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eclipseyll · 24 days

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Pairing (PLATONICALLY!!!) : Erik Lehnsherr x Serena Rodrigo (XMEN OC)

Summary: Erik Lehnsherr couldn't sleep, as one particular member too. Erik and Serena bond with their shared trauma while being still hostile to one another.

Warning: None

A/N: this takes place after apocalypse, Erik decided to stay to teach other mutants. This is not my first oneshot/fanfic but it's been awhile so don't judge hihi. NOT PROOFREAD!

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Serena couldn't sleep, those visions creeping inside of her head everytime she closed her eyes. She saw it coming, she saw how Apocalypse would destroy the world. And it shocked her.

It was her first time to receive such visions, she usually saw death and destruction but never extinction of both kinds that were up against each other.

Her arm still hurt from the fight, it was healed but still burns. When she saw that pale blue monstrous mutant choking a new member of the XMEN, she knew she had to do something. Serena tried using her shadow abilities by enveloping her darkness around Apocalypse to let go of Pete, she succeeded but in turn Apocalypse used her abilities against her. He used her darkness to project pain in which burned her left hand.

Serena sighed, wincing at the memory. 'Its over... Its over'. She whispered to herself, closing her shady brown eyes strenuously.

She opened her eyes again, trying to focus it on the nightlight stickers above her head. Serena now contemplated her life, a month ago she was running away from the authorities doing everything to be safe as she was, in the words of the human community a "destruction maker". But now she's in a infamous school for gifted youngsters, not only a student but a trainee to be apart of the XMEN group who swore to protect both kinds.

She quickly stood up, took her jacket across her bed and gloves in her nightstand wearing it to prevent more unwelcome visions, deciding to take a walk. She needed to clear her mind because the last thing she needed was be confused with her brand new life and reminisce

her old gloomy one.

As she strolled around the mansion, she looked up to the paintings and admiring the exterior. She didn't need light to view the inside of the mansion, as she has to the ability to see in the dark. And she was grateful to have the skill as she almost shrieked out of fear seeing a silhouette in the patio as she found herself in the garden house.

She sighed in relief as the moonlight shined on the only one Mr. Magneto. He looked tired and disheveled, it didn't need a telepath to sense that something was bothering him. And he was just staring at Serena which made her uncomfortable, he was probably trying to get peace too and Serena didn't want to interrupt, as she tried to walk away. He called out,

"Wait." His voice hoarse, like he has been crying.

Serena spun her head gazing upon the adult man. Pity and empathy rushed onto her, she didn't despise the man infront of her but then she also didn't like him. Not after the multiple acts he has done that has probably either made the situation for mutants the worse or the better.

She cleared her throat, walking up to him, "May I sit down?" Serena asked gesturing the free chair. He only nodded as a response.

The both sat there quietly, bathing each other's silence and company, staring at moon.

"It's beautiful." Serena suddenly blurted after 5 minutes of complete silence that made Erik glance at the young girl.

"You know, it's rare to view the full moon as it only occurs once every 29 days." Her mouth line reaching her ears, as she smiled quirkily trying not to be awkward. Erik just nodded again, ever since with Apocalypse he has been quiet, around her anyways. She doesn't blame him if he feels guilty with the things he have done when he was at the wrong side. Erik only stopped when Apocalypse almost killed Raven and Serena, he was burning her left hand using her abilities and he was choking Raven. Erik used his enhanced abilities trying to trap Apocalypse that made him unhand both girls and Serena appreciated that. But she wouldn't say it aloud.

"Why are you still up?” Erik asked, in a slow pace, testing the waters with the young mutant as this would be their first official interaction.

Serena bit her bottom lip, hesitating whether or not to trust this man with her worries. "I just - couldn't handle the visions and nightmare, there are just some days where everything is too much." Looking at the ground and fidgeting her gloves.

"Is that why you wear your gloves?"

"Yeah, it's too prevent any sudden visions."

"Why is that?” Erik asked curiously.

"Well when I was a child, when I discovered my ability to foresee the futures and past, nobody believed or helped me. Then when I accidentally created a shadow dome in my school, I was taken away. My sister tried to protect me but she couldn't do anything to the government people." She rambled.

"So what I have learned is that, If I don't want to be poked around with needles or people thinking I'm evil because of my power over the dark or be invaded with awful destinies and pasts. I should try my best to control and hide my powers." Serena stated trying not to let the tears go, as many miserable memories of her childhood being misunderstood and assaulted, used as an experiment and her doing everything she can to survive.

Serena received an empathetic look from Erik, him understanding her traumatic past. "I'm sorry to hear that Rodrigo, nobody deserves to have gone through all that. But you shouldn't compromise of who you are to accommodate the people around you." Serena only could muster a small thank you while snuffling.

"Why are you awake at this time then, Mr. Lehnsherr?"

Erik stayed silent for awhile, staring intently at Serena. While the girl looked at ground as if it was the greatest view she has seen, as she felt his stare drilling onto her skull. Erik hesitated is he should tell the young girl of his problems, as he was scared the knowledge he would share will be use against him and make him weak again.

As if reading his mind, "You don't have to say anything." Serena stated, reaching her gloved hand and putting above his that was laying at the table seperating the two mutants. Erik looked at her hands on top on his, then stared at her again. She was smiling warmly, as if he wasn't the most wanted man on Earth. "But if you ever do decide to say something, I promise everything you say is safe and locked here." Serena pointed at her brain.

Erik breath out trembling, he open his mouth then shut it, he was contemplating on what words should he use to explain reasons of his sadness and grief.

"It hurts," He grunted. "It hurts so much, it feels like its ripping out my heart." Serena furrowed her brows, pitying the old man.

"Shaw killed my Mother, they killed my wife and my precious daughter, they imprisoned me and they tortured me." A tear fell on his beige skin, "I never had anything left yet still, every time I show the slightest care for someone they take it away from me. Haven't I given enough?” He continued, looking at Serena crazed with anger, guilt and sadness.

"I'm sorry to hear that, Mr. Lehnsherr." Serena stated speechless, "I do hope that someday you will find peace and happiness, what you have gone through is very hard. " She awkwardly looked at him, and Erik understood she didn't know what words to use to console him but her presence and her hopefulness for Erik already gave him some bit of comfort.

"Thank you, and please I think we're past the formalities. Just call me Erik." He said smiling the pain away.

"Then just call me Serena, Erik."

The two mutants smiling each other kindly, then looked away to stare at the moon again. Tonight Serena might have just made a new acquaintance, as the two bonded with their own heartbreaks. Serena then felt the hand below hers, squeeze gently.

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okok soo I was inspired so I made my oc and Erik interact bc why not???

I was also inspired bc last time I asked ai to make my oc and Erik interact and I loved them (Also just to be clear, I may have asked ai to make a shitty oc but the oc (name, backstory etc.) I have written and posted, is what I have created on my own with the inspiration of Remnant, Raven, Shade and Darkling. And also I just asked Ai since I needed some explaination on dark matter which is a power of another oc of my mine HAHAHHA)

and also I want to write more interactions with other XMEN members, So maybe I will do Jean Grey next!!

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momentumvivere · 3 years

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“Stuck up” rich omega peter parker justification

Stuck up Omega Peter Parker being an absolute queen:

- made up this argument for Peter in my head while reading that one “Hey baby, slip in between my Beta pleats….” fanfic. Takes place during the dinner Tony and Peter have together before his heat

“I’m might have high standards but I’m worth it, I was raised to be worth not. Not because I was born with the silver spoon but because I deserve it, I earned it. I’m the smartest damn Omega around- hell, I know I’m smarter than any knot-headed Alpha here- because I worked for it. You think looking this damn good was easy? I had to work to be the prettiest thing around.

“Yeah, maybe I do have a high opinion of myself, I was raised to. My Aunt taught me that. She taught me how to be strong. I’m an omega, you think people are just going to treat me right and give me respect just because I deserve it? Trust me, they won’t. If I want to be treated right, I have to demand it. Maybe living that way for so long has made me a little prissy, so what? I’m worth it.

“I dress this way because I have to, Tony, look around”, he spoke like it was the most obvious thing in the world and that the Alpha was a dumbass for not seeing it.

“As rich as Tony Stark is, do you really think they’d allow an omega in a restaurant like this just dressed jeans and a t-shirt?”, he began again once it was clear Tony wasn’t catching on.

“Believe it or not, I’ve been the omega in baggy sweats and science pun t-shirts. I didn’t make it very far, everywhere I went, I found a door slammed in my face. One look, one sniff, and everyone had written me off. The way I saw it, I had two options: either look the part and work my way up, or not even be given a seat at the table.”

“They wanted me to be the precious dolled up omega, so I decided to be the most goddamn precious thing they’d ever seen. I’ll look so sweet that they won’t even notice that i’ll be breaking down the doors. I’ll be so pretty they won’t even notice that they’re bowing down to me til it’s to late.”

“Beauty is power, Tony, and I’m the most powerful bitch around” he said with a smirk, knowing Tony was left momentarily stunned.

Once Tony was finally able to speak again he asked, “what doors?” almost in a daze unable to think straight, entranced by beauty before him.

“The doors, Tony, the doors”, he reiterated like that was explanation enough.

“The doors keeping Omegas from enrolling in colleges, the doors keeping them in the kitchen, the doors keeping them at home instead of trying to make more out of themselves.” He gave an tired sigh like he was expecting opposition.

“Of course, there is nothing wrong with being a home maker-as long as it’s your own choice and not just what you think you are supposed to do. Do you know how many omegas never even consider the possibility that they could do something else? Some don’t even realize they have options. Those are the doors, Tony, and I’m gonna break them.

Tony was breathless, Peter had his full attention- and judging by the coy smile on Peters face, they both knew it. He enjoyed the Alpha’s unusual speechlessness for a minute before he began again.

“I’ll look the part but I’d be damned if anyone every catches me actually acting the part. I gonna do something huge one day, Tony, everyone is gonna be on their knees for this little Omega. I’ll conquer the world and look damn good doing it too.”

He leaned in a little and lowered his voice like he was telling a sensual secret. It took every bit off the Alphas control not to pull him into a kiss.

“What they won’t know is that this prim and precious little Omega has seen every single Dr. Who episode.”

“So you’re a spy, you’re gonna sneak in and destroy the patriarchy from the inside?”

Peter took a beat, just to revel in it. He leaned back, gave a little tilt of his head and looked at the Alpha seated across from him dead in the eye.

“I’m a Queen, Anthony. I don’t have to sneak into anything, they are gonna give me everything I want because I command it”. He finished with a playful smirk and Tony knew at that moment he was well, and irreversibly, fucked.

He was absolutely enchanted by Peter Parker and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

(p.s. I don’t actually understand how commas or any grammar rules works so sorry, also this is the first Starker ‘fanfic’ i’ve ever written. I enjoyed writting it so if people seem to like this, I might write more idk)

#starker #omega peter #peter x tony #fanfic #alpha tony stark

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sidhelives · 3 years

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🗑 and ❓ for fanfic asks.

I'm going to do these in reverse order so I can plug a chunk of text under a -continue reading- thingy at the bottom 😉

❓Write an alternate summary for a published fic without using names. (Points if your followers can guess the fic.)

Subterfuge and contemplating murder as foreplay.

🗑 What is one fic idea that you loved at first but then scrapped?

Oh, I have the best one for this.

I had an idea for a sit-com style fic (chapters labeled as episodes, tropey as fuck, the whole nine) surrounding a Hawke who became pregnant with Fenris's kid after their act two encounter but ends up with Merrill during her pregnancy after he bails. Fenris comes back and kind of forces his way into the house to help raise his kid.

Three bisexual idiots and a baby if you will.

I ended up scrapping it because I realistically didn't have any ideas past the premise. I was trying to plot out the pilot and realized I had nothing past the first 1000 or so words.

I might come back to it someday if I find time to actually plan or with a cowriter or something but for now it's permanently set aside.

I provide you my entire, unfinished draft for the pilot of this mess after the break:

And Baby Makes...Four?

A single knock at the door Hawke could ignore. Someone else would get it or the person would go away, in either case it was not her problem, and, Maker, did her feet ache. It was a rare treat to have the opportunity to lounge in an overstuffed sitting chair before a raging fire in the manor library, swollen feet propped up, a book resting on her bulbous belly, and a single knock was not enough to make her even consider tearing herself away from it.

A second knock was annoying, but Hawke met it with the same "not my problem" attitude and focused more intently on her book. Bodhan or Merrill would take care of it, and besides, she had been meaning to finish Hard in Hightown for ages. Varric (or Uncle Varric, as he had begun referring to himself) was getting increasingly put out by her inability to make it through the novel, and it was the least she could do considering how much help he had been recently.

Insistent pounding, however, she could no longer simply ignore. The firm rhythm of metal against wood quickly became grating, and Hawke could feel the nagging beginnings of a headache beginning between her eyes. With an exasperated sigh she tossed the book aside and heaved herself upright, feet and back protesting as she waddled through the manor, the unrelenting bang bang bang of the knocker getting louder with every step.

By the time she reached the anteroom, Hawke was right angry.

Who would be audacious enough to pound on the door of a noble at such a late hour?

Who would be brazen enough to draw the ire of the Champion of Kirkwall?

Who would be stupid enough to invite the scorn of a woman eight months pregnant?

Hawke flung open the door, scowl in place and a scathing string of obscenities ready on her tongue, but they withered as she saw who had come.

"Fenris?"

His hand was still upraised to continue the onslaught of knocking, and he had the decency to look embarrassed about it, tucking the offending limb behind his back and clearing his throat. His eyes flickered between her face and her stomach, settling on the former before he spoke. "Evening, Hawke."

"Evening…" Both his sudden appearance and his manner felt out of character, and Hawke responded cautiously, eyes narrowed in confusion. "What... are you doing here?"

He didn't appear distressed, rushed, or anything else which would explain his presence at her door. He looked as he always did (full armor, massive sword, grumpy expression) but for a large rucksack thrown over one of his shoulders and a noticeable upturn of his sharp chin, which told her that whatever he was about to say had been carefully planned and rehearsed, and would not be easily rebuffed.

"I'm moving in," he announced firmly.

Hawke's brows shot up and her mouth dropped open. "What?!"

"What?!" Merrill's voice echoed Hawke's from the entryway behind her. The elf scurried up to her side, expression modulating between disbelief and disapproval, one hand sliding to Hawke's lower back as the other rested possessively on her belly.

Fenris's attention caught on that hand and he glowered. "That's my child, and I want to be here for them. I have every right."

Merrill scowled. "Oh, yes, now you want to be here? Where were you months ago when Hawke told you about the babe? You had a chance to be there and you decided to sulk in that dismal mansion of yours instead."

"No? Perhaps I should have taken up blood magic, that's solved all of your problems, right?" Fenris pointed a taloned finger at her accusingly. "You don't know everything, despite what the demons you cavort with might have you believe."

"I know enough. I know that when a strong, beautiful woman Like Hawke loves you, you don't throw that away for loneliness and cheap wine." Merrill snapped back, her chest pressing against Hawke's shoulder as she leaned in.

Fenris scoffed. "It's very expensive wine, thank you very much."

Snorting in exasperation, Merrill looked at Hawke who was still gazing at Fenris with a dazed expression. "Aren't you going to say anything?"

"I'm thinking." Hawke responded absently.

Merrill gaped at her. "Well I've already thought about it." Her attention snapped back to Fenris. "No to infinity. Goodbye."

The dazed look in Hawke's eyes cleared. "Merrill," Her tone was cautioning, and she patted the other woman's shoulder comfortingly.

"Sorry," Merrill's anger deflated slightly. "You tell him."

Hawke smiled appreciatively and kissed Merrill's temple before her gaze wandered back to Fenris, shifting from foot to foot on the stoop. "Why don't you come inside?" She ignored Merrill's indignant look as she stepped out of his way, shuffling her aghast partner with her.

Fenris seemed just as surprised by this turn of events as Merrill was, but recovered quickly, giving a gruff nod and tramping into the chamber.

"You can't really be considering letting him stay?" Merrill complained. "I mean, I'm not naive, I know what you felt for him, after all, babies don't come about due to exhilarating conversations on the redeeming qualities of dusty old bottles of wine. And I know that those kinds of feelings, they're big, they take up so much space in your head, and they're not going to just evaporate in a cloud of smoke, even considering what he did to you." She very pointedly looked at Fenris, who looked away. "But this is our home. This is Little Bird's home. How could you even think of letting him in here after how he's behaved?"

Hawke closed the door behind Fenris, sighing heavily and rubbing her temples. "You're right. Fenris hasn't been as present as I would have liked," she began slowly.

Fenris opened his mouth, presumably to protest, but Hawke held up a single silencing finger, giving him a pointed look and his jaw snapped closed again, allowing her to go on. "I know you had your reasons. Perfectly justifiable ones, I will admit, but that doesn't mean Merrill is wrong that I was hurt by what came to pass."

Merrill gaped. "Justifiable—?!"

"But," Hawke cut her off with another extended finger, her raised eyebrow disallowing any further interruptions. "Fenris is correct that he has a right to be here. This is Little Bird's home, and like it or not, he is their father."

Fenris seemed as shocked by this omission as Merrill and gave Hawke a curious look. "I must admit, I did not expect you to be so resonant to the prospect."

"For once, Fenris and I agree on something." Merrill crossed her arms over her chest and stuck out her bottom lip in protest.

Hawke shook her head, arms outstretched. "I can't say it's something I'd considered before, but I also didn't expect you to show up on my doorstep. The fact that you came at all—" She sighed and bit down on one knuckle contemplatively.

She looked at Merrill. "Would it really be so bad to have an extra set of hands?" She asked gingerly. "We have the room, and he's just going to get gloomier and gloomier if we say no."

"Have you seen his hands?" Merrill retorted, directing a sharp nod at Fenris's gauntlets.

"They do come off you know," he informed her, eyebrows low.

"Oh that's not what I meant and you know it," Merrill snapped. "You're a killer."

"And you're a blood mage. I don't believe you're in any position to be judging the cleanliness of anyone's hands," Fenris shot back instantly.

"Will both of you knock it off?" Hawke whipped them both with a disapproving glare. "I can't think with the two of you going about each other like hackling hounds."

#ask games #forgotten wips #bad summary

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mind-of-a-hardstan · 5 years

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i’m curious; what are some of your fav fics for each member? - comet ☄️

Ohhh I like doing stuff like this. Just a little warning though, most of ‘em are probably going to be some older fics because I sadly haven’t been reading as much as I would like to and another warning is this list is probably going to be very long. Let’s get to it then :D

Kim Namjoon

Partners by @btssmutgalore is probably my ultimate all time favourite Namjoon fic on this site. I love the way the plot moves in a non-rushed way and I absolutely LOVE how the characters are written. Who doesn’t love a shy, nerdy Joonie bean?

Five Months by @ellieljade is a fic that I’ve read when I’ve just started on this site and it just stuck with me for some reason. The smut was *chef’s kiss* and then you pair that with bits and pieces of slipped up emotion and clear affection and you have a perfect fucking fanfic. It’s a total 180 of Partners because this one features dom Joonie with a dirty mouth ;)

Love Bytes by @stutterfly. Clumsy cute English professor Namjoonie silently pining while all of the other guys just won’t stop MEDDLING. Seriously I love how the relationship between Y/n and the boys were written and I love the interaction between Joon and Y/n even more.

Kim Seokjin

Candlyland by @honeymoonjin. I read this one a few days ago and LET ME TELL YOU it was fucking phenomenal. The plotline was amazing, the story itself was so creative and unique and I love how there were subtle hints to what was going on and then the BIG REVEAL in the end where you just went “how did i miss that?” And the cute relationship between Jinnie and Y/n, clearly a devoted married couple. Not to mention cute lil elf-babie bean Koo. Probably my new fav Jin fic hands down.

