#for some reason i decided to torture myself by drawing two things i hate which is kisses and side profiles | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

crash-cinematic-universe · 3 years

Text

tiger lilies, self destructing, and richard siken

pairing: peter maximoff/reader

summary: to peter maximoff, love is an anomaly that scares him more than anything else. however, you might be able to help him overcome his fear.

warnings: language! but that’s about it. kind of cheesy at some points but yknow what im not lactose intolerant

notes: this is the monsterous fic thats been kicking my ass this past week (6.2k words babey!!!) i was originally going to add ~~steamy~~ section to this one but i decided against it to make it readable for those who don’t wanna see that kind of stuff. if you want me to separately publish that then just lmk!! (if any of yall wanna talk about richard siken to me then please do, his work is so good)

taglist: @stranger-names , @gooseyhouse , @parkersdarling

To Peter Maximoff, physical affection has always been a touchy subject-- no pun intended. His speed is a blessing, but also a bitter curse. He moves at the speed of sound, bouncing off the walls and tearing up the roads; he moves impossibly fast, and no one ever tries to catch up with him. People get tired of Peter rather quickly, not bothering to get attached to him when they know they can’t keep up.

That’s why it’s so jarringly startling when you decide to stick around. When faced with the grand decision of throwing in the towel and leaving Peter behind or sticking around and trying your best, you chose the latter. It was surprising, to say the least. Peter waited patiently for the distance between the two of you to start growing; he waited for the void you once filled to open up again. However, the void never emptied, and the distance never grew.

To anyone else, this would be a wonderful experience. Knowing that you wouldn’t be left behind or forgotten about would be comforting to anyone else in Peter’s position. However, this did the exact opposite for Peter. He wasn’t comforted or relaxed, on the contrary, he was always on edge. The future was cruel, and the mystery of it all felt like torture.

To quote the great Richard Silken, “Someone has to leave first. This is a very old story. There is no other version of this story.” Peter lived and breathed by this ideology, that everyone he loves would have to leave eventually, whether it be by their own volition or not. It was obvious that you didn’t plan on abandoning ship anytime soon, so Peter decided he’d take matters into his own hands. If you weren’t going to be the first one to walk away, then he’d be the one to run away from you. He soon came to learn that loneliness was at its most bitter when you’ve come to taste the sweetness of love.

Love was a strange, complicated beast that Peter Maximoff had never dealt with before. If he were to be completely honest, love scared him. It scared him more than dying scared him. To Peter, death was an escape. Death was the end of a tiring journey, it was safe and simple and easy. Love was the opposite, it was the mouth of a dragon and the edge of a blade. It was the beginning to something so fragile and powerful, something that could end in flames.

Peter realized he loved you on a summer afternoon. The sun was shining and you were in the shade. He sat down next to you, and within minutes Kurt and Ororo appeared at your side. They seemed so put together, so sure and strong. Peter felt out of place-- he felt as if he were standing outside of a cabin looking in through the window at your wonderful friendships. He watched with his nose pressed against the glass as you walked across the room and opened the cabin door to let him in.

Peter realized he was in love with you in the middle of the night. A thunderstorm raged outside the mansion walls and raindrops kept time as Peter walked down the hallway. You were sitting on the floor of the common room next to a dying fire, a book clenched tightly in your hands. For a moment, he just stood against a wall and watched you. As creepy as he felt, a part of him believed he’d ruin your night by making himself known. He was okay with being a fly on the wall if it meant he’d get to see you. Peter wondered if there was a world where he had the pleasure of knowing you, without you having the burden of knowing him.

Still, you saw him. And you knew him. And you waved him over with a smile. He felt the urge to run, to leave you here alone with yourself, but he stayed put. Then, one step at a time, he moved forward. He got closer and closer before he found himself standing at your feet.

“You’re welcome to stay,” you told him. He believed it. Peter sat down next to you, letting his shoulder brush against yours.

“What’re you reading?” He asked. Peter already knew what you were reading, he read the cover of the book the moment he sat down, but he still wanted to hear it from you.

“Crush by Richard Siken,”

“Oh. What’s it about?” Peter already knew what it was about. He’d read it at least fifty times.

“It’s kind of hard to explain. I’d much rather just read it to you and let you decide for yourself,” Peter’s stupid little heart lurched, and he almost cried at the thought. He held it together, though.

“That would be nice,” He said softly.

“Sorry about all the writing in the margins, I can’t help myself sometimes.” Peter scanned the sides of the pages, marveling at your notes. Some of them were reactions, littered with exclamation points and question marks and bold letters. Some of them were underlined phrases and little doodles-- most notably a little drawing of a chameleon on a tiger lily. He loved them.

“It’s okay. Literature is meant to be marked up-- what’s the point of reading if you don’t get to share the love?”

“That’s a good point,” You grinned. Then, the reading began, and you allowed Peter to rest his head on your shoulder as you read to him. Even though he’d heard the poems a billion times by now, they sounded brand new coming from you. He listened closely. You were arriving at his favorite part, “You are Jeff” section 24.

“You’re in a car with a beautiful boy, and he won’t tell you that he loves you, but he loves you...” You read on, not noticing the way Peter’s eyes had shifted from the book you were holding to your face. Peter’s mind wanders, and he curses himself for missing the lines you were reading “... You’re in a car with a beautiful boy, and you’re trying not to tell him that you love him, and you’re trying to choke down the feeling, and you’re trembling, but he reaches over and he touches you, like a prayer for which no words exist, and you feel your heart taking root in your body, like you’ve discovered something you didn’t even have a name for.”

Peter felt like he was going to cry. You kept reading and he kept looking. It was getting late, and Peter was getting tired. Your voice had softened and slowed, and the fire that was burning in the fireplace had all but died. Peter was the one that fell asleep first, and you followed closely after. Both of you had lingering smiles on your faces.

Intimacy is an odd thing, isn’t it? Thinking critically, intimacy is just vulnerability with more layers. It’s the closeness between people, it’s allowing yourself to connect with someone you care about. It’s stripping yourself down to muscle and bone and hoping the other person doesn’t let you bleed out. It’s a level of trust that is more than closing your eyes and falling backwards; it’s closing your eyes and letting them push you over the edge into the unknown, and trusting them enough to know you’ll be okay when you hit the ground.

It didn’t take long for Peter to realize that he had trouble with being intimate with other people. Too many times had trusted someone to push him over the edge, only to realize he’d be shattered when he hits the ground. After that, he decided intimacy was overrated. It’s not like anyone was going to have that kind of relationship with him, anyway.

Of course, then you came along and uprooted his entire worldview, like you had with everything else. He found himself thinking about you at every waking moment, which inevitably led to him… thinking about you at every waking moment, if you catch my drift. Sure, intimacy involves more than just physical intimacy, but Peter knows he can’t ignore the feeling that rises in his stomach whenever he’s around you. For the first year or so of your relationship, Peter became very familiar with the feeling of an ice-cold shower.

What Peter didn’t take into consideration was you. For some reason, Peter struggled to understand the fact that you were just as attracted to him as he was attracted to you. It was no secret that Peter was insecure, but he never really realized how much his insecurity affected his relationships. If he couldn’t love himself, how could anyone else? Peter is the only one who gets to see his persona in its truest form, and every time he has to avert his eyes. It’s safe to say his physical appearance has been the cause of very many painful-- and occasionally tear-filled-- sleepless nights.

He told you this. He told you everything. He told you about Erik, he told you about his childhood, he told you about everything he loved and hated and feared and yearned for. That ordeal alone was scary enough, knowing that at any moment you could decide you didn’t want to deal with him anymore, but as always, you stuck around. You told him everything. You told him about your family and your struggles. You told him about everything you loved and hated and feared and yearned for, and not once did Peter even think that he wanted to walk away. This is the kind of intimacy that, over the years, Peter had struggled with less and less.

Still, it was the sexual aspect of intimacy that freaked him out. It was a beast he’d never dealt with, a feat he’d never faced. That being said, as every day went by Peter became more and more… frustrated. He didn’t know how to approach the subject, so he'd just let the subject approach him and wing it.

And as he sat on his bed watching as you twirled around to Tears for Fears “Everybody Wants To Rule The World”, Peter realized he didn’t have much to worry about.

“Dance with me, dollface,” you laughed, reaching out for him. You looked like someone straight out of a movie, the lim blue light coming from Peter’s arcade machines illuminating a halo above your head. You put Molly Ringwald and Emilio Estevez to shame. Peter took your hand, grinning like an idiot as you twirled him around.

There he was, dancing in his mother’s basement with his favorite person in the entire world. He wasn’t a great dancer, and neither were you, but that didn’t matter. Peter was dreading this visit-- he hated the idea of being back in the basement that made him feel like a failure. But you assured him that you’d be there with him, and that getting to see his family would make it all worth it. His family isn’t what made it worth it, though.

“Brain Damage” by Pink Floyd came next, slower and a bit more somber, but still danceable. Your arms shifted to around his neck, pulling him closer than he already was. Somehow, you ended up with your back against the wall as the song came to a close. He kissed your forehead, then your cheek, then your lips.

“I love you,” Peter spoke softly. This was a small victory-- he’d been so scared of the mere idea of loving someone. You were the only one who got to hear his love confessions. They were for you, and for you only.

“I love you too,” Peter would never, ever get tired of hearing that. Knowing that you love him is enough to keep him going for a hundred years. And he knows the odds, he knows that love is rocky and painful as much as it is beautiful. He knows that love can feel sweet in the beginning and go sour overtime. He knows that first, second, third relationships don’t always work out. But he thinks this is going to work out. And Peter doesn’t think this will ever go sour. Maybe that’s his blissful ignorance talking, maybe he’s jinxing it, but at this moment, he doesn’t care. Right now he is at his happiest, at his most content.

“You wanna watch a movie?” You asked softly, pecking Peter on the cheek. He could feel the warmth radiating off of you, and Peter grinned. In an instant the tv across the room began playing the opening credits to the first movie that popped into his head.

“The Breakfast Club?” You questioned. Peter shrugged.

“What can I say, I’m a sucker for a good coming-of-age kind of movie,”

You sat against the headboard of Peter’s bed, allowing Peter to settle beside you. Your head rested on his shoulder, and he was quick to grab your hand. Peter loved the closeness. Over the past year, he’d come to realize he was a very affectionate person. Previously, Peter hadn’t known soft, physical love; the only time anyone would ever touch him would be as punishment or defense, not love. Love. Peter had gotten more comfortable with the idea of love, because when he thinks of love he thinks of you.

Every good story has a villain. A villain that you love to hate, or hate to love. A villain you can sympathize with, a villain you can’t excuse, a villain that the mere mention of makes you sick to your stomach. An unexpected villain. An obvious villain. A villain that’s just trying his goddamn best. Sometimes the villain is defeated, sometimes the villain changes their evil ways. Sometimes the villain dies and the crowd cheers.

Peter Maximoff never thought he’d be the villain of his own story. He tried his hardest to be a good person, but there was always that side of him that made him afraid. He was like an explosive; whenever someone got too close, he’d detonate and destroy everything around him. It was a self-defense tactic, albeit counterproductive.

It killed you to see him that way. He told you about the relationships he’d lost to himself. He told you about the abandonment and the loneliness. It broke your heart. He tried to distract himself, drowning himself in work so he’d never have the opportunity to ruin what he had with you. Peter Maximoff was a walnut tree; every time he planted his roots and began to grow, he’d kill anything that grew too close. However, the constant working started to wear Peter down.

It started with the late nights. He’d collapse next to you at four AM, knocking out the minute his head hit the pillow. Still, he’d be awake before you were, already scrambling around trying to complete various tasks. He was like a machine that was running from it’s problems. The late nights turned to all-nighters, and the few hours Peter managed to salvage set aside for sleep had shrunk to a few minutes at a time. He didn’t eat anything with even a hint of nutritional value. At this rate, he was going to work himself to death.

The worst part? Peter knew what he was doing. He wasn’t stupid. He just needed to shut up the little voice in his head that urged him to act out. The entirety of his childhood, Peter destroyed what he created. The need to be isolated, the feeling that he deserves to be alone spread throughout his body like a cancer. He locked himself away in the basement, trying desperately to stay out of everyone’s way so they wouldn’t shut him out. People tried to coerce him out of his cave, to pull him out of the bottomless pit he threw himself into. Peter saw them as the sirens trying to lure him into the ocean of loneliness, and he wasn’t going to fall for it. In his eyes, anyone who tried to help him were the villains of his amazing, heroic tale. Fortunately for him, one by one, they started to give up on helping him. They thought he was a lost cause; a fucking loser who was destined to wallow in his own self-pity until he died. At first, this was a triumph. He defeated them, he outwitted the sphinx and slayed the dragon. But a part of him hated himself for becoming the worst-case scenario that every parent feared their child would grow up to be.

He pulled himself out of his pit and back onto his feet, all by himself. It was hell on Earth, but he did it. That cancerous feeling of uselessness retracted back into itself, now residing in the place next to Peter’s heart. However, that horrifying fear of becoming a burden began to grow again, this time when Peter was in his mid-20s. He began to overcompensate, and that led him to where he was; always on the brink of collapse, running on nothing but coffee and twenty minutes of sleep. In return, Peter got to have friends. In his mind, that was fair. In your mind? Not even close.

You managed to catch him in his bedroom as he was in the midst of simultaneously scribbling in a notebook and reading an open novel. Peter Maximoff would always be the most beautiful person in the world in your eyes, but at that moment, he looked like hell. Your plan seemed foolproof, but then again, you weren’t sure what you were walking into. Lately, Peter didn’t seem like himself. Probably because of the lack of sleep.

“Peter?” He looked up at you, eyes half-lidded. “I got you something.”

“You did?” A sleepy smile was all he could muster, but that was google enough for you.

“I did. It’s to mark exactly three years since I first met you,” you sat down on his bed, placing the small wrapped book right next to you. Peter glanced at the calendar on the wall-- oh god, you were right. It’s been three years to the day and he forgot. He deserves the title of “World’s Worst Boyfriend”. Scott will probably be upset that he’s losing his title.

“What’re you up to?”

“Finishing up some old work I’ve been putting off,” he punctuated his sentence with a yawn. “Some of my old work and some of Hank’s, too.” “Why are you doing Hank’s work?”

“He seemed stressed about something, thought I might help clear his head,” The sentiment is sweet, you’ll give him that.

“Alright, well, can we talk for a minute?” Alarm bells went off in Peter’s brain. There has never, in the history of the universe, been a good conversation that started with ‘can we talk for a minute?’ or any of it’s cruel variants.

“Actually, I’m kind of busy right now, can this wait?” It was obvious that the answer to that was no, but still, he felt the need to ask.

“Not really, no. It’s important.” Peter saw the next few seconds playing out in his head. The inevitable had come to fruition; you realized that you could do better, and now you were cutting him loose. He couldn’t blame you, not really, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t going to rip him to shreds. He realized that whatever you brought for him was most likely a parting gift. How sweet.

“Oh. Alright.”

“Well, I’m going to give it to you straight,” you sighed. “I’m worried about you, Peter.”

Oh. He’s heard this speech before, he knows the spiel. He can vaguely recall a guidance counselor telling him the exact same thing before Peter decided to call him a slew of expletives. The tar pit in his chest began to grow.

“I’m fine.” This was a lie. The first lie in a long chain of lies that Peter was about to tell to you, his favorite person in the world. He loved you, but in that moment his vision clouded over. You weren’t the person he loved and cherished anymore, no, you were just another faceless blur that provided a temporary escape.

“Really? I feel like you’re pushing everyone away, you’re pushing me away.” Peter was becoming more and more irritated by the second.

“I told you, I’m fine. I’m not pushing you away.

“Don’t lie to me,” your voice is firm and unwavering. “You don’t sleep, you almost never eat-- I don’t think I’ve seen you stand still for more than three minutes once in the past month--”

“That’s just how I am,” Peter huffs. He wanted this conversation to be over. “That’s not your problem.”

“Your wellbeing is my problem, Peter, that’s the whole point of being friends with someone. Even more so now, because you’re my partner and I care about you--”

“Then stop,” Peter rolled his eyes. He's more irritable than normal-- most likely because he hasn’t slept in days. He could almost feel the venomous arms of isolation creeping around him. It’s a sick pattern, he knows; every time someone gets close to him, he feels the need to self-destruct before they lose interest. Even now, even after all this time, Peter’s still powerless against the poison in his veins.

“What?” You’re losing your reserve and your stature. He can tell. You’re slouching and picking at the cuticles on your thumb. It’s almost as if he’s been shoved into the back seat, and is now being forced to watch as a stranger takes the wheel and crashes the car. So much frustration, so much hurt, and it’s all coming out right now, onto you. Peter already regrets this entire interaction, but still, he manages to spit acid.

“Stop caring. Just leave, I know you want to. I know every night, you lie awake and think about all the different ways you can leave me in the dust. Not that it would matter to me.” This is another lie. Your eyes flash with hurt, but you stay put. You know he’s just being an asshole because he’s exhausted and too stubborn to admit that you’re right. He’s egging you on intentionally, trying to get you to snap and walk away.

“Peter, god, I love you but sometimes you can be so...”

“So what? C’mon, be honest with me,” He huffed.

“Frustrating,” You surrendered. The poise you once held was gone. “I know it isn’t your fault-- I know you’ve trusted so many people so deeply and been betrayed or sold out and I know you’ve loved so many times and been thrown to the curb without a second thought. But I don’t know what I can do to convince you that I’m here for you, and that I love you. I’ve tried everything, and it feels like I’m talking to a brick wall. I want to make this work, but I need you to work with me.” It’s evident in your voice that you’re desperate. You’re just hoping you’ll get through to him, somehow. “I need you to want it as bad as I do-- hell, I need you to want it at all.” Here it comes--

“You ever think, maybe, I just don’t want you to be that person for me? I’ve spent my life being independent, my entire existence so far has been built around the fact that I’m going to end up alone. People come and people go-- people like you and Charles-- and they tell me they care. They tell me that they love me and that they're here for me. And then they get tired of me and they leave. I wish that you would just leave me the fuck alone and let me live in solitude,” There it was. The lie to end all lies. The words tasted awful coming out of his mouth, and the whole ordeal left his mouth tasting very… sour. Peter had to look away, he couldn’t look at the expression on your face.

“Fine. If that’s what you want.” Your eyes never met his, but you paused before you exited the room. “I know you’re probably just… I don’t know, going through something, but you’re being an asshole. Don’t talk to me until you’ve sorted your shit out. Enjoy your solitude.” You left the room impossibly fast, your fists clenched so tightly Peter feared that your nails would break the skin on your palms. He struggled to keep it together-- why the fuck did he do that?

Peter collapsed onto his bed, and it’s only then that he realized you left behind the gift you got him. A part of him thought he should return it to you, but the other part of him urged for it to be opened. He tore the wrapping paper off before he realized what he was doing. The hardcover book the wrapping paper concealed was handbound, the cover littered with your beautifully familiar handwriting. In big, bold letters The Best of Poetry in the Humble Opinion of Y/n L/n was scrawled at the top.

Peter vividly remembers a late night you spent talking to him. You told him about your favorite poems, outlining each and every little detail you loved about them. Some of them he’d read already, some of them he hadn’t, but all of them sounded like artwork coming from you. He opened the front cover, and you’d written something else on the inside.

“In the words of the wonderful Peter Maximoff, ‘What’s the point of reading if you don’t get to share the love?’. This is me, sharing the love.”

Carefully, Peter opened to a random page in the book. He saw the notes in the margins and the doodles and the exclamation points and before he knew it Peter was on the verge of tears. He was barely containing himself, and then he read a specific annotation you made.

He had opened to the first page of “The Worm King’s Lullaby”, one of your all-time favorites. A specific line was underlined, one that Peter was all too familiar with: “Someone has to leave first. This is a very old story. There is no other version of this story.” Beside it, you wrote:

“As much of a genius Mr. Siken is, I have to disagree with this. If you love someone enough, you’ll never leave them and they’ll never leave you. Even if they die, even if things don’t work out, you’ll always have a little part of them to carry with you. Carry this part of me with you, Peter. Not that I plan on leaving anytime soon.”

That was it. The floodgates broke. Everything that Peter had held back came pouring out-- the past 10 minutes finally caught up with him, and they hit him like a bus. He sat in the corner of his bedroom, his knees pulled up to his chest so tightly he thought his legs would snap. Peter wanted to rip all his hair out or punch a hole in the wall or hold his head underwater until he was nothing but an obituary and a headstone. His chest burned and the pit of despair inside his chest had overtaken his system, and he hated himself with a burning passion. Why did he do that? Why did he do that? Why the fuck did he do that?

Peter Maximoff had his breakdown in solitude, revealing in the fact that he was, undeniably, the villain of his own life.

As it turns out, ‘getting his shit together’ is much harder than Peter originally anticipated. He's trying, he really is, but it's hard. Especially without you there. Peter knows that he fucked up, and he knows that he needs to work for your forgiveness. And don’t worry, he’s going to work for it.

It had only been a week, but the entire mansion could tell that something was off. Life just wasn’t the same without the randomized gusts of wind that would knock people off their feet; no one had been seriously injured or had something stolen from them. The whirlwind that was mansion life, while still chaotic, lost it’s fun.

Charles tried to keep things running smoothly, but he was an old man and didn’t exactly understand you and Peter. People would knock on your door every now and then, but you didn’t answer. You were much too busy analyzing exactly how much of a bitch you were being-- realistically, the answer is 0%, but you didn’t see it that way. No, from your perspective, you saw Peter having a mental breakdown and you ditched him. Pretty shitty move.

What you didn’t realize was that Peter was doing the exact same thing, however, the blame falls mostly on his shoulders, and boy does he know it. He’s been scripting his grand apology, trying desperately to find the right words to express exactly how sorry he is. Peter was never very good with words-- it’s always too hard to know if you’re going to say the wrong thing and mess everything up. Although, it’s hard to see how the scenario could get any worse.

He made the executive decision to start with “I’m sorry”-- a solid start to any apology. Sure, he could stop there, but Peter realized that he’d probably need more to win back his partner. So, he managed to scribble down a few more lines on a tiny notecard he was supposed to use for studying. Oh, what a wondrous redemption arc this would be; Peter gets into a fight with his wonderful partner and ruins their relationship and then struggles to come up with a coherent apology.

“I’m sorry about what I said, that was shitty. I shouldn’t have said that.” Peter’s eyebrows furrowed in frustration. God, he was going to die alone, wasn’t he? Maybe this is the cruel punishment the world is dealing to him, the universe is deciding that Peter’s redemption arc would be better if it, well, didn’t exist. Even so, he isn’t planning on giving up or giving in just yet.

He scrapped what he had so far and started at the beginning once again. His 9th grade english teacher would tell him to write about what he knows, and though he doesn’t know much, he’s an expert when it comes to himself. Peter knows how he feels about you, he knows how sorry he is, and he knows that he really, really, really wants you to know that he didn’t mean a word he said about not wanting you. Peter knows about love, at least a little bit, and he realizes he’ll need more than just words.

His mind drifts to that night, years ago, in front of the fireplace. He vividly remembers a tiger lily and a chameleon scribbled in the margins of your book. Realistically, Peter couldn’t get his hands on a chameleon, but a tiger lily was a different story. In high school, Peter took a botany course because he thought it’d be easy. It wasn’t, it was boring as all hell, but it seems like his slacking paid off. He knew tiger lilies were indigenous to Asia, but they’d become quite common along New England-area roadways.

Peter grabbed his jacket and took off, tearing through the roads like his life depended on it. In less than 10 minutes, Peter found himself in the middle of New Hampshire drenched in rain. In hindsight, he probably should’ve checked the weather before leaving. Nevertheless, he takes off into the small wooded area that laid passed the road’s end. Dozens of mushrooms dotted the muddy ground and mossy rocks clouded his peripheral vision. The rain begins to lighten as he spots a bright orange tiger lily peeking through the remains of a tree stump. He sprints over to it.

The tiger lily is bloomed and beautiful and Peter can’t tear his eyes away from the wide array of speckles and splotches and color. It’s pristine, but some of the petals are torn or wilting. The roots stretch into the stump below it, and Peter leans closer. The stump is old and worn, fungi and bugs eat away at the base next to a large hole where a family of worms reside. The stump is ugly, sure, but it’s useful. It helps keep the bugs fed and keeps the worms warm. There’s a metaphor here somewhere, but Peter is too distracted to find it.

He gently picks the flower and spins on his heel, taking off once again. The rain makes it harder to run, but it’ll take a lot more than water to stop Peter. By the time Peter gets back to Xavier’s the flower is a little crushed, but it’s still somewhat pristine.

He has the flower, he has the apology, and now all he needs is courage. Thankfully, that courage comes quickly as he instinctively knocks on your bedroom door. He probably should’ve stopped to collect himself, but he was riding a wave of adrenaline that wouldn’t come back.

“Go away, Jean,” You called from inside. You sounded tired, and it made Peter sad.

“It’s-- uh-- it’s not Jean,” Peter can hear your hesitant footsteps approaching the door, and suddenly the courage he managed to build up drained. His hands are shaking by the time you open the door. You look up at him, and Peter looks back at you, and suddenly everything is much harder to do. He looks down at his feet.

“Hi.” Your voice is hoarse, but clear.

“Hi.” Peter’s voice is uneven and quiet. You stand there in silence for a minute before Peter pipes up again.

��So, uh, you’re probably still mad at me and I get that, but I just want you to hear me out. I-If that’s okay,” You nod slowly, and Peter takes a deep breath. He thinks about the written apology that sat in his coat pocket, and he makes the last-minute decision to forget about it. He’ll speak from the heart, or, whatever people in rom-coms do.

“I’m sorry. It was really shitty of me to get angry at you because you were worried about me-- although, I guess shitty is an understatement. Everything that I said about, yknow, not wanting you or Charles or anyone else around anymore wasn’t true. I need you guys, and I love you guys and it was unfair of me to push you away. Solitude really sucks. I guess I’m just not very good at navigating relationships,” He exhales, and his chest shudders. “I understand if you don’t want to be with me anymore, I just thought I should make it clear how I feel.” It’s only then that he remembers about the tiger lily in his hand. “Oh, and this is for you.”

“A tiger lily?” you smiled softly. “These are my favorite-- how did you know?”

“I’m just observant, I guess. You usually draw them when you’re bored, I figured you’d like to see one in person,” You gently took the tiger lily in your hand. The silence that hung in the air was deafening, and Peter realized that was probably a bad sign. His chest drops just a bit, and he takes a small step backwards.

“I guess I should probably leave you alone--” Peter can’t get very far, because you immediately jump forward and wrap your arms around him. Eyes wide and heart pounding, you can feel Peter’s arms lock around your waist.

“Thank you,” You whispered. “Please don’t go.” Peter was smiling so hard his cheeks ached, and a horrible weight had been lifted off his shoulders. The close-contact was refreshing; he didn’t realize how much he missed it until that moment. He was pretty sure he would never, ever let you go. Not again.

To Peter Maximoff, physical affection has always been a touchy subject-- that is, until you came along. You proved to him that he deserved physical affection, that his mutation and his personality and weirdo quirks didn’t make him lesser or unlovable. Peter Maximoff deserved love, and you were the one who never failed to love him.

You sat on a wooden chair in front of the fireplace, reading to the group of children sitting at your feet. The emotional lines of “Snow and Dirty Rain” fell from your lips, and with every turning syllable the small group would listen just a little bit closer. Peter did, too, desperately trying to hear every single word you said. Class was almost over, and once the students were dismissed you’d probably stop reading.

“I made this place for you. A place for you to love me. If this isn't a kingdom then I don't know what is,” Your eyes tore away from the page to look at the kids at your feet. They fell upon Peter, and a smile erupted on your face.

Peter vaguely recalls the twisted idea of love that he held as a teenager. He thought love was a dragon to be defeated, a battle that could be won or lost. It’s clear now that love is the opposite-- it isn’t a fight or a battle or a thing to be conquered. It’s more like a flower; it needs to be cherished and cared for in order to grow. Sometimes the flower wilts and dies, and that’s natural, but sometimes the flower lasts for a lifetime.

Love wasn’t a dragon or a knight, it didn’t have a hero or a villain; it was much more like a tiger lily and a tree stump.

#Evan Peters #peter maximoff #pietro maximoff #pietro maximoff x reader #peter maximoff x reader #wandavision #xmen fanfiction #xmen

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paper-n-ashes · 3 years

Text

sparks and embers - chapter 4

Characters: Poe Dameron x Original Female Character, Kylo Ren x Original Female Character

Story Tags: Explicit (18+), Canon Compliant/Divergent (Set after TLJ), First Person POV, Love Triangle, Slow Burn, Enemies to Lovers, Porn with Plot, Hurt/Comfort, Kylo Ren hates Poe Dameron

Chapter 4 - Fun

Words: 5.7k

Chapter Tags/Warnings: The biggest warning I can give is that this was my first ever attempt at smut - ever. Mutual masturbation, one party technically unconsented.

Read on AO3 or Start from the beginning

It was paradise and torture, all rolled into one.

He looked unbearably delicious sitting on the ‘fresher stool, facing away, towel draped carefully below his waist. Steam rose in swirling clouds from the floor around him, making the air heavy as I drew in slow, measured breaths.

Poe didn’t look up as I moved past the open curtain, and I could only assume it was because he felt as uneasy as I did. Without much control over myself, my eyes traced the droplets wriggling down his back over his now unwound muscles, wanting nothing more than to draw my fingers over, to feel his smooth skin on the tips.

It was all so enticing, and the throb in my centre becoming harder to ignore. I was forced to put more thought into my movements as I stepped towards the shelf in front of Poe, wondering if he noticed the side glances I attempted to get a better view.

Now is not the time Alexys.

The remark shook me back into sensible thinking, realising Poe was in a vulnerable position, and he trusted me enough to see him like this. He wouldn’t want to be gawked at - he genuinely needed assistance.

With a newfound sense of responsibility, I took the shampoo from the shelf and rounded back behind Poe’s head, his hair glistening with moisture, looking at nothing but my hands. He was silent along with me, probably bracing himself for this stranger to mangle their fingers awkwardly into his hair.

I squirted a stream of liquid shampoo on his head, the icy temperature of it making him tense for a moment, noticing when he raised his bandaged hand to grasp the side railing of the chair. Timidly I began to run my fingers through the portion of I’d covered, building the soap up into a foam, continuing to spread it through the rest of his wettened mop.

There was a warmth that soon arrived, spreading through my chest as I drew my fingers in and out, a warmth that felt less salacious and more… kind. And it would have stayed that way if Poe hadn’t hummed a low moan.

Oh maker, you are not making this easy.

As soon as it bristled past his lips he bolted upright.

“S-sorry,” he stuttered, evidently surprised himself at the sound he’d made. “No one has washed my hair before, I mean if you don’t count my parents when I was a child. It just felt... nice.”

I didn’t respond, making the air hang thick with our silence. Nothing I could say was going to make the moment any less awkward for the both of us.

After briefly stopping the twirling movement of my fingers following the… sound, I continued my lather over his scalp, making sure every particle of dirt, sweat and most likely blood was caught in the froth of soap.

When content with my work I reached over his shoulder and unhooked the detachable shower head, my eyes still trained on anything other than his bare skin. After angling it down, I pressed the start button on the handle, the flow of water hitting my bare feet as I made sure the water was an acceptable temperature before letting the cascade of soapy water rush down his spine.

With my hand I began to guide him to tilt back so I could safely wash out the soap just above his forehead. In this position I could see more of his face, his eyes squeezed tightly shut, eyebrows wrinkled like he was uncomfortable.

“Is the water too hot?” I peeped, pulling the shower head away.

His eyes opened in a flash, startled by my question. “No! Not at all! I was just lost in thought about… Uh… How to fix BB-8. It’s fine, really.” He shifted in the chair, his bandaged arm still gripping onto the rail while his casted arm rested rigidly over his lap. As I moved the water stream back to his hair, his eyes closed again, this time without the tautness I’d noticed before.

After all the shampoo had been thoroughly rinsed I began the process again, only this time with conditioner. I didn’t ask if he actually wanted it, since it was more out of my own habit, but he didn’t stop me when I grabbed the bottle and jetted the thicker liquid into his hair, continuing to slowly massage it into his tresses.

It became somewhat relaxing, methodically weaving my fingers to evenly spread the silky lotion to every strand. He moved uneasily again, and I noticed the hand holding the rail was clutching tightly, his bicep tensed hard.

Maybe I’m terrible at this.

Deciding it was time to finish this embarrassing experience, I started up the water and rinsed Poe’s head free of conditioner, again seeing the strain washing over his face as he leaned back, like he was trying to conceal it from my view.

I rustled a fresh towel over his scalp, leaving his hair only slightly dampened. “I’m sorry if I hurt you,” I mumbled. “I’m not used to washing patients’ hair.”

Poe immediately twisted his torso, looking up to my face. I gritted my teeth as I registered his contracted abdominals. “What are you talking about? You didn’t hurt me.”

My eyes flickered to his arm. “You just seemed really... tense.”

“Uh,” Poe mouthed, the sound muted. I watched his eyes move down my chest, pupils swollen against his brown irises. He didn’t continue. He seemed lost for words.

I followed the trail his stare had made down my torso, sucking in an alarmed breath. I’d diverted so much of my thoughts towards Poe I hadn’t recognised the spray of water that’d soaked through my white cotton shirt, my bra now starkly visible through the dampened fabric. The cloth clung tightly to the curves of my breasts, leaving extremely little to imagination.

Of-fracking-course.

I laughed. A body shaking cackle that bounced off the tiled walls around us.

Any embarrassment in me simmered to hilarity at the thought of Poe’s face with my chest readily on show. His illuminating smile continued to flash as he chuckled along with me, and I couldn’t help but relish in it for the moments in which we continued to snicker.

