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blonde-love · 2 years ago

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Rings with a promise sealed with wine…

Summary: An old friend of Larissa's visits her office, reminiscing about an old promise that unfolds in a night of love, passion, and wine.

Warnings: Smut, cunnilingus, I don’t know(?)

Parts of the story:

Rings with a promise sealed with wine… [1].

Rings with a promise sealed with wine… [2]. Soon.

Rings with a promise sealed with wine… [Extra]. Soon.

Author's Note: Hello, I'm sorry if this writing is a disaster, actually English is not my first language and this is my first fanfic, but I hope I have done a decent work… any constructive criticism is really appreciated! There is also an extra part of this that I don't know if you want to read...

The academy had changed since the last time you had visited it, although it still maintained most of its essence, there were small modifications here and there, which made sense considering the many years that had passed since then. You had evolved, so it was logical that the place would too, especially under Larissa's command now.

You sighed remembering her, wondering how she would have become too, thinking that surely she would still be that beautiful and intriguing lady with light hair and blue eyes as when she was young all those years ago...

You were a few years younger than Larissa, but you had met her at one of her speeches at the academy. She was always as upright and neat a student as she could be, so she quickly caught your eye when you saw her, just perfect. You chatted a bit when it was over, she presumably proud of her work, saying that you could do the same if you tried hard enough, so you really pushed yourself to make it through a few years later even though she wasn't around to see it…

You stood in front of the door that had her name engraved on it, looking doubtful as you raised your fist to knock, biting your bottom lip uncertainly. You finally filled yourself with so much courage as you could before knocking on the door a few times, overly nervous as a couple of seconds passed in silence that felt like eternal centuries until a voice was finally heard inside.

“Come in”. A beautiful voice called out, so you followed the lead, walking into Larissa's office, looking at her, she sitting at her desk.

You let out a longing breath when you finally looked at her; her hair tied beautifully, an almost whitish blonde, while her blue eyes moved reading the text on the paper in her hands, wearing a beautiful elegant dress...

“Good evening... To what do I owe your pleasant visit?”. She asked as she finally put the document in her hands to the side to look at you, realizing that you weren't one of her students, snapping you out of your trance, jumping slightly in place and finally closing the door behind you.

“Good evening, Ri-… Lari-… Principal Weems”. You said, regretting using that nickname or her name, too scared of how things would evolve between you after so many years.

Larissa's eyes narrowed as she heard you hesitate, being too familiar to her, not knowing exactly where she'd seen you from before. Nearly three decades was too long to remember properly.

“I... I come to visit, I don't know if you would like to see me... I...”. You started to ramble, until she interrupted you.

“I know you?”. She asked almost like a sigh that the wind would have carried away if you hadn't been so nervously attentive to her.

“Y-Yeah... I mean… yes... you might not recognize me now”. You muttered foolishly, shyly approaching her desk, swallowing hard and removing a ring from your thumb, placing it on Larissa's desk.

The older one looked at it skeptically for a few seconds, not understanding why you would leave it there until she realized that in fact the original owner of the object was her.

“[Y/n]”. She called your name under her breath, knowing who you were then, since the ring had been given to you so many years ago as the seal of a promise that both would fulfill your goals no matter what obstacles stood in the way when you consoled her to try to push aside her negative feelings about she comparing herself to Morticia.

“Yes…”.

“You… you don’t…”. She looked at you without finding the right words, getting up from her seat to approach you, placing that ring back on her index finger.

When she was close to you, you took a step back due to her imposing figure. You remembered her being tall, but not that tall, especially with the heels she normally didn't wear when she used her school uniform so long ago.

“What are you doing here?”. She finally asked, looking at you with those blue eyes that you had fallen in love with when you were in high school.

It took you a moment to answer, because you simply couldn't, with the sight of that ethereal woman in front of you, who had become the most beautiful person in the world over the years if she wasn’t before.

“[Y/n]”. She called, placing a hand on your shoulder, squeezing gently and bringing you back to the ground.

“Ah… yes… That…”. You stuttered for a moment, before taking a deep breath, looking up at her burning fireplace. “The promise... remember?”.

“The promise…”. Larissa repeated almost mechanically, looking at the ring before returning her gaze to you once more…

“I came to return it… you said that was the deal when we exchanged them… that we would return them once we both met our goals…”. You remembered, looking at the hands of the taller woman.

“Oh… I-I… had forgotten…”. She confessed, and that's when you realized that she wasn't wearing any ring besides the one you just gave her, proof of her words, evidence that she hadn't considered you as you did for her during all those years.

“I…”. The words caught in your throat, feeling partially disappointed by that, taking another step back. “Yeah... sorry, that must have been a young joke...”. You shrugged, trying to downplay the importance it clearly held to you, the woman clenching her jaw as she realized you really did take it seriously.

“[Y/n], listen…”. She tried to say, but you shook your head.

“No, I understand. Still, I couldn't stay with that, it's too expensive… Anyway, I'm glad that apparently things turned out well for you, becoming the director of Nevermore is impressive”. You assured, a smile on your lips, tightening your grip on your bag.

Silence reigned in the room, discomfort running through your body, looking down at the floor after a few seconds.

“That was all... At the entrance they told me that you were a little busy, maybe I shouldn't interrupt you anymore”. You said, with the best smile you could get in that situation. “It was good to see you again, Weems”. You turned, walking in the direction of the exit before she stopped you, placing a hand on your wrist and pulling you back.

“Wait a second…”. She asked, acting on instinct more than logic, getting you to turn once more to look at her. “You… grew up…”. She muttered seeing your appearance.

That would be a logical statement, almost bordering on the absurd, but not for her at that moment, since upon seeing you more closely she realized that you had indeed changed and, just like her, you had become a woman, so beautiful in her eyes, going against the image she had of you, because when she thought of you, usually had in mind the face of a young adolescent, a little clumsy and distracted, not an attractive woman.

A small laugh escaped your lips at her, smiling genuinely at her this time. “You too”.

“Sorry... Would you like to stay and chat a bit and have some wine, perhaps?”. She proposed, tempted to touch your face for a moment before dropping her hand without even getting close enough to you.

“It would be a pleasure... if you're not too busy, of course”. You muttered, to which she smiled softly.

“I'm not”. That was a lie she hoped you wouldn't find out. “Come on, sit down”. She requested, pointing to a seat near her fireplace, walking to a cabinet until she pulled out a bottle and a couple of glasses, placing them on the table in front of the sofas.

You sat down, analyzing her movements as she served you; her hips as she walked to reach the bottle, her hands as she performed each of her actions... You ended up looking away in embarrassment. You weren't a teenager to go on with that.

“Here you have”. She said, handing you the glass of liquor, erasing her insecurities about her invitation by looking at you once more like an adult, sitting next to you before taking a small sip from her own glass.

“Thank you…”. You said shyly, your lips moving closer to the glass and drinking too.

Larissa stared at your mouth perhaps more than necessary, noticing that you were wearing some lipstick and realizing that she had never seen you use it before, when you were young you always clinging to the idea that you didn't need it.

“Mmm… the wine you drink is quite good…”. You said, savoring the taste, she blinking a few times in bewilderment, blushing as she realized she'd been staring longer than she should have.

“I have good taste. I guess you became a doctor considering the return from a few minutes ago”. She communicated, referring to the ring you had given her, to which you nodded.

“Yeah, actually for a couple of months, but it took me a while to find you… that was until I talked to Morticia. I ran into her by chance... well... not so much... her daughter broke into my work area last year's vacation to try to remove some pieces that we had preserved in formaldehyde, but those are minor details”. I narrated while remembering the incident, drinking a little more.

“Oh… Wednesday Addams…”. She muttered, placing her fingers on the bridge of her nose with a frustrated expression.

“She entered this year to study here, right?”.

“Unfortunately... It's been a disaster... Morticia must have been simply incapable of raising a decent daughter...”. She commented with annoyance, taking a longer sip of wine before pouring more for both of them.

“It's just an Addams, I guess”. You said, remembering so many things about her parents in their student days. “Maybe she inherited some of Morticia's... particular charm...”.

“I still don't understand what you saw of her when we were young”. She announced out of nowhere, quite confusing you.

“To Morticia?”. You asked in confusion, tilting your head to one side for a moment.

“Yes, you were crazy about her in high school as I remember”. That confused you even more.

“She's always had her thing, but I didn't like Morticia. When I was younger I was more into blonde girls, you know”. You commented without thinking, deeply embarrassed as you realized your own words.

“Blondes?”. She asked, to which you nodded sheepishly. Larissa had always thought you had a crush on Morticia with all your frequent visits to their bedroom, but the black-haired girl wasn't the real reason you went to the Ophelia Hall.

“Something like that... well... actually my experience with people was almost null since I was in love with the same person for many years”. You commented, laughing a little at yourself, now you being the one who poured some liquor to both of you, nervously drinking from your glass.

“Oh my… I didn't know you had a date in high school”. Larissa said impressed, moving closer to you with interest on the subject.

“I didn't, I never really told her”. You shrugged, downplaying the matter. “She was a couple of years older than me, and she probably never would have seen me as more than her... admirer to put it in a way”.

“Aw dear... What year was she in? Did I know her?”. She asked, both taking another drink, to which you nodded your head.

“She was from your generation actually… and I'm sure you knew her pretty well”. You muttered, giving a couple of faint hints, to which Larissa thought, trying to remember as many blonde girls that were her age as she could.

“Rose?” She asked and you denied, drinking some more. “Miranda?”. She suggested again, shaking your head once more and sipping your drink, following this pattern a few more times, Larissa pouring you some more liquor as she realized you'd finished it.

“I was more into… tall girls…”. You murmured softly, a soft blush on your cheeks from how little resistance you had to the alcohol and the nervous sips you were taking faster and faster.

“Tall girls…”. Larissa repeated, her mind wandering away from the answer, though somewhat closer than before.

“Yes… tall… blondes… blue-eyed… elegant…”. You said, drinking unaware of the fog that was beginning to build in your mind, placing a hand on the sofa as you leaned into her unaware. “Shapeshifter who gave speeches about the importance of introducing our society with normies”.

And that was when the realization hit Larissa like a bucket of cold water. “You…”.

“But she never realized...”. You repeated, about to take another drink when Larissa placed a hand on your wrist, drawing your attention to which you turned to her, noting the deep blush on her cheeks that reached her ears.

Of course it made sense when she thought about it, that girl's silly blushes when you were younger, how you refused to change with her at little sleepovers, how much you offered to help her no matter what she needed… the flattery, the discreet gifts…

“Oh look…”. You murmured noticing the reddish tinge on her ears, gently touching the skin with your fingers as you set the glass down on the table and approached without thinking. “They are red…”. You said innocently too close to her ear, your hot breath hitting her skin, causing a shiver to run through the older one, who placed one of her hands on your arm to stop you.

“Yeah…”. She admitted sheepishly, turning to look at you only to realize that you were both so close to each other, your ragged breaths mingling with each other.

“You smell like wine…”. You commented vaguely, to which she chuckled softly.

“You more than me, that is a fact…”. She said, realizing that your eyes rested on her lips for a moment, your hand coming down from her ear to rest against her cheek.

Larissa's heart began to beat faster, looking at your eyes as if they were the most expensive jewels in the world and then at your lips as if they were some more of that delicious drink you had been consuming during the night.

“Was it me you liked?”. She asked in the middle of the silence, to which you nodded gently.

“So much... You were so attractive, brilliant, perfect in every possible way of the word...”. You said softly, your voice somewhat hoarse. Larissa swallowed at the sound of you, that tone of voice making her feel things she never thought she would feel for you in her life.

“Do you still think so?”. She asked, almost in a low whisper, but you didn't answer, instead just sighing softly, smiling for brief moments before closing your eyes and leaning in, both lips brushing against each other in a kiss.

The older one moaned softly at the feel of your lips pressing against hers, closing her eyes and leaning in, reciprocating the show of affection, enjoying the taste of her favorite drink in your mouth, not thinking twice about receiving you when you straddled her, sitting on her thighs while she placed her hands on your waist, gently pressing you against her, she licking your lower lip, to which you opened your mouth gently, allowing her entry to savor you even more, letting out a lecherous moan as well.

After a few seconds, you both finally pulled away, gasping for air after the kiss, breathing heavily, both noticing the lipstick smudges on your lips, two different colors blending better in some places than others.

“Larissa...”. You called softly, your lips sliding down her neck like a light ghost, too intoxicated not only with the wine but with her, with her figure, her smell... her taste...

“Mmm… darling, I don't think I should have served you that last drink…”. She commented, clutching at your head and letting out an unholy moan as she felt your tongue snake around her neck.

“Perhaps, although I am glad to receive that extra courage…”. You murmured, licking her neck once more, she moaning softly, feeling your lips suck on her skin before she pulled your hair back.

“No visible hickeys, dear”. She announced, although it was already too late, since her skin now had a mark that she would have to cover later.

“Oops...”. You said with fake regret, your fingers slipping down the front of her dress, beginning to unbutton her clothing. “Perhaps I should find a more suitable place…”. Your pupils were dilated, staring longingly at Larissa's exposed breast, her red lace bra peeking out after letting go of a few buttons, your tongue beginning to lick the newly uncovered skin, leaving a hickey on one of her breasts now.

“Mmm... my dear, you are playing with fire right now, if you continue you must bear the consequences”. She warned, pressing harder into your hips.

“I'm curious to find out those consequences...”. You murmured, sucking once more on a second mark before soothing the skin with your tongue, gasping for air in a strangled moan as Larissa pressed down on you, her thigh between your legs. “Ah...!”.

You looked into Larissa's eyes, realizing that she was just as affected by the whole situation as you were, her eyes full of desire, leaning over your neck to begin to leave open-mouthed kisses on your skin.

“Do you really want that, naughty girl?”. She asked in your ear, watching you sway your hips against her thigh, nodding a couple of times at her question. “You really are quite a case…”.

“Rissa... please...”. There was that pretty nickname, coming out of your lips in a desperate way, too eager to feel it and to alleviate that pain that had been building between your legs for a while. The blonde hummed content to hear you, her hand sliding to the back of your dress to unzip it, letting it fall over your waist, exposing your black bra, she smiling to see you exposed like that, caressing your chest.

“Come, help me with this…”. She requested, to which you stood up for a moment to let your dress fall all the way around your feet, also exposing the matching panties, Larissa biting her lower lip at the sight of you.

Just as pretty as you were, Larissa taking no more time to grab your thighs and pull you up, her carrying you easily enough, devouring your lips once more with hunger, her tongue dipping in as if it had been done thousands of times before, your two bodies fitting in perfectly as she led you to her bedroom.

She released her lips only when she dropped you onto the bed, pulling away to lock the door before turning back to you, slipping out of her dress and heels.

You took a quick note from her room, obviously as elegant as her, but you had better business that mattered more to you right now, spreading your legs in a silent invitation to the woman who looked at you before stepping between them, her lips on yours for a few more seconds before caressing your thighs, pulling you apart with a moan when her fingers got too close to your center.

“[Y/n]”. She called to you softly, caressing the same place as before, causing another chill. “Do you really want this?”. She asked, though neither of you was exactly in the best state of lucidity, but she wanted confirmation of your consent anyway. She would never do anything you didn't want.

“Yes Rissa... do you want it?”. You asked, she kissing you softly on the lips before answering.

“Of course…”. She murmured, sliding her hand up your chest, you sitting up for a moment to undo your bra, letting your breasts fall for her to look at, Larissa letting out a breath as she looked at your nipples. They were hard, desperate for attention as much as the rest of your body, so it didn't take long for her to connect her mouth over one of them, licking the bud before sucking, leaving you with a pleasurable sensation and a moan, your hands on her back unclasping her bra too, she pulling away for a moment to take it off and toss it to any side of the room, letting your curious fingers touch her too, moaning when you pinched one of her nipples just the way you liked it.

But you both really needed more than that, so Larissa lowered her hand slowly over your body, running her fingers over your nipple, stroking gently before moving down your stomach, sucking gently on your neck, while letting your hands one on her head and another on her white sheets, she finally brushing her fingers over your clothed pussy.

“Look how wet it is here dear…”. She murmured running her fingers once more, drawing a pleasurable moan from you as she pressed more firmly on the bulge of your clit.

“Larissa… please…”. You begged softly, lifting your hips for more friction. You really needed her, more of her, all of her, but the woman placed her hand on your hip, anchoring you to the bed.

“Please what, dear?”. She asked, pretending she doesn’t knew what you wanted.

“Please Rissa… fuck me…”. You stretch your legs closer to her, pushing aside your panties to give her a glimpse of your bare pussy, completely wet from her. “Don't make me wait any longer after all these years… please…”. You begged again, a tender smile on the woman's lips as she leaned into you.

“Sure dear, I'm sorry”. She murmured against your ear, playing for a moment with the elastic of the only clothes you were wearing. “Would you let me take this off?”. She asked, to which you nodded almost desperately, the woman laughing softly as she removed your panties... “Impatient, aren't we?”.

A shiver ran through your body when the cold air from her room came into contact with the humidity of your pussy, that part contracting, Larissa licking her lips when she saw that.

“Just look at this, how precious…”. She said as if she were looking at the best piece of art in any most famous museum you could think of, running her fingers over the liquid to collect a bit, looking at her wet finger and licking it as she looked into your eyes, drawing you a moan of anticipation as you watched her take it clean out of her mouth.

“Rissa oh my god...”. You said, closing your eyes when she again slid her finger over that sensitive part of your anatomy, rising above you to admire your entire body in full nakedness.

“You have really become a divine woman my love… my good girl…”. That, that was the fucking nickname that she had used with you all through high school and that had made you feel so many things with your raging hormones.

“Rissa...”. You stifled a moan and arched as she began to insert one of her fingers into you. You had noticed that they were long, quite graceful and beautiful, their perfect touch on you, though they certainly felt even better on the inside.

“Tell me [Y/n] Who does this good girl belong to, hmm? Who has she stood for these years to get her pussy full?”. She asked, finally reaching to the knuckle, gently pulling her finger in and out to gently dilate you, the bottom of her palm crashing against your clit each time, resulting in a shiver from you with moans each time.

“To you Larissa... ah... for you... everything for you...”. You moaned, clinging to her shoulders as you trembled under her touch, being so wet it didn't take much to slip a second finger inside.

“That's right, precious… good girl…”. She fawned as she began to curl her fingers inside you, bumping into a spongy area inside you that made you arch, her other hand placing her thumb on your clit to trace circles over the swollen bud, a bit of her ego seeping in as she traced her name with her finger on your bud, smiling as your pussy finally contracted for her.

“Ah… ah… Rissa… that feels good…”. You moaned, your legs shaking sweetly for her, arching at the pleasurable sensations.

“Your pretty pussy is happy to have my fingers in it…”. She said, dropping to her knees on the ground. “I bet it will feel even better with my tongue too…”.

“Wha-? Oh my-!”. You moaned in an exceedingly indecent way as the texture of her tongue flattened against your clit, her fingers continuing inside you, your legs instinctively closing around her head, but she placed one of her hands on one of your thighs to prevent that.

“Nothing like that my dear, I don't want to have to honor the firm principal they say I am by having to punish you... so spread your legs for me...”. She ask before plunging back into your pussy, you helping her grip with one hand on your thigh to pull the leg she wasn't holding against your own chest, just as she requested, opening you wider for her.

Deeper moans began to come out as Larissa's attentions increased, the inside beginning to clench in certain patterns more quickly, your free hand on Larissa's head…

“Rissa…! Oh god… I'm going to…”. You were breathing more and more heavily, requiring all your effort to formulate a fairly congruent sentence.

“You're close, aren't you? Come on darling, drop it for me”. She said, requiring a few more thrusts with her fingers and tongue before you collapsed, bucking and moaning her name aloud as your orgasm crashed into you, Larissa carefully pulling her fingers out.

“Fuck…”. You moaned at the sense of loss, shaken and gasping from your climax, watching the woman lick her fingers just like she had at the start.

“Very well done my dear...”. She murmured, getting up from the ground, to which you sat up, intertwining your fingers with hers.

“It's your turn…”. You looked at that woman's soaked panties. “Lie down on the bed…”. You asked softly and the woman nodded, following your instructions. Your breath caught in your throat as you saw her, her bare breasts resting on top of her, her panties drenched only for you and her head rested on the pillow, her hair a mess, golden curls falling carelessly over her shoulders. “God… you are simply more beautiful than when we studied here…”. You breathed, spreading kisses down her bare chest.

“Is that so?”. She asked incredulously. “I'm…grateful to hear it darling, but I'm afraid time hasn't been kind to me”. She muttered, to which you chuckled softly.

“Oh dear, I assure you that it is so... you are like one of those wines that you like so much...”. You murmured, lowering yourself between her legs. “Simply more delicious with the passing of the years…”. You whispered against her pussy, your tongue tasting the smear of liquid on her red underwear, eliciting a strangled moan from the woman.

“Ngh… then you should drink me, dear…”. She said suggestively, so you took the liberty of sliding her panties down her legs, leaving little kisses on her thighs.

“Can I bite here?”. You asked, planting a kiss on one of her thighs not quite sure if her skirts or dresses would fully cover it.

“O-Of course…”. She gasped when she felt your teeth against her porcelain skin, letting her head fall back against the pillows, her pussy twitching happily before your eyes, a sign that she'd liked it.

“If you knew the times I had wet dreams about you in high school…”. Your tongue getting closer to where she needed you.

“Wet dreams?”. She asked breathlessly, your tongue sliding around her entrance, parting her lips with your fingers to expose her even more, her clit twitching as if greeting you impatiently.

“Yeah… or the sinful thoughts in your school speeches… how much I thought about fucking you in front of everyone and then berated myself for having such thoughts about you…”. You said, hot breath hitting her wetness.

“That- Ah!”. A moan escaped her lips as you thrust your tongue inside, your nose pressing against her nerve cluster on purpose, watching her close her eyes and lean back against the pillows once more.

Sure enough, you drank her like a fine wine, savoring her delicious flavor on your taste buds with each lick you took, occasionally interspersing your fingers when you decided you wanted to leave more hickeys down her thighs so she could see them when she took that perfect director facade off after a tiring day at work, and hopefully you too would be there to see them and maybe do more.

Larissa's moans were simply music to your ears, a lusty harmony that filled the room as did the wet sounds of your mouth, her leg hooking over your shoulder to press you closer to her core.

“Ah… [Y/n]”. And when you looked up, oh my god that damn view.

You were between her legs slurping her tastefully with her thighs decorated with your passion marks, but that wasn't all, as the woman placed her hands on her own chest, kneading and pinching her nipples while her mouth was open, panting and moaning meaninglessly, her cheeks flushed, her eyes more black than blue at that point, her hair already completely out of place falling freely, the eldest trying not to miss the sight of you devouring her, getting her eyes to roll back with pleasure from time to time.

“I'm going to cum… ah… darling…!”. She warned, to which you smiled softly, slamming three of your fingers in to rub her sweet spot as you sucked on her clit, watching her arch fully, moaning gutturally as her head sank back into the pillows.

The principal ended up panting, just like you a few moments before, so you lay down next to her with the same exhaustion as her, trying to compose yourself, seeing her turn on her back to look for something in her dresser next to her, thinking it was your signal to go.

You were about to sit on the edge of the bed when you felt her hand catch your wrist.

“Mmm… Stay… if you don't have something to do…”. She asked sweetly, so you smiled, laying back down, this time her pulling you to her chest she caressing your back gently, her hand clenched into a fist with something inside.

“Larissa?”.

“Um... I really hope there isn't someone else waiting for you at home if you know what I mean...”. She said hopefully, realizing that she hadn't asked about it before doing it with you.

