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traincat · 3 years

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Disregard my last ask because the latest issue raised a troubling question that I, as a black man, feel the need to clarify with you, a woman. That whole whole Ned Leeds/Betty Brant business is sexual assault via deception right? Like you know more about Clones and Spider-Man 616 than I but I feel like that’s besides the point because it happened to Betty. She is carrying the child of whom she thought was her dead ex-husband. And Ned clone has to know he is a clone. He has to know. Unlike Ben and Kaine, he has the awareness and information of the Jackal and the awareness of his progenitor’s death.

Or am I reaching too far and reading too far into things?

I'm glad you came back and asked this specific question because it's definitely something I have a lot of thoughts on, and I’m glad you asked my thoughts on it as a woman because I think this is one of those comic book storylines that’s hard for me to divorce that fact from -- the fact that I’m a woman definitely plays into how I view this storyline specifically and how it effects me, in ways I don’t think were necessarily intended by some of the writers involved in its ongoing arc who were not looking at things from the same perspective I’m coming at them from. I definitely don't think you're reaching or reading too far into things -- I think that is what's being presented on the page, albeit likely without authorial intent. Just as like a general disclaimer, I'm not closely following Spencer's run for the sheer reason that I'm not enjoying it very much, although I'm aware of the general directions it's taking through friends and social media. But I actually think this Betty/Ned issue goes back pretty far.

First things first, I think Clone Conspiracy really wreaked havoc on how Spider-Man as a series has always handled clones. Pre-Clone Conspiracy, there was a very clear clone narrative going on: clones are their own person, they are not direct copies or replacements of the original. You see this with Ben Reilly and you see it with the Gwen Stacy clones. Clones are treated as their own individuals, even if they have to struggle to get to that point -- there's even an issue of Spider-Man Unlimited where Ben and Betty go on a date. Betty doesn't know that Ben is Peter's clone -- he's introduced as his cousin -- and they both reflect on how you can't go back to the way things were. So even though Ben has all of Peter's memories regarding his initial romance with Betty, the narrative makes it clear that Ben and Betty cannot recapture that connection or that exact relationship.

Here's where Clone Conspiracy changed everything, in my opinion for the worse: Clone Conspiracy's clone narrative is that these clones are, essentially, the original person. I believe the Marvel wiki still actually lists the end of Clone Conspiracy as 616 Gwen Stacy's issue of death instead of Amazing Spider-Man #121, because Clone Conspiracy treated that Gwen not simply as a clone with all of the same memories, but as essentially Gwen resurrected through a cloning process. The Billy Connors who was cloned is treated as the same Billy Connors who was killed by his father in Shed (Amazing Spider-Man #630-633). And the clone Ned is treated as the same as 616 Ned. This is a mess, to put it simply, because it goes against all the previous Spider-Man cloning narratives and, honestly, most popular sci-fi clone narratives, and it's seriously undermining decades of good Spider-Man storytelling in ways that Slott didn't address and that Spencer seems unwilling to. It probably wouldn't have been a very big deal -- a frustrating one, but not a big one -- if all of the clones had perished at the end of Clone Conspiracy, but they didn't. Billy Connors escaped, and it's immensely frustrating to me to see Peter treating the Connors family reunion as something he can tolerate when Curt Connors ate his kid, and the Ned clone slithered away in the gutters to, I assume, spite me personally.

Which brings us to the current Betty Brant storyline in Amazing Spider-Man, where Betty has showed up heavily pregnant and informed Peter that the child is Ned's.

Yeah, I would say this is in fact the worst possible part. (ASM (2018) #67) Just speaking for myself, I'm generally not anti-pregnancy or baby storylines in comics, but this one is making me very uncomfortable for reasons beside Spencer being apparently unable to find any way to fit Betty into his stories without her showing pregnant.

So I'm actually going to take this back way, way to when Betty and Ned first got married, with some explanation of who Ned Leeds is for the uninformed, because, especially with the MCU's Ned Leeds in the mix, he's not exactly the world's most well known Spider-Man character. (I’m sure @ubernegro, who is much more well read on Miles Morales’ canon than I am, has thoughts on how the MCU’s Ned borrowed heavily off the character of Ganke Lee with a 616 Peter Parker character’s name pasted over him.) Ned was initially introduced as Peter's competition for Betty's affections -- Ned was older than both Peter and Betty, a working reporter, and presented as the more "stable" option compared to Peter, who of course Betty vastly preferred before circumstances tore them apart. Ned and Betty married in Amazing Spider-Man #156 and jetsetted off to Europe for Ned's job. This is where the cracks in the marriage began. Betty later reveals that she felt abandoned by Ned in Europe, to the point where she was able to come back to New York without his immediate notice -- as a woman, it's very easy to read their relationship at this point as being one filled with, if not abuse, then emotional neglect. Betty and Peter have a quick extramarital affair at this point -- Peter has just broken up with Mary Jane and Betty claims she and Ned are separating -- that persists until Ned returns and punches Peter over it.

(ASM #193)

(ASM #229) Betty and Ned reconcile off panel shortly thereafter, but that's pretty far from the end of the story. It's implied that the problems Betty and Ned previously had start to develop again, namely that Betty feels abandoned by Ned, that he is inattentive and, again, as a woman, it's hard not to read it as emotional neglect, if not abuse -- yet. Betty does start another affair at this point, this time with Flash Thompson, and Ned starts acting strangely. It would later be retconned that he was suffering the effects of hypnotism by the Hobgoblin, but like I said, that's a retcon, and what was happening at the time was that Ned was acting erratically in part because he was the villainous Hobgoblin. Ned becomes controlling, threatening, and verbally and physically abusive towards Betty.

(ASM #284)

(ASM #283) "I suppose you think it's all right for a wife to cheat on her husband!" "No -- but I won't let you hurt her, either." Leaving aside that Peter also had an affair with Betty, something he's conveniently forgetting in the above panels, I've always really liked this exchange, because the narrative makes it clear through Peter's response to Ned that, whatever the audience may think of Betty for cheating on Ned, it is reprehensible for Ned to publicly humiliate her and/or physically abuse her as a response.

Then Ned Leeds dies in Spider-Man vs Wolverine and he's revealed as the Hobgoblin posthumously shortly thereafter and that remains canon for years and years until it's later retconned out, as comics are wont to do. But that's not really that important for this conversation -- my point being, at one point in Spider-Man canon, it's made fairly clear to the reader that Ned is an abusive husband. He emotionally neglected and abused Betty several times over and physically hurt her at least once on panel, with the clear intent that the reader should realize that he is physically hurting her. So for me as a reader and as a woman, this has always been a really uncomfortable relationship. I have a problem with later Spider-Man comics claiming that it's "not Ned's fault" that he abused Betty because of the retcon that he was hypnotized, and I have a problem with the MCU making Betty and Ned into a cute summer fling in Spider-Man: Far From Home, because I feel like Ned's clear abuse of Betty either gets excused or entirely glossed over. And I don’t think the initial abuse storyline is bad -- I think there’s some amount of value in portraying Betty as a woman who marries too young, who experiences a terrible marriage, and who then spends years recovering from that marriage, which was the case up until they retconned Ned’s abuse of her as a side effect of him being controlled by the real Hobgoblin. What I’m specifically uncomfortable with is the post-retcon attitude that since Ned didn’t really mean to abuse Betty, it’s perfectly fine to portray the relationship in a positive light when even before Ned’s abuse became physical that wasn’t the case. I think that’s ultimately really irresponsible storytelling. As a reader, I’m not against soap opera style storylines -- someone getting impregnated by a cone of their ex-husband seems pretty par for the course. But there’s so much additional context here that I still haven’t entirely processed how I feel about this Betty storyline, except that what I feel isn’t positive.

So yes, I would agree with you when I say I think there’s quite a lot of deception involved in Betty’s pregnancy storyline -- the Ned clone didn’t tell her he was a clone, even though he had full knowledge of that fact, just as he had full knowledge of how badly the original Ned treated Betty over the course of their relationship -- that renders their sexual encounter and Betty’s pregnancy uncomfortable for me as a reader, to put it mildly. I don’t think it’s out of character for the Ned clone, given that he acts much like the original Ned: he’s selfish and controlling, withholding information from Betty to suit his own needs. The tragedy of Ned and Betty isn’t that Ned died, as more recent Spider-Man stories like to portray it -- including this one, where Betty doesn’t have the knowledge that a) the Ned she reunited with was a clone and not the original and b) that that clone later died. (ASM #816.) The tragedy is that writers continue to force Betty Brant into Ned Leeds storylines instead of letting her as a character grow past him, and that the only way Spencer thought to include her, one of the longest running Spider-Man characters, back in the story was to have her appear starry-eyed over carrying the child of (the clone of) her abusive ex-husband, and the tragedy is that nobody writing more recent Betty and Ned interactions seems to realize that Ned was a villain not because he was briefly the Hobgoblin but because of how he treated Betty.

#betty brant #ned leeds #marvel comics #long post/#wednesday spoilers #traincat talks comics #*replies

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incorrect-pokespe-quotes · 4 years

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Let’s Talk About Norman

I’m going to start off by telling you all something you probably already know: Norman is abusive. I try not to use super strong language on this blog because calling someone abusive / toxic is a pretty big deal, but Norman is an abuser, full stop. Aside from the obvious physical violence though, there’s a lot of emotional trauma he causes Ruby through his actions— this post is mostly going to be talking about Norman’s emotional abuse and how it affects Ruby’s psyche and actions throughout the arc instead of just “oh he punched his son down some stairs” because I think it goes way deeper than that. With that out of the way, the rest of the post is below the cut!

PHYSICAL VIOLENCE

I can’t talk about Ruby and Norman without mentioning this— it’s the most clear cut evidence of his abuse on-panel. He punches his son down the stairs, engages in a high stakes fight with him, and puts him in mortal danger (which Ruby has to save himself from). What I’m concerned with isn’t the actual incidence of violence itself, but rather the emotional baggage that comes with it.

The interesting thing about the Big Fight scene to me is that Norman instigates the conflict. Norman lures Ruby into a “dark and scary building” in the rain and away from others, appears behind him, threatens him, and throws him against a wall. The only thing Ruby had done in that moment is ask his dad how / why he had found him— Norman was the instigator of violence. It is Ruby’s reaction to this immediately violent start that segues into the next Big Thing about their relationship.

ENVIRONMENT OF FEAR

It is obvious from the minute Norman appears on panel that he is intimidating. Multiple characters throughout the arc mention that they are scared of / intimidated by him, but none are more obvious than Ruby. In fact until we reach the scene at the Weather Institute, Norman hasn’t been shown in a positive light at all from Ruby’s perspective. Ruby continuously mentions fear about his father: he imagines his father grabbing him, looking angrily at him, and generally seems to be afraid of him. Ruby expresses worry and concern about the consequences of his father’s anger— and that’s ALL he thinks about. Ruby mentions explicitly that he has seen “Norman’s Dark Side” and tries to hide as soon as he appears. He even shivers at the mere mention of Norman. Ruby’s entire motivation is his fear of his dad, which is bad, obviously.

Every thought about Norman that Ruby has up until the Weather Institute about Norman express fear and stress Norman’s emotional distance. Whether or not Ruby and Norman love each other is not of importance here, what is important is that Ruby has constant worry and anxiety about how Norman will react. His entire motivation at the beginning of the arc is centered around doing things behind Norman’s back and giving him definitive proof of Ruby’s accomplishments— Ruby is so nervous around Norman that he considers communicating to be a risk. This is typical abuse victim behavior and it continues through the arcs. Living under the constant threat of (often violent) punishment has taught Ruby that disagreements and communication in general are dangerous and can spiral into violence very, very quickly— he displays this same fear time and time again.

Quick Aside: As everyone here probably knows, the main conflict in the oras arc is centered around Ruby’s unwillingness to tell Sapphire what is going on for fear of how she will react. Ruby’s hiding of his memory of their confession in the Emerald arc is the same— Ruby refuses to communicate because he is afraid of how Sapphire will react. His main emotional flaw is the fact that he is driven by fear; Norman has shown him there are consequences to communication and Ruby carries this lesson throughout his entire life. He is a victim of abuse and this hampers his ability to communicate and be emotionally vulnerable. He is so caught up in the idea of consequences that he is more than willing to lie or omit the truth to avoid the consequences of talking to people about stressful topics. This is not to say that Ruby’s actions are excusable— he’s still a dick with communication issues, but whether or not Kusaka intended it, Norman’s abuse and its consequences define Ruby’s emotional arc.

ANGER ISSUES

I can’t really talk about the environment of fear that Norman created without talking about his anger issues. He crushes a phone, shoves people out of the way, knocks multiple Pokemon out at once, and otherwise acts aggressively in various situations throughout the arc without any real Reason. As if these hints weren’t enough, we actually get confirmation through Ruby’s mother that Norman “does this often”— and judging by Birch’s reaction, these displays of destructive anger aren’t normal in in-universe. Whether or not there is a violent / strict parenting style within the universe doesn’t matter, because Norman is shown to be uncharacteristically aggressive in comparison to other adults in the series. Judging by Ruby’s reaction at the Weather Institute, he implies that his type of violence towards him isn’t uncommon; he seems almost resigned to it.

To wrap up this section: Norman’s aggressiveness is atypical even in-universe, he is shown to be unable and unwilling to curb his violent anger, and this creates an environment of fear among his family that permanently impacts Ruby’s ability to communicate effectively with others.

PART 2

DISCLAIMER: This is where things get… dicey. Everything I’ve mentioned previously is rooted in the actual drawings and actions of the characters or overarching themes / problems. This next part however focuses on dialogue. It is almost impossible to truly understand the tone of each line without being a fluent Japanese speaker (which I am not) so instead I’m going to use Viz and CY to the best of my ability for this section. I’m not going to extrapolate this to Kusaka’s intentions, since without the original work that’s nearly impossible, but I can at least talk about the way these come off in English.

EMOTIONAL ABUSE

Admittedly, Viz is the worst about this. They constantly hype Norman up and excuse his behavior, outright censoring some of the physical and emotional abuse. Viz absolutely mangling the tone of RS, however, is a post for another time.

Because Norman actually speaks to Ruby at length a grand total of twice times in the RS arc, we can break down his actions into these two instances: the first is at the weather institute and the second is as he’s dying.

Rather than go based on overall theme, this scene is best done line by line (this is using the CY version due to limited censorship compared to Viz).

Scene 1: Volume 17, Chapters 208-210

(Norman is dangling Ruby off the roof of a building by his collar. There are sharp rocks at the bottom)

Ruby: Re… release me…! Norman: Insolent brat!! Is that how you talk to your father?!

To start, Norman uses tone policing and deflection. He focuses on the fact that Ruby is “talking back” to him and making demands of his father, which doesn’t acknowledge Ruby’s request or the fact that Ruby is being dangling over the roof of a building. Also note that this is the first time the words are bolded and that they stay this way throughout the fight— Norman verbally escalates the fight. Norman is abusing his position of power over Ruby in order to excuse his actions and pass the blame back to his son.

Ruby: I don’t care how furious you are with me… I’m ready for it!

(Norman decks Ruby down a flight of stairs)

Norman: Why did you run away from home?!

Note once again that Norman is implied to start raising his voice first even when Ruby isn’t. There’s another deflection here: Norman changes the subject rather than actively respond to anything Ruby says.

Norman: Well? Say something! You’d better voice your complaints right now!!

(Ruby has a conversation with the Swimmer, who advises him to apologize to avoid his father’s rage and “just go home” which… fuck you Swimmer Jack. I’m skipping that part of the dialogue bc it isn’t that important).

(While Ruby is debating what to do, Norman’s Slaking lifts the stairs that Ruby is on and tries to fling him into next Tuesday).

Ruby is physically prevented from escaping by being dangled above Norman. I shouldn’t have to tell why physically preventing someone from leaving an argument is a bad thing.

(Ruby decides to fight Norman)

Note that Norman is physically and emotionally forcing Ruby into two possible options: Fight or be obedient. He is preventing Ruby from running and deflecting Ruby’s attempts to explain himself. He then shifts the blame to Ruby *again*, attacking Ruby and his pokemon with full force and implying it was Ruby who instigated the conflict in the first place.

Norman: … so you wish to fight me? … Iron Tail and Hyper Beam… I was the one who taught you those attacks. There’s nothing about your attacks and strategies I don’t know about. You’re just wasting your time! Give up!

Here, Norman does two things: he stresses Ruby’s dependence on him and his power over Ruby. It’s a typical “your success is dependent on me” and a “there is no option except obedience” rhetoric, and is likewise typical of abusers. Norman is stressing the things Norman has gifted to Ruby (battling knowledge) and using whatever he can to force Ruby to do what he wants— he’s exerting his control.

(Ruby turns the tide of the battle, so Norman likewise switches tactics by attacking Ruby himself and attempting to hit him with a staircase. Ruby falls down the stairs and is dangling over a pit of spikes when Norman stands on the edge, blocking Ruby’s only escape route).

Norman: Now will you come quietly? Stop being so stubborn

Not only is Norman forcing his son to choose between obedience and Literal Death, he also shifts the blame again. He excuses his own actions by claiming it is Ruby’s stubbornness that forced him into this position. He deflects the whole “putting my 11 year old in harm’s way” by claiming Ruby’s own resistance to Norman’s violence is the trigger for the violence itself. It doesn’t make sense, but it’s victim-blaming nonetheless and sadly, it works

(Flashback time: Norman admits he was going to give Ruby permission to participate in contests and gets emo about it. They fall, but Norman catches Ruby. This doesn’t matter though, because they both end up falling and Ruby uses his running shoes to save them both).

Ruby: (thinking) Ru- running shoes… my birthday present from dad… saved both… our lives

Ruby displays pretty typical abuse victim behavior here, focusing not on Norman’s 3 threats to literally kill him but instead on the One Good Thing Norman did. He doesn’t mention that it was Ruby himself who saved them both or that Norman was the one who put them in danger in the first place— he’s in total denial about the severity of everything that happened.

(At this point, Norman looms above Ruby with an angry expression and a raised pokeball. Bystanders panic because it appears that Norman is going to attack Ruby who, by the way, is unconscious on the ground, but Norman gets a surprise call from Winona and turns away after realizing that Winona can see him).

“I only stopped attacking my son when I realized people were watching”… alright fuck off then Norman

Norman: HEY!! Idiot son! You disobeyed your parents, then you ran away from home. I’ve had enough! Just do what you want! In return, you’d better accomplish your goals!! A man should complete what he has set out to do… … before he can return home!!

Hoo boy. Norman never apologizes, deflects all the blame onto Ruby, insults him twice, and then tries to save face with Winona and the people around him by giving Ruby permission to do contests— which he was apparently planning to do all along. He emphasizes the things Ruby did in response to Norman’s actions (Ruby ran away from home because he knew his dad would be unsupportive and gets violent during disagreements, so in essence Norman is to blame for backing him into a corner). Norman twists the narrative in order to make Ruby the instigator in every case, justifying Norman’s responses as reactions to Ruby’s problematic behavior

Swimmer Jack: Isn’t that a wonderful father? Ruby: Thank you… father.

Ok first of all Jack is a dumbass, so jot that down. Second of all, while it’s unintentional, Ruby is being gaslit to hell and back. It is only after Norman’s omission of all the abusive behavior and bystanders’ affirmation of Norman’s love that Ruby starts to think positively towards his father. The threat Ruby used to think was so large has been downplayed and outright denied by the people around him, so Ruby’s prior fear of Norman diminishes. Ruby’s fear of Norman and the violence Norman took against him is denied, downplayed, and ignored, so Ruby begins to doubt his own animosity towards his father. Thanks Swimmer Jack you unintentionally gaslit an 11 year old.

SCENE 2: (this one is much shorter, thank god)

(Norman, while he is dying, explains the whole deal with how he was ordered to search for Rayquaza yada yada. Throughout the exchange, Ruby gets increasingly upset).

Ruby: (thinking) barred from the test and forced to search for Rayquaza… It must be some kind of punishment! What could Dad have done to warrant such… why was he made responsible… ?!

Ruby: … … but… come to think of it, dad is not someone who makes mistakes easily… something’s not right!

Slight aside, Ruby has been so convinced of his father’s power by others that he is unwilling to even CONSIDER that his dad fucked up, which… wow!

Ruby: That day… Dad must have taken the rap for someone else… and… (flashbacks to Salamence Incident) that person… was….

Ruby: (out loud) … me?! That person who set Rayquaza free… was it me…?!

Norman: Yes.

And then he dies!

(Technically he says “oh I did all that out of love” (paraphrased) and then dies but it’s just a continuation of the previous thing).

Norman, before dying, does not say “I’m proud of you” or “I’m sorry for everything” or anything remotely comforting, instead he says “hey Ruby, you’re responsible for my death and all your childhood trauma alongside your friend’s. Peace.” (this is paraphrased).

Even on his actual deathbed, Norman places the blame on Ruby for Norman’s own actions. He makes Ruby feel guilty for Norman leaving, Norman hiding information from him, and Ruby’s tumultuous childhood.

CONCLUSION

None of this is to say that Norman doesn’t love Ruby or that Ruby doesn’t love him back— I’m fairly positive the two of them love each other dearly and want the best for each other. However, Norman is a child abuser who reacts violently, instigates violence, and then turns around and denies said violence. He creates a culture of fear among his family, gives Ruby some serious communication issues, and the narrative takes his side. Norman is a child abuser in canon and has a very VERY profound effect on Ruby which has emotional ramifications throughout Ruby’s entire character arc all the way until oras.

TLDR: Normans sucks man

#trainer ruby #leader norman #pokespe #vex liveblogs #rs arc #admin vex

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fairlyspnfanfic · 3 years

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The Ties That Bind Us - Part Six

Summary: When your past comes back to haunt you, who will prevail? Hunting had been your life since your were 4 years old. The monsters that started you on that path were resurfacing, and you knew what you had to do. But nothing is ever truly secret, and nothing is ever that cut and dry with the Winchester’s in tow.

A/N: This is a new one that is coming from a few requests. I’m not going to post the actual requests because…well because it would spoil the story line and I’m pretty into this one.

