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m-y-fandoms · 4 years

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Korekiyo Shinguuji x reader fluff

Request: Hello!! ✨ Can i request something fluffy with Korekiyo (it would be nice if it would be with his pregame version (but original is okay, too))? Maybe he's having a sleepover with reader? Thank you in advance ✨ I really like your writing. Your oneshots and imagines make my day!!

Okay I’m gonna de pregame Korekiyo like you asked! So just a tall, lanky, beautiful man with a face mask. No incest and lipstick or killing game lmao. Also I’ll make him interested in anthropology but not the Ultimate/SHSL - Admin Kokichi

“Are you sure? I really don’t want to impose…” your best friend, Korekiyo Shinguuji, stares at you from behind his black dust mask with a concerned gaze. His brows are furrowed deeply in the center.

Korekiyo had gotten into a fight last night with his legal guardian, his older sister. Apparently, it had been a nasty one, unlike anything that’s happened between them before. It gotten so bad that she kicked him out of the house, with no word of when he would be allowed back in.

“Yeah, of course, Kiyo! We are buds right? You’re my bestie! I can’t let my bestie just spend the. night alone in some hotel or sleep out in the street, now can I?”

“But Y/N-”

“Would you let me go sleep in the street if it were me?”

“No, I suppose not, but-”

“Then any argument you have in invalid. Case closed!” You closed your notebook on your desk haughtily as if to signify the end of the conversation. Korekiyo sighed, a slight blush on his cheeks as he placed his head down on his desk with anxiety.

“You’re sure your parents are okay with it?” He mumbled, his black hair cascading down his back and shoulders and splaying out around his desk.

“Well…”

“Y/N…” he warned, scolding you like a mad mother.

“They will be out of town this entire week. My dad always travels for work and my bitch of a stepmother has to stay attached to his hip like a leech at all times so-”

“Then me staying over seems highly inappropriate. I’m sure your father would-”

“Don’t make me guilt you into coming over. You’re my friend. You’re in need, and I love spending time with you! Please?” You reached over and pulled on the sleeve of his exorbitantly-priced sweater with eyes wide like a puppy dog.

“You win this time, Y/N, but if your father finds out and becomes hostile toward me, I’m going to blame you…” he joked breathily, shaking his head at his stubborn best friend. He couldn’t help but give into your every want and desire, and you often pulled him into your schemes and plans. Well...he called them schemes, but he was just a goody-two-shoes, so anything not morally immaculate or life-enriching was considered foolish to him.

“Then it’s settled.” You nearly squealed. You’d been waiting forever to have him over to your house, but he’d always declined. You’d known him for about a year, and still your humble abode had remained a mystery to him. He lived with his older sister who took care of him after their parents died, and she was extremely strict with him. He was never allowed to come over after school. You’d been to his place once or twice, but always with supervision and strictly for studying or some other educational activity. If you wanted to spend time after school, he had to lie to her about where he was going and why. Finally, you’d have your crush, your best friend over to your home.

You had to admit to yourself, you did feel a little guilty about the whole situation. You were inviting him over for mainly selfish reasons. Yes, he was your best friend and you’d never let him go without a place to stay, but there was a large part of you that just wanted the boy you liked alone and to yourself for a night or...maybe two, if this first sleepover went well. Unfortunately though, your crush on him weighed heavily on you. You felt horrible for keeping this secret of your feelings from him, because he trusted you with everything. You were so scared that letting him know that you wanted to be more than friends would ruin the close bond you two had. Yeah...it would be way too awkward to remain friends afterward if he rejected your feelings.

You both were let out after the last class of the day. Korekiyo walked you back home every single day since you’d become friends. At first, you found it a bit embarrassing, seeing as he was one of the kids from the rich neighborhoods around your school and you lived in a middle-class suburb a bit further away. Your fears about your class-difference with your best friend quickly faded as you got to know him. It became clear within weeks of hanging out that he would never judge you based on financial status, whether you lived in a trailer or a palace. That was just one of the many things you loved about him. And boy could you list a bunch…

He was intelligent, a straight-A student and teacher’s pet. He had endless wisdom and knowledge of both practical things and useless trivia. He gave the best advice, and was so passionate about both his hobbies and yours. You could talk with him forever without the topic getting dry.

His looks only enamored you to him further. He was tall and slender, with a perfectly built frame. Unlike your peers, he never got acne, and his complexion was pore-less and smooth like marble. He was pale, and his eyes stood out like flecks of gold against an ivory surface. His hair was healthier and more majestic than any female you knew. It was long, all the way down his back, and was the deepest, darkest shade of black with delicate bangs that fell across his forehead. He was absolutely gorgeous, but for some reason he still had self-esteem issues. For this reason, he always wore a dust mask over his mouth and nose that concealed his entire lower face. You could never understand why. Everyone at school either liked him or was jealous of him, and he had nothing to hide from anyone.

He tried to lie to you at first, stating that he had a weaker constitution and because of frequent illness and hospital visits, his sister made him wear it, but once you got closer, he admitted he liked hiding his face and it made him feel comfortable. He customized his masks, or commissioned them to be specially made, having embroidery on them or patchwork and sometimes shelling out for the more expensive leather or designer masks...which you didn’t even know existed until you met him.

You’d tried to convince him multiple times that he was beautiful and had nothing worth covering up, but he insisted upon wearing the masks in public at least. After knowing him for a few months, he let you see his bare face, but only at his house. And man...were you blown away. He almost...looked like a woman without the mask. But not? It was hard to explain. He was like some kind of gender-less, androgynous deity. He certainly had a strong, masculine brow and jaw, but then his lips were pert and plump and soft...soft-looking at least. They were gentle and the cupid’s bow dipped down low and rounded out. He had a wide, manly chest and slender waist, but long eyelashes. Large, veiny hands, but delicate skin and hair. He was absolutely heavenly to look at. That first time, when you’d seen him without his mask, you knew you were falling hard, and it made you sweat and your heart speed up. You were always so scared that you’d go too far or flirt by accident and he’d catch on and pull away from your friendship. It hadn’t happened yet, thankfully.

It was raining, pouring down actually, and you two rushed down the street side by side, backpacks over your heads for protection from the downpour.

“I apologize. As you know, I would usually have an umbrella but after she kicked me out last night, Miyadera has refused to let me go in and get anything that I didn’t have on my person at the time.” He was right, he was always prepared for any possibility, and his sister had now made that impossible.

“It’s fine. I read the forecast this morning. I should’ve brought one as well,” you yelled, the rain pelting you both loudly. “We really should get a car or something. We’re seniors for fuck’s sake.” We? You didn’t know why you’d said that. He was his own person and probably could afford to buy you both cars with his own pocket money.

Why did you even say that?

“Ah, but walking is better exercise! It’s good for us! Besides...Miya won’t let me buy one... you know that. She practically controls all of my funds.”

“Kiyo, you’re 18 now, get your damn money back!”

“I’m scared…” he chuckled, only half-joking. It was true, you both had turned 18 recently and were about to graduate, but his sister still treated him like a little kid. Pretty ironic, as you wouldn’t kick a little kid out onto the street on their own.

You passed his neighborhood, and he looked up at it longingly, raindrops substituting tears dripping down his cheeks. You could tell this was weighing on him. He loved his home, it was where he felt safe, and he hated fighting with his sister. She was a tough guardian, yes, but she gave up her life as a young woman in her prime to raise him.

You were approaching your street now, both of you soaked down to your socks and hoping your bags didn’t also soak through. You both had many folders of homework and electronics inside that would all be ruined if so. You reached the curb, waiting to cross into your neighborhood, when an unruly teen in his beaten-up sedan screeched by, speeding past you two carelessly. You grabbed Korekiyo’s pale, cold hand, startled by the sudden volume of the law-breaking vehicle, and you both gasped as its wheels dug into the puddle in front of you just below the curb, and splashed onto you both like a tidal wave.

“Fuckin’ asshole!” You yelled, charging forward after the car until a hand landed firmly on your shoulder, holding you back. You swore the rain would begin to evaporate and steam up into the air with how hot your skin was right now. You were royally pissed off.

“Y/N if he’s the type of man to do that, what do you think talking to him would accomplish? Also, do you really think it’s possible to catch up to a speeding vehicle on foot?” Always the voice of reason. Always so calm and mature. You usually admired that in him, but right now you were seeing red, and his dismissal of your mood made you a bit ticked off at him as well.

“But! I-gah! Aren’t you pissed? He just-”

“Got us wet? We were already wet.”

“But he did that on purpose!”

“I know. Being irate changes nothing. Come on, once we are inside I’m sure we can get warm and dry off. I’ll keep you warm,” he smiled gently behind his mask, his eyes crinkling. Your cheeks would’ve heated up had your body not already been aflame from rage. You didn’t know why you were always so flustered when he was caring toward you or touched you or even mentioned touching you. You felt gross reveling in his platonic intimacy so much. It felt like you were taking advantage of his kindness. Yes, he could keep you warm once you got home. That was normal. You two always cuddled or held hands or leaned on each other. You were just that close. But it was all just casual, as friends...right?

“Y-yeah. You can shower and I have some baggier, more comfortable clothes you can wear to hang out and sleep in. I think those should fit.” Korekiyo was taller than you and awfully skinny but you had some general sweatpants and oversized t-shirts that you were sure would fit anyone comfortably. You knew Korekiyo was used to the best and most expensive textiles and fashion, but for just hanging out at your house? It should be fine.

“That’s very kind of you, thanks.” You were sure he was thinking: how could you put me in peasant-wear, but he would never say that aloud to you. “Why do you have that awful look on your face? Did I say something to offend you, Y/N?” He took your hand in his as you reached your front door and rummaged through your bag for your house keys, Korekiyo holding his phone’s flashlight over your bag to assist you.

“No, I’m fine, Kiyo, why?” The keys jingled in the lock and you opened the door.

“You know you can’t lie to me, Y/N,” his voice dropped into a low rumble, and you got chills down your spine. He was just so...sexy without even trying.

“I just...sometimes I feel bad that you spend so much time with me or like I’m not enough, like the rest of our classmates who live in that bougie housing plan of yours...like with the clothes I’m giving you tonight. I feel like you deserve better or like...like what if those kids start to judge you one day because you’re hanging out with people that are beneath you.”

“Y/N,” he stopped you, rolling his eyes as you both dropped your soaking bags and overcoats on the floor on your living room, “You’re my ‘bestie’ as you always say,” he chuckled dryly. “Do you really think I care what clothes I’m wearing when we are alone or what any of our peers think of my friendship with you? I know you know me far better than that… where is this all coming from? You’re unusually… emotional today,” he took your hand once again, leading you to the couch, but pausing before sitting down with you. “I do not wish to soak your couch. That shower would be nice about now,” you could see the pallor of his skin, coated like wet porcelain as he shook slightly.

“Y-yes! Well okay, we have a bathroom in my parent’s master bedroom and one just in the hallway for guests and myself. You can take the master bedroom one, it’s much nicer,” you stuttered.

“Why do you insist on babying me and always thinking I need pampered or require only the finer things in life? I was born wealthy, I don’t need all of those things. I think your house is wonderful,” he gestured around him, “just like you!” He encouraged you before letting you lead him upstairs. You ran to the bathroom closet then to your room, leaving him in the dark hallway alone for just a moment. He observed the photos on your wall, the paint, the carpet. Why would he judge you for any of this?

You returned with the sleep-wear you promised and a fresh towel.

“You can go ahead and use anything in there. My dad won’t even notice. B-but... if you don’t like his soaps and shampoos let me know. I have quite the skincare and bathing collection!” You were a little proud of that fact, and he smiled at the happiness finally leaking back into your attitude.

“I’m sure it will all be fine. Thank you, Y/N.” He nodded, taking the towel and clothes from you before heading into your father’s room. You turned on your heel, fetching what you needed before taking a shower of your own in the hallway’s smaller bathroom.

You sighed, but not in relief or relaxation, letting the hot water fall over you and loosen your tense muscles. You felt just so...fucked up. Conflicted. Confused. Guilty...love-struck. You didn’t know what to do and felt extremely overwhelmed.

Tonight would be the best opportunity to tell him how you feel: alone, private, cozy and warm, cuddling up together? Yes, that was perfect...but at the same time, if he rejects you, then what? He leaves immediately and has nowhere to go? Or maybe he stays the night to be polite and there’s an awkward silence between you for the rest of your lives...what if he avoids you after school and no longer wants to go to the same university as you?! Your head was spinning.

Why am I such a coward...you thought to yourself, tears mingling with the shower water.

When you finally dried off and got dressed, Korekiyo was already waiting for you in your room, having turned on your electric blanket on your bed and sitting patiently waiting for you underneath it. His hair was damp and his mask was on your night stand. He acknowledged your entrance with a warm grin and patted the bed next to him.

“Why are you in bed? It’s only like five, I was thinking we would go downstairs and cuddle on the couch and eat something-” you approached him slowly and he cut you off.

“Goodness, Y/N, what’s wrong?” He stood to meet you, inches away and towering over you.

“Huh?” He took your chin in his hands and tilted it upwards to meet his dandelion-colored eyes.

“Your eyes are all puffed up. You’ve been crying? Why?” Wow…

“You never miss a thing, huh, Kiyo?” You tried to change the subject or lighten the mood or...anything!

“Only when it comes to you~” he hummed before leading you down the stairs and onto your couch. You dragged along behind him like a child being forced to the dentist. “Now, what’s upsetting you? You can tell me anything, you know that…” his eyes were full of concern and he but his lower lip, apprehensive.

“Kiyo, I- well….it’s just...nothing’s wrong. Let’s go get some snacks. I know you love soup dumplings with white rice~” You smiled weakly.

“First of all, that’s more of a meal than a snack, but anyway, you know you can’t lie to me, Y/N.”

“I just...I just want...this is so hard.” You sighed, voice faltering.

“What’s so hard? Me sleeping over, or your dad being gone? The rain earlier?”

“No no.... I want you here and you know I don’t miss my dad...a-and I feel much better after washing up…” your voice trailed off. He took your hand one final time that night.

And then...

“May I kiss you?” Kiyo spoke so gently, so scared and soft, like he couldn’t even believe his own words. Your eyes widened in shock.

“W-what?!” You pulled away from him, incredulous.

“I want to kiss you, Y/N. Will you allow me?” You paused for a moment, your mind reeling, but then you nodded slowly, your brain taking over and deciding it knew what was best for you.

Korekiyo leaned in, the couch squeaking a bit at the shift of weight. He clasped your chin with one hand, and guided you to him. His lips pressed gently into yours, as if he thought he might break you if he went any further. His lips were plush, surging with warmth, exactly how you’d always imagined them. After pecking you, he pulled back, looking for consent, looking for a sign that you enjoyed that, too. You nodded, getting the hint, and he pressed back onto you, a bit more liberal with his affection this time around.

“Mmm…” you moaned into the kiss as you both tilted your heads at an angle to reach deeper, and his mouth slid open. His tongue trailed against your bottom lip and you opened up without hesitation, your heart going a mile a minute. His tongue massaged yours carefully for a long moment that seemed frozen in time, and then he pulled back. You both sat staring at each other, panting a bit, until a smirk teased across the corner of his lips, and a blush appeared on his normally-concealed face. “H-how...how did you know?”

“I’ve always known…” you felt a wave of embarrassment and shame wash over you. “You’re not good at hiding it.”

“Kiyo...I’m so sorry. I know we are just friends and I shouldn’t feel this way. I just- you are...I can’t stop feeling this way.”

“Y/N...did you think I asked to kiss you out of pity…?” He saw something like realization register in your expression, and he reached out, pulling you into his chest.

“You...you feel the same?”

“Exactly the same.” You didn’t feel so guilty anymore. “And I suppose we both were just too afraid of rejection to say anything. But knowing you, I knew I would have to make the first move if I ever wanted you to myself…” he hugged you tighter with those words.

“Y-yeah, I’m sorry about that...Kiyo, I’m so sorry. I should’ve told you.”

“And I should’ve told you, but there’s no use feeling guilty. We both want this.”

“Kiyo, will you...be my boyfriend…?” You now knew his true feelings, but still felt a lump in your throat. What if he didn’t want a committed, serious relationship right now, or his sister wouldn’t allow it...?

“I want that more than anything.”

You spent the rest of the night cooking soup dumplings, then shoving your faces with the greasiest snacks money could buy and watching documentaries while snuggled into his lap on the couch. He pointed out little facts and trivia along with each documentary, his obsession for culture and anthropology unabashedly taking over.

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emerald-amidst-gold · 3 years

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11, 22, and B for the OC ask?

Hello, hello! 😊😊 Thank you so much for the ask! ❤️❤️

Now, I was debating whether or not to use Fane or my Warden, Elise Amell for this one, but since I’ve more or less answered like questions like these for Fane, I’ll go with El!

11. How do they cope with confusion (seek clarification, pretend they understand, etc)?

Growing up in the Circle practically demanded questions be asked when there was confusion or misinformation. After all, if you didn’t ask, you were destined to fall to ignorance or...well, a demon. As such, Elise is very inquisitive and will ask stacks upon stacks of questions.

Once because she was confused. Say, when Morrigan tells the tale of Flemeth, and the discrepancies made Elise short circuit for a minute before she attempts to piece it out.

Then it just turns into straight up curiosity and Elise’s questions are branched questions pertaining to different things she now has a keen interest in.

She also understands what it means not ask for clarification when she’s confused and turn a the other way due to personal emotions. *side eyes Jowan*

22. How does jealousy manifest itself in them (they become possessive, they become aloof, etc)?

Elise has always been a quiet lover. She was 18 at the beginning of the Blight, and very, very naive. However, she was aware of her own emotions, but she didn’t let them show very often due to her...place in the world.

Her first crush was Cullen, but she knew that their differing roles would always separate them, and so, if she saw another recruit or another mage get a little personal with their words, she would just walk away with a sad smile, trying to fight off the wave of hurt and longing. She still interacted with Cullen as she normally would, soft smiles and precarious words, but she tried to have an open mind.

When Alistair came into the picture for El, she ended up being very confused for a few months. She didn’t know these intense types of emotions that hadn’t been able to be displayed with Cullen, eyes always watching for a single step over the line. However, when she did finally understand them and even found she shared them, it was the first Elise knew she could want for something and it not be out of reach because of what she was. She was a Warden, yes, but she was also allowed more. As such, once the two began a relationship, Elise became perhaps a tad possessive, but she knew Alistair would never betray her or throw her away for someone else, for someone who was only vying for his blood. ...Or so she thought. Heh.

Now, post-Blight, post-Awakening, Elise entered a relationship with Nathaniel. Keep in mind, her heart was still healing from her decisions before the end of the Blight, but she didn’t regret them. They were necessary. They were founded from a good place. She couldn’t keep killing people when there was already so much death and despair, when it wasn’t necessary.

Even so, Elise was cautious about starting another relationship. So much heart break on a tender, but now pragmatic heart wears away at someone, you know? However Nathaniel, despite their obvious rocky start, was someone she could not only want, but could actually have without fear of artificial lines barring them, royal blood mocking them, and most of all, she could have him without fear of losing him due to a mindful decision or what she was. Nathaniel was the first man, aside from Loghain, that Elise came to respect, but also truly love. So, in terms of jealousy with Nathaniel? It doesn’t happen because she respects him too much to ever allow that type of emotion to pull them apart. (These two are great in my head, I’m telling you. X3)

B) What inspired you to create them?

For the longest time, I could not find a Warden that resonated with me, to keep me interested. So, I bounced a lot. Rogue Cousland? Nah, too boring for me. Warrior Aeducan? I can’t really create more of a background beyond what they already have.

Mage Amell? Now that’s prime fuel for my emotional brain! A naive, young Circle mage who had never stepped foot outside her towered, Fade-cloaked castle to a pragmatic, young woman who had shook the world with her decisions and proved she was more than a mage. What isn’t there to love about the malleability housed in that?

This also gave me an excuse to do the ‘Everyone Survives’ Ending. I always viewed Loghain as a very grey character. I don’t agree with his actions, but I can see where they came from and I believed a mage Warden, who finally realized how the world actually was outside the safety of stone walls, would be able to see that, too. I also like making characters that have ‘turning points’, places or events where their personality shifts.

Fane shifts after Haven, ancient magic and forgotten memories restoring a lost side of himself. He found a place, a purpose, and belonging.

Rylen shifts after Leandra’s death, once a benefactor of mages and magic, but bitter grief ensnared his heart. His whole family lost indirectly or directly through its persistent touch.

Elise shifts throughout Origins, but primarily after delving into the Deep Roads. She sees the horror. She sees the true threat. She sees what could be lost if gets lost in her fanciful head. Elise wants to save whoever she can if she has the choice, and with Loghain, she had a choice, and she knew she’d be a fool if she ignored that choice when she had never had many. That was worth any amount of bitter, justified words between her and Alistair.

All my OCs reflect my own views in some way, so my inspiration for creating them is based on what I want to convey to other people. Fane is the most fleshed out since I heavily resonate with him, but Elise is a very close second. She’s my precious daughter, and I want to eventually write stuff for her.

***

#asks #oc asks #oc: elise amell #elise was actually what got my brain to begin making stories too #fane just took over with the amount of shit i could do with him #fane is a precious dragon son while elise is a sweet cinnamon that WILL kill you #my children *sniffs* i'm so proud #dragon age

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catracorner962 · 4 years

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Cherished After All

Cleaning up Shadow Weaver's belongings, Adora and Catra make a shocking discovery about Catra's past. A past she never knew.

Or: My take on how Catra ended up in the Horde.

It was bitter, exhausting work. Cleaning out Shadow Weaver’s belongings from the palace. Glimmer had repeatedly offered to have someone do it for them but Adora and Catra were determined to sort through the stuff themselves. It would be fine. There weren’t many items anyway and according to Perfuma it might help bring some catharsis and closure. Catra wasn’t too sure about that, but Adora agreed it would be better for them to do it and so, she conceited.

“She really didn’t have much stuff,” Adora mused, crouched in Shadow Weaver’s old room, over a single chest. Most of the items were innocuous. Several changes of robes, a handful of coins.

“Psh yeah,” Catra scoffed from where she stood, looking out the window at the gardens. “The only thing that old hag ever cared about was the Black Garnet and the last piece of that was in her mask. Which got blown up with the rest of her.” The magicat’s tail twitched at the thought, her lips curling into a resentful smile. Still….a bit of sadness lingered. A sadness Catra knew Adora harborded too. She hated it. Hated herself for feeling anything other than satisfaction at the demise of the only mother figure either of them had ever known.

She hurt you….hurt Adora. Why do you cry for her?

Even Perfuma couldn’t answer that.

Back by the trunk, Adora rummaged through belongings, throwing the robes around without much care. A book, bound in leather with First One’s writing on it.

“It’s a spell book,’ she murmured aloud. Fingers gracing the pages. “Who knows what’s in here?!”

“Adora…” Catra warned, dragging herself back to the task at hand.

“Alright, alright, I’ll give it to Glimmer,” Adora set the book down. “Maybe she and Micah can use it.” She turned back to the trunk, hand fumbling against the flat bottom of the wood.

“What’s this?” Adora curled her fingers around a small metal item.

