#He never loses his free will. He could be anyone. There's a sort of empathy in that. A sort of unruffled self confidence. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

wordynerdygurl · 3 years

Text

Skin Deep - Part 6

Author’s Note: Honestly, this story is nearing it’s ending. Hard to believe that a little idea I couldn’t shake has now grown into this mini-series! For all my die-hard homies, waiting for the next installment, I hope this is worth your while! If you’re new here, take a look around, see if you like anything and please, let the management know if you have any questions!! As always, writing like this requires the emotional support of people and pets. My dogs, Murphy and Winston, get me through a lot of plot bunnies just by being stalwart companions. My husband, graciously, lets me take these flights of fancy when I probably should be paying better attention to him and his day... and some of my besties here on Tumblr make it possible for me to do this for you guys. @sammy-jo1977 , my sister from another mister! Couldn’t/ Wouldn’t do it without you! To all the folks who follow me... My Minxes! Love you all! Stay well, be kind, and remember that Love, really does conquer all! If you want to be a Minx, send me a note, I’ll happily add you to my tag list! Lastly, be sure to like and share anything that you see on Tumblr that catches your eye. Creative types, we need the constant validation, you see? Without it, like an unwatered plant, we wither on the vine and perish! Be kind to those who help you through the day and reblog! Skin Deep Part 5 - click here for the previous chapter! Pairing: Loki x Reader, Steve, Valkyrie & Thor all make appearances Summary: Continued from Part 5, You and Loki put your plan into action, returning to Farmhouse. When you encounter Steve again, you learn there’s more than two sides to this story. Warnings: Loki’s POV and perspective, including mentions of his time under Thanos. I’m re-writing MCU history here, but some of the main beats are the same, so look out for SPOILERS for Dark World, Ragnarok, and a touch of Infinity War. The SNAP never happened because, reasons.

Empathy used to seem such a human emotion. Loki had no time for that on Asgard, not when Odin denied anything as frivolous as feeling. Hiding in plain sight was the means to survival and if that made the young prince sneaky and sly, so be it. By placing those parts of himself under lock and key; the parts that hurt, the ones that ached, Loki found it was safer to disconnect from others than subject himself to their suffering too.

Operating under the influence of Thanos and his minions when he held the scepter, Loki had purposefully divorced connection of any kind from his mind. It was dangerous. Weak. And moreover, it allowed Loki to do what Thanos commanded without really experiencing the horror, the havoc, of his actions for himself.

Who could hear the screams of women when the voice of Ebony Maw subliminally chanted all the ways that one could be dismembered at Thanos’ hands should Loki fail? What man would shed a tear after the near constant beatings doled out by Black Order members, just for the fun of it? How could someone care about a house, a car, a city, when they no longer cared about themself? Losing the Battle for New York had consequences far beyond the destruction of property. With Thanos’ hold over him vanquished, the walls around his heart, constructed in youth, crashed and burned like the dream of ruling Earth. Suddenly and completely out of reserves, Loki was powerless. And he felt everything. The fresh hurts caused by his manipulated ambitions in the hands of Thanos. The furious feelings of his brother, the inadequacies of his character, the feeble needs that drove his wild ambition washed over him unceasingly. Anger. Loss. Lunacy. Loki learned a hard truth in that moment. He was a monster. A freak. A creature beyond hope and salvation; proving his adoptive father right and his own hopeful heart wrong. Bitterness soured the fallen prince. Endless hours in isolation on Earth, which continued in his father's house, had Loki believing he had no chance of seeing the world outside again, and it hardened his heart further. To feel was so painful, so raw, and so humane. Why bother anyway? All that emoting, those high spirits, all they really did was expose you to derision. What was grief to a goblin? What was horror to a monster? What was love to a villain like him? An evil, conspiring demi-god, with a mind bent toward domination. A damaged, destroyed, deity alone and in pieces. Who would ever give someone like Loki Odinson a chance? Why should they?

Turning to his mother, Loki did everything but ask for forgiveness. In long rambling talks, her projection to his jailed person, the pair talked around ideas of guilt and innocence, of fate and fortune, of destiny versus desire, yet Loki never heard the words he needed in order to truly find peace.

If Frigga was aware of her son’s need for absolution, Loki would never know, as their last exchange was harsh and full of anger. Another stroke of loss, crippling now, because there was nothing Loki could do to change any of it from inside his prison cell. No illusion could conceal the painful ache that consumed him entirely.

Those days were dark, even for a soul as dusky hued as his own, and Loki’s thoughts followed a similar path. If there had been a way for him to shake off this immortal coil, free himself of the burden of living, Loki would have done so and been glad. Death was welcome compared to all this longing and heartache. But life, even a nearly immortal one, was funny.

When Thor provided a chance at redemption, Loki snatched at it, in his own detached way. He played hero, rescuing Jane, aiding his brother. And if he took a bit more in the form of deposing his arrogant, aging father, who would be surprised? He was Loki, God of Mischief, after all. Ruling the Nine Realms without the oppressive oversight of his father allowed Loki to prove himself in ways he never imagined. And Loki wasn’t just good at it. He was great. Of course, it helped that no one knew he was Loki. Living disguised as Odin was often unpleasant, frequently frustrating, but entirely necessary. Being Loki was still too difficult and likely to bring unwanted attention in the form of The God of Thunder, a thing that no one truly wanted, Loki least of all. Return Thor did, along with an unknown sister and the end of Asgard. When confronted with the insanity of Hela’s bloodlust, Loki’s only thought was of his kingdom, now without a ruler. He had worked too hard, too long, to see the land he cared for in the hands of an enemy, even if she called herself sister. Opening the Bi-Frost, panicked, his mind was solely on saving those he had recently held dominion over. They were his people, after all. But he never reached Asgard. Swallowing his fear, Loki focused all his energy on staying alive in a new and distracting environment, initially. What Loki found on Sakaar wasn't a new home base under a flamboyant, ineffective leader that he could control, even if that was his first design. On Sakaar Loki found his loyalty.

The proud, deep resonance of being Asgardian, of being an Odinson, of being capable and cool under pressure. Sure, he had to prove himself to Thor, Valkyrie, Banner and honestly, the rest of the kingdom, but actions speak louder than words. And through his actions on Sakkar, and by extension rescuing the people of Asgard, Loki had shown everybody his true mettle. It was on the deck of a stolen ship headed for Midgard that Loki had made a commitment of sorts. One that was not to the people, so recently saved or for his found family. This time, the promise Loki intended to keep was for himself. Loki was going to change. The problem is, a task like that takes time. Patience. Motivation. It was something that Loki had to work at and it was exhausting. They say that the best things come to those who wait. Loki was learning to wait everyday. Having earned a place at the side of his brother, he worked tirelessly to win over the heroes of his new home planet. Was it easy? Hardly, but Loki wasn’t willing to compromise. Not anymore. A life like Hela’s was not in his runes. Loki was simply going to be better. Not perfect. No one could be as good hearted as Captain America, nor could one be as tech savvy as Stark. So Loki was planning on being the best Loki he could possibly be, and that’s how he found himself going to meetings at The Avengers Tower, a mostly welcome addition to the team. Meetings weren’t all that exciting and boredom was an awful temptation for a deity devoted to mayhem. In fact, Loki spent more time doodling in his notebook than listening to whoever was droning on about whatever part of the world needed the attention of this motley crew. That was, until Pepper Potts hired her new assistant. That you were polite, pretty and pert wasn’t lost on the young god. Sitting outside Mrs. Iron Man’s office, typing away with a phone tucked under your ear, moving faster than anyone he had ever seen was certainly impressive. You were quick witted, clever and most of all, funny. Everyone else seemed to fall under your spell without much effort on your part, something that Loki found frustratingly fascinating. Here he was, struggling to get people to say his name without having a traumatic flashback, while you simply smiled and smarted off prettily, and had everyone singing your praises. But Norns, were you adorable. If he thought about it, and while off planet, Loki definitely had, he could remember the moment he realized that you were the woman he wanted. You were busy, as always, fielding phone calls and flipping through screens yet every moment your flying fingers weren’t hovering over a keyboard or pushing down telephone buttons they curled around a heart shaped charm at your throat. Clearly, it was a habit and one that you weren’t even aware of, still - it transfixed him all the same. Watching you from his side eye, your voice never wavering, your tone always so pleasing, and your nimble digits returning again and again to the small sigil around your neck. “Loki?” “Huh?” Dumbfounded at your call, those deep sea eyes blinked wildly at the sound of his name on your lips. “Hi! Yes, Pepper can see you now. Go ahead, she’s ready!” He rose on stiff legs, adjusting his tie, about to lie to Tony Stark’s woman all for the chance to see you in passing. Who had he become? It started out innocent like that, but soon, Loki was having to invent excuses for being in the office so frequently. Missing files, random visits, even going so far as to buy Tony coffee just for the thrill of seeing you. Something needed to change, and quickly, or Loki was going to blow. On another made up errand, hanging around the executive’s high rise office, Loki was doing a bad job of pretending not to see you. His mind was on your pouty lips as you sipped lemonade through a straw and not on the stately woman seated behind the desk.

“Loki, you’re a man of some… style.” Pepper said it so casually that he almost didn’t hear, his head lost in thoughts that would shame any other person. “I like to think so.”

Shutting her folder with a snap, Pepper smiled, “And you’d love to help your old friend Pepper out, right?” That got his attention, and quickly. Loki, shoving his hands in his pockets, turned to face Pepper with a widening grin, “I feel like I’m being baited.”

“Baited? Never! It’s just, you’re always here and I have a… project that needs the kind of help that you can provide.” At those words you entered the office, ready for action with a notebook and pen, eager and excited. Suddenly, it was all clear to Loki, “Pepper, no.”

The noose closed in on the handsome god as Pepper gathered paperwork without looking his way, “Come on, it’s the Stark Homecoming Gala and the two of you will do great! I have faith in you both. I can’t wait to see what you come up with!” “Really, Miss Potts, I simply can’t-” Stopping short, the strawberry blonde whipped around, almost nose to nose with Loki. Shrewd and straightforward, Pepper interrupted, saying, “You’ve been dancing around my office for weeks now. Clearly you like her and… against all the odds, she likes you too. I’m doing you a favor and when someone does you a favor, you say “Thank You”.” “Thank you.” Nodding curtly, “You’re welcome. Now, make yourselves comfortable, order some dinner, my treat. And do whatever you need to make sure this is one great party!” That’s how Loki found himself sitting at a clear glass table over sweating bottles of iced tea as you discussed color themes and tablecloths. You were shy, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as you reviewed notes from previous gatherings both large and small. His hands itched with wanting to do that job himself. “So, what do you think?” It was the first time you had addressed him directly since coming through the door and for a moment Loki couldn’t answer. You were too… not beautiful, that wasn’t the right word, although you were. No, you were too open, too easy to read, and the earnestness you offered him was downright frightening. Sitting forward in the uncomfortable, yet fashionable, office furniture, Loki cleared his throat and again tugged his tie, “What I think is that you should let me take you dinner.” Dropping your eyes, your cheeks colored slightly as your fingers found that locket charm once more, “Loki, I… I don’t know-” Grabbing for your hand, suddenly afraid that you would take those shining eyes away, Loki lowered his voice and did something he never thought he would. He begged. “Please? I find that you’re all I can think about.” It rushed out of him in a torrent, the way truth so often does, and he found himself unable to look you in the eye. Loki was afraid to see rejection on your easy to read face, afraid that wanting you had cracked open the lock box holding his heart, afraid that you would see just how weak you made him. Your fingers twined with his own as you replied, “You didn’t let me finish. I don’t know what took you so long.” Sighing with relief, his face melting into a genuine smile, “Me either.” Over the next two months the pair of you worked tirelessly to plan and execute a perfect party. You were inseparable during the day, heads buried together as you discussed linens and table settings, the quality of cocktail glasses, and debating over a band or a dj. But at night, at night Loki talked about the things that haunted him in the dark. And you loved him in spite of the awful things he had seen and done and said. Others took notice. Loki was more lighthearted, more available. He listened when people spoke and wasn’t constantly doodling during meetings. Yes, Loki was learning how to love through your loving him. If empathy had seemed too humane before, then sharing his life, his love with you, was the kind of immortality that earned someone a place in Valhalla. It was the bravest thing Loki Odinson had ever done and he didn’t mind one bit.

The first time Loki tasted you was burned into his brain, as bright as a flash of lightning. A firefly in a memory jar that he kept returning to, time and again. Loki remembered what you were wearing. He recalled exactly how the light shone in your eyes. If he concentrated, he could tap out the rhythm of your racing pulse as he held you in his arms. It was the night of the gala. Inviting everyone under the Stark Industries banner, up to and including the heroes tasked with saving the world, the event was a way to earn money for one of the many charities Tony supported. The place was full of beautiful people wearing gorgeous clothes under perfect lights set to the hand crafted soundtrack you had created together.

But, Norns, he could still remember the way your eyes sparkled under the lowlights of that hall. How your dress, simple but sophisticated, clung to the fullness of your bottom. Low cut but somehow still modest, Loki couldn’t tear his gaze away from the promise of your curves, willing himself to find anything else as interesting as the idea of you.

You were across the room hanging onto Tony’s every word, eyes bright and cheerfully glowing as you sipped champagne. It made Loki want to do something grand, something suave, something that would demand your attention for his own. Moving towards you, his tuxedo perfectly pressed and fitting better than it had any right to, Loki looked long and lean. Each of his steps seemed to echo, even though the room was full of sound, and you turned your head as if you also heard. Breaking away from the cluster of acolytes surrounding Iron Man, you bit into your lip as the crowd parted, moving closer together one step at a time. It was one of the sexiest things Loki had ever witnessed. Lifting your glass in a toast, taking in the room of mingling millionaires, wealthy hangers on and Avengers, “Well, we did it!” “You did it, my dove, I just hung around and judged everyone.” “Oh stop. I couldn’t have done it without you and you know it.” Playfully you pushed against his shoulder and Loki took advantage, using your momentum to pull you to his side, your curvy figure flush against his own. Crooning into the shell of your ear, his lips brushing over that sensitive skin, “Somehow, love, I think you would have managed.” Before you had time to think, Loki had melded his mouth with your own, stealing your breath along with your heart. Loki’s feet moved in time with the music as he pulled into a dance, laughing in his arms, your cheeks hot and your head swimming. You laughing was, without question, Loki’s favorite sound. Nothing in this world or any other came close to matching the joyful, childlike glee of that enchanting noise. Loki memorized its melody, the rise and fall of your giggle. He had craved it, being away for so long, and now he wanted… no, needed to hear it. But you were the furthest thing from happy at the moment.

"Darling, please. We have to go." Loki tapped his watch, shaking himself free from the memories of your previous life together and barely suppressing his irritation.

Tears filled your eyes as you whipped your arms around Thor’s mighty shoulders, his deep voice grumbly with emotion, "Take care of him, would you? He's a jerk, but Loki is the only brother I have."

"Of course… always. And Valkyrie, your highness, I can’t thank you enough for-"

"No need. Loki, and by extension yourself, will always have a safe haven here in my palace."

Looking on, Loki and Thor embraced almost tenderly before crashing their heads together.

"Stay safe, little brother."

"Be good, Thor."

Eyes on the sky, Val ignored the show of masculine emotion, chastising your plan, "You’re going to start a war, Loki."

Straight backed, Loki turned to the king, "Not on the grass of New Asgard. I will take the fight to them, that is my vow to you."

As Loki offered his hand, Valkyrie shook it, with parting words, "Work on staying alive. You have a tendency to worry your brother."

Solemnly nodding, "As the king commands. Shall we?" With that Loki laced his fingers with yours, leading you a few paces away from the people who loved him most, before summoning the magic that had you both transcending space and time.

This time when your feet touched down it was on the familiar turf of the orchard, surrounded by the scent of apple blossoms and the buzzing of happy bees. Morning had broken and the world seemed full of promise, with the exception of that knot in your stomach.

"Are you ready? Darling?"

"Oh… yes. I mean, I still don't love this plan, but-"

"But it's going to work." Only it was no longer the baritone voice of your long, lean Loki speaking. In his place stood Nick Fury, leather duster and eye patch in place.

"If you say so!" And you clutched your own throat as Natasha’s bored tones came out of your mouth. The suit, skin tight but flexible, molded to your modified form. All in all, you were comfortable, "The boots are a bit much."

"Ya think? This jacket weighs a ton." Pulling at his collar, "Why does he wear a turtleneck anyway?"

"Loki, this is so weird. It feels so weird."

"Agreed, but then, why am I so turned on?"

Laughing, you shook your false red hair, hands resting on Natasha’s waist, "God, I've missed you."

"Same, dearest. Now… let's get your necklace and some answers!"

---

Convincing Bucky to head home had taken a lot of work, but sometime around 2 am Steve had finally seen his friend off. The house was empty. Steve felt the same way.

Turning the black velvet box in his pocket, fingers crushed against the fragile fabric, Steve struggled to feel anger. When that didn't materialize he shot for sadness but even tears seemed beyond his ability.

With a sigh, climbing the same stairs he had trudged up a hundred times before, Steve started going through the motions of bedtime. Only tonight you weren’t there to tease him about the wildly inappropriate amount of toothpaste on his brush. He didn’t have your light footsteps to follow to the bedside or your help with stacking all of your extra, yet entirely essential, pillows on the chair.

Someone must have changed the sheets, he thought. There was no evidence of you and Loki’s adventurous afternoon anymore. Steve made a mental note to thank Buck for that little piece of kindness in the morning.

Shucking his shirt, Steve sat on the mattress, a hand to his forehead. He had lost. Captain America had been bested. Beaten. And by Loki, no less.

Moonlight in silver slivers shone through the window panes, squares of light in the deep of night. Steve was alone. Utterly and totally alone.

And there was no one to blame but himself.

Sighing hard, Steve stood, pacing the floor to work off some of the unspendable anxiety he kept creating. The room still had your energy, your vibe, as you liked to call it, and the feeling was a prickling itch Steve couldn’t quite satisfy. Traces of you were everywhere and something about you leaving all of it, and him, behind was just too big to process. “Damn it.” Even whispering sounded like thunder in the silence of your recently vacated room. His hands, so big, so strong, smoothed along the fabric of your hanging clothes. All that power had done nothing to help Steve get the thing he wanted. Sorting through the baubles and trinkets on your dresser, bottles of perfume he had purchased, necklaces and pins, each with a moment of memory it hurt him to recall. Your watch ticked away the minutes as he stood, stoic and still, surrounded by the shadow of you. In the orchard the birds were waking, their song filling the air, as morning broke in low golden rays. Abandoning his plan for sleep, Steve watched as the light chased away the dark, casting rainbows on the floor. The sun was reflecting off of your Grandmother’s necklace. A pretty, ancient, carved cameo, heart shaped locket. He recalled his own mother owning one just like it, pictures of loved ones pressed inside, holding them as tight as history would allow. Fisting the filigree chain, winding it around his fingers as if it would somehow undo what he had done, Steve slipped it into his pocket before settling back onto the bed. ----

At the back door to the home you so recently shared with Steve, Loki hung back, “I think this is where we split up. You go find your treasure and me… I’m going to find some answers.” Nodding, Natasha’s signature red hair swinging, you squeezed the hand holding your own. It no longer looked like Loki’s long fingered paw, but that was only a skin deep change. You felt the undeniable essence of him in the press of his fingers against your own. “Be careful.” “That’s no fun, dove.” “Loki-” You hated the way your voice broke as you said it, but there just seemed to be so much at stake and you had already lost him once. Sensing your unspoken concerns, Loki flashed you Nick Fury’s best smile, “I will. I promise.”

“Ten minutes.” “Ten minutes.” You watched the black coated back of your charmed paramour as he opened the shed door, hoping that he’d find something worth knowing in that place out of sight. Inhaling deeply you twisted the doorknob as quietly as possible, letting yourself into what was once your kitchen, “What a mess.” It was impossible not to notice the unwrapped leftovers and empty bottles littering the table. An overturned trash barrel, crumpled beer cans littering the counter, things that Steve, your Steve, would never have tolerated. All evidence that the grand evening he’d envisioned had been thwarted by Loki’s arrival and your collective escape.

You started up the stairs, praising Natasha's footwear for its stealth, when you heard the toilet flush and the unmistakable shuffle of Steve’s feet on the carpet. There was no place to hide on the wide stairwell. It was time to see if Loki's plan was going to work.

Voice blurry, eyes rubbed red and raw, you couldn't deny that Steve looked like shit, “Bucky? That you? You back?” Steve’s voice bounced around the brightening room as morning sunlight filtered through the soft sheers you had picked out for exactly this reason. Panicked, you backed into the railing with an over loud “Oof!” “Nat? What are you doing here? I thought you and Fury were headed to New Asgard?” Suddenly wide awake and wondering, Steve rushed to your costumed side, eager for information. The man in front of you now bore little resemblance to the angry Avenger you had escaped from hours before. This man had hair sticking up in odd angles from near constant finger raking. This man had a hint of a stuffy nose and red rimmed eyes, all indicators that tears had been shed. Now those blue eyes were scrutinizing you closely, full of concern.

“Uh… We... We got intel. Yea, intelligence, that Loki was headed back this way. Turned around… and uh, here we are.” One of those sandy blonde eyebrows lifted, “Natasha?”

Squaring your shoulders, channeling that cool confidence you’d see Black Widow display over and over, “Steve?” Something about your tone of voice convinced him in a way your words couldn’t. He visibly relaxed, those broad shoulders going slack as he asked, “Didn’t make it to Norway, then?"

Nodding a negative, you felt the unfamiliar brush of her red hair at your cheek and had to fight the urge to tuck it away, “No. Loki’s using some sort of transporting power to move them around. Fury suggested I keep an eye out here, in case they come back this way.” “She won’t be back, Nat. There’s nothing for her here.” To you, Steve sounded so sad, so removed, that you had to will yourself not to comfort the giant before you. “That’s not true!” It came out of you forcefully, thoughtlessly, and you saw the shock register on the Captain’s face. “That is, Fury and I… we… have reason to believe that she will come back. They left with nothing, Steve. She’ll need clothes… maybe some shoes… and-” Swallowing hard, you didn’t want to give anything away, “-a necklace from her grandmother.” Steve, patting his pocket, felt the weighted chain and it’s heart shaped locket, “I don’t think-” Stepping up to his bulky form, suddenly aggressive, you started, “Never mind what you think, Captain. We're here for a necklace... the necklace. Our intel suggests that your former flame might return for it and… And, I want it, with me, as a means to subdue her when she arrives." Sounding forceful and official was enough to back Steve down. Just a touch deflated, you watched him shrug, “If that’s what you want, Nat, here-” From his pants he pulled out the shining bauble, a trinket really, but full of sentiment and memory. Sitting in his palm, the tiny heart that held the picture of your grandmother and mother looked so small, almost unreal. Reaching for it with wet eyes, you smiled at Steve as you lifted the charm and chain, “Thank you, Steve. Thank you.” Nodding deeply, that golden head bobbing, “You’re welcome.” The large grandfather clock could be heard ticking throughout the house. The sun was gaining on the day and you, dressed as Natasha stood in silence in front of a somber Steve. For another long beat nothing was said, then, as if sensing a shift in your conversation, Steve flashed your fake Natasha a weak smile, “I could use some breakfast. How about you?”

“Um… sure. Yea, ok. Breakfast.”

Steve started moving again, downstairs towards the cluttered kitchen when he paused, "So how did you get back so fast? Cause that's like a 7 hour flight, even with you in the cockpit." “Steve…” You could hear it, the whining almost pleading tone that signaled the end of Loki’s well planned charade. That wasn’t enough to stop Steve. He broke hard, one of those strong arms stopping you in your tracks before you could reach the lower level. “It’s clever, I have to give you guys that. Almost perfect, really.” Panic rising, you doubled down on the ruse, struggling to keep your voice even, “I don’t know-” Blocking you in, his body the perfect unmovable buffer, “Loki’s here too, isn’t he?” Pushing against “Steve, I… I don’t…” “Don’t lie. You don’t have to…” “But… how-?” “You’re not mean enough to play Natasha, doll. Not by a long shot.”

--- It was strange to be seated at the table and chairs that you and Steve had picked out together one sunny Saturday when you thought that your future was going to be Loki-less. Your place, the one that you had imagined filling with children that had golden hair and bright blue eyes, felt like a set. Something false and fake. A facade, put together simply for show. Steve must have felt it too because his fingers drummed against the white washed table incessantly. Clearly he had something on his mind. “Steve-” “No. No. Please, let me just get this out, ok?” Raising an eyebrow, you waved at him to continue, nervous but interested in what the super soldier needed to explain. With a shaky inhale, running his constantly moving fingers through his golden locks, Steve caught your eye and didn’t waiver. “When I saw you… No, that’s not right. Let me start at the beginning. “When Loki left Earth, you… you were so sad. It hurt me to see you so… deflated.” “Steve, I-” “You know it’s true. When he returned to Asgard, something in you, it dimmed, and I just couldn’t allow that… Not when I felt the way I did about you. “I don’t think you realize just how incredible you are… how full of life! And since I had already missed one chance to be with you, I knew I needed to prove that I could be the man you needed… If you forgot about Loki along the way, even better. “Only… you never did. I waited years for you, ya know, doll? Years. And just when I thought there was no chance with you, Nat gave me a reason to hope. “She was your friend. An ally. Someone you could trust… someone I could trust. I swear it started out that innocently, at least for me. I just wanted to make you smile again. But she had other plans. Plans that came from higher up the ladder of SHIELD. “Fury, he wanted us to watch you… something about Loki being too powerful. And-”, grabbing your hand tightly, Steve emphasized his point, “-I promise you that I had no idea about his success, or the messages he had sent to you through Nick. Like you, I thought that Loki was gone. Missing. Never coming back.” “I… I believe you Steve. I know that you didn’t do all this on your own… but what was Nick hoping you’d find out? I knew less than nothing about what was going on!” “I think he was worried that Loki would get to you first. That if… when Loki returned, you would be his first stop. Then you would know about Loki’s success and, frankly, Fury’s failures. You would also know… well, everything you know now. That Fury had you tailed, lied to, and led on in an effort to stop Loki from out flanking him.” Frenzied and frantic, you felt anger boiling up inside of you, “But I thought Loki was gone forever. There was no hope for him and I… and Natasha, she told me that he was dead.” “All a part of Fury’s plan to keep you neutralized and Loki away. If Loki thought that you’d ignored his letters, that you no longer loved him, why would he come back here? And, if that didn’t work… when Loki came back and you were with me, what else could keep him on Earth?”

