#also like a huge fear is getting something wrong? like linking the wrong fic or @ing the wrong person so if I messed up sorry | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dancing-in-a-yellow-dress · 2 years

Text

The Somber Nights of New York City

Avengers x original character

Trigger warnings: Suicidal ideation, suicide, self harm, anxiety, panic attack-ish, blades

Word count: 4 300

Found this from my archives, wrote it last year and will probably continue it once I get some other more pressing things done, since I actually like it. Hurt/comfort fic about avengers helping one of their own. Getting help -centered, but still pretty graphic, so if you are easily triggered or otherwise sensitive about the topics, you might want to read something else.

Also, weirdly enough, Inception spoiler. Nothing huge, just a somewhat important detail. Do with that what you will.

Alicia was standing on the top of the Avengers tower, waiting for the right moment. She knew it would come, sooner or later. She had time. She walked to the edge of the roof and stopped to lean against the safety railing. She had finally made up his mind. It was a quiet night. Considering the city she was in, it could have even been called peaceful. Alicia liked the calmness. It gave her time to collect her thoughts, time to let go. She looked down at the city below her.

Alicia had never really liked New York. The city made of dreams had only ever given her nightmares. But it didn’t matter. That was where she was supposed to be. That’s where her duty was, so that’s where she was.

Alicia leaned further. She’d always been afraid of heights, and that is exactly why she was there. She wanted to be afraid. She wanted to fear for her life, wanted to feel something that would change her mind. She wanted to feel something, anything that would stop her from jumping. She was exhausted. Tired of doing the best she could to help people, only to be trashed in the media. Tired of always being the weakest link, tired of the void eating her insides. Tired of living the same day over and over again, when nothing ever got better. Tired of feeling and tired of being emotionless. Tired of living. Alicia climbed over the safety railing. Soon she could let go. Soon she would be free.

She knew it was wrong. She knew someone would miss her. She knew someone would be left wondering what they could have done better or how she could have been helped. She knew someone would be left to try to figure out what drove a 19-year-old superhero to jump off of a building. Someone would be left behind, but she just couldn’t bring herself to care anymore. She didn’t want to think, she didn’t want to care. She stepped to the edge. She just wanted it to end. Her time had come. All she had to do now was step one more step…

“Alicia?” The voice sounded familiar, so Alicia turned reluctantly to look at the source and once she did, she saw Peter Parker standing on top of the stairs leading up to the roof. He was desperately trying to appear calm, but Alicia could see the confusion and fear on his face. “Hi Peter”, she answered after a short while. “Hi Lis”, Peter echoed after careful assessment of the situation he had walked into. “So, what are you doing up here?” he asked, slowly moving towards Alicia. “Nothing much. Just… watching the city lights.” Alicia answered turning her eyes back to the horizon. “Yeah, it’s a clear sky. You could see the stars”, Peter carried on with the conversation, moving step by step closer to the girl on edge. “You can never see the stars in New York. Not really”, Alicia answered, her voice cracking as she held in her tiers. “What if you come away from the edge and we’ll get out of the town to look at them together?” He was trying to keep his voice carefree, but it still trembled as he approached the railing. “Alicia, I wouldn’t want you to fall”, he continued quietly, almost desperately.

Alicia sighed. The moment had come and gone, and she had missed it. Hesitantly she stepped off the edge, grabbing the railing. The second the girl moved closer Peter grabbed her hand and helped her over the safety railing. Immediately after Peter let go of Alicia’s hand, the girl speed walked across the roof and started climbing the stairs down, Peter following closely behind. She was embarrassed. Embarrassed that she had let him see her in that state and embarrassed that she hadn’t been strong enough to complete her plan. Peter tried to stop her, but she didn’t want to hear it. Once Alicia had reached the bottom of the stairs she hurried to the common room where most of the team was hanging out, trying to reach the elevator to get to her own living space. She was about halfway across the room, when she felt someone grab her arm.

“Hey, everything okay kid? What’s wrong?” Steve asked worriedly. “Nothing. Everything is fine”, Alicia said trying to free herself. “No, it’s not fine”, Peter said in a hushed tone from across the room, avoiding meeting at Alicia’s eyes. Her heart sank. “Peter Benjamin Parker don’t you dare…” Alicia warned, but the boy acted as he had not heard a word she had said. There was certain determination in his being as he looked the girl in the eyes as he repeated himself and continued: “No! Tell them. Tell them Lis”. “Tell us what”, Steve asked, looking at the girl, whose arm he had yet to let go. At that Alicia knew there was no escape, no way out, so she cast her eyes on the ground and waited for the ball to be dropped. “Alicia wants to die”, Peter said as she glanced at him murderously. Everyone in the room froze as Peter continued: “I had to talk her down from the edge of the building”. It was so quiet you could have heard a pin drop.

Alicia made a split-second decision and used the general confusion and shock to her advantage as she freed herself from the super soldier’s grip with one swift move and rushed towards the door. Tony was the first to recover and he stepped in front of Alicia, blocking her way. “J.A.R.V.I.S. make sure no one leaves this floor.” “Yes Mr. Stark”, the AI answered.

“So you were… You were going to jump?” he asked bluntly. ”Yeah, maybe, I don’t know… But look I didn’t so it doesn’t matter anyways. It’s whatever. It’s fine. I’m fine”, Alicia answered whilst looking for another way out. She could hear her heart beating in her head. “So let me get this straight. You were going to jump, and just because Parker was there to stop you, you are suddenly fine?” Tony questioned, still expressionless. Alicia couldn’t even look at the other team members as her face heated up and she mumbled an answer at the floor: “Really, it’s not that big a thing. It doesn’t really matter…” “Not that big of a thing? NOT THAT BIG OF A THING? YOU WERE GOING TO COMMIT SUICIDE?!” Tony yelled, now pacing back and forth in front of Alicia, pulling at his own hair. “Tony, calm down”, Steve tried to interrupt but Tony snapped at him: “NO! I’m not going to fucking calm down. SHE WAS GOING TO KILL HERSELF! What part of that don’t you get? For fucks sake she was going to jump?! And you’re telling me to calm down?”

Alicia was slowly backing away from Tony. She could feel panic building up inside her. Steve was trying to calm Tony down, when something inside Alicia just snapped and she yelled: “Okay, fine! I was going to jump! What do you want me to say?” Everyone stayed quiet as she continued almost screaming: “What do you want me to say? That I didn’t mean to or that I’m sorry? What do you want to hear? What the fuck am I even supposed to do now?” Tony looked shocked. Alicia took a second to get herself together and Steve rushed between her and Tony: “Look, I understand that you are upset, but yelling isn’t going to do anyone any good.” “No one is going to yell anymore”, Natasha said matter-of-factly. “Team meeting, here, now. And if Stark can’t control himself, he will be thrown out”, she said shooting daggers with her eyes at Tony while guiding Alicia to sit on the sofa.

She sat down to the corner, hugging a pillow. Natasha sat next to her and Peter took the place on her other side, while Steve sat to another couch, facing them. Bruce kept his distance with Tony and Clint sat into an armchair to follow the conversation.

No one seemed to know where to start, until Steve finally asked: “So, Alicia, why were you on the roof. I mean… Why were you going to jump?” Alicia pressed the pillow tighter against her chest as she tried to find a coherent answer: “I just got tired, I guess.” “Tired of what?” Peter asked. “Tired of feeling, tired of caring. Tired of knowing that if I had been better the little girl could have survived or the poor family would still have a home. Tired of waking up when every day is a battle. Tired of fighting when the war never ends. Tired of giving up too much still not being even nearly good enough. Tired… tired of being weak”, she finished with a sigh. Silent tears were streaming down Peter’s face.

No one spoke for a while until Steve continued with the next question: “Well, I take it you’ve been feeling like this for a while now”, he paused for a second before carrying on: “What drove you to the edge?” “I don’t really know”, Alicia answered barely whispering. “I… I wasn’t planning on it. I went on the roof to see the stars, but you can’t really see stars in New York. I just, lost it. I felt so alone and… like I didn’t belong. Everything just feels so hard and I need… I needed everything to stop”, she said, looking completely lost. Whilst Alicia was talking Tony had calmed down enough to sit next to Steve on the couch to take part in the conversation and Bruce next to him was the one to ask the next question: “Alicia… Why didn’t you tell us? I mean… We’re a team. We’re family. We would have helped you”. She glanced at him before answering: “I guess I didn’t want to be a burden… I mean more than I already am. You were always busy, and I didn’t want to bother you. It wasn’t important anyways so…”, “Okay. Could you go five minutes without saying it isn’t important”, Tony scoffed, leading to an exasperated look being thrown at him by Steve. “If you downplay it, we can’t really help you”, Natasha scolded, her voice stern but she herself looking worried. “I’m sorry”, Alicia answered twisting her hands. “I’m just not used to thinking of my problems as… well, anything that matters. When your day job is saving the world from aliens, everything else kind of loses its meaning”, she laughed nervously.

Steve leaned forward on the couch and looked at her sympathetically. “Alicia. Look at me”, she hesitated a bit, but then raised her gaze to meet the blue eyes. “Alicia…”, he clearly tried to say something, but didn’t really know how to phrase it. He looked lost, so Alicia spoke instead: “I- I knew it was selfish in a way. But I- I guess I thought I was doing you a service.” “And why would you think that?” Clint asked, tone clearly sharper than he had intended for it to be. “I mean… Why wouldn’t I? I’m the weakest link in the team. I don’t have any superpowers and I’m definitely not super smart. I’m not exceptionally good in handling any weapon in particular and about anything I can do even remotely well Nat can do thousand times better. Like I said, I’m the weakest one in the team and any team is only as good as its weakest link, so I thought- I thought removing myself from the equation… maybe wouldn’t be all bad.” She had lowered her gaze again, now twisting her fingers so that it hurt. “I’m the one who always messes things up anyways, so why would you even need me?”. “You really think that kid?” Tony asked a pained expression on his face. “You are 19! The fact that you are that young and inexperienced and still able to be part of the team without a suit or super-soldier-serum speaks more about your potential than I ever could”, he said with a deep sigh. He couldn’t go on, so Steve continued: “Tony is right. You might not notice it yourself, but you are very talented. I’ve never seen anyone come as close to winning Natasha in hand-to-hand combat as you did last Monday. And I’ve never seen anyone being able to master so many weapons. Sure you are not better in one than the others, but your good with all of them, which is way more impressive than being the best with just one.” “Oh, and also the thing about you not being smart is complete and utter nonsense”, Bruce joined the conversation, surprising all the others. “You have a fascinating way of seeing things that no one else does and putting them together to get and build information and- Alicia? Are you okay?” he asked startled, for the girl had burst into tears and was now sobbing in the corner of the couch. “I- I don’t- don’t know”, she managed to get out in between the sobs. “Shh… It’s okay. Take as much time as you need”, Natasha said, rubbing her back calmingly.

When Alicia’s sobs had stopped, Steve stood up and said to Tony, Nat, Clint and Bruce: “So, we’ll need to discuss how to handle… things from now on. Peter, could you take Alicia to her room and stay with her until we’re done”, then he turned to face Alicia. “You’ll be okay. We’ll help you fix this.” Alicia felt Peter taking her hand and went along with him, having no energy to fight back. Honestly, it felt kind of nice having someone to take care of her, although she was dreading the moment they would be alone. Peter opened the door to her room and sit her down on the bed next to him. “So, one heck of a night”, he sighed, his look fixed on his feet. Alicia muttered something back, not knowing herself what. “Would you like to watch a movie?” he asked, out of nowhere, snapping Alicia out of her thoughts. “I mean, that’s how I take my mind off things. Let myself get lost in a real good movie. So, you up for it?” he asked again, waiting patiently as she collected her thoughts. “Yeah, sure. Um- What did you have in mind?” she questioned, shaking her head trying to clear the fog that seemed to have settled in her brain “Well, I was thinking of Inception. It’s mesmerizing and also kind of my personal favorite”, he said. “Yeah, sounds great. How about you get it going while I take all the smudged mascara of my face?” Alicia asked, seeing herself from a reflection on her bedroom window. Peter nodded and five minutes later they were laying on Alicia’s bed, under a mountain of blankets, enjoying the movie.

They had watched the movie about halfway through, when there was a soft knock on the door and Natasha peaked her head in: “Is this a bad time?” “No”, Alicia said. “We can put this on pause.” The door opened and Nat stepped in with Steve and Tony. “We have talked and figured we’d come to talk to you about what happens next. Peter, could you- “, Tony said, motioning towards the door, but Alicia gripped his hand in hers. “Actually, I’d prefer it if he stayed”, she said timidly. Tony glanced at Steve, who nodded slightly. “Well, it’s your choice”, he said and shrugged. Natasha sat on the edge of the bed next to Alicia and placed her hand on the girls back, stroking it soothingly. There was a moment of silence, before Steve spoke: “So, Alicia, we have two options for you.” Alicia looked at him nervously as Tony continued: “The first one is a bit more harsh, but that doesn’t necessarily mean it’s a bad option. I’d appreciate it if you considered it none the less.” “Okay, sure. What is it “, Alicia asked nervously. “I’d be more than happy to… sponsor your stay in a rehab center. I know, it sounds bad, but hear me out. It would be in Minnesota, the best one in the States. Very professional staff and a calming setting”, he explained, but Alicia looked less than convinced. “Trust me, I know because I’ve been there. That place did wonders to my anxiety and PTSD after Afghanistan. I know it doesn’t sound appealing, but they could give you all the help you need, better than we ever could”, he finished.

“The second option is a bit more complicated, and it would require that you would be completely honest with us, but it would allow you to stay home”, Steve said watching Alicia closely, but when she didn’t say anything, he continued: “Like I said, you'd stay here with us. Tony would hire a therapist to live here. We'd need to consult them first, but you'd probably have mandatory sessions every day for the first few weeks and then maybe three times a week or so. They would also teach us how to best help you, and they'd be here for you if we'd have to leave for a mission", he gave Alicia a chance to say something, but when the girl still stayed silent he went on: "Probably the hardest part about this is that you'd have to let us in. You'd have to be completely honest with us and tell us what's happening. This doesn't mean that you'd have to tell everyone everything, but someone would always have to know what's going on, so that we could help you." Alicia looked hesitant and Natasha came in: "At first it could be your therapist, but someone would have to know how you are doing. Like Steve said, this option would take significantly more effort from all people involved, but if you are more comfortable with it, then that's what we are going to do." "Also, regardless of which one you choose, you are off active duty for four months or until you feel ready to step in again", Tony said. Alicia looked like she was about to argue, so Steve continued before she could: "That is non-negotiable. I know it sucks, but you need to make sure you are okay yourself before you try to help anyone else. So, what do you think?”

Alicia fidgeted with her sleeves and then looked at Peter repeating the question: “What do you think?” Peter looked surprisingly calm, as he looked back and reached out to stop Alicia’s hands from twiddling her sleaves before he answered: “I think you should pick the one that is best for you, and that we will be here for you whatever you decide to do.” Alicia thought for a moment. “I think I’d like to stay here, with my- with my family”. She glanced at the others sheepishly before looking back down. “Well, then that’s what’s going to happen”, Tony said. “So, was that all?” Alicia asked. “Well, there are a few more things, the first being, that if this doesn’t work, you are going to go to rehab. We want to help you and if this doesn’t work, we’ll try the other option. Okay?” Alicia nodded. Nat rubbed her back as Steve carried on: “Also, like I said this means that we have to know what’s happening, so is there anything you’d like to tell us now?” Alicia froze and color escaped her face. “It’s okay, we wont judge, we just need to know”, Natasha comforted. “Well, um… I was diagnosed with orthorexia when I was 15 and it might have been kind of flaring up recently. Also…” she sighed, stood up and walked over to her dresser. She opened the top drawer and took out a small pencil pouch. Then she went to her bathroom cabinet to get a little metal container and finally she went to her purse to take out a matchbox. Then she gave them all to somewhat confused Tony and sat back down, refusing to look at anyone and trying to stop her hands from shaking.

Tony opened the pouch and his face fell. Then he gave it to Steve, before opening the metal box. Steve took the bag from Tony and pulled out a pocketknife, a blood-stained cloth and some bandages. Alicia looked at him, her hands shaking and tears filling her eyes the question died on his lips. Peter pulled Alicia gently closer to himself and Natasha stood up to take the matchbox from Tony and he gave it to her as he opened the metal box to find a few razor blades and a roll of wound tape. Nat slid the box open revealing a small stash of small needles and a bloody tissue. She raised her eyebrow questioningly. “Care to explain”, she asked, trying to conceal the shakiness in her voice. Alicia looked hopeless as she answered: “It used to help. The pain- it- it used to ground me when I felt like I was slipping. It didn’t last though.” “Can you show us”, Peter asked quietly. “Show you what?” she asked, looking confused. “The scars…” “Oh, there are none”, she answered. No one looked convinced though, so she pulled up her sleeves as she continued. Then she moved to take off her sports watch. “Or at least they are not visible anymore”, she added examining her wrist. The others still looked confused, so she explained: “The skin heals faster under the pressure from the watch, so cutting doesn’t leave permanent scars. The skin just turns kind of red and weird.” She carefully examined the people standing next to her, waiting for somebody to say something. She was starting to get really anxious and after a while she couldn’t wait anymore: “For fucks sake could someone say something?” Tony cleared his throat, but it was Steve who spoke: “You do realize, that we need to search your room?” he asked apologetically. “Yeah”, she shrugged. “I figured”, she sighed. “Anything else we should know about?” Tony asked, examining Alicia’s expression as the girl racked her brain: “No”, she sighed. “At least I can’t think of anything.” Nat had given Steve the little matchbox and now hugged Alicia tight. When she let go, she said: “One last thing. Bruce had an idea- of having like a standard protocol of some sorts for when you’re feeling like hurting yourself. I know, it sounds weird, but that’s the best name we could come up with. You could come to any of us at anytime when you… don’t trust yourself and someone would be with you until you did. We could maybe try it tonight. You could go to the living room with Peter while Steve and I go through your room, and then we could have a sleepover ‘at my place’?” Alicia nodded slightly and got up from the bed with some help from Peter.

