tearing at the handsaround his neck.

“Isthat the best you can do?” laughs Anti. He lets Jameson go, his armgrowing tired from holding him up, and the boy collapses like a pileof flesh. “Really, no sound at all? Can’t you wheeze or something?I’m bored.”

“Bitch,”signs Jameson. He rolls back and forth against the ground slightly,trying to work through the pain, trying to stop crying. He doesn’tknow how much more of this he can take.

“I’mabout to cut your hands off if you don’t watch your tongue,” Antiwarns, sitting down beside him and drawing his head into his lap.“Come on, can’t you whine or something?”

Jamesonis bewildered on top of irritated now. “What the fuck do you expectme to do? Regrow my vocal chords? I can’t vocalize.”

“Maybeyou’re not trying hard enough,” grins Anti.

Exhausted,exasperated, pissed, Jameson holds up his middle finger and lets thatspeak for him.

Antihums and leans in close. Jameson shivers as he’s kissed, Anti’s mouthrunning feather-light across the stubble on his jawline.

“Getoff me,” Jameson begs, trying to push him away. “Please.”

“That’sbetter,” murmurs Anti. “Good job, puppy. Hold still and you cango in a minute.”

Hekisses his cheek, beneath his eye. His mouth is hot.

“Getoff me!” cries Jameson. Oh, fuck, suddenly he’s so dizzy. “Getoff, I hate you.”

Antipulls gently at his shirt, exposing his stomach. Jameson squirms,frightened, but with one hand Anti can hold him steady. The otherhand runs over his belly.

Thena knife, cold, cold, cold against his stomach.

Antisighs against the base of his ear.

Andthen he jams his thinnest blade like a key between the perfect slotof his seventh and eighth ribs.

Thenoise that Jameson makes –

Thenoise, a braying little gasp, a broken little screech from somewherein his lungs rather than his vocal chords, a choke combined with themovement that should make a scream, is not a noise that Anti realizedhuman beings could make.

Antiwishes he had recorded it. He could play that on a loop and destroycivilizations with the high it gives him.

He’slaughing so hard it hurts to breathe.

“Doktor!”he calls, shoving Jameson off his throat. The boy shudders againstthe floor, slamming his head against the cement as his body overtakeshis brain, far more conscious than he’d like to be. “You’re goingto have to bandage this up for us, darling.”

Notlong now. Not long.

“Please.”

“Shutup.”

“Please,please, H-E-N - ”

Doktorshoves him hard back against the porcelain sink to which he is onceagain chained. Jameson gags, weeping. “Brother,” he cries,undeterred. “Why won’t you save me?”

“God,please!” Henrik screams. “Stop, stop, I can’t take this!”

“Pleasehelp me, please help me, I’m scared, I’m scared, soon he will make mehis, I can’t take any more, please save me, I love you.”

Henrikscreams and tears at his hair, falling back. He’s been cleaningJameson up every night for a week. They are both reaching breakingpoints.

“Deutsch!”cries a voice from downstairs. Red, he thinks. “Blue can’tbreathe!”

“Sithim upright!” he calls back, trying to raise his voice above arasp. He tries to push himself back up to kneeling and a nail thatonce held floorboard pierces his palm, making him gasp.

“It’snot working!” Red cries. “It’s not enough!”

“Doyou think I’m hiding oxygen up here?” Doktor shrieks. “What doyou want me to do?”

Redis weeping. It’s a new sound for Doktor, but he doesn’t have time tocare. Blue and Trick are just getting sicker, and Carver’s going toget an infection if he doesn’t bandage him up, and he never feelswell anymore, and nothing is right, nothing is right, nothing is –

Jamesoncan only reach his brother’s out-stretched hands. Teary-eyed, whiteas smoke, he grips Doktor’s wrist gently and rubs his thumb up anddown the veins at the heel of his hand.

“Stop,”says Doktor.

Hedoesn’t draw away.

Jamesontugs his hand closer and presses his forehead to it, massaging hispalm, holding him tight.

“Stop,”says Doktor.

Jamesonshivers and clings to each one of his fingers, examining the valleysand ridges of his swirling fingerprints. Brushes against his veinsfrom heel to thumb. Squeezes tight, tight, tight.

Doktorcan’t remember the last time anyway touched him gently.

“Stop,”he begs. “I can take no more.”

“Henrik,”says Jameson, releasing his hand to finally, finally make the namewhole. “Henrik, brother, help me. Let’s go. There’s still time.”

Thestrings are slipping. The strings are slipping. The strings areslipping.

Butthey are still tight enough.

“I’msorry, Jameson,” whispers Henrik.

“No,no,” begs Jamie. He tries to grab his hand again, but Henrik isdrawing away. “I need you to remember who you are.”

“I’msorry,” whispers Doktor. “I am. I’m sorry. But I am also Anti’s.You don’t understand what he would do to us if we tried to escape.There is no running away. He will haunt us for the rest of our days.Better to stay, and be good for him. I am Anti’s.”

Jamesoncurls in on himself like a child, wrapping his arms around himselfand hugging himself tight. He rocks against the sink, sobbing.

He’slost. He’s lost. It’s over.

“Soonyou will be too,” promises Doktor softly. “And then…”

Heknows he should say that things will be better.

Buthe can’t lie.

Thisis a life of pain.

Twilightmakes the floorboards grey and lilac. The air smells of dust, ofblood, of starvation.

Doktorsits slumped over Blue, staring, corpse-like, down at him, bleedingsluggishly from the palm of his hand as he tends to his brothers’illnesses.