Whispering with realization, “So, they used you too.” Steve sighed and buried his hands in the pockets of his sweatshirt, “Don’t feel bad for me. I let them use my love for you, let them twist it up and shape it as they needed. Honestly, I wish I could tell you that it was for you, but it wasn’t. It was for me. I wanted you, so, so badly. I didn’t care what strings were attached. And we built a life together, you and me. I thought I could outrun the reality of the constant monitoring and daily reports. Telling Natasha and Nick about every word and each email. Don’t you see, I love you… and I wanted you, however I could get you.” Shaking your head, Natasha’s red wisps flying, “That’s not love, Steve. I don’t know what that is… but love isn’t it.” “No?” With a loud thunk, Steve slammed a small velvet box on the table between you. “Is… Is that what I think it is?”

“Last night. It was going to happen last night. Our friends here, under the lights and the stars, I was going to ask you to marry me. I still would if-” Realization hit you like a ton of bricks, “If Loki hadn’t stepped back into our lives.” “-If Loki hadn’t stepped back into your life.” It made you both laugh in a sad way, how you finished the same thought, and for a fleeting second you could see why you had allowed Captain America to sweep you off your feet. He was a lot of things to you now, but there was a time when he had been almost everything. The evidence of that was in the small black square that said nothing but spoke volumes. “Steve, I don’t know if I would have said yes… even without Loki’s… arrival. I think I have always known that you and I… we are very different people.” Sitting back in his chair, his gaze still locked on your own, “I just want you to know that I’m sorry. I’m sorry about what I’ve done… what I’ve said… How, shit, how I’ve behaved. I could say that it was my duty. I could tell you it was out of love, but the plain truth is that I have always been jealous of what you and Loki share.” “You’ll find it Steve. You really will. There’s a person out there waiting for you. And once you’ve found them, oh Steve, you’ll see that this… what we had, it’s a shadow. An illusion. Because love, real love, doesn’t come with caveats and catches. It is an undeniable force which, in my case, even the boundaries of time and space can not deny.” Something like a sob burst out of Steve, and you were surprised to see tears in his eyes, “I was so wrong. Could you ever forgive me?” “I want to, Steve. I really do... “ What more could you say? Patting his hand you started to rise, “I have to go now. Loki and I need to keep moving and I don’t want to risk running into Nick and Natasha. At least, not yet, anyway.” “Where are you planning to go?” “To the Avenger’s Tower. I believe I know what Mr. Fury has been planning all along.” Loki’s strong voice entered the conversation as smoothly as his arms wrapped possessively around your waist. Steve took in the protective stance of your returned lover with a raised eyebrow, and without further comment asked Loki, “Really? And how are you going to breach the building? They’ll be looking for you, even with disguises… Fury is no fool. Plus, there’s little chance that Tony hasn’t activated a million safety and security protocols by now.” Only interested in you, Loki refused to give Steve any of his attention, “Getting in can’t be that hard! I’ll figure it out when I get there. Ready pet?” With a gentle push under his broad hands your feet started to move towards the door. Loki was eager to be off and away, especially after hearing so much of Roger’s confession. Just knowing what Steve had done, manipulating you while also convinced of his love for you; it was enough for Loki to commit murder. He was having quite a difficult time not tearing the good Captain’s limbs off his body. Softening his tone, Steve practically pleaded, “Loki. Wait. I… I can help.” Turning his attention fully to your former flame, Loki purred venomously, “You can help? I’d love to know what entails, Captain.” “I can get you into the place and take you exactly where you need to go. Fury’s going to hate it, but I’m tired of taking orders that hurt the people that-” His pause was as lingering as the look he gave you, “- That I love.” Before Loki could offer a sincerely sassy reply you grabbed his sleeve, tugging, “Um… Excuse us a minute Steve.” Pulling him down the hall of a home that felt like a familiar faced stranger, you waited until you had a bit of distance from Steve before harshly whispering, “How long were you listening?”

Serving you that small, sexy smile, Loki grinned, “Long enough. How did you know I was there?” “You are sneaky, but even you, God of Mischief, cast a shadow.” Swinging you close enough to catch your mouth with his own, Loki pressed a sweet kiss there before answering, “A mistake I will be careful not to make again!” “The tower, huh? That’s where you want to go?” Grabbing you at the swell of your hips, grinding his frame against your own, “Where I want to go, my darling, is to the nearest bed, preferably naked, with you and you alone.” Your hands traced over the lapels of his borrowed leather duster, pausing only to jerk him closer by the supple fabric, “Hmm… is that so?” “Oh yes…” Loki’s buttery grumble filled your ear as his strong hands dug into the flesh of your bottom. For a moment you thought he’d give in to temptation, his sweet lips teasingly close to your own upturned mouth, “But-” On your toes, leaning into Loki’s sturdy, leather draped frame, you paused, “Ugh. But?” Moving you to a safer, less kissable, arms length away, Loki sighed with the same frustration you felt, “-But, where we need to go, as soon as possible, is the Tower.” Moaning grumpily, you stepped out of the arms you longed to linger in, “I was afraid you were going to say that.” “I know it’s less than… ideal, love, but I did find something useful before the good Captain unburdened his soul this morning.” “And that is?” “Fury’s plan. At first I couldn’t figure out exactly what he was after. What did Fury want? How was I involved?” Loki was dragging this out, loving how it kept you hanging onto his every word, and you rolled your eyes, “Well? What is it? Weapons? War?” “All of that, yes… and… yours truly.” That triumphant smile that filled Loki’s whole face lit up his mischievous eyes. Tilting your head, struggling to make sense of what Loki had just told you, “What do you mean, you. Fury wanted you… to do what, exactly?’ “Loki was going to be the patsy.” You both turned toward the sound of Steve’s baritone at the door, suddenly remembering that the Good Captain was still there and that he was waiting to see what you were going to do next. Leaning his 100 year old bones into the doorframe, Steve crossed his arms, “The fall guy. An example of what happens if you cross SHIELD.” “I think, my dear Mr. Rogers, that you mean, I am to be used as an example of what happens if one crosses Nick Fury.” Loki countered, slinging an arm over your shoulder protectively. The idea was frightening. A man like Fury had too much power, too much at his disposal. Just knowing the lengths he had gone to in order to keep you and Loki apart was scary enough. Making enemies of your friends. Threatening the people you loved. Selling your affection to Steve in an effort to control Loki.

Now, the knowledge that all of it was done in an effort to ensure that Nick Fury was the toughest guy in the galaxy, it made your stomach clench. “What do you mean, an example?” “Unless my intelligence is flawed, I believe that Fury was going to kill me. Is that correct, Captain?” Steve felt the weight of two sets of eyes on him. Yours, full of fearful love and blind hope that this was all just some misunderstanding. Innocent and naive and as lovely as he could ever remember. Loki’s were reflecting a deeper understanding. The kind of knowledge that only time in the trenches teaches. There was no answer from Captain Rogers. None was needed. Honesty, final and resolute, was out in the open. “Look. I know I’m not the guy you want on your side. I’ve… I haven’t been the man I needed to be. Not for you-” Steve locked his bright blues onto you, offering a small smile that spoke of sadness before facing Loki, “-Or you, Loki. But if you let me help you now, I promise that I can get you into the tower and maybe, one day, you won’t think so little of me.”

Around you the morning gained strength. Somewhere nearby birds chirped wildly, blissfully unaware of the drama unfolding in the modest little farmhouse and its implications on intergalactic politics. Without moving a muscle, Loki plainly asked you, “Do you trust him, dearest?” Squaring your shoulders, you crossed your arms, staring down the man called Captain America. Nodding decisively, “I do. I don’t think he’d spill everything like that only to turn on us. He’s not so bad Loki, really.” “We’ll see about that. For now, we trust Steve. Ok, what’s your plan, Rogers?” --- “Hey. I… I have one other thing to show you.” Steve was dressed for action in his branded tactical gear, looking every inch the super soldier that Dr. Erskine envisioned. “Steve, we have to get moving. Loki’s eager and -” “Just open it, ok?” The envelope was thick with folded paper, the flap tucked under and not sealed. Clearly it had spent time in and out of pockets, the edges frayed and tattered. In exasperated curiosity you gingerly pulled the sheets free.

Shaking, your hands trembled holding the once white documents as your voice thickened, “Is this… is this what I think it is?” Cocking his head playfully, that rueful smile pulling at his full mouth, Steve almost seemed cheerful as he teased, “It’s yours. I think something about this place has always been yours and I want you to have it.” “But-” Folding your small hands in his mighty ones, Steve squeezed gently, “It was a wedding present, or it was supposed to be.” “But we’re not getting married.” “I know. Still-” “I can’t, Steve. It’s yours. Your house, your farm, your dream.” Shaking his head, disagreeing, but feeling lighter than he had in decades, Steve insisted, “Too late, I’m afraid. It’s done. Actually, that version of the deed has been signed since our second week here.” As realization sunk in you appraised the man changing right before your eyes, astonished but exhilarated, “Where will you go?” “I dunno. Think I might need to be alone for a bit. Maybe see the world… but first-” “First, we have to stop Nick Fury.”

To Be Continued... My Minxes: @scrumptious-finicky-illusion @iamverity @mizfit2 @sammy-jo1977 @wolfsmom1 @jessiejunebug @iluvsumbucky @unadulteratedwizardlove @procrastinatinglikeabitch @shxdowofdarkness @nonsensicalobsessions @ahintofkiwistrawberry @alexakeyloveloki @rorybutnotgilmore @crystalizedcaramel @lokislittlecorner @capcapcapsicle @jamielea81 @caffiend-queen @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore @jenjen8675309 @that-one-person @roguewraith @toomanystoriessolittletime @vodka-and-some-sass @just-random-obsessions @brokenthelovely @lots-of-loki @thefallenbibliophilequote

#loki x reader #loki x you #you x loki #loki smut #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x reader #mcu smut #MCU fanfiction #loki fanfic #loki fanfiction

100 notes · View notes

animated-antagonist · 3 years

Text

Qibli has a terrible arc

HEAR ME OUT.

Before you attack me for this, I genuinely don’t care if you like or hate him. I never loved him, but he wasn’t as bad as moon. Sometimes he’s funny, I like his interactions with winter, but I never really cared about him. But the way his mind was described in moon rising made me excited for his pov in book 10.

Then I read it and realized that he’s a boring, whiny, obsessive character who I was immediately sick of.

Darkness of dragons as a whole is a fucking mess from start to finish. And because I have nothing better to do right now, im going to explain why.

This is all my opinion, and it is based on story structure and character arc guidelines and stuff that I have learned recently. Feel free to disagree. Qibli is a decent character with his charm and humour, but he has the worst character arc out of all wof books. Yes that includes the hive queen and dragonslayer.

Ok so first, what I like about qibli: like two things: his relationship with winter, and his sense of humour. I like his playful banter with the shiny ice dragon prince. It’s entertaining. And he does have the occasional joke that manages to somewhat amuse me.

Literally everything else about him is awful. So let’s talk about that.

Memorable characters are driven by three main things: desire, fear, and misbelief.

Winter’s misbelief is that his life’s worth is determined by a ranking on a wall and what his tribe thinks of him. This also results in him believing that working with others and expressing love and trust are signs of weakness. He’s afraid of being a disappointment to his tribe because he’s experienced that feeling in his past already, and never wants to face it again. And yet … he does want more. He’s more open and caring than the rest of his family, and in the two backstory scenes we get, it’s clear he’s far more willing to bend the rules to be even a little more free.

Peril’s misbelief is that she’s too dangerous to make her own decisions. Therefore, she’s instantly loyal to anyone who expresses a hint of interest or affection to her. This leads to her being easy to manipulate, and Scarlet does just that. She’s afraid of displeasing the people she’s loyal to, but she does want to be free. But her backstory and eight years of living by Scarlet’s orders and not having a single thought of her own has lead her to subconsciously believe that she constantly has to have someone make all her choices for her. She doesn’t go after Scarlet for her own benefit, it never crosses her mind once. She’s doing it because she knows it will make Clay happy, and not herself.

Turtle always wanted to be a hero. That’s literally in the book blurb. But the Snapper incident in his backstory makes him doubt that he will ever be anything more than just another SeaWing prince. Thanks to his mother’s stories, he believes that in order to be a real hero, he has to do great, epic things like slaying whole armies by himself. He wants to be a hero, but his misbelief and fear of being noticed get in the way of his wants.

And they all grow and overcome their fears and misbeliefs. Winter realizes that his friends would never hurt him the same way his family would. He realizes that it’s okay to love and be loved, to trust and be trusted. He goes back to his friends because he knows that, even if they can be annoying some times, it’s so much better than having his worth determined by a family and tribe that never approved of him and probably never will. Peril discovers that her misbelief is leading her to make the wrong decisions. Her growth is so strong that she can take off an animus touched object. She knows she’s right. She can make her own choices, and she’s done letting others use her as a toy. Turtle saves his sister, not by taking down an army, but by tossing her his enchanted stick to keep her hidden from Darkstalker. In doing that, he’s proven that he’s evolved and changed as a character. They all still have doubts at times, but that’s normal. These three characters have some of the best arcs I’ve ever seen.

Now back to Qibli.

His family told him he was worthless and couldn’t do anything as an ordinary dragon. This sparked the misbelief that he has to have power, or in this world animus magic, to have worth. He’s afraid of being worthless, and wants to feel valuable. That’s a great setup for a great character. Qibli could have, and should have, been one of the best wof characters of all time.

But no he fucking sucks.

I’m going to focus on him as a character here. The Vulture stuff is boring as hell and I don’t care to talk about it. The whole book is shit and I will never read it again, so let’s continue.

Again, Qibli is set up to be an excellent character. When he goes to find Ostrich, he brings with him Anemone’s bracelets, which makes perfect sense. He doesn’t want to be powerless, so of course he’s going to bring that magic, that power, with him. More setup that goes no where, because when he uses them, he doesn’t even face consequences.

Pausing here because I hate it so much.

CONSEQUENCES ARE WHAT MAKE CHARACTERS GROW. If they face ZERO consequences for their actions, they won’t LEARN anything. Qibli using the bracelets works for his character, but I just cannot believe that Thorn would just let him walk away after burying the ENTIRE FUCKING KINGDOM in sand. I hate it so much. Qibli just getting a free pass and facing no consequences is so bad. He doesn’t even express that much remorse or guilt. That could work for a negative character arc (which I genuinely would have preferred from Qibli but I’ll get to that later) but for a positive arc? The magic and power he craves so deeply just got his entire kingdom buried. He should have so much more internal conflict now, because the thing he wants so badly just did more harm than good.

Okay. Next part. This one isnt’ really related to his character arc, just more of him being a kinda jerk for a few seconds. Winter expresses great concern over travelling over Darkstalker’s teeth, and Qibli just teases him about it. Winter has known about Darkstalker’s malice his whole life, was brainwashed by him, and is truly terrified of him. If Qibli had teased him about anything else I wouldn’t have an issue, but Winter was scared for his life in this moment and Qibli just completely ignores it. Or maybe I’m wrong I haven’t touched the book in years because I hate it that much.

Back to his ‘arc’.

Wait no this is an issue I have with the book: the cliffhanger of book 9 was Turtle losing his animus magic and they just kinda fixed it in two seconds here. It’s very upsetting and kinda comical that they fixed it so effortlessly lmao.

Back to Qibli.

Uh nothing happens for a while. Just boring Moonbli WHICH, might I add, is the worst wof ship (excluding problematic ones ofc). They have zero chemistry and honestly I find Qibli a bit obsessive. He always thinks ‘what would Moon do’ or ‘will Moon love me if I do this?’ which yeah it ties into his ‘I want to be loved and have value’ motivation but it still feels a bit excessive and annoying at times. Pair that with his constant nagging about how ‘oh no if only I had that gosh darn scroll!’ or ‘how can moon ever choose meeee when she has winterrrr’. Moon described his mind to be fast and full of commotion, but we never see any of that in this book. It’s just constant whining and complaining.

Then he goes another step further and blames Winter for getting angry at Moon for??? being friends with the dragon who just tried to murder his whole tribe???? Moon’s a fucking idiot for continuing to be friends with Darkstalker after everyone keeps telling her how bad he is. KINKAJOU, HER SUPPOSED BEST FRIEND, tells her all about what Darkstalker did to Turtle, and Moon’s just okay with it??? And then when Winter confronts her about still trusting Darkstalker after everything he’s done not just to the IceWings, but her friends as well, that Darkstalker brainwashed Winter and he’s not okay with it, Qibli calls him self-righteous for exploding with fury. What else do you expect?? This moment killed all three ships for me. It was an unnecessary event that’s only purpose was to give Tui a reason to make Moonbli canon instead of Winterwatcher.

Onto the climax (which by the way is like the only semi decent part of this whole book). Qibli again uses his power to save the day. SERIOUSLY??? Ok fine it makes sense because this book has zero structure whatsoever. Qibli doesn’t have to make the impossible choice at the end of act one. He doesn’t face a goal shift at the midpoint. He doesn’t look a disaster right in the face. You cannot convince me that he’s changed at all over the course of this book.

Because he doesn’t. He uses magic at the climax and boom everything is fixed. I like the concept of the empathy spell but it just doesn’t fit with this kind of character arc, unless it comes before the dark moment and fits into the supposed victory plot-point (thinking again now I think it sort of does but I’m too lazy to go change things so deal with it).

And then oh no we get the temptation plot point! This is often my favourite plot point in stories that have it because we get to see the protagonist drop their misbelief and refuse the offer because they’ve changed! Reading this and thinking, oh wow he’s going to refuse it because he’s gone through a super dynamic character journey and arc!’ … then realizing no he’s not, because Tui forgot to include that and now makes Qibli refuse the offer for completely different reasons.

See in a book with a good character arc, the character will refuse this offer because they’ve outgrown it. They no longer see value in it because they now have something greater to live for. I like this plot point much more than darkest moment if I’m being honest. So Darkstalker offers Qibli all he’s ever wanted: animus magic. Will Qibli accept, or decline? And why?

He declines. But not for the right reasons.

Qibli doesn’t refuse Darkstalker’s offer because he’s changed or grown. He doesn’t refuse it because he now sees no value in this because he’s seen happiness anywhere else. He refuses because he knows he can’t trust Darkstalker.

… wow.

i hate this book so much istg

If Qibli had gone through a dynamic arc, he would have refused for better reasons.

It’s just so disappointing. He has no reason to refuse that other than the fact that Darkstalker is untrustworthy. Holy shit.

I take character arcs and story structure very seriously, and Qibli is just AWFUL when it comes to this.

After three books that had such epic, emotional character arcs, DoD feels like a downgrade. And that’s why I think Qibli is a terrible character.

But hey you know what COULD have worked?? Giving Qibli a NEGATIVE arc instead!

I know he’s Darkstalker’s foil. That’s cool I don’t care. GIVE HIM A NEGATIVE ARC!! I would have LOVED IT SO MUCH MORE if Qibli accepted Darkstalker’s offer and arc 3 was all about all the other protagonists coming together to stop him and Darkstalker. That would have made a much better third arc. And you can bring in the other tribes if you want to I don’t care just find a way to make it work.

It would have made so much more sense and fit the story so much more if Qibli accepted Darkstalker’s offer and became an evil animus alongside him. It also could have given Moonbli more time and chemistry! I still would have shipped Winterwatcher because well, Winter, but I probably wouldn’t hate Moonbli if this was the way the story went. Or maybe Qinter could be a thing. Imagine like a really emotional moment where Qibli is about to kill Winter and Winter just talks to him or something idk something romantic and sad. Would be great because there’s zero mlm rep in wof.

Fuck it I’m gonna make an au about this.

Yeeah that’s my rant over. I don’t hate Qibli as a character and I think he had so much potential but the way the story is written, I honestly thought he would have a negative arc instead. Wow I really want that au now I can’t stop thinking about it haha. But yeah Qibli is charismatic at times and a bit fun but his arc is terrible. Moon had a better arc than Qibli. MOON.

Sorry if this came off as aggressive at times I just wanted to voice my opinion. If you like him, that’s cool! I just don’t. He’s not one of my favourites although he could have been. Missed potential in my opinion. This is a very long rant so if you’re still reading this … thanks lol.

Have a good day/night. Im gonna make that au now lmao.

#rant post

55 notes · View notes

danses-with-dogmeat · 3 years

Text

Introducing My Fallout OCs!

OMGGGG y’all, I can’t. I’ve apparently reached over 200 of you fantabulous followers and I am so ecstatic! I honestly don’t even know if this is considered a milestone or anything, but I was super psyched, so I'm doing something about it, dang it!

Also, just a heads up on me right now, I just started school again, so my posting miiiiiiight be a bit sporadic every now and then, but I’m determined to still try and get a few posts out every week, so we’ll see how that goes. I’m also pretty backed up on requests at the moment, I’m still accepting them for the time being, but I may turn off my asks if I’m finding difficulty getting to everyone.

Anyways, I know I don’t ever really talk about my Fallout Original Characters, but I’m thinking of doing some stuff with them in the future, so this seemed like a good place to start 🤷‍♀️ So, here they are! One from each of the 3 FO games I write for. If ya’ll want to send in any asks about these folks, please feel free to do so!

(Art for these peeps is pending potentially as well).

My Lone Wanderer: Hope

Appearance:

- Basically like a black-haired, blue eyed Sarah Connor (y’know, from Terminator), she’s got a small frame, but is an absolute beast. She loves to change up her hair, but prefers the iron maiden, unladylike, or rude ridge styles and will often dye it bright-ass colors, cuz why not? She’s pretty pale considering the vault background and the fact she is constantly wearing full body combat or leather armor when she’s outdoors, and she has a few piercings she actually got before leaving the vault.

What’s in a Name:

- “Hope” was the name that her parents chose for her before she was even born, but she can’t stand it, she just tends to see it as a cruel joke in the world they live in. She instead goes by Effie (short for Ephialtes, cuz she’s edgy and dramatic and read too much in school). Hope tends not to tell anyone her real name, and if she does, you’d best not use it to refer to her, unless you like being enslaved. The only one who could ever get away with it is Jericho and a select few people from the vault (Stanley, and her father, but she’s still not happy about it.)

Sexuality:

- Pansexual

Main Companion:

- Jericho

Relationship(s):

- She has a sort of “friends with benefits” type situation going with Jericho, but it ends up getting... complicated, and turning somewhat into a relationship.

Bestie(s):

- Even though he’s her boss, Hope likes to hang out with Eulogy when she’s in Paradise Falls. When she was in the vault, she spent a lot of time with Stanley, and was pretty close with Butch, Wally, and Paul as well.

Fam Dam:

- James and Catherine are/were her parents (obviously). But she also considered Stanley to be a sort of uncle to her.

Karma:

- Oh, the worst. She’s honestly awful. She steals, she murders, she enslaves, she blows up settlements, all of it. She’s got a lot of things she needs to work out...

Faction of Choice:

- The Slavers of Paradise Falls. (Yeah... she sucks.) The Brotherhood and the Outcasts just never really struck her fancy, and her and Jericho found it was easy to make bank with the slavers. Hope also is a friend to Allistair Tenpenny and Mister Burke... and not the folks in Megaton. Cuz they’re all not really alive.

Vault Occupation:

- Engineer

Fun Fact!:

- Hope is really bad with empathy, and absolutely needs to experience something for herself before she can make any sort of judgement on it, or other people who have had that same experience.

My Courier Six: Sage

Appearence:

- Sage doesn’t really consider herself very “flashy” in comparison to most folks in NV. She’s got shoulder length brown hair (blast back or clean cut style) and brownish-hazel eyes. She’s pretty damn tan (Mojave, you know) and doesn’t have many scars, but the ones on the right side of her forehead clearly indicate where she was shot in the head (thanks, Benny). She and Boone tend to twin quite a bit, with matching red berets and sunglasses.

What’s in a Name:

- The poor girl has no clue what her real name was before she was shot, but she saw a box of labelled herbs in Doc Mitchell’s house when she was recovering from her headwounds and decided she liked the name “Sage.”

Sexuality:

- Bisexual

Main Companion:

- Craig Boone

Relationship:

- Also Boone :) it’s a pretty darn slow-burn romance with lots of bumps along the way, but their love always seems to prevail. (Gross and sappy, I know)

Bestie(s):

- Arcade, plus Rex, and ED-E. Also Victor and Doc Mitchell.

Fam Dam:

- No clue, unfortunately. She eventually tries to find out something about her past and her family, if she has any, but she’s got a few things to deal with first (hint, one rhymes with pleaser’s fleegion).

Karma:

- She may make mistakes along the way, but Sage really does try her best to be as good as possible.

Faction of Choice:

- Mr. House and the Followers of the Apocalypse. Would like to get rid of House, but can't bring herself to become responsible for everything once he's gone. She considers herself his personal empathy and tries to assist with the goings on of the Mojave even after the battle of hoover dam. Fucking wiped out everyone in the Legion. Her and Boone are a force to be reckoned with. And she never really cared much for the Brotherhood since she had such little interaction with them. She has a good relationship with Freeside and most of the settlements/other towns as well.

Previous Occupation:

- Courier? She has no idea what else. But she’s oddly really good with medicine 🤔

Fun Fact!:

- She supports Mr. House for a number of reasons, but one of the biggest is that she doesn't want to lose Victor. He saved her, and she considers the securitron to be her oldest friend (besides Doc Mitchell). She knows it's a little selfish, but she can't bring herself to put an end to him after he pulled her from her own grave and helped bring her back from the brink of death.

