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onecanonlife · 4 years ago

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careful son (you got dreamer's plans)

Wilbur gasps back to life with mud between his fingers and rain in his eyes.

Wilbur was dead. Now, he is not. He can't say that he's particularly happy about it.

Unfortunately, the server is still as tumultuous as ever, even with Dream locked away, so it seems that his involvement in things isn't a matter of if, but when.

(Alternatively: the prodigal son returns, and a broken family finally begins to heal. If, that is, the egg doesn't get them all killed first.)

Chapter Word Count: 11,809

Chapter Warnings: swearing, manipulation, mind control, blood, violence, su.icidal ideation, panic attacks, and temporary character death

Chapter Summary: Dream’s broken out of prison.

(masterlist w/ ao3 links)

(first chapter) (previous chapter) (next chapter)

Chapter Eleven: take a drink of that promise land

His thoughts fly apart. His heart pounds in tandem with his feet. There is room for one thing in his mind and one thing only, the words curling around themselves, the end running into the beginning, and it’s Sam is dead and Dream is coming Sam is dead is dead is dead and Dream is coming Sam is dead and Dream is is is—

And under that, Sam’s words echo: As long as I live, he will never set foot outside this prison. Delivered with such confidence, meant to be a reassurance, a promise. But Sam is dead.

He bursts into the Egg’s chamber at a dead sprint. And then draws up short, eyes darting around the room. There: Puffy, arguing with Bad, Sapnap by her side. Next to Bad: Ant, Punz, Ponk. Standing back from the Egg a bit: Tommy, Tubbo, Techno, Phil, Ranboo, a measure of distance between the former two and the latter three.

But they’re all alright. None of them are bloodstained. There are no cries of pain. No clash of weapons. No eyes gone blank and empty, no items scattered across the floor to indicate a first or second death. They’re all alright, haven’t even come to blows yet, it seems, and for a moment, Wilbur is the only one in the room who knows. He is the messenger, and he must deliver the news, even though he doesn’t want to, doesn’t want to voice it, doesn’t want to make it real. It’s a crushing weight in his chest, stealing his breath, making his head spin. He holds his communicator tightly in his hand, a death grip. Checking it one last time changes nothing. The words are still there.

No one’s seen him yet.

“—did not sign up for this,” Techno is saying, an aside to Phil that he doesn’t bother to keep at a murmur. “I’m here to fight, not watch a domestic dispute. This is really awkward, Phil. They’re just screamin’ at each other.”

“Feels a bit scuffed,” Phil agrees, voice slightly distant. His eyes are fixed on the Egg, his fingers absently fiddling with his sword hilt.

“Dream’s coming,” Wilbur says.

He doesn’t say it as loudly as he intends. His voice cracks slightly on the second word. But the room goes silent, and all eyes turn to him

(and it’s a terrible imitation of things that once were, of his voice strident and powerful and his words potent and inspiring, and his speeches commanded armies, once, led people to die for him, but this is not that, and he is as much a harbinger as the crow that perches on Philza’s shoulders)

at once.

“What?” Tommy says, his voice a pale shadow.

Mutely, he holds out his communicator, as though they can read the print from this distance. But it provokes all of them into pulling out theirs, and he watches the transformation, watches the realization dawn. Watches Techno raise an eyebrow, watches Phil frown, watches Puffy’s face contort in visceral horror. Watches Tommy mouth the words to himself, disbelieving. Watches him look up, make eye contact, and there is a sheen in his eyes, a desperation for this to be untrue, and he wishes he could give him what he wants. Wishes he could say that this is some kind of prank, a joke in poor taste.

If there is anyone laughing, it isn’t him.

“Well, shit,” Phil says.

“No,” Tommy says, “no, no, no, no, no, there’s no way, the prison is supposed to be secure, there’s no way this is real, oh holy shit, holy shit what are we going to do—”

“Does this have to mean he’s out?” Tubbo asks, practically a plea. His ears have folded back, almost plastered against his skull. “There’s no way that he could still be in there? And that he just, got in a lucky shot or something?”

It’s a possibility, technically. A possibility that Sam let his guard down around the prisoner, that Dream somehow managed to overpower him, even after months in solitary confinement, muscles atrophying, managed to get one over the man armed to the teeth and wearing full netherite armor. A possibility, but not a likely one, and he knows in his heart of hearts that it isn’t true, knows that

(you looked at that mask at that blank smiling mask and you did not need to look in his eyes to know what lurked did there did not need to look to feel his gaze crawling down your back and you bloodied his nose and yet he looked on you like dirt like an insect like a puppet)

Sam would never have been so careless. If Sam is dead, has lost a life to Dream, then Dream is out.

“How could this have happened?” Puffy asks. “Sam would never have let his guard down!” There is more than fear lining her words, but Wilbur can’t pay her much attention now. Because Tommy’s breaths are coming in quick, shallow, edged with a hint of a whine, and he knows very well the beginnings of a panic attack when he sees one.

(and it was never supposed to happen to Tommy to his little brother to his baby brother and he doesn’t know if it was the war but if not the war it was everything that came after and the blame all comes circling back to him in the end)

Phil steps forward, concern written on his face, but Wilbur brushes past him.

“Tommy,” he says, and takes Tommy’s hand in his, keeping his grasp light and loose, so that Tommy can break away if he wants, “breathe with me, alright? In and out.” He breathes, loud and exaggerated, and it is a miracle that he can keep the rhythm steady when he was so scared only a moment ago, when he still is scared, when he expects footsteps to echo down the corridor at any moment, the worst nightmare become reality. But this is for Tommy, and for Tommy, he can put aside his own fears, can forget where they are and what they’re doing and push away the growing static and do what needs to be done. Do what he has promised to do.

Tommy grips his hand so hard he can almost hear his bones creaking. But gradually, he comes back, and his darting eyes focus on his face, clarity shining back through, though the fear does not dissipate.

“He is going to have to go through all of us before he gets to you,” Wilbur says lowly. Another promise. This one, he will be better about keeping to the letter. But Tommy shudders.

“That’s what I’m fucking scared of,” he says, in a voice that tries to be harsh but instead just sounds young.

(child soldiers, child soldiers, lives too short and graves too long)

“I’m not going to let anything happen,” he says, and wishes Tommy would believe him. But he cannot fault him for his lack of faith. Not after anything. Not after he’s grown so accustomed to family letting him down time and time again, not when he’s grown so accustomed to being burnt every time he extends a hand. Wilbur has wielded that fire himself. He can hear it even now, crackling around the edges of his consciousness, held at bay now only because he can see its destructiveness for what it is, can look past the horrible glory to the inglorious horror.

Or. No. That’s the Egg. The crackling is whispers.

He’d almost forgotten. He’s been focused on the other problem, almost forgetting about the first. But the Egg is here, gleaming red, pulsing, blood-drenched. He blinks, and his vision wavers, and there is blood beading on its surface like condensation, like dew, rolling down its sides and pooling beneath it. Spreading outward. Reaching for him.

People are talking. Discussing.

“He’s not going to go through all of us,” Techno is saying. “Don’t be so dramatic. He’s not that good. And he’s homeless again. I’m not goin’ down to some homeless man.”

“Do we even know that he’s coming here?” Phil asks. “He wouldn’t have any way of knowing where we are, right?”

Bad is soaked in it, soaked in the blood, and Ant, and Punz, and Ponk are soaked in it, and it is creeping up onto everyone else, staining their trousers, and he can hear the whispers, can hear the promises, can hear it again he can hear it again—

Sing blood, sing fire, it says to him, sing a requiem, sing of sleep, sing of what you want, if only you choose, if only you give in, I can give you all you’ve wanted, I can fulfill your dreams, and you ran once but you have returned to me now and I am in your blood and so is the fire and so is the void and you cannot deny yourself for long, gunpowder child.

(please not again please not again please no he won’t he won’t he won’t)

Tommy yanks on his arm.

“Wilbur,” he hisses.

(it asked you to hurt Tommy it asked you once and it will ask you again stop listening to it stop stop stop)

He blinks again, and the blood is gone, though the room is still bathed in red, from the egg and from the lava. Tommy is pressing something into his hand, a bottle of holy water, and Wilbur takes it with only a second of hesitation. The water goes down cool and fresh, and his mind clears. Not all the way. But enough. The whispers dissipate back into the static, indistinguishable from white noise.

“Sorry,” he says.

“Just keep your head on straight, big man,” Tubbo says, and—oh, it’s Tubbo who gave him the water. Tommy’s still holding his hand, but Tubbo’s pressed close to both of them, and whether he’s looking to protect or to be protected, Wilbur doesn’t know. Perhaps both.

“So obviously, this changes things,” Ant is saying, slow and considering.

“Does it?” Puffy asks.

“Of course,” Bad says. “We think that Dream should be in prison just as much as you do. He did bad things. He should be locked up.” He pauses, tilting his head, and Wilbur thinks that this is the most like the old Bad that he’s sounded. “So, how about we have a truce? We work together to take care of this, and maybe you’ll see how much the Egg can help, and then we won’t have to fight at all!”

“Right, because teaming with the people we were about to commit extreme violence against five minutes ago is a great plan,” Techno says. “I don’t see what could go wrong with that at all.”

Wilbur’s glad he said it. He understands the idea, of course, understands the concept of the enemy of my enemy is my friend, but he cannot work with those he does not trust, and he does not trust Bad or Ant or Punz not to stick a blade in his back as soon as he dares to turn it. Wouldn’t, even if there weren’t a mind control egg involved, even if they didn’t follow the very thing that has attempted to coerce him into betraying the only thing left he holds dear, the only people. Even if he still didn’t feel the thing sticking its tendrils into his mind, trying to find purchase.

He takes another swig of water. Tries to loosen his grip on the neck of the bottle, and fails.

“I don’t know that we have a choice,” Puffy says. Her shoulders slump. “If Dream is coming, we can’t be fighting among ourselves. We have to present a united front. Anything less, and he’ll walk all over us.” Her face is tight, but there is no real fear in it. Just pain. Perhaps regret.

(and you know that face you have seen it before that is the face of a parent who believes they have failed their child their light their beloved gone wrong and snuffed out and unrecognizable and they wonder if they could have stopped it and do not know which answer would be worse)

And as if the words are a summons, there are footsteps.

Footsteps. Unhurried, casual. Echoing down the corridor, loud as drumbeats, loud as a death knell. Footsteps, and the room goes quiet, unnaturally so. The Egg, that constant hum, stops, and that is the most terrifying thing of all. The world balances on the edge of a coin, teetering, ready to fall one way or the other. An anvil hangs overhead, waiting for the lever to be pulled, an anvil if the anvil knew the taste of blood and longed for it. An anvil if the anvil delighted in the death it caused.

(that day is blurry and out of focus, all its darkest implications slipping from Ghostbur’s memories like butter. he remembers showing Friend to Techno. and he remembers a flash of gold, brilliant and consuming and orienting the sky on a new axis. was the idea planted then, he wonders? the possibility that Ghostbur sought out so ardently? trade a ghost for a villain and try not to count too dearly the cost?)

“Shit,” Phil mutters, and just like that, everyone in the room takes on a defensive position, eyes trained on the entrance, half-hidden by vines as it is. Phil and Techno shift closer together, in sync as they always are. The Egg’s cohorts bunch up together. Sapnap strides forward a few paces, standing just a bit in front of everyone else, and no one moves to stop him, not with the scowl his lips are twisted into, not with the ready way he holds his sword.

(he is coming he is coming dark and twisted the poison at the core and you are all out of time)

Wilbur places himself between the entrance and the boys. It probably says something that they don’t try to stop him, that Tommy doesn’t call him out for babying him, that Tubbo doesn’t protest.

The sword falls into his hand. He hates

(himself, what he can do with it, but he has no crossbow so he must carry something and this sword is what he has even if he doesn’t want it but he doesn’t have a choice in the matter and self-loathing is thick in the back of his throat)

it, but he can use it, and that’s what matters most. Has always been what matters most, ever since the day he left home, guitar strapped to his back and songs on his lips and eyes still bright and curious, not jaded and dull as he knows they are now. He could use a sword, then, of course; Philza would never have allowed him to leave without the ability to defend himself. But it did not call to him, and it does not call to him now,

(but there is only one thing that calls to him now)

but there is no longer any room to worry about callings. The dog days are over, and he has been a general, and he has been a president, and he has been a traitor, and he has been a villain, and now, he will settle for being a protector. If just this once.

Dream steps into view.

It has always been odd, the power that he holds to command a room. Part of Wilbur knows that it is more their fault than anything; he can command a room because they give him the power to do so, because even after all this time, they still fear him. But Dream steps into view, and he cannot tear his eyes away, even though Dream is only a skinny man in a hoodie and a smiling mask that a five-year-old could have drawn.

It is something in his bearing, perhaps. The way his head is held high even after weeks of imprisonment. The way he strides forward, confident even though he is far outnumbered. The way his actual mouth, just barely visible under the edge of his mask, curls up in a smirk.

(you look at him and he is wrong he is wrong watch the shadows watch what dogs his steps do you see it you must see it)

Or perhaps it is the blood that stains his hands. It glints in the lava light, tacky, not yet dry.

“Hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long,” he says. Too calm. Too even.

“Shit off,” Tommy says, and Dream’s gaze snaps to him.

“Oh, come on now,” he says. “Don’t be like that, Tommy. After all the fun we had together? I had to work hard to make this little visit happen, you know. I’d think you’d be a little more thankful.”

“Okayyy—”

“You’ve got no right to—”

“Oi, you can’t just—”

“Don’t you fucking talk to him—”

“Yeah, I have to say, that’s pretty cringe of you—”

The chorus of voices that comes to Tommy’s defense, including his own, is gratifying. And it seems to bolster Tommy’s spirits, too, makes him stand just a bit taller, defiance flashing in his eyes. But then, one rises above the rest, and Sapnap takes a few steps forward, holding his own sword steadily out in front of him.

“This is the only warning you’re going to get, Dream,” he states. “Go back to the prison, now.”

Dream laughs.

(a laugh, not a wheeze, and that tea-kettle whistle is a distant memory, belonging to brighter days when no storms brewed on the horizon and all of them were friends and the war was a game, once, before it was real)

“Are you threatening me, Sapnap?” he asks, voice light. “What do you think you’re going to be able to do?”

“You know I am,” Sapnap replies, still steady. “I’m sure you’ll take down a few of us. But not all of us. Not all at once. We united against you before, and we’re going to do it again. You remember what happened last time, right? And I’m not holding back, Dream. I’ve told you. I don’t know who you are anymore. So, last chance. Go back to the prison, now, and we won’t have to do it the hard way. And I won’t have to try and take your final life.”

Dream cocks his head, as if he’s actually considering it.

“You say that as if you think I didn’t know you were all here,” he says. “Like I didn’t know exactly what I was doing. Think I’m going to have to take a hard pass on that one. If you want me back in the prison, you’re going to have to kill me first.”

A flurry of motion. Sapnap swings, and he is no Technoblade but he no amateur, either, and there is power and speed behind his blow, and Dream just stands there. Unmoving. Puffy shouts. Dream still doesn’t stir, and Wilbur feels like he’s watching in slow motion as the blade approaches Dream’s chest, and it can’t be this easy, he wouldn’t just stand there and take it, not when he’s down to only one life, so what is he—

And then, at the last second: Dream’s hand darts out, lighting fast, grips Sapnap’s wrist, and tugs him forward. Sapnap stumbles, off-balance, crashes against Dream, swing going wide, and before he can recover, Dream isn’t there anymore. It’s like he was never there in the first place; it’s just Sapnap, two steps away from losing his balance completely, though he recovers, looking around wildly.

What—

“The thing is, it was interesting at first,” Dream says, and his voice is coming from somewhere else, is coming from behind them, and Wilbur wheels, pushing himself between Tommy and Tubbo and positioning himself in front of both of them, arms outstretched to shield them, perhaps, or to keep them back.

(there is something so very wrong here and if he cannot see what then he will do this much, and if it his life for theirs, so be it)

Dream’s sitting on the Egg. Criss-cross, hands in his lap, swaying side to side slightly. Even the visible parts of his face are cast in shadow, and his mask gleams in the red light.

“Hey, don’t—Dream. Get down from there,” Bad says. Like a parent admonishing a child.

“The prison, I mean,” Dream says. “I didn’t see it coming. I was pretty mad about it at first, but I mean, I can adapt to things. So I thought I’d see how it turned out.” He sighs. “But I’m done playing games now.”

“What the shit,” Tommy murmurs, behind him, “what the shit is he talking about, how the fuck did he get up there—”

“It’s been fun,” Dream continues. “A lot of you break the rules a lot, but I can do that, too, so it was fine. It’s been a good game. But you know, there comes a time when even the best games come to an end. You decide to go for checkmate. Or you run out of cards.”

A jolt runs down Wilbur’s spine. He knows, knows without any way to know, really, that Dream is looking at him.

(his gaze on you is like stinging hornets is like oil poured over your head and down your throat is like a black hole opening in your chest and the black hole watches and cares nothing for your life it is not in the nature of a black hole to care)

“And I have to say,” Dream says, “you guys are kind of irritating. You and your prisons and your rules and your hypocrisy, all of you. I wanted to unite the server, once, and I guess I did that. It was kind of nice to see, in a way, all of you coming together against me. But it’s all fake, in the end. All of it. You play nice with each other on the surface and turn around and stab each other in the backs. This server’s turned into something awful, and it’s your faults.”

“I am about ninety percent certain that’s not accurate,” Techno says.

“Yeah, what the fuck?” Tommy bites out. “You’re the issue here, you bastard. Everything was good until you decided to, to fuck us all over. We’d all be fine and dandy if we’d never met you.”

Wilbur opens his mouth to agree and then

(remembers ravines dark and deep and buttons upon buttons upon buttons and Dream gave him the means but he stood in that room and made the decision himself and he cannot assign more blame than exists, cannot say that Dream is the only thing wrong with this server, cannot say that he, too, does not trail devastation in his wake)

shuts it again.

“You can think what you want,” Dream says amiably. “I don’t really care. Like I said, I’m done playing. I just don’t know how you can call me the villain when half the people here have blown up a country.”

“An interesting line from the man with literal blood caking his hands,” Wilbur says. The words come out soft, but they echo like a gunshot. He’s not sure where they came from, but he knows he’s not wrong. He can’t stop staring, can’t stop thinking about it. He’s seen plenty of blood in his life, has been covered in more than his fair share of it, but given the circumstances, there’s only one person that blood can belong to.

He wonders how much it hurt. If Sam was scared.

(he had all three lives as far as he knows, so he’ll be fine, but fine is miles from good, and Wilbur remembers the first he lost, remembers the pain and the shock and the betrayal and the terror, not just for himself but for the comrades, for the family he dragged down with him, dragged into a traitor’s trap, and how must the warden have felt, dying with the knowledge that he failed in his charge?)

“Are you sure I’m the only one?” Dream returns, just as softly, and Wilbur doesn’t know what the fuck he’s trying to get at, except he’s bowled over by a sudden, irrational fear that there is blood on his hands, that he’s been dripping with it this whole time and didn’t know it, and there is panic and there is static and the Egg is humming and crooning of blood and decay and the desire to be fed, and he can’t stop himself from looking.

His hands are clean. But they don’t feel it. They itch, like a thousand ants, like a dozen layers of mud caked dry and crackling.

“Leave him be, Dream,” Phil says, overlapping with Tommy’s much louder, “Shut the fuck up!”

Wilbur swallows dryly. Downs another sip of holy water. It makes him feel better, though only marginally. There’s not much left in the flask.

“I really think you should get down from the Egg, Dream,” Bad says, slightly more severely than last time. So, a mildly more disappointed parent.

(it occurs to him then: someone should shoot him. he’s unarmored, no weapon in his hand, a sitting duck. someone should shoot him, should take care of the problem right now, while they can, while the opportunity is there, before Dream pulls whatever he’s sure to be planning. so why haven’t they?)

Dream stays silent for a moment.

“I don’t think I will,” he says. “I like it a lot.”

His blood runs cold.

(no)

No.

(but you know the feeling of its claws in your mind slimy and prying and seeking and you know the feeling of Dream’s gaze on your face suffocating and slick and they are similar so very similar they are two of a kind two of a pair so it makes sense but it doesn’t all the same and there is something still that you do not know)

Hello, the Egg croons, hello divine blood corrupted, hello to my brethren, hello to the void that seeps in the cracks, hello to the creature you are now and goodbye to the weakling you were, soft and caring and despicable, and we can do great things together, you and I.

He looks around wildly. No one else seems to hear it. But he’s certain it wasn’t directed at him.

“So, here’s what’s going to happen,” Dream says. “I’m going to keep sitting up here. And you guys have two choices. You can give in to the Egg. Join it. That’d be fine. If you don’t, they’re going to kill you, and I’m going to help.” He tilts his head upward, and his own smile becomes visible, wide and toothy. “You like those odds better, Sapnap? You think I can take out more than a few of you now?”

For a moment, Wilbur allows himself to hope that Bad won’t go along with it. That the desire to see Dream put away will overpower the Egg’s directives, whatever they are. But Bad’s expression goes from doubtful to considering to determined, and the red of the room deepens, becomes more vibrant, pulses with a steady beat, with a hum that sounds like victory and power and a thousand dissonant voices calling for blood.

The Egg has accepted the offer. Has welcomed Dream into the fold. They will find no ally in Badboyhalo. No ally in Antfrost, Ponk, Punz.

(the fold is the wrong word. Dream is still separate. somehow, inextricably, he knows that this is an alliance of equals, that Dream has surrendered nothing and gained everything)

(do you begin to see on some level you already know)

An arrow slices through the air. Dream jerks to the side. Its barbed head slices open the sleeve of his hoodie, but draws no blood. A second later, and it would have.

“Fuck that,” Sapnap says. “And fuck you.”

It’s as if it’s a signal. Phil laughs, no mirth in it, the Angel of Death at the surface. He grips his own sword tighter, and behind him, Tommy and Tubbo are shifting, their breaths coming quicker with the anticipation, with the promise of a fight. Their blood runs hot, and they are still afraid, he knows, but they have allies by their side, and that makes all the difference, and six versus six

(is it six versus six? where is he getting those numbers from? those aren’t the numbers from where he’s standing)

is terrible odds when Dream is on the opposing side, but they have the Blood God and the Angel of Death and they will all of them fight to the end, and he was too quick, maybe, to give in to despair, to fear.

(but his mind is still screaming that something is wrong something is wrong)

The Egg’s lackeys stand at the ready. Any second, now, any second—

Blood, the Egg sings, there must be blood and I shall drink of their veins, and we shall drink together, you and I, and what is in me is also in you, and you are not of me but you are greater than yourself, and they are all yours for the taking, are ours for the unmaking.

Dream laughs. Not in submission, but in agreement.

And like a lightning flash, Wilbur understands.

“You’re the same,” he says, and just like that, the momentum of the room is arrested, all attention back on him once again. He doesn’t know what’s going to come out of his mouth until he speaks, but the words ring true. He looks at Dream, perched atop the Egg like a demented kind of bird, and understands that something, intrinsically, about them is the same.

Dream grins. Rises to his feet with a jump, balancing easily on the domed surface.

“You’re starting to get it,” Dream says. “I wondered if you would, Wilbur. We come from the same kind of place, all of us. You know what the void is like. You’re not quite like me, but you know what it’s like, to have something whispering in your head.” His grin widens further. Wilbur blinks, once, a sudden irritation in his eyes, and when he looks again, the smile on his mask is wider, too. More crooked. Has it been that way all along?

Another two arrows. One from Sapnap, one from Puffy, now, slightly off target. He dodges both easily.

“I tried to fight at first,” Dream says. “But it turns out it was right all along. I’m greater now than I ever was before.” He pauses, tilting his head, and when he speaks again, it is thick with condescension. “If it’s any consolation, Tubbo, you tried your best. Not your fault you didn’t have a clue what you were doing. Once you let something in, there’s no going back.”

He dares a glance around the room. There’s confusion, irritation, no understanding. He has no idea what Dream’s referencing, knows only that something dreadful is within him, and with that comes the thought that he cannot possibly be human, and that they have never understood the first thing about him this whole time. But Tubbo jolts, goes pale, takes a step back.

“Wait—” he says, “no, what are you—are you saying—but we got rid of it, we got rid of it—”

“Tubbo, what the fuck is he on about now?” Tommy demands, but Tubbo just shakes his head. Rapidly, panicked, and then there is no more time for explanations, because the Egg’s voice rings out in his head once again, a wash of red takes over his vision, and the world tilts, and it is more than just the Egg, it is the Egg and something else, something deeper rooted, something more toxic, something that permeates the air and the water of this server, something sickly and creeping and dark and powerful, something that says you are all mine my puppets my own to dispose of and I will have you.

(you see it now, too late)

By the time he can make sense of things again, he’s on his knees, his hands clutching his hair, and there’s so much noise, so much noise all around him, and he’s lost time, he must have lost time, because everyone’s fighting, finally, the strange tension that held the room in sway broken at last. But his head spins, and he can’t keep track of where everyone is, the combat nothing but blurs of motion between the red hanging vines.

Dream’s still on the Egg. That much he can tell.

(it was a signal a command a directive and you heard it but did not follow you did not follow you will not follow it brought you to your knees but you will not follow)

“—come on Wil, don’t do this again, not again, please,” Tommy is saying, and Tubbo is holding him by the shoulder, keeping him upright, and he didn’t mean to collapse, hates that he’s apparently so susceptible to this, but if there is a silver lining it is in that it has kept his boys by his side, not in that mess, people clashing together with movements that are difficult to track with pounding head and stinging eyes.

He fumbles for the holy water and comes up empty. Nothing left.

“I’m with you,” he manages. “Sorry. Egg was being shouty. Not fun.”

“Oh, well, if it’s not fun,” Tommy says, visibly relieved, and his attention moves from him to track the battle. It must make more sense to him than it does to Wilbur at the moment, because he frowns. “Stupid fucking Eggers aren’t letting anyone get to Dream. Wish we could kill the fuckers. That’d make it easier.”

“Sapnap keeps firing off shots when he can, but he keeps dodging,” Tubbo adds. “It’s only been a minute. We were gonna join in, but we didn’t want to leave you alone.”