When they reached the living room Alicia walked towards the TV to set up the movie, and Peter went to the kitchen to make some popcorn. When he came back the movie was ready and she was sitting on the couch. He sat next to her, offering her some popcorn. They sat there in the silence, but neither one started the movie. After a while Peter looked at her and asked cautiously: “Do you want to talk about it?” “To be honest I don’t really know, but I feel like you do”, she said back and took some more popcorn. “Yeah, I guess I just- I was just wandering how I never noticed. And I’m sorry you had to go through that alone”, he said looking back at her apologetically. “Well, thanks, I guess. And it wasn’t your fault. I’m a good liar. And I was pretty adamant about keeping all this hidden”, she shrugged. “And well, I just… I don’t really understand why you didn’t come to us. I mean- You must have known at some point that you needed help?” he said, questioningly. “Umm… I don’t really know. I guess I- I guess I didn’t want you to see me like I see myself. I didn’t want you to see me as weak or useless”, she answered, avoiding his gaze. “You know… I don’t think there is anything that could make me see you as weak. I mean, you’re a badass. You’re like the coolest person I know, and I live in a tower filled with secret agents, assassins, legendary soldiers, my mentor is a genius human robot”, he said grinning and took some more popcorn. “Thanks”, Alicia smiled back. “We should probably start the movie though, preferably before all the popcorn is gone”, she laughed, and Peter pressed play.

“Oh shit. Should have remembered it had that in it”, Peter cursed half an hour later pausing the film and turning to look at Alicia. “You okay?” he asked worriedly. He’d forgotten the main character’s wife committed suicide in the film. “Yeah, yeah I’m fine”, she responded, but Peter didn’t look convinced. All the color had left her face. “I just- it’s kind of just hitting me what- what I was about to do”, she was as pale as a ghost and her hands were shaking uncontrollably. “Is it okay if I hug you”, Peter asked cautiously, not wanting to startle Alicia, and when the girl gave him a faint nod he pulled her into a tight embrace. “It’s okay”, he muttered as he rubbed her back and she started sobbing again. “You’re here. You’re okay.” “I’m- I’m so sorry”, she sobbed to his shoulder. “Shh”, Peter tried calming her down. “It’s okay. I’m here and you’re here. You didn’t do it. It’s okay. You didn’t do it.”

#original character #peter parker #avengers team #steve rogers #tony stark #natasha romanoff #bruce banner #possibly triggering #mental health #fanfic #angst #whump #hurt/comfort

39 notes · View notes

libraryofnesta · 3 years

Text

Tied to Ruin

ao3 link

Summary:

Cassian and Nesta were lovers, partners in crime. They did everything together. That is until tragedy strikes, causing Nesta to run away, far from everything she once knew.

Over five years later, Nesta is living life to as full as it can get. It’s not until an incident occurs that drags her into far more than she bargained for.

Notes:

thanks so much for reading. i'm a huge hoe for exes to lovers, so i have like 20 ideas in my head, and this is one of them. It's multichapter. i'm not sure how long this is gonna be, but definitely over ten chapter. this fic has two timelines. One will show them from when they're kids to teens, and one while they're adults. Both will occur at the same time, so things will start to unravel as you read.btw! velaris is gonna be like a super small town in new york. like no one knows about it.

TW: implied domestic violence, nothing graphic.

Chapter 1: lonely beds, different cities

Words, how little they mean

When you're a little too late

I stood right by the tracks

Your face in a locket

Good girls, hopeful they'll be and long they will wait

Sad Beautiful Tragic

Taylor Swift

2016, Small Town Velaris

“Please,” she whispers, voice hoarse. Nesta is practically begging at this point, but she has nothing else to relent to. “We can get out of here.” She swallows hard when he doesn’t reply. “We’re still young Cassian, we can still-”

“Nesta.” He says. It's one word, but it makes her pause. He rarely calls her Nesta. It’s always ‘Nes’ or ‘Sweetheart.’

“I can’t.”

Their lives have changed so drastically over the past few weeks. Nesta’s whole childhood is here. Everything she’s ever known. She’s not sure how much more of it she can handle now.

She��s well aware of the tears streaming down her face. Nesta doesn’t know what she can say to convince him, so she says the one thing that she’s been repeating over and over.

“You can…”

Cassian’s face seems to harden. The look he gives her makes her take a step back. He hasn’t looked at her like that in years. “Go ahead and leave Nesta.”, he says, voice rising. “Go live that picture perfect you always wanted. I won’t stop you.”

“Not everyone wants what you do.”

2021 New York, Manhattan

Something about leaving Valkyrians still makes her feel at odds. She’s not as resistant to the sight of blood anymore, and she’s not sure if she can ride a motorcycle as well as she used to. There are still parts that linger though. She still remembers how to throw a punch. A damn good one too. She still feels uneasy when someone walks in the same direction for too long though. It might be the worst part of it all.

Nesta doesn’t do much for fun. She doesn’t dance as much as she likes. The amount of books she reads has decreased. Her days consist of work and eating, even though she skips more meals than she should. But she’s free. That’s what really matters, doesn’t it?

The muscles in Nesta’s body ache. She just finished a seven hour shift, and got a promotion that pays much better. Nesta wants to celebrate. She wants to talk to someone. It’s been so long since she’s talked to anyone. The fear of someone finding out about her past is lodged so deep in her head it caused her to isolate. The simple way of putting it is she has no friends.

Coworkers are the only source of non-work related conversation she engages in. It’s always small talk too. Just as Nesta is about to fall asleep, she rubs her eyes and forces herself to stay awake. Getting up from the lumpy couch, Nesta walks to her cabinet, grabbing a random mug and pouring wine into it. Once she gets a better look at the mug, she can’t help but scoff.

It’s ironic. Complaining about being lonely. It’s almost like she chose loneliness. She loves the quiet. When she was younger, all she wanted was alone time. She dreads it now. Nesta gets up after finishing her glass. She’s a bit drowsy, and is way too tired to walk all the way to her room. Instead Nesta walks back over to her couch. She lies horizontally, staring into the abyss until she eventually falls asleep.

She dreams of seeing him that night. It’s a regular occurrence. It’s lessened over the years, but never fully disappeared. The image of him is blurry. It’s not as precise as it used to be. She hates still thinking of him. It doesn’t stop her from reminiscing a little though.

Her being upset makes sense of course. They’d known each other for over ten years, hating one another at first. Eventually, he began to grow on her. Their bickering had become playful, before they once again became estranged.

“Cassian?”

The figure turns around, and he knocks the wind out of her. His hair is out of it’s usual bun. He gives her that familiar boyish smile, walking towards her and putting an arm on her.

“Missed me Sweetheart?”, he says, ruffling her hair a bit. Nesta scrunches her nose in response.

“You wish.”

He rolls his eyes. “Yeah yeah whatever.” He talks for a while. Nesta’s barely paying attention. It’s just nice to hear his voice again. He asks her what she’s reading, and she replies the same every time. It’s silent after a while. They’ve talked themselves out. It’s a nice silence though. Her favorite silence.

Cassian stares at her for a few seconds, giving her a soft smile and pushing a loose hair behind her ear.

“Come back,” he whispers.

Her breath stutters. “It’s been five years, Cass,” she mutters, breaking eye contact. Her eyes flicker between the ground and his face, gauging his reaction.

He doesn’t stop looking at her.

“I didn’t want to leave,” said Nesta. There’s a lump in her throat.

He scrubs a hand over his face. “Yet here we are.”

“You know why I left.”

Her eyes feel like they’re beginning to water. “I asked you to come with me. You’re the one who didn’t.”

Cassian looks to the side. He looks impassive, yet also emotionless. “You’re the one who ran away, Nesta.”

“I didn’t run away.”

He scoffs in response. “Keep telling yourself that.” Cassian starts walking away. It’s cloudy and has no solid ground or sky. At that moment she remembers where she really is. Nesta stands there, waiting until he fully fades away. It always feels too real.

The dreams always end like that.

Nesta can barely pry her eyes open when she wakes up. She has the next two weeks off. Her boss, Helion, had insisted she take a week or two off, since the bar was under a small renovation. She checks her phone and it reads 12:03. Jesus, she really had overslept.

In all honesty Nesta had no idea what to do with her free time. Maybe she’ll finally finish that book she started months ago. But in reality Nesta knows all she’ll do is go to a bar and let a stranger fuck her into oblivion until she kicks them out or leaves.

By the time Nesta leaves her house it’s around 3:00. She goes to the coffee shop next door. She orders a coffee and sits in the corner of the room. Nesta somehow feels like the center of attention. It’s an empty shop, but it feels like all eyes on her. The room feels too cold.

The feeling follows her when she goes to the local bookstore. It’s crowded, but the area is quiet. Nesta browses through the shelves, sticking to the romance section. She holds a few books. It’s not until Nesta drops one, people begin to look at her. It makes a loud thump hitting the floor. Several pairs of eyes turn to her. The cover is of a shirtless man too.

Fuck , she thinks, This is embarrassing. Nesta purses her lips, hand curling into a fist as she puts the book back on it’s shelf.

It’s around 5:00 when she takes the train home. Nesta spent the rest of her day at the park, not wanting to stay at home. It doesn’t feel like home as much as she’d like it to though. Finally, Nesta makes it home.

She’s in an empty parking lot. The area she lives in is pretty small. Nesta knows basically everyone in her apartment complex. It’s a tiny place. She never talks to anyone, but they do acknowledge each other. Barely anyone has a car either, herself included. So it is a bit weird to see an unrecognizable car. It’s odd, but Nesta thinks nothing of it. It’s probably just someone visiting.

Nesta goes into her apartment, before leaving once more to go to the bar that’s the second closest to her apartment. She’s usually working at this time, flirting with customers and taking them home when her shift ends.

The bar is crowded and loud. Lights are flashing, voices yelling, bodies moving. It’s out of her comfort zone. She’s been doing this for years and is still isn’t used to it. She sits on one of the stools where the drinks are served. A girl approaches her. Nesta never approaches anyone. She can’t see clearly in the light. The girl’s hair is brunette, though her roots are dark. Her brown skin illuminates in the flickering light.

“Hey”, she says “I’m Nora” Nora extends her hand to her. Nesta smirks in response, resting her elbow on the counter grasping her hand with the other.

“I’m Mila,” she says. No matter what she does, Nesta will never use her real name. Nora’s eyebrows raise. Nesta can see her lick tongue move as it pushes on her skin.

“Pretty name.”

They talk for around five minutes. It’s all small talk. They drink while they talk. Most of the things she responds with are lies anyways. Nora grasp’s her arm with her hand. “Wanna get out of here?” she asks. Her words are slurred, and Nesta has to restrain herself from flinching.

Something in her head tells her not to let anyone in her house though. Something is wrong, but she can’t put her mind on it. The idea of letting a stranger in her house sends goosebumps across her arms. Before, she’d never question it twice. Now that she thinks of it, doing this practically screams stranger danger. Especially with her past, this person could be anyone. Nesta slowly probes herself from the girl.

“I’ve gotta go”, she says. “Sorry, but there's something I need to do.” The girl doesn't seem to mind, either too drunk to care, or only looking for a one night stand. She nods, before introducing herself to someone else. Nesta feels her chest lighten, exiting the crowded bar to call an uber.

Whenever it’s quiet, she always reminisces.

2006, Small Town Velaris

Nesta wakes up and finds herself stranded. She has no idea where she is. She’s lying in a bed inside a mostly empty room. There’s only a few pieces of furniture, a stool and a drawer. It’s relatively small. The last thing she remembers is being in a car with her sisters and parents. She hears voices outside of the room yelling.

“You expect me to leave-”

“Her father is-”

“She’s nine what would she-”

“So what if she’s young!”

“-s innocent so what if-”

She hears a loud smack. The silence after is deafening. The voices are quiet after, whispers. Afterwards, Nesta hears footsteps approaching. She scrunches her eyes shut, trying to pretend to be asleep. Nesta hears the door open and close. A hand lays on her forehead. As the person removes it, a calming voice talks. “Are you awake?” Nesta slowly looks at the person, opening only one eye, then another. She sees a woman with black hair and tan skin. Her cheeks are flushed and she has a small smile on her face.

The woman squats down so she’s the same height as the bed Nesta is laying on. “Hi,” the woman whispers, voice solemn and comforting. “My names Aurora,” she says. Nesta squishes her lips together. She’s confused and feels like crying. Nesta doesn’t cry though. She’s pretty sure her eyes water though, because Aurora strokes her hair and whispers, “It’s okay to cry.”

Nesta gasps and shakes her head. “Mommy says I’m not supposed to cry.” Aurora seems to be shocked silent. The silence makes Nesta become aware of everything that is happening. She slowly sits up. Once her feet are off the bed, Nesta quickly sprints to the door, opening it and running out. She has no idea where she’s going.

Suddenly, Nesta is hit with a hard impact, and falls down on her butt. She looks up and sees two boys. They’re both around the same height. They have the same dark hair too, except one is longer than the other. Nesta gets up and brushes off the dust on her leggings.

She notices it then. The leggings. She’s never worn pants before.

It’s also when she notices the juice smeared across one of the boy's shirts. It’s the long haired one’s. He drops the red cup to the ground and makes an angry noise. “That was my favorite shirt.”

Nesta feels sheepish as she whispers a quiet, “Sorry.”

The one with longer hair whispers to the other boy, obviously meaning for her to hear too. “She’s probably not even double digits.” The other boy is quiet, looking at the ground. He seems nervous and shy.

Nesta feels a sense of outrage course through her. She pouts, crossing her arms. “I’m almost ten. I’m nine and a half” The boy crosses his arms too.

“Well I’m ten and a half,” he says.

“Cassian,” Aurora scolds. “Play nice.” She puts a hand on Nesta’s shoulder and bends down. “I need to talk to…” She doesn’t continue.

Nesta turns towards her, and realizes she needs her name. “Nesta,” she says.

Aurora smiles, “That’s a wonderful name.”

Cassian still seems angry. “I think it’s stupid.” Aurora sighs and gets up. “Azriel”, she says to the other boy. He hadn’t talked the whole time, Nesta almost forgot he was there. “Make sure he stays out of trouble. And Cassian, please change your shirt.” The two (stupid) boys walk away. Once they’re from a far enough distance, Aurora looks back down at her. “I have to talk to you about something.”

2021 New York, Manhattan

Nesta walks into her apartment tired and half asleep. Once inside her apartment, she changes into more comfortable clothes, sweatpants and a grey t-shirt.

Nesta’s about to go to bed, until she hears the sound of glass shattering and liquid spilling. She freezes, thinking about the mug of wine she left out.

No.

Nesta scrambles towards the kitchen and grabs a flashlight from a cabinet, flashing the light to the ground. The mug is shattered to pieces, and she can still see little droplets of wine. The words aren’t visible anymore, letters broken and unreadable.

There’s no way it could’ve fallen on its own. It was in the middle of her counter. Unless...

Suddenly it all makes sense. The unrecognizable car in the parking lot. The uneasy feeling in her stomach. The constant nagging in her head, telling her that something is wrong.

She thinks about calling the police but goes against it. Years in a fucking biker gang taught her better then to trust those scumbags.

She always kept a gun in her house. Just in case. She really hates how no matter what she does. she’ll always be connected to this.

The person inside her apartment most definitely knows where she is. Nesta grabs a broom, sweeping the glass shards into an empty bag. She can fix it later. Tying it up, Nesta leaves it on her counter.

There's a wall blocking the entrance to her bathroom. She walks towards it, opening and closing the door so it seems she went inside. Grabbing her gun from the small drawer, Nesta lays her back against the wall, barely peeking out the wall, but just enough so she can see them as they crawl out from behind her couch.

The figure moves stealthily, back turned towards her. If she weren’t directly staring at it, there would be no way of knowing it was there. The moves look familiar, but she can’t put her mind on it. The moonlight shines on them so she can see the most obvious features. It’s not until the floor creaks the figure turns towards her direction. Nesta turns back to face her bathroom door, hands drawn to tight fists. There’s no way they hadn’t seen her. She moved too slow. Nesta peeks her head out to look again.

It’s not until she sees a familiar pair of scarred hands in the moonlight, it all comes together.

“Azriel Night?”

In dreams

I meet you in warm conversation

We both wake

In lonely beds

In different cities

And time

Is taking its sweet time erasing you

And you've got your demons

And darlin' they all look like me

PSA!! go to ask’s to be added to tag list

60 notes · View notes

why-this-kolaveri-machi · 3 years

Text

just because you’re afraid it doesn’t mean you’re broken.

Titans 3.05

once more into the cold dark void of the internet with my stream-of-consciousness take on a superhero tv show...

spoilers ahead.

1. i cannot believe that among the first things i get to hear in this episode with my own two ears is the line 'eluded our overdudes'. why must you give me such pain along with so much joy, show?

1.5. scarecrow stringing jason along on this path to red-hood-dom is not something i would’ve ever expected, but does kind of make sense.