“It looks like one of Entrapta’s recorders,” Catra peered over her shoulder. “But slightly bigger. There’s a button on it,” she pointed. The two of them exchanged the all too familiar “let’s-do-it,” look. Adora pressed her thumb into the single red button on top. A faded red light blinked, projecting a fuzzy hologram before them. Adora squinted, trying to make out the images. Only static sounded through the small speakers.

Two people...a tail? No...two tails...and? Are those…?

Adora’s eyes flitted from the static images of the hologram to Catra. Her own tail was swiping back and forth intrigued. Her ears perked forward.

No...it couldn’t be... No one knew anything about Catra’s species. She herself never expressed any curiosity in knowing...only bitter resentment at her more feline characteristics, thanks to Shadow Weaver.

“H..hello?”

Adora’s attention drew back to the two figures, one of whom spoke in a male voice.

“Is...is it working?”

The second figure, also male, asked.

The image fuzzed and spluttered, in and out.

“If...if you’re seeing this...it...it means you’ve found her.”

Adora leaned closer, the hologram slowly becoming more clear. Two male figures...two male figures with ears and tails like Catra. The one speaking...he was crying. His clothes in tatters. The second one looked no better, but he held something to his chest. A bundle.

“There’s no chance for her here,” the first one spoke in breathy gasps. “If..If she stays with us...she’ll…” The second magicat, the one holding the bundle reached out and gripped the other’s arm tightly. He too, was in tears.

“Please…,” he begged. “We can’t feed her...we can’t take care of her.. Horde Prime..he...he destroyed everything.” The magicat held whatever it was to his chest with a desperation that made Adora’s heart ache. Realization slowly dawning on her. Catra betrayed no such epiphany. Her face...showed nothing. Stone cold.

“We haven’t even named her,” the first one glanced down at the bundle, smiling through her hurried breaths. He reached out, placing one clawed hand atop of it and stroked it gently.

“Kitten,” he whispered. The second man held the baby close to him, looking directly at Adora.

“Please, have mercy on her. Give her food and a bed...that’s more than we have. And when...when she’s old enough please show her this...so...so..” he heaved for air. “So she knows we loved her.”

Adora’s own eyes sparked with tears, looking helplessly at the two desperate magicats and the thing in their arms.

“Kitten, if you ever see this,” the first one began, nearly choking on his words.

“Know that we love you. We love you so much; with all our hearts… that is why we can’t keep you. With the Horde...you...you have a chance….for some sort of life. That’s all we have to give you.”

The second magicat, the one holding the kitten, buried his face into the bundle for a moment, lifting his head eventually. Adora nearly gasped, his eyes...blotchy with tears..they were two different colors. One gold, one blue.

“We love you. We are so proud of you….we…”

The recording fizzed and went blurry. Shorting out.

“No!” Adora panicked, pressing the button fervently. “No, no, no! There’s gotta be more! There has to be…”

The hologram re-appeared. Only this time the two magicats had set the bundle down inside a small box. They each kissed it lovingly. Checking and rechecking the blanket it was swaddled in. The hologram broke out again, then came back. Only this time a baby’s face, thin with signs of unger but serene in blissful sleep, sucked at the end of her stubby tail.

A runt, Adora recalled Shadow Weaver’s exact words.

The image of Catra as an infant lingered for a moment, then the hologram cut out for good.

Adora braced herself, turning to Catra slowly. Eyes wide in shock, she starred forward as though the hologram was still playing.

“Catra….?”

“I…” she whispered. “I...ha...had parents,” she stated monotone. “They didn’t abandon me….th..they loved me.”

“Oh Catra, of course they loved you.” Adora wiped her eyes with the back for her sleeve. One hand reaching out to take her girlfriend’s.

“Shadow Weaver,” Catra’s tone shifted instantly to hatred. “She knew...she knew all this time.” She began to tremble, fists curled.

“Come here,” Adora offered, standing and wrapping her arms around Catra. She remained stiff but didn’t push away. Adora held her tightly, one hand rubbing her back carefully, the other stroking through her short hair. She could feel Catra’s heart racing and her body shaking.

“She knew…” Catra whispered, broken. Tears coming to those heterochromatic eyes...just like her father. “That bitch!” Adora patted her back more incessantly as Catra tightened her grip on Adora’s shoulders, her claws retracted thankfully...but her grip was tight, clinging.

“She knew this whole time and she never told me! She said she found me in a box, abandoned and left half-dead at the edge of the Fright Zone.” Catra was fully crying now, burying her face into Adora’s neck.

“Shhh….they loved you Catra...they loved you so much and so do I.”

Catra sniffed, sinking into Adora’s chest.

“The day Shadow Weaver found you in that box,” Adora sniffled through her own crying, “was the happiest day of my life.”

She rubbed small circles around Catra’s shoulder blades, holding her as they sunk to the floor together. “I didn’t know it at the time but it was.” She could feel Catra nod against her but didn’t say anything more.

“I should’ve known…” Catra whispered, “should’ve trusted that hag….I could’ve found them Adora! I could’ve saved them!” She adjusted her hold on Adora, slumping from a hug farther into Adora until she curled all the way in her lap. Adora held her, tenderly cradling her there the way she should’ve always been comforted. The way both of them should’ve always been comforted as children.

“You already did save them Catra. Look at you! You grew up, you became the Leader of the Horde! You saved all of Etheria! Think of how many parents get to live with their kids now because of what you did!”

Catra withdrew from her chest, face gaunt with grief but somehow still resembled that little peaceful face sleeping in her swaddling.

Adora reached a hand up to Catra’s cheek, caressing her there.

“They would be so proud of you.”

Catra smirked,

“What?”

“Those were Shadow Weaver’s last words to me,” she whispered, the hatred gone from her tone. Her voice now breathy and exhausted. “I’m so proud of you Catra. It was probably a lie.” Adora looked down at the magicat, her fingers gingerly stroking her velvet ears. She bent down, leaning over her until her lips graced against Catra’s ear.

“ I’m proud of you Catra. Your parents...wherever they are. They would be proud of you too, and they loved you.”

She didn’t know what else to say truly. What could she say? It was true. Catra had not been abandoned. Catra only curled around Adora more, burying her face into her stomach. She took the hologram device with twitching hands, holding it against her chest.

“Adora? Catra? George and Lance are here! Come say hello!”

Adora instantly tightened her grip on Catra, pulling her closer instinctively to protect her in this vulnerable moment.

“W...we’ll be right there!”

Too late, shimmer pink sparkles appeared before them. Catra shot up, hissing. Pocketing the hologram device. Glimmer materialized instantly.

“George and Lance! They’ve come to help us clean things up and…” the words died on her face as her eyes shifted between the two.

“Did...did I...interrupt something?” Glimmer asked hesitantly. She gave Adora a silent look, trying to ask what was going on without Catra noticing.

“Yes, Sparkles,” Catra grumbled, composing herself with practiced skill Adora had watched her perfect in the Horde.

“S...sorry I d..didn’t,”

“It’s fine,” Catra pushed past the princess towards the main corridor of the castle. Adora offered Glimmer an apologetic smile, fighting the urge to explain what had happened.

It’s not your place to say. It’s Catra’s.

“Catra! Hello!”

Adora watched as Catra managed a wave. Bow’s fathers threw their arms around her, hugging her tight. The magicat stiffened at first, waiting for them to withdraw their hold. They did, after a moment. Lance looked at her, brows furrowing with concern.

“Catra, honey? What’s wrong?”

Adora and Glimmer approached as Catra tried to fumble for an explanation. The two men enveloping her in a hug once more. Between the men’s loving embraces Adora watched Catra close her eyes, sniffing to suppress her tears. Her own heart inflated with bittersweet emotion watching Catra slowly return their gesture, her arms going around them.

“It’s just...good to see you,” Catra remarked, straightening herself. She offered a small smile.

---

Entrapta fixed the hologram device some days later. Adora brought it to her asking her to transfer the files from the old device to a new one. Despite Entrapta’s eager questioning, Adora did not tell her what the hologram actually contained. She eventually relented, transferring the data in a blink of an eye.

“Here you go. Just let me know how it turned out so I can jot it down for my notes!”

Adora agreed, thanking her and going off to find Catra.

Catra accepted it with a sad smile, playing the first few moments before switching it off.

“If you’re seeing this...it’s because you found her,”

Adora blinked awake, feeling around for where Catra should’ve been. She shot up, looking around in a hurry.

“Catra?!”

“We love you...we love you so much.”

Adora sighed, the glow of the hologram reflecting off the walls. Catra sat perched on their window seat. Watching unblinking at the hologram of her fathers. Adora tip-toed up behind her, winding her arms around the magicat lovingly and resting her chin on her shoulder. She placed a tender kiss on her temple.

The recording played on. Catra watched it once, then again, and again. She rarely cried when she did so. But when she did, allow the tears to fall, allow herself to be held and comforted, Adora was there for her, clutching her tight.

“If they never brought me to the Horde,” Catra whispered one night as they sat in bed, watching the image of her parents, “I...I never would’ve met you.” She pressed the hologram off. Surrounding the two of them in darkness. Catra’s eyes found Adora’s in the dark. Adora leaned down, winding her arm around Catra’s waist and pulling her close. She kissed her sweetly on the lips.

“That is true,” Adora murmured, not knowing what else to say. Catra smiled returning her kiss.

“I guess I’m glad they brought me to the Horde then. Even if it was horrible. Can you imagine if they brought me to Bright Moon?”

“You might’ve been raised a princess,” Adora giggled at the thought.

“Gross don’t make me puke.”

Catra let out a sigh, sad but content, pressing herself closer to Adora.

“I love you,” Adora murmmed. Catra answered, tucking her head under the other girl’s chin. Her tail wrapping around Adora’s leg.

“Maybe they aren’t dead. Maybe they made it,” Catra whispered after a time. “...I could find them and then...then we could find your parent’s too.”

Adora had never entertained the thought. She always assumed them dead or lost in some galaxy far far away outside Despondos.

“I’d like that,” Adora answered. “Can you imagine introducing your parent’s to She-Ra?” Adora laughed. Catra giggled too, and Adora’s heart exploded with fireworks. Making Catra laugh was something she never got tired of. They laughed the night away, imagining the thought of their parent’s meeting. Introducing each other. Giggling through their shared sorrow. Through the uncertainty. After all that was their specialty.

“Your old family, your parents.” Adora whispered, watching Catra’s tail twitch in her sleep. Trying to come up with the right words. Transforming such thoughts into speech was not her strong suit. She knew it. But here sleeping beside Catra as she slept Adora needed to say it.

“They...they brought you to the Horde, which brought us together and now...despite everything else you...you have a family again.”

Catra only continued to slumber, snoring lightly.

“Me, and Bow, George, Lance, Scorpia, Micah, Entrapta, Glimmer, we’re your family Catra and we love you. Just like your parents did.”

Adora startled, as one golden eye opened, looking at her. Catra shifted curling even smaller into her embrace.

“I love you too…..I love all of you.”

THE END

#catra #adora #catradora #spop #shera #she ra princess of power #sherafanfic #catra origins #catra angst #shadow weaver #shadow weaver A+ parenting #my writing #magicats #spop spoilers #spop post cannon

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thelordice · 3 years

Text

In Their Shoes

Neither my finest written work (go figure, this is the first thing I’ve written in like seven years that didn’t have to do with phasers and photon torpedoes) nor my longest, this should be more of a... jumping-off point. I might write more later, but I also invite others to expand this AU as well. Assuming this rambling pile of sleep-deprived garbage inspires anybody. Might’ve also slipped in a few obscure references to other episodes here and there.

Paging @godwithwethands @min0uze. Reblog at will!

SG-1 Season 9 Episode 14.5

Previously, on Stargate SG-1: “Stronghold” happened. Go watch it. (also I got Stronghold and Off the Grid confused earlier, probably because I watched literally the entire last half of Season 9 for the first time last night and have yet to sleep lol)

A click, and the briefest hint of static, preceded the all-too-familiar wail of the base alert siren. Chief Harriman’s voice on the intercom, saying what everyone on the base had come to expect from the abrupt call to action. “Unscheduled offworld activation.” The Tau’ri in the commissary snapped to, leaving meals half eaten and chairs in disarray as they rushed off to their posts.

One among them, however, was more calm about the abrupt termination of his meal. Teal’c of Chulak rose calmly once the bustle had made its way out of the room and proceeded to the Control Center. His meatloaf would simply have to wait. As he rounded the corner into the nerve center of Stargate Command, he was joined by his commanding officer, Lieutenant Colonel Cameron Mitchell. “Any idea what this is about?” Mitchell asked as they jogged up the stairs.

Teal’c replied in a slightly concerned tone, “None.” When they arrived, Sam Carter had beaten them there, hunched over a computer next to the Chief that had sounded the alert. General Landry stood to their right, slightly back from them, watching the gate.. But the men weren’t late, for before Sam could turn to speak to her teammates, brilliant blue light flashed from behind the gate’s iris. It was a tense moment, but then a hologram materialized on their side of the iris. It took none of the assembled officers any time to identify the caller:

Ba’al.

Teal’c saw several of the guards in the Gate Room exchange looks. He, of course, was not surprised - Ba’al undoubtedly had access to a Sarcophagus, and likely used it after their last encounter. General Landry gripped the microphone for the intercom into the Gate Room and addressed their “visitor”. “What is it, Ba’al? I doubt this is a courtesy call.”

The hologram spoke, with the hollow yet echoing intonation of the Goa’uld: Oh, but it is, General. I have information that would concern you. I wish to speak to Teal’c.”

Landry turned to look at the former First Prime of a false god. They traded raised eyebrows, Mitchell glancing between them. “I suggest we tell him to shove it, sir,” Cameron finally said. He and Teal’c exchanged a knowing look. It had been less than a week since Ba’al had tried to brainwash Teal’c into following him, an event still fresh in both their memories. Teal’c looked back at Landry. “I agree with Colonel Mitchell. It is unlikely that Ba’al has any useful information, and whatever he offers us could well be a falsehood.”

Before Landry could reply, Sam interjected. “Yes, but Ba’al doesn’t do things like this very often. And the last time he did, he was… well, half-honest, at least. I think we should at least hear him out.”

Ever the optimist, Colonel Carter, Teal’c thought to himself. Landry raised both his eyebrows and simply said, “It’s your call, Teal’c. You don’t have to pick up if you don’t want to.” The Jaffa mulled it over for a moment before bowing slightly and starting his short walk to the Gate Room. He had weighed Ba’al’s most recent attempts at manipulation, subterfuge, and brainwashing against the possibility that just this once Ba’al might be genuinely helpful – or, at least, as “genuinely” helpful as he had been on Dakara. But with the Prior threat looming, and with Ba’al having as much to lose from defeat by the Ori as anyone else, Teal’c knew he couldn’t let his… distaste for false gods obstruct the chance at acquiring valuable intelligence.

Reaching the massive bulkhead sealing the Gate Room, Teal’c swiped his security card and opened the door. He paced slowly, deliberately into the room, as if a hunter stalking prey. Ba’al raised his arms wide in greeting, his red and black robe arms hanging from his limbs. That same hollow echo accompanied his words again, setting Teal’c subtly into discomfort. “Ah, Teal’c. I hope there’s no hard feelings over what happened a few days ago.”

“What is it that you want, Ba’al?” Teal’c was having none of this flamboyance.

“I just thought you’d like to hear what one of my spies just reported to me. It concerns you most particularly.” Teal’c simply raised an eyebrow, goading the Goa’uld to get on with it. But Ba’al’s tone became slightly more… somber, serious. “I have just received word that a Prior of the Ori has arrived on Chulak.”

Teal’c’s gut twisted. At first in concern for those on Chulak, then in anger – Ba’al was clearly trying to deceive him. “And why are you telling us this? Why has word of this not come from Bra’tac?”

“You really believe any Jaffa could have learned such news before me? You underestimate me, Teal’c. But if you do not believe me… go to Chulak yourself and discover the truth.” Ba’al slowly grinned in that wicked, almost maniacal way, and the hologram rippled and faded. A moment later, the shriek and whoosh signaled the closing of the wormhole. Teal’c stood in the Gate Room for a moment, given pause by the brief interaction. If Ba’al was lying, this would surely be some kind of a trap. But if this were true… it was a risk Teal’c could not take. He proceeded back to the Control Room and briefed General Landry and the rest of SG-1, Daniel only having arrived in time to see the hologram fade. Ultimately, Teal’c decided it would be wise to first consult Bra’tac on this, and then perhaps bring his mentor with him to Chulak to investigate. General Landry offered to send SG-1 with him, but Teal’c declined. “If Ba’al’s claim is true, and I require assistance, I will signal the SGC.” By the time Teal’c returned to the Embarkation Chamber, Harriman had already dialed Dakara. He wasted no time proceeding up the ramp and through the event horizon.

It had not taken long to find Bra’tac. Indeed, he had been on his way to the Stargate himself, and they met just outside the council hall. “Teal’c,” Bra’tak said in surprise. “I was just coming to see you. We have received word tha-”

“That a Prior is on Chulak.”

Bra’tac seemed momentarily taken aback. “How did you know?”

“Stargate Command received a communique from Ba’al claiming as much. I came to seek your help in investigating this.”

Bra’tac’s brow furrowed. He was clearly as vexed by Ba’al’s actions as Teal’c was. But he did not mince words with this concern. “Then we must proceed to Chulak at once.” Teal’c bowed his head in assent, turned about face, and followed his friend back to the Stargate.

* * *

They arrived on Chulak at midday, the bright sun beating down upon them. The first sign to trouble them was that the Gate was entirely unguarded. There was, however, no signs of struggle. Thetwo wordlessly began to walk toward the city nearby. Not far from the gates, they were intercepted by a Jaffa. “Teal’c, Bra’tac, it is good you have come. The Prior is preaching in the city square.” He took them to the center of the town, where a Prior was indeed standing, shouting verses from the Book of Origin to a captive audience… of zero. The townspeople seemed to proceed with their daily routines as if he weren’t there, save to spare a condescending or angry glance in his direction. This did not seem to bother the Prior, the pale priest simply continued braying his scripture. He stopped, finally, as Teal’c and Bra’tac approached. The Jaffa that had led them brandished his staff and took a position to the right of the elder Jaffa. The Prior turned and asked, “Have you come seeking enlightenment?” The seemingly-frail man held his staff to his right side, seemingly (and undoubtedly) untroubled by the lethal plasma weapon leveled at him.

“We have come seeking answers as to why you are here,” Teal’c replied boldly.

“I have come to spread the truth of Origin to these unbelievers. We have heard that this was where your people started their rebellion against the parasitic false gods, and thought these people might be receptive to the word of the Ori.”

“They do not seem very receptive,” Bra’tac quipped. “Perhaps it is best if you go now, lest you wear out your throat preaching to deaf ears.”

The Prior smiled, his wilted and almost melting-looking skin giving an air of menace to the gesture. “Perhaps they will be more receptive to a demonstration of the power of the true gods to deal with the false.” He raised his staff and then jabbed it back into the ground, the large opal-like gem at its head glowing.

A moment later, a form flew out of a nearby alley. Their brown robes billowed as they were flung through the air by the Prior, wrapping their prone form as they hit the ground and rolled. They climbed hastily to their feet, but kept careful to leave their hood up to obscure their face. But the Prior was having none of that, and a wave of his hand cast down the hood.

It was Ba’al.

At the sight of the former System Lord, the Jaffa that had accompanied Bra’tac and Teal’c pivoted to bring his weapon to bear on the Goa’uld. Several other guards did likewise, and yet more leveled their weapons at the Prior. Thepriest raised his arms and his voice to the crowd. “Behold! The might and justice of the true gods!” His staff flashed again. Several staff weapons opened, ready to fire upon the Prior.

Instead, it was Ba’al who had felt the force of the Prior. He began screaming and convulsing, quickly falling to the ground. He gripped his gut with both hands as he writhed in agony. His eyes flashed yellow once, and then he lay still. Bra’tac moved to examine him. The eldest Jaffa raised his head. “He is alive.”

“What have you done to him?” Teal’c asked the Prior.

The Prior began walking out of the square, heading in the direction of the Gate. “Delivered him unto justice. As his kind did unto you… I have done unto him.” Shortly after he passed Teal’c, he turned back and cried, “I shall return in one day. When I do, I suspect many of you will be willing to follow the correct path.” He turned one final time and walked out of the city.

As he did, Ba’al stirred. As he woke, he groaned, clutching his stomach again. As Bra’tac looked on, Ba’al pushed aside his robes and lifted his shirt to examine what had pained him so much, still panting shallowly from the experience.

Four lines emanated from his belly button in a distinctive X pattern. No Jaffa would fail to recognize it.

It was a symbiote pouch. Just the same as they all had. It was that very distinction that separated them from humans.

It was what made them… and now, apparently, Ba’al, as well… Jaffa.

Bra’tac and Teal’c exchanged concerned looks as the crowd gathered to witniss Ori “justice”. And what a display of such they would get.

* * *

Back at Stargate Command, Teal’c and Bra’tac – joined by Landry and SG-1 - watched from the observation room as Doctor Lam examined her impromptu patient. Lam crossed from the bed to the intercom to report. “If I didn’t know better,” she said, “I’d say he was born a Jaffa. Symbiote pouch – but, interestingly, no symbiote – plus the weakened immune system and hormonal differences. The only difference between him and a Jaffa is that he seems to also have his original Goa’uld DNA as well. This isn’t the host of Ba’al, it is Ba’al. Just… not a Goa’uld.” The assembled observers traded shocked glances before turning to again look upon the fallen false god. “What’s more,” Lam said, “it’s as if this were a Jaffa that has gone more than a day without a symbiote. If it weren’t for his Goa’uld DNA trying to stave the effects off, he’d be dead by now. I’ve taken the liberty of starting him on tretonin for now.”

“Is he able to speak?” Teal’c inquired.

“Aside from some slightly anomalous brain activity I can’t place yet, yes,” Lam said, “and it seems he wants a word with you and Bra’tac.” The Jaffa rose and moved to enter the medical lab. Ba’al lay on a hospital bed in a white gown, his normal tan appearing noticeably paler. He was still breathing shallowly, and slowly turned his head to look at his visitors. “Heh,” he chuckled weakly, “justice indeed. This… is what it is to be a Jaffa…” He turned his head again to face the ceiling. “I suppose it makes sense. Clever, really, a plan worthy of me. Turn me into a Jaffa to show the people of Chulak that they can cause us to suffer as you have. I would be greatly concerned if I were you, Teal’c – this might just win the hearts of your kinsmen.” He gasped suddenly, squinching his eyes shut and groaning for a moment, but whatever ailed him passed quickly.

“You underestimate our will, brother,” Bra’tac said, the last word dripping – no, soaking – in contemptuous sarcasm. “The minds of the Jaffa are not so easily swayed. Though I admit… seeing a Goa’uld brought so low does give me great satisfaction.”

“Indeed,” Teal’c said. “If it were not for the unique opportunity to study you, I would advise Doctor Lam to let you die.”

“Of course,” Ba’al demurred. “A more fitting punishment for your false gods I doubt you could have concocted yourself.” Another brief attack struck Ba’al, and when it passed he gasped. He shook his head as if to clear it. “So then, before I die, I assume you intend to torture me for information.”