Words: 2167

Warnings: Trauma, medical terminology, stress, hospital waiting room, tears, anesthesia

PART ONE PART TWO PART THREE PART FOUR PART FIVE

Dean stood alone in the washroom; the mortar full of ingredients sitting scorched on the floor. He swept his hands through his hair and walked over to the sink, quickly grabbing a paper towel from the dispenser and beginning to work on cleaning up the paint from the trap on the floor. It took mere moments, but it felt like an eternity. While he was tossing the remnants of his spell into the trash bin, a loud insistent knock was again rapping at the door.

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered. “Keep your shirt on.”

“Dean!” Sam was yelling outside the door, continuing to pound on the cheap, grey wood.

Shit, Dean thought to himself as he rushed to finish the rest of his cleanup. Once the last of the traces of his work had been disposed of, he yanked the door open and breezed past his brother wordlessly.

“What the hell, Dean?” Sam’s indignant voice trailed behind him. “What did you do?”

The accusation in his words was not unfounded, but still, it left Dean enraged. “What are you talking about, Sam?” Dean’s voice was sharp and dismissive as he spat the words at him, his face scrunched up into a defensive glare.

The youngest Winchester caught up with him within a few strides as he reached out and grabbed Dean’s shoulder, forcing Dean to turn around and face him.

“Don’t do that,” Sam pleaded. “Just don’t.”

“What, a guy can’t take a dump?”

Sam glared at his brother, leaving the silence between them thick and expectant.

“Come on Sam, we have to get back in there. Y/N’s depending on us.”

Sam nodded his head, disappointment evident in his stance, as they both walked back towards the waiting room.

Immediately, Dean began pacing between the aisles of seats, his long legs bowing out as he did so. He was listless and his hands alternated between running through his hair and yanking on his own neck in a vain attempt to relax the beyond strained muscles.

The doors to the surgical hallway flew open and the same doctor that had spoken with them before came rushing towards them, her eyes bulged out in surprise as she locked onto the boys.

“Doc,” Dean’s voice was full of anguish as he strode up to her, meeting her just outside the rows of seats. He remained silent, waiting for the update she undoubtedly was there to give him.

"Tell me she’s alright,” Sam whispered, walking up next to Dean. The doctor remained silent. Dean let out a sigh, lowering his head over his crossed arms. He was all stress, panic and anxiety in human form.

The doctor opened her mouth to start speaking but came up empty as her mouth closed again. After several false starts without explanation, she took a deep breath and closed her eyes.

“We’re going to need some sort of words here, doc.” Dean’s jovial voice was hiding his tension and impatience, but he remained unsatisfied as the woman continued her silence.

“She’s not,” Dean began, unwilling to finish the sentence. “No,” he stuttered. “No, she can’t be. She’s not gone. Tell me she’s not gone.”

Sam laid a comforting hand on his brother’s shoulder and stepped in front of him. “Dean, it’s okay.” He sniffed, unable to control the tears forming in his eyes as they began to fall.

“No,” Dean began muttering to himself, his eyes wide and fixated on the floor. “No, she said...she was supposed to fix it. We had a deal.” His words strung together haphazardly. Dean could hear his own heart pounding faster and faster. “No,” he whispered.

I opened my eyes violently; the dryness of them sending pain and discomfort through me. I could feel my head pounding, but the pressure in my chest overrode all of it. As much as I tried, I couldn’t take a breath. My lungs felt as if they were solid bricks, useless in their emptiness. I struggled against whatever was blocking them, attempting to take gasp after gasp of fresh air that wouldn’t come. All I could feel was pain. My pounding head, aching eyes, useless lungs, and beyond bruised body fought against every survival instinct I had.

“Oh my God,” I heard a man’s voice yell out. I lifted my hands to my face and began clawing at the foreign objects that seemed stuck inside of my mouth, arms and chest.

“No, no, no!” Panicked voices surrounded me as blurred shadows began rushing around me, poking and prodding me at every juncture, as though my threshold for pain was exponentially larger than it actually was.

“Calm down, Y/N.” A soothing voice rang in my ear. “We need to close you up now,” she sang. “But to do that, you have to sleep.”

I attempted to speak, wanting nothing more than to scream at the people around me, to tell them no, to make the torment stop, but words were beyond my reach. “The machines are breathing for you, Y/N. Don’t fight them. A little more rest and you can wake back up. But for now,” she crooned. “You need to sleep.”

I watched her fingers grabbing at a tube as another set of hands gave her a vial which she quickly depressed into the tubing between her fingers. Within seconds, my eyelids drooped, and my head became heavy, my vision fuzzier than before. And before I could protest, I had drifted into a dreamless, nightmarish sleep.

The panic in Dean’s chest had begun to consume him as it seemed like the very ground beneath him had given way. He sank to his knees, kneeling on the floor with his head cradled between his hands. His cheeks were covered in the salty streaks of his own tears as he took deep breaths, attempting to find some hint that this was all an awful dream.

Sam moved in front of him, his legs blocking Dean from view. The doctor stared at him with wide, unblinking eyes, as if she were in shock.

“You need to say the words, Doc.” Sam crossed his arms, swallowing the lump in his throat as the tears that his eyelids had been successfully keeping at bay finally fell. “I need to hear the words, or I won’t believe it.” He stressed each word, holding on to hope that all of their assumptions were wrong.

He watched as the doctor finally raised her line of sight to meet his eyes and shook her head slightly as if bringing herself back to the present. “She’s awake,” she said.

Sam’s eyes lurched open as his arms fell to his sides. “What?”

The doctor shook her head again, confusion clearing as she did so. “She woke up. During surgery. She woke up momentarily.” Her explanation did little to settle the worry that laid heavy throughout the room. “We had to sedate her, but she did wake up for a moment.”

Sam lifted his hand and pulled it down his face, grasping his chin as he did so. “What does that mean?” His question came out much calmer than he felt.

“It’s a good sign,” the doctor began. “Typically, with this kind of trauma, there wouldn’t be more than a ten percent chance of survival.” Her words did little to provide any comfort. “But we’ve repaired the damage and she’s in the recovery room now. It’s going to take a while for her to wake up since we had to sedate her again, but it’s a good sign.”

Sam took a deep breath, reaching down behind him to grab Dean’s arm. He pulled him up and forced him to stand. “Dean,” he said, smacking his hand against his brother’s chest and pointing towards the doctor.

Dean looked up hesitantly as he made eye contact with the doctor again. “She’s in the recovery room,” she explained again. “It’ll be a couple of hours before she’ll be in her own room, but once she is, you’re welcome to see her.”

“Her body, you mean.” Dean’s words were painted with defeat.

“No, Dean.” Sam turned around, looking at his brother pointedly. “She’s alive.” Dean’s eyes flicked over to his brother’s as he let out a breath, allowing more tears to fall down his cheeks.

My eyelids were so heavy. Like steel doors that had been locked shut, and I was powerless to move them. But I could feel the moisture of my own tears leaking through them as they dripped down my cheeks and across my lips. All I could feel was pain. The gravel in my chest that seemed to expand with each involuntary breath that I hadn’t initiated. The sharp, shooting pain that was radiating out from my back. The pounding in my head that felt as though my temples were trapped in a vice that was constantly being tightened. It was unreal and I didn’t think I could, or that I’d want, to cope with it.

Every part of me was scorching. That same sort of burning feeling that only seemed to happen when you were too cold, freezing from the inside out. I attempted to move, urging my knees to bend and scoot me away from the frozen fire that felt as though it were seconds away from consuming me. My lazy, thick voice whined into the emptiness as I urged myself to plead for help. The only sound that came out was muffled and nonsensical.

But within seconds, I felt warm fingers snaking themselves around my hand, intertwining my fingers with them. The warmth and comfort that originated there began to spread, and I poured all of my strength into flexing my fingers and squeezing the hand of my hero that had alleviated some of my agony.

“Mom?” My voice was almost unrecognizable. As though I was speaking through a thick layer of fabric that had been woven over my voice box.

“Shhh,” a soothing voice rang out as another hand swept across my forehead. “You’re going to be just fine, Y/N.” I knew that voice. I would recognize it even if I were dead. And yet, I couldn’t identify it for the life of me.

“I’ve got you, sweetheart.” Two lips pressed themselves gently to my forehead, leaving an aura of safety and respite from my aching body.

“Dad?” I questioned.

“Y/N?” Another voice called out to me, but from the other side of the room. “We’re here, Y/N. Sam and Dean,” it answered me. “We’re right here.”

I pursed my eyebrows together, still unable to open my eyes. Sam and Dean were there. I knew that their presence meant I was safe. That the terror of not knowing where I was or why everything hurt so much should ebb away. But every part of me wanted to scream at them. To push them away for pulling me back from the perfect peace I had found with my parents. I could still hear the waves crashing on the beach and remember the feel of my mother’s hand in mine. But all the contentment and ease had gone and been replaced with suffering.

“Hey, hey relax Y/N. It’s okay.” Dean’s voice attempted to soothe me as he pushed my hair behind my ear, gently cradling my face.

“No,” I murmured. “I want to go back.” My words came out as whispers, but their intent was sincere.

Dean relaxed his grip on my hand. “What?” he asked. But no more words were able to push through my lips. The tears that had been quietly dripping slowly from my eyes now became a deluge as my eyes and chest were wracked with sobs. The pain that shot through me with each violent spasm was disorienting and overwhelming, but the tears wouldn’t stop, and my heaving breaths were undeterred.

My fingers dug into Dean’s hand, desperate to keep him close to me as I pulled him towards the bed. I was able to curl my legs up into myself, ignoring the pain shooting through my abdomen as I did so, as I pulled Dean’s hand ever closer to me.

“Hey, hey, hey,” his voice rang out like velvet. “I’m here,” he said as I felt the bed depress next to me as his legs pressed against mine. His arm wrapped around my shoulders as he slowly released my hand, holding me close to him and pressing a kiss to the top of my head.

The sobs that had sped through me began to calm as I buried my face into his chest, breathing in the familiar scent of evergreen and freshly cut wood.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, his arms keeping me enveloped into him.

Deep breath after deep breath of his intoxicating musk had calmed my tears and slowed my breathing back to normal. The sharp stabbing pain had localized and no longer radiated out to every molecule of my being. Within minutes, I drifted off, terrified of any dream that I may have that could never compare to where I had just been.

To be continued….

Part Seven

Taglist (Tag requests are open):

@vicmc624 @waywardprincesa @heyyy-hey-babyyy @carissime72 @deans-baby-momma @formulafun @woodworthti666 @yetanotherreader @crashlyrose @hobby27 @gabby913 @jxackles @polina-93 @supernaturaladdictsblog @fandomoverdose666 @deans-baby-momma @deanwanddamons @tazzi-baby @acertainhero @lilulo-12

(Desperate attempt to get my faves to notice me) @thinkinghardhardlythinking @smol-and-grumpy @wonder-cole-reads @watermelonlipstick @that-one-gay-girl @waywardbaby

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glimmerglanger · 4 years

Note

Hello, hope you're having a good day. Here's a prompt for your spicy Sundays/whenever: obikin, sex pollen/aphrodisiacs, but sex happens *after* the pollen/substance wears off. I see it as not yet established relationship, with background pining, and much 'must not give into this' during the exposure to the pollen/substance. Who is the one exposed-or both are?-I leave up to you. Feel free to ignore this, if this scenario is something that holds no interest for you. As always, I love your work.

:DDD! So, this ended up with no actual sex happening, it’s all dealing with waiting for the substance too wear off. But it’s still...very explicit and spicy. So much dirty talk and...giving oneself a hand?

SPICY SUNDAY FIC. Set during the Clone Wars. I guess technically pre-Obikin? Warnings for non-consensual use of an aphrodisiac, but, again, no contact happens.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Enough things had gone wrong in Obi-Wan’s life for him to begin to feel suspicious when things went well. Master Yoda would, inevitably, have something to say about that, if Obi-Wan ever had the opportunity to mention it.

He shoved those thoughts aside with a punchy laugh, engaged the lock on the quarters he and Anakin had received, when they arrived on Marilk, and leaned his shoulder against the door. There was a curse from the other side of the door, barely a moment later, and then Anakin said, “Obi-Wan, this isn’t funny, let me out.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that quite yet,” Obi-Wan said, turning to rest his back against the door. He nodded, flashing a strained smile, at a few of the Marilkians who had followed them from the feasting hall.

They were near-human, perhaps slightly taller than average and tending towards unusual hair colors: blues and greens seemed to predominate. They’d been friendly enough. Very friendly, really. It had made Obi-Wan’s spine itchy and he’d tried to set aside that worry….

“Obi-Wan,” Anakin said, from the other side of the door, strain in his voice, “I’m serious. I--”

“So am I,” Obi-Wan said, and, to prove it, he sank to sit in front of the door, folding his legs. He put his hands on his knees and breathed slow and deep. He’d worked so diligently not to worry, to not jump at shadows, and for his trouble, Anakin was--

Pounding on the door at his back, the strain in his voice getting thicker as he said, “You have to let me out, Obi-Wan.”

“It’s better that you stay in there,” Obi-Wan said, working to maintain his calm and to project it towards Anakin. He worked, at the same time, to release everything he was picking up from Anakin, everything that had been pouring out of him since Anakin picked up Obi-Wan’s cup during their dinner and downed it.

Their host - the High Chancellor - had seemed ever so unhappy about that. That had been, really, the first obvious sign that something was wrong.

Additional obvious signs had followed shortly, as Anakin’s heart rate spiked up, as he grew flushed, as his signature in the Force shifted. Lust was always easy to pick up in the Force. It yelled and shouted, pushed outwards, needy and full of hunger.

The High Chancellor had explained, when faced with their sudden suspicions and sharp tempers, what he had done. He claimed that whatever he’d slipped into Obi-Wan’s drink was quite harmless. Only meant to increase one’s enjoyment of an evening’s delights.

Obi-Wan had taken Anakin from the room before he lost the fight with his temper. Punching a dignitary would not be an acceptable resolution to their current situation. And so he had brought Anakin back to their rooms, away from prying eyes and wandering hands.

He’d expected, really, for Anakin to put up a fight about it, but he’d gone willingly enough. The protests only started after the door shut between them. Anakin banged something against the other side of the door and said, “Obi-Wan, please, I can’t stay in here.”

“Yes, you can,” Obi-Wan told him, ignoring the rush of lust and want he got back. Anakin was spilling it everywhere, directly across their bond, into Obi-Wan’s head. Obi-Wan closed his eyes and exhaled it, even as he felt a flush creep up his neck. “Try to meditate, it’ll--”

Anakin laughed, sharply. Obi-Wan heard it through the door. “Meditating is not going to help me right now,” he said. “I need--”

“A cold shower?” Obi-Wan suggested, thinking he would not mind one himself. He tried, very hard, not to think about the way Anakin had shoved him against the wall, about the slant of Anakin’s mouth against his, before he’d managed to slide from the room.

“No,” Anakin said, hoarse. “That’s not it at all.”

“You haven’t even tried it,” Obi-Wan said, casting a frown down the hall when one of the Marilkians tried to take a step closer. He would have very much liked to go to a different set of quarters, to climb into a fresher and meditate until the burn of want in his blood went away, but he did not trust their hosts to keep their hands to themselves.

He could not very well leave Anakin alone. Not in his current condition.

“I know what’ll help,” Anakin said, thickly. “I’ll show you, just open the door.”

“You know I won’t,” Obi-Wan said, breathing slowly and steadily. They’d get through this. He’d heard of plenty of similar drugs. It would likely burn from Anakin’s system in an hour, perhaps two. Perhaps less. Use of the Force tended to make the metabolism of Jedi very high.

“Please,” Anakin said, apparently unwilling to take any of Obi-Wan’s advice. “Please, I know I was a little rough, at first, but I’ll - I’ll be gentle with you, if you just open the door.”

Obi-Wan felt a shiver down his back. He exhaled, carefully. Inhaled. Counted to five. Resolutely did not think about his shoulders against the wall, about Anakin pressed against him, mouth hungry and greedy, hands tugging at Obi-Wan’s robes--

“Does that sound nice?” Anakin asked, and Obi-Wan could feel the pressure of his want and need, crackling across their bond. “I could make it so nice for you.”

“You need to go meditate,” Obi-Wan said, working to keep his voice even. Unaffected, despite the heat he could feel rising in his cheeks. He tried to allow the words to simply flow out of his mind. Anakin didn’t know what he was saying. Didn’t mean to say any of it. He was not in control of himself.

“I told you, meditating won’t help,” Anakin rasped, and was quiet for a time. And then he made another sound, lower. Guttural. Sometime else curled through his signature in the Force. Pleasure. Building quickly, too. Obi-Wan stared at the far wall, breath catching in the back of his throat.

He asked, knowing it was a mistake, but unable to help it, “What are you doing?”

“What do you think I’m doing?” Anakin asked, a snap in his voice, frustration and desire all tangled up in his presence in the Force. “I’m touching myself, since you won’t come in here and help me. I’m--”

“Anakin,” he cut in, standing, because he could not--

“Oh, fuck,” Anakin panted, and Obi-Wan could feel it when he found release; it sung across their connection, a brief little flare of relief that had Obi-Wan curling his hands into fists under his robes. It was far too easy to imagine Anakin on the other side of the door, his trousers open, his hand moving over his cock until he’d--

Obi-Wan tilted his face up to the ceiling, wrestled with control, and asked, “Are you feeling better, now?”

Anakin was quiet for a long moment. He didn’t need to answer, really. Obi-Wan felt the answer before he spoke. “No,” Anakin ground out. “No, it only helped for a moment.”

Obi-Wan squeezed his eyes shut. He’d dared to hope, for an instant. He cleared his throat. “Mediation could--”

“Kriffing hell, Obi-Wan, I don’t want to meditate. I just want you to come in here with me.” Anakin sounded strained. “I want you to lick all this come off of my fingers, and--”

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan snapped, ears burning, even as he jerked a step away from the door. The sheer explicit nature of what he was saying made Obi-Wan’s gut get tighter, against all his best efforts. “That’s enough, you--”

“It’s not enough,” Anakin countered, his breathing getting shakier. “You don’t know half the things I want you to do. Fuck.” He was quiet, for a moment, quiet enough that Obi-Wan imagined he could hear Anakin touching himself again, right through the door. “I’d - I’d be so nice, if you’d just open the door, Obi-Wan, if you just - just put your mouth on me. You’d feel so good, sucking my cock.”

Obi-Wan’s hands ached, from how tightly he had them clenched. His jaw seemed to have welded itself shut, too. He could only stare at the door, burning all across his face and down his throat, listening to Anakin pant, “Fuck, I promise I’d go easy, I’d - I bet you’re so good at it, I’ve always thought you’d be so good at it, do you like sucking cock, Obi-Wan? Because, I have to say, your mouth--”

He strangled off, then, with a ragged groan that Obi-Wan swore he felt down his spine. His gut felt hard and tight. He felt strung out, himself, but he’d not taken any of the drug that was affecting Anakin so, and so he breathed, in and out, and sought balance.

He asked, even, “Is it finished?”

Anakin laughed, ragged, from the other side of the door. “Come in and find out,” he suggested.

Obi-Wan frowned, wishing his heart would slow down. “Anakin, that’s--”

“Please,” Anakin gasped out, cutting through every piece of advice Obi-Wan wanted to offer him. “Please, I need your help, Obi-Wan, I need you.”

Obi-Wan was back at the door before he could stop himself. He pressed both hands against the metal, head bowing over. In a way, he wished that he had consumed some of the substance. If they were both in this same situation, they’d at least be on an even playing field.

As it was, he could only stand sentinel. Only listen. Anakin was quiet, for a long time. Obi-Wan could hear soft, wet sounds from inside the room. Groans, sometimes, but at least he’d stopped talking. It didn’t mitigate the surge of his want and desire, but Obi-Wan knew how to process those emotions, to accept and release them.

He kept his peace until Anakin made a soft, pained sound, and then he asked, “Are you--alright?”

Anakin snorted. He thumped something against the other side of the door. “Starting to feel chaffed,” he said, his voice closer to a rasp than Obi-Wan had ever heard it.

Obi-Wan could imagine, and tried not to, not wanting to imagine Anakin slumped against the wall, touching himself, already covered with his own mess--

“Is it getting any better?” he asked, focusing on what mattered.

Anakin was quiet for a moment, and then let out a muffled groan. Obi-Wan heard his name, tangled in the noise. When Anakin spoke again, his voice was ragged. “I still want to hold you down and fuck you raw,” he said, words all sharp edges, “but I think I could hold back long enough to work you open on my fingers, now. Is that better, do you think?”

Obi-Wan opened his mouth, trying to formulate any kind of reply, and Anakin must have been feeling slightly better, because he projected the image through the Force; Obi-Wan, on his stomach, robes just gone, with Anakin stretched over him, fingers moving--

Obi-Wan sunk teeth into his tongue, working to hold back the sound that tried to rise in his throat. “I want to open you up,” Anakin went on, before Obi-Wan returned to anything like stability. “I want to see the way you take me. I bet you’d take me so well, so tight and hot around my cock--”

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan managed to grit out, overheated under his robes, his cheeks on fire, his gut tight and--

And his cock embarrassingly hard, under his robes.

“Can you come from being fucked?” Anakin asked, breath starting to hitch. “Or would you like me to touch you? While I’m filling you up? I would, if you wanted, I’d make it so good for you, Obi-Wan, I promise. I’d--fuck, reach around you, touch you, I’d--”

The projection shifted, and Obi-Wan bit the insides of his cheeks, curling his head forward, wishing he’d drank the damned stuff. He would have sat in the shower and sorted this out on his own. He wouldn’t have tormented Anakin, he’d have--

“I’d keep fucking you, after you came,” Anakin panted, voice quaking. “Would you like that? Hm?”

“I don’t know,” Obi-Wan blurted, and regretted it, immediately, but he was--was breathing shakily, himself, leaning against the door, overheating. Hard and aching, from Anakin’s words and his want, overflowing through the Force, and--

“What the kriff do you mean you don’t know?” Anakin asked, ragged. “You don’t--”

“I’ve never,” Obi-Wan started, and then stopped, tongue catching against the back of his teeth. And Anakin swore, on the other side of the door, and Obi-Wan felt it when he came. Obi-Wan sunk teeth into his bottom lip and drew on the Force and his cock stayed hard and aching.

