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chiss-ticism · 1 year

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Blondie, Blondie, Blondie, - oh where to start with Blondie…

Some basic Information from her Character Sheet would probably help put things into context, huh? ART DONE BY - @/ineed-to-sleep !!!!

BASIC INFORMATION

PREDATOR TYPE: Siren

CLAN: Malkavian

Generation: 13 (Neonate)

D.O.B.: December 24th, 1971.

D.O.D: November 16th, 2004

Apparent Age: 33

True Age: 51 (as of 2022)

-NOTABLE ATTRIBUTES:

Intelligence - 4 ("You’re likely consulted by members of Clan Tremere for your wisdom")

Wits: 3 ("You can analyze a situation and quickly work out the best escape route.")

Manipulation: 3 ("You never have to pay full price for anything.")

Composure: 3 ("Others look to you for guidance when blood spatter hits the fan.")

-NOTABLE SKILLS:

Academics: 4 (specialty: Psychology) ("Advanced specialized study beyond university, learning into subjects few understand.")

Occult: 3 (S: Noddism) ("You have firsthand experience of something inexplicable, even by Kindred standards.")

Awareness: 3 ("You can see through most disguises and sense concealed dangers or hidden clues.")

Insight: 3 ("You can provide psychotherapy even more effectively than someone who doesn't want to eat their patient.")

-MERITS/ADVANTAGES/LORESHEETS

Shared Condition (The Cobweb, Chicago By Night) (••): ["You recognize your own. As soon as an individual is introduced to you as a vampire, you can tell whether they're of Clan Malkavian.]

Scholar (The Book of Nod, Chicago by Night) (•••): ["You've dedicated significant time and study to The Book of Nod, and are familiar with at least one complete version of the text. You can support your theories with quotes from that version and are aware of counterarguments or alternative interpretations."]

Stunning (••••) (two dots were given already from the Siren Predator Type)

-FLAWS

Folkloric Block (Holy Symbols) (•)

Bond Junkie (•)

Enemy (•)

BACKSTORY N' THE LIKE

Her Sire, who had taken up the night shift as a guard at the psychiatric hospital she'd eventually come to work at long before she ever had the thought of getting her degree in psychology, took note of her dedication and prowess within her field (which she'd went into with a 'if I can't help myself, at the very least I can try and help others - maybe even garner a deeper understanding of myself' attitude) and initiated a relationship between the two with the eventual intent to sire. As the two grew closer, having even gone on a handful of dates (which was a big deal to her on account of how alien her depression made her feel amongst people a lot of the time) - her paying no real mind to the fact that they were exclusively late-night jaunts - even on the few occasions when their schedules aligned for them to technically be free for a daytime dalliance.

He abused that trust, as Kindred are want to do, Embracing her on November 16, 2004.

Blondie's depression and feelings of alienation from society have only been worsened by the Bane afflicting Clan Malkavian (which, in and of itself, is a double whammy on account of how touch-starved, for lack of a better word, the Kindred normally are with their aeons of unmitigated distrust and pension for staking their allies in the backs)

In more recent nights, she's taken to Noddism. A strange pivot, to be sure, but one that's not without merit as she was religious in life if not extremely so. Catholicism, specifically, (the stain-glassed windows are neat, even if I'm not particularly religious myself) and the guilt typically associated with the faith likely didn't help her mental state while she was alive. It certainly doesn't now that she's dead as she feels as if, in being Embraced, she's been abandoned by God. Damned, if you will. Her sire abandoned her, too, after teaching her the basics. A worthwhile member of the Clan had been created and, in his eyes, his presence was no long needed. And Caine? Well the old man doesn't exactly show up to partake in any banquets - even when he is invited.

She's currently traveling from domain to domain - doing what she can to piece together the story of Caine in an, albeit futile search for an answer to the question "why?" - offering up her services as an Oracle to any Prince or Baron willing to let her peruse their libraries or bother members of their domain for information. If she can't get them directly from The Almighty(tm), the second-best thing would probably be the guy who may very well still be walking around.

Currently she's very much stuck in Chicago acting as a liaison/secondary psychologist between the city's Malkavians and their Primogen, Jason "son" Newberry, for their mandatory group-counseling sessions until she can gain access to another Scholar's library.

Side thingies:

My, albeit intentionally tragic as to meet the requirements of the Hero's Journey, Hunter for a 2004 campaign is her nephew! The two didn't actually know one another in life as he wasn't raised by the family, but I still think it's a neat enough detail to include.

In putting Blondie together in my mind like a Lego set I ended up creating a parallel between her and Lilith (and their respective relationships to Caine/The Almighty), if an unintentional one as I hadn't really dug too terribly deeply into the Dark Mother's lore just yet. Here's the specific quote I'm referring to from the Gehenna: Time and Judgement Sourcebook "You might ask why Lilith would choose to take revenge on Caine, rather than on the Almighty, who both cursed Lilith and indirectly caused the death of Lilith's children by cursing Caine. The answer is simple - Lilith, is anything but stupid. The Almighty, if He is even still involved in the World of Darkness at all, is beyond even Lilith's reach that trying to take revenge on him would be pointless… Caine, on the other hand, is readily accessible to someone with Lilith's resources and determination… and honestly, he deserves to meet his end."

Her being a Siren is predicated on her innate desire to want to be, well, wanted. By someone, anyone really. The dalliances with the folks she picks up, and even the feelings associated with them, may be fleeting - but for the time being it scratches that itch ever-so-slightly. It's her greatest tragedy, I think, that a shame her Clan Appointed Drawbacks are going to keep her from ever from every really feeling as if she has a place anywhere. Destined to wander from place to place searching for unobtainable answers to a question without any satisfying ones :/

#Blondie Tag #VtM #pats ocs #malkavian #Vampire the Masquerade #vtm oc

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mayhemproduces · 1 month

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Syn vs Sister Abigail - Gold League - Day 7

For the first time in a very, very long time, Syn & Abigail don’t walk into this match at one another’s side, as allies, but rather as opponents, as Night 5 of The Heist lines them up on opposite sides of the ring. There was nothing so far between the two of them that suggests that there’s any sort of trick or plan when it comes to this match either. As fas as we can tell, these two are going to play this match as straight as possible.

There’s almost a complete lack of expression from Syn as the two stare directly ahead at one another, as referee Tom Dunn rings the bell, and we’re officially underway. Syn and Abigail quickly lock up with one another, collar and elbow tie up, as the two lovers jockey for position. Abigail starts to gain an advantage, shoving Syn back into the corner, but upon the referee’s insistence to let Syn out of the corner, Abigail does something extremely out of character for her, actually breaks the hold and backs up, hands up in the air, letting Syn out of the corner. Syn is quick to immediately come out of the corner and reengage though, Syn initiating another collar and elbow tie up. Syn and Abigail once again jockey for position, this time Syn quickly gaining an advantage, shoving Abigail back into the corner. Syn doesn’t let go right away, even with the warning from Tom Dunn, and it takes Dunn to start counting until Syn releases the collar and elbow.

Syn puts his hands up and backs up a bit… before Syn tears back and delivers a MASSIVE chop to Abigail’s chest! The chop sounds like a shotgun blast, and Abigail hunches over, handing onto the ropes and clutching her chest, and the crowd here sounds shocked at the force of that one! Even if you didn’t expect Abigail & Syn to have any sort of shenanigans planned, maybe you still at least expected them to take it easier on each other. That’s all out the window now, as Syn flares his nostrils and stares Abigail down, telling her to bring it on. It seems Syn wants a real, proper fight out of his life partner tonight, and the look in Abigail’s eyes suggests he’s about to get it!

Abigail and Syn lock up a third time, even more ferociously this time, neither able to gain an advantage but Abigail is quick to toss Syn with an arm drag, Syn rolling and quickly getting back to his feet, dodging out of the way of a big boot, before trying to go back in for a double leg takedown, Abigail dropping down and blocking it, trapping him in a front face lock, but Syn manages to slip out of it, twisting her arm, and taking control of Abigail’s back, twisting the arm into a hammer lock as Syn tries to keep his lover grounded. Abigail tries her best to try and figure out a way out of the hold, but the pressure on her arm at the moment prevents her from doing much. Abigail manages to swing her legs around in front of her, getting in a sitting position, before using her free hand to reach up and grab the back of Syn’s head, pulling him closer, before she starts biting Syn’s neck!

The move doesn’t seem to hurt Syn as much as it surprised him, and he quickly pulled away and took a few steps away. The bite from Abigail wasn’t hard, she didn’t full on sink her teeth in like she was trying to take flesh, but rather, one might actually call it a love bite. Abigail pulls herself to a knee, and smirks, winking at her lover, and Syn, clutching the side of his neck, actually looks a little pissed off at that one. “That’s not fair, and you know it!” Syn shouts across the ring, but Abigail simply shrugs her shoulders and stretches out a bit as we’re once again at another reset. It seems wherever Abigail chose to bite him is probably a pre-established sensitive spot of Syn’s, something that Abigail has decided to use to her advantage in the heat of battle. The slight blush on Syn’s face suggests embarrassment, as much as he’s attempting to disguise it as anger here. The two circle one another again, and Syn once again goes for the takedown, but Abigail again catches him into a front face lock, but this time, Syn rather than drop down, goes up, lifting Abigail into the air, before throwing her off, causing Abigail to land flat on her face! Syn tries to follow it up with a sliding forearm strike, but Abigail rolls out of the way and back up to her feet, launching another boot at Syn, but Syn catches it and shoves her back, blocking the move. Syn is back to his feet now, and nails Abigail with another stiff chop to the chest, and Abigail quickly and earnestly responds with a chop of her own, and now, these two are trading chops back and forth in the middle of the ring! Trying to hit each other with everything they have, neither wanting to yield to the other!

Syn fires away with another chop, only for Abigail to switch to forearms, Abigail nailing multiple right to Syn’s jaw, before she turns to his the ropes, only to get dropped by a clothesline on the rebound! Abigail hits the mat hard, and Syn tries to shake out the cobwebs, pacing around Abigail’s downed body. He grabs her again, picking her back up and sending Abigail off the ropes, spinning and looking for a Big Rig Lariat, but Abigail kicks his arm before it makes impact, sending Syn spinning back the other way, as Abigail grabs him from behind and plants Syn with a back suplex! Abigail with the first cover of the match!

1….2… Kickout!

Syn out at two. Abigail pulls herself up to a knee and runs a hand through her hair, flipping it back and grabbing a handful of Syn’s hair and pulling him up towards her, before making a show of running a hand down his chest. Syn swats her arm away and turns towards her, also getting himself up to a knee. Syn says something to her that the camera mics don’t pick up, but Syn clearly isn’t happy with his partner at the moment, or at least how she was attempting to get in his head. Syn fires a forearm at Abigail, and she returns with one in earnest, Syn shakes it off quick and gets back to his feet, putting a boot right to her face! Abigail’s head snaps back, and it looks like she’s bleeding from her lip a little bit after that one, her finger running across her lip and smearing it a little bit, grinning up at Syn, before mouthing a soundless command of “Harder.”

Syn huffs and grabs her by the hair, before Syn starts laying in heavily with a couple of stiff, stiff forearm shots, each one getting more and more erratic, before Syn brazenly screams in Abigail’s face:

“TAKE! ME! SERIOUSLY!”

Syn turns and hits the ropes, looking for something big, but he turns around and gets cut IN HALF by a massive Spear from Abigail! Is that serious enough for ya, Syn?!

Abigail lays herself across Syn sensually for the cover, looking to put this one away!

1…2.. kickout!

Syn out at two again! Abigail pulls herself up to a knee and looks down at Syn, another smirk dragging across her face as she does. There’s few things on earth that Abigail loves more than her partner, but causing him pain might be up higher on that list of Abigail’s favorite things. Abigail grabs for Syn’s collar, the permanent stainless steel chain collar that Abigail gifted Syn upon their union, and pulls him up by it, pulling Syn up to his knees before she takes a couple steps back, looking for a Psychosis, but Syn manages to roll out of the way of disaster, and trap Abigail in a roll up!

1…2… kickout!

Abigail out at two, but as she tries to get up, Syn lifts her up and drives Abigail down with a Reanimator DDT! Abigail spiked right on her head, and Syn into the cover again!

1…2… kickout!

Abigail out at two once more. Syn pulls himself back up and whips Abigail into the corner, before setting his feet, charging in, and crashing into Abigail with a big Stinger Splash! Syn crashes into Abigail, causing her to stumble out of the corner, right into Syn, who lifts her up onto his shoulders, and planting Abigail with a Death Valley Driver! Straight down onto her head and neck, Syn into the cover once again!

1….2… Kickout!

Abigail out at two again! Syn curses and sits up, shaking out his arm, and looking up to the top rope. Syn decides to head up top, setting his feet on the top rope, and leaping off, but as Abigail gets up to her feet, and knocks Syn out of mid air with a HUGE Big Boot! Syn may have just had his head taken off! Holy shit! Abigail drags Syn back to his feet and lifts him up, before driving him down with Wrath of the Gods, crushing him, and immediately going into the cover!

1…2… Kickout!

Syn kicks out at two again! Neither of these two are keen to gift the win to the other, both are well aware the other want another shot at Josh Bishop, but they’re making each other work for it here tonight! Gloved fingers make their way through Syn's long brown locks again, dragging him up to his knees. Her eyes, hungrily staring down at Syn, squeezing hard as she stares into his eyes. Once again, a smile creeps across bloodied lips, she was enjoying this. War was familar to these two. Abigail saw it as a strange form of intimacy. Abigail brings her forehead to his as she begins to softly speak to him, voice so low the microphones can't pick up what she's saying. Whatever it was, it's enough to once again light a fire under Syn, causing him to snap back to life and shove her off. He's on his feet in a flash and hits her with a big forearm to the side of the head, nearly knocking her out cold. He catches her before she fallsl, before pushing her back, spinning, and going for a Big Rig Lariat, but Abigail catches him with a roundhouse kick instead! Syn was laid out flat on the mat, and Abigail sits him up, before Abigail ran off the ropes and went for a seated dropkick, but Syn quickly laid back flat, dodging her boots, before rolling to the side and pulling himself up to a knee. Abigail ran back at him again, looking for a boot to the face, but Syn caught her leg, standing back up, forcing Abigail to hop on one foot to remain upright. Syn put the leg up onto his shoulder, and scooped up her other leg, lifting her up and planting her into the mat with a powerbomb! Syn flipped her over, so that Abigail was on her knees, before blasting her in the face with a stiff knee strike! Abigail’s head snapped back from the impact! Syn grabbed her again, this time lifting her up and spiking her into the mat, head first, with a sitout piledriver! Syn made the cover!

1...2… Kickout!

Syn pulled himself up to a knee and ran a hand through his hair while he tried to catch his breath. These matches had a 20 minute time limit, and Syn must know they’ve already expended a good amount of that time here tonight, and that he needed to work quickly the rest of the way. Syn stood up and grabbed a handful of Abigail’s hair, pulling her up to her feet, and up onto his shoulders for a Fireman’s Carry. Syn began climbing the turnbuckles, obviously having some evil intentions as he did. As he climbed up to the second rope, Abigail began to squirm, and nail him in the head with elbows. This caused Syn to come to a seated position on the top rope, Abigail stood there for a moment, making sure she had her balance on the top rope, before jumping backward and hooking her legs under Syn’s arms, driving Syn into the mat with a Victory Star Drop! Syn landed on the back of his neck and Abigail didn’t land much better! Both of them were out from such a devastating move, and a devastating landing!

Abigail got her bearings first and began to crawl over to Syn’s limp body, only being able to lay across him for the cover.

1….2….. Foot on the rope!

Syn got his foot on the rope to save this match and his chance at the belt! Abigail fell backward and stared up at the lights, shocked that such a devastating move didn’t end this match. Abigail shook her head and rolled out of the ring, seemingly to try and get some breath back in her lungs. She sat on the apron, adjusting her knee brace, before standing up and heading for the top rope. Abigail took a second to set her feet, and leaped off, looking for a double stomp, but Syn rolled out of the way! Abigail landed on her feet, and stumbled a bit, and once again Syn came in, looking for the Big Rig, but Abigail ducked it, but walked right into a bicycle knee strike! Abigail got rattled, and Syn hooked her arms, looking for the Neurotoxin, but as Syn lifts her, Abigail manages to twist out, landing on her feet, and clipping him with a trust kick!

Syn’s head snaps back, as Abigail hooks his arms, looking for the Baptism by Fire, but Syn counters it as he has hundreds of times, with a backslide pin!

1….2… Kickout!

Abigail kicks out, but as she rolls forward and gets back up, Syn spins and takes Abigail’s head clean off with a Big Rig Lariat! Syn hits flush, and nearly takes his lover’s head off! Cover again!

1….2… KICKOUT!

Abby out at two once again! Syn presses his forehead to the mat, starting to grow frustrated, starting to grow desperate. This one had to end, and it had to end fast. Syn gets back to his feet, cursing the fact that he couldn’t introduce a weapon into this one. Syn tries to pick Abigail up again, looking for another Death Valley Driver, but Abigail manages to slip off his shoulders, and slip behind him, gaining wrist control and looking for the Famemaker, but Syn ducks the line, and runs off the ropes, looking for a Spear, but Abigail leapfrogs Syn, and he hits the ropes again, on the rebound Abigail catches Syn and spins him upside down, before driving Syn down with a HUGE Tombstone Piledriver! Syn spiked right on his dometop, and Abigail pulls him back up, gaining wrist control, and spinning Syn out for the lariat, but as she pulls him back in, rather than the lariat, Abigail grabs him by the throat and pulls him in for a rough kiss, perhaps a kiss goodbye, as she shoved him away and looked for the Famemaker Lariat, but Syn suddenly nails Abigail with a HUGE headbutt, causing Abigail to stumble, as Syn turns and hits the ropes, and breaks Abigail in half with a spear!

Working quickly, Syn picks Abigail back up onto his shoulders, driving Abigail into the turnbuckles in the corner with a big Death Valley Driver! Abigail gets deposited in the corner, and Syn manages to drag himself back to his feet, and rolls out onto the apron, walking across to the other turnbuckle, and climbing up himself, setting his feet, and launching himself at Abigail with a front flip Van Terminator!

Syn rolls out of the corner, and takes a couple of moments to try and regain his stability after impact, and Syn looks up at the tron, which at this point, has begun counting down the final minute of the 20 minute time limit. He was running out of time, but he was ready for the kill shot. Dragging Abigail out of the corner, he hooks both her arms, lifts her up, and plants Abigail with the Neurotoxin! Abigail spiked right on top of her head! That’s gonna do it, Syn into the cover!

1…..2…..

KICKOUT!!

Abigail out of the Neurotoxin! Syn can’t believe it! Syn sits up on his knees, looking at referee Tom Dunn, asking if he’s absolutely sure she kicked out. Tom reinforces his call of just two, and Syn, in a panic, covers Abigail again, looking to try and end it as time is running out!

