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jenokoi · 2 years ago

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How is it (the situation) affecting you, and how to move on.

GENERAL TAROT READING BY JENOKOI

Hi. This is quite unexpected, I was not planning on making this reading at all. But here we are, staring one another, you with a question and me with a fear of messing up your answer. However, I am confident this will find those who are meant to read it. Without further ado, tonight we will have a sneak peak on how a certain situation is affecting you, whenever you are aware of it or not, and how to move on (were you wish to do so). Don’t fret if we poke a few traumas here and there, I can not control what I’m told. It is a bit extensive, so please take only what resonates with you and leave the rest for your fellow companions.

That said, there are vague mentions of sexual assault and hints at eating disorders, so if you’re not comfortable with said topics please do not read.

Please take a deep breath and get comfortable. Let your intuition guide you to the answer you seek in the pictures below. Take as much time as you need.

PILE ONE > PILE TWO > PILE THREE

My tarot readings are guided by the current energy of my subject in question and my own spirit guides. Energies are prone to change based on our actions, and thus nothing is truly set on stone. Please take only what resonates, this is a general reading. It’s okay to not feel drawn to any of the images. If you have to force it into the narrative of your life, then it might not be for you. These readings are for entertainment purposes only.

HOW IS IT (THE SITUATION) AFFECTING YOU?

You feel abandoned, left behind or ignored by someone who was supposed to love and care for you unconditionally. You feel like someone broke a promise made to you. As if you had been led on with a blindfold just to find yourself completely alone in an empty room, an empty paradise.

Some of you might be the eldest child or a role model to a younger family member. You have been left behind, yet a part of you still believes whoever abandoned you will come back. You might have been the second choice or someone is in the position you were told was to be yours. Nonetheless, you still hold onto this person/situation and refuse to let go despite the exit sign being right in front of you. You know there are better things awaiting for you on the other side. In your mind, you know what must be done, how the story ends. But your heart holds onto the faintest of flames in the hopes of a fire to burn every obstacle in your way.

Either someone you trust is leading you on, or you have been warned of what will happen regarding the situation by a male energy.

You might have developed really bad eating habits since the situation started. You indulge in addictions to fill the emptiness left by the excitement of a promised destiny yet to manifest. To calm the anxiety of waiting you abuse of your body and take it to its limits. You are a prisoner of your emotions, ignoring evidence and warnings, accusing your mind of being too critical, skeptical. You turn your back to the truth and keep on holding to the situation (or person).

“I can leave when I want, so I’ll be okay with one more.” Your childhood traumas are haunting your present self. Especially those related to your fatherly figure growing up. You might have been very loved by your father during your child years before he abandoned you or left you stranded. Yet you were told by everyone he loved you the most. You have issues letting go. You believe in a love that can’t be seen because you were told you don’t need to feel or receive it for it to be real. You just need to know it’s there and that’s enough.

You gather every small move, every little bread crumb, and make of it a feast. You are holding onto ideas and no proof. This situation is making you delusional. You grab pieces left behind rather than given to you and call them gifts. This situation could be taken place at work or in a religious environment. You are making a big deal out of nothing. And every time you realize you are moving on you find another reason to come back.

If we’re being honest, you don’t want to move on, but there’s nothing you can do at all regarding the situation even if you decide to stay, and that frustrates you a lot. “If given the chance.” You want (yearn) for something out of this situation that you can’t have. You want to be the only choice. But you are afraid of the consequences were you to act upon your emotions. You are scare of getting hurt. You don’t think you are strong enough to face the consequences, but you are strong enough to not give up so easily.

This situation could be an affair of sorts. Your competition might know of you or of the situation. “You are not welcomed.” In case of an affair or something related to a relationship of three, you don’t think your competition is deserving of the subject of your affections. You believe them trapped, and that you could make them happier.

Whispers: darling, if they wanted, they would.

HOW TO MOVE ON (FROM THE SITUATION).

Take a fucking break and stop consuming so much tarot readings in the hopes of getting a different reading from the one two posts ago. Stop feeding onto your delusions, please. Take back control of your impulses and addictions, return to the mentality of “if it’s not doing me good then I shouldn’t continue,” please. It’s all about using reason to cut the negativity out of your life.

You might have been in a low energy as of late, often wanting to be left alone and leaving things for later (your room must be a mess), not necessary out of sadness though. You have been overthinking every action and fighting your mind took a toll on you. Sometimes to find the problem one must pull from the root.

It’s time to open your eyes and see that you have been drinking from an empty cup. There’s nothing there for you but what you have made yourself believe in. You were not invited to the party, your presence was not needed nor warranted. You are not supposed to be in this situation because there’s nothing here for you. It’s not yours to fight for and it’s not yours to win. You have been ignoring the truth waiting for it to be a lie, and you have been surrounding yourself with little lies that you have made them your truth. Even if it hurts, you are to look at the situation through reality and not your own distorted view.

Walk away from your own make believe world and you will see how clear the signs become. Stop projecting your ideas onto the situation (or person).

It’s time to face old habits and acknowledge how they are slowly deteriorating you. Love is not something you can’t see. Love can be found in memories, in actions, in words. Loves needs validation every once in a while, not because we must give it, but because we love so much we just have to scream it, have to show it, have to tell it. When someone loves you, you don’t doubt it. When someone cares for you, you are not afraid to ask of it.

You have to get comfortable with the dark energy within you so that you can learn to protect yourself with it. Learn your past, discover where your obsessions come from and understand how you can prevent being a victim of them.

You are unable to have commitment in a relationship because you must have control at all times of those who have a piece of your heart. You force your own idea of someone onto them and leave when they don’t act accordingly to your script. You don’t know how to receive love. You grew up thinking love should not be received, just acknowledge. And while it might take a while, you have the strength to grow your heart alongside your mind.

The seeds planted during your childhood have grown, some beautifully, some slowly, others even venomous. A few withered in the shadows. It’s time to put them under the sun and help them grow. Butterflies will arrive on their own, at their own time.

You wish for a change in this situation, blindly dancing with the devil. You refuse to move one because part of you, like a fool, believes you will receive your reward for waiting like a good kid.

Love shouldn’t make you feel like the bad guy.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

PILE II

HOW IS IT (THE SITUATION) AFFECTING YOU?

This situation makes you feel alive, desired, wanted. You might even receive compensation from it, both financially or emotionally. You are becoming dependent of this situation. It’s euphoric, blinds you with excitement, carries you into a high. Some of you might consume drugs, could be weed or cocaine. This situation feels similar to the story of Alice In Wonderland.

Some of you might video call with someone or exchange nudity content through messages to another participant of the situation. Sexual innuendo warning: a partner might be really good at oral or constantly in the mood. Nevertheless, this situation makes you feel extremely desired and above the competition.

Funnily enough, this situation also makes you feel like less. As if you are not interesting nor cared of as a person but an object to lust after. You feel reduced to how you look rather than to what you can make. You might be afraid of showing your artistic side or ideas. You feel the best participant to a category you don’t think you deserve. You are far more than that, and are not receiving the compensation for all the effort you give. You feel as if your thoughts have no importance, your opinions only for the deaf. You overthink a lot and act as if you care none.

People might say bad/rude things about you behind your back, some even to your face. You might be in a rowdy and raucous environment. Your situation is like fireworks, pretty in it’s appearance, loud in its path, and brief in its high.

Your feelings are in disarray. You don’t know if what you feel for others or what others feel for you is love or lust, if it’s genuine or a parasite trying to suck your blood. You don’t know if they (or a certain person) sees you as a true friend or someone they just want to fuck. You also feel jealousy, a lot of it. Some of you might have stomach ache as of late. Others might be starving yourselves to fit a criteria.

Despite being a favorite, there seems to be a lot of competition regarding your goals. Some of you might constantly feel dizzy, you might like the act of eating a cake more than the cake itself (a rebellious act).

You feel like a fool who tries too hard and only embarrass themselves the more they talk, the more honest they act. There is someone you are trying to impress but they don’t return your affection/interest. This person might always be surrounded by people or talking to someone.

Some of you might be in the fashion business. Modeling, to be more precise. Your situation surrounds you of people trying to survive on their own twisted ways. Prostitutes. Teamwork is not prompted, and often those who play dirty are victorious.

You feel dirty and alone. Cheated on something. You were promised Wonderland and were given the bottom of the rabbit hole. For some, money ties you down to this situation. You feel a product to a store. For some of you, you are dealing with a player, for others, this is a career or project situation. You might feel controlled by a male energy.

TRIGGER WARNING FOR SEXUAL ASSAULT

Some of you might have been victims to sexual abuse and assault, could have been continuous from a young age or an event past the age of sixteen. You might be forced to coexist with your assaulter, either physically or mentally. You don’t feel like you deserve/want to be protected or cared for.

You feel like you aren’t and will never be enough. Someone not worth of respect. “Your body is what gives you value, not your mind, not your heart, but what’s between your open legs.” You don’t think you can reach your dreams. You don’t think to be the person to make them real.

You might be haunted by a male energy, and people’s opinions about you matter more than the love you give yourself. You are scared of growing old and losing your beauty.

HOW TO MOVE ON (FROM THE SITUATION).

You are a prisoner to society, to the male gaze, and you must break free of it before you can learn to forgive. It sounds stupid to you, but that same reason is why you are all so fucking depressed. You dislike men, you find them disgusting, but you are noting without them. If they don’t desire you, it means you are not hot enough. If they don’t come onto you, then you are not worth the time. You are nothing unless a man tells you you are his everything.

And eat/drink your fucking protein because you are a shivering wreck.