“Of course not... and I hope it's the same for Larissa Weems...”. You whispered, planting a kiss on her cheek, hearing her laugh softly.

“No… although I would like there to be… a woman a couple of years younger than me… doctor… with your eye and hair color… by name [Y/n] I don't know if you find a suitable candidate…”. Now it was you who laughed.

“I think I know someone very interested in the proposal…”. You murmured, both leaning in for a kiss, this time without raw and pure lust, but something more chaste, with the same immense love and appreciation that you had for each other after so long.

“Here…”. She whispered, opening her palm and showing the two rings you had exchanged, hers that you gave her when you arrived and yours that she had put on her dresser some time ago.

The difference between the two was clear, a gold one with expensive jewels and a cheaper one but quite beautiful. You thought she would hand you the second of those, being the one that originally belonged to you, but instead she placed on your thumb her ring, placing a kiss on the object on your finger afterwards.

“A new promise, which I swear to always keep in mind…”. Explained. “Staying together, so that we both get to know each other again, to have more nights like these and days that we can enjoy”.

“Mmm... seems like a good promise to me”. You whispered, placing your ring on her little finger as you both intertwined your fingers gently.

A pair of beautiful rings that sealed a promise in a night of love, passion and wine...

“Would you like to go to Jerico for a coffee tomorrow?”. She asked softly, her voice sleepy as he placed a kiss on your forehead.

“A date?” You questioned and she agreed. “I'd love to…”. You said, being equally tempted for Morpheus to take you to the world of dreams.

“Good night, my good girl”.

“Good night Rissa...”.

#larissa weems #larissa x reader #larissa x y/n #larissa weems x reader #fanfic #smut #weems

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moonlessmondays · 8 months ago

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Sailing Close to the Wind|| One: Chasing Rainbows and Spinning Dreams

*takes a deep breath* *opens laptop* *blows ever so softly*

*coughs*

Hello everyone, I bet you didn't think I would ever come back to write more Downton stuff. Maybe an update from me isn't in your 2024 bingo card. Not gonna lie, I'm just as surprised as you are. I've been gone for far longer than I ever was here, but I guess, prodigal children always find their way home.

YES. This is an update. I know.

In light of the new movie announcement, I made a trip down memory lane, and was inspired by one of my old fics. Not that my writing from five years ago was ever inspiring, really. Anyway, it was supposed to be a one shot, and so I felt like I was in under no obligation to add more, but add more, I shall do.

*steadfastly ignores the 300 other cobert fanfics I am supposed to update*

To my surprise as well as yours, this one had an interesting and very polite demand for more, and honestly, if I wasn't so neck deep in law school, I would have given this a go earlier. Of course, I chose the most inopportune time -- when I'm in over my head, drowning, in bar review and prep -- to finish this piece. But whatever. It was therapeutic. I do suggest you read the prologue first, again -- here or here-- because I doubt any of you still remember this. This one's a long one that I just had to get out of my system, because studying about my country's system is the equivalent of pouring bleach all over my brain.

I would like to say as early as now however, that as I have already mentioned earlier, I am in the middle of bar prep, so the updates are probably going to be few and far in between, if at all, towards the middle of this year. Not that it's anything new where I'm concerned. But I shall endeavor to finish before the end of year or the end of the world, at least, whichever comes first.

.::.

One

Chasing rainbows and Spinning Dreams

"Can it possibly beThe future for me is you…Wait until I can tell you all my schemesChasing rainbows spinning dreamsTell me please your name” - Tell me your name, Jose Mari Chan

The silence in the room was so loud that one could hear a pin drop – as the old adage went, anyway, – and for one brief second, Cora found herself questioning if her boss was all right in the head. Maybe she had lost her mind after all the stress and was now clinically insane.

That, after all, was the only logical explanation to her even remotely suggesting this.

Cora looked away from her boss, wondering what she should do or say next, when her gaze met the eyes of the man on the other side of the room. Robert, that’s what Rosamund said, but Cora already knew that. There was nary a soul in this entire company who didn’t. He rarely made any appearance, but he’s never missed one company party and his name was always on everybody’s lips.

Cora could still – though she would never say it out loud or admit it – remember the first time she had seen the esteemed Mr. Robert Crawley. It had been during her first company Christmas party. She was new, a new hire fresh from her internship, and she’d been so young and so infatuated by the piercing blue eyes that barely looked her way even once in the party. He’d been caught up, talking to the big wigs, to his sister, and their other colleagues and didn’t have time for the little Miss Americana that was Cora. Not that Cora had minded very much, she was content with sipping her wine and admiring Mr. Crawley from afar.

He was handsome and his laugh was loud and boisterous, although hardly offensive. He spoke to Mr. Carson and his wife, Mrs. Elsie Hughes-Carson, who both worked with them at the company, like they were old friends – with respect and authority, but with clear affection. Cora could have only hoped, at that time, to be treated the same.

Now, here she was, sitting in the office of her boss, having been just told that she should marry the CEO of the company she’s working for so she can stay in London. She felt like she needed more ruminating about the “brilliant idea” of the boss in question, but she figured there wasn’t really even enough time to ruminate that. It was insane. That, in her mind, should count as a red flag right? That her boss was insane?

“Well?” Rosamund started to speak, though she looked just a little bit nervous, or anxious, or maybe it was self-realization – Cora could only hope for the last. “It’s such an unmusical way of putting things, brother.” She cleared her throat and nodded anyway. Clearly, any hopes of sanity were dashed at this point. “I was suggesting a convenient marriage with a deadline…if you’re amenable, of course.”

More here or here.

#guess who's back #yup me #no one cares i know but here we are #just writing robert and cora in five hundred different scenarios i guess #just another modern marriage of convenience #it's been ages i know #cobert #cora crawley #robert crawley #cora and robert crawley #downton abbey modern au #trutwritescobert #cobert fanfiction

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p-and-p-admin · 2 years ago

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Preventing Plot Holes

“The difference between reality and fiction? Fiction has to make sense” - Tom Clancy

I don’t think I need to tell most of you seasoned fanfic readers and writers what a plot hole is - like Potter Stewart, most of us “know it when [we] see it”.

Lapses in a story world’s logic when authors either bend their own rules or invent convenient new rules at the last minute. In a format as complex as long-form fiction (especially in a community largely made up of amateur or emerging writers, such as fanfiction), it’s little wonder plot holes are common. In some beloved source material the stories are good enough in all other respects for audiences to forgive the lapses — even using them to spawn elaborate fan theories, it is how much beloved fanfic began - but at other times, plot holes are so egregious problematic that even emotionally invested audiences respond with downright anger.

As writers, we combat this trap by using the tools available to us like story structure, character arcs, and outlining. The longer a story, or series of stories the easier it is to fall into this trap. TV series often end up “jumping the shark” because they give in to the temptation to rewrite or bend their world’s rules in order to keep the stakes high and the conflict raw.

So here are 4 useful questions to ask yourself to help avoid falling into a plot hole:

Do You Know Your Story’s Ending? In general, most story forms are designed to make a point—to present a cohesive picture of the lives of our characters that (either implicitly or explicitly) has meaning. This only happens when the story’s beginning and ending are part of a whole. The beginning asks a question that the ending answers.

Do You Have a Purpose for Every Character, Setting, POV, Relationship, Scene, Etc.? No stories avoid loose ends entirely. Indeed, many that try too hard to do so, often lack emotional truth because they feel manufactured. We, as fans originating in the HP ‘verse, are well aware of the fashion to include an epilogue that spelled out the remainder of the characters’ lives, but this robs the story of a sense of continuance. In my humble estimation, it is often of benefit to your story when a few minor subplots are not completely resolved, so readers get a sense of the characters living on even after the story’s ending. That said though, in order to create a story that leads satisfactorily into its Climax, every major piece within the story should be there because it contributes to that momentum. This is also accurate when you dial deeper into the themes and symbology of your work, if any particular “bit” ”— a character, a relationship, or a scene—exists within the story without expanding upon the theme or driving the plot forward in some way, it is probably extraneous and perhaps even deadweight. I have said it often and still believe it - kill your darlings. Don’t hold onto something just because you love it. If it doesn’t serve your story it is hurting it. If you maintain a tight rein on these aspects of your story from the beginning the less winding roads to deadends and plot holes they can lead you down.

What Is Your Antagonist’s Throughline? Very often we neglect our antagonist or villain up until we need them to show up and oppose our heroes, but if the audience doesn’t have a clear sense of the antagonist or villain and a reasonable understanding of their motivations it becomes almost impossible to employ them effectively at the climax of your story. They are two-dimensional and will leave any victory over them feeling flat too. Make sure they are present all the way through your story, setting the pieces and plans into motion - clearly establishing them as a force to be reckoned with so when the protagonist and villain meet the stakes are high and so is your audience’s investment in the outcome.

Is this the simplest way to set up my characters’ backstories and motivations? From the outset, you know you want your protagonist to behave in particular ways and to do certain things because you’ve already seen them being and doing those things in specific scenes in your mind’s eye. So you write the scenes and develop the backstory as you go - but the longer the piece and the more story events occur your character may find a need to be other things and to do other things so you change, retcon, or add onto their backstory. Before you realize it, your characters’ backstories might have moved from “complex” to “convoluted”. When this happens you risk creating a domino effect that ripples along the seams of through threads in your story and risks opening plot holes elsewhere in the story. (Like JK blithely introducing time travel as cannon and then having to explain away why no one saved the Potters, for example.) Over complicating your character's backstory and motivations is a great risk for allowing slips and lapses in the internal logic of the world you are writing and once that happens, your readers will find themselves pulled out of the story. So stick to the KISS principle (Keep It Simple, Stupid) and build your characters’ backstories and motivations out of the fewest possible moving pieces.

Happy writing folks! I hope this helps. Artist: Unknown. Found on Fanpop

#snamione #sevmione #sshg fanfiction #sshg #snamione fanfiction

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writeshite · 2 years ago

Note

Hi, could I ask for another Mark Sloan fic? It could be in an AU where he's a god, maybe Dionysus, and the reader is a mortal who ends up becoming a god by falling in love and marrying him.

Dying's Not For Everyone

Summary:

You try not to linger on her words; it’s hard not to when you’re alone, especially so when some dickhead decides to stab you and leave you for dead that night, an inconvenience, really. Although it did give you the chance to see the confusion on your mother’s face when you sat back up after closing your eyes, “Hmm, why aren’t I dead?”

Pairings:

Mark Sloan x Male!Reader

Tags:

Deity AU | Dionysus!Mark | Mortal!Reader Becomes a God | Slight Smut | Crack Treated Like Fanfic

Words: 629

Author's Note:

I'm sorry I took so long to reply 😭, I'm going through all the asks I've got left, gimme a minute.

The fates must really find your life worthwhile because how else would you have managed to sneak into the palace of Thebes and sleep in the king’s bed with another god?

“You’re thinking too loud.” Speak of the devil, god of wine, ecstasy, fruitfulness, and vegetation, Mark, or Dionysus as most prefer, to you, he’s the reason why you end up jumping from the window to get away from guards. “Well, that was fun, wouldn’t you say?”

“Fun?!” you exclaim, “Mark, what if the king comes after me? In case you forgot, some of us are mortal!”

He brushed you off, “Like I said, sweetheart, you think too loud; besides, the king’s my grandfather.”

You shake your head, airing your clothes; you turn to slip them back on, but Mark’s arms wind themselves around your waist; you twist in his hold when he saddles close, huffing with a smile at the hard-on he has, “How can running from guardsmen make you horny?”

“Don’t know,” he responds, “but I’d love to show you.” He hikes your leg high enough to slip his dick in; when his thrusts gain pace, you hold on to him for support, fucking one or two more times before you must go your separate ways. There's not much to be said on your relationship with Mark, you met over wine and an orgy, fucked, and have been fucking since then, though the pace has had to slow as, like most humans, your life thread was shortening, and you weren’t quite sure how many more escapades you could manage before your bones grew too brittle. It’s a miracle; they haven’t already.

You spend an hour in the bathhouses; the steams help relieve the slight pain in your lower back, and after you lounge in the villa, Apollo’s sun gives you comfort as you’re dragged in another lecture on your future prospects. “You’re far too old not to be wedded; at the very least, you should have something more tangible,” your mother says.

“Tangible like your dead marriage?”

She grimaces, “This is no joke. Do you think a god will lower himself enough to remain by your side as you wither away?” she asks, “Or perhaps you’re foolish enough to dream he would find you a way to godhood.”

You fold your arms and look away, “No, it–he and I–what does it matter? At least I would have enjoyed my youth in the hands of divinity,” you defend, but she shakes her head, “Leave me be,” you wave her off. You try not to linger on her words; it’s hard not to when you’re alone, especially so when some dickhead decides to stab you and leave you for dead that night, an inconvenience, really. Although it did give you the chance to see the confusion on your mother’s face when you sat back up after closing your eyes, “Hmm, why aren’t I dead?”

This newfound life comes with more changes, as you discover the stab wound is gone, as are your pains and any other troubles your aging body had. There’s also the added bonus of being able to bring about miracles and elicit hope in people, so with common sense and no other viable explanation; you conclude that this whole mess has something to do with Mark - so logically, the next time you see each other you question him.

“What did your promise, and who did you promise it to?”

“I have no idea what you’re—” he pauses, then there's a hint of something on his face, “Actually, I think I may have blabbered something to my father, at least I think I did.”

“You got Zeus to make me a god?”

“Apparently so,” he shrugs. “So, can you do sex miracles?” You whack him in response.

End Note:

I'm getting through those asks, one at a time.

#mark sloan x male reader #mark sloan x reader #shiterequests

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unjourjeseraideretourpresdetoi · 3 years ago

Text

9/10 Chapter 1 - Malt

I started writing a bit of a Harry/Kim fanfic??? Because why the hell not. Anyway, here’s the first part of it. I’m kind of just making it up as I go with a few specific ideas scattered in my head. Spoilers for various plot points. Here’s a sample before the cut. Feel free to send any suggestions or critique, since it’s been ages since I have done much writing. Still working on getting a feel for Harry’s skill voices.

YOU — After a little while, your voice finally returns. “Why are you so nice to me?” KIM KITSURAGI — He takes a long pause and leans back in his chair. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m just stubborn too.” PERCEPTION — You turn to look at him as you finally untangle yourself from your chrysalis of arms, and he looks different somehow. You don’t know if it’s your eyes being sore as hell, or the dull ambiance of the hazy bar lights. Somehow, he looks so light. His bomber jacket is slightly pulled up by his folded arms behind his head, seeming to break the bulky illusion it usually projects over his slim torso. Like suddenly seeing a gap in a suit of armor. SUGGESTION — You should tickle him. ESPRIT DE CORPS — He will kill you in mere seconds if you do that.

ANCIENT REPTILIAN BRAIN — Hello again, Harry boy. The midnight train to Fuck-All-Borough is boarding once again, and you’ve pre-paid your seat. YOU — Okay. ANCIENT REPTILIAN BRAIN — Yes, that’s right. Let’s drive right into the sweet, succulent sopor of oblivion. Let no feelings come to pass, no sensations, just the pure bliss of the radiating void. YOU — But aren’t you here? ANCIENT REPTILIAN BRAIN — That’s just it, Harry. I’m nothing. I am the pale of the mind, I am the deafening silence, I am the black canvas that stretches taut when you close your eyes. I am the swaddle that cradles the mind and the ocean you will drown in. I am born of you and someday, you will die in me. LIMBIC SYSTEM — But not yet—something still stirs in this weighted sack. Something heavy, and sore, and full of noise that steadily rises into a crescendo.

PERCEPTION — And then you open your eyes. And it fucking hurts. PAIN THRESHOLD — Dear god, it’s like a jackhammer on a pogo stick on another jackhammer. PERCEPTION — You realize there’s a smell you haven’t smelled in a few weeks now that’s uncomfortably emanating from your form. Al Gul. COMPOSURE — Oh. You finally did it again. You fucked up.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY — So we got a little smashed. Who cares. You know what’s a great way to stop feeling sorry about it? Getting smashed again. AUTHORITY — No. YOU — Why am I always fucking things up? HALF LIGHT — Because life is terrifying. LOGIC — He’s right about that one.

YOU — What was I doing last night? ELECTROCHEMISTRY — Like I said, getting smashed. CONCEPTUALIZATION — Painting the world with a palette of sugary booze and sad, old rock and roll for sad, old rockstars.

YOU — Who did I hurt this time? DRAMA — Mostly, just yourself. VOLITION — A small miracle, if so. You’re used to self-immolation. YOU — But why? Why now? We were doing better. ELECTROCHEMISTRY — Speak for yourself. LOGIC — You do know that you can’t just ride out two decades of practiced chemical drowning on a workhorse of piety and guilt, right?

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT — This ceaseless dependency on cocktails of narcotics and spirits has weakened you shamefully. PERCEPTION — You look around your dimly lit bedroom, eyes half-closed anyway to quiet the searing pain in your cerebral cortex, slowly putting the pieces back together as the rest of your body wakes up.

YOU — I was having a shitty day. I was stuck on a case and my mind just kept drifting into half-remembered past mistakes. After work, I decided to do it. I called her again, like an idiot. I thought to myself, I can do this, I can let her go, and I’ll tell her I’m finally over it (almost). INLAND EMPIRE — But that is not how it went. She had prepared for the next time you would call. The last time was terrifying enough, torn awake at 3 in the morning, listening to your desperate lies, digging through past trauma.

YOU — “Hey, uh, Dora. It’s Harry. I’m sorry—“ PERCEPTION — A sharp sigh breaks your concentration. DORA — “Let me stop you there, Harry. Because I’m tired of this. You’ve been doing this six years now but it feels at least twice as long. So since you can’t put an end to it, I am. Don’t call again. You won’t be reaching me at this number anymore.” PERCEPTION — Before you can react, there’s silence. And a dial tone. YOU — Fuck. Fuck shit fuck.

COMPOSURE — You stumble through dialing the number again, fingers slipping the first time from nerves and connecting the second, with no answer. You try again. And again. And then you stop trying. It takes everything in you not to smash the phone where it sits. PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT — You need to smash something. If we can’t smash the phone, we HAVE to smash something. REACTION SPEED — Your feet are already taking you away from the pay phone, one thought ahead of the rest of you. You barely round the corner into the alley before you plant your fist full force into the nearest brick wall. PAIN THRESHOLD — Your hand spirals into a fractal of pain, blood dripping down your busted knuckles, slowly running down the dirtied wall. You can feel the cracking of your knuckles, like a brittle lacework of glass strapped down only by the leather of your worn-out hands. HALF-LIGHT — Get out of here. ELECTROCHEMISTRY — Now that you’re done smashing your fist, it’s time to get the rest of you smashed. YOU — “Fuck it. I’m getting a drink.”

CONCEPTUALIZATION — From there, it was a blaze of sweet, hot fire down your throat and back up again, run ragged from shitty karaoke and mild alcohol poisoning. But the film reel is running thin, and you’re struggling to get anything else from your memory bank.

YOU — How did I get back? I don’t remember walking home. ESPRIT DE CORPS — You asked for help.

HAND-EYE COORDINATION — You pat at your pockets, searching for the right one, not quite remembering what you’re doing but knowing the answer you thought of for a fraction of a second is somewhere in there. After a moment, you find it, carefully tucked away but nevertheless damp with sweat from your slacks.

“If you need to talk— 005-93-88-651 Lt. Kitsuragi”

INTERFACING — Your hands are a bit shaky, but you dial out the number on the slip of paper in your hands. PERCEPTION — It rings once. Twice. A third time. And then you hear the receiver click. KIM KITSURAGI — “Hello?”

SHIVERS — In a small apartment in Central Jamrock, not too far from Precinct 41, and not too far from the Jamrock Public Library, Lieutenant Kitsuragi sits on his bed, some light reading in hand, winding down for the night. His new apartment is still filled with cardboard boxes here and there, in no particular hurry to be unpacked. The lights of the city pierce through like little pinpricks in the glare of his bedside window, still insistent on their presence even in the quiet of a cool spring night.

YOU — “Hi, Kim, I uh…” Your voice shakes and you lose your words for a moment, because some part of you really didn’t expect him to pick up. KIM KITSURAGI — “Detective? It’s after midnight.” DRAMA — It’s already that late? You must’ve woken him up. A bad start. YOU — “Uhh… sorry, I uh. Wasn’t looking at the clock. We can just talk tomorrow—“ KIM KITSURAGI — “You’re drunk.” COMPOSURE — Fuck. There’s nothing coming out of your mouth anymore. Another bad phone call. It takes everything in you not to cry. You do anyway.

KIM KITSURAGI — “Where are you?” YOU — You manage to croak out enough to say “Sunshine’s Hideaway. Bar on 12th street.” KIM KITSURAGI — He pauses a moment, thinking. “...I’ll be there in a few minutes.” ESPRIT DE CORPS — He’s thinking about the best route there. LOGIC — He doesn’t have his motor carriage right now. He’s going to have to walk it, and it’s cold out. YOU — “I… you don’t have to do that, I’ll just—“ KIM KITSURAGI — “Harrier, just shut up and park your ass somewhere warm until I get there.” AUTHORITY — He’s doing it! He’s doing the eyebrow thing but on the phone! I didn’t know he could do that! YOU — “Yessir.”

It probably takes about 15 minutes for him to arrive, though each minute feels like five. You feel like a child waiting for their parents to come pick them up at school. You’re pretty sure everyone is staring at you. You can’t really see through the blurry bokeh of your stupid tears. But you can just barely make out the door of the bar opening, followed by a silhouette marked by orange slipping through. Lieutenant Kitsuragi spots you after a moment, and you quickly try to wipe your eyes like you haven’t just been crying the whole time as he approaches. KIM KITSURAGI — You can hear him pull at the chair next to yours, calmly settling into place. “Hello, detective.”

YOU — You try to pull up some words, but you just find yourself nodding appreciatively as you try not to grimace. COMPOSURE — Somehow, the moment his eyes fall on you, you feel like someone just ripped the rug right out from under your feet. You slide down on your elbows, face pressing down onto the table in humiliation, locking your hands together on the back of your neck, like you’re trying to hide in a little tomb of your own arms.

KIM KITSURAGI — You hear the lieutenant take a deep breath and sigh. He unzips his jacket, stifling him in the warm interior of the bar. “That rough, huh?”

YOU — You don’t want to say anything, but your mouth opens before you can stop it. “I’m such an asshole, Kim. I keep fucking everything up, over and over, no matter how hard I try. I just. Keep falling back into my bullshit.” Your voice shakes as you get the words out. “Is this just as good as it’s gonna get at this point? Have I fucked up entirely too much, entirely too long, am I just… this constant trainwreck now and forever? How much of myself have I wasted away into nothing, doing this shit? Acting like a child. Acting like an animal. It feels sometimes like all I have is more downturns. More hurting people. More hurting myself. And I’m so, so fucking tired… and I don’t wanna do this anymore. If this is how it is, I don’t want to… be.” Your voice stops making any noise by the time you reach the end of that.

HALF-LIGHT — And then there’s silence. You know this silence. It’s the sound of someone deciding they’re sick of your shit. This is the moment he realizes he really, truly does not know you and you don’t know him. And he knows he has to get out of here, before you take him down with you, like you’ve done to so many others. EMPATHY — But then there’s a hard pat on your back. Thumping against a hollow drum, ringing through your electrified lungs. KIM KITSURAGI — “It’s okay, detective.” PERCEPTION — His voice is soft and careful.