My Type by @floralseokjin. Listen, every Jin fic by her is top notch, but I think this one is my favourite because it was so soft but the smut was impeccable. It features nerdy, virgin Jinnie, which was something that I haven’t seen in a Jin fic before tbh? Very sweet and cute and a favourite since I read it.

Min Yoongi

Upgrade by @gukgalore is the ultimate Yoongi smut fic. I mean it.

Empress by @honeymoonjin. This fic was downright GENIUS. I’ve never seen the likes of it before and it left me wanting more, goddamnit. Empress Yoonji is a fucking experience and I’m 110% sure y/n thought the same.

Jung Hoseok

In The Car by @floralseokjin is another masterpiece. Mechanic Hoseok is a fucking concept. Mechanic Hoseok who also races and is funny and HAS A MANBUN I REPEAT HE HAS A MANBUN. Yeah needless to say this fic had me on the floor. Bonus: they fuck on the hood of his car ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Park Jimin

Sin City by @btssmutgalore should be read. By every single person. On this site. I fucking MEAN IT.

Kim Taehyung

Nude by @btssmutgalore was just really really cute and still smutty. I like the whole internal conflict going on and how it slowly progresses from “I done fucked up” to “eh, screw it I deserve to be happy” yaknow?

How to Get a Girl Off 101 by @imagination-of-a-melted-bitch was a fic I read before my writing blog even existed and screw it i still love it. It features y/n and her bf Taehyung who agrees to teach clueless Jeongguk how to fuck, honestly I low key love this concept.

Jeon Jeongguk

For Science by @boymeetsweevil was… quite the fucking experience let me tell you. I binged it in a day and then reread it the next day because I felt like I needed more. It was a shitstorm of pining, hot smut, angst and just Kook being generally bad at feelings. It features the whole gang being nerdy, weird and generally funny. A fantastic read, honestly.

Switch Lanes by @gukgalore was the fic that lead me to her account in the first place. I’m a sucker for healthy relationships being built on trust and friendships and then lead to lots o’ fluff and soft smut so if you are a sucker for that too then feast.

Monster by @btssmutgalore was also something I started reading before my writing account even existed and I’m still foaming at the mouth over it. Seriously Dee just has a certain way of stringing words together in a way that leaves you having to physically restrain yourself from reading for 3 days straight. (I speak from experience, I’m pretty sure my mom thought I was dead when I discovered her masterlist). Monster is no exception.

I’m going to be a bit cocky and put one of my own fics here too, because it’s my favourite fic that I’ve written and I’m very proud of it, so don’t judge me. Purple Mist & Candlelight is a Joonie witch au that features potion maker Joonie and a subtly pining y/n. I think it’s pretty good.

Now, I also read fics on AO3 that are mostly shipfics, and I’ll be adding them too because leaving them out would be a crime because they’re some of my favourites, so here goes:

Heard Them Talk by themarmalade is a fucking masterpiece. It features marten hybrid Joonie and bad boy, rugby player Jeongguk who is actually just a sof boi with a bunny daemon. I cannot even begin to explain the absolute adoration that I have for this fic. Dare I even say it is my ultimate favourite? (namkook)

Got a kiss (with your name on it) by marienadine is another favourite. Roommates Kookie and Tae are pining after each other and feelings come tumbling out when Kook asks Tae to teach him to kiss. The discriptions in this fanfic is impeccable and THIS is the level of writing I want to reach one day. It’s the perfect balance of funny and feelings and the way it’s written is what sets it apart from other fics. It’s truly a masterpiece. (taekook)

Worldwide Lonesome by loindexter is a fic that I read the other day that features closeted bisexual Seokjinnie who doesn’t know how to deal with anything, bi, Yoongi who’s trying desperately to make a change, and somewhere along the lines they fall in love. It’s fluffy and angsty and I cried my heart out at some point. And then I cried my heart out at the end too. If you read this and you see the words “I heard you” in chapter 6, yeah that’s about where I fucking lost it and cried for like a year. (yoonjin)

Found you by Oh_Hey_Tae is a namjin witch au that just… it was so sweet? Joonie is a sad witch who finds lost things and Jinnie is a seer and it’s all just very sweet and sad a beautiful. (namjin)

Bunny Ears by goldenhearts was the CUTEST. Kookie drinks a faulty potion and spontaneously turns into a bunny every now and then. He has no choice but to go to his rival for help and most fluff I’ve ever read ensues. It’s the cutest, bestest, funniest fic I’ve read, Jinnie is unsufferable, Kookie even more so, and I loved every second of it. (jinkook)

Is It Me You’re Looking For? by MoonlitMemories was also such a good fic. I felt for Kook and I just wanted to hug him throughout the fic and Joonie is damn idiot but it’s sort of understandable and it was heart wrenching and perfect and beautiful and such a cute but sad twist on the usual soulmate au (namkook)

And I’m going to stop there because the post is getting too long. These are a few of my favourite things, most of ‘em are smut but not all. They’re all very good and written by amazing authors so enjoy!

#ask #comet #secret santa #fic rec #also #i spent almost a whole day making this list and then at some point i accidentally deleted it instead of saving it like i intended #and a bitch almost cried istg

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seasonofthegeek · 5 years

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Camp Fake It Til You Make It

This drabble featuring Alya and Kim is an anonymous ko-fi request from the fanfic trope mash-ups featuring the prompts “summer camp AU” and “fake dating”. Thanks so much for the support, Nonny!

___

“Please, Al, pretty please with a cherry on top,” Kim begged, following Alya from table to table as she put down cabin place cards for the campers that would be arriving soon. “I’m literally begging you. I can get on my hands and knees if you really want. I can even put my big toe in my ear if that helps.”

Alya paused her task long enough to look back at him and raise an eyebrow. “In what way would that help?”

He blinked. “I don’t know, but it’s what I’ve got to offer. It usually makes people laugh.”

She shook her head. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.” She pushed past him to start on the next row of tables.

"Why?”

“Because it feels weird and it would be lying for no good reason.”

“The very good reason is because Ondine’s dating the guy running the obstacle course and I’m going to look like a loser to everyone if I’m single now and she’s already moved on when we were engaged last summer.”

“Why do you even care what people think?”

Kim slumped down on one of the benches and watched Alya continue to wind through the tables. “I don’t know. I never have before but...” He scrunched his nose. “I guess maybe I’m still not over her.”

“Well, duh.”

“Hey.”

Alya dropped the remaining place cards on one of the tables with a sigh and made her way back to Kim, taking the bench opposite his. “I thought you guys parted on good terms.”

“We did, I guess, but...but they were mostly her terms,” he shrugged. “I’m not mad at her or anything because it would’ve been bad to get married when she wasn’t into it, but I still miss her.”

“You might be a little smarter than I gave you credit for.” She winked when she saw his frown and was glad to see it smooth into a small smile though it still held an edge of sadness. “I guess I’m just wondering how it’s going to help you if everyone thinks we’re dating. You’re still going to be upset about Ondine, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, I guess,” he admitted, “but I’m trying not to be.”

“It’s okay to be upset if you aren’t a butthead about it, but is this just something to try to make her jealous?”

Kim shifted uncomfortably. “Not entirely.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Max said getting a fake girlfriend for the summer might help me move on because people were statistically more interested in drama and and me still being single while Ondine isn’t would be more dramatic,” he rambled, “and you’re the only person I can imagine trying to pretend with and it not be weird.”

“It would still be weird.”

“Nu-uh. We’ve known each other, like, forever, and we don’t like each other like that and all you’d have to do is stand near me during meetings and stuff. We already hang out during free time anyway.”

“What about Alix? All the stuff is the same with her too.”

“She’d laugh in my face if I said any of this to her.”

Alya pulled at one of the loose frays from her cut-off jeans. “You promise it won’t get weird?”

“I double doozy promise,” Kim swore.

“And what do I get out of this little deal?”

“Oh, uh, hmmmm. What do you want?”

“A free pass to use you as a fake boyfriend in the future if the need arises. One of my aunts likes to visit and it gets exhausting telling her I’m not seeing anyone.”

Kim beamed at her and held out his hand. “It’s a deal. You’re my fake girlfriend for two and a half months and then I’m your fake boyfriend whenever you need me.”

Alya eyed his big hand warily before placing her own in it. “Deal.”

___

“One of the many perks of being my girlfriend--”

“Fake girlfriend,” Alya reminded him.

Kim continued, nonplussed. “Is that I happen to be an excellent maker of s’mores.” He held a line of marshmallows speared on a steel rod over the open fire.

“You’ve made me s’mores before so I think that’s just something you do.”

“Ah, but Boyfriend Kim’s s’mores are ultimately better than Friend Kim’s s’mores.”

“Well, I guess I’ll be the judge of that.” Alya braced her palms against the edge of the smoothly cut log and leaned back. The fire was almost too much heat on the muggy summer night but it was still nice to look at. “These are always my favorite nights.”

“The ones without the campers?”

“Mmhmm. It’s that nice period between finishing with one set and not dealing with getting ready for the next one just yet. That’s tomorrow Alya’s problem.”

“Yeah, I get that. You had a good group this week though.”

“They were sweet,” she agreed. “How were yours?”

“Fun as hell. I got them to all try to rope swing at the lake and not one of them wussed out.”

“We have different hopes for campers,” she noted. “I’m glad you had fun though.” She caught the odd way he was looking at her and it made her feel...something she wasn’t used to feeling around Kim. She cleared her throat. “You might be too hot.”

“What? Oh!” Kim yelped as the marshmallows caught fire and he dropped the rod into the flames. They both watched the lumps of sugar goodness blacken and fall off.

“So you were saying Boyfriend Kim is better at this? Have you seen him around anywhere?” Alya teased.

___

“I can’t believe you two finally hooked up.”

Alya glared at Alix who smirked in return. She made the mistake of looking past the smaller woman to see that Alix’s comment had grabbed Ondine’s attention on the other side of the small changing room by the pool. She was doing a poor job of attempting to look like she wasn’t listening to their conversation. Great.

“It’s not a big deal.” Alya jerked the top of her sock up too quickly and heard the fabric let out a pointed ripping sound. She ignored it and picked up her shoe. Alix knew she and Kim weren’t really dating. She’d figured it out the first week of camp so she was obviously doing this for Ondine’s benefit. A month and a half in and Alya had been able to avoid any major awkwardness from the situation and here came the half-pint with hot pink hair to stir the pot.

“I think it’s awesome. He needed someone smart and pretty.” Alix stretched out on the bench, apparently in no hurry to change out of her bathing suit and into her counselor uniform. “I’ve never seen him so happy.”

Alya could feel her face burning and didn’t dare look in Ondine’s direction. “Yeah, he’s great,” she muttered noncommittally. “You better hurry or your cabin is going to go crazy without you there.”

Alix waved a careless hand. “I got a buncha goody-two-shoes this week. They wouldn’t dare.” She stretched lazily and stood. “But yeah, yeah, I’ll get to it.”

“See you at dinner.” Alya gave her a direct look that she’d seen make lesser people shake but the most reaction she got from Alix was a slight upturn of her mouth. She hurried out of the changing room and ran straight into Ondine who’d been suspiciously loitering right outside the doorway.

“Oh, sorry.” Ondine tucked a short lock of hair behind her ear and a blush was spreading out beneath her freckles. “Um, I couldn’t help but overhear...”

Alya tried to meet her eyes but settled for looking at her nose instead. “Oh?” The word caught in her throat and she held back a grimace.

“I just thought I’d say...well...” She sucked in a loud breath. “I’m glad Kim found you. He’s wonderful and I hate things didn’t work out the way we thought they would, but...oh, but now he has you, and I just think that’s, um, that’s great,” she finished lamely. “So...great for you guys.”

“Thanks,” Alya repled slowly. “I appreciate that.”

Ondine gave her a quick nod and then she was quickly walking past her and out of the gate around the pool. Alya took a moment to gather herself before following the same path but veering away towards the boys’ cabins instead of returning to her own.

Halfway there, she spun on her heels and retreated in the direction of her cabin. Her campers would be waiting for her and she needed to be a responsible counselor. She could fake break-up with her fake boyfriend later.

The more she thought about the situation, the more irritated she became. It’d been unfair of Kim to ask her to play along with his charade. There had been no consideration for her feelings in the whole matter and now she was--

Alya stopped in her tracks, a twig snapping under the heel of her sneaker. Now she was what? Why did she care if Kim was thinking about her feelings? What did that have to do with anything? It wasn’t as if she had feelings about Kim, at least not anything more than friendship feelings.

She didn’t.

She most certainly didn’t.

She started to walk again, but this time slower as if her feet weren’t certain they wanted to reach their destination. It wasn’t as if there was anything wrong with Kim. He was obviously attractive and that dimple in his left cheek that showed up when he smiled was definitely nice to look at. He was goofy but it was endearing and even if he wasn’t exactly smart in the way most people think of, he noticed more in others and their feelings than most people and that was an asset all on its own.

It’s not like falling for Kim would be something to be ashamed of, but Alya didn’t have those kind of feelings towards him. They were friends and fellow camp counselors and fake boyfriend and girlfriend and that was the extent of it.

That was it.

She was almost sure of it, but the funny feeling in her gut was making her wonder.

___

“I made sure Ondine knew you and Alya are dating.” Alix made air quotes around the last word. “Oi! Manon! If you keep swimming with that lanyard around your neck, you’ll die!” She eyed the young girl in the lake and then nodded in approval when the lanyard was tossed on a float.

Kim went for nonchalant and failed miserably. “How’d she react?”

“I don’t know. Weird. I heard her telling Alya she was happy for you guys, but it sounded all fake.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t tell me you’re going to get back with her if this whole jealousy plan works. Come on, dude. Don’t be dumb.”

“It’s not a jealousy plan.” Kim stood and picked up a stray beach ball that landed on the pier and punted it back out into the lake to the cheers of campers. “It was just supposed to help with the drama.”

“Ah, the drama. This is why I don’t date, well, and like a thousand other reasons.”

He rolled his eyes. “I thought you liked Ondine. You were going to be my better man at the wedding.”

“Which I still say is a step up from being the best man,” she nodded. “Max can shove it.” She flicked at a water beetle that had crawled up the plank towards her hand. “I don’t know. I never had a problem with her, but I don’t like the way she did you so now I don’t like her.”

“Aww, you do care about me,” Kim teased.

“Shut up.”

His expression grew serious. “I don’t want you to not like her because of that. She didn’t do anything wrong.”

Alix shrugged. “Anyway, what’s the deal with you and Alya?”

“What do you mean? You know the deal.”

“Okay, sure, the deal.” She made air quotes again. “But I’m talking about the real deal that neither one of you want to admit to.”

Kim looked at her in confusion. “Uh, what?”

“You honestly don’t know that you’ve fallen for her?”

The universe was on his side because before Kim was forced to answer, there was a chorus of screams as one of the male campers broke the surface of the water with a bloody gash on his temple from showing off during his jump. Kim stood and went to the edge of the dock to help the laughing boy out of the water.

He didn’t dare look at Alix as he passed by. Her words were still ringing in his ears.

____

“I can’t believe we’re about to start the last week. I feel like this summer went by a lot quicker than the others.” Alya watched Kim force marshmallows onto the roasting rod and frowned. He seemed distracted and irritated and not his usual cheerful self during the campfires they had at the end of each week once the campers left.

“Yeah, I guess.” He swore under his breath as one of the marshmallows tore and dropped to the ground.

“Do you want some help?”

“No.”

“Okay.” Alya didn’t like the way his quick response made her feel. She’d started looking forward to these nights, counting down the days and hours until every camper left the grounds and she could meet Kim at one of the more hidden fire pits and enjoy a relaxing night with just the two of them. She refused to look too deeply into why she’d grown to love them so much, falling back on the easy answer that it was simply a nice treat after a long week of babysitting. “We don’t have to do this tonight if you’re too tired or something.”

Kim’s head whipped up and he looked at her with wide eyes. “No, I want to.”

She felt taken aback by his expression. “Okay...you just don’t seem like you’re in the best mood.”

He picked up the fallen marshmallow and tossed it into the fire. “Sorry. I think I’m a little bummed we’re at the end already.”

“Is it because I’ve been such a great fake girlfriend?” Alya batted her eyelashes and tried to pretend that she didn’t care what his answer was.

Kim grinned at her but it didn’t have the same spark his smiles usually held. “Something like that. Was it as bad as you thought it would be?”

She considered it. “The s’mores made up for the awkward bits.”

“I better get to roasting then.” His smile took on more of a genuine feel and that made Alya relax.

“Hop to it, mister.”

He saluted her and finished spearing the marshmallows.

Alya watched him, trying to decide if she wanted to continue in the same conversational direction or change the subject. She opted to be brave. “Do you think your plan worked?”

“Hmmm?”

“Was there less drama since other counselors thought we were dating?”

“There would’ve been less if Alix wasn’t around.” He shook his head. “But yeah, I think it really helped. Thank you.” He met her eyes over the fire and Alya felt like her heart was leaping into her throat. He really was gorgeous.

“It was no big deal,” she answered and was surprised her voice didn’t sound as shaky as she felt.

“I guess you’ll want to fake break up at the end of the week, huh?” Kim watched the marshmallows soften and Alya watched him.

“I...well, that was the deal, I guess.”

“Yeah.”

“But, you know, there will be the counselor appreciation thing like two weeks after we leave here.”

Kim frowned. “I forgot about that.”

“So I guess if we still need to be dating for that, we can be.” Alya bit her lip shyly.

“That would probably be good if you don’t mind.” He met her eyes but then quickly looked back down at the marshmallows as he pulled them away from the flames.

“I don’t mind.”

“Good.” Kim’s lips spread in a wide grin as he began to assemble their s’mores.

Alya echoed and knew she was smiling like an idiot. “Good.”

“And you know, when you look at it that way, next summer really won’t be that far away so it might be easier if--”

“Kim, just ask me out already,” Alya interrupted.

He jumped a little and then beamed at her. “You wanna keep being my fake girlfriend?”

“No.”

“Ah.”

“But for a few s’mores, I could be persuaded to be your real one maybe.”

“Is that so?”

“Eh, we’ll see how the night goes,” she teased, feeling a mixture of embarrassment and excitement.

Buy me a cherry coke?

#kimya #le chien kim #alya cesaire #miraculous ladybug

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toaarcan · 5 years

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Scourge the Hedgehog: The Bad Fanfic Apotheosis

Y’all are gonna hate me for this one.

This is something of a followup to my previous post, Fiona Fox: Depth vs. Prominence, and inspired directly by the discussion I had with a friend in the comments section of the DA upload of it.

