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after-witch · 4 years ago

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Baby Mine [Yandere Overhaul x Reader]

Title: Baby Mine [Yandere Overhaul x Reader]

Synopsis: The first time you laid eyes on your child, you knew: You had to get out. Set in the ‘White Picket Fence’-verse.

For request: Something with Overhaul + the reader’s children and manipulation (I’m sorry I accidentally deleted the original message so I don’t remember the exacting wording!)

Word Count: 3328

notes: yandere, stockholm syndrome, abuse

From the instant you laid eyes on your daughter, the moment your gaze took in her fresh, wet skin and her small, blinking, uncomprehending eyes, you knew: you had to get the fuck away from Chisaki Kai.

The realization was instant, like a flash, peeling away years of manipulation and training and forced self-acceptance of your situation. Years of justifications and excuses that had wormed their way under your skin, forcing you to see the bright side, to see his side, and let yourself get wrapped up in its candy-coated, fluffy cotton bullshit--gone, ripped away with brutal, exacting force. All that was left was the stark realization, a single driving force shoving you forward: you and your daughter were going to get out.

That was four years ago.

Four years of agonizing pretending. Of forcing yourself to put back on the coat you'd worn before, the false version of yourself that loved him and accepted him and excused everything he ever did to you. It was hard. It was harder to pretend that you accepted this than to actually accept it, to indulge in his control. But every time your resolve weakened, it only took a glance at your child to remind you of why you couldn't just give in.

You had to get out, not for yourself, but for her. To give her a normal life. A life where she could be free, where she could have friends, where she could run outside and not be limited to the house or, if the weather was nice, the secure, high-fenced backyard that Kai had only built within the last year.

Four years of pretending. Four years of planning. And, most difficult of all, four years of waiting. Trust was not easily given by Chisaki Kai, even to the mother of his child.

So you waited.

You waited for Kai to move you two--no, three now--into a house, a real house; not in a populated suburb (another broken promise that you swallowed deep, deep down) but an offshoot of some protected compound in a remote area, where it could be secure and guarded. But what mattered is that its doors connected to the outside, not to some unknown underground bunker. You could manage, if you were connected to the outside.

You waited for Kai to ease up on the restrictions that built up around you during your pregnancy, rules to keep you under a far more watchful eye, rules that made it harder to find a way out. Inches of trust, gradually earned, which made it possible for you to think concretely about escape.

You waited for your daughter to get old enough to run, old enough to survive without needing to be fed every few hours, old enough to know how to stay quiet when told. Watching her grow up only made you want to leave, more. She had a personality now. Stubborn but accepting when she knew she wouldn’t win; sweet in her own way, an unusual way, likely one that came from a lack of interaction with anyone but her parents and a handful of trusted Shie Hassaikai members.

It was one of those trusted members--you never have learned their name, a secret Kai (nor they) were willing to give--that would be your key to escape.

They loved your daughter, too, in time. They were drawn in by her precociousness, her insistence on formalities and pleases and thank-yous. But it was her bubbliness and inherent interest in the world and people around her that made them decide to love her, too.Her big eyes and bubbling laugh when you two were allowed in the yard, sometimes under this member’s supervision.

To your daughter’s delight, they didn’t simply watch you like the handful of others did; they joined in the fun. Just a few weeks ago, she’d convinced him to push her so high on the swing set that she’d gone all the way around--even your heart briefly froze until she’d emerged on the other side, cackling with delight, safe and sound.

They were loyal to Overhaul. Of that there was no doubt. Had they killed for him? Maimed? Tortured? You tried not to think about the things that were done in Overhaul’s name.

Yet they’d betrayed him, all for the sake of your daughter. Part of you feels bitter that they wouldn’t betray him for the sake of you--but then, what was that saying? Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.

It was with their help that you were finally able to secure that last necessary piece of the puzzle for your escape: getting out of the secured, monitored gate surrounding the house unnoticed. He told you in hushed, intense tones that he would be on watch duty the night of your escape, that he would take care of the other member assigned that night, and that all you had to do was get out the door at the agreed time with your bag, your daughter, and a good pair of walking shoes. He would drive you as far as he could, and then you two would run, run, run after that.

It was going to work. Your daughter was going to live her life, a real life, not one carefully constructed in captivity. What would you do first, once you were free? The thoughts sometimes made you so giddy that you pinched yourself to calm down. So close, so close to the finish line, and you must be vigilant.

Tonight. You and your daughter are going to leave tonight.

Your daughter is in her bed, tucked in safe and secure. Her eyes are already closed, and Kai is sitting at the edge of the mattress, as always, smoothing down her hair and pressing a chaste kiss to her forehead. You watch from the doorway with your arms casually crossed, a small, tired, end-of-the-night smile on your lips. It's all so normal, so domestic, isn't it.

"Good night," he says, so soft and sweet that, if you hadn't been pulled out of your deluded coping mechanism, you might find it endearing. Instead, your thoughts scream: This will be the last time you ever see her, you fucked up piece of shit bastard. Oh, do you have a potty mouth when your 'husband' can't hear you...

He leaves your daughter to her dreams and clicks off the little lamp on her nightstand. When he crosses the doorway, you make room and he lets you slide your arm around his, linking yourselves together for the walk to your shared bedroom.

"Tired?" He asks, and you nod. You are tired. Not for the reasons he thinks, and not for the reasons you'll give, but the telltale darkness under your eyes belies the stress of planning your escape from a years-long ordeal.

You sigh, as soft and sweet as his voice was earlier. "Mmhmm. She didn't want to focus on her lessons today. I got a bit frustrated. Sometimes I don't think I'm cut out to be a teacher." By now you're in your bedroom and you casually take off your day clothes, dropping them in the labeled hamper in front of the closet. Your stomach twinges with the memory of how he used to look away when you took off your clothes.

But that was long ago, and now he continues the conversation casually as the pair of you strip and change into your respective pajamas. You slip a pink nightie with ruffled bottom over your head as he

"You just need more practice. Are you reading the lesson books before you start class?"

I wouldn't have to read any lesson books if you let her out of this house, if you let her out of school, if you weren't--you stop your thoughts, afraid that they might show on your face. Afraid that you might lose everything at this last, crucial moment.

But you know you look frustrated, so you roll with it. "Yes," you say, voice just the right amount of annoyed in retort. "But if she doesn't want to sit down and focus, me reading the lesson beforehand isn't really going to help, is it?"

He stares at you, and you wonder in a flash if you went too far. But in the next moment, he's simply continuing to button up his shirt. "Is it going to help our daughter learn if you take out your bad day on your husband?" His voice is dripping with the natural condescension that once had you questioning whether or not it was okay to be upset that he'd kidnapped you, and you hate it. But at least it's a sign that he bought your excuses.

You feel a warm flush of shame at the way his condescension still makes you feel less-than. You slide yourself into bed, under the covers, instinctively grabbing the book on your end table and staring down into it like you could simply disappear inside the pages. You can't mess up anything right now. The weight of what you need to do tonight feels so heavy and you can't stop your hands from trembling slightly.

"Sorry," you whisper, voice thick with emotion. "It's just hard sometimes. I feel in over my head."

It's Kai's turn to slide under the covers, though he doesn't bother grabbing his own book. Instead he gently pushes on your hands until you set the book on the covers. You know he wants you to look at him, so you do. He looks so gentle, so calm. Did he kill anyone today? Did he insult some hapless victim who crossed his organization, spewing venom with his words, before kissing your daughter goodnight hours later?

His gloved hands tip your chin up and it's a familiar feeling, an intimate feeling, when he pulls you in for a kiss. When he pulls away, he's smiling softly, indulgently. You aren't in trouble. You're good.

"I'll come home for lessons tomorrow and see what I can do. Would you like that?"

I'd like you to drop dead and make this easier on us, you think.

"Yes, Kai."

You smile. You nod. You let out a shaky sigh and lean your shoulders against his, picking up your book and signaling an end to the crisis. He lets you read quietly for a while before turning off the lamp on his side of the bed; it's a wordless signal that you already know: time to sleep. You're a dutiful wife and you put your book away and turn off your lamp and then turn back to your husband and whisper,

"Good night, Kai."

You wait until he's deep asleep to ease your way out of the bed. Every step you take in your padded socks makes you cringe. Will the floor creak? Will you make too much noise? Will you have to come up with a half-assed excuse as he comes to, groggily asking what you're doing? You feel like you can't breathe, but you do breathe, soft and shallow as you make your way to the bedroom door.

You didn't dare keep anything related to your escape in your shared bedroom. The door feels like it weighs a thousand pounds as you ever-so-slowly open it, keeping your head turned towards the man sleeping on the bed all the while. He doesn't stir. He simply continues to snore, even as the door opens enough for you to slip out.

Your heart is pounding in your chest as you cross the hallway and into the spare room that you used as a playroom and, lately, a makeshift school. The bag you packed is in the closet, tucked behind bags of school supplies that you'd asked Kai to pick up in order to make sure that your escape bag didn't stand out. You grab it swiftly, along with your daughter's outdoor shoes, and make your way to the most dangerous element of your escape: your daughter's room.

She did so well. You remind yourself to praise her once you're away from the house, once you're in a car and making noise isn't a life or death dilemma. You built up the idea of your escape bit by bit over the past few weeks. You couldn't tell her that her father was a monster who kidnapped you, but you could prey on her desire to see more, to go beyond the rules established in her father's domain.

Don't you want to meet other kids? Go to the beach, feel the sand underneath your feet? Meet... your grandma? We'll just take a secret trip, you and me, and then come back to Papa when we're done. Then he'll see that it's safe to leave and come with us next time. But you have to keep it a secret. You can't tell him a thing, or we won't be able to go. You can keep a secret, can't you?

You kneel next to your daughter's bed and gently wake her up, whispering her name and stroking her hair, so she slowly opens her eyes in confusion before her gaze lands on your face and ah, a smile--it's just mom.

"Mama?" She asks, a bit too loudly for your liking.

"Shh baby," you say. "Yes, it's mama. Are you ready to go?" You see the tentativeness, the childish confusion in the way she nods. She doesn't know what real life is yet, she doesn't have an inkling of the freedom that she's lost, but she will.

You don't bother changing. You have a pair of clothes in the bag and you'll change when you're in a safer space. For now, you take her hand and lead her down the staircase, your chest tightening with every step. You can't help but glance back at the still-open doorway leading to your bedroom. You pray to whatever is listening that he won't wake up. Each step is a step closer to freedom. Each step is a terrifying risk that you or she might slip, might make noise, might wake him up.

Your spirits lift when you reach the bottom of the stairs. All you have to do is get out the door and he'll be waiting there with the key and a getaway car and freedom.

You clutch your daughter's hand, your own palm now sweaty; you nearly trip on a toy you forgot to pick up earlier, but thankfully the light in the entryway was turned on (you must have forgotten to turn it off) and you see it just in time to avoid disaster. You squeeze your daughter hand and turn the corner that leads to the entryway of your home--

Where Chisaki Kai is standing, waiting for you, his eyes practically illuminated by the glowing lamp light.

You drop the bag.

"No," you say. "No." Your mind suddenly feels fuzzy, like its buzzing, drowning out all of your thoughts with a pure denial of what you see in front of you.

"How--how did you--" you sputter, unable to continue voicing your question. It was all planned. It was all practiced. You pretended, you waited, you planned--for four years. How? How did he know?

He doesn't have to answer. You know the moment that your daughter's grip slips out of your hand and she runs up to her father, feet thumping on the floor. She clings to his side and doesn't look at you, and he runs a hand through her hair without taking his eyes away from your shaking form.

Of course she told him. Of course she told her papa that you wanted to leave. She loved him. Why wouldn't she? It was all she'd ever known. You were breaking the rules, breaking the structure that dominated her life since she could remember.

"Please don't be mad at me, mama." Your daughter whimpers against Kai, and you can hear the tears in her little voice, and your heart aches for her in so many ways.

"I'm not," you whisper. "I'm not mad at you, baby." You're just sad, so sad. It hurts. All of it.

"Sweetheart," Kai says, voice surprisingly calm despite the events, "go back to bed while I help your mother unpack your things, all right?"

Your daughter nods and suddenly she's against you, hugging you in a tight, childish way; you only have enough energy to pull your arm around her, limp and heavy, patting her back without really feeling it before she scampers up the stairs.

You're left alone. With him.

He approaches you slowly and you feel like an animal. There's wildness hammering in your heart and the thought comes up, unwillingly: could you still run? Escape on your own? And hope that some day, your daughter escapes and finds you? But the thought of leaving her behind is impossible to indulge in for more than a second, and you know that without her, your life isn't worth living. The thought of abandoning her to Kai Chisaki brings up an immediate sense of revulsion and guilt and shame.

"What were you thinking?"

You aren't looking at him, but you don't have to be looking at him to know that he's glaring at you. Looking down on you with his gaze filled with righteous justifications. You glance and--yes, he is, but there's something darker, something you’d forgotten, underneath. Your stomach suddenly feels loaded with weights and your legs move backwards, pulling you away from him, away from the anger that feels like it's radiating off him in waves.

He suddenly grips your chin with brutal force and yanks your jaw forward, forcing you to look at him.

"I had to kill one of my most trusted men today because of your..." His eyes dart back and forth for a moment, before he spits out the apparently perfect description of your escape attempt. "Hysteria. An absolute waste of potential, all because of your ridiculousness."

Your mouth is dry. Your voice is hoarse. But you speak up, anyway. You've already lost everything.

"It's not ridiculous to want to get out of here."

The weight of the years seems to press down on your shoulders, pounding into your bones, screaming in your ears.

"It's not ridiculous to--to want to take my daughter away from the man who kidnapped me and forced me to pretend like I was happy here, like I was happy living in some--" you cough, needing moisture, but not daring to stop to swallow lest you lose your courage. "--glorified dollhouse while you tell me what to do and what to wear and how to act and when to fuck you and when to have a baby and fuck you, fuck you, just fuck you Kai. I hate you. Oh I fucking hate you."

You don't notice as your voice gets louder, emboldened by the adrenaline that's been crashing through you since you opened the bedroom door, until his hand is gripping your upper arm in a show of brute, vise-length strength.

"Lower. your. voice."

His grip strengthens until you cry out, and then it gradually loosens without letting you go completely.

For the next few moments, you do nothing but stare at one another. Your mind feels hazy, darting from thought to thought. It was all for nothing. The last four years, all for nothing. But you think about your daughter, about what she may have been able to accomplish outside of these walls, and even the fantasy of a free life for her made it worth something--didn't it?

It's his voice that lowered, now, as he lets you go completely and straightens himself up. All business now. But what business will he engage in, this time?

"Perhaps you do need a vacation," he says, finally. Firmly. He's made a decision.

You wonder if he's lost his mind and you're about to ask as much before he continues.

"Did you know this house has a secret room? It's nice and quiet. The perfect place for you to recuperate until you've regained your senses."

The room, the room, the room.

Your hand instinctively claps against your mouth as you cry out.

After all, you don't want to wake your daughter up with your screams.

#yandere overhaul #yandere chisaki kai #yandere x reader #overhaul x reader #afterwitch writes

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villainsandvictimsalliance · 4 years ago

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Damn Enji and Kotaro are literally the worst fathers

Hmm, the worst father is AFO.

Kotaro has some trauma that doesn't excuse him, but it explains some things.

Enji at some level at least was trying to reach something good? And he is right now in some arc of redemption.

But AFO is just– I still don't know how people look at what AFO did to Tomura and doesn't feel at least a little sympathy. It personally makes me physically sick to think about AFO sometimes. Let's review the reasons why AFO deserves the award for worst parental figure :

All his love was replaced with obsession. A need to control people at any minute, a need to know everything about them, to make them act like he wants to.

He was heavily obsessed with his younger brother. We all know how the first user ended. He's still obsessed over him.

AFO has a hunger for power and possessions... And in this one I mean PHYSICAL possessions even. This is the stuff horror stories are filled with.

We don't know if AFO knew about who Tenko was before or after he took him in from the streets. We don't know if he tracked the Shimuras, we don't know how exactly everything turned out so perfectly for him.

His took his obsession with his younger brother and the OFA users to Tenko. It was never about the kid, never about the human. Tenko has never been better than another body to be controlled like any nomu. The modificationa Tenko needed where not physical, no, but psychological.

Grooming, gaslightning, psychological abuse...

He made a five years old use the dead hands of his family all over his body and watched as the kid threw up from the extreme distress he was under.

He told a five years old he should never heal. I repeat, he took an already abused kid who had already many reasons to hurt and suffer that healing was bad and raging was the solution. He wanted Tenko to stay forever trapped in the bleeding.

He commanded the kid to go and kill people. "Tenko said he wanted to kill them" yes, kids say that type of stuff, they are kids that are supposed to be guided and taught. And AFO did it in the worst way possible.

He knew Tenko had no memories, he was like a blank canvas filled with hurt and rage– and guilt. What AFO did was making Tenko like him a little, people without remorse that would destroy the world for their twisted version of love.

Have you ever heard of those stories where people spend their whole lives locked in a basement because their abusive father make them do it so? Tomura was isolated from society. The only three figures in his life were a doctor who wanted to experiment with him, a half zombie who had strict orders and the demon who trapped him. No other kids to play with and learn how to act in society, for example. He had no friends, he couldn't go out that much, he got a pc and videogames and probably lessons but if we compare the room AFO gives Tenko in the beginning and Tomura's room in the bar, it's probably the same. All his life lived between four walls. Alone. Isolated. With the constant pain and rage and feeling you need to destroy.

If you think quarantine was hard, imagine this.

We also know Tomura was lacking self care when we first met him on the manga. I'm talking about some levels of hygiene and basic routines. We know Tomura is used to not sleeping in days, eating so little, and other things that shouldn't be normal at all, unless people are being negligent with you or you're living in a war or something.

Or– you're poor. This fucks me up each time because there's no way AFO is poor. And yet we've seen Tomura's situation.

Also imagine being around people who only tells you "do it for him, do this to please him, be like him, follow his lead, become him, listen to him". What type of brainwashing is that.

I still hold that Tomura's itching comes from emotional and psychological stress. And since AFO told him to never heal, you can imagine why his scars looked so bad and full of blood in the beginning of the manga.

Tomura didn't have a normal childhood or teenage years. He lost both to the trauma. What Tomura likes to do beside destroying? Playing video games, and because that was the only possible scape he had. Being on the internet lying about his identity and his life.

Note how we don't have a good memory of Tomura in those years. It's always AFO rescuing him. The last real good memory of Tomura was about Hana, his sister, and Nao, his mother, both being gentle to him.

He started really living with the League. " Why does he care about them ", even when he was a child, we have no records of Tenko having close friends. The closest thing was Hana, his sister, and Mon-chan, his dog. The League are the first real friends he ever had. Of course he doesn't know how to be a friend at first, he has never seen people around his age so close to him in at least 15 years.

And note how AFO doesn't care about them either. He sees everyone as toys to play with. He never tries to protect Tomura's friends.

AFO doesn't even see Tomura as a person, like I said before, because he saw Tomura as a body he could later posses to keep existing. A recipient, a vessel, whatever you want to call it. He only cares about Tomura's feeling because he need his hatred to take OFA.

We saw that when Deku started hurting himself from using too much his quirk, everyone worried. Deku was the only who worried about Tomura when the AFO quirk started destroying him.

AFO practically killed Tomura by relegating his consciousness to the bottom of his mind, taking over the body. Yeah sure, Kotaro tried to kill Tenko and Enji is responsible for Touya's dead, but nothing as brutal as this.

AFO gave his own last name to Tomura not as a parent-son link, but to mark that body as his.

He gave an identity to Tomura to mark him as he possession. He is so proud of that.

Besides, Tomura looks a lot like AFO's younger brother and Nana Shimura, two of the people AFO obsessed with, a lot. He also was compared before to All Might, when he was Tenko and share many similarities with Deku. Basically he sees in Tomura everything he wants to posses and destroy.

He used Tomura in almost every way.

He destroyed Tomura in almost every way.

And do it because he wanted to do it, not for some type of justice or self-righteousness or twisted parental feelings.

He enjoys destroying Tomura, he wanted to destroy Tomura, to break him.

No other character should be compared to AFO. Even Kotaro and Enji, that would be a grave mistake. At least Enji and Kotaro were humans, complex and abusive humans, but AFO is something straight out of a nightmare.

Yes, he's definitely the worst parental figure of bnha / mha.

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griavian · 4 years ago

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the 36 questions that lead to love

x <- read on ao3

dream finds a list of questions that can supposedly lead to two people falling in love, so him and george try it out on stream. turns out, they don't really need all 36.

“Come on, George. It’s just a couple of questions.” Dream pleaded into the call, making George roll his eyes. He’s been trying to end stream for the past 15 minutes, but Dream always convinces him to go “just a little longer!”.

“36 questions is not just a couple of questions, Dream.” George glances at his second monitor to make sure his green screen was still black and to check a few discord messages. He had no intention to fall into Dream’s trap for another hour of streaming.

“But it says it’ll lead to love!” Dream says, exasperated. He googled ‘questions to ask your friend’ earlier and found a list of them that apparently lead to falling in love. To George, it was bullshit.

“That’s such bullshit.” He expresses.

“You’re no fun.” Dream’s voice lowered, and George can feel the pout Dream has plastered on his face. He can already predict what the next 12 hours would be like with Dream: silent treatment and being a general dickhead. George was used to it when they lived an ocean apart, and even found it amusing, but it was a totally different experience living with him. Dream would mope around, go into George’s room randomly just to not talk to him, and go as far as to blast sad music from his own room across the hall while George was trying to finish up some editing. Sure, it was all light-hearted jokes, and Dream would stop his act in a heartbeat if George was truly annoyed by it, but George still dreaded it.

“Fine.”

Dream immediately cheers up and starts typing on his keyboard while George watches his chat fly by, seeing a lot of emotes and positive messages.

“Okay, um- first question. Given the choice of anyone in the world, whom,” Dream mocks the formality, “would you want as a dinner guest?”

George’s nose crinkles. “How is that gonna make me fall in love with you?”

“Just answer the question.”

“I don’t know! The queen?”

“That’s a stupid answer.”

“What!” George screeches and Dream barks out a laugh. “You’re so dumb.”

“You gotta give me a better answer than that, or else we won’t fall in love with each other.”

George rolls his eyes, but decides to think about his answer. Truthfully, he wouldn’t want anyone special as a dinner guest. “Um. My mum.”

George eyes his chat as it’s filled with “aw”s. He almost scoffs.

“See? That wasn’t so hard.” George wants to punt Dream into another universe.

“Alright, who would you want as a guest?”

“Tom Brady.”

“That’s the stupidest answer ever!” George yells, his eyes wide, perhaps offended that Dream picked Tom Brady out of anyone else in the world.

“Question two!” Dream ignores, “This one is kinda dumb, but would you like to be famous and if you do, what for?”

George hums. “Probably don’t want to be famous-famous. Maybe being well-known for being the first person to invent IRL-VR. I want my body to be submerged in the Minecraft universe.”

“That’s sick. I dunno what I’d want-”

“You’re already famous.”

“Shut up. I don’t even- I don’t even want to be famous, really. I just want to make whoever knows me smile.”

“Aww, isn’t that sweet, Dream.” George teases and he knows Dream waved him off. George has his habits practically memorized.

“Whatever. How about you ask some questions?” Dream sends a link on discord and George reads through them.

“There’s no way these can make people fall in love. What even is this question? Before making a telephone call, do you rehearse what you’re going to say and why?”

“Trust the process. I mean, I do that. I don’t want my brain all jumbled up, I guess. Words are hard.” Dream answers.

“I don’t think I’ve ever done that. I wing it.”

“That’s very you. Next question.” Something about Dream saying that made George smile the tiniest bit, made the serotonin flow through his brain.

“What’s a ‘perfect day’ for you?” George reads. It’s quiet for a moment.

“Hanging out with you,” his voice is sincere, “You and Sapnap. Recording, streaming, anything like that. What about you?”

“Hm. Me too.”

George isn’t one to show his feelings often. He remembers being asked if he did, and he answered with “not ones that matter”. It still rings true to this day. His walls are still built up and that’s okay to George. Mushy feelings aren’t important, but he’d be damned if he didn’t say his heartstrings were playing a beautiful melody during this moment.

The questions and answers fall easily after that. George knows it’s around 1 am, and he should go to sleep, but answering the questions was kind of addicting.

“Do you have a hunch on how you’ll die?” Dream reads the question with a chuckle. “That’s such a weird question to ask someone you wanna fall in love with.”

George tries not to read in between the lines.

“Heart failure. For both of us.”

“You know how I’ll die?”

“We’re Minecraft streamers, Dream. We’ll probably die at 40.” They share jokes and giggles of scenarios where they die and what they’d do, and something about it feels a bit too honest.

“I’ll die the day you die, George. Emotionally and physically.” Dream says, dramatic as ever. George only huffs, and they leave it there.

“Name three things you and your partner have in common. Dream, do you have a secret girlfriend?” They start to bicker back and forth, because of course they do.

“It doesn’t mean romantic partner, you dumbass. Like- it’s like a science partner,” Dream sighs, “Well, we do have a lot in common. We have the same job, we care about the same things, and we love each other! Easy.” Dream answers.

“Who said I loved you?”

“You literally did last night.” George had closed chat a while ago, already prepared for what was to come. He can only imagine what they’re saying.

“They’ll never believe you.” George says with a sadistic grin.

“Ugh. Okay, what are you grateful for in life? You have to answer this.” George can hear Dream get a little closer to his mic, almost anticipating George’s answer. Dream knows how much he doesn’t like to express any feelings, and probably expects him to skip the question overall. George prevails.

“You. Obviously,” and before Dream can get out an aww, George says, “You made my career, dummy, and I’m grateful for that. And my friends, family, all the normal things. Chat! I’m even grateful for chat.”

“Well, I’m incredibly grateful for you especially.” Dream’s voice is soft, almost loving. George rolls his eyes. He could’ve guessed Dream’s answer, but it weirdly hurts him when it was spoken aloud. He doesn’t know whether it hurts because it might be a fun little joke or if it’s because someone might care about him that much. George decides to stop thinking.

They answer more questions, from taking four minutes to tell each other their life stories (“There was no reason to add that detail; you’re so gross, Dream.”) to what significant quality they would want to wake up and suddenly have (“You’re already good at code shit, George. That’s the saddest answer ever.”). They move onto section two of the list, which are deeper questions.

“Is there something you’ve dreamed of doing but haven’t yet, and why haven’t you?” George asks. He knows about Dream’s unfinished projects. There’s probably a million answers to the question, and George would listen to every single one.

“Uh, well. You know I was writing a book, yeah? I was halfway done with it, and I can’t make myself finish it. It’s probably writer’s block, but I don’t think I’ll be able to do it.” George frowned.

“You can’t finish it with that attitude, silly. You’re annoyingly amazing at everything.” George says with a snort, “I don’t have an answer to this. What did you say that one time? Your future is my future? Well, your dreams are my dreams, then.”

George cringes a little at what he said. He doesn’t know his viewer count, but knows that at least a million people will watch that clip out of context. Dream doesn’t say anything back and moves on to the next question.

“What is your most treasured memory?” Dream asks, and George immediately laughs.

“I definitely know your’s.”

“Do tell, George.”

“Our first Christmas together. Sapnap insisted on getting a real Christmas tree, and when we started decorating the stupid thing, Sapnap sees a spider and screeches. Then, our neighbors come knocking on the front door and you had to explain to them that nobody was being murdered, it was just your roommate being a big baby. And as if it could get any worse, I got tree-sap all on my fingers and clothes and you couldn’t help me because you were laughing too hard.”

“Pretty sure I almost choked on my own spit.” Dream adds, and George scoffs. “But no, that’s not my treasured memory.”

George sputters. “What? You’re telling me I told that to thousands of people for nothing?”

“To be fair, you were all soft on Christmas morning, so our first Christmas might be your treasured memory. Anyways, remember the first time you helped me with a code?” George stays silent, giving Dream the answer. “Well, that was the first time we had a real conversation. I made you laugh, then I started to laugh because you laughed, and we didn’t get the code done. It sounds dumb, but I always smile whenever I think about it.”

George’s face falters a bit. God, he just wants to hug Dream; he wants to make a beeline for his room and attack him with affection and make sure he knows that George loves him, platonically or romantically, George wants him to know.

He just can’t express it with words.

“That… sweet.” George’s eyes travel down the following questions and panics, seeing how personal the questions are. He fakes a yawn. “As mushy and stupid this thing is, I’m really tired.”

Dream doesn’t say anything. It almost scares George, but he deafens on Discord and bids farewell to his viewers, who were completely freaking out. George doesn’t blame them. He’s abruptly leaving after a sweet moment? That’s a recipe for disaster, and George knows better. Yet, he clicks the end stream button.

The door to his office swings open instantly and startles George. It was Sapnap, someone he didn’t particularly want to see.

“What the fuck was that?” His roommate whisper-yells.

George groans and slides deeper into his chair, covering his face. “I don’t know,” he muffles.

“Are you even trying to hide your feelings at this point?” He can hear Sapnap close the door and flop on his office’s couch. “You might as well buy a billboard that says ‘I’m in love with my best friend! His name is Clay!’ with a big ass picture of your dumb face beside it.”

“I know,” George whines. “Do you think he knows?”

“He’s not the one I’m worried about knowing. I’ve told you a million goddamn times that he’s too whipped to notice. I’m worried about the fans. They’re gonna go fucking bonkers because of this stream. Clips are gonna be shared. People are gonna speculate.”

