#thirteen reason why head cannons | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pointnumbersixteen · 4 years

Text

A Head Cannon Biography and Character Analysis and of the Captain, Part 5: Everything the Captain Does Wrong in the First Flashback of Reddy Weddy in Sixteen Points

Which finally gets us back to the flashback scenes in Reddy Weddy.

Is this about to be over 2,000 words shredding the command performance of my favorite character? Yes, it is, but I do it with all the love in the world.

I’ll start with the first scene, which starts out as a morning brief. It shows just how awful he is at the whole ‘leader of men’ thing. What did he do wrong? This is going to go on for a while. The TLDR version is: literally everything. There is not a single word or action of his in that scene that went right. And it had to be intentional, as Ben Willbond is an admitted military buff, he has to know what proper military bearing is supposed to look like, and he wrote the episode.

I should preface this with saying that I absolutely adore the Captain in this scene, with his silly, over-excitable and ridiculously awkward self. But the first time I saw it, the part of me that spent four years in the US army was screaming inside about how terrible his performance was as a CO. Just picture yourself as one of those respectable and sensible young military personnel sitting in the seats listening to him with the thought, ‘if the Germans come this is the guy that’s going to be responsible for me in battle,’ and try not to cringe just a little.

First, starting with a bit of background: morning briefs are torture. They are the most boring things in the world. Everyone hates them. They’re one of those situations when you can just feel yourself slowly dying. Good commanders know that and try to keep them as short as possible. Bad commanders who don’t mind that their troops are silently hating them the whole time go on a bit longer, but even then, I don’t think I ever sat through one that made it through more than five or six points. The Captain’s very first line in the episode states that he is on POINT NUMBER SIXTEEN (the absurdity of which gave me the handle for this side-blog). His subordinates are blank faced. They’ve probably been tuning this tedious BS out since point number four.

Second, point number sixteen is, to paraphrase, “Why am I still hearing laughter after hours? We are at war. Fun is banned.” In a stern lecture tone. No, Captain, pet, just because the army probably sucked all the joy out of your life, doesn’t mean that no one is allowed to be happy in the military, even during wartime. My dear, actually you should be encouraging them to decompress however they can, as long as it isn’t inappropriate or interfering with their duties, because war is stressful, even if you’re not on the front lines. The military in general is stressful, even when you’re not at war. Joking and horseplay- as long as it isn’t the sort of thing that isn’t going to get anyone injured- is good for morale. And modern militaries have morale officers for a reason. At this point, the man in the middle of the front row breaks his blank face momentarily to give the woman next to him a ‘can you believe this crap?’ look.

Third, the Captain goes on and backs this up by essentially saying (again paraphrased), “I understand you all are bored, I’m bored, too, this shit is boring, but this is where the army stuck us so we have to deal.” Which again is the wrong answer. That is precisely how NOT to motivate people to do their best. This is a situation where the officer should try to generate enthusiasm amongst his subordinates for their roles. Even if he wanted to provide a similar sentiment, the word ‘bored’ never should have entered the equation. Everyone is bored most of the time in the military, but it’s not something the higher ranks acknowledge, because acknowledging it helps nothing. His statement should have been something more like, “I understand that some of you are frustrated that you’re not serving in combat, but what we’re doing here in support of the war effort is important, and it will take all of us doing our parts, both out there on the front, and back here in England, to win this thing.”

Next, when Havers comes in with the message for him, he speculates out loud about it being an answer to his pistol requisition. He shouldn’t have done this, and gets two wrong points for it.

The fourth is because while I find his excitement about that pistol endearing, like a little boy hoping for just the right present from Santa at Christmas (and still pining for it 75 years after his death, as noted in the ‘going to the shops’ game with Fannie in s2e4), it probably comes off as foolish or childish to his subordinates. The gun he really wants to have probably should not be the first thing that comes to his mind when communicating with command. There’s a war on. There have to be at least one or two things that are more important.

The fifth is because you’re not supposed to reveal any of your command requests to your subordinates until you know how they’re going to turn out, and then only the ones that are approved, because if you reveal you’ve requested something and it isn’t granted, particularly something as simple as being issued a side arm, it starts to look like higher command doesn’t favor you or have confidence in you. Which in his case is probably true. But that’s not something he should reveal to his troops by way of letting them know he requested a fancy new side arm and then never received one. He might as well have put a sign on his back that said, “Command trusts me so little they won’t even give me a gun.”

Sixth, when he reads the actual message, he just blurts out something to the order of, “good god, France has surrendered.” Which is not how the other people in the room should have received that information. There should have been some sort of measured, more dignified, official sounding announcement. “It’s my duty to inform you all that unfortunately France surrendered to the Germans yesterday,” or something of the sort at the bare minimum. But no, he just blurts it out. Well, Havers asks him what’s wrong after the “good god” part, but he still shouldn’t have blurted it out.

Seventh, and after blurting it out, he doesn’t add anything to it. France surrendering was a disaster for the British during WWII. It meant Germany was coming for them next. This would have been the time to reassure his men- and women- that although things might look grim, he was confident that high command had a plan and would have everything under control and that there was no way Germany would make it across the channel and that even if they did, the army would be ready. But no, he says nothing of the sort.

Eighth, in fact, he says nothing else to the people who had been present for his briefing at all. After Havers enters the room, he has neither eyes nor words for anyone else. Which is not professional at all.

Ninth, the way he looks at Havers throughout this scene, his face lights up, his voice cheers, his whole demeanor changes. He might have well had a neon sign glowing above his head that screamed ‘I’M GAY FOR THIS MAN!!!’ It would have been the only thing that could possibly be more obvious. When, again, being gay wasn’t okay at all in 1940’s England, and particularly not in the army. I love how incredibly unsubtle he is about his attractions while he clearly thinks he’s being subtle, but that’s not the way it would have been viewed by the people in the room.

Tenth, in his excitement, the Captain just drops the message on the floor. Drops. It. On. The. Floor. He doesn’t even bother to pick it up. Even Havers gives him a funny look for this one. I say again, I find over-excited Cap adorable. His subordinates probably find this ridiculous, though. And if this were a man who was in charge of me and he’d just been giving me a tedious lecture about not laughing at night as part of a sixteen point morning brief, I’d find him ridiculous, too. At best.

Eleventh, then he immediately scrambles to the window and looks around wildly like he expects the Germans might be marching up Button House’s driveway as they speak. Which is plain silly, as Havers has to point to him. It’s obvious to anyone with sense that even if the Germans are going to invade, it will take them a while to organize an invasion, and Button House is unlikely to be one of the early strategic targets. But the Captain seems to forget this momentarily in his excitement and ends up looking silly in front of his subordinates. I’m pretty sure a few of them are laughing at him in the back.

Twelve, the fact that the Captain is clearly ridiculously excited about this development at all is another point against him, because he shouldn’t be. Of course, he’s excited about the renewed prospect of getting a chance to actually fight (see the previous part of this analysis for why he desperately wants such a thing) but that excitement is not good look. He’s thinking about what it means to him personally, rather than what it means to the military and the country as a whole. Again, the fall of France was a disaster for Britain. It means they’ve lost all of the battles they’ve fought to try to hold back the Germans in France. It means they’ve already lost thousands of men attempting to hold back the Germans in France and for nothing. It means they’ve lost their main ally, the ally the spent years successfully holding back Germany with in France in WWI and therefore implies that this war is going to be even worse than WWI, which was already unprecedentedly catastrophic. It means they’re alone against Germany and there’s a good chance that Germany will be invading soon. So, when they get this news and the Captain’s reaction is over-excitement, that does not look good for him. Nothing in this brief looks good for him, of course, but he just keeps digging the hole deeper.

Thirteen, his officer’s bearing (which as I mentioned in an earlier post as one of the indicators before Reddy Weddy of him probably not being a very good officer, as he maintains it well in emotionally neutral situations, but once emotions enter the picture it collapses) starts out fine when he’s actually giving the brief and then goes downhill once Havers enters the room and by the time he’s at the window, his body language is just… what are you even doing? He’s practically bouncing. Also, Cap, why are you randomly shouting? And what are you doing with your hands? (I wonder if he started carrying his pointy-stick everywhere because he couldn’t figure out otherwise what to do with his hands.) Of course, all of this is because he’s a magnificent over-excitable creature, but still… not a good look as a CO.

Fourteen, when they show the rest of the personnel in the room during this part of the scene, you can see clearly on the faces of the two men in from to the left of Havers (at ‘I don’t think they’ll be here just yet, sir’) that they think the Captain’s behavior is a joke… they fix their faces back to blank very quickly, but it’s there. I imagine what most of the men under his command felt for him was either ridicule or contempt, sadly. I feel sad for him, because I want my poor gay son to be loved and respected. But he isn’t in this situation and he doesn’t seem to either notice or care about this.

Fifteen, Havers has to remind the Captain that protocol states they’re supposed to lock down the estate at this point, as the British actually were expecting the Germans to invade after France fell. He shouldn’t have had to have been prompted, particularly not in front of their subordinates.

Sixteen, Havers also has to pretend that the Captain ordered everyone else in the room to go carry out the lockdown, when he didn’t, just shouted vaguely about it being a good idea. Havers then sends them on their way, as it’s clear that in his own excitement, the Captain seems to have forgotten that he’s the one in charge and supposed to be leading and commanding. But I suppose it’s good that Havers took the initiative to get everyone else out of the room as quickly as possible, as this has been literally only like a minute of time, and I’d hate to see how much Cap could embarrass himself in two minutes.

And there it is. I made this sixteen points long as an illustration of just how ridiculously long sixteen points actually is.

I won’t cover the part where the Captain and Havers were alone at the end of this scene, yet, as I’ll include it with the next written bit, which is going to be my analysis of their relationship. That might be a minute, because we’ve reach the end of the parts I actually had significantly written out. I’ve only outlined the Havers relationship section.

#the captain #bbc's ghosts #havers #reddy weddy #the captain was terrible at being a captain #guys help i've put more effort into this analysis of a fictional character than i did for my senior thesis in university

56 notes · View notes

de-profundis-ad-astra · 4 years

Text

Fury, Oh Fury - Part One

Triple Frontier | Hunger Games AU

Me: Hey what if I started working on Fury again? Y’all: Me: Hey if I started working on Fury again would you read it? Y’all: Me: Okay okay you’ve forced my hand I guess I gotta start working on Fury again

Rating || Mature (for graphic descriptions of violence/gore and strong language) Characters || Ben Miller. William Miller. A good chunk of this fic will be heavily focused on the Miller brothers, because I’m most comfortable writing them and I feel like I know them the best. Rest assured, Pope and Catfish will be making appearances ~eventually~ Word Count || 4.2k Taglist || (Starting out tagging some mutuals and people I remember from the previous taglist) @firefeatherx @mylifeliterally @mandoplease @phoenixhalliwell @skylyknightly @havenforafrazzledmind @beatriz-silva-00 @veuliee @veuliee2 @oldstuffnewstuff @dindisneydjarin @lilacyennefer @dignityneeded @agirllovespancakes @xjustmenobodyelse @oscarflysaac @jaime1110 @goldenhour-goldenboy @pascalz @briskywalker @herestherealproblem @givemethatgold

Author’s Note || For anyone who might be new here, @veuliee sent me a concept that I kinda uh, tripped over my own feet and plunged face first into and that’s the story of how I started writing a Hunger Games AU for Triple Frontier. Things got unbelievably crazy once I started work, and I’ve had some pretty unhealthy work/home boundaries with being virtual. I’m trying to establish some healthier limits and make more time for my writing, and this seemed like a good enough starting point. That and the outlines for the rest of this fic are still staring at me and demanding to be written.

So, here goes.

Home hasn’t felt like home since Will left.

It’s been nothing more than a house since the day of the reaping, almost a month ago. A collection of walls with a roof—the same as any other building. The place where he grew up. A place to rest his head and feed himself between training sessions. It won’t be home until Will comes back.

If he comes back.

Will has trained for this, Ben tells himself when doubt creeps in, wraps its icy fingers around his lungs and clenches tight, pushes down on his chest in the dead of the night and it feels like Ben is drowning. Will practiced and fought and earned the chance to volunteer for District Two. He wouldn’t have been selected as the male tribute for this year if his teachers hadn’t felt he had a strong chance of returning victorious.

But there had been Two’s female tribute also. And the tributes from One and Four. All were formidable in a fight, and knew the tips and tricks to survival that would be essential in the arena. Not to mention the Games themselves were an absolute wild card. For all Will’s training, he still could be killed by a natural disaster of the gamemakers design, stabbed in the back by his allies, a tribute from an outlying district could catch him off guard.

There’s far too much that can go wrong; Ben drowns each and every thought behind his own training at the academy.

He can’t let that kind of vulnerability shine through. Not to his father. Not to his peers. Especially not when he’s being followed as much as his brother in the arena. Since the field of tributes narrowed down to eight five days ago, when Capitol cameras and personnel arrived to interview him and his father, there’s been hardly a moment of privacy. So Ben covers his fear with a smile, says he has full confidence that his brother will be home as soon as he can. He laughs when they ask him if he’ll volunteer one day, just like his brother did.

Ben answers with a grin, says he has no place to make that determination—but who knows?

Deep down… he knows. He’s known for a while now. He’s young, but he’s already tall, strong, quick. A prodigy, they’d said of his skills. A promised child, just like his brother was.

In spite of his age, Ben is favored to volunteer and represent District Two in the coming years. For now, though, the focus is on honing those skills, shaping him into the best warrior they can to bring pride to District Two.

The Capitol, they say, are charmed by him already. The idea of two brothers bearing the title of Victor is the kind of narrative they’re keen to fall for. So Ben plasters that smile on and lets himself become a part of the show.

Because if he lost Will…

If he lost Will—

Where would home be?

All of District Two seems to have hit pause, every pair of eyes glued to the nearest screen.

Peacekeepers-in-training pause their exercises. Future tributes stop their sparring matches. The lines at every shop in town are on hold. Even the children have stopped playing their games to witness this.

And in the city square, standing in front of the Justice Building in a roped off section reserved for family, the mayor, and a handful of District Two’s more recent victors, thirteen year old Benjamin Miller tries to keep his fidgeting down to an occasional scuff of his feet on the dusty ground or flex of his weary muscles.

“Ladies and gentlemen, it seems we are entering the final moments of the Fifty-fourth annual Hunger Games!”

The massive screens mounted in the square broadcast live footage from the arena. Presently, two feeds are placed side by side, dedicated to the two remaining tributes of this year’s Hunger Games. One tracks Will’s every move, the other follows his opponent: the boy from District Four.

Will abandoned the Career pack when there were still fourteen tributes left. One night, during his watch shift, he left them behind, taking with him a pack with enough food to last him four days, a bottle of water, a sleeping bag, a hunting knife, and his preferred sword. A long, wicked thing most people might have struggled to wield two-handed. Will handled it with ease. One-handed.

Speculation rippled through the district at that. The decision to leave so early in the Games was shocking enough. Why not kill the rest while they slept and increase his odds of victory by an exponential margin? It was known that the pack would disband eventually, but why so soon?

At the academy, Will was both praised and berated for his choice. It was understandable to leave before bonds formed and killing another tribute turned into killing an ally. But so early? When so much could go wrong? It was a risk not many were brave enough to take.

In the arena, navigating the terrain proved to be its own exercise of survival. This year’s terrain consisted of three mountains of varying height, surrounded by dense forest. It became apparent early on that the woods were not safe, as they were crawling with all manner of predators, both organic and manufactured by the Capitol. Two weeks into the Games, the gamemakers destroyed the entire forest with a raging wildfire, killing an additional two tributes.

The forest now uninhabitable, Will had taken to carving out several hiding places among the mountainsides. Once he’d burned through his rations, he relied on hunting small creatures still inhabiting the cliffs and whatever his mentor was able to provide through sponsors. With the element of surprise working for him, Will had managed to ambush and eliminate four additional tributes, bringing his kill count to a whopping ten—high above the average for a typical career.

Almost half of the playing field, brought down by one seventeen-year old. Will must have struck a deal with his allies before the start of the Games, because during the bloodbath, he’d done most, if not all of the killing while the remainder of his team secured their supplies from the Cornucopia. If he walked away from this, he’d be the pride of District Two for a long time to come on that merit alone.