1.55. i don’t know all the details of the original resurrection arc in the comics but i like that jason, weirdly, has a greater role to play in his own demise and rebirth? i think it makes it easier to draw a line between his past trauma, the demonstrably shitty and terrifying responsibility of being robin, the ways bruce and the titans wronged him, his responses to that, the reasons he turns to scarecrow, and his final evolution to red hood. it makes for a smoother character arc rather than a one that was interrupted for two decades before somebody went oh hey let’s resurrect that kid that the audience once voted to kill and make him an anti-hero!

1.75. what’s crane giving him? anti fear toxin? anyway, crane is a fucking creep and i’m not sure i want to see a whole lot of him on my screen.

2. oh, um, heads up: there’s a long sequence of unsteady cam + flickering lights right after the title card upto the 3:16 mark. it’s a bit headache-inducing so if you want to skip, you can go ahead and do that.

2.45. that’s... weird... why would he dream about... donna...

ok, who am i kidding. i’m going to jump right into my theory about Why Titans Makes Sense Actually because the show itself is apparently not interested in explaining itself:

a) it makes no sense for jason to be conjuring up donna--who famously did not care much for him!--in his dreams. (he wasn’t even there when she died.) or for her to be telling him don’t go or there’s still time.

b) this leads me to think that that’s actually donna, in some sort of limbo between life and death, the kind of place where jericho used to be

c) rachel has demonstrated that she has the power to link the minds of the titans across great distances--she called jason and hank/dawn for help in 2.01, she linked up everybody later in the season, projected dick’s hallucination of his father into their brains without even realising she was doing it, and in the finale, she managed to get dick into conner’s brain. she’s in themyscira now. is this how she gets donna back to life? but reaching out to her in that non-space between life and death?

d) the next obvious question is: why isn’t donna appearing in the dreams of the other titans? she probably is, but they have better reason to be dreaming about her since they were actually close to her, unlike jason.

e) but why would she warn jason in particular? does she foresee jason entering the afterlife--however briefly? does she have an idea of what jason plans to do and what he will become?

f) anyway, more trippy mindscapes and weird psychic powers, yay!

2.5. my heart clenched when bruce comforted jason post-nightmare: clearly i’ve been reading way too much batfam fic. this is a side of bruce we haven’t really been told to expect by all the characters on the show calling him a ‘psychopath’ (*cough*unreliablenarrators*cough*) and him getting jason to speak to a professional speaks volumes about the kind of self-reflection he’s done post dick’s departure, and maybe some of the regrets he has with regards to how he dealt with dick’s traumas.

i mean, just look at him when jason dismisses his concerns! BRUCE IS TRYING JASON

anyway, i have a whole lot more i want to say about this, but i’ll save it for later.

also: LESLIE THOMPKINS!!!!

3. i really like molly--and i love that she’s a friend from before jason got taken in by bruce, the implication that they meet up regularly and that she’s a grounding influence on him (tho clearly not grounding enough to not go along with his dumbass idea about confronting a child trafficker alone).

3.5. aw, jason. robin was his armour against everything in the world that would throw him down and chew him to bits, but san francisco proved that even robin wasn’t enough to protect him. it’s really interesting how ‘disillusionment with the idea of robin’ is so integral to the traumas of both dick and jason but in such different ways.

4. LESLIE!!!!!!! i even forgive her office being so goddamn blue because leslie!

4.5. it makes so much sense for titans!verse leslie to be a therapist, because this show is so inward looking anyway, and therapist sessions are a useful tool to showcase this character work in a story. besides, at least in fanfic, leslie often seems to double up as a counsellor anyway.

4.6. oh man. i’m not terribly convinced by walters’ red hood (tho i think that may be the point--argh. i’ll come back to this thought later. have to stop getting distracted!) but he plays the asshole kid that’s trying not to let any real emotion seep through really well.

“you’d like me to punch you, wouldn’t you”

5. not sure what to think of batman’s little trophy case other than the show winking unsubtly at us and going look look - catwoman! the riddler! two face! you excited yet?! it’s like the scene from the end of amazing spiderman 2 when they were trying to drum up excitement for a sinister six spinoff by having harry osborne walk by a bunch of display cases with stuff from iconic villains in them.

... but then again, bruce does like to display a lot of shit in his batcave, including his dead robin’s bloodstained costume, so.

5.5. bruce is so soft with jason it’s killing me. beyond just trying to learn from his mistakes with dick, it speaks to his own genuine desire to balance his dedication to gotham with doing the best by his sons, although he’s often not successful with that.

i love that titans is really playing the long game with bruce wayne, with each season and character-perspective sliding in fresh pieces of a bigger puzzle. titans’ bruce has always been a phantom of other peoples’ making, but now we’re getting the idea that he’s a whole lot more complicated than other people make it seem.

5.75. it really recontextualises some of his actions from previous seasons: the fact that he locked dick out of his security systems in 1.06 is likely his way of respecting dick’s independence and his desire not to be associated with batman/gotham anymore. jason knowing about bruce’s tracker while dick doesn’t is probably bruce trying to be more honest and upfront with his charges. bruce sending jason packing off to sanfran to spend time with the titans is probably not him passing on a big responsibility to dick (as i first uncharitably thought) but him trying to get jason out of the toxic influence of gotham for a while and a sign of his trust in dick as a leader and a mentor,

5.8. i mean, bruce is a prick, but he’s also human.

6. i think leslie is doing some good work with jason here, though she may have overstepped the line with her line about robin as a construct being projected by a man with BPD. her speculations about bruce’s diagnosis have no place in her session with jason, and if bruce confides in her, an egregious violation of patient-therapist confidentiality.

(about the diagnosis itself... i don’t know. i can’t really confirm or refute this without a whole lot more information, and i’m not sure if the writer of this episode means BPD in the same way an actual professional might.)

6.5. i think a huge thing that gets missed out in a lot of recent comics as well as movies/shows is that bruce didn’t create the robin persona out of whole cloth. dick did. he’s the starting point of that legacy and to call it entirely bruce’s creation is blatant erasure of that. in fact, i’m surprised that dick doesn’t feature more in the conversations they’re having about the pressures of being robin. after all, the guy had been robin--bruce’s partner--for such a long time before jason.

6.8. (and here’s the primal part of me that resonates the deepest with dick grayson--the Eldest Daughter part--that’s sort of resentful: that jason gets the therapy and softness and the learning from mistakes when it took years and years for bruce to reach out in any meaningful way to dick.)

7. oooh that was a great scene!

it’s fun to do these stream-of-consciousness live reactions, because the moment you step down from your soapbox, the episode goes right into tackling what you were just complaining about. bruce means well, he’s learning, but he goes about exactly the wrong way to help jason: taking away robin now can’t be read by jason as anything but a devastating judgment call from bruce. and iain glen really sells the moment that bruce realises this--too late--and his helplessness in trying to get jason to see that it isn’t jason’s fault that he’s trying to do this. he loves jason enough that jason is enough.

7.5. aaaah so jason brings up the elephant in the room at last. dick got everything makes sense from his perspective, where getting to put on a costume and fight crime means approval, means being something stronger and better than you are. dick got to be robin, then nightwing, and a leader of a whole team of other costume-clad heroes.

8. ... how did jason just walk into arkham????? this is ridiculous.

8.3. i mean, clearly jason’s not thinking straight, but betraying batman like this puts his possibilities of being robin again even further away.

8.5. watching that chemistry experiment montage was strangely funny. this guy is looking for an antidote to fear? well, constantly mixing up and inhaling gases concocted by a mad-scientist supervillain is something only the very fearless--reckless to the point of foolishness!--would do. what’s to say crane’s not given you a formula for a drug that will keep you tethered to his every will and whim? hmmmm?

8.7. so he sought out the joker to... test the formula???

9. wow the “loud and clear... boss” hits different after a whole episode of them referring to each other as father and son.

9.3. waitwaitwait HOLD UP. wait a DANG MINUTE. you’re telling me that scarecrow had enough resources that he could not only have folks on the outside steal jason away and dunk him in a lazarus pit (i TOLD you that this show would bring up and dismiss ra’s al ghul in a ten second aside! I TOLD YOU) but also have his own little chemistry lab in the basement, AND have enough resources for jason to build his red hood persona???????? all of this in barely twenty four hours?

well there goes my ‘jason orchestrated his death’ theory. it was nice while it lasted. *cups hands to the sky* fly away, my baby.

9.6. a part of me is gleeful at the rushed nature of such an iconic transformation though, especially when compared to all the character work that went before it. we’re so used to getting the opposite that it’s fucking delightful to have a show that’s more interested in exploring its characters’ minds rather than battle scenes or recreating transformations from the comics. that’s taken such bold and exciting steps to fully convey all the nuances of its most recognisable character, bruce wayne, from casting an older actor to play him to unflinchingly showing just how damaging the vigilante lifestyle has been to him and the people he loves. BRILLIANT

*sporfle*

10. again, heads up: a whole lot of flashing lights between 40:28 and 42:00.

10.3. i guess it’s the super-compressed timeline that’s really throwing me off. where did he have the time to get/develop the mind control thing from? or is it something that he got from the cabal of villains that he intimidated at the beginning of 3.02? very messy.

10.5. i love molly, i hope she shows up again this season.

11. aaaand that’s it! that was a solid episode as flashback episodes go, but now i can’t wait to return to the present.

#titans #titans spoilers #meta #jason todd #bruce wayne #leslie thompkins #a tragic jalebi #robin #red hood

40 notes · View notes

purplealmonds · 4 years

Photo

It had never once crossed Aziraphale’s mind that the spices were, well, rather spicy in this particular soup.

“Is something wrong, Crowley?” he asked, alarm beginning to stir in his chest as a flush began at the collar of Crowley’s shirt and traveled up his face.

He now looked rather like a tomato in hue and it clashed horribly with his hair. Crowley resembled, Aziraphale couldn’t help but think, one of those cartoon characters he’d seen from time to time on the televisions displayed in shop front windows.

“Crowley?” he asked again when he didn’t get a response.

Could smoke come out of a demon’s ears? He both did and didn’t want to find out. It was another two or three heartbeats before Crowley opened his mouth, but instead of issuing forth words he drew in a huge gasp of air, let it out with a hiss and then took in another.

“Oh, I do say!” Aziraphale exclaimed.

“HOT!” Crowley gasped out at last, fanning himself.

– Chapter 5 - Mulligatawny Soup - All You Need is Love…and Food by TheWightKnight

This chapter goes live on Tuesday, January 28th! Links to the fic and other related artwork are in the masterpost.

Artist commentary under the cut!

As mentioned in the previous chapter’s illustration, I moved back to the earlier character rendering style and the process was much quicker because of it! It also helped that the warm color palette I used here is something I’m more comfortable painting in. All the extra bandwidth went to pushing the facial expressions- particularly Crowley’s. I referenced a lot of Studio Ghibli films to get his face just right!

Oh, and I also included a Tiffany pendant lamp in here as a little namesake to myself! Now both the writer and I have little cameos in the illustrations. :)

This is also the point where I ran out of buffer illustrations and chapter posting began...the fear is real haha

#good omens big bang 2019 #gobb 2019 #good omens #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziraphale #all you need is love...and food #purplealmonds #thewightknight #chapter 5 #fanfic #mulligatawny soup #soup #naan #london #tiffany lamp #spicy #fan art #2020

2K notes · View notes

tsarisfanfiction · 3 years

Text

Help Me (Keep My Head Above Water)

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Teen Genre: Hurt/Comfort/Family Characters: Scott, Gordon, Virgil

The water is no place for a man who thrives in the skies. Luckily, he has a brother who’s the opposite.

So, this fic comes with huge thanks to @gumnut-logic for both giving me permission to play with her amazing Marks&Wings AU and also patiently correcting me when I got some of the facts and lore a little wrong (and answering all my occasionally silly questions about things as they cropped up). My muse has been somewhat fickle this week, but playing around elsewhere seems to have woken it up again. For those of you unfamiliar with the AU, to grossly oversimplify, it’s a wingfic AU, with the exception of Gordon, who is an aquatic shapeshifter instead.

Being me, I immediately honed in on the (whump) potential with Scott, and of course there’s some Scott&Gordon here because I could. And I had to have Gordon shifting into my favourite marine creature (which I discovered @godsliltippy had already written during my re-read of the whole series earlier to double-check some facts, but the more the merrier, right?)

Scott knew he was in trouble the moment he hit the water.

Maybe it should have twigged two seconds earlier, when his right wing exploded in pain and his pleasure flight had become a panicked fall, but in those two seconds all his concentration had gone into trying to stabilise himself, somehow trying to stop the fall and when that failed, folding his wings to let them go.

Then he hit the water, wings that had decidedly not folded when he told them to slapping the surface hard enough to jar and sending a fresh wave of agony through him, and reality kicked in.

Wings and water didn’t mix. Not unless they were seabird wings, and Scott’s were absolutely not. His feathers weren’t waterproof; quite the contrary, they absorbed the water like a sponge until there was seven and a half metres of waterlogged wing dragging him down.

Keeping his head above water became a priority and a challenge.

He needed to let them go, absorb them back into the Mark where they couldn’t keep dragging him under, a dead weight tugging at his shoulder blades and forcing him to use every ounce of strength to fight against it.

He couldn’t.

Maybe it was the water, weighting them down so much they couldn’t fold up against his back. Maybe it was the injury, red swirls in the water telling him it was bad. Maybe it was neither of those and he just didn’t have the strength.

The reason didn’t matter. What mattered was that he couldn’t, that each frantic surge up to keep his head above water exhausted him more and more, that the sudden appearance of speed boats roaring into view towards him didn’t mean help was on the way.

He’d been shot down. That much was obvious, even if he hadn’t had the time to mentally catalogue exactly what had happened and why. No-one else was around; the stretch of ocean he’d been over – was now in - was devoid of human life. Supposed to be devoid of human life.

But it had been a manmade thing that had blown through his wing, and now there were more manmade things headed his way. It didn’t take a genius to put the clues together.

Flying away was out of the question – if he could, he wouldn’t have ended up in the water in the first place – and swimming wasn’t going to help him either. Keeping his head above water was enough of a challenge; with his waterlogged wings, not to mention the injury, there was no way he’d be able to get any lateral direction at all. And even if he could, there was no way he could out-swim a speed boat or several.

They spluttered to a halt just in front of him, fanned out in a semicircle. Too far away to touch, but close enough to see the look of triumph on the face of the man in the one directly in front of him. It wasn’t reassuring; any remote chance that they’d come to help him out was dashed into pieces.

Sound carried over water. Even over his own gasps for breath and the slosh of the waves his desperate attempts to survive were producing, he could hear the laughter. Satisfaction.

The next moment, their voices went from cruel and jovial to terrified, pitch rising and culminating in a frantic “grab him now!”

Wide eyes weren’t looking at him. They were looking past him, faces white and drained of blood, and Scott had no idea what they could see, but if it wasn’t good for men in speedboats, it wasn’t going to be any good to a drowning man with wings pulling him down.

Still, on his next surge out of the water – barely a surge, a weak splutter fuelled by determination and more than a little bit of panic – he turned his head.

A tall, pitch black fin was bearing down on them. Him. It towered far above him, easily taller than Alan at a glance, and Scott’s first instinct was fear. There was blood in the water after all. His.

It rolled up, a pitch black back to go with the fin, before diving down. A flash of white confirmed its identity.

Orca.

Orca weren’t known to attack humans, were intelligent enough to recognise them even when they didn’t look right, but the speed it had been approaching with, and the dive-

The men on the boats were shouting and screaming, equally panicked even though they weren’t the ones in the water with it. Some were fumbling weapons. At least one gun ended up overboard as it was dropped by shaking hands.

Scott couldn’t see it. Keeping an eye out for the apex predator that had decided to investigate what was going on and keeping his head above water were one task too many – two tasks, really, but Scott wasn’t giving up on living just yet – and after it had dived, he’d lost track of it.

Then something collided with him from beneath, taking what breath he had away as the deep depths his wings had been dragging him down into was replaced suddenly with smooth, thick skin, and that pitch black dorsal fin erupted from the water scant inches from his face.

It kept going, kept rising until his chest was out of the water. The majority of his wings. His waist, his knees, and it registered that the orca had scooped him up onto its back.

He didn’t know if that was normal orca behaviour. He didn’t know much about orca. His gut told him that didn’t matter.

Scott reached out, arms trembling and weak after his fight with the waves, and wrapped his arms around as much of the dorsal fin in front of him as he could. The creature was huge, but not so huge his wingtips weren’t still draped into the water, threatening to drag him back off the moment the orca moved again.

The men were still shouting, engines sputtering back into life, but Scott ignored them – even the panicked gunshots that went laughably wide considering the size of the orca, if only because they went so wide. He didn’t know he was safe, on the back of an apex predator that on the surface had no reason to help a drowning human with wings, but as his fingers closed around the far edge of the fin and then – and only then – did the huge creature move again, he felt that maybe, just maybe, he was.

There was a chance that the orca was exactly that. A sea creature that had come to investigate and decided in its wisdom to intervene.

But there was also a chance it wasn’t.

Scott didn’t know if orca was in Gordon’s resume, if his aquatic brother had ever got close enough to one to add it to his ever-growing collection of possible transformations. He didn’t have that link with him that Virgil and John did, the second and third Tracys always able to pick their brother out from a myriad of seemingly-identical marine wildlife. Some days, Scott hated that. Hated that Gordon could hide so completely from him. Hated the fear that came from the knowledge that one day something might happen and he wouldn’t know until Virgil screamed, or John threw himself into a silent frenzy. Hated that he’d be entirely helpless.