George uncovers his face and narrows his eyes at his friend. “Thanks for the reassurance,” he deadpans.

Sapnap rolls his eyes. “I’m being serious, dude. I know you’re very deeply in love with him in the gayest of ways, but you gotta be careful in front of the fans.”

“Oh my God. I know, Sapnap! I know. I forgot we were even streaming. It felt like it was just the two of us, and I got too comfortable. And it was so nice. I can’t even do anything about it now, so it doesn’t even matter.”

Sapnap sighs and pulls himself from the couch. “You need to talk to him before this gets out of hand. You know I love ya, and that I’m here for you.” George cringes out of habit, but nods. It reads as ‘I love you too, I guess’.

Sapnap leaves without another word, and George is left alone with his thoughts. It’s not long before he sluggishly makes his way back to his bedroom. He opens the closed door, enters, and shuts it. He turns around, only to be greeted by a familiar person in his bed, and yelps.

Dream laughs. He’s wearing blue pajama pants and a white t-shirt. His hair looks messed with, and his cheeks seem to have more color to them. George can’t help but stare.

“Well? Aren’t we gonna finish it?”

George cocks an eyebrow.

“Finish what?”

“The questions, dummy. You don’t… you don’t have to. I mean, it’s kinda stupid that I want to do it in the first place, but…” Dream trails off. George hops on his bed and grins lightly.

“Go for it.”

They answer questions they skipped, like what is your most terrible memory (“My, uh, grandma. She died when I was about 14. It was… hard on me.” “Oh, George…”).

The overhead light was off at this point, the only light coming from a lamp on his desk and the stars shining through the window. The two are on their sides, Dream on the right of the bed and George on the left, facing each other, occasionally looking at their phones to ask the questions.

“What roles do love and affection play in your life?” Dream asks, his voice softer than ever. George can almost not answer. He doesn’t know.

“I’ve never been a super affectionate person, so I don’t know. I’ll give you guys quick hugs of course, but with really close relationships, I don’t know what to do.”

Dream looks as if he’s searching for something in George’s face, and George can’t tell what he’s looking for. His movements are hesitant, George sees.

“Do- um. You wanna maybe,” Dream pauses, closes his eyes,and scrunches up his face. “Try?”

“Try what?”

“Affection.” Dream lets out a breath and opens his eyes. “Affection is my strong suit, afterall.” His mouth forms into a teasing smirk despite his eyes showing nervousness.

“Um. Take the lead.”

It’s slow. So, very slow. Dream’s hand raises up and lands itself on the dip of George’s waist. He’s whispering instructions, and George listens. His hands are hung around Dream’s neck, and their legs are starting to tangle together. They laugh when they realize how far apart they are, and Dream pulls him closer. George can feel his heart beating out of his chest as he lays his head where Dream’s right shoulder meets his neck.

“Do you want me to ask the rest of the questions, sweetheart?” It sounded like a coo, and George is surprised at how effortless the pet name comes out of Dream’s mouth.

“Was that okay?” Dream whispers after a moment of George going still. He perks up.

“Yeah! Yeah.”

“Okay.” Dream pulls George closer and rests his left hand on his back. He starts rubbing up and down in slow motions.

George simply melts.

The questions and answers go by slower, and their voices become gentler. Dream announces that they’re on section three now, and to state three true “we” statements. Dream goes first.

“We… are cuddling?”

“Obviously, idiot.” George chuckles. “We are really tired?” Dream hums.

“We meant everything we’ve said tonight.”

“We are going to mean everything we say tonight.”

“You can’t just steal my answer.”

“Just do your third one.��

“We will be ‘Dream and George’ forever.”

Forever is a long, long time. And yet, Dream’s statement is still true.

“We don’t know what is going to happen tomorrow.”

There’s a beat of silence.

“Very vague.”

“Next question, Dream.”

“Alright, alright. Complete this sentence: ‘I wish I had someone whom I could share…’”

Without a second thought, George replies, “My emotions with. Your turn.”

George swears he felt Dream squeeze him.

“My everything with. Every single little thing. Physical, metaphorical, emotional.”

“Even Patches?”

A laugh.

“Yes. Even Patches.”

“Next question.”

“Tell your partner what you like about them and be very honest.”

“Your voice. It’s like… I don’t even know how to describe it.”

“Does it get you going, George?”

“Shut up. I definitely don’t like your smart-assery.” George can feel Dream lean down into George’s shoulder and smile. “I like how you act around people. It’s always different depending on the person. Different with me.”

“I like how you act around people too. You’re almost always bubbly, even though you like to say you aren’t. And, God, your laugh. It’s so overwhelming, but in the best way possible. You have no idea how many times I’ve said the stupidest shit just to hear your little laugh.” George digs his head deeper into Dream’s shoulder. “I also… really like it when you say my name. My real name.”

George raises slightly, gaining the tiniest bit of confidence. “Clay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, that.”

“Clay,” George whispers.

“George.” Dream sounds weak. So, very weak. George gets closer to his ear.

“Clay.”

George can’t tell if he’s joking.

“You’re gonna kill me, George.”

George’s lips brush against the outer of Dream’s ear, and his friend shivers. He decides this isn’t a joke anymore. He thinks the invisible line they had drawn in the sand many years ago has been kicked and stomped on to the point where neither of them remembers the line being there. George goes further.

“Clay, Clay, Clay,” George is still whispering, slowly brushing his lips across Dream’s jaw, and the hands around his waist get the littlest bit tighter.

George finally raises his head to meet Dream, who was a mess. His cheeks are glowing and his eyes are almost bloodshot. His breath is labored and his hands are shaky.

“Calm down, love.” George whispers and raises his right hand to meet Dream’s cheek, who leans into the touch.

“Kiss me.” Dream begs quietly, as if saying anything louder would shatter the moment in little pieces.

An adrenaline rush fills George’s veins. “Anything you want,” he says, and closes the gap.

The kiss is soft. Dream is maneuvering their bodies to be more comfortable, meaning George is pulled on top of Dream. Their lips didn’t part once.

They move together in harmony, both in the kiss and their bodies, putting everything they got into it. It was unsaid feelings and years and years of thoughts, and George felt every single one of them. George is straddling Dream’s middle and Dream is leaning up to meet George’s touch. His hands are rubbing up and down and squeezing George’s hips and George’s hands find their way into Dream’s hair. It’s perfect and imperfect and everything George has been waiting for, yearning for.

They part, and Dream pushes their foreheads together. George assumes they look dumb, but how could he care in this moment?

“Beautiful. You’re beautiful.” Dream says, his breath tickling George’s mouth. He lets out a breath and breaks out into a smile. His hands start brushing through Dream’s hair and George backs away to get a good look. Dream is staring back.

George lunges forward and wraps his arms around Dream’s neck, sending him flat on the bed with an “oof”.

“Jesus Christ, George. A warning would be nice.”

“I love you. I-love-you-I-love-you-I-love-you-I-love-you-I-love-you-I-love-you-” George couldn’t get enough of saying it. George’s dam cracked when Dream held him and fucking exploded when they kissed. He doesn’t have to hold back anymore, so he doesn’t.

“Slow down, baby.” Dream says through a chuckle. He makes George lean up with tans hands on pale cheeks and a lot of eye contact. “I love you, too.”

George’s breathing slows down to a normal, less-adrenaline-filled pace, and Dream kisses him again. George forces his head back up.

“What does this mean for us?”

“Isn’t it a little obvious?”

“Not really.”

“Boyfriends, George. We’re dating now.”

“How do you know I wanted to even be your boyfriend.” George narrows his eyebrows in faux-suspicion.

Dream’s stare is blank. “I mean. You’re- well- you know, um-”

George dismisses this shortly and confirms, “I want to be your boyfriend.”

Dream sighs in relief. “You’re such an idiot.”

“Yeah. Whatever.” George slides off Dream’s waist and lays facing him. Dream turns as well. “Was that question the last question?”

“No, actually. There were a few left.” Dream blinks, then muses, “Guess we didn’t need 36 questions after all.”

“That was the cheesiest thing you’ve ever said and I hate you for it.”

“You wound me, George. You wound me.”

George makes up for it by letting himself be engulfed in Dream’s embrace, and feels tiny kisses on the top of his head. George nuzzles closer.

Yeah, everything was going to be fine.

#idk how to tag this but um anyways u should read this #I SPEEDRAN THIS SHIT IN 3-4 HOURS #dnf fic #dreamnotfound #dnf #dreamnotfound fic #dnf fic rec #dreamwastaken #georgenotfound

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birminghamblinders · 5 years ago

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arranged marriage headcanons- tommy shelby

Tommy had absolutely no intention of ever being with another woman after Grace died. He was fiercely protective of her memory, of the lingering remnants of the bond they shared that was so strong he felt its pull from beyond the grave.

He completely shut in on himself for the year following her death. Even his interactions with his siblings were perfunctory at best, threatening as they were to his carefully constructed emotional state. He much preferred to cope through isolation, working himself to exhaustion and praying for a dreamless sleep.

Consumed as he was in this struggle to regain a handle on his emotions, Charlie began to slip out of his grasp without Tommy registering what was happening. His son, his one living link to Grace, stole the photo of her resting in the front foyer and slept with it under his pillow, and began to avoid him entirely, rushing to his bed and feigning sleep whenever he heard his father’s car crunching the gravel of the driveway after a night at work.

Obsessive as he was over maintaining a grip on his life, Tommy didn’t realize just how obvious his mental decay had become to everyone around him. When the tensions with the Italians escalated, he was thin and nervous when he needed to project an aura of strength and confidence.

It was fiercely held traditionalism which fully shifted his world. In his brashness John had let his defenses down, and Luca’s men caught him off-guard at home, wounding him so severely he was in a hospital bed for months. Two days after the initial incident, Tommy received a phone call from Luca himself, delivering an ultimatum in hushed, rapid tones.

“I can offer you an out, Mr. Shelby. Either we unite our families forever in marriage and put an end to this war, or the next Shelby touched by my men’s bullets won’t be lucky enough to recover.”

Luca took his shocked silence to indicate an acceptance of the offer, and informed Tommy his new wife would be sailing in from New York within the week.

Calling a family meeting in panicked tones, Tommy raged into the thin air about the “nerve of the fucking wops” until he realized everyone in attendance was regarding him with a patiently judgmental air.

“This might not be the worst thing, Tom,” Polly aired cautiously. “Lord knows Charlie is aching for a mother. He barely speaks to anyone these days.”

“Don’t tell me how to raise my OWN FUCKING SON-” Tommy caught himself in his rage, breathing through the tightness in his chest and nodding once, quickly, more to himself than to the members of his family murmuring in agreement with Polly’s proposition.

“Fine. I’ll fucking marry her. Ada, start making some arrangements” and with that, Tommy swept out of the office as abruptly as he had arrived, finding the nearest deserted alleyway and slamming his fist against the facing brick wall so hard the seam of his gloves split. He could feel Grace slipping away from him, and the hand that wasn’t bleeding clenched of its own accord, as if he could catch her memory and bury it within him forever.

His new wife arrived four days later, one of Luca’s numerous cousins, young enough for their union to be controversial and unwilling to display fear, walking down the gangplank of the ship to her waiting fiance with her shoulders rolled back and her steps confident. She seemed to know instinctively which of the Blinders waiting for her was her husband-to-be (or, Tommy conceded, she had been shown a picture,) and walked up to him with a purposeful stride, extending her hand in greeting.

“Tommy Shelby,” she said, half statement and half question, and Tommy chose not to respond, instead quirking an eyebrow at her and taking the outstretched hand, leaning to kiss it and taking note of the flash of surprise she couldn’t quite contain.

“I’d imagine you’re not used to the Birmingham cold, Miss Changretta. Perhaps we should get to know each other indoors.” She took his outstretched arm without further comment, and Tommy tried not to notice how warm the imprint of her hand was in the crook of his elbow.

Upon arrival at the Garrison, Tommy opted to let Ada sweep her out of his grip, retreating to his office rather than being forced into more interaction with the woman who would push Grace out of his life.

Their wedding was scarcely a week later, assembled in all its opulence and glamour through Herculean effort on the part of the women in the family. Tommy insisted that the ceremony be held in a different church than his first wedding, and uttered his vows with practiced indifference, barely brushing her lips with his own before he was turning and ushering her back down the aisle.

He surprised himself with an urge to stay by her side during the reception, placing a hand on the back of her chair and leaning into her ever so slightly when she spoke.

“You have a beautiful home,” she offered, glancing around the vaulted ceilings of Arrow House and pausing her gaze at the large painting of Tommy, Grace, and Charlie, still in its honored position at the head of the table.

“My first wife,” he told her, and she inclined her head in a way that indicated the explanation wasn’t necessary.

“My son, Charlie, he-” Tommy paused, unpracticed in the phrasing of emotionally vulnerable words, “-he needs a mother. I need you to be that for him.”

She turned fully to face him at those words, resting her hand lightly on his shoulder and infusing her words with sincerity. “Let me meet him. I swear I’ll be good to him.”

She was true to her word. His wife threw herself enthusiastically into the role of surrogate mother, keeping Charlie company after his lessons and sitting up with him at night when he dreamed about Grace. Tommy had once found her asleep next to Charlie, legs hanging off the end of his small bed and holding him close as he twitched in his sleep.

For all the affection she held for his son, Tommy wasn’t willing, or able, to reciprocate. They were ghosts to one another, almost never keeping the same hours and barely speaking to one another some days. He tried to justify it to himself, to tamp down the voice in the back of his head crying out against his cruelty, cringing in pain when both his wives appeared before him whenever he closed his eyes.

Tommy sometimes felt twinges of guilt at his actions, at the way he’d thrust this young girl into his life and refused to offer her any affection. He watched, cooly and painfully distant as she coaxed his son out of his shell, and quietly earned the affections of the Shelby family. They slept in the same bed when Tommy could be bothered to sleep at all, and though she fell asleep facing away from him, there had been several mornings when he’d awoken to find she’d moved towards him in her sleep, her forehead just barely resting on his chest. He was always quick to leave the bedroom on those days, terrified by the implications of that physical closeness.

Charlie had returned the photograph of Grace to its rightful place in the foyer, and Tommy had taken to visiting it, settling himself on the ground and staring up at her face helplessly, his gaze begging for guidance. She found him, one of those nights, and settled herself next to him without a word.

“I owe you more than this,” he admitted, eyes still fixed on Grace.

“I can fend for myself.”

“No, that’s not-you’re my wife.” Tommy turned to face her, fixated on the concern in her eyes. “You deserve more than this. I can...I will give you more of my time. You are my life now.”

Suddenly exhausted, Tommy didn’t bother to decipher the expression in her eyes, lowering his head to her shoulder and letting her cradle him, closing his eyes to the beating of her heart.

#peaky blinders #peaky blinders imagine #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby x reader #Tommy Shelby

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tundrainafrica · 4 years ago

Text

Title: Passion Project (4/4)

Summary:

“Ignoring Hange Zoe had become a little passion project he allowed himself to indulge in, in between expeditions and quietly mourning unnecessary deaths in the battlefield.”

Levi tries to ignore Hange but it never seems to last. A ficlet detailing the development of Levi and Hange’s relationship before canon.

Link to cross-postings: AO3

Link to other chapters: 1 2 3

“Captain, you’re moving a little too fast, could you please slow down with the next titan?”

“Moblit, this is the tenth titan I’ve killed today.”

“Apologies sir, we might need some clearer sketches so our squad leader could make the final decision on these blades.”

“Okay then.” Levi held back the grimace that was threatening to come out then. Moblit was just following orders after all.

Cooperating with each other’s squads was Erwin’s orders and in the end, Levi and Hange still had to work together. The first few experiments were easy, quality checking improvements for grenades, base supplies, flare guns and gas cannisters. They were all routine and Hange didn’t need to be there. Soon after she stopped showing up, Levi started to realize he didn’t have to show up in any of her capture missions either, only making it easier to pretend she didn’t exist.

At that moment though, having been stuck on the wall strategizing for more than four hours already, Levi was starting to accept that pretending Hange didn’t exist wasn’t such an efficient idea. When Hange wasn’t simping for titans after all, she had the brain of a logistics and a research prodigy, a rare gift that had propelled her to the top of that military section in the first place.

Levi couldn't help but think with his little struggle with Moblit, he had just stumbled upon a situation of the blind leading the blind. And with every failed attempt to get feedback on the prototype blades, its effect on the balance of the user, and the efficiency with which it cuts through the titans' nape, the inevitable only became all the more inevitable (if that was even possible). They wouldn’t make it on time for their deadline.

Levi jumped back down to the foot of the wall. There were three more titans attempting to scramble up the walls to no avail and Levi had two tests, the control and the experimental test and with that, two types of blades to test, the original and the prototype. They had come up with the genius idea of using a different type on each hand. Or begrudgingly, it had been Hange’s idea which Moblit had so graciously told him that afternoon after their miserable last session a few days before.

We need to check how deep you can slice with each of them. Moblit had said. And whether it slices cleanly through the neck. The older weapons were naturally duller which made cutting up napes a tall order for the average soldier.

Hange though had been working on a different blade which could make killing a titan an achievable goal for even the cadets in the garrison unit.

Levi felt some difference having been using those same blinds for long enough already. It was nothing more than a minute difference in movement for him. Levi was good with comabt which made him so easily adaptable already to the difference of blades. Hange had sworn though that there was a stark difference, many experiments ago back when they were still on speaking terms. With that unspoken yet mutual agreement not to speak though, Moblit was left with the burden of sketching what he can to capture that minute difference and Levi was left to find a way to slow down his movements to something accessible to the naked eye while exposing himself to the novel risk of being eaten by a titan with every single round.

Levi only realized as the sun started to set below the horizon and the sky started to look a little redder, that they had been up on the wall for what must have been five hours. They were both blind and consequently inefficient.

“We could try this another day?” Moblit suggested.

“You should get NIfa or Keiji here to help next time. More people to sketch, the faster this will go.”

Moblit put down the sketchpad and sighed. “I’m the only one who actually sketches among us so I don’t think they would be much of a help either. Our worst case scenario then is we hire other artists? Hopefully Commander Erwin would allow the funds for that. ” Hange’s right hand man had a generally courteous demeanor. Although Levi had felt a little accused by Moblit’s face, he couldn’t tell if the man really meant to inject spite into that statement.

He was right though. For one, of course Erwin wouldn’t waste the already low budget the Survey Corps receives every year on artists when a free alternative existed already.

Get Hange to show up for the experiment.

But it wasn’t that easy. Levi thought to himself. Eventually his anger at Hange dissipated but by then, even before he was aware of it, ignoring each other had morphed into a cruel game by some nonverbal agreement between both sides. Hange just stopped looking at him when they were in the same room and he decided to reciprocate that same action. Possibly out of pride more than anything else.

The situation at the scouts headquarters that night was no different. Hange and Levi’s squads were stationed nearby and everyone knew each other fairly well. As they all reunited in the castle after Hange’s successful attempt at training her own squad and Levi’s special Ops squad for the next titan capture attempt and Levi’s unsuccessful attempt at testing the blades, the tension in the room only became stronger.

Levi felt it as a sensation that consumed him slowly from his toes all the way to his fingertips, leaving him unable to do much but lock gazes with whoever was nearby that wasn’t Hange. He heard it in the uncomfortable mumbles of both Oluo and Petra, the more emotional ones in his team and he saw it in the way Moblit had a smile much wider than what should have been professional.

In his peripherals, he saw it, Hange making small talk with Gunther and Eld to her right, praising them for their quick wit and their ability to master the titan capture contraption she had been cooking up.

The frustrating part was, there was no tension in the way Hange gesticulated and gave out praises in that annoyingly sing-songy tone. Back then, it had felt like screeching in his ears. At present, that voice completely bypassed the ears and went straight for his chest sending piercing and almost nauseating sensations through his heart.

“I'm really grateful. Thank you for all of your help cleaning the lab last week. And of course, for cooperating with me today. My family sent over some souvenirs so I thought I’d share it. ” Hange went for the cupboards to the side of the common room and came back with a large enough bag with the familiar royal seal of that same familiar black tea shop.

“Their shortcakes are also pretty good so I asked my parents to send some over.” Hange continued as she laid out the boxes on the table. There were boxes of tea and boxes of shortcakes. Levi quickly counted them and was sure there was enough on the table for every single person in the room to have one box of tea and one shortcake.

Hange started to slide boxes over to the other soldiers

Rashad. Gunther. Moblit. Nifa. Eld. Keiji. Lauda. Oluo. Levi had occupied himself by saying the names out loud in his head. Hange was taking her sweet time, making sure to say a word of praise to every single person on the table.

That friendly gesture on her end only served to pull Levi back to the situation at hand despite his attempts to distract himself. Was she going to say anything about me? Was she going to apologize? Make peace?

He was on the other side of the table though, the farthest from her and Hange had gone for those closest first. He had to be patient.

After what felt like a lifetime to Levi, Hange only had four more boxes on the table. Two for herself and two for me. Levi thought to himself. Despite the tensions in the room, he found himself excited to be able to taste the delectable shortcake which he had been admiring in the underground, along with the black tea that despite the somewhat salty memories in retrospect still had the malty and bitter taste he enjoyed so much.

Levi chose the exact moment her hands went for the black tea to look up at her. To his surprise, she was looking back at him.

They were on opposite ends of the large round table and thus, the distance only made it difficult for Levi to realize that she wasn’t looking at him at all. It was as if she was looking past him.

At the window behind him. “Looks like it’s getting late everyone. We should get back to the barracks. I’ll keep these two for myself,” Hange said, sliding two of the boxes into her bag.

And the other two? Levi found himself asking silently. The discomfort he was feeling had him speechless.

As if to answer his question, Hange slid the two boxes across to Petra. “Petra, you really worked hard on that first aid plan today. We're trying to keep casualties to a minimum so that was really a great addition to the plan. You deserve something extra.”

“Ah… Thanks!” Petra answered. Levi noticed she had snuck an uncertain glance at him. Levi looked away, not wanting to influence whatever decision Petra chose to make. There was only one decision though that could have made Levi the least uncomfortable at that moment.

“Maybe you should share it with some family or friends?” Hange suggested. “You might know someone who would appreciate this. I heard It’s going to be pretty difficult to find something with this recipe from now on since they’ll be phasing out the shortcake. I heard they’ll be changing the black tea recipe too. It’s one of my favorite mixes so I’d be happy if as many people as possible got to try it.”

Hange could have been thinking about him or she could have been thinking about anyone in the general public. Levi though had erred too much on the side of the assumer.

He didn’t want to make that mistake again.

Passion Project

“To be frank, I don’t feel too good about having to approach you too like this. As a commander and as your friend, I trust both of you to do your jobs. As of late though, it looks like you two have been experiencing some bumps when actually trying to do your jobs. Care to explain?”

To Levi’s relief, Hange spoke up. He had no plans of being the first one to answer.

“What do you mean by… bumps? Erwin?”

It was as if Erwin had been ready to answer the question for a while. His approaching the desk and pulling out a wad of papers conveniently at the top of his drawer had seemed rehearsed.

“Let’s see here,” Erwin said. “I am still expecting a deliverable on the proto-type blades the research team has been working on… And Hange, why does your plan for the next titan capture mission involve everyone in Levi’s squad except Levi. “

“I thought Levi would have been busy with experimenting on the new blades so I didn’t want to bother him too much. Also... since I’m only expecting to capture one titan on our next expedition, I think his squad is more than capable of handling the titan capture without him.”

I wouldn’t have picked them if they weren’t. Levi had to note. He found himself a little amazed that despite the tension between them, Hange had given a pretty reasonable answer.

“And about the experiments on the blades Levi, have you been working on those?”

“Yes. Moblit and I have been working on them,” Levi answered, keeping his replies as brief as possible. He didn’t think he had Hange’s charisma to pull off such a reasonable explanation but he should at least be able to manage not making a fool of himself.

“And it looks like you’ve been working on them for more than a month,” Erwin noted. He looked to Hange. “Hange, How many trials do you need?”

“Just one good one. I only need to see Levi’s movements and positions when he slices the blades, I think that’s more than enough for me to see whether the new prototype can really be helpful to the average soldier.”

“Then why is this taking a month to do?” Erwin looked to both of them and Levi was somehow relieved that at least whatever fault they may be concluded to have, it would most likely be shared between the both of them.

“I asked Moblit to sketch it,” Hange answered with the same charisma and confidence of a while ago. If Hange had been talking to an idiot with that tone, she would have convinced them.

Erwin though, was no idiot. “Sketch it?”

“Sketch Levi’s position.”

“You mean draw Levi’s position in the air while he’s slicing the titan’s nape.”

Hange nodded. “Moblit is a very good sketch artist.”

Erwin raised one eyebrow and turned to Levi. “And Levi, how has that been working for you?”

“Moblit says I move too fast,” Levi answered.

“And that’s why it’s been taking you a month to do this?”

“I’m still trying to learn how to slow down.”

“And why can’t Hange see for herself the experiment?”

“She’s busy,” Levi answered.

Erwin rested his chin on his hands. “Oh, so you too have been too busy to coordinate yourself that Petra and Moblit had to do all the liaising for the both of you?” He took out the first two pages and slid the rest of the papers under them.

One crucial part of being a leader of his own team had completely slipped Levi’s mind as he played the silent treatment card a little too seriously. The paperwork.

“If I recall correctly, I told both of you to fill out these reports together. A lot of the technological developments in the survey corps are dependent on both of your performances after all.”

Hange and Levi both remained silent.

It didn’t look like Erwin was giving them time to defend it either. “Why are these both signed Moblit and Petra? Neither of you could make it to the fortnightly meeting I required of both of you? And neither of you even bothered to tell one another you couldn’t make it?”

Levi swallowed the lump in his throat. That had been an oversight on his end and as he looked to Hange to see that same panic, it turned out he wasn’t alone. Levi had asked Petra to handle the paperwork so he wouldn’t have to deal with Hange.

And it turned out Hange had done the same.

“Both of you are lucky you have subordinates who know both of your trades so well that even if it wasn’t signed by them, I still would have thought the both of you prepared it.” Erwin said as he fixed the papers neatly on his desk. “Except the handwriting part.”

It was an attempt at some humor to lighten the already awkward mood of the room. It hadn’t worked though. With how he felt, Levi actually felt slightly insulted that Erwin had mentioned their shitty handwritings on top of their inability to do their jobs.

“I’m seeing an issue of communication here and I think you two should be addressing it now. The next expedition is in three days and I don’t want any unnecessary deaths just because of some bad communication and failure to deliver on both of your parts. If I see another paper signed by Moblit or Petra--- or scratch that, anyone else other than both of you, any time in the near future, I will shred all the reports I have right now and I will ask both of you to redo it all.” Erwin paused for long enough to glare at both Hange and Levi. “Don’t test me.”

And with that, the short meeting was over. Hange stood up, gave a friendly greeting and walked out.

The door frame could have fit both of them. Levi though, had let Hange go first, not wanting to confront her then. Hange’s face had been unreadable and after that small rageful stint in the research lab a few weeks back, he realized there were buttons about her, he just didn’t want to push just yet.

“Levi, stay.”

Levi looked back at Erwin and mechanically moved back to his seat.

“Moblit and Petra already told me about what happened so I don’t need the whole story from you if that’s what you’re expecting,” Erwin started.

“What did they tell you?”

“What happened after the titan went loose and after her lab got destroyed.” Erwin shook his head. “But that’s not the point. As your commander, I’ll say this. You and Hange are two of the most valuable soldiers in the survey corps. It was your cooperation that got us into this standing in the first place and that’s why it’s in all our best interest that you two keep your communication lines open.”

Levi could only listen.

“And as both of your friends, this is what I have to say. You two are just going to remain as miserable as you are right now if you don’t fix this between yourselves.”

“Miserable? What makes you think I’m miserable?” He had already accepted long ago that it was making him miserable. What makes you think Hange is miserable?

“Maybe because you’re denying it right now?” Erwin said.

There should have been more to it than that. And the knowing look Erwin had given Levi then only added to his self consciousness at that moment. He noticed everything from the way his shoulders dropped, to the way he had leaned further into the chair and the way he had let his eyes fall to the floor below him. “And Hange? What makes you think Hange’s miserable?”

“She denied it too.” Erwin looked pointedly at Levi. “In this exact same way.”

Passion Project

Erwin had made sense. If that whole debacle with the titans and the cold war that followed hadn’t made him a little miserable, he probably wouldn't have entertained the prospect at all. Whether he could say the same for Hange, at that rate he didn’t want to assume.

The commander had seemed privy to both sides and it was he who decided the next plan of action to go about the rift that was created between the two.

Talking to Hange is easy. Proving to her that you still consider her a valuable friend is a little harder.

It was only through Erwin’s words did he realize how much of an arse he had been to Hange lately. He had played that little game of silent treatments since Hange had approached him about the titan capture mission. All he needed was Erwin to knock some sense into him before he quickly recalled everything, while a little more biased against his own actions.

And this is how you repent for this. Levi had to remind himself as he wandered through the woods. He wasn’t excited at all for the plan Erwin had laid out.

“Hange has been a little hyper fixated on getting a specific type of sample she wanted to work with. If you give it to her as a peace offering, maybe you could win back her trust?”