When my laughter died down, I sighed, not exactly attempting to cover myself. He’d already seen what I had on display. “Well I think I’ve done just about as much as I can,” I jested, a smirk still drawn on my lips. “Do you think you can get yourself dressed? There are more night-clothes in the cupboard behind you.”

“I think I can manage,” he grinned back, seemingly relieved at the disruption from whatever tension had risen during this whole endeavour.

And with that, I sauntered out from the ‘fresher, closing the door gently behind me. My heart pounded to the beats of memories dashing into my mind, barely able to strangle a coherent understanding of everything I’d felt. It was all I could deliberate on as I entered my living quarters at the end of the hall and changed into new shirt - navy blue this time. My mind desperately tried to collect all the emotions I had experienced in the last 30 minutes and render some form of comprehension from them.

It was clear, I’d grown unprofessionally attached to Poe, so quickly, and more than any other human I’d encountered.

You like him.

It was a simple answer, yet it felt childish, to have developed a juvenile-like crush so soon after our meeting. I knew it was more to do with his appearance than our limited interactions, even though they were still somewhat endearing. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d experienced any of this heart fluttering emotion.

There were a few men that littered my past, but I had yet to experience the all-consuming, overwhelming need for someone that made people do irrational things, and I was sure no-one had ever thought of me in that way.

Only fleetingly had I endured any type of loneliness during my time on Raxus, and it usually passed as I woke to a new day - my work and my patients being wonderful distractions. I’d become so independent, so self-sufficient, that I never yearned to have someone become the centre of my universe.

Come now Alexys. You know that is not the reason why.

I gripped the sheets at the edge of my bed I had found myself sitting on.

You cannot let anyone too close. Not unless you want them to die along with you.

Before I could let the voice cause me to dive into an ocean of panic, I heard the ‘fresher door click closed.

“Alex?” Poe called from the hallway.

My feet planted onto the floor as I stood, letting the anxiety dissipate into the air around me. “Back here Poe.” I listened to his footsteps plod along the floor as he limped towards my living quarters, along with a few quiet huffs of effort. When he came into view at the entrance he still looked as appealing as before, even without his bare skin on show.

“You live in your clinic?” he questioned, looking around the apartment style quarters I’d constructed with the help of a few locals.

It was simple, efficient. The sizable room had everything a normal home would contain, all pulled into one. Kitchenette and dining table to the left, living room with a small two-seater sofa at the back wall, and my bed and closet to the right. A door leading to an ensuite ‘fresher was in the far right corner, one I only used if an overnighter patient was with me.

“It’s so I can still monitor a patient’s condition when they’re unable to return home yet. Remember, I’m the only doctor for thousands of kilometres.” I motioned to the holoscreen on my bedside table that would usually be displaying the vitals for any patients connected to monitor lines. There were only flat lines and zeros there now.

Poe cocked his head. “You don’t ever stop do you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Being a doctor, looking after people. Even in your own quarters you’re still in that mode.” He hobbled further into the room, taking in the space around him.

“I’m sure you’re the same with your work for the Resistance.”

“True,” he conceded. “Being in the middle of a war tends to do that to people.”

I couldn’t hold back a cynical snort.

His eyebrows crinkled together. “What did that mean?”

Kriff. I wish I hadn’t done that.

“I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“Just tell me,” he grumbled.

I pressed my lips into a hard line. I didn’t really want to start a heated discussion about the futility of this war with a Resistancepilot. But from the interactions I’d had with Poe so far, I doubted he was going to let this go.

“It’s just… Don’t you see the pointlessness of it all? Even if you overcome the First Order – how long will it be before another enemy rises up, or your new leaders become the same ruthless dictators themselves?” My voice grew less apprehensive, straightening myself into a more confident pose. “People are fickle. They change. Their emotions rule them beyond anything else, and because of that they can be manipulated so easily. People who swore fealty to one side can be dragged onto the other. The cycle never ends. There will always be more war, more fighting, more innocent deaths.”

Poe stared at me, bewildered. “You think it’s pointless to fight back against the First Order? People who conquer or destroy planets simply for more power? You’d rather we let them do as they please, letting billionsof innocent people die?”

“No of course not-” I started, already regretting every word I’d said.

“But that’s what you just implied, isn’t it? How can a doctorhave such a bleak view of the galaxy?”

I sighed, more at myself for opening my big mouth. “I’m just a realist Poe. People fight, we can’t help it. And those with the most power will fight to keep it, no matter how. I’ve just… I’ve seen too many people die, or damaged for the rest of their lives, for me to think war can ever generate peace.”

Poe’s eyes narrowed, his demeanour darkening. “You don’t think I’ve seen people, my friends, die or horribly injure themselves? You don’t think I’ve seen what war does? I still want to keep on fighting. I haveto. For the people that I’ve lost, who gave their lives for the rest of us, and the people I could save. Because people deserve a galaxy without a tyrant like Kylo Ren deciding who should live and who should die. Somehow, in your eyes, you think it’s pointless to even try?”

I didn’t have any type of acceptable answer. It was rude of me to point out the flaws of war with someone who had risked their life, and most likely come close to death because of it. “I’m… sorry Poe,” I insisted softly, settling back down on the edge of the bed. “It’s not my place to give my opinion on matters like this. I truly apologise if I offended you.”

I glanced up from twiddling fingers to see his delicately confused expression. He exhaled loudly, as he wobbled painfully to one of the chairs of the circular dining table across the room, straightening his injured leg out to rest it.

“I’m sorry too," he said, exhaling. “I’ve been living my life with the Resistance for so long I forgot there might be people who don’t believe in the cause like we do.”

“It makes sense,” I remarked. “Sometimes you get caught up in the bubble of the world around you, it’s hard to see beyond it.”

He nodded. “That’s very true.”

We sat in silence for a moment, both letting the heated exchange dry out into passing memories. Poe continued to peer around the room, his eyes scanning with a subtle scrutiny. “So what do you do when you’re not being a doctor?” he asked, the fierceness from before completely replaced by his normal cheerful tone.

“You mean in my free time?”

“Yeah. Do you have anything that keeps your mind away from all that... doctor work?”

I felt my face crinkle into confusion. “I… I don’t really.”

His expression mirrored mine. “You don’t have any hobbies? Something you do just for fun?”

“Uh…” I started, raking through my brain for anything I did outside the realm of my work. “Huh. I guess I don’t. I may just be the most boring person alive.”

Poe chuckled, and shook his head. “That’s definitely not true.” He met my eyes, flashing me a comforting grin. “You’re just hyper-focused on your work. Trust me, I get that. Sometimes all I even dream about are war council sessions and my ship interface. But you’ve got to switch off eventually, otherwise you’ll go insane.”

I was slightly dubious at that sentiment, since I’d made it over 4 years without slipping into insanity, but Poe’s question made me take check. Truthfully, I couldn’t remember the last time I had fun, when I felt joy in something other than making ill people better again.

Poe could see my face begin to fall. “Hey come on, let’s try now. You’ve only got me as a patient, and I am in no need for your treatment right now. Think of something you used to do, or always wanted to, and we can have a go of it together.”

His sudden eagerness to help made my heart swell. “Uh... sure. Okay.”

Poe nodded once without speaking, urging me to search through my mind for an idea. But it was hard to think when I kept looking at his face, now melted into an enthusiastic smile. I made my eyes glare at my feet, since they would be significantly less distracting while I attempted to think of a supposedly fun activity.

Even when I’d finished my work for the day, on the rare occasion I had no overnighters staying with me, I simply returned to these quarters to have dinner and prepare myself for sleep. In the moments between, all I tended to do was read over current news and research on my data pad, sometimes flicking through medical texts if I was stumped on how to deal with a patient’s condition, especially when it came to rarer alien species. Generally, I would be so tired from the day that I never needed to pass my time with anything remotely hobby based. My focus would be to eat, use the ‘fresher and settle into an easy slumber.

And in this singular moment, I realised how monotonous it all was.

Poe saw me struggling, although probably not knowing it was at the realisation that I had no idea what fun was anymore. “Okay, how about games? Surely you’ve played at least one holo or card game in your life?”

“Well yeah, but that was years ago, and I don’t have any-” I stopped mid-sentence, the flicker of a memory rising into my mind’s view. “Wait here a second.” Hopping up from my bed, I made my way to the office, switching on the light. A large wooden desk sat in the centre, littered with old patient notes I had been in the middle of updating when my life had been so suddenly interrupted with Poe’s appearance.

I ignored them to walk towards the storage cupboard behind it. It took a few minutes of rummaging through stacks of files and old pieces of obsolete medical equipment to find what I’d come in here for - a small, rectangular metal case the size of my two hands, snatching it from the shelf I’d mindlessly placed it on nearly 3 years ago.

Bringing it back with me into my quarters, I quickly sat at the dining table next to Poe, who turned to face me with a look of intrigue. I opened the case, exposing the contents inside. “An old patient of mine gifted this to me, promised to teach me how to play. He… never got the chance to.”

My mind wandered in the memory of the older gentleman who had been struck down with Quannot’s syndrome, only lasting a few days before his unavoidable death. I recalled how much I mourned his passing, distressed at how little I could do to ease his pain before he left this world.

“Sabbac!” Poe burst, interrupting my sombre reminiscing.

I shook myself back into the current reality. “You know how to play?”

“Of course, almost every being in the galaxy knows how,” he scoffed. Only after he noticed me shifting awkwardly in my seat did he realise what he’d said. “Uh, sorry. Come on, I’ll teach you.” He continued to pull the cards out of the case, laying them out face up in a specific order. “Okay, so this is the Flask suit...”

If we were playing for real money, Poe would have put me in the red.

“23? Again? You’re definitely cheating,” I grumbled, huffing into my seat, not for the first time of the evening. After I’d grasped the basic concept of the game, we’d played for hours, time passing quickly in the midst of bluffing and strategy.

Poe was evidently enjoying the immaturity of my tantrum, laughing softly as he pulled the last of my chips towards his already immense pile. “I guess beginner’s luck didn’t really work out for you in this case,” he sniggered.

I pouted, watching him stack the chips neatly in coloured towers. “Well, I’m out. You took me for all I’ve got.”

“But didn’t you have fun?”

I nodded and grinned, conceding even when I’d been horrendously beaten, but was a combination of both him and the game we’d played that made me feel an unfamiliar contentment warm my body. I eyed him marvelling his chips, an expression of pride filling his features. “You really like winning, don’t you?”

“Being with the Resistance, you kind of get used to savouring the wins when they occur. Doesn’t happen exceedingly often.” His thoughts seemed to drift away, and in his face I knew he was pondering over the state of affairs back at base with him missing.

“I have no doubt they’ll be searching day and night for you,” I soothed, hoping I guessed correctly.

Poe attempted a smile, but it dissolved when a large sigh breathed past his lips. “I’m doing my best not to worry. The people there, they’re all smart and capable, but we had a plan… and I haven’t been able to see it through. We were running out of time as it is. I can only imagine how concerned they'll be after not receiving a report in over two day cycles.”

“It’ll be okay,” I said softly, tentatively placing a hand on his upper arm, above where I’d placed the plastic cast. “I know it sounds kind of naïve, but when I’m overwhelmed, especially in my work, I break everything down into smaller problems, and try to face the most pressing one. The big picture doesn’t matter, it’s all about solving the most concerning challenge at the time. And little by little, the whole situation becomes… easier.”

“It does sound a little naïve. But… I like it.”

“It worked for me when I was trying to save you.” I gave his arm a reassuring squeeze.

Poe didn’t respond. He seemed to ruminate in his own mind, his mouth in a forced, hard line. I watched as his eyes glanced down to where my palm rested around his bicep, then back to me.

His gaze was suddenly heated, smouldering, so intense it locked me into place, a ribbon of flames darting through my veins. I noticed the speckles of gold hidden through his irises, as it occurred to me how close our bodies had become during the time spent sitting at the dining table. The air around felt dense, the only sound I could register my own gradual breathing.

Poe's vision wouldn’t move from mine, his blazing stare a stark difference from the rest of his softened features. It felt as if his movements were in slow motion, the way he lifted his bandaged arm, a hand reaching up to my face.

I remained unmoving, even when my entire being began to flicker with electricity, igniting sparks at every nerve ending on my skin. Fingertips finally touched my cheek, grazing over it so delicately, yet still making the energy glowing through me intensify, as if trying to break free from my body.

Poe began to lean closer, and unconsciously I mirrored his movement, wanting nothing more in this moment than to feel his lips on mine.

Stop this Alexys. Stop it now.

The voice caused me to jerk backwards, pulling myself away from Poe’s touch, rising abruptly out of the chair. “This is… this is inappropriate,” I peeped, rushing directly to my ensuite ‘fresher, clicking the door closed. With my back pressed against the door, I slid slowly down until my rear hit the tiled floor.

I could still feel the heat of Poe’s fingertips on my cheek, a painful reminder of what I’d run away from. But the echo of what the voice had demanded still rattled through, and I knew it was right. I knew I couldn’t let myself get too close - I couldn’t give in to the sudden desire that had shimmered inside my chest.

It would cost me my safety, my work, my purpose of being. I’d risked everything to get here, given up all I knew of home. I wouldn’t let it all be in vain on the whim of my emotions.

There was no way to stop it, the lone tear that strolled down my cheek. It was a mere fraction of the sobs I wanted to express, both despair and frustration gripping me in a strangling hold.

With shaking palms held front of me, I traced each creased line in the flesh with my eyes. Not for the first time, I cursed at the energy that flowed through them, unlocked from the depths of my consciousness and healed those who needed it the most, those who would have otherwise died when even the greatest medical care couldn’t save them.

I’d kept it hidden for my whole life, the Force I’d been born with and couldn’t escape from. I’d concealed it from everyone, including my parents, keeping a far enough distance to hold my secret within my mind.

Only two outcomes came with exposure. One being I would be recruited, trained as a Jedi and guilted by the Resistance to join a war I didn’t believe in. The other being hunted by the Sith, or any kind of dark side user, and killed for showing any type of prowess with the Force like so many younglings before, or swayed into the war to fight on their behalf.

There was no way either side would allow me to slip from their grasp once they knew. They would never tolerate my neutrality and let me stay here in the countryside of an Outer Rim planet, doing exactly what I wanted to do. Heal.

Why me? Why did this have to happen to me?

Because you do not want it.

That’s cruel.

Such is life.

I wasn’t sure how long I spent sitting on the ‘fresher floor, ceaselessly on the verge of tears, yet never allowing the emotion to fully break. A creeping feeling of humiliation had started to filter in a short time ago as I recounted over and over how abruptly I’d run from Poe.

My eyes hadn’t caught the glimpse his face after I wrenched myself away from his hand, yet all I could do was imagine it now, features struck with shock and rejection. I’d barely heard him leave my quarters after I’d shut myself away, faintly recalling his right leg still making a larger thumping sound when he walked into the hallway, closing the door behind him.

That memory had taken place hours ago, and my body was beginning to ache after another large portion of time connected to hard tile.

The only thing I wished for now was the comfort of my bed, to sleep away this evening and wake to a fresh day. But I couldn’t. There was still a patient to look after. I needed check on Poe’s condition, update vitals, make sure his wounds were still healing. For my own benefit, I would rather wait for the morning when some of the lingering awkwardness would have dissipated, but there was no possibility of sleep without being sure he was still in good health.

Plus, I hadn’t told him about the food supplies waiting in the clinic cupboard. Being so distracted by playing cards I'd never made us dinner, and he needed all the sustenance he could get to heal properly.

With a fragile resolve to get it done and over with, I peeled myself from my sitting position, joints popping at the movement after being inactive for so long. I peered slowly through the door, on the small chance Poe was out there waiting to greet me, but it was just the empty quarters that filled my view.

For a reason I couldn’t discern, I began to tread lightly towards the hallway door, the stillness of night sending a quick shiver down my spine. Before opening it I glanced back at my chronometer on the bedside table.0200.

He was probably asleep by now.

Hesitation washed through me, knowing if that were true I shouldn’t go poking him awake just to assess basic vitals. But the urge was too strong, pushing me to step into the hallway, tip-toeing cautiously over the floor.

I was halfway down when I heard Poe’s low exhale echo through the passageway.

Hm, maybe he was dreaming.

My movements halted, waiting for another sound to confirm my guess. Soon enough, a louder sigh floated towards my ears, tainted with an emotion I couldn’t name.

I continued to tread ever so lightly towards the clinic entrance, noticing the lights had been shut off except for the lamp at Poe’s bedside softly illuminating the room. I shifted carefully closer, almost at the doorway, Poe’s relaxed breaths still filling my ears as I took nimble steps towards the noise.

When a low, breathy moan swirled into the air, my body froze.

The fire in my lower abdomen crackled to life at the sound, making my limbs heavy, locking me where I stood, hidden from view.

Another moan, louder this time, rumbled past Poe’s lips, and I savoured the way it hit my body. My hearing strained to collect every wavelength of sound coming from just outside the hallway entrance. There was movement, a rustling of fabric of some sort, a slight creak of the bed frame.

I could feel my throat growing tighter, fearful of my breath alerting him to my presence, as the realisation of what was happening - what he was doing - finally dug its claws into my skin.

Poe groaned in pleasure as I began to recognise the sound of a repetitive slippery motion over flesh, the flames inside bursting into an inferno, the fever hottest between my legs.

I leant my back on the hallway wall closest to Poe’s hospital bed, fearing my knees would buckle underneath me. His breathing became faster, more passionate, as the pace of his movement grew more rapid.

Inside my mind, I was bombarded with hypothetical images of his body in the next room, a strong hand gripped tightly around the shaft of his length, shifting up and down. The gasps he continued to make fell into time with my imagination, the sound of skin making a slicking friction keeping rhythm with the urgent pumping of his hand I visualised with impeccable realism.

My fingernails scraped at the wall, eyelids shut tightly while Poe’s delicious moans sent shockwaves through my circulatory system. I’d never felt so much lust in my life, knowing if I caught any other male in this vulnerable position I would have scuttled away quickly, mortified. Yet the reality of Poe touching himself a few metres away, not knowing I was here listening to his rising pleasure, made an urgent craving throb between my legs, one that needed to be relieved. Now.

Little care had been paid to my sexual needs in the last 4 years on this planet. Suddenly, it felt like I had to give into it otherwise I might die.

Poe’s breath hitched, a sharp inhale indicating he was getting closer to his peak. The singular noise made me slip my hand down past the border of my leggings and under my panties, sliding a finger down in between my folds. A slick moisture was waiting, more than I’d ever felt in previous encounters.

Dragging two fingers through it, preparing myself, Poe’s groans became hungrier, desperate. As soon as I began the motion of relieving the ache below, fingers gliding gently over my swollen clit, the flames fizzled, only to be replaced with an immense sparkle of electricity radiating from low in my core.

I inhaled sharply, like Poe had done, and hoped he was too lost in his own pleasure to notice the sound I’d made. When the steady noise of his hand running smoothly over his shaft continued without pause, I knew I’d not broken my cover.

My thoughts intensified to him, envisioning his arm tensing as he held himself within his grasp, his chest bare with muscles contracting along with his movements, a thin layer of sweat glistening on his skin.

Fingertips slid quickly back and forth over my pleasure point as I pictured his face contorted in both effort and enjoyment, his mouth opening only slightly as luscious groans seeped from his throat. I grit my teeth to stop from moaning myself, an undeniable bliss growing stronger with each swirling motion. My chest heaved through silent breaths I couldn’t articulate with noise, mind muddled with overwhelming images of every part of Poe’s body I so desperately wanted to see with my own eyes.

But I refused to move. I didn’t want to break the course of the moment, wishing for nothing more than to hear the sound of his release, knowing it would push me into my own. He wasn’t rushing into it, almost as if savouring this time alone, moans rising only to fall as he slowed his pace again.

I didn’t do the same.

The circling over my clitoris continued to accelerate, tiny instances of my waiting climax peeking their way out every so often, telling me I was getting closer to falling over the edge.

My legs were shaking, being held up by pure resolve to prevent any noise resonating from my body. Poe was speeding up his movement again, but this time he didn’t slow, stuttered sighs escaping his chest, and it hastened my climbing pleasure. I was close, I could feel the tipping point bubbling under the surface of my skin.

Slowly, I heard him growl a few barely comprehensible words.

“Ugh… Alex... yes...”

My release abruptly exploded through me at the sound of my name on his lips, pleasure pulsing in overflowing waves over every portion of flesh. Front teeth bit hard into my bottom lip, preventing the whine I desperately wanted to set free. It was the most intense sensation I’d ever felt, sparks flickering in both the deepest part of my core and the nerves of my limbs, making me shiver in delight.

Quickly, I was all too sensitive, pulling my fingers away, eyeing the sheen of moisture that covered them. My attention was again caught in Poe’s moaning, as he too reached his peak, muted gasps coming in jolts as he finally came, obviously attempting much like me not to make any excessive noise.

Eventually he began to heave in relief, breaths hissing gradually through his teeth. We both stayed in our positions for a minute or so, relishing in the afterglow of our separate orgasms, the flames I’d felt down below settling into smouldering embers.

I was mulling over the pleasure I’d gone without for years, when I heard Poe rustle in his bed, feet softly plodding on the floor. It took two steps for me to finally realise.

He’s coming this way.

Next Chapter

Tag list: @tlcwrites @roanniom @foxilayde @blackberries45 @hopeamarsu @caillea @princessxkenobi @leatherboundbirate @blowthatpieceofjunk @mylifeisactuallyamess @poedameronloverx @lightsinthedistancee @paterson-blue

#poe dameron #poe dameron x original female character #kylo ren #kylo ren x original female character #star wars #star wars fanfiction #adcu #adcu fanfiction #poe dameron x reader #kylo ren x reader

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sirius · 4 years

Text

Heatwave (The Mandalorian x Reader) SMUT

Pairing: The Mandalorian x Reader

Warnings: Swearing, rough sex, light choking, dom/sub (Mandalorian dom, Reader sub)

Word count: 🤷🏽‍♀️

Summary: You’re a thief with sexy fire powers. He’s a sexy bounty hunter who you’ve been playing cat and mouse with. When he catches you, Baby Yoda decides to play match-maker. It works. For once.

A/N: I found this baby after scrolling through my notes and had to post it. I wrote this when I was drunk so forgive the spelling errors. Baby Yoda is literally that one criminal dude from tangled (I think?) who bangs the two tiny wooden horses together. lol.

Also, am I wrong in saying that I think everyone wants to fuck the Mandalorian in his sexy Mandalorian armour?

(Not my gif)

***

You can’t deny that there’s something sexy about being handcuffed and taken prisoner by the Mandalorian.

While inconvenient to say the least, there’s still an undercurrent of sexual tension that demands to be felt, charging the air between the two of you as he straps you into the seat beside him. It’s why he always chases you, why you always allow yourself to get caught, and why he lets you escape into the night. It’s the longest, most amusing, most sexy game of chess you’ve ever played.

“Every time you handcuff me, I always imagine it in an entirely different context,” you purr, smirking up at him as he tightens your handcuffs.

As usual, he doesn’t say anything at first. Its becoming all too predictable.

The fancy, expensive, definitely-not-a-sex-toy handcuffs dig into the skin of your wrists, though not enough to make it arousing. He’s done it deliberately; he’s surmised you like it rough from your previous encounters with him. It’s a type of torture he’s managed to master exceedingly well. Which is arousing in itself. What a paradox the two of you are.

“Jokes on you, y’know,” you tease, tilting your head up at him, “I’m very much into the idea of you torturing me.”

“Be careful what you wish for,” he warns, his voice tinny and deliciously husky.

“So he speaks.”

The Mandalorian remains silent, though you can somehow tell he’s glaring at you from behind his helmet.

“You’re not the first Mandalorian to come after me,” you say as he kneels to bind your ankles, “And you won’t be the last. I’ve killed your predecessors and I won’t hesitate to kill whoever they decide to send after you. You’re lucky I’m into you otherwise I’d have my legs around your neck right now — and not in a good way.”

The Mandalorian is silent at first. Then, when you think he isn’t going to grace you with a response—

“So you’re just going to keep running? What kind of life is that?”

You chew your bottom lip, considering his question thoughtfully, “It’s a life and it’s far better than the alternative.”

The Mandalorian rises, straightens the broad line of his shoulders, “Is it really a life? If you can’t settle down to enjoy it?”

You gracefully arch an eyebrow at him, “Wouldn’t you like to know, Mandalorian.”

He doesn’t say anything after that.

****

The strange, tiny child gazes up at you with large, innocent inky-black eyes and blinks owlishly.

He’s managed to scramble into your lap, blocking your means of escape while the Mandalorian hastily fixes the engine of his ship. You can’t help but smile at his innocence, contrasting the weight of your criminal ways.

Regardless, you focus on funnelling the spluttering ball of energy in your core to your ankle cuffs. The heated metal bites into your skin as it begins to glow bright orange, but you can take it. You’re one of the last Phoenixs — or Nixes, for short — in the universe; cosmic fire and heat is what you are, what you’re made of.

The child, however, doesn’t seem afraid of the heat rising from your skin, turning your hair a bright, fiery red.

“Look, little guy — or girl — I need you to get off my lap so I can bust out of here!” You hiss, imploringly, “My distraction will only last so lo—“

The Mandalorian’s heavy footsteps echo into the cockpit of his ship. You immediately stop melting the metal, allowing your natural hair colour to bleed over the reds and oranges, disguising your true heritage.

He stops, spotting the child now stroking your hair.

“He’s cute,” you remark, beaming down at the child, “Didn’t realise you had a kid.”

The Mandalorian marches forward and snatches the child from your lap. He cradles him protectively, eying you with what you suspect is suspicion as he safely places the child on the far side of the room.

“Don’t touch him.”

“He was touching me first.”

“I don’t care, don’t touch him.”

“My god, you’d think I’m infected with some hideous, flesh-eating disease.”

“No, you’re a criminal—“

“—Thief—“

“—you’re a criminal and I don’t trust you.”

Something about that stings. Your expression shutters, schooling into apathy.

“So why keep me around?” You ask, coolly, “Why don’t you just carbon freeze me?”

You have a feeling you know the answer. He doesn’t carbon freeze you for the same reason why he doesn’t bother stopping you as you escape the slippery clutches of the ego-bruised men you’ve stolen from. It’s the same reason you haven’t burned him to a crisp as soon as you’ve seen him, the same reason you allow him to drag you back to his ship, cash you in for his bounty, and disappear.

There’s tension, but it’s more than tension. It’s something you can’t articulate because you’ve never quite felt it before. You doubt he has either.

The Mandalorian doesn’t answer. He seems to be staring down at the ankle cuffs, the metal twisted and deformed from where you’ve been heating it. He steps forward—

Suddenly, an invisible force loop around your waist and hoists you up, pulling you toward The Mandalorian. His arms are forced around your waist in jerky movements almost like an invisible puppeteer is pushing and plucking the strings. His helmet is yanked up over his neck, past his chin, stopping just above his nose, revealing plush lips and stubble and—

Your lips are forced together in the most awkward kiss you’ve ever had.

Both of you have your lips pressed tight, and the Mandalorian is rigid and tense, unsure of what to do. Still, energy blinks to life inside of you and you open your mouth just a little, embracing the kiss.

It lingers. It’s still awkward.

But then, he begins to kiss you back, his lips moving slightly, carefully, enough to taste hints of fine whiskey and your head begins to spin, embers sparking your lower belly, travelling up your spine, across your chest, down your arms—

It ends all too soon.

“Stop it, let us go,” The Mandalorian orders over his shoulder. You allow your eyes to follow his line of sight, snagging on the kid.

His tiny, pudgy hand is raised, his round eyes closed and you realise with a shock that he’s controlling you, bending the air around you both and forcing you into this kiss.

At the sound of his voice, the child stops, releasing his hold on you. He staggers a little, exhaustion seemingly crashing over him, dragging him under into unconsciousness. He collapses and the Mandalorian rushes forward to catch him, holding the child to his chest.

The Mandalorian disappears for a moment, giving you time to recover from your bewilderment. You’ve never seen anything quite like that before, and you’ve seen a lot of things. You have a feeling that in your past life, you may have witnessed a similar phenomenon, but you’re not giving enough time to dwell on it, however, because the Mandalorian comes storming back.

“So, you gonna tell me what that was all about?”

The Mandalorian ignores you, hunting around the cockpit for something.

“You’re not going to make me beg, are you?”

The Mandalorian stops, slants a look over his shoulder, “Maybe I will.”

You roll your eyes, “Please, Mando. Please tell me what the fuck just happened.”

The Mandalorian grasps a black bandage and whips it, stalking toward you, “Not what I meant.”

“What—?”

“—I’m sick of chasing you,” he growls, manoeuvring you around so he can fasten the bandage around your head; a makeshift blindfold, “It’s time you got what you deserve.”

Your stomach curdles, blood roaring in your ears. Carbon freezing. Your worst fear. You try to swallow, but it gets knotted somewhere in your throat.

“Kinky,” you rasp, trying your best to recover your slipping facade, “I hope my punishment involves whips and chains.”

The Mandalorians voice is in the shell of your ear, Mississippi hot and molasses thick, “Oh, you have no idea.”

Suddenly, he spins you around, and you barely have time to recover from the whiplash before his lips are on yours.

He’s ferocious, unforgiving. Just the way you like it.

He kisses you with a fiery passion, tongue darting into your mouth, tasting, teasing, his teeth digging into your bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. You moan, arching against him, wishing he’d free you so you could tug him closer but the Mandalorian keeps you bound and at his mercy.

You pull away, panting, as the Mandalorian trails kisses down your neck, sucking and biting and bruising the tender flesh. He’s obviously taken his helmet off while you were blindfolded. Curiosity strikes you but is dissolved when he finds the spot on your neck that makes you gasp.

“If—if I had known this would happen, I would’ve allowed myself to get caught a lot sooner,” you tease, a little breathlessly.

The Mandalorians fingers grasp your waist, pulling you closer, gripping you with bruising strength that dampens your panties. He chuckles against your skin, breath hot, tongue wet as he licks along your jugular.

“God I hate that mouth of yours,” he breathes, scraping his teeth across your skin, “It gets you into so much trouble.”

“It’s good for other things, too.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” he grasps your waist with strong hands and spins you around, breath fanning across the back of your neck.

Your spine shudders and melts. He makes quick work of your clothes, starting with your sleeveless turtleneck top. He pulls it over your head and tosses it aside and unclasping your bra. With one hand pawing at your breast, he uses the other to tug on the zip of your skirt, pulling it down until the fabric pools at your feet. He helps you out of your thigh-high boots and undoes the holsters strapped to your thigh. Next, he uncuffs your wrists and ankles until you’re wearing nothing but skin. His breath audibly tangles in his throat.

You snicker, biting your bottom lip, “My, my. Have I rendered the great Mandalorian speechless?”

A sharp stab of pain ripples across your ass cheek, followed by the rough ministrations of a strong, calloused hand. You gasp, relishing in the sting of pain and burst of arousal.

You moan. Your darkest fantasies have spilt from your daydreams and splashed themselves against the backdrop of reality. Finally, after three years of chasing and catching, the sexual tension sizzling between the two of you is resolved.

He steals the breath from your lungs as he kisses you deeply, your moans melting on his tongue. His fingers grip your breasts and you gasp, head lulling back as he rolls them in the palm of his hands.

“God,” you sigh, “You’re good at this.”

Suddenly, his lips are biting into your nipple and you arch into his mouth, fingers combing through his hair as he slurps and sucks on your nipple. Your thighs quiver as you tug on the roots of his hair and he groans. You can feel him poking into your thigh and your excitement builds quickly, your fingers pulling at his cape.

He steps away from your grasp with a low, drawling chuckle, rich with husk and desire and pure sex appeal.

“I’m in control,” he snarls, “You obey me. You hear?”

“Yes, master,” you whimper, skin crawling.

“Good.”

You hear the rasping of fabric and the whirr of zipper teeth being pulled apart. His footsteps, heavy with purpose, move around you; there's a clang of metal and then he’s behind you again, loosening your blindfold until it falls away.

The Mandalorian whirls you around, pushing you up against the control board. He’s still fully clothed and his helmet is now fixed onto his neck and while you had been curious about the face that hides behind that helmet, you can’t deny that the thought of him fucking you in his bounty armour is unbelievably sexy.

The only thing that’s missing is — of course — the codpiece. Your shiver completely rattles your entire frame, anticipation bubbling deliciously in your veins.

The Mandalorian steps forward and reaches into his pants, pulling out his cock.

You salivate.

He’s...huge. Probably the biggest and thickest cock you’ve seen (and you’ve seen a lot in your lifetime — part of the job). It makes you wonder how he jams that beast into his pants without damaging something. You slide your tongue over your lips as you watch him stroke himself, smearing precum over the bulging, purple helmet.

“Touch yourself.”

You obey, spreading your legs far apart so he can watch your fingers dance. Behind his mask, you can feel his eyes smouldering as you tease your clit, rubbing the pearl of nerves with your index and middle finger. You moan, tossing your head back, building up quite the rhythm while the Mandalorian watches.

You startled slightly when the Mandalorian runs his hands over your smooth thighs, mapping you out with his fingers. He’s gentle, appreciating the warmth of your skin, how you glow with desire and emit a natural, golden aura common among Nixes.

“It’s been a while since...” he trails off, shaking his head.

With a sudden burst of strength, he grips your legs and hoists them around his waist. And, impatiently, unceremoniously, he slides inside of you.

“Fuck,” you curse, gripping his broad shoulders.

Moans spill into the air as the Mandalorian begins to move, rolling his hips against you. The cool metal of his armour shocks your hot skin but the contrast of steaming heat and icy cold makes your eyes roll back and your heart hammer impossibly fast.

“Yes, yes, oh Jesus yes!”