Part 1: Fanfic vs. Canon- Genesis of the Recolour Elements of the Archie Sonic the Hedgehog comic have long been compared to a bad fanfiction, particularly the parts of the story written by Ken Penders, though other writers like Bollers, Chacon, and Flynn have drawn that label too. I'm one of the people that's done it, and that's largely because I hold fanfic and official material to very different standards. There are certain things you can do in fanfic that you can't do in official material, especially with franchises like Sonic, and especially with more niche parts of said franchise, like a comic series. Of course, there are also certain things you can do in both, but you probably shouldn't. And Scourge is one of them. What exactly the process behind Scourge's creation was is something that's been debated. For a lot of people, he's considered to be a parody of the then-rampant "Sonic Recolour" fad, wherein fans would take screenshots of Sonic X, and other official artwork, and then edit it in Microsoft Paint, or another similar program, to create their own characters and stories. Now, this was long decried by other fans, myself included, as incredibly lacking in creativity and originality. It also had an "Ew, cringe" reaction, due to the often-shoddy editing, text-to-speech voices, and usually some top-tier mid-2000s Nu Metal for the music. These days, it's much easier to look back and say "These were mostly made by kids who were just having fun, and it's completely harmless", and it becomes apparent that a lot of the people that were making fun of them and criticising them were grown men, at which point you kinda realise that this "internet fad" was basically just bullying a bunch of children for not being up to the creative standards of some adults. Everybody was looking for the next Chris-Chan, but Chris-Chan is a near-unique entity, as only one other person alive has ever managed to combine that sheer void of talent with a monumentally repulsive personality, and that person is Ken Penders. But Sonichu is the least interesting thing about Chris, and Chris became the laughingstock that he is because of his inability to avoid posting his entire life on the Internet, which was something of a rarity in those halcyon days before the rise of modern social media. Sonichu was a gateway to the actually interesting content also on his channels, whereas these recolour-creators didn't have anything like that, just endless Windows Movie Maker slideshows. And, like, Chris was in his 20s when he became the Internet's punching bag for the first time, and while he's a horrible person, so were the people that dedicated their time and effort to trolling him- His story is fascinating, but it has no heroes. And into this collective cocktail of grown men shitting on preteens, so Ian Flynn introduced Scourge the Hedgehog. Is Scourge a parody of Sonic recolours? I sincerely hope not. The reason for that is twofold, and I'll discuss how his portrayal generally doesn't seem to be mocking those tropes further down the page, but the second issue with the idea that he is a parody is best explained by Sir Terry.

Parody can never punch down, and as a then-24 year old man writing official canon for a franchise, mocking a bunch of 10 year olds on the Internet for making bad stories would definitely be punching down. And, as I said, nothing about the way Scourge is written is in any way poking fun at the tropes of these fancharacters and stories. It's pretty much all played completely straight. So not only do I hope Ian wasn't trying to mock these fancharacters, but there's also little reason to believe that he actually was. He's not a parody, he is a send-up. And on the one hand, it's kinda nice to throw a bone to those kids. But on the other hand... is Scourge really the character you want to represent your part of the fandom in official material? A cruel, violent, abusive, vicious monster that spends his time palling around with a girlfriend that the writer reforged to be the most unlikable character in the entire comic? Yeah, can't say that's what I'd want if I were one of those people, but he seems to be popular enough, so maybe I'm in the minority there. But now we get to the meat of the problem. You see, the way Scourge is written is one of those things that you can do in fanfic, but you shouldn't do in canon. Part 2: What is a Mary-Sue? The term "Mary-Sue" gets thrown around a lot these days. It's gradually lost all meaning, and has slowly become a term for "Female character that I don't like," mainly used by whiny, easily-offended Broflake Youtubers, who get all pissy that Star Wars films aren't specifically catering to them, to the point that you only have to make a girl be good at something in a movie and these pissbabies lose their shit. I liked Episode VII and VIII more than I, II, or VI, get fucked. But what, then, is a Mary-Sue? And why is it relevant to Scourge? The answer to that first question is a lot more complicated than it might seem. Not just because there are now several different varieties of the trope, but also because the trope itself evolved as it began to be applied to non-fanworks, and additionally because the name itself is somewhat non-indicative. A male Mary-Sue can exist, though these are normally referred to as "Marty-Stue" or "Gary-Stue", or more cynically "The Protagonist". Check out the average Batman comic these days and you'll see what I mean. Originally, the term applied only to a self-insert character in a fanfic, that was an overly-idealised version of the author, dramatically overpowered, hugely popular, normally dating whichever member of the cast the author wanted to bone, or sometimes multiple partners at the same time, along with a few other traits. It's actually pre-Internet term, originating in a Star Trek fanzine when "Mary-Sue" was created as a parody of other fans' similar characters. Over time, the trope evolved to the point that, while the "author avatar" feature is still a pretty big indicator, it's not really necessary. So while there are probably plenty of people out there who want to be Batman, not every character that is a Mary-Sue is someone for the author to project themselves onto, and not every author avatar is a Mary-Sue. Generally, the important features of a Mary-Sue are now: 1) Receives a great deal of favouritism from the author 2) More powerful than the rest of the cast, often to the point of absurdity 3) Faces zero consequences for their actions. 4) Liked by characters that have no reason to do so 5) In a relationship with a character that has no reason to date them, previous relationships be damned. 6) Most importantly, the story will bend over backwards to give them easy wins, even in situations where they logically should struggle. You're probably starting to get where I'm going with this, and if you're not... Part 3: Creator's Pet Scourge is a Creator's Pet. He gets shown a fair bit of favouritism from Ian Flynn, primarily the guise of how much focus he gets. Scourge is the most prolific villain in Ian's run, aside from Eggman himself. While other, better villains like Mogul and Naugus were being imprisoned repeatedly until one retired and the other became a dog, and a huge chunk of the comic's remaining antagonists were being subsumed into the Eggman Empire, Scourge was only moving up, not only being the villain of Ian's first two issues on the book, but continuing to make sporadic appearances for the next twenty issues, before appearing as the new leader of the Destructix under Finitevus in the Enerjak Reborn arc, followed swiftly by a stint as the Big Bad in Bold New Moebius. Does he actually deserve this level of importance? You be the judge, but personally, I don't think so. Even within those stories, Scourge gets special treatment, the biggest and most obvious being Metal Scourge. Now, personally, I think Metal Scourge was a better character than Scourge himself, but the fact that, of all people, Scourge got a Metal counterpart before anyone else, including Knuckles, who had such a counterpart in the games for over a decade by that point. Especially since, well... Metal and Mettle is a fun story, but it doesn't really do anything for Bold New Moebius as a whole, does it? It's basically pure filler, only really serving to add another dead Metal Sonic to Ian's list and stall the plot out for a bit longer. And, of course, the most clear indicator of Scourge's favouritism is that he was he first Archie character to receive his own Sonic Universe arc, and the only one to do so without needing two or three SEGA characters also making up the rest of the lead cast. "Lockdown" isn't a particularly good story, but its existence speaks to not just the insane popularity that such an unworthy character received, but also Archie's willingness to indulge that. Sonic Universe was largely intended to tell stories revolving around the members of the SEGA cast that, for whatever reason, weren't able to regularly appear in the main book. This... frequently got broken, with Sonic, Tails, Sally, Bunnie, Antoine, and Amy all taking centre-stage in the book before obvious candidates like the Chaotix got a look in, some of them twice over, but Scourge was the only time they were willing to try a story based entirely around one of their characters, and they gave it to the already extremely prominent Scourge. It's pretty clear that Ian loved using this character, and did so as much as possible. YMMV on whether that's good or not. Part 4: Scourge OP plz nerf Let's be real, he's overpowered as fuck. Now, overpowered characters aren't necessarily bad, but it's significantly harder to write an OP character than an on-average one, and Scourge didn't work out so well. From the moment he turns green, he's basically unstoppable. The one time he actually seems to remotely struggle is actually in 161, where he looks ever-so-slightly winded after curbstomping Sonic and Shadow at the same time. From then on, while he does start to slowly even out with Sonic, he also continues to utterly demolish basically everyone else, especially his easy conquest of Moebius. It's been suggested that conquering Moebius should be easy, because the big threats are all good, kind people there, but that somewhat ignores that there are anti-versions of the heroes kicking about too. All the (Mostly) benevolent rulers of the Primeverse should be tyrannical despots there, and there are excessively powerful entities like the Anti-versions of Merlin and the Guardians, not to mention whatever horrors Anti-Gerald would've unleashed on the world, and that's without the Suppression Squad themselves. While the comic has generally treated Sonic as being able to stomp the entire rest of the FF, well, who says it has to be a fight? Why the fuck doesn't Patch just poison him? I mean, the obvious answer is "Because then Bold New Moebius won't have a main villain", and sometimes contractual villain immortality has to be a thing, but a good writer should be able to avoid putting the characters in that position. Following on from that, Scourge gets to fight basically the entire FF and Suppression Squad at the same time, (Sonic and Amy are absent and Fiona is on his side), and he's winning until Sonic shows up. Then directly after that is the hedgehog brawl, and despite Sonic managing to get everyone against Scourge, he easily manages to escape and break out his Super form. Even after spending his time in the No-Zone completely powerless, Scourge manages to break out the moment he gets his powers back, despite the prison being full of characters who should be equally or more powerful than him, and the police force that caught them all, basically unchallenged. Scourge never faces an actual challenge in the comic. He never struggles, and the one time he actually loses? Ian makes up some new lore on the spot, which is contradictory to SEGA lore from the same year, and then uses that to have Sonic trick Scourge into depowering himself. Not only does Scourge never struggle with anything, but he also never actually loses a fight. Part 5: When will you learn, that your actions have consequences?! Probably never, because Scourge's actions never have consequences. Throughout his entire run, Scourge gets to go wherever he wants, do what he wants, with or to whomever he wants, and he never has to deal with the fallout of the decisions he makes. Absorbs the energy of a matter world into his antimatter body? He's better than fine, it only made him stronger. Turns up in Knothole with his secret girlfriend's hated arch rival by his side? Never mentioned again. Blows Fiona's connection to him, costing Finitevus' operation a potential spy in Knothole, where Knuckles is? Not even considered a factor. Ditches Finitevus to go and make Moebius into an egopolis? Finitevus isn't bothered, and supports Fiona's efforts to rescue him later down the line after than plan backfired on him. Blinds Patch in one eye out of jealousy/spite? The guy that poisoned Armand and Max, took a torch to Antoine's personal life, took advantage of Sally's frayed mental state, emotionally damaged Bunnie, and tried to assassinate Elias to get what he wanted lets him get away with it. Openly announces that he's going to destroy both worlds? Conveniently does it when he's alone with Sonic so nobody can tell Fiona what she's letting herself in for. He eventually does get sent to jail, but he breaks out with ease the next time he turns up. Because, y'know, that's just what we want to see. Villains never having to deal with karma. Part 6: What does anyone see in him? Scourge doesn't quite get the "everyone loves him" treatment, but he still gets a whole lot more respect than he's ever earned. Both Sonic and Zobotnik are portrayed arbitrarily deciding that maybe there's a shred of good in this monster, and this is the part where I stress that he's abusive again. Maybe if I repeat that enough it'll sink in. Despite knowing full-well the sort of person Scourge is, Sonic's response to Scourge's crappy cribbing of the "One Bad Day" speech is to try and turn it around and claim that Scourge only needs a tiny bit of decency to be a good person, and this is outright untrue, and given what we see of Scourge later, I'm frankly disgusted that Ian tried to pull this with a character he'll pretty much unambiguously portray as an abuser. Zobotnik's case is even more baffling. We're introduced to the guy in the Lockdown arc, and it's implied that he's effectively a tyrannical warden, ruling over the No-Zone with an iron fist, taking an almost sadistic delight in punishing the inmates. But yet, for whatever reason, he decides that it's a good idea to try and rehabilitate Scourge, for no adequately established reason. Even on the other side of the morality line, we have Finitevus, who apparently respects Scourge enough to not just make him leader of the Destructix during the Enerjak Reborn arc, despite him very clearly not being a leader, and not being liked by any of his comrades except Fiona, but then when he promptly ditches the whole plan toward the end, Finitevus apparently decides that he not only wants to get him back, but is willing to go to great lengths and risk losing the only team of mercenaries dumb enough to work for a guy who is quite open about his intentions to "purify the world with Chaos fire" in order to do it. And speaking of, the most egregious case of this comes again in Lockdown, where the Destructix all end up siding with Scourge. Across the second half of the arc, Scourge learns his new team's backstories, and despite them clearly showing traits and beliefs that should make them respect him less, this somehow works in his favour, and he manages to wrest leadership of the team from Fiona. Especially galling is that it appears that Fiona loses their respect early on because of her faith in Scourge, who to them, looks pathetic, but then they end up supporting him anyway, despite doing nothing to earn it. But wait, one's missing... Looks like it's that time again. Part 7: Oh right, he's an abuser. It's time to talk about Fiona. Fiona's heel turn is really, really effective at selling you on the idea that Fiona is a vile, cruel, and selfish person. It's a dramatic, "big bang" moment that, in basically a single panel, got an entire fandom to hate a character. Now for some it was more of a "Love to hate" thing, but there are plenty of people out there who just really hate Fiona for this single moment. And when you're introducing a new major villain, maybe that's what you want to accomplish. What it doesn't do, however, is sell you on her motives for taking that course of action. Fiona, for the rest of her existence, mainly antagonises Sally, whom she has no worthwhile connection to on either side of her turn, other than being the evil Sally to Scourge's Evil Sonic, and stands around or clings to Scourge's arm, looking smug about her abusive relationship. And yes, it is abusive, verbal abuse is still abuse, and the implications that he's physically abusive are present too. I know this is something that Scourge's fans don't really want to accept, but it's true, and we're going to get into that later. For now, what matters is that this character's run as a villain mainly consists of: Fiona: "Hey Sugar-Queen, look at how much my boyfriend yells at me and insults me, and probably beats me when he's angry. I make smart decisions and you suck." We never come to understand why this character, who is so motivated by her belief that everyone will eventually double-cross her that she has decided to start lashing out at people before they can turn on her, is willing to put her faith 100% in someone so repeatedly deceptive that he first approached her by pretending to be someone else. Like, in terms of bad first impressions, that's up there with arriving at a job interview in full clown regalia. The comic makes no effort to show why these characters like each other. Scourge allegedly likes her because she chooses to turn evil and join him, rather than being born evil, but this clashes with not only the fact that Fiona is a genuinely good person before this, who makes a solid effort to stay loyal to her friends first, and is lured into villainy by him, but also the fact that she blames everyone but herself for her current situation, but especially with the fact that all of the foreshadowing for Fiona turning evil consists of people not trusting her because she has a shady history. Scourge claims to appreciate that Fiona is a good person that chooses to be evil, but the narrative has a clear message of "If you started evil, it doesn't matter if you try to become good, you will always revert to type." Which isn't exactly a good message, Ian. In return, all we get from Fiona's side is that Scourge "has no expectations of her and just wants to have fun", which clashes entirely with how we see them interact in subsequent arcs, where Fiona frequently looks disturbed or apprehensive, or just bored, while Scourge yells at her and threatens her for not meeting his standards. Seriously, why do people ship this? But okay, okay. Scourge is a good liar, and Fiona's established paranoia and history do make her vulnerable to manipulators like him, so maybe she falls for his lies and gets taken for a ride. That could happen, sure. Doesn't really explain why she becomes a horrendous person all of a sudden, but whatever. Maybe he convinced her to do it as a sort of hazing, and a means of ensuring she couldn't go back. That fits with his abusive nature (You might also notice that this the explanation I used in Revival). But why does she stay? And why does she refuse every out she's given? Why, after everything that pulled her to his side has turned out to be bullshit, does she remain devoted to him? Now, you can argue that due to the abuse and the manipulation she's suffered, she believes she has to stay with him, and that's a fair shout, but her appearance in Journey to the East is kind of a stumbling block for that theory, because we're shown a Fiona who is fully capable of functioning without him, and even after making efforts to establish herself... the next time we see her she's gone back for him. And now... well, it's time to talk about that "A" word I've been bringing up a lot in this section. Scourge is abusive. I've frequently referenced that he verbally abuses Fiona every time she displeases him across the book, but the most telling scene is this one from Issue 190.

"You do not want to be sent back with me." Translation: "If I get sent back, and you're sent back too, I'm going to beat the shit out of you." Fiona (With her invisible left arm) isn't excluded from this threat. Fiona isn't surprised by this threat either. Nor does she not take the threat seriously. She looks like she's expecting to be struck. He beats her. And please, nobody say that "he's just angry", that's apologism. Now, I dunno if this was in the script, or if Fiona's face was something Yardley did on his own, but given that this arc ends with Super Scourge announcing his intention to destroy both Mobius and Moebius, simply because he can, regardless of the collateral, I'm willing to bet that this relationship wasn't a happy, stable one. But, unfortunately, this element was never made clear enough. Now, your mileage may vary on whether you think Sonic the Hedgehog comics are the appropriate place to discuss abusive relationships or not, but we've got one now, and Ian dropped the ball. This wasn't a Joker/Harley, where the pairing was clearly abusive but also sold DC/Warner millions of dollars worth of merch, this wasn't a RWBY, where Adam took three years to show up and had already won a huge number of fans from his admittedly cool design and powers, so people already liked him before they even knew what his personality was like. Ian had full control over this, no merch to worry about, and Scourge's prolific appearances gave him plenty of opportunity to make it clear that this was an ugly, repulsive thing that Fiona needed to get out of ASAP. And he didn't. Because panels like this, and all the yelling, clearly weren't enough for the fandom. No, you point this detail out to them and they'll make excuses, try to pretend it didn't happen, or just get offended, or worst of all, outright say they don't care and still ship it. We have fanartists who became real official artists creating stories where this garbage-fire pairing is used for sad feels, not because Fiona got stuck in a relationship with a controlling, violent monster, but because oh no they really loved each other and now Fiona's dead isn't it tragic don't you feel sorry for Scourge? No. No I don't. I feel sorry for the thousands of teenagers who support an abusive relationship because Ian was too cowardly to make it clear that the relationship in question was just that. Now, do I think that Ian is an intentional abuse apologist? No. Do I think he wimped out of taking the necessary steps to make it clear that this was bad because he didn't want people to dislike his shitty pet villain? Oh yeah, I do. Scourge's reputation was more important to Flynn than appropriately and sensitively portraying a destructive, damaging relationship between a woman and her monstrous partner. Well, I say "Woman", let's not forget that Fiona was meant to be sixteen, and realistically if you take her timeline into account she's more likely to be about fourteen. Real fucking classy. Part 8: Effort? What effort? So, now we get to our final criteria. And frankly, it's the easiest one to cover. From the moment, Scourge turns green, his life becomes a cakewalk. Everything he ever wants is handed to him with zero actual struggle on his part. Wants to be stronger than Sonic? He is. Zero side-effects to using a Chaos energy form from a mirror universe, or having a Super transformation interrupted, he just seemingly gets to be half-Super forever. Wants another leg-up on Sonic? Here's Fiona, sans personality. Sonic says he's just a lame ripoff of himself? He conquered a planet in a week, look at how cool he is. Also his team all roll over and make him their leader even though they hate him and they could easily kill him. He gets to walk through the entire FF/Squad teamup, and the Hedgehog teamup, and then when he gets to the No-Zone, Zobotnik, who has kept far smarter and more dangerous characters locked up for decades arbitrarily decides to reform him and gets completely suckered by him. The Destructix fully throw in with him, despite him never actually earning their respect. He never loses a fight where he wasn't depowered first. You know what the irony of this is? Ian has a character whom he is contractually obligated to never have lose for longer than an issue or two. And honestly, he wasn't awful at disguising that. Sonic gets a few wins that feel too easy, but for the most part, the issues with this rule mainly manifest in Sonic's limp responses to the tragedies happening around him, and a sprinkling of minor failures and pyrrhic victories ensure that the rule looks more like shoddy writing in a few places unless you're explicitly told about it. And even then, he still manages to make it look like Sonic struggles to attain those victories, that he has to actually put his back into it every time. He is challenged. Scourge isn't allowed to be challenged. That's the irony. Ian has a protagonist who he is not allowed to have lose, and Sonic still manages to be avoid looking like a boring invincible hero, while Scourge just never faces anything that can actually pose a threat to him. Powerful opponents crumple before him. Characters' personalities and development shift to suit his needs. The plot warps to benefit him. Because heaven forbid Scourge actually have to work for his wins. Who needs stakes when you can have the writer on your side! Part 9: In summation... I think you should've all twigged where this is going by now, so let's wrap up. 1) Does Scourge receive a great deal of favouritism from the author? Yes. 2) Is Scourge more powerful than the rest of the cast, often to the point of absurdity? Yes. 3) Does Scourge face zero consequences for his actions? Yes. 4) Is Scourge liked or respected by characters that have no reason to do so? Yes. 5) Is Scourge in a relationship with a character that has no reason to date him? Yes. 6) Most importantly, does the story will bend over backwards to give Scourge easy wins, even in situations where he logically should struggle? Yes. According to these criteria, Scourge the Hedgehog is almost a textbook example of a Mary-Sue. Which is probably why something as disgusting as him got away with so much. I guess, then, that his role in Revival, and a lot of the stuff before that, is the unfortunate reality of a Mary-Sue who suddenly has to deal with the fact that they're no longer getting that special treatment from the writer. That now their actions have consequences, that now the universe doesn't shape itself to their desires.