Maybe? It wasn’t a maybe. Erwin had proposed it in a way that it sounded foolproof. And Levi was starting to become a little more convinced that it might just work. Not just because of Erwin’s persuasion. Also because he was doing something that had been so unimaginable and so repulsive of an idea that he would have never done it if it wasn’t for the suggestion and the eventual prodding of Erwin. He probably would have tried any other idea first. But that was the idea left for him. He was desperate and somehow, he was clinging to the hope that Hange would see that desperation.

Most titans stay in the woods so keep an eye out for it. They’re usually on the ground next to the trees and they look like tiny cocoons. Levi was sure he knew what Erwin was describing. In fact, he had seen them multiple times before.

Maybe in this same forest. He had his procedural memory on his side. All he had to do was retrace his steps. As if his own motivations to talk to Hange again were spurring him on, he didn’t take too long to find one.

The cocoons were titan puke and they didn’t dissolve as easily as titan blood. Beneath those cocoons were half digested dead bodies.

But Hange doesn’t need those. She wants the digestive juices. Erwin had pointed out.

“The digestive juices and the spit,” Levi repeated to himself like it was some sort of mantra. He only ever wanted to do that once in his life and that only time he would be doing it, he needed to do it perfectly or risk having to go back.

He took out the jar he kept underneath his cloak and bent over next to the cocoon. He pulled his green cloak up to his face to at least protect himself from the odor that he was sure was coming.

The cocoon already had an odor, a faint ominous odor that only hinted to Levi that there may have been more of it underneath.

With one blade, he poked a hole into the cocoon, and ripped it open a bit towards the top. It was big for an arm to move freely inside without actually having to touch the shell of the cocoon. It wasn’t big enough to send the digested material spilling out.

The smell was horrendous and Levi felt tears spilling out of the corners of his eyes. Even with a first line of defense on his face, nothing had prepared him for the stench of rotting flesh mixed with digestive juices and a titan steam. It had his head spinning and Levi found himself teetering to a tree as far away as possible from the scent but still at least near enough to keep an eye on the cocoon.

He took a break and he made sure it was a quick one. He counted down two minutes to be exact. He only had ten to twenty minutes to finish this little project before a titan appears or worse, his squad starts to look for him. He had little time to waste.

He removed his cloak, folded it and wrapped it tightly around his face, covering all the way up to his eyes which were burning from the stench.

This wasn’t a test of courage nor was it a life threatening combat situation. As Levi got closer to the cocoon, he quickly memorized his surroundings before pulling the cloak up to his head. For that five minutes, he could spare his vision and his full range of movement. He could be as cowardly as he wanted to be.

But really, he would have rather been facing thirty titans at that moment.

Levi found himself having to talk to himself, having to coax himself through the motions just to be able to get his feet moving towards that horrible stench. All he had to do was feel around for the cocoon, dip the jar in, quickly put the cap over it, run away and the hell should be over.

“Levi, why are you here? And why are you like...” A voice rang out in the darkness.

The hell would have been over. It seemed like the devil heard his monologue and opened up another circle of hell.

“Hange?” He had attempted to say. The cloth had gotten caught in his mouth and it had ended up sounding a little more like a muffle. He had tried to enunciate the words a bit before the fold of his cloak got further caught in his mouth.

Levi should have godly balance with the amount of experience he had flying through the air, killing man eaten beasts. At that moment, incapacitated by the foul odor, the awkwardness of the situation, the embarrassment of being caught in it and the disorientation that came with having a piece of cloth tightly wound over his whole head, Levi lost his balance for the first time in years.

He fell forward with a big, loud and incredibly putrid splash.

“Hey! Are you okay?”

Levi felt arms around him before the putrid and mildewy smell rushed up his nose, taking his consciousness with it.

“Get yourself together!”

Passion Project

When Levi came to, the odor hadn’t left. In fact, it was more pungent that he could even remember and Levi had to bury his face on the cloak that was conveniently in front of him to stop himself from hurling whatever those odors were pushing out of him.

The cloak didn’t smell as clean as his own. Any smell though far enough from the one he had just witnessed was a good enough respite. The respite didn’t last long though, soon enough the scent did creep up on him and as Levi soon realized, the cloak had the beginnings of that same odor.

He was the one who smelled like it. That exact moment when the odor did rush through him into his nostrils and spread to both up his head and down his throat, the horse he had been riding broke rhythm and had Levi jumping in his seat.

“Stop….” Stop the horse. Levi felt the contents of his stomach quickly climb up as if the odor had pulled them out himself.

“Levi, you okay?”

Of course I’m not! Levi would have wanted to say. Before he could even ponder the ridiculousness of the question, his body took over his inhibitions.

The last thing he remembered before faded out of consciousness was the cloak in front of him drenched with his own personal cocktail of digestive juices.

Passion Project

“Good morning!”

It had been a week since they got back from the expedition

“I brought breakfast.”

And he had been waking up to that same view of Hange by the door since he started to get a better sense of his surroundings.

The breakfast consisted of bread and egg whites just like he requested. He had attempted a more daring combination of food when he first woke up, and the first night Hange had even tried to serve him black tea. The foul odor which still lingered like a ghost made itself particularly known through his taste buds. With the more daring food choices, Levi found himself facing a disgusting mix of rotten mildew and edible food which had him nauseated if not throwing up at just the first bite.

With the plain choice of egg whites and a piece of bread, he was at least able to placate that little ghost of an odor. He didn’t enjoy the tastes and the sensations which still stung at his throat and rushed to his nose in the most inopportune time. As Hange had told him though countless times since they got back from the expedition, he still had to eat.

He was halfway through the harrowing experience of chewing the bread when Hange spoke up.

“I looked into the samples you took and I think I found out why it smelled weird. To be honest, I threw up too when I opened the jar.” It was just like her to have a little lack of awareness at the fact that Levi was still far from recovered from the titan cocktail debacle and the fact that he was still eating when she mentioned it.

Levi willed himself to swallow the last morsels of bread. “You really want to talk about it now?” he asked, eyeing the plate of egg whites in front of him. The egg whites were starting to look less appetizing by the second. As if they were appetizing. Levi almost forgot how ‘appetizing’ actually feels like.

“We can talk about something else first,” Hange suggested.

Levi pushed the plate away. “No, go ahead.” He had lost all motivation to force the food down his throat. Somehow, the explanation for his one week of recovery that followed that splash into what could have been hell seemed to be more ‘appetizing.’

“The cocoon on top of the rotting flesh and organic matter, was the ideal environment for some fungi to grow too. And that pungent smell was released by the fungi when their vacuum was disturbed…” Hange started. “On top of the titan spit and the rotting bodies…”

Levi knew it was odd. Despite being his fastidious self, Levi had been exposed to enough disgusting things to have at least been able to stand the odor. He had been drenched with titan blood. He had been surrounded by dead bodies a few times. That odor shouldn’t have been enough to knock him out.

But it did.

The pungent odor was cruel. It lingered for days. In fact, even Erwin had sympathized as if he knew how horrible that smell had been. He had given him the week off after the expedition to get his life together after. It was Hange who had stayed in the room while he alternated between the bed and the bathroom. It was Hange who forced him to eat enough so he wouldn’t starve to death.

That week while he recovered from the ordeal of a head first splash into the cocoon juice, his life consisted of sleeping and showering and struggling to eat in between.

“Figures…” Levi said

“And for someone as obsessed with cleanliness as you, of course it would have made you a little sicker.” Hange paused for a second and her lips curled up subtly. “And you did dunk your head in.”

Levi blinked back the memory of that fiasco. It had seemed like a fevered dream then. From what he understood, he had flitted in and out of consciousness on the way back from the last expedition. There were voices discussing the logistics of transporting an unconscious yet stinky captain and one notable voice that had stuck out, so confidently volunteering to have him ride behind her. The only proof that it was anything but a fevered dream was that vivid memory of throwing up half conscious on Hange’s horse and the strong bout of embarrassment that followed. So strong that Levi felt the blood rush through his face just thinking about it. He ended up looking away. That was the last thing he wanted to recall then. He coughed. “Did you find out anything else from those samples?”

Hange shook her head, looking regretful. “Nothing much that could have hinted to the origins of titans. So far… It was all rotting organic matter. The cocoon had smoked when you opened up, which means if there were fluids from within the titan, they might have evaporated already by the time you got the samples.”

“So it was all a waste?”

“Not really. I don’t think I’ve ever seen that type of fungi in my life. Maybe I could study it in my free time,” Hange said. “And you can help by telling me all about your experience.”

That wouldn’t be an experience Levi would have been happy to recall. But if she were going to continue looking at him with that same wonder and curiosity, with that same wide smile and starry eyes, he might just comply.

He didn’t tell her that though but he didn’t reject her either. “Maybe…”

“I’m sorry. I never got to thank you for the samples...” Hange’s cheeks were a little rosier which only made Levi stare at that smile for a little longer. “I was planning on getting samples during that expedition but then I found you there... getting them for me… Why did you?”

“You like studying titans right?”

“But I know you don’t like that I do it. You hate titans and you’re a clean freak. And I was, studying them, enjoying it, making messes, sometimes endangering lives…Ever since before, when I started focusing more on titan research, you don’t visit as often and when I suggested we capture a titan, you kept ignoring me. It’s like you’ve been avoiding me. And with what happened in the lab... You told me yourself you didn’t want to talk to me anymore… So I didn’t expect this at all…”

Levi admitted, he regretted those last few words. But everything before that, those biweekly tea dates, those hours he spent just waiting for her in the lab. How could those have been interpreted as him not wanting to see her? “Weren’t you the one a little too obsessed with your research?”

Hange widened her eyes. “Was I?”

“All you did was coop yourself up in the lab, I had to be the one to take you out for baths, force you to actually spend time with me. How the hell does that make you think I didn’t want to hang out with you.”

“Because you always sounded angry when we actually talked.”

“Did I?” Levi had to concede, she had been annoying and frustrating and maybe he had raised his voice at her. And he did have to knock her out a few times to get her to bathe. But did he really have any other choice?

“You knocked me out to bathe me,” Hange said pointedly.

“Maybe because I thought you should take care of yourself more and Moblit has been trying to tell you that for years.”

“Yes I get that Levi but knocking people out actually does the complete opposite of self care. You could have asked nicely.”

“Weren’t you listening? Moblit has been asking you nicely for years.” Levi hissed. “I had to resort to that because you weren’t listening to anyone. If the titans were the ones who reminded maybe you would have actually listened,” Levi turned to her and narrowed his eyes. “Does your relationship with your squad mean anything to you? Does our relationship mean anything to you? Or is the only thing in your head just titans now?”

Hange’s eyes were wide with shock for a while. The realization he could make out in her face was enough for Levi to stop and wait for her response. Her expression was at least enough for him to want to listen to what she had to say next.

“Maybe you’re right… I’ve been a little too excited,” Hange’s expression softened. “It’s been so long since I’ve gotten this excited over something. When I see titans, I’m excited, when I see an abnormal die, I get angry. When I got Ilse’s journal and read through it, Levi… I felt something bubble inside me and I was ecstatic for days. Is this hope? Wonder? There’s so much we don’t know about this world… I don’t know, I don’t think I’ve ever been this emotional in my life and lately, I get so excited just waking up every single day. How would you describe this feeling?”

Hange’s words were stilted and it was apparent that she was talking while coming up with what to side. Her words were coming out faster than her mind was coming up with them. Yet at the same time, they flowed so easily and smoothly, like an unimpeded stream.

Passion Levi could only suspect one emotion that could do just that to people. And as Hange started to talk about the one thing that had made her so emotional, so excitable and so hyper fixated that past five years. When he saw the way her eyes wandered around the room, probably not focused on her surroundings but on the memories of all those creatures that had made her so excitable, he was sure she was seeing more colors and more sensations.

He himself was no stranger to it. The past five years, he had been more irritable, more angry, more frustrated. At the same time, he had been happier. Back then, when they had first met, he never did understand what kept her rambling on to other people about nonsense. But somehow, with the amplification of his own emotions the past five years, the sudden emotional investment he gave to specific things, he started to emphasize.

You have your passion projects and I have mine. Levi closed his eyes and looked away. The truths and implications behind that sentence had Levi’s chest hurting and it brought back the memories of his own fractured ribs from many years ago having been squeezed by a titan. His heart was hurting and the pain rushed all the way up to his mouth.

And Levi swallowed it back in as quickly and as violently as it had rushed out.

“Hey? You okay? You’re gonna puke again?”

“No,” Levi managed to answer. He wondered though if he had come out as a croak or as a coherent answer. He kept his eyes closed and detached himself from his surroundings, allowing himself one final reflection of what had rocked him so violently to the core.

The realization came after an eternity that could have probably only lasted a few seconds. She was his passion project. Somehow, he wished that he had been hers too.

When Levi opened his eyes again, Hange had pushed a basin in front of him, ready to catch anything that comes out of him. She was staring at him so intently, saying things about keeping it down, getting some rest but he hadn’t been listening.

He saw wonder in her eyes. He felt concern in her tone. And maybe, underneath all that, there could have been care, and possibly even passion. Do I make you feel the same way? Do you feel things with me that you don’t feel with titans? Somehow, he had managed to convince himself that the expression she gave him as they locked eyes, were only his to enjoy.

“I’m fine.” As quickly as that feeling clenched at his chest and pushed the bile up at his throat, it pushed it back down again and with it had placated that war that waged inside him.

“Hey, you scared me. I thought you were gonna get sicker again and go on those long naps again. The last time you ever slept that long was in the hospital.”

Of course Hange would know. She had been the one visiting everyday. “I won’t. Besides, you’ve been visiting everyday right? Don’t you have research to do?” Levi asked.

“Well, I thought I’d wait for you to feel better first. Besides, there are things I wanna test and I’d rather you were there with me.”

I thought I’d wait for you to feel better first. Levi found himself smiling. “Thanks for taking care of me.” For once, she had picked him over titans.

“Of course, you’re humanity’s strongest and we have lots of work to do when you’re out of leave. Erwin still needs reports on the new blades and we’re going to have to redo the titan capture strategy if you’re willing to help out…”

As quickly as the smile had curled up his lips, it morphed into a grimace.

“But first things first, let’s focus on getting you up to speed. Are you going to finish those egg whites? You’re not doing yourself any favors leaving it like that.”

With the right prodding, Hange managed to get Levi to swallow those egg whites in spite of her incessant and detailed rambles about her findings on that very unappetizing cocoon.

Passion Project

Levi did not doubt it. Hange did live with passion. He felt it as a tingle in his eyes when he would count the stars in her eyes as she reported the results of her research over strategy meetings and nights of cafe. He felt it as blood rushing to his ears when he’d hear her shrill screams from up on the wall as he proved another one of her hypotheses about titans correct. He felt it when his nose burned as he entered the lab, only to have to knock her out for another bath.

It was fairly obvious what had been breathing life and passion into her. Those feelings were all tied to one thing--- titans. To save himself the potential pain of expecting something from the unexpected, Levi chalked up her passion for titans as an inevitable truth.

Sometimes though, he was the object of her shrill screams or those stars in her eyes. In those few times, he stood corrected. And in those not-so-few occasions he was proven wrong, Levi was happy for hours, maybe even days.

“I wonder if you’ll still get this much praise if they find out how much of a neat freak you are.”

One of the few places Hange seemed to give him more attention than usual was the ride to the gates of the walls. It was that heavenly in-between. Hange was too far from her lab, yet still too far from the field to be considering titans. And for those few moments, sometimes he did have her full attention.

Just like every other time she engaged in a non-titan related conversation with him, it was music to his ears. Those moments always came as a welcome reprieve Levi wished would never end.

“Just beyond these walls is a world of titans…”

Just like all other reprieves though it ended. Levi used the view of the gates rising in front of him as some sort of distraction to her passionate tirade

“I wonder what kind of titans I’ll meet today...”

And once again, Levi heard the passion. That time in the music in her voice as she trailed off.

“I would really love it if we ran into an abnormal!” Of course, Hange played favorites even among her favorites.

“There’s an abnormal nearby already.” That little provocation from Levi had come up as something so casual and emotionless. Yet, Hange ate it up so quickly, Levi was sure that was where her appetite went.

“Really? Where?” Even within the confines of the wall, she was still looking for them. As if she didn’t have enough test subjects, samples and records within the walls to stare at.

And that train of thought in particular had Levi wheeling his horse a little closer to her, just to mess with her a little more. Maybe illicit some reaction from her.

“Over here.” I’m the abnormal titan. I’ll be the abnormal titan you’re so idiotically looking for within the walls.

Hange only returned his look with a confused one of her own. He looked for stars in her eyes or maybe a flush in her cheeks to find none. She just seemed utterly confused and unpreturbed and Levi found himself feeling a little disappointed in return.

Titans were disgusting. They were filthy. They were chaotic creatures. In that split second where he felt himself manifesting just a little the titans Hange loved so, he wished he were one of them, just so she could look at him, just so she could talk to him with that same sing song voice and scream at him with that same shrill sound.

“Soldiers ready!” Erwin’s voice rang out among the crowd, so naturally grabbing everyone’s attention, notably his and Hange’s.

His duty as a soldier was always priority though. As quickly as he had manifested that jealousy towards the titans, he forced it out of his mind. When Erwin demanded attention, those passion projects took a backseat, something he would only reserve a minute or so to ponder in between titan kills.

He had expected that expedition to be similar.

It turned out though, there wasn’t much mind space or emotional space to consider that passion project any longer. With the siege of Trost, the capture of titans, the 57th expedition and the quickly progressing chain of events that followed, the frustration at the unrequited feelings that came with his passion project had faded into nothing more than a regularly passing thought.

Hange never left. In fact, he was working with her more closely than before. Her projects, her experiments, her conclusions and her crackpot theories fueled by passionate research were just turning out to be more and more crucial with every development.

It was slow going and sometimes Levi did entertain that green eyed monster that would pay its occasional visit. With each turn of event and with each truth uncovered though, Levi did eventually have to accept the harsh truth that accompanied their reality.

Maybe, it was for the better that the titans kept their rightful place, the center stage of Hange’s little passion project.

#levihan #levihan fanfiction

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novantinuum · 5 years ago

Text

Intake, Ch. 2

Fandom: Steven Universe

Rating: Teen Audiences

Words: 3600~

Summary: While waiting in the van, Greg reflects on the current state of his son’s mental health, and his many questionable parenting decisions.

This is set multiple months pre The Future, and is a bonus Greg-POV follow up to a previous one-shot I wrote. No context of that is needed to understand this.

If you read this and enjoy, I’d greatly appreciate your support through reblogs here, or kudos/comments on AO3 as well. AO3 link will be provided in the reblogs. Thank you! <3

____

Animated fireworks flash on Greg Universe’s phone screen, virtual fanfare for the virtual victor, as he clears the last king from the tableau. His brows shoot upwards in delight when he sees the final count of the timer. Wow, under three minutes. That’s close to a personal record. Not too shabby for a man who swears he finds a new strand of grey each and every week.

Another day, another successful round of solitaire in the bag.

Sighing, he almost clicks for a new deal, but then realizes it’s almost noon, and that his son is set to finish his first session any minute now. With that in mind, he switches off his phone and nestles it in the empty cup holder at his side, making sure it doesn’t touch the sticky soda stain covering a portion of the plastic. He’d kinda like to be paying attention when Steven exits the therapist’s office, rather than lose himself in a mindless distraction only to be startlingly yanked back to reality by timid knocks on the van door.

Timid.

If any word could be used to describe the way Steven dances around interactions with him these days, this one fits the bill. The boy will sometimes talk to him, sure, but it’s all small talk, short and curt responses, half-hearted shrugs. He’s positive there has to be more to his reluctance to fully engage, to even embrace him, but if so he’s not seeing it. At this point, the last time they had a true heart-to-heart conversation was on their road trip, before the crash. What on Earth happened? They used to be close. They used to share everything with each other, before he moved in with the Gems. Years later, he assumed they still did. And yet, after Dr. Maheswaran showed him the blunt reality of the X-rays on Steven’s chart... those dozens of healed-over fractures, speaking to a litany of injuries sustained throughout childhood, injuries he never knew about, all leading to trauma he never saw the signs of... he realized that, at some point, the two of them had drifted apart. When he was younger he thought he was correcting from his parents’ iron rule, letting his son have all the freedom he wanted. But was it too much? Was he that neglectful a father?

When did he stop paying attention to Steven’s emotional needs enough to miss his steep slip into mental distress?

He sighs, guilt lining the inside of his stomach like the burn of hard liquor coating one’s throat.

It’s not about me, he reminds himself. I can’t make it about me.

It’s the same mantra that kept him stubbornly pushing forward through waves of anguish and remorse weeks back, when his poor boy was roaring, slashing his claws at anyone that dared edge close, years of buried anger and pain thrown to the forefront in a veritable explosion of scales and thorns.

He glides his hand across the faux wood paneling on the dashboard as he consigns himself to recent memory, letting both his fingertips and his mind trace every dip and ridge of its grain. That was probably the most terrifying thing he’d ever witnessed in his life. His own son, disappearing in seconds into this... this monstrous thing, like all the corrupted Gems he used to see them fight from a distance but so, so much bigger. So much rawer. He genuinely thought he’d lost him forever that day. His own panic aside, he can’t even imagine what that experience must have been like for Steven. Remembering those heartbreaking three words he said before it happened, though, glowing pink on hands and knees, he’s not sure he wants to.

“Greg,” Dr. Priyanka Maheswaran says sternly as he exits the thrashed examination room, toting a clipboard under her arm. Her gaze, while undoubtedly sympathetic to the plight of the boy who’s currently changing back into his clothes in privacy, regards him with a fiery sort of reproval the likes he hasn’t squirmed under since he was a child himself. “We need to have a frank conversation about your son’s wellbeing.”

From the corner of his eyes he catches a blur of pink and faded denim blue pushing through the small office’s exterior door. Greg jolts to action, wiping what he fears is a self-pitying look off his face and attempting to replace it with something that looks halfway encouraging. Part of him’s terrified that no matter what he changes, it‘ll never be enough. He’s admittedly still at a loss for how to most helpfully interact with someone struggling with, erm... well, let’s be blunt— with long-untreated mental illness— but he’d do anything for his son’s sake at this point, even if that involves the hard work of addressing his own habits and convictions. He unlocks the van just as Steven walks up alongside.

He can’t help but briefly hold his breath the moment the passenger door opens.

The teen appears no different than he did when Greg left the office to sit in the van an hour and a half ago— his eyes are downcast, drawn with exhaustion, expression unreadable— but to be fair he supposes it’s silly to expect any drastic shift in mood after only one session. Right?

“Now, to be clear, I’m not licensed to diagnose mental disorders,” she explains, glancing up from her notes, “but from everything I’ve witnessed, tested, and heard from him today I have a strong suspicion that he’s dealing with post-traumatic stress.” Mouth pinched, she drops her clipboard on the counter beside them, its dull clap as it hits the laminate punctuating the sheer gravity of her words. “There’s my prognosis,” she says bluntly, palms spread wide. “This looks like textbook PTSD, ignored and overlooked for months.”

Greg lets the bitter reality of those four letters sink in, his eyes burning, throat dry, his heart cracking with despair at the very thought of— he only barely holds back what he’s sure in this circumstance, host to the scolding of a medical practitioner, is a pathetic sob— of his Steven, suffering through all these turbulent emotions for goodness knows how long, no one the wiser, no one noticing his silent cries for help, no one—

He... god, he didn’t know. He didn’t know! How could he have been so stupid to not have noticed?

“You do understand how serious this situation is, yes?” she continues when he doesn’t vocally respond. “How- how irresponsible it is to have never taken your sixteen-year-old son in for even, what? A simple check up? And, and—“ she holds her hands up before he can blurt out a response. “I know what you’re about to say. I know he’s half-Gem, I know he’s different than anyone else on this planet. But he has human needs, too, Greg! I just—!” Priyanka inhales deep, pressing her thumb against her temple as she pauses to catch her cool. “Pardon me. I’m sorry for snapping. I know you love him, and mean well with him, but at this point, we need to face the truth. That boy is hurting, badly. And if he’s going to have any chance of recovering from this, he needs your full support now more than ever.”

The passenger seatbelt clicks, the door already closed. Steven sighs under his breath, sinking into the time-worn, faded seat back. Greg studies his son’s face for a moment, noting with concern the lines of stress creased under his eyes.

“Hey, bud,” he says, his hands shifting to the wheel, nervously fidgeting as he waits for a response, any response.

“Hey,” he mutters, already pulling out his phone. (Probably to text Connie, if he has to guess. Greg counts himself thankful that he has this solid friendship to help anchor him at such a difficult point in his life. Simultaneously, his heart aches knowing the stress that girl’s surely gone through by choosing to be a support for him.)

“How... erm, how’d it go?”

He gives him a big shrug, his fingertips blazing across the screen in an almost dizzying display of dexterity. “It went.”

Greg’s fingers rap against the sun-stained leather. “You still game for gettin’ some food?”

“Yeah. That’s fine.”

Okay. Good. Lunchtime is a go, then, he thinks, diverting his notice to the keys in the ignition. Despite this, there’s a shade of disappointment that tints the atmosphere within this space. Unable to shake the harrowing feeling that he failed some sort of unspoken test with his son, he starts the van and— mentally plotting a course to that good Thai place Steven discovered a few months back— carefully pulls out of the cramped parking lot onto the main road, hoping that this extension to their time together may eventually chip away at the ice that’s formed between them.

Some classic rock plays on the radio as he drives, a band Greg distantly recalls hearing via his classmates in high school but can’t remember the name of. The singer’s mellow tenor effortlessly fills the gaps left behind in their timid silence. Briefly glancing away from the road, he catches Steven’s fingers tapping against his phone to the beat as he waits for a reply to his text, lips drawn. It’s an almost minuscule display, so subtle that any untrained eye might miss it, but witnessing this proof that his son is still very much capable of finding pleasure in music, however small said source of pleasure may be, he can’t help but smile. Soon enough, he passes the crooked street lamp on the corner of Glover and 4th that he always uses as a mental marker when navigating around the small town of Seaside, and takes a quick left at the next stoplight. It’s funny... this place is only twenty or so miles away from home, but given gas costs and his habitual frugalness, he hasn’t explored this county enough over the years to form a good internal map beyond Beach City. Perhaps now, with his son coming to this town every week for therapy, that will change.

The song ends on a sleek guitar riff, and quickly transitions back to the station’s upbeat radio personality.

“You’re listening to Dragon’s Hoard FM, your home for all of music’s greatest treasures! Next up, a trip down memory lane... to a fan favorite from the 1971 best-selling artist... welcome to the party, Kerry Moonbeam.”

Static pours through his nerves as the next number begins to play, (why now, why now, what cruel cosmic timing is this??), robbing all sensation from his fingers. His knuckles grow uncharacteristically pale as he clutches at the wheel, wrestling for dominance.

“Looking for your place in the universe...”

He doesn’t dare shift his gaze from traffic this time, but all he can see in his mind’s eye is that glowing, nauseatingly bright pink. The unwavering tension hanging over them, thick as smog, as their conversation grows terse and grim. His son at the helm, the demons of their past steering their trajectory far out of anyone’s control, as— angered and upset over what he now accepts are entirely rational things— he openly calls out his failures, his lack of structure, lack of attention, his—

“Don’t you know the universe is looking too~ Looking for its place in yo—“

And with the twist of a knob, it’s over. Some local station replaces those tense airwaves, bringing him relief from tainted memory in an instant. His hand quivers as it returns to command of the wheel. In the passenger seat, Steven glances up from his text conversation with that instinctual concern he’s so prone to, eyes blown wide and colored with equal parts confusion and sympathy.

Notably, there’s not a sign of pink.

Swallowing hard, Greg considers saying something in explanation, but in the tangled complexity of their current relationship he can’t think of anything worth saying. Eventually, his throat runs dry in his own silence. His son stops gawking at him like another problem to be fixed, attention drifting back to his phone. His muscles loosen in sheer relief.

He sighs under his breath as he slows for a pedestrian at the crosswalk. Willfully, he buries himself in the mindless drivel of the local talk show he switched to for the rest of the drive, allowing their distant voices to cover the aching, lonely gap torn in his heart.

____

They put in their order when the waitress arrives, Steven settling on pad thai with egg and tofu, and Greg falling back on an old favorite with fried rice and pork. She jots this down on her notepad in a jiffy, pours them some water, then hurriedly scuttles behind the curtain that separates the kitchen from the remainder of the restaurant. It is the lunch rush, after all.

Thankfully though, even amongst the rush the two of them were lucky enough to be seated at a cozy table nestled against the back wall, affording them a decent amount of privacy. There’s enough ambient chit-chat bouncing around the room that Greg doesn’t feel eaten alive by that aching isolation he endured on the almost silent drive over, but not enough that these people’s presence feels suffocating. Steven slowly sips at his water as he politely listens to his updates on Sadie and Shep’s blossoming music career. He’s not saying much in response beyond asking the appropriate follow-up questions and then nodding his head at his answers, but in the end, that’s fine. Even if the recent lack of depth to their conversations bothers him, even if his son’s silence shatters his heart, in his mind it’s not fair to pressure him to interact in a manner he‘s not ready for yet. Greg just needs to be patient. He’ll open up to him when the time is right. There’s no need to push so hard that the remaining threads stringing their relationship together snap altogether, which is— if he’s honest— the future he fears the most.

The one where he becomes no better than his own over-controlling parents.

With his fingers obsessively rapping alongside the side of his glass, he continues to make substance-less small talk, anything to aid in the illusion that the two of them can still carry a conversation together.