When the tribute pack thinned down to four, the gamemakers struck again. Devastating rockslides hammered each mountain, cutting off both Will’s access to his hiding spots, and any freshwater sources he’d relied on. The slides killed two tributes, the girl from One and the boy from Five.

Ben remembered watching in abject horror as his brother fled from the avalanche, finally managing to take cover underneath an outcropping of rock that shielded him from the worst of it. He’d escaped, though not without accruing a fair amount of scrapes and bruises along the way. The worst of it was a small, but deep cut slicing through his eyebrow. By a small miracle, it had stopped bleeding within an hour, but half of Will’s face was now crusted with streaks of dried blood, only adding to his already haggard state. He lost his knife in the chaos, but managed to hold onto his sword—his saving grace.

Not only that, but the only reason the boy from Four had survived was because he’d turned on his companion as they fled. When they were clear of the slides, while her guard was down, he’d shoved her back, right into the path of an oncoming boulder. She was crushed before she could even appear shocked by the betrayal. There weren’t even any remains left for the hovercraft to collect.

More whispers rippled through the district, then. Yes, it was sad. But it was what needed to be done.

No fresh water. Most of the wildlife either dead or scared off. Two tributes. It was evident the gamemakers wanted to end this fast. The Games had already lasted nearly three and a half weeks, far longer than average. This year had proven to be a particularly hardy bunch. Even getting a small water bottle into the arena at this rate would likely cost a large fortune.

Which meant they were on their own.

The moment the dust cleared, the cannons fired and faces projected in the sky, everyone knew what came next. Immediately, a space was cleared in the square for Ben and his father, victors called out to join and prepare to offer either congratulations or condolences depending on the outcome of the final encounter.

On the screen, Will inches his way along a narrow path on the face of the tallest mountain. All he has on his person is his sword and his clothes, veritably shredded after three weeks of fighting for his life in such an unforgiving environment. The landscape is similar enough that when Ben looks at the screen with the boy from Four, he can’t tell how near they are to each other. Will grew up in the mountains of Two. In theory, he should have an advantage over the boy from the coast. Nothing is ever set in stone, though—not in the Hunger Games. Four had proven himself to be quiet the adaptable tribute.

They have to be getting close, Ben thinks, there’s no way the gamemakers would push them away from each other at this point.

As if in answer to his thought, a low, feline snarl rumbles through the speakers. It’s faint, far away, but Will hears it. Everyone hears it. Pressing his back against the rock, he dares a swift look down towards the origin of the sound. As if oblivious to the cameras trained on him or simply not caring, Will’s shout cuts through the wind.

“Fuck!”

The camera angle switches, and Ben’s heart plummets.

Prowling about fifty feet beneath Will’s feet is a strange breed of feline, the likes of which Ben has never seen before. Three of them. Large, with a pale golden coat and small round ears. Long, curved, razor-sharp claws extending from all four oversized paws carve thin scratches into the rock as they pace back and forth beneath him.

Ben’s first thought is cougar, but then the cat looks up, and he beholds the elongated canines extending far past its lower jaw. He’s learned about it in school. A kind of cat that went extinct long before the continent was even known as the Americas. Despite his best efforts, Ben cannot recall its name.

It’s undoubtedly a muttation, designed and put out by the gamemakers to do one thing: kill.

The long-toothed cat bares its teeth, its companions following suit. From his perch on the mountainside, Will’s chest moves rapidly. He’s struggling to control his breath, Ben realizes. His throat tightens, his stomach tangling with itself.

Beside him, his father murmurs, “Move, William, move.”

“Look at that!” one of the commentators yells. “It seems the gamemakers have one last trick up their sleeves to push Will and Reed together!”

Ben grips the rope in front of him as if that is the only thing separating him from Will. The big cat crouches, leaps up to a rock jutting out from the mountainside, ten feet closer to him. Ben spares one glance towards Four’s feed. He doesn’t seem to be faring much better. Another trio of cats nip at his heels as he struggles to ascend the mountain.

Will’s breathing slows and deepens, and he masters himself enough to take several tiny steps closer to the end of the path. There, he will easily be able to summit the mountain, another twenty feet above his head.

The cats leap up another ten feet, and Will draws his sword with one hand. Bracing his free hand on the smooth, grey rock, he angles the blade towards the advancing cats and continues inching along. Only a few more feet separate him from the safety of the broad platform of stone. Beneath him, one of the cats leans back onto its haunches. Its entire body trembles before it goes preternaturally still, preparing to make one last leap towards its prey.

Reading the movements, Will does the same. For a moment, they lock eyes. Blue to gold, predator to predator. Silence grips the square. Ben’s lungs strain against his ribs, but he doesn’t let himself breathe. Not yet. Not when it feels as if a single puff of air could alter the course of history in this moment.

The cat leaps.

So does Will.

He goes nearly parallel to the ground, his free hand reaching out for something he can catch himself on and his sword hand sweeping downward the same moment the cat swipes a clawed paw towards him.

The honed edge of the sword slices deep into the neck of the feline. A trail of blood droplets follows the arc of the blade as Will twists in midair, angling his body so his back will take the brunt of the impact and tucking his chin down into his chest. The cat yowls as it tumbles back, the sound turning into an awful gurgle before cutting off. Its body falls down the steep mountain face. Ben only catches a short glimpse before it tumbles off the screen, but he can see that Will cut deep enough that its head is barely hanging on by a few tendons and muscle fibers. A thick streak of red smears the rock where it fell.

With a grunt, Will slams into the ground, sliding over the dirt and loose rocks for a moment before his body stills. He remains there for several seconds before ever so slowly, he turns onto his side. Pressing his left hand into the ground, Will pushes himself up, dragging his feet beneath his shoulders. As soon as he puts his weight onto his legs, he gives out and he topples back down.

Any relief Ben felt at his brother’s life-saving maneuver is swelled out by a pulse of fear when he sees why his brother can’t stand.

A duo of long cuts, so straight and deep it looks almost surgical, extends from the middle of Will’s thigh down to his ankle. Ben had been so busy watching his brother he’d been oblivious to the fact that the cat had gotten him.

Each breath Will takes has blood oozing from the laceration until the leg of his pants are soaked and glistening a deep, sullen red. He tries, and fails, again to rise to his feet. Even using the sword as a support, he loses his footing and crumbles, his weight kicking up a cloud of dust when he hits the rock.

“In a stunning turn of events, it seems that the outcome of these Games have already been determined…”

Get up, Ben thinks with every shred of desperation he has. Get up, Will.

Will sluggishly turns onto his back, and hoists himself upright with his legs stretched in front of him. It seems to take every bit of energy he has to shrug his jacket off, and slide it underneath his bleeding leg. He brazenly ties the sleeves around his thigh until his arms are straining and the blood flow slows. The makeshift tourniquet may save his life, but it’s only a matter of minutes before the damage is so permanent that he risks losing the limb altogether.

Again, using his sword for support, Will heaves himself to his feet. He wobbles again, and Ben feels his heart rise into his throat before he steadies himself. Will straightens, and takes a few limping steps towards the final ascent. He’d been so busy tending to his wound, worrying about the big cats, that he hadn’t heard the approaching footsteps. Ben, too wrapped up in concern for his brother, hadn’t checked the other video feed, hadn’t heard the commentators call out in shock—

When Four crashes into Will and sinks a knife into his shoulder.

Ben, his father, the city square, the entirety of District Two, cry out in collective shock as Will and Four go down, Four pinning him with a roar so inhuman it sends a chill skittering over Ben’s bones.

It’s worse, so much worse than he’d imagined.

Blood sprays, and Will’s fingers splay when he hits the rock. His sword clattering too far for him to reach. Ben barely processes what he sees as he fights to remain upright. He feels the cameras in the square narrow in on him. He can’t give out. Not now.

Will rolls, flipping Four off of him and onto the ground, wrenching the knife in his shoulder free in the process. His blood drips down the blade as Four angles it in front of himself, his own arm shredded, likely from his encounter with those big cats. Will slowly climbs to his knees, beaten and bloody and entirely at a disadvantage. The blood, the dirt—he looks more animal than human when he bares his teeth.

Ben’s never seen anything like it. Anything so unearthly, so primal and raging.

Four leaps again, and Will leans down. As Four descends on him, Will straightens, and there’s a clang of metal on metal.

It takes a moment for Ben to understand what he sees.

But there’s Will, knife in hand, his face red with the effort it takes to keep Four from landing another blow. He’d lost his knife in the avalanche. He’d seen it.

How long had Will kept a knife hidden in his boot, waiting for a moment such as this to use it?

Will manages to deflect what would have been a life-ending blow, but they topple again. Four bellows as Will’s blade plunges into his forearm and twists. The shrieking of Four, coupled with the spray of blood, sends a chill weaving down Ben’s spine.

Move, move, move!

Four’s free hand slams into Will’s face hard enough to crack bone, and Will stumbles back, blood gushing.

Will just grunts, his brow bunching in pain and concentration.

Every part of Ben shakes.

Four punches his face again and the sound fracks from Ben, “Will.”

Four yanks his arm free of Will’s knife, blood spraying like rain as he slashes at Will. He catches Four’s wrist in the follow-through with both hands, pinning his arm across his body. Four swings with his free hand, the punch easily dodged this time by Will.

They stare at each other for long, uncounted moments, nothing between them but howling wind and heavy, pained panting.

Then Will does the last thing Ben expects him to.

He headbutts Four.

Will releases Four’s arm as he staggers towards the edge of the peak, right towards where the long-toothed cats stalk in wait. The blow proves disorienting enough, and though Four swings his arms wildly to regain his balance, he takes one step back too far back and plummets.

He screams as he falls, but it goes hauntingly quiet when he hits.

The impact of Four’s body on the stone is heard across the nation. They wait for the cannon, but there’s nothing.

The mutts attack.

Will sinks to his knees.

Ben clutches the rope so tightly his knuckles whiten. It could be minutes, it could be hours, before the cannon booms at last.

Will looks to the side, his eyes finding the camera as if he’s known precisely where it was the entire time. Something like relief shines there, overpowered by pain and fury and something feral as the announcer declares, “Ladies and gentlemen, I am pleased to present the victor of the fifty-fourth Hunger Games, William Miller—the tribute of District Two!”

Two days later, Will’s final interview in the Capitol airs. Before now, he’s been kept keenly away from the cameras, and it becomes clear why the moment Ben sees him for the first time since his final glimpse in the arena. He wears a sharp grey suit, but any evidence of his injuries on his face have been wiped away. Whether by makeup or surgical alteration, Ben can’t tell. His skin is smooth and pristine, unmarred by bruises or cuts or even the faintest scar.

The crowd breaks into applause as Will is presented. He gives a winning smile, but the haunted glow is still there. He still looks a little too much like a cornered animal. His stylist is praised for his masterful capture of Will’s strength, physique, and iron-willed character.

Will sits in the victor’s chair like he was born for it. Maybe he was. He views the highlights with the rest of the nation, and answers his interviewer’s questions with grace.

“While you were there, in the arena,” says the host. “Was there any one thing that kept you going?”

Will seems to think on it for a moment, working his jaw over before he answers, “My brother. The whole time… I just wanted him to know that I love him.”

The audience croons about how strong and brave he is. Ben feels himself swell with pride.

He wants to be like Will one day, he thinks.

The wait for the train is its own agony.

District Two is nearest to the Capitol, but operations there don’t start until late in the morning on a good day. With the conclusion of the Games so fresh, it seems they need a few extra hours to get moving.

At last, the train rolls into the station late in the afternoon. No one comments on how Ben stood there, waiting for almost the whole day as more and more citizens of Two arrive to welcome their newest victor. They chatter amongst themselves, clearing space for Ben’s father as he arrives at last, fresh off his shift as the town’s head Peacekeeper.

As the train crawls to a halt, the voices around Ben die down, awaiting with bated breath for Will to show himself. Ben feels like he’s about to burst from his own skin with the anticipation—

The doors open, and there he is.

Will’s eyes snap to Ben’s almost instantly. The relief that cleaves through him almost knocks him to his knees.

Ben thinks it might have, had Will not leaped down and ran to him.

Will opens his arms, and Ben finds his way home.

Will remembers every face of every tribute in that godforsaken place.

The ones he killed directly haunt him the most.

He kept count of many things in the arena. The minutes that turned into hours that turned into days away from home… away from Ben. The number of breaths he still counted himself lucky to take. But most poignant of all was those faces. Each one, their faces as they died, had been etched into his memory. Every time he blinks, he sees them.

Ten. He killed ten of them.

The train barely makes a creak as it speeds over the railway. The ride from the Capitol to District Two isn’t long—barely an hour.

Though he grew up in one of the “wealthy” districts, there is a certain elegance to Capitol wares Will thinks he’s going to miss. He relishes in every moment he has left, wresting back thoughts of death and killing and betrayal.

He hadn’t been lying when he said it was Ben that got him through the worst of it in the arena. But that hadn’t been the whole truth, either. It was the thought of how he could redeem himself after so much tragedy, inflicting so much pain on others. He couldn’t do that if he let himself die in the arena.

How did Ben—little Benny, who perhaps wasn’t so little anymore but would always be to Will—see him now, at the end of it all? What could he say that would make all the violence, all the killing, right.

He didn’t know how, but he would do it. Will would make sure to see it done, no matter what it took.

Will is barely formulating what he can say to his brother when he feels the breaks engage on the train. All too soon, just like that, he’s back home… whatever home is, now. Sure, he’ll have the house in Victor’s Village and of course his family would be allowed to live with him, but the concept seems too foreign, now. He suspects it’ll take some time to adjust to that.

His mentor—a victor from about ten years ago, beckons him forward. Will’s legs are surprisingly shaky as he rises to his feet. Outside, he can hear the district already clapping, cheering for him. He tries to imagine Ben there, tries to pretend that his brother will be happy to see him, that he’ll be happy to see Ben.

The doors open.

Light floods the train car, and Will almost lifts a hand to block the sun. The initial surge of stimulus is overwhelming. The light, the sound, the unrelenting heat of the mountains. Will blinks hard to adjust his eyes.

As if by gravitational pull, he sees him.

His eyes find Ben’s, almost an exact mirror of his own. His brother’s eyes are wide, his face broken into a grin so wide it’s a wonder his skin hasn’t split.

That’s all it takes.

Will leaps down from the train car and runs. Every thought, every doubt, every word flees his mind as he takes in the sight of his brother. Healthy and whole and alive.

Ben’s there to meet him. They collide, and Will finds his way home.

#triple frontier #triple frontier fanfiction #william miller #william ironhead miller #ben miller #benny miller #pls god let this post to the tag on the first try #i don't want to redo all the formatting #triple frontier fic

43 notes · View notes

tittty-bitty · 4 years

Text

More headcanons

Just to give a bit of context for my fics. Also I want to see if anyone agrees and can maybe add a bit of flavor✨

Toshinori

He always had socials for his hero persona but they were always ran by assistants. Now that he’s retired he took it over to connect more with his fans. It was extremely funny to watch him get confused about memes. But with Midorias and Thirteens help he is pretty caught up with “the new lingo.” He gets a bit addicted to it. To the point that Shota has to take his phone away sometimes. But he loves interacting with his fans and they love him.

Maybe this encourages him to stream once in a blue moon for charity? Kaminari and Jiro help him set up and he answers questions and play games. When he plays among us with other streamers and a few pros like Hawks, Thirteen and Fatgum. After a few games of him having no clue what’s going on and asking why his name was red, he gets the hang on it and can be very manipulative.

Him and Shotas relationship before they become friends is very tense. Aizawa not liking him at first as we all know not holding back critiques of his teaching and his general being. But eventually he has rough pain day and not putting up with any bullshit. Shota makes a comment that puts him over the edge and Toshi just tears him a new one with such a level tone that Shota can’t do anything but stare in shock and just start laughing.

He loves old classic rock music for the most part but In America he would go to the club with his college friends and Nikki Minaj would constantly play so her music holds a special place in his heart.

Shota

He was starting to give Toshinori a chance until he beat down Midoria and Bakugo unessesarilly during their exam and gives him a absolutely viscous tounge lashing. After watching his interactions with Grand Torino and seeing he is actually trying to improve as a teacher he lightens up.