“They’regoing to die, aren’t they?” whispers Red.

Inhis weakness, Trick has regained his favor, and both he and Blue areclose at hand, tucked up in the only blanket in the house, shiveringside-by-side, asleep. Trickshot wheezes with every breath.

Doktorcan’t even answer. He washes sweat from their foreheads and massagestheir chests with vaporub. Nothing else to fucking do.

“Ican’t – ” Red breaks off, covering his mouth, squeezing his eyestightly shut. “I can’t watch them die.”

Doktorhums a brief affirmation, staring blankly at Trickshot’s hollowedgrey cheeks. It’s a little too late for Red to start caring.

“Deutsch,”whispers Red. He touches Doktor’s hand.

Henrikjumps hard, turning to him with astonished eyes. Red’s hand is gentleon his own. There are tears in his eyes.

“Whatdo I need to do to save them?”

AndHenrik recognizes, suddenly, a light that he had forgotten evergraced Jackie’s eyes.

Aprotection in his outstretched hands, a courage in his stiffenedmouth, a light in his bright blue eyes.

“Holyshit,” whispers Henrik.

Doubt.Doubt. Rebellion. It sits between them, curled in the heat of theirfevering brothers and the wounds that litter the boy upstairs likeconstellations, in the memories that sift, slow, patient, throughtheir awakening hearts.

“Sauerstoff,”he manages, swallowing hard.

“What?”

“Oxygen,”he rasps.

“Wheredo I get that?”

“Youwill have to steal it. Once you stole computer code from the centerof a secret Ministry of Defense facility just so Anti could eludethem. You will be able to take oxygen from a hospital. Masks too,blankets, and medicine – bring me paper, I will write it all down.”

Whiteand silent with stress, Jackie brings him the torn wrapper of theirlast jug of water, and Henrik scratches names into it, recalling,with the smell of hand sanitizer in his nose, what it was to be areal healer.

“Youmust go quickly,” he murmurs, pressing the wrapper into Jackie’shand.

“Iknow,” Jackie answers, soft. “If I’m not back before Antirealizes I’m gone…”

Hewill kill him. The words stand silent in the air between them.

Henrikcan almost remember his name.

Henrikcan almost, almost remember his name.

“Doktor,”murmurs Jackie.

“Red,”Henrik answers, exhausted.

Hiseyes say go carefully and Jackie’s answer very well, as youwish, we were brothers once and in the memory I have forgotten thehatred he fostered within me.

Jackiesqueezes his hand, kisses both Blue and Trickshot goodbye, and goes.

Heknows he will be killed for the transgression of abandonment.

Buthis pain might be salvation, and the word “hero” rises once againin his mind, like a tattoo uncovered, impossibly forgotten,permanent, chosen, lasting.

Upstairs,Jameson grows weaker.

Thereisn’t much time left.

Antiwakes up.

Thisis unusual for him, having never actually lost consciousness before.His waking thoughts consist largely of what the fuck, what thefuck, what the fuck?

Didhe pass out?

He’sslumped downstairs on his little throne – hardly more than ablood-painted chair, but he loves it like a knife – and he doesn’tremember falling asleep.

He’sweak as a ball of cotton.

Panicrises in him like fire and he tries to get up, without success,panting hard. For a moment his whole body becomes as static, heavyand faraway. His tongue is leaden and stinging in his mouth and hishead collapses back against the wood of his chair, leaving himmotionless and terrified, fainted in his own throne room.

He’snever passed out before, he’s never been weak, he’s never used somuch energy, he didn’t realize he had a breaking point and he needsto stop –

No!screams the rest of his brain. The dizzy spell recedes as a wave fromthe ocean and he staggers to his feet, snarling at the world aroundhim, which continues to defy him. I won’t be stopped now! I’m sovery close. So very close to the perfect victory. Their stupidpersistence can’t stop me. I will hold all five of them at once,puppets from my hands.

Hespares a burst of pure hatred for his creator, who gave him justenough brothers to be a challenge.

Butnot enough to stop him. He will be victorious.

“Doktor!”he screams, dragging himself to the bottom of his staircase. Deutschappears shaking in the light above him, his eyes flashing quicklybetween all corners of the house. Anti can almost taste hisdisloyalty, but it does not matter. He must break his last littlecolt, and then he will reign in all five of his stallions, if ittakes every whip in the world. “Bring my the little brat,” hehisses, sinking back into the darkness. “We end this tonight, onceand for all.”

“Where,”whispers Anti, “Is your resistance now?”

Jamesonlies shivering. Jameson lies shaking.

“Ihave shattered it,” Anti tells him. He reaches down, slow, and runshis knuckles across Jameson’s cheek, scarred and blood-stained.

“Youwere not the one who shattered it,” Jameson answers, closing hiseyes.

Thedemon stands above him like a shadow, pierced by thin beams of lightforcing their way through the tiny windows at the tops of thebasement walls. Blue and green eyes coat Jameson in a unique form oflust, a power-hungry possession, a wolf that has gained a taste forhuman flesh.

“Youlove your brothers very much,” murmurs Anti. “After all they havedone to you.”

Hesits down, criss-cross, at Jameson’s side. Pulls him into his lap.Takes his hands into his own.

“Bemine,” he says. “And they will love you again too.”

“Isthis what you call love?” Jameson manages.

Heis slumping down against Anti’s shoulder, exhausted.

“Youdon’t know the first thing about love.”

“Whata pity,” Anti giggles, grabbing his wrists and pulling him evencloser. “I must be missing so much.”