“So yeah, that’s where they’re at right now,” he says. “They said they’re gonna put a pause on the touring, and start working on a full album.”

“Nice. Good for them,” Steven responds, the lines under his eyes betraying his underlying exhaustion, even if it appears he’s trying his hardest to mask it. (But for who’s sake?) “And you, you’re still gonna...?”

“Be their manager, yes. That’s still the plan.”

“Cool, cool.“

Their words fade amongst the ambient chatter, neither immediately leaping to comment further.

He softly clears his throat. “And, uh... in the end, I’ll be there whenever they need me, y’know? They might decide they want someone else supportin’ them along some day, and that’s fine.” He wrings his hands together atop the table, watching his son closely. “I only want the best for them.”

The teen’s hollow glance flits across the restaurant, landing from person to person, his leg bouncing nervously under the table all the while. Upon sensing this, it suddenly hits Greg that this is the first time Steven’s been out in busy public beyond the familiar faces of Beach City. For a second he can’t help but fret that all this activity— therapist’s waiting room, awkward car ride, going out to a busy restaurant at noon— will only serve to stress the poor kid out, but then again... pressing his silent worries onto the situation won’t help anyone. The only thing that’s important right now is for his son to know he’s always loved. Always heard, always seen, from this moment on.

After all his failures as a guardian in the years prior, it’s the least he can do.

And then, as Steven’s gaze shifts back into focus, Greg can wholeheartedly sense that he’s mentally engaged, delicate machinery in his mind whirring away as he processes every facet of this conversation, this moment, this place. He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and then opens his mouth to speak.

“With Sadie and Shep, well...” He scratches at the back of his neck, not quite sustaining eye contact. “I’m sure that... no matter what the future holds, they’ll always appreciate the support you did give them. Even if some of that support maaaybe wasn’t exactly what they needed at the time,” he adds as an afterthought, voice falling soft.

Something within his chest unshackles upon hearing these words, their double meaning more than clear to him. He blinks hard, desperately trying not to utterly break down in front of his own kid. “Steven, I—“

His attempt to piece together a heartfelt response is interrupted by the arrival of their lunch, steam wafting off each plate as the waitress sets them both on the table. They both offer their thanks, and unwind their utensils from their napkins. He’s quick to dig in to his fried rice and pork, having not eaten a full meal since last night. Steven, on the other hand, picks and prods at his entrée, something he’s noticed has become a concerningly common occurrence in recent weeks. He still eats, thank the stars, but not with zeal.

Greg is already midway through his plate before by the time his son‘s just started to put a dent into his own. The teen twirls his chopsticks around a clump of noodles and bean sprouts, seeming more lost in thought than usual. A moment passes, and he opens his mouth as if he’s about to speak up, but quickly shuts it again.

His brow creases with equal parts worry and curiosity. “You got somethin’ on your mind, bud?”

Steven frowns, abandoning his otherwise proficient chopstick skills to stab the tip of one of them into a hunk of tofu. “I guess it’s just that... well... nothing about that appointment was what I expected,” he says, and lifts his utensil to take a bite.

“Oh, yeah?” he prompts, and leans into the table with a surplus of attentiveness. All the while, he’s waging a desperate internal battle not to seem like he’s clinging to his each and every word. (Just let him open up at his own pace, Greg. Don’t be suffocating. Encourage him, but give him time.)

“It wasn’t like, bad,” he murmurs softly, his blank gaze drifting across the ornaments and framed art strewn across the restaurant walls. “But we barely even talked about the last few months? I thought we would, but we didn’t. Instead, he just asked a lot of questions about you, the Gems, Beach City, what it was like growing up. Some clarification on the history of the Diamonds, and the war. I dunno,” he shrugs, and twirls his chopsticks through his pad thai again. “It was kinda strange.”

Greg reflects for a moment on his son’s words, recalling with a slight grimace the first conversation he and the Gems had with Steven about considering therapy. At first he was strongly resistant to the idea, almost indignantly so, claiming that he could “sort this all out by himself” given time, that no one could ever relate to his exact problems enough to be of any help, and that he didn’t want to make his stupid life someone else’s burden in the first place. And even when they managed to convince him to give it a try, he still admitted worry about finding someone who knew enough about Gems to be qualified to treat him. So in that case, he can understand if the teen feels a little nervous, being asked so many questions about his complex lineage.

“Yeah, I hear ya’,” he nods, and then— catching the inside of his cheek between his teeth, rapidly weighing the pros and cons of risking a more in-depth comment— “With what Dr. Maheswaran’s told me about therapy, though, that sounds about normal for a first session, for anyone.”

Steven visibly perks up, perhaps in relief that for once his experience isn’t a unique exception like many other things in his childhood... schooling, housing situation, etc. etc... have been.

“Really? What- what did she say about it?”

“Mostly that it’s important for therapists to build context so they can better understand their client’s current state, or something like that.”

“Huh,” he says thoughtfully, sitting back in his chair. “Well, I guess that makes sense.”

“In the end, you’re definitely not the only one in this boat, Schtu-ball. And that‘s gotta be a little reassuring, yeah?”

He smiles in response. It’s small, merely a slight upward tilt of his lip, but it’s there. “Yeah. I suppose it is.”

____

Their conversation fades back into small-talk after that, but by that point Greg doesn’t feel so bothered. Instead, he feels as if a colossal weight’s been lifted from his chest. He’s not sure Steven fully understands the gift he’s given him today, opening up a little about his inner life after so many long weeks of self imposed silence, but the reassurance it’s offered about the state of their bond is astronomical. It promises healing, a brand new chance to listen and understand.

To change and grow in relationship together, father and son.

“Hey, Dad?” he asks hesitantly as he climbs into the passenger seat.

“Yeah, bud?”

He diverts his attention from the dashboard for just a moment, just long enough to catch a glimpse of the teenager. Clutching their leftovers in his lap, Steven’s eyes land on the stack of CDs tucked into the door pocket.

“D’ya think we can listen to one of your albums on the way back?”

With a watery smile, he switches the van’s radio to disk mode.

“Take your pick.”

#su #su future #greg universe #steven universe #su fanfiction #su fanfic #my writing stuff

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not-so-mundane-after-all · 4 years ago

Text

Fandom: DC Titans

Title: It’s Good To Be Home

Pairings/Relationships: Core Four, Dickkory, Dick Grayson & Rachel Roth

Summary: The Wayne Manor was truly breathtaking. Rachel heard a few stories about the place from Dick and from Donna, she even got to sneak a glance at it through their memories but actually seeing it with her own eyes was a whole different experience.

The car slowed down rounding the fountain and her heartbeat sped up in her chest. They were here.

Hugs | 13. Group hugs, Core Four - for Vanessa N Isaacs

Check out the prompt list | REQUESTS OPEN

____________________________________________

The Wayne Manor was truly breathtaking.

Rachel kept staring at it with her nose glued to the windshield of the black SUV that was taking her there. After a twelve-hour flight from Themyscira and landing in New York the Amazons really surprised her saying that they are going to escort her to Gotham and not San Francisco. Since then she was wondering what might be the reason the team relocated there (and she was hoping it was temporary) but she didn't mind as long as she'd be reunited with her family.

Right now though she wasn't thinking about that, because her mind was occupied with this enormous castle-like mansion with giant windows and high towers and open taraces and a fountain in the center of the driveway. Rachel heard a few stories about the place from Dick and from Donna, she even got to sneak a glance at it through their memories but actually seeing it with her own eyes was a whole different experience.

The car slowed down rounding the fountain and Rachel's heartbeat sped up in her chest.

They were here.

And then there was Dick - standing next to Kory with his hands in his pockets and head held high. He looked more nervous than excited and Rachel had to resist the urge to roll her eyes thinking about how frantic and worried he must have been this whole time. But when he noticed her and their eyes met, his face instantly lit up, lips turning up in a brightest smile and Rachel was getting out of the car even before the engine stopped working.

Standing in line in front of the main entrance were Dick, Kory and Gar. She had no idea they'd be notified of her arrival but apparently they knew she was coming and now there's a whole welcoming committee waiting for her. Gar was bouncing on his feet, his excitement threatening to explode like a bomb. Rachel couldn't decide what was brighter - his smile or his green hair.

Kory, gorgeous as always, was standing in the middle with her arms crossed over her chest and lips stretched in a wide happy grin. She was dressed from head to toe in various shades of her beloved purple, from high heel boots and leather pants to the shiny glittery shirt. Her long hair was darker than Rachel remembered but she smiled when she noticed that the iconic thick curls were back.

At first she just stood there, happy to stretch her legs after a long drive and looked at them, smiling so hard her cheeks hurt. They didn't move either, as if paralyzed by some invisible force, watching her from a distance.

She's not sure who took the first step.

Maybe it was her, too eager to finally reunite with them after so long. Or maybe it was them, heading towards her together as one because they couldn't stand being apart for even one second longer.

She's not sure who took the first step but Dick got to her first.

All Rachel knew was that she was running and suddenly she found herself engulfed in his strong embrace, the sensation pushing all air out from her lungs. She linked her arms around his neck when he picked her up and started twirling around in circles with her, laughing into her ear. Her feet were dangling in the air and Rachel started giggling and squealing in delight as well, feeling like a little kid.

"Finally!" he sighed breathlessly when they stopped and he put her back on the ground. "Welcome back, sweetheart."

She stepped away from his hold to look at him but that's when she was captured again in two different sets of arms. She didn't even notice when Gar and Kory threw themselves at her, hugging her as tight as they could.

"It's been way too long." Kory told her, pressing a kiss to her temple. Rachel leaned her head to her and the two of them pressed their cheeks together, smiling.

"Don't leave us like that again!" Gar whined with his head on her other shoulder, squeezing her even tighter. Rachel started giggling again but this time it quickly turned into a choked up sob. She promised herself she wouldn't cry, but she couldn't hold it back now that she was with her family again.

Dick's expression softened, his eyes gazing at her affectionately.

"Oh, honey."

"I've missed you so much, guys." Rachel chuckled through tears, looking each one of them in the eyes. Dick walked up to the group and wrapped his arms around them all, pulling them into a group hug with Rachel in the middle.

"We've missed you, too, Rach." he murmured and kissed the top of her head.

"Mhmm." Kory nodded and cuddled closer.

"Like hell." Gar added and buried his face in her shoulder.

The three of them held her so tight she was starting to run out of air.

"Guys-" she gasped, trying not to laugh too much. "I can't- breathe-"

Mumbling their apologies they loosened their hold a bit, but none of them were planning on completely letting go of her. They surrounded her, arms still linked together and looking at their smiling faces, Rachel couldn't be happier. It's good to be home, even if it wasn't the Tower. Dick, Kory and Gar were here and her home was with them.

Dick's face caught her attention, his eyes to be specific and she raised an eyebrow at him, smirking.

"Are you- crying?"

"No!" he said instantly, but wiped at his cheek with the back of his hand.

"He totally is." Gar teased him, joining in on the fun. "He was one giant bubble of emotion since the moment we found out you're coming back."

"That's not true." the older man huffed.

"Oh please, that was nothing!" Kory's laugh rang in the air and Rachel turned to her with sparkling eyes. "You should have seen him in the first few weeks after you left. He was a mess!"

Gar burst out laughing, earning himself a deadly glare from Dick. Rachel couldn't stop grinning like an idiot at this entire exchange.

"Oh, yeah! He took moping around to a whole new level."

"I wasn't moping around."

"Sure, Jan."

Dick froze.

"Oh, God." Kory sighed, turning her eyes at the sky. "Here we go again." Rachel glanced between her and the boys with curiosity.

"Gar, what did I tell you about quoting memes?"

"Oh, c'mon man! It was a perfect opportunity!"

"Anyway!" Kory interrupted them with that I'm-gonna-beat-the-shit-out-of-you-if-you-don't-stop-right-now smile of hers, putting an end to their little bickering, then turned to Rachel and took her hands in hers. "After Dick finally stops denying he's overly emotional-"

"I'm not!"

"-like right now,"

"I'm not." Dick denied stubbornly, then smiled at Rachel. "I'm just happy you're back."

"-maybe you'll get to tell us how was it, hmm?" Kory finished her sentence and suddenly Rachel felt all eyes on her again. Their excitement was all over the place. She chuckled and squeezed the woman's hands back.

"Of course! I have so much to tell you!"

"Then you better start now." Gar pointed a finger at her face before walking up to her and taking her by the elbow to basically drag her in the direction of the house. "I wanna know everything! Especially if you have any new tricks up your sleeve."

Rachel shrugged innocently, but sent him a mischievous grin.

"Maybe one or two."

"Yesss!!! And wait until I'll show you around the house! This place is so dope!"

"Hey, shouldn't I be doing that?" Dick called out to them, picking up Rachel's bag from the ground where she left it.

"Exactly!" She turned to her green-haired friend. "Shouldn't he be doing that?"

"He's not gonna take you to the really cool places."

She raised an eyebrow at him, suspicious. "Such as?"

Gar glanced in both ways as if checking if no one else was listening in on their conversation, then leaned closer to Rachel and whispered. "The Batcave."

This time she couldn't hold it in anymore - she burst out laughing.

"No way!"

"Yes way!"

As Gar continued his excited rambling, Rachel looked over her shoulder at the two adults that were left behind. Dick's eyes were on her this whole time, he was smiling fondly and winked at her when their eyes met. Kory stood by his side with her hand resting on his shoulder and was sending her a look that said good luck with him now. Rachel smiled back and rolled her eyes, then followed Gar through the main entrance.

***

Dick watched his kids disappear behind the giant wooden door feeling light for the first time in months. Having Rachel back took a giant weight off his chest and he finally could breathe again. He didn't want to ask about Donna, not yet at least, he knew Rachel is gonna share the news with him sooner or later, no matter if they are good or bad. Right now all that mattered to him was that she was back with them and she was safe.

"You were crying." Kory pointed out in a teasing tone, smirking at him.

"I wasn't."

"I know what I saw, Grayson."

They stared at each other for a long moment but eventually he gave up. And no, it had nothing to do with the fact that he was starting to get lost in her eyes. Or with her smile that made his heart racing.

"Okay," he sighed. "Maybe a little. I'm just glad she's back with us, you know?"

Kory smiled at him and rubbed his shoulder comfortingly.

"I know, me too. Our girl is finally back home."

#dc titans #dick grayson #rachel roth #kory anders #garfield logan #titans #titans season 3 #dcu titans #graysonfam #tumblr prompt

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writingpitcheswearingpearls · 4 years ago

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Nothing Says Soulmates More Than Sharing a Soul: Chapter 13

Ao3 Link

Once out of Danny’s body, Phantom found himself hyperventilating and his vision fading to black around the edges. This was it; the moment of truth. He was about to find out what Danny thought of him now that he’d seen his true colours.

“W-What just happened?” The sound of Tuckers voice got Phantom to turn and face him, which the ghost immediately regretted. Standing in front of Phantom with clenched fists and a heaving chest was Danny. There was so much pain and anger in his eyes, Phantom couldn’t help but immediately burst into tears.

“Danny, I –”

“Get out! I don’t want to see you!” Danny cut in with a furious growl. Phantom’s eyes widened with fear. He tried to say something, anything, but all he could let out was a pathetic whimper before turning and flying away as fast as he could.

As he frantically flew over the town, he felt pure dread fill his entire being. His absolute worst fear had been founded. Danny hated him the second he knew the truth, and now he’s lost the most important person in his life. Not only that, but he’s lost everyone else that’s important to him too. After all, it wouldn’t make sense for anyone to pick him over Danny. They’d only ever been there for him because they were under the impression that he was the friend they knew and loved, not some stranger who didn’t even have a clue who he really was.

Not being able to think clearly, Phantom flew straight back to Danny’s room and collapsed onto Danny’s bed, curling in on himself as he sobbed into the pillow that so painfully smelled of Danny. He knew he shouldn’t be there, but he had no idea where he was meant to go and it was the only place he felt safe. He figured as long as he left before Danny got back, there wouldn’t be any trouble.

“Danny? Are you back?”

At the sound of Jazz’s voice, Phantom choked on a sob. He somehow needed her and couldn’t handle the idea of talking to her. Immediately, Jazz burst into the room and rushed to him, apparently hearing him through the wall. She sat next to him and began giving frantic, yet still soothing strokes up and down his back.

“Danny! Are you hurt? What happened?” She asked in a panicked tone. At the sound of the name she called him by, he let out a small moan of distress and curled further into himself.

We haven’t told her yet…She still thinks I’m him.

“I- I’m not…” He tried to say through his sobbing, but the pain and fear attached to what he was trying to say made it all that much harder to let out.

“It’s okay. You can tell me anything, little brother.” She encouraged in a gentle voice full of protective feelings and love that he didn’t deserve. Finally, he found the strength to push himself up and back away from her touch.

“That’s just it! I’m not your little brother!” He exclaimed, bringing his arms close to his body and digging his nails into his biceps. It was all he could do to stop the frost that was building around him from spreading any further and hurting Jazz. He wanted to look up to see her reaction, but he couldn’t bring himself to.

“Don’t say that –”

“But it’s true! I was never actually Danny! I’m just some pathetic ghost that latched itself onto him, leeching off his memories and his friendships! Now you know the truth, you’ll want me gone too!” He cried out, lifting his hands to his face to clench his hairline.

“Phantom…” She said softly, before her hands wrapped around his to pull them away from his face.

“Please look at me. I… I already knew that you weren’t Danny.” That made him look at her.

“What? But then why did you call me that earlier?” He questioned with eyes wide with shock.

“It was a reflex, sorry. Having thought of you as Danny for four years, it will be hard to get used to the truth, even though I’ve had a couple of days to wrap my head around it. The point is that I know you’re not Danny, but I also know that nothing else you said was true.” She explained with a serious, yet empathetic expression. He opened his mouth to protest but was cut off when she raised her hand to gesture that she wasn’t done.

“You talk about yourself like some sort of malicious parasite, but that isn’t true at all. You’re a hero and the last thing I’d call you was pathetic!” She reassured. Phantom shook his head and looked away.

“You can’t know that. I have no idea what type of person I was before Danny, so who’s to say that fusing with him wasn’t intentional?” Phantom argued. The room was silent, and Phantom was afraid that what he’d said had convinced her.

“When that alternate future version of you fused with Vlad’s ghost, did he immediately go evil?” She asked.

Fuck, she thinks I’m going to go evil!

“I- I think so. I’m not sure.” He answered, shaking from how fast his core was pulsing with panic. He risked a look at her, only to become shocked to find her smiling.

“Great. So it stands to reason that when somebody fuses with an evil ghost, they are influenced to take on those evil traits. When Danny fused with you, he didn’t become evil, he became a hero. What do you think that says about who you were?” She explained with a confident tone that she reserved for when she was pretty sure she just won an argument. To Phantom’s confusion, it may have been warranted. He couldn’t find a way to argue with what she said. The calm only lasted a moment before he remembered the last time he spoke to Danny.

“Well, just because I didn’t go in a shit person, doesn’t mean I’m not a shit person now. You don’t know what I’ve done since separating from Danny.” He redirected. Her brow quirked in confusion.

“It can’t be that bad.”

“The second Danny found out, he never wanted to see me again.” Jazz blanched at his statement, visibly taken aback by it.

“What? That can’t be right. He wouldn’t –”

“But he did! He was everything to me and now that he hates me I’ve got nothing!” Phantom cried out, frost flashing out of him and spreading around the room, causing Jazz to flinch and jump up from the bed in shock.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to do that!” He apologised quickly, nearly reaching for her before thinking better of it. Jazz looked around the room at the ice damage, breath slowing down.

“It’s okay Phantom, you just surprised me. I’m not hurt. Has this been happening a lot?” She eventually said. Phantom groaned as he dragged his hands down his face.

“Yes. I can’t control my powers properly, especially my ice core. Danny has been helping me, but… without him I don’t think I’ll be safe around people anymore.” He admitted. The only place safe for him would probably be the Far Frozen. Frostbyte would surely take him in, even if he’s only half of “The Great One”. Jazz sighed, before sitting on the bed again.

“Phantom, I’m one hundred percent certain that if you just talk it out with Danny, you’ll find that he doesn’t hate you. That being said… spending some time away from him might be a good thing.” Phantom’s eyes snapped back to her, scared by what she’d said.

Is she telling me to leave?

Something about his expression must have told Jazz to realise what he was thinking, as her eyes widened and she suddenly raised her hands into a gesture that read “I mean no harm”.

“I’m not telling you to leave! I’m just saying that if you do leave, it may be good for you. It’s clear that you’re extremely dependant on Danny, so spending time away from him could help you develop as an individual and self-regulate.” She clarified. Phantom felt his shoulders drop, not realising that he had hunched them in the first place as he thought about what she said. Those sounded like things he wanted, but the idea of being separated from Danny for a long time gave him an uncomfortable tightness in his chest.

“In any case, you should wait until you talk to Danny before deciding anything. If you’re wrong about how he feels it will feel awful to leave with such a painful misunderstanding lingering between you. If you’re right, you’ll regret leaving without a proper chance to apologise and reconcile.” Jazz added on, bringing his attention back to her. The smile she gave him was warm and understanding, which he found deeply relieving.

“Thanks Jazz. For the advice… and for still caring about me even though I’m not your brother.” Phantom thanked sincerely, hoping his tone conveyed how deeply he meant those words. For a moment, Jazz’s eyes watered, before she suddenly lunged at him and pulled him into a hug.

“Listen closely Phantom, because if you don’t, I’m going to have to repeat it until it gets into that ectoplasmic skull of yours. Just because you aren’t Danny does not mean you aren’t my brother! You have been a part of my family for the past four years and that doesn’t end just because we aren’t blood related, you hear?!” She declared, voice shaking with emotion. Phantom couldn’t help but cry as he wrapped his arms around her back and clung desperately to his big sister.

“Dude, are you okay?” Tucker’s words cut through the tense silence. Danny turned to him and took in the concerned expressions of his two best friends. He groaned as he turned back away, too emotional to make eye contact with either of them.

“Not really.” He admitted lowly. So many emotions were bubbling inside him at that moment. Anger, betrayal, embarrassment, but mostly confusion. He wasn’t even sure confusion was an emotion, but he sure was feeling it.

“Did you want to talk about it?” Sam asked cautiously.

“Yeah, what the hell happened back there?” Tucker chimed in, voice raising in confusion. Normally, he would have loved to fill his friends in on what happened, but to do that he would have had to have processed what happened, and he did not want to do that any time soon.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Danny growled bluntly, hoping his anger would mask his fear.

“But –”

“Drop it, Tucker. He’ll talk about it when he’s ready.” Sam cut in. She offered Danny a supportive smile, which he tried to reflect back weakly.

“Fine, topic dropped. What do we want to do now, if we’re avoiding dealing with our problems?” Tucker relented. Danny was almost stunned for a moment. If he had told his fourteen-year-old self that Sam would be the one enabling him not to process his feelings and Tucker would be the vaguely more responsible one, he would have gotten a laugh and a “good one, Amorpho” from him, before immediately getting attacked. The thought made him chuckle lowly, before thinking of how to answer his friend’s question.

With everything he was feeling, he wanted nothing more but to distract himself from what had just transpired between him and Phantom. He was even willing to do something he had been avoiding doing ever since he became a hero.

“Is it too soon to go to Mikey’s party? I really just need to get drunk right now.” Danny asked, finally turning to face his friends. Tucker snorted out a short laugh.

“It won’t start for another couple of hours, and it won’t be cool to show up for another few.” He answered matter-o-factly. Danny groaned. He should have realised. Years of not being able to go to parties really made him a complete novice at them. Seeing his disappointment, Sam stepped closer to Danny with an encouraging smile.

“If you wanted something to do while we wait for the party, we could have drinks at my house and play video games.” She suggested.

“Pre-drinking before a house party? Wow, we are finally acting like real teenagers!” Tucker cheered enthusiastically. Danny put on a grin, hoping it conveyed his gratefulness to both his friends, while concealing the feelings he desperately wanted to ignore.

After sneaking into Sam’s parents’ liquor cabinet and several rounds of Ultimate Mecha Strike III that got progressively worse the more the trio drank, Tucker finally announced that it was fashionably late enough to show up at the party.

Sneaking more booze into their bags, the three of them took off on foot towards Mikey’s house, which was luckily only a short distance from Sam’s estate. Being in the same part of the neighbourhood, Danny really shouldn’t have been surprised by how nice Mikey’s house was. Not as intense as Sam’s “old money” mansion, but still quite fancy.

“Wow, drunk Danny sure is interested in architecture.” Tucker commented teasingly.

“Oh shit, was I talking out loud?” Danny asked, immediately being answered by two grinning nods.

Before they could knock on the front door, it swung open to reveal a red-faced Mikey with a wide, excited smile.

“Danny! You came!” He exclaimed far louder than necessary. Tucker cleared his throat.

“We’re here too, y’know.” He grumbled, making Danny and Sam giggle. Mikey took a big step back and gestured for them to enter.

“Come on in! If you brought drinks, you’re best to put them in the fridge now if they need it. We’re running out of room fast!” He advised, before wandering off at the sound of someone shouting his name from the other room.

Standing in the doorway, Danny felt his heart racing. Here he was, at a real-life high school party that he was invited to. He was drunk and without a care in the world, with no responsibilities or ghosts to worry about –

Suddenly, the thought of ghost brought a vision of beautiful green eyes to his mind. He shook the thought out of his head, before pacing further into the house to find something to distract him.

“Hey! It’s Fenton!” Turning to face the sound of the voice, he saw Kwan and a group of footballers gathering around a ping pong table. The rosy tint in Kwan’s cheeks and the delighted smile brought a warm feeling in Danny’s stomach. Before the jock could even gesture for him to come over, Danny found himself gravitating in his direction.

“You up for some beer pong? You can be on my team!” Kwan offered. Danny chuckled.

“Sure, but I’m warning you that I am already pretty drunk, so my aim is probably shit.” He warned, winning a light laugh from the group of jocks.

“All good, bro! That just means an even playing field!” A footballer he couldn’t remember the name of called out, words slurring together slightly.

Danny turned to ask Sam and Tucker if they wanted to play, to find that they had only just caught up to him.

“Do you guys want to play?” He asked. Sam rolled her eyes.

“Ugh, no thank you. I hate beer, and they probably don’t have a vegan friendly one, either.” She replied. Danny did a double take.

“Wait, beer can be not vegan? How?” He asked, very confused. Before she could answer, Danny felt himself being pushed toward the ping pong table by Tucker.

“Come on dude. You know she won’t stop once she gets started.” With a shrug, Danny returned his focus to the group of footballers.

“Alright, let’s do this! Now… how do you play?”

Danny wasn’t sure how, but he managed to be insanely good at beer pong, quickly annihilating Tucker and the other team and winning an uproar in cheers from his own team.

Learning how to aim while losing blood must have been good training for this very moment.

Busy chuckling at his own thoughts, Danny was caught off guard when he was suddenly swept into a bear hug by Kwan.

“That was legendary, bro! Seriously, is there nothing I can say to convince you to join the football team?” The boy gushed, ruffling a hand through Danny’s hair and messing it up even further.

“Yeah, especially considering sign ups are well and truly over and this is our final year?” Danny replied, not sure whether to return the hug or not. The contact certainly felt nice, but there was something this was just… off about it. Maybe it was the fact that Kwan seemed to be running hot too, so there was no cooling relief like when he was holding Phanto –

No. He wasn’t letting himself think about him. It hurt too much.

“Oh, right. My bad.” Kwan laughed, pulling away from Danny. He had to admit that the jock was quite handsome, and the glistening of his sweat was weirdly mesmerising.

“Wow, dude. You sure are hot.”

“WHAT?” Danny exclaimed, not sure if his line of thinking had made him hallucinate hearing that or if it had actually happened. Kwan laughed again.

“I meant your temperature, bro. Are you coming down with something?” At that question, Tucker jumped into the conversation, wrapping an arm around his best friend.

“Nah, he’s fine. He’s just running warm because of his growth spurt, that’s all.” Tucker explained, with a dismissive wave of his hand.

“That checks out. You did seem to fit four years of growing into like, three days. Why don’t you have one of my rum and cokes to cool down? They’re in the fridge door!” Kwan offered, before waving and wondering back to the footballers.

“Danny, are you alright? You really are burning up…” Tucker commented, voice laced with concerned. Danny sighed before slinking out from under Tucker’s arm and stomping towards the kitchen.

“Look, I don’t want to talk about how I’m feeling, I just want to drink until I can’t feel my fingers, okay?” If he couldn’t feel his fingers, maybe he wouldn’t remember how Phantom felt underneath them. Maybe he wouldn’t want to run them through his ghostly hair and relish in how soft it was.

“Whoa, take it easy, okay buddy? I don’t want you getting hurt.” Tucker advised; voice laced with concern. While Danny appreciated that Tucker cared, he was in no mood to be lectured, so he ignored the warning and continued his path towards the fridge and grabbed one of Kwan’s cans. When he was halfway through downing it, revelling in the cooling sensation, he heard a sigh come from his friend.

“I’m going to go find Sam. I think I need her help with this.” He admitted reluctantly. Danny huffed with indignation.

“Fine, go get her. Neither of you will be able to stop me from having fun tonight.” He scoffed. Hearing a surprising chuckle from a new voice, Danny pivoted suddenly toward the source of the sound to see Spike leaning in the doorway.

“Damn, Danny. I am loving your new look on you. Have you ever thought about eye liner? I think it would look awesome on you.” Spike commented, eyes tracing up and down Danny. For a moment, the blue-eyed boy shivered under the gaze, before offering a non-committal shrug.