“Okay,” he says. “That’s—okay, that’s good.” Now that they’ve said it, he can pick out the combat easier. Bad’s fighting Phil and holding his own, Punz and Ponk are keeping Puffy and Sapnap busy, Antfrost is barely fending off Techno, and Dream’s overseeing it all from on high, making no moves to join in. They sit in an oasis in the midst of it all, no one seeming to pay them much mind. He’ll take the reprieve while he can get it. “Tubbo, what was he talking about?”

“I don’t—” Tubbo’s face twists. “I don’t know how you picked up on it. But months and months ago, Dream was possessed by a demon. A dreamon, we called it. But we got rid of it. Me and Fundy. We exorcised him for sure. And he’s not, he’s not acting like he did when that was going on, it was so obvious back then, like, his voice was all weird and deep and doubly—”

“Okay, okay, we can figure it out later,” he says. “We can—”

Demons. Dreamons. What the fuck?

(Dream might be possessed but that doesn’t sound right, doesn’t feel right, but it would account for the oil slick gaze and the way the darkness gathers, the shivers down his spine whenever he looks at him, but it’s not quite right, but if Dream is a demon and he and the Egg are the same then what does that make the Egg and none of this makes sense at all)

(he misses the days when the worst they had to worry about was Sapnap trying to arrest them for starting a drug van)

As he looks on, Techno shoves Ant in Phil’s direction, and Phil takes on a second opponent easily, the two of them as in sync as they always are. Phil holds all of Ant’s attention, leaving Techno free to pivot toward the Egg, and the man who still stands there. He holds out his sword, points it at him, a threat, an invitation, made easily as breathing, and Wilbur is reminded that Techno has fought Dream before, many times.

“Has prison made you a coward, Dream?” Techno asks, an obvious taunt, and Dream holds himself very still for a moment before laughing, short and sharp. An axe drops into his hand—and when did he find the time to get that?—and he springs forward, rearing back to strike a blow. It’s like

(it is)

watching a clash of gods,

(and how is Dream so strong after so long locked away?)

and the sound of metal on metal rings out as their weapons connect. Techno grins, fierce and wild, and Wilbur doesn’t have to be able to hear them to know what his voices are chanting.

(blood for the blood god)

And then: a realization.

The Egg is unguarded.

Dream is occupied with Techno, now. Bad and Ant are on Phil, Ponk and Punz on Puffy and Sapnap, and the fighting is spread throughout the room, but centered in the middle, where everyone has the most space to move. The Egg is unguarded, and the three of them have been left out, so perhaps they can still do what they set out to do.

His eyes trace the room. If they hug the wall, they can make it to the corner without attracting too much attention, hopefully. They can—

What is Ranboo doing?

He’d forgotten he was here, honestly. He’s been so quiet, so still. He’s hovering by the wall, hands clenching and unclenching, but other than that, he is unmoving, and he doesn’t seem to be tracking the fight. His eyes stare straight ahead, glazed, and this is something they can’t afford. He’s not sure why Ranboo came in the first place, but he’s a sitting duck where he is right now, and all it will take is one of their enemies seeing the state he’s in before he gets used against them.

Alright. They can do this. Alright.

“Open season on the Egg,” he murmurs, meeting Tommy’s eyes, then Tubbo. He keeps his voice low, inaudible to anyone else. Hopefully. “We creep around the side. Grab your friend along the way.” He jerks his head toward Ranboo, and they both understand what he means immediately. He redistributes his weight and stands, and counts it as a win that the wave of dizziness only lasts a moment. He gestures for them to follow him, and starts picking his way through the vines, keeping his movements as soundless as he possibly can. The noises of battle will work in their favor, that way.

Ranboo doesn’t react to their approach. Wilbur has seen states sort of like this before, has seen people caught up in flashbacks, dead to the world around them, so perhaps that’s what this is. But if that is the case, it’s odd that his face is so blank, that there is no expression there at all, that whatever he is seeing, he is barely reacting to it.

“He sleepwalks,” Tubbo whispers. “He told me. He might be sleepwalking.”

“He—” Okay. Okay, this is fine. “Alright, one of you two grab him. We’re not going to leave him here like this.”

Tubbo grabs his hand instantly, barely waiting for him to finish speaking. Tommy rolls his eyes. Wilbur glances back and forth between the three of them, then turns his back and presses on, inching his way along the outskirts of the room. No one takes notice of them, no one seems to realize what they’re up to, and even the Egg itself doesn’t seem to pay much mind; its hum remains constant, a continuous presence that neither wanes nor waxes.

And then, they’re crouching behind it. Tubbo tugs on Ranboo’s arm, and he sits with them, still absent.

“Alright, big man,” Tommy says. “We just gonna stab it to death? I think we should stab it to death.”

“It’s probably the first thing to try,” he concedes. He peers around its thick shell; the fights so far are inconclusive. Techno’s taken a scratch to his cheek, Dream a slice along his forearm. He doesn’t know how much time they have, and up close, the Egg’s shell is thick, hard. Even a netherite sword is going to need some heavy leverage behind it if it’s going to pierce through, and being this close to the thing makes his head swim, even when it’s not talking directly to him.

“Okay,” he says, and places one heel against a vine behind him, bracing himself. The sword feels unwieldy in his hand, awkward and too heavy, but it’s not as if the Egg will be hitting back. Strength is what he needs here, not finesse.

He brings his arm back, and then—

Weary son, restless son, it croons, its voice scraping against the insides of his skull, you needn’t fight me, wandering son, you only fight yourself and why fight when you can have what you want, that deep sleep, unending peace, the void still calls to you, calls of a world black and unending and eternal, and I can return you there, and you can lay down your steel at last, lay down your iron, lay down your arms at last and only sleep.

He wavers. But—

“Get out of my head,” he grits out, and the other two suddenly look very alarmed. “Shut up, get out, I know your games now, and I’m not falling for them again. Get the fuck out.” But though his voice is angry, it is weak, thin, threaded with pain, and his brothers can hear it, and he knows the Egg can feel it, knows the Egg can burrow inside of him and stick itself into all of the unstable places, all of the hollows in his heart, and tease out temptation.

(but he’s made a promise)

He inhales. Prepares himself again.

If not you then it will be him, it says, and he freezes, that darling boy of yours, golden haired sunshine gone limp and dead and eyes dull and blank and rotting in his skull, if it is not you then it will be him, if I cannot have you then I will have him, we will have him, for he does not hear my voice so he must die, and his blood will nourish my roots and I will grow strong on his life, I will kill him if you let me, and will you let me, blood child, child of death, shall you allow me my due?

“Shut up,” he whispers. “Shut up, stop, I won’t—I won’t let that happen. Shut up.”

“Wil,” Tommy says, “Wil, here, let me, let me do it, okay?” And Tommy’s hand is on his, gently lowering his sword arm, and then he steps forward, his own blade raised defiantly. “Take this, omelet bitch!”

I will kill him, I will do it now!

“Wait, Tommy, wait—”

Tommy drives his sword against the Egg’s shell, and two things happen. The first is that the blade skids off against it, leaving a slight dent, perhaps, but no more than that. And the second is that Tommy goes pale, doubles over, and wraps his free hand around his stomach, wheezing, eyes bugging out of his skull.

“Holy shit,” he gasps, “holy shit, that hurt, what the hell—”

“Tommy?” Tubbo demands. “Tommy, what is it, what did it do?”

“It hurt me,” Tommy says, like he can’t quite believe it. He straightens, some of the color slowly returning to his face. “The bastard hurt me. It was like, like fucking fire in my chest or some shit, what the hell?”

“It said it was going to kill you,” Wilbur whispers. “That’s what it said to me.”

“Oh.” Tommy stares at him. “Well, um, it didn’t. Obviously. Still kicking.”

“But it will,” he says. “That’s why it didn’t bother to try and stop us coming up here. That’s why none of the Eggers care. That’s why Dream felt alright leaving it alone. If we try to hurt it, it can hurt us back. Physically.”

They stay silent for a moment.

“Well, shit,” Tubbo says. “What are we supposed to do now, then?”

He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know. The entire plan revolved around them being able to destroy the Egg. They thought that the people under its control would be the worst problem. And then Dream came along, and that was out the window, but he thought—he thought that he could make sure that this was worth something, that this would bear some fruit, even if they’d have to deal with an even bigger problem afterward. But now, it’s all fallen apart, and the room is still full of the sound of fighting, and what are they fighting for, if they’re not going to be able to accomplish anything without—

I shall spare him if you give in, if you let yourself go, I shall give you peace and keep it from him, my ally wants him alive and I can make concessions, I can be generous, so I put it on your shoulders and the choice is yours, child of—

“Shut up,” he screams, hoarse and jagged, and the red in his vision now is anger, pure and undiluted, and the sudden surge of strength does not feel like his own, and the movement he makes does not feel like his own, because it is impulsive and ill-conceived, but he drives his own weapon into the Egg’s bulk, and understands only moments later what Tommy was talking about, because all the breath leaves his lungs at once, and his chest is set aflame, like there is fire

(fire all around him, fire, fire, fire, beautiful and fitting, fitting that it should end this way, in this utter annihilation of one of his greatest creating, a torch taken to his legacy, and he set down the pitch himself)

racing across his skin and in his heart, in his heart, and his heartbeat stutters, and then just as quickly as the sensation began, it ends, and he is left winded, exhausted, unsteady.

“Oh my god—”

“You stupid asshole, why would you—”

“Sorry,” he manages. “Sorry, it just, it pissed me off. You hear that?” He turns toward it. “You’re pissing me off, you great breakfast food. You are a terrible buffoon, and I hate you.”

You cannot hold out forever, void child.

He winces, bringing a hand up to his forehead. But he glares.

“We’ll see about that,” he states.

And then it all goes to shit. Even more than it’s gone to shit already. Because Dream is still fighting with Techno, and Wilbur hasn’t been paying attention to them for the past few minutes, but they both still seem to be going strong, and his attention is brought back to them by Dream calling out—

“I think I’ll call in that favor, Technoblade!”

And Tommy says—

“Oh, fuck no.”

And Tubbo swears, soft and vehement, and Wilbur is confused, because since when does Techno owe Dream a favor? How would he allow himself to be indebted to the man in the first place?

(another remembrance: following the flash of gold, following the fighting that he paid no attention to at all, because he had Friend and how exciting it was, to have a blue sheep, a blue sheep who he loved very much, who he could show everyone and perhaps make them happier because who wouldn’t love Friend immediately upon seeing them, but on the edge of the square there is a figure cloaked in green)

“Oh yeah?” Techno asks. He sounds unconcerned, but that’s just Technoblade. He takes a step back, disengaging from their fight, and Dram does the same, twirling his axe in his hand. “I’d be careful with that. You never know when I might inexplicably go deaf.”

“You can’t avoid it when I’m right in front of you,” Dream says.

“You’re underestimatin’ my powers of—”

“Listen to the Egg, Technoblade,” Dream says. “That’s the favor. Just stand there for a minute and listen to it. Let it really get to you. Let it sink in. You like blood, right? The Egg likes blood, too.” He shrugs, infuriatingly casual. “A bit messy for my taste, but whatever works, right? I don’t mind getting my hands a little dirty if I have to. We’re the same, in that way, you know.”

“Oh, fuck no,” Tommy says again, and then he’s starting forward, and Wilbur barely catches him by the shoulder in time. He doesn’t want him near Dream. He doesn’t want either of them near Dream. And Dream has to have something up his sleeve, with the way he’s brought this up so suddenly.

(the air feels electric, feels like something is awaited, feels like something is building, building to a breaking point, and he doesn’t want to know what is about to shatter)

“Wait,” he hisses, and Tommy glares, but he ignores him, taking in the battlefield again. Nothing has changed since last he checked, since before they hunkered down in this corner, by the Egg, and that is what is wrong here. It’s all too neat. Sapnap and Puffy have their fight, nicely contained, and Phil has his, and Techno his, and no one has dealt any serious damage against anyone else, and he knows that their side is constrained by not wanting to seriously injure anyone who is currently being mind controlled, but what is holding back the other side?

It is all too neat in a way that battles never are, because the first rule of combat is to keep your head, the second is not to drop your weapon, and the third is that no plan survives combat with the enemy. And yet, here they are, all opponents evenly matched, no side winning, and where is the chaos, the bloodshed?

If there is no chaos yet, it is because it has yet to be unleashed.

“I mean, I hear it,” Techno says, and has it been a minute? Surely not. Tommy and Tubbo have both gone tense. Ranboo is still crouching, right where Tubbo put him. He doesn’t know if that’s typical behavior of sleepwalkers. He doesn’t have time to think about it right now. Because Dream told Techno to listen to the Egg, and it’s a favor, and Techno always honors favors, no matter what, so he’s doing it, he’s listening to it, and somehow, that’s not what he’s most worried about,

(because there is something holding its breath, a leashed tension, a match held loosely, about to drop, and it’s been growing all this time but he senses it only now, only here, only watching his brother face down a nightmare forty paces away, and he thinks he hears the Egg in his mind and he thinks it sounds smug)

“But I hear a lot of voices,” Techno finishes. “Can’t say I find this one very compelling.”

(it should be a relief, a relief, a relief to know that the Egg will not take its red and shove it into Techno’s mind, that he will not look into his eyes and find a monster in his place, but his heart races and something is building, building, building, and there is no way that Dream staked everything on this play, on bringing Techno to his side, so what is the plan here, what is his plan?)

“I wondered if you might say something like that,” Dream says. He doesn’t sound at all like someone whose plans have just been foiled, who has just wasted a favor from the strongest fighter on the server. “I had to try, you understand.”

“Of course,” Technoblade says.

(there is a dam and the dam)

He feels it, then, and he thinks everyone else does too, and Tommy and Tubbo press against him, hands gripping each other for balance as the two of a kind united now and I lend my power to you and together you will succumb or you will perish and I no longer care for which you have spurned me for the last time locked me away and stripped me of the power that is mine and I reclaim it now and our power united united now my strength to yours revenge is sweetest when it is hot and the blood is fresh.

(bursts)

The vines.

The vines on the ground twitch. The vines hanging down sway. He moves his foot as the vine nearest to him spasms like a dying animal.

“What the fuck,” Tommy whispers.

A shout crawls up his throat. It dies on his lips.

It happens too quickly to process.

One moment, Techno is standing there, and the next, there is a red vine around his neck, and the crack should not echo through the room as it does, but it is all Wilbur can hear. All Wilbur can see. One of Techno’s hands comes up, and then it falls limp. His body goes slack, held up by the vine and the vine only, the vine still encircling his neck, the vine that digs into the skin under his helmet, the vine that—

That can’t—

That can’t be—

Technoblade never—

He doesn’t—

And then, before he has time to understand at all, before his mind can shake off the numbness that’s taken him, the complete and utter lack of comprehension, the ringing in his ears that is, oddly, interspersed with an enderman’s distressed warble, before he can come out of it—the world explodes in a brilliant flare of light, golden and pure, a rush of energy that sings of the universe, that sings of life and renewal and second chances, a soul tethered, kept back, returned, re-tuned, and for a split second, he is floating in the void again as the fabric of reality shifts, as the light dances, as the rules are rewritten, and he can see everything, and he is one with the universe and the universe is with him and there are hundreds of thousands of voices chanting—

“Technoblade never dies!” Techno crows, and the golden light of the totem flickers and dances in his eyes, visible even from here, and Techno is sure to feel that later, when his adrenaline comes crashing down. But for now, the laugh that springs from Wilbur’s lips is giddy and relieved and joyful all at once, and the grief that barely had a chance to gather at all dissipates like smoke in the wind.

“How many of those things do you have?” Tubbo yells, right in his ear, and then Phil laughs too, and he brings his sword hilt down on Bad’s, and Bad’s own weapon skitters across the floor and Phil wheels on Ant in the next motion, and Ponk and Punz are being pushed back, and Techno swirls his sword again and leaps for Dream, and suddenly it’s like the tide is turning, like maybe they can win the day and they’ll have time to work out the rest, except then Tubbo shouts again, a warning this time, but there is no time to move before a vine rips the others from him and he is slammed against the surface of the Egg, hard, and—

He can—

He—

(it’s on him it’s on him get it off get it off off off off off off off)

(it’s trying to consume him trying to take in all that he is and spit out nothing not even the bones and if he lets it there will be nothing left of him if he lets it and he fights he struggles and it’s on him and trying to cover him and blood is dripping over him and he can’t breathe he can’t breathe he opens his mouth and the blood pours in and he thrashes but its grip is inescapable and he’s panicking and he can’t he can’t he doesn’t want no rest is worth this)

And then hands are on him, pulling him forward, two pairs, and he opens his eyes, not realizing he’d closed them, and he lets himself be tugged away, his lungs inflating, and he expects to see Tommy and Tubbo, but it is Tommy and Ranboo, and Tubbo is hacking away at the vines that attacked him, that slammed him against the thing that tried to—

“Wilbur!” Tommy is shouting in his face. “Wilbur, don’t be an Egghead, don’t, don’t let it fucking eat you, you—”

“It wasn’t my idea,” he gasps out.

“Oh, good, you’re okay,” Ranboo says, perhaps a little hysterically, but there’s no time to calm him down, no time to puzzle over why he’s suddenly awake. “I’ve got no idea what’s going on. Why’s Dream out?” His voice is about an octave higher than Wilbur remembers it being, but at least he’s functional.

“We don’t know,” he says. “We’re dealing with it. Well. Dealing with it. Sort of. Everything’s gone a bit shit. Did you know you weren’t awake?”

“I mean, it happens,” Ranboo says. “I never know at the time. That’s not, um, that’s not how it works? I’m sorry?”

“No time, boys,” Tommy says. “We have, we have so many problems right now.”

The vines writhe, twist, lash out, and it is not all of them, not nearly all of them, because if it were all of them, they would be shredded like mincemeat, but it is more than enough to be a major issue, because suddenly, everyone has to focus on their foes and foliage all at once, and Techno and Phil seem alright, but Puffy and Sapnap begin to struggle under the onslaught, and they’re not going to win this. These vines attack with purpose, with blood lust, and they are seeking their deaths and they need to go. They need to cut their losses, as much as it stings, before someone who doesn’t have a totem loses a life.

(it burns the general in you to retreat now because there is always some part of you that will think in terms of tactical sacrifices and acceptable losses but there is also a part of you that can see when a battle is beyond its turning point and this battle is far past that and it was not in your favor so it is time to sound the horn time to perform an about-face and try not to be burned too badly in the leaving)

“We need to go!” Puffy calls, as if she’s read his mind. “We need to go right now!” She and Sapnap start to back slowly toward the entrance, covering each other as best they can with Ponk and Punz and fucking plants all after them.

“Wait, what? We can’t just—” Tommy starts, but he shakes his head, cutting him off.

“She’s right,” he says. “We stay here, and someone’s going to die. For real. And I’m not going to let that be you or Tubbo.” Tommy’s expression sets into something mulish, but he continues. “We’re not fighting anyone, we just have to make it to the exit. We all cover each other’s backs, and keep an eye out for the viney shit. Nobody’s losing a life to plants today.”

He doesn’t intend to use the old general’s voice, but Tommy and Tubbo both straighten, soldiers called to their posts, and he knows he can trust them in this, at least. They have their orders.

What could possibly go wrong?

(you can still feel him, can feet it, can feel both of them, but you can feel his presence grating up against yours, everything dark and corrupted and poisonous, you can feel it in the vines and in the air like sandpaper against your skin and he is not done yet do not turn away he is not done yet)

He doesn’t even get to take a step. Dream ducks under a blow from Techno and then looks to him, and even from across the room, he can feel his gaze pinning him, piercing him, and

(something is about to happen)

there is a flash of movement, too quick, too sudden,

(but you cannot fight the void, the absence of him, the howling pit that is he and that is it and that is them together)

and Tommy yelps, and then he’s gone, right out from under his hands, being dragged across the room, toward Techno, toward Dream, and times slows down. He lurches forward, hand outstretched, but he’s too slow, too slow, and he is still reaching out, is still stumbling forward, as if that will do anything, as if he will be able to cross forty paces before that vine, thick and red, deposits Tommy at Dream’s feet, and he is useless, powerless, and Tubbo is beside him, shouting, charging forward with more strength than he has in his own weary muscles, more power, but he will not be enough either.

Techno’s eyes widen. He tries to step forward, tries to hack away at the vine that has Tommy in its grip, but Dream leaps forward with another onslaught, so Techno is forced to focus on that and not his little brother, their little brother, now staggering to stay upright, now too close to Dream.

He keeps pushing forward, and his legs strain like he’s moving through molasses. Vines lash out at him, tearing at his clothes, his hair, his skin, and he can feel blood, warm and sticky, trailing down his leg, though there is no pain. Tubbo is beside him still, and Ranboo on his other side, and their swords sing but more and more vines move, now, and there are too many, too many to fight, and the room is filled with a red haze, and they’re closer now, but they’re not going to make it before Dream does something—

Dream launches himself into the air, flips over Techno’s head. He’s going for Tommy.

He’s going for Tommy.

(you promised to protect him you promised you promised and now death stares him in the face and you are now fifteen feet away fifteen feet and closing but fifteen feet too distant fifteen feet too late you cannot watch your brother die but that is the role you are consigned to spectator useless and reaching out for a hand that will never hold yours again)

Then, Techno is there. Techno pushes Tommy to the side, hard enough to fall to the floor. But he has no time to move out of the way himself, no time to bring his blade up to parry, and Dream’s axe sinks deep into his exposed throat, and Dream smiles, and Wilbur knows that this was his plan all along.

All the world goes still.

A crow caws, low and mournful.

He thinks he is screaming, but there is no sound in his ears.

Dream pivots lightly. Yanks the axe out. Blood spurts. Tommy’s mouth falls open, a rictus of horror. Technoblade’s jaw works, and his hands clench, unclench. He says something, and Wilbur can’t hear it.

(he has another totem he’ll be fine he’ll be fine please let him pull out another totem because Technoblade never dies Technoblade never dies please he never dies don’t let him die)

His inventory spills across the floor, and dust dissipates on the air.

Sound rushes back. As one, all of the communicators in the room chime. Just like that, Techno is gone.

“How many people are gonna have to sacrifice themselves for you before you learn?” Dream asks Tommy, axe dripping blood on the ground, and vines crowd him, vines weave around him, absorbing the blood, lapping up the blood, Techno’s blood.

(but Technoblade never dies Technoblade never dies Technoblade never dies)

Time resumes its normal pace.

He reaches Tommy’s side in the next instant. Dream just stands there, observing them, and the smile on his face is the cruelest on he has ever seen on a person, on a human,

(and that includes the times he’s looked in a mirror, seen dark bags and a sallow face and lips twisted into something too dark to be a smile)

but Dream isn’t human, is he? Can’t be. And Wilbur doesn’t know what he is, doesn’t know if he’s a demon himself of if he’s possessed or what, but he takes a split second to look Tommy over for injuries, finds none, and then joins Tubbo in starting for Dream, blade in his hand, even though he has no chance, they have no chance, not even together, because Dream had to resort to dirty tactics to defeat

(but Technoblade never dies so why why is he how can this)

Techno, but even he and Tubbo together do not a blood god make.

Dream holds out his axe. Saying, come get me, then.

And his heart is in his throat because his brother, his brother

(his brother is dead his brother is dead his brother has two lives left but his brother is dead)

was right there two seconds ago and now he has not, and a large part of him

(all of him, since childhood, since the first time Techno went out and came back bloodied and grinning and carrying an inventory full of loot)

has always assumed that Technoblade was invincible, that there is nothing in heaven or hell that could stop him, and that was why he let him into Pogtopia in those early days, because the world was shrinking in around him and there was no one he could trust but Technoblade was the strongest there was and he needed the strongest, needed the power of the blade, the power of iron and steel to take back what was his.

(and part of you looked in his eyes met crimson with your brown and knew deep within yourself that your brother was here for you here for you both and maybe you could let your guard down just a little let yourself be protected let yourself trust and you did, if only for a moment, even if it didn’t last, didn’t save you or anyone else in the end)

They cannot defeat Dream. He, especially, cannot defeat Dream. Not through combat. But Ranboo crouches by Tommy, and he steps up beside Tubbo, and raises his sword.

Phil gets there first.

His blade knocks into Dream’s axe so hard that he almost loses his grip, and Phil doesn’t let up, aiming another strike against his head and another against his chest and another against his arm, and it is all that Dream can do to block the blows, and this, this is the Angel of Death, and there is fear on Dream’s face, and then he is gone, standing atop the Egg again, and Phil almost follows after him.

But then, a mass of vines raises up, all around them. Too many to fight off, even together. Wilbur braces himself, and then there is something around them, covering them, shielding them, something massive and black, and Phil grunts, and—

(and how many times has he protected you like this now)

And his wings—

Thorns sink into Phil’s wings, which are out on full display, and Wilbur can’t stop staring, because Phil’s wings are tattered and torn, and his feathers are sticking out every which way, clearly not cared for, but that isn’t even the worst part, because there are holes in them, holes in his wings where Wilbur can see straight through to the opposite wall, and there are featherless patches covered in scarred skin, and there are places where bone lies exposed to the air, sticking out from flesh and plumage, and he can’t fly on these. There’s no way that he can fly on these.

(explosions around him and the heat scorches his back and he smiles and laughs and then Phil is there wrapping his wings around him and Phil cries out in pain as the walls go down as the fire licks at both of them scorches both of them but he didn’t think to care then and oh gods what has he done what has he done)

(and Phil’s wings are bleeding now as the red thorns dig in and it’s happening again happening again before his eyes and how many times will people have to sacrifice themselves for him before he learns?)

(your father’s bones blackened and twisted by heat and do they hurt do they hurt bones are not meant for the open air and surely the scar tissue aches and they are ruined they are ruined his pride and joy ruined and your father will not fly again will not feel the wind at his back and he loved it he loved it and he gave it up for you and yet you are here again still asking for a sacrifice always asking for a sacrifice at least once more)

He’s panicking. He’s panicking, and he needs to stop panicking, because there panic has no place on a field of battle, and that is a lesson he learned long ago, at the knee of his country, his beautiful country, and for a moment, he is on the walls, orange and black, and he is fighting for his nation, fighting for his people, and then he blinks, and Phil has gathered Tommy in his arms. Tommy doesn’t protest, blank shock painting his face.

