#you choose to echo the excuses given to powerful people who use their power to hurt and control smaller people. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

theresattrpgforthat · 1 year

Note

Hi! Doing some very important work here, thank you so much! I wanted to know if you knew about any games about dimensional travel/genre travel? I want to play the strange, but I’m not sure I enjoy the cypher system, I was wondering if you knew any alternatives. Thank you so much either way!!

Thank you for the ask! I have some fun recommendations for you! Here are some games that are dealing with various dimensions, or who are dealing with dimensions outside our own!

THEME: Inter-dimensional Travel

Vagabond Corpus, by Loreshaper Games.

Only a few people have what it takes to enter the sub-real. Most don’t ever cross paths with it. It’s the foundation of what’s real, a place where the usual laws don’t apply. And it’s a gateway, a path to other realities. Except once you get in, you don’t get out. Echoes of you, sure. Sparks of déjà vu in someone’s dreams. An image repeated thousands of times by artists. A name that becomes popular, though nobody knows why.

But you’re here now. Enjoy the ride. Or don’t.

This is a single-page game that can be played alone or with a group. You need a deck of cards and an oracle from another world building game. Cards represent truths about you and (hopefully) help you survive the dangers of the sub-real. When a truth emerges that isn’t beneficial, you mutate instead.

Vagabond Corpus deals with a dream-like world, a world whose truths may or may not be a harm to you. It requires a lot of imagination from the player, rather than supplying a large amount of lore. However, this means that you’ll have a lot of control over what exactly shows up in your game.

Planedawn Orphans, by Sharkbomb Studios.

Set in the Planar City, a strange melting pot that connects the vast diversity of the multiverse. You all play Planar Orphans stranded in this city, your original home worlds destroyed, corrupted or lost. A mysterious Patron has brought you together, provided you with a base of operations and tasked you to complete a Planar Key. This key will let you create a new plane for you and your fellow refugees. Your quest will bring you to exotic places filled with strange creatures and bizarre phenomena.

Planedawn Orphans is a campaign kit that helps you prepare a campaign for the fantasy role-playing game of your choice. It provides a flexible and versatile framework to start a campaign. The campaign kit will help you get started and provide structure and support, but some assembly is required.

This is not a standalone system, but rather a guide for setting up a plane-hopping campaign. The system you choose to use is up to you, whether that be 5e, Troika, or perhaps a mix of games! The premise is that your characters are all refugees, exiles, or escapees from different planes or universes, and you have been given the tools to make your own new world, one that will truly feel like home. If you have a rule system that you lean towards, or if you want an excuse to try a number of different genres, this might be the game for you.

Interstitial: Our Hearts Intertwined, by Riley Hopkins.

Interstitial: Our Hearts Intertwined is a tabletop RPG about our connections with other people, the power we draw from those connections, and traveling to different worlds. It runs on the Powered by the Apocalypse engine.

In Interstitial, you will travel through the barriers between Worlds with your party. You'll meet new friends, enemies, teachers and learn about yourself. You will also be able to visit and partake in events in your favourite intellectual properties or your own worlds a la Kingdom Hearts. In short; Take two worlds that don't fit each other, smash them together, wipe away the dust and find out how they do.

This game is all about hopping in between worlds, but the mechanics supplied will focus on the relationships the characters have with each-other and the world around them. As with most PbtA games, this is a good option for players who want to be really involved with each-other, and who want some feeling of agency over how the story will run. If by multi-verse what you mean is “crossover”, this is the game for you.

Blood Neon, by Roadmap.

Show no mercy because you will be shown none. Bash and shred your way to glory, and become the one thing the fearless fear. The 11th Realm’s elected monarch has reached into another dimension for profit, creating a golden age of consumerism in the material world. That greed has cost the 11th Realm dearly. Now monsters from a plane only known as the Neon tear through into our reality and wreak havoc on the citizens of the land. The only thing standing between us and annihilation are heroes like you, Neon Hunters who become living weapons. Devastate the enemy, die, and die again, and ascend to new heights of power.

Featuring badass artwork by Luis Melo, Blood Neon is hyper-violent vaporwave fantasy on the tabletop. The NEON system let's you get right into the thick of it with fast-paced combat that let's the GM throw hordes of monsters at you without the brain burn. Build your own Star from a variety of classes, skills, and equipment and team up with your friends to fight back the neon horde!

The NEON System - adds strategic depth while reducing brain burn by providing the GM with pre-programmed enemy behaviour. Fight, Die, and Die Again - When a character falls in combat, they are returned to life by the Neon Infusers and jump back into the fray! But beware, too many infusions and characters start to lose their skills, or their very identity, until their is nothing left but a unthinking killing machine. If you like adventure and conflict in your multi-verse, if you want a chance for your characters to take on ever-increasing odds, if you want to face off weird and wacky threats, Blood Neon might be worth checking out.

Troika: Numinous Edition, by Melsonian Arts Council.

Troika! Numinous Edition is a complete science-fantasy tabletop RPG full of critically acclaimed writing, built-in wonder and room for everyone at the table to go wild!

No Troika game will be the same, because the lore of Troika will change depending on the characters you choose to play. This is about as multi-versal as it gets: there are oodles of supplements created for this game that come from wild and wacky planes of existence, all of them cross-compatible! You could be a Demon-Stalker, hunting demons across the multiverse plane, a mathmologist who aims to measure the universe, a poorly made dwarf… and more!

What I really like about Troika is its initiative mechanic: all of the players put colour-coded tokens into a bag along with tokens that represent their foes, and the GM pulls the tokens out of the bag to determine who goes next. If the Round token is drawn, everything goes back in the bag and the round starts anew! It’s chaotic, just like everything else in this game.

The Dying World, by Rae Nedjadi (Sword Queen Games).

Think of every possible world that could exist. A world much like the one you know, with only a few key differences. Or a world where humans died out long ago, and animals have mutated to walk and talk and live in cities like we do. Or another world, dystopic and full of machine-magic and revolutions. Or one with smoke steaming across rain-slick streets and men in distress turn to femme detectives to rescue them. Any world you can imagine must surely exist in some state, a parallel universe.

Except something happened to shatter all these Universes. And whatever shattered it has pulled different folk who lived in these worlds and granted them strange and awesome powers. We call these people THE SHARDS.

The Dying World has one facilitator, who is responsible for bringing the setting to life, while 2-4 players will be responsible for playing the Shards. This game requires a tarot deck to play. It’s a very interpretive game: the table will decide what destroyed the multiverse and then pick playbooks that focus on an archetype. You will play through a series of stages: world creation, the shatter point, disaster, and the epilogue. This is a game that may be great for players who don’t mind narrating melancholy narratives, or who prefer an interpretive approach rather than a dice-based approach.

Slugblaster by Wilkie’s Candy Lab

In the small town of Hillview, teenage hover-boarders sneak into other dimensions to explore, film tricks, go viral, and get away from the problems at home. It’s dangerous. It’s stupid. It’s got parent groups in a panic. And it’s the coolest thing ever.

This is Slugblaster. A table-top rpg about teenagehood, giant bugs, circuit-bent rayguns, and trying to be cool. The rules system for Slugblaster is based on Blades in the Dark, a game by John Harper. This is a system that is great for player-driven sandbox campaigns, free-form cinematic action scenes, stories about crews in over their heads, and improvised gameplay with lots of collaboration. It’s not a carbon copy of Blades though - there’s some slimming down, some modifications, and some add-ons: just like any good set of Slugblaster gear.

When it comes to setting, Slugblaster is top-notch. The different dimensions are full of interesting obstacles, loot, and plot hooks to drop into your campaign, and the basic setting of Hillview is heavily inspired by the author’s hometown. The book also includes alternate hometowns provided by guest writers that encourage you to place this game wherever it resonates with you the most. Slugblaster is a delightful mix of teenage enthusiasm, fascinating factions, and bubblegum-flavoured fun. I heavily recommend you check it out!

#asks #game recommendations #indie ttrpgs #crossover #genre-hopping #dnd #please check out troika and slugblaster I love them very much

59 notes · View notes

ladybugout-au · 3 years

Note

Dear. GOD. After seeing Furious Fu, I would honestly love to see LBO!Marinette just chewing out Su-Han for all his canon-to-fic BULLSHIT. Like, I know you’ve already got a plan to incorporate Feast into LBO, which I’m super excited for, so this asshole showing up with all his nonsense after the new Team Miraculous is set, hell maybe even after they’ve already retrieved the Butterfly and the Peacock, and watching Marinette (and possibly Fu since he has the memories to stand up for himself) tear this dude a new one would really be the cherry on top of an already awesome fic. Sorry to rant in your inbox lol but the new episode just made me so. ANGRY.

In the lounge room of the Liberty, everyone jumped as they heard a noise from up above deck, as if something heavy had fallen or been dropped. Marinette briefly pulled away from Luka’s hold, staring up at the ceiling and wondering aloud, “What was that?”

“I don’t know,” Juleka admitted, exchanging concerned looks with Rose.

“That definitely wasn’t Mom,” Luka noted with a tilt of his head.

Pounding footsteps followed, making it clear that a person had clearly gotten on the houseboat without the gangplank being there.

Nino jolted on alert, turning to Duusu with a hushed whisper. “Hide!”

“All of you,” Kagami began, standing up and looking around vaguely at every kwami. “get out of sight.”

The kwami, breaking out of their trance after the brief scare, scattered in every direction to find their own individual hiding places, some choosing to hide with their respective holder and others preferring to hide behind or inside objects. Ivan went into his usual protective mode, wrapping an arm around Mylene while she clung to him.

Marinette stood up, rushing over to the table and picking up the Miracle Box to stow it away. She looked around, then dashed for the microwave and stored the box inside.

She shut the door just in time for the intruder to descend from the staircase: an old man, dressed in Chinese garb and carrying a strange mystical-looking staff. He had a stern expression, his brows knitted together as he scanned the room like none of them were even there. He raised his staff, his gaze eventually locking on the microwave the Marinette was standing near.

Without a word, he pushed Marinette aside, earning an offended, “Excuse me—hey!” from her as he grabbed the microwave door and tugged it. When that did little more than jostle the microwave itself, he tried blindly tampering with the buttons to no avail.

Marinette slapped his wrist away, standing with all her pride as guardian as she asked, “What do you think you’re doing?!”

He glared at her in response. “Young lady, I demand you open your magical sealing chamber and return what’s rightfully mine!”

She blanked, the words catching her completely off-guard. This guy thought their microwave was a magical sealing chamber?

In response, Marinette gave a brief glance to the others, who were all looking back at her with equally puzzled expressions, any tension from before completely gone.

An unspoken question echoed throughout the room: Is he for real?

Before Marinette could ask any further, Tikki emerged from her hiding spot, flying over and explaining, “Marinette, I know who this is! This is great master Su-Han, the guardian of the Miracle Box!”

Marinette raised a brow skeptically. “But I’m the guardian?”

“He was responsible for the box before the incident that Master Fu caused,” she corrected.

Su-Han looked down at Marinette condescendingly. “So you are the current holder of the box.”

“That’s right,” she confirmed unapologetically. She gave a side-glance to Luka and the others, seeing that they were prepared to stand up and fight for her, but she gave a subtle gesture to let them know that it wasn’t necessary. Resolving to deal with Su-Han herself, she faced him again. “How did you find us?”

He held out his staff, the jewel on it mere centimeters from her face. “Guardian scepters are equipped with compasses that can find their Miracle Box at any given time.”

“In case you lose it?” Marinette blurted out, but didn’t apologize or try to take it back.

“Insolent!” Su-Han gasped. “You are not even a proper guardian. I can tell that this box hasn’t even been properly passed down to you!”

“Because Master Fu gave it to me,” she explained, “and we agreed that he should keep his memories.”

“Fu?” Su-Han echoed. “You mean Wang Fu? Chicken legs?”

Is this guy five? Marinette wondered.

Orikko popped out from their hiding place, waving a paw at Su-Han as if in warning. “I take offense to that!”

Su-Han glared at Orikko at the comment, and Orikko quickly ducked back down. Turning his attention back to Marinette, he continued, “Wang Fu is a student who wasn’t even able to fast for a day, nor do a thousand finger-pushups. He was never a rightful guardian, and he failed to fulfill the hope we’d seen in him.”

“Master Fu may have made mistakes, but he’s done his best to make up for all of them!” she argued. “He protected the box for over one hundred years and it’s because of his choices that our team was able to defeat Hawk Moth!”

“Team?” Su-Han asked, his face scrunching up as if he were piecing something together.

“Yes!”

Marinette gestured to her boyfriend and friends for emphasis. Luka, Ivan, Kagami, and Juleka stood while Rose and Nino pinched and stretched their shirts to show off their respective miraculouses.

“Children?” Su-Han gaped. Glaring at Marinette, as if she had personally given out the miraculouses herself, he declared, “Children are never meant to hold miraculouses, especially from the first and most powerful Miracle Box! Kwami are extremely powerful, cosmic creatures!”

A voice piped up from across the room. “Y-you say that, but—!”

Marinette and Su-Han turned to look at Nooroo, who had peeked out from behind Rose’s shoulder. He breathed up, seeming to gain some confidence, then floated out to the center of the room.

“They saved me and Duusu from the hands of evil! We would still be in Gabriel’s clutches if not for them!”

“What?” Su-Han asked. Just when Marinette thought they might be getting somewhere, he turned back to her and accused, “The peacock and butterfly were lost?!”

“Fu lost them when he was escaping the temple,” Marinette explained, a mixture between unphased and annoyed at the man’s outbursts, “but we got them back and everything’s okay now.”

Luka chimed in from his place near the couch, “Marinette has been an incredible leader, as both Ladybug and the guardian.”

She smiled at him in thanks, but Su-Han was clearly focused on anything but the positives.

“Ladybug? You’re even wearing a miraculous?! Guardians aren’t meant to hold miraculouses!” he said, throwing his arms out for effect.

“What—why?” she asked, genuinely confused.

Instead of answering her, Su-Han pulled out a book, shoving it pointedly towards her with the cover facing downwards in his palm. “Let me remind you of a few important rules you’ve violated.” He flipped through a few pages, then pointed at one of them. “Rule fourteen: Kwami must not live outside of the box.” He flipped through a few more. “Rule fifty-two: Guardians must never lose a miraculous. “He flipped to a page near the end. “Rule one hundred and thirty-three: Guardians must never, under any circumstances, wear a miraculous.”

“Master Fu wore a miraculous,” she argued, having never heard of any such rule from him.

“And that proves exactly what I’m talking about!” Su-Han retorted. “Neither you nor Fu are capable guardians because neither of you have respected the rules of the order!”

“...”

When Marinette initially imagined the Order of the Guardians and the people who ran it, this was not what she’d pictured. She had pictured zen and calm, not belligerent and immovable. She was reminded vaguely of her grandfather when she first met him, and that wasn’t a good thing.

She tossed another gaze at everyone, who gave her the same look and nod in response: let him have it.

“Young lady, I’ll repeat myself once,” Su-Han warned. “Return the Miracle Box and the miraculouses to me before--”

Marinette grabbed the book out of his hand, shut it with a satisfying “clap,” then set it back in his hand. “No.“

“What did you say?” he asked, aghast that she would speak to him that way.

“I said no.” Marinette advanced on him, the sheer force of her presence making him take a step back. “Now let me remind you about everything you must’ve missed this whole time.”

She raised a finger at him, raising additional fingers as she went on. “One: You intruded on my boyfriend’s house without any sort of permission. If you’d actually called out to us, we might’ve actually been willing to come out and listen to what you had to say. Two: You wouldn’t have even been able to be here in the first place if not for me using Miraculous Ladybug after our team took down Feast, which you weren’t able to do. Three: We aren’t children, we’re teenagers, and the fact that you can’t tell the difference or bother learning what technology is shows that I shouldn’t trust you with the Miracle Box even if you had a right to it. Four: You didn’t bother to listen and blamed me for losing miraculouses when it was you and your order who didn’t keep an eye on a poor boy who didn’t want to be there. Five, last but not least: I say the kwami are allowed out of the Miracle Box because I am the guardian. You and your order have been gone for over one hundred years and you can’t go making demands after I brought you back. You told me rules I didn’t even know about and didn’t explain why you have those rules in the first place. The kwami are my friends and they have feelings and I’m not going to shut them in a box because you told me to.”

Silence filled the room, no one saying a word and Su-Han’s face contorting between shock and outrage.

Marinette took a step back, standing at the ready and gesturing to herself. “So if you want the Miracle Box, you’re going to have to go through us first.”

She tossed a look at her team, all of them doing a synchronized, confrontational motion to face Su-Han.

“Tikki!”

“Plagg!”

“Wayzz!”

“Pollen!”

“Trixx!”

“Nooroo!”

“Duusu!”

They then shouted in unison, “Transform me!”

Several individual flashes meshed together, overtaking the room and then fading to leave several heroes behind, their weapons equipped for battle.

Su-Han looked amongst them, a flicker in his eyes that hinted that he knew he would be outmatched, but also wasn’t willing to admit it. He retreated a few steps back, hands out to show that he was prepared to defend himself.

It was at that moment that Ladybug heard and noticed movement from behind him, realization striking and a smile overtaking her face. Pulling back from her fighting pose, she placed a hand on her hip and stated confidently, “Captain Anarka will escort you out.”

He looked confused, and he was only able to let out a, “What—?” before a hand clamped down on his shoulder.

Su-Han wasn’t even able to turn around before he was pulled backward, a jewelry-adorned fist decking him in the face and sending him flying into the staircase. His scepter fell to the floor and he could only gape at the woman standing there, cracking her knuckles while he was sprawled out on the stairs with all air having been knocked out of him.

“A trespasser on my ship, eh?” Anarka asked, a grin on her face but her eyes glinting with malice. “I don’t take kindly to ship rats who threaten my crew and think they’re too good to walk the plank.”

Su-Han hurried to get up, only for Anarka to grab him by his shirt and haul him up the stairs, a rapid shuffling noise following as Ladybug went over and shut the door.

A few seconds passed and the atmosphere shifted to peace, everyone mutually releasing their transformations and relaxing. Marinette smiled reassuringly at everyone, letting them know that things were okay, but then jumped as she heard a resounding, “Marinette!”

The kwami all emerged from their hiding places, Marinette having no time to react as they all charged at her, their tiny bodies clinging affectionately to whatever they could grab of her.

“You’re amazing!”

“Thank you so much!”

“You stood up for us!”

“You’re the best guardian ever!”

Marinette gasped, finding it hard to move without disturbing any of them. Trying hard not to laugh, she protested, “Aha—hey! Stop, you’re all tickling me!”

She blushed, looking over at her teammates who were only staring at her with pride, which just made the pink on her cheeks turn red. “This is so embarrassing!”

Once the kwami had their fill of thanking her, they finally obeyed and flew away, each giving her smiles of approval. She covered her face with a hand, waiting for the shyness to die down, then noticed the guardian scepter out of the corner of her eye, still lying on the ground.

She approached, touching the scepter at first to make sure it was safe, then properly picking it up and letting it stand next to her. She tapped the gem on top, eyeing the compass that Su-Han had been talking to her about, then followed its direction back to the microwave. She walked over, opening it up, then took out the Miracle Box and held it in her free hand.

Looking back and forth between the two clearly ancient objects, she couldn’t help chuckling. “They don’t really suit me.”

Her friends giggled in response, Luka in particular shooting her a warm smile and approaching. One of his hands went to the scepter and the other went to rest on the Miracle Box.

“I think you make them work, actually,” he replied.

Marinette beamed at him, thoroughly warmed by the compliment. It didn’t feel like that long ago when her support was lacking and defeating Hawk Moth seemed like a pipe dream.

Now, holding the Miracle Box and scepter in her hands, she didn’t know why she’d ever doubted herself.

“Yeah, maybe you’re right.” Then, looking at the Su-Han-less room, she gave a shrug and walked back with Luka to the couch. “So, where were we?”

#((Technically spoilers for post-Hawk Moth stuff but nothing you guys don't already know.))#((For the record anon I'm still debating on doing ''Feast''))#((because it's a direct episode rewrite which LadyBugOut doesn't have so I'm nervous about it))#((I figured this might be a good start though.))#((I imagine Team Miraculous would have everything resolved by the time S4E6 hits))#((so hence the time jump.))#collab: LadyBugOut AU #canonicity: all #canonicity: canon compliant #writing: all #writing: canon compliant #writing: salt #character: marinette dupain cheng #group: team miraculous #salt: all #salt: other

792 notes · View notes

nastybuckybarnes · 3 years

Text

Of Kings and Beasts - Five

Pairing: King!Bucky X Princess!Reader X King!Steve

Summary: Born a bastard of the King of Orlen, you’re thrust to the West to marry the Kings. However, the greeting you get is anything but warm, and your life with the King is far from enjoyable. He knows it isn’t your fault his husband is gone, but that fact alone won’t prevent him from taking it out on you.

Warnings: Language, Kinda Slow Burn, Fluff, Injuries, Kinda Angst

Word Count: 2.7K

A/n: Happy New Year to all you beautiful people. I’m writing this and I’m feeling pretty happy right now but I’m also feeling very drained because I’m working so much and there's shit going on, BUT I wanted to post this because it’s been long awaited. It’s shorter because it’s a rare (Kinda) fluffy chapter and It ends off on a good place to have me starting the next part openly. My brain is mush rn so Idk if this is even making sense.

THIS SERIES CONTAINS SMUT AND DARK THEMES THAT MAY BE TRIGGERING TO SOME AUDIENCES!!! READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!!!

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

~*~

“I need to know exactly what you did to her. She is in there, in pain and agony and you stand here acting as though you are the one who had to endure the hardships.”

James grinds his teeth together, wishing his reunion with his beloved was going better.

“I... I was harsh with her. I told her she would never replace you... that her only purpose was to give me an heir and that she could be easily replaced. She... she angered me and I struck her... I have forced myself upon her in my anger and my haste to consummate the marriage. I know I am wrong for all I have done but I am doing everything in my power to right my wrongs.”

He doesn’t see it coming, only realizes it when his nose crunches beneath Steve's fist.

“You are a coward! A King would not behave like that even if he had lost his entire kingdom! You have treated our wife as though she is a prisoner! And I say our wife because in title that is what she is. However, she is my wife in my heart as well. But anyone can see that she is not your wife in yours. The way you have treated her... you should not be allowed near her.”

He strikes his husband again, his knuckles knocking the side of his cheek as the brunet dodges swiftly.

“I know. I understand that what I have done is wrong but-” “No, James, I don’t think you do! She is terrified of you! She’d sooner seek comfort in me, a stranger, than in you. You are the first face of our kingdom that she met and you...” The blond trails off, beyond furious with his husband.

“You have broken that woman. What can you even say for yourself?”

The brunet backs up a step, his hands raised in surrender as Steve steps closer to him, his hands clenching into fists.

“Nothing will excuse my actions and I realize that. But I will not stop trying to fix the damage I have caused.”

Steve scoffs, shaking his head at the other man.

“I’m not sure if you will be able to fix it.” They’re both quiet for a long moment before Steve speaks again, walking past his husband and towards the door.

“I think it would be best if you gave both (Y/n) and myself some space. Do not come to either of us unless we have directly summoned you.” The brunet nods, shoulders slumping in defeat.