“Come with me, I’m going to put some on you now.” With that, the punk boy had grabbed Danny’s free arm and tugged him towards what looked like an entertainment room, before pushing Danny onto a fairly large couch and stepping out of view. Quickly he returned with a bag and was pulling out an eyeliner pencil. Any concerns about getting pink eye from sharing the pencil immediately evaporated the second Spike perched himself on Danny’s lap. The pressure gave him an instant flashback to the times Phantom was in his lap.

“Sorry, this is just the easiest way to do this.” Spike apologised, a blush rising in his cheeks.

“I bet you say that to all the boys.” Danny was pleased with the laugh that quip won from the punk boy. Quickly, Spike stilled again and continued drawing along Danny’s lash line.

“With lines like that, it’s no wonder Punny Phantom chose you.” Danny couldn’t help but stiffen at the mention of Phantom. Spike leaned back to look at his work, only to frown as he noticed something.

“Uh oh, did something happen between the two of you?” At the punk’s concerned question, Danny groaned and realised that he must have been grimacing.

“Sort of? I don’t want to talk about it.” He mumbled, looking down and away from the boy in his lap. Suddenly, a hand pressed lightly into his cheek and turned his face back up to Spike.

“Hey…if you ever want to talk, or not talk… I’m here.” The punk boy offered, eyes lilting on the words “not talk”.

As Spike leaned closer in towards Danny’s face, it occurred to Danny that the guy might be into him. He was going slow, seeming to give Danny an opportunity to stop him. Feeling his heart rate increase, he wasn’t sure if he wanted him to stop or not. The guy was pretty cute and he seemed like a decent enough person having calmed down a lot from their freshman year, but there was something missing.

Before Danny had to make a decision, the door to the room slammed open, causing both boys to jolt in shock. Peering around Spike, Danny saw a very drunk Sam standing in the threshold, hand still on the door with an angry expression on her face.

“I have to go.” Spike said abruptly, scrambling off of Danny’s lap and pushing past Sam, revealing that she had Tucker and Starr behind her.

“What were you doing in here?” Sam asked with a scowl. Danny gulped nervously, not sure what he did wrong.

“Spike was putting eye liner on me. Do you like it?” He replied, hoping his nervous smile would be enough to smooth out her agitated mood. Sam narrowed her eyes, as she scrutinised his appearance, before a strong blush spread across her cheeks.

“Y-Yes.” She mumbled. For a few moments an awkward silence hung in the air, as Danny waited for anyone to say anything. Eventually, Starr groaned before pushing Sam toward Danny.

“For crying out loud, I thought you were going to confess, not stare awkwardly at him.” The blonde complained. Sam hissed lowly, her blush getting ten times worse as she staggered toward him. Danny was thrown off by what Starr had said.

“Confess? Do you mean like, to murder, or…?” He asked cautiously, trailing off when Sam stopped right in front of him. Either way, he was nervous for whatever she was going to say. She opened and shut her mouth a few times, before scrunching her face up and turning back towards Starr and Tucker.

“I can’t do this! It’s too hard!” She complained, earning an eye roll from them both. Seeing how distressed she was, Danny reached forward and took Sam’s hand gently, the touch getting her to whip back around to face him.

“You don’t have to be nervous, Sam. You’re one of my best friends; you can tell me anything and I’ll still want to be your friend.” He tried to reassure. Unfortunately it seemed to fail, as she let out a frustrated groan.

“That’s the problem! I’ve always just been a friend, but I don’t want to be!” She exclaimed almost angrily. Danny couldn’t helped but flinch, releasing her hand as he leaned away from her.

“Y-You don’t want to be friends with me anymore?” He asked, feeling tears begin to well in his eyes. The groan from every person in the room was Danny’s only warning, before Sam suddenly dropped herself onto his lap and pull herself in to his body until their lips met in an intense connection. It was at this point it clicked for Danny that Sam had romantic feelings for him.

As she gripped tightly into his shoulders with one hand and raked through his hair with the other, he took the moment to contemplate how the situation made him feel. He knew he should feel amazing; Sam was beautiful and someone he was very close with, not to mention the crush he’d had on her for the past four years. Theoretically, this was everything he should want and he should be satisfied.

The only problem? He couldn’t feel any of that. He tried kissing her back. He tried smoothing his hands over her waist. He even tried grinding into her. Nothing. Frustrated, he pulled away from her and groaned as he slapped himself in the face and leaned back into the couch.

“Ugh! What is wrong with me? Why can’t I just do this?” He mumbled, tears welling in his eyes. Why couldn’t his body react like it had with Phantom? Or even how he’d felt a minute ago with Spike in this same position. A scoff brought his attention back to the girl in front of him.

“I can’t be that bad at kissing.” Sam grumbled, crossing her arms defensively.

“Sam, I don’t think you did anything wrong. He’s just gay.” Starr interjected before Danny could open his mouth.

“What? No, I’m bi. I’ve had feelings for girls before, I swear! I even had a crush on Sam for like, four years! I don’t know why I’m ruining this!” Danny cried out. The irritated look in Sam’s eyes melted into one of sympathy as she slid off of Danny’s lap to sit next to him.

“It’s okay Danny. Sexual orientation can change, and crushes fade. I’m just sad I missed my chance.” She reassured, taking his hand comfortingly.

“But how did it change so fast? I swear a week ago Tucker caught me with a boner when you were picking up litter in a mini skirt.” Danny argued, before breaking eye contact with Sam to look at Tucker, pleading with his face for his friend to back him up. Seeing the thoughtful expression on his face made Danny’s stomach sink.

“Danny… I think those might have been Phantom’s feelings.” At the sound of Tucker mentioning the name, it all made sense. He’d always assumed he only started getting interested in girls after the accident because he’d only just reached that part of puberty, but what if it was because Phantom was the one who was attracted to girls? It would certainly explain why he hadn’t felt anything for any girls since they split. A weight lifted off of Danny, from both understanding himself better, and for the knowledge that Phantom was just as much in control when they were fused as he was. He let out a relieved laugh.

“So I wasn’t controlling him this whole time! He still had free will!” He exclaimed happily. He couldn’t wait to tell the ghost the good news.

“Uh… now that we can mention him without you losing it, can you please explain what the fuck happened back at the library?” Tucker enquired, making his way deeper into the room and sitting on a recliner. Danny found himself off guard, suddenly remembering that he was mad at Phantom.

“Ugh, don’t even get me started! He full on let me believe I was this perverted asshole that didn’t deserve a chance with him, but no! Turns out he was only acting weird because he did have feelings for me and was too much of a coward to tell me the truth! If he had just told me he was awake when I kissed him in my sleep then I wouldn’t have spent this entire time agonising over what a bad person I was!” Danny complained. As he spoke, it became very clear to him that the entire time he’d spent with Phantom as separate people, he’d been repressing his own feelings for the ghost to the point of almost being unaware of them. Seeing gears turn in Sam’s mind, he waited for her to speak.

“So, the problem was that he didn’t make it clear how he felt, which made you feel like he couldn’t love you?” Sam questioned, to which Danny nodded emphatically in response.

“Right… and how is that any different to what you are doing now?” She continued, stopping Danny dead in his tracks.

“W-Wait, what?”

“Come on dude, you had a look inside his mind and the first thing you did was tell him to fuck off, essentially. As if that didn’t tell him you aren’t interested. Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if he thought you never wanted to see him again at all!” Tucker explained, rolling his eyes. Danny felt his own eyes widen with realisation and despair.

“Shit! I only meant I need space to cool down while I was mad at him! He probably thinks that I hate him! What if he runs away to the Ghost Zone? I have to go home and tell him the truth!” Danny exclaimed in a panic, before jolting to his feet and dashed out of the room.

“What the fuck was that all about?” was the last thing he heard from the room before he darted his way through the house and back onto the street.

Thanks to his increased speed and endurance, the sprint home was in record time, and luckily he had managed to sober up in that time. He wanted to talk to Phantom with as clear a mind as he could, so that he could tell Phantom how he felt without there being any more confusion between them. As silently as he could, he opened the front door. Luckily, he could hear his parents tinkering away frantically in the lab, so he didn’t have to worry about them slowing him down. Unable to slow his heart rate down as he climbed up the stairs, he focused on slowing his breathing and on what he was going to say.

“Don’t worry Phantom! I don’t think you’re a pervert! I’d probably watch you shower, if given the opportunity.” No, no, no… that doesn’t sound right. Just keep it simple and say you don’t hate him!

Figuring that was a good place to start, he took one last deep breath before opening the door to his bedroom.

To find it empty.

Disappointed, Danny walked into the room and looked around. The only sign that anyone had been in here since they’d left earlier today was that the computer was now on. He paced over to the screen to see a folder open with a single video file in it labelled “Goodbye Danny”. Nervously, he tapped on the file and the video began playing. On screen, Phantom was stepping away from the screen and steadying his breath before looking straight into the camera. It broke Danny's heart to be able to tell that he'd been crying.

“Hey Danny. By the time you’ll be watching this, I’ll have already gone into the Ghost Zone. I know Jazz said I should wait to talk to you before I go, but I think seeing you would hurt too much. When you told me to leave, I didn’t know who I would be without you. I… I need to be someone on my own, but I can’t do that if I stay with you. When I feel like I’m ready, I’ll come back to see you. But I’m not sure how long that will take, or if I’ll still feel the same way about you. I just want you to know that I’m sorry for what I did, and I’m sorry I let you down. I hope you find someone who deserves you. Goodbye Danny.”

With that, the video ended on Phantom leaning forward to stop recording, and Danny found himself as frozen as the frame on screen.

He was too late; Phantom had left him.

#Danny Phantom #danny fenton #danny fenton x danny phantom #danny fenton/danny phantom #fan fiction #pitch pearl #pitchpearl

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huxs-waifu · 4 years ago

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Shifted- Chapter Five - Touching Is Electric - ** smut**

This is cross posted on A03 - link here - https://archiveofourown.org/works/27559456/chapters/67407712

masterlist for shifted - https://huxs-waifu.tumblr.com/post/670680039555252224/shifted-master-list

pin interest board reader : https://www.pinterest.co.uk/vintagekola/shifted-fanfiction-hero/

Kylo Ren/Reader, Ben Solo/Reader, Armitage Hux/Original Female Character(s), Matt the Radar Technician/Reader

chapter summery :

Bare with this chapter it starts off Hux and Violet but will all make sense by the end ! Smutty smutty at the end of the chapter with matt ;) from the emotional sweet start with violet and Hux to the smut ending with reader and Kylo it has drained me !! originally the Hux and Violet bit I wrote as a separate bit but found it to be a nice contrast to what happens in the chapter! as always please comment share etc I really like peoples thoughts on here and A03

*mention/ implied sexual exploitation with Violet and SMUT*

*** one year ago***

"so pet let's see what you can do." climbing on top of violet her sinking down in submission placing her arms above her head. Wincing saying in one last attempt

"I'm not a pet or a whore or whatever it said I'm in that box. I'm a person who was put in a position I couldn't refuse. I woke up on Canto Blight with no memory as to who I was. "

"Well then if you can not consent to this. Good night." Hux when from towering over her on all fours to laying down on the bed next to her. Letting out a sob of relief violet sat up and hugged her knees. "I'm not in a habit of raping Pretty women."

swallowing hard "Then why did you take me?"

"Your no use to the first order, it would just have turned into a sport of using you, I don't want my men getting distracted. Your safer here for the moment"

"So you've claimed me for just you? I'm not a pet, I'm human. I wish to be treated like one if you're willing. "

Turning his head on the pillow to look at her. "I've not claimed you. I'm protecting you. I'm going to try to keep you safe before I can figure out what to do with you. What's your name?"

"My name? everyone keeps calling me violet . So I guess I'm Violet" Sighing, stretching out her legs a little.

He lets out a little snort from his nose. " Violet? like the colour? Your kidding me"

"Yes is something the matter with it?"

"Not at all, Just finding the irony in it. As a teenager I'd play with ultra violet rays in my room, while others were out having fun." He goes off glassy eyed as if he's transported to a time he'd kept locked away. " I was alone, always alone, allowed no attachments, I might as well be like one of the storm troopers. Armitage weak as a slip of paper father would say" He muttered "Now all these years later i've got 'Violet' in my room" letting out another snort moving his head to face the ceiling again, hands behind his head.

"But you're not alone this time." violet goes to pat instinctively but stops. “I've been alone growing up, I was ill, a blood disease. People seem to forget me, always tried included in things at school and other places, I've always been forgotten, almost as if I wasn't there. Now I'm here everyone seems to want a piece of me.” Remembering that he had asked for consent and never actually laid a finger on her all day. Sure he had given her his greatcoat to walk down through the hanger, to his quarters. He had organized a standard nightie as she only was sent with flimsy rippable purple underwear, that she was boxed up in. Even given her a bowl of something, all just guessing it would end in him wanting to use her in some way in return. "Do I have permission?"

He looks at the hand in mid air then back to the ruddy tear stained face of his supposed ‘toy’ he now had in bed with him. Big violet eyes an iris colour he'd never seen before but for some reason was so taken by when looking at them. Seeing a flash of light bink through them like his rays all those years go. "You may." looking back towards the ceiling, eyes fixated on the blank steel canvas above.

She places a hand on his bicep. feeling the rush of life or something that you feel when you just do something at the right moment. He lets out a strangled gasp of almost pleasure himself, before regaining a blank composure. turning slowly to face those beautiful eyes again, then looking at her hand. "is that ok?" She replies alarmed by the noise but just making the hand placement feather light before snaking the hand around to cup fully

"Sorry I've just haven't had any human skin to skin contact in a very long time. I wasn't expecting it to feel so- well right" dragging himself into sitting up, looking at violets placed hand. she keeps it on there as he adjusts completely to kneeling beside her. " may i?" gesturing to her own bicep. Just a slow nod comes from her. "I can't do this without your verbal consent."

"Then you may." she replies in the quietest of voices, making full eye contact looking at the ice cold blue of his own eyes. His hands did much the same as hers and didn't know where to place. Violet takes it as a cue to adjust herself to, grasping a tiny bit more on him to move. barely grazing her skin he strokes her upper arm. then placing a palm against it. Almost paining him to do such a normal thing of touching someone ,cups it. Feeling a healthy run of endorphins in doing so, like he had moments before from her touch. licking his lips letting out a relieved breath with a hint of a smile playing at his twisted lips, just looking at his hand making the contact.

"Wow." gulping " There's someone paler than me." watching as his pink and freckled hand twitches in the softest grip, inspecting the skin "I think your You're so beautiful, I didn't want you hurt, like I always was. That was the first thing that crossed my mind when I saw you delivered, I didn't realise you were going to be human." he confesses.

Looking up at his face to study in real detail this time but all she sees is that he's still enchanted by just touching the exposed skin of her arm. In the luminescent light of the ship at the same time they stroked each other, with small circles just on the upper arm, not sexual just comforting, soothing strokes . Building up his confidence the rest of the night just holding on to one another in some form or another, exploring the pale skin over their exposed arms and hands with the sweeping of touches . Before finally laying down, Hux joining by Violet's side just shoulders touching, his hand sneaks to one last touch of her own hooking his little finger into hers. "You don't have to be alone anymore. Keep me safe Hux."

***Present day***

After finally calming Hux enough to leave, you revealed your dress plans remembering one in the more colourful wardrobe. Packing up to leave back to your room you'd actually ended up being there for hours, mainly as you thought it was in your best interests to learn what you could about the world. Violet had done her best to give you a run down of what had happened to Hux and Kylo at the very atlest. What a jedi was , the war between the light and the dark side came up. She explained again that it would be best for you to cooperate with Ren for as long as possible, not only was he a powerful man but could physically manipulate you, as you'd already discovered the day before. Violet urged you to go to the state dinner tonight and just think of it as going out like on earth, let kylo be the one to talk as he would know what's going on.

Stood yet again at the steel doors of your room. The dress was sure to annoy Kylo tonight. It was warmer than the nights before in a thick brocade fabric covered with a layer of lace. Puffed three quarter Sleeves, sweetheart neckline and full ball ball gown skirt. Gold snake like belt drawing in the waist. The best part of it all was the colour , it was a golden bright yellow. The colour you thought may piss Kylo off the most as everyone seems to just stick to black in this place under his guidance. Bright sunshine reflective gold hints dazzled on the wall.

The door opened to Phasma standing there. “I'll be escorting you tonight, kylo hopes there will be no funny business with me . He doesn't seem that impressed with you in Hux’s quarters this morning.”

“So you're not there protecting violet tonight either is that kylos plan?” walking down the corridor with Phasma.

Entering the lift phasma gestures you in getting in to. “She will be quite alright.” The lift starts once you're both in.``I hear the Huxs are having tip-yip for dinner tonight”

“What the hell is tip-yip?” Phamsa stays still your question going unanswered. The lift reached some sorta floor and opening. His back turned but still in his normal black flowing and matt cracked helmet, stood your husband to be. He looked over his shoulder taking a second glance then facing forward again. You felt like he had maybe taken a gulp but brushed it off that you would find it impossible to tell under all that armour. Phasma stayed in the lift nodding for you to go first. Stepping out next to him in his modulating voice hearing him speak.

“You're looking, well Urm. Good princess."

"As you can see I'm very capable of dressing myself in the future." keeping your eyes forward brushing down your front, as if there was lint.

"Please do if you look like that."

"Sorry what was that?"

"I mean you remind me of my grandmother. " the modulator blurts out.

"Ok you know that's even worse!"

"She was a famous empress and was gorgeous from what I saw in pictures."

"So you never knew her?"

"No or my grandfather, a lot would say I take after him."

Kylo raised an arm keeping face to the door.

"This is only for show” placing yours on top

"Cooperate tonight princess. Be quiet there's no need for another show, just keep eating so you have an excuse not to speak ."

"Oh so you're hoping that if my mouth is filled I won't talk back to you?" Snatching her hand away again.

The doors rise to a large set table with two chairs at the head. Again the room was filled with unknown faces of aliens. You now wished you would have stayed closer to Kylo, this was all still a shock to you the thoughts of actual aliens hadn't hit you till just then from what you could tell this was very much real compared to the last time. Yet you do feel a hand on your side tucked around your waist, pushing you to walk. “Move” you hear ring through your head, feeling a pang with it. “No one will hurt you while I'm here.” Kylo was communicating with you. Nicely at that, as you do take a few steps into the room, being led to the head of the table. Once seated you were handed a glass tumbler of a drink.

Sitting there for what seemed like hours, you had been fed and water multiple times but you hadn't said anything. Swirling your drink around in the tumbler it was your 3rd. Finally a blue man a few feet away from you piped up and asked a question.

“So princess I'm surprised you are not wearing silk from your own planet.”

On the spot you suddenly feel a pressure like that first day in the back of your pushing you to look downwards.

“I'm sure there as been a misunderstanding. The princess-'' Kylo starts to speak through the modulator. Somehow though you manage to cut through the pushing sensation. Kylo's hand attaches to his own head in pain.

“Surely it's not only my planet who will be benefiting from this union, why shouldn't I also use other planets' clothes? I'm sure the whole idea of this all is to unite the galaxy.”

“Interesting stance , I take it that will also mean your view is the same with other resources such as oil ?”

Going to speak, actually wanted to back up what you said now you had spoken. You had a feeling this person was fishing for something on your planet. You had in the back of your mind that maybe this princess you were meant to be was actually there to help. You want to reply but again are overwhelmed, head being pushed forward again, mind a complete fuzz.

“The princess will not be selling any resources, that's the The First Orders domain.” kylo speaks for you.

“Supreme leader i feel unwell i wish for Phasma to take me back, Im clearly not need here” Giving a fake smile rising from the table, bowing and walking to the door.

“Don't do this again.” You have chime through your brain.

“When You can communicate properly with me I will return, good night all.” giving a curtsy to the room.

Once back in your room , just face palming on to the bed. Feeling like he was still there with you in some way shape or formal you just couldn't shake him tonight. Kylo Ren seemed to be the only thing on your mind again. “I just want to think about something else for a while ” murmuring to yourself into the silk pillows. That had been why you stayed so long with violet as it was a distraction from this beast you seemed to be marrying. Tonight's interactions had fluxed a bit, the mention of his grandmother seemed to soften him a little making him seem human for that moment.

As if by magic the door seemed to open. “Kylo if that is you go away.”

“Uh, I was just going to check your lift but if you need to be alone?”

It was Matt, for some reason your heart leapt. Something normal, someone normal to take your mind off Ren. Like you'd just willed it.You see Matt stood there in all his weird glory, it may have been the alcohol that was making you think irrationally or the rage of Kylo filling your brain but you walk straight over to him.

“I'm just sick of this place not being able to do or say anything that's me, my mind now seems to be splitting between wanting me truly , princess and kylo. I just could take it tonight.” crumpling on the floor . the yellow dress spreading out around you.

“What did he do tonight, Matt crouched beside you.”

“He wouldn't let me speak for myself.” looking up into matts very striking looking face, traveling down to his plump lips. Then the rest of his jumpsuit, thoughts turning in your head. “ I thought it was a good idea to maybe piss him off with the dress tonight, maybe it was my fault really.”

“I doubt a dress would upset him that much, maybe you need to just say calmer around him and he wouldn't be such a butt to you.” Matt says kindly but with a slight hold of the tongue.

“Maybe, i should listen, but the other part of me really wants to do stuff that i want to do and not follow him like a lap dog. He needs to understand it, I need to piss him off to show that I'm independent of him and he doesn't need to manipulate me every time we meet. ”

Matt places a hand on your waist to guide you up. Feeling the touch of another person seemed like a rush of endorphins. You follow his lead, standing.

“Then I'm sure there's a way you can get him to notice you.”

Gripping on to his bicep, you looked into matts deep chocolate brown eyes. “No, I really want to piss him off. Besides he said he wanted me to be quite with my mouth filled”

“I don't think that's a good idea.”

You drop back down to your knees. “No if I'm meant to be a princess, i'm going to start doing things that i want.” The alcohol was definitely setting in, ” How can kylo control me when he's not here.” Feeling like kylos presence was still following you tonight, you were going to give him a show. Pawing at the front of his jump suit where you had rubbed against him, his hard on was clearly forming under the cheap material.

Matt seemed to freeze up. “Are you sure you want to annoy him this way?”

“To be honest Matt I feel a connection with you more than anyone on this ship, more than the man I'm about to marry. My mind is burning just being with you, I really feel like, i need you tonight. I need normal.” a few beats of hard silence seem to pass between you two.

“Then let me move to the bed.” Offering his hand. You looked at the long slender fingers of the large hand taking it. The rush and need in you seemed to be doused with a warm pleasurable feeling of calmness.

“Oh. That almost feels better than anything i've felt in this place.” watching your hands you instivly threading your fingers into his. His reaction must have felt something as he takes your other hand and threads together his other set of fingers, leading you to the bed.

“Are you 100% sure you want to be doing this?” as he sits down, knees parted on the bed.

Sobering up a little from the meal. “ Yes more than ever now. This just feels right” Looking down into his dark almost black like orbs that were fixated on you with some sort of longing, almost pleading you to touch him more. You kneel between his legs, reattacking at the bulge that was now very visible in front of you.

“Y/n.” placing his hands on your shoulders. “I don't want to act too soon if its going to spoil this as you say it feels right.”

“Matt please, I've had everyone focusing on me since I've been here, I want to do something for someone else. You seem -”

Matt leans forward and captures your lips melting into it feeling the connection deepen.Moving in time with his plush lips your hands move up to trace your lips.Your mind seems to block out everything just feeling matt arousal causing through meeting your own. Parting slowly from the kiss it draws back in slightly “Your special everyone one is just acting in your best interests, that's why everyone keeps a fussing over you and kylo.”

Sitting back on your knees “I didn't ask for any of this matt, I wish Kylo would understand. I just want to be normal again.” whether it was the drink that had given you the confidence or the kiss you did not know but began to tip toe up your fingers up matts leg. Again pawing at the hard on showing.

“I'm going to ask you one last time are you sure about this Princess?” he says with a growl his crotch shifts upwards into your hand at your touch with a jerk.

“Uh don't go all kylo on me now matt!” He softens and cupps your cheek, the touch feels warm and pleasant like a river of warm water is flooding through your veins, as he starts to massage your ear. You too soften again, unzipping his jumpsuit finally. His erection springs out, larger than expected but not unwelcome. You had other sexual relationships back in real life but most of them you would have considered average. This dick was something else completely to tackle. This wasn't just hate for kylo fuelling you now you were truly filled with lust for this man in front of you.

You were no shy virgin, taking the cock in your hand giving it a light tug. Matt's head rolled back in pleasure . hearing the words “Oh fuck bitch.” confused as to where you hear it though guessing it was Matt himself that was overwhelmed. Hips hips lazily roll up into your hand. Moving up furth to roll the nib of the member with your thumb. Soft palatable moans fill the room from him. He's looking down on you with darkened eyes, like he's barely ever been touched before. He cups your face again, your own lust bubbling in you. An intense urge to move forward and place a kitten lick on the seed of pre cum forming.

Sticking the tip of your tongue out it barely touches as you already taste the precum melting on your tongue. Lapping more forcefully at the connection on the shaft and the head. You fill matts, hands cup your head, almost lovingly. Finally taking the tip fully in your now drooling mouth, looking up at this geeky glasses wearing blond man in front of you. He was your focus now not some asshole, despite doing exactly what he had asked of you earlier . “be quite and keep eating.” And ending you did suckling on the tip like it was the best thing you'd eaten since you'd been there feeling Matts pleasure flow through you as you took on more inch by inch.

Matt himself seems to be working off your pleasure, his hips rolling the more you took of him. His hands gripping into your hair, before sliding under your chin to help work your jaw up and down. The slick texture gliding over your tongue. Churning the wet mixture of your mouth, your movements being more rapid. Experimenting by touching and fondling his ball sack. This was the golden ticket, his hand pushing you down in full by your hair, his hips twitching up into you. His moans became more and more feral, while he used your face now forcefully rutting at speech just using you. Lost in the pleasure until his hips stutter, you pull back in shock as his dick erupts a batch of silky cum over your chest and down the dress.

“Yeah that will definitely piss him off.”

chapter six - A03 ( * extra drabble * Baby Names just violet and hux)

chapter 7 - story continues soon...

#kylo ren fanfiction #kylo ren x reader #kylo x you #kylo ren x y/n #kylo x reader #hux x oc #kylo ren smut #kylo ren x reader smut #starwars fanfiction #smut

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emerald-amidst-gold · 4 years ago

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17, 21, and 24 for the OTP ask? 😁

Well, hello, friend! I shall answer for that is DUTY! >:D

17. What senses (sights, smells, feelings, etc). remind them of each other?

I did answer this one in another ask, but I can think of a few more to share! (I got so much for these two, don't worry~)

So, another thing that reminds Fane of Solas is any kind of painting, namely frescos. Surprise, surprise! But the reasoning is mainly because Fane used to dream of frescos painted in a temple, one he always finds himself traversing in his dreams in the earlier years of his life. The style was nostalgic, impeccable, as if the hand that had held the brush was fixated on getting every line, every detail, every color, and every proportion just right. The paintings were like little anecdotes, way points trying to guide him in a direction with paint and plaster, but the story was always left unfinished, and it isn't until all the memories flood back that Fane realizes who was the artist of his dreams. *winks*

Now, I'm not usually one for 'smell' references, but oddly enough, Solas is reminded of Fane through one. Namely, chamomile. This was something I thought of one day when I was fighting with a headache and I was just watching a Twitch stream, and I was like, "Chamomile is a natural stress reliever. Fane doesn't like tea, but there are bath oils and incenses infused with chamomile, right? He would definitely be given that by someone or maybe even takes initiative to get it himself." Thus, the headcanon was established! Fane smells like chamomile, and Solas can't help but smile when he smells it from another source, knowing that his dragon is trying to help himself in some way.

21. How have they changed each other for the better/for the worse?

So, there's a little bit of A and little bit of B for this question. There has indelibly been a positive influence on both Fane and Solas due to each other. Basically, it all stems from pre-Inquisition, aka Elvhenan/Arlathan.

Fane, as a dragon, was inherently tasked with observing elvenkind, watching the flow of which they progressed and if their machinations benefited the world in which they lived. Each dragon had this inherent task, albeit in different ways. Dragons that lived in arid regions were tasked with controlling the sandscape, preserving the ancient temples by covering them with said sand, making inaccessible areas accessible for wildlife, so on, so forth.

Fane, and the others of his specific kin, not only watched the Elvhen, they guided them, but only if it was deemed necessary. White dragons could not want for anything beyond what the world needed, and their powers of absorbing, reflecting, and understanding emotions was what made them highly sought after by the Evanuris. When the Evanuris began enslaving elves, they began enslaving dragons, too. And this is around the time Solas and Fane met; when Fane was the last of his white kin. Fane had gone into recluse, hiding; he turned his back on those who were suffering because he couldn't bear to see them be subjected to magic bending and breaking their minds, turning their eyes grey where they were otherwise a multitude of colors. Solas found him through a curious venture as we all know the dear wolf is prone to curiosity.