“We need to go, Wil,” Phil says. “I need you all to guard me while I get Tommy out.” His voice is steel. No room for argument.

He nods, numbly. Moves mechanically. Doesn’t pay heed to the way the vines slash at him, as long as they’re not slashing at Tommy. There is blood on him.

(but it is his own, so that is alright)

He blinks, and Puffy and Sapnap have joined them. Sapnap’s white shirt is stained red. Blood sheets down from a wound on Puffy’s forehead. But they are alive.

(Techno isn’t)

(Technoblade never dies but Technoblade died and what do you do when the immortal figures of your childhood are no longer so?)

Bad and the rest do not stop them. The Egg does not stop them, though he can feel it, still, humming a victory march in his mind.

Dream, from where he stands on its top, does not stop them. He chances one glance back; Dream offers a mock salute.

(they are letting them go, they are letting them go as the cat releases the mouse, sure of its ability to follow the limping blood trail, sure of its chances of having a meal later, when it is more hungry, when it will be all the more satisfying. they are letting them go, and it is no mercy, and they will be driven forward like vermin, but they have no choice but to go, no choice but to run)

And then they’re going up the stairs, up the ladder, and into the sunlight.

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bonjour-rainycity · 4 years ago

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Double Heart | Chapter Five ~ Cosima

|previous part|

Pariring: Haldir x OFC

Rating: PG

Word count: 3418

Warnings: Tw gaslighting

**Read on Ao3 under the user “bonjour_rainycity” if you prefer!**

A/n Thanks for the love on the last chapter! Happy Monday :)

My cloak is dry in the morning, thank goodness. I cozy up in it the first chance I have, grateful for the thick material that I complained about only a few days prior. I help Rumil tack his horse and then mount. He lets me steer the beast again, insisting that I need more practice. Before we set out from camp, Haldir circles his horse around to face the five of us.

“We have gone north far enough. Now, we head west. Stay sharp as we near the mountains. If you see or hear something that causes concern or even seems remotely unsettling, say something.” Murmurs of solemn agreement run through the group.

Briefly, Haldir’s eyes lock with mine. I raise an eyebrow, silently reminding him of my question from last night. He nods once, almost imperceptibly, then turns his horse. I urge my own to follow, and vaguely realize I don’t even know its name.

“Hey, Rumil?” I turn over my shoulder to glance at him, then face back to the road. I really shouldn’t look anywhere other than the path.

“Yes?”

“I never asked—what’s the horse’s name?”

Rumil snorts, patting his horse affectionately on the side. “You never asked his name because you don’t like him.”

I sputter at the accusation. “Wha—no! I don’t mind the horse—it’s fine!”

“But you don’t like the horse,” he teases, grinning broadly.

I huff, gathering as much dignity as I can. “I just don’t enjoy the height of the horse, nor the fact that he throws me around. I don’t mind the horse itself.”

My companions chuckle indulgently and Baranor gives me a playfully exasperated sigh. “Well, if he won’t tell you, I will. The horse’s name is Roch.”

“Roch,” I repeat, turning the unfamiliar name awkwardly around my tongue. “That’s not a name I recognize. Does it mean anything or was it just something you liked?”

My question is met with snickers.

I furrow my eyebrows, looking around at my friends. “What?” Then, I see the pointed looks Orophin gives the horse, and realization begins to dawn. I twist in my seat to glare unbelievingly at Rumil. “Tell me you did not name your horse, ‘Horse!’”

Pink tints Rumil’s cheeks. “I was practically an elfling when I named him!”

Orophin howls with laughter. “Do not make excuses, brother, you were fully of age!”

“Barely,” Rumil defends, voice squeaking with indignation.

This, of course, makes us all laugh even harder.

“Well then, giddyup Horse the horse.” I take a hand from the reins to pat Horse’s shoulder, then right myself once more. I spare a quick glance to Alex, who hasn’t said a word all morning, and find him glaring over Baranor’s shoulder.

He still doesn’t trust them.

You shouldn’t, either, a voice reminds me.

Pushing that thought aside, I squeeze Roch once more, encouraging him to keep pace with the group.

{***}

Exhausted from days of travel and the weather yesterday, the horses can’t manage much more than a trot for long. I can tell this frustrates my companions, but they give the horses the rest they need—Haldir eventually calling for us to slow to a walk. I take the opportunity to slide off Roch’s back and walk by myself, giving my muscles a bit of a break. Alex soon follows suit, limping slightly.

I hurry to catch up to him. “How’s your leg?”

“Healing, I think. Baranor says not to let it get dirty again and I should be fine. It’s not my leg that’s bothering me—it’s my ass! Horseback riding is no joke.”

I giggle, reaching my arms overhead as I walk. “Right! My first day here I was practically hobbled over. It does get better, though. Just keep walking and stretching when you have the chance.”

He tilts his head, giving me a sidelong look. “So, how long have you been here?”

I shrug. “Same as you, I think, based on when you say you woke up. I…” I sigh, not sure how long he’ll let me talk about our situation before he shuts me down. “I’m sorry you had to wander by yourself for a few days. It must have been scary. I know how lucky I was to have help right away.”

“It was scary.” He moves to slide his hands into his pockets, then realizes his leggings don’t have any. He huffs, crossing his arms over his chest instead. “But what I can’t figure out is why they separated us?”

I furrow my eyebrows. “Huh?”

“Well, obviously we had to be taken together. Given what we can remember, we’re really close friends. It makes no sense for our kidnappers to take us both randomly—it must have been an effort to get us together. Maybe we were traveling? Or maybe a mutual friend of ours is wealthy, and the kidnappers are trying to pull a double ransom? But regardless of why they took us, why didn’t they keep us together? Did I fall out of the car or something? Or did the police catch on and they were forced to dump us in different places to slow the cops down?”

I look at him from the corner of my eye. He’s not going to like what I’m about to say. But the differences between us and the others, the wide and unfamiliar world we find ourselves in, the new constellations…it’s getting too much to ignore. “Alex…my gut says we weren’t kidnapped.”

He whirls to face me, a slightly wild look in his eye. “What, then? Do you think we came here and got hit over the head willingly?”

“No,” I shake my head. “I—I just think that maybe…well, if we’re both here, then we can pretty much rule out a head injury or drugs or something causing our imaginations to run wild in the same way at the same time…And there’s no evidence we were kidnapped—I mean, look at who we’re traveling with. If they wanted, they could easily tie us up and throw us over the horses, but instead they’re teaching us and sharing their supplies with us. They stopped to help. And, I mean, with all that exists in space…there’s a whole universe out there…is it crazy to believe that maybe something like this is possible? That we’re in a different world?”

He’s shaking his head vehemently before I’ve even finished speaking. “Cosima, please tell me you’re smarter than that. There’s no such thing as other worlds! Where’s the evidence that this place isn’t on Earth? Huh? Logically, it has to be a kidnapping or a drugging, or maybe even some conspiracy to run experiments on us.”

“Evidence!” I bark a humorless laugh, not at all appreciating his condescending tone. “Okay, how about the armor and the landscape and the fact that our companions have pointed ears and way better senses then we do. How about the constellations that I’ve never seen before in my life? There are no cell towers, no skyscrapers — I haven’t seen train tracks or cars. Even if we were just in an isolated area of Earth, I feel like we would have heard a plane by now! Alex, there is nothing consistent with the world we know.”

He quickens his pace, fists clenching in frustration. “But we don’t have our full memories—maybe the world we remember isn’t all of it. Maybe this stuff is perfectly normal!”

“And maybe it isn’t,” I shoot back, crossing my arms over my chest. “Come on, why are you quick to dismiss taking the people who saved our lives at face value?”

“You are too trusting, Cosima! You always have been—too trusting and too naive and it’s going to get you into trouble. It already has!” His voice has risen well above polite volume and, though they could probably hear us all along due to their enhanced senses, I see four heads tilt in our direction.

Alex notices, too. He steps forward, gripping my arm and pulling me to a stop. I suck in a breath. He realizes the force behind his grip and pulls his hand away, giving me an apologetic look. “Sorry. But you have to understand—now is not the time to be friendly and accepting. I may not remember much, but I do know that I’ve always looked out for you. You know that, don’t you? So why would now be any different?”

I eye him warily, contemplating his words.

And he’s right.

In every memory I have of him, he’s nothing but kind to me, looking out for me however he can. At one point, we were inseparable. I must have trusted him then.

So perhaps I should trust him now.

He sees the shift in my resolve and knows he’s hit his mark. He draws in close once again but makes no move to touch me. “Cosi…” My eyes snap to his with the nickname and the unexpected surge of warmth that comes with it. He smiles softly. “I’m willing to bet that back home, we have people missing us. It’s our duty to do everything we can to get back to them. Don’t let yourself be deceived or distracted.”

The sound of hooves touching the ground gets nearer and I look up in time to feel the puff of warm air as Haldir’s horse exhales on top of my head. Haldir sits high, chest plate glinting in the sun and casting a bit of a glare on his face. I have to squint to see him properly. “Is everything alright?”

Both he and Alex look to me, waiting for my answer. I shift under their gazes.“Yeah.”

Haldir nods once. “Good. Keep walking or get back on a horse. We cannot lose any more time than we already have.” He turns and rides away, resuming his spot leading the group. Alex gives me a fortifying nod then signals to Baranor, pulling himself atop the mighty steed. Rumil speeds up Roch to catch up to me—he had fallen behind, watching our backs as the group became more spread out due to mine and Alex’s argument. How can I not trust him?

Rumil extends a hand down to me. “Coming up?”

But Alex is right. Somewhere, I must have a family, friends too, and I need to do all that I can to get back to them. Real or not, I cannot get sucked into this world that has both frightened and enchanted me for too long.

So, I shake my head, keeping my eyes low to the ground so no one will see how much this decision costs me. Because despite knowing that it’s the choice I have to make, it hurts me to shun my new friends. “No. I want to keep walking.”

And, for the remainder of the day, I stay on my feet, traveling alone.

{***}

I’m grateful when Haldir asks me to clean the horses’ tack. It’s a little more complicated than I anticipated, so I must concentrate, and I’m thankful for anything that can occupy my mind.

I have not felt normal since my conversation with Alex.

Every look or kind word from one of these new friends sends a wave of guilt through me, and, by nightfall, I have a stomachache. I cannot look Rumil in the eye, nor Baranor, and Haldir and Orophin mostly ignore me anyway, so maybe I’ve already ruined my relationships with them. Then, I have to wonder, is that good or bad? If they are as troubling as Alex says, then it’s good that they don’t like me. It makes my job of staying away from them easier. But if they’re as everything in me screams they are—strange, impossible, but good, then I’m a terrible person for pushing them away.

I don’t know who to trust. I don’t know whose word to take at face value. I cannot even rely on myself, as my memories are so incomplete. And, as Alex said, I do have a habit of trusting people right away. My perception of these men might be skewed just because they’ve shown me common decency. But then that begs the question…could my perception of Alex also be skewed?

I try to force the thought from my mind, concentrating even harder on eliminating every speck of dust from the leather and metal of the tack. Eventually, Orophin comes to get me, saying that it’s getting late and well past time to rest and eat dinner. I reluctantly put away my task.

He leads me nearer to the small fire and the camp that’s gathered around it. To my surprise, we have meat tonight—someone caught a hare and cooked it over the fire. Orophin crosses his legs on the ground, sitting between his two brothers, which means that only Baranor is on watch tonight.

I hover uncertainly at the edge of the group. Is it even right to sit with them, knowing that I’m questioning their character? This reminder of Alex makes me realize that he’s not here. I’m about to ask where he is—surely Haldir wouldn’t put him on watch—when I hear his voice.

“Cosima?”

I tilt my head towards the sound, seeing that he’s set up under a tree. I guess I’ll go join him, then. I turn back to the men lounging by the fire, all of whom look up at me expectantly. I swallow, shifting on my feet. “Um, I’m actually going to stay over there with Alex tonight. See you in the morning.” I give a half-wave and turn, but Rumil’s call brings me back.

“Here, at least take a bedroll.”

I shake my head, my stomachache intensifying. I can’t take any more of their kindness. “It’s fine, thank you though.”

He stands, extending the mat towards me. “No, really, it’s no trouble. We all are—”

“I said I didn’t want it, Rumil.”

He freezes at the harshness in my tone, the venom in my words, and I feel absolutely awful. He looks so shocked, like he has no idea where the sudden anger came from…he didn’t deserve it. He quickly morphs his expression into one of indifference and shrugs. The action is stilted and unnatural looking. “Suit yourself. Come back if you change your mind.”

I feel each of their eyes boring into my back as I turn away from them to walk towards Alex. Ohhh, I was so mean. They must hate me now. Rumil didn’t deserve that.

Alex greets me with a smile, so at odds with the turmoil raging within me. I sit, leaning my back against the tree. The main camp is well within my eyesight, and Orophin and Haldir stare at me. Rumil avoids my gaze, intently reorganizing his pack. Haldir catches my eye and raises a stern eyebrow, looking pointedly to his youngest brother and then back at me.

I feel a little nauseous.

I turn my gaze away, as well as my back, lying down and curling up facing the tree. “Goodnight.”

I hear the surprise in Alex’s voice. “You don’t want dinner? There’s meat tonight.”

“No.” Again, sharpness creeps into my tone. Regret twists in my stomach. I don’t feel okay. I don’t feel right at all. The tears come, and I curl further into myself, trying my best to hide the noise and the shaking. I don’t want them to know because they’re kind and they’ll try to make me feel better.

I don’t deserve to be comforted.

And, given how I feel, how the grief and indecision and anxiety tear me apart, I’m not sure they could even help.

{***}

Everyone pretty much gives me a wide berth in the morning. Even Alex, who doesn’t stray far from my side, doesn’t try to talk to me. I do my chores in silence, not feeling very social. The horses had grazed a bit during the night, though not far from Baranor’s watchful eye, and I climb over the hill to join them in the valley. Roch, used to me by now, trots up to meet me, nuzzling at my hands in the hope that I’ve brought him food. This makes me feel even worse, as I hadn’t thought to bring him a snack.

“Sorry, Horse.” I reach up to pet his nose, then let my fingers tangle in his mane, examining the braids Rumil put there.

“It’s not safe to be out here on your own.”

Though the voice is quiet, I start, not having heard Haldir come up on my left.

I take a few breaths to calm my racing heart. “The others do this all the time.”

Haldir exhales contemplatively, taking Roch’s muzzle in his hands and brushing his thumb over the soft hairs there. “The others are extensively skilled in battle and are aware of their surroundings. You are a human with no weapons who just let me sneak up on her.”

I click my tongue, playing for time. He’s got me there. “When you say ‘extensively skilled’…how extensive are you talking?”

He smiles almost indulgently. “Thousands of years.”

I gulp and renew my efforts brushing through Roch’s mane. I cannot wrap my mind around such a long time, nor reconcile it with Haldir’s smooth face. “So…that would make you…?”

“Three thousand, six hundred and thirty five years old.”

I exhale, leaning forward into Roch’s mane.

“Are you alright?”

I twist my head to see a small amount of humor dance in his eyes, and I let my exasperation be known. “That’s impossible. There’s no way someone can be over three thousand years old.”

He shrugs, calling for his own horse, Faervel, to join us. “Impossible for a human, maybe, but elves are made to live eternal lives. You and your friend are still new to this world, but you will soon catch on to its workings. Keep your eyes open—there is much to learn.”

At the mention of Alex, I purse my lips, turning my focus back to Roch. I work the bit into his mouth and try to persuade him to lower his head so I can throw the bridle over. He doesn’t budge, leaving me to contemplate the merits of jumping to accomplish my task. After a moment, a pale hand and a worn blue tunic come into my view. I step to the side, allowing Haldir and his height to finish tacking the horse. When he’s done, he turns to me, still holding the reins in his hand.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Uh oh. I try to match his unaffected air. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

He raises an eyebrow. There’s no judgement in his eyes, but he stares into mine like he’s systematically assessing every though I’ve ever had, every decision I’ve ever made, and determining the clarity with which I will make decisions in the future. I fight the urge to look away, feeling my cheeks go hot.

“You snapped at Rumil and cried most of the night.”

“Ugh,” I close my eyes, turning my head from his scrutiny. I take a beat, trying to push away the onslaught of embarrassment. “I didn’t know you guys heard that.”

“The exchange with Rumil happened in front of everybody.”

“The crying, I mean,” I interject, holding up a hand to stop him from continuing. I hate this. I hate the way his eyes burn into mine, trying to lure me into a vulnerable conversation. I feel myself tensing up. I try to force my shoulders to fall from their spot bunched up by my neck. “It’s nothing.”

He stares me down for a moment, not even bothering to disguise the fact that he doesn’t believe me. But finally, he nods, evidently letting it go. He hands me Roch’s reins. “I expect we will reach the mountains either this evening or tomorrow morning. The closer we get, the more dangerous our journey becomes. I understand you are sensitive, but you must clear your mind and focus on the journey. You can deal with your feelings once we reach Imladris.” With that, he takes the reins of Faervel and jerks his head, beckoning me to follow him.

I huff, starting after him, completely incensed. What did he just say? “I am not sensitive!”

He throws a wry smile over his shoulder. “Forgive me, you obviously took my comment quite well.”

Grumbling, I pull Roch with me and stomp after Haldir. Maybe I won’t miss his friendship.

A/n Thanks for reading! Likes, comments, and reblogs are the best :) Let me know if you would like a tag! And if you’re having trouble being tagged, try subscribing on Ao3! That will notify you automatically when I post there.

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emilia3546 · 4 years ago

Text

Shadowsinger Part 16 - Gwynriel

ACOSF Spoilers! Do Not read this unless you have finished ACOSF and the Azriel bonus chapter*

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

Part 9

Part 10

Part 11

Part 12

Part 13

Part 14

Part 15

*****

Maddy was practically dancing with joy when Azriel's shadows cleared and she spotted a head of auburn hair beside him,

"You brought her!" She squealed, then calmed herself down, just long enough to make sure Azriel wasn't an impostor, "The stars are bright tonight."

"They shine with the moon." Gwyn narrowed her eyes, and Azriel chuckled, "It's a code, only Maddy and I know it, and now you, it's to ensure that neither of us is compromised." Gwyn nodded, and glanced around the clearing, "It's just us, I meet them one on one, some don't know the others' identities, Maddy does, but she's my second."

"Okay," Gwyn nodded, and turned her attention to Maddy, "You were at the Hewn City, is that where you work?" Maddy shrugged,

"At the moment, but I can get into pretty much anywhere, although I'm not usually a 'guard' I was lucky that no-one noticed me last time." Azriel huffed in agreement, and Gwyn raised an eyebrow at him, "He thinks I'm reckless."

"Azriel said that?" Gwyn nudged him in the ribs, "You're one to talk!"

"Moving on," he muttered, rolling his eyes as both females lapsed into giggles, "Cauldron spare me," he mumbled, waiting for Gwyn at least to stop to breathe, "Maddy, c'mon, shut up." She snorted once more, but she did mange to quieten down, laughter still dancing in her eyes as she looked between Azriel and Gwyn. She was calm, relaxed, still alert, but she grinned at Gwyn as Azriel explained their position, and she smiled back, oh she could definitely get on with this.

"I'll keep an eye on Keir, I wouldn't put it past him to try and stab you in the back with the darkbringers."

"Neither would I," Azriel's eyes were dark, his face near-unreadable as he spoke, "I've contacted those I can on the continent, but I want you on standby to head over there if we need." Maddy nodded,

"What's Gwyn's role in this?"

"I'm helping Az with plans and communication, and I'm backup, I'm not planning on going into the field, if I fight, it'll be with my sisters,"

"You have sisters?"

"I had one, a long time ago, but I meant Nesta and Emerie, if it comes to fighting, I'll fight with them and the Valkyries." Shadows gathered around her at the mention of Catrin, and she could almost sense Azriel's worry for a moment before she smiled again. Once Azriel had finished with his list of discussions, Maddy grinned at Gwyn again, and pulled her aside,

"I thought he'd never bring you along." She whispered, "He's such an idiot, he seems to think we might scare you off."

"He is an idiot," Gwyn glanced around to check that he wasn't listening, "But he's my idiot. And I'll be coming along all the time now, he was just waiting for me to ask, to say that I wanted to come." She offered Maddy another grin before crossing back to Azriel, and gripping his hand,

"Gossiping about me?" He chuckled, but before Gwyn could deny it, wind was rushing in her ears as he winnowed home. Gwyn stumbled on landing again, but kept her feet, somehow it was easier than when Rhys had winnowed her before,

"Az, why is it different when you winnow than Rhys? Isn't it the same?"

"Actually, no, I sort of shadow-winnow I guess, it's not true winnowing, so it different than when someone who can properly winnow does it, but I prefer it. I don't like it when Rhys winnows me anywhere, it's weird." Gwyn snorted,

"I know what you mean, it's disorientating, but you're not much better."

"Azzy? is Gwyn with you?" Gwyn stepped around Azriel, and grinned as she saw Theia stepping out of the house,

"Oh, good, I just got a rather worrying letter from a friend, from Ironcrest." Gwyn didn't notice herself grasping Azriel's hand, didn't notice the way she looked across at him, unconsciously willing him to relax,

It'll be okay, we'll fix it, whatever it is. Breathe. There was no way he could hear the words, but she thought them anyway, and he did seem to calm,

"Let's go inside," Gwyn muttered, following Theia towards the downstairs office, leading Azriel behind her, rubbing soothing circles on the back of his hands, and smiled when he stared down at where their hands joined. She could almost hear the thoughts running through his mind at that moment, so she gently lifted his hands, and softly pressed her lips against them, "These hands saved me, Az, you have nothing to be ashamed of." She whispered before finally going inside.

"Apparently Ironcrest is split down the middle, those who stayed, who are loyal, and those whose families have gone, who are accused of being rebels, I don't know if they all are or not, but she's worried that a civil war might break out if nothing is done."

"But the rebels themselves aren't back?" Azriel's voice was still strained, worried, but he still managed to keep a air of calm around him,

"No, it's just their families, wives and children, they're being threatened and picked on, I don't know what you can do about that, though."

"We can certainly do something, I'll head over there now," Gwyn nodded,

"Let me just grab something for my hair, I'll be right back,"

"No, I'd like you stay here, Gwyn,"

"What? But-"

"It's sounds really unstable, you'll be a walking target for both sides, just let me go and check it out so I know what we're dealing with." She could push him, could force him to let her go, but it would only upset him, and her being there probably wasn't necessary, especially if he needed to be unseen, it was easier to hide alone. She sighed,

"Just be careful, and be back as soon as you can."

"Thank you." He leaned down to kiss her quickly before slipping away, with Gwyn's gaze following after him as far as she could see him. She started at Theia's hand on her shoulder,

"He'll be fine, he's our Azzy." Gwyn huffed, but stayed staring after him,

"I do worry about him. Especially at the moment, he still thinks I'll see this other side of him and leave, that his family will leave him, and he'll be on his own again. He doesn't quite understand that he can't scare me off." She finally turned to Theia, and found only understanding and hope in the female's face, "I don't know what to tell him to make him see that. War is horrible, but he's not, he's not, and he won't see that, he thinks he's irredeemable because of how he's been forced to survive," tears filled her eyes as she spoke, "And it hurts to see him thinking things like that, knowing that I can't make it go away, that I can't help him."

"You do help him. You should have seen him before he met you. You've brought him to life, and you've made them love you too," she gestured to the shadows hiding in the corner,

"Get over here, you busybodies," Gwyn chuckled, and laughed as they raced around her,

"Just tell him how you feel, all you have to do is be there, show him that he can't push you away, that you'll still be there through difficulties. It will take time for him to realize, for him to believe that he deserves you, but all you have to do is show him every day how much you love him." She chuckled at Gwyn's widened eyes, "It's so obvious, even if neither of you will admit it, just make sure you've got a contraceptive tonic," she joked,

"Oh, we're not, I mean, I don't think I can, not that I don't love him, and he's so gorgeous, but I just can't." Gwyn clapped a hand over her mouth, "I'm sorry, I just," she broke off at the tears in Theia's eyes as she closed the distance between them and cupped Gwyn's face in her hands,

"You can always talk to me."

"Thank you, I think I'll get there, but for now I'm still a bit scared, but less every day."

"We all are initially," We? Gwyn blinked her surprise, "Azriel thinks he was the product of an affair, and he's half-right, but I didn't have the heart to tell him the truth." Theia drew in a deep breath, and Gwyn waited, letting her gather her thoughts, speak in her own time. "It wasn't quite an affair, Azzy's father took what he could, but he couldn't take my heart, my courage, my love for my son, and whoever it was cannot take that from you. You are stronger than what happened, and it will take time, but when you want to make that choice, whenever it is, whether that is tomorrow or a hundred years from now, Azriel will be waiting for you, he will always wait for your choice." Gwyn smiled as she recalled his face when she had first kissed him,

"I know."

*****

It was difficult to hide in broad daylight, difficult but not impossible, and Azriel settled into a spot by the training pitch, almost wincing as one particular boy was beaten down again and again, insults spat at him, and it took all of Azriel's self control not to leap to his aid. He wasn't seeing that boy in that moment, all he could see was Cassian, remember the tears that he refused to allow to fall every time he took a fight for Azriel, every time Rhys' mother had to clean him up, every time the instructors punished him for something that wasn't his fault. Every jab from the other boys had him struggling not to squirm, their words were so similar to those old insults,

"Traitor," Bastard

"liar," Bastard

"Rebel," Bastard

"Where's Daddy gone?" That one hit home, and Azriel squeezed his eyes shut to avoid moving, only opening them at the sound of another voice

"Daddy's a traitor," Mommy's a whore. Neither of them had known what that had meant the first time it had been spat at them, both of them, but it was always Cassian who took the brunt of the insults, the beatings. And it was always Cassian who had sought the approval he had never been allowed to have from Illyria, and the way certain lords looked at him still made Azriel's stomach turn, made him want to punch their teeth in, but Cassian could fight his own battles, Cauldron knew he'd had to. The boy on the pitch shouted for the others to stop when he fell again,

"Daddy can't protect you now, little traitor." Azriel's heart bled for the boy, covered in mud, struggling to stand. He screamed when someone twisted his wing, and tried to crawl backwards away from them, but found himself crashing into someone's boots,

"Watch yourself, boy." The warrior shoved him back towards the other boys, and he fell straight back into the mud at their feet, curling into a ball to protect himself, sobbing at every hit. Azriel couldn't take it any more, and he cursed himself as he moved, crossing the pitch, ignoring every questioning glance, but he couldn't just watch,

"Hey! That's enough, leave him alone, can't you see he's down?"