Steve has to focus on his breathing as he walks back to your chambers, wanting to be there when you wake up and wanting to be in a better space as to not scare you.

When the door opens you’re awake, seated on your bed nursing a small cup of tea.

“How are you feeling?” He asks softly, dismissing Wanda with a nod. You take a deep breath and smile weakly at him.

“Better than yesterday, Your Majesty.”

A shake of his head at the use of his title.

“Please, (Y/n). You’re my wife. You may address me by my name,” he says while stepping further into the room.

“Steve,” you test the name, surprised at yourself for liking the way it feels rolling off your tongue.

He smiles warmly at you, sitting at the edge of your bed when you motion to it. You take a moment to really take him in as he sits in front of you.

The second King of Acadia is as gorgeous as his husband. He’s got endless blue eyes that shine with kindness, a kindness that has been shown to you only by Natalia and Wanda since you entered the Kingdom.

His frame is large and muscular, and you find yourself entranced and intimidated by him. Your brows furrow, however, when you see his split knuckles.

“You are hurt?” You ask, looking pointedly at his right hand. He instinctively clenches it into a fist then sighs, shaking his head.

“I’m afraid I let my emotions get the better of me when I learned of what His Majesty did to you.” You frown, looking down at the porcelain cup in your grasp.

Fragile and delicate, just like you.

“My very presence drives a wedge between the two of you. For that, I am sorry.” He shakes his head, fingers coming under your chin and lifting it until you look at him. The way you flinch when he raises his hand has his heart aching.

“It is not you who has created a wedge, nor is it you who drives it between us. James is well aware of his actions and he must face the consequences. He does not get special treatment because he is King. He’s lucky I only struck him for what he’s done to you. He deserves far worse.” You shake your head, grabbing the King’s hand tightly in yours.

“Please do not punish him. I fear he may think his fears are coming true. I do not wish to replace you nor do I wish to replace him. And by punishing him more I fear he may think that that is what is happening.”

Steve’s brows pull together in confusion.

“Do you not wish for him to feel what it is you’ve felt?” You shake your head, a shaky breath leaving you as you choose your words wisely.

“I... I would not wish my treatment upon anyone. But he has made efforts to repair our relationship. I do not wish to anger him with a relationship with you. I fear that us being close may be enough to bring his anger back to the surface.”

Steve is quiet, pondering your words for a long moment before lifting your entwined hands and pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

“If he makes one hostile move towards you I will have him thrown in the dungeon. He will not bring you any more pain. I give you my word.” You nod slowly, not used to someone being so protective of you.

“Now I’m sure you need your rest, so I will not deprive you of it any longer.” He goes to stand up but you tug on his hand, not wanting him to leave just yet. His presence is refreshing. Something unlike anything you’ve experienced in years. And you do not want him to leave anytime soon.

“C-could you perhaps stay with me for a while longer? I... I value your presence. I know that I have only just met you, but you... you are a comfort in a kingdom that has brought only pain.” You don’t mean for your words to hurt him, and the sadness on his face nearly makes you regret speaking.

Until he settles back on the bed, a smile on his face as he squeezes your hand gently in both of his.

“I will stay with you until you no longer want me. This place should be a home to you, not a place of pain, and I will do all I can to ensure you feel safe and comfortable in your own Kingdom.”

The new approach has hope sparking in your belly, and you’re cautiously optimistic about your relationship with Steve. You only hope that you’ll be able to repair the one you have with James before he gets angry again.

~*~

“Is she eating?” Wanda nods, smiling at the blond king from her spot in the kitchen.

“Good. She looks ill. I want her to be healthy again. It is my goal to have her happy in her new home. Undo the damage that James caused.” Wanda sighs, shaking her head.

“They were rebuilding their relationship. Slowly but I’m sure they will have grown to love each other,” she says softly, and then it’s Steve’s turn to shake his head at her.

“It would be nothing more than love built on lies and fear. She deserves more than that.” Wanda nods, her heart heavy. She knows you haven’t been treated fairly, but she had hoped you and James would be able to build your relationship.

“Will you forgive His Majesty?” Steve sighs, not truly knowing the answer.

“I want to, but with what he did... it feels wrong to forgive him.” Wanda nods knowingly, gathering things for your lunch.

“Well, I know that the Queen is well on her way to forgiving him. I think it would do you well to forgive him. However, I have already overstepped. If you’ll excuse me, I need to go tend to my lady.”

She pauses at the doorway, looking over at the King and speaking freely for a moment.

“I think you would do well to speak to the King with a cool head. Consider all that has happened and all that you had planned for your marriage.” She bows her head then leaves the kitchen, having given Steve many things to consider.

He stays in the room for a while longer, gathering his thoughts and trying to figure out what to do.

As he’s leaving, he nearly bumps straight into his husband.

James averts his eyes, although it pains him to do so. He wants nothing more than to devour every inch of the man before him.

He says nothing, instead, bows his head and waits for Steve to do something.

“James.” His eyes snap up, meeting the endless blues of his lover.

“Steve. H-How is she?” Steve grinds his teeth for a moment, Wanda’s words echoing in his mind before he huffs out a deep breath.

“If you would like, I will take you to see her. However, if she requests you leave, you will leave immediately. Do you understand?” James nods, his shoulders lifting slightly.

As they walk towards your chambers Steve takes a moment to take in the appearance of the brunet.

He’s got deep bags under his eyes and a heeling bruise on his cheek branching out across the bridge of his nose.

His skin is pale and almost lifeless, and Steve feels and for a moment. Until he remembers what his husband did to you.

By then they’re already at your door, far too late to turn back, and Steve knocks softly.

“My darling? May I come in?”

Your voice calls out eagerly, allowing him entrance.

In the few days since his return, he’s spent every waking moment with you, and you find yourself missing him in the few moment’s that he is not by your bedside.

He smiles at the sight of you. You’re far livelier than before, a smile on your face as he walks in.

“Good afternoon,” you say softly, your smile fading slightly as you see the man behind him.

“Your Majesty,” you greet him, bowing your head slightly.

“He is your husband, (Y/n). You may address him by his name. We would prefer it if you did.” You look between the two before nodding slowly, scooting back on your bed to make room for the two of them.

Wanda smiles warmly at you, handing you a fresh cup of tea before excusing herself.

“May we sit?” James asks softly, motioning to your bed. You nod, taking a slow sip of tea while not taking your eyes off of the two men.

“You look well. You are eating more?” You nod, smiling at James softly.

“The same cannot be said for you,” You whisper, frowning at the bruises on his face.

“It is nothing that I do not deserve. I deserve far worse for all I have done. It is only my hope that we can grow together.” You’ve got a sad smile on your face as you look between the two of them, the tension rolling off of them in waves.

“What is it, darling?” Steve asks softly, reaching out to take your hand. You squeeze his warm hand then sigh, struggling for a moment to find the words.

“I have created a wedge between you. That is not something I ever wanted. I never wanted to come between you, nor have I ever wanted to replace either of you. I... I apologize for all that my presence here has caused.”

They both shake their heads, eyes meeting momentarily, Steve's filled with accusation while James’ are filled with guilt.

“You have done nothing wrong. That is something I want you to fully grasp.” You look at James as he speaks, heart thumping in your chest.

It’s been a while since you’ve had him so close to you and you’re not sure how you feel about it.

“Everything that has happened... it is all my doing. You have not done anything wrong. I am the one who has created a wedge between us... the one who has caused such distance. And I will spend every day trying to make up for that. I know you may not trust me or what I say, but I mean every word that I have spoken today.” You look between him and Steve, bottom lip tucked between your teeth for a moment.

“I want to trust you. I want us to be happy and I want us to have a good marriage, however, I will need time. But I do not want the two of you to be at ends with each other because of me. I fear it will cause far more conflict than it is worth.” Steve looks at you for an impossibly long moment before nodding, looking over his shoulder at where his husband is.

“I do not know how you have forgiven him, but I suppose I will try as well. We will forgive, but we will not forget.”

James nods, wanting to feel relieved but something is gnawing at his stomach.

“Your forgiveness is far more than I deserve. I will not, for as long as I live, be able to ever forgive myself for what I have done to you. The pain I have caused.” His eyes flitter down to your stomach, now devoid of the life that was growing. Devoid of the child that would’ve been his. A child that would’ve been the product of pain and of torment.

“How are you feeling, truly? I can only imagine the pain.”

You follow his gaze down to your stomach then swallow hard.

“If I may be honest with you... a small part of me is sad... but a larger part is relieved. I know it is wrong and horrid of me to think, but I am grateful to not be carrying a child that was forced upon me. It is my duty as Queen to give you heirs, and I shall. But not like that. It is too bold of me and I apologize, but if we are to make this marriage work then it is something that you must know.”

He nods easily, understanding what you mean.

“This marriage... we chose you, (Y/n). Specifically you,” Steve says softly, waiting for you to look up at him before speaking.

“We could’ve chosen any woman.”

Upon seeing the frown on your face, James jumps in. “When he says that, he means that we had been offered wives before but none of them stood out to us. And then we were presented with you...” You look at him, confusion bringing your brows together.

“The princess of Orlen. A woman with kindness and beauty. From the way your father spoke of you, we chose you. If only to save you from a fate that he promised.”

You’re not sure how you feel about this.

“We spoke of you for weeks on end. We spoke of how we would love you, how we would treat you. How we would bed you...” A shiver races down your spine and you glance down, shaking your head.

“I-I do not think I will be ready for that for quite a while. I am sorry, but I just... I cannot. I can hardly walk without being in pain and Doctor Banner thinks that it may take weeks before I can do anything such as that.” Steve’s hand is on your back, rubbing soothing circles.

“We will wait. Your body has gone through something that neither one of us could ever imagine. We will not be angry with your healing process and we will not rush it. It is as I said before, your health and happiness mean everything to me.”

James nods his agreement but can’t help feeling left out of the tender moment being shared. As much as he may try, he knows he will not be welcomed with open arms. And he doesn’t expect to be. However, it doesn’t lessen the pain. If anything, it amplifies it.

Jealousy and anger simmer deep in his core, and he has to take careful breaths to make sure he doesn’t let them show. The last thing he needs is to scare you further. And although he truly does wish to be on good terms with you, seeing you with his husband the way you are... it brings something monstrous to the front of his mind.

Something he’s only ever taken out on the battlefield.

The good part if him is afraid for your safety if he cannot reel in the beast. But the beast roars beneath the surface, ready to claw its way out and reclaim what is his.

701 notes · View notes

legends-live-in-memories · 3 years

Text

Talk So Pretty, But Your Heart Got Teeth

AYO another day another oneshot as a part of the MGI Trope Tussle! BUT WAIT THERES MORE thanks to @nightlychaotic for letting me continue her oneshot that can be found HERE!

Fics Masterlist

Dickinette Oneshot 2.8K words

Summary:

“Nightwing was desperate to figure out Kit Noire. For reasons beyond professional.”

without further ado:

Some days, you're the only thing I know

Only thing that's burning when the nights grow cold

Can't look away, can't look away

Beg you to stay, beg you to stay, yeah

It had been two weeks since Nightwing had last seen Kit Noire. While the lack of thefts and reported break-ins was doing wonders for his day job, he found his nightlife severely lacking its usual luster. He had done some research into her powers, cross-referencing with some of his more magically inclined coworkers. Aquaman had an interesting story about some god of destruction but it was Atlantean lore that led nowhere. He was drawing blanks on what his next move was going to be. Conflicted on whether to bring her to justice or to help her get justice.

His team was of no help either. Batman was adamant on chasing her out of Gotham, her destructive powers too dangerous in the city, while his siblings were more engrossed in teasing him about his affections for the cat thief. Jabs about ‘learned behaviour’ and ‘truly being the next Batman’ went ignored for his own piece of mind. He loathed to admit it but his intrigue in her, his adamance to be involved with her case, stemmed from less professional intentions. He was compromised in this investigation but he was unwilling to relent to anyone else.

Kit Noire was his to solve.

Sometimes, you're a stranger in my bed

Don't know if you love me or you want me dead

Push me away, push me away

Then beg me to stay, beg me to stay, yeah

He finally found her one night by the Gotham Harbour. She was in the middle of an altercation with the same guy who had stolen some grimoire from her. ‘Guardian’ he had called her.

Rather than intervene immediately, Nightwing hung back in the shadows, observing the two of them. The man was obviously much older than her and was particularly equipped to combat her style of fighting. He used what appeared to be a wooden staff and was dressed in Buddhist-inspired robes. Another piece to add into his investigation.

Their fight was approaching a stalemate, neither willing to yield to the other. Nightwing decided to make his presence known. A couple smoke bombs were tossed into the fray, halting the fight. Taking the opening, he jumped in between and threw two bolas at the old man. He was wrapped securely in the wires and collapsed gracelessly on the planks. Not giving him anymore attention, he moved to intercept Kit Noire; choosing the evil he knew over the one he didn’t.

“Sorry, songbird.” She spoke with more bite than usual, her frustration with the older man still clinging to her. “But I already have plans tonight. None that involves you sadly.”

“What?” His casual drawl, partnered with his carefully crafted smirk did nothing to placate the hissing cat in his arms. “I can’t let the kitty have all the fun.”

“Please,” she scoffs; she slackens in his hold only fractionally. “As if I need a little birdy like you to give me permission to do anything.”

She slipped under his grasp and shot a leg up directly into his chin. He was taken completely by surprise and before he could react, one of his own smoke bombs was thrown at his feet. He was disoriented and by the time he switched his mask to infrared, she was already gone with the older man. His discarded bolas were the only thing that remained between the clearing haze of smoke.

Call me in the morning to apologize

Every little lie gives me butterflies

Something in the way you're looking through my eyes

Don't know if I'm gonna make it out alive

He was pulling into the precinct parking lot for his morning shift with a poorly concealed bruise on his jaw and excuses already on his tongue for how it got there. His ego wasn’t fairing much better but that was concerns for his punching bag back at his home gym. Now, he was Dick Grayson, rookie cop at the GCPD. Now, his nighttime problems can’t reach him.

Or so he thought.

He didn’t make it ten feet into the building before detective Montoya was slamming a file into his chest. He quickly glanced into the file, partially listening to her debriefing of the case, then immediately wished he hadn’t. In the file there were pictures taken from the most recent crime scene and sitting on top of the pile was a picture of a wall from the local aviary. The words ‘Sorry about last night, Songbird -KN’ were spray painted in steel blue.

He felt his irritation flare as heat crept up his neck while a weight settled in the base of his spine. His warring feelings drowned out everything around him as he fixated on her very obvious declaration. Kitty Noire had been gaining infamy for never being caught by both the cops and the bats. Some in the precinct hadn’t believed she was actually real, just some urban legend the streets were stirring up to cause trouble. To let herself be caught like this, and to admit to contact with one of the bats— it didn’t take a genius to guess which side of the law she was calling out with ‘songbird’— was damning to say the least.

Fight so dirty, but your love's so sweet

Talk so pretty, but your heart got teeth

Late night devil, put your hands on me

And never, never, never ever let go

Fight so dirty, but your love's so sweet

Talk so pretty, but your heart got teeth

Late night devil, put your hands on me

And never, never, never ever let go

It was another week before he was crashing into her midleap, throwing both of them down onto the nearest roof. They rolled a couple of times before he stopped them by pinning her down. Both of her arms were held above her head; his grips were tight around her wrists, avoiding her palms in fear of what her destructive powers could do. They were on top of the platform that had the doorway to the building’s stairs. Her distracting smirk curled up further as she was about to speak. Probably a suggestive comment but he wasn’t in the mood for their usual back and forth.

“Enough games, Noire.” He shifted his knees to brace on her shins, in case she had any ideas. “You need to tell me what’s going on. You’re bringing suspicious people into the city, dangerous people, and it’s my job to drive them out.”

“I’m not bringing anyone into the city,” she all but spat at him, the fury in her eyes burned bright at the accusation. “He tracked me here.”

“And he is…?” He was getting tired of being out of the loop, meta-abilities and magic are safety hazards if left unchecked in Gotham. He needs to put a lid on this before it spirals any further.

“He is my business and soon to be not a problem for the both of us.”

“Why should I believe you?”

“You have no other choice, songbird. Above your paygrade, remember?” She mumbles something he doesn’t hear but from the shape of her lips it looked like Cataclysm. He didn’t have time to react before the roof was caving in under them.

The freefall was disorienting but he could see from his periphery that Kit Noire was prepared. She had extended her staff out to fit between two walls and was hanging on, dangling over what was probably twenty flights of steps. Nightwing wasn’t so lucky and he had to angle his fall to crash into steps a couple flights below her.

“It was nice crashing into you, songbird, but I have things to steal and people to rob.” Retracting her staff, she let herself freefall to the bottom floor of the building. Nightwing dove after her, shooting out his grappling line to one of the higher railings. She had reextended her staff, this time aiming for the height of the building, and was sliding down it like a pole. Banishing the improper thoughts of ‘Noire’ and ‘pole,’ he questioned how the staff was even able to extend that far.

Right, magic.

Once they were more comfortable feet above the bottom floor, she paused in her descent and let him over take her. He wasn’t given a chance to question her actions as she immediately swiped at his grappling line, snapping it with her rather sharp claws. This time he was prepared enough to brace himself for the fall. He landed on his feet and crouched to roll out of the harsh impact.

“I thought it was cats that landed on their feet, not birds,” her jeer echoed against the walls. He looked back up to see her rapidly climbing her staff. She was gaining distance fast and he was running out of options just as quickly. He didn’t trust climbing her staff so he took to climbing the steps from the railings, jumping and swinging himself around to gain altitude.

“Maybe you’re rubbing off on me.” She had made it to the door that led back to the roof and her staff retracted in an instant. He was still a couple flights away but he knew he wasn’t going to catch her. He resigned himself to knowing that tonight was another failed night. He had let her go again.

Some days, you're the best thing in my life

Sometimes when I look at you, I see my wife

Then you turn into somebody I don't know

And you push me away, push me away, yeah

Something Kit Noire had said was bothering him. She said she was a hero once. That she had given it up because of accusations that ruined her reputation. He had half a mind to not believe her. Write it off as one of her tricks to try and get under his skin. But the other half, the louder, more desperate half, implored him to keep searching. To uncover the cat themed enigma he had grown frustratingly fond of.

He expanded his search, looking for anything or anyone cat themed with destructive powers. A deep web search had him discovering an old video. It was labeled ‘Reflectdoll’ and nothing else. It was a part of some long forgotten blog that had an entire catalogue of videos labeled in similarly vague ways. Desperate for answers, he rationalised that if anything else, he would cross this source and narrow the search further.

The video was quite the fanfare, looking something out of a movie with impressive CGI. He was about to label this video as another bust but something paused him in his tracks. Her. Kit Noire, or at least a younger version of her, lept into the action. Her and some ladybug patterned partner dealt with the fiasco and Nightwing watched, enthralled and hopeful, as the two worked to take down the foe. He was both impressed and even more confused because he recognised that infamous tower but had no memories of there ever being attacks of that caliber in the city of love. He had done several missions there over the years, and there was never any call for help or an attack to get his or the League’s attention.

Just what was going on?

Call me in the morning to apologize

Every little lie gives me butterflies

Something in the way you're looking through my eyes

Don't know if I'm gonna make it out alive

Fight so dirty, but your love's so sweet

Talk so pretty, but your heart got teeth

Late night devil, put your hands on me

And never, never, never ever let go

He had her pinned again, one of his hands holding both of hers above her head, the other was fisting her braid in a tight pin. They were staring at each other, neither wanting to tip the scales in their own favor. The air was charged and each breath felt like one step closer to a dangerous precipice. Nightwing was struggling with what to do. He had a responsibility to this city. This was his home. And he was letting some magical ex-hero trample all over it because he let his infatuation get to his head. He was too involved but he didn’t care. She was his case to solve.

“Something you would like to share, songbird?” Her smirk was enticing and infuriating. He couldn’t look away.

“I have a lot on my mind.”

“What? Is keeping me here not entertaining enough for you?”

“I’m not keeping you here for entertainment.”

“That could be rearranged.” She had surged up to kiss him, her lips soft and inviting. He would be a fool to pass up the opportunity.

Blood on my shirt, rose in my hand

You're looking at me like you don't know who I am

Blood on my shirt, heart in my hand

Still beating

She was hurt. The old man found her again and left her with a painful reminder of who she was up against. Nightwing wished he could track him down and beat him to bloody pulp but right now he was more concerned with patching her up. She was lucky he found her when he did. The gash on her side would be easy to stitch but he first needed to get her to somewhere safe. His options were limited. No clinic would take them in, she was still a notorious criminal after all. Batman would have his head if he brought her to any of their safe houses. The cave was completely out of the question.

But she was still losing blood.

“Why the long face, songbird?” Her voice which was usually jovial was tinted with strain.

“Oh, you know, just getting blood on my suit while a cat bleeds out in my lap.” He tried to lighten the mood and her chuckles were relieving.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. Just need to find somewhere to put you.”

“Oh, is the birdy worried about his kitty cat?” She was teasing him, he knew, so he decided playing along would do more for his own peace of mind than trying to refute.

“And if he is?” He mirrored her own joking tone but he couldn’t help the taxes of sincerity that slipped in. She caught on if the slight widening of her eyes were an indicator.

“Oh.” The stunned look she had on her face would be adorable if it weren’t for their situation. “I have a place, not far from here you can drop me off there.”

“Lead the way,” he said, picking her up bridal style. If he pulled her closer as she wrapped her arms around his neck then no one had to know.

Fight so dirty, but your love's so sweet

Talk so pretty, but your heart got teeth

Late night devil, put your hands on me

And never, never, never ever let go

Fight so dirty, but your love's so sweet

Talk so pretty, but your heart got teeth

Late night devil, put your hands on me

And never, never, never ever let go

Nightwing never noticed this before but Kit Noire was small. Her waist fit in the palms of his hands so well and her legs were slender and lean as they tied themselves around his hips. He looked like he could overwhelm her but he knew better. He knew how strong and dangerous she was but the mental image of just holding her down as she submits beneath him spurred him on further. Her lips were cherry sweet and intoxicating. And her weight on his thighs left him reeling, silently begging for more.

“Someone’s eager,” she had pulled away from his mouth to speak but rather than entertain any conversation he just moved to suck bruises into her jaw. The hand she had in his hair tightened and pulled at the short strands. Her breathing became laboured as she pants into the night sky. He wanted to coax out more reactions from her, wanted to see if she can really mewl like a cat.

A wayward hand had her grinding down harder in his lap. They were in their own bubble on this abandoned rooftop; it sat between two skyscrapers, both casting the roof in an almost impenetrable shadow, one would really have to be looking to see them. The sound of traffic below was nothing more than white noise, a background soundtrack for their current encounter. Using her grip in his hair, Noire dragged him up from her jaw and crashed their lips together again. Her kittenish licks asked for entrance and he eagerly granted it, savouring the taste of her as she mapped out his mouth with her tongue.

He gripped her tighter, not wanting to let go, blind in the pleasure of her lips and tongue and teeth.