Their beginnings were rough. Fane tried multiple, multiple times to kill Solas. He saw him as no different than those who had thus far enslaved his kin. He held anger, rage, resentment, and pride, which warped his nature of calm observation and cool acceptance to preemptive prejudice and scornful indifference. Fane stopped caring; about everything. Solas reached out to him, wanted to help him, and for the sake of keeping things somewhat short, they grew close after constant revisits and...silence. Solas allowed Fane to watch him, learn about him, read his eyes, and in turn, Fane began to open up, rediscover his original nature, and learn about another side from a more personal view. Solas taught Fane that nothing can change or return to what they had been unless he tried, and he did, even though it ended poorly. And even though it takes him twenty-four years and a lot of hardship, Fane finally remembers that important lesson and he's forever grateful, even as they walk onto the same stage that burned before.

Now, Fane has helped Solas do something we all know the dear wolf is a bit hesitant to do, and that's show his emotions. I stated once upon a time that my interpretation of Solas a little more...personal. Basically, I'm exploring a side of Solas that we don't really get to see, and that's an emotional one. My stories encompass a lot of emotion, a lot of grey morality, so I try to do that while keeping Solas in character with how we know him. However, with this AU of mine, Solas is more in touch with his emotions when with Fane. Why? Because Fane did what he was tasked with from birth; he guided. Through silent looks and seemingly disgruntled huffs, Fane allowed Solas to open up, to feel safe when every corner held a knife.

He let him be him. Not the Dread Wolf. Not the Rebel God. Not anything more than what he was naturally, and that was a being who needed to let their emotions go as freely as the magic so intertwined with their nature. They were friends, companions, even though they were two completely different species, and for all intents and purposes, enemies. They loved each other, but couldn't say it. After Fane died, Solas locked up again, kept his emotions sealed away, but when Fane reappeared in his life, both unknowing of who the other was, it all came back so easily, so fluidly. And what you'll see in a lot of my stories of Solas and Fane's early acquaintanceship in Inquisition is that they flow, they let the other be weak even though they don't want to be weak.

As for how they change each other for the worse...well, that ties into a lot of what I have planned during Post-Trespasser arcs. My stories are 'fix-its', but again, grey morality. There's a happy ending, but not without opposition first and a lot of hard lessons. Solas and Fane will do shit that makes people go, "Why?!", but aren't we already saying that with what Solas canon-wise is doing? Why not add an Inquisitor into the mix and live the fantasy we weren't allowed to choose?

24. What is something they have each had to forgive the other for?

Okay, so Fane's isn't what you'd think it is. You all know me, I like to go, 'You thought not! AHA! >:D'. Most people who've read my stories might think, "Oh, Fane has to forgive Solas for erecting the Veil because it's driving his kin insane." That makes sense, but it's not what Fane has had to forgive Solas for. Fane has had to forgive Solas for doubting him.

What I mean by this is that Solas tries to steer Fane away from helping him (Look! It's canon after all! XD). And mainly it's because Solas sees Fane thriving in this new life, connecting with people, seeing the world from a different perspective, and so he starts to think that Fane wouldn't want to help him. Which is complete bullshit because Fane, even when Solas tries to gently steer him away, is like, "I'm here. I'm not going to abandon you again." But typical Solas is typical Solas and is weighed down with grief and his doubts, but eventually he relents after a dragon fight. I won't say when this will occur, but...yeah. It's a bad time, and it shows Solas that Fane wasn't thriving as well as he'd thought. It takes a bit, but Fane comes to understand why Solas was trying to guide him away, and it helps when you're a stubborn dragon in love with a stubborn wolf! :D

Now for Solas, I have a little excerpt from a short story (the one I've been sharing a lot in tag games!). It kind of gives a basis of what Fane can sometimes do when he's not thinking or if he doesn't talk to Solas.

***

“F..Fane..!”, Solas growled out, a surge of heat invading his head as he felt his dragon’s dormant fury within his soul. It was thrashing, knocking, pounding against the confines of their link, wishing to be set free through him and his actions.

“This is..ugh..important, dammit!”, Fane grunted out as Solas was finally starting to push back, as well as his own minor discomfort with the magic that was slowly building around them.

“Then..ngh..speak of it!”, Solas snapped, feeling something like a pinch against his mind before that sensation ricoheted outwards, a lesser burst of magic managing to separate their bodies, but not their tethered souls. “Hiding in your mind only inflicts more harm!”, he almost yelled, his mind clouding with unusual rage. He was never ruffled this easily, but this wasn’t him, was it?

No, this was Fane, or more accurately, Fane’s mind. And it was red hot with fury.

He watched with slightly haggard breathing as Fane slid back a few feet, a grimace on his face from the smell of ozone, but shook it off easily. Now fully golden eyes glared with steamy ferocity upon him, a broad chest heaving with Veil born ire and excitement at finally having a challenge. Solas straightened himself a bit, clearing his throat as the distance between their bodies allowed him to think a bit more clearly, but he could still feel the thread that connected them intensely.

“Ma’isenatha, please--”, Solas attempted to reach the unhinged being before him, even as he could feel his own mind beginning to cloud again as Fane stalked towards him. They needed to cease this dance before one of them got hurt or insanely ill!

“Quit…”, the fuming dragon began before whipping the staff in his hand around in a near perfect arc towards him. “..talking!”, he snarled furiously, deftly hitting the other end of the staff with his wrist to cut off its intended path for a shorter route.

Solas was a bit curious by the adept usage, but shuffled that thought away quickly to block the blow that was inevitably aimed for his jaw. Now wasn’t the time to ruminate! As much as he loathed to admit it, and encourage it, there was only one way out of this foolish scenario!

“Enough!”, a cry harboring necessary command releasing from his lips, making the link between them snap like a bowstring. “Ngh..!” The heady, harsh sensation had the air leaving his lungs before he swept one end of his staff upwards without volition, missing his mark by a hair. He blinked when the sensation eased off, grimacing as he stared at the staff poised just next to Fane’s face, precisely at the point where his scar was. How ironic, but he knew what was happening now with that.

The involuntary reaction had been too planned, too memory bound. It was like when they had viciously fought as Haven burned with fire and corruption, and he had had no choice but to wound the otherwise perfect face before him - a deep scar left on his left cheek from his staff blade. His arms had been wrapped, then strung up in invisible bonds that radiated desperate heat and furious rage, guiding them to repeat the action due to a desire for something unsaid.

In simple terms, he was being controlled by emotions alone - emotions that were not his own.

“Interesting.”, Solas said, but narrowed his eyes upon the fierce man. “Emotions are your strings.”, he pointed out, more realization dawning on him as to where all these minor outbursts, sudden movements, and disorienting sensations were coming from. Fane..

...was manipulating emotions, guiding them to the destination he desired.

Fane’s eyes narrowed, emerald reappearing to deepen with rage as tufts of his hair fluttered from the air behind his swipe. “I’m intervening.”, the draconic side of his love coming out in full bloom now.

“Why?” He issued it as more a command than a true question. He was mildly miffed by this usage of abilities, but he needed context to decipher why Fane had thought this was necessary. It was unusual and worrying for him to use them like this.

“It’s necessary.”, Fane said with a flat tone, but there was fire crackling beneath its supposed embers, as well as the deep emerald gaze bearing down upon him before he twisted his staff upwards to once again aim under his chin. Solas dodged the movement by an inch, feeling the amount of force behind it with air alone.

His dragon was steadily losing his control, and it wouldn’t be long until he was truly unhinged.

“Fane!”, Solas met the glare with one that felt just as furious as he called out, but finally began to retaliate, no longer wishing to play on the defensive and draw this out longer. “Very well..”, he said lowly, gripping the staff tightly as he pressed in harder, matching Fane’s footwork step for step as their blows connected with near splintering cracks. “...if you are so..”, a harsh crack of their staves reverberating through the air. “...intent on not speaking of what troubles you, then I will make it so you have no choice but to!”

A long, muscled leg nearly knocked into one of his knees as it swept under him, its pace incredibly fast for something intended to withstand punishment. It was like a dragon’s tail as it swept aside massive boulders, and uprooted century old trees.

Fane let out a gasping laugh. “You’re still..ngh..t..talking?!”, he roared, snowy brows furrowed in growing pain as sweat began to form along a lightly flushed temple, hand trembling where it nearly snapped his staff in half.

“I am doing what you refuse to do!” A jab with his staff nearly connected with a muscled arm, but it went through the gap between itself and the toned body it was attached to. “Gh..!”, he winced as he felt a sharp yank on his mind, as well as the staff in his hands as Fane grabbed a hold of it to pull him forward harshly.

The world halted suddenly, its furious, heated pace slightly cooled as their gazes connected, all sound flushing out to where the only sound was their combined, harsh breathing. Emerald and gold swam, ebbed around each other like a phylactery did with its magical blood as the face that bore them was lax in stunned silence, sweat trickling down flush cheeks before it would disappear along a strong neck. Solas felt his face was no better, feeling how droplets of sweat rolled down the sides of his face and how his mouth was slightly agape as he fought for a shred of breath.

What was...going on? This feeling, like their desires were coalescing, taking shape before them like spirits shaped the Fade around them...it was intoxicating, comforting, and serene amid the furious battle they had been engaged in moments before. Their link was still there, but it was soft, velvet against his mind as the gentle essence wrapped around it in an embrace.

It was no longer painted...red.

“Hnn..”, Solas let out a quiet sigh, breath hitching after as the blanket around him became warmer, silken. When had it shifted? He hadn’t been aware because of rage painting the world before him in crimson..

“Too...much..”, he heard Fane whisper out between pants, but it was more to himself than to Solas. “...You shouldn’t feel that like I do.. Shit..”

Solas blinked a bit to reorient himself, the softness of his mind making it hard to think before he saw Fane’s face near inches from his, the hand that had grabbed his staff now making itself known upon the back of his neck, steadying him. When had that gotten there?

“What..”, Solas started, closing his eyes for a moment as the world spun for a second before reopening to try again. “What..was that?”

“My mind.”, Fane muttered, eyes flitting across his face worriedly. “I didn’t think..”, he trailed off with a light growl as brilliant eyes turned downcast. “I fucked up… I’m sorry...”

***

So, yeah. It doesn't take Solas long to forgive Fane, but when he first demonstrates just how dangerous his abilities can be and actively uses them to manipulate our wolf gets a little miffed. Solas wants Fane to use his voice more, and these are moments in which Fane doesn't and taps into that warped perception of himself; the one that got him killed.

#oc asks #asks #oc: fane lavellan #solas #solavellan #dragon age #sorry for how insanely long this is!#i just have so much nuanced crap for these two that I get carried away XD #and forgive if the excerpt is a bit...sloppy. it's still a wip! :3 #there's also a lot of stuff that i'm just playing with in regards to Fane and Solas but i know the basis of how they operate X3 #thank you again! <3

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border-spam · 5 years ago

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Q: Do you think Typhon was an abusive father? He says he was a 'third rate dad' but doesnt explain why. Randy said he refused to touch Tyreen after Leda died. His reaction to killing his kids could just be bad writing. Troy said he thought he was a freak, but that could be Troy's insecurity. Our only evidence is what Typhon and the Twins say, but Typhon is suspicious already and the Twins are shown to be manipulative. Was Typhon a clueless father trying his best or an abusive asshat?

Hooo boy. Been sitting on this one a while. In we go.

Was Typhon DeLeon an abusive father: A nerd essay by me, cause I’m a sad fuck.

Yeah. He was. 100%. Absolutely.

Just not intentionally, and for reasons that were coming from good places. I can’t stand Typhon but I’m going to remain relatively unbiased in this bar insulting him as much as possible cause fuck Typhon. Eww.

Bl3 left us with shockingly little information to go on when it came to figuring out how all this went down, how Typhon’s upbringing or lack thereof of the Calypso Twins warped them into the broken monstrous Gods they became, and if he was actually really to blame or not.

We have four main players in this puzzle. Typhon, Troy, and Tyreen DeLeon, and Leda Calypso. One of these characters didn’t get a single line of dialogue and was reduced to being a fucktoy attached to a womb, so poor Leda is out of the equation.

We have a third party write up on Typhon released after the game containing a lot of content that was never in the game, including some of his logic behind the choices he made here.

And finally, we have the information given to us by the three remaining characters. Typhon, and the Calypso Twins.

Breaking this down further, we have two characters at odds with each other, Typhon and Tyreen.

Tyreen hates Typhon. Hates. It can’t be stressed enough that the only motivation the writers left in the game for poor Ty, was how much she hated her father. Tyreen however, is also a grade A dramaqueen and someone who I cannot bring myself to trust completely when it comes to her describing how Typh treated the twins. I am positive everything she says is based on a truth, but how much of it has been over exaggerated and built on after years of brooding and hatred is up to us to work out, and that’s quite hard to do.

Typhon on the other hand, is a grade A bullshitter. We learn this through his logs and through actually just *talking* to the vile little prick. He speaks in anecdotes, he relies on constantly retelling stories to communicate. I wouldn’t trust the little shit as far as I could throw him. He constantly exaggerates his accolades, his sexual prowess, likely how much his wife was infatuated with him, his skill in adventuring, everything, but he still confirms he was not a good father, so that really says a lot.

Finally, we have the only person I actually trust when it comes to their opinion on this. Finally, we have Troy.

Something I’ve noticed after chatting with friends about this and covering old content, is how little Troy Calypso ever seems to lie or bullshit. He is shockingly honest, it’s a real surprise compared to Tyreen. He’s truthful to the vault hunters, his emotions are pretty much worn on his sleeve around Ty, and even in dialogue with the likes of Katagawa he is direct and not nearly as “flowery” in his communication as she is.

He hates the majority of the COV followers and shows a complete lack of coddling them, and he does the same with the VH and raiders. He’s direct in his communication in general, especially when alone and out of persona.

Troy gives us more backstory about the twin’s family life than literally any other point in the game does, and he explains it genuinely, 1:1 and privately to the VH over echocom. He has no reason to lie. There is no gain in this for him, there is no grounds for me to think anything he said was false because lying in this situation wouldn’t match his established character.

Troy does not hate Typhon.

Troy did not want to leave Nekrotafeyo.

Troy did not want to leave his father.

The info Troy shares with us is that Typhon couldn’t let Ty out of his sight after Leda had her “accident”, and he was overbearing in his worry for her. Troy was sidelined as a child and felt that his father just saw him as a freak while doting (unwantedly it seems) on Tyreen. This may not have been directly the case, but again, there is no reason to think Troy is making this up. He doesn’t make up things like this for pity, he actually seems quite averse to looking for pity in general.

Tyreen says Typhon kept them in a cage, that he was afraid the Bandits in the universe would tear them apart, and instead held them prisoner. This is semi factual, but definitely blown out of proportion because again, Troy doesn’t feel this way. Typhon (according to the additional info in the writeup I linked) was terrified of what corporations would do to twin Sirens -considering one is male-, and that’s a really valid concern.

They would absolutely be hunted by the likes of Hyperion if Jack hadn’t been balls deep in his mad rush for the warrior at the time. Typh wouldn’t let them leave home based on this, and while I can understand his logic, there are three main things to consider here:

Troy and Tyreen both seem to think Typhon thought Ty was a monster and that was the reason they were not allowed leave. That is fucked. There is no way they both came up with this out of the blue, and Typhon must have at some point said something or acted in a way to imply this was the reason. That is horrific. That is beyond abusive to say to children, and it was definitely a factor in how warped their mentality towards themselves over time became.

The twins were so terrified of Typhon finding the ship parts Troy was working on and destroying them, that they hid them inside their mothers grave. Again. This is horrific. This is not something young adults who aren’t abused would consider doing. Troy has never alluded to hating Typhon and still agreed with Tyreen this needed to be done. The fear there is palpable, this is not the behavior of young adults who’s relationship with a parent is healthy.

The twins and Typhon had a complete lack of trust between them. A family with this level of distrust has encountered abuse at some point. Typhon was so distrusting of his near adult children ( the twins sounded very late teens - early twenties on Nekro ) that he refused to allow them to have any semblance of a life. He refused to let them be free, because he so feared they would either be incapable of caring for themselves, or would hurt others. The twins distrusted their father so much that they had to resort to hiding their escape means from him. Even Troy, who thought once the ship was complete they’d be taking Typhon with them, didn’t trust him enough to let him know what he was working on. They were afraid of what their father would do if he found out.

This dynamic drips abuse. If it was just Tyreen telling this information to us, I’d find it hard to take as factual as I said earlier, it would feel blown out of proportion, but Troy telling us, and the echologs existing and backing it up? Well, it’s not a lie. It did happen.

The final piece for me is how Typhon responded to Troy being dead.

He couldn’t have fucking cared less. He did not give a flying shit.

The one person who had shown any regret towards leaving him, who had cared about him, and Typhon didn’t bat an eyelid that he was dead. He gives an “Ah well he was a monster anyway lol” response, then immediately starts trying to baby talk his wittle girl, his ickle Starlight. It’s gross. It was vile.

It really showed where his value lay and had always lay, and confirmed Troy had been telling the truth when he’d awkwardly tried to explain how Typhon had just always seen him as a freak, while overly doting on Tyreen to the point of smothering her.

He was a terrible father, and while his abuse came from a place of concern and love, it was absolutely abuse.

Had he so much as tried to find his kids, had he cared about them an iota more then sitting on a dead planet jacking off to memories of his wife for nearly a decade, the twins might have stood a chance. They might have been able to be happy.

Asks are open!

#borderlands #borderlands 3 #bl3 #troy calypso #tyreen calypso #calypso twins #leda calypso #typhon deleon #asks #my hcs #my writing #Anonymous

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queenangst · 5 years ago

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dadzawa fic recs pt. 1

i was asked for dadzawa fic recs, so this will be a masterlist of the dadzawa fic i’ve read and enjoyed. these fics are mostly gen, and i will try to have them focus on dadzawa specifically (rather than other focuses like dadmight); this is part one but will not update regularly, but rather when i feel i have more fics to recommend.

because of the length of this list, personal thoughts/notes are omitted.

links: my general ‘fic rec’ tag; my ‘bnha fic rec’ tag; my bnha ‘weekly fic roundup’s where i recommend fics every week(ish). please check these out if you’re looking for more recommendations; some of the fics on this list will appear in those tags/lists.

check out my ao3; i’ve listed just a few of my favorite dadzawa fics i’ve written on this list as well, to shamelessly self-promote. there are plenty more, though.

passing through fire by achievingelysium

gen; 2.9k; 1/1 complete

Aizawa finds himself in a street with little memory of how he got there. Then he discovers Midoriya, beaten and bruised, who claims Aizawa protected him—but as Aizawa regains pieces of his memory he realizes Midoriya may be lying, and he's the one who's done his own student harm.

Coming Up for Air by achievingelysium

gen; 2.7k; 1/1 complete

Katsuki has nightmares. He doesn't think he deserves the comfort, but Aizawa-sensei sits with him anyway.

like light through a window by achievingelysium

gen; 1.1k; 1/1 complete

The first time Shouta sees what Hagakure looks like, it’s because she’s covered in blood.

breathing room by achievingelysium

gen; 8k; 1/1 complete

A tight encounter with a news reporter leaves Izuku struggling to catch his breath.

geyser by Spineless

gen; 10.8k; 3/3 complete

Izuku faints during class when weeks of sleeping and eating poorly catch up with him. Aizawa, All Might, and his friends, remind him that, no matter what he's going through, he doesn't have to do it alone.

underneath it all by Pomfry

gen; 7.9k; 1/1 complete

Naomasa eyes him. "You're taking this a bit too calmly."

"Oh, I'm absolutely pissed." Shouta takes a swig of coffee. "But I'm making myself stay calm so I don't scare my students when they inevitably burst through that door."

"Why would they do that?"

Shouta gives him an absolutely exhausted look. "You don't know my students, do you? They get wild."

put a bullet (where I should've put a helmet) by canlah

gen; 10.3k; 3/3 complete

Midoriya Izuku has a very high pain threshold. It's useful, until it's not.

It isn't until Izuku reaches his breaking point that he realises he doesn't have to carry this pain by himself.

The Die Has Been Cast by ChiwiTheKiwi

gen; 5.4k; 1/1 complete

“There’s something about that kid you aren’t telling me, isn’t there?”

When no answer meets him, Shouta tries again.

“You know something about Midoriya’s quirk that you haven’t shared with me. Is that right?”

(Or: A canon "What If" surrounding the latest manga events and focusing on Aizawa finally making a connection.)

Lost and Found by Andai

gen; 15.2k; 3/3 complete

“That kid that I watched almost win against Endeavor’s son in the Sports Festival - the one you failed to adequately protect in the USJ attack, if I’m not mistaken -” Aizawa tensed at Hisashi’s words as the man continued, “- that kid is mine, not yours.”

“Wrong,” Shouta responded simply, continuing before the aghast man in front of him could spew out any more bullshit. “Look at ‘your’ kid right now,” Aizawa said, pointedly looking back towards where Izuku was trembling, surrounded by half the class and counting, all their faces displaying worry for Izuku, contempt for Hisashi, or some mixture of the two. “Look at that kid right now,” Aizawa spat at Hisashi, “And tell me he’s still yours.”

. . .

(In which Midoriya Hisashi returns to claim what he believes is rightfully his, and everyone else tells him he can fuck right off.)

Aizawa's Messy Journey to Parenthood by Hayato (TheLennyBunny), SugaSugar

gen; 10k; 2/? ongoing

Aizawa's heart has always been hopelessly big for those who needed help. Growing up taught him how to obscure that fact to protect himself after a few hard lessons but he never gives up. A parent's love is to be trampled on time and again but always ready to help. He didn't begrudge not having a marked parent of his own- well, outside Nedzu in his own odd way- maybe it even made him determined enough to deserve the twenty one child marks on his back.

If only he didn't have to get his hopes up every year he teaches a new class at UA. Maybe... Maybe this year he'd at least find one of them. Right?

series: whumptober 2019 (aka: i beat up on izuku midoriya for 31 days straight) by rexcorvidae

gen; 70k total; 21 works ongoing

many of the fics in rex’s whumptober are Dadzawa! there’s too many to be listed one-by-one.

series: rescue by beeclaws

gen; 20k total; 6 works complete

Izuku's encounter with Shigaraki at the mall ends a little differently. Weeks later, Aizawa takes him home.

darken your door by beeclaws

gen; 7.6k; 3/3 complete

Aizawa tries to go get popcorn and instead gets an uncomfortable encounter with a student's estranged father.

sometimes quiet is violent by wellthengetouttathesoupaisle

gen; 1k; 1/1 complete

“How are you?” Kirishima asks, in a cursory, casual manner.

From there, Todoroki speculates. Fine, he might reply, and Kirishima will sense that something is off, that something is wrong, and he will say, are you sure, Todoroki?

And then Todoroki will have two options. The first will be to lie, and say, yes, of course. Why would you think otherwise? And the other will be, no, I’m not. Thank you for noticing. Thank you so, so much.

in the gold of day by curious_cat

gen; 1.9k; 1/1 complete

Class 3A faces the final test before they become full-fledged pro heroes. Aizawa has some emotions about this.

contagion by beeclaws

gen; 9.5k; 3/3 complete

Uraraka walks to the convenience store and back, on a perfectly ordinary day. The next day, four students from class 1A disappear.

"Eyes on Me" by shanachoi

gen; 3.1k; 3/3 complete

“Hey, hey, eyes on me.”

“It’s going to be okay.”

“We’re going to get out of here.”

“I’ll save you.”

swim or drown by beeclaws

gen; 7.4k; 3/3 complete

Everyone in Aizawa's life seems to be lining up to tell him he can't keep going the way he is. If only that were his only problem.

Mockingbird by angst_goblin

gen; 10.8k; 2/2 complete

Izuku gets de-aged to 3 years old and Shota Aizawa is really not being paid enough to deal with any of this.

fire-forged boys by angst_goblin

gen; 5.4k; 1/1 complete

Izuku and Bakugou are kidnapped by villains and made to participate in a cruel Game to test them. The catch? Bakugou is given quirk suppressants and it's up to Izuku to make sure they both make it out alive- if either of them do. Far away, Aizawa and All Might watch with mounting horror as their students go through what children weren't built to withstand.

Wonders Never Ceased by ViolentlyRed

gen; 2.6k; 1/1 complete

Two calamitous days.

He gets the call from Tsukauchi sometime around nine in the morning.

Or, everything is awful, Bakugou is not okay, Aizawa's heart aches and they somehow get through it.

#dadzawa #bnha #bnha fic rec #fic rec #I KNOW I SAID I WASNT GONNA DO WEEKLY FIC RECS BUT #this is different asdkfnagsnsgdnh #aizawa

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onebadwinter · 4 years ago

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Baron Helmut Zemo Tropes

Taken from Here and Here

Anti-Villain: Sometimes verges on this, though it's a case of Depending on the Writer.

Arch-Enemy: After his father's death, he takes this role to Captain America and leads the Masters of Evil after inheriting the title.

Aristocrats Are Evil: He's a baron after all, and believes his aristocratic heritage entitles him to rule.

Avenging the Villain: Helmut's original motive was to kill Captain America because he killed his father. Eventually, Helmut came to the realization that actually, Heinrich was an awful father and an even worse person.

Badass Normal: Has no powers, but regularly fights the likes of Captain America and the Avengers. He usually has a contingency that will allow him to deal with his opponent's plans anyway; it's only when these contingencies fail (as happened during his battle with Moonstone at the end of the initial run on Thunderbolts) that he's in trouble.

The Big Bad: Of his fare share of arcs, particularly those involving the Masters of Evil.

Brain Uploading: He only survived being decapitated because Techno uploaded his consciousness to a computer.

Butter Face: A Rare Male Example. He has the body you'd expect of somebody who can keep up with Captain America in terms of physique... but that handsome form is contrasted by a hideously malformed visage. For a while, he had a young, dashing look again after hijacking the body of the Helmut from another Earth, but only two years later his face got disfigured again. When he got Carla Sofen's Moonstone, he used it to fix that, but when Melissa broke it again...

Calling the Old Man Out: During his trip back in time, he ran into his father while the latter was gleefully doing mad science for the Nazis. Helmut had long since discarded any Nazi prejudices he had once had, and was fuming watching his father put down other races, the handicapped, etc. Finally he had enough and started beating the hell out of him while giving a "Reason You Suck" Speech. Quite the sign of Character Development for the guy who started out worshiping and avenging his father's memory.

Captain Patriotic: At the beginning of the Thunderbolts, he disguised himself as Citizen V, supposedly the son of a previous hero who'd gone by that name, whom Zemo had killed. Zemo went the whole hog, even decking himself in a cape designed after the American flag.

The Chessmaster: Zemo has a plan for everything, and lays them out months in advance.

Cool Mask: Wears a tighter fitting version of his father's mask.

The Cynic: Has a generally negative view of humanity.

Daddy Issues: He loved his father, and his father loved him... until the Adhesive X incident, where he became outright abusive in every way. Originally, Helmut blamed Captain America. Now, he acknowledges that his father was just a horrible human being.

Did You Just Punch Out Cthulhu?: He once shot the Grandmaster, one of the Elders of the Universe and a being way outside his normal weight class, through the head. Admittedly, there were mitigating circustances that allowed him to do this, and the Grandmaster did get better (because, hey, comics).

Disney Villain Death: Many, many times (see Never Found the Body below).

Even Evil Has Standards: Arranged the death of one of his ancestors during a time-travel jaunt, after he found out the man was a rapist and a mass-murderer who did it all For the Evulz. He later clashed with another ancestor when he thought he was harassing a girl (the two were actually in love, and he quickly apologised).

Evil Genius

Evil Is Petty:

The Faceless: He rarely ever removes his mask, due to his face being horribly scarred in a accident.

Facial Horror: His head has been slashed up so badly that it's practically a skull, with ribbons of flesh draping over his eyes and sliced-off cheeks and lips. The sight of his face visibly disgusts everyone in the original Thunderbolts.

Freudian Excuse: Raised by his father to believe in his inherent superiority. There wasn't a lot of dad hugs down in that South American jungle, mostly just rants and lectures.

Good Scars, Evil Scars: Hideously disfigured beneath his mask.

Grand Theft Me: After becoming a "ghost", his mind was transferred to the actual son of Citizen V (Techno noted it was basically him playing a joke). That is, until an energy conflict - the V-Batallion tried to teleport Citizen V as the body was being sucked into a portal - made his mind be expelled into Techno's machinery. But given he arrived at Counter-Earth, this meant Zemo could do a literal case of the trope, and took the body of his self from this world.

Heel–Face Revolving Door: Cannot make up his mind which side he is supposed to be on. He even once took a bullet for Cap despite being his sworn enemy.

In the Blood: The arrogance and the drive for control certainly are.

Joker Immunity: Unlike his father, he can never seem to be put down for long.

The Leader: Of the Masters of Evil and the Thunderbolts.

Legacy Character: To his father, Baron Heinrich Zemo XII.

Manipulative Bastard: Zemo's very good at getting other people to do what he wants, playing on their emotions and desires.

Master Swordsman: One of the best in the Marvel Universe. Zemo's dueled the likes of Captain America and survived several decades worth of warfare on a time travel jaunt.

Nazi Nobleman: Started out as one, though he's moved away from fascism in recent years. Nowadays his goals align more with Dirty Communists.

Never Found the Body: During the run of Thunderbolts alone he was declared dead on four separate occasions, all of which turned out to be false. In each instance, his body was never found. By the fourth time, most of the team just assume he'll turn up eventually (not that they want him to).

Noble Demon: He's much more noble than his father,for sure.

Purple Is Powerful: Signifies his aristocratic leanings.

Secondary Color Nemesis: Purple, to oppose Cap's blue and red.

Take Over the World: He insists it's to save it. Some people (like Songbird) aren't convinced.