KIM KITSURAGI — “Honestly, it’s astonishing you’ve held out this long. It’s barely been two months since Martinaise. Since the Whirling. Throughout my time in the RCM, I have seen many good officers break over less. I didn’t know you before March. I don’t really know what kind of officer you might’ve been before that. But who I am familiar with is the Lieutenant Double-Yefreitor Harrier Du Bois, the officer I met two months ago, who is probably the strangest man I’ve ever met, but he is also the most relentless, the most stubborn, the most annoying, and honestly, the most sincere man I’ve ever known to grace the RCM. He is a man who cares enough to find the time in his busy workload to help people he just met, whose troubles he sniffs out like a bloodhound, offering them the help that no one else would. No matter how trivial, or how complicated. I don’t know if this selflessness is something you picked up because you don’t know how to help yourself, but I do know there’s a real effort in there. There’s a real, true love for the people of Revachol. And I know how much this job takes out of people. You can’t turn every mistake around in just a few months. Probably not even a few years. But I think what matters is that you are trying, and I can see how much it hurts you to feel like you’ve failed in that. Please don’t think that tonight is a sign that you can’t do better. Tonight is a dam breaking in the expectations you’ve built up for yourself after staring down your own potential.”

PERCEPTION — Are you laughing? Or is that crying? INLAND EMPIRE — It feels like there are ghosts escaping your every breath. Like parts of you are desperately rushing to the surface, tearing through flesh and bone, clawing at a chance for freedom. The lieutenant’s arm still rests heavily on your back, the only anchor your spirit has left as it dissipates into vapor and rushes through the night.

VOLITION — You cry until there’s nothing left in you anymore.

KIM KITSURAGI — After a moment, he realizes you’re staring at him, then adjusts in his seat, leaning forward and settling his arms in front of him. “How are you feeling? Do you think you can walk?” YOU — “I uhh... probably. My leg doesn’t hurt as much right now.” KIM KITSURAGI — “Mm.” He mutters, getting up from his seat. “At least there is that small grace. How far is your place?” PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT — You’re pretty sure he’s offering to walk you back. You’re not a child, you can get home perfectly fine on your own, thank you. YOU — “Ten blocks.” COMPOSURE — You quickly try to rise to your feet, but it becomes immediately apparent that the floor has been replaced with a rickety old carousel, and you promptly lose your footing. REACTION SPEED — Before you can even attempt to figure out what is happening, you realize that Lieutenant Kitsuragi has wrapped one of his arms around your back. PERCEPTION — His grip is tight and you can feel the muscles tensing in his forearm against your back. Once again, its presence stabilizes you, a beacon for your twisting senses to converge upon. It takes a few moments for everything to slot back into the correct place. KIM KITSURAGI — “Are you sure you’re alright, detective?” DRAMA — His concern is quite sincere. YOU — “I just gotta sleep this off.” You say as you steady yourself back upright.

KIM KITSURAGI — “Let’s get going, then.” He nods to you as he zips up his jacket again, then stretches his right arm out behind your back. PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT — No, dude, fuck that shit, you’re sick of people propping you up because of your stupid leg, we can do this shit on our own! YOU — “Thanks.” You steady yourself against his arm and extend your left against his back as well. PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT — Hey, what! DRAMA — By now, the lieutenant knows when you’re just trying to bullshit and act like a tough guy. It’s time to drop the act, for now. He knows you need the help. You wouldn’t have called him if you didn’t.

CONCEPTUALIZATION — That’s all I got. The rest is just black. YOU — Ugghhhhhh damn it. Like Kim hasn’t seen enough of me making an ass of myself by now. EMPATHY — On the bright side, his mental image of you can probably only improve. Hopefully. Maybe. YOU — Whatever. What time is it? PERCEPTION — You look around for your alarm clock, and find it knocked onto the floor beside your bed. It says 9:53. YOU — Shit. Did I have work today? ESPRIT DE CORPS — No. Your hours have been temporarily reduced during your recovery period. YOU — Right. Okay. I should probably get up and do something about this headache.

You throw the blanket off of your body and gradually roll yourself out of bed, bones creaking with aches and pains, limping across the room and dodging various discarded clothes and shoes that litter the floor. You twist the doorknob and open your bedroom door, making your way across the living room, towards the bathroom.

REACTION SPEED — Wait! There’s someone… on the couch? PERCEPTION — A figure of a man lies on the couch, covered with an ugly patchwork blanket, still sleeping. Next to the couch, an orange bomber jacket rests. Wait… is that Kim? HALF-LIGHT — OH MY GOD, you’re half-naked, GET BACK IN YOUR ROOM AND PUT YOUR PANTS ON BEFORE YOU HUMILIATE YOURSELF. SAVOIR FAIRE — You quickly backpedal, trying not to make any noise, and press your door shut firmly, hoping that you weren’t noticed. YOU — Why is he here??? I thought he just walked me home? HALF-LIGHT — Stop thinking and get your damn armor on! VOLITION — Armor? We didn’t find any armor pants in Martinaise. DRAMA — He’s being metaphorical. You hurriedly stuff your legs into the closest pair of semi-clean trousers before peeking out the door again.

PERCEPTION — The lieutenant is still asleep on the couch. SAVOIR FAIRE — Alright, go time. You sneak through the living room and into the bathroom, carefully trying not to creak the medicine cabinet as you get yourself some painkillers. ELECTROCHEMISTRY — Down the whole bottle! Party time! VOLITION — No. We are not doing that.

After taking the recommended dose of painkillers, you peek out into the living room again. PERCEPTION — Lieutenant Kitsuragi is still resting quietly on your couch, lying on his back, tightly wrapped in the ugly spare blanket from your linen closet. You suddenly realize there’s something different about the living room… such as, there’s less garbage everywhere. EMPATHY — Did he clean the room up for you? Or maybe for himself?

You exit the bathroom and slowly cross the living room, stopping halfway through, looking at the lieutenant again. PERCEPTION — He looks peaceful, and his face relaxed and still. With his glasses off, you notice more of the shape of his brow and his tired eyes. His breathing is slow and measured, with quiet sighs. One of his arms dangles out from under the blanket, his hand just barely off the floor. His fingers are thin, bony, weathered from work, with little scars and blemishes that have mostly faded away.

SUGGESTION — Hold it.

YOU — What?

No one replies. You stare for a moment, feeling a tension in your chest. Curiosity snakes through your skin. You step closer towards the couch, then slowly crouch down, meeting the lieutenant’s eye level.

SUGGESTION — Hold it. Please.

You reach forward, and the lieutenant suddenly stirs.

KIM KITSURAGI — “Mmnh…” His eyes flutter open. “Oh, good morning detective.” YOU — “Uh, yeah. Good morning.” You casually withdraw your hand and rest it on your leg. “Why are you here…?” KIM KITSURAGI — “You don’t remember?” He asks with a hint of concern. YOU — “Well, mostly. I remember you helped me walk home, but after that, it’s fuzzy.” KIM KITSURAGI — “Ah, so just the normal amount of alcohol-induced forgetfulness.” The lieutenant nods at you, then sits up on the couch. He reaches for his glasses on the side table, then folds them open. “I decided to stay here on the couch, just in case...” He trails off. EMPATHY — To keep an eye on you. In case you started doing worse.

YOU — “...Thanks. I’m sorry for interrupting your night.” KIM KITSURAGI — “No need to apologize,” he says with a slight smile. “Honesty, I’m… glad you asked for help instead of isolating yourself. That would have been…” He pauses, looking for the correct words. “Not ideal. What time is it, anyway?” YOU — “Bit after 10.” KIM KITSURAGI — “Already that late? Good thing I’m not working today.”

YOU — “Sorry to make you clean up after me.” You say, glancing across the room. KIM KITSURAGI — “Well, no, it’s not your fault or anything. You didn’t expect company.” He seems a bit self-conscious suddenly, looking away. “I suppose it’s more like I don’t know how to leave a mess alone.” SUGGESTION — You’re not sure which mess he means—the apartment, or you. EMPATHY — It’s both. You feel a slight embarrassment tingling across the surface of your skin and decide to change the topic.

YOU — “You said you have the day off?” KIM KITSURAGI — “Yes, I have a few errands to run, part of some loose ends to clean up for my transfer to 41. But I can get those done any time during the day.” SUGGESTION — You should— YOU — “Do you wanna go get breakfast? I know a good place down the street.” You say it before you can even finish thinking. KIM KITSURAGI — The lieutenant sits quietly for a moment, adjusting his glasses. “Hmmm… sure, why the hell not. I’ve got some time to spare.” SUGGESTION — Jackpot! YOU — “I’m gonna go get dressed, you’re welcome to the bathroom if you need it.” KIM KITSURAGI — “Sounds good.”

You walk into your bedroom and shut the door behind you.

CONCEPTUALIZATION — Time to get stylish! LOGIC — Not that stylish, it’s just breakfast. Don’t make it weird. INLAND EMPIRE — Hey, weird is our thing! YOU — I think I’m just gonna wear whatever’s clean and doesn’t smell repulsive. CONCEPTUALIZATION — Oh, sorry, didn’t know we were Boring Cop today.

After taking a quick glance at what’s available, you decide to just go with a simple, pastel gingham button-up and a fresh pair of jeans. Glancing at your coats, you grab a blue blazer with a checkered lining.

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT — Oh my god you look like a nerd. RHETORIC — No, he looks smart. Ready to have a battle of the wits. PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT — Yeah, like I said, A NERD!

You quietly ignore the high school bullying going on inside your head as you exit the room. Lieutenant Kitsuragi glances at you from next to the couch, in the middle of putting on his jacket.

KIM KITSURAGI — “No disco today?” He says with a slight smile. YOU — “All my disco’s due for the wash.” KIM KITSURAGI — He tugs at his collar and settles his jacket into place. “It’s almost odd to see you in something so… tame.” YOU — “I mean, I still got the jackets from Fuck the World and Piss F****t if you change your mind.” KIM KITSURAGI — “Somehow I doubt the waitstaff would be understanding of the artist’s statements at breakfast.” He lets out a small chuckle. EMPATHY — There’s a surprising softness in his response. KIM KITSURAGI — “I’m all set to go if you are.”

The two of you head out of your apartment and set out down the road, your destination just two blocks away. The streets of Jamrock are already lively with pedestrians and motor carriages milling about. Before long, you arrive at a staircase with a weathered, striped canopy hanging above, quietly announcing its presence with simple text saying “The Lazy Daisy”. You and the lieutenant head down the stairs and enter the little eatery, pushing past the door and being met with the sweet and salty smells of this morning’s meals. You wave to the waitress and take a seat at a little table in the corner.

KIM KITSURAGI — The lieutenant takes his seat across from you, his eyes studying the surroundings. “You know, I never noticed this place before.” YOU — “Yeah, it’s easy to miss amongst all the other businesses on this road.” KIM KITSURAGI — “But you remembered it?” YOU — “I think my feet did.”

WAITRESS — A cheerful, pudgy woman in her forties wearing a striped apron walks over to the table, little menu books in hand. “Good morning officers! Thanks for stopping by the Lazy Daisy today. Can I get you something to drink while you look over the menu?”

YOU — “You wanna get a pot of coffee, Kim?” KIM KITSURAGI — “Sure, that sounds fine.” WAITRESS — “Alright, I’ll give you a moment to look over the menu!”

You already know what you’re going to order: skillet hash with a side of toast. You watch the lieutenant look the menu over and find yourself wondering what he’ll order. YOU — “You seem like an Eggs Benedict kind of guy to me.” KIM KITSURAGI — “I was thinking about trying this malted waffle actually. It’s been a while since I had a good waffle.” He replies, not looking up from the menu. “But you are correct, I do enjoy a good Eggs Benedict.”

YOU — “Can’t go wrong with either one.” WAITRESS — The waitress returns, a full pot of coffee in one hand and two mugs in the other. She gently places the pot of coffee at the center of the little table and places the mugs down on either side. “Alright, so what can I get for you boys?” YOU — “I’ll go for the skillet hash with a side of dry toast. And the lieutenant here…” KIM KITSURAGI — “I’ll take a malted waffle with a side of bacon.” WAITRESS — “Sounds great! I’ll bring it out when it’s ready.”

You turn your attention to the coffee and partially fill both of the mugs, absent-mindedly adding a sugar cube and a little cup of half-and-half to yours and stirring, watching the color spread and blend. You look up and notice the lieutenant surveying the restaurant again.

KIM KITSURAGI — “Hmmm… yes, this place certainly seems your style.” YOU — “What, sad and old?” KIM KITSURAGI — He smiles slightly, but his brow betrays his discomfort. “No, I was thinking more along the lines of… eclectic, stubborn, lively.” He glances at the walls covered in various posters, art, and rock and roll memorabilia. YOU — “Disco.” KIM KITSURAGI — “Disco.” He nods affirmatively.

You absently stir your coffee and lift it to your mouth to take a sip, mulling over topics of conversation. RHETORIC — Go for a standard sort of icebreaker, what’s the latest with him, that sort of thing. ESPRIT DE CORPS — Let’s talk work. Trade some gritty case stories with him! INTERFACING — Maybe you could talk torque dork to torque dork? EMPATHY — Neither of you have motor carriages right now. That would just be a bummer. INLAND EMPIRE — Ask him to tell you a secret! AUTHORITY — That one never works.

YOU — “You just moved into your new place, right Kim? How is it?” KIM KITSURAGI — “Hmm, it’s not bad. I had to make a few concessions but… there’s a bit more floor space than my last place. I finally have a good space for a proper desk.” He takes a sip of his coffee. “Now the only trouble is getting a desk up three flights of stairs.”

YOU — “I can lend you a hand with that if you want. I have reason to suspect I may be a former gym teacher.” PERCEPTION — You can’t really hear it, but judging by the steam rolling away from the mug at his lips, you can tell the lieutenant let a light chuckle out through his nose before taking another sip of coffee.

KIM KITSURAGI — “Maybe I’ll take you up on that when I find something suitable.” RHETORIC — Great job! Look at you! You’re so good at talking like a normal person!

KIM KITSURAGI — The lieutenant casually withdraws his notebook from his jacket and starts perusing it while he slowly sips his coffee. YOU — “Hey, no working until we’ve had breakfast.” KIM KITSURAGI — He barely moves, glancing upwards at you and cocking an eyebrow. AUTHORITY — It’s fine, that brow is only operating at about 25% capacity. You got this. YOU — “Take a break, lieutenant.” You place your hand on top of his, gently encouraging him to lower the notebook onto the table. He nonchalantly relents, quickly withdrawing his hand and tucking it under his other arm, which rests casually on the table. His glance wanders away from you and out towards the windows. EMPATHY — It’s hard to tell if he’s annoyed or just playing up indifference. Perhaps you shouldn’t have grabbed his hand like that.

You take a moment to look around the restaurant, passively taking in the surroundings that feel intensely familiar to your instincts, but strangely recent to the rest of you. It’s a weird feeling, one you’ve been experiencing just about everywhere you go in Jamrock. Places that you know but have never seen. Drifting shadows of the person you once were, and still are, half-buried in a haze. Your head fluctuates in the pressure, a mix of pristine images just out of reach and faint illusions gripped tightly in your palm.

KIM KITSURAGI — The lieutenant’s low voice suddenly pulls you back to reality. “Everything alright, detective?” INLAND EMPIRE — There is a hole in my brain. YOU — “Yeah, sorry. Just thinking about the usual.” You pause, contemplating your next words. “Grinding the bourgeoisie into sausage for the proletariat and whatnot,” you lie. KIM KITSURAGI — “Ah, so nice of you to join us, Comrade Mazov.” YOU — You quickly bust out your trusty finger guns and fire off two shots, clicking your tongue as you snap your fingers. KIM KITSURAGI — The lieutenant is unphased by your reckless discharge of live rounds that undoubtedly rain chaos upon the once peaceful restaurant. DRAMA — C’mon, he probably thinks it’s at least a little cool. EMPATHY — It’s not, man.

RHETORIC — Let’s get back to the list. What else can we talk about? YOU — “Tell me a secret about yourself.” KIM KITSURAGI — He sighs. “This again?” YOU — “You know it.” KIM KITSURAGI — He pauses for a moment. “No.” YOU — “Aww, come on.” KIM KITSURAGI — He raises one eyebrow. AUTHORITY — Oh god, we have full capacity brow-raising. I repeat, full capacity!

KIM KITSURAGI — His brow lowers slightly, offering a challenge. “You’re terrible at keeping secrets. Maybe if you can think of a single piece of personal trivia you haven’t already divulged entirely unprompted to any random passerby, we can come back to this topic.” ESPRIT DE CORPS — He does not believe that his terms can be met. He is secure in that. SUGGESTION — Challenge accepted! YOU — “Deal.” DRAMA — You’re gonna need to work on this for like, at least 8 hours probably. Maybe more like 20.

WAITRESS — The same woman reappears with a tray in hand, radiating the unmistakable smell of hot, fresh breakfast. “Here you are, sirs!” She gently slides the plates in front of each of you. “Let me know if there’s anything else you need! Enjoy your food!” PERCEPTION — You notice the name on her apron: Denice. YOU — “Thanks, Denice.” WAITRESS — She offers a polite smile before leaving.

You immediately start digging in, shoveling the mixed bits of potato, egg, bacon, and cheese into your mouth, savoring the salt and fat of a hearty breakfast. It’s your favorite meal, but you don’t always have the time or energy to get anything decent most mornings.

SUGGESTION — Hey, I just had a great idea! Offer Kim some of this shit. YOU — You finish the bite you have in your mouth quickly. “Hey, Kim, you wanna try some of mine?” KIM KITSURAGI — He blinks. “No, thank you. I’ve got plenty here.” He looks down at the colossal waffle on his plate, barely dented. YOU — “Yeah but this is like, stupid good. I’ll even let you have some egg yolk.” KIM KITSURAGI — “Very generous of you.” He smirks, then studies your plate for a moment. “Hm… sure, why not.”

You slide your plate a bit closer to him. He holds his fork up, surveying for the ideal sample size. Then, he strikes, claiming an entire egg for himself.

YOU — “Woooow.” You feign offence. KIM KITSURAGI — “Sorry, detective. I’ll need to confiscate this. I believe it may be connected to a case I’m working on.” He tries to keep a straight face but the corner of his mouth is slightly turned upwards. In seconds, he files the evidence into his mouth and promptly destroys it.

YOU — “Can’t believe the corruption I am witnessing here.” In a counter-attack, you jab your fork into one of the untouched corners of the lieutenant’s waffle. KIM KITSURAGI — The lieutenant stabs his knife down across from your fork, as if ready to engage in combat. He stares you down, brows furrowed with the illusion of authority. “Detective, I would tread carefully if I were you. You have entered enemy territory, and I have the high ground.”

PERCEPTION — You can feel your face turning red in the heat of the incredibly stupid breakfast battle you have entered. AUTHORITY — Do it! Let loose the dogs of war! Get that fucking waffle! KIM KITSURAGI — The lieutenant narrows his eyes at you, his concentration unwavering. The authority levels are building in his brow. They are charged to 50% capacity. DRAMA — I have an idea, sire.

YOU — You relax back in your seat, looking behind Kim. “Oh, hey Captain Pryce, here to enjoy the best breakfast in Central Jamrock?” KIM KITSURAGI — He quickly turns his head to look behind him. SAVOIR FAIRE — In an instant, you slice a corner of the waffle free from Kim’s plate, casually sliding it onto yours. KIM KITSURAGI — Realizing the feint, he snaps his attention back to you, glaring.

YOU — You pull your plate back, then pick up your mug, gesturing towards the lieutenant with a slight smirk. “Truce?” KIM KITSURAGI — Studying you for a moment, he reluctantly picks up his mug and clinks it against yours. “For now.”

#disco elysium #de spoilers #disco elysium spoilers #fanfic #koko fic #de fanfic

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katcadecascade · 4 years ago

Text

Reader Study (Omniscient Reader’s Viewpoint Oneshot)

*spoilers up to chapter 79

Summary:

“Your face is getting red, Kim Dokja.”

“No it’s not.”

She didn’t need to use lie detection.

Han Sooyoung clapped her hands, peering down at him with a wide grin. “What kind of fanfics did you read?”

Kim Dokja is both impressed and exhausted by the fact that he’s surviving in the apocalypse.

Most of that credit is due to him being the sole reader to know about the webnovel that just happens to become is new reality. There’s still a lot of confusion on how that came to be. Kim Dokja has encountered character from the novel, the deadly scenarios, and even people who were never a part of this once fictional world.

“Are you finally taking a break from your airbending training?”

There were other readers. They didn’t stay with the novel like he did so his title as sole reader remains.

Techniqually…

“Stop ignoring me.” Despite that, Kim Dokja tried his best to ignore his current companion. She continues, “I know what you’re thinking. ‘Why can’t I learn the Way of the Winds skill?’ Its because you’re not the protagonist Kim Dokja.”

Han Sooyoung. The first Apostol, she read the most of the original Three Ways to Survive the Apocalypse aside from his truly. Except she does know a lot more about the novel than others.

Because she plagiarized it.

Or not as she claims every time he calls her out.

Either way she knows about the world. That means she’s dangerous if left alone. Hell, she’ll gather up another cult like what she did with the Apostles and Prophets.

So since Kim Dokja has been separated from his companions, living in the consequences of a kingless world, he struck a temporary contract with Han Sooyoung until the next main scenario.

He’s really regretting his decision.

“Maybe I’ll ask Lycaon to teach me to be an airbender since it’s so important to you. I probably have the SSS grade talent you lack.”

“No.”

Someone needs to learn the Way of the Wind skill to go against the Disaster of Questions. Kim Dokja doesn’t trust Han Sooyoung with that power and the original protagonist is nowhere nearby to get this skill in time.

Logically, he thought he should get the skill but apparently, Lycaon has deemed him void. Despite that, Kim Dokja tried to train with the wolf monster. So after a good few hours of nothing, he finally took a break and is lying flat on his back in the remains of the business district.

“You’re a real rat bastard, Kim Dokja.”

“And you’re a real rat plagiarist.”

“I didn’t plagiarize!” She’s sitting away from him but close enough to kick his foot. “Everything I wrote I saw in a dream and from that point on my novel became popular due to my own writing skills. It became so popular I even got fanfics!”

“I can’t believe you’re bragging about that. They’re probably not even good.”

[Han Sooyoung has activated the skill ‘Lie Detection.’]

[‘Lie Detection’ has verified his words as false.]

“Oh?”

Why did he open his mouth? It’s been a long day of (futile) training under Lyacon. The world is in more ruin because of his choice at the Absolute Throne scenario. He’s away from his friends. The Disaster scenarios are arrive in a few days. Kim Dokja is with the one other person who has read his favorite novel in depth.

Ways of Survival didn’t get popular, it lost a lot of readers. In other words, it never got any fanfics.

But Han Sooyoung’s SSSSS-Grade Infinite Regressor did get a plethora of fanart and fanfics.

So maybe one night curiosity got the better of Kim Dokja and searched for some fanfics of a protagonist very similar to Yoo Jonghyuk.

“Your face is getting red, Kim Dokja.”

“No it’s not.”

She didn’t need to use lie detection.

Han Sooyoung clapped her hands, peering down at him with a wide grin.

“What kind of fanfics did you read?”

Kim Dokja has been lying back, slowing regaining his breath from training. He only has enough stamina to simply roll over and face the opposite direction.

Han Sooyoung merely scooted over to his other side, still grinning.

He turns again.

“You read the steamy fics,” she accused.

“I did not.”

[Han Sooyoung has activated the skill ‘Lie Detection.’]

[‘Lie Detection’ has verified his words as truth.]

“Boo.”

“Did you read your novel’s fanfics?”

“Of course not! That goes against an author’s ethics of copyright.”

