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oleander-nin · 6 months

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Horrortober Day 27- Restraint(2012 Yandere Donatello x Reader)

A/N, not important: Oh wow, look at that, it's awful. In my defense though, it's 2 in the morning when I'm setting this up for queue. Any criticism is welcome, constructive or not. This is supposed to be a gender neutral reader, so if I screwed up somewhere, please tell me.

-Ollie

CW: OOC Donnie, blood, gore, stalking, obsessive behavior, death, dark themes, yandere themes, unedited.

Words: 1230

Summary: Donnie always struggled with knowing how far to take things.

The rough stone of the rooftops bite into Donnie’s feet, his mind clouded with thoughts of you. He was grateful Leo had them all split up while looking for the fallen mutagen, his scanners beeping keeping him distracted enough from the thoughts swirling in his head. You were out there somewhere, away from your bed and the safety of your home. He tried to check on you earlier, but you never answered. The 53 calls he’s already sent never reached you.

It all left a bitter taste in his mouth, his stomach lurching with worry. Leo forbade him from breaking into your house to find you, but that didn’t mean Donnie wasn’t going to botch this mission to try and find you outside your home. You could very well out on foot, stuck, alone, and scared while wishing Donnie to come rescue you. Your T-Phone broken while you desperately hoped for a savior in purple and green. Donnie couldn’t help but smile at the mental image of you in need, hoping for him to be your knight in shining armor. It’d be so easy to sweep you off your feet after an act of bravery like that.

Donnie’s attention reverts back to his pinging device as the alerts grow louder every second, the wicks spinning faster and faster while it flashes at him. He jumps down into the break between the buildings, kicking over boxes and digging in dumpsters to try and find the mutagen that was making his tech go wild. He grumbles under his breath during the search for the canister, uncaring of the noise he was making at the moment. All he had to do was find this canister, then he could dip to go look for you.

Voices from the street make Donnie freeze in his small frenzy of minor destruction, the familiar laughter ringing in his ears. Donnie scales the side of the building just in time to get out of sight of you and the person with you. The relief that floods Donatello is miniscule compared to the bitter jealousy surrounding the person at your side, their hand on your shoulder as you both move through the gap between the buildings. Your voice is too quiet to understand from where he perched, Donnie’s hands twitching as he imagined jumping down there and whisking you away. They were so close to you, practically melded to your skin from how often they insisted on touching you.

Donnie sucks in a breath when your accompaniment kicks over a stack of newspapers, the glowing green canister he was looking for rolling out. You freeze on the ground, your eyes glued to the ooze rolling across the floor. Donnie scowls as he hears your protests when your friend picks up the glass, his grip on the ledge tightening as he imagines it breaking and morphing your friend into something horrid.

Your quick reaction to take the glowing container ruins Donnie’s hopes, your scolding loud enough to reach his ears. He smiles while your friend cowers at your stern expression, their hands raising in defeat. While he wished more than anything you’d splash the mutagen on them, he’d take them getting a verbal beating by you over nothing. Plus, you were so adorable when you got heated, your eyebrows scrunching while your face screwed into a tight knot. Last time you had an argument with Raph, you came to Donnie to complain and he loved every second of it.

Donnie scrambles to get up when you head out of the small alley, your friend in tow as they loop themselves over your shoulders. The envy in Donnie burns, his eyes calculating all the different ways he could throw a shuriken and nail them in the head. The only thing stopping him from testing it out was your proximity. Donnie knew how much you hated blood.

The turtle's focus wasn’t on you for the first time since he had known you, his attention now completely turned to the person who was wrapped around you while you walked. Their steps were in sync with yours while you laughed at something they said, pushing them away for a second before allowing them to regroup. Every touch makes Donnie’s blood boil, his red eyes zeroing in on their hands around yours. He follows you both until they drop you off, his body buzzing while you disappear into your building. Donnie patiently waits for your friend to walk near the building he stood on, his eyes now white and masked. Nothing was coursing through Donnie other than rage, their hands on yours being the only thing he could see in his mind.

The poor soul crosses in front of Donnie, and he strikes, dragging him through the street and into the car garage that was near your apartment. Donnie ignores their screams and fighting, his grip on their hair strong as he nearly breaks their neck from the force of his dragging. He can already hear them crying, their pleads and sobs making Donnie sneer. They were pathetic, just a weak coward who couldn’t even take what they should have known was coming.

Donnie wastes no time in slamming them to the ground, watching their chest heave as they struggle to breath. He picks them up again and smashes their head into a pillar, watching as the gray concrete slowly stains a muddy red. Their mouth was coated in blood, their hands twitching and proving the life they still desperately cling to. Donnie doesn’t bother feeling pity for them, sure of himself and his actions. They deserved it. They deserve this.

As Donnie drops them to the ground and watches them crumple with glee, he can’t help but be satisfied. He takes his bō staff from the strap on his back and squeezes the side, letting the blade come out of the end. He isn’t quick as he cuts their hands off, relishing in the screams muffled by the blood pooling in their lungs. When the second limb falls to the ground, Donnie stomps on their legs, shivering at the crack that precedes their scream. They continue to sob, their voice gargles as blood pools in their throat and mouth from the abuse done to their body. They were too weak to move, more blood outside their body staining the floor than inside where it was needed. Donnie watches them struggle for a bit more, pleased at his work. He raises his staff once more before plunging the blade through their skull, ceasing the whimpers and cries that once fell from their lips. Pulling the naginata from their head, Donnie smiles. You would never have to deal with them again.

Donnie steps back from the now broken and bloody body that belonged to your friend, his smile wide as the pressure finally leaves his chest. He doesn’t bother trying to clean up the scene, merely jumping to the roofs above and leaving it for someone else to find. He hums to himself as he makes his way back into the sewers, giddy now that the person is gone. Donnie’s hand twitches, wanting to call you and brag to you about what he had done, but he holds back. You would learn in due time, and Donnie would make sure you would finally see just how much Donnie cares. He still had some restraint, after all.

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neverchecking · 5 months

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Does it count as a marriage if only one of them is aware?

AN: Is this a Sage and Aaliyah piece? Yeah. Am I proud of it? A lil. I don't know if it falls into their 'canon' timeline, but I think it's funny. Shoutout to the tweet that I got from pinterest that inspired this. May I hopefully find you one day.

He was going to commit a murder. An atrocity. A war crime so heinous they would carve it into stone tablets as a warning to future generations. She already was a thorn in his fucking side and then she pulls this shit?

Un-fucking-believable.

Slamming open the door, he remains ignorant to the lab assistant’s yelp, practically snarling as he spots Purah. She boredly looks at him over her shoulder, snapping her fan closed with a huff. “And a good morning to you-”

“Where the hell is she?”

Purah grins. It’s something big and bright and he hates it. Asshole was probably in on it now that he thinks about it. Sheikah unity and all of that other bullshit. “Whoever do you mean?”

“You know who I mean, now you tell me where she is or I’m lighting Lookout Landing on fire.” He hissed low and dangerous, a firebulb already burning a hole in his pocket (not literally). He was going to get the information he wanted, whether they wanted to give it to him or not. He’d find her somehow, even if he had to scour this entire, goddess-forsaken fucking land.

He’d find her and then he’d kill her for the shit she pulled.

“Tick tock,” He mocked, reaching for the tablet on his hip. Purah scoffed with a grumpy furrow in her brows. “She’s in the depths, where she always is lately.”

He took that for what it was, leaving and slamming the door behind him.

When they couldn’t hear his angry cursings any longer, Purah turned to Josha with a grin. The girl looked positively frightened, as she often did when Link came around ranting and raving, but Purah paid it little mind. “He’s looking for his wife.”

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware he was married?”

“Neither was he.”

<><><><>

He should’ve checked here first. He was a fool to think she’d be anywhere otherwise, but yet? There she was. Sitting on a throne made of rock and marble with a devious grin on her face. She looked like the cat that caught the canary. In her left ear was the cursed piercing, still red and fresh, but holding a golden hoop.

A part of him was thankful she didn’t get the idea to pierce his ears in his sleep. Another part of him was angry enough he could blow her up here and now and walk away, not a care in the world to be had.

“What did you do?” He snapped, baring his teeth in her direction as Rauru’s arm flared to life. He had no intention of using any of the powers bestowed upon him, but it seemed to be a good deterrent for making her talk. Should she be feeling merciful enough.

Alas, however, it didn’t seem so as she leaned her chin on one of her hands. Her nails, long and sharp, glinted in the light of the torches around her. She looked like a vengeful queen tasked with the punishment of a traitorous soul. A cruel, wicked tyrant of a ruler.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

He’d destroy her kingdom yet.

With a tense breath in, he ran a hand through his hair, trying to plaster on a well-mannered grin. “Well,” He let out a bark of ironic laughter. “You see, I was going on my way to visit the Sage of Water, just to check up on him and you wanna know what he told me?”

“You know I do.” She smirked.

It took every bit of his patience to not wipe that fucking smirk off her damn face himself. Instead his fingers clenched into fists as that same anger bubbled up into a livid inferno that lapped at his insides and scorched his tongue. “He congratulated me for my recent marriage to the Sage of Spirits!” He spat, feeling comparable to the way he did after Ganon first returned. Angry and pissed and so blinded by red he didn’t care what happened.

The woman paused, brows raised, and for the slightest hair of a heartbeat, Link almost thought she didn’t know what he was talking about (which just made him even more pissed). But then she snorted. The snort then turned into a giggle, which turned into several, which she tried to hide behind her hand before she was tossing her head back in an uproar of laughter. It rang in his ears, harmonic and heavy, but he couldn’t find himself to care.

What a bitch.

“Oh,” She breathed out at last, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye with a thumb. The rings on her fingers glinted and he noticed a suspicious lack of a gold band on her left ring finger. She did, however, have the earring so it was understandable. “Priceless. I was wondering when it would get back to you. I was almost getting bored. Feared I’d have to ruin the fun and tell you myself.”

He grit his teeth so hard he was half surprised they didn’t turn to dust. “What do you mean-”

“Glad Sidon did it for me though. He’s always had a big heart.” She waved him off before uncrossing her legs and standing. “It’s been fun though. Glad we could have this talk-”

“I’m not-”

“But there’s shit to do. Little time, lots of work or however that saying goes.” A grin spread on her face. It wasn’t kind and it wasn’t nice. It was the equivalent of a wolf snarling at its prey. To show the nasty teeth often hidden in a warning.

He was so distracted by her dumb face he didn’t even notice her taking out her own Purah pad.

“See you later, hubby.” And then she was gone.

Link blew up her throne before leaving, the only remainder being a selection of pebbles and small rocks.

It didn’t make him feel better.

<><><><>

Everywhere he went it was the same fucking thing.

“How’s the wife?”

“Oh, you haven’t gotten your piercing yet? I bet you’re aching to do that!”

“Must be preparing for the honeymoon, hey Link?”

And his personal least favorite. “Your wife had just stopped by! She said to expect you!”

Like Aaliyah had any idea of what he did. She didn’t know his schedule. She didn’t know him at all! And he was just…what? Expected to roll with this? Go to the first fucking Gerudo vendor he saw and ask for a piercing?

Not on his fucking life.

He’d tear that piercing out of her ear yet and leave it bloody right in front of her dumb face.

The matter was just getting close enough.

It was true he was, admittedly, following her. He needed to get that fucking piercing. Word travels like wildfire in Hyrule and he knew she had some sort of ulterior motive. He just knew it. And he would either find out what it was or he’d make sure she wouldn’t be able to claim she was married to anyone else ever again. Win-win if you ask him. He’d either get in on whatever scam she was planning, take over and leave her with nothing, or he’d get the revenge he yearned for for sullying his infamous name.

Now it was just a matter of tracking her down, which was easy enough. Aaliyah, if nothing else, was competitive. She liked a good game between them. She’d leave little tricks and clues for him to find in the most convoluted game of hide and seek he’d ever played. Maybe a certain berry was left lying around-- one he knew didn’t grow in that region-- or maybe there was a stray arrow, singed by the remnants of a bomb flower, lying broken on the path.

She knew he was after her, and she probably knew what he’d do when he found her, but that was all this was to her. A game. This was one big giant game and he was the challenger.

Or, contrarily, this was one big fucking joke to the Sheikah and Link was yet another punchline in this comedy act of a life.

<><><><>

“Looks like the dove finally got snared?”

He watched, amused, as she pulled against the ropes wrapped around her. It was sneaky and underhanded, but at some point (and he’d rather fight the King Gleeok all over again before admitting it), he grew desperate. So, he rigged up a monster camp with muddle buds. Lots and lots of muddle buds. Every Bokoblin had at least four on their body, every Moblin six and even the TNT barrels were covered in them.

Of course, when in the depths, if there’s an active monster camp, there’s a good chance Aaliyah wasn’t far behind. So, despite all odds, she took them out. The Bokoblins were taken out with the barrels, an arrow setting them all off, however she got cocky. The bow was put away and she sauntered into the camp, eyes on the chest prize in the middle.

A Moblin saw his chance, reared up and slammed his muddle bud lined head down. The Sheikah had dodged, but Link knew he’d won. He saw the expanse in her pupils, how the black seemed to swallow the gold irises and her cheeks became almost instantaneously flushed. She was dazed, but still finished off the disgusting beast with a practiced ease.

