#i did look at canes yes but those are more successful when the issue is balance

[elibeeline]

After limping so much at work it hurt my hip, im looking at forearm crutches again

[s-creations]

The Caring from Others

Gyro has never been good with emotions or understanding people. His younger years not helpful in those categories as he grew up. Good thing life wasn't ready to let him throw in the towel just yet.

Fandom: Ducktales ‘17         Rating: General Audience         Relationships/Pairings: Gyro Gearloose/Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera, Fenro       Warnings/Tags: Other characters are mentioned, How do emotions work? We’re learning today!, A little OOC.

The Father

Gyro doesn’t recall his childhood fondly.

Growing up in a small, back water farming town. A place where advancements, anything ‘new’, was labeled as dangerous. Deemed bad for everyone involved. His parents were less than thrilled when Gyro announced he wanted to become a scientist.

It wasn’t ‘honest work’.

A profession of false tests to make the common folk fearful of everything.

To make them more dependent on the government.

Even if Gyro suggested creating improved tools. Better way to help the farmers in making their jobs easier. Even safer. Every suggestion was just shot down. His parents claimed if their way had worked so well for so long, why change anything?

For 15 year Gyro had to work in secrecy. Knowing if any glimmer of creativity was found, it would be destroyed. Stomped out before it could reach their full potential. Salvation came when, after turning in so many applications, he was accepted into a high level university. Full scholarship and all. Everything was paid for, there was nothing to worry about.

Gyro should have felt some sting when his parents put up no fuss as he left. Happily letting their misfit son go off on his own journey. But Gyro honestly felt nothing but relief as he left that farmhouse behind for good.

While he now had the freedom to create in the open, university had its own issues to contend with. Like being mocked by his peers. Gyro was young and already set up with terrible social skills. It wasn’t better when fellow students deemed it a high priority to ostracize the chicken.  The other students weren’t thrilled that someone younger than them had accomplished so much in their early years. The chicken’s ideas being scoffed at when he presented or attempted to make some connection. Gyro was sure he would have dropped out long ago if not for the continuous support and offered safety from his professors.

It was during Gyro’s last year of university that he was introduced to Dr. Akita. Properly introduced anyway. Gyro was well aware of the other long before this meeting. Having studied the scientist’s work extensively. It was almost like a dream come true when Gyro was offered an internship. A way to work with his idol directly.

How quickly it all turned into a nightmare.

2-BO was Gyro’s biggest accomplishment and regret. The chicken labeled as a mad scientist and abandoned by Akita when the chicken’s creation went rogue. Gyro was thrusted into a world he had no idea how to traverse. He was turned away from every opportunity. All knowing his history, fearful of what damage he was still capable of.

Gyro couldn’t blame them for being so concerned. He was honestly fearful of his own inventions at this point.

It was a surprise when Scrooge McDuck of all people reached out to him. Wanting Gyro to present his ideas to the billionaire and his board members. It was a mounting pile of nerves that was continuously being added to as the day drew closer. The chicken was honestly shocked that he didn’t pass out while presenting. Or from the unnerving quiet when Gyro finished. The buzzards looked unimpressed. Which did not help Gyro’s as yellow eyes stared him down.

“Mr. McDuck, this was a complete waste of time,” the buzzard from the middle spoke, “We are not in need of new hires for the production line. Especially not one with such a...dangerous past.”

Gyro swallowed weakly.

“Nonsense. Who ever said about having Dr. Gearloose here to be part of our regular R&D team.” Scrooge commented casually. He stood from his large, cushioned chair. Making his way over to the quietly panicking scientist. “I’ve been in the market for a personal inventor for awhile now.”

“Please do not tell me this is for your wild excursions sir.”

“Bradford, you’re too worried about keeping finances. Personal and monetary gain cannot be achieved at the same time. I have enough monetary value...for the moment. Now is the time for personal gain.”

“If you are so determined to do this. Could you at least get someone less dangerous.”

Scrooge slammed his cane down. Causing all in the room to flinch.  “How can we expect growth if we cling to the past. Dr. Gearloose cannot be given redemption with no opportunity. I’ve seen his work. Both the bad and the good. I want him working with me.”

“Then I request a trial period. I would like to see a working, safe invention from the doctor here. If he does that, I won’t bring this up again.”

With a smirk, Scrooge gave a nod before facing Gyro. Who’d been honestly confused through the entire ordeal. Who just argues so freely with their boss?

“What do you say Dr. Gearloose? Think you’re up for the task?”

Steeling himself, Gyro gave a short nod. “Yes. Absolutely.”

He could do this. He knew he could. How many ideas had he sketched out when he was younger? Surely there were a number of inventions he could use to impress the board.

The good news was he was right. He was able to dig up multiple sketchbooks he had filled out from his college days that had yet to be used. Now came the trying task of deciding which invention he was going to use. One that was impressive enough to blow those buzzards away. But he could easily make it within the offered window of time. And that it was safe.

He wished Mr. McDuck would have been more forward with what he was looking for. The chicken would at least have a starting point.

Gyro really thought he had a winner when the month was up. More than a little confident when he entered the boardroom, all eyes on him. Giving his presentation with as much vibrato as he could. It was all going, in his mind, quite well. Even Mr. McDuck looked a little smug for Gyro’s success.

Then the machine was turned on.

It gave a warning whine, Gyro actually leaning in to see what the issue was. Letting out a choking sound as he was pulled back by Scrooge’s cane. All taking cover when the invention exploded. Leaving the pedestal it had been resting on and the wall behind it with dark scorch marks.

Gyro felt absolutely sick. Wide eyes staring at the spot where his achievement once sat. Only looking away when Bradford slammed his hands down.

“Unacceptable! Even a simple request created something so dangerous. I am putting my foot down on this Mr. McDuck.” The buzzard huffed as he stared Gyro down.

Scrooge, on his part, merely seemed unfazed by it all. Taking the time dust himself off. Pulling Gyro up and straightening him out as well before speaking. “Dr. Gearloose. Would you mind waiting for me in the labs. I need to have a quick discussion with the board.”

Gyro merely nodded. His voice stuck in his throat as he made his way to the elevator. Arms and stomach heavy with his failure. He knew he was fired. His one opportunity was gone. Gyro realized this was his best and only chance at getting any sort of job. A scientist who’s inventions caused more damage and cut off by Scrooge McDuck? Gyro would be lucky if he got a job at Radio Hut after all of this.

He collapses into the first chair he could find in the lab. Laying his glasses on a nearby flat surface and rubbing his temples. At this point in his life, Gyro wasn’t as emotionally blocked as he would later become. But he was learning that breakdowns were seen as weaknesses.

By his parents.

By his classmates.

By Dr. Akita.

So while he wanted nothing more than to hide away. Let this moment of emotional sorrow pass naturally and move on. Gyro had been conditioned to hold it in. Because what scientist falls apart?

He let out a slow breath as the elevator announced it’s arrival. Glasses on and standing as Scrooge made a direct line for him. While showing emotions weren’t allowed, Gyro learned that groveling was acceptable. Something Dr. Akita was quick to teach.

“I am sorry,” Gyro said quickly, “It wasn’t my intention for it to explode.”

“I had assumed so.”

“If given another chance-”

“Lad, you’re not fired.”

Gyro swallowed weakly. Stunned by the name and the announcement. “But...I almost killed everyone.”

“That’s a tad extreme. We would have been maimed. But kill? Doubtful.”

“It exploded!”

“I’ve experienced worse.”

“Mr. McDuck, with all due respect, you’re insane.”

Scrooge waved his hand. “No matter. Why don’t you take a seat.”

Doing as asked, Gyro looked up nervously, hands clenched together as he waited.

“As stated before, you’re not fired. Even after your explosive debut. I know Bradford is a stickler for keeping things ‘safe’. It’s one of the reasons I hired him onto the team. But he doesn’t understand that needed balance of risk and reward. I’m aware of your past. Which I’m sure you’re tired of hearing about at this point. We are our own worst critics. But I also know of your successes, your numerous successes.”

“I want to see you succeed. You deserve to see yourself succeed. I want to give you that opportunity. We’ll need to make sure you can give something to Bradford on occasion to keep him placated. But, other than that, you will have full creative freedom. How does that sound?”

Gyro swallowed hard, trying to keep himself stable. No longer fearful. Now extremely happy. However, he kept himself in check to remain professional. “Honestly, it’s too good to be true.”

Scrooge merely laughed. Clapping a hand on Gyro’s shoulder. “Well, get over that starstruck feeling quick lad. You have a lot of work ahead of you. I trust you can manage from here.”

As he watched Scrooge head back towards the elevator, Gyro realized something. “Um, sir?”

“Yes?”

“Your bet, with Bradford, you didn’t technically win.”

“Technically yes.”

“So...shouldn’t I be fired?”

A smirk appeared on the billionaire’s face, eyes seeming to shine. “Bradford needs to use his words better. He said if he wasn’t impressed, he wouldn’t discuss not keeping you. He never out right said I had to fire you. So, unfortunately, we’ll still need to hear his complaints. But he can’t fire you unless he gives me a good reason. Which I doubt he’ll be able to give.”

“I...thank you, Mr. McDuck.” Gyro weakly answered in disbelief.

“Don’t thank me. Just be the scientist I know you can be.”

“I will sir!”

Turning in the elevator to face Gyro, Scrooge gave a nod and smile. “I know lad. I trust you.”

_____________________________

The Brother

Gyro has always been a loner. He worked best this way. He was able to focus and didn’t have to constantly worry if his partner was doing their work properly. Plus, no one had really tried to include him in anything during his younger years. So he learned that working alone was better for him.

He was very much against the idea of having an intern working in his lab. Which Scrooge flat out refused to take Gyro’s refusal. Meaning the chicken couldn’t deny the hired help no matter how loudly he complained. With the unfortunate addition of the possible literal rendition of sunshine named Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera being hired a few weeks later. Which also meant an increased number of ‘visitors’ to this dangerous lab to see the brown duck. Doing nothing to help Gyro’s frantic state of keeping everything safe and making sure nothing became evil.

Scrooge was a common person to see there. After all, he owned the lab and it was attached to his place of work. Why wouldn’t he arrive to check on progress. To be shown what Gyro was working on. Now, however, the billionaire invited himself in to also check on Fenton. To make sure the intern was actually doing scientific research and not just cleaning the floors.

Launchpad had become friends with Fenton after that B.U.D.D.Y incident. The idiotic driver deciding that wasting time discussing some childhood show was perfectly fine. Gyro honestly tried to not become infuriated. But did he have to waste the interns' time! Even if the chicken didn’t want help from the other. It was the principle of the matter.

This also caused the blue nephew (Dew- something, whatever) to join Launchpad in the lab. Two children or beings with childlike personalities running around in the lab. A place filled with dangerous equipment. It was the perfect place to socialize in, Gyro sarcastically muttered to himself. And Scrooge actually encouraged it! Saying social engagement was good for both Fenton and Gyro. As if the chicken wanted to talk to someone who didn’t know what NaCl was.

So even he was surprised when he started to form a connection with Huey Duck. The red cladded nephew first started showing up to visit Fenton originally. The duckling particularly enamored with the scientist/superhero. Both talking for hours about new upgrades they could possibly make to the suit.

“With you permission, of course! D-Dr. Gearloose.” Fenton would assure with a sheepish smile. Which Gyro would respond with a mere rolling of his eyes.

As time went on and Fenton started to leave more and more due to hero calls, Huey started following Gyro around. The duckling deciding he wouldn't want to leave the labs quiet yet. And Huey wanted to pick the head scientist’s brain with his own ideas. At first, Gyro assumed his ‘wonderful’ personality would drive the other away. Huey, however, didn’t seem to care.

“You don’t have any siblings, do you.”

Gyro raised a brow at that. “Uh, no. At least I didn’t when I was actually living at home. At this point in my life, who knows. What’s your point.”

“My point being that your sullen attitude will have no effect on me. I’m the oldest of three. So, I have to deal with younger brothers. Sour attitudes are an old trick.”

“There really is no getting rid of you.”

“Nope.”

Gyro won’t lie, it was aggravating at first. He already had a shadow in the form of Fenton. Now the chicken was settled with another one that liked to constantly talk and didn’t fear him. Gyro only gave proper notice to the duckling when Fenton came to him with an upgrade for the Gizmosuit. One that sounded good.

“I thought you were busy with your toothbrush idea. When did you have time to think of this?”

“Actually, Huey came up with this.” Fenton answered.

“The red triplet?”

The duck smiled softly. “He’s been around here enough times. I think you can refer to him by his name.”

The chicken wasn’t overly fond of this idea. In his mind, the use of a name means Gyro cared enough to remember. And caring meant he wasn’t truly focused on his work. Something Akita was very adamant that Gyro learned.

But look where Gyro was now. Abandoned by his mentor.

Maybe Fenton was onto something. That felt strange to say.

“Very well. Perhaps I’ll have to try it your way.” Gyro was hit with a wave of confusion by the sudden sweeping sensation that went through his stomach. Fenton’s smile seeming to hit differently that day. But the head scientist filed that sensation away under ‘a later problem’.

Gyro should not have felt a sense of accomplishment seeing Huey’s eyes light up upon hearing his name. The chicken should have cut ties when the triplet sheepishly asked if Gyro could review Huey’s science project. And there should have been no sickening, worry feeling entering his veins when Huey arrived to the labs one day with a black eye.

Fenton, being the caring overbearing person he was, instantly panicked. “Huey! What happened to you? Are you alright?”

Gyro scoffed. “Of course he isn’t. He’s injured.”

“Do we have ice packs?”

“Freezer in the break room. I’ll get the first aid.” The chicken gestured for Huey to follow him. The duckling doing so without complaint. “Come on, take a seat. I need to see where else you’ve been hurt.”

Huey gave no response. Which was starting to become worrisome. The duckling was covered with small cuts and bruises. Gyro thankful it wasn’t worse… Because he didn’t want to waste the resources! Of course. What else would he be talking about.

Fenton came rushing back in. An ice pack wrapped in a hand towel was pressed against the black eyes. “Leave that there for a while. Do you need some pain medicine?”

“Already taken care of,” Gyro answered once again, “Now that all of that’s been taken care of. I think we’re owed an explanation.”

“Dr. Gearloose, just give him a moment.”

“I would like a reason for why Huey,” darn it Gyro said the name, “came to us instead to one of his uncle’s or other family members.”

“He can tell us when he’s ready. Give him a chance to relax.”

“And he can when he tells us- me what’s going on right now.”

“Dr. Gearloose-”

“I was able to skip a level in science.” The adult fell quiet hearing Huey’s whispered response.

“What?”

Huey gestured to his discarded bag. To which Fenton grabs it, handing it over. The duckling opened it and pulled out a familiar notebook that had been shoved into Gyro’s face numerous times. One that held Huey’s numerous sketches and ideas. Except it was destroyed. Practically torn to shreds, almost unrecognizable from what the head scientist had seen before.

“I showed my teachers my notebook. They were really impressed and talked to the principal about me skipping a level. It’s so I could enter the science fair that the upper level students can participate in. They said I had a lot of potential. Uncle Donald was happy, I was happy. My brothers teased me, but I know they were happy for me. I was kind of...blinded by my eagerness, I was under the assumption everyone would just be...okay with this.”

“Your classmates…” Gyro meant to have it sound like a statement. It instead sounded like a sickening realization.

But Huey merely nodded before continuing. “They’ve been writing things on my desk. Throwing things at me. I’ve been ignoring it…”

“Have they...hurt you before?” Fenton asked.

“No. I think they were tired that they hadn’t been getting a response from me like they wanted.”

“Have you told your uncle about this?”

“No… He’s already having a hard time finding a job and fixing the boathouse. I was hoping if I just ignored them, they’d leave me alone. ...I think I’m going to just drop back down to my grade level.”

“You are not going to let those punks win,” Gyro was surprised that he didn’t flinch as two sets of eyes snapped to him, “If you just go running back to your previous classes, you let them win. You’ll give them more fuel to think their actions are right. Especially if you haven’t told anyone about this. There will be no repercussions and they’ll continue to be terrible little creatures.”

“What do I do then?” Huey asked.

“You’re going to tell your uncle, your teachers, your principal, everyone you can. You’re going to come back with even better ideas. And This is a fight you can win because you have support. People who care about you...or something mushy like that.”

Huey gave a nod, rubbing his good eye and giving a blinding smile. “Okay...thank you, Dr. Gearloose.”

Gyro didn’t squirm weakly under the adoring look being sent his way. Or feel any sort of warmth blossoming in his chest knowing he’d helped in some way. Or become flustered at the smile aimed at him by Fenton, who’s eyes seemed to shine with happiness.

“I also know a side step that can break a femur. Very useful to know.”

“Dr. Gearloose!”

A few days later, Huey returned to the labs. Bright eyed and eager to show off his idea. No longer supporting injuries or secrets.

Gyro felt another save of fluster when Huey hugged his legs while Fenton laughed softly as he watched.

_____________________________

The Son

Gyro was surprised so much could change in one day. Well...one day-ish. It was more like three. Point being it felt as if all events had transpired in one day.

2-BO, now named Boyd, entered his life once more. The real boy having befriended Huey. Because of course that’s who would meet Gyro’s used-to-be biggest regret. Then he returned to Tokyolk after 10 years with Fenton, Huey, and Boyd in tow. The original intention was to destroy (Selene above he felt sick thinking about it now) Boyd. Get rid of his past.

Only for his entire perspective to be flipped. The mentor he thought was on his side had corrupted Gyro’s creation. Boyd was never given an option in his original purpose. Turned into a war machine that the chicken never wanted. And Gyro himself realized he was not the mad scientist so many had labeled him as.

He will admit, it was by sheer dumb luck and tapping into emotions he was sure had shriveled up long ago that it all ended so well. Akita was arrested. Going to be put to trial and allowing Gyro a chance to properly clear his name. Boyd overrode all corrupted coding, both Akita’s and Mark’s. Becoming the real little boy he was meant to be. All surviving and heading back home to Duckberg. As he rested in the cushioned plane seat, Boyd resting on his lap, Gyro was hit with two realizations.

The first topic (one which he honestly wanted to focus on much, much later) was an understanding of what Fenton meant to him. Between the fear of possible death and the burn of betrayal, Gyro had felt a deep distress watching the duck fight for his life. Fenton had given his all to protect the city and the citizens. And it almost cost him his life. Something Gyro never wanted to see again. The reason why was something that the chicken was not fully ready to review. Not yet. Possibly in the future, at some point. But he had another problem he needed to worry about now.

The second worry was equally confusing. Possibly because Gyro was still emotionally backed up. He wasn’t quite sure what was going to happen to Boyd. Gyro was made aware by Huey that the other real boy had been living with the Drake’s. A pompous rich family with an arrogant and rather disturbing child. A setting Gyro didn’t want Boyd growing up in. But what was the other option? Gyro himself? Someone who’s never known a stable family life and is not even close to the person Boyd once knew.

He could barely care for himself if Gyro was honest. Living off of multiple cups of coffee and cheap instant noodles. His sleep schedule was non-existent. Social skills were laughable. Gyro had honestly nothing to offer. It was terrible that there was not a better solution to all of this. Boyd deserved so much better than whatever his current care taking options could offer.

Gyro was shocked when, only a few days later, Boyd announced he wanted to live with the scientist.

“I- why?” Gyro winced at how harsh he sounded. But Boyd merely smiled back.

“I just found you. I don’t want to lose you again.”

Well, how was he supposed to say no to that? Gyro’s second bedroom, which once housed numerous boxes, was turned into a proper living space. He lived by a schedule that revolved around Boyd’s activities. Researching meals that both could enjoy and even learning how to properly cook. It was strange, but very rewarding. Gyro didn’t think it would affect him so much.

Until Fenton pointed it out.

“You’re really happy.”

It was a casual comment. But it gave Gyro pause. “What?”

Fenton stalled at that, flushing softly. “Sorry, I mean… I just noticed you seemed to be smiling more. And you’re more relaxed. You’re eating better and well rested. You just look really happy.”

Gyro leaned back in his chair. Tapping his pen as he thought the statement over. “I...suppose I am. Boyd really had changed me for the better, I think. Isn’t it strange...he was once my biggest regret. Now, I can’t see him not being in my life. I do worry that I’m not doing enough. Or that I won’t be what Boyd needs.”

Gyro flushed softly feeling a hand benign placed on his shoulder. Looking up at the beaming face Fenton. “You’re doing a wonderful job Gyro. Don’t doubt yourself.”

The scientist did all he could to not melt into the floor. He takes Fenton’s words to heart. Gyro had worked with Fenton long enough to know the duck wasn’t one to just give false praise. So, if Fenton thought the chicken was doing well, who was Gyro to question the given conclusion.

Gyro’s resolve was truly tested when he received a call from the school Boyd was attending. Apparently the real boy had been in a fight. A fight fight with another student.

Hearing this caused Gyro to panic. Worrying that possibly, maybe, the corrupted programming had returned. Wondering what could have happened for Boyd to act like this. Had Gyro said something sarcastic that the real boy had taken to heart? Was Boyd going to be taken away? Was this a sign that Gyro was not fit to be a caretaker?

The chicken was brought out of his spinning thoughts when someone grabbed his shoulders. Eyes connected to Fenton’s, who’s looking was concerning.

“Dr. Gearloose, you need to calm down. You’re drawing a conclusion with so little context. Just go to the school and hear what happened. Then you can react appropriately.”

“Right… Right, I need to get there.” The chicken mumbled weakly, eyes now frantically scanning the lab for his car keys. Fenton came to the rescue again when said items suddenly appeared in his hands.

“How about I drive.”

“...Yeah. That’s probably for the best.”

The drive was quiet. Fenton focused on the road while Gyro internally panicked. All too soon they were pulling into the school’s parking lot. The area was relatively empty as they walked up to the front entrance. Fenton made a quiet comment about the teachers having to park behind the building. It was a bit of a shock to run into Donald. The duck looked close to an angry snap.

“Hello Mr. Duck.” Fenton offered a smile.

“Fenton,” Donald’s eyes went to Gyro, “Boyd?”

Gyro nodded. “He was apparently in a fight. What about you?”

“Huey.”

What was going on?

The three walked in together, being directed by the secretary to where the principal’s office was. Dewey and Louie were waiting outside. The triplets wearing concerned looks when they looked over to the approaching adults. Donald gave them each a hug with a few words of encouragement before knocking on the imposing door. Gyro’s hand instantly shot out and grabbed onto Fenton’s as his heart raced. The duck gave no complaint. Even giving an encouraging squeeze as they walked in.

The large desk was the first thing to note. Large and imposing, telling all that the person sitting behind it to be respected. Even if the principal himself was a frail little bird. To the right sat a large bulldog boy supporting an arm with fabric wrapped around it. Gyro assumed there was a scrap of some kind underneath the fabric. A wiry female was dotting over the child while a brick wall of a man standing behind them both with his arms crossed.

To the left sat Huey and Boyd. The real boy seemed unharmed. Just appearing extremely nervous and worried. Huey, on the other hand, was supporting a black eye. A bag of ice already pressed on the injury. Gyro needed to research if there were long term effects of multiple black eyes.

Donald instantly broke away from the three, bending down to check on Huey. Gyro walked over to Boyd. Still having a hold on Fenton’s hand.

“Are you okay?” Gyro frantically asked. To which Boyd gave a sharp nod and fell still again. Deciding that was enough of an answer for now, the scientist moved himself and Fenton to behind the seats.

“Thank you all for coming,” the principal began, “I realize this was all on short notice. But we do not tolerate fighting. According to numerous student witnesses, there was a verbal dispute that turned violent during recess. One that resulted in Dennis benign pushed and Huey receiving a black eye. Before I continue, I will ask that you hold all comments and questions until the end. Is this agreeable?”

All adults nodded.

“Very well.” Reaching for something in his drawer, the principal pulled out a cell phone protected by a faded green case. “Louie Duck was able to record the incident and it lines up with the events the other students have provided. Dennis here was apparently using verbal harassment and inappropriate language against Boyd. To which Huey attempted to defuse the situation by walking away. Dennis has responded by throwing a punch. To what ends, I’m unsure, and Dennis has not provided an answer for his actions.”

The chair Huey was sitting in let out a loud noise of protest. Donald gripping the back of it tightly.

“And you well to continue, Mr. Duck?”

Donald nodded.

“Very well. Boyd here reacted to this by pushing Dennis away. The scrap on his arm caused by his fall. Mr. and Mrs. Morris, I’m unsure as to where your son has learned such language and actions. I would advise you to seriously monitor the media and outside influence your son consumes.”

“Oh absolutely,” Mrs. Morris answered readily, “Don’t you fret. We will have a stern talking to Dennis when we get home.”

“That is good to hear. Now, does anyone have any questions about this matter.”

“What exactly did young Dennis here say to Boyd. If I may ask.” Gyro’s voice was even. But, if Fenton squeezing his hand was any indication, his tone was dripping with venom.

“I won’t say specifics as I don’t wish to repeat them. Dennis was making comments about Boyd’s...past. Something about him being dangerous. As well as some...homophobic comments.”

Fenton squeezed Gyro’s hand again, the chicken shaking now. With fear or rage, he couldn’t tell. His own attention had snapped over to Mr. Morris. The father still having his arms crossed and imposing. But Gyro noticed the other’s eyes flitted down to Gyro’s and Fenton’s joined hands. The scowl seemed to become deeper once the father was caught in the action.

“I see. I’m very concerned as to where Dennis would have picked up language like that.” Gyro held eye contact with Mr. Morris until the principal cleared his throat.

“If there are no more questions… Mr. and Mrs. Morris, the actions, both verbal and physical, cannot go unpunished. We do not tolerate this kind of behavior. Dennis will be given one weeks suspension. As well as a written apology letter to both Huey and Boyd. I would also recommend setting up some meetings with the school counselor.”

“Understandable, very reasonable.” Mrs. Morris nodded while Mr. Morris was shaking with, no doubt, rage.

“Very well. Mr. Gearloose-”

“Dr. Gearloose.”

“Ah, apologizes. Dr. Gearloose, I’m aware Boyd was merely defending Huey. However-”

“You’re going to give him detention because he pushed Dennis. Defending himself in a violent way.”

“Ah...yes. Huey will receive no punishment. I hope we’re all understanding of this course of action?” Another round of sharp nods, “Very well, I won’t keep you all any longer. Mr. Duck, here is Louie’s phone. Thank him for providing me with his phone. All are excused for the rest of the day.”

It was tense walking out. The Morris’ were leading the way. But Gyro kept a tight grip on Fenton as Mr. Morris kept glancing back with a dark scowl. Something Gyro was not a fan of. It didn’t reach a head until they entered the parking lot. Away from the front doors and the cameras.

Mr. Morris turned and stalked over to the mismatched group. Gyro more than ready for the awaiting confrontation.

“I know you, Gearloose. I’ve seen your name in the paper before. You’re an absolute menace in every possible way.” Eyes darted back down to the still clasped hands.

“Yet I’ve accomplished more than you could ever hope for in your miserable life. Your need for constant approval has clearly made you bitter. Because you’d rather stomp out any spark of joy than attempt to change yourself or your family. If this incident was any indication.”

Mr. Morris let out a low growl. Gyro fully expecting to be decked as well. Only to be shocked when Fenton stepped between the two. The larger looking down with a raised brow.

“And who are you.”

“He’s my emotional support duck.” Gyro answered.

“Do you really think a confrontation on school grounds will reflect well in any way,” Fenton said, “I would suggest you step away from this now.”

Mr. Morris popped his shoulder, his scowl set. From behind, Mrs. Morris gave a clear and harsh cough. Her husband benign sent a hard stare of his own when he turned to look back. It was a silent, but brief conversation between the two of them that ended with the husband shuffling back over to his family. No one from the group relaxed until the pink mini-van drove away from the parking lot.

“So what exactly was your plan here?” Gyro frowned at Fenton, “I don’t see the Gizmoduck armor on you.”

“My body reacted before I could really...think.” The duck laughed sheepishly.

The head scientist merely rolled his eyes before turning to Boyd. Who looked back with worried eyes. “You okay?”

The real boy shifted nervously. “He called me a weapon and...I really tried not to fight. I tried to ignore him. But he...he pushed Huey and I got really mad… What if he was right?”

“He absolutely is not right.”

“Gyro.” Fenton whispers, in the same tone that told the chicken he was sounding harsh. The head scientist was thrown off for a moment hearing his name and not his normal title. Tuck that moment of broken mind away for later.