My Sole Survivor: Jolene Arvanidis-Ryan

Appearence:

- She’s got auburn hair she usually keeps cut short (clean cut) or in a bun, green eyes, pale skin with a good amount of freckles and has exceptionally straight teeth (braces suck, but you know.) When traveling with Cait, people tend to think they’re related. Jolene tends to wear a black beret and, if she has the time and resources, she likes cat eye style eyeliner.

What’s in a Name:

- Her first name runs in the family... plus her dad really liked Dolly Parton, so that helped cement the first name for him. Nate’s last name was Arvanidis, and she tends to use that as her last name exclusively, she rarely reveals her maiden name (Ryan) to anyone.

Sexuality:

- Straight

Main Companion:

- Paladin Danse

Relationship:

- It takes a long time (post BB), but she ends up being with Danse.

Bestie(s):

- MacCready and Cait

Fam Dam:

- Pre-war, her father was a carpenter and her mother was a major in the US military, she had no siblings and was very close with her father since her mom was often away on deployment.

Karma:

- Decent. Tries her best to do what’s “right,” but she sometimes has a hard time determining what that is. Is good at following orders, even if she doesn’t always agree with them (BB is the exception in this case).

Faction of Choice:

- Brotherhood of Steel, at least until BB, then she tends to focus more on the Minutemen, but still stays by the BOS’s side when it comes to taking down the Institute. Despite her loyalty to the BOS, she always regrets what she did to the Railroad, and how she ended things with the Institute, and she holds quite a bit of resentment towards Elder Maxson for ordering her to pull the trigger that ended her son’s life, and the other lives within the Institute.

Previous Occupation (Pre-War):

- She was a Gunnery Sergeant in the US Military. (Trying to follow in her mother’s footsteps).

Fun Fact!:

- She hates killing feral ghouls, but keeps it under wraps since she tends to travel with MacCready and Danse the most. After that random encounter where she found herself murdering her own neighbors, she can’t bring herself to look into the eyes of any feral ghouls she has to kill.

Bonus! Fun Fact!:

- She started out as my sort of "throw away" playthrough where I wanted to do a BOS run, just out of curiosity, but she ended up being my main playthrough… probably because Danse is just the best and I can't get enough of that tin can thesaur-ass.

#fallout #fallout 3 #fallout new vegas #fallout 4 #original character #fallout oc #thank you guys again #ily all so much #thank you for reading #you all are the best

23 notes · View notes

jojo-fantasy-aus · 4 years

Text

Fantasy AU!

Josuke x F! Reader- CH 1.

First post, yay! This will be a longer series, so feel free to give me any criticism or suggestions!

-----

Being born into a peasant family was definitely not the greatest way to secure a happy life, but you made due with it. Your mother was a seamstress, father a carpenter, and you made it a point to learn everything you could from both of them. The more skills you had, the more likely you were to get a better job, and in turn, create a better life for you and your family.

And that was exactly what you did. You managed to get a job at the Royal Palace, a favor from some family friends, and quickly moved up the ranks. Everyone knew that it was because you were kind, and had made a good impression on the king, but you'd rather say that it was because of all the hard work you had done.

You had been the head lady-in-waiting for some time now, and had thought you'd seen everything. The Crown Princess, your beautiful best friend, tended to always get into some sort of trouble. You always made a point to try and prepare yourself for any incoming inconveniences, but today was... different.

"I just don't understand why Father makes me go to these things!" You hummed in response, currently focused on lacing up the powder pink dress she was to wear tonight. The beautiful fabrics elegantly draping just below her ankles, you regarded the dress with pride, it was one of your mother's designs. She was over the moon when Yukako asked for one to be made for the People's Gala.

The People's Gala was more of a festival than anything. An outdoor event, and favorite of everyone in the kingdom. The festival was a kindness the king gave the commoners every year to show his gratitude. It was a wonderful tool to keep the everyone in the kingdom happy.

"Well, there isn't another crown princess to attend for you, Yukako." She huffed, standing patiently still as you tightened her corset to a breathable squeeze. You checked her hem for any stains or rips once more, and stood once you were done, making sure she could move around just fine. Smiling a bit when you remembered something that was sure to lift her spirits.

"You know, rumor around the Palace is that the page boy you like will be attending. Koichi Hirose, was it?" Yukako's icy face lifted immediately, excitedly turning around to clutch your hands. She opened her mouth to speak, but suddenly closed it. Brows furrowed, frowning. You already knew what she was thinking. A ball of sadness and empathy forming in the pit of your chest.

"I'm sure he wouldn't want to see me again. Not after what happened." You had almost forgotten. You sighed, the princess had... a bit of a manic episode a while back. Focusing on Koichi in an... unhealthy amount. Needless to say, he had become quite wary of her. But she still snuck glances at him when she attended the royal library during her studies. You had never been in love yourself, but you knew enough about it to know she had it bad.

"I'm sure he won't be too flighty Yukako. At least you will be able to see him once again?" You murmur half-heartedly, briskly making your way around the room to blow out rose-sented candles and put things you had used to get her ready back in place.

"I suppose..." you let out a pitiful chuckle, hoping that your friend would feel better once she was at the gala. It had become her favorite, but only because she always seemed to be able to speak to Koichi as he shadowed the head page during the king's speech. You didn’t actually know Koichi that well, so you hoped for the princess' sake that he had forgiving mannerisms.

You quickly brought the Princess' shoes out, and laced up your own boots as she put them on. Smoothing out your plain blue skirt as you stood, you held out an arm to escort the princess. Usually it was unseemly to see a woman escorting another, but Yukako refused to let anyone else escort her. The king only allowed it because you managed to keep her out of trouble. (It was also partly due to the fact that she was too infatuated with Koichi to have eyes for a woman.)

The walk down to the palace gates was unfortunately, and uncomfortably, long. Yukako was squirming in her corset the entire time, desperately trying to look ladylike while she did. You tapped her arm lightly, a simple reminder to keep her composure. Servants and cooks were running around the ground floor like crazy, frantically trying to get everything together. Weaving in and out if the fray was quite tiring, but eventually the two of you made it to the gates unscathed.

Vendor tents were proped up as far as the eye could see, sweet smells floating in the breeze to antagonize those who had not yet eaten. The guards let you through with a wave as you and Yukako prepared yourselves for the onslaught of people along the streets.

The tents were all decorated beautifully, flowers and suns and other symbols painted on the cloth roofing. The setting sun casting a beautiful golden hue on everything and everyone. Those who recognized the princess bowed and curtsied as you passed, and those who didn't just waved and gawked at her beautiful dress. Some simply said nothing, as her cold outside demeanor seemed a bit intimidating. You knew yourself that she could be a bit scary when she wanted to be, but right now she was in awe. Looking at all the vendors with a sparkle in her eye. It was good to see her be herself in public for once.

"Try not to get too enamored, Princess, your father wants us to meet him for his speech. Knowing him we'll be there all day." You mused, leading her through the crowd carefully, keeping away from alleys and sketchy figures. You knew you were probably being overly cautious, but for some reason you just felt the need to be careful. Nerves welling in your stomach telling you so. Having always had correct gut feelings, you search for something else to focus on to mask the concern, not wanting Yukako to lose her cool herself.

You thought about that for a moment, no, Yukako would never be thrown into a panic due to gut feelings. She'd be a bit more defensive maybe, but she'd never let weakness like that show.

Every once and a while you would pass a few royal guardsmen watching over the festival, you made a point to wave at them when you could to make sure they were watching you and the princess. This settling sense of anxiety was pointless, you knew, but you certainly would rather take precautions then suffer the consequences.

At last, you had finally made it to the gazebo. Elegant white and gold trim framed the marble pillars, ceiling slumped in a slender tent-shape. It had been freshly cleaned, but the doves still fluttered about in the rafters. The king was atop a temporary throne, speaking to his advisors. The knights at all four corners bowed as you two carefully ascended the steps.

"Yukako! Dear, just who I wanted to see!" The king cheered when he spotted her, calling out your name just after. The king was a rather large, jolly man. He wasn't quite handsome, not to the point of being ugly, but needless to say it was hard to believe that Yukako had come from, well, him. The king's crown sat grandly upon his head, dressed in fine fabrics and deep indigo colors he certainly looked the part for his title.

"I assume that there were no problems arriving?"

"No, your majesty." The words fell from your mouth robotically, more of a reflex than an answer at this point.

"Wonderful!" The king started to ramble on as he does, and your thoughts drifted to lunch, the chores awaiting you at home. You wanted to think about anything that could make the time possible pass faster. The king continued to drone on, always prone to these things. Yukako herself looked like she was about to fall asleep from boredom. Her arm slipped out of yours quite a bit ago, but you hadn't really noticed. Blankly staring at the king as he spoke about the splendid flower arrangements, and the farms that they came from.

"Yes your majesty, the hydrangeas are quite beautiful." He heartily laughed, sending a friendly wink your way.

"They always have been Yukako's favorite! Ever since she was a girl she- Yukako?" The king looked around with a confused look, you didn't understand why. The princess was right next to you-

But then again, she wasn't. She had disappeared from you side. You spun a around in a panic, searching through the wide, open, gazebo. She was nowhere to be found. You were right about the gut feeling yet again, weren't you. Panic built up from your stomach and pushed into your chest, overwhelming any other sense.

"Princess?" You try your best to push the words out of your throat, turning to the side exit. Your eyes desperately search through the crowd. The king was talking to you, words muffled, you had blocked everything out, just until you saw a flash of pink in the crowd.

"Hurry and find her!" And just like that, you took off in a sprint. Calling for her as you pushed through the crowd. Your heart was pounding in your ears. Didn't she know how dangerous this was? The least gaurded festival of them all and she decided to disappear like that? Was it even her own decision to run off, or was she taken. You didn't know, and you certainly couldn't rationize anything right now.

The methodical feeling of your boots hitting the ground and pushing you forward was what you focused on to keep you calm. Step, push. Step, push. Rinse and repeat until you had almost collected your witts. There!-A flash of her pink skirt around the corner. You had found her. Or, you did, before your foot skidded across the gravel, and you plummeted to the ground. You slammed against the gravel, hard.

"Whoah! Are you ok?" You pushed yourself off the ground as quickly as you could, but a pair of hands steadied you as you stood. They belonged to a taller man, blue eyes peering at you quizzically. He was a muscular build, probably a knight, you assumed. His hair was done up in such away that you would assume he was a royal, if it weren't his dirtied chain mail armor. You certainly had no time to gawk however. You tried to take off running once again, but he caught your arm.

"Let me go!"

"Just hold on a moment, would you? Why the rush? Are you being chased?" You didn’t have time for these questions! To no avail you tried to tug your arm away from him. And when you realized he wouldn't let you go you blurted out the only thing you could think of in that moment.

"The princess is missing, I'm trying to find her, so let- Go!" His eyes widened, grip loosening for a split second, just enough for you to slip away. Once again sprinting in the direction you saw her last, turning the corner. The guy who had let you go was calling for you, and somehow made it to your side almost impossibly quick.

The crowd started to become denser as the pathways winded farther away from the gazebo. Carts rumbling around the walkways and vendors passing out samples in the streets. Unwillingly you had started to slow, the man pulling ahead of you by just a bit.

It was hard to pay attention to the people around you while you searched for Yukako. Bumping into one person and then another as you squeezed through the crowds. Turning your head just a bit you saw that the man still had an eyes on you. Peering over his shoulder as he ran. He mouthed something to you that you couldn't quite understand.

You almost tripped again when he grabbed your hand, and yanked you into a makeshift alleyway.

"What the hell do you think your doing!?" You yanked your hand away from him, running back to the entrance and trying to peer over the dense amount of people. Nothing. You started to get angry. Yukako could be in danger and you had lost her trail thanks to him.

"I'm helping you find your princess." You wiped around in rage, a mouthful of words ready to fire. But once you looked past him, you saw that characteristically long hair, powder pink dress dirtied from her disappearance. A little man with silver hair, Koichi, defensively standing in front of her. You stood in shock, he did help you find her.

"Oh, Josuke! Its just you," Koichi dropped his defensive demeanor, and Yukako's eyes followed him, completely enamored. She hardly even notice your disheveled, panicked self next to the handsome stranger that Koichi apparently knew.

"Yeah, sorry for the interruption-" Your shock started to wear off a bit as they talked, relief and anger overwhelming your senses. Yukako was actually smiling as she watched Koichi talk though, at least she was happy.

That's what you wanted to think anyway. You were too overwhelmed with emotion to think if anything but the fact that she wasn't hurt, and she was certainly not dead. Both men looked at you quizzically as you passed them and wrapped Yukako in a hug.

"Yukako, what were you thinking?!" You had started to tear up, holding onto her tightly. You had forgotten about formalities just this once, thankful that your friend was ok. Once you let go of her she simply shrugged, pointing a sour look at you. Making eye contact and flicking her eyes to Koichi and back. Oh.

You eyed Koichi with suspicion, and he immediately stiffened up, starting to ramble.

"I'm sorry! I was just enjoying the festival and then I saw Yuka- her highness! And I thought she was lost so I-" Honestly it became harder to understand what he was saying the more he went on. The man from before, Josuke? Clapped a hand on Koichi's back, and he started to chill out a bit. Josuke looked up at you with a slight smile, and you almost blushed. He was quite handsome. You cleared your throat.

"I suppose I should thank you. I'm sorry for the rudeness." He laughed, and you knew you were blushing, you tried your best to suppress whatever spell he had you under, treating it as a simple, shallow emotion that you wanted to rid yourself of.

"Don't sweat it," He said curtly. "You had me thinking that she was in danger though, I'm a little pissed at that. But I don't mind." The crude words almost hung in the air, it was strange to hear people cursing so openly. You used to have the mouth of a sailor yourself, until the proper poise of the castle servants started to rub off on you too. Lord help the soul who curses in front of the king.

"I know that her highness can be a bit unmanageable sometimes." His eyes grew serious, looking dead at you like the Princess wasn't even there. You could feel Yukako prickle behind you. She was definitely pissed. your face had twisted in a foul way at his words as well, but you pushed out a sigh, pushing down the defensive words you wanted to say because you knew he was right.

Koichi started to complain at Josuke's attitude and you almost felt relieved when his serious gaze shifted away from your own. You turned back to Yukako with a sigh as the friends bicker. She still had her eyes squarely on Koichi.

"Yukako, what happened?" You whisper, lacing your hands together to resist popping your knuckles or fidgeting. Yukako folds her arms, dark gaze pointed at you once again. You probably would've been afraid if it weren't for the fact that you knew her well enough that she wasn't going to pose any threat as long as Koichi was around.

"I'm not going to apologize because I'm not sorry. The old man should've known how boring his speeches were anyway." She explains why she ran off, Koichi was in the crowd, he waved, mouthing something to her. She ran over to him on impulse, and he panicked, trying to get her somewhere where there were less people, and where there was less of a chance of her getting hurt.

She started to blush when she started to get to the end, you suppose that something more happened between her and Koichi that she was leaving out, but didn't press. Instead, you raise your eyebrows at Yukako with a slight smile. She playfully swats you away, fully flustered now.

Neither of you knew what to do when you heard the screaming.

It was everywhere, women, children, and men alike, the crowd outside the alley clearing out fast, people frantically running from something or someone. You slowly step forward to stand beside Josuke, Koichi backing away to make sure yukako was ok. You tried to peer over the crowd looking for what the commotion was all about.

You yelp as someone yanks you back, but you already knew who it was, recognizing the restrained tug. You snap your head up to spit out a retort at Josuke, but the words die in your throat, he was focused on something that you couldn't see. His eyes set in a terrifying manner, you couldn't tell if the fear stinging in your chest was because of him or the mass panic. His hand remained on your back, softly holding onto you.

"...Jo…Josuke…" Koichi's cough causes you to jump, heart pounding in your ears as you and Josuke whipped around. Both Yukako and Koichi were in a coughing fit, a mysterious gas filling the back of the alley. You didn't think it was even possible for any more panic to settle in your chest until you saw Yukako double over, falling to the ground in her fit. Koichi fell beside her as you ran to them. Josuke was calling for you to come back but you could only hear the blood rushing in your ears.

The moment you stepped into the mist it felt like you couldn't breath. The gas ripping coughs out of your chest, lighting your lungs on fire and leaving you to struggle to push out the smoke. Your eyesight became blurry as you saw figures step out of the thickest part of the mist.

"N...no…" You struggled out, watching as they picked the two of them up.The insignia on their backs burning into your memory. Your eyes began to get heavier and heavier, you started to slip into the abyss.

You didn't know how Josuke pulled you out of the mist. In fact, you didn't even realize you were out until you were in his arms as he ran. You tried to speak, but only a groan came out. It was hard to focus, hard to stay awake… Everything was hazy and hard to understand.

"Don't you fall asleep on me, ok?" Your chest felt wet and sticky, a pain in your chest starting to reveal itself. Were you bleeding? You couldn't think straight. What had happened? Where were Koichi and the Princess? You could hear arrows whiz past you and Josuke. He cursed under his breath, and you weakly held onto him as he made a sharp turn.

He suddenly stopped. Shit. Dead end. He held you a little tighter as his face shifted into something unreadable. You were beginning to wake up more, but the pain in your chest remained constant. Josuke suddenly set you down with an apology as he set you against a wall to keep your balance, hands grazing your waist as he pulled away. It was getting easier to focus, you pressed a hand to where the pain was centered on your chest, sticky blood coating your hand when you took it away.

You almost felt faint, the adrenaline starting to set in again. You frantically looked for Josuke again, scared that he had left you. You spotted him at the very end of the alley, flinching as the sound of metal on concrete echoed off the walls. Josuke was catching his breath after setting the sewer grate down, facing you slightly.

"We're going in there, aren't we." You murmured, the anxiety returning as shouting grew closer to the alley. Josuke let out a pained laugh as he quickly made his way back to you. Helping you hobble over to the open grate. He hopped in first and you sat down, feet dangling through the hole, when you managed to move in just the wrong angle. A stabbing pain shot through your chest and you sucked in breath, unable to move.

Thank God Josuke noticed, a worried look flashed across his face. He grabbed your arm with one hand and hooked the other under your knees, awkwardly maneuvering you through the open grate. You could tell he was trying to be gentle, but the pain only grew worse. Your face contorted in pain as he gently set you down on the concrete maintenance path, his arms remaining put. You glanced up just in time to see the grate slide shut on. it's. own.

"What the Fuck?" You whisper, earning a wide smile from Josuke. His face quickly changed when loud voices shouted overhead.

"I thought you said they went this way, dimwit!" Josuke pressed you to his chest protectively, ready to take off with you in his hands if he had too. You could feel how built he was through the chain mail, and realized he had supported your weight along with the armour the entire way he had carried you. The thought alone makes you blush. You needed to put out this crush, he was a stranger you just met.

"They did go this way! I swear!" A scoff and the sound of a slap echoed, you flinched a bit, keeping your eyes closed tight as you prayed for them to leave.

You and Josuke both started to calm down as the footsteps grew farther and farther away. Josuke's stiff posture relaxing, yourself letting out a breath you hadn't realized you'd been holding.

It was silent for a while after, you assumed Josuke was waiting a while longer to speak just in case the men returned. You almost missed the warmth of his body as he pulled away to look through the grate. Satisfied with whatever he had seen, he sat down next to you, completely relaxed. Confident in that the men were long gone, (Thanks to Josuke's reaction,) you gathered the strength to speak.

"Where are they?" Your voice cracked. Josuke avoided eye contact with you, leaning his head back on the cold stone behind the two of you. You could clearly see that he was ashamed, and worry started to boil over in your chest.

"I couldn't get to them." He was struggling with the words, and you just knew he was holding something back from you. Keeping some sort of detail to himself.

A rush of mixed emotions flooded through you. Did he just leave them behind? Why?! What did he even mean he "couldn't get to them"? You decide to keep your manners in check as you sit. He was obviously a close friend of Koichi, and out of everyone you knew it was clear to you that Koichi was too honest and respectable to remain close with someone unworthy of trusting. If Koichi trusted him, you decided that you probably should too.

Shifting uncomfortably where he was sitting, Josuke turned towards you and oh so gently moved your arms a bit so he could see the wound on your chest better. Chills ran rampant across your arms, and you hoped he wouldn't notice.

"I managed to drag you out of there with my stand. But when I hesitated to get us out of there they started to shoot." Your brows furrowed in confusion as he scooted closer. You shuddered as he pulled open the ripped part of your white blouse just enough to see the shallow wound. It stretched from the tip of your shoulder to just below your armpit, and damn did it hurt like hell when he exposed it to the open air.

"Stand?" Josuke shook his head, and you were in too much pain to demand an explanation. Josuke's hands remained on the edges of the ripped fabric, and even though you could see them it somehow felt like he was touching the wound.

"An arrow grazed you a little too close while I was standing there like a dunce, I want to apologize for that. I should've registered that we needed to escape before you were hurt." You suck in a ragged gasp as the pressure of the invisible touch increased just lightly, and suddenly the pain stopped. You look in awe as the wound starts to heal itself up completely.

"A knight and a Mage too?" You mused after the initial shock wore off. It wasn't uncommon for "magic" and healers to be heard of, but it was certainly a shock to actually meet one. You honestly had been a little skeptical until now, and it was still hard to believe.

"Something like that." Josuke smiles lightly, sitting back against the wall where he was before. You didn't talk much after that. He asked you if you remembered what the men looked like, and you tried your best to explain the symbols on their cloaks, but you were afraid that you weren't very good at it.

Josuke couldn't quite understand what you were describing, and you both ended up agreeing that you both needed to look for Koichi and Yukako. Josuke as the muscle and you for… information? Moral support?

You didn’t know, but with Yukako's life on the line you weren't going to take no for an answer even if he wanted to find them alone.

Your eyes started to grow heavy, but you didn't want to sleep. You felt too open, to vulnerable to sleep. Josuke was a complete stranger, and yet he had done more for you than anyone else had in ages. He had helped you, saved your life even, but doubt still trickled in through the back door of your mind. How long would it last?

You wouldn't follow down that rabbit hole anymore tonight, sleep taking over your body swiftly as you truly started to process everything that had just happened.

#jjba josuke #josuke x reader #josuke higashitaka #josuke 4 #jjba #jjba x reader #fantasy au #it takes two fic

63 notes · View notes

strange-lace · 4 years

Text

My first thing to do knowing hyperfixating on LEGO Monkie Kid is making a role swap AU because of course, though I was also inspired by @cassidyisnowdrawing ‘s Yellow Light Verse (that I really hope it doesn’t look like I’m copying you, I did my best to make them different from each other)!

So in this role swap, while everyone’s roles in the story are swapped (Mei’s the Monkie Kid, Red is her partner in crime, and MK serves DBK and PIF) their backstories haven’t changed, if that makes sense. Now while I keep their personalities similar to canon, they’re going to still have some differences due to their different circumstances.

Mei:

Mei would be a lot more insecure and eager to prove herself, both as Sun Wukong’s successor and her worth as a person since while I’m having backstories for the characters stay the same, I could see Mei and MK both being worse off self-esteem wise without having each other around growing up.

She’d still just as bubbly, excitable, protective, and phone savvy as Canon!Mei, if not more so on the protective aspect. Tends to go absolutely apeshit the most when someone threatens Green, Pigsy, Tang, Sandy and eventually includes MK and her own mentor, Sun Wukong, under this umbrella.

Case in point: when she sees Sun Wukong and Macaque fight. Through sheer protective anger and hurt about being betrayed allows her to lift the staff and decimate Macaque.

Sun Wukong would get attached a lot quicker to his successor in this AU because Mei just has that energy which activates Parental Instincts he didn’t even know he had.

Does noodle deliveries for Pigsy but has also makes vlogs of what it’s like working at Pigsy’s Noodles. She says it’s to better advertise the shop, but really she just likes making memories that she can look back on and show others. Starts doing it while also being the Monkie Kid and training with Wukong.

Was genuinely scared/intimidated by Demon Kid upon first meeting him but was quick to find that while he’s got the dramatics of being a villain down, he fails at the aspect of actually partaking in villainous behavior. After that, they’re quick to transition from enemies to frenemies to just being friends.

Makes no effort to hide her wanting to be friends with Demon Kid and finds his quiet bewilderment at her friendship adorable but also kind of sad.

A troublemaker despite her innocent face, which definitely makes Sun Wukong proud to see her causing chaos and get away with it. That, alongside her kind nature, are the reasons he chose her as his successor.

Creates tech for the team alongside Green, though their differing styles of inventing can cause complications or make the inventions backfire on them both, though she takes these more in stride compared to Green.

The undefeated queen in DDR and Monkey Mecha despite Green’s multiple attempts to dethrone her.

Mei: Hey, hey DBK look at me. DBK: [turns towards Mei] Mei: [ready to kick his ass] B I T C H!

A slight bit better at focus and following Wukong’s lessons compared to Canon!MK but still tends to get ahead of herself in wanting to learn flashier techniques before even getting the basics down.

Likes to wage psychological warfare on her enemies. By that I mean, she essentially likes pulling Bugs Bunny level antics to frustrate them to do stupid stuff in combat out of anger, allowing her to fuck them up with a smile on her face.

Green (AKA Red Son)

The most changed personality wise due to different circumstances in this AU, a lot more calm and composed to counteract Mei’s hyperactive demeanor and less prone to losing his temper. Though he’s still pretty uptight.

Is still the son of DBK and PIF but he had ran away some time after DBK had been imprisoned. Makes an effort to make sure he’s not recognized by anyone, dying his hair and wearing makeup. Still wears Canon!Red Son’s shades but they’re larger and he still dresses like a rich bitch because he has standards. He refuses to wear the color red for unknown reasons to Mei and the others, at least until they find out about his family.