Teeth

Never, never, never ever let go

102 notes · View notes

thebadboyfanclub · 3 years

Text

Protect The Queen Pt.1 (Geralt x Reader)

This is just becoming addictive at this point, I love writing about this cause there are so many different scenarios and possibilities you could write about. Also there might be a part two for this so please let me know if you would be interested in it. Enjoy!

She looked at herself in the mirror once more, it was almost time for her to take her future in her own hands, to rise to the occasion and take back her life. Her gaze fell to the ring she was wearing, it was passed on to her when she married the king of Orkney, she barely had taken a step into womanhood at the time her parents announced her marriage to her, such a shame that she spend such youthful years in a castle with a man that didn't even think about her, it was pure and also embarrassing for (y/n) to look back at her naive and selfless younger self.

“Oh, you are awake”

“I was waiting for you my dear”

She answered to her husband, her voice dripping honey for the first time in years. Their marriage was far from happy, (Y/n) had thought since she was to become his wife he would treat her with kindness, unfortunately that was not the case, he saw her just as a vessel for his children, when that seemed to not happen he fell to the arms of concubines and commoners, making her become this cold, distant wife he deserved. Sometimes she would wonder if maybe she had given him the heir he craved that maybe his behavior would change, that however was crushed by gratefulness she felt for her womb for not bring a child in this loveless household. She would have never forgiven herself if she raised a child that did not see their parents share at least one hug.

“What’s the cause of you lingering in our room (y/n)?”

“To celebrate, here my king”

She offered him the glass of wine she was holding on her left hand, it was filled with his favorite wine. Her husband took it and gave her a puzzled look, whenever he would sleep in the same room with her- which wasn’t often- he would find her asleep.

“What are we celebrating?”

“My birthday dear”

He was left confused at her smile and statement. It couldn’t be, they held a public celebration for her birthday every year, it was protocol for the queen to allow the public in the castle for her special day. The clink of the glasses echoed around the room, she brought the glass to her lips and took a light sip

“Come on dear, drink up. You were never one to shy away from a glass of wine”

She pushed the glass from the bottom up to his lips. He did not understand the cause of all this, yet whatever the case was she was right, the moment he tasted the delicious wine he took three gulps and the glass went from full to half empty.

“Excellent, I’m glad you enjoyed the wine my king, careful,.. the choking will probably start any minute now”

“My queen, we have been waiting for you to... rise for so long”

“Perfection takes time”

She answered to her most trusted confident,her coronation was something that would remain in history for centuries, she was adored by the public so when she inherited the crown after her last husband, everyone knew they were in safe hands. That does not mean the rumors did not arise to the situation, the late king was a healthy young man, it was very suspicious how he fell to darkness overnight.

She meant what she told him when she mentioned her birthday, that day she shed away her foolish acts and was reborn, a woman that stood strong in the field of womanhood, ready to take what’s hers whether people liked it or not.

She looked around the room, seeing her people enjoy their night and drink to her name felt so natural to her, she was meant to lead.

“Excuse me just for a moment, I want to get closer to my people”

“As you wish my queen”

As she started going around at a slow pace she did her best to observe her people, they seemed to enjoy themselves, they acted like the king never existed, like the soil on top of him had been thrown decades ago, she smiled at herself while thinking that she acted in a way her people wanted, pleasing them and herself with just a few drops of that special liquid.

It was then that she noticed the back of a tall man, his long white hair and his armor stood out from the others, she also took note that he was accompanied by a much smaller and probably younger man that was holding a lute. It couldn’t be? The infamous white wolf and his barb at her coronation?

“What are we doing here Jaskier?”

“Celebrating the queen officially getting the crown after her husbands oh so sudden death”

Jaskier was fascinated by her history, a princess known for her noble nature and beauty, he reminisced of the song he had heard about her, she was the master of horses, the late king had met her when she rode the most stubborn and difficult horse in the royal stable, married to the king at her prime and failing at giving him an heir.

He was surprised she got to kill him first before the late king did, not only that but she is now the one sitting on the thrown after the kings death under some suspicious circumstances.

“sudden death? hmm, I believe the king found out that his destiny was a woman in a harsh way”

“Every mans destiny is a woman.... Witcher”

As he heard the voice from behind him he turned around to see to whom it belonged to. Jaskier’s mouth formed a big “O” when he was met with the queen, Geralt figured out who she was by the crown sitting on her head. The first thing she noticed was his yellow eyes, she found them so captivating, unique, she had never seen a witcher from up close, it was also just her luck that brought her the most handsome one.

Geralt didn’t know what to say, he was at her celebration, talking badly about the queen herself, he knew the consequences he just didn’t know if the queen would choose torture or immediate death as the penalty

“Queen (y/n), my apologies, Geralt has had a bit too much to drink, please spare him”

Jaskier might be a bit overly giddy at the wrong time, however that did not mean that what Geralt ha implied could make the queen want his head right then and there. As Jaskier bowed at her, she only let a small smile appear on her lips, softening her features towards the men that both looked distressed, she had to admire that she felt a bit of pride of making the witcher eat his words, judging by his reputation that did not happen every day.

“It’s alright, I know what the people are saying about me, it’s understandable”

“Understandable? Shouldn’t the queen rush to protect her reputation?”

“That’s what kings do when they feel their ego getting bruised, look around you Geralt, what do you see? The same people that have spread those accusations are dancing and yelling “long live the queen”, if anything my new found reputation is more promising”

Geralt was immediately interested, it wasn’t often that a queen would be alright with rumors and of such kind being passed around, as well as taking it as an advantage and being pleased about it.

“Elaborate please”

“The kings of other towns will hear those rumors, now who would dare come and threaten the woman that killed her own husband for power? Only a mad man would risk coming to my home”

She was smart, cunning. Geralt had met people of royalty and understood exactly what she meant when she talked about fragile egos. On the contrary, she stood tall and proud, took advantage of the people that gave her a new source of power without them even knowing it. The essence of her as a human being could only be described as being royal, a woman of luxury that men would probably kill for just a glimpse of her naked skin

It only made him question the late king, how could he have wronged such a woman? was maybe her standards that were two high? or was it an act of revenge? Geralt felt the need to puff out his chest as an act of bravery, she was a quite tall woman and if you match that with the way she carried herself, it was a death mix, the late king was already one of the victims of it

“You mean that you are going to become other kings destiny?”

“I don’t believe in destiny, what destiny is varies depending on the people you ask, for my parents my destiny was to become an obedient queen and give birth to the heir, a child that shared the same blood with my late husband”

She said mildly disgusted, as a widower she would probably have to grieve, linger in her room and cry behind close doors at the loss of her love. It seems like nobody even noticed how she did none of that, like it was normal for her to through a celebration a few weeks after his death in her name, not only that but the people seemed to love it. Geralt gave her a smirk at her smart and a bit intriguing answer.

“Then what do you think is your destiny”

“To be in charge of my and my peoples future, destiny and fate are nothing in front of the power of a woman”

The way she talked about destiny showed how she truly embodied confidence and stability, she feared nothing, not even her future self, she only relied on her power. As she talked to him he couldn’t help but let his eyes look mostly towards her lips, her painted lips that moved in such hypnotic way, he felt compelled by her.

Jaskier just stood there watching the two people talk like they are long lost friends. The queen so many people felt uneasy just by her presence was now having a casual conversation with the witcher. Geralt was slowly but surely gaining respect for her, she was a woman of power, a woman that used her brain and situations to her advantages and held herself accountable for her future, she was a true queen.

Geralt smiled at her genuinely, he had met her late husband in the past, he recalled him being stubborn and stuck up, raising his nose at others that he thought were less than him. If he was alive there was no way he would find him walking around commoners

“hmmm, Well queen (y/n), I am sure your people will be safe with you leading this land”

“I hope that in the future I can count on you for aid”

“About what?”

“Danger of course”

She took one step closer to him, still keeping eye contact with Geralt. As he took in a deep breath he could smell the scent of lavender off of her, her hair shined underneath the light of the flames and her eyes glistered with confidence and pride, she was the definition of strength, just her look brought Geralt into defense mode, waiting for her words and thinking how should he respond correctly to her before she even opened her mouth.

The skill of demanding attention and respect so silently was one that the very few of people that did had it were considered blessed, even though he was aware of that skill, still he had yet to meet one... until he met her.

“Loneliness can be an awfully dangerous thing”

She whispered just loud enough for only him to hear, as the other villagers laughed and sang around them, not even noticing that their queen was standing a few inches away from them, as well as being promiscuous to a witcher.

“I would be honored to protect the queen”

“I’m glad you feel that way, I’m sure you could be a great ally for me, geralt of rivia”

PART 2

393 notes · View notes

imekitty · 3 years

Text

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7

A twist on Bitter Reunions.

-----

Jack and Maddie listened to the ringing on Maddie’s phone, waiting for an answer as they sat together on the sofa in their living room.

“Maddie?” answered Vlad.

“Vladdy! Good to hear your voice,” said Jack.

“I’m here too, Vlad,” said Maddie.

“It’s been a while,” said Vlad. “I was just thinking about you two last week, wondering how you were doing.”

“We’re doing great,” said Jack. “You?”

“Oh, I’m doing very well.” Vlad chuckled. “I would love to show you sometime. You two are welcome to come visit me at my mansion anytime, you know.”

“Well, that’s sort of why we called,” said Maddie.

“Oh?”

“Yes.” Maddie paused. “We would like your help with our research.”

“Your ghost research, I presume?”

“Yes.” Maddie shifted her weight on the couch. “Remember when we said we were working on creating a ghost hybrid of our own?”

“How could I forget?”

“Well, to make a very long story short, we succeeded. We found the perfect candidate and were able to configure our portal to give him ghost powers like yours.”

Jack pressed his lips, not liking how she kept saying “we” like he actively helped her in this endeavor.

“Did you now? Really?” asked Vlad. “May I ask who was your candidate?”

Maddie released a loud breath. “Before I tell you, just know he was our only choice. We had been searching for over a decade and couldn’t find anyone else who came even close.”

Vlad did not respond. Jack leaned back into the couch.

“It was our son,” said Maddie

Jack looked up at the ceiling, rubbing an itch on his neck against the couch cushion.

“Your son?” echoed Vlad.

“That’s right.”

“You mean Daniel?”

“Danny. And we only have one son, Vlad.”

“You really turned your own son into a ghost hybrid?”

“Yes,” said Maddie. “And we’ve been watching what he does with his powers for the past few months. But he doesn’t know that we know. He doesn’t know that we have anything to do with his portal accident that turned him into a ghost hybrid.”

“Wait, wait, you mean to tell me that he has no idea what you did to him?” Vlad chuckled. “And by extension, am I right in assuming that he didn’t exactly consent to it?”

“No, of course he didn’t,” said Maddie. “We couldn’t let him know. Part of our research is seeing what he chooses to do with his powers without our influence.”

“You are just perfect, my dear,” said Vlad. “Truly a rarity in the science field.”

“Should probably keep it that way,” muttered Jack.

“And what has Daniel chosen to do with his powers?” asked Vlad. “Play pranks? Or is he using them to get more of what he wants like I did?”

“Danny’s choice for his powers is...interesting, to say the least,” said Maddie. “He decided to turn himself into a...superhero, I guess you could say.”

“Superhero?”

“Yes. But he doesn’t fight crime or anything like that.”

“Well, not crime by humans,” said Jack.

“Right, he fights ghosts,” said Maddie. “Ghosts who enter our world through our portal and wreak havoc. Danny uses his powers to capture them and return them to the Ghost Zone, thus protecting the people of our town.”

“Oh, my God.” Vlad’s breath loudly whispered through the speaker. “I know exactly what you’re talking about. I’ve heard about him.”

“You have?”

“Yes. There’s been a lot of talk about him in the Ghost Zone among all the ghosts. The half-ghost child who lives with humans but also possesses ghost powers.” Vlad laughed. “I had no idea he was your son. But that makes so much sense now.”

“From what we’ve observed, he is indeed becoming very well known in the Ghost Zone,” said Jack. “So I guess we shouldn’t be surprised you’ve already heard of him.”

“It’s interesting that he’s chosen to use his powers to fight other ghosts, though,” said Vlad. “I’m assuming that must be linked to his ghostly obsession. Do you know what it is yet?”

“No,” said Maddie with a shake of her head. “But we are working on figuring that out. All we can gather so far is that he feels responsible for the ghosts coming through the portal in the first place, so he thinks it’s his duty to return them all to the Ghost Zone.”

“Why would he feel responsible for that?” asked Vlad.

“Maddie made him believe that our portal was broken until he switched it on and shocked himself,” said Jack. “So in his head, it’s his fault the portal works and is letting in all the ghosts.”

Maddie gave him a look. “Right, yes, we made him think that. It was the only way to trick him to go inside the portal.”

“I see,” said Vlad. “So he’s trying to clean up the mess he believes he created.”

“That’s all we know so far,” said Maddie. “Not sure how it might be linked to an obsession just yet.”

“But a superhero, that’s cute,” mused Vlad.

“That leads to our request.” Maddie cleared her throat. “Given that Danny has chosen to use his powers to become a superhero, we were interested in giving him…well, a supervillain to fight.”

“A supervillain?”

“Yes. Obviously, there are plenty of ghosts, but we were thinking a nemesis who has something in common with him might be good.”

“Let me guess: a fellow ghost hybrid?”

Maddie smiled. “I knew you’d catch on to that quickly.”

“I can’t say I’m not intrigued,” said Vlad. “And I’d be very interested in meeting your son.”

Maddie lifted her back off the couch. “So you’ll do it?”

“Let’s discuss it in more detail,” said Vlad. “Would you two be able to make a trip to Wisconsin soon?”

“Yes,” said Maddie. “Absolutely. We could bring the whole family, actually, so you can meet Danny.” She paused. “Might need to come up with some excuse he’ll believe. My plan for you to become his archenemy relies on him believing you don’t exactly like us. Or you don’t like Jack, anyway. Because of the portal incident.”

“Oh. Right.” Vlad’s voice became bitter. “Well, that was Jack’s fault.”

“I said I was sorry,” grumbled Jack.

“No, this is good,” said Maddie. “This is what we want for our backstory to make this work. But we just need a reason why you’d invite us to stay with you if you hate Jack so much.”

“I was recently asked to host our twentieth college reunion,” said Vlad. “Would that work?”

Maddie grinned. “That would be perfect.”

Jack slumped into the couch as Maddie and Vlad continued chatting. He wondered how things might’ve been different if he just hadn’t been careless with his cola in that college lab so long ago.

Then maybe Danny would still be one hundred percent human.

Part 9

#danny phantom #planned au #maddie fenton #jack fenton #vlad masters #imekitty writes #ficlet #prompt writing

119 notes · View notes

lettrespromises · 4 years

Text

la querelle des coeurs. - kuroo, atsumu, daichi.

@luveranime sent a letter : ❝ Me again lmao 😂 could you do one where kuroo, atsumu and daichi’s s/o has a ex best friend and they try to take their bf away from their s/o but then their s/o like angrily lashes out? Then like a cute fluffy ending :) ❞

author’s letter : ❝ aaaaa, it’s always pleasure to see you in my inbox!! thank you so much for trusting me with all your prompts, it means the world. ooooh, i love myself some angst to fluff especially with kuroo. i hope you’ll enjoy your promised letter!

sealed with a kiss. sincerely yours, nikki. ❞

genre : kinda fluff, kinda angst. warnings : cursing, toxic friendship.

Now, now, now, Kuroo like the gorgeous scorpio he is has some kind of sixth sense when it comes to lies, basically, you could consider him as a human lie detector. This talent of his extends to being able to discern people’s true nature- given that he is someone who doesn’t trust people easily, he’s even more careful around people he doesn’t deem as trustworthy.

Truth be told, he doesn’t come as a surprise to him when you tell him that you had a succession of arguments with your best friend, to the point where you felt obligated to cut ties with them.

You can tell from miles away that the sentence “I don’t want to say I told you so, but I told you so, kitten.” is burning the tip of his tongue, begging him to be set free so he could rub his pseudo sixth sense in your face.

From now on, Kuroo morphs into ‘super protective mode’, he just wants to protect you from any emotional harm, he knows how vicious your former best friend is, after all, he always knew.

He will walk with you everywhere, cradle you into his embrace if you feel the need to shed a couple of tears- he picks up the shattered pieces of your broken self and glues them one by one and seals them with a kiss or a heartfelt compliment.

After several days, Kuroo’s efforts and dedication to make you feel better finally sets in. Your introspection sunk in and you feel the aftereffects bloom- you feel fearless, powerful, and you came to agree with yourself on stating that you are indeed better off alone.

The plot twists in the hallways of your school- your arm is wrapped around Kuroo’s, just the way you like it. His orbs never leave you frame and anyone could tell how the gleam in his eyes reflect his love and adoration for you.

Needless to say, his favorite time of the day was when he could have lunch with you and listen to your ramblings while observing your divine traits. However, being academically smart doesn’t prevent him from being a airhead at times : “Kitten, I totally forgot to grab myself something to drink. Will you wait for me at our spot? I’ll be quick.” “You already know where to find me then, Tetsu.”

And with that, he leaves you in the middle of the hall (but not before planting a peck on your forehead.) On his way to the vending machine, he sees none other than your former best-friend, body leaning onto said vending machine, as if they were waiting for him to come out after witnessing your discussion.

The plain expression plastered upon Kuroo’s facial expression speaks louder than a thousand words revolving around the lexical field of anger. Nonetheless, he tells himself that if he ignores them, then there will be no harm done, unless...

“Hey there, Kuroo. I knew you’d miss me! Don’t worry, baby, I missed you just as much.”

The person you once called your best friend orientates their body in a strategic way so they’re closer to Kuroo, their whole body facing him. Of course, he didn’t miss the poor attempts to get him to pay attention to them. Their whole body language screamed ‘acknowledge me.’

Kuroo remained stoic and pushed the coins inside the vending machine instead. This lack of attention only emphasized their anger and in return, their level of patience diminished gradually. But they had another ace hidden in their sleeve, and this time, attitude matched their actions- your former best friend grabbed the hem of Kuroo’s collar while their other hand was planted at the back of his neck to force him to look on what they deemed as the only important person here.

“Kuroo, baby, I’m so glad you came to see me, because let’s face it : you’re only here because you know you’d see me here. Have you finally realized that Y/N was not good enough for you? You want a real significant other, don’t you?”

If hearing the sound of their voice was disgusting enough, imagine how filthy Kuroo felt when he sensed a foreign body throw themselves on him- his skin was burning under the poisoning touch of your former best friend.

Now, now. The ‘you’ topic was quite the sensitive one to Kuroo, given that he would and could put anyone in their place if he happened to hear a ill word about you. “I’m going to say this once : don’t play a game you can’t win so don’t say another thing about Y/N.”

Oh, but would this stop them? Absolutely not. Their hand travelled from the back of their neck to the muscular reliefs on his chest, an area only you had the luxury you to touch and worship. “Don’t be like that, Kuroo. I know I can touch you, love you and at least I won’t fake it like Y/N does.” they concluded their sentence with a wink sent his way and Kuroo could already feel the taste of vomit invading his tastebud.

In one sharp motion, he grabbed their wrist and yanked himself free of their intoxicating clutch. Just his luck, he thought, while your former best friend cursed silently under their breath as they saw you arrive.

“Tetsu, are you okay? What’s taking you so long?”

Oh and here it was, the pure grin which radiated nothing but pure mischief- your presence signed the end and what a beautiful ending it was for him. “Maybe you should ask them, kitten. They were rambling about how I should date them instead of you. Can you believe that bullshit?”

Your eyes darted onto a familiar frame, but just by glancing at them, you felt all the inner rage overwhelm you, including all the pain you had to go through. It was like facing your own nightmare, but you’ve never been alone to fight your battles- Kuroo has always been there by your side.

“You said what now?”

Your stare emanated nothing but pure and intense rage, your whole body language testified of your inner envy to make them choke on their own words.

“I said-...”

“If you think for a single second I’m going to let you talk, you’re dead wrong. You’ve been feeding me enough lies during all this time we were ‘friends’, and now, you’re throwing yourself on my man? You really have nothing for you, do you now? Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go grab lunch with my boyfriend. I’m not sure you’ve ever heard of him but his name is Kuroo Testurou, you know, the man you’ll never get?”

Kuroo couldn’t help but to let a snicker break free from his lips, this scene was wonderful to watch. An immense wave of pride washed over him, and it struck him again, he realized for the umpteenth time how lucky he was to share his life with you.

He wrapped his arm around your waist, tugging you close to his side and delivered a peck full of love upon the flesh of your cheek. “I didn’t know you had all of this hidden in you, kitten. Not gonna lie, it’s kinda hot.”

You playfully rolled your eyes and punched his arm as his words connected with your eardrums, “You’re so lucky I love you.”

“Don’t get it twisted, kitten, I’m lucky one here.”

“Are not.”

“Are too.”

“Are not.”

It’s safe to say that Atsumu does have a reputation that follows him around, he his the local heartthrob of his school and he secretly takes pride in that. But nothing fills his heart with pride more than being able to call you his.

Being Atsumu’s girlfriend, you are indirectly exposed to threats, insults and other acerbic remarks coming from his fangirls. Sometimes these attacks are direct like dirty talks behind your back when you’re holding his hand in the middle of the halls, and other times, it’s more subtle and the perfect example of that is how the person you used to call your best friend took advantage of your relationship status to get closer to Atsumu.

They made it clear and had no shame hiding behind their shameful shenanigans, “Did you really think I was talking to you for your personality? Get real, Y/N, I don’t care about you. I only care about your man.”

These subtle shenanigans hurt the most because they were the most vicious and purposefully hurtful, and the worst part was that they had somehow managed to become friends with Atsumu. Emphasis on the word ‘somehow.’

As per usual after school, both you and Atsumu could be found at the gym, and oh boy, did he love being able to see you everyday- not only at school but also at the gym as you were the manager of the volleyball team.

However, this time, you had quite the surprise when you entered the gym. Kita had asked all the players to gather up as he explained them the new change amongst the team : “Considering that the nationals are around the corner, the coach and I stated that it was necessary for us to hire a new manager in order for Y/N not to feel overwhelmed. Please welcome your new manager and take good care of them.”

As his words echoed in the gymnasium, you felt your stomach sink to your heels, your mouth was set agape under the overwhelming feeling of pure disgust. Not them, out of all people. Hell, even Atsumu’s worst fangirl sounded like a better idea right now.

Of course you couldn’t blame Kita for choosing your former best friend as the new manager, but the glance Atsumu threw your way testified of how much he knew this situation was going to eat you up alive.

After the captain dismissed everyone, Atsumu wasted no time and ran up to you, he felt the need to reassure you and make you feel at ease despite the venomous presence of your former best friend.

“Cheer up, baby, ya’ know I’m here, right? This pig isn’t gonna’ get a piece of me. Now, be a doll and gimme’ a kiss.”

Classic Atsumu right here, but who were you to deny such a sweet request? So you did as told, and planted a kiss on his plump lips. And that’s when you could pinpoint the precise moment when your former best friend had fallen right into Atsumu’s trap.

“As your new manager, I have to say that it’s not very professional to kiss your significant other on the court. But, I mean, what else did I expect coming from Y/N?”

Your boyfriend’s arm was protectively wrapped around your waist, tugging you closer. The root of each of his action was to protect you from the incoherent and toxic words dropping from their lips. But deep down, he knew better than to mess with you, especially when the whole team was looking at you.

