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swiftsalchemy · 3 years

Text

Snow White - Diluc Ragnvindr

A/N: I had a dream about this last night & ever since I couldn't help but think about it. so now I'm writing this to make sure it gets stuck in your head too. remember to drink water! :) also this may not be written the best since I’m really sick atm and a little out of it.

summary: diluc ragnvindr is in love with you and a certain brunette woman gets a little too jealous

pairings: diluc ragnvindr x female!reader

warnings: poison, themes of death, fluff

word count: 3.7k words

It was safe to say that you were the most desirable woman in Mondstadt. Not only were you pretty, but you were kind and incredibly friendly. You also were quite the hard worker - always going out of your way to help others in need. Despite working as Lisa’s assistant in the library from the early hours in the morning to late at night, whenever you got a break, you would always head into the center of Mondstadt and help any way you could. Your most favorite person to help out was Diluc Ragnvindr.

You often stopped by the Angel’s Share on your breaks and would help serve people drinks to ease the workload on other’s in there - even Diluc himself. Due to this, you often saw Diluc and you two grew rather close. Even though you were a worker in the Knights of Favonious, he admired how desperate you were to help those who lived in Mondstadt whenever you could. Plus, you were always so kind to others - no matter how rude anyone else was to you.

Occasionally during your late nights helping Diluc at Angel’s Share, you two would share those special moments. You two never kissed nor brought it up to each other after the fact. However, your meeting gazes, almost too close bodies, and hands overlapping or bumping into each other caused you both to slowly fall for each other.

Diluc often would be extra sweet to you and bring you lunch and gifts while you were at work. Sure, he didn’t like being in the Knights of Favonious building but if it meant that you were taken care of while you were at work it brought him a peace of mind. Rumors spread like wildfire around Mondstadt that you were Diluc’s girlfriend. You both always denied the rumors, but your actions towards each other made the entire town not believe you two.

Most of Mondstadt liked the idea of you two being together, two hard-working citizens finding comfort in each other. However, there was one woman who despised you for getting so close to Diluc, Donna. She believed you had used witchcraft on the firey red-head and bewitched him into dating you ( which you weren’t even in that kind of relationship anyway ). So, she wanted to take the matter into her own hands and end whatever relationship you and Diluc were sharing.

Donna had heard of a local witch that lived just outside of Mondstadt who specialized in poisons. One night, Donna had left the stone walls that echoed the whispers with the rumors about yourself and Diluc, her recallings of everyone talking about you two only fueled her enragement more. She walked over the stone bridge and into the nearby forest. She had only a dagger and a lantern that emitted a yellow glow out into the dark woods. Unlike you, she had no hydro vision that balanced out with Diluc’s pyro vision so well. She was just a normal girl who lived a very unimportant life.

Eventually, Donna made it to the wooden cottage where the witch lived. It was so dark and menacing looking ( even with her lantern lighting up the building ). A part of her wanted to turn around and go back into her safe home. However, she would never turn away this chance to make you pay for stealing her precious Diluc away.

The woman gingerly approached the rotting wooden door of the cottage and raised her fist, knocking it softly against the door. Donna waited a few seemingly long moments, her heart racing with each fleeting second. Slowly, the door had opened before Donna and a tall, youthful woman stood before her. The woman looked around her mid-twenties and had black hair that flowed from her scalp to beautifully. There wasn’t a single dark curl that was out of place. Glowing yellow eyes peered at Donna as she sized the visitor up.

“ Let me guess what you’re here for, one of my varying poisons, no?” The tall woman asked, her voice melting in Donna’s ear. It was so collected and warm - it matched perfectly with the vibe the woman had.

Donna nodded, “ yes ma’am. I need a poison that’ll kill the woman who seeks to take away my lover,” she answered, her previous rage was bubbling back up in her chest. Donna despised you.

The witch laughed, raising a pale hand to cover her red-stained lips. “ None of my poisons kill. However, they all are extremely difficult to reverse the effects of. It’ll take far much more than an antidote to wake your victim up from their deep slumber. “ For a moment, the woman disappeared back into her dark cottage. Donna narrowed her eyes, trying to find the woman and see what she was doing. However, it didn’t take very long for the witch to come back to the door. This time, she held a woven basket filled to the brim with apples in her fragile hands.

“ Here, these will do your job perfectly. Just give one to your victim and watch as your victim chokes on the poison-filled apple and falls into a deep slumber,” she spoke, holding the basket out to Donna.

Donna took the basket, holding the handle tightly in her free hand. “ How much do I pay you?”

The woman shook her head, “ there’s no need for that. I do not require payment, Mora is unnecessary to me. “

“ Oh- ok. Thank you ma’am, I really appreciate it,” Donna said before the witch nodded and closed the door on Donna - ending their conversation. The brunette smiled slyly as she looked down at the basket with poisoned apples in her hands. Finally, she would get her revenge on you. Making everyone believed you had died and then she would swoop in and be the shoulder Diluc cried on. From there, she would make him fall for her. It was a perfect, foolproof plan.

Donna eventually made her way back to Mondstadt. She blew out the light on her lantern and slid her hood further down to cover her face. She knew around this time you would just be walking home from Angel’s Share. It was the perfect place to poison you, no one would be awake to see it.

She spotted you approaching your house, and Donna began to make her way over to you. “ Y/N!” She called out excitedly, acting as if you two were the best of friends. The woman was excited, not to see you but to see you suffer right in front of her eyes.

You turned your gaze to look at Donna, a bright smile adorning your face. “ Donna, hey!” You called out back, making sure to keep quiet and not wake up your neighbors. “ What’s up? Is something wrong?” You asked Donna as the woman approached you.

“ No... No, nothing’s wrong. I was just out apple picking, people say they’re best picked at night, and I wanted to have you try one. I trust your judgement and wanted your insight on if I should put them in a pie or not,” Donna explained, trying to make sure that you couldn’t tell she was lying about the situation.

You eagerly nodded. “ Sure, I’d love to! I’m pretty hungry anyway,” you responded, your voice so full of kindness and innocence. For a moment, Donna almost felt bad about doing this. However, she couldn’t risk you getting with DIluc and taking him away from her forever.

Donna took the shiny red apple on top and handed it over to you, another wicked smile coming onto her lips as she watched you take the red apple with your hand and hold it up to your lips - taking a large bite out of it.

An initial taste of sweetness hit your mouth and you were about to tell Donna how good it tasted when suddenly the chunk of apple got stuck in your throat and a new bitter taste emerged. Everything that was in your hands dropped to the stone pavement below you as you lifted your hands to your throat. Trying to cough up the bite of apple that was stuck in your throat. You couldn’t breathe and the bitter taste was getting worse by the second. Your eyes met Donna’s for a brief moment and the friendliness that was once in her eyes got replaced by pure hatred and amusement of your suffering. You felt betrayed, someone you trusted had just fed you a poisoned apple and was smiling about it.

Diluc, who wanted nothing but your safety, had followed you home. Always staying a good distance away so you couldn’t tell that he was following you. When he turned the corner to look at your doorway, expecting to see you enter your him, his heart dropped when he saw your body stumbling back and a cloaked figure standing before you.

Donna glanced behind you, her body panicking when she saw a familiar firey red-head rushing in her direction - having just watched the whole thing unfold. She quickly turned away and began sprinting away from the scene. The last thing she wanted was Diluc knowing that she was the one behind the whole thing.

Just as you were about to fall backward onto the pavement, losing most of your body strength and consciousness, Diluc had just gotten to you and caught you in his arms. He held you tightly, your back resting on his forearms. He almost though about chasing after whoever did this to you, but the moment his eyes saw your struggling body and pained face any desire to chase your attack vanished. Now, all Diluc wanted was to get you to help. He wasn’t about to see another person he loved so dearly die in his arms again.

He lifted you up in his arms, holding you bridal style and he briskly began to make his way to the church. Diluc didn’t know how to help you and he knew that one of the sisters would be there and could get you to Barbara to help. Every step he took, he moved his legs faster and faster - feeling your breathing slow and seeing your eyes start to close. The apple chunk had almost finished dissolving, leaving poison now running into your system. As he ran, flashback’s from his father’s death began replaying in his head. He couldn’t let you die, he wouldn’t let it happen again.

Diluc had just barged into church, startling all of the sisters that were inside praying, when you had succumbed into your deep slumber. The sisters had quickly rushed over to Diluc, staring at your seemingly lifeless looking body.

“ Get Barbara please,” Diluc said, some what annoyed by their lack of action. At once, one of the sisters left and rushed into a side door of the church. Moments later, she returned with Barbara and Acting Grandmaster Jean.

Jean was startled to see Diluc standing in the church looking so distressed. Until her gaze fell on your body being held tightly in his arms. “ What happened?” she asked as the trio got closer.

“ I was following Y/N home as usual when I saw her stumbling away from a cloaked figure. When I got to her, she was struggling to breathe and losing all consciousness. Can you help her?” He asked, trying to keep himself composed. The last thing he wanted was for everyone to see him get upset.

Barbara nodded, “ I can take a look at her. Do you know what the person might’ve given her?” she asked as Jean carefully took your body from Diluc’s arms and held them tightly in hers. After that, she began to carry you to the infirmary.

“ No- But I can go back and see if there was anything left behind that would’ve caused this. I’ll be right back, “ Diluc responded back to Barbara. At once, he exited the church and ran back to the front of your house just as quick as he ran leaving there. He looked around on the dark ground, looking for anything that looked like it could harm someone.

At first, he almost went back to the church empty handed when the gleam of a round object hit his gaze. Diluc walked over to the object and crouched down and grabbed the object. Upon closer inspection, it was an apple with a bite taken out of it. He lifted the apple to his nose and inhaled the scent from the bite. There was an overwhelming amount of sweetness, that would’ve masked a bitter smell if Diluc wasn’t used to sniffing out different scents from his wines. He took the apple away from his face, furrowing his eyebrows. There was no doubt that this is what the person used to harm you. The apple was laced with something. Standing back up, Diluc once again made his way back to the church.

Back inside the church, Jean set you down on one of their open beds. Staring down at you sadly, feeling sympathetic for Diluc. Despite his greatest efforts, Jean knew that he was distressed. The others may not have, but she could see it as clear as a sunny day. Barbara entered the infirmary shortly and took a seat next to the bed you laid on. The younger girl looked at you, studying your body movements. You looked still, as if you were dead, but the girl felt a faint heartbeat. You were still very much alive.

The familiar red-head came back to the church, this time bringing an apple with him. “ This was all I found. It’s not a normal apple - there’s an unusual scent on it,” He explained to Jean and Barbara, handing it over to them.

“ Thank you for bringing this to us. I’ll have Albedo and Sucrose take a look at it later,” Jean said, nodding her head at Diluc. “ If anyone can find out what’s something’s made up of - it’ll be those two. I know you don’t like the Knights of Favonious, but please, put your trust in us this once. We’ll figure out what’s wrong I promise. I suggest you go back home and get some rest, go back to your daily life. It’ll be a while before we can try anything to get Y/N back to good health.”

Diluc didn’t trust the Knights. They had let him down in a time of need and they could very well do it again. However, he did trust Jean and if she made a promise, she would see that her promise got fulfilled. “ Alright,” he gave in, letting out a tired sigh. “ Please, as soon as you find something out. Let me know.”

“ I will,” Jean told him, giving the man a tired but honest smile. With that, Diluc said his goodbyes and walked out of the church.

_______________

Albedo and Sucrose eventually came back with the results of their testing they did on the apple. They had discovered that there was a poison inside of it. Not a deadly one, but something to keep a person quiet for a very long time.

The citizens of Mondstadt took quick notice of your absence everywhere and was constantly asking Knights where you were. So much so, that Jean had to release an official statement that you were currently terribly sick and bed-ridden for a long time. Which wasn’t that far from the truth. Barbara and the rest of the sisters had all tried their hardest to find some antidote for the poison that seemed to ever linger in your system but to no avail. It’s like there was no cure and you were doomed to stay in this state forever.

As much as Diluc tried not to, he couldn’t help but lose faith in you ever waking up again. Donna had seen his saddened state and couldn’t help but smile to herself, her plan was working. However, as much as she tried to get close to Diluc and be the person he vented to - all of her efforts were for nothing. The man didn't want to talk to anyone that he didn’t have to. Her grand plan had his a wall. Especially when one day Barbara barged through the doors of Angel’s Share, a brand new idea on how to wake you up.

The blonde approached the bar Diluc was working at, heavy breaths coming out of her mouth due to the fast running she had just stopped doing. “ Diluc... I have... an idea...” Barbara said in between pants.

Diluc looked at the Deaconess furrowing his eyebrows at his words. Had she really come up with something that might wake you up? “ What is it?”

“ You know, in those fairytales about how true love’s kiss is the strongest thing? Well, what if you...” She trailed off, hoping Diluc picked up on what she was saying. It sounded childish, but it worked in every fairytale she read so who says it can’t work now?

“ You want me to kiss Y/N in hopes that’s what can wake her up?” Diluc asked in disbelief. He set down the glass tankard he was cleaning on the wooden top of the bar.

“ Yes, I believe it’s worth a shot.” The two stood across from each other in a long silence. Before Diluc nodded, letting out a sigh. Barbara smiled at his agreement to the idea. Jean was actually the one who encouraged Barbara to bring it up to Diluc, she knew he was desperate and would try anything. No matter how outlandish it seemed.

The two made the all-too familiar walk to the church in silence. They entered the infirmary, Diluc frowned at the state of you still under the spell of the poison. He thought for a brief moment that maybe this was all just a hoax and when they arrived at the church, you would actually be awake. However, his hopes were false and this crazy idea Barbara had was really a possible antidote.

Jean looked up from her pile of work once she heard the footsteps enter the infirmary. She gave Diluc a tired smile and stood up from her seat, stretching slightly. “ Barbara and I will leave you two alone. I do hope this works,” Jean said softly, walking past Diluc and grabbing Barbara’s hand as they left. Leaving only Diluc and your almost still body alone in the room.

“ This is bizarre,” Diluc whispered to himself as he approached your bed and looked down at you. He leaned down, his face hovering only inches above yours. Slowly, he closed his eyes and closed the remaining distance, connecting his lips and yours. He kept his pressed against your soft ones for a few seconds, resting the palm of his hand on your cheek.

A few moments passed and he opened his eyes, standing back up. He watched your body for a moment, biting his bottom lip in anticipation as he waited for something to happen. Just as he was about to leave the room in defeat, a twitch of your eyelids made his chest soar with happiness.

Slowly, your body was starting to wake up. Your eyes fluttered open and the the first thing you saw was the cream colored ceiling of the building you were in.

“ Y/N...?” A voiced called out from your side and you slowly flickered your gaze to your right, seeing Diluc standing next to you. His face contorted with disbelief and happiness. You quickly sat up, moving to stand up, when Diluc’s strong arms had picked you up. He pulled you into a tight hug as he buried his face into the crook of your neck.

Diluc held you in his arms for a long time, not wanting to let go of you anytime soon. It felt like hours before he gently unwrapped his arms around you - only pushing you far enough away so he could see your face. The man tenderly put a gloved hand on your face and another on your hip, looking into your eyes with his that were full of love.

You remembered what had happened that night all up until entering the church. You didn’t know how you woke up or how long it was from Donna feeding you that apple to now.

“ Diluc, how did I wake up? What happened after I came here?” You asked, your voice hoarse.

“ Well, we found out that you ate a poisoned apple, Barbara and the other sisters tried everything to wake you up. Eventually, Barbara came up with the idea of a true love’s kiss...” he trailed off, feeling slightly embarrassed about it. “ That’s what worked.”

You only nodded, trying to hide the smile that wanted to appear on your face. “ Than you, for waking me up.” You two continued to stare at each other, adoration and love in both of your eyes. Without even thinking, Diluc leaned back down and put his lips against yours. You almost instantly melted into the kiss, enjoying the warmth of his lips being on yours brought.

“ Oh my- are we interrupting something?” One of the sisters said, startled by the scene that was before her. Diluc and yourself quickly pulled away from each other - your cheeks a matching shade of red.

“ Uh no... we were just leaving. I wanna get Y/N back home safely now that she’s awake. Tell Barbara and Jean that she’s better now and to visit the Dawn Winery if they wanna ask her questions or visit her,” Diluc said, taking his hands off of your face and waist and grabbing her hand with one of them.

Together the two fled the church, unknowing that Barbara and Jean were right there watching as the two lovers were rushing off with each other. The two sisters looked at each other and smiled, it’s always the craziest of ideas that worked out in the end.

_______________

Despite eventually going back to work and living your normal life, Diluc was much more protective over you now. He made you live at the winery with him and would escort you everywhere. Especially if it was at night. He promised that he wouldn’t let history repeat itself. He would keep you safe at all costs.

#diluc imagine #diluc x reader #genshin impact diluc #diluc ragnvindr #diluc headcanons #diluc ragnivindr x reader #diluc fluff #genshin diluc #diluc #Genshin #genshin impact #gensin impact #genshin impact headcanons #genshin impact imagine #genshin imagine #anime imagine #anime imagines #imagine #fairytale au

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cellsshapedlikestars · 3 years

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If you are accepting prompts--how about Sansa and Jon being on opposite sides of a political contest? Prime Minister Rhaegar Targaryen is forced to call a referendum for Northern independence, as demanded by the Northern Nationalists party. He is campaigning in the North for a United Westeros, taking his second wife Lyanna Stark and their son Jon along, toshow how hollow all talk if Northern independence is. However, this means that Jon keeps running into his Stark cousins, particularly Sansa Stark, who accompanies her parents to every debate and campaign rally...

I've been sitting on this for a while (and yes, I do see all the anon prompts, I promise!) and I've sort of been writing this on and off since I got it. The thing is, I have no point of reference for these politics, I'm assuming you wanted something like the Scottish independence movement, which I have almost no knowledge of as I am a dumb American who can barely handle American politics without spiraling into anxiety and depression. So, I've sort of talked around the specifics and hopefully I haven't gotten anything too crazy wrong.

Also, you mention his Stark cousins, but... well, I cannot do modern incest. I can handle them being cousins in olden times where it was acceptable & common (I can't even handle the sibling incest aspect in any time period), but I was writing this modern and that's a hard nope for me. I know it's a fairly predominant part of this fandom and if it's your thing, absolutely have at it! There is no kink shaming in this house. It's just not for me and I couldn't write it, sorry!

Also, as usual, this turned out longer than I intended since these are supposed to be drabbles mostly. But 'drabbles' for me always end up like 2k words

Jon sits in the window seat of the jet, headphones on and turned up. Somewhere behind him, he knows his parents are sitting, likely talking strategy. He knows dad wants him to join in, but Jon's in no mood to talk politics. It's what got him in this situation to begin with.

That stupid reporter. Jon's stupid response.

Jon! How do you feel about Northern Independence?

I say let them.

It's what he believes, honestly – if the North wants independence, why not? The rest of the SK treats them like shit anyway, why not let them break off, like Dorne did? It's not a naming issue – they're still called the Seven Kingdoms despite losing Dorne decades ago, so what if they're technically only six now? Jon knows it's about more than that – it's economics and politics and... well, pride. The SK can't lose another piece of their kingdom – nevermind that piece has been conquered and beaten down multiple times over hundreds of years. Northern Independence isn't a new concept – it's just been met with military resistance every time and stamped out. But they aren't in the middle ages anymore.

For a moment he turns his head to look behind him – to see mom with her head bowed in conversation with dad and something ugly twists in Jon's stomach.

He knows dad only married mom because she got pregnant – because his political career was just taking off and a mistress and bastard would have ruined him. And mom, she'd been so young, she's convinced herself he married her for love. Jon swears that mom used to be different. She used to argue with Rhaegar all the time about politics, he even remembers her bringing up Northern Independence when Jon was just a kid. But over the years she's had to play the perfect wife for him and somewhere along the way it just... stuck. Mom isn't his mom anymore. No, mom is what Rhaegar's political advisors want her to be.

So even though Jon had wanted to protest this trip, there's also a part of him desperately clinging to the hope that when they get North, mom will snap out of it. When she's home, maybe she'll be his mom again.

Especially since the leader of the opposition is an old friend of hers.

Ned Stark.

Dad doesn't react to much, he's a politician to his core, so seeing him get riled anytime Ned Stark is on TV is notable. In fact, there's a rebellious part of Jon that already likes Ned Stark simply for the fact that dad hates him so much. There's more to like than just that, Jon knows – Ned Stark seems like one of those politicians that's doing the job because they want to make a difference. They're rare, nowadays, but Jon's been surrounded by politicians his whole life and he can spot the do-gooders from a mile away.

He thinks it's partly why dad hates it – Ned Stark doesn't use the same underhanded tactics Rhaegar's used to, and from everything Jon's heard, there's nothing to use against Ned. The only skeleton dad's advisors had ever found tucked away in Ned Stark's closet had been that his wife, Catelyn, had originally dated his older brother Brandon, who died in a car accident. They'd begun dating and married shortly after - a minor scandal that hadn't gained any traction, considering they've been married for over twenty years with five children.

Dad was hoping to get somewhere with the youngest daughter, Arya, who always seemed more wild than the rest of her siblings (except maybe the youngest, Rickon). The problem is that she's never done anything really wrong and the North loves her. The oldest son Robb is as perfect a son as any politician could hope for and Jon sometimes wonders if dad would rather have Robb than Jon.

The other two sons are still fairly young and going after them would only make dad look like the bad guy. Then there's Sansa.

Jon remembers her from growing up – not that he'd ever met her, but they're both kids of prominent politicians and he's seen her in photos since she was old enough to walk. A proper lady, he remembers even the southern press naming her. Perfect, just like her older brother.

A hand on his shoulder jolts him out of his thoughts and he turns to see mom, who motions at him to take off his headphones.

“We're landing in a half hour and your father would like to go over your role,” she tells him with a perfect, bland smile. (She hasn't been his mother for a very long time.)

“I know my role,” he says and he can't help the bitter tone to his voice. “Stay quite, don't talk to the press. Pretty easy to remember.”

“And yet you still managed to nearly undermine my entire campaign with one flippant remark,” dad's voice calls over from his seat, low and smooth, though Jon absolutely hears the annoyance underneath it.

“Oh, he's just a child,” mom says, trying to play the peacekeeper like she always does.

“He's twenty, he's hardly a child,” dad starts, but Jon doesn't listen to the rest. He pulls his headphones back over his ears and looks back out the window and tries to pretend he's anywhere else.

…

By the time they reach Winterfell Castle, Jon is in a bad mood.

Not that he hadn't been before, but he's not allowed his headphones in the limo and so he'd had to listen to dad talk nonstop about his two favorite topics: Jon's failure as a son and how much he hates Ned Stark. And the way mom doesn't even try to defend Ned Stark like she used to infuriates Jon even more.

Jon hates his tuxedo and he hates that they barely had any time between landing and having to get ready for this dinner and he hates that he's going to have to smile and shake hands with a bunch of people who hate him on principle, simply for who his father is. For what his father represents.

When he does step out of the limo, he ignores every photographer and reporter that shouts his name, eager to get any sort of scandal out of him.

He doesn't blame them for this, he's given them enough over the years – not just his apparent support of Northern Independence, but everything else he's done to gain his notoriety. His reputation as a heartbreaker and a playboy that's mostly over-exaggerated, that time he punched a teacher (though to be fair, Thorne deserved it)... Teenage rebellion, they'd written it off as, but he's no longer a teenager and he knows he should grow up and stop doing things to piss off his father at some point.

(His favorite one had been sleeping with that investigative journalist when he was seventeen. She'd been older than him by a good few years and he'd known she was using him to write an article, but he was using her just as much to infuriate his father. His only true regret is that Ygritte's article hadn't done any real lasting damage to Rhaegar's reputation.)

Inside, there aren't any reporters but there are politicians everywhere and that's worse. He does the bare minimum to not cause an issue – he shakes hands and says hello, though he refuses to smile while doing it. They already hate him for being Rhaegar Targaryen's son. They already hate him for being Northern-traitor Lyanna Snow's son.

He keeps an eye on mom to see how she's doing and his heart twists painfully in his chest when he sees her. She has a bright smile on her face and anyone who didn't know her would think she's fine, but Jon can see how pale she is under her makeup. This is the first time she's been back in the North since she married dad and he has a sudden, sharp pang of hatred for Rhaegar – for getting her pregnant, for marrying her, for never letting her go back. For turning her into this.

He can tell the moment Ned Stark enters the room because mom freezes. And sure enough, there he is – beautiful wife at his side, the three adult children with him. Robb, Sansa, Arya. Jon's eyes scan over them – Robb with his perfect hair and smile, an easy way about him that's always come through even on camera. Sansa standing poised and almost too beautiful to believe – Jon's only ever seen her on film and somehow she's even more unreal in person. Arya, who by all accounts hates politics as much as Jon does, stands firmly by her family and Jon gets the sense she only hates the system, not her dad. Not like Jon.

As Jon scans the room, he can see other families here that he recognizes – the Greyjoys, including Robb Stark's best friend Theon. The Manderlys, the Karstarks, the Ryswells, the Boltons, the Mormonts. More families than Jon cares to remember.

There's a sense of someone behind him and he turns just enough to see that dad has come up to stand next to him. For a moment, dad just stands there before turning his head ever so slightly and bringing his mouth close to Jon's ear and he says so low Jon can barely even hear it - “if you do anything to embarrass me tonight, there will be consequences. If you do anything that makes it seem like you support this pathetic independence movement, there will be consequences. Do you understand me?”

Jon feels blind rage that winds so hot in his chest it makes him shake and his vision narrow. He has to close his eyes and take a deep breath before he can answer, and he grits out, “of course.” Dad nods and moves away, putting on his best politician smile as he goes to greet Howland Reed.

Mom shoots him a concerned look, but Jon ignores her. He can feel it building in him – that rebelliousness the press likes to talk about so much. He wants to hurt Rhaegar. For everything – for his mother, for all the people dad's stepped on and hurt. He wants to embarrass him, consequences be damned.

Just as he's thinking this, his eyes catch on copper hair and bright blue eyes.

Sansa Stark.

Darling of the press. Perfect Northern princess.

It takes root in his mind, against his better judgment. What would make Rhaegar more furious than an affair between his son and the daughter of Ned Stark?

Jon can't imagine Sansa would be amenable to the suggestion, not like Ygritte had been – there is no mutually beneficial agreement here. She would never agree to do something that might embarrass her father (and once again, Jon is reminded of the, pun intended, stark difference between his relationship with his father and the Stark children's relationship with Ned. Jon has never even met them in person and he knows this).

So he can't approach her with any sort of offer or plan. No, he'd have to pretend it was real.

He's going to have to seduce Sansa Stark.

#jonsa #prompt fic #ask #oooh boy do i know nothing of politics #and political families #do not @ me #is this boring?#probably #jonsa fic

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queerenteen · 3 years

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Your top five 🌊 Fanfics? Any fandom works

Running on Air by eleventy7

Draco Malfoy has been missing for three years. Harry is assigned the cold case and finds himself slowly falling in love with the memories he collects.

This is one of the first fanfics I read seriously, and I did it the day before my prelims paper.