Gyro let out a slow breath before kneeling down and placing a hand on Boyd’s shoulder. “Boyd, you know who you are. I know who you are. You are not a weapon or a mindless machine. You are a real little boy. And you need to remember that, because you are going to meet a lot of people like Dennis. Closed minded and very ignorant. Saying anything they can to make you feel miserable and make them feel better.”

“However...you have people in your life who know you. Truly know you. Those are the people you need to listen to. Because they are going to make sure you believe in yourself. Understand?”

Boyd blinked as he thought the statement over. Eyes darting over to Huey, the triplets watching as Donald shouted at someone over the phone. No doubt having called up the principal or someone higher up in the schooling system to complain about the interaction in the parking lot. The red cladded triplet looked over to Boyd, giving a small smile and a wave. Which the real boy returned happily.

“I understand, Dad.”

Gyro swallowed weakly, pulling the small form closer while trying to keep his emotions in check. A weight on his shoulder drew his attention back to Fenton. Who had bent down as well with a smile on his face. The chicken smiled back in appreciation.

_____________________________

The Lover

Gyro knew this realization was a long time coming. No matter how many times he tried to deny it. Tell himself emotions were useless weights. He reached the point where he couldn’t hide the fact any longer.

Gyro had fallen in love with Fenton.

Which is not something he really wanted to focus on.

Gyro was sure he was becoming addicted to Fenton’s laugh. The head scientist had a mental category that each laugh fell into. A hard exhale through the nose was a sarcastic laugh if Fenton found something ridiculous but didn’t want to say anything. Hiding behind his clipboard with shoulders shaking meant he found something online but didn’t want to disturb the quiet. Small chortles seemed reserved for Gyro, the duck finding the head scientist’s dry humor funny. His full laugh was used with abandonment when he knew he wouldn’t be reprimanded for being so loud. Which was honestly more often than not anymore. Gyro found he loved how the sound would echo in the labs. It was almost like music.

There was also a list of body ticks that always caught Gyro’s eyes. Gently tapping the eraser of his pencil against his bill as he thought through a new problem. Tilting his head to the side with his hip occasionally cocked to the side as he looked over a blueprint. His brow would furrow when he concentrated hard on a situation. The top of his tongue would poke out when he reached ‘Gyro level’ of focus. His nose would crinkle when he silently found something amusing or disgusting. Which could only be determined by how brightly his eyes would shine.

Gyro could privately say, to himself, in his head, that Fenton honestly kept him grounded. The number of insults he would have hurled at the media dwindled when he thought of how disappointed the duck would be. The chicken had substantially cut back on the cups of coffee he would consume in one day when Fenton made a comment about being worried about his heart. He was surprised when he went to the duck to look over a new design, wanting feedback. Fenton beaming with each new time he was included in something. Gyro would counter saying Scrooge had warned the chicken he wasn’t utilizing Fenton to his fullest ability. Which was partially true. But he would be lying if Gyro wasn’t also looking for that blinding smile of adoration to be sent his way.

So, yes. After all the mental and physical lists he created. The pros and cons to having a relationship with anyone. Countless nights where he would lie awake knowing he was nowhere near worthy enough to have Fenton. Gyro knew he was in love with the duck.

The problem was moving forward with this revelation.

In all honesty, admitting it just made it all more bothersome. When Gyro still had his walls up, he could blame the rapid heartbeat as some symptoms of an onset illness. Just push the problem away to keep working. But having Boyd back in his life made him realize how bottling his emotions had become so damaging. Making Gyro more aware of what he was missing.

So now he was left to tread water. Wondering who he trusted well enough to ask for help.

There weren’t that many options with the Duck family. He and Donald had never really gotten along before the Spear of Selene incident. And Gyro was sure the duck still held some hostility towards him about the incident. While Gyro would consider Della the closest person to be a ‘childhood’ friend, she was dealing with her own issues. The kids were far too young to be considered as an option. Launchpad only had two rocks rolling around in that empty head, so any advice from him was not worth the headache. M’ma Cabrera? ...Selene above no. Even Gyro wasn’t that insane.

So that only left...Scrooge McDuck. This could not be considered a work appropriate topic. But the chicken was honestly at his wits end and needed help. The billionaire was his last and only option. It was with a heavy stone in his stomach that Gyro approached the familiar office doors. Knocking on them and only entering when he heard the familiar call out to do so.

“Ah, Gyro! What can I do for you?” Scrooge asked as the chicken sat across from him.

“I...need some advice.”

Scrooge paused in his writing, raising a brow as his full attention went to Gyro. “Advice on what?”

The chicken swallowed weakly. “Uh...romantic advice?”

“I see…” The billionaire placed his pend down. Clearing his throat, Scrooge sat up a little straighter in his chair. “Well, I will admit that I have not been very successful in my own love life. But I can offer help in any way I can. So, who’s the lucky person?”

Gyro swallowed again, feeling his face become flushed at the question. Doing all he could not to groan, he answered, “It’s Fenton.”

“The Gizmoboy? Really?”

Gyro nodded, not looking at Scrooge. His face on fire. “I just don’t know what to do. I’m aware that things have been going well and I don’t want to ruin it. But I feel like I’m going crazy! My heart is always going so fast when he’s near. I want to tell him, I really do. But...I also don’t think I’m the kind of person he deserves…”

Scrooge let out a heavy sigh as Gyro’s shoulders slumped. “I won’t act as if I’ve known you for your entire life. We both know I haven’t. But I have seen you at your lowest point and every triumph you’ve accomplished along the way. I’ve seen you slowly close in on yourself. It pained me to watch because I wasn’t sure how to help…”

“Let’s be honest sir. We both have not been in great positions emotionally for a while.” Gyro commented weakly. One that got a laugh out of Scrooge.

“This is true. But, the point is you have made a change in the past few months. I know you’ve built walls around yourself. I also know...bringing those walls down can be a terrifying idea. You’ve already started thanks to that boy of yours. Even if it was unintentional.”

“But what if he says no? I don’t know… There are too many variables that could offer a negative outcome.”

“That’s the risk of life. The good and the bad.”

“So what if he says no.”

“Then you move forward.”

“...I don’t know if I will recover.”

“Gyro, you’re putting the horse before the cart. And we’re still building the cart.”

Letting out a small groan, Gyro rubbed his forehead before looking back up. “Okay. So I’m taking a risk. We’ve determined that. But what do I say to him?”

“You just ask him.”

“Could you please not make it sound so easy.”

“It sounds easy because it is. You’re asking Fenton out on a date. Not defusing a bomb.”

“Yet the latter seems easier to accomplish.”

“Take the risk Gyro. Don’t waste your life wallowing on the ‘what-ifs’. You’ll regret it.”

Gyro left the office with not many answers and a pounding headache. But with determination to try and make this work in some way.

The bottom drawer of his desk was now filled with blueprints. Not for machines, but the best plan to ask Fenton out. The perfect places to go. All ranging from the cliche to the outlandish. What day would work best. His feathers became further ruffled as he worked. After a week of no progress, Gyro knew this wasn’t going to work. No reliable variables or knowledgeable outcomes. He just needed to do this. Because Gyro couldn’t stay in this mindset anymore.

Gyro’s first move was to wait for the lab to be empty. If he was going to crash and burn, he didn’t want an audience. Once that was achieved, he took a deep breath to settle his heart (didn’t work) and walked over to Fenton’s desk. The duck breaking from his thoughts hearing Gyro clear his throat.

“Hello Dr. Gearloose. What can I help you with?”

Gyro’s heart seemed to pick up it’s pace. Between the smile and wide eyes, the chicken felt like he was melting. In a good way. If that makes sense. None of this did.

Emotions were just so messy.

Darn it Gyro, focus!

“I...was wondering if you would be interested in conducting a...social experiment with me.”

“Oh, uh, sure! Of course. What’s the experiment?”

Another deep breath. “There is a new cafe that’s opened up recently near where I live. I am curious if you would like to join me in trying the products they offer. Sometime this weekend, possibly Saturday? Possibly trade some stories?”

Fenton’s head tilted to the side as Gyro spoke. A small smile forming as the other finished. “Dr. Gearloose-”

“Gyro. You...you can call me Gyro.”

“Okay, Gyro. Would it be safe to assume that this is an ask for a date?”

“That...would be a safe assumption.”

“Then I accept.”

Gyron was honestly shocked he was able to remain standing. Relief hitting him quickly upon hearing the answer. “Good, good.”

“How about I drop by your apartment around 8? Have breakfast at this cafe?”

“That’s acceptable.”

“Good. I look forward to this Saturday.”

“I am as well.”

One date turned to two. Which turned into three. Which became having dinner at the Crackshell-Cabrera household. Gyro was shocked when he received M’ma Cabrera’s blessing in  dating her son. But not before getting a stern warning of what would happen if Fenton was hurt in any way.

“I think that was successful.” Fenton commented as they were sharing their good-byes for the evening on the front porch.

“Yeah. Nothing says accepting like a talk that ends in the threat of my kneecaps.” Gyro smiled softly hearing the other chuckle.

“Well, she may or may not be upset still about your MoonVasion comment. You know. About throwing Gizmoduck into the masses as a sacrifice.”

“I may now also regret that comment…”

Another laugh from Fenton, the duck reaching down to gently take Gyro’s hand. Placing a kiss on the back of it before holding it close. “I’m glad you came. I think M’ma really appreciates it as well.”

“I’m happy I came as well… You know...I don’t say or do things that intentionally hurt you. I did at first but-”

“Gyro.”

“Yes?”

“I know you better now than I did before.”

And the matter was dropped.

The first kiss milestone occurred at the park around the holidays. Both bundled up against the cold and falling snow as they admired the strung holiday lights hanging from the numerous trees. Arms hooked, Fenton led the way with wide eyes. Giving small comments about the lights and how lovely the park was decorated. Gyro was admiring the duck himself. Loving how the lights fell over the brown plumage. Fenton eventually caught on that the chicken wasn’t looking at the light as he was. Flushing softly seeing eyes on him.

“W-What?” The duck laughed, a small smile forming.

“You’re beautiful.” Gyro responded softly. Fenton’s eyes widened at the comment before softening into another smile. Gyro put up no restraint as he was gently pulled down. Fenton leaning up and meeting the chicken in a gentle kiss. It was only a few seconds, but Gyro loved every moment of it.

The utterance of the three words came a few months into them dating. Fenton had arrived back to the labs after an intense battle to find a worried chicken. Arms crossed and first aid kit in his hands. There was a sharp point set to the couch and Fenton understood the silent command. Stepping out of the suit and plopping onto the cushioned furniture. Gyro made it clear he was less than pleased at the moment.

“What were you thinking.” The chicken snapped. Hand shaking as he attempted to gently clean the cuts.

“People needed help.”

“Why is that your answer for everything and why do you think it’s a reasonable one.”

“Because it’s true. I have to defend Duckberg.”

“Even against crazies coming from St. Canard? Can’t that purple caped idiot keep them in his neck of the woods.”

Fenton smiled softly. “Villains are people too. You can’t control everything.”

“Don’t tell me that. You know the first thing I’m going to do is make something that controls people to make them leave this place.”

“Gyro, that’s unethical.”

“Well, maybe if you would stop being your heroic self and making me worry.”

“I understood the risks when I took this position. As did you. As long as I have you to come back to, I’ll be okay.”

Gyro huffed as he finished up. Turning to start packing up the supplies. “I love you, but you can be such an idiot sometimes.”

He didn’t catch it until Fenton grabbed his hand suddenly. The chicken looked up to find eyes filled with shock staring at him. “What...did you say?”

Gyro frowned, thinking back to his previous words. Face becoming full blown red when he realized what he’d just uttered. “I… Is it too soon to say that? I’m sorry, I just- I’ve been thinking it a lot and every time you go to your superheroing, I think how I’m not going to get to say it. But I know we haven’t dated for a year and-”

“I love you too.”

Swallowing his words down, Gyro’s head snapped back up to look Fenton in the eyes. They sat, staring at each other in disbelief before Fenton chuckled. Gyro shares his own sheepish grin before leaning forward to claim a kiss from Fenton.

It was close to a year of them dating that Fenton moved in with Gyro and Boyd. The real boy thrilled to have the other doctor living with them. The once small, cold apartment was now teeming with life. Mornings were a rush to get ready for the day and to be out the door before they were all late. The kitchen filled with warmth and wonderful smells as Fenton makes dinner with Gyro helping where he could. Meals being shared at the small dining table before watching a few shows until bedtime. Gyro and Fenton taking turns reading to Boyd before he powered down for the night.

It was a comfortable routine. Something Gyro thought he would’ve hated. But with each day ending with him and Fenton in their shared bed. The younger laying his head on Gyro’s chest and long arms wrapped around him. The chicken realized he wouldn’t want it any other way.

“I think we should buy a house.” Gyro suddenly commented into the darkness. Hearing Fenton hum softly as he was pulled from sleep.

“Where’d this come from?” The duck mumbled weakly.

“I’m not really sure. The boring suburban life seems pleasant after the craziness of...everything. What do you think?”

“I like the idea,” Fenton yawned widely before pressing closer, “We could get a big yard for Boyd and Lil Blub to play in. Neighborhood kids to become friends with. I think Della mentioned about getting a house in a quiet suburb. We could ask her.”

“That place won’t be quiet once that family moves in.”

“Oh hush. Wouldn’t it be nice to have Huey as a neighbor? Boyd would like it.”

“I suppose so…”

Fenton gave another hum, Gyro noticing the other’s breathing was slowing down again. He leaned down to place a kiss on Fenton’s forehead. “I love you.”

The duck laughed softly. Placing his own weak kiss on Gyro’s neck. “Love you too…”

Gyro let out a slow breath, a smile forming on his face. Eyes on the ceiling as he listened to Fenton fall asleep. A hand reached up to preen a few feathers as he pulled the other closer. Heart beating happily as he settled down further into the bed. A smile still on his face as he fell asleep as well.

[youbloodymadgenius]

Brother (a Modern!Ivar fic with an unexpected Ragnarsson as special guest)

A/N: This is my entry to @maggiescarborough​ celebration. Happy early Anniversary, love 💝

I’m quite proud of this one! So, please, I know it’s not a reader insert, but give it a try, give it a chance 🙏🏽

Prompt in bold, as usual.

@inforapound​ - I know how much i owe you. Thank you 💞

Let me know if you want to be tagged 😊

Summary: One of Ivar's brothers was in a car accident. How will Ivar react?

Warning: description of physical injuries; mention of a car crash; medical and surgical inaccuracies.

Words: 2331

As soon as he spots Doctor Mikelsson, Ivar gets up, wincing at the throbbing pain in his legs as he steps closer to the renowned surgeon. 

 "Doc," he says, giving him a slight nod, "How is he?"

 The surgeon sighs tiredly and slowly rubs his palms down his scrubs-clad thighs. "I'd say he has been very lucky. As far as I know, it could have been much worse. Car versus truck is never a winning combo, at least for the car's driver. His car has been completely destroyed, from what I hear. It must have been a terrible wreck. "

"That’s an understatement." Ivar grumbles under his breath, shivering as he struggles to get the images of the crash out of his mind. The pictures he saw were so vivid, he could still hear the screams and ambulance sirens that had undoubtedly filled the accident scene. Closing his eyes for a brief instant, he shakes his head, forcing himself to focus on the here and now. 

 "That's not what I was asking, Doc. How is he?" He insists, emphasizing the last three words as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, leaning heaviliy on his crutch, physical and mental discomfort obvious on his face.

 "Well, he's not so bad, all things considered. As I said, it could have been much worse. He's stable and his condition isn't life-threatening. It's serious, though."

 Ivar rolls his eyes, getting impatient. "Straight to the point, Doc, please! And no need to sugarcoat it." His commanding voice is sharp and stern, his tight-lipped expression giving away what little patience he has. 

 "Okay, Ivar." Doctor Mikelsson gives him a weary smile, a hand up in surrender. "About his upper body first. Aside from several bruises, he had a sprained wrist and a cracked rib. The last one will be painful for awhile but it won't be an issue in the long run. His lower body, on the other hand…" The surgeon frowns, visibly gathering his thoughts. "He suffered a double tibia-fibula fracture of his right leg and his pelvis has been multi-fractured; therefore I had to stabilize it with plates and screws. To allow his pelvis to recover, your brother will be bed- and then wheelchair-bound for at least six weeks, maybe more. Not that it matters, anyway, given the condition of his left leg."

 Hearing those words, Ivar shudders. "How…" His voice comes out strangled and he clears his throat. "How is it? You… You could save it, right? That's why I… had him transferred here."

 Putting a soothing hand on Ivar's forearm, the doctor nods. "Yes, I saved it. It was quite a challenge, I must admit. His leg has been severely shattered during the crash, literally crushed by one of the truck's tires. From the top of his thigh to the tips of his toes, not a single bone was intact. I do understand why my colleague from the public hospital wanted to amputate it, you know?"

 "But you saved it?" Ivar asks once again, his free hand running nervously through his disheveled hair.

 "I did." The doctors answers soberly before explaining. "I reduced the largest fractures, using rods and plates there as well. I couldn't avoid putting an external fixator though, his leg was too damaged. He'll still need several more surgeries, but he gets to keep his leg."

 "Thanks, Doc." Ivar adorns a slight smile which doesn't completely reach his eyes. "And what about recovery? He will fully recover, right?" A frown creasing his forehead, Ivar bites his inner cheek, worried and concerned. 

 Grimacing, the surgeon lets out a deep breath. "Ivar, I'm not sure you understand the extent of the damage. It's not just about a couple of broken bones. We're talking about devastating injuries that could have – that should have – resulted in amputation. If you ask me if your brother will walk again, I can't be sure yet, but I'm quite confident he will. Will he need walking aids, like cane, crutch and or leg brace? It's too soon to say. But to be perfectly honest with you, it's quite likely." Seeing Ivar wince, the surgeon gives him an apologetic look. "Sorry Ivar. Be sure I did my best."

 "Don't be sorry, I know you did. It's just a lot to take in. Does he… Does my brother know?"

 Scrunching his face, the surgeon hesitates, unsure. "More or less. I talked to him in the recovery room but he was a bit dazed from the drugs and the nurse had to increase the morphine because he was in pain. He was completely out of it after that. He'll probably sleep through the night so I'll talk to him first thing in the morning." Taking a step back, Doctor Mikelsson stares at Ivar from head to foot, noticing how the blue-eyed man favors his left leg, his right foot barely touching the floor. "You should head home and get some rest, Ivar. I'm pretty sure you've been wearing these braces for far too long." Giving him a light pat on the shoulder, he shrugs. "I'll do the same anyway. Guess I'll see you tomorrow. Good night, Ivar." 

 ***

 Opening the door as quietly as possible, Ivar watches his sleeping brother. He's awfully pale, his frail frame so small on the hospital bed, his right leg in a cast, his left propped up on a huge pillow. Ivar frowns at the sight of the fixator, which makes him think of a barbaric tool more than a medical device. He suddenly feels grateful that he never needed one. 

 Trying to not make any noise, he crosses the room without using his crutch, struggling and wincing with every step. He's successful but fails to stifle a hiss as he sits down on the chair next to his brother's bed. He looks at him, worried, and sees his eyes flutter open. 

 "Ivar?" His brother's voice is hoarse and the stunned look on his face unmistakable. "Why did you come here? To make fun of me?" There's no fight or fire in his eyes, only exhaustion and sadness. 

 Ivar shrugs, a light smile playing on his lips. "Can't say the thought didn't cross my mind." He lowers his head one second, snorting, and when he raises it again, it's with a serious look on his face. "Guess I wanted to know how you are doing." His voice is barely a whisper and he doesn't look his brother in the eye. 

 "What did you say?" Ivar's brother's tone is suspiscious, dripping with disbelief. "Since when are you concerned about that??" He tries to sit up but groans in pain, collapsing back onto the bed. 

 Worry wrinkling his forehead, Ivar instantly gets up, putting a hand on his brother's shoulder. "Hold still, will you? And seriously, tell me, how are you feeling? How is your pain? I mean, on a scale from zero to ten, zero meaning no pain at all and ten an unbearable pain. Tell me, how bad is it?"

 Ivar's brother rubs his cheek with two fingers, squinting his eyes, before letting out a long and audible sigh. "Four I think, maybe five."

 Ivar – who lives on a daily basis with a six or seven rated pain – has to remind himself that his pain treshold is much higher than that of ordinary people. "Okay," he begins softly, "four or five might still be tolerable but don't let it get higher. Look," he points at a small medical bulb with his index finger, "that's a morphine pump, just squeeze it once and let the magic work. Trust me, it's terribly efficient. It will make you a bit dizzy but it'll be worth it." As to illustrate his point, Ivar squeezes the pump and he can see the relief washing over his brother's face almost instantly as the pain goes numb.

 "I spoke with the doctor who did the surgery this morning. Did you?" Ivar's brother asks, a frown on his face and biting his lower lip.

 "I did." Ivar answers without saying anything more. An uneasy silence settles in, eventually broken by Ivar's brother‘s shaky voice. "So, you know there's a chance…" His words catch in his throat and he swallows loudly. "What if…" Overcome with anxiety, he's unable to say more.

 "Hey, stop that, brother!" Ivar almost scolds him."You will walk again. It may be hard, but you'll get there. For now, you should be thankful for being alive. You know what they say… Where there's life, there's hope. So please, stay positive and fucking look at me if you need to. I was able to walk, so I'm pretty sure you can too."

 Ivar's brother looks at him for a long time, a puzzled look on his face. "Karma is a bitch, isn't it?" He eventually says sheepishly, a sad smile crossing his lips. "You can say it, I won't get mad, you know? I probably deserve this, after all I did…" He sighs, lowering his gaze, but Ivar doesn't allow it, raising his brother's head with a finger on his chin. 

 "Listen carefully, brother. No one deserves to suffer. Neither you nor anyone else. Karma has nothing to do with what happened to you. You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time, nothing more. The truck driver was sleep-deprived and didn't see the red light. It sucks, I get it, but it was just bad luck that you were at this crossroad at the same time that he was."

 Ivar's brother just nods lightly, and then yawns, rubbing his eyes. "You should rest, brother. I'll be back soon." Ivar grabs his crutch but his brother wraps his hand around his wrist. 

 "Wait… You told me why you were here but there's one thing I don't understand. Why are you the one here? Where are our–" He stops as another yawn cuts him off.

 Ivar, however, understands his unfinished question. "Last time I heard from our dear brothers, they were going on a business trip to Cancun. Seeing as it is the beginning of Spring Break in the US, I'm pretty sure calling it a fuck trip would be more accurate. It also means that you're stuck with me for a couple of weeks. Sorry about that." Tilting his head, Ivar gives his brother a semi-amused look. "Anyway, now, you're going to rest,” Ivar strokes his brother's hair with unexpected gentleness, "and in the meantime I'm going to make arrangements for your future."

 "What… what does that mean?" Ivar's brother babbles, the drug-induced dizziness hitting him with full force.

 "It means that as soon as you'll be discharged, you'll be moving in with me." Ivar says casually, shrugging, as he heads towards the door.

 "Moving in with… you? But… why?" The questioning tone of his brother is obvious and Ivar turns back to look at him. "It was either this, or the rehab center. Trust me, you'll be better taken care of with me. My apartment is fully accessible, I've got a real PT room and Sven, my longtime PT, is the best in all of Scandinavia. You'll also probably need an OT, and it happens that I know the best OT too. Flora is her name, she helped me a lot a few years ago. So yeah, you will be in good hands, I promise. As good as Doctor Mikelsson's hands."

 Confused, Ivar's brother looks at him questioningly.  "Doctor Mikelsson is… your…" Obviously befuddled, his speech is now slurred and he can't find the right word.

 "My surgeon, yes,” Ivar completes the sentence. "Has been for the last twelve years. That's why I had you transferred here, in this clinic."

 Dumbfounded, Ivar's brother stares wide-eyed. "I don't… I didn't rela… realize I've been transf… transferred. And that… that was…"

 "At my request, yes." Ivar nods. "Because the Doc is more than a surgeon. He's a magician. He truly can work wonders. Me standing and walking is enough to prove it." Raising his head proudly, Ivar smiles at his brother reassuringly. 

 "Why… why did… you do… this for… me?" Ivar's brother sputters, exhaustion written all over his face. Yet, he fights it, his curiosity prevailing above all else. 

 Ivar shrugs once again, giving his brother an airy wave of his hand as to let him know that what he's doing is no big deal. "I know your pain, brother. I know the struggles you'll be facing. You have a long road ahead and I know how scary it might be. You won't be alone. I won't allow it. We'll get through this together, because no one should have to deal with such things alone." Ivar almost hiccups, his heart is suddenly in his throat as a wave of painful childhood memories floods his mind. He pushes them away, gritting his teeth, because now is not the time. Focusing once more on the blond in front of him, he speaks again, in a firm tone. "So, brother, you won't be. Never. I will be right next to you at every step, literally. We'll make our own version of 'the blind leading the blind', you know?" Ivar scratches the back of his neck, a half-smile on his lips, before taking a deep breath. "And you may be an asshole most of the time, but you're still my brother. That's why I do it. It's as simple as that. Sleep now, we'll talk later."

 Hand on the doorknob, Ivar hears a faint whimper. Looking backwards, he's surprised as he sees a single tear running down his brother's cheek. "Thank you, Ivar." His brother says with a trembling voice, clearly shaken up by Ivar's words.

 Ivar gives his brother a genuine smile, suddenly struck by the thougth that it's probably the first genuine smile he's given his brother in years. "You're welcome, Sig," he says sincerely as he has to blink back his own tears, an unfamiliar but warm feeling in his chest, "Sleep now, I'll be back soon. I promise."

 🛡💖🛡

@maggiescarborough​ @honestsycrets​ @lisinfleur​ @waiting4inspiration​ @saldelys​ @gearhead66​ @readsalot73​ @milkkygirls​ @xbellaxcarolinax​ @shannygoatgruff​ @zuxiezendler​ @a-mess-of-fandoms​ @hecohansen31​ @lonewolf471​ @ivarthebloodyking​ @fuckindiva​ @tgrrose​ @didiintheblog​

[dholwrites]

Little Heart

Notes: Moments between the Crystal Exarch and his son while the Warrior is away. Playing dress-up, eating meals, and telling bed time stories. For @blood--hunter and written for pre 5.3 patch! Relationship: G’raha Tia / Unnamed Warrior of Light Rating: G - General. (Very high fluff content) 

Inspiration link Ao3 Link

“Do you have everything you need? Food, clothes, weapon?” G’raha shifts back and forth on his feet, eyes following the Warrior of Light. His Warrior of Light. The thought of it still sends butterflies fluttering around in his stomach. All his fussing is easily hushed with a simple ‘yes,’ your face twisted to barely suppress your smile at his fretting. You reach out to pet the child nestled to his chest, tiny kitten ears poking out of the hood of his onesie and wiggling constantly as his hands grasp at the decorations on his father’s robes.

You have left them both alone before; usually leaving to help the newly inspired Warriors of Light, or to the Source to check on the Scions. However, those trips were usually a day at most. This is the first time you have had to leave for a week, and it’s a test of how well everyone can handle the situation. Problems of the Source wait for no one, not even the Warrior of Light.

“Wey,” G’raha whispers, breaking into a smile when he gets his son’s attention. Wey’s innocent red eyes look back and forth between his parents, trying to figure out what is happening. “Do you want to say ‘See you soon’?” With an eager nod from him, G’raha easily sets the child on his feet and watches as he waddles up to you.

“Byebye, I love you.” His little voice barely reaches your ears as he squeezes you as hard as he can, trying to prevent you from leaving. G’wey then mashes the bottom half of his face against your cheek for a ‘kiss’ and waits for you to do the same. The pout on his face lightens when you press your lips to his chubby cheeks, giggling when your hair tickles his face.

G’raha smiles at the scene, wishing that he could take a picture and cherish the moment for the rest of his life. He steps up to press his own kiss onto your waiting lips, chest to chest, his hand reaching out to grip your shirt and his tail unconsciously wrapping itself around your leg. And just like that, you step through the portal and vanish.

  Day 1

It’s the first breakfast without you there, and G’wey is already searching for you. The kitten has made a point to ignore the breakfast sitting in front of him; instead, he kicks his legs impatiently and attempts to look into the entryway to see if he could catch a peek of you coming down the hall. 