Even now, he hated it a little, because he’d never been scared of Gordon no matter the form he took, but he’d been scared of the approaching orca. He didn’t have the link to confirm the identity of the creature that was saving him.

But he had his gut, and his gut told him that somehow, it had to be Gordon. Never mind that Gordon hadn’t been in the area as far as he knew. Never mind the fact that Gordon was supposed to be at home, and if he was here, it meant he’d been out swimming without telling him.

His gut told him he was safe, and he trusted his gut enough to relax as the orca’s clicks and whistles washed over him. The orca didn’t speak any human languages, but to Scott the fury was clear.

The speed boats circled them. With his head resting on the smooth, damp skin of what had to be his brother, Scott could only watch as they loudly debated if it was worth trying to snag him.

A tail – fluke, Scott dimly recalled – slapped the water when one got too close. Scott was doused with water, his fingers tightening their grip as much as they could as the wave threatened to wash him and his useless wings back into the ocean, but the boat – carrying something that looked a lot less friendly than the simple handguns used by the men on the others - was capsized.

If he’d needed any confirmation he was being defended, that was it.

The orca that was almost certainly Gordon swam around in a circle, the movement nudging Scott further onto his back from where he’d slipped, more agitated clicks and whistles making it very clear that further advances would not be tolerated.

His wings – his waterlogged, injured wings – were just in the way. Scott grit his teeth and tried to pull them in, away from the water and folded so he could let them go. The left wing obeyed, albeit with effort against the weight of the added water. The right screamed and despite himself he let out a choked-off cry which he hurriedly muffled by biting his arm.

Apparently that wasn’t moving. Whatever they’d shot him with must have hit the muscles that controlled the spreading and folding of the wing.

One wing furled and one wing at full span had him sliding, pulled down by the spread weight on his right, and he snapped his left out again instinctively. Another tight circle from the orca beneath him and he was shifted back to where he’d been.

So that meant no folding his wings.

Scott sighed, trying and failing to ignore the agony throbbing from his wing. Around them, it seemed like the speed boats had decided it wasn’t worth battling an orca to get their prize. The capsized men were being dragged onto boats, before the engines roared and they disappeared in the blink of an eye.

The aggressive clicks and whistles stopped for a moment. When they started again, there was something different about them, and Scott got the distinct impression he was being addressed. He might have been imagining it, but they sounded concerned.

“I’m okay,” he reassured the creature. He wasn’t, not with a hole in his wing that was probably still leaking blood and exhausted from his battle to keep his head above water, but even if probably-Gordon knew that, he didn’t need him to say it. “Thanks.”

Gordon or not, the orca had saved him. Scott didn’t know what the men had been after, but anyone who tried to catch his attention by shooting him out of the air probably didn’t have friendship on the agenda.

He got another series of clicks and whistles in response, before the huge creature slowly began to swim. Scott could tell it was nowhere near the speeds an orca would normally travel at, but even that tugged at the wingtips still in the water, discomfort traveling up the appendages and resulting in additional loud complaints from the right. But he didn’t complain; he, too, had no plans to hang around where he’d been shot down. The orca clearly had a destination in mind, and it was one Scott very much hoped was home.

It wasn’t long before a familiar engine whined into earshot. Content to remain slumped where he was, numbing fingers weakly clutching the dorsal fin and head resting on the black skin, Scott only blinked as Thunderbird Two loomed in the distance.

Ahead of it was a black streak, diving straight for them.

“Scott!”

Virgil’s apparent nonchalance at landing directly on the orca’s back was the final, unnecessary, confirmation that it was Gordon.

Giant black wings, the biggest in the family by some half a metre or so, stayed fully extended for balance as Virgil crouched by him, one hand on the dorsal fin for extra stability while the other landed on his shoulder.

“What happened?” his brother demanded. Scott could see worried deep brown eyes focusing on his right wing, and wondered if it looked as bad as it felt.

“Shot down,” he admitted, knowing there was no point lying when his bleeding wing was in full view.

Fear flashed through the worry in his brother’s eyes, and Scott knew he was thinking about what might have happened if Gordon hadn’t intervened. He plastered a reassuring grin on his face.

“I’m okay,” he promised.

“No, you’re not,” Virgil snapped back, wings bristling. The hand on his shoulder moved and Scott muffled a cry as gentle gloved hands explored the area around the wound. “This is nasty, Scott.”

He knew that, but he was okay. He was okay because Gordon had been there, because Virgil was there, because he could hear Thunderbird Two coming to a hover overhead, with either Alan at the helm or under the remote control of Thunderbird Five’s inhabitants.

“I’m okay,” he repeated, wishing not for the first time that he had the same link with his brothers the middle three had, so he could push the emotions behind the words into Virgil’s head until he understood what he meant.

But then, the two of them had never needed that to understand each other.

Virgil’s eyes softened just a bit.

“Let’s get you home,” he said. Orca-Gordon let out what sounded almost like an indignant set of clicks and whistles. “I know you are, Gordon, but Thunderbird Two is faster and his wings are still in the water.”

Scott assumed Gordon had been protesting that home was already where he’d been taking him.

More clicks and whistles, but the orca slowed to a halt. Virgil fiddled with his wrist comm, and the giant Thunderbird lowered, her belly opening and a harness descending.

Scott was no use at all, still too exhausted from his dunking to do anything except lay on Gordon’s back as Virgil fussed around him with straps until he was secured for hauling up. It wasn’t the most glamourous of transportation, and being in the air without being able to rely on his wings for flight if something happened was more than a little unsettling, but it did the job. With Virgil also hooked into the harness and travelling up alongside him – although his wings were only folded and not let go in what was a quiet assurance for Scott’s nerves at being mid-air with his own out of action, which his younger brother almost certainly did for that exact reason – he soon found himself safely inside the green ‘bird.

What he wasn’t prepared for, as Virgil lifted him to his feet and gently hauled an arm across his shoulders while his own snaked around Scott’s waist for support – obviously taking as much care as possible not to disturb his wings – was Gordon’s entrance.

Scott had assumed another harness would be sent down, if Gordon even chose to get on board instead of racing them home. In his exhaustion, he had clearly forgotten his aquatic brother’s penchant for dramatics.

Watching an orca breach was breath-taking. That much sea creature did not seem like it should be able to clear the water much, if at all, but in true Gordon style, the black and white face almost reached the still-open hatch before fading back into the tanned skin and blond hair of his human form. Scott’s heart leapt up as he realised Gordon wasn’t high enough to grab the edge of the hatch, but before he could react, a tanned hand grabbed onto a trailing harness strap and his second-youngest brother climbed the rest of the way into the module bay.

Beside him, Virgil was all but quivering in vibrant disapproval.

“Gordon-” his brother growled.

“I knew what I was going,” Gordon interrupted, waving a hand as though to dismiss Virgil’s ire at the reckless stunt. Whatever else was exchanged on the matter seemed to be non-verbal, as amber eyes flickered in Virgil’s direction in what could have been an eyeroll even as the blond picked his way over to Scott’s side.

Virgil was supporting him from his left, away from the injured wing, and Gordon didn’t get too close to his right out of obvious concern, but Scott still found himself the object of scrutiny.

“You look awful,” Gordon told him bluntly, stepping backwards as Virgil clearly decided to save the lecture for later and refocused on leading Scott and his still-spread wings over to the medical bay.

Scott had told them both that he was fine, and it was perfectly clear to him that saying it again would not affect his brothers’ opinions. So he switched tactics. “Thanks,” he said dryly, leaning heavily on the levity – and also Virgil’s shoulder as his slightly unsteady self was guided over to a stretcher. It worked enough to get a small grin from the blond.

Normally, the stretcher would be secured up against the module wall. With his wings still more outstretched than not, despite the water weighing them down – painfully, now that gravity was in the equation rather than buoyancy – there was no way that Scott would be able to lay on anything remotely close to a wall. Brains, however, was a genius with multiple fail safes, and while they tended to try and avoid lifting on rescues unless there was no alternative, he had included a reconfiguration of the stretcher that could be laid on with wings outstretched. Just in case.

It was secured to the roof of the module, lowered mezzanine style when required, with sides that folded out to support the outstretched wings. Additional telescopic legs extended from the underside to lock into ports on the module floor, firmly locking it in place against any movement the Thunderbird might make in flight.

With the rest of the equipment that could potentially be in the module, it was sometimes a tight fit, but it fit and that was what mattered.

Scott didn’t bother resisting as Virgil coaxed him onto it, trying his best not to entirely face-plant as he returned to horizontal and the relief of gravity no longer tugging at the edges of his wings. Cushioning his head with his forearms, he shifted his left wing until it draped itself over the extension, still waterlogged. A glance over at it showed pinions in disarray from his unwelcome dunking, the sensation of which hadn’t particularly registered over the pain of the other, but now that he’d seen it began to niggle incessantly in the back of his mind.

The right was less inclined to obey, muscles screaming in protest at the mere idea that they should move, and it was with great reluctance that he left it as it had flopped.

There had been enough crying out in pain in earshot of little brothers today.

Unfortunately, his brothers seemed to disagree as Virgil appeared somewhere near his head, murmuring apologies as his hands cradled the shoulder of the wing and manipulated it into position. Lighter touches further down, out of sight, told him Gordon was helping the rest of the wing follow the movement.

Scott bit down on an arm to muffle any vocalisations at the pain.

“Sorry, Scott,” Virgil repeated, sympathetic pain in his own voice. “I’m going to need to stop the bleeding before you lose too much blood.” Treatment meant more pain, but Scott knew it was an unfortunate necessity.

He turned his head away as Virgil drew out the anaesthetic, trying to ignore the sting of the needle at the base of his wing. It wouldn’t completely dull the pain, their wings were all too sensitive for that, but it would take the edge off, at least.

“Hey.” Gordon appeared in his line of vision, hair mussed where he’d obviously attacked it carelessly with a towel. A hand rested on one of his arms, his second youngest brother always tactile, and more so after one of them had been in trouble. Scott was half-surprised there wasn’t an octopus wrapping around him. Something in Gordon’s eyes told him it had been considered.

“Hey,” he replied, doing his best to ignore the sensations as Virgil got to work on his injured wing, sending shoots of supressed pain through his flight muscles as they reacted to whatever he was doing. Scott had learnt from experience that sometimes it wasn’t worth watching.

Considering he’d been in the water, Gordon’s hand was surprisingly dry against his own still-wet skin. It wasn’t like him to dry off so quickly; often it took a brother or three or a grandmother to persuade him otherwise.

His brother had something in mind, and Scott might not be linked with him, but he was pretty certain it involved him.

“Do you want a hand?” Gordon glanced meaningfully at his wing – left, uninjured, wing – and as if on cue the irritation of pinions out of alignment flared up again. Scott could handle it himself later, if Virgil didn’t get there first after finishing with the injury – which would no doubt include soothing the ruffled feathers on that wing as well – but later meant later and Gordon was offering to do it now.

Like all of them, there were very few people Scott trusted near his wings, and despite not having wings of his own, Gordon featured on that shortlist.

Gordon didn’t often touch their wings, not since gaining his own Mark and losing any and all jealousy he’d ever had about being the one left out even though he’d never cared to fly, but like Grandma – and Dad – had wriggled his way into learning to care for them regardless. Scott had fond memories of watching Virgil talk Gordon through it on his own black feathers the first few times, offering himself up as practice. Their mental link had probably helped Gordon comprehend what it was like, and sometimes Scott wondered if it was similar for him and his own Mark, or if it was entirely different.

“I’d appreciate one,” he admitted, no reason nor desire to decline when it needed doing at some point anyway. Gordon grinned and dropped a towel on his head.

Typical annoying little brother, but Scott took the hint and, careful not to jostle his right arm or wing, where Virgil was working, ran it over his hair to get the worst of the water away.

When he finished, Gordon was out of sight. His location was betrayed a moment later, when Scott discarded the towel and nimble fingers immediately made themselves known at the junction of the wing and shoulder. As always, a light tremble ran through the wing at the initial contact, which Gordon waited out before starting.

The methodical approach his brother settled into was soothing, and Scott didn’t have to work too hard to convince himself to focus on that rather than the far less soothing sensations coming from his right wing, where Virgil appeared to have progressed to wrapping the wound.

Considering both the size of his wings – they might be marginally smaller than Virgil’s, but they were still huge – and the waterlogging he couldn’t just shake away, Gordon’s treatment took time. A towel was introduced, only the lightest of touches to avoid damaging any feathers, but enough to absorb at least some of the water, and Gordon’s fingers coaxed out enough of the rest that Scott could feel the weight easing away. It wasn’t perfect; he’d still need to shake the wing at some point, or at least hold it open while upright so the rest would seep away. But it was enough to be a relief.

The secondary relief of his feathers realigning to true and the itch fading away was also very welcome indeed.

By the time Gordon was done with the back of his left wing, Scott could feel Virgil doing the same thing to his injured wing. It wasn’t as enjoyable, entirely due to the injury and all sensations therefore determined to report as varying levels of pain, but it was a good pain – comparable to the satisfaction of peeling scabs – that faded as those feathers, too, found themselves realigned by the care of a brother.

“The front will have to wait a while,” Gordon said, reappearing in his eyeline. There was another towel in his hands, which he was clearly using to get rid of the water that had transferred from Scott’s wings to his fingers. “Feeling better?”

If Gordon had asked, Scott was more than willing to lift his wing from the stretcher so he could get at the currently face-down feathers, but the look in his brother’s eyes said that even if he did that, he wouldn’t be touching them. Considering the bone-deep exhaustion that had done nothing but grow as he’d felt safer and safer with his brothers, it was true that Scott might – might – not be able to hold it up long enough.

“Yeah,” he acknowledged. “Remind me not to go swimming with them lifted in the future.”

There was an aborted noise from Virgil, who still didn’t have the whole story and was no doubt going to be demanding it later – alongside the rest of the family – but Virgil wasn’t the one who’d faced down and prepared to attack multiple boats to keep him safe, so Scott ignored it.

Gordon knew what he was doing; he could see it in the quirk of his lips and the resigned amusement in his eyes. There was more than one brother who would be having nightmares tonight, after all.

“If you even think about it, I’ll drag you straight back out faster than you can say Thunderbird One,” his brother replied after a moment. It was light-hearted, matching Scott’s attempt at levity to keep both their heads above water about what had happened, and what could have happened, but it was also a promise.

Gordon might not have the same link with him that he did with his other older brothers, but somehow he’d be there. Like he was this time, and eyeing the swimming shorts that were the only attire his water-loving brother wore, Scott decided that just this once, he’d let him off going swimming so far from the island.

He didn’t think he was going to be receiving any such leniency for his own distance from home, but after today, Scott was content to stay a little closer. Despite the reassurance of Gordon’s promise, he had no desire to repeat the experience.

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds are go fanfiction #tsari writes fanfiction #scott tracy #gordon tracy #virgil tracy #thunderwhump #help me (keep my head above water)#wingfic #au #marks&wings #gumnut-logic

51 notes · View notes

fuzziemutt · 3 years

Text

Do You Understand?

Chapter 1/9 - Link to MasterList in reblog

Summary: Connor knows he isn’t the most.. knowledgeable... about emotions but that didn’t mean he didn’t understand them ever. If they weren’t going to take him seriously then he wasn’t even going to try interacting with them anymore. What could possibly go wrong?

Tw: I’m placing all possible tws here that could apply to the story. Possible ableism (this is not explicit but what Connor goes through can be similar to it), dissociation, very emotionally harmful coping mechanisms. Self worth problems. Trauma responses that go unnoticed. Please let me know if I need to add any more.

This started as a vent fic that extended outward into comfort, it gets worse before it gets better.

Notes: This is my first multi chaptered fic, I’ve never done this before. I did write the whole story in entirety prior and scheduled the other chapters to slowly release. The original vent was honestly quite different than what ended up being written, and I don’t know how it turned into this huge thing.

Also: There are no ships in this, this is all platonic. The only relationship status is that Hank is Connor’s dad even if they don’t quite acknowledge it.

Also also: This is Connor Pov. We mainly focusing on his thought processes throughout and they aren’t particularly healthy. (Connor also has ADHD)

---

Connor knew he had trouble expressing and understanding his emotions. It wasn't a secret. He'd often find people looking at him with confusion, and sometimes wariness, with his lack of response to many things. He was a prototype. Sure he had one of the most advanced social relations software to date, but Cyberlife cut corners with the amount of articulation his face could produce, his current model wasn't meant to live long and to be disposable after all.

It doesn't help that he also just didn't know how to express what he was feeling in the limited ways he could. He "lived" most of his trial runs and current time in severe denial out of fear of deactivation so he'd rather ignore them than process them. It wasn't healthy but it was safe. Familiar.

That didn't mean he couldn't feel. He felt lots of things like guilt, hatred, fear, the occasional spark of joy. Too many things sometimes, in fact, that led him to having a nasty habit of adamantly ignoring it all, manually storing it away for later to keep his composer and stay in fully functioning order. Sure this led to people often ignoring his own desires and doing things that severely hurt him with no mention from him. But he was fine. He chose this after all.

However, even with all the quarantining and ignoring, he couldn't help the anger that bubbled under his skin and in his throat right now.

"Hank, I understand that you're angry but-"

"You think you understand? You don't understand a shit, Connor! How could you?! I get you're your own person and everything now, but I never see you express anything beyond mild displeasure!" Hank yelled back. Connor was glad they were at Hank's house at least to provide some sense of privacy but saying he felt unhappiness at being yelled at was an understatement.