"He's a traitor."

"Is he? And who decided that, you?"

"His father's gone with all the others."

"So? We do not judge the son by the sins of the father," Azriel spat as he helped the boy to his feet, catching him when he swayed on his feet and lifted him into his arms, "You lot are banned from training for a week. Understand?" They quickly nodded,

"Yes, Sir, sorry." They certainly knew who he was then, and the boy in his arms shifted and groaned in pain,

"It's alright, son, I've got you, can you tell where your mom lives?" He muttered an address just loud enough for Azriel to hear before his eyes rolled back in his head and flickered closed. The only signs of life were the slight rise and fall of his chest, and the sound of his breathing. Azriel nodded to the warriors across the pitch, and glared at the male who'd encouraged the bullies,

You and me, anytime. The other male dipped his head, breaking eye contact, and stepped away from Azriel, still glancing over his shoulder long after Azriel had left the pitch. There were clear signs of unrest as he walked through the town, some shops were empty, others full, others smashed to pieces, some houses too. He took a breath before knocking on the door that the boy had said was his mother's, and tried to offer a reassuring smile when a small female opened the door, cringing away from him when she recognized him,

"I haven't done anything wrong," she whispered, dropping her gaze to the floor,

"I know," she glanced back up, and gasped when she saw her son in his arms,

"Oh gods, what happened to him? Is he okay?"

"I think he will be. Some of the others took it upon themselves to single him out as his father's vanished with the rebels."

"Please, my husband is not a rebel, there's been some sort of mistake." She shook her head again and again as she gathered a bowl of water to clean her son up. "I don't know where he's gone, but he's not a rebel, please, I sent a letter, to, to your mother, you have to believe me, please."

"I do believe you, " Azriel said quietly, "I'm not here to question you, I'm here because I couldn't watch him get hurt any more, but I do need to understand the situation here, what more can you tell me?"

"I don't know a lot, the males clam up whenever a female is around, they don't stop us training, but they won't talk about the coming war, the rebels, or anything important around us, I've only heard a few things that I wasn't supposed to hear."

"Those are always the most useful things. Anything you have is great,"

"I suspect you already know that the rebels, and their sympathizers have gone, I don't know where, but there's been a lot of tension between loyalists and those left behind." She swallowed, and handed Azriel a cloth to hold while she went to fetch he healing kit, and she started in surprise when he started to help cleaning the mud off her son, "I've never met a male who'd help with anything like that," she whispered,

"You can't have met many decent males then,"

"No, I live in Ironcrest, I took the best there was, and I do love him, but he's still under the pressure from the others, the assholes, so he doesn't do any chores or anything, but he will sometimes cook for me, mostly if I've had a long day."

"It'll get there, one male at a time, it'll get there. You can help, raise your son to be a good male,"

"Will he come back? My husband? I didn't hear anything from him, one day he was here, and the next when I got back from fetching Callum from training, he was gone. No-one will buy my clothes any more, they say he's a disgrace, even my father looks the other way when I pass him on the street. My mother has been slipping me money, but I'm scared my father will notice, I can't survive without it, but if he catches her," she didn't need to finish her sentence for Azriel to know what she meant. "I know it's the same for others, some have brothers or sons that can still help, but anyone who doesn't, they won't accept our work, I used to be known as the best seamstress in Ironcrest, now nobody will buy my work, they say it's tainted with betrayal." Tears welled in her eyes, "And every day, Callum comes back with more bruises, I know sometimes getting a few little injuries are a part of training, but it's worse than ever before, I worry that one day they'll kill him,"

"I won't let that happen," Azriel swore, "I'll get back to Velaris, and we'll figure something out, thank you, write to my mother if you need anything else, or if there's anything else that happens,"

"Of course, thank you, Azriel." He nodded before slipping back outside, waiting for her back to be turned before leaving a little pouch of coins on the side, vanishing before she could turn back to see it.

*****

With Azriel gone, all Gwyn could do was find Nesta and Emerie, organize the Valkyrie trainees they already had, and plan for training the Illyrian females. There were some who had done some training, mostly youngsters, but Gwyn would never consider putting children in harm's way, never. Nesta huffed when they finally finished the numbers,

"We only have thirty priestesses, and only fourteen who could possibly fight, but fewer who would actually do it." She muttered, "And Illyria, what was it, Em, about a hundred?"

"Yes, that have already had some training, but we should have time to get some intensive training set up, we can gather those who wish to fight into a new, temporary camp perhaps, get some of those more agreeable males to help training them, I doubt Az and Cass will be able to get over there often, we might be able to be there a bit more though." Gwyn nodded,

"If what Theia said is happening is widespread, we may need to move some families for now anyway, are Rhys and Feyre back?"

"I don't think so," Nesta said, "Feyre said she'd let me know when they got home, they're still inspecting the darkbringers as far as I know." She tried to hide it, but Gwyn couldn't miss the flash of worry in Nesta's eyes, and she smiled encouragingly at her, laughing when her head snapped sideways, to the doorway, to the crying. Cassian immediately handed Nyx to his mate,

"I don't know how to stop him crying," he admitted, and Nesta gently rocked him in her arms, crooning softly to the child, and he quietened for a moment, but wailed again, and Gwyn whispered for the shadows around her to go play with him. He screamed in delight when one of them tickled him, grabbing out at them, and giggling in delight. Gwyn smiled, and jolted at a gentle elbow in the ribs from Emerie,

"I didn't know you could control them," she muttered,

"Not as well as Az can, but they like me apparently, so they listen. It's been pretty recent though, they used to just be sort of fascinated with me, and now they occasionally whisper to me, I can't properly understand them, but sometimes I get a couple of words, or a feeling or something," Emerie raised an eyebrow, "You don't believe me!"

"I do believe you, I just think it's funny,"

"Oh shush," she muttered, "Stop that,"

"Stop what?"

"Looking at me like that,"

"Like what?" Emerie asked innocently,

"Like you're expecting some sort of grand reveal, you've been reading too many books," Emerie just chuckled and turned back to Nesta with Nyx, her face softening when her gaze landed on the sleeping baby. Emerie wasn't right for expecting some big declaration, Theia had said it was obvious, did Azriel know? Oh gods, she had to talk to him, it was getting dark, surely he would be home soon. At her worry and sudden confusion, the shadows darted back across to her, hiding her from view, and Gwyn swatted them away, mumbling that they were busybodies, but she did love them really, she loved more than just them. No matter how she tried to ignore it, to convince herself that it wasn't happening, she had to admit, she'd been falling for a long time now. Apparently so had Azriel and she wasn't going to run away any more, she loved him, and she wanted to make that choice, she wanted him, just him, for the rest of her life, and for some reason that thought didn't scare her any more.

#fanfiction #fanfic #Gwyn #Gwyn acosf #gwyneth berdara #gwynriel #azriel x gwyn #Azriel #Azwyn #acotar #acosf #a court of thorns and roses #a court of silver flames

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footballerindreams · 4 years ago

Text

How I Met Your Mother - Park Jihoon (one shot)

---

Jihoon had been a successful MC for not only with Inkigayo, but also with some other shows. Heck he even had a chance to host the likes of MAMA and SMA, a feat that rarely happens.

And well, through hosting he was able to meet the future other half of his life.

He met Y/N when Jihoon was nominated for as best host of the year and Y/N was invited on the yearly event with her team of newscasters because one of her colleagues was nominated for Best Documentary. And fate let them sit at the same table…and beside each other.

Jihoon being an extrovert and a social butterfly that he is, he became immediately professionally close to her and to the team, sharing stories and jokes while the award show is going on.

Jihoon may not been able to win the award, but he was able to win the hearts of those people around him…especially Y/N.

The next day he and his fellow Treasure members were enjoying their day off and had a chance to watch the review of the award show that last night.

“Hyung! Look at this!” Doyoung shouted and Jihoon, Jeongwoo and Mashiho gathered in their living room and watch the show.

“Showbiz bits! Treasure member and last night’s nominee for best host Park Jihoon, is seen getting close with newscaster YFam/N Y/N. Last night’s award show has been memorable and most especially for the fans that were watching it. The number of times Mr. Park has been caught by the camera getting close with Ms. YFam/N, talking about something made a ruckus on the internet. Tweets over the two to be a potential couple has been massive and so far, the fans expect something more. Well, we’ll see about it.”

Mashiho, Doyoung and Jeongwoo looked back at their hyung and Jihoon is nervous.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Jihoon backed out a bit.

The three suddenly smiled at him in an eerie way.

“You’re interested in her.” Mashiho started.

“What the hell are you talking about, I was actually talking to the rest of the people there. Not only to her?” Jihoon defended.

“Well, if you say that, and the way she looks at you, I think she likes you, hyung.” Doyoung said.

“Stop with the nonsense Doyoungie. Why would she like me? I’m just an idol.”

“Who would not like you, hyung? Girls are falling for you. Your smile, your wits. Not to mention that great body of yours. Oh, how I wish I have that too.” Jeongwoo said.

“Shut up Jeongwoo. There you go again with your low self-esteem.”

“Why don’t you give her a chance, hyung? Even probably as friends?” Mashiho suggested.

“I’m too busy right now to give attention to women. And so are you, you and you.” Jihoon said pointing his fingers one by one to his dongsaengs.

---

The next time Jihoon and Y/N saw each other was in the building of YG itself.

“Hi Park Jihoon-ssi.” Y/N waved and greeted.

Jihoon just got out of the cafeteria together with Hyunsuk and Junghwan, finished their breaktime by eating and chatting.

“Hey! Y/N-ssi! What brings you here?” Jihoon replied.

“Well, me and my team had an interview assignment here. We are going to meet Bobby-ssi.” Y/N gladly replied.

“Oh! With Bobby-hyung…I mean Bobby-sunbaenim. I did not know you are doing a music segment. You are usually in charge of weather forecasts.” Jihoon said.

“Yeah. New assignment. My boss said that I could fit as well for the segment and decided to give it to me and give it a try. This is the first time so I don’t have an idea what shall I do.”

“I know you can do it. I believe you.” Jihoon assured.

“Thank you so much, Jihoon-ssi.”

Hyunsuk suddenly and politely interrupted, “Uhm. Are you looking for Bobby-hyung? He’s at the 5th floor right now. I had a chat with him today. He said he has an interview in a short while. I guess he means you.”

“Thank you so much Choi Hyunsuk-ssi.” Y/N was about to go when she suddenly turned back and when to Jihoon.

“If you don’t mind, can I get your number? I might need help again with something here in YG and I think you are close with the other artists here aside for your members.”

---

Jihoon was in his room looking at his phone. Displayed was Y/N’s name and number.

“Damn Jihoon! You’re so lucky!” Hyunsuk said. Slapping the other’s shoulder.

“Ouch! Why slap me like that?” Jihoon rebutted and lock at his phone (for “protection”).

“What are you doing?! The girl is into you!” The older leader reprimanded.

“What’s the big fuss? She just asked my number for important reasons and she gave hers. That’s it.” The younger replied.

“You don’t have any idea, do you.” Hyunsuk is starting to get amused, frustrated, and mad at the same time.

Now Jihoon is nervous and curious. “What?”

“Y/N is one of the beauties of newscasting. Many, as in many guys want to date her. I heard that she got a lot of date offers from a lot of guys, especially in the music industry but it seems she rejected all of those.”

“And what’s your point?” Jihoon was now skeptical.

And Hyunsuk can’t take it, he gripped his hair hard. “Don’t you see it?! She talks to you! Twice already! Not to mention she asked your number, and she gave hers. Are you dumb or dumber?”

“Hyung, out of all the members here I was expecting you to be levelheaded. You sound like Jeongwoo and Doyoung.”

And Hyunsuk had enough. “ugh! Gosh. I’m outta here. My future wife called. She said Seung and Yong are looking for me.”

---

Y/LN Y/N calling…

“Hello?” Jihoon answered the phone.

“Hi Jihoon-ssi. I hope I’m not bothering you.” Y/N spoke.

“No. Not at all.”

“Oh. Thank heavens. Uhm, I had a favor to ask.”

“What is it?”

“Can we meet somewhere. I need to talk to you about certain things.”

“What kind of “certain things”?

“Treasure-related.”

“Ok? Where then?”

And the two met at a secluded but fine coffee shop in Bukchon.

“Nice to see you again, Y/LN-ssi.” Jihoon greeted as he sits down in front of the news reporter.

“Oh please Jihoon-ssi. Just call me Y/N.”

“Ok. Then about Treasure. Why me? Hyunsuk-hyung knows the members better since he is the oldest.

“Well actually, my coworker had contacted him and he said that he cannot come because he has a schedule too and he recommended you to come.”

Jihoon is always intuitive. When Y/N said that he knows that Hyunsuk planned it. He knows the other leader had no schedule for today.

“If he wasn’t my hyung, I already jiu-jitsued him.” He thought.

“Ok then. What do you want to know, Y/N.” Jihoon asked with a smile on his face.

Their conversation went on for hours. From Treasure, the members, their fun lives, and even their own personal lives. Jihoon was amazed to know about the girl in front of her. Coming from a middle class family, she challenged herself to become who she is today. He also knew that she is a big IKON fan and the only girl and youngest in the family.

Their secret coffee shop meeting became a regular one. In those meetings they became more closer and knew more about each other. Y/N realized that when Jihoon is excited, he automatically switches to his Busan dialect without him knowing and she finds it amusing.

But one day, everything was about to change.

“Jihoon-ah! Where are you?” Hyunsuk was in a panic looking for his dongsaeng in the dorm, barging in the door without even knocking. It was early in the morning.

Doyoung, being an early rise came out of his room. “What’s wrong hyung?”

“Where’s Jihoonie?”

“In his room, hyung. He’s probably still sleeping.”

Hyunsuk did not bother and went directly to Jihoon’s room and barged in, and waking up the boy in his bed.

“Jihoon, wake up.” Hyunsuk nudged him forcefully.

The Busan boy stirred and looked. “Wha-? Hyung? What’s wrong?”

And Hyunsuk shoved his phone in front of Jihoon’s face for him to read.

Park Jihoon and Y/LN Y/N dating?

Treasure member Park Jihoon was spotted with newscaster Y/LN Y/N in a coffee shop at Samchon-dong district. According to some witnesses within the area, they have seen the two regularly for the past few months spending time with each other, casually talking, drinking coffee, and eating desserts. Their meeting is estimated to be long as two hours and then they go out. Our correspondents in Dispatch tried to ask a statement from the coffee shop owner and management but they refused and opted not to speak saying the two are their regular customers and they do not intrude to any topics the two are talking about.

The two were started to be adored by the public after an award show being looking good together.

Now the question is, are they an item now? Or are they a thing? Our team will still get the statement of both YG Entertainment and Y/LN Y/LN’s broadcasting company over the matter. Stay tuned for more information.

“I know you will say you are just friends. But if it is something more or something questionable, please talk to each other about it. I care about you and her. Not just because I am one of the leaders of Treasure and I have to defend you and our reputation, which is really easy by the way, but because I don’t want you to regret and to be happy whatever relationship you have right now.” Hyunsuk asked.

Their conversation was interrupted by a call from Jihoon’s phone.

“Y/N” Jihoon answered.

“Can we- Can we meet and talk?” Y/N asked.

“Okay. Same place?”

“Yes.”

And they found each other again on the same coffee shop. But quieter than usual.

After a few minutes of silence and only the clinging of mugs can be heard, Y/N started to talk.

“Jihoon. It has been fun talking with you but I think this will be the last time.”

“What? Why?” Jihoon started to worry.

“I’m sure you’ve seen the tabloid. I don’t want to jeopardize your career-“

“You know well that I can stand up for whatever heck they throw at us-“

“And I don’t want to hope more that you will return my feelings for you. I’ve been liking you for some time, Jihoon. But it seems this is one-sided.” And Y/N started to stand up and get her bag. “Goodbye, Park Jihoon-ssi.”

And Jihoon sat there frozen, with his cup of coffee, and a slice of cake Y/N loves to eat.

---

Jihoon returns to their dorm that night.

“Hyung, do you want to eat, I cooked---, are you okay?” Mashiho asked.

Jihoon only gave a faint smile. “I’m okay Mashi. I’m just tired. I’ll go to sleep ahead.” And then he went off.

Mashiho only looked at him, knowing something happened.

---

Jihoon laid in his bed, sobbing. He does not understand why he is crying, but he feels the hurt that Y/N decided to stop their acquaintance. He already knew what he is to her and now he starts to ask questions; what is she to him? What are they? What do they have the whole time? These questions bombarded his head to sleep.

He woke up that morning surprised. Hyunsuk was beside his bed looking at him with concern.

“Hyung.” Jihoon said.

“Mashi called me last night. He said you came home with tears in your eyes. He was worried.” Hyunsuk said.

And Jihoon started crying again and hugged his hyung.

“I’m so stupid, hyung. I let her go. I don’t know if I was ignorant or am I just afraid of loving her and she ended everything because she thought we are going nowhere.”

“But do you love her?” Hyunsuk asked.

“This time, hyung…yes.” Jihoon was sure of his answer.

“Then it’s not yet too late.”

---

And Jihoon found himself in a bustling newsroom studio looking for Y/N. It took him some time to find her until he saw him in a green screen area of the room, looking beautiful as ever. He just stayed there on the side as the recording of that day’s news happen. As Y/N was saying her lines, she had a glimpse on the side and saw Jihoon. She continued like a professional she is, not being distracted by his presence.

After the recording, she stepped out of the newsroom and Jihoon started to follow her. She knows he came for her. So she walked faster trying to get away from him.

Jihoon noticed it and hurried up as well.

“Y/N, wait!”

HE catched up with her and held her hand to stop her.

“I know you don’t want to see me. But give me this only chance. I’m sorry. I was stupid. I was afraid. Not because of my career to be at stake, but because I did not realize I am in love with you and when I was, I felt that I will not be enough for you. That’s it. I said what I need to say. It’s up to you now. If you’re still going away, I will let you. I will accept my stupidity. I---”

And Jihoon was interrupted by a kiss on the lips. He was surprised at first but then he gave in. He never thought how soft Y/N’s lips were. He held her tight on the waist, not giving a damn of the people who are already surrounding them inside the newsroom.

---

Jihoon and Y/N confirmed their relationship two months after the newsroom incident. (The people there kept quiet about it until it was revealed.) And two years later they tied the knot. Their wedding was simple but so beautiful and classy. Some wedding planning critics dubbed it as the wedding of the decade. And a year later their daughter, Dahee, was born.

---

For @treasuredays

#park jihoon #treasure #park jihoon fanfiction #treasure fanfiction #kpop fanfiction

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whistlewhileiblogit · 4 years ago

Text

Thoughts on TLoU Part 2....Again

Yeah, I am back with another vent, rant, thoughts on...thing. I wanted to wait a long time after writing my initial reaction to the game, because I figured I’d get more clarity or something. Anyway, so here are my unedited and unfiltered thoughts...8 months later. So as always, this is going to be rambly, and I’ll probably just bold parts of note in case anyone wants to jump around. So here we go!

Oh and, SPOILERS AHEAD

Things I liked: These pretty much haven’t changed. The game is obviously beautiful, the gameplay itself I enjoyed immensely (when mentally separating it from the plot), the Joel and Ellie flashbacks. They were fantastic, and made me feel very reminiscent of the first game. Jesse and Dina were cool, but I found them underutilised, which is a massive shame because they were cool characters.

Yara and Lev were also great, and again, Yara was another completely wasted character potential. But love them nonetheless.

So yeah...that’s pretty much it, I think?

Now for the things I didn’t like...

The writing is the biggest sin in the game to me, as it creates so many structural issues. The pacing is wild and jarring, we aren’t given enough time to bond with certain characters before they are killed off, the narrative itself manages to be incredible simple yet complex simultaneously, but it is a total mess.

Let me explain. The end of the game essentially comes down to “revenge bad”, no matter how you look at it. Sure, you can also include other aspects like, “do good deeds”, but they seem sort of tacked on, considering what happens throughout the game. Ellie goes through the entire story with vengeance for Joel being basically the only thing on her mind (or at least, at the forefront of it), and then just...doesn’t go through with it at the end.

Honestly, the game felt by that point that she HAD to go through with it, after all, how would she learn her lesson? Yet she learns her lesson, without actually getting revenge? So what was the point? Some have said that she learnt in that final fight with Abby to forgive Joel, but this makes no sense. Ellie had already started to forgive Joel before his death. Obviously, she wasn’t over it yet, but she clearly wanted to make amends with her father figure. Besides, she’s fighting Abby, after all. And she certainly didn’t forgive her.

I think a lot of people took Ellie letting Abby go as forgiveness, but in reality, it was in complete grief. There was no point in killing her anymore.

But again, THIS MAKES NO SENSE. Given every. Single. Thing Ellie went through the game, all to find and kill Abby. Losing others she loved and cared for, her family, her fingers (and her ability to play guitar which was the only thing she had left connecting her to Joel)...all of that and she just let Abby go?

It would have made so much more sense had she gone through with killing Abby, only THEN to realise it didn’t make her feel better in the long run. That she was still conflicted in her feelings for Joel. Why bother having Ellie go through every point in the game, only to have her back out at the last second and STILL lose everything? What is that saying? If you do the “right” thing, you’ll still get shit anyway? Ugh.

So speaking of Abby...I thought hey, maybe after all this time, I’ll be able to grow to like her! Yeah, nope. She is just as unlikable as always. Abby is a deuteragonist that we are meant to grow to care for, like we do Ellie. But here’s the thing; Ellie has an ENTIRE GAME beforehand PLUS a freaking DLC game that gives us so much time to love her. So you would think that the writers must think, we’ll make Abby super likeable! NOPE.

Throughout the game, Abby is stoic (which isn’t a bad thing on its own), serious, and just flat-out boring. Sorry Naughty Dog, but I don’t find a character who collects coins as her biggest personality trait interesting. She isn’t funny, or kind or particularly clever. She has her strength, and that doesn’t count as a personality. She’s also a shitty friend, and person, and gets called out for that in the game by Dr Preggers (still don’t remember her name).

Even Abby’s flashbacks do little to make me like her. Oh wow, she has a magical, amazing, super perfect animal-helping papa? And? I just can’t latch onto her character and story. Even if she were really well written and interesting, I wonder if I could have after the game presents her as a total fucking barbaric monster in the first two hours of gameplay.

No, I’m still not over Joel’s death. And despite what some people try and say, it isn’t BECAUSE he died. I went into the game fully expecting Joel to die (I was lucky enough to see no spoilers prior to playing), because I felt like that would be the next step narratively that ND would go. This was a terrible decision on ND’s behalf, but I’ll get into that later.

Joel’s death as the way it plays out, does not only Joel a great disservice- but Abby as well. If ND wanted us all to like Abby so much, they easily could have just made her show some remorse, or conflict, or even just a quick, somewhat merciful death to Joel. But instead, we get ~torture porn~, which becomes the first scene of many of these in the game. This scene is so fucking brutal and sickening, I personally cannot watch it. I have seen it ONCE, and after that I have avoided having to watch it again. And I am not a person with a weak stomach.

Instead of having a death scene worthy of Joel’s character, like having him save Ellie somehow or going out in a blaze of glory, as many have suggested...we got an incredibly beloved character being treated as merely a plot device.

Imagine if the roles were reversed, and Ellie had been killed in Part 2, not Joel. I doubt those saying they’d be cool with it really would be. Especially in such a disgusting, horrific manner.

And one of my biggest grievances with the game- the retconning. I’ve had some people argue with me, that the game doesn’t retcon anything. Those people are fooling themselves or just being wilfully ignorant. Part 2 completely contradicts facts from Part 1. Including:

- Joel didn’t completely lie to Ellie. He half lied. If Joel finds all of the recorders in the hospital, it is revealed that the fireflies DID find dozens of immune people. And killed all of them trying to make a cure...and it didn’t work. This is literal in-game proof that the fireflies never would have succeeded in their quest, had Joel let them kill Ellie.

- Part 2 would have you believe that the fireflies were doing well with their groups and their research. Part 2 shows a beautiful, modern-day looking hospital. But the fact is, as shown in Part 1, the fireflies were on their last legs, and killing Ellie to try and find a cure was their last-ditch attempt to find meaning in their cause. It never was going to work. The hospital is shown to be filthy, and barely up to scratch by all standards. The fireflies were struggling, despite what part 2 tells us.

- The character design changes. We have all seen the comparison pictures of the doctor in part 1 vs part 2. They tried to make Jerry (?) look so wholesome and kind, begging for humanities sake. That isn’t how it went down, and he isn’t the same person. They just wanted Joel to look like a total villain.

I also want to mention what a disservice the marketing was to this game. I know Naughty Dog is very anti-spoiler, for obvious reasons, but they went above and beyond hiding spoilers that they straight up falsely advertised the game. And no, I will not forgive them for that.

The game completely undoes what made the first game special. It was a story about two people, struggling to survive, and somehow through it all, finding a familial love and trust within each other, and fighting to keep it, no matter what.

Ellie and Joel ARE The Last of Us, and Part 2 literally kills of half of what made the first game so incredibly special. As soon as Joel was killed, I wondered how the game would remedy those moments, and aside from the few Joel flashbacks, there really isn’t anything comparable to these scenes. Ellie is alone, so she doesn’t get to develop, or show her personality. And even when she is partnered up for short periods of time, she is too miserable (for good reason), to be the joking, lovable character we knew from the first game.

Final thoughts...

All in all, I would say my opinions have stayed pretty much the same for Part 2. I will forever love Part 1 (played it not long ago for the millionth time), and it is always going to be special to me.

But part 2, as it is, is nonredeemable to me. It really could have been something truly special, like part 1, but I guess that’s just what made The Last of Us so special.

#the last of us #the last of us part 2 #TLOU pt 2 #tlou part 2 #tlou 2 #thoughts #rant #rambles #my crap #joel miller #ellie williams #rip Joel #love you #i stg if anyone comments that I missed the point I-#nobody missed the point #the point is just fucking stupid

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hakka84 · 4 years ago

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I still can’t understand the nature of Duchy’s feelings for Kate.