“Where did they go?” G’wey looks up at his father from a high chair, clearly confused about why you haven’t left your room yet. He manages to wiggle himself from the confines of his chair; just as he stands on his seat, his balance starts to slip and he nearly topples over before G’raha catches him with a wave of magic. Unfazed, the child continues to grasp at the air for answers. “Dada? Where are they? They were here yesterday.” 

G’raha couldn’t help but wonder if this is how he looked when he was still a baby, a red-haired kit with mismatched eyes asking every question under the sun. “They left yesterday, remember? So we’ll have to wait.” G’raha crouches down to give his beloved son a kiss on the top of his head. Gears turn in his mind on how to explain this issue - and a quick glance at the calendar reminds him of how long it will be before you come back - before his attention is brought back to the squirming child. “Do you remember your numbers, Wey?”

“Yes, Dada!” The kit raises his hands and wiggles all his fingers before counting them. “One, two, tree, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten!”  

G’raha couldn’t help but feel proud when G’wey didn’t miss a single number. He reaches out and cups his hands to curl around the fingers. “They will be back in five breakfast, you will have to be a little patient, okay?” 

“But that’s a really long time.”

“I know, but it’s going to be worth it. They might bring back a present.” The child instantly perks up at the mention of a new toy, eagerly nodding his head as G’raha picks up the bowl of cut chicken and spoons a small portion. He holds it up to G’wey’s mouth, urging him to take the bite. “Since they are away right now, we can also plan what we can do when they come back.”

“Then…” He hurries to eat the food, red eyes shining like jewels, it takes him a moment to find the right words to say what is on his mind. “Can I have a second breakfast? Then we will have… five more breakfasts before they come home... right?”

G’raha nearly keeled over at the suggestion, he let go of G’wey to cover the wide smile spread across his face. A burst of laughter tickles his throat while his heart flutters like a bird in his chest. Is it possible to love his son any more than he does now? 

  Day 3

“How about this one?” G’raha holds up another onesie. It was a present, from Dulia Chai and Chai Nuzz after they found out that the famed Exarch and Warrior of Light had a child. The onesie is fashioned into his own robed attire with the softest material available, with the metal details replaced with durable wooden ones for him to play with. G’wey lets out a happy squeal at the sight of it, running over and nearly tripping over his own feet in his hurry. 

He had already spent a better part of the day changing his son from one onesie into another. Several of them were fashioned after outfits of their Warrior; a pure white attire with a matching cane, loose red far eastern robes with a wooden sword to match, and even a set of black robes with a pile of cards for him to play with. Each outfit is lovingly recreated with small alterations to make it safe. 

He helps G’wey into this new outfit, even pulling the hood up to hide his bright red hair for good measure. The light laughter that erupts is infectious, G’raha unable to stop himself from letting out a chuckle as he pats his head.

“I look like you now!” The mi’kitten declares after he picks up a toy version of his staff. The toy is barely a forearm’s length, and G’wey waves it around like a wand while G’raha cleans up the mess they’ve made. The sight is almost too adorable to bear. 

The hood has started to slip off, with one side barely hanging on by an ear while the other wiggles free from the hem. The long sleeves that replaced his armbands were long enough to cover everything but his fingers, and he had already rolled them up to properly grip the staff. The cut of the skirt is high enough to prevent him from tripping on it and they even cut a hole for the tail to poke out, the tuft wiggling without restraint. 

Could his son be any cuter?

  Day 5

“Crystal Exarch, sir!”

A Crystarium guard hurried over to him with a report from Lyna. There were reports of trade routes coming under attack, but nothing that he had never handled before. With the Lightwardens gone, the remaining sineaters have begun to attack recklessly, endangering travelers. Even the local wildlife has found it easier to pick off unsuspecting merchants when they’re too worried about other threats. 

With his father distracted, G’wey moves to stand in front of his growing crowd of friends. He pulls the hood over his head and puffs out his chest, even tapping the end of the toy onto the ground twice as if to command them. Unknownst to him, the passing adults had taken notice of the tiny Exarch and even started to greet him as such. By the time G’raha finally turned his attention back to G’wey, he was immersed in a game of pretend. 

“Begone, foul sin eater! I am the Crystal Exarch and the Crystarium is under my protection!” G’wey declares, brandishing his staff while a few of ‘civilians’ hide behind him. An elezen child prowls towards him on his tiptoes, hands reaching out to grab his costume. 

“I am the greatest Sineater! And there is nothing you can do to stop me from eating everyone!” 

“Don’t worry, I’ll summon heroes to come and save us!” G’wey steps up before G’raha had the chance to move from the sidelines. He swings his staff, careful not to hit anyone before slamming the end onto the ground. “Champions heed my call!”

With those words, G’raha’s face grows a shade closer to his hair. A mix of embarrassment and pride was enough for him to miss the other children running in to join the scene. The grin that broke out on his face could be seen a mile away. There’s no way, how could he have known those words? Unless… someone had told him the story of what happened down in the ruined city beneath the sea. But there is only a small handful that would know, and he’s yet to ask any of the Scions to babysit. That would leave...

His Warrior?

  Day 6

“Wey, you need to eat your veggies.” He had already tried to combine different types of vegetables into soups and cream, attempted to dress them up to make them more appealing, and even hid them into meatballs. Most of his attempts have been successful, but he really wished to nurture a love for at least some vegetables. He’d find another way to convince G’wey to eat more later. Right now, his main concern is to get him to eat at least half of the popoto salad that he had prepared. “Just try to finish as much as you like, okay?” 

G’wey looked reluctantly at the salad sitting in front of him before crossing his arms and turning the other way. “I don’t want to! I hate vegetables. I’m a big kid now, so I don’t need to eat them.”

G’raha lets out a defeated sigh, scratching his head over what to do in this situation. He picked up a small spoonful of the salad and held it up to G’wey’s mouth, only for the mi’kitten to turn his entire body to move away from the food. Just as he was about to give up, an idea occurred to him. 

“Wey~” He coos softly as he casts a spell on himself. Within a blink of an eye, he’s gone. The Exarch had to stop the laughter creeping up his throat as he watched G’wey frantically look around the room to spot him in this sudden game of hide and seek. 

G’raha nudged the spoon into his mouth, the magic dispelling only when G’wey started to eat. He watches as his red eyes light up the more he chews his food, his tail wagging with uncontainable excitement. A sign of relief escapes G’raha’s lips as he uses his free hand to brush aside some of his hair. 

“It’s good for you to eat them even if you’re a big boy now.” G’raha sets the spoon back into his small hands before helping him eat another mouthful. This time the child is more than eager to inhale the salad, his tiny ears wiggling in delight at every bite. He reaches out to pat the child on the back, rubbing small soothing circles to prevent him from choking on himself. “Even Lyna still eats her vegetables. She eats both her meat and carrots everyday to be the captain of the guard.” 

“T-then I’ll eat them!” G’wey declared, looking as intimidating as one could be with half of his face covered in eggs and mashed popotoes. “I’ll eat them so that I can be strong enough to protect everyone!”

  Day 7

“Dada?” G’wey quietly asks as he is tucked into bed with a plushie next to him. The child kicks at the blanket to get his attention, staring up at him with bright and hopeful eyes. “Can you tell me a bedtime story?” 

“Why, I never thought you would ask, Wey.” G’raha seats himself on the edge of the bed, leaning against the headrest. Tomes from the bookshelf gently glide across the room to hover before G’wey, who still marvels at the magic as if he’s seeing it for the first time. “What story do you want to hear about tonight?” 

“Anything! All the stories you tell are good.” G’raha smiles as he decides to untuck some of the blanket to make himself comfortable beside his son. All but one book return to their rightful place, the last book’s magic pouring out into the room as the pages flip open. Parts of the room transform into a scenic mountain range with a snowy landscape, and the center sits the step towards the bridge that leads to the kingdom. The dark spiralling towers stand cold and alone as snow descends from the skies.

It’s a familiar sight to him now. Especially as he’s mastered the art of storytelling over the years; starting with Lyna, then the other children of the Crystarium, and finally presenting the polished experience to G’wey. He always enjoyed telling stories of everything that his warrier have done as the Warrior of Light. “Once upon a time, in a world different from ours, there was a kingdom that was friends with dragons. They lived in harmony, but one day, the knights of the kingdom decided to betray them and steal the dragons’ power.” 

The scene shifts as he continues the tale, moving from the kingdom to a group of knights celebrating their victory over a still dragon. With G’wey tucked into his arms, G’raha continues his story and paints a tale of the Dragonsong War; of the struggle that the hero has gone through, the triumphs that they have achieved, and the people that once stood beside them. 

As the story draws to a close, the Warrior of Light has defeated Nidhogg and saved their friend. The yawn that G’wey let out nearly stopped him in his tracks. The mi’kitten snuggles to his chest with tiny red eyes that he can barely keep open. With a wave of his hand, the magic is dispelled and the book is set on the nightstand beside the bed. The warm glow illuminating the room from the night lamp hanging from the wall, G’raha could hear and feel the loud purr rumbling from the kitten. 

“Da? Will I ever be able to do magic like you?” 

“Of course you can, G’wey.” G’raha answers right away, though G’wey didn’t stay awake long enough to hear the answer to his question. He pulls the sheets up to the child’s chin as he continues, “You can learn magic or how to use a sword. Whatever you do, as long as you’re safe, I will be there to support you.”

G’raha starts to hum under his breath an old lullaby that once cradled him into sweet dreams. Though a lot of the words have become muddled from his memory, he can feel it ease all the stress of the day off his shoulders. Beside one of his most precious treasures, G’raha slips into a peaceful rest, knowing that in the morning his family will be whole again. 

[nekojitachan]

it’s been a long week but at least I got this done. And now I have to get chapter fics done. Really. But the first part of the angsty Raven!Andrew soulmate not fic is done. Not that I’m already thinking of the second part. And hey! It’s a fic that’s under 40k...

Last part can be found here

Mentions of violence (being beaten) but not explicit, but I think that’s it? Oh, references to Ichirou’s past.

*******

Waking up in pain wasn’t unusual for Andrew, not after all the years in the foster system then his time spent in juvie. He’d gotten so used to it that it had been unexpected, living with Nicky and Aaron, when he woke up most days without the sensation of pain somewhere in his body, only to be replaced with the strain from overworked muscles once he joined the Ravens (oh, and a sadistic bastard who had a thing for caning his players).

But this? The stinging throb from punches and kicks? Definitely familiar. What wasn’t? The large room with black leather couches, large, flat-screen televisions on the wall, a fancy-looking bar, and expensive artwork scattered around the place, not to mention an expanse of windows on the one side. Andrew rubbed his bound hands through the plush red carpet he lay upon and suspected that he was in the East Tower where Nathaniel spent so much time.

He’d just started to push himself into a sitting position when he heard the sound of muffled footsteps. “Looks like the runt is awake,” a deep voice called out. “Just like Junior, he bounces back fast.”

Before Andrew could turn around, he found himself jerked upright by the back of his jersey by Nathan Wesninski of all people; the bastard was dressed in black slacks and a light grey dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He barely had time to take that in before he was punched in the stomach, right where his padding was the thinnest, with enough force to make him gasp in pain, and then again in the face. As he struggled to shove the bastard away, to do something, Wesninski laughed and slammed him against the wall. “And just like Junior, you don’t know when to behave and take your punishment, you little-“

“That’s enough.”

The firmly spoken command was enough to stop Wesninski in mid-punch; the bastard grunted as he let go of Andrew’s throat and stepped away. “I was told to teach him a lesson.”

“I believe you’ve done that,” a young Asian man, dressed in a tailored black suit, told Wesninski as he stepped forward; he looked to be in his early twenties, if that, with a lean build and black hair combed back from a face which was oddly familiar.

Andrew suspected that he’d finally met Ichirou Moriyama.

“Tetsuji said-“

“And I just told you that’s enough.” Despite Ichirou not raising his voice, something in his dark gold eyes made Wesninski stiffen and bow his head. “I’ll deal with Minyard, you can leave and inform my uncle that the matter is resolved on your way out.” When Wesninski moved forward, Ichirou spoke again. “And Nathan? I’ll also deal with Nathaniel.”

Something unpleasant flashed across Wesninski’s face at the mention of his son. “It’s best if I handle my-“

Ichirou cut off the man known as ‘the Butcher’ once again as he walked over to the bar. “He’s not your anything anymore, not after you sold him to my family. You have your orders.” He looked up from pouring a drink to give Wesninski a cold look, as if daring the man to make him say anything else.

He might be a sadistic, abusive bastard, but Wesninski apparently could get the hint; he bowed his head in a curt manner then stalked out of the room.

Andrew slumped against the wall and watched him go, then focused his attention on the unknown Moriyama; well, that was partially untrue. He knew that the young man was Riko’s older brother yet had nothing to do with the asshole, and that for some reason, he tended to look out for Nathaniel.

That he appeared to be here to ‘deal’ with Andrew.

“What, no drink for me?” he drawled as he raised his bound hands to dab at his bleeding lip.

Ichirou regarded him with cool appraisal while he sipped his drink, appearing in no hurry to answer. Once the glass was empty, he set it down on the bar and refilled it. “Nat tells me that you’re intelligent, almost frighteningly so, and never forget a thing. He also says you’re very stubborn, which isn’t a surprise if you’re his soulmate.”

Andrew merely grunted in response to those facts.

“I know that you’re rather talented at Exy, considering your stats, and that you’ve been protecting Nat.” Ichirou paused to sip his drink while Andrew gazed at him with a blank expression. “And that Nat has feelings for you, because he’s never tried to sneak anything out of here before, yet he’s suddenly discovered a new appreciation for sweets, something he’s always hated before.”

“That’s quite a guess, isn’t it? Maybe he took them for Moreau,” Andrew suggested as he stared at the zip tie around his wrists as if he could will it to melt away.

Ichirou huffed as if amused and swirled the golden alcohol around in the cut crystal glass. “I’ve known Nat for years, and the only time he requests anything for his partner is when we had marzipan treats. No, this was for you, his soulmate, the man who required seven people to pry him away from Nat.”

It would have taken more than that if that prick, Riko, hadn’t smashed a racquet down on his head; only his helmet saved him from a serious injury. “I do it for all the boys who bring me cupcakes.”

“I’m sure.” The right corner of Ichirou’s mouth twitched upward as he reached into an inner pocket of his suit’s coat and pulled out a knife.

“Gonna start on that whole ‘deal with me’ thing?” Andrew asked as he eyed the weapon with care; Ichirou had a few inches on him, but he thought he could take the Japanese man even with his hands bound – at least knock him aside and get a good head’s start.

“Hmm, something like that. Hold out your hands and remain still,” Ichirou ordered as he came to a halt just out of reach. He gave Andrew a bored look while he flipped the knife in his right hand. “Unless you don’t want to have that drink and talk about something that will benefit Nat in the end.”

That… was that a trick? Andrew frowned at the Moriyama for a moment before he decided he could always beat him up if it was and held out his hands. He tensed as Ichirou slashed with the knife, but only to sever the plastic tie holding his hands bound. “What about Nat?” he asked as he rubbed his sore wrists once they were free.

“He told me that you found out about his father selling him to my family, and about what we really do,” Ichirou said as he returned to the bar and poured another glass of what turned out to be a very nice whiskey. “Don’t be upset with him, as he knows better than to lie to me.”

Andrew’s eyes narrowed at that ‘knows better’ part; he forced himself to have another sip of whiskey rather than throw it in the asshole’s impassive face. “Yes, I know.” Between Jean and his truth game with Nathaniel, he finally did know why Riko thought he could do whatever the hell he wanted, consequences be damned.

“Yes, so you understand that my father is a very powerful man, one who doesn’t tolerate weakness, and he’s raised me to be the same way,” Ichirou explained as he removed his coat, which revealed a pistol in a shoulder holster, then he began to undo the cuff of his left sleeve once the coat was draped over the back of the nearest couch.

The whiskey helped a little with the pain, so Andrew poured himself another glass. “I know you’ve a pet serial killer in your pocket, and your dad disowned your little brother for some reason, which has given the psycho some serious daddy issues. Is there a point to this?”

Ichirou’s lips twitched again. “Very much so, especially in regard to Riko.” His expression turned flat when he mentioned his brother. “As I said, we’re allowed no weakness.” He turned his left forearm to Andrew, which exposed his soulmate mark.

What was left of it, that was.

Cold washed down Andrew’s spine when he realized that the shadow-like flower petals which surrounded the sword indicated that Ichirou’s soulmate was dead, and he instinctively reached for his own mark as if to confirm that it was unmarred (that Nathaniel was still alive). Ichirou noticed the movement and nodded once before he reached for his neglected drink.

“There is to be only one Moriyama heir at a time, to avoid splitting the clan apart with rivalries. My mother, my father’s soulmate, knew that, yet….” He paused for a long swallow of whiskey then refilled the glass once it was set down. “Perhaps she felt certain the child would be a girl, or that my father wouldn’t care if it was a boy since he allowed her to bear the child. Regardless, that child was Riko, and my father chose to punish her for risking the clan’s succession.”

Andrew suspected that the woman hadn’t had her credit cards cut up or something like that, not when Ichirou had another gulp of whiskey.

“It wasn’t enough that Riko took my mother away from me, but my father confirmed at his birth that he was a boy and noticed that he had no soulmate mark. He decided that was the one way that his unwanted child was better than me and resolved to spare me his own weakness.” He held up his exposed left arm and gazed at it without emotion. “When I found my soulmate, he immediately had her killed.”

Well, this was such a fascinating story, all full of fun trauma and everything, but Andrew had a living soulmate he needed to check on (and keep out of trouble). “Can we skip to the point of this? I assume there’s a reason you’re monologuing.”

Ichirou’s eyes narrowed as he rolled down his sleeve. “Riko should never have been born, yet here he is, a thorn in my father’s side. Soon he’ll be a thorn in my side, and that I won’t allow.” The young mobster’s voice grew harsh as he tugged on his suit coat. “Unlike my father, I pay attention to what happens here, I know that Tetsuji has created a monster who is one major scandal from bringing unwanted attention our way.”

“You listen to Nathaniel,” Andrew surmised as he debated one more drink but decided against it.

“Nat,” Ichirou acknowledged with a slight bob of his head, “and I’ve placed a few of my men within the Nest in the past year. There has been an increasing amount of Ravens who’ve washed out before graduation in the last couple years due to the ‘stress’ of the program, and now Kevin Day. It’s only going to get worse by the time Riko himself graduates.”

Here came the sales pitch, Andrew thought as he pulled away from the bar. “What do you expect me to do?” Someone like Ichirou didn’t save him from a beating and ply him with expensive alcohol for nothing.

The smile that had threatened to form on Ichirou’s lips finally was allowed free, though it was a slight, cold thing. “Riko has taken much from me, so in return I want him to lose everything.” He turned around to face the expanse of windows which overlooked Castle Evermore. “Everything he holds dear, I want him to see it slip from his grasp right before the life he never should have had ends.”

Andrew thought about that for a moment while he felt out the large bump on his head. “You want me to take down Riko.” Ichirou gave a curt nod. “And the Ravens?”

“The team will need new management to undo the damage Riko and Tetsuji has done to it and allow it to be useful once more.”

Okay. “That sounds like you want me to take down Tetsuji as well.” Not that he was complaining, especially after all the canings. Especially after all the canings to Nathaniel.

Ichirou looked over his shoulder, his expression impassive once more. “It needs to be done in a manner that the main branch can control, to ensure that our people are in place to pick up the pieces once those two are removed.”

Andrew clicked his tongue as he picked up the crystal decanter filled with whiskey. “You’re not asking for much, are you?” When Ichirou remained quiet, he clicked his tongue again. “What do I get out of all this?” A million bucks would be nice.

Ichirou resumed gazing upon the Exy court below. “Other than currently not being beaten half-dead by the Butcher? There is the matter of your soulmate.”

Mention of Nathaniel made Andrew stiffen, ready to throw the decanter at the first threat uttered against him. “What about Nat?” he asked, voice harsh with warning.

“He will always belong to the Moriyamas, he’s too useful and already knows too many things,” Ichirou said, his back still turned to Andrew as if unconcerned about being attacked. “But as with all things of value, he should be treated with care, not abused and locked away. Agree to this, and he’ll formally belong to the main branch. Once you’ve completed the task? Well, we can discuss allowing Nat a bit more freedom.” He turned around to give Andrew a stern look. “Within reason. He’ll always have obligations to honor.”

Andrew would deal with those ‘obligations’ one day, the main thing was protecting Nathaniel. If it also meant getting him away from the Nest by fucking up Riko? Not a problem, not a problem at all. “Can I rely on your people for assistance?” he asked, mind already busy thinking up possibilities; his biggest challenge was being restricted to the Nest most of the time.

“Of course, Nat can assist you with that.” Ichirou cocked his head to the side as he regarded Andrew. “I assume we are in agreement?”

“Make sure the assholes leave Nat alone and yes, we’re in agreement.” Andrew would be all in to kill Riko regardless, but anything that benefited Nathaniel on top was added incentive.

“Wonderful.”

Not really, that would be Andrew wiping out all the Moriyamas and the Butcher as well then riding off into the distance in a nice new Ferrari with Nathaniel beside him, but it was a start. He hummed as he walked away with the whiskey, done with the conversation (and Moriyamas) for the time being; he heard Ichirou huff behind him then speak Japanese a moment later, and found a guard waiting out in the hallway who ‘escorted’ him back to the Nest.

Ichirou might be a Moriyama bastard, but at least he knew when to pick his battles.

The halls of the Nest were unusually quiet and empty; Andrew suspected that everyone had gone to ground after their ‘king’ having a wee bit of disassociation from sanity earlier. He made his way to Nathaniel’s room and didn’t bother to knock before entering.

He found his soulmate huddled on his bed, right cheek bruised and expression startled, with Jean nowhere to be found. “Where’s Valjean?” Andrew asked as he sat down on the other end of the bed.

“Uhm, off with Toby and Leif.” Nathaniel gave him a worried look as he slowly unfurled. “Are you all right? Did Tetsuji do anything to you?”

“Just peachy.” Andrew set the bottle on the floor as he turned toward Nathaniel, sore body protesting from the movement. “Why are you alone?”

Nathaniel frowned as he reached for Andrew’s face but stopped just short of touching him. “Because Tetsuji said he called my father. I didn’t want Jean here when he comes.” He glanced at the door and shook his head. “You should go.”

Aw, was someone trying to protect him from the big, bad Butcher? “I already had the displeasure of meeting the walking sperm-bank who fathered you,” Andrew said as he got up to fetch a change of clothes, tired of wearing his uniform; he figured one of Jean’s shirts and a pair of Nathaniel’s loose cotton pants should fit. Somewhat fit.

“Wait, you did? Are you really okay?” Nathaniel asked in a rush as he got up, too (and fetched the pants once he figured out what Andrew was looking for). “Is he still here?”

“Ichirou sent him on his way and told him to leave you alone.” Andrew took the clothes and went into the bathroom to change, but left the door open a crack so they could continue to talk. He’d ache for the next couple days, but it felt good to get his gear off at last.

“Ichirou’s here, too? Great.” It sounded as if Nathaniel slumped against the wall. “Is he angry? I mean, not that he yells or anything when he’s mad, but you can tell because of how he goes all tense and fake smiley.”

Good to know. “Not with you.” If anything, Ichirou thought a little too well of ‘Nat’, especially since he didn’t have a soulmate of his own anymore, but one thing at a time.

“Oh.” Andrew stepped back into the room to find Nathaniel nibbling on his bottom lip as he dwelled on something. “Why did he talk to you, then?”

“Because he wants me to do something for him.” There was no reason to keep it a secret, not when he’d need Nathaniel’s help (and probably Jean’s as well).

And maybe a certain stubborn idiot would back down to throwing himself into trouble if he knew that there was an endgame in sight.

(Who was he kidding?)

“And what is that?” Nathaniel reached out to tug on the overlarge t-shirt Andrew wore and pull him closer, seemingly unafraid of his presence. “What does he want?”

Andrew leaned his forearms against the wall, which penned his soulmate in; Nathaniel gazed at him without fear but a growing amount of impatience. “It seems that he doesn’t care for his baby brother and wants me to take him down,” he murmured after he leaned in, his mouth close to Nathaniel’s right ear.

“You… Ichirou’s finally going to do something about Riko?” Nathaniel stared at him in disbelief. “And he wants you to help?”

Andrew clicked his tongue as he fought not to slide his fingers into his soulmate’s tousled hair. “He wants me to do all the fucking work, and he wants the psycho gone before he causes too many problems.” He’d keep quiet on the whole family drama for now, especially since Nathaniel had his own share of it.

“Oh.” Nathaniel nibbled on his bottom lip again, while Andrew struggled not to shiver in response, to lean in and suck on it to soothe the savaged flesh. “You… you don’t have to do it alone, you know. I’ll help.”

Of course he would. “I agreed to do the deal.”

“And I owe Riko for years of- I owe him,” Nathaniel argued, his voice hoarse and eyes alight with anger.

“Fine,” Andrew relented after a few seconds. “But you listen to me and don’t do anything on your own.” Nathaniel nodded and, after a moment, once more reached for his abused mouth, his fingers a scant distance away as he traced along his split lower lip.

“Are you really okay? I know… I know how my father can be.”

That was quite the understatement. “I’m fine,” Andrew insisted as he gave in and slid the fingers of his right hand into Nathaniel’s mussed curls. “What about you?”

The idiot shrugged and didn’t look away. “Tetsuji hit me a couple times but he was too busy dealing with Riko and willing to leave me to my father.” When his hand lingered near Andrew’s shoulder, Andrew caught it and rested it along the side of his neck; that time he shivered to feel his soulmate touch him.

“There and along my shoulder,” he said, his voice husky for some reason. “Yes or no?” he asked, unable to hold back when his soulmate looked at him like that, when he showed such concern, when he allowed him so close without fear. Unable to explain exactly what he meant.

Nathaniel blinked at the question, his pupils blown and reaction slow, and just when Andrew was about to pull away, used his hold on Andrew’s neck to gently pull him closer. “Yes,” he breathed out as his eyes drifted shut. “Yes.”

Later they would talk, would sit down and figure things out… but right then, all Andrew wanted to do was have Nathaniel’s lithe body against his, to do some of his own nibbling on that full bottom lip, to feel a heartbeat that pulsed in time with his own between his lips as he sucked on his soulmate’s neck…

His soulmate.

Nathaniel was addictive and almost docile in his arms, was mindful of his hands while he arched into Andrew’s touch like a cat which craved attention. He was… he was perfect, and only the aches from being hit earlier convinced Andrew that he was real.

He wanted so much more than kisses and lingering touches, but there was Nathaniel choking back on a ‘please’, was him smoothing his thumb over the ‘3’ on a flushed cheekbone. He wanted, and it seemed that his soulmate wanted, too (was it truly real?), yet he pulled away before he did something to ruin the one truly good thing that Fate had seemed to grant him in his life.

(Which he would burn the world to ash to keep safe.)

“Ohhh… wait, no,” Nathaniel breathed out as he grabbed the hem of Andrew’s borrowed shirt. “Why? Did I-“

Andrew flicked at a loose curl that fell onto his soulmate’s face. “That’s enough for now, sweetpea. Don’t want to overwhelm you with my sexiness.”

As expected, Nathaniel went from aroused to annoyed in less than two seconds. “Overwhelm me with your arrogance? Too late, hasenfürzchen.” When Andrew went to complain about his nickname, Nathaniel pushed forward and dragged him toward the bed – unfortunately, just to talk. “Now let’s figure out what to do while Jean’s not here.”

True, they’d have more time to talk about things between them on Friday, they might as well focus on getting rid of Riko as soon as possible. Part of Andrew chided him for being a fool in thinking that Nathaniel was such a ‘sure thing’, but each time his soulmate smiled at him and agreed to something long-term….

Nathaniel did the impossible and made him believe.

(Nathaniel also agreed to hide the rest of the whiskey so he didn’t have to share it with Ben, which meant he had something else to look forward to on Friday.)

He forced himself to leave eventually, aware that Jean was worried about his partner and intent on doing something before the Ravens met up for dinner. Nathaniel’s burner phone in hand (oh yes, Ichirou needed to learn some boundaries in regard to others’ soulmates very soon), he went out on court for some necessary privacy and called one of the two numbers on it (the other was going to be deleted very soon).

A familiar voice answered, sounding a bit confused. “Nat? It’s not Sunday, is everything all right?”