The Mandalorian’s pace begins to build as he slams into you. He’s rough and unapologetic and reaching depths inside of you that you didn’t know existed. He pounded with frenzied, sharp movements, his hand snaking up your side to your neck where his fingers hugged and tightened. His other hand stays secured on your hip, bruised already starting to form from where his grip burns into you.

Your fingers skim across your damp skin, trailing down to your clit where your fingers circle and pinch. The Mandalorian — silent until now — groans as he watches you, his pace speeding up ruthlessly.

“I’m close,” he grunts, giving your neck a squeeze.

“So am I,” you hiss, locking your legs around him.

The friction of his armour against your hot skin, the pressure of his strong hand gripping your begging neck, his cock ploughing into you with incredible strength; it’s an overwhelming indulgence to the senses and you feel your hot core begin to glow, crackling with cosmic energy.

The air, thick with sex and insatiable heat, shimmers and ignites with tiny tongues of fire like hovering fireflies. The Mandalorian hasn’t noticed yet, but it doesn’t take him long until he does.

“(Y/N)––“

He’s cut off by the cry that issues from your swollen lips. Your pussy clenches and quivers around his cock as you tumble over the edge, crashing into a release that completely drowns your body in mind-numbing pleasure. The Mandalorian is right behind you, grinding out pieces of your name as he meets his own release.

Panting, you sit up and he rests his head on your shoulder. Around you, the small flames have exploded into tiny fireworks, lighting up the air with vibrant light.

You slide off the control board, climb back into your clothes and pull on your boot. You reach for the other boot but the Mandalorian grabs it first, kneeling to slide the boot onto your foot. You watch, mesmerised, as he pulls the inner zip up your leg and along your thigh.

Moments later, the electronic doors to the cockpit slide open and the child waddles forward, gazing innocently up at you. You step forward and give the Mandalorian a questioning look. He nods.

You bend down and scoop the child into your arms and he snuggles against your chest.

“I really love this kid,” you murmur, beaming down at him.

“Yeah, he’s alright,” The Mandalorian shrugs, approaching you so he can tug at the child’s cloak. He pulls it over the child’s face, keeping his neck warm.

“We have to name him,” you decide, “I can’t keep referring to him as the kid.”

You say it like you’re staying with them, trapesing across the universe together.

The Mandalorian, however, doesn’t disagree.

The handcuffs and ankle cuffs stay in their place on the floor.

#the mandalorian #star wars #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #baby yoda #the mandalorian smut #the mandalorian fluff #the mandalorian imagines #smut #star wars imagine #mandalorian #dad!mandalorian #dom/sub #the mandalorian x y/n #the mandalorian spoilers #star wars smut #star wars fluff #georgie writes

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baoshan-sanren · 4 years

Text

Chapter 50

Emperor Wei WuXian And His Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Birthday

Nie HuaiSang wrinkles his nose at the smell.

It has been some years since he has descended into the dungeons, but the damp air seems heavier now than it had been in the past. They are not meant to be enjoyable, the dungeons, and more pleasant accommodations would defeat the purpose of using them as a form of punishment. Still, HuaiSang does not understand why nothing can be done about the smell. The fan does precious little aside from moving the sticky air across his cheeks, and he folds it irritably, tapping Song Lan on the shoulder.

“Are you certain that torture will yield no results? I assure you, Madam Yu has made quite an art of it over the years. I think she takes pride in obtaining confessions without spilling a drop of blood.”

Song Lan shakes his head. They have spoken of this before, but HuaiSang knows that his voice will carry to the nearest cells. Perhaps Xue ChengMei cannot be tortured into a confession, but there is no harm in issuing a threat.

The boy is on his feet long before they reach him, forehead pressed against the bars, a mischievous grin etched across surprisingly attractive features. HuaiSang understands that a monster’s appearance will rarely reflect their inner monstrosity, but even he has to admit that this is slightly ridiculous. The boy looks fifteen years old at most, short in stature, small in build. The only vaguely threatening features of his appearance are the white, sharp teeth, but even those are made more menacing by their surroundings. Had the boy grinned at him in a well-lit courtyard instead of doing so in-between the bars of a cell, HuaiSang would have thought him cute, rather than dangerous.

“The Royal Companion,” the boy exclaims, “what an unexpected pleasure! I am a great admirer of yours.”

“Is that so?” HuaiSang says, “Do not spare the detail. I am always willing to be admired.”

Xue ChengMei’s eyes glitter in the darkness, his grin unwavering, “I should have known you would make no pretense of false humility.”

“Not precisely the way I prefer to be flattered.”

“It is your deeds I admire,” the boy says, “Tell me, does Sect Leader Su still believe that his son perished from a snake bite? Do you not think it extremely unfortunate? To be bitten by a yellow tail in MoLing?”

The boy taps his lips with his finger, issuing an exaggerated wink, “What a studious, sturdy snake that must have been, to have traveled all the way from QingHe just for a taste of the Young Master Su.”

HuaiSang mirrors the boy’s movement, tapping his lips with the fan.

Interesting. And potentially problematic.

“Your performance was not nearly as impressive,” HuaiSang smiles, “Such a common poison, with such an easily obtainable antidote. Surely, you did not expect that plan to work.”

“Ahh,” the boy sighs, pressing his cheek against the iron bar, “not all of us can be masters of the art I suppose. But the resulting chaos was quite entertaining.”

“Tell me about the Emperor’s potential,” HuaiSang says, “Tell me about achieving greatness.”

“Oh, but I have a much more interesting story to tell.”

“I am bored now,” HuaiSang turns to Song Lan, “let us go back.”

“Your father,” Xue ChengMei says quickly, “was no older than myself when the Empress took the throne. Such a young age, to be handed such great responsibility. Are you sure that you do not care to hear the story?”

HuaiSang’s fingers do not clench around his fan. He is calm as still water.

“You will like it,” the boy goes on, excitedly pressing himself against the bars, “it is a story no one else knows, but I am willing to share it with you.”

“Most of his words are deranged nonsense,” Song Lan says decisively, “there is no need to humor him.”

“Might as well,” HuaiSang says, glad to hear himself sound unaffected, “He seems anxious to tell it.”

“I am,” Xue ChengMei exclaims, “It is a fascinating tale. Many, many years ago, there was a mad Emperor who had a gift for demonic cultivation. But trying to control resentful energy comes with a cost. In order to continue using this infinite resource without harming himself in the process, he decided to store this energy into an object. The object would be capable of concentrating and directing the energy, but the process of creating such a thing came with a cost as well. He committed endless atrocities, slaughtered thousands of people, burned towns, rivers ran red with blood, so on and so forth,” he waves his hand impatiently, “You know that part of the story I am sure. Temples and cities obliterated, Sects decimated, advisors strung up by their toes, blah-blah.”

The impatient wave of his hand is such a perfect mirror image of Wei Ying’s own frequently used gesture, that HuaiSang is both alarmed and nauseated to see it.

“This part is known to all; the Emperor’s little niece, his favorite creature in the world, decides that the Emperor must be replaced, and murders her own uncle in cold blood. This is a story told and retold. Every child can recite the details. The Emperor’s experiments had failed, the Emperor was killed, the Empress took the throne, years of peace followed. But,” the boy presses his forehead to the iron bar, “this story is wrong.”

“Is it?” HuaiSang says, more and more convinced that this creature is dangerously unstable, “How so?”

“The Emperor did not fail in his experiments,” Xue ChengMei whispers conspiratorially, “He had succeeded. He had managed to create an object which can store infinite amounts of resentful energy, an object which can be used by any of his descendants. Any descendants, that is, who posses a particular affinity for demonic cultivation.”

HuaiSang feels his stomach turn, “The sword.”

“The sword,” the boy confirms, “Now, this is the interesting part of the story. The Empress, having grown up at court, did not have many trustworthy friends. But she did have three close confidants, two sworn brothers and a sister, peers she explicitly trusted. One of them, your father, was entrusted the sword. He was to place the sword in the Nie family's Ancestral Hall, where no descendent of YanLing DaoRen could lay their hands on it again. Can you guess what happened next?”

HuaiSang no longer cares that the boy can see his tight grip on the fan.

“Enlighten me,” he says coldly.

“Your father did not follow the Empress’ order,” Xue ChengMei grins brightly, “and who can blame him, truly? A young girl, not a full day in possession of the throne yet, asking him to hide such an object? If she were to lose her seat within a year, who would stand in the Nie Sect’s defense? Who would believe that the Nie Sect had obtained such an object for the sake of protecting the throne, instead of personal gain? You may think yourself a rare creature, Young Master Nie,” the boy winks again, “but I think you will find that the Nie Sect Leaders have always been pragmatists at heart.”

HuaiSang ignores the jab, his mind a whirlwind, “What did he do with the sword?”

The boy offers an exaggerated shrug, “Pawned it, sold it, given it away. What difference does it make?”

He is lying; HuaiSang knows this. He had made no effort to make it sound like the truth.

“How did you get it?”

“A friend gave to me,” Xue ChengMei says, blinking innocently through the bars.

“A friend who is still in the Immortal Mountain City?”

“Maybe,” the boy says, “Maybe not. Maybe he is no longer a friend. One cannot always trust those they call friends,” his grin is a sharp, sickly-sweet thing, “I believe this is a lesson the Emperor has yet to learn.”

HuaiSang wants nothing more than to take a hot, fragrant bath, and forget that he had ever spoken to this creature.

“You wanted the Emperor to become another YanLing DaoRen. To what purpose?”

“Wei WuXian would never be another YanLing DaoRen,” Xue ChengMei scoffs, “He would be so much more. A perfect vessel of destruction. A divine entity. Chaos personified.”

Well.

That answers that question.

HuaiSang taps his fan against his leg, thinking.

“Your attempts to eliminate the Lan Sect. You did not want the presence of those who can cleanse the Emperor of the resentful energy. But the Lan Sect is still here. The Emperor will recover. Your plan has failed.”

Xue ChengMei does not seem upset by the revelation, “Plans fail on occasion. There is always tomorrow.”

“You must have a great deal of confidence in your friend, who is maybe no longer a friend, if you intend to live long enough to see tomorrow.”

The boy only smiles in response.

It is an empty threat.

HuaiSang hates making empty threats.

A Jin Sect disciple cannot meet an accidental death in the Immortal Mountain City dungeons; not unless HuaiSang means to cause a diplomatic disaster. The situation at court is still too tense, too fragile for such heavy-handed solutions.

HuaiSang also cannot reveal the reasons for Xue ChengMei’s imprisonment. Such an accusation would result in a swift death, with no opportunity to draw out the accomplices he must have in the Immortal Mountain City.

No, the boy is infinitely more useful alive, although it sets HuaiSang’s teeth on edge to have this creature anywhere near Wei Ying.

There are many more questions he could ask, but the smell is unbearable, and for the time being, he has the majority of the answers he needs. The boy’s revelations may have been sparse and unpleasant, but HuaiSang has never needed all the pieces of a tangram to discern its shape.

Only when he is climbing the stone steps, does one particular sentence come back to him with full force, and he finds himself shaking his head in disbelief.

Chaos personified. As if Wei Ying had ever needed a demonic sword to be worthy of such a title.

#the untamed #cql #mdzs #ficlet #m #wwx emperor au #okay so i mixed up the order last time #this is xue yang's creepy story time #wangji's pov is next #ily chickens

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yaboigamerghost · 4 years

Text

Imperfection Is Beautiful: An Analysis of Hordak From Netflix’s She-Ra

Before I start I’d like to preface this by saying that I’m normally not the kind of person who really becomes attached to the villains in the media I consume (Zuko from ATLA being an obvious exception). However, leading into She-Ra’s final season I found myself asking one question “Why do I care about what happens to Hordak?” In the back of my head while watching the final I was constantly wondering where he currently was, and was even more invested than I already was during scenes featuring him, during his reunion with Entrapta, and later when he turned on Horde Prime to save her I was cheering the whole time. While I still completely agree with those takes I had while watching, this made me decide to try and take a deep dive into why I and many other fans felt that way. Specifically, what did lead writer Josie Campbell, her team, and the rest of the staff do to turn a character once presented as likely being the shows final boss into a sympathetic and understandable one, and how did they turn Entrapdak, which was once and still partly is viewed as a crackship into one of the stronger presentations of the shows themes of love, and the power of friendship. My hope is that by the end of this essay people who are fans of Hordak’s character can understand better the possible reasons as to WHY they feel that way, and maybe try to explain to those who really don’t like him why so many people do. Now without further ado, let’s get analyzing.

To begin, let me talk about how he’s used in the first season, and how the writers chose to position him in the viewers’ heads. For those who haven’t taken a marketing class before, positioning typically refers to how companies try to position their brand in comparison to other brands in the minds of consumers, and the same concept can be somewhat applied to how storytellers position their characters in regards to each other in the minds of their audience.With that out of the way how is Hordak positioned in the audience’s head during season 1? By the first time he appears on screen Adora has been established as the show's protagonist, her and Catra were friends who have went their separate ways in a tragic scene where Adora pleads for Catra to join her, and Shadow Weaver has been established as a uh… well a giant asshole. So by the time Shadow Weaver brings Catra to Hordak for judgement on not bringing Adora back we are already inclined to sympathize with Catra and likely already dislike Shadow Weaver, Hordak himself has been mentioned in passing but never really anything specific about him, so when we see him for the first time drenched in shadows with red eyes and teeth we’re likely expecting the worst for Catra, a character we probably are sympathetic to at this point in the story. However something interesting happens here, Hordak essentially sides with Catra in this scene. He makes Shadow Weaver promote her, and tells her to stop focusing on finding Adora. So while the show had to this point presented the idea that the endgame for the show is defeating the Horde, and Hordak being the assumed leader of the Horde… he’s still not presented as the character that’s the most hated based on his interactions with other characters. Throughout season 1 the basis of his screen time is telling Shadow Weaver to stop wasting resources trying to bring Adora back, and then at the end of the season assisting Catra’s plan to use the Black Garnet. Essentially every time Shadow Weaver tries to make a move against Adora and Catra; the characters we’re sympathetic towards; he tells her off on it and when she makes an open act of defiance against Catra's plan he throws her in prison. What all of these acts do to the audience is kind of present him as not being as bad as Shadow Weaver. Let me frame it this way. The character who at this point is thought to eventually be the final boss is not the most hated of the antagonists. To me that seems fairly telling, and retrospectively to kind of foreshadow the direction his character would eventually go.

Season 2 I would say is the most he’s ever played as a straight up villain. He’s patronizing to his subordinates and he uses intimidation tactics and light forms of torture on Catra which I think might be the biggest reasons as to why some fans of the show despise him even now. However, this is also the season where the most important relationship he has throughout the show starts to form. One of the scenes Entrapdak fans bring up a lot is when he catches her in his Sanctum (classy) working on the portal machine and he yells “Get out!” in what is pretty obviously somewhat a callback to Beauty and the Beast when you think about it. It’s what I’d call being subtle by throwing subtlety out the window. Sure it is a line from BatB but it’s also just something an angry person says to someone trespassing and considering at this point we know nothing about their relationship and we likely aren’t thinking that these two characters would have an arc together. What I’m basically saying is that while on multiple viewings this scene pretty obviously foreshadows them as part of a beauty/beast narrative, someone watching the show for the first time may not notice that during this scene. At the end of the day however season 2 Hordak is the most purely villainous he ever is during the show, he suffocates Catra in one of his contraptions as intimidation, he starts off disparaging all of Etheria to Entrapta in their initial conversation about portals, he plans to send Shadow Weaver to Beast Island (although the viewer may not care about this one), and if not for Entrapta convincing him otherwise he probably would have had Catra executed. Again, this season is him at his worst and at his most high and mighty. The way the insecure clone of Horde Prime WANTS to be seen, a façade that gets broken down in front of the audience for the rest of the series, in fact it partly gets broken down in this season during the scenes of him without his armor.

The way Season 3 chooses to frame Hordak actually starts in an episode in which he’s not present. During the season’s first episode Adora has a conversation with Bow and Glimmer after Shadow Weaver is found in Bright Moon. During this conversation she talks about how she changed for the better after having been in the Horde all her life, and she says she chooses to believe that if she can then maybe everyone can, even Shadow Weaver. Subconsciously many of us probably thought during this scene “Even Hordak?”. Essentially what this scene does is have the show’s protagonist make a case for not demonizing the show’s current antagonist like many would, it plants the idea that in the viewer’s head that maybe he isn’t too far gone. The previous season showed him growing to trust Entrapta enough to spare Catra because of her advising, which could be enough to show that to be true. While always rough around the edges and teeming with anger he’s never presented as someone incapable of seeing reason, and with Adora’s monologue about believing in the ability of anyone to change that makes us think that maybe he could be given reason to turn away from his presumed history of villainy. Additionally, when Shadow Weaver talked about her motivations for defecting she said “I want to destroy Hordak”, Shadow Weaver being a character that most viewers of the show likely already hate from seeing how abusive and power hungry she behaves seemingly on instinct. The fact that she’s the one bringing up the concept of killing him coinciding with Adora’s monologue may make the viewer sit back and try to reframe how they view Hordak as a character. This idea is what gets played with in his screen time for the rest of the season.

The very next episode is the big one (the holy grail for Entrapdak shippers). During this episode he blocks Entrapta from the blast of a failed portal experiment, she discovers his physical condition, he tells her about his past with Horde Prime and why he’s doing what he’s doing, she builds him new armor while saying one of the most inspirational quotes of all time (Imperfection is beautiful), and he awkwardly tries to properly thank her while getting help from his clone son Imp… Okay so let me just get to the biggest thing I want to talk about for this particular episode. The reveal of Horde Prime as the leader of a Galactic Horde has a huge impact on how Hordak himself is presented as a character. Firstly it presents the idea that Hordak himself won’t be the final boss of the series, thus opening up the audience to be more inclined to sympathize with him going forward. Secondly him literally being a clone brings forth the idea that he never really had a choice in how he turned out, and in a show that to this point has largely been about characters feeling trapped in terms of who they’re supposed to be by their familial figures in itself is likely to make the audience start to sympathize with him in realizing that war and being part of dictatorship is all he knows. Finally, we have him calling himself a failure and a defect in this scene. I feel as though this was done to draw forth parallels between Hordak’s relationship to Prime and Catra’s to Shadow Weaver. Prime called Hordak defective, Shadow Weaver called Catra worthless. Most people watching the show to this point will sympathize with Catra in one way or another and by having another villain in your show be paralleled to her is a way to invoke the audience to sympathize with them as well.

Now, for his interactions with Entrapta this particular episode. First we see him; a man with what seems to be muscular deterioration; using his body to shield her from an explosion. This would seem to show him as someone capable of putting others before himself, which as we learn in season 5 is something completely separating him from being like Horde Prime. After this we have him opening up to her about being a clone, having a defect, his feelings of being a failure, and him awkwardly trying to thank her. This whole sequence of scenes in part reveals a deeper truth about his character, namely the fact that he was for the most part programmed. All of his awfulness of season 2 and from presumed acts from before the show was pretty much what he was made for. He is someone who was literally engineered by an intergalactic dictator and essentially was born into a cult environment. When the only way he can thank her is by awkwardly saying “I acknowledge your work here, it’s very… technologically sound” and after some coaxing from Imp continuing with “No matter what you say, you are not a failure. And any who underestimate you are utter fools” we can gather one kind of tragic fact. Hordak before this point had never felt a positive emotion from anything not related to conquering and technological advancement, in all his time he had never before this felt love or companionship. While the line itself is funny and kind of endearing, it also reveals the underlying tragedy of his backstory. That tragedy being that realistically there was no alternative way for him to turn out up to this point, the fact that this comes from being born in the Horde and the indoctrination and abuse from a familial figure adds another parallel to Catra, and how the abuse cycle of what Prime did to Hordak set him in a place to start up his own empire, bring Shadow Weaver into it, and then she does the same thing to Catra that Prime did to Hordak. Essentially the source of Hordak’s stress and likely trauma is the first domino to fall in causing the events of the show to happen, Prime’s own ego and perfectionism is what eventually caused his downfall.

But I’m getting ahead of myself here, as I still have more to say about this episode. I haven’t even really gotten into specifics on his defect, or his physical disability. Hordak would seem to have extreme muscular deterioration, he seems to have no tissue on his forearms leaving the bone exposed. The reveal is that his armor and technology are holding his physical body together. Most of the time a reveal like this regarding our presumed main villain would be a “The villain is more machine than man” type of trope like Darth Vader in A New Hope, however that’s not what’s done here. The armor and later pseudo-cybernetics aren’t so much to make him truly powerful and intimidate others as they are to cover up a vulnerability, and vulnerability is a very humanizing trait. The way this show chooses to completely subvert a trope here is interesting to me and says something about the series as a whole that I’ll probably extrapolate on later. What this decision says to me is that this show is one that cares about its characters, all of them, even in its villains they will ask you to look at and consider any vulnerability or redeemable quality in your judgement of them.

The next major scene involving him is the conversation between him and Entrapta having the portal machine almost ready. During the conversation they both seem sad about the prospect of being separated when Hordak rejoins Prime and they ultimately decide that they’ll wait to try it until the portal is absolutely perfect. This plan being ended by Catra coming back with the sword of protection. The reason for all he had done up to this point was rejoin with Horde Prime and he was now willing to slow down with trying to return to his brother, perhaps at this point if Catra hadn’t returned he might have scaled back the war efforts and settled for just continuing scientific pursuits with Entrapta, this isn’t guaranteed but it’s something that left open enough in the text of the show to where it can read as an aspect of his character.

The next major scene is when Catra lies about Entrapta betraying him and letting the princesses into the Fright Zone. This scene sets forth where his emotional state is during season 4, he falls to believe that; in spite of their work together and her telling him to not worry so much about being a failure and telling him that imperfection is beautiful; she never really cared about him and was just using him for his own destruction. The end of this season is probably Catra at her absolute worst. Entrapta outright told her that the portal would destroy the planet and then sent her to Beast Island after she used the words “Adora was right”. Having Hordak be another character hurt by some of Catra’s actions at a time when he may or may not have been on a trajectory to become a better person is an interesting interpretation of this scene to me (especially in light of her continuing by pulling the lever of the portal machine) because I feel like it was a great way to show Catra’s continued fall deeper and deeper into desperation and lashing out in anger and her potentially having at this point outgrown Hordak in terms of villainy (expressed in her Azula moment early in season 4). This idea kind of more puts Hordak on a similar level as the other characters, he’s no longer the untouchable ruler of the Etherian Horde if this bad kitty can come in and cause him to have what boils down to a broken heart. This scene is the final piece that to the audience completely breaks down the façade he had been putting on for so long.

Season 4 Hordak is a bit hard to explain. This season is when we see him committing the most on-screen villainous acts of the entire series, however largely he was being manipulated by Catra into actually setting foot on the battlefield. While this season has him being his most morally wrong, we also see this at a time when we’re somewhat newly aware of his vulnerabilities and insecurities and while he’s doing this we also see characters like Catra and Glimmer also falling further and further into behaving immorally or unethically. This kind of puts the audience in a really unique seat where we’re seeing the characters that we’ve grown to care about since the beginning of the series start to fall into something resembling tyrannical behavior like we’ve assumed from Hordak for so long. So while he’s at his worst at this time so is everyone else and in his case many of his actions here stem from believing that Entrapta betrayed him so there’s an extra layer of folly to what’s going on since it all stems from a lie. When Catra is trying to get him to step up the war effort to conquer all of Etheria she succeeds by pulling out the crystal that powers his armor that Entrapta gave him. When it’s removed he essentially collapses powerless. The crystal says LUVD (not that he or Entrapta knew, but the audience can learn it). Essentially this says that he is weak without love, when Entrapta was there, and she made him the armor he was made strong, when she’s gone and the crystal is removed he’s weak.

There’s a scene where Hordak is talking to Catra about how their success would mean that he’d return to Prime’s side triumphant and worthy. When she hears him talk about this she kind of gives a look that shows just how much she actually understands the motivations. The audience knows this as well, we all saw the times when Shadow Weaver called her unworthy. This scene is the show itself basically telling us that any similarities between Hordak and Catra we gleaned from the reveal of his backstory wasn’t just us seeing something that wasn’t there. This scene essentially asks the audience to look at these two characters through similar lenses. It doesn’t tell you exactly HOW to view them, but asks for you to take a step back and measure any hypocrisy regarding how you view their various actions and then leave it at the door. The show asks you to sympathize with Hordak based on similarities with Catra;a character whom the audience probably sympathizes with from the very beginning; and having them both commit similar actions for similar motivations.

Skipping ahead we have this sequence late in the season where Double Trouble cleverly tells Hordak that Catra sent Entrapta to Beast Island and the subsequent battle he has with the cat. The absolute rage and sadness in his eyes as the background completely fades out and we’re just focused on his face with tears starting to come out of his big red eyes while drenched in blackness, and then he just fires off his arm cannon around the room in anger. There’s just… so much to be said about this little sequence right here, it was beautifully done. What this scene expressed more than anything is that even if he didn’t know it, he was totally in love with Entrapta. He heard she was sent to beast Island, a place where he has sent people to DIE. He likely thinks she’s dead, and his first reaction was tears and to destroy part of his lab and then try to kill his second in command in revenge. I don’t know about you but this is something one would pretty much only do if they were in love with someone. Additionally I think the stylization of having the whole background fade to black during this scene is an interesting one. I think one meaning that could be taken from it is that with him believing she was dead he was sinking deeper into the darkness, that his ability to see the lighter side of the world was gone, the one person who could understand him was gone forever and he had spent all that time angry with her while working with her killer. A man who already was prone to self loathing and feeling like a failure now had nothing to lose. I think this is probably why early in season 5 after seeing Catra he goes to get his mind wiped again. Seeing Catra and her calling him by his name brought back some memories, memories that at this point only bring him pain.

Speaking of Hordak and mindwipes though, the next major scene in my reading is the first time we truly see Horde Prime in his full glory. I’m going to focus less on Hordak saying that he did all his conquering for Prime, but more how Prime winds up seeing through him, and the horror that being part of the cultish Galactic Horde actually is. Prime is able to see into Hordak’s thoughts, he brushes his hands against the slot where the LUVD crystal once was and says “There was a time when you wished I wouldn’t come for you” confirming what everyone knew about his feelings towards Entrapta. After that Hordak seems to get basically reset to factory settings so to speak. Horde Prime immediately turns to Glimmer and apologises for his defective brother, she asks if this means he’d leave them alone to which he expresses that he’d have to destroy the planet to cover up the failures, he would have done it if Catra hadn’t brought up knowledge of the Heart of Etheria. What Horde Prime’s introduction does most of all is tell the audience that if they thought Hordak was evil then they really hadn’t seen anything yet. Hordak was but a child lashing out compared to the insane cult of planetary destruction and forced hegemony that is Horde Prime. If the brutality of the mindwipe of Hordak was anything to go off of it probably isn’t pleasant to be a clone either, but it’s their purpose for creation. “All beings must suffer to become pure” after all.

This helps me segue into talking more about the rest of season 5 and get into detail about the Galactic Horde itself. Based on everything from the language used by Horde Prime and his clones, the fanaticism of most of said clones, the obsession with the color white, and the ideology it would seem as though the Galactic Horde is one thing. A cult. Horde Prime is a souped-up version of Shoko Asahara. He presents himself very charismatically and uses that as a way to mask the constant manipulation he does to everyone from his own clones, to any “Honored guests” he may have, and even his adversaries. He does all of this in a self serving effort to further his own perceived greatness. He is something that no other antagonist in this series ever was, a being of pure ego. Shadow Weaver, Hordak, and Catra even at their very worst were always shown to be affected by the histories and relationships they formed with other people. Even when they committed evil acts there was something recognizable about it, you still knew that this was a PERSON. Horde Prime, while being in the body of a man is surprisingly more reminiscent of something Lovecraftian than your typical supervillain. He’s ancient, his origin is never even hinted at, as though he’s been around forever and no one really knows. He can transfer his consciousness into any being within his hivemind, he has presumably hundreds or even thousands of his former bodies around for him to be able to check their memories, that means he has entire parts of his life he doesn’t remember. Horde Prime may have a humanoid figure, but as a character he’s much more like Cthulhu than Palpatine…. This is the being that created and essentially raised Hordak. A Lovecraftian style cult leader who either conquers planets, assimilates them into his hivemind, or destroys them all for shits and giggles. Hordak never stood a chance of being a good, well rounded person out of that environment. It all puts the Hordak of seasons 1-4 in a different context, shows just how deeply rooted indoctrination was for him.

After the second “purification” he undergoes one might wonder one thing regarding Hordak. Where could he possibly go from here? He’s had his mind wiped twice, he’s on Horde Prime’s ship, even if he did have his memories he believes that the one being who ever cared about him is dead, it really seems like he has nowhere to go… and then he sees the LUVD crystal lying on the floor near some rubble after Entrapta helped with rescuing Catra. He picks it up and looks into it for a second before letting out a somewhat surprised “Entrapta?” he may not fully remember who that is at the moment but they definitely mean something to him. There may be hope for Hordak after all. The audience knows this, especially since earlier in this same episode it’s revealed that Entrapta is keeping a list of clones that could be Hordak, she’s still looking for him.

Later he has another few scenes where he starts to remember some of his past. The cloning tanks with Prime’s former vessels reminding him of Entrapta and when he revealed who he was to her, he doesn’t have it all yet but the pieces are coming back slowly. They come back faster during Failsafe. When he finally sees Entrapta again he’s confused. “Why do I know your face?” She knows that it’s him. He’s not entirely sure he wants to remember, he considers his memories imperfections. As Swift Wind drags her away from the encounter like an idiot she reminds him “Your imperfections are beautiful”. Later in the episode we see her looking him up in the chip network and show a sweet smile on knowing that it really was him. At the beginning of the season the LUVD Crystal was tiny, but now it covers almost the entirety of the palm of his large clawed hands. His love has grown, and grown him as a person, this sets what happens next.

During the two part finale he makes the most important decision of his life. Entrapta gets teleported up to Prime’s ship, directly in front of Hordak. As the rebels start making ground in the battle she starts making noise, telling Prime how he can’t win, he doesn’t know what makes them strong. Prime orders Hordak to kill her. He has a blank, confused, scared expression as he points the arm cannon at her at his brother’s command, tears start to form in her eyes. Is this because she’s afraid to die or because possibly the only person to truly understand her was lost and would be the one to make it happen? Hordak makes a split second decision to turn on his brother. He’s finally able to break through the abuse and indoctrination of Prime’s borderline Lovecraftian cult, throwing Prime’s body down a pit in the ship… Until Prime takes over Hordak’s body temporarily to once again try to intimidate the Etherians.

There is one final scene involving Hordak that is important, that happens right after Adora purges out Horde Prime. We’re given a flashback of Hordak out in a meadow where he’s holding a baby Adora. He likely detected portal activity thinking perhaps Prime had come for him. Instead it was this helpless child, lost from her home and now on this strange world. Perhaps in a quick decision this man starting his own empire saw a piece of himself within her and would take her in. A small piece he forgot about in the many years later, but in this moment of her purging his creator from his mind now remembers. Adora looks at him with no derision or spite, but a soft smile, as though after all these years she finally is starting to understand who he is on a deeper level.

She-Ra and The Princesses of Power is a show that started airing on Netflix in 2018 and finished its run in 2020, and it is a show that is ostensibly about the connections we form with other people and how those affect us moving forward. On top of that it goes out of its way to say that in the end those connections are a positive that we’re better off for experiencing. Horde Prime is the show’s main antagonist and he is a being of pure ego, he views the connections the Etherians form with each other to be a weakness. Meanwhile, time and time again in season 5 those are exactly why he gets defeated. Adora can get through to Catra to break her from the chip, Netossa does the same with Spinnerella, Seahawk and Perfuma slightly do that with Mermista and Scorpia respectively… But where does Hordak fit into this? In s5e3 Corridors Hordak goes to Prime to be “Purified'' after seeing Catra and she calls him by his name, a name being something clones of Lord Prime shouldn’t have. After the painful ritual Prime refers to him as “The purest among you” to the other clones surrounding the ritual. But in the end the connection he had formed with Entrapta led to even him turning on Prime anyway, that purity meant nothing because the bonds we form with other people supersedes all of that. If Hordak doesn’t turn on Prime like he did, for the reason he did then the messaging and themes of the show would have a place where they didn’t follow through as strongly. We’d have a victim of abuse that wasn’t able to get past their abuser, and a flawed person who didn’t wind up doing the right thing because they wanted to do right by the person they love. Without a positive ending for Hordak it makes the rest of the show’s positive endings weaker because it has a blatant exception to those victories, and while that could be poignant in some shows, I don’t think SPOP is that kind of show. So you might be wondering… Why write all this? What made me think that writing a wall of text about Hordak of all fictional characters would be worth it? Part of it is because I wanted to explore why I care so much about this character and look into how his arc worked from a storytelling standpoint. I think the other part of it is simply seeing a lot of people not really seem to understand him as a character. There seems to be a very vocal group of people who hate him, or the Entrapdak ship for one reason or another and use that to kind of call those of us who do enjoy it bad people, so part of writing this is to maybe help some of those people who just flat out don’t understand how we could possibly be fans of the character get to know a bit of the reasoning behind it, and maybe show that the show specifically wrote him to be sympathetic. And maybe if you can see how it would be possible for us to love this character, maybe you can learn to appreciate him too. I can't force you to, but hopefully I can at least help you see where I’m coming from, and if you made it this far all I can say is thank you for reading.

TLDR; Hordak is a very deeply complicated character who’s arc is more important to the themes of SPOP than you might think.

#hordak #entrapdak #spop #essay #character analysis #catra #adora #shadow weaver #horde prime

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thekitteninlove · 3 years

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Good thing no one knows me around here or i wouldn't be posting this smutty fanfic with Amon. If i say that i like the villain most people will jump to conclusions and say that i must be as bad as him. But you know what? While i do my best to avoid people like him irl, this is just fiction. It's not like any of the horrible things he did happened in reality, so it doesn't bother me that much that he's a villain. One thing is when a fictional character does something horrible and a different thing when a real life person does the same thing. I once had a crush on Oliver too, since he's also a genius, but he kept calling me/ the MC stupid, so i disregarded him. I'd rather be tortured by Amon.