He did not fall over the edge. Did not take advantage. Did not - not let Anakin’s words while he was out of his head drive him to that. Anakin deserved better than that.

For a moment, there was no sound but their ragged breathing, there in the hall. And then Anakin cleared his throat and said, quietly, the lust fading out of his signature in the Force, replaced with something like embarrassment, like mortification, “I - I think it’s, ah, over.”

Obi-Wan swallowed. He collected himself, putting together the ragged edges of his emotions. He said, straightening, ignoring the ache of his cock, “Good. I’m very glad to hear it. Let’s just...wait a few more minutes. Before I come to check on you.”

“Fuck,” Anakin said, voice cracking a little. “Yes, actually, if you could--just wait--maybe. I need to--uh. I need to shower. And - and clean up. Just. Just wait, a bit, alright?” And Obi-Wan nodded, turned, put his shoulders against the wall, and slid down, ignoring the buzzing hum of his pulse.

#glimmer replies #ask me anything #obikin #spicy sunday #not safe for wizards #spicy talk #:D

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damn-daemon · 3 years

Note

To make it clear I am leaving for FFN tonight. And to make it clear to your coven I am not some stupid kid either. I am a victim. However I am needed more on FFN. There is darklina acolytes and one who is literally the darklings concubine. Thus you are a handmaiden. I am reclaiming my name too. MALLORY

This just in: CHILD warned not to touch hot stove cries when they burn their hand.

Honey, Mallory, you do not get to come after my friends with your vindictive bitch attitude and then play victim when you can’t take the heat being thrown back at you. I tried being nice, I tried being funny, so give me a moment to be a fucking asshole about it and see where it gets you.

You, my friend, are off your fucking rocker. It was funny at first, but it’s becoming very clear that you need some help of the professional variety. Darklina acolytes and concubines? Just because you’re completely unable or unwilling to separate fiction from reality doesn’t mean we can’t. And let’s say you’re just trolling us. You are obsessive to say the least and you honestly need to find a better hobby. Maybe crushing anthills or scribbling outside the lines of an Emoji Movie coloring book. Those sound about right for your maturity level.

You are not needed on FFN anymore than anyone else. You aren’t some crusading hero returning home from the war effort. You’re a faceless, nameless toddler who thinks that typing a few mean words constitutes the internet equivalent of a Medal of Honor. But please, go slink back to your dark little corner and write your pathetic little reviews. Whatever helps you feel like less of a failure when it comes to your life.

I’ve been around longer than you, kid. I’ve dealt with shit that makes your harassment attempts look utterly insignificant. I can play your game all fucking day.

However, my inbox is still open. If you decide to put on your big boy pants and talk about this like a rational, stable person, all you have to do is message me privately and we can have a discussion about what went wrong here. I’m not unwilling to have polite conversation. I’m not going to rat you out or give out your personal details. I may be an asshole, but I have my standards.

Until then, stew in your contempt of people who decided that they were done dealing with your shit and fought back. Cry to your mother about the big meanies on the internet who wouldn’t give in to your pathetic attempts to oust them from a fandom with your toxic rhetoric.

And get a fucking life, Mallory.

#you started this #i'm here to finish it #get over yourself

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rosartemis · 3 years

Text

Your Phenomenal Dramaturgy DSMP Animatic

Was gonna post a YouTube comment, but then I realized I didn’t want to get eviscerated by the dsmp fandom for having a different opinion, so submitting my interpretation of the lyrics/animatic in regards to c!Dream here instead :P

“But I don’t know a thing, love or losing, see?” I believe references how before Wilbur and L'manburg these kinds of conflicts/wars were never a thing on the server and Dream had no idea how he should deal with it. “So I threw to the side any human in me.” Implies Dream believed he had to make harsh choices to end the conflict, he couldn’t be soft, “No mercy” right? “If I live a lie of shallow words and empty replies, then what am I?” implying Dream keeps his word, but the people of L'Manburg don’t. It’s framed as a response from Dream to Wilbur during the declaration of independence, and makes sense if you consider the fact that Wilbur was scamming everyone out of their own potions supplies and made L'Manburg in part as an excuse to get away with it when the other members of the server got mad (Dream was uninvolved at this point, but he likely heard about it from Sapnap, who was one of the people that had confronted Wilbur and Tommy about their theft). “Then it stuck in my head, gotta run away” Dream and Sapnap getting carried away with burning down the forest surrounding L'manburg. “Playing out like a scene, posing every lead Near the end of the show, waiting in the wing, see?” Not sure about the first line, aside from referencing how everything’s a play and Dream’s the lead actor, but the second line refers to Eret’s role as the hidden traitor “Waiting in the wings”. “Run to front stage, you’re all actors anyway, no one to watch, You’re all part of the play” Dream having to make tough decisions as the de facto leader of the Greater Dream SMP faction during war. He’s planning out strategies with George and Sapnap, but the map turns into a chess game and he hates how he has to consider using them like pawns in the game to win this war. “There’s no one inside me There’s no one that’s hiding Always been me, empty, a body but nobody here to see” Montage of Dream prepping for the battle, there’s a scene in which he’s stepping into an argument between George and Sapnap. He’s steeling himself for the battle ahead. From a meta standpoint, these are all the scenes we as viewers never got to see, but they still happened, and it was still Dream who had done all this for his faction. “And knowing that those eyes are watching…” From the animatic implies that Dream seems to think things aren’t quite over yet, so he’s keeping an eye on things. “Til before we could see, we were monsters in skin ” Dream and his relationship with being called a monster/tyrant/villain continuously by the other members of the server, in particular those that are a part of L'Manburg. Could also be how he hadn’t noticed himself slipping into that role until far too late. “But even if I had tried to move on, why can’t I leave my past?” Same as above, but this time with the bonus of Pogtopia Wilbur manipulating him and convincing him he’ll be nothing more than a tyrant, a villain despite his clear attempts to amend that opinion of him and change by siding with Tommy (and Wilbur), who he thought were the “good guys”. ““Considering it’s you, better give up soon” “Cuz no matter what you do, you will always lose”” Dream talking in reference to Tommy and Wilbur (?). “And then I was alone way before I knew Blocking every little thought that I couldn’t sit through” George leaving the conflict (and Dream) alone to build his own thing. Dream realizing he’s alone/his friends don’t seem to care about him as much as he does them, and trying not to think about it. “All they want now is safety from what’s around Waiting for help but never learning how” Dream constantly covering for George and Sapnap during conflicts they got themselves into without asking for anything in return, and George and Sapnap never learning how to stop causing conflicts/resolve them by themselves. (taking advantage of Dream’s help) “I don’t wanna think now” Doesn’t want to remember the good times he’s had with everyone/his friends. Him swiping away the pieces like he wants to stop this stupid game of chess. “I’ll play dumb anyhow” Reference to Dream losing his godly powers because of the exorcism and being split into 2 (as explained by creator of the animatic) and pretending everything was fine afterwards. “Always been me, empty, a body but nobody here to see” Realization he’s lost his powers and can’t rely on XD to help resolve the Manberg/Pogtopia conflict. Here his mask goes from covering the top of half of his face to covering his entire face, a “loss of humanity”/“empty” (from a circle to being fully molded onto his face covering), and is also when the strings motif starts. Trading chessboards for puppet strings. Very obviously, you can see him slipping and his mental state deteriorating. “So standing at the front line and maybe this time I’ll be there with a flag high” Reference to the Manburg shield hinting at his allegiance and how he’s leading the Manburg “army” during the battle. “Outmatched but easygoing "Never gonna need a script with me”“ Dream surrendering and playing along with their expectations (Pogtopia winning against Manberg). "Oh you too yes yes so take a deep breath "Swear that you’ll see me again” One chance is all I have now And so I better make it count Climatic ending, come see The final act, I’m shaken to my knees" Speaking to Tommy about meeting him for the final confrontation, Tommy realizing this is his chance to take down Dream for good, “climatic ending” the finale Dream’s planned out for them. Dream is determined to see things through to the bitter end. “Yet crying and lonely” But what has he lost to get to this point? (also the juxtaposition of Doomsday Dream with his armor and cloak staring at the sunset atop his obsidian grid, framed by destruction being swapped out for an image of the old Dream, still with strings tied to his hands, but staring up at the softer night sky being framed by trees, is just, so good) “The world that I locked out is nowhere to find The people who mocked me are gone from my sight Emotions and feelings are useless to keep The tears that had fallen were not mine to weep” Hardening his heart against George/the rest of his friends (who later in turn abandoned him/left him), beating down those who had wronged him in the past, letting go of Spirit and the attachment associated with them so they’ll never be used against him again (representing him cutting off the rest of his attachments to do the same thing) despite it being very obviously painful and hurting to do so. (choosing to let go, but finding that doing so hurts anyways. Crying for something you think you shouldn’t cry for.) “The kindness and warmth, I can’t feel them at all The hands that are offered, I’m scared that I’ll fall The hole dug inside me can’t hold any love Instead, you can see me break down from above” Unable or unwilling to form healthy emotional attachments/connections with other people. He’s scared that if he does he’ll just be hurt again, and so he pushes them away, even those who’d offer him their help. He’s lost so much that he’s grown emotionally repressed (his past as Cornelius and how he lost his entire family in a week) and has trouble feeling things like “love”, and starts collapsing under the lose. (his mental health spiraling hard) “Hey, remember when you saw that they were nearing their end? And you looked like you were laughing at the pain they were in But what did you see? Oh really what could it be Well, take a breath ‘cuz you’ll need it, so c’mon saying” Something more happening with Dream behind the front of “big bad villain” that he puts on for the rest of the server, what was he really feeling? What was he really planning? We don’t know. “We’re pulling at the boundary, unseen A curtain dyed in black soon came to be And knowing that those eyes are watching…” The end of a season/the “show”, Dream’s put in prison and the curtains appear to be closing, but there’s still some loose ends that haven’t been tied with the other characters, and Dream’s presence can still be felt all around the server despite him being locked up in a literal torture box with no real power (power that could get him out of said torture box). (also, just loved how you incorporated the chorus! I’ve known about Dramaturgy for a long time but hadn’t realized how well the lyrics just fit with the DSMP plotline XD)

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Wow, thanks for such a detailed response to my animatic :D I’m really glad you enjoyed it enough to type so much out!

I really like your interpretation, you basically got most of the things I was going for. While I yearn to type out something longer, I don’t really want to tell people how to interpret something lol

Thanks again <3

#submissions #submission

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forkanna · 3 years

Link

[AO3 LINK]

NOTES: Wow, that was quite a response to just reposting the prologue! Hopefully you all enjoy the rest of this fic as much as you've been anticipating it; I know it's been a lot of buildup to it, unintentionally I promise you. Here you go, better late than... well, you get it.

---------------------

The next morning had been a hard one for Anna. School just felt strained and weird without knowing for sure where her mother was. Punz helped her through it, and she managed to do most of her classwork, but her mind kept wandering off.

Tomorrow was the earliest they could report her missing to the police. Of course, she had a feeling that it wouldn't matter one way or the other, but it was the strongest hope that she and her father had. Knowing what they knew about time travel, they had refrained from calling John or Wendy for the time being; she might come back.

She had to come back.

So when she walked into the living room after school and saw her mother sitting on the couch, looking quite weary but whole, safe, normal, she ran into her arms. It didn't even occur to her to ask about her father, or what she was doing there, or anything else. Need overrode curiosity.

"MOM! Oh my god… oh Mom, you completely freaked me out, I didn't know what happened!"

Elsa wrapped her arms around Anna, hugging back just as a tight as a sound halfway between a laugh and a sigh spilled from her lips. "My angel… I'm so sorry for worrying you like that. Really."

Anna felt her eyes well with tears. She had been unwilling to truly face the idea that Elsa was truly gone, but seeing her here threw into sharp relief just how much she had been terrified. Her arms grew tired as she held on, but there was nothing that could make her let go. Not at this moment. Even the mere thought had her arms tightening their hold, squeezing just a little harder.

"Please don't leave again," she said softly. "Not- not without telling me first. Dad- Dad came home last night and we were gonna go to the cops and-"

"Shh…." Elsa hushed her, inhaling deeply. "I promise I'll never do that again without telling you. I'm so sorry, Anna."

Tearfully, Anna drew her head back, just enough so she could look in Elsa's eyes. "Where did you go? Did I… did I do something?"

Oh God. Elsa could see the forty-something version of her daughter, asking that same exact question. "No, no, baby. No you didn't do anything."

"But you just left me…" Anna's words, cracked and small, were also so heartfelt. So sincere in their pain that it made Elsa want to cry, too. How could she even have thought of giving this up? Of leaving the person who, truthfully, had become her entire world?

"I waited until the day your father would come home. That way, you wouldn't be without someone to… look out for your well-being, no matter what came to pass."

Clearing her throat and sniffling, Anna pulled back and gazed at her mother. "What… came to… Mom, what happened? Where did you go?"

"I was figuring some things out. Took a few weeks. And I've come to some decisions." She took a deep breath, then let it out very slowly before she took both of Anna's hands. "I'm not leaving you."

"Okay. I'm… b-but you made it sound like you… wanted to?"

"Not 'wanted'. But I thought it might be best." She released her hands. "However, there are going to have to be a few changes around here."

Still incredibly relieved at not losing her mother, Anna slumped downward. Then she said, "Okay, okay. You want me to stop hitting on you? Is that pretty much it?"

Elsa nodded slightly. "For now. I'm… willing to revisit that at a later date, but you have to promise me something. From now until you are in college, this stops. We have to learn to keep our hands to ourselves. It's going to be difficult, I know; we've already proven that it will be. But that's very important to me. You might technically be of age, but… you're my child, and you live in my house. There's no pretending that won't affect which of us has the power in a… in… well, in a romantic relationship."

"O-oh." Anna wasn't sure what to say. This sounded like bad news, but it also sounded like there was some good news attached. "But… what about when I'm in college?"

Only now did Elsa smile slightly. "Depends. I want you to really take this time to think hard about you and I. We both will. And we'll try our best to be a normal family. I'm never, ever going to stop loving you!" Her smile faltered slightly, and she looked away with red cheeks. "And if, once you're out on your own, not… being 'parented' by me, you still want to be something more than mother and daughter… we can try that. I know it's a long time-"

"Oh, Mom," she breathed, crushing her with her arms again, sore as they still were. "God! Of course, I… oh I'm sorry, I'm so dumb, I kept trying to… I d-don't know, I'm stupid, I'm so stupid!"

"Shhhhhh." It was soothing and sweet, and she kissed the crown of her head. Anna hummed a little through her tears, glad for the gentle gesture. "It's okay. Everything's okay, Anna; you're going to be just fine."

"B-but what if we try it, and I hurt you somehow? Make you sad th-that your daughter is… disgusting?"

"Don't ever think that. Even if I've been a little disgusted by your desires, by my own, that does not mean I think you are 'bad' or… or anything! And it never did. Do you hear me, sweetie? You'll always be my sweet Anna, whether or not I can handle you being my Tori at the same time. Always."

With renewed vigour, Anna hugged her mother so aggressively. Elsa returned the expression – and, where once she would have hesitated, now there was no sign of that reluctance. It was just what Anna needed.

"I should… really call Punz," she said finally. "Let her know what happened."

Elsa's lips quirked. "I should probably ring your father," she said. Still, neither of them moved. If anything, Anna seemed unable to stop herself pressing closer.

"What if… what if I can't?" she whispered. Even in that low tone, it was obvious she was scared – terrified – of something. "You want me to stop until college, but what if I can't? Or, if I slip up? Mom, I can't lose you just because my balls get ahead of my brain sometimes."

Squeezing tight for a second, Elsa chuckled and closed her eyes. "Accidents happen…" she began. It wasn't good enough.

"No! How can we trust that it would even be an accident when I want you so bad? It hurts, Mom!" Anna sniffled. "It hurts to have you so close sometimes when I want so much more but you… don't…"

"Anna, listen to me." Elsa had Anna's face clasped in her hands, giving her the ability to look directly into her eyes. "You have no idea how much I want you. But right now is the wrong moment. For you, for me… and sweetheart, you need to think of Punz, too. That girl adores you. And-" Elsa lowered her voice, though she smiled now, too. "I would love to be her mother one day, too. Well, mother-in-law."

"That still doesn't solve this problem," Anna said. Her words were monotone, but she felt herself blushing at Elsa's suggestion. It was easier to deflect than it was to think on the future and whether or not Punz would be part of hers.

"You're right. But I guess what I've realised is… this problem is not worth me leaving you behind. I want to work on it together. And if we slip up again, we will deal with it like adults. We aren't animals who have no willpower."

"Are you sure?" she asked with a weak laugh. "You came pretty close that morning."

At that, Elsa leaned in and whispered, "I really did. I was very close." The double meaning made Anna's cheeks grow yet rosier. "But I'm serious; I won't try that while I'm 'in charge' of you. That's not right. Even if we try to treat each other equally, we can't be equals until you're out on your own. And I'm not going to let you drop out of school or anything like that, before you ask," she warned.

"Damn, you caught me," Anna hissed, and Elsa chuckled. "Still Mom with your freakin' parenting chess moves, ten steps ahead. Man… that's so long, though."

"Is it? I know it seems that way to you, because you're young."

Sighing, Anna admitted, "Maybe not. And you're right, like… the past couple of weeks have been great! Not just the parts where we flirted, but everything. All three of us hanging out together was nice, too."

"See? We can make that work. And as I said, if I know you're making advances on purpose, then I will have to leave until you've graduated. Just for my own sanity, and to make sure I don't hurt you – and then I'll come back. But a few slip-ups here and there can be forgiven, Anna."

Anna's hand stroked up and down Elsa's side for a moment. Again, she didn't flinch away, but she started to look a little less comfortable, so Anna stopped. "Okay. I… don't really get the whole 'I can't be in charge while we're dating' thing, because like, you parenting me is totally separate. But I do trust you, Mom. So… so I can try it."

"Not as separate as it should be. But thank you, Anna," Elsa said honestly. She was smiling, too, so that was a good sign. "Now I really must contact your father." She got up and was halfway to the kitchen before Anna spoke.

"Hey, Mom?" she asked. Elsa turned.

"Yes, sweetheart?"

Suddenly, Anna felt very gun-shy and guilty. Like she was going to ask her mother for a treat after her father had already said no. "Can I ask a favour?"

"Of course!" Elsa turned more fully towards her daughter, and Anna felt her mouth grow dry. Just for a second, but it was more than enough, really.

Swallowing hard around a lump in her throat, Anna looked away. "Can I… have a kiss?"

Her mother answered with a sigh, but it was more weary than truly upset. "That would seem to defeat the purpose of giving us this dry period, wouldn't it? Unless you just mean a cheek-kiss."

"I didn't," she admitted readily. "Um… and I do kinda get what you mean? Cooling off to make sure this is what we really want, cause we can't put the toothpaste back in the tube. But like, I already did that. The past couple weeks were me trying not to feel things for you, and it didn't work. But if you want to try for longer…"

"I think, if a few more months go by and you still want me the way you did a couple of days ago, then it will prove that we're really intended to be that for each other. And if the feelings fade for you, then won't it be better that we never went too far? That we never… crossed the line that cannot be uncrossed?"

Anna was having trouble wrapping her mind around what Elsa was trying to get through to her. What would be the difference at this point? She already let her go down on her once before, even if it was her younger self and not this mother standing in front of her now. But she supposed there was probably some wisdom in this plan that she simply hadn't considered.

"Just tonight," Anna whispered very quietly. "Like, to get it out of my system. Then tomorrow, we can go back to 'Mom' and 'daughter' and all that, and… see where we end up when I go to college. And I know, I sound like an ungrateful brat, and it's demanding, a-and… I'm sorry. But I think it'll drive me nuts if I never get to touch you from now until I'm out of the house!"

"It's not a good idea, Anna." But she relented. "Fine. But you have to make all the moves. I already basically attacked you in 1985, and now that I really am your mother…"

That part, Anna could understand. Especially after she explained the whole 'being in charge' aspect; if she was worried about wielding power over Anna, she would give it all to her. Smiling, Anna placed her hands on Elsa's waist. "Just a kiss. Maybe it won't even feel right and we won't have to worry about anything more."

Both seemed to realise at the same moment how silly a thought that was. Anna could feel it already, that pull. Her mouth was no longer than dry – no, she was almost salivating at the thought of doing this again. Her cheeks warmed and her heart picked up, trotting in her chest as she took a step closer.

"Just a kiss," Elsa echoed, though her voice had suddenly lost its power.

Biting the inside of her cheek, Anna leaned forward. Elsa wasn't much taller than her – wasn't much taller than she had been in '85 – but still Anna missed. Her lips found Elsa's chin, and Elsa let out a snort of what could have been laughter.

Anna didn't correct herself upward, however. Contrarily, she moved away from Elsa's lips, grazing hers down to lave at her mother's throat.

"Anna…" Elsa tried. It was meant to be a warning, but instead it came out hoarse and throaty. A small noise slipped from Anna as she wrapped her hands more solidly around Elsa's waist. It was more of a hug now, and it had the side effect – intended or not – of bringing them even closer together.

Eyes sliding shut, Anna merely enjoyed the taste of her mother's skin. She felt gentle fingers tangling in her hair, and was prepared for when Elsa tugged her away. Even if it was a gentle distancing.

"This isn't quite what we agreed to," she sighed nervously. But she could see her mother was uncertain. Guilty. There had to be a way she could remove that guilt. What would make this woman she adored more comfortable with her how much she adored her?

"Elsa… you can call me 'Tori' tonight if you want," she murmured. "If that makes it easier. I could even dress up in 80s clothes or something? Like… since the whole problem is me being your daughter, I could be her instead."

At that, Elsa let out a soft laugh. "I didn't know we were doing an all-night affair. But… well…"

"Well?" Anna asked after a few seconds passed and her mother didn't finish the thought.

"I did ask Kristoff to get a hotel room. Give us space enough to figure things out." Anna drew back to see Elsa looking ashamed, but also smiling very slightly. "Not that this was what I had in mind. Just wanted to be prepared for any… eventuality."