“Everything’s fine, but it’s not Nat,” Andrew told Kevin Day in French. “He did lend me this phone, though, if you hadn’t guessed.”

It was quiet on the end for several seconds. “Nat’s all right, yes? I mean, you’re his soulmate so-“

“Yes, he’s fine.” Andrew felt a bit insulted by the question. “Shut up with the stupid questions, I don’t have much time.”

“I- okay, what’s going on?”

Slightly better. “This is where you answer my questions and then listen as I tell you what’s going to happen if you want to remain free of the Moriyamas,” Andrew told him. “As well as pay back the friends who got you out of this hellhole.” Perhaps he was taking Ichirou a bit too literally with the whole ‘allow Nat more freedom’, but he’d cross that bridge when he came to it.

(He’d kill the crime lord when he came to it, if necessary.)

All that mattered was that Kevin Day listened and obeyed, and played his part in Riko’s downfall.

(He wondered what it would take to get Nathaniel to go with him to Eden’s.)

*******

IDFK why it removes some of my italics. IDFK.

There you go, Ichirou dealing with Andrew instead of Neil/Nathaniel. I imagine it’s a lot of blank faces all around.

It hasn’t been a good migraine week and busy w/ work, so hopefully this isn’t too much gibberish.

Thanks so much, those of you who’ve stuck with this not-fic.

[downwiththeficness]

In the Bond-Chapter 18

Summary: Lilah often wished she’d never said yes to working with the Gecko brothers—usually while dodging gunfire. At no time was she regretting that decision more than when she’s hanging upside down from the ceiling, staring down a group of hungry culebras and one (1) extremely powerful sun god.

Word Count: ~2,300

Warnings: Canon typical violence, blood, mentions of death

A/N: This is an AU of my Story In the Blood, which can be read here. Basically, this fic explores what would have happened if Lilah had met up with Geckos before she met Brasa.

Taglist: @symbiont13

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Lilah took time to explore the rest of the house while Brasa was busy closing the finances for the month. The door at the end of the hallway was still locked, and she wished she’d snagged Seth’s lock pick set while she had the chance. After making a note to order one online, Lilah veered off to the far side of the house, behind the living room.

There was a stairwell that still smelled of freshly sawed wood, unvarnished, leading to an expansive loft. Like the rest of the house, the walls and ceiling were stone. Also like the rest of the house, it was bare.

Clearly, it was meant to be an office of some kind, bookshelves lining the walls. An adjoining half bath was tucked in the back, with a linen closet stocked with towels. Lilah stood in the middle of it, thinking that it was odd that there was no window. In any other building, there would be a lookout over the property. But, as with most things where Brasa was concerned, this was not like any other building.

Moving back downstairs, Lilah passed through the living room to a smaller office. Brasa was sitting at the desk, tapping away on a keyboard. He looked up in interest as she entered the room. Lilah waved to him, indicating that he should ignore her. His work seemed constant—a barrage of emails to answer when he woke, phone calls that seemed to take hours, text message updates from Javier. Running his business was somewhat more than a full time job.

There were times when Lilah spent almost all her waking hours alone. She’d taken to riding with him to the bar and parking herself in one of the booths as a mean of distraction. The bar manager had good taste in music, and Lilah found that she could actually take some time to relax.

Still, she missed her friends, and she missed the work. A couple times a day, she would get an email or a text—she was disappointed every time by the sender. Seth hadn’t so much as checked in, though Kate occasionally sent her an update. It looked to Lilah that she was going to have to find a new crew. The thought was not entirely palatable. To keep the feeling at bay, Lilah turned her attention back to the décor.

Like Brasa’s other office, this room was plush and touched here and there with soft, luxurious accents. It was the only room in the house that seemed to reflect the inhabitant. There were fewer books here, but the ones that were stacked on the shelves were old, most of them looking handmade. She didn’t dare touch them for fear of damaging the clearly valuable tomes, though every once in a while, her fingers itched to snag one and secret it away.

Like the room above, there was an adjoining bathroom. Simple. Stocked with supplies. Lilah made a circle around the room, touching the marble counter top, and then went back into the office. She clocked Brasa still on the phone, his expression thunderous. It was starting to become a pattern. He’d answer the phone, and bad news would come.

There was no soothing him when he found out that another shipment had gone missing or that Benny had gained a significant number of acolytes. His anger would blossom in a quiet way that left him pacing in thought. All she could do was wait for him to run out of steam, usually laying down next to her, pulling her into his body in comfort.

Leaning against a bookshelf, Lilah waited. He would do as he had done in the past, come to her when he was ready.

When he’d concluded that call, Brasa turned off his monitor and pushed to standing. He tugged on his leather gloves, looking lost in thought. The worry creasing his brow was deeper than it had ever been, and she could feel something like grief emanating through the bond. It pushed her to approach him first.

“What happened?” Lilah asked pointedly, provoked by the distress in his expression.

He glanced at her, saying, “Benny tried to open the portal.”

Aghast, Lilah spit out, “He didn’t.”

“He did,” Brasa replied, stepping around his desk, “He failed. But, it wasn’t without consequence.”

Lilah followed him out into the living room, “Was anyone hurt?”

He nodded, heading for the coat closet and shrugging on his preferred leather coat, “Yes.”

Lilah didn’t like the abrupt answers, the way he wouldn’t look at her. She didn’t know what it meant that he’d failed to open the portal—only that she was relieved by it.

“I’m coming with you,” she announced, stepping into a pair of boots and zipping up the sides.

Brasa hesitated, and she could tell he was about to tell her ‘no.’ Staring at her, he changed his mind, nodding once and reaching for her hand. He led her out to the hidden garage, helped her into the SUV. As they drove, he periodically checked his phone. No new information ever popped up onto the screen. Lilah touched his arm, squeezing it in what she hoped was comfort. He looked at her sidelong, then took her hand, holding it the whole way.

When they arrived at the bar, it was chaos. People milled about, some of them injured. Lilah covered her mouth to hide the gag as the smell hit her nose. Burned flesh. Blood. Fear. It mixed together into something that she couldn’t describe with any other word than ‘horror’. She’d seen war documentaries with less gore. The room was both quiet and loud, the silence interspersed regularly with the moans of those who hurt.

Some of the victims were missing limbs, almost all were burned in some way, shape, or form. Lilah took the crowd in, took in the ones that were trying to help. Crates of blood bags were being hauled out to where Javier stood. He directed traffic, issuing orders with authority that might have surprised her in any other situation. Here, he was shining with leadership that he normally eschewed.

Blood was being applied as a poultice, dripped over wounds and into open mouths. Lilah struggled to contain her reaction, struggled to understand the medicine for what it was. She thought that maybe she’d gotten used to how her world had turned, but what she was looking at was at least three or four steps in the wrong direction.

Brasa guided her to Javier, the hand at the small of her back a reassurance that she definitely appreciated. She felt lightheaded, dizzy, and overwhelmed. There was a very real possibility that she might pass out. Swallowing down what threatened to rise, Lilah forced her spine to straighten, carried herself with strength she did not have.

“How many?” Brasa asked, pulling off his glasses and observing the room with a clinical eye.

Javier scratched at the skin above his brow, his other hand holding onto a silver cane that matched the silver of his belt buckle. He was dressed in a black suit, black shirt, black tie, black shoes. Lilah noted that he wore a silver pinky ring that glinted in the light. Even in utter disaster, Javier was dressed for the occasion.

“Seventy five,” he answered, “I’ve already sent the least injured to our barracks. We will provide them with food and rest. The others…”

He gestured to the crowd strewn across the bar. Some of them were lying on the floor, being tended to by staff. Some were propped up against the walls or laying on the tables. Still others were sitting at the bar. All of them look shell shocked, their gazes in the middle distance. Almost none were talking. Absolutely none were smiling.

As she looked at them, Lilah had never felt more helpless. This was so far out of her wheelhouse that she couldn’t quite get herself anchored.  She didn’t know what to do with her hands, didn’t know if she should say something or remain quiet.

“I’ve talked with a few of them,” Javier continued, “He almost did it.”

That stopped Lilah cold. All of the pain in the room had nearly resulted in much worse. The ‘almost’ of his success made her chest hurt with unrelenting anxiety. If he had succeeded, if he attempted to do it again, there would be dire consequences no matter the outcome.

Brasa hissed, his lips curling, “I knew he would try.”

Javier dipped his head congenially, “They tell me that there are possibly a dozen that were taken, that Benny sacrificed to the portal before it collapsed.”

Brasa nodded, saying nothing and eyeing the victims. Lilah wanted to ask questions. She wanted to know what it meant that he’d been able to make a sacrifice, that he’d been able to contact Xibalba. She also wanted to know if the near success had created a rift in the portal, something for Benny to dig his fingers into so that he could rip it wide open.

“He’s getting too close.”

“I know that,” Brasa seethed, “We’ll have to kill him.”

Javier’s lips thinned, “He’s gone to ground.”

“Then we will root him out.”

There was fire underneath Brasa’s words. His voice was low, angry, ruthless. Lilah couldn’t blame him.  For Brasa, the people in this room were under his protection. Benny had infringed upon his territory, had done what Brasa had expressly forbidden. It was understandable that he would want to retaliate in kind.

What surprised Lilah was the guilt hiding stealthily behind her shock. If she had advocated to Benny to be killed sooner, if she had let Brasa do what he’d originally planned to do down in those caves...if she hadn’t interfered, a lot of people might have avoided suffering. And yet, Lilah knew that she could not have lived with herself if she hadn’t given Benny the opportunity to do what was right. If she had signed on wholesale to their slaughter, she would have counted herself as no better than him.

“As you wish.”

Knowing that she would be more in that way than able to provide any help, Lilah let Brasa pull her into his public office. The quiet, when they closed the door behind them, was a heavy thing. Lilah hadn’t even realized how loud the bar proper actually was, with the groans of the injured sounding almost constantly. She blinked back angry, impotent tears, wanting to be strong. Or, she wanted the appearance of strength, if only for Brasa’s sake.

Brasa sat at his desk, elbows landing atop it. His head sank into the cradle of his hands, a long, slow breath pushed through his nose. Lilah leaned a hip on the corner nearest to him, one hand soothing over his shoulder. She could think of no words of comfort, nothing that could right the immeasurable wrong that had been committed.

“We need to close that portal,” he murmured, sniffing as he leaned back to slouch in his chair.

Lilah’s hand dropped to her lap, “We do.”

He looked lost, bereft. Lilah wanted to gather him into her arms and rock side to side, wanted to ruffle the curls of his hair, wanted to take the heavy weight from him. And yet, there was nothing that could bring his people back, nothing that could heal the deep wound Benny’s attempt had made.

She said that only thing she could, “We still need the knife.”

Brasa ticked his head to the side, “Yes, we do.”

Lilah grabbed on to the opportunity to do something, “Tell me where to find the knife. I’ll get it and bring it back here while you see to the injured.”

Brasa was already shaking his head, “I can’t risk you. Not now.”

She knew he’d say that, knew it like she knew no one could get at the knife as fast or as efficiently as she could. Lilah may not be a politician, or a diplomat, but she could steal with the best of them. He could run point here while she took care of business out there.

“Its not a risk,” Lilah lied, “Benny will be in hiding until he tries again. He won’t even notice I’m gone.”

One leg kicked out and pulled the rolling chair forward so that Brasa could take her hand, “I’ll send someone to get the knife.”

Lilah thought for a moment about relenting. And then she thought about the people outside, she thought about how useless she felt. She needed this. Not because someone else couldn’t do it, but because she needed to feel like she was contributing. That need rode her hard, pushing past whatever fear she might have for her own life.

“You’ll send me,” she enunciated clearly, “You know I can get in and get out with no problem. I’ll be back in forty eight hours, tops.”

The beginnings of a plan had already started to form in her mind. Her bags were already packed, a possible partner already selected. She could do this.

His eyes narrowed, “Its in Iceland.”

The plan pivoted a little, but the main points remained the same. A change in locale was no true barrier to getting it done.

“Seventy two hours, tops,” Lilah countered.

He said nothing, but she could see the gears turning in his head as he worked around the problem. Lilah might not be able to help the injured just outside their door, but this she could do. She could get him the last item he needed to stop any further attempts on the portal.

“You know I can do it. Just show me where it is.”

Brasa stood and took her chin between his thumb and forefinger, “You will take my plane. You will take a weapon. You will tell me the plan before you leave.”

“I can do that.”

[ink-and-flame]

Kinktober Day 7: Kink Cafe 3

Kinktober Day 7 Prompts: Caning Teasing ~ Anal plug (public, under clothes) ~ Public exposure Fandom: Original Tags: Exophilia, m/m, femoboy, teasing, anal plus, public exposure, public oral Pairing: Orc(m)/Elf(m), Alinar/Zar

[Author’s Note: I had waited to find a good set of prompts to continue Kink Cafe. However when picking prompts I wasn’t paying attention. I have replaced Caning with another randomly selected kink. As someone with experience in BDSM, and with caning, it is not something I enjoy or want to write at this time. I understand if it violates the spirit of kinktober, but I did try to make sure not to include extreme or triggering kinks and that also means for myself. I hope you all understand]

The first day of the Kink Cafe had been a resounding success as far as everyone was concerned. Both the group running it and everyone participating had an incredible time and when it was time to close down the cafe portion of the event there was quite a bit of grumbling. Scenes were allowed to wrap up, and people were encouraged to continue enjoying each other throughout the night. Since the entire building had been rented for this event there were no areas where clothes were required and that scenes were not allowed within reason. Some types of scenes were limited to certain areas, only to avoid causing any damage to the property, fire cupping in particular had a space outside to prevent any accidental fires from starting.

Alinar had been hesitant to move away from Zar when they had finished at the table. As much as the elf had wanted to be fucked right there by the orc, that wasn’t in the cards. Eventually it had been just the two of them left and despite ample preparation, Zar didn’t fit and wasn’t comfortable forcing the issue. The orc still made sure that the elf had a mind blowing orgasm, with promises of future attempts, but Alinar was not feeling patient. 

To make up for it he slipped under the table and took the orcs cock into his mouth, even though they really should have finished their scene and moved on. Alinar wasn’t taking any chances, he had wanted to make sure the orc never forgot him. He used every trick he had to push the orc past his control until that thick ridged cock was lodged deep in his throat. Alinar was hard again just thinking about how it felt to have something so big inside him. The amount of cum was also a shock and he came close to choking if he hadn��t pulled back. 

They separated for the evening, though Alinar wanted to ask if he could stay with Zar for the night, but that felt too much like overstepping so he had gone to his own room. When the morning light pushed through the curtains Alinar was already awake and eager to see Zar again, though he was nervous. What if the orc was no longer interested. It was clear that males were not his preference and maybe whatever magic had pulled them together yesterday, only worked once. 

With nervousness filling him Alinar dressed for the day. Slipping on his blank collar and apron. He would be working the cafe again, or that was the plan. If Zar asked, then Alniar would drop everything for the orc. Participation was voluntary and there were more than enough subs at the event to fill in when people needed breaks or formed connections and wanted to explore. The organizers made sure to provide enough volunteers so that the cafe would not be understaffed. 

Heading downstairs slowly Alinar looked for Zar but did not see him. He did see the minotaur that had been with the orc, but not the orc himself. Heaving outside to the cafe, Alinar signed in for his shift and began to wait on tables. At first it was easy to lose himself in the experience. The flirting, the teasing, the gentle swats on his rear as he walked by, but as time passed Alinar found himself looking for the orc and filling with disappointment when he wasn’t there. 

When it was his break time the elf slipped into the building and looked around. Checking out all the areas where scenes were likely to be happening, all the places where people were encouraged to gather and Zar wasn’t there. Heading out to the side yard, the elf finally saw the orc. Naked, laying on a chair in the sun next to the pool. Skin glistening with sweat or maybe oil. It was a sight to behold. All those hard muscles contrasting with the softer curve of the orcs stomach. The thick hair covering what seemed like every inch of his broad body. Alinar was aroused and he was just looking. 

An idea sprung into the elfs mind and he rushed back to the cafe and made a suggestion that some of the servers with nothing to do, should serve light drinks over at the pool area since it was a particularly hot day. The idea was met with enthusiasm and he, along with some other subs, loaded up trays with a variety of refreshing fruity drinks and carefully headed over to the pool area. 

Alinar worked to be first over so that he could be the one offering Zar a drink. Heading over to the orc with purpose the elf smiled. It appeared Zar was asleep, and he cleared his throat lightly. “Would you care for a cool refreshing drink?”

Zar had drifted into a light doze on the chair and opened one eye behind his sunglasses only to spy the pretty boy elf from the day before. His lips quirked up in a smirk, emphasising his tusks. “Couldn’t get enough of me I see?”

Alinar felt his skin flushed being called out so clearly. Was it that obvious? Of course it was obvious, but really? “As you can see we are offering drinks around the pool.” He gestured to the other servers.

“Uh huh, you just happened to end up over here near me.” Zar smirked and glanced over the drinks taking one that looked interesting “So, how long did you stare at me before you decided to bring me a drink?”

The blush was darkening and the elf could not hide his own embarrassment. He stuttered but ended up just not saying anything at all. Maybe this had not been the best idea. Zar seemed far more amused, more interested in teasing him, than in interacting as they had the day before. 

“Don’ frown like that. I was only speaking in jest. I liked to throw you off your game. You seem so composed, I couldn’t help myself. Plus, you are quite attractive all flushed like that. Why don’t you finish serving drinks and then come back over here to join me ok?”

Alinar felt a thrill go through him as he nodded and tried not to rush through serving the others around the pool. It had been a clever idea, something the organizers liked enough to have a small drink cart moved over by the pool so refreshments could continue to be served. With no drinks left Alinar headed back over and invited himself right into Zar’s lap.

The orc chuckled and placed a large hand on the elfs hips. “Well, just move on in why don’t you?” His laugh got louder as he set the drink down and nipped the elf on the shoulder. “Keep going like this and I am going to take you home with me. Dress you all pretty and make you service me every night.”

“I only wish” Alinar slapped a hand over his mouth, eyes wide, that was not meant to be outloud.

Zar just stared for a moment, tilting his head. “Huh…” 

The orc looked more and more thoughtful as the elf looked more and more mortified. Shrinking into himself. “Look, guys are kind of a new thing for me.” Zar admitted and saw the elfs ears droop. “But I have to say, I don’t hate it. New or not, you are different. Something about you just.. Just does it for me.” Zar ws stroking Alinars thigh softly, fingers brushing under the apron. “I don’t hate the idea, but I don’t know that I could just walk away from women either.”

“You wouldn’t have to. I know plenty of people that like both. I prefer men, I always have, but there have been women that knew how to touch me, or that I have felt strong emotional bonds with. I am not asking for forever.” Alinar admitted and seemed a bit lost. “It doesn’t even have to be more than this weekend.” He wanted more, but knew that would be reaching, pushing, maybe asking for too much.

Zar looked thoughtful. “I honestly thought about asking if it was ok to exchange information, to see each other after this.” He lifted a hand, running his fingers through the elfs soft hair. “I wasn’t entirely joking when I said I wanted you to come home with me.” 

“I can share.” Alinar blurted out and then sucked in his breath biting his lip. His mouth was betraying him. Showing his desperation. Something about Zar had captured him. It was infatuation, it had to be simple infatuation, but it was strong and insistent.

The orc laughed loudly and shook his head. “You are something else, and don’t tempt me. I like having multiple partners. Something about the intense stimulation doing it for me, but also, orcs grow up in communities. We have large extended families, we share duties, fortune, success, and failure, happiness, and sorrow. It is unlikely for an orc to be in a relationship with just one person and not have some form of support as well. Sure monogamy happens, often too, but just as often are there relationships with multiple partners.” 

Alinar was learning more about orcish culture in this one conversation than he ever had in his past. It was refreshing and thrilling to learn so much. It just made him like Zar more and made him want to spend even more time with the orc, learning everything he could. Not just about Zar himself, but his culture as well.

“I could be ok with that.” Alinar admitted. The idea of a close knit community, of people helping each other, of sharing and warmth. It was alluring, tempting, for someone as solitary as himself. 

“How about we worry about all that later, and just focus on enjoying the weekend, but is that a yes to seeing each other after this, at least in a casual sense?” Zar wasn’t ready to jump into anything serious, but he wouldn’t mind exploring this new experience more, and a weekend really wasn’t long enough if he was honest.

Alinar settled against Zar with a smile. “Deal. Let's spend the weekend getting to know each other and then, when this is over, continue with that.” There was no need to jump into anything serious, it was clear they both were interested in pursuing something and willing to take it slow. 

The weekend was a success, the kink cafe event going over better than anyone expected. Most of the people involved ended up leaving with new friends and lovers, some in new relationships. Others had used the event to build on the relationships they already had, and everyone agreed that this should be at least a yearly event if not bi-yearly.

As much fun as he had, Alinar wished that he and Zar could have gone further with their explorations. Penetrative sex still had not occured, but that didn’t mean they didn’t find other ways to tease each other and bring each other over the edge. The elf was just growing a bit impatient. Every time he saw Zar’s dick he wanted that thick ridged monster inside of him. 

Being at home, alone, Alinar found he missed Zar’s warmth. The feel of that large, muscular, hairy body pressed against him, wrapped around him. Zar was larger than life in Alinar’s eyes and he realized that he might be far more attached to the orc than the orc was to him. When it came time to actually contact Zar, Alinar felt nervous. What if he changed his mind and didn’t want this to continue. 

When Zar suggested a public outing, something to test the elfs limits, Alinar was excited. Zar wanted to do a little public play with the elf. Something that surprised Alinar as he assumed Zar would not want anyone to know that he was suddenly sexually attracted to males. Though, Alinar could easily pass as a woman if he wore certain types of clothing, and when he brought it up Zar sounded a little more excited than expected. They came to an agreement. Alinar would dress in a more feminine style, but not specifically try to pretend he was a woman. If he was misgendered while they were out, that was not their problem. Zar also wanted him to wear a plug. Preferably something a little more feminine, and he eluded to wanting to see Alinar in women's undergarments. All of this Alinar was not only ok with, but had the items on hand to easily fulfill the request. 

Packing a bag Alinar headed over to Zar’s place, wanting to bring a few options and let Zar finalize his look. His long hair was already styled delicately, pulled up with some strands free around his face. A light application of makeup to bring out his eyes and color his lips. The rest was just casual, not wanting to risk any of his options getting messy on the way.

When he arrived Zar embraced Alinar, pulling the elf into a kiss that had both men a little breathless and more than a little aroused when it was over. It was a surprise, but a welcome one and Alinar allowed himself to be tugged back into the bedroom. 

“Are you wearing it?” Zar was curious as he looked at the bag. 

“No, I thought you could put it in me, and then help me pick my outfit.” Alinar blushed when he saw Zar’s cock visibly throb at the suggestion. His worries that Zar would lose interest fading away for now. 

“Get naked, and lay on the bed. Get the plug out, I have some good lube here unless you have one you prefer?”

“No, I am sure yours is as good as any. This plug can be used with a variety of lubes so it should be fine.” Stripping and laying on his back Alinar set the plug on the bed next to him.

Zar joined him on the bed, the bottle of lube set on the nightstand as his large hands smoothed over the elfs shapely legs. “You really are beautiful Alinar. I don’t want you to think for a moment that anything has changed. You have opened my mind to something I never thought of before, and there is no going back, and I couldn’t be happier about that.”

Smoothing his hands along the elfs body Zar helped him position his legs and the grabbed the lube. Using one hand to help position Alinar, the other was used to carefully apply lube to the elfs pucker. They had spent time working with their fingers to help prepare Alinar before and discovered it was easier for the elf to start and the orc to join in, as one of is fingers was thicker than two of the elfs. It seemed the elf had already prepped himself somewhat and Zar smiled. 

“Eager I see? Can you take the plug like this or do you need more preparation?”

“I can take it. I was wearing a smaller one around the house while packing to help.”

Nodding Zar lubed up the plug watching it glisten. It had a delicate lavender jewel in it, the end shaped like a heart. The orc smiled and swirled the tip around the elfs opening, teasing and watching the smaller man squirm before pushing it in slowly. Zar wanted it to be him. He wanted to be inside Alinar so badly that they both groaned when it finally slid into place and settled snug between the elfs cheeks. 

“Fuck that is so hot, you have no idea how badly I want to just hold you down and rut you. Who knows, maybe a day of wearing this one might be enough to prep you. It seems bigger than the one you had over the weekend.”

“It is, this one is newer and I have been working up to wearing it. I have one size up from this, if this isn’t enough, we can always work up to that, and then see if it helps with penetration.” Alinar offered.

Zar liked the idea and helped Alinar up before going to wash his hands. “Pull out the outfits, I would like to have lunch soon.”

Alinar pulled on some delicate panties, a light cream color with lace details and a ribbon at the back. Zar clearly enjoyed them and asked Alinar to walk around the room and pick up a few things. The elf chuckled but obeyed. He wanted to be perfect, to show Zar what a good sub he could be. The outfit they ended up choosing was a pair of pants that fit the elf in a way that accented his more feminine hips. The shirt had a built in bustier that cinched at the waist and gave Alinar the illusion of curves and a small bit of cleavage. The rest of the shirt was flowy and slightly open at the top. 

Overall the look was androgynous but leaning heavily towards the feminine. Zar would have had to look twice to be able to tell Alinar wasn’t a woman, and the reality was, if he didn’t already know the elf was male, he honestly would not have been able to tell. 

“You are so lovely, let’s go before I change my mind and keep you here all to myself.” Zar guided Alinar out gently by the arm.

They enjoyed their lunch together, the server referring to Alinar as miss, and neither bothered to correct him. It was a little joke they were enjoying. How many people mistook Alinar for a woman and how long it took for anyone to actually figure out that he wasn’t. As it stood, so far only one person seemed to notice that Alinar might not be female, but they did not seem sure and clearly wanted to say something but didn’t.

After lunch they went for a walk and the plug was teasing the elf in a way that was making him desperate for release. He wanted Zar to fuck him, to milk hos prostate, and he didn’t care who saw. Of course they had to be careful and it was difficult to remain calm. When Zar suggested a movie Alinar felt it would be the perfect opportunity to relax. Since he would be sitting still the stimulation would not be as intense.

Of course he should have expected something was up when Zar insisted they sit far in the back of the theater and did not seem to care what movie they chose. Alinars suspicions were confirmed about thirty minutes into the film. He could feel a large heavy hand running up his thigh and over his crotch. Alinar squirmed causing the plug to shift and he had to bite back a moan. 

Zar leaned over. “If you can stay silent, I will let you cum.”

Slowly Zar undid Alinar’s pants and slid a hand inside. He groped the elfs cock and stroked it slowly. Between the position and how dark it was, it would be impossible for anyone looking to tell exactly what was happening. It was clearly sexual, but gave no indication of what genitals were involved. 

Alinar was determined to show Zar that he could take orders, and fought to be silent as his cock was teased. It wasn’t the same as a normal hand job, the position was awkward. It meant the stimulation wasn’t as direct and was more teasing in nature. It kept him on the edge for almost the entirety of the movie. The longer it went on the more desperate the elf became before he broke and whispered to Zar.

“Please”

Glancing around to make sure no one was watching them. Zar leaned down and took the elfs cock into his mouth in one smooth motion, swallowing the entire length and sucking hard. He could feel Alinars hips thrust up only once, as the elf desperately grasped his hair and came in his throat. 

Miraculously the elf had remained mostly silent, only a quiet choked off grunt could be heard. Sitting up Zar smiled and put his arm around Alinar pulling him close into a cuddle as the elf readjusted his pants. They had been seen, Zar noticed a couple much further down the row watching them. Clearly they weren’t bothered by it as they seemed to be up to their own little risky activities. Feeling a bit playful Zar waved at them and then turned back to the film with a smile.

Maybe tonight would be the night. He would invite Alinar to stay and he wouldn’t give up until he was deep inside Alinar and the elf was screaming his name.