Foreword: I’m not a Duchy/Kate shipper. I liked how her romantic life was depicted, I liked her with Roth, I liked her with Mike (with all the baggage and angst) and I respect the future narrated in the ending. I just wish to understand if what I get from the show is there and meant by the authors or if I’m seeing things. And, in case of the latter, if I’m the only one or others shares my headcanon.

Long meta under the cut.

In the first half of the Season 4, Dutchy’s behavior whenever is around Kate is erratic at best. It’s protective, a bit too much to be healthy, but at the same time he’s very cold and dismissing toward Kate. Only in Dutch Courage we finally understand the reasons behind his acting - because yes, we’re basically told that Duchy was acting around X so to not get too emotionally close.

But he clearly failed. He did became emotionally invested. Because, after he has finally faced his trauma, Duchy allows himself to drop down that wall that built regarding the XO and we see him looking at Kate more and more affectionately. Never, when his eyes land on Kate, are devoid of a feeling - even if the scene is full of humor and laugh, there’s this lingering affection that cannot be ignored. He clearly has feelings for her that go above a simple frienship - especially because that friendship had no time to blossom yet, we will see it more (even if usually in subtle gestures, never “in your face”) in Season 5. Duchy’s hovering and being over-protective might be a result of his trauma and the need he feels to make sure something like that won’t happen again. But. But there’s clearly more, else he would act the same when around and towards Mike. Which he doesn’t. He’s clearly loyal to Mike, as their CO, but not in the same way he displays toward Kate. The only other member of the crew that gets this protective treatment from Dutchy is Bird, toward whom Duchy (and basically everyone) acts like a big brother. Bird is this young cute thing that must be protected at all costs (the fact she’s 17yo and basically taking a 6-months tour to decide what to do next, so she has little to no training, clearly has something to do, but I guess Bird kicks in their protective streak because she looks frail - although they all admit she is strong, and she clearly is considering all the shit that happens to her in S4).

Sorry. Digression. Anyway. Kate is clearly the opposite of Bird. She’s trained, she has plenty of experience, she’s tough. She isn’t the woman that should kick-in a protective streak - and you see it in Buffer’s interactions with her. Buffer approached Kate like a respected XO who deserves his loyalty, both as Lieutenant and person, but nothing goes out of the line. Sure, the crew joke about Buffer’s infatuation toward Kate, but it’s just that (we know that, if there were someone Buffer was infatuated with, was Nav). Kate gets priority, when protection is concerned, as the second in command on the ship, but not as “woman named Kate” per se: she’s a crewmate, she just happens to matter a bit more because of her rank and position on the ship.

Yet, Duchy feels it’s his duty to protect her with the same diligence of a bodyguard that protects a princess, or a very important woman activist who’s been targeted by terrorists because of some reformations she is pushing for. By the way, Kudos for the actor, he manages to convey Duchy’s wish to protect and to shield Kate from any harm - not only physical but emotional as well.

But then you have this:

KATE: You can’t help who you fall in love with DUCHY: Yes, you can.

I’m not sure if this were the intention of the authors, but it feels to me that Duchy speaks for a personal experience that is still hurting him (see how harsh he sounds, if he just believed in it in abstract or is something from a distant past he would sound more... placid). And why would this exchange be included to start with?

Ok, at first it seems it’s there to highlight what’s happening between Bomber and 2Dads and how wrong it is. The main point I believe is actually to give Kate some food for thoughts that will eventually lead her to the breaking point in the S4 finale - especially when later you have Mike claim the same (you can choose who you fall in love). But what if there’s a third level to read here? Is this exchange meant to hint that Duchy is currently in the same situation for Kate nonetheless, where he choose not to fall in love with her and he therefore has managed to switch to platonic one-sides romance?

In this same episode, later, we see Duchy drugged up and he calls Kate “an angel” and acting like a a besotted guy and I don’t believe in the amused explanation given by Swain that it’s all up to the drugs. It feels that those drugs removed Duchy’s inhibitions, the strict control he acts on himself so that he may not let his feelings for Kate reveal themselves. The drugs allowed (of forced him) to reveal his true feelings instead, and he just can call himself lucky because he won’t remember anything - and neither Swain or Kate will likely tell him about it. So the secret - if a secret exists - is safe.

And then there’s the finale, when he sees Kate kissing Mike. He silently steps away, but the look on his face, some kind of mourning, and then how he diverts his eyes. There’s sadness, mostly sadness. I can’t tell if it’s just the sadness for discovering that the person he cares the most for is forced to suppress her feelings because of their job... or because the heart of the person he silently loves belongs to another. There’s no jealousy, but resignation. Perhaps I’m giving the actor too much credit here, but he always pull the “I suffer to see or hear that you’re suffering” look whenever Duchy is faced with a hint (be it a subtle gesture or a word) that Kate is suffering because of her unresolved thing with Mike (as during Mike and Kate’s reunion after the bombing in 5x01, when Mike explains how he felt when he heard about the news and couldn’t get in touch with them to know they were alive).

So. My impression is that Duchy loves Kate in a platonic way and acts like her shadow, protecting her and doing his best to make sure she is safe, with the kind of the generous love of a dog. He wants nothing in return, just see Kate is safe and sound and possibly fullfilled with her life, be it professional and personal. He’s the man who choose to step aside and keep his feelings a secret, wishing for the woman they love to find happiness. But is it an impression or this was what the authors were aiming to? If it’s like this, which is my heacanon, Duchy feels for Kate the most pure form of love: he doesn’t want Kate for himself because he knows he can’t, he wants to be the XO’s second, and to be so he cannot aspire to any relationship with her - his need to protect her and be at her side for as long the Navy will allow him exceeds any wish to be romantically involved with her. Or perhaps he doesn’t even feel any physical attraction for her, she “worships” her (in a healthy way) and he just feels “in the right place” at her side.

Or am I seeings things that don’t exist? Are romantic - platonic - feelings for Kate hinted at or not?

What makes me lean towards the “I cannot have her, my duty will be make sure no one and nobody will harm her”, is how his situation is a mirror of what we saw between Buffer and Nav. Buffer clearly harbored romantic feelings for Nav, she respected her as Nav but as person as well, and was pretty clear with E.T. about what he felt for Nav went beyond a “I like her as crewmate” (so much that he got the “you could be her dad” retort). But then Nav - unaware - tells him he’s a valuable friend so he quietly backs away, accepting that she doesn’t see him like he sees her, and that their friendship is more important than his (eventual) broken heart and disappointment: she doesn’t need to be told that he had feelings for her because she did nothing to encourage him, and he will always be there for her, he’ll be the friend she needs and loves. And yes, when he understands that E.T. is serious, he steps back: E.T. will not hurt Nav so he doesn’t need to protect her from him. Buffer isn’t the most emotional of the group (compare it to Swain), so it’s most left to us to imagine it, but I get that he was fine with Nav and E.T. and he would demand to be a witness in the wedding (although he would be ready to back down and allow Mike the honor), because that’s how Buffer shows he’s a sweet cinnamon under his macho navy glorified combat and security expert.

Now, Buffer and Nav are at the same level (although Nav is higher, rank speaking?); Duchy and the XO no, so the context is a bit different. But there are many similarities, as the two buffers both feel affection for a woman crewmate who happens to be courted/involved with another. They are the most respectful they could be, in such a situation of unrequited romance.

Kudos to the authors: both (if we believe Duchy loved Kate) situations were depicted with the upmost respect. Seldom you see one-sided romances treated this way - no angst, no drama, the man stepping back and not forcing the woman to their unrequited feelings, the man not taking any frustration and broken heart out on the unaware object of their feelings (or like, anyone else).

As far as I can tell, all the romances in the show were good written - we got all the kinds you can get, from “girl/man of the day - it felt like a fairytale until I discovered you’re a drug dealer” to the longer spanning a half a season, the “we must repress our feelings for job reasons” to “I can’t literally control myself”, but all were tasteful, wonderfully nuances and with a decent balance between the two parties involved.

#sea patrol

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real-jaune-isms · 4 years ago

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RWBY Volume 8 Chapter 9 Review/Remix

I cannot in good conscience joke that Rooster Teeth intended to go on a week’s hiatus after this cliffhanger, but I will say this was a hell of an episode for it to happen after. And while we wait to see what happens next, let’s take a little look at what’s happened here and now.

For the sake of not dividing up the action, let’s first cover what’s happening on the battlefield outside of Monstra. We open on a sweeping shot of the carnage thus far and see a good few nameless Atlesian soldier corpses to get our spirits plummeting. But Grimm don’t (with one terrifying exception) leave corpses so we don’t know how many of them have been taken out up to this point. It could be a very significant number, more than the body count on the human side! But Monstra keeps making more and we don’t have a way to replenish our forces so... it’s an endurance game more than anything else.

In a tactic I really didn’t see coming, the Atlas forces have dug trenches to fight out of like World War 1 soldiers. It makes sense, there are Grimm that we have seen have ranged projectiles so cover is a good move and it gives them a place to go over strategies before climbing out and going on the offensive. Just didn’t expect nearly century old battle strategy from an army with robots and mechs. Whatever works, I guess. We get a look in one of these trenches to see Winter briefing a squad on the plan to keep this area secure since it’s where an airship will be dropping off the bomb, and once it arrives their mission becomes escorting it inside Monstra. Amazingly, we can recognize 4 people in this squad as the members of Team FNKI! And WOW do they look out of place wearing the standard Atlesian soldier armor rather than their colorful and creative street clothes... Even their spunky personalities are taking a hit in this desperate situation. The next wave is approaching so everyone climbs out to start fighting back, and Marrow is shown a short ways away visibly upset over how many of their forces are just kids. Elm tells him to save the musings for after the fighting is done, and that does kick him into gear a bit. Everyone does a good job of handling the Grimm, Flynt and Neon tag teaming to take out a Goliath, and pretty soon the airship does touch down with the bomb. Left to his own thoughts, Marrow stares wistfully at Monstra and wishes good luck to “Juan”. Glad some things still haven’t changed.

Winter goes into the hold to sign off on its delivery, and Marrow follows her in to beg for a little more time for Yang and the others to get out first. She tells him they’ve allowed all the time they can and now it’s up to the teens to handle themselves. He calls her on this ambivalence, asks her if she’d be so dismissive if it were Weiss inside the whale. And for that matter, how is she going to be able to face Weiss and tell her 4 of her friends are dead because of Winter’s decision? Winter is visibly discomforted by that thought, but steels her nerve and replies that she will do so if she has to because that’s part of the job, so he should worry about doing his job. But you can tell she takes no pride in the job at this point.

With all of that battlefield drama out of the way, let’s talk about that group’s journey inside the whale. Through unseen means they managed to get inside, but the hallways all look the same and they aren’t finding a map any time soon. Yang points out this is like finding a needle in a... giant whale. More wonderful wit, brightens the mood immensely. Ren takes this opportunity to tell them about his new Semblance ability and says that he can use it as a sort of radar for other humans by sensing where the spikes of their emotions are. He can’t tell which one is Oscar, but he knows they’re all deeper inside Monstra so he’ll lead the way. Jaune reminds Ren that he can give him a boost with his own Semblance if he needs it, and Ren sheepishly agrees. Guess he’s still getting used to letting others in and being open about when he needs support. That was part of their whole three way argument on the tundra earlier this Volume after all. So this is them putting aside their differences and settling that. Jaune gives him some awkward finger guns and they head off.

We cut to Oscar lying on the floor of his holding room quoting a fairy tale to himself. Oz recognizes the quote as being from “The Girl Who Fell Through the World”, and Oscar isn’t shocked Oz knows it so well. He admits that yes, he did live through his fair share of events that became fairy tales. This particular story isn’t in the officially released book of Remnant’s fairy tales so we have to make some guess work about its plot and overall lesson. It seems to be a sort of mix of Wizard of Oz and the Hobbit where a girl craves to see the wider world and gets that chance through an adventure but when she returns she finds she can never quite fit in again because the journey has changed who she is forever. Oscar admits he’s growing to identify with the heroine of that story more and more by the day because he too has been sent through Remnant and come out the other side unable to feel the same innocent joy he did before he knew what the world really is. Oz thinks they may have to drop their plan of creating traitors in Salem’s ranks because it’s bearing no fruit, and suggests they start thinking about how to get his cane and get out of here themselves. Oscar has reservations about that, because apparently the more he uses Oz’s magic the quicker his soul is heading towards being lost as another past life for the single continuing existence that is Oz to look back on. Oz doesn’t blame him for wanting to delay that, and thinks just being Oscar is serving him pretty well. They don’t have time for further musings because Hazel comes in and drags the poor kid out of the room by the collar of his shirt.

Turns out they’re taking a trip over to the Home Depot, because Hazel is looking to procure a Lamp. He only half believes Oscar’s explanation of how Jinn works, so he wants to test it before taking the news to Salem and risking losing his head for reporting a lie. And if it does work, I guess he wants to know what that will entail. So he’s gonna make Oscar do it here and now. Before they can get underway with that, in comes Emerald to ask just what the hell they’re doing. Let’s find out, Hazel simply replies. That’s all the go ahead Oscar needs, and he calls for Jinn. Again, time stops around them and Jinn emerges from the blue smoke. She’s gotten a bit of an update to her model since Volume 6, and she’s as captivating as ever. Naturally, she wants to know what question they have of her, but no one seems to have one they urgently need answered. Hazel got all the answers he needed just by knowing Oscar was being honest about this and thus probably about a lot of other important matters. He decides now is the time to switch sides once and for all, he’s going to help Oscar AND Emerald get the hell out of here because neither of them deserve to be under Salem’s thumb. Oscar plays a little of the pronoun game and implies he wants his cane back before they leave, and Hazel seems to have no problem with that. Jinn remains playful, but must be getting pretty damn fed up with people summoning her without having a question to ask. Oscar deems it necessary to tell her that they’ll be taking her with them when they leave, as if that’s an alternative she was going to give much of a damn about. Hazel doesn’t think that’s a good idea, it’s the most prized item in Salem’s possession and she’s clearly going to know if it’s taken. He decides he’ll make a return trip to swipe it after the kids are out of the danger zone. They all head out as Jinn starts to fade into her cloud of smoke, but it seems they were not the only ones in the room at this time. With perfect chameleon-like camouflage, Neo was hiding in the shadows near the doorway, and emerges from nowhere like the Cheshire Cat. Now she’s alone with the Lamp and the knowledge of how it works. If only she could actually talk...

Back to our intrepid trio of heroes, Jaune is running on fumes with his Aura so he has to stop amping Ren’s Semblance. Ren apologizes of course, it does take a lot for him to both mask their emotional presences and search for other people at once, but Jaune says it’s fine. He’ll scout ahead while Ren takes a breather and doesn’t mask for a little while. With directions for where they need to be heading, Jaune jogs away full of optimism. Yang jokes about the two men patching things up after their spat the evening prior, but he decides its time for some patented Lie Ren wisdom. “It’s okay to be afraid, you don’t always have to hide it with a joke”. He’s not gonna judge her if she’s not in happy go lucky fun time mode, this is a seriously terrifying situation and she’s allowed to show fear and hesitation. At least, that’s the message I extrapolated from this and what we already know about Yang. Ren assures her he is scared too, but amazingly he can’t sense any such doubt or fear from Jaune. That man has full confidence and hope in getting this done, and if he believes then so will they. I really like that, it shows how much Jaune has grown from the noodle boy we first met. Speaking of the lad, he comes running back and tells Ren to mask them ASAP. A Seer is coming down the hall, and they hide from its view for as long as possible. But Ren is running low on Aura too and the effect wears off just before they’re in the clear.

Meanwhile, Hazel and Emerald are walking down a separate hallway and the former asks “You sure he’ll be okay on his own?” Clearly this means they let Oscar out of their sight so he can go get his cane, which shows a lot of confidence in the lad from these former captors. Emerald doesn’t have a clear answer yet, but she does stop Hazel and have him stand against the wall next to her. Salem is coming this way, and they need to let her pass. She stops, and naturally asks Hazel for an update on Ozcar. If he’s out here that must mean he has something to report. So, has he given up what they need yet? Hazel seems to immediately be cracking under pressure, the guy has no experience with lying or deception. Before he can stammer in place for too long, the Seers start wailing in the distance and that gets Salem’s attention instead. She realizes they have unexpected visitors, then almost immediately panics as she seems to realize the Lamp has been taken and these interlopers are surely to blame. Salem speeds off with all the grace of a kid riding a hoverboard, and it’s really quite amusing. I mean, we see her move her legs to walk but she just floats instead of running. We go back to the heroes finishing off the wave of what seemed to be Sabyrs that had come after them, and they decide to keep moving forward no matter the danger. Clever use of that phrase so near and dear to our hearts, and its good to see them gung ho about fighting their way through Monstra if it means finding Oscar.

They round a few more corners and find themselves face to face with Emerald and Hazel, and they’re none too happy about that. But good news comes suddenly, and Hazel steps forward to try and talk the situation down... only to be revealed to have actually been Oscar under the disguise of Emerald’s Semblance this whole time. She really is getting good at those illusions, it fooled Salem and was able to be cast on Jaune Ren and Yang at once. They are immediately much more happy to see Oscar alive and well, although the bear hug Jaune pulls him into might not help him heal any faster from the beatings he’s been getting. They still don’t know what to make of the fact that he was walking around with Emerald, and as soon as she makes a snippy remark they’re back on their guard. Oscar doesn’t quite know how to summarize everything that lead to this, but Yang insists someone give it a try. Emerald WAS the one who tricked her into “breaking” Mercury’s leg and becoming a public menace in Volume 3, she’s gonna need some good reasons to trust her now. Surprisingly, it’s Ren who has such an answer. Emerald is scared just like them, which would seem to show she is very much unhappy with being on this side of the fight and she wants to get out of this bad scenario. Em isn’t about to agree with that sort of admission of weakness, but she does have her own reason. She knows the way out, so if they want to leave they’ll all be leaving together. That’s enough to satisfy them for now, and they all get going.

They make it 90% of the way there, the ramping path down and out is just ahead of them... when Monstra starts pulsing and wailing. Emerald recognizes this influence, and she is frightened. The wall nearest to Oscar explodes, and Salem has arrived. She instantly takes stock of the situation, and deems Emerald the traitor in need of punishment for letting their prisoner out so she stretches her arms like my favorite rubber pirate and holds the poor thief closely with the intent to start that punishment immediately. She commends the girl for the improvements to her Semblance, but beneath the surface she is furious. Yang and Ren start shooting, and the fight with Salem has finally begun. She dodges the gunfire and responds with a beam of magic that Jaune jumps in the way to tank for Ren with his shield. They’re sent aback while Yang leaps in to unload a rapid volley of punches to Salem’s chest. A more baller move than punching this immortal witch in the titties, I never have seen. But that wasn’t all she did, she was actually leaving a bunch of sticky bombs that she jumps away and detonates all at once. Salem’s torso is blasted out of shape and she’s bending so far back you’d assume she’s the world’s greatest contortionist, but that doesn’t slow her down. She stretches out an arm to grab Yang tightly by the wrist and starts pulling her in as her chest starts to repair and reform at a rapid pace. Now it’s Oscar’s turn to attempt a rescue of his female companions, and he blasts some magic at Salem. Guess that fear of merging faster was kicked to the curb as soon as other people’s lives were on the line, and that’s pretty noble of him. But it’s a fairly weak blast, and Salem employs the classic strategy of hitting that motherfucker with another motherfucker by tossing Yang at him. Then she grows a bunch of Grimm arms from the floor to hold everybody down and leave them at her mercy. Emerald gets the special privilege of being held against a wall by some arms rather than on the ground, and is questioned on what she did with the Lamp. It’s missing, and Salem is dead certain Emerald is to blame despite her pleading insistence she hasn’t taken it and doesn’t know where it is now. Great job Neo, you made life that much harder for your former allies... Since Emerald isn’t offering any answers, Salem turns her attention to Oscar. At first it seems aloof and mysterious like before, but then she just lunges and grabs his face in anger. She’s mad that he keeps coming back to try and help this weak and selfish race instead of just letting her wreck it and end herself with the whole lot, as if he hasn’t already explained that he’s being forced to reincarnate by the gods she hates so much. But Yang is the one who snaps back, asking why Salem is so persistent. Sure, she had a tragic backstory and lost the love of her life. But that was thousands of years ago, she’s had plenty of time to get over it and move on. To grieve and accept Ozma was gone and be better. Instead she got pissed she couldn’t have her fairy tale ending and decided to make that everyone else’s problem. Salem has been the cause of almost every problem that has plagued Remnant since before the Great War, and Yang is calling her on it here and now. Go off, queen. Salem wonders just who Yang has lost to make her so indignant and so much more worthy of complaining and being the victim here than herself. Let’s list these losses, shall we?

Raven left home out of fear of Salem and her own hang ups with personal connections stemming from her upbringing (bandit lifestyle being so popular because there’s always towns to scavenge with Salem leading the Grimm)

Summer Rose is dead directly because of clashing with Salem

Pyrrha Nikos

Penny (she is back but there was still a lot of grieving on Ruby’s part and it had to affect Yang too)

About a dozen other Beacon students and visiting academy fighters at the Fall of Beacon, some of whom she probably got to know decently outside the ring and certainly respected as fighters in this defense effort

An arm because Adam was working under Salem and came to Beacon with vengeful intentions for Blake

About a year of PTSD nightmares flashbacks and involuntary fearful shaking

Her bond with Blake was fractured to hell and back because of the above incident, they’re damn lucky it was strong enough to be reforged with hard work and trust later

Now, some of those examples are a lot stronger than others, but they all affected her to some degree or another and all relate back to Salem. Naturally, she chooses the strongest example and says she lost her mom Summer Rose. This can be seen as throwing Raven under the bus as not being her mom in Yang’s eyes, but honestly after Volume 5 it just makes sense and it’s not like Raven would try to argue about it. Curiously, hearing Summer’s name just gives Salem a Cheshire Cat grin. I’m now realizing this is my second reference to that character in this review, but Alice in Wonderland is just that relatable here. Clearly she knows more than she’s letting on about Summer’s demise. Before we can get any more answers, Hazel arrives on the scene still playing the loyal subordinate role. Salem tells him she’s caught the traitor on their midst and he needs to take Oscar back to his room while she handles disciplining Emerald. He takes stock of all the kids trapped as he heads over to grab Oscar as asked, then pulls him in close to whisper “No more Gretchens, boy” in his ear. He suddenly drops him to ground again and turns to approach Salem. Oscar notices he was given his cane back when he wasn’t looking, and realizes what’s going to happen pretty quickly.

Salem holds a glowing ball of magic up to Emerald’s cheek with the implication that direct contac will be painful and possibly burning. Even under this threat of torture, Emerald has no answers and the fear of the seemingly inevitable brings her to tears. Lucky for her she gets a last minute save as Hazel runs up and sucker punches Salem, sending her flying a hundred feet through the air! She immediately recovers and starts flying before she can hit the ground, but the line in the sand has been drawn. As soon as she got sent flying the arms went away and all the kids were free to run away, which Hazel loudly yells for them to do as he rips his vest off and starts stabbing his shoulders and forearms with Dust crystals. Emerald lingers and wordlessly tries to talk him out of this, to run away with the rest of them. He just gives her a smile and turns towards his enemy. Salem asks if he really wants to turn his back on the path to vengeance she had promised him, and he responds that he’s instead choosing the righteous path his sister would have taken. Following her example is now the best way he can think to do right by her. So he’s gonna do that by using fire Dust to set his knuckle guards ablaze. She sends magic his way but the lightning Dust helps him quickly dodge and then he punches fireballs at her. He uses Revali’s Gale... I mean uses some air Dust to create an updraft and launch himself above her. He smashes some earth and fire Dust together to make a ball of spiky molten rock that he throws onto Salem and sends her crashing to the ground with an explosive impact. Then he just starts whaling on her, sending blood flying in 3 different directions and demolishing her upper body. But she makes more arms to hold him up in the air while she regrows her face. Emerald is still watching, not having moved an inch yet, but finally she decides retreat will be for the best. It’s why he’s doing this at all. Jaune seems to be doing a headcount as everyone runs past him, and realizes Oscar hasn’t left. He hasn’t made any moves to leave, in fact he seems like he’s getting ready to fight too. She’ll just keep coming after them at this rate, and Oscar seems to have a plan to change that. Salem shoots another magic beam at the now pinned Hazel, but he’s strong enough to pull against the arms and guard his exposed torso and put up a visible bubble shield of Aura. So she just tosses him away and immediately goes to where he landed and starts bashing his head into the ground. Oscar steadies his stance and readies his staff for whatever move this is gonna be. Salem notices and is ready to take him down before it can be ready, but Hazel continues to be a boss and gets her in a Full Nelson hold to keep her from going anywhere. She grabs his legs with a bunch of summoned arms, but it doesn’t discourage him. In a final act of vengeance, he bites down on a crystal of fire Dust he had popped into his mouth before grabbing her and they are both set on fire. She can’t escape his grip, and the fire seems like it’s hurting pretty bad. It’s only natural that they would reference the Salem Witch Trials by burning a witch named Salem, and I appreciate the idea very much. Oscar finishes charging up his staff for his attack, and Hazel gives him the go ahead. He knows this will kill him too, and he accepts that. It’s absolutely the same situation as Piccolo killing Goku and Raditz with the Makankösappö in the first arc of Dragon Ball Z, and that too is something I love to see. So Oscar puts up a magic shield and unleashes a blinding wave of golden light from the staff.

Fade to black.

Roll Credits.

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clairecrive · 5 years ago

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“Dear Alfie,”- Alfie Solomons fanfiction

Chapter 5 - “Alfie’s letter”

Finally, we read Alfie’s letter! I’ll admit that I was so scared bc we all know that Alfie has a very singular way of talking but I did my best and I hope you like this. Let me know what you think! I’m open to any suggestions regarding the story.