Since the intensity of his nuttiness would've killed the character i had to make him less nutty, so he's a bit OOC. I tried my best to keep the other characters in character in my previous fics, but this time i just couldn't avoid it

Characters: Amon Jabberwock

Warning: smut, whipping

Since Dalim asked me to go and get him some documents from Amon, I was now in his room, waiting for him to hand them to me. I somehow managed to become Dalim’s assistant to gather some information about my enemies and things have been going smoothly thus far. Although… gaining Amon’s trust was proving to be quite difficult. He kept eyeing me suspiciously and watching my every move whenever I was in his presence. I had to find a way to make him at least a little bit less suspicious about me, but how?

“Tell me, why are you helping me conquer the world?” He asked me all of a sudden, giving me a suspicious look like he always does.

That question took me by surprise and I started to grow tense. If i didn’t give him a good answer he’d become even more suspicious of me if that was even possible. I thought about my answer carefully and then told him “Because I agree that the world needs to be changed” I could make a really long list of all the things that were wrong with this world. Although I didn't think that Amon could change it the way I wanted it to, I didn’t say that. I valued my life. “And also because I sympathize with you. I heard from Dalim that you were treated like a monster just because your mother was from the Land of Reason. This was considered to be bad by the residents of Cradle and you had to hide all your life. I hate it when people treat another person horribly just because they’re different from them. You said that the world is unfair and want to change that, didn’t you? Well, so do i” If that didn’t make him trust me more, I wasn't sure what would make him do that.

He had a faint smile on his face, which was good. “Alright. Is that all?” he said as he began to slowly approach me.

I was wondering if he wanted me to tell him more reasons, so I decided that flattering him should make him lower his guard a bit. “I admire you. You’re a genius that accomplishes anything they set their mind on.”

My compliment had the desired effect because his smile widened a bit. “Oh, i see” He grabbed my chin and made me look into his dark amber eyes. “So it doesn’t have anything to do with the fact that you have feelings for me?”

Feelings for him!? i… no! That can’t be true! Why does he think that?. His question confused me and i looked up at him in puzzlement

“Don’t play innocent. I’ve seen how you’re looking at me sometimes”

Huh!? Come to think about it… i might’ve been in denial about this. But that’s because i didn’t want to accept that i had feelings for such an awful man. Out of all people, why does it have to be him!?. The way he was looking at me told me that he was sure of what he believed. Even so, i didn’t want to admit it because if i did that then i was certain that he’d use my feelings to manipulate me. I had no idea how to get out of that sticky situation, so i kept silent.

“So you won’t say anything, hm? Fine, then i’ll find a way to make you admit it”

I started to feel a surge of panic at his words. He won’t torture me, will he!? Where's Dalim when i need him?

My feelings were probably showing on my face because the next thing he did was to chuckle and say “Don’t worry, since you’re our precious informant i won’t hurt you”

I felt one of his fingers slide over my lips before he pressed his own lips against mine. I was taken by surprise, so i gasped, parting my lips a bit. He took this opportunity to slide his tongue in my mouth and i closed my eyes, enjoying the passionate kiss he was giving me. I should’ve pushed him away, but i didn’t. I wanted to put my hands in his long pale hair and draw him closer, but that’s the same as admitting that i was interested in him, so i did nothing.But even if i didn’t respond to his kiss, he kept at it, twirling his tongue in my mouth and making me feel light headed. Does he want me to say that so badly!? Suddenly, he pushed me down on his bed. When i looked up, he was on top of me, giving me a knowing smirk. “You didn’t reject that. It still means something” His long hair was cascading down on either side of me and that shorter tuft of hair on the left side of his head that looked like a floppy wolf ear was making him look so adorable.

I looked away, trying to hide the burning desire that was growing within me. Then i felt his breath on my ear as he whispered “I’ll make you say it no matter what”

Uh-oh, he was bent on making me admit that. He started to lick my neck while he was unbuttoning my shirt, which made me sigh with pleasure. I was wondering why he was behaving like that, but i was also worried that in the end i’ll have no choice but to say it. Most likely, he was just toying with me right now because if he was serious he would’ve made me admit it a long time ago.

He took off my bra and cupped one of my breasts with one hand, while the other was traveling up my thighs and under my skirt towards my sweet spot. Once his hand reached his destination he began rubbing it through my panties. I bit my lip to prevent myself from moaning at his sensual touches. If i let him know that i was enjoying it then one of the secrets i was trying to keep would be revealed. His lips moved once again to my ear, whispering “So you still won’t say it, hm? Alright then” He took off my panties and inserted two fingers in me, moving them in and out. I was gripping the sheets and trying to stifle my moans, but i felt like i was going to give in soon enough. He pulled his head away from me a bit, so now i could see his pretty face and messy hair that made him look like a wild beauty. He smiled confidently at me and said “There’s no use holding back. I know you like it”

I didn’t want to give up yet, so i didn’t say anything. Instead, i just gazed up at him. He sure was eye candy. It was such a shame that he wore his hood up almost all the time. I wished he didn’t hide all that beauty under that.

Amon gave me a smirk and said “I see you’re being stubborn. I’ll have to get serious then.” He took out his whip and moved it first around my thighs, then over my sweet spot that was wet from being sexually stimulated so much. This made my heart beat even faster in anticipation of what was to come. “If you’re a bad girl i’ll have to use this on you” he warned me in a cheery voice.

Since i wasn’t a scaredy-cat i looked up at him defiantly and said “Then go ahead and whip me, My Lord”. This seemed to take him by surprise and i felt a grin spread over my face at his reaction. I doubt that anyone has ever said that to him. His mood then seemed to improve as his smirk was back on his face. “I see you’ve got courage. Let’s see how much it’ll last” As he delivered the first strike i felt a sting on my thighs, but it wasn’t something i couldn’t bear. He was still fingering me, but now he began to use 3 fingers, which made me feel more pleasure. While he was doing those dirty things to me, he kept whipping my thighs, but he wasn’t putting much strength into it. It was almost like he was just playing with me. Each whip was sending a surge of adrenaline through my body. The pleasure was building up inside me and i couldn’t refrain from moaning anymore. “Ah~, My Lord, it feels so good”.

One look at his face and i could tell that he was enjoying it too. He giggled at my reaction and said in a joyful voice “You’ve finally surrendered. You admitted it”. He stopped whipping me and instead lowered his head to one of my breasts and licked it, which sent more waves of pleasure coursing through me. He kept moving his fingers in and out, which made me feel some delicious sensations through my body that were intensifying by the moment. This feeling finally reached a really high intensity and i gripped the sheets even tighter as i moaned loudly.

I was still trying to catch my breath, when i heard his voice and looked up. “You’ll stay by my side, won’t you? You won’t betray me, right?”He was focusing his searching gaze on me as if he was trying to figure out what i was thinking.

Do i really look that untrustworthy or is he unreasonably distrustful? I didn’t know what to tell him anymore. The things i said earlier don’t seem to have put him too much at ease.

Seeing that i wasn’t saying anything, he added “If you stay by my side no one will dare mess with you ever again”

If he told me that 10 years earlier then i would’ve jumped at the occasion. People kept picking on me because i looked weaker and i wished i could have the power to make them go away. But now i’m stronger and i think i can fend for myself now.

“When i conquer the world i’ll make you my Queen and we’ll rule together” He was now giving me a confident smile and looking as if he was certain that his offer would keep me by his side forever.

Whoa! He’s going so far as to offer the world to me!? Am i really that good at my job or… does he have another reason? Hmm… what could i say now? The offer was quite tempting. No one will ever look down on me if i become the Queen. I know i shouldn’t care that much about what other people say, but it’s like a bad habit i just can’t get out of. He made an offer that i… couldn’t refuse. “I won’t ever betray you.” I looked him straight in the eyes so that he won’t think that i’m hiding anything.

A self-satisfied smirk spread on his face. “Then now you’re mine, my wicked Queen”

#ikerev #ikemen revolution #ikerev amon #amon jabberwock #smut #fanfic #one shot #i'd understand if you want to send me to therapy #but i won't go #good thing no one knows me #i can write anything #a less nutty almond

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goneseriesanalysis · 3 years

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Drake Merwin

I am soo sorry, this is super late but I got incredibly distracted with reading and forgot that literally anything else existed. Drake was a really hard character for me to analyse because his characterisation was just so disappointing to me - but luckily my intrinsic desire to have everyone hear my opinions prevailed, and so here it is. I hope you enjoy!!

Spoiler Warning: Major spoilers for Gone, Minor spoilers for the rest of the series and the monster trilogy

Old Opinion: I had a sort of morbid obsession with Drake and thought he was a top-tier villain

New Opinion: So far Drake is tied with Astrid for most-changed opinion. His character has almost no-depth and could be placed in almost any story without changing a single thing about him - and it would make sense. I found myself desperately trying to make him more interesting than he is in an attempt to justify younger me’s obsession - but alas I was unsuccessful. He had a lot of potential, but instead he ended up as a copy-paste villain with no realistic motivations and no real intrigue.

1.) DRAKE’S APPEARANCE:

Drake is, I think, the character who is best (as in most thoroughly) described in the first book. Not only do we get an idea of his actual appearance beyond the vaguest possible descriptions (sorry to Sam, Caine, Diana and every minor character) but we also get some idea as to the effect his appearance has on other people.

In Chapter 14, when we are first introduced to the Coates kids, Drake is described as, “a smiling, playful, mean-eyed kid with shaggy, sandy-coloured hair.” I actually really like this description. Contrasting “smiling” and “playful” with “mean” really brilliantly sets Drake up to be a complex villain – the kind of villain we all love to hate, who cracks a joke while slitting your throat. It has the implication of a layered personality but sadly, this is not the villain we get. In fact his character in the first chapter compared to the character we get as the book continues is so drastically different that it almost seems like mg did a complete 180 on his character. An original description is supposed to give us some indication as to what a character is like – their personality and role in the story, and we know that mg can do this really well. (Sam’s non-descript description setting him up to be the underdog, Quinn’s mismatched attire hinting at his inability to fit in, Astrid’s colour scheme reflecting her innocence and religiosity), and so it seems particularly odd, not to mention disappointing, that Drake’s description gives us…nothing. No real indication as to who he is or his purpose other than to hint to him being an antagonist (which we already guessed from his affiliation with Caine.) I could go on and on about what a waste Drake’s character was, but I’ll save it for a later paragraph.

We will then skip ahead to Chapter 37 where both Howard and Lana describe a similarity between Drake and Pack Leader:

“The one time she had seen Drake Merwin. He had made her think of Pack Leader: strong, hyper alert, dangerous. Now, the lean physique looked gaunt, the shark’s grin was a tight grimace, his eyes were red-rimmed. His stare, once languidly menacing, was now intense, burning hot. He looked like someone who had been tortured beyond endurance.”

“The two of them, two of a kind, it seemed to Howard, stared holes into each other.”

This is a much better example of mg using descriptions to establish the purpose of a character. By drawing a comparison between these two, mg sets up Drake’s later role in the books, where he replaces Pack Leader as the gaiphage’s right-hand man. This almost leads me to believe that mg had decided very early on that Drake was going to desert Caine and this is possibly why he seems so out of place and underdeveloped as Caine’s underling in the first two books. Mg had already moved on from this side of his character…and it shows. Lana’s description of Drake also works as a basis for showing the reader how he has changed since losing his arm (before gaining his whip) and acts as an insight into his current mental state – which is important as we don’t get much introspection during Drake’s POV’s. But, I still have a few issues with this. First of all, his “lean physique”. Now this isn’t really a problem all by itself, but unless I have forgotten what 14 year olds looks like (which is a possibility though I doubt it) I don’t think that they should be muscly with minimal body fat. And Drake is not the only character he does this with. Quinn gets extremely muscly later on in the books (I’ll admit that there is a plausible reason behind this so this example isn’t terrible but it’s mentioned like every 5 sentences) and in Fear Caine is described as having wash-board abs. Why are we sexualising children?? Children should be pudgy and awkward and still growing into their bodies, not lean and muscly!! The attractive, damaged man who hates women for no reason at all is also a really really really common trope and tbh I’m just so bored of it. It’s not relatable (at least it shouldn’t be) and it’s just really unimaginative – although it does help us to understand Drake’s character as we’ve seen him before so many times in all types of media. My second issue with this description is the way it really really highlights how much of a waste of character Drake was. The potential of a high-school bully with a skewed world-view due to the death of his father and the later abuse of his mother at the hands of his replacement father figure trying hard to impress the charming “leader” with unimaginable power (that he so desperately wants) only to be undermined at every turn by a girl who teases him by pointing out his flaws and insecurities taking his anger out on everyone around him (especially women) as a way to cope with his childhood traumas then turning into a heartless monster who not only enjoys others pain but lives for it after being “tortured beyond endurance”, was astronomical. But we don’t get that. Instead we get a cheesy, one-dimensional cartoon villain. The change that his body and mind go through after his maiming should have been pivotal to his character, but that just doesn’t come across in the writing. :/ But more on this later.

And last but not least, the whip-hand, which is very important to Drake’s character. It turns his actual body into a weapon and his excitement over this is indicative of his sadistic nature. Again, I think this is an example of a wasted opportunity. I would have liked mg to have gone in to depth about how Drake’s body undergoing this change affected his psyche (and I’m not counting his one-off line in the monster trilogy). I think it could be argued that Drake’s “change” is a metaphor for him going through puberty. Him gaining the whip that ultimately turned him into his very own weapon shows his transition from a child [a little messed up but still just a kid] into a monster, someone who is capable of committing atrocities without a second thought. It would have been particularly interesting for Drake and Orc’s final battle to put some focus on the fact that they both suffer through monstrous physical changes that can be used to represent their shift from children to young adults but whereas one relishes in this, one is completely disgusted. The whip-hand is described as being an “impossible blood-red snake” and then that “It was stretched. Like it had been turned into dark, blood-red taffy. It wrapped twice around his body.” – Both of these occurring in Chapter 39. I don’t have much to comment about this – other than that I think red is great colour choice for Drake, thematically at least.

I know this point was mostly about what Drake could have been as opposed to an actual analysis of his appearance, but I’m just so tired of the attractive misogynistic villain that seems to appear in every single piece of media. His characterisation really bummed me out and put me into a slump so instead of analysing his appearance I decided to roast him instead. But, onto actual analysis now (I am going to further expand on some of the points I made here I promise).

2.) DRAKE’S PERSONALITY AND CHARACTER

I mentioned in the previous point that a lot of Drake’s characterisation seems like an afterthought at best and one of the things that made me think this, is the inconsistencies with his character and the most obvious example of this is the discrepancies with his birthday. In chapter 20, Diana says that his birthday is “April twelfth, just one minute after midnight.” But, in Chapter 33 we get the line “Sooner would be better,’ Drake drawled, ‘what with me having a month.” This is a really small nit-pick, I know, but it just really bugs me that mg overlooked something as simple as a birthday – especially when birthdays are such an important plot point in this book. But anyway, moving on. I promise this whole review isn’t going to be negative.

Backtracking now to Chapter 14. Drake’s character here seems to differ quite drastically from his later characterisation. He seems here to be an example of the laughably evil trope, he has a kind of dry sarcastic humour that is quite fun and seems to lighten the tone of the story a little bit. Rather than showing us the boringly disgusting misogynistic villain that Drake turns out to be, we instead see a funny, charismatic character who seems to prefer picking on those who already have power – as is seen here:

“Drake paused halfway, turned back, and spoke for the first time. In an amused voice he said, ‘Oh, um, Captain Orc? Have your people – the ones who aren’t injured- line up outside. We’ll work out your… um, duties.’ With a grin that was almost a snarl, Drake added a cheerful, ‘Later’.” – Chapter 33

Now I understand that the reason we don’t see the real Drake here is because Sam is obviously not yet aware of his true personality – my issue lies in the fact that based on just this small excerpt here, I expected so much more from his character. We get hints of his sadistic nature here, with him joking about Cookie’s horrific injury and clearly taking joy in exerting power over Orc, but it is evenly balanced by the fact that he’s kind of amusing and we don’t really like Orc at this point anyway. Can we see that something isn’t quite right with him?? Yes. But do we kind of like him anyway?? Well I did. At this point. I would have really loved it if mg had carried on this idea of Drake abusing those who already have power – him enjoying to take down bully after bully so he can be King bully, instead of him picking on people who he perceives as weak and vulnerable. Mg relying on misogyny as a motivator is just really disappointing to me because there is no depth to it, and it’s pretty lazy. He hates Diana because she is a woman and he sees women as beneath him?? Weak. Over-used. Dull. He hates Diana because she has power over Caine in a way that he never can, which makes him feel insecure in himself and the fragile sense of stability and power that he has struggled to cultivate within his damaged psyche?? Yes pls. Not only would this have made Drake a much more engaging character, but it would also have made his desertion of Caine in hunger much more impactful. And while I think there are aspects of this within his character, which I will go into later, I wish there had been more of it. Again, I’m sorry that this has become more of a “what could have been” rather than an analysis but there really is just so little to analyse without just pointing out obvious facts and statements. There’s no spice here :/

Moving on now to Chapter 16, where we as an audience, as well as the characters within the book, begin to realise what Drake truly is – an unhinged madman. We are told by Sam that Drake has been abusing his power as Sheriff – which particularly stands out as, so far at least, Drake is the only member of Coates who has shown this kind of behaviour (Caine is actually a pretty sound leader until he loses his shit and attacks Sam). And this is the first major distinction that we get between Caine and Drake and their capacity as villains in the story. Caine is a bad person who will do bad things to achieve his goals, he is power-hungry and ambitious but he is not needlessly violent. Everything he does he (in his own mind) is able to justify as it helps him to achieve his vision. Drake, on the other hand, doesn’t really seem to have an end goal. He is violent for the sake of being violent – he is a sadist who enjoys the suffering of other people as we see here, “Drake was more than a little scary. Kids who defied Drake or any of his so-called sheriff’s had been slapped, punched, pushed, knocked down or, in one case, dragged into a bathroom and given a swirlie. Fear of Drake was replacing fear of the unknown.” Now, we still don’t get to see the full extent of Drake’s madness here. Most of the crimes listed are pretty mundane bully things – they’re still wrong, but they aren’t life-threatening. He hasn’t bashed anyone’s head in with a baseball bat. While Caine is playing with politics, Drake seems unable to move past his role of high school bully. If he had played it right, the role of Sheriff would have been perfect for him. I mean, how many actual police officers get away with literal murder in the name of “upholding the law”?? But he is unable of seeing the bigger picture, unable to grow and fit the new world order as Caine does so naturally, and so, instead of properly taking on the role of Sheriff and building up his own authority in this way, he turns back to his tried and tested method – hurt them and they’ll fall in line.

I particularly enjoy this as I think it explains, a little bit more, why he hates Diana and Astrid so much. Now I know the bottom line is simply that he is a violent misogynist – but that doesn’t explain why he hates Diana and Astrid specifically. Is it because they’re both attractive women and he is unable to distinguish sex and violence in his head?? Partly yes, but then Taylor is also described as attractive (and most people find her annoying) and yet he doesn’t seem to hate her to this extent. I think the real reason he hates these two specifically, more than anyone else, is because he simply cannot understand them – and that scares him (although he is unwilling to admit it). Drake only knows how to gain power through violence – he sees this work at home, he used it on Holden, he used it to gain his reputation at Coates and, although he has the ability to gain authority in other ways, he continues to use this method even now in the FAYZ. Diana and Astrid cannot do this, they are not fit to fight, they are not able to use violence to assert their status – and yet they both have more power in the FAYZ than he does. They make him question his whole world view and, as he cannot or will not adapt to the new hierarchy of the FAYZ, he resorts to trying to destroy them, in order to return the world to what it was before. His hatred of others gaining power through (what he sees as) unconventional means is then further established with his dislike of actual powers and the people who have them:

“I’m sick of all this powers crap. You saw what we did to freaks at Coates?? Who do you think it was that took care of that?? All these kids with their stupid so-called powers. Starting fires and moving stuff around and reading your mind and all?? Who do you think it was grabbed them one by one in their sleep and beat them down and when they woke up their hands were setting in a block of cement??

[…]

That’s right. And I didn’t even have a gun then. It’s not about who’s got powers, morons. It’s about who’s not afraid. And who’s going to do what has to be done.”

We get told by Diana that it was Drake’s idea to cement the kids in the first place (and a bad one at that) and I really think that is all the evidence you need to see that Drake’s hatred and fear all stem from his complete inability to adapt. He is trapped in a cycle of abuse that started with his father, a police officer who teaches him how to shoot people (however unwillingly) and is then continued by his step-father (an actual abuser) rendering him incapable of recognising any kind of authority if it is not gained from violent means. And so of course he hates the powers – none of the kids gained their powers through suffering or through causing suffering. They didn’t earn their authority in any valid way, according to him. (This is also another reason why I think Drake was so ecstatic at gaining his whip-hand. He suffered for it and therefore, in his twisted mind, he earned it. It is physical proof of his supposed power over these kids.) It’s tragic really – but mg then goes on to make him so disgustingly unsympathetic that his story loses its meaning. I love mg’s writing but Drake’s character truly was butchered for shock value and plot convenience and it makes me so sad.

Ok back to Chapter 16. Here, not only do we hear about some of the things that Drake is capable of, but we see them as well. His beat-down of Orc is the first indicator we get that Drake is someone we should really be afraid of. Heads up, this is a long quote:

“Nobody move,’ Drake said. Orc pushed Edilio off and jumped to his feet. He started kicking Edilio, landing size-eleven Nike blows into Edilio’s defensive arms. Sam jumped in to help his friend, but Drake was quicker. He stepped behind Orc, grabbed him by the hair, yanked his head back, and smashed his elbow into Orc’s face. Blood poured from Orc’s nose, and he howled in rage. Drake hit him again and released Orc to fall to the concrete. ‘Which part of “nobody move” did you not understand, Orc?’ Drake demanded. Orc rose to his knees and went for Drake like a linebacker, Drake stepped aside, nimble as a matador. He stuck his hand out and said to Chaz, ‘Give me that.’ Chaz handed him the bat. Drake hit Orc in the ribs with a short, sharp forwards thrust of the bat. Then again in the kidneys and again in the side of the head. Each blow was measured, accurate, effective. Orc rolled over on to his back, helpless, exposed. Drake pushed the thick end of the bat against Orc’s throat. ‘Dude. You really need to learn to listen when I talk.’ Then Drake laughed, stepped back, twirled the bat in the air, caught it and rested it on his shoulder. He grinned at Sam.”

“Sam had gone up against bullies before. But he’d never seen anything like Drake Merwin. Orc outweighed Drake by at least fifty pounds, but Drake had handled him like a little toy action figure.”

Orc has already been established as the top bully in Perdido beach – we’ve already seen that our main character is afraid of him – and for good reason. And so for Orc to be defeated so casually and so easily is shocking. It lets us know that the old world order has collapsed and old fears are fading away with it, with new, much more threatening adversaries taking their place. I actually think that this scene was exceptionally clever of mg. Drake is attacking someone who has already been set up as an antagonist, at the same time rescuing Edilio, who the reader has been conditioned to like. But, through context clues, we know that this is not a good thing. It sets up the villainous nature of the Coates kids, Orc’s redemption, Drake and Orc’s rivalry and Sam’s fear of Drake. And it feels natural, even after re-reading the book multiple times. It’s scenes like these that really remind me how great of a writer mg is.

Another thing I really wanted to talk about here IS Drake and Orc’s rivalry because, yet again, I think mg missed a huge opportunity with this. Drake and Orc are very similar before, and in the early days of the FAYZ. Both have abusive fathers (a step-father in Drake’s case but still), both enjoy asserting their power over people through violent means and both are put in positions of power that they are unable to fully take advantage of – Sheriff and Sheriff Deputy. And even as the books continue, similarities can still be found. They both suffer mutations that turn their bodies into grotesque weapons, dehumanising them and alienating them from their peers and That Scene in Plague tells us that Orc and Drake sometimes have similar “desires”. Their stories are constantly intertwined, with them being played off of each other from the start and Orc becoming Drake’s jailor later on (and in turn Drake sort of becoming his). Their differences come from their reactions to the horrific acts of violence they have committed – and of course why they do them. I’m going to make a whole separate post on this because it’s long enough to be a standalone, but my I just wish mg had played up both their similarities and differences more. It would have made Drake so much more interesting.

We also get more hints at his sadism in this scene. He is later unbothered that Betty has been hurt and it seems that the only reason he attacked Orc was because it gave him an opportunity to assert his dominance over him. All in all, this is one of my personal favourite scenes in the book as it establishes characters, themes and relationships very well. I just wish some of these had been developed further – but mg dropping certain aspects of the story does seem to be a common problem.

The final thing I wanted to talk about in regards to Drake’s personality and character is this line we get in Chapter 23, “It was small, just two bedrooms, very neat, very organised, the way Drake liked things.” This was another thing that irked me slightly. It’s such a small aspect of his characterisation but it reinforced the idea that drake is just another cookie-cutter villain with no real personality, nothing that makes him stand out in the sea of white male psychopaths with a hatred for women. His whole character could be replaced with any other misogynistic psychopath at no detriment to the story. My immediate though when reading this was that even the smallest aspects of his character can be seen in other, more developed villains – this line in particular is hugely reminiscent of Patrick Bateman. Nothing seems to be his own. No aspect of his character is even remotely unique. (I think this may also be why some young fans develop an obsession with him. His character is comfortable because we’ve seen it so many times before.) He is so entirely replaceable and replicable - only reason he isn’t completely forgettable is because you are constantly plagued by the horrific things he has done. Mg sacrificed depth and development for shock value and it’s so disappointing

3.) DRAKE’S PAST

Onto Drake’s life before the FAYZ. Not only does Drake receive some of the longest and most POV time in this book, he is also the character whose life before the FAYZ we learn the most about (with the possible exception of Sam). This is especially shocking to think about seen as Drake is arguably one of the most underdeveloped characters in the whole book, but anyway. There are two scenes I’m going to talk about here, both occurring in Chapter 23, with the first being his dad teaching him how to shoot. I apologise in advance for the long quote:

“His father had taught him how to shoot, using his service pistol. Drake still remembered the first time.

[…]

He remembered the way his father had taught him to grip the butt firmly but not too tight. To rest his right hand in the palm of his left and sight carefully, to turn his body sideways to present a smaller target if someone was shooting back. His father had had to yell because they were both wearing ear protection. ‘If you’re target shooting, you centre the front sight in the notch of the rear sights. Raise it till your sights are sitting right under your target. Let your breath out slowly and squeeze.’ That first bang, the recoil, the way the gun jumped six inches, the smell of the powder – it was all as clear in Drake’s mind as any memory he had. […]

‘What if I’m not shooting if I’m not shooting at a target?’ He’d asked his father. ‘What if I’m shooting at a person?’ ‘Don’t shoot a person,’ his father had said. But then he relented, relieved no doubt to find something he could share with his disturbing son. ‘Different people will tell you different techniques. But if it’s me, say I’m doing a traffic stop and I think I see he citizen reaching for a weapon, and I’m thinking I may have to take a quick shot? I just point. Point like the barrel is a sixth finger. You point and if you have to fire, you shoot half the clip, bang, bang, bang, bang.’ ‘Why do you shoot so many times?’ ‘Because if you have to shoot, you shoot to kill. Situation like that, you’re not aiming carefully for his head or his heart, you’re pointing at the centre of mass and you’re hoping you get a lucky shot., but if you don’t, if all you’re hitting is shoulder or belly, the sheer velocity of the rounds will knock him down.”

Ok so the first thing I want to analyse here, is how important this memory clearly is to Drake. He remembers it fondly, in immense detail and seems to call back on it when he needs to clear his head (notice how this memory is placed while Drake is trying to figure out what to do, not while he is doing it.) It seems that rather than just using this memory as a source of useful information, it is also a source of comfort to him. Now there are some things that I really wish mg had told us that would help to analyse this scene better, like: How old was Drake when this memory took place?? How old was Drake when his father died?? How did his father die?? But alas, we don’t know these things (at least not that I’m aware of, and not within this book) so I’m going to try and do the best I can with the information that we have. Now, in Light, Drake makes it seem like his step-fathers behaviour has been significant in forming his worldview – which makes sense, trauma does that. But he spends half of his time away at Coates, which says to me that for this behaviour to have had such a profound effect on him, his step-father must have been around for a while. Right?? I’m gonna take a guess at 3-4 years at the least. Give Drake’s mother about a year to meet and start dating this man after the passing of her husband – this means that Drake would have been around 9/10 at the latest when this scene took place. That’s pretty young. Like, this is a formative memory and from the way it’s written, it seems like this may be some of the only bonding that Drake and his father ever did together. No wonder Drake has such an unhealthy obsession with guns as is seen with these quotes:

“He started from Astrid’s house, which was already beginning to smoke. He worked his way methodically, a hunter, looking for any movement. Each time he spotted someone walking or running or biking, he would take a look at them through the rifle scope, line them up in the crosshairs. He felt like God. All he had to do was squeeze the trigger.” – Chapter 23

“Drake kept all three guns loaded all the time. They were set out on the dining room table, a display, something to be gazed at lovingly.” – Chapter 23

“Drake could not leave the gun alone. He kept thumbing the safety on and off. He rolled down the window and aimed it at stop signs as they passed, but did not fire.” – Chapter 31

Drake shooting Sam and his gleeful reaction – Chapter 34

For him, guns are the ultimate symbol of power and authority. He was introduced to these weapons of incredible power at such a young age – of course he loves them. That being said, it seems that Drake has always been “disturbed” so I suppose we can’t fully blame his father and step-father for his mind-set – and I have to say I don’t really like this. Drake’s issue as a character is that he is completely de-humanised by all the horrific things he does. By having it seem like Drake was irredeemable from the off-set, it just adds to this idea and again removes any possible depth or character development. Imo it would have been much better to present Drake as becoming the way he is AFTER his father’s death. It would bring a sense of tragedy to his character – the way he uses his father’s advice to hunt down Astrid would seem less like a by-product of his sadism and more like a misguided attempt to feel connected to his deceased father.

However, flawed though it is, this scene does give us some insight as to why Drake is the way he is – through the characterisation of his father. Admittedly we don’t get much, but one line really stood out to me, “Because if you have to shoot, you shoot to kill.” Ummm..sir?? I don’t think that’s how police officers work. Isn’t your goal to incapacitate – not to just kill on sight?? The fact that he not only stands by this rule himself, but also gives this advice to his CHILD is disconcerting. Drake is not only receiving this harmful rhetoric from his father figure but also a police officer. Someone who is meant to uphold the law. I think this links back to my earlier point on how Drake only recognises authority if it is gained by violent means. While we get no indication that his real father was ever violent to Drake or his mother, he openly tells Drake that when he is upholding the law (in this hypothetical situation) he does it by using force. That is a dangerous thing to tell a child, especially a child who you already think is disturbed. This twisted-take on a father-son relationship nicely sets the precedent for Drake’s warped perceptions, I just wish it had been developed further. And this leads us nicely into the next scene – the shooting of Holden:

“He remembered with vivid, slow-motion detail the time he had shot Holden, the neighbour’s kid who liked to come over and annoy him. That had been a bullet to the thigh, with a low-level calibre gun, and still the kid had nearly died. That ‘accident’ had landed Drake at Coates.”

Again, first and foremost I just wish we had a little bit more information. It is not clear whether this situation occurred before or after his father’s death – which seems like a pretty important detail to me. Although, we don’t actually find out that Drake’s father is dead within this book, and this omission again makes me feel like mg adding that detail was little more than an after-thought. It feels like in Light he wanted to quickly try and make Drake more of a sympathetic character and so he added in an abusive step-dad to try and tone down or at least explain Drake’s violence and misogyny. It seems like Drake is a plot-point first and a character second and the lack of detail here really highlights that for me. What purpose did these scenes really have in the story?? They did very little to flesh out his character, they introduced no new themes or relationships. It seems like mg just wanted to let us know – “Hey! Drake knows how to use a gun. That’s gonna be important later.” That being said, there are a couple of other things I would like to quickly mention. Firstly, I think the fact that Drake did not aim to kill Holden, even though he could have, is meant to be indicative of his change between then and now. It’s done to tell us that Drake wasn’t always this bad – there was at one point some hope. For this to have the desired effect though, I really think mg should have waited until after Drake lost his arm to straight up try and murder Astrid and Little Pete. Like, you can’t tell us that Drake was a little messed up but still redeemable before his maiming and then go and have him try to kill a random girl and her five year old brother. Because that’s more than a little messed up (and that’s not even mentioning the cementing). And it also contrasts the idea that Drake has always been disturbed. An idea that was introduced to us not even a page ago!! The other thing I wanted to pick up on, which I actually quite liked, is the ambiguous “who liked to come over and annoy him.” Because this is Drake’s point of view – so “annoy” could mean anything. Was Holden actually just an annoying kid?? Was he just trying to be Drake’s friend?? Or was he actually a bully and Drake doesn’t want to admit it?? I guess we’ll never know.

4.) DRAK’ES MOTIVATIONS

For this point, I wanted to focus on three particular motivators: Caine, Diana and Astrid. These are the three people, I believe, who provide, either consciously or unconsciously, the motivation for his actions within the FAYZ. I’ll start first with Astrid and Diana, the two people who Drake hates the most. Throughout this book it is clear that Drake has no real goals – he has no desire to be in control like Caine, no desire to re-invent the world like Albert. All he wants is to cause pain, with his preferred targets being these two. And, as I’ve said before, I think this is partly because he hates the authority that they have within the FAYZ – which stems from manipulation and intelligence rather than violence.