[ruminativerabbi]

Looking Forward/Looking Back

And so a new era begins in our nation! Will the Biden years, whether four or eight of them, lead to healing in a nation so riven that many of the chasms that divide us—some racial, others political, still others ethnic or economic—feel truly unbridgeable? Will they feature an end to the COVID-era that has so radically altered the way we live and do business in our land? Will they bring a rededication to the kind of environmentally sound public policy that could possibly head off the crises that will otherwise visit the planet with increasingly frequency and ferocity if we choose to put blinders on and then recklessly to barrel ahead into uncharted waters without any clear sense of how to address even the issues that threaten us the least overtly, let alone those that are the most prominent? Will the recent hopeful developments in the Middle East serve as the prelude to the kind of complex reconfiguration that will, at long last, make Israel into a nation tied at least as profoundly to neighbors and local friends as to distant allies in North America and, when the wind blows in the right direction, Europe? (And will such a rebalancing of alliances lead finally to a just resolution of the Palestinians’ plight in a way that both serves their own best interests and Israel’s?) All of these questions are in the air as we pass from the Trump era to the Biden years, definitely from the past to the future and ideally from a period characterized by unprecedented (that word again!) incivility and fractiousness to one more reminiscent of the nation in which people my age and older remember growing up.

To none of the above questions do I have a clear answer to offer. But I do feel hopeful—and that hope is born not merely of wishful thinking (or not solely of it), but also of a sense that we have come to a point in our nation’s history at which the task of re-dedicating ourselves to the bedrock notions that underlay the founding of the American republic in the eighteenth century is crucial. But no less crucial is ridding ourselves of some of the fantasies we have been taught since childhood to accept as basic American truths.

There are lots to choose from, but today I would like to write about one of my favorite American fantasies, the one according to which Americans have always treated dissent graciously, enjoying national debate without acrimony and finding in principled dialogue the most basic of American paths forward. According to that fantasy, Congress exists basically to house friendly co-workers whose disagreements can and do yield the kind of dignified compromise that in turn serves as a path forward that all their constituents can gratefully travel into a bipartisan future built on our collective will to live in peace and learn from each other. Hah!

We have had in our past instances of violent altercation, including some in the very halls of Congress that were besieged by insurrectionists on January 6. Forgetting them won’t necessarily condemn us to reliving them. But keeping them in mind will surely help us find the resolve to avoid them. As we enter the Biden years, we need to look with clear eyes on that part of our history and, instead of ignoring it, allow it to guide us forward into a different kind of future.

First up, I think, would have to be the 1838 murder of Congressman Jonathan Cilley (D-Maine) by Congressman William Graves (Whig-Kentucky). This one did not take place in the Capitol, although that’s where the party got started. The backstory is so petty as almost to be silly, yet a man died because of that pettiness. Cilley said something on the floor of the House that irritated a prominent Whig journalist, who responded by asking Graves to hand deliver a note demanding an apology. Cilley declined, to which principled decision Graves responded by challenging Cilley to a duel, which then actually took place on February 24, 1838 in nearby Maryland. Neither was apparently much of a marksman. Both men shot twice and missed. But then Congressman Graves aimed more carefully and shot and killed Congressman Cilley.

To their credit, Congress responded by passing anti-dueling legislation. But that only kept our elected representatives from murdering each other, not from behaving violently. For example, when Representative Preston Brooks (D-South Carolina) wanted to express his disapproval of the abolitionist stance of Senator Charles Sumner (R-Massachusetts), he brought a walking cane with him into the Capitol on May 22, 1856, and beat Sumner almost to death. The account of the beating on the website of the United States Senate reads as follows: “Moving quickly, Brooks slammed his metal-topped cane onto the unsuspecting Sumner's head. As Brooks struck again and again, Sumner rose and lurched blindly about the chamber, futilely attempting to protect himself. After a very long minute, it ended. Bleeding profusely, Sumner was carried away.  Brooks walked calmly out of the chamber without being detained by the stunned onlookers.” The rest of the story is also instructive: Congress voted to censure Congressman Brooks, whereupon the latter resigned and was almost immediately re-elected to the House by his constituents in South Carolina. He died soon after that (and at age 37), but his place in history was secured! Sumner himself survived and spent another eighteen years in the Senate.

I’d like to suggest that all my readers who felt totally shocked by the events of January 6 to read The Field of Blood: Violence in Congress and the Road to Civil War  by Joanne B. Freeman, a professor of history at Yale University, that was published in 2018 by Farrar, Strauss, and Giroux. I read the book when it came out and thought then (and still do think) that it should be required reading for all who imagine that, as I keep hearing, the use of violence and, even more so, the threat of violence “just isn’t us.” It’s us, all right. And Freeman’s book proves it a dozen different ways. As readers of my letters know, I read a lot of American history. But I can hardly recall reading a book that so thoroughly changed the way I thought of our government and its history.

And then there was the brawl in the House in 1858 that broke out when Laurence M. Keitt (D-South Carolina) attempted to strangle Galusha Grow (R-Pennsylvania) in the wake the latter speaking disparagingly about of the Supreme Court’s decision in Dred Scott v. Sanford to the effect that Black people were by virtue of their race excluded from American citizenship regardless of whether they were enslaved or free. The House was, to say the least, riven when Keitt went for Grow’s throat. And what happened next, Freeman writes, “was a free-for-all right in the open space in front of the Speaker’s platform featuring roughly thirty, sweaty, disheveled, mostly middle-aged congressman in a no-holds-barred brawl, North against South.” Keitt, who threw the first punch, was already known as a violent man: it was he, in fact, who took out his gun and threatened to kill any member of Congress who was part of the effort to save Charles Sumner’s life in the attack on him by Preston Brooks mentioned above.

These are the thoughts I have in my heart as the nation enters the Biden years. We have a history of violence, incivility, and public rage. What happened on January 6 was, yes, an aberration in that no one supports—or, at least, supports openly—the use of violence to make a point in the Congress. But that was not something new and shocking as much as it was a return to an earlier stage of our nation’s history, a kind of regression to the days in which violence was the language of discourse, an age in which it was possible for one member of the House openly to attempt to strangle another and then to suffer no real consequences at all. And just to wrap up the story, Representative Keitt later joined the Confederate Army and was killed on June 1, 1864 at the Battle of Cold Harbor near Mechanicsville, Virginia.

That we can renounce violence, embrace civility, listen to opposing viewpoints carefully and thoughtfully, debate with courage and respect for others’ opinions, and behave like grown-ups even when we are unlikely to have our way in some matter of public policy—I know in my heart that we can do that. Last week, I wrote about three different instances of armed insurrection against the federal government. This week, I’ve written about the use of threats of violence, and violence itself, at the highest level of government. I could go on to note that, of our first forty-five American presidents, there have been either successful or unsuccessful assassination attempts against a full twenty of them…and that that list includes every president of my own lifetime except for Dwight Eisenhower. We cannot renounce our American propensity to settle things with our fists by making believe that violence is not part of our culture. Just the opposite is true: it was part of our past and it certainly part of our present. Whether it will be part of our future—that is the question on the table. The insurrectionists who entered the Capitol on January 6 were convinced they were acting in accordance with American tradition. There’s something to that argument too…and that is why it is so crucial now that we all join together to renounce that part of our past and then to move ahead into a future characterized by mutual respect, respectful debate, and a deep sense of national unity born of pride in the best parts of our past, confidence in the present, and hope in the future.

[skvaderarts]

Hiraeth Chapter 25: Vilify

Masterlist can be found Here!

Chapter Twenty Five: Vilify

Note: *Nervous laughter transitions into nervous crying* I just- shit. I’ve got nothing.

(-~-)

The door loomed at the end of the hallway, black and oozing clouds of icy mist from its center and outer edges like the maw of some unknowable beast. The thick layer of frost that had once been on the windows that were present in the middle of each side of the door had now migrated upwards towards the ceiling, freezing the windows solid. For a moment, they entertained the idea that the doors might very well be frozen solid and that there may not actually be a way to open them. But one thing was for certain: whatever was on the other side of this door was cold. Very cold.

As they approached, a flicker of light could be seen from the other side of the door as if someone or something had just gone past. The light moved from right to left in a quick burst as though something had quickly dashed past, but had made no effort to conceal itself. They stopped dead in their tracks as they waited to see what would happen, unsure as to what they might be up against. A low rhythmic thudding could be heard from some unknown place, each step they took seemingly bouncing off of the impossibly echoey walls and amplifying the sound of the accursed thudding. It grew louder and louder until it began to double up, indicating to them that the rhythm of the sound was, in fact, that of a heartbeat, its speed quickening as they inched closer and closer to the door.

V examined the door for a moment as they finally got up close to it, noting the thick layer of film-like ice that had started to cover the doors. It reminded him of pond scum, or the skin that formed on top of a pot of soup if you left it for too long. The only difference was that this was on a vertical surface and was mostly see-through, easily falling away towards the floor and shattering or melting under food when he brushed his hand over it. When he tried to wipe away the surface of the door handle, he noticed that the ice had formed on the door again, seemingly unwilling to go without its protective layer of frozen condensation. A quick test tug at the handle yielded the unsurprising result that the door wasn’t going to budge.

Seemingly realizing the fact that they were not going to be able to open a frozen door, Sirrus stepped forward, gently gesturing for V to move so that he could examine the door closer. He looked at each of the handles before migrating to the hinges on both the left and right sides of the two doors, his eyes studying them carefully as he seemed to try to come up with the best possible solution to this problem. After a moment, he put his left hand on the left side door and held it there for a moment, closing his eyes. The door handle began to smoke, and a strange sizzling noise could be heard as plumes of white mist rose up into the air. V got the impression that Sirrus might be doing something that involved heat to the door, but he honestly couldn’t be sure. It was hard to see what the tall redhead was doing with his back turned to him.

“My powers are seemingly mundane, all things considered. He shouldn’t suspect much if he sees me use them.” Sirrus said quietly under his breath as he focused his attention on opening the door. Despite his best efforts to get the door to open, the handle was heating up, but not as much as it should. “This door is being held shut by something stronger than just ice. I should be able to break through it at this temperature, but alas, I am having very little success. Perhaps if I try the hinges…”

He stepped back out of Sirrus’s way, taking a look at the door himself. The moment that the tall man with the vibrant hair had stepped away and released the door handle, it had begun to cool off. Already there were droplets of condensation forming on the door handle, the cool air had not so much as slowed down. V was easily willing to believe that his companion’s assessment of the situation was correct. Everything about this door was just wrong, even in a situation like this.

“Do you think that we could try removing the hinges, or something akin to that?” V asked as he folded his arms, contemplating the situation that he found himself in. This wasn’t something he had too many ideas in regards to. After all, there were only so many ways that you could open a door. “In truth, I can’t say that I really know any other way that we could open this door. I don’t think we can fit through these windows. Maybe the door is locked?”

Sirrus turned to face him, waggling his finger at him as he nodded in apparent agreement, his satisfaction evident. “Yes, that just might work. At the very least I could break one of these windows and make sure that the door isn’t locked from the other side. That could be part of why this door is giving us such trouble.”

With a quick heel turn, Sirrus stood in front of the window to the right of V, peering through it. They both possessed instruments that were blunt enough to be able to break a window, especially one that was frozen. And while V was correct in his assumption that they could not fit through the windows in the doors, his arm could, and that might be just enough to accomplish what he needed to. The worst-case scenario was that they were already unlocked but were frozen shut, or that the doors required a key, but just knowing what they were working with was a good place to start. They would take what they could get at this point.

As V pondered the proper way to stand in order to break the ice with his cane without falling on his face or slipping, Sirrus wrapped the bottom of his jacket around his arm and slammed his elbow into the glass on his side of the door, shattering it easily in one fell swoop. V gave him a blank look, mentally kicking himself for not having thought of that sooner. If the glass was that easy to break, then maybe he was just overthinking this. It would be totally understandable with the state that his mind was in at the moment. That borderline mental breakdown that he had almost had a few minutes ago had genuinely negatively impacted him.

“I believe that I should be able to check if the door is locked or not. Give me just a-” Sirrus started, but he didn’t get the chance to finish his statement.

Reaching up to knock the glass out of the window as he listened to the other man’s statement, V had just enough time to make eye contact with him before a loud boom could be heard from the other side of the door. Sirrus looked slightly alarmed and attempted to withdraw his arm for the hole in the glass that he had made moments ago. But before he could do so, the door was snatched open, the two doors peeling down towards the floor in opposite directions as a loud screeching noise penetrated the air between them. A large, almost transparent hand adorned by a set of long, razor-sharp nails could be seen from the other side of what used to be the doors as it managed to grab the entire door that Sirrus had his arm through and drag it to the depths that it had emerged from. The redheaded man let out a startled yelp before disappearing into the yawning abyss along with the hand and out of V’s line of sight.

V’s mind was racing at a speed so rapid that made even the fastest supercomputers look like they were being operated by dot-matrix cards as he considered the horror of the situation that he was now in. Was Sirrus alright? It was unlikely, but he held on to the small shred of hope that he kept buried deep within himself that he might find his companion alive. He couldn’t break that news to Magnolia, and although he was odd at times, Sirrus was not unkind to him. And yet somehow that was still the least pressing issue at hand.

 What in the hell was with that giant, seemingly transparent hand?! It looked almost like a clear shell with black smoke inside of it, but he was sure that it was probably a bit more complicated than that. The appendage had been gigantic, one finger being nearly as big as he was. One could only hope that whatever the hand belonged to didn't decide to crush Sirrus and dispose of him like so much refuse on the side of the road, because it was most certainly capable of doing so. Anything that could destroy a metal door like that was vast and powerful, and at the moment, V was almost afraid to ask himself what that appendage might belong to. Or should he say “who”?

He was alone now in this strange environment that didn’t have any rime or reason to it, and the only thing he could do was press on and hope for the best, being sure to be careful as he went. He was nearly certain that he was no longer alone, and while he didn’t doubt that he could protect himself, he had no idea what he was up against in this place, and that gave his opponent a clear advantage over him. Not that they really needed another one to begin with. He was already in their territory, and it seemed to possess the ability to change that territory to do what they saw fit. That was a frightening prospect.

“Gees… You think that guy is dead, V? Because if I was the betting type, and I am, I’d be willing to bet that he is.” Griffon chimed in quietly, admittedly taking V off guard. He jolted slightly, his head pirouetting from side to side as he looked for the source of the voice, only to realize a moment later that it was coming from inside of his own head. It seemed that he had a few too many of those these days from what he understood.

“Let us hope that he is not,” V said calmly under his breath, addressing no one in particular as he slid carefully around the crushed wreckage of what used to be the door and stepped into a cold, dark room. The area was shaped like a plus sign with doors going to other areas to his left and right, but he had no interest in exploring them if he did not have to. In front of him was a doorway that he assumed might have actual doors, but from what he could see from where he stood, they had either been removed, or they were pushed back against the adjoining walls so far that they were no longer visible. There was, of course, the third option, but it involved the gigantic evil hand that he had seen earlier, so he was going to just pretend that that option didn’t exist. He had no desire to interact with something like that.

Moving onward at a quick but careful pace, he considered his current options. He knew that the spectral hand had taken Sirrus. That much was a fact, and there was no avoiding it. But there was still the question of his own perception. Some elements were physical in regards to the space that he was currently in, but what parts of those elements actually existed in his current reality, and what was the nature of that reality? Was this place in the human world, the underworld, or something else entirely? Did entities in this reality actually possess the ability to control or affect elements of the space around them, or was this all smoke and mirrors? He was willing to believe that at least some part of this situation was influenced by actual reality since Belial needed fragments of his memories to construct this place, but then how did he explain the physical presence of things such as the groceries that he had been able to pick up and touch, or the doors that he could and could not open? What were the limitations of a place like this, and how much did his adversary know about him and his allies? There was so much that he did not understand.

A part of him wanted to believe that he might somehow still be in the human world, and it was simply his understanding of his surroundings that had changed. In spite of everything, he cracked a brief smirk at the mental image of other random shoppers in the store watching him and Sirrus scramble around in a massive hurry, knocking over things and practically climbing up the shelves in distress and confusion, but somehow he just knew that wasn’t the case. They might have walked through the doors of the store, but this place wasn’t physically part of that building. But that raised another important question, didn’t it?

His mind went back to a previous conversation that he had witnessed between Nero and Lucia’s mother back in her homeland. What had that lovely older woman’s name been? Matier. That was right. It had only been a few days, but it felt like a lifetime ago. Well actually, how long had it been? Everything had been perfectly fine just an hour ago. He regretted the fact that he had ever felt the need to eat food. If not, he could still be at his house, safely within the confines of their warm, not at all cursed walls. But what she had said stuck with him at that moment, and he was admittedly taken aback by the validity and relevance of the answer that she had given his younger brother when he’d asked her such a standard question.

“Why would that knife even be able to do something like that? It is cursed or something? We’ve had it for a while now and nothing like that has happened before.” He had asked.

“Nothing that you know of, young one. If what he describes is true, who among you would be able to tell? After all, we have very little insight as to how the Arcana functions.” She had stated.

Cold, deathly chills ran down his spine as he considered the gravity of that statement for the first time. How would he be able to tell? How far was Belial’s reach in regards to his illusions? All he needed access to was V’s sense of perception to be able to replicate something as complex as a grocery store. Random street signs that he only half-read when he passed them, and buildings that he didn’t pay much attention to could change day to day and he would have never noticed. The people that did and didn’t pass by him each day were of little to no consequence. How well could he fake another person without him noticing, and was that something that he was even capable of doing in the first place? What else had this demon faked without him knowing, and for how long? Just how long could he have been doing something like this without him realizing it? If Sirrus had not clued him into just how strange the store had been initially, he would still be shopping, minding his own business, and going about his day as if nothing was wrong. What was the true extent of his lack of perception in this case? 

Normally things didn’t escape his notice easily. He liked to think that he was at least somewhat intelligent and keeping a close eye on his surroundings was something that he had done his entire life, even when he hadn't wanted to do it. That was one of the only reasons that he had made it as long as he had. But now that he was up against this demon, this unknowable powerful individual who had amassed a cult and sent them after him for reasons he still didn’t fully understand only to then carefully set a trap that he had been non the wiser about, he had no choice but to begin to wonder just how much he could rely on his own mind to fill in the blanks around him.

Paranoia was not something that he could afford to entertain, but in the case of a demon that could easily mimic an entire building, what other choice did he have but to doubt his own sense? He couldn’t trust his own eyes, and his body was reacting to the bitter cold caused by something that probably wasn’t even entirely real to begin with. Those were two sources that were unreliable in a situation like this. All he had left was his ears, his sense of smell, and his touch. Tasting literally anything in this place was completely out of the question. But upon considering that, something occurred to him. There was one thing he could try that pertained to that sensory category that just might work.

Awash with doubt and thoroughly shaken, he raised his hand up to his face and touched his pointer finger to his tongue, holding it there for a second. It was a longshot, but this was something that he might be able to do. He could practically feel Griffon sighing in exasperation as he tried to comprehend what his master was up to now, but unless it worked, he didn’t really have a whole lot to tell him.

Concentrating on his finger as hard as he could in order to be able to tell what he was doing, he felt the air blow towards him. It was a slight thing, but it was present, and as he took a step forward towards the doorway, he could feel the strength of the breeze grow slightly. But just a moment later, the air pulled backward, going in the opposite direction. It then repeated, pushing and pulling slowly as he stepped closer towards the doorway and through the hanging plastic that obscured his view. His blood ran cold for a moment as he realized the terrifying implications of what he had just discovered.

This wasn’t a breeze… it was breath.

Stepping further into the room, he was met by utter darkness, the yawning black abyss seemingly absorbing him as his pulse picked up. There was no telling how large this space was, and that alone was enough to make his already tired legs slightly weak. But that didn’t really matter at this point. One way or another he was going to have to get out of this place, and this imposing room was clearly the way forward.

His blood pumped heavily through every available pathway his body contained, flooding him with a potent mixture of adrenaline. At this point, his body practically distilled the stuff on command. Unfortunately, he found himself in perilous situations often enough for that to be a distinct possibility. He took another hesitant step forward before stopping. Somehow he could just tell that he was standing in front of something, and whatever that something was, it was colossal.

And then they opened. First one and then two, both on opposite sides of the room. Thin slits with long black slits in the middle of them, each about half the length of a train car. Then two smaller slits opened, each higher up and flanking the first two, followed by a smaller one in the very center, forming a sort of fin pattern in the darkness, mere feet away from the young descendant of Sparda. And then they closed, two sets of large sliding flaps, both vertical and then horizontal as they closed briefly before reopening. 

He blanched slightly as he stepped back, turning pale as his stomach hit the floor. Eyes. These were eyes. And then a moment later, the rippling darkness moved closer, revealing a large almost liquid-like surface that matched the iridescent, transparent black surface that was oh so reminiscent of the hand that had taken his companion mere minutes ago. He had found the source of the darkness. And although he was too paralyzed with disbelief to say as much, he knew exactly what this creature was.

“Excellent. I was hoping that you would come eventually, and you didn’t disappoint me. In fact, you took less time than I imagined you would to arrive. Good. I do not tolerate disappointment.” The being spoke without speaking, its voice somehow echoing through the space that they both occupied as it bounced off of unseen walls. V fought the urge to flinch, but gritted his teeth in discomfort regardless, unwilling to break eye contact for even a moment. That could easily spell his doom. 

“Did you think there would be no consequences for what was done to bring you back here? That you could take without giving back? I doubt you had much say in the matter. But that is irrelevant now. I see everything, and now I have you exactly where I want you.” It slid forward in one long, swift motion, forcing him to step back in order to avoid touching the gargantuan face that he was presented back. One could only imagine that it was extending its neck, if it had one. As he took one step and then another, he reached backward, grasping towards the door. Against his better judgment, he stole a glance in the direction of the door, only to find that, to his horror, it was no longer there. Only the endless expanse of darkness that now surrounded him. Whatever this place was, he was now in it, and there was no clear way out. What was he going to do?

“You seem uncomfortable, child. Let me fix that for you.” It said, its booming, dark voice vibrating the walls as it almost laughed in amusement at this situation that it found itself in. The floor beneath V rippled like the surface of the face before him, tendrils of blackness suddenly erupting from beneath him and insnaring him, pulling him upwards and coiling around him like the roots of a tree. He was anchored in place, and there was no fighting back. 

Every muscle in his body tried to fight his restraints, but they failed virtually the moment they even manifested the will to attempt to combat such immense otherworldly strength. He briefly imagined that this was what it would feel like to try and move a cinderblock wall up a steep mountain with your teeth, but it wasn’t like he had any baseline to compare that to. And although he was glad for that, he couldn’t say that he was looking forward to whatever was going to happen next.

With a wispy wheeze-like gasp, V coughed, suddenly feeling the breath leave his body as the tentacles clasped around him tightly. He got the impression that this was being done to restrain him instead of smothering him to death, but it was borderline painful regardless of the intention behind it. Looking forward, he locked eyes with the large face as it loomed over him, inching closer as it nearly touched him. He could feel its breath despite no apparent opening. It seemed that Vergil had been right in that assessment. Oh, how he desperately wished that wasn’t the case… 

“Ah yes,  where are my manners? You are my honored guest, after all.” V got the impression that the entity before him was grinning ear to ear, and the fact that it possessed no mouth somehow made that a million times worse. Introductions then. I am Belial, your host… And we have business to discuss.”

(-~-)

Nope nope nope nope nope! I’m going to go hide in the comment section where it is still at least a little bit safe. I’m telling you now, next week is going to be WILD. I spent so much time editing the final draft for the physical release that I think I’ve gone mad from sleep deprivation... 

[thebarsondaily]

Yes, Noah, There is a Santa Claus

Written For: @untapdtreasure

Title: Yes, Noah, There is a Santa Claus Author: motherbearof03 Rating: Teen and up Summary: Noah asks for something special for Christmas and his mother has no idea what it is. A/N: 

“Mom?” 

“Yes, Noah?” Olivia asked absently. 

It was the Sunday after Thanksgiving and the SVU Captain was enjoying the last day of her four day weekend, grateful nothing had happened over the holiday that warranted her squad calling her. Dinner was in the oven, laundry had been finished, folded and put away, and she was trying to finish the book she started on Friday. It was the first long weekend they’d had in a long time with no interruptions.

“Those red mailboxes we saw in the store. Do the letters kids put in them actually get to Santa?”

She and Noah had braved the stores for some Black Friday shopping and she had to stop for a moment, taking her focus off the page in front of her and think about what he was asking.

“Mailboxes? Oh, in Macy’s you mean?”

He nodded. Her son had turned seven less than two weeks before and she wondered if he was trying to ask whether Santa was real or if he wanted to send a letter to the Jolly Old Elf.

“Why? Did you want to write one?”

He nodded again.

“Yeah, but I want to make sure it actually gets to him,” Noah explained and she breathed a quiet sigh of relief. 

He was too young to stop believing in the magic of Christmas. Fortunately, she had been able to get him just about everything he’d asked Santa for since he started writing letters. Last year and the year before he asked for a puppy and Santa had to reply explaining how their apartment and his mom’s work schedule didn’t really make for a good time for them to have a dog, but promised he could play with Frannie whenever he wanted; the promise made with Amanda’s blessing.

“Why don’t you write your letter and I’ll find out about the Macy’s mailboxes. Otherwise, I can get the address for you,” Olivia suggested.

“How can you get Santa’s address?” Noah’s blue eyes narrowed.

“I may be Captain now, but I’m still a detective, remember?” She winked at him.

“Oh, yeah! Can I have some paper?”

“May I?” His mother corrected and pointed toward the computer printer on the shelf. “You can use that.”

Noah got up and took several sheets of paper and settled at the coffee table with a pencil. Olivia returned to her book and his letter was forgotten until he asked for an envelope after dinner. She got him one, helped him fold the pages and put it on the refrigerator until the Macy’s mailbox was verified or she tracked down Santa’s address. He didn’t have school the next day and so she was running behind, having allowed herself the luxury of a couple extra minutes in bed. 

“Don’t forget my letter,” her son reminded her as she pulled on her winter coat by the door.

Olivia spun on her heel and  walked back to the kitchen reaching for the envelope. It was held in place by a magnet with a photo of a bird flying across an intersection with the words “Is it still jaywalking if you fly?” 

She paused, and for a moment was transported back to that day two years ago when her family not by blood but by choice had come to the apartment in the days after Noah’s kidnapping by his grandmother, Sheila Porter. Carisi, Amanda and Jesse had shown up first, with casseroles of homemade food from Sonny’s mother and cookies and cannoli from his favorite bakery. Fin was next, with a large box of Legos that the kids dove into while the adults opened a bottle of wine. The last knock at her door was the one she’d secretly most hoped for and when she opened it to see Rafael Barba standing there, her heart skipped a beat. 

Olivia always thought nothing was more attractive than him in one of his coordinated suit, tie and suspenders combinations but to see him on her threshold in dark jeans, a casual pullover shirt and wool coat, asking how she was with a look of concerned sincerity made her want to throw herself into his arms and feel them around her again like she had in her office. Time stood still as they spoke and drank each other in and he finally had to prompt her to let him enter the apartment. That was when Noah told him about the deer that crossed the road in front of the on the way home from New Hampshire and he made the silly dad joke about how in New York he’d be arrested for jaywalking that made Noah laugh. That was the first thing that the then ADA did that day that surprised her. The other was that he knelt down at the table and immediately began to play with the children. At one point he’d glanced up at her and caught her watching, her expression soft. Before she could allow herself to think about where Barba was or what he was doing now, her son broke the moment.

“Mom? Did you hear me?”

Pulling the envelope free, Olivia turned to face Noah.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, what did you say?”

“I said, it’s snowing!”

She glanced at the window and frowned. Just what she needed when she was already running late. Then she moved to kiss the top of Noah’s curls.

“Be good for Lucy today. I love you.”

“Love you too. And I’m always good.”

He gave her a lopsided smile that was so familiar to the one she used to get from the former ADA who left her standing outside the courthouse that her breath caught. Shaking her head to rid it of any more thoughts of the man, she tightened her belt and left the apartment. It wasn’t snowing, Olivia discovered when she got out of the building, but sleeting. Fine pellets of ice that stung against her face. Punishment for allowing herself to think about Barba, she thought wryly, and pulled her collar higher, falling in with the crowds on the sidewalk. She’d trained herself not to think about him; or at least to only think about him when she chose to and could control her emotions. But lately everywhere she turned there were reminders. When they were decorating for Carisi’s party to celebrate his move to the DA’s office, the bartender had been playing a black and white western. The outfit Noah chose to wear to Billie’s christening included suspenders. And now the jaywalking magnet.

Olivia was surprised when, after writing his letter to Santa, Noah announced he wanted to see him as well.

“I just want to make sure he got my letter and understood what I told him,” the boy said.