He loves his personal space when it comes to people he doesn’t know. Absolutely hates it when people stand too close to him. But when one of his friends is next to him and he’s really tired he will lean on them or put his legs on them. When he’s drunk he is extremely clingy. The person next to him needs to be prepared for him to grab on to their arm and not letting go until pried off. Something he denies even with photo evidence.

He doesn’t have time for to many hobbies but he loves to read. His phone is a mini library full of mysteries, thrillers, and historical fiction. His favriote is young adult dystopian novels because they’re interesting, relatable to an extent and easy to pause and pick back up when on a stake out.

When on patrols he listens to true crime podcasts in one earbud while listening for hero alerts. He eventually gets Toshi into them.

Thirteen

Thirteen isnt even one of my fav characters but I have so many head cannons about them for some reason. I Head canon them as non-binary with using both she and they pronouns

Any hero goes through trauma while on the job. With Thirteen being a disaster rescue hero she has had plenty of close calls of almost being crushed by buildings or almost drowning. To feel safe they wear their rescue suit at all times to feel safe.

With rescue missions sometimes taking weeks or even months they had to get use to shitty MRE packs being their only source of food. Because of this they have no standards when it comes to food and has the weirdest food combos for meals. Their lunch looks like someone blindly grabbed stuff in a fridge and shoved it in a box. They will never be forgivin for the salmon with mustard incident stinking up the lounge.

They love cheesy J-dramas and will talk about them to anyone willing to lend an ear.

#erasermight #thirteen #allmight #eraserhead #headcannons

51 notes · View notes

la5t-res0rt · 4 years

Note

Wanted to ask about beetlelyds, sorry, I thought it was technically cannon? Like in the old comics after the show ended she grew up and married him. Sorry I’m an old school fan and have no idea why this whole thing is such a big deal. Wasn’t the actor like 20 too? I’m sorry if I sound very dumb. I’m not used to this new tumblr.

youre fine you are one hundred percent allowed to especially when you do it civilly as you have done here

first of all the biggest issue faced in the whole what is and is not canon debate is the fact that there are three (four if you count the limited comics run) publicized iterations of my media

i will go over each very briefly just kidding this is going to a long answer so i will spare the dashboard with a readmore

there is the movie which im sure you dont need me to explain the plot since youre an old school fan but basically the climax is that yes beetlejuice does go for the marriage angle in exchange for stopping the exorcism of adam and barbara and his motive for this is so that he can cause as much chaos as he wants on the mortal coil but his plan is thwarted when barbara rides a sandworm into the house which promptly eats beetlejuice sending him to bureaucratic death limbo

the end of the movie features the deetz and the maitlands happily living together with lydia havign a new appreciation for her situation and beetlejuice gets his head made real small which is very funny haha

so no in the movie they are not canon editors note the actress who played lydia winona ryder was a teenager while filming the movie she turned 17 the year it released

the next is the cartoon which i will admit has the most grounds for being considered canon but in the end the show is about a middle schooler and her best friend who is a ghost which in itself is a pretty iffy gray area sort of thing but for a childrens cartoon to work a friendship is better than the obvious enemy status they held in the movie

anyway in the cartoon they are potrayed to be very close friends with lydia being the person beetlejuice cares about the most and honestly if you were to watch it with no prior knowledge of the media and if you ignored their massive and obvious age difference than yeah you probably would read it as a romantic relationship

however lydia is a middle schooler and that is simply immoral

there have been writers for the cartoon who have been credited to say that a relationship is what they were trying to invoke but for obvious reasons they couldnt exactly move forward with that angle with them establishing that lydia is a child in middle school and a fully grown adult man dating a child who is in middle school is immoral and also illegal in the united states and in canada

this isnt a good argument for whether or not something is canon and i will tell you why with one simple name and that is luke weber

if you dont know who luke weber is he was a storyboard artist on the cartoon steven universe he is known for making a lot of self ship artwork of him and the character pearl

he worked on the show isnt his material canon no of course it isnt it wasnt put in the actual publication and also if memory serves he was eventually asked to leave the project after he drew art of the shows creator giving him permission to date pearl and calling them her otp and a lot of fans hated this because the most generally accepted interpretation of pearls character is that she is sapphic so a lot of people took issue however that again is just a widely perceived headcanon it is never stated what her actual sexuality is no one in that show is because it isnt a show about that its about wait im getting off topic sorry

what im saying is what can truly be considered canon is what you see on the screen and with the cartoon they are definitely the most friendly with each other and that is why so many people in the beetlebabe shipping community take so much stock in the cartoon because it is the easiest to read the relationship between the mas romantic although that is not what the show actually provides in black and white terms

interpretation does not equal canon and in this case no matter what anyone says the fact remains that in the cartoon itself they are friends good friends yes but friends all the same

it is definitely not a show about a grown man grooming an adult and if it were you definitely shouldn’t be stanning it the extreme because grooming a minor is wrong and it is apparently a problem in the fandom

anyway if the cartoon and the movie are both products of their time and there was more leniency on content bear in mind this was the same era as notorious animation powerhouse and known predator john k who was a showrunner on ren and stimpy and he maintained a relationship with a teenager which was an open secret that nobody really took issue with because in that time being a woman in the animation industry was tricky business and your career could be ended easily if you rejected advances luckily time has moved forward and the animation industry although still full of problems of a similar nature at least people are getting called out and punished for it

you can look more into that yourself its really upsetting though

as for comics i havent been able to find good scans of them and im not willing to purchase them but in my search i never found anything about the two of them ever being married in the cartoon again because she is a child i did find a cover where he appears to be getting married and hes asking lydia to get him out of it but im not sure where the comic actually goes all i know is she is standing off to the side shrugging and looking like she doesnt really care

anyway that brings us to the musical which is set in the modern day

in the original libretto lydia is described as thirteen but since they got an actress who was older in the updated librettos she is listed as 15 and the story is pretty similar to the movie the young girl befriends ghosts and they try to scare her family out etc etc

the major difference between the film and the musical are that lydia and beetlejuice are more like friends like in the cartoon

she summons him to help scare after the maitlands attempt doesnt really work so he shows up and they have fun terrorizing people together however she drops him for the opportunity to perhaps get her mom back but when no one will help she goes back to beetlejuice who tricks her into almost exorcising barbara

she agrees to marry him in order to stop the exorcism and he only wants to get married so he can be alive again and cause problems on the mortal coil like in the movie in the musical he states several times its a green card thing whihc obviously doesnt make it okay but still

anyway lydia tricks him and runs off into the underworld before the wedding can happen blah blah blah she goes back blah blah and she agrees to go through with the wedding to save her friends and family with a plan to make him go away for good

theres a very tongue and cheek song called creepy old guy which points out how wrong the whole thing is but everyone is going along with it in a very comedic matter and it includes the line

i cant believe some cultures think this kind of things alright

basically saying yeah this is very very wrong anyway they do get married and beeltjeuice is alive for like 6 seconds before lydia stabs him to death with bad art and he dies thus nullifying the marriage because death do you part etc

so in the musical no at the end of the show they are not canon because he is dead their marriage is nullified and they go their separate ways

anyway sorry about that i just need to make it very clear that these three properties are all very distinct from each other and basically all three are indeed canon since they are publicized material and arguing the validity of which one is pointless editors note all actresses who played with the exception of dana steingold were minors for the majority of their runs as lydia with sophia ann caruso the originator of the role turning 18 during the run and dana being in her late twenties presley ryan however was a minor the whole time and still is one

tldr no they aren’t canon but to the credit of some people in this fandom their interpretation isnt too far of a stretch thanks to the era and some of the writers wishing to imply a relationship between an adult and a child

i also need to address how this is all a big deal and i suggest you take a peak through my discourse tag and check out @leedia‘s blog to see some of the more harmful things done by beetlebabe shippers

the beetlejuice fandom is home to many minors after the musical came out since musical fandom is vast and the ages of its members varies and normalizing pedophilia is harmful to them not to mention the people who have been effected by sexual harassment at the hands of adults

both sides have victims of csa but one side continues to perpetuate the cycle by showing time and time again that this behavior is normal and easily romanticized in the name of coping and literally anyone who has ever been to a good and credible therapist could tell you that posting cp even if it is simulated cp isnt a really good way to cope and you can get mad at me for saying that its totally fine but and im going to remove my character veil here for just a second as a csa survivor myself i think its harmful to not only myself but many others ok the veil is back down

tldr again there is a lot of bullying and harassment going on with both sides having their own issues but there is one side whos issues run a bit deeper in my humble opinion

thank you for your question it allowed me to talk a lot you are welcome to discuss further with me in dms if you wish i honestly recommend giving the musical a listen because it is very fun and despite what some people say its very clever and if you get a chance to see a boot of it its visually stunning

one last note that i couldnt really fit in here but a large portion of the beetlebabes shipping community ignore the musical because it openly condemns the idea of beeltejuice and lydia having a relationship and a lot of the antis take issue with much of the writing and characterizations of the cartoon just a note that i think is important since were talking about canon

#discourse #long ask #i am so tired #Anonymous

71 notes · View notes

grey-eyed-menace · 3 years

Text

So!

I'm coming straight outta left field with this one, but hey, some of the best things in life come from spontaneity!

Er... Maybe.

Anyway, here's my Pokèmon AU!

Featuring the Female Protagonists I played as, their names, general differences from canon, and personal headcannons I came up with during my first playthrough of each game!

...and how they fit into the wider world! Maybe. Kinda.

I'm only doing the main series females in this post, with potential a potential sequal in the form of the side game females!

I do know that the main series male's will have their own post though! Mostly because I legitimately cannot control myself, and it's already halfway done!

So, without a further ado...

Arden Forrest!

Childhood friend of Red Audra, and the maternal cousin of the one and only Blue Oak.

Chose Charmander as her starter, named the little guy Flare, and is extremely defensive of the nickname. She is/was ten! Sorry if her creativity wasn't up to par!

Ended up having to travel with Red because her mother absolutely refused to let her leave Pallet otherwise.

Simply stick with him out of convenience after Viridian Forest, mostly because at that point there really wasn't anything to gain in separating from him.

In this continuity she's the older sister of the Sun and Moon protagonists. More on that in Jericho's section.

At the end of her journey, her team consisted of Flare the Charizard, Lenz the Jolteon, King the Slowking, Knott the Vileplume, Skye the Pidgeot, and Blue the Raichu.

Raichu is a stuck up little shit, and pampered, the nickname was obvious. To her at least. Oddly enough, Blue the Raichu hates Blue the human.

The only reason Giovanni remembers her is because she straight up decked him across the jaw when he threatened to kill one of her Pokèmon.

Somehow ended up acquiring Silver as a travel companion for three weeks, Red was bemused. He was also incredibly confused when that feral eight year old showed back up three years later in the news.

Ended up hanging up her battling career shortly after she lost the championship to Lance, and handed over Flare to Red to battle on a more permanent basis.

She still trained the rest of her team, and still does, she just realized that despite her talent in the profession it just... Wasn't her calling. She wasn't as quite as in love with it as she was at the start of her journey.

Bounces around the world for a bit during the three or so years between the Blue/Red and the HeartGold/SoulSilver storylines, and after Lance wins the championship back from her. Trying to find herself.

She participates in the Galar league around the same time as Leon, Raihan, Sonia, and Nessa, mostly as a curiosity, and maybe as a way to try and reconnect with her battling roots, but jumps ship after Opal because fucking hell is their League a killer for self-confidence.

Her jersey number, for the record, was 069. She deeply regrets keeping the uniform years later.

She also finishes the Unova circuit, but doesn't challenge the Elite Four or the Champion, and she tries to do something in the Ferrum Region for a bit before packing up and returning home.

Perpetually pissed off that no one can remember her fucking name.

And no, it isn't about the Championship thing, she was fine with that, really, it's just that the moment she introduces herself ahead of Blue or Red people tend to either treat her like a commodity, or like she doesn't exist.

Made it through the Elite Four and beat Blue before Red.

So yes, she is the official record holder for the shortest Championship. Which, if you're wondering, is exactly thirteen hours, seven minutes, and thirty-three seconds.

She and Blue played Go-Fish for two hours while Red finished up with Bruno.

The ensuing eleven hour battle with Red both traumatized and bored Blue in equal measures.

Blue had the title for a week. Red bolted to Unova shortly after winning and declined the position, turning it back over to her. She proceeded to hold it for another six months before a match with Lance turned it back over.

Actually ends up as one of Professor Oak's lab assistants once she ends back up in Pallet, and... Eventually finds her calling in research.

She throws herself into her education with everything she has. And... Never really loses that passion and drive.

Has to be physically dragged to Passio during the Master's tournament/festival. Dragged. And no, that's not an exaggeration, Blue physically throws her over his shoulder, books their shared flight, and well, he basically kidnaps her.

If it makes you feel any better, he pretty much did the same thing with Red, only it was a private flight that was prearranged.

It makes her feel better, anyway.

She spends the entire tournament/festival in borrowed clothes.

She takes solace in mock-poker matches with Red, Grimsely, Lina, and, oddly enough, Cynthia and Steven Stone.

She does eventually end up becoming a professor in her own right, with a focus on Abilities and how they affect a Pokèmon's mental and physical growth, and also ends up with an engineering degree as well.

In her late thirties I see her taking over Professor Hasting's job for the Ranger association. Mostly because, in my head-cannon at least, Regional Professor status isn't all that it's cracked up to be, and at that point in her life the only reason she would even take over for Oak in any capacity is out of sentimental value for the Pallet Labs.

That, and it's a cushy job, plus she gets to see small children scramble around for over jumped flying tops. So really, it's a win-win.

Teases Jericho relentlessly over her relationship with Gladion.

Not that her romantic life is much better. Someone idly points out that Red is romantically pursuing her when they're nineteen and she proceeds to have a minor breakdown.

Or, you know, she just remains forever oblivious, and Red remains extremely passive in his pining.

Completely blind-sided by Blue's wedding, and honestly doesn't know what to think of his wife, but plays the role of doting aunt pretty well once they have their first kid.

Shows up in the White 2 storyline in a rental tournament, wrecks Rei's shit, comes back a day later during a Team Switch Tournament, and proceeds to destroy the battlefield.

Then, once Rei is the Unovian Champion, she comes for an actual vacation, and actively, and willingly, participates in the Cross-Region Tournament, makes it to the finals, wrecks Rei's shit again, and then destroys the Stadium when she goes up against Red in the semi-finals... Yeah, I'm not sure what storyline to put to the whole rage vent thing, but it's there. It exists. And Red pays for it.

I'm thinking Blue just gets in over his head a week or so before the tournament, and she quietly simmers all the while.

I think if I were to make a fic about her journey/life, I'd call it 'The Trials And Tribulations Of A Run Of The Mill Pokèmon Trainer'. Because... Ya know, against Blue and Red, she's actually a pretty average trainer.

Compared to Red, who'll have participated in over thirty league circuits in his lifetime, (and plowed straight through the champion in a pretty good chunk of them), Arden has only actively participated in maybe five, mantled a single Championship, and completed two other circuits, with the last three or so having her jump ship due to pressure, having to put it aside for prior commitments, or a simple lack of interest, (the incredibly vague Greece based region I have an idea for is incredibly interesting history wise, in universe, it's Gym and tournament circuit on the other hand... Lacks pretty much anything to make it even remotely interesting).

Red will be a living legend once all is said and done at the end of his career. While Arden has a single legal achievement to her name, the famed recognition of being one of three people to take down the Pokèmon equivalent to the Mafia, and a pretty average badge count for a career trainer.

Also, Lina loses to Red on Mount Silver. She knows, she was drafted as the referee because when she came to drop of Red's food for the week. She's pretty much payed off to say otherwise though.

And she doesn't know why.

She's convinced it's a conspiracy.

Fades into relative obscurity around the time of the Sun & Moon storyline, but her damn if her tiny fan club isn't dedicated.

Doesn't show up in Alola for the battle tree because Blue couldn't find her for three solid months.

No one knows what the fuck she was doing.

...she may or may not have been the Gates To Infinity protagonist.