Taking the Bullet: Once leapt in the way of an energy blast an insane Moonstone aimed at Captain America. Messed his face up bad.

There Are No Therapists: This guy is seriously messed up and would probably have turned out differently if he got professional help.

Token Evil Teammate: Alongside Techno, he serves as this for the first iteration of Thunderbolts. While most members of the team fall somewhere between The Hero and the Anti-Hero, Zemo shows no signs of having softened whilst playing-hero, and alongside Techno manages to almost conquer the world and turn it into a Darwinist nightmare. He also constantly mocks his teammates for wanting to be heroes, calling them "weak" and "traitors to the cause" when they show the smallest signs of heroism outside of their pubic duties.

Unlucky Thirteen: He's the thirteenth Baron Zemo.

Well-Intentioned Extremist: In his mind, at any rate, after some Character Development, he becomes determined to take over the world for its own good. That doesn't mean that he's not an Axe-Crazy terrorist who's willing to perform some truly heinous actions for the sake of the "greater good." Zemo: I would never have hurt a world I worked so hard to save.

Western Terrorists: More like this than a Nazi.

Wicked Cultured: When being held at swordpoint by his worst ancestor, an evil aristocrat who believed only in the absolute of power, said ancestor's son (who'd struck up a friendship with Zemo) asked what was more absolute than power. Zemo's answer? "To be, or not to be."

Worthy Opponent: Sometimes sees Captain America this way, and definitely sees Sharon Carter this way.

Xanatos Speed Chess: He's good at incorporating the gambits of others into his plans, as evidenced by his deft manipulation of Moonstone when they were both members of the Thunderbolts.

One of his nastiest acts of spite was destroying a box of Cap's treasured belongings, including some of his last links to the past, right in front of his eyes.

What was his initial plan in founding the Thunderbolts? Pretend to be heroes, earn America and the world's trust, become famous and respected, and then gather knowledge on the other heroes to... sell to the criminal underworld? Eventually, Moonstone points out this is a freaking stupid plan.

Taken to the highest extreme possible. When he actually did have the power to implement whatever change he might have wanted, Songbird shut him down with the intention of killing him out of not trusting him. What were what he believed could have been his last words?

MCU Zemo Tropes

Adaptational Attractiveness: He's quite handsome here, while his comic counterpart usually has to wear a mask to hide his hideously charred, disfigured face. This is true to his first appearance in the comics as a one-shot villain, before he was scarred upon becoming a recurring character.

Adaptational Heroism: In The Falcon and the Winter Soldier, when he does don his iconic comic book alter ego, unlike in the comics where he was a straight-up one-note supervillain, Zemo here is depicted so far as an Ambiguously Evil Anti-Hero ally of Avengers Sam and Bucky without mostly ever betraying them until his escape from the hotel in the fourth episode with most of his redeeming and justifiable qualities shown upfront more than his villainous qualities that Civil War mostly showcased, but still likely an on-and-off antagonist simultaneously during his Enemy Mine with the two superheroes.

Adaptational Nationality: In the comics Helmut Zemo is German, but here he is a Sokovian. Ironically, his actor actually is German, and The Falcon and the Winter Soldier sees a bit of his German accent creep in. He also has a vast array of vehicles and a private plane in Germany, and seems very familiar with both Berlin and the German language. Whether this is a Retcon into making him part German or just a Mythology Gag is yet to be seen, though he does identify Sokovia as "his country".

Adaptational Nice Guy: His comic counterpart and that of his father were literal Nazis who wanted mass genocide and world domination, and while the Helmut of the comics did grow out of the former, he still tends to try the latter. This version of Zemo, despite being on a black ops killing team, has a much simpler and more sympathetic motivation, while his father was merely a civilian. Neither have any ties to HYDRA (aside from Helmut's exploitation of HYDRA's Winter Soldier project), while the versions from the comics are both prominent members of that organisation.

Adaptational Wimp: In the comics Zemo is a major adversary of Captain America and the Avengers, with a particular emphasis on his skills at fencing and manipulation. While this version retains his cunning, he is also presented as much less of a direct threat to anyone despite being a former black operative; when Black Panther decides to bring him in alive, he goes down with barely a struggle. Most of his success ties into this, with him exploiting his lack of obvious supervillainous affect to stay under the heroes' radar until his plan requires him to show his hand, then relying on Steve and Tony's flaws and personal issues to do most of the work for him. The Falcon and the Winter Soldier shows that he hasn't forgotten how to do his own dirty work, however, putting his soldier skills to use alongside his usual guile and strategizing once he gets back into the fray.

Adaptation Personality Change: In the comics, Zemo is generally depicted as an unapologetic villain who is primarily driven by a selfish desire to rule over others. His film version, on the other hand, has a much more sympathetic motive for his villainous actions, as he's just a victim of the Avengers' collateral damage in Sokovia seeking revenge for the death of his entire family.

Affably Evil:

Alas, Poor Villain: His defeat in Civil War is treated as an utterly somber affair, with him having nothing left after completing his plan and hoping to commit Suicide by Cop at T'Challa's hands before trying to kill himself when T'Challa refuses to be consumed by vengeance as Zemo has. Even though he got what he wanted (up to a point), it doesn't change the fact that his family is gone forever.

The Alcoholic: Following his escape from prison in The Falcon and the Winter Soldier, Zemo reveals himself to be a little bit of a tippler, partaking in shots, champagne, helping himself to Sharon's expensive liquor collection, then taking more shots at a club. He apparently approves of the way they party in Madripoor.

All for Nothing: He wanted to destroy the Avengers and was content with them dividing. Thanos's arrival and the events of Endgame undo all of that. In fact, the Avengers are no doubt more beloved than ever as a result.

Anti-Villain: Despite the grim and often hypocritical in hindsight actions he resorts to, he does have some good traits and was hoping for a cleaner way to get what he wanted first. Also, his motive — revenge for the collateral damage-induced loss of his family — is at least a little sympathetic.

Apple of Discord: His Evil Plan is to find evidence that Bucky Barnes murdered Tony Stark's parents while under HYDRA control and show it to Stark, so Bucky's friend Steve Rogers and Tony will turn on each other over whether to spare or kill Bucky, and the Avengers will be ripped apart as they side with one leader or the other.

Arch-Enemy: Since the death of Ulysses Klaue, it seems Zemo has taken his seat as Wakanda's most wanted for the death of King T'Chaka. Not a day after he breaks out of prison, Ayo is already hot on his trail to capture him.

Aristocrats Are Evil: It's revealed in The Falcon and the Winter Soldier that he is a nobleman like his comic counterpart. Though unlike said counterpart, his upbringing had nothing to do with him becoming a villain since his father was by all accounts a decent man in this universe.

Badass Longcoat: The events of The Falcon and the Winter Soldier have Zemo wearing a stylish winter coat, complete with Conspicuous Gloves.

Badass Normal: Unlike most of the Avengers, he's just a plain old human. But, through sheer patience and ingenuity, he still managed to tear them apart. During the trip to Madripoor he proves to be no slouch in combat either, reminding everyone he was former special forces. He also comes much closer to permanently stopping Morgenthau than Falcon or Bucky have ever managed so far, largely because he's fully willing to kill.

The Bad Guy Wins: Downplayed. Zemo has achieved his goals but with never with the fully desired outcome.

Batman Gambit: He's good at finding ways to make other people do things for him by exploiting their predictable behavior.

Beard of Evil: He has grown a beard during his eight years in prison as seen in Episode 2 of The Falcon and the Winter Soldier.

Beware the Superman: His return in The Falcon and the Winter Soldier reveals his own take on the idea. While he is against the idea of a Super Soldier on principle, he is not specifically against them as people, but more how they are precisely put on a pedestal, their flaws washed away/ignored and subsequently inspire Blind Obedience. He specifically notes how the personal loyalty inspired by Steve Rogers to Sam and Bucky (then, even now) precisely drives them to such extremes—even breaking the law much like they did to free him. Sam and Bucky do not protest the point. He admits that Steve was not corrupted by the power he was given but points out there was only one of him compared to the many who would abuse it. He is proven right on this point by John Walker taking the super soldier serum and going off the deep end.

Big Bad: Of Captain America: Civil War. He exploits and exacerbates the ideological differences between Captain America and Iron Man, resulting in the eponymous Good vs Good conflict that threatens to destroy the Avengers.

Big Damn Villains: As Sam, Bucky, and Sharon are pinned down by bounty hunters in the Madripoor shipyard, Zemo suddenly makes a grandiose entrance in full villain garb on a ledge, killing several assassins by shooting a nearby gas tank with his pistol before going to ground and taking down the rest in close combat, opening up the heroes' window of escape.

Blue Blood: The Falcon and The Winter Soldier reveals that he was always a baron. While the fall of Sokovia took away most of the power of the title he still has a lot of money and connections as a result of his position.

Breaking the Fellowship: Thanks to his efforts, the Avengers are severely compromised, with several of the foundational friendships that held them together torn apart and anyone who sided with Cap imprisoned or branded a fugitive. Even Tony and his supporters still bear physical and mental scars caused by fighting their friends.

The Bus Came Back: After being imprisoned at the end of Civil War, Zemo returns in The Falcon and the Winter Soldier, with the title characters seeking his assistance in tracking down the source of the Flag Smashers's Super Soldier powers.

Cape Busters: Has a personal grudge against the Avengers and plots to destroy them by pitting them against one another. By the time of The Falcon and the Winter Soldier, he has apparently narrowed his vendetta to all super soldiers, stating that they "cannot be allowed to exist." At the same time, as stated above in Beware the Superman, his is more nuanced compared to other versions of this trope.

Character Tic: He has a habit of tilting his head whenever he's attempting to manipulate someone. It seems to be a subconscious thing he does, as he immediately stops doing it when Sam notices and lampshades it in Episode 4 of The Falcon and The Winter Soldier.

The Chessmaster: He plays all the Avengers like pawns. He frames Bucky for a crime, to have the world hunt him and lure him out of hiding. This partially causes the Avengers to turn on each other, divided over Bucky's innocence. He takes the UN interrogator's place, extorting information out of Bucky and using the trigger words to activate Bucky's soldier conditioning. Before finally showing Tony the tape of what really happened to his parents, sending him into a murderous rage to kill Bucky.

Colonel Badass: He used to be a Colonel in the Sokovian Special Forces, and he is one of the most effective foes the Avengers have faced — though not because of his combat abilities, but because of how effective he is about executing his plans.

Comic-Book Movies Don't Use Codenames: In Civil War, he's never called "Baron Zemo", the title he goes by in the comics, and is instead referred to by his military rank Colonel. This is subverted in The Falcon and the Winter Soldier, which reveals that he was Sokovian royalty and has several characters address him as "Baron".

The Comically Serious: His stoic demeanour tends to stick out when he's in the same room as Sam and Bucky, like when he awkwardly jumps to the defense of Marvin Gaye's "Trouble Man" soundtrack, or his crappy dancing in Sharon's nightclub.

Composite Character: He takes Klaue's role as the man who murders King T'Chaka.

Cool Car: He actually has a lot of these. His family owned an impressive collection of classics, with plenty of Rolls' and Bentleys in his garage. It's a taste he himself had acquired, as he, Sam, Bucky and Sharon make their getaway out of Madripoor in a super-charged muscle car he had stashed in the docks.

Crusading Widower: His wife was among the civilian casualties in Sokovia. He keeps a recording of her last voice message on his phone.

Cunning Linguist: Zemo's multilingualism allows him to assume different identities. Aside from his native Sokovian, he speaks English, German, Russian, and presumably French, given that he was able to convincingly impersonate a French-speaking psychologist.

Death Seeker: Once he has put Iron Man against Bucky and Cap, he first attempts to persuade Black Panther into killing him, then decides to shoot himself. Black Panther catches the bullet before snagging him a headlock so he can face justice.

Determinator: He manages to find new resolve after Civil War, and Iron Man's sacrifice has done little to change his views. With Iron Man dead and Captain America retired, he decides he will stop the creation of any and all super soldiers in the world no matter what happens.

Divide and Conquer: His plan against the Avengers, seeing that there's absolutely no chance he can fight them on his own. He even compares the Avengers to some sort of a mighty empire, which can only be felled by using this tactic.

Driven to Suicide: Tries to goad T'Challa into killing him, and then to shoot himself when he refuses. Neither works out for him; making enemies of a guy with Super Strength and a bulletproof suit was a bad idea, evidently.

Elites Are More Glamorous: His family is Sokovian nobility and he was colonel in EKO Scorpion, Sokovia's black ops kill squad. Even if Sokovia was a developing Balkans country, that still makes him pretty dangerous.

Enemy Mine: Downplayed Trope. Despite not personally hating Sam and Bucky, the latter two consider their alliance with Zemo this due to Civil War and the damage he caused; the only reason they tolerate him is that he can accomodate them with the resources they need to take down the Flag-Smashers. To his credit, Zemo doesn't hesitate in helping their cause because of his Beware the Superman beliefs, even expressing interest in facing Karli Morgenthau herself.

Even Evil Has Standards:

Evil Genius: While he has combat training, his greatest strength is his intellect. Aside from his abilities as The Chessmaster, Zemo was able to crack the encrypted HYDRA files on the Winter Soldier program that Black Widow released to the Internet and build a very effective EMP bomb in his hotel room.

Face Death with Dignity: When T'Challa finally catches up with him at the end of Civil War, he's completely calm and fully prepared for T'Challa to kill him to avenge his father, even seeming to acknowledge that in his mind T'Challa's revenge against him is just as justified as his own revenge against the Avengers. Later, in episode 5 of The Falcon and the Winter Soldier, he's completely calm and accepting when it looks like Bucky is going to execute him, and later he calmly walks away with the Dora Milaje when they show up to take him into custody, knowing there's a decent chance he's going to be executed in a spectacular fashion in Wakanda for killing the king (for some reason the Dora Milaje went to all that trouble just to turn him over to the U.N. where he'll be held in the same prison that used to hold Captain America's half of the Avengers, but he's got no way of knowing that).

Facial Scruff: His brief appearance in the second episode of The Falcon and the Winter Soldier has Zemo with this due to his time spent in prison. Downplayed in that it looks relatively thin despite having been locked up for eight years at this point, and he shaves it off shortly after.

Fantastic Racism: He has a distaste for enhanced individuals in general, and super soldiers in specific. Specially if such super soldiers are put on pedestals he deems completely unearned.

Flaw Exploitation: He turns the Avengers, particularly Steve and Tony, against each other through a series of Batman Gambits with the ultimate goal of making them fight each other to the death — or if not that, at least to the point of no longer being a cohesive unit. In particular, he reveals to Tony the truth of what happened to his parents knowing that he'll go into an Unstoppable Rage against Bucky and that Cap will prioritise keeping Bucky alive even at Tony's expense.

Friend to All Children: Invoked in The Falcon and the Winter Soldier. In the fourth episode, Zemo earns the trust of a few children in Latvia by offering them sweets in exchange for information. But he also uses to opportunity to manipulate them into thinking Bucky and Sam aren't to be trusted.

Four Eyes, Zero Soul: When he infiltrates the UN compound to activate the Winter Soldier, he wears a pair of glasses as part of his disguise.

From Nobody to Nightmare:

Gambit Roulette: The final part his master plan relies on little other than his assumptions on the personalities and capabilities of various characters after studying thousands of pieces of intel from HYDRA and S.H.I.E.L.D. that Black Widow dumped online back in Winter Soldier. The whole thing would have fallen apart if...

Godzilla Threshold: Sam and Bucky see recruiting him to stop the Flag-Smashers at this...and ultimately cross it when they run out of options.

Heads I Win, Tails You Lose: Even if any of the above had happened, Zemo still would’ve won because his entire goal was for the Avengers to disband - whether through an amicable parting-of-ways or a bloodbath - it was always a matter of how big his win would be. The only real flaw in his plan was the interference of Black Panther, and the creation of the Sokovia Accords, both of which he’d have no way to account for.

He Who Fights Monsters: He wants to take revenge for the death of his family, which he blames on the Avengers for causing collateral damage in the Battle of Sokovia. In doing so, he is responsible for the deaths of dozens of innocent people himself. He even earns someone coming after him for revenge in T'Challa.

Hidden Agenda Villain: His motives remain unclear for much of Civil War and are only revealed as the final battle is taking place.

Hidden Depths: Like Sam, he's a fan of Marvin Gaye and considers "Trouble Man" a masterpiece.

High Collar of Doom: He does the Marquee Alter Ego and Not Wearing Tights through the whole of Civil War, but his winter gear in the third act features a large collar turned up, giving off this vibe. His supervillain gear in Falcon and the Winter Soldier also features one of these, albeit with his comic self's fur trim included.

Human Shield: Thanks to his EKO Scorpion training, is fully capable of taking hostages to hide and shoot behind, as a group of assassins in Madripoor discovered.

Hypocrite:

Interrupted Suicide: After explaining his motivations to T'Challa and apologizing for the death of his father, Zemo tries to shoot himself in the head. T'Challa, however, has none of that, and stops him to make sure he pays for his crimes and turns him over to the authorities.T'Challa: The living are not done with you yet.

It's Personal: Zemo has a personal vendetta against the Avengers. His family was killed during the Battle of Sokovia and he simply wants revenge on those he holds responsible. As pointed out in Beware the Superman, he extends this to any Super Soldier held in such high regard, which is why he has no problem teaming up with Sam (who's more or less Badass Normal like himself) and Bucky (who is a Super Soldier, but isn't exactly held in high regard). When he, Sam, Bucky, and Sharon come across the HYDRA scientist responsible for creating more Super Soldiers after the failed Siberian Winter Soldiers, Zemo quietly and stoically shoots the man before the team is attacked.

Jerkass Has a Point: In episode 4 of The Falcon and the Winter Soldier, Zemo explains why he doesn’t believe that super soldiers should be allowed to exist. By his own previous statements, Sam would probably agree with much of what he says, and John Walker spends the rest of the episode illustrating his arguments.

Kick the Son of a Bitch:

Kill and Replace: Murders the psychologist who was supposed to be evaluating Bucky and takes his place, taking the opportunity to activate Bucky's brainwashing during the evaluation.

Knight of Cerebus: He's a Villainous Underdog, but he manages to tear the Avengers apart through tactics. Unlike previous villains, his methods includes manipulating Tony into trying to execute Bucky to avenge the deaths of his parents and turning on Steve in the process. Averted in The Falcon and the Winter Soldier when his Laughably Evil side lightens the mood.

Know When to Fold 'Em:

Laser-Guided Karma:

Laughably Evil: Downplayed the next time he makes an appearance as he becomes The Comically Serious in an Endearingly Dorky kind of way when he joins in Sam's conversation with Bucky to praise Marvin Gaye's "Trouble Man" soundtrack, or his lame dancing in Sharon's nightclub.

Manipulative Bastard: He is very skilled at manipulation, having studied the Avengers' psychological profiles in order to exploit their individual weaknesses and play them against each other.

Man of Wealth and Taste: Zemo is a baron and more than loaded, owning a private jet, a fleet of classic cars, a personal retainer, and plenty of money and stashed resources.

Marquee Alter Ego: In Civil War, Zemo does not wear a mask — or any kind of costume at all, unlike his comic book counterpart. This changes in The Falcon and the Winter Soldier.

Master of Disguise: Zemo uses prosthetics and heavy makeup in order to convincingly make himself look like Bucky Barnes in the security cameras, fooling just about everyone into thinking the latter was responsible for the UN explosion. He later pulls a Kill and Replace on the psychiatrist who was intended to interview a contained Bucky with no one none the wiser until things start going wrong. Although the latter example is downplayed as when Tony finally discovers the real psychiatrist's body, he looks decidedly nothing like Zemo's impersonation of him.

Misplaced Retribution: Zemo holds the Avengers responsible for all the damage Ultron caused; while Tony and Bruce did create Ultron (after the former was influenced by Wanda), the "end all human life" thing was still his idea. The rest of the Avengers, however didn't know about Tony's plan, and did their best to stop Ultron once he went rogue.

Moral Myopia: He seeks to avenge his family, but he ends up killing multiple innocents who surely had family of their own. He acknowledges this, seeing as how he apologizes to Black Panther for killing his father but by that time he’s hoping to be killed so he can join his family, either by T’Challa or his own hand, so it’s more about easing his conscience rather than remorse for what his actions indirectly caused.

Movie Superheroes Wear Black: Instead of the purple and gold costume he had in the comics, he sticks to dark civilian clothes. Near the end of Civil War, he has a pitch-black coat with a large collar. The Falcon and the Winter Soldier trailers and promo images however reveal he’ll be getting a new costume featuring his signature purple mask and even incorporating the classic ermine trim on his collar.

Nazi Hunter: As part of his Adaptational Nice Guy he's no longer a member of the Nazi-affiliated and fascistic HYDRA group, but is shown to despite and openly oppose them, telling Karpov that "HYDRA deserves its place on the ash heap". The Falcon and the Winter Soldier has him openly despise Nazis and reveals that he'd been hunting down and killing HYDRA members for years as part of his quest to destroy the Super Serum, long before the destruction of Sokovia.

Necessary Evil: How Bucky, and especially Sam, view him in their fight against the Flag-Smashers. No one knows more about the super-soldier serum and Hydra than Zemo, and fortunately for them, they have a common enemy in the Flag-Smashers.

Nice Job Fixing It, Villain!: While his plan does succeed in its goal, it does allow Steve to find Bucky, after fruitlessly spending two years scouring the Earth for him, and gives them an ally who can get the brainwashing out of Bucky's head.

Nice to the Waiter: He is quite friendly and courteous to both a staff member of the hotel he stayed at for Civil War, and his old family butler.

No-Nonsense Nemesis: Zemo is an extremely pragmatic man who knows full well that he's just an ordinary person in an extraordinary world, and realizes that it will give him no quarter if he were to dally about with regards to his vengeance. He has no choice but to be utterly cutthroat if he wants to complete his goal. This is especially shown in his first full-blown action sequence in Falcon and the Winter Soldier, taking down assassins after himself and the heroes in a surprise attack that wouldn't be out of place in a first-person shooter game.

Non-Action Big Bad: Although he has military training, he never directly fights any of the Avengers in Civil War, acknowledging that he could never physically stand up to the likes of them. Instead, he relies more on subterfuge and deception. Becomes a Subverted Trope by the time of Falcon and the Winter Soldier, showing he's fully capable of taking down several assassins after the heroes, though all of them are still normal humans.

Not So Above It All: After being freed from prison in The Falcon and the Winter Soldier, Zemo shows that he isn't a stoic and unpleasant individual 24/7. Notably, he jumps in on Sam and Bucky's conversation about Marvin Gaye's Troubleman soundtrack to give his own thoughts on the record, and he can be seen thoroughly enjoying himself Madripoor, drinking quite a bit of hard liquor and awkwardly dancing at the Little Princess nightclub.

Nothing Left to Do but Die: After getting Tony to fight Steve and Bucky, Zemo decides to listen to his wife's voicemail one last time, before deleting it and attempting to commit suicide.

Nothing Personal: He tells T'Challa that he is sorry for killing his father and that he seemed like a good man in Civil War. While conversing with Bucky for the first time since the events of that film in The Falcon and the Winter Soldier, he says this verbatim about using him to tear apart the Avengers.

Not Wearing Tights: He doesn't wear anything remotely resembling a costume in Civil War. However, he dons the purple mask in The Falcon and the Winter Soldier.

Outliving One's Offspring: His son was a casualty from the Avengers' fight with Ultron.

Old Money: He is generationally wealthy due to his family being Sokovian royalty.

Only Sane Man: In The Falcon and the Winter Soldier, it says a lot about Sam's present circle of associates that (other than Sharon Carter) Zemo is by far the most mentally well-balanced individual Sam has around him at his job.

Papa Wolf: The reason he's out to destroy the Avengers? His family was killed in their fight with Ultron.

Patriotic Fervor: Averted. As Zemo himself remarks ruefully, while he served in Sokovia's armed forces, his drive for vengeance isn't out of any love for the country, as he never actually had much patriotic feeling. The Falcon and The Winter Soldier shows that he does have some serious grievances over how it ended up, though, even chastising Sam and Bucky for not visiting the memorial.

Politically Correct Villain: As part of his Adaptational Nice Guy he's no longer a member of the Nazi-affiliated and fascistic HYDRA group, but is a fan of Marvin Gaye and understands Trouble Man (Sam's favorite album) to be a condensation of the African-American experience. Also berates Sam for stereotyping himself as a "pimp" just because he's flamboyantly dressed.

Purple Is Powerful: The Falcon and the Winter Soldier sees Zemo don a purple mask, coat, and gloves as he resurfaces to the criminal world.

Put on a Prison Bus: Zemo is taken to prison by Black Panther before he can commit suicide, ultimately sitting out the next few years until his return in The Falcon and the Winter Soldier. And it happens again in Episode 5 of the aforementioned series, where he's taken by the Dora Milaje to the Raft.

Pyrrhic Victory: Zemo succeeds in fracturing the Avengers and getting the majority of them branded as fugitives, but he is also captured by Black Panther and still has to face prosecution for the murders he committed. It also works vice versa on his capture being a Pyrrhic Victory for the heroes. Best summarized by the following exchange:Everett K. Ross: So how does it feel? To spend all that time, all that effort, and to see it fail so spectacularly? Helmut Zemo: ...Did it?

Revenge Myopia: Getting his revenge was worth anything — including inflicting upon others the same pain he complained about suffering. Lampshaded at the end of the movie, when T'Challa observes that the revenge he seeks has consumed him. Worse still, because he tore the Avengers apart, they had no gameplan and were unable to present a united front against Thanos, leading to even more families the universe over being devastated by the Snap.

Rogues Gallery Transplant: Downplayed. While Zemo is still an enemy of Captain America and The Falcon as he was in the comics, he also ends up becoming an enemy of Black Panther's, due to his involvement in King T'Chaka's death. It extends to the entire nation of Wakanda as well, as they immediately dispatch Ayo to apprehend him when he escapes from prison in The Falcon and the Winter Soldier.

Royals Who Actually Do Something: His noble lineage while serving in the Sokovian special forces makes him this.

Secretly Wealthy: He may have been living the gritty villain life in Civil War (probably to fly under the radar), but The Falcon and the Winter Soldier reveals that he is a wealthy Baron like his comics counterpart. Sam even reacts with "So all this time, you've been rich?"

A Sinister Clue: Zemo is left-handed and is the Big Bad of Civil War. Shooting a gun with his left hand starts off his Big Damn Villains moment in Falcon and the Winter Soldier.

Sucks at Dancing: While the gang rests and spends the night at Sharon's club in Madripoor, Zemo's dancing moves leave him wanting. Let's just say he was channeling his inner Commander Shepard.

Suicide by Cop: After apologizing to T'Challa for killing his father, he says that he seemed like a good man "with a dutiful son", saying this last part with a meaningful glance, obviously hinting that he's fine with T'Challa taking vengeance upon him now. When T'Challa refuses to do so, Zemo attempts to just shoot himself, but T'Challa thwarts this effort as well.

Superhero Movie Villains Die: Subverted. After completing his plan to turn Iron Man and Captain America against each other, he first attempts Suicide by Black Panther. Attempts being the operative word, as T'Challa refuses when he realises how close he came to turning out like Zemo. As a result, Zemo attempts to shoot himself in the head, but Black Panther stops him and turns him into the authorities, leaving him incarcerated but very much alive.

Supporting Protagonist: Of The Falcon and the Winter Soldier, as most of Bucky's and Sam's story and dynamic are sometimes told from his viewpoint during his team-up with them.

They Look Just Like Everyone Else!: There's nothing from his looks that would suggest that he's more than just an everyday guy.

Took a Level in Cheerfulness: He's much more upbeat in The Falcon and the Winter Soldier than he was in Captain America: Civil War. Which makes sense: in the latter he had just lost his family and was on a revenge quest whereas in the former the stakes aren't as personal and he's had time to grieve for his family in prison, meaning he has the time and temperament to joke around, make fun of "allies" and dance badly.

Took a Level in Kindness: Downplayed, but in The Falcon and the Winter Soldier, he's much friendlier with Sam and Bucky than he was with Tony and Steve in Civil War. Justified, as this time around he's working together with them to take down the Flag-Smashers and even then he still takes the time to engage them in relatively civil conversations.

Tragic Villain: He pursues his vengeance purely because he feels he has nothing else to live for without his family. This is highlighted by his decision to goad Black Panther into killing him and, when that doesn't work, shoot himself.

Tritagonist: Of The Falcon and the Winter Soldier, when he teams up with Sam and Bucky in their crusade to defeat the Flag Smashers, while being more developed as a character in contrast to his debut in Civil War along the way of the narrative.

Tranquil Fury: Despite spending the whole movie on a murderous crusade, Zemo avoids all the theatrics of Loki or Ultron and seldom even raises his voice. This includes when he finally spells out his motives to the heroes.

Troll: Even when he's not manipulating or killing everyone around him, he's kind of a dick, as seen in his reappearance in Falcon and the Winter Soldier, reciting Bucky's trigger phrase, knowing it doesn't work, just to upset him, needling Sam about his experience in the Raft, and later telling his retainer to serve Sam and Bucky them any food that's gone off.

Truer to the Text: Zemo in Civil War was a borderline In Name Only depiction of him. The Falcon and the Winter Soldier retroactively adds a lot more aspects of the original comic character, such as his noble status, his costume, and his physical prowess.