She tried to assure him that Santa got his letter and that of course he understood, but there was no dissuading the boy. If she hadn’t known better, she’d have thought he’d been taking lessons in courtroom arguments from Rafael Barba. He parried back at every statement she presented to him, and was accepting none of it. He needed to talk to Santa in person. 

That was how Olivia found herself standing in line at Macy’s one evening after work in December. For some reason she thought the crowds would be smaller than on the weekend. She was wrong. She was reminded of the scene in “A Christmas Story” when Ralphie and his brother arrive to see Santa and are told the line starts “back there”, because the man in the red suit wasn’t even in sight when they took their place in the lane of candy cane striped poles, between which were strung ropes of sparkling tinsel. As they made their way slowly through the serpentine, Noah was content to take in the festive surroundings and try and figure which fairy tale each tree was decorated to represent. This freed his mother up to check her personal email, deleting numerous ads for holiday sales, cookie recipes and DIY decorating tips. She paused when she saw the one from Noah’s teacher.

“Noah, why did Ms. Tatum send me an email?”

He was standing on one foot, arms over his head, imitating the pirouette of one of the ballerinas on the Nutcracker tree. 

“Probably because I told her I was bored at school,” he replied nonchalantly, raising up on the toe of his high tops and attempting to spin around; the rubber sole on the thin carpeted walkway preventing him from being successful.

“Bored? Since when? I thought you liked school?”

Noah shrugged, and took a step forward as the line moved, reassumed his position and tried again and was again foiled by his footwear.

“Stupid sneakers. If I had my dance shoes on, I could do it,” he muttered.

“Don’t say stupid, honey, and answer my question,” Olivia told him. 

“I don’t know.” He shrugged again and she bit her lip to keep from telling him not to shrug. “It’s all easy. I get bored when Ms. Tatum has to stop and help someone else because I’ve already finished my work.”

“It’s her job to make sure everyone learns the lesson.”

“I know, so I just read or draw a picture or something. I’m not disruptive, Mom,” Noah said with a hint of disdain and slight eye roll and again she felt the ghost of a former ADA in the room.

“You’re next,” she said, deciding to see what the teacher had to say while he spoke to Santa.

Not surprisingly, the email echoed what Noah had said. His teacher asked Olivia to let her know when she had time to meet to discuss some options, because she didn’t want the boy to lose his passion for learning. The SVU Captain liked the young woman and was glad to see she had picked up on the issue and was bringing it to her attention. She replied with a few days and times and looked up to see if Noah had finished. He was still sitting on the lap of the man in the red suit and speaking intently, as if making sure he got his point across. Olivia walked up to the pair.

“Noah, there are other children who want to talk to Santa. I think your turn is up,” she said with a smile.

“It’s all right, officer,” Santa told her, spotting her badge. “Noah and I were just finishing up.”

“My mom is the Captain,” Noah informed him proudly. “But she’s still a detective.”

Santa, who sported his own whiskers, grinned from behind them and his eyes twinkled at her. They were blue, but reminded her a lot of a pair of green ones the way they lit up with amusement.

“Is she now? Well that’s an important job and I’m sure your mom works hard,” he told the boy. “You need to be an extra good boy for her.”

“He’s always good,” Olivia assured Santa, holding her hand out. “Come on, Noah, let’s go.”

“Noah, go get your treat from one of my elves. I want to ask your mom what she wants for Christmas.”

The boy hopped off his lap and went obediently a few yards away where he could choose from a pile of small wrapped packages that were being watched over by pointed eared elves wearing curled toed shoes.

“Noah was telling me he’s bored at school and that’s a terrible thing for a child at his age. He seems extremely bright,” the man said when the child was out of earshot.

Olivia nodded.

“He is. I’ve just gotten a letter from his teacher wanting to talk about it.”

“Santa has a lot of friends in education, as you can imagine, working with so many children. There’s a wonderful charter school run by a friend of mine.”

He reached into the pocket of his red trousers and pulled out a card.

“Maybe go visit it first without Noah and see what you think.”

The woman took it from his white gloved fingers with another nod.

“Thank you. I’ve been wondering if a charter school might be a good option for him.”

Olivia turned to leave.

“And Captain?”

She turned back.

“I hope you and your brother are able to mend fences for the holidays.��

Shocked and confused, Olivia simply nodded and walked to Noah as the next child approached Santa. Her brother? What had Noah told the man? When Simon died, she told Noah about it only because he had met his uncle. Of course, she hadn’t explained that the man overdosed, but simply that he had an accident. Maybe someday she would explain more. She was still working out her own guilt that her phone message had pushed the former addict to seek solace in drugs again and resulted in his death. Beside her, Noah was telling her about the coloring book and crayons he’d opened and asking if he could eat the candy cane that had been attached to the package. 

Later that night, once Noah was in bed, Olivia called Amanda Rollins. At work, the two women maintained their commanding officer/detective relationship, but outside, they had become fast friends and spoke often about everything non-SVU related, including parenting and their relationships. Although those conversations were mostly one-sided, with Amanda sometimes complaining, but often telling her about the sweet things that Sonny Carisi did. Olivia was never surprised; she knew the new ADA had a romantic streak a mile wide. Tonight, she filled her friend in on the visit with Santa.

“So you have no idea what he said or what he wants?” Amanda asked.

“Not a clue.”

“Didn’t you read the letter before you put it in the mailbox at the store?”

“No, dammit. I took it after he wrote it and then made the mistake of admitting I hadn’t dropped it off, so then we had to actually mail it,” she explained.

“Rookie mistake, Liv,” Amanda laughed. “Always read the letter.”

“I know. I usually do. But this year he wrote it himself without any help and sealed it up. Maybe he didn’t want me to see it.”

“Is he testing to see if Santa is real?”

“I don’t think so,” said Olivia. “Otherwise why would he insist on seeing him in the store? Who, by the way, is the only Santa, according to Noah, because he comes in the parade. He said all the others are just elves that dress up like Santa and report back to him.”

The two women laughed, then Olivia added,

“I just hope this isn’t something I can’t figure out or fulfill. And why would he say something about Simon? He only met him that one time.”

“I don’t know. Maybe he’s picking up on your unresolved feelings about Simon’s death,” Amanda suggested.

“Now you sound like Dr. Lindstrom.”

“You were the one who said I should try therapy,” her detective shot back. “Must be working.”

On her end, Olivia just smiled and shook her head. 

Noah appeared to be satisfied after his visit with Santa, and didn’t bring it up again as the days grew shorter and his mother tried to balance work and final holiday preparations, along with fitting in a meeting with his teacher. The conference went well, with both parent and teacher in agreement that the boy needed additional enrichment and stimulation and that a charter school might be a good option, validating the opinion of the Santa from Macy’s, who, Olivia thought had looked like a retired schoolteacher himself. Noah’s teacher provided two recommendations; one of which was the same as the school on the card that had been in the SVU Captain’s coat pocket since the night at the department store.

Olivia stood in the office of the school recommended by both Noah’s teacher and Santa, waiting for the principal. It didn’t look much different than his current school but there was a different vibe. As she walked through the hallway, she’d heard music coming from one classroom, and a glimpse through the window in the door of another saw children at various stations around the room. Even the ones she passed where students were seated and listening to the teacher, they all had engaged expressions on their faces. None of them looked bored or uninterested in the lesson. Instinctively, Olivia felt like this might be a better fit for Noah.

“Ms. Benson?”

Olivia turned in the direction of the voice to see a familiar figure but one she hadn’t seen in several years.

“Mrs. Barba?”

“Lieutenant Benson!”

The older woman came closer and embraced her, then stepped back and held onto her arms, looking Olivia over. 

“You’re looking well, Lieutenant,” Lucia said.

“It’s Captain now, actually. And so are you, Mrs. Barba.”

“Captain? That’s quite a feather in your cap, isn’t it?” Then she waved her hand at the return compliment. “Ah, you’re kind for saying so. But years are catching up with me.”

Olivia couldn’t have disagreed more. Other than a few more lines around her kind brown eyes, Lucia Barba didn’t look much different than she did the first time they’d met in the courthouse and the woman had told her she drove Rafael “a little crazy”. 

“So what can I do for you, Captain? I hope you’re not here on police business?”

“Please, call me Olivia. And no, I’m here to look at possibly sending my son, Noah, to school here.”

“He’s in school? He can’t be old enough to be in school!” Lucia exclaimed. “I remember when Rafi told me you adopted him.”

“He’s seven years old and in second grade,” Olivia confirmed with a smile. “But he’s complaining of being bored at school, so his teacher suggested I look into a charter school and this one was recommended by both her and a friend of yours.”

The older woman linked her arm through Olivia’s and led her into the hallway. 

“Let me give you a tour. Who was this friend of mine?” she asked.

Olivia laughed.

“I don’t actually know his name. He’s playing Santa at Macy’s right now. Blue eyes, real white beard. He gave me your card.”

Lucia shook her head.

“I can’t think of who that might be off the top of my head, but I give my cards to a lot of people.”

Olivia nodded. She did the same thing.

Lucia gave Olivia the full tour of the school, just as she did with every prospective parent and the captain couldn’t deny it seemed like a better fit for Noah. She was ready to ask if she could bring the boy for a visit as they returned to the main office when the words stuck in her throat. Bent over a desk was a man wearing jeans, a white shirt with the sleeves turned back to his elbows and a vest. Olivia knew immediately who it was. She had looked at the stripes on the back of that vest so many times, admiring the broad shoulders beneath it and wondering if they were maroon and dark brown or maroon and charcoal gray. Her heart thudded heavily in her chest as her eyes lingered over his form.

“Rafi! What are you doing here?” exclaimed Lucia. 

The man straightened and spun gracefully on his heel, speaking as his did.

“Five days before Christmas and your Civics teacher breaks his ankle trying out snowshoes. On carpet. So I’m here to sub. Didn’t anyone……” 

Rafael Barba’s voice trailed off when he saw the woman standing beside his mother. He recovered, although his voice cracked slightly on the last word.

“Tell you?”

“Yes, yes, that’s right. I’d forgotten you were coming in today.”

Lucia Barba looked between her son and his former coworker; the woman he hadn’t seen in 683 days, if the small number he wrote on his desk blotter calendar was to be believed. For the longest time she didn’t realize what those little consecutive numbers were that appeared every day. Then in February, when he made an off handed comment about how long it had been since he left the District Attorney’s office, his mother put the two things together.

Barba couldn’t take his eyes off of Olivia.

Over her arm she held the same winter coat he’d seen her in more times than he could remember and she wore her usual work attire: black pants and blazer, although beneath the blazer she had on a soft looking green sweater. In the v neck a pendant lay against her skin he hadn’t seen before and he wondered fleetingly if someone gave it to her or she bought it for herself. The badge at her waist caught his eye. It was different.

“Captain Benson was just getting the tour,” Lucia told him with a smile, since neither one of them seemed to be able to speak. “She’s considering sending her son here.”

Captain? She finally did it, he thought, meeting her eyes. Then he smiled before wetting his lips and finding his voice again.

“Congratulations, Liv.”

He got no return smile. Her brown eyes were burning with controlled anger although it wasn’t reflected anywhere on her face. Olivia’s gaze traveled from his shoes up over the jeans she had rarely seen him wear in the years they worked together, the familiar vest and shirtsleeves, skimming over the bare forearms she’d looked at so many times, to the beard and mustache he now sported and more casual hairstyle, all of which held more gray than she expected, but was surprised to find it suited him.

“Nice to see you’re still getting some use out of your suits, Barba.”

Then she looked at the woman beside her, her voice softening.

“Thank you very much for the tour, Lucia. I’ll be in touch about bringing Noah to visit,“ Olivia said. 

She turned and left the room, leaving the two Barbas looking at each other. Olivia’s heels echoed as she strode quickly toward the exit, the sound matching the pounding of her heart. Pushing the door open, she stepped out into the cold air and paused, taking gulping breaths. Back in the school office, Lucia looked her son, who had taken a step backward at Olivia’s sharp words and was leaning limply against the desk he’d been bent over minutes before. Olivia Benson was the last person he expected to see at the school at which he occasionally taught and where he had served on the board of directors for the last year and helped with funding efforts.

“I’m guessing that means she didn’t know you were still in the city?” she asked with a raised eyebrow.

“No, we haven’t spoken –”

“In 683 days. Yes, I finally figured out what you were keeping track of on your desk calendar. So are you really going to let her walk away?”

He said nothing. Lucia folded her arms across her chest and fixed her son with a look.

“Rafael Barba, do you think I don’t know how you feel about Olivia – have felt about her for years? I know you did what you needed to do; quitting the DA’s office, but you didn’t have to leave her behind too.”

Then she reached out and took the papers he’d been holding.

“Go. She can’t have gotten very far. I’ll take the class.”

Rafael found his voice for the second time and kissed his mother on the cheek.

“You’re right. Thank you.”

“I know. And you’re welcome.”

He grabbed his coat from the nearby coat rack and sprinted down the hall toward the same exit Olivia had gone out, and burst through the doors, coming to an abrupt halt when he didn’t see her there. Barba mentally kicked himself. Had he really expected her to be standing on the other side of the doors, waiting for him? But part of him had. His gaze swept the small fenced area outside the school where the children played in good weather and his heart stuttered when he saw a familiar figure on a bench. Olivia was hunched over her arms crossed in front of her, still holding her coat. He saw her shoulders move; from either cold or because she was crying he couldn’t tell. Before he could think twice, Rafael was down the stairs and across the playground. He didn’t speak until he was standing in front of her.

“Liv.”

If she heard him, Olivia gave no indication, so he crouched down in front of her, like he would one of the children.

“Liv,” he said again, reaching out to gently touch her arm.

She pulled away and raised her head.

“You’ve been here the whole time?” she asked hoarsely, her voice thick with unshed tears.

He nodded guiltily.

“Almost two years,” she said fiercely. “Almost two fucking years, Rafa! I thought you had dropped off the face of the earth and you were here all along?”

Her use of the nickname that only she used brought a lump to his own throat.

“Mostly, anyway. I went away for a little while,” Rafael replied. He shrugged and spoke again. “But this is my home. I couldn’t leave it.”

“You left me.”

The three words were said so quietly he almost missed them. But he didn’t miss her violent shiver.

“Liv, you must be freezing. Put your coat on.”

She let him tug it from her grasp and stand up to hold it out for her to slip her arms into. It bunched up behind her on the bench and she stood to button and belt it. Face to face for the first time since that fateful February day, Rafael reached out and took her hands in his. She didn’t pull away.

“I’m sorry.”

Before she could reply her phone rang. Removing one hand from his grasp, she took it out and answered.

“Benson. Yes, I’m done. I’ll be right there. Thanks, Fin.”

Pocketing the device, she met his eyes. They weren’t as angry as earlier, but were still serious.

“Work,” he said. It wasn’t a question.

“Yes. Trying to get things wrapped up before the holidays.”

She didn’t offer him any details and he didn’t ask. That wasn’t his life anymore.

“We need to talk,” he said, not wanting to let her leave, but knowing he had to.

Olivia nodded. She had more than a few things she wanted to say to the former ADA. She thought for a moment and then said,

“Carisi is taking the kids Christmas shopping tonight, so Noah won’t be around if you want to stop over.”

She didn’t want the boy to see him again until the two of them had ironed out their differences. His questions about his Uncle Rafa had dwindled to once a month or so, when something reminded him of the man. At first, he asked at least once a week where he had gone and when he was coming back.

“What time?” Rafael tried not to sound too eager. But if she had said 2 a.m. at the top of the Empire State Building he’d have agreed.

“He’s picking Noah up around 5:00. I might not be home by then. Is six okay?”

“I’ll be there.” 

She didn’t say, so he presumed they were in the same apartment.

Olivia looked down where he was still holding her other hand and then offered him a small smile.

“I’ll see you later, then.”

He rubbed his thumb over her knuckles and released her.

“Later.”

It was 5:45 when Olivia rushed through her apartment door. She had hoped to leave the precinct by at least 5:15 but it was pushing half past by the time she finally closed her office door and wished Fin and Kat Merry Christmas. Amanda had already gone with Carisi when he showed up and went with him to her place to get her girls before picking up Noah. She was going to dinner with him and the kids before returning home to wrap presents while he took them to choose gifts for their respective mothers. Amanda told her he had volunteered and she wasn’t going to say no to any time alone before Christmas.

Olivia had had a hard time concentrating after returning to work. Rafael Barba was the last person she expected to encounter at a prospective school for Noah, and a chance encounter wasn’t the way she had envisioned finally seeing him again. She’d hoped for some advance notice. Like Carisi telling her Barba had returned to the DA’s office, or getting a phone call or an email. Something to give her a chance to emotionally prepare herself. She shrugged out of her blazer, unzipped and kicked off her boots, and shimmied out of her work pants. She liked the sweater she’d put on that morning, so she left that on and pulled on a pair of comfortable jeans. A quick tooth brushing and freshening of makeup and Olivia was pulling a brush through her hair when she heard a knock at the door. She pressed a hand to her stomach to quell the sudden flight of butterflies and took a breath before walking down the hall.

Rafael was feeling the same nerves on the other side of her door. He’d stood there so many times before, but this was different. All those other times he was welcome; he’d been there as a colleague and then as a friend. Now he was there to see if he had burned all the bridges between them. The door swung open and for a moment they took each other in, just as they had after Noah’s rescue from Sheila. His coat was open, revealing he still wore the clothes she’d seen him in earlier, less the tie. Olivia spoke first, stepping back to let him in.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

He walked past her to the kitchen bar where he put the takeout bag he carried.

“I brought dinner.”

Olivia smiled as she closed the door. That was the Rafael she remembered. Thinking with his stomach. She joined him to inspect the containers he was unpacking. He remembered all her favorites from the Cuban place he’d introduced her to years before. She put a hand on his shoulder and gave it a squeeze before moving to get plates and utensils. It felt like old times. Only it wasn’t. Before, they would have settled on the couch, each in their own corner, sharing bites from the other’s plate as they ate and talked. Now, Olivia sat down on one of the tall stools and Rafael perched stiffly on another. He popped a plantain chip in his mouth but it felt like he was chewing cardboard. She picked at the rice and beans on her plate with her fork.

“Liv.”

“Rafa.”

They spoke simultaneously. Then she continued after he inclined his head for her to go first.

“Why?”

He chuckled.

“That’s a broad question. But I owe you a few answers.”

As he talked, their familiarity returned, along with their appetites. Before long, they had moved to the couch. Rafael explained that when he was found not guilty of the charges brought against him by Jack McCoy, he felt like he had been given a second chance. That day outside the courthouse when he told her she’d changed him, he was trying to tell her that. So when he said he needed to move on, he meant from law, not her.

“Why didn’t you say so?” Olivia asked.

“I thought you knew,” he admitted. “But then you didn’t say anything, so I thought –” 

Rafael paused, putting his food on the coffee table while he chose his words carefully.

“I thought I had let you down.”

“Let me down? Why? Because you needed a breather from a career that was sucking the joy from your life?”

Olivia put her own plate down grasped his forearm with both hands at the quizzical look on his face.

“Yes, I saw it. How could I not? I saw what those last few months – those cases – were doing to you. I could see it in your eyes, your body language. You were carrying a huge weight on you. You weren’t happy.”

He closed his eyes then, for a moment, and reopened them to meet hers.

“I was happy when I was with you. But because you didn’t try and stop me from leaving, I thought if you couldn’t have me as an ADA, you didn’t want me,” Rafael said softly. 

“Stop you? You were the one who walked away from me, remember? As for wanting you, I’ve always wanted you, Rafael. When you said you were quitting the DA’s office I thought we could finally admit our feelings for each other, because we wouldn’t be working together. Because we wouldn’t have to worry about a conflict of interest. What did you think I wanted you to say when I said ‘And?’ I wanted you to tell me how you felt!”

Olivia had been leaning closer to him as she spoke and almost shouted the last two sentences, her brown eyes flashing with emotion.

Rafael quickly moved the arm she didn’t have hold of, put his hand at the back of her neck did what he’d wanted to do for years: kissed her. She was surprised at first, her eyes opening wide, but then they slid closed and she gave herself up to the sensation of his lips against hers for the first time. They were warm and firm and his mustache tickled just enough to make her shiver with delight. He ended the kiss and began to pull away but Olivia moved one of her hands to cup his jaw and initiated a second one. Rafael wanted to put his arms around her but they were seated awkwardly on the couch. He began to shift so he could pull her against him when she suddenly pulled away. 

“What’s wrong?”

Before the words were out, he heard the apartment door open and Noah call,

“Mom, we’re home!”

Olivia sprang to her feet, hoping her lips didn’t look as thoroughly kissed as they felt. Rafael stood as well, discreetly adjusting his jeans. A few more minutes and he’d have needed to stay seated. Then he reached out and gently brushed a thumb over her bottom lip. That and the heated look in his eyes confirmed her suspicions and never had she been less happy to see her son, she thought, smiling at the man beside her before stepping toward the hallway to greet Noah and her former detective. The boy came running into the main room, the tall ADA following, carrying a shopping bag containing wrapped packages. Noah skidded to a halt when he saw Rafael and his eyes lit up.

“Uncle Rafa!” he cried and flung himself at the man, throwing his arms around his waist for an exuberant hug. Then he turned around and spoke to the other man who was looking between Olivia and Rafael with a mixture of surprise and amusement.

“Uncle Sonny, Santa was right! He told me he was sure I’d get what I wanted for Christmas!”

Then he looked at his mother with a huge smile on his face.

“We went to see Santa again because Jesse didn’t see the real Santa and he told me he was sure I was going to get what I wanted for Christmas as long as I was good. But I thought I’d have to wait until Christmas or maybe after.”

“I’m just gonna’ see myself out,” said Carisi, putting the bag on a nearby chair. “Good to see you, counselor.”

Rafael lifted his chin and smiled at the other man.

“Thanks, but I think I’m the one who should be calling you counselor now.”

“You’ll always be counselor to me, Rafael,” he replied. “See ya’ later, Liv.”

“Bye, Carisi. Thanks again.”

Once the apartment door closed, Olivia turned to Noah, who had removed his arms from around Rafael’s waist but was still gazing at the man with a mixture of happiness and awe.

“Noah, what do you mean you got what you wanted for Christmas? Christmas is still a few days away,” she said.

“I told Santa I wanted to see Uncle Rafa again. I missed him and I know you did too,” the boy explained. “Your face got sad when you talked about him.”

Then he addressed Rafael.

“Are you back now? Where have you been? Will we get to see you more?”

As she listened to her son talk, something that had puzzled her finally made sense. If he told Santa in the store that he wanted to see his Uncle again, the man would have naturally assumed he was talking about her brother. Olivia glanced at Rafael who looked slightly panicked about answering Noah’s questions. She rescued him momentarily by sending the boy to put on his pajamas.

“He won’t take too long,” she said. “Do you want to answer him or should I and you can jump in where you want?”

She picked up their plates and carried them to the kitchen. Rafael followed her. After a quick glance down the hall to make sure Noah wasn’t returning yet, he put his arms around her waist and pulled her close. Olivia’s eyes fluttered closed at the feel of his strong embrace and slid her own hands around his back.

“As long as you tell him he’s going to be seeing me a lot more, I don’t care what else you tell him,” Rafael said softly in her ear.

Then he pressed his lips to hers in a lingering kiss and she opened her eyes to gaze into his green ones.

“How about if I just tell him that there really is a Santa Claus?”

[evilelitest2]

Was Lincoln a racist?

Short Answer: Yes, but less so than a lot of white people during his age

Long Answer: There is a lot of historical context to put into this.  Basically American in the mid 19th century was increidbly racist, even in the non slave owning north.  While many white Americans opposed slavery on moral, economical, and religious grounds (and to be clear here the Civil War was about slavery and the North was on the right side), that didn’t actually mean they weren’t racist, a lot of abolitionists had extremely patronizing attitudes towards African Americans, Lincoln among them.  In fact John Brown, the guy who hunted slave owners down and murdered them with broadswords, was seen as legitimately mentally ill not because he killed people with swords but because he treated African Americans as equal to whites…..really

Within this context, Lincolns views of race were complicated and changed throughout his life, but he was certainly a racist, though it was a particular form of racism.  From his youth Lincoln despised slavery and thought it immoral, and argued very convincingly against it in the Lincoln-Douglass Debates (for the record his opponent Douglass was running on a much more racist and pro slavery platform).  Lincoln held the popular racist view of the time that African Americans were inferior and simply couldn’t live within white society and we shouldn't’t allow our glorification of honest abe ignore these views.  And while his views were quite moderate for the time, there were whites who were able to grow past them, the Massachusetts Senator Thaddeus Stevens (The villain in Birth of a Nation btw) was extremely progressive on race even by today’s standards, and had he gotten his way more, the  US would certainly be a better place.  Lincoln by contrast infamously was a supporter of African-Americans being returned to Africa as the best way to ensure domestic tranquility and I hope i shouldn’t have to explain why that is racist.  

(Look this up some time) 

That being said, Lincoln did change his mind over the course of his life, especially after becoming friends with noted African American intellectual and all around American literary hero Fredrick Douglass (read his autobiography its great), and upon having more contact with the African American community/union soldiers. Throughout his life he steadily grew more and more radical on the issue of race, slavery and reconstruction.  His writings grew more and more sympathetic to African Americans in the years leading up to hsi death, and his views on slavery become much more opposed.  Had he lived longer, maybe he would have caught up to Thaddeus Stevens (who really needs more statues btw, I’d like to them to be next to those of Nathan Bedford Forest).   

On the subject of slavery, it is worth noting that when he started his politican career, Lincoln was vehemently opposed to slavery and thought it immoral, but  he was not an abolitionist.  He felt that the federal goverment didn’t have the power to outlaw slavery (though he personally wanted it to end) and when he was in Congress himself the Southern control of the Senate and Supreme Court made any move in the direciton of racial equality impossible (the more things change…).  When he ran for president, he made it clear again and again in his speeches that he had no intention of outlawing or banning slavery, but that he was firmely in favor of limited it to the south in the hopes that it would eventually die out over the course of a few generations.  This is a pretty weakass stance to take when faced with one of hte greatest evils in US history, but his election in 1860 was by far the most anti slavery presidency campaign in US history to that point, so much so that the South seceded once he won (because sore losers).  

(fun fact, Fredrick Douglass is not still alive, Trump is just a dumbass) 

Lincoln hoped to win the Civil War by getting the south to surrender peacefully, and to that end for the first two years of the war hoped to limit any talk of abolitioni, while secretly supporting the Union army’s efforts to bring about de facto freedom.  However by mid 1862 Lincoln had gotten sick of the Confederency bullshit, and basically decided to issue the Emancipation Proclamation, waiting until the semi victorious battle of Antietam to do so, and later he pushed for the 13th amendment formally ending slavery once and for (except for prisoners…)   before his death, he was considering more radical measures, sadly his VP Andrew Johnson, one of the worse presidents in US history took charge and effectivley ruined Reconstruction’s hope of being a successful policy.  

TLDR: Lincoln’s views of race were complicated and changed during his time.  he was certainly a racist, though within the context of his time he still did help the African American community, though not enough as she should have.  

Edit: Thaddeus Stevens was not the Senator of Massachusetts, he was a Congressmen from Pennsylvanian, as pointed out by a helpful anon, I was mentally mixing him up with fellow abolitionist and radical republican Charles Sumner he of the caning incident.  I”m leaving the mistake in there just so this can serve as an object lesson of why you should always double check your thoughts.  I messed up there

[cutepresea]

4-11 A Light That Pierces the Clouds: Erosion

Sorry again for the spam.

If you want to blacklist these, you can use either the tag #a light that pierces the clouds for just this event, or #xdu event scripts or #xdu scripts

Reminder that these are copied straight from XD Unlimited itself, so any grammatical weirdness, mistranslations, and/or mischaracterizations are not my doing.

Hibiki Tachibana: (My chest feels suffocated... It burns...)

Hibki Tachibana: (It hurts! Somebody help me...)

Hibiki Tachibana: (No... No one will come. No matter how close they get, they'll always leave in the end.)

Miku Kohinata: "Hibiki. Come on, Hibiki..."

Hibiki Tachibana: "...Huh?"

Miku Kohinata: "It's impressive that you're eating breakfast while sleeping, but keep it up and you'll be late for class."

Hibiki Tachibana: "Class? At Lydian? Why are you wearing that uniform?"

Miku Kohinata: "Are you still half asleep? We got to school together. Of course I'm wearing my uniform."