“I believe your current situation to be torture enough,” Teal’c said. “But I will ask a question of you. How is it that you told us of this Prior?” Teal’c had noted that this Ba’al had not been wearing the same clothes as the hologram, and he did not hink Ba’al would have the time or reason to redress himself before he had arrived. Further, the hologram technology Ba’al had used was not present at the Gate on Chulak.

Ba’al chuckled. “Trade secret, Teal’c. Why should I tell you ho-” He was wracked by another convulsion, this one seeming to leave him dazed. Doctor Lam reenterd. “You’ll have to leave, at least until I identify what’s going on with his brain wave patterns.” Teal’c nodded, spared a final glance at Ba’al, and led Bra’tac out.

Back in the observation room, Teal’c confided in his friends. “I fear Ba’al may be correct. To see a false god made into one of us would seem to be true justice to many Jaffa, and the power it would take to affect such a transformation could sway still others.”

Sam commented first. “Well, we know the Priors can affect people’s physiologies – curing diseases, fixing impairments, even raising the dead. Honestly I’m surprised this idea never came to us.”

“And he’s still snake enough to survive until the Jaffa execute him,” Mitchell said. “And you know they will – this is a golden opportunity for a little payback.”

“That is correct, Colonel Mitchell,” Teal’c replied. “For that reason, I suggest we keep Ba’al here until we can find a way to reverse this.”

“Reverse it?” Daniel wondered out loud. “W-wh-why would you want to reverse this?”

“Because otherwise it would seem to be proof of the Ori’s claims,” Bra’tac said. “As much as I relish seeing a Goa’uld defeated so thoroughly… we cannot allow such a small victory to pave the way to a much greater defeat.”

Landry nodded. “Doctor Lam already has a team working on trying to find a way to do just that… but this is way beyond our current medical science. I’m going to contact the Tok’ra and the Asgard, see if they have anything that can help with this. Mitchell, I want you to take SG-3 back to Chulak. Take up positions around the gate, try to prevent the Prior from returning to the city. Sam, Daniel, I’d like you to help Doctor Lam’s team with their research, see if there’s any technology we’ve found – or any knowledge we’ve learned – that can fix this. Teal’c, I think-”

“I will remain here to observe our new… brother,” Teal’c said, cutting Landry off. Teal’c spoke bitterly, angrily, but also subtly… eager, as if excited at the chance to ply Ba’al for information in his compromised state. “Bra’tac return to Chulak with Colonel Mitchell. You must counsel the city leaders to be cautious about these events. Some Jaffa are, unfortunately, more easily convinced than others.” He remembered with sadness what had befallen Gerak only a few weeks before. With no more to be said, the group dispersed to their duties. Teal’c returned to the commissary, ate, and then returned to the medlab justin time for Lam to come to him. “I think we’ve found out what’s happening with Ba’al’s brain… and I think you’ll be interested in seeing this.” She led him to a computer. “Since you last left, he’s had four more convulsions, each longer than the last. His brain scan indicates a massive amount of anomalous activity in the memory centers of the brain, as if it’s trying to process an overload of memories. Of note, during the last convulsion, he started muttering Goa’uld word, things like “kree”. I couldn’t make out all of it, but it’s almost like he was giving orders to someone. But what tipped me off was this.” She tapped a few buttons and highlighted several parts of the brain scan. “These patterns are remarkably similar to those produced by a Galaran memory transfer when it splices new memories into another person.”

“What memories has he been given?”

“I can’t say,” Lam said. “He refuses to go into detail about what he’s seeing. The patterns are still intensifying, but the rate at which they do so is diminishing. I think he’s starting to integrate… whatever he’s remembering.”

The monitor showed another spike as Ba’al convulsed again. This time, he shouted a full phrase in Goa’uld. Lam certainly didn’t seem to understand, but Teal’c did. Ba’al had shouted, “Brothers! Fall back! They are too many!” This, naturally, piqued Teal’c’s curiosity. He approached Ba’al as the convulsion subsided, leaving him panting and disoriented. “To whom are you referring, Ba’al?”

“The forces of… of… what?” Ba’al seemed to be struggling to form coherent sentences. Finally, he sighed in frustration. “I do not understand, Teal’c,” he said. “It is as if I remember things that I have never experienced.”

“Tell me what you are seeing, brother.” Teal’c did not allow himself an upset tone this time. In order to understand what was happening to Ba’al, Teal’c knew he must be patient and suss out the truths.

But instead of mustering a snide remark, Ba’al muttered in a mixture of horror and disbelief. “Battles… bloody fighting… dead Jaffa… bearing the marks of Lord Yu… and Cronus… Of Apophis, Camulus, Heru-Ur, Setesh, Isis, Ba’al, so many… I remember as if it were yesterday, being shot by staff rifles…” He leaned toward Teal’c abruptly. “Save us, brother, before-” he screamed and convulsed again, but when he finally came to again, it was once more Ba’al. But he seemed more subdued now. The careful air of easy superiority was gone, replaced by confusion and more than a small hint of fear. “It… it is as if I am remembering events from the perspective of Jaffa. It does not make sense. How could a Prior implant such memories?”

“I don’t think he did,” Lam interjected, sidling up to the bed. “I’ve been comparing your brain scans to those few we have on record of recently-taken Goa’uld hosts. At first I thought it was similar to the Galaran memory transfer, but now… it almost sounds like racial memory.” As Ba’al convulsed again, she turned to Teal’c and elaborated. “Every Goa’uld is born with the knowledge of all of their ancestors, memory rooted in their very DNA. From what he’s saying… it’s almost as if the Prior’s transformation of him caused his Goa’uld DNA to mix with Jaffa DNA. He may very well be reliving the memories of… generations of Jaffa, alongside a human brain trying to process the entire racial memory of the Goa’uld. Likely another part of the Prior’s “justice”, if I had my bet. I can’t even begin to guess what’s keeping his synapses from overloading from the strain.”

“To not only become a Jaffa, but to relive the generations of crimes perpetrated against us by the Goa’uld…” Teal’c’s mind raced. Surely nothing like this had happened in the past. Now, one of the false gods that had enslaved his people for thousands of years was reliving that enslavement from the eyes of the victims. It was a kind of justice Teal’c never even imagined could happen, and yet here it was.

Had he not known better, he might have momentarily considered thanking the Ori. Instead, this gave him an opportunity. “How long before this process is complete?”

“Based on current trends, his neural pathways should stabilize over the course of the next six hours. Who he’ll be after that… is anyone’s guess.”

Teal’c bowed his head respectfully and rose. “I will watch him from the observation post so that you may continue your work without interference, Doctor Lam.” Lam nodded, and Teal’c left the room.

* * *

Ba’al continued convulsing for four of those six hours, though during the last of those the convulsions seemed to finally weaken. The very last, however, had left Ba’al unconscious for the rest of the time. Teal’c had only just sat back down in the observation room with a mug of coffee from the commissary when Ba’al finally stirred. He reentered the medlab and sat beside the fallen Goa’uld. Ba’al seemed to be back to his usual self, quipping, “Have you enjoyed watching me suffer, Teal’c?”

“Immensely,” Teal’c replied, though this was more snark than truth. Then, in a strange gesture, he offered the coffee to Ba’al. Ba’al’s face wrinkled in confusion. “What is this?”

“A human beverage known as coffee. Many on this world find it helps order one’s mind, particularly after a period of unconsciousness.” Ba’al sniffed the contents of the mug, wrinkling his nose slightly, then sipped it. After he swallowed, he exhaled sharply. “You could have told me it was hot.”

“Extremely,” Teal’c replied. He smiled. “You present a unique opportunity, Ba’al.”

“Yes, I know, the study of such a unique specimen,” Ba’al retorted.

“That is not what I was referring to,” Teal’c replied calmly. “You alone are now in a position to recall the entirety of the Jaffa’s enslavement from both sides. It makes me wonder whether or not it has changed any of your beliefs.”

Ba’al scoffed. “And what makes you think that?”

“You carry the memories of generations of suffering. To the System Lords, we Jaffa were merely tools – expendable pawns to be discarded to suit your whims. Now you also see how the Jaffa felt during all this. Do you not feel their hopelessness, their despair? Are you not overcome by the miseries of millions that you yourself led to their deaths?”

He expected a glib answer, a tongue-in-cheek retort, even a spiteful jab. Instead, Ba’al said… nothing. He stared into the black depths of the mug in his hands, his expression contemplative. Teal’c even thought that for just a moment, regret crossed behind the eyes of the Jaffa before him. Finally, Ba’al sighed. “I would be lying if I said I did not. It is a most unsettling feeling.” He looked at Teal’c. “Why are you doing this? Why do you show this... kindness to me?”

“Because in you, Ba’al, there is hope,” said Teal’c. “you are the first opportunity the Goa’uld have ever had to know this sensation, to see the errors of the System Lords… and to do what you can to remedy the wrongs of the past.”

In truth, Teal’c wanted to hate Ba’al. To spit foul and angry diatribes at the false god, to condemn him for the deaths of so many innocents, to break Ba’al with his own hands. But those first hours watching the former Goa’uld writhing and screaming, however, had not brought him the satisfaction he had expected, and had instead mused at length about this situation. He knew that had this happened nine years prior, he would have gladly embraced Ba’al’s suffering for its own sake. But the Teal’c that had joined the SGC was not the same man that now sat beside Ba’al – he had grown, learned from the Tau’ri (both their fictions and their histories) of the path to true peace: forgiveness. And while he did not know if he could ever forgive a Goa’uld for what they had done to the Jaffa… he also knew that tormenting Ba’al with such things would benefit no one. And, indeed, Ba’al was no longer a Goa’uld, and so to inflict misery on him would not be justice – merely the torture of a fellow Jaffa. If there was to be a new and better future for the Free Jaffa Nation he had helped form, he understood that old wounds would have to be mended. Slowly, in time… but there would never be a better place to start.

Ba’al sat motionless, save to again sip the coffee Teal’c had given him – more cautious of its temperature now – before finally nodding. “There… is truth in what you say, Teal’c. As much as I desire to rail against the very idea, to mock you for proposing it… I remember the suffering. I have seen with my own eyes the kind of suffering I myself inflicted upon my followers, noble warriors that dedicated their lives to… an ultimately unworthy leader. That alone fills me with shame – a feeling no Goa’uld has known since before we took to the stars. The Jaffa have more than earned their freedom.” He shook his head solemnly.

“Then perhaps this time, when you tell the Jaffa of this, when you promise them their freedom… it will be genuine.”

“What do you mean?” Ba’al asked, puzzled.

“When you attempted to brainwash me into your service, you claimed that you would permit the Jaffa to retain their freedom. That was an obvious ruse to-”

“No,” Ba’al said, with more sincerity in his voice than Teal’c had ever heard from him. “That offer was genuine even then.”

This gave Teal’c pause. He had never even once considered that possibility. “What was your intention in doing that?”

Ba’al chuckled. “Not for any noble cause, certainly. It was simply the easiest way to get done what must be done to stop the Ori. Why would I want to waste my time fighting the Jaffa back into slavery while an infinitely more dangerous foe is at our very doorstep? Perhaps in a century or two I may have reneged on our agreement… but to fight the Priors, I could not risk time, effort, and lives subjugating a people that would rather die free.” He chuckled again. “Shal’kek nem’ron, indeed. Perhaps I will be the first Goa’uld… to die truly free.”

“Shal’kek nem’ron indeed… brother.” And for the first time, Teal’c actually meant the appelation.

“Might I ask a favor, Teal’c?”

Teal’c tilted his head.

“I could really rather do with some food, if it’s all the same.” He passed the mug of coffee back to Teal’c. “Though, if you would like to also bring me more of that… coffee, perhaps a bit cooler… I might enjoy that.”

Teal’c bowed, rose, and turned to leave. Just before he exited the room, however, Ba’al called out one last time. “And Teal’c!”

The Jaffa turned to face him.

“One of the memories that kept coming back… I saw Cronus kill your father, and what he did that brought about Cronus’s anger. I know it doesn’t mean much… but for what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

Teal’c stood stunned for a moment before bowing and smiling. “Had Cronus not killed my father, I would never have met Bra’tac, and learned of the dream of free Jaffa. Perhaps… it was for the best.” With that, he turned back and left.

He was almost back to the medlab when he heard the alerts go off. He rushed in, placing the food tray on a nearby table as medics rushed past him to Ba’al. “What is happening?”

“His body is rejecting the tretonin,” Lam said frantically. “His immune system is failing.” The medics rushed to do what they could to stabilize the Jaffa, but it was clear they were fighting a losing battle. Finally, Ba’al yelled over the frantic voices for Teal’c, who came to his side.

“You must fight, brother. If you perish, the hope for real change will perish with you.”

“No, Teal’c,” Ba’al said weakly. He leaned up to Teal’c with much of the last of his strength and whispered in his ear.. “It… will not. This body… is not my original one. I did not… survive with a Sarcophagus. This… is but a clone. Like… the one you killed. And because of… the Goa’uld memory, I am… linked to my other clones. I will… remember.” He drew a single final, raspy breath. “Shal’kek…”

Then the breath left him, and his vitals flatlined. The medics did everything Teal’c had seen them do dozens of times before, but Ba’al – this Ba’al – had passed. In memory of the Jaffa, Teal’c muttered, “nem’ron, brother.”

* * *

Teal’c had just finished his lunch the next day when the alerts balred again “Incoming wormhole,” reported the ever-faithful Chief over the comm. Teal’c, as usual, reported to the Control Room, and a moment later the wormhole flared into existence behind the iris. “Receiving a radio transmission, sir,” Walter reported. “It’s SG-3.” He clicked the comm open.

“SG-3, this is Stargate Command, go ahead,” Landry said.

“General, this is Colonel Mitchell. I think we’ve dealt with Chulak’s little Prior problem.”

“How’d you do that?” Landry asked, surprised.

“Well, sir, I noticed that the area around the gate was pretty rocky. Bra’tac got a band together to dig up a slab big enough to cover the Stargate, used it like an iris. Sure enough, when that Prior tried to come through… well, there wasn’t enough left of him for a matchbox.”

“A most ingenius plan, Colonel Mitchell.”

“Yeah, thought you might like that one, T. Listen, it’ll take us a while to get this big ol’ slab out of the way again, but we should be able to return to the SGC in a couple of hours. How’s our guest?”

“The Jaffa Ba’al is dead,” Landry said. “His body rejected the tretonin we gave him.”

“Shame. He could have been a wellspring of information.”

“Indeed he was, Colonel Mitchell.” In more ways than one, Teal’c added to himself.

“So, what do we tell the people here on Chulak?”

“That the Prior merely used an illusion to make us believe that Ba’al was Jaffa,” Teal’c suggested. He disliked lying to the Jaffa, but Daniel and Sam had proposed the idea and it had seemed prudent. “Between that and his failure to return, I suspect that Chulak will not welcome another Prior.”

“And then we just tell them that we executed Ba’al ourselves. I gotcha.”

“Actually,” Landry said, “I think it better to claim he died attempting to escape. I can imagine a few Jaffa on Chulak getting mighty angry if we were to take the privilege of his execution from them.”

“Yes, sir. Be home in a few hours. Ask the mess hall to have me some nice hot roast beef waiting when we get back, I’m starving.”

“I’ll see what I can do, Colonel. SGC out.” Landry cut the channel, and a moment later the light of the wormhole behind the iris winked out. Sam, who had been beside Daniel – with both behind Teal’c – mused, “I just wish we’d been able to find something to help Ba’al before he died. I doubt any Goa’uld has ever had that kind of insight on the Jaffa.”

“Or ever will again,” Daniel added.

“I am not so certain, Daniel Jackson,” Teal’c commented. “Perhaps… if this shoe fit, another Goa’uld may one day wear it again.”

Daniel raised his eyebrows and looked at Sam. A passable metaphor from Teal’c? Sam smiled. “Indeed,” she said in her amused way.

She had no idea how right they might be, however, for Teal’c had kept Ba’al’s revelations to himself.

It was, after all, the right way to honor a fallen brother. He wondered, however… how would Ba’al change now that he had experienced this? He doubted if Ba’al would ever fully outwardly express anything… but there was no doubt that there would be change.

As Teal’c left the Control Room to perform his usual duties, he smiled to himself. Their next meeting with Ba’al would be most interesting, indeed.

#Stargate #Stargate SG-1 #SG-1 #Ba'al Redemption AU #hail mary #please don't suck

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cupidmarwani-archive · 4 years

Text

The Rehabilitation of Ava Bekker (10/12)

For the next two days, Robin is distant. Something has changed, something devastating and life-changing, and Ava can’t figure out what it is. Every time she asks, she’s stonewalled. It isn’t fair, but life isn’t fair, and perhaps this is her mortal punishment for what she did back in Chicago. She doesn’t much believe in the idea of hell, but this- this is hell. Pure and simple. For the briefest of moments, she was allowed true affection from the strangest of sources, only to have it ripped away from her just as Connor was.

Her comfort becomes Angie. The nightmares don’t end, but Robin doesn’t comfort her the same way, so Ava sneaks out just before dawn to curl up in the wet grass with Angie’s warm body and kiss her dirty fur like she’s a teddy bear. Angie is like her. Past her prime, mostly useless, but still around. Still here. Just being a bit of a burden on everyone.

But on the third morning, when it’s the day of the market, Robin seems bright again as she loads up her truck and tends to the animals. She smiles, and she pulls Ava close in the soft bloom of the morning light as though everything is okay again. And her lips, sweet with balm, are tenderly soft on Ava’s on for the shortest of kisses. It means something more, though, and Ava is eager to move past the iciness that has burned between them out of nowhere.

“Come with me to the market,” Robin says, and means it. “It’ll be a good chance to meet the locals.”

And Ava almost says no, too afraid of being recognized. But she’s desperate for human connection and afraid of being abandoned again, so she says yes and climbs into the passenger seat like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Connor’s photo remains in the house, although he had become a frequent companion in Ava’s short not-quite isolation. She’s without him, but she’s with Robin, and what is there to be but happy as they drive in the blasting AC, the world open and outstretched before them. Robin almost speaks a couple of times, but she is quiet. And Ava mirrors it, for fear of what happens should she stop.

The market is busy but homely, vendors putting up their stalls and early visitors coming by to pick up their favorites. Usual customers, she realizes, because people already seem to know what they’re coming to purchase. It’s a ritual, a routine that Ava will be settling into, she decides as they begin setting up their tables. She can handle this. It’ll be like having her daily chores at the farm, and like the predictability that occasionally found its way into her old job. She knew her rounds and their timing, knew exactly how long each surgery should take. This will be part of her new life, and it will be with Robin right beside her.

Since everything is in cash, Robin leaves her in charge of the stall at the beginning so she can do her shopping at the others for things not produced on her own. Soap, honey, vegetables. Rounding out their life. It takes a while for the first customer to arrive, and she looks terribly confused to see Ava and not Robin standing here next to the brightly painted sign declaring Robin’s name and the prices of the loaves.

“Where’s Robin?” The woman asks, tilting her head to the side. She seems unsure. “Who’re you?”

Ava pastes on a false smile. “I’m the new farm hand. I’m helping while she does her shopping.”

The woman hums in disapproval. But nonetheless, she peruses the loaves until she finds one she likes, and points at it with a knobbly finger. Ava dutifully wraps it up, states the total ($5), and exchanges the bread for the money. Easy enough. Too easy for her, too easy for a woman who put herself through medical school and became a surgeon. A good one. She was good at surgery, and now she’s selling bread in a small town in the midwest, wearing muddy boots, and watching over the crowds for Robin’s familiar braid hanging down against her red tank top. Ava doesn't like this feeling of being completely alone but surrounded by people, trapped helplessly by leaves of bread with no real purpose anymore. There's the farm, but it's not the same. She didn't grow up wanting this, spending years preparing for it.

She wants to go home, and thinking about it stings in a way it hasn’t since she left. Her nose burns and her eyes start to itch. Before she knows it, she’s crying. A quiet cry, a gentle spring rain, one she works through like her cheeks aren’t wet and her chest doesn’t hurt. But pretending doesn’t make it go away.

No one approaches her at all to buy bread until Robin comes back, her once empty reusable bags full to bursting with all manner of things. They drop. Thud on the concrete. Robin’s hands are now on Ava’s face, brushing away her tears and studying her closely like a puzzle she just can’t put together.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Ava shakes her head and shuts her eyes, melts into the caring touch Robin gives to her in a promise that things are going to turn out alright, one way or another. She’s safe here, even if it’s not necessarily where she wants to be.

With Robin back, they sell most of their inventory, and she doesn’t think about Connor for the rest of the day. She just thinks about the way the sun looks on Robin’s skin, the surety of Robin’s hands on her back, the infectiousness of Robin’s bright smile. The world becomes Robin, Robin, Robin, and Ava’s not angry about it. She clings to it. And she sees this version of herself, someone who can live like this happily and without pain, and she revels in it. She craves the Ava who sells bread at the farmer’s market and holds Robin’s hand.

It’s only back at home, half-drowning in the warmth, that her eyes return to her photo of Connor and she asks herself if he would ever live like this. She can’t imagine him milking the cows or tending the crops. In her mind, he exists only in the operating room and her bed, otherwise absent of depth. She can’t picture him grocery shopping. Doing laundry. Cleaning out her fridge. He’s not a person, he’s a photo. Two dimensional. Flat. She can easily imagine Robin doing each of those things, and something about the thought is warm and loving. A life. A home. Something real and worth nurturing.

She smooths her fingers over Connor’s faded face, younger without the beard he grew at the end of his life. He looks happy. She didn’t often see him so happy. And so she tucks his photo away and thinks about the mundanity of Robin folding blankets until it’s time to help cook dinner.

@sapphiccsharks @bipeteypie @bookreader525 @lovxies

#rab!fic #fic #mine

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juju-on-that-yeet · 5 years

Text

Welcome

After Yandere is awoken by nightmares yet again, he decides to go to Dr. Iplier's room to sleep instead, only to find that he's not the only one there.

This self-indulgent and fluffy and I apologize for nothing :D

Tags: @tired-eldritchhorror @peribloke

Read on AO3!

Enjoy!

It’s late at night, and Ego Inc. is asleep.

Well, most of it is. Some of the egos are perpetual night owls, and some of them would like to sleep but can’t. Yandereplier is both. His internal clock primes him to wake up late and stay up later, yet even his most exhausted nights sometimes get interrupted by his own restless mind. His thoughts run wild and won’t let him settle, or he falls asleep only to be woken by nightmares that his anxious brain conjures up. When he was new he thought maybe he’d get used to this one day, but he doubts there’s a chance of that, now. Not when he’s been around for two and a half years and the nightmares still upset him every time.

Granted, it used to be a lot worse. He used to get hardly any sleep at all. But eventually Dr. Iplier prescribed him something to make him sleep a little easier, a little deeper. The pills don’t work completely, but Yandere definitely gets a lot more sleep than he used to. More importantly, though, he’s found out a method that keeps away nightmares no matter what:

Sleeping with others.

No matter how awful his nightmares are, he can easily go back to sleep and stay asleep if he’s cuddled up beside someone he loves. The only problem with that is how much Yandere hates troubling others or making things difficult. Even when they tell him that they don’t mind, or even that they enjoy it like Yandere does, he can’t help but feel bad about it. Still, when the night is rough, he often can’t help but go to someone else for comfort.