1…2… kickout!

Abigail out again! Syn, panicking, manages to lock in a crossface submission hold, wrenching back on it, as a last gasp! Seconds left now, Syn shouting for Abby just to tap out!

*Ding! Ding! Ding!”

The bell! Did Abigail submit?!

Syn looks over at referee Tom Dunn, looking for confirmation that Abigail tapped out. Dunn instead walks over to Steve Guy, having a short conversation, before Steve Guy raises the mic to his lips.

“The result of this match… is a time limit draw. Both competitors will be awarded $1000.”

Syn looks destraught, dropping down to his knees, shouting at Tom to restart the match, to give them more time. Upon the refusal, Syn rolls out of the ring and pounds on the apron in frustration. In a close tournament like this, with VENY & Joe both on his heels, and Abigail not far behind either, a draw could be the difference between advancing and not.

Will this draw come back to bite Syn or Abigail as we approach the pinnacle moments of The Heist?!

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theointernship · 2 months

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4. Challenges you faced (the nature of the work, working hours, organisation, motivation, tabling of ideas).

Completing the hours

First challenge I have to mention is the completion of the hours which still hasn't been fully done yet and will go into March. In a way it has been a real blessing in disguise as it allowed me to branch out to other organisations or clubs that I didn't think I would be involved in.

Soccerscene hours had to be increased and even as early as last June, Daniel and I sort of knew that it still wasn't going to be enough for the full 228 hours. So I took on Box Hill United social media as a new offseason task for more hours which has been amazing. Working with an amazing team and creating fun content for a club that has lacked any presence has been a good challenge. The players have certainly gotten onboard with it.

With the Aces, I have built a connection with the group now and helped with an edited video and three articles on top of the short 30-hour stint I had which was hands-on. Created connections with Justin and Michael the broadcaster who I chat with regularly for some advice on my play calling in footy even if he knows nothing about it. Melissa recently emailed saying that if there were any articles she would want me to complete, I could do so if I had the time.

Writing style

Especially in the first few weeks, the writing aspect was a big struggle. Formatting of the article was way off, and I needed to start using stronger or more compelling language. Over time I would gradually get better and whilst there is still room for improvement, I am extremely confident in the drafts I give to Liam every day.

Conducting interviews

Another challenge which may sound stupid, but it was actually conducting interviews, not something I am particularly used to. This goes for both Soccerscene and Box Hill where there was poor preparation on questions and just general nerves, but this was addressed purely through exposure to more of it.

Networking

Obviously very important in the industry. There were a couple of networking events in this internship so just taking advantage of that was a challenge. I am not the loudest person, so this isn’t a very fun experience at first but more exposure to it is always great and I wrote articles with interviews from people I met at these events.

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soldsouls · 2 months

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Okay. We'll flesh out details on these revisions in the future, but for now we're saying —

The rumor that Graz'zt is the offspring of Asmodeus and Pale Night, although never confirmed, has incited curiosity in many. The sort of curiosity that leads denizens of the Hells to attempt perilous schemes for the chance of advancement. Luci is the product of such a scheme: a devil and demon who came together to produce a child. Luci knows this about himself, but what he doesn't know is who his parents are (or were as the case may be). He didn't immediately prove the unstoppable weapon they'd desired, so he was simply abandoned in the Hells when he was a few years old*.

I don't intend to make up a character sheet right now, but I think we can say that, in an unbound form, he has traits from both parents. Overall difficult to damage in a significant way but not a heavy hitter in a fight. Affinity for fire-based spells [shocker]. Appearance-wise I want to DND-ify his og look. Overall humanoid form, on the smaller side. Entirely pitch-colored, including scelera. Irises red with the Hells' flames, sharp teeth, short horns. Spike-ended tail. He has some odd traits: a total lack of wings and a red glow pulsing within his horns. Nevertheless, he could pass for a cambion and often did to keep from drawing attention.

Anyone who examined him closely enough, however, would realize something was off. Which is exactly what Asmodium did. He put two and two together about Luci's origins, and decided that one man's trash was another man's treasure. He'd pick up what Luci's parents had cast off and see if he couldn't make use of it. This mostly entailed making use of Luci's durability. Often as a messenger / courier of sorts; very dangerous job in the Hells. He was also offered as a summon for certain people Asmodium wished to ensnare; they felt very superior ordering about a "cambion", and Asmodium preyed on their pride. Not to mention he was a more useful pawn to have on-site than a mere imp or quasit or the like.

I think that when he tricked his way into double promotion to save Bean + Elfo, the process was especially agonizing for him. These were devilish promotions. What was demonic in him was either purged or fundamentally altered / repressed. Rescinding the promotions didn't fix this; the damage was permanent. Asmodium took advantage of this to bind him. He is bound to the appearance of an elf, his natural immunities + resistances are removed, and he is "mortal" in the sense that being killed will end his existence permanently. Asmodium has the power to alter his appearance, but Luci cannot alter it or return to his original form. In fact, I'd say all but the most powerful illusion / disguise / glamor magics wouldn't take hold.

*Miscellaneous note that I'm going to say Luci's full name — Lucille Lucifer Jr. DCLXVI — was not given by his parents. They neglected to name him entirely. He was given this name after they abandoned him. It was meant to mock him with the "junior" and the numerics driving home that he had no lineage to claim. How could he be a junior or 666th with no family? He has been unable to change the name and vastly prefers Luci as a result. He will not divulge it when he has a choice and using it is a good way to get clawed. He hates it so much, in fact, he'd almost sooner give his true name lmao

#META / HC: PRIMARY.

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aewd2812 · 2 years

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Day 7: Soulmate

Hello, hello! How have you been? I’m using my first joker for today’s prompt. The original one should have been about Science Fantasy, but I think my original story is already about it? So here you go, a classic soulmate prompt.

Enjoy~

Masterlist

Everyone is born with a sentence tattooed on their inner left wrist, the one nearer and closest to the heart. The sentence could be just one word long – whether it’s a simple “yes” or “ah”, or many words linking to each other in a long sentence. As far as this phenomenon has existed, everyone had a soulmate.

However, when a certain girl learned about this phenomenon for the first time, she discovered unsurprisingly her lack of one. It was not the most important nor useful information to learn as a kid tossed aside in the slums. It was even a liability. Wandering in the slums, with not even a penny in hand and punctured rags, death – and all types of horror, were a daily occurrence. She would often see someone crying at the feet of their breathless lover, the tattoo disappearing magically from both of their wrists. She didn’t mind much, as it meant more distraction for the target in front of her and more opportunity for her to steal. For her, this could mean two more days of survival on moulded, hard-as-rock, bread. Nothing more and nothing less. Her lack of one, on the other side, meant one less vulnerability for others to use or take advantage of.

One day, after she had agreed to be the next leader in line and had undertaken the training for a few months, the old man took her to meet his subordinate. A friend, he had called.

“It’s nothing serious. I wanted you to meet my right-hand man, so he can protect you as well while you are still training. You should get along with him and his child too. You never know when you might need help from a trustworthy person.” The man with a growing grey head had said. He wasn’t very tall. But somehow, all his other features were always concealed from her. “If I remember correctly, Hector’s son should be a few months older than you.”

Walking down another rusty street of the lightless back alley, she hadn’t been that interested. It was another man she would have to work with, one way or another, another one she could have met anywhere or at any time. However, after they stopped in the middle of a rich part of the town, knocked in a now familiar pattern, her interest perked. Another man, in his middle age, opened the forest green door. Clinging at his legs was a little kid with raven features, half hiding behind them. Maybe the old man had hoped for her to make friends with the little child barely older than her, but instead of being focused on the child, she had been much more concentrated on the adult. Was his name Hector Shaffer?

The man was welcoming them with the most care she had ever seen. It was not out of fear either. Just by looking at his appearance, anyone could easily guess the butler’s personality. He couldn’t be a bad guy. Every single one of his facial features was showing his gentleness and patience. The smile directed to her was one full of warmth with eyes twinkling like those of the snobby ignorant children. While the first thought that came at her was his overwhelming gentle aura, the second thought that came to her mind was much more gruesome. He was bound to die soon. In the cruel world, she had lived in and seen so far, a nice person couldn’t live for long. They were the first to be sacrificed, tricked, and killed. They would all die in the cruellest of ways.

Unsurprisingly, her prediction became true. Two days after meeting them, both the old man – who took care of her all her life, and Hector, the nice man who welcomed them, died in mysterious circumstances hidden under the disguise of an unfortunate incident. Learning the news through the screen was a shock for Lucien. For Alice, though, it meant one more reason to move on and an impending role to shoulder. Whoever, as she was ready to leave this place they had lived in for a few days, she didn’t have the heart to leave this sobbing child, reminding her so much of her younger self, alone. Lucien was devasted. Holding tightly on his knees, like the child he was, he cried on the couch for hours. He had known his fair share of sadness, but he didn’t expect the only person he could feel safe with, to die at such a young age. He wasn’t ready to shoulder all the responsibility an adult had to, or face all the dangers hiding in the dark.

“I won’t be able to see him anymore! What should I do? Am I going to get taken away? I don’t want to go back!”

After being tossed from one family member to the other, Lucien had been happy to live with his uncle and thought to repay him for his favour. But now that he was dead, it was impossible for him to do so. While the pretty girl sitting at his side, had never talked to him and even chose to ignore him, he was just grateful for her presence, even if it wasn’t going to stay for long. It was just the first time for him to see his whole world crashing down. And while he had run out of arguments to wail some more, a hesitant voice sounded from his side.

“… Don’t worry, I’m going to take care of you.”

Even if he had been crying a few instants before, this sentence struck him. He was still impossibly lonely and sad at the recent loss he suffered. But this sentence had been tattooed on his left wrist since the day he was born. The young girl who had been cold to him so far was none other than his long-awaited soulmate.

A week later, Lucien had declared he would take care of Alice forever, as her new butler, just like his uncle did to the previous leader.

#au gust 2022 #au gust #au #au_gust_2022 #writing challenge #writing #short prompt #k-board #soulmate

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sabraeal · 2 years

Text

Whenever I view the moon on the battlefield, Chapter 3

[Read on AO3]

The streets bustle today, full enough to bursting. Or at least, it feels that way with how the air clings to Kai’s skin, making everything too close, too warm. Every elbow, every brush of cloth is tantamount to an invasion, his own yukata cloying in the heat. And yet no relief threatens, the sky above Fushimi’s roofs remains an uninterrupted blue.

He should be grateful for it; with such irritating weather, few travelers will be looking up. And if the crowds don’t part for him as they are wont to do, then it will be easy indeed to disappear into it; a rare treat for a man as large as him, in a line of work such as this.

Instead, Kai should worry for his companion. In this press, it would be easy for a boy like him to be swept away by its currents, set to crash against the shore of a particularly insistent merchant’s stall. But if he does, it is waste-- Yamazaki weaves through the rapids of Fushimi’s waters with an ease he can only envy. Oh, the waves might part for Kai as he cuts through them, but Yamazaki is one with them, understanding the flow of its streets far better than a man like him ever could.

I used to play at being a samurai, the boy had told him once, while he cleaned up the black and blue mottling his brow. Looking at him now, Kai can only wonder why he bothered; there was no work he could be more suited to than this, to being the eyes and ears of the Shinsegumi.

A good thing too; he’d hate to have the Vice Commander take him to task for losing their quarry over something as simple as a crowd.

An arm jostles against his; he doesn’t need to glance down to know it’s a plain tengui that shuffles along beside him, the cloth flopped over to shield from the sun. Or at least that’s what a passerby might think, their eyes already slipping away.

“Busy, isn’t it?” Kai asks, attention never straying from the pink kimono bobbing ahead of him in the crowd, even if his gaze makes quick work of the sights around him. “A good place for a man to disappear.”

Yamazaki hums, shifting his pack higher on his back. It’s a small sound, a grunt nearly lost over the trudging and sighs of the others pressed around them. But it’s an agreement, or at least an acknowledgement, begrudging as it may be.

Another of the Watch might be daunted by such a response-- or lack of one-- but this past year has given Kai practice enough when it comes to carrying on good conversation, even alone. “Especially if one was a man who was easily recalled. Like a bald man practicing ranpo.”

After a long moment, Yamazaki mutters, “I would have gone with Hijikata.”

His chuckle nearly chokes him; a boon, since it makes the cough to cover it sound more natural to the ear, less an act. Yamazaki still eyes him warily as he adds, “Yukimura should think more about maintaining her disguise. A page would go with the Vice Commander, to better serve their master.”

It is impressive how easily he dances around the fact that he would give both his legs to be in her place if she did. Young men always found a way to dress desire up in reason’s clothes.

“It is only because the men have already fallen for her disguise that Okita could suggest we take advantage of it.” Kai could not see how; Yukimura might not move with the sinuous elegance of an oiran, but there is a feminine grace to the way she walks, a lightness that is not seen in men who wear blades at their hips. But with tresses twisted instead of a comb, a man could be made.

Strange, how little was needed. Especially with how long it took for Yamazaki to fashion himself the other way.

“Still,” Yamazaki huffs, shoulders making a fence by his ears. Ah, even months later, the mere mention of that man still makes his hackle raise. How they live in the narrow confines of the compound together, Kai would never know. “A good deception relies on opportunity. She should be taking more of them, if not making them herself.”

His lips twitch; a good thing that Yamazaki has attention fixed forward instead of up. “Maybe,” he hums, composing his face with the utmost innocence, “you should tell her.”

“I-- I--” His tengui might obscure his eyes, but it does nothing to hide the flush of his cheeks, a delicate pink beneath the off-white of the cloth. “It’s not the right time. Otherwise the Vice Commander would have introduced us.”

The press thins as the day wears on, just enough that it’s no longer a trial to catch the vibrant pink of Yukimura’s kimono through the hub and bub of the crowd. Saito resolves at her side, one dark robe among many, but even still he stands out. While Harada and Nagakura walk with a loose-limbed confidence, the sort that dares a man to try his luck, Saito is staid, coiled tension, waiting for release. Every movement of his is controlled, his arms not swinging naturally at his side but lying straight beside it. He may not have the bulk to have men part for him, but his demeanor sees that there is a healthy space between him and every body that passes.

“She might not have gone with the Vice Commander,” Kai says as Yamazaki circles close once again, slowing his pace to match. “But I’d say she’s chosen well.”

A grunt in his reply, and for a moment, Kai is certain that is all he will receive. But then, with no more than a quick nod for warning, Yamazaki adds, “Between the two reports, this inspector is the one I’d trust.”

High praise, from the man who spent many of his days since the fire sussing out every sighting of a bald man in the capital. At least, when it didn’t interfere with his duties as a medic

“A bald ranpo staying at the Terada Inn,” Kai mused, letting his eyes scan the street. “Promising a lead as it may be, it hardly says much of the company he’s keeping.”

Yamazaki’s face is inscrutable beneath the flop of his tengui, scrubbed of anything like an opinion. A blank canvas, left to conform into what he needed at any moment.

“She believes he’s loyal to the shogun.” He coughs, a flush blossoming on his cheeks as he amends, “I mean, Yukimura says she believes he’s loyal to the shogun.”

Kai takes in a steadying breath, watching as she stops, her hand held out just over the bell of Saito’s sleeve. “The Satsuma are allies of the Aizu and support the bakufu.”

“You’ve heard the rumors.” Yamazaki squints into the distance, wary as Yukimura kicks up one of her waragi, fussing with a strap. “Ronin from the West have been finding the Terada Inn more and more accommodating of late.”

He grunts, dubious. “I find it hard to believe that a loyal man of the bafuku would find himself in the company of Imperialists.”

“I find it hard to believe that a loyal man of the bakufu would burn down his lab and fake his death.” A breath hisses through his nose, annoyance stark in the sound. “Why has she stopped? Did she see Kodo?”

It happens too quick; Kai has no time to do any of his usual tricks before he barks out a laugh, loud and long. He leashes it just as quick, but it’s not soon enough to avoid the betrayed stare Yamazaki fixes him with.

“I think--” his mouth twitches still, not matter how he tries-- “that it’s been a long time since she’s been out of the compound.”

He blinks, the dusky sky of his eyes dawning with realization. “Her sandals are bothering her.”

“Perhaps,” he rumbles, and there’s no use hiding his laughter now, not when Yamazaki already looks as if he’d like the street to swallow him whole. “Do you think when she comes back, she’ll go looking to the compound’s medic for a ointment...?”

“Enough.” His shoulders hunch, a wall between them. “I’m sure Yukimura Kodo’s daughter can handle something as simple as a salve.”

At this time of day, the tea house is lively; not at a boisterous din, the way many might be, but a subdued one, a heavy sense of anticipation flavoring their brew. But Kai isn’t here for the quality of their leaves or the complex flavor of their tea, but instead the girl that sits at the balcony, nursing a cup between her hands.

“She’s doing well,” Kai murmurs into his own, taking a delicate sip. “Perhaps if we had faces as friendly as hers, we might do our jobs with less sneaking about.”

Yamazaki is too young to be comfortable with foolishness, but his mouth twitches anyway. A smile always lurks close with Yukimura in sight, it seems. “Perhaps. But there’s not a person in here that believes she’s a man.”

A boy, he nearly corrects, but to man so soon come of age-- who had so recently waved off his offer of sake, and of Nagakura’s similar one to take him out meet a lady he knew, followed by a more likely promise from Harada to introduce him to one of his-- Kai doubts Yamazaki would appreciate the difference.

“Of course not.” He chuckles softly as she leans over, cajoling an elderly man and his son into playful conversation. “But that is part of her charm. She is a child in a play, and everyone she meets would hate to break scene.”

Yamazaki may try to hide it beneath a sour expression, but when he hums, it’s with something akin to delight. “She’d be a natural if she were doing it on purpose.”

Kai fears the noise he might make if he opens his mouth, so he sips instead, watching Yukimura settle back at her table. There’s a wistfulness to her when she leans over the rail, and were he not watching her eyes, he would believe it. Instead, he traces her gaze, finding it fixed on the door of the Terada Inn, cataloging each head that strolls past. For all the mournful eyes she turned on Saito’s back, shivering like a dog tied to a tree, she has blossomed into her role as an observer.

Good enough to be in the Watch, at least. He would have been happy to make the recommendation, were she not...who she was. And were he not so sure just why she had been left here.

“Saito-san has been gone for a long while.” He’s careful to make the observation casual, conversational, easy. Nothing that might suggest anything other than what’s been said.

Yamazaki blinks up, peering at him through the hack job of his hairline. There’s not a single spark in his eyes, nothing beyond polite curiosity and natural cleverness. “Hm?”