I still don't regret it--this is one of the most hauntingly gorgeous things that I have ever read and builds up in a fantastic slow-burn with a shroud of mystery wrapped around it. Cannot recommend it enough.

Until My Feet Bleed and My Heart Aches by reiya

‘…Of all the rivalries in the world of sports over the years, perhaps none has become so legendary as that of Russian figure skater Viktor Nikiforov and his rival, Japanese Yuuri Katsuki…’

A single event changes the course of Yuuri’s life, throwing him into a bitter rivalry with Viktor Nikiforov that spans across his entire skating career. But as the years go on, rivalry and hatred begin to develop into something very different and Yuuri doesn’t seem to be able to stay away, no matter how hard he tries.

Hatred and love are two sides of the same coin and even though everything changes, some things are still meant to be.

This is beautiful. I absolutely adore this au, with an amazing enemies to lovers scenario.

It is a what it could have been, perhaps even more dramatic than the original, and somehow, some things turn out the same anyway.

The Art of Burning by @hella1975

Zuko had never excelled at anything. Azula was a prodigy. Uncle always knew what to say. And Father... Father was strong, iron-like. But Zuko had only ever been good at surviving. Putting one foot in front of the other in a grim show of stubborn determination, gritting his teeth and bearing it. Survival was all he had ever been taught. He knew how to do it. So when he was kidnapped by the Southern Water Tribe, he expected to fight as he always had. He didn’t expect to be taught instead how to live.

In a warring land, the Water Tribe forgave the enemy in an act of defiance. For this, he was torn from them, and this time, his wounds won't heal so easily.

Forced back into nothing but survival, the last person Zuko expected to see was Hakoda's son. Hakoda was a promise of safety. The relentless blue of Sokka’s eyes was a promise of happiness. Zuko could have both if he just reached out his hands, but he found them clutching into fists. After all, he’d been burned one too many times.

But hey, at least between Hakoda and Sokka, Zuko could appreciate the family resemblance of pure, asinine stubbornness.

Can I just say how amazing this fic is?

I went into it for the zukka and instead got an absolute masterpiece, with some of the best character dynamics, plot and stunning writing.

I love it so much and I know that this is another one that I will keep coming back to when it's done.

Anachronism by chellethewriter

Catra clenches her fists. She won’t let it happen. She won’t endanger their future. “We can’t change anything. We’ll just have to wait, and do everything the same way we did before.”

Adora grabs Catra’s shoulders. Her grip is so tight, it’s nearly painful. “But do you realize what that means for us? Playing along. Letting things go the exact same way as before–”

Catra’s expression darkens. “I know,” she says, struggling to keep her voice from trembling. “You’ll have to leave. We’ll have to be enemies again.”

*** Years after defeating Horde Prime, Catra and Adora inexplicably wake up in the past—on the day that Adora first found the sword. If they're going to make it back to the present, they'll have to relive their past from start to finish, pretending to be enemies despite being in love. Despite being married. Despite knowing exactly how the story ends.

But it's not easy, waging war against the person you love most.

Okay, it's not easy to make Catra and Adora's past even more painful but this one really takes the cake.

Going through these horrible, painful events--pitted against the person you love most once again, just to get back to the future you remember?

It is breathtaking, highly recommend.

area cryptid upset no one bothered to inform him of his tragic backstory by crimsonseekers

“My life is a nightmare,” Dabi muttered blankly.

“Nah, this is hilarious,” Hawks said, and while he wasn’t explicitly laughing, Dabi knew that those weird little chirps he was letting out were pointed at him. “Imagine if we go through all this effort and you don’t even have some sort of dramatic background or tragic backstory to justify you being this emo, you’re just a hot topic junkie or something.”

“That’s fucking worse.”

Or,

Dabi has amnesia and keeps reading conspiracy theories about himself in an attempt to figure out who he is, gets the League in on it, and they dismantle organized crime, revolutionize society, and ravage the hero system in the process. Hawks suffers.

Dabihawks is such a good ship and this is god tier content right here. I read this fic and then two days later immediately reread it. Enough said.

(I really shot myself in the foot with the whole top 5 so instead, I'm just giving all the top fics from the fandoms that I have)

Lynchpin by @shanastoryteller

He can’t get Jin Guangyao’s words out of his head.

If he’d only believed in Wei Wuxian, if he’d only been willing to stand up for him, could it all have been avoided?

Yunmeng Siblings get to live happily ever after because Jiang Cheng changes the timeline.

The fix-it fic where the entire cultivation world is saved from ruination with the help of time travel and a good bit of communication.

Company by galori

You’ve never minded eating alone (before.)

Or: Asami and Korra are both intelligent, just in different ways.

Modern au where Asami is the CEO of a company with the stain of her father's legacy and Korra is an ecologist who wants to create and protect to the best of her abilities. Their paths intersect and once they do, there is no untangling them.

Not enough people have read this--everyone go read this now, it is absolutely amazing.

Okay, I have so many more fics that I want to talk about because these are all my novel-length fics but for now, here's my bookmarks (I love them all)

#fanfics #harry potter #drarry #yoi #victuuri #taob #atla #zukka #catradora #spop #dabihawks #bnha #mha #mdzs #yunmeng trio #wangxian #korrasami #tlok

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root-admins · 3 years

Text

SINoALICE x NieR Replicant - Weapon Stories

A complete compilation of all weapon stories from SINoALICE’s NieR Replicant collab... well, the ones that has lore to do with NieR anyways.

Whatever grammar mistakes/translation errors belongs to Pokelabo, and you will tell there are some. Most are stories are pretty self-explanatory tho.

Grimoire Weiss

We fought for what seemed like ages. To kill those things that took a twisted human form. To protect those precious to me, with my own hands. We were deceived for so long. Deceived by people in a land we've never been, whose faces we've never seen Issuing orders from a safe distance. We must have been in love. And despite the fact I couldn't save you, but I never got to thank you for saving me. These fragments glimmering deep in my depths... they seem to be the vague memories of people... the faded remnants of human wisdom... H-hold on! I’ll have you know my name is not “Booky Wooky!” You may call me "Grimoire Weiss" I am a great compendium of ancient wisdom. Treat me with respect!

Grimoire Noir

My name is the Black Book. Are you the king who will lead the world to salvation? Don't be so surprised, Your Majesty. For me, it is a simple matter to speak human words. I sympathize with your distress, Your Majesty. On this occasion, however, we have no choice but to let them deal with your sister. When sorrow overtakes you, you may come to me and speak of your tribulations. Reading is an admirable pursuit. Your Majesty--for me?? I shall peruse this volume if it comes on your recommendation... What is that? You think it odd for a book to read a book? Noir? I would prefer to dispense with this nickname. My name, Your Majesty, is the Black Book. I am a grand tome of human wisdom... thus, to refer to me by such a curious moniker is, dare I say, inappropriate.

Kaine’s Sword

She was slender, with smooth, white skin. The hint of a dark shadow in her expression highlighted her beautiful features. But something about the sword in her hand didn't seem to fit the picture. Anger, sorrow, hatred. When emotions overwhelmed her, she would swing the sword, so there was never a lack of blood to quench its thirst. The problem was that she couldn't put the sword down. A heart and body in constant conflict. No one in the world could understand her. And loneliness was eating her alive. The long war came to an end, and darkness devoured her. But her heart remained at peace. Because she faced fate in the arms of the one she loved.

Halua Head

File_25_10: Update Soon twins will be arriving. There is nothing at all in the white-walled, prison-like room except for a white bed. If only there were something to do in there... File_25_12: Update I went to look in on them, and the girl was kindly encouraging her anxious younger brother. The two of them had heavy expectations to fulfill. The weight of all humanity's hope bore down upon them. File_26_06: Update The day of the experiment, the girl passed me a letter. To the very end, she wanted someone to watch over her brother. Once I agreed, she quickly ran away. Report: Human Weapon Development Things seem to be progressing as expected with Experimental Subject A (Sister), but her condition has changed drastically. In her present state, she seems to have no sense of self. I am urgently beginning work on Experimental Subject B (Brother).

Devola & Popola’s Staff

－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－ Dear Popola, Thanks for that soup recipe! My mom loved it! －－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－ A note received from a child in the village. Does this mean they are developing a sense of self? －－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－ Dear Popola, Thanks to the medicine you gave me, I'm feeling a lot better, though I can't leave home yet. Just sending a note to say thanks. －－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－ According to our records, humans wrote their feelings down on pieces of paper, and sent them to others. Where did they learn to do such a thing? －－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－ Dear Popola, I like you a lot. Will you be my girlfriend? Waiting to hear back. －－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－ I simply cannot understand the things they have written on these scraps of paper. I feel an unfamiliar feeling, my heart saying “no”… －－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－ Dear Popola, Sorry I couldn't tell you in person, but I'm coming home late tonight. Go ahead and sleep if you're tired. －－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－ Ah, Devola. No need to worry about me this way. Tee-hee.

Favorite Pot

Yonah, I learned a special recipe! When you eat it, all your injuries will be gone! Oh! I want everyone to feed it to those they care about!

The ingredients are deer meat, sea turtle eggs, fresh veggies and herbs from the garden, and lastly tons of scorpion claws! Next, fill a pot up with all your ingredients, place the top on, and let it simmer overnight! The white steam rising from it is just so mesmerizing. ...Oh! I think it's ready! Smell for a soft scent when you take the lid off. That means it's done! I can't wait to give it to grandpa.

Transience

"Rule 0: You have the right to disband a rule by vote." I am the king's aide and second-in-command. Until now, all rules have be absolute, however, a "Voting Rite" was held where citizens could vote to change rules. Now, let's see what sort of ballots were made...

"Rule 451: Consuming alcohol is forbidden during the daytime." And stated as the reason is: because I like drinking... Because it's anonymous, all these votes are based off selfish desires. We need to improve the system somehow that reflects public opinion.

"Rule 356: Royal inquiries are limited once per day." And stated as the reason is: because I long to be with the King more...? Could this Fyra's vote...? No. Of course not. She's not the type to be interested in love. Moving on...

"Rule 68: The King's aides are to forever serve at his side" Reason being: Thank you for all your hard work. You deserve a break once in awhile... Could this be from the King himself? I'm honored to have stood by your side all these years. And the citizens of this country are proud of your work. There's no doubt of it.

Note: After rigorous deliberation, "Rule 451: Consuming alcohol is forbidden during the daytime", the most voted for rule, was repealed.

Grimoire Weiss ver.1.224

My name is Grimoire Weiss. I am an ancient tome of profound wisdom. After awakening from my long slumber, I traveled the world with my most beloved friends. She was a woman lacking respect for her elders. She'd continuously talk down to me, calling me nothing but paper and even set me aflame. However... Her rash words were also the driving force that moved us all. He was a compassionate and gentle boy who loved his friends. His manor of dress was odd, but his kind words warmed everyone's hearts. This I know to be true. I wonder if he, too had felt any relief from his sins. He was a cheeky guy, but not one you could just leave behind. We've been through a number of rough times together. I'd tell ya about it, but... I'm running out of time. If... If only I had an arm... Then I could have...hugged...him...

Grimoire Rubrum

It's the silk of fate. Knowing you, I shall begin living a life of truth. It's the forbidden fruit. Protecting you, I shall sink into wisdom's abyss. Those are the flames of anxiety. Thinking of you, I shall endure eternity's darkness. That is a reunion of bitter tears. Who are they? Why is it not me who's besides you?

Kaine’s Dual Blades ver.1.224

I craved it. Blind violence and blood-thirsty carnage. And I found it. I finally found it. A vessel stained with anger and hatred, seeking vengeance for the murder of her parents. I possessed that woman and gave her "power." That power turned the woman into a beast. One swing of her blade was enough to cut through stone and her grazes healed in an instant. She began downing every foe before her in the name of vengeance. I was delighted to witness the fruition of my desires. The woman's destruction didn't end there. After having her revenge, she continued to exert her "power" for the sake of her friends. Along her journey, her anger and hatred showed signs of waning, however, I gave it no thought. All I desired was to continue bathing in her bloodshed. Because her body has reached its limit, her power has lost control. Still, in the midst of the clashing of blades, I could feel her desire to protect her friends. Yes, this is the violence and carnage I crave. But why is it deplorable and empty?

Devola & Popola’s Spear

Upon hearing an old lady from the village caught a cold, I immediately collected my medicinal herbs with some boiled water, and rushed out from the library. I nursed her and remained by her side until her symptoms calmed down. She was extremely grateful for it.

I read a picture book to a group of children from the village. It was of an old tale about a brave, courageous man who triumphs over evil. I watched their expressions alternated between joy to sorrow to the story's pacing. I'm glad they enjoyed it.

Devola and I performed a song for the people at the village tavern. In addition to the regulars who drank there, elders and children were part of the audience. At the end of our song, the entire crowd smiled and cheered.

Every day Devola and I have been staying late at the library thinking of a plan to make life easier for the villagers. They're indispensable "vessels" for the project, so we need to do what we can for them.

Letter to the Postman

I was in a dimly lit cabin when I met a kind man. He taught me how to write a letter. What should I write on a blank piece of paper...? ―――――――――――――――――――――――――――― ――――――――――――――――――――――――――――

Apparently, a letter should start off with the name of the person you want to give it to. Of course, I'd want it to be his. I hope he'll be able to read my sloppy handwriting... ―――――――――――――――――――――――――――― 　　Hans ――――――――――――――――――――――――――――

At the end of the letter should be the name of the person who wrote it. Of course, that would be the name he gave me. Is it odd my chest feels warm writing it...? ―――――――――――――――――――――――――――― 　　Hans 　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　Luiz ――――――――――――――――――――――――――――

And in-between these two names, I'm supposed to write how I feel. And tell him what I want the most. I wonder if he'll be happy to receive this...?

―――――――――――――――――――――――――――― 　　Hans, Thank you　Thank you　Thank you Thank you　Thank you　Thank you　Thank you 　Thank you　Thank you. Luiz ――――――――――――――――――――――――――――

#nier #nier replicant #sinoalice

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rex101111 · 3 years

Text

Drink, Drown.

Fandom: Fate Grand Order.

Rating: E (tho this chapter is M)

Chapter 1: The Truth is in the sake. And no one likes bitter sake.

Summary: Raikou and Shuten are tasked with finally putting their hatred for each other behind them. Things go horribly, and then less horribly.

Raikou No Minamoto was certain she had never found a cup of sake more distasteful than the one she was currently holding in her hand. Looking at it rationally, there was no real reason for her to hold this sake cup in such contempt.

It was perfectly serviceable, made of finely polished red clay and containing alcohol of such quality she’d be surprised if her venerable father had any in his vast stores that could match it. The problem was not with the cup, or the sake, but rather the person, the annoying insect, that was offering it to her.

Lounging as a queen on a throne was Shuten-Douji, drinking her own cup of sake with a pleasured flourish. Her long coat hung very loosely around her figure, hiding nothing of the oni’s lithe body save for what was covered up by those ridiculous undergarments that counted as clothes the same way a gnat counted as a horse.

(Raikou expertly hid the breath she had to take to center herself when she found her eyes roaming over the demon’s form, and if Shuten noticed she was polite enough to play along like she hadn’t.)

Raikou herself, sitting stiffly with her knees on a pillow, was dressed as she usually was, the purple silk of her own clothes hugging her curves as it always did. Though now she found that fact oddly grating in a way she found hard to describe, as she made minor adjustments to her posture and tugged at the fabric.

The two servants were alone, in the middle of the day, seated across a simple table in a room far away from the general hustle and bustle of Chaldea. The goal of this situation was both simple and utterly absurd to anyone who had known the two servants for more than two minutes each.

They were sat down in this room, Shuten’s (which explained all the alcohol), and told that they would not be allowed to come out until they could get along. Or at least come to some mildly peaceful arrangement that would have them stop trying to rip each other to pieces every time they passed each other in the halls.

She still couldn’t believe their Master had convinced them to do this.

“You haven’t touched your cup!” Exclaimed Shuten with wounded grace, having already polished off two bottles in less than an hour and was barely showing any signs, “don’t tell me the scion of the Genji can’t handle her liquor! The shock of that would be more than I could bare.”

“Your sarcasm is not appreciated or needed, oni.” Raikou snapped as sharply as the sword that was taken from her before this exercise in futility began, her fingers gliding back and forth across the smooth lacquer, “I will drink when I wish to do so and not a moment more, while you can feel free to drown yourself as you please.”

“So cold!” Shuten laughed imperiously, taking another dignified sip from her wide and flat dish, “I bring you this gift and you rebuke it? Were I not a monster your heartlessness would have broken mine.” For all the dramatic flair, Raikou could see that the oni was in perfect control of herself, every word carefully picked and placed like a gift as she spoke. “You’re not going to force me to be the reasonable one in this situation are you?” Another laugh, this time carrying a bit more bite as Shuten drowned it behind another gulp of sake, “now that would be heartless…”

Raikou wrinkled her brow and scoffed, before she turned her gaze back to her still full cup, the liquid within gently reflecting the meager light of the room and showing her a lightly distorted mirror of her face.

She had been considering this cup and its content since the moment Shuten had shoved it into her arm in the name of celebrating the inevitability of it all, and the longer she did the more a suspicion about it grow in the back of her head.

The history these two shared hung heavy in the air and rested on the back of Raikou’s tongue, leaving something bitter and old in its wake as she considered the liquid more and more…

“Do you think it’s poison?” Shuten asked of a sudden, Raikou whipping her head to look at her. “Do you think this is some stab at revenge for the last time you and I shared a drink? Oh please.” Faster than the amount of alcohol in her system should allow, the oni swiped the cup from Raikou’s hand, drained it in a single motion of her head, and then refilled it with the third bottle she was busy draining herself before handing it back to Raikou. “This is nothing more than what you see, a cup of sake to ease the tension between us two.”

The samurai considered the newly filled cup in her hand just as gravely as its predecessor. “You’ll forgive me if I find your generosity hard to accept, oni.” She fixed Shuten with an arrow point glare. “As you said, last time we shared a drink ended with something a bit more dire than a bar brawl.”

“Unlike you humans, us oni would never consider spoiling a perfectly good cup of sake with poison.” To illustrate her point, Shuten knocked back another mouthful with a pleased sigh. “Raikou, if I had any plans to kill you with sake, I’d throw you into a barrel and melt you with it, so calm yourself and drink, you and I will never have this conversation our master demands if either one of us is sober.”

Loath as she was to agree with the pesky demon, Raikou sighed and finally lifted the cup to her lips, delicately drinking her first serving of sake of the day. “…Not bad.” She admitted under thin lips. “For all your faults, it seems you are competent in this at least.” She narrowed her eyes and curved her sword shaped smile. “Even an insect has her talents, it seems.”

“How gracious of her ladyship to bestow this lowly demon with her compliments.” Shuten’s voice was a mire of sweet acid, her smile thin and sharp as she refilled Raikou’s cup. “Don’t hold back now, wouldn’t do for a Berserker to show restraint, would it?”

Wordlessly, for the next half hour, they drank in diplomatic silence. As Shuten finished her fifth and sixth bottle, Raikou carefully reached half of her second. Being servants meant that things that would normally kill or at least cripple a normal human had profoundly less effect on them, but even then Shuten held the distinctive advantage of being an oni while Raikou was decidedly not (fully, anyway). That meant that while Shuten could soak in sake for a week without feeling it the samurai needed to exhibit some modicum of self-control.

Self-control, she internally groaned, being something she had in already short supply before you introduce alcohol into the equation.

“Right.” Shuten sighed quietly as she put down her last cup, straightening in her seat slightly to look at Raikou directly, “since this is a diplomatic meeting, of sorts, I think it’s only fair that the one person in this room that was trained for diplomacy have first crack at this mess.” She waved a hand vaguely in the samurai’s direction, “so, tell me how you really feel about me, get it off your considerable chest.”

Biting back the irritation of the crack at her figure, long used to it from Shuten, Raikou put her empty glass on the table and placed her hands on her knees, attempting to impale the oni with her glare, “my feelings on you are quite clear, I’ve made them apparent from the first time we met in Chaldea.”

“How you feel about me while sober and how you feel about me while drunk are two entirely different things.” Shuten easily shrugged Raikou off, her smile easy and unaffected. “When you’re in your right mind you want me to die and stay away, now when you have some sake in your system…?”

Shuten trailed off to allow the question to arrive unspoken, a hand outstretched to await Raikou’s answer.

“I want you to stay away and die.” Raikou said evenly, letting the answer hang in the air before she hurriedly added, “slowly. I want you to stay away and die, slowly.”

Shuten blinked. Her face perfectly passive as she took in the answer. Without a single muscle in her face twitching, she reached under the table for another bottle (Raikou didn’t have the strength to question how she had so many) and poured Raikou another drink, “right, not drunk enough yet.” She nudged the full again cup towards the samurai lightly, “here you go, drink up until you’re reasonable.”

“I’m being perfectly reasonable.” Despite saying that, she reached for the cup and drained it quickly, reflexively motioning for another serving soon after. “You’re pestering Kintoki, annoying me, and you’re useless to Master, so I don’t-oh, thank you.” She nodded politely at Shuten as she filled her cup, before throwing it back swiftly, “ahh, right, so I don’t see an issue, do you?”

“Well,” Shuten began as diplomatically as the alcohol in her blood would allow, “for one thing, I don’t want to die, selfish I know,” she took a long swig from her bottle, “and for another, I’m plenty useful, I’ve helped Master on plenty of occasions.”

“That’s debatable.” Raikou muttered as she accepted another refill, almost automatically.

“Well,” Shuten uttered, as she emptied another bottle and got another one, “whatever your opinion on the matter, Master finds me useful and her opinion has more weight, so there’s that.” Putting the bottle down and straightening her posture all the way, the oni locked eyes with the samurai. “So, my death being off the table, let’s try again.”

Raikou kept her stare steady with Shuten for a long, breathless moment, seeing the image of her flushed face in her dark eyes, before she broke it to take another controlled sip from her cup, “Master wishes for us to get along, or at least stop fighting, yes?”

Shuten nodded, “that would be the gist, yes.”

“So, we need to find a way to…minimize the ways in which we antagonize each other.”

“Hah! Well isn’t that a polite way of putting it!” Shuten approved with a short laugh and a subtle smile, “alright then, I’ll start, you tell me what I do that angers you so much, and I’ll try and be subtler about it.”

Taking another, much slower, sip of her sake, Raikou considered this for a long while. If anyone else had asked her while she was sober, the answer would be simple. But now, alone with this demon, her blood purring with the alcohol, it all seemed so…hard to grasp.

Part of her wanted to blame Shuten exclusively, to think up that she unleashed some fog into the air of the room to addle her thoughts. But she knew her too well for that, she had inhaled deeply of that mist ages before, she could recognize the tang of it at the back of her tongue, and could center herself against it.

Perhaps the answer was as easy to grasp as always, only this time she could not afford to acknowledge it.

“What is your obsession with Kintoki?” She asked at last, putting down her cup and placing her palms on her knees. “Ignoring his discomfort at your presence, you glue yourself to his side and shove sake into his hands, why?”

“Oh, this again.” Shuten sighed wearily, polishing off one last bottle before tossing it behind her with little care. “You know, Kintoki is free to talk to whomever he wishes.” She chuckles and shakes her head at Raikou, “it’s very poor form for a mother to hover over her child like some sort of circling raven, you know.”

“Answer my question.” Raikou was now in more familiar territory, anger at the oni burned away some of the sake, making it slightly easier to think. “You remember he’s the one who cut your head off, don’t you?” The memory was sharp in Raikou’s mind, the brilliant gush of blood as the terror of mount Ooe was cut down, “what is your obsession-“

“My interest with Kintoki,” Shuten cut through as pleasantly as a rusty knife, “lays in the fact that he is an interesting and entertaining young man whom I have known since he was a child.” She graciously ignored Raikou’s harsh scoff, “and besides, why should I hold a grudge over that sordid little affair?”

Raikou breathed harshly through her nose, “what on earth are you-“

“I was a man-eating demon!” Shuten exclaimed, cutting Raikou off again, “I was stealing sake and ruining fields and, well, eating men! And woman and children!” She laughed a bit, “honestly you and Kintoki were only doing what was expected of you! I’d be more surprised if you two didn’t go off to kill me.”

Raikou gaped at her, before she picked up her cup again along with a bottle laying nearby, pouring herself another serving with an angry mutter.

“It was all fair enough, in hindsight at least,” she allowed her smile to turn into a toothy grin as Raikou abandoned her glass for just downing the whole damn bottle, “I was a demon, you tried to kill me, I tried to kill you…” She shrugged her shoulders, “all in the past as I see it, water under the bridge.”

(She could still picture it, that moment where Shuten Douji realized she was going to die. Her shaking fingers losing their grip on the sake dish, her skin growing paler, her eyes filling with something between frantic surprise and dread.

Before her form shifted and Ibuki Douji burst out from underneath her skin, Shuten smiled thinly.)

“I thought you didn’t want to be the reasonable one here.” Raikou growled, placing the bottle on the table between them, if this demon thought she could get under her skin she had another thing coming, “water under the bridge? How big of a fool do you think I am?”

“We’re both dead, Minamoto.” The oni said, her tone calm and still as an afternoon lake, “all of us, here, in this place for heroes and legends, we’re all dead.” Her grin shrunk to something small, both in width and presence, “I call it water under the bridge because calling it anything else would be a waste of my time.”

(Kintoki breathing heavily, his axe stained red and his clothes in disarray. One of her swords broken, her right arm’s flesh shredded nearly to the bone. They bury the body and the head in silence, under two separate trees. They say a prayer, light incense, and walk away.

The shadow of Mt. Ooe follows them for miles.)

Raikou gets up, opens a drawer at random, and is half pleased and half infuriated that she finds another bottle. She begins to drain it with her back turned to Shuten, the oni quietly watching her. Something in her blood begins to simmer.

“I do not think you a fool.” She answers finally, leaning back on her arms and looking up at the pale ceiling. “Otherwise I’d be the one drowning myself in sake.”

Shuten leans her head slightly to the left, the motion lazy and sleepy. The bottle shatters with a sound like a thunderclap on the wall behind her.

They wait. No sounds of rushing feet beyond the door to ask them what’s going on.

Raikou sits. “Stop bothering Kintoki.” Her tone is stiff, professional, a shadow of her father’s hand places itself on her shoulder and pulls it back. “You want to ease the tension? Do that.”

Shuten looks back at the shards of the bottle behind her, sighing mournfully at the small pool they float in, “what a waste…” She looks back at Raikou, her eyes glowing a faint silver, “fine, I’ll give the boy his space, mother dearest, so long as you promise not to throw anymore bottles.”

“Good.”

The air grows thick, Shuten adjusts her posture to look at Raikou more directly. Her eyes pin her to her seat, arrows in her legs. She leans forward, the light catching a hint of red in the depths of her dark eyes, “well?”

Raikou barely restrains her flinch. “Well, what?”

“Aren’t you going to ask me? Ask me why I don’t much like you myself?”

“You don’t like me?” Raikou manages an air of surprise despite the arrowheads digging deeper, “I never would have guessed so, considering how much sake you’ve provided me with.”