There's a tiny aside to a Snivy named Leaf in article concerning Overgrow and how it affects the Snivy population at large though.

And that's Arden Forrest, a bit clunky, but hey, they're randomly ordered facts, not a character sheet. Next up is the Crystal heroine!

Marie Smith!

Traveled through Johto about three or so years before Arden, Red, and Blue began running around Kanto.

Older than her sister, Lina, by seven years.

I actually don't have all that much on her because I got to the third Gym on Crystal before my brother destroyed the Device I was using to play the game on.

What I do know, from this information, though, is that she disappeared around said time.

No build up, no cries for help, nothing. Just up and gone. She just cut contact with her family, things happened, and she's absolutely infamous for nearly killing three thousand people. Somehow, she's officially recognized as someone who completed the Johto Circuit though.

She got recruited by Cypher.

Again. Shit happened.

Oak blames himself for an incident in the Kiro Region, (Egyptian Region), pertaining to her.

Lina's entire journey is an event and a half because of her.

If I were to make these little things into a fic series, she'd get... Like a seven chapter mini-fic told from seven different people's perspectives throughout her journey.

Those people, in order, would be... Her mother, Whitney, Naoko of the Kimono Girls, Giovanni, Clair, and Oak.

With an extra chapter detailing her death during the Kalos invasion.

She shows back up in the Kalos storyline in this and traumatizes the ever loving fuck out of Serafina.

She chose a Chikorita. Who she loves dearly, even when she's pretty much gone off the deep end, and then some.

Lina Smith, local trouble maker, owner of a perpetually terrified Feraligator, and the best friend of the very weird Ethan Aurum, and the only person who seems to be on Silver's good side. Vaguely.

Oh so vaguely.

Youngest out of three children, her older brother, Gregory, is an incredibly average guy who's extremely confused as to what the fuck happens on her journey, and never NOT worried about her.

Parents died in a car accident some two years before the start of the storyline, is cared for by Gregory at this point in time

Don't ask why Greg is a thing. He just is.

Like Arden before her, Lina takes a very proactive approach to dealing with Silver during the Radio Tower Incident. Which involves decking him in the jaw.

Surprisingly, this is the part where there relationship improves.

Chooses a Totodile and names him Reyne, and is fiercely protective of him. The little guy could put a Sobble to shame... This also means Silver ends up with the incredibly overly energetic and affectionate Chikorita, all for my personal amusement, (said Chikorita is named Lyra, and no, he does not spoil her, shut your mouth Aurum!).

Her entire story isn't so much focused on her gym challenge or the reappearance of Team Rocket, as it is finding out what the fuck happened to her sister.

Ethan starts tagging along after Goldenrod, and starts to reveal he knows a lot more than he's willing to admit about the situation.

Gets caught up in a lot of nasty things, and nearly ends up dismantling an operation to kill Red, Lance, and Cynthia.

(Where are our favorite colored duo, and supporting tree, during all this you may ask? Why, still recovering from trauma of course! Like reasonable, sane, run-of-the-mill people. More specifically, Blue's officially taking over Viridian gym before the start of the Kanto gym circuit season, Red's fucking around in Hoenn for a good bit before coming to Mt. Silver just two months before Lina gets there, and Arden's in that vague Greece based region getting therapy.)

Her journey is just a really long incident report, and Looker has half a mind to slap her at the end of it.

A good portion of it is Ethan's fault though. Ethan, by the way, nails the looking right through you stare.

And a girl named Sarah Morgendy comes up a lot, although it turns out she's just a kid trying to protect her adopted brother from the shit shoe she got them involved in illegally.

The only two problems with that is she's about eleven and emotionally compromised.

Gets recruited by Interpol after everything is said in done.

Gets the code name Agent Lenz.

Demands therapy for herself, Ethan, and Silver. She gets it.

While she's training as an agent, Ethan and his mother move to Unova so that he can attend an Academy meant 'rising stars', and Silver becomes Elm's apprentice.

...somehow ends up married to Blue years down the line. They have two kids between them. Maria and Reginald

3 notes · View notes

sympathyfortheblinderdevil · 4 years

Text

All is Fair: Ch 11

Hi, Y’all! Thank you for being so patient and not giving up on this fic even though I have been egregiously late with updates. At best, my life is erratically populated with periods of leisure time and periods of hectic, soul-crushing work. I, like many of you, am in the midst of a forced period of leisure time, so you will probably see more frequent updates. I appreciate those of you who are willing to stick around to see what happens next, and I hope you are in good health. Tell me what you think! x

Discovery and Dissolution

Polly Gray sat in her Bentley, wrapped in fur. Through her dark glasses, she watched the scene on the street where Lia worked. The bitter north wind cut straight down the sidewalk in front of the library and sent patrons scurrying for shelter within. A cluster of people shuffled through the arched brass doors, and Lia stepped out. She was a vision in a blue cashmere long coat, a mink collar clutched around her neck. The wind caused her coat to flap and play peek-a-boo with leather boots that stretched up to her knees. Both items were gifts from Tommy, Polly surmised. She noticed that Lia still wore an older pair of wool gloves. Guess he couldn’t think of everything.

Despite the cold, Lia wore a little smile as she walked along. She’d been hard at work referencing and cross-referencing research with a professor of Art History at the University of Birmingham, and he was pleased with the help she’d given him. He had mentioned working with her again in the near future. Lia had come a long way from shelving books. She was beginning to realize the kind of life she had only dreamed was possible when she first came to Birmingham. As she neared the corner, though, she was pulled out of her thoughts when she noticed familiar-looking woman in a posh car was watching her.

Polly lowered her window and called out, “Lia, Lia Montrose!”

Lia slowed down and warily approached the car. Polly extended a sumptuously gloved hand, looked over her sunglasses at Lia, and introduced herself, “Polly Gray…Tommy’s Aunt Polly.”

Lia visibly relaxed and took her hand at those words, “Mrs. Gray…I’m pleased to meet you.”

“Get in, it’s time we got acquainted.”

In a matter of minutes, Lia found herself sitting in the kitchen at No. 6 Watery Lane while Polly found two cups and put the kettle on. She then reached into the cupboard where she found a tin of tea. Upon opening it and sniffing the contents, she decided that it would do. Decked head to toe in Parisian tailor-made garments, she looked odd moving around the kitchen with such familiarity.

While they waited for the kettle to boil, she offered Lia a cigarette and lit one of her own. They’d spoken hardly a word since they entered the house. Lia was loathe to break the silence with small talk, so she waited for Polly to say what was on her mind. They sat, smoking and soaking in the dusty quiet of the dimly lit room.

Only when Polly poured the tea did she finally speak. “I brought you here so that you could see where Tommy lived...where we all lived before the money came.”

Lia looked all around the room and smiled, “So this is where Tommy began.”

Polly waved her hand with a flourish and laughed, “Who knows where Tommy began. If I hadn’t witnessed his birth I’d swear that he was flung out of heaven and barred from hell.”

Lia smiled knowingly, “Well, Lucifer was a fallen angel.”

“Exactly.” Polly raised an eyebrow and leaned back in the rickety chair. “I want you to understand why Tommy is,” she searched for the right words and finding none she continued, “the way he is.”

Memories flooded Polly’s mind as she looked all around herself, gesturing here and there with the hand that held her cigarette. “Look around you, Lia. This is where we moved when things got better. You don’t want to know where we lived before when things were worse.”

Lia swallowed hard and held her cup with both hands as if to draw every bit of heat out of it. She was suddenly cold. She had not grown up with much, but she was certainly comfortable. Her home had a lightness about it. The room where she sat with Polly was cozy, homey even, but the air was laced with soot and traces of despair.

“Does that explain why he is so driven?” Lia wondered aloud.

“Partly,” Polly mused. Then she looked at Lia with soft brown eyes, almost like she sympathized with her. She felt sorry for anyone who loved Tommy, even herself. “He has always been different. Clever and driven since the night he was born.” Then she looked away, “But he did have a big heart.”

Did.

It wasn’t Polly’s intention to make Lia uncomfortable or uncertain of her place in Tommy’s life, but Lia couldn’t help but feel a little intimidated. Lia’s chair creaked as she shifted her weight and sat her teacup on the table, and Polly saw in her eyes a vulnerability that hadn’t been there before.

“We all had to make sacrifices to get where we are today, but Tommy has sacrificed the most. Business comes first. Always. Ada says that Tommy likes you, he may even grow to care for you, but there are certain things you will have to accept if you want to be with him...”

“So he has said,” Lia broke in. She immediately regretted cutting Tommy’s aunt off, though Polly showed no sign of being offended. She just sipped her tea and smiled.

“Has he said what he plans on doing with you when he returns to London, Dear?”

Lia winced a bit at the question. “No.”

There was silence between them again. A clock ticked out the seconds from the next room and the sounds of people shouting to each other in the street filtered through the walls. Having finished her tea, Polly lit another cigarette and let the quiet grow around them. She believed that you could learn a lot about a person by how they chose to deal with spaces in conversation, so she waited and watched.

Lia ruminated on Polly’s last question as long as she could, then stood and looked toward the parlor, silently asking permission to go in. Polly rose and accompanied her. Dusty furniture and photographs sat frozen in time as if they were waiting for Polly to run the sweeper or Ada to polish the tabletops. The fireplace sat waiting to be lit. But she couldn’t see Tommy until she looked up the shadowy stairwell. It was narrow, and she could barely see the top stair in the darkness, but something in the woodsy smell that drifted down reminded her of him. Polly caught the wistful expression on Lia’s face and placed her hand on Lia’s back.

“His room was up there,” Polly nodded.

Polly peered into the darkness and flipped a switch, then nodded in the direction of the stairs, inviting Lia to climb them.

***

The sleek grey Bentley rolled along Cannon Lane and splashed slush in its wake. Lia sat in back with a heavy woolen blanket wrapped around her legs. She made small talk with Rodney, the Blinder up front. Already, she knew that he had a fiancé and that they were to be married in June. His mum and dad were from Coventry, and they were both deceased. Also, Tommy had taken him under his wing as a boy of thirteen. Tommy kept him from starving and from, as Rodney put it, “…falling in with the worst sort of criminal element.” It seemed like everywhere she turned there was another person with a story about what Tommy had done to help them.

Rodney delivered her to her door, and eager to get out of the cold, Lia darted inside.

“Jenny, are you here?”

A few snowflakes floated to the floor while she hung up her coat and unbuttoned her mink lined gloves. She noticed that the kettle was on, and so she called out again.

“Jenny!”

Her cousin bounded down the stairs, pulling her arms through the sleeves of a cardigan as she came.

“Jesus, Lia!” she laughed. “Is the bloody house on fire?”

“I have news,” Lia beamed.

Jenny nodded her head and set about fixing tea, “Go on then. Tell me your news.”

“WE have the use of a car.”

Jenny froze and her heart sank. “Come again…”

“A car, Jenny! Tommy doesn’t like the idea of my riding the bus and walking to work, so he is sending a car ‘round for us every morning and afternoon. One of his men will drive us to and from work,” she enthused.

Jenny stood blinking at her for a moment then responded in a monotone voice. “A Blinder, Lia. ‘One of his men’ means a Blinder. I’d rather walk in the rain and snow.”

She turned her back to Lia and got out the plates, careful not to take her simmering mood out on the crockery. She tried her best to keep her distrust of Tommy out of her relationship with her cousin, but it was hard to keep things light when every other word out of Lia’s mouth was “Tommy”.

Jenny had taken quite a bit of flack at work because of Lia’s connection with Tommy Shelby. She’d had her fill with entering rooms full of chatter only to have them go silent, and she had dodged several sideways comments about her recent promotion. She hated to kill the mood, but someone had to be the voice of reason. Rolling up to work chauffeured by a flat cap wearing thug was more than she could tolerate.

Lia balled her fists and tried to modulate her voice as she asked, “Why do you hate him so much? Hmm? He is good to me and he wants to help you too.”

“Help? Is that what he calls it?” Jenny turned back around and eyed Lia’s obviously new and obviously bought by Tommy clothes. “If you want to play house with him and let him dress you up as his little doll that’s your business, but I won’t be ferried around town in a car that was paid for with blood money.”

“That’s not fair, and you know it. Our family weren’t always saints. Granddad was the first one in the queue to spunk away his wages on the horses and the last one out of the pub at night.”

“Right, and it was people like the Shelbys who were more than happy to take his wages off of him while Nan and our dads went shoeless.”

She had a point. Lia hated the fact that she had a point. Damn Jenny for always knowing how to snatch the stars from her eyes. Lia sat down and put her head in her hands to hide her tears. It was so easy to let Tommy do little things for her, to buy a scarf here and some gloves there, to make life easier for her in a thousand little ways. He never made her feel like it was payment for services rendered. How could Jenny take all of Tommy’s kindness and turn it into something dirty, something tainted and wrong? The gifts and the thoughtful things he did for her were not part of a transaction, they were just part of the way he liked to take care of her. She wished that for once Jenny could see the goodness in Tommy.

Since Aunt Polly had shown her the house and the betting shop where Tommy had launched his empire, she had a deeper understanding of him. Since she’d stood in his tiny bedroom where he had wrestled with the echoes of the tunnels and sweated through nightmares of poverty and war, she saw him through different eyes. She had grown to tolerate his last-minute cancellations and welcome him without pouting when he’d kept her waiting half the night.

Polly had opened her eyes to the man behind the façade in a way that he could never do himself. With that understanding, she opened herself up to the possibility of a life with Tommy. No, nothing about what happened between them was mercenary. Tommy just took care of people in his life. She was used to Jenny acting like an older sister and alerting her to pitfalls she had overlooked, but this was too much. The tears of frustration and despair that she had hidden behind her hands were becoming tears of rage. Over and over Jenny had proven that she wouldn’t ever approve of her relationship with Tommy, and Lia was finished with seeking her cousin’s approval.

She wiped her eyes and spoke through gritted teeth, “You know, Tommy has offered to let me stay in one of his properties near the library. Maybe it’s time to take him up on that offer. I’d hate for my reputation as the Shelby whore to rub off on you.”

Jenny put down the knife she’d been using to slice the bread. “Calm down. I didn’t say that…”

“But that is what you meant.” Her words came out clipped and cold. “I don’t want my reputation for sleeping with the Gangster of Parliament to ruin your chances with some nice mid-level clerk, so I’ll just move out.”

“No…don’t! I’m just worried about you. You are like my little sister and I’m afraid you’re riding for a fall. What happens when this is over?”

Lia abruptly stood and lashed out at Jenny, “Over?” Lia growled.

The word struck a chord of fear in Lia that made her dizzy. In an instant, all of her nights with Tommy, the taste of his sweat, the feel of his mouth, the smell of his sheets, flashed through her mind. She turned that fear into rage and took a step toward Jenny as she shouted, “I love him! That’s enough for me! Why can’t it enough for you?”

It was true. She loved him so much that it hurt. Her face was red and blotchy and her chest heaved with every breath. She was tired of fighting Jenny at every turn, and at that moment all she wanted was Tommy’s arms around her. She needed him so badly that she felt like she would fly into a million pieces without him holding her together.

Jenny took a step backward and bumped into the kitchen counter. Lia looked truly deranged. A realization came over Jenny like a wave. Lia was a different person now— a person who turned a blind eye to the ugly side of her man and made excuses for his shortcomings. It had been happening gradually over the last few months; the absent-minded dreamer that she had grown up with had disappeared. Back then, no matter how far out Lia got Jenny was always the voice of reason who could reel her back in, but Lia wasn’t listening to her anymore. This was different.

There seemed to be no turning back. Jenny knew that she had already said too much, but couldn’t resist a parting shot as she headed for the stairs. “Love? How can you love him when the only things you have in common are each other?”

Even as Jenny said it, she wondered if it was true.

***

Tommy and Arthur were sitting opposite each other at Tommy’s desk in their shirtsleeves talking about horses. Arthur had put too many logs on the fire and the room was like an oven. It was past the close of business and they should have been heading home, but they had lately taken to staying for drinks a couple of nights a week. Arthur would tell stories about Billy and the chickens, and Tommy had even opened up a bit about Lia. Arthur was cursing the heat and rolling up his sleeves when they heard someone pounding at the door.

“You expecting company?” Arthur asked in his rough, whiskey soaked Brum.