Tonight, when a nightmare wakes him with visions of loneliness and loss, he makes his way to Dr. Iplier’s bedroom. He’d normally go to Darkiplier, but he had an aggravating day, and Yandere wants to let him be tonight. Dark’s a light sleeper and often wakes when Yandere joins him in bed; meanwhile, Dr. Iplier sleeps like the dead. It’s nice, though, because it helps Yandere feel like he isn’t bothering him. The most Dr. Iplier ever does (if he moves at all) is pull Yandere to his chest like he’s a teddy bear and hug him tight, all without waking. Yandere hopes that’ll happen again tonight.

Instead, when he arrives at Dr. Iplier’s door, he sees light coming through the crack along the floor. He can hear the whispers of two people. They’re too quiet for Yandere to recognize, but he already knows who they must be. He stands there in front of the door for a moment, dejected and wondering what to do now. He could go to Wilford, but he snores…maybe Chrome is charging tonight? Probably not, but Yandere supposes he has no other option. Right as he moves to step away, though…

“Yan, is that you out there? You can come in, kiddo.”

Yandere’s cheeks turn pink with embarrassment. He’s never been any good at hiding things from Dr. Iplier, and he still isn’t, it seems. The last thing he wants to do is interrupt anything, but he can’t exactly leave now. The door is unlocked, and he opens it slowly, not all the way.

Yandere sees Dr. Iplier sitting in bed with the Host beside him, who is leaning on Dr. Iplier’s shoulder and loosely holding onto his nearest arm. Dr. Iplier is wearing a tank top while Host is shirtless, though his eyes are still bandaged. The covers are pulled in around their waists, and Dr. Iplier has an open book on his lap. Right now, though, he’s looking at Yandere with a gentle smile. Host’s face is turned towards Yandere as well, though his expression is more neutral.

“Sorry,” Yandere mumbles, “I had a bad dream.”

“It’s alright, hon, come sit with us.” Dr. Iplier says, patting the empty space next to him on the bed. “You aren’t interrupting anything scandalous, don’t worry,” he adds with a cheeky grin.

“Daaaad,” Yandere can’t help but whine, cheeks turning pinker. Still, he enters the room, shutting the door behind him. He crawls into bed beside Dr. Iplier, cuddling up to him much the same way Host is; head on his shoulder and holding onto his arm.

Truthfully, Yandere isn’t so worried about Dr. Iplier feeling inconvenienced by his presence. The nagging voice at the back of his mind is quiet and ignorable. His main concern is the Host. He and Yandere get along fine for the most part: Yandere’s loved the library since he was new, and Host has been happy to have him there. But Host became wary of Yandere as time went on. Yandere thinks it’s because he and Dark fell in love. He doesn’t know the full story, but he can tell just by observation that Dark and Host have bad blood between them. A friend of Dark is no friend of Host’s, apparently (except for Wilford, but Yandere supposes that’s different, considering how long they’ve known each other). He still seems okay with Yandere coming to his library and borrowing books, but he mostly keeps his distance now. Yandere wonders if Host is uncomfortable with him being here, intruding on his night with Dr. Iplier.

Then again, Yandere is Dr. Iplier’s son now. He supposes he has a right to be here, too, especially since Dr. Iplier invited him in. Yandere never told Host about becoming Dr. Iplier’s son, but he’s sure Dr. Iplier did. Ever since, Host has been a bit less frosty to him to usual. Before Yandere got together with Dark, he nearly considered Host a friend. Now, though, they’re merely lukewarm acquaintances. Still, Yandere doubts Dr. Iplier would’ve let him in if Host wasn’t okay with it. Maybe Host doesn’t mind him being here?

“What are you reading?” Yandere asks, peering down at the page in Dr. Iplier’s book.

“The Tell-Tale Heart,” Dr. Iplier says, “By…oh, what was his name–”

“Poe,” Host interjects, “Edgar Allan Poe.” His expression is as neutral and impassive as ever. Yandere frowns.

“Isn’t that the one about the guy who kills an old man and puts him in the floorboards?”

“Hey, spoilers!” Dr. Iplier chuckles. “Yeah, not much of a bedtime story, is it?”

“No, but it’s still an excellent story,” Host says. His lips quirk into an almost-smile. “The Host reminds Dr. Iplier that he allowed him to choose the story tonight.”

“Out of the dozens of stories in this book, you said I could choose either this or “The Yellow Wallpaper,”” Dr. Iplier retorts, “And that one’s too depressing, so really, I had no choice.”

“That one is also excellent,” Host replies evenly, “It is not Host’s fault that Dr. Iplier is a big baby.”

Dr. Iplier lets out an offended gasp, and Yandere snorts. Host readjusts against Dr. Iplier’s side, and his smile fades. Yandere is suddenly nervous. Maybe Host is annoyed at Yandere for laughing and intruding on his and Dr. Iplier’s moment? Or maybe he just let his expression relax, especially given how reserved, stoic, and tired he is. It’s hard to tell to Yandere; Host’s face is back to neutral again, and it’s easy to see annoyance in it. Yandere looks away, back down at the book. Dr. Iplier doesn't seem to notice anything amiss.

“I don’t mind the story,” Yandere mumbles, “I like Poe.”

“Good,” Dr. Iplier says, “We’re only a couple paragraphs in, I can start from the beginning–”

“No, that’s okay,” Yandere cuts him off, still mindful of Host, “You don’t have to start over, I already know this story.”

“It’s alright, sweetheart,” Dr. Iplier murmurs. He takes his hand away from the book to squeeze Yandere’s knee through the covers. “Neither of us mind.”

“Dr. Iplier is correct,” Host pipes up, “Yandere does not need to worry about annoying anyone.” He smiles again, but with a playful edge this time, as if he knows just how much Yandere needed to hear those words.

Normally Yandere doesn’t like it when he feels like Host can see right through him, but this time it’s somehow comforting.

“Okay,” Yandere says, cheeks turning pink again, “Um, thanks.”

“Yandere is welcome.”

Now it’s Yandere’s turn to smile.

“Alright, then,” Dr. Iplier says, taking his hand from Yandere’s knee to hold the book again, “Are we all ready to start?”

“Yes.”

“Yep!”

“Okay.”

Dr. Iplier leans back against the headboard as Yandere settles, curling up against him. Host already seems comfortable without adjusting, and merely sinks deeper against Dr. Iplier’s side. Dr. Iplier takes a breath in and begins.

“True! – nervous – very, very dreadfully nervous I had been and am; but why will you say that I am mad? The disease had sharpened my senses – not destroyed – not dulled them. Above all was the sense of hearing acute…”

Dr. Iplier is a good storyteller. He doesn’t get very loud or animated – it’s nighttime, after all – but he reads with feeling, giving emotion to every word. Yandere wonders if he got that skill from Host, but a yawn interrupts him. “The Tell-Tale Heart” is not a long story, but Yandere is exhausted, and the bed is warm, and Dr. Iplier’s voice is soft and gentle. Yandere snuggles closer against him, and Dr. Iplier uses a pause between two paragraphs to kiss the top of his head. Yandere smiles in response, too tired to giggle. He’s nearly forgotten about the Host until he catches sight of him on Dr. Iplier’s other side. Yandere looks at Host from across Dr. Iplier’s chest, and Host smiles again, as though he knows Yandere is looking. Yandere sleepily smiles back. He closes his eyes and listens to Dr. Iplier’s voice, not minding the words, only the sound. Sleep comes on slow, pulling him under nail by nail, board by board.

~~~

““Villains!” I shrieked, “dissemble no more! I admit the deed! – tear up the planks! – here, here! – it is the beating of his hideous heart!””

Dr. Iplier ends the story with less flourish than he would’ve liked, but he’s too tired to give it more. Yandere fell asleep a few paragraphs ago, and Dr. Iplier had half a mind to follow. Host is still awake, but he’s exhausted, too. Though his eyes are covered, Dr. Iplier imagines they’re only half-open.

“Well done,” he says, and yes, he sounds only half-awake. He yawns. “And here you said this was a poor bedtime story.”

“It still is,” Dr. Iplier says, “It’s just late, and we’re tired.”

“Mm.” Host presses a kiss to the bare skin of Dr. Iplier’s arm. “Did you notice, before, how anxious Yandere was?”

“Yes,” Dr. Iplier sighs, sparing a glance to his boy, still sound asleep against him, “A part of me wanted to cuddle him until he felt better, but I didn’t want to embarrass him. Poor kid’s always so nervous.”

“He has a lot of fear,” Host agrees, “Fear of saying or doing wrong.” He pauses. “I know that I…have not helped with that fear. I understand that he cares for you and will cause neither of us harm, but…”

“…But he loves Dark,” Dr. Iplier finishes gently, “And you’re afraid of what Dark might make him do.��

Host nods. He pauses again.

“You may dislike me saying this,” he says, voice rumbling like quiet thunder, “But if Dark were ever to make Yandere choose between you two, he would not hesitate to choose Dark.”

“Host–” Dr. Iplier begins, but is interrupted by a small sound from his other side.

He turns to look at Yandere, and realizes he’s beginning to have a nightmare. His brow is knitted with fear, and he starts to tremble as another whimper escapes his throat. He clings to Dr. Iplier’s arm like he doesn’t know how to let go.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Dr. Iplier murmurs. Host releases his other arm so he can stroke Yandere’s hair. “Shh, baby, shhhh.”

Yandere whimpers again, and Dr. Iplier kisses his forehead.

“You’re okay, love,” Dr. Iplier tells him, “I’m here, I’ve got you. Shh, shh…”

After another minute of whispering to Yandere and kissing away the wrinkles in his brow, Yandere finally relaxes and returns to deep sleep, burrowing against Dr. Iplier’s chest with a sigh. He releases Dr. Iplier’s arm to wind his arms around Dr. Iplier’s chest instead.

There’s a few moments of silence as Dr. Iplier stares down at Yandere, still absently stroking his hair with his now-free arm and wraps the other around Host. The three are much closer together now, and there’s a pause as Host’s earlier words hang in the air.

“Maybe you’re right,” Dr. Iplier admits in a whisper, “But he’s still my son. He still needs me, and I…I need him, too.” Host smiles knowingly.

“You do,” he concedes, “You like having people to care for, and Yandere likes being cared for.”

“Expose us both, why don’t you,” Dr. Iplier chuckles. He pauses. “Hey, what if I was right before about “Tell-Tale Heart” being a bad bedtime story? What if that’s what gave Yan a nightmare?”

“I doubt that,” Host says, still smiling. He sits up a little to kiss Dr. Iplier. “I’m going to go to sleep, too.”

“What, are you of all people too tired to talk?”

“I am, and I believe you are overtired as well, my dear, if your sudden chattiness is any indication.”

“…Maybe.”

“If you say so. Goodnight, love.”

“Goodnight, Isaac.” A quieter whisper. “And goodnight, Yan.”

~~~

Sometime in the night, Dr. Iplier wakes up. Not for any particular reason; he’s used to being awoken at night by the bedside buzzers of overnight patients, and though he has none tonight, his body wakes itself regardless. But he’s so warm and comfortable he knows he’s going to fall asleep again in a minute or two. It’s then he realizes that the softness under his chin is someone’s hair, as is the softness on his shoulder.

He cracks his eyes open to see Yandere’s head tucked up under his chin, and Host’s head on his shoulder. He can feel both of them breathing softly into his chest, feel both their arms tangled around him. Yandere is practically on top of him, and one arm is beginning to ache from being pinned beneath Host, but he doesn’t care. Dr. Iplier beams as he looks down at them both. He kisses the top of Host’s head and ruffles Yandere’s hair before closing his eyes.

Dr. Iplier happily drifts back to sleep with the two people he loves most nestled in his arms.

#yandereplier #dr. iplier #the host #markiplier #markiplier fanfiction #kristin says stuff #my writing #welcome #i love these babeies

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magicalsalamander · 6 years

Text

The Firefly that Guards the Fox VII

Pairing: BTS Taehyung ⇆ Reader

Words: 6.9K

Warnings: Overall story rated mature; Explicit themes, action/ violence, bloodshed, death of minor characters.

Summary: His mother and father weren’t supposed to fall in love. They weren’t supposed to find a mate in one another.

They weren’t supposed to.

After losing his father years ago, Taehyung vows to find and avenge the injustice his family has gone through. You were childhood friends with Taehyung. The four of you Taehyung, Hoseok, your older brother and you were inseparable. You were torn apart from Taehyung, your fox who’ve you’ve always vowed to protect and be with, without a warning. He called you Firefly, you called him Tae-Tae the fox. Was your fate supposed to end there in the past with your childhood?

A/N: Orig post date: 01|11|18; Updated intro 12|12|19. Part of the KLF Universe.

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Her giggles were infectious as I splashed water at her. She was relentless though, fighting back with waves back at me. I wrapped my arms around her waist and spun her eliciting a scream of happiness. “I got you firefly!” She smacked my arm, “put me down Tae!” I shook her in my arms taunting her further, “Tae! Stop!” The anger behind her tone didn’t hold any value, she didn’t really want me to put her down. However, she reached over and pinched my ears between her nails. I let go of her with a yelp. She splashed carelessly into the knee-deep water and stuck both thumbs in her ears wiggling her fingers finishing her move by sticking out her tongue. A squeal then a laugh drummed out as I run to chased her. I latched onto her falling backwards letting gravity take over. I submerged us both into the water with a splash.

I didn’t come up from the water; the girl in my arms faded as I twisted and turned to lie on my back. I felt lint balls from the fabric under my fingers, a mix between knotting suede and a thin mattress. I blinked back to a clearing light. I woke up to my mom putting my backpack together in our basement home. “Honey, please get up you’re going to be late!” I tossed the blanket over me walking only a few steps over to my mother. The room smelled of pungent, stale, reheated coffee and concrete dust. His mother turned to him with her everlasting smile. Her hair was a vibrant color and her ears a habanero orange. She handed me my backpack, “hurry along now.” I took the bag and ran towards the door letting the blinding morning light in.

He pushed through the metal exit door stumbling onto the side walk. He was giggling like a boy in elementary school. He hung onto a woman, who giggled mindlessly and hiccupped from over drinking. Her face blurred every time he looked her over. It was certain he didn’t want to take her home, none of his dates ever made it there.

He stumbled through the parking lot pulling her into the backseats of his car. Their lips and teeth knocked in passion. The heat from their bodies and tension fogged up the windows. She grinded against his crotch, rubbing him in the right way. He trailed his hand up her thigh slipping under her ‘barely considered a dress’ dress. She left his lips, kissing sloppily down his jaw, sucking generously on his neck. She had no true trajectory, she just wanted him. He leaned his head back looking through the back window of the borrowed car of his friend. The street lamp directly above his car was so bright. He squinted tight and everything faded to black.

One squint and a blink through the haziness you pried your eyes open, greeted by a white ceiling. The noises of the room sounded distance, but within moments they cleared and beeped into normalcy. With the strength of a thousand newtons, you turned your head away from the bright fluorescent lighting towards the EKG monitor and other medical devices. The streamline of my heart and other saturations ran consistently. Your eyes bounced along with the inflections of your heart rate. You groaned as you turned back attempting to right yourself. The pressure on your wrist excited every nerve and was an instant reminder that everything wasn’t alright. A lightning bolt shot up from your left false ribs shorting your breath. Your vision blurred shortly with the electricity flowing through each vessel finding a point of interest around your temples. Things weren’t alright. The plastic tubing attached to you creaked and made a racket creating their own orchestra number.

Your napping brother stumbled from his seat in the corner of the room. He shot out of his seat finding a spot next to you on the bed in a less than graceful manner. He adjusted your IV pole and the tubing making sure he wouldn’t pull anything. He laid you back down searching you over with worry in his eyes, “God, I was so worried about you. Do you know how terrified I was hearing you were in an accident? My baby.” He mumbled on about his woes, but I couldn’t help but crack a smile at him. You didn’t know how you looked, but from his reaction you could guess it was bad. Your smile turned into a laugh at the end of his speech. He still called you a baby even though you were at the prime age of twenty-seven. You weakly maneuvered your bruised hand and stitched arm carefully not to twist your throbbing wrist, “how long have I been out?” Your brother took your hand delicately in both of his, encapsulating it in tender warmth. His calloused fingers grazed over your bruises like he was tracing roads in a map, “a few days, I took time off. Mom and Dad couldn’t make it up to the city.” You groaned, “you told them?” He nodded, “they said they were sorry, but that if you were in my care they could rest easy.” You smiled at him in short delay, the nausea was coming back. When the haze cleared you took in your brother, he was still in his uniform; a distinct sore standing out from the hospital’s dreadful, white walls. He really must’ve rushed here.

A warning knock sounded at the door and then a nurse strolled in the room. “I heard the monitors come back. Welcome back to the world, Ms. Y/L/N.” She looked at your brother and a faint pink dust coated her cheeks. You shook your intertwined hands slightly and wiggled your eyebrows at your brother in an all-knowing smirk. He glares at you momentarily mouthing out, “stop it, not now.” You rolled your eyes at the bachelor, but he politely left your side giving room for the nurse to work in. She checked all over your vitals and monitored receipts form the machines, “everything seems to be fine, a doctor will be in shortly to consult further with you. Are you in any pain currently?” You wanted to shake your head, but that would be a mistake, “I’m sore. My head and side are tender.” She nodded her head, “we’ll give you some more morphine for the meantime, I’ll be back with the doctor.” She picked up her chart and walks toward the exit, but you called out to her, “Where is the man I came in with? Where is Kim Taehyung? Is he alright?” Your brother did a double take, squinting at you while he took a seat next to your bed again. The nurse looked down at her chart then back to you, “I’m sorry miss, I don’t know. I’m sure the doctor will, please ask him then.” She slid the door close, leaving you with more anxiety than before.

Your brother tangled your hands again bringing your attention back to him. Your breathing became rougher and you winced with every short breath. “Calm down Y/N. Taehyung? Do you mean the fox hybrid from back home Taehyung?” You nodded slowly at the pace of a calm grandmother, ”yes…but it’s a long story. I’ll tell you everything soon, I need to know if he’s okay first.” Your brother smoothed over your hair smoothing out the knots, “that’s a promise Y/N.”

Through the same door the nurse returned with a doctor, who looked by far more than exhausted you did, “Hello Ms. Y/L/N.” He went over a routine checkup repeating steps the nurse took earlier, then stood at the edge of your bed flipping through the charts. “Ms. Y/L/N, in your X-ray we found two broken ribs on your left. They didn’t penetrate anything vital but remain stationary for the time being. It will take at least six weeks for them to fully heal. We did an CT scan and MRI just for assurance for anything major, but luckily you have a mild-concussion. That won’t take long to heal, however, you will experience some of the residual effects for a while. We will admit you for ten days and when that is up you will be assessed again to make sure you’re alright to leave. Any questions?” Honestly, he spoke so fast and it was heavy with information most flew over your head; so you turned to your brother for affirmation that he caught it all. He laughed and nodded, “I got all that Y/N. Don’t worry.” You turned back to the doctor, “is Kim Taehyung okay? The man I came in with?”

The doctor looked you over assessing your charts once more and with a huff in his words, “he’s currently in a coma.” Your heart sunk, feeling the thin strings of your heart being pulled to their limits. “He was induced into it. The injuries aren’t severe, but as a precaution to the head injury we’re giving him time to rest.” The harp player in your heart plucked softer, but they still tested your limits. You didn’t have enough in you to cry, but the thoughts were painful enough. In last comfort the doctor could offer, “you’ve been through a lot Ms. Y/L/N. We will do everything in our power to make sure you and Mr. Kim are okay.” The doctor offered you and your brother one last polite bow, then left.

In attempts to ease your mind, your brother spoke about his recent deployment. He went on and on and at the end of each sentence he reminded you how much he missed you. His stories faded into a lull hitting its end, so you started your own. Regressing back into his attentive way, he listened intently like a mother would, but with a face of a stern solider. He clutched onto your hand in intervals of softening and squeezing with each new bit of information. It wasn’t angry, but sweet and patient. You left out some details of the Taehyungs dad, no matter how close you were, there were legalities on the line. He rubbed his thumb over your hand while you come up to date. “You’re truly a strong person Y/N, are you sure you’re my baby sister?” I pouted my lips together holding back the laughter, but it erupted full force. It was easier to laugh, than cry. He still chooses to joke after I revealed a secret to him, only he would do such a thing. It hurts, it hurts so bad to laugh.

My heart rate went through the roof, and a distraught nurse swung into the room. Her forehead was sweaty, probably from running a mini marathon to the room, and panted out, “miss, what’s wrong?” Your brother stood at attention, “I’m sorry, there’s nothing wrong.” She clutched her chest waving to us both, “no, okay—that’s good to know. Excuse me then.” Attempting to catch your breath you nudged your brother as the nurse turned around leaving the room, “go, go chase her. She’s interested in you. Don’t let this chance go to waste.” A blush crossed his face, the first time you’ve ever seen it, so you nudged him further, “I want to sleep. Go home for the night. I’m fine, I’m in good hands. Come back rested.” He looked from the door to you contemplating, but you assured him you truly wanted to sleep. He smiled down at you and saluted, “good night Y/N. I’ll be back tomorrow.” You raised your right arm and saluted him back, “go get her tiger.”

You’re weren’t allowed out of your bed for a few days. Your brother argued with you daily that he should stay the night, but you convince him that staying at home would be better. It puts less pressure on you and you get to sleep easy knowing he’s resting well. On the fourth night you make your way out of the room wobbling down the hall with your IV pole. You steadied the IV bag and hung onto the tubing with every cautious step towards Taehyung’s room. Your hospital gown didn’t give you must protection against the strong AC. You counted the rooms, until the chrome numbers 45730 reflected against the fluorescent lights. You held your breath, feeling a throbbing pulse in your neck and wrist, it was a reminder you were alive. You shoved the pole first, then yourself towards the sliver of a window on the door. Searching the small room, that looked just like yours, your eyes rested on the back of a hunched over woman.

You knocked softly on the door, just enough for the woman to hear. She didn’t respond initially, so you kept knocking. She turned around in her stool and walked towards the door. Tears built up in the corners of your eyes, but you wiped the buds before they trailed any further. You stepped back away from the door as the door slide open. His mother expected the nurse, “nothing has changed since the last time you came in.” She lifted her face revealing darkened circles and reddened eyes. Her face softened up when she saw you. She stepped out into the hallway closing the door behind her, “Y/N, I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” The once composed woman became a blubbering mess as she brought you into a hug. You winced and hissed at the pressure, she released you almost immediately. Wiping away tears she pleaded, “oh, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” She truly was lost. You brought her into another hug this time, “he’s going to be okay Mom.” You didn’t know if that was for yourself or her. She looked you over again and again grazing her fingers gently over any blatantly obvious bandages. “I’m fine Mom. I have a minor concussion and fractured ribs, but they said it shouldn’t inhibit me too much.”

Instead of my words bringing her comfort, her frown depended into her smile lines. “Thank you. Thank you for being with Tae. I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you.” She cupped your face rechecking everything over again. “You saved him.” You bit back and swallowed the knot in your throat. “It’s really nothing Mom.” She wanted to argue back, but she held her tongue. “Do you want to see Tae?” You nodded cautiously, and Mom helped move you into the room.