He just stares at her.

She glares, “I’m not a plagiarist.”

Kim Dokja would love to have the lie detection skill right now.

Han Sooyoung rolls her eyes and offers up, “Occasionally I’ll check the number of fics and see what the most popular tags is. That’s about it.”

A dangerous expression washes over her face as she remembers what exactly the most popular type of fic is. He can see her calculating the probability of Kim Dokja ever reading those type of fics.

Han Sooyoung stares at him with an open mouth smile.

“You, Kim Dokja, may be one of the strongest incarnations, a pain in the ass to me, the dokkaebi, and the constellations, but in reality,” she snorts at that word, “you are weak.”

She didn’t even need to ask. And yet Kim Dokja already feels defeated.

At least he did not admit it aloud.

No way will Kim Dokja verbally admit that he read self-insert fics as the protagonist’s lover.

It gets a little more worse when he remembers he read female self-inserts before finally scavenging the he or they pronoun fics.

But look at him now.

He’s in his favorite novel and met its protagonist.

Kim Dokja wouldn’t call their first introduction a ‘meet cute.’

No way does any of their encounters qualify as romantic. They fought and disagreed and their last encounter ended with Kim Dokja punching Yoo Jonghyuk into unconsciousness. If anything, Kim Dokja’s aim to be Yoo Jonghyuk’s companion is a fantasy.

Han Yoosong apparently thinks otherwise.

She mockingly pats his shoulder with comfort, “You must be living your fics. Charming your way into Yoo Jonghyuk’s cold barriers.”

“He wants to kill me.”

“Yeah but has he yet?”

Despite the fact that Kim Dokja could come up with many reasons, he says nothing.

Yoo Jonghyuk could’ve killed him at the bridge, at the stations, and, well maybe not at the Throne because of Kim Dokja’s strategy. Every time Kim Dokja said something or did something to convince Yoo Jonghyuk that they are equals and needed each other for upcoming scenarios.

They have yet to ever be on the same page without annoying the other.

And yet Kim Dokja expected this.

It’s the one thing many self-insert fics lack.

As much as Kim Dokja secretly enjoyed the gooey romance orientated stories, none ever measured up with the real stubbornness of Yoo Jonghyuk.

He’s a protagonist who has suffered and thrived and flourished and dealt with impossible odds and despaired and will eventually reach the ending of this story.

Kim Dokja stayed with him for three thousand chapters. Now he wants to stay with Yoo Jonghyuk to… to…

Ah… he got too caught up with the self-inserts fics. A lot of those ended with marriage or something equally domestic.

That’s not an ending deserving of Kim Dokja.

All he wants is for Yoo Jonghyuk and the tohers to make it to the end of this story.

“Hey, you lost in thought about kissing Yoo Jonghyuk?”

“No!”

[Han Sooyoung has activated the skill ‘Lie Detection.’]

[‘Lie Detection’ has verified his words as false.]

She raises an eyebrow, smirking.

“Only because you just said it.”

“Sure,” she smiled like a liar.

Somehow it is the opposite smile of Yoo Jonghyuk’s smile when he threw Kim Dokja off the bridge and into the sea serpent’s mouth.

It’s frustratingly easy to remember how the last sunrays of the normal world is casted behind the protagonist. Seeing that damning smirk finalized the reality Kim Dokja is in.

This wouldn’t be Three Ways to Survive the Apocalypse without Yoo Jonghyuk.

This wouldn’t be Kim Dokja’s favorite novel without Yoo Jonghyuk.

This wouldn’t be Kim Dokja’s life without Yoo Jonghyuk.

So if Kim Dokja indulged into a few reader-insert fics where Yoo Jonghyuk fought by his side, survived by his side, was happy by his side, then call Kim Dokja a hopeless romantic.

“You are a hopeless romantic.”

“Why?” He demanded, less embarrassed and more worried if Han Sooyoung read his thoughts.

“I was there when Yoo Jonghyuk came bursting through the room before the Throne scenario. His eyes were only on you and you just exploded with sunshine.” She sticks her tongue out in disgust.

“I did not,” he shuttered, finally sitting up to defend himself with the little dignity he has left. “Sunshine?”

Han Sooyoung nods as if her words are obvious. She crossed her arms and scowled, “You read too many self-inserts.”

Kim Dokja shuts his jaw. If he says nothing she would not use lie detection.

The results are the same though.

Han Sooyoung laughs meanly, “I don’t blame your taste. Well he’s not for me but I guess he could be a real heartthrob.”

Kim Dokja sighs instead of agreeing.

Technically, all those fics were derived from Han Sooyoung’s protagonist.

As for Kim Dokja’s protagonist, he never got the creative drive (or sacrifice his dignity) to ever write his own self-insert with Yoo Jonghyuk.

Kim Dokja is a reader first and foremost.

And yet he still ends up inserted into Ways of Survival trying to overcome the scenarios, to outsmart the dokkaebi, and to eventually face off against the constellations.

All the while being Yoo Jonghyuk’s companion.

That last one is a work in progress.

“How many fanfics I’ve read doesn’t matter,” Kim Dokja says to Han Sooyoung, but it’s mostly to remind himself too.

“Oh I don’t know about that,” she smirks. “I think we’re in a classic canon divergence story.”

He scratches his chin, “That could be true.” As Han Sooyoung grins triumphantly, he says, “Maybe you didn’t plagiarize. You just wrote a big fanfiction.”

“Hey!”

He slow claps, “What a devoted fan.”

“At least I’m not in love with the protagonist.”

Kim Dokja nearly chokes, “I’m no-“

He shuts up before the display message appears.

[Han Sooyoung has activated the skill ‘Lie Detection.’]

She bats her eyelashes. “I’m waiting.”

“I hate you.”

[‘Lie Detection’ has verified his words as truth.]

“Because I’m not Yoo Jonghyuk,” she said, undefeated.

“Would you drop it?”

“No because it’s kind of flattering. You read fanfics of my novel and it has prepared you for the real deal! So what have you’ve done so far to capture his heart?”

“I’m not going to capture his heart.”

“Why not? He’s already obsessed with you.”

“Why would you think that?”

Han Sooyoung shrugged, “I’m a writer. I see things.”

Kim Dokja just blinks and lies back down.

“Don’t you want to know what I see?”

“Absolutely not, Han Sooyoung.”

“Imma tell you anyway.” His cry in protest is ignored. “In a crowded room where nearly everyone is killing each other, the time limit for the qualifying kings is ticking away-“

“You don’t have to describe it. I was there.”

“…and there! Fashionably late and very dramatic, the last king arrives but he pays no mind to anyone except one-“

“That was the one and only time you’ve seen us together and it was very short.”

“Nah uh,” she shakes her head, “My beheaded avatar. Yoo Jonghyuk practically presented it to you like a cat presenting their kill.”

Kim Dokja opens his mouth and closes it, having nothing to counter that simile.

“If you think I know little then what does that say about you?” She counters as if this is a riddle. “Kim Dokja believes he hasn’t made an impact on Yoo Jonghyuk? The only one who dares to upstand him, shouldering on herculean challenges, and hindering the plans of a great author?”

He frowns, “Are you insulting me or complimenting me?”

“Insulting because you’re too stupid realize that not only are you in a fictional genre, you will easily fall into a romance genre.” She angrily clicks her tongue, “How did an ugly guy like you get a hot harem?”

“My friends are not a harem.”

“Sort seems like it.”

Kim Dokja rubs his eyes, too tired of all this nonsensical conversations.

“My point is,” Han Sooyoung pokes his forehead to make sure he’s paying attention, “that you’re really becoming a reader-insert story. That usually leads to getting dicked down by the protagonist.”

Kim Dokja buries his red face in his hands.

“I’m just saying!”

“Then stop talking!”

“No way,” she pauses for a moment and taps her forehead, “where was I going with this again?”

“You decided to stop talking,” Kim Dokja said in hopes that this conversation will end.

“Nah,” Han Sooyoung waves her hand flippantly and then suddenly snaps her fingers with a grin, “Oh yeah, I was going on about the fact that Yoo Jonghyuk is in love with you like how you are in love with him.”

He just stares at this awful woman and quietly says, “He wouldn’t.”

“Must I repeat all the things I’ve told you?” Fortunately, she doesn’t but instead says, “You’re becoming way too important to a lot of people, including your protagonist.” Han Sooyoung grins, “I’ve read enough fanfiction to know where that goes.”

Kim Dokja unfortunately has read enough fanfiction too.

“Well Han Sooyoung, you’re wrong because the next time I see Yoo Jonghyuk he will likely kill me.”

His confidence does not change Han Sooyoung’s mind. “I think he’s trying to find you at this very moment.”

“To kill me,” he reinstates.

“But,” she flashes a smile, “if he doesn’t kill you immediately, it could be a sign.”

Again, Kim Dokja says nothing to argue against that because… well…

Han Sooyoung interrupts his thoughts with a singsong voice, “Sign of love!”

He stands up and goes back over to Lycaon to try training again, thoroughly ignoring the woman’s complaints.

Everything Han Sooyoung said has some misguided truths. This is the apocalypse. Everyone is depending on someone stronger to survive.

But this isn’t just any other apocalypse, this is the a story Kim Dokja knows from beginning to end. In spite of whatever future awaits them, he will do everything he can to use his knowledge to save everyone.

It’s almost expected that there will be moments where he did not see things coming.

For example, Yoo Jonghyuk showing up and not killing him.

It’s mostly because he’s poisoned.

Oh and the fact that the Disaster of Questions is waking up.

After buying their Midday Tryst and agreeing to the Oath of Existence, Yoo Jonghyuk agreed to not harm and instead cooperate with Kim Dokja for the time being.

All at the price of that Yoo Jonghyuk can hit Kim Dokja once.

Kim Dokja has no idea if this is a sign of love or not.

Maybe he’ll find out once that hit comes.

#my fic #kim dokja #han sooyoung #omniscient reader's viewpoint #orv #orv fic

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avengerscompound · 5 years ago

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The Tower: The Queen of Asgard - 19

The Tower: The Queen of Asgard An Avengers Fanfic

Series Masterlist PREVIOUS //

Pairing: Avengers x OFC, Bruce Banner x Bucky Barnes x Clint Barton x Wanda Maximoff x Steve Rogers x Natasha Romanoff x Tony Stark x Thor x Sam Wilson x OFC (Elly Cooper)

Word Count: 2440

Warnings: hangovers, talk of orgies, smut (FF, oral sex, vaginal and anal fingering)

Synopsis: The twins are now three and while the Avengers know that Clint and Thor are the biological father’s none of them know or care which blond, blue-eyed baby is related to which man. When Riley gets the power to control wind and it becomes evident that she is the heir to the Asgardian throne, Elly, Steve, Thor, and Tony take the twins to Asgard to train her.

Not every Asgardian is happy with their king’s choice of consort, nor the impurity of the heir’s blood. While others expect Thor to make things more official. What’s clear is, the role of Queen of Asgard is not easily filled.

Author’s Note: Written with the woman who listens to me complain about the heat all day long. @fanficwriter013

Chapter 19: Aftermath

A low groan woke me the following morning. I slowly opened my eyes and found myself draped over Bruce. Curled into a tight ball in the middle of my back was Sam, and he was groaning like he was in pain.

“When did you get here?” I asked, sitting up a little.

He shifted so his head was in my lap and his hands opened and closed on my thigh. “Three maybe. How does time work here anyway?” He mumbled. “I think I’m gonna puke.”

I rubbed his back in soothing circles. “Please don’t,” I said. “Do you want to take something?”

“What does Asgard have?”

I started to massage his scalp. “I don’t know. I took tea for sleep but I haven’t had alcohol since I got here. I can go ask if you want.”

He grumbled and shook his head. “Just keep doing that.”

I kept massaging his scalp and he seemed to start to relax a little. Though his muscles stayed clenched and he kept whimpering.

After a little while, Natasha came in. She was naked and bleary-eyed, but she didn’t look hungover like Sam was. “I need a proper bed, can I get in here?”

“Of course,” I said.

She climbed in on the other side of Sam and lay down, closing her eyes. “You missed a great orgy, El.”

I shrugged. “Bruce and I had a good time. Besides, I’m still not sure about sleeping with people outside the group. Clint was the fastest I’ve ever agreed to have sex with someone, you know? And I only agreed to that because it was you suggesting it. Even my one night stand before I met you guys was a friend.”

“I don’t know, El. Sif knows what she’s doing.” Natasha said. Sam groaned in response and rolled over, clutching his stomach. “Are you going to throw up, Sam?”

“Maybe…” He groaned.

“El, Hogun is up. Can you go get him to take Sam to the bathroom or something?” Natasha said.

I shifted out from under Sam and he moved so he was curled up on Natasha. I grabbed a wrap and tied it around myself before poking my head out into the living area. It was still very early, with only the very hint of sunlight coming up. Scattered around the room in a few small piles was Bucky, Steve, and Wanda, Thor and Clint, and Volstagg and Tony. Sif stood guarding the kids’ room while Hogun was at the door that led out to the palace.

“Hogun, a little help,” I said.

He nodded and followed me back into the bedroom. “What can I do to serve?”

Sam made a weak groaning noise from his place curled up on Natasha. “He’s gonna puke.” She said rubbing his back.

Hogun came over to the bed and lifted Sam up like he was cradling a baby. “Alright. Let us see what we can do for you.”

He carried Sam out and I crawled back into bed with Natasha and Bruce. “Things look interesting out there. We’ll have to move people when the sun is up. The kids have been sleeping late but we can’t risk them walking in on that.”

“Sam will have some puking buddies,” Natasha said. “Bucky was keeping pace with Thor.”

“So tell me what happened,” I said, pulling myself up tight against Natasha.

She trailed her fingers up and down my back. “Well, there was a lot of drinking. Steve was very funny. He made Tony ask him if he was a tree and when Tony asked he’s like ‘No, are you an idiot?’”

I started laughing. “Oh my god. Steve did that?”

“Yes,” Natasha said, ghosting her lips up my neck. “This cat came in. Wasn’t a cat but it looked like a cat. Steve picked up a grape and threw it at it. When Clint asked what he was doing, Steve said he was trying to catch a Pikachu.”

I completely lost it. “Oh jeez. I wish I had seen that. Also, I wish I’d seen the cat thing.”

“Sif said it was a … falafel or … not that but something like that.” Natasha said.

“Loki left with ... umm... Fandral. That’s when the orgy started. Wanda and Steve kinda kept out of it. They just stayed together. Wanda was being affected by how drunk everyone was and well, you know the sex stuff. I think she was pretty overwhelmed. And you know, both her and Steve need to get to know people first. The rest of us just were a bit fluid. I spent a lot of time with Sif. That woman, El. I swear to god. I saw stars.”

I pouted and ran my hands down her back. “Are you saying you don’t see stars with me?”

“Oh El, you are wonderful.” She teased.

“That’s better,” I said and kissed her neck.

“Mmm… don’t start anything you don’t plan to follow through on.” Natasha hummed tilting her head back so I had better access to her throat.

“Are you doubting my oral skills, Ms. Romanoff?” I teased and sucked on the dip of her collarbone.

“I don’t know.” She teased. “Am I?”

I rolled so I was on top of her and looked down into her eyes. “You have to be quiet. No waking up Bruce.”

She smirked at me and swatted my ass. “I think I can handle that.”

I bit my bottom lip and leaned in and kissed her deeply. She still tasted of mead. Sweet like honey and warm. She hummed and tangled her hands in my hair and started to push me downward.

“Hey, bossy.” I giggled.

“You said the kids would be up soon.” She teased.

I couldn’t fault her logic, so I began to kiss down her body, pausing at her breasts to suck her nipples hard. She arched her back, pushing up against me and pulled my hair.

I moved lower, kissing a trail down over her stomach and along her hips. She spread her legs and arched her back, opening her body up more for me. She looked so gorgeous stretched out and ready for me. I kissed the insides of her thighs and licked slowly up her cunt.

She tasted like sex. Of sweat and come, both hers and other peoples. Strong and acrid and heady. I swirled my tongue around her folds, exploring them with my tongue. Tasting as much of her as I could reach.

She moaned and bunched a hand into my hair pushing me into her more. I focused my tongue on her clit, drawing patterns on it and circling around. Each time the tip of my tongue brushed over the swollen and sensitive nub she gasped and pushed against me more.

“Elise,” she moaned, pulling my hair and gripping the headboard as she rolled her hips under me.

I sucked her clit into my mouth and flicked my tongue over it. She mewled and bucked up hard under me. I pushed two of my fingers into her and started to fuck her with them seeking out her g-spot as I did.

Natasha got louder and her hips rolled against me like she was fucking my face. My fingertips touched down on the spongy surface of her g-spot she cried out and her whole body jerked hard. I curled my fingers, stroking them again and again over her g-spot, making her sounds louder and louder and her whole body tense up as an orgasm built inside her. I began to use my thumb to massage her asshole and slowly sunk it inside of her as I sucked her clit hungrily.

She gripped the sheets and arched her back and with a sudden cry she came hard, shuddering against me.

I stroked her through it and drank her up before crawling up her body and kissing her deeply. “You were not quiet.” I giggled as I pulled back.

“And yet he still sleeps.” Natasha chuckled.

I kissed her again and sat up. “I better go check on the kids.”

Natasha ran her hand down my spine. “You don’t want me to reciprocate?”

“Mmm… you can get me later. We do really need to clear out that living room before the kids wake up.” I said and leaned down and kissed her gently. “Besides, I can tell when you’re about ready to sleep.”

She hummed and stretched out before curling into Bruce. “Thank you, mishka. I love you.”

“I love you too, Tasha,” I said getting up. I grabbed my wrap and went and used the bathroom before heading out into the living room. Not much had changed since I had last come out. But Clint was now perched on the back of the couch and Wanda was missing.

“Morning,” I said coming over and kissing his shoulder. “How are you feeling?”

“I woke up really disoriented,” he grumbled. “So that was fun.”

I rubbed his back and looked at the group of men in various states of undress. “We’re gonna need to move these guys out of here.”

He whined. “They weigh like twelve tons.”

“Maybe so. But there’s a bunch of naked men everywhere and the kids will be up any minute.” I said.

I looked over at Sif for help. “I can take this one.” She said pointing at Tony. “But everyone else I’ll need help with.”

I nodded and moved over to Steve and shook him. “Steve!”

He shot up startled and looked around for a second before his eyes settled on me. “Have you been… fonduing?”

I snorted. “Yes, I have. And this place is looking very ancient Greek considering our children are going to get up any minute.”

Steve blinked at me and dragged his hand across his mouth. “Oh god. Is this a hangover?”

“I’m gonna say ‘yes’,” I said, pushing him to get up.

“Is there water here?” Steve asked. “Can I get a gallon?”

“You can get up and get a gallon. I’m not babying you, I have actual babies to baby and they can’t come out here into this.” I say waving my hands around.

“Oh. Right.” Steve groaned. “Okay, I’m moving.”

“You can go back to sleep, but we need to get everyone out of here.” I pleaded. “I’ll take care of you all once you’re all in bed.”

Steve started smacking Bucky’s arm. “All of us?”

“Yes. I promise.” I said moving over to Thor. “I’ll bring you water and pain killers if there are some, and greasy food that makes your stomach feel better. But in the bedrooms.”

“Okay,” Steve said, and started to hit Bucky in the arm. “I just need someone to get up.”

Bucky gasped and sat straight up as I tried to shake Thor awake. “I doubt that’s gonna work.” He grumbled.

“We need everyone out of here,” I whined.

Bucky looked from Steve to Sif. “Thor last.” He said. “You take Tony. We’ll grab Volstagg. Then we’ll come back for Thor together.”

Sif nodded and picked Tony up and carried him to my bedroom. Bucky and Steve picked up Volstagg and took him to one of the spare rooms. The three of them came back out and approached Thor. “The lady Natasha is asleep now. Tony’s foot is in her face.”

“Yeah. I fuck people into comas.” I said nonchalantly.

Steve shook his head and the three of them crouched down and grabbed a part of Thor. “On three. One, two, three.”

They all heaved Thor up and shuffled into the bedroom together. “He’s heavy,” Clint said.

“Apparently.” I joked.

“I think I might sleep too,” Clint said getting up. “Is that okay?”

“Yeah, little bird. I’ll be fine.”

He came over and kissed my cheek before heading to the bedroom with the others and passing Sif as she came back out.

“They’re all passed out again.” She said.

“Thank you, Sif,” I said. “I’m going to check on the kids.”

I headed in the bedroom and found Wanda sitting on the floor between their beds, looking a little queasy. “Morning, honey.” She whispered.

“Hey, beautiful. Are you okay?” I asked.

She nodded slowly. “I’m leaching everyone’s hangovers. It’s not fun. I was throwing up before.”

I came and sat down beside her and wrapped my arm around her shoulder. She nuzzled into me. “Maybe the healers can help you?”

“You think?”

I shrugged. “I mean, I don’t know. But they’re more used to people with powers here. They might have something.”

Wanda nodded. “Maybe when Loki gets here you can take me and Sam to see them.”

“Sam’s still struggling?” I asked concerned.

“Yes. He’s the worst one.”

“How long are these two going to be out?” I asked.

“She’s about fifteen minutes from being up. He might be more like an hour.” Wanda answered.

“Okay. I’ll see who I can find to take you and Sam to the healers.” I said and got up, and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“I’ll be here.” She said.

There was no one at all in the living room and I went into the bathroom. Sam was hunched over the toilet and Hogun was crouched behind him. Sam looked over at us weakly. “El, how am I still able to puke?” Sam asked. “There’s no food left. I’m gonna die.”

“Oh, honey,” I said and came over and ran my hand over his scalp. “Hogun, do we have any way of getting Fandral and or Loki to come here. Wanda and Sam need to see healers or something and it’s just you now.”

“Is Lady Maximoff awake?” Hogun asked.

“Yes,” I said.

“I shall go and fetch Fandral to take them and be back to guard shortly.” He said getting up and leaving the room.

Sam moaned and collapsed down onto the floor. “Can I just lay down with my head in your lap?”

“Of course, baby,” I said sitting. He put his head in my lap and I started massaging his scalp again.

“I swear. I didn’t even drink that much, El.” He whined.

“I know, baby. But it’s strong. Not for us.” I said. “I’ll take you to the healers as soon as Fandral shows up.”

I sat on the floor stroking his neck and soothing him until Hogun returned with an exhausted-looking Fandral.

“So we are seeing the healers?” Fandral asked.

“Yes, thank you, Fandral,” I said as he lifted Sam up. “I’ll go and get Wanda.”

He nodded and carried Sam out into the living room. I sighed and went to go get Wanda. The kids weren’t even awake yet and I could already tell today was going to be a long day.

// NEXT

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no-url · 5 years ago

Text

Failsafe

Fandom: Young Justice

Pairing: Dick Grayson (Robin) x reader

Words: 1991

Author’s note: So this is my first fanfic on this website so i hope you enjoy it! :)

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After the Failsafe, no one was the same.

Y/N watched the most composed lose their cool, the most optimistic curl in on themselves and the most stoic show real emotion- she even swore she saw Batman shed a tear upon witnessing the distressed teenagers.

Seeing all her friends die, it was a lot to process, especially for a child, so Y/N and the rest of the team invited sleep with open arms. But the night was even worse. Sleep had not taken full effect when the images started showing up – every pained expression, every scream of anguish, every nothingness that was left behind by those who died. Y/N tossed and turned in her sleep until she was jolted awake by one last scream: her own. She panted heavily as the sweat weighed down on her brow. She glanced at her clock – 2.45am. She sighed as she realised what a long night ahead she had.