Blood,blood on Jameson’s face.

“Poordapper darling, pretending to be strong. Your heart is broken andyou’ve been dying for a long time, running from me every day, runningfrom your family. Aren’t you tired?”

Jamesonis hiding against his chest. Tears soak Anti’s shirt.

“Poorthing,” whispers Anti, wrapping an arm around his waist. “I know.It hurts. I know. Poor, poor dapper.”

Careful,he reaches power out. Feels Jameson’s heart, racing with terror, soweak and so vulnerable.

Hewraps a string and breathes through a wave of dizziness.

Jameson’shands tighten on his shirt.

“Thereyou go,” whispers Anti, rubbing from his shoulder to the small ofhis back. “There you go, it’s okay. Stop crying so hard, littleone. Hush, hush. Here I am. Don’t be afraid.”

“Anti,”signs Jameson. Anti does not know what he is begging for and he doesnot care. His sign name is a slit throat ‘A’ and it makes him laugh.“Anti, please.”

“Lookat me,” Anti orders, taking his chin in his hand. “Look at menow.”

Jamesontries to hide, his eyelids fluttering. No, no, no…

“You’reso tired.” Anti’s fingers are soft, warm, loving against his faceand throat and hands. “So, so tired, poor little puppy.”

Andhe is, so, so exhausted, so tired it could kill him. All he wants inthe whole goddamn world is to lose himself in sleep, in power, inAnti…

“Lookat me,” says Anti. He hates him, he craves him, he owns him. “Lookat me, Carver, Dapper, Monochroma. Look at me.”

Jameson’seyes open. Dapper’s eyes meet his own.

Hot,rushing, overwhelming, terrifying, ecstatic, adoring, all-consuming,all-consuming, all-consuming; Carver gasps and sinks down in Anti’shands, reaching up to be held, an agony of possession writhingthrough his body as he collapses like a bird dead in the air andlanguishes in the dark, endless eyes of his older brother.

Antihas him.

Carverblinks, and closes his eyes, and sinks.

Sinkslike a mink sinks in the mouth of an alligator.

Downonto Anti’s lap.

Andwhen his brother traces his hands across his scalp, stroking gentlehis downy brown hair, he breathes out a sigh of relief.

Antihas him.

Joycrackles as a current of electricity through his body and Antismiles, letting himself curl down around Chroma’s body, pulling hisnew little puppet to him, running his hands over his flesh, tastingthe sweet copper taste of an implanted adoration, touching hisfingers to each one of the cuts he has spent the last two weekscutting into Dapper’s skin –

Aword of alarm flickers through his system. Anti sits up, his eyesfixed on the opening to the room.

Thereare footsteps coming towards him.

Hetries to get up, but dizziness pounds through his simulated skull andhe collapses back onto his throne, gripping at Carver’s shirt. Heover-exerted. Used too much power. He’s never been so tired in hislife. He could fall asleep right here, slumped over his littlebrother’s body, holding his new puppet close… his eyes flicker andglitch and he sways, drifting…

“Ican bear this no longer.”

Anti’seyes snap open.

Inthe doorway, Henrik.

NotDoktor.

Henrik.

Antican’t feel his hold over him.

Hetries anyway. “Go back upstairs, Deutsch.”

Dappershivers in his lap. Anti grips a knife warily, staring at Henrik’stwilight silhouette.

“Ican bear this no longer,” whispers Henrik.

“Arzt,”hisses Anti, glaring him down. “Go back upstairs. Now.” Hestrains his energy on the last word, reaching out for Henrik again,wrapping strings around his throat –

“Shutyour fucking mouth,” hisses Henrik.

Andstranger still is the look in his eyes, because, for the first timein his life, Anti doesn’t understand the emotion that he’s looking atin another’s face.

“So,”he drawls, rubbing Dapper’s back, just to mock this rebellious littlepuppet standing before him. “My strings got too loose, huh?”

Henrikmoves forward. His hands tremble.

“Upstairs,two of my brothers are dying,” he says. “Red – no, Jackie –has suffered so much at your hands that for many long months he hasdesired only to be yours, so full of hatred we all bear his marks onour flesh. I myself have hurt for years now because of you. Havenightmared, have scarred over, have shattered like ice into crystal.And this boy you have given me to care for for the past week. Eachtime I saw his face, each time I held him, bleeding in my arms, Ihave regained a little of myself. That is not because of you. That isbecause of me. Your strings are looser, yes. But I am the one whotore them off. And that is because you know nothing. You think youknow what pain is, Anti?”

Hepulls from the pocket of his torn khaki pants a stained scalpel.

“Answerme,” he snarls.

Antiis glaring at him now, teeth bared and drizzling blood. His skin isgreen and his eyes are black. He is not human.

Buthe shares the mortal propensity to fear.

“Yes,”he hisses back, draping himself over Jameson’s body like a wolf witha fresh kill. “And I will teach it to you for months and months andmonths, little one.”

“No!”screams Henrik. “No, you don’t know the first goddamn thing! Notyet, Anti! Not yet!”

Antineeds to get up. He has to get up. He cannot glitch at all; his fleshis so still it is painful, but he must rise nonetheless, he muststand nonetheless, he can still get up, even in his weakened state,surely –

Theweight of Jameson’s sleeping body across his lap is too heavy for himto move. He cannot even put his hands on him. He is losingcorporeality. He can see through his palms. This has never happened.This has never happened. This has never –

Feartastes like copper, copper, copper, blood.