Just as protective of Mei as she is of him, to the point he had some objections to her being chosen as Sun Wukong’s successor but eventually let it go once he saw how important it was to her. Begrudgingly chose to fight alongside her, thinking he might as well and avoid her getting herself killed. His way of showing he cares can appear condescending but Mei has known him long enough to know he really doesn’t see her incapable of taking care of herself.

Works alongside Mei to use their combined tech knowledge to combating the threat of DBK and his demon forces. However, his inventions can also have a tendency to backfire or not work as intended, much to his frustration.

Enjoys racing on his motorbike, participating in races across the city and often winning in 1st place. He is most definitely a cocky little bastard about his skill in racing, one the few things about himself that he puts a lot of pride in.

Had a complicated relationship with Demon Kid at first. At first, he resented the other for essentially being his parents attempt to “replace” him after he ran away and led himself to believe that he was much more appreciated by his parents for his control of his flames and magic power. However, that illusion is soon shattered once he sees how Demon Kid gets when they foil his plans since he’s familiar with that look of worry and resigned accepted that he’d have to go back to DBK and PIF with another failure on his back. Tries to show empathy after that without revealing his true identity, which only causes confusion for Mei and Demon Kid on how he’s so familiar with DBK, PIF, and demon culture as a whole.

The exhausted voice of reason among the team alongside Pigsy.

Often challenges Mei to video game championships which devolve to them play fighting once Mei inevitably beats him at everything.

Has his own façade of confidence but often fears not being strong enough to keep his found family safe but is too proud to admit until someone gets injured and he starts fearing for the worst.

Sun Wukong enjoys messing with him due to his uptight nature, especially at the Monkey King’s impishness.

Goes completely feral in combat once he gets the Dragon Sword. Even before that, he was willing to run over Demon Kid’s demon puppets with his bike to give Mei a hand.

Demon Kid (AKA MK)

A kid who’s a lot like Megamind: he lives for the dramatics and presentation of being a villain but fails at actually acting villainous when it comes down to it. Does his best to appear serious, intimidating, and someone not to mess with but that façade slips very often when it comes to things like being complimented or when someone mentions the Monkey King and he turns out to be a complete dork.

Not the son of DBK and PIF, but rather a low level demon that PIF had chose to be help her free DBK after Red Son had disappeared and she was left alone. Mainly because Demon Kid had no one else either and she saw potential with his strong magic, though it was rather out of control when they met. PIF had decided alongside DBK that they’d keep him around as an assistant/minion of sorts once he had helped her free DBK.

Since he doesn’t have Canon!Red Son’s prowess with technology, I considered instead that he’s skilled with magic and his own fire powers, using them a lot more in combat or during his schemes against Mei’s team. Still a major contributor to DBK’s army, but instead of the mechanical Bull Clones, perhaps Demon Kid instead supplies his king with sentient demon puppets given life through his magic. The armor can run the same, except with a magical angle instead of technology.

I have this idea that he’s actually able to pull out Sun Wukong’s staff on his own, much to his surprise. He’s quick to try and say it was due to a spell when PIF questions this. He’s left both amazed and terrified at the mere possibility of him being worthy to wield the staff of Sun Wukong himself.

His first meeting with Mei plays out similar to the show’s canon, though instead he intended on teleporting Mei away with a spell under the guise of “eliminating” her for DBK. Even while chasing her through the city, he was going to simply take the staff and scare her enough to never cross the Demon Bull King again. He tries to convince himself it’s to allow fear of DBK to be spread by leaving her alive but really, he just could never bring himself to kill or seriously harm someone.

Though like Canon!Red Son, he’s prone to losing his temper with others before immediately apologizing afterwards out of reflex. Also tends to teleport away from situations when he’s embarrassed himself, often saying he’s only allowing Mei and Green to win this time but next time will be different.

Spoiler alert: It rarely ever is.

DBK and PIF are often frustrated with Demon Kid because they know he has potential to bring Sun Wukong’s successor and her team to their knees with his powers and knowledge of magical spells but he fails to fulfill this because of his own inability to be cruel. They’re both like that episode of Spongebob where Plankton tries to teach him to be assertive/aggressive except they’re both Plankton and Demon Kid is Spongebob.

Quickly becomes attached to Mei and Green since they’re genuinely nice to him and while he insists that it’s because they’re his “personal archenemies”, he most definitely sees them as his friends and is constantly coming up with flashier schemes to impress/amuse them as well as get feedback from them. Was actually really lonely before meeting them, having to use his demon puppets for company. His attachment to Mei and Green can quickly evolve to possessiveness when he thinks someone is trying to take them away, whether they be other enemies that decide to fight them or a friend who is simply spending noticeable amount of time with them.

In the case of someone else trying to kill them, Demon Kid would be quick to shut that down and make that person immediately regret it since, in his words, he’s the only one allowed to destroy the two. This is one of the few situations where he gets completely serious and doesn’t bother with the theatrics.

Does his best to make himself look scary such as shoes to make him appear taller, jagged face paint, and perhaps sharp eyeliner to imitate PIF since he sees everyone fears her.

#lego monkie kid #monkie kid #mk #mei #red son #roleswap au #tiny laptop ramblings

75 notes · View notes

heartofsnark · 3 years

Text

This Is Love (Chapter Twelve): Evil Comes In Disguise

Notes: This one is shorter than others but it felt like it took me so much longer, I blame Cyberpunk 2077 for stealing my one braincell for a while. Also, I have a tendency that the longer it takes me to write something, the more insecure I feel about it, so I ended up cutting this chapter a bit shorter than I originally intended. But I think it works and I hope you enjoy!~

Word Count: 8686

Chapter Warnings: Talk of physical assault, hospitals, POV switches, Joseph visions, me trying to write police investigations/interrogations to minimal success and struggling to write Jerome for the first time properly.

For chapter one and the warnings about this fic’s overarching themes, please click here!

For the previous chapter; click here!

And the clock ticks and ticks and ticks and ticks. Every second feels like an eternity. Every moment of silence seeming to stretch on for hours. Her nerves fray with each one, worry blooming like a flower in her chest. The tension palpable as the three deputies and Sheriff wait to hear what will become of the town pastor. Dahlia’s mouth starts running before she can stop it; to distract herself or her distraught friends, she doesn’t know.

“How long have you all known Pastor Jerome?”

“Oh, Jerome’s been in Hope for…fifteen years or so,” Whitehorse tells her, thinking a minute over the exact timeline.

“He took over the Falls End church when I was thirteen,” Hudson adds, “so yeah, fifteen years.”

“Wow,” Dahlia can’t help but exclaim, astounded by just how long they’ve all known the pastor, he’s been with the county for more than half of Hudson and Pratt’s lives.

“St-,” Pratt swallows his words then starts again, stuttering, “still remember my mom making me give my first confession to him…I was terrified I was gonna go to hell, get kicked out of church, break my mom’s heart.”

“What did you do?”

“His mom caught him looking at porno mags,” Hudson rats him out, laughing. Whitehorse cracking a smile and Dahlia snickering.

“I was eleven, shut up,” he tries to defend himself through his own laughter, “yeah, Jerome thought it was funny too, told me everything was okay and then it was.”

Rook can just imagine it, Pratt as a kid, terrified that god’s going to smote him for looking at a tit. There’s a bittersweet quality to the four smiling and laughing at the memory; the anxiety and fear still looming but it’s a little easier to breathe. The weight crushing down on them is a little lighter than it was before.

“If he makes it out of this, we need to go back to church,” Hudson tells Pratt after a beat of silence.

“We do, don’t we?”

“Officers?” A man in a doctor’s coat calls out to them, the same one who stitched her head back together before.

“Is he okay?”

“We stabilized him; we got the bleeding under control and it looks like we won’t have to transfer him after all, he should be fine to recover here. We’re still monitoring him, but things are looking up.”

There’s a sigh of relief; maybe just from Whitehorse, maybe from all of them. She can’t even tell. Things are looking up, Jerome is likely to live and none of them will lose someone who clearly means so much to them.

“What exactly is it that happened, doctor?”

“Someone out in the valley called 911; the heard scratching at the door and when they looked he was collapsed on their front step. That’s all we know at this point, but as I told you, this was clearly an assault. The bruises, the bleeding, it all matches with brute force assault and with the severity we do believe it was multiple people who attacked him.”

“Who the fuck would wanna hurt Jerome?” Hudson asks, more to herself than anyone else.

“You’re all free to stay in his room, so you can question him when he wakes up, but I don’t know how reliable his memory will be with what he’s been through.”

“Thank you, doctor.”

The four go into the hospital room and Dahlia clenches her jaw when she sees him. Bruises mottle and color the friendly face she’s seen around the county; a myriad of red and purples across him. One eye swollen, stitches and bandages in places where the skin broke. They were trying to kill him; that’s all Dahlia can think. This was an attempted murder, his body is hidden under a hospital gown and blankets, but she can see from his arms that the damage extends over his body. A IV gives him a steady drip of fluids to keep him stable, a heart and oxygen monitor letting the staff know he’s staying that way.

“Jesus fuck…” Pratt whispers under his breath.

Hospital coffee and more stories of the pastor pass the time as the four settle in; the time Jerome comforted an emotional fourteen year old Hudson when she spilled communion grape juice on her white dress. Whitehorse talks about how often he’s visited the church to talk with Jerome.

Hours pass of the four talking, Dahlia downing five or more paper cups of coffee across the time. And then a cough sound rings out, a shift of fabric, the pastor slowly waking up. Whitehorse calls out for the nurses; the deputies shifting in their seats as he comes to.

The nurses flood in, checking on Jerome’s vitals, ensuring he can comfortably sit up in his bed. He’s an older man, not as old as Whitehorse, but probably as old as Jacob or Joseph. Mid to late forties. With short dark textured hair and a dark beard.

“What the hell happened?” Whitehorse asks when the nurses are done checking on the Pastor.

“John Seed,” The pastor begins, and Dahlia clenches her jaw, “he and members of Eden’s Gate kidnapped me, he tried to force a confession from me and when I didn’t comply; they beat me and left me in the woods. I tried to get help the best way I knew how, but I passed out before I could speak to anyone.”

Dahlia doesn’t have time to think, to ruminate on what this means, what might be going on; Whitehorse telling her to grab the evidence collection kit he brought in. There’s not much to be collected, but their best bet of getting any conclusive evidence is swabbing Jerome’s fingernails. There’s nothing to get fingerprints off of, no weapon, no duct tape, no bindings. No bodily fluids exchanged, thankfully for Jerome’s sake. But, if he fought back, grabbed at his attackers, there’s a chance the blood under his fingernails could belong to them. That he managed to gouge their skin deep enough to leave a trace.

“Sorry, this might hurt a bit,” Dahlia gives a gentle warning when she sees the broken and bloodied state of his nails, gently swabbing blood from under them, making sure to collect from each finger before dropping it into a vile.

“I think I’ll make it,” he manages to say, a slightly dry laugh, his voice deep and resonant.

“I know you will, but still don’t wanna add to it.”

“Jerome, you said John Seed, did you recognize anyone else?”

“Lonny, Theodore, and Patrick were the only ones I know I saw…The way John talked he was doing it because of Joseph, that he ordered it… Eden’s Gate is getting worse every day.”

“Don’t worry, Jerome, we’re gonna do everything we can, Hudson, take the sample back to the station to see if we can match it to anything already in our database. Pratt, Rook, want you to start pulling the peggies in for questioning and getting DNA. Start with Lonny Stevenson, Theodore Rossi, and Patrick Michaelson. No arrests, not yet, just questioning. We’ll handle the Seeds later, alright?”

“Understood.”

There’s a heavy tension in the cruiser as Pratt and Dahlia climb into it. Jerome is alive, there’s a weight to what he’s told them and to their duty to get justice for him. Pratt’s knuckles are white as he grips the steering wheel, jaw clenched, and shoulders wrought with tension. Pastor Jerome has been an important figure in his life. She can’t imagine how hard this must be for him. She thinks of how much worse she might feel if it were Lloyd or Whitehorse in that hospital bed, someone she were close to. Dahlia squeezes Pratt’s shoulder as they drive, hoping her empathy shows through the touch. Even as strangers, her stomach is in knots, though it may be because of her…connection to the accused.

Despite their constant encroachment on boundaries, stepping on the line but never quite over it, Dahlia had maintained her hope that the Seeds and their flock were good at their core. That’s why she turned Cassie into their hands, but everyday there’s something new. And this is the worst yet. If they’ve truly done this, if they’re ordering full out assaults on people, that does a lot more than just cross the line.

One of their three main suspects, outside of the two youngest Seed brothers, works at the Green-Busch Fertilizer Plant, an Eden’s Gate owned business. And for possibly the first time since she began working in Hope County, Dahlia is the one leading the charge as they get out of the cruiser, Pratt not trusting his own voice.

“Patrick Michaelson,” she calls out and a man steps out, “we need to have a word with you down at the station.”

He’s generic by Eden’s Gate standards, too long hair and a scraggly beard. His arms are covered, so she can’t check for scratches or bruises along them.

“I in any trouble, deputies?”

“Just need to ask some questions; Theodore Rossi or Lonny Stevenson here? We need a word with them as well.”

“No, but I could ring ‘em for you?”

“We’ll chat first, then you can call them from the station, alright?”

“Whatever you say, officers.”

The last thing she wants is for them to have a chance to put together a story and alibi before they start questioning them. They allow Patrick into the back of the cruiser, he seems to be maintaining his cool. And the tension in the car only strengthens as they take him back to the station. Dahlia watches him in the mirror along the way, waiting for some sign of anything to peek through, for a sleeve to ride up and to see scratches from Jerome’s nails, something. But nothing of the sort happens.

Dahlia has never actually had to interrogate or question anyone, she realizes once they’re at the station and having Patrick take a seat. She doubts he’ll give them much information. If he’s innocent, he won’t have anything of interest to tell. If he’s guilty, he won’t want to tell them much of anything. Getting a DNA sample is what’s going to be the most important thing, if they get some conclusive evidence, something that links one of the Eden’s Gate members to Jerome’s assault the rest will come much easier.

“Coffee?” She offers, as she pours black coffee into three paper cups.

Patrick murmurs a small thanks before he drinks from the cup before they start asking him questions. Hours pass of trying to ask the same questions in slightly different ways or tones. Dahlia trying to stay friendlier in her tone while Pratt is terser, due to his personal connection. But getting more than a ‘I was at home, last night,’ is like trying to get blood from a turnip. He refuses to give a DNA sample as well.

“We about done here?” Patrick asks with a hint of annoyance in his voice.

“Fine,” Pratt grumbles, “I’ll walk you out and you can ring Lonny and Theodore for us.”

Dahlia taps her fingers against the table as the two men walk out, breathing a sigh of relief when Patrick leaves his coffee cup. It takes a few minutes and then Pratt comes back, he collapses into his chair and groans, she can feel the stress radiating off of him.

“Well, that was a waste of fucking time,” he grumbles.

“How you figure?”

“How you figure anything else?’ He looks at her incredulously, like she’s grown a second head and breathed fire.

“Left his cup,” Dahlia pokes at the little Styrofoam cup, “our property, we wanna swab it for DNA, our business and don’t need anyone’s consent for it.”

“I’ll run it down to evidence, you brew another pot for the next two.”

“On it.”

Pratt runs that down, the cup bagged and labeled with Patrick’s name, she’s sure. Lonny and Theodore aren’t far behind. And their questioning goes much the same. They don’t give particularly direct answers and refuse to give DNA samples. Theodore avoids talking as much as he can, mostly opting to glare at the deputies after his first insistence that he has no idea why he’s here and has no obligation or desire to talk. But, he does at some point break his sourpuss expression to take a drink of coffee. Lonny is cockier, more aggressive, making snide comments but he drinks coffee at some point too; so that’s all that matters.

By the end of it all, three cups are sent down to evidence to be swabbed for DNA to be tested against the DNA found under Jerome’s fingernails. If it’s from any of them, they’ll know by hopefully the end of the day. Evidence based cases are rare around here, so the forensic team stated they can fast track it, hopefully

Pratt and Dahlia rest in the bullpen office, Hudson joining them. There’s a somber air to the entire office. Hudson’s leg bounces with nervous or angry energy, Dahlia isn’t sure which. Meanwhile, Pratt is wringing his hands until the skin rubs raw. Their worry is palpable as they wait for either more information or direction. The oppressive silence has started to weigh on Dahlia’s shoulders, she’s tapping her fingers against a table.

“You know,” Dahlia says after too long, “you guys can go see Jerome if you want, I’ll call if any info comes in.”

She knows they’re worried about him and want to be there to check on him. There’s no reason for them to sit here and suffer when she can just let them know when the analysis comes in.

“We’re not gonna leave you to man the station by yourself,” Pratt dismisses her out of hand, as if the idea that she can be left alone is ridiculous.

“I think I can manage for an evening, anything happens, I know how to reach you all.”

“I’m going,” Hudson declares, “I trust Rook and I’m driving myself crazy here.”

“Thank you, Hudson…” Dahlia says with soft smile, Hudson actually trusts her and isn’t acting like she’s a child.

“You coming?” Hudson asks Pratt, looking at him expectantly.

“I’m not leaving Rook here alone.”

“I’m an adult, you know that, right?”

“If Eden’s Gate was willing to attack Jerome, who knows what else they’ll do. And you’re already on their radar, were before this.”

“What, you think they’re gonna storm the station?”

“Who knows anymore.”

“I don’t have time to listen to you two bicker, I’m leaving,” Hudson tells them before walking out of the station.

Dahlia chews her lip once she’s left with Pratt. This is already a stressful day and not the time to let her wounded ego guide her behavior. But it is wounded. She’s not a child, young sure, but not a child and by no means incapable. Pratt has been coddling her and trying to limit what she does since the beginning of her job, she thought it was lessening, but… Does Pratt seriously not think she’s competent enough to be left alone for a few hours? Is she that unreliable? Incapable? Does he think that little of her?

She doesn’t lend a voice to these insecurities or anger; not the time or place.

“Don’t pout,” Pratt says after a few minutes.

“I’m not.”

“You are, I can physically see you pouting.”

“Even if I was, it’s not important.”

“Seriously, Rook? You wanna be a brat right now?”

“Seriously, Pratt? You wanna be a patronizing dick right now!?” Her voice is harsher than she intended.

“Deputies?” A voice calls out, one of the workers in their piddly little forensic department poking their head into the open office.

“Yeah?”

“We got a match for the DNA found under Jerome’s fingernails.”

“Who’s our guy?”

“Patrick’s matched, we couldn’t find any traces of Lonny or Theodore’s.”

“I’ll call Whitehorse,” Pratt says before getting out his cellphone, “figure out what we’re doing next.”

Dahlia only nods, not trusting herself after her outburst. Her fingers still tap tapping against a desk as Pratt speaks to the sheriff. She can only hear Pratt’s side of the conversation as he explains what they were just told and agrees to whatever Whitehorse is telling him, before he hangs up.

“So, what’s our next move?” Dahlia asks, voice cracking more than she’d like.

“Arresting Patrick and questioning the Seeds. He wants a lighter touch with John and Joseph, his words, not mine.”

“Lighter touch meaning…?”

“They can be questioned together if they want, given a day and the chance to come in on their own terms. Whitehorse doesn’t want us ruffling their feathers unless we get something conclusive on them.’

“I’ll never get why he wants to walk on eggshells around them.”

“Because they’re nuts and got a good hundred or more people who’ll fight for them.”

Dahlia shrugs, she gets that, she guesses. But its still hard for her to wrap her head around that the men she’s met could order an assault on someone else. A part of her is still holding onto the hope that Patrick just acted on his own, that John and Joseph had no idea. But, Jerome says John was there. And John’s not exactly a face he could confuse with someone else…

“C’mon, let's go get Patrick.”

He’s at his house at this late hour, knocking in the door of his little farmhouse. Patrick answers the door, face souring the moment he sees the officer. His lips are sealed, not speaking a word to the deputies as they read him his rights and bring him into the station. He refuses to speak for a long while, even as they book him and try to ask him a few more questions.

“I wanna call my lawyer.” Is all he says after an entirely too long drag of silence.

“John, your lawyer?” Pratt asks.

“What of it?’

“We need to have a chat with him too,” Dahlia informs him, “so we’ll be happy to call him for you.”

“Fine.”

Dahlia stretches out her back as her and Pratt leave the interrogation room, this day has been her longest yet, but they seem to be getting somewhere. She looks over to Pratt.

“Want me to call up John or you wanna do the honor?”

“I will, they like you too much.”

“Have zero idea what you mean by that, but alright.”

Pratt grabs the station phone and rings up John’s number. Dahlia chews her fingernails as she waits, biting away at them and chipping her nail polish in the process. When she runs out of nail that goes past her fingertips, she chews at the skin. Mind racing as Pratt talks to John, she feels like her thoughts and feelings are tearing into two directions. What she wants to be true and what evidence supports. The older deputy hangs up the phone and Dahlia looks up at Pratt expectantly.

“John says him and Joseph can be here in a few hours, chances are Jacob will be with them.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Anytime either of them have been questioned, Jacob’s there, just to look mean I guess.”

She nods, thinking of what she read so far in the Book of Joseph, of the abuse in the Seed family. It doesn’t shock her at all that Jacob has a protective streak, that he wouldn’t want his younger brother’s far out of sight. She does find herself wondering why Faith isn’t following alongside her siblings as well. Her fellow deputies didn’t seem to know much of her at all, Hudson not even knowing what she looks like. Hell, the youngest sister hasn’t even been mentioned yet in the Book of Joseph. Though given the hefty age difference, perhaps she wasn’t born yet during the memory Joseph chose to open it with?

Dahlia takes a seat while they wait for the Seed brothers, graciously accepting the cup of coffee that Pratt offers her. Her leg taps as she drinks at it, listening to the clock tick away as she waits for the Seeds. Her fellow deputy sits next to her and she can tell the day has been wearing on him. She doesn’t know why, what it is that pushes the impulse forward, but she thumps her head onto his shoulder. A soft form of contact, comfort, whether it’s an offering to him or a selfish desire of her own, she isn’t sure.

But Pratt responds by leaning his head towards her, over top of her own. His hair tickling at her skin and his scruff scratching at her skin. She can’t help but smile and press in a little closer, just appreciating his presence in this quiet moment after such a drawn-out day.

“Shit!”

Pratt’s sudden yell jolts Dahlia awake, her skull knocking against his. She blinks sleep from her eyes, when did she even drift off? How long was she sleeping against his shoulder? Her hands and the bottom of her jeans are wet; the cup of coffee and it’s contents now on the floor as well as her shoes.

“Fuck,” she curses under her breath, she must have dropped it when she fell asleep, “sorry.”

Dahlia goes and gathers up paper towels, cleaning up the mess. She didn’t even realize she was that tired.

“Don’t sweat it, shit has been crazy around here lately, I nearly dozed off myself.”

“You telling me this ain’t typical.”

“God, no, county’s usually more boring than watching paint dry. Lately, feels like county’s gone nuts.”

“Eh, I prefer the crazy, keeps things interesting at least.”

“Deputies,” the on shift desk worker pops their head into the room, “the Seed brothers are here.”

“We’ll be there in a second.”

Dahlia finishes cleaning up the mess and sighs, that weight back on her shoulders. It’s way past their usual shift hours and the day as a whole has been a lot. But they may finally be getting to the root of what happened. They’re getting some justice for Jerome, Patrick is a damn near guaranteed arrest. They just need to get to the bottom of John and Joseph’s involvement. She took this job to help people and that’s what she’s doing, Jerome has a right to feel safe in this county and as much as she hopes the Seeds are good, if they’re hurting others, it needs to be shut down and now.

Mess cleaned; Dahlia and Pratt go out to the waiting room to greet the Seeds. John and Joseph look relatively cleaned up. Though John always looks some version of prim and proper. She’s positive she’s never seen the youngest sibling in a shirt that wasn’t a collard button up and she’s certainly never seen his hair in any state other than slicked back. His shirt of choice today is purple, no vest or trench coat, just the buttons left undone to show the sin marked across his chest and the sleeves rolled up to show the tattoos across his forearms.

Joseph is wearing a shirt which is an accomplishment for him, a stiff white button up done up to his throat and a black blazer over it, nearly overkill in the heat of August. Perhaps he only wears clothing in extremes, either half naked or completely covered. His greasy dark hair is pulled back as usual and despite the late hour, his yellow aviators are on.

And then there’s Jacob, black tee and jeans with his typical camo shirt tied around his waist. Dog tags, key, and rabbit’s foot hanging from a chain around his neck as they always do.

They’re superficial observations, what the brothers wear, but she can’t help but take in the stark contrasts of the brothers. Joseph trying to look more put together and less crazy, John in that same state but every day, and Jacob genuinely not seeming to give any sort of a fuck.

“Deputies,” John is the one to greet them, grinning and Dahlia folds her hands behind her back, trying to still her body and straighten her back to present a confident front.

“John,” Pratt returns the acknowledgement with a nod, “I-“

“It seems you have one of our flock members contained on the bas-“ John cuts off Pratt.

“We actually would rather speak with you and Joseph before we discuss that case,” Dahlia cuts the youngest brother off in turn, not letting him dominate the conversation or set the tone for this.

“Is that so?”

“Yes, I assume, you’re both comfortable with answering some questions for us?” She cocks her head to the side, trying to stay nonthreatening, not that her five feet of being could ever be threatening.

“Of course, that would be no problem at all,” Joseph is the one to speak next, giving her a smile, eyes soft despite the circumstances.

“Actually,” Pratt cuts in, a twitch in his jaw, “I’ll be asking those questions alone.”

“You’ll what?” Dahlia levels a glare at her partner, ready to throw him through a window, but unable to do so. He’s pushing it, he keeps pushing it.

“I think it’ll be best if I conduct the interrogation alone.”

“Oh, do you?”

“You girls need a minute, or can we get this shitshow on the road,” Jacob says, the deep rasp of his voice cutting through the spat. And she doesn’t miss the clench in Pratt’s jaw at the emasculating choice of words.