The next morning, Y/N wearily made her way to the kitchen but was stopped in her tracks when a sudden chill came over her, her breath misting up the air. She half-sprinted to the usually warm control room to find it entirely covered in a layer of fresh snow. She stood there in disbelief, thinking her eyes had deceived her, as she heard the rest of the team coming up behind her, similar looks on confusion on their faces. Everyone knew who caused this – who else but the one whose power is weather control.

Just what I need right now, she thought to herself, lack of emotional control causing blizzards.

Wally didn’t seem to mind though, as he flung himself unto a particularly large snow pile with lightning speed. He did, however, mind the fact that the pile was rather shallow, and he face smacked into the floor. The team had a good laugh, then followed by a snowball war started by Dick, who took base up on the ceiling, and won by Artemis, who sniped him down. For a moment, they were just kids, messing about, not a care in the world.

After a long day of snowball fights, and then cleaning up the snow after the rest of the Justice League couldn’t get in, it was time to try and sleep. Emphasis on try. Y/N tossed and turned in her sleep, trying to shake everything out of her head. This time, her brain got a bit more creative by putting her in the bodies of all her friends. She saw everything through their eyes, including getting disintegrated. Each time she ‘died’ she expected the nightmare to finish. And every time, she just got put into another body, another doomed friend.

Suddenly, she was torn from her distressed slumber by a strong pair of hands shaking her awake. She blinked the sleep from her eyes as she made out Kaldur’s confused expression.

“You did it again,” he said matter-of-factly, almost solemnly. Y/N didn’t understand what he meant; her mind still fuzzy after being so rapidly awoken. That is until she glanced at the corridor behind Kaldur’s shoulder. It was completely shrouded in a thick fog, making it impossible to see the other side. Y/N buried her face in her hands as she scolded herself for letting her emotions run this loose. She raised her hand and quickly cleared the fog, unmasking the metal corridor and an irritated Artemis mumbling something about fuzzy hair. The rest of the day went without much hiccups: just combat training, workout session at the gym and some late-night patrol.

They returned at around 2 am and everyone quickly hit the hay. Y/N was apprehensive about falling asleep, knowing what she was capable of. But this time, I’ll be ok she reassured herself, thinking that she won’t cause any more freak weather accidents, after all the nightmares can’t get worse.

This nightmare was worse than the first two. It was her. Y/N was the reason her friends were dying. She tried to stop the disintegration ray by pushing her friends out of the way. Instead, she looked down and saw that she was the one disintegrating them. She screamed at her friends to move out of the way, but it was falling on deaf ears. They couldn’t hear and she couldn’t stop. It was awful. As she ripped herself from sleep, she felt the power coursing through her veins, and she knew that she did again. She jumped out of bed and sprinted down the hallway. She reached the control room, watching her friends try to salvage the equipment from the rain cloud looming over the floor, the rain drenching everything. Some of them went up to assure her that it was no issue and that it was nothing to worry about, whilst others just shot her weary, even pitiful, glances. She quickly got rid of the cloud and started to help her friends.

“Batman is so gonna kill us,” Dick remarked, probably not meaning to make Y/N feel worse but he did.

“I’m sure he’ll understand,” Kaldur, ever the optimist, replied, giving Y/N a sympathetic look. She smiled slightly but inside, she knew that she had to somehow fix this. If this is caused by me sleeping, she realised, I’ll just have to stop sleeping. A foolish idea, but logical for a 13-year-old, don’t you think?

She tried literally everything to occupy herself: read books, watched movies, mended her costume, worked out in the gym. The first night was ok but with each passing day, she found it harder and harder to stay awake. During the day, it was slowly becoming clearer that she wasn’t her usual fiery self, instead becoming more sluggish. The nights, however, were the worst. She eventually ran out of things to do and opted to lay on her bed, staring into the plain ceiling. The stillness of the cave and the silence of the night were slowly lulling her to sleep, which she almost welcomed with open arms. However, she quickly ripped herself from her bed and decided that she couldn’t take the silence anymore. With just her pyjamas on her back, not even making time to close the door or turn out the lights, she walked out of her room, out of the cave and to her favourite spot on the island: the beach.

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Dick was having a difficult time falling asleep. It wasn’t that nightmares plagued him, but he just couldn’t get himself to sleep. The past few days, he spent in his own house. However, due to some fancy party held by his dad, he had to spend a night at the cave. The metal walls and silence were a massive change from Wayne Manor which was constantly filled with noise of some kind. The stillness of the night was too much to bear, so he decided to go to the kitchen for some milk, hoping that it would at least ease sleeping a little bit. As he walked through the long corridor, he noticed a light coming form down the hall. He walked quickly to investigate the source when he saw the open door leading to Y/N’s room. He looked in but saw that it was empty. Confusion crossed his mind as he wandered around the cave looking for her. He looked in the kitchen, the gym, the control room and the library. He didn’t know why he charged himself so much with finding her.

“After all, it’s not like we’re brilliant friends,” he muttered to himself as he walked on, a habit he’s recently been made aware of, “sure, I’m friends with her like everyone else on the team, and sometimes maybe we share a little more, but I’m sure it’s like that with everyone.”

His ponderings were quickly silenced when he bumped into a hard surface. He looked up and realised that he was at the exit of the cave that lead directly to the beach, Y/N’s favourite place. He didn’t know why he didn’t think of this place first, and he took a deep breath – not quite sure why – as he opened the door and stepped out into the cold evening air. Immediately, he felt the sand between his toes and chill go through his body as he took in the figure in front of him.

Y/N sat in the sand, curled up to keep out the cold, staring off into the sea, her mind wandering. She didn’t feel Dick’s presence behind her until she felt the ground shift slightly under her as he sat down beside her. No words passed between them for a short moment, though it felt like an eternity as she stared out at the water.

“I couldn’t sleep,” Y/N broke the silence softly, preceding the question she was sure Dick was about to ask.

Dick chuckled slightly. “Me neither.” Another silence filled the air. A gust of wind made its way across the beach, rustling the teenagers’ hair and pyjama hems. Y/N shivered slightly, making Dick look at her with a slight smile. “There are definitely warmer places to hang out,” he remarked.

A small smile formed on Y/N’s face. She would have been lying if she didn’t admit that she was rather fond of the Boy Wonder, who just always seemed to have the right thing to say to make her smile. “I like it here,” she replied, “it brings me closer to nature. I prefer it to those cold metal walls inside. Plus, it’s too quiet in there”

“I get it,” Dick agreed knowingly, “Sometimes, it’s too much like a cage. Still, much easier to fall asleep there than here. So why you out here?”

Y/N let out a small sigh as she looked down, noticing that the pair had moved closer together, their shoulders a whisper of a touch away. I’d have to tell him at some point anyways she thought to herself. So, she started to explain everything: about the nightmares, the freak weather and her plan to stop sleeping all together.

“But the cave was just too quiet so instead of being left alone with my thoughts, I reckoned I’d come somewhere where I can focus on something else.” Y/N finished her explanation, her heart feeling a little lighter now that she shared her feelings. She looked at Dick, not quite knowing what she expected his reaction to be. Wordlessly, he shuffled closer to her and wrapped his arm around her shoulder. Immediately, his warmth spread through her body and she pressed herself closer to escape the chilling wind. A comfortable silence befell the pair and they stayed like this for many hours. Though they didn’t know this until many years yet to come, it was that night in which the two 13-year-olds started their true journey together, a journey that was written in the stars yet to be told.

The next morning consisted of a treasure hunt for the whole team as they attempted to find Dick and Y/N’s whereabouts. After an hour, the Justice League where called in to aid with the search. It was Batman, the – self- proclaimed- world’s greatest detective, who tracked them down. Batman knew the toll that the exercise had on the pair, so a gentle smile graced his usually stoic lips as he stood silently in the entrance way, watching the two peacefully sleeping in each other’s embrace, Dick’s arm still placed around Y/N, her head laying delicately on his shoulder. They were refreshed and good as new when they woke up later that day (which didn’t last long as they both caught a cold out on the beach and were bedridden for the rest of the week). However, their hearts were warmed up by the lack of images or screams lingering in their heads, as well as some other emotion that the pair couldn’t quite place. The team was back together, stronger and prouder than ever.

And the nightmares came no more. Nor did the snow, much to Wally’s dismay.

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Hope you guys liked it :)

#young justice #dick grayson #dick grayson x reader #robin #robin x reader #yj #dc #justice league

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shytalia · 5 years ago

Text

A Prince and a Pirate’s Fate - Chapter 12

— ♠ — ♠ — ♠ —

Chapter Twelve

Start at Chapter one here:https://shytalia.tumblr.com/post/611878754309079040/a-prince-and-a-pirates-fate-usuk-fanfic

Also available on my AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shytalia

— ♠ — ♠ — ♠ —

The next day, they left The King’s Grave and set sail into the open seas once more.

Alfred had been given the rest of the day to rest up but given he was as stubborn as he was, he grew restless. Instead, he decided to check on Peter and was thrilled to see the smaller Brit sitting up in bed. In fact, he even looked like he was already healing fairly quickly. He assumed Arthur’s spell really worked wonders.

He greeted the boy and sat beside his bed in the empty chair, glad to see that Peter was excited to see him too. Well, since they both had been given orders to rest and heal up, Alfred saw no point in having to do so separately.

“Here, I’ll show you how to play that card game like I promised.” The Prince smiled at the excited way Peter cheered as he brought out the cards.

--- ♠ --- ♠ --- ♠ ---

The next few days went rather well, all things considered. Alfred wasn’t healing as fast as Peter was since Arthur couldn’t perform the spell on him like he could his brother. But, the Brit’s efforts to help him sped up the process incredibly anyway.

Arthur was more or less acting like his usual self, never bringing up anything that had happened at the harbor. Alfred wasn’t sure if he liked that or not. After all, even if he was told not to develop feelings, he yearned to hold Arthur close to him. He would, he told himself, one day he would convince Arthur to be his. Not because of some mark, but because he could feel himself falling hard for the captain. He just wanted Arthur to feel the same.

For now, he would enjoy the small interactions he got with the grumpy Brit.

“Did you hear?” A crew member said within earshot. Alfred pulled at some ropes and tightened the ends as he eavesdropped, not very interested but it was hard not to when the men were so close. “Apparently the Spade prince has gone missing.”

Alfred froze.

“Missing?” The other man said.

“Yes. There’s no word on a ransom yet. You think he finally got offed?”

The two men laughed darkly, but Alfred was doing anything but. Cool sweat dripped down his brow but thankfully he had been sweating before so it was easy to mask.

“I hope not. Think of the money we would get returning the brat back to mommy and daddy.” They laughed more. “Or...I rather think Captain Kirkland would love to get his hands on him. That would be fun to watch, don’t you think?”

“I wouldn’t want to be the prince if Captain got a hold of me, that’s for sure.”

Alfred felt his stomach twist and fought the urge to puke. He should’ve realized that sooner or later his disappearance would become gossip throughout all the kingdoms. It wasn’t exactly every day a prince up and vanishes for weeks on end, after all.

“Hey! Stop idling and get back to work!” Gilbert yelled across the dock, causing the two gossiping crew mates to flinch and quickly return to their duties. “And you,”

Alfred flinched when he realized those red eyes were on him. They lingered on him uncomfortably and the prince could only wonder what the albino was thinking as he stared. Finally, the tension was broken when the other man opened his mouth for more orders.

“Just ‘cause you’re The Captain’s pet doesn’t mean you get to slack off either. Hurry the hell up!” The albino man barked, his thoughtful gaze replaced by a more stern one. Alfred quickly did as he was told.

Nearly an hour later, Lukas stalked onto the deck and quietly stood beside the commanding pirate.

“Gilbert.” He greeted lowly, though his gaze focused elsewhere. “I apologize for the interference, but I will be taking Alfred for just a short while.”

“Huh? What are you talking about now? He’s got work to do, Captain’s orders that he makes himself useful with the others unless he needs him.” Gilbert frowned.

“Don’t worry, it won’t be long. If The Captain asks, refer him to me. I assure you, I’ll take all the blame.” Lukas replied easily, noticing the look of thought crossing the other man’s face.

“Mn...I guess. But only ‘cause you helped us get The Captain back.” He settled, nodding for the Norwegian to take Alfred. He didn’t bother asking what he was needed for, it was no doubt some sort of ‘divine bidding’. Normally Gilbert would scoff at it, but having the religious figure around did sometimes help the morale of the crew. Who knew having a neutral party to spill all your sins out to could help a bunch of misfits?

“Thank you.” Was the basic reply before Lukas moved forward, walking quietly towards the sweating teen as he moved a heavy crate. “Alfred,”

“Gods!” Said man turned around with startled, wide eyes. He hadn’t even heard the other blonde come up behind him. “Oh man, it’s just you. Lukas, isn’t it? What’s up?”

“Follow me, I wish to talk to you for a bit. It’s alright, I’ve already spoken to Gilbert.” Lukas waved his hand in a welcoming motion before turning around and leading the way below the deck.

Alfred was hesitant to follow but a quick glance in the albino’s direction, and the nod he received from him, allowed his feet to move and follow. He trailed behind the shorter blonde curiously until they came to a small room covered in idols and trinkets. There were symbols of the gods all around and even a small statue of the goddess on a table. She was surrounded with candles and incense, obviously meant to replicate an actual temple and altar. For being on a pirate ship, Alfred had to give it some credit as it really wasn't half bad.

“So...what did you need to talk to me about?” He couldn’t help the edge in his voice. He was nervous, unsure about what Lukas could possibly want from him. He had never spoken to him before, after all, so why now all of a sudden?

Instead of answering, the Norwegian closed the door and motioned for his guest to sit in one of the chairs by a small table.

“There’s no need to be so nervous,” Lukas told him. “You’re Arthur’s now, so no one on this ship will harm you.” Not unless the British captain wanted them to, of course. But, he’d leave that part out. So far, their leader had shown no signs of wanting that. “Gilbert was rough on you today, please relax. Here, have some tea.”

A cup was placed in front of Alfred and steaming liquid poured into it. Alfred wasn’t the biggest fan of tea, but he did learn that Arthur absolutely adored the stuff. Plus, he guessed he shouldn’t be too picky considering what they had was limited until they reached their next port.

“Thanks. Yeah, Gilbert can be kind of an ass.” He said it before he could think better of it and bit his lip, hoping he wouldn’t be ratted out.

“Gilbert isn’t as bad as he seems.” Lukas countered quietly. “He is in a position of authority, after all. His job is to ensure the work is done and done well. But he is a nice enough man at the end of the day, the two of you may even get along rather well.” The shorter man took his place in the chair opposite of Alfred, sitting down and sipping his own drink.

The prince snorted at that. “Yeah, sure.”

“He’s much like Arthur in that aspect. You enjoy The Captain’s company, do you not?”

Alfred nearly spat out his tea at that. “H-Huh? Oh, well, I mean--” He stammered. He did enjoy being around Arthur, more than he probably should considering he was a pirate. This whole mission of his wasn’t just about convincing him to come back to the castle with him anymore. No, now it was even more. Alfred wanted Arthur to be happy and safe. He wanted to love him and for the Brit to love him back. “Yes, I do.” He croaked out.

“I thought so,” Lukas said evenly, as if the man across from him wasn’t a confused mess of nerves and emotions.

The silence between them was stale for a while. Lukas made no more efforts to make conversation and Alfred was swimming in his thoughts.

Was it really that obvious that he liked Arthur? Of course to the captain it would be more obvious, but they had so many moments in private together that would make it clear. But what about the other crew members? Did they know? They must, if Lukas did. Though the man was more observant than the others.

Maybe Arthur had told him? The two talked like good friends would, it wouldn’t be a leap in logic to think that he had simply been gossiped about. If that was the case...what had Arthur said? Had he made fun of him for his feelings? Did he confess some sort of attraction as well?

Alfred was nearly ready to explode from all these different scenarios playing through his head that he didn’t notice Lukas staring at him until he spoke.

“Arthur still doesn’t know who you are, does he?”

“What?” Alfred was snapped from his thoughts and his eyes met with Lukas’s.

“Excuse me for being blunt, your majesty.”

The Norwegian’s words chilled the prince to his bones. A rush of panic and fear washed over him like the tides, crashing into him and knocking the wind from his lungs. He had no time to recover before the other man continued.

“You’ve done very well to hide your mark from him for this long. But tell me, what is your plan when he does find out?”

Alfred’s throat went dry. Lukas knew who he was. Lukas knew and he could tell everyone, he could tell Arthur! How long had he known? Why hadn’t he told them yet?

“Please...don’t tell him.” Alfred’s voice was so quiet it was barely even a whisper.

Lukas seemed to ponder the words for a moment and nodded. “I haven’t told him yet, have I? But I suggest you figure out what you’re going to do when he does find out.” He told him pointedly. “Do not make it hurt worse for him than it already will.”

“I-I don’t want to hurt him!” Alfred exclaimed quickly. The last thing he wanted was to hurt Arthur. “H-He’s...he’s everything I could’ve wanted. No, no he’s more. Oh my gods,” He whispered, eyes staring in some mix between fear and hope as he looked to the statue of the goddess on the makeshift altar. Some sense of realization washed over him. “I’m falling in love with him. I want him to be my queen but I want him to be happy... to be happy with me.”

Lukas was characteristically quiet for a while before he spoke. “Do you know where we are headed now?”

Alfred looked back over to the man in front of him, eyes desperate for something he couldn’t touch. “No.” He answered, wondering why he would bring that up amidst everything that had just been said.

Lukas hummed softly. “We are sailing to Britannia.” He could tell by the look on the prince’s face that the name rang a bell, but he couldn’t quite place it. He took it upon himself to elaborate. “Britannia is the island Arthur is from. He is going home.” It was no doubt that almost losing Peter ruffled up some sort of homesickness for the Brit. “This will not be a simple visit. Prince Alfred,” he saw the way the title made the other man stiffen. “If you truly want Arthur to be happy, you will need to see why he despises you so much.”

Alfred nodded to show he was listening even though his voice was stuck in this throat. He swallowed and forced it out. “I don’t want him to hate me.”

“I know you don’t.”

“How?” He couldn’t help but ask. Everything in him was swirling in confusion, most of all why Lukas would help him and not tell Arthur who he really was. “Why are you doing this? Why not tell Arthur the truth about me?”

The smaller man seemed to ponder this for a moment, but he was quick to answer. “The Goddess has declared that the two of you are the rightful heirs of the Spade Kingdom. I heard her call and answered it. Those years ago when I assisted in freeing Arthur from your royal guards was because she requested me to.”

“What? But if Arthur was going to be brought to the castle, why free him? Shouldn’t the goddess want him to be there as soon as possible since she gave him the mark to begin with?” Alfred asked, bewildered. He never said he fully understood the gods and their ways, but giving Arthur the mark only to keep them apart was incomprehensible to him.

“I can’t speak for her,” Lukas admitted. “However, from where I stand, it seems like it was the best course of action at the time.” Seeing the confusion furrow deeper in Alfred, he continued. “Think. What would have happened had Arthur been dragged against his will to the castle then? There would be no hope of redemption for you in his eyes. Only hatred.”

“But I didn’t do anything! All I have is a mark that matches his, I don’t want to force him into anything.”

“That doesn’t matter because it isn’t your choice. Tradition would have been followed regardless of what you or he wanted. Arthur would have been crowned, but in doing so he would have lost his ship, his crew, his freedom, and most likely his brother.”

“Why would he lose Peter? He can come live in the castle with us!” He would love having the kid around.

Lukas didn’t reply for a while, sitting there quietly until Alfred shifted nervously in his seat. He chose not to answer the question and settled for something else. “If you want a chance at love with Arthur, you will have to delve into his darkness...and you may not like what you see.” His voice was low but clear, watching the reaction Alfred gave him carefully. The younger boy looked just as confused, if not now scared, as before. “The Goddess asked for my aid in this journey but in the end, it is up to you and Arthur to create your own fates.”

Alfred knew what he wanted, he wanted Arthur to be his but he also wanted him to be happy. He promised himself he would make sure it happened no matter what.

“Here, keep this.” Lukas pulled the necklace from his neck, offering it over to his guest who took it with hesitant hands. “You know what it is already, but for clarity’s sake, it’s the symbol of The Goddess. Keep it on you and let it remind you of what you want your fate to be. May She bless whatever path you choose to follow.”

--- ♠ --- ♠ --- ♠ ---

The conversation with Lukas left Alfred anxious and paranoid. Surely if one person recognized him then someone else would eventually too. There was also the overwhelming thought that his identity would get to Arthur somehow as well, which was the last thing he wanted. He would tell him the truth eventually, he had to, but he wanted to do it on his own terms. He wanted Arthur to be able to forgive him.

These worries plagued his thoughts for the rest of the trip. Over two weeks later they landed on the coast of a green island, by a small, sea-side town. Their large ship looked painfully out of place parked at the humble dock, surrounded only by small boats used for fishing.

The crew members were allowed off the ship, but were instructed specifically to be ‘well-behaved’. Alfred found the command a little humorous considering they were pirates, after all, but no one had complained and even acted as if they had expected it. They respected their captain enough to listen.

“Gilbert,” Arthur voiced after having sought out the man on the deck of the ship. “You’re in charge of The Siren’s Arrow until I return. I trust you’ll keep everything in order.”

“Of course, Cap. Leave it to the awesome me!”

“Good. Alfred, you’re coming with me. Here, carry this.” The Brit handed the younger man a bag to sling around his back before he looked to his brother. Thankfully he had healed up quite nicely and looked alright to go out for the day. “Peter, are you ready?”

“Yeah!” The boy cheered excitedly, basically jumping in anticipation. “I love when we get to come back home.”

Arthur offered the smaller blonde a slight smile before motioning them to follow, stepping off the ship and into the town. They spent little time there, however, as Arthur continued onward. He guided them on a small, dirt path out of the little village and through some trees, leading out to fields and fields of long, green grass.

Alfred held his breath seeing it. It was like a scene from a painting, where the grass gently licked the blue skyline. It was like stepping into a rural portrait in one of the castle halls. But actually being here was so much better than seeing it on a canvas. Here he could smell the salty air and feel the grass dance against his fingertips as he reached out to it. It was a kind of calm that he had never experienced before and suddenly, he found himself staring out in front of him to Arthur and Peter.

The two brothers walked side by side, Peter eagerly skipping along beside Arthur who, every so often, gave the boy a content smile. It was picture perfect. It looked right seeing them together here. Like they were meant to be here and nowhere else.

It wasn’t until the pirate turned his head and gave him a confused look that Alfred noticed he had stopped walking completely, too enraptured by the sight of Arthur being so blissfully happy to even move.

“What’s wrong, dear?”

The words were genuine, their concern and worry piercing Alfred’s heart and pulling him in deeper. He didn’t want this to end, he realized. He wanted to see that peaceful look in Arthur’s eyes every day of his life. He wanted to see Arthur be this happy every waking moment.

“Alfred?” Peter had stopped now too, confused as he turned around just as his older brother had. “Are you okay?”

Something caught in his throat and kept the words from coming out, but he managed to nod and continue onward. He caught the troubled glance Arthur gave him at that moment but the Brit didn’t voice his concerns, instead he turned and continued their pace up the shallow hills.

Eventually, Alfred saw a small building come into view. Sitting atop a hill, only a short distance away from the calm waters was a modest home. It was hardly anything to be proud of, not looking even big enough for a small family. Still, he had to admit, it had a certain charm to it that drew him in.

Peter cheered when the house came into view and he ran the rest of the way to it, bounding through the door without knocking. Alfred was worried he might be busting in on a kind family, but Arthur surprisingly didn’t mind, so he guessed his fears were misplaced.