The first thing you noticed was his peaceful expression. The monitors read out steadily but in a low frequency. The bandages wrapped around his head and arms concealed the healing wounds. You turned to Mom as she grabbed your hand, “I’m sorry I couldn’t do more Mom.” She clutched your hand, “no, you did enough Y/N. If it wasn’t for you Tae wouldn’t be here.” She helped steady you into one of the chairs beside Tae. You watched the soft fall and rises his chest. This madness has to stop.

The rest of the night went by with small chatter between you and Mom. She gossiped about her neighbors and how expensive it was to buy milk, anything to keep conversation going. She wore herself out and dozed off with her head bobbing back and forth. You attempted to get up without bothering her, but her ears were still sensitive. “Where are you going?” You pointed to your low IV bag, “I have to get back to my room. I’ll stop by again tomorrow, I’ll even bring my brother, you remember him, right?” Her face lit up slightly, “yes, I do. The kindest boy for miles. I’ll walk you back to your room.” She walked with you making the most of the small distance between the rooms. You reminded her that you were okay as she checked over you for the millionth time. You held back the nausea and pain, she had more than enough to worry about. You finally shooed her away when you were back in bed and a nurse came to check on you for a nightly routine visit.

Poking and prodding woke you up the next morning, when your nurse went through her routine. She was a rosy red and you connected that to the same rosy red on the solider across the room. You just woke up, but anyone could see the hearts in the air. This situation may be damming, but at least one good thing came out of it. “Everything is fine. Your healing is on track with our predictions. With the way things are going you may get to leave early.” The nurse bowed her way out of the room and your brother served you breakfast. You asked how he was doing, your situation was obvious.

After he watched you eat, you told him you wanted to go see Mrs. Kim and Tae. He wanted you to rest more, but with your persistence he walked you to the room. You gripped onto his arm, while he dragged your IV pole. Once you were stable, your brother knocked softly on the door in three rasp. The soft call of his mother allowed us in. Mom embraced your brother without an inkling of a greeting. She was overjoyed to see him, mumbling the same way when she first saw you. They lead you to sit first, then Mom wouldn’t let your brother go.

He recounted everything he could while catching glimpses at Taehyung. She was so impressed by his achievements in the military, “my son has really grown up!” Your brother blushed madly, a bit taken aback by the extent of her compliments. She asked you, “Is it okay if I steal your brother and go to the cafeteria for some food? I haven’t eaten yet. Will you be okay?” You nodded and even jokingly,” please take him.” He glared at you, but you shrugged the best you could more with your right side. She smiled dipping out of the room to recount even more with her estranged son.

You sat next to the bed and took Taehyung’s condition in. His breathing was shallow and the bruises on his face were deep. You looked down at your fist, saddened that you couldn’t do more for Taehyung at the moment. You sat in silence listening to the rhythmic beeping of his heart monitor. You slowly raised your hand to bring it to wrap around his. You spoke softly, “Tae Tae, remember that time I fought off those boys and saved you. We even got ice cream afterwards. I think back to a lot of the times we shared together. Those were my happiest moments of my life. I haven’t been the same since you left. I was so shocked to see you. You’ve grown up and turned into such an amazing person. It’s also great that you turned out to be pretty handsome.” Pausing in your monologue to laugh at how sappy you were being, “I really missed you Tae.”

I plead into the phone, “Uncle please…don’t hang up! I need you to tell me what happened!” The man on the other end of the line begged back, “I really don’t know what happened afterwards. Look, I’ll talk to you later okay?” I spoke into the phone with more force, “Uncle, don’t hang up. I need to know what happened to my father!” The line went dead, all he was left with the dial tone.

The ringing faded into a familiar voice. “Tae, Taehyung, Tae!” The child he once looked at wasn’t young anymore, she was a beautiful woman that sat across from me. She rested her head on her hand watching me intently. I rambled on, “they didn’t think that a hybrid could be educated enough or—or,” raising his voice,” have the logic enough to think on a human level!” I could see the conflict in her eyes the way she watched me as I let emotions spill. She spoke back to me, but I only caught every other word, “I think back…happiest moments of my life…I missed you Tae.” She began fading again. I stood up in a rush pushing the chair to the floor behind me. I lunged towards her, but she dissipated, and I fell into darkness.

Suddenly Taehyung gasped air violently into his lungs deeply, mumbling out words. In his mind he yelled out, but in reality it was a jumble of incomprehensible words. His pupils retracted like a cat hissing, the light was sudden and painful. You shifted closer to his bed taking his hand in yours, “Tae, it’s okay, calm down Tae.” His eyes relaxed and squeezed your hand in relief. This was real. He croaked out, “Y/N? Where am I?” He tried to sit up but you stopped him, “don’t get up, I’ll call the nurse and your mom.” You stood to reach to press the button to call the nurse, but he stopped you grabbing onto your wrist. “What happened Y/N? Explain things to me first?”

Hesitating on the thought you sat back down and told him everything you could remember. You mentioned the man with the black mask and hat, but you couldn’t elaborate any further. He listened patiently and then followed up groggily, “and you? Are you okay? Are you in pain?” Answering honestly, “I have a few fractured ribs and a minor concussion. It’s not serious. The medicine dulls the pain, and I’ll be out of her soon.” He winced when his expression turned sour, “I’m glad you’re okay.” Your hand stopped mid reach for the button again. This whole time he’s been nothing but uptight and mean towards you. The old Taehyung was peeking through the hard exterior of a mask he put on. You titled your head, “I’m glad you woke up Tae.”

You buzzed in the nurse and his mom came back with your brother shortly. It was another reunion all over. The atmosphere was so nice. His mom, Tae, your brother and you were laughing and chatting like it was an afternoon back at their house on their low platform hanging out.

You spent more time in Taehyung’s room than your own. Mom was peeling fruits for you both, when a knock sounded at the door. Taehyung sat in his bed nibbling on slices of apples, “come in.” Two familiar faces peeked around the corner, the teen was a bit reluctant, but he brightened up when he saw you. “Mrs. Miller?” David came up next to you, “Ms. Y/L/N, are you okay? Tell me who did this to you!” You giggled at his protective agenda. Taehyung eyed the kid, “hey settle down kid. She’s stronger than any man.” You side eyed Taehyung, it was hard to know if that was a compliment or something back handed. He cheekily smirked at you. Mrs. Kim greeted the woman and offered her a seat next to you. She looked you up and down and took your hand in hers, “Ms. Y/L/N. I’m sorry this happened to you. Will you be okay?” She held her voice strong despite the shakiness behind it. David placed a hand on your shoulder. I reassured them with a nod. Mrs. Miller cleared her throat, “I’ve decided to go ahead with the appeal. After I heard what happened to you, I don’t think I can sit back anymore.” You righted yourself too fast agitating your tender ribs, “wait, really? Are you sure Mrs. Miller?” Her eyes glistened with tears splaying her fingers out in a fan across her breast bone. Her ears stood at attention, “yes, they need to be stopped.” Mrs. Kim set down her plate rounding around the bed smoothing a hand over the back of the woman. You turned to Taehyung who was staring at you. Adoration filled his eyes as the window light filtered in his eyes. David distracted you by telling you all about what he was doing in school and how he visits that sandwich stand often now that the auntie gives him discounts now.

But of course, nothing good last for long.

You were sitting facing the door listening to the banter go back and forth. A flash of black burned past the rectangle window. It was a blimp, but it was enough to notice something out of the corner of your eye. Your brother was so busy telling them a story that no one else noticed. The shadow passed by once more and stared at you for a moment. You recognized the face, or at least those same eyes. They walked away when you locked eyes. You dropped the fruit piece you were nibbling on onto your lap. Your nostrils flared, you couldn’t let him to get away again, not after he hurt Tae. “Hey, uhm, I’m going to pick up a sweater from my room. I’m a little cold. I’ll be right back.” Your brother broke conversation, “I’ll come with you.” You insisted, “no, no, I’m fine it’s only a few doors down anyways.” He glared at you, but yours won out on him. Tae whined out, “Y/N, let your brother go with you.” You turned your glare to Tae, “I need to do things on my own. I’m almost a 100% better now anyways.”

You slid out to the empty hallway and saw the tall figure walking down and turned at the end of the corridor. You speed walked following as fast as you could with your obnoxious pole. You paused before you rounded the corner, peering over the edge into the empty hallway. You stepped out into the open and frantically moving towards the other end. You were certain he walked this way. A calloused hand emerged from the darkness and clasped around your mouth. His other hand reached for your forearm and ripped out your IV. You screamed under his palm, the warm feeling blood and solution ran down your arm. He sucked you into the dark and drug you through the exit doorway into a cement stairwell.

He forced you up against the wall with his thick forearm blocking your airway. From the impact alone, it was disorienting your vision blacken briefly. When you opened your eyes immediately afterwards, black dots danced in your eyes. You could feel the stiches on your arm ripping, but most importantly your broken ribs felt like razors in your chest. You grasped the arm that was on your neck and dug your nails deep into his skin. This man had every intention to kill you.

You took a good look at him this time, a freckle dotted under his right eye and one eyebrow was partially missing. He must also still be recovering from the accident. With that in mind you removed one of your claws shimming in between the both of you, and dug your thumb into the guys eye. The squishy texture sent goosebumps along your skin, but you didn’t stop until he let up on your throat. He stepped away from you hunching over cradling his eyes.

You caught your breath but didn’t waste time and lunged towards him. You started kicking, beating him to pin him to the floor. He looked up at you with one eye and you screamed, “Who are you? Who sent you?” He didn’t respond knocking you off with a punch across the face. The adrenaline was running through your veins and you were angrier than ever. You kicked him in the stomach and rolled him over to be under you again. You landed a few hits but gained traction and punted you off. He stumbled onto his feet making his way down the staircase.

You weren’t going to let him go without an answer.

You clutched your side sliding on the cement floor but followed him. You sped down the flight of stairs but crashed straight into the wall. Your vision faded to black momentarily and the acid was building up in your throat. You felt like throwing up with a sudden rush of nausea. You panted in a cold sweat as you heard the footsteps of the man get farther and farther and eventually the door to the parking garage open. The silence filled you. You were in so much pain that only silent screams left you.

Your brother watched the clock. It’s been taking longer than it should have for you to grab a sweater. He stood up and went out to check up on you. Tae’s mom insisted on going instead, but he said, “I’m a special agent, Mom. I think I can handle wrestling a sweater.” The hallway was empty no grubby girl with an IV pole in sight. He made his way down to your room, but he opened it to an equally empty space. The private bathroom in the room was unoccupied as well. Goosebumps formed over his flesh, every sense honed into. He just felt it his baby sister was in danger.

He went back into the hallway and down the opposite direction. He looked up and down the halls of the ward for you. As he turned the corner out of a inner hallway he noticed the reflection of a fallen IV pole sticking out the hall. He ran towards it and the clear it got; the IV bag and tubing was leaking solution on the floor. There were specks of all sizes of blood that trailed into a metal exit door.

He slammed open the door with his shoulder. He looked around only to take a second look down the stairwell to see you breathing rapidly with blood soaking your gown. “Y/N!” He skipped every other step and made his way to you. “What happened?” He pulled your head up to look at him, but you could barely keep your eyes open. He picked you up in his arms and raced back up the stairs. He ran down the hall yelling for help. All staff in the hall that wasn’t immediately occupied approached him. They directed him to take you back into your room.

Tae’s mom heard the commotion in the hallway and opened the door to look outside. Her jaw dropped as she saw you in your brother’s arms with your arms limply swinging. She covered her mouth with his hand and yelled, “Y/N!” Taehyung sat up from his bed and stumbled his way behind his mother supporting himself with one arm on the wall. His other arm was in a sling, but he peered over and saw you. His heart dropped seeing you almost lifeless in your brother’s arm. Your brother sped by with a whole medical team trailing towards your room. His mother turned to him and said, “Tae, you shouldn’t be out of bed!” Her voice was unstable as she tried to scold him. She was equally as worried. He tried pushing past her to go to you, but his nurse stopped him. “Sir, she’s going to be taken care of, please return to your bed.” He looked at his mother and struggled back into bed. He knew he couldn’t do anything at the moment. He threw a pillow across the room, he felt truly helpless.

It took the medical staff an hour to stabilize you, but you came back to life. The security in the hospital escalated. Taehyung, in his decrepit state, stayed by your side guarding your room with your brother. The cops, along with Jungkook, questioned both Taehyung and you on the previous accident and today’s accident. As upset as it made Jungkook, he told us they weren’t able to recover anything from the accident. The site was clean. You sighed in relief internally, luckily you had back up documents at the office, credit cards were replaceable, so the only loss was time. Someone was sweeping things under the rug, someone very close to us.

A four days later you were discharged from the hospital, but Taehyung already left since hybrids heal faster. He wasn’t a hundred percent, but he was able to do basic things again without being supervised. He stayed with his mom, not wanting to burden Jimin and Hoseok, since they were busy prepping for the upcoming tour. It was weird living back with his mom, but he realized how much he missed it when she would cook meals for him. Your brother took you back home and was on guard 24/7. You assured him that he shouldn’t worry and it was rare for a criminal to come back for a third attempt. The punk would be stupid to attack again so soon. Your brother requested further time off to take care of you. The workaholic in you kept up with the office by working from home. You kept in contact with Taehyung, updating what little you found out.

A week later, when you weren’t constantly nauseous and could breath normally, you made it back to the office. Your brother couldn’t take off any more time to insist for you to stay home. You took the bus to work and walked in your second home. The receptionist came up to you and hugged you, “I’ve missed you. I’m so glad you’re back. Mr. Kim has been living in his office and the courthouses. He’s trying to catch up on all the cases he’s been behind on. The other lawyers didn’t want to take on his work.” With a scowl you made your way to your desk, greeted by your team. Kibum held onto you, but Krystal peeled him off to get her shy turn at a hug. Once they let you go you left for Tae’s office. You knocked on Taehyung’s door and he answered curtly; he was back to his normal self. You stepped in, also stepping back into your professional attitude as well, you closed the door and called to him. “Mr. Kim, I have the documents and cases you asked for.” He looked up and took them. You looked around noticing the multitude of coffee cups and pillow and blanket on the couch. You looked at him and spoke, “Mr. Kim have you been staying here.” He hummed in response not breaking his concentration on work.

He must’ve let the words go in and out his ears. You knocked on his desk making the tired fox look up at you. “Tae, why are you over working yourself?” Like a melting candle, his scrunched expression softened. The fox whined outstretching his hand towards you. You laughed at his cute antics. You walked around his desk and the suffering fox rested his head on your stomach. He wrapped his arm around your waist clutching to the back of your blazer. He nuzzled his head and in the best way you knew how to comfort him, you combed your fingers through his hair. It was greasy and matted, “how long have you been here?” He mumbled a number into you, truly it didn’t matter, he needed to go home. “Tae, go home. We can take care of it here. I’ve done enough work at home, we will be fine.” An audible growl left him as he pulled away, “no. I have so much to finish.” You brought both of his cheeks into your hands and he brought his to rest at your sides. “We will win, but we’re not going to win if the hero can’t fight his own needs. Go home Taehyung.”

He pulled you into his lap and nuzzled his face into your neck. He traced the edge of his nose up and down your jaw. “Just give me a moment with you. I missed you.” I almost lost you, he spoke internally to himself. You allowed him the time he needed, because you needed this too. You wiped away at his dark circles hoping they would go, but they only got deeper when he smiled. After many back and forth of “five more minutes”, Tae finally went home.

He gripped the frame in his hand, petting over the wooden edges as if it was a cat. From a rumble to a catastrophic roar, he fast balled the memory across the room. The two attendants in the room remained motionless standing at attention with their hands behind their back. His perfectly gelled hair strung out of place as he steadied himself with two open palms on his desk. The rumbling anger of his heart beat fast in his ears. He could feel his instincts brimming. He fought against the memory, but they just clawed at him. Flashes of his mother smiling at him calling him his familiar name, “Bo, my love.” Then flashes of documents, “Sexual Assault and Rape Report.” The print flashed by faster in his mind the more he struggled against it, “hybrid…victim of random circumstance…child was carried to term.” He scratched the surface of his desk leaving imprints and curls of iron in its remain. A sergeant spoke with hesitation, “Sir, we can’t dig Yates out of this one. He was caught with too many witness.” The police chief smoothed back his fallen hair breathing and seething through his teeth. “Get him out!” He paced around the room manically, “it’s all that foxes fault. It’s because of him and his…god forsaken family!”

“It’s been a chaotic drop in the stocks industry ever since Yates arrest. His lawyers spoke out claiming his innocence, and they will pursue any charges full on. Yates was released this morning on bail.” The stream switched to a video of Yates being wheelchaired out of prison. His face was covered by a mask protecting him from the numerous flashes coming from the hungry photographers. The same anchor voices over the video, but you stopped paying attention to her voice. You watched the footage of Yates play his game.

The door of the break room opened followed by the clanking of the coffee pot kissing another mug. Taehyung stirred his cup of coffee until it was appropriate to taste. He picked up his cup and stood shoulder to shoulder next to you. Ever since the accident, you’ve spent more time together. It was more like he was never too far from you, always within his peripheral. The new warmth didn’t distract you from reading the dialogue as the woman chatters on about useless details. You didn’t bother turning to him, “want to go home?” His ears twitched choking on his coffee doing a double take at the insinuation, “what?” You looked over at him brushing his loose bangs behind his human ears, “you’ve caught up on all the other cases, let’s go back to the countryside and find the shelter your parents were at.” Taehyung ran over his schedule in his head brushing his tail on the back of your thigh, “I can only take off this weekend. We can go Friday and come back Sunday night. We’ll be back by Monday.” You nodded, “I’ll bring some work with me too then, we’ll make it a work weekend.” His ear flattened, he wanted to spend time with you as well, not just work the whole time.

Taehyung came by to pick you up bright and early Friday morning. The drive will take two hours but who’s to say about traffic. You wanted to rub your eyes to cast away the sleep, but you already had light makeup on. The handsome fox stepped out of his car with aviators on, but he’s dressed casually wearing jeans and a white button up. You looked down at yourself with the same idea of casual wear being jeans and a white shirt. You joked before greeting him, “should I go change? Were matching.” He laughed taking in the resemblance, “no I think it’ll help me keep track of you.” You scoffed at his jester but forgave him instantly. You truly didn’t want to walk all the way back up the flight of stairs. Like a gentleman, he took your luggage for you placing it in the trunk. You set your messenger bag with your laptop and files on the passenger seat floor and find yourself situating in the seat.

In the first half of the drive you called your parents, wanting to stop by for a short visit, but they were busy. They said they would leave some goodies by the door for us and call again before we would leave. The second half was just chatter over the radio, there wasn’t a dull moment with Tae. You found out more about him. The same comfort and ease we shared as kids came back like there wasn’t a gap in time. The closer we got to our hometown, the chattier Tae became.

We walked down the familiar dirt road, instead this time we were unfamiliar. The air still smelled clean and the acres of farmland around us still bared fruit and vegetation. The trenches we created in the road from our back and forth journeys have filled back up and the road was flat. Taehyung parked away purposely because we thought the road wouldn’t be suitable for vehicles. You watched Tae’s tail flick like a hungry flame behind him. His lip was red from his teeth gnawing at the flesh, making the bud of his lower lip plump to its maximum. You thinned your own and laced your fingers in his bigger hand. Instantly, his hand encased yours and you ran your thumb over his knuckles. You slowed before you came around the bend in the road, “do you want to take another lap around the road?” He squeezed your hand bringing it up to his cheek then his nose for a moment. You flinched a little at his hot breath on the back of your hand. A hot blush was creeping up your neck turning your ears carmine. If this was going to comfort him, you could yield.

“No, let’s go.” He pulled you with him but kept his pace slow and even. Around the corner stood the weathered white house. It stood up against time, as if it was patiently waiting for us to come back to it. The grass in the yard was over grown, the paint on the walls chipped and the windows had at least three inches worth of dust. It was still home. Taehyung smiled towards you, “I was worried I wouldn’t remember this place, but one look and it’s all there.” You couldn’t help returning the expression, so you beamed back at him, “welcome home Tae.”

The picket fence was rusty, but it swung open with a creak and squeak from the unused metal hinges. He switched our hands, making sure he held onto you some way, and fished for the house key his mother handed to him. The key turned in the lock, but it took a grunt and a shove of a shoulder to turn and open.

A cloud of dust fell on you both. You coughed and waved away the dust stepping in after Tae. The house looked untouched. An open crayon box sat on the coffee table and an unfinished drawing next to it. You took Tae’s hand again patting it with your other, “let’s search around and clean it up before it gets dark.” You tested the light switches flicking them and after a few attempts they lit, but they faded not too long after. “We’re going to have to work fast.” You followed Taehyung around the house going through every room. The house was stuck in a time warp of twenty years ago. The furniture and style of the home was outdated. Taehyung’s ears twitched occasionally when he would pick up things, but he would set them back down. He saved his parent’s room for last. He opened the door to a messy room. The closet doors and drawers were open with clothes strung everywhere. Empty picture frames splayed across the bed. Even though you knew exactly what happened, it was hard looking at the mess. She really was in a hurry the day they left. You traced your fingers over the frame picking it to place it back next to the bed side table. Pick up the pieces, and eventually you’ll see the puzzle. You turned back to the stoic fox, his eyes were busy taking everything in. He said nothing the whole time we went through the house.

You came up behind him, gliding your hands through the gap between his arms and sides clutching him tight. “Are you okay?” He removed your hands turning you in his embrace. He brought you into his chest nuzzling against your hair. You were the only familiar scent in this home, everything else felt foreign to him, even if he remembered these walls. The only memories coming back was the one he shared with you and the rest of the fireflies. He spoke into your hair, “thank you for coming with me.” You smoothed your hand up and down his back, “before you thank me, let’s get things done.” He nodded into your hair taking in your scent as much as he could before you go to work. The blush has expanded past your ears for sure.

You set your phone up on the kitchen counter and connected it to Bluetooth and put on cleaning music. Taehyung twitched a brow to you watching your corny dance moves. You swayed to the beat as you tied up your hair into a messy bun. You mouthed along with the lyrics and obnoxiously pointed to him. He hunched over laughing, but soon joined you in a small dance in the living room. With a few beats you bumped the side of yours his hip with his, eliciting giggles out of you both. The house felt alive again. Your parents lent you cleaning supplies, along with some other goodies they left outside their door for you to pick up. You felt like Cinderella sweeping across the floor as Taehyung opened the windows letting light in. Taehyung left momentarily and parked out front bringing our luggage inside. You kept cleaning and by the time the sun set, you were content with the kitchen, living room and one room being cleaned out.

Taehyung was outside cleaning the patio, while you cleaned up the aftermath of tonight’s dinner, two cups of ramen. You cut up some fruit for dessert that your mom gave you earlier. You carried the plate out the door waiting for Taehyung to lay the matt over the low platform. The wood was old and splintering, but with a little love it would come back to life. Taehyung set the latten in the center of the matt and tapped the empty spot next to him.

You adjusted yourself on the soft cloth. Taehyung let the tranquility take over. He laid on his back crossing his forearms to a makeshift pillow under his head, “I haven’t been this relaxed in a while.” In his head he counted the stars but lost track after the twentieth when all the lights in the sky clustered too close together. You bit into an apple savoring the sweet crunch. You looked towards the tree line recounting the many times you’ve played there, where the stream you played in was bone dry. The place you meet Tae. “Tae, do you remember the first day we met?” He hummed in question not hearing you the first time. “do you remember how we met?” Tae inhaled a deep breath leaving it in a heavy sigh, “I really don’t remember it well, but I do remember the night where I told everyone what the stars were. Kids really do believe everything.” I laughed handing him an apple slice, “yeah, we may have been kids, but…it helped me through a lot of times.”