Miku Kohinata: "Here's your bag. I put in all your textbooks. We can run to class after you finish eating."

Miku Kohinata: "Are you done eating? Then let's go."

Hibiki Tachibana: "Huh?! Just... another dream?"

Hibki Tachibana: (She said she was here from a parallel world. Why have I been having  these dreams since meeting her?) [1]

Hibiki Tachibana: "...What does it matter? I'm always along, anyway."

Hibiki Tachibana: "Again... What is this? A stone? It's... metal?"

Hibiki Tachibana: "......"

Hibiki Tachibana: (It feels like there's been gradually more of these things in proportion to the pain in my chest.)

Hibiki Tachibana: "......"

Tsubasa Kazanari: "I can't believe there're so many Noise. I wonder if those three on the other side are all right."

Kirika Akatsuki: "We should be worried about ourselves first... Things are getting pretty rough."

Shirabe Tsukuyomi: "Even so, we have to do this. Let's keep it up, Kiri-chan."

Kirika Akatsuki: "Of course. But if we could use X-Drive, we could clear out these Noise easily."

Tsubasa Kazanari: "No point in asking for what you can't have. We'll just have to do our best!"

Sakuya Fujitaka: "We've got more Noise signals in the vicinity!"

Aoi Tomosato: "Wielder vital signs are declining! If they carry on fighting any longer..."

Genjuro Kazanari: "Grr, fine then! We'll seal off the area and order the wielders to retreat."

Tsubasa Kazanari: "I refuse to retreat!"

Genjuro Kazanari: "Tsubasa?!"

Tsubasa Kazanari: "There's too many Noise. If we retreat now, who knows how much damage they'll do?"

Tsubasa Kazanari: "With Tachibana as she is and Maria's group in the parallel world, our job is hold this line to the death!"

Kirika Akatsuki: "Yeah... Maria's doing everything she can."

Shirabe Tsukuyomi: "We were entrusted with this world, so we'll see this through to the end!"

Genjuro Kazanari: "...Fine. But don't do anything stupid! We're sending out a rescue squad right now!"

Tsubasa Kazanari: "Well said, you two. Now... Let's do this!"

Kirika Akatsuki: "Haah... Haah... G-Got it..."

Shirabe Tsukuyomi: "...I can still fight!"

Tsubasa Kazanari: "That's right... Wring out whatever power's left in you!"

Kirika Akatsuki: "Haah... Haah... Haah... How's that?"

Shirabe Tsukuyomi: "Did we defeat them all?"

Genjuro Kazanari: "All Noise signals in the vicinity have vanished."

Genjuro Kazanari: "That was a hard fought battle out there. Well done!"

Tsubasa Kazanari: "Understood. Returning to base immediately."

Genjuro Kazanari: "No, we've sent a helicopter to get you. Stand by."

Tsubasa Kazanari: "Roger that."

Kirika Akatsuki: "Standby? I can barely walk, let alone stand."

Shirabe Tsukuyomi: "I want to lay down here and sleep..."

Tsubasa Kazanari: (That huge swarm was like something from Solomon's Cane.)

Tsubasa Kazanari: "What's going on?"

Genjuro Kazanari: "A big welcome back to the three of you."

Elfnein: "I'm glad you're all safe."

Maria: "Never mind us. How are things going here?"

Chris Yukine: "Man... I could cut the tension here with a butter knife."

Miku Kohinata: "Tsubasa-san and the others aren't here..."

Genjuro Kazanari: "They were fighting Noise for a few days straight, which exhausted them. They're recuperating now."

Miku Kohinata: "Oh, no... Are they all right?!"

Genjuro Kazanari: "No need to worry. They aren't injured, just fatigued. They'll make a full recovery after a day of rest."

Miku Kohinata: "That's good to hear."

Chris Yukine: "Yikes. We came back at just the right time, then."

Maria: "Yeah, too close for my liking."

Miku Kohinata: "So, um... How's Hibiki doing?"

Elfnein: "She sometimes has fits and becomes very restless. When it gets really bad, we put her under sedatives."

Miku Kohinata: "Oh, no..."

Miku Kohinata: "I need to go check up on her!"

Maria: "There she goes... Let's leave those two alone for now."

Maria: "So, what's going on with the Gjallarhorn alert?"

Genjuro Kazanari: "It's still active. Actually, it seems to be getting worse."

Chris Yukine: "Getting worse? But we beat two of those Karma Noise! What's going on here?!"

Maria: "Considering the situation, it could be due to a threat even more deadly than the Karma Noise."

Chris Yukine: "Guh... Then it must be that big thing."

Genjuro Kazanari: "What big thing? What happened over there?"

Maria: "I'll explain. Have you heard of the complete relic, Goliath?"

Miku Kohinata: "Hibiki? She's still sleeping."

Miku Kohinata: (She looks so thin and pale... Even more so than before I went to the other side.)

Miku Kohinata: (Her hand... A hand that's joined so many others together...)

Miku Kohinata: "I will save you. So please, just hang on a little longer..."

Genjuro Kazanari: "The complete relic, Goliath. Something like that showed up?"

Chris Yukine: "You know about it?! Tell us in layman's terms!"

Genjuro Kazanari: "Sorry. This is the first I've heard of it."

Maria: "On the other side, they said that the U.S. entrusted them with it. Maybe their government is hiding it?"

Genjuro Kazanari: "It's not completely impossible, but I can't imagine they'd just reveal that information to us."

Chris Yukine: "Then it was all a waste of time..."

Elfnein: "Hold on. I think there is still a potential solution we can find from the information at our disposal."

Maria: "Elfnein?"

Elfnein: "It retreats when night falls, right? If so, how does Goliath differentiate between night and day?"

Chris Yukine: "What do you mean? It retreats when the sun goes down."

Elfnein: "Is it visually looking at the sun set?"

Maria: "You mean a change in the amount of light? I'm not sure if it has what we would call eyes."

Elfnein: "Yes, that is likely true. Which implies that its hours of hibernation and waking follow a fixed cycle."

Elfnein: "If it is determining night and day based on the amount of light, we might be able to trick it."

Maria: "That seems worth a shot."

Chris Yukine: "Sounds fun. So how do we prepare that kind of light?"

Genjuro Kazanari: "Ask Section 2 on the other side. They should be able to figure something out."

Maria: "Yeah. This just might work."

Chris Yukine: "All right! Then let's go back and mess up the big guy!"

Maria: "Wait. What about this side? We should at least wait until Tsubasa and the others fully heal."

Chris Yukine: "Oh, right..."

Genjuro Kazanari: "It'd be a big help if you wait here. Tsubasa and the others should wake up in a day or so."

Tsubasa Kazanari: "That won't be necessary..."

Maria: "Tsubasa?!"

Chris Yukine: "Are you sure you should be up?!"

Elfnein: "You must rest. Successive fights have caused your body fatigue and stress. You cannot recover this quickly."

Tsubasa Kazanari: "It's just fatigue. It's nothing compared to what Tachibana's going through."

Tsubasa Kazanari: "I will protect this world in her place."

Chris Yukine: "You may say that, but the others haven't woken up yet. As it stands--"

Tsubasa Kazanari: "No, they feel the same way, too. They're straining, but they're awake, and they're worried for Tachibana."

Tsubasa Kazanari: "If resolving the issues in the other world leads to Tachibana's recovery, then that's our top priority."

Maria: "Is she really looking that bad?"

Tsubasa: "Yes... I can't bear to look at her."

Elfnein: "Hibiki-san's fits are progressively becoming more frequent and intense."

Elfnein: "And her strength continues to weaken. If this continues, her life may be in danger."

Chris Yukine: "Are you serious?"

Maria: "I see now. We need to hurry back there."

Chris Yukine: "Yeah, you're right."

Hibiki Tachibana: "Hmph!"

Hibiki Tachibana: "Raaaaaaagh!"

Hibiki Tachibana: "Haah... Haah... Haah..."

Hibiki Tachibana: "This rumbling... Something's coming!"

Hibiki Tachibana: "Guh..."

Hibiki Tachibana: "I don't know what the hell you are..."

Hibiki Tachibana: "But since you're here now... I'll tear you down, too!"

Aoi Tomosato: "Oh no! We're detecting a signal thought to be Goliath!"

Genjuro Kazanari: "What's going on?!"

Aoi Tomosato: "Gungnir's signal is on-site! Hibiki-chan... She's out there fighting alone!"

Genjuro Kazanari: "What?! She's mad! Where's Tsubasa?!"

Sakuya  Fujitaka: "She can't move due to the after-effects of the Superb Song."

Genjuro Kazanari: "Gah... Do as much as you can to support Hibiki-kun! Hurry!"

Sakuya Fujitaka: "U-Understood!"

Hibiki Tachibana: "Guh! It's strong!"

Hibiki Tachibana: (It's way too powerful to fight head-on. If I take a clean hit, that'll probably be it for me.)

Hibiki Tachibana: (If only I had more power... more strength.)

Hibiki Tachibana: "Guh! Wh-What's going on? I feel... hot."

Hibiki Tachibana: (It's like my entire body's boiling... But!)

Hibiki Tachibana: "Hyaaaaah!"

Hibiki Tachibana: "I feel power flowing through me!"

Hibiki Tachibana: "I can fight now! I can beat it by myself!"

Hibiki Tachibana: "Raaaaaaaagh! Guh... What?!"

Boy: "No! S-Somebody help me!"

Hibiki Tachibana: (He hasn't evacuated yet?! Why now?!)

Hibiki Tachibana: (Guh... I have to help him... No, I want to kill him...)

Hibiki Tachibana: "Huh? Wh-What was that?"

Hibiki Tachibana: (He's human, so I have to help him.) (Kill him! Slaughter the human!)

Hibiki Tachibana: "What... is this? Is there something inside me?"

Hibiki Tachibana: (It's like a vortex deep in my body... Spinning around and making me feel sick!)

Hibiki Tachibana: "Guh... Raaaaaaaagh!"

Hibiki Tachibana: "Get away! Run if you don't want to die!"

Boy: "A-Aaaaaaaah!"

Hibiki Tachibana: (No... I don't want to kill him... What's going on with me?)

Hibiki Tachibana: (Was it... what that Black Noise did to me?)

Hibiki Tachibana: "Oh, no! Crap!"

Hibiki Tachibana; "Ah... Gah!"

Hibiki Tachibana: (I can't move. I've taken too much damage...)

Hibiki Tachibana: "......"

Hibiki Tachibana: (Is this the end for me?)

Hibiki Tachibana: "It's gone... Why?"

Notes:

[1] There's a double space between "having" and "these"

[silvermcns]

hello, i’m eleanor & i return with one of my favourite (complicated muses), esther. she’s the bad guy but doesn’t even know that and is very dedicated to her political agenda. she’s filling the ‘for humanity’ subplot. i’m so, so happy to be back !

constance zimmer + cisfemale + she/her.┊ ❛ ━ hey, is it just me or do you hear panic room by au/ra playing in the distance ? oh, that’s just esther silverman, a fifty year old damage control working with the sector of humanity. according to my sources, i heard she can be lawful evil and is determined, but also defensive. that’s probably why they remind everyone of fitted business suits, sleepless nights & fearful eyes so much ! anyway, make sure to keep an eye out, the doves are more powerful with them on their side ! ( eleanor, 21, bst, she/her )

please read with caution: abandonment tw, abuse tw, child abuse tw, alcoholism tw, general hate

esther grew up in a middle class family to a german migrant parents. even as a child, esther was a confident person, perhaps a little too confident for her own age. she was always outspoken and that didn’t bode well with her father; he was a tough man, one that held old-fashioned values very dear to him and one that demanded respect from all those around him. her mother was weak in that aspect, she quit her job when esther was born and didn’t go back because her father wanted her to stay at home and look after their daughter while he ran his business.

he always had high hopes for esther and that meant that nothing was ever good enough for him; he pushed her as she was his only child and wanted nothing but greatness from her. her mother tried to praise her but there was never any balance. as esther grew older, her parents seemed to distance themselves further away from them as her father began drinking more and more.

he said it was always to take the edge off of disappointment but he had a problem and wouldn’t admit it. when confronted about this, the man would often turn violent so she just learnt to turn a blind eye.

when esther tried to talk to him about his behaviour, he’s snap and turn on her; the man just wouldn’t listen. esther was actually the one to step in front of her mother when she was about to get a beating; she doesn’t know her exact motive but she felt like she had to PROTECT the other woman, no matter how manipulative she was, she still felt the evil in her household was her father and no doubt her mother used that to her advantage.

there was an incident when esther was caught in between her parents and had to go to er because her father hit her and she collided with the coffee table. her mother persuaded her that this was the case and she just wanted it to go away so she believed it. her memories are blurry so she just replaces them with what she wants them to believe.

her mother fled shortly after the hospital visit and it was really upsetting. she had tried to protect the woman yet she had just left her, as if she was expendable.

there was only so much esther could endure. yes, she was scared already, both mentally and physically but after her father had his accident and received his cane, it just became easier for him to hurt her. no matter how strong or resilient she was, she couldn’t condemn his actions and believed that she had actually caused all of these situations. she believed that she was the reason for it all as it never seemed to stop; she must have been awful for her father to act in this way to her.

the situation at home caused her to be rather closed off from the world. all she could focus on was her school work as she hoped to go to an ivy league school to get an education that would finally be able to free her. she was loud at school, far too defensive but she felt like she had to be to survive. her mentality was ‘get them before they get me’ and that attitude still stands today.

persuasive, confident and observant, it was no surprise when she decided to go into the legal profession. she had also been feeling the pressure to amount to something! although she was abrasive, some would say rude, esther had the ability to work around people, to manipulate them into thinking what she wanted them to think; when it came to the game, her conscience was left at the door.

of course, her father supported this and paid for harvard law school for her undergraduate degree. however, he passed away when she started yale law due to liver failure; she had tried to tell him but there was no getting through to him. she felt strange with his death, upset and angry that she never felt strong enough to confront him.

her mother shut her out, claiming that things would be better for her if she had no association with her. esther had supported her, protected her when it should have been the other way around so this request hurt her. although she had felt it throughout her childhood, she was now alone.

she threw herself into her law career and proved to be a successful criminal lawyer; esther made junior partner at the age of thirty-four. although she wasn’t the most pleasant person to be around, she brought the company a lot of money and they always appreciated her services.

the woman never really tackled her issues so when the supers started turning up, they were perfect scapegoats for her anger. they had the upper hand, much like her father did so she decided to be against them. she feels like she needs to protect herself more than ever before. she’s so full of hate but an extremely vulnerable woman of 5′1. she needs to get rid of them before they have the means to hurt her and god knows how many other people.

that’s why she decided to leave her career as a lawyer and become a politician (now for the sector of humanity). although her reasons for it are purely selfish and a coping mechanism for her to compartmentalise her pain, she has nicknamed herself ‘THE POLITICIAN FOR THE PEOPLE’, meaning only the people, the ones that don’t have any powers. deed down, she knows she’s wrong but is too far down de nile river for her to acknowledge that.

she has a lack of direction and that can be seen through her politics. she can give amazing speeches but lacks substance as to why she thinks that they should be banned in the first place and when challenged, she instantly goes on the defensive. she has the makings of a villain seen as she’s not totally clean and will go to great lengths to set up supers but also has the chance to be redeemed if she finally faces up to her own problems and stops blaming supers for all of her problems.

esther is very hostile with most so please don’t take it personally. i can’t wait to develop her here!!

[daresplaining]

Hello! I've seen you guys mention Mr Fear a few times and his power and dynamic with Matt sounds fascinating. Could you elaborate on it when you get a mo? From what I know I'd love to see a version of him in S4

    Ooh, yes, of course! There have been several versions of Mr. Fear, and they’ve all been nasty. (And yes, it would have been nice to get one of them in the show. I was really rooting for that.) I mostly know Mr. Fear in the context of Daredevil, which is where he/they originated, so that’s what I’ll be focusing on here, though I know at least one of them has appeared elsewhere as well. I appreciate the various Mr. Fears not just because they are terrifying antagonists, but also because of the sheer variety with which the basic premise– artificially inducing fear– has been depicted over the years. This has kept the identity fresh, and has helped them become more than just cheap knock-offs of DC’s Scarecrow.

    If you just want reading recommendations, below are all of the issues I will be covering in this post. They encompass the full range of Mr. Fear’s history in Daredevil, from 60s wackiness to 2000s noir, and I think they’re all worth reading if you’re looking for the full Mr. Fear experience.

Daredevil volume 1 #6

Daredevil volume 1 #54-55

Daredevil volume 1 #90-91

Marvel Team-Up volume 1 #92 (not digitized)

Daredevil volume 1 #222

Daredevil volume 1 #314-315 (not digitized)

Fear Itself: The Home Front #5, “A Moment with… Mr. Fear”

Daredevil volume 1 #363-367 and 371-375 

Daredevil volume 2 #95-106

    If you want plot summaries and character commentary, read on: 

      The first Mr. Fear was introduced way back in Daredevil #6, as the leader of the Fellowship of Fear (a trio that also consisted of the Ox and the Eel). This first version had the fantastically supervillain-y name of Zolton Drago, and an appropriately wacky origin story: He is a humble sculptor, dismayed by the failure of his wax museum, who makes an astonishing discovery while mixing up chemical concoctions intended to bring his wax statues to life. 

Drago: “I did discover something after all! Something I never expected! I’ve found a way to fill any foe with indescribable fear!!”

Caption: “For long weeks, the strange, haunted man worked, refining his discovery, learning all he could about the chemicals involved…”

Drago: “Perfect! Now I know that I can make all the “Fear Gas” I need! With such a discovery, I could become the most successful criminal who ever lived! […] I’ve modified an ordinary pistol to fire my new “Fear Pellets”! And now, for psychological purposes, I’ll create a costume… the perfect disguise for one who shall henceforth be known as… Mr. Fear!!”

Daredevil vol. 1 #6 by Stan Lee, Wally Wood, and Sam Rosen

    There’s a certain goofiness in most Silver Age villains– Daredevil’s, in particular– but I find Wally Wood’s depiction of Mr. Fear’s skull-and-cape look to be genuinely creepy, and his Fear Gas is no joke. When hit with it during his first encounter with the Fellowship of Fear, Matt is rendered helpless with terror, and barely escapes with his life. 

Matt: “Fumes! He fired a gas pellet at me! But, it isn’t tear gas! Nor is it poisonous! What can it be?”

Caption: “Suddenly, the sightless adventurer turns making a frantic effort to flee!”

Matt: “Both of them… about to attack me! No! Stay back! An air current! …Directly above me! That means an opening! It’s my one chance! If I can swing over in time! […] I just made it!”

    Matt manages to defeat Mr. Fear at the end of the issue by, uh… positioning himself in front of a fan (seriously). But this is only the beginning.

    Mr. Fear returns in Roy Thomas’s run, in Daredevil #54-55. This story starts with Matt faking his death to escape the consequences of a supervillain named Starr Saxon discovering his secret identity. His plan is to continue on as Daredevil and invent a new civilian persona for himself. But no sooner has he put this plan into action than Mr. Fear– who has recently been freed from prison– baits him on live television. Mr. Fear claims he can prove, without using his Fear Pellets, that Daredevil is a coward. And… he does!

Mr. Fear: “I neglected to mention my new power– to fill you with frenzied fear– with a mere gesture!”

Matt: “Tell me another one, friend! Now to– No– NO! That tingling I feel– that sudden sinking sensation! Drago was right! Suddenly, I feel– deathly afraid! Getting dizzy– just realizing how high we are–! And now– I’m falling! Nnooo!”

Daredevil vol. 1 #54 by Roy Thomas and Gene Colan

    There are several stories during this period that focus on Daredevil’s reputation being tarnished, and this is one of them. The adoring public, who was watching the fight, now think Daredevil is a wuss, and Matt fears they might be right. It’s all a bit humorously melodramatic, but what matters is that Mr. Fear seems to have become an even more serious threat, since Matt is struck by that same fear the next time he goes out as DD, when Mr. Fear isn’t even around. In the end, after a quick call (courtesy of Foggy) to the prison where Drago was being held, Matt discovers the truth: Zolton Drago is dead and the new Mr. Fear is actually Starr Saxon himself, who stole Drago’s costume and equipment after murdering him. Matt confronts him with this revelation, after which Saxon accidentally falls to his death. 

Matt: “Funny how Saxon died lunging for my billy club– the very weapon he’d been using to make me turn coward when we fought! Once Foggy called the warden, it was as simple as ABC! When Saxon briefly possessed Matt’s cane he rigged the club with these specially-timed Fear-Gas pellets… which his flying disk triggered during our first battle! It was his warped revenge on me… for ‘killing’ Matt Murdock to escape his blackmail threats! And, with that erudite explanation, I rest my case! DD, it’s been a looonng day!”

Daredevil vol. 1 #55 by Roy Thomas and Gene Colan

    (Just for the record, Matt should have known it was Saxon from the beginning, because he would have recognized his voice/scent.)

    Logic suggests this would be the end of Mr. Fear… but no! Matt and Natasha  encounter him in San Francisco, in Daredevil #90-91…

Caption: “His arm jerks out– fingers brush– and then, the Widow tumbles away, her ebon-suited body twisting– her hands flailing, legs spinning–”

Matt: “TASHA! She froze up– couldn’t make the extra effort needed to complete the swing! Something about her heartbeat– rushing, panicky! She’s terrified! I’ve got to chance it– push away from the flagpole, try to grab her before it’s– too late!”

Daredevil vol. 1 #90 by Gerry Conway and Gene Colan

    If the previous story was mostly melodrama, this one is viscerally frightening. Our heroes are struck, without warning, with bouts of overwhelming terror– a dangerous affliction for people who lead such risk-filled lives. With Mr. Fear seemingly long dead and no obvious source for these attacks, Matt and Natasha are helpless to prevent them. 

Caption: “This is how it begins: as suddenly as a rifle shot, a surge of inexplicable fear courses through Matt’s arced body– and with that fear, all thoughts of contacting a friend on the staff of the Daily Chronicle seem to dissolve into darkness– abruptly buried under a grim sensation of choking– A sensation that builds as he spins helplessly at the end of his billy club wire! Trying desperately to regain control, Matt finds himself unable to think– and becomes increasingly aware of the terror clutching at his heart– a fright unlike any he’s ever felt before– a fear without cause– a horror without reason!”

Daredevil vol. 1 #90 by Gerry Conway and Gene Colan

    Natasha is convinced the attacks are tied to a mission from her past, engineered by one of her former espionage allies. But in a surprise twist, the real culprit is a man named Larry Cranston– one of Matt’s fellow law school alumni, and one of his new law partners since moving to San Francisco. It turns out that Star Saxon was not the only person to benefit from the original Mr. Fear’s death, and with his jet pack, Cranston has been attacking Matt and Natasha from a distance.  

Cranston: “I heard a sound from the room across the hall– voices arguing. A door was open– I looked in, and saw a man called Starr Saxon shoot another man– Zolton Drago, the original Mr. Fear. Drago lived long enough to tell me where he’d hidden his costume and equipment– he thought it would buy his life– Unfortunately, it wasn’t mine to give. He died as I held him.”

Matt: “But why did you do all this, Larry? And how did you know–”

Cranston: “When Matt Murdock moved to San Francisco with Madame Natasha– and Daredevil with the Black Widow– it wasn’t hard. And– I’ve always despised you, Murdock. In school, it was always– Murdock this, Murdock that– and I tell you, I’d had ENOUGH!”

Daredevil vol. 1 #91 by Gerry Conway and Gene Colan

    Cranston isn’t the only person to notice the coincidence of Matt and DD both moving to California with Natasha– it’s actually amazing more people don’t figure out his secret identity because of this– but it is significant that he knows, since his motivations are so personal. His irrationally intense hatred of Matt, and their shared history, makes him a particularly eerie figure among the ranks of DD’s villains, and it will come back in his most horrifying appearance, in Ed Brubaker’s run (which I’ll be covering later). While he appears to fall to his death at the end of this issue (that sort of thing happened a lot in early Daredevil…), he isn’t gone yet. 

    Marvel Team-Up #92 introduces the next guy to inherit the Mr. Fear identity– Alan Fagan, Larry Cranston’s nephew. Like his predecessors, he attempts to find new, more insidious uses for the Fear Gas…

Alan: “Ha! I can’t wait to see the faces of those buffoons who said Alan Fagan would never amount to anything… They dared to laugh at me… because I kept getting thrown out of schools… wasted my father’s fortune… Well, I don’t need his money now– or their fancy schools! I’ve got something better than that now! They won’t laugh at me anymore– because I’ll make them deadly afraid of me… and I owe it all to you, Uncle Larry! You despised me– but your money and your Mr. Fear costume still fell into my hands after you died! I have the imagination to use the identity in ways neither you nor the original Mr. Fear ever dreamed of! My genius requires a large-scale reign of terror– and this radioactive isotope I stole tonight will bring it about!”

Marvel Team-Up vol. 1 #92 by Steven Grant, Carmine Infantino, and Carl Gafford

    (Larry is around Matt’s age. Don’t ask me why his nephew looks so old.)

    Alan is a little too cartoony in this issue to seem like a serious threat, but he is still dangerous. 

Peter: “H-how… did you d-do this to m-me?”

Alan: “My Fear Potion, insect– injected through this ring when I hit you! I usually administer it as a gas, in dilute form– but a man of your power required a full-strength dose! You are mine, Spider-Man, body and soul– and we are going to conduct a little experiment! I am curious as to just how many injections of pure Fear Potion you can receive… before you die– of fear!”

    Fortunately, Spider-Man and Hawkeye are able to take him out and send him to prison, but even that is not the end… 

    Daredevil volume 1#222, one of my favorite issues in Denny O’Neil’s run, opens with this chilling scene, during Glorianna O’Breen’s return flight from Ireland to the U.S.: 

Caption: “This is Aer Lingus flight number 2241, originating at Dublin and bound for Kennedy. It will never arrive.”

Hijacker: “Stewardess– tell the pilot to put this crate down at the Tinkerville airport.”

Glori: “A man… with a wee plastic gun– the kind that the detectors don’t detect. A man of violence… bloodshed… the things I’ve seen so much of at home. Is there no escapin’ them, then? No!”

Caption: “Sudden, shattering the near-silence of the cabin– the shot sends a bullet into an unexpected target…”

Hijacker: “Aiiieeeee!”

Glori: “Funny odor… gas… Noooooo”

Pilot: “[…] You guys smell something?”

Daredevil vol. 1 #222 by Denny O’Neil, David Mazzucchelli, and Ken Feduniewicz

    Matt, Foggy, and Becky receive news that Glori’s plane has crashed in a New Jersey swamp, and Matt and Foggy rush to the scene, fearing the worst. 

Cop: “…Sorry I can’t tell you more, Mr. Murdock. But your friend Ms. O’Breen isn’t here.”

Matt: “Are you absolutely sure, Officer?”

Cop: “’Fraid so, sir. There were only fifty passengers on the plane– and we’ve accounted for everyone except Ms. O’Breen and two others– a Dr. Sadd and a local man named Julius Mudd. What I figure happened is, they were… well, their bodies were thrown clear. We’ll find ‘em when the rain stops.”

Matt (Caption): “Bodies… death– Another woman dead? Like Elektra? Like Heather? Another of my women dead?”

    Refusing to believe that Glori was killed in the crash, Matt changes into his DD suit and sets out into the swamp to find her. Partway into his hunt, he runs into Natasha, who is searching for one of the other missing passengers– Dr. Ephesus Sadd, who acquired and subsequently improved a sample of the Fear Gas for use in chemical warfare. One of the great strengths of this story is the fact that the antagonist remains off-panel for significant chunks of the issue. Matt himself is not under attack, and so we, just like him, are left fearing for Glori’s safety as he and Natasha race to her rescue.

    Meanwhile, Glori and Dr. Sadd are living through a nightmare. They have been kidnapped by the hijacker and his associates. It turns out that he was hired to assassinate Sadd and now– having seen his worth, but unaware of why he’s so valuable– he’s decided to hold him ransom instead. As the hijacker attempts to give Glori to his brother as a wife, Sadd decides to use his secret cargo to escape. 

Dr. Sadd: “Before the ceremony begins, I would like to deliver a… a sermon! Yes, a sermon. Always at weddings there is sermonizing. My topic will be fear. It is a subject dear to me– a subject I have studied… a subject I cherish like a child. I have seen fear drive men to splendid achievements and crush them like insects… It is the force which lifted mankind from the primeval ooze and which keeps us from being as angels–”

Hijacker: “Git on with the wedding.”