Tag list: @deaflikehawkeye @mollybegger-blog @br0ck-eddie @shadow-of-wonder @fandom–0verdose @innerpaperexpertcloud @evelynshelby (let me know if you wanna be added)

Chapter 1| Chapter 2| Chapter 3| Chapter 4| Chapter 5

Camden Town, London

April 22, 1904

Dear Clara,

there has never been a day where I’ve been more grateful for the bastard that invented ink and paper to have lived. As resolute as ever, my lovely mother has updated you of my wretched life. Not that I got up to much in prison but I should have seen it coming. Although I’m grateful that she’s taken the time to write to you, I would have actually preferred you to be in the dark about this. Not exactly a selling point for a gentleman to let the girl he’s courting know that he’s in prison. Who am I kidding, I’m no gentlemen. Unlike the ones that came to your house the other day, for sure.

They really sound like bloated wops and honestly, I’m still unsure about how you manage to stay in the same room as them for more than a second. I reckon there would be carnage if it ever happened to me. Hence why I went to prison. I’ll save you the gruesome details but I know that you’re a curious kitten and you’ll probably want to know what happened. So I’ll tell you. Even if in doing so I’m risking ever getting another letter from you. I’ll take that risk knowing that you’re worthy of the truth. No matter if I’ll be heartbroken, you should know who you’ve been corresponding with for the past month.

As you know, me and Sabini have never been the best of mates, no matter the appearance he’s trying to keep. Acting all right and just in front of my face and then going around and speak utterly bullshit about me and my people behind my back. Now, you may not know this about me, or you’ve already realized it anyhow, but I do not take kindly of racist, disrespectful and hypocrites people. Wops above anyone. So when a mate of mine comes to tell me that my “dear friend Darby” has been talking shit about us, I have to do something about it, you understand. So I go and confront him about it, right? And what does the fucker do? When put before the fact he has the audacity to laugh at my face. To fucking laugh at my face, claiming he was just joking. So I showed him how we joke about wops. It turns out that policemen were around and they didn’t think it was funny. Not really surprised, to be honest, those fuckers don’t have an ounce of sense of humour if you ask me.

It wasn’t too bad, to be honest. The only thing was how it affected my mum. And also you, it seems. Never understood how I got so lucky as to have two women worrying for me but I’m really sorry for making you worry. My mum has kind of made her peace with it but I know it may sound new and shocking to you. So for that, I apologize. If you ask me, all men are shit and absolutely undeserving for the attention and affection that women in their life provide them. Me and those fucktards you talked to me about are the living proof. Never thought you had it in you Clara, what a pleasant surprise. Turns out the noble girl isn’t so noble when she wants to. Have they kept coming to you? If that’s so, I’ve underestimated them. They’re far more stupid than I thought them to be but also far braver. Although I kind of understand why they can’t stay away from you. If I were they, I know I couldn’t be able to. Have you told your parents about your plans? Maybe you’ll have more luck looking for a suitor here. Just saying.

I’m writing this letter with the hope that it’ll bring you joy and peace to receive it and not disdain and shame when you’ve finished it. I’ll patiently wait for your next letter but I totally understand if you choose not to associate with me anymore. If that’s the case, I just want you to know that despite my initial apprehensions, I really enjoyed this correspondence of ours.

Forever yours,

Alfie

P.S. oh and by the way, your cousin was right. Your letters were the only source of entertainment and it brought with them sunlight and warmth.

Naples, Italy

May 23, 1904

Dear Alfie,

you can’t even imagine how delighted I was upon receiving your letter. How could you ever believe that I would be anything but happy? Of course, I’m not happy that you got thrown into prison but now you’re out and you’re certainly wiser for it, right? Jokes aside, I do not condone acts of violence, I’ve already told you that. However, I understand why you did it. Being a woman I’m constantly subject of racism and offensive behaviours. I’ve kinda made my peace with it but God only knows how many times I had to refrain from smacking some assholes’ face. So, see? Can’t really blame you.

Maybe seeing as you and I are alike in a sense, you’d never feel like you better hide something like this again. I thought that you, above anyone else, would never use the fact that I’m a woman against me. I know that the situation is less grave than what my words made it out to be but is a very small step to make. You know, even Plato, in V b.c., understood that the difference between men and women is cultural. At least that’s what Ms Alice has taught me the other day. I was utterly surprised to be honest, I had never thought about it that way. But if you think about it, it’ true. The only difference between my male siblings and me lies in what others tell me what I can do and what I cannot. There’s no one that has that same kind of conversation with my brothers or other siblings. Not that I know of at least. Do you reckon for it to be true? I’m sure that as a young Jewish man, many have told you that you can’t be somewhere or doing something, correct me if I’m wrong. So you see, we’re not very different, you and I.

Oh Alfie, just the fact that you’re saying these things proves to me that you’re worthy of every last bit of affection your mum gives you. And also some kind of special girl? We never really talk about it but please don’t feel like you can’t talk to me or anything. I’m not going to be jealous if that’s what worries you. I’m sure that there’s enough place in your heart for her and my, your dear friend. Am I wrong? As for the blokes of whom I’ve talked to you about in my last letter, yes they have kept coming. Just less often. I’ve recently met them at a party a common acquaintance held and you know what I’ve noticed? Whenever I was in the same group of people, they would avoid speaking of any serious subject. Honestly, it was quite amusing to see how they would shift on their feet whenever they would see me approaching and I should think that they should learn a lesson from this: to never speak like they possess all the knowledge. Never understood how anyone can be so pretentious as to feel like they do.

As for the other matter, I haven’t talked about it to my parents. Not yet. And as a result, they haven’t stopped looking for a suitor. However, I’ve mentioned to them my desire for travelling, especially in England, and that Ms Alice is happy to be my mentor and my chaperone. They also know that I’ve been keeping correspondence with someone from England but I thought it best to leave out the part that you’re a man. Please don’t take it personally Alfie, it has nothing to do with you but rather with the fact that they wouldn’t allow me to write back if they knew. They’re all so very concerned with etiquette and how someone is expected to behave that they would think this is inappropriate. As with many things, I totally disagree with my parents on this. But knowing them, I thought what I had to so that this thing we have can continue. I’ve kinda grown attached to you.

So how was it like, going back home? Has your mother cooked you your favourite food? Has there been some kind of special activities for your return? I love when you tell me more about your days, it really feels like I’m there with you.

I’m happy that my letters, with my frivolous banter, have helped you through that difficult time. I hope there never comes a time where you stop writing back because you can’t be bothered too.

I’ll wait for your next letter with the usual trepidation and anticipation.

Yours,

Clarissa

P.s. was that a promise or a suggestion?

#dear alfie #alfie solomons #alfie solomons au #alfie solomons x oc #alfie solomons fanfic #alfie solomons fanfiction #letters #epistolary novel #early 1900s #london #italy #peaky blinders au #peaky blinders fanfiction

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izzy-b-hands · 5 years ago

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In The Room Where You Sleep

Me: Doesn’t exactly love or hate my sleep paralysis episodes, but knows they often get triggered if I write/read about sleep paralysis.

Also me: Writes this fic, set during the early Queen days about Freddie having sleep paralysis, because I like to test the universe apparently.

TW: Sleep paralysis, talking about it and descriptions of it as episodes are happening.

My love to all who read/like/reblog!

“You were in my room!”

“I was not!” Roger insisted. “You would have known if I was in your room, and I would know, yes? Well, I know I wasn’t there, so-”

“Then who was?” Freddie asked. “Because someone was there, in my doorway-”

“But you said the door wasn’t open, right?” Brian was in what could only be described as full scientist mode, trying to turn the problem into a solvable equation. “And you didn’t hear the door open, so how on earth would he have gotten in?”

“And why do you presume it was Rog?” John added.

“So it was you, not Roger?” Freddie accused.

“No,” John chuckled. “Fred, relax. There was no one there.”

Freddie looked wounded, and dropped onto the couch. “Fine. There was no one there, and there won’t be anyone there again tonight, even when I see them clear as day!”

“Don’t pout,” Roger sighed. “I’m not saying you didn’t see something, but it wasn’t me!”

“Not this again,” Brian muttered. “You’re agnostic, Roger, or something like it, you shouldn’t encourage this nonsense.”

“And you don’t believe in ghosts at all?” Roger challenged him as he sat by Freddie on the couch, an arm around his shoulders.

“What I believe isn’t what’s in question here,” Brian replied. “What’s in question is what Freddie keeps seeing. What it is, and why he’s seeing it. I’ll admit, it’s strange, but to jump to ghosts right away...”

“Did I say that’s what I was jumping to?” Freddie scoffed. “I just want to know who it is, and ask that they stop. Considering there’s only four of us in this flat, and it can’t be me, that doesn’t leave many other options, now does it?”

“It wasn’t any of us though,” Brian said.

“And just like that, we’re back to ghosts,” John muttered. “So, if it is a ghost-”

“You cannot be serious,” Brian interrupted, but that didn’t slow John down.

“What sort of ghost could it be?” John mused. “How old is this building; do we know?”

“What if one of us stays in your room with you tonight?” Roger suggested. “Rather than two of us in the living room, and the other two with the rooms.”

“You could just share with me all the time, like I’ve offered,” Freddie said.

“That’s that then,” Roger smiled. “I’ll start sharing your room with you, and we’ll get to the bottom of this. If I see it too, and can determine it isn’t either of these two assholes-”

“We’re right here,” John said. “Really?”

But Roger kept on, as if John hadn’t said a word. “Then we’ll know we’re horribly haunted, at least in your room, and we’ll do a switch of rooms. Mr. I-Fear-No-Spirits over there can have yours, and we’ll take his, and John can have the couch all to himself!”

“You make that sound like such a prize,” John scoffed.

“It sort of is, you don’t have to worry about stepping on me if you get up in the middle of the night now!” Roger stressed.

Brian raised his hands. “I wash my hands of this. Have fun ghost hunting if you want, but I’m going to bed. Freddie, it will be alright, really. Whatever is going on. Try and sleep well.”

Freddie nodded, and that was his intent.

But laying beside an already asleep Roger a few hours later, his eyes hurt from holding them open.

He was plenty tired, but he wasn’t ready to see it again. Not that it had done anything bad, or anything at all.

It was horribly unnerving though. A silhouette stood in the doorway, not moving, not talking, just...there.

Watching, or so it felt.

He had accused Roger, but truthfully, he didn’t really think it was him, or Brian or John. He wanted it to be, because that would have been easier. That would have made sense, and would have had a solution in telling them to fuck off with the practical joke and to stop creeping him out like that.

He didn’t think it was a ghost either. Whether he believed in such things or not wasn’t even a factor in this particular case; he just somehow knew that wasn’t right.

But then, that meant he had no other idea as to who or what it was, and why it showed up. Why it left him frozen in his bed, only able to watch.

If he didn’t sleep, then it couldn’t happen again. That was the only logical solution, for now, even as his body screamed at him to rest.

He managed it though. Flipping through Roger’s books that were littered in the room (as well as all over the flat, for that matter, but so were Brian’s, so it was only fair that Roger got to do the same.) When he bored of that, there were bits of his stage clothes that needed darning and other little fixes (a missing rhinestone here, a torn sequin there.) After that, it was onto sets of lyrics, mostly finished, but run through to see if there was anything he wanted to change (nothing, but at least he could say he’d done a read through of them now.)

The sun was slow to rise, as was Roger, and it was nearly ten in the morning before Roger turned over to see him, and sighed.

“You didn’t sleep, did you?”

“That obvious?” Freddie asked.

“Yeah, actually,” Roger yawned and rubbed at his eyes. “You look like shit; either you’re sick or you didn’t sleep, or both.”

Freddie rested his head against his knees, drawn up and close to his chest.

“Did you see it again?”

“No,” Freddie replied softly.

“You should sleep now,” Roger suggested gently. “Sun’s out, we’re all awake. I am, at least. You sleep, I’ll read some, and that way if anything shows up, I’ll be awake to see it too.”

He was hesitant, but Roger was a reassuring presence. Blonde hair illuminated by the sun drifting in through the drapes (he was the lucky one, with the room that had a window), science fiction novel in hand, leaned back against his pillow, soft smile on his face.

He slept on his side, facing Roger. Or at least, that was how he had fallen asleep.

When his eyes shot open, or at least felt they did, he was on his back.

And there it was, again.

But now that he tried to get a good look at it...it didn’t really look like anyone. So it truly couldn’t be Roger, John, or Brian fucking with him. A ghost would surely have some sort of features, not that he would call his knowledge on that expert, but it seemed to make sense, and this thing had...nothing.

Which made it all the worse as it stepped forward.

He tried to turn his head to Roger, to lift a hand, finally to scream, but no luck. He couldn’t move, couldn’t make a sound, couldn’t do anything.

And still, the thing approached, all shadowy edges flowing closer and closer, and the sound of a deep voice screaming hit his ears, coming from nowhere and everywhere all at once, as if the person screaming was right in his face, and there was no other sound but yet there was, terrible and discordant, and-

“Freddie!”

Roger’s voice jolted him awake, nearly falling out of the bed to get away from thing thing, scrabbling over a confused and protesting Roger to the corner of the room.

But when he turned, there was nothing there. The room was quiet aside from his own panting breaths.

Roger looked utterly befuddled and concerned. “Are you okay? You were dead asleep, then you started-”

Roger shook his head. “It was wild. Head shaking about, hanging onto the blanket like you trying to tear it up or something. I tried waking you, but you were out cold, then suddenly you’re climbing over me!”

“You didn’t see it?” Freddie asked slowly, an eye still on the doorway.

Roger shook his head. “Come back here, sit down. You look like you’re going to pass out or something.”

He stumbled back around the bed, never turning his back to the doorway, before settling onto the bed. He let Roger gently pull him down, so his head was in Roger’s lap.

Still, even as Roger played gently with his hair, clearly hoping to calm him, he kept an eye on the door.

“You need decent sleep,” Roger said softly. “Do you want to try again?”

He shook his head. He did, but he didn’t all the same. Not if he was going to have that happen again.

Roger sighed. “What about on the couch? All of us will be out there, milling about.”

“I don’t think that’s the issue,” Freddie replied. “It isn’t that I’m sleeping at the wrong time, or with not enough people around and awake to see it. I think it’s that I’m sleeping at all.”

“Even so, you can’t just not sleep,” Roger said. “Try it, for me?”

He let Roger lead him out of the bed and out of the room, though he couldn’t hide a wince at the doorway, as if they’d somehow walk through the thing that he’d been seeing at it.

Roger waved away John and Brian’s questions, focusing on getting Freddie settled on the couch instead.

Freddie could hear Roger starting to explain to them as he closed his eyes. Roger was right, he was painfully tired still. Maybe he would be right about this as well, and he would sleep fine so long as the others were nearby.

He had to have been sleeping the whole day, because when his eyes popped open again, it was dark. He’d hoped Roger might stay out with him, but the room seemed empty.

He tried to turn his head to look to the floor, to see if Roger was there.

His head wouldn’t turn.

He told himself not to panic, but failed at it immediately. This wasn’t him waking up after a day of restful sleep, this was just another one of...whatever this was. For all he knew, he’d only been asleep five minutes, and the lads were going about their day, no idea of the private hell he was in.

And it was on him.

Heavy, hurting, featureless fingers digging into his arms as it leaned down, warm and panting despite the lack of a visible mouth.

His instinct was to try and kick it off, but there was none of that to be done. It was like his legs were lead weights, or sewn to the fabric of the couch with the strongest thread.

It felt more than mildly pointless to try and scream or shout, but he tried anyway. To get out any of their names, a cry for help, even just a wordless screech.

Nothing. His lips and vocal chords had no interest in obeying him.

So this was it. Just him, and this...thing.

And no one to hear or see it.

He wasn’t one to resign himself to misery, but this seemed like a rare case where he had little other choice. There was no way to signal to the others (if they were even anywhere near the couch) that he needed help. And this thing wasn’t going away, apparently.

He tried to calm himself, but it was difficult, with the thing breathing warm at his neck. His muscles ached from the lack of movement, and his eyes teared up in part because of how upsetting the whole thing was, as well as how horrid it felt to have his eyes wrenched open as they were.

Because he certainly wasn’t going to fucking close them, with the thing on him.

After a bit longer, he found himself less and less scared, and more angry.

What was this thing, to keep him from sleeping? To bother him like this? Ghost or whatever else, who even gave a shit? Why did it matter? The thing was an ass, and that was that.

He was sick of it.

So he tried to move again, fingers and toes, then limbs, finally just working to rock back and forth on the couch, in the hopes of throwing the thing off of him.

---

“Fucking hell!” Roger was by one side, Brian at the other, both of them lifting him up off of the floor. “What on earth was that about?”

“What?” he asked blearily. “Did I fall off the couch?”

“You threw yourself off of it,” Brian replied. “Rather violently.”

“It was on me,” Freddie mumbled as they sat him up on the couch. “I was getting it off.”

They knelt in front of him, joined by John, who looked concerned but had adorably carried his sandwich over with him.

“Can you tell us more about it?” Brian asked. “Maybe we can figure this out, I mean, we have to. You can’t go on like this.”

He described it, even as his head started to ache with a headache from the rough and interrupted sleep. The thing, and the feeling of being weighed down on his back, unable to move.

“Oh!” Roger grinned. “I think I know what it is; you should have told us all that sooner!”

He jumped up to one of the bookshelves, and moved books aside until he hauled out a dusty medical textbook. “See? It was like the only interesting part of this course-”

“You say that about every course you took, that there was only one interesting part,” Brian interjected.

“Yeah, well, there usually was only one interesting part, if that,” Roger continued. “Anyway. There was even a more recent study I found about this; people feeling like they’re stuck in bed, with things on them or watching them, or seeing and hearing weird shit. Has to do with the brain fucking up while you sleep, I think.”

“Very medical and professional an explanation, Rog,” Brian chuckled. “But is this it, Fred?”

He took the textbook from Roger, and read. It sounded right, all of it.

He nodded, and handed the book back. “I can’t decide if I’m happy to know what it is, or upset that it’s my own fucking head doing me in.”

“Why not both?” John suggested in between a bite of his sandwich. “At least you know now, right?”

“Yeah,” Freddie sighed. “Doesn’t solve it though.”

“Sure it can,” Roger said. “Stress, sleeping on your back, having a bad sleep schedule, all that can cause it.”

“Right,” Freddie said. “With all due respect, Roger dear, how do you think I can keep up being in a band if I’m to get rid of all stress, and fix my sleep schedule? The sleeping on my back, well, I’ve no fucking clue when I end up on my back, so that’s on me when I’m asleep, I guess.”

“That...is a good point,” Roger said. “Well...I don’t know, but we’ll figure it out. Even if we have to schedule in nap times for you while we’re on tour.”

“Oh christ,” Freddie giggled as Roger sat beside him, nearly in his lap. “The road crew will love that. Fucking hell, a lead singer that needs a nap schedule...”

“Don’t knock it,” John said. “Sleep is important.”

“Is that your way of telling us you plan to nap after you finish that?” Brian asked as he sat more comfortably on the floor.

“Yup,” John nodded through another mouthful of sandwich. “And you all should too. Maybe you’d sleep better then, Freddie.”

“Or it’s catching, and you’ll all end up with it too,” Freddie said.

“I don’t think it works that way,” Roger noted. “But that said...I almost wish it did. I want to see whatever the hell it is your mind is showing you.”

“Group nap it is then,” John said triumphantly as he finished his sandwich. “We’ll push the couch aside and sleep on the floor?”

“I didn’t necessarily agree to this,” Brian laughs. “I don’t think I need a nap.”

“Sure you do,” John said, in a tone that suggested there would be no arguing.

On the floor with all of them, fifteen minutes later, he did feel slightly more secure.

Roger was cuddled up at one side of him, Brian at the other, and John tucked up by Roger’s other side. Pillows plenty had been dragged from beds and tossed onto the floor, along with blankets and a few bedsheets. It was about as warm and comfortable as one could ask for, in a random early-afternoon nap.

But it didn’t stop the thing from showing up, seemingly as soon as he closed his eyes. Crouched on his chest, with that disgustingly warm breath so close to his face, fingers digging into him, as if they’d rend his flesh open.

It was infuriating. He just wanted to sleep. Quiet, undisturbed, sleep. Was that asking for so fucking much?

It was violent, this time, his attempts to move. Why not try his hardest, if his actual body outside of the dream/sleep state wouldn’t move anyway?

“OI! ENOUGH!”

He woke up with a jolt, heart beating out of his chest, and a clearly displeased Roger and Brian beside him.

“Happened again?” Roger sighed, a hand covering one eye.

Freddie bit back a gasp. “I didn’t.”

Roger let his hand down to reveal a growing bruise over his eye. “I mean, it’s technically good. You broke yourself out of it, got yourself moving again.”

“Really did a fucking number on us in the process though,” Brian muttered, rubbing at his head. “Folks should be grateful you aren’t a violent man, you know that?”

“I’m so sorry,” Freddie pulled them both close in one-armed hugs. “Just tie me down to my bed from now on; do what you must.”

“I’m alright,” John added cheerfully. “Not as long a nap as I had hoped, but lovely all the same.”

It was probably an unnecessary addition, but it broke the tension perfectly.

“We aren’t going to tie you down,” Brian laughed.

“Not even if I ask you nicely?” Freddie asked sweetly.

“No,” Roger replied. “But we will figure this out. Get it to stop so you can sleep again. If it’s the last thing we do!”

“Blood pact and quest it is,” John said authoritatively. “I’ll get a knife.”

They laughed as he stood and trotted off to the kitchen.

“He’s joking, yeah?” Roger asked.

Their laughter softened.

Freddie bit his lip. “Probably?”

“We should maybe let him know it’s going to be metaphorical...” Brian added.

Before they could get up, he was back, with plates of biscuits.

“Oh thank goodness,” Freddie murmured.

“Did you lot think I was actually getting a knife?” John smirked. “I was obviously joking.”

“It’s a little hard to tell, sometimes,” Brian admitted. “Shame we can’t get you into Freddie’s head for the next episode.”

“Deaky threatening to get a knife might scare it off,” Freddie nodded. “Maybe if I think about that, when it happens.”

“And if that doesn’t work,” Roger said in between a bite of biscuit. “Then we’ll keep thinking up things until something does work.”

He could be certain of nothing else. If and when he would get decent sleep. If he was going to have this thing follow him on tour, every time he tried to rest in between shows.

But he was certain that they meant it. They would help him find some way to make it stop, and they wouldn’t give up until it had.

#text post #LeeH writes #queen band fic

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sarahhlauren · 5 years ago

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Okay. Here we go. I’m really not sure where to start so I guess I’ll start from the beginning of all this madness. It was May 18, 2019. My mom’s birthday. I headed to work in the afternoon. I always closed on Sunday nights. My favorite bartender was working. We had spent the night making stupid jokes and making each other laugh until the last customer walked out the door. I closed at work like I usually did, not trying to stay too late because it was a school night. Monday morning comes, I wake up and for the first time, my body was not mine. It was not my own skin, it was not my own legs, my own hands. I couldn’t tell you what my face looked like because it was maybe 2 weeks until I could look at myself in the mirror. But, the world did not stop. There was work to be done, right? I had my first therapy session at 9 am, because prior, I had been dealing with severe depression, a final at 11, and my last final at 2. I had to focus on doing well and finishing out the semester, putting aside the fact that I felt like a ghost in my own body and mind. For the record, I got a 4.0 that semester, for the first time ever in college.

So it's late afternoon, I made it through my finals. I text my best friend, saying I need to come over and talk. As soon as I laid on her bed, I burst into tears as it took everything in me to say the words, “He raped me.” Even now, a year later, I hate that. It will never not make my stomach hurt. Within an hour, I was talking to three police officers, going over the incident in disgusting detail over, and over, and over again. Being asked questions a young woman should never have to be asked, especially by three young male officers. A few hours later, I was at the hospital. I went through the entire questioning process again from the nurse. A few moments later, I found myself standing there, naked. Being photographed, touched by a stranger, poked and prodded. I will never forget the posters of puppies with silly hats they have on the ceiling, as if that’s supposed to distract you from the flashes of the camera as you lay with your legs in the air. She forgot to mention that the hospital’s Plan B would have me in bed for 2 days. It felt like my insides were being scraped out with a rusty fork.

A few days later I eventually came home, and my mom was eager. She knew something was wrong but wanted to let me tell her on my own terms. The look in her face as tears streamed down her face fills me with so much anger I could punch something. That she had to hear those words and understand the gravity of the situation, and that I was pursuing legal action.

It was exactly one week after I saw him again. Not only did I see him, but I worked with him. Not just this one night, but for months. Because the investigation was active, I couldn’t say anything to my managers. This was the hardest part. For weeks, to act like everything was normal. To act like I wasn’t having multiple panic attacks throughout my shift. To act like I wasn’t getting alerts on my apple watch that my heart rate was pushing 120 bpm for hours. To act like I wasn’t in the presence of my rapist, as he was still approaching me. To act like I was listening to customers talk, when I was blacked out. If I didn’t act like things were normal, it could jeopardize the investigation. I am fully aware that some people may be questioning my actions. I don’t feel I have to defend myself to anyone. It was an impossible and unimaginable situation. I did the best that I could at the time, and I am so proud of myself for it. I chose to not take the easy way out. I chose to not quit my job. I chose to fight.

About early June, I was finally able to tell my GM what happened. I told them, “I do not feel comfortable working with him, ever again.” The very next shift, a few days later, my GM told me he was working that night and asked if I would “be okay.” What was I supposed to say? If I said no, I would get sent home, and in my mind at the time, that was letting him win. He took so much from me and I refused to let him take any more. So I worked with him that night, and for months. Being retraumatized over and over and over again. It wasn’t until months later that I could see how toxic that environment was for me. In the moment, I truly thought that I could just tough it out and I would be okay. I couldn’t see how much worse those months made my PTSD. Solidifying dozens of triggers, some still unknown to me until I face them.

About 5 months pass by, no news on the investigation. I had heard nothing from the investigator. These months were such a cycle of torture. My job wouldn’t do anything about him without a police report, and the police weren’t giving any updates. Nothing was moving. Meanwhile I am working with him a few days a week, retraumatizing my brain and body dozens of times over.

Trauma, anxiety and depression are really weird. Yes you have the common symptoms of lethargy, no motivation, sleep or appetite issues, but I feel like nobody talks about the blackouts and the memory loss. I have such little memory except for anything trauma related for those first few months. I can tell you every little detail about the following days, and weeks related to the incident. I can tell you what kind of car he has, his license plate, the exact parking spot that he parked his car in. I can tell you exactly what time he drove to work, which days he worked. I checked his schedule every week so I had time to mentally prepare myself to work with him on a given night. Do I remember my college visits? Not really. Do I remember anything I did that summer? No, unless I look back at photos. The memory loss is real, and it's weird.