“You’re my guest.” Shuten explained graciously, though her tone seemed sharper, “Us oni take great pride in being good hosts, I simply put aside my feelings to do so.” She puts a hand on the table and leans closer, the air between her and Raikou beginning to boil. “You are no fool, ask me, if you wish for this to be resolved, for Master’s sake at least, ask me.”

Stay away from me, Raikou nearly says, because she is a killer of monsters and should not suffer this one showing this much arrogance. What you think of me means nothing, you pest.

But there’s something there, in those eyes, some understanding that pierces her bones and pulls out something ugly. And that is why blades fly and blood spills between them, Shuten knows this and lets it lay. And that terrifies Raikou more than she can bare to think, that this demon is the only person in the world, in this life and the last, that can see through her and place her hand on the truth, and then to choose to do nothing with it.

(Raikou’s bones want to shift, her blood wants to scream, her teeth wish to shred.

Something, something old and angry and buried on a mountaintop, wants to wake up.)

“Why?” She nearly curses at how her voice comes out tight and hoarse. “What grudge do you hold, if not for your death?”

“No grudge.” Shuten corrects calmly, drawing still closer, “what animosity I hold towards you is not due to some past blood, no, I prefer to focus on what is now and right in front of me.” Their faces are a few inches apart, Raikou’s ears ring with something like excitement and fury, “and what I see is a coward.”

Raikou is nearly floored by the overwhelming urge to bite her head off, “what did you-“

“I see someone afraid of her own blood.” Fingers capture her chin, her gaze nailed to Shuten, the smell of sake burns in her nose. “I see someone with strength and speed and skill turning away from the truth of herself, I see a monster who refuses to acknowledge herself.”

(Mothers dragging their children behind doors, whispered warnings and panicked bows.

They owe her their lives, they dare not meet her gaze, they flinch from the blood dripping from her blade. They hate me, a voice like a child hiding behind a wall says, they all hate me.)

“You let other’s views corrupt your own,” an inch closer, their noses nearly touch, “for all your growling, you let insects and cowardly old men shape you and chain your teeth.”

(Minamoto No Mitsunaka is like a statue, coldly towering over her as she presses her forehead to the floor. He walks towards her, his steps echoing in her bones, and places a sword in front of her.

“You are Yorimitsu.” He says, commands, his voice bounces off the walls and impales her. “History will remember you as my son, my warrior, my heir, understood?”

This is a pale shadow of what she wished for, living in the woods overlooking what should have been her home. But she dares not ask for more as she closes her fingers around the scabbard.)

“I hate you because I hate to see an oni denying herself so utterly.”

“I am not-!” Her voice catches in her throat when Shuten closes the distance between their faces almost completely. Her vision filled with the yawning abyss of her eyes, their breathes mingling between lips half an inch apart. “I…I’m not-“

“I want you to stop hiding, Ushi Gozen.”

The sake in her blood vaporizes, something in the back of her mind shoulders it’s way to the front and commands her hands to wrap themselves as tightly as possible around the oni’s neck. The next command is to press her thumbs to the base of her throat and to continue until she hears the most satisfying snap of her life.

“O-oh, dear.” Shuten coughs out, a laugh tumbling out of her soon to be crushed throat, “it seems the sake has g-gone to our heads, how ir-rresponsible of us, eh?” Raikou tightens her grip further but all it accomplishes is to squeeze another strangled chuckle out of Shuten, “but…a-amazing, h-how beautiful you are when you indulge yourself,” a grin like a rusty sickle stretches across Shuten’s face, “I think I prefer this side of you most, Ushi Gozen.”

Don’t call me that. That is what she wants to say, that is what she wishes to growl from the bottom of her throat, but all she can manage is an inhuman sound that she cannot acknowledge or else surrender herself to the urge to curve her own lips in a mirror of Shuten’s grin.

One of Shuten’s hands reach out to Raikou face, the other to her clenching fingers, and caresses them both gently. “How beautiful you are when you choose to be honest…” The tips of her fingers dance like feathers on Raikou’s skin, sending a wave of ice where they touch. “I want you like this always, to acknowledge what is in your grasp, and what is forever beyond your…” Her voice, usually so smooth and so quick, slows and cracks as less and less air gets through her throat. “…beyond our reach…”

(Kintoki is bleeding, he holds her shaking form and whispers gentle assurances. There is blood around the edge of her lips.

Her son’s hands grip her arms as tight as iron, to keep her from escaping, to keep her from attacking.

Her head wants to slump forward; the horns are heavy.

“It’s okay.” He promises, his blood dripping from her lips, his golden hair in disarray. “You’ll be okay.”

She did this. She did this, she did this to her own son she did this-

“You’ll be okay,” he repeats again, his hold tightening twofold into a crushing embrace while he buried his nose in her hair, “everything is going to be okay.”

Ushi Gozen wails, her tears flowing down the mountain.)

Her fingers release Shuten, the oni gasping for air and rubbing her sore throat.

Shuten sputters, no attempt to salvage her dignity as she sucks in air on reflex, her voice is hoarse and spiteful, “oh, come now, why the sudden restraint?” She coughs harshly, looking up at Raikou, who was merely standing over her, her hands slowly lowering to her sides. “What?” Shuten snapped, something in Raikou’s gaze jabbing her somewhere sensitive, “was I not clear?”

“What is beyond us?” Raikou asks, suddenly, her voice far away, “why are you so defeated? Why is the terror of Mt. Ooe so quick to die?” Her eyes are dark, and yet something shines in their depths. Something sharp. “Why?”

Shuten rubs her neck, as she considers her next few words.

She looks at the figure in front of her very carefully, up and down, takes note of her stance (rigid, ready to spring forward teeth first), her eyes (unfocused, swirling with a primal impulse), her hands (shaking, growing sharp), and realizes who is truly in front of her.

She almost wants to laugh, she nearly cries. She thought she would be more beautiful than this. Ah, well, another thing to be wrong about, what’s the harm?

She stands up, her posture regal and proud, as she looks deep into the eyes of Ushi Gozen. “Why do you cling to love?” She finally feels what an ocean of alcohol could not impose on her, her head and heart and gut aching in equal measure. “Why reach out towards something you’ll never grasp?”

“Because I had it.” Ushi hisses. She looks down at her hands and flexed her sharpening fingers. “I had it, right in my hands, I held it my hands I had it.” She stops, freezes, her eyes widening in sudden comprehension, “and you want it.” Shuten’s frame locks up, and Ushi doesn’t pass up the opening, “you want it, you wish for it, yearn for it, but you hold yourself back.”

“Silence.” Shuten hisses, her eyes swirling with red and silver, her air of dignity and grace nowhere to be found, “do not presume to know me, I will not-“

“I presume nothing.” Ushi hisses back, and then finally they degrade into what they had always been, the only things they were ever allowed to be, two monsters gnashing their teeth at each other. “You call me a coward, and yet you hide in your coat and your wine and your blood.”

“I said quiet!”

“Why!?” Ushi Gozen raises to her full height, her voice a roar of rage and barely contained terror, “why do you wish for death, instead of reaching for what you want!? Why would an Oni deny herself what she wants!?”

“You know NOTHING!” Shuten puts her foot on the table between them and raises to meet Ushi’s glowing gold eyes, “I will not be lectured on how to be an Oni by a child scared of her own horns!”

“Is that what you think we’re destined for!? To be alone!?” Ushi’s voice gains more in panic and outrage, and then her eyes widen again in realization, “that’s why you cling to Kintoki…”

Shuten clenches her jaw. “You. Know. Nothing.” She crushes each word between her fangs like a sieve working through sand, “you think you held it in your hands? You think you captured love?” She shakes her head with a bitter laugh, “if you did, you would have simply crushed it between your fingers, because that is how Oni loves humans, and no other.” Ushi Gozen opens her maw, but Shuten Douji captures her jaw between her claws before she could say another word. “Hear me now, hear it from someone who has lived as a demon for far longer than you have denied it,” she brings her closer, their foreheads, their horns, touching as nearly all space between them is gone, “to be an Oni and to love is to feel blood between your teeth and flesh between your fingers, am I clear?”

Ushi Gozen raises her left arm and swings her claws to knock off Shuten’s head.

The oni spares one hand to grab the attacking limb’s wrist and continues, “if you think you can deny this, go above your nature, then you are deluding yourself.”

“ENOUGH!” She raises the other hand to attack, but this too is caught by Shuten, though their foreheads remain glued to each other, their skulls and horns grinding against each other as the floor and table beneath them begin to crack. “I won’t surrender to this! Not again! I approached the brink and he pulled me back!”

“Then he delayed the inevitable.” Shuten growls, her arms shaking under the effort of restraining the former samurai, “it does not matter what the world around you says, no comforting embrace or words of passion can change the color of blood.”

“COWARD!” Ushi roars, and the sounds of rushing feet and pounding on the door sound from behind her, though she ignores it, “you hide your fear behind wisdom, you hide your despair behind conviction, you accepted death didn’t you!? You knew what was IN THAT BOTTLE!”

Shuten bares her fangs, lets out a scream of primal anger, and all around them both is red.

A swirl of muffled pain and gnashing teeth follows; neither is sure how long it lasts. The first to regain herself is Raikou, how suddenly finds herself restrained by Kintoki, his arms gripping her like a vice while he swears up a storm between his teeth.

The room is a mess, the walls of metal crumpled and ripped apart like paper, various bottles shattered across the floor, blood staining and pooling in various places across it. And right in front of her, she sees Shuten Douji.

She is being held against the floor by Ibaraki and Tomoe as she roared and thrashed in their grip, the archer’s horns burning red hot while her chest armor carried an imprint of a fist on its face. The yellow oni was yelling at her friend to stop, her own clothes in disarray and a shallow slash on her cheek.

In between her directionless screams, Raikou could swear she saw something going down Shuten’s cheek, something clear…

Raikou looked back at Kintoki, who was breathing raggedly as he held her, his sunglasses were missing, and his lip was bleeding. “What the fuck was that!?” He shouts, first directing his panicked gaze to Raikou before turning to a slowly calming Shuten, “what the hell were you two talking about!? What happened here!?”

Neither of them answer, they both avoid the gaze of every other person in the room…and in doing so they meet each other.

Shuten’s nose was broken, blood streaming down her bruised face. Raikou could feel her own face covered in blood and swollen, one of her fingers was bent the wrong way.

Her head hurt, everything hurt.

They locked eyes for a long, quiet moment, the others in the room forgotten as they felt the weight of everything land on them.

Shuten turned away first, and with that Ibaraki jumped off of her and put Shuten’s face in her hands, muttering worriedly about needing to go see one of the doctors, are what Master would think, and on and on while Raikou felt all of her strength leave her.

“Well!? Are any of you gonna say something-!?”

“Let go of me.”

He stopped short, looking at Raikou with a mix of anger and fear that nearly broke her heart, “what the hell-“

“I said let go of me Kintoki.”

She glared at him, she thinks, she isn’t sure, he flinches away from her so violently. Slowly, like he was handling a wild animal (and, really, wasn’t he?), he released his grip. The look on his face makes her want to crumple into a corner, more so because she put that look there, but the pain in her body pushes her away from him, and out the door.

Shuten let’s herself be handled by Ibaraki, the girl fussing over her wounds. Shuten’s eyes stay glued to the shallow cut on Ibaraki’s left cheek, the thought that she put it there makes her want to vomit, but she can barely gather the energy.

She looks up, meets Kintoki’s gaze. He reminds her, for the first time in a long while, of the little boy that stumbled onto her mountain. He looks at her like she’s some sort of beast he doesn’t recognize, but he soon schools his expression into something calmer, “what did you do?”

She thinks he’s saying “you” in the plural sense, but some wretched part of her is almost eager to take the blame, to resign herself to finally pushing him away for good. But as always, she settles for a half measure, she laughs weakly, tasting the blood in her mouth as she does, “I wasted perfectly good sake, that’s what.”

He scoffs angrily, and opens his mouth to call her out on the bullshit, but he must’ve seen something not worth the volume about half-way, because he closed his lips in a thin line, and then turned on his heel, stomping away in Raikou’s direction.

“Shuten?”

She’s never heard Ibaraki that timid, this small, and she returns her gaze to her sister, allowing a pitiful, bloody smile to shift her face. “Yes?”

“Are-“ She starts haltingly, eyes jumping around the various wounds on her body. “Are you okay?”

A centuries old reflex nearly kicks in, of course I’m fine of course why wouldn’t I?, but she feels the burning glare of Tomoe scorching the back of her head. She turns to the Archer for the first time, and there’s a mix of concern and anger in there that makes her laugh.

The laugh is weak and hoarse, she leans back on the wall, leaning out of Ibaraki’s hands on her face, and looks around her destroyed room, and all the smashed bottles that littered her floor.

She reaches over and begins to pick up the glass shards without a word, gathering them in her bloody palm, “…what a mess…” she mutters, “can’t have Master seeing the place like this…”

Elsewhere, Raikou leans against a wall, and tries to will her fangs away. “Be quiet…” She commands under her breath, gripping the cloth next to her chest as her heart pounds wildly, “be quiet.”

Ushi Gozen rumbles under her skin, her need and hunger unsatisfied, but soon retreats back to her cave. Raikou slides down the wall and sits on the floor, her face buried in her knees.

(The smell of blood and sake stays in their noses for weeks.)

#Fate Grand Oder #minamoto no raikou #Shuten Douji #what's the ship name??#stuff rex wrote #Drink drown

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ninjastormhawkkat · 3 years

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Morally Gray Wordgirl Au: Characters Part 2

Here is my new villain oc that replace Tobey as a villain.

Villain: Technarchist

Name: Dr. Bryan Morrison

Ethnic Background: White/Anglo-Saxon

Gender: Male

Age: late 30s - early 40s

Appearance (Before Accident): Blond, messy hair, sometimes pulled back in a pony tail. Green eyes, pointed nose, no facial hair, circular black glasses, white-lab coat, dark brown pants, red buttoned shirt with white undershirt, dark blue tie.

Appearance (After Accident): Half human half cyborg appearance. No glasses, half of his hair is gone, the rest is slicked back. Cyborg eye is red, Cyborg side is a golden/metallic appearance. The right side is cyborg.

Biography Outline:

My plan for this character was to take Tobey’s role with the robots, but have an origin story similar to Dr. Two Brains.

Bryan Morrison was a jerk, just a straight up jerk. He always have this “I’m the smartest person so everyone listen/pay attention to me.” mentality. Nobody liked working with him, but they had to because he still did his job. Nothing to really fire him over besides his personality. Dr. Morrison was a robotics engineer, but also was knowledgeable in cybernetics. His plan was to combine man and machine to evolve humanity and make them better than they are now. (Did I mention he was crazy, and hates nature.) His main project was building mechanical suits for people that would connect to their nervous system (like Pacific Rim Jaegers). Due to the ethical problems with his project, the scientific community shut him down. Dr. Morrison was angry but shifted to working underground to “prove those prissy idiots wrong!” (His words.) Bryan created half of a golden/ metallic armor, and was testing his work to see if it would comfortably fit a human body (using himself). He was testing during a terrible lighting storm. A strong and powerful lightning bolt struck the wires that were dangling outside his lab that were connected to the suit. The strong electrical surge fused flesh with machine (It was painful!!!) Now Bryan Morrison believes he is the “perfect” being and deserves to rule Fair City with his own robotic army. (He is now evil and psychotic.)

Powers: Technarchist creates robots. He doesn’t need a remote control, but can communicate with his creations telepathically. This connection can get severed which causes the robots to go berserk. His robots vary in designs and are more complex than Tobey’s robots. He has Victoria’ Bests attitude, but worst, and is involved in anything that would make people see him as important and will take revenge on those who appose him. He likes to cause chaos sometimes because to him it is funny. Technarchist has terrible social skills and is also an oblivious idiot because of his huge ego. He hates Wordgirl just because she isn’t human. Technarchist has no significant powers except for being a walking toolbox. His right hand can change to suit his evil, or other, needs.

Weakness: Water, rust, anything that can destroy a robot and it also depends on the robot. (As I said, an oblivious, egotistical idiot, yet smart as well.)

Facts:

He had a bitter rivalry with Steven Boxleitner. (It was one-sided.) He hated Steven because of Steven’s “goody nature” and receiving praise for his work with superheroes and projects that would benefit people and animals. Steven was aware of Bryan’s hatred of him and kind of just avoided him. Dr. Morrison was not in the city when Steven had his lab accident. He thought Steven had disappeared or died, he was happy anyway for his rival to be gone. Tried to take Professor Boxleitner’s office after the accident to rub salt in the wound. (It was already given to Professor Tubing.) Morrison got sick and tired of hearing how the other scientists missed Steven.

Ironically, after becoming Technarchist, Morrison really admires Dr. Two Brains work. He has no idea that Dr. Two Brains was Steven Boxleitner. (At villain meetings, Technarchist is talking trash about Steven while complimenting Two Brains. Technarchist will say something like, “Oh Steven was a dull, clumsy stick who couldn’t tie his shoes right, but I appreciate Two Brains style, you are an amazing scientist.” and Two Brains is like “Is this guy serious?”.

Two Brains does not work with Technarchist, he basically doesn’t like him. (Not because of the insults toward Steven or their past. When Dr. Morrison was banned for doing his project. Mrs. Sally Botsford was there to handle the legal issues.) The introductory episode for Tobey is a parter for Technarchist. Tobey is sent to Mrs. Botsford’s house because Claire and Sally are work friends and Claire needed someone to immediately watch her son because she was going to work late. Tobey invited Becky over to the house because he needed to hang out with someone his age since TJ is younger. Technarchist attacks the house in revenge with his robots and Becky has a hard time getting away to stop the villain. She is able to distract with Bob, like in the canon episode, and able to defeat Technarchist, but the villain escapes. (I sort of combined Two Brains and Tobey’s introductory episode for Technarchist.) Two Brains doesn’t like the guy because he attacked his daughter, not directly but Becky could have still gotten hurt badly. (”Mousezilla” goes differently in this au. So does “Two Brains Forgets”, but this episode would be retitled “Technarchist Forgets”.) Becky and Tobey don’t like Technarchist either.

#wordgirl au #morally gray au #oc villain #technarchist #dr. two brains #becky #tobey mccallister #had this idea of a villain for a while #put him in some other aus as well #pretty much the same in each au

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toshis-puppycat · 4 years

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Hello Again

Part Two

A/n: I think this is gonna be my go to gif for this fic (mainly bcs I can't art or create any form of art other than writing and even then I'll probably argue against it) but wow here's part two for Hello Again. I'm very excited to be posting all of this bcs I adore Toshinori, hes a sunflower in need of love. But this chapter doesn't explicitly go in line with him. Endeavor is the focus of today. I hope I got him at least a little, I've never actually written anything for him before. I didn’t explain it with the last part but the reader and Endeavor were good friends before she supposedly passed away. Uh kind of a RIP to him tbh. But I hope y'all enjoy.

Summary: Enji Todoroki recalls a lot of things over the years to get to where he is now. The memories of you are bitter, and it hurt. Whats going to happen now that your back though?

Pairing: Toshinori Yagi (All Might) x Reader, Enji Todoroki (Endeavor) x Reader

☆☆☆☆☆

Enji Todoroki was a simple man, one who wanted to be the best of anyone there ever was. To be the number one hero on his terms by his own merit. And he could do it. He had you on his side, his best friend. You two would take the hero world by storm when you both became official. And well, you would become partners too, opening up an agency together and get all the good sidekicks. All he had to do was ask at this point. Besides, you two had been in each others lives for years, from that accidental meeting as kids to now. You made the suggestion first anyways, he only scoffed at the time because you suggested it first. Bright eyed, all smiles screaming that you two would be the coolest duo to exist. You were the cool balm he needed for the harshness he was given by his parents (he'd never admit that though because admitting that would make him weak and he was not weak). You were strategic and fast, he could vaguely recall the first time you showed that. It was when his powers had just came in. He was four, and his hellflames were out of control. Luckily for him, you happened to be running around in that moment screaming in glee at the water you could manipulate, you saw him and quickly drenched him, cutting off any flame he could create for a while and exclaimed he had the coolest quirk. You decided in that split second you could see him screaming in panic at the fire around him, that you could use your quirk to help him and make sure nothing else caught of fire, which was not a major worry for him. But then he heard your kind voice say it was so cool because his quirk couldn't even hurt him, you saw that in all the chaos at four. Even in his mind something registered as not right. And as you two got older it became a bright red warning for him. When you were finally pushed out of that at 8, you were at an orphanage. He visited everyday despite any punishment that his parents could give him for not trying his hardest. You always told him they were being too harsh. But when they found out you were aiming to be a hero, they loved you after that. You were strong, and you were fast. Even if you couldn't beat him at this moment, you were impressive because no matter what you could wipe out any flame he could create. Or well they believed it was just water manipulation, you actually ended up having siren like qualities overall. You were just too embarrassed to admit it. When the two of you were accepted into U.A., well at that point you were unstoppable. Already in the stages of planning for your own agency, for when you could create it (and with his family's money he could do it soon he thought), he could guess that's also when everything went wrong. You were tired of sparing with him at this point, of course you always assured him that it wasn't actually him. It was because the two of you were used to each others moves, which he could understand. It was when you literally started walking over to Yagi that he got upset, his flames reaching a new terrifying height as you asked him to spar with you, all smiles and laughing as the boys face turned a bright shade of red. And when Yagi actually beat you, he almost burnt the student he was sparing with, furious beyond belief because how dare Yagi beat you. But then he heard you laugh and saw how your eyes started to sparkle with wonder and you quickly began asking him about his quirk as he blushed and stuttered answers out to you. You were fine of course, your quick also allowed quick healing something you always took advantage of. But after that you started dragging Yagi everywhere with you. Quickly exclaiming he was going to sit with the two of you and not allowing any input from him. He very quietly simmered in anger, he couldn't command tell you to stop hanging around Yagi. You'd definitely get upset with him. So he just settled for underhanded jabs at the other student and made sure he would spar with him instead of you. You pouted of course, but then you were all smiles and so proud of him for being willing to work with another student without any hassle. He almost burned Yagi after that. God how obvious did he have to be!

☆☆☆☆☆

Apparently the answer was to be incredibly blunt, he figured that out by their second year. He tried his best to flirt with you subtly, even Yagi picked up that he was doing it! So why didn't you? He got his answer when he overheard some "girl talk" when they asked you about him, like "what is it like being associated with the hottest guy in our year?" When he heard your shy reply of "He's my best friend and don't sexualize him" it kinda hit him that you really were oblivious to the world of crushes and maybe a little romance. He tried being more obvious that he was interested in you as more than the regular partnership you two previously thought of, still it was taking a while. In your third year it would be the perfect time to reveal everything to you! But then you came into school walking hand in hand with Yagi. And his whole world crashed, he almost actively tried killing him when they spared that day. Only stopping when you doused him in water, then furiously walking away, only vaguely hearing you ask him if everything was okay. Yagi took everything away. He took away the top spot at the school, he took away all the good sponsorships and now… he just took you. When you ended up pulling him aside later, Enji couldn't be upset with you. Because when you looked up at him with tears in your eyes while clutching at his uniform, he couldn't be anywhere near upset with you. Not when you looked happy and he was the one to change it. So he reluctantly pushed away any negative feeling he had about you being with Yagi and apologized for worrying you so much.

"Family had just been too stressful this summer y/n. I'm sorry I worried you." He still hated Yagi though, and when he heard Yagi would be leaving for America of all places, as far away from you as possible since he knew you were staying in Japan. That hatred festered, he decided to date you just so he could leave? That soon after you already told him you saw a future with Yagi? And he knew that you felt like that? He started burning down his room, fortunately his parents invested in some strong fire systems to take care of any outburst he ever had (and to make sure he didn't embarrass them through any weak actions he made). He hated this, he hated Yagi. But seeing you smile, he couldn't hate that. You invited him, when Yagi was leaving. He wanted to be furious, he wanted to know why. Why weren't you upset, but then he saw it. That tiny glimpse of what you were actually feeling in the moment, a part you would hide most of the time.

"I want him happy, Enji. I can wait a little longer if it gets us both to the point where we want to be in our lives." You said, you were smiling, but he could see it. You didn't want Yagi to go anywhere, but you'd never hold him back. You were like that. You weren't selfish, you weren't rude. You were just kind, always putting others before yourself. He didn't see Yagi off, but he knew the moment he left you were going to need your best friend. He could do that.

☆☆☆☆☆

He decided to focus on marrying someone, a quirk marriage. Someone with a powerful quirk to match his and they could have incredibly powerful children. You weren't going to do marry him. That as a harsh fact he had to see. You had a powerful quirk and he actually liked you, but you were unavailable for a number of reasons. So he decided on Yukikae Rei, she had a powerful enough ice quirk. One that if combined with his hellflame, would create some powerful offspring. When you found out when he was married you were furious, (not for what he thought selfishly for a split second) he never mentioned that he was even seeing someone in the first place, and he went an absolute hush hush path, like he was ashamed about marrying her (he wasn't but if you ever found out he married Rei for her quirk you'd kill him, if the public found out there would go any chance he had at becoming number one and that was something he need to be more than anything to not be a failure). He assured you that he just really (not really) wanted to marry Rei. You had hesitantly accepted what he said. He still never told you.

☆☆☆☆☆

You were both young, very talented heros. Rei wondered who you were, he knew. He could practically feel her questioning curious stares whenever they were in the same room, but she never asked him. She wished she did, that she met the woman who had her 'husband's' heart. He told her the moment he was able to that he'd most likely never love her because of someone else but he would treat her appropriately. She really wish she asked before she read the newspaper the day after your death.

Young Pro-Hero Siren dies at age 22

Pro-hero Siren, dies at age 22 today on xx, xxxx she was thrown from a building by a building after switching places with a student of Aldera Junior High who was in the custody of a villain. The villain in question has been taken into custody.

"She saved me and I never got to thank her."- Teen says

"She was a brave hero. A wonderful sidekick. We'll never forget her. "- Pro-hero Crimson Riot says.

"We lost a great hero in the making today. A true tragedy."- says bystander at the scene

Endeavor beat her for the first time that night.

As the years went by, life got worse. She had her children, then he would train them and when they inevitably failed him he would shove them back into her arms. Snarling that they had to try again. Three children were classified as failures to him. She hoped he'd give up. This was killing her. The pressure was too much. Then she had Shoto, and he ended up getting her ice quirk and Endeavors flames. She wished you married Endeavor instead, but you were dead. And she wasn't sure she could even blame you for what was happening now. It didn't seem very fair. When she had her breakdown, it solidified something within her. She despised her husband, and the only good things he'd ever given her were her children, children she'd never see outside of a hospital.

☆☆☆☆☆

Endeavor was furious, the years went by after you passed away but his anger never left. And when "All Might" came into the picture again it was like another slap in the face. He didn't do anything against him, but he was still furious. He should've just stayed in America. He wished he could feel something other than pity when he found out he was told about your death, but he could understand the mourning he was going through. He kept away from All Might after that, and focused on training his son. One showed much promise, his flames were powerful, along with the fact he shared his wife's ice quirk. He would mold him into what he wanted to become the new number one hero. To best All Might. Whatever the cost.