You don’t have to find value in your mind or your body or your heart. You have to accept that you won’t fit everyone’s taste and that’s t okay, because you’ll be you, and you only need to fit yourself.

You want to be taken care of, but you must learn how to by yourself first before you let anyone do so. Otherwise, anyone will easily sell you a nightmare dressed as a dream. You must break your dependency on external masculine energy.

You have become comfortable on the role of the victim, and thus you refuse to fight for what you want. “It won’t matter what I do, nothing will change.”

It’s a big wall to break through, but once you do, life will make sense. You will realize you are a little less afraid, a little more vulnerable. Once you break free, you will see how the world changes in an instant. How your feelings have power, your voice has strength, and your hand has the gift of giving love to all that it touches, regardless if it’s made of mud or gold. You will be your best friend and your grandest rival; not someone you want to defeat, but who constantly defies you to improve. You will see your dreams stay as they are, drifting away in the sky because you don’t fly towards them. You’ll allow yourself to be understood, that’s okay to simply feel without a need to explain.

Once you start to work for yourself with yourself, you will flourish into a beauty that has no weight, no standard, no criteria but that of simply being. You will fall in love with yourself and the world will follow in a breath.

And some wounds might never heal, some scars will forever mark your skin. You don’t have to forgive them, but you must forgive yourself. My dear, your karma will find them when you stop holding on to it.

You wish for revenge regarding this situation. Someone ruined your inner child, and you can’t let go until justice has been served. However, all those negative emotions are only attracting negative outcomes. Some victories are attained when you leave the battlefield and let your enemies end themselves.

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PILE III

HOW IS IT (THE SITUATION) AFFECTING YOU?

Why are you even reading this man, you clearly don’t want to move on. You truly believe you can work your way into saving this. You don’t want to change shit, you just want to fix whatever is going on and continue on as if nothing ever happened. But, if you already fucked up enough times, and shit is just not working out for you, then it might be time to move on. If you think you can try again, I don’t recommend you continue reading this post :)

Right from the get a go, this might be a cheating situation. Either you cheated on someone or someone cheated on you. It’s cool, we don’t judge, shit spills when the drain is clogged. It doesn’t necessarily have to be a romantic (or a relationship) affair, it could also be a work situation (much like drama office). Whatever it was, it’s irrelevant when compared to the universal truth of pile three: there was foul play in here.

Let us start slow and from the beginning. Fact: you don’t like to be alone. Consequence: you withstand a lot of shit from people as to not feel like you don’t belong. You might be a pushover with a lot of migraine issues. You don’t really put up a fight, especially when talking about this situation in specific.

You don’t like direct conflict. You avoid it, take the punches for the sake of peace, keeping your image clean. Some of you had/have a really bad relationship with your mother, or had someone belittle you a lot during your formative years. A family member might have drink a lot around you. A kitchen has a powerful meaning for some of you (this is very specific, but a tile floor and a room with yellow tones). Nonetheless, to stay in this situation you keep your mouth shut and take the beating. You’re very emotionally weak though, stop lying to yourself about it. Thinking really fuck up comebacks capable of destroying the strongest of enemies doesn’t mean much if you don’t actually use them (granted, you are watching out for yourself and that’s understandable). What’s hard to comprehend is why you put yourself in said situation to begin with.

You have a beggar mentality. Be it for love, money, or validation. You are willing to put up with a lot of crap if the reward is worth the trouble. You have grown dependent of this situation. You might work in an office job or wear blue as part of your uniform. You don’t have any loyalty whatsoever, some of you might be well-known snitches. You put value in people based on what they can offer to you.

A lot of people don’t like you, pile three. They are praying for your downfall in silence. For some, someone you trust is among them (please take this with a grain of salt. If you had no indication of a person plotting against you before, don’t force it now). For others, your friends are ready to give up on you if you don’t pull yourself together. No one really knows why you do what you do, but they don’t trust you. Someone finds you pitiful.

You are seeking something, but you are doing the whole treasure hunt gig wrong. Growing up no one really payed much attention to you, and now you search for it the only way you know; staying quiet or causing trouble. And you don’t understand why despite all your efforts you can’t seem to achieve what others do so easily. You have an inferiority complex, regardless if you come from money or not. Some of you might actually been raised on poverty or a really competitive environment. “Many mouths to feed, not enough hands to work.”

Despite it all, all you ever want is a good, simple life. But you refuse to let go of old mentalities. You want to be the little man and ride off the success of someone else. You don’t want to do anything at all. But lately you have been so fucking depressed and no one wants to be your friend.

But hey, you kept on reading, which means you are ready to give the move on thing a chance.

You want to improve, that’s more than some people can say. You don’t want to be a sentient puppet, you want to be a person with deepness and layers to them. You want to have a major life change, which most likely means you fucked up big time and want to improve. You hurt someone, or someone hurt you (granted, it might have been warranted). But you, quiet literally, want to expel the ugliness out of you, and frankly speaking some people are not having it. They want you to stay the bad person to elevated themselves. But there’s also people around you that are more than willing to help you out, which might confuse you because you won’t know who to trust. You’re ready to put the work, though.

Still, you think life will become boring. If there’s not a villain then there’s not a story to tell. No bad decisions to be made, no more late night drunken shenanigans. So you might be a bit unsteady, prone to giving in everyone once in a while, which might halt any progress you had made. You might have BIG time trust issues. “Leave before they leave you,” stuff going on. Truthfully, you will never move on if you don’t lose that.

HOW TO MOVE ON (FROM THE SITUATION).

To move on, you have to let go of the idea of a perfect life, a perfect you, in a perfect world. There’s no such thing as a life without issues. If you want something you have to put the work into it. Cheating your way into victory is getting a medal without value. Have you watched Wreck-it-Ralph? Yeah? Then you know what I mean. You don’t need to be the most powerful person in the room to be the most loved, the most respected.

Being the first to punch doesn’t make you a better person, m neither does not punching back. You have to stop looking a life thought black and white. You need to let go of this beggar mentality. “You are rich if you’re not poor and you’re poor if your not rich.” Shit don’t work like that bro. You don’t have to break a heart to prove that you have love and were loved. You don’t have to make people hurt you and grovel for your forgiveness just to see that they care. You have to stop seeing everyone as your enemy.

Life is all about how we interact with the universe. Life with life, not life against life. Don’t run from something just because you expect the worst. Nothing will ever be set on stone. Nothing will forever be good and nothing will forever be bad. It’s all about what teachings you decide to carry with you and how you apply them in your everyday. We are constantly learning and changing, for better or for worse.

You have to understand that people have fears just like you, that people can get hurt by your actions. Be more patience, don’t jump at the slightest movement. Don’t enter the first exit you see, let the road take you to your destination. And stop trying to hurt people for the sake of hurting, it’s not cool.

Don’t give value to people based on what they can give to you. You are missing out on so many experiences and learning opportunities by closing off from others. You are blinded by an artificial dream to see what the universe is trying to gift to you. (This is oddly specific, but please stop watching so much porn). It’s okay to ask for help bro, and maybe it’s about damn time you do. You might discover different perspectives about things you used to think yourself an expert on. And stop procrastinating so much, you got shit to do, masterpieces to create.

Don’t be so closed off to new experiences, and try new activities. You won’t belong anywhere if you keep pretending to be someone you aren’t. When you feel the most comfortable, you will find yourself surrounded by people who love you just the way you are. Breaking news, love is not supposed to make you feel like shit.

Also, stop being so hasty. Slow down, take your time and enjoy the ride. You will appreciate all that you have if you simply take a moment to enjoy it.

Stop running away, you will only tired yourself.

You wish to belong so desperately, to fulfill an idea, that you are willing to lose yourself to the situation. Fake it till you make make, make yourself miserable that is. In essence, you are afraid of being alone, to never be wanted for who you are, and you prefer to burn the forest at the first sound of a branch snapping than letting life find you.

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It's really late and I'm very tired, but I had the urge to post this reading as soon as possible. I'll fix any mistakes tomorrow as soon as time allows me to do so. As always, thank you for trusting me with your energies, stay safe, and the universe loves you all <3

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nerves-nebula · 2 years ago

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Omg so glad you liked the song recs!! I'm honoured that a song I recommended has joined your playlist.

Here's a few other songs from Gregory and the Hawk I think might fit your interests/vibes!

I'm Your Puppet <- TW just in case for this one. This one has more direct lyrics. It does hint/mention (it's like, not direct but it's not a vague hint) of sexual ick, and in general is about a toxic relationship. Definitely hits that psychological abuse point of "this is wrong but I don't have an alternative and I know you don't care but I'll do anything just in the hopes that you'll care for me, if only for a bit" and all the negativity that comes with that. It's also a more "raw"/ less polished sounding song that kinda adds to the vibes.