For a few seconds, Anna had to suppress the tingles burbling up through her body. From very specific places. Elsa had planned for them to sleep together. Not as an intention, but a precaution – though that was still more than she had hoped lips pushed into Elsa's neck again, hearing a sigh. Then she whispered, "What if I just keep kissing? All over?"

"An- Tori," she corrected, and Anna smiled against her neck.

"You don't have to do anything back. I'm good. But… I want to try this out. See how far I can get before you need me to stop. Or before I need to stop."

"Let's just stick to kissing above the waist." When Anna pulled back to grin at her, head starting to duck downward, she hastily added, "Above the shoulders! Jesus Christ, how did I raise such an opportunist?"

"You didn't; the other Anna probably wasn't as bad as me. And she also wasn't as hot for you as me…" Knowing she was pushing her luck, she leaned up to whisper into Elsa's ear, "And I'm pretty hot for you right now."

Elsa let out a sharp breath that was probably covering something else. "Anna…" she tried one last time. This one felt breathier and needier than before, and Anna could feel the warmth pooling just below her navel.

"I just want you," Anna said softly. "To touch you… in whatever way you let me." Her hips rolled very slightly against Elsa's – not enough for any real friction, but certainly enough to give truth to her words. Elsa gave out another shuddering breath. "But for now, a kiss will do…"

And she did just that, sealing their lips together once more. Elsa sank down into it as if it were a warm bath, perhaps grateful that she no longer had to speak. It didn't really matter.

Slowly, Anna began to back away, leading them back to the couch. It seemed safer than heading for one of the bedrooms. It took Elsa a moment to realise what she was doing, but when she finally caught on she wasted no time in guiding Anna. Despite what she had said, she seemed to be a little less willing to stop now.

But finally they were seated, a strange parody of that moment in Doc's car. Anna had little doubt that she wanted to try paying her mother back for what she had done there, either. Hopefully Elsa felt the same.

Anna slipped her tongue between Elsa's lips, and she only groaned and accepted it with her own, leaning back until she was lying on the couch with Anna over her. Her arms never tightened around Anna, and she never gripped her shoulders; only laid her hands gently on her biceps. Seemed she was deadly serious about not making any 'moves', after all.

When they broke apart again, Anna's hips still grinding, Elsa warned her breathlessly, "This is… more than a kiss."

"Yeah. But hey… tonight is our night, huh? Like, the last one to be Tori and Elsa."

"It is. Even though we aren't going as far as you think we're going," she told her, resolve returning as she pointed a finger up at her.

"Right, I get it. So…" Biting her lip, she got up from the couch, leaving Elsa briefly confused. "Let's do it. Let's dress up."

What an adorable blush crept into the middle-aged woman's features. "Oh, you… were serious about that?"

Dancing backward a little, she said, "Remember that outfit I made you buy? The one that you said you wouldn't wear out of the house, short-shorts and crop top? You can put that on, and I'll find some stuff in my closet that makes me look really… different. Really Tori for you. And I'll change my hair, and wear the shoes from the dance!"

"Oooh," Elsa sighed at the mention of the shoes. Apparently, that was such a strong tie to the memory of going down on Anna that it instantly heated her up. Then she cleared her throat. "Well… I suppose it wouldn't hurt to simply look the parts. Might help create necessary boundaries."

She knew what her mother really meant; it would help assuage her guilt if they were recreating the past, instead of forging a new, sinful future. Clapping her hands, she started to head for the hallway. "You just wait! This is gonna be amazing!"

"I hope you're right," Elsa chuckled as she started to follow her. They were both going the same way, after all. "But I just wanted to reiterate..."

Hesitation. So she prompted, "What?"

"No matter what happens… I'm always going to love you. That was never in danger at any point, Anna."

"I know. Don't worry, we got this. Promise-promise."

"Now, that sounds familiar..."

Anna had no way of knowing what Elsa meant; she hadn't said it yet, after all. But she was all smiles as she retreated to her room with glee, only sparing Elsa one last glance over her shoulder to see her mother was standing in the doorway to her own room with a bemused smile on her blushing features.

Still so beautiful.

To Be Continued…

#Fractal The Future #elsanna fanfiction #Back to the Future #forkanna writes #fruipit #elsanna #jess the writer

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toosicktoocare · 4 years

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Let me preface this by saying I’m only in season 1 of The Magnus Archives, and I’m just now getting, I think, legit introduced to Martin. But, I’m lowkey obsessing over it, and I’ve been reading fics for it. So, I just wanted to write this little drabble with Jon and Martin.

tl;dr: i don’t know what I’m doing, but I want to write this anyway

Martin’s lost in his work, gnawing absently on his lower lip. He’s spent the better half of an hour working through mental scenarios on how to approach a rather complicated statement follow-up, with each idea yielding the same, unfortunate result of a definite “no.”

He’s mentally working around the kinks, staring blankly at the biography, the adjectives and facts building within the introductory speech he’s writing word for word in his mind, when Tim slips in and slams a folder on his desk, startling him into a jump and a yelp.

“Tim, what-”

“Take this to Jon, will you?”

Though a question, Martin can hear the finality coating Tim’s tone, leaving little to no room for question or argument. He glances down at the file, flipping through the documents before bringing a puzzled look toward Tim.

“This is the research he asked you for. How come-”

“He’s in a mood,” Tim sighs, waving one hand about. “I don’t feel up to dealing with it today.” Tim starts toward the door, turning to offer Martin a quick “thanks” before disappearing around the corner.

Martin stares blankly at the empty doorway for a long moment, thoughts lost among erupting emotions: nerves, fear, a loud hint of excitement. But then he smooths his hand over the file, recalling the muted sense of urgency in Jon’s tone when he asked Tim for the research yesterday.

He grabs the folder, clutching it close to his chest for reasons he can’t quite pinpoint, and starts toward the archives, the walk long since easy muscle memory for him.

The door’s, unsurprisingly, closed when he reaches the archives, and he can hear Jon’s deep vibrato echoing from the gap at the bottom of the door. Martin reaches for the doorknob, hand freezing just before it, hovering in the air.

Though he would never admit it, Martin’s frequently been hesitating outside of the archives, taking just a few moments to just listen to Jon’s voice, to the way it takes to different timbres as he reads through statements, truly capturing the fear colored behind each word. It’s such a drastic contrast from Jon’s normal, dark, sharp tone, and Martin can’t help but take a few moments to get lost within himself when he listens to Jon read, even if it often results in Jon chastising him for his slow work ethic.

He’s quite aware at how creepy that makes him seem, but, today, he’s glad he’s taken to the rather odd habit, as he’s quick to pick up on the exhaustion laced in Jon’s tone. Frowning, Martin can almost pick apart each crack of Jon’s voice, and he rubs at his own neck with a frown when Jon stops more than once to clear his throat.

Jon sounds, Martin thinks, rough, the edge of his voice sounds frayed thin, tired, and he’s suddenly moving far too quick when he drops his hand to the doorknob and throws the door open.

He expects a yell, a curse even, as he’s heard so many times before, but Jon only briefly closes his eyes and sighs softly to himself. Martin takes that silent moment free of a verbal reprimand to study Jon’s drawn, sunken face with pink tinged cheeks and a red-rimmed nose. He moves his gaze further to Jon’s rumpled clothes that he knows, for a fact, Jon wore yesterday.

“Martin,” Jon draws out at the same time Martin sputters, “did you go home last night?”

“Excuse me?”

Jon’s eyes are open now, and behind the abundantly clear exhaustion, they are narrow, borderline dangerous, and Martin swallows thickly and absently clutches the folder tighter to his chest.

“I just mean,” Martin stammers, “your clothes. You wore those yesterday.” His voices trails off at the end, and he finds a stack of folders on the ground to train his eyes to, unwilling to meet Jon’s pointed gaze.

“Did you interrupt me to judge my attire, or did you-” Jon pauses to cough lightly into the back of his wrist, “-excuse me, or did you come to give me something?”

Martin drags his gaze up to see Jon gesturing toward the folder he’s got practically stapled to his chest, and he shakes his head quickly.

“No, sorry, of course,” he sputters around each letter as he hands Jon the file folder. “Tim asked me to bring this to you.”

“And he didn’t bring this himself because?”

“He’s busy,” Martin lies quickly, offering brief, made up details about research regarding a rather complex statement Jon read through yesterday.

“Right,” Jon mutters, already turning back to his tape recorder, eyes flicking briefly through the file, and Martin knows that’s his cue to leave, and he should leave because clearly Jon’s unwell, but it’s that notion alone that has Martin’s feet unable to move away from his spot.

He stares, instead, at Jon, at the barely visible tremor jerking over the curves of Jon’s shoulders, or the way Jon absently brings the sleeve of his sweater up to his nose, sniffling quietly. His heart lurches and twists, and he’s so lost in the mere thought that Jon is very much unwell that he doesn’t hear Jon call his name more than once.

“Martin, is that all?”

Shaking his head clear of loud thoughts, Martin cocks his head to the side slightly, brows furrowed. “Are you alright?” He knows the answer, and he also knows the predictable, clipped reply that’s to come, but he asks anyway because he’s worried.

“Of course I’m alright,” Jon snaps. “Close the door on your way out.”

Martin does so despite the pit pushing in his stomach, and he starts quickly to Tim, finding him half-reading through something on his computer while Sasha chats idly with him.

“Jon is sick.” He says, the words spilling quickly off his tongue.

“I know,” Tim answers, arching one brow that Martin shakes his head at.

“You said he was in a mood.”

“He is,” Tim responds easily, eyes falling back to the computer screen. “He’s always in a mood when he’s sick.”

“Shouldn’t we try to send him home?”

“Wouldn’t do any good,” Sasha says. “Jon will-

“-only leave in a casket,” Tim finishes for her, and Martin can only huff, frustrated, as he slips back to his small office.

He tries to get lost within his work, tries to chase the need to impress Jon, but worry is consuming him, twisting within the pit of his stomach, and he can’t keep his mind from drifting back to how poorly Jon looked. He wants badly to help, but he’s treading on thin ice as it is, and, as Tim said, Jon’s in quite the mood.

Still, Martin can’t shake the need to do something. He leaves to the break room to make tea, Jon’s favorite tea, but he only knows that by pure coincidence. At least, that’s what he always tells himself. He avoids Tim and Sasha as he makes his way back to the archives, waiting patiently outside the door until he hears the familiar “Recording End.”

He knocks this time, already wishing to make up for his abrupt entrance earlier, and he takes the distracted hum as an all clear to enter, pushing the door open slowly, frowning as he listens to the rather rough bout of coughing Jon’s struggling through.

“Martin, how many times do you plan on interrupting me today?” Jon chokes out around a few ragged breaths, and Martin holds up the mug as a silent peace offering.

“I made tea and accidentally grabbed the wrong tea bag,” he lies, setting the mug down on Jon’s desk. “Figured you might want it.”

Jon only mutters a distracted “thanks” as he brings his attention to his next statement, but Martin doesn’t miss the way Jon’s hand smooths around the mug as if seeking warmth.

Martin slips silently from the room, leaving his back pressed against the door as he listens to Jon roughly clear his throat before beginning his next recording. His head thumps softly against the door, eyes tipped up to the dusty ceiling light above him. He listens to the pained voice on the other side of the door, and though he knows he’s bound to bear witness to Jon’s wrath, he makes a silent vow to check on Jon once more before he leaves.

Somehow, he manages to get work done, albeit very little work. It takes him twice as long to conduct his follow-up research, stopping twice when he spots Jon shuffle by, once headed to the break room with a familiar, empty mug. Martin couldn’t help but smile at that, though, he wished it were under better circumstances.

Once it’s time to leave for the day, he practically leaps from his desk chair, only just remembering to lock his computer as he gathers his coat and heads toward the archives. He pauses before the door, only knocking when he’s sure by the silence on the other end that Jon’s not recording.

He gives a courtesy knock, and the weak, muffled “come in” that comes after has Martin all but ripping the door open out of concern alone.

Jon’s got his head resting atop his folded arms, his glasses resting on the table beside him. Martin can see him shaking, and when Jon finally lifts his head, as if the small movement is one of the hardest things he’s done, Martin can’t help but suck in a sharp breath. He’s got an entire speech about self-care curling to the tip of his tongue, mind only halting when Jon holds up a single hand.

“Don’t,” Jon mutters, and Martin frowns, sympathy coloring his eyes.

He opts for a softer approach. “I know I asked earlier, but are you alright, Jon? You really don’t look well.”

Jon tilts back in his chair and presses the back of his hand to his cheek. Martin can only imagine the fever heat, and he has to bite back the urge to feel for himself.

“I...” Jon sighs around a few coughs. “I will be,” he opts for, and if Martin wasn’t so worried for Jon, he would fall flat on his ass at the sheer transparency of Jon’s tone, at the admittance, the lack of heated argument.

“Elias has already graced me with quite the lecture,” he adds, voice thick with congestion, sounding impossibly deep, something Martin takes quick note of. “I’m to leave on time and rest until I’m well enough to return.”

“That’s probably for the best,” Martin mutters quietly, feeling almost relieved at the sharp glare shot toward him.

The two fall into an awkward silence, one Martin usually flees from for his own heart’s sake, but he can’t, once again, quite get his muscles to move. He clears his throat, stumbles over a few words. “I should... I’ll be going now. Please let me know if you need anything.” He didn’t plan on adding that last bit, it just slipped off his tongue, almost naturally, and he swallows harshly, biting back his nerves as Jon bids him a quaint “bye” as if he hadn’t heard anything Martin said.

Martin forces himself to turn and leave, pausing for a moment, eyes casting down to his coat folded in his arms. He turns back quietly, ignoring the studying gaze locked to his every move as drapes his coat over the back of the chair before wordlessly leaving the archives and starting the trek home, feeling cold in the chilly wind, but cold without regret.

He’s surprised when he wakes the next morning to an email on his phone from Elias stating that Jon will be out sick for the next few days and no one is to bother him for any reason. Yet, he’s even more surprised when he arrives to work an hour later to see that Jon is, in fact, not in, being as he’s notable for bypassing Elias’s orders on more than one occasion.

He greets Tim and Sasha as he starts toward his office, brows furrowing as both point out the absence of his coat with questionable smiles. Shaking his head, he ignores them, only shrugging at them as he enters his office, dropping his bag to the floor and sinking in his chair. He goes to shake his computer mouse, hand freezing as his eyes catch sight of a sticky note stuck to his monitor.

“Thank you for the coat. It’s... very warm. I will have it dry cleaned before I return it-- Jon.”

Martin’s cheeks flush a faint pink as his eyes follow the curve of each letter, and he smooths his hand over the sticky note before plucking it off his monitor and slipping it into a desk drawer, happy that, though not a lot, he was able to help Jon in some way.

#the magnus archives #tma #martin blackwood #jonathan sims #jonmartin #sickfic #whump #whumpfic #my writing #my tma writing #i'm sorry if this is super ooc #again i'm only literally just now getting to martin and the worms #but like i had a want to write #and it's been a minute since i've genuinely wanted to write #so here we are

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incorrect-ikevamp-quotes · 4 years

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@theeyethatbinds Girl SING IT. SING IT LOUDER FOR THE GIRLS IN THE BACK, SWEAR TO GOD.

Like I’m gonna be real wit y’all I was looking forward to le Comte for a while, but I was always side-eyeing Jeanne. He’s a blunt hermit and grump and 100% mood, so I hoped his route would give me more insight into how I feel about him.

Ladies. When I tell you. It was EXCELLENT. I mean there are so many gr9 routes in the game, I don’t want to take away from them, but there was just something about his that hit me so hard???? (MY KOKORO BROKORO)

More under the cut since his route won’t be out for a little while (we still got Isaac, then Theo, then Jeanne), as a little treat. As usual, pls don’t read if you don’t want spoilers, thanks!

Okay so going into this route I was fully expecting the big sads. I mean, if history has taught us anything it was that Joan D’Arc was a badass but good lord, that doesn’t mean the people of her time were kind to her. (I need to do more thorough research on her, so if I’m getting any of her pronouns wrong or neglect something, I do apologize.)

That being sad, I was like aight DECK MY SHIT WITH TRAGEDY, JEANNE. And at the beginning it’s p fascinating. He’s very ornery and resistant to any kind of consideration or attempts at friendship MC extends. But eventually, after a good deal of persistence, he relents little by little.

I’d also like to level with y’all for a sec. Being someone who knows a great deal in regards to the kinds of mental and emotional shit Jeanne struggles through, I think they handled that part of the route so, so well. Granted, I’m not the kind of person to launch a crusade over different writing styles--but for me it just feels all the more poignant when it makes sense; when certain dispositions or trauma are conveyed with that depth. To me, it made 100% sense that Jeanne would be so against accepting other people into his life immediately.

He and Mozart vibe because they’re so similar, but that doesn’t necessarily mean he’s comfortable letting just anyone in--much less a complete stranger. I think it’s more that Mozart and Jeanne share a kind of indelible bond/mutual recognition through their talent, actually. They were both prodigies, absolute geniuses in their fields (military vs. music) but their social skills were shot to hell for the very same reason. To be brilliant--beyond one’s potential posthumous legacy--tends to mean being hated. Plus, they’re both principled to absolute extremes. When they’ve decided on something, they will not waver. They’re stubborn and austere, but behind those walls lies a molten core of sensitivity.

This is important to understanding him, I think, before I move forward.

While one could argue that their reaction is a result of that deficiency of emotional and social support (which I entirely concede does contribute to the matter at hand, it shouldn’t be overlooked) I think the real crux of the matter here is control. Think about it. Among the oldest residents in the mansion (let’s say that were born more than 100 years within the range of the present period of the game) are Mozart, Jeanne, Isaac, and Shakespeare. What do they all have in common?

Extremity. For Mozart, it comes in the form of a kind of OCD, as perfectionism. For Jeanne, it is generalized anxiety and PTSD. For Isaac, it is primarily social anxiety--but it’s still noticeably severe. And Shakespeare runs around with a knife, insecurity through the roof, literally unable to trust anything or anyone (psychosis? schizoaffective? I’m really not sure, these are all ballpark assessments based on the evidence I have). In order to adjust to their new surroundings, there was a cost--and in some ways their coping mechanisms become noticeably maladaptive. They were born into eras that were mercilessly unpredictable, and the only way they knew how to cope was to was to either take the blame--make it a personal failing that tragedy struck--or try to immerse themselves into their craft. They all seek to regain some kind of control (this is even visible in Vincent, to a degree--painting was an escape from his emotionally turbulent world).

Granted that’s not to say that the others don’t struggle with such issues at all, I just feel like the characters from more unstable time periods tend (as a general trend) to mirror that instability within their personalities.

All that being said, (I apologize I am a tangent-monger and love meta), Jeanne’s self-imposed isolation is only partially caused by the above dynamic. Yes, he is unwilling to let people into his heart for fear of betrayal. (It’s almost like an entire nation clamoring to watch you burn for something you didn’t do after spending your entire life and talents trying to protect them would do that to you, but I digress >:| ). But there’s another devastating and potentially less obvious reason for keeping people out.

He thinks he deserves it.

Loneliness, melancholy, aimlessness. These are all the punishments that he incurred on himself after a life of what he conceives to be considerable sin (hahaha battlefield enemies go ripppp). Whether or not he was operating purely out of a sense of duty, even if he felt sympathy for his enemy combatants, it’s not enough. And the condemnation of his king, of his entire nation, only served to magnify that self-loathing to a dangerous degree. (Don’t get me started on his parents I’m still so angry >:| they more or less disowned him since he was constitutionally weak as a young boy, and thus could not serve as an adequate farmhand. Don’t work? Don’t eat/live).

It’s hard enough living in a reserved way because you’re afraid of getting hurt, but to think that you deserve it when hurt finds you, no less? And my favorite part, that he’s so profoundly sure that it is an extension of a personal, fundamental failing? That for a person to survive, they must be strong, that there can be no other way--that there is no time or space for ruminations on fairness or unfairness, there are only those who manage to survive and those who die.

Now my friends, esteemed comrades, legendary sluts. Is that enough for us, Cybird asks, are we feeling enough pain quite yet? Fuck no.

Most of his route after we get over the hurdle of his hesitation is just him. Being. Bashful and gentle as all FUCK. Like he is the definition of “I'll kill you, but also I’m babie.” For instance, she insists on teaching him how to read and write at night when she finds him trying (and not succeeding) to read “The Ugly Duckling”. Yes I mean the children’s book. I CRIED THE FIRST TIME AND I’M CRYING NOW. So, naturally, MC buys him a notebook to practice with and he puts his name in big letters on the front. When MC sees this, she asks him about it--wondering why he would given he’s so self-conscious of his own writing (boy writes all squiggly like a little kid because he’s never done it before ;-;).

The scene goes a little something like this:

MC: Wh....whatcha go there Jeanne? Jeanne: ? My notebook? MC: I...mean that you wrote your name on it? Jeanne: Yeah? MC: Why? Jeanne: ._. It was a gift from you, and I figured it'd be hard to practice if I lost it...so I put my name on it... (HE WAS SECRETLY TOUCHED I BET AND IM--) MC: Why such big letters? Jeanne: So people can spot it quickly, obviously MC, inches from crying and laughing: Jeanne: Mademoiselle??? Why are you laughing? MC: Because you’re cute, Jeanne!

Like. They start out so rocky and Jeanne is so SIGH. I guess I’ll agree if it’ll get her to stop looking so sad and ask me to join her for stuff. But then he just can’t help but go full softe at how patient and kind she is, starts feeling comfortable just...being who he is deep down. A man that’s always hoped for better in life, a person that only ever takes up his sword to protect--that has an incredibly pure and clear heart, despite so much pain.

And good lord, they are GOD TIER romantic slow burn???? Swear to everything holy, I was BEGGING for them to make out by like chapter 10, I was just suffering for most of the route until the bangarang premium. Here’s probably my favorite moment in the entire route:

Basically Sebastian and Mozart pull out all the stops trying to bring Jeanne and MC together (once they see Jeanne show some interested in her). And so Jeanne asks her to join him in the courtyard the next morning, and they’re playing with Cherie (Jeanne’s pet baby white tiger). Besides being ungodly adorable--because Jeanne invited her for the sole purpose of hoping to see her delightfully surprised--Mozart begins to play a love song nearby. They don’t name the tune, but Jeanne canonically starts singing along (I wholeass cried, I WANT TO HEAR HIM SING????). And so she asks what the song is about, and he explains that Mozart once played it for him, but he couldn’t make out the words at first. Mozart explained that it was a love song that speaks to the difficulties of being in love (the worry, the strife) but also the beauty of the intensity and passion. He goes on to say that even when he learned the words, it never made much sense to him back then--it never resonated.