Catching up to the boy, Alfred glanced around and found they were the only people there. The inside of the building was just as humble and simple as the outside. The rooms were small and decorated with only simple, wooden furniture, the only pops of color being handmade items like pillows and blankets. It was the stark opposite of the castle back home filled with gold and riches.

Yet, this didn’t seem to bother Arthur or Peter at all. The two of them making themselves at home as if they’d lived there their entire lives.

Then, it hit him. Lukas had said they were headed to The Island of Britannia, where Arthur had been born and raised. Could this really be where the extravagant captain had come from?

“Here, let me see the bag.” The Brit pulled at the sack still hung around the prince’s shoulders, easily pulling it off and setting it on the kitchen table. The wooden piece of furniture nearly took up the entire room, making it appear even smaller than it already did. He dug through it and pulled out a small box of tea leaves and a pot, setting them on the table before moving to the stove to start a fire. “Alfred, will you take that bucket and get some water? There’s a pump just outside, around back.”

The prince dutifully nodded, willing to do anything to keep Arthur this happy. “No problem, I’ll be back in no time, Cap!” He grabbed the bucket from its spot and went back outside, rounding the building and easily finding the pump Arthur had mentioned.

The water pump wasn’t the only thing behind the home, however, and Alfred couldn’t help but stop and stare. Resting, neatly cleaned and well cared for were four graves lined in a row, each marked by a slab of stone. They were shadowed by a large tree, its branches leaning over them as if to shield them from the sun.

He gripped the bucket a little tighter in his hand as he looked them over. It wasn’t a feeling of fear, despite the fact they were utterly alone and no one would hear him if he did scream. No, the stones carved with the names of those past sent a wave of heartache over him. He had no idea why, he didn’t know these people or how they had died. For all he knew, they were awful people or they had lived long, fulfilling lives. But something in him told him neither of those things were true.

“That’s our family.”

Alfred jumped, turning to see Peter standing beside him. Despite what he said, he still held a joyful grin on his young face.

“This one here is our mum,” The boy walked over and patted one of the stones under his small hand. He gave the name marker a wide smile before motioning the others beside it. “And these are our big brothers! This one’s Alistair, he is the oldest.” He pointed at each grave as he named them off, not bothered at all by the heart-rending act. Did Peter not feel the sense of gloom Alfred was feeling? He looked as happy as ever. “And this is Owen, he’s the next oldest. And this one’s Liam, he’s the third!”

The young boy grinned over at Alfred as he introduced each passed family member. The realization that Arthur didn’t have just one brother but four shook him to his core. How had he never heard these names before? Why was Arthur’s truth not being told to him? Did his parents really not think it was important to tell him about his future husband’s family?

Peter didn’t notice the forlorn in Alfred’s eyes and continued anyway.

“Next is Arthur, but you know him already. He’s mum’s fourth son, and then there's me! I’m the last!” He pointed at himself excitedly. “Arthur takes care of me now, but we like to come back and visit our mum and our brothers sometimes, when we can.” He explained, as if it were that easy. As if this was the same as a small walk down the road to visit your favorite neighbor.

The ease in which Peter talked about his family broke Alfred’s heart to pieces. He wondered, how did it make Arthur feel?

“It’s really pretty here and I miss it a lot sometimes. But, Arthur says we can’t stay too long. There’s a lot of royal ships around, I think they look for him here because they know we always come back.” Peter sat on the ground in front of the graves, bringing his knees up and resting his arms on them. “I don’t really understand why they want him so bad. I mean, if he doesn’t want to marry some prince then he shouldn’t have to, right? They can’t make him marry someone. That’s not how love works. You’re supposed to love the person you marry, aren’t you?”

Alfred felt his hands shaking. He wondered how a child no older than twelve could really be sitting there in front of his dead family and be so content with the chaos that surrounded him. The chaos that his family was causing.

“Alfred? Aren’t you supposed to be getting some water? Arthur will get cranky if you take too long and he doesn’t get his tea.” Peter warned, snapping the prince out of his emotions long enough to walk over to the pump and set the bucket in front of it. He pushed it until the water started to leak out of it, filling the container with clear liquid.

“Are you coming inside?” Alfred forced himself to ask, his voice strained from the emotional burden he was feeling.

“Nah, not yet. I want to sit out here a little longer. But I’ll come in once the tea is done.” The boy smiled warmly.

Alfred only nodded and carried the bucket back towards the house.

#aph america #america #aph england #england #usuk #fanfic #fanfiction #usuk fanfic #pirate uk #pirate england #my writing #mine #are yall ready for the sad #cardverse #hetalia #aph

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alphawave-writes · 5 years ago

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Requiem for the Apostle Chapter 1: ‘Control’

Synopsis: Kim Kitsuragi wakes up with no memory of the case he was working on, involving a corpse with strange, ritualistic markings on it. To make matters worse, he now has voices talking to him in his head (24 to be exact), who seem keen to tell him everything about the world and the case, AND his old partner, Lars 'Lucky' Langley, has since gone missing. By retracing his footsteps with Lieutenant Harry du Bois by his side, will he be able to crack this case wide open and become more than partners?

Read it here or find it on AO3. You guys can also find me on twitter @alphawave13.

If you like my writing, please do support me by buying me a ko-fi, becoming a patron on Patreon or requesting a fanfic commission from me. Any little bit helps me out a lot during this pandemic to live and study.

ANCIENT REPTILIAN BRAIN — Well, isn't this a treat? You get to bathe in warm, primordial blackness. You got your wish. You found what you were looking for in the inky depths of despair. A nugget of truth. A sprig of madness. You've done it.

YOU — What…?

ANCIENT REPTILIAN BRAIN — You're scared, but that's alright, little man. Let the darkness wash over you. Don't think. Don't breathe. Let the memories wash away like rain on glass windows.

YOU — I'm not little, and I'm certainly not scared. What the fuck are you? What memories?

ANCIENT REPTILIAN BRAIN — Don't you see, little man? This ain't your world. No need to worry about anything anymore. Forget the rules, forget the pain and suffering. Make the darkness your friend, your lover. Hehe…I'm sure he'll treat you right.

LIMBIC SYSTEM — Your tired, old meat sack is but a whisper in the wind. It's thin, pale, weak. Past its prime. With the crimson dawn, rubies spill from your lips and stain your chest with all its rich, delicious spoils.

YOU — Wait, are you saying I'm bleeding?

ANCIENT REPTILIAN BRAIN — Concentrate on the pain, little man. Don't worry about the past. Let the memories all spill down into the drains, feeding the maggots and the insects.

YOU — Enough of this. You’re hiding something from me. Spill it.

ANCIENT REPTILIAN BRAIN — You sure?

YOU — I said, spill what you know, now!

ANCIENT REPTILIAN BRAIN — Oh no, Kimchi. I’m afraid I can’t do that. See, I don’t hold the answers, I just tell you the truths you know deep down. I know everything you refuse to remember. The horrible snippets of your life, the unpaid sacrifices, played and replayed until your body slumps dead in a ditch somewhere.

I remember all that you remember.

And baby, you’ve already forgotten.

YOU — Forgotten what?

ANCIENT REPTILIAN BRAIN — See? You don’t even know what you’ve forgot. You’ve forgotten what you forgot about.

You’ve already lost.

And you’ll keep losing.

Every loss, a cut. Every cut, a bit of you is taken away.

Piece by itty bitty piece.

Better remember quick, Kimchi. Don't wanna lose control, don't you?

ENDURANCE [Godly: Success] — Your heart pumps. Life filters through the tiny vessels of your body. A surge of energy surrounds you and soon your eyes open.

YOU — You jolt up and find yourself in a hospital bed. Your skin is sweaty and clammy and the world is blurry. Whether it's from your tears or something else, you have no idea.

PERCEPTION (SIGHT) [Trivial: Failure] — You can make out some drab blue walls and what looks like more empty beds, but that’s all. The world is undefined at the edges, colours and shapes merging together. You can barely make out the edges of objects.

LOGIC [Challenging: Success] — You only know it’s a hospital because there are fresh bandages near your throbbing head, and this is the only other place you can conceivably wake up in outside of your apartment.

COMPOSURE [Godly: Failure] — You’re not sure your vision is blurry if it’s because of the tears streaming down your face or not.

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT — It’s unbecoming. Sissy behavior. You really are a faggot.

YOU — I…what are you guys? Why can I hear these voices?

LOGIC [Impossible: Failure] — You don’t know where we come from, just that you can hear us now.

CONCEPTUALIZATION [Medium: Success] — You’d remember if you heard these voices before, but you don’t.

INLAND EMPIRE [Medium: Success] — Somehow you know that we will be here from now until death or eternity, and that you will never be able to get rid of us.

We are a part of you, and you are a part of us.

Forever.

YOU — No, wait. This can’t be right. I had thoughts; normal thoughts that didn’t involve random voices speaking in my head. I’m not a psychopath. I’m normal.

AUTHORITY — Hell yes we are.

YOU — No, not you. Just me. You guys don't belong in my head.

REACTION SPEED [Hard: Success] — Your mental debate is interrupted by someone opening a door just outside of your peripheral vision. You quickly snap your head at them.

PERCEPTION (SIGHT) [Trivial: Failure] — You still can’t see them even when they get right next to your bed. All you see are patches of green and white and the occasional black. Even from this distance, their face is a blur.

????? — The mysterious figure reaches for something next to you.

HALF-LIGHT [Easy: Success] — Your muscles tense in anticipation, and perhaps even fear.

????? — But the figure gently grabs something on the bedside table beside you and and places it gently into your prone hand. Something small but familiar.

INTERFACING [Trivial: Success] — Your precious glasses.

YOU — You chuck them on and are greeted to the sight of Lieutenant double-Yefreitor Harry du Bois. Your partner. Your confidante. Your best friend.

RHETORIC — How far you've fallen, Kim Kitsuragi, to consider this mess of a human being your closest friend.

HARRY DU BOIS — “Good to see you’re finally awake, Kim.”

EMPATHY [Challenging: Success] — Harry is relieved to see you’re OK. Not relieved enough to suggest you were in anything serious by the fact that he isn’t sobbing into your chest right now, but relieved enough that he felt the need to crouch down so he was at the same head level as you.

AUTHORITY — He might cry anyway if you let him. Don't make him.

PERCEPTION (SIGHT) [Trivial: Success] — Now that you have your glasses on, you can now see the detective properly. His hair is clean and combed, and both his face and clothes look neat, if tacky. The only thing marring his appearance (aside from said clothes) are his ugly mutton chops, and a dark bruise right under his left cheek bone.

YOU — You reach up to your face, wondering if you’re bruised yourself…

PAIN THRESHOLD [Legendary: Failure] — …and touch a very sensitive and fresh bruise, making you hiss in pain.

HARRY DU BOIS — “Nasty scrap you were in, eh?”

YOU — Scrap?

HARRY DU BOIS — He points to your forehead, as if reading your mind. "You got walloped by a bat. Quite nastily, too. Everybody's surprised you didn't get anything worse than a mild concussion."

INLAND EMPIRE [Impossible: Failure] — You don't remember getting into a fight…

COMPOSURE [Medium: Success] — …but you don't show it. It'll come to you. It should.

YOU — "How long have I been out?"

HARRY DU BOIS — "Five, maybe six hours?" He shrugs. "Not sure specifically."

EMPATHY [Medium: Success] — He hasn't been paying attention to the clock at all. You doubt he knows the time of day himself.

YOU — You stare out the window, seeing the sky flushed orange and purple and pink. A few clouds hang low in the sky, but otherwise the weather is relatively clear.

LOGIC [Trivial: Success] — It must be sunset, putting the current time at approximately 17:00-18:00 hours. If the detective's statement is correct, you were unconscious since 12:00 today.

CONCEPTUALIZATION [Formidable: Success] — The colours shift and swirl like blood floating in a pool of water.

YOU — Seriously, I don't know what you voices are, but can you shut up? I can barely think.

INLAND EMPIRE [Impossible: Failure] — No.

AUTHORITY [Impossible: Failure] — No.

COMPOSURE [Impossible: Failure] — Never.

YOU — Geez, thanks for the vote of confidence.

HARRY DU BOIS — He is looking at you curiously, his lucid eyes locking onto your gaze firmly and never letting go.

PERCEPTION [Medium: Success] — Harry hasn’t been drinking or doing drugs since your first case together. Everybody says it's a miracle he hasn't relapsed.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY [Challenging: Success] — Instead, he’s gotten addicted to two little things: work and you.

YOU — He may be addicted to work, but he's not addicted to me. That's ridiculous.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY [Easy: Success] — Oh, but it isn't, is it? You've gotten closer to him, and he's gotten closer to you. You can’t deny that. Don't you know you're one hell of a drug? He craves you, and you're putting him in withdrawal.

AUTHORITY [Formidable: Success] — You are both cops for the RCM, and partners. Relationships between colleagues is strictly forbidden, and you will not sully yourself by associating yourself with the Detective anymore than necessary.

HARRY DU BOIS — "Are you alright, Kim?"

EMPATHY [Challenging: Failure] — Is he talking about your injury?

LOGIC [Challenging: Failure] — Or perhaps he’s talking about the fact you haven

YOU — "I'm fine. My head doesn't hurt if that's what you're asking."

HARRY DU BOIS — "That's not what I'm concerned about. I'm asking about your partner."

LOGIC [Easy: Failure] — Partner?

INLAND EMPIRE [Easy: Failure] — What partner?

YOU — "I'm not sure I understand what you mean. Aren't you my partner?"

HARRY DU BOIS — "No. I mean…well, yes, I was, and I am again, but…"

He pauses for several seconds, his lips pressed tight.

EMPATHY [Easy: Success] — He knows something you don't, and he's worried about how you'll react.

ESPRIT DE CORPS — His suspicions aren't entirely unfounded.

HARRY DU BOIS — "Do you remember what happened earlier today? What lead to you getting walloped on the head?"

COMPOSURE [Formidable: Success] — You steel yourself, keeping your face carefully blank.

DRAMA [Legendary: Failure] — But Harry is an extraordinarily perceptive man, and he sees through the masks you wear, bixia.

HARRY DU BOIS — "Do you remember why you were at the abandoned factory at the Burnt Out Quarter?"

YOU — The Burnt Out Quarter? Abandoned factory?

HARRY DU BOIS — Harry frowns pensively. "What about your friend? Do you know what happened to him?"

YOU — "Eyes? What happened to him? Is he here?"

HARRY DU BOIS — Harry shakes his head microscopically. His brows furrow.

EMPATHY [Challenging: Success] — Your friend isn't here. He's never been here. Harry thought you knew where he was.

YOU — But I don't. I don't know what friend Harry is talking about.

HARRY DU BOIS — He slides something towards your hand. Another item from the bedside table.

INTERFACING [Trivial: Success] — You'd recognise your trusty notebook anywhere. Even by touch.

YOU — Flipping through the notebook, you see notes from your past cases. The last few Juvie cases you did, the Hanged Man case where you first met Harry, the extortion case, and many others you've solved over the last few months.

You flip over to the last couple of pages, detailing the case of a mysterious corpse found near the river, covered in strange, ritualistic cuts over their torso. These notes would make sense with context, but for the life of you, you can't remember a single thing about it. Not how the corpse looks like, not how you made the jump between the corpse and the Burnt Out Quarter, nor how it all connects to the abandoned factory.

LOGIC [Challenging: Success] —You must have been in a hurry to not write it down. That, or you were distracted.

HARRY DU BOIS — "Kim," Harry says slowly. "'What's the last thing you remember?"

YOU —You open your mouth, then close it.

COMPOSURE [Formidable: Success] —You swallow tightly, not making a sound.

YOU — "I remember…it was night. We'd just finished a case and you took me to a local bar to celebrate. And then you did your depressing karaoke song again and they kicked us out for upsetting the mood."

HARRY DU BOIS — "So you don't remember the new transfer?"

AUTHORITY — Is Harry trying to undermine you? He doesn't need to know you don't remember. Let him connect the dots himself.

YOU — "No," you admit. "I don't remember. What transfer? Did we get a new cop?"

HARRY DU BOIS — "I was worried about this," he chuckled. "Welcome to Amnesia town. Population: us fuckers."

YOU — "I don't have amnesia…I think."

HARRY DU BOIS — He smirks, making his ruddy cheeks ruddier. "I'd think I'd know the symptoms of amnesia, Lieutenant. Do you at least remember what happened? Any details?"

YOU — "I'm certain I'd remember if you got us both kicked out of a bar."

HARRY DU BOIS — "Humour me. Do you remember what happened?"

YOU — You roll your eyes at him, then close your eyelids.

AUTHORITY — We can speak for you in moments like this. Let me do it. I'll make sure the Lieutenant knows our memory is excellent.

YOU — Not a chance. I'm not letting some psychotic voices in my head take control of my body. I'll relay it, not you.

LOGIC [Medium: Success] — It's become a ritual of you and Harry to head to a bar to relax after a case. If you remember something specific, perhaps it will convince Harry to cease this line of questioning.

VISUAL CALCULUS [Medium: Success] — Harry gave you the choice of the bar that night, even though you've never drunk in front of him during these outings. You were tired, so you thought of the one place you could: La Mer. A quiet bar that is, shall we say, very welcoming of the homosexual underground.

PERCEPTION [Medium: Success] — Harry sees someone with a drink, thinks it looks cool, and gets it himself. He chugs it down, barely remembering to savor the taste. He promised himself only one, and you're going to make sure it stays one, and he's already drunk it in five seconds.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY [Medium: Success] — When Harry finds the karaoke machine, he's in his element. He croons his love song, seeded with all sorts of dirty innuendos, and you think for a moment that he might be capable of the things he sings about. When he dedicates the song to you, as he always does, he does it with a suggestive little wink.

COMPOSURE [Legendary: Failure] — Every time he dedicates a song to you, it's to make some part of your body blush. Every time he winks at you, he's trying to get a reaction out of you.

Unfortunately, he's succeeded on both accounts.

YOU — He did not get a reaction out of me. And anyways, his next song got us kicked out of the bar.

ENCYCLOPAEDIA [Medium: Success] — To be fair, Harry didn't seem to be aware the second song he was singing is attributed to Captain Novac, a government officer who led numerous campaigns against the alternative sexuality communities.

SHIVERS [Easy: Success] — The days of homosexuals being forced into hiding for their lives may be over, but the scars still remain.

VISUAL CALCULUS — Harry apologised, then offered to take you back to his apartment, as it was closer.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY [Medium: Failure] — But you refused. You got yourself a taxi, headed back home.

YOU — You open your eyes to find Harry observing you quietly, eyes half-lidded.

EMPATHY [Challenging: Failure] — Is he…is he falling asleep on us?

YOU — "Did my story bore you, Lieutenant?"

HARRY DU BOIS — "N-no, no. I'm just surprised you remembered all that. If that's the last thing you remember, then you don't remember that detective from your old Precinct transferring over the next morning?"

YOU — "Next morning?"

HARRY DU BOIS — "When he found out you transferred here, he wanted you to teach him. You begged Jean to let someone else do the job, but when he found out what the story is and how you both knew each other, he basically forced you both together, the asshole."

EMPATHY [Easy: Success] — There's the lightest hint of a smile on his face. If he was in a higher position and he felt cruel enough, he might have done the exact same thing Jean did.

AUTHORITY [Formidable: Success] — Jean's jealous you get to work with a sober Harry, but makes up for it by gossiping about you both to Judit.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY — More than once you've heard them call you and Harry born-again lovers.

YOU — "So who was I forced to partner up with?"

HARRY DU BOIS — He smirks. "Guy by the name of Lars Langley."

YOU — "Lars…"

COMPOSURE [Legendary: Failure] — LANGLEY?!

AUTHORITY [Formidable: Failure] — That creep followed you into Precinct 41?!

HARRY DU BOIS — "You made that exact same face the first time you were told," he smirks.

LOGIC [Trivial: Success] — He's talking about that pained, constipated look in your eyes.

CONCEPTUALIZATION [Formidable: Success] — Like a fish in a pet shop, knowing and unknowing, trapped in a cage.

YOU — "I had to babysit Lucky?" You shake your head. "Sometimes I wish that guy got lost."

HARRY DU BOIS — "Funny you should mention that, because uhh…well, he's gone."

YOU — "What do you mean?"

HARRY DU BOIS — "I get a call from you directly to my place 08:00 in the morning. Don't know why you were up so early, but I assumed it must have been for a case. By the time I got patched through, you've already hung up on me. When I head to Precinct 41, Jules tells me you called the Precinct. I put 1 and 1 together, arranged a search party, and that's how we found you in the Burnt Out Quarter, unconscious and bleeding on the floor of the abandoned factory."

EMPATHY [Legendary: Failure] — There's something else in his story. A detail he chose to omit. But what?

LOGIC [Legendary: Failure] — It couldn't be anything important.

HARRY DU BOIS — "We searched all over, but we couldn't find your partner. We know he was with you though, according to what you told Jules. We think whoever bashed your head in kidnapped Lucky."

REACTION SPEED [Formidable: Success] — There's a twitch in his lips. A microscopic frown that plays on his lips.

LOGIC [Legendary: Success] — You know what the Lieutenant is thinking. Best case scenario: Lucky got kidnapped. Worst case scenario: Lucky got kidnapped and killed.

YOU — And I have no way of knowing who, or how, or why.

HARRY DU BOIS — He stands up slowly, brushing his disco pants off. He moves slowly, hesitantly, as if he feels like he should leave but he doesn't want to.

VOLITION [Medium: Failure] — You don't want him to either.

YOU — "So I guess the case is still on?"

HARRY DU BOIS — He nods. "Jean wanted me to check your condition. Thought that if you woke up and punched somebody, I could take the blow best."

YOU — "So he's afraid of getting punched by me?"

HARRY DU BOIS — "Are you kidding? You'd give him a run for his lunch money if you tried. Plus, I think he was hoping you'd punch me."

YOU — The faintest of smiles creeps up your face. "It'd knock some sense into you."

HARRY DU BOIS — He leans his head forward. An open target. "Give it a try. It might work."

YOU — If anyone needs some sense knocked into them, it's me for having these weird voices in my head.

You raise your fist up, clenched tight into a ball, and thrust it towards Harry's exposed head.

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT [Formidable: Failure] — But it's no more than a lovetap. Like a teddy bear threw a punch.

HARRY DU BOIS — "Does this mean you need to stay here any longer?"

YOU — "Fuck no. I'm fine, really, Detective. This is my case, and I'll see it to the end."

AUTHORITY — Show him who's boss. Show him you mean business.

YOU — You take your glasses off and place them back on the bedside table beside you. Then, you tug at the bandages wrapped around your head in one swift motion, letting it cascade down like blood-stained ribbons into your lap. They spool down, spiraling, spiraling, until the bandages are all neatly in your lap.

COMPOSURE [Trivial: Success] — Harry thought that was cool.

EMPATHY [Trivial: Success] — Harry likes that.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY [Trivial: Success] — Harry more than likes that. You might have turned on his light switch right there.

YOU — You put your glasses back on quickly and hop out of the bed, bandages still in your hands. Harry takes it from you—

REACTION SPEED [Heroic: Success] — He shivers slightly when his fingers grazes yours—

HARRY DU BOIS — And he scrunches it all up and throws it at the nearest bin. It lands square in the middle. A perfect shot.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY — You like that.

YOU — The two of you slowly walk out of the hospital ward and down to the parking lot where, to your relief, your Coupris Kineema sits, untouched and undamaged.

HARRY DU BOIS — "You alright to drive?"

YOU — "I should be fine."