“Painis love turned against you,” groans Henrik. “Brothers made toenemies and left to bleed on the seat of a bus, left to choke todeath in abandoned houses, wearing belled collars and clutching atwounds that will never heal. You think you know what that is?”

“Henrik,get away from me,” hisses Anti. Electrical signals buzz distortedlythrough his brain, making the whole world too bright and tooconfusing. He coughs and blood comes welling up in his mouth.

“Youwill,” promises Henrik.

Hiseyes are consumed by darkness.

“Iwill teach you what it is. Because Anti, Anti, Anti! Pain is weaknessand then, later, strength. I have suffered until the madness came,and arisen from it powerful, powerful, powerful. Be afraid, Anti. Iwill teach you what is pain.”

Anti’scoughing pierces deeper and deeper as his body begins to glitchapart. The more he tries to blacken his eyes and consume Henrik’swill, the more power he loses, and the more he falls apart. He cannotstop coughing. He cannot breathe.

“Youare nothing!” he shrieks, nearly hysteric with mad fervor, with howgoddamn close he is to having everything he’s ever wanted! So manybodies strewn aside, so much corruption and patience, so much time,effort, planning, blood, torment! No, he will not lose now! He willtear this whole world apart if that is what it takes! “I will ripyou apart like tendrils of dog meat!”

ButHenrik is no longer afraid of him. He continues forward, staring intohis black eyes, free of him.

“Iwill turn you against yourself,” he promises. Here is a threat toterrify, and Anti cannot help but shove himself against the back ofhis throne, straining away. “Tear you down into all the things youpromised yourself you would never be. Kill you with your own blade.Oh, I’ve hated you for so long.”

“Oh,no, Doktor,” giggles Anti. At least there is some humor to be foundin that. “No, no, no, you’ve loved me, adored me, prayed in my namefor months now. Even before I used power to make you mine completely,you would beg for a scrap of bread as you starved, for a touch ofcomfort as the pain killed you, for someone to kiss you and wipe upthe tears – ”

Henrikswings with the scalpel.

Anti’sbody finds the strength somewhere to glitch and he goes crashing tothe cement, scrambling away from Henrik, hatred and blood wellingfrom his mouth. He can’t stop coughing. It hurts. “Red!” hescreams. “Red, Blue, come here now!”

“Theytoo have abandoned you,” hisses Henrik. “Their brotherhoodovercomes your own.”

“Impossible,”Anti shrieks. “Impossible.”

“Youare alone,” says Henrik. “As you were always meant to be. I toldJameson you were inescapable, do you know that? Strange. Just daysago, you seemed deathless. But I have been watching your collapse.You have made yourself mortal. Maybe you will haunt us, after all, aghost, a memory. But you will never lay a hand on my family again.”

Anticoughs until he is sprawled against the earth, writhing in blood, inchunks of his own lungs, in hatred. He tries one last time to stopHenrik, and even makes him stagger back, confused, torn – but thislapse in control is enough to make the boy on the throne jerk back toreality, staggering to his feet and coming to stand at Henrik’s side,grabbing his hand and assuring him, comforting him, standing withhim.

Together,they are stronger than he is.

Forall that they have suffered, Jameson and Henrik are stronger thanAnti, stronger than hatred, stronger than blood.

Henrikraises the scalpel, and teaches his tormentor pain.

Teacheshis tormentor weakness.

Jackiereturns with medicine and food and masks and oxygen, filled with herocourage, hero strength, brother love. Marvin and Chase breathe. Antidoes not.

Henrikand Jameson cling to each other.

Nomore running. No more fighting. No more abuse. Just family. Gone isthe darkness. Here is the light, their stars, their brothers, alive.

Andfrom then on, when pain comes and they are haunted, well, the five ofthem face it together, as they did once before, and some day, oneday, soon, health and joy will come like sunlight in the morning,warm as the ashes of a fire proud and bright.

“Yousaved me,” says Jameson, warm against Henrik’s shoulder, trustingagainst his chest. “You saved me.”

“No,” says Henrik. “You, little brother, are the salvation Ihave longed for.”

#jameson jackson #antisepticeye #jse egos #bee writes #tw torture #tw hypnosis #tw pneumonia #tw abuse #so many ideas i just needed to get out there and this hit on so many of them #might polish it up one day and get a real story out of it #hope you enjoy #dapper and badass

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eisforeidolon · 5 years

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Episode: Don’t Go Into the Woods

Can all supernatural things potentially make the lights flicker? I know demons and ghosts do, but has this been a thing for more straight up physical monster-monsters before? I honestly can't remember.

I hate to be complaining about the Winchesters actually working a case just by themselves? Especially with as rare of a thing as that’s become? But let's be honest, I wouldn’t trust Jack with a mission as perilous as shopping. He might kill somebody or destroy the world. Dabb & Co. have pointedly made him incapable of learning or understanding anything, so he's less a realistic character and more a dangerously idiotic plot bomb perpetually set to go off at random intervals.

Who the Winchesters are now going to leave entirely unsupervised while Cas also just happens to be elsewhere. Well, isn't that suspiciously convenient?

Right now when he's just got his canon-breaking powers back and may not have a soul? NOW is the time to leave him alone?

O-kay, crippling brain damage for everybody is again necessary for this episode's events to happen, I see.

The only thing more frustrating than Jack being a perpetual shifting blob of whatever the plot calls for? Is further manifestation of Dabb's desperation to write for a teen audience via the dumbass teenybopper trio returning. Knew it was coming, still did not brace me for hating having to sit through it this much.