Connor went to open his mouth in defense but Hank cut him off, "Of course you don't understand! How could you ever understand any emotions! You keep acting like a-" he suddenly went quiet, but Connor knew.

"Like a what, Lieutenant?" He asked, making sure to keep his LED a yellow slow turn, but he couldn't help how sharp his voice came out, how his eyes hardened to a fine point.

They stared at each other for several tense seconds before Hank seemed to deflate a bit and looked ashamed.

"Like a machine," he spat out, still tense and upset but his fury gone.

Connor simply nodded, quarantining what he could to not lash out and stood up silently.

"I will be taking Sumo out for a walk to allow for us to take a breather before we both do something we regret. I will return," he said, shoulders tense and voice strict. His movements felt stiff as he tried to hold himself back from continuing this fight, grabbing the leash and patting his side to call over the old dog.

"You can't just run away-" Hank tried, stepping closer as if to grab Connor's arm to stop him. But Connor's ice cold glare, almost threatening posture and clenched fists seemed to stop him. They kept forgetting that Connor wasn't just meant for integration but also intimidation, he once was a deviant (killer) hunter after all, and he can be intimidating when he so pleased. Hank seemed to suddenly remember the rumors of Gavin getting his ass handed to him by Connor in under a minute flat by how he backed away uncertain.

Connor left and came back a bit over half an hour later. Hank would apologize and Connor would accept it, even if that anger still simmered deep inside, and they'd go back to joking and discussing work matters like nothing happened. Friends sometimes fight after all. It was fine.

Despite how much Connor hated those accusations of him being incapable of understanding, they. Kept. Happening.

Not just with Hank but others as well. The people who he thought were his friends, the Jericrew, even Nines the RK900, kept pulling the same shit. Connor knew they all experienced deviancy differently than him, Nines also had the gift of a face with full articulation that he couldn't help but envy, but it irked him every time.

"Let's switch topics for Connor..."

"Oh I should have talked about this with someone else..."

"It was rude of me to assume you understand-"

"Oh.. Sorry I know you don't understand-"

"You know he doesn't understand-"

"He won't understand-"

"He can't understand-"

Each time he heard that word, understand, Connor felt that broiling anger rise just a bit more. Each time they never even asked how he felt before the assumption, he felt his trust disintegrate bit by bit. He was a master of masking his emotions to get the emotional responses he wanted, but even he had a limit when anytime he saw his friends he felt nothing but hateful bitterness below his false pleasantries. He even stopped willfully hanging out with all of them, even Hank, as it grew harder to fight down the urge to scream and yell and make them understand.

It all came to a head during a meeting with the Jericho leaders, Nines tagged along as well as he said how much he missed seeing him outside of work. They were discussing how to handle the androids that still had severely negative responses to humans after all this time since the revolution. He was in the middle of talking about a solution of creating areas in New Jericho that would absolutely not allow humans and could run independently when North rounded on him.

"I'm sorry," in a very much not sorry tone, "but how am I supposed to take your option any bit seriously when you don't understand any of these androids' struggles mister 'my best friend is a human'."

"North-" Markus warned. The others even tensed up staring at Connor.

"No seriously. He could never understand their struggles," North plowed forward with no hesitation.

Connor felt something snap inside of him. He felt his LED burn bright red, his back straighten, fists clenched, and his features shift into that bitter anger that he tried his best to keep under wraps. He could see how everyone grew more than just tense but wary even; he even saw a flash of fear in North's eyes.

They insisted he was nothing more than a machine who didn't understand. That he'll forever be Cyberlife's pet (killer) deviant hunter. So he'll show them the hunter that was conditioned, threatened, who thrived on his own anger and fear through every grueling training session. The side that he kept pushed down as much as he could.

He couldn't help the bitter laugh that came out of him, "understand... You know what? I'm starting to think I fucking hate that word."

He knew he was scaring them with how North backed away quickly and the others started coming forward as if to protect her from him. His anger worsened at that but a small part of him felt a bit of twisted satisfaction at how they're finally treating him seriously. He could even imagine Amanda whispering praises for being the threat they wanted from the back of his CPU.

"Has it never occurred to you that I might have problems with humans as well?" His hands expressed where his face couldn't, trying to contain the energy thrumming in his body, "has it never occurred to you what I might have gone through hm?

“Oh wait. You never asked. You only accused. Have you ever thought about how my serial number has a 54 at the end of it? Did it ever occur to you that I have to exist with the memory of 53 deactivations constantly and the fear that I might be the 54th for merely breathing wrong? Who do you think did that? Who do you think reminded me day in and out that I was nothing but an expendable machine made to kill, to never ask questions because it meant deactivation or my internals torn out while I was awake. Humans. Humans did that but no, just because I trusted Hank not to do the same, I don't understand?"

He knew he was slowly growing erratic and unstable with how aggressively his hands moved and the way everyone backed away from him. The way he loomed over them with his presence didn't help their nerves he was sure. Or how he slowly stalked towards them as if a predator was cornering its prey. But he couldn't help it, the thrumming pulse in his core needed to come out and by hell was it coming out now.

"Not only that, but I apparently don't understand emotions too! I may be a deviant but emotions? They're off the table!" He couldn't help the second bitter laugh, a tinge hysterical, "no no. None of you took the time to ask me how I was handling these emotions and instead just assumed I didn't feel them! Because I'm ‘just a machine’. This guilt, fear, and self hatred I feel every waking moment? Lies because I'm just a machine. Even this anger I'm expressing right now? These are lies too aren't they? The nightmares I get of my countless deactivations and the numerous deaths that stain my hands? All just my programs malfunctioning because I'm just. A. Machine."

"We didn't... Connor we didn't know-" Nines started, his sadness and fear clear as day on his face like how they wanted Connor's to be. The others were solemnly nodding along too as if this would appease him.

"Because you never. Asked. Because none of you ever truly fucking cared!" Connor roared in response, slamming a fist down on the metal table next to him. All their eyes snapped and starred at the large dent he knew he left behind but he didn't care. He let himself breathe heavily, taking a second to find himself and his self restraint again.

And just like that, he locked up those pesky emotions like everyone expected him to. He knew the people before him didn't actually desire him to show any negative emotions just like them, they proved it just now with how they're looking at him. He took one final deep breath, fixed his tie and let his face slip back into its emotionless mask except the cold, closed off glare didn't leave. He even felt that that was going to be a permanent feature now after today and couldn't help the internal chuckle at the irony how he finally was showing the emotions they desperately wanted him to show.

No one said anything as he moved towards the door. There was still tension in the air, fear, anger and confusion swirled in various manners of their eyes. Nines seemed split on treating him like a threat and reaching out to him, maybe even to pity him. Markus also looked like he wanted to say something, but he just looked away in the end. North had fearful eyes but a look that seemed to say 'I was right we couldn't trust him'. Josh held Simon behind him, and he looked almost sad if his distrust didn't say otherwise. Simon refused to take his eyes off the clear fist shaped dent in the table, still as a statue. Connor vaguely wondered if they'd replace that table because of him just like how they so easily replaced him with Nines when given the chance.

No one made a move to stop him from leaving. He couldn't tell if it was out of fear of him showing those (killer) hunter colors again by snapping an arm or if they're realizing just how badly they fucked up. He couldn't tell which choice he wanted more either. He hoped it was the latter.

"You're all hypocrites. To me, you're all no better than them," was the last thing he hissed out before slamming the door closed behind him. He heard the way the frame and wall around the door shook and cracked from the force but again, he didn't care. He wasn't going to play nice anymore if this was how they felt like treating him. He was programmed to be amiable, calm but he was also programmed to be obedient and he knew how that went. A bit of anxiety existed of how much damage he did and how easily he almost lost control back there, but he just ignored it again as he rushed down the hall to leave.

No one followed him.

#i write #dbh #detroit: become human #connor rk800 #hank anderson #connor rk900 #markus rk200 #north wr400 #josh pj500 #simon pl600 #connor whump #connor angst #long post

32 notes · View notes

jenseits-der-sterne · 2 years

Note

for the writing ask game: 4, 5, and 6?

Woo! Let's gooooo!

4. Share a sentence or paragraph from your writing that you’re really proud of (explain why, if you like)

I really love a bit from Under the Surface. The fic is post-Calamity. Zelda and Link haven't been getting along, feeling awkward and unsure of each other. That leads to this paragraph that I really like:

During their second evening in Kakariko, she steals glances at him as he converses with Impa’s guards. To watch him like this is a revelation: Link chatting… Link laughing at a joke… Link gesturing as he recounts some story she cannot hear... And, oh goodness! Link catching her watching him, his eyes wide… Link giving her a tentative smile, a shy and fragile thing… Zelda flushes, and has to look away.

I wanted there to be a surprising and shy scene that would signal the beginning of a positive direction for their relationship.

I remember @littleredwritinghoodxx pointed out this paragraph to me in a review as being so simple and so effective and that really was great feedback because to let me know it had worked as a whole scene essentially squished down into a paragraph!

5. What character that you’re writing do you most identify with?

This answer is going to get long, brace yourself!

Both BotW Zelda and Link, lol

Like Zelda, I can get really passionate about science, which for me is linguistics. I can really ramble about this and go down rabbit holes looking into something.

I fear upsetting my dad, that I'm going to offend him in some way. A couple of months ago I was paralyzed over how I should organize family photos on our dining room wall because I was certain he was going to read meaning into the photo placement and say something shitty to me about it. I was overreacting and being sort of unfair to him, but also... he does do things like this sometimes!

Like Zelda, I think I often don't recognize something about my own behavior that may not be the most charming. When I wrote Under the Surface, I was trying to explore times where I've realized my behavior wasn't great, where I've realized some of my ways of thinking may be a good thing in some circumstances, but can actually be a bad thing in other circumstances. In that story, she starts to "over-engineer" the problem and then has to recognize she's doing it and make herself stop.

When I was in my senior year of high school, I didn't have a lunch period because I was taking too many classes 😑 Yup. That was a bad idea in hindsight 😂 But it's probably something Zelda would do too because she'd have to LEARN ALL THE THINGS!

There are Zelda scenes Before and After that Very Me. There's one scene in ch20 where Zelda begins to cry after Link tells her the letter she wrote for King Dorephan is good. Link's like "AH, WHAT?! WHAT'S WRONG?!" Zelda explains she was anxious he was going to tell her the letter was, in fact, bad. In this case, I'm definitely Zelda. I can be anxious about feedback and I assume the worst.

Oh boy, Link... So. I was a pretty quiet kid? Certainly not in a clinical sense of selective mute-ism, but I was a different person at home versus outside of the home. At home I was the kind of kid who was bouncing off the walls, but at school I was very quiet and obedient. My husband has watched home videos of me as a kid and he's like "whoa, you were kind of wild, weren't you?" He's right: I was jumping on the couches, climbing all over stuff, singing, and generally just being a huge goof ball. I think this was surprising to him because when he and I met in high school, I was generally pretty quiet in both school and friend group settings. I think this is still somewhat the case for me now, especially in situations with weird power dynamics. I'm lucky to have some colleagues who sometimes slack me after meetings and check in on if I'm okay if I was particularly quiet in a meeting 🥺 💖

Also, I joined high school JROTC and I'm 100% sure Link would do the same thing, lmao I have a High School AU WIP fic with a JROTC!Link that's been on the back burner for me for a long time now. Who knows when I'll get to that, lol

Also, I was a horse girl and Link's a horse girl 🐴

I think I've injected a lot of myself into Before and After Link, as well. My husband has read some of the story and when he read these lines in Ch5, he said Link’s thoughts were Very Me:

Dorian gives you a look, his brows set and arms crossed, “Our past mistakes don’t define us.” Those are your words that he’s throwing back at you.

You hold his gaze for a moment before responding with a non-committal hum. You meant those words when you said them to him. Sometimes it’s easier to be kinder to others than yourself.

When he told me this, I was surprised. But this is definitely the sort of thing I would say and think, so go figure!

Wow, that was a really long and rambling answer, huh? lol

6. What character do you have the most fun writing?

Oh gosh... Link and Zelda! I don’t think I could possibly narrow it down to one of them! I have fun writing them together, obviously, lol

I’ve had a lot of fun writing Impa in “Before and After,” because she’s antagonistic to Link and Zelda pretty frequently, but she’s also got a softer side and there’s one particularly emotional and sweet moment I really like shared between her and Link. When I write more B&A and especially in the planned sequel fic, Impa’s going to remain antagonistic but supportive and I’m looking forward to writing that!

I’ve also had fun with the scenes in B&A that have Koko and Cottla.

The most I’ve written with the champions was in be B&A. I’ve found Urbosa to be fun in the few scenes she’s shown up in. I’d like to try to write more with Urbosa... maybe that’ll happen one day in some story! Revali was also surprisingly fun to write in the single scene he’s been in in B&A.

I did have fun writing Traysi in The Story Mill for those 2.5 chapters that are in her POV.

So... idk! I’ve had fun with A LOT of characters. But Link and Zelda are for sure the most fun for me to write. 😄

Thank you so much for these @ink-and-moonbeams, this was fun! 🥰

#ask game #ask #ink-and-moonbeams #my writing #my fics #under the surface #before and after #the story mill

6 notes · View notes

decks-writing-blog · 2 years

Text

Inconveniently Undead

First of all this is my 300th fic posted on Ao3! Which is a huge number so I wanted it to be something special and after some thought decided on doing some original fiction. So this is also my first piece of published original fiction which is scary but still cool too. So this is pretty exciting and scary. I had fun writing this though and honestly think I'm gonna do more in the future with these characters as well as likely others.

Who better to figure out how to achieve immortality than a necromancer? Someone who’d devoted their life to understanding life, death, and the magic of souls. Gwen had begun studying it out of pure academic curiosity; was it actually possible to achieve or just a vain hunt of fools who feared death above all else? Many magic users had taken steps towards trying to gain at least a semblance of being immortal. Halting the aging process was fairly easy for anyone with sufficient magical skill and strength. Making oneself much more resilient to damage and disease was much harder but still a well-known thing that could be done even if it was only with a few types of magic. Many tried for more than that, wanting to become truly unkillable but all, as far as anyone knew, failed. Several bad enough that they’d ended up dead instead. As part of his study, Gwen had looked over all their notes and had chats with more than a few of their ghosts, bringing to light at least a some of the things they’d done wrong. As a result of all of it he’d begun to piece together something that might actually work. It was impossible to know without testing it though.

Which, inevitably is what brought him to his basement, feeling far more exhausted and drained than he could ever remember feeling before even back when he’d been a young elfling just starting to dabble in powerful magics. He’d expected as much – thinking a spell meant to grant immortality wouldn’t be exhausting to perform would’ve been beyond stupid – but the reality of it still somehow felt surprising. But hey at least his calculations had been correct; he’d survived it.

Shaking off some of the mental fog that came with such exhaustion, he stood up. Also unsurprisingly, the spell had taken hours; his magic enhancing candles had burnt low, a few had even gone out entirely, making the room quite dark. Vyla, sitting on her perch, was almost impossible to see within it. The only thing that gave her away was the dim candle light dancing off her polished black scales as she lightly flexed her wings, ready to leap over if Gwen needed her.

She prodded at his mind, wanting to know if it had worked. She hoped so, she didn’t want him to ever die. Another reason he’d decided to try it was at her insistence and her point about how he wouldn’t be able to continue any of his studies if he died.

“I don’t know.” Answering out loud wasn’t necessary but right now he was too tired to bother replying through their soul link. “Think I should test it?”

‘NO!’ Vyla accompanied her mental command with a hiss, digging her claws into her perch and lashing her tail. Testing it would mean taking what would normally be certain fatal damage and thus was not worth it.

She was right of course. If it had failed then testing it would end with Gwen dead which would be unideal. Still though it was aggravating to not know for certain. He’d know one day considering how many people hated necromancers for no good reason; attempts on his life, though not frequent by any means, weren’t uncommon. One of these days someone would come along who could get a fatal blow on him. That was unlikely though so it’d be a long time before it actually happened. Perhaps he could think up another way to learn how effective it had been later when he wasn’t so tired.

For now though he lifted an arm towards Vyla. “Let’s go get some sleep.” Before he collapsed and slept for hours on the cold concrete floor of his basement. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d done that so he knew from experience how unpleasant it was to wake up from.

She leaped off her perch, gliding over to land on his forearm. Where she scrambled up his dark cloak – made especially to be able to withstand her claws – to rest on his shoulder. Yes, sleep was good, he needed it and should really listen to her more when she told him to go to bed.

Too tired to respond to her, he turned and quickly blew out the last few remaining candles before heading up the stairs. The undead guard at the top moved aside as he opened the door. He should probably send it out to guard the front door with its two companions but he couldn’t be bothered right now and just continued on his way instead.

On his way down the hall towards his room he caught an unfortunate glimpse of himself in the mirror hung up tackily on the wall at the halfway point – put there by the prior owner of the house and left alone because he didn’t care enough to bother with moving it. His dark skin hid the bags under his eyes fairly well but didn’t do much more than that. He looked like shit even more so than usual. Vyla pushed into his mind with the thought that he could do with a shower as he also didn’t smell great. Not right now though, he was far too tired.

In his room, Vyla jumped off his shoulder as he pushed the door shut, gliding over to her cat-tree like perch that included her nest. Gwen didn’t bother undressing or even taking off his shoes before collapsing into his bed next to it. He was asleep within seconds.

A few days later

Gwen had lived here long enough by now that most of the people passing by the park bench he’d chosen to people watch on today paid him no mind; they were used to his presence in their little nowhere town. He did still get a few unhappy looks though, all rooted in fear or anger and hate that masked it. They were fools to think he’d bother with any of them in any way.