Unknown Rival: To the Flag-Smashers, particularly Karli Morgenthau. Do to being enhanced with the super-soldier serum, Zemo considers the Flag-Smashers to be dangerous individuals, and is more than willing to form an Enemy Mine with Sam and Bucky to take them down. Karli on the other hand, isn't even aware that Zemo exists until he shoots her and destroys the serum right in front of her. Even then, she seems more content to get up and run than to try to confront him for his actions.

Unwitting Instigator of Doom: He successfully managed to break up the Avengers, hoping to bring down the most powerful team of beings in the universe to avenge the deaths of his family. Unfortunately for him, it worked a little too well, as they don't stand on a united front when Thanos arrives and, despite putting up a good fight, get flattened by the Mad Titan. Said Mad Titan then uses the Infinity Stones to wipe out half of all life in the universe, turning the world into a total mess that it spends five years trying to recover from until the Avengers find a way to set things right. Even when they do undo the Snap, the world falls into utter chaos once again trying to handle those that were restored to life, leading to the Flag-Smashers taking rise and causing just enough trouble to force Bucky and Sam to bust Zemo out of jail to help them.

Villain Protagonist: So far of The Falcon and the Winter Soldier, when he teams up with Sam and Bucky to take down the Flag Smashers, getting more screen time and more of his development unlike in Civil War.

Villain Respect: As of The Falcon and the Winter Soldier, Zemo develops this towards Sam Wilson due to his refusal to be ehnanced into being super soldier while maintaining his idealistic outlook. He also concedes that Steve Rogers was not corrupted by the power he held but holds him as an exception.

Villainous Underdog: He's not a Physical God, not an alien, nor a Super Soldier. He's just a former military colonel with patience, a simple yet effective plan, and The Power of Hate. This is exactly why Sam and Bucky decide to bring him into their crusade against the Flag-Smashers.

Weak, but Skilled: Invoked. Zemo is a professionally trained special ops colonel who has the combat skills to take down regular men with ease. However, he knows that no amount of skill can destroy a group of enhanced individuals like the Avengers, and so relies on his manipulation and espionage skills to turn them against each other instead.

Weapon of Choice: A Smith and Wesson 6906 pistol, which he uses to execute the other Winter Soldiers and attempt suicide.

Well-Intentioned Extremist: Zemo's objective in The Falcon and The Winter Soldier is to stop the creation of any and all super soldiers, believing that they create symbols of facism like the Red Skull once did. He accomplishes this in the fourth episode by shooting Karli Morgenthau multiple times and then smashing the remaining vials as Nico is helping her escape him.

What You Are in the Dark: When Zemo corners Karli and discovers the last of the Super Soldier Serum in her possession, rather than take it for himself, which would have made his mission a lot easier, he smashes the vials and would have successfully destroyed them all had Walker not intervened.

Wicked Cultured: He's a connoiseur of music and art, as revealed in Falcon and the Winter Soldier.

Woobie, Destroyer of Worlds: He has quite a sympathetic motive for his mission of revenge against the Avengers, namely that he blames them for the death of his family.

Xanatos Speed Chess: He's not in control of everything that happens in Civil War (for one thing, he has nothing to do with the Sokovia Accords), but he's good at taking advantage of unexpected situations to further his plans. Even more so in The Falcon and the Winter Soldier. In Civil War, at least he still instigates most of the events, but in the show, he's broken out of prison without having expected to and is more or less thrust into an ongoing conflict he has nothing to do with. He still manages to play the heroes and the villains—that he utterly disagrees with—and so far has gotten away completely unscathed, once again having succeeded at what he set out to do.

He's the Big Bad of Civil War and is more than willing to commit mass murder to achieve his ends, but the times he acts polite or remorseful are genuine. He states he'd rather avoid unnecessary deaths if he can, has a few standards, apologizes to T'Challa for killing his father, has regular courteous interactions with a staff member of the hotel he's staying at, and even eventually apologizes to Bucky for using him. Considering he's just a grieving man who's dedicated to avenging the deaths of his family, it makes sense he wouldn't act like a cackling maniac.

By The Falcon And The Winter Soldier, he is shown to be fairly courteous to those around him (who, apart from his family butler were his enemies before) and he is capable of holding civil conversations with Bucky, even offering him a genuine apology for his actions in Civil War. He also agrees to join Sam and Bucky's crusade against the Flag-Smashers, without the driving of a hard bargain one might expect from him. He is also fully willing to lend his resources from the criminal underground to Sam and Bucky to take the Flag-Smashers down, no questions asked.

While none of the Avengers die as a consequence of his plan in Captain America: Civil War, he accomplishes his main goal in dividing them and is content with this. While the looming threat of Thanos forces them back together in Avengers: Infinity War and Avengers: Endgame, the reunion turns out to be temporary — by the time of Spider-Man: Far From Home, WandaVision, and The Falcon and the Winter Soldier, the Avengers are still very much defunct.

In The Falcon and the Winter Soldier, he successfully killed the man who recreated the super soldier formula and destroyed all but one of the remaining samples while inadvertently leading to John Walker gaining the Super Serum for himself. This turns in Zemo's favor after Walker brutally executes a defenseless Flag Smasher in broad daylight in front of civilians, corrupting the image of super soldiers in the public eye. He willing gives up a chance at pulling a Villain: Exit, Stage Left to visit a memorial and allows him self to be captured, his work done.

He framed Bucky Barnes for bombing the United Nations, then relied on everyone else including Captain America hunting him down for it, and further that no one but the Avengers would even be capable of killing Bucky, to get access to Barnes and his knowledge of HYDRA bases.

He arranges for his ruse to be discovered by the media, relying on Tony to find out and make amends with Captain America, so they'll both find the Siberian compound where Zemo reveals to them that Bucky killed Tony's parents.

His entire plan is based on assumptions from the S.H.I.E.L.D. intel on the Avengers he's studied that Captain America's over-protectiveness of his friends and Iron Man's complex over the death of his parents would mean not only that the two would turn on each other if Bucky's involvement in the Starks' death was revealed, but that Steve wouldn't have talked to Tony about Bucky's potential involvement beforehand.

His setup gambled on the fact that it is a conflict that only works if there are no voices of reason to hold either of them back. The fact that the airport fight left only two active members of the Avengers, Bucky and a third party present in the Hydra compound in a place where no one would interfere was a happy accident for him since most of the Avengers present could have prevented things from reaching the breaking point. Of course, this is covered under Heads I Win, Tails You Lose.

Notably, this is also why he finds Bucky a bit tolerable, since he is being bewared of.

In a stark contrast to his comics depiction, he lacks any affiliation with HYDRA and outright states that they deserved to be brought down. A conversation in Falcon and the Winter Soldier reveals he despises the Red Skull and those who idolize him, and he kills Doctor Nagel while the man is gloating about being a god.

Despite his profound hatred of the Avengers, he declined to unleash the other five Winter Soldiers and shot them dead rather than risk someone else doing so, as they were worse than Bucky and would do untold damage to the world given the order. He also seems uncomfortable with the concept of experimenting on humans in general.Zemo: If it's any comfort, they died in their sleep. Did you really think I wanted more of you?

Zemo was "just" a special forces operative, but when his family was killed, he used his intel on HYDRA to take on the Avengers and came closer to destroying the team than any previous villain.

Falcon and the Winter Soldier reveals that at some point, he became involved with the criminal underground, under the simple but accurate alias of "Baron".

A) Captain America and Bucky had captured Zemo before Iron Man arrived (then again, he was in a fortified bunker that would take serious fire-power to break through).

B) Iron Man had not figured out where Cap and Bucky were headed in the first place.

C) Iron Man had not come alone, meaning there might have been someone to restrain him or talk him down after he learned the truth.

D) Black Panther had succeeded in killing Bucky during one of their three fights during the course of the film (of course it’s highly unlikely that he even knew the Black Panther existed).

E) Captain America told Iron Man that the deaths of his parents were orchestrated by HYDRA.

Zemo hates the Avengers after the collateral damage they caused killed his family. So he decides to split the team up and in the process causes collateral damage that kills other people's family members.

Zemo believes that "gods" like the Avengers should not be allowed to exist. Sam points out that be decreeing who deserves to exist, he's speaking like a god.

Tortures and kills Vasily Karpov for information. Karpov is not only a still loyal HYDRA operative but one of the main leaders of the Winter Soldier project and ordered the death of the Starks and his slow death is just desserts. He does the same to the HYDRA scientist responsible for making more Super Soldiers in Falcon and the Winter Soldier, finishing his work from Siberia.

He also happily participates in the interrogation of Doctor Nagel, the Mad Scientist who recreated the Super Soldier Serum via human experimentation, and personally guns the man down.

Zig-zagged; he knows very well that he can never kill the Avengers himself, since more powerful men than him have tried and all have failed, which is why he makes a plan to get them to kill each other for him.

In the secret HYDRA lab in Madripoor, he and his comrades come under attack. Not knowing where the assailants are, Zemo makes a quick getaway, causing Sam and the others to think he bailed... only to show up moments later when the assassins are in plain view, making it much easier for him to take them down.

When the Dora Milaje apprehend him a second time in episode 5 of The Falcon and the Winter Soldier, he surrenders himself without a fight, presumably both because he knew he had no chance of victory and because he had already achieved his goal of destroying the current iteration of the super-soldier serum.

He uses Bucky's Trigger Phrase while the latter's locked in an apparatus, making him go on a rampage. By the end of Civil War, he himself is locked in the same apparatus.

He kills T'Challa's father in the course of his Evil Plan. After T'Challa learns the truth about this, he foils Zemo's attempted suicide to ensure he faces justice for his crimes.

#HelmutInformation

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boogiewrites · 4 years ago

Text

Never Break the Chain Pt. 4

Part 4 of 5

Characters: Javier Peña x OFC

Summary: Esme is left with the harsh reality of her feelings with Javi and what loving him means. Lead by her heart and her gut she leaps into action to try to secure her hopes of having a future with him. But in their line of work, things can take a turn for the worse in a second.

Warnings/Tags: Injury. Canon Typical Violence. Life or Death.

Click on my icon then go to my Mobile Masterlist in my bio for my other works and chapters. (Had to do this since Tumblr killed links, sorry.) Please like, comment and reblog if you enjoyed it! It helps out us writers A LOT!

To hold herself together in times of distress Esme had to fall apart from time to time when she was alone. Tonight was going to be one of those times. She secluded away in her small hideaway in the mountains. She had always enjoyed her own company, knowing the difference between being alone and being lonely, but the latter was heavy on her back as she sat red-eyed on the bed, looking out the plantation shuttered double doors in her bedroom.

Her mind couldn’t decide if talking to Javi had been a mistake or not. She felt every buried emotion in a rush that left her a sloppy, blotchy mess. There was no one around for kilometers to hear her, so she let it all out. The rosary she’d mentioned to Javi was occupying her hands as she bounced her legs, full of anxious energy.

Before, the consequences of knowing Javi were something she could deflect, although the coincidence of knowing a cop from over four thousand km away from her childhood would be a hard sell, she hadn’t worried drastically about it. The more intricate reality of how she felt about him was what she was wrestling with. The fact that she had seen him, touched him, talked to him were no longer what ifs’ or fantasies but hard facts. The fact she was struggling with most intensely was that she was still very much in love with him. Before he was a memory, a myth, a story to be told over drinks. He was now the man in the next town over, sharing her same sentiment in both love and life. They weren’t kids anymore, he’d been right about that. Which meant seeing their lives for what they were in the harsh light of day and not through rose-colored glasses. Where they had wanted to be was no longer a thing to strive for, it’d become a prison of their own making.

She didn’t know if it was her body getting worn or the years of repressed emotions that made her feel so damned exhausted. The thought of going back into the den of the same men that wanted her one love dead suddenly wasn’t as easy to sit with. There were real consequences now. For both of them.

Perhaps it was paranoia, but it’s kept her alive this long. She had her bug-out bag by the bed, rosary wrapped around her wrist, and slept with her shoes on. She rubbed the wooden beads like a worry stone; even though she hadn’t been sure what she believed in for many years. Especially not after the things she’d seen, or the things she’d done. There was a strange comfort knowing Javi had a similar sort of experience. Even if she wouldn’t have wished it on anyone. Maybe he would understand. Maybe he was just as tired as she was. Maybe… she had some hope for a future. She had to talk to him again. This time with a purpose, to ask him to leave with her instead of abandoning him again.

———

As she had following every breakdown, she’d dusted herself off and got back to it the next morning.

In a dress and heels that said, ‘Don't fucking question me.’ She walked into the stone-columned entryway in a powerful man's home. It was a nice morning, not a trace of her collapse the night before remained on her face. She sat poised, with understated jewels glinting in the sun. Yet, her favorite accessories were hidden in places the sun wouldn’t hit, those were her weapons.

She had been establishing herself to get to this client, networking, and performing feats to gain trust in a trust-less circle. Playing it cool, she kept her face set into a lovely neutral but curious. It was a grand promise of cash. She found herself in the right spot for the rule as old as time; supply and demand. If she could seize the articles that had been taken from their owners, she would be compensated with a bigger payday than she’d ever encountered. The sentimentality of the pieces, the danger in the retraction, and the previous failures of those that had come before her secured the pay to be something someone like her could not resist.

“They were in my family... generations ago… before their family decided to fuck over mine we were joined by marriage, then by blood. We have not been able to get them through legal or... other means. But you, Estelle, I believe you have a chance to be successful.”

It was flattering but she was already decided by her motives. Enough money to run. And far. Not to mention a comfortable life on the other side when she sold what she’d accumulated over the years and combined with her savings. She’d played it smart the last few years and pulled the plug on the extravagant lifestyle that had beckoned her to this sort of work in the first place. She saw it as a sign, a dazzling neon one directing her to do it. So with a smile and a handshake, she did.

These people she operated with were not the cartel, but that did not make them just as dangerous. They had their hands in every sort of money stream and political influence. They couldn’t go into this location she was to infiltrate guns blazing, they had to have more finesse and mystery. Which is why they hired out. No connections made for less chance of blowback and made it easier to deny the job was them. And by the time they had to worry about such things, she’d be long gone.

She was being personable, enjoying a cocktail by a sapphire-blue pool and eavesdropping on the conversations around her. While ignoring the guy trying to impress her that had perched next to her she was tuned in to the young man that had a two-way radio by the stone fence that enclosed the pool.

They spoke English from time to time which she found unusual. But if they were looking to not be understood it wasn’t the worst approach. The staff here wouldn’t be able to understand them. Most of the men presumably wouldn’t recognize it either. Esme however spoke fluent English. She was raised by a Mexican mother who pushed her to speak English to fit in in Texas. At home, she was one person, a fluent tongue, and outside she was the brown girl that was berated with “HABLA ENGLAISH?” By every white woman she ran into. It had saved her more than once; when she was younger and especially now.

“The pigs are out today.” A statement she knew wasn’t about the animal was caught.

“Pigs are out every day.”

“They think they’re up to something.”

Esme knew that the people that were being referred to were the drug runners. These mining types didn’t pay much mind to cops, they paid them off when they needed and they were mostly left alone. When you have the foresight to build a public image with legal means of income, it’s easier to hide the sketchy shit.

“The gringo is asking questions.”

One of the white boys must have been trying to gather intel in the force. It could be Javier's partner but she couldn’t know for sure.

“Boss? Do we need to let the boys in town know? Is there going to be anything we don’t want them getting mixed up in?”

He thinks for a moment, Esme seeing him out of the corner of her eye, a squint down the mountain and onto the sprawling city below. “Our boys are in the east today, yes?” a pause and a nod of acknowledgment. “Tell them to come home.”

With that order, her jaw tightens. Esme knew something was going to happen. These men might not be narco’s but they certainly knew them, and ordinarily, they would tip the other off to trouble. Business going as usual was best for all involved. Normally she’d head back to her hideaway, let it all play out. But she knew if there was some trap that Javi’s partner might be falling into, that meant trouble for Javi. She couldn’t stand by idly and wait with that knowledge.

She remained composed, finishing her drink before a schmoozy goodbye, a promise to catch up as soon as plans were made. She acted nonchalant until she was past all the checkpoints, she knew better than to act in any sort of rush. Her little cabana was tucked away out of sight from the road between the deeply nooked mountain homes of powerful men and the city. She tried calling into town, a risk she was willing to take while she scurried to change her clothes and add a gun to her ensemble. She asked for Pena first. When she was informed he was not there she asked for his partner, and the same answer found her. She hung up swiftly, heavily armed but light on information. She knew the east side of the city would be the smallest area she could narrow it down to. She hoped her mind didn’t fail her at calculating where to go.

On her motorbike she darted about the streets, eyes peeled, heading by Javi’s place and finding his car gone, and the oil spots now dry, in its wake. He hadn’t been home in a while. Was it the smartest idea to break into an officer’s apartment? No. But was she? Yes. Javi had always been a researcher, if they were going to be zeroing in on a place, he would’ve been to it already. He was an active learner, not passive. He’d never be satisfied with being told what to do, he had to get in and see, touch, taste, and smell for his own opinion to be formed. She took a quick loop around, finding nothing out of the ordinary and circling back to the front door. The place was nicer than she’d expected, it did smell like liquor and cigarettes but so did he off hours. A little mirror and a catch-all basket by the door on a small table was her target, and inside were matchbooks, places she’d watched him go before buried beneath but one she wasn’t as familiar with on top. A pool hall, which wasn’t Javier’s style, sat like a sore thumb. She took the hint, this must’ve been the place they were headed, or at least close to it. She pulled her hair back and looked at herself once in the mirror before a nod to reassure herself and once again she was back out among the busy streets.

She pulled up and parked by a small marketplace, a casual place to leave her bike while she set off on foot, eyes behind her glasses ready to pick up any little nuance. Sadly seeing a guy with an automatic rifle wasn’t automatically a tell for narco behavior, this part of town was rough, you had to defend yourself. The uptick in the number of guys sauntering in the streets with them did however raise a red flag. She took to the rooftops with light feet, sneaking about and hopping from ledge to tin roof, shimmying up pipes and broken walls to scan. Not many were out on their rooftops, making it easy for her to cover lots of space fast, but that was also a bad sign. Like before a natural disaster happens, the animals clear out. The sentiment was the same.

She found a nice place to camp out, shaded by the sun and out of sight of the street on a corner near the pool hall. She could hear the static of a two-way radio a few buildings over from time to time, each time it made her jolt and she was growing impatient. The only thing that kept her calm was that she hadn’t heard any gunshots, and even that was grasping at straws. She eyes a few streets down, higher-end vehicles in red and blue, one after another. This meant one of two things, narcos or cops. She leaves the safety of her cubbyhole and crawls about to find a way to move quickly. She wasn’t being the most stealthy, leaping from ledges, but she had to follow the cars. Her instincts had been right.

Men in and out of uniform pile out, talking quietly, moving swiftly. Now she had to worry about staying out of sight as she got closer. She saw men on the rooftops she hadn’t noticed before, with sights on their guns and she would bet itchy trigger fingers. The static of a distant radio blurts out, a hushed voice in Spanish says “They’re here. Moving into position.”

It was a trap. The situation made her stomach drop and her pulse quicken. She wanted to be close, to warn them… well, to warn Javi. She was about to insert herself into the narco’s game and that would put a huge target on her back. It would potentially ruin her chances of booking this career-ending job she’d landed. She pulls out her gun, switching the safety off, and lowering herself with burning thighs as she used all her slyness. She could get away with it if she was smart about it... and killed all the witnesses.

She knew between the choices of standing by and watching Javi die, or intervening and getting ousted, she could only live with herself in one of those situations. Better to go out fighting for someone she loved than to be a coward and die with regrets. She jumps ahead, closer to where they seemed to be funneling to, various bursts of static around her as she studies to keep a close eye on not coming across anyone lurking.

She sees that shiny, coiffed head of black hair she’d wanted to run her hands through just days before, the lean build and tight jeans wrapped up in a bulletproof vest. His head was on a swivel, she knew he could look after himself but wasn’t about to take chances. She finds a man on his stomach, gun through a small slot in the wall, and aimed in their direction. She takes her moment patiently, padding foot over foot closer and closer with her gun drawn and her knife at the ready in the other hand. He wore no identifying markings, he wasn’t one of them, he might’ve heard her if he was. He was too zeroed in, potentially coked up so she had to act discreetly. She paused until that coke nose of his itched, hand off the trigger for only a few seconds before she latched and covered his mouth, head back and stabbing in deep to keep him making any sounds. It’s not that she wanted to kill him, she just saw no other way for this interaction to go down.

From here she had a better vantage point and was trying hard to look away from Javi and keep her eyes on every alley and rooftop. She lines up her eye with the scope, seeing it was aimed right at the group, she notices a man across from her, just a slight bit of an angle, an accomplice she assumed. The group moved forward, inching closer to being in between the two guns' direct line of sight. There wasn’t even a need for the sights at this point, a spray could take most of them out in a few seconds. These were calculated kills.

“Dibs on the gringo.” a crackle over the radio in Spanish, then another, “Which? There’s so many.” a hiss of laughter and she hears it from the other side of a half wall. They must’ve had multiple men camped out, she knew they intended to kill as many as possible. She couldn’t scream out, she couldn’t shoot them, she had to find that millisecond between when they would shoot and let their position be known. “When they get to the cars. Wait. Then fire.”

“What if I don’t fuckin’ want to? I want to shoot this smug look off this mother fucker’s face.”

“We won’t get them all if you don’t wait.”

She had pieces of information and tried to see the whole picture. She believed in the car there was a remote bomb being held by one of these sicarios. It’d take a good piece of them out and render them blind. It was a plan that had worked many times, but this time she’d be happy to fuck up a well-laid plan.

“Get the white boy, he’s been snooping. I got the mustache. Asshole fucked my sister.” If this had been any other situation it would’ve made her laugh, or at least crack a smile. But now it gave her a target, a plan of action.

“Maybe if your sister wasn’t a whore.” one laughs then a hiss follows throughout the rooftops among the static.

“Fuck you, man. Shut up or I’ll make sure you get shot today too.”

She moved as quickly as she could, having to backtrack to not be seen and climb over the wall to sneak up on the boy who was claiming Javi as a prize. She hunched over him, taking a chance at being seen, but since she couldn’t make out the placements of any of the other voices, she took her chances. A tension-filled hush fell across the street, no one but the cops out now. She waited for the man to readjust his arm, a sure sign of pulling the trigger shortly. They were holding their breath for the bomb, and she was assuming it was the double-parked cars, waiting for the group to get between them and hit them from all angles.

He swallowed, then popped his neck, settling down, face away from the hole he aimed out of and she took only a second to make up her mind. She shot him in the head as he braced himself.

“TRAP!” she screamed with all the force she could manage, tasting blood as she hit the ground, the cops now on high alert to the rooftops, and the guns fired. She’d given them enough time to duck for cover, having to take out the gunfire from one side of the street herself. She heard the bullets whizzing by as she hunched and ran down to the street, an alleyway where Javi had huddled down a moment before she saw the men barrel down the stairs opposite them. They’d had the same idea. “JAVI!” she screams, gun out and trying to peak from behind a dumpster.

His eyes were wild for the second he met hers. Confusion is all that read on his face, unable to answer under the gunfire.

“FOLLOW ME!” she shouted, firing off rounds to cover him as she motioned him towards her.

“You wanna explain-?” He’s caught off by the bombs in the street going off, knocking him back.

“SHUT UP AND RUN!” she shouts, shoving him forward, “You’re surrounded. Head West!” it’s all they needed, him hitting the pavement as hard as he could and her grabbing him by the vest to jerk him the way she needed. She hoisted him up against walls, all while hearing the men shouting and the stray spray of bullets hitting the corners they’d just passed. She knew they weren’t concentrated west, the men would instinctively run east towards the station, towards the backup, but she knew better.

She raced ahead, a small blocked-off space high up is what she yanks him down into. They don’t speak for a moment, catching their breath and her pushing him down to look out to see if anyone had been able to keep up with them.

“Now can I ask a fucking question?!” he rasps out.

“I got wind of something going down in the east today. So I came. And you should be kissing my ass for saving yours!”

“We were about to-”

“About to get blown the fuck up. Whatever you thought that was, it was a trap.”

“How did you know?” his eyes narrowed at her accusingly.

“I know that look and no, I’m not working with the narcos. I overheard some cronies at my meeting this morning. I narrowed down the options, ran across town and scoped it out, took out two guys, and then...lit the keg and ran.”

He blinks rapidly in response, processing the information.

“Yeah, you’re welcome. They wanted to kill you and your partner pretty bad.”

“Doesn’t surprise me.”

“Apparently you fucked one of their sisters?”

"I stand by my response.”

She smiles at him, something he doesn’t expect. He doesn’t have time to react until a few stray bullets hit something near them causing them to hunker down again.

“You could’ve gotten killed you know.”

“I’ve done it before.”

“Not funny.”

“It’s a little funny.” she rolls her eyes.

“I’m serious.” he grabs her wrist. “I have to deal with you being with these other... assholes and not the ones I deal with. Don’t make me worry twice about you.”

“I’m a big girl. I can handle it. I promise. I wasn’t about to let you walk into an ambush.” she states defensively.

“I’ve made it out before.” he huffs defensively.

“You will until one day you won’t.” when she meets his eyes again, after seeing his soot-covered knuckles wrapped around her wrist, she adds “If I can keep your ungrateful ass around long enough to make up for all the shit I put you through I’m gonna do it.”

He looks her up and down, but not how he had countless times with women, but biding his time to figure out what about that statement he wanted to ask her first. “What do you want me around for if you’re not gonna be there?” It was direct and hurtful, but also a fair point.

She stops looking out and meets his dark eyes to hers, she looked almost offended. “I want to be around,” she says softly. “I just wasn’t sure how.”

“Stay with me. Stop running. I’ll keep you safe.” he moves his hand from her wrist to interlock his fingers into hers.

“Over 20 years and you still haven’t come up with anything else?” she jokes and squeezes his hand. “I did want to talk to you about it. About… us...” she spoke softly and paused, ears perked up to the movement outside.

“What do y-”

“Shh.” a quick and low serious squeeze of his hand. “Someone’s close.”

“Where the fuck are you Javi?” blares out over his radio on his chest. Not a second later, bullets are coming through the back of their hiding spot, scrambling to get out, despite her fighting him, he covers her.

“Rooftop. West.” is grunted out as he and Esme wrestle to be the one to shoot the perpetrator.

She hits his chest and then right in the head, falling in a slump before she notices Javi is no longer hovering and trying to keep her down. A quick turn, intaking the rest of the space, knowing more would be on their way soon, and whether they were cops or sicarios she couldn’t let them find her. In her rush she hasn’t noticed Javi on the ground, she sees his face for only a second, slightly confused before looking at up her the moment she sees his side and hands covered in blood.

“Oh fuck, Javi... no.” She spits out and immediately ducks over him

“S’not... good news sweetheart.” He gives her a smirk, one she’d seen a thousand times on a younger version of his face. She knew with that expression alone it was indeed not good.

She doesn’t get time to react, to even breathe before more shots make her go into survival mode. She covers him, dragging him to a nearby brick wall to at least be safe from one side while she covered the others.

“Can you watch behind me while I look at this?”

“Yeah.” A pause while he holds his gun out. “I can try.”

“Was that your partner on the radio?”

“Yeah should be here soon.”

“Let’s hope so.” She grits her teeth and can’t tell if the shot went straight through, which meant he would probably be okay if it hit in and was now embedded in his stomach. Either way, this wasn’t ideal, to say the least.

“There’s-“

Before he gets it out she’s turned and shooting more men trying to get on the roof, none having the foreign blonde hair and pale skin of his partner.

“You should get out of here... y’know. They’ll ask questions.”

“I’m not leaving you.” She applies pressure to his side and he lets his head fall back to the wall with a heavy breath.

“Now is a hell of a time to start.”

She gives him a hard brow but would normally laugh because he had a point. “I never... ugh.” She grunts in frustration, shooting another man a few rooftops over. “I never wanted to leave you.” She continues trying to figure out the best way to slow the bleeding down. “It's the last thing I wanted to do. You know that right?” She asks to receive no response.

She sees he’s lost consciousness. Now it was proving to be worse than she had hoped. Cursing under her breathe, fighting back tears, the burning making a splitting headache form in her forehead, she uses the only thing in sight she can, taking her shirt off and ripping it tie a makeshift tourniquet around him.

She hears a bark from a man that sounds almost familiar and a dead giveaway as a cop. His partner was almost there. “You’ll be fine Javi.” She whispers, not knowing if she believed it or if he could even hear her. She kisses his cheek and holds his head close for a moment. A few seconds of kissing his hair, trying to forge a deep memory from a rushed moment. Just in case.

“JAVI?!” She hears shouted.

“UP HERE!” she shouts, knowing she had to get away but wasn’t going to leave him until she had to. She was soon not given a choice when orders were barked at her on sight.

She used her savvy, knowing how to get away, even if it was a stretch. “He’s shot.” She says backing away with her hands up to the edge of the roof. “Murphy, please don’t let him die.” She begs as the man’s face softens for a moment, she recognized he must have understood who she was.

The man coming up behind him however didn’t. He fires off a shot, hitting her and forcing her to make an abrupt jump from the rooftop.

“SHIT!” Murphy barks again and shoves the other man’s gun to aim down at the ground. “Don’t shoot HER!” He shouts in the man’s face. “She was helping him! Can’t you see that?!” He runs to the edge, looking down and seeing nothing but a dumpster and a few drops of blood on the pavement. Javi had been right. She was good.

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