Link, of course, saw his opportunity and took it. And now, here she was. Writhing about under him like the fucking worm she was and glaring up at him. Her eyes never focused, like she couldn’t make heads or tails on what she was seeing, just that she knew she didn’t like it.

He nudged her with his boot and nearly got bit in the process.

“Ooh, feisty little dove.” He teased, crouching to her level as he hauled her into a sitting position. She let out a low growl before trying to bite his face-- not that she got far with him holding her shirt the way he was.

“Muddle buds? Really? That’s cheap, even for you.”

“Even for me?” He feigned a pout. “That’s a little harsh. I was tryna have a decent conversation with you.”

“I will fucking skin you and hang your ratty pelt like drapery.”

He clicked his tongue with a shake of his head. “So violent. Shouldn’t women like you be more docile?”

He nearly didn’t avoid the third snap of her sharp teeth.

“What do you want? In case you haven’t noticed, some of us actually do our fucking duties. I have-”

“Shit you need to do, yeah I’ve heard.” Link rolled his eyes before returning them to the dazed Sheikah. “What’s your angle?”

“My fucking what-”

“Why tell people we’re married? What do you get out of it? Explain it to me.”

Aaliyah blinked slowly, brows furrowed as the information loaded in her brain, processed and she came up with a response.

“Make me.”

Was what said brain came up with. He’d kill her yet, he swears. With a scoff, he glared at her, watching as something akin to amusement brushed over her features. “I am. You think I’d drug you and tie you up for tea?”

“I don’t know, maybe you’re lonely.”

“Aaliyah-” What was the goddess thinking when making her? What part of the divine plan looked at him and went ‘Yeah, let’s make his life twelve times harder than it needs to be’? Because he had a complaint. Lots of complaints. Maybe there was a suggestion box where he could put in his very reasonable request of having her smited so he wouldn’t have to deal with her. “How’d you do it?” He settled on.

She hummed distractedly, head lolling about before she raised it to look at him. “You see, I went to Gerudo. They have these things called needles, and those needles pierced my ear, gave me the second hoop and then-”

“I know how fucking piercings are done!”

“Then it was just a matter of telling people we got hitched.” She grinned lopsidedly before pausing. “It’s very rude to interrupt by the way.”

He grabbed her chin with a rough pinch of his fingers. “Yeah, well, it’s also not very nice to just decide you’re married to someone because you wanted another piercing.”

“Hey! I’ll have you know lots of people have liked my piercings in the past.” Aaliyah gave a salacious smirk, eyes darting down to her own chest before back up to him.

What nipple piercings had to do with this, he wouldn’t know. “Name one person who liked your piercings.”

“Your mom-”

He let out a war-hungry screech as she flitted away into blue.

<><><><>

“Is it for tax purposes?” He called out, sliding to take cover behind a tree. An arrow pierced itself right where his head would’ve been and he quickly pulled it out and loaded it into his own bow.

“You think I pay taxes?” Aaliyah called back, waiting for him to pop out and aim before letting a bomb arrow fly. It forced Link to roll out of the way, the edges of his shirt singed with ash.

“I don’t think you do anything except make my life harder.” He snipped, shaking his hair out before letting a keese-eye arrow loose. It followed the Sheikah even as she darted behind a tree. It stabbed too deep into the trunk as she ducked for it to be reused, and she cursed, grabbing one of her own.

“It’s a hobby.” She grinned. She didn’t have very many bombs left, less Keese eyes (This trip was supposed to be a restock trip before her loving husband showed his ugly face), and was running out of options just short of things that could cause serious injury.

The quip she was waiting for didn’t come and she almost dared to poke her head out. Instead she laid low, watching the branches above her.

Which did her no fucking good as a hand wrapped around her throat, pinning her to the trunk. Fucking Sheikah armor.

“Then why?”

That’s all he’s ever been asking and it was starting to get on her nerves. No- how did you come up with such a great idea? No-Wow, you are so incredible and smart and what would I do without you? No- Wow Aaliyah, how did I get so lucky you decided to marry me?

Ungrateful fucking ass.

“I mean, you’ll get to claim me on your taxes and people will stop hitting on you- not that I can imagine many do with your ugly mug.”

Link got up in her face, nose to nose and she could feel his sweaty breath on her chin. He should go away.

“You could work with me, you know. Instead of against me. We could tear down this rotten fucking kingdom and build it anew.” He spoke at last, soft and hoarse. His eyes shined with vindication and valor and she wasn’t sure how to feel about it.

So she scoffed. “But I’m having so much fun. Learning what makes that little brain of yours just tick in agony and annoyance.”

A beat passed between them.

Then she raised a foot and kicked him square in the chest. Along the horizon the light dragon let out a strangled roar as it swooped close enough one could paraglide their way to its back. The whole reason Link was here, she’d bet.

“Send her my regards.” Aaliyah gave a salute, letting shrine travel take her away yet again.

<><><><>

The fire flickered underneath the metal pot steadily, licking up the sides and heating up the meat inside. He watched it blankly, mentally counting in his head before scooting over on the log he sat on. Predictably, there was a weight that sat right beside him, slumping with a clank as their gear was discarded beside them.

Stables were neutral. Neither wanted to piss the horse god off, so they’d behave themselves here.

Even if his skin itched with her sitting right there. There was nothing he could do, would do, unless she started something first.

“How’s the lizard girlfriend?”

“The fucking what-”

Early he had guessed this to be a game or a joke, but now he was certain she had just lost her mind at long last. Hurrah! He figured it out and eventually she’d be taken out back and put down. Something quick and merciful so she didn’t fall torment to her decaying mind.

He did glance over to where she was watching the sky, golden eyes trained on something or another. He followed her line of sight and nearly lost his shit subsequently.

“Are you-...Are you talking about Zelda?”

“Zelda, lizard girlfriend, same thing.” She rolled her neck before stretching her arms out above her. “Weren’t you two supposed to get married before this whole Ganon thing?”

And the gears started turning. They turned and creaked and groaned, but they were moving in sync before it hit him. “Golden goddess above-”

“You look like you’re about to pass out-”

“You are a special kind of wicked.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere-”

He turned to her and she suddenly clamped her mouth shut, like she could see what he was thinking. He was sure to an extent she could and she didn’t like what she was seeing. “That’s why you did it?!”

“Did what-”

“You started this whole campaign so you could say you married me before Zelda?! I was never gonna fucking marry her! Why do you think she’s still up there in the first place?!”

The color drained impressively fast from the Sheikah’s face before she stood with a start. “This has been… something. Let’s talk again soon-”

“Nuh-uh-” Link grabbed her wrist before she could disappear again. “Tell me that’s not the reason.”

Aaliyah blinked, stared at him, and opened her mouth. Only to then let out a shrill whistle. Somewhere behind her, her horse came galloping up, its dark eyes locking on her as she grabbed its saddle on the way by.

“Talk to you soon, hubby!”

<><><><>

Months later, he’s trekking in fuck-knows where, grumpy and grouchy. He hated the group of men he was with and he hated working for that fraud Hylia yet again. The boys around him never shut up and they never knew how to mind their own fucking business.

“Awful lot of jewelry.” One of them drawled with a lazy smirk on his features. Sage, as he had been proclaimed, scoffed. “I’m taking this from you? Your scarf looks like a fucking royal curtain.”

The man sputtered before righting his features with an indignant scoff. Sage snickered before running his hand through his hair. “It’s not all decorative.”

“It’s not?” The youngest whirled around to look at him. “I thought you just like getting your ears pierced.”

“I don’t. The first ones I got in the military. But this one?” Sage’s finger brushed against a second golden hoop hanging in his left ear. “This one means something.”

“Oh yeah, like what?” Blue scarf barked, probably still offended Sage didn’t immediately lie down and take the teasing.

“Means you need to shut your trap and keep walking.” He threw back, stomping forward. “I have a wife to get home to.”

#yandere linked universe #legend of zelda #yandere legend of zelda #linkeduniverse #linked universe #loz #aaliyah <3 #aaliyah x sage #that's not a tag yet?#omg?#honestly fair #Sage #Lu Sage #its sage #cinder writes

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adastra121 · 5 months

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Bites, Bruises, and Bandages

Also available on AO3!

Summary: Jin hadn't expected to return to the Seaspring so quickly. Let alone the very next day — and that was to be expected, what with the day he'd had before. He'd need a week at the minimum to recuperate, but after noticing something particular about the lone guardian the night before…he made the spontaneous decision to pay an earlier visit. And this time, he comes with a gift. Hopefully, this visit will go over better than yesterday's…

“Back so soon, Sparrow?”

Honestly, Jin hadn’t expected to be back again so quickly, either. The first time across the misty wastelands, swarming with Soulless, was harrowing enough. Only a fool or someone with a death wish would brave the journey twice just to reach the same bleak, foreboding destination. And just like the first time, Jin apparently checked both boxes.

Ais dropped the cigarette onto the porch and stamped out the embers, smoke blurring into the fog. “Didn’t think you’d make your decision that fast.”

“Oh! I’m not here for the Seaspring. I’m here for you,” Jin said, then realized how familiar the last phrase sounded, particularly for a stranger whom he’d just met the night before, and hurried to correct himself, “I mean, um. I brought this. For you.”

Jin reached into his bag and took out a small jar. Ais’s brow — the one with the scar — quirked up, features subtly softening in surprise. As the Monster looked on, quietly curious, Jin felt compelled to explain.

“I noticed some bruising on your hands — the knuckles — so I thought—Ah, and then there was also last night, I’m sorry about that, by the way…”

Ais held out a hand and Jin practically shoved the jar into his palm. The Monster twisted open the lid with unexpected care and examined the contents.

“This is a healing salve.”

Jin nodded. “For the bruises. And the, um…”

The alchemist trailed off, cheeks burning. Ais slowly grinned at him, a teasing glint in blood-red eyes. “The bite wound?”

His mind flashed back to that small alcove the night before, the two of them pressed together so close and urgent that it may as well have been an embrace. His face mere inches away from Ais’s bare chest, close enough to sense its warmth, see his heartbeat. The Monster’s warm flesh in his mouth, between his teeth. The unexpectedly intoxicating taste of smoke and copper that wouldn’t leave his memory no matter how hard he tried.

Why in seven hells did he do that? Yes, Ais had been — quite rudely and redundantly — covering his mouth, pressing into his space, caging him in with those…strong arms…

But surely, there were other ways of getting out of that predicament that wouldn’t have involved any part of Ais’s body inside his mouth. Jin felt his face grow hotter and hotter as he ruminated over it.

Who bites someone they just met? What is wrong with you?

“Precisely,” he said, attempting the calm, matter-of-fact nonchalance the Monster always seemed to evoke.

Judging by the amused squint in Ais’s eyes, he wasn’t anywhere near successful.

“Didn’t know sparrows had a taste for blood.”

“I-In any case! The salve should also help reduce the likelihood of infection, so…I hope you’ll find it useful.”

Ais hummed thoughtfully, staring at the small pot in his hand with an unreadable expression and Jin suddenly started to have second thoughts. Perhaps it had been foolish of him to visit just for this tiny…gift? Favour?

For some reason, even with yesterday being as eventful as it was, Jin kept thinking back to the Wet Wick — to those bruises, dark and angry across the Monster’s knuckles as he raised the glass to his lips. And that had turned into wondering how often Ais got into fights that resulted in such marks. And then somehow, he’d gotten the fantastic idea that he should give Ais some healing salve because that’s something he can do. And after an entire day being practically powerless to fate, he just wanted to help.

Now that he was actually standing here before the Seaspring, though, he began to have second thoughts. They didn’t know each other all that well, who was he to show up out of the blue and make a random offering like it was at all warranted? No, they were strangers — and Ais got poisoned on a daily basis, what made him think offering him a vague substance was a good idea?

Before Jin could apologize or take back the offending jar or even simply turn on his heel and run, blade-sharp eyes pinned him in place, looking…softer. Somehow. Ais’s mouth had inclined into the barest hint of a smile as he placed the lid back on.

“Thank you,” he said — genuinely, without a hint of the smugness or teasing that Jin had come to expect from him.

“Oh.” Jin’s eye darted to multiple places to avoid the piercing red of Ais’s gaze. Unbidden, his lips pulled into a small smile. “It’s nothing, really.”

Ais studied him for a moment longer — what was he searching for? Oh, Jin realized. This is where a social interaction typically ends. He opened his mouth to mutter a hurried goodbye when Ais cleared his throat.

“…You can come in if you want. I just made tea.”

Jin hesitated for a moment, turning Ais’s invitation over in his head like he was examining a foreign plant sample, and he almost laughed at the irony. To think the last time he stood on these steps, the other had cornered him with a pack of Soulless and accused him of trespassing. This time, hopefully, there was a significantly smaller chance of that happening again.

“Tea sounds lovely,” he replied, attempting to tamp down his widening smile.

It had been a long time since he’d been able to quietly enjoy a cup of tea — he hadn’t packed any of his old blends for his journey to Eridia, nor was there a particular abundance of ingredients to make them on the way. And he wouldn’t expect the Wet Wick to readily serve tea, considering the tastes of the regular patrons.

Jin followed Ais through the doorway, taking in the unnatural stillness of the blood-red lake in the centre, the messy and desperate writing on the crimson pillars. It was still unsettling, but fortunately, he was better prepared for the ghoulish sight of the Seaspring this time. What he was decidedly unprepared for was an excitable Soulless barrelling into him before he took two steps into the building.

“Oof!”