☆☆☆☆☆

His son was finally going to U.A. He wished you could see it. He wouldn't let you see anything he's done but you would've been involved with his children's lives, perhaps as their godmother. They go through so much, fighting against the League of Villains and later on during the internship the Hero Killer. He was furious for being forced to take the credit for the latter of the two, and then his son had to leave for that summer training camp. Then a student and a Pro-hero were kidnapped from said summer training camp. Then they finally saved the brat and an A class villain showed up and revealed All Mights "true form." He screamed at him "Stand up and show them why you're better!" Then All for One asked All Might if he remembered the pretty girl that he was seeing, and he should have made her suffer more and he knew. He knew that Villain was talking about you. You died because of your connection to All Might. You were killed for it. All he could think in that moment was All Might better kill this villain, he better be able to capture him. He better avenge your death.

☆☆☆☆☆

He became the number one hero after that. An insulting, demeaning promotion for him. Then Shoto was moved into the newly made dorms afterwards so he couldn't continue his rigorous training, it didn't even matter now though he was number one now. His daughter was, hovering. Checking in on him constantly. Like she knew it wasn't just him being upset with the fact of how he became number one. He never told them about you, and now it was too late to explain it and he didn’t think he’d ever be able to talk about you. Then he got a call from U.A. and he had to deal with his rebellious son.

☆☆☆☆☆

It was… annoying. Being at U.A so soon again. The rodent called all parents though. For some reason, that escaped him. But it was infuriating. Like he was calling him to rub in something, the sadistic bastard. He could vaguely hear him talking, thanking all of them for being there and he scoffed. 'You better be grateful.' Was his only thought. But then he said something that finally caught his attention after droning on about the new security measures that they already explained to them.

"We are attempting to allow a new staff member into U.A, however it was decided that this new staff member be introduced to the parents of our beloved students. So that you may include your own opinions on this matter." Nezu said.

He narrowed his eyes. 'What game was he playing?' Was the only question in his mind.

"Miss. Y/l/n please come out and introduce yourself."

'What?'

Then you walked out from behind the curtains, ones he didn't even notice when he came in. He could hear the other parents murmuring.

"Principle, while my husband and I agree it's… nice to be meeting this faculty member personally, why are we being introduced to her though?" He heard another parent ask, who was it? That child's parents. The one who beat his Shoto at the festival. What was his name? Bakugou Katsuki? He was attempting to brush this off, it couldn't be you. It couldn't. You died, you died over 20 years ago. There was no way it could be you. But then you said something.

"We felt that its best that the parents be informed-" you began, but it was drowned out because it hit him. It… it was really you. Then his hellflames suddenly burst out of control and he felt water drenching him. As quickly his flames appeared, you put them out and left him sputtering in shock. He barely heard your shocked gasp and yell of his name. You were alive, and you looked exactly as he last saw you. What happened? Was his first thought, but seeing your wide grin the only other thought he was was 'Hello again. I've missed you.''

☆☆☆☆☆

Taglist: @saratour, @yukiimanic, @theygottheircages, @itsallmightbitch, @toobsessedsstuff, @quirkyfandoms, @anxious-cat-with-cheesesticks, @traqicalromance

#Toshinori Yagi (All Might) x Reader #All Might #reader insert #Todoroki Enji (Endeavor) x Reader #bnha fanfiction #bnha x reader #pining #one-sided pining #Tiny bit of angst

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jowritesthingss · 4 years

Text

All the Time in the World

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Pairing(s): Logicality (Logic | Logan + Morality | Patton)

Rating: Teen

Content Warning(s): mentions of childbirth (nothing graphic), bullying mention, divorce, swearing, lmk if there’s anything else I need to tag!

Length: 7,971 words

Brief Summary: @tsshipmonth2020 ’s Soulmate September, day two! For as long as Logan can remember, his soulmate timer has read zero. Only, he's never met his soulmate. (Or has he?) Conclusion: he does not actually have a soulmate. (Or does he?)

TS Masterlist + AO3 Links

Logan’s is not been a typical birth.

His mother is taken to the hospital in an ambulance, having gone into premature labor almost a month early while at work. His father comes racing in just in time to see his wife wheeled off for an emergency cesarean.

When she comes back out, there is a tiny baby boy in a cradle beside her, a child that she has brought to life—even as she is barely hanging on to life herself. The as-of-yet unnamed baby is alive and just well enough that he sits off to the side, wailing and hiccuping, as his mother struggles to stay alive through a blood transfusion and his father begs her to survive.

His mother’s condition eventually stabilizes, and she comes out from under the anesthesia just long enough to rasp out the name chosen for the baby boy—Logan. She quickly succumbs to a well-deserved sleep, and her spouse remains with her, while for the moment the boy is left to the nurses to care for.

It isn’t until he is brought to the nursery with the other babies that one nurse realizes the timer on his tiny infantile wrist reads zero.

---

As a child, Logan does not understand what this zero means, or why his mother and daddy take him to all of the big doctors in white coats, or why his teachers give pitying looks and his classmates give mean taunts.

“Out of time,” someone says. But, but he just learned how to tell time with the big hand and the little hand and the sec-owned hand, and the clock on the mantel is still ticking.

“Alone,” someone laughs. No, Logan has his mother and daddy, and they’re happy just like that because three is a magic number!

“Soulless,” someone accuses. What’s a Soul? He’s a Logan. And he likes being a Logan, even if that means he’s not a Soul.

Mother says nothing, staring blankly at the other mothers in the preschool picking up their children. She only pulls him up by his arm, dusts him off, and brings him home, saying not a word about the crusted tears on his cheeks.

But....

“You’re special,” Daddy promises, shushing him gently and wiping away his tears with careful gloved hands. “Sometimes others might say it and mean bad things, but it’s all good, Logie-bear, I promise. You’re so special and smart. You’re my special Logie-bear.”

See? He’s a Logan. And Daddy says he’s a good Logan. So that’s all that matters, even if the other kids make him cry like a baby. Daddy says crying’s okay, that he isn’t a baby, that he’s special. Logan is special. Isn’t that cool?

---

By the time he’s reached middle school, Logan knows what it all means, and it isn’t so cool after all. He knows what he is, and he knows the words people whisper behind his back.

Everyone is born with a timer on their wrist, counting down to when they meet their soulmate—the person destined to change their life forever, be it through the power of love or the power of friendship or the power of family or through the power of whatever cheesy thing the movies are showing this week. Some people meet their soulmates as children, some meet their soulmates on their deathbed.

Timers can change as plans and people do, so it’s a rather pointless system, if you ask Logan. Especially since some people’s timers keep dragging out and dragging out until they finally blink out. Some people never meet their soulmate.

Logan, however, is an odd anomaly that nobody has ever seen. He was seemingly born with a timer already at zero, and none of the doctors and specialists his parents take him to manage to puzzle out what this means.

Perhaps this could mean it is a familial bond with his mother, some suggest. But those are rare, and the two of them are not particularly close, so Logan privately thinks that this theory is utter baloney.

Perhaps this could mean that he’s aromantic, others suggest. But plenty of aromantics out there have platonic and queerplatonic soulmates, and besides, Logan is just starting to discover how pretty boys are, so he quickly dismisses this as well.

Nobody really knows for certain. All they know is that his timer is out of time. All Logan knows is that big, black zero tattooed across his wrist.

So. The timer on his wrist has run out, and there is no soulmate in sight. 0:00.00. The timer on his wrist has run out. Or maybe he never even had any time on it at all. So it is.

This is fine, Logan tells himself clinically as he lies awake at night. It simply means that he doesn’t have a soulmate, or that his soulmate is dead, or something of that sort.

It’s not like it matters all that much.

(It matters, it matters—)

Plenty of people have lost soulmates, and plenty of people don’t even settle with their soulmates. It is quite common for soulmates to simply remain friends or acquaintances. It’ll just be like that, like not settling with one’s soulmate—except he just never had one to settle with in the first place.

And this is fine. He can still find himself a romantic partner if he so chooses, and maybe if the kids at school stop gossiping about him he can make some friends, or, you know what, he doesn’t even need a partner or friends, anyway. He just wants to go to school and get good grades and go to university to become someone cool and science-y, oh, and maybe get a pet hamster.

But all the same, Logan looks up at the stars from out his bedroom window, and he wonders how it would feel to know that someone out there matched him, someone out there for him, someone out there looking up at the same stars even as they are worlds apart.

---

In high school, his schoolmates are better. There is no more teasing, and there are plenty of apologies as they realize how cruel they were, but Logan politely refrains from making friends, remembering just how easily their hatred turned on him as a child.

And as his peers slowly but surely start meeting their soulmates, there is still the ever-present reminder that they have what Logan will never, what Logan can never.

Logan maintains his grades and his emotions, keeping both squarely in check. All interactions with his classmates are strictly centered around class projects and tutoring. When not in class or at home, he tucks himself into a small corner of the library, hiding from the silence of his peers and the growing chasm between his parents.

High school is when his mother finally decides she has had enough of him.

She disappears under the pretense of an out-of-town trip with some girlfriends, and when the weekend is over she just...doesn’t come back.

The divorce papers show up on their doorstep a week later.

Logan watches his father’s face crumple. He feels a stab of bitterness as he watches his father read through tears and sign the spotted, drippy forms. He knows this is his fault. He knows.

He already doesn’t have a soulmate of his own, and now he’s driven off his father’s soulmate, too.

“It isn’t your fault,” Dad reassures him weakly as the two cuddle that night for the first time in years. “It was between her and I. Sometimes things just don’t work out. It isn’t your fault, Logie-bear.”

He repeats the phrase like a mantra, until it rings through Logan’s ears and means nothing.

Logan twists to look up at his father. “You know that it is not your fault, either, Dad.”

Dad smiles down at him, wet and weary, but his mismatched eyes are rimmed red, so full of tears and yet so empty all at the same time. “Oh, but I think it is.”

Logan wants to contradict him, wants to call him out and say it’s his mom’s fault for abandoning the two of them like this. He wants to repeat that Dad shouldn’t blame himself. But to do so would be hypocritical, when Logan blames himself as well.

And so the two sit on the couch, in tense silence, hugging each other as each other’s only lifeline, and Logan thinks, maybe not having a soulmate isn’t so bad after all, if it means he doesn’t have to go through this.

---

Logan’s Uncle Remus comes around a few days after the divorce papers do, and he announces in his crackly-weird voice that he’ll be crashing on the couch for a while. Dad hems and haws over it and pretends to be annoyed, but Logan privately thinks he seems relieved to have Remus’ voice to fill the silences. Logan and his dad have never been all that good at talking, anyway.

Of course, Uncle Remus isn’t actually Logan’s uncle. He’s just Dad’s best friend from when they were in college. He shows up in town every once in a while, though usually he’s off travelling who knows where and doing who knows what.

Remus is...weird. But as somewhat of an oddity himself, Logan can’t exactly judge. Especially not when he finds that Remus is a CSI and extremely enthusiastic about true crime. The two of them quickly establish a routine of watching Buzzfeed Unsolved together after school, and sometimes they even manage to drag his father out of his study to watch, too.

It is just about a month later, while Logan is preparing snacks for a Friday afternoon marathon, that the doorbell rings.

Logan frowns, cocking his head slightly. He can’t recall his father or Remus mentioning anything about having anyone over, and he certainly has no one to invite over himself.

Unless....

Sucking in a sharp breath, Logan freezes in realization. Could it be his mother? Could she be back—to beg forgiveness, or to add insult to injury, or...?

The doorbell rings again, and a loud crashing sound echoes through the house before Uncle Remus is tearing down the hallway, a blur as he passes the kitchen. “Shit! I got it!”

Bewildered, Logan hears the sound of the front door being unlatched and yanked open. “Babe! Baby cheeks!” Remus’ voice echoes through the house.

A few moments later, Logan’s dad pads down the hallway, holding his reading glasses in one hand and blearily rubbing at his eyes with the other. He pauses in the kitchen doorway to nod at Logan before continuing. “Remus, what on Earth....”

Deciding that it should probably be safe to venture out into the hallway without one of the kitchen knives, Logan puts the bowl of popcorn down on the table next to the carrot and celery sticks (Remus always complains, but proper nutrition is necessary). Then he carefully ventures out into the hallway to see what commotion is brewing.

Remus stands in the front doorway, giving an unfamiliar teen what Logan believes is colloquially referred to as a “noogie.” Leaning against the porch railing behind them is a light brown-skinned man Logan vaguely recognizes from photographs as Virgil, another of his father’s old college friends and Remus’ soulmate.

“I am not baby cheeks anymore!” the boy huffs, struggling in Remus’ grip, although he’s smiling all the while.

“Eh, once a baby cheeks, always a baby cheeks, ya li’l chipmunk,” Remus dismisses, grinning like a madman.

Logan turns to his father to gauge how he should be reacting to the two unexpected guests.

To his surprise, Dad is smiling, actually smiling, for the first time since long before Logan’s mother left. Not one of those sarcastic little half-smirks he often shoots in Remus’ direction, not one of those false reassuring smiles he forces on when Logan is around, but a full-on genuine smile.

“Remus, do you mind?” Dad says. He rolls his eyes, mock-annoyed, and Logan is glad to see some of his old flair shining out once more. “I’d love for you to move so I can talk to Virgil.”

“Maybe I don’t, maybe I do!” Remus cackles, but the teen uses this as a distraction and takes the opportunity to finally escape from his grip.

Giggling, the teen darts further into the house. Upon looking up and meeting eyes with Logan, though, he pauses, and the brilliant beam on his face diminishes to a smaller, warmer smile. “Hi!” he says, breathless from laughter.

Logan, however is breathless for an entirely different reason.

The teenager looks to be about his age, although slightly shorter. His brown eyes are bright with mirth and, and the light coming in through the windows shines off his tan skin and his shock of black hair. His cheeks are indeed somewhat round, and his braces and the gap between his front teeth certainly call to mind the idea of a chipmunk. It isn’t meant to be an insult at all—to be frank, the teen is...Logan is loath to use the word ‘adorable’, but it is all that seems to fit the boy smiling and sticking out his hand for a shake.

“H-hello,” he manages to stammer, reaching out with a suddenly-clammy palm and shaking the boy’s hand.

Behind the teen, Logan’s father moves beside Remus in the doorway, exchanging hugs and conversation with Virgil, and Remus kisses Virgil’s cheek and latches onto his hand. But Logan is more focused on other things in the moment—more specifically, on other people. One other person.

“I’m Patton,” the boy introduces himself genially. “And you must be Logan! Pa told me all about how we used to play together as babies!”

“...We did?” Logan is still shaking Patton’s hand, he should really stop shaking Patton’s hand. He stops shaking Patton’s hand. “I am afraid that I do not recall such a thing.”

“That’s okay! I don’t really remember, either,” Patton admits sheepishly, scratching at the back of his neck. “Pa and I moved away when I was, like, three, so that’s probably why.” He brightens once more. “But that’s fine! We’re moving back here for good, so I’m sure we’ll have plenty of time to make lots of new memories!”

Patton’s hand falls from where it previously was resting at the nape of his neck, and the motion catches Logan’s eye. He manages to catch a glimpse of what looks like a zero on his wrist, and oh. So Patton’s already met his soulmate, too. So he’s most likely unavailable, then.

Something Logan didn’t think he had in him breaks.

It doesn’t matter, he reminds himself impatiently. Doesn’t matter, doesn’t matter, doesn’t matter. If he says it enough, he’ll start to mean it. Logan has no soulmate. He has no soulmate, no romantic partners, no friends, no acquaintances, and it’s all the better that way.

“It is a pleasure to meet you again,” Logan says formally. “Would you like to come in? Uncle Remus and I were just preparing to watch Buzzfeed Unsolved together, although if you would like to join us we can always watch something that would be more suited to your tastes.”

“I’d love to!” Patton enthuses. “Although I do gotta say, I’m not the biggest fan of Unsolved. It’s scary to think about real-life bad guys.” He pauses and thinks. “Have you ever watched Buzzfeed’s series on the Sims?”

Logan furrows his eyebrows in thought. “I do not believe so. What is the ‘Sims’?”

Hands flying up to his cheeks, Patton gasps. “You don’t know the Sims?”

Feeling somewhat foolish, Logan shakes his head. “I generally do not keep up with modern trends,” he admits.

“That’s okay! Boy, we have lots to talk about then!” chirps Patton, bouncing past Logan and further into the house. He pauses, cheeks darkening slightly in hue. “Oh, wait. I don’t know where I’m going. Silly me.” He giggles, then turns back to meet Logan’s wide blue eyes once more. “Would you mind showing me around?”

Overwhelmed, Logan can’t help but look back to his father for assistance. He hasn’t spoken so much with another person his age—or another person at all, really—in years, quite possibly.

His dad is of no use, merely smirking at him. “Go on,” he shoos, while Remus waggles his eyebrows at Logan in a manner that makes it clear his ogling had very much been noticed.

Logan whirls around, cheeks heated. “Right this way, Patton.”

---

Patton, Patton, Patton.

As he and his father Virgil move in across the street, Patton rapidly becomes a part of Logan’s life, unintentionally yet thoroughly.

At home? Patton comes over bringing smiles and cookies—which, isn’t it the older residents who are supposed to bring food to the new neighbors?

At school? Patton enrolls just in time to spend senior year at Logan’s high school, and he enlists Logan to be his guide around campus. Logan, who is becoming increasingly worried over his inability to say no to Patton’s big doe eyes.

It’s ridiculous, really, the whole of it is.

Logan tells himself that it’s just because he hasn’t had a friend his age before. He’s only overreacting because he doesn’t know how to properly maintain friendship. Yes, that must be it.

A part of him thinks that it’s something else, but that part of him isn’t allowed to see the light of day.

Patton is—dear lord—Patton is painting Logan’s fingernails one afternoon, Logan is letting Patton paint his fingernails, when the topic of soulmates finally comes up.

The two of them sit in the tub in Patton’s bathroom (Logan insists on the bathroom, so if any spills occur they can easily be cleaned. Patton insists on the bathtub, because he’s Patton). It isn’t exactly the most comfortable place, especially for two teen boys, but they make do.

Patton gently grasps Logan’s hand in his own, painting a layer of midnight blue on the last of his nails. “All-righty! Now we just have to let those dry!” He goes to set Logan’s hand down on the edge of the tub, then pauses, twisting it up slightly to look at it.

What—oh. Logan’s thoughts sour somewhat as he realizes that Patton is looking at the soulmate timer on his wrist—or, rather, the rigid zero in its stead.

“So you’ve already met your soulmate too?” Patton smiles.

“Ah—no,” Logan says awkwardly. “I, erm...I do not actually have a soulmate.”

“Oh.” Patton’s smile wavers. “I—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring anything bad up.”

“It is quite all right,” Logan reassures. “It’s natural to be curious of such things. You do not need to apologize for curiosity. Besides.” He reaches up to adjust his glasses, then freezes in midair, remembering the still-drying nail polish on his nails. “I have had almost eighteen years to come to terms with this fact, and it says nothing about whether I end up in any relationships in my life, so it is not a metaphorical ‘sore spot’.”

“Well, that’s good,” Patton says, although his enthusiasm has decidedly lessened.

Logan doesn’t think he likes that, so he attempts to engage Patton in conversation once more. “What about you? Have you met your soulmate yet, Patton?”

“Oh! Yeah, I have!” Patton grins. He laughs, face flushed, as he shows off the zero on his own arm. Shameless, nonchalant, just as Logan wishes he could be. “I don’t remember it, but I know I’ve met them. It was when I was really young, though, and it must’ve just been in passing.”

“I see.” Logan nods. He wonders which is worse—knowing there is no soulmate out there for you to meet, or knowing that you’ve encountered them, cannot remember them, and likely will never encounter them again.

“Okay! This layer should be dry by now.” Patton scoops up Logan’s hands once more. “Let’s add some little white and yellow dots to be stars!”

Well. Patton seems to be doing well enough for himself, Logan notes, watching the eager boy in front of him. And if neither of them are in any danger of meeting a soulmate, then the two of them can remain together, correct?

Logan quirks his mouth up in a half-smile. Patton catches the movement and coos, booping his nose and then giggling at the yellow polish now stuck on the tip of Logan’s nose.

Yes, perhaps the two of them can at least remain together, sans soulmate and standing strong.

...Although, ahem. Perhaps they can accomplish the ‘standing strong’ part later, once they get out of the bathtub.

---

Fall passes quickly, then winter comes. Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year’s are spent at Virgil’s, a mish-mash of Logan and his dad, Virgil and Patton, Remus, and Remus’ brother Roman, who pops by just for a moment but ends up staying solely to chat with Logan’s dad, no matter what Dad tries to say to the otherwise. (Logan, Patton, Remus, and Virgil laugh over how oblivious the two of them are, and even if Logan doesn’t quite know how to feel about Roman yet, he’s glad to see his father looking and feeling so much better.)

Soon enough, Logan’s eighteenth birthday is just around the bend, and, well, that’s supposed to be a special one, wouldn’t it? So he supposes that it might be fun to see if Patton would like to go to the science museum with him. Not as a date, of course, not as a date. He truly doesn’t feel that way about Patton.

...Or, at least, he doesn’t think he does. And he knows that Patton doesn’t feel that way about him.

It’s a bright, blustery Saturday afternoon, and Logan stands in front of the door to Patton’s house, steeling himself to knock and ask Patton.

He’s pulling his hand back to knock on the door when it swings open.

Patton is looking down at his hands, determinedly pulling on his gloves, so he doesn’t see Logan standing there, frozen in surprise. Walking out of the door, he runs directly into Logan.

“Oh!” Patton very nearly screeches. He jumps backward as Logan stumbles back a bit himself. “Logan! Oh my gosh! I’m so sorry!”

“It—” Logan is still largely frozen, and it isn’t because of the cold weather. “It is all right, Patton.”

“Here—come in, come in,” Patton ushers, his cheeks darkened in embarrassment. “I was just about to head over to your house, actually!” He laughs. “Funny, huh?”

“And I was just about to knock on the door,” Logan responded, a wry smile on his lips. He could admittedly see some humor in the occurrence. “I had something to ask of you.”

“Whatcha wanna ask?” Patton asked, pulling off his outer winter layers and gesturing for Logan to do the same. “If you’d like, we can go in the kitchen and make some hot chocolate. Pa actually remembered to buy almond milk this time!”

“That sounds most excellent,” Logan responded, hanging his coat up on the rack by the front door. He slipped off his boots and padded after Patton into the kitchen.

The two of them make their cocoa, exchanging comfortable banter as they do so. This is by far not the first time that they’ve made cocoa together this winter, and at this point it’s almost like a well-practiced dance routine, darting back and forth between refrigerator and pantry, pantry and stove, stove and countertop, countertop and kitchen table. Patton almost drops the marshmallows no less than three times, but Logan is right there to catch them for him.

“Wow, Lo-lo,” Patton finally comments as Logan catches the marshmallows a fourth time. “Those marshmallows must really love you!”

Logan raises an eyebrow as he sets the bag back on the counter, a nice, good distance from the edge this time. “Marshmallows do not feel anything,” he tries to tell Patton, but the half-Filipino boy shushes him.

“Ask me why, Logan, asks me why.” Patton is practically vibrating, and Logan sighs, because he knows that means he is about to be subject to another of Patton’s horrendous puns or dad jokes. But he humors Patton nevertheless.

“Why do the marshmallows love me, Patton?” he asks, resigned, but Patton barely waits for him to finish speaking before answering.

“Because they keep falling for you,” Patton gushes out, grinning mischievously.

Logan groans good-naturedly, but there’s a fond smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he sits down at the table.

The two sip at their hot cocoa in silence for a few moments, before both open their mouths to speak at the same time.

“Patton, I would like to—”

“Logan, I was thinking—”

They both pause mid-sentence, and Patton laughs. “Go ahead, Lo-lo. You go first! You did come all the way over here, after all.”

Logan nods. “Very well, then.” He takes one more sip of his cocoa before setting it down at the table and looking at Patton, hoping he doesn’t look as nervous as he feels. “You see, my birthday is next Friday, and I was wondering if—”

“Wait, next Friday?” Patton interrupts him, looking surprised. “Like, Friday, January fifteenth?”

“Indeed.” Logan frowns. “Why do you ask?”

“That’s my birthday too,” Patton explains, grinning from ear to ear. He bursts into laughter. “Gosh, that was what I was going to ask you about too, kiddo!”

“We are the same age. You cannot call me ‘kiddo’,” Logan says, scandalized, but this only makes Patton laugh more.

“Oh yeah? Well, what time of day were you born then, hmm, mister?” Patton teases.

“Five fifty-four in the evening,” Logan recites.

“Oh.” Patton’s smile disappears, and for a moment, Logan is worried, but it just seems that he’s lost in thought. “You know, Lo, my dad had me at right around the same time. I don’t remember when he said, exactly, but I sure remember him complaining that I interrupted his dinner.” He giggles, but quickly sobers up.

“Is...is everything all right, Patton?” Logan asks cautiously.

“Yeah, yeah, everything’s fine! I just....” Patton looks down. “I actually met my soulmate while I was in the hospital, as a baby. Pa said my timer looked awful short when I was born, but he was so tired that he didn’t really think too much of it until it had already hit zero by the next day.”

That’s possible? Logan pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose as he thinks. Then...could he possibly be....

“He thinks my soulmate was one of the other babies or kids in the hospital,” Patton continues, “but we were never able to figure out who, cuz your...uh, your mom nearly...you know. So he kinda just focused on keeping me alive and keeping an eye on your dad.”

Patton looks up at Logan with hopeful eyes. “Are you certain that you were born with a zero on your timer? Because if not, then maybe....”

The thought hangs in the air between them, burning hot and freezing cold all at once.

Logan swallows thickly. God, he wants it to be true. But it...there are simply too many variables and possibilities.

“I...don’t know,” he finally says aloud, hating how Patton’s shoulders slump. “My father informed me that no one glimpsed my timer before it had hit zero, so we all just...assumed. I can ask him to clarify again, but...there just isn’t any conclusive evidence.” He shrugs.

“Yeah, that makes sense,” Patton says morosely.

The two sit in silence once more, before Logan nervously breaks it.

“...Say, Patton, I was wondering if you would like to accompany me to the museum of science next Saturday,” he says carefully. “Your dad is welcome to come, of course, and Remus as well. Afterwards, my father is planning to make a celebratory dinner, since Friday is my birthday.”

“Oh!” Patton’s eyes light up a little, and Logan can’t help but feel relieved at the sight. “I’d love to!”

“Excellent,” Logan says, pleased.

“Will there be cows there?” Patton asks.

Logan blinks. “Excuse me, what?”

Oh, dear, Patton has that glint in his eye again. “You know.” He wriggles his eyebrows up and down. “Since we’re going to a mooseum.”

“I rescind my invitation,” Logan says, straight-faced as Patton jokingly pouts and begs him not to. And he has a lot to think about when he goes home, but in the moment, he just wants to spend as much time as he can with Patton.

---

Logan finally works up the courage to ask his father about his birth Sunday night after supper.

He lingers in the doorway of his dad’s study until the dark-haired man finally notices him.

“Logan?” Dad raises an eyebrow, turning away from his work. “Can I help you with something?”