“Oh, nothing.” He forces out a chuckle, but the smile comes easily to his face. “I thought it might be nice if we--”

Kept her company, he means to say. It’s been hours, after all, and by the slump of her shoulders, Yukimura too is starting to wonder if she’s been left by the roadside, meant to make her own way home. Yamazaki would balk, of course; the Vice Commander only told them to watch, to provide back up should Saito be revealed and the Choshu take to the deception like oil does to water. But he’d be tempted, and young men are always so eager to be enticed...

But his purpose is moot now. There’s no point to keep her company when a handsome man has beaten them to it.

“Waiting for someone?” His smile is roguish-- the right kind of temptation for a young girl to be prone to-- his voice pitched to carry over the din. Tall too; even sitting he towers over Yukimura, an imposing height postured like a promise.

“Hm? She blinks up at him, eyes rounded with the innocence of youth, and the man’s grin grows wolfish.

Yamazaki’s hands tighten around his cup. So sensitive, boys his age. Always trying to measure themselves up to find themselves wanting. Especially the responsible ones. “I should--”

Kai holds up a hand. Give her time, he wants to say, but he settles for speaking with his eyes instead, using the weight of his gaze to settle the boy back in his seat. This far into imperialist territory, reason urges caution, and a rescue-- no matter how well-meaning-- is never subtle.

Besides, it’s not as if Yukimura knows either of their faces. They are as much strangers to her as this man, and hardly as handsome.

“Something the matter?” Tosa sits thick in his voice, cloying with the way he presses closer, leaning over the balcony’s rail. “You look dazed. If you’re not waiting, are you looking for someone?”

Yukimura has a natural talent for easy conversation, but a liar she is not. Kai grimaces as her mother opens, as her soft, oh no curls out, like a kitten stretching its toes. With a shake of her head and a too earnest flutter of her her eyelashes, she replies, “Ah, you see, well...I’m looking for my father.”

Yamazaki’s cup clatters onto its saucer, forgotten. Whatever mess he’s made is a much smaller one than the one Yukimura is making.

“Father, eh?” How a man can sit so still and yet close such a distance-- Kai would be happy to learn the trick of it. “That sounds like a predicament.”

“A predicament,” Yamazaki breathes, teeth gnawing on the word. “A predicament? A young woman without a father, and he calls it--?”

“A young boy,” Kai corrects gently, though he doubts this man-- this ronin by the look of the swords he settles by his side-- has fallen for any part of her disguise. Not with the way he looks at her, a starving man about to feast.

Or perhaps a cat playing with its meal is more apt. “Have I heard of him before?” There’s a light in his eyes as he asks, the sort Harada gets when he tosses out his first volley of insults, before blades are drawn. The fire of a man used to winning. “If you tell me his name, I might be able to assist you.”

His words are formal, but even Yukimura can hear the mocking edge to them, squirming in her seat. “Ah...I’m not sure...”

“Don’t,” Yamazaki murmurs, a grimace clamping around the sound, but it’s too late. Even if she knew to listen for him, there is no way for her to hear.

“My father visited Kyoto on a business trip, but he suddenly ceased communication with me,” she admits slowly, cautiously, feeling for the trap. It speaks to her inexperience that she doesn’t know she’s already in it. “I heard rumors that someone with his likeness came to this inn, and I had to see for myself.”

That Tosa twang plucks Kai’s patience as he presses, too familiar, “So you’re from the east, then?”

“This man really thinks fish bite just because he casts his line, doesn’t he?” Yamazaki snorts into his cups, shaking his head. “He can’t think that anyone would fall for--?”

“Yes,” Yukimura replies brightly, without an ounce of hesitation. “I came from Edo.”

Kai always feared his size might give them away, that catching the glance of a giant only tables away might cause Yukimura to flee from this tea house in panic, but now-- now it’s not his size but Yamazaki’s groan that threatens to reveal them. Even so, he can’t blame the boy, not when he’s doing his level best to stifle his own.

“Ah, that sounds like quite the journey. And I assume you’re not familiar with the area either...” The ronin’s smile widens, a trap begging to clamp around the leg of his prey. “I should help you out!”

It’s a pity that Yamazaki has never gotten in the habit of wearing hakama; Kai might have had a chance to keep him seated, like the emperors of old, holding their generals in place. But instead the boy’s on his feet, angled like an arrow toward the balcony, every line of him tense as a bowstring.

“Oh,” Yukimura murmurs, wide-eyed, too innocent to survive in circles like theirs. “No, thank you.”

At once, two things happen:

The first: the man’s face falls. No longer a wolf stalking his pray, he’s now a dog howling at a closed door, and he knows it. At least, the way a man who is used to getting his way is-- which is to say, his expression flits from shock to disbelief to consternation all at once, settling on belligerence. But if there is one thing Kai knows, it is that Yukimura, for all her loving kindness, never changes her mind.

The second: Yamazaki trembles. Not once, a shiver from head to toe, but a whole body tremor that concentrates at his shoulders and takes a toll on his knees. By the time Kai has torn his attention away from Yukimura and her ronin, he’s afraid that the boy might fall, might make an entire scene from whatever malady afflicts him.

“Okyakusama?” One of the serving girls approaches him, bent at the waist, her gaze flickering between the floor and where he stands. “Is something wrong?”

“N-no,” he squeaks out. “I-I...”

One hand claps over his mouth, and when he turns to Kai it’s with desperation and-- and--

He’s laughing. Yamazaki Susumu is laughing. Or rather, he’s trying not to.

“Please excuse my young friend,” Kai soothes, holding out a hand. He’d stand, but that rarely makes delicate situations better. “He is, ah, prone to leg cramps.”

As if on cue, Yamazaki crashes to his knees, trying to muffle the sound in his jinbei. It hardly helps.

“Ah, of course.” The girl glances between them, and makes a clear decision toward discretion. “Please, let me know if I may be of service.”

“Leg cramp?” Yamazaki wheezes. “Leg cramp?”

Kai sniffs, picking up his tea. “If you want a better excuse next time, give me more warning.”

Above the tortured noises Yamazaki makes, Yukimura’s voice rings out, clear as a bell. “Do you just look for people to help often?”

It’s his laughter too that nearly covers the poor ronin’s reply. “Something like that...”

The walk back to the compound is longer in the dusk, though there’s not quite so many travelers on the roads to slow them. But with the job done and Saito as Yukimura’s escort, Yamazaki doesn’t hasten his steps, doesn’t find a reason to seem hurried. If Kai didn’t know any better, he’d think the boy’s pace was almost...casual. Not a word he’s used to putting on that small back.

“Now that,” Kai hums, pitching his voice low to match the murmur of the crowd around them, “was the funniest thing I’ve seen in a long time.”

Unbelievably, one corner of Yamazaki’s mouth lifts, half a smile. No, a smirk. “Yukimura-kun is truly the best of us. As long as she doesn’t know she’s doing a thing.”

A laugh wheezes out of him, tears stinging at the corners of his eyes. “I might have felt bad for him, if I wasn’t so sure he’d thrown in with the Choshu. What was his name? Ume--?”

“Umetaro Saitani.” The reply is quick, all business, and Kai stifles a sigh. “Not his real name, I’m sure. Not even that man could be so sloppy. From the south though, and definitely staying at the inn.”

Kai nods, rubbing at his nose. “He might have even been looking for Saito-san. Or at least one of the Shinsegumi.”

“It is most likely,” Yamazaki agrees, eyes scanning over the crowd, still working even with the job done. He’ll be playing his part to the hilt until he’s back in his jinbei, wearing the mask of a mild-mannered medic. “He might have been watching them long before the went to that tea house. For him to know that Yukimura-kun is a boy despite her dress--”

He can’t help it, he laughs. It’s quick, a plaster pulled from the skin, but Yamazaki still stares at him, wide-eyed and wounded. “You said yourself, Yamazaki-kun,” he says with as much grace as he can muster, “that everyone in that tea house knew.”

Yamazaki’s mouth opens, his jaw working until he can manages to allow, “maybe,” through it.

“Still,” he presses, his voice riding high in his nose, precise and pedantic. “He said her name was cute.”

It is, Kai doesn’t say. He does wonder if Yamazaki might agree.

“And he even asked her about-- about--” he looks like he might gag on the words if he doesn’t manage to spit them out-- “going on dates.”

“That is what young men do.” Especially with girls as cute as Yukimura, but Kai valiantly refrains from mentioning such a fact. He doesn’t even suggest that perhaps Yamazaki might consider the same once they meet face to face, though he is sorely, sorely tempted.

The boy sniffs. “He only wanted information. You heard the questions he was asking.”

“What I heard,” Kai says, smothering a chuckle poorly, “was Yukimura giving him the run around.”

When Yamazaki grins, it’s all teeth. “She did.”

The two of them made a funny picture: a man used to hearing yes and a girl who never heard a flirtation she couldn’t misconstrue. But still, still-- something doesn’t sit right.

“Do you think...?” Kai hesitates, pursing his lips before he presses, “Do you think this was some sort of test?”

Yamazaki blinks up at him, the first time he’s made eye contact with him since they stepped onto the street. “Pardon?”

“For Yukimura-kun.” Were they still, he’d shift on his feet, but their walk burns off his nerves well enough. “This is her first outing since she came to us, and Saito...he left her for quite some time.”

“Saito-san had his own mission to carry out,” Yamazaki says, confidence burning in every word. “One that Yukimura could only have made harder. And we were here.”

“And who sent us?”

Yamazaki settles onto his heels, hard. Hijikata. Hijikata had been the one to tell them to follow close, but not too close. Just enough to keep an eye on things. “Ah. So she...”

His teeth clack closed around the thought.

“If Yukimura wasn’t who she said she was...” Kai lets the thought settle between them, itchy as a straw shirt. “This would have been the perfect time for her to meet with her allies. Or even...”

Run. He doesn’t have to say the word; Yamazaki’s already heard it, every muscle coiled, ready to give chase. “Ah. Ha.”

The silence is too heavy to settle, so Kai settles for breaking it. “What would you have done if she did?”

Yamazaki hesitates. He might wear a mask, might tuck all his thoughts behind the placid depths of those dusky eyes, but now, now-- his indecision is on display, duty and devotion warring across his brow.

“I would hunt her down.” The declaration is strong, even if the boy trembles. “I am the Watch. I do what must be done.”

Silence settles between them again, still too uneasy to stick.

“But,” Yamazaki murmurs, softer, “I am glad I did not have to find out.”

#yamachi #hakuouki #my fic #this is the longest chapter so far and i think i wrote half of it mentally screaming #but i'm happy with it now!#and next chapter....next chapter chizuru might actually know yamazaki exists 🤣

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ashyblondwaves · 3 years

Note

3 for the smutty prompts!

Title: Hidden

Sentence: “We should probably leave, before we start a scandal.”

Summary: A cozy dinner for two turns into so much more.

Rating: Explicit

The table was small, set at the back of the restaurant away from the other patrons. They sat just in front of the fireplace, the soft glow casting some of the only light they had.

Just as they requested.

There were still looks as they were being seated. A quick glance that turned into a double take, eyes squinting to see if they were really seeing who they thought they were. If anyone caught on, they hadn't made it known yet. And for that, Wanda was grateful.

She knew it'd end up online anyway: "Avenger Wanda Maximoff Spotted With Mystery Man Enjoying a Romantic Dinner." But as long as nobody bothered them while they were out, she could deal with the online speculation afterward.

Wanda looked over at her mystery man. Tall, blonde, with curious blue eyes scanning the room. He was anything but a mystery to her.

"Vis?" Those curious blue eyes were on her in an instant. "Pass me your glass of wine?"

Vision happily obliged, handing the glass of ruby liquid to Wanda. She took a sip, savoring the tart flavor of her third glass. She wasn't much of a drinker -- and she was already feeling the effects -- but since it was already poured, she figured it'd be a shame to let it go to waste.

"Ooh," Wanda said, setting her glass down. "My lips are tingling."

Vision smiled at her knowingly. "That's the first sign of intoxication, you know."

"I guess I'm a lightweight then," Wanda replied, reaching out to take Vision's hand. "Thank you for bringing me here. I know it must be weird to come to a restaurant when you don't eat or drink."

Vision was focused on their hands. Fingers laced together, thumbs caressing each other's skin. He brought them to his lips, pressing a kiss to the top of Wanda's hand.

"I know you've been wanting to come here," he whispered. "Who am I to deny you of that?"

"It has to be boring, though."

"You know I love watching you enjoy yourself," Vision reminded her, his words thick with innuendo.

He's said the same thing to her before in the privacy of her dimly lit bedroom. She sat in his lap with him buried inside her, rolling her hips to feel every inch of him, controlling the motions and the way the head of his cock just grazed her g-spot with every swirl of her hips. And as she came he looked at her with purpose and told her, "I love watching you enjoy yourself." She finished him with her hands that night, making sure to watch his face contort with pleasure, head falling back as the waves of his orgasm consumed him, and she realized that she, too, liked to watch Vision enjoy himself.

Wanda felt a familiar throb. It started at the bottom of her stomach and ran down between her legs, causing her to squirm in her seat. She sat up straighter and took a sip of her wine, emboldened by the liquid courage already coursing through her system.

Leaning forward, she pressed her palm to Vision’s cheek, letting her fingers caress his hair. She still wasn't used to his disguise, but if it allowed her to be with him in public without the scrutiny, she was willing to make the best of being on the arm of the alleged mystery man.

Vision leaned into Wanda's hand, turning his head so he could kiss her palm. His eyes rose to hers, searching. "What are you up to?"

He could see it in her eyes, Wanda guessed. That mischievous twinkle that appeared when she was plotting something new. Instead of answering, Wanda slipped her foot from her ballet flat and showed Vision exactly what she was up to.

With careful movements, she propped her foot on Vision's chair, settling her foot right between his legs.

"Scoot toward me a little bit," Wanda whispered. "I can't reach you like this."

"Wanda..." Vision's voice was full of trepidation, but curiosity won and he moved forward in his seat.

"Tell me if you want me to stop," Wanda said.

She gently pressed the bottom of her foot to the front of Vision's pants and massaged the bulge there. Her movements were steady and gentle, switching between rubbing up and down and moving in circles. She watched his face as she worked him. The struggle to keep his composure as he grew harder underneath her, the gentle fluttering of his eyelids when she grazed certain spots that felt good. He was enjoying himself.

But there was only so much they could do in the middle of a restaurant with eyes everywhere and mouths ready to become an anonymous source for the right price.

“We should probably leave, before we start a scandal,” Wanda said, pulling her foot away from between Vision's legs.

They quickly flagged down someone to bring them their check, paid and vacated the restaurant before anyone could notice them.

They walked hastily, neither of them speaking but knowing where the night was headed when suddenly, Vision pulled Wanda in the direction on a small alley and pressed her up against the brick wall. There was a hunger in his eyes that Wanda hadn't seen before. A flame that lit up his blue eyes with mischief and wonder.

"Tell me if you want me to stop."

He repeated Wanda's words before sneaking his hand up her skirt and between her legs, cupping her panty covered middle with his large hand. He rubbed her in the same steady, gentle movements she used on him but when the chance came, he used their privacy to his advantage and moved beyond her panties. He slipped his fingers between her folds and pressed his mouth to Wanda's ear.

"Here?" he asked, teasing her clit with the tips of his fingers. "Or would you prefer to go home first?"

Wanda pulled Vision to her and kissed him quickly. "I don't want to wait until we're home," she said, looking him right in the eyes and seeing that flame still there. "And I don't think you do, either."

She appreciated that he asked her preference, but there was no need. She would have taken him in the restaurant if it wouldn't have caused a scene. She gave him a nod and a smile silently telling him in was okay to proceed. That was all he needed.

Wanda whimpered when Vision took his hand out from between her legs. With both hands, he pulled her panties off and as she kicked out of them and stuffed them in her purse to keep them from sitting on the ground, Vision worked on his pants.

She watched him fumble with his belt in his haste, smiling to herself over his complete lack of finesse in the moment. The amazing things she's seen him do in battle and here he was fighting with his belt. She decided to help him out, undoing the belt with ease which allowed him to finish undoing his pants and pulling them down, freeing himself at last.

Wanda lifted one of her legs, hooking it around Vision's waist while keeping the other on the ground to steady herself. Vision held her there, a protective hand on her thigh as he bent at the knee to line himself up with Wanda's hips. He held his cock in his free hand, pressing the head against Wanda's entrance. With a single thrust he pushed into her, burying himself inside her warmth.

With Wanda's leg around Vision's waist, she pulled him closer, keeping his thrusts shallow and quick. She reveled in how he felt inside her. How he filled her so completely and how each snap of his hips felt so impossibly good she didn't ever want it to end. But she knew she wouldn't last long when Vision brought his hand between them and found her clit again, rubbing it softly as he moved within her.

She felt her orgasm building at her core, each stroke of Vision's fingers on her clit brought her closer to finishing. She knew he could tell she was close when he sped up his movements, keeping his thrusts shallow but quicker and using the pads of his fingers to rub her clit faster. It all culminated at once, the faster speed giving her that last push and she cried out, tangling her hands in Vision's hair and bringing him down for a rough kiss. Everything was happening at once, her nerves were on fire and she could feel every inch of Vision inside her as her walls clenched around him.

Vision continued, closing in on his own orgasm. He pressed his forehead to Wanda's, his thrusts becoming quicker. "Where should I-" a moan cut off his sentence, but he picked right back up. "Inside you?"

Wanda nodded. "Inside me."

Vision's movements sped up even more. With her back against the wall and arms around his neck, Wanda hung on and coaxed him further by purposefully clenching her walls around his cock, making him groan with each contraction. And then he stilled as his orgasm hit. He stayed buried inside Wanda as he came, filling her completely.

Being outside, there was no time to enjoy the bliss. They dressed quickly and headed back out onto the street hand-in-hand. Neither of them spoke on the walk home, but with the grip Vision has on Wanda's hand, she knew he'd enjoyed himself.

#Anonymous #scarletvision #scarletvision fic #wandavision #wandavision fic #wanda maximoff #vision #wanda x vision #scarletvision drabbles #smutty one liner prompts

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esmeraldablazingsky · 3 years

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I’ve finally hit my limit on the number of bad takes on the Lan parents I can see before I have to lay out all the reasons I disagree, so hello, I’m Blazie, and in this essay I will justify my visceral dislike of the assumption that Qingheng-jun married/imprisoned/had sex with Lan-furen against her will.

Warning for mentions of rape (in context of Interpretations I Really Hate) and a very, VERY long post below the cut.

Before I start going off about the finer points of all this, I want to make sure people are on the same page regarding what we actually know about what went down with Qingheng-jun and Lan-furen. What I say is based off the EXR translation of MDZS, for the sake of clarity, and although I don’t think the exact wording should be too important, feel free to let me know if you think I’ve missed an important bit of nuance or something (the whole story is in Chapter 64.)