The alchemist’s heart rate spiked involuntarily as the red-eyed Soulless leaped up to his chest — before he willed himself to calm down. Princess didn’t mean him any harm, and that was more than he could say for many of the people he’d encountered since arriving in Eridia. The familiar Soulless creature snuffled, tail wagging back and forth excitedly. A breathless, unbridled laugh flew out of him.

“I’m happy to see you, too, Princess,” he said, and he truly meant it, brushing a hand through the creature’s tendrils.

Before Princess, Jin had never allowed himself to touch another living thing, aside from his plants. Even though he couldn’t really feel her under his fingers, the Soulless creature — dog? — gave him a brief moment of normalcy he desperately craved. And gods, he realized he ought to be careful around any red-eyed Soulless, too, because what would happen if his curse infected the groupmind? What would happen to Princess? To Ais?

A sharp whistle cut across the air. Princess obediently backed off of the alchemist, all six feet back on the floor, though Jin managed to give her one last brush through her tendrils.

He hadn’t exactly had much time to explore the space when he was here last, so he mostly followed Ais’s lead, taking a seat on one of the worn cushions beside a low table. He watched him pour the fragrant tea into a cup, steam dancing between them like cigarette smoke.

“Here.”

“Thank you.” Jin accepted the tea and then he noticed something. “Wait, where’s your cup?”

“There’s only one, but I figured it’d be rude to offer tea then not give any.”

“Then…this was supposed to be yours.” Of course it was. Jin was the one who showed up all of a sudden, out of nowhere, he interrupted his peace, Ais was just being polite, he wasn’t supposed to actually accept the invitation, why was he so bad at this—

“S’fine,” Ais said, interrupting the alchemist’s internal spiral with a light shrug. “This place doesn’t really get many visitors. I usually just use what I need, so this is all I have out at the moment.”

“Truly?” The alchemist’s brows furrowed in confusion as he recalled conversations from the night before. “Not even Vere or Kuras? They seem to be fond of you.”

The Monster’s lip quirked up. “Can you imagine either of them in a place like this?”

Jin considered that for a moment, pictured Vere and Kuras sitting in the room with them. Kuras, his particular warmth and light at odds with the oppressive depth and heat, like comparing sunlight to fire smoke. Vere, with his wild and restless energy, coiled and bound but there nonetheless, a stark contrast to the unnatural stillness of the Seaspring.

“No,” he acquiesced. “I suppose not.”

Then…why did Ais invite him inside? He didn’t think of himself as a typical visitor to a place like the Seaspring — the fact that he’d already visited twice, two days in a row, both times of his own volition, notwithstanding…

Jin raised the cup to his lips, paused, then set it back on the table. “It feels strange to be the only one drinking. Why don’t we just share?”

He pushed the cup back to Ais. “I’ll drink after you.”

Ais let out a short exhale that sounded like a laugh. “Scared I tampered with it? Sorry to disappoint, poison’s more of Leander’s thing.”

“Oh, no!” Jin shook his head, only then realizing how it sounded. He groaned, burying his face in his hands. “I thought it’d be polite to wait for the host to—I’m sorry, I…don’t know how to act around people.”

The Monster was strangely quiet for a moment. Jin couldn’t see his expression from the shield of his bandaged hands but he had a feeling he wouldn’t be able to read it anyway. The next thing he heard was Ais’s sigh and he tensed, bracing himself for the other’s disappointment.

“Don’t apologize,” Ais mumbled to the alchemist’s shock. “Hosts don’t usually bully their guests this much…No wonder we don’t get many visitors.”

Now that Jin truly thought about it, Ais seemed rather awkward now as well — he simply covered it up better. But Jin noticed how he ran his hand through Princess’s tendrils, almost like she was his lifeline. A spot of familiarity in an unfamiliar situation. Jin understood the feeling better than anyone.

And it was oddly comforting to realize that he wasn’t the only person new to this.

A laugh escaped Jin before he could stop it. He slowly lifted his head and caught Ais’s small smile. “I have a feeling that guests don’t often curse and reprimand the host for asking them to leave their home, either. That, I can apologize for.”

“Hm.” Ais took the cup and raised it in a small toast. “To being a terrible host and a terrible guest.”

And with that, they each took a sip. Jin sighed, letting the warmth from the tea settle into his bones, trying not to think about how close his lips had been to the spot the other man drank from. Strong and sharp with a distinct smokiness, the tea seemed fitting for Ais.

From the corner of his eye, Jin noticed Ais studying the jar of salve again. His curiosity got the better of him, as it often did. “Do they hurt terribly? Your hands…the bruising.”

The Monster pondered on that question for several beats longer than Jin expected, the look in his eyes somewhat distant and resigned. “You get used to it.”

And then those eyes flickered down to Jin’s own hands and the alchemist’s breath caught in his throat. He waited for him to ask about them. Ais hadn’t pried too much the day before, much to Jin’s relief. But he’d seen the monstrous grey and gold for himself — there was no way he didn’t have further questions. Jin knew he would eventually have to answer, whether he was ready or not.

Ais only turned back to the salve — once again, granting the alchemist room to breathe.

“Let’s see if this does any good,” he murmured.

“May I?” Jin held out his hands, though he had no idea what to do with them so they ended up waving about in random, nonsensical gestures.

Ais paused to examine the alchemist — Jin couldn’t help mentally comparing the action to a curious dog, the way his focus intensified on Jin’s hands, the slight, questioning tilt of his head. He and Princess could almost be twins. The thought threatened to send Jin into an unprompted fit of laughter, which wasn’t conducive to his current objective — which was…

…What, exactly? Nursing the Monster who had, just yesterday, threatened him and teased him relentlessly for no apparent other reason than his own amusement?

Who was today…still a bit of a bastard, but one who let him know he wasn't alone in feeling out of place…

Who was also, as the alchemist newly learned, the spitting image of his Soulless companion.

Whatever Ais was searching for in Jin’s face, he must have found it, extending his injured hand.

“Go for it.”

Jin double-checked his bandages first, tightening the linen as a precaution. Once he was certain that there wasn’t a sliver of exposed grey skin, he scooted closer to Ais and gingerly took the other man’s hand in his own to inspect. Now that Jin was examining his hand up close and under better lighting, he could see the angry red bruises on his knuckles, the calluses covering his palms, observe bones that had fractured and healed over, time and time again. He tilted the hand over to look at the distinctively curved mark of the bite wound. It had fortunately closed — Ais did look the type to heal quickly — but if his…rigorous activities were a frequent occurrence, it wasn’t a generous assumption to expect the scab to reopen.

“It’s shallow, but I’d still rather not risk infection,” Jin explained. “And in case it reopens, it is best to minimize direct contact with other surfaces. That’s a bit difficult with the hand, since you use it more often, and often unthinkingly. I may have brought some extra—ah, here.”

The alchemist pulled a spare roll of clean linen out of his satchel, the bandages he’d collected from Kuras’s clinic, and got to work. As he spread a light layer of the salve on Ais’s hand, Jin fell into a more familiar rhythm.

Magic could wear on a caster, both mentally and physically — Jin knew that all too well, as a former apprentice of the study. Over the years, he’d become used to nursing Minerva’s wounds and his own whenever either of them pushed themselves too hard.

At one point, Princess had gotten up to walk a circle around the two of them, before eventually settling somewhere beside them both, her head nudging into Jin’s hip. Jin spared her a brief glance just to see if she was sleeping — she wasn’t, but she looked perfectly content and at peace — and it was difficult not to share that relaxed and easy sentiment.

How strange that, with the past few days being as daunting and uncertain as they were, it was the lonely red spring in the middle of the Wastes, a place that seemed made for unease — sharing tea with the Monster that guarded it, while a Soulless creature rested on his leg — where Jin found his moment of much-needed respite.

Ais had remained oddly quiet while Jin worked — he’d expected a teasing comment or two — but Jin found that he didn’t mind it. It didn’t feel unnerving or oppressive like the suffocating silence he was used to, always loaded and judgemental and accompanied by a disapproving glare. Watching and waiting for him to make another mistake.

“You’re good at that,” Ais remarked absentmindedly.

“I’ve had a lot of practice,” Jin replied, carefully winding the bandage around the Monster’s palm.

His hand was so warm, the warmth seeming to seep through the linens. Or perhaps that was just Jin’s own blood growing hotter the longer he lingered near Ais.

Ais hummed once as the alchemist finished tying the bandage. “Bit excessive, don’t you think?”

Jin quirked an eyebrow as he glanced back at him. “You wait until I’m finished to voice your protests?”

He could see the beginnings of that shit-eating grin form on Ais’s face — not quite there yet, but he was getting close — and frowned. Why was that the one expression Jin could easily read in the Monster — the one that ticked him off?

He let out a sigh and held out his palm for Ais’s other hand. Despite his remark, Ais gave it to him without complaint or pause. Jin briefly scanned the bruising on the knuckles — mostly red, some purple and blue. It would take a couple days for the bruises to shift to a recovering green and yellow…if he didn’t get into any more fights before then. As of now, there was probably still a dull ache. The salve would help with the inflammation, at least.

“I prefer to err on the side of caution,” Jin said, turning his hand for easier access to the bruises. “Having a physical barrier between an open wound and the rest of the world is an additional precaution. Besides, if you find that one layer of linen gives you too much trouble, you can always remove it. Or…”

His gaze darted back to Ais’s face briefly as he dipped his bandaged fingers into the pot.

“You can get used to this as well.”

Crimson eyes crinkled with what appeared to be approval. “Touché.”

Jin would never understand this man.

As he applied the salve to Ais’s knuckles, a question popped into Jin’s mind. Well, in fairness, the alchemist had many questions about everything — the Senobium, the Seaspring, the seemingly tamed Soulless — popping into his head but this one felt the least loaded and perhaps the simplest to answer, therefore the least rude to spring onto a host — er, patient? Whichever Ais was at the moment.

“Why ‘Sparrow?’”

“Hm?”

“You keep calling me that. ‘Sparrow,’ I mean.”

“I can stop if you don’t like it.”

“I—! I didn’t say that…”

Jin felt a prickle of irritation at the knowing smirk on the other man’s face. He knew that Ais knew that he didn’t mind — nevertheless, the bastard made him say it out loud because of course he would. Ais-hole…

“I was just…curious.”

Ais shrugged one shoulder. “Sparrows are cute.”

Jin choked on his gasp, coughing hard enough that Princess’s head lifted off his lap to stare at him in the closest to concern that Jin had ever seen on a Soulless creature. He felt Ais’s gaze on him but resolutely avoided the Monster’s eyes as heat flooded his face.

“Cute?” he echoed after catching his breath. Was that meant as a compliment or an insult? Did Ais find him cute? Did Jin even mind? Gods, he wouldn’t be able to hear that nickname without these questions swarming all his thoughts anymore.

“Mm,” Ais affirmed, sounding awfully amused as he — well, there wasn’t much use sugarcoating it — as he watched the alchemist suffer, the ass. “They also startle easily.”

“Startling? No, it was just…u-unexpected,” Jin said as he resumed applying the salve. “And I’ll remind you, most people would be startled by a pack of hostile Soulless suddenly backing them into a corner.”

“Ah, right — and they tend to have this habit of sneaking into places when the opportunity arises. Whether they’re supposed to be there or not.”

Now Jin lifted his gaze to meet Ais’s and yep, there was that shit-eating grin. Right on time.

“I called out for you!” As the Monster’s smile grew, so did the alchemist’s indignation. “And the door was unlocked, we— We’ve been over this!”

“So, ‘Sparrow,’” Ais continued, as if he didn’t hear Jin. The ass. “Seemed fitting.”

And Jin was aware that his cheeks had grown hot, he was just unable to ascertain whether it was from being flustered or annoyed. Both, he ultimately decided. Ais had an uncanny talent for eliciting these two particular feelings in him, simultaneously.

“You also called Mhin a dove. I think you secretly just really like birdwatching.”

The Monster let out a quiet snort. “You got me.”

“Cute, cowardly and an occasional trespasser to summarize,” the alchemist murmured, shaking his head. “Now I’m wondering if I should dislike the nickname after all.”

“Hm. So you do like it.”

Jin frowned at Princess, searching for a hint of sympathy in — at least one of — the Soulless creature’s several red eyes. Poor thing lived with the man, after all.

He didn’t find any. Princess only lifted her head and stared back expectantly as if waiting for something. Jin acquiesced — this particular Soulless was dangerous, only instead of the danger lying in her knife-sharp teeth and claws, it was in the way she made it impossible to deny her — and took a brief pause from his attention on Ais to scratch her under the chin. She rewarded him with a happy wag of her tail, smacking Ais in the face.

“Pfff—” And Jin couldn’t hold in his laugh at that, seeing the cool and nonchalant Monster’s face suddenly scrunch up in surprise. “Sorry, sorry…it’s just…”

Ais’s eyes narrowed into a playful glare and Jin dissolved into helpless giggles again, attempting, in vain, to muffle them with a bandaged hand. All he accomplished was getting some salve on his cheek.

“Right, um, sorry. I didn’t know that would happen, but with that being said…Good girl, Princess.”

The Soulless let out a pleased sound almost like a yip, tail wagging even harder. Jin wasn’t sure if she fully understood what she’d done, but she seemed to recognize his words as praise quite easily — and that was, perhaps, the result of a master who praised her often. Princess’s tail slapped Ais with each wag — and threatened to send Jin into another fit of laughter — but the Monster remained unfazed now that the initial surprise had worn off. He could make to move away, but he didn’t, keeping his hand extended in Jin’s grasp, waiting for the alchemist to finish his task.