“Yes, I....” Logan licks his lips nervously. His mother has been a sore subject for months now, but Logan’s been doing better, Dad’s been doing better, this should be fine.

“I would like to inquire about the circumstances of my birth,” Logan says delicately.

Dad goes still. After a moment, though, he sighs heavily, getting up from his desk. “All right, but I don’t know what there is to tell you that I haven’t already.” He goes over and sits on the couch usually reserved for his clients, and gestures for Logan to sit next to him.

“You know, you’ve always been ahead of schedule,” Logan’s father begins as he always has, a rueful smile on his face. “Early to walk, early to talk, early to read, and now you’re early to every appointment and every encounter. But before all of that, you were early to your own birth.

“We were getting ready for you, but we hadn’t expected you so soon,” Dad explains, his mismatched brown and gray eyes glazing over as he reminisces. “Your mother was a few days from going on maternity leave at work. I had only just put in for paternity leave with my boss when I got the call that you were on your way.

“When I got to the hospital, I barely was able to see her before they were wheeling her back to do a c-section. You’re so smart, I’m sure you know what a breech birth is, right?”

Logan nods.

“When she came back, you were by her side, and I was so happy to see that you were okay, but...your mother wasn’t so okay.” The smile on Logan’s father’s face fades. “We weren’t sure that she was going to make it for a long while there, and regardless of whether she survived or not, she wouldn’t be able to have any more children.

“One of the on-duty nurses offered to take you to the nursery with the other babies, that way you would be safe and cared for while I focused on helping your mother.” Logan’s dad pauses. “While you were being examined in the nursery, that was when someone realized your timer read what it does...although we weren’t told about that until the next day.”

“Do you think....” Logan collects his thoughts before continuing with his sentence. “Were you or anyone else, by any chance, able to see what my timer read when I was born?”

Dad shakes his head, and Logan’s heart sinks. “I’m sorry, son. There was so much happening that I don’t remember catching a glimpse.”

Logan nods mutely. Then, quick to change subjects before the silence stretches on too long, he speaks up again. “Patton has confirmed that he can to go to the museum with me this coming Friday. He has also informed me that his father and Remus have offered to come with as chaperones.”

“Excellent.” His dad sounds relieved at the change in conversation topic. “That gives Roman and I some alone time...to make your birthday dinner, of course,” he adds hastily when Logan gives him a suspicious look. “Don’t you have homework or something to do, Logan?” He makes a shooing motion with one two-toned hand.

“Indeed.” Logan doesn’t, not really, but he can tell his father wants to end the conversation, and to be honest, he’s feeling similarly. “I think I will go finish my homework and then go to sleep for the night.”

Logan stands and walks over to the door. At the last second, though, he pauses. “Dad, why...why do you think Mom is your soulmate, when she...?”

The question hangs in the air for just long enough that Logan begins to regret asking it.

“I...don’t know, son. I wish I could lie and tell you that I know for sure, but....” His father shrugs, helpless, and there is another beat of silence. He fixes his gaze on Logan, piercing and warm at the same time. “But I like to think that it’s because she changed my life for the better when she gave me you.”

Logan isn’t sure how to respond to something so blatantly heartfelt from his normally cool and collected father, so he stays quiet on the subject, mulling it over in his head.

“Goodnight, Dad,” Logan finally says. “...I love you.”

“Goodnight, Logan,” his father says, looking mildly surprised. They don’t need to say it, not really, so they usually don’t. They both know it’s an implied thing. “I love you too, son.” He smiles.

Logan isn’t usually one for such outward displays of emotion, but this is his father—his father who forgives him, even as they both struggle and make their own mistakes, his father who stays by him, even as his mother left, his father who loves him, no matter what.

Logan smiles back.

---

The Friday of Logan and Patton’s birthday is cloudy and overcast, with the threat of cold, sleeting rain or possibly even snow on the horizon, but it matters little, since most of it is to be spent inside—first at school, then at the museum, then at Logan’s house for dinner.

Virgil and Remus pick Logan and Patton up from school, shuffling the four of them to the museum of natural science downtown. Virgil insists on driving, and Remus uses this as an excuse to sit shotgun and blast whatever weird music is currently to his taste. He and Virgil bicker about volume the entire way there, while Logan and Patton sit in the back, exchanging knowing glances.

At the museum, Logan tries to pull out money to pay for everyone’s tickets, since he is the one who invited them, after all. But Uncle Remus quickly tells him to put the money away.

“For the birthday boys!” he crows, roughly ruffling Logan and Patton’s hair as the person behind the desk counts out change. “Oh, and you too, I guess.” He winks exaggeratedly at Virgil.

Virgil smiles wryly. “Oh, gee, thanks.” But when Remus drags him into a ridiculous bear hug, he concedes, laughing.

Their tickets paid for, Patton bounces up to the map laid out on the wall. Logan goes to follow him, but a hand on his shoulder pulls him back. Turning around, he sees Virgil, a half-serious look on his face, with Remus right behind him.

“Yeah yeah, y’all are cute together,” Virgil inclines his head between Logan and Patton, “but do I have to give you the Talk?”

Logan blinks, befuddled. “What talk?”

“The sexytimes talk!” Remus interrupts, grinning like the Cheshire cat, and oh, oh god, no, Logan does not need to hear this from Patton’s dad and Patton’s dad’s queerplatonic partner. It was bad enough when his own father sat him down for that particular conversation.

“I don’t believe that to be necessary. Sir,” Logan tacks on, stammering. “I think that I am...adequately knowledgeable in those area. U-uh, just in a clinical manner, o-of course.” He looks around desperately for a way to escape the situation. “I, ahem. I shall go catch up with Patton now, if you will excuse me.”

“Wrap it up!” Remus screeches gleefully as Logan speedwalks over to Patton, grabs his hand, and yanks him away.

“Whoa!” Patton follows behind him without much of a struggle. “I-is everything okay, Lo-lo?”

“Perfectly,” Logan says primly, desperately fighting to maintain his composure and keep his blushing to a minimum. “I simply am...very eager to see the dinosaur exhibit.”

“Oh!” Patton laughs. “I guess it’s a pity we can’t dinosoar on over there, then.”

Logan rolls his eyes at the pun, but when Patton doesn’t stop holding his hand, he allows a tiny, amused smile to dance across his face.

What would it be like, if Patton truly were his soulmate? Would it be like this, but nicer? Or would it even make a change at all?

As Logan and Patton pull each other from exhibit, talking animatedly and still holding hands, he decides that he would really rather not think about the possibility. Besides, Logan quite likes things as they are.

---

Dinner that night is a bit of a messy affair. As it so turns out, like Logan’s father, Roman is not a particularly good cook, and when put together the two are more prone to...distraction. Logan helps Roman scrape the burnt remains into the trash can while Dad and Patton call a local Vietnamese place.

“So, ah, Logan,” Roman says nervously as the two of them pile crusted dishes into the sink. “We’re planning on announcing this at dinner, but I wished to tell you personally. He smiles, but it isn’t his usual boastful grin. “Janus and I...your father and I are—”

“Involved in a romantic relationship?” Logan interrupts, looking wryly at the adult as he turns on the sink.

“Yes, I—” Roman cuts himself off mid-sentence. “Wait, you knew?”

“Neither of you are particularly subtle,” Logan comments offhandedly as he wipes off the counter with a slightly damp sponge. “Which, that is saying something, considering I am not particularly fluent in understanding human relations.”

“Oh.” Roman blinks. “Ah. Well then.”

“I do not object, if that is what you are worried about,” Logan responds. “As ‘extra’ as you may be, you make my father happy, no matter how much he attempts to deny it.”

“Really?” Roman smiles, and it’s soft and warm as opposed to his normal big, brilliant grins. “I’m glad to hear that, kid.”

“I am not a kid,” Logan protests, but Roman ruffles his hair (the habit must run in the family) and walks off, whistling jauntily.

Once Virgil and Remus return with take-out, dinner follows similarly, full of all manners of banter and quips. Logan has never been much of one for small talk, but conversation flows surprisingly easily. Roman, Virgil, and Remus almost devolve into a food fight over analysis of the Nightmare Before Christmas, but Patton hastily steps in and reveals the cake that he baked for the occasion, and all parties compromise on singing “Happy Birthday” as loudly and irritatingly as they can.

Armed with copious amounts of cake and ice cream, the six make their way into the living room to watch a couple movies. Logan’s father sputters as Roman drags him into his lap, and Patton’s dad and Uncle Remus sit by them on the couch, so Logan and Patton sit together on the ridiculously oversized armchair in the corner of the room.

“Spill anything and you get to clean it up,” Dad threatens Remus when he gets a little too reckless with his plate of dessert during the first movie.

“Anyone want popcorn?” Roman questions as he stands and stretches in between the first and second movie.

“Stop trying to tickle your brother, mahal,” Virgil chides when Remus starts to get fidgety during the particularly fluffy movie Patton chose.

Logan says nothing, but when Patton lays his head on Logan’s shoulder halfway through the next movie, his chest and cheeks feel oddly warm.

The movie after that is Roman’s choice, and it’s an incredibly cheesy soulmate romance. It’s an extremely awkward choice, considering most of the people in the room aren’t involved with their soulmates—and, of course, Logan doesn’t even have one to be involved with.

But the movie reminds Logan of the possible revelation he and Patton shared just the week before, and apparently he isn’t the only one.

“Pa,” Patton calls across to Virgil, “did I tell you? Logan and I might be soulmates.”

Remus drops his popcorn. Logan’s dad is too busy gaping at the two teens to scold him for it.

“W-what?” Patton’s dad manages, his voice octaves higher than it typically sounds.

“Yeah! Right, Lo?” Patton glances at Logan for a moment, grinning, before he turns back to look at the adults. “So, so we were born in the same hospital on the same day, right? We were in the nursery together! Same place, same time! Since nobody saw for sure whether Logan’s timer read zero right when he was born or not, we think it might be because we met in the nursery or passing in the hall or something.”

“You think,” Logan interjects weakly. “There is no way to know for certain.”

“That...would actually make a degree of sense,” Patton’s dad says mildly.

Maybe it does. But it also does not. There are so many variables involved—so many possibilities...there is no way for this to be confirmed as fact.

“Aww, how romantic would that be?” Roman coos.

Logan flushes cherry red. Why are they all discussing this so openly?

“So you met your soulmate...as a baby?” Logan’s father asks, eyebrows raised as he contemplates the notion. “Considering we never officially confirmed that he was born with the zero, it could theoretically be possible.”

Logan grits his teeth.

“Yeah! It would just be so cool if it turned out we had been soulmates all along, wouldn’t it? What do you think, Lo?” Patton turns to look at him, smiling, and Logan just can’t take it anymore.

“I don’t care!” Logan finally bursts out.

Patton looks like he’s been punched in the gut. “You...don’t?” he asks, his voice hollow and his eyes dangerously watery, and Logan realizes all too late how his words can be misconstrued.

“Wait—no, that isn’t—” Logan hastily tries to correct, desperately trying to catch Patton’s eye, but Patton looks down. “I don’t mean that how you think I do.”

“How do you mean, it, then?” Patton sniffles.

Patton’s father looks about ready to murder him, but Logan’s dad murmurs something in his ear and decidedly steers the other three adults out of the living room.

Standing up from the armchair, Logan takes a deep breath. This is not at all how he expected the night of their birthday to go. He’d been hoping he could keep these feelings held close to his chest, so that he might figure out what, exactly, they mean, but.... “Patton, I feel very strongly about you. I—emotions are not my strong suit, so I do not know if it is romantic, or platonic, or something else, but...I do. And...regardless of whether we are actually soulmates or not, I....” Logan steels himself for his next words.

“I would like to remain by your side.”

Logan looks at Patton’s surprised expression, and he wants to run and hide. “If you will have me, that is,” he adds, fidgeting with his glasses. He slides them off, so he won’t have to see the rejection in Patton’s eyes, and he lowers them to the hem of his shirt, wiping furiously at the lenses.

Patton is quiet.

Logan knows it’s illogical, he does, but he feels like he has to fill in the silence, to stave off whatever Patton’s reaction will be. He knows what cognitive dissonance is, and he knows that he’s overthinking, but he can’t seem to stop.

“I just,” Logan stops, then starts. As he stares down, the lenses start to look even blurrier. No, no, no. He blinks furiously. “I do not want to forge our relationship solely on the concept that we might be soulmates.”

“Oh, Logan, no,” Patton murmurs, finally speaking up again. “If we’re soulmates, then I think that’d be neat! But that isn’t the only thing our relationship would be based on, honey. It would just be like a cool little add-on.”

Something cool touches Logan’s face—Patton’s fingers. They gently tease him into looking up and meeting Patton’s intent eyes. A second hand grasps his, taking his glasses and sliding them back into place on his face.

“It doesn’t matter if we’re soulmates or not,” Patton says softly yet stubbornly, his cheeks darkened slightly, “because I like you either way. Either way I feel the same for you, Logan.” He blinks slightly watery eyes. “I don’t know what this is, but maybe we can figure it out...together?”

Logan nods mutely.

“Can I hug you?” Patton asks carefully.

Again, Logan nods.

Patton slowly crowds into Logan’s space, and just like in the past, somehow his presence is welcoming, not oppressing and claustrophobia-inducing, unlike when their classmates shove by in the halls.

Patton takes him into his arms, and Logan falls.

Holding Logan close, Patton awkwardly sits the two of them back down on the armchair, half in each others’ laps, arms around shoulders and waists, legs tangled with legs, faces tucked into shoulders. Their breaths are silent and quick, their eyes watery but not quite crying.

Logan isn’t sure how long they sit like that before he becomes aware of a buzzing sensation in his arm. He makes a jolting motion as if to separate slightly from Patton, who quickly lets him.

“Apologies,” he murmurs. “My arm seems to have fallen asleep.”

Patton laughs. The sound is choked. “Yeah, my leg’s all buzzy and tingly too,” he admits, kicking out his legs a bit.

A rustling noise sounds behind them. Logan turns to see his father, Roman, Patton’s dad, and Remus piled in the doorway to the living room. Dad at least has the grace to look sheepish at being caught, but the others don’t even try to hide the fact that they’ve been eavesdropping.

“’S it safe to come back in?” Remus asks. “No war zones or anything? Nobody that needs fighting to the death?”

“None,” Logan confirms.

“Good, because I want to finish my movie,” Roman declares, striding into the room.

The four adults re-situate themselves on the couch once more, and everything resumes almost exactly as it had been before.

Dad, sitting the closest to Logan and Patton on the armchair, scrutinizes the two while the other three adults become immersed in the movie once more. “All good, son?” he finally asks, so quietly that Logan almost thinks he’s imagining the words.

Is all truly good?

Logan doesn’t know. Just like he doesn’t know if Patton is his soulmate, just like he doesn’t know how things are going to be now. But like Patton said, they can figure it out together. It’ll take time, but they have time, no matter what the timers on their wrists read.

Logan nods.

“All good.”

---

Logan does not have a soulmate. Or maybe he does. He doesn’t know.

All he knows is the zero that has been on his wrist since before he can remember. All he knows is the time that had run out, or so people have always told him. But perhaps...perhaps it isn’t that the timers count down to an ending. Perhaps they count down to a beginning. And perhaps, in having an ended timer, or in having no timer, or in whatever the zero on his wrist means—perhaps this means he gets to decide when his beginning is, not fate.

Logan does not have a soulmate. Or maybe he does. Who knows?

What he knows to be fact, however, is that he is a Logan, and he has a Patton, and they have all the time in the world.

Fin

Day 1 || Day 2 || Day 3

Yeah, this one’s late because my dumb ass decided to pull a sickfic, except I’m lonely and had to hold back my own hair :’) Never fear, though! I am entirely stuck in my bed now, so I’ll have plenty of time to write more stuff. :’D

Want to be added onto any of my taglists? Shoot me an ask or a message here or via my other social media!

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ashintheairlikesnow · 4 years

Text

Vince and the Phone

A phone call between Vincent Shield and his girlfriend, Tara. Tara belongs to @fairybean101 and is used with permission! Thanks for letting me use your girl to talk some sense into my poor movie star.

This post references Who’s the Better Box Boy by @shameless-whumper heavily, so please read that if you haven’t yet to understand Vince’s reactions

CW: Referenced past violent assault, and referenced psat and current noncon

Tagging: @maybeawhumpblog, @pepperonyscience, @haro-whumps, @18-toe-beans, @burtlederp, @finder-of-rings, @giggly-evil-puppy, @lump-of-whump, @whimpers-and-whumpers

He can’t stop fucking watching it.

Vince finally gives up and calls her - one benefit of their relationship for him has been Tara’s simple willingness to pick up the phone so he can ask her to yell at him any time, day or night. Tara never seems to sleep, she’s burning herself out rescuing all those poor Box Boys and Babes, and so she’s never more than a few moments of ringing away.

And she always picks up when Vince calls.

When Eli had initially asked him to consider acting as some kind of go-between for the pet lib people - he’d known Eli for a while, they ran in some of the same circles sometimes - he’d nearly said no.

But he wanted to help; even then, he’d understood something was really, really wrong with the whole human pet system. He hadn’t been able to put his finger on it, then, because why not let people sign their lives away? Vince did that every time he signed a contract for a new film and had to stop doing anything but working out and eating stupid plain chicken for months.

But Eli had known more than he let on, at first, and a couple of years later Vince was sitting up in the middle of the night, half-plastered, replaying a video of some poor son of a bitch with Vince’s face laying on his back, ankles flush to thighs, legs spread.

The red in the poor thing’s face, embarrassed and ashamed of something that, according to Tara, he couldn’t have refused to do even if he’d wanted to.

And to Vince, it looked like he wanted to refuse.

He caught the look the other one - the one that the Host kept - gave, presumably, Owen behind the camera. Flat and controlled, an attempt to stay expressionless, but Vince could read the helpless fury there.

“Yeah, you and me both, buddy,” Vince muttered, raking a hand back through his hair as he pulled up Tara’s number. “Both of us get pissed as hell and both of us do fucking nothing about it. At least you have an excuse, I guess. I’m just a goddamn coward.”

Tara’s number was next to an icon of her face, a serious scowl with her red hair a halo around her head. She hadn’t wanted Vince to take the photo, but she’d been the one to choose which of the seven he took got set as her icon on his phone.

It took four rings for Tara to pick up.

“What dumbass thing are you doing now?” Her voice is sharp as ever, but laced, he likes to think, with friendly affection. “It’s two in the morning, Vince.”

“Don’t yell at me for being up, I’m between projects and I always get all weird with my sleep schedule when I’m not working. What are you doing up?”

“Handling some new reports from another group,” Tara replies, and Vince can hear her shuffling papers in the background. “They got word on an upcoming raid, managed to split up their documents and records before the cops found them. We took in a few of their rescues, a couple of other groups took some. All the rescues are taken care of, which is what matters, but shit.”

“Shit…?”

“They’re hitting too many groups. I think someone is talking. But you don’t want to hear about my shit tonight… what’s up, Vince?” There’s a pause and before he can answer, Tara asks softly, “You’re still thinking about it, aren’t you?”

Vince glances down at his laptop, where the video is currently paused, right on the shot of the look of pure unadulterated trying-to-hide-it murder Colton - who is apparently Dustin Anderson, pet liberation activist, and oh shit what a fucking ominous soundtrack that knowledge starts up inside his head - is giving Owen Grant. He moves the timer back and sets it up to replay the look on the Kauri kid’s face the second he heard the Host say Position 34.

The red flush, humiliated and nervous, the subtle sidelong glance to the other pet only to see the confusion on his face and realize oh shit, I’m the only one of us who knows this.

Did pets judge each other? Did Kauri leave and the other one, the Dustin one, think oh, that one’s a whore when they left?

Probably not.

No, the reaction shots gave too much away for Vince to even think unkind bullshit like that. No, the pets clearly cared, at least a little. The rescues they brought in mostly avoided each other at first, while all the conditioning was in place, but these two look like maybe they wouldn’t. Or at least not as much.

He rewinds again right to the start, watching for the moment Owen Grant looks up, surprised, those green eyes on the camera so soft and friendly.

“He’s such a fucking liar, Tara,” Vince says, and his voice shakes.

“Yeah, okay, so you’re watching it.” Tara sighs, and he can picture it - rubbing the spot between her eyebrows with her index finger and thumb, taking a deep breath. “Vince, you shouldn’t. You shouldn’t punish yourself this way.”

“He’s a liar. He goes on camera - what fucking right does he have to do that, by the way - and he stands right fucking there and lies about what happened between us, lies about what I, what I did with him-”

“No.” Tara’s voice is sharp, and it cuts through Vince immediately. His mouth snaps shut. “What he did to you, Vince. We’ve talked about this. You didn’t do anything but go to see your friend one night when he seemed down. Everything after he put the drink in your hand is what he did to you.”

There’s a silence and Vince tries to tell himself she’s right. She’s always right.

Eventually, he gives up to the pull of just letting Tara run the show and smiles, wondering if she’ll hear the expression in his voice. “Yeah, okay. But still… you know he didn’t get someone like that Box Boy by accident. You know he lied about that, too.”

“Yeah, I know.” Tara’s voice is clipped, and goes slightly quieter. “We got a potential informant in the company, and I’ve just seen Grant’s custom order form.”

“What?” Vince’s feet thump to the ground and he sits up. Around him his home is perfectly silent, pure white, and kind of cold. He likes it better when Tara has to stay over, pretend she’s sleeping with him that night. Then this place feels like it has life in it.

Mostly, even when he’s home, it just feels... empty.

“Yeah. We had someone come through and offer to get us some info, and Owen Grant’s order form was in the documents he gave us to show he was good for it. This is… this is the most detailed custom order form I’ve ever seen, Vince.”

“Did he-...” Vince tries to swallow back the question, but it tumbles out anyway. “Did he really just want him for-”

“No, it’s more fucked than that.” Tara’s quiet - Vince can hear his own blood, his heartbeat, his breathing. “Are you sure you want me to tell you?”

“Yes. No. I don’t, I don’t know… will it make me feel better or worse to hear it?”

On screen, Kauri is shocked and Vince watches his flinch, the tears standing in his eyes, still pleading and wide in some hope that Owen will rescue him. Vince grinds his teeth in anger at the way it looks to see his own face, so perfectly broken and needy, looking always to Owen to be saved.

Exactly how Owen had always wanted to see him.

“Probably worse,” Tara answers, and there’s a hint of gentleness there. Tara isn’t gentle with very many people - with him, with Eli, maybe a few others. Always with the rescues, the broken men and women hiding from the system under fake names and with forged documentation, pulled from homes and those two-bit emporiums selling bullshit knock-off Box Boys and Babes. She doesn’t have a lot of gentle left in her, after her own ordeal - but she always finds a little for Vince.

And he doesn’t even try to be ashamed of himself for needing it.

“Tell me anyway. That poor kid probably feels enough like shit, I might as well join him. I’m the only reason he’s even in this mess.”

“Well, okay, it might make you feel better to know he was already in the system. They called him 645898,” Tara reads the number out loud with real hatred edging her voice. “He was already in training before Grant put in his order, but I have a hunch they new Grant had been sniffing around the site and picked him up to have him ready for the order. And fuck, what an order. I don’t know what we’d even do with a rescue like this one, Vince.”

“What? Why? We’ve rescued others that are, that were, that… um…”

“Got their brains fucked out of them?” Tara asks with bitter near-humor.

“Yeah. That.”

“Yeah, he’s definitely seeing his share of that-” Vince winces, closing his eyes, trying not to remember Own’s hand pressed over his mouth, the look in his eyes as he’d whispered I’m so fucking tired of hearing you say no all the time, Vince, the way the ropes had dug into his wrists until they were rubbed raw and bloody. “-but it’s worse than that. He wouldn’t even go with us if we showed up at Grant’s front door.”

“Let me guess,” Vince says heavily. “He wanted the pet to love him.”

I just want you to fucking love me, you piece of shit! Is that so much to ask, Vince? Huh?! Is that so much to fucking ask?!

“Yep.” Tara doesn’t try to soothe him, to paper over old wounds with pretty words. That’s what he loves about her - Vince’s world is one of fake comfort and false friends, and Tara never gives comfort she doesn’t drag out of herself with real sincerity and she’s the truest friend he’s ever had. “If we tried to take him, he... he wouldn’t go. And that’s just the fucking tip of the fucking iceberg, too.”

“Perfect.” Vince sighs. “This kid had no idea what he was signing up for, huh?”

“Vince. You and I both know hardly any of them actually sign up for anything. You and I both know how they get the pets to sign our contracts.”

Vince licks his lips, hesitating, his blood running a little cold at the thought. “Yeah. Yeah, I know, I know how they do it. I know it.”

“Close your laptop, Vince. Go to sleep. This kid won’t be any less or more fucked over if you do. We’ll work on his case, I promise, he’s just… he’s going to be tough. He’s not in a house where we can walk up, he never leaves so we can’t catch him in a vulnerable, open place. And if we did… he wouldn’t go. The conditioning is thorough, Vince, and I’ve no doubt he loves Grant and is terrified of the idea of being taken away from him.” Tara sighs, again. She has a whole library of sighs, and Vince loves her for each and every one of them. “I have to talk to Eli about it, we need a better plan for dealing with this one, but trust me - I’m going to figure this shit out. Your clone and Dustin, we’re going to figure it out.”

“If you don’t, Tara? What if you can’t figure it out, for either of them?”

“Then…” Tara trails off. “Then it’s like I said. They’re no more or less fucked over than they were before I knew about them.”

It’s Vince’s turn to snort. “Tara. We both know that’s not how you operate. You never stop thinking about any of the ones you couldn’t rescue.”

“Hm. Maybe I’ll make it work this time if I try hard enough. Go to sleep, Vince. Eli’s on my other line. He took in a rescue and he’s been calling me for advice about her.”

“That’s funny. Me calling to ask you about this Kauri kid, and Eli’s right in his house, at the exact same moment, calling you for advice about, uh, whatever her name is.”

“Keira. She asked him to call her Keira.” Tara is quiet. “Kauri and Keira. Funny, the two names together like that. Eli even says her hair is dark and curly... Anyway, you need sleep and I need to keep moving.”

“Right, because you’re a sleep shark, if you sleep you’ll die,” Vince teases her. She laughs on the other line, and he relaxes all at once.

Did the people who kept Tara, in the shadowy past she only rarely opened up about, ever make her laugh? Did they have any idea how wonderful it was to hear the sound? Did they know her laugh was nearly as gorgeous as the red of her hair? If Vince had ever been remotely into women, someone like Tara might have been just his type.

As it was, his fake girlfriend was probably his best friend. And the only person on Earth who knew what Owen Grant had done to him, when he was 20 years old and looked exactly like the Kauri kid that Vince was watching, once again, lay on his back on the screen.

Ankles against his thighs, legs spread apart, the flush of shame in his eyes and his skin and in the way he moved when Owen yanked him back to his feet moments later.

“You have meetings tomorrow,” Tara says, softly.

“So do you,” He counters. He scrolls down to look over the comments, staring at the array of usernames and inane babble. Mostly just people praising the Host’s cleverness, how funny they are, what a great idea to have two Box Boys face off like that.