PAIN THRESHOLD [Medium: Success] — Your head still feels a little sore to the touch but it's no longer bleeding, and you didn't feel dizzy at all keeping up with Harry's brisk walking pace. You're good to go.

HARRY DU BOIS — "So…because Lucky is gone, and you seem to be all good to go—"

YOU — "—I'll need a replacement partner?"

HARRY DU BOIS —He smiles warmly. "I'm just saying, I just finished up my case earlier today before coming over here, and I'm offering my services. It'll be like the good old times of last week."

EMPATHY [Trivial: Success] — He wants to monitor your condition just in case your head injury is worse than it looks. He also likes spending time with you.

YOU — You smile. "Sure."

HARRY DU BOIS — "Wait, really?"

LOGIC [Trivial: Failure] — Wait, really?

YOU — "I might have forgotten the case, yes. I might not remember anything in the last week or so. But I've had to deal with you while you had a midlife crisis about your forgotten identity. Now you'll have to deal with mine."

HARRY DU BOIS — "Is this extortion?"

EMPATHY [Trivial: Success] — The smile on this face suggests he's playing along.

YOU — "Let's call it returning the favour." You adjust the glasses on your face. "Tomorrow morning we'll meet at Precinct 41 and discuss our next step. We might be able to retrace our steps from there."

HARRY DU BOIS — "The corpse you were investigating might still be in the Morgue. We can take a look there."

YOU — "Perfect." You head for your beloved Coupris Kineema and pause by the door. "I'll see you tomorrow, detective."

HARRY DU BOIS — Harry smiles one of his secret smiles. "See you tomorrow, Kim. And…good to see you're alright. I was worried."

DRAMA [Easy: Success] — It is an understatement. He was seriously worried and he is seriously glad to see you are well and good, bixia.

LOGIC [Easy: Success] — You could tell him about us, the voices in your head. It’s surely not the same thing as what he claims to have, but he’d understand…wouldn’t he?

VOLITION — We can’t give him the satisfaction. He already thinks we’re weak enough as it is. We don’t need to make him even more concerned.

YOU — You shake your head, chuckling softly. "Don't be," you say. "I'm made from hard stuff."

With that cool line under your belt, you slip yourself into the driver's seat of the Kineema, let the engine purr underneath you, and drive off into the streets.

—

KIM'S APARTMENT — It's nightfall by the time you enter your apartment. You flicker on the lights, lock the door behind you, and let its humble atmosphere overwhelm you.

PERCEPTION (Sight) [Easy: Success] — The furniture is sparse, but the place is far from lifeless. There is a huge collection of books near a comfy couch and an even comfier reading chair. The walls are a light cream colour that resembles eggshells, or bird poop. Behind the closed door to your bedroom are the softest orange bedsheets settled amongst fluffy light-green pillows.

YOU — You head to the fridge and scrounge up the quickest dinner you can muster: a simple omelette, and eat it quickly but politely, making sure to chew with your mouth closed, never lingering on a particular flavour tone for too long.

INLAND EMPIRE — A stern older woman looks down at all the young children before her, all different races and creeds of life before coming into her care. She pulls a girl by the top of her ears for chewing too loudly. All the other children look down and continue eating, trying not to swallow too loud. It hurts, but the children would rather endure her punishment compared to the punishments of her husband.

YOU — You finish up your dinner quickly, wash it and dry it in the sink. You head for the balcony, hands already reaching for the chestnut-scented cigarettes you always keep on hand. You take the cigarette up to your lips, flicking the light of your lighter on.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY — Oh yeah, that's the good stuff, isn't it? The sweet, sweet nicotine. Your daily bit of sin. The one addiction you will give yourself.

AUTHORITY — But we all know your true addiction is to control. You like the idea of controlling when and where you can take your daily cigarette. You crave the idea of dominating this one bit of weakness, of curbing it to a small routine that you control. You can quit any time you want, but you don't. Harry's addicted to physical things. You're addicted to concepts.

YOU — You take a slow drag from your cigarette, the grey plumes rising up to the clouds, taking away all the sadness and bitterness of Revachol and Elysium and turning it all into ash. With every puff, you feel your mind get a bit clearer, like whatever was congesting your head is now disappearing. You've felt this before, but it feels more extreme now. Like your senses are heightened.

CONCEPTUALIZATION [Impossible: Success] — Colours you couldn't see before shimmer in front of you. The night and the day join as one in holy matrimony.

PERCEPTION [Impossible: Success] — The tiniest speck in one of the apartment buildings. A man, pressed against the curtains, making love to another, bigger man, their silhouettes obscuring their depraved act from all but the peepers. Well, that, and the most observant people, such as yourself.

INLAND EMPIRE [Impossible: Success] — You see a clear picture of Harry in your mind's eye, impossibly detailed right down to the leather shoes. He gives you that tired smile, the one when he's had enough, when he knows he has to try something stupid, and then he grabs your face and kisses you square on the lips.

YOU — In the real world, you take another slow drag.

In Kim's World, you force his lips away, only so you can kiss him properly yourself. Harry submits pitifully, weakly, beautifully.

INLAND EMPIRE [Impossible: Failure] — Before your imaginary counterpart might slide Harry's mouth open, let their tongue plunge deep into Harold's throat and give you an idea of how Harry might taste like without booze and drugs on his breath, the vision vanishes, and the dark skyline of Revachol opens up for you once more.

LOGIC [Challenging: Success] — The nicotine's initial kick has worn off. The world is slowly returning to normal, as are your senses.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY — You can't deny it. You got a bit excited from that image. Of Harry kissing you so tenderly. So desperately.

YOU — Perhaps…but nothing will ever happen between us.

AUTHORITY [Medium: Success] — Of course you'll never let Harry get that close. You are partners. Members of the RCM. Fraternising with your half-brother like that is incestuous and wrong.

VOLITION [Medium: Success] — Even if you weren't, you won't let yourself be so weak as to let Harry kiss you first. He needs to let you know you're in charge. You're the one that calls the shots in that relationship.

HALF LIGHT [Medium: Success] — There'll be less pain that way.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY [Medium: Success] — But you do want him. You've never fantasised so much about kissing one man before in all your life.

AUTHORITY [Medium: Success] — You only allow yourself one addiction. What will it be? The cigarette, or Harry?

SHIVERS [Heroic: Success] — Both will lead to an early grave.

YOU — One final drag of the cigarette, one final plume, before you butt it out into the smoking tray. You take a cold shower, dry yourself off, and then throw yourself at the bed, curling up under the covers, naked like the day you were born.

As you close your eyes, you wonder for a minute what would happen if you were given that choice. A cigarette a day, or Harry from now until eternity, sober and kind and at the peak of his prime.

You think of the rigidity of your life structure. How Harry has disrupted it from your very first meeting. You think of the cigarette, always the same, never better or worse, a stark comparison to Harry, who has his fair share of good days and bad days in the short time you've worked together. You think of Harry's horrible penchant for karaoke, and his terrible taste in clothes, and the way his sweat stinks of booze, even when he hasn't been drinking.

You want to say you'd prefer the cigarette.

VOLITION [Impossible: Failure] — But you know, deep down, that if you are given that choice, you will always choose Harry.

#disco elysium #harry du bois #harrier du bois #kim kitsuragi #This fic is SFW #but depending on how I feel it might bump up if you catch my drift #I had fun writing in the games style #Had to do a crash code in coding to form some shortcuts and streamline the writing proces #BTW other DE fanfic authors GET AUTOHOTKEY it helps out SO MUCH!#Especially for a fic like this

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amintyworld · 5 years ago

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LITTOH Chapter 2: On the Rooftop

A/N: I was planning on posting this fic earlier this week, but then school and life got on the way and now it’s Sunday. This is the longest fanfic I’ve EVER written, tallying on a google doc about 8 pages. I hope all of you are as excited for this series as I am. Your author, Minty.

Summary: After a small bit of hope sparks some confusing feelings, Virgil and Roman try to go back to fighting their own battles.

TW: Cancer mention, death mention, vomiting, loss of consciousness, parasite mention, logicality implied. (let me know if I missed any!)

LITTOH Masterlist

Virgil groaned, shifting, as the morning light eased him awake. Did he sleep through the night?! Jeez, these meds are strong. He felt a warm body pressed against his.

Roman…?

He slowly opened his eyes. He wouldn’t admit it, but the warmth was surprisingly comforting. He looked around the empty, quiet room and noticed the closed door. He didn’t remember closing it. He heard a content sigh from behind him. He looked down to notice an arm wrapped around him, and his face flushed red in seconds. He noticed his face nuzzled close, oh god they were so close…

He slowly crept out of the bed, as not to wake him. He needed to get out of here. He wanted nothing more than to hide away in his room. Virgil didn’t like the tightness in his chest, or the overwhelming heat on his face that no amount of foundation could hide.

As he slowly walked to the door, his stomach churned. His eyes widened. No..no, no, no, no!

Virgil quickly slapped a hand over his mouth, desperately trying to stop the inevitable. The room spun as he tried to stay upright.

Don’t fall, please no…

Roman stirred, rubbing his eyes. “Virgil…?”

Virgil looked pale and sickly, and...scared? He dashed out the door, ripping his black medical mask off as he puked into a nearby trash can. With this, Roman was awake. He threw off the covers, rushing to Virgil’s side. Virgil was shivering. Roman rubbed his back soothingly. He didn’t know what to do, what to say. He bit his cheek, concerned, looking round for nurses.

“It’s okay, Virgil.” Roman said. “It’s...it’s going to be okay.”

Nurses rushed over from the front desk of the ward, pushing Roman back. “Breathe, Virgil. Deep breaths, okay?” A nurse with the tag ‘Patton’ said. Virgil’s face was so pale, so deathly pale, and his chest struggled to heave in and out. Another nurse rushed to get a wheelchair, scooping Virgil up, god he looked so weak…

Roman was uneasy, mind filled with thoughts and words that somehow couldn’t leave his mind. He stood there. It was strange how one moment, life can be normal, smiles, and laughter. Then, well…

Why was he so upset? He didn’t even know him. He didn’t-

Yet the sinking feeling in his stomach spoke the truth.

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

Virgil felt weak and dizzy, and he felt the familiar press of the warm plastic, and the tight strap that wrapped around his head. The voice was firm, but gentle. “Breathe, Virgil.”

It was distant.

The airborne medicine flew into his lungs as he breathed shakingly. His world slowly came back into focus, the mask becoming fogged. Logan gave a small smile.

“There we are.” He felt his forehead. “Just keep breathing.”

Logan was the head doctor of Urgent Care Ward. He was a resident doctor of the hospital, Patton his close friend since highschool. “Patton, he needs an IV and a nose breathing tube, his vitals are dropping.”

Patton gave a sharp nod, rushing out the door, a determined look on his face.

Logan pressed the cold metal of his stethoscope to his chest, sending a shiver down his spine. His eyes were fixed, focused.

“Deep breath, okay?”

Confusion flashed across the doctor’s face. He pushed up his glasses, mumbling to himself, thinking. “That dose should’ve worked, I don’t…” He looked toward Virgil, speaking calmly. “We should be getting your X-Ray results soon, they should clear things up.”

Patton walked in, hooking up the IV quickly, hydrating the weakened patient. He stroked his hair comfortingly, and Virgil offered a weak smile in return. He slowly turned the medicine flow off and carefully removed the mask.

Virgil's breathing had become more even, but he was still really tired. It was terrifying- panic and puke, breathing slipping from his grasp all too quickly. The nose tubes were uncomfortable, and very familiar. Painfully familiar.

Patton smiled down at him as Logan headed for the door swiftly, other matters to attend to. "How ya doing, kiddo?"

"F-fine…" Virgil said shakily, taking a deep breath of the oxygen before speaking again. "Just...tired…"

"Of course, kiddo." Patton could sense the panic in Virgil, and pushed some stray bangs out of his face. "You should rest, I'll check on you in a little while, okay?"

Virgil nodded, looking up at the white ceiling. The same white ceiling he had looked at for days, listening to his music and blocking out the world.

He couldn't help but have his thoughts wonder to Roman. He wished he was here, to hum his melodies…

Slow down, Virgil. You've only known him for like, a day. Now suddenly he's all you think about?!

His mind was pulled out of the clouds as he heard Patton talking to someone. He knew he shouldn't snoop, but honestly, he didn't really have a choice. Their words were loud enough to hear as they talked outside of his room.

"So...you seem pretty tired from the night shift, Lo. You wanna get a coffee on break?" His voice was nervous, yet full of hope.

"I probably will, Patton. Thank you for the suggestion." Logan said, his voice unwavering, always focused.

Logan's shoes made a loud sound on the floor as he walked off. He heard Patton's discontent sigh.

"Oh, Logan…" Patton said, a bit of sadness in his voice. "You really can't take a hint, can you?"

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

Roman sat in the waiting room, nervous. He'd been on his first round of chemo, and it was finally time to see if it worked.

Or worse, if it didn't.

He fidgeted, the answer weighing on his mind. They'd gotten the diagnosis early, when during one of his rehearsals at his local theater for his debut, he couldn't get enough air in to sing, and began coughing so badly his director demanded him to get a check up.

Thank god she did.

His twin brother, Remus, rushed into the room. At everyone's sudden glance, his face flushed as he walked over to his younger brother. Roman smirked. "That's one way to enter a room, Rem."

Remus smiled, but quickly faded with worry. "Any news yet?"

"Nope."

"Damn, they're really making us wait today. How long does it take to look at an x-ray?!"

"Pretty long, apparently."

Remus sat. He would wait until the end of time. He was not leaving his brother. Not today, and especially not now.

He can't really explain his emotions when Roman had told him about the call. It was almost like time itself stopped, and the only thing he could hear was his own heartbeat thumping in his ears. Roman choked on his words halfway through, beginning to cry.

But, Remus knew what he was saying. He knew and yet he didn't want to know. He didn't want to believe it.

As he sat for a few moments, he noticed the chair next to him wobble. Roman's whole body was shaking slightly. He grabbed Roman's hand to steady him.

"Roman, you're shaking."

Roman just looked out of the window, quiet.

"Roman, talk to me." His voice was laced with concern. Where was that smiling, singing theater kid he used to know?

Roman's voice was quiet. "S-sorry, I'm just a little tired."

"Roman Sanders?"

Both pairs of eyes darted to the doctor standing by the door. Roman stood up. "Yes?"

The doctor gestured inside. "Come inside. We have a few things to go over."

Roman gripped Remus's hand as they walked. Remus remembered when Roman was so scared of heights, and he was being dragged along on his first roller coaster.

Roman was usually so tough, fighting dragons in their backyard and saving princes, but for the first time, Roman Sanders was really... scared.

Remus smiled at his brother. "Don't worry. I'll be right here."

"You promise?"

"I promise."

They sat in two chairs next to each other. The doctor got out a chart. "I am Doctor Joan, I'll be your primary team doctor." He shook both of their hands firmly.

Roman gripped Remus's hand tighter.

He cleared his throat before pulling out two X-Rays. Both were centered on his lungs. "As you can see here, this is your tumor when you were admitted- slightly smaller than a golf ball. Normal for stage three." He said, explaining the first X-Ray. Then he pulled out the second.

Both twins had their eyes glued to the doctor.

"After a week of chemo, it appears your tumor has grown by fifty percent, making you now at stage four. It's taken control of about a quarter of your left lung, and is still growing."

Roman had no words. He didn't move. He didn't speak. The fear of death loomed over him, and it seemed almost as if at any moment, it would all be over.

He looked at the ground. He couldn't look at the doctor. He couldn't look at his brother.

What he would give to be laughing and smiling with Virgil again. What he would give to see him right now.

Though, he didn't think Virgil wanted to see him. Maybe he didn't even like him.

Remus's mind whirred. No. No, he wasn't just going to give up so easily. He's seen his brother fight off monsters and warlocks and witches. He could beat this. He HAD to beat this. He won't let his brother go, not without a fight.

Remus looked at the doctor. "What can we do?"

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

Roman was walking around the Ward when he spotted the door to Virgil’s room ajar. He yawned, the morning had sapped nearly all his energy out of him. He peeked his head in, worried for Virgil’s state from the episode this morning. Virgil was curled up, blue hospital scrubs against a white bed. He murmured in his sleep, pulling himself closer for warmth. Roman hated the way his face felt hot as a small breeze blew Virgil’s purple hair in the wind.

Wait…

What was he doing here? He quickly took a step back. The nurse will think he’s insane. Who the heck stares at someone sleeping?! He knew he only wanted to check to see how Virgil was doing, maybe even talk, but…

Roman! Snap out of it! You’re acting like a giddy, lovesick, teenager!

He shouldn’t be here. Why was he here? He turned to leave, wanting to make a mad dash for the door, but knowing it would wake him. STUPID! Why did he think it was a good idea to just stare into Virgil’s room when he’s freaking asleep like a stalker-

“Roman..?”

He froze. He hoped more than ever right then, that Virgil had a sleep talking habit.

“Roman, is that you?” Virgil rubbed his eyes, turning on a bedside light.

Roman slowly turned. “H-hey, Virge…” He said nervously.

“Roman, what are you doing in here?” Virgil asked. He yawned, energetic for the morning - er, afternoon by now.

“I...I was just checking up on you. I was really worried from this morning-”

Worried?

“-And I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to be such a creep, I’ll go now-!” Roman’s face was flushed pink as he turned to leave.

“Wait!”

Roman stopped dead in his tracks. Either he was going to be yelled at by his crush for staring while he slept, or he was going to be screamed at by his crush for his pathetic explanation. He closed his eyes tight, not wanting to see Virgil’s face, even though his back was to him. He hated him, he just knew it-

“I don’t want you to go.”

“W-what…?” Roman asked.

“Well...y-yeah…” Virgil was blushing now. “I haven’t seen you all day, and I just wanted to talk.”

Roman was bright red, trying to keep his cool. “Y-yeah...I...I’d like that.”

---------

The wind blew their hair in all directions as they opened the door to the roof. Virgil smiled. The wind was almost comforting to him, and he started to walk toward the edge, sitting down and looking at the skyline as the sun lowered into the buildings, the sky turning a pale yellow and pink.

"What are we doing up here?" Roman asked, looking around. "I didn't even know we were allowed up here."

"We aren't usually, but I know a guy." Virgil bit his lip, still a but nervous. "Sit, Princey." Virgil patted the space next to him. Roman was hesitant, but slowly sat down next to him.

The wind slowed as the sun began to melt into the buildings, it's bright hue emerging between the small spaces between the skyscrapers. Virgil breathed deeply, his nose tube gone, as he let the wind whip his hair. He paused a moment before breaking the silence. "This is my favorite place in the hospital. I...I come up here when I just need, well… an escape."

Roman was quiet, this events of his day weighing on his mind. "I was worried about you, you know."

Virgil sighed. "I...I know." He bit his tongue.

You shouldn't have to.

Roman looked at Virgil, his face as mix of concern, as if thinking deeply about something. He looked like he wanted to say something, yet his mouth remained shut.

"Are...are you okay?"

Virgil tensed. He shut his eyes, trying not to think about him, god why was he thinking about HIM?! He slowly opened his eyes, forcing a smile. "I'm fine, Princey. Just...a lot on my mind, you know."

"Do you..wanna talk about it?" Virgil's eyes screwed shut again. Roman quickly replied, sensing the tension. "Y-you don't have t-to-!"

“N-no…” Virgil said, his voice shaking. “It’s okay.” His hand inched towards Roman’s without him realizing it, his heart ached for some kind of comfort. “I...that is, the reason f-for this morning…”

“Yes..?”

“I...I have a parasite.” Virgil said, looking away from Roman, below, at the thousands of people coming and going, always in a hurry. “It’s not contagious, but the doctors are running out of options. They say I may not have long to live.”

“O-oh.” Roman said. “W-well, if anyone knows what that’s like, it would be me.”

Virgil’s ears perked up, and he turned to face him. “How so?”

“I..u-um…” Roman Prince has never been this nervous in his life. He didn’t know how Virgil would react, after all, he barely knew him, yet he felt like he’d known him forever. It was a strange feeling to him. Would Virgil pity him? Would him telling Virgil ruin the way Virgil sees him?

Virgil’s hand quickly, subconsiously, grabbed Roman’s for comfort. “Hey, it’s okay. Whatever it is, it’s okay. Everything is okay.”

“L-lung cancer. Stage four. The tumor’s been growing rapidly.” Roman sighed. “I don’t know how much time I have left. It could be tommorrow, or a month from now.”

Stunned silence passed between the two.

“Well, if that’s the case Princey, let’s make today count.” Virgil smiled, making Roman’s heart skip a beat.

Virgil leaned close to Roman, their hands intertwined, as the stars sparkled in the night sky, the city below them flickering to life. Virgil’s warmth flooded his body as they sat there, the future scary, but sometimes, having someone to hold onto when your world is crumbling to the ground, can make it a little less freightening.

#LITTOH #sanders sides #sander sdes #sanders sides fic #sanders sides au #prinxiety #logicality #familial creativtwins

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niceprophecies · 6 years ago

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“[…]the characters who get much more of the spotlight are unarguably the most adored by Good Omens fans—the demon Crowley (played to hissing, sashaying perfection by David Tennant) and his angel co-conspirator Aziraphale (an utterly cherubic Michael Sheen). Having said that, the execution of the duo’s story was something of a shock for a fan like me, who will freely admit to shipping the heck out of the pair for ages, and even reading and writing fanfic to that end. A bunch of it. And also to dressing up as Crowley and Aziraphale for Halloween with my partner. It’s well known that Crowley/Aziraphale shippers are a sizable contingent of the Good Omens fandom, to the point where both Gaiman and Pratchett had made note that they were aware of it, with Gaiman recently noting that fanfiction and its ilk is also Making Stuff Up, which is the same as all writing—though they did say that making the duo a couple was not their intent when they wrote the book.

Which is fascinating because this miniseries is emphatically a love story.

I know, I know: They say they’re friends, what’s wrong with friendship, you friend-hating fiend. But there are endless stories dedicated to platonic friendships between two male friends. (Or male-seeming in this case, as they are truly an angel and a demon, which then ultimately begs the question of whether conventional sexuality or gender should even apply for the two of them, and it likely shouldn’t, but that’s a fairly long digression…) While modern fiction seems to have a hard time understanding that it’s possible for men and women to “just be very good friends”, the precise opposite can be said for queer people. We’re always presumed to be “just very good friends” and nothing besides. Having said that, it is entirely possible for people of the same (or similar) gender to go from being true best friends to being in a relationship of some sort. It is also possible to say “you’re my best friend” and actually mean “I love you” or even “I’m in love with you.”

Exhibit A, when Crowley is making his way to Aziraphale’s flaming bookshop (he doesn’t know about the fire yet), the Bentley is playing Queen’s “You’re My Best Friend”—which is not an ode to frienship in general, but in fact a love song written by Queen’s bassist for his wife. Immediately thereafter, Crowley arrives and opens the doors to the bookshop, and being unable find the angel, promptly has a complete breakdown over the what he assumes to be Aziraphale’s death. It’s not the shock or disbelief over losing a friend that we can see in Crowley’s face, but utter desolation. “Somebody killed my best friend!” he screams, slumped on the floor in anguish. (Again, I remind you, John Deacon’s friend in the song that served as the cue for this whole scene was his spouse.) Crowley then immediately goes to a pub to get trashed, forgetting his plans to escape the Earth before the true Final Countdown because he’s just lost the most important person in all of creation to him… wait sorry, that’s Creation with a capital ‘C’.