Jin had initially interpreted the Monster’s nonchalant manner as apathy or arrogance, but that seemed inaccurate now, upon further observation. Ais simply had an abundance of tolerance and patience.

He finished with the application and placed the lid back on the jar.

“Alright, we should be done,” he said, releasing Ais’s hand. The loss of warmth as Ais drew his hand back was more immediate and apparent than he'd expected.

“You may continue using the salve as often as needed, but once a day is enough to speed the healing process. And — this should go without saying — it is generally not recommended to expose the hurt area to further trauma. So…try not to get into any more fights — at least, not any time soon.”

Ais remained silent but there was a knowing, mischievous gleam in his eyes that conveyed — quite straightforwardly — the approximate chances of him following that advice. Jin sighed.

“…Or you can just roundhouse kick your way to victory instead. That’d also cause less strain on the knuckles.”

“Not a bad idea — would’ve made last night an actual challenge,” Ais said — and Jin truly couldn’t tell whether he was being sincere.

He was probably only messing with him. Probably.

Ais was a fearsome gang leader of the Wastes, there was no way he would act so foolishly.

…Just in case, Jin made a mental note of all the herbs and ingredients he would need to make more of the healing salve — legs were a larger surface area, after all — and ignored the blatant implication that this wasn’t a one-time occurrence and he’d already made plans to visit the Monster again. Gods, what did that mean for them? Were they friends now?

“I, um,” he began, lacking adequate words to part with. “I should probably get going, not to waste the daylight. After all, I am still in search of that miracle cure.”

He took out a small handkerchief and wiped the salve from his bandages, then performed another check over the linen. Nothing had shifted out of place, but Jin still tightened their placement around his hands on habit.

Ais watched him through the whole process, expression becoming unreadable once again. “Good.”

Maybe one day, Jin would learn to recognize the Monster better — the way his face shifted between happiness, sadness, anger — the way he wore his emotions.

…

Jin had meant what he’d said upon his arrival.

He hadn’t come for the Seaspring.

“Thank you,” he said. “For the tea. Um, I suppose I now owe you a drink.”

Jin watched Ais’s sharp features soften as if he understood what that “thank you” actually meant.

“Thanks,” Ais replied as he traced over his bandaged hand. The corner of his lip turned up in humour. “For the excess.”

Jin scratched Princess under the chin, biting back his smile as her tail smacked right into Ais's grin.

The alchemist would pretend that his ensuing laugh, light and carefree, didn't follow him after the tea was gone.

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syrena-del-mar · 10 months

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Third-Child Syndrome: Birth Order Theory in La Pluie

Every week I come back to La Pluie and every episode I just leave it feeling more and more hurt on behalf of Tien. Honestly, I feel like I go into every episode with a bated breath, hoping that Tien will come out of it unscathed. The worst part is that nobody is purposefully inflicting the pain on him, it's simply a byproduct of his upbringing and surroundings.

There's something intriguing about his own placement in his family. He's neither the youngest nor the oldest, and even though he's technically a middle child alongside Tai, he doesn't have the unique attribute of hearing his soulmate when it rains. He's not resentful, but even he admits his own jealousy to Tai about having a soulmate out there. Not only is it a connection to a romantic partner, but arguably a connection with his own parents, who share the same condition.

In the family, his placement isn't distinctive, so he turns to being headstrong. He's loud. He's too much. He has to be if he wants to stand out in his family, yet he's told to learn to calm down even when he puts everyone's needs above his own. He's overlooked. Behind all his boisterousness, he's starting to crack under the pressure of being the middleman of the family and it's finally starting to become apparent.

Appearance of the Birth Order Theory in La Pluie

The birth order theory argues that within a family structure, each member has to adapt to the roles to ensure the longevity of the family by reducing competition and establishing cooperation; essentially, siblings taking on the role of Darwin's finches, evolution for survival of the family. The family dynamics that develop within childhood also develop into personality difference between siblings depending on birth order. Whether there is actual evidence, aside from anecdotal evidence, supporting this theory in its application on individuals in real life is mostly irrelevant in this case, because often you can find the application of this theory in character tropes.

Now immediately, just from the first episode of La Pluie, there is an established "pecking order" within the Saeng family while they're, presumably, having family night and watching a movie. The two oldest sons sitting right at the sides of both parents, sharing space with them at an equal level on the couch. The two youngest at the bottom, making themselves comfortable on the floor, with no where else to sit. Yet, as is commonly seen with the youngest child, Jan demands for the attention and love of his parents. Meanwhile, Tien remains in his section of the floor, no intention of being directly involved or connected with the rest of his family, aside from the hands of his oldest brother on his shoulders.

Not to mention the difference in the sibling order within the nuclear family can also be observed simply through the significance of each of the names the siblings have been given. [Thank you to @recentadultburnout for this great post providing us the meaning of all the names]. While all of his three brothers have astral names, we have Saengtien which means candlelight. Candlelight is typically symbolic of light/warmth in the darkness of life, the security that comes with the light it shines, and of sacrifice. The longer the wick burns, the more of the wax disappears. A flame on a candle can easily disappear into smoke if not well taken care of. If nothing else, it's a fitting name and depicts exactly what role he plays in his family.

Understanding the Third-Child Syndrome

The Third Child Syndrome is typically understood to be a way to describe the theory that the third-born child in a family of several siblings is typically going to be neglected in comparison to their older or younger siblings, due to the fact that parents are unable to fully provide the third-child with adequate attention and support. Typically, the third-born lacks in receiving a much of the parents attention, so they end up clamoring to get that missing attention by doing anything they can, whether that mean being the jokester of the family or developing negative behaviors [i.e., anger and screaming] to gain some of the missing attention.

The third child is, typically, born into a family that already has a structure that has been established, so they negotiate their sense of self to be able to establish harmonious relationships with their siblings and parents. They are found to have lower self-esteem due to a lack of uniqueness in their birth position. While the first child is doted on, the second child establishes their position by making one-to-one relationships in the family or forming teams of two, excluding the rest. Here, the third child instead gains attention by helping others first before himself. As a result, many times the third child may find themselves feeling distant, aloof, detached and emotionally neutral from the family and the troubles that they face. Consistently, the third child will choose to not 'take sides' when it comes with familial problems, so that they don't shake up the power relationships that have been created. Typically, they find comfort in the relationships they form outside of their family because it provides a sense of control that they lack in the family home.

Saengtien and His Constant Need to Self-Sacrifice

Now you can just doom scroll through the Saengtien tag and you'll find countless examinations of Tien and his constant need to put others before himself, particularly Tai. Well I'm going to add to that.

As I stated above, even when we see the Saeng family all together (prior to the divorce), we see that Tien takes the role of being sidelined, enjoying the hecticness of his family while being detached. Then when we reach the news of the divorce, a heavy topic, one that is very literally splitting the family apart with the sons being divided by the two parents. Made worse that they were soulmates that didn't work out, a 'promised' happily-ever-after that ultimately met its demise for one reason or another. We bear witness to the fall out of the choice that their parents made and how it affects the family, with both parents barely holding back their own emotions, Tai storming off, Neua and Jan is various stages of emotional turmoil. Yet, when we pan over to Tien, we see a trace of a grimace but no other reaction to the new.

Now I'm not saying that Tien didn't take the divorce as hard as the rest of his family. Yet, as the third-born, it's pretty obvious to see that even behind the 'ruckus' and 'boisterous' exterior that he takes on, he's likely the main mediator of the family. Rather than crying or getting angry about the news of the divorce, he is rather emotionally neutral while facing this news in comparison to the rest of his brothers. He likely compartmentalizes and reserves his own emotions, knowing badly everyone else is taking the news. Instead of also breaking down, he chases after Tai because he knew how hard Tai would take the news, as the only other member of the family with the same impairment.

Not to mention the small detail of having a notepad ready to go in his pocket. He's always prepared for his older brother. He doesn't add to the tragedy that is his family falling apart, instead he reaches out to make sure that his brother okay. He reassure Tai that he's not alone in that room, that he is just right outside for him. Instead of rejoining the rest of his family, Tien chooses to stay right by his side. Instead of seeking comfort from his other brothers, he gathers himself in a hug, knees to chest. The only support he receives is from that closed door. His priority was never his own comfort or coming to terms of what the divorce means for his family, instead it was to ensure that Tai wasn't suffering alone in the silence of his room.

Years later, we see that Tien's relationship with Tai is still strong. Tien verbally expresses and reassures Tai that if he tries to disappear, he will be the one that go after Tai and find him. We also see that he's the one that likely is the most in contact with the rest of the siblings. He's the one that brings up the idea of reaching out to their other brothers to find out what their mother wants. He's likely the main bridge of this family and he's more than aware of it. Tien plays the role well, while he may run his mouth and be a bit reckless, he's also perceptive. He's aware of how sensitive Tai's mental state is, how isolated his brother has made himself, so he verbally assures him that he will always be there for him and even invites him out to accompany him to the bookstore. He likely knows that Tai enjoys book-shopping and the invitation comes after he lets him know that their mother wants to meet.

Question is: Who would be the first to notice that Tien is also fragile behind the prickly exterior that he puts on? Who would notice if Tien ran away? Who would be the one to find him?

Negatives of Being the Third Child: Saengtien's Own Troubles

The negatives of a third child often deal with the over-willingness to sacrifice their sense-of-self to secure the needs of others. The more the third child cedes their personal identity to secure the happiness of others, the more they are likely to ignore their own pains until it becomes too late. Often Third-born children don't receive the same amount of praise or recognition as their older siblings, and at times, their younger children. Parents may be less demanding when it comes to the third child, but when the third child doesn't live up to expectation, they are often subject to harsher criticism from the family.

Now, Saengtien is brash and a loudmouth at times, but honestly when you one of four siblings... who wouldn't be? When you're compromising your own self for the happiness of others, you have to let go of that energy in other ways, Tien's way just happens to manifest through his rambunctious antics. The divorce occurred while Tien was still in high school, I assume from the uniform that he was wearing, so it's not farfetched that he likely coped by skipping school and that affected his grades. His mother uses his prior actions of acting up against him. It's not surprising that he has developed a level of brazenness when his own mother doesn't speak all that well of him (even when he's the one that got Tai to show up!)

I truly believe that the depiction of Tai and Tien's sibling relationship is very accurate to how many real siblings are. You can tell they love each other deeply under all that teasing, that said, words can hurt. Tai seems to have a rather dismissive attitude towards Tien when his more loudmouth personality seeps through, telling him that he needs to learn to calm down. Tai, in all likelihood, does not mean to hurt Tien or his feelings, but small seemingly insignificant, passing comments, especially made by the people that you love, can build and really harm one's self-esteem. More so when the person, that those small comments that are directed at, doesn't have a strong sense of self.

So Tien starts believing the negativity, that maybe he would be a better person if he was calmer, that maybe the grades that he receives are symbolic of what he's worth, that his passion for what he studies isn't enough, that his value is intrinsically tied with the grades he doesn't get. He internalizes every negative thing that people have said about him and he himself underestimates his own talent and passion, as a result. The explosion with Lomfon when they were first partnered together was only the tip of the iceberg of how Tien really sees himself.

Even when he's nagged at and told these slightly snide comments by the people that he loves, he still defends them. He asks Tai to hear their mother out, to give her a chance to talk instead of automatically storming out after hearing the news of her remarriage. He waves away Tai's comments regarding how he should calm down and instead invites him out to go to the bookstore. Words hurt, even more when the ones throwing them at you are your own. Even though he unconsciously taking them to heart, he's still the one playing mediator, speaking up for others, but never for himself.

For the loudmouth that everyone says Tien is, he never seems to be able to advocate for himself.

[@heretherebedork did a great break down on Tien's self-deprecation, which you can read here. Honestly though, go through their Tien x Lomfon tag because all their metas about them are amazing, week after week.]

A Middle-Child's Relationship with Love and Being Cared For

According to some studies, the middle child in relationships can be hyper-independent and self-reliant due to the their upbringing of not having an exact place to fit in. As a result, even though they are able to compromise well, they're often not able to clearly communicate their own needs and often end up hiding their own emotions to smooth any situation over. Since they have a tendency to bottle their feelings up and avoid confrontation, they often don't seek for comfort from others.

As much as Tien is able to speak on behalf of people and give rather decent advice when prompted or unprompted (i.e., "You got yourself in this mess. Unfuck it."), there's not many people lining up to be Tien's advocate or sounding board. While he takes on the role of being the caretaker, the mediator, his own needs end up on the backburner. Tien doesn't have that person to lean on; seemingly, everyone takes his headstrongness at face value without examining if it's a façade that Tien puts onto keep his deeper emotions in check.

Even though the first time Tien heard these words, an offering to have someone to lean on, was merely part of a script, it was words that Tien needed to hear. That there is someone out there that would be willing to listen to him. That his mere existence isn't solely to hear the complaints of others and that there is someone that would one day provide him the same comfort that he provides his family. That there is someone that will be there for him when he most needs it.

Tien has held it together so much better than anyone has given him credit for, yet his own family tends to treat him as simply the loud or the careless one. They care about him, but they don't necessarily care for him or his needs. His emotional needs are never quite put as a priority and the way he melted under Lomfon's gaze with scripted words, really shows how much he needs someone he can depend on, even if he didn't fully realize it himself.