Tommy ran the tip of his tongue along his teeth and shook his head, “No.”

They stood and Arthur made his way toward the door, his hand on his pistol.

“Who’s there?” he boomed.

A muffled voice called, “Lia Montrose. I need to see Tom…Mr. Shelby.”

Arthur turned in his brother’s direction and feigned seriousness. ”Shall we let her in, Tommy?”

Tommy rolled his eyes and huffed, “Open the fookin’ door; it’s freezing out there.”

Lia entered the building shaking snow from her disheveled hair and stamping the slush from her boots. Her cheeks were pink from the cold and her eyes were a bit watery from the wind. She imagined that she looked a fright, but Arthur thought she looked like an angel.

Arthur stood there looking her up and down while she tried not to gawp at the pistol hanging loosely under his arm until Tommy cleared his throat and began to make introductions.

“Lia, this is my brother Arthur. Arthur, Lia Montrose.”

Arthur straightened up and offered to take her coat. As he hung it on the rack, he smiled a bit too broadly and said, “Tommy has told me a lot of nice things about you.”

Tommy knew that something was wrong because he and Lia hadn’t planned on seeing each other until the weekend. After a few pleasantries, Tommy stared at Arthur until he made his excuses and left.

Chills shook her body; she was shaking like a leaf, so Tommy took her by the hand and led her into his office where a fire roared and two glasses of whiskey were already waiting. He sat her down on his desk and took a seat in front of her, all the while rubbing the warmth back into her arms and hands. She looked down into his crystalline eyes and tried to find the words to say what she’d come for. At that moment, she was ever so grateful that Tommy knew how to take his time with her. He would wait until she was ready to talk.

She finished her first glass of whiskey and leaned into him. She breathed deeply and sighed, feeling better already simply for having him there to hold her.

“I don’t know what to do,” she mumbled into his collar.

“About…” he prompted her while stroking her head.

She sat back up and his hands went to her thighs rubbing slow, soothing circles over her skirt. She watched his hands and thought about what Jenny had said. She didn’t know very much about him, other than what they did together. Hell, she only just met his brother. His business dealings were a mystery and she had learned more about him from the papers than from his own words. So what if she became breathless around him? So what if her tummy fluttered every time he entered the room? Surely there was more to love than the helpless infatuation she felt for him.

Tommy lay his head in her lap and wrapped his arms around her hips thinking that maybe she would be able to tell him what was wrong if his eyes weren’t watching her. She ran her fingers through his hair and took a deep breath.

“I’m afraid you’re stuck with me.”

“Is that right?” Tommy whispered.

Lulled by the sensation of her fingernails on his scalp, he could feel the knots in his shoulders loosen. He was trying his best to be attentive to her needs, but his mind drifted to what he’d like to do with her on his desk.

“Jenny and I had an awful row… the worst one we’ve ever had,” she swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat and went on, “I can’t live with her anymore.”

That got his full attention.

#Peaky Blinders #peaky blinders fiction #Tommy Shelby #peaky blinders fic #tommy shelby x oc #peaky blinders fanfiction #all is fair

40 notes · View notes

gofordrakgo · 4 years

Text

Dwelling Chapter Twelve

“The moment she stepped out of her room something clicked, then whistled and she ducked just in time for something to whiz by where her head had just been. Whatever the flying object was splattered against the door frame, some sort of liquid spraying the back of her neck. She swiped at the moisture rapidly, already wondering what form of toxic poison it might have been.”

Dwelling Summary

Dwelling Chapter One

Dwelling Chapter Eleven

Dwelling Chapter Thirteen

She couldn’t possibly have been asleep for very long when Drew shook her awake, laughing, “I can’t believe you fell asleep before the judges could decide who won.”

She brushed his hands off her shoulders, more than a little flustered by the realization that she was only a small movement away from genuinely cuddling up to him. “Yeah, well,” she muttered awkwardly, going to rub at her eyes before remembering her bandaged hands and dropping them back into her lap. “Who’d they pick?”

The name he said only made her raise an eyebrow at him until he sighed out, “The one that made the steak with the garlic herb butter?”

Shea nodded at that. “Good. That looked good.”

“I know. You probably bruised my ribs from how many times you told me to make that.” He rubbed at his side, glaring at her through glasses she was tempted to steal for no other reason than to annoy him… and to make herself stop feeling awkward about having fallen asleep on his shoulder. “You should eat some more food,” he said before she could follow through with the idea. “There are at least two more servings left.”

“Not hungry.”

He practically wagged his finger in her face. “I told you earlier, you have to eat more to make up for skipping lunch.”

“I’m not hungry. I’ve already eaten more today than I do most days,” she mumbled, hating that telling him this still felt so… so much like telling him some big secret. Something she should be ashamed of. Maybe because of the way his brow furrowed or the way he shook his head slowly like he didn’t know what to say.

“Fine,” he relented sullenly. “But we’re going to have to work on building your appetite. Eating so little can’t possibly be healthy.”

Shrugging, she yawned, “Whatever,” and waved her hand to dismiss the uncomfortable subject.

He blinked at her, a frown still plastered on his face before his expression shifted and he rubbed at his shoulder awkwardly. “You should– um… You look– Well, no you just… you seem tired… You should– and I will too– but you should go to bed.”

Embarrassed, she was quick to agree and retreat into the safety of her own room, barely remembering not to lock the door behind her. She heard his door close just after she collapsed onto her bed.

Of course, once there, she couldn’t fall back to sleep. She tossed and turned, squeezing her eyes shut so tight colors danced behind her eyelids. She couldn’t decide if that was better or worse than staring around the room at the panic-inducing blank white walls. A moment later, when the mortifying wishful image of curling up against Drew flashed through her mind, she decided that staring at the walls was better, even if it did make her stomach turn.

She pulled restlessly at the blankets, all her earlier fears coming to mind at once. She knew he had already, but the temptation to go make sure the front door was locked was strong enough that she had to twist herself into the sheets to stop herself from checking. Not that it would matter if anyone on Team Go discovered where she was.

Despite her resolve not to go checking the door she stumbled out of the bed a moment later to check the small window in her room, wondering if the seal was tight enough that Mego wouldn’t be able to shrink small enough to snake his way inside if Hego hurled him up. Hell, she dismissed, even if it was tight enough to keep him out, it wouldn’t be unlike her parents to simply tear the wall down. Or the twins would clone their way inside. She had no idea if there even was an effective way to keep the little doppelgangers out.

Drew’s casual reaction to the potential of being labeled a kidnapper had her all the more worried. He really didn’t seem to understand how bad things might be for him. She blamed herself for that too. She should have just told him the whole truth the moment he told her she could stay. It was as she finally fell back to sleep, on the brink of unconsciousness, that she mentally declared she would tell him in the morning.

She woke up in a cold sweat, Wendell and Westley’s names dying on her tongue. She choked back a sob, commanding herself not to cry. She couldn’t change anything now. They survived. Before her minimal words of self-comfort could calm her, a new wave of panic flashed through her as some sort of clanking sounds drew her attention to her bedroom door.

She’d been sure Drew had gone to sleep, so she could see no reason for him to be out there. A glance toward her window showed the star-lit predawn sky, further evidence that if he wasn’t asleep he certainly should have been.

Pulling in a heaving breath, she listened intently for voices but heard nothing but a continuation of the quiet sounds. As she stood, combing her fingers through her hair and glaring at the door, she debated who she’d prefer for it to be.

If it was cops, she and Drew were both screwed. Heath would be a pain in the ass for her, and unless she could convince him, somehow, not to bother checking the other rooms, Drew would be beaten to a pulp before he could even get his glasses back on his dumb not-cute face. Heath was picky with when he played the overprotective big brother card, but she knew instinctively this would be one of those times. Merrick would be fine. As much as he drove her crazy he might be the only one who would understand why she would want to run away, and if she said to leave the other rooms alone he’d respect it - even if he did it with more than a fair share of mocking questions. The twins were unpredictable - but if they were the ones snooping around outside her room she hoped they’d be more excited to see her than they were about finding out who ‘kidnapped’ her.

She doubted her parents would bother to be the ones to show up. They never showed up to anything anymore, except for news interviews where they doted on and bragged about their children as if they didn’t treat them like magic puppets the rest of the time. She didn’t even give the question of what would happen if it was them the time of day… or night, as it were.

She looked herself over, deciding that the clothes she was wearing were sufficient enough to face whatever was happening outside and quietly opened the door. All she wanted to do was throw it open and start screaming, but if she was going to be forced to leave she figured it was better to do so without waking Drew. If she was going to leave it would probably be better for him if she simply vanished from his life altogether. That, and she couldn’t stand the idea of him… being there when she got dragged away, knowing she’d probably never get the chance to repay his kindness. She couldn’t even force herself to take the bandages off her hands, fearing momentarily that they would be the only reminder of him she’d be able to take with her.

The moment she stepped out of her room something clicked, then whistled and she ducked just in time for something to whiz by where her head had just been. Whatever the flying object was splattered against the door frame, some sort of liquid spraying the back of her neck. She swiped at the moisture rapidly, already wondering what form of toxic poison it might have been. It was cold, but it didn’t hurt, and as she whirled around to check the door frame she realized that it was… a grape?

She whipped her head back around, and realized with an almost painful relief that Drew was sitting at the small dining table, looking unharmed, if a bit panicked. He’d begun apologizing profusely before she even noticed the strange, colorful device in his hands. She relaxed as she took in the bits and pieces of… stuff spread out across the table. It was him. She’d heard him… tinkering away at whatever the device was outside her door.

“What are you doing?” she demanded, trying to hold back a hysterical laugh.

“Um… I… Uhh… I built a grape cannon,” he stammered, grinning sheepishly at her and holding the thing, that did look a bit like a gun, out for her to see.

She snorted, to hide how much her hands were shaking. “Why?”

“Well, because, you were– and I was and… You threw grapes at me and I– I had the idea and wanted to see—”

It took her a moment to realize what he was talking about. “What,” she asked incredulously, “I threw some grapes at you at the store so you decided to kill me ?”

“No,” he shouted, sounding more worried than upset. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to shoot at you! It just gave me the idea and I wanted to see if I could… build a projectile weapon to shoot… grapes.”

Peeling the bits of smushed grape off the door frame, she chuckled, “You’re a weird dude, Drew,” and flicked the mush over at him.

He stuck his tongue out at her, relaxing back into his chair. “Nyeh. Maybe I should’ve shot you.”

“Watch it,” she warned, mostly teasing.

“Do you wanna fire it?” he asked, holding it out toward her.

As she reached for it she teased, “At you? Sure,” and he pulled it back against his chest, with enough speed to surprise her, cradling it like a baby.

“Nngh! Nevermind, you’re not allowed.”

“Aw c’mon, let me see!”

“No!”

“Drew!” Shea reached forward, trying to get him to pass the dumb device over, but he pulled it away from her again. “I’m not above fighting you for that,” she warned him, already ready to throw herself across the table to get if she had to.

He gulped. “Just don’t– Just shoot it that way!”

She snatched the miniature cannon from his hands the moment he held it out to her. As per his instructions, she turned it away from him, aiming it at the door - or at least she hoped so. Superheros don’t need weaponry. Well, if she weren’t a superhero the surprising force of the kickback might have knocked her back a step or two - even if pulling the trigger in the first place was a little awkward with her hands still bandaged. The grape that shot out smacked against the door with a solid ‘thwunk!’ sound. She burst into laughter and fired again, her aim off, but just enough that she hit the hinge of the door instead. Grape bits flew through the air.

“Hey,” Drew protested, rushing around the table to snatch it from her. “It’s my turn!”

She laughed, relenting easily and letting him take his toy back. When he nudged her out of his way she caught a whiff of a vaguely familiar scent, and before she could realize she knew what it was, she was asking, “Have you been drinking?”

He fired the cannon, grape splattering just above the door, and shot her an impish grin. “Just a bit,” he confessed, holding a finger to his lips. “It’s a secret recipe. And I’m legal, so whatever.”

“Can I have some?” She was mostly kidding, but his quick, snappish reply in the negative had her crossing her arms and demanding to know why not.

He answered her with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Ask me again in five years and I’ll give you some.”

Her brow furrowed in confusion for a moment. Then she reached out and shoved his shoulder. “Come on, don’t be lame. I only want a taste.”

He shook his head, stepping away from her. “No chance. I am not abetting in underage drinking.”

“You’ve been in college since you were how old? You’re really going to try and tell me nobody slipped you a drink from time to time?”

Drew stammered at her, opening and closing his mouth as he struggled to find an argument. When she snorted he threw his hands up in frustration, dropped the grape cannon on the table, and stormed into the kitchen. He came back a moment later with a small cup of… of something, that barely filled even half the glass.

Now that she had it in her hand, she was a little nervous to actually drink it. She might be able to believe that Merrick had snuck some alcohol before, but she knew for a fact Heath had never touched the stuff. She hadn’t either - she’d tried to buy some cheap beer once, in a small act of rebellion, but had been unsuccessful and led outside the corner store by the owner who warned her she was lucky he wasn’t going to call her parents. Too bad he hadn’t realized that was exactly what she’d hoped he would do. If she hadn’t wanted to be caught she would have just pocketed the stupid drink.

“What is it?” she asked curiously, swirling it around the glass.

“Secret recipe,” Drew answered, scooping the cannon up and shooting at the door. He missed, and the grape splattered several inches to the side. A laugh burst out of her and he turned to glare in her direction. “It’s like caramel apple,” he elaborated, grumbling almost defensively. “I don’t usually make it until closer to Halloween but I wanted it so I made it now.”

Shea took a cautious sip, and couldn’t help smiling at the unexpectedly sweet taste. She took another sip, the alcohol burning a little as it ran down her throat, but not enough to discourage her from gulping down a bit more.

“Easy,” Drew practically whined, peering at her from over his own much larger drink. He pulled the glass away from her lips. “I know it’s not strong but still .”

“It’s good,” she told him, reluctantly putting the drink on the table, and holding out her hand. “I wanna shoot it again.”

He smirked, though she wasn’t sure if his smugness was from her praise of the drink or her interest in his little invention. Either way, he passed the device over to her.

“Aim for the… Aim for the door handle,” he laughed.

She leveled the device against her shoulder, and asked, “Why are you calling it a cannon when it’s more of a gun?” before shooting it. The click came, but nothing happened. She turned to look at him, and he just laughed again.

“Oh, yeah. Give it here.” As he dumped a handful of grapes into some strange looking compartment, she downed the last few sips of her drink. He snapped at her again to, “Slow down!” and ripped it from her hands. “I’m not going to give you anymore if you’re just going to chug it like that.”

“Sorry,” she offered, unapologetically. “It’s not my fault it’s delicious.”

He blushed, glancing away from her. “It’s better when I make it with homemade apple cider but I guess it’s good enough.”

She took the cannon from his outstretched hands, aiming it toward the door again. “Can I have some more?”

“Just a little,” he agreed with an overdramatic sigh, before taking her glass and retreating to the kitchen.

‘Just a little’ apparently meant double the amount he’d given her before. Glancing at his nearly drained cup she wondered how much of the stuff he’d really had before she caught him. Her suspicions were amplified ten-fold when he stumbled, smacking his hip on the table. He barely winced though she still had to snag the drink from his hand before any of it spilled.

“How much have you had?” she demanded, almost instinctively.

She’d had to walk a significant number of drunks home as part of her hero duty in the early years. Heath took over for her not long after she turned twelve. He’d run into her walking some man home, just in time to hear him offer her a beer or two in exchange for ‘an hour to do whatever the fuck I like to that perfect little body.’ She’d been near tears by the time she got home although she hadn’t even fully understood what the man was suggesting until a few months later when a similar scene played out in one of the horror films her parents forced her to watch. The situation had ended far worse for the young woman and Shea had melted one of her metal practice cubes, screaming and burning in horrified sympathy. It was the last movie she’d watched that she actually found frightening.

“Not too much,” he replied, picking up his own glass and draining the last of it.

“Uh-huh…” She trailed a step after him as he refilled his glass to the brim, sipping at it carefully as he moved back to the table. She took a sip of her own, following him back.

She barely saw him roll his eyes as he put the cup down. “Door handle?” he said hopefully, pushing his grape cannon toward her again.