In Chapter 20, Drake explains his hatred for Diana, “Drake had made the time to check out Diana’s psych file the day after the FAYZ came. But her file had been missing by then. In its place she had left Drake’s file lying open on the doc’s desk and drawn a little smiley face beside the word ‘sadist’. Drake had already hated her. But after that, hating Diana had become a full-time occupation.” What I take from this scene, is that Drake’s loathing stems from Diana’s ability to get under his skin, to make him feel inferior – to annoy him. (Perhaps Holden had a similar talent). I’m going to assume that his prior hatred of her can be boiled down to his misogyny and his disgust at Caine’s weakness for her, both of which have been explicitly stated in the text. His hatred after this though, comes from a pretty mundane incident. I mean all she did was get there quicker, and do exactly what he was going to do to her. And so I think this loathing is less about what she did and more about his own personal reaction to it. Diana was able to weaponise Drake’s own anger against him – to make him feel inferior and powerless. She challenges Drake’s fragile perception of authority and takes a diagnosis that he seems to not only be ok with, but is actually proud of, and makes him feel embarrassed. His whole perception of power is rooted in the idea that his ability to inflict pain on others with no guilt or remorse is what makes him better, it is what gives him his power. But she takes this idea and belittles him for it and so his initial reaction is to attack. This is an idea that is again seen with Astrid. Astrid intentionally tries to make Drake feel inferior by bringing up his biggest insecurity, Diana’s treatment of him “Doesn’t it bother you that Diana treats you like some wild animal she keeps on a leash?” And she does escape him – twice. Her and her autistic brother (and we already know how Drake feels about autistic people). She also proves herself to be more intelligent than him, in their little argument over the r-slur. Drake only gets violent after he realises that, in an intellectual sense, she has more power than him. It seems to be his defence mechanism just as much as his pleasure – and therefore Astrid and Diana’s power over him motivates him to use it.

Now onto Caine. Caine and Drake’s relationship is, for me, one of the most interesting aspects of Drake’s character and while I’ll only be mentioning it in its capacity as a motivator here, I have a whole post planed out for it. Drake seems to simultaneously hate Caine and admire him. He is constantly looking to impress him and the only time we ever see Drake think about betraying him in this book is when Caine gives his attention to Diana rather than Drake. And, because of this, I can kind of understand why people ship them (although I personally dislike the idea of Drake being gay). A lot of the time this motivation is completely unprompted by Caine himself, like in these quotes:

“Drake cursed and, again, for just a moment, felt the almost desperate fear of failing Caine. He wasn’t worried about what Caine would do to him – after all, Caine needed him – but he knew if he failed to carry out Caine’s orders, Diana would laugh.” – Chapter 23

“I got him’ Drake announced. ‘I got them all.’ ‘Yes, you did,’ Caine said. ‘Good work, Drake.” – Chapter 34

In Chapter 23, it seems that both Drake’s need to impress Caine and his need to prove to himself that he is better than Diana are his main motivators for his extreme attack on Astrid. I think it’s important to note that he only planned on trying to catch her, until Caine told him to kill her. His sadistic nature is brought out in full because he needs to prove himself to Caine. But why does he?? If he is planning on taking over from Caine in the end, why does he have a “desperate fear of failing Caine”?? Sure, part of it is his desire to prove himself to be better than Diana. But even this has roots in his absolute need for Caine to take notice of him. Drake is drawn to Caine because of his power and authority over people. Caine seems to be the closest thing that Drake can get to an equal, someone who shares the same motivations, ambitions and worldview (of course Caine and Drake do not share these things, but Drake doesn’t realise this…yet.) He seeks validation from Caine because he wants to have these things in common with someone – yet another motivation for his hatred of Diana as she constantly gets in the way of this.

We also know that Caine is, at least, partly aware of his effect on Drake. He is paranoid that Drake will turn on him (because Caine sees being equal to someone as relinquishing power) and he is able to manipulate Drake’s misguided feelings when he wants to – most notably in Chapter 36:

“It’s not Diana or Chunk or even me,’ Caine said. ‘It’s none of us, Drake. It’s Sam. It’s Sam who did this to you, Drake. You want him to get away with it? Or do you want to live long enough to make him suffer?”

This is such a clever moments as it sets up Drake’s whole character in Hunger, and it’s false. Because yes, Sam is the one who burned Drake’s arm and Drake has every right and reason to hate him. But it was Caine who abandoned him to save himself. And it was Caine who refused to let Drake die, even though he was begging for it (and let’s face it, he didn’t refuse to kill him out of any affection – it was a selfish decision.) But Drake is so desperate for that equal, for that validation that his worldview is correct and is shared by another person, that he just idk forgets?? He never brings up this conversation again and just accepts Caine’s word as gospel. I have so much more to say about their relationship but, as I said, I’ll save it for a later post.

5.) DRAKE’S MENTAL STATE

And finally, we have Drake’s mental state. Now I’m not going to try and give him an official diagnosis or anything, but I wanted to make a small point specifically about his mental state after his maiming. I think we can all agree that what Drake went through was pretty horrific, and while I personally struggle to feel any amount of sympathy for him due his own list of horrific crimes, the change he goes through after this is extremely significant, or at least it’s supposed to be. I think mg wants us to believe that Drake’s descent into madness was directly cause by the loss of his arm, and that before that he did have the chance to be redeemed. I think whether you buy into this depends on how forgiving you are, but I want to focus more on the actual proof of change that we see.

I’ve already talked about the physical changes he goes through, and the implications of this so I’m going to focus solely on his mental state during and partly after the whole ordeal. I think the first and most important thing to talk about is the fact that Drake didn’t actually want to survive:

“Don’t cut off my arm,’ Drake cried. ‘Let me die. Just let me die. Shoot me.” – Chapter 36

He would rather die than lose his arm (his gun arm to be specific). Now, while I don’t doubt that the burning was indescribably painful, I’m still not sure that the majority of people would beg for death. Especially when an alternative (in this case losing his arm) is presented. Not to mention, he doesn’t actually talk about the pain when begging for his death – what he talks about is the loss of his arm. Of course it could be argued that the reason he didn’t want his arm to be cut off is because he knew it would mean more pain, but I don’t think that this is the case. Rather, I think that Drake is so scared of losing the power that he has, that he would genuinely rather die. This 14 year old boy is so messed up that his own death is preferable to the idea of no longer being able to hurt people. And so when he gets his power back, he doubles down. He has realised by this point what he truly wants, that he would rather die than be rendered powerless, so he begins committing more heinous acts (like attacking the prees). Pair this with the amount of pain that he went through, which most definitely will have had an effect on his already damaged brain, and you can see how a high-school bully became what he did. The groundwork for an interesting and though-provoking character was right here. I think yet again the problem with his character is the execution. Interesting aspects of his personality are dropped in favour of plot convenience and shock value and it cheapens his character as a whole until all the intended nuances are lost and over-shadowed.

I’m really sorry if this is a bit all over the place and not quite as polished as my other posts. I found Drake so difficult to write about and so my thoughts kept going haywire. Thank you so much for reading (and being patient with my brain). I hope you enjoy!!

#the gone series #Drake Merwin #character analysis #gone

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incorrect-ikevamp-quotes · 4 years

Text

NEVER WAS THERE A TALE OF MORE WOE, THAN THAT OF OUR JEANNE AND FANGDADDIO 😭😭😭

But alas, I will relay what I read back in the day to the best of my abilities! Spoilers for the end of Jeanne’s route under the cut, rated E (for everyone) for maximum uwus (and M for angst bc F U C K):

Okay so basically Jeanne’s route goes a lot like most of the routes, and when MC gets attacked (by the rival vampire turned by Vlad) our eyepatched wonder is not happy about it. He storms over to Comte’s room and demands to have his questions answered. Comte notes how deathly serious he is and breezes past the enmity, telling him to go ahead and ask whatever he needs to. Jeanne threatens to kill Comte if it turns out that he’s lying about anything from this point forward. To which Comte (being a little shit), replies that he literally can’t die so like ¯\_(ツ)_/¯. Jeanne tells him he doesn’t care what it takes; he’ll rend him apart to the tiniest shred over and over and over again--even if it takes them both to the other side to accomplish it. Comte concedes and says “very well; if I lie, you’re welcome to try.” Jeanne finally asks if Comte has made a revival pact with anyone new. Comte is genuinely confused and confesses that he hasn’t--that he has no idea who Jeanne is talking about. “What ‘comrade in arms’???” Jeanne seems to sense that Comte is responding in earnest (but is also confused bc like, then who the fuck else turned the guy??? WHO IS THE THREAT I MUST STAB)

Jeanne admits that MC was attacked and you can feel the change in gravity in milliseconds. Comte starts asking where she is and if she’s okay, and Jeanne explains that she’s still in the mansion and she’s fine. Jeanne then asks if Shakespeare has the ability to turn people like he does, and Comte is bewildered to put it mildly. He’s like ??????? Where is this coming from, of course he doesn’t???? I turned him myself, he’s a lesser vampire--he doesn’t have that ability???? In a moment of sheer livid impatience, Jeanne grabs Comte by the lapels and screams “Then who can!?!?!?!” Comte stares at him and admits that there are only two people that he is aware of who can accomplish such a thing, himself and someone else. They hear a loud crash and they run to the dining room, only to find a window smashed, Mozart wounded, and MC gone. Comte’s furious sprite appears, and he asks Jeanne to look after MC, he has something to take care of. Isaac asks him where on earth he’s going, and he reveals that he’s going to Will’s house before storming out.

Poor Shakespeare faces the brunt of Comte’s rage--though I get the feeling, knowing now that Shakespeare is Vlad’s puppet--that the threat was meant more for Vlad than for Shakey boy. Comte goes to Shakey’s place and Shakespeare offers to put on tea or wine, says it’s strange for him to appear so late. Comte tells him not to bother, since he isn’t here to exchange pleasantries. Shakespeare seems p shocked given Comte isn’t usually one to be so direct or terse, and when Comte walks in he backs Shakespeare into the wall step. By step. By step. He asks him if he was involved in the harm done to MC, and Shakespeare’s like “Yeah lol what’s it to you.” And when their shoes are nearly touching, Comte grabs him by the throat and lifts him off the ground. He tells Shakespeare that if this goes on, he won’t show any mercy: "To those that would harm a single member of my house, I will hunt them to the ends of the earth. To the very depths of hell." The narration notes that he lets go of whatever dampens his pureblood aura and nearly suffocates Shakespeare with his raw intensity and power, before putting him down again and saying “That’s all I have to say. I have no more questions for you.” Comte walks right back out, slamming the door while Shakespeare is on the floor coughing.

So, needless to say, things are hella rocky between Comte and Jeanne throughout the better part of the route. But given the odd dichotomy of Comte’s reactions (his complete acceptance of Jeanne’s fury versus his own anger being directed at Vlad), it definitely felt like there was more there. Everything finally comes full circle at the end when Comte gathers everyone inside the dining room to explain precisely what happened (Vlad, etc. I’m assuming) and asks everyone to take proper precautions moving forward: "I'll take steps to make sure this never happens again. But if we are faced with a similar situation, know that I am prepared to protect you all with every fiber of my being." He deems secrecy a moot point given this incident, and just wants everyone to be safe and ask for help should they need it in the future.

MC notes that he doesn’t have his usual placid demeanor; he’s incredibly serious and grave. She’s like “Oh boy some serious shit went down huh...but if anything, I feel like it’s only made us have more faith in his ability to protect us c:” AND HERE IS WHERE THE BIG HURT HAPPENS KIDS GET YOUR TISSUES AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Jeanne: "...Alright. I will trust in your words. But can I ask just one thing?” Comte: “Yes, Jeanne?” Jeanne: "You know I always hated you, I truly believed you revived me against my will for a long time." Comte just sorta deflates, but he doesn’t say anything (MY POOR BABIE) Jeanne: "But, is that really the case? Did I want to live on, away from that pyre...?" [There was a long silence.] Comte: “...That day, when I appeared, you screamed desperately 'Why must I die here. Whether it be God or the devil, someone make use of me!'” Important note: Jeanne tells MC that he is able to recall thinking that, but he has no acute recollection of saying it; this is the moment at which he lost consciousness. MC: [;-; No matter how hard he tried to stifle it, it (his deep wish to live) came out all the same...] I wasn’t able to transcribe it, but Comte essentially tells him that he tried to ask Jeanne, but he was already barely hanging on--there was no way he could get a proper answer. (This is highly plausible given we know that Jeanne was incarcerated by the Inquisition, tortured, and starved before he was tied to that pyre--it was a miracle he lasted that long. He didn’t even have the strength to move/struggle from where he was tied). Comte goes on to say that Jeanne was pissed to shit when he woke up and there was little he could do to alleviate that (I mean given he was waiting for the sweet release of death it makes sense but also N O ;-;). For a while Jeanne just stares at him before asking: Jeanne: “...Why? Why didn’t you tell me after all this time?” Comte: "Because I thought it was okay if you berated me a little." Jeanne (vine voice: AMERICA EXPLAIN): ?????????? Comte: "Despite being alive...you looked dead to the world ever since the day we met. No matter how hard I tried or whatever I did, I couldn't seem to change that. But...the only emotion I seemed to be able to draw out of you was hate. If hatred was the only thing that could move you, I figured I'd take on that role. Better to see you express something than to see you lifeless beyond any glimmer of hope or change." Jeanne: "Why....why would you go that far?? Why did you bother? I don't...understand" BECAUSE HE HAS SO MUCH LOVE TO GIVE AND HE LOVES YOU I’M SOBBING ALL OVER AGAIN OKAY DEEP BREATHS THE SHOW MUST GO ON MINNIE Comte: "Because I'm the one that revived you...because to me, you're all my precious family." Jeanne: "...............................................................I...I'm sorry" AND JEANNE HANGS HIS HEAD WAAAAAAAAAAAH Comte’s brows rise: “...Jeanne?” Jeanne: "I know an apology doesn't forgive everything I did/said. But I don't know how else to make amends"

It goes on to show them all making amends, and while Jeanne can sometimes be like “ughghhghgh d a d stop nagging I’m fINE” he secretly really loves the guy. In Jeanne’s third bday story he’s literally like [Comte’s a weirdo but I see now that that's just how he cares abt me. He's not just worldly, he's a good guy. c: I just don’t care abt whatever he’s going on abt rn]

So like full disclosure before Jeanne’s route I still loved Comte but I really didn’t know much about him beyond the “eccentric nobleman persona.” Granted we definitely get glimpses into who he really is, but this was a sizeable breakthrough. (And probably a strong allusion to the release of Comte’s MS soon after.) That being said, there were so many things said here that just absolutely shattered my heart.

Because here’s the thing. I have no qualms with Comte’s wish to be a dad--or even to revive the men, for that matter. If it makes him happy and he intends to take care of them reasonably well, then who am I to criticize him? (Fun fact: Leonardo essentially says the same exact thing; he’s more against it than I am because of the whole turning humans, but he doesn’t necessarily vilify Comte because he knows his intentions are good. And if everyone’s happy with it, what can he say?) But the fact that Comte handles their issues with so much patience and maturity...I’m in love???? There is sincerely nothing sexier than this for me. He’s fully aware that Jeanne was treated like absolute shit by the people he tried to protect, that he never really got to live for himself a single day in his life--never knew a moment’s peace, joy, or appreciation. He tries everything he can think of to get Jeanne to maybe not hate being alive as much, but fails at every turn. He still refuses to give up on the guy despite the less than ideal state of things, and decides that if Jeanne needs an enemy to survive--he will be that enemy. He doesn’t care that the guy he’s trying to help would skewer him the second he had his back turned (Jeanne pls this was a new suit couldn’t this wait). He takes full responsibility for deciding to turn him; knows that since he erred on the side of caution, it’s up to him to offer a life that’s worth keeping/staying alive for. He doesn’t belittle Jeanne’s plight for a moment, never deems him stupid or shortsighted. He’s able to understand that in the wake of so much pain and loss, of course Jeanne might not notice the finer points of Comte’s attempts to cheer him up. Even if it pains him to be on negative terms (HE LOVES HIS BOY HE DOESN’T WANT TO FIGHT) he will fully accept it if it brings Jeanne peace, if it helps Jeanne get to a place where he can begin to accept the affection he wants to offer.

And THAT’S what kills me, kids. Four hundred years, and Comte fucking LEARNED something. He is perceptive to uncanny degrees, and never fails to read a room in milliseconds; not only does he pick up on how people feel, he responds with appropriate, gentle measures. What I love so much about Comte is that he knows full well that genius does not come without its price. You could be the smartest person on earth, the most talented, whatever you choose to call it, but it will invite no shortage of hatred from other people, no shortage of misunderstanding and disdain and violence. If people don’t go mad with power, they are destroyed by the very places that birthed them. As such, the last thing he wants to do is put them under more pressure, or force them to do things against their will; he just wants to give them a chance to live beyond such fickle and hostile circumstances. And he takes this seriously, this isn’t remotely a whim for him despite all evidence to the contrary. He gets that healing takes time, and as much as he wants everyone to be happy he’s more than willing to give them space/resources to figure it out. Like. He is the father everybody DREAMS they had (if they didn’t already have a good one) and the fact that I can’t tell him what a wonderful job he’s doing is killing me on all levels INCLUDING physical.

And I just?????? Jeanne’s palpable remorse when he finds out????? And Comte’s surprise???????? Like Comte wasn’t necessarily expecting that level of apology, he knew he was taking a gamble and he was ready to do whatever he had to, he wasn’t intending to hold it against his boy. But Jeanne just has such a tender and well-meaning heart (no matter how much he struggles to express it) that regret was inevitable. There’s just so much love in that moment, in Comte’s capacity to forgive and take on so much of poor Jeanne’s unhappiness, and Jeanne’s fully ability to admit he was misguided, lower his head, and apologize. THEY JUST GET ME BLUBBERING LIKE A THREE YEAR OLD OKAY THEY ARE BOTH SO IMPORTANT TO ME AND I HURT

Tl;dr: JEANNE’S ROUTE SHOT ME FORTY-SEVEN TIMES IN THE CHEST AND LEFT ME PINING FOR COMTE MORE THAN EVER BEFORE OTL

Also a bonus, because it only just occurred to me (spoilers from the end of Comte’s route):

THEY HAVE A LEGIT REVERSAL AT THE END OF COMTE’S ROUTE???? Comte once again gathers everyone to reveal Vlad’s identity and intentions, and he apologizes for keeping it from everyone, lowering his head. He’s more than ready to face everyone’s ire for keeping secrets, but everyone’s just like “dad pls lift your head it’s okay, we’re just glad we can help you now--you don’t have to carry it all on your own.” AND IT IS IN FACT, JEANNE, THAT ALSO SAYS “No need to bow like that Comte, aren't you the one always saying we're family?" AND WHEN I TELL YOU I WAS IN A PUDDLE OF TEARS?????? I WILL NEVER BE OKAY. POOR COMTE WAS SO MOVED AND MY HEART CAN’T TAKE HAVING THIS KNOWLEDGE WHERE’S MY HANKIE. JEANNE. BEING THE ONE. TO SAY. “Aren’t we family?” WHEN HEARING HOW HARD COMTE WAS WORKING TO PROTECT THEM, BC HE 100% IDENTIFIES WITH THE STRUGGLE OF LOOKING AFTER PEOPLE THAT DON’T KNOW/CARE THAT SOMEBODY ELSE IS THE SACRIFICE FOR THEIR PEACE OF MIND. I--

WHAT IS IT THAT JEANNE AND COMTE SHARE TO THE CORE, SO MUCH THAT JEANNE WOULD NEED NO OTHER EXPLANATION TO CHANGE HIS MIND AFTER YEARS OF BITTER DISDAIN???????? THEIR CAPACITY FOR DEVOTION, THEIR EASY WILLINGNESS TO SACRIFICE ANYTHING TO PROTECT A LIFE. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA THIS EPIPHANY IS GOING TO BE THE DEATH OF ME

I’m crying rn I just: Comte: !!!!!!! Somebody who gets it!!! :DDD Jeanne: die. Comte: Comte: ;-; understandable have a nice day

#ikevamp #ikemen vampire #ikevamp spoilers #ikevamp jeanne #ikevamp comte #ikevamp saint germain #comte propaganda #ikevamp fangdad #fangdad propaganda #god who would have thought that the one thing jeanne and comte have in common is TAKING RESPONSIBILITY #deadass i was just writing and i was like hold up #but if jeanne doesnt know what he said in this route then why would he do a 180 like that????#and then i remembered that the focal point of comte's rt is learning that EVERYTHING that we knew from the getgo was a charade #he wasnt just turning ppl for funsies this was all a deliberate attempt to protect them from vlad #he was just using the dumbass noble persona to keep everyone from digging too deep (bc vlad would be waiting in the wings)#i still dont know what went wrong with shakespeare but im willing to bet that part of his whole keeping the truth surface level #might have been a direct consequence of that situation being mishandled #and as such everyone's living in a kind of ignorant bliss #the price of their peace is comte's carrying the knowledge of vlad's intentions and protecting them from an unwavering threat #and if there is ANYTHING jeanne can understand #it's wanting to bear the burden of violence or danger for the sake of protecting precious life #how could jeanne possibly remain angry with him? their hearts are undeniably aligned #GOD THIS JUST MAKES ME SO EMOTIONAL ITS A GOOD THING I HAVE SOME ROSÉ LEFT #ikevamp really goes above and fuckin beyond huh #how DARE they make me have feelings #**grumble**#i hope this answered your curiosity!!#if you need me ill be swimming in my feels good lordt im not okay

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apollo-writes-random-shit · 4 years

Note

Id love to see “Run Boy Run” with Race and Jack please!! I love your writing

Ahhh thanks! I’m really fucking sorry that this took so long! I kept losing motivation and stuff like that whoops. I hope you enjoy even though you can probably see the parts I gave up lol. Also, I don’t know why but for some reason, I decided to research about the real lodging house and included that in here because ???? Who the FUCK knows.

TWs: Mentioned abuse and one small scene (Snyder slaps Jack( and attempted drugging (Jack tries to slip Snyder a sleeping drug so he and Race could escape). Briefly mentioned homophobia.

Also, for most of the story, Jack and Race go by ‘Francis and Tony’. In this world, some people are born with powers and because I like to torture myself, I decided to go through about fifty different names to what to call people like that instead of just saying they’re magic????

Also, I threw in some ocs, so yeah.

Francis knew his very existence was hated by people in his town. Well, at least the ones who knew what he was. A small-town mindset like the one he lived in was horrible for someone...Different. For someone who was a Cosma. Someone with powers was an outcast in his town. A monster to some. One of the only people who knew was his step-father and he held his status above his head, always threatening to out him, but he could handle it.

However, he knew the new kid wouldn't be able to handle it. One look at he knew that the boy was like him. A Cosma but he hadn't shown many signs yet. Francis knew the second Snyder caught on to the fact that Tony was a shifter and communicator, the boy's life would become a hell of abuse and experiments. The things that had happened so far were easy to explain as a trick of the light. Different eyeshade? That was the light. Slightly sharper teeth? Nah, your eyes are playing tricks on you, Sir, there's no need to worry.

Francis couldn't help but wonder which of them was more powerful. His new brother with the ability to shapeshift and control horses with his voice, or himself with the power to bring drawings to life. He placed his bets on Tony. The boy was a double after all.

Francis knew they had to get out and after a month of searching, he finally found a way. Someone had agreed to help him travel to a safer place, one where he could be himself. Where others would help him and his brother no matter what

Run boy run! This world is not made for you.

The small town had him trapped. He and his brother didn't belong there, but his contact promised him freedom. Sure, there wasn't much fresh air there like there was here in Santa Fe but New York offered freedom...A place where Tony could grow up without having to hide a major part of himself.

He was scared though. He somehow needed to sneak not only himself but Tony out of the house in the middle of the night and get across town in the middle of the night so the two could cross the town borders and escape for a better life.

It would be worth it though. If it meant Tony was safe, it would all be worth it. He'd lay his life down for his little brother and he knew that his brother wouldn't like it if he found out but it was the truth. Tony meant everything to Francis and he'd give up anything for the younger boy.

But even planning to escape was hard. Francis wasn't a moron. He knew Snyder had placed trackers in all of his clothes, though, that wasn't the most obvious thing. The most obvious tracker was the dog tags each boy wore under strict orders not to take them off at any point.

Tony may find no issue in it but Francis did. He knew it wasn't for their 'safety'. No. It was for Snyder's. Snyder knew that Francis could out him at any time. Multiple bruises and scars weren't easy to explain away when at least one of them was a brand baring Snyder's name, set on the back of his shoulder.

There was no way he could hide the truth if anyone was to ever see that so it was vital he kept tabs on the boys at all times. After all, he didn't want his image of a respected man to be ruined.

But Francis' contact already had a plan for that. Spare clothes would be brought for the boys and their own would be thrown somewhere once they left town, along with the dog tags. He was also bringing a friend who could easily disable things in case Snyder had injected them with a tracker.

Run boy run! They're trying to catch you!

Tonight was the night. Francis had everything planned and all he could do was hope that it would work. It was dangerous, but any plan that had to do with running away was and if he could ruin the man's reputation at the same time, he'd gladly do so.

He knew that the second he stepped out of his 'house', Francis Sullivan and Tony Higgins would be dead and two boys without identities would be born but he was okay with that. The two could find themselves new names and Snyder would never be able to hurt them again. He'd be okay. They both would be okay. Even if Snyder moved to New York which he had mentioned a few times, he wouldn't be able to touch them. He wouldn't be able to know who they were. e

It was surprisingly easy to slip the drugs into Snyder's beer, something that he was terrified of doing. After all, he could be caught doing it but luckily, the man was already drunk and didn't seem to notice a difference. Idly, Francis tapped his fingers on his leg, knowing that the ten minutes would be the longest ten minutes of his life but he had been assured that the man would sleep for hours, giving him and his brother time to run.

Still, he couldn't help but question everything. What if he hadn't put enough in? What if someone walked in before he and Tony could escape and realized something was up? What if they got caught on the edge of town and returned to Snyder's house? What if they got locked up? His brother wouldn't survive in jail and he knew he wouldn't survive Snyder's torture if they were sent back. He wasn't sure if both of them would survive but he knew that Tony wouldn't. As much as he loved him, Francis knew the younger boy was weak and would make for easy prey for the sadistic man who took him in.

His heartbeat raced each time he saw the man shift until he was finally sure he was asleep. Swallowing, he took a few silent steps, only to have a hand roughly grasp his thin wrist. Shit. He forgot Snyder was a master at hiding things. The asshole had never even drunk the beer. He had just pretended to drink it when he wasn't looking.

"How stupid do you think I am boy? You think I haven't caught onto your little plan?" The man stared up at the frightened teen with a blank face. "I'm the reason you're still alive Francis and you're trying to throw it in my face like an ungrateful brat?"

"I.."

"I know what you're planning. You're trying to leave aren't you?"

"N-no Sir! It's just I know you haven't been sleeping well lately so I thought I c-could help!" Francis could fill the panic building up, wondering how long Snyder had known about his plan. He couldn't help but wonder if he knew all of the plan or only that he wanted to leave and take his brother with him.

Before he could open his mouth again, he found himself laying on the ground, cheek stinging. He hadn't even registered the loud crack that came with the slap. Taking a few seconds to collect himself, he looked up, staring at the man, eyes holding hatred disguised with fear. Snyder was right. If it weren't for him Francis would be dead and so would Tony, but he didn't care. The man may have kept him alive but that didn't mean he had to stay and be grateful. He always seemed five minutes away from killing Francis so there was no way he would be thankful for that.

He was drawn out of his thoughts at a thunk, watching as his so-called 'step-father' fell to the ground. His eyes drifted to the shaking boy standing above the fallen man, thick math book clutched in his small hands.

Quickly, he snatched the shaking boy up and ran, refusing to look back. He hadn't even told Tony what was happening. All the boy knew was that Francis had been thinking about something important. "W-What's going on?"

"Don't worry kid. We're gonna be safe soon." At least, that's what he hoped. They had already been caught once but they were close to the edge of their small town and he could just see a small group of people, each holding the reins to at least one horse. He couldn't but let out a sigh of relief, dodging around small holes in the road, feeling the boy's grip tighten. Tony didn't really like strangers but if Francis trusted them...He could try.

Run boy run! Running is a victory!

"Didn't realize how many people you were bringing Rags."

"Needed someone to help bring the horses 'nd stuff. Plus, they'se the best ta help out. Specs here can disable any trackers the Spider might a put in ya, Albert will help us light fires 'nd shit. Sniper 'nd Finch can keep an eye on the surrounding area. Patches and Bink will help wit' any disguises we need." The older teen gestured to each boy, each member of the ragtag crew ranging in age with Patches and Rags being the oldest though not by many years. "They'se all 'Hattan newsies like I am. Hotshot 'nd Rai are from Brooklyn though."

Tony honestly was surprised at how young Rai was. The boy didn't look a day over eight yet somehow had been brought along for the small mission.

"I didn't want ta bring him but the kid wouldn't stop botherin' me. I guess he could be useful." Despite the words, Hotshot's face held a faint fond smile, hand ruffling the boy's hair. "He's a communicator after all."

"You're all Cosmas?"

"Yeah. That's why they're helping us, Tony. They'll get us somewhere safe. Speaking of wish, we should leave right now. Dunno how long the Spider will be out. Tried drugging him but he caught me so Tony knocked his ugly fat ass out."

Rags nodded towards one of the horses with a grin. "Hope ya know how to ride cause that's how we'se headin' ta New York."

"Not really but we'll figure it out." Francis shrugged, carefully placing his brother in the saddle before pulling himself up, reaching around the boy to grab the reins. Surely it wouldn't be that hard to ride a horse. At least, it seemed calm and with Tony there, he felt that the horse would at least listen to them. That and they had everyone else to guide them.

The two blinked, feeling a small gentle tingle flow through their body. Specs smiled at the two. "It's all disabled but we'll still dump your stuff on the way. Otherwise, the change of clothes we carried here for you guys would be a waste."

Albert smirked, gently tapping his horse's sides with his heels. "Let's ride ya morons!" With that small whoop, the boy raced off, sparks flying from his red hair. Rolling his eyes, Rags chuckled, riding off after him to make sure the reckless boy wouldn't do something stupid.

Sniper looked over at the two boys they were bringing along with them. "Don't worry. She'll follow us so just focus on ya balance and try to relax. She'll be able ta tell if you're all tense 'nd shit. 'Sides, your ass will hurt if you're stiff. Especially considering ya've never ridden before." With a soft click, the boy started the journey home, causing the brothers' horse to follow them, Specs, Finch and Hotshot riding with the two, the Manhattan boys alongside them as Hotshot brought up the rear, watching as his own baby brother raced off.

At first, he never wanted to come and help 'rescue' the two because it meant losing money, but he owed Rags a favour and the older boy had decided to cash it in. Besides, Spot had been acting like an asshole lately and he could do with some time apart from him, even if they were best friends.

Shaking his head, he freed one hand from the reins, only moving it back after adjusting his bag. He couldn't help but wonder what the boys in front of him were like. Rags had given them a short briefing but seeing the angry red mark on the older one's cheek reminded him that there really were fucked up people in the world and by coming here, he was helping to do the right thing.

The fact Specs had confirmed that trackers had been placed in their bodies just worried him even more. At least they were free now. They were safe from the house that they had been trapped in.

Run boy run! Beauty lays behind the hills.

Sure New York wasn't the most glamorous of places but to Rags, it was home and now, Manhattan would house two more newsies. They'd get new names later but for now, they would be nameless. He smiled to himself, looking over his shoulder at the figures riding behind him. He could tell that they would fit in with the rest of his family.

The rest of the Manhattan kids knew that he was bringing home two more kids except for once, they weren't from New York.

Tony sighed, leaning into his brother as he closed his eyes. It felt weird running away and guilt was settling in his stomach from the memory of knocking out the man who took him in. He knew Snyder was cruel but he had never laid a hand on him...Only laying hands-on Francis who couldn't fight back. He had never actually seen it but he had heard it countless times. Had seen the way his brother stumbled into their small bedroom before collapsing on his bed, hiding his face in the pillow in an attempt to hide his tears from the boy who looked up to him so much. But Tony saw them each time. Saw the way his body had shuddered and heard the muffled noises that escaped him. He knew Francis couldn't be strong 24/7, no matter how hard he tried.

But now that they had gotten out of there, maybe Francis wouldn't have to take the hits for him. Maybe now he wouldn't have to curl up in bed, trying his best to hide his shaking. He couldn't help but smile slightly as he closed his eyes, resting a hand on the mare's wither, calmly letting himself connect with her. Sliding his hand up, he gently ran his fingers through her mane, relishing in the feeling of the silky strands running through them.

At least with her, he'd feel safe on the journey that he had never expected to take. He couldn't wait to see what would happen when they reached New York. Despite only being with them for a short time, he found the boys charming in their own way, from Albert's excitement at riding off into the distance to Hotshot's firm yet protective presence behind them. He felt safe with them and that's what mattered to him right now and by the way, his brother had slowly relaxed behind him, he knew he felt the same.

With a soft nudge from his horse, he opened his eyes, taking in the appearance of the land around the group. It was something he had never seen before. Something he never expected to see. He couldn't help but grin, looking down slightly so he could watch the land race beneath her hooves. It was beautiful honestly. Much more beautiful than where he had been trapped mere hours ago.

Run boy run! The sun will be guiding you.

Leaning back, he felt Francis' arms tighten around him for a few seconds. Without even looking, he could tell the older teen was smiling as he too took everything in, awe filling his body.