#Sonic the Hedgehog #Archie Sonic #Ian Flynn #Scourge the Hedgehog #Fiona Fox #Evil Sonic #Critical #CW: Abuse #TW: Abuse

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the-kaedageist · 5 years

Text

I just found a Rivals extra prompted by @ariadne-mouse almost a month ago on my computer!

This takes place during chapter 5 of the fic, when Cisco and Harry are on the local talk show being ridiculous at each other. Ariadne was like “can you imagine the gifs on Earth-2 tumblr after that?” and this was what came out of my brain.

Getting off the phone with yet another member of his board of directors, Cisco was exhausted and it wasn’t even noon yet. Before yet another person called him to complain about him “coming out” as a metahuman (and Cisco rolled his eyes, because this was not nearly as bad as coming out as bi had been with his parents, but this world didn’t even have that trauma unless you were like a fundamentalist in the middle of nowhere), Cisco jumped on the internet to read up on the reactions to his revelation.

There were a lot of articles with titles like “Ramon is a Metahuman! What is the future of Ramon Industries?” or clickbait like “Cisco Ramon reveals his darkest secret!”. Being an Elon Musk-equivalent was kind of weird and invasive; Cisco didn’t know why he’d craved fame so badly before. Unsurprisingly, most of the articles focused on Cisco’s reveal and completely ignored Harry, which was fine by Cisco, who still felt his stomach flip when he thought about how Harry had looked at him with those wide blue eyes as they’d left each other in the parking lot.

Harry. Cisco closed his eyes and took a deep breath, using thoughts of Harry’s calm steadiness, his hand on his shoulder, his unrelenting support to calm himself. No matter what the fallout from his decision ended up being, it was a relief to know that Harry would be there beside him. Sometimes it still blew his mind that the doppelganger of his boss, of Harrison Wells, was quickly become one of the great loves of his life.

Feeling more grounded, Cisco turned back to the internet once more, ignoring yet another call from an unlisted number (most likely another reporter). From being a nerd himself, he knew that he had a rather passionate fanbase on Jumblr, Earth-2’s version of Tumblr. Jumblr had better mechanics to the site and was more user friendly, but otherwise it was pretty similar overall, and Cisco occasionally found himself scrolling through it trying to learn about Earth-2 pop culture. There was also that one particularly pathetic time when he’d searched the ‘harrison wells’ tag and found Harry’s GQ spread – that had been a Lot.

Opening Jumblr, Cisco searched the ‘cisco ramon’ tag and blinked in surprise at the posts that came up. There were a handful of posts talking about how brave he had been to come out as metahuman, a few “Cisco Ramon is cancelled” posts that made him feel sad, and then the third most popular subject was…people posting gifs of him and Harry staring at one another? They even apparently now had a ship name, “Ramells”. (Seriously, there had to be a better smushname than that – Earth-1 Tumblr would totally have come up with something better.)

The ‘ramells’ tag was filled with post after post of gifs and commentary. ‘Look at how Ramon glances at Wells and licks his lips,’ one post read. ‘And Wells’s eyes catch on his mouth. They’re totally boning.’

‘It’s gross to speculate about the fictional relationship between two real people!’ another post proclaimed. Another person had replied to that with Cisco Ramon/Reader fanfiction, which Cisco carefully scrolled past without reading.

Then he found a gif set of the aforementioned mouth licking, and, oh, the internet was 100% right on the money. The gif-maker had slowed down the footage to really accentuate the look that Cisco tossed at Harry under his eyelashes, licking his mouth as their eyes caught. A second gif showed Harry’s eyes slowly dipping to watch Cisco’s mouth, biting his own lower lip between his teeth. The evidence was pretty damning.

Cisco didn’t know how he felt about it. Sure, he’d wanted to climb Harry like a tree for nearly a month, and he’d known for awhile that Harry felt the same way and was giving him space for some reason, but he wasn’t sure he liked it being broadcast to the world for everyone to see. It felt like something private, that belonged to just them.

Beneath the mouth-licking gifset, someone had written fanfic of him and Harry. Cisco scrolled past originally until curiosity got the better of him; he scrolled back up. This person had imagined them catching one another backstage, and Cisco couldn’t help himself and started reading.

Wells caught up with Ramon, catching him by the wrist and tugging him around to face him. “Ramon,” he said. “Wait. I—“

“If you’re going to judge me for being a metahuman, I don’t want to talk about it,” Ramon said hotly.

“I wasn’t going to judge you, I think you’re incredibly brave. I just.” Wells broke off, cursing. “I just wanted to do this.” He tugged Ramon in closer and leaned down to capture his mouth in a brutal, searing kiss. Ramon was stunned – Harrison Wells was kissing him!! – but kissed him back fervently—

Cisco scrolled past it again, rolling his eyes. He’d thought the interview had made it clear that Harry already knew he was a metahuman. Some people had no listening comprehension.

There was another gifset with all the moments highlighted in yellow during the interview where he’d called Harry ‘Harry’. ‘They have nicknames for each other!’ the post proclaimed. ‘Cisco calls Harrison Wells ‘Harry!’’

Several of the gifsets had also been reblogged by a popular tabloid, which was not something that tended to happen on Earth-1 tumblr. Earth-2 was weird about their celebrity shipping culture.

Cisco read the posts with a mixture of amusement, chagrin, and embarrassment – god, he and Harry really were ridiculous for each other. He finally selected one of the gif sets that involved mouth-licking and staring and copied the link for it, pasting it into a message to Harry. “The internet loves us,” he said, sending it before he could regret it.

During the five minutes it took Harry to respond, Cisco managed to second guess himself and regret his message. What if Harry found it weird and invasive? What if he didn’t understand how Jumblr worked?

Finally, Harry replied. “What on earth is this?”

Cisco had a good chuckle imagining Harry’s horrified face. “Jumblr has decided we’re in love,” he replied.

To Cisco’s astonishment, the response from Harry was not nearly as angry and horrified as he expected. Instead, he got back the shrug emoji with, “if the shoe fits.”

He stared at the message for a long time, feeling warm all over. Was Harry saying…did he…?

“I guess it does,” he cautiously typed in response, his head swimming.

“It does for me,” Harry replied. “I’ll meet you at 4 in the parking lot at Rathaway Industries?”

Cisco’s heart flip-flopped in his chest. Who was Harry? How was he so different from Dr. Wells? What had Cisco done in his short life to deserve this incredible, ravenous desire that unfurled between them every time they were in each other’s presence?

And how was Cisco ever going to leave Harry when he finally found a way back to Earth-1?

He’d deal with that problem when he had to. “It’s a date,” he replied with a cheeky grin. “See you at 4.”

#rivals!harrisco au #extra #my fics #writing #snippets #harrisco #of course I can't get tumblr to keep my italics formatting for some reason #seriously tumblr #really???

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acuaticamber06 · 5 years

Text

I have been fighting with this fanfic for quite literally a month. (I’ve been missing the Nek(r)o gang, @nekob00 .) But it’s finally done! Let’s see what trouble Dawn can get into while trying to work with magic, shall we?

***

Dawn dragged the back of her hand across her forehead, leaving a greasy streak in its wake, but she was too focused to notice.

She was excited about this one. Ever since she had begun imbuing objects with magic, her creations had become increasingly more complex. Protective jewelry had given way to one-use magical bombs that could blind opponents or turn the ground they walked upon into thorny vines that would coil around enemy legs and hold fast. But this... this would be her greatest creation yet.

She turned the tiny screw and the final set of cogs clicked into place. She shut the case and with a grin, held it aloft: a clockwork wolf.

Dawn loved animals. She adored Astra and spoiled the snow leopard rotten whenever she had the chance. But she never wanted to keep a pet of her own. She didn’t want any poor creature depending on her for survival. What if she had to pick up and run again? She wouldn’t put any pet through that. But if all went according to plan, she’d be able to make tiny mechanical companions to aid her in a fight.

She’d been shadowing a clock-maker in town for weeks, learning how to craft tiny wind-up machines. It was tedious at first, the careful, precise placement of parts and pieces. It took a level of patience she wasn’t sure she could sustain. But looking at the device in her hands, she knew it was all worth it.

The machine was made to look like a tiny wolf. He stood as tall as her knee and three times as long as her foot. Against a real wolf, he’d look like a toy. But that’s what she’d made him to be. The secret lay in his innocuous design, as his teeth were razor sharp, and he had retractable claws of the same kind of blades.

He had as many joints as a real animal. She made sure by studying the skeletons left over by the butcher. That was a grisly step in the process that she was glad was over. For the parts that didn’t match the livestock there, she simply played with the neighbors’ dogs, testing their patience with her poking and prodding. Since she always ended with a meaty treat, they were good enough to put up with her examinations.

Dawn tapped the little wolf lovingly on the nose.

“You still need a name, little one. Ah, but we have to save that for The Keeper, don’t we?”

Names, Dawn believed, gave a person as much power as their own life did. She knew how much her own name had influenced her over the years. And in the process of imbuing, she’d seen how magic could take an item’s name and use it to give the item unique abilities.

Miri had cautioned her against strange names from the beginning, and at first she’d called items exactly what she wanted them to be, like a Necklace to Heal Wounds and a Shield Bracelet. But branching out with one of her flash bombs, she’d called it the Shooting Star, and while it did blind her, it took off into the air like a signal flare and people far and wide saw it streak through the sky.

Though Dawn vacated the area immediately, Miri scolded her as soon as they next met. Any fool could put two and two together, and Miri was no fool. After that, Dawn took greater care with the names that she gave to her creations.

Although she was fond of the sink-or-swim method with most things, Miri was a godsend. Dawn never would have gotten as far as she had without the elf’s help. She smiled as she packed her bag, remembering how tense she’d been during that conversation.

***

“Miri! I think I’m ready.” Dawn jogged up to where Miri was standing in her garden. The elf lifted an eyebrow.

“You think? Either you are, or you are not.”

“Oh! Uh, well then, I am!” Dawn puffed out her chest a bit. “I am ready. I’ve got my-“

“No, you’re not.” Miri cut her off. “If you think you’re ready, you aren’t. If you don’t think you’re ready, you probably are.”

“Wha-“ Dawn deflated. “But you just said-“

Miri chuckled.

“I know. Come inside. I will explain.”

Miri led the way to her table and spread a map out in front of Dawn.

“Here.” She pointed. “This is where the well is located.”

“It is a literal stone-and-mortar well? What should I be looking for? Are there any landmarks?” Dawn studied the spot next to Miri’s finger.

Miri shook her head. “The well appears differently to each person, so what it looks like to me may be completely different from what it will look like to you. I won’t taint your mind with my experiences. I can tell you that you follow the river to the river-head. When you find the water flowing from a copse of trees so dense that even woodsmen would have trouble getting through, you have reached your destination.”

“I...see.” Dawn nodded, making a note on her own map of the location. “But if the copse is so dense, how will I get through? How do I reach the well?”

Miri folded her hands in front of her mouth in thought.

“The well is a home, and the copse is a door.” She lowered her hands. “You’re going to meet the person who lives there. You’re going to have to knock.”

“On the trees?” Dawn asked, a bit incredulous.

“Not literally!” Miri amended, a look of horror briefly flashing across her face. “Please don’t actually knock on the trees.”

“Oh, then how-?”

“There are three key things to remember when dealing with beings of magic. The first is patience.” Miri tapped the spot on the map again. “Go to the door and wait. The guardian will know you’re there. If you are patient, you may be rewarded with their presence. But, again, this is their home. They can choose not to answer the door.”

Dawn nodded, and Miri continued.

“If they do appear to you, they will ask you a series of questions. This is where number two comes in: honesty.” Miri leveled a serious eye at her. “Do not ever speak to a being of magic with anything less than honesty. They can sense lies in your words, if not read your mind entirely.”

Dawn looked perplexed.

“But, if they can read my mind, why bother asking me questions?”

“Because your words are just as important as your intent. Do you remember the requirement you heard in children’s tales for someone to be ‘pure of heart’? Innocence has little to do with it.” Miri shook her head slowly. “Don’t lie to the guardians. Don’t even try.”

“Duly noted.” Dawn shifted in her seat. She felt very uncomfortable with this meeting all of a sudden. “You said there were three things? What was the third?”

“Be polite. Always treat them with the utmost respect, and they will be inclined to do the same for you.” Miri’s countenance shifted and her eyes smiled. “But that is simply common sense.”

Dawn nodded again.

“On the topic of threes, you will need to gather your gifts before you can go.”

“Gifts?” She watched as Miri stood and rolled up the map, placing it back into the tube where it lived.

“A gift for the earth. A gift for the sky. A gift for the guardian of the well.” The elf’s eyes looked far away as she spoke. She blinked and brought her gaze around to Dawn. “The three gifts you need for the ritual. The guardian will judge you on these as well.”

“I meant to ask you about those!” Dawn brightened and leaned forward. “What kinds of gifts should I bring? I have some ideas, but...”

She trailed off at Miri’s expression. It was closed.

“They are gifts. Truly meaningful gifts come from the giver’s heart, not from a friend’s council.” She walked around behind Dawn’s chair, gesturing toward the door. “Think about the words from the ritual and decide what gifts best fit each part.”

Dawn sighed and rose from her chair, picking up her bag and looping the strap across her body. Miri followed her out the door and into the garden.

“Remember: be patient, be polite, don’t lie. And you’ll be fine!”

Dawn took a step and pulled up short.

“Miri?” Her voice wavered.

“Yeah?”

“I don’t think I’m ready for this.”

Miri clapped her on the shoulder.

“That’s the spirit!”

When Dawn turned to look at her, the elf had disappeared back inside, shutting the door behind her.

With a sigh, she shifted her bag and set off, contemplating what Miri had told her.

***

There really was no mistaking the entrance to the well. Dawn had never seen a stand of trees grow so thickly together in all her life, and with a veritable river flowing out between them. Clearly there was magic at work.

She picked a tree near to the water and sat down against it, resolved to wait as long as it took for the guardian to notice her. Birds hopped from branch to branch above her head, singing in the afternoon light, and she smiled as she watched them. They were such joyous little creatures.

Seconds became minutes. Minutes became an hour. While the area was simultaneously peaceful and teeming with life, Dawn wished she’d brought something with her to pass the time.

She rolled onto her knees and crawled the few steps to the riverbank, examining the stones there. When her fingers touched the soil around a particularly smooth stone, her eyes lit up.

“Clay!” She whispered.

Dawn dug a chunk of the clay from the ground and sat back against her tree again, playing with it. She worked it until it was smooth, then began shaping it into the image she saw in her mind.

“What dost thou do here?”

The voice made Dawn nearly jump out of her skin, and her eyes darted about the space in search of the source. Then she spotted it: the top of a humanoid head and two eyes peeking out of the river at her.

The guardian!

“I’m waiting for you, actually.” She smiled, hoping the being couldn’t tell how nervous she was.

“Thine intent is fair clear.” The guardian slowly rose from the water and stepped on shore. It took the form of an elfin woman in a long, flowing gown. The fabric looked translucent from the water, but then Dawn realized that her entire body had the same translucency. Her skin was in shades of blue and her gown shifted hues of green as she moved closer.

“What dost thou do here,” The guardian pointed to the clay in her hands. “With this bit of earth?”

“Oh! I was making a clay bear to pass the time.” Dawn held it up so the guardian could see it better. She’d formed it into the basic shape of a bear, with four stocky legs on a rounded body and a head and snout.

“Although it isn’t finished...” She cast about quickly for a twig, and when she found one, she added a few details. “He still needs eyes and a nose...and fur...”

The guardian seemed fascinated, watching Dawn scratch into the clay. Before long, the bear had more definition, showing claws, a lipped muzzle, and perky ears.

“I’ve only seen bears at a distance- well, and in paintings- and while I know they can be dangerous creatures, they look so soft and fluffy! I’ve always wanted to touch one.”

Silence stretched between them and Dawn realized that the guardian’s scrutiny had shifted from the clay to herself. She set the bear aside and gave her best smile to the being once more.

The guardian’s eyes were a soft but solid pink. There were no pupils to be seen, so Dawn couldn’t tell exactly what she was looking at.

“What is thy name?” She finally asked.

The guardian had moved on to the questions, just as Miri had told her. A rush of relief coupled with anxiety flowed through her as she answered.

“My name is Dawn.”

“Why dost thou travel here, Dawn?”

“I seek the well of magic.”

“Why dost thou seek the well?”

This question gave her pause. She looked down and thought for a moment before she answered. She wanted to be honest.

“To protect my friends.” She directed her eyes back up at the guardian. “I am not proficient with weapons or trained in the art of fighting. One of the people I care about almost died protecting me because I cannot protect myself.”

A pang of guilt ran through her and she clenched at the ties on her bodice.

“I don’t want them to die for me.” Determination settled deeply in her heart. “I want to imbue magic into objects that can protect and defend us.”

The guardian knelt and studied her again. As the seconds strung out, Dawn reminded herself to be patient.

“Speak thy truth.”

Dawn blinked in confusion.

“What do you mean?”

“If the copse is a door, your words will be the key.” The guardian’s speech began to shift as she spoke, though her tone was no less regal. “Speak your truth.”

“My... truth.” Dawn searched her memory.

My truth? What is my truth?

Her mind suddenly seized on a phrase she’d read in the book Miri had lent her.

“Ex nihilo nihil fit.” The words sprang from her mouth without a second thought. “It means-“

“Nothing comes from nothing.” The guardian finished for her.

“You know dead languages?” Dawn looked surprised.

“I know every language.” Her eyes softened. “It is a good truth. It suits you.”

The guardian stood and walked into the copse, fading past the trees and out of sight.

“You have your key, Dawn.” The guardian’s voice filtered out to her past the foliage. “Speak the words and come inside.”

Dawn got up and faced the way the guardian had gone.

“Ex nihilo nihil fit.”

Upon the last word, the trees pulled away from the water like curtains being drawn to either side of a sunny window. And the sight beyond took her breath away.

The forest had given way to a clearing that housed a spring. It bubbled up out of a small mound of stones and fed into a placid pool. Water lilies dotted the edges, but the center was crystal clear. The river rushed from where the water fell off the edge of the pool at a speed that did not match the pool’s calm surface. The guardian stood beside the river, beckoning her in.

“Welcome to my home. This is the well of magic you have sought.”

Dawn walked beside the guardian, speechless. The meadow that framed the pool seemed to be growing every plant she’d ever seen in the area. Colorful fish darted to a fro in the pool, while butterflies danced among the flowers that bloomed out of season. The air felt almost alive, and she pulled an uplifted hand through it experimentally. Her arm fell back to her side with ease, but she wouldn’t have been surprised to feel some resistance on the way down.

The guardian led her to a little grassy hill that rose close to the far edge of the clearing beneath the shade of a large oak tree. She sat, curling her legs beneath her, and invited Dawn to do the same.

“Your home...is beautiful.” Dawn finally managed. She tore her eyes from the wonder all around her to focus on her host.

“Thank you,” The guardian seemed a bit more relaxed now, but she gave off the same intensity as before. “But you should thank the Magic. I tend it and hide it, but the well flows out and into the world, purifying and encouraging growth. Every drop of water that comes from this river has magic in it. So, too, do you if you drink from it, whether you can use it or not. It is there.”