He’s singing softly with a fond look, and so she asks, does he understand it now? And he looks her dead in the eye, and says “...I think I’m starting to.” Like. AM I SUPPOSED TO NOT LOSE MY MIND AT THE TENDERNESS????? WHAT A SMOOTH MOFO????? MAN RAISED TO BE A SOLDIER, NO KNOWLEDGE OF ROMANCE OR WOMEN, AND KILLS ME IN MILLISECONDS?????? I DEMAND JUSTICE. (Or it’s just me thinking sincerity is the best aphrodisiac, but that’s beside the point.)

This has been your quarantine 2d boy meta and yelling, provided by your local mod Minnie. Now if you’ll excuse me, it’s time to get to the things I’ve been procrastinating on while reliving/dissociating about one of my favorite rts in the entire game. Stay safe and well out there y’all, peace out!

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp #ikevamp spoilers #ikevamp jeanne #ikevamp mozart #yall like #this reply just launched me right back into my jeanne feels #i dont have words for how much i love him #he's just such a good dude????? such a good dude #he really is trying his best pls give him love for me if you can #i binged his route almost as hard as sg's bc it was just t h a t sweet and compelling #i also cried like a baby #he deserves better and he deserves love #i will protect him forever #does that mean that in every single route i am acutely aware of the fact that I can't help him?#:))))))))))))))))))))))))))) life is pain. life is a party and jeanne and i are the pinatas.#and no i dont wanna talk abt it there will be no more questions LDKJH #just kidding around if anyone has any questions yall are free to send em! I'll answer to the best of my ability~#anyhoot ty @theeyethatbinds for bringing all those good feels back #you are a legend and you have wonderful taste we stan **cheers**

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datawyrms · 4 years

Text

Expectations Fulfilled

Dannymay 2020 Day 18 : Horror (As a warning this is way too long? I don’t know how this happened. The answer is way too much setup.)

The last fight with Valerie had not gone well. Danny had hesitated a beat too long, seemingly frozen in indecision and took a nasty blow to the chest for it. That was their friend for you, get too worried about hurting the person trying to kill you and forget to dodge again. At least he’d dropped out of the sky over a wooded area, giving them a chance to pull him out of the fire yet again.

“Danny, you have to change back before she sees you!” Sam hissed at the glowing boy who was clutching his head. “Do you need us to carry you?” her eyes scanned the branches above, it didn’t look like he’d taken any down by slamming into them, but he could always just land badly.

“I will totally put you in this thermos over letting her drag you off to Vlad.” Tucker warned, listening for the tell tale hum of the ghost hunter’s jet board.

“I-I’m okay.” Danny finally responded, starting to get back to his feet. “Don’t soup me. Hate that,” he shook his head still rubbing at it with one hand. “I’m just a bit dizzy”.

“You’re not fooling anyone with that hero act anymore, you hear me?”

“Hurry up!”

The ghost gave a stiff nod, finally clear headed enough to switch back to human form. He stumbled, but the three of them had enough practice by now to get moving quickly. It wasn’t likely Valarie would connect the three of them with Phantom, but with their luck she’d assume a ghost was what had gotten Danny limping along.

“We really need a better plan for when she catches up to you, talking it out isn’t working.”

“What, I love being blamed for beating myself up.”

Sam scowled at her flippant friend. “I know you’re worried about hurting her, but she can probably take a few hits. Just so she’s a little more cautious about going after you so hard.”

“Probably wouldn’t take a fall from that high up very well though.” the half ghost grimaced as he watched the sky.

“Dude, you barely took that fall. Sam has a point.” Tucker handed over the backpack as his friend steadied, keeping close in case Danny was only acting like he was good to go again.

“I’ll think about it.” Which was basically Dannyanto for ‘no’, but there wasn’t much use in trying to convince him.

That is why it was so strange the next day in school. Tucker spotted Valerie running out of class with a flimsy excuse, but Danny hadn’t even made an attempt to leave. It could have been something that wasn’t ghost related, but spotting the large white and green serpent ghost slammed to the ground from the window confirmed it was indeed a ghost thing.

“Hey. Aren’t you gonna go out there?” he leaned over with a hiss, Lancer too distracted by the potential danger to his students to really be picky about talking in class.

“Huh?” Danny stared at him blankly.

“The ghost? That Val’s fighting?” he clarified, wondering if his friend had simply slept through his ghost sense.

Danny looked out the window, looking more bored than alarmed. “Nah. She has it.”

“Dude, are you okay?”

“You guys were the ones saying we needed a plan. So I’ll just let her deal with it,” he shrugged, slouching back in his chair.

That didn’t really seem like a plan he’d normally come up with. Sure, it was sensible, but that’s why it didn’t make any sense. Danny looked normal enough though, maybe he was just tired of getting yelled at by someone he was helping. “If you say so. It is just an animal ghost,”. He dropped the subject, taking several looks back as their teacher ushered them all off to a ‘safer area’. Valerie probably wouldn’t have any trouble alone, but his friend’s complete lack of interest was a little creepy.

Sam’s opener at lunch meant he wasn’t alone in that thought. “Aren’t you maybe a little too carefree about this?”

“No? If she gets beat up then it’s not my problem anymore,” he focused back on his sandwich, ignoring the twin looks of bafflement he was getting for a few minutes. When they continued he muttered “What? I’ll deal with it if it threatens you guys, you’re my friends”.

“Are you sure you’re okay? Your parents don’t have some weird ghost mood changer or something?”

“I’m fine Sam. I finally agree with you guys and now you’re surprised I’m not acting like a superhero, sheesh.” he rolled his eyes, irritation creasing his brow.

“You gotta admit it was pretty sudden. We know how stubborn you are,” Tucker crossed his arms, unable to shake the feeling that something was off.

“You said it enough that it made sense. She hates me and wants to waste me, so why keep bailing her out? See how she likes the ‘evil ghost’ not helping,”

“You’ll help if she gets in serious trouble though, right?” Tucker hesitated before asking.

“If I feel like it.”

Sam and Tucker shared a look, biting back any further questions. Whatever was up with Danny, they probably wouldn’t get out of the half ghost himself. They’d have to invite themselves over tonight and take a look around for anything new and dangerous.

“See? Totally fine.” Danny prompted them to look around, spotting the ghost hunter entering the lunchroom with a scowl.

“Uh Danny, she’s a little hurt. See her arm?”

He raised an eyebrow. “So? I take worse, you’ve taken worse. Why do you care?”

Sam really wanted to ask him why he didn’t care, but the elbow from Tucker had her reconsider. With the weird apathy, it probably wouldn’t be the best idea to get on his bad side.

Yet they couldn’t find any sort of weapon or tool that might have explained why their friend had flipped from being completely unwilling to aggressively defend himself against Valerie to ignoring ghost fights he had no interest in. Any questions or nudges to help were always met with reluctance, as if he resented the very idea of assisting. Sure, he’d go the second a ghost might threaten his family or friends, but otherwise he seemed to have set the rest of the town in a ‘not my problem’ box.

“Maybe he wants to focus on his studies. You know he can’t work for NASA if he keeps pulling his kind of grades.” Jazz was a little put off by his behaviour, but couldn’t deny that the increased amount of sleep and downtime was reversing her brother’s downward trend in school.

“Isn’t it weird though? It’s not like it was our idea for him to use his ghost powers to help people, he did that on his own,” Sam pointed out, frustrated that Jazz would just ignore all of that.

“You know I can totally hear you guys, right?” Danny called from upstairs, and they could swear the room had gotten colder.

“Yup! Eavesdropping is rude little bro”

“So is gossiping behind my back!”

Jazz gave a shrug, covering up a laugh from his irritated retort. “He’s not acting all that different guys, really.”

“Which I’ve been saying on repeat all week.” Danny groused, hands in his pockets as he slouched into the room. “I’m tired of pretending to be something I’m not. So I stopped. Is it really that big of a deal?”

“You weren’t pretending, you were really helping people,” Sam pressed, earning another eye roll.

“Sure. That’s why everyone hates my guts. Or wants to poke around in them.”

“Well it’s up to you dude. Just let us know if anything feels off?”

“I’m fine! Sheesh!”

Phantom had been strange since their last fight. In some ways it had been nice, not needing to constantly chase the pest down only for him to get away yet again. She was pretty sure she’d caught more than the glowing terror had this week, mostly because the ghost barely showed up. Perhaps it had finally decided the weaker ghosts were beneath it, or didn’t get it enough attention. She didn’t miss the ghost, but she could admit she was running more ragged than usual for it.

“Get out of my way.” the ghost had the audacity to bark an order at her after flinging Ember to the ground, making her completely miss her shot.

“You’re the one in my way Phantom.” she growled back, getting some satisfaction as the ghost’s eyes snapped to her hands and the ectogun she held. “You can’t fool me, I know you’re just an evil ghost”

The green eyed ghost glared at her for that “Am I now?” he paused in midair, eyes flicking between Ember who was getting back up for another go, and the red clad ghost hunter in front of him. “Hey Ember!”

“What! I don’t need any of your awful puns, dipstick”

“How ‘bout a truce? First one to get the hunter grounded wins.” he ducked quickly to dodge the shot Valerie fired.

“‘Bout time you learned what fun is, kid. You’re on!” the ghostly musician regained her place in the air, apparently willing to forgive a punch to the ground if it meant ganging up on a ghost hunter.

“Hey Val? I suggest you run.” With that he fired on her, only managing to dodge the blow by having her board stop floating. She always knew the white haired boy was evil, but she never really expected him to team up with another ghost. Still, she was a better ghost hunter than most. She could take them.

She flew low, counting on the extra obstacles to throw off the ghosts aim. The side benefit of not having far to fall was a notable one as well as the larger soundwaves Ember could launch kept clipping the sides of the board, a little too wide to completely dodge. She rocked wildly but was able to keep her feet, using the time in between volleys to launch a few attacks of her own back. Judging by the grunts she’d hit one or the other a few times, but not directly. She urged the board to go faster, eyes scanning for a good place to turn the tables on the ghosts. It wasn’t a great spot, but the two buildings could provide cover once she got behind one. The board shrieked at the hard turn she demanded of it, but managed to get down the alley without clipping the sides.

“Who’s the rat now, huh?�� Ember’s taunt was infuriating, but she forced herself to wait. She had to take at least one of them out. The first shot took the ghost by surprise as she rounded the corner, but the second was a little too far down.

“The thing about corners is you can’t really surprise me if I don’t come that way.”

She jerked in surprise, trying to face the ghost who had somehow gotten behind her-though the building of course how had she been so stupid-? Yet she couldn’t dodge the punch that threw her off the board and on to the ground, skidding to where the guitar wielding ghost was waiting.

“Well, that was fun. Should do it again sometime!” she gave the ghost hunter a kick before taking to the air, eyeing Phantom a little warily. “Didn’t think you had it in ya.”

“Surprise. Touch my friends and I’ll kill you again. Got it?” he started cheerfully enough, but the warning was nearly a snarl.

“Chill out dipstick. Weird little humans off limits, got it!”

Valerie tried to rise as flame-head fled, but was forced back down by Phantom’s boot. She managed not to grunt in pain, but she didn’t have too many options to remove the ghost’s foot from her chest at the moment.

“As for you, Valerie,” he ghost was still clearly furious, but seemed a little lost now that he’d actually knocked her down.

“Danny?”

Valerie’s heart raced. Tucker? He was a bit of a dweeb, but she couldn’t let this ghost scum hurt him. She struggled, trying to unbalance the ghost while it was distracted, rolling free and dragging the ghost down with a grunt.

“What now?” Phantom seemed peevish, ignoring the ghost hunter completely after getting back up. As if she was so little threat he could just ignore her.

“I think you might be going a little far dude.” Tucker really shouldn’t be trying to reason with this monster, but it was giving her time to ready her weapon.

“Hey, she wanted evil!”

Tucker looked incredibly uncomfortable, eyes darting between the ghost and his disguised classmate. “How about no more fighting for today, okay?”

“You can’t be defending this monster! It can’t hide what it is!” she aimed her reclaimed weapon.

The ghost’s more relaxed air died the second she finished speaking, temperature plunging as he whirled to face her. It was strange how he seemed more fixed on her hand than the barrel of the gun, but that didn’t really matter all that much with the ghost’s hands and eyes glowing a furious green.

She stuck to her guns, ready to fire and distract the thing so Tucker could run Yet he didn’t run, instead pulling a Fenton thermos quickly out of his backpack, looking more worried about her than anything else.

“Yeah okay, you need a time out. Sorry.” The ghost didn’t even react to the words, though it blinked a few times once it realized the Fenton’s invention was pulling it away from its intended target. Otherwise it didn’t struggle, leaving Tucker to quickly cap the thermos. “Okaaay. I’m just gonna. Go now. Bye!” he sprinted away before she could demand he hand over the thermos so she could dispose of the ghost inside. Didn’t he see how dangerous it was?

Thinking simply hurt. Tucker and Sam were worried sick, babbling on and on about how he was acting weird, that he could have seriously hurt Valarie. As if hurting her mattered. Maybe it did? Urgh. He just wanted them all to stop talking and let him figure it out.

“Danny, this isn’t normal. We just want to help,”

“Why is any of this surprising? I’m always like this.” he insisted, only earning worried frowns again.

“No, you don’t usually decide to attack people for calling you evil. What’s gotten into you?” Sam was looking him in the eye. She did genuinely seem to be concerned, even though it didn’t make any sense.

“Nothing? I’ve been half ghost for a while,” he crossed his arms.

“This isn’t getting us anywhere. We need to ask Frostbite to check him or something.”

“There’s no way we can get to the Farfrozen if we start now, and we can’t trust him to go on his own right now.” Tucker frowned, punching plans into his PDA.

“I’m right here guys.”

Sam dragged her hand across her face. “Danny, you were going to waste Valerie, we get to question your judgement right now.”

“Of course I was. I’ll show her a monster,” her muttered, eyes flaring green in annoyance.

Tucker paled a little, still looking at the PDA. “Yeah that? That’s what we’re worried about.”

“I wouldn’t hurt you guys.”

“Danny, that’s not the problem here!”

The half ghost sighed, slumping on his bed. They still weren’t making sense, and everything was starting to itch horribly. He rubbed at his shoulder, but it only seemed to make the itching sensation worse. Something was in the way of what needed scratching, but he couldn’t quite reach it. Very annoying.

“Can you stop dropping the temperature? It’s like a meat locker in here.”

“I’m not doing anything.” he stared at the stickers on the ceiling, idly wondering if something had happened to the others to make all of them make zero sense. Or to make them forget that he was a half ghost. Of course it was cold. He kept scratching at his shoulder, nails desperately trying to find whatever it was that was making him feel so uncomfortable. Something tight and restrictive that itched furiously.

“We go Friday. There’s no way we can sneak away that long until then.”

“You’re overreacting guys.” That, and a trip to the ghost zone would be pretty boring.

“No, you’re under reacting. Just trust us, okay?”

Sam and Tucker remained weirdly on edge, watching him like he was some sort of bomb that might go off at any moment. Shouldn’t they be used to all this by now? So what if he found it a little fun that people were too scared to keep eye contact with him for very long? They were only unsettled, and the fear always gave a welcome kick of energy. It distracted from the itching.

He wanted to be a little more scary than just simply unsettling, but Sam and Tucker insisted the school was a hands off zone now. Maybe he should have picked different humans to be so attached too, as these ones were being incredibly boring all of a sudden. Didn’t they want to have a bit of fun? Simply being unsettling with his presence was all well and good, but it wasn’t the same as a proper scared-for their-lives affair. They didn’t even approve when he went after Skulker for daring to set foot in his territory! He’d been ‘too careless’ for dragging the ghost near some of the fleeing humans while they fought. Of course he had! What was the point of fighting if he wasn’t going to get some good back from it? He could do what he wanted with his food.

Really, it just made him want to tear his hair out. They were the ones who had changed, but they kept insisting it was the other way around.

Valerie was incredibly weird though. She kept talking to him as if they were friends. It always made the itching worse, trying to pretend he was glad she was at school and not a smear on the sidewalk. Humans were stupid. It wasn’t like he was hiding what he was. Though it was one of the times that she approached him that he finally solved the itching problem, nails finally tearing through the obnoxious, too tight skin.

She’d backed away with a gasp, as if the green stain on his hands should be some sort of surprise. “What happened to you? Don’t worry, I’ll get help!”

She seemed confused when he laughed at her nonsensical question. Flexing his freed claws was fun, but he really did need to get the rest of this restricting mess off. His right hand clawed at his arm, the ectoplasm that oozed from his self inflicted wounds was both freeing and soothing at once. Stop hiding, stop pretending.

“Nothing happened to me.” He flexed his freed arms, green black skin more like tar than anything else, giggling when the girl recoiled from the new green eyes that bubbled to the surface to watch her squirm.

Maybe she was that oblivious. “Someone will help you Danny, just hold on!” she insisted before sprinting down the hall. He’d chase her, but there were so many people simply watching in mute horror that he couldn’t resist trying to get a few screams out of them. No killing, Tucker and Sam wouldn’t like that, but a few scratches wouldn’t hurt all that much. Dash ought to know how kind he’d been in not retaliating sooner, really. The disgusted sounds they made as he clawed at his face was entertaining, someone fainting as he flung the discarded skin away. Some of his hair remained black, but the white went nicer with his pointed teeth, in his opinion. He let out a snarl, relishing in how they fled from some twisted half human ghost. Tucker and Sam were wrong, he absolutely should have done this sooner. Well, he’d let them know that when they showed up. They usually did. It really was a bit of a shame to just let them all run away though. Oh well.

Maybe he should free his feet, but getting through his shoes might be a bit of a pain. It was easier to drag his claws against the lockers and listen for the sounds of running feet and muffled screams. They were so scared they didn’t even need to see him.

“Danny, do you recognize us?”

Oh, there they were! “Hi. I fixed the itching.” he clawed idly at his neck, feeling more flexible with every scratch. It was much easier to keep an eye on them with the arm eyes, freeing his head to glance around the rest of the hallway.

“We noticed. Uh. I think you left half of yourself on the floor.” Tucker looked ill, pointedly ignoring a red and green splatter on the wall next to him.

“Finally. So much scratching. You have no idea how annoying that was.” They didn’t seem happy for him though. More worried. Why? They knew he’d never hurt them. They were his humans, his favourite ones. No one got to hurt them.

“Can you...change back?” Sam asked, approaching cautiously.

“Change back to what?” his brow furrowed, fixing the blue eyes of his face to double check he was seeing correctly. Was she upset? Weird. This was a good thing.

“Back into yourself. Human, like us? Remember?” Tucker had taken one of his hands, careful of the claws. They were still the same general shape, even if Tucker’s skin was thin and weak and warm.

“I’m not like you though. You were there.” he tilted his head, wondering if they’d forgotten that too somehow.

“You’re still human, Danny,” Sam stepped in as Tucker seemed distracted in wiping the green and black film off of his hands.

“Nope. Something in the middle.” he let out a hum, sure he’d heard something. “Being split like that was wrong. Like playing pretend all the time.” The beast stretched, the cracking of his lower back like gunshots in the abandoned hall. Two more steps. So there was a sneak around!

“This isn’t you, you know that. You don’t want to hurt or scare people.”

“Mmm? That’s what monsters do, isn’t it?” Why did Sam decide to hug him now? He couldn’t get at the rest of his torso like that.

Tucker was very confusing, rubbing at the water from his eyes. “Just let us try to help you fix this, okay? You aren’t a monster.”

“Sure I am. What else could I be?”

“Who told you that? Why would you listen to them over us?” Sam was brave as usual, shaking him a little instead of backing away.

“I told you that too! Are you sure you guys aren’t the ones forgetting stuff?” he frowned at the two of them, ear twitching. More steps. The sneak was close, and he was pretty sure he knew who it was.

“It doesn’t matter who it was. Can you switch to ghost form?” Tucker sounded calm, but his face was still leaking. Sam had joined him, though she was more biting her lip than dripping like a faucet.

“I’m both right now. I just said that!” They really weren’t listening very well. “I’m done hiding what I am, it was uncomfortable.” The confused muttering from the sneak was fun to overhear, but it would probably be more fun if Tucker and Sam were in on it. “They don’t know what I mean by that, you might have to explain it for em.”

“Explain what? To who? No one’s here Danny. It’s just us.”

“Us and the sneakkkkk.” he sprang forward, grabbing on to the corner with his claws, twisting his neck to look down at the sneak who backed away with a yelp. “Hiiii Val. You gonna run again?” he snickered when her fear morphed into anger, apparently recognizing him now.

“You sick creep! What did you do to Danny?”

“Valerie! Don’t make him mad!” Sam called out, the two of them sprinting over to join the sneaky ghost hunter.

“No one listens! I’m Danny. I’ve always been Danny. You just didn’t notice! That’s okay, almost nobody did.” Oh she was very funny when she glared at him like that.

“You’re lying. Danny is nothing like you.”

“Danny is everything like me. Right Tuck? She doesn’t listen to ghosts. You sure I can’t just kill her?” he glanced back at his friends, disappointed to see the no already written on their faces.

“No! That would be bad, don’t do that!” Tucker stammered, unsure where to keep his eyes. He’d have an easier time if he had eyes on his arms like he did now. Maybe his friends could be half ghosts too. Hmm.

“Valarie, I know this doesn’t make any sense, just listen and don’t set him off.”

“Sam, this thing has done something awful to your friend and you’re worried about the ghost’s feelings? What’s wrong with you?” the ghost hunter stood her ground even without her fancy gear, glaring up at the perching mutated mess above her.

“All of that up there is Danny, okay? Something’s wrong, and we’ll explain it once he’s better, but you just need to trust us right now.”