Kill the Turkey <- talks about death, but also like. Death cycling into life, but not in a "this is the cycle of nature" but in a "if you're determined (corrupt) enough the woes of others is the joy you reap" <- i don't know how else to describe it but it has VIBES. Haunting in a "this sounds good but heyyy something isn't right here" sorta way. Similar to Stone Wall Stone Fence in that it's angry towards something outside of your control, but something that impacts you all the same. (one of my favourites along side Stone Wall, Stone Fence)

I couldn't choose between two songs so instead of three (three is a more manageable number I feel) I'm gonna have to give you for. First is Memory and Honesty and second is

Memory and Honesty <- a REALLY interesting song, they did a really neat job adding dissonant notes and the whole thing sounds off. The lyrics are darker, where the person is describing difficulties between their memories and what they think is true. Kinda "this could be true, if I'm remembering correctly" ALSO it has an ambiguous line where it sounds like their partner kills them so. idk it's really neat and it has a lot of emotion in it. Kinda feels like stepping into an alternate dimension where you're a ghost where you can actually understand the lyrics that don't make 100% sense if you just read them

Wild West <- This song sounds like its treating you like a mythical creature that's trapped just beyond our realm. Asking you how it feels seeing everything without being able to engage. "Wild and free, what will you be" sorta vibes, but in this case you may never have had a grasp on the world to begin with so how can you know what to be? <- that might not make any sense but idk that's the vibes I get. It's like it's haunting you, but in a not bad but kinda mournful questioning way. ALSO another one of those songs where it hints at the apocalypse has happened and you might be the only survivor, what will you do? Or maybe it's the apocalypse because you were the one that died and lost the world?

I'm Your Puppet -> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9S1t0mIfpVc

Kill The Turkey -> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=imK4sUveCrU

Memory and Honesty -> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nOVBSWnvwuk

Wild West -> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xPijrw8wCds

Another album of theirs to listen through I'd recommend is "In Your Dreams". Very good for background music, more heavy hitting at times and more acoustic -> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U-LYae5TuWA

think im your puppet and wild west are my favorites out of this batch. thanks for the music, its giving me something new to listen to while drawing hah.

#nnstuff #ask #asks are sweethearts #media recs

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mumblesplash · 11 months ago

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oh hey that's me!

now i'm not addressing everything here (a lot of it works really well with my own theories, these ideas are cool!)

BUT i wanted to clarify a few things about my interpretation of the Terrible Horrible Coworkers situation in those comics (love that that phrasing is catching on btw haha). you can take this or leave it of course, but i figured i might as well since it's not something either of you mentioned in this post

i leave the *exact* nature of their relationships to each other vague on purpose, but one important aspect of the concept behind that comic is that whatever they are, the secret keepers are separate entities, subordinate to but distinct from the watchers themselves.

it's probably worth noting here that most of my takes on the life series lore are rooted in the realities of content creation--i take a very similar stance to you re: watchers as a representation of the audience, and the secret keepers are clearly not themselves the viewers. the secret keepers are *admins*. their role, both irl and in my take on The Lore, is to keep the game running smoothly, implement mechanics that facilitate interesting player interactions, enforce rules, and generally give the viewers watchers a good show.

this means as a player grian ranks below them, but as a watcher he's their superior. you may have noticed in that comic the secret keepers are getting *defensive*. during the session they had the power to punish grian for pressing 'succeed' when they didn't think he deserved to via manipulating the respawn/heart regeneration mechanic, but when he confronts them about this (and his irritation, you'll notice, takes the form of aggressively reminding them that he himself is a watcher) they hastily point out that they didn't technically break any rules themselves.

grian also repeatedly demonstrates during secret life that he effectively *is* one of the secret keepers, and often makes arbitration calls even in-game (think "then you cannot reroll" [END PORTAL NOISE])

basically, the secret keepers are a distinct type of entity with more power than players but beholden to all watchers, including grian. in my mind, they've been around since at least last life--they implemented the original boogey curse (if you think about it that curse was always sort of a secret task, wasn't it?) and were the ones in charge of linking all the soulmates to each other in double life.

(remember when grian found out he was linked to scar? not only was it a surprise to him, but his initial response was "i can change the rules, this is my series!")

as for grian's relationship with the watchers themselves, i'm much less explicit about all of that and that's very much on purpose, but there are a few hints at what that dynamic looks like. for instance, that part in the second comic where he does sarcastic air quotes talking about the boogey curse is him repeating something that's been said to *him* (presumably in reference to what will happen if he denies the other watchers what they want, as well as hinting at why in the first comic he's so angry at being punished for something he didn't do on purpose)

****side note: i'm not sure i manage this All the time, but i do generally try not to contradict martyn's lore, both because it allows for a much more widespread knowledge base to act as context for my own headcanons and because imo the way he approaches it meshes really well with how i think anyways

Life Series SMP/Eyes and Ears AU Thematic Discussion + Theorycrafting (pt. 1)

WARNING: Extremely long post

Kachow what’s poppin fellas, I’m back at it again talking about boomer block Youtubers and their surprisingly in-depth improv series. Now that the Life Series’ 5th season has finally concluded, I’m back on the lore train and poor Scar is left to suffer the consequences, and Martyn’s concluded yet another lore stream, I decided to compile a long master post of lore notes and theories about what we have so far.

Obviously all the ‘lore’ of the Life Series is purely unofficial; Grian has not approved any of it as being actually official/set in stone for what he intended the series to be. Most of it has been us in the crazy fandom extrapolating their really good storytelling, and also “semi-canonized” by Martyn in what he calls the Eyes and Ears AU (and this post assumes you are familiar with it). As someone who’s been a fan since the beginning way back in 3rd Life, I’ve pretty much hopped on the lore train since the beginning as well (if casually) and enjoying all the different extrapolations/analysis/angst written around the players. Rather than just theorizing lore details in a vacuum, however, I’ve always liked imagining the lore based around the reoccurring themes, symbolism and arcs we’ve seen across the series. I’d been bouncing my various thoughts and theories around these themes for a while, and finally I decided to compile my notes together.

This post is basically my imagining what the Life Series/Eyes and Ears AU story is “about,” as if it were a fleshed-out, long-running and story-driven tv show. Initially this post started as simply a gigantic “Eyes and Ears Theory,” me trying to sus out my own theories/ideas of what the Life Series’ mysteries were based on Martyn’s lore. However, considering that Martyn is ALSO writing the lore on the fly, and I have some details I would interpret differently or change, this ended up less a ‘theory’ and more ‘me writing an entire AU/interpretation of the Life Series as a whole.’ My intention is NOT to ‘correct’ Martyn’s lore, nor to claim my theory as the ‘right’ interpretation; rather, this is my personal interpretation of what the Life Series story is about, based on information shown in the original SMP and in Martyn’s AU.

One last disclaimer: I am ONLY drawing on lore details from the Life Series, Martyn’s lore streams, and Minecraft EVO, and also references to the iRL creators. I am not drawing on any story from other SMPs such as Pirates or Empires; there may be some Hermitcraft references here and there.

This is going to be very long, and a multi-parter, because I can’t summarize to save my life. And I promise I’ll come up with a proper name for my series of posts another time. If you’ve stuck around to read, I thank you.

Part 1: The Overall Plot + Understanding the Watchers

Recap of official lore details

Although Martyn hasn’t given specific details on the Watcher + Listener species (he hasn’t come up with a name yet), we know the following details for sure (from EVO, lore streams etc.)

Watchers + Listeners + The Council are all deity-like beings of the same species, and they all consume human emotions

The Council are the upper ranks/possibly leaders, whereas the Watchers + Listeners are separate factions

The Watchers are at LEAST two high-ranking members of the species (the two dots being outcast from the wider circle, as is their logo)

The Watchers were behind Minecraft EVO, where they gave all the players tasks (much like Secret Life) and eventually ending in them fighting the Ender Dragon separately

While the Watchers may not have been evil in EVO, they certainly became so AFTER, when they began to crave more negative human emotions, viewing them as “tasty” (Martyn’s words), s p i c y

They first kidnapped Grian at the end of EVO season 1, turning him into a Watcher to possibly have him join their ranks, but he’s gone rogue after realizing what their plans for the Life Series were, and plans to rescue his friends from them

The Life Series was the Watchers’ ploy to trap the players in an infinite death game where they betray and cause each other pain, all to harvest their negative emotions. Grian, in defiance to this, takes control as the ‘game master’ to make the whole thing…well, a game, so that his friends can enjoy, have fun and ease their anguish. In Martyn’s words, this is like “pouring ketchup all over the Watchers’ sundae.”

The Listeners (EVO season 2) are an opposing faction to the Watchers who disagree with their methods, although why is unknown. They’ve attempted to contact some players (e.g. Jimmy) before back in EVO in order to oppose the Watchers, but it’s not known how successful they were. They’ve also tried to swap in players in the Life Series before (e.g. subbing Lizzie and Gem for Pearl and Cleo in Lim. Life) in order to sneak them in and try to subvert the game. The Watchers kidnapping Gem for Secret Life is partially in retaliation to the Listeners. The Listeners may not be good and may have nefarious intentions also, it is as yet still unknown.

There’s potentially a third faction, the Speakers, but very little is known about them and Martyn doesn’t want to elaborate on them yet.

Okay, but what are the Watchers even after?

"Accept your fate."

From here on out is my real conjecturing/theorizing. The main question on my mind has been why are the Watchers doing what they’re doing? Obviously Martyn has confirmed that they are malicious deities who find negative human emotions tasty, but this raises further questions. Why exactly do they desire such emotions, or need them to survive (if they do, anyway)? Why do they favour negativity, when the other members of their species consume a wide range of emotions? They were confirmed to be outcast in some way from the other factions for this ploy, so what does that say about them then?