I could perform the spell on someone else and then test to see if it worked on them. He sent to Vyla, giving no indication that he was communicating with her.

Hidden somewhere in the trees behind him Vyla replied with general curiosity about who he might have in the mind for that.

Gwen did the mental equivalent of a shrug. Just some random nobody probably, no doubt it wouldn’t take much to find a volunteer. He just wanted to know if he’d actually discovered the key to immortality or not.

Vyla hissed in his mind. That was a stupid idea. If it had worked he’d be granting immortality to some random nobody which could have very bad consequences.

Probably a fair point but it might be worth it to know. Though the question of who he’d try that on was a moot point right now. He was still recovering from performing the spell on himself and wouldn’t be up to doing it again for probably at least a month. And even then, right after regaining his full magical strength he wouldn’t want to immediately use it all up again. So he had some time before he had to decide who…

Vyla interrupted with another mental hiss, this one a warning. She sensed the approach of another thing or being that radiated magic energy, a fairly powerful signature too. Not too unusual, the town was near the border of an Enchanted Forest, a small one but still enough to draw various kinds of magic users and carries of magic items. So it was probably fine but no one of Gwen and Vyla’s renown and magical strength got to live as long as they had so far without a hearty dose of caution about such things.

Normally Gwen wouldn’t be concerned. He could take almost anyone either with his magic directly or via summoning his undead guards. Today though, so soon after performing the most powerful spell ritual he’d ever cast, he barely felt like he’d be up to even preservation magics, forget anything that could be effectively used in combat or pulling even one of his guards to himself. … It would probably be fine though. So he stayed put, not letting his concern show physically.

Vyla was already moving to find the source of the magic, maintaining the mental link with Gwen to keep him updated. It didn’t take her long, the fellow wasn’t trying to mask their presence. She sent a mental image that though not totally clear – as all mental images tended to be – was clear enough. The fellow wore light leather armor, dyed black and partially hidden under a black cloak. They made no attempt at concealing the bastard sword, sheathed in a dark red scabbard on their hip. That sword was what Vyla was sensing, it was heavily enchanted. Which didn’t bode well but still didn’t have to mean this person was here for Gwen.

It wasn’t long before he caught sight of them with his own eyes. They strode down the path with all the usual stomping grace of a pompous soldier who expected everyone else to hurry to get out of their way. Their skin was gray, indicating they had dwarf blood in them but the roundness of their features and only slightly less than average height – compared to the folk around here anyway who were mostly humans – indicated they had far more human blood. Their gaze seemed to lock onto Gwen as they increased their pace. Dang, so they were here for him after all. That was less than ideal.

It had been a long time since he last had cause to worry about an encounter with one of the many people who he’d made enemies of over the years. And so as a result he was maybe less worried than was necessary given how weak he was. He could probably handle them with just words though, they didn’t know he’d spent all his magic a few days ago after all. So he remained seated, lounging on the bench as the fellow approached, stopping in front of him to glare at him.

“I finally found you necromancer.” Their voice sounded what Gwen, thanks to long association with humans, now knew what humans thought of as feminine. That didn’t mean much though.

“Yep. You found me. Congrats.”

Their glare grew even more intense at his deadpan tone. “I heard you fled again and were attempting to hide from justice in a small town. All the while continuing your blasphemy against Lady Death.”

Ah, one of those people, huh? Most folk who worshipped the god of death were decent perfectly reasonable people. Certain sects of them however had decided to take it upon themselves to try to speak for their deity and declare necromancers – among other things but mostly necromancers – as unholy and blasphemous, completely unaware and unwilling to accept that Death actually enjoyed the game necromancers played against her. Such people were especially obnoxious.

Gwen wasn’t in the mood. … And Vyla, watching from a nearby tree, was starting to get worried, her anxiety beating strongly against his mind. She didn’t like this person and their seeming inclination towards violence. With how weakened Gwen was he might get hurt or worse. So he should leave right now.

Very well, he said to her as he stood up. She was being a bit overly worried but he didn’t want to deal with this regardless. “If you’ll excuse me, I have things to do.” He tried to step around her but she sidestepped to block his path.

“Not so fast! I’m not just going to let you walk away.” They drew their sword in a fluid motion that indicated they were quite familiar with it. The blade was slivery blue and glowed with a dark light; not just any magic sword but one enchanted with Lady Death’s magic. That was a fairly big deal actually. “Fight me, coward.”

‘Run!’ Vyla sent with even more anxiety.

But even if he’d been so inclined, Gwen didn’t exactly have time to. Instead he lifted his hand to make a summoning gesture, focusing his mind and magic into transporting his guard here. What little magic he had left lurched jarringly within him as the spell failed. He stumbled physically too, practically right into the sword coming his way.

Pain worse than he’d ever felt before seared through him as it pushed through his chest and heart – perhaps it was luck or perhaps the fellow knew elves’ hearts were located on the right. Vyla screamed in his mind and out loud somewhere. He wanted to look up at her and comfort her but… nothingness already ate at his vision, leaving only the surprised face as the human-dwarf hybrid visible. He didn’t have enough magic to even try to sustain himself through this. What horribly coincidental timing, huh? Well on the bright side he was going to see if his immortality spell had worked. Except he was already starting to…

“…didn’t know such a little dragon could do that.”

“It took her by surprise, jumping out of the tree like that and going straight for the throat. Really nasty things, dark dragons.”

“Well now they’re both dead. So what do we do?”

“Call the cops I guess.”

“Wait, wait, I want her sword.”

“Nah, didn’t you hear she’s one of them holy knights for Death. You don’t wanna mess with that kind of thing, trust me.”

As the voices pulled Gwen further and further towards consciousness, he became more and more aware of Vyla’s panic. She didn’t know what was going on, only that it was bad. Their soul link wasn’t broken but wasn’t Gwen dead? He looked dead and smelled dead and he’d just been…

I’m fine, he said to her, having to mentally yell it in order to break through her panicked thoughts. He didn’t feel great and in fact felt quite horrible, but he certainly wasn’t dead.

Her relief washed against him, intense enough to boost his mood too. As she rushed over, he forced himself to sit up. It took far more effort than he would’ve thought and caused quite the medley of gasps as the folk crowding around took a step back. Ignoring them, he looked around at his surroundings.

He was on he ground at the park, in front of the bench, that tracked with what he was starting to recall. The human-dwarf fellow lay a short distance away. Their face and body contorted with pain, blood blossomed out of their throat, pooling on the ground; Vyla had gone for the jugular and seems to have gotten it.

Speaking of Vyla, she sat nearby, looking up at him. She was extremely relieved but still distraught. ‘Still smell like death.’ He looked like he should be dead as well as far as she was concerned. Odd.

“Can necromancers bring themselves back from the dead now too?” someone in the gathered crowed asked. It was a hushed question, not directed at Gwen but instead the others in the crowd who all took it upon themself to answer.

Gwen didn’t bother to try to listen and sort of their muttered words, instead he looked around some more. Where was the sword? Hadn’t he been… Oh! It was still sticking through his chest, right where his heart was. Blood covered part of its blade and soaked down his front. It hurt but not nearly as much as such a wound should, it was a distant pain, more just uncomfortable really. And… no throbbing. His heart wasn’t beating.

So… his spelled had worked? He was immortal now? Unkillable? A good explanation, the only viable one for sure. No matter how strong one’s magical resilience, getting stabbed through the heart, especially with a magic sword, wasn’t something that could be survived. He seemed have to though so his spell had worked! … Except something was wrong. He was… undead. Yes, that would be the proper way to put it.

As an expert in death and undeath, he would know. His body was dead but his soul still inhabited it. It hadn’t left and then been put back in like how souled undead usually were. Such beings always had spotty connections to their body/vessel, his wasn’t like that but instead still as strong as if his were body were still living. Didn’t make him any less undead though, he wasn’t even breathing anymore. Such a strange phenomenon.

Vyla pushed into his mind, inserting her distress. How could he be so mostly unworried about this? He was dead! That was bad! How was he not freaking out the way she was?

He wasn’t okay with it by any means but he was still here and that beat being a ghost or worse being absorbed into the land of the dead. … His body was going to start rotting now though. That was going to be a pain to deal with. Perhaps if he weren’t still out of magic he could use some restoration magic – of the magics he could use that was his weakest but that was only relative to how strong he was with other forms of magic – he could heal up and revive himself. But even with the strongest of preservation methods, magical and mundane combined, a full revival had to be done almost immediately if it was going to be successful. And on top of that it was a difficult spell to perform and took a lot of magical energy. There was no way he was going to be able to do it right now. Meaning he was most likely going to be stuck as undead for who even knows how long. How inconvenient.

Jerking back into motion he lifted a hand to grasp the sword’s hilt and pull it out of his chest. It hurt more coming out but still not as bad as one would expect – there seemed to at least be some benefits to being undead. He tossed it to the ground, swords weren’t his style even when the rare occasions he used weaponry. He then extended a forearm for Vyla to climb up. She did so a bit reluctantly because she was still freaked out by this new development. As she clambered up to his shoulder, he stood up.

“I have places to be,” he said as he started walking. The people in his way gasped and hurriedly moved, giving him a wide berth, even more unnerved by him than usual. At least they weren’t putting up a fight though.

He felt numb and weird as he walked. At least his immortality spell had worked though, even if it was only partially. He was still physically present within this world and thus able to interact with it and continue his work. … Would this affect his magic though? If so, to what extent? He was just going to have to wait and see on that. First though he needed to focus on returning to his lab to do whatever could be done to delay and possibly prevent the rotting his body would no doubt soon start doing. After that he could worry about everything else being undead would mean for him.

#original fiction #original characters #fantasy #necromancer #dragon #soul bound #undead

2 notes · View notes

silentprincess17 · 3 years

Text

Sometimes Things Have To Get Worse Before They Get Better

This is essentially a darker, heavier alternate take on Memory #7 - Blades of the Yiga. I wanted to write a fic with a competent Yiga Clan. (Yes you read that right). It is very angsty in the beginning and then becomes fluffy (hence the title!)

Summary: Link and Zelda have returned from Vah Naboris with Urbosa and have spent the night in Kara Kara Bazaar Inn. Link wakes up and finds her missing.

Cue the angst.

This story is complete and I will post each chapter daily on here but you can read the whole thing on AO3

Rating: Mature (Graphic descriptions of violence) Pairing: Link/Zelda (Zelink) Characters: Link, Zelda, The Yiga Clan, Master Kohga

Chapter 1: Everything goes wrong when you don't have breakfast

Link was having a bad morning. He’d missed breakfast, a cardinal sin, and now he was anxiously darting around the Bazaar, weaving between the trees, in an attempt to see if he could spot a glimmer of blonde hair or a flash of a blue shirt.

She just had to run away. Again.

He sighed. It wasn’t that hard to understand why she constantly gave him the slip, even if he wished she didn’t. He knew it wasn’t fair of him to think such things, especially when he knew it wasn’t really him, she was running from, rather it the sword that was strapped to his back. It wasn’t him she was frustrated with, it was herself. And the sword symbolised how he was apparently fulfilling his destiny and his side of things, whilst she struggled endless with the stone-cold Hylia and had nothing to show for it. Essentially, the sword meant destiny and fate had already set out a predetermined plan for her, and she was currently set for failure. So yes, he could understand why she felt the need to escape what was surely a suffocating sight every day- the boy with the sword that has it all sorted, geared and ready to go, whilst she stumbled in the dark, Hylia’s Divine Blessing evading her.

If only she knew how much he struggled too. He didn’t just pull a sword out a rocky pedestal and boom morphed into Hyrule’s Saviour. He’d trained long and hard too. And frankly, he had felt compelled to draw the sword, it hadn’t been something that was in his control- if he had a choice, then he would also choose to just leave it be in the Lost Woods. It sounded naive and foolish now, but he hadn’t anticipated what the consequences would be when twelve-year-old Link had jumped up and wrapped his hands around that cursed mauve handle. Mostly, the thing he regretted the most about pulling the sword was that he’d effectively doomed them all. Did he want to be the one to basically foreshadow what was now surely coming? No. Another was that it had put a timer on the Princess to find her powers, and he didn’t want to cause her such anguish at being unable to unlock supposed birth-right sealing powers that she clearly didn’t have and didn’t know how to obtain. But… there had been a hidden consequence, one that he couldn’t for the life of him have predicted- when he released the sword from the pedestal, it didn’t just end with him now possessing the mythical legendary blade, oh no. He’d also obtained a whole wealth of memories, memories of past lives, past successes, past failures, and he’d lost whatever childish innocence he’d had then. And it crushed him, having this soul that apparently was doomed in this endless fight, and now he had to live up to them. He had to live up to these past Heroes and by Farore he had no idea if he’d be able to.

Every word that had come out of the Princess’s mouth at his blessing ceremony had cleaved him in two. All those past disastrous events that happened in Hyrule, and all the lengths his predecessors had gone to save the country… Adrift in time indeed. IN TIME. How was he supposed to do the same? And it made him fearful. And he was not easily frightened. He liked to think he was a little bit brave, he would run headfirst into any sort of challenge, be that eating rocks, defeating hordes of monsters, including Lynels, or even redirecting errant guardian laser beams but when he thought about what those Heroes had gone through… He certainty didn’t feel very brave when it came to imagining what exactly he’d have to do, what trials he would have to face, in line with theirs.

He finally finished strapping the sword properly to his back, he’d ran out as soon as he realised she was missing, and he tried to find any distinguishing patterns of her boots nearby. It was a useless venture, because sand shifted, constantly, and as a result any tracks were lost pretty much as soon as they formed. He sighed, deciding to do another very quick run through the Bazaar in case anyone else had spotted her, or she had come back from the baths maybe. He was clutching at straws, he knew it, and he felt that familiar churning feeling in his gut that something was wrong, but he decided to keep calm and check again just in case he’d missed something.

He sighed, even before Urbosa told him how the Princess’s behaviour was in fact coloured by the sword, he could have guessed. One of the biggest signs was that she always looked at it, instead of him. He only wished to tell her that he was just as lost as she was, because yeah sure, everyone Impa stated that he had the Sword that Seals The Darkness. Okay, but how did it do that? How does one go about killing darkness? Monsters he knew. Monsters he’d trained for. But darkness? And the thing that frightened him the most was that most of the past Heroes had fought a man. A power-obsessed, strong-willed and formidable opponent, but still, fundamentally, a man. None of them had fought this… Calamity equivalent that he seemed to be up against. Hence why he was uncertain, and fearful even, if the sword would be enough.

Not to mention how much it pained him that the arrogant idiot bird had managed to find his greatest insecurity, but that was neither here nor there.

But in truth, every time someone mentioned how he was their savour he wanted to cry. Perhaps she didn’t realise that whilst everyone had pinned her as a hopeless case and a lost cause, he’d been saddled with double the expectations to succeed. So much pressure, so many eyes, that he’d all but gone silent. Every word spoken could be misconstrued in some shape or form. Nothing he said was ever safe from scrutiny, so to continue to play the perfect, composed Hero that he was supposed to be, he decided to stop talking. What he wouldn’t give to explain to her that these praises that were lavished on him made him feel sick. Made him feel suffocated. Made him like a liar. Because really, he felt like a failure too- he had no plan other than maybe try and hit the darkness with the sword and hope that works. And the foreboding feeling he had that he hadn’t yet faced the supposedly impending huge trial that most of the other Heroes had, and they had all done said trial well before they obtained the Master Sword. He felt unworthy of it, somehow. All he’d done was train hard, fight and try to eradicate the plague of monsters in the land. He hadn’t travelled through time, he hadn’t transformed into a wolf, he hadn’t lost his sister, or his best friend. Hence why he was dreading meeting Ganon. There was a catch somewhere. He could feel it.

He exhaled heavily, sweat starting to build on his brow. This was why he wanted to tell Zelda that she wasn’t alone. That he knew what she was going through. They were a pair in destiny, fate… even souls after all. But she hated him, his very being, and probably wished he didn’t exist- no correction- she wished the sword didn’t exist, then he wouldn’t have pulled it and wouldn’t have become a direct comparator for her success. It all felt futile sometimes, and he wondered why exactly he was in such a melancholy mood this morning. Probably something to do with not eating.

She wasn’t in the Bazaar. He’d now checked over every stall twice. And Link felt rising trepidation. Of all the places for her to run away, she’d chosen the desert. She’d chosen where the main dissenters of the Royal Family lived. She chosen the one place where it was highly probable that there would be an assassination attempt on her. And he wasn’t there to protect her. Link could freely admit to himself he was scared. What if he didn’t find her in time, what if – No. He had to think positively. And then his eyes fell to his Champion’s tunic, embroidered, as it was, by her hand. Goddesses above, how would he present himself back the Castle if he’d actually lost her this time? And in such a worrisome place too. A stone settled in Link’s gut, as he desperately racked his brains, replaying last night’s events trying to remember if she’d dropped any hints as to where she was going.

He drew a big fat blank.

In the name of Din, where else could she have gone? She had been silent on the way back from Vah Naboris, probably reproachful that he’d managed to find her, yet again. And he had, admittedly, found it suspicious that she’d remained mum, accepted going to the Bazaar, and sleeping in the Inn, and leaving to head to Goron City the next day without a single word of dissent. He should have known that she was planning something.