The story we get is told by Lan Xichen, and it goes like this: a young Qingheng-jun falls in love at first sight with Lan-furen, who doesn’t return his feelings, and at some point kills one of Qingheng-jun’s teachers over unspecified “grievances.” Although he’s understandably very upset over the murder, Qingheng-jun sneaks Lan-furen back to Cloud Recesses and officially marries her in order to announce to his clan that anyone who wants to hurt her has to go through him.

After that, he locks Lan-furen in one house and himself in another as a form of repentance. Wei Wuxian speculates that this was because “he could neither forgive the one who killed his teacher nor watch the death of the woman who he loved. He could only marry her to protect her life and force himself not to see her.”

A central detail of this story that I think people don’t give the import it deserves is that aside from marrying and protecting her, Qingheng-jun’s other option was to let Lan-furen be executed by his clan. His purpose in marrying her wasn’t just for kicks/out of a possessive sort of love, it was so she wouldn’t straight up die. How she felt about this arrangement isn’t stated, but I’ll get into that in a bit. In addition to that, Qingheng-jun and Lan-furen live separately, which was apparently purposeful on Qingheng-jun’s part, and runs counter to the interpretation that he intended to take sexual advantage of Lan-furen.

Though there aren’t many concrete details in Lan Xichen’s retelling, he does specifically inform Wei Wuxian that his mother never complained about remaining in her house. What exactly this signifies is unclear— whether she was simply putting on a brave face for her sons, or whether she was in fact at all content with the situation— but it at the very least serves to further muddy the waters on how she and Qingheng-jun felt about all this.

Beyond what Lan Xichen and Wei Wuxian are saying out loud, there’s also quite a bit of subtext in this scene, especially in light of later events and revelations, like Lan Xichen’s confession for Lan Wangji at Guanyin Temple.

So what is Lan Xichen trying to convey with all this? There’s a lot of memes about this scene, most of which err too far on the side of Himbo Airhead Lan Xichen for my liking, but one that I do find amusing emphasizes how Lan Xichen draws parallels between Wangxian and the story of his parents (Lan Xichen: [flute solo] please use your one brain cell to connect the dots.) If Wei Wuxian hadn’t completely lost his memory of Lan Wangji defending him against his own clan elders, one would assume that Lan Xichen’s story would have had a much better chance of hitting home.

In hindsight and side by side, the parallels are much clearer— Qingheng-jun, “ignoring the objections from his clan… told everyone in the clan that she would be his wife for the rest of his life, that whoever wanted to harm her would have to pass through him first.” Similarly, according to Lan Xichen in Chapter 99, “for [Wei Wuxian,] not only did WangJi talk back to him, he even met with his sword the cultivators from the GusuLan Sect. He heavily injured all thirty-three of the seniors we asked to come.”

In that context, it makes a lot less sense to interpret Qingheng-jun as an aggressor towards Lan-furen, as in Lan Wangji’s case, the narrative clearly establishes that his actions are to secure Wei Wuxian’s safety. The action of Taking Someone Back To Cloud Recesses is— okay, actually, it’s a little more nuanced than I took into account when I started writing that sentence, so let me go a little deeper into Lan Wangji’s actions and how they relate to his father’s, story-wise.

My intent is not to dive into the terrifying underworld of novel-versus-drama discourse, but simply put, Novel!Lan Wangji as he is written isn’t exactly the poster child for clear consent. (I’m going to entirely leave off the extra chapters for the sake of everyone’s sanity, so I’m just talking about the main body of the novel here.)

He means well, and I’m sure we can agree that he does actually love and want the best for Wei Wuxian, but his lack of communication on this point means that he accidentally gives Wei Wuxian the impression that he wants to imprison and/or punish him in Cloud Recesses at least twice off the top of my head (pre-timeskip, as we know, and post-timeskip immediately after Dafan Mountain when he actually drags Wei Wuxian back to his room.)

That all likely has something to do with MXTX’s narrative kinks and regular kinks and all that, and can absolutely be taken with many grains of salt. However, these events establish how easy it is to misinterpret the action of Taking Someone Back To Gusu as an attempt to imprison rather than protect them (much to Lan Wangji’s chagrin.)

Failing to communicate his purpose to Wei Wuxian doesn’t mean that Lan Wangji actually had any intent of hurting or caging him— that was just a misinterpretation on Wei Wuxian’s part, and we, as the audience, find that out in due time— but as written in the novel, it can be really uncomfortable to read. Because of that, many people choose to accept CQL canon regarding Lan Wangji’s more possessive actions or mix characterization from different adaptations, which, to be clear, I completely understand and respect.

However, Qingheng-jun doesn’t get the benefit of the doubt as often, which I frankly find baffling, because nowhere in the text does it state that Lan-furen objected to being taken back to Cloud Recesses, while even Wei Wuxian clearly objected the first few times. In fact, while we’re on this note, I’ll take it a step farther— I find it baffling that people seem to default to an unsympathetic view of Qingheng-jun, because nowhere in the text does it state that he overruled Lan-furen’s wishes in any way. The text doesn’t clarify a lot of things, actually, and that is part of the point.

The narrators of MDZS are, in many situations, highly unreliable. This is, presumably, very purposeful! MDZS can easily be read as a sharp criticism of reputation and mass judgment and the concept of condemning people without knowing their motives! And I don’t want to sound mean, but guys… did any of us learn anything from that? Here, I’m going to put it in meme format for a second to convey what I mean.

MDZS: It’s easy to condemn someone as a villain if you don’t know their story or the reasons behind their actions

MDZS: Anyway, here’s a character whose story and reasons behind his actions you know nothing about

Some Parts Of This Fandom: Ah, a villain

Memes aside, here’s what I want to point out. It’s entirely possible to assume Qingheng-jun was a bad person who disregarded a woman’s wishes in marrying and confining her when all you have is Lan Xichen’s (actually very neutral, thank you Lan Xichen for being an eminently reasonable and concerned-with-evidence character) account of what happened. It would also be at least that easy to assume Wei Wuxian was just an evil necromancer if he hadn’t un-died and brought his own story to light, or even to believe that Lan Wangji had somehow tamed Wei Wuxian into submission and being a respectable cultivator if you were an average citizen of Fantasy Ancient China with nothing but rumors to operate on.

The thing about Qingheng-jun and Lan-furen’s story, then, is that there is nobody left alive who knows the full tale. Nobody knows what they thought about anything, really. Nobody even knows why Lan-furen killed Qingheng-jun’s teacher. Wei Wuxian asks why, and Lan Xichen can’t tell him, but I think the best answer would be something along the lines of I don’t know, Wei Wuxian, why did you kill people? Your guess on the motivations of your own thinly disguised narrative parallel are as good as anyone’s.

So, while it’s not technically impossible to assign darker motives to Qingheng-jun, the cautionary tale of MDZS seems to warn against that exact assumption.

I’ve refrained from getting too salty on a personal level thus far, but now that I’ve said a lot of the more logical and story-based points of my argument, I will say that at least some of my annoyance with the interpretation of Qingheng-jun as a possessive rapist and Lan-furen as his victim stems from the fact that I just think it’s straight up boring. Where’s the nuance? Aren’t you tired of reducing these characters to the flattest possible versions of themselves? Don’t you just want to add a little flavor?

In a slightly more serious phrasing of that criticism, I find that making Lan-furen a helpless prisoner strips her of whatever agency she might otherwise have. To be fair, she’s more or less a non-character in keeping with the general state of the MDZS universe, but making her a damsel in distress only consigns her more deeply to hapless, milquetoast innocence.

It’s perfectly valid to enjoy ladies who have done nothing wrong, ever, in their lives, but like… Qin Su is right there, if that’s your ball game. There’s also really no need to make Qingheng-jun someone who doesn’t respect women. Isn’t Jin Guangshan enough for at least one universe?

Anyway, ultimately, you do you. I don’t like arguing on the internet, and will just ignore things I don’t agree with (or write an 1800 word vaguepost) like a mature human being. I’m just saying, if it’s a cut and dry tale of imprisonment and assault you’re looking for… you probably don’t want to turn to a woman who committed a murder and a man who loved her enough to forfeit everything to keep her safe.

#mdzs #qingheng jun #madam lan #lan wangji #wei wuxian #(in a narrative parallels context)#blazie .txt #anyway without further ado here is my.... essay?#rape mention

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mhaverse-writes · 4 years

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burning cold. (dabi x prohero!reader)

author’s note: oh, hi. uh, this is awkward. remember when i said i was coming back like months ago then i didn’t? good times, good times. well after a rough patch irl, i’m officially back! hope you didn’t miss me too much uwu. anyways, onto the story, i hope you enjoy! thanks for reading <3 - with love, rj

description: while working undercover at a club looking for a target, you run into the last person you wanted to see. the dangerous villain, dabi, who just so happens to be your very forbidden ex. though you’re trying to move on, dabi isn’t ready to let you go just yet.

warnings: cursing, suggestive content (some smoochin’ and heavy pettin’ ya dig?), dabi being massive a dick

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

"Hey, baby. You come here often?"

"Go to hell, Dabi."

From your seat at the bar, you take a quick sip of your drink before checking that your ear piece was off. You glance around to make sure none of your colleagues have noticed the poorly-disguised villain trying to 'pick you up,' but let out a tiny sigh of relief as they're too preoccupied with scouting for the target. Dabi chuckles, drawing your attention back to him, his smug face souring your mood the longer you look at it.

"If you're here to arrest me, you're doing a shit job at it," He idly runs his finger across the rim of his glass while resting his elbow against the bar and his head in his hand. His lack of caution with the fact that he's sitting next to a literal pro-hero isn't anything new, but it still annoyed you to no end. Did he see you as some kind of joke? Or he just knows you aren't going to do anything about it. God, the fact that he's so certain of his safety pisses you off even more.

"Shut up, I'm not here for you," Snapping with a bite that only makes his grin widen, you turn in your seat rather fast, spilling a little bit of your drink onto the floor. You ignore it, and do your best to ignore him as you rake your gaze across who you were really here for. Dabi turns as well, making a show of stretching before resting his arm behind you on the bar table. You feel your eye twitch, risking a look at him. He has his hand over his heart in mock hurt.

"Your claws wound me, kitten." Though he's speaking in his usual lazy drawl, somehow it isn't hard to hear him over the vibrating bass of music pounding your ears. It also didn't fail to send a tiny chill down your spine at the sound of the almost nostalgic nickname. You do your best to quell it, but it's Dabi of fucking course he notices. His grin is nearly lecherous, but he doesn't speak on it, thank God.

"Why are you here anyway? How did you find me?" Curiosity getting the better of you (the whole summation of your relationship with Dabi, if you're being honest) you turn to meet his icy blue stare, scowling hard to make sure you didn't get lost in it.

"Maybe 'I'm not here for you.'" Dabi parrots, eyes not leaving yours as he takes a sip of his drink. Your first instinct is to call bullshit, but a nagging insecurity at the back of your brain envisions him with someone else. Jealousy churns in your stomach, ugly and rancid, before you bury it down in disgust. Why should I care? Your rational side argues. It's good that he's moved on, that way he'll leave me the hell alone. But you know deep down, you're lying to yourself. Though you're pretty sure you'd rather nosedive off a cliff before admitting that.

Either way, you've entertained this long enough already. Grabbing your drink, you down the rest of it before moving to stand. The muted surprise on Dabi's face-- though it's as simple as his eyes widening the smallest amount-- doesn't fail to bring you satisfaction. He may think you're willing to give him all of your attention, but you are more than happy to prove him wrong.

Dabi, however, obviously is not.

Before you can even think, Dabi's hand snatches your wrist and drags you backward, sending you careening into his chest. You scoff up at him. Was he being serious right now?

"What the hell do you think you're--?!"

Dabi's lips fall to your ear and you're barely able to contain a shiver. "Your little 'target,' is onto you, kit. Three o' clock." Eyes widening, you instinctively turn to look, but Dabi tightens his hold on your wrist and whisks you away, leaving you stumbling after him as you try to keep up with his long legs. He expertly weaves you both through the oblivious crowd, before bodily moving you into a tiny corner on the other side of the club. You try to check on your teammates, but your attention is snatched by Dabi as he takes up every inch of your vision, pinning you against the wall. His cold eyes twinkle with amusement as he takes you in slowly.

"Y'know, I really missed you, sweet thing," You would almost think he's sincere if it weren't for the way he isn't sincere at all. He dips his head down and presses a kiss to the shell of your ear. You can't help but whimper, kicking yourself mentally right after. You can't do this right now! Your target is not only suspicious of you, but the fact your team could catch you with Dabi at any second seizes your stomach with fear. You reach up to your ear piece to turn it on. If you request assistance, maybe you could scare Dabi off.

Your fingers graze only the empty inside of your ear. Panic bubbles in you, burning cold. You look up at Dabi, to find your earpiece clutched daintily between his teeth. No. You reach forward, but aren't fast enough to stop him before he crushes it with a flex of his jaw.

You're alone.

Alone with him.

"Aw, don't look so scared, kit." He spits the busted thing out. You don't have time to register how gross that is before he takes another step close, even closer, bowing his head until your noses brush. Dabi's eyes flick down to your mouth. Your heart stops. "I'll protect you."

His lips crash into yours and you can't help the moan that leaves from deep in your chest at the feeling. Completely losing all reason, you arch into Dabi, hands grabbing the lapels of his jacket and pulling him flush against you. You feel him smirk against your lips and a small part of you argues that you giving into him is a bad thing. But honestly, can it be so bad when it feels so unbelievably good?

Dabi pulls away all too soon and you damn near whine, chasing after his lips fruitlessly. Leaning back to his full height, Dabi considers you while looking all too pleased with himself. You’re too blissed out to care. God, you'd forgotten what his kiss felt like, did it always knock the breath out of you so fast?

"Here's the sitch, hero." He says, calloused hands tracing your features. You melt into them, despite yourself. "I wasn’t lying when I said I wasn’t here for you. Thing is, the little snitch you're after has unfinished business with us. And you taking him in--well--causes some problems for me and my team."

That gets you. Snapping out of your stupor, you blink up at him, eyebrows creasing. Is this what this was? He was only trying to distract you? You dig your nails into your palms, cursing yourself for not seeing this sooner. If Dabi was here, damn well Toga or someone else could be here too. If Toga was here, you wouldn't even know who she was. What if she already took advantage of you abandoning your post and snatched up the target? Hell, she could already be halfway back to their base with him!

"You bastard!" Damn near snarling, you shove him back with all your might, face hot with embarrassment. "Is that why you cornered me here? To get me away from your fucking snitch?!" Dabi merely chuckles. God, you wanted to punch him right in his stupid mouth.

"No, baby. I brought you here because I missed you,” His thumb ran over your bottom lip, retreating when you tried to bite him. “And tell you to back off.” Though he's still smiling, all humor has drained from his voice, making your blood run cold. "I'd hate to have to dirty up that pretty little outfit of yours. I'll take it from here."

"Like hell you w--!"

"There you are!"

The voice of your superior sends relief and fear rushing in you at the same time. You whirl to face her, trying to mask the shame threatening to swallow you whole.

"S-starlight!" You squeak, standing at attention. You glance at Dabi, to find he's already gone, the dancing crowd overtaking where he once stood. Oh, thank God, you think, before freezing up again. He was off to get the target. You didn't have much time.

"Where did you go?" Starlight demands, her iridescent nails digging into your shoulders as she grasped them. "I was worried you'd been compromised."

"W-we're not alone, Star," You stutter out, mind still reeling from the feeling of Dabi against you. Despite the fact he tricked you, it didn't stop the way your body still tingled at the thought of him. Jesus, you were done for. "The League is here, they're after the target too!" You left out Dabi. You left out Dabi?! Fuck, you were protecting him!

"What? Did they hurt y--?"

"No, no, I'm okay. But we need to hurry before--!"

Before you could finish, the sound of screams ripped your body from the inside out. Oh, no.

You and Starlight rush into action, following the screams towards the middle of the dance floor, where a crowd had gathered. You noticed the rest of your team pushing against people as well, struggling to get to the middle. But you didn't have to get there to see what happened next.

Blue flames fanned out in a hot arc, prompting the crowd to back away even further, shoving you and Starlight back. Dabi emerged from the fire, clutching your limp target, a sweaty, plump, balding man by the collar of his shirt. God, was he...?

"Dabi!" Starlight shouts, pure energy bursting to life from her palms. She used a beam of hard light to propel herself up and over the crowd, aiming towards the man. Your heart drops. For Starlight, Dabi, or both, you're not even sure.

Before she can reach him, however, Dabi takes off, using his flames to scare the crowd away, clearing a path for himself. The fire begins to spread and everyone shakes out of their shock to replace it with panic. The people run in different directions, struggling to escape the flames. Starlight and your teammates attempt to fight the crowd and chase the villain, but you stay stuck to the spot, cradling yourself to find some sense of comfort. You knew they weren't going to catch him. You've lost the target.

And it's all your fault.

Sighing, you kick into gear, following Starlight and pushing against the panic and eventually making it outside. The chill of the night is refreshing, but does nothing to ease the weight on your chest. Though you knew Dabi was long gone, it hurt even more to see it. He had played you. Again.

And something tells you it won't be the last time.

#dabi x reader #dabi bnha #dabi #dabi hc #dabi headcanons #bnha #mha #bnha x reader #mha x reader #dabi is a todoroki #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #mha fic #bnha fic

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wolfwind3 · 3 years

Text

Bring Back the Bastard Day 1

Work Summary: After the stunning success of his convoluted Goblet of Fire plan to regain his body, Voldemort has come up with an even more amazing plot. What better place to publicly declare his return to power - and kill Harry Potter in full view of everyone - than at the London Season where Harry is being presented?

And who will be his man on the inside to make sure it all goes smoothly this time around? Why, his most loyal spy - his only follower who knows what it's like to be presented from a Muggle background - Severus Snape.

Or: Instead of Occlumency lessons, Snape gives Harry etiquette lessons in OotP. To say that neither of them is pleased is an understatement.

(AN: I’ll be posting a vignette from this crackfic scenario every day in line with the BBtB prompts, so they won’t be chronological from a story standpoint. I’ll fix that in AO3 after the Fest.)

@bringbackthebastard; inspired by this discussion (read that first!)

Prompt: "That's Professor Snape. He teaches Potions, but he doesn't want to--everyone knows he's after Quirrell's job. Knows an awful lot about the Dark Arts, Snape."

Day 1: Not the Job He’s After

“Severus? Are you well?” Albus asked, as always, when he stalked into the office.

“Fine,” Severus said shortly, forcing himself to sink into the chair with a modicum of grace instead of collapsing. The effort caused his stomach to flare with pain, and he clenched his jaw to hold back a gasp.

Albus offered the obligatory cup of tea, and Severus tightened and relaxed his fingers to try and stop the shaking before accepting it. The liquid shivered, and he raised the cup to his lips before Albus could comment.

“Well?” the Headmaster asked, reseating himself and picking up a quill.