Dawn felt her mind wander for a moment as she looked out over the scene.

Does that make my urine magic?

The guardian burst out laughing, and Dawn felt blood rush to her cheeks.

She can read my mind!

“I am so sorry!” Dawn’s horrified apology was muffled from the fact that she had her face in her hands.

The guardian’s bubbling laughter slowed, and she smiled at Dawn.

“Yes. I suppose it could be magic, too, but I suspect your body would use it for healing hurts before it traveled to the end of the process.”

“So, you can read my thoughts.”

“Yes.” The guardian tilted her head. “Does that disturb you?”

“A little, yes.” Dawn rubbed one arm nervously. “I can control my words and my actions, but I cannot control my thoughts. Sometimes they are...truly terrible.”

“Those thoughts are simply the mind’s way of exploring the breadth and width of morality. For, if you did not recognize evil, how would you strive to be good?” The guardian looked out over the spring. “Miri was correct in that. Words are as important as intent. Combine them with actions, and you will see who a person truly is.”

“What...should I call you?” She needed to change the subject. Dawn was desperately trying to get her thoughts in order, and that seemed like the best place to start.

“I have many names, but they all have the same meaning.” The guardian took a gentle finger and stroked the petals of a crocus growing near her knee. “You may call me the Keeper.”

“The Keeper...” It wasn’t really a name, but it wasn’t any worse than The guardian, as Miri had referred to her.

The Keeper nodded. “The Guardian will also suffice. I am the guardian of this place. The keeper of the well.”

“How did you come here?” Dawn asked. “How did you become the Keeper?”

“I was born here.” The Keeper turned her cherry blossom eyes in Dawn’s direction. “When the well sprang forth, so, too, did I.”

“You mean you’ve never left?”

The Keeper shook her head. “I have never felt the need. I guard the well from those who would abuse it, and the well sustains me.”

Dawn craned her neck to look at the oak tree towering above them. The Keeper lived in a paradise. The outside world paled in comparison. She could understand why the being had never left.

“You brought the gifts, did you not? For the ritual?”

Dawn started and grappled for her bag. “Oh yes! Of course! Wait,” she paused, looking at the Keeper. “You didn’t judge me on them before you let me in.”

“Miri is not correct in all things.” The Keeper smiled. “She is certainly well versed in magic and it’s uses, but she has not yet mastered the reading of minds.”

Dawn nodded and pulled the gifts from her bag, placing them in a row in front of the Keeper.

"A gift for the earth," she set down a small, homespun bag, tied with a strip of leather.

"A gift for the sky," next she laid down a dandelion puff that had gone to seed.

"A gift for the guardian of the well." Finally she produced a handkerchief tied into a pouch at the corners.

The Keeper picked up the tiny homespun bag and looked inside.

"These are Iccia seeds."

Dawn nodded. "They are so rare around here; I thought it might be appropriate."

The Keeper picked up the dandelion and looked over the plant at her.

"And this?"

Dawn twisted a piece of her skirt between her hands. "I was at a bit of a loss for what to give the sky. But when you blow on the puff, the seeds take off on the breeze, so..." she could feel herself blushing again as she trailed off.

The Keeper smiled and twisted the flower, admiring it.

"Interesting choice."

The Keeper's eyes found their way to the handkerchief and she tilted her head.

"Let me get that for you!" Dawn reached over and untied the package. Inside rested a small loaf of nutty, brown bread.

"I wasn't sure what to bring for you." She admitted. "But I bake quite often and I give bread to all of my friends, so I thought I'd bring some to you as well."

Dawn's face fell a bit.

"But I didn't even consider the possibility that you wouldn't be able to eat it. Or that you don't eat any food at all." She bowed her head. "I'm sorry. That was thoughtless of me."

"Do not despair."

The Keeper's voice made Dawn raise her head.

"When I take a form such as this one, I can eat." She picked up the loaf and smelled it. "I will try this...bread."

Dawn held her breath as the Keeper tore a piece from the loaf and put it in her mouth. The being's eyes widened.

"It is...much softer than I expected!" She looked down at the loaf in her hands with surprise. "There is magic in this bread."

It was Dawn's turn to be surprised.

"Really?"

The Keeper nodded. "Indeed. So your gift nourishes my body as well as my spirit."

Dawn didn't try to suppress the relieved smile that bloomed on her face.

"I'm so glad!"

The being nodded. "These are good gifts. You have chosen well." She stood, gathering the items in her hands. "Shall we begin?"

Dawn stood and followed the Keeper to the water's edge. The being turned to her.

"What do you wish to imbue?"

"This." Dawn handed the Keeper a leather wrist-cuff.

"Did you make this with your own hands?"

"I did." This had been another important requirement that Miri had impressed upon her: the items meant to hold the magic must be naturally occurring, or made by the imbuer. They were much more reliable that way.

"What magic do you want it to perform?"

"If my friend is injured, I want it to heal them."

The Keeper smiled and extended her hand. "Walk with me."

Nervously, Dawn took her hand. It was both warm and wet, thrumming with magical energy. The Keeper pulled lightly, stepping into the water. It took a few steps before Dawn realized that they were walking on top of the pond, rather than into it. Though her heart was beating abnormally fast as she watched the fish swim beneath her, she tried to keep her composure.

"You will participate in the ritual as well." The Keeper reached the middle of the pond and stopped. "Everything I touch, you will touch. Give me your hand."

The Keeper held out the tiny pouch of Iccia seeds. Dawn timidly reached out her hand, and the being put the bag in her palm. She then cupped her hand beneath Dawn's.

"A gift for the earth." If the Keeper's voice had radiated intensity before, it was nothing compared to the power her voice carried now. It fairly rattled Dawn's bones, and she felt magic flow up through her hand from the Keeper's. If formed a bubble of water around the pouch. Gently, the Keeper lifted her hand, and the gift rose to float in the air, the Iccia seeds spilling to tumble about inside the bubble.

They repeated the process and Dawn joined the Keeper as she spoke the words, until all three gifts floated in the air, turning in slow circles around them. When Dawn held out the cuff, the Keeper pressed against her hand.

"Grip this one and brace yourself. Do not let go."

Dawn gripped the leather tightly, and the Keeper wrapped both of her hands around Dawn's fist.

"Wurr ahll kausod, wurr ahll rollu," The language that flowed from the being’s lips was as every raging river and trickle of rain, all at once. The gifts spun in the air around them with increasing speed, lifting higher with each pass. "Okdiu shok aeais wahsh toh vawuare."

She leaned close to Dawn's ear and whispered. "Speak it's name."

Dawn lifted her voice above the rushing magic.

"Cuff of Healing!"

On the last word, the gifts merged into one bubble, which glowed with a blinding light and shot like an arrow at the cuff they held. It hit with such force that Dawn was sure she would have dropped it had the Keeper not been there to steady her. They stood against the torrent of power for what felt to Dawn like hours. Finally, the power reversed, flowing out and away from them, leaving them standing in the middle of the pond with the cuff glowing in their hands.

Dawn felt her knees give out and the Keeper caught her by the elbows. "I'm sorry-" Dawn apologized, but the Keeper shook her head.

"Miri collapsed in the presence of the magic for the first time as well."

Dawn took shaking steps until they reached land, then sat down with a thump. The Keeper sat next to her, putting a soothing hand on Dawn's knee.

"It is done. Now, you rest."

A few minutes later, Dawn’s muscles had finally stopped shaking. She gazed down at the cuff in her hands. It hummed with the same power she felt when she took the Keeper’s hand. She truly was a being of magic.

“Who will receive this gift from you?” The Keeper asked.

“The reckless one.” Dawn replied, a slight frown crossing her features. “Ris. He’s entirely too overconfident in his abilities.”

She gazed back down at the cuff, the frown deepening. “I don’t know if this will improve his mental state, but at least it will help keep him alive if he does anything stupid.”

“Care must still be taken.” The Keeper warned. “The cuff cannot heal all wounds, although it can help with most. The deeper and more severe the hurt, the longer the magic will take to heal him. It may be that an injury is too large for the magic to fix what is broken before the body succumbs to the wound.”

“Even the magic can not reverse death.” Dawn murmured. “Miri told me that.”

“And well she should know.”

Dawn quirked an eyebrow at the Keeper’s comment, but did not speak. The being could read the questions in her mind. If she wanted to answer them, she would have.

I suppose even beings of magic can have secrets.

They had parted amicably afterwards, with Dawn promising to bring more bread next time, and the Keeper wishing her well on her journey home.

And Dawn had done just that: she went straight home. Originally, she was going to stop by Miri’s house to tell the elf all about her experience, but the sun was almost set when she left, and the woods could be dangerous at night. She needn’t have worried, however. The Keeper had sent a cloud of fireflies to light her path. They followed close around her, only dispersing when she crested a hill and could see the lights of the town flickering below.

***

"Ex nihilo nihil fit."

Watching the trees part at her words never lost its grandeur. The Keeper rose from the center of the pond to meet her.

"Greetings, Dawn."

"Good afternoon, Keeper!"

After chatting for a few minutes under the tree, the Keeper turned to the sling.

"I would ask what you have brought to imbue, but your thoughts have been fairly boiling with it since you arrived." Humor was easier to read in her voice now that Dawn had gotten to know the being. "May I see it?"

Grinning like a giddy child, Dawn unwrapped her creation, handing it to the Keeper proudly. "I worked for months to be able to make him."

"It shows. Your work is exceptional." The Keeper held the metal wolf for several long minutes, examining every piece of his body.

"Why do you wish to imbue this?" The Keeper brought her rosy gaze up to Dawn. "Why not befriend a true wolf? I am sure I can arrange an introduction."

Dawn rubbed an arm nervously. "I...can't."

"Why?"

"If I have to run...if I have to leave them behind..." She shook her head firmly. "If a creature came to depend on me, and I had to leave it behind for any reason, I would never forgive myself. But a magic wolf made of metal would be able to fight alongside me, and keep up with me if I run." She smiled at the contraption in the Keeper's arms. "Perhaps I will miss out on the companionship of having a pet, but I've been alone this long. I know how to be alone."

She felt a tiny twinge of regret at her words. But considering her circumstances... and even magic had its limits. There wasn’t much she could do about it.

The Keeper held the wolf, looking deep into his glass eyes. “Have you chosen a name?”

Dawn nodded. “Batair.”

“A warrior’s name.”

The Keeper stood and began walking to the pond.

“Oh, wait!” Dawn dove for her bag. “Let me get the gifts-“

The Keeper turned with a smile and shook her head.

“I need no gifts. This one...” she looked down at the wolf. “This one I will do myself.”

Dawn watched in confused silence as the Keeper walked out upon the water alone, beginning the ritual without her.

Every bone in Dawn's body was telling her that this time was different. It was more than just her lack of participation. The Keeper's movements were different. The words she spoke in the language of magic were different. The Keeper herself seemed to glow as she danced on the surface of the water, bubbles swirling lazily in the air about her. She lifted the wolf high, then swept him low, dipping towards the pond. She paused there, and the lilies and aquatic plants reached up above the water, tangling around the wolf.

She let go and the wolf rose in the air next to her, pulsing with the same light she gave off, but brighter. The plants engulfed him entirely, writhing and growing. With a beaming smile, the Keeper suddenly shouted.

"Hartwin!"

The flash of light was a familiar one, and when it faded, Dawn could see the Keeper extending her arms to catch the wolf, who was now fully animated and wiggling in the air like an excited puppy. She giggled as the wolf licked her face, then she leaned in to whisper in his ear, looking over at Dawn.

The wolf's eyes darted her way, locking with her gaze, and Dawn felt her breath hitch. His eyes were brilliantly pink, just like the Keeper's.

The Keeper knelt to put him down, and the wolf took off running, faster than Dawn could have imagined him moving, barreling straight towards her. She felt frozen to the spot, not sure of what she should do.

Should I run away?

Before she could decide, he lept into her arms with a joyful yip, licking her face just as he had to the Keeper moments before. Once she got past the shock, Dawn began to laugh as well, cuddling the wolf close.

He felt so real! The metal and clockwork was no more. He had flesh and muscles and fur, just like a real dog. His fur was the same green as the Keeper's skin, and as he bounced around her, whining happily, she could see tiny highlights of blue on the tips of his coat.

"H-how-?" Dawn gaped up at the Keeper as she stepped off the water and onto the ground next to them. "What about the ritual? The gifts?"

"The ritual requires gifts because the magical items are made from both the magic of the well and what you give. Without the gifts to focus the power, the magic would pass right through the objects. This ritual did not require gifts because he is of me. I focused the power through myself.” The Keeper tapped her chin thoughtfully before she continued. "In your terms, he is my child. And my gift to you."

Dawn looked down at the tiny wolf, rolled onto his back and his tongue lolling out as she scratched his belly.

"You... gave me your son?"

"Fear not, he had the choice whether or not to go with you. I think perhaps the fact that he was born in your mind before he was born here may have influenced his decision. The body you built is still within him, although now it will never rust or want for oil. And forgive me for changing the name you chose, but sometimes we cannot see our true desires through our fears." She stroked him lovingly, and he leaned into the touch. "Hartwin means 'Brave friend.'"

Dawn truly didn’t know what to say. She had come looking for a way to craft a companion that she wouldn't get attached to, but how could she turn away such a precious gift?

"But...what does he eat?" She asked, mild panic beginning to build behind her words. "What if he gets hurt? What if-"

The Keeper put a firm but gentle hand on Dawn's arm.

"Be at peace, my friend. Any food you prepare will nourish him. He is made of my magic, but has a different core than I, one that you made." A small smile spread across her lips. "Love has a magic all it's own. He can defend himself from harm, but should he be wounded, take him to a river and he will heal. Water will help any hurts he might sustain. He can run like the wind and is as steady as a stone. This I ensured when I spoke him into being."

One by one, the Keeper explained away Dawn's fears. She had no objections left to use.

So why am I still afraid?

A warm muzzle nosed its was beneath her hand and Dawn looked down at the wolf. Her wolf. He looked up at her with cherry blossom-pink eyes that said so much without a single word.

Not my wolf; my friend.

A smile spread slowly across her face, easing the worry lines. She stroked him tentatively, and he wiggled happily beneath her hand.

"Hartwin. I like it."

He bounced up, barking and spun in a few quick circles. Dawn laughed at his antics. Maybe she would enjoy having a pet after all.

She stood up and watched Hartwin dash out through the meadow with all the energy of a puppy, but more speed than any canine should ever have. Dawn reached into her bag and pulled out one of the unused gifts, wrapped in a soft kerchief.

"I know you didn't need any gifts this time, but I would still like to give this to you." She handed the package to the Keeper, who unwrapped it and gasped lightly.

It was a pink crystal that had been carved and polished into a water lily blossom. It was suspended from a strip of leather, the pendant of a necklace.

It was the Keeper's turn to look surprised, and as a mind-reading being of magic, Dawn thought this was no small feat.

"This crystal..." the Keeper trailed off.

"Came from my homeland." Dawn finished for her. "I found it in a cave system while I was...leaving. It gave me strength during the hardest parts of my journey, knowing that beautiful things could come from a place where I thought all goodness was dead."

Awed, the Keeper turned the blossom over and read what Dawn had inscribed there.

"The Keeper is an acceptable title, I suppose, but that is all this it is: a title. It is not a name. And you are so much more than just the job you perform. You are everything this place is, and more besides."

"Araluen." The being read aloud. "Water Lily. What a beautiful name." She looped the necklace over her head and wrapped Dawn in a hug.

"Thank you, my friend. I will keep this name."

"You will?" The grin nearly split Dawn's face, and she returned the hug. "That's wonderful!"

They stayed and talked until the sun began to set, and Araluen sent Dawn and Hartwin on their way with another escort of fireflies. Ever after, whenever Dawn visited the well, Araluen wore the necklace, as polished and gleaming as the day it had been given to her.

When Dawn arrived home, she set about cooking a quick meal for herself and her new friend. She was impressed by the size of his appetite as he wolfed down more than half of what she'd made, and she wondered distantly if he would grow.

She rubbed her eyes as the embers of the fire in the hearth began to cool.

“Well, Hartwin, I think it’s time for bed. Let me gather some blankets for you to sleep on-”

Before she could finish her sentence, he had jumped up onto the bed, working his way down into the blanket until she could only see his pleading eyes. Dawn couldn’t help but laugh.

“Alright,” She conceded, climbing under the covers and curling her body around his. “But just for tonight.”

***

Whew! 6,200 words! Thoughts? Suggestions? Spelling errors? I’d love to hear what you guys think.

Now I think I’ll go sleep for an age and a half. Formatting this thing on my phone was a pain. (Hence why I jumped to the computer at the end.)

#nek(r)o #fanfic #my writing #dawn #miri #araluen #hartwin #good pup

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whopooh · 7 years

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Great tension in the Miss Fisher fanfic – post number 2

The tension is palpable.

Some weeks ago, I wrote a post on the theme of Unresolved and resolved sexual tension in the Miss Fisher fanfic, where I collected great quotes submitted by the fanfic readers. Here is post number two, and I apologise for the delay. A third will come soon!

Thank you to everyone who took their time to send me recommendations – you are the sweetest! The text about every fic is from the recommender!

So, here goes:

“Kneel” by @edeainfj/deedeeinfj (chapter 1 of “Investigations”). Recommended by @firesign23:

In “Kneel” from deedeeinfj’s “Investigations”… well, there are times I am just going about my totally not Phrack-centred life and moments from this drabble cross my mind. (I could actually say the same about pretty much all of her work, to be honest, but this was one of the first ones I read so it’s getting the shout-out). But It’s a beautiful story about pleasure and control, and the unexpected depths of passion in our beloved inspector. And I can’t reduce it, every piece integral to the outcome, so you can get it in full:

Phryne judges her lovers on their first reaction when she kneels to pleasure them with her mouth. She doesn’t like being told that she doesn’t have to, as if she doesn’t know that damn well already. As if she, Phryne Fisher, would kneel and put a cock in her mouth if she didn’t want to. A man who is forthright about wanting his cock sucked is a man who truly understands the pleasure of giving pleasure. He is a man who will put himself at the mercy of his lover—even a woman. He is a man who isn’t afraid of losing control of his power or his body. He is a man who is willing to take, to submit to what is freely given. When she kneels and her partner begs her to continue, she aches with desire.

So, the first time she kneels before Jack, her heart sinks a little when he lays a hand on her head and says, “Wait.”

She should have known that he would fall into the gentlemanly, chivalrous category, but still she had hoped—

He continues, though. “Wait. Let me sit,” he says, out of breath, voice hoarse, fingers curling in her hair until it’s almost painful. “I can see you better this way. And I don’t think I’ll be able to keep standing while you do that.”

His smile is sheepish, but the one she flashes in return is devilish, happy, adoring. She doesn’t give him time to beg.

“Perhaps Another Time” by @mercurialbianca / TheHonorableMrsMcCarthy. Recommended by @geenee27:

The author writes a delightful epilogue to “THAT SCENE” containing a lethal dress and dangerous lingerie. What happens, after these two have thrown charged words and filthy looks each other, is superbly explored from Phryne’s point of view:

“Perhaps another time. At a less dangerous hour, in a less lethal dress.” Phryne Fisher knew “a tell” when she saw one and the flutter of his eyelids confirmed her suspicions. His lips may have said he was leaving for the evening, but his eyes had given her an I.O.U. And his voice had unmistakably lowered half a register. A little thrill ran through her. Flirting with Jack Robinson had become a favorite pastime, she was now thinking there was a very real chance it might become a contact sport.

I love how much Phryne recognizes a worthy opponent when she sees one.

Not always, Miss Fisher.