The two were brought out of their thoughts as the horses slowed down, gently lit by the setting sun. Without Rags opening his mouth, Albert jumped off his horse, quickly gathering up wood, surprisingly serious considering the way he had been so hyper and willing to lead the group before. Carefully flicking his fingers at the pile he had made, the ginger grinned as flames burst up from the middle, quickly engulfing each bit of wood. "Fire's done! Who brought the grub?"

"Al ya always hungry."

"Oh shut up Snipes, I know you'se hungry as well." He grinned, dodging as his friend through his cap at his face. "I'll burn this if ya test me!"

Hotshot rolled his eyes, silently helping Tony off of the horse, setting him down as he watched Francis dismount. Well more like stumble as he slid off, almost falling on his ass. The Brooklyn boy forced himself to hold back a laugh while Albert did no such thing. He was more than happy to laugh at the poor teen despite knowing that he'd never rode a horse, let alone for hours at a time while leaving an abusive house far behind them.

Specs just sighed, shaking his head as he grabbed his pack, having been the one trusted to carry the food for the three-day trip. "Alright alright. We can 'ave dinner now. Calm ya shit DaSilva."

The two brothers looked at each other in confusion before nervously moving towards the fire to sit down with the people who came to save them. The group might be helping them but the two still didn't know how much they could trust them. Francis had been desperate, grasping onto the first offer of salvation. The first offer to drag him out of the mental river he was drowning in, being dragged further under the surface with each hit, each insult, each threat both against him and his brother.

So when a cocky boy from Manhattan had shown up to deliver something to his neighbour and pulled him aside to tell him that he couldn't hide from him. That he knew what he was, Francis, had been terrified but the skinny boy had offered him a free trip to where he'd be welcome, a seed had been planted in his brain, but at the same time, he was full of doubt. Why would this stranger offer to take them to where he lived? How had he known what he was? He had been given two weeks to think about it and by the time Rags returned with his small group of friends, the seed had grown and he had agreed the day the group arrived.

Rags sighed as he sat down, watching as Finch scaled a tree, a bird soon swooping down to join him after the boy let out a soft whistle. "So, have you thought 'bout a name yet?"

Francis shook his head. "Not yet. It's not easy honestly to think of one."

"Eh take ya time. After all, you'll be stuck wit' it." Rai hummed, idly poking the fire with a stick, ignoring the warning look his older brother gave him. "You can keep the one you have now, shorten it, change it or just give yaself a nickname and run with it. If you don't think of one, 'Hattan might just give you one."

Tony looked up at his brother startled. "Names? Are we changing our names?" Finch just grinned from his perch. "I mean, as Rai said, you don't have to but sometimes it's easier to just change it...A lot of us are running from something and it's helpful to change our name. Finch ain't my real name 'nd Specs wasn't called Specs by his birth family. That came from us newsies cause o' his glasses."

Said boy chuckled, adjusting his glasses. "I should admit that it didn't appeal to me at first but it grew on me."

Albert grinned. "Don't bullshit us. The main reason you like it is that Romeo kept calling you it."

"And you take Albie cause that Jojo boy. You're both hopeless idiots." Rai shook his head with a grin. "Manhattan's weird like that. Rai is just short for my name and you're being all gay 'nd shit and that's why you accepted your newsie names."

Tony's eyes widened, surprised that they were speaking so openly about something that Snyder said was wrong. Well, 'said' was the wrong word. The man attempted to force his own ideal into his charges' minds, not wanting them to think for themselves. It's wrong. You'll go to hell for looking at a boy the way you should be looking at a girl Tony.

But these boys didn't seem to be 'cursed' as Snyder said gays were. They seemed...The way everyone else was, just more friendly but not in a strange way. No, they were just joking around like brothers. They were people who were comfortable in their own skin while Francis and Tony weren't. They both had confided in each other that they had each secretly looked at boys the way Snyder and others in their former home condemned people for. These boys may tease each other but it was friendly, it was in an attempt to make each other flustered. That meant they'd be even safer in the Manhattan lodging house.

After a few minutes, Specs handed around the cooked meat, warning the group that it was still hot. "You'll be safe in a few days. As for now, just relax though we need to burn your clothes soon just in case ya know?" He smiled over at the two nervous teens. "Don't worry, we brought you spare clothes. One of the boys back home made them fa ya. That's why Rags asked for ya size."

"Buttons is great...Gonna need him to fix my shirt though." Albert sighed, looking at a rip in his shirt. "Don't even know when I tore it. I swear it wasn't like this when we left!"

"It's called you're a fucking clumsy moron who fell in a river because you thought getting off your horse before walking over a fallen tree was smarter than the bridge."

Tony couldn't help but laugh, knowing he had done something similar before. Sure it got him into trouble because he made a mess when he got home but he had a good time so it didn't matter.

Run boy run! They're dying to stop you! Run boy run! This race is a prophecy! Run boy run! Break out from society!

Yelling brought the small group back into the world of the woken, Tony and Francis instantly freezing. Snyder and his friends had found them and the two knew they'd stop at nothing to get their hands on the two.

"Shit. Get back on the horses. We should have dumped your clothes earlier but I didn't want to stop for a while just in case." Rags quickly jumped back on his horse, watching as his newsies rushed around to pack up their small camp before jumping on their horses. Hotshot had already boosted Rai onto his horse before getting on his own, Albert helping Francis and Tony up onto theirs. The second the red-head was on his own horse, the ground raced off, the newsies pretending that they didn't hear Tony's soft and scared sobs mixed with Francis' soft words of comfort.

They hadn't been planning to move so fast but they had to otherwise they'd all be in trouble. "Finch! Sniper!"

"On it!" The two boys quickly pulled out their slingshots, each loading small sparklers into them, firing them off in different directions in hopes of distracting their pursuers. Despite not being given orders from his leader, Albert set off small flaming balls, sending them away from himself, making sure they were small enough to avoid setting the nearby trees on fire.

Hotshot sighed, raising his voice so the two scared kids in front of him could hear. "Don't worry. The 'Hattan boys know what they're doing, even if they don't seem like it most of the times. We'll keep you safe."

"See Tones? We'll be safe. Promise." Francis tightened his arm around his brother, wondering if his words would prove to be true or if they were would become false. He just hoped that they'd get away and find their way to New York as Rags had promised.

With a single whistle from Rai, animals seemed to flood from every corner of the forest before they rushed towards the sounds of the group chasing them down.

Each second seemed like an eternity to the two brothers, their hearts both frozen still and beating erratically at the same time. While the horses were speeding up by the second, they seemed to be forcing their way through snow with Tony and Francis feeling the chill while no one else did.

Their safety...No, their lives were on the line here and each member of the small party knew it. If one person were to get caught, it'd be over for everyone. They all knew the risks that came with this mission and had accepted the idea that they may be caught but that didn't mean they weren't scared shitless as the idea swirled inside their minds, taunting them with what their future could hold. It was clear that Cosmas' weren't welcome in the town they were fleeing from but right now, they had to shove that thought away, focusing instead of escaping.

The shouts faded behind them but that didn't slow down the group, if anything, it pushed them to go faster just in case the group had decided to fall silent in hopes of catching them off guard. Granted, Francis wasn't sure if Snyder and his pals were smart enough to do that but still, you never know.

They ate lunch on the run, Specs moving to each person to hand them small sandwiches before moving back to his own spot. Sure, the plan had been to eat warm meat with the sandwiches for a snack but plans sometimes change on the fly and newsies were masters at changing things instantly. After all, there were times they had to quickly run from where they were selling to escape the clutches of the police.

The group rode through the night, their way lit by Albert's flames, only pausing for an hour or so by a river to allow their horses a break to drink, each boy quickly shoving food into their mouths, too on edge to take their time.

Specs sighed, looking up at the stars, tracing each constellation with his eyes, remembering all the stories he had been told by an older newsie. "We'll be there in two days. We'll stop by Brooklyn ta return the horses and drop Hotshot and Rai off before headin' across the bridge."

Tony nodded, curling up next to Encore, the mare nuzzling her young rider. "Is New York really as big as they say? Fat-...Snyder always said that it's big." Despite correcting himself, the fact that he had almost called Snyder his 'Father' filled his stomach with guilt and anxiety.

Albert grinned and nodded. "There's a lot of us newsies from all over New York. We'se the Kings 'nd Queens of the damn place! Sure we ain't the richest but we'se the people who help spread the news. Without us, the damn city will shut down." He chuckled under his breath. "You'll be 'Hattan boys in a few days...We'se the second most important borough in my mind. I would say the most important but that's Brooklyn. They're the real rulers in the Newsie world. They've got the toughest folks there."

Rai snorted and nodded. "Damn right we do! We'se'll soak anyone we need ta. No one messes wit' us if they have a good mind. We'll kick their asses if needed. No one messes wit' us and it's great!"

Hotshot rolled his eyes, setting his small bowl of thin stew aside so he could gently slap his brother on the back of the head, gently chuckling at the boy's mock offended cry. "Don't go boasting 'bout it ya nerd. We're not that bad. We're just tougher than most of than the New York newsies." He looked over at the two new boys, picking up his stew again. "Simply put, don't mess wit' us and we don't mess wit' you...Though that's really any place I guess. We're just respected more than everyone else in our world."

Francis nodded, filing the information away. He knew what it was like to get on someone's bad side and the idea of a whole New York borough after him was frightening to him. The bullies he had faced were one thing but the idea of having stronger people after him was terrified. Hotshot already proved that all of Brooklyn was strong, just by his arms and Francis didn't feel like the idea of throwing hands with him or any of his friends. He was pretty sure Rai could easily break his arm despite being eight.

Blink groaned, speaking up for the first time. "We get it. Ya, all tough 'nd scary now shut up. I'se wanna sleep." He adjusted his eyepatch, not bothering to look over at the group. "You all take to much."

"Aww, ya just a spoilsport Blink. First thing ya say is to tell everyone to shut up?" Albert couldn't do anything but laugh as Blink flipped him off. "Someone's just grumpy he had to leave his boyfriend behind."

"Or maybe I'm sick o' your dumbass voice." Idly, the boy pulled his eyepatch to the side, glaring at his friend with a glazed over eye. "I can fucking destroy you Albert DaSilva. Remember that."

"I'm sooooo scared."

Patches sighed, knowing that it was time he should step in, his soft voice floating above the crackling of the fire. "Both of you stop being morons. We're heading out as soon as we can in the morning. Rags and I'll take the first watch, Blink and Specs will take next than it'll be Hotshot and Al. That's all we'll need really need because it'll be light enough by the time your shift is up and we'll be able to have a quick breakfast before going again. We'll be home very soon. Two days and we'll be done and we can relax and go back to selling and stuff. We'se'll get Tony 'nd Francis set up as soon as we can. We'll probably be back during the day." Noticing Tony's subtle glances towards Blink's eyepatch, he smiled. "Don't bother askin'. He tells a different story each time so no one knows what actually happened ta his eye."

"Oh...Okay. Sorry for staring."

Blink just grinned at him. "Don't worry 'bout it. You'se starin' without hate or disgust or whatever. Ya just interested is all. But yeah. I'm up for taking watch wit' Specs. Now, all o' you zip ya mouths so I can get some shut-eye." With that, he slipped his cap over his face after tucking his eyepatch into his pocket.

Albert chuckled softly but listened, pulling his blanket up over him after gently coaxing the fire to burn a little brighter before eventually falling asleep, his teasing turning into soft breaths that were soon joined by the breathing of others, knowing that his brothers and friends were safe under the watch of his leader and said leader's second.

It took Francis awhile to be comfortable enough to fall asleep, each small noise causing him to subtly flinch, scared that they had been tracked down yet again. It took the comforting presence of his brother who was silently breathing as he held onto his shirt mixing with the fires and the soft chatter of the two boys who were going to be watching over them for a few hours.

Despite his fear, he fell into a deep sleep, only woken by the feeling of Tony gently shaking him. The second the teen was sure the elder was awake, the blond moved to help clear up camp, silently watching slight awe as Albert easily put out the coals with a single wave of his hand, making sure they wouldn't light again.

Francis hummed, feeling his new shirt slip slightly as he stretched. Soon, he would be in a place that accepted who he was, among those who were like him and his brother.

Tomorrow is another day, and you won't have to hide away

It was a new day, one that was bringing the promise of freedom ever closer. Coming out of his thoughts at the feeling of bread being shoved into his hands, a familiar cheeky grin greeting him as he looked down, chuckling at his brother's puffy cheeks. The bread role was small yet for some reason, Tony had felt the need to shove most of it into his mouth at once. Though once he looked at Albert due to the sound of choking, he realized it was most likely a dare or a challenge designed to test the hubris of the two teens, clearly set by a smirking Rai.

He could already tell that moving into the Manhattan lodging house would just increase his brother's not so concealed chaotic tendencies. He sighed, a silent chuckle escaping him as he chewed on his own small role, awkwardly standing still when Rags assured him that he didn't need to do anything to help to pack up camp.

It didn't take them long to start up their journey again, with laughter and friendly taunts filling the air instead of the fear and silent tears that had been their unwelcome comrade the last ride.

Adjusting his cap, Finch grinned and carefully shuffled back slightly before carefully raising to his feet, having slipped off his shoes over an hour ago. Calmly, he pulled out a small stone, biting his lip as he aimed for a familiar head. He couldn't help but let out a whoop as Sniper's head whipped around, the other boy glaring at his fellow shooter. "Finch I swear ta fucking God!"

"Don't swear at me."

"Albert ya ain't God!"

Hotshot just sighed, ignoring the laughter of the other boys, speeding up so he could take matters into his own hands, knowing full well the arguing newsies probably wouldn't listen to their leaders in this situation. In his mind, the Manhattan boys tended to be more chaotic and at times disobedient than the boys who lived with him. Not that it was surprising. Other than being known for being tough, Brooklyn newsies were known to be well-disciplined despite the way a new ruler could come to power by fighting the current one and they listened to each other.

"Alright, you guys. Shut ya traps before I make you." Sure, that caused the two shooters to aim for him for a few seconds but it was easy for him to dodge considering the two were ever so slightly intimidated by him, despite knowing he wouldn't actually do anything to them.

"You're no fun." Despite his annoyed words, Finch carefully moved back to the saddle, sitting down again, not wanting to test the Brooklyn boy too much.

Rags just shook his head with a smile, looking at the sky, narrowing his eyes in an attempt to avoid the sun's rays as he judged the time. He knew by now that they most likely wouldn't be tracked down anymore considering how far away from the tiny town they had come from. His new brothers were safe and that's all that mattered right now. Soon, he'd be back with the rest of his family and he'd be bringing in two new members.

He could tell already that they'd fit in almost instantly though he knew that they'd naturally come to terms with what had happened and that they were safe...That they could grow up properly.

You'll be a man, boy! But for now, it's time to run, it's time to run!

However, they still had a while to go before they would be racing around the streets of Lower Manhattan, selling papers to random people to pay the six cents needed to pay for a bed and batch at the lodging house. His smile widened slightly as he thought of the meals that a few extra cents would get him. Pork and beans on Monday, Thursdays, and Saturdays. Roast beef on Sunday and beef stew on Tuesdays. Corned beef and cabbage came on Wednesday and fish balls were served on Fridays. If he focused hard enough, he could not only taste the meals he often paid for but also taste the tea and bread that each meal was accompanied with. The newsie could practically smell the soup that was often served with pork and beans. Just the thought of the meals made him feel full and he couldn't wait to return for dinner again.

Sure, breakfast was also served but why pay for it when you could get food off the nuns before rushing to the gates? Though he couldn't lie. There were times he spent money on some cents on some oatmeal in the morning, savouring the small burn that came as he quickly ate it. Some of the boys may tease him for buying both food and getting free coffee from the nuns but he didn't care.

Patches grinned, looking over at his brother who rode with closed eyes, able to picture what the other was thinking about. He too loved meal times at the lodging house, even if everything just repeated with not much change. It was nice to know what to expected and if he wanted a change, he could always save up a little extra and buy something at Jacobi’s or even just ask if he could take some leftovers with him.

He knew everyone, not just the newsies that stayed in the large building looked forward to the nightly meals, shared in a large room, surrounded by friends as they joked about what sort of customers they had dealt with that day, lowering their voices whenever they felt the need to swear, knowing full well it was against the rules.

He sighed softly, looking ahead, wishing he could see the familiar outline of New York on the horizon, yet he saw nothing but the landscape he had seen on the way to pick up the two boys.

Focusing on his companions, he swallowed back a laugh as he heard Rai explaining newsie rules to Francis and Tony while Hotshot corrected him when needed. After all, the life of a newsie was far more complex than the life they had just left behind. The life was full of tricky politics between boroughs where one wrong move could incite a war which would just bring every newsie across the whole damn city involved which was never a clean thing. No war was clean really but newsies were a group of kids who handled their wars with fists while the leaders scrambled to arrange a deal. Though, from the short time he's spent with these two kids, he could tell that they would be respectful, at least of the borders. Not that they would be going anywhere near them for a while. No new kid was ever allowed to sell near the borders for a few weeks just to make sure they learnt the ropes.

Run boy run! This ride is a journey to. Run boy run! The secret inside of you

Francis internally sighed, glad to see his little brother smiling and laughing along with those who had been strangers not too long ago. It was nice to see that the boy wasn't scared of them. He didn't know what he'd do if the boy would be scared of those who they were now living with. No longer would the two have to walk on eggshells to avoid letting anyone know who they really were...What they were. No longer did they have to deal with Snyder, who seemed to always be a hair's breadth away from snapping at them, whether it be just yelling at Tony or hitting Francis across the face, shouting insults down the fallen boy who knew better than to yell back.

Sure, he himself was still a bit hesitant about being with the group but knew that it would be easier to disappear in New York than disappearing from a small town with no aid from an outside force. The smile and laughter coming from his thin brother made his worry worth it though.

He could still faintly hear his mother's final words as she lay on her death bed, finally admitting the abuse she had watched. "You'll escape one day Francis. I know you will. You'll find a way out of this hell hole. I'm sorry I didn't protect you and Tony. I'm so sorry baby."

Forcing himself out of his thoughts, he kissed his brother's head. His mother had been right. He was getting both him and Tony out of an abusive household. He felt like he could finally breathe properly for the first time since his mother had married the cursed man.

Slowly, he allowed his thoughts to be drowned out by the gentle shuffling of the leaves that the wind danced through as they raced through the trees, closer to their new destiny.

Run boy run! This race is a prophecy! Run boy run! And disappear in the trees!

Night settled around them once more, the moon and stars smiling down gently on the group of laughing boys who surrounded a crackling fire. Seeing that the two brothers were still nervous, the group took turns telling stories, ranging from safer ones to ones that had Rags and Patches lecturing their younger brothers on safety, having never heard such things come from the young teens' mouths.

Eventually, the stories died down, though the silence didn't last long, replaced with giggling and annoyed swears as Rai and Sniper attempted to roast marshmallows over Albert's flaming hair, not caring when the melted treat dripped into the red locks of the struggling boy clamped tightly in Blink's arms.

Soon after, the three were stopped, Albert wrestling the two boys as soon as he was free, laughter filling the air yet again even when the three were pulled apart.

Tony smiled as he stared up at the stars, opening his mouth to break the silence that eventually fell over the group, happy to tell them stories of the sky and stars, ones that he had learnt years ago, back when he was still oblivious to the cruelty that his older brother faced daily.

Eventually, the group settled down, knowing that they'd be back home by tomorrow night, able to relax in a proper bed, surrounded by their family once again instead of resting on the hard ground.

Tomorrow is another day, and you won't have to hide away.

The small crew grinned as they once again got settled on their horses, excitement buzzing through their veins, knowing that in a few hours that they would be home. It was as the air could sense it as well, sending a gentle breath to soothe their excitement, helping the group speed through the landscape, the horses gladly pushing themselves even more, already able to taste the treats they would rightfully get for the hard and long journey they had untaken.

Francis and Tony could both feel a small part that would miss riding through the open land, feeling the ache that came with a living creature speeding under them, carrying them where they wished, letting them feel the wind in their faces as they rode closer and closer to safety and a new life.

The newsies happily spoke of what they planned to do when they got home once again, excited to not only see their family and partners again but to invite and accept the two brothers into Manhattan. Albert grinned, already thinking up plans to annoy the Delancey brothers and their uncle at the gates, wondering if how easy it would be to draw Tony into his schemes, already knowing that the other had the sense for mischief that he had in his own soul. Sure, it might get Francis annoyed but he didn't care. He had a new brother and had to bring him into the life of chaos, so it could wrap him in its embrace, filling his mind with plans to commit with the redhead.

You'll be a man, boy! But for now, it's time to run, it's time to run!

Hotshot was relieved to almost be back in Brooklyn where he could just relax with his friends. Maybe take a dip in the river. Hell, he might throw Rai or Spot off the pier for shits and giggles, not caring about their reactions. They both could swim after all and it was normal for the boys to throw each other around sometimes and well, he deserved to have a little fun with his family after such a harsh journey. Sure, he hadn't been too happy to join the 'mission' in the first place but he had found himself enjoying himself. Sure, he lost money doing this but it was nice to escape the chaotic life that happened when you lived in New York while being poor.

No matter how hard and chaotic his life was, he found himself enjoying it. After all, it was better than working in a factory or at the pier, hauling stuff around or sailing on a boat, unsure if he'd ever return.

Yes, he hadn't been happy to come on this trip, nor was he happy for his baby brother to join him but to hear Rai laughing along with Tony as animals joined the ride for a short time before they pulled away, it was worth it. If he could get the young boy out of Brooklyn for a few days so he could get some fresh air and a change of pace, well...He'd do it a million times over. He wished he could take all the littles out for journies like this but alas, he couldn't. He had no reason to leave New York, let alone had the money to do so. Still, being able to take one of them out was an amazing feeling, one he wouldn't forget. Rai had lost too much at a young age yet always kept a grin. He deserved to be able to spend time, free in the land with wild animals rushing by him.

It's what the small child deserved.

Tomorrow is another day, and when the night fades away

Breaking for lunch just made all of them antsy, wanting to hurry up and get back home. Even Specs, a normally calm boy was bouncing on his toes, not bothering to hide his excitement at the idea of seeing everyone he cared about. He quickly scoffed down his sandwich, not caring about taking his time. He was going to be home soon and could take his time savouring all the tastes that came with a homecooked meal while surrounded by those he missed.

While the break only lasted thirty minutes, it felt like a lifetime to the small group. Their hearts started to beat faster with each step their tired horses took towards home.

Time travelled slowly, the stars starting to peak out again when New York's outline started to rise in the distance, an excited whoop escaping Albert as he urged his horse to go even faster, unwilling to wait any longer. He wanted...No needed to be back in that city. He loved fresh air but still, he craved the smog of New York. Couldn't wait for it to fill his lungs as he walked around feeling like a king despite people viewing him as nothing more than a street rat.

With the city in the distance, it was as if someone had pressed fast forward, landing the group at Sheepshead racetrack before they knew it. Hotshot couldn't help but chuckle at the sight of a short boy waiting near the empty stables. "Why am I not surprised you showed up Spot?"

"Wanted ta see the new 'Hattan boys fa myself." In all honestly, Spot had just wanted to see his brothers' safe returns was he wasn't going to say that in public. Besides, he couldn't help but be somewhat curious about the two new boys who would be joining the team just across the bridge. To him, it was easy to get a glimpse of what the boys had lived through. He hadn't been told much about them but judging by the bruise on the older boy's cheek, it was clear that they hadn't come from a nice place. Not that many of the newsies had come from a good place that is.

Considering Hotshot had said they were going to a small town, he could tell that it was a small town that hated people being born with powers, whether that hatred was born from jealously and fear or just out of pure stupidity, the Brooklyn native didn't know and he wasn't sure if he even cared to know.

Right now, he did his best to ignore where they had come from, instead, turning to Rai to talk about his trip, already knowing that the rules and boundaries had been explained. Even if they hadn't, the two looked smart, especially the blond who had decided to ignore everyone so he could focus on thanking his horse. God, were all Manhattan boys dorks? Shaking his head with a sigh, he clapped his hands. "Right. Curfew's comin' up in a bit so you'se best start gettin' back over the bridge."

"Giving orders now are we Conlon?"

"Blue's handlin' stuff in Queens so it's my job ta kick your bum asses out of Brooklyn. Now fuck off."

Rags rolled his eyes but still spat in his hand and held it out to the younger boy, nodding as he returned the gesture. "We'se'll get outta ya hair Conlon. Gotta get these two set up and Al looks ready to die."

"Oh fuck off I do not!" Despite his words, Albert was rocking ever so slightly, having not slept much the night before due to excitement. "Let's just clear out already. I don't wanna miss out on the food!"

Shaking his head, Rags laughed watching as Blink started shoving Albert around. "Yeah yeah. Tell Blue I said hi." He smiled at the two Brooklyn boys who had come along with his small crew. "Thanks you two. We'll be off now." With a single wave, the lanky teen ushered the others out of the racetrack grounds, chuckling internally at the way the two new brothers stuck together, looking around in both awe and suspicious hesitation.

Idly, his eyes scanned the crowd, easily able to notice who was a normal person and who was a newsie who were lurking around after selling, watching them silently to make sure they didn't break any rules, wanting the small group out of their turf, yet also silently relieved that they had returned safely as that meant their own had been returned as well.

Feet gently joined the countless others walking on the bridge, their voices mingling with those of people hurrying to and from Brooklyn. Before they knew it, they were back on their own side. Sensing their neves, Specs smiled over at his new brothers. "Don't worry. You'll get used to this all before you know it. I will warn you though...The lodging house can be loud and a bit overwhelming at times. You'll fit right in though. I already know it."

Francis just nodded before turning back to Patches, mumbling something under his breath, relaxing as the other smiled and nodded, allowing the group to lead him and his younger brother around.

You'll be a man, boy!

It didn't take long for them to find themselves walking down Duane Street, watching a few kids eagerly look up, some running towards them as others rushed off towards a building, no doubt to let them know of the groups return. Subconsciously, Francis took a closer to Tony, watching as Specs, Blink and Albert were almost tackled, each by a different boy, all dressed in the same ratty attire as the group.

Shaking his head, Rags nodded for the two brothers to follow him, leaving the six boys to reunite with their boyfriends. "They'll come along eventually so don't worry about the nerds. Let's just get you set up for now. Everyone's been dyin' ta meet you two, not just us newsies."

Grinning, he threw open the door to the lodging house, chuckling as he was greeted by cheers from a wide variety of kids. Silencing them with a single hand in the air, he grinned at the two new boys, remembering the few words Francis had muttered to him.

"Everyone! I'd like ta introduce you to Jack Kelly 'nd his little brother, Racetrack Higgins!"

But for now, it's time to run, it's time to run!

#Newsies #Jack Kelly #Racetrack Higgins #Albert Dasilva #Finch (newsies)#Specs (newsies)#Kid Blink #Blink (newsies)#Anonymous

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capricornus-rex · 4 years

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Someone Left to Save (8)

Cal Kestis x Reader

Requested by Anon

Summary: The Mantis crew arrives to the capital of Ulfin, in the planet of Pevera, under siege. They meet the local rebel cell spearheaded by the former Republic admiral, Jax Beneb, who seeks to destroy the Empire’s occupation that was aggressively imposed upon while exploiting the planet of its natural resources. A plan is devised to destroy the Imperial’s main base of operations—as well as their influence—in the planet; however, it was a do-or-die mission that you and Cal had gotten yourselves caught in.

A/N: My computer just died on me twice now. Whatever bullshit it’s trying to do, it’s not helping my anxiety at all lmao I’m just outliving its usefulness until it actually dies for good... that is until I get a new SSD and HDD.

Tags: Force-Sensitive! Reader, Inquisitor! Reader, Jedi! Reader, Fake Death, Jedi turned Inquisitor, Seduction to the Dark Side, Turn to the Dark Side, The Dark Side of the Force, Aftermath of Torture, Torture, Psychological Torture, Redemption Arc! Reader, Possible Redemption, Premonitions

Also in AO3

Chapters: 1 – 2 – 3 – 4 – 5 – 6 | Previous: Part 7 | Next: Part 9 | Masterlist

8 of ?

“Hey, get up! It’s time for your daily exercise,” a Stormtrooper grumbled on the other side of the ray-shielded prison cell.

You sit there inside—eyes closed, in a meditation position on your knees, hands on top of them. Purposefully ignoring the guards, they tagged you as stubborn, dismissive, and ignorant. They can’t comprehend how you’re perfectly unmoved by the shouting and the banging of their weapons against the walls to draw your attention.

You can hear them, alright. You just chose not to listen.

A lie. Your mind spoke.

Ever since they saw your display against the Second Brother, the so-called “daily exercise” is a kind word they used for the gladiatorial training they throw you into. Everyday, they’d force you out of your cell—which, ironically, is the safest place you could ever be in this predicament—and each time you resisted, a strike on the head or the first body part they see is what you get in return. Once in the dojo, you face a wave of enemies; at first it was a batch of Scout Troopers—they were quite easy to fight—next they started mixing it up with Scout and Purge Troopers, and eventually they used Purge Troopers for your duels, the latter persisted for the rest of your days in the prison.

Sometimes no one knows who is whose training dummies—regardless, the fights went on and the Purge Troopers treated it like a breath of fresh air every time.

“HEY!” the Stormtrooper, impatient of your unresponsiveness, punched the wall at you. Your reaction defeated its purpose. “Do you hear me?! I said stand up!”

“Hey, don’t cause such a ruckus. It’s just one kid,”

“Are Jedi always this stubborn?”

The second Stormtrooper made an incoherent, indifferent grumble as he shrugged his shoulders, wanting to end the small talk and just wait until your budged. When there was nothing but silence, spare the muttering complaints of the guards in the midst of the silence, you relished the peace again.

“Well, finally,” you quietly tell yourself and hung your head down.

There were worse things to worry about.

Visions revolving in hate, anger, and even death—these were the images that you cannot purge from your mind. Not even the purification of meditating proved to be of any help. Something was clouding your mind in the Force and bent them to their malignant will.

Much later, the ray shield died down at the push of a button. The same, irate Stormtrooper enters your cell, but you remained still as a stone. His boot harshly bumps into your knee.

“Hey,” he nudged. “Stand up!”

Nothing.

Again, he kicked your knee, hard enough for it to bruise in a few minutes.

When he’s had about enough, he kicked you in the stomach—he made it precise for the tip of his boot to rupture your gut. As you were weak—which he took advantage of—you curled up, hugging yourself with your arms coiled around your torso, you writhed in pain while supporting your entire weight with one hand planted on the floor.

“Don’t make me hit you again—though I wouldn’t even need a reason!“ he snarled.

You sharply, nasally inhaled; fingernails scratching against the dirty metal floor of the cell as you wait out for the pain to alleviate. Your eyes flicked open and your head jerked up, shooting the Stormtrooper an unwelcoming, hateful look in the eye—he didn’t want to admit it, but he flinched when he saw your bloodshot eyes: dark circles framing it, and the linings swelling in a burning pink hue.

“Come on, Jedi, we got a long ahead of—”

A soft rumble in the air hummed around the cell. Apathetic eyes stared at the Stormtrooper, watching him gag, desperately gasp for air through the barely-breathable helmet, and claw at his neck. He submitted to his knees, in the same level as you sitting down leisurely in the middle of the room, and it’s as though you two saw eye-to-eye—through that black tinted visor, he catches an arrogant smirk curling at the corner of your mouth, and he realizes too late that he’s crossed you.

You were neither a Jedi nor an Inquisitor. For now, you were something in between. Your madness is basically limbo.

You slowly raise your hand, your fingers are curled in a chokehold but there was still a gap around them, though it didn’t stay that long because with an abrupt closing motion of the hand—a popping sound came from the Stormtrooper, his head had twisted to an abnormal angle, and then his corpse made a loud thud that alarmed his companion.

“Hey, what’s going on over th—?”

Horrified, the Stormtrooper choked on the last words of his sentence. He stood there frozen in the hallway, contemplating whether to step inside to pull the dead Stormtrooper out of the cell; his course of action was to contact the maintenance assigned to the prison block to get you. The crew was equally afraid of you, but since they know in themselves that they’ve never crossed you, they’ve got nothing to fear—although it’s the way you look at people is what scares them, it’s rather more of an upward glare than a look.

Minutes later, the Second Brother strolls into the prison block as if it was some kind of leisurely pastime. At his command, the ray-shield disappeared and he let himself in your cell.

“Hello, little thorn, can’t be late for your daily exercise,”

“Says who?”

“Says me, the Seventh Sister, the Fifth Brother, and the Grand Inquisitor,”

“I’ve never seen the Grand Inquisitor. Though, none of you have autonomy over me.”

The Second Brother stood still for a brief second, his shoulders rose as he took in a big sigh. The hand behind his back hoisted to his helmet, the duraplast clicked and the mechanisms of the mask hissed as it loosened up. This was your first time seeing the bare face of the Inquisitor.

A human male, his fair skin was an open book written with scars and bruises—a few of which were by your own hand during the exercises—a pair of brown irises twinkled but you detect the apathy in them—the expression in them was a dramatic contrast to what you imagined him to be without that mask. He seems to be growing out his shaven head, there was a short yet noticeable length of hair. From his complexion, you wagered he’d be in his thirties. He bent down while keeping his helmet in one hand and tried to parlay with you in getting out of your cell.

“While you sit in these sorry walls, we have perfect autonomy over you,” he raises his free hand, a single finger extended. For each word or two, he poked your forehead to make sure you got the point. “No matter what you think.”

“You’re still not going to make me,”

He did a series of facial expressions to highlight his mock pensiveness: rolling his eyes, bobbing his head as he made a squeaking noise with his tongue against his teeth.

“Well, we don’t have the time to be very difficult, little thorn,” he clicked. “Unless, of course, we can ask your sweet Cal Kestis to make some arrange—!”

In the blink of an eye, you repeated the same action with the Second Brother, only this time you’re using two hands to choke him using the Force. They’ve exploited your mind by using Cal and whatever predicate they can come up with to trigger you—and they loved it when you’re easily stimulated by the mere mention of his name.