“Oh, I’m sorry! Did you mean do this?”

There you went again, planting yet another kiss upon Atsumu’s lips who couldn’t help but grin at the taunting nature of your actions. Once you broke the kiss, you could feel the hot breaths of your boyfriend crashing upon your skin “That’s my girl.”

Your former best friend looked around in despair, her eyes scanned the room to seek for help, to back up her actions. Osamu let a small laugh fall free from his lips, Suna rolled his eyes so hard you thought they were going to get stuck at the back of his head, and Kita, out of all people, let out a desperate sigh. “As the captain of the team, I must inform you that it is my duty to let you know that you cannot dictate your way here, and you cannot display a clear lack of respect to Y/N.”

This time, it was their time to be dumbfounded and left in the middle of the gymnasium with their mouth set agape in pure surprise. The silence, although it was broken by a few playful laughs, was agonizing to them.

“C’mon, new manager, tell ‘em why ya’ chose to come here.” Atsumu taunted, the smirk plastered upon his face as wide as ever, but he only found silence as an answer.

“Are you sure you don’t want to tell the rest of the team? Alright then. Maybe you should tell them how you only joined our team to flirt with Atsumu knowing very well that we’re dating, what kind of person that makes you, mh?” Each word pronounced was embedded with venom of your own, and deep down, exposing the true nature of your former best friend brought some sense of satisfaction. And thus you began reading out loud each text they had sent you, justifying their one-sided reason to join the team, only to flirt with Atsumu.

“Yeah, ya’ ain’t slick! Sorry to break it to ya’ but I ain’t into snakes.” Atsumu continued, sticking his tongue out before the still dumbfounded personification of a snake.

Pure embarrassment consumed them, the more they were staying amongst the deafening silence of their sour loss, the more they felt vulnerable and the more they realized they lost their own game. The stares of the whole team became agonizing, so agonizing that they felt obligated to leave the gym, head hung low in defeat.

“Byeee! Ya’ won’t be missed!” Your boyfriend concluded his sentence by imitating the hissing sounds of snakes, and you wondered why you were dating a man-child. Nonetheless, knowing very well he couldn’t get his hands off of you and craved for a physical touch at all times, he pressed his lips against yours once more. “I ain’t into snakes but ya’ could s-s-s-s-slide your way into my heart, baby.” and with that, Osamu hit the back of his twin’s head with a volleyball.

Maybe he deserved that.

Being the unofficial dad of the Karasuno volleyball team came with its perks, one of them was the ability to be able to discern if the people you were hanging with genuinely cared about you or not, you liked to joke around and call this his “secret dad weapon.”

Much like Kuroo, he was not one bit surprised when you told him that you had to put your friendship to an end with your former best friend. Of course, he was not angry, but in typical dad fashion, he adorned the oh so famous disappointed dad expression on his facial structure.

He told you not to overthink it, and to focus on the other friendly presences in your life such as the volleyball team or Kiyoko and Yachi, mainly because he knew he could trust them with his eyes closed, but also because he knew he would be able to make them pay if they were to hurt you.

When you started dating Daichi, you grew the habit to join him outside the gymnasium after his training, a bottle of water in your hand in case he overworked himself, which he always did.

This time, and much to your surprise, you found a note near the doorframe leading to the gymnasium. And if you were careful enough, the slight details and the precise calligraphy hinted that said note was in fact a love note.

You found it rather amusing at first, perhaps it was a letter dedicated to Kiyoko because this woman was the living and breathing proof that God was indeed a woman.

But everyday, you would find yet another letter, still carefully written and decorated leaning against the doorframe. This time, however, a calligraphic ‘D.S’ framed the front of the letter. You couldn’t help but let your stare roam over the fine print of calligraphy over and over again.

As the saying goes ‘curiosity killed the cat’, and you were no exception to that common phrase. You meticulously took the letter and unfolded it- it was so beautifully written, the details were placed strategically. It was a proof of pure love in the form of a letter.

Then, you began reading it : “Dear Daichi, Words cannot do justice of how much I love you. Everything about you fascinates me- from the way you spike the ball so roughly to the small smile on your face after scoring a point. If only I could tell you how much you mean to me. Don’t worry, Y/N won’t know a thing. Come to the gymnasium tomorrow at 5 if you wish, until then, accept all my love.”

You read the letter once, then twice, then an umpteenth time until the words were embedded in your brain. You thought it was just a prank, after all, Nishinoya and Tanaka were quite the pranksters amongst the team, but the handwriting was so delicate, too delicate to be theirs.

You could feel salty pearls coming at the brim of your eyes until they fell onto the surface of the paper, resulting in the texture of the letter now being bloated under the wetness of your tears.

You kept your discovery under silence, you trusted your boyfriend of course, but given the additional stress brought by the nationals, you refused to distract him from his goal.

But here you were, sharply there in front of the gym at five as indicated on the letter. However, Daichi hadn’t shown up like the anonymous lover requested, he was already stretching anyway.

Knots started to form in your stomach as you wondered who the hell had the idea to write this love letter to him, after all, it’s not as if your relationship with Daichi was kept as a secret.

And at 5:01 precisely, your orbs felt on the figure of your former best friend who had the most victorious grin plastered upon their face. Not only these letters were meant to be read by Daichi, but by you too, their main goal was to hurt you where it stung the most.

“What the hell are you doing here? Where you the one who wrote these letters?” You spat, waving the letters between your thumb and forefinger.

“I’m sorry, Y/N, I know you love to make everything about yourself but I was expecting Daichi, not you.” Although they said they were sorry, there was not one ounce of genuine compassion in their voice.

Anger got the best of you resulting in the sudden apparition of veins on your neck as the volume of your voice only increased : “Who the fuck do you think you are? Are you that desperate? If you want a reply to your letter : Daichi doesn’t even know who you are.”

Your emotions controlled each one of your actions, including the severe tone of your voice. The ruckus made its way inside the walls of the gymnasium, until Daichi and Sugawara opened the door in order to find an answer as their interrogation : what was happening outside?

Daichi’s eyes widened when he saw your frame shaking from anger, it was so unlike you, you matched him in a way because you were always so calm and collected. His mind raced as he wondered what was the cause of this sudden switch of behavior.

He found the answer to his question pretty rapidly as his eyes darted towards your former best friend who was still wearing that victorious grin on their facial structure. “Y/N, love, what’s going on?” he asked as his hands were draped over your shoulders, forcing you to look at him.

“Oh, hey, Daichi! Have you read the letters I left for you? I bet Y/N never wrote this kind of letters for you.” It took inhuman strength for Daichi to ignore their taunt, instead, Sugawara sent a death glare their way : “Just leave, you have no business being here.”

Sugawara’s attempt at making them leave eventually succeeded after Coach Ukai’s sudden appearance before barking on your former best friend to “get the hell out of here” and “not disturb training anymore.”

Eventually, you were left alone with Daichi, your lungs felt constricted and you struggled to breathe. The aftermath of your outburst of anger made tears run down your cheeks as you sought for comfort inside of Daichi’s loving embrace.

The pad of his thumb brushed your tears away, planting a series of kisses upon the surface of your forehead as a silent way to tell you that he was here and he was not going to let you go.

“Listen, love, I don’t know what happened and we will talk about it whenever you feel ready. But promise me one thing, never doubt of my love for you. Could you do that for me, Y/N?”

You simply nodded against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat kept the haunting thoughts in your head at bay. “I love you so much, Y/N, so, so much.” he whispered, concluding his sentence with a kiss left on your lips.

If only he knew how much you loved him.

299 notes · View notes

cybernaght · 3 years

Text

Guardian rewatch: Episode 3

First of all, wow. When I decided to post those online, I was expecting that they would be read by two people, both of whom I personally know. It was in equal part surprising and terrifying that so many of you ventured here. Thank you for reading, I really appreciate it.

Episode 3 is probably my favourite case. It’s not perfectly strung together, there is little actual investigative work in it, but it’s a beautiful story of boundless love and devotion, which echoes through the relationship between our protagonists

Professor Shen is looking at some materials that are looking suspiciously like research into something supernatural, when Zhang Ruonan makes an appearance at his office, claiming that she is absolutely fine, while clearly being very far away from fine. This is something Shen Wei can certainly relate to, because he is the king of hiding his ailments from others.

Zhu Hong’s one-sided affection for Zhao Yunlan starts to show already in this episode: while he has the cold, she nags him to take care of himself, shoves tissues into his hands, and presses him to drink his meds. It’s easy to imagine even this early on that she will be the woman drunk dialling him one day.

I know this could be seen as straightbaiting, but I honestly thing that the actual purpose it serves in the show is the opposite; I’ll talk more about it when we get there.

Zhao Yunlan spends a lot of this episode in Shen Wei’s office, starting with this scene, in which is obviously flexing. Not only does he sneeze all over the office, he goes to eat Shen Wei’s cake after specifically being told not to eat it. He also takes his opportunity to mix questioning with flirting, as is his usual way. He keeps eye contact while spooning cake into his mouth, as he explains, jovially, that another mysterious death on his campus cannot possibly be a coincidence. And, to be fair, he is not really wrong. We are meant to believe that this is all set in motion by Zhu Jiu, aka the least scary villain in the history of villainy, and an owner of your staple baby goth wig. I will not mention him again until the plot makes it impossible for me not to do so.

Zhang Ruonan comes in, and Zhao Yunlan introduces himself as Shen Wei’s good friend. Which is half-way between a flex and an act of kindness. On one hand, he could have said he was from the police - which would be absolutely true - and risk tarnishing the professor’s good name. On the other hand, he could probably look less pleased with himself. Shen Wei, at the very least, looks neither grateful, nor amused.

Zhao Yunlan asks her if she new the victim and she looks incredibly shifty as she flees. He is right to think that something is up, and he correctly assumes trauma, rather than guilt. We can now start to see that he is very very good at reading people. It must be equal parts thrilling and disconcerting for him to have met something who he decisively cannot read. Shen Wei vouches for the woman, partly, surely, because his Hei Pao Shi sense is tingling, letting him know that someone is eavesdropping.

Despite feeling uneasy, Shen Wei still offers Guo Changcheng, who is left to collect various paperwork from his desk, a little smile. He has a reason to like Xiao Guo, of course: he was the one to see the young man’s kindness and understanding, and he is already growing protective of him, way before he will start seeing members of the special unit as his people. This reminds me of how many months later, he will subtly, but decisively stop a barrage of verbal abuse against Xiao Guo by dropping a pair of chopsticks.

Zhao Yunlan is taking Xiao Guo with him on the case rather than anyone else, partly, supposedly, because of Guo Changcheng’s familial connections. The young man looks more sure of himself, asking correct questions, dutifully records answers. He also tries to look after his Chief by asking him to go home and rest. He does phrase it badly, but Zhao Yunlan has a thing against his own health and well-being, so he reacts extra poorly.

Soon after, Zhao Yunlan’s at Shen Wei’s office yet again, as Shen Wei tries his best to ignore him, in the hope that he… well, maybe not goes away, but does not ask him anything that will require him lying. Instead, Zhao Yunlan is asking Shen Wei why he is bad at reading people, which is a very strange thing to ask. Shen Wei answers his question with a question, “Will seeing through people really lessen the hurt and disappointment?” Adding, “Many tragedies were destined from the beginning”. He looks well.. like this as he says it.

This is loaded. On first glance, it’s a pretty good set-up to the way this story will unfold, as a tragedy of two individuals who let their devotion to each other nearly ruin each other’s life. A fragile human and a dangerous powered Undergroundian: what else is that, but a tragedy, waiting to happen? But this story - this one right in front of us - will not end tragically, at least not for the two people it enters around. It could do so, but it will not. Maybe, this truly is the first hint that this entire narrative, so carefully set up from the very first time Zhao Yunlan and Shen Wei meet, is destined to be a tragedy. Moreover, that it must be one, for some cosmic reason.

(… I apologise while I go have a little cry in the corner. Damn you, Guardian, why do you make me hurt so much?)

Da Qing inexplicably morphs from black cat to a human in white t-shirt while doing night shadowing, and promptly falls asleep on patrol. Why is he being sent to stake anyone out? He is least suitable for it. He is literally a cat. He sleeps 16 hours a day.

Surprisingly, when pressed, Zhang Ruonan comes clean very easily, revealing that she was a victim of the three students she failed (two of which are already dead and one one standing right next to them), who lured her out at night, which left her vulnerable to be attacked. Zhao Yunlan listens to this story, and instead of… oh I don’t know, perhaps asking her the identity of the third student, leaves to go find that out for himself. It is heavily implied that he does it on purpose, which is definitely not okay.

Moreover, he goes and... asks Shen Wei. This makes me suspect that he’s not really thinking with his head at this point. As he does so, he is brandishing a letter opener.

Shen Wei is looking even less impressed with him than he did during their last few conversations.

Zhao Yunlan is a little bit flippant when it comes to students’ lives this episode. And yes, they have done something really quite horrible to another human being, but that's not a very good excuse to let the last of them just die. As it happens, the situation Yunlan created - perhaps on purpose - did lure out Zhao Ruonan’s murder girlfriend, but it also cost a student his life. Which is far from ideal, but is somehow never even mentioned. Instead of being aghast, he sits on the table as he goes into full interrogation mode. (As he will continue to do a lot. Sometimes he crouches on tables instead. There is no further point here, apart from: I like this character quirk. It’s a nice character quirk.)

He brings some of his team in at this point, and asks Zhu Hong to continue interrogation. It would be a nice gesture is he did not interject two questions in.

“How do you regard your relationship with Wang Yike?”

“We are family.”

They are definitely, decisively not going for sisterly bond here. Which is kind of incredible. This is one of the moments the amorphous being that show is looks at the censors, wiggles its battered low budget eyebrows at them, and then proceeds to flip them off. Well done, Guardian.

Wang Yike calls Zhang Ruonan, saying there is one more victim she needs to take care of, and Lin Jing traces the call back to campus. Zhao Yunlan, who did not even bat an eyelid at a dead student earlier, now looks decisively worried

“Oh no. Professor Shen.”

The only reason Shen Wei is attacked is jealousy. Wang Yike does not know this of course, but trying to kill him is a bad move, because a) he has long ago given his heart away, and is definitely not interested; b) this is probably the only thing she could do to make the man on the case very very upset; c) Shen Wei’s immune to her powers.

“Someone like you will never understand what she means to me!” Wang Yike shouts eventually. “As long as I can protect her, my life has worth!” And, even as Wang Yike has no way of knowing it, these are the words that ultimately save both her and her loved one. Because Shen Wei does in fact understand what Zhang Ruonan means to her. His own endless and ultimately self-destructive devotion is his main driving force.

Shen Wei pretends to be hurt, again, which earns him a half-hug from the object of his devotion. If Zhao Yunlan does notice that Shen Wei should really come out of this attack grey haired and dead, and not just mildly inconvenienced, he chooses not to say anything.

Worried about her murder girlfriend, Zhang Ruonan rushes in and accidentally touches her. Zhao Yunlan Freaks The Hell Out. Shen Wei does, too, but in his own, reserved, way. They are both emotionally invested in those two people, although for very different reasons: Shen Wei is acutely feeling resonance of his own past in their story, and Zhao Yunlan, I think, wants to fix it, he wants to be able to make it better. Instead, Shen Wei fixes it for him, turning the tide on this tragedy, and giving it a happy ending. He heals Zhang Ruonan right in front of the officers of SID, albeit with much subtlety. (“Have someone saved her right under our noses?” Zhu Hong will snort the very same evening, and she will be 100% correct.)

Shen Wei also lets Wang Yike go despite the undeniable fact that she did kill three people. Here, he is looking at the picture of this human/Undergroundian couple, surviving despite all odds, and touches his only reminder that Kunlun really was in his life.

He then burns the picture as the only evidence that Wang Yike was not punished by him for her crimes.

In the end, Guo Chengcheng is making first of his many diary notes about the events, recounting a conversation between Shen Wei and Zhao Yunlan we had not witnessed, in which Shen Wei mentioned a relationship based on devotion that can last a thousand years, and Zhao Yunlan called such a relationship “guarding”. Finally, Guo Changcheng hopes that he can become a guardian of all.

And this is making me think that this absolutely should be a set-up for him becoming a wick of the guardian lantern, as per every single other decision that was made prior to the last two episodes. Right? This is a perfect foreshadowing, and mentioning it here, so early in the show would not make any sense if it were a deliberate subversion. So, was Guo Changcheng meant to become the wick after all before... what, some rewrites happened? What made the final episode be what it was in the end?

(This is a genuine question by that way, if anyone has any insight on the matter.)

The episode would end here, if this was a western show, with a familiar monster of the week structure, but it does not. At least, the way it ends is reminiscent of a cliffhanger, with Zhao Yunlan catching Shen Wei in a middle of a crime scene, and looking betrayed.

Next episode: Lynchian Nightmare, aka people without faces.

PS.

I did not have a seamless way to stick this in anywhere but... Shen Wei’s technological ineptness at the max: he does not know how to use a Polaroid camera. Help him, he is so lost.

——

Second point of housekeeping to say a few things:

I don’t think I will be consistent with certain things being transliterated versus translated. I am more likely to use Hei Pao Shi rather than Black Cloak Envoy (because the later reminds me of Tuxedo Mask, which makes me inwardly giggle every time) but at the same time I am also more likely to use Underground/Undergroundian rather than Dixing/Dixingren. I am more likely to use Xiao rather than Little, but have called Chu Old rather than Lao before. I hope that’s not grating, but do tell me if it is

My recaps are Shen Wei-heavy. I have no real explanation for this, apart from.. I like Shen Wei.

I realise that there will definitely be things here that are head canon and speculation rather than flat observations; this show is a work of fiction and a work of art, which cannot be interpreted objectively. If you have alternate takes on anything I write in the future, let me know!

#guardian #shen wei #zhan yunlan #recap #rewatch #I still don't know how to tag

45 notes · View notes

ibelieveinahappilyeverafter · 3 years

Text

Boku no Hero Academia - wear your heart on your sleeve (and treat mine gently)

I apparently only wrote two drabbles for my Patreon in 2020, but given the state of the world at the time, I hope I’m forgiven for that. A new year is here, however, and that means last year’s writing can now be seen by all of you! If you want to see more stories like this before next year, then consider pledging to my Patreon!

Fandom: Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia

Characters: Yamada Hizashi | Present Mic, Kayama Nemuri | Midnight, Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead

Rating: Teen Audiences

Alternate Universe: Magical Descent and Mythical Creatures

Summary: Original Prompt (Given by Patron Istas): And, hmm, for something different. Aizawa/Yamada Selkie AU. I've been loving the mermaid stories starting to float around, but you can never have too many Selkies. Wasn't there a post a while back about someone who casually gave a person their coat back and ended up Selkie married?

Word Count: 2,626

⁂

Check out my writing commission information here! Pledge to my Patreon to get exclusive content! Or buy me a coffee on Ko-Fi!

⁂

Yamada Hizashi liked to think of himself as a remarkably unbothered teenager who didn’t often feel self-conscious when it came to his day-to-day life. Why would he, after all, when he was confident in himself, his abilities, and who he was and what he could do? He was a selkie who attended U.A. -- the best school in the country for those of magical and mythical descent.

While U.A. wasn’t the only school, it was by far the most popular one, as well as one of the few who helped students control and harness their powers instead of just teaching them how to hide them away. Hizashi had made it into the school on his own merits, too, even with his… unique family heritage. He had nothing whatsoever to be ashamed or embarrassed about.

At least, he thought he didn’t, until he had gained a best friend in the form of Kayama Nemuri, a classmate and succubus who enjoyed seducing people way too much and had no filter whatsoever when it came to destroying his hopes and dreams.

“Seriously, Yamada, you’re such an idiot.” As it was, Kayama was once again yelling at him as they ate lunch, Hizashi picking at this food more than actually eating it. “You can’t just go around dropping your coat everywhere and hoping someone will find it and enter into some magical true love spell with you!”

“Okay, first of all, that is not how it works at all.” Hizashi stabbed viciously at one of his sushi rolls, wishing he could throw it at Kayama’s head. He would if he knew she wouldn’t just try to kill him for it. “And besides, it’s not like I lost my coat or dropped it. I just… strategically draped it somewhere where someone was likely to see it and return it.”

“Dumbass,” Kayama snorted, stealing one of his sushi rolls for herself. “You’re a selkie. You need your coat to use your most basic powers. The teachers are gonna keep getting pissed at you if you keep ‘draping it’ somewhere and not having it for classes.”

Hizashi huffed, looking down at the spotted, fur seal coat that he had tossed across his legs after giving up hope for the day. It seemed to be radiating as much defeat as Hizashi felt. “Well, then, excuse me for trying to find my true love.”

“Hey, did I ever say there was anything wrong with trying to find your true love or mate or whatever?” Kayama looked insulted, pointing her chopsticks at him with a scowl. “I am in full support of true, absolute love, but in your case your coat just magic mind controls whoever picks it up-”

“It does not!” Hizashi snapped, fearing his glare looked more like an upset pout than anything else. Kayama’s smirk certainly seemed to make it seem like he was pouting rather than glaring. “That’s not how selkies -- or selkie magic -- works. Yeah, sure, there are stories about it, but a selkie’s coat can’t be stolen.”

“Really?” Kayama blinked, looking surprised before she set down her chopsticks and gave him her full attention. While anyone else would be a babbling idiot at having the full attention of a succubus -- even a teenage one -- Hizashi only rolled his eyes. “Alright, then, explain it to me. Why do you keep leaving your coat around like that?”

“It’s… We can give our coats to other people to hold onto, if we choose to, but only a few people can touch a selkie’s coat without experiencing extreme pain.” Hizashi pursed his lips, crossing his arms as he thought back to when he had first been told about what having his coat really meant. “I think Mom described it like lightning if you touch a selkie’s coat without their permission and aren’t meant for it.”

“Alright, magical matchmaking coat. I’m with you so far,” Kayama laughed, which, alright. That was a lot better than her mocking him or accusing his coat of magical mind control. “So only you and your ‘true love’ can pick up the coat without feeling that pain?”

“And the parents of the selkie,” Hizashi put in. “Sometimes siblings, but only close siblings, I think, and only when they’re young. But, yeah, it’s- It’s destiny. Our coats… They’re like a part of our hearts.” A part off their heart and a piece of their soul; that was how their coats worked.

Hizashi dropped his hands to run through the fur of his coat, feeling warmth and safety and home as he closed his eyes and took the feeling in for a moment. He couldn’t help but to remember the stories his Mom had told him about what would happen when the one he was destined to be with picked up his coat.

It wouldn’t just be warmth and safety, but it would be fierce devotion, and understanding, and the knowledge that this person, whoever they were, would want to stay by his side; no matter what. It wasn’t ensnaring someone, but it was finding the one person that he knew he would be able to love with no fear or doubt.

Looking back up at Kayama, Hizashi lowered his voice to something more serious, “It’s not just ‘true love’ or ‘my mate’ it’s…” Hizashi trailed off, fingers digging into his coat more tightly. “It’s the one person who will never doubt me, or leave me, and always stick by me for me, no matter… no matter who I am.”