“Appropriate” by @whopooh. Recommended by @geenee27

Aunt P interrupts Phryne and Jack’s “Not Always, Miss Fisher” moment; however in this wonderful tale it happens later as she catches them in a scenario not particularly ‘appropriate’. There is lots of delicious reactions from Phrack, Mac and Aunt P, about the interruption, in the following days, but I particularly chose this passage relating to Jack’s thoughts as he beats a hasty, embarrassed retreat and is driving home:

He already knew something about kissing Phryne, but he hadn’t imagined the difference it would make that she was now fully aware of what was happening, and focusing on him. He took her in his arms, like he had wanted to do more times than he could count. He revelled in feeling her against him, sensing her through that thin robe she was wearing. As their kiss grew heated, he felt a bolt of lightning burn straight through him, almost incinerating him. This was how it felt to kiss Phryne Fisher – to press her to him, to hear her whisper against his lips. It was like containing electricity in his arms, like being scorched beyond recognition and not regretting it for a moment.

First real kiss – perfection. Is it getting warm in here?

For jeneep’s “Sweltering”, I received two recommendations:

“Sweltering” by @jeneenp/Collingwoodgirl. Recommended by @federalistdarling:

Can I quote the whole thing?

I love this piece because it seems such a realistic crescendo to the will they/wont they nature of their relationship. It seems typical Phryne to catch Jack off guard and even goad him a bit then to have her quote Shakespeare to him almost as an olive branch for her naughty behavior.

A frustrating beginning and a sweet and somewhat sweaty ending. Haha!!

God, she wanted him. Months of doing this little dance - this slow waltz with Jack - had left her feeling dizzy, almost desperate, with desire for him. The feeling was mutual, she knew, but whether out of propriety or fear, he had managed to parry each and every one of her advances. Well, not this time, she assured herself. (from chapter 1)

When Jack dared take his eyes off the road, he could see Miss Fisher attempting to nonchalantly observe his every move through her dark sunglasses. It was far too loud in the roaring motor car to talk and he could feel the expectation and anticipation building between them. (from chapter 2)

“Sweltering” by @jeneenp/Collingwoodgirl. Recommended by @kanste:

A heatwave, a picnic and a hail storm – what more do you need? Ah, yes, Phryne seducing Jack with Shakespeare. Here is one great quote from this wonderful story:

The last of the ink residue long since vanquished, her fingers continued to caress his hand. He finally allowed himself to look up at Phryne’s face and found that his gaze was met instantly by darkened eyes. A sultry smile was bestowed on him, her lips twisted in a bright red bow that he ached to unwrap. Jack was so caught off guard by her unmasked attraction, he actually smiled back. He saw her eyes widen in surprise and triumph and he felt immediately wrong footed.

“Ah, thank you,” he murmured, half surprised that he could speak at all and reluctantly wrenched his hand and eyes away from her.

Phryne let his hand slip away but continued to smile, a wicked glint sparkling now in her eye. She had been watching him closely as he had given himself permission to take her in, indulge in her touch and proximity. She could practically feel the heat smoldering from him. All she needed to do was strike the match and pray that the fire would consume them both.

“You’ve got more,” she informed him, her voice as smooth as the whiskey.

She raised her hand to his face and skimmed a curled finger across the soft skin under his chin, her thumb braced against the small cleft.

“Just here,” she breathed, reveling in the feeling of his tender flesh, how his eyes fluttered shut at her touch, the tiny shudder that seized through him and electrified her fingers.

A tiny huff of breath escaped his lips, sharpening his features. But before he could protest, she brandished the whiskey-soaked handkerchief again and was blotting his throat, careful to let the backs of her fingers brush against as much of his exposed skin as possible.

Jack sat stock still, seemingly in utter anguish as his body rejoiced at her touch while his brain stuttered for a reason to stop her.

Phryne had lowered her face so close to his, she could feel his breath ghosting against her, count the green flecks in his aquamarine eyes. She felt his adam’s apple bob against her hand and knew his self-control was tenuous at best.

“Phryne,” he whispered. His nostrils flared as he spoke and it was the sound of her given name on his lips - the pleading tone in which it was uttered - that provoked her.

“Are you alright?” she asked - the very picture of innocence. “You seem a bit overheated, Inspector,” she challenged, looking him directly in the eye and refusing to give an inch.

Are we on stage or not, Miss Fisher?

“Nine Times Out Of Ten” by @ollyjayonline. Recommended by @whopooh:

There is such delicious tension in this story, in the way Phryne and Jack have one relationship in reality, and then plays up another version – where she needs to pretend to be interested in him, while he not in her – and @ollyjayonline explores the uncertainty about what is play and what is real in such a wonderful and very tense way.

Here is a lovely passage showing the two layers:

“I’m making things right, everyone here is now very clear that I have decided to put an end to your budding romance with Miss Bowen - oh and I’m about to seduce you.”

“Really?” his eyes flashed back to hers, “Am I going to enjoy it?”

“No. I need you to look uncomfortable and perhaps a little angry, remember we’re only professional colleagues and you know better than to get romantically involved with a woman like me.”

He nodded, this was a role he knew how to play.

And this is a wonderful example of how the two layers are starting to blend together for Phryne:

“I think that’s enough for tonight,” she had whispered, gazing up into his eyes, as she let her hand wander possessively over his upper arm, “I want you to look like you’re telling me how inappropriate my behaviour is and then leave.”

“This is me telling you Miss Fisher that I would appreciate it if, next time you decide to play match maker, you leave me out of it,” he spun on his heels and walked away.

She stood there for a moment, unsure exactly how much of that had been acting.

And then it gets even more tense, because their play also harks back to hurtful actions in their relationship, reminding them of their own pain – and then the fic gives us an incredible release of the tension, after the break in this quote:

“Can we start again Jack? As friends? Please?” She would never admit, not even to herself, how often she had dreaded having to say these words to him.

He shook his head, “I don’t think that would work, last night you reminded me of feelings that I thought I had conquered.”

“Sounds serious,” the words were out before she could stop them, damn him for unsettling her like this.

A flash of pain appeared in his eyes and it took a moment before he replied, “It is.”

Upset at having unintentionally brought up their previous estrangement she reached out, seeking the comfort of what they were to each other now, only to have him step away.

“Good night, Miss Fisher.”

For the second day in a row she was left behind, alone and off balance.

***

As soon as he stepped in her cabin she threw him up against the door, claiming his mouth with a wild hunger. “Don’t you ever walk away from me like that again Jack Robinson,” her voice was dark and threatening, “You don’t get to leave me behind. Never!” Her hands moved roughly around his body undoing buttons, ripping off his bow tie, pushing off clothes in a frenzy that left him groaning helplessly against her.

Dragging her dress up over her hips she ground herself hard against his thigh, leaving him in no doubt exactly how much she wanted him. Her frantic desire was intoxicating and he spun them round, her back against the door, lifting so she could spread her legs around him.

(…) Her kiss in response was savage. Her teeth hitting against his, her tongue so deep in his mouth he was almost choking, her finger nails digging into his scalp until it hurt. And he came so hard he almost collapsed.

Reluctantly letting go of her thighs so she could take her own weight, he did his best to keep them both upright.

When he had finally caught his breath, “Dare I ask?”

“Its what I should have done,” she confessed, “all those months ago when you told me you were giving me up.”

“I’m fairly sure if you’d done that then, it would have scared me to death.”

“Not quite the reaction I would have been aiming for,” she conceded.

“That Moment is Now” by @phrynesboudoir/Sassasam. Recommended by @quiltingmom:

“That Moment is Now” by Sassasam is one of my absolute favorites (top 3 but they change positions all the time, lol). This fic for me has it all, the setting, the romance, the banter, the casefic but the sexual tension (resolved and unresolved) is off the chart. I really consider it probably one of the dirtiest and yet… I love it so much. Shhh don’t tell anyone.

Here’s one part that references URST and the anticipation of the possibilities as well as feeling Jack’s mind churning is just one of many moments in this fic that gives me goose bumps:

“I can feel your eyes on me,” she said, reaching for her wine and taking a sip.

“I like watching you, what can I say,” he replied.

He faltered a little under the intensity of her gaze. Her eyes darkened as she appraised him and he felt like a child blundering through asking out a girl he fancied. But broach the subject he must. He couldn’t resist the siren call that was Phryne.

“About earlier,” he began. “What exactly did you mean?”

She leaned into him and whispered something in his ear. His eyes widened.

“Do you mean to tell me,” he kept his voice low and quiet, “that some people actually enjoy that?”

“Some people, yes,” she affirmed. “It can be very liberating. Once you relinquish control to someone else.”

“I imagine it would take a great deal of trust,” Jack remarked.

“A very great deal. But I trust you Jack. I’d let you try some things, if you wanted to,” she answered.

“I’m not certain I could,” he leaned into her, whispered in her ear, “I mean could I? It wouldn’t be – gentlemanly. Some of the things I might want to try.”

She chuckled and batted her lashes at him. “But that’s the point, Jack. It’s like playing a role. We’re miles away from home. No one knows us here. To them we’re honeymooners wildly in love.”-

She smiled softly at him.

“What if I hurt you?” he asked.

“We could have a word. If things get uncomfortable for either of us, we could say- I don’t know- ‘Prudence’ and we’ll agree to stop,” she said.

Jack chuckled and ate a mouthful of chicken fricassee. “Well that would certainly put me off,” he admitted.

Phryne laughed and sipped her champagne. “You like the idea though, don’t you,” she said at last.

Jack took a deep breath, eyes downcast before looking her in the eye. “I do.”

She smiled. “It excites you.”

He nodded slightly. “It does.”

“The thought of what we might do.”

“Don’t,” he warned. “I’m not certain I’ll be able to control myself.”

"Something of a Miracle” by @heavyheadedgal. Recommended by @firesign23:

@heavyheadedgal’s “Something of a Miracle” is a fantastic first time fic, mingling expectations and reality in a way that’s both amusing and hot, and keeps the deep and abiding friendship between these two. It’s hard to choose an extract, but I suppose I’ll go with:

In some dim corner of his mind still capable of rational thought, Jack registered that Phryne liked it when he cursed. She liked it a lot. Years in the army and police force had earned him an extensive vocabulary of foul language, though he rarely used it. So much for romance, he thought, then put his mouth to her neck and murmured every filthy word he knew. She was sweating and scratching at his back and looked absolutely glorious.

It’s perfect for this challenge of restraint and tension: Jack letting go of what he thought he wanted to do what satisfies them both, and the image of Jack Robinson with filthy words is just too delightful for words.

“A Glass Splinter” by @firesign23, chapter 31. Recommended by @whopooh:

I completely adore this fic, and just reread it. I seem to especially love the “false RST,” where there seems to be a resolvedness to the sexual tension, but it’s not properly solved. Like in chapter 26 that I never seem to stop alluding to, where Jack and Phryne have excrutiatingly different views of what they’re doing – as well as here, in chapter 31, when they have a night of farewell. They are more sincere and open to each other than they have been previously in this fic, but it’s still tinged with sadness and parting, and the resolution of the sexual tension is only half:

“Miss Fisher.”

She reached up to cup his cheek.

“Say my name, Jack. Please. Just for tonight.”

He shuddered, the hastily erected walls between them crumbling once more.

“Phryne,” he breathed.

Nobody in the world said her name the way he did, like it was everything precious in the world, like it was a secret to be treasured, to be used sparingly in moments that mattered.

She kissed him, a light brush of her lips against his tampered with hesitance. His returning kiss was slow and shallow, his hand cradling her head. They pulled away at almost the same moment, sharing a small smile.

“One last gaudy night?” she said softly, hoping he would say yes. She couldn’t bear to end it already; there were hours before her ship left.

“No,” he said, and her heart fell. He gave her a sad, lopsided sort of smile. “A farewell, perhaps, but there is nothing gaudy about tonight.“

And then a bit further on:

“Do you love me?” He had been tracing circles across her skin when she’d asked; he’d shaken his head. “Would it change anything if I did?” “No,” she admitted; it was both freedom and duty that called her away. “Then spare me that one indignity,” he’d said, so quietly that she had almost missed it.

I hope this makes you want to go and reread some fics – it sure makes me want to do it! More recommendations will come very soon.

#mfmm fanfic tidbits #reading miss fisher #mfmm fanfic #fanfic recommendations #urst/rst

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quickspinner · 7 years

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Let Me Forget the Sky, CH 1

A DA:I Fanfic

The differences between them seem as large as the riven sky, but the cause that unites them turns out to be the least of the bonds between them. The Inquisitor and the Commander’s romance, told in the moments between, with as little game recap as I can manage.

Prologue ** Chapter 2 ** Fiction Master Post

Chapter 1: A New Idea

He was certain there must have been a time when life was “normal” but he wasn’t sure there was anyone in Thedas who remembered what it was like. First the Blight and the years of upheaval it caused, then the chaos of the mage-templar war, and now…that.

Cullen stood outside of his command tent and stared up at the rift in the sky, glowing a sickly green. Solas said that spirits were being drawn through the rift against their will, the trauma turning them into demons. Cullen respected Solas’ efforts to help, though the mage’s attitude sometimes grated, but it had been difficult enough for Cullen to make some kind of peace with his feelings about mages. It was still too much to ask him to feel sorry for demons, whether they had any choice in the matter or not. A cold, clammy feeling mixed oddly with the perpetual lyrium ache in his gut. He wondered if the demons he’d fought during the battle knew. Could they sense those who had been touched before? Was it a weakness they were drawn to or a warning that he would not be taken easily?

He shook himself from dark thoughts and scolded himself to focus on the things he could change. The Inquisition had been declared and denounced. They were on their own now, the only ones willing to do what must be done. Cullen had made great progress in trying to put his past behind him, and he could not allow himself to fall back into that place now. Especially not when they might need the rebel mages to close the Breach.

The thought of an entire horde of mages descending on the camp made his skin crawl despite his efforts to be neutral. Many of those mages had been out of the Circle’s control for some time. There was no knowing how many of them were corrupt. It was easier dealing with individual mages like Solas, Vivienne, and Lavellan, people he could look in the eye and know as more than mages. It was work to control the paranoia that whispered to him in Meredith’s voice when the mages were a faceless group of which he knew little.

He went his rounds through the soldier’s camp, speaking individually to his lieutenants and making sure to check on the newest set of recruits. They had come trickling in as word of the Inquisition spread, giving various reasons for joining up but all sweeping the camp for a glimpse of the Herald of Andraste as they spoke to him. He answered a few questions–yes, she was Dalish, yes, she was a mage–and deflected others–was she really the Herald, was she as beautiful as Andraste–and wondered what they would think when they met her.

He listened patiently to Rylen’s blistering opinion of Havens logistical disadvantages, an opinion which he shared but, as Commander, couldn’t properly voice in such terms. “Threnn is working on it,” he told his second, knowing it would do little to soothe Rylen.

“Threnn is useless,” Rylen snorted. “And that merchant, Segrit or whatever his name is, he’s a crook. Half the soldiers are in debt to him already. The only one doing anything about this mess is the Herald. Seems like a little bit of a thing, but I guess she knows how to get things done. Maybe we should’ve hired a Dalish quartermaster if they all work this fast.”

“Has the Herald spoken to you?” Cullen asked, a little surprised at Rylen’s praise. Generally the Knight-Captain was stingy with it.

“Not directly, no,” Rylen admitted. “But every time she comes back to camp she delivers another batch of supplies. If we have to have a Herald of Andraste, I’m glad we got one that doesn’t mind getting her hands dirty.” Rylen seemed to hesitate, and Cullen raised his eyebrows. It wasn’t like Rylen to hold back.

“How do you want me to handle the camp talk, Ser?” Rylen asked. “The slurs–knife-ear and such, and rumors about the Dalish.”

Cullen frowned. “You’ve been hearing such things?”

“Mostly from the career soldiers,” Rylen told him. “The recruits coming in from the country, they mostly come because of the rumors of the Herald, but the others, the ones who aren’t so starry-eyed, they talk like they always do about women and elves.”

“Make sure you keep me informed about what they’re saying,” Cullen said after a moment of thought. “If there’s any true danger to the Herald, we’ll need to know. On second thought, I’ll speak to Leliana about it, her people are better equipped to follow up on rumors. In the meantime, we’ll make some public examples.”

“Got it,” Rylen grinned. “Knock some heads, do some shouting.”

“Make it clear that kind of talk won’t be tolerated anymore,” Cullen nodded. “I’ll do the same if I hear it. It probably won’t change their minds, but…”

“Don’t care what they think as long as they keep it in their heads,” Rylen shrugged. “As you say, Commander. I’ll take care of it, best I can.”

Cullen nodded and glanced up at the sun. “Carry on, Captain,” he said, shifting his sword to rest more more comfortably on his hip, and turned away, heading into the Chantry for the war council. He was early and therefore a little surprised to find everyone except Lavellan already gathered. He hesitated slightly at the door, but Cassandra tipped her head in invitation and he joined them, closing the door behind him.

“Commander. I’m glad you’re here. Before the Herald arrives, I would like to have a brief discussion regarding appointing an Inquisitor to lead us.”

“Ah–” Cullen looked at Leliana and Josephine for help, but both might as well be wearing Orlesian masks for all the expression they displayed. “I’m sorry, I just assumed…”

“I would not have spent months scouring half of Thedas for the Hero of Ferelden or the Champion of Kirkwall if Most Holy had wanted me to lead this Inquisition,” Cassandra said with a shrug.

“I understand, but surely the situation is different now,” Cullen replied, advancing to his accustomed place at the table. “There is no more time to find someone else.”

“That is not entirely true. For the moment, this council will suffice. What must be done now can be done without an Inquisitor,” Cassandra replied. “There is still time to see if there is someone else more capable.”

“Someone else–” Abruptly Cullen understood. “You can’t mean Lavellan?”

“You disagree?” Leliana asked, her voice, as always, deceptively soft and smooth, giving nothing of her own thoughts away.

Cullen hesitated. “I’m…not sure exactly. She’s not–” he paused, collecting his thoughts. “I knew both the Hero of Ferelden and the Champion of Kirkwall, as did you, I know.”

“I met Hawke only briefly,” Leliana demurred.

Cullen gestured acknowledgement. “Even before she was taken by the Wardens, Seriana was a presence. She was only an apprentice but when she walked through the halls, people - mages and templars alike - made room for her without even thinking about it. And Hawke was,” he shook his head, “Hawke was like a force of nature. She barely made an effort to hide what she was, but it hardly mattered because even the Knight-Commander was reluctant to take her on, with good reason as it turned out. The Herald is different, she doesn’t have that overpowering charisma. She’s quieter, less noticeable. And she seems…uncertain. Or perhaps just uncommitted.”

“Perhaps a little of both,” Leliana mused. “It’s true that she doesn’t have the same confidence or presence as our first choices. But consider the position she is in. I have been doing some checking and the Lavellan clan interacted with humans far more than most Dalish, but she has still found herself in a world - in a religion, even, that is not her own. Perhaps it is well that she is an…unconventional hero. Proof that the Maker can use anyone to his good purposes, as long as the vessel is willing. Perhaps she will stand as a reminder that we are all the Maker’s children, and the differences we draw between us are nothing in His eyes.”

Cullen grunted. “Now you’re talking publicity and politics. Not my area.”

“Have you so low an opinion of my faith?” Leliana asked, a teasing smile tugging her lips beneath her hood.

“No, of course not,” Cullen said immediately. “Forgive me, I didn’t mean to imply–”

Leliana waved away his apology. “At any rate, there is nothing for us to do but wait and see. I think there is more to her than what we have seen. When she has gotten her footing a little, seen for herself what is at stake here, then we can judge the truth.”

“I believe Leliana is right,” Josephine put in. “There is also this: because the Dalish are so insular, she is without many of the biases that most of us are burdened with. Mage, templar, Orlesian, Ferelden, these distinctions mean less to her than they do to us.”

“That is true,” Cassandra said drily. “For the most part, the Dalish hate all humans equally.”