“Come on back; sorry for the trouble,” Dahlia says, a tight lipped smile as she leads the Seed brothers to the interrogation room. She’ll deal with Pratt and his overprotective bullshit later. It’s a quick walk down the hall and she politely opens the doors for them, she thinks she sees Jacob rolling his eyes.

“Go ahead and take a seat, we’ll be just a moment,” Dahlia tells them, giving a small nod when Joseph thanks her. She lets the door shut behind the Seeds and turns her gaze back on Pratt.

“Rook-”

“What the actual fuck, Pratt?” She keeps her voice low, but her tone is terse, how could he try to strong arm her out of the interrogation.

“Look, you’ve spent a lot of time with them, regardless of if you’ve wanted too or not. They’re fixated on you and you’re just too close to them to be interrogating them.”

“You’ve known them longer than me! You’ve known them for years! This is a rural county, it’d take me longer to meet all the cows here than it would the people!”

She wants to wring his neck, he’s entirely too protective of her and for no real reason. More now than ever she realizes she made the right call not telling anyone about the mute “angel” Eden’s Gate member who swung on her or the vandalism of her trailer. Pratt already barely wants to let her handle ticketing people and now he doesn’t want her interrogating suspects. It’s ridiculous. She’s a grown adult woman, she needs to be allowed to do her fucking job.

Dahlia is done listening to this nonsense, she decides, and makes a beeline back to the interrogation room. Pratt isn’t going to stop her from doing her damn job. She opens the door, her coworker trailing behind her, as she steps into the interrogation room.

The Seed brothers are sat at the table. Jacob’s legs open wide, sat relaxed in his chair, completely disinterested by most appearances but he still watches the deputies from the corner of his eye. She’s reminded of a predator lulling prey into a false sense of security before it strikes.

Joseph sits between his elder and younger sibling. His elbows on the table, hands politely folded, not a hint of anxiety in him either. Seemingly calm, but his gaze is intense on the young deputy as she enters, never straying away from her. He never looks over at Pratt, the other deputy’s warning that they’re fixated on her ring through her mind.

John is sitting back in his chair and his gaze is just as intense, but there’s more manic energy behind it. In him in general. Perhaps he’d look calmer, more serene like his brothers, if not for the constant bouncing of his leg, the movement starting to shake the rickety table.

“Sorry about that,” Dahlia starts before Pratt can find a way to force her out of the room, “would either of you like any coffee or anything before we chat?”

“No, thank you. We’ve done this song and dance before, deputy, you can’t sneak dna off of us,” John dismisses her off with a sneer.

“Okay then, no coffee, understood,” she rescinds her off as she sits down at the table across from them, Pratt sitting next to her.

“Look, let's cut the bullshit,” Pratt speaks up, “a person was attacked, beaten badly. We got evidence, won’t say what, that connects one of your church members to the attack. And its being alleged that he did so on Joseph’s order with John supervising the whole thing, and...you’re just hear for window dressing I guess.” He gives a dismissive look to Jacob at that last part, no doubt his attempt to give a little revenge jab for his comment earlier.

“Why I’m here ain’t any of your concern, princess.” Jacob says, voice low and the threat within it not subtle.

“Okay…” Dahlia cuts in with a clap of her hands when she sees the way Jacob and Pratt are glaring at each other, this is an interrogation not a pissing contest, the last thing they need is Pratt trying to fight Jacob and getting his ass kicked, “this is already going off the rails, good job everyone. Now, while his wording was...abrupt, uh that is the reality of the situation. There are some heavy accusations being levied at you two, so we were hoping to ask you a few questions.”

“This is absolutely ridiculous,” John responds, rolling his eyes, “these are completely baseless accusations.”

“We do have evidence linking one of the men, a member of your church, to the assault. Our witness and survivor is credible. At this point we have no reason to believe they’d lie about what occurred.”

“They persecute us the same as they did the prophets before us, the faithful handed over to courts and councils, sheep sent out amongst wolves,” Joseph speaks sudden, voice intense as he stares into Dahlia’s eyes, a chill rolls up her spine, a tension pulling in her shoulders that she can’t quite shake.

“Seriously,” Pratt scoffs and for the first time Joseph’s eyes leave Dahlia, harsher and colder at the older officer, “you really think this is about your church, that someone would make this shit up just to get at you, think they beat the shit out of themselves too just to spite you?”

“Of course not,” John speaks next and she can’t help but notice the jolt in his body language, “I’ve yet to speak to our flock member you’ve find evidence of. But even if he’s done what he’s accused of, surely, you can’t expect us to be held responsible for the actions of every member of our church. We have hundreds of followers, you cannot reasonably expect us to be accountable for any of them who may stray from our ways.”

“The witness specified you were there, John. Not just accountable, but physically present for assault.”

“And there’s no evidence of that, you said so yourself, and as I’ve told you before, there are many in this county who aren’t above taking any chance to sully mine and my family’s name. Who’s to say, they didn’t see their assault as an opportunity to bring down our entire church.”

“May I ask where you were last night?”

“Had dinner with my family, as I always do, and stayed in for the night. Rather boring, I’m afraid.”

“Anyone who can confirm this story?” Pratt asks and Dahlia tries not to roll her eyes; his family would be the ones who can confirm it and ...they’re mostly here and biased.

“My brothers who are sitting right here, my sister if you feel the need to ruin her night as well.”

“I don’t think that’ll be necessary.”

“Then are we done here?”

“This isn’t a formal arrest or detainment,” they don’t have anywhere near the evidence or that, “so, you’re free to leave if you so please. Though, there’s still the issue of Patrick who requested counsel with you.”

The brothers have made it clear they want to leave and that the deputies won’t be prying any more information from them. So, Dahlia escorts them out.

“You two can go on home,” John tells his brothers, “I’ll call someone to get me once I’ve sorted this out.”

“We couldn’t possibly leave you behind, we’ll wait,” Joseph squeezes John’s shoulder than looks to Dahlia, “assuming that would be okay.”

“Of course, don’t expect you to ditch your brother.”

“It is tempting sometimes,” Jacob mumbles under his breath, a smirk pulling at his lips when John glares at him. Rook has to press her hand to her mouth to avoid laughing at the brotherly teasing.

“Jacob…” Joseph gently chides.

“Regardless, you two are welcome to sit out in the waiting room, there's a vending machine if you need anything or if you’re not interested in that I’m sure Nancy can get you set up with coffee or food from our break room.”

“Thank you, deputy.”

“I’ll be out, shortly,” John says the final word pointedly as his brothers go to the waiting room, then turns to the deputies, “which room is my client in?”

“Room 103, I’ll be right in, go on and get settled,” Pratt tells him and John leaves down to the room where Patrick is being held. Dahlia holds her tongue until the youngest Seed brother is out of hearing range.

“Think we can get anything else out of them?”

“Fuck no, he’s going to tell Patrick to keep his mouth shut, insist that there’s another explanation. Like getting blood from a turnip, we’re just going to have to deal with what we have. DNA should be enough to convict Patrick, as for the rest, we’ll have to see if Whitehorse feels we got enough to do a full investigation. But, we don’t have much.”

“The evidence against Patrick might be enough to subpoena Joseph’s sermons, get warrants to search the church and houses?”

“Maybe,fuck,” Pratt rubs a hand down his face, he looks exhausted and she’s sure she’s not much better, “what time is it?”

“Nearly four in the morning.”

“Fucks sake, okay, their foul mood makes a bit more sense.”

“Yeah, I can take care of the talk with John and Patrick, like you said won’t be getting much from them, so you can head home or check on Jerome.”

“No, no, absolutely not. I’ll take care of this, you go home and get some sleep.”

“Pratt-”

“Rook, you were the one passing out on top of me. Go home and sleep.”

“I-”

“Please, for once in your life, just listen to me.”

“Okay, just this once,” she bows her head, feeling like a scolded child, “but we do need to have a serious conversation about you babying me, you know that right?”

“I don’t baby you.”

She blinks and widens her eyes, has he heard a single word he’s said to her all day. Refusing to let her stay at the station alone, not wanting her to call John, and not even wanting her to be involved in the interrogation. And that today alone, she can’t count the amount of times he’s told her not to be the one to issue tickets, to stay in the car during calls. She knows they’ve lost an officer in the line of duty. And she knows she’s a lot younger than Pratt or Hudson. But this is her job as much as it is theirs.

“Okay,” Pratt scratches at the back of his neck at the incredulous look, then gently puts his hands on Dahlia’s shoulders, “serious conversations can wait until we’ve both slept, alright?”

“Fine, I’ll go home and crash, get yourself some sleep when you finish up here, okay?”

“Okay, will do.”

He drops his hands from her shoulders and gives a small pat to her arm as she turns to leave. As much as she’d rather Pratt be the one going home to get some much needed sleep, she can’t say she won’t be thankful for a chance to crash.

“And Rook,” Pratt calls out before she can get through to the waiting room, she turns to look at him, “stay away from the Seeds, please.”

“Don’t push it.” She rolls her eyes, overprotective ass, she pushes through the doors to the waiting room.

Dahlia gives a friendly nod of acknowledgement to Joseph and Jacob as she moves past them, looking towards Nancy.

“I’m gonna go home and crash for the night, any news comes in, don’t hesitate to call me, alright?” She explains to dispatch, not fully trusting Pratt to let her know if it’s up to him, throwing on her leather jacket and already searching for her pack of cigarettes. She’ll catch a smoke break before she rides home, her nerves needing the nicotine fix.

“Alright, dear. Drive safe.”

Dahlia waves a quick bye to both Nancy and the Seed brothers before she leaves the building. The air is cold, temperatures drop quick at night out here, a start contrast to the hot muggy days. A dark sky hangs above her except where stars breach the abyss. Goosebumps prickle up along her neck where the air hits, she put a cigarette between her lips and lights it, breathing nicotine deep into her lungs. She tilts her head back, blowing smoke from her mouth, white billowing around her.

“Deputy,” Joseph’s voice calls out and chills run along her spine, “you know, smoking is really a terrible habit.”

“We all got our vices,” she says, shrugging her shoulders, making sure to blow the smoke away from Joseph.

“That is true, I know that better than most…”

She nods when he trails off a bit, his church seems to focus a lot on sins and vices, overcoming them she assumes. Sins marked across the skin of so many of its members. Silence falls across the two, for once Joseph breaking eye contact, a rare moment for him.

“Is there something you wanted…? Can’t imagine you’d rather wait out here in the cold.”

“Yes, actually, I think there’s a lot we need to discuss. Faith told me you have concerns about your friend, Cassandra.”

“Cassie, yeah,” she corrects, not sure why it bugs her so much to hear them using Cassie’s full name.

“Yes, John always was wishing to speak with you regarding the orchard and… I’d hate for this… incident to color your opinion of me and my family.”

“I understand and I’d love to talk all this out with you, but-”

“It’s four in the morning.”

“Yeah, sorry,” she frowns, feeling bad about it, “its been a rough day and I just am ready to crash, I’m sure you must be exhausted too.”

“Of course, I understand, which is why I’d like to invite you to have dinner with me and my family.”

“Uh, what?”

Dahlia blinks and coughs on cigarette smoke, taken aback by the sudden invitation. He’s here for an investigation, she just interrogated him, and he’s concerned with inviting her to dinner to… preserve some sort of good image? While a formal investigation isn’t opened on him or John yet, needing warrants and authority to do anything more, but one is right around the corner.

“We try to have dinner as a family, my brothers, sister, and I, as often as possible. A luxury we couldn’t indulge in for so much of our lives, I think it’d be a wonderful opportunity for us all to speak and for you to know my family separate from church or police interrogations. So, would you like to join us for dinner tomorrow night?”

“Uh…”

This could be her only chance to talk to him about Cassie before a formal investigation is launched and it becomes a conflict.

But it could already be a conflict, since they are hopefully not far away from launching that investigating.

But, she could use it as a chance to probe around, see if she can unearth anymore evidence in the Jerome case.

But, anything procured without a warrant wouldn’t be admittable, so the most she could do is see it and then know what to go back for once they secure a warrant.

But, even just getting a chance to ask questions without the environment of an interrogation room, might get some truths out. As well a chance to ask about some of the other strange things going on in the county. From roadblocks to the issue of the weird “angel” that assaulted her.

But, they could be dangerous, if they do have anything to do with Jerome’s injuries…

But, she’s not weak and it’s not like she's looking to antagonize them. She can ask her questions and be polite.

But, Pratt would kill her. He literally warned her to stay away from the Seed family five fucking seconds ago.

“Sure, I’d love to,” she tells him, ultimately unable to say no to his earnest little smile.

“That’s wonderful, our dinners are at John’s ranch house, I’m not sure I have anything to write the number down on…”

“I can use the memo app on my phone, what is it?”

“Oh.” He seems taken aback for a moment when she gets out her phone, but recovers to prattle off the address, Dahlia typing it in.

“Did I get it right?” She asks, moving to stand closer to Joseph’s side, so he can see the phone screen.

“Uh, yes, that’s,” he reaches out to touch her phone and accidentally closes the memo app, pulling his hand away like it burned him, “oh.”

Dahlia can’t help but laugh, watching the older man fumble to deal with tech. He’s older, sure, but he’s not pushing his sixties or anything. He ducks his head and she can see a very subtle flush of red flare up his cheekbones. Its the most human he’s ever seemed to her, just an older man who hates phones, embarrassed that he has no idea how to use one.

“Don’t worry, it saved,” she explains, pulling it back up.

“Yes, that’s correct.”

“Alright, see you and your family tomorrow.”

She tucks her phone back in her pocket and waves bye again, getting on her motorcycle. Dahlia slides her helmet on and starts the journey back home, mind racing and heart heavy with the events of the day.

Joseph sits in the passenger side of the truck, Jacob driving and John sitting in the back, as they leave the police station. It's late, nearly early enough for him to be waking up. John made a grave mistake, trying to punish Pastor Jerome for leading people astray, away from Eden. A noble intention, but he did it out of wrath and anger, letting someone else’s sin fuel his own. His impulses placed them back in the sight line of the police. They can recover from this easily enough, as frustrating as it is. The bigger issue is once again working to reign John in and working to change the junior deputy’s view of them.

The Lamb plays a vital role in the collapse, she was chosen to be the one who brings about the end, how exactly she will do so remains to be seen. But, he’d rather she do it alongside them stepping into New Eden by their side after she helped cleanse the world, rather than doing so in spite of them with no understanding of the gift she was given.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Jacob scolds their younger brother, always protective of the project and them being found out by law enforcement, he’s more than a little irate about John’s mistake.

“Jacob…” Joseph still chides him for cursing, a nasty habit his eldest brother struggles most to break. If Joseph’s being completely honest, he’s not certain Jacob is trying to break it all.

“Pastor Jerome is a fraud, he is leading people astray and spreading lies about The Project, he had to be taught a lesson.”

“Who cares? His people abandoned him for us, John. He can talk all he wants, no ones fuckin’ listening.”

“Oh, so suddenly you’re above corporal punishment, are you going soft on me, Jacob? Do you allow your soldiers to say whatever they please, reward them for their insolence?”

“Jerome’s not a soldier and unlike you, when I teach outsiders a lesson, I’m not dumb enough to let them walk away from it.”

“Brothers, stop,” Joseph speaks over them, not yelling, but his tone stern enough to end their incessant arguing, he makes eye contact with his youngest brother through the rearview mirror “Jacob is right, John.”

“But Joseph-”

“You endangered The Project, our mission, our family; for the sake of satisfying your own wrath. You put all of us at risk and for what? So, you could indulge in your sins?”

“He was spreading lies, telling people you were dangerous-”

“And that made you angry, it made you wrathful. And so you lashed out to make yourself feel better, instead of speaking to me, instead of seeking out the word and confronting the sin inside of yourself, you sought to quell your anger through violence.”

“I’m sorry, Joseph.”

“I know. Righteous anger and swift justice has its place. There will be times to cut off the hands that wrong us, but this was not one of them.”

“I understand… I already spoke with our flock members in the station, they’ll dispose of the evidence and secure Patrick’s freedom. Without it, the investigation will end and he won’t be punished for my mistakes.”

“I knew you’d take care of it in the end,” he tells him, watching the relief flood John with the smallest amount of praise after being scolded, “I invited the junior deputy to dinner.”

Jacob slams on the brakes on a thankfully deserted back road, causing Joseph to jerk against the seatbelt and John to slam his face against the seat in front of him. John yells out from the sudden impact and Joseph turns to look at his eldest brother in confusion.

“God damn it, Jacob!”

“John!” Joseph scolds when his baby brother takes the lords name in vain, he can see a bruise forming on John’s forehead already.

“He tried to kill me!”

“Am I the only one who understands that we’re criminals?!”

“In the eyes of man, perhaps, but in the eye of -”

“Eyes of man are the ones that matter, right now, Joseph! You’re inviting a fuckin’ cop into our lives, into John’s house. A cop who just interrogated us less than a fucking hour ago and you want to feed her for her trouble.”

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were scared, brother. Jacob Seed, scared of a little girl.”

“Well, its a damn good thing you know better, or that shiner would be the least of your problems, brother,” Jacob nearly spits the word brother, glaring daggers at John.

“Jacob,” Joseph gets his older brother’s attention, Jacob has always been the strongest willed, has always asserted his opinions even if he’d do anything for the family, “are you doubting me?”

“No, of course not, I just don’t understand why you’re doing this?”

“We have cops within our flock, Jacob.”

“Yes, converted cops who benefit us. This deputy can’t walk into a church without puking her guts up, she’s a problem waiting to happen.”

“She has been making a problem out of herself, trying to keep me from purchasing the orchard, enabling the greed of this county.”

“Look, I know it can be difficult to understand, you’ve not heard what I’ve heard. The Voice hasn’t spoken to you, as it has to me, my decisions are not without reason. Reasons that will be revealed in time, the junior deputy is important, bringing her into our flock is a priority. Understood?”

“Of course, understood, Father,” John concedes, using Joseph’s formal title. Joseph looks to his eldest brother, who’s scarred jaw is still clenched tight.

“Understood?” He repeats himself, he knows Jacob wouldn’t go against him, but his willful nature… something Joseph was envious of in childhood now leads to the occasional butting of heads.

“Understood.”

Jacob starts the car back up, driving Joseph and John back to their homes. John to his ranch house and Joseph up to his church, where he has a cot in the back of it. The sun is starting to come up when Jacob drops him off at the church compound, before driving back to Saint Francis.

Eyelids heavy with exhaustion, Joseph is quick to return to his quarters, a headache starting to creep up along his temples. He changes for bed, then kneels before his bed, bowing his head for prayer and folding his hands together. Hands pressed together tightly, his rosary pressing into his skin.

And he prays.

He prays for John to find his way, to battle his sin and win the fight.

He prays for Jacob to one day fully let go and accept the word.

He prays for Faith not to stray from the path.

He prays for his flock and family, he prays for their faith not to wane, he prays for them to be strong enough to weather the collapse, he prays for the persecution of his family to end, and he prays that he can save more souls; specifically the junior deputy. That he can find a way to reach her heart, help her see her gift, and learn the importance of her role before it’s too late.

Then a sharp pain shoots from his temple across the rest of his head, like lightning shooting through his skull. The darkness of his closed eyes fades away into a new world, a vision of New Eden, a paradise he’s been shown and promised so many times he knows the sight of it by heart. The bright blooming pink flowers and modest homemade homes of a commune, a return to nature, to innocence.

His family and flock there, older versions of themselves, dressed in more rustic handmade clothes. Less clear and less certain than last time. But he sees John, Jacob, and Faith with children clinging and playing around them. And he can’t explain the feeling, that they’re all his children but his siblings as well.

The five year old boy with a head of dark curls and blue eyes that looks so much like Joseph as a child, the boy who called him papa.

A girl around three with bright ginger hair, a face covered in freckles. She grins and blinks, sun in her eyes. She reminds him so much of Jacob, head held high with a crown of red.

Maybe a year younger, another girl has straight dark brown hair and big wide blue eyes. Eyes that remind him so entirely of the young baby brother he cooed at as a child.

The oldest of them, clings to an older Faith’s skirt. A young boy of ten maybe tweleve, so much older than the smaller children. Hair dark as pitch, olive skin, and green eyes setting him apart. He looks different from the others, perhaps his family tie not one forged by blood.

His family, those he has now and those he will gain, the family he will be gifted. But, there’s something missing…. Pieces of the puzzle not yet in place.

Weak clumsy fingers grab onto his bed as his vision subsides, the reality of the world he’s still in returning to him. His head pounds and throbs, agony radiating throughout it, as the collapse draws closer his visions are getting more and more frequent. He can only hope as he falls into bed that he’s keeping himself and his family on the right path to find paradise.

#far cry 5 #fc5 #joseph seed #john seed #jacob seed #this is love

14 notes · View notes

yan-twst · 4 years

Note

(not a request) I have a question. who do you think of the vice leaders would try to save mc from yandere dorm leader?

Hmm, let’s see! This wasn’t a request but I ended up writing a ton oops

Trey is a bit of a wildcard. He’d probably know what Riddle is doing and how inhumane it is, and how much Riddle’s darling is suffering under the strict rules he enforces. But Trey also hates going against Riddle: he allowed him to be a tyrannical leader for almost a whole year, and it wasn’t even his initiative to put a stop to it... Besides, he wants Riddle to be happy. Being saved by Trey would highly depend on how close Riddle’s darling was to him before being swept up, or if he stumbles across something truly, really bad. If not, he might just... Let it be, try to brush it off as “relationship troubles” even though he knows it’s really not; however, he’ll try to talk some reason into Riddle. Maybe be gentler on his partner...? You know, let them be a bit more independent? Just a suggestion!

Ruggie might care, but he’s not gonna go against Leona. Nope, not doing that- he knows better than to mess with Leona’s belongings. Just like nobody would dare steal a prince’s wallet even if it was in plain sight due to the consequences, Ruggie won’t get in the way of... Whatever Leona’s got going on with his partner. He knows absolutely well the extent of everything, and how terrible it must be, but... Being on Leona’s good side is what could possibly save the slums he lives in, and he knows he could very well die trying to take something Leona loves as much as his darling. He might feel horrible for them; he’ll even spare some donuts (his favourite) for them to try and cheer them up when he knows Leona’s been rough, but... He can’t do much, even if he wants to.

Jade doesn’t care much. Well- of course he feels empathy for Azul’s darling, and he’d hate to be in their place, but... Well, it’s not his place to intervene, is it? He might subtly help them here and there, if he finds them agreeable: bringing them some comfort food when Azul isn’t looking, a blanket if the dorm leader locks them in an empty room or something, but he’d never help them escape. While he isn’t bound to Azul by any contract, he’ll still do as he says as long as it’s entertaining, and he doesn’t need to be on Azul’s bad side either. Of course, if Azul’s darling is someone close to him, then it’s all out the window. If Jade already cared for them before this, he isn’t going to let Azul just treat them like this; he’ll get them out of there if he can, but it truly hinges on how close they were to him, or how effectively they can tug at his heartstrings (which is difficult)

Jamil would only help if it was out of spite. That’s it, period. He might not even get why Kalim’s darling wants out- are they stupid? Their life is set- they won’t have to work a day of their life, and if they chose to have a family, their children will be free and wealthy, without them ever having to put in any effort. Besides, he finds it hilarious to see Kalim’s defeated and sad expressions when his darling continues to reject him even after being locked up in a room with as much fancies as anyone could please. Still, he might consider helping them out, just to see Kalim in tears at having lost the one treasure he cannot replace.

Rook is a bit tricky. He’s loyal to Vil, almost to a fault; however, we don’t know yet how much. He has no trouble saying things that upset Vil as long as they’re the truth and help Vil flourish, so upsetting him isn’t a problem, but at the same time, he seems to obey almost every order given. Still, Rook’s heart is more accessible than one would think. Like the huntsman who turned against his queen and allowed the princess to run instead of killing her, going against his queen’s orders, there’s a chance Rook will help Vil’s darling go. But it’s a chance; not something guaranteed to happen. If not, he might as well be the biggest obstacle between Vil’s darling and escaping.

Ortho... Wouldn’t help. He’s kind hearted and cheery, but he’s just a kid. He trusts his niisan more than anyone else, and he’s willing to sacrifice anyone in order to help his brother; Ortho was more than willing to death-beam the school to get his brother away from a ghost bride. If Idia says his darling must stay, can’t run away, no matter what, Ortho will believe it. Even if he likes Idia’s darling, thinks of them as a sort of big sibling figure as well, he’s going to do as his brother says and not let them go, even if it’s clear it conflicts him.

Lilia would be a tough nut to crack- which is to say, I truly don’t think he’d allow Malleus’ darling to escape. He sees Malleus as his child; and what father doesn’t want their child to be happy and in love? He’s lived for so long that this isn’t shocking- hell, he sees it as just... A stage. He sees Malleus’ darling as something akin to a pet his child keeps around, one that makes the usually broody and closed-off Malleus happy. He does warn Malleus to be gentle, to not be harsh, humans are fragile, and this is his way of caring for them. He’ll even nurse them to health, if Malleus were to lose his temper and hurt them badly; he cares for them, of course! He’s almost their father in law!

#yandere #yandere twst #trey clover #ruggie bucchi #jade leech #jamil viper #ortho shroud #rook hunt #lilia vanrouge #Anonymous

208 notes · View notes

captainsuke · 4 years

Link

Yusuf should be asleep, he should be wrapped around his husband's body, taking strength from the warmth he's never quite felt anywhere else.

Instead he's in the kitchen, the cool metal grip on his pistol warmed by his hand wrapped white knuckled around it.

He'd heard a noise.

He'd dreamed he'd heard a noise.

It doesn't matter. It's late and the little cottage they are currently calling home is empty, except for his sleeping husband, and Joe, standing vigil in the dark.