Prior to Episode 8, each time that Tien has received any semblance of comfort with Lomfon has been due to different pretenses. A film project, a reason to quiet him down from arguing with a professor, a place to sleep while he's drunk. The care that he was being shown was never solely because Lomfon actually cared for Tien, rather there was a transaction that was taking place.

Lomfon is finally seeing a different side to Tien, beyond the impudent exterior but rather as someone who is under constant pressure. He saw a snippet of just how far Tien would go to protect Tai in episode 7, but episode 8 really puts into perspective for him just how much Tien cares for Tai. Like Tien had told Tai before, if he disappears, he would be the one to go after him; he does exactly that. It likely hurt Tien that much more that he didn't even consider that Tai had gone to the spot their parents had proposed, because he knows Tai so well and knows that a potential betrayal from Patts would break him. Yet, he didn't make the connection instantaneously. So Tien falls back on blaming himself, on calling himself the asshole. He believes that he bares the responsibility of taking care of Tai after seeing all the pain he has gone through and that he is a failure.

And for the second time, Lomfon is seeing just how self-deprecating and how fragile Tien actually is behind the sharp words that he throws. He sees just how much Tien is able to love and care for his brother, to the point that he would endanger himself to find him without a second thought. He realizes this and tells him to calm down. While mirroring what Tai had told Tien in episode 2, this time it's more than a gentle dig at Tien's personality and about how he reacts, but rather he states it so that they could put their heads together and figure out how to find Tai.

Lomfon is finally seeing and looking at Tien, likely starting to understand who Tien actually is under the prickly exterior. Unlike in the film project where Lomfon's offer of being there for Tian was simply scripted, this time Lomfon is saying it out of his own free-will. He's attempting to ground Tien, holding him back and up. No longer does Tien simply have a wooden door to lean on, instead he has someone that he loves showing AND telling him, that he can depend on him. So he turns into Lomfon's embrace, because for once he can't pretend that everything is alright, he can't mediate his way out of his brother missing. Tien is finally being offered comfort rather than offering it and he takes it, because he needs it to believe that everything will turn out alright. For the first time, he isn't left to deal with the mess of his life alone.

That's why it's going to hurt so much more when Tien find out that Lomfon has his own soulmate(s). Tien, who has only had a taste of what it means of loving someone and being cared for, would do anything to guarantee the happiness of others before his own.

Life imitates Art: Foreshadowing for the Third Child

I think I've probably killed the point that Tien is self-sacrificing at this point, but it scares me to think of how Tien is going to take finding out that Lomfon is the 'soulmate' of Tai and Patts. Especially since he's already clocked that Lomfon is at least a bit interested in Tai.

Tien has finally had a small (smidgen) taste of what it means to be cared for. He's already starting to come to terms that he might be in love with Lomfon. Yet, he's still the biggest advocate that those that lose their hearing and hear the voices of another person means that they are destined to be together.

Like @wen-kexing-apologist stated, the relationship between Lomfon is going to be interesting, because it's so different from all the relationships that we've seen La Pluie depict. While it would be your standard romance, of learning to love each other and the progression from that, in any other drama, it's far different in La Pluie. I wonder if it's possible to move on when you have someone (in this case two people, worse when one of them is your brother) stuck in your lover's head every single time it rains. And it rains a lot in Thailand. We've already seen how that turned out for Patts and Nara.

While Lomfon might be willing to contradict and find that it's some scientific phenomenon, and ultimately chose who he actually, I just can't imagine that Tien would come to terms with that notion very easily. I don't think the difficulty that Tien would face would be like that of Nara's own fears when she was with Patts, but rather because it wouldn't be shocking to see Tien struggle with feeling guilt. Tien is someone who has conditioned to ignore his own needs in favor of the happiness of others. Now add in that Lomfon might have 'soulmates' and one of him being his brother, he's might actually believe that he's robbing two people important to him of their potential happiness.

And that brings me to the scene that Lomfon and Tien worked together on for the film project. Originally, the only importance I attributed on the words Lomfon's character (Gonmek) offered to Tien's character (Tongfah) was that it was an offering a place where he could seek comfort, which I thought Tien needed to hear at the time. Now, going back to that scene, I caught that these words were being offered after Tongfah had disappeared from Gonmek's life for years and had gone without communication due to family issues that had arisen.

Even though Tien might fight for the happiness of his brother, he doesn't seem all that big in fighting for his own, because he likely believes that he'll be able create his own elsewhere (i.e., his film friend group) without hurting the happiness of those he holds dear. I hope that I'm making parallels out of nothing, but there's something to be said that all the lines that deal with "disappearing" have either been said by or Tien. If we take the Nora Roberts book that Tai was reading into consideration, it's not too far of a stretch to think Rafe MacKade was an allusion to Tien [see my Nora Roberts x La Pluie meta here]; Rafe had left his hometown for years prior to returning. It wouldn't be outrageous to find Tien extracting himself from Lomfon's life, especially due to his strong belief in the notion of soulmates and his willingness to sacrifice himself if it means the happiness of others. Similar to the Tongfah and Rafe MacKade, Tien might find himself leaving for his own reasons.

If Tien does end up leaving, I can only hope he finds his way back after finding his own happiness.

Final Thoughts

I'm not ready for the amount of pain that Tien is going to be subjected to. Almost every character that loses their hearing in the rain has discussed how lonely and alienating it can be, but I find the character most alienated to be Tien. For all his intensity and volume, he is the one that is never being heard, he's the one unintentionally isolated just due to mere circumstance. Still, he's the one that holds the most hope. With a story that surrounds love and soulmates, it's ironic that the strongest believer in the idea of soulmates is the one without one.

When Tien said, "If someone can hear your voice when it rains, and you get exactly that one's voice, if the hearing loss guy lacks a soulmate, his world will be filled with emptiness," all I could think about whether that is how he currently feels about his own love. This man is surrounded by soulmates, he grew up with the idea that soulmates were innately perfect for each other, the ultimate love. Yet, here he is, collateral to a divorce that isn't perfectly understandable, but he still believes strongly that the loss of hearing is bound to lead to your soulmate or else that just signifies desolation. I wonder if that's how he finds himself to be? Empty? Hollow? Purposeless? I can't help but think that he needs to hold onto the belief of soulmates to accept his own future.

I don't think that Lomfon's interest in Tai and his ability to hear Tai and Patts will breed any type of ill-will between Tai and Tien, but I can definitely see Tien running away from Lomfon. Running away from his feelings. Running away from what they could be. Instead, he'll do anything and everything to guarantee Tai's happiness, even if that means burying his own.

Would it be too much to ask for Saengnuea to also lightly threaten Lomfon on Tien’s behalf?

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nevermoreternity · 7 months

Text

𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗣𝗢𝗦𝗧𝗠𝗔𝗡. 𝗔𝗡 𝗔𝗡𝗔𝗟𝗬𝗦𝗜𝗦.

"According to the tales, the postman

has made a reputation regarding

himself. Yet there are still many

mysteries surrounding him, which I'm

more interested in rather than the

secrets he's holding for others.

Now, who is Victor Grantz exactly?"

"Victor Grantz" is a name listed in two parts; a first name and a surname.

The first name of 'Victor' has many meanings depending on the country someone is born in. However, it has Latin origin which is translated to 'winner' or 'conqueror.' Despite the fact it's one of the earliest Christian names used by several saints and popes - representing Christ's Victory over sin and death - it is not associated directly with a biblical name. On the other hand, the last name of 'Grantz' is more often found in East Germany, which would often be used as a habitational name in various places in the north-eastern areas, named from Salvic grancia 'frontier border'.

"Victor Grantz is a support class character that is often said to be well rounded due to

the various buffs he holds. Overall a decent character to pick and master, however I

myself have read and wrote my own perspectives on his lore and personality. As any

other character made from the game, Victor's only semblance of lore and personality

would be from the deductions, letters, and sequences of events from others'

perspectives. Because of this, many write him according to their own thoughts

similar to the majority of other characters."

𝗖𝗔𝗡𝗢𝗡 𝗟𝗢𝗥𝗘.

Victor was born in an unknown nation (implied to be Germany) and was born to anonymous parents. It is currently undecided on what happened to them or even who they are in terms of lore for Victor. Yet eventually, he would be scouted into the mafia to be their 'secret carrier' in which Victor would deliver various things for them. His main correspondent would be a man they called 'Big Daddy' who by this point is likely some higher up. Victor would have a routine with his dog Wick. Every time the bronze bell would ring in their town, they'd be ready to deliver mail. It's said that Victor delivered letters and packages to people that Big Daddy had connections with, always keeping his lips sewn shut whether from fear or the fact it was his responsibility.

We would soon find out that Victor ends up witnessing a tussle between a member of the mafia and a police officer. When he finds out, Big Daddy is far from happy about the altercation. Victor would become more anxious about his place in the world following the event, the sudden stability of his job being the only thing he's used to in life. At one point later on, there's a fire that takes place in a local house, resulting in the death of a police man and several individuals' injuries. Yet despite the dangers, Victor would end up running into the fire head first to help, able to contain it in the end due to his interference. Big Daddy would write various notes and monitoring records after the fire attempting to brush it aside, writing phrases such as "Everything's normal. But if the "Postman" won't keep his mouth shut, like the cop, I'll get rid of him too." and "Don't say anything. You stick out like a sore thumb. We won't mind burning that dog again."

It's implied that Big Daddy had caused the fire in an attempt to kill the police man mentioned beforehand. Clearly, this plan was successful, as the words in the ninth deduction 'Possession' would confirm the death of the policeman.

Victor's various translations about his character introduction give their own perspective on his persona, yet all of them start with the fact that Victor is 'strange' and they all end with him accepting the invitation to the Oletus manor with glee.

An obvious fact is that Victor, after reading his lore and simply just looking around, is someone who values written words over verbal communication. This is possibly due to his obsession with letters and his view on secrets because of his job and environment, leading to being considered mute by others. It's implied that he is selectively mute considering he does speak to Wick on different occasions.

Seemingly, the reason Victor went into the fire originally was because Wick was inside, as the note threatening Victor to keep quiet of the incident states the word 'again' which could mean many things. Has Victor gone through various threatening cases where Wick's life was on the line? Or is it simply a case of particular wording? I do personally believe Wick had been in that fire with the policeman, 'conveniently.'

In conclusion, Victor worked for the mafia. The letter sent from Oletus manor was his first letter ever received to himself which led him to easily head towards the location fully trusting the sender's sincerity.

𝗣𝗘𝗥𝗦𝗢𝗡𝗔𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗬 𝗣𝗘𝗥𝗦𝗣𝗘𝗖𝗧𝗜𝗩𝗘.

A man of secrets who holds things dearly. Having issues with being social yet craving for the sense of company much like others, Victor could be considered to have emotional unavailability. That along with a tendency to be apathetic at times, detachment from other people, and avoidance. Canonically he has scopophobia which is the fear of being stared at. This likely originated from his past in which he became paranoid due to working in the mafia. The other canon traits he has is being socially awkward, kind-hearted, and quiet. There's not much to go on with those few traits, but at the same time, there's many things that can connect to them.

He is considered SOCIALLY AWKWARD because of his inability and disinterest in having face-to-face conversations. Victor had mentioned himself that he had an obsession with watching others' expressions and feelings whenever they opened letters. I feel like we could say he's not the best chatter to converse with, but he is socially aware. I mean that in a way where he is likely more in-tune with others' emotions than he might realize, his brain always subconsciously seeking for that change of expression — from smiles shifting to frowns to eyes brimming with tears. Yet despite that, Victor would still struggle to let his own emotions out; an act of hypocrisy he's likely self-aware of.

KIND-HEARTEDNESS is a positive trait. It lines up with being empathetic, which I genuinely do think Victor is. However, he has cases of showing indifference when it comes to certain issues regarding humans rather than, for example, his dog. This could stem from the mafia as it seems like that environment was very much an 'all men for themselves' work space, which would lead him to be more 'selfish' regarding his survival. He'd be aware of someone's suffering and would merely watch from afar. Though I admit that sentence could be contradicted by the fire incident. The reason he did run inside however is implied to be due to Wick rather than the people trapped in the house, even though he does end up helping out more than likely planned, leading to cause many to trust him. A win-win scenario for everyone but his coworkers. He's a nice person at heart but it's just been snuffed out, whether because he's accustomed to surviving for himself or the fact he has trouble with expressing it, the manor game he was in showing more of that side.

Being QUIET is an expected trait. Whether it be the fact he's mute or just generally reserved. His past with secrets and the thought of paranoia whenever people talk or stare at him causes him to fall silent. It makes him the perfect person to be a secret keeper. Victor knew that and Big Daddy thought so as well. In a way, he's a bit of a push-over. I don't think he's that much of a people pleaser. Yes, he may be helpful, but would he bend his back over for someone? Not exactly. His level of being a 'pushover' originates from the fear of being replaced, lacking the sudden emotions people present to him so openly. It's a drug he's accustomed to. Take that away and he'd face his own shortcomings. Big Daddy makes it clear that he can and could replace him, and what's better to ensure that doesn't happen than to become quieter than a corpse? Victor would find out that fitting into a certain criteria, looking a certain part, and keeping low under the radar is the best way he can live his life 'peacefully', even if that peace is temporary. He'll try to postpone the end as much as he can.