They’ve fashioned you into their personal time bomb and plaything altogether, saying the “magic word” to make a puppet of you and your emotions.

“Provoke me again with his name and what you plan to do with him—it’s your neck I’m snapping next!” you angrily growled.

The Second Brother tried to fight your chokehold, but he did it with more grace and dignity that he can afford. It was never your intention to instill fear, but your aggression is what cements it to everyone in this fortress. You expected him to gag, but you heard hints of snickering while he claws at his neck; regardless, you continued choking him.

A few more minutes lapsed before you decided to let him go out of your own volition. He coughed as he fell lower to your level, you’re practically looking down on him right now as he catches his breath.

Look how pathetic… you thought.

Over the Second Brother’s shoulder, you spotted the Fifth Brother standing in front of the door, unamused and grumbling like a freighter’s engine. You shot him the same bitter look you gave to the Stormtrooper and the Second Brother.

“One last time, [Y/N], I personally don’t like repeating myself—or anyone else, for that matter.”

The Second Brother regained his composure, dusted off his armor, and stood by. When you didn’t obey the Fifth Brother, he took matters to his own hands—literally. Shoving past the Second Brother, the other Inquisitor dragged you out of your cell.

“Get up and follow.”

The Second Brother hooked his arm around yours and followed the Fifth Brother.

“Where are you taking me?”

“No questions. Just follow.”

They escorted you to the dojo again. Waiting at the center of the room is the Seventh Sister, this time she wasn’t wielding an electrobaton, she was holding her own red haloed saber. The Second Brother shoved you away to face her; she raises her hand, in it was a weapon and she tossed it to you.

Your fingers trembled, you reluctantly wrapped them around the hilt. The steely coldness eventually warmed up around your palm. The glossy, dark grey finish distorted your reflection when you held it level to your face. The female Inquisitor stepped back—so did her two other companions—and ignited her saber. Your heart dropped to your feet when you heard two more buzz in succession. All of a sudden, your knees felt wobbly, you spun around, looking at the crimson rods of light glowering over their sinister faces.

“Go on and fight us,” the Seventh Sister initiated.

She didn’t want to hear anything from you. She immediately put herself in a stance, and then the two other followed. Having no choice, you did the same—one push of a button ignited a single beam, until you spotted the second switch and the latter half emitted out of its cylinder.

The three of them ganged up on you, but it was the Second Brother and Sixth Sister who were more aggressive with you. The Fifth Brother fought with great calculation and precision, conserving his strength for the next attack only to overwhelm you while assisting the other two. Lost in the thrill of the fight, the same burst of energy returned to you.

It was addictive. You didn’t know it was poisonous, and yet you kept on using it to your advantage. You know it to be wrong, but you cannot will yourself to break away from it. Like a leech, you’ve bitten into it.

And you liked it.

“Raaarrgh!!” the Seventh Sister roared as she swings down her saber.

You deflected the two with both ends of your given saber and pushed them back. You recompose yourself into a much more proper stance, then fixate on the Seventh Sister; you’re able to match her strength—if not her caliber—and equal your odds in this duel. However, you still have the Second Brother to deal with.

“Whoa, look at her go, Sister!!” the Second Brother cackled.

The Seventh Sister comes charging right towards you, but she was blocked at the last second, and before she could even pull away to afford an attack—you planted your sole of your shoe flat onto your stomach. She staggered and clutched her torso with one hand; quickly, you turn your attention to the Second Brother, who was evidently much feistier than Seventh Sister. He took most of your time—a pair of dual-ended sabers cutting through the air, their lights curving as they’re swung by the wielders, and sparks flew to light up the rest of the room.

“I guess the tough girl is back now, huh, little thorn!? Cal Kestis would be so impressed! You could practically kill him for abandoning you!”

That did it. Relying again once more on that intoxicating energy that granted you the strength of five Jedi Masters at best, a massive push of the Force sent everyone flying—even the hulking, six-feet-or-so Fifth Brother wasn’t spared by that immense wave of energy!

Only you remained standing in the circle, you looked around—there were so many targets to choose from! You had a vendetta for each one of them. You strode towards the one who gave out the taunt first—the Second Brother—while he was still shaking off the nausea, he reacted at the last minute and lousily deflected your hits.

Left end, right end… they all flung to his direction and he could not keep up with the speed of your wielding while suppressed of fighting space. He could only block you for so long.

When you sensed his sword arm becoming weak, his jawbone met the hard sole of your shoe and rendered him incapacitated. Next was the Seventh Sister, she was just about to hoist herself up back on her feet until she saw you sprinting toward her—she had time, albeit little of it, to evade you but your sabers still clashed. She kept up with your pace—all the twirls and flashy footwork, she matched it all—but she was overwhelmed by how heavy your attacks dealt. You bore your weight on her as she deflected you and never has she ever felt so intimidated in all her life! Your eyes—now devoid of empathy and flooded with rage—blended perfectly with the redness of the saber. You were satisfied when you saw the Seventh Sister struggling, it’s plastered all over her face!

“Oh, look at you, the shrewd sister is overtaken,” you taunted, basically parroting the Second Brother’s trademark singsong. “By a damn prisoner! Hah! How does it feel to have your pride stabbed right into its gut, huh?”

Before she could even react and respond, you staggered the female Mirialan again and this time she stayed down—your fist to her cheek made sure of it. The third and final enemy: the Fifth Brother. It was brawn against brains. Strength versus dexterity. After all, what good is brute strength if you can’t even utilize it efficiently?

“Come on, big guy—I’m wide open!”

The Fifth Brother wasn’t a fan of being taunted. He charges on like a deranged Reek, his saber brandished up in the air, ready for an overhead strike but you slipped away in the blink of an eye and slashed him from behind. All three of them exchanged glances with one another and then nodded in agreement, as if they’ve had a Plan Z all along; three Inquisitors come charging towards you, but before they could lay a finger on your hair, you planted your fist hard into the tiled floor—your knuckles swelled and then bled the same time the tiles cracked.

At first, the cracks stayed only within the radius of your fist, until they multiplied and spread. From thin crosshairs to actual breakages along the surface, the marble broke into shards and was sent flying with the current of the Force energy that sourced from your punch—like seashells tugged by the waves as they’re beached to the shoreline. The shards cut through the Seventh Sister and Fifth Brother’s cheeks, they had to shield themselves with their hands—consequentially getting their palms and fingers nicked as well.

It was too strong for them to fight, rendering you untouchable until the wind died down. The loaned lightsaber which you used so skillfully fell from your grasp and clattered to the floor.

Silence. Soft, tired gasping of air. And then a single, slow series of applause followed.

Everyone searched for the applauder.

The Grand Inquisitor.

He was hauntingly terrifying, alright. Ashen as bone, blood-red streaks painted on parts of his face, and a pair of topaz-gold eyes. He walked past the felled Inquisitors and stood in front of you—his height obviously lumbered over you that you had to step back to fully acknowledge him and look him in the eyes without breaking your back.

“Well, well,” he cooed, bringing his hands behind his back. “It seems that we have a new face among us.”

You panted one last time, and used the Force to bring the haloed saber back to your hand. You poised your demeanor in front of the Pau’an, and with a dark, sinister grace—you bend your knee, the black, weathered saber is presented in your hand to the Grand Inquisitor. A smirk curled along his ribbed skin, showing a corner of his jagged, pointed teeth.

“Welcome to the fray, Twelfth Sister.”

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marsupials-of-mars · 4 years

Text

Remus's Diary

Eight special excerpts from Remus's personal very secret diary that have been curated for your viewing pleasure! (Warning: gore and sexual reference, Remus stuff)

Age 6 (spelling corrected):

Dear Diarrhea,

I want to stab things with a knife. Logan says I should write feelings in a diarrhea until they go away, so here. I think bad things mostly. Roman doesn't like me anymore, and I think it's because of the bad things I think. So i think i want to stab him with a knife. He just isn't any fun anymore. I wish he never made us break. I liked being King because I didn't have to look at his dumb poopy face and I didn't have so many thoughts that made people mad at me. But here, I can write all the stuff I want. I think Roman is a poop face and he can get eaten up by a bear. And everyone else can too, because I think it would be very funny. I want to stab the world with a knife. Bye Diarrhea!

~Dooky

Age 12:

Hey Diarrhea,

Deceit called me stupid today. I don't think he meant to, but I don't think it was a lie. I was just talking to him. I thought I was being fun but he called me stupid. I wish I knew how to talk right so nobody hates me. Sometimes I want to scream so loud that I can't stop, and I scream all my insides out. Maybe if my lungs are hanging out of my mouth I won't be able to screw everything up all the time with all the dumb shit I say. Anyway, instead of being sad I decided to start drawing. Thomas read an article about how someone killing animals as a kid is a way to tell that they're going to turn into a serial killer, but if it's just in our head it should be okay. They're just drawings anyway. My red marker dried out, so making the blood is hard, but I learned that if I use green it makes them look infected. Green is better than red anyway. KIT Diarrhea!

~Dukey

Age 14:

Dammit Diarrhea,

I want to fuck everything. With and without a pulse. Logan says it's puberty, I say it's torture. I'm SO HORNY ALL THE TIME! Deceit threatened to get me fixed because I kept humping things, but I'd like to see him try. In other news, my mustache is finally coming in! It's pretty sparse right now but soon it'll be a force to be reckoned with. Everyone says they hate it and to shave it but I know they're just jealous. I don't blame them, I too would lash out if i saw something so glorious but lacked the backbone to commit to it myself. Being so desirable is not easy, but it's a burden i have to bear.

Stay sexy, Diarrhea.

~Dukey

Age 19:

Dear FUCKING Diarrhea,

Thomas got cheated on. The bf's dick wasn't even that big but everyone is all broken up about it. Especially Patton and Roman. I keep telling them that we just need to stab the dude and the slut he hooked up with and make it look like an accident but that just makes them cry harder. I'm trying my best but really all I can think about right now is having to get off alone until Thomas finds someone else, and he's really picky. Clearly not picky enough to find someone who won't fucking cheat! ZING! Anyway, I lied about his dick not being that big and I think I might join Patton and Roman in the pity party. Stay strong Diarrhea.

~Dukey

Age 21:

Deeeeeeeeeeear Diarrhea,

Guess who's plastered? Guess who's ABSOLUTELY shitfaced? Guess who's PROPER BLOTTO??? REMUS IS! We're twenty plus one today! Thomas isn't drunk, but I am! It's like.... take one drink right? Thomas is five sides all in one Thomas, so when he drinks one drink, we all get the buzz from the one drink, right? NAHHHH all of it goes in me! I get the drunk! One drink for thomas five for me! Guess how many drinks Thomas had? TWO! I feel so spinny! Anyway diary, I'm going to see how many more things I can break with the power of alchohol!

Okay, I'm back. I think I left I'm not sure but things got really blurry and now my door is locked and barred. I think Deceit put me in timeout. He's no fun. Doesnt he know I'm DRUNK and ready to PARTY?! Give me a second I'm going to try something else.

Hey, I'm back again. I have a chain on my ankle and I think I'm sticky. Oh shit i found some glass in my foot!

Fuck it's wearing off. I hope Thomas drinks more soon. Revolutionary idea: the normal world, but everyone is an alcoholic. I think I'm going to patent that. Stay thirsty my friend.

~Dukey

Age 25:

Diarrhea,

I think Virgil is scared of me. We were just talking like always, and he said something dumb that made me a little mad, about how I should calm down because maybe I was loud enough that Thomas might listen to me too much. I really don't like when people say to calm down, and I didn't like him implying that it would be some kind of issue for Thomas to think about how fast a person would have to run at a wire for it to split their whole body in half vertically from nose to ass. So I got a little bit angry, but I could still joke around so I asked Virgil if he wanted to test it out. I guess my voice was too angry, or my face looked too serious, because he flinched. He looked scared. I've seen him scared before, he's a huge pussy, but he's never looked at me like that. Fuck, now I'm wondering if maybe he has but I've just never seen it. I hope he knows that I would never hurt him, because I know he doesn't like that. I hope he knows that he's a better brother than Roman ever was, and I would slaughter everyone in the world and grind them into a bloody pulp under my heel for him. But I don't like to be mushy so I pushed him and told him to lighten up. He fell and looked even more scared. I promise I didn't mean to push him so hard. He got up and ran away to his room. I saw him again tonight and he didn't mention it. I'm not scary, Diarrhea.

~Dukey

Age 28:

Virgil left. He didn't even say goodbye. I heard him fighting with Deceit, but that's been happening a lot. He talked about leaving before but Deceit said it was an "empty promise". I haven't left my room since he left. It's been three days, and I'm starting to think he's not coming back. If Deceit tries to come in here I'll shed him myself. I don't want to talk to anybody. I just want to decay right here, into rot and dirt and slime. Why does Roman have to have everything that's mine? He was the one who wanted to split, he was the one who left me alone, he's always the perfect hero, what gives him the right? What gives him the right to steal Virgil too? He already gets Logan and Patton and Thomas and everyone perfect like him, what gives him the right to take the one best friend I had? If I can't have perfect, let me have Virgil. They talk about goodness and fairness but how is this fair? I want to stab the world with a knife. Wake me up when the world makes sense, Diarrhea.

~Remus

Age 30:

Dearest Diarrhea,

HOLY FUCK!!! I met Thomas! Of course I knew him already, but I MET him. I got to sing a song! And fucking DECK Roman! Deceit finaly let me out under mysterious circumstances, which are my favorite kind of circumstances! He gave me some script to say but hey whatever, I'm used to saying things aloud that I don't fully process. It went a little different than I was going for but guess what? Go ahead, guess! Fine I'll tell you! I GET TO BE IN VIDEOS! And hang out with Thomas and the lights! And Virgil! VIRGIL! And guess what he told me! Go on! Guess! Wow you're shit at guessing! He told me he's not scared of me! We had a MOMENT! I'm absolutely giddy. Deceit is pissy at me for some dumb reason but I never know what's going on with him. This is a new beginning, you just wait! Sexiest regards, Diarrhea!

~Dukey

#sanders sides #remus sanders #thomas sanders

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angelsfalling16 · 4 years

Text

Snow and The Flame

For the @coexchange, I gifted @carryonincorrectquotes a playlist with the promise of a fic outline, and I am finally delivering that!

Here is the playlist, and the outline is underneath the cut. I decided to preface this with an explanation about what I did, so bear with me for a moment.

The plan was to give them a playlist with a detailed fic outline, but it turns out that my outlines are incomprehensible unless you’re me (and sometimes even if you’re me) so this became more like a speed run through the fic where I half-rambled, half-narrated it along with explanations about which songs fit where.

There are a ton of songs on here because I thought it would be a good idea to pick songs and then figure out what the fic was going to be about, so each song inspired a different moment, and I had to figure out a way to work them all in. (I actually ended up limiting myself to 25 songs so that this wouldn’t end up being too long.)

I decided to break the outline into sections based off of the songs that each part goes with, and there are a few scenes that I went ahead and wrote, which are shared in italics to try to separate it from the rest. I also included some commentary on why some of the songs were chosen.

Basically, this post got really long but hopefully it isn’t too long or confusing, and I hope you all like it!!

(Also, I know that this isn’t technically a full fic, but since it’s over 6k words, I decided to go ahead and post it on ao3 to make it a little easier to peruse.)

Fic Summary: Simon is a superhero, a part of a group of heroes who protect the city. Baz’s family is a crime family, and they don’t care who they hurt. Baz wants a way out of this life, to get out from under his father’s thumb so that he can make his own choices

Some Background/backstory/world building:

Some people are born with powers, but they don't come into those powers until they are around 11 years old. When they do get those powers, they receive a token of some sort that symbolizes their power and basically gives them their power. If that token is destroyed, they will lose their powers. Luckily, there are only a few ways to destroy them.

Baz was a child spy who fell in love with the boy he was meant to be targeting, but Simon never even had a clue that he was being watched. Baz was very good at what he did, and while he was growing up with Simon. Simon was all alone, an orphaned child with magickal powers who could make it snow on a dry, summer day and bring cold into places where it was meant to be warm. Baz saw him grow up an outcast, all alone, before becoming a hero as he got older, and he couldn’t help but fall deeply, hopelessly in love.

Murder Song

Alright, so the fic starts out with a scene that was inspired by the song Murder song (5, 4, 3, 2, 1) by AURORA. This is one of the scenes that I went ahead and wrote, and yes, it is very angsty, but the entire fic is not like this.

Baz

“You don’t have to do this. You can make a different choice. Killing me isn’t the only option.”

“No, but it is the fun one.” His grin is dark and menacing, and I want to turn and run. But run where? My whole world is right here, his hand to my heart, ready to fill it with ice.

Simon finally caught me, and I am so tired of fighting that I’m ready to just give up.

He removes his hand from my chest, and for a moment, I believe that he has changed his mind about killing me, but then he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a gun, pointing it at my head.

This is it. This is the end.

5...

He’s holding a gun to my head, and he starts to count down. He’s giving me a literal countdown to the moment that he’s going to pull the trigger and end my life. I should be fighting. I should be doing everything in my power to stop him, but all of the fight has gone out of me. I can’t do this anymore. I’m done.

I have no reason to fight anyway. This is what I deserve. I have hurt too many people during my time on this earth to be given a kinder death. This is already too kind of one.

I deserve to be tortured to within an inch of my life and then be tortured again. I do not deserve a seemingly painless death.

4...

Simon is doing me a service here actually. He could be using his powers to choke all of the life and heat and from my body, slowly draining me of everything that I am, but instead, he’s holding a gun to my head, tears streaming down his face as he stares down at me where I kneel on the ground.

He’s doing it for mercy. He is putting an end to everything that I have suffered for far too long now. He is doing exactly what I want him to.

Still, as I look up at the man that I have loved for so long, my heart shatters in my chest, piercing my body with a spiking pain.

3...

I know that he doesn’t want to hurt me. He’s doing this for me. He’s taking my pain away. He’s drawing it from my body to his with the simple press of a trigger.

Tears burn my eyes, but they aren’t tears of sadness. They’re tears of relief. My pain will be gone in a mere two seconds. It is finally my time to let go, to let the weight of everything wash away as the blanket of death covers me and soothes me into a deep sleep.

2…

The sound of this number brings a facsimile of a smile to my face. I am so close to letting go of all of my pain. I am almost free. Soon, I will feel no more pain. I won’t feel anything anymore, but nothing has got to be better than this vice grip around my chest, suffocating me daily but never taking enough of me to kill me.

I just want to be free. I just want to be able to breathe.

I don’t want to worry about disappointing my family or anyone else.

1...

I have to close my eyes as he gets to 1. I can’t look at him as he does this.

With the second that I have left, I imagine him holding my lifeless body in his arms and crying over my death. The one he delivered but didn’t cause. I imagine for just a moment him caring for me the way that I always hoped he would. I imagine him loving me and mourning the loss of a love he never got to have.

Then, the gun goes off, and I’m gone.

***

I jerk up in bed with a gasping breath, and it takes me a moment to understand what happened.

It was all just a dream, and I’m not sure whether I should be relieved or disappointed. I was so close.

But also in that last moment, as the gun went off, I wondered what would have happened if I had made a different choice. What if I had gone to Simon before it was too late?

I know that he would never help me, but I could turn myself in. At least if I’m locked away, my family can’t force me to hurt anyone anymore. I will be free from them, but I won’t be dead.

I laugh at myself.

Of course I won’t be free. I will never be free from them. They will always come for me. Break me out or kill me for betraying them.

There is no way out of this for me.

Fight Song – Rachel Platten (cover by KHS and Benjamin Kheng) (If you have time, I highly recommend going and watching the youtube video where they recorded this; it’s pretty cool.)

When Baz wakes up and realizes that it was all a dream, he also realizes that he doesn’t want death to be the answer. If it has to be, it will be a last-ditch option, but he wants to try something else. He thinks Simon could help him. Instead of finding Simon and asking him to kill him, he could ask him for help.

He is deciding to take back his life, making a new life for himself and fighting for a better future, which is where Fight Song comes in. Baz has this whole, long moment where he questions whether any of this is a good idea before he decides that it has to be better than the alternative, which would be his family killing him.

He is going against his family in order to chase after a chance at a better future, one where he gets to live and doesn’t have to hurt people anymore. It won’t be an easy journey, but he is willing to try. He wants his life to be different, and this is where it begins.

Worlds Collide – Louden Swain

Asking Simon for help might be the hardest thing that Baz has ever done, but he does it. It isn’t all that hard finding the gang of superheroes running around town trying to save the day (because they never take a day off, do they? Baz thinks with mild disgust, wondering what that must be like, trying to save everyone when there will always be evil in the world), and it’s even easier to get Simon alone. All he has to do is hide in the shadows and then yank him into an alleyway.

Of course, Simon thinks it’s some kind of trap at first. (What else is he supposed to think when someone pulls him into a dark alley? Especially when said person is his archnemesis.)

Why would Baz want to suddenly side with the heroes? That’s just it; he wouldn’t. So, this absolutely has to be a trap, and Simon is not going to fall into it. He is prepared for a fight, but that isn’t what Baz wants. That’s quite the opposite of what he is looking for here.

Baz realizes that he only has a short amount of time to convince Simon that he’s telling the truth before someone comes looking for him.

He gets an idea and slips the chain that he’s worn for as long as he can remember from around his neck. It’s the token/source of his power. Simon could easily destroy it, therefore taking away Baz’s power, but Baz trusts him. (Simon is the good guy after all.) He’s still worried, though, because the last person you should give your power token to is your rival, whose one goal in life is to stop you at any cost.

If you’re going to give your token to anyone, it should be the person you love, which Baz supposes Simon fits that bill, too. Baz hates himself for it, but he fell in love with the one person his family has been training him to kill for pretty much his entire life.

Baz has a sick feeling in his stomach as he watches Simon slip the chain around his neck. It clanks against Simon’s own power token, which has been woven into his suit and sits just over his chest. Baz thinks that that’s a rather foolish place to wear it, out in the open where any criminal could easily access it while battling him, because if someone had the right weapon (which Baz’s family does, coincidentally), they could easily hit Simon there and take his powers away from him.

Simon sees Baz eye the two tokens, and he worries for a moment that he might change his mind and make a grab for the both of them, but then his eyes find Simon’s face again.

They then agree to stop fighting each other, and they make an uneasy truce with Baz swearing that he won’t try to hurt Simon – or anyone else – so long as they are working together, and they decide to meet up at a diner in town the next day to talk.

Baz is antsy the entire time, constantly looking over his shoulder, afraid that he might have been followed. Meeting in such a public place probably wasn’t a good idea, but Simon didn’t really give him much of a choice on venues.

They start to talk, and it’s weird how easily they slip into the moment together, their two very different worlds colliding.

It’s almost like in another world, they might have gotten along.

They spend most of their time with Baz explaining to Simon why he wants to leave his family and promising half a dozen more times that he doesn’t plan to turn on him.

When they leave, Simon says that they should meet up again in a few days, so they do, and they continue meeting for a couple of weeks, but eventually, Baz says that they can’t keep meeting up in public like this. Someone from his family might spot them together, and he’ll be in trouble. Or Simon will. Or both. Either way, they cannot be spotted together.

He suggests that they meet up at Simon’s place since Baz is staying with his family, but of course, Simon says absolutely not. He still doesn’t fully trust Baz yet.

Fortunately, Simon knows a place they can go where no one in Baz’s posh family would ever deign to step foot in.

A Place For Us – Fitz and the Tantrums & Dancing’s Not a Crime – P!ATD

So, there’s some seedy, underground club, and why Simon knows about it, I have no idea. They go there to talk, and for whatever reason, one of them (probably Baz) decides that they would be less likely to be overheard if they went out on the dancefloor and danced together.

Simon is hesitant at first, but Baz turns on that bit of wicked charm and holds his hand out to him, an obvious challenge.

“Come on. Dancing’s not a crime, and it’s not like I’m going to hurt you in front of all these people. Plus, I told you that I wouldn’t.”

“I didn’t realize that this truce included dancing.”

“It does when you don’t want to stand out. You won’t touch any kind of drink, and you won’t dance. You stick out like a sore thumb, and sooner or later someone is going to notice you – and not in a good way.”

Simon chews on his lips as he thinks about it. Finally, he sighs and carefully places his hand in Baz’s, whose expression turns even more wicked, edging towards a smirk, but Simon doesn’t have too much time to think about it before he’s being pulled towards the dancefloor.

Simon tries to keep up a conversation as they dance, but it doesn’t go all that well. The music is too loud, there are too many bodies pressing in around them, Baz doesn’t actually seem all that interested in talking.

Finally, Simon gives in and just dances with Baz, giving into the music and enjoying himself without any worries for the first time since he can remember. It ends up being really nice to dance together.

Quarter Past Midnight - Bastille & Criminal - Britney Spears & Accidentally In Love - Counting Crows & First Time He Kissed a Boy - Kadie Elder & Weak - AJR

The club closes at midnight. Neither of them wants to part (even though they don’t actually say that aloud) so they just walk around, weaving around abandoned buildings until they reach the empty streets of downtown. At some point they start running, and they’re laughing and having fun, just enjoying themselves.

After a while, they start to slow, and Baz pulls Simon into another alley, the way he did a couple of weeks ago.

The last time this happened, Simon wondered what he was supposed to expect when he gets pulled into a dark alley by his rival, but this time, he knows exactly what he wants to happen, and it is him who pushes Baz into the wall this time.

But he stops there, with a few mere inches between them, and Simon is silently frustrated.

They stare at each other for a long time before Simon finally kisses Baz.

Then, Simon has a realization about his feelings, which is what the next three songs are about. (and then Weak is a song thrown in to describe how Baz is probably feeling and an allusion to that line in the book when he says he’s weak.) Simon was absolutely not supposed to fall in love with a criminal. He wonders how long he’s felt this way and if he somehow fell deeply for him over the past couple of weeks.

There are a lot of songs for this short scene, but I feel like there is a lot going on with Simon internally. He’s in love and freaking out and kissing a boy for the first time (a very criminal-like boy) and there are so many thoughts circling through his mind that he can’t quite grab onto any particular one to think through it, so he ends up pushing all of the thoughts away and just enjoying kissing Baz.

And then here’s a little moment that I wrote:

Baz

It feels like we’re running, but running from what? Everything? Or nothing? Maybe we just feel free. I do, at least. This is the freest that I have felt in a long time. The most carefree, too.

I’m laughing as we run down street after street, under broken streetlamp after broken streetlamp. I don’t know where we’re going or why we’re running, and I’m too afraid to ask because I don’t want to break the moment.

I don’t want to give Simon a reminder of who I am or why he doesn’t like me, so I just run down the empty streets with him, watching his smile and bouncing curls, pretending for a moment like my life is different.

Like I wasn’t raised to be a villain and like my father isn’t one of the most wanted criminals around. For now, I get to pretend like I grew up normal, with no powers and no bizarre family expectations. I can pretend, just for a little while, that I’m just a guy, not a villain, not a monster.

Human - Christina Perri

A day or two after the kiss with Simon, Baz decides that it’s time to tell his family about his choice to leave. He knows that his father will not take it well, so he’s relieved when it’s just Daphne at home.

He explains to her his plan to leave all of this criminal business behind, and he says that she should leave it behind as well. She seems open to the idea, but she also seems afraid. Baz is sure that she had no idea what she was marrying into when she met Malcolm and agreed to be his partner, and she probably feels just as trapped as he does.

Baz wants her to stand beside him, but she won’t – she has the kids to worry about and her own life. Baz gets it, but he wishes that there was another way.

He wants his half-siblings to know that there is a choice – they don’t have to be evil. It might be too late for Mordelia – they’re already turning her into a child soldier, the same way they did to him when he was younger – but he can at least try to help the other three kids. He doesn’t want them to end up the way he did, trapped with no way out.

He won’t force Daphne to do something that she is uncomfortable with, so he leaves for now, planning to figure out a way to get them out. He wants them all to have a choice.

Baz goes to talk to Fiona next, and he’s surprised to find his father there.

Apparently, the two of them have a task for him. They’re always giving Baz “tasks”. A bank to rob, a restaurant to terrorize, but the one they give him this time is the one that he has been dreading for years.

They tell him that it is time for him to find the Snow Prince and put an end to him.

Baz wants to laugh, but he also wants to be sick. If only they knew that Baz had been with him just the other night, had the perfect opportunity to kill him, but he let himself be kissed and held and loved instead. Even though he knew that it might turn out to all be a mistake. Even if Simon probably woke up the next morning with a heart full of regret, wishing that he could take back everything that he said and everything he did that night.

Even if Simon does regret that night, Baz will never be able to kill him.

Still, he knows he won’t be able to change their minds, so he agrees, knowing full well that he won’t go through with it.

At this point, he should just try running away. Maybe Simon will go with him. That way, Baz might be able to keep him away from his family. Just because Baz leaves, doesn’t mean that his family will suddenly stop going after Simon. They will be after the both of them, and if they’re together, maybe Baz will be able to protect Simon, or put himself between Simon and his family when it is time for them to battle.

At the end of all of this, Baz knows he won’t survive, but maybe, just maybe, he can keep Simon safe.

The song fits in with Baz’s internal thoughts/angst. He’s torn between that old desire to please his family and the new desire for a better life. He wishes he could somehow do both, but he’s only human and can only do so much.

The Greatest - Sia

Baz leaves immediately to go warn Simon about what his family has planned and to ask him to run away with him, but what he doesn’t know is that it was a set-up. His father and aunt followed him there, and they’re prepared for a fight.

Baz

“So, your cousin was right,” my father says. “He said he saw you leaving some seedy club the other night with the Snow Prince, but I told him he must be mistaken.”

“Dev,” I hiss. Simon was wrong.

There is one person in my family who doesn’t care about their reputation, so of course he would know about that place. I bet he was going there to meet up with Niall. Did he tell our family that? Probably not, because he knows what they do to people who aren’t like us, who don’t have our kinds of power, who are powerless. They don’t want anyone marrying or dating or sleeping their way into our family. They would likely kill him, or at least make him “mysteriously disappear”.

“I didn’t want to believe him, but here’s the proof. My own son, a betrayer of his family.”

Fiona sneers but stays silent.

I can’t believe that I led them here to Simon. I can’t believe that I put him in danger when all I wanted was to keep him safe.

I look around, trying to find a way out, a way to get Simon out of danger.

There aren’t a lot of ways out of here, and running won’t fix this, but it’s the only option right now.

“Run,” I shout, grabbing Simon’s hand and pulling him after me.

We run out of his apartment and disappear into the night, hand in hand.

This won’t be the end of my father and aunt coming after us. There will be a battle, very soon, and we have to be prepared.

Crazy Youngsters - Ester Dean, Into the Storm - BANNERS, Someone to You - BANNERS

Simon and Baz join with Penny and the other superheroes and begin planning what they’re going to do. A battle is coming, and unless they all work together, there is no chance of them winning.

Baz tries to go the self-sacrificial route and offers to just turn himself in so that none of them will have to fight, but they aren’t having it. They are all too focused on saving others for their own good. Baz thinks that they would all benefit from finding some sense of self-preservation.

They don’t seem to need Baz’s help. They work like a well-oiled machine as they make a battle plan, and Baz is on the outside of that. He begins to feel like he’s getting in the way, so he starts to walk around, taking in their little home base.

Simon follows him not long after, and this is the first time that they have really gotten a chance to talk since the other night, since they kissed.

Baz once again offers him an out, telling him that he’ll be safer if he isn’t trying to fight Baz’s battles for him. Simon won’t hear any of it, though. He’s going to fight, and Baz can’t stop him.

Then, they have a soft moment. They are fighting for each other, to keep each other safe. Neither of them wants to see the other get hurt, and they would do anything to protect each other.

Simon and Baz get their own BANNERS songs to go with how they’re feeling in this section.

Into the Storm is for Simon because he’s telling Baz that he would do anything, weather any kind of storm, for him. He would do anything for him. If his world is falling apart (which it is) he will be there, and he will follow him into the storm. (Just listen to the words and it gives you what Simon is trying to say to him.)

And then, Someone to You is Baz’s song. He just wants to mean something to someone, especially if that someone is Simon. He wants to be more than a weapon, wants his life to mean more than that. He doesn’t want to die, and he doesn’t want his life to be meaningless. He believes that Simon could lead him to a better life, one where his life will mean something.

Fight Song - Rachel Platten (a repeat because Baz is once again choosing to fight), I Want to Break Free - Queen, Whatever It Takes - Imagine Dragons, Believer - Imagine Dragons, Titanium - David Guetta ft. Sia (cover by Madilyn Bailey), Elastic Heart - Sia, Angel with a Shotgun - The Cab,

[a/n: my brain kept saying “fight scene, fight scene” even though I don’t think I have ever written a fight scene before, which is why this section is a bit lacking in content, and then all of these songs said that they wanted to be included, so that’s why there are so many for this small section. (If you want to skip over these songs, I won’t blame you, but I feel it’s important to at least listen to Angel with a Shotgun before moving on because it sort of sets up the feeling for the next part.)]

They all meet somewhere for the big fight, and at first, it seems like a pretty evenly matched fight, but bit by bit, Baz’s family starts to win. They’re stronger and better trained. They have been fighting their entire lives and don’t care about who gets hurt.

Baz can see that they’re losing, and he tries to figure out a way for them to win or to get everyone out of here safely.

And then we come to the turning point of the fight…

How to Save a Life - The Fray (Okay, so, I put on a random Spotify playlist to try to get myself to focus on this outline, and when this song played, I knew that it was exactly what I needed for this scene. Otherwise, I was just going to leave this part song-less which would have been rather unfortunate because it really needed something.)

And I actually wrote this entire scene:

Baz

We’re losing.