(rest of fic under the cut for all you ao3 haters)

There's a small gap between window and wall, and the wind flows through it with a whispering wail. Once all houses creaked and swayed and whistled with the wind, little leaks with pots that were emptied in the morning, a row of fine dust along the window sills and under the doors gifted from a night of wild wind. Now these things are considered nuisances, problems to be torn down and rebuilt new and unremarkable. His heart feels heavy tonight, the feeling of long years catching up on him and curling it's fingers around his soul.

Joe looks out the window of his and Nicky's little Maltese cottage, the moon shines bright enough behind shifting clouds that even the slivers of light allow Joe to see the branches of the apple tree in the front garden sway with the cool night's breeze. Many summers ago they'd laid in the shade of that tree, eating the sweetly tart fruit until they'd made themselves sick. He has a sketch - or eight - of the passing shadows dappling Nicky's face as he'd laid back, full and content.

A memory stacked upon another memory from the days they'd done the same with Andromache, years and years ago, four, five hundred years ago, filling their bellies with overripe apricots after several long hard years of fighting and barely being able to tell if they had even made a difference, let alone actually helped anyone. Even now Joe can close his eyes and see Qýuhn's hair blowing free in the cooling winds coming up along the Peloponnese peninsula. Andromache's fingers sticky with pasteli, her cheeks rosy where she laid them on Qýuhn's thigh. Nicolò, sunbleached and glowing in the golden of light of a Mediterranean sunset.

He remembers retelling the apple story when they'd all met up again, Booker with his ever present flask, Andy sharing long drinks from it, all them tired but smiling, leaning heavily of the heavenly taste of crisp apples and the folly of gorging on enough fresh fruit to upset their stomachs. Because it made Booker laugh. Because it gave them all something to laugh about, to distract themselves from the weather turning and Sèbastien's eyes growing cagey as the winter's teeth started to bite.

Nicky had stoked the cottage's fire til they'd been sweating in front of the tiny hearth, toasty and ridiculous in their undergarments, with thick woolen socks on their feet in respect for the wild weather that battered at the windows. He'd felt happy that they'd managed to turn that haunted look to smiling eyes that crinkled at the edges. Had that moment meant something? Anything? Nothing? Was the glow in his eyes merely momentary? A trick of light and the gleam of drunken eyes?

Would this be the rest of his days? Questioning every moment, desperately searching for where he went wrong, where he should have noticed Booker's pain. Looking for the moment that had been Sèbastien's last straw.

It's funny, Joe can joke, he can laugh, he can make vague reference and yell angry accusing words, he can recite a bit of original poem he's writing as he speaks, but he can't work out how to open his mouth and say the words why did you hurt me?

He's always horribly envied Nicky's ability to put his hurt away, to shelve it for later, or never if he feels it best. Even as he's pulled his hair out in frustration as his other half willfully tears himself to pieces in an effort to find a way to please everyone.

Oh, he knows they're both different shades of Not Dealing Well, both of them like a purpose to distract themselves.

Foolishly, stupidly, for a wild moment Joe wishes for someone else to try for them, to attack them, just so he can slip back into the head space of being a unit, a simple moving part in a machine much larger than himself, Nicky and him working hand in hand, two halves of a whole.

He desperately wishes for that feeling, for anything other than devastated, tearing, hating hurt that sits on his lungs like peine forte et dure, each time he feels like the worst of the pain has occurred he remembers some other occasion, some other memory now colored by betrayal.

He can forgive, he can sympathize, he can hold his brother close and cry for the losses he's suffered.

But anger stabs through at the thought of him not returning that empathy. Like he and all the kin before Booker haven't suffered days of death and nights of death. Day after day, month after month of unimaginable loss, not knowing how to stop it, how to help it, just enduring as time pass uncaring of the pain felt.

He's held Nicky as he begged for the end, for them to finally (please, please, please) be released from the unrelenting years of horrors, just as Nicky has pulled him close while he cried, screamed, wailed for even the slightest chance of reprieve. From the widow with dead eyes and fevered blush, burying her last child and going back to work at the sick houses, for the children with nothing – nothing - yet who could still muster a smile, for Nicky spitting blood, choking, drowning, dying, then coming back to do it all over again. Never ending and relentless.

This is stupid.

He is being stupid.

Awake in the middle of the night, stalking around their Malta house gun in hand, the most unnatural state of himself, but unable to rest, convinced that if he relaxed, if his guard dropped for a moment, he would lose it all.

He places the gun on the table, sits down, there's no peace or answers to be found in an old cottage kitchen by the sea at midnight.

All there is, is the long shadows of moonlight between furniture, the evening dishes neatly washed and drying on the sink, a glass full of pens on the table, Joe's gun now sitting atop Nicky's latest writing attempt. Never long, never complicated, Joe found himself devastated by each small letter his husband left for him, even the three thousand that merely read I love you ♥♥♥♥, he held each one to equal esteem, though Nicky barely seemed to remember writing them, he would just smile and say I was thinking of you.

you unmake me.

you remake me.

everyday

Doodled across cheap lined notepaper, tucked under his dinner plate. They'd shared that meal just a few hours ago, Nicky's eyes had been tired but he'd kissed Joe's curls with a soft smile as he'd served dinner.

A meal that had taken more than half the day to create because if Nicky had the time he found peace in simmering oil and tomatoes, in adding all the extra ingredients that might make an Italian swear but had delighted them so when they'd first tasted them, that now they'd add them to whatever meal they could.

It'd been less than a week and Nicky was already on first name basis with the halal butcher a few blocks away, and many a day they stroll the streets, collecting fresh produce from the little garden markets, stopping by Zakaria's so he could wrap the evening meal with a only my finest cut for my favorite customers and a wink, despite having claimed the same to the little Italian grandmother before them, blushing and waving her hands in a flustered, delighted stop motion.

Joe closes his eyes, feeling suddenly overwhelmed, like his heart would be beat out of his chest, fall out onto the floorboards that they'd sanded and placed lovingly when they'd first started rebuilding this little cottage. Nicky could live his life with just Yusuf and the sea and be happy, but Joe needed people, needed to see people living their lives no matter how mundane. No matter how out of sorts he's been since they arrived, exhausted and devastated from London, Nicky hadn't forgotten that.

And so Nicolò knows the butcher by name, and, in turn, Zakaria's fisherman boyfriend, who stocks the butcher shop with the freshest of catches and shies away from company, with deep sad eyes and ankle bones that jut out like he needs a Nonna to fuss over him.

And so he's befriended the old ladies from the markets who give him unsolicited advice on his roses, on his apple tree, on the lush green vine that flowers bright bursts of color, on how to keep That Nice Young Man He's Always With happy.

And so each of these people is a friend of Joe's as well.

Joe takes one last long look out the window. Daring anyone who might be out there to take the moment. To give him a reprieve from his thoughts.

But the apple trees branches are the only thing moving. Wind rustling leaves the only sounds to be heard over the soft ebbing crash of waves in the distance.

There's no respite to be found tonight, he thinks as he put his pistol away. Part of him aches to remain armed, to keep vigilant, because last time, last time, but he won't walk into their bedroom with a loaded gun in hand. Not tonight when he feels like his very soul has been twisted, not when he still feels as if unseen eyes are watching him.

As Joe closes the bedroom door behind him, eyes open slow but sharp, immediately awake, perhaps awake before Joe came in. His Nicky is a light sleeper, more prone to 3 or 4 hours sleep before waking alert and ready to face the living hours,.

Nicky's eyes go soft, the faintest of gentle smiles curling his lips as he focuses on Yusuf.

“Where are you, my love?” he asks with quiet rasping voice of someone newly woken.

He doesn't know, he feels adrift, but Nicky's hand moves, reaches out and Joe crosses the room to take it as the lifeline he needs.

“What do you need?” His voice is steady and calm and ready to promise anything in his power to Joe.

And Joe feels his heart constrict, he can't live without this man, he thinks wildly

(a flash, a dagger in the dark, Nicolò on the ground, a halo of his blood, his beautiful skull, his precious brains scattered across the floor without second thought)

he wants to know Andy's okay, he wants her and Nile here immediately so he can see for himself that they're safe, he wants Qýuhn in his arms so much it physically aches. He wants her dark humor and her sharp eyes. He wants to hear her screech like stepped on cat whenever something delighted her. He wants Booker snorting into his wine at some stupid joke, he wants to know he's alive, that he hasn't thrown himself into another stupid situation.

In the morning, he thinks, in the morning he'll speak to Nile, her occasional furtive texting isn't quite as secretive as she perhaps thinks but none of them had felt the need to tell her to stop.

In the morning, he can wait til morning to soothe the lies and worries that his anxiety haunts him with. Til then, he threads his hands tighter with Nicky's, lets him pull Joe to bed, lets him rearrange them til he's flat on his back with Joe's head is resting on his chest, Nicolò's heartbeat in his ear.

He keeps a hold of Joe's hand, brings it up to his lips, presses a kiss to where they're joined, then curls it close to Joe and his chest, as if shielding it against the rest of the world.

“You, just you.” Joe tells the darkness.

“You have me,” Nicolò says, his breath, his lips, his jaw moving against Joe's curls.

“What do you need?” He asks again, free hand coming to rest, cradling Joe's head, gently gently he feels fingers move lightly in tiny soft circles.

“Tell me something.”

Joe pulls their joined hands close, presses his own kiss against Nicky's long fingers, holds it close enough for his breath to warm skin “Please. Tell me something good.”

It's a hard ask, he knows, he knows, every good moment of their lives can be tied to a bad one, the past could be a minefield with no directions or signs. But Nicolò rarely shied from a challenge.

“Did I ever tell you of the time Qýuhn demanded to know my intentions with you?”

“But she loved you!” He mumbles against their joined hands.

“Yes she did, but she loved your heart just as fiercely.” Nicky's chest moves against Joe's cheek as he snorts, amused, “We'd had to have been intimate for almost a year by this time, but she had me feeling like a sham of a man standing before the most beautiful man's guardian, offering a pauper's dowery.”

Joe starts shifting to argue but the hand on his head keeps him still, gentle but firm.

“It was good. To be reminded that you had someone else who would fight for your happiness, that my love for you was visible enough to be challenged, a reminder that we both still had family even if it looked very different to what we'd been born with. It'd been nice to know no matter how much I felt I didn't deserve, I'd been ready to fight for the right to let that be your decision.”

“You do deserve me,” the gentle circles on his scalp are making him sleepy but he puts a token argument, the principle of no one was allowed talk shit about Nicky, not even Nicky, one he was always ready to defend.

“Hush, you asked for a story, this is my story.”

“Scusi, scusi,” he kisses Nicky's hand again, “tell your story, tell me how you convinced me that Qýuhn you were worthy of my hand in marriage.”

He swears he can hear Nicky smile in the dark.

“I didn't, Andromache came in and declared they should leave us to make our mistakes and then stab which ever of us was most in the wrong.”

Joe can't help but laugh. “Qýuhn like that?”

He feels Nicky's soft laughter vibrate through his skin, he wants to die like this, in a moment like this, just the two of them entwined.

“No, she called Andy soulless and unromantic, they went outside to spar. We didn't see them again til morning, and Qýuhn never mentioned it again, so maybe Andy had a little romance in her.”

“How have I never head of this story?”

Nicky's answering chuckle is a delight.

“You came back and we had the house to ourselves for the entire night.” The hand on Joe's head flexes, like he wants to hold Joe as tight as he is can but its as much as their position allows. “It was a good day. We were loved, we are loved.”

He wants to crawl inside Nicolò, live forever embraced by his heart, to feel every lung full of breath press against him

“Sleep my love,” Nicky says leaning low to press his cheek against Joe's curls, to place an unaimed kiss to his forehead.

Sleep.

Nicky’s heartbeat is a sure and steady thing against his ear

(a monitor screaming as his lives hand falls limp against restraints)

Joe squeezes his eyes tightly shut then forces himself to relax, to hear the beat that's been by his side for a thousand years. He thinks of crinkles at the sides of Qýuhn's eyes when she grinned, the way she'd look to Joe when she found something fun to share.

He thinks of the way Booker's face grew soft in the late of the night when the game had long ended and everyone had gone to sleep and it was just the two of them, keeping the sleepless night company.

He thinks of the glow of Nile's face when they walked the halls of the National Museum, her excited but obviously knowledgeable commentary, how he itches to draw the lines of her joy over and over til he gets it just right.

He thinks of Andy in Marrakesh, the feel of her ribs reverberating with the force of her laugh as he swung her around. She's mother, weird aunt, odd stranger, honored elder, pain in the ass know-it-all older sister and so many more things he can not think to name, but she's theirs, and it's going to take a lot more than mortality to take her from them.

He swears it.

Finally he thinks of Nicky.

Nicky with long hair in his face, of the ever changing color his eyes across the firelight, of the weight of his body passed out, sated atop Yusuf, of the weight of his body lifeless as Joe pulled him somewhere to revive safely. The heaviness of his gaze and the weightlessness of even his smallest smile. Of his hands as they held Joe together, the gentleness of his touch as he put him back together. Of the unique light in his eyes, the fire that burns brightest when his sword is out. He thinks of words freely given when speech was hardest, he thinks of the uncountable I love you's, the innumerable languages he's learnt just to speak them and hear them back.

He thinks of hot blood spattered across his face and the way Nicolòs eyes would fight to meet his own when the end was coming. He thinks of the tightening of hands before they became unbearably limp. He thinks of the bad deaths, of eyelashes glued together with tears as hes gasped alive and the watery smile that followed. He thinks of Nicky moving, his sword swinging, on broken ankle, spitting blood and still moving.

His head, his heart, his life is full, and sometimes it feels like he'll drown with all that's in it.

Nicky's hand moves from his head, moves to stroke down his spine, long and slow in repetition.

Sleep he says again, his own voice thick at the edge of sleep himself.

Joe hugs a small breath, then slows his breathing to match the deep level breathing of Nicolò asleep. He thinks about the first time they slept like this, arms around each other, tangled and holding tight. He thinks of the countless times he's rubbed his nose against the back of Nicky's neck as he tried to catch just a little more sleep time.

There's a heaviness growing in his limbs as he half dreams of Nicky as he wraps himself around and burrows himself closer to Nicky. Slowly, steadily and then suddenly all at once, the sense memory of nine hundred years in this man's arms lulls him into sleep.

#the old guard #joe x nicky #yusuf al kaysani #tog fic #fic #nicolò di genova #mine #teamsuke

28 notes · View notes

charlthotte · 4 years

Text

Breaking Through the Iron Wall - Aone Takanobu x Reader

Chapter 11

Beside me, I could sense Aone's pure fretfulness. His exterior exerted his usual stoic presence, yet the smallest draft of a broken child drifted through the cracks in his skin. Second after second, those cracks grew larger and larger until he seemed frail enough to snap. But we were outside, in the blatant view of the rest of the world - from what I knew - Aone wasn't a person to let his guard down in front of just anyone, somehow I felt the exact same way. But I was certain that the reason behind him was something entirely opposed to mine, perhaps it was something even darker.

I tried to shake myself out of my deep pondering, it was selfish to think about myself in a time where Aone was trekking through the furnaces of hell - and he needed me to accompany him on that adventure. I was certain that he couldn't do it alone, he'd break. There wasn't a more eloquent way of putting that statement, nor could you sugar-coat it.

Roaring skies bellowed up above us, winds howled in agony - all of their lamentations lashing and tearing through the atmosphere; almost biting at our skin, shredding our outwards protection into ribbons of devastation. Those deafening bellows closed off my hearing almost entirely, I couldn't hear anything - let alone my own thoughts.

Throughout the whole journey, the winds kept us separated, no matter how valiantly I quested to ameliorate his feelings... I just couldn't reach them. Normally, a trip to the vet shouldn't have caused Aone's level of anxiety, so maybe... It was so much more than just a trip to the vet.

Hesitantly, my fingers gingerly edged the door open, shrouding us both in a whole new light of apprehension. The ring of the entrance bell almost seemed deafening - breaking the agonisingly tumultuous silence. Everything was unreal. No, I didn't understand the situation to the fullest extent; but somehow, deep inside of me - I just knew. Soon, we were welcomingly ushered into the establishment by a woman in a lab coat. Her hazel eyes oozed with the highest volume of empathy that I had ever witnessed, somehow she knew to be gentle with Aone, as if she knew him well.

Almost in a chain of reactions, we were now sat down in the waiting area - side by side in silence. A gargantuan urging churned inside of me to console him, in any way possible; a pat on the shoulder; some words of sympathy or maybe simply the warmth of another human against him, so that he knew he had at least one shoulder to weep upon. Almost identical to the situation beforehand - Aone began quivering, but ever so slightly. And as always, I was the only person in the nearby vicinity that could notice exactly how he felt. As if on instinct, my arm shot upwards to wrap it around Aone's shivering shoulders, but at least the the farthest that I could reach.

His whole body jolted at my touch, almost as if he had recently been snapped back into the current reality. Quicker than a blink of an eye, his eyes snapped over to rest upon me, their unnatural glossiness glimmering underneath the light - searching for the slightest scrap of comfort to latch onto.

Never before had I gazed upon his face in a manner such as that, to me, he seemed a new person entirely. Not a single aspect on his face had been altered, however, there was just something inside of me that didn't recognise him. My eyes darted around until they latched straight onto his. At that point - I had the slightest inkling to avert my gaze, but I just couldn't, - there was something inside of him, scraping and pleading for just that one moment of comfort. And that was when he had located that source of comfort, in me, no less. His whole figure softened as if he had lost his skeleton. He was but an empty vessel of what he was before.

---

The amount of time that flew past us was unfathomable, almost immeasurable. Time was always supposed to sprint forwards when you were enjoying yourself, and at that moment, both of those aspects were completely averse to the latter. The pure trepidation we were both enduring stretched out the time to the extent where a second was a terribly drawn out eternity.

"Mr. Aone Takanobu." The same woman that had greeted us spoke into the drab atmosphere. Within her eyes, I could sense something close to pity, all beneath the surface of empathy.

Gingerly, I rose from the chair, my legs almost buckling underneath me - but I knew, that I was the one who couldn't show any weakness, I was Aone's pillar of reassurance. If I toppled over, so would he; but his crash to the earth would be much more crushing. A faint tug rippled through the sleeve of my coat - Aone was gripping onto the fabric as if it was some sort of a lifeline for him. It was almost as if he was a terrified child cowering behind their mother. Even though he stood inches above myself, he didn't appear that way - his aura omitted that of a child, but not just any child, a scarred child, apprehending the worst.

As we were led to the veterinarian's office, sounds of weeping animals and humans echoed through the air, nothing was normal, nothing felt... right. The lady beckoned for us to take a seat, and the whole manner in which she conversed with us in simply unnerved me. Nothing was typically out of the ordinary - but it was at the same time.

Her shoulders rose and fell slowly, as if she was bracing for the impact of something intense. She began, "We have examined Shiro to the best of our abilities, however there was little to do for him. The symptoms he has displayed cannot match up with any diagnoses that we could offer you. To put it in simple terms, there is nothing much that we can do to help him."

Everything froze.

Everything froze, all except Aone and I. We were the only people in the world.

Almost instantly, Aone's eyes cascaded tears of sorrow, there was nothing to stop them from doing so.

In the adjacent second, his body collapsed upon me for support, now was the time for his pillar to be there for him. Full instinct loomed over all my emotions, and I didn't even need to think of what to do next, I just simply... Knew... My one arm that wasn't already around his shoulders shot straight up to his hair - ruffling the tiny tufts gently. Twisting and curling a few of his ashen locks around the tip of my finger. The other presence in the room didn't matter to me as Aone's sturdy figure spluttered and choked inside of my arms. The amount of pain I was feeling due to the news that had recently been bestowed upon us was immense. But I couldn't even begin to imagine the sheer dosage of agony that he was going through, he had easily been close to Shiro for years and years at that point. Shiro seemed like the only living thing that Aone felt truly comfortable around, and now he was going to lose him.

Stinging slightly, my eyes began to be tickled by tears, threatening to surge over my eyelids - but a pillar can't crash. Aone's sobs rang out through the room, and then - not only was the news agonising, but so were the sounds of his fretfulness, perhaps even more so. Both our chests quivered in a calamitous rhythm, creating a song of desolation.

Breaking us out of our own little world, the lady almost whispered, "I'm guessing that you understand what I've said... I am extremely sorry to tell you this but, I don't think Shiro can last any more than a week living on this earth. However, we will supply him with some antibiotics to make his passing easier... Once again, I am so sorry."

What she said couldn't register with either of us, both of us being too occupied by the other's embrace.

I endeavoured to try and find Aone's eyes inside my own, only to see a harsh reddish hue emblazoned across them. He was a broken doll. I couldn't bear seeing him just so... hopeless. Therefore, in an effort to calm his lamentation, my hands hesitantly cupped themselves around his damp and blotchy cheeks, caressing my thumbs over them - wiping away his tears as I did so. He sank into them, using my hands as his only source of support.

"Aone... I can't imagine the amount of pain you're feeling right now: I know that Shiro is your best friend. I can't fathom losing someone close to me, especially if they're as close as you two are. You're inseparable. But, Aone... Please don't weep so. Shiro would want you to be happy, as he is still here with you... Even if not for much longer. I'm just so... sorry" I smiled hopelessly at him, trying to offer him the smallest shard of contentment that I could. Jittering, his palm cupped over one of mine, gyrating uncontrollably. I knew, in turn, he was attempting valiantly to comfort me too.

Nodding shakily, he spoke up for the first time since we had been at my house, "T-thank you, (Y/N)." His whole body jittered up and down with each one of his breaths - if you could call them that. Each one was so breathy, as if he was gasping for air. He was already drowning though. And I didn't know if I could save him.

---

After at least a quarter of an hour of consoling Aone, we were finally allowed to see Shiro again, finally allowed to set our eyes upon that perfect life form that only had a small cache of days left on this Earth. His little body scampered down the hallway - and straight into Aone's arms, placing his paws upon his shoulders; wagging his tail at a breakneck speed. It was as if they hadn't seen each other for months... maybe years. Pure longing laced itself into Aone's expression, exuberating immense levels of elation - yet still exerting a hidden sense of dejection.

With a snap of the fingers; his tears had miraculously evaporated, freeing him - but not completely - from his lamentation. Every hair on his body stood on end, smiling an unfiltered grin from ear to ear, babying Shiro with his words.

That sight was truly gorgeous, the two clutched onto each other as if the world was about to end, and it was about to. But only for him.

Overwhelming joy flushed through me - making my heart skip several beats. Dropping to my knees, I positioned myself adjacent to Aone, beckoning for Shiro to come over to me. And even though Shiro and myself had hardly known each other for a week, he still leapt into my arms all the same. His hazel eyes glimmered in the artificial light, outputting something childlike and innocent. Running my hands up and down his fur, I noticed how soft it was, not a single strand was the littlest bit coarse.

I began to laugh under my breath, but I couldn't understand why. Was it grief? Was it apprehension? Or was it happiness? A single tear rolled down my left cheek, and once again - I didn't understand why.

Cheery howling flew through the air, ebbing out from Shiro's mouth; and all of a sudden he had cranked up his volume of giddiness to a whole other level. Jumping up and down on his two hind legs, he gathered enough force to knock me over - and abruptly I laid on the laminate floor of the veterinarian's with Shiro bounding around over and on top of me. Almost winding me at one point.

Every ounce of lamentation had disappeared from the establishment - replaced by an aura of pure joyousness. Very soon, we were beginning to overstay our welcome - therefore we hooked him up to his lead and set out, once again, out into the outside world.

#aone #aone takanobu #aone x reader #aone takanobu x reader #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader

12 notes · View notes

where-dreamers-go · 4 years

Text

(Requested) Merlin x Mermaid!Reader

(A/N: Anonymous asked: ‘Hello, could I request a reader insert with Merlin, where she is a magical creature, maybe a Veela or Mermaid. She is being chased and he helps her escape. Perhaps he helps her find a job and everyone is just teases him when they are together or are caught kissing? And maybe from time to time they go In trip away from the city to practice magic together? Just something cute, thank you.’

Thank you again for your request Anon. I had a lot of fun thinking up what a mermaid might be like in Camelot or what kind of mermaid the Reader would be. I ended up mixing a bit from different movies and shows. Something about this insert reader just seemed to flow. I hope you like it. Also this is set around season four.

I feel like it goes from action packed in the beginning to super chill at the end.

Warnings: Attempted mermaid-napping. The beginning has a lot of “Oh, NO! Oh, NO!”, but the rest of the insert reader makes up for that in cuteness and some funnies.

Word Count: 4,556 )

You had been traveling on your own for more than four moon cycles. Of course, you never spent too long away or out of water. Water was essential for life and its cycles.

That was among the many things you wanted to learn and explore while on land.

It was fun, really, being on your own adventure. One where you made choices on a whim and lived for every moment.

You flicked the end of your aquatic tail. With a smile, you watched how the water rippled and flowed passed. Each droplet gathered with another in their oneness. It was beautiful, natural, magic.

Head abruptly snapping to attention with a straight back, your smile disappeared.

Danger.

You looked over your shoulder and alarm struck you.

Men. Rugged and alerting more of their people that you did not want to see.

You pulled yourself out of the water, tail shedding and shifting. Hastily, you slipped on a pair of soft shoes, pulled the skirt of your dress further down, grabbed your only bag, stood up, and ran the opposite direction from the shouting men.

You were thankful for traveling light.

Blurs of greens and browns passed the sides of your vision as you ran. Water still dripping down your skin. You were careful and aware of your footing for you could not lose the small lead you had.

Their shouting behind you became more aggravated, tired, and desperate. Hungry for a prize. They were not stopping.

There was always a high price for mermaids, especially during the warmer months. Humans held their own beliefs and ideas of mermaids. You were not about to let any of them find out which beliefs were true. Not the distrustful humans at least.

Tripping a step, you managed to remain upright to continue running. You weren’t sure how much longer you could evade them. Even as you wove around trees, they were still extremely close behind. Any second could change your fate.