The whole species fundamentally do not understand human emotions (or perhaps do not even possess them)

This seems to me the most logical conclusion. These are powerful deities who can create miniature worlds/dimensions, life, and time to an extent (death loop). They should theoretically be self-sufficient, so I doubt that their consumption of human emotion is for survivability reasons (i.e. I don’t think Watchers will literally die if they don’t consume emotions, the same way humans die without food). What seems more likely is that human emotions bring them some benefit to their intelligence or power that they’d otherwise be quite non-functional without. (Think like the demons in The Promised Neverland, who regress to feral natures/lack of sapience if they don’t eat humans)

The Watchers’ powers and their lab-rat experimentation on the players gives a huge vibe of not being able to understand human emotions in an involved way, but only from a distance. They know methodically things like murder and betrayal cause panic and anguish, so they enforce these experiences through the game, mechanics like the Boogeyman, the Secret Tasks etc. But they don’t really know internally why these emotions come about the way humans do. Being above time, they probably don’t understand why the funny small animals have so much attachment to their transitory experiences and memories (more on this later).

world's angriest pumpkin

The Watchers are Losers, Actually

Going further, don’t you think the Watchers have a very misanthropic mindset all around? “Anguish and panic are s p i c y.” They conversely have a complete disgust for positive emotions, and can’t stand Grian making things fun for everybody. It almost feels like they have the mindset that only things like hatred and fear are exciting, bringing motivation and life to the humans, whereas things like happiness and fun are ‘useless’ because they don’t bring about the same results. Let’s also not forget their name – Watchers – and that Martyn’s confirmed them to be symbolically based off us, the audience. It’s almost like a commentary of the worst of the entertainment industry, of an audience who crave watching anything and everything to satisfy their own desires, even at the expense of the privacy and safety of the entertainer. Given the current state of the internet and social media, I don’t think I need to elaborate how awful things can get.

In other words, I believe the main motivation the Watchers are eating humans emotions is because they WANT to understand and ‘take into themselves’ such emotions. I don’t think they’re totally emotionless – Martyn does portray them with moments of glee and anger. But their understanding of emotions is superficial (self-centered, if you will) at best. As deities with no needs, being above time, they have nothing to be afraid of and nothing to feel sad or anguished over. It’s a boring, dull and empty existence. And that’s precisely why they’ve set up the Life Series game: by kidnapping a few humans and putting them through the artificially constructed wringer of panic and betrayal, they think they can create a human farm of such rich, complex and exciting emotions, all for themselves to enjoy at their own pleasure and fill the void they have.

(Listeners’ side note: If all that is the philosophy of the Watchers, it’s probably not difficult to see how/why the Listeners oppose them. The Listeners likely disagree that negative emotions are the most optimal state of humans, and unlike the Watchers do not think human suffering is just tasty popcorn one can eat at one’s pleasure. Their name – Listeners – implies they’re a more sympathetic faction, as in they listen to one’s troubles and heart rather than take delight in suffering at a superficial level. But if they are the same species, it’s very likely they have the same lack of instinctive understanding of human emotions that the Watchers do, and this could cause…problems.)

Why turn Grian?

All this is also why I believe the Watchers kidnapped Grian + turned him into a Watcher in the first place. Firstly, if they were going to concoct their plan to trap humans, they needed a collaborator from the humans in the first place. Secondly, and most importantly, this collaborator was going to be their only direct source of how human emotions work/feel like, and therefore what were the most optimal conditions needed to ensure their death game would generate the most pain and anguish. They picked Grian because he’s always the ‘leader’ of the SMP players, the person gathering and organizing everyone, so logically, he is the most ‘representative’ of the humans, and the one with the greatest ability to control them.

Of course, it’s also true that Grian was a little $#@% throughout EVO and actively rebelled against the Watchers’ tasks, so making him their collaborator might seem strange. Ignoring the meta reason that the ending was written to explain Grian’s exit from the series. But I figured in this case, they considered the benefits more than the costs. Grian’s chaotic nature is not unlike the Watchers’, considering how much he loves causing pranks and trouble to others. So, as a huge oversight, they think Grian is just like them: he loves to see people suffer, so they think. Additionally, the Watchers are desperate to understand how Grian gets his fellow humans to follow him and do what he asks with little effort. You’ll notice the Watchers have very direct, authoritative ways of trying to wrest control (e.g. the tasks, “do this or you fail”), and they get very petty and upset when people rebel against them (re: Scott’s refusal to be the Boogeyman, their motto is a very demanding “OUR WILL BE DONE.”) They see Grian’s charisma as yet another aspect of human emotions they fail to understand and thus WANT to possess for themselves.

Pictured above: The Watchers, coping and seething

Of course as we know, the Watchers believing Grian would help them is a major oversight. Becoming a god doesn’t just fundamentally change who Grian is, and he definitely doesn’t want to consign his friends to an infinite death loop of suffering. That being said, I don’t think Grianhas truly gone ‘rogue’ so much as taken as much advantage as possible of his ‘deal’ with the Watchers. We can guess the Watchers promised to him some kind of control/leadership over his friends’ circumstances as long as he worked for them, which led to them giving him the keys to the Life Series. In other words, so long as he fulfils their requirements of things being a death game that will generate ‘food’ for them, and lets them revive everyone each loop, he gets to decide how the games go.

And we know exactly what Grian’s done with this: he created the green-yellow-red lives system, he creates a fun gimmick each season, he inserts himself into the game as a player, all to bring out the best and most creative side of his friends rather than the worst. The Boogeyman probably is the only gimmick the Watchers added on their own initiative (re: Martyn’s POV in Last Life) in order to make things more spicy. Probably Grian’s conversation with the Watchers each time goes, “hey, I got an idea on how to bring out the most creative ways for everyone to cause pain in each other, [comes up with some bullcrap justification for the game’s fun mechanics].” I like to think the Watchers were going to make the death games even more vicious, cruel and competitive, but because of Grian’s wrangling he’s convinced them that a slow burn from joy to horror creates better results, and they tolerate it as long as they see him useful.

Memories and Emotions

There is also one BIG detail of the Watchers’ plan I’d like to mention: Martyn claims that the Watchers do NOT erase the players’ memories. At the end of each season, they consume everyone’s emotions so that there’s no more angst/ill will towards each other, and they start each season afresh. The players remember what’s happened in past seasons, but they don’t continue to hold the pain and negative feelings they had towards each other.

I don’t buy this, for numerous reasons.

For one, Martyn has confirmed the Watchers ARE capable of removing people’s memories. The one memory they have outright altered was the ex-EVO players’ (Martyn, Jimmy, BigB etc.) memory of what happened to Grian: they don’t remember that Grian was taken to be turned into a Watcher, and instead remember it as him either going missing or dying after the Ender Dragon fight. All this presumably to not give away the Watchers’ schemes and to ensure they still listen to Grian as if nothing ever happened.

More importantly, however, memories are vital to humanity’s emotional experience and mental health. I am not an expert by any means, but there are studies showing how people with amnesia, PTSD or other conditions affecting memories have flashbacks/emotional reactions to trauma they don’t remember consciously. The Watchers have (supposedly) done something far more simplistic yet fantastic by just eating up everybody’s emotions. All this, even though they see humans as emotion factories, constantly able to generate emotions just by existing, by their ability to draw and create meaning through emotional experiences, and by creating memories – the clearest embodiment of a mortal’s attachment to time (which if you remember, I believe the Watchers have no concept of).

You cannot just tell a human to stop feelingcompletely (under normal circumstances anyway), but especially not if they remember something very very traumatic.

Besides, there ARE clear instances when some of the players remember the events of past seasons and are STILL not over them! Impulse and Tango still being bitter/distrustful after Bdubs betrayed each of them separately, Cleo distrusting BigB for the same reason, Scott referencing Flower Husbands a lot, Pearl feeling betrayed by Cleo/Scott when they supposedly broke up the Gaslight/Gatekeep/Girlboss trio at the start of DL, Bdubs’ “I wanna be your favorite son” in Secret Life, the list goes on. Note that I’ve only listed negative/bittersweet instances; there are plenty more cases of the players remembering past seasons and alliances positively which the Watchers may have ignored. The point is, if the Watchers truly consumed everyone’s emotions to the point of a clean slate, they haven’t exactly been thorough. Nor do I think it’s very conducive for them either – don’t they want players to have enduring, unending, unresolved pain, the sweetest of all (to them)?

No, I think the Watchers HAVE been erasing/suppressing the players’ memories – they’ve just been very selective which ones. Martyn’s said that the Watchers do not care what families or connections they separate so long as they get the people they want and the plans they want. I’m going to assume the players in my theory/the Eyes and Ears AU are exactly the same as their CC counterparts. In other words: they’ve stolen Grian away from his wife. They stole Martyn away from his and his daughter. Ditto with Skizz, Impulse, Tango etc. They stole Scar away from his family. Joel and Lizzie are the only couple they didn’t separate, perhaps because they needed both for their plans, and also so they can inflict the most torture on them by ripping them away from each other, over and over again. And in order to ensure the complete submissiveness of the players to the game, the Watchers have taken away their memories of their past lives, their families, basically anyone who isn’t a fellow player in the game. The Watchers don’t erase the memories of bonds between seasons, because it’s a pain to have to teach the humans how to play all over again, but they erase any memories they find disadvantageous to keeping the game running.

They might even go one step further: while they haven’t erased the players’ memories of who each other are (so as to not cause confusion), they do try to suppress important memories. Things like how they met, the times they confided in each other after a bad day, cried on each other’s shoulder, laughed in each other’s successes, the times they hung out with each other’s families. Imagine the different alliances constantly gravitating to each other, but never being able to remember why they care about each other so much. Imagine Bdubs’ “Come on, you know you and I go way back!” when trying to justify taking Cleo’s stuff, and Cleo laughs back, even though she can’t quite remember what exactly Bdubs has done to warrant that. Imagine Joel or Lizzie trying to remember why they loved each other so much.

They fight and kill some of their friends, and protect others, because…because why again? It’s for survival value, surely, so the Watchers whisper. It’s because the strong must congregate with the strong and leave the weak to die, surely. It’s because Martyn’s always been a loner, and always will be, and should remain so. So they tell him. So they whisper, this is a deathmatch for a reason.