I know it was a long shot to think that a ragtag team of heroes would be able to fight my criminal family and win, but I wanted to believe that we could do it.

Simon is facing off against my aunt, and there is a serious burn on one of his arms. I want to run to him, to stand between him and my aunt - between him and any kind of harm - but I am just barely making it through this battle against my father.

You would think that the plants that he keeps growing to impede me would be useless against my flames, but there is a vine of thorns wrapped around my arm, constricting tighter and tighter, restricting any blood flow. It’s unrooted but still growing.

My arm is beginning to lose feeling, and between the pain from that and the pain from the poison one of his earlier plants hit me with, I can barely control the flames that I’m shooting out at him with my free hand.

The thorny vines reach my hand, sinking a particularly large one into the palm, and I have to grit my teeth to keep in an anguished cry. I will fight to the very last moment. I will not give up or give in.

My father will have to kill me if he wants to stop fighting me.

And it looks like he plans to do just that.

He calls up more vines from the ground to start wrapping around my legs and pulling them together so that I am unable to move. I reach down, calling a flame into my hand, and attempt to burn the vines away, but my power is waning and the small flame that I just manage to draw is not enough.

I’m too weak. I’m going to lose this.

“Give it up, son,” my father says, stepping closer to me.

“Never,” I hiss, and with one last burst of power, I shoot a stream of fire at him.

His sleeve catches fire, but he barely even winces before a heavy rain falls down upon him, just long enough to put out the fire. I can’t see my cousin, but I know that he must be nearby, fighting someone whilst also combating my other move for my father.

The vines have reached my hips now. I can’t move, and I don’t have enough energy to use my power.

With a wicked grin, my father steps forward and reaches out his hand, preparing to press it to my chest and send out his signature venomous plant to take hold and poison me, a slow, painful death. I bare my teeth at him, yanking at the vines that are creeping up my body and completely immobilizing me.

His hand has just about reached my chest when someone throws themself in front of me, obstructing his attack.

“Stop!” My step-mom shouts, and her voice rings out across the battlefield, cutting through the flames and wild wind. Through the snowfall and earth shakes that I had grown used to by this point.

Everyone stops where they are and turns to stare at her.

She wasn’t here before. Her powers are healing and protective in nature. I was sure that she was with the younger children, keeping them away from the battle to end all battles. But here she is now: standing between her husband and stepson.

“Stop fighting,” she says, her words directed at my father.

“Move out of the way. This does not concern you.”

“It absolutely does concern me. If you mean to kill my son, then it is my responsibility to stop you.”

Tears spring to my eyes, and I am uncertain whether it’s from the pain or from her words. She has never called me her son before. I always thought that she saw me as the child she had to put up with and never wanted. I thought she cared for her own children more than she ever would with me.

I was wrong, though, because she is right here, putting herself in harm’s way to protect me.

“If you plan to hurt him, you will have to go through me,” she says, taking up a protective stance in front of me, and I think she means it. She would sacrifice herself to protect me, the same way that I was ready to do for Simon a moment ago.

I feel something wet drip down my face, and I am unsure whether it is blood or tears. I’m starting to feel woozy now. It wouldn’t take much more at this point to end me. It would almost be a kindness.

And now, we have come full-circle. Would it be better to suffer through the pain of my family’s hatred and murderous attacks or to just die now and have it all be over?

I don’t care which one seems better, though.

I only care about what I want. And what I want is a future. A future with Simon and a future away from all of this violence. Which is why I came here to fight today. I came to fight for a future, and now Daphne is helping me fight for that future as well.

“Tell everyone to stand down,” she says. “We shouldn’t be fighting our own family. He is your son for merlin’s sake. That should mean something to you.”

“He stopped being my son the moment he decided to hang out with heroes.”

Even though I knew this would be the case, it hurts to hear him actually say it. In this moment, he is announcing to me and to everyone else that I no longer have a home, that I no longer have a family. I am completely alone.

I glance behind me and am reminded that I am not actually completely alone. Simon and the others may not be related to me by blood, and I may not have known them all for long, but in standing beside me in all of this, they have become my second family. They care more for my safety than my real family does at least.

I am several inches taller than Daphne, so I have a clear view of my father’s expression. He is obviously torn, unsure whether to continue trying to kill me, killing his wife in the process, or let me go, let the family traitor run free.

For a moment, I think that he might actually kill Daphne. There is murder in his eyes, and no one can stop him. But then his stance relaxes and he lowers his hand before signaling to the others to retreat.

The three of us continue to stand there, at the center of a burning battlefield until they have all disappeared back into the woods.

“Go,” Daphne commands, and Malcolm does, giving me one last look before turning away.

Daphne waits until he has disappeared into the trees and still a moment longer before she turns to me.

She looks me up and down, watching as the vines slowly release me. I can’t tell if that helps or worsens the pain, but at least I’m safe for now.

It’s hard to meet Daphne’s eyes because when I do, I can see her pain written so clearly there. She is still torn, but she made a choice today, one that gives me hope.

“I’m sorry, but I think you have to leave,” she says quietly. “I bought you some time, but I don’t think he’s going to give up forever.”

I nod in understanding. I knew from the beginning that this is how it would end, me being shunned from my family. At least maybe I will have the chance at finally being free of them.

I am just about to turn away from her and join the others, but I hesitate before stepping forward and wrapping my arms around her in a tight hug. She hugs me back, and I can feel her power washing over me like a warm blanket.

She’s healing all of my wounds. Wiping away the already-forming bruises and closing up the cuts and puncture wounds from the thorns. She wipes away all of the pain, all of it except the ache in my chest.

I whisper a hoarse thank you that isn’t possibly enough, but it’s all that I have. She risked her life to save me, and I will never be able to repay her.

When we pull away, her eyes are wet, but she wears a small smile.

“I’m happy that you’re safe. I love you.”

“I love you, too, mom.”

I’ve never called her that before. I thought it might be crossing a line, but now I can see that she was there for me all along, even during those times when I thought I was alone. She mothered a child she didn’t have to, a child who was not her own, a child who should have been more grateful.

I feel a wetness stream down my face, and this time, I know for sure that it’s tears.

Today, I gained a future, but I lost my family.

I will miss them, but I know that this is the only choice I have if I want to get through this alive, so with tears in my eyes, I turn to join the others, crossing over to where Simon is and taking his hand.

I don’t turn to watch Daphne leave. It would be too much right now, and I’m not sure that I wouldn’t go running after her.

I will come back someday. I will get Daphne and my siblings out of here, but for now, I am running. I am running to a place where I will hopefully be able to grow stronger and be able to fight my family and win. I may never be able to change the minds of my father and aunt, but I can try to protect the rest of my family.

For now, though, it is time for me to go.

Burn - Ellie Goulding, On Top Of The World - Imagine Dragons

That may be the end of the fighting, but it is not the end of the story yet, nor even the end of their trouble because just as the heroes join together, looking over each other’s injuries, there is the sound of an explosion.

Baz spins around just in time to watch the edge of the trees go up in flames, a fire burning that could threaten to take out the entire patch of woods.

[a/n: I have no idea why the fight takes place here, except that I wanted the fic to end with them standing on a cliff, looking out over the town, with a fire burning behind the, but then the fire gets put out immediately so…]

He has no doubt that it was his aunt’s doing. She warned him after she and Malcolm caught him with Simon that this is how things would end: in flames. (“One day everything will burn, and your friends will turn on you, thinking it was you. Where will you be then? All alone in a world that hunts you.”)

This is her parting gift, a glimpse at the future that she sees for him.

Baz grimaces at it. His aunt knew that he would not be able to put it out himself, and it was her last opportunity to show his new allies that he is of no use to them. It isn’t until this moment that Baz sees the absolute truth of it. Maybe he should just go now, leave them all before anyone can get hurt because of him.

But then Simon squeezes his hand and smiles at him as he says, “It’s alright. I’ve got this. We’re a team now, remember?”

Maybe this won’t be so bad after all. They may be opposites in some respects, but that just makes them stronger together, playing off of each other’s strengths to fight whatever is thrown their way.

As Simon puts out the fire, Baz allows himself to feel a bit of relief and even some hope. Maybe there’s a chance for them after all. Yes, they’ll have to start all over, but at least he won’t be constantly worried about being killed.

Standing there triumphant and with Simon standing beside them, Baz can’t help but smile a bit.

He feels like he’s on top of the world. But also like he could reach over and hold the world in my arms.

He finally has everything that he has ever wanted when he never thought he could ever be this happy, never that he could have anything that he wanted.

Baz is so glad that he was wrong. He’s free now, and they can go anywhere. He wonders if Simon has ever traveled before…

***

A/N: And that’s the story. I hope you all enjoyed it, and I would love to hear your thoughts :)

#snowbaz #simon snow #baz pitch #carry on #wayward son #rainbow rowell #snowbaz fic #ish #fic outline #fic ideas #my writing #snow and the flame #coexchange

19 notes · View notes

the-delta-42 · 4 years

Text

Taken to be Returned

Inspired by This by @lenoreofraven

This one-shot will have mentions of torture, death and assault, read at your own risk.

Taken to be returned

“M’Lady, I know that this may be a bad time, given we’re in the middle of dealing with an Akuma and,” Chat dodged a rock thrown at him, “My Girlfriend and I were talking and we were thinking of expanding our relationship.”

“That nice.” Muttered Ladybug, ducking a rock, “Why are you bringing it up?”

“Well, she and I were talking and there’s this other girl that we both like and we don’t know how to tell her.” Said Chat, jumping from roof to roof.

“Have a normal conversation with her, ask her if she wants to join you two.” Said Ladybug, ignoring the sharp pang in her chest.

“Do you think Marinette will really want to?” Asked Chat, making Ladybug stumble and nearly fall off the roof.

Before Ladybug could recover, an arm wrapped around her neck. Her blood ran cold as the mocking laughter of Hawkmoth rang out.

“Oh, this was too easy.” Sneered Hawkmoth, as he started to drag Ladybug away.

Ladybug thrashed and screamed and bit Hawkmoth, who only tightened his hold around her neck, squeezing until she passed out.

TtbR

Ladybug woke to a cage inside a big plastic cube, inside another cage. Her hands immediately went to her ears, finding them bare. A lump started to form in Marinette’s throat, Hawkmoth now had Tikki. Marinette’s heart then froze when she realised that Hawkmoth now knew who she was, he could target her friends and family at any time.

“I hope you find your accommodations suitable,” Said Hawkmoth, as he walked into the room, “Having this built wasn’t easy.”

“Where’s Tikki?” Demanded Marinette, jumping to her feet, “What have you done to her?”

“It is where it belongs, Mlle. Dupain-Cheng.” Said Hawkmoth, as the door unlocked, allowing him to stalk towards her, “If I were you, I’d be more concerned about myself.”

Marinette smirked at him, “I guess that was sets us apart, you only care about yourself and how it’ll benefit you, I much prefer to have others experiencing things with me.”

Hawkmoth Glared, before drawing his hand back and hitting Marinette, knocking her on her to the ground.

“Where’s the Miracle box?” Demanded Hawkmoth, as he stood over her, “I know the Guardian left it with you and I know it’s not in your room, because I would’ve found it.”

Marinette suddenly felt violated, having Hawkmoth tell her that he’d been in her room. It also told her that he didn’t look very hard.

“You really think I’d tell you?” Asked Marinette, her face set in complete defiance.

“You will.” Said Hawkmoth, as he drew his leg back.

The beating Hawkmoth gave her lasted at least three hours, Marinette was satisfied that she had managed to get a few hits back on him.

A couple of hours later Mayura walked into the room, presumably to continue Hawkmoth’s work.

The next day the beatings continued, then the next week they started to electrocute her, burn her, cut into her, stripped her, jam two very hot needles into her back and near drown her. Marinette coughed up water, as Mayura stared down at her. Hawkmoth had to leave because Marinette bit down on him.

“You know that if you just tell us, all this will stop.” Said Mayura, running her hand along Marinette’s back, “Just tell us where the box is, and we’ll let you go.”

“Fuck off.” Marinette grumbled, trying not to shiver.

“Well, you can’t say you weren’t offered an alternative.” Said Mayura, drawing her hand back.

TtbR

Marinette lied on her side as Mayura entered the cell, she had been stuck here for over a month and yesterday they made the mistake of giving her a metal knife and fork. If she recalled correctly, Mayura was bringing her food today. Marinette heard a tray be set down.

“You’re lucky.” Growled Mayura, “Hawkmoth is on a business trip, so you won’t be getting your usual treatment this week.”

Marinette heard Mayura walk closer, before she quickly rolled over and jammed the fork into Mayura’s ankle. Mayura screamed as her leg buckled, allowing Marinette to repeatedly punch her in the face, before she grabbed the Peacock Miraculous and tore it off her. Marinette then slammed her head against the wall, until she was certain Mayura wasn’t going to get up again any time soon.

Marinette looked down at herself, before she decided to take Mayura’s clothes. Marinette rolled Mayrua over and recoiled at the sight of Nathalie Sancouer, Gabriel Agreste’s Assistant. Marinette quickly put the pieces together in her head and started removing Nathalie of her clothes and putting them on herself.

Marinette though she looked ridiculous, since the clothes were slightly too big for her, before holding the Peacock Miraculous tightly in her hand and limping out of the cell. Marinette wandered through the labyrinth of corridors, before she came across the door. She struggled to get it open, carefully ramming her shoulder against it, until it suddenly swung open before she could make contact with it again.

TtbR

“Okay,” Said Alya, as most of the class and Kagami sat in Gabriel Agreste’s office, “so, Ladybug has been missing for what, six weeks?”

“Six weeks, three days, 12 hours, nine minutes and seventeen seconds.” Said Max, looking up from his laptop.

“And Marinette’s been ‘on a trip’ for roughly the same amount of time.” Said Alya, “We can’t look for Marinette because,”

“The Police don’t know she’s missing and will try and fine us if we walk around with her picture.” Said Sabrina, her arms folded, ever since Chloe had been placed under house arrest, Marinette had been her main friend.

“And someone will eventually realise that maybe there’s a correlation between two missing girls and say ‘Hey, I found Ladybug’s identity!’.” Said Alya, as Adrien looked up from his father’s safe.

“Alya, I had to tell you and even then, you didn’t believe me.” Deadpanned Adrien, as he started looking back into his father’s safe.

“Along with the official story of Marinette being on a trip to her aunt being a reasonable cover, seeing how we met her Aunt Maeve a couple months back.” Said Mylene, before Alix shushed her.

“I hear something.” Said Alix, as a soft thump came from the other side of the painting of Adrien’s mother.

“Okay, that one leads to a safe, where does that on lead to?” Demanded Alix, pointing at another portrait of Emilie Agreste.

“No idea.” Said Adrien, as he slowly approached the painting. A few more thumps sounded, before he grabbed the corner and tugged at it, before he quickly grabbed the other side and tugged, making it swing wide open, allowing a certain French-Asian girl to topple through.

“MARINETTE!” Yelled a multitude of voices.

“Wow, she looks like hell.” Said Alix, as Marinette struggled to get up.

“Earrings.” Marinette rasped, as she tried to look around.

“Hey, hey,” Said Adrien, fishing the studs from his pocket, “I have them here, see?” He held his hand out, presenting the earrings to Marinette, which flickered as she touched them, allowing Tikki to take form.

“I already told you, I’m not going to serve someone who- MARINETTE!” Tikki shrieked as she caught sight of her chosen.

Marinette’s eyes rolled to the back of her head and her world went dark.

TtbR

The heart monitor that was linked up to Marinette held a steady beat, as orderly’s and other medical practitioners walked around the room.

“Multiple burn wounds, possible nerve damage,” One orderly listed for the doctor, “There seems to be some tearing around her genitals, but we haven’t checked any further. The x-rays show that she’s had some broken bones, along with some severe fractures along her arms and legs, some minor internal bleeding. The police are going to want a full report on this, since it’s doubtful that she was alone.”

The doctor frowned, casting an eye over the girl, “Mlle. Dupain-Cheng, 18 years old, currently studying at College Francis Dupont, at least that’s what I’ve managed to find out about her. Is she a frequent patient?”

“No, the last time anyone remembers seeing her here was ten years ago when she broke her arm falling out of a tree.” Replied an orderly, “She’s had quite a few visitors, mind you, Classmates, friends, extended family, I hear that even her brothers and sister have come back.”

“You’re familiar with the family?” Questioned the Doctor.

“Yeah, Toby and I go way back, long before he caught the travelling bug from his grandmother and took off to see the world.” Responded the orderly, before they cast a quick look around and leaning towards the doctor, “Although, mind you, there have been rumours that this girl isn’t, um, how do you say it? Not all there.”

Before the doctor could respond, a nurse stuck her head in the door, “The police and Dupain-Cheng’s are here to get the diagnosis for the patient.”

The doctor sighed, he hated being the barer of bad news for families.

TtbR

Everyone was packed into the lounge when Tom and Sabine returned, the door closing with a slam, making everyone jump.

Tom stormed past them and towards a cupboard, while Sabine shuffled into the room. Her eyes were red and swollen.

“What’s the damage?” Asked Alix, her tone sombre.

“Marinette might not be able to see or hear out of her right side anymore,” Snarled Tom, “She’s going to have some trouble standing once her leg’s fixed and that’s not counting any of the psychological issues she’ll have to deal with.”

“T-they also believe that she m-may have been r-r-” Sabine was cut off by Ivan.

“They think she was raped.” His tone was level, but his face showed a storm that was brewing underneath his wall.

Sabine let out a choked sob, as the air in the room grew thick.

“Where did you all find her?” Asked Tom, looking at the class.

Everyone was silent, unsure how to break the news to the pair.

Adrien broke the silence, “My father made alterations to the mansion.”

Tom stilled, before he slowly turned and looked at Adrien.

“Your father,” Said Tom, slowly, “had her?”

“Nathalie knew, although I haven’t seen or heard from her all day, which is weird,” Said Adrien, his mind deviating slightly, “but she was being kept in a room hidden by a painting of my mum, we wouldn’t’ve found her if Alix wasn’t there.”

Tom looked at Alix, before looking back at Adrien, his expression darkening.

“If I find out that you knew, I’ll-” Tom was interrupted.

“Adrien didn’t know about the doorway,” Alya interrupted, making Tom switch from Adrien to Alya, “he was the one that actually started the search, especially considering the little fact that he told us.”

“Fact?” Demanded Tom, his gaze back on Adrien.

“In my defence, I only found out by accident, I saw Marinette de-transforming and-”

“De-what?” Asked Tom completely lost.

“Wait, you don’t know?” Came Adrien’s response.

“Know what?” Asked Sabine, looking at the boy.

There was a continuous silence, which was broken by a cackle.

Everyone jumped at the sudden noise, before a small black cat floated out of Adrien’s chest. The noise was almost nasally, cackling away as they floated to the centre of the room.

“I have to say, kid,” Laughed the creature, “telling the Ladyblogger pigtails is Ladybug is one thing but outing her identity to her parents takes the camembert.”

“I thought they knew, Marinette has a great bond with her parents, she would’ve told them!” Adrien protested, his face going red in shame and embarrassment.

The creature only continued to laugh, while Adrien tried to hide in his own shirt.

TtbR

Marinette took a sharp intake of breath, she cast her eyes around the room she was in. It looked like a standard hospital room, completely filled with flowers, chocolates and other gifts. What drew Marinette’s attention was the sight of Kagami sleeping in the chair next to the bed.

Marinette tried to sit up, only to get a sharp sting racing through her nerves, making her let out a grunt of pain. Kagami jump and looked straight at Marinette.

“You’re awake!” Cried Kagami, throwing her arms around Marinette, who let out another grunt, “Oh my god, I’m so sorry!”

“What happened?” Rasped Marinette, making Kagami disappear and reappear with a cup of water.

“What’s the last thing you remember?” Asked Kagami, leaning forwards.

Marinette thought back, “Tikki.”

Marinette froze, before she started looking around the room frantically, moving to get out of the bed.

“The earrings are safe, they’re with Adrien.” Kagami exclaimed, trying to get Marinette to lie back down, “Adrien is with your parents and they’ll be here later.”

There was a cough from the doorway, making the two girls look over. Adrien stood awkwardly in the door, looking as if he had a gun placed against his back.

“H-hi, Marinette.” Stuttered Adrien, making Marinette cock her head.

“Adrien,” Stated Marinette, “is everything alright?”

“Y-yeah, everything’s fine.” Adrien stammered, “W-why do you ask?”

“Because you look like you’ve had a vibrator set to its highest setting shoved up your butt and you’re trying to hold a conversation.” Came the deadpan reply.

There was a little giggle behind Adrien, which then turned into a snorting laughter. Marinette looked behind Adrien, spotting the majority of the class standing behind him. Alix was snorting away, while Adrien tried to keep his face from going red.

TtbR

“Okay, so,” Said Marinette, looking around her, “you guys couldn’t look for me, because I wasn’t listed as missing, Adrien found out my identity and blurted it out to Alya, who in turn told everyone else and then they found out Agreste was Hawkmoth.”

“More or less.” Said Nino, who shifted uneasily, “Luka wanted to be here, but his job wouldn’t let him.”

Marinette absently nodded, before her eyes widened, “Shit, Adrien, you need to get home, Nathalie has a concussion from when I smashed her head against a wall.”

Adrien was silent, Nathalie had been removed when the Police had searched the house and it’s many hidden areas, he didn’t have the heart to tell her that Nathalie was dead, Marinette’s mental state was fragile enough as it is.

Marinette picked up on the shift in tone, “She’s dead, isn’t she?”

Everyone remained silent, not sure how to respond.

“W-well, the police are classing it a self-defence a-and aren’t going to charge you with anything.” Said Sabrina, trying to sound optimistic.

“Are you alright?” Asked Rose, staring at Marinette with concern.

“Y-yeah, I, um,” Marinette whispered, “I think I’d like to be alone for a while please.”

No one wanted to leave but allow themselves to be herded out when Marinette had repeated her request. Marinette was staring down at her hands while everyone left the room. She’d killed someone, sure it was one of her captors who had violated her on a personal level, but she didn’t want to kill her. Her hands had turned red, Marinette first thought that it was her suit, only to notice the lack of spots, then she saw how it smeared. Marinette then knew what it was, blood. Marinette started rubbing her hands together, slowly picking up the pace, until she was frantically scrubbing away at her hands, everything was becoming blurry, then the world went dark.

TtbR

Marinette woke up to her parents next to her, how could they look so calm? Why weren’t they repulsed that their own child was a murderer?

Marinette started to curl up into a ball, as her frame started trembling, her mouth speaking without her thinking, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry,” repeating continuously, until they could get a doctor in to sedate her.

Tom and Sabine shared a look, this was going to a long and painful process.

Adrien had heard Marinette from outside the room, he had agreed to helping the police try and get his father back into the country. They hoped that he’d fall for it.

TtbR

Kagami and Adrien were sat on the bed next to Marinette, with Marinette in between them, they found that Marinette slept better when someone was with her. Adrien didn’t know how he was going to bring the relationship idea up to her again, since he didn’t know how she was going to react. Marinette stirred slightly, Kagami scooting down to place and arm around Marinette, who started to settle back down.

“Have you told her yet?” Asked Kagami, looking up at Adrien.

“I told her who I was, and I think she connected the dots on her own.” Adrien replied, “I don’t know what her answer is, though.”

“Did you tell her that I knew?” Kagami questioned, making Marinette sit bolt upright.

“WAIT, WHAT?!”

Adrien and Kagami winced and covered their ears, while Marinette gaped at them.

“Marinette,” Squeaked Adrien, his face pale, “I thought you were asleep.”

“You revealed your identity to a civilian.” Said Marinette, her jaw agape.

“Actually, she figured it out on her own.” Adrien lied, getting a thump from Marinette, “OW!”

“Don’t. Lie.” Marinette seethed, rolling over, facing away from Adrien.

“Are we going to get an answer?” Asked Kagami, looking down at Marinette’s head.

“Yes.” Came the muffled reply, before Marinette tugged them down.

TtbR

Marinette nervously shifted as the car pulled up at the Bakery, she had just been discharged from hospital. The doctors had said that most of the issues now were psychological and had arranged for a counsellor to be placed at the school for her. There was the odd stare from a random passer-by, apparently someone had leaked that she had been missing. Which of course blew up with theories and speculation, with no one willing to give any answers.

Marinette let out a little whimper, as the paparazzi photographed the car.

“Well, this is going well.” Kagami commented, idly, “Let’s wait for the crowd to clear up.”

There was a sound reminiscent of a gunshot, making everyone duck.

“That’s our que.” Said Adrien, he and Kagami grabbing hold of Marinette and running into the Bakery, where Marinette saw Michael holding a rifle.

The door closed rather noisily on a reporter’s face, with Michael giving a smug grin and wave to them.

“Idiots.” Muttered Michael, as Marinette was guided up the stairs.

Adrien pushed the door open, Kagami gently ushered Marinette in, everyone getting to their feet. Alya rushed towards Marinette, wrapping her arms around the French-Asian girl, it wasn’t long before Marinette broke down.

Adrien’s phone buzzed with a text message, glancing down, his father was demanding where he was and where Nathalie was. Cold hatred coiled in Adrien’s gut. Gabriel had kidnapped Marinette, beaten her, assaulted her, tortured her within an inch of her life and performed unspeakable acts on her, just because he felt he had the right over everyone else.

Adrien ignored his father’s text, quietly sending a message to Officer Raincomprix, telling the Police Officer that his father was at the Mansion.

Kagami held onto Marinette, gently caressing her hair.

“Can someone turn the tv on?” Asked Adrien, “I want to watch the news.”

“Why?” Demanded Alix, “Marinette’s just come home and the news is going to be in the paper tomorrow.”

“I think this is something Marinette is going to want to see.” Said Adrien, as the tv turned on.

“Don’t be bemused, it’s just news,” Said Nadja, as she appeared on screen, “Earlier this evening, Police received an anonymous tip that the location of Hawkmoth has been found. Hawkmoth has terrorised Paris for the past five years and has managed to evade both the Police and our resident Super-heroes, Ladybug and Chat Noir, he has also killed thirteen people in the past two months, since he abducted Ladybug during one of his Akuma attacks.”

The room was tense.

“It is unknown if Ladybug is still alive, but Police are converging on the docks of Paris, in the hopes of cornering Hawkmoth, with the intention to bring him to justice. Chat Noir has refused to give a statement on the matter, as have the three new heroes who arrived to assist him since Ladybug’s abduction.” Nadja looked directly into the camera, “I say this now as a citizen of Paris, not as a News caster, Hawkmoth, if Ladybug isn’t alive, then there will be blood.”

“The fun fact is, the Police aren’t going to the docks,” Said Adrien, leaning back in his chair, “Gabriel isn’t going to know what hit him when he gets home.”

“Unfortunately, more of Hawkmoth’s minions are being routed out, as well as the number of dead growing.” Said Nadja, “The list of Hawkmoth’s minions now includes Andre Glacier, Lila Rossi, Samuel Marcus, Richard Allen, Felix de Graham-Villani, Hector Damocles, Simon Jonas, Jalil Kubdel and, the now deceased, Nathalie Sancoeur.”

Marinette flinched, making Kagami and Adrien wrap an arm around her.

“Nathalie Sancoeur was killed when a previous captive managed to break free, that captive has not been named, nor will they be prosecuted, as they were acting in self-defence, they were found in an alley not far from College Francis Dupont. They are currently still in hospital with both Police and Medical professionals monitoring them, as of yet, they have not woken or shown any sign of waking up. Sancoeur’s body was found not far from where the captive was found, with a Miraculous in her possession, Chat Noir has been reported to believe that Ms. Sancoeur was Mayura and aided Hawkmoth in his abductions.” Nadja continued to report, “The List of the dead now include Otis Césaire, Rolland Dupain, Andre Bourgeois, Amelie de Graham-Villani, Christopher Lahiffe, Fredrick Haprele, Wang Fu, Marianne Lenoire, Wang Cheng, Man-Manon Chamack,” Nadja’s voice cracked, “and Xavier Ramier. Marlena, Nora, Etta and Ella Césaire are still in hospital in critical condition, and Tomoe Tsurugi, Gina Dupain, Caline Bustier, Audrey and Chloe Bourgeois and Anarka Couffaine have all be stabilized and are recovering.”

“Hawkmoth’s started planting bombs.” Said Kim, “Every time a minion of his is found, another one goes off. The most recent one was at School, during the PTC.”

“And that’s not counting those attacks in the streets, that’s how they got Ramier.” Said Alya, bitterly, “How they got my family.”

“Apparently, Lila had been feeding Hawkmoth information, when she was caught, the number of attacks reduced, but not enough to save more people.” Murmured Nino, “They say the full list is a good fifty-one-hundred and fifty people, they actually brought the army in.”

“Lila’s parents have practically disowned her, given her connections with Hawkmoth.” Said Rose, her voice quiet, “This is possibly the best news we’ve had since all this started.”

“What is?” Asked Marinette, looking at them.

“You came back.” Said Mylene, “We all thought that you were one of the first victims, but Adrien said, ‘no body, not dead’, every time it was brought up.”

“They’re talking about setting up support groups to help the traumatized,” Said Michael, leaning into the room, “And anyone else who’s been fortunate enough to survive, although they may not see it that way.”

“Do we know who else is missing?” Asked Marinette, looking at the class.

“Madame Mendeleiev, Marc, Mirelle, Aurore, a couple of people from Adrien’s fencing group and some others from the higher and lower years.” Responded Alix, “We think they were taken because they either tried to intervene or because they’re close to you.”

“He was demanding to know where the Miracle Box was.” Marinette murmured, “He didn’t look very well, since he said he couldn’t find it in my room.”

“Because it’s not there.” Said Adrien, “After you were taken, Kagami and I snuck in and hid it somewhere.”

Marinette stared at the two, “Where did you hide it?”

Kagami looked over at a basket next to the sofa. Marinette shuffle-limped over and lifted the lid, spotting the Miracle Box, unopened.

“Your room was trashed, by the way.” Said Kagami, moving to stand next to Marinette.

“I think I’m just glad it’s still here.” Said Marinette, looking down at the box.

“News just in,” Came Nadja’s voice, making everyone look at the screen, “Gabriel Agreste has been arrested in the charges of being Hawkmoth. Police observed Mr. Agreste entering a hidden room in his home, before he became Hawkmoth, Police were alerted to Mr. Agreste being Hawkmoth by his son, Adrien, after he stumbled across the room whilst exploring the house. Adrien alerted Police and Emergency Medical services after he discovered one of the missing people, as well as the body of Ms. Nathalie Sancoeur. Mr. Agreste has been loudly protesting his arrest, claiming that he needed the Miraculous to being back his wife. Mrs. Emilie Agreste has been missing, and presumed dead, for six years, more information will be given as the situation unfolds.”

“Game, set and match.” Said Adrien, folding his arms, “What do you think will happen to him?”

“Life in prison.”

“Give everything up.”

“Get a light slap on the wrist and placed under police protection.”

Everyone looked at Alix.

“Alix wins?”

There were mutterings of agreement.

“Now what do we do?” Asked Marinette, making Adrien and Kagami appear either side of her.

“You go up to bed and get some rest.” Said Adrien, as he and Kagami linked arms with Marinette and led her up the stairs.

TtbR

Marinette looked around the school.

“They’ve redecorated.” Said Marinette, looking at a poster, “I don’t like it.”

“I’m amazed that they pulled everything together so quickly.” Said Alya, making Marinette blush, “You had something to do with that, didn’t you?”

“Well, I couldn’t bring the dead back, so I figured that I could at least help with the repairs.” Mumbled Marinette, twisting her fingers together.

“I suppose Adrien and Kagami couldn’t stop you.” Stated Alya, “How long have you been helping out?”

“…three and a half months?” Came the sheepish reply.

“Girl, you are going to be the death of us all.”

“I hope not, I like you being alive.”

“Hey.” Marinette and Alya turned around and spotted Chloe as she wheeled towards them.

Chloe had been rendered paraplegic from the explosion that killed her father, ironically it had been the same explosion that pushed Chloe and her mother closer together.

“Did you see what happened yesterday?” Asked Chloe, as Sabrina hurried up to her.

“If you’re referring to Adrien almost killing Gabriel, I was there in person.” Said Marinette, “Luka still has the black eye.”

“Adrien punched Luka?” Asked Sabrina, cocking her head.

“No, security punched Luka, he was helping Adrien.” Said Marinette, folding her arms, “Kagami wasn’t sure whether she should punch them or if she should kiss them.”

Chloe nodded, “And, how are you?”

Marinette nervously shifted from one foot to the other, “I’m getting better, I’m still relegated to behind the scenes work, since the last impression I left on that guy.”

“I heard his brains were leaking out.” Said Alix, as she appeared next to them.

“No, they weren’t.” Said Marinette, folding her arms.

Everyone was silent.

“Do you think anything will happen?”

“To what? The school? The city?”

“To us.”

Marinette was silent as she pondered on Sabrina’s question.

“I think that past few months have shown what would happen, and besides, we still have a few more things to clear up.” Said Marinette, “I hear that we’re merging with another school.”

“Makes sense, since our Principle preferred to bend over backwards for the rich and the Head of IT was a paedophile,” Said Alix, “I heard that they were going through with this because they were broke.”

“building wise or money wise?” Asked Alya, looking at the pink haired girl.

“Dunno.” Shrugged Alix, folding her arms, “I just know that all the teachers are doing a refresher course to bring them up to date with the common practices.”

They were silent.

“So, what happens now?” Asked Alya, as the rest of the class started to file in.

“We move on, rebuild,” Said Marinette, leaning against Adrien as he sat down, “We heal.”

Okay, I just spotted an error in this, I listed Marinette's age as 16 but then said Hawkmoth had been active for five years, which would have then made her 18, so I changed Marinette's from 16 to 18 to keep the continuity, because otherwise it would mean she became Ladybug when she was 11

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