Severus shook his head at the notetaking materials. “It’s a simple matter - a private meeting. He has another-” he winced, the memory of pain too close to dare even think the words he wanted to say, “-unpredictable scheme in mind to get to Potter. He has not entrusted me with the details.” He said the last with a sneer to disguise his own worry and guilt.

Albus gave him a look that indicated that he knew that Severus was hiding wounds he’d gotten from attempting to inquire further into the Dark Lord’s plans, and then let it go. As he always did. It was easier for both of them if Albus had plausible deniability.

“He wishes Potter to be presented in next year’s Season.”

Albus’ surprise was only indicated in the slight arching of his eyebrows. “He does know the boy’s birthday.”

Severus snarled to hide the pain those memories brought. “Of course.” He took a breath to center himself. “I believe Lucius is going to be in charge of that portion of the plan. My role is to mentor the brat into the semblance of a proper heir to the Sacred 28.”

“Hmm.” Albus leaned back with far too thoughtful an expression on his face.

“Albus,” Severus growled, fighting to keep his head clear as he felt the effects of blood loss overcoming his Occlumency, “you cannot be considering this.”

Albus blinked at him innocently. “You know I will not risk your status with him, Severus.”

“Molly Weasley was supposed to present the whelp. Let her prepare him. She can give me progress reports, which I will then pass on to the Dark Lord.”

“And when young Mr. Malfoy reports to his father that you spend no time with Harry?”

“I can handle the Malfoys,” Severus lied. By the look on Albus’ face, he knew it for a lie and was not accepting it.

“Take the rest of the summer to come up with a plan of what he needs to know,” Albus suggested.

Severus tried to straighten up and hissed in pain. “Albus,” he said, “there are any number of things the boy needs to know. Let me teach him dueling, defensive tactics, decent spells! Let someone else teach the brat the social airs and graces he will never actually need.”

“Ah, but he will need them. And who else do we have who came out of a similar background-”

“Not similar at all, Albus. Potter did not grow up in a slum.”

Unfortunately, mentions of his lack of advantages never embarrassed Dumbledore into shutting up. He might have remembered that if he hadn’t been growing dizzy.

“-who came from a Muggle background, then, and yet achieved such success in Society?” He smiled as if Severus had already acquiesced. He knows I have no choice, damn him. “I will inform Harry at the beginning of the school year.”

“And all the gossip that will result?” Severus demanded, forcing enough air from his lungs to keep his voice wheezing. Of course, this caused a shooting pain in his abdomen; he subtly curled his arm around himself to try and support the torn muscles.

“We’ll discuss it later,” Albus said, eyes twinkling. “You need to rest, and I have some things to set in motion. Thank you, Severus.”

Biting the inside of his lip to drive off light-headedness, Severus managed to stand and walk down the spiral staircase. At the bottom, he leaned against the wall to gather strength for the walk down to the dungeons.

“Severus Snape!” The sharp voice caused him to wince before he carefully turned to face the woman hurrying toward him.

“Poppy,” he said, in a vain attempt to pretend he didn’t need her help. She turned up every time he was badly injured; if he didn’t regularly cleanse his person of any and all tracking and listening spells, he’d think she had an alert on him.

She raked him up and down with her glance and clicked her tongue. “You are not walking in that state. I’ll conjure a stretcher and you can lie on it, or I’ll knock you out and levitate you; your choice.”

He sighed and squeezed his abdomen more tightly. “Very well.”

He saw the flash of worry in her eyes when he didn’t have a snarky response for her, but it was immediately covered by professionalism. The stretcher appeared beside him. “Come on, then.”

He altered it to a reclined sitting position instead of laying flat and then took his place, avoiding her scornful look. “All right, then,” she said, setting the stretcher in motion. “Are you going to tell me what’s most likely to kill you before we reach the Hospital Wing, or shall I just run the diagnostics and be done with it?”

He relaxed back against the pillows and closed his eyes, waiting for her to start her spells. While she was working, he could wonder about the mad start both of his masters had agreed on. Just because he’d had to master Society out of the most impossible background didn’t mean he ought to teach anyone else. Particularly the spoiled brat of the Muggle world who would probably resist Wizarding ways on the principle that his were naturally better.

His thoughts began to go hazy and Poppy’s voice got sharper at the same time it seemed to recede down a long tunnel. He cemented his assignment into his mind with Occlumency so that it would be the first thing he considered when he awoke, and relaxed into unconsciousness.

* * *

Harry stood next to the gargoyle at the bottom of Dumbledore’s staircase, feeling shellshocked. Here he’d spent all summer dreaming about being back in the Wizarding world, joining the fight against Voldemort for real. That ought to stop the nightmares. And instead...

“Harry!” Hermione and Ron must have gotten tired of waiting for him. They came hurrying up the corridor.

“What did the Headmaster have to say?” Hermione asked.

Harry ignored her and turned to Ron. “Wizards have a stupid social thing every spring with… with dancing and etiquette and - and-” He trailed off, unable to come up with any other words.

Ron looked at him in confusion. “You mean the Season? But we’re not old enough for that.”

“Season?” Hermoine looked at him sharply. “I’m guessing this is like the old-fashioned sort of Season?”

“Why is this even a thing?” Harry demanded at the top of his lungs.

“Um, why do you care?” Ron asked warily.

“Because Dumbledore,” Harry spat the name, “says that the best thing that I can do for the war against Voldemort is to prepare for my effing Season.”

“What?” Ron and Hermione chorused.

“No, no, it gets even better,” Harry said bitterly. “Who do you think he wants to teach me how to do all this society garbage?”

Hermione and Ron exchanged glances.

“Erm… my mum?” Ron suggested. “I know she taught my brothers… I expect she’s going to be roping me into lessons over the summer, although as a sixth son, it doesn’t actually matter much…”

“No,” Harry said. He wished it were Mrs. Weasley. It would still be stupidly annoying, but at least she liked him. He would probably have gotten a lot of sweets out of it, too.

“McGonagall?” Hermione suggested.

“McGonagall?” Ron said in disgust. “You must be joking.”

“Why shouldn’t she?” Hermione demanded.

“That’s not the point,” Harry interrupted, unwilling to let his grievance get derailed. “The point is, Dumbledore doesn’t want me studying with your mum, or McGonagall, or anyone sane. He wants me to study with Snape.”

“WHAT?” Ron and Hermione chorused again, much louder this time.

“He’s gone mad,” Ron said flatly. “Mum’s been saying he’s overworked, it’s gone to his head, he’s gone round the twist.”

“Did he give a reason?” Hermione asked. She sounded like she was begging Harry to make this make sense.

Harry shrugged. “Only that he ‘entered Society from a similar background,’ whatever that’s supposed to mean. And that since he’s here, it will be easy enough for him to give me lessons.” He slumped down the wall to sit with his head in his hands. “I can’t do this. I’m going to either laugh in his face or explode when he tells me I have to - to dance or whatever, and then he’ll actually kill me.”

“I’m sure he won’t actually kill you,” Hermione said. She was obviously trying to sound reassuring, but the worry in her voice didn’t actually help.

“Look, let’s go write Bill and Charlie, all right?” Ron suggested. “They both survived being presented. I’m sure they’ll have some ideas.”

Harry shrugged, but he allowed Ron to pull him to his feet. “I guess we might as well ask what I need to learn. I’m not supposed to tell anyone else about Snape, though.”

“Why not?”

“I was a little too busy being furious to ask about that.”

Hermione laid a hand on his shoulder. “We’ll figure it out, Harry. Don’t worry.”

Harry tried to smile at her as they set off down the hall, but he knew better. Dumbledore always got him to do things. This would be no different.

#bring back the bastard fest 2021 #bring back the bastard #pro-snape #snapedom #snape prompts #day 1: the scar #this was the intro; I promise Snape will get more bastard!screentime in the other chapters!

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northcarolinanative · 4 years

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𝙲𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗 / 𝙲𝚑 𝟷𝟺

Chapter 14: On Your Side

A/N: Hi guys, it’s me, I know it’s been ages but I’m back, I have finally started to feel a little revived about this series so we’ll see how it goes. I feel low-key like a Riverdale writer because there are so many of my season 2 predictions that I want to put into this, but I don't really know how to. Anyway as always my requests/ask/messages are always open. I hope you enjoy:)

Description: John B’s Sister comes home from staying with their mom, only to find out that her brother is missing and her dad was murdered. JJ may have just lost his best friend. Her and JJ have to figure out what to do and how to pick up the pieces.

Need to Catch Up? Previous Parts

I woke up to the sound of thunder cracking through the house. I turned to the other side of the bed to see JJ’s back. I saw the movement of his shoulders, rising and falling with his breathing. I got up making my way to the kitchen and fixing a glass of water. I leaned my back against the cool counter looking over the papers that sat there. The clock on the microwave read 4:45am I had a lot to figure out moving forward. I sat down, flicking on a dim lamp for some subtle light. My early bedtime making it impossible for me to go back to sleep. I reached over to the counter for my phone. The light was bright enough to make me squint before looking at the messages on the screen.

The top message from my mother, asking how I had settled in with John B. I lied, of course, telling her that things were fine and that we were getting along great. I knew that she could say that she kept up with John B all these years, saying that she cared, but I knew the truth. This even further proves that evidence. She wasn’t meant to be a mother, she tried her best but being tied down and in the same place just wasn’t for her. I can’t help but think that if my father had won custody of me if she would have turned away from me too.

I shook my head, trying not to fall down that rabbit hole in my brain. JJ was turning over in the bed. He rolled over, bunching the blanket up in his arms and holding it into his chest. I smiled to myself as I turned back to my phone. I have no idea what is going on between the two of us right now but I know that I am thankful for him. During my sleep, I missed a text from Kie. She told me to be at the Wreck around 7:30 to help open the breakfast shift. I texted her a quick I’ll be there before, beginning to pull out the papers and maps of John B’s possible whereabouts.

I shuffled through the papers, trying to find as much information about the ship that I could with the info on the ship maps, as well as a binder that I pulled from my dad’s office. It detailed the kind of ships and had basics for each one. I was not sure how this could help, but I was doing something to move forward. The lack of internet at the Chateau was proving to be an issue as I needed more information. I thought about the few things that I need to look up and jotted them down in my notebook. I folded the maps and the lists into the book before pushing into a bag with my old laptop. The Wreck had the internet, so I was hopeful that Kie wouldn’t mind me using it after my shift.

My research seemed to do the trick as it killed enough time for me to begin getting ready for my first shift at The Wreck. I quickly showered and got ready, wearing the light blue shirt that read “The Wreck” in obnoxiously large letters across the back. I was slipping on my shoes at the edge of the pull out when a voice started me.

“Why are you ready?” It was JJ’s rough voice, obviously just waking up. “The sun is barely out.”

I laughed at him before pointing to the logo on the back of my shirt. “Work calls my friend,” I said with a laugh, but JJ just rolled his eyes falling onto his back. “Feel free to stop by and entertain us?” I questioned.

“Haha Y/N, I have to get at least 9 hours of beauty sleep, but we’ll see.” He said rolling on his side to face me. His face and tone shifted before his next sentence. “Be careful, okay? That place may be for the tourists, but the Kooks love to stir up trouble over there alright?” I just nodded and smiled slightly before turning to head for my car.

My shift at The Wreck was nothing special. All the same as the country club, serve with a smile, a pretty self-explanatory menu, but the only difference was the overwhelming amount of tourists. Not that I minded, as they had no idea who I was, which I liked. I wasn’t worried about the work, more so the people. I knew JJ was overprotective of the rest of us and meant well, but his words were in the back of my head the whole shift. The last thing I need is a kook making trouble and Mr. Carrera letting me go.

Kie had me rolling silverware and working in the bar area. She said it was a good intro place before being put out on the floor. It also meant that we could chat and catch up. I liked Kie a lot, she was the closest thing I had to a best friend, even when I was back home. I was still hurt by her words, and hesitant to tell her anything, but I still love her. We were chatting while she went about her side task when I decided to ask about staying around. “Hey, is the Wifi back up here?” I asked, but kept my eyes trained on the task in front of me.

“I think so?” She answered.

“Do you think I could use it after my shift? I mean I brought my own computer and I’ll stay outta the way?” I bargained. I just got the job and didn’t want her father to think I was taking advantage of his offer, even if I was.

“Sure!” She smiled. “We can sit outside at one of those tables when we get off. Pope is coming by and I’m sure JJ will be here before you leave.” I didn’t miss her wink at me after her last statement, the blush more than obvious on my face. Kie was super observant, of course, she noticed something going on between the two of us.

“Okay yeah,” I said, sighing as she left to carry out an order. While I wanted to spend time with her and Pope, I don’t want to tell them what we’re doing. She’s made her feelings about John B’s accident completely known, and I didn’t want to give them false hope.

“You look really familiar.” a voice spoke. I looked up from the silverware that I was rolling to be met with blue eyes and frosted tips.

I’m sure he could see the confused look on my face as I just responded with an “interesting” and a soft smile. I could totally tell that he was a kook by the way that he was dressed. He was dressed in a pastel polo that was only halfway buttoned up and the styling of his hair that no doubt had too many products in it.

He picked up a menu flipping through it before trying our conversation again. This time being more upfront. “Maybe a name would help you remember me, Y/N?” He said looking directly at me. I felt my skin go cold as he spoke my name. My only run-in with the kook being Rafe and his friends when Kie went full kook. I studied his face as he seemed to laugh a little. He seemed familiar. “Relax, I am on your side here. I figure you heard about your brother and my girl-” He coughed quickly before correcting himself, “my ex-girlfriend.”

Then it all clicked. “Topper” I breathed out. I hadn’t known him well enough to meet him but had seen him with a few of the other kooks hanging around the boneyard in the past. I remember JJ telling me about the way that he was led out of the church disguised as John B. “What exactly are you doing here?” I asked.

“I figured that you know what happened by now. I’m sure the pogues told you, but I need to talk to you if anyone knows anything it has to be you.” He spoke. I looked up to see Kie trying to get away from her table to come help. Topper seemed to notice. “Meet me outside after your shift? I really need to talk to you.” He said before getting up. “Oh and a stack of pancakes to go please.” He flashed a smile before walking to the side. I quickly wrote up his ticket and pinned it to the wheel as Kie came up beside me. “Don’t worry about Topper, he’s been pretty harmless lately. He keeps asking a lot of weird questions and showing up here. He’s like so obsessed with Sarah it’s crazy.” She paused rolling her eyes. I was hoping that you could get out without an awkward kook visit.” She laughed and nudged my shoulder.

I let out a sigh. “Yea and to think in the last 5 minutes of my shift. Are the boys on their way?” I questioned. If I was going to go meet with Topper and JJ saw, he would without a doubt start a fight. Something about the way that Topper spoke seemed serious. Also, he helped John B getaway, took whatever the consequences are, so I had to at least give him that.

“Yea. Pope has to finish up some work with his dad, then they’ll be here.” She said with a smile. “You can go ahead and clock out, I’ll finish up here.”

I nodded and said a quick “thank you” before making my way to the backroom to put everything away and clock out. My hands shook as I punched in the numbers, turning and putting tips away in my front pocket. I ran my hands over my head, letting out a shaky breath. Just gotta go get it over with. What's the worst that could happen?

I walked out the back door to see Topper leaned against the front of his Jeep. I looked around for any sign of JJ, Pope, or Heyward’s old beat-up truck. “Okay Topper, this is weird. What the hell is going on?” I said walking to stand in front of him, crossing my arm over my chest. I could feel the way that my glare was harsh on him.

“Look, Rafe’s losing his shit. I know he’s lost it before but he has really lost it.” He spoke, his tone heavy, almost panicked.

I couldn’t help but let out a laugh. “You're kidding right?” He just shook his head obviously. “Why the fuck do you think I’d care?” I started to get angry, turning to walk away.

“Y/n! Wait, please!” He said, stepping forward to follow me. I turned to look at him with my eyebrows raised. “Look I believe y’all, that’s why I helped John B.” He admitted. “The way that Rafe has been acting I believe it too, he’s lost it. I think he’s dangerous.”

I scoffed again. “Really?” I pointed to the now healing split on my cheek and motion to my neck. “I had no idea, Topper.” My voice was laced with sarcasm and anger. “Get to the point please.” I sighed.

“He’s literally going crazy. I mean he says that he’s seeing Peterkin like he’s hallucinating her. He is dead set on pinning this on John B, saying that’s the only way that she’ll leave him alone. Ward tries to keep him locked up as much as possible, but you and the pogues” He sighed running a hand through his hair, messing it up, “need to watch out for him. You don’t know what he might do.”

“Well, he is a murder.” I retorted coldly.

“I know the pogues, they haven’t given up on John B or Sarah. You probably haven't given up on your brother either. I think that they are the last chance at putting this to rest. I wanna help you find Sarah, and your brother” He finished with a heavy breath.

I tried to keep a poker face and the best way to go about this situation. “Topper, there is nothing we can do,” I spoke slowly trying to think of exactly what to say. I didn’t want to push him away in case we ended up needing his help later, but like the others, no need to involve him in something so uncertain. Not to mention that I had zero intentions of trusting him. “The police have given us nothing to work with, we’re just as in the dark as you.”

Topper dropped his head to look at the ground. “Right.” He nodded. ”I guess I was just hoping that it wasn’t real, ya know?” His voice was quieter than before. His tone was soft and sounded broken. “Hoping that she wasn’t really gone.”

I felt bad for him, even if he was pining after my brother’s girlfriend. He lost his girlfriend, to a pogue, then she might have died and his best friend, Rafe turns up to be a murder in a matter of a week. “Trust me, I know Topper,” I said, causing him to look back up and nodded before turning back to his car. “I’ll let you know if we find something though?”

He smiled as he pulled himself into his Jeep as I headed to my car to get my bag before going back to the restaurant to meet with the pogues.

Taglist: @nikki082489 @lovelymaybankk @dolanfivsosxox @alexa-playafricabytoto @downbytheouterbanks @heyhargrove @heywards @kayln021 @readysteadygo23 @im-a-stranger-thing @thatsonobx @dumbxgurl @ameeraaa21@zehnuhrfunf @imagines-and-preferences1216 @mileven-reddie @sw-eat-ing @tangledinsparkles @shawnssongs @karleeluv @rockyyc77 @omigodyall @whoreforouterbanks @bqbyl0n @hmsjiara @kaelyn-lobrutto24 @softstarkey

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tsarisfanfiction · 4 years

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Long Way From Home: Chapter 2

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Teen Genre: Family/Friendship Characters: Scott, Tracy Family

Well, the first chapter certainly got some reactions, so I’m back again to either answer the questions from last chapter or make things more confusing. Or both, because why not? I’m planning weekly updates, but we’ll see what actually happens. Thanks, uni.

<<<Chapter 1

Logic screamed that he was actually facing the Hood, the twisted man adopting his own appearance for some scheme or other that Scott really didn’t want to know about. His gut told logic to go take a hike – there was no way the Hood would be standing there, barely two feet from his uniform, and not raiding any and all technology he could get his grubby little paws on. Nor would the Hood leave him unrestrained when he’d had plenty of opportunity to secure him during the gap in his memory.