Grian’s Fundamental Rebellion

I think all this is the real reason Grian is rebelling against the Watchers. The most immediate reason is obvious: he wants to free his friends from this death loop. But the deeper reason as to why he’s rebelled is that the Watchers are torturing and robbing his friends of their humanity. They’re taking a tight-knit group of friends who love and would do anything for each other, and turning them against each other in a cruel and unescapable death game. On TOP of this, the Watchers have constantly messed with their heads in order to make them obedient and submissive to their schemes and the worst of their human nature, trapping them in fear, pettiness and paranoia. Of course Grian is upset. Of course he wants to save them from this fate. It’s an insult to who he knows these people to be.

This all leaves Grian in a pretty precarious position. While outwardly the Watchers want to make him a lackey as the “game master”, both he and they know he really wants to save his friends (they probably see it as their ‘cattle’ showing a bit of resistance, which once again they need to suppress). And while on one hand he’s making the games fun to ease his friends’ pain and bring the best out of them, this is just a hotfix rather than a real solution. In order to really rescue the players, Grian’s got to get them to rebel against the Watchers as well. Refuse to play by the rules, by the expectation that they must murder and kill without mercy, without any attachment to their alliances or past friendships. Make everyone like Scott refusing to be the Boogeyman, or Skizz constantly trying to be wholesome (until the bloodlust gets the better of him anyway).

Ironically in order to achieve this, Grian’s best bet is to try to jog everyone’s lost memories of each other and the things they lost, both good and bad. But ultimately, this is going to make them (in the short term) suffer more. This is where you can insert all your Desert Duo/Flower Husband/whatever alliance you like most angst. But more practically, I like to imagine when “the cameras” are not watching, when Grian knows no one will notice or catch him, he sneaks around to the different alliances, even the ones he’s not part of, to ask them how they’re doing, if they remember anything from the past etc. (in a meta sense, the players edit and cut stuff from their videos all the time; who’s to say he isn’t trying to catch a quick chat while everyone’s mining?!) It also reflects in why Grian is constantly trying to make alliances with different people instead of just gravitate to one person, he needs to check on everyone and capitalize on every single opportunity. (besides the meta reason, being that cc!Grian wants to be creative, and sticking to the same person all the time isn’t very entertaining from a content creator perspective)

One last detail about the winners: I don’t have much to say about the fragments yet, because Martyn (sneaky boi) hasn’t yet revealed the significance of the fragments nor of their healing, although he has hinted Bad Things™ will happen if a player gets too fragmented. But I do think the winners are important: with the game finished, they give Grian a very short window of time to talk to one person directly, without Watcher interference. They’re always the last to be killed/swept away/revived by the Watchers, and I can imagine there’s a brief period of time when their souls are being transferred to The Void w/e where Grian can step in and interfere. In my theory, Grian passes on some sort of clue/push to the winners, as like a subtle message about what they can do to stand up to the Watchers. I’ll detail on what I think these individual messages were in part 2. Needless to say, 3rd Life was a traumatic experience for Grian for many reasons, but the nail in the coffin was the fact that he won, and therefore there was no way for him to pass a message onto anyone.

Conclusion

Hooooooo jeepers that was long @A@; Thank you so much for your patience reading this if you made it to the end, I really appreciate it. As I said, I’ve had these lore ideas bouncing in my head for a LONG time, and with the end of Secret Life I couldn’t get out of my head the different trends/symbolism that was popping out of an improv series. It honestly speaks a lot to how genius our favorite block dudes are at improv, that they can turn their improv nonsense into a coherent narrative. I really wanted to try my hand at fleshing out such a narrative, and with Martyn constantly drip-feeding lore to the fans, I had more than enough material to not just put out guesses but construct something a full XYZ. As I mentioned, I enjoy workshopping themes and characters a LOT more than just worldbuilding or “what if this or that” details in a vacuum, hence why I’ve written all that I have, so this was a fun exercise for me all around!

Next time in part 2 I talk about Character Development™, or character specific notes and details I’ve noticed and extrapolated from what we’ve seen of each individual player, as well as what their different arcs across the seasons mean for them within the lore. Stay tuned for another wordbarf!

Bonus list of works I was inspired by for this loredump:

Log Horizon

The Promised Neverland

Danganronpa (ironic as I’m not really a fan of this franchise, but the first game has an otherwise solid premise which I found really similar to the Life Series)

The Fate franchise (when Martyn asked “what’s Fate?” on the latest lore stream, let me tell you I couldn’t stop laughing; NO MARTYN DON’T GO INTO THE WEEB RABBIT HOLE)

Various amazing animatics from the Traffic fandom: Earth, Bang!, most of Melloz Heist’s works, and of course all the amazing fanart

Way too many conversations with my friends about fantasy species

#mumbling #secret life #long post sorry #i really didn't intend to keep going like that whoops #now everyone knows this whole time i've secretly been Headcanons Georg #i don't know how obvious all of this is in the comics themselves (i don't think it is tbh) but believe me ALL of this was intentional

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theshelbyclan · 4 years ago

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Welcome to the chaos, little one

Summary: Giving birth is never easy, especially when it’s a Shelby x Solomons baby…

A/N I’m so slow with requests but a while back the lovely @fandom-puffrequested: Omg sorry to be a pain but I’m a sucker for Shelby chaos 😭😭😭 can I request something linked to A Very Shelby Christmas where the labour of baby Solomons is just as chaotic? But it could also be sweet like the bros finally accepting Alfie bc they all care about YN so much and can’t stand to hear her in pain, all while YN is screaming that she’ll cut off more of Alfie’s dick than his rabbi would even dare to if he ever tried to bed her again 😭😭😭 omg the chaos 👉👈 ily 💓💓 Here we go! This is part 2 to the story A Very Shelby Christmas

Words: 1638

***

“Not now, Y/N,” Arthur groaned. Ada rolled her eyes, remembering keenly when her brother had spoken those iconic words before. “It’s not like I can help it, Arthur,” you spit.

Polly grabbed you by your arm as you doubled over again, “Alright, sweetheart, it’s time. Come with me…” “Not yet, Aunt Pol,” you panted, “It’s too early.” “The baby doesn’t have it’s own pocket watch yet,” Ada commented matter-of-factly, as she took your other arm. “Fuck!” you called out again as another contraction set in, “Fuck, fuck, fuckity-fuck!” “Nice.” “Oh, piss off John, you want to try this?” “Not really…” “Tommy!” you turned to the one family member who hadn’t said a word yet, “Get him.” “And who would that be, eh?” he replied in a low voice. “Thomas…” Aunt Polly warned softly. He raised his eyebrows, “Finn? You want Finn at the birth?” “WHY WOULD I WANT MY FUCKING BABY BROTHER HERE?!” Tommy waved a vague hand, “General comfort?” Now Aunt Polly’s eyes flashed with anger, “Thomas! Go get her husband, right now!” Tommy sighed deeply, still trying to ignore the fact that his little sister was now Mrs. Solomons, and said, “Come on boys, let’s get them all together and wet this baby’s head! Leave the women to it.” And you groaned, “Thank you…” Once Alfie would be here, everything would be easier.

*** “Solomons!” “No need to shout, mate, I’m right here, ain’t I?”

Slowly Tommy lit a cigarette and started smoking it, “It concerns my sister.” “You mean the glorious creature that made me the luckiest man on earth by marrying me? My wife? Mrs. Alfie Solomons?” A small twinkle appeared in Alfie’s eyes as he saw Tommy’s jaw tense up just a little at his words. “Yes.” “How is the old lady doing?” Alfie asked conversationally. “In pain,” Tommy replied, “She’s in labour, more to the point.” “You fucking what?” “She’s with her aunt Alfie, she’ll be fine.” Alfie blinked a few times, “Tommy I swear to God if you’re playing some fucking game with me I will shoot you between the eyes right here and now. You’re telling me my wife is in labour and you’re standing there casually smoking a cigarette, waiting for some fucking woman to tell you it’s done?” “Yes,” he nodded, “Well, I was about to go the Garrison. Thought we might bury the hatchet and you could join us.” “Have you lost your fucking mind…” Alfie said slowly, while rubbing his chin. Tommy cleared is throat and with a slight hint of uncertainty in his voice said, “It’s tradition.” “Well, if you’ll pardon my French, fuck your fucking heathen traditions, I’m going to my fucking wife and you are fucking coming with me. And bring your fucking family while you’re at it!”

*** “Why are we here?” John leaned in to Arthur slightly while asking the question in a hushed voice. “Alfie insisted.” “Why?” Arthur raised his voice, “Ask Tommy, alright? I don’t bloody know! I’m guessing it’s another Jewish thing…” On the other side of the door, you were most definitely in labour now. The pain was worse than anything you’d experienced before and you were seriously questioning your sanity at this point. “Aunt Pol?” Ada asked carefully after about an hour. Polly moved over from your side down to your legs and said, “What is it?” “Something’s wrong.” “THOMAS!” Polly bellowed as soon as she had taken a look, “Get me some more towels.”