Overall Victor's main issue is that he's so attached to letters, in particular, the words and straightforwardness of them. Of course we all know someone can easily write up a fake sounding sentence to appear as something they aren't. Such as a not so sincere apology. But to Victor, he treasures the experience, as he doesn't view it to have any hidden meanings. With actual conversations, there's many things a person needs to keep aware of. The tone of the words, the current topic, the sentence suddenly leading to a different shift in the discussion. All those are hard to keep track of especially if one's not used to it. Letters allow Victor to read back easily the words in front of him instead of asking the person to repeat themselves. It's an easier solution and a much kinder way to express himself rather than face the eyes of the person staring at him as he attempts a half thought-out response.

He's gullible and a bit naive due to putting so much trust in written words. But as I have thought before, it isn't really his fault. Much like issues the other characters face. With the implied lack of proper care given from his parents and anyone else to support him, the closest support being Wick, he's easily influenced. In a sense, I believe Victor likes animals so much because of the fact they don't 'lie' or 'pretend' like people do. If a cat doesn't like what you're doing, it'll hiss. If a dog wants your attention, it'd bark — I think that's his logic. It's understandable and a bit pathetic. That's also why he clung onto the letter sent by the manor so much. It was his first letter he received to himself, not written to anyone else, nor written by his own hands, someone actually wrote something and knew about him enough to want to reach out to him. You can tell how alone Victor truly is despite the fact he's able to live every day with food and a home. He's still incredibly alone and isolated, writing letters to himself because of the lack of his own partner to send one back to him.

𝗣𝗘𝗥𝗦𝗢𝗡𝗔𝗟 𝗧𝗛𝗢𝗨𝗚𝗛𝗧𝗦.

Regarding the symbolic part of his character, I feel like he's very contradictory in a positive way. He's mute yet words become his way of expressing thoughts and feelings. He doesn't like being vulnerable but wants others to trust him with secrets. He wants someone to write him letters but struggles to make connections. In a sense it's relatable, the idea of wanting someone loyal to you and to trust you fully, matched with the fear and paranoia of 'what if' scenarios resulting in a lack of action. Within canon he's part of group three, which honestly is a whole other topic and separate post.

Victor was still the 'main' person in that group, the vital connection. As a postman he made it his own duty to deliver the various communications within notes from the other three. Not having an issue with the rule of not speaking and probably fostering himself into it as soon as the cycle he was so comfortable with began again. There are notable moments where his past came back, like when he was found by Ganji. His body instinctively went into a defensive or submissive position as he mentions that he was reminded of another 'unpleasant person' within the interaction — a reference to Big Daddy, maybe even implying he would be physically beat with how small the actions were. If you read his full lore it's easy to notice the connections.

I find it very ironic he died in a fire, with his inability to let go of the things he held most dear to him, secrets written within sheets of paper. The first fire he had survived and was considered to be a hero. The second time around, he didn't have any thoughts except to make sure something else, the letter, was safe before his own survival. It led to his head being lit in literal flames. I was very distraught about the death when the news first released, although it was expected. The fact he was connected to fire in the first place is easily overlooked. Victor doesn't have a fear of fire which I would assume he would have. The things he loves the most being paper, which can be easily burnt, the fact he had to save Wick multiple times from the threat of being burnt, and even the fact of the original house fire he had gone into was likely not his first time with flames. I think these experiences led to why he bolted into the fire in the manor.

Victor could've been used to the fraying of his clothes and the smoke in his lungs but he wasn't used to actually having letters burn. Letters were important to Big Daddy too if you think about it. He wouldn't just burn important secrets so he decided to burn the second closest thing to Victor's heart which was Wick. So with that mindset, he ran straight into the fire. But this time, the last time, he couldn't make it out. It's unknown if something fell and trapped him or if he just gave up on escaping, possibly tired of running. Running metaphorically or even literally. Victor has run from most of his problems, being silent about his issues, attempting to please his peers, and being kept in his comfort zone for so long. This is only up to his second-to-last letter entry, so when the last one appears in a few months, this'll likely be updated.

"In the end, Victor Grantz was a

person filled with contradictions,

a man who wished for a change

yet couldn't escape the cycle he

was so selfishly trying to keep."

— analysis end.

#idv discussion #idv lore #idv #idv postman #victor grantz #'Orpheus' writes #“first post and it's about one of my favorite characters” – 'Orpheus'

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mccall-me-maurice · 7 months

Note

ERRR I DON’T LIKE LOTF THAT MUCH ANYMORE BUT I’D LOVE TO HEAR ANY ROGER HCS!! roger my fav

HELLO!!!! ROGER HCS ON THE WAY !!

> rogers parents died when he was 5-6. the only thing he got out of the wreckage that they died in was a cat named nastya and he’s kept her ever since

> roger doesn’t really consider anyone (even the choir) his “friends.” he associates with them either because he has to or because they benefit him in some way

> roger is maurice’s cousin from his father’s side, but neither of them mention it very often

> despite what it may seem, roger is pretty hard to make mad. he’s calm probably 99% of the time

> he’s an alto with a wicked falsetto when he feels like he wants to do it. he really never does

> roger isn’t actually that short. he’s somewhere in an average height range when he stops growing (so like 5”9-5”10 ish). it’s just that he looks tiny because jack is huge

> roger is right hand dominant for writing and left hand dominant for everything else. on the island he holds a spear with his left hand and writes with his right

> roger gets fostered by simon’s dad while he can’t find a family and during that time he NEVER sees simon because he’s considered too dangerous to be around other kids

> roger learned how to throw rocks so well from his father. his rock throwing abilities also make him strangely good at skipping stones

> he was a warrior cat child. he hissed and bit people on the playground

> rogers last name is volkov which means wolf in russian

> roger is russian on his dad’s side and vietnamese on his mother’s side

> in modern headcanons, he has snake bite piercings that he did himself because he’s just an absolute menace

> doesn’t smile like at all ever and while it’s mostly because he doesn’t feel as though he has anything to smile about, he also hates the way he looks when he smiles

> wears the same hoodie daily and it’s like really gross with cigarette burns and GET A NEW ONE.

> the family that adopted him is a little old lady and her husband and they’re the only 2 people roger shows a soft spot for and if you mention that he likes them to him, he gets hostile

> extremely knowledgable about the human body, in a kind of creepy way. he knows where every artery is, the quickest way to kill someone effectively by looking at the person ONCE, he’s just scary

> not christian like at all. he’s a satanist 100% but in a chill way in most cases, not the stereotypical christian portrayal of a satanist

#lotf #lord of the flies #lotf roger #lotf headcanons #headcanons #my headcanons #anon #anonymous #mail!!#i actually love talking abt roger he’s so interesting to me #like yes u GO my strange emo sob #son*

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late-to-the-magnus-archives · 1 year

Text

Tada! Another Vast!Jon AU snippet.

I know where this is going now. Oh, boy, y'all are in for a ride.

Martin/Jon Childhood Friends

YouTube Baker Martin!

Famous Photographer Jon!

A plane crash! Angst! Drama!

Stoker brothers!

Archivist Sasha!

Currently: Jon understands he's been marked by the Vast.

He also has learned he's marked by the Eye, and has no idea what that means. Simon Fairchild got him an appointment with an old friend to explain.

(shudder)

Also, Martin is being... shall we say, stalked by a certain Sea Captain who sees some horrifying potential in Martin's delightful little baking show.

Wicked cackle, etc.

----------

Jon peers at the building.

It’s grand and glorious; white stone and red brick, elegant, with just a single, understated sign saying, THE MAGNUS INSTITUTE: EST. 1818 by the entrance.

Something about it, though.

This building would go into the private collection.

The weird collection.

The photos he dares not release because they would destroy his reputation.

The photos he cannot explain because he does not believe in the supernatural, but the images he’s captured don’t care.

Or… well. He rather does believe, now.

He’d thought there was a scientific explanation for his weird photos. There had to be, right? It was atmospheric strangeness, or… or some kind of strange electrical interference.

It’s not, though, is it?

Though for all those photos to be real…

He breathes away the rising nervousness and raises his camera. Focuses. Snaps half a dozen shots.

“It is a lovely building, isn’t it?” comes from behind him, and he jumps.

There’s a man.

And Jon has to take a moment and close his eyes and let his brain reset because this man's head is one huge eyeball, jerking around, looking at absolutely everything in the world.

Jon takes a slow breath and opens his eyes.

The man looks normal now, to Jon’s relief - a decade or two older, well-coiffed and expensively suited - and does not have a huge, unlidded eye for a head.

“Elias Bouchard?” Jon says.

“Yes. You must be Mister Sims,” says the not-a-man with a thousand-watt smile, and offers his hand.

Jon shakes it. “Thanks for meeting with me.”

“Well, you are in an interesting predicament, aren’t you? Come on in. Ah - fair warning: one of my employees is quite eager to meet you today, should you feel up to it. It seems she’s acquired one of your earlier photos - the spider leg illusion?”

Jon startles. “I thought that burned.”

“Apparently not.” His gaze is unnervingly penetrating. “Call me Elias, would you? We belong to a very special club, and have no need to be formal.”

“Jon, then,” says Jon, because he kind of has to, even though he wanted the comfortable distance of formality.

“This way.” Elias takes the lead.

And even from behind him, Jon can feel he’s being stared at.

Watched.

Studied.

Jon chews his tongue nervously as they enter in. The building feels just like Elias does, and everywhere Jon looks - just out of frame, in the periphery - he catches glimpses of something he swears might be more eyes.

If he looks directly, they’re gone.

He’s pretty sure they’re not gone.

It feels horrible.

It feels wonderful.

It feels like he can stop pretending to be anything he isn’t.

It feels like he needs to go hide in a closet. “It’s, uh,” he manages. “This is, uh.”

“A little much? I know. It can be overwhelming at first - but I assure you, you are safe here,” says Elias. “I’m familiar with your body of work. I’m very impressed, Jon.”

He says that like being impressed isn’t a thing that happens often.

Jon’s heard compliments enough that they don’t make him feel any particular way. He’s too busy being annoyed that he can’t see all the eyes head-on. “Thank you, I suppose.”

Elias nods to a secretary (who pretends not to be staring at Jon's bandages and fails spectacularly), then gestures Jon into his office.

The door closing behind him is frightening and final, and makes him want to turn around and run right back out.

But he doesn't.

He needs answers. He needs to know what this is about, what the Beholding is, what he should do.

Oh, but now, now that they’re not on a public street, now that they’re not anywhere ordinary humans can see, Elias stops pretending to be one.

He circles Jon, too close, unblinking.

Jon stands completely still, like a camouflaging rabbit.

“Amazing,” Elias whispers. “I’d already guessed you were marked by the Eye; your photography is very powerful, Jon. And now, you’ve been marked by the Vast - which, I dare say, is rare enough - but Simon didn’t tell me you had three marks.”

“Three?” Jon says. “What? There’s another one?”

“Yes. Very old.”

“Oh, come on, now,” says Jon, irritation cresting right over his hard-won and practiced politeness. “Simon told me less than ten percent of the population ends up with one mark, and you’re telling me I have three?”

“Three.” Elias stops in front of him, holding his gaze. “I know what I see.”

Jon’s protests die on his lips.

He stares.

Those eyes.

Those gray eyes.

They -

“What do you see, Jon?” whispers Elias.

“I… please let me photograph you,” Jon whispers back.

Elias smiles. “Of course. We’ll continue talking when you’re done.”

Jon still hasn’t blinked as he raises his camera.

He doesn’t until it’s over.

Martin jogs up the steps and takes a second to flap his shirt away from his body, hoping to dry the sweat before it stains.

This was not ideal. He hates running.

He could haul rocks up mountains or walk a million miles, but running? Pleh. For the birds.

“Though they fly, I guess,” he mutters to himself, coat over one arm, and brings up his camera app to ensure nothing is out of place .

He’d gotten a text while jogging and hadn’t noticed.

How does it feel to be so alone?

The number is hidden.

Martin stares at it, his heart caught in an uncomfortable tension.

He -

He shouldn’t. Doesn’t.

He -

“What?” he whispers.

“Hey!” says Sasha, coming up behind him on the stairs. “Martin! Good to see you!” She gives him a quick side-hug. “Come on in. Just got back from lunch.”

Martin compartmentalizes the text with a will and focuses on the here and now. “So you didn’t see Jon?”

“He’s here?” She looks ready to levitate right off the stairs.

“Should be. I was supposed to meet him before he went in, but…”

“Come on, have some tea, freshen up. Elias is harmless. I’m sure Jon’ll be fine.” She makes a happy little sound and skips twice, clapping her hands. “I get to meet Jonathan Sims!”

Elias knows about fear gods. Martin doubts he’s harmless. But Sasha’s joy is catching. “Heh. He’s grumpy, but I’m sure he’ll like you.”

She absolutely beams at him. “Rosie,” she says. “Please don’t let Mister Sims leave without seeing me first?”

“Sure thing, Ms. James,” Rosie says. “Oh - you need a visitor’s pass?”

“Probably. One second.” Sasha leaves Martin there and goes to Rosie’s desk to fill out a form.

The office beyond her is closed.

That has to be where Jon is.

Martin can’t hear anything.

He heroically resists the urge to press up against the door and listen in.

Funny, though: no voices come through, but he is certain he hears the click of Jon’s camera.

“There you go.” Sasha hands him a badge not dissimilar to the press pass she’d lent him days ago.