Dr. Sadd: “Yes, the wedding. I have brought a gift–!”

Glori: “No! Don’t do it!”

    When Matt and Natasha arrive, they encounter a horrific scene: Glori and her kidnappers, driven into a violent frenzy by fear. 

Matt: “–Glorianna! Glori… are you all right?”

Glori: “No… no… no no NONONONO”

Matt: “[…] I was expecting to find people whimpering in terror… which is what the original Mr. Fear’s gas caused.”

Natasha: “Obviously, Dr. Sadd changed the formula. Glorianna and the others are reacting like cornered rats.”

    The creepy conclusion of the issue is two-fold: It reveals a second version of the Fear Gas– one that drives people to lash out in fear, rather than being subdued by it. And it ends with Dr. Sadd dying of fear, despite the revelation that his canister of Fear Gas was empty– thus showing just how powerful terror, as a mere concept, can be. This is an issue in which Mr. Fear isn’t even present but is nevertheless still profoundly dangerous, and that sums up why he is such a good antagonist. Way back in Daredevil #6, Stan Lee commented that Mr. Fear shared certain similarities with the Purple Man, who had just been introduced two issues before, but these later stories are where those similarities really start to appear. Mr. Fear and the Purple Man are effective villains for similar reasons: they are both immensely powerful, manipulate basic facets of human nature, and can strike from a distance (or without even being directly involved at all!) with unpredictable and deadly consequences. 

    If this wasn’t creepy enough, Chichester goes full-on macabre with his Mr. Fear-centered story in Daredevil volume 1 #314-315 (not digitized yet– come on, Marvel!), in which he introduces another variation on Mr. Fear. This version is Alan Fagan’s daughter, Ariel, who uses the code name Shock, and who is both tragic and terrifying. While I’m generally not a fan of Scott McDaniel’s art style, it works to great effect here to depict the twisted gruesomeness of Shock’s physical appearance. 

Matt: “All I have to go by is the sudden shift in the crude patterns my radar blocks out for me– only a hint as to the radical transformation that has seemingly occurred. Perceptions become clouded in the sudden wave of warm gases that wrap around me, raising the hairs on the backs of my arms. I’m still trying to make sense out of the sensations, trying to form a mental picture of what I’m dealing with, when the gases turn suddenly cold– and unease becomes an uncontrollable rage. Intellect knows better, but emotion overrides. Guttural sounds crawl up out of both our throats as we throw ourselves together– a railing grapple empty of technique and filled with a purpose no higher than to tear each other apart. In my head, I know we’re stories above the hard city streets. In my heart, I just want her dead before we hit.”

Daredevil vol. 1 #314 by D.G. Chichester, Scott McDaniel, and Christie Scheele

    I think I’ve said it before, but I can’t say it enough– I love Chichester’s writing. What a way to end an issue!

    Shock is yet another reinvention of the concept of Mr. Fear; her powers come from her body itself. She arranges for her father to be attacked in prison. His attackers cut the skin off his face(!), which Shock then uses to brew a concoction that when ingested, causes her to undergo a grotesque physical transformation and gives her the ability to literally exhale Fear Gas. (The idea is that her father’s skin absorbed traces of the gas, which could then be distilled). She uses these powers to cause mass hysteria by making people hallucinate things that anger and disgust them. Those in her sway turn primal and bloodthirsty. Matt’s battles with her turn into attempts to keep crowds of random civilians from killing each other. 

    Shock is also more sympathetic than any of the other Fear-styled characters. We learn that her father was neglectful, and she has been left alone to care for her ill mother. Her decision to take over her father’s identity comes from a desire to both overshadow his legacy, and to make money to pay for her mother’s treatments. 

Shock: “That’s better. That’s steady… Oh, I worry so, Mommy! I’ve always worried! […] Keep going, that’s it, you’re doing fine…”

Daredevil vol. 1 #315 by D.G. Chichester, Scott McDaniel, and Christie Scheele

    Matt subdues Shock by taking her by surprise, and tries to ensure that both she and her mother receive the help they need. He hopes this is the end of his Mr. Fear problem at last, but he is wrong. Sadly, Shock doesn’t appear again (I really like her), but her father recovers from his face-stripping and much later resumes the Mr. Fear identity– notably, just in time to provide this funny interlude during Marvel’s “Fear Itself” event: 

Alan: “This is just terribly, terribly wrong. I mean, really– I’m Mr. Fear… but it’s not me making everybody queasy. Used to be I’d be the one dragging everybody’s deepest fears out of their closets, for all the world to see. Now the bar’s been raised– or is it lowered? Whatever. With everybody running around in a state of anxiety, nobody gives a damn about a guy named Mr. Fear. Yesterday, some loser stops me in front of Penn Station, gets in my face… yells, ‘Hey– Doctor Doom!’ Doctor Doom, for god’s sake. I mean, really– can you believe this?”

Fear Itself: The Home Front #5, “A Moment with… Mr. Fear” by Howard Chaykin and Edgar Delgado

    In an overarching plot that starts toward the end of  Karl Kesel’s run and extends all the way through Joe Kelly’s, Larry Cranston returns, miraculously alive and working as a law professor at Columbia University. (If anyone has started to get their Mr. Fears mixed up, Cranston is the one who attended law school with Matt and knows his secret identity.) He is more dangerous than ever, and works from the shadows to avoid detection. Armed with an extra potent version of the Fear Gas, Cranston enslaves people to do his bidding, sending his agents into Matt’s life to create chaos by infecting others with the gas. These victims are helpless to fight back, and Cranston seems to be able to engineer how they react. When convenient, they lash out with violence, becoming dangerous to everyone around them– while others are rendered obedient and docile by fear. 

Matt: “Vinnie’s heartbeat is erratic, and his sweat carries a trace of ammonia… His body is rejecting something through the skin… the remnants of Fear Gas… Have to get through to him somehow…”

Matt: “…Vinnie, I’m here to help you. Vinnie… your wife and daughter miss you.”

Vinnie: “M-my wife? I– I don’t have a family. I can’t have a family… I don’t deserve one… *Gasp* Oh god. A-all I have… m-means nothing… nothing but the truth… yes… yes… I’ll be good…”

Matt: “(His voice… so distant… almost as if he’s not speaking to me… His pulse just sped up… shallow breathing… Could he be hallucinating?) They miss you, Vinnie. They want you to come home.”

Vinnie: “[…] Fear controls everything. Knows everything. Hears everything. Fear is God. I serve him… forever…”

Daredevil vol. 1 #366 by Joe Kelly, Gene Colan, and Christie Scheele

    As Matt continues, barely, to fight back, Cranston increases his efforts to tear him down, concluding with sending a serial killer cop into his life and then framing Karen Page for his (the cop’s) murder. Karen is put on trial, and Cranston gleefully sabotages the proceedings from behind the scenes. Besieged on both sides of his life by someone who seems like an all-powerful force, Matt nearly gives in to despair.   

Cranston: “How hang the scales of justice, Counselor? The blind lady treats her consort well, I pray.”

Matt: “(Kill him. No. Make him talk.) Why? Why Karen? Why us?”

Cranston: “Come now, Murdock… what good is a nom de guerre if I don’t back it up from time to time… I want you to lose your faith in everything. Your woman. Yourself. The system of justice you so carelessly flaunt when it suits you… because once you strip a man of his faith… all that’s left is fear. That… and an ex-junkie whore girlfriend in jail. Oh, I’m sorry… did that last part slip out?”

Daredevil vol. 1 #375 by Joe Kelly, Chris Claremont, Ariel Olivetti, Christie Scheele, et al.

    Even when Matt finally manages to track down evidence against Cranston that he can use to prove his guilt and Karen’s innocence, he still nearly loses, because Cranston has a member of the jury under his sway. This juror nearly succeeds in releasing Fear Gas to impact the verdict, when he is stopped by– of all people– the Kingpin. 

Matt: “What do you want, Fisk?”

Fisk: “Tut tut… such venom… towards a friend helping a friend. A present. The ghoul used hypnosis so you couldn’t smell the gas. Clever… but he should have chosen a juror with a stronger heart. He’ll live, don’t worry. Just with a pacemaker.”

Matt: “You– why? Why?”

Fisk: “Simple. Someone was playing in my sandbox… and no one gets to break you but me. Congratulations, Counselor. You won your woman’s freedom. With a little help from a friend. I trust you will remember the favor… when I return.”

Daredevil vol. 1 #375 by Joe Kelly, Chris Claremont, Ariel Olivetti, Christie Scheele, et al.

    (D’aww…)

    It’s a shaky victory, but it lasts all the way until the end of volume 2– when Ed Brubaker gives us the most upsetting Mr. Fear story to date in #95-106. 

    The setup for this story is similar to that of its predecessor: Matt’s life starts falling into chaos for reasons that aren’t initially clear. His law partner, Becky Blake, is urged by an old friend to help Melvin Potter (the Gladiator), who is accused of killing people while in prison. Matt and Foggy agree to help, since they have a long-standing relationship with Melvin and suspect foul play. But then, Melvin is sprung from prison and goes on a rampage, before nearly killing Milla Donovan (Matt’s wife) and then trying to commit suicide. This coincides with an increase in violent crimes throughout Hell’s Kitchen. Becky’s friend kills himself under mysterious circumstances. Matt knows someone has engineered all of this, but has no idea who.

Cranston: “Hello, Matt… I thought it was time I said hi. You can hear me… right?”

Matt: “What? Who is this?”

Cranston: “Heh, little joke. I know you can hear me, Matt. But I can’t hear you. And don’t bother trying to recognize my voice… even your ears couldn’t get past this voice-scrambler.”

Daredevil vol. 2 #97 by Ed Brubaker, Michael Lark, Stefano Gaudiano, and Matt Hollingsworth

    Before too long, he learns the truth– Larry Cranston is back, and is more powerful than ever. With an array of underlings from all walks of life at his command and a new arsenal of fear-inducing chemicals (including a new drug he is distributing on the streets), he appears capable of just about anything. He singlehandedly throws Matt’s life, and Hell’s Kitchen’s criminal underworld, into chaos. 

Cranston: “It was so simple, I can’t believe I didn’t discover it myself… the myriad ways in which fear affects the human brain. But it took Professor Dante Govich only minutes to realize the full potential of the drugs from my arsenal. His experiments– once he came under my persuasion– once he looked at me with fear and awe– made all this possible. Dante understood the links between fear and love… the synaptic paths from desire to paranoia to insanity. Under my thumb, he created new drugs beyond anything I could have dreamed of.”

Daredevil vol. 2 #102 by Ed Brubaker, Michael Lark, Stefano Gaudiano, and Matt Hollingsworth

    The whole time Matt remains one step behind, and has barely figured out who his enemy is before he gets doused with one of the new versions of the Fear Gas. As a celebration of the hundredth issue of the volume, #100 features a visually stunning and thematically disturbing sequence of Matt tearing his way through the city streets, hallucinating enemies all around while still helpless to attacks from Mr. Fear’s minions. 

Matt: “Your lies… mean nothing! You hear me, Fisk?! You hear me?!”

Cop: “… Heh heh… heh… Why do you keep… henh… calling me… Fisk? …Please… just stop hitting me…”

Matt: “Oh, God… No.”

Daredevil vol. 2 #100 by Ed Brubaker, Marko Djurdjevic, Michael Lark, Matt Hollingsworth, et al.

    But Cranston’s most disturbing attack is inflicted upon Milla, Matt’s wife. Without Matt’s knowledge, she is dosed with a concoction that amps up her emotions and makes her violent when angry. Her new condition is the final blow to Matt’s mental state, as she risks jail time for accidentally killing someone. Cranston baits Matt by engineering her release, then– the moment Matt starts to experience some hope– has one of his minions sabotage her into committing another violent act, which gets her locked away for good. 

Matt: “Milla, what have you done? What have they done to you? Milla, I can hear your heartbeat… your breathing… It’s me, baby… calm down… It’s Matt… I’m here.”

Milla: “But… I don’t understand… I don’t… I don’t know… I don’t know what happened…”

Matt: “I know. I know you don’t. It’s not your fault.”

Matt (caption): “I hold her tight, but she’s already gone. I can hear the sirens approaching from three blocks away. An ambulance and three police cruisers. They’ll be here soon… to take her away again.”

Daredevil vol. 2 #104 by Ed Brubaker, Michael Lark, Stefano Gaudiano, Matt Hollingsworth, et al.

    Brubaker’s run is the darkest, most brutal Daredevil run to date, and this story plays a major part in that. As his failures pile up, Matt grows more and more desperate, more and more willing to cross lines he might not have crossed before. After beating and torturing Cranston’s whereabouts from one of his pawns, Matt hunts him down, ready to wrest the Fear Gas antidote from him any way he can… at which point Cranston deals the final blow to Matt’s psyche. 

Cranston: “There is no cure, Matt. That’s why I had to kill Dante Govich… He was my chemist… Can’t believe that didn’t occur to you, Mr. Valedictorian. So go ahead, hit me some more. It means nothing… Everything you do means nothing.”

Matt: “No…”

Cranston: “’Cause I beat you weeks ago… you just didn’t know it.”

Daredevil vol. 2  #105 by Ed Brubaker, Michael Lark, Stefano Gaudiano, Matt Hollingsworth, et al.

    This story is heartbreaking on every level. Matt goes through all of that, and achieves nothing. He loses. Cranston gets the last laugh. It’s also not a major supervillain victory. It’s not like Cranston was trying to take over the world, or anything. His motivations are personal and frivolous, and that somehow makes it worse. He just tears Matt’s life to pieces because he wants to, because he can, and because Matt is powerless to stop him, and then gets a little chuckle about it afterward. Of course, the real victim of this story is Milla, who is still, to this day, locked up in a psychiatric hospital– a heartbreaking (and, frankly, criminal) fate for such a fantastic character. This is also the last Matt has seen of Larry Cranston. He hasn’t had chance to retaliate, and in my opinion, this victory alone would cement Mr. Fear as one of the most dangerous Daredevil antagonists. The fact that the various Mr. Fears have been at the center of 55 years-worth of genuinely disturbing stories just further backs this up. 

[silvermcn-blog]

                       WELCOME TO THE PANIC ROOM !!

hello, i’m eleanor, i’m twenty from england and use she/her pronouns! i’m so, so excited for this roleplay; esther’s an old muse and i’m so glad she can fit here. she is a bit heavy but i’m so excited to develop her !! please excuse my shitty graphic but it probably looks better than a gif would !! the bottom line with this character is that she is full of hate for supers but is just fearful about what they’re actually capable of and thus, feels inferior herself...

CONSTANCE ZIMMER. FORTY-NINE. CISFEMALE. SHE/HER | pandora wouldn’t be the same without esther silverman. every time she is around i think of panic room by au/ra. they’ve been living in pandora for ten years as a politician. during that time they’ve built a reputation for being determined and eloquent but also erratic and malicious. do you think that explains why esther is for supers being outlawed?

please read with caution: abandonment tw, abuse tw, child abuse tw, alcoholism tw, general hate

if i’ve forgotten to tag something, please let me know !!

esther grew up in a middle class family to a german migrant parents. even as a child, esther was a confident person, perhaps a little too confident for her own age. she was always outspoken and that didn’t bode well with her father; he was a tough man, one that held old-fashioned values very dear to him and one that demanded respect from all those around him. her mother was weak in that aspect, she quit her job when esther was born and didn’t go back because her father wanted her to stay at home and look after their daughter while he ran his business.

he always had high hopes for esther and that meant that nothing was ever good enough for him; he pushed her as she was his only child and wanted nothing but greatness from her. her mother tried to praise her but there was never any balance. as esther grew older, her parents seemed to distance themselves further away from them as her father began drinking more and more.

he said it was always to take the edge off of disappointment but he had a problem and wouldn’t admit it. when confronted about this, the man would often turn violent so she just learnt to turn a blind eye.

when esther tried to talk to him about his behaviour, he’s snap and turn on her; the man just wouldn’t listen. esther was actually the one to step in front of her mother when she was about to get a beating; she doesn’t know her exact motive but she felt like she had to PROTECT the other woman, no matter how manipulative she was, she still felt the evil in her household was her father and no doubt her mother used that to her advantage.

there was an incident when esther was caught in between her parents and had to go to er because her father hit her and she collided with the coffee table. her mother persuaded her that this was the case and she just wanted it to go away so she believed it. her memories are blurry so she just replaces them with what she wants them to believe.

her mother fled shortly after the hospital visit and it was really upsetting. she had tried to protect the woman yet she had just left her, as if she was expendable.

there was only so much esther could endure. yes, she was scared already, both mentally and physically but after her father had his accident and received his cane, it just became easier for him to hurt her. no matter how strong or resilient she was, she couldn’t condemn his actions and believed that she had actually caused all of these situations. she believed that she was the reason for it all as it never seemed to stop; she must have been awful for her father to act in this way to her.

the situation at home caused her to be rather closed off from the world. all she could focus on was her school work as she hoped to go to an ivy league school to get an education that would finally be able to free her. she was loud at school, far too defensive but she felt like she had to be to survive. her mentality was ‘get them before they get me’ and that attitude still stands today.

persuasive, confident and observant, it was no surprise when she decided to go into the legal profession. she had also been feeling the pressure to amount to something! although she was abrasive, some would say rude, esther had the ability to work around people, to manipulate them into thinking what she wanted them to think; when it came to the game, her conscience was left at the door.

of course, her father supported this and paid for harvard law school for her undergraduate degree. however, he passed away when she started yale law due to liver failure; she had tried to tell him but there was no getting through to him. she felt strange with his death, upset and angry that she never felt strong enough to confront him.

her mother shut her out, claiming that things would be better for her if she had no association with her. esther had supported her, protected her when it should have been the other way around so this request hurt her. although she had felt it throughout her childhood, she was now alone.

she threw herself into her law career and proved to be a successful criminal lawyer; esther made junior partner at the age of thirty-four. although she wasn’t the most pleasant person to be around, she brought the company a lot of money and they always appreciated her services.

the woman never really tackled her issues so when the supers started turning up, they were perfect scapegoats for her anger. they had the upper hand, much like her father did so she decided to be against them. she feels like she needs to protect herself more than ever before. she’s so full of hate but an extremely vulnerable woman of 5′1. she needs to get rid of them before they have the means to hurt her and god knows how many other people.

that’s why she decided to leave her career as a lawyer and become a politician. although her reasons for it are purely selfish and a coping mechanism for her to compartmentalise her pain, she has nicknamed herself ‘THE POLITICIAN FOR THE PEOPLE’, meaning only the people, the ones that don’t have any powers. deed down, she knows she’s wrong but is too far down de nile river for her to acknowledge that.

she has a lack of direction and that can be seen through her politics. she can give amazing speeches but lacks substance as to why she thinks that they should be banned in the first place and when challenged, she instantly goes on the defensive. she has the makings of a villain seen as she’s not totally clean and will go to great lengths to set up supers but also has the chance to be redeemed if she finally faces up to her own problems and stops blaming supers for all of her problems.

esther is very hostile with most so please don’t take it personally. i can’t wait to develop her here!!

[wynndygoon]

1st Anniversary!

This will be sort of a recap post encompassing all of what has happened over this first year. So get ready, this will be a long post!

I started this blog shortly after I got my drawing tablet as a means to try and get better at using the damn thing. Needless to say, I think that it has been more than a success and has also been an amazing opportunity to meet all of you amazing people who have gotten invested in Noma and what she is and who she is as a character. And, while this past year hasn’t been perfect, it has been a wondorous experience filled with laughs and new bonds that frankly, I never would have made otherwise. Same goes to me trying out new things such as streaming, downloading Discord, and just flat out putting my art out there in this world for people to see and hopefully fall in love with.

So this whole blog, and the lady we all know and love, Noma, wouldn’t have been here if it weren’t for chance. If you are new or never read the post explaining her past, the short version is: I had a Blaziken that hatched from an Egg in pokemon Black. It was a female, and I named her Noma, and it turned out that she had a bunch of good EV’s and IV’s, so I used her a lot through the game. Well when X and Y came out, I got the launch event Torchic that had better stats than Noma, so in a stupid move, I wonder Traded her away, hoping that someone else would like her just as much as I did. Fast forward a few months before I started this blog, and one of my friends traded me a bunch of pokemon since he didn’t really play much anymore. Long story short, he traded me back Noma. So while I had this idea about starting a pokemon ask blog, I never knew which pokemon i wanted to use, until Noma popped back into my life. As soon as that happened, I knew I had to make her my character.

So next came the design phase, and while I never was amazing at creating characters, I knew that I had to try and make her look unique to stand out from the crowd. And When I say unique, i think I went a bit too overboard with her, but at least we can still tell she is a blaziken, right? Anyways, I knew that I wanted to make her somewhat Tomboy-ish, while still having her be feminine as to not confuse people. I also knew that one easy way to accomplish this was to make her a little more fluffy and poofy, so believe it or not, I started with her hair design and went from there. I knew that if i could nail the hair, then everything would kinda fall into place. So that is why she has just SO MUCH HAIR, because form a design point, it was necessary. Also, making her wear clothes would help her stand out seeing as many poke-ask blogs leave their characters nude. Speaking of which, I am going to address something about Noma right here: SHE DOESN’T HAVE BOOBS ALRIGHT. I know it looks like she does, but since she has so many feathers and is very fluffy, wearing clothes would be difficult. So what she has to do is stuff her chest fluff into her tank tops, and purely because there is so much of it, it lumps up under the shirt. So all the people asking to see Noma’s “Chicken Breasts” ( those were some real asks BTW), sorry, no luck there.

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                   THIS SECTION IS ALL OF MY FAVORITE ASKS AND                                           REDESIGNS OF NOMA

So, now that I have the character created, It’s time to draw her and make a post on here. Im not gonna lie, that first night was nerve wracking. I didn’t have the slightest clue as to what was going to happen, if anyone would see the post, or hell, if anyone would like it.

But here she is, the main attraction in her first appearance on the blog. Happy, inviting, and not nearly as fluffy as what she is now. For some of you newer followers, yes, this is how it all began. Notice that she isn’t as tall, or fluffy, or as vibrant as what you know her as, but yes, this is what everyone saw for a couple of months while I started out. This WAS her design.

So, with this outta the way, it’s time to answer some asks, but to do that, I had to think of her personality. So, I just made her personality be fun. someone who can be sassy, sarcastic, kind, loveable, and genuinely nice. It’s up to you to decide o how well that comes across though.

This ask was: “Why are you such a Boss Ass Blaziken?” and this is where I went into her story in a little more detail and made it feel more like a story rather than a simple explanation of events. It was  the first question I got and I had a lot of fun working on it because at least one person took the time out of their day to send me something.

Here is Noma explaining her Favorite Region that she has been to. And this was kind of a first for the blog since we got to see what she looked like below the crop top. And yes, its just a crop top with her chest fluff stuffed into it. Take note how much shorter she was when I started this blog. Like, I never realized this before, but for a blaziken, she was a midget. Also, can we just ignore some of the glaring anatomy issues here? I was still kinda working on her design here.

And here we reach the first Big re-design of Noma. While not much besides her hair changed, this was the part of her life that she started dyeing her hair different colors to make her design more unique. She also has a bit more of a neck and her hands are also more suited to a blaziken’s with the gray part instead of all red like the first post. In this ask, she was answering what her favorite past times are. Out of all the asks that I have done so far back then, THIS was my favorite to work on, just changing up her hair style felt so refreshing and  honestly makes her look so much different.

THIS. FREAKING. ASK. this was the one that started a bunch of people to harass me to essentially draw nsfw of Noma. At the time of answering this ask, I was midway through a show called Panty and Stocking, go check it out if you haven’t, it’s hilarious and really good. But the ask was: “What is your favorite hairstyle?” So I decided to have a little fun and I started out just drawing the hair to make the reference to Panty and Stocking, but I thought that nobody would actually catch the reference, so I decided to go big or go home and reference the entire character of Scanty. If only I knew what kind of hell I would have unleashed for the next few months. Despite all of the perverted asks and messages I received, this was an insanely fun ask to draw, and it was also a challenge to try and recreate Scanty, but in a Blaziken form. Also, notice how her hands reverted back to red. I never said I was consistent.

So that slightly NSFW ask was the last actual drawing i posted for quite a while because then, I started college and was so nervous and scared and focused on doing well that i just didn’t have time to draw or play video games because of all the stress. I would literally wake up, go to school, go to work, come home, and sleep. and that was it. My next few posts actually weren’t Noma related, so I won’t cover them.

This was the first ask I had for ASK MAGIC which had Noma’s type change to water for 3 asks. Each of these weren’t all that exciting, but I am including this here because it was a milestone for the blog that NO ONE HAS USED SINCE! HINT HINT.

This wasn’t an ask, just a drawing idea I had for Halloween. She is still rocking her crazy hair with 3 different colors now and frankly, I have no idea what I was thinking giving her a rooster comb AND and ponytail, but hey, it works. SO if you couldn’t tell she went as a rooster for Halloween and her hands also magically changed back to red. But she also dyed her chest fluff in the shape of a heart which was another small design change.

HERE SHE IS THE FIRST MAJOR REDESIGN THAT ACTUALLY CHANGED SOME STUFF ABOUT HER. First of all, she doesn’t have the weird red neck that she had that just made her chest fluff look glued on, her fluff is on the entirety of her neck, and her neck is now longer, giving here a taller appearance. I also changed the look of her chest fluff to look like it surrounds her from behind also, and I changed the fluff on her face here too. Sure they may not be the biggest changes, but they made her a hell of a lot easier to draw and i think made her look better overall too.

This is just a better look of her, and is also my icon. See how she looks less like a midget and more graceful? The re-design was for the greater good.

This ask was SUPER fun: “My last ask was mean, but if you could choose any other type, what would it be”. This was when i could encompass all of what made Noma, Noma. The new redesign looks flawless, and we actually got to see an almost full body drawing of Noma. Glaring anatomy issues aside, I still really think that this was one of my better works of Noma.

I had a Thanskgiving ask set aside to put here, but I am really not too proud of that one, and also because it was during the time when I lost my grandmother, so I’m just going to leave it out so I don’t get too emotional about it.

You think I would have learned my lesson about showing Noma in anything REMOTELY NSFW, but nope, here we have her in her underwear. The ask was: “I am liking this new look!”  and yeah, I tried to go for a cheap visual gag, not only in the fact that she isn’t decent, but also in the name of her boxers. American Eagle in the pokemon world would more than likely be Unovan Braviary, like come on, that’s comedy silver at best.

Look at this Eye-sore. I tried to do a candy cane look wit her hair, but I think it fell flat and looks too busy. But the Ask was: “Do you have any jewelry?” While this doesn’t look as good as I hoped it would have, this was certainly a lot of fun to draw.

This was my absolute favorite non-ask post to draw because i used my actual ugly christmas sweater to design hers. I know the perspective is off here, but that is purely because of the angle I took the picture at.

THIS COMIC WAS AN ABSOLUTE BLAST TO DRAW, PLUS IT ALSO INTRODUCED NOMA’S LOVE INTEREST, EM, WHICH IS STILL A PART OF THIS BLOG SO SEND HIM SOME ASKS PLEASE. ALSO I DO NOT OWN EM, HE IS A CHARACTER OF BANANAMUTTBREAD, SO GO GIVE HIM A FOLLOW, HE IS AN AMAZING PERSON.

This was a difficult drawing to do, not because of the characters, but because of the shading and lighting, and yes, I know, its not the best, But I am still very proud of it nonetheless. But, yeah, this is a mash up of Lethal League which is an amazing game and Noma. The reason I chose Candyman to draw, was because he was simple, and because he is a pain in the ass to fight against.

By this point in the blog’s life, I had just bought my dog Bella, and started a new semester at college. With my toughest classes all piled on top of each other, i didn’t have much time to draw, so there wasn’t much to be posted then. However, I did introduce a new character, not a pokemon, but instead a bee character I came up with. Her name is Grain, and she is super cute, so go check out the art i made of her!

With me posting again halfway through last semester, the first ask I got was about Noma’s hairstyle. To be honest, I have no idea what kind of style that is, so let’s just move on.

Oh boy, my first piece i did on stream. This was another small redesign I did just to get back into the swing of redrawing Noma and making sure I could remember how to draw her. also, I tested out a new form of shading that I really like and will probably continue to use from here on out.