The land in front of you dipped down into a slope. Heartbeat pounding in your ears, you slowed your gait just enough to land your footing safely. Again, you had to be quite conscious.

A rush of cold terror and air surrounded you as a heavy body collided against your back. Tumbling and sliding, you landed on flat ground.

Energy of fear and determination fueled you to scramble to your feet. Your bag swinging by your side.

“No!” You cried as the man on the ground lunged at your legs. Catching an ankle in his filthy hands.

The shouting of the men doubled. More than five of them racing down the green slope.

Your throat burned and your stomach felt sickly hot.

This would not be your end.

You kicked and stomped. Heels contacting the man’s wrists.

Cold raced through veins, but it was not your powers. Fear. Sheer terror filled you even as another man managed to take your arm into his vice grip.

“NO!” You shouted. Surely, that was their language.

Your fist collided against a man’s shoulder, there was netting hanging from his back.

The hit, the kicks, and the screaming did no good against them. It was a struggle you were starting to lose as more humans surrounded you with determination and selfish eyes. Hungry for riches.

A grin full of greed was presented in front of you. The same man who had tackled you down. Someone handed him a section of net.

“No,” you urged.

Where was their empathy? Their compassion?

Crrr—CRACK

You looked up to the tree canopy.

CRASH—thump

There laid a large branch atop of the man—on the ground.

Was that luck…or something else?

The large group of dirt-covered men only took a second of silence before tugging to free the net, which laid tangled in the branch.

You took the opportunity to kick the person bruising your arm. He grunted, but did not release his hold.

Shouts came from beside you as three men were pulled through the air before slamming into separate tree trunks.

It was not luck. Definitely not.

You knew magic when you saw it. Tired or not, you knew.

Chaos erupted through the remainder of the group as they bolted. Scattering themselves back into the green foliage like crabs on the shoreline.

Tugging your arm, the man refused to let go.

Selfish, desperate eyes. He yanked you towards him in his need to run. To keep a possible profit.

You dug your heels into the ground, dirt shifting underneath the soles of your shoes.

The man gritted his teeth as he pulled again.

Thonk

A rock, about the size of your fist, flew against the man’s head.

Expression blank, the man fell.

You were free.

Stumbling back, you put distance between you and the unconscious man. You turned around to survey the area. Trees and other foliage as before. That was—until you eyed a head peering from around a tree trunk. Another human.

The human, a young man by the look of the ease of his walk, emerged from behind the tree in long strides.

“Are you alright?” He asked.

“I am now.” You answered, ears trained for another ambush.

He nodded, “That’s good.”

Dressed in earthy browns, red, and blue, he walked closer. He was not adored with glittering rocks like nobility, but there was a power about him. An earthly power—no…more.

You allowed yourself to smile then.

“Thank you, Emrys.”

The young man stopped short, in midst of offering his hand. Eyes wide and vulnerable. Blue shades of the ocean on a bright afternoon.

“Are…are you a druid? Was that why—?”

“No,” you answered simply, “I am a mermaid. Not a druid.”

“…Oh.”

You smiled again.

“Er…,” Emrys’ eyes explored your face for a moment. “We should leave—the bandits might come back.”

“No, no—they can not.” You looked over at the unconscious men. “They ran away.”

“They’re thick in the head. I’ll bring you somewhere safe. I promise.”

You swallowed, the hammering of your heart had steadied after the first bandits had ran off.

“I trust you.” You stepped up to the dark-haired sorcerer. If there was one being you knew to trust, it was him.

His smile was soft even as he double checked the bandits before gesturing for you to follow him.

Keeping a pace similar to the beating of a heart, the two of you trekked through the forest.

Emrys kept an eye on you. Probably making sure you did not fall behind.

You were more than grateful for his appearance and even more so that he helped you escape. Additionally, that you were lucky to had hydrated yourself when you did.

“Emrys,” you called, “where are we traveling?”

“To Camelot.”

“Camelot?” You gave him a concerned look, even as a mermaid you knew of the kingdom. “Magic is outlawed in Camelot, Emrys.”

“I know, but there are good people. People I trust.”

“And what of Camelot’s king?”

“He’s a great king—Arthur.”

“King Arthur does not know you have magic?”

“No,” he said quickly. “Definitely not. It’d be best if you didn’t mention it. Not to anyone.”

You placed a hand over your heart.

“I promise to keep your magic a secret, Emrys.”

“Ah—um. Thank you….Also I go by Merlin not Emrys. Emrys is what the druids call me.”

“Merlin,” you tested the name. “I like it.”

The sorcerer sent you a bright smile. Genuine and full of light.

. . .

Fields of long grass greeted you as you walked closer to the city’s stone walls. Strategically piled stones rose as high as mature trees in the woods. Like towering corals teeming with life.

Once inside the gates, Merlin lead you along stone paths until you were passing through wooden doorways. Not one human giving you a second glance.

“Here we are.” Merlin announced as he allowed you entrance into a well lived-in area. Bottles, containers, seating, and paper. A single door at the far end. A very human home.

“It’s wonderful.” You smiled. It was only proper to compliment his home.

“It’s home.” He had walked over the right side of the room, at some sort of station.

Water. Many drops spilling as an echo in a small cup.

“Here,” he offered the cup.

You accepted it gratefully. The running and extra traveling was an unexpected exertion on your body. You drank happily. It was exactly what you needed.

Drinking from his own cup, there were questions running through his blue eyes.

You smiled and said, “You may ask.”

His dark eyebrows rose for only a second before he set down his cup.

“How long can you be out of water?”

“As my knowledge serves me, I need to drink water often or enough to remain healthy. It helps i—.”

The front door opened as an older man with white hair stepped inside. Wide-eyed and raised eyebrows at the sight of you before he immediately turned to the young sorcerer.

“Merlin,” said the old man.

You hoped that your presence had not brought trouble to the sorcerer. You would certainly take your leave if it did.

“Ah…Gaius, this is…ah,” Merlin looked to you with widening eyes.

“My name is (Y/N).” You said to the man presumably named Gaius. Smiling, you stepped forward and offered him your hand.

As customary for humans, he grabbed your hand and gave it a short shake.

“I am Gaius, the court physician. It’s good to meet you.” He smiled shortly before eyeing Merlin.

“I saved her from bandits.” The young man announced.

“Bandits?”

“Yes,” you nodded, “most unfriendly.”

“I see.” Gaius crossed his arms over his chest. “So you didn’t gather the herbs I asked for?”

Merlin cleared his throat and spoke lowly, “Sorry Gaius.”

“Yes, well I needed those herbs for the lord’s eye treatment. At least you two are safe.”

Again, you smiled. You were unsure what to say around the court physician. If Merlin did not give specifics then it was logically unsafe for you to do so.

“Well, I should show (Y/N) around,” Merlin quickly walked over to you and gently took the empty cup out of your hand. “See you later, Gaius.” He moved to set the cup down and returned to the door as he steered you out with him.

Merlin sighed loudly as the pair of you took a route further away from his home and Gaius.

Your bag padded lightly against your side as you walked through the stone structure. The walls were made to last, to shelter, and protect. Yet closed its inhabitants off from the world. You wondered how a sorcerer could live in such an environment, in hiding no less. There must truly be something about Camelot that you were unaware of for him to live safely.

Turning a corner, your eyes were given their first view of the inner workings of a castle. Many people walking upon their two feet progressing through the available space.

“Em—,” you caught the rest of the name in your throat. “Merlin? I am grateful for your help and do not wish to offend…, but are you certain safety is here? Your court physician….you did not tell him what you had done.”

“Right,” Merlin looked to you as you both joined the flow of people. “He knows who I am. You can trust him.”

“Then why did you not tell him how you had helped me?”

His eyes trained forward, watching as he lead you through halls that were lit by large open sections where sunlight was free to enter.

“I thought—…I thought that he might have overreacted or…might have asked too many questions,” he glanced over to you. “You need to be protected.”

“I can handle questions, Merlin. Even the concerned ones. I promise I will not dry up at the too many questions.” You laughed lightly. There was no need for him to suffer twice through worrying.

Small smiles were shared. Quiet and trying to assure the other of security.

“I greatly appreciate what you have done for me, truly.” You offered your hand to formally introduce yourself. “It is great to meet you, Merlin.”

“It’s good to meet you, (Y/N).” He shook your hand lightly.

“I had forgotten to tell you my name. I apologize.”

“There were bandits. You don’t have to apologize for anything.”

Still walking, he released your hand. A brightness returning to him after sharing words.

He has a good heart, you thought. Certainly grows attachments quickly.

Though you had no idea what section of the castle you were in, you were quietly enjoying Merlin’s company.

The young sorcerer turned down another hall and soon was murmuring something under his breath.

You followed his line of sight to three men with long drapes of red fabric behind them walking over to the pair of you. Three sets of eyes held you in their sights of interest.

“Hello, Merlin,” the man with skin of dark earthly tones greeted.

“Merlin.” The tallest one smiled.

“Ah, Merlin,” a third man smiled sweetly to you after nodding at the young man beside you. “Would you do the honor of introducing the lovely lady.” There was a curiosity and heavy glint of playfulness in his eyes.

“Gwaine.” Merlin took a step closer to you, “this is (Y/N). (Y/N), meet Gwaine, Elyan, and Percival.”

“Hello, it is an honor to meet you three.” You said, extending a hand.

“A pleasure,” Gwaine said as he took your hand and lent down to place his lips over your knuckles.

That is a new greeting, you thought with a tilt of your head.

Beside you, Merlin cleared his throat audibly.

You looked to Merlin briefly as Gwaine released your hand.

The three men in front of you were sharing looks between one another and Merlin. Amusement and questions in their eyes. The sorcerer on the other hand was seemingly disapproving the man’s actions.

Perhaps the greeting was inappropriate? I hope not. Gwaine seems to be friendly. Merlin seems to know them well, based on their behavior. It would also seem safe to start conversation. I hope.

“Merlin was showing me through the castle,” you said, breaking their silent talk. “Camelot is very lovely.”

“Are you new to Camelot, then?” Asked Elyan, kindly.

“I am.”

“What brought you to Camelot?”

“Merlin.”

The men looked to said man.

“I was being chased by bandits.”

Their gazes snapped back to you.

“Merlin helped me get away from them. I am very grateful to him.”

“That was brave of you, Merlin.” Said Percival, “You are both unhurt, I hope.”

“We’re fine, thank you.” Merlin nodded.

“What were you doing out there, Merlin?”

“Collecting herbs for Gaius.”

“You forgot the herbs, Merlin?” Elyan asked with a smirk.

“He did,” Percival said.

“I would too and I don’t blame him.” Gwaine sent you a smile. “It would happen to the best of us, Merlin."

Merlin gave a pointed look to the man as the others chuckled.

They have similar attire, I wonder if they are of important status in the kingdom. They are wearing a great number of metal.

“Arthur has been looking for you.” Elyan added after his laughter subsided.

Merlin made a noise in his throat.

You looked to him.

“Why would the king be looking for you?” You asked in a hushed tone. “Are you in trouble?”

“I’m not in trouble,” Merlin reassured you quickly. “I’m the king’s manservant.”

“Oh.”

Oh my. That wasn’t anything that I imagined. He sure is full of surprises.

“Better see what he wants.” Merlin said, placing a hand on the small of your back and leading you around the three men.

“It was lovely to meet you three,” you said, bowing your head shortly.

“The pleasure was ours, my lady.” Gwaine bowed.

The sorcerer kept his pace with your beside him.

“We need to find Gwen.”

“Who?”

“Gwen. She’s a friend of mine.” Merlin explained shortly, “you need somewhere to stay. I’m hoping she can help us—you.”

I had not thought of that. Shelter, and shelter for a mermaid. This seems worrying. You thought as you hurried along with Merlin’s steps. There must not be room where Merlin sleeps.

“You are not going to find the king?”

. . .

Guinevere was a woman with a bright smile and intelligent eyes. She was in-between duties when Merlin found her and introduced you two.

Merlin was much more careful with his words when explaining how he helped you and had even asked her if you could stay with her. He had asked on your behalf.

Ever since he had rescued you, Merlin had been taking full responsibility without a second thought. How selfless could someone be?

Though you were a complete stranger to her, Gwen agreed.

Your palms became clammy. You needed to trust Merlin’s judgement.

. . .

In a matter of days, you learned how to entrust Merlin and Gwen completely. They were no strangers to living and working in Camelot. The pair had managed to help you set up selling your craft items in the market. You had to reassure Merlin that you could craft more than just shell-adored items.

You wondered if they had done the same for another before you.

Living with Gwen was a test in unknown waters at first. She had lived alone with a space of her own. She did not have to take you in, but she did. She gave you shelter and a place to sleep. It was only right that you kept it clean and tidy for her in return between bringing in coin from your sales.

Your first night might have been lacking of sleep, but you had got on well with Gwen. She seemed to get on well with most people in the city. For kindness alone, you were grateful.

As far as friends, Gwen was an excellent friend to have. Although, she was more observant and aware than most humans you had encountered. That made hiding your tail and abilities more stressful at moments than you would had liked. She at least did not question the amount of water you drank each day.

The day had been profitable and fun. Having sold a great deal of your items, you were in a light-spirited mood. You were more confident in knowing that citizens liked your products enough to purchase them. The trinkets were new for the people of Camelot. You were glad to share your creativity.

Finding your way back to where Merlin and Gaius resided, you knocked lightly on the wooden door.

It was around time for a noon meal. You had already eaten and hoped that the pair would not mind your company. Even after seeing many people walking around the market, you were wanting to see your favorite sorcerer.

“(Y/N).” Merlin’s smile greeted you as he opened the door and let you inside.

“Hello,” you beamed and quickly reached up to place a corded necklace around his neck before walking into the room. “Hello, Gaius.”

“Hello, my dear.” Gaius greeted from his place at the table. “Have you eaten?”

“I have, thank you.”

An empty bowl sat across from the older man’s.

“How are you today, Gaius?” You asked, standing beside the table.

“I’m well. Busy as every day. How did your sales go this morning?”

“Much better.”

To your right, Merlin stood with a hand plucking at the necklace. A small, cleaned fossil hung from it.

“Is there anything you need, Merlin?”

“Ah…what is this? Thank you—for the necklace, but…but what is this little…?” The rock-like charm fumbled between his fingers.

“It’s a fossil fr—…I found it some time ago.”

“Er..thank you. Again,” Merlin’s feet soon took him to gather the dirty dishes and hastily clean them.

It was quiet inside other than the scrubbing and clanking from where Merlin was cleaning. That was not the only time you had almost given too much information about yourself away to the wind. You figured that it was still alright regardless.

“Are there any chores you still need to complete, Merlin?” You asked the first question you could think of. It was safe to believe that the young man was always busy.

“Cleaning and polishing Arthur’s armor.” He answered from over his shoulder.

You hummed as you started towards the sorcerer’s room.

“The armor is most likely filthy,” you mused.

Hurried steps followed behind you as you entered the small bedroom. As soon as you walked in you had to stop because of the mess of metal littering the floor. With careful steps, you managed to sit on the edge of the bed without any mishaps.

Merlin slowly shut the door behind him as he came into the room.

“I can help you if you’d like.”

“I can handle it.” He assured you.

Stepping around the arranged pieces, he made himself comfortable in the middle of all of the armor. Immediately he began picking up the necessary supplies and got started with cleaning and polishing the metals.

Without a word, you sat down onto the floor with him. Being that you were usually occupied with your own business ventures, you scarcely got to watch Merlin’s daily activities. And from the looks of it, it involved a lot of cleaning up after the king.

Later, Gaius walked into the room with a cup. Rather than giving it to Merlin, who was hard at work, he handed it to you.

“Here, you need to stay hydrated, my dear.” Gaius stated as he handed you a cup of water.

“Thank you.” You said, carefully taking the cup from him.

He walked away, out into the open area after closing the bedroom door.

“Merlin?”

“Hmm?”

“How did Gaius find out that I am a mermaid?”

“Er…this is not his first time around magical beings.”

“I use too many shells in the jewelry?”

“What? No! I mean…Gaius figured that was it and,” Merlin’s lips pressed together tightly. “He asked. I told him about the bandits and he figured the rest out. I’m sorry. I should have asked.”

“Do you trust him? Fully?”

“I do.”

“Then so do I.” You took a sip of the water.

“You have a lot of faith in me.”

“Of course I do.”

He set down the rag. Taking a deep breath, he looked to you.

“Because I’m Emrys?”

“Yes, but more than that. Just as I know that you are Emrys, I know that there is great good in you and a great capacity for love and empathy. I trust that as well.”

“You’ve hardly known me.”

“Does that matter?”

“I guess not?” Merlin shrugged, a smile on his lips as he picked up the rag again.

As quiet settled down between the pair of you, you took on studying how the dark hair on his head seemed to want to curl in odd places, however lacked the length.

“Do you only speak with me because I am a mermaid?” You asked.

“What? No. No, I—you…” Merlin turned to you completely, “it doesn’t matter to me. You are a kind person. Whether you have magic or not doesn’t matter. I still like you.”

You smiled.

“What?” His voice was low, softer.

“Your eyes say much more than your words, Merlin.”

He ducked his head.

“I appreciate you.” You whispered.

As more days followed, you and Merlin were getting along very well. Even little misunderstandings couldn’t hold you a part after it was resolved. His company was most welcome.

Even as Merlin was sitting down on a bench while the knights did some training, you sat beside him as he sharpened a sword.

The Knights would begin their teasing of Merlin when he was with you. It was light and often lead to Merlin’s eyebrows raising. The teasing did not bother you—you used it against them some of the time. This often resulted in surprising Merlin and the knights.

On one occasion however, With a hand on his shoulder, you kissed Merlin’s cheek in front of the sparring knights.

A new change was brought about.

Merlin’s eyes widened for a brief moment.

You, on the other hand, turned your attention back to watch the knights as your smirk was visible for all to see.

It was in that moment, that the knights knew that you could just as easily counter their teasing. And you were sure that they approved of you even more that day.

. . .

Birds chirped and water danced between the trees. A secluded area of the woods near an abandoned village was deemed the perfect location for both you and Merlin to practice using magic. Credit of finding the spot went solely to Merlin. You had no idea where he found the time.

Taking a much needed break, you had submerged your lower half into the water of a small river as Merlin continued to practice a spell.

Being able to use your natural abilities was like breathing had become easier. Not using them often was equal to Sir Gwaine ignoring his ability to walk or Gwen ignoring her ability to speak her mind.

It seemed so long since the last time you were able to relax in natural waters. Allowing the energies to seep into your skin and curve around you. Learning about the world on land had its share of disadvantages.

Splashing the water with the end of your tail, you returned your gaze to the sorcerer. Focused and self-trained. You loved watching him use magic. How his cerulean eyes sparked golden and he shone in his true self. Magic.

Gently dropping the stones to the ground, Merlin walked over to you. The moist ground lightly giving way under each step. He sat down along the edge of the river beside you, keeping himself as dry as possible. Most of which was impossible given that you had sent a bobble of water to his side earlier.

You smiled at him. Meeting his eyes again, you found them soft, vulnerable, and deeply loving. Traits that you valued in beings. Leaning over, you kissed his cheek. You were soon greeted by his bright and soft grin.

With a long intake of air, you rested your head on his shoulder, sighing to yourself.

“You have a strong heart, Merlin.” You whispered.

He pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

Though you were there to learn, Merlin was exactly what you needed.

~~~

(I know this insert reader was requested some time in January and I do wish that I was able to finish it sooner, however it probably would not have turned out the same at all. A lot has been going on since February…, but hey! I hope you enjoyed it and that you are doing well. I wrote a big chuck of the beginning after I got the request and made a little background information about the kind of mermaids there might have been there, which was really fun. Again, thank you. I’m sorry Gwen didn’t really have a scene… :/

If you love my writings and want to support me, I have a Ko-Fi where you can buy me a coffee. I would be eternally grateful. coffee

Best wishes and happy reading.

DreamerDragon Tags: @cubedtriangle @pilindielofgondor )

#merlin x reader #merlin fanfic #bbc merlin x reader #bbc merlin fanfiction #bbc merlin #Merlin #Camelot #requested #where dreamers go #merlin insert reader #mermaid #in a land of myth and a time of magic #the last dragonlord #magic #April 2020

178 notes · View notes

bbq-hawks-wings · 4 years

Note

Really long ask - Part 1: Hi, sorry for this long rant, but I just wanted to vent since I saw this latest story posted on AO3 and I am restraining myself on commenting on their story so I'm just letting my anger out here about it and other issues regarding fan-depiction of Hawks. It's vaguely related to your post on how DabiHawks or Dabi+Hawks stories make it all about Dabi and always made Hawks out to be the one who starts the problems in their relationship or is the one trying to get Dabi's

Content warning: passing mention of r*pe in a fanfiction.

LOOOONG post under the cut.

(Cont.)

Dabi's attentions when it's canon that it's the complete opposite. This latest story that came up in my feed was about Hawks "harassing" Dabi (who apparently has a backstory of r*pe) and Twice helps Dabi works out his feelings. Among the hoards of tags condemning Hawks, they decided to use "Hawks is very uncool in this fic heads up" so that's another one to add to my filters. I think I also have to block the "Dabi Needs a Hug" tags too bc he's always woobified like heck.

I really want to read stories where Hawks interacts with Twice since they have a bond/drama with each other, but people have been adding Dabi and either making it seem like Hawks has been gaslighting Dabi in their "relationship" or with Twice. I can acknowledge stories where Hawks feels guilty for what he had to do or Twice being anger/betrayed over Hawks' actions since that is actually what happened; but I will not stand for Dabi claiming Hawks took advantage of Twice or Twice and Dabi having feelings for each other with Hawks in the way bc Dabi is a) the one who let Hawks in b) knew Twice is gullible and c) used Twice as bait. Even in the stories that are cute/causal+funny, Hawks is always the one who gets threatened with fire, harsh insults, or guilted into compliance but the seriousness of the first 2 are always brushed off and the third kinda makes me want it that Hawks doesn't have friends bc most people write him as a bad friend who only cares about his own problems (especially the ones that write Hawks like a celebrity/night club person).

On writing Dabi, his issues always take priority over everything else, his family loves him, and the lov is always chill with him. He's usually written as the fun asshole/caretaker (bc of his big brother status or ablity to cook). Those factors aren't bad by itself, but it's extremely irritating when the writers/artists can give that level of care to Dabi, but just reduce Hawks to a meme who is a workaholic for the government/scared of punishment & not bc he really cares about the people he saves/helps. It's not like I hate the DabiHawks pairing, but the majority of the content (esp the recent ones), are frustrating to read & Hawks' character is usually written in bad out of character extremes. I am really mystified that I'm praying for canon content rather than fanmade most of the time.

Phew! After the back and forth it looks like we got to the end of that! (Or did we?! *Dun dun DUUUUN*) If not, though, feel free to keep the asks rolling. Lol Foxy and I are usually pretty happy to receive as many asks as people want to send even if it takes us a while, individually, to get to it. Now to finally address what you sent.

I find myself in a weird place when it comes to OOC fanfic because on the one hand people can write whatever they want, and I don’t really have a place to criticize them; but also when they blatantly and willingly misinterpret a character so they have grounds to bash on them it also leaves me acutely uncomfortable. I don’t think I’d call it “problematic” as much as a squick? Like, if they’re willing to blow past all the obvious proof to the contrary about their claims of a fictional character just because they hate them, then are they willing to do the same thing to a real person? Usually, those kinds of thoughts are pointlessly extreme, but we know those who unironically and/or unapologeticly call fans of the heroes “bootlickers” so... It’s like, ooc vent fics are also fine; and if you want to rewrite a character to fit the narrative scheme you’ve set up that’s cool as long as its tagged (“ooc [character]” or something) and/or just mention in the a/n that they knowingly and willingly mischaracterized them for the sake of the fic. Just. Don’t. Claim. It’s. Canon.

And speaking of canon, as much as I’m sure Horikoshi knew Hawks and Dabi were going to end up shipped I think it’s obvious that he never was going to canonically write them ending up together, yet here comes the “canon must validate my headcanon” crowd calling him a bad writer because the author had some bigger narrative goal in mind than having two pretty anime boys kissing.

And the worst part to me is, I feel there’s a distinct slice of the DabiHawks crowd missing out on some of the possibilities of this ship by intentionally mischaracterizing them. Like, the aesthetic equal/opposite draw of the ship is phenomenal as it is and I don’t even ship them, but I can see a wide range of possible fics based solely on the principle that they are canonically incompatible!

At the end of the day, Dabi is a dime-a-dozen edgelord - that pain in the butt OC that so many newbie D&D players make that they think is so deep and dark and mature, but is about as cookie-cutter as they come. It’s not that this kind of character is unsalvageable or a hopeless Gary Stu character, just that they don’t often come across as compelling in and of themselves or that they need more than just selfish hatred to carry them through a series. Two kinds of edgelords that can be done well are the “Out of the Ashes” edgelord and “I’ll Pull You Into Hell With Me” edgelord. The first kind recognizes there’s more to life than their sad backstory and getting even and thus choose to aspire to more noble causes - think Joel from The Last of Us. The second recognizes they’re actively doing wrong and come to embrace it - being more concerned with getting what they want than taking the moral high ground - think Frank Castle, aka the Punisher - and even these darker, “unsaveable” kinds of edgelord antiheroes can have redeeming qualities such as meeting and helping a young hopeful and telling them, “I know I’m on the road to hell, so if you want to save yourself you’d better not follow me.”

Dabi actually has what he needs to become the second type right now (assuming he’s Touya) and could even evolve into the first not unlike Kratos from God of War, but that potential can’t be fully recognized until you admit that he’s fundamentally self-centered and a bad person as-is. He may have the tragic backstory complete with justifiable hate at his genuinely abusive father, but rather than using that as fuel to see that never happen to anyone else like it did him - he just wants to get even. He burns people alive, knowing well he’s participating in the same destruction that his father committed to make him what he is now. He doesn’t recognize any of the merits of hero society and is only concerned with burning it to ash. He could use what happened to his family to incite compassion in his heart and take others under his wing, but instead he uses people as a mean to his own ends. He isn’t even proper grimdark - he’s just your run of the mill egotistical megalomaniac with a punk aesthetic.

And that’s still a good character in the grand scheme of things, maybe just not alone! Moreso, it’s a good villain and EVEN BETTER when you put him next to Hawks who is at his core:

Fundamentally Hopepunk!

Hopepunk is about being good and kind as an act of rebellion against a cruel and unfair world no matter how bleak it gets or how badly you’re beaten down. Despite his own cruel past, Hawks still has a heart to help others for no other reason than to help them, he constantly changes the odds to save as many people as he can when he’d be given a pass for letting the cards fall where they will, and not only is his aim to “help others” but to make sure that there’ll never be need for heroes again. He’s an active rebel against the system fighting with kindness and goodness, fervently looking and listening for the next opportunity to do good.

In agreement with you, Hawks and Twice are interesting to explore because while Twice is an optimist looking to make the world a better place, he’s still a step or two removed from Hawks’ worldview because Twice refuses to let go of the “family” he found for himself while Hawks is willing to sacrifice himself for others. That dynamic is so interesting, and it’s what made them so initially compatible and subsequently heartbreaking in canon.

And it’s such a disappointment to see this unwaveringly earnest character reduced to “shitty fratboy” so often. For a lot of people newer to his character I can understand the confusion, but there really isn’t an excuse if you’ve been reading the series, and the possibilities for fics with this canon personality are just so much more interesting to explore, especially with Dabi as his sort-of opposite.

For DabiHawks to work well, you have to recognize that something has to give in either of them. Some of the juiciest, most angsty content is when you have two characters grow close together over commonalities only to be reminded that despite everything else they share, that One Thing will always keep them from truly being able to see eye-to-eye. Either Dabi has to grow past his hatred and relearn compassion and empathy, or Hawks has to lose grip of that hopeful vision he has and fall into despair. Both options are good to explore, but both require the acknowledgement that Dabi’s view of the world is fundamentally bleak and selfish, especially compared to Hawks’. For a supposed revolutionary out to change the world for the better whose a diamond in the rough with a heart of gold, that’s not exactly on-brand; and at the end of the day the issue is that some are unwilling to admit that what they wanted Dabi to be is likely not going to happen and they love that fake version Dabi more than they love what Hawks actually stands for which is why Hawks always gets the shaft in the end.

I still personally hold a bit of a grudge against the DaiHawks ship as a whole purely because, as you said, Dabi always seems to take priority over Hawks instead of letting the two build a dynamic together. Hawks is always the one who has to give, and the torture porn some have made him go through to “make the ship work” is downright disturbing to me. Even at its height DabiHawks content completely flooded the Hawks character tags on Tumblr with some of the same problems that have persisted to this day such as emphasizing their aesthetic as opposed to their dynamic and rampant mischaracterization.

Anyway, that’s my long-winded response. What do you think, @autumn-foxfire?

#long post anon #autumn-foxfire #let's talk hawks

24 notes · View notes

captainkurosolaire · 4 years

Text

Beholder Meet Tranquility

Many locks and keys all remained on the Captain and his soul and spirit was restless, never unable to be revealed. The only reason the specification of this encounter was because of how much compassion was burning on the Captain’s desire and need to resolve his viewed and valued frienemy’s turmoil. Despite everything said previously in this one circumstance his claims about every pirate had been debunked here. His philosophy and realism all his books. They were dribble. This was the Captain’s omen of Heart of Evolution it was slowly dawning with transcending past the events of a cruelest Horizon. Every act of creation that surrounded and swarmed peacefully around the maddened mage felt strangely compassionate. It felt like they were soothing and quelling him of all things. When just a second ago that was required for him. “I made you a promise. I keep those… It’s what they would’ve wanted.“ A soft step came inbound to the fortified Lord before he muttered, sensational nervousness stuck in his throat, “Get..away...” This noble was forced into labor. Turned into artificial believed perfection and the philosophy to be Elite. Misperforming wasn’t an option. Losing wasn’t an excuse. The pressure of his race even was a factor in his growing. In a place dominated by a majority and forever viewed smaller and lesser by even more snooty and uppity. He felt no choice but to chose ignorance and thirst for power which welled from schools of knowledge even if it meant sacrificial portions to acquire it. In hopes it’d make him stand out and attain fame for his noble’s house. He was haunted with the philosophy of losing, fearful of it. And that made him forever hate even the mere notion of such a humanized and organic thing in general. It didn’t matter how large his mind was or how fast it processed. It wasn’t opened enough to accept. There was something truly pathetic and pitiful hiding behind such needless struggles, alone in solitude. Forever casting in the dark and only living on applying his value above the will of others. How could he be told or shown to find himself? When he didn’t know where to look. All the places he had once were sealed away and sold for the promise of power. He made a deal with a Devil that he freed and unleashed that these two opponents had dealt with the threat together believing it’d atone him. Now wasn’t that a fantasy but Captain just here had shown him the final answer to all this conflict in this overplayed war. “You never had the pleasure of knowing a defeat in battle. To be outclassed and be thrown off your perch, every-time someone came close you squashed them or you threw them into a situation where they wouldn’t even humor you. Though you were pleading for this. An equal who took you to the limits that you put onto yourself but as I’ve stated… We were for whatever reason contested to forever repeat our highs and lows and exchange in those. The shields, barriers, they showed your fondness of security so reliant on it. We’ve both always known it. Though I’m going to break you. I’m going to defeat you in one blow and when you lose here... The only fight for you remaining is within your veins. Shiro the reason I fought...” A fierce brightness that undertook this man roared his eye’s open and mouth for a shout. ”It was all for you.” Shiro attempted to recoil but his foot was entrapped by a root that began curling onto him. How could anything grow here... His entire mind and those words they came with such passion and an empathy, ears trying to flee by lowering and hunkering to try muffling out those words he felt during each strike and wound that was screaming at him it was so gut-wrenching it warmed even the coldest layers of Shiro’s spirit. This was the eye-opener aforementioned. Panic and sporadic action set in as Shiro lobbed together in his last ditch effort of infested consumption and to preserve his safe-space to do one more ultimatum attack everything channeled into one atomic cluster. His eyes looked up to notice the Seeker peacefully standing in the same position unmoved. The Dark Sun raised his hand into a finger-gun and cocked it before playfully pulling a trigger with his thumb latching down. “Bang.” This instantly made the cerebellum think it’d be a projectile launched at him or some sort of focused and concentrated aetherial attack the punishment for the over-thinkers. Kuro erupted into a fleeting chortle before falling back in a collapse succumbing to his injuries. Before even the confusion set in. The questionable ‘flighters’ like strand insects were his final attack all along. As they rushed into him they looked too docile and passive but when they entered and collected together they disappeared into the Keepers system entirely blowing up and illuminating anything foul ever showing signs of him branded by anything Voidal their puppet slave no more. It was an exorcised electrifying experience from the inside but none of it harmed that which wasn’t an unnatural organic or harmful energy.

A single purging swarm pried out from Shiro’s back as they were floated and engorged from the feast of corruption as their dazzling lights began fading from existence. Shiro’s entire body convulsed and shook while he stayed standing as there was some sort of dignity purposefully written in the technique to give even his rival that. Another compassionate mercy. After a moment in an aching slouch. His creaking body readjusted and his white pupils from the stasis returned to their brilliant aquamarines. He examined himself and identified what event transpired. He still was the one remaining in the winning position as there was no sign of alertness or awaking from the mangled heathen. A low kick to Kuro’s knee even to check if he had any reaction went unavailing. Only the tiniest string of strand fought on. He had all the options but no matter how he felt all them weren’t viable. If he struck a downed opponent he lost from words proven earlier. If he left him here he lost especially if he passed away into this absence of silence. Cause it didn’t change the fact any win he had ever done was often in-front of an audience. There was no delight in anything victorious here. He saw the chivalrous of nobility once again and was exhilarated with this sensation. <I lost.> <I lost.> <I lost...> This was losing in an unwinnable means. To be wrong about everything. To live believing in lies to the point you thought they were guaranteed facts. Nothing you couldn’t be stumped on or you couldn’t calculate or solve. That, yes, humanity isn’t perfect and it’s flawed by so many corners... but by every trinity is the boundless potential to at-least redefine what humanity means to one’s self a feeling of endless venture of a Fantasy that had no Final. It was proven by this scamp. A scoundrel had lost more times than count and had so many prisons on himself but still he was more free than anyone he had ever met before in any of those scrolls that collected dust in some library shelve. Greatness was subjective and had an equal color in every form and hadn’t any lines of disparity or discoloration from preventing anyone from attaining it. Shiro glossed over the battlefield before looking to the almost forgotten relic in fitting tune, he fought detestably during this for this lousy excuse of a material. A tinge of lunacy crossed him as it surely was still potently valuable but not to him, not anymore. As he’d wrapped the downed Seekers arms around the object in a nested cradle. Accepting his defeat and giving the spoil to the victor. “Thank you.” The Keeper scanned before getting up. He’d open up a portal directly in the outline of the carcass of the Captain that’d see him land right back onto the main decks of his ship. The cost of the Captain’s revelation brought to life and light many things even if he would be under the dark for the coming time in recovery. Judas returning up the gangplank would see a humanoid and bloody mess and banged up Captain plummet right between his soles right to the wood and leave a crater. “What the fuck, Captain?” “I told you to return in one piece not a blob of many! Ahoy, you there? Are you awake or alive!?” All the ambience faded as the tiny break in the sky sealed back up. Shiro on the other side put still a hint of mischievous grin on himself but one that was rare with dimples he finally understood it and now honestly saw what it meant to own a friend. Someone willingly prepared to keep their promises for your sake even if it’s by straightening you with a stern thrash it felt invigorating to be lessened that he wasn’t alone and now could thrive to figure out how to also begin a lazarus of himself like the Captain had granted and model shown it can be achieved since the many losses at the hands of the white suit. He knew exactly how to finish retaining and obtain himself the path of travel was paved in goblet lights. With it all said and done Shiro closed his lids and allowed the exhaustion to plummet and successfully fall in matching with his failure face-first. Accepting earnestly they were Forever Destined but perhaps they were supposed to be more than just advisories and rivals throughout their soul spans. They could be further on the same track and page as opposites and still yet fight together in the ground of their prides with it helping another keep lines of peace and allow them to further explore the limits of their boundless labyrinths of greatness residing in all humane hearts now they most importantly seen by their own-selves. Imperfections are the truth in obtaining perfection.

(Previous) - /References/ - ♫ ‘The Pull of the Tides’ ♫ - (Next Page)

20 notes · View notes

operator-amelia · 3 years

Text

Last Call, Amelia

You know, chances are you'll never see this.

I know how this goes. I've even been here before. Last time was Plague Star. Things were...well, I won't say dire, but looking like they could get that way. I got this feeling. Us Tenno, especially after we wake from the Second Dream, we never really "die." Sure, some of us get tired. Get old. Return to the Void, you know.

Actually, I bet you don't. I bet if you're reading this, I'm the first Tenno we've lost in your time. Sorry it had to be me, I'm sure that's rough.

What the hell am I doing...

Like I've said, I've been here before. Had this feeling, like...like I've been listening to my favorite song, and it's about to end. Had it last with Plague Star, and you know, that went off without a hitch. Thought we would lose, thought it'd come down to evacuating Cetus, turning the Plains into a glass floor, but...it didn't. We didn't lose anybody, so I guess that feeling is just a trick my brain plays on me. Maybe some kind of deja-vu. History doesn't repeat itself, but it rhymes, kinda. Maybe Plague Star lined up too well with a bad beat from before the Dream.

Point is, with this Thanatos business and what happened to Misha...it's getting to be pretty final in my head. So just...I'm gonna say something here and it's not gonna matter, but don't feel bad about this. I knew this was coming. I expected it.

You're gonna feel bad anyways. That's fine. But on the off chance you don't, I'm not offended. I'm happy for you. Happy you're dealing with this better than I dealt with Rosalee.

There are things about being a Tenno I haven't told you yet, consequences for waking from the Second Dream I haven't explained, because until now, they weren't your problem. Maybe that was silly. Maybe I should have told you before it became an issue, maybe I should stop going over all the maybe's before I forget to tell you what's what.

So here it is. The Tenno who wake from the Second Dream, each and every one of us, are haunted.

Started with Hayden, of course. Everything in this damn war seems to start with him. Stuck his nose in some Red Veil seances, found Rel. Set him free, and left us to deal with the fallout.

That's not fair, actually. He has to cope with it too. He's just...he handles it better than the rest of us. You know, maybe he just doesn't complain because he we blame him.

There's a sort of presence in the Void. Not the neural sentry, something..."primal" is too emotional. the word, "evil" assigns it agency...let's say "indifferent." It just is, and it doesn't change. That's important. The Man in The Wall doesn't change. If he changes, it's not him. It's you.

Might want to keep an eye on that.

Brace yourself for some...I don't know, cliche advice? Hate to use that word, but...I guess cliches have that reputation because they come up so much. Doesn't make it any less true.

So here's the deal: Nothing good lasts, and nothing bad ends.

Bit of a bummer, that. But it's true. And when you forget that, people die. Tenno die.

Rosalee dies.

Rosalee was...well, she was a lot of things. A native Mirage pilot, with a knack for Mesa's Peacekeepers as well. Always preffered the Akzani, you know, classic Mirage sidearms, but give her a Kraken or something like it and she'd take the head off of Lancers at ranges I'd steal a Vulkar for.

So yeah, she's a crack shot. Better than me, better than you, better than...pretty much anyone I've run missions with.

To me, well...that's a whole book in and of itself. We were a lot of things. I was her spotter for a few raids on the Plains. Ran tactical for her on a lot of solo runs, you know, data centers, hit-and-runs on the Plains to cover another team. She ran tactical for me on pretty much every gunfight I tell stories about.

Had a fling with her too. Cute. Real mean, in the fun-at-parties kinda way. I'll leave it at that. Like I said, nothing good lasts. She went for someone else, we were adults about it. Was a little strange, but the good times kept on rolling for a while. She went for this Ostron girl, started spending some more time in her own skin. This wasn't some city girl, either, she was militia. A fighter, like Rosalee, but...

Things got bad on the Plains after Plague Star. Thumpers started to become a regular issue, I don't know if Vay Hek had it in his back pocket or if they made some sort of advancement during the op we didn't see. Things got real dangerous for non-Operators, Rosalee's other half included.

What we had was stupid, silly fun, but the two of them...

Like I said. Nothing good lasts.

Konzu tried. He really did. Banned militia from doing excursions during the day, only let them out with an Awoken Tenno during the night. But...you get cocky, on the frontier. You spend enough time on the Plains and...you think you know em'. Maybe you do. And maybe you die anyways.

Point is, first ghoul purge happened, and her Iron Flower...didn't come home. Rosalee...got real quiet after that. Tended to leave her warframe in combat a lot more too.

You know, I should have seen it coming. Should have tried to make her stay. But I was just a fling, I'd buried those feelings for her and I guess buried some empathy along with it.

Most of the time, you know, you think you're going to go down swinging. I know Rosalee did. I wish she had. But, as it happened, well...

She knew she was tired. Hurting. I have no doubt now she was looking for an ending, but, you know, at the time, you see someone tearing through Grineer in their own skin, and you just think they're mad. They're after revenge, and she was, but I guess she was after some quiet too.

Sniper put a hole through her chest the size of a Rhino boot. Too far out to even tell you what tower it came from. No gunshot, just the sound barrier breaking and the impact. She kinda looked at me, eyes all blue, glowing brighter than I've ever seen them, and...

Like I said.

Found one of her journals, later on. We all keep them, just in case something like the Dream happens again. We don't have to try and guess who we were or what frame we were native to, you know. Pragmatism.

That Ostron girl, her Iron Flower. That's who the Man in The Wall decided she had to see, and he was right. She got tired. Got reckless. And returned to the Void.

Before you start connecting things that aren't there, this isn't what happens to me. My man in the wall is Rosalee, sure, but she's more of a nuisance than the kind of Siren the real Rosalee had to contend with. I don't want to go on, that's not why I'm writing this. Just...this Thanatos business makes me feel like I won't get a choice.

Nah, I'm telling you this because I want you to know that no matter how real he looks, if your Man in The Wall turns out to be me, it's not. It's the Indifference. The Man. Don't listen to it, honestly, don't even talk to it. I made that mistake. It's a hard habit to kill, once you start.

Once again, I'm not offended if it's someone else. For a lot of people, it's themselves, and that's fine. Don't listen to them, either.

Usually he only appears after some kind of trauma, though. For Hayden, it was the Grineer Queens. For me, it was watching Rosalee die. For you, well...there's a good chance it was losing me.

Don't sweat it. He's there for each of us. Don't expect anyone to tell us who our Man is, but...if you want to talk in, say, non-specific terms, Misha's there for you. So is Gaz. Cherno, well, he'll be having his own thing provided I'm gone.

There. That's done. I don't have to worry about you getting in over your head now.

And if something does happen, with Thanatos or sometime later...I'm pretty sure you're a Mesa native. You move like one anyways. Shoot like one too. Us gunslingers, well, we tend to get ideas about justice. About revenge. Do whatever keeps you going. Don't do anything on my behalf, I don't have those sorts of problems anymore.

As for Seeker, if it's still...intact, salvageable, it's yours. Enjoy it. Keep yourself safe. And remember:

Nothing good lasts.

Nothing bad ends.

-Aria, Warlord of Argent Dusk

#warframe #oc #operator cherno #operator amelia #operator aria #operator misha #operator hayden #The Man in The Wall #operator rosalee #plague star #ghoul purge #ostron #cetus #plains of eidolon #argent dusk #last call

5 notes · View notes

boog-shitposting-edition · 4 years

Text

So I been playing a ton of Kenshi and watched all of the Mandalorian in a single day shortly before and it’s got me thinking about what makes what I consider a good action hero, because there was definitely a time where I thought the phrase “good action hero” was an oxymoron.

I grew up around some angry, unstable dudes who had that bad habit of watching horror movies and opining that in the same situation they would simply shoot the monster with the gun the character was holding. I got some views on the model of masculinity that sees the male ideal as functionally a tool for performing violence, condescension and occasional reddit-approved banter with all other emotional responses pared away or suppressed. This seems like a good way to manufacture a product for performing labor rather than developing a whole functional human being. So I generally veer away from that sort of thing pretty hard.

So I’m resistant to the Mandalorian at first, right? All the ads are basically star wars apocryphica and a power armored fighty gun boy. The last star wars thing I’d seen was The Rise Of Skywalker and my faith in the franchise is low. But it’s been a hot minute, the hype dies down, and my girlfriend is a better and more patient fan than I’ll ever be so we give it a go. And the first thing that really nails it for me is what a DORK the mando is. I’m delighted, his life is violence interdispersed with being an absolute buttfumble disaster. He slips and falls over things he could never have predicted, he burns his life down for a baby he finds in the desert. Pedro Pascal references Boba Fetts stiff menace and plays it off as someone who has no social skills other than stiff menace and it’s FASCINATING. Him explaining to the village woman who is obviously into him that he hasn’t taken the armor off since he was thirteen isn’t a badass declaration of martial devotion, it is the single saddest and most awkward interaction I have ever seen filmed and it hits all the harder for the fact that this is a character I’ve mostly ever seen as an action figure with a spring loaded missile backpack. Instead of being a faceless emotionless action-cudgel, Pedro amps up the body language in his acting to really sell you this heavily psychologically damaged, desperate, viking-space-catholic mess with no life skills other than violence and a devotion to his people’s creed that borders on obsession. Rather than paring himself down making him a psychological fortress, the Mando is an incredibly obvious walking raw nerve (”I’m not sad-” “Yes you are.”) So, Kenshi.

I’ve heard about this game on and off a few years and finally got it a few days ago. It’s been in early access since 2012, appears to be mostly getting finished by its modding community, and glitches like absolute woah. There’s no core storyline, just a post-apocalyptic setting with some surprisingly detailed autogenerated NPC interactions with some options for starting conditions and the sole goal of surviving. It’s essentially a rapid sequence of story prompts hidden underneath a closely interlocked system of XP grinding, survival mechanics and dismemberment algorithms, and is appallingly my shit.

My first run at the game got pretty far, went from a lone confused desert wanderer to a 13 man village running a tidy copper-mining operation to trade with the ant people. In the early game, fight mechanics are basically a death sentence; my first character immediately got her leg torn off by a goat and I had to restart. All skills grow only by excersizing them; you have to fight to get better at fighting, you have to LOSE fights to gain toughness, and when you lose a fight the consequences can range from “these bandits are stealing all your food” to “this monster is eating your leg/heart/head” to “these slavers are taking your character away and your game experience is Different now.” And while I was proud of myself for finding a way to survive, grow and thrive with a low-combat squad, once I tried the basebuilding mechanics that basically just meant my town was a source of free food and money for local bandits while my squad starved to death, unable to abandon our locale. So I got fed up and restarted.

As mentioned the game gives you different start positions; wanderer gives you 1 character, some money and pants. Guy and his dog gives you a dog, which is fun. Exiled officer starts you with good skills and the hatred of your former commander, which complicates things. Cannibal Hunters starts you already in a fistfight with 30 cannibals. It’s exciting times. But I figure this time I’d like to start my squad a LITTLE more capable of defending themselves, so I look at the Holy Sword start; you’re a bandit who starts with a stolen holy weapon, minuses in most skills, no money and a 20,000 bounty on your head from both major factions.

So I proceed to character creation and notice I can pick whatever I want for player species/subspecies with this start. There’s robot people and warriors made of stone and baseline humans and all sorts of fun options, but you remember those ant people I mentioned before? In game they’re called the Hivers, you find ‘em in 3 recruitable varieties (prince, worker drone and soldier) and they have an interesting in-universe quirk; ones that grow up in the hive are pheramone-addicted, chemically wired into the needs and wants of all of their fellows, but if you’re away from your kin for over a fortnight this addiction dries out incredibly fast and cannot be reinstated. Hivers who ever spend any time away from the hive are declared “lost ones,” and are often taken advantage of in the outside world as they long for a new community.

In survival sims I dont often play dedicated fighters, I always feel like being a brutal fight-beast isn’t really in the spirit of finding a niche to exploit and growing from a fumbling plebian to a major power. But I was already starting this game with my ONLY advantage being a nice sword. And the soldier hivers gain a buff to experience gained for melee attack and toughness, and a debuff to literally all else.

Manual labor. Science. Engineering. Farming. Cooking. First aide. In a setting that heavily prioritized your ability to survive using multiple vital skill sets, my character would start with negatives in his skills for putting on band-aids and FEEDING himself. So I gave it a go.

Getting more wild here, it turns out the Holy Sword opening also takes place in a time in the setting with more recent warfare, so a bunch of the starting villages are destroyed and it appears that more of the nearby cities are controlled by the factions that have a bounty on me. So my character CAN’T rely on other people or meet anyone to recruit at first. He can run, he can scrounge and scavenge, and as mentioned above starting characters can take lethal damage from GOATS so he can’t even hunt for food; the only way I was getting a meal was if I robbed someone or ran into merchants on the road I could hawk my salvage to for a scrap of bread.

He eventually finds someone willing to join him on his travels in spite of being flat broke, a shek named Ruka running from a dishonerable loss on the battlefield, and comparing their skills he’s so useless for everything besides combat that I assign him to bodyguard her. And again, this game’s appeal is that the survival mechanics make good story prompts, so imagine that in character.

“Fine, I need a change. I’ll join you.” “Thank god. Lead the way boss.” “What?”

Things regarding my characters bounty are starting to heat up in town, so we head north into hiver territory. We get attacked by bandits and heavily injured, my soldier gets knocked out, so Ruka picks him up and carries him until we find a hive town. I saw these guys all the time in my last playthrough, I survived by selling to them, they’re super friendly, should be fine. Ruka walks into the local shop and before I can have her ask for directions and a medikit the shopkeeper is already shouting- “SKREEE! LOST ONE! GET OUT! LOST ONES BRING MADNESS”

Apparently, my protagonist being a hiveless hiver means there’s a THIRD faction that’s hostile to him; his own goddamn people. Ruka has to leave him under a tree not just outside but like 50 feet from the edge of town, and just has to hope none of the local wild megafauna eats him while she rushes back in to buy things from the now abruptly friendlier shopkeep.

I’m finally sitting there, having Ruka watch my soldier hiver sleep while she cooks scavanged meat and waits for him to finish healing, that I realize what the story being generated here is and it’s a good one; a Hive soldier whose only skills are violence, frantically scavenging and stealing to survive until he can find the one circumstance where he’s comfortable, sacrificing himself to protect others. He steals a sword that’s obviously important to two major governments, just because he knows it’s powerful and thinks that power will justify his continued existence as a hiveless soldier drone, essentially buying his way back into his people’s good graces by performing his function. Literally wandering the world until he found a single person who was willing to boss him around again and devoting himself to their defense to a state of pathological damage just to feel like he has a hive again. It’s sad. It’s badass. It’s deeply, unsettlingly pathetic.

But I also think it’s what makes a really really good gruff action hero!

Hypercompetence in violence is really interesting when you acknowledge the damage it can do to your humanity in the storytelling! The Mandalorian is unsuccessful in repressing his empathy response so he just tries to tough through the pain it causes him as best he can, until he meets The Child and it snaps. The Hiver is essentially playing pretend at being still valued as a product for committing violence, even in the face of being openly rejected for his previously esteemed role. This stuff is INTERESTING.

TL;DR version, a lot of these “supersoldier raised by the military/fight wizards/karate” characters are super boring and obnoxious when they’re put forward as power fantasies, and really interesting when you realize that being raised by Fight Wizards is why they’ve never had a girlfriend and called their handgun “mom” once.

#kenshi #star wars #mandalorian

13 notes · View notes