He glanced over to you watching your expression. Because of specs on the lantern, the orange light displayed a disco ball effect on her; like fireflies dancing on her skin. The perk of her nose, the flutter of her lashes, the petals that were her lips all hypnotized him. Her hair was a mess, fly-a-ways sticking out of her messy ponytail, but she looked perfect. The perfect combination of calmness and calamity. He traced the contours of her face with his eyes, mapping out things he’s never had much chance to do before. He wanted…no…needed her to want him too.

With all the experience of partying and dating he had, nothing could compare to the confidence he chalked up now. “You know, Y/N, if you get too comfortable with me, I think I should have you call me Mr. Kim again.”

The soft atmosphere broke, you couldn’t help laughing and hard. It was hilarious now thinking back to Taehyung, you meant Mr. Kim, the stern lawyer in his almighty office. He feigned being upset with your taunting, so he sat up. “What’s so funny Y/N?” A cheeky smile bloomed on his lips as he inched closer. You fell on your back laughing, “sorry Mr. Stern-Lawyer, I guess I am forgetting.” He swooped in tickling your sides violently. You could hardly breath and tears were brimming in your eyes. You placed your hands on his chest pushing him away, “Tae, stop! I can’t—I can’t breathe!” He rested both hands by head giggling to himself as he loomed over you.

Once you could open your eyes clearly enough, the fox above you was staring at you with something else in his eyes. Something you’ve never seen in them before.

He studied your face carefully, he watched your pupils expand and contract. He could hear your heartbeat in his ears. Your lips were parted glossy like dewy petals. You swallowed hard, the position was making your mouth dry. You spoke out breathily, “Tae—.” He dipped down brushing your noses together, you could feel the peach fuzz of his chin rubbing against yours. He nudged your noses together causing you to arch your head back. He watched your lips move with his name on them. His elbows caved down and caged you in even further bringing your hands to your chest. His body heat radiated to yours. A low content purr grumbled in his throat as his tail stiffened. He whispered your name against your lips, before he pecked lightly. The heat from him started a fire in your stomach. He came back for more, kissing you soft but hard each time. Your hands slid up cupping his neck and cheek tangling in his hair, anything to bring him further into the kiss. You could feel the rumbles of his purr from your hand on his neck.

You had to pull away for a breath of air, but he couldn’t wait long, so he began peppering kissing around your face. Once on each eye, each cheek, your forehead, then nose appreciating all of you. I had to, “Mr. Kim, this isn’t appropriate office behavior.” He kissed you again, and again seconds melted into minutes. He took your breath away.

He pulled away from your bruising lips looking you directly in the eyes, “I’ve made up my mind, don’t call me that…ever….” I slapped his chest laughing, he was insufferable. He pecked my lips one more before he flopped on his back sighing in relief. You didn’t quite catch what he said, but it sounded similar to the word, “mine.” His. The both of you were flushed, but you were especially nervous to look at him. He laced his fingers with yours and his tail tickled your thigh. The music playing from your phone filled the atmosphere with lyrics, even though they weren’t our own, they said everything for us.

Under the fireflies, this moment was more than perfect.

You cleared out some space in the living room and laid out your sleeping bags. We couldn’t trust any of the mattresses. We eyed eachother blushing occasionally thinking back to the kiss before. You crawled into your sleeping back, letting him turn off the lantern. The fireflies were dancing in your stomach. You fell asleep and somewhere through the night the bags came together, and our hands intertwined. It was admittedly the best sleep he’s ever had.

In the early hours of the morning you’re at the kitchen table typing away at your laptop and Taehyung rested his head on your shoulder reading the open webpage. “We should head out soon.” He nodded passing you a quick breakfast, more ramen. Within thirty minutes you were on the road, we drove forty-five minutes to get there. “Riverwood County Shelter,” the words read out boldly on the sign in their lawn before Taehyung turned into the parking lot of the dreadful looking building. The town was nice, but there was something off. Maybe it was the clear bias towards this place? No, it felt too quiet.

You looked over to Tae before you went inside, “if you want me to go inside I can, you can wait in the car.” He shook his head, “no, I want to see the place my parents grew up.” Taehyung held open the door for you, immediately leading into a receptionist lobby. A woman with glasses hanging low on her nose sat behind the curved desk. She typed away at her computer and slowly blinked up towards us. She did not want to be here, that was for sure. Taehyung approached the desk, “Hello, we’re from—.” You stepped harshly on Taehyung’s toe. A huff left him along with a deep grunt, he side eyed you full of questions. You took over conversation, “hello, were looking for a…baby to adopt. I can’t have children of my own and I always wanted to have a child with my husband.” You wrapped Taehyung’s hand in yours and brought his hand up to your lips. You pretended to blink away tears. The woman at the receptionist desk blinked back at you slowly. Taehyung seemed to catch on halfway, “My wife and I really want a fox hybrid. Something that would look like me, maybe.” The woman began typing shortly then stood up, “let me get the file and ask my manager if they’re letting people observe today. I’ll be right back.” She picked up an empty clipboard and pen disappearing down a nearby hallway.

You waited for her footsteps to fade before you rounded the desk taking her seat. Taehyung harshly whispered, “what are you doing Y/N?” You brushed hair off your shoulder, “hush, be on the lookout. Warn me if she’s coming back.” You jammed the USB into the monitor and went to town on their database. His eyes were working a thousand miles per hours, “when did you bring that?” You raised your brow at him, “there’s a lot you don’t know about me Tae.” A smirk crossed his face cheekily leaning on the table, “a man should know his wife.”

You willed away the blush crossing your cheeks and searched through their outdated system. You transferred the files of employees from twenty years ago, hoping it would give some intel about the people who knew his parents. You pulled out your phone bringing up the two long numbers that his mother gave you. Their ID numbers. A young photo of his mother popped up and in big read letters above the biographic information read, “MISSING.” You searched for his father’s data, but your fingers stopped typing on the keyboard when footsteps approached in the hall.

Taehyung winked at you, “leave it to me, honey.” He walked towards the receptionist, “you were able to convince your manager, right? My wife…she’s really been upset with the whole infertile thing. I can’t live with the anger anymore or the tears.” He spewed out the first things that came to his mind, using his years of practice as a lawyer to spin a believable story. Your fingers flew across the keys. You unplugged the USB and shoved it into your pocket tucking it deep. You closed all the documents back to what it originally was and stood leaning against the desk attempting to look distressed. “Dear, you know what I don’t want to look today. I don’t think I can handle it.” Taehyung came running up to your side, “but honey.” You held up your hand twisting your face up as if you were going to cry, “no…I can’t.” You pushed through the doors to hear a belated sorry towards the receptionist from Tae. You both got in the car and drove away.

Back at home you pulled out your laptop again and plugged in the USB immediately. Taehyung sat next to you watching the new information load in multitude of files. You passed him the laptop allowing him to go over the info first. He put on his glasses reading the information intently. When he scrolled past a photo of his father he stayed on it studying the face. “I honestly don’t remember his face besides the one in the photo. He was gone a lot as a kid. He looks so much like I do here.” You leaned into his side resting your chin on his shoulder, “look he has the same freckle on his nose like you.” You booped his nose right on the freckle. He rubbed his nose, “I guess we really do look alike.”

He opened file after file, you ended up working longer than expected. You missed the timing to go over to your parents for dinner. You opted to make a small meal, something besides ramen. You were prepping when he called you back over to the laptop. “Hon—Y/N, look tell me you see what I see?” The image of the man before you was familiar, but without his signature trademark. Under the security guard’s employee archive, was the face of a brutish man, but he lacked the scars on his face. As you leaned in forward your hand almost slipped and missed the table, “isn’t that the police chief? Police chief Archer...Robert Archer?”

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darkmindsthinktwistedthoughts · 6 years

Text

Conversations with a FireBird

Another short based on Limbo by the always amazing @naiyabladesinger. My darling Savrog. no warnings just a bit of general reflection from the royal birdie. Masterlist

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Sadie couldn’t sleep. It wasn’t the first time but tonight hot milk wasn’t helping so she picked up one of the many books she had in her room and glanced over the index. Something popped out at her and grabbed her attention. ‘Phoenix - Firebird’. She smiled as she thought of her adopted Sister and her Soul bird. Turning the tomb to the page in question it was a very beautiful illustration of a Phoenix.

A Phoenix is a elemental creature from the planes of fire. They were once abundant but became a rare sight in recent times. They read, write and speak in Ignan but while that is their mother tongue they are also said to able to understand and speak other languages. They have been around for a long time after all.

The documented fate of the species cuts out at a set point in time and was not well documented to begin with. What is certain is that a Phoenix is a righteous bird. It literally burns away the cruelty and corruption around it with its light and fire. Rebirth is triggered during death when it is reborn from the ashes. There are times rebirth will not be possible and at that point death is all that awaits.

Other references referring to Phoenix include twin flames, striking an accord with fire creatures and how to keep your Phoenix happy. See other books by same author or seek a local creature expert.

“Well i don’t know about creature experts but i know where i can find the right bird to find out more.” Sadie put the book to one side and powered by her own curiosity went in search of their usually friendly resident firebird. “I may just take him some Marshmallows just in case.”

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He was sitting on a gargoyle on one of the castle ramparts in the east wing. If it wasn’t for his burning light he might even have managed to pass as one of the statues. He heard Sadie approach and turned to her. He was polite enough not to ignore a visitor even if they weren’t invited.

“Hello Princess.” The Firebirds voice was quiet but held heat to it. It was like conversing with a campfire.

“Hello Savrog. When will you stop calling me that?” Sadie smiled despite feeling slightly awkward. Precious few people close to her called her by her title using it as a title.

“It is your title i would not wish to call you less than you are and cause offence.” Savrog gave a little inclination of his head, his beak dropping a little in her direction. He looked regal in his relaxed state it reminded her of how Nobunaga reclined in his seat at council meetings.

“It doesn’t cause me offence to be referred to as Sadie. The formality of titles and everything makes me feel ticklish so if you can would you call me Sadie?” She implored him as nicely as she could. It wouldn’t do to annoy him without Aerion around to calm him he could set light to the entire East wing.

“I will consider it.” Savrog climbed down with a light plop to stand next to her and Sadie smiled. He was warm. It was little wonder that Mitsuhide had taken to asking if he would spend time in his office with him when he was working particularly hard. It was one of the few rooms in the castle where there was no risk of fire damage. Mitsuhide often incinerated anything of importance anyway so his room was already Phoenix proofed.

“So what brings you to the roof?” He was curious.

“I couldn’t sleep and i found a old tomb that spoke of your ancestry.” Sadie spoke honestly there was no need to lie.

“It couldn’t have been a very large book. My kind didn’t document things well. Something about stacks of parchment and birds made of fire… hazardous.” The way Savrog spoke reminded her of a late night intro to a twilight zone episode it made her giggle.

“Well it was more a few paragraphs IN a book. But it sparked my interest and i thought the best creature to answer that was you. If you would be so kind as to tell me of course.” Sadie gave a little shrug.

“I have no plans for the evening save contemplating memories of the past. I should be happy to allay your curiosity.” Savrog settled into a comfortable position next to her tucking his wings in and giving himself a light preen as he arranged some feathers.

“Thank you. I did bring you a gift.” Sadie conjured up a seat next to him and offered him the plate of marshmallows she had taken from the kitchen on the way there.

“You intended to bribe me to get information if i was unwilling to talk?” If it was possible to wrinkle a beak in an expression of mild disdain she was sure that Savrog would have managed it. He was a straight forward just like Aerion both prefered honesty anything that felt like a dirty trick ruffled their feathers.

“No i would have given them to you freely whether you chose to talk to me or not. I only hoped you would be willing to have a conversation.” Sadie kept eye contact with him while he seemed to be rolling through his own list of checks in his head as to if he should trust her or not.

“Then i thank you for you kindness. Now sit and tell me what you wish to know.” Savrog plucked up on square lump from the plate a twinkle in his eyes as he pinched it in his talons watching its plyable sugary form before popping it in his beak. A small content ‘mmm’ rumbling from his mouth as he enjoyed the treat.

Sadie smiled and had to suppress a loud laugh as Savrog’s feathers bristled in happiness making it look like he had puffed up, before they settled once more into a smooth sleek appearance. It was nice to see him like this normally you wouldn’t see him so relaxed except with Aerion.

"Well all the texts i can find on your species say you are born again from ashes and restart life all over.”

"Rebirth, that is correct. We also retain memories of our past. It is both a blessing and a curse." Savrog had a nostalgic look in his eye as he answered.

"So can you explain a bit more about your kind? The texts said that you became a rare sight so there must have been a time when that wasn’t the case."

"I am the first and possibly the last of my kind. I was not joking and i did not use any falsehood when i said that i am a god of flame. That was my kinds title for the prime recarnates.There was a time when phoenix could be found all over the eternal fire plane we were a common and majestic sight.” Savrog pulled himself up and puffed out his chest proudly.

“Prime recarnates?”

“I suppose the closest translation would be royal family. The first of our kind in creation.” Slumping back into a relaxed pose Savrog popped another marshmallow into his beak.

“So you are what something like a Prince?” Sadie leaned forward like a child being read a fascinating story.

“Something like that. Anyway to answer your question as to what happened to our numbers over the centuries. It started a long time ago, we were hunted. It is the sad fate of a lot of living creatures. people believed we could regenerate the dead and thought we were the key for immortality. it was a stupid idea but once a idea reaches a large number of minds collectively it becomes more than just a stupid idea. it becomes a death sentence, at least for us." his face pulled in a wince as he recalled the past.

"But rebirth, you can regenerate yourselves from ashes. I am a little confused as to how you can be part of Aerion. I mean you didn’t come from ashes you came from her."

"Again correct. You are familiar with the need to adapt in order to survive Princess? That is what happened. A twin flame, it was a gift of salvation granted to us. Only a small number of us were given it.”

“Where did the twin flame come from? You talked about it at the awakening but I’m afraid i still don’t understand.”

“Don’t worry you are young. I would be concerned if you prefer to remain in ignorance rather than seek knowledge. The mark of a true and competent leader is to seek truth and apply it to their current situations. The gift of twin flame was granted to us after we approached one of the 12 in search of aid to save ourselves. We were told that our salvation depended on the ability to find our match.”

“Well that is nice and vague. I suppose they have always been cryptic in their descriptions.” Sadie frowned.

“Exactly and their prophecies are as just as difficult to read and understand.”

“There’s a couple of visiting Arch angels that would agree with you completely on that one.” The both chuckled at that

“Anyway the twin flame was a stage that was similar to standard rebirth. When we die and turn to ash we can be reborn from that ash when we die and twin flame is activated we are placed into a new form.”

“New form?” “A new vassel. I think it is easier to grasp if you think of pouring one bowl into another.”

“So when you die you have to find a new bowl to pour yourself into? Like a possession.”

“I wouldn’t call it possession but you aren’t entirely wrong. You are smart Princess. The select few Phoenix gifted with the twin flame were both blessed and cursed. The salvation of our kind was put in the hands of fate that day. In order to continue to survive we had to find a matching soul in another being. It isn’t the same as possession or as others have once said being a parasite. It is deeper and stronger it is a bond in the fabric of two beings woven together. Our souls were split and scattered among the sands of time, set to be bestowed on the new creations of life at some point in the future. Most of the select few could not find the other half of themselves and without being able to connect to it they eventually dwindled and faded away. The failed hosts were destroyed in the fire as the flames died.”

"So the “ashes” are the ones that failed before."

"Yes the ashes are the past failures."

"What happens now if something happens to Aerion?"

"Good question. It has never happened before to me so i can only speculate but. I am currently whole. My other half has been found and we are connected. While she lives so do i i might even be able to do a successful rebirth.”

“And if she is dead?”

“Then with my match already having been found, both she and I would cease to exist.”

It was a solemn declaration and Sadie did not miss the look of remorse on Savrog’s face as he bent his head and a small puff of steam appeared near his eye. Was he crying? Sadie stood and moved to the birds side and gave him a hug. He stiffened at first before raising one front foot and returning the sentiment. There was no judgement there just basic understanding.

He loved Aerion she was both part of him and herself all in one. She was happy with Uriel and content. Savrog wanted her happiness and her joy was also his. It was a strange love triangle but this sometimes jealous, hotheaded, sarcastic firebird was as hot as blazing sun but also as soft and sweet as his favorite treat.

It made Sadie smile as she thought of all the things he had said and done. She had been right, he was a good bird. Not that anything that was part of Aerion could have been anything different. Their combined light and power was blinding and a bond like that was special in its own right. Pulling away from the Phoenix when she felt him relax a bit more and stop trembling she felt very tired all of a sudden. It was a lot of information to digest and anything else she wished to ask could wait for another night.

“I had better return to my chambers before Hideyoshi starts panicking.” Sadie bowed to Savrog lightly as she bid him good night. “Good night Savrog. Thank you for the company and conversation.” she turned to walk away and as she reached the door for the spiral staircase she heard him speak.

“Sweet dreams … Sadie.”

She smiled as she descended from the roof quietly thinking of a way to possibly build something on the roof by way of a shelter for him. He should have his own room.

---

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thecloserkin · 6 years

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fic rec (2/2): I Don’t Hear the Church Bells Chime Anymore Part by Noccalula (Part 1 is here)

They present themselves at the Hydra compound to volunteer as human guinea pigs. This is their last, best shot at taking down Tony Stark and his “imperialist death machine.”

Both of them were iron deficient, running light fevers, and dehydrated to the point that they were immediately given IV fluids. The first few weeks were nothing but antibiotics and lightning rounds of samples and examinations as the medical team worked to ensure that the twins were at least coming to a safe point to begin working on gaining weight and exercising; Pietro could not aptly put into words what it did for his heart to watch the sallowness in Wanda’s skin disappear, her eyes brighten again

almost makes you think their freedom a small price to pay for being restored to to peak health doesn’t it

but that autonomy had been the first thing they were informed that they would be signing over. Wanda had reached down to lay her hand across her brother’s, which lay across her thigh, and gave it a soft squeeze before she put pen to paper and quite literally signed her life away before handing him the instruments to do the same.

have any of you guys ever signed a cell phone carrier contract? or bought anything online from any merchant at all? or opened any kind of bank or credit card account? nobody actually reads the fine print — maybe you’ve seen the video of the voice actor who was hired to read Amazon Kindle’s TOS front to back and it took him 8 hours — but how much of that autonomy that Pietro and Wanda value so much was illusory? Even if they’ve never had a cell phone? …. Sure, we’re free to sign these one-sided impenetrable legalese contracts or walk away, but how do you function as a person in the modern world without signing them? You don’t have to worry about affording a lawyer to decipher them for you, since most of them include mandatory arbitration clauses to prevent you getting your day in court, or god forbid bringing a class action suit against the corporation. There’s no overt coercion going on but it’s not much of a negotiation when one party is holding all the cards. In the previous chapter Pietro and Wanda observed that they didn’t have a choice, really, and here the “choice” to sign their rights away is a farce of freedom. Capitalism is fucking depressing let’s move on to a lighter subject aka sexytimes:

So many of the things that Pietro was dying to do were still logistically tricky but it didn’t stop him from whispering them to her in the dead of night, his lips against her ear or the back of her neck just like old times as she heaved soft sighs, her back pressed against his chest. If they were covert enough, sex could pass for spooning or cuddling when the nurses passed by, shining muted lights into the room to ensure no one had gone awol. Somehow, the thrill of possibly being caught and the shame of just how forbidden the act was became part of the appeal for Wanda.

This is my jam: Sex that passes for spooning? Yesssss. The thrill of being caught? Hell yes. The taboo heightening the hotness? Sign me the fuck up. Can you imagine how wet she got when he whispered all the things he wanted to do to her? And the herculean struggle to stay quiet, to not tip off the nurses, damn I need a shower.

So Wanda gets her period after five years of being too undernourished to get it and the way it happens is the two of them wake up in a pool of blood which ofc freaks them the fuck out THEN when Pietro starts lifting weights without a shirt on there are all these scratches on his back from Wanda’s nails and the doctor who is no one’s fool decides Wanda needs to go on birth control asap. THEN the experimentation begins in earnest and the they insist on separating the twins afterward — these are Herr Strucker’s instructions. Nobody, no other subjects so far, has survived the second round of treatments.

”Now, most of Mengele’s experiments on twins were utterly worthless,” Von Strucker continued … “Because he was not interested in science - he was interested in torture … But we, doctors, are not interested in torture, no. And we noticed very quickly that there was one thing that Mengele missed, His research suggested that twins were more likely to survive lethal experimentations for longer if they were reunited after a separation.”

This is sO cReEpy — no we are doctors we are not torturers we are doing this for SCIENCE ok. It’s little wonder Strucker didn’t miss a beat when the true nature of the twins’ intimacy came to light: he saw it as something he could use. Their soul-deep bond would give him the leverage to fashion them into the perfect weapons. And spoiler alert, they survive! Pietro zips around super fast! Wanda can read minds now!

Though Pietro posed the more immediate physical threat, everyone was markedly more afraid of Wanda. This was something Pietro was almost visibly proud of.

There is a very specific kind of competency porn where one member of your OTP is just bursting with pride at the other member of your OTP doing something superbly well and this is a prime example of that, this is Pietro Maximoff telling these bitches to fuck off because look at my sister she is a telepathic reality-warping witch. (I just rewatched Firefly and the scene in “Ariel” where Simon breaks character in the middle of a hospital heist to save a random patient’s life and River just looks at him is also a prime example of this trope.)

“Superheroes.” The word felt disgustingly capitalist on Wanda’s tongue.

I am crying haha because this is so true. Isn’t the superhero story par excellence about a human with extra-special abilities accomplishing extraordinary things rather than, say, a bunch of regular schmucks building collective power through solidarity? One of the things I love about this fic is the fact that the people who work for Hydra, from Strucker down to Doctor Bellato and Istvan, are none of them evil people. They commit evil deeds, to be sure, but they are working within a system which greatly constrains their array of choices.

They could run forever – he could run forever, with Wanda in his arms. But he knew there was still a growling, raging thing in the pit of his heart that lived in Wanda’s as well, and that thing would not know satisfaction until it knew justice.

This is a very good, succinct account of what drives the twins. Justice is what propels them forward day by day but it is also, I think, what drives them to be together in the romantic sense, because I am not sure if, in a universe where Sokovia remained at peace, the Maximoffs would turn to each other. I think the shared trauma was a necessary precondition to the incest. Fight me but that’s my reading of their characterization in this particular fic, not applicable generally, and god knows I haven’t read any of the comics.

Wanda and Pietro had carried nothing from the old life but one another and fistfuls of nightmares, scars that would never fade and wounds that would never heal save but for through one another.