Then one catches his eye.

@finder-of-rings: Kauri seems really sweet. God I hope owen isn’t hurting him. It’d be so, so easy to do just anything he wanted to him! They’re all alone and he can’t say no to anything, right??? God, that’s so scary… imagine being all alone with someone like Owen Grant and he can do literally anything to you and no one will stop him and no one will help you! Someone should do something!

There’s a slew of replies telling the commenter they’re making a mountain out of a molehill, that the Box Boys signed up for this, it’s all part of the system, whatever.

Vincent just stares at the words as they go in and out of focus.

“Vince?” Tara’s voice seems a little fainter. “You listening?”

Imagine being all alone with someone like Owen Grant and he can do anything to you - and no one will stop him - and no one will help you.

“I don’t have to imagine it,” Vince whispers. “I’ve been there, Finder of Rings. I’ve fucking been there.”

“Hey, no, are you reading the comments, Vince?” Tara’s voice is sharp again, cuts through the fog and the way his throat has gone tight, his heart beating fast, a dizzy fear pounding in his mind all the way down to wrists that still remember how it felt to be tied down.

A throbbing pulse of phantom pain in the rib Owen had broken, in the eye he’d punched. Some of Vince’s teeth are fake because of Owen Grant.

“Never, ever read the comments, Vince. Never. That’s… we have people who read the comments just to troll for info and even some of them get freaked out. Don’t do it. Or…” The softness is back in her voice, again. “At least let me be there with you when you do.”

“Yeah… yeah, no, you’re right.” Vince’s voice is shaking as he closes his laptop screen, shutting away the vision of Kauri and the Host’s boy carefully not looking at each other as the episode ended. I hope the other pets don’t judge the ones like you, little clone, he thinks. I hope, I hope, I hope.

“I’m going to bed, Tara. You’re right and I should take your advice and just… just fucking shut off for a while. Are you going to take my advice and do the same?”

“Fuck no. I’m calling Eli to see what help he needs with his rescue. She’s a sweetheart, she’s been really put through the worst the system does to people. I’ll sleep when I’m dead, Vince.”

“And you’ll die if you sleep,” Vince says, and both of them laugh this time.

She hangs up and Vince sits in his quiet, empty house, thinking of the comment he’d read.

Someone should do something.

He thinks of Owen screaming in his face, holding him by the chin, the way he’d choked on his own blood and the tooth down his throat as he cried and begged Owen not to kill him. Thought of what it had been like when Owen’s mom had found out and Vincent had stumbled out of the old apartment where Owen used to live, beaten half to death and unable to tell a single living soul what really happened.

It’d hurt his career, if he did. He was just getting real acting jobs meant for adults, then - he’d signed Carlotta Grant’s legal shit and taken a year to recover and then come back and become a fucking superstar. It had felt like enough for a while.

He couldn’t have risked his career, then, when it was only getting started. And now...

It’d murder his career to step one foot out of line, now - and put the pet lib people he worked with at risk, if he publicly said a fucking thing about Owen Grant keeping what amounted to a blow up doll with a pulse that looked just like him.

He had to trust Tara, and the people like Tara - the people braver than him.

“Someone should save that poor kid,” Vince mutters, alone in the dark. “Someone should do something. But it’s not going to be me.”

#whump #erase to control #vincent shield is not a hero #fairybean101 #box boy #box boy multiverse #box boy universe #shameless-whumper #colton #kauri #tw: referenced past assault #tw: referenced violent noncon #tw: referenced noncon #youtuber whump #youtube whump #pet liberation movement

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yourdeepestfathoms · 4 years

Text

Hush, Little Lamb

TW: Self hatred, vomiting

——————

Joan has gotten used to being alone. She’s gotten used to everyone going out or just going home to sleep after a show, while she was left behind to work even longer at the theater. She’s gotten used to everyone making plans and excluding her because they already knew she was going to be busy. She’s gotten used to being forgotten.

That’s just how it was. She’s accepted it.

Besides, she had other things to worry about. Like the show! The show is what she worried about the most, actually. It’s become her whole world, whether she liked it or not.

(She didn’t like it she didn’t like it at all she wanted this damn shitshow to end already she so badly wants to be free she wants to be free she wants to be free why won’t they let her go free-)

That being said, Joan’s had her fair share of sleepless nights. Usually they’re three days of work straight and then a few days of rest. Right now, however, it’s five days and the only thing keeping her going is caffeine pills. She still drinks several cups of coffee, but the pills are what really give her the kick she needed.

Naturally, this wasn’t that good for her body.

Joan started to feel sick the moment she arrived at the theater early that morning to set up. Her entire body felt like it was vibrating, rattling around her rib cage and making her heart beat way too fast. Her breath comes out in quick gasps and gulps, and her hands are jittering in an unnatural way.

Being herself, however, she shrugged it off. Like usual, her work was more important than her health.

That’s how it always was. It wasn’t only her who thought that, anyway.

Joan rubbed her itchy eyes, but it didn't help a bit. Her vision was still hazy and it certainly didn't help her growing headache. She rested her head in her hands, staring at the many unfinished papers sprawled on the table in her dressing room/office space. She didn't have time to wallow in fatigue. She picked one of the papers and plucked up her pen with fumbling fingers.

BAM. BAM. BAM.

Joan dropped her pen in shock, sending black ink droplets onto the paper. She growled and stood up abruptly, immediately regretting this rash action when her head spun. She had no choice but to wait a moment and press her palms against her eyes. While she did so, she wondered about who the hell was knocking so damn loud. And why didn’t they just come in? Well, at least whoever-it-was had some respect.

“He-e-ey, Joanie!”

Nevermind.

“What. Are. You. Doing. Here?" Joan growled.

Anne gave her a weird look as she invited herself into the dressing room. She shook her head, still wearing her beaming grin that was really starting to annoy Joan.

“Came here to tell you that Maud needed you.” Anne said. Then, she studies Joan’s grey face. “You look horrible.”

“Why thank you. It took me a week or so to look like this, but I think it was worth it.”

“You've been like this for a week?” Anne asked, “Why don't you take a break or something?”

“Did you come here to criticize my way of living?”

“No,” Said Anne. She’s seen her fair share of agitated, sleep deprived women (mainly Parr), so she knew better than to prod. “Got any food? I'm famished. Ara and Jane are bringing something, but I don’t really wanna wait.”

“I have coffee.” Joan said shortly.

Anne made a face. “That bitter gross stuff? That’s not even food! What do you want to do, poison me?”

“Alas, my schemes have been foiled.” Joan sighed, “Back to the drawing board, then.”

Anne’s eyebrows furrowed a little, but she didn’t get to stay any longer, as Joan was already herding her back into the hallway. She watched the girl grab a mug of coffee and then exit the room to go find Maud.

“Uhh, Joan?”

“What?”

“Wrong direction.”

“...Oh.”

—————

Joan’s stomach was a pit of angry snakes. It hurt so badly, but all she could really do was hold it when she wasn’t playing her keyboard.

She always thought the flashing lights in the show were too much, but now she really believed that. Even when she shut her eyes, she could still see the colors flickering and blinding her. They were making her even more nauseous and, right about now, she was at risk of vomiting all over her keyboard.

And that was something she would never be able to live down.

Joan clenched a fist over her abdomen as it cramps again. She blinks back tears of pain, trying to keep herself together because she knows if she breaks she won’t be able to piece herself back together. Without a support system, she would remain shattered.

(She used to have one. Jane, Bessie, Maria, and Maggie. But now she’s pushed them away, and they’ve given up on her. They have realized that she cares more about work than she cares about them, so they don’t try anymore.

Nobody tries anymore.)

A tiny whimper bubbles forth. Joan’s doubled over on her keyboard, head angled down, so she doesn’t notice how Maggie turns around to look up at her. There’s worry glinting in the guitarist’s eyes, but she misses that, too.

—————

Joan barely makes it back to her dressing room. She collapses into the chair at the table, curling her entire body around her cramped stomach. Her forehead burns, as does every organ inside of her, but she can’t dwell on it right now. Once she uncoils herself, she has to start working.

It’s always time to work.

—————

“Has anyone seen Joan?” Bessie asked, peeking in Jane’s dressing room. She notices Anne in there, chatting with Katherine, and the green queen gets a slight concerned look in her eyes.

“I thought she went back to her dressing room,” Parr said.

“Right.” Bessie nodded. She went to slip out, but another comment halted her.

“She was acting really weird this morning,” Anne said.

“How so?” Jane titled her head. Her maternal instincts have been activated.

“Like,” Anne’s hands flutter as she searches for the right words, “She was really hostile and looked tired. Not herself, I mean.”

Bessie and Jane exchange worried looks. Since they were both mother figures to the girl, this was concerning to hear.

“Yeah,” Katherine piped up, “I noticed her all hunched over a lot during the show. Is she okay?”

“We’re going to find that out.” Jane said before exiting the room, Bessie following right behind her.

As Parr had suggested, Joan was in her dressing room. She was also still in her costume, which was strange because who would want to be in that thing any longer than they had to?

Jane circled around to one side of Joan, noting the sweat glistening on her face and how her eyes were half open but she wasn’t really awake.

“Joan?”

The girl didn’t answer, just kept staring down at the mess of papers strewn across her table. Jane rubbed up and down her back, trying to rouse her a little more.

“Joan? Joan, sweetheart, you need to wake up for me. You can’t sleep here.”

“Mmmmm....” Joan groaned. Her eyes blink open and she looked at Jane, then glanced over to Bessie, who has appeared on the other side of her. The bassist wasn’t looking at her, however, but the papers on her table. She even had a few in her hands. That was enough to snap Joan to wakefulness.

“Don’t touch that!” Joan yelped, snatching the papers away and startling both Jane and Bessie. The two women exchange looks of motherly worry.

“What happened here?” Bessie asked, nodding at the desk, “It’s a mess.”

“I don't know!” Joan cried. She felt a lump in his throat. "Too much happened! Everyone expects me to do everything they throw at me! If it’s not writing remixes or mashups, then it’s dealing with music issues, and if it’s not music issues, it’s problems with tech even though I’m not the tech director and-” She felt tears of frustration well up in her eyes and became even more upset with herself. God, what was wrong with her? Couldn't she keep her cool for one second? She buried her face in her hands and let out a muted shout of indignation. If she didn't feel so horrible she would punch out all her glass windows by now.

“Hey, sweetie, calm down," Bessie said, “Things happen all the time to everyone.”

“But this is bad,” Joan mumbled. “I can’t even do what’s asked of me...”

Bessie glanced over at the great stack of papers on Joan’s desk. She reached over to grab one. Joan gasped in panic.

“Wait!” Joan shouted. She tugged on Bessie’s sleeve to keep her from reaching the desk. “Don't read them— it's fine. Whatever. Nothing important.”

Bessie raised an eyebrow. “I'll have to find out sooner or later, won't I?”

“Yeah but—some of it's uh, different things,” Joan stammered. She casts a distressed glance at the forbidden papers on her desk, worrying about the possibilities if Bessie or Jane read through the words of self hatred written on them. “Private. Shouldn't you guys go home?”

“Shouldn’t you?” Jane crossed her arms. “Wait... When have you last slept?”

“I’m fine. Just a couple more hours. I’ve gone longer without sleep.” Joan said, attempting to dodge the question.

“Joan Morgan Seymour-Blount.” Jane said in warning, “WHEN did you last sleep?”

At the use of her middle and last name, Joan flinched. She hated when Jane used that sharp tone with her.

“That isn’t my last name,” She mumbled instead of answering again.

“You-”

Joan saw Jane’s fists ball up and watched as the queen closed her eyes and took deep, calming breaths.

“You know what? Fine! Let’s go, Elizabeth. She clearly doesn’t need our help.”

Jane turned away and strode out of the room like a dark grey lightning storm. Bessie followed, but not without a quick glower over her shoulder. Once they’re gone, Joan swiveled back around in her chair and continued to work, this time with tears dotting the papers.

(Jane and Bessie would never treat Katherine or Maggie like that.)

—————

Joan didn’t even take off all of her clothes when she trudged into the theater shower. She was crying, maybe. Crying under an ice cold rain in her itchy costume.

—————

Anna had found Joan in the showers and alerted Jane and Bessie, who, despite their annoyance earlier on, went to go watch over the girl. They loitered around out by the sinks after checking to make sure Joan was okay or alive at the very least. Saying they were worried would be an understatement.

The girl who stepped out of the stall was almost unrecognizable. Her hair was a tangled blonde mop upon her head, matted from the water. Mascara and makeup were running down her face, gliding over some picked off portions of her cheek, courtesy of Joan’s dermatillomania. Her entire costume was soaked and didn’t look comfortable while wet. She was trembling like a leaf in the wind, teeth chattering, staring up at nothing in particular.

Joan looked more like a corpse than a living, breathing person.

It was Bessie who offered her coat and got a towel while Jane guided Joan over to the sink. Bessie, as gently as possible, wiped Joan off, murmuring comforting things to her while she did so.

Joan couldn’t speak. She tried to, but no words came out of her mouth. Her jaw just hung half open as she stared at the wall with a dazed expression. She was almost completely unresponsive, almost like her body was shutting down. Jane and Bessie could have done anything they wanted to her at that moment and she would have let them.

“Oh, Jane, she’s burning up.” Bessie said after feeling the girl’s forehead.

“Joan,” Jane murmured, keeping her voice soft, “When did you last sleep?”

“Five...” Joan mumbled, “Five...days..”

Jane gasped softly and Bessie sighed. Joan could feel the disappointment wavering off of them and that made fresh tears roll down her cheeks.

“How have you been staying awake?” Bessie asked.

“Caffeine pills.” Joan answered, seeing no reason to lie anymore. “Coffee didn’t work anymore... Well it did, but not well enough. I just needed a few more hours...” She noticed Jane and Bessie exchange looks and shrunk backwards, whimpering as the flow of tears grew faster. The older pair turned back to her.

“Shh, shh,” Jane murmured, wiping away her tears, “We aren’t angry, sweetheart. I promise. We aren’t mad.”

“You’re disappointed,” Joan choked out, “Of course you’re disappointed. I’m a mess and a failure and-” Warm arms encircled her freezing, shaking body and she found her face smothered in Bessie’s shoulder. That made her cry even harder, especially when Jane joined the embrace.

Joan’s heart was beating too fast. Sobbing like this makes it even harder to breathe and that makes her feel worse. The pain in her stomach becomes more extremes. She needed to sit down right now.

The girl slipped from Jane and Bessie’s arms, sinking down to her knees on the cold, dirty floor, but she could hardly care about sanitation because she was definitely about to vomit on herself.

“Hey, honey, you can’t rest here.” Bessie said, “Come on, we’ll take you home, yeah?”

“No,” Joan protested, “No, no, please...please just...just lemme...rest for a few....” Her stomach cramps again and she whimpered softly.

“I think she has a caffeine overdose.” Jane said to Bessie, who nodded grimly. “Poor thing...”

Joan feels like she’s vibrating. Her entire body is rocking to a rhythm that’s being conducted by the caffeine pumping through her entire body. She was starting to see spots and everything was spinning and-

She was definitely going to be sick.

“Joan!” Jane cried when she saw the music director leap up and sprint at an alarming speed for someone who was sick. She took a step to go after her, but stopped when she saw the girl careen into one of the bathroom stalls and start retching. She winced and looked to Bessie, who had the same saddened expression.

“Joan?” Bessie called out.

“Go a-way,” Joan replied.

“Joan, we’re not-”

“Go away!” Joan cried, which was followed by horrid coughing and gagging, “Please...please go away... Please...”

Jane and Bessie exchange looks. In fairness, Joan was retching pretty loudly and violently- they certainly wouldn’t want someone hearing them throwing up like that.

“We’ll be outside.” Jane said before she and Bessie left.

True to their word, they stayed outside the bathroom, waiting. Although they couldn’t hear Joan being sick, they could finally hear her agonized wailing and crying. The poor thing just couldn’t seem to take the stress anymore.

Joan finally broke.

Five minutes pass.

Then ten.

Then fifteen.

Then twenty.

Still no sign of Joan and if she was even okay.

Jane and Bessie wanted to respect the girl’s wishes and privacy, but they were starting to get worried. So, being the natural mother hens they were, they both peeked back in.

“Joan?” Jane called out.

Nothing. Not even a whimper or a gag.

“Joan? Are you okay, honey?” Bessie tried.

Still nothing.

The two of them exchange looks, then Jane stepped forward. She walks to the stall Joan had been in, pushed open the door, and gasped.

“Bessie.” Jane said, not taking her eyes off Joan laying unconscious in a pool of her own vomit, “Go get my keys. We need to get her to the hospital, NOW.”

—————

Gastric lavage sucked. The doctors said there was way too much caffeine in Joan’s system. A dangerous amount, especially with the pills she had taken. Even if she threw up a lot, pumping out her stomach would be the best choice.

Joan was a whimpering mess throughout most of it. The tube down her throat and in her stomach was already incredibly uncomfortable, but the suctioning sensation it was causing made it even worse. She just wanted to be in her mother’s arms. Bessie or Jane. She didn’t care who.

She wished she hadn’t pushed them away.

—————

Tears drip down Joan’s cheeks as she sobs into her pillow. The feeling of that damn tube down her throat has yet to go away and all she wishes right now is for Jane or Bessie or both to hold her.

But they wouldn’t. Why would they? She’s a mess.

Joan knew they both cared, Joan knew they both saw her like a daughter, but that didn’t mean they had the patience to put up with everything. She saw the exhaustion in their eyes, she saw the agitation and the irritation at how bad she’s gotten. They’re reaching their wits end. Joan needed to learn that people had limits real fast.

But maybe not right now.

She just looks so pathetic, sweat sticking her hair in every direction, beads of sweat glued to her face.

She tries to stand once she got out of bed (as in: rolling out and slamming into the floor), taking one step before collapsing to the ground. She then resorted to crawling, hoping no one sees her as she guided herself in the darkness, up the stairs, and to the nearest door.

In front of her was Bessie, laying on her side with her head resting on one arm and her black hair sprawled wildly in her face, which looked peaceful. She was having a nice, dreamless sleep as Joan crept up to her bedside.

“Bessie,” Joan whined, tugging at Bessie’s pajamas before pushing her side to side to wake her up.

“What’s the matter?” Bessie mumbled, eyes still closed as she made no signs of moving.

“I need you.” Joan doesn’t even care about her dignity at this point.

“Okay. It’s like two the morning, can it wait?”

It was actually three in the morning, but pretty close.

“I really don’t feel good.”

Joan waited for Bessie to bolt up, to ask what was wrong, to care for her, but she doesn’t.

“What’s hurts?” Bessie asked in a sigh. A sigh of annoyance, Joan knows.

“I feel like I’m gonna be sick.” Joan whispered, her confidence draining when Bessie doesn’t seem to care, “I feel really nauseous, but my body doesn’t want me to throw up. I feel horrible.”

“Joan, listen,” Bessie finally sat up, rubbing her eyes, “I really don’t know what to tell you. You did this to yourself. Just- make yourself throw up. Maybe that’ll help? Try it. Please just- let me sleep.”

Other people needed sleep. Of course they did. Just because Joan couldn’t doesn’t mean she needs to make others suffer the same way.

Weakly, she nodded and staggered out of the room, somehow managing the strength to stand. Right before she exits, she hears Bessie mutter, “Finally” before collapsing back into her blankets.

Joan calls Jane. In fact, she calls three times, but hangs up instantly when the first thing she hears Jane say is, “What?” in a sharp, annoyed voice.

Nobody cares.

Joan collapses into the chair at her desk. She downs two caffeine pills and gets to work. Not on music director business, no. She was going to work on the papers she doesn’t like people seeing. The ones filled with scrawled, poetic words of self deprecation and hatred.

Her stress relievers, if you will.

The shaking of her hands and the tears bleeding into the parchment makes it hard to write, though. Her body is begging her to sleep, but she just can’t listen. She glances at the clock. Almost four in the morning. That makes this the sixth day she’s been awake.

She laughs at that. Six days of no sleep...the show is called Six...

Technically, there’s ten of them, though.

But it might be nine, soon. If she can’t rest and let her body heal.

For some reason, nine sounds better than ten...

Joan doesn’t sleep. Not really, she dozes in a half awake state but doesn’t sleep.

When morning comes, nobody checks on her. Her bandmates don’t do that anymore. It’s a waste of time, since she’s usually out of town or at the theater already, anyway.

Nobody cares about her.

Joan knows she’s not going to work that day. She gets a disappointed text from her director and a few annoyed ones from other crew members, but she doesn’t bother reading them. What does it matter in the long run? She’s already been slacking from lack of sleep. It won’t be long until she’s fired.

Once Maggie, Maria, and Bessie have left (without even saying goodbye or texting her at the very least), Joan staggers her way upstairs and crawls into Bessie’s bed. She hugs one of the pillows close to her chest and inhales the bassist’s comforting scent.

(Jasmine. Bessie always smells like jasmine.)

Joan smiled weakly as tears rolled down her cheeks. She snuggled up in the soft grey blankets and started playing a fantasy in her head. Jane and Bessie were there with her, caring for her, telling her how much they loved her. If she thought hard enough, she could almost feel their fingers stroking through her tangled, oily hair.

(It’s been two weeks since she’s showered.)

Smiling a broken smile and knowing she’s ruined her relationship with everyone she’s ever loved, Joan blacks out while crying.

#six the musical #six the musical fanfiction #six the musical fanfic #joan on the keys #jane seymour #bessie on the bass #catherine parr #anne boleyn #katherine howard #tw self loathing #tw self hatred #tw self deprecation #tw emetophobia #tw vomit #tw throwing up

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undignifiend · 4 years

Text

Trollhunters Fanfic AU idea: Heartstone Sun

A stupidly long ramble about themes I’m obsessed with. Warnings: mentions of people getting eaten, other horror elements, redemption speculation, and pontificating about hatred, dehumanizing propaganda, and the cycle of abuse (and an idea of how to break those three things). I’d love to write this if I can figure out how to do it justice, but that may take a while. Criticism is welcome; I can’t hone an idea to proper sharpness if I don’t see its dull spots.

What if the sun is actually a Heartstone - like The Great Gramma of all Heartstones (in this solar system, at least)? And was placed under an enchantment/curse by a prehistoric human coven that Had Enough because trolls outclassed humans in pretty much every arena, and people were getting eaten with impunity by extremely durable apex predators that laughed at their sticks and slings and fire? It's not like trolls really needed to eat humans - these mofos were powered by the sun (and could probably do crazy magic with all that excess power, to boot) - they just like how we taste.

Though perhaps humans also have a knack for passively absorbing Hearstone energies, and that's what they used to essentially poison the Heartstone against Trollkind? And that same passive absorption is why humans make good supplements for trolls who don't have a Heartstone to rely on, as shown in the comics? Since trolls couldn't gain Heartstone energy directly from the sun during the night, if they were injured and/or had a hankering, they'd have to eat creatures that still could. So maybe trolls tended to mostly eat people at night back then when they needed a quick boost because they couldn't get sunlight? And perhaps this contributed toward a more intense, visceral fear of the dark in humanity's evolution - like our common fear of the dark, but on steroids?

Gunmar's comment about "They try to make the night brighter. They fear the darkness," not only speaks to real human fears of the dark, but a mentality that was essentially beaten into Pleistocene-Era humans by impossibly strong and scary opponents (though I love the idea of some troll groups teaming up with humans and having various mutually-beneficial symbiotic shenanigans).

You could see all manner of behavioral, instinctive differences in these humans based on that. From a death-like, numbing paralysis intended to spare them the agony of their last moments, to an overwhelming itch to hide when it grows dark, to a need to sleep in groups for protection, etc... I imagine most beds in most cultures would be in hidden places within a house. Some cultures might even develop "false bedrooms" as traditional parts of their home to trick trolls or evil spirits that are more inclined to hunt with stealth.

This is partly inspired from a weird experience I had one night where I got this sudden, intense fear, and I've never experienced it since, and I still can't figure out what caused it. But some part of me felt a hostile presence in the woods by the house, and I knew it was far too powerful to fight, and I had the overwhelming urge to shut off all the lights, quiet everything that was making noise, and huddle in a closet until whatever it was passed. "Don't let it know you're here," kept playing in my head. I imagine being a human in this AU, especially in the Bad Old Days, would feel a lot like that.

After the Sun Curse (but before humanity regards trolls as myth), I imagine a common survival rule would be: Travel by day (when trolls can't, or at least have a harder time of it), and hide by night (so you don't run into them; if they find you, make them work for it, don't give yourself away).

Humans in this AU love to fancy themselves apex predators not simply as a power trip, but a denial of their true position in the food chain as prey. They can lie to themselves all they like, but their instincts remember and know better.

So to give humanity a fighting chance, this prehistoric coven developed a powerful spell to make the sun toxic to trolls, which would allow humans safety under the sun, which until then, had been a main source of power and sustenance for trollkind.

As an unforeseen catastrophe of apocalyptic proportions, much of trollkind's lore at the time was lost as they scrambled to deal with this development. Their cultures had to adapt, and new lore and methods of dealing with this catastrophe overtook lost histories (mostly verbal at the time). There was very little evidence left of how the sun was cursed, or that humans were behind it - the coven responsible did their utmost to destroy any sign or record of what they did, knowing that such information would rally trollkind against humankind. And even if trolls were weakened without their most sacred life source, they were still a dangerous enough threat that, if they could cooperate with each other, they'd surely wipe humanity out.

They almost succeeded in destroying all knowledge of it, but a certain tribe connected to a certain Heartstone found out, and their resulting fury at this act of desecration gave rise to Gunmar the Black.

This curse would be a deep source of anger and resentment at humanity for having stolen not only trollkind's ability to roam freely on their own world (which they were the dominant species on), but for poisoning a vital and sacred life-source. This is what Gunmar would be talking about when he talks about 'taking back the surface lands'. It's not just propaganda to him, it's his peoples' birthright, and it was stolen from them, and he emerged to set it right. This coven may have acted out of self-defense, but what they did was an unforgivable act of desecration. Gunmar and his Gumm-Gumms would still see it that way, but over time, as humanity loses their knowledge of trolls and turns their attentions toward each other, the rest of trollkind moves on and adapts and forgets their hatred, or their history of having once owned the world. The Gumm-Gumms are still angry about an ancient injustice, and the rest of trollkind, now believing themselves to have always lived underground, sees this 'take back the surface lands' talk as warmongering propaganda against a group that is seen as relatively ridiculous and tasty, but now off-limits depending on who follows the Pact.

While on that note, I imagine Gunmar would find the Pact outrageous and absurd. Humanity has no end to hold up in return, it's basically a heavy restriction on trolls who have already had so much taken from them. It's adding insult to injury, and that any troll would agree to it galls him to no end.

Before the curse, trolls ate fleshlings because we taste good and are satisfying sources of indirect Heartstone energy. Now, Gumm-Gumms also eat humans as an act of rebellion and punishment for what their ancestors did.

CHARACTER PROFILES:

JIM

I love Jim. But I think I'm going to handle him a bit differently in this AU than how he is in canon because I see an opportunity to say something important and relevant to a possible theme of this AU, and I'm not sure canon Jim would really be up for that.