“Many of them with good reason,” Leliana put in.

Josephine shrugged. “Yet she has not rejected this whole operation out of hand. She handled her first brush with nobility rather well, if a bit more sarcastically than I would prefer. But then, she is not the only one among us with that problem.” She raised an eyebrow at Cullen, who merely rolled his eyes back at her. Josephine smiled and continued thoughtfully, “Of course we know very little about the Dalish and there is so much variation between clans, it is hard to say anything with certainty, but commonly there are very few mages permitted in any single clan. I do think she is too young to be the clan’s Keeper, nor do I think they would send their leader into such danger. However, from speaking to her, I believe it is very likely that she was apprenticed to the Keeper, and next in line to lead the clan. If so, she is no stranger to responsibility or leadership, which is promising.”

“Hopefully that means she will be comfortable leading a team in the field,” Cullen said thoughtfully. “The Dalish must field small units by necessity, so surely she has experience in that area, though she may not be used to coordinating with larger forces.”

“She is a capable enough fighter, I will grant her that,” Cassandra observed. “Though she may yet prove too difficult to work with. She was even prickly with Solas.”

“The Dalish don’t have a high opinion of city elves,” Leliana pointed out. “And Solas can be a bit…prickly himself.”

“Very true,” Cassandra conceded with a small nod. “And I must say that her interactions with civilians so far have been considerably less antagonistic than her responses to us.”

Leliana’s soft tone was sober, almost sad. “Consider, also, that the first thing we did was clap her in irons and accuse her of the murder of hundreds. She is a mage, and an elf - a Dalish elf at that. I doubt she believes there is any justice to be found for her in a Chantry trial. She has no choice but to remain with us and do as we ask, for now. If she tries to leave Chancellor Roderick will have whatever remaining Chantry forces he can gather hunting her. But we must win her to our cause if she is to lead us, even as a figurehead.”

Cassandra sighed impatiently. “It is useless to speculate more. We will do what we must, and we will all have to adapt as the situation evolves. We simply don’t know enough - about anything. What happened at the Conclave, the Breach, the Herald. We can do little until we have more information. All I ask is that you all observe her and consider whether she may be fit for the role of Inquisitor.”

“Is that really our plan?” Cullen asked incredulously. “Wait and see?”

“We will not sit idly by,” Cassandra said, a bit tartly. “There is more than enough to be done before we are secure enough to make any major moves.”

“True enough,” Josephine said, and at that moment, the door opened, and Lavellan stepped inside. “Ah, Herald. Welcome,” Josephine smiled and bobbed her head slightly, as if they hadn’t just all been discussing Lavellan behind her back. “Shall we begin?”

With this new idea in mind, Cullen studied Lavellan as the meeting went on, as covertly as he could manage. She was serious and thoughtful, soft-spoken but decisive. Capable, he thought, but hardly inspiring. He remembered that flash of humor from her that had caught him so off guard the last time they’d spoken, the lopsided smile that had completely disarmed him, and wondered if that momentary connection was a sign of something more. Eventually Josephine caught him distracted, and he put the matter aside to focus on what was in front of him. All in all, he thought as the meeting ended and he moved toward the door, they’d gotten a surprising amount of work done. His mind flew back to the thousand other concerns he had to manage, and he was already a million miles away when a quiet question stopped him in his tracks.

“Commander, may I speak with you?”

Cullen halted, jolted back to reality. “Yes?” he said rather stupidly, trying to bring his focus down to the elven woman in front of him.

“I don’t want to keep you,” she said, gesturing to the door. “Shall we walk while we talk?”

“Of course,” Cullen said, resuming his step but pausing to allow Lavellan through the door first with a slight, habitual bow. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“That is actually what I wanted to ask you,” said Lavellan, pausing just a breath to let him come along side her as they moved into the hallway. “I understand we’re having trouble getting the wounded tended to. Is there anything we can do about it?”

“Not unless you have a bevvy of healing mages secreted away somewhere,” Cullen replied grimly. “The healers we have on hand are doing their best, magical and otherwise, but there simply aren’t enough of them to deal with the refugees and our soldiers.”

“I don’t, sadly,” Lavellan sighed through her nose. “My clan would not part with our healers even temporarily, and my talents don’t lie in that direction. Our Second was a much more talented healer so I didn’t pursue it, and while I know some of the herbalist healers’ crafts by necessity, what I know is more about supplies and preparation than application. But perhaps I can review the poultices and brews your healers are using and see if I know anything that can help. Is there nowhere we can send for aid?”

He glanced at her and saw that she knew there wasn’t, but shook his head anyway, since she’d felt the need to ask the question. “We may get a few people trickling in who can help, but it’s not as if we can petition the Circle to send us some healers.”

“Magic isn’t the only way to heal, just the fastest,” replied Lavellan. “What about other sources? Are there schools for other kinds of healers we can apply to? Even apprentices would be something, and could ease the load on Adan and whatever mages we have.”

Cullen shook his head again, pausing to hold open the big chantry door for her. “If we had more influence, we might be able to recruit at such places in Denerim or Val Royeaux, but as it stands most of our influence is among the country folk we’ve been protecting from demons, rogue mages, and templars. The healers there seldom have more than one or two students at a time, like Adan.”

“And they’re badly needed where they are,” Lavellan muttered thoughtfully.

“You seem very concerned,” Cullen observed. He hadn’t thought her so invested in their cause.

“The Dalish do not send our hunters out without support, nor leave them to languish from their wounds,” Lavellan said tersely. “And I am not one who can watch suffering without action. Where will your army be, Commander, if your men die from lack of care? What good will the Inquisition do if it cannot even look after its own?”

“I do not need you to lecture me on what my men suffer,” Cullen retorted. “I know it well, I assure you.”

Lavellan opened her mouth to respond and then stopped, taking a deep breath. “Of course,” she said after a moment. “Forgive my harsh words, Commander. I know well the frustration of trying to do much with little and I don’t mean to lecture you.”

“Well,” Cullen said, finding he couldn’t be really angry with her when she seemed so honestly concerned, “I suppose it is your turn.”

She laughed at that, short and sharp but it made him smile. “Well. Now we’re even, aren’t we? Perhaps we can discuss a solution more amicably.”

“I welcome any advice you can give us,” Cullen told her. “But I fear that the best thing we can do is spread the Inquisition’s influence and deal with that.” He waved a hand at the Breach. “If that doesn’t bring the support we need to get a full complement of healers then nothing will. In the meantime, keeping the healers we have well supplied must be a priority. Trade lines have been a problem. Haven is very isolated. The roads have improved significantly since the temple was discovered, but between the explosion and the chaos of the war, finding people willing to bring trade up here is difficult.” He sighed, his frustration showing on his face. “We haven’t so many soldiers that I can afford to send them out shopping, nor to guard servants who go out to gather supplies.”

Lavellan chuckled a little and he raised his eyebrows. “Sorry,” she shrugged, still grinning. “It’s just–welcome to the life of the outcast, Commander. These are problems the Dalish face every day, but hopefully that means I can help there. I’ll stop by your tent later, we can discuss strategies for getting what you need. In the meantime, I’ll bring in what I can myself.”

“That would be appreciated, Herald.” Remembering his conversation with Rylen, he added, “I understand you’ve already been a great help with the supplies. Thank you for taking the time.”

“Thank you for speaking with me, Commander,” Lavellan said, putting a hand on his arm. He tried not to flinch. “I know you’re very busy and I appreciate you taking the time to discuss the problem with me, even if there is nothing more that can be done.”

“Of course,” Cullen said, and Lavellan turned away. Cullen lifted a hand to rub the back of his neck as he watched her go, feeling vaguely unsettled. For a mage to so casually touch a templar–former templar–was rather unusual.

“A copper for your thoughts, Commander.”

Cullen jumped. “Maker’s breath, Leliana!”

“My apologies,” she said, but he could hear the laughter in her voice. “I was just wondering what you thought of that little encounter.”

He didn’t bother to question why she’d been listening. “I hardly know,” he admitted. “I’ll admit I haven’t known her for very long, but she just–never seems to be what I expect.”

“Perhaps that is because she isn’t what you expect,” Leliana suggested, folding her arms as she looked towards where Lavellan had paused to speak with Threnn. “I understand your concerns. But you must remember, Seriana was a circle mage. She learned early on that the Circle could be an ugly place and so she wore her power as openly as she could. It gained her respect and safety but it also isolated her. I didn’t know Hawke as well, but my instinct is that she may have had an innate tendency towards aggressiveness, but she cultivated it once she realized it kept people at a distance. As an apostate, and as powerful as she was, people were probably already uneasy around her without realizing why. Being so pushy gave people a reason for their uneasiness, so that they were less likely to look too closely. But our Herald is different. She had no need to hide, but neither was she surrounded by those who were her equal in power. An entirely different approach was required, and that is why she seems so surprising to us.”

“What you’re saying,” Cullen said, shifting his weight back and resting his hand on his sword hilt as he considered, “Is that she’s learned not to show too openly what she is, so that she doesn’t frighten people.”

“Yes and no.” Leliana shook her head slightly. “You’re still thinking like a templar. You say that as if her intention is to deceive, to convince people she is not dangerous when she really is. Yet she is accomplished, in control of her power, and she is not a maleficar. She is in fact, not dangerous, any more than any other warrior in perfect control of their weapon. Perhaps if you stop looking for the double motives behind her action, you will stop being surprised at them.”

“Strange advice to come from you of all people,” Cullen said, and then regretted it as unkind. “But thank you. I will think on what you’ve said.”

“I know you will,” Leliana said with a smile, as she passed by towards her own pavilion. “Consider also if more mages might be like her if they weren’t raised to fear both themselves and the world.”

Cullen rolled his eyes as he turned away. He and Leliana had gone over their differences of opinion on mage rights many times by now but she remained steadfast in her belief that mages should be free. She had been there when the Wardens took back Kinloch Hold. She had seen the aftermath of the chaos in Kirkwall. If that wasn’t enough to convince her, he doubted any words of his would do so.

As he continued back towards his command tent he glanced once more back at Lavellan, thinking again of Cassandra’s words. He wondered what Cassandra had seen out in the field with the Herald, what made her think Lavellan could walk in the steps of heroes.

Well. Time would show. For now, he had work to do.

Chapter 2 ** Fiction Master Post

Author’s Note: This setup chapter was a little difficult for me, and I hope it doesn’t drag too much, but the next section is mostly complete and will pick things up a little bit. Thanks for reading!

#commander cullen #cullavellan #fics

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welcometoteamz · 7 years

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I’m not the best at writing fanfic; I prefer bouncing my ideas of a partner... or I never follow through on them. That said, here is a drabble.

Blaine’s POV. First person. Just a stream of consciousness... what’s going though his head while Angus is being tortured.

What made you the man you are today? I’ve always been curious about that, actually. I mean, I think we can both agree you’re anything but self-made...

You accuse me of putting in the minimal effort, but you? You just inherited the business, a real estate empire Grandpa worked his ass off to build.

Was that why you hated him?

Got some daddy issues of your own there?

Was he always working? Too busy putting food on the table to give you a hug? I find that hard to believe. He always had time for me, anyway. Even when you didn’t.

Why would I be worth your time, though?

I mean…I’m a disappointment. I’m the trouble-maker. The wild child. The party boy.

I flunked out of the Wharton, a business school… and yet...

You still tried to take over my business, too. Was that just out of spite, pop? Or did I actually manage to impress you?

I’ve no idea why you make it so hard, actually. What does it take to impress you, anyway?

You’ve never struggled, have you?

Take Grandpa’s business, take mine… stage hostile takeovers of your rivals’...

You’ve never had to go back to the drawing board, never had to try. You didn’t claw your way to the top, you just knocked off the other guy. So to speak, I’m sure.

Maybe that’s why you cut me off, huh? I didn’t yield the results expected of me?

With my first entrepreneurial endeavor?

It flopped, and you didn’t tell me to get back on the horse... no, in so many words you just told me to piss off. Get out of your hair, out of your life.

I was a kid.

Sure I had expensive tastes, and that startup investment wasn’t cheap... but I forced myself to be civil when dealing with you. I tried to be professional. I had genuine enthusiasm, I wanted you to see that.

One would think you’d at least have some pride in regards to that, but we both know better.

So yeah, it flopped... and just because it wasn’t successful out of the gate? You wrote me off. Cut me off.

How did I earn quick cash?

Selling ‘De Beers’ to high school kids. Yeah, I’m sure that made you proud.

You all but disowned me, so I’m guessing you’re glad I stopped using your name.

Well, go ahead and judge. You convinced me I didn’t actually have any skill. That wasn’t a career, that wasn’t even a job... but being the wild child I am, I had some connections.

Remember Scott Eberhard, from high school? I’m sure you don’t. He had a rough home life too, he empathized. He helped a brother out, and got me into dealing... and wouldn’t you know?,

I was actually good at it.

Made decent money, too.

Wound up working for Stacey Boss eventually. Managed to impress him.

I never would have gotten into... that life... nor this one, if not for you Angus.

I’d have never been at that boat party, never realized my actual potential if you hadn’t written me off.

It’s not all thanks to you though, the man I am. We can agree, I’ve done things…

You’ve got to make some tough choices if you want to be successful in this world. It’s not easy, but you’ve got to work at it. Compromise.

The alternative is being an entitled little rich boy, and wait for daddy to retire. Or not wait.

I’m a disappointment, I’m a dick, I’m disgrace... I’m a monster, Angus. I won’t pretend I’m not.

I’m not placing all the blame on you. You just gave me the help I needed. Or perhaps, you didn’t.

Yeah, history tells me... yeah...

What was I saying, though? We make our own choices. I’ve got to own this.

We’re both greedy, we both lust for power... but I suppose that’s where the similarities end.

So... at least I didn’t end up like you. Guess there’s a silver lining.

See, there’s a reason I’m a dick. A reason I’m selfish, and power hungry. Many reasons, really... but you?

You’re just entitled. Cruel for the sake of cruelty, I guess.

It’s funny though, isn’t it? Between the two of us, you might be considered the better man.

Congratulations.

What still tickles my funny bone is that you were so sure I wouldn’t torture you. Personally.

You know how I got my brains before I bought the funeral home, right? .I’m responsible for the deaths of teenagers. Innocent kids.

Yeah, I had no problem doing that… but so do you think I wouldn’t hurt you?

I have every reason to revel in it, don’t I?

I mean... are you that arrogant?

Did you think my bad behavior could be blamed on the brains? Not the kids, but like... those pushers Boss sent to find me, after I first turned? Before Meat Cute, when I first turned you... that’s how I was getting my brain supply.

So maybe you thought they brought out the worst in me. That since I wasn’t a zombie anymore, you could appeal to my precious humanity.

Or maybe you just find yourself more intimidating than some skateboarding runaway. Fair enough, I suppose.

You’re not so deluded that you thought it’d be harder on me, given it was you, right? You weren’t so no name kid, you were my father.

Think there’s too much history there for me to turn my back on you? I mean... it hasn’t ever stopped you.

I know it bores you, but let’s review that aforementioned history. Just once more, huh?

Turned your back, turned a blind eye... that’s all you’ve ever done. Nothing. All you’ve ever done... is nothing.

Mom made it clear she needed help. You did zip. You neglected her, just like you neglected me. Didn’t bother to lock up the Beretta.

Every time Frau Bader beat me? Locked me in that dog crate, after she killed my dog. Made me the lick the fucking floor clean.

You did nothing.

You might as well have encouraged it. For all I know, you did.

See, that’s not what I’m doing. It’s not that I don’t have it in me to do it myself, and I’m not encouraging Chief and Candy to let ya have it...

I’m just not going to stop it. Where would I get off, denying them their get back? Something I never got.

So I want you to think of how it feels. I know it’ll be hard to focus, but when you’re screaming, desperately pleading for me to step in?

Savor that.

You know what I’ll do, Angus? Nothing. Not a damn thing.

Huh.

I guess we are pretty similar in some respects.

That is a disappointment.

#iZombie #Blaine DeBeers #Angus McDonough

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ollieofthebeholder · 3 years

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leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall): a TMA fanfic

Read from the beginning on Tumblr || Also on AO3

Chapter 53: Sasha

Beep! Beep! Beep!

“No.” Basira’s voice manages to sound matter-of-fact and authoritative despite being muffled by Sasha’s shoulder blades.

Sasha groans and rolls forward to slap at her alarm clock. “Well, you don’t have to get up, but I have work today.”

“Ugh. I should. I really need to start looking into getting a new job, but…” Basira sighs and flops back against the pillows. “Think I’ll wait until this whole…thing is done. Might be hard to get time off to go chasing down killer mannequins in a taxidermy shop.”

Sasha grumbles wordlessly, then gets up to start getting dressed.

She follows the smell of coffee and something sweet into the kitchen, where she finds Wade standing at the stove. Sasha’s never been much for cooking—she’s eaten more homemade meals in the last year than she has in the preceding nine put together—and her kitchen isn’t well-stocked, but she laid in a supply of the basics after work on Friday in anticipation of her uncle coming home, and she’d tried to make something for him yesterday. Seeing him standing there trying to cook himself is at once unexpected and familiar.

He looks up and smiles at her. “Good morning, sunshine,” he teases her.

“Morning,” Sasha mumbles. She pours herself a cup of coffee, sweetens it automatically, and downs about half of it in a single gulp, at which point she feels human enough to give her uncle a smile and a hug.

“You haven’t changed a bit.” Wade hugs her back with one arm, then flicks his wrist and flips the pancake he’s cooking into the air before catching it neatly. “Still got it. Your friend doesn’t eat bacon, right?”

Sasha tries not to be embarrassed. She’s a grown woman and this is her flat, and Wade has made it clear he respects her and her choices and she’s allowed to do whatever the hell she wants, but she’s still got the same feeling she had when she was sixteen and he nonchalantly asked if her boyfriend wanted eggs or if he’d already escaped out her bedroom window. “Right.”

“Well then, these are almost ready. Would you rather eat at the table or standing around like a bunch of twenty-somethings in a bad sitcom?”

“I’ll set the table.”

Basira comes out just as Wade is plating the last of the pancakes and greets him with no trace of discomfort; Sasha envies her for that ability to stay calm and unruffled. As they eat, Sasha asks her uncle, “What are you planning to do today?”

Wade looks pleased. “Actually, I have an interview at nine. A gentleman wrote me last week and said he thought there was a position I might be qualified for. I—I suppose he has an eye out for upcoming releases that might have skills he needs.”

There’s a hesitancy there, and Sasha is almost tired enough to give into the static and reach for his secret, but stops herself at the last minute. “You’ll have to tell me all about it after work. Or I can call you at lunch.”

“I’d like that.” Wade grins.

Basira leaves with Sasha twenty minutes later. While she’s in less need of coffee than usual, thanks to her uncle actually making a pot—she really ought to get a programmable coffee maker, but she’s never managed to get around to it—she has a routine and she doesn’t want to break it now. They ride together until Basira has to get off to change trains; she pats Sasha’s shoulder, wishes her luck, and vanishes.

Melanie arrives at about the same time Sasha does, from the other direction but also clutching her usual cup of coffee. When they get down, Tim is having an apparently good-natured argument with Jon about whether he needs help getting his jacket off over the cast while Martin makes the first tea of the day. He glances over his shoulder with a smile that looks a tad strained at the edges. “Morning. How’s your uncle, Sash?”

Sasha returns the smile. “Settling in remarkably well, all things considered. He’s even already got an interview for a job. Seems excited about it. How was your weekend?”

“Quiet,” Martin says after a brief pause.

“Tim didn’t wrap your room in tinfoil or staple all your furniture to the ceiling?” Sasha teases.

Tim holds up his casted hand. “With this?”

Sasha laughs. “Fair point.”