There was a moment of silence, Kayama clearing her throat and patting his shoulder lightly, “Well, hey, then you’re in the perfect place to be looking, don’t you think? U.A. is full of cute, sweet little nerds who would love to be your one true love. Why, I bet the next bubbly-eyed, gap-toothed cutie that we see will be your true love, no doubt about it.”

“You think so?” Hizashi knew he sounded weak -- vulnerable -- but he couldn’t stop himself from asking the question. Kayama could be a lot, but she was also one of the few he could call an honest friend. She knew what it would mean to him to have more of those, even if she joked about it.

“Absolutely,” Kayama said sincerely, giving him a small smile. “Have a little more faith, lover-boy. You’ll find your true love before you know it.”

It was just what Hizashi wanted to hear and believe in more than anything else.

It was also, he knew, something that wasn’t likely to happen soon.

Not considering who he was.

Not at U.A.

“Well, hey, if it isn’t our favorite little mutt.” Hizashi grunted as his back hit the wall hard enough to force him to bite back a yelp of pain, instead putting on his best glare. “Aw, what’s the matter, mutt? Aren’t you happy to see us?”

“Yeah, c’mon, Yamada, isn’t it nice to finally have someone who’ll talk back to you?” The three who had him surrounded were all upperclassmen who Hizashi had never bothered to learn the names of. They were also complete and utter assholes who believed he didn’t deserve a place in U.A. Well, not many did, but most chose to at least not say anything about it. “Not many want to talk to a siren, after all.”

“Hey, now,” one of them frowned mockingly, voice ‘sympathetic.’ “He’s only half siren, you know.” The look aimed at him turned cruel, but it was nothing Hizashi hadn’t seen directed at him before. “Then again, considering the other half is some dopey little fuck who can barely do anything, I’m not sure if that’s better or worse.”

They all laughed, as if something hilarious was said, Hizashi gritting his teeth as he glared down the one holding him, growling out a quiet, “Let me go.”

“Oh! The mutt has some balls!” With that he was twisted around and thrown to the floor, Hizashi swearing as he felt a jolting pain from his wrist where he caught himself as his coat slid off his shoulders and bunched around his arms, tangling and trapping him on the floor. “Come on then, mutt. You gonna finally fight back for once?”

The laughter started up again, one of them grinning widely, “Think he will? If he fights back, we can get him kicked out so fast. What’d that look like to the parents, you think, a siren mutt attacking a bunch of kids?”

“I think it’d look pretty bad,” the obvious leader said, taking a step forward. Before Hizashi could panic and try to scramble away he, and the other three it looked like, were all startled by the black cat standing in front of Hizashi and giving a warbling cry. “The fuck is this?”

The cat looked like any other cat at first glance, but a closer look screamed magic. Hizashi doubted it was a shapeshifter student, since shifting wasn’t allowed in the halls, but a familiar, maybe? He didn’t know any kids with a cat familiar, though-

“Oh? That’s unfortunate.” A new voice echoed down the halls, the bullies whirling around in surprise while Hizashi leaned to the side to peek around them. Half a dozen feet away was a kid he had never seen before, maybe a first year or possibly even a second year like him. His hair was long, shaggy, and black as the cat in front of Hizashi, red eyes piercingly looking between each and every one of them as a sharp smile climbed up his face. “Looks like a black cat crossed your path.”

“Yeah? Is that a fucking threat?” Jeez, how unoriginal. Hizashi couldn’t believe these were the bullies he got stuck with in the drama that was his life. Couldn’t he have gotten tormented by someone with at least two brain cells? “Doesn’t seem like you know how things work around here.”

“Really? Seems just like any other school to me,” the kid drawled, eyes flicking over to once more look at Hizashi. “A bunch of self-entitled kids with rich, demanding parents with expectations that can’t be met, so instead they take it out on whoever makes the easiest punching bag.”

Damn. That was harsh, but, well, it wasn’t exactly untrue. Stigma worked against Hizashi just enough that anything blamed on him would usually be believed. Looking back at the cat, Hizashi blinked at seeing the cat staring back at him with equally red eyes. A soft purr left the cat a moment later and Hizashi had to resist the urge to coo and draw attention to himself.

“-if you don’t get the fuck out of here, kid.” Ah, verbal threats. So effective and witty, truly. The new guy, whoever he was, seemed to think the same, giving a snort of laughter.

“Am I supposed to be scared?” That smile was nothing except threatening, not even fading in the slightest when the main leader of the trio raised his hand, palm extended outwards, with a smirk. Hizashi didn’t bother hiding his wince as, while he didn’t know what the kid was exactly, he knew he had fire powers. He had felt them far too many times to not know how much they could hurt.

Whoever this new guy was, Hizashi made a note to find him and try to help heal his burns after he ran off -- except he wasn’t running off. He wasn’t getting burned, either. He was just staring at the bully in front of him, smile growing while the bully looked more and more terrified as the seconds passed.

There were no streaks of flashing fire and there was no smell of burning air and ash. There was only a terrified face and gleeful red eyes followed by a quiet, “I’ll ask you again. Is that all?”

Just like that the trio of assholes were running off and disappearing around the corner, Hizashi not too surprised by their reactions. He’d be pretty terrified, too, if he had someone angry at him that could block his powers. Actually, he might still end up being terrified, depending on how the kid felt about mutts.

Hesitant in looking back at him, Hizashi frowned to himself as he noticed the boy had gray eyes instead of the red ones that he swore he had seen. Maybe that was a part of his power- “You alright?”

“Huh? Oh-! Yeah.” Hizashi raced to stand up, tripping and struggling over his coat before he managed to get himself free. “Sorry- Sorry, uh, yeah- Thanks, I mean. For, um… helping.” Hizashi tried to keep his head up instead of turning around and slamming his face into the wall like he so desperately wanted to do.

“Good to hear,” the kid laughed, a smile twitching on his lips as his cat -- familiar? -- raced over and up his side before curling around his shoulders. “Aizawa Shouta. I just started here.”

“Hell of an entrance,” Hizashi laughed, wincing at how breathless and smitten he sounded -- which he shouldn’t. The guy was just being nice- Aizawa Shouta was being nice. “I- Yamada. Yamada Hizashi.”

Clearing his throat, Hizashi fumbled over his words for a few moments before nervously approaching Aizawa and skirting around him, “I’ll just, uh, go. You know. To class. And stuff.” He was a disaster. Why was Hizashi allowed to exist around others? He was half-siren and the only thing he could charm were the neighborhood cats when he fed them tuna!

“Yamada.” Freezing in his steps, Hizashi hesitantly looked behind him, eyes going wide as he saw Aizawa heading towards his coat which he had stupidly left on the floor after standing up and letting it slip off him. Before he could even open his mouth to warn Aizawa to not touch it, he was bending down and picking it up and…

His mom hadn’t even begun to explain the feelings of the right person touching his coat. It was warmth and safety, but it was as if every good feeling at once was swirling through him, heady and overwhelming and enough to take his breath away. It was every bad feeling he had ever had brushed away, wiped clean from his mind like they had never existed in the first place.

It was peace and the simplicity of being and sand spilling between his toes and ocean water lapping at his feet and salt sharp and bitter on the tip of his tongue and a fire roaring away in a hearth and the moon rising far across the waves where the sun had disappeared long ago.

It was a shy, soft smile with fingers that brushed against his own as his coat his skin his heart his soul was given back to him with such care and concern. It was Aizawa Shouta, his husband his true love his mate his friend, greeting him with a soft, “It was nice to meet you.”

“Ye- Yeah… You, too.” Hizashi watched as Aizawa gave him another smile before walking past him down the hall. Hizashi didn’t waste a heartbeat before he was ripping his phone out and pulling up Kayama’s number, texting her desperately and they needed to go ring shopping as soon as school let out because he had just met his husband and his husband was amazing and deserved the best ring that Hizashi’s, admittedly, small allowance could buy.

Looking up from where Kayama was texting him and calling him an idiot, Hizashi felt his heart skip half a dozen beats as his husband, starting to round the corner, turned to look back at him. When he saw Hizashi looking, he gave him another small smile and a little half-wave before he disappeared, and, yeah…

Hizashi was so in love.

#boku no hero academia #bnha #erasermic #selkie!au #present mic #aizawa shouta #yamada hizashi #mha #my hero academia #original #my writing #my patreon

44 notes · View notes

fakecrfan · 3 years

Note

You say that a lot of people see the other's plan as wronging Jon specifically, more than the people in other worlds, and while I disagree with that reasoning, I think it's unfair to use that as proof of pro Jon bias (or, well, there being more pro Jon bias than pro other characters bias) when a lot of people's objections to Jon's actions are along the lines of "he betrayed the group!" or "he betrayed Martin!" (hell, look at the complaint about him "not listening" - which, yes, is first said in canon, but echoed a lot in fandom. Surely you agree that whether he was right or wrong, he should have based his decision on which choice was morally better, not on "listening" to the rest of the group.)

Ah, I think a lot of people took my reply to my friend’s post musing “I have seen people make arguments for Jon that irritate me, and gotten into arguments with people who excuse Jon in ways that they don’t other avatars like Daisy” as me saying “I think Jon was wrong in the finale episode and the others are right.” (Edit: Or that I am saying everyone who thinks Jon was right is just biased in Jon’s favor.)

That is not true. I think that the well-being of the countless people we don’t see is waaaaaaaay more important than that of Jon, Martin, Georgie, or any of the other group. And, as I have said in another reply, I think that Jon’s idea at the end was better, even though he was trapping his friends in an objectively horrible situation. (Here is the ask where I elaborate on those feelings.)

It’s just that most of the discussion I have seen on the morality of the finale is all about “Is Jon A Good Person Or A Bad Person, And Was Everyone Else Being Mean To Him.” And that frustrates me. But that could just be that I have had Bad Luck with what side of the discussions I have seen, and that most of the takes are something else.

As for whether Jon should base his decision on the group or on what is “morally correct”... hm.

Well, let me ask you this: what do you think about democracy?

Like, in general, most people I have talked to agree that some sort of democratic decision making is better than a single person making a decision on what gets to happen to everyone. Generally, this is how people agree societies should be run and decisions should be made. If not everyone gets to decide, then surely people who represent the groups of the people unspoken for should get to make the decisions.

Here’s another question: how do you feel about peer review? or scientific consensus?

If 20 scientists say X is the answer, and 1 scientist says Y is the answer... do you think we should trust the group more, or the single scientist? If you think the former--congratulations, that’s how science works, generally. Things are done in groups, because the idea is that multiple people are more likely to correct each other’s biases than one person alone who doesn’t take the perspective of other people into account.

(Of course, it is still possible that the single person gets vindicated by time and the group of 20 was wrong. But generally speaking--there is a reason that science works by consensus.)

So, with that in mind, tell me this: how can Jon know he is right?

Because when you say “he should choose what is morally correct over what the group wants” that sounds like a perfectly simple idea when you phrase it that way. But since morality isn’t something with an objective measure, what that comes down to, in practice, is “Jon should choose what he thinks is morally correct over what everyone else agrees is morally correct.”

Jon is currently being psychologically pulled to do what the Beholding wants. It’s a pressure that has, in the past, caused him to hurt innocent bystanders and justify it to himself. Can he trust his own judgment, given that is directly being influenced by a horror entity that feeds on suffering? Can he trust his own judgment given that, a few episodes ago, he was gushing to Martin about how he could rule the hell world and make the suffering fair--and he clearly mostly wanted to do this for the power/pleasure, and was using morality as a justification?

(It turns out fine when he does it but how can he know it will--was it really a safe bet, or did he just get lucky?)

Is it a good idea for him to trust his own idea of right and wrong over that of... the other people who are available to make a decision? Over the people who he would be trapping alone in a world where everything else dies screaming around them--while he gets to ascend to a position of pleasure and power?

And see--I say all of this still thinking that Jon’s idea is better.

It’s just--the idea that one person alone shouldn’t get to decide what is moral has a lot more merit than I think you are giving it credit for. Jon is not infallible. No single person ever is infallible. There is a reason to make decisions in groups, especially decisions that will effect so many people.

When is it better to trust your own idea of what is moral--over the people you are condemning to suffer? It’s not really something you can know objectively. You just have to make a bet.

Jon bets on his own idea of what is “morally correct.” I think he is right in the finale--but he hasn’t always been in the past. So I think the idea that he should defer to the group has merit even if I (at time of writing this) currently disagree in this instance specifically.

#moral philosophy day never ends #thank you for the ask!#my post #my meta #I need to make a moral philosophy tag #or maybe a finale tag #hmmmmmm #will think about this #intpdreamer

10 notes · View notes

creativenicocorner · 3 years

Note

Slides a ⭐ for a star person :p

Holy shit it took over a year and I barely remember which fanfic ask this is about...I think it's like a director's cut one? REGARDLESS! I do remember the star was to like talk about whatever - and while looking for a WIP I came across an attempt to answer this WITHIN a wip? Past Nico what were you thinking?!

I do know this was written sometime before Ch15 of Terpsichore came out, because there were a few references? But I rephrased the wording a bit.

Forgive me for using this as an excuse to just babble on about how I choose the music titles for chapter sections in Terpsichore, but also, I'm not entirely sorry haha Without further Ado! Here’s hoping this rambling makes sense haha!!

⭐ AN ANSWER!（♥￫ｏ￩♥）

So it’s taken me a long time to figure out how I wanted to answer this. For a while I was going to ramble about M*A*S*H how it was a rather formative show for me growing up, especially in its anti-war message as well as how it feels like a comedy played in a minor key. There was even going to be a link to a video essay on the show, and then I was going to hint at a want to write a series following the changelings in a pre-show context in the sort of vibe M*A*S*H gave.

But it got lost, and weighty…and…idk, I can’t seem to stick to a lot of things these days? I don’t know.

But there’s always been in me the want to attempt to explain why I choose the music pieces I choose to title the sections in each chapter. Cause despite the little message at the bottom of the first chapter and the last chapter talking about motifs leitmotifs…writing prose is nothing like composing music.

And not only that I’m sure less than half of the people reading the fic will listen along with the playlist. Which is 100000% fine! I anticipate it even!

Because at best, those sectional pieces serve less as soundtrack more like a silent movie’s musical medley.

Because it’s the written word, and I’m not Andrew Hussie ldgj though the day I find out how to put a little ‘play button’ to listen to music during a fic, I might do that. But at this point in time Hell No haha.

Despite this, there is a process behind my music selections.

There is a difference between what I consider ‘corpse de ballet’/ ‘ensemble’ sections, and ‘leads’ / ‘duet’ sections.

Or what my poor readers go through as ‘a shit ton of prospective shifts’ and two prospectives at best, at the same time. I don’t know why I’m such a fan of bouncing between perspectives so much that you probably feel seasick. I always consider it a miracle anyone understands what the heck is going on dfjglk The answer is probably because I like third person omniscient writing, and am a sucker for situational/character irony. But I’m also a grammar school drop out haha and don’t actually know the rules of writing by heart? I’m just a fool with a bunch of vibes and a dictionary doing their best lol.

[ stressed coffee sip ] Fake it til you make it baby

But yeah! Enough borderline weird self deprecating! Let’s talk music!!

So! Usually when writing a section I try and think about who are the central characters in the section, and or what is the theme/emotion I’m trying to call on. Is there a motif, or a reference I can play on musically? An idea or concept I can echo or even enhance? Will it be a specific genera of music tied to a character because that character embodies and or is known for a specific genera (example: Nomura and Opera- more on that at during ACTII )

Once I answer those questions, I’m able to narrow down my music choices. Which, again, acts more like a book of suggested musical medley orchestras and musicians would purchase during the silent movie era as like a cheat sheet of what they could play during a specific scene.

So…for instance, for a character like Barbara Lake I wouldn’t use video game music -or maybe I could…but it would only be in terms of perhaps referencing her son.- who I would have a higher chance at choosing to select a video game music piece for (hang on to your butts ACT II Zelda soundtrack).

In the fic I’ve built the idea that in order to explain Barbara’s ability to paint, that she not only took classes but was part of the production team in putting on a play, mainly in set design painting props. Which opens me to a world of musical options when it comes to Barbara’s character. Especially when certain musicals hold songs that can be really fitting to her character later on. An example of this can be seen in ch3 “Aquarius”, and ch14 “Julia”.

Ch3 is Barbara’s big planned picnic date. The first date she and Walter go on after she ingested the binding spell. The two of them coming together, but also the magic of which awakening something magical inside.

And Ch14 in which the binding spell is broken, but also whatever was holding Barbara’s potential to reaching towards that magical something inside her is also broken. And in a sort of my own attempt at written diegesis between the narrative and the song selections in the sections, the lyrics to Aquarius is written out as Barbara depends into the water. In which it is no longer the dawning of Aquarius, Aquarius is starting to take center stage. Their cue is played.

That would be my example on a very character driven musical choice.

Not only that, but it is at Ch3 where Walter is influenced more and more to Barbara’s appreciation to musicals, so much so that it begins to influence his own array of music pieces. His dreams no longer dialogue from movies he fell asleep to, but sometimes full on reproductions of staged musicals and plays. An example of this can be seen in Ch11 On the Right Track from Pippin the Musical - which oof I could go into a full dissertation on in regards to changelings/Pippin and The Pale Lady/Leading Player.

Not only that, but due to influence from Barbara’s love we get the moment of Walter’s ‘I want’ section piece in the form of Ch9 “Corner of the Sky” (aka Pippin’s I want song as well). The moment before this happened there was the interaction with Angor AND Otto AND the repercussions of Angor attacking the school. It is clear to these characters that Strickler is not giving his all in killing Jim, and perhaps never tried to give his all. Something that Otto proclaims as Strickler making excuses, and Strickler insists is tact.

Then there is the situational character driven choice.

I’m going to continue to use Barbara as an example here, and say that THIS can be seen in Ch2 “No. 9 – Finale Andante” and ch12 “Le Lac Des Cygnes Introduction: Moderato Assai”

Both of these music pieces come from Swan Lake. The reasoning behind the choice is probably asinine in thought process (Barbara Lake, Swan Lake), but also thought out in the sense of the following:

In Season3 of Trollhunters Morgana, in order to attempt to reacquire her shadow staff from Strickler (“The Exorcism of Clair Nuñez), transforms herself to take Barbara Lake’s physical form.

IN THE BALLET SWAN LAKE The wizard Von Rothbart, in order to obtain what they want, transforms (granted someone else) Odile to look like the hero Odette in order to trick the prince into proclaiming this imposter Odile as their one true love. In which Odile is the mirror to Odette, and while looking similar (in fact typically the ballerina who performs as Oddette would also perform as Odile) are opposites in spirit.

And, at least in Terpsichore, what near primordial eldritch force can rival that of the Eldritch Queen that we know from cannon will inevitably impersonate Barbara Lake?

But wait, there’s more.

In chapter 2 the piece used in section 2 is the end of ACTI from Swan Lake. The music hints not only the arrival of Odette, but also her inevitable tragedy. What is written in this section, briefly at that cause we watched how the scene plays out in the show, you don’t need me writing that back at you, but I digress- What is WRITTEN in this section is Barbara sipping the enchanted tea that binds herself to Waltolomew Strickler. Something that you, the viewer and fan will know ends in tragedy, as do I the writer and also fan knows will end in tragedy. The only people out of the loop here are the poor poor characters.

And then the revolving door of bad situations that is ch12 happens, and we return to Swan Lake with “Le Lac Des Cygnes Introduction” In which Barbara is introduced to Jim Lake’s Trollhunting world, finally. But wait! There’s EVEN more.

Because not only is Barbara introduced to Jim’s Trollhunting world, Barbara begins to allow herself an introduction to that weird magical more that’s inside her via dream. And YOU/WE the reader/writer/audience, are introduced to the strange figure Giselle is talking to on the beach of Lake Superior…who…well, you’ve probably already have an idea as to who that figure is ;)c

There are also moments when I just select a song piece because I think it fits Thematially well - ch11’s “Powerhouse” section. Aka the music that plays in Looney Tunes whenever an assembly line montage occurs - to which in that section Jim Draal and Walter are putting together the booby-traps to thwart Angor Rot (as well as try to reassemble some sort of emotional connection between them). Or it could be a reference to a meme I really enjoyed, example Ch12’s “Roundabout” aka the music piece known vernacularly as “The Jojo Meme” but also like…meme aside it’s really good and fits and just lkfgjkgsdj I have a lot of feels about Roundabout and I won’t apologize for it haha

And yet, something I pride myself in, is that you don’t need to know all of this to enjoy the story. It isn’t necessary to listen to the Swan Lake pieces or even the Musicals, or even the Jojo Meme. Because, if I did my job right, those echoes ought to be in the writing. The pieces to the section have always been optional. Just little markings in a booklet to be given to you the reader/composer as a suggestion and you can choose to play those pieces along to the silent film, or boot up a ragtime. And that’s the power you have. And that’s equally as wonderful!

#Nico Responds #feather-dancer #Terpsichore #Tales of Arcadia #Trollhunters #Stricklake

9 notes · View notes

iturbide · 3 years

Note

*makes grabby hands* gimme protective Claude parents please and thank you (I LOVE the idea of them treating Edelgard's messenger very kindly and then sending them back with a venomous snake for Edelgard)

okay look this was going to be short and then it just stopped being that so please accept this text wall ft. Outsider Perspective on Almyra

The city Chelle’s Almyran escorts guided her through was overwhelming, chaotic, bustling with people who seemed to be constantly shouting over one another. It made her head ache, and all the more for the dizzying colors and scents of perfume and incense and spices hanging so thick in the noisy air that she could barely breathe. Enbarr might not have smelled like a rose most of the time, but at least it didn’t leave her feeling like her chest was full of wool every time she inhaled. But she dutifully followed the guards through the markets and the plazas, up and down a winding maze of streets, making their way (as best she could tell) toward the mesa towering over the city; she’d noticed the wyverns circling overhead when they first arrived, but as they drew closer she could see them appearing and disappearing from somewhere high up on the cliff face, though exactly where they were coming or going from was invisible even when she shaded her eyes against the sun.

It seemed odd that they were going toward the wyvern roost. “I need to go to the palace,” she repeated insistently, clutching her case slightly tighter. “I need to speak with Almyra’s leader.”

“Yes, yes,” one of the men sighed, “we heard you the first eight times.”

She frowned, but said no more, drumming her fingers on the graven wood instead. With every step, the mesa drew closer, the streets wider, and soon enough she could hear the dragons calling overhead, their cries and growls echoing off the crags to her ear…

A final turn, and her trepidation evaporated into awe. Through the cluttered sprawl of the city, she’d caught no sight of anything even remotely resembling a castle -- but here the rest of the buildings fell away before a grand plaza, deeply graven stones depicting heated battles leading to a grand arch carved directly into the stone of the cliff. She glanced at the carvings while she walked, picking out images of great knights, wyvern riders, myrmidons, snipers, and far more that she couldn’t identify before they passed beneath the gate and entered the mesa itself. Crossing the grand foyer, they wound their way up a wide flight of stairs, climbing until the sun vanished entirely, its light replaced by torches burning steadily within their sconces on the wall; by the time they reached the top of the steps, they had turned all the way around, and she spent a moment staring at the grand braziers burning on either side of the wooden doors, each carved with strikingly detailed wyverns in flight.