She grabbed it without putting her cup down and fired. The click was followed by the newly distinctive whistle of a grape flying across the apartment. Her aim was off, but not enough. The grape hit the door handle but she’d been hoping to hit it dead center. Drew still cheered, and she couldn’t resist shooting a smile his way.

“Again!” he exclaimed, and she gulped down a sip of her drink before laughing and firing again. He was tugging the cannon away from her for his turn even before the grape splattered.

His first shot actually hit the door and she found herself cheering even before he did. His second missed and nearly knocked down a picture frame beside the door. He yelped as it wobbled, then sighed in obvious relief.

“Would you rather,” he mused suddenly, near half an hour and too many drinks later, “go live in the woods or… get to live in a mansion but never get to go outside again?”

“Woods.”

“Why?”

“Did enough of never getting to go outside already.”

“Oh yeah,” he said, almost laughing before awkwardly taking a sip of his drink.

She knocked the rest of her own drink back. “What about you, Doc? Woods or a mansion?”

“Is not getting to go out really that bad?” “Judging from how pale you are, I’d guess you don’t spend a whole lot of time outside anyway,” she teased, firing the cannon.

Drew whined in protest but didn’t actually defend himself much further. “It might be nice to live in a place that actually has heating in the winter. So, if it’s a nice mansion… I’ll take the mansion.”

“What if it’s some shabby run-down mansion? Or haunted?”

He fidgeted and snapped the cannon away from her. “Then I guess I’ll join you in the woods. Your turn.” Shea held out her hands to take it back, but he just shook his head. “No, I meant to ask a question.”

“Oh. Um… Would you rather,” she paused to think, watching as a grape exploded against the ceiling above them. “Would you rather get the chance to go back in time and change one major event but know that it will just happen later or…. Change one major event but erase yourself from existence in the process.”

“I would erase myself,” he answered the moment the words were out of her mouth.

“What would you change?” she asked curiously.

“Nothing you need to know about.” She must have looked hurt, because as soon as he said it he looked away from her, passing the gun sheepishly back over and adding, “Nothing I want to talk about.”

“I’d do the same one,” she told him. She wouldn’t mind disappearing if it saved her brothers from living the life they did. She would stop the comet and let herself fade away without anyone’s knowledge that there were ever going to be super-powered kids saving a city.

She didn’t say that, but he nodded as if he understood anyway.

“Would you rather be able to breathe underwater or breathe fire?”

“I thought we were flipping coins for this before.”

“We’re both answering, so who cares?” Shea sighed and shook her head, pouring some of his drink into her glass, earning herself a glare and a refilled cup, still not quite as full as his had been. “I’ll take underwater. I’ve done the fire breathing thing. It just hurts your throat.”

“I thought you said you couldn’t breathe fire!”

“No,” she said pointedly, “I said I’m not a dragon. And no. I’m not showing you. It’s stupid and it hurts.”

“Come on, please?”

“No.”

“Pest.” Drew’s next fire of the grape cannon finally knocked the picture frame to the ground with a strangely loud shatter. His mood shifted almost instantaneously before the picture even hit the floor. If she’d been a little more focused she would have lunged for it, but as it was they both simply stood there and watched it fall.

He groaned as it broke, putting out a hand to stop her when she stepped toward it. “Glass,” he pointed out, though his voice sounded off. It took Shea a moment too long to realize his speech was more slurred than she’d realized.

He stepped carefully over the pieces of broken glass after pushing the cannon into her arms. Despite his repeated warning, she dropped the device on the table and moved toward him. She barely caught him slip something from the back of the frame into his pocket.

“What is that?” she asked, grabbing onto his arm.

His instantaneous, “Nothing,” caught her off guard, and she was quick to let go of him when he jerked his arm away. “She’s going to be so upset,” he murmured, tugging the picture free of the frame and stumbling his way over to the couch.

“Who is?” Shea asked, scooping up the glass. She could almost appreciate the bandages, for helping her to not cut up her palms.

“My mother,” he replied, holding up the photo for her to see.

Squinting at him from the kitchen she could see a picture of a woman with a young boy. “Is that you?” she asked tossing the wrapped up glass shards into the trash can.

“Sure, when I graduated high school. I was twelve here.”

“Why’d it take so long for you to go to college?”

She watched Drew’s shoulders move in a strange little shrug. “She didn’t want me to go off to college too early, so I homeschooled for a few years. It was probably a good thing, what with my not being able to read.”

“Did you always look like a dork?” she asked.

He dropped the photo on the coffee table. “Decide for yourself.”

This, Shea declared to herself, must be what if feels like to be drunk. Granted, she didn’t think she’d had all that much - and she was fairly certain he had been watering down every drink he’d given her. But the room was spinning a little, making her dizzy as she took slow, deliberate steps in his direction watching him take another swig of his drink.

A note of terror rang through her as her fuzzy mind cleared for the briefest of moments. He could have done anything to her drinks, anything at all, and she’d never even thought to be wary of it. She just… drank them as he handed them to her. As suddenly as it came, the terror was gone. He wouldn’t do that. She knew he wouldn’t do that. She’d known him for -what?- three days, four? She had no reason to trust him, not the way she did, but she did.

“Yeah,” she said with a nod of her head towards the photo that made the spinning change directions. “You were definitely always a dork.” Twelve-year-old Drew didn’t look much different from the Drew she knew, save for the cap and gown that were both clearly too big and the innocent look of a pre-pubescent child.

“Yes, thank you for that assessment,” he grumbled.

A laugh slipped out of her as she stumbled over air and collapsed onto the couch next to Drew. No, not next to him. On top of him. She fell into his lap, and in her daze, she forgot to make herself move off him. Even if she could have, his arms snaked around her, holding her against his chest though not in any real way, it felt like. Like he only did it because of instinct.

“Come on, come on, tell me the truth.” She realized he was laughing as she tried to process his arms around her. “Do you really think that rib-eye looked better than the salmon?”

She meant to say she did, but what came out instead was a gasp as she leaned back into him and poked his cheek slurring, “You should… you should make steak. I missed food. Didn’t even know I missed food ’til I met you.”

He chuckled and fell back across the couch. She hadn’t even noticed him push her off his lap. “Can’t afford to make that,” he said, gesturing to the TV. “But sure. Can make some sort of steak. Next week.” His fingers latched around her arm. “If,” he said pointedly.

“If what?” She asked, knowing she’d agree to just about anything in the moment.

“If you show me how you can breathe fire.”

She should have said no. She knew she should’ve said no. With a quick snap of her wrist, she’d snagged Drews drink out of his hand and said instead, “You know you’re lucky I like you, right?”

His grin faltered so slightly that she almost didn’t notice it. She took a small sip of the drink, surprised to find it tasted no more like alcohol than any of hers had, and swirled it around in her mouth.

Working the flames to her hands was easy. She’d focused on that, trained to do that for years. Working it up her chest and throat burned, making her eyes water. She almost gagged the plasma back down, but she took a deep breath in through her nose and tilted her face towards the ceiling.

Her powers didn’t come out like a dragon spitting flames in some cheesy kids movie. It bubbled between her jaws for a moment, like the world’s hottest mouthwash. She let out her breath, and with it, the plasma, burning through the air in a strange arc above her, before abruptly steaming out of existence.

She coughed and swallowed the residual flames. “It’s not effective and it hurts.” She coughed again, wiping her lips with the back of her sleeve.

With a grunt, Drew sat back up and shocked her by poking at her lips. “That,” he admitted as she swatted his hand away in surprise, “was pretty cool.”

She felt a blush creeping up her cheeks. “Yeah, well. Y’better not be too drunk to remember it, cause I’m not doin’ it again.”

“You said you like me,” he teased suddenly, breaking out into a wide grin. “You don’t really think I’m a dork.”

“Do so think you’re a dork,” she argued. “But… yeah. Still like ya. You’re… I dunno, fun?”

Drew hummed and lay back against the couch, facing her. “I like you too.”

“It’s weird,” she confessed, wishing the room would start spinning again to justify why she was still talking. “I feel like… cause we only met a few days ago. But–”

“–I feel like I’ve known you forever,” he said, in unison with her.

“Jinx,” he exclaimed, pointing a finger in her face. “You owe me a soda.”

“Do you have soda?”

“I think there’s some in the fridge.”

“I’ll get you one.”

“You’re just gonna shake it up, aren’t you?” Drew whined suspiciously.

She smirked, fighting back a full-on grin and nodded. “Yeah.”

“Then I don’t want one.” He yawned and pointed vaguely in the direction of the kitchen table. “I just wanna take my cannon and go to bed.”

“You’re gonna bring that thing to bed with you?”

“Nngh– no, I just don’t want you to shoot me with it!”

“You shot me!”

“I shot at you,” he corrected. “Accidentally!”

“So I should get to shoot at you.”

“No!”

“Dork.”

“Pest.”

“Crybaby!”

“You can keep insulting me,” he sang, “but I know you like me!”

Shea rolled her eyes, and before she could say anything else a strange gurgling sound filled her ears and then everything went silent. Ice cold terror burned in her veins as Drew’s mouth continued to move. No sound came out. No sound that she could hear.

#drakgo #drakken #drew lipsky #shego #shea go #fanfiction #drakgo fanfiction #shego x drakken #drakken x shego #Dwelling #chapter twelve #gofordrakgo #17 pages #4831 words

13 notes · View notes

13headcannons · 7 years

Text

Clay Jensen falling for tony :

At first clay didn't know he had a crush on tony and tried to ignore the feeling

Everyone could see clay was falling for him even tony himself

Clay finally understood his feelings when he saw tony pull up in his car

Clay looked at tony completely different that day and he knew that he was in love with his best friend

#tony padilla x clay jensen #clay jensen x tony padilla #clay Jensen #tony Padilla #random headcanon #clony #thirteen reason why head cannons #thirteen reasons why

48 notes · View notes

thesevenumbrellas · 5 years

Note

Hello! I was curious if you had any Ace Five head cannons? Haven't seen any around since some people have just gone with Five's sexuality being Delores. (Love your stuff, by the way!)

I tried this on my phone and it got deleted, so let’s try laptop. Second time!

Ace Five:

He’s eleven when he figures it. When his brothers talk about sex, it just doesn’t sound appealing. It sounds gross and unnecessary and not fun. He doesn’t need a word for it, doesn’t even consider there is one. He just knows that sex isn’t for him and that’s okay.

He’s thirteen when he jumps through time. He’s soul-crushingly lonely so he finds Delores. She’s everything he could ever want. They talk and laugh and cuddle and she’s his partner in everything. He knows she isn’t real, but the apocalypse is hard and he’s so scared and so alone, that it’s almost too easy to push those thoughts away. Even as the years go on, sex never crosses his mind.

He’s seventeen when he finds the word “asexual” in the library. He does a little reading and knows that if he ever needs a label, that’d be the one he’d choose.

He doesn’t know how old he is, doesn’t know how many years it’s been. Time went with his sanity long ago. He carries a shotgun and startles at loud noises, even though he knows there’s nothing out there except himself and the cockroaches. Dolores talks more and more, and he talks less and less. The ash that never stops falling hurts his lungs and the fires that never go out burn his skin even when they’re very far away. He’s loosing it and he knows he’s loosing it and he can’t think of a single reason why he shouldn’t. Maybe if he finally went crazy, he’d be released from this torment?

Then a woman with high heels and a smile he doesn’t trust shows up and takes him away and turns him into a killer.

He’s fifty-eight and no one in questions why he doesn’t ask out that cute waitress who smiled at him, or why he doesn’t talk to his co-worker who keeps bringing him coffee, even though Five had already asked him not to. Personal relationships are frowned upon in the commission and even if they weren’t, he’s just the crazy apocalypse guy with a number instead of a name. No one expects anything from him.

He’s thirteen again. He’s back at home. He’s with his family. The apocalypse is stopped. He’s safe. The universe grants him the do-over he never asked for. It’s not that different from being in the commission in the end. His family (mainly Klaus, constantly) makes jokes about him being “horny” and “sexually frustrated” after the apocalypse but no one expects anything from him. He’s thirteen after all.

Until he’s not thirteen. He’s twenty three and his family are worried. They ask why he won’t give the nice barista girl his number when she asks. They ask why he doesn’t smile back at the cute librarian boy. They ask him why he doesn’t move on and find someone. The apocalypse was long ago and everyone else has moved on.

Five wants to. He really does. He misses the closeness he had with Dolores, even though she hasn’t talked to him in a long time. He wants someone to hold him when he sleeps and kiss his forehead when he’s sad and laugh through movies with him when he’s happy. But society is all about sex, and who would never willingly settle down with someone who can’t have sex?

In the end, he comes out to Klaus. It’s between one of his many jokes about Five ending up “forever alone” and Five just blurts it out before he can stop himself. “I’m asexual… actually.”

Klaus doesn’t even blink. “So what? You could still put in a little effort and call that boy who gave you his number last week.”

Five doesn’t really know what to say. “I’m asexual. Didn’t you hear me?”

“And?”

At first Five thinks Klaus isn’t getting it, but then he realizes that no… It’d just never occurred to Klaus that asexuality would get in the way of anything. Klaus, who once wouldn’t shut up about how good in bed an ex-girlfriend had been, or how great choking felt during sex.

So Five calls the boy (the cute boy) who’d given him his number and asks him out on a date and tells him he’s asexual. He prepares for rejection because really he’s just doing it to prove Klaus wrong.

In the end they go out for coffee, and Klaus gloats for an entire month.

#the umbrella academy #tua #ace five #asexual #ace #five #five hargreeves #umbrealla academy #mini story

703 notes · View notes

erintoknow · 5 years

Text

the glass labyrinth

fallen hero fanfiction time; i think this clocks in at the second longest singular fanfic i’ve written oof. ~7.1k words [ao3]

this might be easier to read on AO3 where it’s broken into chapters. :v

–––

Take a breath, hold it, let it out. You are not Ariadne Becker. Not here. Not now. You are Adrestia, your suit the color of empty void reflecting no light, cape drawn tight around your shoulders further obscuring your form. Only the mirrored treatment of your helmet betrays you as still human. Still needing to see, still needing to be seen.

Your first goal is to secure the regenerator of course. The miracle device that could be your best ticket out of the mess you’ve dug yourself into. There it is, behind glass, under watchful eye. So close. Two parts to contend with. A central core housing the experimental technology and on a pedestal beside in a too-plain looking briefcase. The schematics to assemble the rest of the unit.

What will the finished product look like? Baptismal font or casket?

“Adrestia. Imagine, meeting you here.”

You turn and there’s a moment of disorientation. Since when are you as tall as Dr. Mortum? – You aren’t Jane. Mortum’s expression is cold but polite. You have to assume she knows that you know about her attempts to get Jane to quit. Her plans to do the same. What’s her play here?

You give a slight bow, and mimic the cold curtesy in her voice. “Dr. Mortum.”

“It occurs to me that this is the first we have met in person.”

You spread your arms wide, twirling your fingers. “And now we have. Am I everyth–thing you hoped for, doctor?”

There’s a brief flash of annoyance and then Mortum regains control of her poker face. “You’ve been taking good care of the armor, I see.”

“You did good w–work.”

“I… you’re welcome?” She hadn’t expected that.

Maybe you can still salvage this. Get her back on your side. You let your arms drop to your sides. “Look, I’m… sorry.”

“Sorry?” The confusion is plain in her voice. “For what?”

“I…” You laugh, then cut yourself off with a wince. The voice filter warps everything. “I th–think we got off on the wrong foot.”

Dr. Mortum’s expression hardens, her eyes narrowing. “If you’ve hurt her–”

“Her? Oh.” Shit. This might have backfired. “Doctor, I would never hurt her.”

Does she believe you? You wouldn’t, coming from someone that looks and sounds like you do. This was a mistake. Reaching out is always a mistake. When will you learn?

“So you say,” Dr Mortum confirms your fear. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have business to attend to.” She turns away from you, slips past the gawkers come to check out the auction items ahead of time. You move to follow after her but the crowd doesn’t exactly leap out of your way.