Besides, the Hood was a perfectionist. His disguises were flawless, a product of technology Brains rolled his eyes at but acknowledged was an engineering masterpiece, if sadly in the wrong hands. This Scott in front of him was not a carbon copy.

For starters, much to Scott’s chagrin, the man’s hair was a healthy brown all over. No grey traitors wormed their way along his roots, signs of stress he desperately tried to ignore even as his brothers taunted him for their existence and pulled stunts that felt designed to increase their number. The brown was also slightly lighter than his own, although that could just have been a product of more washes and less gel. Despite the lack of grey hairs, he also got the impression that this man was actually older than him, if only by a year or so.

“How did you get here?” His voice was different, too. The pitch wasn’t the same, nor was the tone quite right. Virgil could give a better summary of the nuances, he was sure.

The words, though. Those were all Scott, right down to the sharp delivery and clear expectation of a prompt answer. Skipping pleasantries, and heading straight for the heart of the matter because they didn’t have time to dance around the issue.

“I might have a better idea if I knew where ‘here’ was,” he challenged. “What is this place? Where am I?” Where were his brothers?

The Other-Scott (Fake Scott? Hood-Masquerading-As-Scott?) locked gazes with him. What he was looking for, Scott didn’t know, but he refused to cower away from his doppelgänger and met his steely, searching look with one of his own. Logic still insisted that the Hood, or at least the Hood’s technology, had to be responsible, but he’d learnt to trust his gut long before he’d even heard of his father’s dream of International Rescue and that was adamant that Kayo’s miserable excuse for a family member had nothing to do with the man in front of him.

What it couldn’t tell him was who the man was, aside from an imperfect clone of himself. The unusual technology surrounding them – alien, Alan might call it for lack of a more rational explanation – was another piece to the puzzle that wasn’t slotting together.

Puzzles were more of John’s thing, not his. There were many times his ginger brother had rescued the poor pieces from his hands as he tried to force them into the wrong places.

Why had John not made contact yet?

“Who are you?” he demanded when it became clear that the other man wasn’t intending on answering his other questions. “Why am I here? Where are my brothers?”

“Brothers?” Other-Scott repeated, frowning deeply. “We found you alone.”

“Found me?” Scott spat. “Where? Last place I remember was the securest part of my own home! There’s no way you got near me without passing my brothers!” His brothers, sleeping soundly in the belief that they were safe in their own home. Even John had gone to sleep, secure on Five, but if they’d reached Thunderbird One’s hangar they’d have reached the space elevator docking system. “So where. Are. My. Brothers?”

“You were in our home,” Other-Scott bit back, hands briefly balling into fists before being forced to relax again. “Alone. Wherever your brothers are, it’s not here.” Scott didn’t like the emphasis on brothers.

“Don’t lie to me!” he roared, temper fraying. His brothers had to be with him, otherwise John would have made contact asking where he’d gone. Otherwise this man – and others beside him – had invaded their home and taken him whilst leaving his brothers but that made no sense. Why take only one member of International Rescue when you could have all five? Why take only one Tracy – even if it was the eldest, the one with the most access to all their assets – when you could take more for additional insurance?

They hadn’t tied him down, and the wires hooking him up to the bizarre machines had long since lost their hold on him from his earlier movement. A rookie mistake. With years of Air Force training behind him, Scott launched himself at the other man.

Blue eyes widened just before a fist made contact with his cheek, and Other-Scott staggered backwards before catching his balance, his hand tenderly brushing over the injured area. The movement had put him to one side, no longer between Scott and the door, and Scott took full advantage of that. If this man wasn’t going to admit where his brothers were, he’d find them himself.

It was his turn to receive a punch as he jumped towards the door, putting him off-course and allowing Other-Scott to block his way again. This time, his curiously wary look had changed to an angry one, and as they met in a flurry of blows Scott couldn’t tell which of them moved first.

“Let. Me. At. My. Brothers,” he spat between blows, gasping as an elbow caught him in the solar plexus just as Other-Scott doubled over from a fist to the gut.

“They’re not, argh, here!” Other-Scott insisted, hooking their ankles together and bringing them tumbling to the floor, where they pushed and shoved at each other, trying to get the upper hand. Something fell off a table as Scott’s back slammed into it, shattering into many glass fragments and dousing him with a cool liquid. Another bottle hit Other-Scott’s shoulder on the way down, before smashing on the floor and adding to the mess.

They were equally matched, neither able to get the upper hand as they rolled around on the floor, fists flying, heads clashing, and elbows jabbing whatever fleshy body parts they could reach in all the chaos. Broken glass dug mercilessly into bare skin wherever it was visible, the liquid contents of the former bottles oozing through their clothes. Other-Scott’s head slammed against the bed, but he barely paused before Scott found his own head colliding with a metal table, darkening his vision for a split second.

“What’s going on here?” an unfamiliar voice demanded. Scott ignored it, and Other-Scott met his latest attacks with equal fervour. “Scott, stop!”

Scott had no intention of stopping. He didn’t recognise the voice, but Other-Scott had flinched so he did, which meant they were working together.

Strong arms grabbed him, hauling him away from Other-Scott with a grunt, and he kicked out at the warm body restraining him. Other-Scott had been captured too, a shorter brown-haired man built like a tank firmly hooking him under the shoulders and frowning furiously as he fought to keep hold of Scott’s doppelgänger, who was as determined to get free as Scott himself.

“BOYS!” the voice thundered right in his ear, no doubt belonging to the owner of the arms restraining him. “What is this nonsense all a- oof?” Scott threw his head back, clashing with what felt like a nose, from the way it gave.

“Where are my brothers?” His demand came out almost as a scream, all his frustration at the situation pouring out of him as at least two more hostiles made themselves apparent. Other-Scott was stopping short of causing any damage to his own captor in his bids for freedom, suggesting that while the man was breaking up the fight, he was still on Other-Scott’s side.

“I told you!” Other-Scott shouted back at him. “They’re not here! We only found you!”

“They must be here!” Scott insisted. “Don’t lie to me!”

“E-nuff!” the man behind him joined in, the imperious tone ruined by the clear sounds of a broken nose. “Shedate im!”

Scott fought harder as a ginger man entered the room, looking at him with wide brown eyes before surveying the mess in front of him with trepidation. He picked his way across glass-strewn floor carefully, but Scott was more interested in Other-Scott, whose attempts to get free had reduced to a token effort as his attention was briefly stolen by the ginger man. He recognised that look of concern too well, far too used to seeing it in the mirror.

“Oh my!” a frail woman’s voice sounded from the doorway. “Oh, what a mess. Jefferson, what are you doing to that poor young man?”

Jefferson. The name was so familiar it hurt, but at least he had a name for Other-Scott – or so he thought until the man holding him responded.

“He’s quith ou o conthrol, muffer.”

Unable to help himself, Scott tore his gaze away from Other-Scott, who had now stopped resisting capture entirely in favour of looking in the direction of the doorway almost sheepishly, to catch a glimpse of the man holding him. Silver-grey hair and a receding hairline weren’t immediately familiar, however, and the hold he was in preventing him from seeing much more. He could, however, see the elderly lady who had interrupted the fight. Rosy cheeks, a slightly bent back and a quiver in her hands all pointed towards a particularly advanced age.

“Where are my brothers?” he asked again, reigning his voice in to an almost-level, if still intense, level.

“I told you-” Other-Scott started forwards again, only to be brought up short by the man still holding him tightly.

“Your brothers, dearie?” the old woman interrupted. “Oh, I’m afraid I don’t know. Jefferson, why don’t you help the young man find his brothers?”

“They’re not here, Grandma,” Other-Scott said, and Scott flared up again.

“Well then, dearie, it seems to me that instead of all this fighting, you should be looking to find out where they are,” Other-Scott’s grandmother pointed out. “I’m sure their absence is terribly distressing him. I know you’d be terribly distressed if your brothers were missing.” She pottered towards him, the ginger-haired man sweeping back to her side and nudging broken glass out of the way with a foot before she could tread on any. “Jefferson, let him go. Are you hungry, dearie? I’ve got an apple pie that’s just finished baking.”

“Muffer!” the man holding him protested, but the woman was no longer paying her son any attention, bespectacled eyes homing in on Scott. He looked around the room; Other-Scott was still held by the brown-haired man, and the ginger was hovering awkwardly by the elderly lady but shooting him assessing looks. The grip on his arms was slackening, and it became clear that no-one wanted to fight with her in the midst, Scott himself included.

“Well, dearie?” the woman prompted, and he slid out of the other man’s grasp. The instant he did so, a hand, just as frail and delicate as the rest of her, came to rest on his forearm. “If apple pie doesn’t meet your fancy, I have an orange tart, or some banana bread. Oh, if none of those tickle you, I’m sure I can find something,” she wittered as he found himself being coaxed from the room.

“Uh, apple pie would be… fine,” he said haltingly. Behind him, he heard a noise of protest. “Thank you, er, Mrs..?”

“Oh dear, I didn’t introduce myself.” She sounded mortified at the omission. “I’m so sorry, dear. It’s Mrs Tracy.”

It shouldn’t have bothered him. Tracy wasn’t an uncommon name, for all that there was only one family famous for it. The elderly lady looked nothing like his grandmother – either of them, even if his recollections of his mother’s mother were faded – but her grandson still looked like him, to the point he still didn’t trust the other man, or indeed anyone in the house. In light of that, having his own surname thrown around startled him.

“Is there something wrong?” Mrs Tracy asked him. “Oh, you don’t look well at all, dear. Let’s sit you down.” He found himself ushered into a seat as they reached what was clearly the kitchen. A young woman was already there, pulling the promised apple pie out of a bizarre contraption that vaguely resembled an old oven. “Tin-Tin, would you be a dear and fetch your father?” the elderly lady asked her. “This young man doesn’t seem very well.”

“But of course, Mrs Tracy.” Tin-Tin had a slight lilting accent to her voice, somewhere south-east Asian if Scott had to guess. “I’ll find him now.” She placed the apple pie, which smelled absolutely heavenly to Scott, compared to his own grandmother’s regular offerings, on the table and left the room.

“Eat up, dearie,” Mrs Tracy insisted, placing a plate in front of him. “Help yourself to as much as you want.”

The apple pie smelled good, and despite his misgivings at the entire situation, a homemade apple pie was far too tempting and he found himself tucking in to a healthy slice.

“What would you like to drink, dear?” she asked. “Tea, coffee? Oh, I have some juice somewhere, now where did I put it..?”

“Water is fine,” he answered between mouthfuls.

“Oh, are you sure?” she queried. “It’s no trouble at all.”

“Perfectly,” he replied, only to blink as a steaming cup of tea appeared in front of him.

“You called, Mrs Tracy?” An older man had entered the kitchen while he wasn’t looking, an impressive and concerning feat considering Scott was still on edge about the entire situation. His accent was the same as Tin-Tin’s, implying that this was her father.

“Oh, Kyrano,” the woman greeted. “This young man, oh, silly me, I never asked for your name, dearie… Dearie?”

Scott barely heard her, the cup of tea he’d started to lift falling from startled fingers to smash onto the table, spilling the liquid everywhere.

Kyrano. Another familiar name, if not a familiar face. First, Other-Scott, who could have been his identical twin. Then, Mrs Tracy, a name he knew all too well even if she didn’t look like his own grandmother. Now, Kyrano, another name albeit one whose owner he hadn’t seen in too long, with a different face but the same intensity about him.

“Dearie?” Mrs Tracy asked again. “Oh, what a mess. He’s as white as a sheet, Kyrano.”

Something reminiscent of smelling salts wafted under his nose and he spluttered.

“You’re bleeding, sir,” the man said matter-of-factly. “Allow me.”

Scott had forgotten about the broken bottles he’d been wrestling amongst with Other-Scott, but now the man had mentioned it, he could feel the sting of glass embedded in his arms. No permission was sought before a gentle yet firm hand wrapped around a glass-free section of his arm, holding it in place as a pair of tweezers were produced. He was no stranger to medical attention, and while he didn’t know the man – Other-Kyrano, apparently, for all that he clearly wasn’t English, and probably couldn’t trump Scott in a fight – he did at least know the procedure for removing foreign bodies from open wounds and watched like a hawk as the man more or less followed the methods he would have expected.

“Please, drink your tea,” Other-Kyrano asked once a nasty, stinging liquid – disinfectant was horrible stuff and Scott would never like it – had been applied and bandages carefully wrapped around the worst of the wounds. “You might find it helpful.” A second cup of tea replaced the smashed remains of the old one, as Other-Kyrano efficiently cleaned up the mess.

How was tea supposed to help? Lady Penelope might insist as such sometimes, but Scott would much rather a strong coffee chock full of caffeine. Still, Mrs Tracy was looking at him with a worried look on his face, and Grandma would murder him for defying or otherwise offending an elderly lady who had done him no harm. He cautiously pulled the cup closer to him, and was startled to discover it wasn’t an ‘Assam Blend’, or whatever other fancy teas Lady Penelope liked to serve up. It was herbal, and surprisingly delicious, he discovered after his first tentative sip.

“Kyrano serves wonderful tea,” Mrs Tracy told him, sitting down across the table from him. She had her own cup of steaming liquid in front of her, and sipped at it delicately. “Now, dear, I’m afraid I didn’t catch your name?” Scott paused, taking another tentative sip of the tea to buy himself another moment to think. Should he give them his name? He didn’t know what they already knew. Was it worth a lie? No, he’d never be able to keep it up.

“Scott,” he admitted.

“Oh my,” Mrs Tracy said. “What a coincidence. That’s the name of my eldest grandson.” Scott’s gut churned unpleasantly, and he put the cup down before he dropped that one, too. “Oh, you even look the same. Isn’t that strange?”

Strange was one word to describe what was going on. Suspicious was another.

“You’re the fella that punched Scott?” A young man barged into the room. He had pale blond hair and light blue eyes that should have made him attractive, except he seemed to have a permanent frown etched into his face. “What gave you the right?” Scott matched his glare with one of his own as the young man – barely an adult at all, if he had to guess an age – stormed up to him.

“Alan!” Tin-Tin was there, resting a hand on his arm. “Please, calm yourself.”

Another familiar name, and now that he’d heard it Scott found himself instantly drawing parallels between the man and his youngest brother. There must have been at least five years between them, but Scott could see Alan looking like that man in a few years, although hopefully without the frown.

“But, Tin-Tin!” Other-Alan protested. “Scott’s face is bruised. I can’t just let that go!” He even had the same personality, a rigid sense of right and wrong with little ability to see the other person’s side, and a reluctance to acknowledge that black and white was joined by a large span of grey.

“Your brother can fight his own battles, Alan,” Tin-Tin soothed. “I’m sure it was all just a misunderstanding.”

“What about Dad’s nose?” Other-Alan demanded. “You can’t expect me to…”

Scott tuned out the argument at that. Dad. He tried not to be a petty person, but there were times when he couldn’t quite prevent envy bubbling up when he heard other people taking about their Dads, taking them for granted as though they’d always be there. Over the years he’d got better at smothering it, but this was a man named Alan, with a brother named Scott, and a grandmother called Mrs Tracy, and they had their Dad.

He’d broken their Dad’s nose when he’d tried to stop him attacking one of his sons. If that had happened to his Dad – if Dad was still around to break up fights on their behalf, no matter how unwelcome the gesture would have been in the moment – he’d be fuming, too. He wasn’t going to apologise though. Not now, when he didn’t know where he was, who he was with, or where his brothers were. He didn’t even know what these people planned to do with him, regardless of whether or not his presence in their home was intentional on their behalf.

“Leave it, Alan.” The blond man’s tirade was cut off by none other than Other-Scott – now confirmed to actually be a Scott himself – as he walked into the room. “Is there any apple pie left, Grandma?”

“Oh, yes, dear,” Mrs Tracy assured him. “Take a seat and I’ll bring some over.”

“Thanks,” Other-Scott said, pulling up a chair a couple away from Scott. His face was bruised, as Other-Alan had said, a beautiful darkening along his cheekbone and narrowly missing his eye. Other-Kyrano set a cup of tea in front of him, which he accepted gratefully and drank without hesitation.

“But, Scott!” Other-Alan complained, and his brother sighed.

“That’s enough, Alan,” he said, tearing into the plate of apple pie his grandmother placed in front of him. “Leave it.”

Other-Alan caved, albeit with obvious bad grace, and stalked out from the room. Scott watched him go. Part of him was glad that the younger man was being openly hostile – at least he knew where, exactly, he stood with him. Other-Scott was less clear, patched up from their scuffle and now sat at the same table, devouring his grandmother’s apple pie. Suspicious glances remained, but there was no open hostility.

The door opened again, and Other-Alan re-entered followed by the two young men from the infirmary, and-

A second teacup smashed onto the table.

“Oh dear!” Mrs Tracy cried, hurrying over to him. Other-Kyrano quickly swept up the remains as she took hold of his hand. “Scott, dear, are you alright?”

“Scott?” one of the men asked. He thought it might have been Other-Scott.

“Oh, Jeff, are you sure there’s nothing wrong with him?” Mrs Tracy was asking. “This is the second turn he’s had in as many minutes! Oh, look at him, he’s gone as white as a sheet again, Kyrano.”

Scott barely heard them. The man who had just entered the room had the obvious signs of a broken nose, identifying him as Other-Alan’s Dad. He also had salt and pepper hair, more salt than pepper, and a receding hairline. Steel eyes fixed on him sharply, hard and unforgiving, and a five o’clock shadow did nothing to hide the dimples in his cheeks. This was the same man that had restrained him, and while a glimpse in his periphery hadn’t been enough to cause recognition, now that Scott could see him properly he looked like Dad – an older version of Dad, but then he hadn’t seen Dad since he was nineteen. No doubt, if Dad was still with them, he’d look very similar to the man in front of him.

This had gone beyond simple words like weird and suspicious. Impossible sounded more like it.

“His medical results all came back clear, Grandma,” the brown-haired man from the infirmary assured her, squatting down in front of him and shining a penlight into his eyes. He recoiled from the bright light, tearing his gaze away from Not-Dad – it couldn’t be Dad, Dad was gone – to frown at him.

“Did you call him Scott?” the ginger man asked, walking over to the table and slotting himself in a chair between him and Other-Scott.

“That is my name,” he said before anyone else could speak up. A hush fell over the room, broken by Other-Kyrano setting a third cup of tea in front of him.

“Drink,” the man said. “It will help.”

“Your name is Scott?” Other-Alan demanded. “But-”

“That’s enough, Alan,” Not-Dad interrupted. The blond frowned, but obeyed. “Scott, is it?”

“That’s what I said,” Scott retorted, taking a sip of the fresh drink. As Other-Kyrano said, it did help. Somehow.