Her escorts did not so much as knock: instead they each pulled one of the doors open, casting pointed glances at her until she stepped through.

The room itself had clearly been carved directly into the native stone, just like the stairs and the foyer and the arch now far below them; this room, though, had honeycomb lattices etched through the far wall to allow the sunlight in, casting a warm glow across the brightly colored trappings and tapestries and shining bright across the golden thread adorning the four people at the center of the room.

None rose when their guest arrived, but only glanced up from where they lounged in a loose half-circle. Judging by their hair and features, the two men were clearly Almyran, while the women looked dubiously Fódlani: despite their tan complexions, one had far lighter brown hair than any Almyran she’d seen (and green eyes on top of it), while the other could have been a Goneril bastard given her shockingly pink features.

The older man shifted to beckon her closer, and she realized with a shock that he only had one arm. “You would be the envoy from Fódlan, yes?” he asked. “State your business here.”

“A-are you the chief of Almyra?” she asked, carefully shifting the case out of view and trying not to stare at where his empty sleeve had been rolled and pinned just below his shoulder.

His eyebrows went up. The brown-haired woman next to him scoffed, while the younger man didn’t bother trying to cover up his snort. “Wow, the Empire sure did their research,” he muttered, not even bothering to speak under his breath so she might not hear.

“Yes, I am the king of Almyra, Kemal al-Kader,” the older man said at last, gesturing to the woman beside him. “This is my partner, the queen of Almyra, Adara al-Kader. I will not ask again: state your business here.”

“Y-yes, sir,” Chelle chirped, scrambling forward and tearing her attention guiltily away from where the man’s right arm should have been to unlatch her messenger’s case. “My name Chelle Skeates, I’m a messenger from the Adrestian Empire, here on behalf of Empress Edelgard von Hresvelg to deliver a diplomatic treaty for your review and approval. The Empire--”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but I don’t think we’ve discussed any treaty with Adrestia before, have we?” the younger man asked, stretching his legs out and crossing them at the ankles while he sprawled back in the sunlight. “Doesn’t it seem a little strange that Edelgard’s sending a treaty for approval without any kind of discussion beforehand?”

“Empress Edelgard,” Chelle snapped.

“I am quite certain I would have remembered past dealings with Adrestians,” the king agreed.

“I bet they’d have remembered dealing with you, too,” the younger man grinned.

Chelle huffed, “the Empress wished me to relay her deepest respect and admiration to you, the rulers of Almyra, and her hope that our two great nations might establish a peaceful and mutually prosperous rela--”

“Peaceful!” the younger man howled, pounding his fist against his knee. “I don’t think she knows the meaning of the word!”

“And how,” the pink-haired woman chimed in.

“And just who are you supposed to be?” Chelle demanded, looking between the two.

“This is Tariq,” the king cut in smoothly, gesturing to the young man. “He is my advisor -- my right hand, if you will.”

The young man smirked. “You did that on purpose.”

The king smiled but did not respond; instead, it was the queen who spoke up, gesturing to the young woman at her side. “And this is Tahmina, my aide and guard.”

“Not that you really need a bodyguard,” the pink-haired woman giggled. “Your reputation scares off more people than I could with an axe.”

“Yes, well,” Chelle sniffed. “If I might continue: Empress Edelgard hopes that our two great nations might establish a peaceful and mutually prosperous relationship, and has done all in her power to craft a fair and equitable proposal for your review and approval. Fódlan’s Throat has been too long held closed by those of blind faith, so--”

“Wow, that old excuse?” Tariq muttered. “I’m almost surprised she didn’t try harder to butter you up, but...well, I guess I can’t fault her for getting comfortable with the rhetoric that got her where she is.”

“Your majesties, perhaps we could proceed with this in private?” Chelle pleaded.

The king raised a brow again. “Did I not hear that you are a messenger? Is it not your duty to carry messages back as well as forth?”

“W-well, yes, but--”

“It is not solely the response to your Empress’ treaty that you will be relaying back, then, is it?” he pointed out. “It is your mission to deliver all messages, including our words in response to those she sent herself. The points Tariq makes are sound ones, from what we know of how Fódlan came under your Empress’ rule. You would do well remembering them when you return to her.”

“So...Tariq speaks for you, then, Your Majesty?” she ventured.

“Not for me, no.” The man waved the words away, sharing a brief glance with his advisor. “But I value his speech, and consider his words when the time comes to choose my own. That is the purpose of an advisor, is it not? To advise.”

“It seems more like your advisor is trying to pick a fight with me,” Chelle protested.

“Not you,” Tariq replied. “Not really. My problem is with the person who sent you. Since I can’t argue with her directly, I just have to pick apart the words she put in your mouth and in your hands.”

“Speaking of.” The king held out his hand and gestured to Chelle, who obediently opened her case and removed the heavy vellum emblazoned with the gilt crest of the Hresvelg family. Fanning the pages out before him, the man braced his bearded chin against his fist, paying no mind to the three others who crowded in to see the flowing script. “Have you read this?”

It took her a moment to understand the words, and it was only when his gaze flicked up to meet hers that she realized the question had been directed to her. “Oh! No, sir, Your Majesty, this is the first time I’ve seen it, I swear…”

The answer did not seem to please him. Instead he made a thin noise, shifting to free his hand and wave her away while his attention returned to the parchment. “We will need several days to review and prepare our response. And you have had a long journey: take this time to rest before you set off again.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” she mumbled, bowing deeply and backing toward the open doors. He didn’t acknowledge the address, nor even her departure; her last glimpse of the king was of a one-armed man with traces of silver in his dark hair and neat beard, his head bowed over the papers she had brought and a scowl carved across his face.

-----

Chelle was used to long missions and short breaks. Weeks of travel from Enbarr to the far corners of the Adrestian Empire, perhaps a day or two of rest before heading either back or elsewhere. It was the life she’d come to expect as a messenger.

Six days. She was certain this was the most time off she’d had in almost two years on the job, and all because the king had asked for time to prepare a suitable response to Adrestia’s treaty. The Almyrans were surprisingly considerate hosts, providing not only room and board and meals, but an escort to show her around. After a few days the chaos of the Almyran city began to feel almost pleasant, though she couldn’t hope to navigate it alone, its sights and scents growing more intriguing the more time she spent there. Her guide one day had even bought her a trinket from the market: an antler carved in the likeness of a leaping deer, which she described as a totem favored by scouts and couriers for swift journeys and safe passage.

She thought she might miss this, when she made her trip back to the Locket. The noise, the bustle, the colors and patterns everywhere she looked...even the constant presence of wyverns no longer surprised her, and she wondered if it would be strange not hearing their occasional keening in the night or the sound of wingbeats overhead as they circled the mesa and its surrounding city. But if nothing else, she’d have one final memory to take home with her: a grand send-off feast, complete with dancing around fires that blazed nearly as tall as she stood, men and women carousing regardless of how much they’d drunk. She felt warm and contented watching it all, well-fed and nursing her second cup of spicy-sweet wine…

“Have you been enjoying yourself?”

She jumped, whirling so fast she nearly spilled her drink. Tariq grinned sidelong at her, swirling his own cup while she sputtered and scrabbled for words. “Y-y...you!!”

“Me?” he asked innocently, touching his chest with one hand.

“What are you doing here!?”

“Checking on you,” he chuckled. “It’s your last night, and all--”

“After how you tried to make a fool of me in front of the king!?”

“When did I do that?” he protested, seeming genuinely surprised.

“I couldn’t get two words out without you making some...some snide comment about it!”

“Well, to be fair, they weren’t your words I was commenting on, they were Edelgard’s--”

“Empress Edelgard,” she corrected.

“Edelgard’s,” he repeated stubbornly. “It really wasn’t anything against you.”

“It was...it was so rude!” she huffed, stomping her foot adamantly on the stones.

“Maybe in the Empire it is, but that’s just how things work here,” he shrugged. “Gotta get your words in edgewise while you’ve got the chance.”

“So I should have just talked over you?”

“Yeah, pretty much,” he agreed.

“That’s even more rude!”

“Again, maybe in the Empire, not here.”

Fuming, she threw back the last of her wine, shivering as it burned its way down her throat. “What do you have against Empress Edelgard, anyway?”

“More than you can imagine,” he muttered.

“Then tell me,” she insisted.

He looked at her, and she noticed for the first time that despite his clearly Almyran features and complexion, his eyes were a curious shade of green. “You’re on...what, your second cup? Third?”

“Second,” she confirmed.

“Let’s get you another.”

Chelle groaned, stomping off after the man weaving his way effortlessly through the dancers. She lost him somewhere in the crush of bodies, and finally gave up, squirming her way out to a quieter corner to catch her breath and try to pick him out of the crowd…

Someone tapped her cup with the mouth of a wineskin. “Sure,” she muttered, holding it out.

“Good, because ‘no’ wasn’t really an option.”

She jumped, nearly dropping her newly-refilled drink as she whirled on Tariq. “Where did you go!?” she demanded.

“To get more wine, like I said?” He shrugged, topping off her cup and his own before tying the bag and tucking it under his arm. “So. You want to know what I have against Edelgard?”

“Empress Edelgard,” she corrected automatically.

“You never read that treaty she sent.”

“I was directed to bring it to the rulers of Almyra. Why would I read it, when I’m not the recipient?”

“Do you want to read it?”

She squinted at him, taking another sip of her drink. “Is this a trick?”

“No? Why would I try to trick you?”

“Because you’re rude,” she mumbled.

“I’m telling you, that’s just how it works here,” he chuckled. “But do you want to read it?”

“...I’m just a courier. I won’t really know what it says.”

“I can translate it for you,” he grinned. “It’s what I’ve spent the past four days doing, after all.”

“I can’t speak Almyran, either!”

“Why would it be in Almy--wait, no, not that kind of translation!” His laughter sounded completely different from the jeering she’d heard when she arrived: it seemed warm and even kind, and she sheepishly took another sip of wine as she watched him. “The whole thing’s written in Fódlani, no need to worry about that. I was just getting down to what it really meant, under all the fancy language they used to make it sound official.”

Well...that didn’t sound so bad, really. “...I guess it could be interesting to see it,” she agreed.

“Follow me, then.” He grinned, striding off into the dark -- but this time he avoided the boisterous dance, skirting around the edges of the fire until he found the king and queen laughing and carousing among a group of hardened-looking warriors. Tariq called something out in Almyran, which caught the older man’s attention; he glanced at Chelle in the next moment, smiling and nodding before returning his attention to the people around him.

From there they left the plaza, passing beneath the arch and into the Almyran palace, up the torchlit stairs...then off down another hallway, rather than into the room she’d first delivered the treaty to; up another narrow set of steps carved into the native stone, down the hall, and through another door that opened on a comfortable, well-lit room occupied by a table surrounded by empty chairs and strewn with open books and scrolls. Dropping into one of the seats, he gestured to another, waiting for Chelle to sit before fanning the vellum pages out before her; she fidgeted for a moment, glancing at him while he propped his chin in his hand...and finally turning her eyes to the words on the page.

It became very clear very quickly why he’d spent so long ‘translating,’ as he put it. Not only was it a long document with dense writing, but the words themselves made her head spin; for a moment she wondered if the wine was to blame, but two cups couldn’t explain how much of her own language made no sense to her. She was aware of the man sitting next to her, reading the same words she did without apparent struggle...and when she fidgeted and glanced in his direction, he tore his gaze from the page, raising a brow in silent invitation.

“...please?” she mumbled.

“Of course,” he nodded. “So, a lot of this stuff at the beginning is trade details -- the Empire’s offering some nice exchange terms on major exports with a slight bias in Almyra’s favor, not enough to raise suspicions but certainly tempting.” He moved a few pages off to the side, running his fingertip down the parchment. “Diplomatic terms. These are balanced, mostly: stuff about equality in the alliance, mutual aid, so on and so on...and then there’s this.”

He moved another page aside and tapped a passage partway down; she leaned in, squinting as though that would help her parse the words better. “Military alliance,” she read. “In the event that one of our two nations should come under threat from without or within, the other shall furnish soldiers and armaments suitable for the defense of the endangered territory or to maintain peace therein, adhering to the law of whatever land they have been deployed to protect.”

“Do you know what that means?”

“That...if something happens to you, we’ll come help, and the other way around?” she ventured.

“On the surface, that’s what it implies,” he agreed. “But this is where the danger is. It looks like nothing to worry about, that we’ll each help each other if something goes wrong...but then there’s that phrase, ‘threat from without or within.’ That means that if there’s civil unrest -- like, say, forcibly conquered territories rebelling to reclaim their independence -- Edelgard could call on Almyra and use this agreement to force us to send soldiers to maintain her control over those territories. There’s nothing in here about what provisions the Empire would provide to those forces they call in, either: Almyra’s still expected to feed and supply their own forces, even though they’re in Imperial territory enforcing Imperial law.”

“That can’t be right,” Chelle protested, flipping through the rest of the pages.

“I read this whole thing through at least eight times,” he muttered. “The king and queen went at it at least three, themselves. If it was in here, one of us would have caught it.”

“Then...then it must have been a mistake. It was meant to be in there and...maybe a page got left out, it can be noted and addressed in your response…”

“It was intentional.”

“You can’t know that!” she protested.

“You’re right: I can’t be completely sure. But I think the implications are pretty clear from this.”

He set aside a few more pages and tapped another passage, this one near the end of the page, and she leaned in close to read the words. “Extradition clause: should it become known that entities who pose a threat to the peace or sovereignty of one of our two nations have sought refuge within the other, either the nation housing them will detain and transport them to face trial and punishment within the nation where their crimes were committed, or the offended nation will be granted freedom to enter allied territories for the purposes of tracking and securing the criminal for transport to trial.” She looked at him again, trying to release some of the tension furrowing her brow. “What’s so bad about that? Isn’t it saying that if a criminal tries to get away across the border, they won’t be able to escape?” She might not have understood all the words, but that seemed like the general message…

“On the surface, yes,” he agreed, “that’s what it implies. But there’s nothing in here to say what would be considered ‘criminal acts.’ There’s just that thing about ‘posing a threat to the peace and sovereignty of the nation.’ So, for instance: if worshippers of Seiros fled across the border into Almyra seeking asylum, Edelgard could -- theoretically -- declare that their faith makes them enemies of Adrestia, and either force Almyra to round them up and send them back to face trial for the crime of having faith in a religion she hates, or she could use it as an excuse to send Imperial soldiers into Almyra, and they could -- again, theoretically -- round up any other refugees from conquered Fódlan territories on similar charges.”

“How could they do that without some cause for it?”

“They could claim cause simply from the fact that they fled the Empire,” he shrugged. “If they had nothing to hide or had committed no crimes, why wouldn’t they have stayed?”

“Wouldn’t they need proof? Or...or wouldn’t they need to say who they’re looking for, and why, when they come in to search?” she insisted.

“Those conditions might help,” he agreed, “if they were in here. Which they’re not. Again: after eight reads, I’m pretty sure I’d have spotted it.”

“That’s...it’s not…”

“Possible?” he offered. “Fair? Reasonable?” She shook her head fiercely, setting her mostly full cup aside to avoid spilling it and squeezing her trembling hands together. “...right?” he suggested. She nodded, staring again at the words written in such a careful hand, willing them to change even though she knew they wouldn’t. “Yeah. It’s not. It’s dangerous, and it’s all hidden in the middle of this block of text to try and get it past us: the end is just more pleasantries, again biased on Almyra’s favor, like someone was expecting us to check the beginning and the end and get lulled into a false sense of security by the good terms there: they hid all the damning stuff in the middle and banked on it getting glossed over or missed by inattentive diplomats. My money’s on Hubert setting it up this way: it has his greasy fingerprints all over it.”

“Why?” she choked out.

“I couldn’t say for sure,” Tariq sighed. “But I can give you my guess, if you want.” He waited, and only when she nodded did he draw another breath. “The Empire conquered Fódlan. Formerly independent territories, like the Kingdom of Faerghus and the Leicester Alliance, had their freedom stripped away, and more than likely had their autonomy taken with it: even the Alliance, where there was a pro-Imperial faction, fell under the jurisdiction of an Empire-born noble, didn’t it?” She nodded slightly, biting her lip and tightening her fingers until she began to lose feeling in them. “Generally, that kind of treatment isn’t likely to win her friends and allies, or endear her to the ones she had. Unrest isn’t just a possibility in those conquered territories, it’s almost a guarantee -- and after spending five years at war, the Imperial Army’s probably not doing so great: her forces are stretched thin keeping the peace in her forcefully annexed new territories, and she needs help to maintain control over her ‘united’ Fódlan. So she thought she’d try to get someone on her side to help her in that, give them something she could part with and get what she needed more than anything else: military aid. The extradition portion is icing on the cake for when she gets things under better control and can divide her attention again.”

“...you’re not going to accept it, are you?” Chelle whispered.

“Not a chance,” he agreed, patting her back. “Even if we wanted to, there are too many problems with this treaty as it stands: we’d need to send over a full-fledged diplomatic party to iron out the details to everyone’s satisfaction. Edelgard sent a messenger -- someone who wouldn’t understand the underlying message of the document she was charged with transporting, and who wouldn’t have the authority to make changes even if the problems were pointed out to her.”

“It’s not my fault!” she cried.

His hand tightened comfortingly on her shoulder. “I know. And I’m not blaming you: you were just doing your job; everybody here understands that. We blame Edelgard for this, because what she’s implying by doing this -- sending this treaty, worded and constructed this way, with a courier that has no political authority over the document -- is that she thinks this is reasonable and fair, and wants us to accept it as it is.”

Sniffling thickly, Chelle swiped at her blurry eyes. “Why keep me here so long, then?”

“To give you a break. You deserved a rest, and we needed to get our response ready.”

“I thought you were just going to say ‘no,” she mumbled.

“The message they want to send back is a little more...pointed,” he replied. “...sorry to spoil the party for you.”

“...it’s okay,” she sighed. “I...didn’t know about this. It’s a lot to take in.” He nodded as he rose from his seat, offering a hand to help her up; picking up her cup almost as an afterthought, he made his way back out of the room, closing the doors behind them and starting back the way they’d come. “...that...extradition clause. And how it could ‘theoretically’ be used to arrest anyone. Is...would Tahmina be at risk from it?”

Tariq glanced over at her, quirking one eyebrow. “Yes,” he agreed.

“Because she’s related to the Gonerils?”

“Something like that,” he chuckled. “Almyra’s not perfect. There’s still a lot of anti-Fódlan sentiment around -- there’s a lot of history there, not much of it good -- but I’m doing my best to make it safer here for refugees and asylum seekers. Edelgard’s ‘United Adrestian Empire’ isn’t helping anyone but her, just like her war: lots of big talk, but in the end it’s the common people who end up suffering for her decisions and her actions. Even if it’s something small, in the grand scheme of things...I want to help the people who have been hit hardest by all this. If that means turning down Edelgard’s treaty...well, that’s a small price to pay.”

After spending so much time in the softer lamplight, the bonfires in the plaza nearly blinded her, and she had to rely for a moment on Tariq’s guidance to make sure she didn’t either run into anyone or trip and fall onto a pyre. Once her vision cleared, he offered her cup back, which she took without much interest. “Don’t let it get you too down, alright?” he chuckled, giving her shoulder another pat. “Enjoy the party while it lasts. Give dancing a try -- I’ll show you the trick to it if you want.”

Chelle made a non-committal noise, lifting her drink in a silent parting gesture while he walked off. She caught sight of Tahmina in the crowd, watched her wave and call out to Tariq, and saw him beam and hurry to join her in the circle of dancers, seeming entirely carefree in spite of their grave conversation. How he could bounce back so fast was a mystery to her, like so many other things here in Almyra; she didn’t imagine she’d be in any shape to join the festivities for a while yet.

But, like Tariq had said: it was her last night here. Soon enough she would be going back to the Empire -- back home. And then she could see for herself whether Tariq was right or not about the Empress’ motives.

Downing the rest of her wine, she put her cup aside and waded into the chaos. One dance wouldn’t hurt.

---

Chelle decided it was for the best that she’d stopped at three cups of wine. That had already given her a hangover the likes of which she’d never experienced before, and in the end Tariq (seeming mostly amused by the whole thing) fetched her something to take the edge off her migraine, which at least got her out of bed in time for a light breakfast before she had to leave. Her head was still a little sore and fuzzy by the time she made her way up to the room where the Almyran rulers had met her when she first arrived; they were both standing this time, though, and as Tariq took his place at the king’s side Chelle bowed deeply before them.

“Thank you for having me, Your Majesties,” she said. “It’s been an honor to meet with you, and I’m grateful for your hospitality and your kindness.”

“We are pleased to hear it, and hope that you enjoyed your time here,” the older man nodded. “We have prepared our response to your Empress, and would have you deliver it upon your return.”

She bowed again, unlatching her case and preparing to take the document...though, when she looked again, she realized that his hand was empty. The queen held a box, but its lid was open and Chelle could see that there was nothing in that, either, except for some dried grass lining the bottom…

The king looked past her, gesturing to someone in the doorway. Curious, she turned to see -- and jumped aside as a woman approached, one hand gripping the head of a snake while her other arm supported the rest of its body. “A horned viper,” the man remarked casually, watching the handler maneuver the serpent into the box his wife held (and Chelle caught a glimpse of rough-textured scales, horn-like growths above its slit eyes, and wicked fangs poised to strike in the instant before the lid snapped closed). “They hide in sandy places among the rocks and scrub, and their color and pattern make them quite elusive; it took five days to locate and snare this one. They are also exceptionally deadly: their bite is often fatal, and those that do survive frequently lose the bitten limb.”

She wondered if the king spoke from experience as her gaze flicked unbidden to the empty sleeve pinned at his shoulder.

The queen moved toward her, and it took every ounce of Chelle’s willpower to stand still and let her approach with the snake in its box. “Don’t worry, you’re not in danger,” the woman chuckled. “We made sure to give it a good meal, so it shouldn’t cause trouble for you, and the latch has a safety so it won’t open unless someone is trying to get into it.” She demonstrated without opening the lid (which Chelle was profoundly grateful for), unfolding the double-hinged latch before securing it in place and locking it with a satisfying snap. It didn’t make her feel terribly much better about handling it, though, especially now that she was close enough to see the fine latticework openings in the lid -- a lovely touch of artistry, to be sure, but clearly functional given the contents; thankfully, the queen didn’t seem to mind when Chelle opened her case and invited her to fit the box inside, securing the clasp herself and gingerly settling it against her side.

“When you arrived, you came with a message from your Empress to go with her treaty,” the king mused, stroking his neatly trimmed beard. “We would ask you to deliver words on our behalf, as well.”

“O-of course,” Chelle nodded. “I’ll be sure to relay them -- what is your message, sir?”

A thin smile cut across his face, and a chill crawled down her spine. “This box is much like the treaty your messenger carried to us: carefully crafted of fine materials -- and concealing within something fatal to those who would rush to accept on appearances alone. Yet the viper bites only to hunt or defend itself from harm; your terms stand as proof of how deep your cruelty runs in service to yourself. We received your messenger, and treated her with the honor and hospitality befitting her service, for we in Almyra bear no ill will toward those who bring such words to us: our grudge is with the one who ordered her to speak them.”