You haven’t exactly been making friends either within Los Diablos’s self-proclaimed ‘villain’ community. Just because you’re all on the wrong side of law now… it doesn’t make you allies. And how many remember Sidestep? You’d swear you recognize a few faces, a few suits. Is that Sharkinator at the bar? You’d recognize the sharkhands anywhere. There’s a blast from the past. When did he get out of Prison?

Are you imagining the eyes burning a hole in the back of your head or are you really being watched? The Boulevard Casino is coated in the hum of telepathic dampeners, a hissing static beyond hearing. If it wasn’t for the physical proximity of the Rat-King, slipping it’s telepathic presence between you and the hum like a shield you’d already be clutching your head in a migraine by now.

Would sneaking in have been better? There’s no point wondering now. You don’t need to worry about evading cameras and security this way. Dampeners, radio jammers, cameras, good old fashioned armed men in fancy suits. Hollow Ground’s security is not messing around.

That’s fine, neither are you.

There’s a pressure on your attention, an urging from the Rat-King. You let it turn you, guide your sight. A woman moving through the crowd, tall, taller still by the antlers spiraling up from a helmet in the shape of an antelope skull. She’s armored, head to foot. Brown faux-leather, almost certainly masking proper armor underneath by the bulk of the thing. Gloved hands hide her skin. Her boots are made up to look like cloven hooves that add to her stature.

Not exactly a practical outfit.

Why is the Rat-King pushing you towards her? The dampeners prevent that. Wait, is that.. Oryx? Small time hitman. Or… hitwoman, you suppose. Was supposed to have fled town awhile ago after a job turned bad. Not that you would have had anything to do with that, of course. You don’t have the time in the day to personally meddle in everyone’s illegal business.

Something… isn’t right with her though. Her movement is… too smooth? Or not smooth enough. Like she doesn’t belong here. Is she going to be trouble? You need this to go off perfectly, you can’t afford any potential complications.

It’s not hard to pick out her path. She’s sticking to the walls, you could intercept her, pull her into an empty side-room before she reaches the auction hall.

No one even bats an eye as you step out from behind the curtain and grab Oryx by the shoulders, pull her backwards into the room. She grunts, elbows you in the stomach to get free and drops into a combat stance as you step backwards.

You raise your arms, try to control your heart rate. That snarl, the way she balances herself, positions her arms. Jesus christ, it’s Argent behind that mask isn’t it? Just your fucking luck. If she has any sanity she won’t risk a fight here. Not under Hollow Ground’s nose. “I d–don’t want a fight.”

“Funny way of showing it.”

“It’s– it’s easier to to talk in private, w–wouldn’t you say…” You incline your head, exaggerating to make the gesture visible through your helmet, “Argent?” Fuck, you need to get it under the control. Adrestia can’t stutter.

There’s silence, and then Argent crosses her arms with a small laugh. “You’re always the worst.”

You put your arms down, “I’d say the same about you.”

“Well? What do you want?”

“I hope you’re not here for my sake.” What on earth is Argent doing here? Are the Rangers involved? They’re hardly at full strength, would they seriously try to bust something this big? It would be a disaster.

“What is this? Fishing for compliments?” She leans in, “You aren’t nearly that important.”

You put a hand to your chest and laugh, “You wound me.”

“Easy to do.”

You elect to ignore that, “You’re hardly the type for fancy parties. Though…” You tap the chin of your helmet, “I suppose you are better d–dressed this time?”

“Excuse me?”

“It suits you.”

Argent’s voice goes low and cold. “What does that mean.”

Shit, what do you mean? You wave a hand, “Never mind, it’s not important.” You can feel her eyes on you under the mask. “W–w–why are you here?”

Argent doesn’t move, unnaturally still. “Personal business.”

“That business is…?”

“Not yours.”

You huff. It’s an active effort to maintain eye contact even shield as you are. But you don’t dare look away. “So, then who else of your little friends are lurking around here? Who can I expect to find Ortega dressing up as?”

“I don’t need them.” Evasive, obviously, but what kind of evasive?

“Or…” You cross your arms, drum your fingers against your arm. “You don’t want them to know…?”

She shrugs, breaks eye contact. Damn, got it in one. “If you say so. What, you think you can blackmail me about it?”

“Oh, please,” You laugh, “They’d never believe me.” Argent’s already a known loose cannon. And there’s too many ‘heroic’ reasons you could trot out to excuse it. It wouldn’t even be hard.

“That’s true,” Argent shifts position, “Ortega has a lot of faith in her friends.”

You find yourself agreeing. “Too much.” Why can’t she see you for what you are? How can she want that? Care about –that–?

“Hrmm…” Argent steps closer, “must be lonely, not having a team.”

You stay put, ready for any sudden movement. “I’m better off alone.”

“Is that so?” She tilts her head down towards you.

“Other people always let you d–down,” you don’t bother trying to filtering the bitterness out of your voice. Let the distortion do that. “Even if they don’t– don’t want to.” The only person you can trust in the end is yourself. If even that.

“I’m not talking about forever,” she snorts, “just tonight. To stay out of each other’s business.”

“A t–truce?” you ask, incredulous. She seriously doesn’t want a fight then. Just what is Lady Argent doing sneaking into a black market auction hosted by the city’s criminal kingpin? What could any Ranger want here?

And how can you use this to your advantage?

“You’re seriously suggesting a truce?” You repeat.

“For now.”

Like hell are you going to let her escape your sight. “Oh r–really now?” You offer her a arm, “then let me be your escort f–for the evening.”

“That isn’t funny.”

“It’s… n–not a joke.” Your let your arm awkwardly drop.

“You’re serious.”

“Easier to–” might as well try honesty, “–to keep an eye on each other that way.”

“…fine.”

“S–so you accept?” You offer your arm again.

“Don’t make me regret this.” Argent sighs, and takes your arm. “Where are we going?”

You laugh, sharp and nervous. No idea what that sounds like on other end of the distorters. Hopefully something more confident than what you’re feeling right now. “W–w–where else would we go? The auction.”

Will you ever escape the path that was laid out for you? When you were Sidestep you fought against boosts and mods that stepped outside the law. Fought to uphold the very system that had enabled your creation and mistreatment.

Now you’re on the other side of the coin and you’re still pulling on what they taught you. Spying, lying… You let your gaze dance across the room take-in and evaluate. Who might cause trouble? Who can you push? Who to avoid? Thirteen years on and what has really changed for you?

You can never get out. Not really.

Argent stands at your side, dressed as a two-bit murder. It doesn’t seem right. You were wrong, it doesn’t suit her at all. What does she want here so badly she’d lower herself like this? The worry is wriggling like a leech at the back of your mind. At this point there’s not a lot more you can do. Either it becomes clear and you deal with it, or it doesn’t and it never matters.

What does matter is making sure no other surprises catch you unawares. Surprises like–

“Shit.” You whisper.

Argent jerks her head in your direction, shoulders tense. “What?”

No point playing this close to your chest. You had done some research via Jane and Dr. Mortum after your first encounter. Mortum had promised to look into it further once the auction was over but… This isn’t something Argent deserves to run into un-forewarned. “Over there, against the wall.” You quickly gesture with an arm, trying not to look like you’re pointing. “The woman in white and red?”

Argent shifts around to hide looking. “Yeah?”

“Shroud.”

“Who?”

“Ember’s enforcer from San Francisco.”

“Ember…” She growls. Not the reaction you had expected. You have to grab her arm to keep her still. “Stay clear of her. She touches someone, they die. Apparently.”

“Oh.” She steps back into place, looks back at you. “Thank… you…?”

What does Lord Ember want so bad he’d send risk sending one of his scariest agents away to collect it? You really hope it’s not what you’re thinking.

Who are you kidding, you’re not that lucky.

“Why warn me?” Argent stands a little too close for comfort.

“Uh…” Why did you? “Just– just because we’re enemies, it d–doesn’t mean I want you dead.”

“Hrm.” You’re not sure what to make of that, and Argent doesn’t elaborate.

“This is… awkward, r–really.” You confess.

“What?”

“Trading quips in a fight w–was easier than this.” You don’t look at her, watch the crowd, the stage. The auction is well under way at this point. Nothing particular amazing just yet. You keep an eye on the countdown timer ticking away at the corner of your Heads-Up Display. Not much longer until showtime.

She keeps shifting her weight back and forth. That’s why you don’t wear high heels to a standing event, honey. You learned that the hard way as Jane. “It’s easier to judge someone in a fight.”

You glance over at her and she freezes up. Huh. That’s a switch. “And so what’s your judgement on me, then?”

“Jury’s out.” She raises a hand as if to fling back her hair and then stops, tries to turn it into a dismissive hand gesture but there’s no saving that one. “But… I haven’t killed you yet.”

“Not for lack of trying.” You’ve had some close calls those last few fights before you buckled down on this project. God knows you’ve done enough to her, if anyone deserves first shot at taking you out, it’s Lady Argent.

“Oh please. I have been playing.”

“Why?”

Argent sighs, turns her head to focus on the stage instead of you. “I have fun, I guess.” She shrugs. “Fighting you, I mean.”

“I… huh.” If things weren’t awkward before, they are now. Hasn’t she figured it out yet? Who really possessed her? Well, you’re not about to come clean now. Not here, not when you’re so close.

Dr. Mortum’s ‘disintegration’ ray comes up on the stage next, packed into a very fancy clear case. Jane had put in some overtime helping Mortum raise money, liquidate assets, finding buyers… but did the doctor have enough? Even if she does… even at the starting bid, that’s going to hurt her.

You could – you could bid against her, drive the price up even higher. You know more or less what her limit is and you’ve got way more than that to play with. You only needed the money to get inside, she needs it to stay in business. And to potentially turn against you.

Or… or you could try to buy it for her, as a gift? The gun clearly has some sentimental value to her beyond the scientific, she’s said as much. Would gifting it help change her mind? Or would she view it as a bribe? See it for what it was: you trying to buy her respect?

The bidding slowly climbs, and Mortum stays in the game as it goes. Maybe… you should stay out of this one. There’s too many variables. Too many risks.

You’ll only step in if Mortum gets outbid. There. That’s as good a compromise as any.

The bidding ends up in a war between Mortum and woman in a business suite far in the back. You tense up, but no, the woman ultimately folds. Dr. Mortum wins her gun back at a very pretty penny. Good for her. Hopefully this won’t come back to bite you in the ass.

The countdown on your HUD chimes. Getting into the final moments now. You glance to your side to check on Argent and – she’s gone. Fuck! When did that happen? While you were focused on Mortum’s lot? Damn it. There’s no time to track her down now.

As soon as time hits zero, the bomb you rigged on the power substation for the block will go off. Power to the whole block of the city will go down. The casino is bound to have back-up generators but enough to power the whole security system? Dampeners are not energy efficient.

Looks like they’re putting the Regenerator up on stage next. Well, that’s handy. You won’t have to dig around backstage to find it then.

The Regenerator… One-of-a-kind prototype. The company responsible immediately shut-down and all their equipment confiscated. And what can it do? Perfect regeneration. The only way to remove your tattoos is to cut deep enough into the skin, practically flay yourself alive. Even if you lived, you’d be crippled, horrifically scared at best.

But with the regenerator in your hands and fully functioning…

Well, it’d be a whole lot easier than trying to overturn the United States Government.

Final count down now. Then showtime. Breath in, hold, exhale.

5…

You’re not scared. You’re Adrestia.

4…

It’s like leaning out of a window, watching the street below.

3–

A bright flash and a piercing boom rock the auction hall and the crowd cries out in a panic. Your helmet visor dims but not quick enough and the eyes hurt like hell, after images swimming across your vision. Shit! Fuck! You stumble into someone in front of you and they shove you back.

Someone else is robbing the Auction Hall?

The lights flicker overhead before staying dark, and the weight of the dampeners pressing in on you vanishes. There we go, there’s your cue. You hum a few notes under your breath as let you mind unfold, track every panicked presence huddling together. Too much light, now not enough. People are scared. Hollow Ground’s supposed to ensure a neutral territory, and yet here’s trouble.

With the Rat-King backing you up, you reach out and wrap your song around the crowd. A jangle of discordant thoughts. The Rat-King buffers you from the worst of it as you smooth out the edges, point them towards the exit. You don’t need to nudge everyone. Just the key parts and the rest will follow or be swept along.

Everyone here is a criminal, be they boost, mod, or norm. It won’t be the end of the world if it breaks down into a mass panic. But trying to keep them calm is good practice for the next time you’re faced with civilians. There’s no need to fill up any more hospitals.

Back in the physical world you slowly push your way against the flow of the crowd. Up to the stage. The emergency lighting comes on, casting the room in grim shadows. You brace yourself for any hint of the dampeners but it doesn’t come. Good, you guessed right then. Even with back-up generators, cut off from the main grid the Boulevard Casino doesn’t have enough power to handle everything.

There’s still too many people. Hardened villains thinking about how to turn the chaos to their own advantage. Is it an attack? Earthquake? Is Hollow Ground losing their touch? How can this benefit me?

You can’t risk any interference. Reach out again, second chorus, worst than the first. Reach in deeper, into the darker spaces. It’s an incoherent barrage from a dozen different traumas and the Rat–King has to pull tight around your mind to keep you from collapsing, from reeling back in shock and snapping the connection.

You can do this. Raise the conductor’s baton, pull it all forward.

Pull them out.

Get out.

Go!

Someone screams and the rest of the crowd starts to move. No calm to it now. Well, you tried. Someone shoves you aside, and oh yeah, physical bodies are still a thing. Switch to low-light vision and the visor tints everything green as you make the rest of the way to the stage. Get back in the game Chickadee.

As you’re about to climb onto the stage, the Rat King pings your attention.

“Dr. Mortum?” You move over to her, and she takes a step back, hand falls on something on her hip. Shouldn’t be surprised the doctor would have hi-tech glasses. Try to get a read on her thoughts and it’s like grasping at a nest of eels. Multiple tracks going a mile a minute. Maybe in another setting you could pry them apart, but you can’t spare the focus now.

“Adrestia.” Her voice is cold, but shaky. Putting on a mask. “This is your doing, isn’t it?”

“Goodness. Y–you think highly of me, don’t you?” You hold out your arms to the side, no hidden tricks up your sleeves. “What are you still d–doing here?”

She doesn’t relax. “Your little light show went off right when I was collecting my gun. I need to find it.”

“You’re serious.”

“I’m not leaving without it.” She sounds serious. Must be to have resisted your mental push both times.

You shrug, try to play off your concern. “I’ve got my own business, but if I find it… I’ll keep it safe. But it won’t be any good if its owner gets herself killed tonight.”

“What are you planning?”

“Nothing.” You turn away from her. “I can’t speak for anyone else though.” You can already sense them, multiple people are on the stage. Prelude to a fight. What are the odds you can grab the regenerator and slip out while they’re busy killing each other?

Ignore the eyes staring daggers into your back as you clamber onto the stage. “Ah, fuck.” There’s a stare-down going alright. Lady Argent, still in Oryx costume is standing between Shroud and… fuck, that’s one of Hollow Ground’s men. Jake Manalo? Jane’s only encountered him briefly. He’s some kind of boost but hell if anyone can give a straight answer as to what. His thoughts are fuzzy, out of focus. Shroud’s are walled, a barrier with the sensation of metal to touch. Only Argent is readable to any extent. Damn.

Try to skirt around the edge, circle back to the regenerator. Wait. Is that Mortum’s gun on the ground? Can you you grab it without being noticed… No luck. Jake spots you, hunches his shoulders. “Adrestia, come join the party. And step away from the merchandise.”

Argent glances back towards you and everything goes to hell.

Shroud makes her move, going after Argent. Argent dodges the outstretched hand, claws slicing through her gloves as she twists to strike back.

Fuck.

Dash across the stage, to grab Mortum’s gun, tossing the case aside like a candy wrapper. Mortum’s gun doesn’t actually kill people does it? It just… stores them for… later. That’s too handy an ace to ignore right now

Jake has left the two women to duel it out in order to chase after you. But whatever Jake’s got, he doesn’t have a powered suit with booster jets. You dash past him, dropping into a slide under his outstretched arm. You come to a stop by the Regenerator, spin on your heel and drop a knee. If you can take out Jake now, maybe you can abscond with the prize while the other two are duking it out.