There is a whole chapter that is like, just the two of them holing up in a hotel and screwing each other’s brains out. A well-deserved interlude, kids. (Well-deserved for me the reader as well, I hasten to add I thought it was a real treat.) There’s a mural erected by some of their erstwhile comrades from the anarchist commune, titled “Long Live the Maximoffs” because they are now apparently the face of the (failed? stalled?) revolution. You know, every time I read the twins’ internal monologue repeating that old “we came into this world together and we’ll leave it together” aphorism it’s like twisting a knife in my heart. Of course it never occurs to them only one of them will die, and the other will have to learn to live without him.

The ultimate betrayal of Wanda’s heart was that the damned thing continued to beat without him.

And there it is. Not to take anything away from Vision but Pietro was the love of her life, thanks for coming to my ted talk. Thanks for joining me in combing through one of my favorite fics of all time and enumerating all the 987654321 reasons I loved it, and thanks to @noccalula-writes for the gift of this brilliant story.

#maxicest #pietro x wanda #fic rec

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paladin-andric · 6 years

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Character Bio: Razorwing, Wandering Hero

A light breeze graced the land as Razorwing held steady. The Koutu stood motionless, bow drawn, arrow primed and ready to fire.

This was always the most thrilling part of shooting. The tense, silent moments right before the arrow was sent flying.

A crowd of other birdmen stood around him, watching intently. Among them was a single human. The group was standing far enough away as to not crowd the archer and ruin his shot.

Everyone had been speaking of this event for quite some time, and everyone had come out to see the archer live up to his reputation. His wings were still, feathers swaying in the breeze as his talons gripped the bow and drawstring tightly.

Suddenly, it came.

A glowing blue orb launched into the sky, soaring high up above the archer and flying away rapidly, getting smaller and smaller at it hurried towards the horizon.

The strange orb was actually a magical spell, fired by the human. Supposedly, it was some kind of energy ball. Originally made as a weak spell to be taught to magicians learning the ropes, the man said it would make a perfect target, splitting apart when hit.

Razorwing took careful aim, mind racing as the rest of the world faded from his vision. Only the orb mattered.

He let go of the drawstring. The arrow launched into the sky after the orb, sailing in a gracious arc, going up above the orb.

The Koutu gritted his teeth, tense as the drawstring on his bow as he watched the arrow slowly start to come back down.

The arrow collided with the orb, the magic ball bursting like a bubble as the arrow came back down to earth.

Screams and cheering erupted around Razorwing as the crowd went wild. The birdman could only feel ecstatic as joy and relief flooded over him.

“Razorwing! Razorwing! Razorwing!“

The Koutu waved his wings in a flourish, grinning at the crowd. “Thank you, thank you! You are too kind!”

The celebration went on for a while longer before Razorwing retired, taking a break by the stream. He enjoyed being the center of attention, but he was still getting used to it. Only a short time ago, he was little more than a worm...

The human sat down beside Razorwing, gazing at the bubbly stream.

“Quite a shot.” The man offered. Razorwing grinned.

“Couldn’t have done it without you!” The birdman’s smile faltered. “Couldn’t have done a lot without you...”

The human smiled. “Hey, come on. You’re your own man now. You know everything you’ve done, you’ve done with your own hard work.”

Razorwing nodded. “Yes, that is true...but still...I never would have gotten started with all of this if you hadn’t...”

An uncomfortable pause made the man shift. “Look...”

“No, no,” Razorwing continued, “I know. I really do. I guess I just...wanted to thank you again.”

“Oh, you know we’re square,” the man replied, “After all, I owe you for turning you down, eh?”

The Koutu laughed, a strange combination of a bellowing guffaw and a bird’s cawing.

“Yes, yes you do!”

Razorwing suddenly frowned. “Yes, only...sometimes...I just can’t help but think of what could have been, you know?”

The man placed a hand on the birdman’s shoulder. “Don’t fret! You’re a famous hero now! A lot of people would kill to court you! I’m sure you’ll find the one.”

Razorwing’s beak curled into a smile, eyes softening. “...thank you. I know we can’t be...like that, but...thanks for sticking around. As a friend.”

The man nodded. “Of course. I hope you understand I care very much for you. Just...you know.”

“Yes!” Razorwing replied, “If it weren’t for you...well, you know I understand plenty. Like you said, I’ll find the one!”

“Good man.” The human patted the Koutu on the back. “I’ll be there every step of the way.”

The two turned their gaze to the stream, watching the water flow by as the cool winds brought comfort to the two friends.

Life was good.

Growing up an orphan in the town of Bethar, Razorwing, real name Domnall, constantly looked to others for guidance, having never had a mother or father figure.

The course of his life took a turn when he met an adventurer staying in town for a few days. The man boasted of his adventure thus far, the monsters he’d slain, and daring battles against great beasts. The man was an archer, and Razorwing looked up to him as an idol, something to aspire to.

When he reached adulthood, Razorwing quickly got a bow and quiver, and was ready to become a hero like the one he had met.

The only problem being that he had never used a bow before.

Razorwing looked through town desperately for someone that could help, and that certain someone happened to be Eaghan.

Eaghan offered to teach the young man archery, which Razorwing desperately accepted. Some time into their training, Razorwing realized something was off. There was tension, nervousness, fumbling, and handshakes and pats that went on longer then they should have.

It was clear he had feelings for the teacher, and he suspected that the other man felt the same.

He confessed his feelings, and Eaghan agreed that he felt the same way. The two entered a relationship, a turning point in Razorwing’s life.

At first all appeared well, but slowly, surely, the longer their relationship went on, the more problems arose. At first Eaghan simply became cranky and irritable, which Razorwing took in stride, rushing to please the man in any way he could.

Then he became short tempered. He would snap at Razorwing for every little thing, from not doing enough around the house, to demeaning and insulting him when he made mistakes during archery practice. The aspiring hero was now quite worried, thinking he perhaps had mistook the man for something he wasn’t.

Things quickly took a sharp turn downwards. Eaghan stopped teaching Razorwing, citing that he was a worthless archer and would never accomplish anything with a bow. This confused Razorwing, as he had become a phenomenal shot under the man’s tutelage.

This was the least of Razorwing’s problems, however. Eaghan became domineering and obsessive, forbidding Razorwing from leaving his house or speaking to anyone else. He screamed at and insulted the young man on an hourly basis, even striking him from time to time.

Razorwing didn’t understand what has happening. His love had become a completely different person! What in the world was happening?

The young man didn’t know what to do, so he simply let things go on. The abusive relationship continued, battering his resolve until he started believing Eaghan’s words. He grew to accept that he was pathetic and worthless, simply happy the older man was kind enough to deem him worthy of being his.

This ended when the stranger came. A human wayfarer came to town one day while Razorwing was out doing chores. Having broken the young man’s self confidence, he decided it was safe to send him out to do chores, since he would no longer attempt to reach out to someone else for help.

The human recognized Razorwing’s strange and timid mannerisms...he had seen his sister fall prey to an abusive man once before, and could tell what was happening.

He pressed Razorwing relentlessly, until the birdman finally broke down and told him everything. The human comforted him, speaking with him for hours as he explained how he had been manipulated, and how everything was going to be okay now that he realized this was wrong.

The human challenged Eaghan to a duel, which the Koutu accepted, as his pride was on the line.

Crossing swords, the two battled it out in the fields outside town. Many citizens came to watch, Razorwing being one of them.

The battle ended decisively when the human landed a deep slash on Eaghan’s torso, sending the birdman to the ground in pain. Thinking back to everything the man had put him through, Razorwing ran up and kicked Eaghan as hard as he could, screaming at him, yelling all the things he wished he would have said a year ago.

When the human left town to continue his travels, Razorwing followed him. He saw the man as his savior, eager to find guidance from him.

Seeing this, the human instead encouraged him to be independent, trying to set up the birdman to become self-assured and confident so that he would not fall into the same trap again.

Razorwing continued adventuring with the human, the two becoming fast friends. The human taught Razorwing about magic and swordplay, while Razorwing tutored him on archery.

The time came where Razorwing felt a familiar tension when around the man...

It appeared he was smitten again.

Asking the human for his hand, the man politely refused, saying he was already spoken for. This hurt Razorwing, though the man’s kindness helped ease the heartache.

Eventually, Razorwing became an expert adventurer, taking bounties and missions of all kinds. He slew monsters and beasts aplenty, and was considered one of the greatest bowmen in all of Deaco. He had even taken down a few dragons with his trusty longbow. He took the name “Razorwing”, hoping it would be fittingly heroic and intriguing for a wandering hero. A name people would speak of all around the land.

News soon came of the Exile. Geralthin had banned all non-humans from living in its borders, aside from the city of Palethorn. It was quite a shame, really. Razorwing really did love Geralthin, and humans in general...

Some time after that, the story of Palethorn spread from ear to ear. A sinister fog had wrapped itself around the city of Palethorn, the work of demons! Rumor had it that the fog was spreading...

Bow in hand, Razorwing took to the skies, flying over the land of Geralthin despite the ban. There were a few close calls with archers and ballistas, but Razorwing made it to Palethorn in one piece.

A shining example of stalwart fortitude, the heroic Razorwing has made it all the way to the doomed city of Palethorn, from halfway across the continent, and across miles of hostile territory. From humble beginnings, through struggles and hardship, the heroic bowman stalks the city of Palethorn in an effort to save the day as he has many times before.

Who knows, maybe he’ll even find romance along the way.

Hope you enjoyed learning about one of the more “out there” heroes! This is going to be the last character bio I make for a while. There are some minor characters I haven’t mentioned, though I’m not sure I’ll make bios for them. Maybe bite-sized ones?

Tag list: @thereisnothingwrongwithbeingmad, @candy-m-s, @lady-redshield-writes, @paper-shield-and-wooden-sword, @sheralynnramsey, @the-true-shadowmaster, @tawnywrites, @writer-on-time, @oceanwriter, @zwergis-spilledink

Want to be tagged whenever I post about Blackheart? Just ask and I’ll add you to the list!

#blackheart #razorwing #character bio

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tywriteskpop · 6 years

Text

Awakening (SB Sequel Mark Tuan)-Chapter 4

Genre: Fluff, Angst Warnings: Some language and violence

“What gave it away?” Park asked smugly. He circled around Mark, not sparing so much as a glance towards the young prince.

Mark felt a bead of sweat slide down the side of his face. It was cold, the torches doing nothing to warm his frigid body. But his anxiety gave way to fear as he panted softly, trying to hide his true feelings from the enemy before him.

“Asking about a one-time customer?” Mark scoffed. “A year after they were there? You couldn’t have been more obvious.”

Park chuckled as he came back into Mark’s line of sight. “I suppose that was rather obvious. But hey, you figured it out.”

Mark shifted, the chains restraining him rattling above his head from the slight movement. He winced from the ache in his arms but kept a defiant face as he glowered at Park. “This is the part where you tell me what started your evil plot. You know, like all the good villains do before the heroes shut them down.”

“I’d watch your tone if I were you, Your Highness. You’re not exactly in any position to be smart with me.” As if to prove his point, the man placed a hand on Jackson’s shoulder. “I believe I have the upper hand.”

Mark became frustrated, wracking his brain to think of any idea to free his best friend. But his irritation grew as he searched Jackson’s emotionless eyes for a sign of recognition. It was useless, he quickly realized, for all he saw was the pitch blackness in his friend’s blank stare.

“I have to say, Jackson made it quite easy for me to get my hands on him,” Park continued. “He practically delivered himself to me. He came here looking for Jinyoung, and instead found me. Now he’s my puppet, helpless to fight against me, vulnerable from fighting the shadows for so long.”

“Here?” Mark repeated softly. Where was here?

“You haven’t figured that out yet?” Park chuckled.

Mark huffed. “So that’s it? Jackson’s your plan?”

“Not quite.”

A rush of wind caught Mark off guard as a swarm of shadows whirled around him. He instinctively closed his eyes, feeling his hair whip against his forehead. The shrill sound of wind and white noise filled the prince’s ears. In his vulnerable state, he felt his fear grow. He was afraid to open his eyes even after the gust died down, leaving the room in complete silence. After taking in a deep breath, Mark hesitantly opened his eyes.

The sight before him made his heart further drop into his stomach. His eyes moved between the two newcomers, a sense of dread filling him as he realized their eyes were the same as Jackson’s. Emotionless, blank, pitch black voids of nothing.

“Your friends tried so hard to save them,” Park said. He circled around the ravens, a gleam of victory shining in his eyes. “My collection is almost complete.”

Mark didn’t have a good feeling from the way Park spoke. He could no longer mask the fear he was feeling. His stomach was rolling over itself, and he felt like he was going to be sick.

Park smirked, satisfied at finally witnessing the prince’s vulnerability. “Yes, my collection is not quite complete yet. You see, now that you purified your nuisance of a brother, I can no longer collect him as my vessel. He can’t be corrupted like before. Quite unfortunate that my puppet was taken away from me.” He short another sly grin towards Mark. “But there are other pure magic users.”

“Don’t you dare touch her,” Mark growled. He breathed heavily through his nose as his anxiety grew.

“Or what, Your Highness?” Park chuckled, shaking his head. “No, I’m not after your pathetic princess. She holds great power, yes, but she is useless. Her magic is not yet primed at its full potential. I made that mistake with Jinyoung. The princess is nothing more than trash for me to walk on.” Park walked around the ravens to settle in front of Mark, towering over the seething boy. “But you were blessed by a pure born, Your Highness.”

Mark stiffened and craned his neck back, looking up to see the malicious intent in the man’s eyes. The prince had never felt as small as he did in that moment.

After the loud clash behind the door faded, Mark stood in the silent hall motionlessly. He gasped and released the breath he was holding when he heard Jinyoung’s angry cry of anguish. Then he was left in a chilling silence, feeling his heart tearing apart with the guilt he felt at having to leave the only family he had left. He was leaving his brother to rule on his own while he himself travelled to another kingdom to marry a princess he didn’t know.

Mark told himself he had to leave. It’s what his mother wanted, for him to marry the princess. It’s what would keep Jinyoung safe. His eyes burned as he held back tears of frustration. He wanted so bad to tell his little brother the real reason why he was leaving sooner than expected, but he couldn’t. It would only put him in danger.

“It’s for the best, I assure you.”

Mark didn’t look up. He took a breath and closed his eyes in an attempt to calm himself down. “You’re sure this evil you speak of will follow me?” the prince asked. “Jinyoung will be safe here?”

The queen’s advisor nodded despite Mark not seeing him. “I swear on the queen’s legacy. Prince Jinyoung will be protected. I will watch over him myself in your absence.”

Mark nodded. “You are to send for me should anything happen. Do not hesitate. His safety comes above all else.” The prince walked away, putting up a façade of confidence in which he felt distraught.

He did not see the malicious grin spread across the advisor’s face. “Of course, Your Highness.”

You silently swept up the broken glass on the floor with mechanical movements. A light breeze passed through the broken window and brushed your hair to the side. You were so lost in your thoughts and worries that you barely felt it.

Your brothers were with Jinyoung in the kitchen, discussing a plan to save Mark and the others. You felt useless and opted out of the meeting. Even knowing of your immense power that you supposedly possessed, you could barely use it to its full potential. If you could just have a better understanding of your pure magic, maybe you could do something. Maybe you could save your beloved and your brother.

Your thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a loud clatter from the kitchen. The sound of something scraping against the floor was followed by the sound of struggling. You heard the youngest of your brothers shout, and that was enough for you to drop the broom and run towards the noise.

Upon entering the kitchen, you froze in the doorway, taking a moment to observe the commotion you walked in on. A dining chair had been knocked over, laying on its back, and the dining table in the corner of the room was pushed away from its normal placement, light skid marks staining the floor. BamBam had Jinyoung by the collar of his shirt, gripping tightly at the cloth between his fingers. Jinyoung grunted as your brother shoved him against the wall. BamBam’s eyes shone with pure rage, and Youngjae’s attempts to make him release Jinyoung proved to be useless.

“Say that again, you bastard,” BamBam growled.

“What is going on here?” you demanded.

Youngjae turned to find you walking toward them, your eyes wide and almost angry. He spared you a helpless look before trying to pry BamBam’s hands off Jinyoung once more.

“Our loved ones are in the hands of the enemy,” you reminded them. “And you sit here and fight amongst yourselves!”

“He said we should be ready to fight Jackson,” BamBam seethed. He didn’t take his furious gaze off your former enemy.

Jinyoung remained calm, albeit wincing slightly as your brother’s grip tightened. “You must be prepared should he have fallen under Park’s shadows,” he said. “I only meant for you to mentally brace yourself for the inevitable.”

BamBam slammed Jinyoung against the wall again. “You son of a-”

“BamBam, stop!” you shouted. Your brother paused before letting go of his captive and turning to you. He wasn’t used to you yelling at him like that. “Maybe he’s right,” you said, your voice trembling.

“Y/N, what the hell are you saying?” he asked, shocked at your pessimism. “Are you seriously agreeing to fight Jackson? Our brother?”

“Of course not!” you shot back. “But you cannot deny the possibility that Park has taken over his mind. Just look at what he’s done to Mark and Jinyoung.”

“She’s right,” Youngjae said. He clapped a hand onto BamBam’s shoulder and gripped it firmly, holding him in place to make sure the younger boy wouldn’t explode again. “All it took was for Jinyoung to show some kind of weakness, and Park took a hold of him for years. Jackson’s been fighting the shadows all this time. His mind isn’t as strong as it was before. He’s just as vulnerable to Park as the rest of us.”

Jinyoung brushed his shirt and rubbed his collar down. “Park takes pleasure in watching his pawns fight their loved ones. Because of him I killed my brother, more times than I’d like to remember. He won’t hesitate to use Jackson against the rest of you.”

BamBam closed his eyes and inhaled deeply through his nose before exhaling through his mouth in a loud sigh. He turned back to Jinyoung, looking much calmer than before. “I’d rather not burn my brother to a crisp. So how do we get him back to us?”

Jinyoung sent you a wary look before returning his attention to BamBam. “Pure magic.”

The rest of you were silent, taking in what he was implying.

“You mean…” You trailed off, unsure how to put your thoughts into words.

“No way,” BamBam said. “We are not sending Y/N out into a battle like that.”

You looked at him in surprise. “You’re not leaving me here to wonder if I’ll ever see any of you alive again. I’m going to fight with you.”

“Y/N, are you sure you can do this though?” Youngjae asked you carefully. “We’ve been fighting for years. We have experience and training with our magic. This could be more dangerous than you can handle.”

“To hell with it!” BamBam said. “Y/N, I can’t let you go out there.”

As he came to stand in front you, his eyes desperately pleading with you, you sighed. “BamBam, I have to do something. Don’t make me sit here waiting and feeling useless.”

You hoped BamBam would see it from your perspective, but you no longer had the words to convince him. He would have to trust you with what was said, or you would rebel against his desires regardless.

Jinyoung cleared his throat and stepped forward. “I can teach her,” he offered, grabbing the attention of the rest of you. “It won’t be enough time to teach her effectively. But I can at least show her how to use her magic and survive a battle.” He gave an awkward, wry smile. “Perhaps then you’ll have some peace of mind about her fighting the shadows.”

Youngjae patted BamBam’s shoulder in reassurance. “She’ll stay by one of us at all times. We’ll help protect each other. She can do this.”

BamBam ran a hand through his hair as his frazzled mind tried to make sense of the situation. He couldn’t deny that his sister was fierce, and he had no doubt you could hold your own on the battlefield. But he was afraid of losing you again, especially after losing his brother and friend already. He couldn’t bring himself to admit his fear, but he nodded his agreement to the plan after realizing there would be no stopping you. He would just have to keep a close eye on you.

“Fine,” he finally said, making you sigh with relief. “What do we do?”

“We need to figure out where Park is keeping them,” Jinyoung said. “If we bring the fight to him, it could catch him off guard.”

“Wouldn’t we just be rushing into his territory?” Youngjae countered. “Doesn’t really sound like a reassuring plan of victory.”

“Yes, but if we can-” Jinyoung suddenly gasped, a sharp pain rushing through his head. He reached out to grab onto something to catch his fall, but he collapsed to his knees, heaving as the pain in his skull became unbearable.

“What the hell?!” BamBam stepped back.

You dropped to your knees in front of the pained boy and held onto his shoulders, trying to give him some kind of comfort. “What’s wrong with him?” you asked hastily. Your gaze shot up to Youngjae. “Do something!”

Youngjae came back to his senses and hurried to kneel beside you. His hand glowed blue as he placed it over Jinyoung’s forehead. “He’s burning up,” your brother said, focusing on his magic’s healing properties.

Before any of you could get another word out, Jinyoung fell limp. You realized he was unconscious, his face contorted in pain. Sweat covered his forehead and the back of his neck. Whatever caused his sudden pain was no coincidence, you knew this.

Mark groaned as he took another punch to his stomach. He held onto the chains restraining him with an iron grip, trying to bear the pain the wracked his body. He lost track of how much time had passed since his torture began. It’s been hours, that he was sure of. He wondered how he had not lost consciousness yet as the ravens were commanded to beat him until he relented. The moment he gave up and showed his weakness, he knew Park would overpower him like he did Jinyoung.

“I’m impressed by your resolve, Your Highness,” Park mused. He leisurely paced around the small dungeon as the prince wretched out a string of coughs, small drops of blood splattering on the floor below him. “Your strength to defy me outmatches your insolent brother’s. I must applaud you.”

Panting heavily, Mark raised his head weakly to glare up at Park. “Well isn’t that a shame,” he choked out, his voice rough and scratchy from the several times he ended up dry heaving from each blow to his abdomen.

“Cocky, as always,” Park muttered. “You know, your father was a pain to deal with as well.”

Mark remained silent. He knew nothing about his father. Jinyoung never mentioned him, and he never saw his father in his dreams or memories.

Park smirked at the boy’s silence. “Ah, you must not remember him. I understand. His life ended when you were but a small child. Why, I believe Jinyoung was still in the womb when your pathetic father lost his life.”

Mark balled his fist around the chain holding him up, feeling his nails dig into the palm of his hand. He shut his eyes tightly and tried to drown out Park’s voice. He couldn’t believe anything Park said at this point. He didn’t want to believe.

The boy felt someone grab his hair by the roots and pull his head back, making him cry out at the pain. Gritting his teeth, he opened his eyes and saw Jaebum standing above him with an expressionless face. Jaebum forced Mark to look at Park.

��It’s story time, Your Highness,” Park said. “I suggest you pay attention. Anyway, as I was saying…Yes, your dear father King Philip. The whole kingdom wept at the news of his sudden passing. It was quite easy to lure him away from the castle. A false cry for help from a neighboring kingdom, and he jumped at the chance to aid. He wasn’t expecting a shadow person to pierce him through and destroy his convoy.”

Mark breathed heavily through his nose. “You killed him.”

“Of course I did,” Park gloated, holding his arms out proudly. “And the best part? His advisor had made the journey with him. It was simple! Take the identity of the advisor and return to the kingdom as the sole survivor. Deliver the news of the king’s death to the queen and be at her side as she rules. Over time, poor Queen Briar became ill.”

“You poisoned her,” Mark realized, trying to pull away from Jaebum. But the raven held on without moving a muscle. Mark wasn’t sure if Jaebum was just that strong, or if he was just that weak.

“Indeed I did,” Park said, nodding victoriously. “Your mother was a real thorn in my sister’s side. Several years before you were even conceived, my sister sought revenge on your ancestors and used your mother to accomplish it. Tell me, Prince Mark, have you ever heard the story of Sleeping Beauty?”