And now, it was starting to get hot, as he quickly ran off towards the path, wondering if she’d gone back to Gerudo Town. But she’d already said her goodbyes to Urbosa last night... Link sighed, the heat already causing his tunic to stick to his back. It was a desert after all, one couldn’t expect it to get cold during the day, and he hadn’t had time to fill in their canteens, and oh for the love of Farore could he at least get a single sign as to where Her Highness had deigned to grace her presence at. He didn’t want to be beheaded for incompetence so soon.

He saw a small cloud of sand rise in the distance. At this point, it could be a mirage and he was seeing something that his mind had conjured in desperation at trying to find the missing Princess.

And then he saw a flash of red.

And his blood ran cold, despite the heat.

25 notes · View notes

minijenn · 4 years

Text

8 Favorite Works of the Year

So I wasn’t tagged to do this but I kinda wanted to anyway. Because I did a lot of creating this year and dangit I wanna look back on it fondly, so...

Rules: It’s time to love yourselves! Choose your 8 (ish) favorite works you created in the past year (fics, art, edits, etc.) and link them below to reflect on the amazing things you brought into the world in 2020. Tag as many writers/artists/etc. as you want (fan or original) so we can spread the love and link each other to awesome work!

To be fair I’m gonna pick four pieces of art and four chapters from my fics, two of each from either Keys or UF to be fair about things. With that said here we go, in kind of no particular order! Starting with fics:

Keys to the Kingdom, Chapter 22: Rise and Fall and Rise Again: So I wrote this chapter kind of at the start of all the Covid/lockdown madness, when I had just started working from home and felt kinda trapped inside my own apartment, with a lingering sense of doom hanging over my head just about every day (something that hasn’t really gone away). As a result, I poured my emotions into this one, a chapter I’d been planning for such a long time, only for it to come out even better than I could have expected! I think this is where Keys really starts to get good (well, this one and the chapter right before it that leads into it). Its the longest chapter of Keys (so far) and it really is just a ton of angst and hurt and comfort and kind of a pretty good character study for both Sora and Kairi if you ask me, and it does pave the way for Keys 2nd arc (which we’re knee deep in the middle of now!). Overall it has a lot of very poignant lines in it, a lot of emotional scenes, and some pretty cute moments of fluff mixed in to leave you feeling good, its a real treat every time I go back to revisit it.

Universe Falls, Ch. 80, Part 1: Rifts: So this year was kinda sparse on really BIG UF chapters, but Rifts is for sure probably the biggest chapter in UF yet. And I’m so, so proud of it, I think it has some incredible high points of action in it, its very intense and emotional and the situation just keeps building from bad to worse and you really just feel for Steven, and Dipper, and Stepper alike and Bill is such an asshole in it and gah! Its so good I love it so much and I had such a fun time writing it, especially after waiting YEARS to finally get the chance to. I think its fantastic.

Keys to the Kingdom, Ch. 27: What Once Was Mine: This is absolutely my favorite Disney world chapter in the entire fic so far (tho that second Beauty and the Beast chapter comes REALLY close to it!); it has such a broad range of emotions, starting out really fun and lighthearted and sweet and then it starts spiraling into fear and pain and intensity and finally it bottoms out at sheer despair, culminating in probably one of my favorite Trinity Trio scenes in this entire fic. Its not always easy mixing Keys’ original plot elements with the Disney stuff, but in this chapter it felt so natural to do so, like the Tangled stuff just fit so well. I love how it turned out and it really is another big turning point in the fic’s trajectory if you ask me.

Universe Falls, Ch. 80, Part 3: Dimensions: So I ALMOST picked Memories for this list (and don’t get me wrong, I LOVE it!) but I think Dimensions has it beat by just a hair. Its just so intense and dramatic from start to end, with a huge epic battle against Bill, a real show of just how much Steven and Dipper care for each other, emotional reactions from just about the entire squad, and lasting impacts for the rest of the fic. I think it was a perfect way to conclude a trilogy of chapters I’d been so excited about writing since UF’s earliest days, and I’ll never stop being proud of how it all came together in the end.

And now we move onto some art!

The RMD Promo art was a fun little pet project I wanted to take on, more for me than for the chapters itself. They’re all pretty symbolic to the tone/events of each chapter, from coloring, to posing, to the flower symbolism (which was so fun to research and implement), plus I can never pass up the opportunity to draw my best boy Stepper!

My Castle of Dreams Sokai piece really just blew up in popularity here on Tumblr. Again it was just something fun and cute I wanted to do, because I have the moment envisioned so vividly in my mind I figured might as well draw it out and I still think it looks so nice, the way these two are looking at each other with such love in their eyes is.... 100% if ya ask me

The Dimensions cover fucking popped off. The coloring, the dynamic posing, the expressions, I really did kinda flex on this one. Yet for as many moving parts as there are in it, its a very simple piece as well, though I do kinda love the idea of Bill just... looming over everyone coming to kick his ass; it really is accurate to how the chapter itself goes down if ya ask me.

Ok so I know I literally just fucking posted this thing yesterday but I’m proud of it (also I made a self-imposed rule that commissions aren’t allowed to be in this, only art I drew of my own volition) and I drew this yesterday mostly for funsies and it... kinda got intense. Anyway, I’m trying to learn how to pose KH characters more dynamically and this was part of that. And I loooooove how creepy it is, its hella cool on that front if ya ask me.

So yeah, I’m supposed to tag people who wanna do this but ehhhghghghghghg just go ahead and do the damn thing if you feel like it, I mean i wasn’t tagged and here I am so go nuts :3

#jen rambles #jen draws #jen writes #8 favorite works of the year #kingdom hearts #universe falls #keys to the kingdom #gravity falls #steven universe

29 notes · View notes

taylor-fiction · 4 years

Text

Your Selfless Love’s the Only Hoax I Believe In

heya. guess what. so i never really had the inspiration to finish writing the original quarantine fic that i had. so i’m still working on that. however, i did get inspiration from peace and people’s linking between it and hoax and so this happened. it isn’t fully edited, just your basic grammar and spelling that word catches, so if you see any mistakes please let me know so i can fix it, i will definitely do that tomorrow anyway.