“Mmmhmm. A monster just like you said.” he rocked back and forth a little, blue eyes fixed on Valerie’s clenched fist. “You’re lucky my friends won’t let me kill you Val. Even though I’m not hiding anymore.”

Tucker noticed how Danny’s blue eyes seemed fixed on the girl he was tormenting, elbowing Sam to point it out.

“None of you are making any sense. He’s just possessed or something, why are you acting like this is okay?”

“Annoying.” Danny growled, showing far too many fangs. “This is what you wanted! You say I’m not a hero so I stop.”

Tucker and Sam looked ill. “Valarie, what do you have on your hand?”

“Why does my jewelry matter now?” she didn’t look at them, too busy scowling at the monster on the wall. “I didn’t say anything like that to Danny.”

“Yes you did! You are awful at this. Phantom was Danny and vise versa. Keep up!” the hybrid snorted. “Both are me. Both are very, very tired of you and your orders.”

“It’s important! Where did you get it?” Sam had apparently decided she didn’t have time for Valarie to be confused, trying to grab at her hand and cursing when she saw it. “Nevermind, I don’t care, just smash it!”

“You still aren't’ making sense.” She was reaching for a blaster that wasn’t there, looking between all three now as possible threats.

“Then you say I’m evil. So I comply. Now I stop hiding and still you are complaining! Make up your mind! Or let me kill you, that’d be fun.” Plaster cracked beneath the creature’s claws as it leaned forward, uncomfortably close. The out of place blue eyes flicked from the red ring to her face and back again. “Isn’t this exactly what you wanted Val? Or should I call you master?”

(oh look a sort of continuation)

#dannymay2020 #Danny Phantom #Tucker Foley #sam manson #valerie gray #my stuff #why did i spend all day on this #i hope it was a decent buildup payoff #horror is a lot about suspense to me #but idono if i really got that part #there's some blood but it's pretty glossed over idono #please scream thoughts at me they make my day lol #body horror #if i should tag more things say so i am Bad At Tumblr :v

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giraffeter · 4 years

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**The Untamed Episode 14 Spoilers **

OK so so far when I’ve been posting about The Untamed I’ve been mostly Doing Jokes, but now I actually have some Thoughts about it (oh no!).

I feel like the events in the cave of the Slaughter Tortoise completely change the show - or at least, completely changed my perception of what the show is, and is trying to do.

When I’d heard this show described as “a queer romance that can’t be overtly queer because China,” I was really expecting it to be queerbait-y in the way a lot of American media is: a Cap/Bucky, Finn/Poe style “very good friendship” with neither party acknowledging that there might be anything more to it (often throwing in a heterosexual love interest or two to further add to the plausible deniability). I also thought we might be dealing with a dynamic you often see in e.g. Harry/Draco fic, where one or both parties are so closeted, emotionally repressed, and/or un-self-aware that they don’t even realize that the reason they’re obsessed with the other person is that they’re in love with them.

I was NOT expecting for Lan Wangji to sing Wei Wuxian a love song about their relationship and then be like, “Just so we’re clear, I’m proceeding with the understanding that we are in love with each other, we both know this, and that you’re too chickens**t to do anything about it. I have to go save my family now.” Nobody says it out loud, but the show isn’t trying to pretend anything else is happening either. Even this tacit acknowledgement immediately makes this show WAY more gay than the vast majority of American media (sadly).

I really want to go back and watch the beginning of the show now (and probably will, at some point) with this new understanding of LWJ as taciturn, rather than repressed (also Wang Yibo does SO MUCH with his FACE without MOVING his face, how). Even though WWX is initially presented as the one with his heart on his sleeve, he also is the one to shy away from any kind of Real Talk.

In conclusion:

Lan Wangji: Willing to be completely honest with himself about his feelings; unwilling to be honest with anyone else about whether or not his leg is broken

Wei Wuxian: Happy to disrobe in order to make someone so horny they vomit blood if the situation requires; completely unable to have a conversation about what that might mean

#the untamed #lwj x wwx #seriously how does he do so much with his face without moving it #two absolute nightmares with no sweaterboy in sight

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whump-town · 4 years

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Shattered Hearts, Fractured Lungs

(Chapter Five; Warnings for: school shooting, violence, language, and heart failure; you can find the first chapter here, the second here, the third here, and the fourth here)

Emily Prentiss just wants to do her job but a messy case sends her sprawling into the arms of a dying man with a toddler and his weird, broken family.

“Light is easy to love. Show me your darkness.” --R. Queen

He finds it very difficult deciding whether or not he enjoys how frequently she comes around after that. While dealing with might be a crush-- or maybe he’s desperate for human contact or even just this last-ditch effort to feel loved before the nothingness he’s afraid he’s going to face in his painful death… He just knows it’s easier to breathe when she’s around.

Well, most of the time.

"Jesus!” If he weren’t so busy hacking his lungs out, his sore throat scraped raw and painfully protesting each inhale he pulls in he might find her shock amusing. “That was in you!" She shouts, grimacing at the intubation tube being cast aside while the doctor presses a stethoscope to his chest.

Against medical advice, he’d asked for the vent and everything to be sent away. If he’s going to die, he’d at least like to be able to talk. Even if he has to manage it between gasped breaths. Per Dave’s request, Emily had taken her lunch break to be at the hospital during the removal. Her job was supposed to be to talk some last-minute sense into Hotch but she’d sided with him.

She wouldn’t want that thing in her throat either!

Between mangled coughs, he manages to gasp out her name. “Emily,” he rasps, waving her and the cup of water she’s supposed to be giving him closer.

She snaps out of her shock, “right, right sorry.” She holds the cup for him to drink out of. Holding it steady when his hands shake and threaten to spill the water. But she compensates him-- Dave had also noticed how well they work together. He’d seen that little speechless communication thing they do. A version of finishing one another sentences that always leaves him smiling smugly, about what, he’ll never tell them.

The thing is: she’s there for it all.

The good:

He’s not sure he can do it but he also doesn’t want to let her down. Not when she’s so certain he can do it.

Arms shaking with the strain and oxygen mask quickly fogging and clearing with each wheezing breath he takes, he looks at everyone in his room. Dave’s dark brows are furrowed, the lines of his face drawn in worry. Reid and Penelope are standing by the door, Jack watching him sleepily from where he’s placed his head on Reid’s shoulder. Emily, though, she’s beaming.

She thinks he can do it. She always thinks he can do it.

“Alright,” Dave protests, grimacing as Hotch pushes off the bed and stands. Emily is right beside him, her hand wrapping around Hotch’s bicep. He’s looking her the whole way up and when he shuts his eyes as the pain becomes unbearable her hand moves to his back. It’s her voice softly reminding him he can do it. Her voice soothing him.

“You’re good,” she whispers, pushing the walker closer. “You’re doing so good.”

The male nurse in front of them keeps the walker level with his hips but Hotch is deaf to whatever the man’s saying.

He just hears Emily.

“You’re doing it,” Emily exclaims happily. “You’re doing it!”

Each step is harder than the last but he’s reminded that it’s only seven steps. Seven steps to make Emily happy. Seven steps to keep living to see his son go to Kindergarten. Seven steps. He can manage seven steps.

He makes it to the chair across the room-- a recliner that Dave had brought in earlier in the week when they’d set the goal for him. Four days ago, he’d struggled to sit up. He’d called them crazy but smiled all the same when Emily laid out the plan. And sure enough, it’s her hand that he holds as he takes that seat. Her hand squeezing his in a way that only she can ‘I told you so’.

“You did it, daddy!” Jack shouts.

And Hotch chuckles, his smile growing when Dave reaches down and rustles his hair. And if he stops breathing for a second when Emily plants a kiss on his temple, no one says anything.

And the bad:

He can’t even find the energy to pretend to be okay.

Half-lidded eyes greet her at the door and she knows. Smiling, she comes to the rest of the way into the room and sits down in the visitor’s chair. “So,” she asks, pretending like she can’t hear each breath he struggles to pull in. She tucks her legs underneath her body and takes his hand. “How apposed are you to the idea of busting out of this place and getting blindly drunk?”

His eyes slide shut for a moment but she knows he’s heard her because he gives her hand a light squeeze.

Her faith wavers a little. Resorting back to one-squeeze as yes and two as no feels… it feels like everything they’ve done to get him back on his feet has been in vain. And, sure, she knows that it is in vain unless he gets a new heart but when he’s too weak to even talk to her… There are still days when she walks out on her porch and expects to see him sitting on his own.

“Is there anything I can do,” she asks, running her thumb over his bony knuckles.

This time only his thumb moves, the lightest, weakest touch. Yes. He peels his heavy eyes open and offers her a soft, little smile. After a moment, struggling to pull in enough air to speak he whispers, “you’re here. That helps.”

She smiles, unable to look at him while she blinks tears from her eyes. There’s nothing more she can do than offer up her own heart. Which, seeing him this miserable makes her want to do. She wants to give her heart away just to see him smile or laugh again. To take away the deep lines of pain in the corners of his eyes or the crackle his lungs expel each time he exhales.

“I’ll stick around as long as you let me,” she whispers, aware that he’s more than likely fallen asleep in the time that it’s taken her to respond but he knows. She hopes he knows.

At the same time, the days are not always so easy to measure. Not so clearly defined as good or bad. Some days are just… fine. He can sit up in the bed and breathe without the mask, just the oxygen canal. Sometimes he makes it to the recliner in the corner and other days he just sits on the edge of the bed.

What they do know is that without her, he’d be dead. Without her, he wouldn't have gotten stronger. He’d been cleared, once again, for surgery earlier in the week. He qualified for a heart transplant.

Today, he sits on the edge. His legs are thrown over the edge and dressed in black sweatpants.

“If you don’t sit still--” she swats at his hand and he grunts a little in shock but stops moving. “Sit still otherwise I’m going to leave you with half a beard. Then you’ll really look like an idiot.” She leans back in, unaware of just how close the two of them are.

Shaving is a science and it’s easiest if she does it for him. It had been weird when Dave and Reid had to do it for him. Penelope was okay but he doesn’t mind sharing his personal space with Emily. And she doesn’t seem to mind either. It helps that they’ve got this down.

She’s had to sit on the bed beside him, lean over the rail, and stand between his legs, like now.

“Are you saying that I normally look like an idiot,” he grumbles, cheeks squishing in when she grabs the bottom of his jaw and tilts his head.

She raises her eyebrows and smiles when he puffs and pouts. “Stop,” she says, with a smile. “You keep moving your face and I’m gonna end up cutting you.” She really doesn’t want that. “Besides, I got the nurse and we’re going to take a walk in the garden in a minute.”

He tries not to look so sad about the idea but…

“We’re taking the wheelchair,” she adds softly, unable to look him in the eyes as she pushes shaving cream from around his lips with her thumb. She wonders what it would feel like to press her lips to his. To have one of his large hands wrapped up in her hair and the other on the small of her back, pinning them together until he’s had enough.

It’s thoughts like these that drive her crazy. Are these feelings twisting in her stomach her own twisted want to fix him or is it---

“It’s chilly outside,” she informs him with a tight cough, clearing her throat and her head of her previous thoughts. “You’ll need a jacket or something.”

His reply waits for her to clean the razor off. It’s ample time to sit and think about what he just saw--- the heat in his own stomach as when her touch had lingered against his lips. He watches her in silence as she packs up the razor and the shaving cream. He sees how unable or, maybe, unwilling she is to look at him while she does this.

“What about you,” he asks, cheeks flushing at the sound of his rasping voice. He clears his throat, “I mean, you don’t have a coat.”

She stops, right, she hadn’t thought that far ahead. So she doesn’t answer. She excuses herself to the bathroom in his room, putting razor and the shaving cream back up and allowing him a second to wipe his face back off. Looking at herself in the mirror she shakes her head. “What are doing,” she asks herself. “Idiot.”

When she comes back out, Hotch is standing on the other half of the room. Something he’s definitely not supposed to do. His aggravating lack of regard for rules is--- insanely hot and incredibly nerve-wracking.

“Here,” he says, offering her the Georgetown sweatshirt she knows is his favorite. Not only has Dave told her several times now but he wears it all the time. “I’ve got another,” he adds when he mistakes her hesitation for not wanting to inconvenience him. He shows her another a sweater, this one a soft grey she’s never seen before.

So, she takes the Georgetown sweatshirt and her chest feels tight when she pokes her head through it. The way that he smirks at her makes her heart skip several unhealthy beats. Her cheeks flush and she looks down at herself. The bottom ends at her thighs and the sleeves hang down past her fingers. “Fits perfect,” she mumbles and she physically cannot look at him when he smiles even bigger at that.

“It does,” he agrees.

She has got to get out of this room.

The garden isn’t as lavish now that the Virginia heat has backed off. As the breeze blows past them she can’t help but feel a deep comfort as leaves crunch under her boots. The familiarity of fall bringing back a swell of memories from her youth.

“My brother and I used to get into so much trouble for tracking leaves into the house,” Hotch mumbles. She suspects the comment is for his own benefit. He’s not even paying her any mind. His shoulders have sagged in and his eyes glued to the ground. Watching as the wheelchair’s wheels break the leaves into a thousand little pieces.

She frowns, deciding to comment anyways. “I didn’t know you had a brother,” she says. A moment later realizing that could be a hundred reasons for that. All of which are none of her business.

Hotch hums, nodding. He leans back into the chair, hands limp in his lap as she pushes them to a bench. He leaves her comment alone for a long minute. Waiting until they’re both settled on the bench and sitting with their shoulders pressed together.

He clears his throat. “His name is Sean,” he tells her, glancing at her before looking back down at his lap. “My brother… He’s in New York. He’s going to be a chef.” His sad smile is enough to break her heart and without hesitation she reaches over and takes his hand.

The lump in his throat is tight and now he’s blinking back tears, shaking his head to compose himself. She squeezes his hand and he understands that he’s got all the time in the world if he needs it. “We had a… difficult childhood.” He glances at her out of the corner of his eyes. Almost afraid of what her reaction will be.

Her gaze is locked forward but she nods her head when he pauses to reassure him she’s still listening. When she notices him looking she smiles at him and squeezes his hand. “Did you grow up in Virginia,” she asks.

He nods his head, unable to trust his voice when she’s looking at him like that. Swallowing around the lump in his throat he manages, “not far from here, actually.” He forces a smile, “that’s how I met Dave. He, uh, taught me high school psychology.”

She smiles, surprised. “I thought Dave taught kids, like you.”

He shake his head, “not always.” Hotch had changed that. The day that Hotch caught Dave’s attention was an awful one. The sun had been hidden behind clouds for days and only three days previous Hotch had found his father was dying. Something that stirred an awful mix of emotions in his stomach. How could he love a man like his father?

Beaten and sobbing, Dave had found Hotch where he’d locked himself in the boy’s bathroom.

Dave didn’t know much about Hotch then. He knew he sat in the third-row, first seat and he had a habit of falling asleep in class but he couldn’t complain too much. Aaron always aced the tests. He also had a habit of falling around, getting bruised. Always had, the other teaches promised Dave when he expressed some worry.

The fact that Hotch had managed to stay in the their school system for thirteen years and never once had a teacher say something about his father beating him had rubbed Dave wrong. So, when Hotch graduated, Dave moved down to the elementary school. So, if there was another little boy like Aaron Hotchner came around he wouldn't go unnoticed like the first.

And, when Aaron graduated from college, there was a double effort.

“Have you always taught little kids, then?” She shivers as a breeze blows by and unconsciously leans closer to him.

He nods his head. He smiles just thinking about them. “Children are highly impressionable,” he informs her. “They’re pretty easy going... As long as you let them use you as a jungle gym.” His smiles broadens as she chuckles at that. It’s true. His kids had loved it when he threw them around.

He misses that.

“It must be hard being away from that,” she says, “and poor Jack…”

He looks away. Jack.

He hadn’t been able to see a lot of his son lately.

After spending all day being pampered by Reid and Penelope, Jack comes to the hospital pretty worn out. Which means that there isn’t much talking shared between father and son. Not that it would really matter. Jack won’t remember anything he has to say now.

“He acts a lot like you,” she says, softly. “Smart and stoically silent.”

He frowns, half of his lip humorlessly lifted.

She laughs and bumps her shoulder against him. “See,” she says, “that was a joke! Jack is never silent. He never stops talking.”

True. Jack really doesn’t stop talking, not unless he’s sleeping.

“He is pretty cute though,” she says with a smile. “You have that in common.” She bumps his shoulder again, her compliment making both their cheeks flush. Jesus, Emily! Why does she just--- the dumbest things just come flying out of her mouth!

He clears his throat and points at their phones thrown on the seat of the wheelchair. “Your phone’s, uh, ringing.”

She scoops it up, showing him that it’s Dave with a confused frown. “Hey, Dave.”

His voice is rushed, like he’s moving quickly. “Are you with Aaron right now?”

She hums an affirmative.

“There’s a heart, Emily. It’s coming right now.”

She looks over at Hotch and he frowns back at her, confused. “Do-- What---” she opens her mouth but nothing comes out.

“Tell him!”

She blink stupidly. She looks to Hotch, “it’s Dave. He says--- There’s--- You’ve got a heart.”

The blood drains from his face. A panic immediately takes over and he shakes his head.

“Are you at the hospital then,” Dave asks.

Emily nods and manages a strangled yes.

“I’ll be there in a minute, okay?”

“Okay.”

The call ends.

They’re both shaking.

“He’s sure,” Hotch whispers, anxiously wringing his hands.

Emily nods. “We should go back in,” she says.

He grabs her hand, she can feel how hard he’s shaking. “Can we just---” he blinks. “Can we just stay here for another minute, please?”

It only takes two hours.

Two hours for them to come grab him and have him hooked up to all kinds of machines. He’s out of his mind with the drugs they’ve already got him on. There are tubes and wires and there’s hardly any Hotch at all.

“Alright,” the doctor says to the lot of them. “We'll see you in the few hours.” He settles one of his hands on Hotch’s shoulder, “isn’t that right, Aaron.”

Except Hotch hasn’t let go of Dave’s hand.

Sensing what the doctor’s trying to do, Dave tries to ease himself away from Hotch. “Alright, son,” he whispers, carding his hands through Hotch’s hair. “We’ll see you when you’re out, okay.” He pries his hand out of Hotch’s, the broken look in his eyes killing Dave. “I’ll be right out here, son. I promise.”

Hotch grabs Dave’s jacket and the proximity between them blocks him from the other’s view. When Hotch releases Dave, they’re both crying.

Dave deflates, watching in silence as Hotch is wheeled away.

“What’d he say,” Emily finds the courage to asks. She’s got her arms wrapped tight around her body, trying and failing to hide how badly she’s shaking.

Dave looks up at them with tears in his eyes and shakes his head. He steps away from them, headed in any direction but here. Here in this hall. He glances over his shoulder and answers her question. She knows just from way he looks that she no longer wants to know.

“He said he was sorry.”

#shattered hearts fractured lungs #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #hotchniss

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enigmainvestigations · 4 years

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Character list

This is going to be a brief breakdown of Ed’s relationships with the other characters in Gotham mostly from his Riddler days. This is from his perspective, theirs are mostly still open (besides the ones that I explain here). Also, these relations can change over time which many of them will. Please note- This list is for those who are curious, and for writers who might need some inspiration in the case a character comes up in their writing and they get stuck. You don’t have to reference this, these are just my current ideas on these character relations.

Heroes:

Batman- HATE. I’ve gone over this already in his bio, but I’ll use this to explain some things from Batman’s perspective. At first Batman saw Ed as someone unable to control their compulsive behavior, and thought Eddie just needed some intervention. However, as the years went by and he began to be the focus of Ed’s schemes he started to see him as a cunning, intelligent, and very dangerous criminal. Especially when it became clear to him that Ed had no regard for others, and Ed’s plans regularly put other’s lives and well being at risk. He knows that Ed’s intelligence and his ability to process and retain knowledge is extremely high, and he worries that Ed’s intellect might surpass his at some point. Ed’s motives were always rather simplistic even if his methods weren’t, but Batman saw his potential and believed if Ed truly applied himself he could become much too dangerous. Because of this he handled Eddie very specifically. He would normally take on the Riddler on his own in hopes of controlling their interactions, and keep himself as the main focus of Ed’s ire. Nightwing- Greatly dislikes. From his time as Robin being a bratty teen with a smart mouth, Ed sees him as an annoyance despite only having brief encounters with him through the years. Oracle- Ed has no idea Oracle is the previous Batgirl, but he REALLY dislikes her. Since Batman doesn’t really control Batgirl he’s had more interactions with her than the Robins. He’s been on the receiving end of too many of her beastmode attacks to have anything but negative feelings toward her. Jason Todd- **I haven’t decided if this is post, pre, or if the Red Hood arc is going to play out like the canon* Robin (Tim)- Ed doesn’t like any of the Robins, but he does have a very slight respect for Tim. He’s had much more interactions with him than the previous two, and he knows that he’s smart and capable. He certainly keeps his guard up around him, and chooses his words wisely so not to divulge too information. Batgirl (Steph)- Dislikes, but doesn’t take her too seriously.

Batgirl (Cass)- Dislikes. Only in his brief interactions with her, he really doesn’t like her. The reasons should be obvious.

Alfred Pennyworth- None

Jim Gordon- This one is a bit complicated. When Ed worked for the GCPD he had very few interactions with Jim, but the two were cordial. When Ed became The Riddler Jim felt betrayed since he used a lot of information he’d complied while working at the department. Over the years though Jim began to see Ed as someone who couldn’t control himself and was suffering with mental issues. He took the stance of treating Ed the way he treated him, but tries not to get him too riled up. He figured out that if he treated Ed with respect then Ed tended to behave and not get too excitable. On the other hand, Eddie actually likes interacting with Jim. He finds him quite entertaining, and likes watching Jim try to hold his tongue in his presence.