Despite how cool the room was, Chelle could feel sweat pouring down her face as she repeated the words back, aware of every stumble and pause but seeming unable to make her tongue behave...though the king still nodded in apparent satisfaction when she finished. “Thank you,” he said, resting his fist over his heart as he bowed. “Should your Empress decide to use a messenger again, rather than speak herself, know you are welcome here.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty, sir,” she replied, tripping over the words as she ducked her head. “A-and thank you again for your hospitality.”

Turning smartly on her heel, she hurried out the door and down the stairs, keeping a tight grip on her case and trying to convince herself that the snake in it was secure, that she wouldn’t get bitten, that she wasn’t going to die on her way back home--

“You okay?”

Chelle almost tripped on the last few stairs; the hand on her elbow thankfully kept her from falling -- but as soon as she found her balance again she yanked her arm away, glaring over her shoulder at Tariq as he held his hands up in a placating gesture. “I’m carrying a fucking viper how am I supposed to be ‘okay’!?”

“...that’s a fair point,” he admitted. “I probably should have warned you about that, huh.”

“You THINK?” she hissed. Hurrying down the last of the stairs, she stormed toward the arch, her thoughts still reeling over everything that had happened in the past few minutes. “A snake! He’s sending a snake back! Who does that!?”

“Almyrans,” Tariq replied almost cheerfully.

“With no antidote!”

“Nope.”

“How is this not seen as murder? Am -- am I party to an assassination attempt?”

“I guess if you don’t warn Edelgard of what it is, then...maybe?”

“Of course I’m going to warn her, what do you take me for!?” Chelle snapped. “A fucking snake, he’s replying with a...a-and he said it took days to track it down? Is that why I was waiting here so long?”

“That...may have been the other part of it, yes,” Tariq admitted.

“That means...they had to have sent people out looking the day I arrived!”

“Technically they sent people out looking as soon as they heard an Imperial messenger was coming. The speech was a nice touch, though, he really outdid himself there--”

“They never intended to consider the treaty?”

“Afraid not. They’ve got some sizeable grievances against the Empress, so I don’t want to say it was a wasted trip, but...yeah, there was never any chance--”

She whirled around, clutching her case tight as though desperate to keep it sealed shut. “How are you so calm about this!?”

“Take a breath, Chelle.” He mimed a few, himself, and she grudgingly followed suit. “This kind of thing might seem crazy--”

“Because it is,” she insisted.

“...but it’s not uncommon in Almyra. Especially to get a message across: sending a snake has a lot of implications.”

“This place is insane.” He’d mentioned anti-Fódlan sentiment, but she never would have expected this.

“Almyrans feel the same way about all the rules you’ve got in Fódlan,” he chuckled. “Call it a cultural difference.”

Stepping out into the sunshine beyond the arch, Chelle threw a hand up to shade her eyes as the dull ache in her head spiked; by the time her vision came back into focus, Tariq had walked past her, and stood waiting in the center of the plaza...beside a white wyvern, its ornamented tack shimmering in the light while the dragon tilted its head into the man’s attention. He grinned at her, gesturing her closer while continuing to scratch the wyvern’s chin with his free hand. “Need a ride back to the Locket? Or, well, the outskirts, at least -- I’d rather not have them raining arrows down on us, if I can help it.”

“Is this your wyvern?” she asked, edging closer.

“She is,” he agreed, rubbing the dragon’s horns while it pressed its head against his chest.

“I’ve...never seen a white one before.” She’d only ever heard of one, in fact, and then only as rumors from those who’d been at Derdriu when the Empress marched to the heart of the Alliance…

“They’re rare,” Tariq confirmed, “and here in Almyra they’re considered good luck. They always end up going to important people because of it: beloved kings, exceptional generals…”

“Then how did an advisor end up with one?” she scoffed.

“Having the king and queen for parents has perks.”

“Yeah, I’m sure it…”

She’d intended to brush off whatever excuse he made, but as the words sank in she trailed off, staring slack-jawed at him while he continued to lavish affection on the white wyvern. “You -- you’re a prince?”

“Technically,” he shrugged.

“The king introduced you as his advisor!”

“Well, right now I am: with things as they are now, I can’t achieve what I want, so I didn’t see a point in challenging him for the throne. My counsel is the most useful thing for Almyra, given the state of things in Fódlan, so...it just seemed like the sensible thing to do.” Slinging his arm over the dragon’s neck, he turned a cheery smile on Chelle, leaning his weight against the wyvern’s side. “So: about that ride.”

“...sure,” she agreed. “Why not?” It would certainly save her time, after all -- and the less time she had to worry about carrying a snake, the better.

#answered #anonymous #fire emblem: three houses #fanfiction #bad end au #snippets #i love outsider perspective okay #chelle is great and very loyal to the empire and empress edelgard #but she has a lot to look out for now on her way back #i'm still so attached to almyrans sending snakes to people they don't like #it's a very clear message that's for sure #also claude remains a treasure #and hilda's going by an almyran name for cover purposes #edelgard has no idea they're still alive #and won't until claude comes knocking in about a decade #boy that'll be an exciting way to realize her mistakes

15 notes · View notes

regrettablewritings · 3 years

Text

My Bad Batch Season 1 Finale Thoughts That Nobody Asked For

Spoilers aside from the obvious alert: I actually didn’t mind it

Now, admittedly, this is probably because I’m not a Crosshair stan. If I’m being honest, I actually don’t mind Crosshair as much as I probably should. But my stance on him is more towards neutral-to-appreciating-him-as-a-character.

That being said, most of what I’m gonna blab about is gonna surround the ongoing Crosshair situation (in no particular order) because that’s what we’ve been left with and what most of the fandom is currently up in arms about.

Unrelated, but because I am a fake fan, I never knew Kamino could ever really be sunny and calm. In a weird way, it was a beautiful juxtaposition against something so . . . sad. Like, they finally reach the Marauder at daybreak and after everything they’ve gone through, the storm is gone. It’s calm. Which makes all they’re about to do all the more deafening in a sense.

As stated before, I actually didn’t mind the finale. Was it anything crazy? Not really. My heart rate definitely picked up constantly, but it was admittedly coming from how hyped up the feeling of “anyone could die” was. When I realized at the end that nobody was going to die (yet), I started calming down.

But in-between all that, my emotions were in constant combat with me understanding (or trying to reason out) everyone’s arguments going on.

I see people upset with Wrecker for victim-blaming Crosshair, and I get that -- to a point. Yes, Wrecker knows how the chip works and should be one of the ones most empathetic to Crosshair’s supposed lack of control. However, this only stands to a point. Remember, if Crosshair’s telling the truth (which . . . we’ll get to later), then that means that he was really not responsible for his actions at first. If the chip really had been removed a while back, then his actions up to that point were something he could be held accountable for. I think those parts were the actions Wrecker was referring to, not the whole damn thing.

In a way, I do like how Tech approaches the matter. It’s admittedly stiff and could easily come off as hurtful if used by the wrong person, but it suits how Tech’s mind works and frankly reminds me a lot of myself in how I approach certain, more emotional matters. Admittedly, this is because I read Tech as autism-coded, so maybe that’s why I’m more ready to accept his stance?

. . . Actually, you know what? No: I like Tech’s stance because it’s clear cut and just plain facts. Tech knows his brothers more than what he’s probably given credit for, and his point is correct: You needn’t agree with someone you care for just because you can understand their points. There’s a ton of scenarios that are ethically questionable at best that I can understand the reasoning behind while also recognizing them as potentially morally reprehensible. Black and white are only reached through a spectrum, and it’s not an easy spectrum to traverse. That being said . . .

The other common argument I’m seeing is about how the fighting amongst the original four Batchers (specifically Hunter and Crosshair) seems to go against their whole brotherhood thing. And I’m just gonna throw my two pennies into the ring and weakly say . . . not quite. I’m gonna admit that I may be splitting hairs and trying to make a bundle but I feel like in such a high-intensity situation, it makes sense for neither side to be yielding.

Both sides are hurt: Crosshair is dealing with abandonment and feeling like his brothers “just aren’t getting it”, and as far as his brothers are aware, he’s either been trying to kill them or has been trying to willingly go against what they thought they stood for. Is it the most sensible situation? Not really. But emotional things rarely ever are.

That being said, nobody in the Batch is really all that emotionally mature or aware, though. And I think it’s very easy to forget that sometimes. I don’t know if it’s got to do with the fact that they’re soldiers, that they were rapidly aged and thus didn’t have time nor the environment to healthily explore such issues, the social isolation they more or less experienced due to being different from reds, or what, but it ought to be remembered that Omega is the most emotionally stable of the bunch. Everyone else is sort of just stumbling and trying to reel in what they’re feeling and how to express it without necessarily having the proper tools or experience to do so.

Also, let’s be real: You’re not as pristine as you think. If you were in a similar situation where your loved one seemingly betrayed you, tried to kill you multiple times, then brought you back home to convince you to join the very people who tried to hurt you guys in the first place, only to reveal that they’ve been intentionally working for them for a good while, you’d be hurt at the very least. And when you’re hurt, emotions fly around like a bat stuck indoors: It’s lost, confused, afraid, and in unfamiliar territory so it flails around, aimlessly looking for a way out even when those around it are trying to help it.

Let’s talk about this chip before I forget what I wanna say. I’m disappointed they didn’t bring it up. I need answers just like every other bitch in this fandom because . . . I dunno, I just don’t believe what he says. Something doesn’t quite add up. Or maybe it’s just because deep down, I want to believe he’s good; just difficult. Most likely so wrapped up in his purpose that the thought of being without and having his life all been seemingly for nothing admittedly frightens him. That’s something actually pretty interesting for a guy like Crosshair, considering he wears whatever heart he has beneath at least three fishing cable knit sweaters.

I just would’ve liked some acknowledgement of it -- even if confirmation that the chip was really gone the entire time would’ve hurt me. Like, Omega couldn’t give a knowing glance when sitting in the dark of the Batch’s barracks and say something like, “You know, it’s not too late”. Or, if it was gone, Hunter outright telling him that he knows he’s lying. (Because, like, given Hunter’s abilities, he arguably could be like a human lie detector a la Matt Murdock.)

Granted, it could be something explored in season 2. I’m trying not to get my hopes up, though, in the event Filoni and crew decide once more to paint me up like a pretty clown and parade me through the square. But in all seriousness, if the chip’s presence or absence confirmation is meant to be an actual point of discussion, I don’t think it’d necessarily be a bad thing for it to come up later. I mean, people were theorizing for ages that Rose Quartz was Pink Diamond. And we still stayed watching SU and pretended to be surprised when it got confirmed.

I do think how the group parted ways could’ve been more, as it was emotional but in all the wrong ways. But my constant need to compensate and make excuses for things also flared up. Should the Batch have been more reluctant to leave Crosshair once more? Probably. But they were also probably just done with all this and really took that revelation about the chip to heart, realizing that all they can really do is let him choose. And since he chose the Empire, there’s really only so much energy they could keep exerting. Reminder, these guys are kinda like children and dealing with a very personal situation that they kinda just lack the emotional awareness for.

Am I disappointed in Crosshair’s decision? Of course I am. But I’m not surprised and I understand why he, as a character, would do it. I understand why everyone does what they do, and this just aligns with how stubborn Cross is and what he’s already made clear to his brothers: By serving the Empire, he could still have a purpose.

. . . Or can he?

Okay, maybe I do care about Crosshair more than I think I do. Because we know he’s going to get off Kamino somehow, and it’s most likely going to be through the Empire, yeah? Immediately, my thought was, “But . . . they might kill him. Or at least attempt to.” After all, he let the Batch go. Even if he lies about it for their sake, the Empire will eventually learn the truth. Hell, just the fact that he seemingly let things get out of control before the decimation of Tipoca City could get him a one-way ticket to an execution. Though . . . Crosshair, beyond his skill set, is still a profound soldier: He’s still a competent fighter. Who knows? Maybe this opens up a possible escape scene involving stealing a blaster? Who knows! I love a good fight scene regardless of my feelings on a character!

Though, given his expressions, there’s honestly a good chance that even though he’s willing to lay in the bed he’s made, it doesn’t mean he won’t miss the others. You can make a decision for yourself and stick with it while recognizing the accompanying sorrow.

Though who knows? You could even argue that he may feel in too deep and is just sticking to his guns (no pun intended) because of it. Like he’s clinging to the concept of purpose even at the cost of losing one thing he knows (his brothers) because he feels stuck on the other thing he knows (being of use to a higher power). There’s frankly a lot that could be discussed here but don’t get me started.

But I digress. I get why the Batch left. I get why Crosshair wanted to stay behind. Yes, it could’ve and probably should’ve been a bit more emotional regardless of how tired everyone probably was of everything because this is their brother. Whom they’re parting ways with once again, and there’s no telling when they’ll see him next and if that next time, they’ll be his targets once more.

(But I think that may be giving too much credit . . . One of the other complaints going around that I firmly agree with is how not enough characterization for Tech, Echo, and Wrecker was given for most of the season. They were more or less boiled down to their specialties for gimmicks than given much to say or do besides when thrust into action scenes. This is honestly probably why I really liked Tech voicing his own personal stance on Crosshair: It’s the closest thing we’ve gotten all season to how he feels. The closest we got from Wrecker was him admitting to missing Cross, and Echo never really says anything on the matter at all to my recollection. [Admittedly, Echo is the newest member and thus doesn’t have the years the other three do under his belt, but surely by now he’s formed some sort of opinion on the guy he’s done at least eleven missions with!])

It hurts regardless of how you feel or whose side you’re on because you know something about this isn’t right, whether it’s because you know they do care for one another but have to part ways, or because they both made decisions that you just didn’t want them to make. It sucks but things like this (and by “this”, I do mean something more along the lines of familial or even platonic conflict, not having your home blasted to kingdom come in a whole imperial plot your brother was somewhat tied to) are never cut and dry. If they were, things would be so much simpler. But if they weren’t, we wouldn’t have as many stories, painful as they are.

I’m not a big supporter at all of creators taking advice or story ideas and cues from their fans via Twitter and other social media. But what I do hope is that Filoni and crew do a bit of a stronger job at approaching these very emotionally-driven subjects next season, rather than just letting them fall to the wayside until it becomes convenient. Not saying that filler episodes or breathers are a bad thing, they just seemed to take up a lot of this season. Though who knows, maybe they’ll come back into play specifically because of what the Batch did. (You know, in this particular show. I already know some of these guys appeared in other SW shows . . .)

Overall, I think I’d rate this episode 6.5/10. Nothing crazy, but nothing terrible. I probably could’ve just waited until normal people hours to watch it instead of setting an alarm for 3am, but I’ve definitely spent my witching hours in worse ways. If anything, though, it left me melancholic. But, hey, there’s a season 2 on the way. I know the saying is that there are no happy endings in Star Wars but . . . hey, if people can believe in Crosshair, I’m allowed to believe in a happyish ending. I suppose, in a way, it’s kind of like a sunny, stormless day on Kamino: Never thought they existed, but they can eventually happen after much strife.

#i'm writing this at 4am can ya tell #the bad batch spoilers #bad batch spoilers #bad batch #the bad batch #I sure do have a lot of opinions on a clone who ain't even my favorite . . .#aw well #long post #i probably have other thoughts but i need to be cut off before i go on tangents #tbb spoilers

5 notes · View notes

jaxl-road · 4 years

Text

The League of Extraordinary Rockstars, ch.6

Summary: LA is a hub for music and mutants, making it the perfect place for Motley Crue, Guns N’ Roses, and countless other mutant musicians to call home. But it’s not all easy, especially when it comes to finding a decent place to live. So what better solution than moving in together in the mansion of an immortal? Love, drama, and super powers. If nothing else, it’ll be interesting.

Chapter Warnings: Language, genderswap!Steven

AN: This is a collaboration between myself and @the–blackdahlia! It combines elements from her fic “It’s So Easy (And Other Lies)” (specifically her genderswapped!Steven) and my super powered GnR series. It is completely AU and ignores timelines like Woah, but hopefully you’ll have as much fun reading it as we’re having writing it! Let us know what you think!

~~~~~~~~~~

Stevie shut the door and was surprised to find Duff’s lips on hers within seconds of the latch clicking. She let him kiss her for a moment before she ducked to the side and sat on the edge of her bed.

“I meant actually talk,” She laughed.

“Oh, that wasn’t just an excuse?” Duff’s cheeks were red, “Oops.”

Shaking her head fondly, Stevie chuckled and patted the mattress beside her, “It’s okay.” She waited until he was sitting beside her to continue, wringing her hands nervously. She was well aware that there were a million ways this conversation could go wrong, including Duff storming out angrily and never speaking to her again.

“So, I wanted to talk because…” She fumbled to find the right words, “I really like you,” she finally blurted out.

“I… like you too?” Duff responded slowly, “Not that I don’t like hearing it, but didn’t we kind of have this conversation last night?”

“No, yeah, we did,” Stevie cursed herself. Why was she so bad at this? “I just wanted to start with that because… something happened earlier today.” Duff opened his mouth to respond, his face painted with concern, but Stevie cut him off, deciding to just rip the band-aid off, “I almost kissed Izzy. Or, we almost kissed each other. I wanted to kiss him, because I have a crush on him, and I thought it would go away after we got together but it’s not.”

For a moment, they stared at each other in silence, Duff’s face blank before quietly responding, “...Oh.”

"I'm sorry, and you'll probably hate me, but I was talking to Kelly earlier-"

"That's never a good idea."

"-and, he suggested maybe we could try inviting Izzy in…"

Duff blinked in surprise, “Invite him… huh,” he hummed in consideration, “Well, first of all, I definitely don’t hate you,” he smiled shyly, and Stevie couldn’t help but sigh in relief.

“Good,” She laced their fingers together, “because I don’t want to lose you. That’s the whole problem. I like both of you, and can’t bring myself to choose one of you over the other, y’know? But…” she frowned, looking up at him, “would you be okay with something like that? I don’t want you to feel like you have to do something if it makes you uncomfortable.”

“I just… I’ve never been in a relationship like that," Duff admitted.

“Me neither,” Stevie answered, “But, I mean, if Izzy is okay with it, then we can figure it out together, right?”

Duff let out a huff of laughter, “That’s true. And I mean, Izzy is pretty great…” he trailed off, tugging on the dark strand of hair by his neck absently.

Stevie blinked in surprise, “Wait, really?”

“Well, yeah, I… I mean he’s, y’know…”

Stevie felt her jaw drop as she watched a blush spread across Duff’s cheeks as he stuttered. “Oh my God," she exclaimed, "you have a crush on him too??”

“What? No!” But Duff was still blushing, “It’s not a- I mean it’s Izzy, and he’s so-... I haven’t thought about it before!” He shoved her shoulder lightly as she burst out laughing, “Oh shut up!”

"Izzy and Duff sitting in a tree," Stevie sang.

"Oh shut up, you like him too!" Duff started tickling her sides, making her laugh.

"Mercy! I give!" Stevie tried to pull away, but Duff pulled her back, tickling more. Soon they were both out of breath, collapsing to lay next to each other on the bed. After a few minutes, Stevie chuckled, “Man, I envisioned this conversation going a lot worse.”

“Honestly me too,” Duff admitted, “You said you wanted to talk and then you said you liked me and I kept waiting for you to say ‘but just as a friend’.”

They both laughed, “No, I like you just a bit more than that,” Stevie replied, leaning over to give him a quick kiss on the lips. Flopping back onto the bed, she hummed in thought, “So… how do we do this then?”

Duff hesitated before answering, “Do you mind if we wait a bit before talking to Izzy? Or at least sleep on it?” he asked, “I really am down to try this, but I’m still wrapping my head around being with you. And I wasn’t lying when I said I hadn’t really thought about Izzy, y’know, that way before.”

Stevie giggled softly as a faint flush spread across his face again, “You suuuure about that?” she teased, poking his cheek.

Lightly slapping her hand away, Duff pouted, “I don’t- it’s complicated!” He shoved a pillow over Stevie’s face when she started laughing again. “Look all I’m saying is, could we maybe take a day or two to think more about it before we figure out how to bring it up to him?”

In truth, Stevie was impatient. If she had her way, she’d have them knocking on Izzy’s door right now. She’d spent so long wanting both of them, and now it felt like they were so close. Like she had a solution to everything she wanted right at her fingertips. She didn’t want to wait.

But she understood where Duff was coming from, and hey, she’d managed this long, so what was a few more days? She still had one of her boys, and that was already more than she thought she’d get.

“Of course,” she nodded, “that’s totally fine.”

"Good. Now, are we gonna ‘talk’?" Duff wiggled his eyebrows.

"Oh my god, you're horrible," she laughed, lacing her fingers with his, "But the best kind of horrible."

~~~~~~~~~~~

Izzy sighed as he watched the sky outside his window slowly lighten as morning came. He had slept fitfully, and he knew he should grab some breakfast soon given that he had skipped dinner the night before, but he couldn’t seem to make himself get up and face the day. He was well aware that he was moping, but who could blame him? Rolling over to face the wall, he cursed himself for letting himself get his hopes up.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t known Duff was also crushing on the drummer, so how did he really think this would end? Between the two of them, Izzy didn’t stand a chance. Duff, who was so tall, and bright, and handsome. Who smiled and laughed nearly as much as Stevie, and literally made the sun shine for her.

"Why would she even like me?" Izzy mumbled to himself. As he laid there, his mind continued to dwell on the tall drink that had won her heart. That perfect smile, those long legs, the way he would belly laugh when he told those really lame jokes...

….Wait.

“Why do I have a type?” Izzy groaned. “Why does all this shit happen to me?” He pulled his pillow over his face. It wasn’t fair. Pining after one friend was bad enough, he wasn’t about to brood over two. Nope. Not doing it.

Suddenly, a loud BANG BANG BANG sounded against his door, startling him so bad he fell through his bed, grunting as he landed on his back and blinked up at the bottom of his bed frame.

“WAKE THE FUCK UP, STADLIN!” Axl’s voice boomed. How did he manage to be so loud without using his powers? “You’ve had three days off, you lazy fucks, time to get back to work!”

Izzy groaned, listening to Axl’s voice echo through the house as he continued his mission of rousing the members of Guns N’ Roses.

"Holy fuck!" Axl screeched as he backed out of Slash's room. Izzy raised an eyebrow as he walked through his door.

"What's wrong? See slash naked?" Izzy laughed.

"Who said he could have fucking snakes?" Axl snapped.

"That's called a penis, Bill." Izzy teased. Axl glared the guitarist down.

"Fuck you, Jeff," Axl huffed as he walked off. Heading downstairs, he made his way to Duff’s room, but frowned when he saw the door open and no one inside. He shrugged it off, figuring he would track the weather witch down later. Grinning, he placed himself in front of Stevie’s door.

“UP AND AT ‘EM, SUNSHINE!” He yelled, raising his foot to kick the door loudly.

However, he miscalculated the strength of the old door, and instead of simply banging loudly as he had intended, the kick sent the door bursting open. He stumbled forward in surprise, flailing to regain his balance. Cursing quietly, he braced himself to be chewed out by the drummer.

Looking up though, he found himself staring down not just his drummer, but his bassist too. Duff and Stevie had both shot up in bed at the sound of the door slamming open, their hair a tangled mess of blonde and a very notable lack of clothing on either of them.