The point is (as Crowley would say, drunkenly, before beginning a long-winded aside about dolphins), the entirety of the Good Omens miniseries unfolds with all the beats you’d expect of a romantic comedy/epic, and that is very much the hinge on which its enjoyability swings. It’s not just the song selection—“Somebody to Love” starts playing when Crowley exits the bookshop, believing that he’s lost Aziraphale; violins swell when the demon reveals to the angel that he has saved his beloved books from a bombing during the London Blitz in 1941—but the entirety of the plot. These alterations to the story seem to reach some sort of zenith during the deep dive into Crowley and Azirapahle’s “Arrangement” in episode three. The opening half hour of the episode works hard to create greater context for their six-thousand-year partnership, tracking them through the ages, and finally closes out in 1967 with the angel handing over a thermos of holy water to his dear friend, saying sadly “You go too fast for me, Crowley.”

He’s talking about Crowley’s driving. But of course he isn’t, because there is no context on this earth in which the words “you go too fast for me” are about being in a car, friends.

This is the part where the usual suspects roll their eyes because culture has endlessly enforced the idea that queerness is conditional and that “slash goggles” (i.e. viewing not-canonically-comfirmed characters as queer) should be derided and that the only person who should get a say in the sexuality of characters is the author—unless the author flat-out says their characters are queer, in which case, they should have made it more obvious if they expected anyone to believe that.

But this pairing is pretty damned (sorry, blessedly) obvious. It’s obvious in the way the Aziraphale bats his eyelashes at Crowley and grumps about the fact that his pristine old jacket now has paint on it, then smiles beatifically when the demon vanishes the stain by blowing gently on his shoulder—both of them knowing full well that Aziraphale can remove the stain himself with angelic will. It’s obvious in how angry Crowley gets when Aziraphale claims he’s “nice”, and Crowley shoves him up against a wall in a standard intimidation tactic that the angel barely registers as fury. It’s obvious in the way that Crowley sits across Aziraphale with a drink every time they’re out, and simply watches the angel indulge in rich foods. It’s right there even at the start, when the Angel of the Eastern Gate shelters the Serpent of Eden from the world’s very first rainstorm with one of his wings, through they both have a perfectly functional set to themselves.

We’re at a point in time where more and more writers and creators are perfectly aware that fans will see characters as queer whether they are written explicitly that way or not. Being aware of this—and not having anything against queer people—many of them say something to the tune of “you can view this relationship however you like, we’re cool with that”. It’s very nice. To some extent, it’s even incredibly helpful, because being okay with the queering of characters goes a long way in telling homophobic people that their vitriol toward queerness isn’t welcome. But when a huge swath of a fandom is queer, and certain characters are commonly rendered as queer to most of those fans, and then we are given a version of the story in which interpreting those characters as just great buddies is honestly taxing to one’s logical faculties… well, it’s hard not to wonder at what point the “straight” view of said characters is likely destined to become a minority interpretation one day.

Which is precisely where I found myself while watching Good Omens.

This clarity kept turning up and tuning in, even in the terms of their dear Arrangement; after Crowley suggests that they start doing work on each other’s behalves during a run-in in the 6th century, another meeting at The Globe in Shakespeare’s day sees Crowley bringing it up again, only to have Aziraphale try and shoot the idea down. “We’ve done it before… dozens of times now,” the demon wheedles, and he might as well be saying “But we’ve made out a lot lately, I think it’s time to accept that you like hanging out with me.” To make up for sending Aziraphale to Edinburgh, he agrees to infernally intervene to ensure that the Bard’s latest play (Hamlet) is a rousing success—and again, the angel offers up that ethereal smile and Crowley takes it as his compensation, as though it’s all he ever wanted in the world.

People may cry, stop shoving your sexuality in other people’s faces! (They always do, like a reliable clock striking the hour with a very irritating chime that you can’t seem to turn off.) But that’s hardly the point, is it? Because I didn’t say anything about sex, I said they were in love. And I’m having a very hard time finding any evidence to the contrary.

Critics and most of the internet have noticed how romantic the show is. The actors did as well, and talked endlessly of it in interviews. The series gives us longing glances and a messy breakup and drunken mourning and a canonical bodyswap (the stuff of fanfic dreams, my lovelies) where Aziraphale strips Crowley’s body down to its undergarments for the purpose of taunting Hell. At the point when everything threatens to blow up in their faces, Crowley asks—sorry no, he begs—Aziraphale to run away with him. And then when it’s all over, he invites the angel to spend the night at his place, and Aziraphale’s response is “I don’t think my side would like that” which is basically divine-speak for “I came out to my family and they’re not cool with it, so I’m not sure this is gonna work.” This has all the markings of the sort of Shakespeare play that Crowley appreciates: the funny ones where no one dies. And it ends on our couple having a lovely lunch in a fancy locale while a swoony love standard plays on in the background.

It’s odd to think that the fact that it took over two decades to produce a Good Omens series is part of the reason why the romantic aspect seems more unabashed than ever; in the book, plenty of people think Aziraphale is gay and that the angel and demon are a couple, but it’s done with that wink and nudge that was common around the turn of the century. These days, teasing at the idea that your core duo might seem a little gay to onlookers doesn’t constitute a ready joke because there’s nothing particularly funny about that suggestion when queer folks are fighting so hard to be seen and represented. And the lack of those winky moments, the way the story simply takes their codependency as a sweet given, makes Aziraphale and Crowley read even more genuinely as a pair. But if you had told me this was the version of Good Omens that I’d see in 2019, I’d have never believed a word. I was ready for extra background, more story, different jokes, but not this. Not confirmation that there are other angels and demons exchanging information and working together in Crowley and Aziraphale’s reality, but Heaven and Hell have a specific problem with their partnership because they clearly love each other too much.

And sure, you can read the story differently. You can choose to ignore those cues and enjoy a story about two very good friends who help to avert the apocalypse. I’m sure for some, that’s a more enjoyable take. But I’m more curious about whether or not, in twenty or thirty years time, people will think of the Good Omens series as anything but the story of an angel and a demon who spent six millennia figuring out that they should probably buy that cottage on the South Downs together.”

#good omens #review #spoilers #love this

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themissingmarvel · 5 years ago

Text

The Witness

(This is just my own writing. It’s not a fanfic or anything. It’s just something I’m working on. I’ll keep the rest of my sideblog, but if this tickles your fancy at all, or whatever, let me know. Otherwise I’ll just be posting the link to the Tumblr for my assorted writing)

It always takes me a moment to remember I am alone. The sensation is jarring because I am never alone, but simply isolated. I hear words and voices, dripping down like rain onto the pages before me, my pen flowing without my guidance. It dances through the fibers and creases of the sheets bound in leather, and I am a spectator. There is relief that comes in bringing memories and feelings to life, to allow myself space within my mind for more than the thoughts of others. Even as the book fills, my body cramping as the sensation of discomfort fills me, I feel so much relief. The path of a young girl, her decision to cross the street a block up and her thoughts that are created from that, are no longer mine. She is not mine. I see the future that has happened of a woman once set to live a life of financial success traded for the future of a woman giving up hope at nineteen.

Sadness. I remember that’s what I am hearing, seeing, feeling. Loneliness is always worse when shared with someone else, but hers is mine. I cannot touch this path taken, because the choice has been made. A ripple into a wave into devastation all at once, and it is no longer mine. I feel a tickle on my cheek, surprised to reach up and feel a tear. Crying. Sadness. It is not an emotion I cherish because it is not mine, but the resentment built inside me I take responsibility for. Humanity with perks and drawbacks, and I feel I own it all. I belong to these thoughts that are not mine, and the life taken is torn from my consciousness, leaving me alone with loneliness.

The book is filled, and I stare down. Her eyes, a deep chocolate, begin to fade from my mind and I recognize the split. I am not the woman in the bathtub, the one clutching the razor as she shakes, and that olive skin is not mine. The black hair sticking to bare skin is not mine, and I am not destroying my own body. My pen hits the table and I find myself relieved by the physical pain that settles in its place. Shoulders once hunched over a book feel sore, my hand cramped and shaking. The last words in the book are almost unrecognizable, except for the finality of it. One might extrapolate the ending to a story that has yet to happen and is set in stone from the tone put forth. I am not the author, but I am the owner.

Feelings that are not mine dissipate like smoke, but what I am left with, as my world becomes focused, is in fact mine. The deep resentment I work to avoid is fed like a flame, devouring what I desperately try to cling to. I am angry and sad, and I feel responsible for emotions that don’t belong to me. I am the author but not the owner. Logic informs me that I have not made this choice, to take my own life, but my mind feels to be the culprit. I am tearing pieces of her from me in a desperate attempt to reclaim my mind that has already gone so long without knowing itself.

Closing the book with ease, I carry it with me, my legs dancing across the marble floor as I remember myself. So many names. I frequently repeat my own so I don’t lose them, afraid to write my own book for fear that it will escape me forever. Memories are tricky when they are the only history you have. I have no photographs to cherish, no trinkets or tokens to remind me of who I am or where I come from. Instead, there is ink on my fingers and a sense of longing for something, I know not what, to ease me into something else.

Standing on a nearby stool, I reach up high and slide the book by others, finally watching as I leave the girl behind. She is both nine and nineteen, and I do not know which. I know only her story and her choices, and I know her choice has led her down a path none could stop. I am grieving for her loss in the eyes of her mother, grieving her loss through her own eyes. Desperately, I hurry off of the stool, letting go of all that I have touched, all at once feeling a sudden void appear.

It takes me by surprise, standing flatly with my bare feet against the marble, and it is then I hear his voice. Made and unmade. Here and gone. There is nothing except for him and his desperate plea to be made free of… what? For the first time in my existence, I feel my head aching from being so empty. This presence, both there and not, is rattling my sanity around like a penny in a coin jar. Here I realize why I am in pain, and it is the understanding that it is because I can feel my own thoughts finally flooding in. Memories of stories, a disconnect between me and them, a schism created in a cataclysm of knowledge that was never mine.

Before I am aware of what has happened, I am on the floor, eyes fluttering open, forcing myself to reality. Is this reality? I take a moment, lying there, to stare at the rows of books lined before me. Perception altered, but this is my reality. It is mine. I blink a few times to force myself to understand where I am. Careful movements pull my body upwards until I am sitting, half on my side, legs sprawled out with my hands holding me up. The voices are back, screaming, powerfully against my skull, and I attempt to organize them as I always do. For a moment, I contemplate that I have finally gone insane, unable to understand the voices or see the faces. I cannot hold them. I cannot touch them. I can only hear them, and it is driving me mad.

My hands rise to my head, gripping at my hair as I gasp for breath that does not come. Panic. This is a sensation I am familiar with at a disconnected level, a place where I am not the one in panic. Who feels panic. Who is panic. What is panic? These voices won’t stop, and now they are pleading. In my current state, I cannot decipher all of them, feeling like I have reached into the water and I am trying to pull a strand of liquid. It is impossible. And for the first time in a long time, I scream, my own voice jarring even to me, “Stop!”

At once, there is silence. I sit. I hold my head and I wait. My command has echoed and I can hear it swimming down the halls of my library. I feel it touching every book and every piece of furniture. For as long as I can remember, I have been alone, so the feeling is comfortable to me. But now, with my words, I know I have summoned something else forward. The man of Light? Those of Light? Those of Dark? I remember the fights. The pain. I remember why I am alone.

Quickly, I scramble to my feet, carrying myself in the direction of my personal manuscripts. They are mine, and I cannot question why I can think so clearly all of a sudden. Clarity has not been a word in my vocabulary in some time, so I embrace the ability to utilize it. Clarity carries me and I flee, dancing with the wind that cannot touch my world. I feel my body in its entirety, carried by air and light, pulled back through darkness and shadows, held together by thin fibers of reality.

My movements stop suddenly as I reach my table, the old oak worn, polish that was there once years before, gone from a millenia of use. I see his form at the table, words to describe him flooding my now-freed mind. Confident. Smooth. Relaxed. Wicked. Dangerous. Dark. Frightened. Handsome. Terror. I can feel myself grasping for other words that I may utilize, but he speaks before I can, “The Witness. It’s been some time, hasn’t it?” A smirk plays on his lips, and I find myself confused.

This conversation is new to me. I haven’t had it. It isn’t happening. And yet he is here and speaking. Anger washes over me, “You broke it.”

He stands and I step back. His hands lift as if to show passivity, but I know better. The man in robes of darkness. He is their creator, but not mine. My feet feel colder as they touch the floor, my fingertips frozen as I step back with each of his steps forward. He is taller than me, his dark hair slicked back, blue eyes piercing. He is handsome because he has willed it so, and I recall my previous encounters. I am aware now he is trying to catch me unawares, and he has the upper hand. His voice is smooth as it leaves his lips, “The barrier? Yes, of course. Your little fit not too long ago informed me of where you were. You’ve never been too good at sanity, love.”

My face has contorted to anger, despite my attempts. I am desperately confused and terribly frightened at this sudden space in my mind. Has he caused it? Has he simply taken advantage? I ask none of these questions, “My space.”

He smiles, broadly, walking towards me with steps of confidence as I am stopped by shelves of books, “Honestly, how long has it been since you spoke with another? I was hoping for better conversation topics than this.” I watch as his hand extends, briefly stroking my jawline. His words would be sincere were it not for our own history.

But talking helps me. While I would never tell him, conversing with another will always bring me back. The available space I now have, the space occupied with the rest of the world, certainly doesn’t hurt. My hands reach up and apply pressure to his chest, forgetting my own force as I will him back. He stumbles, laughing as he does so, but I speak first, “You have no business here, Bringer.” He holds up his hands again and I am expected to be placated by this motion. I am not.

“She speaks! Full sentences, no less. I would disagree that I have no business here, Witness. We both know my business. You’ve seen it, haven’t you?” He grins. I am reminded of the stories from lore of all cultures. The stories of the serpent that taunts. He is the serpent, but I am the Witness. I have realized, now, that he is not aware of my inability to know. He is not aware that there is space in my mind, and that my sanity, for now, is left free. So I stand, attempting to remember what it looks like to hold my ground. I wish that I could free a book, read through memories and gain them back. To my left is a brown book holding the life of an adult, one I cannot recall but I know holds power. I wish to have it back.

“Bringer, you are to leave. I want none of your business! I told Light and Dark years ago I would have no place.” I speak as sternly as I am able to manager. However, his laughter is both sincere and cold, filling the halls and corridors, leaning his head back as it explodes forth. I am aware of the look of anger filling my features, unable to stop the clenched fists as he steps forward, testing the waters.

I resist and stand as he speaks once more, “Witness! Let us drop the formalities. Please. You’re too lovely a woman to be called by such a name. Let us converse as they do.” He speaks plainly, giving me a look of exasperation and amusement which bothers me incredibly.

I am angry and I shout, my willpower gone, whatever of it I had, “I will not. I told all of you I wasn’t playing a role in your games! I am no witness!”

His hand reaches out sharply, a flash and flurry of movement as he slams his hand against the shelf to my right, “Whether you like it or not, you are The Witness. Your sense of time has left you, but I know better. We spoke eons ago, I was hoping you’d changed your mind.” His hand brushes over the binding of the books, my eyes widen as he does this.

There is little to know about my space, except that it is mine. The place I exist in is understood as sacred, and it is of my creation. The tomes that fill the place before me are all of mine, and have all been inside of me. He is touching what I know is sacred. He is touching me. I feel my face contort, “Do not touch them. I would sooner set fire to this place than allow you access.”

He looks amused. The Bringer smiles at me with his features that I recognize as dark, with a façade so very much him, “You’d sooner bring on insanity? That is, more than you are? We both know, if you burn this place, all of this,” he twirls a finger, then taps my head, “goes back in here.”

I push him away again, angrily regaining my distance. I do not miss interactions, and I am swiftly reminded as to why I have preferred being alone. Suddenly I am longing for the memories that have crowded in my mind, and a profound feeling of loneliness lingers. My hands brace the table, feeling my heart race as emotions I have forgotten how to own become mine again. My life is not in jeopardy, and I am aware that he cannot harm me here. I am safe. But safety is a matter of mindset, and mine is dwindling.

He comes back, a scent of smoke and ash dancing with him. I feel his presence, but he remains distanced, “Fine, let me be candid. I’m here because we need you. Madeline, please.” I hear pleading, turning my own face at the sound of a name he has chosen to use. I remember its meaning, I remember that he has placed me on a pedestal, as they all have. While most have kept a distance, his darkness feels comforting. His motives are never hidden and I always know what to expect.

“Oliver…” He looks pleadingly at me, and the human emotions I am so aware I have not felt are now consuming me. His motivations are selfish. But I find myself wanting to believe this is not the case. I find myself pleading for his honesty. I want to take a book now, take all of them, and put them back into my mind. This hollow feeling is filling with my own thoughts and my own emotions, overtaking me like a virus.

His face changes, and at once I have shown my hand. I recognize his face and I turn mine away, “Leave.”

He reaches out and his cold hand grabs my bare arm, pulling harshly as his voice raises in volume, “Madeline, don’t you see! This is what I mean! Your confusion is his work. He’s robbing us of futures, all of us!” I turn sharply and free myself from his grasp, now holding my soft brown fountain pen. He looks surprised, though hasn’t time to do much else. Holding up the pen, I write in the space before me,

Be Gone, Oliver

in writing that dances on air. Before any words to argue can escape, he vanishes before me.

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batwomanandmotherpanic · 6 years ago

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(Updated January 1, 2020)

I've mentioned a few times across various posts here that I strongly believe Kate Kane was officially involved in boxing at West Point, but I haven't really explained the reasons for that, at least not all in one place (apart from a few fanfics). So that's what I'll attempt to do now.

But there's a larger point here, too. This is a specific example, but it works to illustrate how a lot of information about a character can be gleaned from reasonable extrapolation and a bit of research, even if that information may not have been intended by the authors. It's a window into how I tend to read characters, and I think the principles described here can be applied in many different cases. I certainly don't claim to have invented it (especially since it's strongly related to Watsonian textual interpretation), but I do think it's a valuable exercise.

So first, let's look at the scene where this all spiraled out from, in Batwoman: Rebirth #1:

I try to research as many avenues as I can about Kate and the things she has probably done or experienced, but this was particularly interesting to me because it overlapped with a sport I love.

The first order of business was to establish a timeline. We know that Kate left the Academy early into her final fall semester, that DADT was repealed in September 2011, that Kate was 20 when she left, that Kate is 27 as of her 2017 series, and that there needed to be at least a year between her dismissal and the repealing of DADT, or else she would easily just have re-enrolled.

I really don't like that Kate was de-aged in Rebirth, but it does still work out; this scene with Sophie has to take place in fall 2010.

The next question then became: could women participate in boxing at the Academy at that time? After all, on the surface this scene says nothing about that one way or another. Maybe Kate and Sophie were just renting out some of the Academy's trunks and shoes for some private, unofficial sparring.

The answer to this question proved to be more complicated than one might think.

Through various articles, I found that female cadets were not required to box until fall 2016... but prior to that, if they completed all PE requirements in their plebe year, boxing was available to them as an elective, provided that they were each paired with another female cadet of similar weight (co-ed sparring was strictly prohibited).

I also found that West Point's women's boxing club started up in mid-to-late 2009, and that early 2010 was when some of their members competed for the first time, before they officially achieved club status. So that worked out as well. There was also, unfortunately but unsurprisingly, quite a bit of sexism from Academy officials regarding the formation of the club; this potentially serves as a valuable subtextual parallel to the homophobia already present in Kate's time there. Like her potential military service, it is yet another thing that became officially integrated and accepted after her time. Thematically speaking, this seemed like a right thing to include in her story.

With all this in mind, other things about that initial scene started to click into place and confirm that I was on the right track. And the beauty of it was that, like so many such things in comics, I don't know if any of it was intended to stack up this way. But it did.

There's Sophie's first line to Kate, which implies that Jacob helped her in a similar situation:

That is to say: a previous fight. Looked at from an internal perspective, why else would Sophie be saying this? What else could it be about in this context? It can't be a reference to Kate's kidnapping and rescue, because A) wow that would be a super inappropriate thing to be talking about in this situation, especially so flippantly, and B) Sophie says "help," not "save."

So, if Jacob helped Kate in a previous fight, it had to have been at a public event, which, based on the established timeline, would have been the 54th Brigade Open. And given the context of the line, since Kate is losing to Sophie here, it means Kate won in part due to Jacob's help. He gave her ringside coaching, in other words.

There's also the matter of the clothes each woman is wearing, if we circle back to the possibility that the gear was rented. Not so, it seems. None of it looks like West Point's own boxing gear (whether circa-2010 or present-day), meaning that it's almost certainly Kate and Sophie's personal attire. And why would they bother with that if they weren't involved in the sport somehow? Those articles I referenced earlier even speak of this very thing; due to budgetary constraints, many members of the fledgling club purchased their own gear.

And there are smaller, prior bits of evidence that also fit. Kate mentioning in her New 52 #0 issue that even before her Batwoman training she felt confident in her fighting ability, implying she had fought often:

(Bonus: Note where Kate describes getting beaten up.)

There's Simone's Batgirl #12, where Kate is shown jabbing as Barbara narrates that Kate is testing her reach, which is indeed one use for a jab:

Barbara's first line here also strongly ties into this discipline: boxing is at least as mental as it is physical (when done well, that is), so it's fitting that Kate would have that as a foundation for her future combat skills to rest on.

But most importantly, this participation falls in line with a few aspects of Kate's character.

Her sense of service: participating in boxing this way, at this specific time, would mean Kate was part of something that helped open up new opportunities for future female cadets at the Academy (a sentiment that a few of the real members of the club have expressed in interviews). The service aspect also ties into Kate's intended future as a leader of soldiers. A big reason boxing is required at all the service academies is not just for its obvious physical benefits, but also that it helps instill all sorts of disciplines into future troops. If you read or listen to interviews with the head coaches of the academies, they mention things like strategic thinking under stress, the ability to adapt to physical fear, perseverance in the face of hostility, etc. These are all things that would clearly translate to a battlefield situation and any good leader on that battlefield. I think Kate would have been savvy enough to seek out extra benefit in this way, and the fact that she would have had to go out of her way to do so sounds like her to me.

Dovetailing with that a bit, it also reflects her ambition: this would have presented Kate with the opportunity to be one of the first champions in a new and permanent athletic landscape at the Academy (though not the absolute first). Given the way she excelled in all other areas up to that time in her life, I imagine that this would have been another attractive point for her.

To sum this all up, the logical conclusion from all this evidence is that Kate was a member of the newly-formed women's boxing club at West Point, and won a match at the 54th BBO.

So. That was all very long-winded and thorough. Why is it important?

Well, in particular, it offers a new (if not totally revelatory) facet to Kate, and any information about a character has value.

But in a larger sense, this exercise demonstrates what I mentioned earlier: that researching a detail about a character, no matter how small, can yield a wealth of new info, even if that info was unintended or remains subtextual. To use another example for Kate: we can know a great deal about her academic skillset just from the medals she earned. Not because we're shown or even told any of that information, but because the qualifications for each of those medals can be looked up.

And this ties into a final, even more important point: this concept is a great strength of comics and other collaborative fiction. It allows for the sum to be greater than all the parts.

Even in this relatively minor case, the individual pieces built on each other and interlocked to such an extent that what they point to is pretty airtight, it seems, even though that endpoint may not have been considered by anyone involved.

Does this always happen? No, of course not, and often the exact opposite can occur, resulting in little more than a pile of narrative rubble. But when it does work, it’s incredibly cool. And if it can work for something like this… imagine the potential it can have when applied to weightier character details.

What all is still out there waiting to be uncovered like this?

#batwoman #kate kane #fiction #writing #characters #boxing #comics #analysis #research #watsonian #continuity

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