I love the warm, nurturing, gentle side of Jim, and how he likes taking care of his friends. I love how he loves cooking for them, which is the quintessential nurturing act. I love how protective he is of his friends and his mom, and how even though he has made mistakes, he makes those mistakes with protective intentions. His heart's in the right place. This is the side of Jim who looks at Rule #2: Always Finish the Fight, and says "No," and spares Draal's life, and takes care of Chompsky instead of 'taking care of him', and risks precious time to go back for Nomura. This is the Jim I love, and the side of him I want to focus on in this AU.

And that side of him (it seems to me) clashes rather loudly with the other side of him that refuses to apply Rule #1 to Strickler in favor of rebellious mouthing-off, and treats the deaths of his enemies with sassy quips.

With regards to my attitude about that last part, I blame Faramir from Lord of the Rings. His brief monologue about 'the enemy' was formative for me. He fought to protect his people, and in doing so, he had to kill other people. And he didn’t hide from that fact. He had the strength and honesty to both do what he had to do, and to acknowledge that tragedy. He didn't try to diminish their deaths, and I cannot stress enough how important that is to me to see in a protagonist. So in this idea, Jim can be sassy in some cases, and he will kill if he believes he has to, but #2 is a last resort, and when it comes to that, he won't lie to himself or diminish what has happened.

Seeing someone as an obstacle or problem is a crucial step in making it easy to hurt or kill them, and it's one of the goals of particularly dangerous forms of propaganda: dehumanize the enemy. It's a perspective shift that makes fighting easier, but I believe it's one of the very worst lies we can ever tell ourselves or each other.

Acknowledging someone as a person, and not an obstacle or a problem, is (potentially) a powerful way to break the perception that you yourself are an obstacle or problem. If you want a chance to see someone’s relatability/"humanity", you first have to show yours. And they won’t always see it, and even if they do, they won’t always care – you might be hurt or killed anyway. But I think this re-framing is a crucial step in non-violent conflict resolution (in particularly intense cases). It’s risky as hell, so it’s not very popular, but when successful, it broadens perspectives and opens new paths in their minds. And I think that's a powerful and worthy theme; one that Jim could champion. A better way to Finish The Fight.

GUNMAR

In this AU, Gunmar has plans that stretch far beyond the Eternal Night (which, in this AU, would instead be a cure for the curse). From his perspective, he's trying to piece the world back together after several Apocalyptic-Grade Disasters. He's bitter and stressed, but he has stayed tenacious and ambitious despite millennia of warfare, failure, and being forgotten by the vast majority of the world while trapped in the Darklands. He's trying to lead his people out of a bad situation and restore their birthright, and he's annoyed and angry with the significant number of trolls who accept the current status quo when they could have so much more.

Because Gunmar emerged from a corrupted Heartstone and doesn't seem to have parents (perhaps no tribe/clan/colony? I love the extra-spooky supernatural vibe it grants him) I like the idea of him wanting his own tribe. He had a son whom he seemed to care for, and their regard for each other was the one and only thing in canon (in my mind) that elevated Gunmar. I'd like to capitalize on that in this AU. Gunmar was born tribeless, as a symbol of trollkind's general animosity toward humanity, but he obviously doesn't want to stay tribeless. He wants to establish his own line; he wants to create a future for his descendants to thrive in. His ultimate goal isn't so much about putting humans in their place as it is about giving his own people the prosperous future he thinks they deserve. To those who follow him, he's not their tyrant; he's their hero. His aggression is largely directed at humanity, but his goals are NOT human-centric after all.

Gunmar’s backstory (in canon) fascinates me. He was born from a Heartstone that had been transformed by the trollish population’s animosity toward humankind. I think this was supposed to reflect the classic Evil Corruption you see in a lot of fantasy, and leans on a kind of Victorian notion of "bad breeding" and the idea that because he emerged from evil conditions, he is evil by nature. But I think it’s more interesting to look at it as a wound, because that gives his anger a sharper sense of purpose that I think it otherwise lacks. Gunmar manifested from a rift between two populations, and has used the hatred that formed that wound to try and heal it – by taking the surface world and devouring the impudent humans who stole it. The method of devouring them didn’t simply develop because we taste good – it’s also a punishment, born of that same hatred, that says: “You thought you were better, but you are lesser. You wanted a vaunted place for yourself at great cost to us, but your true place is as nothing more than our food. This is what you deserve for trying to shut me and my kind out of our own world, and poisoning something sacred against us.” (referencing the curse on the Heartstone Sun, not the Killahead Banishment, which would come much later).

That may seem to him like a perfectly reasonable way to fix what he sees himself as (both literally and symbolically) born to fix. But even if all his dreams were to come true, that hatred would persist throughout the myriad abuses he would inflict upon humanity (if he’d bother to keep us around as livestock and/or slaves), and long outlast the last of the human population. It would linger, it would continue to fester, and it would be poised to be unleashed upon whatever other sufficiently threatening group crosses trollkind next. After all, that method ‘worked’ on humanity.

But you don’t quench hatred or fix abuse by indulging it. You fix it by learning (and accepting) the truth: no one is a mere obstacle, object, problem, or hated symbol. You did not deserve the abuses you suffered, but re-creating them and re-living them will not put you in control of them or absolve you in any way. (Though the temporary illusion of control may become addictive, it will remain fleeting and false). Abuse, if you let it define you, begets abuse. If Gunmar had achieved all his goals, sooner or later, he’d see his own reflection in a human born of the horrors he inflicted, and of the hatred humanity would have for him and his kind. This human would not see trollkind as anything other than a problem that they were born to solve, just as Gunmar sees humankind. But this would not surprise him at all, because that’s how Gunmar already thinks humans see trollkind. It’s easy to hate someone if you think they hate you. And it would not matter who would win that conflict, because the hatred and abuse would survive to be re-created and re-lived and inflicted on whoever the winner meets next. Nothing would be learned, and no one would heal.

I don’t know what would show Gunmar the truth, much less in a way that would matter to him. But in keeping with Jim's best tendencies in avoiding Rule #2, I think it's necessary for Jim to make the attempt in this AU. Whether or not this would result in Gunmar getting a redemption arc doesn't exactly matter - this is really about Jim's efforts to be the best guardian he can be for two interlinked worlds with a lot of bad blood between them, and I want to do those efforts justice. I don't currently know how, but I have some idea of where to start.

I think two key parts of non-violent conflict resolution are convincing the other party that 1) you care about the same thing they do, and 2) you either can make it easier to achieve, you see a better path to achieving it, or you may be able to improve the final outcome beyond what they originally thought or hoped was possible.

In this case, the goal for both sides is to heal that ancient wound between trollkind and humankind. It’s the plan that everybody disagrees about. Protagonists and antagonists (often, but not always) both ultimately want the same thing – they just disagree about what that’s supposed to look like, or how to achieve it.

Currently, I think that to truly heal, trolls and humans have to come to terms with each other. This is no small undertaking - it would change the world irrevocably - and might never be fully achieved, even after centuries of dedicated work on both sides. A healthy relationship (regardless of it’s nature) isn’t something you achieve and consider Done; it’s dynamic, it’s lived, it requires constant attention and respect, and the acknowledgment that it may change irrevocably as life throws its weird curve-balls. Most of all, it requires a dedicated effort to understand the other person. The surest way to kill a positive relationship is to allow oneself, during times of hardship, to slip into the mindset of seeing that person as an obstacle, problem, or symbol, rather than continue the effort of trying to understand them or why they’re acting difficult. And that’s just taking failing positive relationships into account. Consider all the hardship that comes from starting from a mindset of seeing people as obstacles or problems, and you could see hate-crimes between the populations. Now consider how many trolls and humans may interact with each other as they try to move forward together, and you can get some idea of how easily everything can fall apart, back into the same attitudes that led to the same wound that Gunmar manifested from.

And that’s not even touching on how trolls would have to watch their strength and their tempers around delicate little humans (even the ornery ones), and how humans would have to put a certain amount of trust, patience, and good faith in a group that was, in the past, known for eating them (and that still thinks they taste delicious). It will be easier for some than for others, but for those others, it may feel impossible.

I’m not saying it can’t be done. I believe it’s necessary and worthwhile. But I also believe it’s important to not downplay how difficult it would be. It would be stressful, it would come with times of crisis and doubt, and some might give up entirely, and it would be up to the rest to persevere despite the inevitable tragic incidents; to be brave, and not take such incidents as proof that peace is impossible. “Fear (if you don’t let it rule you) is but the precursor to valor.”

There would be hate-crimes (committed by both sides) between the groups. And there would be heroes (from both sides) rushing in to stop them. And there would also be vigils, gatherings of both humans and trolls, in honor of the victims who couldn’t be saved in time, and in solidarity, in honor of the peace they’re working for together. And I think, in that act of mourning and solidarity, therein lies their victory.

Love and grief are some of the most powerful, relatable (rather than ‘humanizing’ which is an embarrassingly ironic and limited word, especially in this context) emotions out there. And I think it’s that relatability that has the power to reveal people as more than obstacles or problems.

I doubt witnessing it would cause every Gumm-Gumm to reconsider their stance on humanity, much less Gunmar himself, but it could be a little step toward a better path; a seed of doubt – a check to keep them honest when they try to tell themselves tales of what humans and troll ‘traitors’ want, or deserve.

Another thing I imagine might challenge Gunmar’s perceptions has to do with the Decimaar blade. At first, I wasn’t sure what it’s supposed to symbolize in the show other than as an explanation for why anyone would follow someone so careless with their lives. It would also explain why no one assassinated him while he was weakened and starving in the Darklands. (Curiously, no one else seemed to be starving, and I’m not sure what to make of that. I think I missed something important.)

At first, I thought the Decimaar blade symbolized the ultimate hatred/abuse: it enslaves, it wipes out its victims' identities; it turns people into objects to be used by their master, and obstacles to be rid of by their enemies. There’s no loyalty involved, no sacrifice – nothing of meaning that is gained from willing service is preserved. It is simply the use of others – abuse made manifest. In that, I saw the Decimaar blade as an extension of Gunmar himself; a symptom of the conditions of his birth. The cruel irony here was that he had the power to turn his own people into the exact, flat, threatening (obstacles/problems) monsters humanity expected them to be. So from this, Gunmar wasn’t just born from trollkind’s hatred, but humanity’s, too. And just like with abuse un-dealt with, un-treated, he perpetuates it.

And then I learned that the Decimaar blade was won from Orlagk, so there goes that idea. Or at least the part of it being a part of Gunmar. But somehow now, I feel that helps it fit even better; I don’t currently think the Cycle of Abuse starts with Nature (in the whole Nurture vs Nature argument). I currently think abuse (in all it’s myriad forms, intentional or not) is inherited. Gunmar may have emerged from hateful conditions, and he may have inherited a direct metaphor for coercive abuse, and he may pass it on, but it’s not truly a part of him. Therein lies a little glimmer of hope that he might eventually see it for what it is - what it's doing to him and his people (who he was born to protect and provide for as a leader) - and reject Decimaar not only as a weapon, but as a way of thinking.

I'm a sucker for redemption arcs. I'm not sure I can give Gunmar one, or if I should even try. But I think in this, Jim has to make the effort to try to understand Gunmar and what he wants, and to convince him that there is a better way. Whether this version of Gunmar (eventually - I imagine it wouldn't come easy if it happens at all) takes him up on it or not, I don't know.

IF I go for it, though, I want to do it justice. Redemption is not about forgiveness or acquittal. Redemption is about climbing, no matter how far you’ve fallen, and even if you can never reach the top, you can still try to give others a boost along the way. Redemption (just like a relationship) isn’t achieved; it’s lived. And it doesn't necessarily mean joining the Good Guys. You won't see Gunmar Reformed agonizing about all the blood (human and trollish) he has spilled, or asking "Haven't I redeemed myself?" Gunmar Reformed (at least the way I'd hope to write him) may still have a great deal of contempt for humans in general, but he has learned enough about them that he can no longer see them in simplistic terms. He may privately think on What Could Have Been had he changed his perspective sooner, but he doesn't have the time or patience to dwell on regrets - the world is still hecked up, and he still has work to do (although the nature of that work has changed dramatically). I imagine if Gunmar changes his plans, he'll chase his new objectives his own way. The Trollhunters might have occasional, tenuous, scary, and unpredictable alliances with him when their goals align, but it might be a stretch to call them allies - a lot has happened, both sides are still angry with each other, but they've come to an understanding and have a degree of mutual respect, and can demonstrate enough good faith in one another to surprise each other. Gunmar will still have all his old ferocity, he'll just be channeling it in a new direction.

#Trollhunters fanfic AU idea #Heartstone Sun #theme talk

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kyberphilosopher · 4 years

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Adamus: Chapter Three

“Where there is anger, there is always pain underneath.”

Description: Adamus visited by Circe again, but has started to vehemently reject anything but anger...

Chapter Three

“You’re sloppy today,” Keres observes.

I breathe out, pushing my hair out of my face. It’s been parted messily down the middle from all my movement and training, but Keres looks exactly the same. She doesn’t even seem to be out of breath. I’d say it’s infuriating, but somehow I know she’s not doing it on purpose. Her observation isn’t even wrong. I am off today.

I stand straight, my breathing still heavy as I take note of our height difference. She’s- what? Five five? Five four? I’m at least five ten. Probably closer to six foot. And yet, she’s kicked my ass every single sparring session we have. Keres hasn’t even had any proper training! But her technique, oh it’s flawless.

There are seven forms of lightsaber combat. I tend to use form three: the one that concentrates more on defense. It works nicely with my stocky build. Keres uses the seventh form: Juyo. The attacks are agile, random, unblockable, precise. Keres could flip through the air, kicking and slashing at the same time and I would have no choice but to take the final blow. I don’t think she knows this, but the form she practices is used by Sith. Jedi are forbidden from learning it, so we can’t properly defend ourselves against it. I have no idea how she learned this, or why. Part of me really wants to ask, but another part tells me that I may not like the answer I receive.

Keres scans me over for a brief second, then switches off her amber blade. “What are you doing?” I ask, throat slightly dry from exertion. “We got another round don’t we?”

Keres raises her right eyebrow quickly, then returns it back to it’s normal position. “No. I don’t think so.”

“Why not?” I inquire, almost offended. I already know the answer of course, but sometimes I like to ask her questions just to know what her answer is.

“You’re not yourself,” she replies simply. “We’ll just do an extra one tomorrow or something.” Keres turns away, eyes squinting at her lightsabers hilt as her hands dance around it. She sees something on it anyways, and begins vigorously rubbing her thumb over it.

I wanted to ask her if she felt the need to eat fruit right then and there. All I had to do was say ‘fruit?’ and she would’ve given me a sly smile that doubled as some sort of answer.

Jedi are forbidden to form attachments. We are made to be peacekeepers, guardians. We have to put our duties first when they are given to us, and feelings are not supposed to hinder that. I don’t know what’s been washing over me ever since I met Keres, then. It’s like some kind of fascination. An insatiable fascination. How can someone be so shrouded in darkness and still be so balanced? She’s so… I don’t know the words. I just know I want to find them.

“Where did you learn how to do this stuff?” I ask, even though there’s a form of anxiousness growing in the pit of my stomach. Small, but active.

“What stuff?” Keres responds, eyes flitting to me for a second before detaching her double bladed hilt and placing two separate lightsabers on either side of her hips.

“How’d you learn how to fight like that?”

“Oh,” says Keres. “I didn’t learn.”

My eyebrows scrunch together slightly. “Well then how do you know what to do?”

Keres shrugs. “I just leave it up to impulses, really. I don’t know. I just know what to do and when. While that’s happening, I’m thinking.”

“Thinking of what?”

Keres pauses, like she’s about to say something she’s reconsidering. “Thinking of… nothing.” Liar. “Want to get some fruit?” Yes.

I slice my dresser in half with a sharp, cathartic yelp. Even though it’s already destroyed, I don’t stop. I slice again, and again, and again. The dresser is streaked with orange cuts that seem to sizzle from the heat and intensity. Lash marks in warm colors sear into the walls that I’ve grazed. I finally stop for a second, my body shaking with rage and frustration. Then I hack the dresser one more time, followed by a final cut.

“Maker,” her voice drawls after a few seconds. “So that’s what you’re like when you’re upset. I just always imagined you staring angrily at a wall for fifteen minutes or something.”

“Shut up,” I hiss. I don’t mean to snap at her, really. I’m just upset at something concerning her.

“Hey, I’m not even really here,” she says in return. “I’m also not the one who just destroyed an innocent piece of furniture, but alright.”

I close my eyes, turning my lightsaber off and listening to the hum stop itself. Breathe in, breathe out. Just imagine you’re meditating. Breathe.

“You’ve got a nice room.”

Breathe in.

“What kind of books are those?”

Breathe out. “Those are Jedi study texts,” I say calmly. I don’t dare turn around to face this… this imposter.

“The fuck did you get those?”

Breathe. Breathe, Adamus. “I-”

“Why are you even talking back to me? How many times have I told you I’m not here?”

I whip around, ready to yell or something. But she’s right. She’s not there. She never was. I’m sure then that I must be losing my mind.

I roll my eyes, taking a stupid chance. “Why won’t you tell me what you want from me?” My fingers drum nervously against my lightsaber, like I’m anticipating the worst. I feel so dumb for doing this.

Then, a voice in the back of my head grows louder. It fills my ears like she’s right behind me, someone’s breathing tickling my shoulder blades. “You never asked.”

I turn around again. I am met with nothing but air for a second time today, leaving me just as angry and heated as before, if not more.

I don’t know what time it is. I frankly don’t care. I throw myself down onto my bed and shut my eyes tight. I don’t open them for what must be ten minutes, but I’m still not asleep. That makes me upset, too. Maybe, if I do it right, I can hit myself on the back of the head and make myself pass out. I’m sure Circe would certainly do it. He probably wouldn’t ask any questions about it either. I don’t know if that’s a good or bad thing.

Go to sleep. I want to sleep. I’m exhausted but I’m not falling asleep.

Then I fall asleep.

In my nightmares, I see her again. She is tormenting my every moment- waking or otherwise. Keres refuses to leave me alone. Like she wants to let me know that this is all my fault and she’s going to haunt me until the day I die.

I don’t even know what the dream is about. All I know is that Keres is there.

I wake up covered in beads of sweat, on the verge of tears. In the darkness of my room where the only light comes from the blue tunnel of hyperspace, I curl myself up into a ball again. Grabbing my hair, my ears- anything, I try to steady myself.

Why did she have to die? It was supposed to be me. I was prepared and ready. She knew that. Was she planning to do this? If so, was she planning before I even told her? Was this just an excuse to kill herself?

A thought pops into my head amidst the agony. A kind of joke. “Now who’s sleeping in a volcano?” I whisper out, mimicking Keres’s sarcastic words. Then I laugh quietly before returning to silent sobs.

I should never have approached Keres back on Endor. I should have just left her alone.

I went on a scouting mission to go see the Empire’s base on the Endor system. I had to decided to leave the normal group of soldiers behind to avoid the risk of casualties. If I had to be captured or hurt on the mission, I would prefer it to only be me. It wasn’t until maybe an hour or so of walking that I encountered the smell of something burning. Curious, I followed it to a small alcove, shrouded by long green vines that had covered the entrance. The embers of a fire were still hot and partially smoking, but dead all together. Several golden fish lay limp on the ground, next to a wide, thin net I assumed they were captured in. There was one fish on the fire that had gone completely black and crisp and burned, and was partially in the process of turning to ash. This explained the bitter smell of something burning.

I could recall learning of certain faunas and natives living on Endor back on Coruscant, so I initially didn’t think much of it. The Ewok’s of the system were likely responsible for this stunt. Later, while I was walking past a glittering river, I thought deeper about it. Ewok’s didn’t dwell in caves. A Gorax, perhaps? No, they stayed in the mountains. They wouldn’t have fit in the cave anyways. It couldn’t have been the work of Dulok’s because they stayed in the swamps. What was going on here?

I decided to go back inside the cave and try out a new skill I had been practicing- psychometry. The act of reaching out through the force to feel the past of something or someone with an attachment to whatever object you’ve focused on. Fir Aro was gifted in this field, and had attempted to get me into it as well. I had done a bit of it before the Purge, but after I couldn’t bring myself to truly start up again. However, a few days before, I had gone through some old Jedi texts I had found and decided to pick up the ancient art again.

So, I used it on the net. At first, I felt nothing at all. I remember creasing my eyebrows together in confusion and concentration before trying again. I memorized the little divots in the rope, how easy it would’ve been to get rope burn, the water trapped in all the threads. After a few seconds, I could begin to feel a trace of both something and someone. It was faint, and then suddenly so overwhelming all the air was stolen from my lungs.

I gasped at the darkness. I could feel anger, hatred, suffering, but no fear. I could feel vengeance, and the sting of sweat and blood hitting my face. I could feel heat from lightsabers coming close to my face. I could feel annoyance and impatience. On top of the negatives, I could feel horrifying things as well. I could feel intelligence like poison and condescendence as sweet as lilies. I could feel the desire of death like a wave and a storm of dark and light flowing through me. The whole image was so unbalanced, the hand on the rope threw itself back and went numb. I knew I had to find this person at once- they had to have been a Sith! Keres Vagor wasn’t a Sith. She was like a Sith.

The Sith had a lot of goals and feelings that Keres shared. Self-preservation, distrust, hatred, and the cunning mindset were just some of these commonalities. This wasn’t her fault, and it was incredibly foolish of me to think so. I wish I could tell her I learned my lesson, even though it’s my fault for not telling her all the times I had the chance.

I don’t know exactly why Keres wasn’t a Sith. I mean, I understood the concept of the rule of two and whatnot, but she had no reason not to align herself with them from my view. They had never done anything to spite her like the Republic and Jedi had. It could’ve been because Keres just never possessed that sick drive for power, or because she simply didn’t care enough to. Was that right? That she didn’t care enough to become a Sith? With all that hatred and guilt, I doubt she would’ve stopped herself simply because she ‘didn’t care’. What held her back?

I should’ve asked when she was alive.

Still, I left the cave then in search of this tormented soul. I thought I found them when I saw the man dressed in black robes and a mask. Aegus, he called himself. He was no Sith, I knew that much at least. He was just affiliated with them- an Inquisitor, maybe? No. That wasn’t quite right. Either way, it didn’t matter what he was, because he wasn’t the one I was looking for. Aegus wasn’t the one who could stop a lightsaber with his bare hands, or make dark sided lightning fall out of his fingers and electrocute everything in the area- Keres was. You should’ve seen me when I watched her catch Aegus’s blade in her palm to protect her from death.

Later, she killed him. I don’t know if it was a mercy kill or not. I only know that it was swift and clean, straight through his chest while he lay on the forest floor. Out of something like fear and disbelief, I immediately fled the scene. In the state she was in, Keres would’ve killed me too if she had noticed me. It was a miracle she hadn’t, given how powerful she appeared in only the span of a few moments.

I decided to confront Keres later on. If I could convince her to join us on our mission, or at least kidnap her for information on the Empire (which I couldn’t tell if she was affiliated with or not). I told Circe to be ready to come pick me up after transmitting him the coordinates, and if something went wrong to be prepared to fire.

The confrontation did not go as smoothly as I’d hoped. I don’t remember exactly what I said to tick the woman off, but I said something that caused her to vehemently attack me. I remember the casual rage in her eyes, the formal realization of ‘I’m fucked’. She was using Juyo with two lightsabers! I wasn’t equipped to fight that. The most I could do was attempt to defend myself with basic, sloppy blocks that kept me on the edge of death. Keres had gotten the upper hand, and if Circe hadn’t intervened, I’m certain she would’ve won the duel.

After that, I don’t remember exactly how long she was out for. A few rotations, maybe? Keres stayed in an extra, much smaller medic room outside the main bay, attended to by Aheka who fawned over her for a few hours in the beginning. I would visit her every so often, not really knowing if she was even alive or if Circe had unwittingly killed her. I noticed the mystery girl was sort of pretty when she slept. She had a nicely angled jaw and a cute button nose with little freckles. Despite the darkness under her eyes, her lashes were long and soft and dark brown. Her lips were colored naturally with the slightest flush of pink.

I should’ve told her she was pretty when she was alive, too.

“Honestly, I expected I would be dead by now,” her voice calls. I turn my head to the side, catching her frame. She leans against the door way to my private bathroom, her face shrouded to keep me from confirming her identity. “Don’t beat yourself up over it.”

Without really knowing why, I reply. “How could I not?” I whisper out, staring at the floor. I tug at the skin on my arms, partially wishing that it would break to punish myself.

She scoffs. “Fine then. Beat yourself up over it. See how much I care.”

I rock myself comfortingly. I’m going fucking crazy.

“You know, if you’re going to be such a bitch, you could at least fucking tell me what I should do,” I seethe. I don’t mean to sound so angry. I guess I just have some frustration built up inside of me somewhere, even though I can’t feel it because I’m numb to everything.

The figure scoffs. “A bitch? That’s a new one. You know, I exist in companionship with your memories of me,” she says. “I’ll give you some advice when you ask properly. I don’t bite.”

That’s a fucking lie. Keres Vagor- if what I’m seeing even is Keres Vagor- was a biter. She may have been good and full of redemption, but she was also full of poison. She was like a beautiful, toxic plant. She’s like a sharp mountain you’re about to fall to your death from. I could easily imagine her biting me so hard, drops of blood would fall from my lips and neck like snippets of rain.

I don’t have anything more to say to this… this entity. I’m just going fucking crazy.

“I feel dead inside too,” the voice says, like a promise. “Dead… outside too, I guess.”

I want to shrivel up into a ball and stop existing. I want to ware away like a raisin in the sun, or leather over the years. “Will it get better?” I wheeze.

There’s silence for a few seconds. Even though, she’s not really there, I desperately hate the thought of her leaving. I want that false sense of security she brings me, even if it is just a trick of my brain. She makes me feel safe.

“Maybe.”

I turn back to look at her again. I can imagine Keres so clearly. When sunlight hits her, her eyes look almost golden. You can notice the different shades of brown, all blending together in her braid that hangs over her shoulder. Her bony hands and her long, cunning fingers dance against her thigh patiently. Little white scars are illuminated in the yellow glow, like lyrics in a poem. I want to memorize every detail of her, and her story, because it’s trapped onto her skin with every scar and scab and freckle. I know no matter how long I could’ve known her, she wouldn’t have told me everything about her. I would have to find it out for myself, like a puzzle.

I fall in love with the golden girl, even though the figure I see is shrouded in darkness and fog and just a figment of my imagination.

A knock on the door takes me from my thoughts. In a flash, Keres vanishes from the room like she wasn’t even there to begin with. Circe walks into the room before I really have the chance to miss her.

“I’ve been thinking,” he says gruffly. Under his Mandalorian helmet, his voice is lower and more robotic, like it was made to make the person underneath seem more intimidating. Hard to believe I was born on the planet that birthed this. “And I know you haven’t been doing a lot of that lately.”

My chest feels sore when I make myself talk. “What?” I wheeze tiredly.

“We’re going to Ilum.”