“What’s happening?” A panicked Alfie asked from the hallway. But Polly pushed him aside and started ordering Finn to boil more water. “Woman!” he demanded, “You fucking tell me.” “She’s bleeding,” she answered quickly, “and I can’t see why.” “What can we do, Pol,” Arthur asked, wild-eyed. “Get a doctor. One we can trust.” Arthur dragged John with him, even before Polly had finished her sentence. “What about Sabini’s men?” John asked, “We were supposed to deal with them tonight. What if they come here?” “Shoot them,” Tommy said simply, as he lit another cigarette in a nervous manner. Inside the room, you were now screaming your head off. Of course you had realised giving birth would be painful, but not like this. The sight of Ada going slightly pale didn’t help either and panic had started mixing in with the general anxiety of the process, so your screams got louder and louder. “Pol…” Ada called out again, “What do I do?” In that moment, Alfie pushed passed her and fell down by your side, “I’m here,” he said softly. “I can see that,” you panted between shouts, “but why? You’re not supposed to be here.” “Out,” Aunt Polly said strictly, “This is no place for men.” And then Tommy walked in as well, averting his eyes and grabbing your hand at the same time. “What?” he said when Polly send him a death-glare, “If Alfie gets to stay, so can I!” “Fucking children…” “Alright, sweetheart,” Polly focused on you again, “This baby needs to come now.” Your eyes grew wide, “What’s wrong?” “Nothing,” Alfie replied for her, “You’ll be fine. You’re doing brilliant, babes.” “How the fuck would you know!” you shouted out. He shrugged, “Educated guess?” “Had a lot of experience with this, eh?” Tommy grumbled sarcastically. “This,” Ada pointed at the both of them, “This is why men shouldn’t be in here.” “I’m not fucking going anywhere, especially if my wife is in danger.” Tommy just shook his head in reply. “Danger?” you asked suddenly, “What does he mean in danger?” “No danger, love,” Ada soothed you, “if you just push.” And so you pushed, with every bit of strength you had in you. But then a gunshot sounded outside, followed rapidly by another two. Everyone looked up. “John,” Tommy clarified with a single word. “You’re being awfully cavalier about baby brother John getting shot there, Tommy…” Alfie commented. Tommy looked at Alfie with a frown that spoke volumes, “John just shot Sabini’s men. I told him to.” “Oh, good. Saves me the bloody trip.” “I can see some hair!” Ada called out suddenly. “What colour?” Alfie replied at once. And John stuck his head around the corner of the door, “Took care of them.” “We heard,” Aunt Polly grumbled. He hopped from one foot onto the other uncertainly, “Anything else I can do?” “Yeah, you can fuck off mate!” “Alright, I’ll stay, since you asked so nicely.” “John, just get the fuck out!” your sister shouted. The birth was chaos enough as it was and now all these boys were only adding to it instead of helping. And on top of it all, Finn stumbled in practically falling over his own feet with a bucket of water, splashing Aunt Polly in the process. This was more like a madhouse than a family occasion. But John pointed at Alfie indignantly, “He gets to stay!” “Push, Y/N,” Polly urged again, and so you did. “Nice one,” John laughed at Finn, “you literally had one job, mate.” “Mrs. Gray?” Alfie asked carefully, “Sorry to interrupt you there, alright, but I just wanted to quickly check, because you mentioned the hair, yeah? What colour? Because I’m sure I’ll love my son all the same if he’s blond, but I might just need to mentally prepare myself…” And then you finally burst out in anger, “Can you all just shut the fuck up for a second! I’m actually trying to have a fucking baby here!!” “Right, sorry about that love,” Alfie moved closer to you and grabbed your hand again, “Please continue. You’re doing brilliantly, even if he is blond…” Tommy chuckled lightly in the background, which made you even more angry somehow, “Alfie, I swear to God or Adonai or whatever you want to call him, do nottouch me again because remember how you said you couldn’t remember your circumcision?”

“Yes,” Alfie mumbled in mortal fear.

“You will remember when I do it. Remember how you told me of your rabbi doing it when boys are eight days old, because then it heals faster?”

“Yes...” he gulped.

“I’ll make it slow sweetheart. Really fucking slow.”

“Right,” he said with big eyes, “What exactly would you have me do then except for just standing here like some great big bloody useless piece of shit?”

“Shut up!”

“Noted.” *** You weren’t sure what had happened exactly in that last hour. Apparently you’d lost a lot of blood and things had gotten hazy very quickly. Ada and Aunt Polly had stopped talking altogether and they had managed to save you, despite the bickering men in the background. You did remember that Alfie and Arthur had gotten into a fight at one point, but apparently they managed to resolve it quickly when the doctor arrived and they took turns in beating him up because he was no longer needed. Anger really does bring people together.

Of course, none of that really mattered now, because you were now holding a perfect baby right there, in your arms. Finn just stared at the baby, completely in awe. “Not blond…” John sounded a little disappointed. Arthur grinned, “But bloody perfect.” “Gorgeous, just like the mother,” Polly hugged you carefully. “Shelby good looks.” Tommy nodded slowly, with a sense of pride in his voice. “Any names yet?” Ada asked, “I bet you’ve picked them out ages ago, haven’t you?” “I have,” you smiled, “but couldn’t say them out loud yet, so we didn’t really discuss it. It’s bad luck.”

Uncharacteristically, Alfie hadn’t said a word yet.

“Mr. Solomons?” you said, gazing up from your one love to the other, “I believe you have a daughter.” And finally he smiled, deeply and incredibly in love as he held her tight with both hands. And in the most tender way possible he looked at you, grinned and said, “Fucking hell!”

***

Masterlist

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writefightandflightclub · 4 years ago

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Disarming (Santi x fem!reader)

Summary: you and Santi - good friends- are Best Man and Maid of Honour at Frankie’s wedding, and guess what? There’s only one bed!

What is this? This is 5/10 one-shots/blurbs for my “friends to lovers” event. The prompt is “We can share a room, right? It’s only for a weekend”, requested by @woakiees. Another double trope extravaganza! Hadley, I’m so pleased you suggested Santi for this one, as he immediately came to mind when I was writing this prompt :D Thank you so much for requesting! <3

If you’d like to read/keep track of the other fics, I’m keeping an up-to-date friends to lovers list in my pinned post.

Author’s note: Apparently I get carried away EVERY time I write Santi. WHY AM I LIKE THIS?! :-/

Word count: 7.5k. I’M SO SORRY. PLEASE FORGIVE ME.

Rating: 18+ ONLY (minors out, please, do not read or interact)

Warnings: it gets angsty in the middle. Reader has nightmare- comfort offered. Mentions of reader being “hurt” in the past but vague and unspecified. They have a fight. One or two alcohol mentions- no actual consumption. Food mention. Swearing. Steam leading into smut but not explicit- mentions of masturbation, erections, making-out, one brief allusion to choking kink. Let me know if I missed anything.

Tagging: @isvvc-pvscvl @casifer-is-king (loads of the tags aren’t working :-/)

GIF: @nathan-bateman

From the first moment you met Santi, you had simply fallen into step with him. It was effortless, and so, as soon as you found yourself by his side, you stayed there. What’s more, that’s exactly where he wanted you to be.

Despite the man’s hard, no-nonsense edge -which you also appreciated- he was warm and charming. It was easy to connect with him, in a way it hadn’t often been for you. For him too - or so the boys told you - the way you surpassed his defences was a rare thing. It shouldn’t have worked, perhaps. Usually, he was slow to trust and you were quick to love, but on this occasion none of that seemed to apply, the two of you tumbling squarely into a fast-friendship; one deeper and more intense, perhaps, than its duration might suggest. Still, despite the boys’ inferences that you would quickly become an item, and Santi’s continual attempts to blur the lines between this and… something more, “friends” is what you have remained.

You had felt it immediately with him. Something different. You simply... flowed. You fit. It was immediately evident, even on that first night, in the way you orbited around one another, setting up an impromptu beer pong of all things. You moved together with a fluidity and a precision that seems almost tactical- as though you too had run countless manoeuvres in the field with him. You could read him and understand him as though you had drilled his habits and patterns and idiosyncrasies over and over; learning him. However, he was never that much effort - the two of you came naturally to each other, little learning required. You knew each other with your gut.

At that fateful party, when you each escaped to the back porch steps for some air at a serendipitous moment, the conversation had immediately flowed, and not only as a result of his natural, disarming charm. The silence even came easily rightaway – a comfortable thing, the space between you stuffed with contentment, rather than the feeling of a gaping vacuum, needlessly filled. It turned out his best friend was dating yours (the pair to be wed this very weekend) but that almost seemed like the cherry on top, rather than the thing bringing you to each other.

Safe to say, what was true then is true now. You get on so well. You find him fun and easy and generous and you love the man dearly.

…Most of the time.

Those other times, though? Santiago “Pope” Garcia can be a pain in your ass. But that’s another reason you love him, you guess. Keeps things interesting.

“Please don’t kill me,” Santi says sheepishly, and it’s obvious to you he’s laying on the charm - actively trying to be as disarming as possible as he saunters over from the reception desk. For a moment, despite all his training, he looks as though he believes you could pull it off, too.

Your annoyance is already prepped; locked and loaded, as he pads squarely towards the banquette where you are sat - amidst a sea of luggage. You’ve been observing his attempts to charm the desk clerk with interest (his efforts, you surmise, at least partially effectual), and judging from the slight level of desperation in his efforts, you can already tell he fucked up somehow.

“What did you do?” you say impatiently, even as a smile twitches at the corner of your lips.

“I booked all the rooms we needed, for all of the wedding guests, right? 13 rooms here, and all 10 at the hotel across town. 4 more in guesthouses,” he recaps. “Got Frankie and Mila a great deal too, remember?”

You remember. And yet, you fold your arms across your chest, looking up at him incredulously. Okay then. Rolling with your attitude, the man takes a different tack. He sits next to you. Smiles. Leans in. Pats your thigh. He’s trying to disarm you too, you realise. It’s going to take more than that - you’re not some flimsy desk clerk who will form a puddle and bat your eyes at the first sign of his charm.