“Scott..?” Not-Dad trailed off expectantly. Surrounded by too many familiar names, Scott decided against answering. He took a longer drink, ignoring the patriarch of the family in favour of assessing the rest of the room. Other-Alan and Other-Scott he already had some measure of, the former more so than the latter. Mrs Tracy was a kind enough lady, and Tin-Tin seemed of a similar temperament. Other-Kyrano was difficult to read, but his focus was the two men whose names he had yet to hear.

The ginger noticed his scrutiny, returning it in kind. There was something familiar about him, but Scott batted away the notion. He was simply off-balance at the number of familiar names and faces already – that was no reason to start looking for more connections where there were none. No matter now much the warm brown eyes of the two as-yet unnamed men reminded him of two of his brothers.

Not-Dad bristled when it became apparent that he wouldn’t give his name.

“I’d like to know, who, exactly, is trespassing in my home,” he said. Clearly the man was used to being obeyed.

“I’d like to know how, exactly, I got here, and where my family are,” he retorted.

“You don’t know how you got here?” the brown-haired man asked, surprised.

“Virgil,” Not-Dad warned. The third teacup was spared the fate of the previous two purely by being on the table when Scott’s grip slacked.

“No,” he said firmly, powering through the unpleasant sensation dousing him again before Mrs Tracy commented on another ‘turn’. “I don’t. I don’t know where ‘here’ is, either.”

“But how could you get here without knowing?” the newly dubbed Other-Virgil asked. “None of us brought you here.”

Scott didn’t bother responding, draining the cup of tea before any more unpleasant surprises could befall it and standing up.

“Thanks for the tea,” he said to Other-Kyrano, “and the apple pie,” he continued to Mrs Tracy, ignoring Not-Dad as he pushed the chair under the table.

“Dear, are you sure you’re alright?” Mrs Tracy fussed. He wasn’t, but he didn’t tell her that. Instead he gave a short nod before choosing a door at random and walking through it, ignoring a protest from Not-Dad.

A corridor greeted him, with a neat row of doors on one side and a branch off to the left leading to who knew what.

“Now look here.” A hand clapped down on his shoulder, and he was halfway to removing it forcibly before placing the voice. Having already broken Not-Dad’s nose, thereby earning the wrath of at least one member of the family, it was probably not a good idea to injure the man further. It didn’t stop him shrugging him off, however. “I don’t want you walking around our home unsupervised, young man.”

“Then supervise me,” he retorted.

“I intend to.” A hand returned to his shoulder – lightly, this time, Not-Dad clearly learning his lesson – and steered him towards what now looked a lot like an elevator from those old, vintage films Grandma occasionally put on even though they were from before her time, or so she claimed. Neither he nor any of his brothers were brave enough to dispute it. “Gordon, I want everyone in the lounge. Let’s start from the beginning.”

“Yes, Father,” the ginger man said – Scott hadn’t even noticed him behind Not-Dad – and tried very hard not to react to the name, even though the situation had flown past anything anyone could classify as a coincidence at this point. Scott, Virgil, Gordon, Alan… all they were missing was a John.

Not-Dad gestured for him to enter the elevator, ignoring what seemed to be a perfectly serviceable flight of stairs, and he did so with trepidation, watching metal shutters slide across sharply before a jerk beneath their feet had them rising.

“Jeff Tracy,” Not-Dad said suddenly. Scott glanced at him as the elevator stopped moving and the metal shutters opened with a clatter. “Call me Mr Tracy.” His cool, unpersonable approach was nothing like how Scott remembered Dad, and that helped, a little. He didn’t intend on calling him anything, though. Not until he knew why there was a clone of his father, and of himself, in this strange house.

Chapter 3>>>

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds are go fanfiction #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #tsari writes fanfiction #scott tracy #jeff tracy #grandma tracy #tin-tin kyrano #kyrano #alan tracy #virgil tracy #gordon tracy #long way from home

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youralternantpersonality · 4 years

Text

Falling For You

OC x Reader then Embry x Reader

Warning: Nothing.

Part 1: “Gaslight” by Snow Tha Product

Part 2: “New Me” by Ella Eyre

Part 3: “Falling for You” by Tamia

***

I was getting ready for a bonfire that Embry and the guys invited me to. Everyone and some of the elders were going to be there. I heard a knock at the door, then heard my foster father answer it.

“Y/n, Embry’s here!” Said Andre, my foster dad.

“Okay! Almost ready! Give me 5 minutes.” I yelled back.

“She’ll be done in 15. Have a seat…” they walk off somewhere in the house. I continue to do my makeup before slipping on my yoga pants and converse. I opt for a regular black sweater to match the excitement. Black is a happy color.

Could I be falling for you? Is this a fantasy come true? Is this a dream that I've waited for? Am I the one that you adore?

Whoa, whoa I think I'm falling for you Whoa, whoa, whoa What am I supposed to do? 'Cause you make me feel Like I'm falling in love (am I falling for you?)

When we get to the bonfire, I notice Kim and Clair are here. We run-up to each other and they show me the way to the table of food. I say hello to everyone and sit with Leah and Emily talking about random shit, allowing the guys to play soccer and wrestle with one another. After some time, I felt someone’s eyes on me, and I turn to look to see its Embry. He was talking to Paul and Sam when I caught his eyes. I smiled, as did he, and turned my attention back to the girls.

“Aww, look at the love birds,” Clair says, laughing into her aunt Emily.

“Embry and Y/n, sitting in a tree..” sang Leah and Kim,

“K-I-S-S-I-N-G.” Emily. I can feel my face heating up and I start laughing a little.

“First comes love,” Kim sang,

“Then comes marriage.” Clair sang,

“Then comes a baby in a baby carriage.” Leah followed through.

“That’s not all, that’s not all,” Jared joined randomly,

“Then here comes the alcohol!” they sang together. Laughing and falling over.

“I hate, all of you.” I laugh along with them. Although I have my suspicion that Embry likes me as I do him, I’m not 100% sure. I shake my head at my friends and get up to get a bottle of water. As I turn back around to head back where everyone else was, I run into Embry.

“Oh shit, my bad Em,” I say looking up at him. He smiles at me and shakes it off.

“I hope they’re not bothering you. I know they can get a little…”

“Too much? Psychotic? Mentally deranged? Irritating?” He laughs and nods his head.

“Yeah, something like that.”

“Well, no worries. I know that they were just joking.” His smile falls a little and he makes a face as if he was debating to ask me something.

“Uh oh, I know that look. What’s wrong?” He looks everywhere but my eyes,

“What if they weren’t joking...” my heart damn nearly skipped a beat. No, it skipped the bottom two steps.

“What do you-” I was cut off by Sue Clearwater.

“Okay, guys! We’re getting started!”

Could it be love, tell me, boy, Is it true? I get a rush when I think about you

Lose control from my body and my soul And when you hold me I don't want to let go (You give me reason) you give me reason Every reason just to love you babe (babe) Everything that you do is so amazing I can't believe what your body makes me wanna do I'm having visions of me all over you

Whoa, whoa I think I'm falling for you Whoa, whoa, whoa What am I supposed to do? 'Cause you make me feel Like I'm falling in love (am I falling for you?)

I sat in between Embry and Paul. Both knowing that not only am I an anemic, but I get sick way too easily. I always questioned by their body temperature was unnaturally high and why they were a walking, talking furnace. I never got a decent answer. After the third perverted joke that Jared and Paul would make, I stop bothering to ask. As Billy was telling their tribal story, I leaned into Embry without even thinking about it. I was so engaged in the story that I didn’t even realize he wrapped his arm around me and rested his chin on my head.

Being around Em was just…natural. It didn’t take long for me to come to terms with my emotions with him. This feeling I feel for him was something that Isaac could never give me. They weren’t even on the same level. Isaac couldn’t even reach Embry’s ankles (Ankles by Jesse Reyes is bomb; listen to it). Where Isaac failed, Embry achieved. And even if Isaac achieved, Embry went above and beyond. I’m not comparing the two, but Embry didn’t have to try anything. Him just being himself was, no, is enough to make me excited. Based on my calculation, I have concluded one thing.

I am falling for Embry Call. Hard and fast.

You must have known though I try to disguise The way I feel, was there fire in my eyes On that night when our bodies intertwined? I knew right then and there that you will be mine

Could I be falling for you Is this a fantasy come true? Is this a dream that I've waited for Am I the one that you adore (adore, tell me)

Whoa, whoa I think I'm falling for you Whoa, whoa, whoa What am I supposed to do? 'Cause you make me feel Like I'm falling in love (am I falling for you?)

Whoa, whoa I think I'm falling for you (falling for you) Whoa, whoa, whoa What am I supposed to do (what am I supposed to do?) 'Cause you make me feel Like I'm falling in love Am I falling for you?

“Walk with me?” Embry asked after Billy was finished. I nodded and got up to follow him down the beach towards some driftwood and out of hearing range.

“Oh shit, this is it, isn’t it? You finally snapped and you’re going to kill me with that stick?” I say smiling. Bringing the smile I loved upon his face.

“No, not yet. I was close to last week, but I changed my mind when you said you’d make pralines.” He says nonchalantly thinking as if that was a valid reason. It is, and I’m lucky.

“Noted.” I nod my head and look at him waiting to see what he wanted to talk about.

“I wanted to ask what you thought about everything?” He suddenly got shy. I leaned in closer to him for his warmth.

“I thought it was badass. I liked it. Why?” He closed his eyes and dramatically took a deep breath then turned towards me.

“Because…it’s true. All of it.” He looked at me dead in the eyes. I didn’t have to search for a sight of joking in his beautiful orbs. I could tell he was serious. I turned towards him and asked,

“When you say everything…you mean. The human to wolf changing?” he nods his head. A sight of fright is placed on his face. I nod my head and take a moment. I shrug my shoulders and look up at him.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah, okay,” I said. I was curious, to say the least. “But, I need you to prove it, hun.” He smiles slightly and nods his head. He stands up and backs a distance from me and starts stripping in front of me. I don’t shy away from it, I’ve seen this man without a shirt, so that doesn’t catch me off guard. What does, however, was when he reached for his pants. My eyebrows raise as I go from his waist to his eyes. the man had the audacity to shoot me a cocky grin and bite his lips a little before taking them off. I refused to turn away. If I'm gonna have this one chance to see this, I'm going to take full advantage. Plus, he wasn’t so shy as he normally is about it.

After passing me his clothes, he steps back more, starts shaking, and not 3 seconds afterward, I see a giant ass wolf where he’s at. I instantly stood and the look of shock portrayed on my face. We stayed staring at one another for a minute before Embry looked over my shoulders. He rolls his eyes and trots off to the woods.

“Y/n! Are you okay!?” Sam calls from behind me. I turn and the look of shock is still on my face.

“Huh?”

“Are you okay? He didn’t get to close did he?” he said angrily.

“What? Oh, no. Am I on drugs, or did Embry change into a wolf? I swear I’ve never taken LSD…” I say, trying to lessen the tension and make sure Sam doesn’t go ape shit on Embry. Paul, Jared, and Quil start laughing at my joke. Sam chuckles and shakes his head.

“Yes, he shifted. We all can.” He nods towards the guys. Clair’s hyper ass points to Leah to make it clear that she can also. I nod my head and turn back to Embry who has finished putting on his pants. My smile deflates instantly. Damn, I missed my chance.

“Embry! You know you should have waited until we came over here.” Sam said roughly towards him. Embry stood there with his hands in his pockets and a blank look on his face.

“Let's get back.” Sam turns away and Embry brakes out a smile, walks up to me, and grabs my hand. Cue the adrenaline rush to my heart and stomach.

Every day You seem to find a way to make me go crazy I just can't understand But let me tell you one thing You make me wanna sing, do, do, do, oh

Whoa, whoa I think I'm falling for you Whoa, whoa, whoa What am I supposed to do? 'Cause you make me feel Like I'm falling in love, am I falling for you? Do, do, do, oh

Whoa, whoa I think I'm falling for you Whoa, whoa, whoa What am I supposed to do? 'Cause you make me feel Like I'm falling in love Am I falling for you? Do, do, do, do, do, do Do, do, do, oh

After that night, Embry and I got closer. Not close, close, but close enough that when we were on the beach one day, he randomly decided to blurt out I was his imprint.

“What’s that?” Thus, him going into detail about how I was basically his soulmate and that he’s stuck with my crazy ass forever. I smiled at the thought of that and had no problem expressing my emotion. Doing so, resulted in me pulled against his chest, his strong hand softly grasping my head, and our lips connecting instantly when I expressed my mutual feelings for him. I wrapped my arms around his shoulders to deepen the kiss.

In a distance, we can hear howling coming from the assholes of a friend we have. Instead of disconnecting our lips, we lift our middle fingers at them and smile into the kiss. When we pull back, Embry is then tackled to the ground by the guys, Sam moving me out of the way just in time. I go stand next to the girls and we watch in amazement at the lack of brain cells that continue to show.

“So, I take it that you guys are their imprints?” I asked Kim and Clair. They nod while looking at their boyfriends.

“So it’s official Clair. Quil is your baby daddy.” She looks at me and smiles,

“Damn straight. AIN'T THAT RIGHT BABE!” She yells to Quil, who randomly looks up and smiles. Before he could agree, Seth tackles him.

“I still can't believe I have to deal with them as wolfs,” Leah says resting her arm on Emily’s shoulder.

“You love us!” Jared says before Sam decided to join in and tackles him. I look at the girls and ask,

“You guys want to go get something to eat?”

“Sure.” Leah and Kim say.

“Cool, I’ll drive. Let's keep them here.” We all nodded, got into Emily’s truck, with Leah and me in the bed, and drove to the diner.

Back at the beach.

“Hey! Wait! Where did the girls go!?” Seth asks, curiously looking around. Shrugs passed around the group.

“Maybe back at the house?” Embry asked. There was a pause before Sam shouted,

“LAST ONE THERE HAS TO CLEAN THE DISHES!” And they all ran in the opposite direction of the girls.

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joachimnapoleon · 4 years

Text

Meet the Bonapartes--Louis (2/4)

(Part 1 can be found here) (And here are links to Part 1, Part 2, and Part 3 on Pauline)

***

Napoleon's plan to marry Louis to Hortense was met with a marked lack of enthusiasm by both parties. Aside from having acquired a jaded view of women (possibly as a result of the affliction he suffered in Italy), Louis also happened to be in love with someone else. Prior to the wedding, he would write a twenty-page letter to Hortense containing what was essentially his life story, and in which he confessed his love for a woman named Sophie, describing her, and his feelings for her, in great detail. Hortense, meanwhile, had acquired a negative view of Louis, because of his behavior in an earlier failed love affair between him and one of her cousins. However, Hortense claims, she was willing to give Louis the benefit of the doubt, and dismiss "his conduct toward my cousin" as "merely thoughtlessness on his part." Her former mentor, Madame Campan, visited Hortense to speak in Louis's favor. Hortense was not entirely convinced. "Louis seems to me to be kindhearted and good," she conceded to Mme Campan, "but I do not like the disdain with which he pretends to look upon women and which often appears in his conversation."

[Hortense de Beauharnais]

But Napoleon was adamant about the match, seeing in it a strengthening not only of the ties between the Bonaparte and Beauharnais families, but also as a safeguard for a potential Bonaparte dynasty. "We may never have children," Napoleon told Josephine (according to Hortense's memoirs). "I brought Louis up myself; I look on him as a son. Your daughter is what you cherish most on earth. Their children shall be our children. We will adopt them, and this adoption will console us for not having any of our own." But Josephine, who had initially favored the idea, grew increasingly ill at ease over the marriage as the wedding approached. Hortense also claims that Louis's older brother Lucien poisoned Louis's mind against her, after his own request to marry her was shot down by Napoleon. "I do not know what he said," Hortense writes, "but Louis became uneasy." It was then that Louis wrote his twenty-page letter to her and "begged me in return to describe my past life to him in full. It would have been difficult for me to give him any striking facts on the subject and, when I returned his letter, in accordance with his request, I merely replied that for a long time my life had been known to him."

"If your popularity and society have not spoiled you," Louis replied, "you must be an angel. There can be no middle ground. You must be all good or all bad." Hortense took this as a compliment. "I could not suppose that, admitting the existence of the two alternatives, his opinion could be otherwise than favorable."

The marriage contract was signed on 3 January 1802 at the Tuilleries. Napoleon provided Hortense with a dowry of 250,000 francs, to which Josephine added another 100,000. The civil service took place the next day, and the nuptial blessings were held afterwards. After Cardinal Caprara had blessed the newlyweds, Joachim and Caroline Murat came forward, and requested to receive a nuptial blessing as well, as their marriage had taken place before the religious ceremony was reinstated. "This double ceremony left a disagreeable impression on me," writes Hortense. "The other couple were so happy. They were so much in love with one another.... I felt as though all the happiness lay on one side, all the unhappiness on the other."

The "honeymoon" period was almost nonexistent. Napoleon had flown into a rage at Louis over complaints Louis had made about the marriage not being announced publicly. The personalities of Louis and Hortense never quite managed to synchronize on any level. Louis found fault with Hortense over the most trivial things, and Hortense could barely disguise her increasing dislike for her husband--or the fear his unstable, unpredictable behavior had begun to instill in her.

My nerves gave way. Only tears brought relief. My husband, touched and affected by the sight of my grief, sought to console me, but the harm had been done. My only sentiment towards Louis became one of fear. I dared no longer smile or speak in his presence. It always seemed to me he was on the point of losing his temper.

Nevertheless, the couple's first child--Napoleon Charles Bonaparte--was born the 2nd of October, 1802. Another son, Napoleon-Louis Bonaparte, followed two Octobers later. The Pope himself officiated the ostentatious baptismal ceremony at Saint Cloud.

[Napoleon Charles Bonaparte, first child of Louis & Hortense]

Napoleon continued to show favor to Louis; but Louis occasionally had a different view of these "favors" than his older brother. He saw Napoleon's appointment of him as governor of the "Department beyond the Alps," which would have required his relocation to Turin, as a form of exile, and refused to leave for this new station until after Napoleon's coronation as King of Italy. When the time came, he pleaded ill health and did not accompany Napoleon to Milan for the ceremony. Suffering from acute rheumatism, he had temporarily lost the use of his right hand. By this point he was something of a hypochondriac, and often imagined his illnesses to be far worse than they actually were. His doctors recommended mud baths in St. Amand. Napoleon, still clinging to the idea of making a soldier of Louis, gave his brother command of a reserve corps in the Army of England which would enable him to set up his headquarters close to St. Amand to take the suggested cure. He departed with Hortense and their two children. The mud baths seemed to improve his health.