Finally, my job transferred him to a different store. I felt a sense of freedom. Freedom to turn around at work without fear that he was looking at me. Freedom to walk to my car at night without a manager’s escort. Freedom to feel comfortable again, or at least try to.

Around mid-October, I met with the investigators again about the progress of the case. This time, it was two women investigators and I in a small room in the Sex Crimes Investigation Department in Orange County. It felt like they were on my side, or at least they were supposed to be. I didn’t anticipate being thoroughly questioned again. The same intrusive questions felt different coming from a woman, almost worse in a way. We got to the point where the investigators told me straight up, “it's your word against his, we have no proof of his guilt and without it, can’t move forward.” That was it. It was over. There was nothing I could do.

I did my best to move on, whatever the heck that means. There’s a lot I could say about my healing process, that is still very much going on and will be for a while. I’ll try to keep it limited. The most important thing I want to say about it, is that it is not linear. From May-August I thought I was fine, I was in denial. Then, someday it hit me and I understood the situation on a different level. One of the things I learned is how depression can impact memory. I have little memory of that summer, outside of events and emotions related to my assault. Each day brings something different. Similar to grief, some days are better than others. Triggers that once upset me, no longer upset me. Triggers I didn’t know existed last August, send me into a panic now. I still live in constant fear of seeing him, knowing that he is out there, living his life. Working through PTSD on top of preexisting mental health conditions was more than I ever could have imagined. It’s hard, it sucks and I wouldn’t wish it upon my worst enemy. I don’t have much else to say about that right now.

One of the most interesting concepts I read about in a book about trauma is called “learned helplessness”. I remember learning about this maybe junior or senior year in psychology class, but it never stuck until it applied to me. “Learned helplessness, in psychology, a mental state in which an organism forced to bear aversive stimuli, or stimuli that are painful or otherwise unpleasant, becomes unable or unwilling to avoid subsequent encounters with those stimuli, even if they are “escapable,” presumably because it has learned that it cannot control the situation.” Essentially, it explains why traumatized individuals tend to stay in the environments or climates that harbor the trauma. For me, it helps to explain why I stayed at work instead of quitting.

At the risk of sounding cliche, I would not be where I am today without the support system that I have. I am grateful every single day for my family and loved ones who support me unconditionally and have been with me at any point in this process.

I want to recognize how lucky I am, because I truly am. I am lucky to have been in a position where I could go to the police for help (regardless of the outcome), because many victims do not have that luxury. I am lucky to have had access to medical care. I am lucky to have continuous access to mental health professionals. I am lucky to have friends and family who believe me, who never questioned me. I am lucky that it wasn’t worse than it was. I am lucky to be alive, because not everyone is as lucky as I am.

I have a lot of reasons as to why I wanted to share my story. I want to make very clear that pity and attention are neither of my reasons. One of the main ones, is that I want to contribute the conversation about sexual assault and sexual violence. A big part of what motivated me to pursue legal action was the thought of me not being his last victim. Almost immediately I felt a sense of responsibility. Responsibility to do something about this, because again, I am lucky enough to have access to resources to do so. I hope this can spark conversations about the necessity of affirmative and continuous consent, regardless of circumstances.

Another big reason is to highlight the series of injustices throughout this process that have nothing to do with my rapist. I will not name names, however many of you will know the people that I am talking about. In no way am I attempting to slander them, I aim to simply draw attention to where I felt they failed me. I just want everyone to do better. To try harder. To do the right thing, regardless of company policy or whatever hardship it might bring them.

The first one, I believe was on behalf of the police. I understand the need to secure the privacy of the investigation, but they told me to “go back to work and act like everything is normal.” This was, and is wrong. I felt like I had to, because the police told me, and I’m supposed to trust them, right? Wrong. I feel they could have come up with a better solution, providing me more support than that.

The second one, would be by SO many people within the company that I worked for. My GM, the senior HR manager, and the 2 regional managers who were aware of the situation. All of them had the ability to not only relocate him, but fire him at the snap of their fingers, but they didn’t. I have my thoughts on why they didn’t, and all of them put my wellbeing at the bottom of the pile. The senior HR manager called me every so often to check in, and see how I was doing. It was made very clear that he didn’t give a shit about me and this was just a routine part of his job when he told me over the phone, “Thank goodness I don’t have a daughter, only sons.” This HR manager ultimately ended up telling my rapist the police were involved, which is very much illegal for a few reasons, and is ultimately responsible for ruining the investigation.

The third one was the investigator within the Special Victims Unit assigned to my case. Take this one with a grain of salt. I don’t know if I just got a subpar investigator or this is how they all are, but Olivia Benson would put them to shame. Without going into too much detail, I never felt heard. I felt like they couldn’t wait to get this case out of the way and never put in any real effort.

I would absolutely be lying if I said that I didn’t have any anger. I am so angry. I am fucking angry that this happened. I am so angry at all the ‘adults’ that I went to for help, and didn’t receive it. I am angry that I’m not the first girl that he’s done this to. I’m angry that I can’t prove it. I’m angry that in a court of law it’s his word against mine. I’m angry that he admitted he heard me say no, but it was the one time I didn’t put my phone in my pocket and take a voice recording. I am angry that a year later, I am still suffering every single day. I still have nightmares. I still have panic attacks. I still think about it every damn day. I am angry that he gets to live his life as he wishes. I am angry that I am filled with petrifying fear that it will happen again. I am angry that I’ve spent months, now a year, in therapy talking about him. I am angry that I am angry!!

20% of women will experience rape in their lifetime, and 1 out of every 10 rape victims is male. This is real and it happens. It happened to me. But it didn't have to. And it doesn’t have to keep happening. We all hold the power to make it stop. Start the conversations. Don’t laugh at jokes about sexual assault, because it’s not funny. Correct your friends, family, coworkers, bosses, and neighbors when they make jokes that contribute to rape culture. Stop supporting that behavior. If you see something, DO SOMETHING. Be the one to stop it. Be the one to step in. Be the difference. Break the cycle, do better, be better.

Again, thank you to all of those who have stuck by my side at any point in my journey. I appreciate you all more than you know and I love you all so much more than my words can possibly express.

Thank you, and you know who you are, for showing me what it’s like to be respected, to be loved. That it's possible to be comfortable in my own skin. To let your light shine through to the darkness that existed within me. To show me how strong I am, what I am capable of, and what I am worth. I am forever grateful for you and your grace.

For those of you who aren’t as fortunate, I am here. I am here to listen, to confide in, to help, to advocate, to love, to protect you. I am here for you.

For those of you know someone who has experienced sexual assault or violence, believe them. Be there and listen to what they want and what they need. Love them and remind them of the good, because there is so much more good than bad in the world.

For those of you that have read this far, thank you. Thank you for taking the time to hear my story. I hope to have impacted you for the better.

-sb :)

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paradise-of-guilty-pleasures · 5 years ago

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Shattered Reflections {13}

[Helsa RP- Fanfic]

Fandom: Frozen

Genre: Post-Frozen/ Canon Divergence

- Hurt/Comfort, Drama, Romance

Pairing(s): Hans/Elsa, Kristoff/Anna

Previous Chapter: 12. Homemade with Love

13. An Odd Request

Knock Knock Knock

Knocking at this hour was quite odd, it was too formal, Elsa and especially Olaf tended to head in unannounced. The only person who came by and actually knocked was the Doctor, but they'd already checked in not too long ago, so whoever was behind the door didn't customarily come visit. "May I come in? I wish to have a word with you." called a familiar voice.

Hans shifted a bit on the bed, still in mass amounts of pain, but doing his damnedest to get past that. "Please do, distract me from the stab wound." He remarked airily. And god did he need a distraction from that. Still, in his usual stubborn fashion, as his guest entered, he made an effort to push himself up into at the very least a sitting position, in spite of the pain. It felt weird to lay down and let people address him from the ceiling. It was awkward for everyone involved and he wanted none of it.

The door opened and in came a familiar well built man. It was the Captain of the guard. Bandaged and scratched up himself, but in far better shape than Hans. "'Evening, Prince Hans," he greeted with a nod, choosing to omit the 'good', knowing he was probably not having a good evening being bedridden and in pain.

"So it is, you can omit the 'prince' part too, Captain, if you must pick a title at least use the one I earned." Hans joked, holding his wound but offering a wry smile through the pain. "I'd say I owe you my life for fetching Elsa and the doctor last time, are we even now?" He joked gently. "Come on then, sit and have a chat. It'll be refreshing to talk to a working man again, like my crew. I'd suggest we get drinks, but the doctors disagree with that suggestion. Or they did for me, maybe you got lucky and missed that directive." Hans spoke with the Captain like they had been crew mates for years, and on equal terms. None of this prince or prisoner business, just working men in his book.

" You jest, and yet I truly think we are even," stated the Captain as he brought a chair to the bedside, the back of the chair facing Hans. "One of the reasons I've come to speak to you is indeed to thank you, for undertaking my responsibility of protecting the Queen, when I failed to do so in battle. I guess I made the right call saving you, after all." He half-jokingly quipped back, taking a seat in the chair backwards.

"I'm glad to hear it, if nothing else, a traitor makes for a good sword-stopper, may as well use that fact while I have it." He suggested dryly, gesturing to his wound. "I'm sure my reasons for what I did at the coronation never got back to you, I'd try to reassure you, but after the original traitorous events I'm afraid it wouldn't matter much to explain myself, I've rather a liar's reputation. I'm afraid that one I can't make even no matter how many scars I earn in the process, but I've nothing better to do but try, anyway. Here, if we're to gossip, I ought to know more than just your title?" He checked his hand for blood before offering it to shake. Holding his wound as much as he had it, it was worthwhile to check.

" I guess, a proper introduction is at hand," he agreed, accepting Hans' offer to shake. "Name's Kristofferson, Johannes Kristofferson. Friends call me Johan."He gave Hans a firm handshake. The Captain was a man many years Hans' senior (by a decade, at least), approaching middle age, but not quite old enough to be his father. He had a rather large bulbous nose, dark hair and sported a thick mustache.

"'Johannes'? Johan it is, I'm deeply sorry for the alternative nickname." Hans remarked, mingled amusement and apology on his face, as he knew that meant they could have shared a nickname. No doubt friends wouldn't call anyone in their country 'Hans' for a while without starting a fistfight. "Good to meet you properly, Captain. Her Majesty is planning to get some retraining for the guards, I'm expecting to be assisting in that-- mostly teaching your men to be careful with tricky bastards like me. I know enough thieves, fought enough pirates, and lied enough times I think we could get a few solid exercises going." He tried to keep a conversation running.

"Likewise," said the Captain, releasing the grip from their shake. " Even if it hurts my pride to say so, as Captain of the guard, it's become painfully obvious," he briefly lifted up his bandaged arm. "Pardon the pun-- that we are in dire need of retraining."

"Jokes aside, I do wish to speak of you about your involvement in the retraining process," He explained. "I heard you took charge during the attack, directing men in how better to do their job. I guess it's to be expected, from an Admiral after all. A man from the Isles, such as yourself, is better equipped for battle than anyone in Arendelle. It saddens me to say that Arendelle has been far too sheltered for years and we haven't exactly adapted with the times either. You on the other hand are quite experienced in tactic and technique." He momentarily paused. "I've spoken with the Queen and that's why Her Majesty as well as I myself believe you might be best fit, in overseeing the retraining yourself...Heck, you might even manage to teach an old dog like myself a new trick or two." He slightly chuckled, but turned serious again. "...Though that's not all I wish to discuss with you, I have a more... personal request, I wish for you to undertake as well."

"It comes with experience, as an admiral and a littlest brother, I've learned to hold my own in fights." He chuckled a little, though perhaps wryly. "A request of me? Gladly, Captain. Anything I could be useful for. What troubles you sir?" He wondered what the Captain could possibly want of him, but he would be more than glad to help, given the opportunity to.

"This might sound like an odd request coming from me, but I think it might be in Arendelle's best interests," He began with a deep breath. "I don't know if you already took note of what I'm about to tell you, but you do seem to be a perceptive lad, so I'm sure it didn't cross your keen eye undetected. Anyway, before I was overtaken by the enemy fighting alongside the Queen, I noticed something about Her Majesty's magic or at least how she was using it. She was mostly using her ice powers to shield rather than attack. I know she's cautious about using her magic aggressively, especially against and around people, yet considering what happened with Her Highness, it's completely understandable. What I'm getting at is that she doesn't have a way to defend herself if she refrains from using her magic. So what I ask of you, I say out both concern for Her Majesty's safety, as well as, the confidence I see she holds in you." He took a long glance over at the ice blade laying on top of the bureau. "I know it's our job to protect her, and I may be speaking out of line, but I never want to leave her alone and defenseless ever again. So I request you try to convince her to learn how to wield a weapon, teach her how to use a sword, as a preventive measure, so she'll have a way to protect herself without relying solely on her ice magic."

Hans blinked a bit, surprised by the rounds that conversation took. He paused to consider it. "You know she'd never draw blood if she could help it." He pointed out, but he was still clearly pondering the suggestion. "I'll see what I can convince her of. Perhaps if she can at least be convinced of a snow army or some other defender she can create, she might be protected. But I will try to convince her to take up a weapon. God knows, a man of the Isles is a good one to teach it, us with our refusal to give up anachronistic ways. We might need a guard presence during any training. I don't think you or I or anyone else wants to see me holding a sword at Her Majesty even with wooden blades for sparring. The Princess might decide to strangle me with her bare hands." That was only mostly a joke. "Well, I hope I can heal quickly. It seems I have a lot of work to do, yet. ...What blade do you think she should learn, then? It's a loaded question, but I want to know what you think." He nodded a little toward the blade on the bureau. His own sword was a bastard sword; not usually the weapon of a lady-- but certainly one that would kill well enough if need be. "I've seen her fight, she can be dangerous, but she'd never kill, I suspect if she gave a man so much as a paper cut she'd hold the scar as her own. As much as I agree that she should be protected, I can lead a horse to water, but even I cannot command it to drink."

"Yes, of course there’ll be a guard," The Captain nodded, before adding: "Though, I'd assume that you'd be using ice instead wood, should she accept, knowing she can disintegrate it at will." "Hm." He looked back at the sword."Rapier or Smallsword, perhaps." "I know," he sighed. "Her Majesty has a kind heart." The Captain looked back at Hans. "Thank you for at least hearing me out."

He nodded. "Of course. I'd say I'm a rather captive audience, even if I may or may not be a prisoner anymore." He laughed and shrugged a little, then cringed. "I'm not going much of anywhere with a stab wound." He shifted to lean back on the bed, visibly blinking back pain. "I'm not convinced she'd always remember that she can do that. Remember that time she couldn't unfreeze an entire kingdom? I doubt I'll ever forget it." He pointed out, a dry amused tone, but an expression that definitely didn't hold amusement on it. He still only felt shame about that. "Almost a shame, I'm better with bastard sword technique. 'Bastard for a bastard', as we joked in the isles, though none of us are. It's a better killing tool than a rapier, but it wouldn't suit her style." He seemed pensive, almost wistful a moment. "Perhaps a Sabre. I'm skilled with those and they're light and quick enough for a lady, if pressed. A good middle ground, enough metal behind it to disarm. Or, indeed, to dis-arm." He chuckled wryly. Lopping off an arm was one way to diminish a threat. "No promises, but I'll see what I can do. If nothing else, we'll work on some better defenses. If I must be Her Majesty's bodyguard as well as her fool, I'll do that, too." He didn't mind. He was simply whatever they told him to be. "Out of curiosity, what do you think of me? I imagine from an outsider's perspective, this must all be very strange to you. I won't take offense, use all the rude words you like." He laughed dryly.

The Captain nodded along as he listened. "What do I think of you? That's a bit of a conundrum. It really depends on when exactly you're asking, because right now my opinion of you is that you're a brave but foolish boy, that I believe is truly trying to make amends. If that weren't the case I definitely wouldn't have asked for your assistance. The Queen has a kind heart, but I don't think she'd give you a second chance, unless she saw something in you worth saving.

"If you are looking for rude words that would probably be my opinion of you after the eternal winter and when you first set foot back in Arendelle. Thought you were a real bastard to show your face again, after what you did. I was actually surprised you didn't choose to take a similar route like the Duke and enact your revenge.

" With that said, as 'an outsider', as you put it, I have a hard time wrapping my head around the whole debacle. Mostly because things didn't seem to add up, you seemed like a genuinely kind, caring, character throughout the eternal winter, helping Arendelle however you could, it was truly a shock to all of us to hear you turned traitor. Especially considering you went through all the trouble to climb the North Mountain to retrieve the Queen unharmed, and brought her down just to--" The Captain shook his head. "Anyway, I think that pretty much abridged what I think of you."

Hans smiled a little at being called a 'boy', amused and understanding. "A bastard with a bastard sword. One of several reasons I picked it." Hans joked wryly. "None of us are actually bastards, of course, by lineage, but it doesn't stop us joking." He rubbed his wound gently, trying to soothe the pain. "I didn't want to, if you want to know the story. I did it to give the ladies a villain for their story. True love's kiss wouldn't have worked, I'm no fool. So what, I'd have kissed Anna, nothing would have happened-- what then? Anna would have found a way to blame herself, died miserable, and where would the Queen be? Out on the fjord, ready to die? It wasn't a good choice, but easier for me to be the villain than the Queen." He shrugged, a bit of a sigh. "Bastard is a good descriptor for it, yes. But bastards can do good deeds too. Remember that-- and a good man can be a bastard just as easy if they've a mind to be. Good men are driven to it, lesser men simply walk."

" I remember you telling the Queen something like that in the Throne Room when you first arrived. I definitely doubted you then, but now it seems to make sense and I'm more inclined to believe that was really your reasoning." replied the Captain. " It's a lot easier for a good man to go bad than a bad man to turn good."

"On the contrary, I think." Hans mused. "It depends how good one is, I suppose. I know of many thieves. One married Her Majesty's cousin, small world as it is, two of my brothers worked with him. All three were bad, one turned out to be good because he met a girl. My brothers remain right bastards, but they'd still be there if my father wasn’t dying, and call my brother Eduard 'little fox' with affection. As they say, even evil men love their families. Or bits of them, at least. One of my brothers prefers the company of men, and the church calls him evil-- yet he's sweet through and through, helpful to those in a rough place, and would never bother somebody who doesn't want his company. Now, who is better, he or the brother in the clergy who says that brother and I are both damned for our sins?" Hans shrugged, unwilling to offer his own opinion. "Bad men have soft spots, no matter how bad. Good men who harden, though? I'd fight a thousand men alone rather than get in the way of a good man who steels for war. If her Majesty ever draws a sword to do battle willingly, by god's hand, run." That was not a joke. Hans knew the Queen wasn't violent, but if she ever decided to be? It would not be Arendelle changed, but the world.

"I guess you're right, there's a fine line between good and bad men. It's the way they lead their lives that makes all the difference." He responded. "May God have mercy on us all, if her Majesty ever lost her kind soul."

"Cheers to that, and God save us if we should make the wrong choice of who to side with in the chaos. I'm spoken for, I'm afraid." He nodded to his blade of ice. "Come heaven or hell, that's an Arendelle sword meant to hang at my hip. Either I use that, or I pray I never need a sword again. The Isles are curious about sword traditions, I think I'm beginning to truly understand them, now."

"Cheers!" The Captain played along. There was a brief moment of silence between the men. Just as the Captain was going to open his mouth to state he might not be the best company to entertain the Prince with words, the door suddenly swung open. Catching both men by surprise. The door swinging open was accompanied by the loud proud voice of a determined Feisty Princess: "Hans of the Southern Isles, I've got a bone to pick with you!"

#Helsa #Frozen #Frozen Fanfiction #Fanfiction #Shattered Reflections

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hearts-hunger · 6 years ago

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Pretty Damn Hot Indeed || Joe Mazzello x Reader

Summary: nonnie asked, Wow, so I never do this but... in regards to the thirsty college!Joe smut? What about Joe being so turned on by how intelligent you are in a class, answering questions, etc, that after class, he cannot keep his hands off you and drags you to the bathroom where he fingers you?

Pairings: College!Joe x Reader

Word Count: 1.4k

Warnings: Semi-public smut, fingering || 18+ only, please!

A/N: Holy shit nonnie, what a great ask, I wrote you a whole fic for it whoops. It just happened and it’s not edited at all but I hope you like it! ♡

God, he’d never been so ready for class to end in his entire life. Sure, he’d spent roughly 90% of his college career watching the clock and wondering if it could go any slower, but every other time paled in comparison to the agony with which he endured this class. You probably didn’t even know how crazy you were making him - why would you? You were focused on the class, not on the uncomfortable tightness in his jeans that he tried to hide with shifting legs and awkwardly tucking himself as far as his chair would go under the desk.

It was your dedication to the class that was the problem, though. You answered question after question that the professor directed to the class, schooling everybody else, impressing even him with how much you knew about the subject. You were naturally such a shy person, and he loved that about you. It made him want to be protective of you, and you’d told him how much you loved that side of him. But to see you now, overcoming your shyness with the confidence born from knowing exactly what you were talking about and being passionate about it - he was head over heels for you all over again. You were so smart and the way your whole face lit up when the professor praised you for another excellent answer was Joe’s favorite thing in the whole world.

He’d realized that seeing you in such rare form might be a bit of an issue when you’d shut down some dumb frat boy that tried to mansplain something to you. You’d confidently and eloquently refuted what he said, proving without a doubt that you knew more about what he was trying to explain to you than he did. The frat boy looked disgruntled and you gave the barest smirk, your eyes flashing with an impish pleasure at having set the guy straight. The flush of pride and pleasure over you cheeks made Joe bite his lip. Almost in spite of himself, he’d pictured you with that same rosy-cheeked confidence as you taught him a lesson of a different kind.

Well shit, he thought. That’s pretty damn hot.

So here he was, stuck in the longest class period of his life, completely turned on by how you kept proving that he was dating the smartest girl on campus. He was so lucky and so in awe of you, and he intended to let you know as soon as class ended. He twisted his fingers together impatiently, wanting nothing more than to get his hands all over you.

“Alright, we’ll continue this discussion on Thursday,” the professor said, finally. “Make sure you do the reading. Y/N, great job today.”

You smiled. “Thank you, Professor.” You turned to Joe, oblivious to his condition, and beamed at him.

“Can you believe I actually talked that much in a single class period?” you joked.

He gave you a smile that perhaps was more of a grimace. He wanted to kiss you senseless right now.

“You were awesome, honey,” he said. You frowned.

“You ok, Joey?”

“Peachy,” he said, his voice a bit strangled-sounding. He stood and held his backpack in front of his crotch. “You ready to go?”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Joseph Mazzello,” you said in a low voice. “Are you - ?”

He blushed. “Am I what?”

You smirked as you he confirmed what you’d thought. “You know, there’s usually empty classrooms on the next floor up this time of day,” you said, mischief in your eyes.

He didn’t think it was possible for him to be more turned on by you, but the hooded look you gave him - as well as the proposition of secret public sex - was enough to make him have to restrain a groan.

“Are you serious?” he asked, almost desperate. “Because I was going to try and make it back to my room but if you’re serious - ”

You took his hand. “Come on, trouble,” you teased. “Let’s go find somewhere.”

He let you lead him, smitten with this newfound confidence in you. He liked this can-do attitude, shutting down frat boys left and right, being a super smarty-pants, easily leading him to the dark classroom farthest down the hall on the practically abandoned upper floor.

“What got you all hot and bothered?” you asked, locking the door behind the both of you, keeping the lights off. “Thinking naughty thoughts in class?”

“Oh, honey, you have no idea,” he said, letting his voice sound as strained as it was now that you were alone. He threw his backpack next to yours on the floor and kissed you hungrily.

“The way you schooled that guy was so fucking hot, babe,” he said. He felt his whole body respond to your touch, you hands sending flames across him wherever they traveled.

“You liked that, huh?” you said breathlessly. You hooked your leg around his thigh and he ran his hand under the flowery blue skirt you wore. “Honestly I’m as surprised as anyone that I did that.”

He couldn’t help a chuckle as he kissed down your neck. “You’re so smart, and you had everybody so impressed with you. Me most of all.”

“I think you were a little more than impressed, hm?” you teased. “I didn’t know seeing me answer questions in class got you so riled - oh, fuck.”

He gave a satisfied grin as you gasped when his hand met your core, already so wet for him. He captured your next gasp against his mouth as he ran his fingers over the fabric of your panties.

“That good, huh?”

You could only moan into his mouth, nearly making him come then and there. But you deserve a reward for your exceptional work in class, and he’d be damned if you didn’t get it.

“Turn around,” he breathed. You did as he said, pressing against his chest, feeling the hardness in his jeans.

He put his hand under your left thigh and set your foot on the chair nearest you, making you spread open for him. You whined and he hurried to give you want you wanted, pushing your panties aside and rubbing your clit in deep circles. He spread his big hand over your breast through the fabric of your shirt, leaning to press sloppy kisses to your neck.

“Oh god,” you gasped. His fingers moved down to your entrance, loving how wet you were for him.

“No teasing,” you said, practically begging for him.

“No problem,” he answered breathlessly. He pushed a finger into you and your moan had him seeing stars. He added another when he’d set a steady pace and felt you moving with him, your hips bucking against his hand. He rubbed your clit with his thumb and felt you tighten around his fingers.

“Fuck, Joey, gonna come,” you said, desperate with pleasure. “So close.”

He curled his fingers in a come-hither motion, knowing that was just what you needed to bring you over the edge. You responded to his movement inside you with an obscenely loud moan that chorused with his own, curses tumbling out of both of your mouths as he drew out your orgasm as long as he could.

He drew his fingers out as you turned to face him, his eyes dark with pleasure. He was painfully hard at the sight of you, utterly blissed out. You gave him a hungry kiss, catching his bottom lip between your teeth; he groaned as you started to palm him through his jeans.

“Your turn, Joey.”

He felt kind of lightheaded. “Uh, just warning you, it might not take that long.” He was already so close, he couldn’t imagine lasting under your touch.