“Well, funny story. I may have forgotten to book our rooms,” he blurts.

Oh? Oh, great. Yeah. This is a grand fuck-up. The whole damn town is booked-out. It’s a small town. No longer amused, your nostrils flare in annoyance as you tug in a slow breath, schooling your tone just a little before you speak. “You what?” Okay, you didn’t manage to school it all that much.

“Look, I already sort of fixed it,” he smooths. That explains the flirting with the clerk. Although, you think, glancing back at her. She’s pretty. That partially explains the flirting with the clerk, then, you mentally correct. “There’s just one, teeny-tiny issue.”

You raise your eyebrows and widen your eyes. Well?

“We’re gonna have to share a room.”

You blink at him a few times, in surprise. Well, it’s not ideal. For a number of reasons. But you can think of worse things, truth be told. And he’s not wrong. It is a solution. Still, on his reveal, a succession of emotions and micro-assessments are bounced back and forth between your eyes and his, until you land on resigned annoyance, exhaling a long sigh. That is, until Frankie appears in the lobby, swanning in like he’s walking on air. He probably is, given that he’s getting married this weekend. His face splits with a smile so wide you reckon it should be painful to maintain, and you stand to greet him as he heads over.

You’re glad he’s happy. It means that you and Santi, as Maid of Honour and Best man, respectively, are doing a fantastic job of deflecting all of the stress away from the happy couple. Indeed, that assessment certainly feels true – you do feel stressed. Still, the two of you immediately paint your faces with masking smiles; though, in fairness, it’s hard not to smile while looking at Frankie – his obvious joy is infectious.

Frankie wraps you both in a hug, then rubs his palms together like an excited kid. “I don’t have much time. Just gonna say a quick hello to my parents. Apparently, my mom’s already started crying? Can you two sort some extra tissues for the ceremony or something? Oh, and is everything okay with the rooms?”

“With this guy? Are you kidding?”, you say before you think, throwing your thumb towards Santi. Immediately, his eyes submit a powerful plea to you to keep schtum- it is written all over his face that he doesn’t want to let Frankie down. Not even in the smallest of ways.

Frankie would find his little error funny, probably. But he can find it funny after the ceremony. “Everything is A-OK! This guy? He has every single detail taken care of.”

Frankie grins, his eyes narrowing proudly at Santi as he slaps him on the back, laying profuse thanks on the two of you; then, he floats away again, as if on a cloud. Santi’s brown eyes are big with gratitude when you look at him again, and you can’t help but weaken. You’ll admit, it’s really not that bad of a fuck-up. Besides, you’re tired. Between the drive out here, the wedding rehearsal, and a never-ending list of errands, the day has been long. You just want to get to the room, and maybe even clock a snooze before the rehearsal dinner tonight.

“Fine,” you agree, albeit through gritted teeth. “We can share a damn room.”

Santi looks visibly relieved, and squeezes your shoulder in thanks. You’d even been nice enough not to bite his head off. “Yeah. We can share a room, right? It’s only for a weekend.” Suddenly, he doesn’t sound quite as certain.

“Sure. I mean, what could possibly go wrong?” you smile nervously.

He returns your smile and swivels, heading back towards the desk.

“Oh, wait!” you call after him. “Is it a double or a twin?” you ask in horror. Sharing a room is one thing, but sharing a bed?

He turns, looking over his shoulder. “Doesn’t matter!”, he winks. “Whatever it is, we’re gonna have to take it.”

Oh. Oh dear.

You’re inclined to agree -you don’t have many options- but when you catch yourself stealing a glance at the man’s shapely butt as he walks back to the desk, you begin to chew your bottom-lip nervously.

Right. Ha.

What could possibly go wrong?

**********************

It turns out, sharing a room with Santi is resoundingly not bad at all. In fact, at first, it’s as easy as everything else is with him - even between your hurried preparations for the evening, unpacking, shuttling items to the relevant members of the wedding party, and calling down to reception several times to check the logistics for the rehearsal dinner. Even getting dressed, you find an easy flow as you each flit in and out of the bathroom, dancing around each other with ease and only a hint of friendly bickering.

Santi’s respectful too- always knocking and announcing himself before entering a space, and averting his gaze when he needs to, given that you’re rushing around and undressing. You even manage to ignore the fact there’s only one bed for the longest time, parking that specific panic for later. Even then, he has already made reception send up extra pillows and blankets, forming a barricade in the middle of the bed so you two can comfortably separate.

Thankfully, you are so busy that the idea of sharing a bed with Santi doesn’t even cross your mind until you’re finally ready, dressed in your finery. When you step out of the bathroom, Santi -sat on the edge of said bed- stands up, thrusting his hands into his suit trousers as he takes the sight of you in, pulling the material taut -in a rather pleasing way- across his hips and thighs. He ends up slightly slack-jawed for a moment as his eyes trail over you, brewing with a gentle, self-conscious heat. “Fuck,” he says softly, his voice gruff. “You look…” a little gulp trails down his throat as you give him a little twirl. “…hot”, he says, his eyebrow ticking up on the last beat.

“Wait until you see my bridesmaid dress,” you smile, and he returns it easily, those gorgeous creases appearing around his eyes.

Unconsciously, you lick your lips. You can’t help but wonder, vaguely, what it would be like to push him down on to the mattress. Maybe straddle him. Fuck, you should have known this would be a bad idea. A heat rising in your face at that thought of that, you distract yourself by lifting his suit jacket from the back of the chair, holding it out for him as he slips it on to his shoulders, and feeling the luxurious texture of it beneath your fingers.

It’s a grey suit, tailored, and it hugs him in all the right places. The cool colour is perfect against his warm-toned brown skin, and brings out the salt in his salt-and-pepper curls, and in the rough rasp of grey flecked through his stubble.

You try desperately not to notice how good he looks, but this may be your greatest challenge yet.

“Come on,” you encourage, nodding towards the door. “We better head down.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, half-heartedly. The way his eyes are subtly roving over you, though, he looks like he has something entirely different in mind for dinner.

“You’re probably going to spend all night being chased by the single bridesmaids,” you add casually as you collect your purse, and apply a final dab of lipstick in front of the mirror. You’ve already clocked a few members of the wedding party eyeing him up, and you don’t exactly blame them for being thirsty. Besides, Santi is a huge flirt; so perhaps he’ll be the one doing the chasing. You wouldn’t be surprised if he ended the night with his tongue thrust deep in someone’s throat, which -you assume- is typical Santi fashion.

“Isn’t it traditional, anyway,” he smirks cheekily, applying a splash of cologne, “for the Best Man to hook-up with one of the bridesmaids?”

Lord, does he have to smell so… edible.

“Got news for you, man. You fucked up. You can’t exactly bring a girl back to your room now, can you?!” you tease, nodding back towards your shared bed, a wall of pillows already arranged down the middle. You mean it to come out in good-humour, but you can’t scrub the hint of jealousy from your tone entirely.

You feel so silly for being jealous of whomever he may hook-up with. After all, Santi is always the one testing the boundaries of friendship with you. It’s not like he’s ever made a secret of the fact he’s attracted to you- and you are the one here will a firm line in the sand. A line you simply won’t cross with him. Can’t cross. You want to - of course you do, but after being hurt in the past, you have simply built-up far too many defences; or, more accurately, just the right amount of defences, you think, to protect you. So, no matter how disarming the man is, you simply have to keep your guard up; because if he breached your walls, you know everything else would come tumbling so easily down.

You had fallen so easily into friendship with him, and you are certain that you would fall just as recklessly in love with him.

You’re not ready for that.

You can’t take being hurt again. Besides; Santi? He’s an incredible friend. He’s tenaciously loyal and dedicated to his squad. But when it comes to love, and sex, you doubt whether serious is even his thing - and you’re too afraid to ask.

“You ready to do this?” he asks, with a wink.

“Yep,” you nod. “Let’s roll,” and with that, you turn, heading for the hallway.

“Princesa- that dress really highlights your ass,” he praises as he tags along behind you.

“Thank you, it’s true,” you smile devilishly, already beginning to let your guard down, just a little. He’s simply so disarming. “Speaking of, Garcia – did you get your trousers a size too small on purpose?”

“Oh, you noticed?” he retorts, smugly, guiding you through the door with a hand on the small of your back.

Okay. Sometimes you flirt back. After all – look at him.

Especially in that damn suit.

***********************************

The rehearsal dinner goes swell. Frankie and Mila are a picture-perfect, loved-up couple, and they grin their way through the evening as if they slept with coat hangers in their mouths. The speeches are well-received, including Will’s, thus setting a high bar for you and Santi tomorrow. (You may be biased, but Santi’s is ten times funnier, and it’s going to kill, in your opinion.) There are no dramas through the evening- logistical or familial, and thanks to you and Santi overseeing everything with a military precision, it looks as though -so far- it is shaping up to be the perfect wedding weekend.

Finally, once your duties are over for the night, you are able to let your hair down a little, so to speak, and enjoy the food and company on offer. Still, with a big day ahead tomorrow, things wind down relatively early, and -having lost track of Santi at some point- you find yourself back at the shared room a little while before him. You usually burn out more quickly than he does in social situations, but even taking that into consideration, you begin to fret about where he has gotten to. With the way he was flirting his way through the party, though, it doesn’t take a genius to guess what (or who) might be keeping him up.

You try to sleep but you can’t, your mind going to the worst places, so, by the time Santi does return -softly cracking the door, and padding in with his shoes in his hands so as not to wake you- you have stewed in your own thoughts long enough to have become a little cranky. A little… green-eyed.