I'm a little puzzled about they guy one being able to watch Ghostfacer videos. I kind of doubt any teenager would notice the videos if they weren't being currently produced, and the Ghostfacers broke up last we saw them. Did they somehow get back together after that episode with the lulzy anvilicious supposed parallels? If they didn't and this kid is just trawling the Internet for videos that are at least five years old at this point, wouldn't whichever Ghostfacer it was who had gone off to run a business or whatever have had this shit scrubbed off the internet to avoid being made fun of by his colleagues? Seriously, I am way way more interested in this probable continuity fail potential mystery than in anything about the teens themselves.

I don't have a lot to say about the case Sam and Dean were working. Again, it was fine. New monster, okay. I mean, it does seem like maybe a questionable choice to go for something that's similar to a monster the show has already highlighted (wendigo)? But really, a lot of folklore monsters are variations across slightly different legends, so it's probably stranger we haven't had more similar monsters over the years. It did at least look quite different and I thought it was cool how it melted.

Local townie sheriff in denial and really obtusely insistent about coyotes snatching people out of bathrooms? Eh, I can go with that, I guess. Though, what, was he planning on spending the next who knows how long of his life futilely trying to keep people out of the local woods for reasons he was going to just refuse to specify to anyone? And he even kept going on about coyotes while his son was so blatantly campaigning to win the Most Likely to Wander Into the Woods for Revenge Award? Kind of dumb, but I don't think it was too far over the threshold of unbelievably dumb. Yeah, it was all more than a little on the nose obvious about the sheriff knowing something such that the Winchesters were going to ultimately need his help. Still, there was at least some Winchesters working together and Dean got a cool moment disarming the sheriff in the woods. Though I'm not any less sick of yet again the rando of the week killing the monster while the Winchesters get knocked about, I'm kind of resigned to it at this point. Dabb clearly finds believably competent characters actually getting to be competent unspeakably boring.

So yeah, that part of the episode was mostly just there for me. I was inordinately bugged by how during one of those conversations between sheriff guy and his son the show chose to toss in an egregious flashback to the dead girlfriend. Like, do they think we as the audience have so little attention span we can't remember the kid is upset his girlfriend just died a few minutes ago in this same episode? Or do they trust their actors so little to convey emotion they felt it was necessary to go DEAD GIRL IN YOUR FACE AGAIN, BOOM! at the audience? There was that and the sheriff lecturing Sam & Dean about how they should just tell people monsters or real or put it on youtube – because that doesn't sound crazy and people can't make fake videos? I feel like that was less a genuine moment and more like the something the writers stuck in because it's one of the complaints that's been circling the fandom for years. Maybe I'm just cynical or the scene didn't come off too well, but I was less sympathizing with something that's actually a pretty reasonable response for someone blindsided by monsters being real and more rolling my eyes at his whining.

Here's a poll, which is more stupid? The cringe-y cluelessness of shoehorning in a dead horse of a fanfic cliché like, “We have movie nights on Tuesdays!” Or that the writers continue to think annoying teenybopper canon fodder calling Dean old is cool/funny. I can't decide!

Also, what are the writers wanting us to think about whether or not Jack has a soul? Because I am having some trouble here believing that he doesn't have any soul left when this episode turns into him angsting about accidentally almost killing Whatsherface #2 and getting rejected by the teen trio even after “fixing” his “mistake”. I mean, if the writers are intending us to know but not for Cas and the Winchesters to, that's fine, but if this is meant to be a mystery I feel like it's a fail in terms of how they're writing potential soullessness because while I don't care all that much, I don't feel any doubt that he does. Even if I am annoyed at the groundhog day feeling of this incident after we already sang this song over the security guard incident.

I'm also not terribly impressed about the Winchesters arguing in the car over Dean's lying to Jack about needing someone to stay in the bunker. If Sam really felt that strongly about it, why did he just agree? Even if it was some bullshit don’t argue in front of the “kid” thing, he could have tacked on an addendum about being worried about Jack’s powers without contradicting what Dean said. Oh, right, for the dramaz. In the same way that the show careens wildly back and forth between treating Jack as a competent adult and a toddler with some kind of memory retention disorder, the way the Winchesters handle him makes just as much sense. Speaking of lying, is it really that much better to tell a white lie about being worried about Jack being “comfortable” with his powers instead of finding a polite but honest way to say they suspect he'll accidentally kill people because he has no brains consistent control and an issue with overconfidence?

I think there were some Dean fans that thought the thrust of that end conversation was to blame Jack almost killing some fools on Dean - but whether or not there were any intentional shades of that, it's too stupid for words. Jack being badly written is Jack's problem, not any other character's prevarications. If Jack didn’t learn back with the security guard, the idea any talkity-talking over reckless use of his powers at the beginning of this episode would have prevented what happened is ludicrous. That’s only confirmed by spoilers I know about the rest of this season making it clear that even accidentally almost killing somebody outright here doesn’t teach him anything. Because again, he’s written as largely incapable of learning. Which, I guess there’s a weird pacifier-toting squad of infantilization-loving fans who are into that shit, but for my part? Ew, no thanks. I prefer characters with more personality than “helpless ball of woobified stupidity”. I liked Jack well enough to begin with, but the more central they make him to the story, the more obviously deficient he is as a consistent and three dimensional character.

#writer incompetence #anti dabb #negativity for ts #anti jack kline #spn 14x16 #spn season 14 #long post

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amberenigma · 4 years

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Never-Ending Survey: Ovan Indou

Rules: Repost, do not reblog

Tagged by: @lightdevoid ( ty bb! )

Tagging: honestly if you haven’t done of these, do et.