“Oh, I still have the other one,” he says, patting himself down. “Sorry, I left it at home.”

“No worries. You can bring it by whenever. Want to see my Archive?” She smiles like a proud parent.

Martin glances at the door.

“Don’t worry. He won’t leave without us. Come on, let me show you. Come on! You wouldn’t believe the mess it was in when I got the job.”

Another click from that office.

Martin can’t be hearing it. It wouldn’t carry that far.Shook up by that stupid text, he thinks, and wonders if he needs to change his number.

“Would you believe she even had statements put in folders with the wrong years?” Sasha is saying, threading her way through a maze of boxes and stacks of paper with the ease of familiarity. “We’re getting it organized, but I really need more help.”

“How much does it pay?” Martin says as a joke.

She tells him.

He trips over a box. “What, for real?”

“Mm-hmm. Benefits, too.”

Martin looks around. “And it’s just… organizing files?”

“That’s what I need help with.”

Could for sure tell Antoine to fuck himself tonight, and wouldn’t even need to click a spooky link to do it. “Do you hire me, or…”

She laughs. “You’re serious?”

“I really am.”

“Well… let’s go back up. See if we can get you an interview, yeah?”

“Hell, yeah. You should get Tim to join us. Danny, too. We could all quit our jobs and be spooky ghost researchers together.”

She laughs. “I don’t know if they’ll let me hire too many folks without qualifications, but… you shouldn’t need any for this? I mean, it’s basically filing.”

Oh. Right. Qualifications.

“I didn’t go to college,” Martin says, heart sinking, wondering what the hell he’d been thinking.

“I don’t care. You’d be looking at files and putting them in little folders with dates. If they say you need a degree for that, I might just quit over it.”

He thinks she’s joking.

Martin is calculating the amount of money needed to keep a building like this up and running, utilities and all, and is fairly sure qualifications will matter very much.

The office door is opening just as they get back upstairs.

Jon looks bombed.

Pale. Dazed. Staring at the floor with the weight of the world on his shoulders.

“Jon?” says Martin.

And it’s like the sun dawns. “You came,” says Jon, abandoning his haze like stepping out of a cave.

Behind Jon is a man who spooks Martin right to his core.

It’s the look, he thinks. Very cat-that-got-the-cream. “You ready to go?” Martin says, too cheerfully.

Sasha gives him a funny look. “I thought you - ”

“I really appreciate the tour. Definitely quite the place you’ve got here,” Martin interrupts because he is not working here under some fear-priest who looks like that.

Sasha’s not stupid. She’s confused, but she immediately changes course. “Sure! But before you go… Mister Sims?”

Jon looks at her as if he hadn’t even realized she was there. “Oh. Hi?”

She minds the bandages and doesn’t try to grab him or shake his hand or anything. “I am so pleased to meet you. My name’s Sasha James. I’m the head archivist here. Could I borrow you for a moment of your time? We have one of your old photos here, and I would dearly love to talk to you about it.”

Jon really does not want to give a moment of his time, but he’s learned to be professionally polite. “I can do that. I don’t know if I have any answers for you, though.”

“Ah - Ms. James, we don’t really allow guests down in the archive,” says Elias Bouchard, almost gently. “It’s not public facing.”

“He’s obviously going to make a statement,” says Sasha, chin raised.

Bouchard smiles. “Well-played. All right, Jon. You can go down.”

They’re already on first-name basis? Martin thinks.

“What about Martin?” says Sasha.

“One violation of the rules is enough for today, don’t you think? Not to worry - I’ll get him some tea. He’ll be fine, I’m sure.”

Oh, none of this was cool. “Uh,” says Martin.

“Sorry,” Sasha says, and means it.

“No, it’s all right. It’s fine.”

Jon touches his arm. Looking the question.

“It’s okay,” says Martin, because logically, Jon needs this connection, and Martin doesn’t want to fuck it up for him. “Go for it. I mean, maybe don’t take too long?”

“I don’t have the energy for ‘long,’” says Jon. “You could go? Meet me at a cafe, or something?”

“You don’t have a lot of energy and you want me to just leave you here,” Martin says, dry.

Jon laughs a little, embarrassed. “All right, all right. I’ll be back quickly.”

Sasha looks like Christmas came early. “This way. Oh, would you prefer the elevator or the stairs?”

“Elevator, please. Stairs are still a little tricky,” says Jon.

Martin watches them leave and wonders if he’s made a mistake.

He looks over.

Bouchard is the epitome of banal, non-threatening smiles. “Tea?”

“Sure.” What’s he going to do? Say no and start throwing punches?

Over what?

Jealousy, maybe?

Jealousy. That’s what it is.

Martin can identify it, but he’s not sure why it’s there, and it bugs him. He just feels weirdly… paranoid in this place.

“Do you have a preference?” says Bouchard, leading him the opposite direction of Jon and Sasha.

“Anything but Oolong.”

Bouchard laughs politely. “Good news: I’m fairly sure it’s Jasmine.”

“That’ll be fine. Thank you.”

He doesn’t look like a fear-priest.

“Jon must have impressed you,” Martin says. “I mean, I doubt the head of the Institute is usually out here making tea for randos.”

Bouchard is still smiling as he turns around, offering a little wax-coated cup. “A keen observation. Yes. He did.”

And, Martin thinks but does not say, Bouchard wants to make a good impression on him, so it’s Nice-to-Martin hours. “Thanks.”

“This must be very difficult for you,” says Bouchard, leaning back against the table and crossing his arms. “Witnessing such a dramatic change in someone you know so well can be rather… frightening.”

Martin blinks. Jon told him?

But Jon said not to tell anyone. He said Martin would be in danger.

Well, apparently, he’d trusted Bouchard at once.

What else had he told him?

The jealous feeling increases. “It’s… definitely frightening.”

“Understandable. And of course, the fear that you yourself are in danger must be sharp, as well.”

Wait, what? “Me?”

“Of course. New avatars tend to be… ravenous. You’re quite fortunate that he isn’t new to the whole situation, really.”

What kind of a conversation was this? “He…oh. He said there was that Eye thing, too?”

“Yes. For many years.”

Martin has no idea where this conversation is supposed to go. “Well. Got any advice?”

Bouchard laughs. “Try not to be eaten.”

Martin stares at him.

Bouchard smiles.

Martin sips his tea.

Bouchard smiles.

Martin decides there are hidden cameras all over the breakroom for whatever reason, and that’s why he feels practically x-rayed. “I, uh. Can I take this back out to the lobby?”

“I’d really prefer if you drank it in here,” says Bouchard, low and smooth.

It’s too hot.

Martin burns his mouth a little to get it down faster, and he wonders what else Jon told this guy, and he tells himself he will never, ever need to be afraid of Jon.

No matter what his deeply startled gut says.

Bouchard smiles.

Neither of them say another word until the tea is finally gone.

#tma #tma fic #fic in progress #wip #amwriting #vast!jon #tma au #sasha james #elias bouchard #martin blackwood

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bestiarium · 2 years

Photo

The waterduivel [Belgian/Flemish folklore]

(image source: commissioned by @another_maker on Instagram)

There is no shortage of myths about aquatic monsters that grab people and drag them to a watery death, it is a common trope throughout mythology and folklore around the world. This is a natural consequence of people’s fear of water, and also because parents used to tell such tales to children to dissuade them from playing close to water, where they might drown.

In Flanders, Belgium, the local waterways were haunted by creatures known as waterduivels. The name ‘waterduivel’ literally means ‘water devil’ and it’s used both to refer to a specific creature and (sometimes) as a general term for mythical aquatic monsters. Hence, the abilities and appearances of waterduivels vary between stories.

One account from Leo Janissen (second source, I haven’t succeeded at locating a copy of his work but I did find second hand descriptions), describing the waterduivels that supposedly live in the river Maas, claims that these creatures were humanoid with black skin and horns protruding from their heads. Their faces were adorned with curved, wicked tusks and their large eyes where glowing like burning coals. On Saint John’s Day, which is July 24, these monsters are more dangerous than usual. They climb out of the water and drag as many people as they can find below the waves.

Another account from Kinrooi – written down in Leuven in the mid-20th century – claims that the duivels sometimes wielded large, curved metal hooks which they used to pull people under the water if someone looked into a well. This story may have been invented to scare children who might otherwise fall into a well and drown. Sometimes these creatures also had a metal chain, which they rattled to scare people. These monsters also had some degree of control over cats: people who met a waterduivel often found themselves being followed by a large herd of cats. In one story, the protagonist is chased by 60 cats – all of them had bright white fur – until he found his courage and attacked one of the feline pursuers, chopping off its front paw. The next morning, one of the women in the village had lost her hand (the implication being that the cats that consort with waterduivels are actually shapeshifting witches in disguise).

One myth from Bruges tells of a beautiful girl named Marieke. She was the lover of a young and handsome bard named Claes. Claes traveled between castles and palaces to sing to nobles and barons, which left little time to spend with his loved one. One day, he gave her a beautiful necklace with a slice of agate, which Marieke cherished dearly. Every time she looked at the jewel, she thought of Claes.

At the quay next to her house, there lived a wicked waterduivel. He lusted after the beautiful girl and one day, he used his considerable magic prowess to transform himself into a golden bird. After landing on the windowsill, the fiend watched Marieke closely and eventually asked her what she would give to see her lover again. “Anything” was her reply, as she was consumed by love. The bird then told her to go to the edge of the water at exactly midnight, for Claes would be there.

Marieke was suspicious but the desire to see Claes again was stronger than her common sense, and she did as she was told. But as soon as the Belfort’s clock struck 12, the waterduivel climbed on land and sucked all the blood and the very life force out of her body, before disappearing beneath the waves. Claes found her there the next morning, and his heart immediately ceased beating. He fell on top of her, locked in a kiss from which neither of them would ever get up.

Another tale from Weert claims that a waterduivel lived there and regularly pulled people under, until one day the monster somehow got hooked to a ship and was pulled away. Yet another story tells of a waterduivel hiding in the canal. Sometimes it could be heard making strange noises, and the next morning lots of dead fish were floating on the surface. Nobody dared to eat them, for the fish were killed by supernatural forces.

These monsters were always malicious but some of them were tricksters, preferring to prank and annoy people rather than outright hurting or drowning victims. It is said that one such creature made its home in the waterways of Wetteren. The waterduivel would wait in a stream or river until a traveller walked by, and then it would jump on its victim’s back and demand to be carried to whatever destination it had in mind.

But not all of these stories had sad endings, for not all of the waterduivels were cunning and smart. One myth is about the Schaartje stream, where a waterduivel made horrible noises and nobody dared to come close to the water. Until one day, a brave drunk man was walking to Sint-Jan and passed by the stream. He heard the ruckus but wasn’t having any of that bullshit and ignored the fiend. Surprised, the monster came on land and the man asked him who he was. “I’m the waterduivel”, it said. “If you’re a waterduivel, then you should be able to swim” the drunkard replied. He was a physically strong and fit man, and so he had no trouble overpowering the fiend and yeeting it into the water. It drowned there, for indeed the creature was incompetent and never learned how to swim.

Sources: De Cock, A., 1921, Vlaamsche Sagen uit den Volksmond, Maatschappij voor goede en goedkope lectuur, Amsterdam, 219 pp. https://www.abedeverteller.nl/van-aardmannetje-tot-zwarte-juffer-een-lijst-van-nederlandse-en-vlaamse-elfen-en-geesten/ which cites “Janissen, L., 1930, Het Lokkend Licht” but I haven’t been able to obtain a copy of this work. http://brugselegenden.blogspot.com/2014/11/de-legende-van-de-waterduivel-van-de.html which cites Van Acker, R., Uitgaven West-Vlaamse Gidsenkring, Wandeling 7. https://www.volksverhalen.be/brugge_marieke (This, this and this story from Volksverhalenbank, which is an initiative of the Leuven university, to gather Flemish folktales and myths.) Peeters, K. C., 1979, Vlaams Sagenboek, Davidsfonds, Leuven.

I want to add a small footnote: this is my last daily post on this blog. I had written most of them in advance but this was the last article I had prepared. I will still write new posts and update the blog every now and then, but I won’t be uploading a new post every day because I don’t have enough free time to research and write new ones. Thanks for reading this stuff!

#Belgian mythology #Flemish mythology #aquatic creatures #humanoid creatures #monsters #mythical creatures #witches #mythology #myths #folklore

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2n2n · 1 year

Text

Chapter 101

*dies in the street like a dog* aaoaoaouuouu *swings body from the rafters* aaorurouoouu no rest for the wicked no rest no rest... aa aa aa ach ach ack ack agh agh

there could not be a more earth-shattering opening... the first real peak into living, middle-school-aged Tsukasa... pictured in the rafters of the theater, singing. Singing, like he does---! I'm not ready I'm not ready ...

It's not set in stone, but he might be doing a little vocalization (like a coloratura....?) of Over the Rainbow.... ah you know, I get emotional, as his VA, Megumi Ogata, can sure as hell sing....! So can Nene's, who sings the ED of the anime... it might be rather beautiful....

I hope someone super into music can properly confirm the song...

please, Amane... what do you want... ? you can't stay quiet and obtuse forever... can we hear it out loud?

overwhelmingly full of love... Aida is an unbearable master of expression....