Martin smiles again as he sets a cup down in front of Tim and hands another to Jon. “Seriously, it was a good weekend. Charlie’s birthday was yesterday, so…”

“He came over and helped us with his cake,” Jon tells her. His eyes light up the way they usually do when he talks about the little boy. “Martin found one of those old-fashioned hand-crank ice-cream makers somewhere, and it still works, so we made ice cream, too. Spent the rest of the evening playing board games.”

“Betrayal at the House on the Hill,” Tim supplies.

Melanie frowns. “How old is this kid? Nine?”

“Eight,” all three of the boys say in unison.

“Good. Start ‘em young.” Melanie thumps down in her chair. “What’s on the agenda for today?”

Jon’s smile fades. “Honestly…I think we need to focus on the usual work today. Statements, filing…all of that. I’d—I’d like to have things as much in order as we can, before…”

He trails off, but he doesn’t need to finish. They have a location—Melanie’s been doing a lot of poking around, using skills she honed during her Ghost Hunt UK days, and managed to confirm that the Unknowing will be taking place at a museum called the House of Wax in Great Yarmouth. They have a time; Melanie and Tim’s combined efforts have led them all to estimate the ritual will be going off sometime on the sixth of April, God alone knows why. They even have something approaching a plan, which is a novelty. Actually, they have two plans, sort of. Now all they have to do is…wait.

Sasha hates waiting.

She gives it a go, though. It’s all busywork, it’s a way of marking time, but she knows it means something to Jon, and subsequently she knows it means something to Martin and Tim. Honestly, the three of them are obviously stupid in love with each other, it’s borderline ridiculous. It’s also kind of touching, watching them together—the gentle touches, the small acts of service, the wordless communications, the way they lean into one another when they’re sitting together. The fear on their faces when one of them is hurt or in danger, the relief when one comes home safe and sound, the smiles when they think the others aren’t looking. Add Charlie into the mix and they’re an absolute mess of domesticity and sap.

They’re also scared shitless about what’s going to happen on Thursday night, and she doesn’t need the Eye’s power to see that they’re afraid of losing one another, so if squaring away files they’ve been neglecting will make them feel better, she’ll suck it up and do it.

The four assistants work away at their cluster of desks in more or less silence; Jon’s in his office, but the door is propped open. He’s recording, judging by the rise and fall of his voice, but Sasha guesses they aren’t real statements or he’d have it closed. They’ve all been working away for a couple hours when the Archives phone rings.

“Not it,” Martin says without looking up.

“Not it,” Tim and Sasha say in unison.

“I hate you all,” Melanie claims and picks up the phone. “Archives.”

She leans back in her chair, twirling the cord around her finger and looking for all the world like a teenager from every single nineties sitcom Sasha ever watched talking to her best friend or boyfriend, except that her expression is one of utter disgust. “Yeah. Okay. Yes, sir.” Her Doc Martens thump onto the floor as she leans forward to hang it up.

“Let me guess,” Tim says dryly. “Elias?”

“Yeah. Wants to see all of us in his office, ASAP. He says it’s important.” Melanie’s voice drips with contempt.

Martin sighs and scrapes his chair back. “Jon?” he calls.

Jon appears in the doorway of his office. “I heard. Let’s get this over with.”

They all trudge their way upstairs. Rosie gives them her usual bland, pleasant smile and asks about Tim’s hand, then announces them to Elias and ushers them in. Sasha starts slightly when they walk in to find Basira and Daisy standing there, Basira with her arms folded over her chest and an expression of faint annoyance and Daisy with her hands in her pockets and a look of utter disgust. Elias is watching with that smarmy, oily smile of his that makes Sasha want to set his hair on fire and see how long he’ll burn, like a cheap kerosene lamp.

“Thank you, Rosie, I’ll call if we need you,” he tells Rosie.

“Of course, Mr. Bouchard.” Rosie backs out of the room—reluctantly, to Sasha’s eyes—and pulls the door shut behind her.

There’s a brief pause before Elias speaks. “Thank you all for coming.”

Sasha sighs impatiently. She’s not the only one; they all make various noises of frustration and annoyance. Is Elias even capable of talking like a normal human being anymore, or is he deliberately playing up the Evil Overlord trope? Jon’s lips press into a thin line before he says, “Well, you said it was important.”

Elias flicks his gaze over to Basira and Daisy. “I’m glad you could come as well. I don’t want to take up too much of your valuable—”

“What do you want?” Jon interrupts, sounding tired and annoyed. Sasha sees Martin’s hand twitch and silently wills him and Tim both to keep it together. The last thing they need is for Elias to know the depth of their feelings for one another.

“To help,” Elias says pleasantly. “Do you have your recorder running?”

“Of course he does,” Melanie says, sounding unimpressed.

“I…” Jon looks down at his hand, as if he’s just realized he’s holding the official Archives recorder. “Yes.”

“Well, then, I’ll speak clearly,” Elias says. He folds his hands on his desk and meets Jon’s eyes. “You will soon be attempting to stop something few have witnessed and fewer still have survived.”

“Not alone,” Jon says quietly.

“We’re, um—” Basira shoots a sideways glance at Sasha, her expression hard to read. “I think we’re all going.”

“Yes.” Elias doesn’t look all that happy about that, to be honest. “And I believe your plan—ah, simplistic as it may be—does have a reasonable chance of working.”

“Well, thank you.” Jon’s voice is dry as the Sahara, but Sasha sees him stiffen slightly. They’ve known all along that Elias probably knows more about what they’re planning than they want him to, but to hear him confirm it…

“It should work. It doesn’t need to be fancy,” Daisy growls.

“Well, quite. But given that there is every likelihood that one or more of you may end up confronting the Stranger in a rather direct manner, I thought it best you have an idea of what you might encounter.”

Jon and Martin both throw identical quick, pained looks in Tim’s direction; Tim doesn’t seem to notice. Sasha sighs. “Oh.”

Elias reaches into a drawer—not, Sasha notes, the one containing his gun. If his gun is still in there. “Detective Tonner was kind enough to bring me Gertrude’s tapes, as soon as her superiors released them.”

Startled, Sasha turns to look at Daisy. Basira, too, is looking at her with raised eyebrows. Daisy ignores them both. Jon doesn’t look at her. “Of course they did.”

“There is one I feel it may be wise for you to hear. All of you,” Elias adds, his gaze sliding over Tim and Martin in particular—or is that Sasha’s imagination? He places a loaded tape recorder on his desk. “May I?”

There’s a chorus of sighs and groans. Elias is really laying it on thick. “Fine,” Tim mutters.

Elias presses Play.

Sasha feels the familiar sensation of the statement flowing through her. Like with every other one of Gertrude’s tapes she’s listened to, it’s not as satisfying as most and doesn’t fill her as thoroughly as even an older statement. She’s always assumed that it’s because it’s more…regurgitated, that it’s empty calories in a way, but with what she knows now, she wonders if it’s just that more of the energy from Gertrude’s tapes goes to Martin. If their family connection makes their connection through the Eye stronger as well.

She banishes the thought ruthlessly from her mind and listens. She’s heard of Wolfgang von Kempelen and his Mechanical Turk, of course. One of her papers in uni was on the history of automata and artificial intelligence, so of course she’s heard of it. At least those details that are known to the general public…

Suddenly, with a jolt, it occurs to her that she knows where this statement is going, where it ends up. At first she thinks it’s the Eye granting her knowledge, but then, suddenly, she remembers a conversation with Gertrude Robinson she had once regarding the papers she’d included in her portfolio when she first applied at the Institute, including the one mentioning the Mechanical Turk, and she remembers a later conversation where Gertrude asked her to come down to the Archives and spent an hour picking her brains for everything she remembered from her research, then handed her a letter and said I thought this might interest you, my dear.

She’d been flattered. Gertrude didn’t call anyone my dear.

The tape clicks off, almost making her leap out of her skin. There’s a beat of silence before Jon says, slowly, “Right.”

“Is that it?” Basira demands.

“It’s unlikely to be identical. The stranger is not known for its…consistency.” Elias stows the recorder away.

“But something like that?” Basira presses. Sasha’s come to know her well over the last few months and she knows Basira likes facts, good solid things she can sink her teeth into. She doesn’t do well with maybes and we-hopes. “We can’t trust what we see.”

Elias nods sagely. “The familiar may seem strange, the strange familiar.”

“One long category error,” Sasha muses.

“Well, isn’t—I mean, that’s what the Stranger wants, isn’t it,” Martin says. It’s not a question. “For us to doubt everything.”

Jon brushes his fingers against Martin’s for the briefest of seconds. Sasha hopes Elias hasn’t seen, but at the same time, what can he do about it at this point? “No one ever said it was going to be easy.”

Which is true. The Primes have never underestimated the danger they’re going to be in. Elias looks pleased. “Brilliant. I have been doing my best to prepare you, Jon, to see. You should have an easier time of it than the others.”

“I doubt that,” Jon says, a bit acerbically.

Elias eyes the four assistants skeptically. “Well, it should, I hope, give you an edge. Otherwise I would never suggest you going yourself.”

You are such a terrible liar, Sasha thinks but doesn’t say. Aloud, she says, “Well, I guess we’ll all find out, won’t we?”

“No,” Elias says. “I understand you will be taking Detective Tonner and Basira with you?”

“We’re going with them,” Daisy growls, and the rewording speaks volumes.

“Quite. Then honestly, Jon, I think you have all you need. Your…assistants should remain here.”

“Wh-what?” Martin sputters. “No, no, we can help—”

“Too many will attract attention,” Elias says. “And while I know your team have been…acquiring abilities, shall we say, none of them are on your level, and Melanie doesn’t even have that.”

“Melanie was planning to stay behind anyway,” Melanie says with false brightness and gritted teeth.

Elias nods as if this was all his idea. “And of course, Sasha, I would expect you wouldn’t want to risk death or…worse. Especially now.”

At those words, Sasha freezes and her blood runs cold. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Your uncle seems to be settling in well. I’d imagine he’ll do well here, but of course you wouldn’t want him to worry.”

Sasha’s eyes widen. “What. Do. You. Mean.”

“He didn’t tell you?” Elias’s smile broadens. “Well. I certainly wouldn’t want to steal his thunder, so to speak. But nevertheless, I should think the last thing you would want to do is worry him, or risk leaving him so soon.”

Sasha hasn’t been planning on staying…but honestly, she’ll be a liability if she goes, she rationalizes, and even if he’s being a smarmy arse about it, Elias isn’t necessarily wrong. “Fine. I’ll stay.”

“So the five of us—” Tim begins.

“No,” Jon says firmly. “Elias is right, it’s going to be—I can’t put you all at risk like that. It’s too dangerous.”

“Tough,” Tim says bluntly, his face tight with anger. “We’re not risking you. You don’t want to take all of us, fine, but you’re not going alone. Either Martin goes or I do.”

“I…” Jon looks stuck. Sasha bites the inside of her cheek. So far this has been going exactly according to plan, but she doesn’t think Tim is faking that anger. She files that away to ask him about later.

Martin puts a hand on Tim’s shoulder. “I—I think you’re right, Jon. I’d be more of a—I’ll stay behind. But please take Tim.”

“I’m not sure how much help Tim will be with his hand in a cast,” Elias says with a raised eyebrow.

Jon’s lips thin. “I will take that under advisement.”

“Fine.” Elias appears to give up the fight. Sasha doesn’t trust it. “Now, unless there was anything else…?”

“Not if—no,” Jon says finally.

“Excellent. Well, it’s a three-hour trip up to Great Yarmouth,” Elias tells them. “When do you plan to leave?”

“We think the ritual is going to be Thursday,” Jon answers.

“Perfect. I’ll be in touch with you on Wednesday to confirm the arrangements.” Elias beams. “Now, if you’ll excuse me?”

It’s a clear dismissal, and they all file out quietly. Rosie watches them in undisguised interest as they pass her desk, but they leave the office and head down the stairs in total silence, Daisy and Basira accompanying them.

The second the door to the Archives closes behind them, Basira asks, “Do you think he bought it?”

“We’ll talk about this later,” Martin says, flicking his eyes towards the trapdoor.

Jon nods. “Do, ah—can you two come back later? Say around four?”

“I’m off today,” Daisy growls.

“R-right. Right. We’ll…reconvene then. Go over the plan one last time. Confirm a few last scheduling details. Thank you.” Jon manages a smile, then turns to Tim and Sasha. “In that case, I’m sorry to have delayed you two so long, but you can go ahead and get your lunch.”

Sasha’s a bit startled. She’s honestly lost track of time. “I’m not actually hungry right now, but thanks, Jon. I’ll just keep working. Someone else can go.”

“It’s Monday,” Martin points out. His cerulean eyes are wide with worry—almost fear. “You and Tim always go to lunch on Mondays.”

Sasha’s about to remind him of all the times they didn’t take their lunch together when Tim nods and takes her elbow with his good hand. “That’s right, it is. Feels like it’s been a week this morning. C’mon, Sash, let’s go.”

“O-oh! Sure,” Sasha says, surprised. She grabs her jacket off the back of the chair and follows Tim out the door.

It’s a nice, moderate day, exactly Sasha’s kind of weather. There’s a fish and chips shop just across the nearest footbridge they usually go to on Mondays, and they walk in an unusually charged silence. Sasha waits until they’re settled at the table opposite one another before she says, “You didn’t forget it was Monday.”

“You were going to duck out,” Tim counters.

“I didn’t realize you needed this so much.”

“I don’t necessarily. It’s routine, though. It’s a ritual. That’s important to him.” Tim’s face softens. “When Jon left for Beijing…Martin told me he and his dad had this ritual they used to do the night before he left on a voyage, and the last time his dad left, he fell asleep in the middle of it. And then his dad didn’t come back. I guess he’s a little superstitious, but I’m not going to argue with him. It matters to him. So yeah, if it helps him feel like we’ve done everything we can to make sure this goes off successfully, I’ll go to lunch with my best friend.” He gives her a pretty good impression of his signature cheeky grin. “It’s a sacrifice, but I’ll manage.”

Sasha flicks a fallen bit of batter at him, pinging it off his cheek. “Arse. Well, then, while I’ve got you as a captive audience—what’s wrong?”

“Do I really need to spell it out for you, Sash?”

“Yes. I’m keeping my eyes firmly inside my own head and out of yours, so I don’t know what you’re actually thinking. And you’re impossible to read. Also, I don’t think you were altogether acting in Elias’s office.” Sasha points a chip at Tim, then pops it into her mouth. “So. Spill.”

Tim sighs. All traces of false mirth disappear from his face. “Just…can I ask you a favor?”

“Of course,” Sasha says, a bit bewildered.

“Look after them for me, will you?” Tim evidently sees the look of confusion on her face, because he elaborates. “Jon and Martin. Wh—if I don’t come back from this, if I die—”

“I thought the plan wasn’t going to have you anywhere near the actual ritual.”

“The timing on the—we’ll have to talk it over with Daisy, but I think it’s going to be tight. There’s a risk I’ll be bringing the building down on my head,” Tim says. “It’s fine. I’ve come to terms with it. It’s worth it if it keeps them safe. Just promise me that if it does happen, you’ll look after them for me. I-I’m sure they’ll be fine without me.”

“The hell they will.” Sasha sets her packet of fish and chips down on the table a little harder than necessary. “Tim, I don’t need the Beholder to know how you three are, it’s as plain as the nose on your face. It will devastate them if they lose you. Just like it would devastate you to lose them.”

Tim looks away. “It’s not the same.”

“It’s exactly the same! They’re not going to let you go in there with a death wish.”

“I don’t want to die, Sasha,” Tim explodes. At least he’s keeping his voice down. “I’m just saying, if I do…please. Just…just make sure they’re okay. Make sure they don’t…break.”

Sasha doesn’t want to, she really doesn’t, but she also knows this is important to Tim, so she nods. “If that happens…I promise I’ll do my best for them.”

Tim relaxes. “Thank you.”

“But,” Sasha stresses, “you have to promise to do your best to live. Especially if, as I strongly suspect, you’re not discussing this with them. Because I swear to God, Timothy Stoker, if you die I will be telling them that we had this talk, and I’m sure you don’t want them furious with you.”

“Duly noted.” Tim grins, but doesn’t meet her eyes.

Sasha is about to push him when her phone rings. A quick glance at the display screen, and she flinches. “Sorry, Tim, this is Uncle Wade. I’ve got to take this.”

“Go ahead.” Tim breaks off a piece of cod and stuffs it in his mouth.

Sasha thumbs the CALL button. “Uncle Wade, hi, I’m so sorry, I was going to call you but—”

“It’s fine, it all worked out.” Wade sounds like he’s barely keeping a lid on his emotions. “I only just got out myself.”

“Of your interview?”

“No, no, that—that was over hours ago. Sasha, I got the job! He hired me on the spot. We did all the onboarding paperwork then and there, and I actually got to start today. I’ve been spending the last couple hours getting set up, learning the ropes, all that sort of thing.” Wade says all of this in an excited rush she hasn’t heard from him since she was thirteen. “Someone just popped in to let me know I could go take a lunch break. I just got so into it I forgot about food. I was hoping you’d be on your lunch break and I could talk to you.”

Sasha smiles, relieved. Her uncle’s adjusting to freedom a lot better than she had feared he would, and it’s good to hear him so much like the man she remembers. “That’s great! What are you going to be doing? Where do you work?”

“You are talking,” Wade says proudly, “to the Executive Director of Information and Operations Technology at the Magnus Institute.”

“So your job title is the E-DIOT?” Sasha teases, and then her mind catches up to the last part of what he’s just said. “The Magnus Institute?”

Tim snorts his drink out of his nose. Wade still sounds delighted. “It surprised me, too. Did you know the Institute doesn’t have a proper tech department? I mean, of course you do, you’ve worked there seven years now. But yes. Mr. Bouchard wrote me last week saying that he knew I was getting ready to be released from prison and that he’d very much like to interview me about the position. He wants me to integrate all the systems in the building, troubleshoot programs and technology, that sort of thing. It’s just me for right now, but once I give him a list of what needs to be done and what resources I’d need to do it, I might have a staff to work with. We’ll see.”

“That’s…that’s wonderful, Uncle Wade.” Sasha can’t bring herself to dampen his enthusiasm by pointing out how terrifying an organization this is.

“I know it’s a bit—I know what you’ve told me about the Institute,” Wade says, as if he’s reading her mind. “But quite honestly, in my position, I can’t afford to be all that choosy about a job. The pay’s good. The pay’s great. He’s offering me way above the industry standard. And to just walk out of prison and walk straight into a high-paying position? In my field?” His voice softens. “Plus, I get to work with you. That’s worth a lot to me.”

“And to me,” Sasha says. She smiles warmly. “So what’s your next step?”

“This afternoon I’m going to start going round the different departments, talk to the heads and staff and whatnot, figure out what they need in terms of tech. What they need as an isolated system, what it would help to have integrated with what other departments.”

“Brilliant! Definitely come by the Archives today. I want you to meet the rest of my family.” Before it’s too late, Sasha adds mentally. “We’ve got a meeting at four, but—”

“Say no more. I’ll be there at three, how’s that?”

“Sounds good. See you then. I love you, Uncle Wade.”

“Love you too, Puddle-Duck.” Wade pauses. “And don’t worry. I won’t call you that in front of your friends.”

Sasha laughs and hangs up.

Tim watches her seriously. “He was interviewing at the Institute? Is that what Elias meant?”

“More than that. He’s already been hired.” Sasha rubs a hand over her face. “Guess that’s as good a reason as any to stay back. At least I won’t be in any danger. Probably.”

“You’ll be fine.” Tim knocks back the last of his drink. “C’mon, finish up and we’ll head back. Loads to do before we save the world.”

#ollie writes fanfic #leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall)#tma #the magnus archives #death mention #emotional manipulation #gaslighting #slight suicidal ideation #prison mention

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