Renee Montoya- Complicated as well. When Ed worked for the GCPD Renee found him to be very odd, and he gave her the creeps though she couldn’t quite put her finger on why. When Ed became The Riddler she also felt betrayed, but she was much more confrontational with her anger toward him than Jim. Through time she also began to see Eddie the same way as Gordon, but she finds it hard to control her distaste toward him. The fact that he can escape handcuffs, and any cell they put him in makes her very nervous around him whenever he’s in custody. Eddie tends to find her outbursts rather funny, and usually would try to get on her nerves whenever he was bored when around her. Renee was rarely the main focus of his attention, but when she was he would be quite rude to her in hopes of getting her riled up. Harvey Bullock- Also complicated. Same situation as the other two, but Harvey actually liked Ed a bit when he worked at the department. He found his snide comments to be very humorous, as long as they were directed toward someone else. He also felt betrayed, but Harvey personally suffered more from Ed’s betrayal. Since then he has a deep disdain toward Ed, and feels zero sympathy or understanding for him. He’s very open about his anger with Eddie, and would often berate him whenever he was in custody. Eddie however loves interacting with Bullock. He finds Harvey’s anger very entertaining, and typically focuses on baiting him into an outburst. He’s used these situations multiple times as a distraction to escape custody.

Villains:

Bane- They haven’t had much interaction, but anyone who breaks the Bat Ed is going to like at least a little bit. Black Mask- Good. Ignoring Roman’s trigger happy temper, Ed tends to find him easy to work with since Roman’s motives are relatively simple. Clayface- Good. He’s hired Basil on a few occasions and found him pretty easy to work with. Catwoman- Dislikes, despite the two not having any real confrontations. The two are respectful to each other, but Selina thinks outside the box too much for Ed’s liking. She’s also better at certain skills than he is, which really messes with his ego since he doesn’t trust her. Long and short of it is- Selina makes Ed feel inadequate so he avoids her, but he’s not stupid so he doesn’t piss her off. Harley Quinn- As The Riddler Ed found Harley to be an annoyance, and couldn’t understand why Joker wouldn’t just kill her. He viewed her as unintelligent, and a waste of time. He generally treated her like he would a child, which sometimes worked and other times Harley found patronizing. *By the time Ed quits his criminal career however, him and Harley have an odd relationship. They’ve survived some very close calls, and even though he still finds her annoying he seems to accept her presence around him even though he tends to ignore most of what she says. Their chumminess is odd, and quite suspicious to everyone else in the city. Hush-**I haven’t decided if this is post Hush, pre Hush, or if Hush plays out like the canon or not**

The Joker- Ed is one of the few people who can be around Joker repeatedly without getting killed. He made the mistake of teaming up with Joker once, and quickly learned his lesson never to do it again. After that he figured out how to deal with Joker, and kept him at arms length. He has The Joker mostly figured out, and doesn’t find interactions with him to be as unpredictable as others do. He also likes that whenever Joker comes to him needing something silly for one of his plans, he can charge him ridiculously high prices and Joker will pay without a second thought. His reputation of dealing with Joker is a bit of an ego boost for him, thinking he’s learned how to manipulate him. The reality is though, Joker doesn’t kill him simply because he finds Ed’s sensitive ego and his self destructive behavior hilarious. Killer Croc- Eddie thinks they’re alright, but they’re really not.

Mad Hatter- They’re alright. Ed can’t be around Jervis for too long because his fantastical ramblings get on his nerves, but he tends to play along with Jervis’ delusions enough that Jervis thinks he understands. Because of this Ed finds him easy to influence. He has little interest in Jervis, but his mind control tech is something Ed’s always been trying to get his hands on. Unfortunately for him, currently Jervis is unwilling to fully share it.

Mr. Freeze- Its really 50/50 with these two. Even though Ed sees Victor as an easy way to make some money, or someone to have do some dirty work for him if need be, he also finds Victor’s anger to be exhausting to deal with. He knows Victor doesn’t like him and only really uses him for his own objectives, but Victor also makes their interactions quiet rocky. Ed will work with him if the opportunity arises, but he’ll keep their business brief. The Penguin- Good. The two of them have very similar skills at persuasion, manipulation, and deception. They practically do a constant dance of give and take with each other, to the point that now they both see the other as a valuable resource. Since they both dabble in similar assets the two have found its easier to work together than to be competition, which has really made them both more successful in the long run. From Ed’s perspective this is a battle of intelligence, but he has recognized that Os is aware of it and surprisingly isn’t put off by it like others are. He respects Os’s boundaries, and finds business with him to be smooth sailing. Os has a good level of respect for Ed. Not only because of his intelligence, and reliability, but also that Ed is smart enough to never fully trust Os. He’s used to being underestimated by people, and Ed’s unwillingness to divulge too much is a level of cunning he admires. *Os is not happy about Ed’s “career” change. He doesn’t believe Ed has turned over a new leaf, but his sudden switch makes him very uneasy. He has people watching Eddie very closely. Poison Ivy- Not at all good. Ed made the mistake of underestimating Ivy early on, giving her the opportunity to see him as the manipulative jerk he really was. She hasn’t trusted him since, and he usually has to avoid her in order to not get crushed by her plants. Ra’s al Ghul- None. **I currently really want to keep the Gotham criminals in the dark about the League** Scarecrow- Dislike. Considering that Crane is an actual intellectual and a genius, Ed does not like interacting with him. He isn’t outwardly hostile toward Crane, but he definitely avoids him whenever he can. Crane’s intelligence really messes with Ed’s ego. Mix that with Crane’s creepy nature, and his constant psychological analyzing, he usually makes Ed feel like an inferior child. He’s also a bit scared of him and that fear toxin. Two-Face- Also 50/50 with them (I didn’t do that on purpose). Having to interact with two people in one body with two separate motivations can be quite stressful for Ed, but at the same time he enjoys the game. Harvey isn’t as easy for him to manipulate as he can with others, and he’s had a few close calls with Harvey where he pushed things too far. This seems to have fueled his interest in the game more, rather than deter him.

#text post #Eddie post #Edward Nigma #character post #character list

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hollandsmoose · 5 years

Text

better than sex

A/N: I've been writing on this for ages, holy shit. This is based on that thing Shawn said about performing being better than sex lmao. @particularrose basically wrote this one with all the ideas she gave me tbh so special shout-out to her for being so incredible! So here you go, dudes, here's 6k of some flirty sub!Shawn with a guest star appearance by Niall Horan himself!

part 2 in masterlist

-----------------

Summertime in Los Angeles is positively scorching. When the sun is high in the sky, it can feel a bit like you’re boiling. Niall’s house thankfully has stellar air conditioning, but it doesn’t stop things from getting a little heated at times.

When Niall had suggested that you could spend your summer with him in his Hollywood home, you hadn’t even hesitated to accept the offer. The prospect of spending several weeks alone with one of your best friends was almost too good to be true. And, of course, it was.

What Niall hadn’t told you when he made that offer was that he’d also made that same offer to someone else. Shawn. And it’s not that you don’t like Shawn; it’s more that you perhaps like him a little too much.

You’d met Shawn through Niall, and you’d initially been a smidge smitten with the curly-haired and brown-eyed boy who was nothing if not cute. But the more you got to know him, the more you realized that he wasn’t just cute; he was hot.

It’s even worse now, to be honest. The heat means that Shawn is never wearing too much clothing, and every goddamn time you see him, he’s got some part of his body on display. When you’ll be trying to read a book by the pool, for example, he’ll come out in nothing but swim trunks, his glorious torso on exhibition. The amount of times you’ve caught yourself fantasizing about running your hands over those defined abs or biceps or that back of his is astounding and almost worrying.

You don’t ever want to make it too obvious that you’re staring. Niall is much like a brother to you, you treat each other like siblings, and openly thirsting for one of his best friends seems like a bad idea.

You catch Shawn staring too, though. When you’ll go to take a dip in the pool in nothing more than a bikini, his eyes will linger a few moments too long. When you’ll walk around the house in booty shorts, the looks he gives you when he thinks you’re not looking are definitely indecent.

Almost subconsciously, it develops into a game of who can be the biggest tease, and it’s exhausting. Your only break from it is when Shawn goes off to the studio to write, although he always comes back frustrated, annoyed with the writer’s block he’s going through.

Niall does his best to help him, but there’s not much to do. Niall says it’s just something that happens every once in a while and that Shawn just has to let it pass. Shawn is not one for patience when it comes to things like these, however. He tells you that he’s looking for inspiration, and about two weeks into your stay is when he finds it.

-----------------

It’s a slightly colder day than usual, yet it would be a lie to say that it’s actually cold. LA is never cold. Not to you, anyway. All it really means is that you eat your dinner inside in the kitchen.

Niall has cooked tonight. It's always either you or him who's responsible for food because Shawn is absolutely hopeless in the kitchen. Therefore, he's often the one in charge of loading the dishwasher as compensation.

Niall has made you fettuccine alfredo which is cooked to perfection. He's picked up a couple of bottles of good white wine, a type that has certainly not been cheap. You suppose the price doesn't mean much to someone like him, though. He doesn't exactly lack money.

It doesn't take long before you've finished eating, but you remain at the table, drinking the rest of the wine. And that is when the topic falls to Shawn and his writer's block.

“I just really wanna finish this album, you know?” Shawn says, a little frustrated, and you both give him sympathetic nods. “Like, as soon as I'm done with it, I can start planning tour and shit. And I can't wait to get back on the road,” Niall raises his eyebrows and nods, knowing exactly what Shawn means. “Performing is just… the best fucking thing. Even better than sex.” The noise that leaves you is not one you can hold back.

“Ha!” you exclaim, giggling to yourself. When the two men give you confused looks, you smile. “I'm sorry, it's just…” You lock eyes with Shawn. The wine is making you too brave. “What kinda sex are you having?”

At this, Niall bursts into laughter, a laugh you would recognize anywhere, and he actually slaps the table. You can't help but laugh at your own comment too, but when you take in Shawn's expression, he doesn't seem amused.

He squints a little. “What does that mean?”

You pick up your wine glass. “Well, I'm just thinking that you must be having some pretty boring sex to be able to say that,” This only makes Niall snort out loud, now resting his forehead on the hard surface of the table.

“Maybe I just really like performing,”

“Maybe you do,”

“I do,”

“Great! Then that's settled!”

“I don't have boring sex,” Shawn bites back with a smirk, not willing to let it go. “I just think performing is better.”

“So performing is better than having your face buried in pussy?” you ask, incredulous. Niall is practically dying at this point in the conversation, gasping for air, and Shawn's face burns bright red. “Or being balls deep in one?” The wine's influence has made you too confident, and you know you should probably keep your mouth shut, but it's impossible. “I'll need to show you a good time, then.”

Niall doesn't seem to hear what you said, and you're glad. Niall may not be your real brother, but he is as overprotective as a real brother would be. Shawn, however, does hear.

He chokes on nothing, coughing desperately, and his eyes are wide. Niall gives him a confused look, but he doesn't give an explanation, and neither do you. Thankfully, the older man soon finds himself distracted, and no questions are asked. Not unless you count the silent one that Shawn is asking with his eyes.

-----------------

It's not until a little later that you find yourself alone with Shawn. Niall goes upstairs, to the living room there, after dinner to pick a movie to watch, still quite fond of an old-fashioned DVD, and you stay behind to make some popcorn. Shawn, of course, is in charge of loading the dishwasher.

There's a great deal of tension in the kitchen as your words from before hang in the air, and you watch from behind as he puts the things into the dishwasher. His back muscles flex under his tight T-shirt every time he bends down to put something in, and you have to rub your thighs together. The microwave hums, and the kernels start to pop as you eye Shawn, leaning back against the chair behind you.

“You're watching me,” he states and turns to look at you. Of course, he's smirking. “Like what you see?”

“Hmm, maybe,” you tease, deciding to make this even more fun. Maybe it's dumb to even go along with this. You know you should probably shut him down, but this has been a long time coming, and you will never forgive yourself if you give up this opportunity. “I mean, I've seen better.”

Shawn tilts his head, arrogant smirk still playing on his lips. “You sure?”

You squint as he slowly approaches you. “Are you always this cocky?”

“Only when I have reason to be,”

“And you do now?”

Shawn comes to a stop in front of you, right as the microwave beeps. You're frozen to the ground, unwilling and unable to move. Your bodies are maybe a bit too close, and it's actually hard to breathe, every breath of yours shaky and laboured.

“Yes,” he confesses, his fingers stroking your upper arm. “‘Cause you think I'm hot.” Busted. You can’t let him win, though. Resting your hand on his hard chest, you smile.

“Well, how cocky am I allowed to be, then?” you retort, meeting his confused eyes. “‘Cause you think I’m hot too,” When Shawn blushes profusely, confirming your suspicions, your smile just grows even wider. “Thought as much.”

He gulps and bites his lip. “Y/N, I-” He doesn’t get to say more.

“You guys ready?” Niall says, walking into the kitchen, and you and Shawn jump away from each other, hoping to get as much distance between you as possible. Your heart starts to race with the thoughts of what Niall will say, but he is too busy staring at his phone that he thankfully doesn’t take much notice of the situation unfolding in front of him. “I picked a movie. I think you’ll like it.”

And then Niall finally looks up, but you and Shawn are far apart, looking perfectly decent. There’s no reason to suspect a thing.

-----------------

It’s hard to focus on the movie when you’re sat right next to Shawn who keeps glancing your way, meeting your eyes with sin in his own. Upstairs, it’s slightly colder, and therefore you’ve picked up a few blankets, something you’re very grateful for.

Because when your hand purposefully finds its way onto Shawn’s thigh, the blankets over your bottom halves manage to cover it up. There’s no covering up the surprised gasp that leaves his mouth, but when Niall looks at him questioningly, he just excuses it as a cough.

“You’ve been coughing a lot tonight,” Niall asks, and the worry he feels for his friend is more than clear. It almost makes you feel a little bad, but when Shawn blushes anew, you can’t help but feel just a bit pleased with yourself. “You’re not sick, are you?”

“No, no,” Shawn protests, and as your fingers trace circles into his skin, pushing a little at the hem of his gym shorts, the flush on his cheeks only deepens into a dark red. He gulps. “Just had to cough, that’s all.” And with that, Niall’s attention goes back to the TV.

Shawn’s shallow breaths are a good indicator of the effect you have on him. You revel in how his eyes screw shut every time you venture a little too close to where he really needs your touch, his hand on yours urging you to continue. You play with the idea of actually giving him what he wants and putting an end to your teasing, but you’re having too much fun to stop, and with Niall right next to you, it doesn’t seem like the best idea. That’s a decision you come to regret, though. Because when you pull your hand away with a confident, shit-eating grin, Shawn is quick to get revenge.

The first thing you feel is the tips of his fingers tracing circles on the side of your thigh, and you know exactly where this is going. Payback time. You don’t dare to take a look at him, keeping your eyes fixed on the screen in front of you.

A shaky breath leaves you when his hand moves to rest on the top of your thigh, and when Shawn squeezes your skin ever so slightly, you have to bite your lip to keep a whimper from escaping. You hear the small chuckle that comes from him. He knows what he’s doing to you.

A heat is definitely pooling low in your stomach. A part of you is praying for him to give you some relief, but you know it’s not likely - not after your teasing. From your calculations, you figure that there is still a whole hour of the movie left, and you sigh. It’s gonna be a long hour.

The movie ends just before midnight, and you can honestly say that you’ve only understood about 10% of it. You and Shawn have not been playing nice, and you’re terribly worried for your underwear, surely soaked by now.

“Great movie, huh?” Niall says as he gets up to take it out of the DVD player. “What did you think?”

“Uh, yeah, it was…” you stutter, forcing a smile, meeting his eyes. “It was good.”

Niall tilts his head, squinting. “You okay, sweetie? You just seem a little… off,”

You gulp. “Just tired, that’s all,”

“Yeah, maybe we should head to bed,” Shawn suggests, his tone even more suggestive. Oh God, yes. No matter what happens now, you need to be in private. “I’m pretty tired too.” Niall agrees, and so do you.

You’re not tired in the slightest, though. You’re quite the opposite. You and Shawn’s little game has left you on the edge, and you’re practically bustling with energy. It’s endlessly funny to watch Shawn as he gets up, leaving the cover of the blankets, and tries to conceal the tent in his shorts. Niall, thank God, remains oblivious.

Soon, you’re all walking to your rooms, and you bid each other goodnight. Niall’s master bedroom is in one end of the house, whereas the rooms you and Shawn are occupying are on the same hallway in the other end. The distance between you and Shawn’s rooms and then Niall’s makes you feel a little safer.

Niall wouldn’t notice. It’s this thought that goes through your mind when you stand in the doorway to your room, and you turn to look at Shawn in the doorway of his. There’s a look in his eyes that is hard to decipher, and, for a moment, you consider asking what it means, but then there’s a noise from the living room, distracting you.

“Sorry, guys,” Niall says, chuckling to himself, and he picks something up from the coffee table. “Forgot my phone.”

When Niall has gone back to his room, you decide to do the same. Biting your lip, you give Shawn a look too. You both linger in your doorways for a few moments before you enter your rooms.

-----------------

Just about an hour has passed since you started getting ready for bed, and you're wiggling around on your mattress, trying to get comfortable, but you know very well that, even if you wanted to sleep, it wouldn't be possible.

There's a distinct ache between your thighs, and it needs relief. Your fingers toy with the waistband of your underwear. Shawn hasn't tried to get in contact, and you're almost at your breaking point. You need relief.

But right when you're about to dip your hand under the elastic, a thought crosses your mind. What if Shawn's doing this right now too? It's enough to make you clench involuntarily, only furthering the ache. Making a hasty decision, you throw the covers off and plant your feet on the floor. You're going to walk down the little hallway and knock on his door. Damn the consequences.

You've only just exited your room and shut your door when you hear another door open. Just down the hallway, Shawn emerges from his room, and then your eyes meet.

Whatever confidence you had before has left you. Had it stayed, you would have marched right up to him and kissed those pretty lips of his, but it's different now. None of you say anything, but, almost subconsciously, you both start to approach each other. It's slow - agonizingly slow, to be honest, but you do end up within touching distance.

“Can't sleep?” Shawn asks in a whisper, and there's a certain breathlessness to his voice that tells you all you need to know. When you shake your head, he swallows. “Me neither.”

The ache you're experiencing is not helped by the sight of his bare torso, barely visible in the dimly lit hallway. It's visible enough to have you rubbing your thighs together. He catches the movement, and you're expecting a smirk, but what you get from him is more like a whimper.

Even Shawn looks surprised by the sound. It’s hard to see much, the only light coming from your room, but you can see how his cheeks redden. Without a word, you lift your hand to rest on his chest, feeling the soft patch of hair there. He sucks in a sharp breath at your touch.

“Do you want this?” you whisper, establishing eye contact, and you pray that he’s down for this because you need him, and you might just cry if he turns you down. “Do you want me?”

“Oh my god, yes,” Shawn answers, the words rushing out from his mouth. “I want you so bad.”

You give him a coy look. “Then take me,”

Shawn doesn’t hesitate. He pushes his mouth on yours with such passion that you actually stumble back, but he has lightning reflexes and places a strong hand on your back to keep you from falling. The hand manages to press your bodies flush together, no space left between them.

His other hand cups your cheek, a delicate touch compared to how you're kissing. You're unsure of what to do with your hands at first, but they end up gripping his shoulders, trying to get him impossibly closer. It's not that you can't already feel almost every bit of him, though. There is an unmistakable hardness pressing against you, and if you weren't in a fucking hallway, you would have dropped to your knees by now.

Shawn doesn't seem to care much about the whole hallway thing nor about the fact that Niall could walk out and see the two of you at any time. Instead of leading you to one of your rooms and to privacy, he guides you backwards until your back thuds against the wall. The whine is impossible for you to keep in when he detaches his lips from yours.

Moving his hands to under your ass, Shawn squeezes a little. “Jump,”

You eye him skeptically, but he seems confident in his ability to carry you, and you're confident in his confidence. So you jump.

You wrap your legs around him, but he holds you up as if you're as light as a feather. Shawn doesn't go back to your lips, yet you don't complain. Because shortly after, his mouth is on your neck, kissing and licking - no biting or sucking, though. You would have no chance of hiding the hickey that that would leave behind. Your fingers have tangled themselves into Shawn’s curls, and when you pull on them, impatient, he gets the clue and tears himself away from your skin. Instead of giving you what you want and kissing you, he shakes his head slightly and smiles.

“Oh god,” Shawn says, still quiet. “Niall’s gonna kill me.”

Sighing, you roll your eyes. “Don’t mention Niall right now,” It’s bit of a mood killer, really.

Shawn raises his eyebrows, his expression undeniably cocky. “Giving me orders now, baby?” That gives you an idea.

“Yes,” you answer with no hesitation, seizing control. “Yes, I am,” You tug on his curls with more force than before, and he hisses. The atmosphere changes. You can feel it. The ball is in your court now. “Your room.”

Shawn is more than pliant. He carries you, only putting you down when you’re inside his room. He leaves you for a moment to close and lock the door, but then he’s back. It is different now, however. He doesn’t reach for you or try to kiss you; he awaits your command. So when you tell him to lie down on the bed, he does it in an instant.

He’s left the lamp on the nightstand on, so you’re able to see much better than in the hallway. You can so clearly see his flushed cheeks, his toned abs and his brown eyes, darker than usual. You can so clearly see the way his lips part when you crawl onto the mattress and between his legs, sitting back on your knees.

“What do you want, Shawn?” you ask as you run a finger up his thigh, and your tone is deceitfully sweet and innocent. You’re fully expecting him to beg for your mouth or hands around him, but he takes you by surprise - and not in a bad way.

“I wanna taste you,” he tells you, voice shaky and absolutely wrecked. “Want you to sit on my face.” Fuck. You have to fight to keep a whimper from leaving your mouth. How can you possibly say no to that request? It takes a fair bit of manoeuvring, but you manage to pull off your teeny-tiny, exposing shorts and your underwear, leaving you in nothing else than your camisole. You tug his grey sweatshorts off, and his already prominent bulge just becomes even more prominent when he’s just in his boxers. Unconsciously, you lick your lips.

You crawl up his body, but you don’t waste any time, going straight for his face. Settling over his face, you shiver when his hands come up to grab ahold of your thighs. Shawn stares up at you, wanting reassurance that he’s allowed to touch you, and you nod. In fact, you might just die if he doesn’t touch you. That may be an exaggeration, but it doesn’t feel that way to you.