anyways, let me know what you think. criticism is always welcomed (if you’re doing it nicely).

~~~

She had accepted, a long time ago, that she would end up alone, maybe have a few long term relationships, but nothing worth sticking around for, not a forever, so when Joe first brought up the subject of marriage, of life together, a forever, a year into their relationship, she freaked out, to put it lightly.

She created a huge fight, whether to prove herself right, to test him, or to prove herself wrong she didn’t know, but he stayed, and he apologized. He came to her, and he hugged her, and he told her he loved her and that he’s sorry for upsetting her if she felt like talking about marriage at this point was taking it too fast. And then, she just knew.

She never had a guy apologize to her, even when one was due. But then again she also never had a guy care about her as much as he did. He loved her, not for the fame, or the money, or her body. He loved her mind, he loved her personality, he loved who she was in private when she allowed herself to be vulnerable and remove the persona everyone knew.

He saw Taylor, the 26-year-old who loved cats and all things glitter, the one who would mumble stuff into her phone at all hours of the day, whose mom was her best friend and always spoke her mind. The person that loved so deeply she often got hurt.

He saw her flaws and loved her for them, not in spite of them.

And she loved him just the same. She loved how ordinary his life was, how he went to university, and had school friends and never gave a second thought to walking down the street to the grocery store. She loved how his mom suggested they take a walk around the park when they first met because there was still time until dinner, not even realizing that such a thing wasn’t possible to Taylor. She loved his brothers and the relationship he had with them. She loved how caring he was and how selfless and kind he is. She loved everything about him. Even things that she always found agitated her with past boyfriends, she didn’t care about them when it was him. Like how he would sometimes speak before swallowing his food, or how he would kiss her in the middle of her sentence, telling her that it was just because, she loved how he sometimes disagreed with her. But he always listened to her, she never had to worry about that, she never had to worry if he loved her, or if he was truthful, because he always was, almost to a fault.

So yeah, maybe she should have seen this coming, but a year in, she didn’t know how things are supposed to be at this point. She only ever got here once previously and she knew for a fact it wasn’t a good reference point, especially with how many times Joe proved her wrong up until now. How he stayed when she tried to break it off when the paparazzi found out about them, how he accepted her with all her baggage, how he never doubted in his mind about her.

She was worried that they were going too fast, but then again, things have never felt more right than when she was with him. So a year in they were talking about marriage, and kids, and life together, and they moved in together. And he was everything she wanted and everything she didn’t know she needed. He was gentle where she was rough, he was quiet where she was loud, he was the complete opposite to her, in a way, but he was also so similar to her.

And then, one day, three years in, she looked over at him and realized she was looking at her forever, and it terrified her. The thought of forever. The weight of it and its meaning. Forever meant accepting that maybe she was wrong, maybe she did deserve to be happy, maybe there was someone out there for her, and he wasn’t just out there, he was right here, lying next to her on the couch watching a movie with their cat on his stomach and his legs tangled with hers, only wearing his boxers looking so soft in the soft light coming in from the hallway.

And she realized that inviting forever into her life also meant letting in pain, and loss, and death. Because forever means till death do us part. It means growing old together and seeing the effect of old age on the person she loved most. It means losing someone you love. It could be tomorrow, it could be at 80. And that realization terrified her.

But this time, she didn’t try to run. She talked to him until the middle of the night, until they were so tired their eyes hurt. She shared her fears and her worries, and he shared them too. And they held each other and calmed each other down and kissed each other and soothed the worries. Because she may not know what tomorrow holds, but she knows that with him she can weather the storm.

So when he proposed, three and a half years in, right when a pandemic was starting to affect them, she guessed she shouldn't have been surprised, because, in a way, it was always coming. It was always a question of when, with him, not if. It was always when is he proposing, when are you getting married, when are you having kids. No one ever asked them if they thought they would get there, because it was a given they would, they were always asked when. And she liked it, she liked how the people around him could see how amazing he was to her, how he was it.

He was there, on one knee, with pizza boxes around him, on a blanket, in the middle of their living room, having an impromptu picnic at home because there’s a shelter-at-home order. His hand was shaking a little, and he had tears in his eyes, and he was telling her how much he loves her and how much she means to him. How he can’t imagine life without her in it. And it wasn’t how he wanted to do it, he said, he had this thing planned, he was going to have her family nearby so they could celebrate, and he was going to set up this nice date for her, somewhere private, just the two of them. And she was laughing, and she had tears in her eyes, and she loved him, so much, because she knew, even though this wasn’t what he planned, it was better than what she could have hoped for. So she bent down, didn’t even let him ask it, and kissed him.

And then he whispered the most beautiful set of words he could have ever uttered, “Will you marry me?”

She doesn't remember saying yes, but she guesses she did because he was sliding the most beautiful ring she has ever seen onto her finger, and he was kissing her, and he showed her how much he loved her, over and over again, all night long.

And she was happy. In the midst of all the chaos and uncertainty that surrounded them, something that only three years ago would render her an anxious mess, unable to function, she was the happiest she has ever been.

And then, the next day, the realization hit her. And the anxiety. That everything they talked about, the future and the kids and the forever, it wasn’t just some hypothetical, something that they would make happen one day. That one day was here, and she had the ring to prove it.

She didn't realize how deep she had gotten herself, and it scared her. The thought that without noticing she was willing to give him everything. She was willing to work through her fears and insecurities in order to have a child with him. When did that happen? When did he change her mind about what she thought her future held? When did she start thinking about forever with someone else? When did he get her to see that she could have more?

And he came up behind her, not even noticing the panic on her face, simply thinking the silence was from concentrating on the lyrics she had in front of her, and he wrapped his arms around her from behind, and he kissed her temple and whispered “I love you” into her ear, and just like that she was okay. She was still scared, terrified even, but she knew she would be okay with him by her side.

And now here she was, a month short of being 4 years together, with a ring on her finger, planning a wedding with the love of her life, her 8th album, one she wasn’t planning on putting out for a long time but somehow it came about in those few months of quarantine, is out and doing better than she could have dreamed. Here she is with the most cliche thing that can happen to her in lock down. Fucking pregnant.

These last few months they have been a little careless with protection, knowing that kids were something they both wanted. They walked about it, of course, and decided that if it happened, then it happened. And now it did. And she’s terrified. She guesses she shouldn't be surprised, she did miss her period last month, she was feeling constantly nauseous and was a little on the emotional side, even for her.

Life was amazing, in an unexpected, messy kind of way. The kind of way where you're both terrified and excited for tomorrow. Where you both love where your future is heading but also want to fix so much.

And now, looking back on it, the direction her life took these last 4 years shouldn’t have surprised her. She now has a private life, with the love of her life, she's happy, for the first time in her life planning the way the next two years are going to look for her isn't anxiety-inducing, it excites her, it makes her anxious to reach there. It makes her want it to be here already.

Because she would weather all the storms in the world if it means she gets to end the day with his arms wrapped around her, his love surrounding her, and their child, now growing inside her, growing up right in front of her eyes.

#personal #text #taylor swift fanfiction #taylor swift fanfic #taylor swift #joe alwyn #taylor and joe fanfiction #writing

104 notes · View notes

signsofsam · 4 years

Text

Buddie Week, Day Six: All We Know is Touch and Go

Eddie reaches over, forcing one of Buck’s hands out of his hair, wrapping it in both of his own. “We have to believe they're going to be okay.”

“But what if they’re not? Did I tell them I loved them before we left? Do they know we love them? Did I hug them enough? Did I-”

“Buck, just breathe, okay? Stop inviting trouble until we know more.”

“They’re back there all alone, Eddie. Our boys are alone,” Buck murmurs, turning to his husband, and he’s broken, eyes sad, and there are tears brimming, ready to be unleashed. “What if-”

Eddie shakes his head. “We’re not ‘what if’-ing this, Buck. We can’t. We hope for the best, and we wait for the doctor.” He kisses the back of Buck’s hand, and Buck lets out a breath, trying to center himself.

AO3 Link Here

Prompt: “Just breathe, okay?” + hurt/comfort

Notes: Title is from State of Grace by Taylor Swift. You can find the other stories in this ‘verse here and probably should read at least a few of them to know who the OMC is in this fic. Also: we are practicing suspension of disbelief and general magical handwaving over all the medical inaccuracies that are in here because a doctor/healthcare provider I am most certainly not.

And someone please let me know if Google Translate failed me anywhere.

--//--//--

They were just going to get ice cream.

It’s all Nate can focus on: they were just going to get ice cream, and Eddie and Buck are going to kill him, because now the truck is pressed against the concrete median of the highway, other crashed cars around them, and his blood’s splattering onto the seats and Chris won’t wake up. Would they send him back?

They wouldn’t do that, would they? They...no, you know they love you, and this won’t change that.

But he’s gotten Chris hurt.

Fuck. Just fuck.

He really likes his family.

He doesn’t want to go anywhere.

“N...Nate?” Chris whimpers, and he gasps, turning too quickly to look at his brother, and pain explodes in his head.

“Shit, shit, shit shit shit,” he breathes out, waiting for the pain to settle into something more manageable, so at least he can see. When he finally attempts to open his eyes again (and God, it hurts, but he has to check on his brother), Chris is watching him, worried, his right cheek red, bruising, a lazily bleeding laceration on his cheekbone. His glasses are gone, and there are more cuts peppering his face. There’s melted ice cream on his face (“I don’t see how you can eat that while I’m driving,” Nate had been complaining, just before the crash, and Chris had given him the biggest shit-eating grin as he took another huge bite of his mint chocolate chip), but for the most part, he looks okay.

Nate still can’t help but breathe out, “Buck and Eddie are going to kill me.”

Chris frowns, reaching over with an unsteady, shaky hand. “Did...did something hit your head?”

“What?”

“You’re talking nonsense, Nate. Did you hit your head?”

“I got you hurt.”

Chris’ frown deepens. “No, you didn’t. A car hit us. You’re bleeding.”

“I know. I’m getting blood all over-”

Pain explodes again as sirens cut through the air, and this time, thankfully everything fades to black.

--//--//--//--

“They’re going to be just fine, Buck,” Eddie whispers. They’ve been waiting for a doctor for a few minutes, and honestly, they probably both look a mess, still in their uniforms, halfway through a shift and just getting back from a rather disgusting run when Athena called, and now Buck is sitting in a hard plastic chair, hunched over, hands clenching into his hair, foot tapping over and over and over, and through his own worry, it makes Eddie hurt. “We’re here now, and they’re going to be fine.”

He reaches over, forcing one of Buck’s hands out of his hair, wrapping it in both of his own. “We have to believe they're going to be okay.”

“But what if they’re not? Did I tell them I loved them before we left? Do they know we love them? Did I hug them enough? Did I-”

“Buck, just breathe, okay? Stop inviting trouble until we know more.”

“They’re back there all alone, Eddie. Our boys are alone,” Buck murmurs, turning to his husband, and he’s broken, eyes sad, and there are tears brimming, ready to be unleashed. “What if-”

“Is this what it was like? When Chris had to have surgeries when he was younger?”

“Every time,” Eddie answers. “We would be waiting, me, Shannon, Mom and Dad the one time I was gone-” he flinches here, and Buck squeezes his hand. “That one was the hardest, and I don’t think I”ll ever forgive myself for being gone. So yeah, the uncertainty and the worry and the fear...it’s always there, but now, now I have to believe it’s going to be okay. I have to, and you have to, even though we’re scared shitless.”

“I couldn’t imagine not having you here to share the weight,” Buck murmurs. “I’m really glad we’re here together. It makes it so much easier to bear.”

They don’t have to wait much longer, thank god, because Eddie’s about to press against Buck’s knee to settle his leg, and they both stand when the doctor calls about Chris. “He’s okay?” Buck asks before the doctor even has a chance to give them her name, but she smiles at him, nodding.

“Christopher is going to be okay. He has a mild concussion, some cuts and bruises on his face, and he’s going to be very sore for the next few days, but nothing permanent, and nothing overly serious. Oh, and I’m Dr. Rodriguez. It’s nice to meet you both. Which one is ‘Dad’ and which one is ‘Buck’ because I’ve heard a multitude of compliments about both and still don’t know which one is which.”

Eddie likes her immediately.

Chris is still in a bed in the ER, and he smiles widely as the curtain opens. “Dad!” he cries happily, and Eddie’s heart tightens as he wraps his son in a hug, as gentle as possible. He feels Buck hug them both tight, and their world is a little more right. “Dad, lemme go! I’m okay!”

“Mijo, you were in a car accident; let me hug you a little longer, hmm?” he whispers, pressing a kiss into Chris’ bedraggled curls.

“Yeah, Chris, let us baby you a little longer,” Buck adds, and Chris huffs, but puts up with a hug for another minute or two before he starts shifting, uncomfortable enough that they both let him go. “You’ve got a hell of cut there, kiddo.” His hand is shaking when he touches Chris’ cheek, just barely, pulling back when Chris flinches. “Sorry about that. I’m just worried.”

“I’m okay, really. My head hurts a lot, but the doctor said I shook my brain a little and it’s going to take a few days until I feel back to normal, And I’m pretty sure my morning exercises aren’t happening for a few days.”

Eddie can’t help his smile. “I think you’ll be okay if you skip them for a few days.”

“Have you...have you guys seen Nate yet? Is he okay? He was talking nonsense in the truck-”

“The doctors are still working on him,” Eddie says, careful with his words; Dr. Rodriguez said there was another doctor working on Nate, that he’d come find them as soon as he got a free moment. “But they’ll come get us soon, I’m sure.”

“Dad, he said something about you guys hating him, because I got hurt. But he got hurt, too! Can you...this wasn’t his fault. He didn’t do anything wrong. I begged for ice cream, and we’d just gone to get some-”

“Superman, neither of you did anything wrong; it was an accident, and they happen,” Buck interrupts, running his hand through Chris’ hair. “No one’s angry at either of you; your dad and I were so scared about both of you, scared that we wouldn’t get the chance to tell you again how much we love you and what amazing men you are both growing up to be. You can ask your dad-I was a mess out there waiting.”

“He really was,” Eddie confirms, grinning when Buck and Chris roll their eyes. “I mean it, Chris! He’s dramatic.”

Chris laughs, and Buck gasps at him, eyes wide. “Christopher! I thought we were buddies!”

When a nurse comes to grab one of them to talk to Nate’s doctor, Eddie goes, Buck having settled half on Chris’ bed, their son drowsy against his shoulder. “I’ll hold down the fort here,” he whispers as Eddie gives him a kiss.

“He was unconscious when the paramedics got to him,” the doctor explains, “but he woke up here, agitated and worried. We gave him something to keep him calm so we could examine him, so he’s going to be a touch out of it. He’s got a concussion, and there’s a nasty cut on his hairline from where his head hit the window. His side of the vehicle impacted the median of the road, and it caused damage to the left side of his body. He has a couple of fractured ribs, he’s got bruising from the airbag, whiplash, but most concerning, there’s damage to his spleen that we need to watch, but the CT confirmed it wasn’t as major as I first feared.”

“Do you want to admit him?”

“I would like to keep him overnight, especially with his concussion and to keep an eye on his spleen. We’re waiting to get him transferred to the children’s floor, hopefully it shouldn’t be too much longer. You can wait with him until they come to get him.”

Eddie thanks the man, opening the curtain as quietly as possible, and Nate...Nate’s watching him apprehensively, tracking him as he moves, suspicious. The laceration on his forehead really is nasty, large and circled in darkening bruises. There are smaller cuts peppered down his cheek and neck before disappearing under his gown, and his left eye is nearly swollen shut.

He looks awful, but he’s alive, and really, that’s all that matters to Eddie.

“Hey, mijo,” he murmurs, heart clenching when he sees Nate’s bottom lip wobbling. “Jesus, kiddo, you gave us quite the scare.”

“I didn’t-” his voice is soft, hoarse, and he winces, swallowing once. “I didn’t mean to get Chris hurt. Please don’t send me back. I’ll do whatever I have to to stay.”

“Nathan-” Eddie breathes out, hugging his eldest son as tight as he dares, feeling his kid sag in his arms. “Baby, you aren’t going anywhere but upstairs to a room and then home with us when we can take you. I know you aren’t thinking clearly right now, and that everything’s a little jumbled, but Nate, Buck and I? we aren’t at all mad at you, for anything. We wouldn’t be mad at you if the accident had been your fault, and it wasn’t. Athena said the driver beside you swerved into your lane and hit the truck, that’s it.”

“I just wanted to get ice cream,” Nate whispers, and Eddie can hear the tears, feel them getting the collar of his shirt wet. “I didn’t-”

“You were being a good big brother, mijo. We are never planning on you being anything but part of our family, being our kid; nothing you do is going to change that.”

“I thought you were going to hate me.” The confession is said into Eddie’s shirt, and his entire world freezes and he thinks about how scared Nate must have been, waiting for them to come, wondering if they wouldn’t. “I really didn’t want you to hate me.”

“Nunca, mijo. Never. Buck and I will always love you.”

“That’s good,” Nate finally answers. “Because I think I totaled your truck.”

Eddie laughs, the first real sense of normality since Athena’s fateful call. “I needed to replace it soon anyway.”

He stays with Nate until they come to transfer him, promising him either he or Buck will be with him as soon as the nurses allow. He gives him one last kiss on his forehead, one last gentle squeeze on his shoulder, one last “I love you,” and watches the bed until the elevator doors close behind it before retreating back to Chris’ curtain. He’s a little surprised to see Chris dressed in comfy clothes, Buck standing beside him, awkwardly holding his crutches. “What’s going on here?”

“Doc discharged him, and Mads brought them both some clothes from home. Chim called her for us,” Buck explains, handing Chris his crutches when asked. Together, they make their slow way out to the waiting room, where Maddie’s sitting, typing away on her phone. She smiles when she sees them, giving both Eddie and Buck a hug in greeting. “I guess I can go home with Chris, get a quick shower and then come relieve you?”

“Aunt Maddie can take me home,” Chris informs them, grimacing just a bit as he grips his crutches, the walk more painful than usual. “You both need to stay here.”

“Superman-” Buck tries to argue, but Chris stops him with one raised eyebrow.

“Buck, Nate’s the one in the hospital; I’m getting to go home. He’s the one who’s not alright right now. He needs both of you. Aunt Maddie said she and Chim could stay with me already, and you guys can stay here. I want to make sure Nate knows he’s just as important as I am to you guys. I know that, and you know that, but he’s not sure of that right now, and it’s important that we all make sure he knows.”

Eddie knows he and Buck have lost this battle (and seriously, Chris is fourteen; how are they losing battles to fourteen-year-olds?), so he shakes his head when Buck starts to argue with Chris. “You will go home, take a hot shower, and get some rest?”

“That’s the plan.”

“Promise?”

“Dad-”

“Mijo, I don’t want to worry that you aren’t doing what the doctor said while I’m here.”

Chris rolls his eyes, but nods. “I promise. Home, shower, cuddle with Scarlet, and then bed. Aunt Maddie can text you all about my very boring adventures.” He hugs his father, squeezing as much as he can muster. “As long as you take care of Nate.”

“Always, kid.”

--//--//--

Nate wakes sometime during the night, groggy from the meds they’ve given him to help manage the pain while he tries to sleep. Everything feels off, and he’s a little desperate when he looks around, the room empty until he turns his head ever-so-gently, the ache of moving that much starting to build, and he sees them both, sprawled out on the unused bed beside him, both of them facing him, Eddie spooned around Buck, their hands intertwined, resting close to Buck’s heart.

They’ve stayed.

It’s what Eddie promised him, when he was still confused, still worried that everything was his fault and they were going to send him away, but somehow, waking up now, more clear headed, it means something more.

It means everything.

They’ve stayed.

#My writing #buddieweek2020 #buddie fic #Buddie #evan buckley #Eddie Diaz #christopher diaz #original character #I Hate Accidents series #9-1-1 #9-1-1 Fox #911 #9-1-1 fanfiction #fanfic

53 notes · View notes

bestworstcase · 3 years

Text

farran rereads lost lagoon: chapters 5-6

- mixed feelings about eugene’s first impressions of cassandra here. on the one hand, she did make a snide remark about him being a thief, which must sting when he’s already making an active attempt at self-improvement and attending classes in criminal justice. this isn’t tts eugene - who spends 6-7 months loafing around the palace basking in luxury until cass drags him for being self-absorbed and lazy. this eugene has a work ethic and seems to feel some actual responsibility regarding his new role as rapunzel’s consort. it’s not fair for cass to make a snap judgment about him based on his past and decide to be rude to him because of it.

on the other hand… he and rapunzel did just barge into her space against her will and her subsequent prickliness was reasonable, which eugene doesn’t seem to have any awareness of. and taking into consideration the likelihood that this cass is supposed to be about 17 while eugene is an established adult, that isn’t a fun vibe.

- sort of amused by the role reversal of eugene, in the licensed fanfic cassunzel s1 au, is the one who introduces rapunzel to the library. i guess the key to unlocking rapunzel’s romance option is to not show her the books. but also, why is eugene the one showing her around lol

- did he steal from the coronan palace so much that he just knows where everything is

- the dialogue in this chapter is… hm

“You can take these books back to your room if you want,” Eugene said.

“I can?” I said, staring at the stocked shelves around me.

“I think I’ll open a window,” Eugene said. “It’s a little musty in here.”

like what’s going on here? is this a dialogue bug introduced by spot editing that didn’t get patched before publishing? does eugene have adhd? is this a romance novel™ thing to demonstrate that while eugene and rapunzel talk to each other plenty they’re not on the same wavelength to such an extent that raps asks a question and eugene responds with a complete non-sequitur, which will be contrasted with how completely rapunzel and cass ‘click’ together later? hello?

- one point in favor of the romance novel™ theory is that immediately after this eugene conks out instead of sharing in rapunzel’s discovery and exploration of the library and it is implied he is having a fun flynn rider dream ie he’s lost in his own fantasies and oblivious to rapunzel’s. symbolism!

- anyhoo, this is when the plot device of the ‘lost lagoon’ book of poems turns up. i will say that, having spent the better part of my teen years working in an actual library, it beggars belief to say that a book got shoved behind other books in a popular section (sports) by mistake and got left that way for so long that dust blooms out of it when it’s finally cracked open again; likewise, anyone who attempted to intentionally hide the book this way is an idiot. my dude, you are in a palace riddled with secret passageways. maybe hide the secret book there?

like it’s not even well-hidden. rapunzel pulls out one (1) book from the sports section and immediately spots it. which also just feels dumb. like… there’s a million other ways this book could have been hidden. inside another book would have been more believable. rapunzel rips a bone-dry book of census records off the top shelf because she’s insatiably curious about corona’s people and surprise! it’s got this slim little book of poetry crammed inside it. like ??? i know it’s juv fic but make an effort

- coronans canonically speak english according to this i’m die

- rapunzel hides the book from arianna just… because, and i can’t help but feel this is another case of anxiety written by someone who doesn’t quite get it. she’s ‘just not ready’ to share this book of poems that means absolutely nothing to her yet except that she thought it sounded pretty.

but like. this girl grew up with gothel, who made a habit of belittling her interests, thoughts, feelings, and desires. everything rapunzel had she had because gothel deigned to give it to her, and anything she valued could have been snatched away just as easily. in the film it’s made clear that rapunzel hides pascal’s entire existence from gothel, and while the reason for this isn’t spelled out, it’s clear to me that she was afraid gothel might hurt or get rid of pascal should she learn of his existence. so, like. this is all a recipe for rapunzel having this general anxiety about things being taken for her and with this fear being linked to mother figures it makes sense that arianna would tend to trigger it especially. there is a perfectly obvious, understandable reason for rapunzel to be terrified of sharing anything she found by herself and sees value in or is excited about with her new mom, even if she knows rationally that arianna would never take it from her.

as it is, it really comes across more as an arbitrary plot device to keep the lagoon a cassunzel-only thing.

- there’s a lot of odd characterization decisions in this book but i think rapunzel being resistant and reluctant with regards to the idea of having a human companion is probably the weirdest. ??

- arianna feels like she’s characterized the way a lot of fanworks characterize her, i.e. the authorial mouthpiece who (in the case of cassunzel fic specifically) overtly ships cassunzel and does things to facilitate that relationship. don’t get me wrong, it’s nice to see her doing stuff at all, but… i dunno, i find this brand of arianna doing things just a little wearying. let her just be her own character.

- implication is that arianna and the captain agreed that cass would be rapunzel’s lady-in-waiting, arianna okays this with rapunzel and then tells rapunzel to announce it to cassandra at this public holiday feast. with no prior warning. wow. i think the kindest possible reading here is that the captain has been telling arianna that cass would be delighted and honored to receive this position and arianna assumes he’ll give cass a heads-up as a courtesy beforehand, but that paints the captain in a pretty bad light on account of him lying and essentially manipulating the queen in order to force his teenage daughter to accept this huge responsibility that she vocally does not want. in any case, absolutely nobody involved in this shitshow gives a damn what cass wants.

- lagoon comes in hard with the saporian!cass symbolism l o l. rapunzel reads a saporian poem out loud, not knowing what it means but loving the sounds, while daydreaming about becoming friends with cass.

- arianna seems to genuinely believe cass will be thrilled to have the lady-in-waiting gig sprung on her, which seems to lend credence to the theory that cap has been talking it up as something cass wants. or the intention here is to paint arianna as an out of touch noblewoman, but i don’t think that’s what howland was going for. i don’t know, it’s an odd conversation.

- eugene calls cassandra “sport” lmfao

- lagoon cass has never read a book in her life, apparently

- i don’t want to keep harping on this too much but it keeps leaping off the page at me; cass’s behavior throughout this dinner scene really just bleeds teenagerhood. eugene and rapunzel both make actual stabs at conversation by asking her about things they know she’s interested in, and cass brushes them off/stonewalls them. in tts, on the other hand, cass is actually pretty open to deep conversations with both rapunzel and eugene—it’s just that they never. ask her about herself. eugene goes 6-7 months before he asks cassandra a personal question in cassandra vs eugene, which if i remember right is the only time he asks her a personal question. rapunzel gets very invested very fast in becoming friends with cassandra, but she does it by strong-arming cass into being her partner in a contest, and when cass decides to open up to her it isn’t in response to rapunzel asking her things. the dynamic is totally different.

- actually now that i think about it - lagoon cass feels a lot like the cranky new dreamer version of cass (you know, the flavor of new dream fans who resent cass for ‘being mean’ to eugene, ‘being controlling’ of rapunzel, and ‘stealing’ eugene’s narrative spotlight). this cass is rude, she does come off as a bit spoiled and very bratty, she is nasty to eugene for no good reason, and while i do sympathize with her on the grounds of her evidently being a child i don’t find her to be especially likable or compelling as a character. if cass acted like this in tts i think the cranky new dreamer contingent of the fandom would have a much stronger leg to stand in - especially if she was still supposed to be 22.

like… this:

“So,” Eugene said, distracting me. “What’s it like to be the daughter of the captain of the guard? You obviously have a thing for weapons.”

“So,” I said.

“Have you been training since you were a little kid?” Eugene pressed on. “Do you have friends in the castle?”

“No,” I said. “Who needs friends?”

“Jeez!” Eugene muttered while Rapunzel whispered with the queen. “I don’t need just any icebreaker here, I need a pickax.”

I rolled my eyes.

this is way more interest in cass as a person than eugene shows in tts… like ever. at this point, eugene has met cass ONCE for a few MINUTES and he already knows more about her than he does in cassandra vs eugene, after six or seven months of frequent contact. yet cass scoffs and gives him monosyllabic answers and radiates way more hostility for way less reason than she displays even in tangled before ever after. i think eugene is totally justified in going, yeesh, what’s this kid’s deal?

- rapunzel goes straight from “i’d like you to be my lady-in-waiting” to “you’re my new lady-in-waiting!” without waiting for cass to answer. and i mean, at this point it is a done deal, queen’s orders and all, so i can’t hold this against rapunzel at all. but man, the adults involved in this decision sure aren’t concerned at all about making sure rapunzel learns how boundaries and consent works.

How was I going to train? How was I going to live the life I was born to live?

Fury heated my blood as I stared down the moon.

heh.

i wonder how much howland knew regarding the planned villain arc, because on the one hand lines like this are drenched in foreshadowing, and she’s done a much better job establishing cassandra’s belief in destiny than tts did. but on the other, had she known about the gothel twist, she would surely have known that cassandra is several years older than rapunzel, and that doesn’t square with how cass… acts.

this is half-remembered hearsay so take it with a grain of salt, but i seem to recall something about cass, in her original conception, being younger than rapunzel (and also aware of her parentage, and secretly villainous all along). could howland have been working from information given to her during the transitional stage between that proto-cass and tts cass? that would explain a lot.

- the last paragraph of 6 is the most effective passage in the book thus far:

This was a decision that had bars around it. I couldn’t protest without falling out of favor with the king and queen, and then there would be no way I’d ever be allowed in the guard. I couldn’t argue my way out of this with my father. A royal assignment was the final word. My fate had been sealed. I fell to my knees and stifled a scream.

#lost lagoon reread #rta #cassunzel

14 notes · View notes