I really love ah... this simple interaction, it's so full. Amane knows there's better things for Tsukasa to do, that it's not fun or interesting to stay here, that there would be other people wanting his help... it's not the responsible thing, to ask Tsukasa to stay. But what do we care about that? We only want to know what Amane himself wishes would happen... if he could have anything, if it was only up to him, if we disregard the students, if we disregard what is responsible or proper to want, what would he really want....?

the most exciting image to ever see... aahhh. Living twins together in their first year of middle school... Amane isn't yet covered in wounds, bandages, and bruises... no rope burns. He's a bit dirty from messing with the clock, is all. Tsukasa's pose is sublime... also, how incredibly small Aida makes the boy's asses in the modern day is wondrous, lol. There was a short period in her art where there was more going on there, but she returned to the stick-thin principle from ye olde times (early JSHK is so ah... 'filled out'? but Snow White is sssooo sticks ... I prefer her more extreme styling, I really love how young and gangly the boys feel....). Tsukasa's shirt isn't tucked in, while Amane's is .... ♥ Such tiny little hips they have... I could really drink in these panels for a century..

you know, Aoi is always describing Akane as so helpful and kind and always doing everything for everybody, but I feel like we constantly see him being mean and fussy wwwww it's either such a 'tell and not show' situation, or Aoi has way too kind of a view on Akane wwww...

oh yeah! My husband wondered if maybe Aoi can't tie her hair so easily anymore, after losing the feeling in one of her hands.... maybe she'll wear it down more often, as a result.

Anyway Hanako being all whiney left out sad boy is always my favorite... I love little sulking boy. I'm glad Nene is so kind with him. She really does her best for her little man. I love his overly specific ideas of what to do, lol.... Ah... he's very cute isn't he... yabai...

GETTING TO THE MEAT OF THIS ALL, though. Haha .. uah, I dunno... was Amane a Clockkeeper, is that the implication....? Clockkeepers are indentured into servitude in their first year, and serve for the duration of their time at Kamome...

on the first day no less, the Clockkeepers nab they boy. The Clockkeepers stage something to make a kid desperate... in Akane's case, they endanger Aoi, right in front of Akane..

is it possible...? Well at least, I don't see why not.... maybe yes maybe no...

if Amane has been trapped in this system for so much of his life, how miserable that would be... Akane was targetted by the Clockkeepers surely because of how devoted to Aoi he was, while Amane is naturally protective of his little brother....

I wonder if this is kinda 'moments before disaster' then...

We'll have our whimsy for now, imagining it, at least. Amane wouldn't have Teru there to make him special enchanted glasses, which are what allow Akane to live a somewhat normal life. Amane would have to see kaii everywhere! His power meanwhile, could only stop time for short durations... ah, I've always thought of him as so ignorant of the world of mysticism, so this would be such a shift....

I wonder what sort of measures are taken to keep Clockkeepers in line? Akane is a dutiful boy and even outside of Aoi, does as he's asked in most situations, easily cajoled into anything, as Aoi describes him... but Amane was a difficult boy who is often enough, defecting responsibility, by 2nd year (age 13) anyway....

I'd imagine there's a kind of mind-wiping of your Clockkeeping career post-serving in order to preserve mysteries... as much as the mysteries erase things suchas memories of missing students.

well, I would love the resentment and betrayal this would give Amane to recall! Feeling messed with, feeling manipulated, even after all of these years working as a mystery, mingling with No. 1.... aha, really made a fool of, every day, right? Again and again ... And just in time, if the Broadcast Club is angling to snatch the Clockkeepers....

whatever the case... let's get those damn Clockkeepers!! Whether you ruined Amane's school life or not... ! Aha, sounds like a good motivator to me, and even a good reason for Tsukasa to want to unpack some things to Amane.. what if all the mysteries have done, is ruin the Yugi's lives, ruin Amane's life? We really should tear the place apart then... and as often as possible, use those within the system suffering from it to do it....

uauuuhhhh I'm so worried Amane won't be able to keep his promise for any reason, and will again be too caught up in the mysteries world to enjoy a festival....

I wonder if even Nene-chan would prefer to miss the festival, than be without you, just like Tsukasa ... wouldn't your girlies always prefer to be with you, even if it means no rainbow cotton candy, no snacks, no plays.... ahhhh.

Nene-chan being so cute... Amane being so romantic.... them being such goons.... all so healingly precious... enough healing preciousness to balance out the looming dangers....

I hope you two get to do something wonderful and fun, at some point...

ugh...acting so handsomely....

acting too handsomely....

me too. Nene-chan.

its too much when he's being charming.... please spin him and send him to the ground, over and over and over, OK... I can't handle him like this.... but also, let's do everything in our power to give him everything he wants and appease his every ounce of neediness, OK? So that he can become an even greater monster of charisma, and then we can just die about it forever.

#avvy's JSHK

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rookthorne · 2 years

Text

The Way Home | ꜱᴛᴜᴄᴋʏ

Pairing; Stucky (post!TWS) Word Count; 1.5k Warnings; hurt/comfort, seizure and aftermath, descriptions of illness relating to withdrawal, choking, canon divergence A/N; gonna start right off the bat and say I have never done something like this before, and I hope I did it justice. I want to thank @buckyismybicycle for the inspiration behind this with her fic Operant Conditioning, and @winteratdusk for her series Homecoming and her numerous other sickfics. You two are the hurt queens, and I'm just a humble apprentice.

WHUMPTOBER MASTERLIST

Wishes were more often than not granted in ways one would not expect, but that didn't mean seeing a 6 foot tall Super Soldier going through withdrawal in Steve’s apartment was an unwelcome surprise.

There was so much Bucky had not accounted for in his plan of escape - he just needed to get the hell away from the dark cells that held him, and the glowing halos of light that crackled and singed; burning away his memories like the wick of a candle.

Since that fight on the bridge against the woman with hair brighter than fire, and the man with the shield, it had been different.

More flashes of memories wreaked havoc on both his waking hours, and the fitful periods of sleep he did manage, all of them the same thing - an eerie green lit room with a man standing over him calling him Bucky, and Bucky could not help but think how the hell Steve had gotten so tall, or big, for chrissakes.

The room was dark with nothing but the soft glow of a lamp to illuminate his way once he slipped through the open window. His eyes adjusted quickly, but it didn’t stop the stab of pain that burned against his retinas.

Every step away from his captors seemed to make the blood burn through his veins, and his stomach roiled with a vicious nausea he’d only experienced once before in his life. And by God, he was not going back to them so they could fix it like they did last time.

A quiet groan of pain left Bucky’s chest before he could suppress it and he winced, and a hand shot out to brace himself against the wall by the window. His clothes were sticking to his skin with how soaked he was with fevered sweat.

Bucky wanted it to stop, and he could only feel that this man, Steve, would help him. It was either that or put him out of his misery and finish the fight from the bridge, and Bucky could not help but be undecided on which he’d rather. He was tired.

Suddenly, a set of footsteps echoed down the hallway of the room he was hidden in, and Bucky cursed his inability to keep quiet - he was in no shape or form to put up a fight against a hostile. To make matters worse, Bucky’s vision was clouding over as though he was looking through a burlap sack, and he could taste iron - blood? - in his mouth and over his teeth.

The footsteps were getting louder and louder and louder in Bucky’s ears, a constant thump, thump, thump against his skull - please, stop, Bucky begged when a cloud of black obscured his vision for no longer than a second. He was defenceless and weak, there was no way he could fight back.

Light flooded into the room when the door opened and Bucky startled with a quiet gasp, flinching from the sudden halo of light behind the figure.

“Bucky?”

A beat of silence passed while Bucky watched the figure approach with their arms outstretched slightly, a gesture of surrender that Bucky had ignored so many times. But, the voice, it sounded like the man on the bridge - maybe this was Steve? He’d take that chance.

“Steve?” Bucky tried; his voice was hoarse from disuse. That didn’t matter, however, because the figure continued their advance with their hands still outstretched.

“Yeah, it’s me,” Steve said quietly, careful to keep some distance between them. “Wh-What’re you doing here? Are you hurt?”

Bucky stared into Steve’s face and considered his answer. It wasn’t as though he was hiding his pain very well - the burn in his veins and the cramps of his stomach were making his breathing laboured, and he felt hot and cold at the same time. His vision wasn’t clear either, and he could feel the hammering beat of his heart against his ribs, and for the first time, he realised he was terrified.

“Yeah,” Bucky swallowed thickly against the bile in his throat. Something was wrong, he could feel his muscles tense unnnaturally and his skull - the thump would not fucking stop.

“Okay,” Steve started gently, pushing further into Bucky’s space and Bucky tried to not flinch away. The loss of clear vision and sluggish chain of command in his body was fraying at his already compromised nerves. “Where does it hurt, Buck? I can-”

It was sudden, that’s all Bucky knew before his eyes rolled up and to the side. The last thing he saw was Steve’s frightened expression, his mouth forming a shout Bucky would not hear.

“Bucky!”

Bucky dropped like a dead weight to the floor, and the loud clang of his metal arm against the floorboards jarred Steve into motion. “Oh, God!”

It was unlike anything Steve had seen before, but instinct kicked in well before he could let the fear take control.

Quickly, Steve pulled down a pillow from the bed and placed it under Bucky’s head in between harsh jerks of his neck. Bucky’s breathing, God, his breathing, it was ragged and the muscles of his body strained against the combat gear as he thrashed.

“I’m here, Buck,” he tried over the loud gurgles from Bucky’s throat that forced a rivulet of drool from his mouth. “It’ll be over soon.”

It was a promise he had no idea if he could keep, but dammit if it would help him keep calm as Bucky thrashed? He was going to swear to it.

Bucky’s arm twitched and the plates whirred under the strain, the worn leather of his glove almost splitting at the seams with the tension in hand until suddenly, it all stopped.

He was eerily still and quiet on the floor.

His head rested on top of the pillow where a puddle of drool had collected at his chin, and his shoulders slumped like the strings that tormented him were cut. The whirring sounds from the plates on his arm had stopped with his thrashing.

“Bucky?” Steve questioned quietly but there was no answer. “Are you-” A choking noise interrupted Steve and he panicked. “No, no, you-”

The dead weight of the former Winter Soldier was no laughing matter, and if it wasn’t for the serum, Steve would not have been able to push Bucky onto his side, and slam his palm between Bucky’s shoulders with enough force to break a ‘normal’ human’s ribs. Bucky spluttered and coughed until a hawk of spit dislodged itself from his throat and landed on the far side of the pillow.

Steve watched with an immeasurable sense of relief when Bucky inhaled a shuddery breath, exhaled with another cough, and then fell silent.

“Mother Mary, and Joseph.”

If Sam were here, he would laugh.

Bucky’s form was still limp on the floor with no signs of him stirring, so Steve - ever so carefully - placed one arm under Bucky’s knees, the other behind his shoulders, and pulled Bucky up so he could stand with him cradled to his chest.

Thankfully, Steve’s bed was not even a few steps away.

“What the hell happened to you,” Steve grunted as he lowered Bucky onto the bed. “I never thought I’d see you again, y’know.”

Steve knew Bucky wouldn’t answer, but it was all he could do to stop himself from losing his cool from seeing Bucky; the Winter Soldier, the man who not even a week ago tried to kill him, his best friend, the love of his life, in his apartment and hurting.

As though on cue, Steve’s phone rang and he hurried to answer it. Sam.

“Hey, man, where are you? Nat found a lead.” Steve could hear Nat in the background typing away quickly, and he braced himself. “Steve?”

“I need help, he,” Steve trialled off, staring at Bucky’s body lying on his bed. “He’s here, Sam.”

There was a commotion over the phone, and Nat spoke. “How hurt is he?”

“I’m not sure,” Steve moved back towards Bucky, still unconscious but breathing. “He had a fit of some kind, but I can’t-”

“He’s been without their ‘help’ for too long, you need to keep his airways clear. We’re on our way.”

Click.

“Well, that was helpful.” Steve mumbled half-heartedly.

A quiet groan made Steve jump almost a foot in the air - he hadn’t expected Bucky to come ‘round this quick. “Buck, you’re okay,” he soothed. Bucky slowly opened his eyes but did not move, from exhaustion or fear, Steve couldn’t tell - all that mattered was that he was awake, and still breathing.

His eyes were unfocused and glazed over, but he found Steve’s gaze and held it with a litany of expressions passing through them quicker than the blink of an eye. Another groan left him and his hand twitched, like he wanted to grab ahold of something.

Steve realised suddenly that Bucky was reaching for his hand that rested on the comforter.

“Here, here,” Steve whispered, quickly kneeling to the floor so he was eye level with Bucky. He offered his hand and Bucky’s own twitched again, so Steve grabbed it gently.

Bucky’s expression went from scared to content; he even managed a twitch of a smile.

“Do you remember me, Buck?” Steve asked, somewhat scared of the answer but Bucky only stayed silent, his eyes roving over Steve’s face with dulled interest. “You do, don’t you?” A squeeze of his hand was the only answer he received - but it was more than enough.

“You found your way home,” Steve said, furiously wiping his eyes at the sudden burn of tears. “They couldn’t keep you from me, could they?”

Another squeeze of his hand, and Steve smiled. Home, we’re both home.

Graphics & Header made by yours truly.

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#whumptober2022 #no.22 #withdrawal #marvel #fic #hurt/comfort #seizure fic #descriptions of illness #choking #canon divergence #bucky barnes x steve rogers #bucky x steve #stucky #stevebucky #bucky barnes fanfiction #steve rogers fancfiction #rookthorne's works #The Way Home

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