You gave him a confident smirk, just like the one you’d had in class. “Don’t worry, baby,” you said, your voice heavy with desire. “You’re already so close, I know. I’m actually kind of proud of myself for having such an effect on you during class.”

“As you should be,” he managed, his voice tight. “You were fucking incredible.”

His breath came as a sob of pleasure as your fingers went to the button on his jeans.

“Not as incredible as I’m about to be, baby,” you purred.

Well, shit, he thought for the second time that day. Pretty damn hot indeed.

forever taglist: @tv-saved-the-teenage-girl

let me know if you want to be added!

#skskdjdksks i hope you liked it nonnie #it's not terrible i think #maddie writes stuff!#joe mazzello x reader smut #joe x reader smut #college!joe x reader smut #college!joe #college au

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notwhelmedyet · 6 years ago

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Dratchtember Day 6

Prompt: Intensity but tbh that prompt is going to fit better for tomorrow, because this actually is: Ratchet accidentally summons a demon and then falls in love, part 2/3 (also on ao3 here) (demon summoning part 1 here)

Ratchet set down the datapad he was looking at and reached for the stack on the floor. His fingertips brushed the pad on the top of the stack, but he couldn't quite reach.

"Drift, could you grab that for me? Top datapad on the pile." Ratchet asked.

"Get it yourself," Drift said. He was sulking because Ratchet had said he had to work on his reading and couldn't talk. He'd get over it soon, it wasn't like they didn't talk all the time. Drift just got bored easily.

"I can't get it, you're lying on top of me," Ratchet pointed out.

Drift sighed. "Fine." The weight on Ratchet's chest shifted and the top datapad lifted from the stack and placed itself in Ratchet's hand.

"Thanks," Ratchet said, propping the new datapad on the armrest of the couch and scrolling through to hopefully find the promised citation on Cybercrosis in ferrum-positive sparktypes. Absently, he let his hand rest on Drift's helm, petting Drift's finial. Drift squirmed and Ratchet paused his hand.

"You can keep going," Drift said roughly, and Ratchet did. It hadn't taken him long to figure out that Drift was easily overwhelmed by physical contact - he'd guessed it from their first hug outside the summoning circle. Ratchet couldn't fathom the level of touch-hunger Drift was dealing with, but he could empathize. He'd felt isolated before Drift; that hug had probably been his first one since Thunderclash went off-planet. Drift had been alone the entirety of his remembered existence, except for passing contact with other Slivers and his time bound to his previous summoners. And Ratchet didn't think any of them were the cuddling sort.

Ratchet didn't like to think about Drift's previous summoners. It made him angry. He was half-convinced the reason Drift refused to tell him how to send him back was out of fear of being summoned again. While he was bound to Ratchet there was no way for Drift to be ordered to to live up to the more bloodthirsty parts of his demonic reputation.

Drift stretched, draping his arm over Ratchet's shoulder as he wiggled further up on Ratchet's chest. "You're supposed to be reading, Ratch," he said sleepily. "I know your reading doesn't make your aura blue like that."

"Auras don't exist," Ratchet corrected automatically.

"I don't exist, according to you."

"You are scientifically verifiable. Auras are imaginary," Ratchet said.

"It you say so, Ratch," Drift said appeasingly. "You know, if you don't want to read we could go for a walk."

"No, I have to do this. Otherwise Panax is going to jump on me during our morning meeting."

"I could jump him first," Drift suggested.

"I told you, I'm handling him. No attacking my faculty mentor."

"'Handling him'. Sure. That bastard better not say anything snotty to you again or I'm going to throw his prized paperweights off the hospital roof."

"Those are his Medical Excellence awards, they're not paperweights," Ratchet said. "Now shoosh, I'm trying to read."

"Mmmhmm," Drift agreed skeptically. But Ratchet really did have to finish the reading, so he pushed his thoughts about Drift aside and got to work. Ratchet had always had busy hands, he tended to worry holes in things when he wasn't paying attention. Petting Drift was a nice outlet for that restless energy.

About midway through his second reading the door slammed. Trefacto, Ratchet's roommate, locked optics with him. Ratchet draped his arm over the back of the couch, not quite sure what it looked like he'd been doing just then. Disadvantages of having an invisible demonic cuddle-buddy. "Forget something?" He asked.

"Yeah," Trefacto said, snapping back into motion as he hustled to his room. "I forgot my lucky crystal. We have an exam today in xenobiology."

Ratchet waited until Trefacto was out of sight before rolling his optics.

Trefacto skidded back into the room, rock in hand. "You have really bad posture dude."

"Nobody asked you," Ratchet said.

Trefacto laughed, because he pointedly could not differentiate between ratchet making jokes and not making jokes. It was probably for the best. Ratchet liked Trefacto as a roommate - he never used the common areas and he was almost never home when Ratchet was, so it was almost like not having a roommate but with half the housing costs. A pretty good deal.

"Good luck on your exam," Ratchet said. Trefacto waved as he left, tossing his lucky rock in his hand. Ratchet waited a beat. "If you keep being clingy in the common areas he is going to notice."

"Ah, but I don't care if he notices. Ratchet, can I get some healing crystals?"

"I imagine you could steal some if you wanted to," Ratchet said.

"I don't want to steal them! That's bad energy, Ratchet! You can't use a stolen healing crystal for good luck."

"I cannot believe you're into all that rubbish. You're a demon. People are supposed to be swindled into believing in magic by you, not the other way around. It's almost as bad as you being a practicing spectralist - "

" - Primus is real and in his grace he grants to every Cybertronian infinite life and unending capability for change."

"Yeah but if he's real he's the one who cursed you to be like this."

"Well." Drift sobered up. "I deserved it, didn't I? He wouldn't have done it fi I didn't deserve it. Can I get some pretty rocks, Ratchet?"

Ratchet groaned. There was only one way this could end. Him, in a open-air market full of junk, fake medicine and knickknacks, trying to buy some rocks without being seen by anyone who does, has or might ever know him.

---

"Medic Ratchet, you are needed on the third floor," a voice came over the intercom. Ratchet looked around. That was...but it couldn't...he wouldn't be that stupid. "Medic Ratchet, you are needed on the third floor reception area," Drift repeated.

"I'll be right back," Ratchet told the patient who he'd been instructing on their recovery physiotherapy routine. "They only do announcements like that if there's an emergency."

Ratchet didn't bother with the elevator - he had the worst damned luck with elevators in this building. He headed straight for the stairwell and started climbing. It was late - he knew there were at least three other residents and one fully trained medic in the building, but none of them would have been on the third floor. Third floor was long-term care, cybercrosis cases and comas and paralysis-type form fatigue. There wouldn't have been anyone on the floor because Ratchet had been scheduled to do the next nightly walk-through. There wouldn't be anyone on the third floor who could spot Drift except the patients and the ward manager -

Ratchet burst through the doors of the stairwell and nearly tripped over their mobile spark-support cart, which had been dragged out of its case. The ward manager was on the ground, propped up against a silhouetted figure with his hand clasped in theirs. "The medic is going to be right here, just hold on," Drift murmured.

"I'm here," Ratchet announced. "Almene? You with me?"

"There's a silver," Almene whispered, sounding dazed. Going into shock, probably. "There's an angel, Ratchet."

"That's good," Ratchet said, kneeling down by his side.

"It's rapid-onset frame rejection," Drift said. "There isn't much time."

"Since when are you a doctor?" Ratchet asked, plugging in. He was immediately buried in a wave of static and corrupted signals. Someone else pulled the cord and Ratchet found himself blinking at two golden optics in a sea of darkness. "Okay. Yeah. Frame rejection," Ratchet agreed. "We're going to get you downstairs to the operating room - Drift, grab a stretcher. I need to call in the cavalry, I can't do a frame transplant solo."

---

"So I guess you're reading my medical texts?" Ratchet asked, leaning against the balcony railing as he watched the fliers dance across the city skyline. An uneventful night, from the long view.

"Mostly I just watch you," Drift said, leaning up against his shoulders. "But you spend a lot of time reading, I was bound to pick up on some of it eventually. I like your job, you know? This is the first time I've gotten to stick around Cybertron watching someone do work that's actively making the world less evil."

"Except for the paperwork. I'm pretty sure all the paperwork is increasing the net evil in the world."

"Sure, Ratch."

Ratchet admired the night sky and tried not to count down the seconds until his break ended. But he couldn't help wondering..."Do you think Almene is going to remember that there was an angel in the long-term care ward?"

---

"You have completely failed to understand the object of this lesson," Panax said, leaning over the table. Ratchet assumed he was trying to loom over him, but after seeing Drift do that a few times in near total darkness while trying to blackmail Ratchet into watching movies with him the pose had rather lost its impact. "I will not have you disrespect the name and reputation of this institution by such gross violations of protocol."

A few months back, Ratchet would have stammered something about "doing better" but right now he wasn't feeling it. "That protocol was invented sixty years ago and has never improved mortality rates in actual clinical trials. The way I handled the case is one of the accepted interventions in almost every other hospital in this hemisphere. If you want to send me up to the discipline board for keeping someone alive, go ahead. I'd love to talk to them."

From over Panax's shoulder, Drift mimed throwing his hand over his forehead dramatically and half collapsing in horror. Ratchet did his best to not pay attention to the satirical game of charades going on behind his faculty mentor. "Is there anything else you wanted to discuss, sir?" He asked.

"I can refuse to sign off on you completing your residency, you know," Panax hissed.

"You can," Ratchet acknowledged. "You've mentioned that several times. If that happens, the board will give me a chance to make my case and then transfer me to another hospital to complete two additional years of supervised training. I looked into this, you know. Turns out there's an actual procedure and it isn't "send your nearly trained medic to work as a mortuary assistant." Ratchet left off the part where he'd been goaded into looking it up by Drift, incensed over Ratchet's repeated refusal to either report Panax for harassment or to allow Drift to throw him off the roof along with his "decorative paperweights".

"You can go." Panax sat down in his chair and waved at Ratchet. "Get back to work." Probably felt like he needed to regroup, think of more threatening threats. Well, Ratchet was pretty sure he could handle whatever Panax thought up - he wasn't especially creative.

Ratchet nodded, keeping a straight face only by virtue of months of practice watching Drift pantomime embarrassing things while Ratchet was trying to have serious conversations. He got up and left the room, leaving the door open a trifle longer than he needed, in order to give Drift time to slip out behind him. Halfway down the hallway, a silhouette popped into visibility in front of him and offered up a high five. Ratchet slapped hands with him and kept walking. "You were right, that felt amazing."

"I told you! I told you!" Drift jeered, hopping around after Ratchet like a petro rabbit pumped up on enjex. "Let me throw his paperweights off the roof. Please. I can wait until you have an airtight alibi, it'll be great. Or - or - better yet, I could trip him while he's walking in the hallway. Not even fatally! Please?"

"I'm horrified at the suggestion you know how to fatally trip people," Ratchet joked. "No, Drift, we're going to take the high road."

"Tripping him in the hallway is the high road. He said you cheated on your exam scores and then when proven wrong carried on his weird vindictive vendetta for two years, I ought to break into his apartment and swap out all his energon with floor wax."

"I appreciate the enthusiasm Drift, but I'm almost to the finish line, it's not worth fighting over it now," Ratchet said, patting him on the the shoulder. "Just wait, my next boss will probably be even worse."

"Not for long they won't be," Drift hissed.

---

There was someone screaming in Ratchet's berthroom. Ratchet was suddenly very, very awake.

"Drift!" He reached for Drift in the darkness and ended up being thrown off the berth, colliding against the shelf on the other side of the room. Several objects tumbled off the shelf, hitting the floor with a noise that sounded like gunshots in the formerly sleep-silent apartment. The screaming stopped, at least.

A door slammed and Trefacto called out. "Ratchet?"

"Sorry," Ratchet said. "I didn't mean to wake you up."

"You okay? That sounded scary."

"Yeah, I'm fine. Too many horror vids."

"Ok," Trefacto said skeptically. "Well, if you need anything, let me know."

"Thanks." Ratchet said. He waited until he could hear Trefacto go back to their room, then dragged himself back to his feet. Frag, his back hurt. "Drift?" He whispered. "Drift?"

Ratchet limped back to the berth and climbed back on, fumbling about for any sign of cold frame. His fingers found a bit of plating, which he followed to a shoulder and then to an entire sliver, curled up in the corner of his berth with his face buried in his arms. Drift was so still and so cold that Ratchet could have believed he was touching an empty frame. "Drift?" Ratchet asked again. He wasn't about to ask if Drift was okay, screaming nightmares were not the best sign of okayness. "You're safe. You're in my room, you're bound to me and no one can summon you. They can't hurt you any more."

"I hit you," Drift whispered.

"You were scared."

"I'm not supposed to be scared," Drift said. "I'm supposed to be evil and monstrous and too strong to hurt. I'm a monster. Monsters don't get to feel scared."

"Drift, I'm only going to say this once, because you're religious and it's going to offend you." Ratchet put his arm around Drift's shoulder, tentatively and then more firmly when he felt Drift relax into his arms. "If Primus did this? He fucked up. You don't deserve what happened to you. There is no amount of evil on the planet where someone would deserve this slag."

"I never dream about the bad things," Drift said. "It's never the murders or the...other stuff. It's stupid. I always dream about being summoned and then forgotten, just stuck inside a summoning circle forever. There's no reason why it couldn't happen. I'm bound until the summoner dies or releases me, it's been pure luck that some of them died before I - " Drift clutched at Ratchet's arm, burying his face in his shoulder. "Why couldn't he just unmake me? What's the point of this?"

"I don't know. But if I ever meet Primus, which I won't because he doesn't exist, I'm going to give him a kiss with my fist and ask him what he has to say for himself," Ratchet whispered, smacking his closed fist against this palm.

"Ratchet!" Drift hissed. "He's Primus."

"He's fiction. Or an asshole. Those are about the options, as I see it."

"I don't think he'd appreciate a kiss very much," Drift said. There was a long pause. "On the other hand, if you wanted to - if you wanted to kiss someone. I know someone who would like that very much."

"Do you?" Ratchet asked.

"I know you only didn't send me away because you pitied me," Drift whispered. "And it's unfair of me to take advantage of that pity. But you make me feel real, Ratchet. And I want to be real. I want to be real enough to love you."

Ratchet leaned back onto the berth, pulling Drift with him until they were lying down, limbs tangled together. His hands found Drift's helm, stroking over his finials. He smoothed over Drift's lips with his thumb, scared to miss and ruin the moment. Slowly he pressed his lips against Drift's and then leaned back. "Do you love me?" He asked.

"Yes," Drift admitted. "I'm sorry, I - "

"Then you're already real. I don't pity you, Drift. I'm angry for you. And, in case you hadn't noticed? I love you too. So why don't you kiss me?"

Drift surged forwards, sealing his lips against Ratchet's and licking his way inside. He was making needy noises in the back of his throat and Ratchet had never felt more wanted in his life. He clung to Drift, rolling onto his back and hunting for a flash of gold optics. He wanted to get to watch this, the way lovers did.

#dratchet #dratchtember #ficlets #my fics

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codeblve · 6 years ago

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howdy y’all ! lilac’s the name, writing trashlord character’s the game. i hail from a lil island known as australia... so in essence, i am never gonna be online at the same time as anyone else dkjfghdkfjgd. but !! don’t let this deter you. like a lil ol’ boomerang i’ll eventually find my way into your dms and hopefully we can plot/write with all your incredible muses. <3 a lil info about me though, i’m a tea connoisseur, sims enthusiast, and i talk daily about how i consider the barbie films cinematic masterpieces. if i haven’t scared you off and you’d like to get to know my sweet and memey tough boi, please press that readmore to complete your transaction.

⌠LUKE HEMMINGS, TWENTY ONE, CISMALE, HE/HIM⌡ welcome back to gallagher academy, BLUE HAWTHORNE! according to their records, they’re a THIRD year, specializing in AWARENESS TRAINING, BREATH CONTROL, HAND TO HAND COMBAT + COVERT OPERATIONS (CP); and they DID NOT go to a spy prep high school. when i see them walking around in the halls, i usually see a flash of (a smiley face traced into the precipitation on a mirror after a long and warm shower, a constellation of bruises strewn across your body, impatient foot tapping in the hallows of detention, chopsticks fashioned into walrus tusks over a meal, climbing higher and higher with no sign of stopping). when it’s the (aquarius)’s birthday on 2/13/1998, they always request their CHEESY NACHOS WITH EXTRA GUAC from the school’s chefs. looks like they’re well on their way to graduation.

( PERSONALITY ! )

( for more details about blue, check out his stats & hcs here ! )

he is playful, jocular, impulsive, and honestly? immature lmao. he is honestly a Soft Jock™

he’s always been looking for the childhood he never got to have, y’know? he does this in the way he’s always cracking jokes, a bit of a class clown, disruptive. a wholesome prank or two.

he gets in trouble in school more than his fair share, simply for daydreaming or sneaking out. he doesn’t let the institution define him, but he can take orders when needed. he can be very loyal tho, and much like eggsy in kingsmen, if someone asked him to choose between his dog or orders ?? he’s always choosing the dog kdjgf

he is secretly very insecure and always has a need to please. if someone doesn’t like him, he’ll tear himself apart to figure out why.

he’s always telling jokes and always laughing. he’s known for his Memes and is always a good time to be around. social butterfly, gregarious. chances are if you don’t know him, you’ve heard him dkfgjdf

he’s also a bit Anti-( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) ( sex lmao ) because ya boi has commitment issues so high they’re floating out there in space

he can also be very maternal when the need arises. he is not good at talking about emotions but he’ll give you a meme or a hug to Heal You

he very much reminds me of the human embodiment of a puppy. cannot be alone for very long, has a short attention span, and craves validation lmfao. give him a squeaky toy and he will be Contented

as a soon-to-be spy he can be Tough in the field when he needs to be but he’s also v sensitive. most see him as a macho, just genuinely happy kinda dude but, he truly feels a lot. he won’t let you know that, though.

he struggles academically as he has a short attention span most of the time and thinks too little of himself. however, he’s a lot brighter than most people give him credit for. he’s incredibly creative and a lateral thinker. maths makes him want to die, tho. he does shine in physical trials at least, which is something !

also what’s money? blue does not know. he grew up with hardly anything, and has been working since he could. for this reason he’s quite frugal and struggles to throw things away.

blue’s troubled past ( explained below ) is something he doesn’t acknowledge, and not a lot of people know about. to many, he’s known as the local Meme Dealer. but to a lucky few, he’s known as a friend who would do anything for you.

most just know him as the moron named after a colour tho. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

( HISTORY ! ) - tw: illness/cancer, death, substance ( alcohol / drugs ) & depression.

blue hawthorne, who never goes by his birthname bc he hates it dfkjgdgdf, was born in the town of sparks, nevada !

it was always just blue and his mother, margarette. he never met his father and he was gone long before blue’s mother could even tell him about a pregnancy test. cut off from her family due to having a child out of wedlock, the pair started a life for themselves. all they had was a humble abode in a trailer park. material possessions were lacking, but blue never felt like he went without.

blue’s mother was by very definition blue’s best friend. they both shared a love of music and ballet, and margarette worked as many jobs as she could to allow for her son to take lessons. starting quite young, at the age of four or five, blue was actually quite good. the usually mischievous and erratic child found structure in the discipline, and it was the thing that brought him the most happiness.

as a child blue was often teased for his interest, and the fact that he was so close with his mother. despite being incredibly short and frail at the time, he was also very outspoken and strong-willed, and never let his peers get the best of him. he danced, he laughed, he bruised his knees at any given opportunity. made a lot of mistakes. what he lacked in possessions he gained in the abundance of joy he felt in his heart growing up. his mother and a few of his close friends were his world.

when blue turned fifteen, everything changed.

( illness / cancer tw ) the jubilant, mischievous, but altogether kind-hearted boy was given the heart-breaking news that his mother had been diagnosed with cancer. margarette hawthorne, much like her son, was a fighter - and didn’t let such a diagnosis keep her down. despite their dwindling lack of funds now going towards medical bills, and the fact blue began sacrificing his own childhood as he took to the role of a caretaker of sorts for his mother, he never took his time with her for granted.

things were okay for a while. there was a point where the doctors were convinced that she was going to make it. blue was a fool. blue believed them.

at the age of sixteen, blue lost everything. he lost his place to live, he lost his childhood and lust for life, and he lost the person he loved most in the world. he lost his best friend.

it wasn’t long before the overbearing sympathy from those around him soured blue. he was sick of being bullied, people not liking him, and altogether not being in control of his own life. most of all, he felt so hopeless as his best friend in the entire world was starting to fade. so what did this boy do ? he quit ballet (the thing he’d loved since he was able to stand), he started drinking, he got involved with a very bad crowd and became a frequenter of the local police station. blue became a certified Bad Boy™

blue was sent to live with the grandparents that despised him and never acknowledged his existence before that moment, having met them at his mother’s funeral. righteous and conservative in their views, they had cast aside their daughter when she had blue, and only reached out to her in her final months. for this reason, blue despised these people (he refused to call them family). he tried his best to be appreciative of a house and food ( which was much better than anything he had growing up ). but he was cold. always cold.

( substance tw ) in his latter adolescence, blue fell into a rapid succession of bad decisions. still small, still frail in stature, he found himself at a dissonance with his image and began growing insecure about his looks, the years of torment weighing on him. he found anesthetic in the party scene outside of school, taking to alcohol and drugs as a sedative from the life he felt forced to lead. he couldn’t decide if he hated himself or he hated the world more.

at the age of 17, his rap sheet seemed to grow with each rise and fall of the sun. he was hardly ever ‘home’ and couch surfed. at the age of 17 he’d gotten his own car and lived more out of that than the stuffy house on top of the hill where he was supposed to be. his grades were debris lost in his tumultuous storm, he was always looking for validation from the kids he hung around with and made some very poor decisions in the hopes he’d be liked. in the hopes he’d find a new family.

the partying, the stream of hook ups, his criminal record (mainly with petty theft, a few write ups for public intoxication and fighting), the instability of his living situation and his future all came to boil just before he turned 18. physically he’d started to fill out, and look more like the man people know today. he was no longer frail and no longer weak, and when asked, he used to his fists to forge that path he thought he wanted.

after a dark night, it became apparent to blue that his path of self destruction was hurting no one but himself. things had to change.

through nothing short than a McMiracle (sponsored by Ronald McDonald, bc no one else is rich enough to pull it off lmfao) blue managed to scrape by and complete high school. not well by any means. but he did it.

it was about now that blue had been informed of a small school called blackthorne academy. details were scarce, but what drew the blond’s attention was the tuition ( or lack thereof ). his acceptance cited his physical capabilities as seen through his many years of dance and explained why he was of particular interest to the school. he was suspicious, to say the least. but blue knew he wanted to become something, and to go to this school would not only take him away from a life he wanted to forget, but he would become self sufficient, and be able to leave his toxic family situation on his own terms.

bidding farewell to the grandparents he was only beginning to know, his grandfather saw no reason to extend her kindnesses, and cut blue off. at the age of 18 he was homeless, with nothing but a car and a handful of pokemon cards he’d had as a kid. not worth anything or even particularly sentimental, he just likes pokemon kgfjfd.

living in his car for a while before eventually crashing with a close friend, blue managed to absorb his days in work before eventually starting his tenure at blackthorne. although blue’s wild days are behind him, there are some things locked in his past that still haunt him. there are doors he never hopes to open again. but he got his fresh start, and is determined to live the life a young blue would have wanted for him, and one his mother could be proud of. and who knows, maybe he could go on and save the world.

( WANTED CONNECTIONS ! )

all of these are absolute trash, and i much prefer plotting with specific characters in mind to cater it to our muses and make it unique to them. (~: but i do have a few wanted connections here as a starting off point !! if any of them really call to you though, please let me know as i would adore to have anything listed !! with that in mind, i wanted to include a sample of a few of the connects on the page here to make things a lil easier.

— *. ; ( co-workers ) || this connection is a little up in the air as i understand that students aren’t allowed to leave campus without staff supervision, and tuition isn’t awfully high if you can’t afford it ! however, blue has no money, and if at all possible he would try and get some sort of job whilst at blackthorne/gallaghers. whether that be doing odd jobs as part of his covert ops classes, or even working for the campus doing things like lawn maintenance, working in the stables, or literally anything that was open ! ( his ‘job’ could even be bringing in dkfjgdf some sorts of contraband to sell to other students, lmfao. nothing illegal, just stuff you can’t get on campus ). this connection is meant for any muses that may also be employed, or want them to be, and these two could be co-workers ! with an admin blessing we can figure out what is logistically possible within the plot, and if your muse already has a job i’d be very interested to have blue be a coworker if you were at all interested !! <3

— *. ; ( protector ) || there are two things blue hates most in this world: liars, and bullies. as an older ( and arguably large ) student, he comes to find someone who is going through a rough time assimilating to life at the academy for whatever reason. on the surface neither of them have anything in common, but the pair form a sibling like bond, and blue is willing to do anything to protect their friend.

— *. ; ( aggressor ) || blue is very mild mannered for the most part, save for any jokes he likes to make. however, there is someone on campus who absolutely makes his blood boil. whether this person dislikes blue for his lack of wealth and sophistication, his inherent need to never pick sides, or his immediate abandonment of respect for blackthorne once the truth came to light. or perhaps he made a joke in their early days that rubbed this person the wrong way, and a toxic environment has persisted since then. i imagine this relationship has escalated to violence, and for whoever picks this up i’d really love to delve into their hatred and flesh out their angst !

there are plenty more connects on the page and like i said, i am literally happy to plot anything under the sun. (~:

thank you so much for reading ! if you made it all the way here ?? you’re a h*cking legend lmfao. if there’s anything here that stood out to you please hit me up either on tumblr dms or via discord ( my user is lilac 🍕#1835, or kjgdgdf the person with the crying squidward icon in the gc lmfao ). as there are quite a lot of members here, please like this here intro if you are interesting in plotting/writing with me so i know !! i’ll check out your beautiful intro and Throw (or rather, gently pass you) some ideas your way if you haven’t messaged me first. <3 but thank you so much again for making it to this point, here’s a proverbial cookie for your troubles. it’s double choc chip, enjoy it. (~:

#gallagher:intro #this was... so long aND IM SO SORRY #thank y'all for all being literal angels and making me feel so welcome (':#( ooc ; i have the power of god & anime on my side ! )

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