I perk up immediately. Something in my stomach sparks, which makes me feel alive. But it doesn’t feel good. I feel even more sick than I did a few seconds ago, and I stand at attention because of it. “What- we can’t go there!”

Circe shrugs minimally. “Don’t see why not. Look, Keres was born there. You wanna get over it? I say go and accept it.”

Stupid. That idea, is stupid. I don’t want to go and see Keres’s stuff, or her little hovel. I want her. Her stuff and her hovel isn’t her.

I decide to take a different approach to begin my argument, however. “What about Aheka?” I ask, a drawl in my voice that reveals how ridiculous I feel this whole thing is. “What am I supposed to tell her?”

Circe’s hands drop and he shifts. I can’t see his face under his helmet, but I imagine it’s something between disbelief and accusation. Yeah… hazel eyes wide, brows furrowed, nostrils ready to flare. I can see it. “You mean you didn’t tell her? She doesn’t already know?”

“Of course not.”

Circe’s hands come to his hips as he puffs his chest out in anger. He looks assertive, and I know exactly what he’s trying to pull here. I can’t remember how many times I’d done the same pose to Keres after she said or did something off color to showcase my disappointment.

Circe reaches out to connect his palm with my throat. His fingers wrap around it angrily, not even hard enough to hurt me truly. Only enough to make it feel sore and command my attention roughly. I don’t react much at his angry touch, instead allowing it. I almost welcome it. If he had hurt me, maybe I would’ve felt more alive. Just maybe.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Circe seethes. “Huh? Get a grip of yourself!” He shakes me as he says it, strands of hair bouncing against my forehead. “Huh? You think Keres would’ve wanted you to do this?”

I feel immensely rageful that he would bring up her name. “You wouldn’t do this to her,” I snap.

“No, I wouldn’t. And you know why? It’s because Keres wouldn’t stew in her room moping all day!”

I’m able to connect with the force easier than I expected. It swirls around in my fingertips, through my veins and my muscles and my shoulders. With my right hand emerging palm up, Circe loses his balance and lets go of me. His chest puffs out and he wavers into the air, and when my hand curls into a fist, he slams his back against the wall behind him.

Some old books of mine fall from the shelf. I don’t care. It serves Circe right for touching me, for touching Keres’s memory. I don’t care how close they were. She deserves to be mourned.

The armored man pushes himself up. His calloused plans press against the rough floor, and a strained breath can be heard through his helmet. “You’re fucking serious right now?”

“Shut up,” I warn lowly. “Shut up, or I’ll do it again.”

With Circe on one knee, he looks up at me. I don’t know what his expression under his mask is, whether it’s disappointed or angry or hurt or confused. I don’t really care enough to guess. All I know is that he crossed a line, and it’s silly to think that I did as well. I didn’t.

“Right,” he says finally. “Right.” Slowly and carefully, as he should, he puts one boot behind another. Teetering himself so he’s in front of the door, he continues walking backwards until he’s out of the doorway, and into the hallway. I hold his eyes for a long time while he does it, until finally I use the force to push the button to the door, and slide it closed with a buzz.

Taglist: @omg-we-really-doo @chokemeanakin

#star wars #star wars fanon #star wars story #star wars fanfiction #jedi #sith #gray jedi #lightsaber #writing #fanon #fanfiction

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yourhero404 · 5 years

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Control.

Day 5 of @shigarakiweek! I wasn’t sure how to approach it so I said “fuck it, go for a song fic” so, that’s where I’m at lmao :^)

Day 5: Hands/Control/Secrets (though it may fit the others as well? But it started out as just control!) Word count: 1,666 Description: Based off of the song CONTROL by Halsey!

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They send me away to find them a fortune A chest filled with diamonds and gold

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The speaker icon on the screen felt rather lonely.

Tomura was aware his Sensei was on the other side of the connection, but his voice alone didn’t feel personable.

He was set to be his successor—his greatest invention—the one to take All Might, and the system of heroes, down in flames.

The price that came with an unjust society was surely profitable to those like Tomura should they succeed in tipping the scale. Power, influence, freedom—all gold in the eyes of those who are forced to creep in the shadows of those polished like diamonds by the public. They could reach for it had they only been encouraged to do so. The heroes—they shoot people like Tomura down without another thought, never bothering to dig deep and judge if they are worthy or not.

The shadows could snuff out such a light, if they chose to follow the leader All For One had presented them.

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The house was awake, the shadows and monsters The hallways, they echoed and groaned

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Tomura truly hated the heroes—but was it his own hatred? There were days he wasn’t sure whose voice belonged where; Was his even still coming from his own throat?

The bar was dirty and drab. The outside looked uninhabited—intentional, possibly—but decent within. Tomura hated it, how empty it seemed to be; Silence was a rare delicacy for those with tortured souls, but there were times it drove him further away from reality.

Standing at the end of the hall, it took him back to his childhood; He was afraid, then. Why was he afraid? Something related to shadows crawling along the ground and the monsters just out of sight calling out for him.

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I sat alone, in bed till the morning I'm crying, "They're coming for me" And I tried to hold these secrets inside me My mind's like a deadly disease

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Nightmares were much scarier then—perhaps now he had just grown accustomed to them? Someone had always been there to comfort him, tell him that nothing had to be feared for the heroes would protect those in need.

He started to keep the monsters to himself, then. Being a hero meant showing no fear—making sure you were always brave, smiling, ready to protect those around you. He was young, then-- naïve, innocent—childish for assuming the poison from the shadows that clouded his soul would taint his mind. Why were the monsters calling out for him once again?

At the end of it all, he found himself crying, covered in blood, calling out for someone to save him from the shadows clawing their way into his sight, though no hero had bothered to show up.

It was just a child’s imagination, he had been told, it was foolish and irrational. Monsters were not real—until he turned into one.

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I'm bigger than my body I'm colder than this home I'm meaner than my demons I'm bigger than these bones

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Tomura wondered if he were a god. Surely, something about him was otherworldly—how would one such as him be so blessed had he not been?

Tomura was a god, though the world turned a blind eye to the bitter truth that no god was truly free of sin.

He had been sinful, sinister, evil—whatever form of the word felt the heaviest across their tongues—but he had been truthful. True to himself, true to his Sensei, true to those who dared called themselves his disciples and joined him in his cause.

Mean, nasty, despicable—the public loved calling him all sorts of things, though they felt no need to call their beloved heroes the same. Were they not just as corrupt as he? Were they as just as they claimed to be? It was as though they were the thieves of heart, swaying the publics opinion to see those like him as the trash beneath their feet. Disgusting.

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And all the kids cried out, "Please stop, you're scaring me" I can't help this awful energy God damn right, you should be scared of me Who is in control?

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“Villains”, what a dirty word—Tomura enjoyed the title, though it’s meaning was futile when thought about it. Wasn’t everyone a villain to someone else? Wasn’t everyone a hero to another? Or had he simply been too tainted by the world to ever be golden as the ones on the television; Thinking about the light hurt his head far too much.

He liked control. He liked instilling fear in the hearts of those who dare defy him—who dare worship these corrupted heroes so willingly as though they were pure gods. Tomura was a god! Had they not seen it? Had these children been blinded by the light for so long that the shadows no longer became visible to them? One good encounter, face to face, should keep the flame of fear alive in the back of their minds—that's what he’d give them.

“An adolescent”, “a tantrum”, they had described him as nothing more than a child and had written him off as a minor threat—still a threat, mind you—but something minor. Tomura’s role in this game was anything but minor in the grand scheme of things, and they would be sure to realize as his hand grow closer to the heart of it all.

Tomura was much more than the neighborhood “bad guy”-- he was the shadows that clutched at the hearts of other little children like him.

But who’s hand had been tugging at his strings?

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I paced around for hours on empty I jumped at the slightest of sounds

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The stress of it all had made him go mad.

It was the stress, wasn’t it? The need to please his Sensei, to take him place on the throne, to make those who shine yield to his crown—it all was too much, wasn’t it?

Tomura found himself in another world when his thoughts got to be too much—it was almost as though he had given his body to another and allowed them to make his body’s decisions. Walking, reading, studying—none of which seemed to be done by him though it was indeed his hand that had been holding the metaphorical reigns. It was odd—it reminded him of his childhood shadows, a doppelganger of sorts, creeping in through his skin to make itself at home. It was frightening, not knowing when or where you would find yourself, and coming to made him feel much worse as the weight of his duties crushed his chest.

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And I couldn't stand the person inside me I turned all the mirrors around

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They were right—those people on the news, the ones walking the street, those who simply had to say their piece on the matter—he was dirty. He was disgusting, evil, disgraceful—nothing about him was pretty and his Sensei had made this very clear.

“It doesn’t matter,” he had told him, “You’ll shine in the way you’re meant to.”

But how? How was one like him to shine when everything inside him had been dark and twisted? A misfit—that's what he had been—surrounded by equally as blind characters who needed to look to him for guidance. Where was his guidance? Where had the other version of him gone when he needed it the most?

His stomach was upset. Thinking too hard about who he was hurt his head; The voices beyond the mirror grew far too loud—he turned them to dust.

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I'm well acquainted with villains that live in my head They beg me to write them so they'll never die when I'm dead

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As the days go on, his head only grows more painful. His limbs are heavy, they’re as tired as he was, but something had kept them going. String, perhaps? They pushed and pulled as though he were nothing but a puppet among a handmade stage.

“This is who you are,” a voice says, “You’re nothing. You’re tainted.”

Tomura used to cry at the words, they stung after all. They hurt him in ways he wasn’t used to, ways in which he didn’t think were possible; That’s changed, now. They grew onto him—with him—he's done nothing to fight back with them anymore. Such dirty words are nothing but a breeze against scars that had once been hit with knives.

The voice felt like home. It was something he had grown accustomed to—it certainly wasn’t his own, but he wasn’t sure whose it had been. Familiar, yes, but something about it was needy—it needed him to continue forward. It cried for him to follow through and complete what it couldn’t-- to become the god it never got to be despite its will. They needed him to live life for them.

The shadows hand was much colder than he had expected as it wrapped around his throat. It had finally caught up with him—though he wasn’t surprised—and now it wasn’t going to let go.

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And I've grown familiar with villains that live in my head They beg me to write them so I'll never die when I'm dead

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The voice demanded he do his part. It broke him—bending his will and snapping whatever fight he had left in him. He was tired—it was useless, anyway. It demanded he play this part in the game, finishing it’s will until he was no longer necessary.

The shadows hand gripped much tighter, though Tenko had no longer fought to breathe. He was a puppet, a marionette at most, something the shadows had longed for since he could remember.

He didn’t fear them anymore; The monsters were something that had always lived just out of his sight, until he turned to finally find one with a foreign hand gripping his face, pulling his strings, in the mirror.

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nadziejastar · 5 years

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If both Lea and Isa went through mind control programming how did Axel turn out so well adjusted?

Axel Is A Fucked Up Guy

Ansem the Wise: Xehanort. Foolish apprentice of a foolish man. You have surpassed nothing—only proved how little we both know. We may profess to know the heart, but its essence is beyond our reach.

If you’re asking how a person could be subjected to mind control and still be a good person, and not a total psychopath…well…that’s kind of the mystery of the human condition, no? Polish psychologist Kazimierz Dąbrowski was caught in World War II and endured harsh incarceration in German prison system and later, he and his wife were imprisoned again in Stalin-controlled Poland. He said he could find no theory of psychology that could adequately explain both the lowest and most depraved behavior he saw, as well as the most heroic and highest acts he had witnessed in the war. He dedicated his life to the study of personality development.

Axel: We are just Nobodies who have no one to be, yet we still “are.” But now you can be nothing instead of just being a Nobody. You’re off the hook.

Vexen: No… Please don’t! I don’t want to—

Axel: Goodbye.

But I would actually argue that Axel was NOT well-adjusted, even though a lot of people might have interpreted him to be that way. Not at all. To me, KH3 is the only game that tried to make him seem well-adjusted and “normal”. A cool ice cream bro who breaks the fourth wall. Which I hated. And even then, there’s still plenty of signs that he’s not really recovered from his past.

It seems like a lot of people took Roxas and Xion’s understanding of Axel—a happy-go-lucky big brother—at face value. But it was clear that they didn’t know him at all. He had a very tragic life. He used to be a normal, happy kid and became a lonely, cynical, bitter assassin. He absolutely despised the organization. You could tell that he took great pleasure when he eliminated Vexen. It had nothing to do with some phantom girl he wasn’t sure existed. He said he had “no one to be”.It was very personal.

Sora: None of that matters! Just put Riku back!

Vexen: Just put him back? The Riku you speak of…has but one fate, to sink into the darkness—and you will share that fate, Sora! If you continue to seek the girl, Naminé, the shackles will tighten, you’ll lose your heart…and end up becoming Marluxia’s pawn!

Personally, I think Axel especially enjoyed killing Vexen when Sora began pleading with him to change Riku back. That would hit really close to home, and must have been a HUGE trigger for him. Whether he was planning to already or not, that was when Vexen needed to die. I also think it’s why he took such a liking to Sora.

It was Sora’s devotion to Riku that stood out the most to Axel in Castle Oblivion. Even more than his connection to Roxas.Right after Sora and Riku had a fight, Axel has a scene with Naminé.

Axel: Heh heh… I know exactly how you feel. Don’t get your hopes up. Nobodies can’t be somebodies. But think, Naminé. I’m sure there’s SOMETHING you could do…

This is Axel’s quote from the original Chain of Memories.

Axel: Does it hurt, Naminé? Watching your two childhood friends fight all because of you? You have my sympathies. From the heart. But don’t waste your time. We Nobodies can never hope to be somebodies.

And this is his quote from Re:Chain of Memories. He’s a LOT colder to her. And I don’t think it was because he had no heart. I think he was so cold to her because he had begun to develop a heart. Naminé’s the wedge that’s driving two close childhood friends apart. It hit WAY too close to home for Axel. And he truly hated her for it. He was dead serious when he said he had absolutely NO sympathy for her.

Riku: Hmph. Too bad, Sora. You can fight me all you want, but I still won’t remember a thing.

Sora: C'mon, Riku… Let’s quit fighting—let’s go help Naminé.

Riku: Together—right. So like you… …Sora—you’re always trying to worm your way into my heart!

Sora: Hold on! When did I ever do that?

Riku: Hmph, you forgot that, too? You never cared. It never mattered to you!

Sora: You won’t push me away.

He knew how the Riku Replica felt, thinking his friend didn’t care about him. And he knows only too well how Sora felt, trying to “worm his way” into his friend’s heart, only to be coldly rejected. And everything about it disgusted him. Sora is a lot like Lea. It made him remember what it was like to have such a strong bond, and how traumatized he was when he lost it. But Sora refused to take no for an answer. Just like him. But of course, that wasn’t really Riku anyways. Axel knew that. Sora’s friendship will be okay. But Axel’s won’t.

Axel: Is that your shield? Won’t do you any good, I’m afraid.

Axel wanted to save Sora. But he couldn’t have cared less if he killed Naminé. He wouldn’t have batted an eyelash. If anything, he would have been more than happy to do it. He knew she was an innocent young girl who was just an unwilling pawn of the Organization. He didn’t care. It’s so messed up if you think about it. He’d murder a terrified little girl—and he’d do it with a smile on his face. That’s how much he hated anyone who would cause a rift between childhood friends. That’s how devastated he was after the loss of Isa. He has extreme, deep-seated hatred inside of him.

Axel didn’t waste a second grabbing his chakrams. But his body was reluctant somehow.

I don’t want to disappear… But still, it wouldn’t be so bad if I did. Not here.

Axel let out a deep breath and leaped into the air as flames erupted around them.

“…Pathetic!” The Claymore moved to block Axel’s strike, while Saïx himself didn’t even twitch.

This is a pretty overwhelming disadvantage, Axel thought. Well, I knew that before we started fighting. I can’t win against Saïx with my own strength.

Still, he refused to hesitate. He had to force this path open. He wanted…to find hope—the hope that Sora and Riku had.

Saïx gave him a cruel grin. “You will lose everything!” And then the Claymore pierced Axel’s chest.

In my opinion, Axel changed because of Sora and Riku. When he came back from Castle Oblivion, his relationship with Saïx became very strained. Those two reminded him of what he used to have, and it’s unbearable to him that he no longer has it. At the end of KH2, while fighting Saïx, he said that he wanted the hope that Sora and Riku had. He wished that Saïx was just a fake replica the whole time, and that none of the awful things he said were true. The real version had actually gone away to protect him, but he’d show up later, and they could go back to being friends. Hmmm.

Sora: What are you— What ARE you people?!

Axel: Hm… Don’t know. I wonder about that myself.

When Axel saw the way Sora reacted when he killed Vexen, it made him feel ashamed. He realized that “normal” people are horrified by his actions, even when he is acting on their behalf. Sora was furious with Vexen, but even he was appalled by what Axel did.

Sora: After I finish you, he’s next!

Axel: Hmph. Now, Sora. We’ve got more in common than you might think. I’d really rather not fight you… But I can’t dishonor the Organization, now, can I?

Axel: You’re better than I thought you’d be. It was worth saving you after all.

Axel identifies with Sora, but Sora sees him as a monster. Maybe he was relatively well-adjusted compared to some of his fellow Organization members, at least in the morality department. But his “happy-go-lucky big brother” persona was mostly just a facade to cover up a very dysfunctional and wounded person. That was the mask he was comfortable showing outwardly. But it was not his true self.

Day 74: Xion’s Face

Honestly, I never got why Roxas was so crazy about Xion. I know they both joined up around the same time, and they’re both rookies, but how do you get so close to somebody who hides their face all the time? Well, I saw it today. All of a sudden, No. XIV up and takes off…her hood. Xion is a girl, and she looks just like Naminé.

It’s why he acted so strangely when he saw Xion’s face for the first time. He’s looking into the face of the little girl he was willing to murder, who is now asking to be his friend. It freaked him the fuck out. And it made him feel like total shit.

Roxas: When I saw her lying there… I couldn’t stop thinking that she’ll never wake up.

Axel: She will.

Roxas: Saïx called her “broken.”

Axel: Hmm… Well, if it cheers you up, I’m probably a lot more broken than her.

Underneath the mask, was a really fucked up guy who had a LOT of issues. And he KNEW it.

Axel stretched his neck and munched on his ice cream. “You know, I don’t mind disappearing.”

Naminé’s breath caught.

Riku stared at him.

“Roxas is gone. When we bring Kairi here, Naminé will be gone, too. So, same for me,” he said, as if he were discussing the weather, and then punctuated his comment with another bite of sea-salt ice cream.

“We don’t disappear… We’re only reborn,” Naminé murmured, perhaps to herself.

“I’m not like you and Roxas,” Axel said flatly. His hand holding the ice pop stick paused in midair.

“But—but you…” She looked down, clenching her fists.

“It’s because I don’t have a heart,” Axel went on. “I don’t want to disappear, but I’m not upset or sad about it.”

Why was he so convinced that he’s not like Roxas and Naminé? Because he’s not innocent anymore. He’s not going to get a next life because he doesn’t think he deserves one. In his mind, he’s not a good person. He’s done bad things. And he’s poisoned by hatred. I think that’s exactly why he clung to Roxas and Xion so much in the first place, aside from sheer loneliness.

They made him remember who he was before he became so fucked up. But he’d never, EVER tell them some of the things he’s done, or what he’s truly capable of. They’d be horrified and he knows it. He’s always eating ice cream during stressful moments in the novel. Even when he’s literally dying. The shittier he feels, the more he eats. The ice cream is comforting to him because it’s something he used to do in the past with Isa. It reminds him of better days. It’s almost like an addiction. Sea-salt ice cream is viewed as this cute, happy thing. But the reason it is so significant to Axel is because he’s in unbearable pain.

Kairi: So, you gonna try yours on?

Lea: Uh…I dunno. Maybe later.

Kairi: But you always wear the same thing.

Lea: If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. This is how you pick me out of a crowd. I make myself easy to remember.

Even in KH3, he won’t take off his old clothes and always stares off into the distance. In my opinion, this has nothing to do with Roxas or Xion. It’s because he’s got baggage. Serious unresolved baggage, connected to his time in the Organization XIII cult. I cannot describe how much I despise the way KH3 downplayed this, and made it seem like his only problem in life was not having Roxas around to hang out with. It felt SO out-of-character to me. Of course he’d want to see Roxas again (who is actually Ventus, IMO). But his entire life doesn’t and shouldn’t revolve around that. He had a life before Roxas and that deserved attention. Isa was the root cause of Lea’s pain.

Axel’s title in the series translates into English as “Flurry of Dancing Flames,” but this doesn’t quite capture the meaning of the original Japanese. The English title implies that Axel himself is fire, but the literal parsing of the Japanese phrase is more like “dancing fire’s wind.”

I think that Axel’s title is about Isa. “Tandava” or dance of destruction, is a divine dance performed by the Hindu god Shiva, where he is infamously depicted surrounded by a circle of flames. It symbolizes the cycles of creation and destruction. Sati grew up devoted to Shiva and spurned the advances of rich kings to the point where she left for a forest to escape the constant proposals. Eventually Shiva consented to make her his bride, and, elated, Sati went to share the news with her father.

Axel: Nothing lasts forever, man. Least of all for a bunch of Nobodies. But you know, we’ll still have each other…even if things change and we can’t do this anymore.

Roxas: Yeah?

Axel: As long as we remember each other, we’ll never be apart. Got it memorized?

Roxas: Ha ha, wow, Axel. That sounded ridiculous.

Axel: What? I thought it was pretty deep.

However, upon her father’s expression of his disapproval of her marriage, she immolated herself, praying to one day be reborn as a daughter to a father she could respect. Angered and grief-stricken after learning of Sati’s death, Shiva performed a terrible Tandava. The more Shiva danced, the more destruction arose. Out of grief and sorrow, Shiva carried Sati’s body and roamed around the universe with it, reminiscing of their moments as a couple. It sounds a lot like Axel to me. His relationship with Saïx is akin to carrying a corpse around. Isa’s even got the giant scar on his forehead which literally means “death”.

Eventually, Sati was reborn as Parvati. This time, she was born the daughter of a father whom she could respect; a father who appreciated Shiva ardently. Naturally, she grew up to be a beautiful woman and over time, she grew to love Shiva with her whole heart. Eventually, they married. The two are literally inseparable, as they have a form where they are fused together as one. Their fused form is another symbol of duality. It’s basically the Hindu version of the Red King and White Queen of alchemy.

Another reason I think Axel’s title was about Isa? Well, because that’s what his Mystery Gear weapon was about, too. The Jade Emperor wanted to test the virtue of the hare and his friends. They all gave him food. But the hare had no food except the grass growing in the forest. So he told the Jade Emperor to build a fire, and when the fire was burning, he said “I have nothing to give you to eat but myself!” Then, the hare threw himself into the fire.

Of course, the Jade Emperor caused the fire to go instantly cold so that the hare was not burned, and then revealed his true form. And then he painted the hare’s likeness on the face of the moon for all to see, so that his virtue would be remembered throughout the ages. The rabbit was unharmed and lived happily ever after. In some versions, he actually is taken to the moon and becomes immortal. But the rabbit hasn’t gotten to the moon yet. He doesn’t know that the Isa he remembers is still alive.

Xemnas: There hangs the heart of all hearts–Kingdom Hearts–shining down on us at last. See the countless hearts that have gathered? Hearts full of rage…hate…sadness…and bliss. There, in the sky, hangs the promise of a new world.

In addition to his own abuse, Axel is fucked up because of Isa. He’s angry at what they did to him, and he’s devastated over losing him. He was an emotional wreck, filled with rage, hate, and sadness. His entire arc was building up suspense for the “bliss” part…and then they did a bait-and-switch.

#kingdom hearts #kh axel #kh lea #kh meta #kh isa #kh isalea #khleaisa #kh akusai #anti-kh3

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thebestoftimes · 5 years

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50 QUESTION BOOK TAG FOR WORLD BOOK DAY

By me, Jess. I made this for world book day but then got depressed and didn’t post it on time lmao but here ya go kids be warned though it’s a long one. Also the numbers thing got fucked up and I couldn’t fix it. I got a lot of these questions from other tags I’ve seen and google so if something sounds familiar... that’s why.

Who or what sparked your love of literature?

Aw my parents fueled my book habit when I was a kid and took me to the bookstore all the time and since then all my teachers have always encouraged me and made me love books even more than I thought possible.

Do you have an ‘odd’ book habit? (page sniffing/never leaving the house with a book)

It’s true that I never go anywhere without a book. I got one in my backpack or purse or reading on my phone but it’s always there.

Do you have a book that you think has changed your life? How?

A lot of books and series have made significant impacts on my life (like I can’t picture elementary school without Percy Jackson being in my life) but like as a person I can’t think of any one book that has changed who I am. It’s been a team effort.

Which book have you reread most frequently?

I think I reread Hush Hush every year lmao idk why

You can meet any author and ask one question. What author would you chose and what question would you ask?

I’d want to meet Shakespeare and ask him if all his characters really were just that gay or if we’re all reading too much into it.

Best book published this year so far?

It’s only March but The Gilded Wolves by Roshani Chokshi

Imagine you’ve started a book and don’t like it. Do you see the experience through to the bitter end, or are you able to talk away from it mid story?

I used to always finish what I started but now that I’m in college and have a mountain of a TBR I’ll just stop.

What book is top of your wish list/TBR pile?

Uhh A Winter’s Promise by Christelle Dabos is on top rn

Favourite place to read?

My bed. Boring but a classic.

If you buy books, do you lend them out? Ever had a bad experience?

Of course. No all my friends respect my stuff and return them promptly.

What fictional character do you ship yourself with?

So many but I think Gansey and I from The Raven Cycle would make the best couple.

Weirdest thing you’ve used as a bookmark

I use whatever near me so I might have done something weirder but lately I’ve been using tissues because I have a tissue box by my bed and never real bookmarks. But I’ve used graded homework, a toy car, a crayon, earbuds, etc.

Favorite quality/qualities in a protagonist and antagonist

Wow this is s hard okay for protag I am a sucker for like stubborn, smartass with a martyr complex. Sad but true. Antags I love a good morally grey character or anti-villain. Tragic backstory but smart as hell. The worst (the best). Characters like the Darkling from The Grisha Trilogy, and Warner from the first Shatter Me book (I know he’s a good guy NOW but back then we all thought he was a sadistic and sexy villain).

Favorite genre and favorite book from that genre.

YA Urban Fantasy babyyy and that’d be City of Bones by Cassandra Clare or Lady Midnight by Cassandra Clare:)

Best/worst movie adaptation in your eyes

Best: Harry Potter and The Hunger Games | Worst: Percy Jackson

Do you prefer reading your own books, or library books?

My own.

How do you choose your next book to read?

Literally whatever I’m feeling like at the moment.

Your favorite word.

I love many words but I have a soft spot for “lively” and “lilt”.

Book that got you hooked on reading/how you got hooked.

I’ve always been obsessed with reading but The Peter and the Starcatchers Series was like my shift from nicotine to heroine.

Opinion on dog-earing, margin writing, ect.

I only write in the margins of books I have to read for class/textbooks. And that’s for studying and active reading purposes. For any other situation: no.