How does this damn thing work? Hell, when was the last time you used any gun? There’s a light blinking on the side. Battery? As long as there’s enough charge for one shot. You’ll work out the rest later.

Someone off stage yells as you line up your shot. Hold your breath, sight, finger on the trigger… there’s a loud bang and every nerve in your body lights up in terror.

The gun drops out of your hands, clattering on the stage. How? Why? What is that thing doing here? Taller then any one else here, stretching its multiple arms, both organic and metallic up in the air. In the green haze of your low-light vision it could have stepped directly out of one of your nightmares, but no. Very much real. Very much alive. But… something isn’t right. The Catastrofiend’s movements are sluggish and while her skin was in never in great condition to begin with, it looks… wrong? Melted? Skin or clothing? There’s no seam.

Is… this where the Catastrofiend been all this time? Trapped in Dr. Mortum’s teleportation gun? Did she know that when she asked Jane for help in getting it back?

In the back of your mind the Rat-King screams at you to move.

Dive to the left and a blade stabs the ground where you were kneeling. Mortum’s gun rattles on the floor and you manage the presence of mind to grab hold of it again, clipping it back of your belt. In front of you, the Catastrofiend groans, a sickly bubbling sound as she clutches her vestigal human arms to her chest, her other 4 arms unfold and stretch out. Exposed muscle twining into metal, each limb ending in a long razor sharp blade. Like the rest of her, the blades are warped, discolored, wrong.

Oh shit.

Oh fuck.

“What the fuck is this!?” Shroud yells. The Catastrofiend gurgles and turns to swipe at her. She leaps backwards, almost toppling over.

You need to get out of here.

“It’s the goddamn Catastrofiend.” Jake snarls. At the sound of his voice, the monster turns and swipes at him too. Something… happens, Jake goes blurry and the blade passes through him like air. No time to think about what that could mean.

Argent snarls, razor claws at the ready. “How the hell did it get in here?” When the Catastrofiend turns to swipe at her, she’s ready, stepping in under the arm, slashing at the skin. Something oozes out, but it doesn’t look like blood.

Is it responding to sound? Can she still see? How the hell long was it in there for? Mortum mentioned something about… quantum degradations right…? Your stomach twists. And you were seriously thinking of using it on someone?

With the Catastrofiend taking precedence, a truce seems to settle out. Jake, Argent, and Shroud triangulating. around her. You’ve seen the monster nearly come out on top against the entire Rangers team at their height before. It’s only a matter of time before they break ranks and run. You’ve seen the Catastrofiend survive being shot in the head, even as… wrong as it is, there’s no way the three of them are beating this.

This is your chance.

Two parts to the device, don’t forget. The briefcase gets attached to your suit’s utility belt next to Mortum’s gun. The prototype itself… it’s bulky, you’ll have to carry it with two hands. You wrap your song tight around yourself, willing the chaos to let you pass by unnoticed. In the back of your mind, you can feel the Rat-King echo you back, magnify the sentiment.

You get your hands under the rough metal edges and heave it into the air. Don’t look. Nothing to see here. Don’t look this way. The battle with the Catatstrofiend is way more pressing, isn’t it? Absolutely.

You don’t breath again until you’re well behind stage. A scattering of items that still haven’t been sold off remain, abandoned in the chaos. They’ll notice you’re gone eventually. But will they have the luxury to chase after you? Banking on your luck doesn’t seem like a smart move.

This part of the Casino is well beyond anything you got to scout in-person as Jane. You’ve spent plenty of time studying the schematics however. You can imagine the red line guiding you alone. Into the backstage hallway, hang a right, there’s a room here. Storage closet. Crouch down just outside and put the prototype aside.

Time to put the Nanovores to work, outstretching your hand against the floor, eating through metal supports and vinyl tiles until the indigestible remains of floor begin to fracture and give way. Slap the floor hard with your hand and it drops into something deeper below.

This part of town is shot through with old smuggling tunnels from the Prohibition era. Illegally dug little boltholes, cramped but big enough to fit crates of alcohol. Earthquake country means they’re near suicide to use. Which is why you spent over a week a making sure this tunnel would be usable.

Never let the enemy set the field if you can help it.

At the end of this tunnel is Rosie and the get-away truck. You’re almost there. you can do this.

Once the hole is sufficiently wide, you pick up the prototype. There’s noise coming from down the hallway. Pursuers or just echoing from the fight? You can’t tell. Doesn’t matter, it’s time to jump. A hole this time, not a window, but your heart leaps into your throat all the same.

Your booster jets dampen the fall, but the shock rattles up every joint along your legs regardless. The cart you had prepared ahead of time is right where you left it, save for a scattering of debris. You put the prototype down on the cart and sweep it clean in one motion.

Take a breath. Home stretch. Next step is to get to the first support joist and start the process of collapsing the tunnel behind you.

The tunnel is damp, and crowded, and dark dark dark. You tap on the clip-on flashlight on your utility belt, a tiny narrow cone cutting into the void. It’s not much but it gives your low-light vision something more to work with.

The floor is lumpy, uneven. It makes pushing the cart painfully slow and uncomfortably noisy. With more time you could have smoothed out the floor, but the time constraint on planning this operation had been absurdly tight as it was. Once your far enough away you can start collapsing the tunnel behind you and it won’t–

Scratches against stone echo behind you and the Rat-king screams for you to move. Only to flinch and clutch your head under the weight of the dampeners pressing back down on you. Something runs across your back and you stagger forwards against the handle of the cart as you cry out. Turn and catch the silhouette of Oryx’s horned mask.

“Are you k–k–kidding me–” You suck in your breath as she swipes at you again, press yourself against the wall as silver claws rend the air where you had just been. Did she cut through your suit? Everything still reads green.

There’s a snarl and you throw your heads up, “Wait, wait, hold on–” If Argent could track you down here, the rest of them can’t be too far behind. “L–let’s talk?”

Argent stares you down, your flashlight bouncing off her silver frame. Shoulders hunched, hands ready to swipe.

“We had a truce.”

She doesn’t relax, but doesn’t attack either. “Only as long as it was convenient.”

“You know w–what’s inconvenient? Getting caught.” The return of the dampeners is a significant problem as well, but Argent doesn’t need to know that one. How did they get them back on so quickly?

The tension drags out entirely too long before Argent drops her hands to her sides. “Then what are you saying?”

“If we fight here we risk them finding us, or worse, damaging this thing.” You gesture behind you. “Let’s… get out of here, then w–we can decide if we’re going to k–kill each other or whatever.”

Argent narrows her eyes, flexing her fingers. Quickest of glances behind her, an opening you don’t take. “Fine.” She sighs, “No tricks, I’ve got your number.”

Oh thank god she can be reasoned with. “Come on, help me push, it’ll go f–faster with both of us.” You move to one side, making space for Argent. She scrunches her nose up, giving you a once over and then steps up beside you, grabbing the handle. Together you trundle through the dark.

“How far?”

“A distance but–” you watch her from the side, “we’re close to a checkpoint I set up to–to–to collapse the tunnel behind me.”

She snorts. “Dangerous.”

“Y–yeah well…” try to keep the emotion out of your voice, “it’d be a bother if someone chased after.”

“Too bad for you.”

“Too bad for me.”

The two of you continue along in silence. Pushing the cart is much easier now with Argent’s help. Silence is dangerous however. Too many unanswered questions, such as: “What uh– what happened with the Catastrofiend?”

“Ran. Chased it, found you instead.”

“W–well… fuck.”

“How did that thing get in there?”

“N–n–no idea.” You lie, more than a little anxious that you can’t pick up whether she bought it or not. You still have Mortum’s gun. Should you– no, no, who knows what else might come flying out. And suppose it did work, what would you even…? No. It’s not an option.

The dampeners begin to lighten as you continue further down, gone by the time you reach a split in the passage, joists in holding up the ceiling. Small miracles. “Hold on.” You brush your head over the frame, nanovores reducing it to dust under your hand. The ceiling begins to shift and you grab the cart with Argent again. “Come on, let’s move.”

“Cute trick.”

Would it be gauche to thank her for? Does she know? This isn’t the time to risk it. You can’t bring Argent straight to Rosie. Too dangerous. No, instead, take the other path as the ceiling collapses behind you. This path ends in a brick wall, easily kicked down.

The room on the other side is pitch black as the two of you clamber through. A basement. Old, abandoned. No sense of any other minds nearby. Once you’re above ground you can just radio Rosie. But first you have someone to deal with.

Argent lets go of the cart, turning to face you. “So we both wanted the same thing. Lucky us.” You can feel it now, without the dampeners to mask everything. She’s desperate for this.

“So…” You stall for time as you try to get a read on her thoughts. “You know what this is, w–what it can do.”

Argent hunches her shoulders, reading to move. “So do you.”

“It needs to–to be assembled.” You reach back to pat the briefcase hanging from your belt. “What, are you planning to set it up at the Rangers?”

“Don’t be absurd. This is black tech.” Argent huffs. “Even my leash has limits.”

“Leash?” You shake your head. No time to unpack that one. “W–well, I’ve got a place to assemble it safely.”

“And you know how to do that?”

“Do you?”

“Whatever, that isn’t even the biggest problem here.” Evading the question? Interesting. Argent pulls off her helmet, shaking out her silver hair with a grimace on her face. “This is.”

You take a step back, cross your arms. “W–what is?”

“Us.” Argent gestures between the two of you, “this is going to take time to bring online. Weeks… maybe?” She shakes her head. “I’m not letting it leave my sight.”

“Same.” Too much is riding on this.

Argent barks out a laugh. “Why? You already have secrets you can lord over me… you know what I did: the masquerade, breaking and entering–”

“Oh please, d–d–don’t be stupid.” You wave it away, “I know the Rangers. You could explain it all away in a heartbeat. Infiltrating a villain hangout? Retrieving black tech? They’ll give you a f–fucking medal.” Is she really that scared of being found out? Why?

“And you? What, am I supposed to just trust someone hiding behind a mask?” Her voice is razor sharp, “You’re a telepath.” You wince under your helmet. “you manipulate everyone and everything around and… I don’t even know what you would want it?”

Her thoughts are barbed, hard to read but… she wants to trust you. Doesn’t want to blow this chance. But why would she? Why would anyone trust you? Ever?

You can’t tell her who you are. Not here, not now. If you were lucky she’d just kill you. She’s earned it, certainly. More likely you’ll have to go into hiding, abandon any pretense of the civilian life you’ve slowly been reclaiming. And that’s… Isn’t that what you’ve been trying to do? What keeps holding you back?

Argent is getting antsy. You need to say something before she just goes for it and attacks. Maybe you’d win, but damaging the prototype is a risk you’d rather avoid. You can’t exactly come clean about why you need it either. If she treats you with any modicum of respect now, then it’s because she’s operating under the mistaken assumption that you’re human.

The very thought of risking that, of letting it go. Of never seeing Julia again, or worse– You can feel your heartbeat quicken. Fuck. God damnnit. You’re trapped.

No matter what you do, you’re going to have to trust her with something.

Your hands are shaking as you reach up, find the clasps of your helmet. Across from you, Argent tenses up but doesn’t attack. Why the hell are you doing this? Except – she deserves to know. And what do you have left of your civilian life left at this point anyway? You knew this couldn’t last forever.

The display goes dark as you pop the helmet from the seal, disconnected from the rest of the suit. Your gut twists, a sharp pain as you struggle to keep your breathing under control. You feel sick. Unreal, like you’ve stepped outside yourself. This is such a stupid idea.

You can feel the Rat-King curl around you, trying to protect you from the danger. Joke’s on it, the biggest danger to you here is yourself.

Can barely see as you pull the helmet up, over, hold it in your hands in front of you. In this dim gloom you can’t read Argent’s face, only her mind. Quiet, struggling to process what she’s seeing. She steps toward you and you step back.

“Ariadne Becker.” If there was any doubt about her being able to see in the dark, it’s gone now. All that effort into avoiding her, and you’ve blown it in one go.

“G–got it in– in one.”

Can see her cross her arms through the gloom, shift her weight. “It wasn’t Locus, was it Ariadne?” She snarls. You can feel the fury building up in her head, leaking out through her composure. Didn’t she promise to eviscerate the person responsible?

Die now or die later, might as well jump.

“Y–yes.” You can’t look at her as you say it. “I’m sorry–”

She moves on, grabbing you by the front of your armor claws digging. Panic takes over and you drop your helmet trying to get free, only for white to explode across your vision as your head is rocked hard to the left, pain searing across the right side of your face. Her hand is the only thing holding you upright.

“Don’t you dare try apologizing to me.”

“It– it was w–wrong, I–”

The second slap hits you on the left side of your face, there’s a ringing in your ears, and you can taste copper from biting your tongue. To call her ‘mad’ undersells the storm of emotion radiating off her. Is she going to kill you? Maybe. Of all the beatings you’ve taken in your life, there’s no question you deserve this one.

“I–I–I’m sorry.” You swallow hard, fighting back nausea. “I shouldn’t have– I mean I– I know what it’s– what it’s like and I…” You’re babbling now. Too many words desperate to get out at once.

Her hand comes down again, hard. You can really taste the blood now. “Don’t you fucking dare compare yourself to me.” She growls in your face, as she raises her hand, pulling it back into a fist, and you try not to flinch. Brace yourself. When the blow doesn’t come you open your eyes.

Her hand hovers an inch away from your skin. “You used me.”

“I–I–I did.”

From the corner of your eye you can see her uncurl her fist, fingers slowly elongating into claws, piercing through the glove. “I should kill you.”

“It– It would be… pretty easy right now.” Your heart is pounding, mouth tasting copper, and throat feeling sticky. The Rat–King in the back of your head is screaming at you to do something but this… You don’t fight back, don’t struggle. This is too familiar. Memories of other times, other, brighter rooms. For everything you’ve tried to change, you’re still were you started.

If she did you in now, does the thing you can’t bring yourself to go through with… then isn’t that a victory for everyone really?

“I could do it…” Her hand is shaking, doubts unraveling in her mind. “I should…”

“Then do it already!” You cough, as she lets you go and you stagger backwards, hit the brick wall and try to hold yourself up. “I thought you– why hesitate?”

“Shut up!” She hisses through clenched teeth and comes at you again. This time her hand around your throat, squeezing just enough to send alarm bells. “You really want to die that badly, Becker?” You can feel it running through her head, all the little fantasies she had constructed about this moment.

Your vision blurs as you laugh. “Y–yeah, actually.”

Can feel something sharp poke against your neck, and then just as suddenly it’s gone. Argent hisses air through clenched teeth. “Don’t be a coward.” She touches her other hand to your face, one nail scratching just under your eye.

“W–what?”

“You don’t deserve to get off that easy.”

A line of white fire runs down your face, blinding you in your left eye. Blink, and your vision is back but bloody. You can feel the cut run from forehead to check. Hurts like hell, can already feel the blood running down your face. This is going to need stitches.

She lets go of you, pushing you back against the wall as she steps away. Licking the blood off her finger, she glares at you. “That was for using me. Don’t ever go into my head again.”

You slide to the floor. This… this really just happened. “I–I don’t do that kind of thing anymore.” There’s no way you’ll every be able to explain it, is there? But then, it’s not really about you, is it?

“Shut up.” Argent snaps. “You said you can put it together?”

You nod your head. You hope you aren’t over-estimating your ability.

“Then put it together. Don’t even think about double-crossing me on this.” Her smile in the dim glow of your suit’s flashlight is cold and all teeth. “Don’t worry, Becker.” She puts a finger to her lips. “This’ll be our secret.”

She turns away from you and stalks up the stairs to find her way out of whatever building this is a basement of. As she turns she moves her hand from her mouth out to the side, transitioning into giving you the middle finger as she departs.

You sit there against the wall until her footsteps fade and you lose track of her mind. Gingerly you touch a hand to your face, hiss at the fresh sting of pain. Still bleeding. Will absolutely need stitches. Probably end up a scar.

Well, it’s not like you don’t have plenty of experience covering those up.

Except… maybe you’ll let this one be.

#fallen hero #fallen hero: rebirth #fallen hero fanfic #fhr #fhr/Ariadne #mc #dr. mortum #lady argent #shroud #jake manalo #catastrofiend

32 notes · View notes