BASICS.

FULL NAME: Ovan Indou NICKNAME: Dad. Dad. AGE: 28 BIRTHDAY: 12th sun of the 6th umbral moon ETHNIC GROUP: Au Ra / Raen NATIONALITY: Othardian LANGUAGE/S: Hingan, comon Eorzean, Doman SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Pansexual ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: Panromantic RELATIONSHIP STATUS: Single (at least for this verse) HOME TOWN / AREA: Sui-no-Sato CURRENT HOME: Mist, on the go PROFESSION: (aside from WoL), goldsmith, adventurer

PHYSICAL.

HAIR: Copenhagen blue, medium length and a little messy EYES: Slate blue, with a bright umbral ring FACE: Spiky, pentagon shape, angled LIPS: Good ol’ smoochie lips COMPLEXION: Tanned, cool undertone BLEMISHES: Infrequent sun damage, especially on his cheeks and forearms SCARS: Haphazard at best, from spars or unfortunate circumstances, but nothing major TATTOOS: None HEIGHT: 6′ 8″ WEIGHT: 180 ponz BUILD: He’s a twunk :^) FEATURES: Pointed facial horns, a long, pointy tail. Lots of blue ALLERGIES: Affection ( until someone forces in ) USUAL HAIR STYLE: Long and straight, tends to muss up at the ends. Bangs part to the right USUAL FACE LOOK: <:I :I >:I USUAL CLOTHING: SUNS OUT GUNS OUT, pants, lace-up shoes, fingerless gloves, glasses!

PSYCHOLOGY.

FEAR/S: Failure, powerlessness, loss ASPIRATION/S: He just wants to sleep, you feel me. POSITIVE TRAITS: Witty, observant, cunning NEGATIVE TRAITS: Aloof, loner, vague TEMPERAMENT: Chillin ANIMALS: chocobos, cats, miqo’te that don’t leave him be VICE HABIT/S: Compartmentalizing FAITH: The twelve, primals GHOSTS?: Sure. AFTERLIFE?: Yes REINCARNATION?: Not really POLITICAL ALIGNMENT: None EDUCATION LEVEL: General education in sui-no-sato before leaving to the surface. Trade knowledge from then on.

FAMILY.

FATHER : Alive MOTHER : Alive SIBLINGS : Little sister, alive EXTENDED FAMILY: @ofvesper ( sonion ) / @oasisbow ( dotter in law ) / @sectnocturnal ( fellow dad ) / @audaciis ( aNOTHER SON!! ) NAME MEANING/S: Apparently indou means “dog child” so there’s that but ovan doesn’t have a real meaning :^) HISTORICAL CONNECTION?: Not particularly--the indou household is one of the families that stayed below the surface

FAVORITES.

BOOK: The tale about the ruby tide princess DEITY: Something with scales! ...bahamut HOLIDAY: starlight MONTH: the fifth umbral moon SEASON: fall PLACE: seaside, underwater WEATHER: cloudy SOUND / S: rainfall, waves SCENT / S: seasalt, fresh catch, ashes TASTE / S: savory, sweet FEEL / S: scale rubs, warmth ANIMAL / S: CAT CAT CAT CAT CAT NUMBER: 8 COLORS: blue, light blue, white, black, red

EXTRA.

TALENTS: Summoning, smithing, a smidge of singing BAD AT: Showing pain, talking about things that tend to be uh. critical to his health. TURN ONS: Opposition, even a different outlook--something that forces a different perspective TURN OFFS: Shallowness, mostly HOBBIES: Reading, botany, traveling, babysitting TROPES: Breaking Speech, Poor Communication Kills, Used to be a Sweet Kid QUOTES: literally some variation of “Stop that.”

MUN QUESTIONS.

Q1 : If you could write your character your way in their own movie, what would it be called, what style would it be filmed in, and what would it be about? A1 : points at .hack//Trilogy. beech he already has one.

Q2 : What would their soundtrack/score sound like? A2 : well, do i have a surprise for you. ( GU / Versus ) me, personally, i tend to associate a lot of kota hoshino’s tracks with ovan--so that dark, dangerous orchestra kind of vibe.

Q3 : Why did you start writing this character? A3 : i wrote this verse initially because i wanted to branch out. the more i was comfortable with having an ovan character as my main in xiv, the more i started putting together his story for this verse.

Q4 : What first attracted you to this character? A4 : initially, blue. i like blue. i like megane characters. but even more than that, i really have a deep appreciation for morally gray characters. i love digging into their train of thought.

Q5 : Describe the biggest thing you dislike about your muse. A5 : YOU NEED THERAPY BEECH, IF I CAN DO IT, YOU CAN TOO.

Q6 : What do you have in common with your muse? A6 : uhhh...i’d say in general, quite a bit in terms of past, vices, and habits.

Q7 : How does your muse feel about you? A7 : good question. i hope he’s happy for me.

Q8 : What characters does your muse have interesting interactions with? A8 : honestly, most of the xiv interactions i’ve had have been interesting purely because ovan’s not in his canon backstory and verse--it’s a completely different flavor but not unlike him. his au is really showing off how much of a father figure he tends to be.

Q9 : What gives you inspiration to write your muse? A9 : he’s been my longest muse for almost 7 years now, and for the most part, i’ve never not had muse for him.

Q10 : How long did this take you to complete? A10 : NGL LIKE...A COUPLE WEEKS. THIS SHIT’S LONG.