For a few seconds, the three merely blinked at each other. The Axl broke into a slow, sly grin.

“Oh. My. God.”

Just like that, Duff and Stevie were broken from their stupor, both scrambling to pull the sheets over them, Stevie holding a pillow in front of her chest as she shrieked, “What the FUCK, Axl?” her eyes wide and face bright red.

Axl covered his mouth, trying to stifle his laughter, "I, uh, well, you see…"

"What's going oh-oh holy shit!" Slash stood there. "About fucking time!"

"Get out!" Stevie shrieked, but that just sent more people running to her room. Duff flopped onto his back, burying his face in his hands as their housemates crowded around their doorway.

Nikki and Tommy cheered when they peeked their heads in, “Yeah, dude, get it!” Vince wolf whistled, Baz yelled something about getting a camera, while Kelly and Mick stood in the hallway shaking their heads.

“Remind me why I agreed to this living situation?” Kelly sighed.

“Beats me. I always knew you were whacked in the head,” Mick mumbled. He then stepped forward, calling out, “Hey, like, half of you owe me fucking money now!” He was met with a chorus of groans as Axl, Baz, Nikki, and Tommy, reluctantly handed over crumpled dollar bills.

“You were betting on us??” Duff’s indignant voice cried out.

Kelly snorted. He saw a dark shape out of the corner of his eye and when he turned he found Izzy standing beside him, a carefully neutral look on his face.

"Hey Izzy," Stevie waved at him, but Duff saw her light dim when he didn't even acknowledge her.

"Hey grumpy gus," Baz laughed.

“Of course I’m grumpy, I got woken up by fucking Axl pounding on my door,” he grumbled, trying to cover for his sour mood.

“Hey, we all got woken up by Axl,” Slash countered.

“He literally kicked my door in!” Stevie chimed in.

“He woke me up nicely,” Sebastian smirked, resting his chin on the top of Axl’s head and winking as the rest of the group groaned and gagged.

“Yeah, well, in case you all forgot,” the red head huffed, “we’re supposed to be in a fucking band. I gave you all three days off, time to get the fuck back to work.”

"Can I at least put clothes on?" Stevie asked.

"Does she have to?" Tommy pouted. Duff glared at him.

"Guys, get out so Stevie can change," Kelly started pushing them out but stayed in the room. "Man, that was tough."

"Everyone means you too, Kelly," Stevie growled.

“Aw come on, it’s not like it’s anything I haven’t seen before.” His teasing smirk dropped when a loud roll of thunder sounded above them and he sighed dramatically, “Fine, fine.”

When the door finally closed behind him, Stevie moved the pillow from her chest to her face and groaned loudly into it. Duff pat her back sympathetically, “All things considered, I think that could have gone a lot worse.”

"Izzy looked pissed," Stevie sighed, "And Axl needs to learn to knock!" Duff noticed that Stevie's light was dim, like when she was sad. He pulled her close to him.

“Hey, maybe he really was just mad at Axl,” Duff wasn’t sure he himself believed that, but it certainly wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility, “Plus, he always looks at least a little pissed,” he teased.

"Tommy says he needs to get laid," Stevie giggled. There was a bang at the door.

"Hurry the fuck up or so help me…" Axl growled. Stevie sighed.

"Let's go," she told Duff. The both got dressed, Duff opting to just throw on his clothes from the day before which were laying on the ground. On their way out, Duff grabbed his bass from his room before they made their way over to the rest of the band.

On the other side of the house, between the living room and the kitchen, was a room that they were pretty sure was meant to be a dining room. But they had piled the household's various instruments, amps, and equipment into the room to turn it into a makeshift practice space. It was here that Duff and Stevie found Izzy, Axl, and Slash waiting for them.

"About time," Slash laughed, "Too busy working out that mattress?"

"Oh shut up," Stevie rolled her eyes and went to her drums. "I hope you're not out of tune, babies." She ran her fingers on the drums.

"Bet you want her to touch you like that," Slash elbowed Duff.

"Don't we have anything better to do, like fucking practicing our music?" Izzy snapped.

Stevie, Duff, and Slash all whipped their heads around to look at him, eyes wide at the rhythm guitarist’s outburst. Duff bit his lip, seeming conflicted, and Stevie looked like she wanted to cry, but before any of them could say anything, Axl darted over, throwing an arm around Izzy’s shoulders.

“Thank you! At least someone here is committed to the dream,” he ruffled Izzy’s hair, his hand slapped away almost immediately, and as Izzy stared down at his guitar, Axl sent a warning glance at the other three. “Well? Let’s get a fucking move on.”

Izzy risked a glance up at Stevie when Slash and Duff went to their places, and he felt his heart break. She looked so sad, and while she normally had a bright aura to her, today it was dim.

Fuck, what did he do?

The guilt ate at him, but he didn’t get too much chance to dwell on it. Axl was quick to start barking out orders, warming up his voice while the others checked their tuning, and anytime Izzy felt himself start to fall back into his dark thoughts, the red head would suddenly be there antagonizing him, poking his side and demanding that he replay the chorus of some song or accusing him of being off rhythm or clapping at him to play faster. The self deprecating thoughts couldn’t stand up to Axl’s snapping voice.

It wasn’t long before all of them finally were able to get lost in the music. They fine-tuned the songs they wanted to record next time they snagged some studio time, ran through some old favorites, and talked about a few melodies they hoped to expand on. Still, when they all agreed to call it a day, all it took was a glance at the two blondes for Izzy to feel his heart sink again. Placing his guitar on his stand, he didn’t even bother saying anything as he exited the room.

“Izzy-” Stevie’s voice called after him, but he ignored it, only walking faster. As he passed through the kitchen, he spared a moment to snag a bottle of whiskey off the counter before continuing up the stairs. As he ascended, he heard footsteps following after him.

“Iz.”

He walked faster, taking the stairs two at a time.

“Izzy, hang on!”

As he slipped through the door into his room, he hoped that maybe he would be left alone. He just wanted to drink, and wallow, and maybe break something.

But there was no hesitation in the fist that banged on the door, “Let me in, Stradlin.” Axl’s voice wasn’t loud, but it was firm.

“Go the fuck away,” he growled back.

The knocking continued. Izzy’s door had been locked since the day he moved in. “I swear to God if you don’t open up this fucking door I’m going to kick it in, I’ve already done it once today, I’d fucking love to be two for two.”

Izzy pressed his fists against his eyes, his teeth grinding in frustration. Axl would do it, he knew he would. Glaring heatedly, he stormed over and threw the door open, “What, Axl? What the fuck do you want?”

“I want to make sure my best friend is okay,” Axl bit back.

“I’m fine,” Izzy ground out in response, “Is that all?” He moved to close the door, but Axl threw his arm against it, forcing it back open.

“Come on, don’t fucking lie to me.” For a moment Axl looked like he was going to snap out something else, but then he paused. Sighing gently, his face softened, “Look... I’m sorry. About Stevie,” Izzy practically flinched at the name, but Axl continued, “I just… I’m here for you, okay? You don’t have to deal with it by yourself. I get it, man. I understand-”

“How the fuck could you possibly understand how I feel?” Izzy suddenly snapped, throwing his arms out as the words spilled out of him like a broken dam, “You have no idea what it’s like! You have Baz! You have the person you love, and you’re together and happy and… fuck!” He slammed his hand against the wall in frustration.

Axl had taken a step back during the outburst, staring up at Izzy with wide eyes. There was a moment of silence as they stared at each other. Then Axl’s eyes narrowed.

“You think I don’t know what it’s like?” His voice was a low hiss, not loud or high pitched, but Izzy could still feel the power in it- could feel an ominous vibration in his sternum as the words hit him.

The singer took a step forward, and this time it was Izzy who backed away as he continued, “You honestly think I don’t know what it feels like? To love someone who doesn’t love you back- who will never love you back? You think I don’t understand feeling like the person you love more than anything is so close but still out of reach? That I've never had to watch them love someone else while I pieced myself back together by myself? Are you really that fucking blind?!” His final words were emphasized with a harsh shove, sending Izzy stumbling back a few steps.

Izzy blinked, speechless, trying to wrap his head around what was happening. Axl’s eyes looked glassy and wet even as he snarled quietly, “Fuck you, Jeff.”

Pivoting on his heel, Axl stomped out, slamming the door shut behind him. Izzy listened to the faint sounds of footsteps retreating downstairs before he sat heavily on his bed. For a few minutes he could only stare blankly at the floor.

Then he grabbed the whiskey bottle and took a long, long drink.

#getting into the fun part aka ANGST #Guns n Roses #gnr #motley crue #fem!Steven #duff mckagan #slash #axl rose #izzy stradlin #Nikki Sixx #tommy lee #Vince Neil #mick mars #superpower au #my writing #other people's writing #fun fact: Jax is addicted to italics

37 notes · View notes

loveafterthefact · 4 years

Text

Love After the Fact Chapter 20: Good Intentions (that backfire horribly in one way or another)

TFW you say something horribly rude and almost immediately feel bad about it but you're also absolutely right and feel like being petty so you're still a little bit of an asshole about it and basically you're sorry but you're not SORRY, y'know what I'm saying?

Also, 'fuck' is a Galra swear because I can do what I want

TRIGGER WARNING(S): -Use of the word 'rape' -Implications of hypothetical physical violence

First Previous Next

As they approach the castle, Adam is waiting for them, tablet in hand and looking quite stressed. “Prince Yorak, where have you been?”

“Out.” He doesn’t feel like talking. He's tired after the long day.

“Prince Yorak, King Alfor has been anxiously awaiting your return. He wishes to speak with you. Come quickly.”

“Actually,” Keith says, vaulting from the shreika. Lance takes its reins without a second’s hesitation, back unusually stiff, fluid grace abandoned. “I don’t think I’ll be doing that. Please excuse me.”

Keith walks off in the direction of the hole in the wall, suddenly unwilling to return to his prison just yet. Perhaps he only just remembered it was a prison.

“And what do you expect me to tell him, your Majesty?!” Adam calls, voice pitched higher with stress. Keith finds he barely cares. “I’m not a magic spell!”

“Tell him whatever you like! I’m sure you can come up with something sufficiently endearing, shy, and benign!”

"You forgot demure! Could you at least try to take this seriously?!" Adam howls as Keith slips away into the dark.

Keith knows that this won’t be the end of it, but he’s not sure what else to do. He’s in no mood to speak to Alfor after hearing what he’s been doing to Lance. And what might Lance do, given enough time, enough pressure? The prince has little control, but he's a powerful alchemist. With enough focus, Lance probably could do whatever he wanted to Keith. Keith could put up a fight, but then he’d end up executed for treason or some other such nonsense.

No, Lance would never do that. Keith trusts Lance.

All the same, he’s trapped. He’s also not behaving as an adult but that’s just the problem: he’s not an adult. But the royals wouldn’t wait a damn decaphoeb or find somebody else and now here he is trapped in a marriage among a species that only cares about how quickly they can continue the line of succession.

What an utter mess. But he’s not sure what to do, so he slips through the gap in the wall and sits beside a stream he found only yesterday. He sighs, pulling on the end of his braid as he contemplates having never felt safe in his life. When he was little, his father had promised that one day, they'd take Krolia and wander the stars, discover new worlds. Akira had wanted to take him to a place called Earth, to meet the people who gave him his name. The knowledge of how to find this 'Earth' -the planet with the least-inspired name ever- had died with his father. He couldn't go if he'd wanted to.

He'll likely be on Altea for the rest of his life. What a depressing thought.

“Thought I might find you out here.” Keith leaps to his feet, expecting to see Lance, but finding Alfor instead. "I heard you found a way to sneak out. The wall exit is the easiest to find."

Keith hisses, ears pinned back against his head. He reaches for his blade as the king merely raises an eyebrow. Alfor raises his hands, doesn’t move from his spot by the stream. “You can relax, Keith. It’s Keith, isn’t it? My son has mentioned that’s what you like to be called.”

Keith relaxes, but only slightly. King Alfor is exactly who he doesn’t want to see. “What do you want?”

The king regards him, eyes strikingly tired. “Walk with me.”

Keith follows Alfor, rolling his eyes once the king’s back is turned. “What do you want?”

“What do you think of me?” Keith snorts, keeps his mouth shut. “No really, I want to know.”

“Not, you don’t. You want me to kiss your ass.”

“I have my ass kissed every day, Keith. If I wanted more of that I'd join you and Lance in court. Go ahead. I can take it.”

“Fine. You’re an arrogant bastard, a shitty father, and fucking awful person.”

“What is ‘fucking’? It sounds delightfully vulgar.”

“Excuse me?”

“Oh, my apologies. I didn't mean to interrupt.”

Keith narrows his eyes, takes a deep breath. It's too tempting. This man has tried to use and abuse and manipulate him since he got here and now, being invited to speak his mind for the first time since he was appointed a lord on Daibazaal, he can't resist.

“Gladly. You presume to know the wants and needs of your people while you play warrior king in your study. You look down on your son with disdain and do little to encourage or speed his progress. You seem largely indifferent when it comes to his life, interests, happiness, and general well-being, and worst of all, you’ve been harassing him this entire time trying to convince him to rape me!” Keith pauses, waits to see if he’s committed enough treason yet.

“Continue.” Well, he must do as his liege commands. Besides, it feels amazing.

“You’re disgusting! I am a kit! Your son holds onto his morals while you tell him to abandon his basic principles, pin me down, and fuck me while every instinct in my body screams at me to fight him until my last breath! If my people knew, they’d go to war over me! If your people knew, you’d be overthrown in a day! Rumors run rampant in your court and spread anxiety among the people; your method of rule is archaic; your laws are outdated, convoluted, and contradictory; your infrastructure is weak and crumbling while Lance attempts to hold it together with glue, a wish, and a prayer to your ancestors!"

Keith's voice gets higher and higher, louder and louder as four phoeb's worth of frustration makes its presence known. Granted he's not speaking about Daibazaal's state, but he'll scream about that next time he sees Zarkon. “This entire place is pathetic and you clearly know far more of centuries of slaughter and promoting sexual assault than you do of actually running a kingdom!" Keith glares. "Coran seems pretty okay, though.”

“Yes, Coran is quite wonderful, isn’t he?”

Keith snarls, claws digging into his fists. “That’s all you have to say?”

“All of what you said is true.”

“I agree- Wait. What?”

“I am an alchemist and a soldier, not a leader.” Alfor sighs. “You’re a kit and clearly you’re more capable than I am.”

“I still hate you… Why the fuck are you a king?”

“I married a princess, as was prearranged from the moment of my birth.”

“Try and put my kits into an arranged marriage. I dare you,” Keith hisses, choosing to make this clear now as opposed to later. “I fucking dare you! You do this to them and I will fuck you up!”

“The kits you’re currently incapable of bearing?” Keith’s ears stiffen. He keeps his teeth bared, the ruff along his back tingling as the fur rises. “I’ll commit that to memory.”

“You do that! And I’m so sorry my being a kit is an inconvenience to you.”

Alfor sighs, stops. “No, my people’s culture is a danger to us all. An Altean marriage is not considered official until consummated. Technically speaking, you and Lance are not married, which makes this entire alliance extremely delicate.”

“Perhaps you should have found a way to sort your shit out without trading your children like fucking livestock,” Keith hisses.

“Perhaps. Perhaps I should have done a lot of things. Like appointed a regent, or spent more time with my son.”

“For a start. I’m not backing down on the arranged marriage thing, just so we're clear. Why be a king if you’re not at all competent?”

“My children. When Melinor died, we were still at war. There had already been an attempt on Melinor’s life while she was with child, which ultimately succeeded. We managed to prolong her life until Lancel could survive outside the womb. Then Coran, with the help of our surgeon, removed my premature infant from his mother before he could die with her. I feared that the moment I abdicated, my children and my lover would be slaughtered. Only the royal family and staff are permitted to live inside the castle walls. Once we left, it would only have been a matter of time. I’ve since done the best I can for my people, but like I said…”

Keith took a deep breath, swallowed. This had taken an unnecessarily dark turn. He felt a little bad. But only a little. “Alchemist and soldier. A scholar with a sword. Also, selfish.”

Lance would have done better, made a stronger decision, one that kept both the kingdom and his family alive.

“It is a pretty cool sword though. And so is this.” Alfor steps aside, revealing a crack in a rock face.

Stepping through the crack in the rocks, the only thing Keith can think is that he’s likely to be murdered here. A single chirp echoes through the dark. Keith clamps his jaw shut, reaches for his blade just in case. It’s a grotto, water bubbling up, pooling from beneath the ground, flowing from the walls. Vegetation clings to the walls with roots like spindly fingers. The air is cool and moist, but not overly so.

Alfor sighs, sits on the ground, legs straight out in front of him. “This is one of only three above-ground water sources on Altea, and the largest. There are organisms in this grotto that are found nowhere else in the universe. It is also where I taught both my children to swim.”

“You brought small children to a tiny, isolated ecosystem to teach them to swim.” It must be nice, abusing power. Though Alfor was likely just peering into a microscope, periodically glancing up to make sure his children hadn't drowned.

“Yes. It’s one of the few solid memories I have of myself with my children.”

Keith steps forward, cautious, takes a seat on the ground cover vegetation a few dashes from the Altean. He lays his blade in his lap.

“I did everything I could. I dreamed of learning, excelling, leading my people to some golden future, the king that never should have been, but was. Sometimes, that’s simply not how it happens. And it became clear that while I am a soldier, I cannot lead my people to victory against the Galra. So I sought out other solutions.

“Look at this grotto. Even on a planet without rain, there is still water, still life. In here, there are lives so unique they cannot exist anywhere else. The organisms in this pool will die if I bring them even a spot beyond that little crack in the rocks. When I wed my daughter to Prince Lotor, when she walked hand-in-hand with him, hand-in-hand with Romelle onto that imperial ship, I thought she too might cease to thrive. Imagine my selfish bitterness when I find that she has blossomed into something even more beautiful, that she, her husband, and her lover are growing closer and that perhaps I, in my desire to keep my children as safe as possible, have smothered them.

“In trying to protect them, I have constrained them. I have made them restless, frustrated, and useless. Now, my daughter concerns herself with bringing constructive leisure to your people with the benefit of lowering minor crime and I’m fairly certain my son is steadily worming his way into every nook and cranny of the entire planet and gradually tweaking laws while hoping, for some obscure reason that I won’t notice that he’s finally given up the pretense of not giving a quiznak.”

“You know it’s a pretense?” Keith asks, reluctantly curious.

“Of course I know it’s a pretense. People don’t just suddenly, magically care. When I made a tiny comment that perhaps implied I would perhaps like more support in my research of interstellar tardigrades and Coran showed up the next day with a comprehensive tablet of everything my people know about the little delights, do you think it is because he suddenly became deeply invested in what technologies might be inspired from pseudo-extremophiles? Of course not. Which is why he did not assist me in my research.”

“I… don’t follow,” Keith mumbles.

“He made a one-time effort to prove that he cares, not about tardigrades, but about me. I have not heard a word from him since aside from asking how my research is going when I seem particularly happy or particularly tired. Lance, however, has gotten married and now mysteriously shows up to hold court on the regular, sober and accompanied occasionally by you instead of a different prostitute each movement. I’ve even heard a rumor he’s even finally bothered to learn what taxes are.”

Alfor chuckles, and all Keith can think of is how unbelievably sad that laugh sounds. “I’ve no idea what he’s up to, but my son is far, far smarter than I ever gave him credit for.”

It’s Keith’s turn to laugh, quietly because he hasn’t laughed out loud since he was very small, but it’s a genuine laugh all the same. “You really want to know what he's up to?”

“Yes, I really want to know.”

“He wants…” Keith sighs, smiles. “...to be a hero. Loved and admired and adored as the beautiful, young king who guided his people into that golden era.”

“So you think my son is beautiful?”

“What?! No, that’s not what I-”

“That’s what I heard.”

Keith can hear the taunts in the king’s voice. “Well I don’t know what you heard but-”

“That’s fine. I know what I heard.”

“Did you miss the part where I can’t currently be attracted to anyone including your son?”

“No, no. I got that. But I still think you like him and I still think you find him pretty. Everyone does. Unless of course you wish to tell me that you don’t find my son pretty, in which case you have found the line. Insulting my entire person is fine, but telling me you don’t find my son beautiful? Unacceptable.” Alfor wags a finger at him, grinning.

Keith rolls his eyes. “Fine. I like him. He's a likeable person. Don't expect anything more than that.”

“That’s fine. I’d just like for the two of you to be friends.”

“I’ve… never had a friend before,” Keith whispers, tail thumping on the ground. “Maybe Shiro, my adoptive brother, but that’s it. I like being Lance’s friend. He's... good. I feel like with people in this circle that's not as common as it should be. It makes life harder.”

Keith says nothing about the rumors Lord Lanval spoke of. He’s Lance’s spouse.

“Lance is… He’s a good kid, I think. At least, he wants to be good. I can see that now. I see this burning desire to prove himself and make a difference. I admire his idealism, even if it’s unrealistic.”

“He is making a difference. It’s already started. The alchemy will take more time, since his heart is so distracted, but I can teach him how to use a sword, help him fulfill that silly dream or at least feel like he is. You’ve got your men fighting robots-”

“Fewer injuries. Theoretically.”

“It’s close, but not as good. You’d do better employing imitation weapons. All people think differently, at different speeds, and have different styles of fighting. Fighting a robot doesn’t tell you that your opponent broke their leg as a child and never had it set properly. It limits learning. I can help.”

“Anything else?”

“For tonight?” Keith squeezes the handle of his blade, watches it extend into a sword, inspects himself in it. He looks different, now. Not just healthy, but pampered and soft. Like the overbred little whore his mother told him about. He pushes a lock of hair out of his face. “Your gate should make a noise when it opens. For security. A silent gate means all someone has to do is take out your guards and they just just walk right in without alerting the castle.”

“You say that like taking out guards is easy.”

“It is. Silently and one at a time.”

“Understood. I’ll get it fixed. Now, we should get back, before Lance decides to tear the castle apart looking for us. But one more thing.” Keith looks up at the Altean. "I understand that you despise me, but do try not to ruin what little relationship I have left with my son."

"I won't," Keith whispers. He hates this man and finds him grossly incompetent, but has a begrudging respect for his efforts and devotion to his family. If, gods forbid, it ever came down to the lives of his own children and Lance were gone, he'd likely do the exact same thing. No. He wouldn't have to. He'd call Shiro. “Does he know? How his mother died, I mean.”

“No. We told him she died when he was three. He’s formed memories, based around images of her. He swears they once played in the valley while the juniberries were in bloom… He doesn’t need to know. Melinor chose between herself and him, and he doesn't need to know that.”

Keith says nothing. Lance seems very much unlike the person to manufacture memories of a deceased mother when he has two fathers, but what would he know? It’s not like said fathers have been particularly active in his life. Who knows? Maybe Keith has false memories of his own parents.

His thoughts come grinding to halt as a burning rock falls to his feet in front of him. “Uh… Alfor?”

#LoveAftertheFact #LAtF #klance #galtean au #galra keith #altean lance #adashi #altean adam #galra shiro #voltron legendary defender #vld

14 notes · View notes