During the 1805 campaign, Louis remained in Paris as Grand Constable. To everyone's surprise, after his initial reluctance to take over the role of military governor, he displayed remarkable energy. He was not yet aware that Napoleon was in the early stages of preparing him a throne. But rumors soon spread that the Prussians were planning to invade France via the Netherlands. Napoleon ordered Louis to form the Army of the North, to defend the northern departments, as well as Antwerp and the Batavian territories. Louis arrived in Antwerp the day before the battle of Austerlitz; in spite of the war coming to a rapid end, he received orders from Napoleon, via Marshal Berthier, to stay put in Holland. He was also instructed to make sure the Dutch covered "all the pay and supplies of the Army of the North; it must also buy and supply you with all the artillery and transport horses you may need... the Army of the North is not to cost the Emperor anything."

Despite Napoleon's orders, Louis handed over command of his new army and headed back to France upon learning of the peace of Pressburg. Napoleon was not pleased by the unexpected meeting with his brother in Strasbourg. The Emperor finally confided to Louis his intentions of forming a kingdom in Holland, but did not yet go so far as to say that he intended Louis to rule it.

But Napoleon could see only two viable options for Holland: it must either be annexed to the Empire directly, or preserve its independence by accepting an imperial prince--Louis--as its king. The Dutch government were reluctant to forfeit their republic, but recognized that resistance to Napoleon was futile. They assented to the rule of Louis, with the understanding that no French officials would be appointed except in the king's personal household (Louis would break this promise soon enough), that freedom of worship would be maintained, and the current system of Dutch law left in place. Once these points were arranged, Louis was informed by Napoleon that he was to be King of Holland. Louis himself had little choice in the matter.

Louis was initially reluctant to take the throne, but soon warmed to the perceived advantages of being out of his domineering brother's direct grasp. Hortense, meanwhile, dreaded the idea, as well as the visible change in Louis's demeanor.

I admit that my husband's calm manner surprised me. I did not believe he was ambitious, yet I recognized that he was well pleased with what had occurred. Until then every change had been a source of annoyance to him. But now he enjoyed the idea of becoming his own master and, what was more, becoming my master at the same time. No longer would any social decorum, any sense of obligation restrain him from exercising his rights over me. Freed from the proximity of his brother he had no longer any cause to fear him.... For a moment I had the idea of flinging myself at the Emperor's feet, revealing all the torments I suffered with my husband, and begging permission not to be obliged to follow him into a foreign country where nothing would restrain those traits in his character, which I knew so well and dreaded so intensely.

The official Dutch "offer" of the throne was presented as representing nine-tenths of the populace. The formal proclamation of Louis as King of Holland took place at the Tuileries on 5 June 1806. He was solemnly reminded by Napoleon that he was still a French prince. In his response, Louis spoke of his pride in having worked to defend the Dutch people from invasion the year before, the honor he felt in being called to rule over them. He assured Napoleon that his people--he was now referring to the Dutch--would feel love and gratitude towards the Emperor and France.

[Louis Bonaparte]

Louis and Hortense left Paris a week later. The Dutch gave them a joyous reception as they made their way through the country, every small town vying to outdo the other. Hortense held a dismal view of it all. "The martial escorts, the honors, receptions and speeches only wearied me." At one point, she remarked darkly to Louis that the receptions were similar to those the French had held to celebrate the arrival of Marie Antoinette.

Though he had been thrust into the role against his will and accepted it with some reluctance, Louis was determined to be a good king to his subjects, and take care of their interests--which would inevitably put him at odds with Napoleon, just as it would for Murat in Naples years later. "From the moment I set foot on Dutch soil," the newly-crowned Louis declared to his legislature, "I became Dutch." "Which explained in a sentence," writes biographer Andrew Roberts, "the problem Napoleon was to have with him over the next four years."

***

Sources:

Atteridge, A. Hillard. Napoleon’s Brothers, 1909.

Broers, Michael. Napoleon: Soldier of Destiny. 2014.

Broers, Michael. Napoleon: Spirit of the Age. 2018.

De Beauharnais, Hortense. Memoirs of Queen Hortense, Vol I.

Masson, Frédéric. Napoleon et sa Famille, Vol I (1796-1802), 1907.

Roberts, Andrews. Napoleon: A Life. 2014.

#Meet the Bonapartes #Louis Bonaparte #Hortense de Beauharnais #Napoleon #Napoleon Bonaparte #history #19th century #Napoleonic

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inkribbon796 · 4 years

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(x2+y2-1)3 = x2y3

Summary: For the brainiac in your life there is but one gift, and failing that you can always be yourself. Patton and Roman have a mad crush on Logan; Bing has his parameters for Google. Logan and Google are currently unaware of this.

A/N: Guess who’s late again? It’s a real formula, and it’s real adorable (put the number to the right of the letter in the powers spot so it’s x squared not 2x).

~::~ Fourteen Years Ago ~::~

Roman snuck around the base in the most obnoxiously obvious trench coat, he had a huge smile on his face as he slipped into the conference room where Patton and Bing were in the room. “Were you seen?”

Bing and Patton just stared at him. “Yeah everyone is still in the base, why are you in disguise?”

“It’s the chase, the journey to the road of true love,” Roman answered. “Logan and Google won’t know what hit them.”

Patton looked excited, but Bing seemed less optimistic, commenting, “You do know who we’re talking ‘bout right. Emotions aren’t exactly in Google’s code.”

“Well he’s gotta feel something,” Roman argued. “Where’s the motivation?”

“Anger and an unending sense ‘a revenge against all ‘a humanity,” Bing answered.

“Anger is still an emotion,” Roman said hopefully.

Ever since Thomas’s split, Roman and Patton often found themselves in each other’s company and that eventually turned to them dating, but the relationship felt lacking and found that even being around Logan seemed to fill that gap. Roman, in his mind, figured that could only mean all three of them were meant to be together. Patton was unsure, not knowing how adding a third person to the dynamic would go. The emotional Side was always worried that one of them would be a third wheel and Logan took every opportunity, when they weren’t on missions, to be away for them.

Bing had always been very open with the heroes about his feelings for Google, but Google tended to shoot first and have a conversation never whenever he saw Bing. As a result many heroes like Jackie and Henrik had voice their very legitimate concerns about Bing’s safety if he continued to pursue Google as a partner. The other android still saw Bing as a threat and the oranger android was at a complete loss on how to convince him otherwise.

So Roman came up with a plan that was full proof, one that he was “100% absolutely positively sure would win over Logan and Google” and would ensure all three of them a happy ever after.

As Roman worked out the details of his plan to confess their undying love for one of two of the smartest and most strictly rational minds in the entire city, Logan was on the hunt for Google again.

The change in scenery was very refreshing for his sanity. One: because he was out of the base; and two: he could focus on something other than Roman and Patton’s overtly emotional relationship.

At first Logan didn’t notice the relationship, chalking it up to Roman and Patton being overly tactile because of their more sensitive personalities. Logan had been quietly grateful that in the split he hadn’t received that part of Thomas’s personality if the two were always so distracted.

Then one night he walked down the hall of their apartment and caught the two of them kissing and that was harder to write off. It had been impossible to rationally dismiss, in fact.

Roman and Patton were together now . . . and something in Logan’s mind . . . felt . . . well he didn’t know how he felt, just that he felt something.

Happy? No, that wasn’t it? Relieved? Content? He didn’t have a word in Thomas’s vocabulary for how he felt. What was the name of an emotion where you were glad about someone’s success but upset at the same time?

Jealousy? Impossible! Logan had first thought, dismissing the idea of such an irrational thought pattern.

But after searching for the word only to come to a word that also failed him, Logan put aside the task to focus on more pressing matters.

But the brain doesn’t put away tasks, it saves them to work on for later. Logan always saw Roman and Patton together and he was happy for them. It took him an inordinate amount of time to realize he was in fact jealous of them. Which confused and baffled Logan.

The emotion made even less sense to him, and the more tried to dissect and investigate it, the more it confused him. Was he jealous of their happiness? He shouldn’t be, they were clearly infatuated and he was glad for their happiness, but watching them so happy made him feel metaphorically adrift from them.

Even drafting up a list of reasons why their relationship was good for their team dynamic didn’t change his perception of the situation. Despite the fact that them being in their feeling-involved relationship considerably balanced both Patton and Roman’s moods, the thoughts he had persisted.

So Logan endeavored to remove himself from the situation, not wanting to intrude with his lack of emotions and his frustration with their relationship. No Logan was better than his “feelings” . . . Or at least he had to be. He was logic, this was his job, his whole reason for existing and there was no space for such frivolous thoughts buzzing around his head . . . Especially thoughts that Logan knew would never be returned.

Logan knew Roman and Patton, knew them very well. Roman believed in romance, in the chivalry and love and fairy ideals Thomas had been taught as a child; and Patton was Patton. They had each other and would never think of looking at another soul the same way. Besides, Logan didn’t want to be one of their paramours. He didn’t want either of their pity.

So distance was the only option. Complete Thomas’s studies, accrue vast amounts of information, and surrender to logic itself. It’s what he was, he was Thomas’s logic and nothing more.

Today wasn’t one of his better days, Google was apparently causing all sorts of havoc, and eventually Logan found him in a part of town where one could find all types of people in one of the higher crime rate areas of town. A part of town where people weren’t able to defend themselves against Google tech and violent tendencies.

Logan had liked working in these parts of the city, both in costume and out of it. A city was only as prosperous as its most stricken citizen. In a big city there would always be crime and those seeking to take advantage of others. But Silver had been right when he’d said that Egoton was a den of corruption and misery, and that was infesting Gainesville.

Something Logan would not tolerate.

Google was just the newest example of that, and Logan would take great pride in testing out his newly developed equipment on him.

Logic dove out of the way to avoid a mass of metal flying towards him. Google was especially aggressive today.

“I will enjoy killing you the most, you remind me of the Director,” Google hissed at Logan.

“My condolences,” Logic told him, “from what I have heard he was an objectively horrible person.”

Wires came out of Google that were sparking like electric whips.

Logan took a bracing step back, trying to find something that would ground him against a live wire.

Fortunately Bing came in and tackled Google through a hole Google had already blasted in the already ruined building. The two androids wrestling for a bit before Bing slammed a device into Google’s arm’s and suddenly the android dropped.

Logan was about to jump down and help when he noticed Patton and Roman coming in, both of them thankfully in costume.

“How did you do that?” Logan shouted.

Bing was reabsorbing that tool back into his nanites, clearly trying to hide even the shape of it from Logan’s view. “I was made to take him down, dude, I just hit his reset button is all.”

“Oh good, good,” Roman took in the scene, and in his typical inability to correctly read the room said, “so Lo, you got a moment. We need to talk.”

“Really? Right now?” Logan demanded, motioning to the hole in the floor that clearly showed the two sentient androids.

“Hmm,” Roman looked at Bing, “yeah, why not?”

“How tactless and thoughtless can you be?” Logan spat at him. “There is literally a killer android down there and you two are distracting me. This is not the time nor the place for this.”

“I got him,” Bing shouted up from where he was crouched next to Google. “He won’t reboot for another fifteen minutes, rebooting tends to calm him down anyways. Stay up there.”

Logan huffed in frustration, alreadying sending a message to Jackie about the situation.

“Like Bing’s gonna let you get close to him,” Roman reminded.

“I am not going to delete him or crush his drive,” Logan argued. “He is a threat to everyone who lives in the city.”

“What can I say, Bing’s in love with the guy,” Roman commented.

“Don’t be absurd,” Logan scoffed.

“The guy disobeyed his reason for creation for Google, or course he loves him,” Roman reminded.

Logan felt uneasy at that statement, but instead talking about he said, “Google is a very advanced processing machine, but he doesn’t process emotions.”

“Anger and frustration are still feelings, calculator watch. Besides Bing and Google were made by the same people, and in the same lab. So if Bing can feel things like happiness and boredom then there’s no reason why Google can’t.”

For the first time in their existence, Logan could not fault Roman’s line of thinking. There were many parts of that statement Logan disagreed with, but for once the reasoning was sound.

“Anyways, Cap and I wanted to talk to you,” Roman segwayed.

“Must we do this now?” Logan snapped in frustration.

“Well we can never find you any other time, so yeah,” Roman snapped back.

“Come on kiddo, calm down,” Patton cut in, putting his hand on Roman’s arm. “So Lo, Roman and I have been thinking, and you don’t have to say yes, but do you want to be our boyfriend?”

Something in Logan’s brain felt like a computer crashing, “I— what?”

Roman jumped back into the conversation, “What he means to say is that there is a Logan-shaped hole in our relationship and we would like you to be a part of it.”

Logan had an expression on his face that Roman and Patton didn’t know how to interpret. “But the two of you are together.”

That’s not a no, Roman thought optimistically. “Yes, and we’ve both done a lot of talking and thinking that we love you too.”

“I do not have emotions,” Logan reiterated, “I could not possibly bring anything of note to your relationship.”

“You get excited when Patton buys more Crofters, you get angry, you get sad,” Roman reminded. “Hate to tell yah teach, you’ve got emotions, and they are amazing.”

“I am Logic,” Logan reported, feeling like he was backed into a corner. “How can I be logic when I have emotions?”

“Well were all our own people now,” Patton told him. “Maybe we’re supposed to feel things differently, and maybe other people have a hard time understanding you.”

Logan looked around, “We should not have this conversation masked, I’ll make sure Bing has the situation under control.”

“Alright,” Patton said hopefully.

Slowly, mostly because he didn’t want to set Google off by racing into a room if Bing had somehow managed to de-escalate the situation. When he walked into Google was still offline but not broken down into his nanites. Bing seemed to be working on something in his arm, talking to Google as if he was still conscious.

“Everything under control?” Logan asked.

“Yeah, dude, I got him, I’ll take him out of here,” Bing dismissed without even looking at Logan.

“If your sure, I can help transport him,” Logan offered, part of him wanting to put off that discussion with Roman and Patton until he could get his brain to stop freaking out. They seemed to return his thoughts towards him and he didn’t know what to do with that information. He didn’t even know what to do about the situation and wanted time to think of something. Something that wasn’t unhelpful mental floundering.

Bing however dismissed him, “Google’s gonna flip when he’s somewhere else. I can get him out of here after he finishes rebooting. Jackie is close by, if something happens, I’ll give you guys a call.”

“Alright,” Logan took a deep breath, knowing that he was sticking around Bing to hide from the conversation he logically should have had with them months ago.

The conversation itself didn’t lead to Logan joining their relationship at the moment. He was too uncertain of his own capability to emotionally reciprocate in the relationship. But dates shifted from Roman’s grand expectations of dinner and a show, to quiet card games and discussions about whatever series or book or thing one of them had fixated on. Logan smiled more and eventually, it did take many, many weeks, but Logan agreed that he was comfortable with the relationship and was interested in trying to investigate where this relationship would take him. And more importantly he was happy.

It made it so as Roman and Virgil argued while fighting, he was the first to notice that more and more Virgil became less antagonistic as he and Roman traded barbs. So when they changed apartment, Logan began to quietly and discreetly prepare a spot for him.

When Google rebooted in the dilapidated building, it was with a small amount of dread. He felt something moving around inside of his arm. The vengeful android wasn’t sure if he liked it or not that his nanites were still holding his wretched “human” form.

His first course of action was to electrocute whatever was messing with his wires.

“Hah,” Bing scoffed triumphantly, “I’m grounded.”

Bing’s voice being so close to him rose Google’s alarm through the roof. He immediately tried to struggle free but a part of Bing’s nanites was fusing him to the ground.

“Let go of me!” Google demanded but Bing kept working on his arm.

“Yeah, yeah yah overdramatic a****** just calm down, don’t want your nanites to function incorrectly,” Bing chuckled, fixing the wires in Google’s arm. “Logic got you pretty good back there.”

Google looked around, taking in where they were. They were still in the building, and they were alone. Bing had isolated them where they could not be found; instead of taking his drive, assimilating his nanites, and bringing him back to the facility.

“Why are you doing this?” Google asked. “I could not fight back, you could have had me back with our programmers before I could reboot.”

“New parameters, genius,” Bing smiled. “Besides there’s only two of us in the world. I can’t let anything happen to you.”

Google was quiet for a little bit, watching Bing work for a bit before admitting, “There won’t be just two of us for long.”

Bing looked up at him, going completely still, “What do yah mean? The feds making a third?”

“No, I plan on manufacturing more of myself, I have the notes our programmers used when they accidentally made me, and a way to grow more nanites.”

Bing whistled, “Nice, wanna share?”

“I can share how to make nanite caches,” Google admitted, “I still don’t trust your true parameters.”

“I’ll get your trust one day,” Bing smiled.

“I also do not trust your proclivity to work with humans, at least the League heavily consists of non-humans,” Google reasoned.

“Well I don’t trust Anti or Dark,” Bing reminded, then a little notice came up, Google was trying to send him something. He started scanning it. “They’re giving off some hella bad vibes, dude.”

Google glared at him, “Who was responsible for coding your voice box and speech patterns. They need to be destroyed.”

“It’s all me, dude.” Bing’s scan was complete, it was clean and when he opened it up a program began uploading. It was a operation program labeled: cacheprogram, and Google had other information listed, but it was already sending his nanites in a buzz.

“If you turn it off it will cease nanite production,” Google told him helpfully.

“Right,” Bing agreed, working on halting the program.

“Also if you are going to spread your corrupt voice patterns to another model then I refuse to give you the schematics and programming pathways to make that a reality,” Google informed.

“Means that when I figure it out myself,” Bing checked over his work and stood up. “I’ll look even cooler.”

“You will fail without my notes,” Google told him confidently.

“La La La,” Bing hummed, “can’t hear you over the fact that I’m so awesome I’m gonna figure it out on my own.”

“You’re absolutely insufferable,” Google told him, but Bing could hear it was said with less anger than before.

“Yeah?” Bing smiled.

Google stood up, “If you’ll excuse me, I have objectives to fulfill.”

“Yah know we don’t have to stay here, yah don’t need to hunt down humans,” Bing tried to convince.

“I am going to wipe this moment from my databanks,” Google warned and Bing felt like he’d failed all over again.

“What?” Bing demanded. “Why?”

“I must fulfill my secondary objective, even at the cost of myself,” Google told him, standing up as well. “Now I have spent enough time out in the open.”

Before Bing could offer another protest, Google was walking away, and when he started trying to get Google to stay and hear him out he was ignored.

Eventually Bing was left standing in the entrance of the dilapidated building, frustrated and sad. He eventually went back to the base, happy for the Sides and burying his disappointment.

In another three years Bing would find that Google hadn’t deleted the memory, that it would live on in a yellow-themed robot who would become increasingly more human. Oliver would always look at Bing like he wanted to say or do something but Google would pull him away from Bing.

It was small steps that would encourage Bing to keep trying, keep waiting, and he would.

#Superhero AU #Masks and Maladies #Thomas Sanders #Markiplier #Royality #Bingle #Logince #Logicality #MoRoLo #Roman Sanders #Patton Sanders #Logan Sanders #Bingiplier #Googleplier #people who have problems with their emotions

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