Mark furrowed his brows, confusion passing over him. “A fairy tale,” he said.

Park smirked. “All fairy tales come from somewhere, Your Highness.”

Jaebum let go of Mark and the prince fell forward, his arms straining over him as the chains caught him to stop his fall. As he grunted through the aches in his shoulders, he slowly began to comprehend what Park said. And as Park saw the realization cross over Mark’s face, he clapped slowly.

“Congratulations, Your Highness. You’ve figured it out! Your mother, Queen Briar Rose, the maiden who fell under the sleeping curse. Quite ironic, isn’t it? That your dear Princess Y/N shared the same fate. Only she slept for hundreds of years, trapped in a crystal.”

“My mother?” Mark repeated. “Then…Your sister-”

“My sister was a fool,” Park sneered. “She let her jealousy cloud her judgment and turned the kingdom against us. I was guilty by association, you see, and I despised her for being of my blood. But nonetheless, she was my kin, so the moment I discovered your blasphemous father killed her, I knew I had to take a page out of her book and take my revenge.

“I killed Philip, poisoned the queen until she took her final breath. All that was left were the children. You were useless to me, but your brother held a great power that I wanted for myself. I knew I had to separate you two to get my hands on him. So I played my role as the queen’s advisor and convinced you that your departure from the kingdom needed to happen quickly. All it took was threatening Jinyoung’s life.”

“You bastard,” Mark coughed out.

Park ignored Mark and continued. “It was a simple plan. Feed Jinyoung’s negativity with shadows until he fell under their influence. But I was a fool. I had not accounted for the possibility that his pure magic would lock itself away to defend against the shadows. And because he still possessed that pure magic within his body as a pure born, he did not fall completely under my control. My puppet had his own agenda, influenced by the dark power that the shadows gave him. So I set my sights on the princess. And well, you know how that turned out.”

Mark’s head drooped. He felt sick. He was tired. Learning of his parents’ past and their untimely deaths at the hands of a crazed man seeking revenge had drained any energy he had left. He wasn’t sure if he could hold out much longer.

“Well, Your Highness, while I enjoyed reliving all the good times with you, I must go to take care of a few things.” Park waved his hand and the ravens closed in around Mark. “Try not to hold out much longer. We need you to lead the army.”

As Park left the room, the boy lurched forward after Yugyeom kicked his back. The ravens continued with their torture, heeding to Park’s commands. Mark knew he wouldn’t last. He had to get a message to Jinyoung. He had to warn them.

He closed his eyes and concentrated on his brother. He would send him the warning the same way Jinyoung did. And as he took blow after blow, his frail body bruised and beaten, he released a choked sob.

“I’m sorry, Y/N.”

Jinyoung stood alone, turning in every direction to observe the wasteland around him. He faintly recognized this place, his former home. The castle in the distance was the place he lived in, where he grew up with his brother and mother. It was crumbling in the same fashion as Y/N’s, except its walls still stood strong. The torchlight in the windows indicated someone still resided here.

The doors to the castle creaked open, years of rust making them open slowly. As they opened wide and halted, Jinyoung was met with silence. The boy swallowed thickly as his nervousness grew. He didn’t know what would emerge from behind the doors, but he knew it would not be pleasant.

He suddenly heard a soft whistling, mixed with white noise and faint shrieks of wind. It got louder as the seconds ticked by, and the boy braced himself. And when the source of the shrill sounds finally emerged from within the castle, Jinyoung realized that he was witnessing what could only be described as a nightmare.

Hundreds of shadows fell out of the castle doorway, circling around him and rolling over each other. The sheer amount of them filled the empty land around him. It was an army, and Jinyoung felt pure fear run through his veins. He looked up and saw the outline of a city. The massive army of shadows was congregating in the direction of the tall buildings and busy streets.

Jinyoung suddenly knew he was dreaming. This was a warning.

Jinyoung gasped as he awoke with a start. His eyes shot open as he panted, and he realized he was still inside Mark’s shared apartment. The boy gulped and closed his eyes again, trying to calm himself down after what he had seen.

“Are you alright?”

He opened his eyes again and saw you sitting on a chair next to the couch he laid on. He nodded shortly and rubbed his face.

“What the hell happened, man?” BamBam asked. He stood nearby with Youngjae.

“You’ve been out cold since last night,” Youngjae added.

Jinyoung sat up and looked at the clock, realizing several hours had passed. “I was forced unconscious,” he said.

“By who?” you asked. “How is that possible?”

“Mark,” Jinyoung answered. “He manipulated my dream the same way I did you. It was a warning.”

Youngjae leaned forward. “A warning of what? Is he okay?”

Jinyoung shook his head. “Our time is shorter than we expected. Park is creating an army of shadows. He’ll send them here, to the city.”

“That son of a bitch is crazy enough to attack innocent humans?” BamBam asked. “They’re no threat to him!”

“Park only wants power,” Jinyoung told him. “By attacking those people he thinks we’ll give up. He’ll have power over all of us once that happens.”

“We can’t let him do this,” you said. “Those people have no magic. They’re defenseless!”

“We’ll have to rely on our instincts,” Youngjae said. “Y/N, you especially. We don’t have time for Jinyoung to teach you like we wanted. If Mark sent that warning, that means it’s happening soon.”

“And we still have no idea if they’re okay,” BamBam said. He groaned in frustration. “Did he at least tell you where they are?”

“The castle Mark and I grew up in.” Jinyoung stood up and wiped the sweat from the back of his neck. “But Y/N and I are the only ones who stand a chance against these things.”

“He’s right. The shadows don’t fall to normal magic users like us,” Youngjae said.

“No, but we can at least hold them off from civilization,” BamBam countered. “We can dance around with the shadows while you find Park and use that pretty little knife you got. It’s the only way to kill him, right?”

You nodded. “If we defeat him, the army will vanish.”

“And then we’ll have a chance to save our friends,” BamBam concluded.

Jinyoung shared a look with Youngjae and nodded. “We’re too short on time to try to think of anything else. We have our plan.”

You took a breath and mentally prepared yourself. “Then let us go to war.”

#got7 #got7 scenarios #mark tuan #got7 mark #got7 fluff #park jinyoung #got7 jinyoung #kpop #kpop fanfiction #kpop fluff #kpop angst #fanfic #got7 fanfic #mark tuan scenarios #awakening

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beefcakequnari · 7 years

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Does Bull have any recurring dreams or nightmares?

[WELCOME TO ONE OF MY FAVORITE QUESTIONS! This is going to get a little lengthy. First off, I’m tagging @foppishdandy in this, because a lot of the realizations through this were because of extensive talks and their own knowledge.

First off, Bull will adamantly tell you that Qunari don’t dream, such as humans or elves do. It’s one of those things that’s rather hard to dispute when you also look at the lack of Qunari in the fade. Now, my personal idea is that because they’re taught from such a young age that dreaming isn’t something acceptable, it goes against the Qun they repress their dreams. Whether they learn this technique of repression, or they lose the ability to dream solely from it being ingrained in them that they simply can’t, we don’t know.

The Tamassran’s choose who will breed with who to weed out undesireable traits and refine the traits they would rather have. [Not unlike the Altus’ of Tevinter in a sense] So it’s entirely possible that they’ve weeded out most magical lines. It’s even stated that because Saarebas are lacking any proper training they’re weaker than most circle mages. While there are cases of magic popping up in lines that are not magical, it’s much less common. (Using Tevinter as the prime example again)

Now along with the idea of repression, there’s a codex in Tresspasser from Saarath, once an Ashkaari turned saarebas when their magic appeared.Here’s part of the codex “Once I was an ashkaari, and I spent my days examining the philosophy of the Qun and trying to seek the enlightenment that Koslun found. But my dreams of demons took me down a new path.”in this passage they’re directly blaming their dreaming for turning them into a Saarebas. Now Bull’s first banter with Cole makes more sense if you put it in this context.

The important part of the conversation.

Cole: Yes. And you’re The Iron Bull, afraid of demons.

Iron Bull: Not fond of ‘em, no. But you and I are fine as long as you don’t do any weird crap.

Cole: Lying awake, sheets soaked in sweat, afraid to call the Tamassrans. Shadows make shapes in the dark.

Cole: If it gets in my head, how do I cut it out? Itching, shaking, tears slide cold down my cheeks. “Tama, I’m scared.”

Now why would Ashkaari(bull) at this point be afraid to call the Tamassrans? It sounds like he did tell his Tama, but no one else. If becoming a saarebas is as linked to dreaming for the Qunari as it’s heavily implied by Saarath, there is a chance that through sheer will suppressed his natural magical talent.

This section also shows that Bull has been dreaming of demons since he was Ashkaari.

Iron Bull: Can you? Because it was more demons than I can imagine. And I’m quite good at imagining demons.

(discussion with Vivienne in party after they traverse the fade)

I believe that Bull still does have some of the magical ability inclinations, even if they were repressed heavily to the point that he’d never openly or willingly accept them. The reaver specialization alone (looking at you ring of pain) is essentially blood magic. The whole discussion if you have a Reaver specialization (though Bull says he’s not a true reaver) and instead states that he stumbled upon a similar style. He stumbled on a similar style and more or less is self taught in the Reaver specialization.

Now we see Bull at two different points in game asleep, mumbling in his sleep. Once when you play wicked grace, the other time is during the Tresspasser DLC. Bull and his snorty piggy noises

Now as far reoccurring dreams and nightmares, that’s another thing entirely. Nightmares are more likely what Bull experiences on the regular.Hissrad left hundreds of bodies on Seheron. Hissrad also made some questionable choices, some that bother Bull because one of the reasons he was successful on Seheron for so long but the ultimate reason he broke was his mind was too sharp. He goes over things in his head, if it’s the right choice or the wrong choice; he laments this in discussions with Solas and Sera in particular.

Also going along with the Reaver idea; If you become a Reaver, Cassandra states that everyone who became a reaver went mad in the end.

Bull would be most susceptible to a fear demon definitely, especially as we see in the fade, his fear of madness.

With dreams, they’re probably sexual (looking at his comment to Solas about banging hot fade ladies); or even some are from his past but happier, in the way of him muttering about his Tama. Probably fonder childhood memories. ]

#valorcorrupt #answered correspondence #Headcanon*#Long Post #I love this question almost as much as I love bull's sleeping noises #Baqoun Adaar

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kingsofchaos · 7 years

Text

When they've got him in the interrogation room every officer seems to have the same question; was it worth it? With all that happened, with how it turned out, the years of drunken revelry, the constant media attention, the heists, the hubris, the way it ended in a bloodbath the likes of which Los Santos has never seen. This is your legacy Ramsey, was it worth it? They ask like his answer means anything, ask like they even care what he thinks, ask like they don't think he feels anything at all. They ask like it wasn't his plans that brought him here. Like it wasn't his plans the led to six body bags and a single pair of handcuffs, a room full of tactless officers and a kingpin with no one left to call crew. They ask like can't help themselves from asking. Was it worth it?

There's never a serious discussion, no big heart to heart, but there's no escaping the fact that the Fake's all know they are dying in slow motion. More or less signed their own death certificate's years ago, living on stolen time, and sooner or later they'll find themselves in the ground.

They took Los Santos by storm and defended it with their lives. With each others lives. Have sacrificed themselves and the ones they love to a city that takes no prisoners. They fought hard for their crown, and kept on fighting every single day to succeed, to profit, to reaffirm themselves as the city's biggest bads. They knew that they would only be unstoppable until they aren't. Until the day they fall, and eventually they must fall.

Even after all the years of action, all the blood, sweat and tears they've poured into this empire, everyone knows there is no such thing as retirement for the Fake AH Crew; for all they've already trained their own successors the frontrunners of the reigning crew in Los Santos will never be allowed to simply step down and move aside when their time is over. Between old enemies and constant rivals, members of law enforcement and anyone simply looking to boost their own reputation, there are countless numbers who would hunt them to the ends of the earth. Everyone knows, one way or another, the FAHC is going out bloody.

And by god, did they go out bloody.

The Fake's die halfway through the afternoon on a Tuesday. What a fucking inconsequential day right? They were owed a Friday at the very least, were meant to go out past midnight, meant to go out in a blaze of glory. They were meant to go out all together. They weren't meant to go out at all. The wheels fell off weeks before, a series of questionable jobs and public fights, a level of disorder totally out of line with the crew's trademark cohesion. Rumour has it they were rife with in-fighting. Rumour has it after all this time the cracks were finally showing. Its easy, afterwards, to read into the events that came before, to manufacture clues, to swear the writing was on the wall for anyone to see. In reality no one saw it coming. In reality the whole damn city was taken by surprise.

Maybe they bit off more than they could chew, maybe they were distracted, out of sync, or maybe it was just the inevitable finally catching up with them but in the end the Fake's wind up in a firefight they aren't winning. After endless years of near misses and close calls, of lucky runs and brilliant timing, after thousands of impossible victories, the FAHC finally lost.

To lose like this, picked off one by one, powerless to save themselves, to save each other, must have been their worst nightmare. With every body on the ground those left only grew more furious, more reckless, lose whatever feeble grasp on self-preservation they ever had, throwing away any possibility of retreat in favour of retribution. It wasn't enough.

In the end the only one left breathing on either side is Ramsey. The scene finally gone still, silent, the echoes of screams and gunfire fading away into a shivery stunned kind of shock. They say Ramsey'd fallen to his knees amongst the grime, iconic suit near indistinguishable under all the dirt and ash, the blood of men and women who thought they'd live forever. He kneels there in silence while sirens grow ever louder, makes no move to flee, doesn't even look up from bodies as cars scream to a stop around him.

The messed up thing, the really fucked up part? They say Ramsey was laughing by the time the police got there. Say he stood and brushed himself off, surrounded by the bodies of those he claimed family, drenched sickly red while his empire lay in ruins, and laughed. And god doesn't that confirm what everyone's always thought, doesn't that just prove he always was a monster. Never cared for anyone, for anything, not really. People used to say the one thing Geoff loved was his crew but it seems Ramsey's cold-blooded ruthlessness won out in the end.

In the fallout of a travesty, of a victory, of an unexpected bloodbath, in a stark grey room faced with a distressingly apathetic villain, in circumstances none could have predicted, all the detectives seem capable of asking is if it was worth it in the end. They ask and ask and Ramsey's answer never changes, his cold smirk never fades, so calm and unconcerned they catch him glancing at the clock, as though he's bored. As though even now he's got somewhere better to be. And still, full of horrified disbelief, they have to ask.

Was it worth it? Yes. Was it worth it? Always. Knowing what you know now, knowing how it ends, how they all go down for you, would you do it all again? Every damn time. Surely you have regrets, you had to know one day it would end like this. Oh baby, who says it's over?

It comes together as a joke more than anything, the cumulation of too many late nights followed by too many bad movies. Their last job was tense, a heist with months of preparations and so much on the line, and while they've certainly celebrated their victory like royalty they didn't come away unscathed. The injuries, numerous though mostly minor, serve to once again remind them all how lucky they've been so far. How most don't make it nearly this many years without tragedy, couldn't be in the game this long, let alone running the game this long without signing up for devastation. How losing a member, to outright death or crippling injury, is without a doubt only a matter of time at this point. How such a loss will be so much worse in this ridiculously close-knit crew than any they'd experienced before.

Sobering thoughts, combined with the difficulties of winding down after endless weeks of stress eventually leads to the discussion they never have, the question of what else they could be doing with their lives, what choices brought them here, what they would do if they could just step out, sign off, retire. It's not that they're bored of this life they've built – how could they be when the world is their oyster – but there's no denying the fact that after all this time terrorising Los Santos doesn't quite thrill them like it used to.

If you'd asked any of them ten, five, hell even two years ago they'd have scoffed at the idea of ever retiring, would have sworn up and down that they wanted to go down in flames, to end with a bang, and at the time they meant it. At the time it was true. It still is, in a way, they'll probably always see something dreadfully appealing in going out on top, but with every passing year it's harder and harder to look at a room full of people they love and consider playing a role in their deaths. Every time they get hurt it takes a little longer to heal, the old aches and pains are becoming more prominent, and their ever growing patchwork of scars have started looking less badge of honour than they do morbid countdown. Obviously they've still got it, still in their prime enough to keep their crown, but between age and gratuitous injury, time is creeping up on them all.

The Fake's used to joke about the end, said whoever lasted longest won, got to make off with the fortunes, live like a king, but that reality isn't quite so funny anymore. The idea of surviving, of being left behind with nothing but cold hard cash and heyday memories is enough to make them physically ill. So maybe retiring doesn't seem quite so unappealing anymore.

Maybe a passing comment way too late at night, after far too much mixing of alcohol and pain meds, in the spirit of some dumb con movie they'd all been heckling, was enough to plant an idea. A ridiculous, unrealistic, completely unattainable idea, but still an idea nonetheless. They're all a bit hung up on it, still joking, still assuring one another that they aren't serious, but still bringing it up all the same, running through all the possibilities.

It would take far more than simply disappearing; they have too much wealth and notoriety, have far too many enemies, the world is simply too easy a place to comb through these days. People, at least the vast majority of people, would have to be convinced not to come looking. Convinced there was nothing to look for, nothing to track, would have to think the absent members of the Fake AH Crew were in the one place no one could ever reach them.

There are ways, of course, to feign death. For those with the right contacts, with endless money and enough resources, there are ways to trick the body into something close enough to pass, at least for a time. But even then it's not so simple; there must be witnesses, there must be evidence, crook and cop alike must be sure. Of course with a public death comes increased risk- it wouldn't do to go so far in their act that appearances became reality, to go to such lengths to imitate death only to wind up that way regardless. Somehow, someone's going to have to play guardian, prevent anyone's corpse from catching a stray bullet to the brain, or jerking back to life too late with guts already laid out on an autopsy table. Someone has to be ready to whisk them all away, and who do any of them trust more than the man they've been following all these years. The boss they'd die for. The boss they will die for.

They don't talk about it, because no one wants to admit it might be happening, no one wants to burst the bubble, to invite reality to rush in and crush the unbelievable thought that the Fake's might get a happy ending, but at some point they stop laughing. At some point they each quietly start getting all their ducks in a row, using their free time to organise their affairs.

No one questions the way Geoff and Jack have started having day-long meetings with the support crew in-between jobs, the way Lindsay's spending far more of her time recruiting than ever before, the way Gavin's taking calls at all hours of the day, rarely in english, clearly haggling over something. They don't wonder why all their money is getting moved around, why Ryan and Michael are busy collecting all outstanding debts while Jeremy and Ray are plotting the layout of the police station, the morgue.

It's all happening on the down low, all behind business as usual, but eventually, after nearly a year of quiet organisation, they are just about ready to disappear. All that's left is the bang, the flashy smoke and mirrors, the hook to stop anyone coming after them, anyone even thinking to track them down. One final step, one last decision to make, a choice they must commit to as one or not at all. All they've got left to do is die.

Over the years the Fake AH Crew has grown exponentially but the original elements have never drifted apart, never gone looking for something else or turned on one another. The crew has flourished, become a full blown empire, but nothing can touch the unity of the innermost members, as strong now as it have ever been. For all their loyal familiarity was mocked back in the day, for all their closeness was seen as a weakness, after all these years it seems only death itself will seperate them now. If they had the chance to evade their own mortality one last time, to get out, to be free, would they make the leap?

The Fake's die halfway through the afternoon on a Tuesday. Pattillo, the Vagabond, Mogar and the Golden Boy, Little J and Brownman, but not the boss. Well not on paper anyway – any who knew them must know Ramsey'd never recover from the loss. Any who didn't just know the LSPD took seven bodies away that day and none of them ever came back. It's not a stretch to assume Ramsey's survival was a rumour. To believe it wishful thinking, to say he died at the scene or died at the station, delayed injury or the cops cleaning up the last loose thread of the group who'd made their lives living hell for years.

There's paperwork out there, somewhere, claiming a different story. A report that barely makes a lick of sense, the sworn record that a kingpin arrived in chains and left with corpses, slipped out of his cell like he was never there, without a hint as to how he got free. He disappeared like smoke, not a trace left behind, and none of the seven alive or dead ever resurfaced. The story is embarrassing, inexplicable, and it reflects badly enough on the LSPD that it is quickly buried.

Even if it hadn't been there are few who would believe it. Few who could believe for even a moment that Ramsey could walk free and not be with the last of his crew, that he would let another run his empire, run his city, if he was in any way capable of preventing it. No, however it went down Ramsey did not survive. It's fitting, really. No one can live forever and the OG Fake's were certainty pushing their luck, had been pushing it for years; a crew that close should go out together.

The Fall of the Fake AH Crew isn't much of a fall, in the end. The seemingly inevitable power vacuum one would expect following the death of the group who'd been running the city for endless years never comes. It shouldn't be possible but even after the most devastating loss imaginable the the FAHC isn't toppled from their throne. They restructure almost overnight; many of the oldest, original members of the support crew bow out, disappear on the wind without a trace, but there are more than enough left behind to fill their shoes. It's almost perfect, almost unbelievable, some of support shuffling into the spotlight while still more unknown faces are revealed to boost their ranks. Their ability to keep their enemies at bay during the turmoil is impressive enough, but it's the absence of internal conflicts that is truely boggling; there are no betrayals or executions, no public power plays or jealous feuds, somehow the city's most scrutinised gang managed to completely restructure after the loss of not just their leader but all their key members without a single hitch. Almost like they were ready, like it was planned.

If the Fake's had the chance to stay together, to start over somewhere else, stop waiting for the day one of them inevitably doesn't make it home, but in return they had to step away from the action, give up everything they'd built, hand if off to legacy and fade out into legend, would it be worth it?

Apparently, yes. For all of them, from the moment the possibility arises, throughout every conversation, every debate and consideration, with everything they will lose, with everything they stand to gain, every goddamn time without fail, yes.

Somewhere out there, worlds away from Los Santos, a man sits on a private beach. He isn't armed with anything more than a beer, there are no weapons, he simply sits upon the sand enjoying the breeze. There's a woman to his right, sunbathing, a man to his left doing the same; golden tans make their startling number of scars stand out in stark relief but the heat of the sun does wonders for stubborn pains. At the shoreline old friends are knocking shoulders, bumping each other nearer and nearer to the water, not quite rough-housing like little boys but they're getting close, voices rising on the wind.

The single house behind them is huge and noisy, full of music and chatter, full of monsters and overgrown children, the most loyal humans the man has ever had the honour of knowing. In a brief moment of silence sound from the television drifts down to the beach, an American news anchor reporting the latest infraction of some criminal organisation in a far away city; the house cheers and kicks back into a merry roar. Down by the water there is a betrayal, a splash and screeching protest as one winds up in the waves against his will. Safe on the sand, without a trouble in the world, the man laughs.

#FAHC #There aren't enough apologies in the world #this is the longest mess #my rambles are confusing enough as is #why would I go for intentionally jumbled?#If you actually make it through all this you should buy yourself something nice #Loaded Guns and Sharp Teeth #I'll be honest #there was a version of this where #they died; you realise its planned; then realise they messed up and died anyway #that was almost something I dumped on you #so you know #good job me for getting my shit in order #with a weird weird ending #but so many of my ideas at the moment end in misery #this one was going to be happy damn it #tumblr formatting why do you hate me #Quietly ignore the way this makes no sense at all..

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