#( ╳┊ meme. )#( ╳┊ of DAWN. )

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aces-to-apples · 5 years

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May The Fourth Be With You (And Also With You)

I don’t have anything ready to post for May the Fourth this year, boo!, but instead I’ll steal Dharma’s idea of posting a snippet of all my applicable WIPs, yay!

“Sugar and Spice” aka The Nika Fic aka genderbent AU crosses over with canon-verse a la Universe Collisions by Sroloc_Elbisivni

The Jedi took a couple more shuddering breaths. “Anyone else need a top-up?” she asked, voice steady but gaze fixed on the dank rock wall.

Rex exchanged looks with Kix, who straightened and surveyed his patients, clearly weighing who among them could use the help. The men themselves—Onyx, left hand useless from taking a swing at a clanker when his power-pack ran out; Honeycutt, nursing a couple cracked, possibly broken, ribs; Fives, unable to stand on his right leg—shared a non-verbal conversation of their own.

“Onyx can't shoot and Fives can't walk.” Honeycutt gave up the names with vicious pragmatism, ignoring both men as they silently threatened to space him once they were back on the Vigilance.

The Jedi looked between them with a small smile—at Fives who was stubbornly trying to get to his feet in protest, at Onyx who gripped his deece in his non-dominant hand like he was contemplating bludgeoning Honeycutt with it, and at Honeycutt himself with his arms crossed over his chest, one hand subtly nursing the injured ribs. “What about you, tough guy? Need a hand?”

“I can walk and I can fight,” Honeycutt said defiantly. He jerked a thumb at the other two. “That's more than these idiots can claim, and you're the one who asked.”

“True enough,” was her easy reply, but her eyes held a challenge. “How well can you breathe, though?”

He bared his teeth at her. “Well enough to argue with you… sir.”

Rex was prepared to step between them, to apologize for Honeycutt’s disrespectful attitude, but held back another beat. As half of him suspected she would, the Jedi threw her head back and cackled.

“Oh, I like you,” she announced with a grin, the color swiftly returning to her cheeks and her eyes sparkling. “You got a name, tough guy?”

“… Honeycutt,” he replied, looking from her to Rex and back. Rex couldn't do more than shrug, because he didn't know either. “Corporal Honeycutt.”

“Pleased to meet you, Honeycutt. I'm Nika.” She held out a hand to him, palm up, and watched his eye it distrustfully, shell-pink lips curved to one side. After a second, he took it and she hauled him to his feet. “Now, let’s see what we can do about those ribs, shall we?”

(Working title:) “Friends, Foes, and Telling the Difference” aka part three of “A Non-Comprehensive Guide To Force-Sensitivity”

The boy watched their interaction with the same lackadaisical interest the young Zabrak had demonstrated during their journey. “What does the Force feel like to you?” he finally said, blinking owlishly as Dooku refused to choke on his Tarine tea and delicately cleared his throat. “When Ben talks about it, it’s all very mystical-sounding. Cool winds and noiseless whispers, like a friendly ghost or a helpful spirit. Feelings and stuff. But when Maul talks about the Force, it’s more like instincts and heightened senses. It’s more physical than, I dunno, spiritual. So I wanted to know what it’s like for you.”

“That,” Dooku replied, placing his teacup on the table just so, “is a very personal question, young Skywalker.”

Anakin tilted his head innocently and said, “Oh, is it?” but his even his shields—well-made and well-maintained both from within and without—do poorly to contain the bright, bubbling amusement he was polite enough to hold back. Clearly, he knew very well what he was doing, and Dooku had to admire the tenacity of a such a young boy teasing a Jedi Master whilst genuinely seeking information.

He hummed pointedly and stared the unrepentant boy down, but considered the question in earnest. Knowledge for the sake of knowledge was a worthy pursuit. “Your brothers,” Dooku said the word carefully, weighing its meaning as he met the boy’s eyes, “were both correct. The Force can manifest in various ways, and it’s likely different for every being who experiences it. For many, whether they purposefully follow the ways of the Force or not, it acts in a more passive manner: a feeling of wrongness when danger is near, a keen sense of distrust when one is being deceived, or even just a quiet knowledge of where to go or what to say at a certain moment.”

Young Skywalker nodded thoughtfully, his eyes far away. “That’s very interesting, sir,” he said after a moment. “I think Ben will like you, if you ever meet. You both talk the same way, like you’ll get a prize at the end of the day for how many questions you can avoid answering. That, or he’ll hate your guts. It’s hard to say with Ben.”

Queen Amidala smothered a giggle.

“Well,” Dooku drawled, picking his tea back up, “Maul seems determined to dislike myself and my companion, so I think not.”

The boy shrugged and gulped down the rest of his milk with a grin. “Maybe, maybe not,” he cheerfully declared. “Those two disagree so much, I think it’s on purpose. Mom says they were like two tomcats until I was born, always arguing and hissing at each other, so Ben might decide he likes you just to be contrary.”

“An interesting way to raise a child,” Dooku noted, dry as the desert air outside. “If they disagree so often, you must have quite a bit of conflicting information on a great many topics.”

“Dab’ika Vaar’kara” aka the Camp Half-Blood AU an anon accidentally requested when they combined “summer camp” and “magical accidents” during a trope mash-up ask meme

“Now, as new arrivals, you're given a certain amount of leeway when it comes to the rules, regulations, and realities of living in the Godsworld.” Rex fixed the little ones—nearly fourteen and just barely scraping in under the wire in regards to the required claiming age—with a hard stare. “After orientation, you will be expected to either figure out what you don't know yourself or keep your trap shut. Understood, cadets?”