You pull your camisole over your head, and that leaves you naked. Shawn’s eyes widen, and you don’t even think he’s aware that he’s moving his hands until they’re cupping your breasts. You don’t tell him off for not asking for permission, though. You’re far too consumed by the fire that his touch ignites inside you. When his thumbs brush against your nipples, you emit a keen noise that you can’t even believe comes from your own mouth.

Shawn groans beneath you, and when you glance down, you see the conflict in him. His eyes flicker from where his hands are to your dripping heat. You know he wants to please you, but it seems he can’t decide on where to start. So you decide for him.

You move his left hand down, back to the back of your thigh where he grips your flesh, bringing you closer to where he needs you. When you lock eyes, it’s almost overwhelming. There’s a hunger in them, yet he still waits for affirmation that he can go on. Such a good boy. You nod.

And then his mouth is on you. You moan, and Shawn groans. There’s a relief in it for both of you. His tongue runs up your slit, spreading you out so he has better access to all of you. You desperately need something to hold on to so you grab the headboard of the bed. His fingers pinch your nipple, just as his tongue touches your clit for the first time, and you gasp, rocking your hips against his mouth.

The noise that leaves him can’t be described as anything else than a growl, and the vibrations from it are utterly thrilling. Shawn’s other hand comes down and grips your other thigh, and he pulls you even closer, even further down onto his face. You’re almost worried that you’re drowning him, but, to be fair, he seems quite happy to drown.

Everything you’ve dreamed of for these last two weeks is coming true. Shawn wraps his lips around your clit and sucks. Instinctively, one of your hands reaches down and goes into his hair, running through it. He almost moves into your hand, almost like he’s seeking your touch. He really is fucked for you.

“So good for me,” you purr. “So good.” The praise seems to please him; it seems to encourage him further. His tongue definitely becomes a little more forceful and pushes down on your clit with even more pressure than before. The pleasure shoots through your body, and the fire within only intensifies.

Several hours of teasing has left you sensitive, and when his lips close around your clit again, you’re made aware of just how close you really are. God, what is this boy doing to me? Shawn doesn’t seem to have a particular method to his actions; he just eats you out like he’s been starving, lips and tongue everywhere, licking and sucking. It’s kind of rushed, but oh dear God, is it good. And, besides, you really don’t need him to go slow.

His hands travel to your hips, and you understand his hint when he pushes you a little away from him. He comes up for air, and it’s such a sight to behold when you look down at him. The area around his mouth is absolutely covered in your juices, glistening in the light from the bedside lamp.

“You taste so good, baby,” Shawn pants, placing a few kisses on the inside of your thighs. “So sweet,” Your hand strokes his curls, all tousled and unruly from your treatment. “Wanna make you cum.”

You can’t resist a smirk. “Make me, then,”

Shawn curses under his breath, and then he can’t hold himself back anymore. Hands still on your hips, he begins to guide you back and forth, effectively making you grind against his tongue, making you ride his face. You have to hold back the cries that are so close to leaving your lips, knowing very well that you can’t be too loud.

You’re so close, and Shawn is doing his very best to please you, to push you over the edge. It’s like he keeps trying to pull you closer, although he’s already buried in you. He’s groaning and moaning against your pussy, clearly finding some kind of pleasure in this too. You’re trembling and shivering with every touch of his tongue, and you’re panting, mumbling barely coherent encouragements. You can feel it building inside you, that release you’ve been aching for. It builds and builds and builds, right until you can feel yourself right there at the edge of the cliff. And then you dive in.

There are no words to describe the feeling that courses through your body when your orgasm hits you. Words like mind-blowing, sensational and extreme all come to mind, but they’re simply not enough. You honestly have to hold back your noises because you know they would be far too loud. You can’t keep in a gasp of his name, though.

Shawn leads you through your release, slowing down gradually so you can come down. His hands gently stroke your skin in an attempt to calm you down. You’re still catching your breath when you start to move down his body, settling on his thighs, your own thighs still shaking with the aftershocks.

“Good boy,” you praise, and you catch how his cock twitches in the confinement of his boxers where his precum has created a small wet spot as well. “Such a good boy. All for me,”

He nods desperately. “All for you,”

Shawn seems to get the hint when you crawl up a little further up, and he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. When you press your lips to his again, you’re still very much able to taste yourself. You’re not complaining, though. You deepen the kiss, your tongues meeting, and the taste of you is so strong on his that you actually moan into his mouth.

You don’t even mean to do it, but your hips grind down against his, and he moans right back. The friction is almost too much to bear for your sensitive sex, yet you need to feel it again. You grind against his clothed cock, feeling how hard it is for you.

Shawn whines when you draw away from his mouth, taking his bottom lip between your teeth before you let go completely. He doesn’t whine when you begin placing kisses down his neck and move further down, your kisses following. You pause for a few moments when you reach his abs, and then you lean in and lick a stripe up his six-pack. His muscles contract underneath your touch, and you enjoy how he makes this strangled noise in response, obviously having tried to muffle himself.

Upon reaching the waistband of his boxers with your kisses, you smirk. “Such a good boy deserves a reward, don’t you think?” He doesn’t answer, but you’re not surprised. He probably doesn’t want to be presumptuous. When you snap the elastic waistband against the skin of his stomach, he lets out a startled moan, and then he seems to understand what you’re asking him to do.

“Please, baby,” Shawn begs. “Please, just… please.”

Accepting his plead, you crawl back until you reach the end of the mattress, You keep eye contact as you move down to the foot of the bed and down to the floor, sinking to your knees. You yank on his one leg the tiniest bit, but he understands. Soon after, he’s wiggled down to where you want him, and Shawn sits up. He clearly wants to watch. He helps you to remove his boxers, and your mouth actually fucking salivates at the sight of his cock springing free. You don’t often call things perfect, but his cock certainly is. The perfect size, the perfect color, the perfect everything.

Shawn quite eagerly kicks off his underwear, desperate to be rid of them. He stares down at you, and you stare up at him. He’s leaking from the tip quite a lot, but that only makes your job easier. You don’t even have to spit on him or in your hand; he’s already lubricated himself enough. You maintain eye contact when you wrap your hand around him, and it’s almost amusing to watch how his eyes flutter, fighting the urge to close.

You tsk-tsk. “Keep your eyes on me, Shawn,”

It’s a challenge, and you’re aware. You want to challenge him. You run your thumb over his tip, spreading the precum over the length of him. He inhales sharply at your touch, and it makes you smile. You like knowing that you have an effect on him. His hands are gripping the edge of the mattress, fingers digging into it.

“Y/N,” Shawn says, voice shaky. “I’m not-” He’s interrupted by a hiss from his own mouth when you touch his tip again. “Not gonna last long.” You appreciate the honesty, although you’re not surprised in the slightest. You’ve practically been edging him for hours now.

You pump a few times, revelling in his responses, before you lean in and press a kiss to his tip. His chest is heaving, his lip between his teeth, and he’s visibly struggling to hold back his noises. You kiss down to the base of him, and you take a second to consider what to do next.

You’re in a mood to make him suffer a little. And when you lick from base to tip, he definitely suffers. He whimpers, his knuckles turning white. You make sure to keep eye contact the first time you wrap your lips around his cock. He lets out this gasp in response, high-pitched and a bit too loud, and it only makes you want to go further. You keep your hand wrapped around him, and when you start to bob your head, your hand follows the rhythm.

The sounds of your movements are absolutely obscene, and you suspect it all looks just as obscene. His cock is warm and heavy on your tongue, his precum a bit salty. Sucking dick is usually not something you enjoy, but Shawn makes it more than enjoyable. His reactions are encouraging, gasps and moans and whimpers all revealing just how good you’re making him feel.

You can see how he struggles not to lift his hips and thrust into the warmth of your mouth. Had this been a different situation, you might’ve let him fuck your face, but you’re in control now. You want to take this at your pace.

Not that you have any intention of going slow, to be honest. You even let one hand go down to his balls, making sure to stimulate him even further. It takes Shawn by surprise, though. He loses control for just a moment, and his hips move up. The accusatory look you give him when you pull out for air has him apologizing in an instant, and you soon return to business as normal.

You become sloppier towards the end, something that he seems to like. He screws his eyes shut, but you don’t bother to chastise him because you know he’s getting to where you want him to be, and you can’t blame him for not being able to control his body right now. The bobs of your head begin to quicken, your saliva coating him thoroughly, and you just know he’s approaching his release. His cock is twitchy, his breathing is unbelievably unsteady, and the words that leave him are unintelligible, although you can hear that he’s trying to say something.

Shawn does manage to get something out. “Gonna… gonna cum,”

His warning is a nice gesture; it gives you time to pull off him. But you don’t. He’s been so good for you, and he deserves a treat. You only pull away the tiniest bit, resting his tip on your tongue, while your hand keeps pumping what used to be in your mouth. His one hand finally lets go of the mattress to cup the side of your face, and it’s an oddly cute thing to do.

When Shawn cums, he almost shouts out a curse, and it’s far too loud, but you really don’t care. You take everything he gives you, and it’s only when he jerks a little away from you that you let him go. He watches you swallow, and the sight seems to be a smidge overwhelming. He groans and falls back against the bed, covering his face with his hands, his chest heaving and all flushed. Shawn only removes his hands when you’ve crawled up, and you’re face-to-face again.

“Y/N, I… fuck,” he pants. “That was fucking insane, holy shit,” You giggle, stroking a few curls away from his sweaty forehead. “C’mere.” He brings you closer, and his lips find yours. To be honest, you’re kinda impressed. He definitely isn’t too touchy when it comes to tasting himself.

“So…” you begin when he releases you again. “Is performing still better than sex?” He raises his eyebrows, giving you a shit-eating grin.

“Hmm, yes,” Shawn answers and laughs, and you scoff as if truly offended. You know he’s playing with you. “Well, I didn’t get to hear you scream for me,” He smirks. “And when I perform, I usually have thousands of girls screaming for me.”

You roll your eyes. “Honestly? I could have screamed. But Niall would’ve heard, and I have the feeling I’d have to attend your funeral, then,”

Shawn playfully shrugs. “Would’ve been worth it,”

“Speaking of Niall, though,” you start, getting off the bed. “It’s been fun, but I should be going back to my room. Can’t be found with you in the morning, you know?” There’s a sort of sadness to Shawn when he nods and watches you get your clothes back on. “Goodnight, baby boy.”

-----------------

The next morning, you wake up with a grin on your lips. Thinking about what happened last night almost makes you ache again. You get up, and while you’re getting ready, the grin falls off your face. You can’t be sure what it’s gonna be like to see Shawn again. You don’t know what he’ll say. You can’t believe you even care, but you do.

So it’s with a slightly erratic heartbeat that you enter the kitchen a little later, but to your surprise, the only person you find there is Niall, cooking breakfast.

“Morning!” he greets and offers a smile. “Sleep well?” You feel the heat travelling to your cheeks at his question. If only you knew.

“Uh, yeah… yeah, I did,” you answer, and then you make a bit of a show of looking around the room. “Where’s Shawn?”

“Oh, he left for the studio about an hour ago,”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Niall replies and shrugs. “Said he found some inspiration during the night,” Oh god. “Dunno what he meant, but good for him. He’s been looking for it for quite a while.”

You know exactly what he meant.

-----------------

@sauveteen @peachnpomegranate @yellowitsmendes @me-a-hopeless-romantic @couple100miles @rishlo @bluerroses @nervousroses @shavvnmcndcs @crxssourbones @ashwarren32

#mine #text #shawn mendes #shawn mendes fanfiction #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes fic #shawn mendes imagine #shawn mendes oneshot #shawn mendes smut #did i include a reference to one of my fave movies in this??#yes... yes i did

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likecastle · 4 years

Text

Witcher Noir AU, pt 15

More Witcher noir AU! Previous parts here.

This one’s a little long, folks! Whew, so many twists and turns! But it’s going somewhere, I promise!

Yennefer tells her driver to take them home—her home. Geralt glances up at her, surprised, but she looks back at him impassively.

“I can’t,” Geralt says. “I’ve got to—”

“Is that any way to return the favor I just did you?” Yennefer asks archly.

“Thank you,” Geralt replies pointedly. “But, Yen, Cirilla’s out there somewhere, and if I don’t—”

“You’ve spent the last several years pretending that child doesn’t exist,” Yennefer cuts in. “You don’t get to use her as an excuse to play the martyr now that it’s convenient to you.”

Geralt recoils as if she’s struck him. The shame cuts deeper than any blow from Stregobor’s men. Yennefer knows why he walked away, back then. Cirilla was better off without someone like him in her life. Even now, he isn’t sure he’s the best person for her, but he’s the only one she’s got. “She wasn’t in danger then,” he grinds out.

“Well, you’ll be no good to her now if you’re half dead.” Yennefer looks aloof, but Geralt recognizes the subtle working of her jaw as a sign of profound fury. “You need a doctor, or you’ll be in no fit state to help anyone.”

Geralt glares down at his fists where they’re clenched in his lap. He’s been through worse, he wants to point out, but doesn’t.

“I’m with Yennefer on this one,” Jaskier volunteers cautiously, and Geralt shoots him a mutinous glance. Instead of having the desired effect, the look seems to spur Jaskier on. “Really,” he continues, “I know you can’t see yourself, but you look a fright.”

Between the dust and dirt of the warehouse and his own sweat and blood from the interrogation, Geralt has to admit he’s seen better days. He hurts all over, but that’s nothing new. His own comfort is nothing compared to Cirilla’s safety.

Jaskier’s voice softens slightly as he says, “You don’t want meet Cirilla for the first time in years looking like you just lost a prizefight in a gutter, do you? You’ll scare the daylights out of her.”

Geralt has to admit that it’s been long enough that Cirilla might not even remember him, and the last thing he wants to do is frighten her. And Yennefer is right, he’ll be of no use to her if he can’t defend her when they do meet. “Fine,” Geralt mutters, unable to bring himself to look at either of them.

“I’m so glad we’re all agreed,” Yennefer says, her sarcastic tone making it perfectly clear she would’ve had her way regardless of what either of them thought about it.

They ride the rest of the way to Yennefer’s place in relative silence. Jaskier makes a few attempts at small talk, but Yennefer quashes each overture succinctly. Geralt watches Jaskier slowly deflate under Yennefer’s disapproval, until, finally, Jaskier slumps back against the seat with a defeated air and resigns himself to staring out the window. He’s never seen the singer look so dejected—but then, Geralt reminds himself, he doesn’t really know Jaskier at all.

When they reach Yennefer’s brownstone, she orders Geralt up to one of her guest rooms and goes to call the doctor. Jaskier follows Geralt upstairs and leans on the door frame, apparently unwilling to come all the way in.

“Looks like Yennefer’s done well for herself,” Jaskier says, glancing at a painting Geralt happens to know is the original, a very convincing copy of which hangs in one of the city’s art museums.

“It wasn’t always like this,” Geralt replies, remembering a time when she was living week-to-week in a cold water flat above a pawn broker’s. But Yennefer wouldn’t thank him for sharing her personal history to a near stranger. And anyway, it’s true. Yennefer has done well for herself. She’s built her business from nothing, surviving on her wits alone at times when nobody else had her back. She has everything she ever wanted—or, well, almost everything.

To distract himself from his thoughts, Geralt struggles out of his jacket. Pain flares in his ribs, the bruising there not helped by his rough treatment at the police station. When he goes to loosen the knot of his tie, he hisses as it jostles his throat, still tender from where Stregobor’s goon hit him.

“Let me,” Jaskier says, and before Geralt can protest, he’s stepped into the room and is crowding into Geralt’s space, nimble fingers working at his tie.

This close, Geralt can still smell the faint tang of his own aftershave on Jaskier’s skin, comingled with the scent of sweat and dust. He tries not to let it work on him, thought it’s hard to resist. But more than he wants to kiss Jaskier, he wants to know he can trust him. So he hasn’t told you who he really is? Stregobor had said, with obvious pleasure. Geralt hates himself for letting Stregobor put the question into his head, but now that it’s there, Geralt can’t stop thinking about it.

“There,” Jaskier says, finally undoing the knot. He tugs gently, and Geralt’s tie slithers out of his collar, sending a shiver up his spine. Jaskier undoes the top button of Geralt’s shirt and lets out a low breath at the mottled skin there. “That’s going to be quite a bruise.”

“Hmm,” Geralt agrees. And then, because he can’t help himself, he adds, “You don’t seem too much worse for wear.”

“Who, me?” Jaskier takes a half step back, self-consciously smoothing down his tousled hair. He tries for a roguish smile, but the expression falls flat. “I’m sure this will come as a surprise to you,” he says with a lightness that doesn’t reach his eyes, “but not all threats are physical.”

Geralt frowns. “What does that mean?”

Jaskier turns away from him, refolding Geralt’s jacket so it lies neatly over the back of a chair and dropping his tie into one of the pockets. “I didn’t tell him anything, I promise.” He looks up sharply, his blue eyes fierce as he meets Geralt’s gaze. “I don’t care what else you think of me, but please believe that I would never do anything to hurt you.”

Geralt feels another pang of shame that he ever doubted Jaskier, even for a second. Jaskier’s trusted Geralt much further than he should—much further than Geralt deserves—and Geralt’s made a poor return on his faith, getting Jaskier into trouble and mistrusting him based on nothing more than the word of a known liar. But as Jaskier’s words sink in, that twist of guilt is replaced with a cool feeling of dread. “What do you mean,” he repeats slowly, “not all threats are physical?”

Jaskier is silent for a moment, smoothing his hand over Geralt’s jacket again, then sets about straightening objects on the table that are in no need of tidying. He can’t seem to stop himself from moving, like the position of the ashtray on the table is all that’s keeping him from making a break for it. Finally, he lets out a deep breath. “First of all, you should know that Jaskier’s only a stage name.”

It’s not quite the damning admission Geralt was expecting. “OK . . .”

“I picked it so that my family wouldn’t— You see, they’re, well—” Jaskier swallows. “I presume you’ve heard of Cintran Oil?”

Geralt blinks. “Yeah . . .” It’s only the largest oil company in the country.

Jaskier waves a hand. “Well, that’s them.”

Geralt decides it’s time to sit down, dropping down hard on the edge of the bed. Geralt’s read about the Pankratz family, of course. Countless buildings in the city bear the family’s name, from skyscrapers to churches to wings of art museums. One of the Pankratz brothers runs one of the city’s largest banks, as Geralt recalls, and he’s pretty sure another is highly placed in the government, one way or another. It’s hard to imagine Jaskier as part of the upper echelons of polite society. And, yet, perhaps it’s not quite so difficult after all. “So the secret Stregobor threatened you with is that you’re . . . rich?”

“Oh, lord, no!” Jaskier barks out a giddy laugh. “My family disowned me ages ago. Not a penny to my name, I’m afraid, so you’ll have to abandon your dreams of being a kept man.” He gives Geralt a tight smile.

“Then I don’t . . .”

Jaskier bites his lip. “They may not want anything to do with me—and believe me, the feeling is mutual—but that doesn’t mean that even the slightest whiff of scandal wouldn’t reflect poorly on them. I’ve managed to keep my distance from them for this long by making certain . . . arrangements—mostly using a stage name and staying out of any kind of trouble that might stick in the papers.” Jaskier draws in a sharp breath and lets it out slowly. “But if it gets out that I’m mixed up in something this—a murder, organized crime—it could do real damage.”

“If they disowned you,” Geralt asks, “what should it matter to you?”

“You don’t understand what they’re like.” Jaskier shakes his head. “After I first left, they had me followed. They bribed people in my life to inform on me, people I was—close to.” Jaskier’s bright eyes are uncharacteristically dull. “It got to the point that I didn’t know who I could trust, who I could . . . be myself around. It, ah, wasn’t good, for a while there. I thought I would—

“But,” he continues, and the smile he gives Geralt is pure force of will, “around that time, a man approached me and told me he could arrange things so that my family wouldn’t bother me again. He’d give me new documentation, set me up in a new place where they wouldn’t ever find me. All I had to do was tell him things—about the people I saw at the club, conversations I overheard between Calanthe’s guests. Nothing that would put me in any danger, he said. So I made a deal.” He looks at Geralt now with an expression he can’t quite fathom, some mixture of defiance and regret. “It was easy, really. And it meant I could live on my own terms for the first time in—well, ever.”

Geralt considers Jaskier, weighing his words carefully. This does explain a few things about Jaskier’s initial reaction, when Geralt showed up at the club that first day. “Do you know who he was, this man?”

Jaskier shrugs. “He called himself Sigi Reuven, but I always assumed that wasn’t his real name. To tell the truth, at the time, I didn’t even care whose side he was on. I just knew that I couldn’t go on the way I’d been living, and he was offering me a way out.”

“And you’re still in contact with him?”

“Less now that the war’s over, but yes. Every few weeks, we’ll meet up at a park or a café, and I’ll give him my latest update. It’s not much. Honestly, I doubt I’ve ever told him a single thing of any value, but . . . anyway, now you know.”

“And Stregobor,” Geralt says, “he knew about this Reuven character?”

Jaskier nods. “And about my family, although that’s more of an open secret. Honestly, I’m surprised you didn’t know about that already. I was rather . . . infamous, in my younger days.” A rueful smile twists his lips. “But anyway, yes. Stregobor started by threatening to tell my parents where I was, what I’d gotten mixed up in, how disappointed they’d be if I besmirched the family name.” He rolls his eyes. “And then, when that didn’t work, he let it slip that he knew how I’d gotten away from them in the first place, and what would happen if it came out I’d been—well, spying, I suppose you’d call it. But, Geralt, I—” Jaskier tries once again to smile at Geralt, but the expression falters this time. “I don’t care what Stregobor does to me, or Sigi, either. Whatever happens, it’s worth it if you and Ciri are safe. I couldn’t—I would never—”

There are tears brimming in Jaskier’s eyes, though he’s trying his damnedest to blink them back.

“Hey,” Geralt says. Jaskier looks at him with a wild, aching sort of desperation, and though the distance separating them is only a few feet, it feels vast. “C’mere.” Jaskier comes to stand beside the bed, and Geralt takes one of Jaskier’s hands in his own, presses their joined hands to his lips. “I won’t let that happen.”

He knows better than to make promises he can’t keep, but he wants to keep it, desperately, and that’s got to count for something.

part sixteen

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