It was a blatant lie, of course; Cody could already see Kix’s bunk littered with sheets of flimsi covered in drawings, diagrams, and written explanations. Still, it was the spirit of the thing, yeah? A’sev had scared them witless when they’d first arrived at camp, and now that he was off doing Paladin shit, it fell to them to keep the tradition alive. It was a beautiful cycle, really, and watching the tiny shinies straighten up and shout “sir, yes, sir” like Rex was a fucking drill sergeant was hilarious.

“First off,” Rex continued, beginning to pace rather impressively in front of the duo. Cody had a hard time not joining the boys in their next snickerfit. “Congratulations on surviving your first monster encounter—besting an abaia while it’s got a home-field advantage is no easy feat. You did yourselves, and all your brothers, proud.”

The rookies straightened up that much more under the praise and Cody felt his need to smirk warring with the impulse to coo. “Whose idea was it to get it to charge into the rocks?” he asked curiously. They'd taken bets, watching from the shore.

“Mine, sir,” the one with the crew-cut said, taking a small step forward. A ripple spread through the cabin as they all noticed he'd subtly placed himself between his twin and Rex. That kind of body-language, combined with the late claiming, didn't bode well.

“Well done,” Rex acknowledged with a nod. “It was reckless, but well-executed. Just the kind of thinking we need in Mandalore Cabin. You got a name, shiny?”

“Ferdinand, sir,” the kid said without any hint of irony. They all winced in sympathy, because yeesh. “This is Emrys.”

Seeing that Rex didn't quite know how to phrase it, Cody asked, “You boys got nicknames?”

Their reaction was… worrying.

“Sir, no, sir,” Ferdinand—poor fucking kid—immediately denied, panic well-hidden to anyone not used to reading every variation of the face the Mand’alor’s poor decisions had stuck them all with. “We’re proud to carry these names and would never—”

“Anyone here calls me Emrys, I’ll break their fucking nose,” the long-haired twin cut in, stepping forward so that they stood shoulder to shoulder. “Got it?”

“Blood On The Ice” aka the Skyrim AU that I’ve world-built wayyyy more than I’ve actually written

The first glimpse of Coruscant—snow-dusted, crumbled stone reeking of despair—holds true as Ahsoka enters the city proper. Barrels of supplies do little to mask its deepening poverty when the cobblestones themselves shift beneath her feet.

A little Human girl, clad only in a threadbare red dress, entreats her to buy a wildflower and Ahsoka’s heart breaks at the girl’s gratitude when she agrees. She’d heard of Skyrim’s civil war back home, but had thought the children would be spared from adult pettiness. In Valenwood, the Green cares for younglings nearly as much as their parents; in the home and hold of the Storm-Hand, it seems, children shiver and starve. Not yet an hour in his hold, Ahsoka finds herself unimpressed with the rebellious Human king.

Unsure which path to take from her ingress, she chooses randomly and goes right.

Lined with homes and shops in various states of disrepair, Ahsoka regrets her choice until she spots an older gentleman lingering in a doorway. Her shoulders slump with relief to see one of her Twi’lek cousins, even bundled in the furs and leathers needed in the harsh Skyrim climate, rather than colorful Morrowind silks.

“Greetings, nerra,” she says warmly, stepping closer and holding out a hand.

The man appears nonplussed for a moment but replies with an affable, “Welcome, numa,” and clasps her forearm. “Are you new to Coruscant, gida?” he asks, nodding at her bow and daggers. “Most elves know better than to appear before the Stormhands so armed.”

untitled time-travel fic currently referred to in-house as “first battle of geonosis time-travel fic” aka this fic

And on it goes, a litany of ghosts and brothers lost to the stars. He matches numbers to names as they speak through the darkness: Fives and Echo, Jesse, Hardcase, and Kix, Onyx and Honeycutt, Razzy, Ringo, Tup—even Dogma, quietest and most hesitant of all. The barest bones of Torrent Company; eleven dead men walking, and Rex makes a full squad.

Numbers are and ever will be your greatest strength, your keenest advantage, he recalls the woman saying at one point, somewhere between his failed intruder alert and the imperious wave of her hand that sent him to his knees, heaving.

“Where the frip’s my bucket,” a voice gripes—Ringo, by the sound of it. The only reply he receives beyond repetitions of the same question, “Prob’ly right where you left it,” comes from Razzy, no question. It's both a relief and a punch to the gut to hear Ringo gripe, “Umbara, then, with the rest of me.”

“Oh, hey, mine too,” Hardcase pipes up, saying it like a joke, like it was funny. “Anyone else kick it on that sith-hole?”

“Yeah, Krell,” Five answers into the uncomfortable silence. It sounds like he’s smiling; the smile doesn’t sound very nice.

“Ori’haat?” Hardcase says, intrigued and vaguely impressed. “You do the honors?”

And finally, “chasing a dream” aka the summary and first couple sentences of the Treasure Planet AU that I absolutely forgot I was going to write at some point

Her name isn’t Hawkins. The cyborg isn’t silver. And the closest thing she has to a father isn’t a caninoid species. They’ve got the makings of greatness in them all the same.

Ahsoka is six years old when she meets her very best friend in the whole wide galaxy. He's a Guardian—only a little one, though, like she's only a little Jedi—and he's got the same warm brown skin and golden-brown eyes that his brothers do, but he's also got a bunch of bright yellow hair.

#may the fourth be with you #by apples #star wars #the clone wars #fic bits #skyrim au #treasure planet au #camp half-blood au #nika fic #a non-comprehensive guide to force-sensitivity #time-travel

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