“Hey,” he greets in surprise when he enters, immediately noticing the soft lamp glow, and seeing you still sitting up in the bed, mindlessly watching the flicker of the tv on mute.

“Hey,” you return, your voice noticeably strained. “Have a fun time?” You find yourself wishing you weren’t sharing a room, then you wouldn’t have to know what he got up to.

“Yeah,” he replies softly, slipping off his jacket and laying it over the back of a chair. “Did you? How come you’re still up? Thought for sure you’d be wiped out by now.”

So, he did think of you, then?

“Couldn’t sleep,” you reply neutrally, fixing your eyes dead ahead as he begins to slip out of his trousers and shirt too, until he’s dressed in only his tight black boxers. Next, he takes off his watch and sets it at the bedside, and you notice that he smells of perfume. A cloying, floral scent that makes you feel a little sick.

“Just gonna have a quick shower and then I’ll slip in with you, okay?” he says, his voice slow and deep and muted, matching the soft light.

You still don’t look at him. You can’t.

“Do what you want. You usually do,” you bite, the words tasting bitter as soon as they have left your lips, and tears of regret pooling as your anger dissolves.

You don’t blame him if he was with someone – you really don’t. You’re simply angry at yourself; because you wish you could be that person, and you can’t for the life of you seem to find a way.

“Okay. What was that for?” he bristles, reacting defensively, turning towards you. And perhaps it’s because it’s late and he’s tired, or because certain demons feel safer coming out under the cover of darkness, but he doesn’t stop there. Especially when all he gets from you is a stony, pointed silence. “You know what? Actually, no. You don’t get to do this”, he hisses, and it is the first time you’ve ever heard him direct any genuine anger at you.

It doesn’t half sting.

“Do what?” you ask, but you already know the answer.

“You don’t get to be mad when I give my attention to someone who actually wants it,” his voice is hushed, but his words rattle through you as if he had yelled them. “I don’t have to explain myself to you. Guess what, I’m not yours.”

“That’s not fair”, you snap back, and then things are quickly escalating.

“Isn’t it?” he asks, rasping a hand over his stubble in distress. “I mean, come on. Shit. You know that I want more but I…” he exhales a disgruntled laugh. “You shoot me down, which is your prerogative, honestly, but you can’t have it both ways. You can’t knock me back all the time and then be pissed off when I look elsewhere.”

You meet his face, the planes of it shadowed and angled harshly with anger, suddenly so unfamiliar to you, and it causes your eyes to bloom with tears. You two look the opposite of Frankie and Mila; of a picture-perfect couple. But you’re not even a couple at all, are you?

You see him try. To blunt the emotion which is bubbling up. To soften. But he has uncorked something he now can’t put back in. “Fuck, I just wish that….” he pinches his lips together and shakes his head, planting his hands on his hips and looking at the floor. “If you don’t want me, just put me out of my fucking misery. Just say it. Just fucking tell me.”

Your heart shatters into a thousand pieces at the thought you make him miserable. At the way his voice breaks. At the way he thinks you don’t want him. Maybe you were wrong, thinking that you could be friends at all. Thinking that could be enough for him.

Your lower lip trembles, and your fingers clutch the edge of the blanket. “I… I can’t tell you that. I can’t tell you that I don’t want you, Santi.”

You can’t because it isn’t true. It could not be further from the truth, in fact.

He puffs out air, an exasperated sound, his hand raising up to tangle in his grizzled curls. Raising his voice a little more. “Let me guess. You can’t tell me the other thing either?”

“I.. I..” You try, but no words will come. You simply shake your head, swallowing a sob, your eyes almost brimming over.

He nods. He nods, his mouth slanted down. “Great. Got it,” he huffs.

You hate this. You hate how much you’re hurting him.

“Santi,” you breathe weakly, but it is too weak to blunt the force of his emotion. To halt his trajectory, and so, resigned, he turns towards the bathroom, grabbing-up a fresh white towel from the counter. Before he closes the door, he turns to you once more, now speaking softly, his eyes as sad as yours. “You know,” he says, his index finger sawing back-and-forth over the stubble at his chin. “For the record, I wasn’t with anyone else. I can’t even fucking think about anyone else but you. I was late back to the room because I couldn’t face it.” His voice becomes small and pained. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to just curl up next to you and act like I don’t care.” His eyebrow ticks up, and he adds, with a final flourish. “Guess I should have taken a lesson from you.”

Oh, how it stings, pain flowering in your chest like a bruise, but you hold yourself together until he’s out of sight. Then, when he’s gone, you immediately cave in on yourself, falling on to your side and screwing your eyes shut, clamping your hand over your mouth so that he can’t hear you crying as wet tears spill onto your pillow.

When he comes back into the room, after a long shower, you simply screw your eyes shut and pretend to be asleep. You hear him sigh heavily, and mumble something to himself under his breath, before dragging a few pillows and a spare blanket down on to the floor.

A few more silent tears roll over the bridge of your nose.

You guess you wouldn’t be sharing a bed with him after all.

***********************

You wake panicked in the night, sitting bolt upright in the bed. A cold wash of sweat over your skin chills you, even though you feel like you’re burning-up.

Immediately, you reach for him, for Santi, calling his name even as your fear strangles the sound in your throat. Your heart is thudding, and your breaths are sawing in and out of you, but your grasping hands find nothing to your side but pillows and blanket.

Unfortunately, you are used to this occurrence, and you quickly realise it was “only” a nightmare. Still, the feelings and images it conjured linger in your body, and around you in the shifting, seemingly fluid shadows of the room.

With a release of tension, you whimper, leaning forward and cradling your head in your trembling hands, and you try to ground yourself. To steady your breath and your heartbeat, like you’ve practiced. As you do so, the shadows to your left shift and change, and, even in the pitch-black you can feel him, a safe and warm presence, instantly travelling to your side, his weight dipping the mattress. His soothing, sandy voice filtering through the shadows and cutting back the tendrils of your nightmare like a Disney prince hacking through cursed vines.

You vaguely remember that he’s mad at you - but you can’t help it. Can’t help asking. “Hold me?” you plead, desperately afraid that he won’t.

Still, without questions or hesitation, you feel the wall of remaining pillows coming down, the defences around you quite literally being dismantled – a figurative wall between you shifting away along with it. He shushes you, and you focus on his voice, until he is close enough that the scent of him wraps around you, before his arms follow closely after.

You reach for him in return. You reach for him in every way possible.

“It’s just a nightmare,” he soothes. “I’m here, baby. I’ve got you,” and there is pain in his voice on your behalf, as if he tries to bear the burden of it for you.

“Closer,” you plead, and before you know it, he is shifting you on to your side, slotting his sturdy yet soft body around you, not caring that you feel clammy and hot against his bare skin. He simply loops his arms and draws your back, closer to his chest, becoming your big spoon.

He calms you, hands enveloping yours and bundling them against your chest, his nose nuzzling into your hair, and his deep steady breaths slowing your breathing as you let his calm and his rhythms overcome you. He holds you, until the feelings pass, not caring how long it takes – and with any anger from before apparently forgotten.

This pain is all too familiar to him, you know. It something that Santi understands. It is your own and it is not the same as his, true, but you know it is familiar enough that he will feel the ache of it echoing in his own chest. You know that he is accustomed enough to bearing his own pain, that when yours is too heavy to carry, he will help you hold it for a while. And so, he holds you, while you are a tender thing, bruised and afraid, and he keeps you safe; with all your walls down, all of your defences collapsed, he becomes your fortress.

You never thought that letting yourself be so vulnerable could allow you to feel quite as safe as this.

As you lie together, Santi continues to usher soft reassurances into your ear, his words like charms and incantations to ward off the ghosts which haunt you. And, after a series of slow, stretched moments, you become more settled, and Santi feels you relax against him.

After a few moments more, he eventually whispers a small question into your hair. In the dark, the question feels safe to come out, perhaps.

“Do you always call for me when you…?” he trails off, thinking better of it. “I’m sorry- forget it, you don’t have to answer that.”

You don’t. You know you don’t. You don’t even truthfully know the answer. It’s likely that you do call for him, though how would you know, when you’re usually alone? But, there is something else you can tell him, while it is safe to come out in the dark. Something you want to tell him, before you build your walls all the way back up.

“Santi,” you begin, timidly, and his fingers skim softly up and down your arms, encouraging you to go on. “I-I’ve been hurt before. And, I want to be with you. I want to let you in but… I’m. I’m not ready. I’m trying so hard but I… I can’t.”

There is a long beat, and you realise he has held in a breath only when he releases it all at once, fanning hot across the back of your neck.

You are afraid. Afraid of what he might say, in response – what he might feel, but you think, maybe, it might be something like relief? And, Santi squeezes you, just a little tighter. A little closer. “Don’t worry about that now, okay?” he soothes, his voice feather soft. “Just… know one thing, okay, Princesa? Whenever you are ready? I’m waiting.”

This time your heart fills with a different emotion, all the spaces in it flooded with contentment, Santi’s words followed by a perfect, happy silence.

A soft smile blooms on your face.

It was not a confession of waiting impatiently, you understand, but an invitation to take your time to arrive at him. He’s not trying to bring down your defences at all, is he? He’s waiting for you to open the door, and invite him in. He’s waiting until you are ready. He simply needed to know that you are on your way, even if your footsteps are getting you there slowly.

For now, though, the thought of it is too much. More than you’re ready for.

So, you simply let him hold you.

To disarm you further.

To walk yourself a little closer toward where you want to be. With him; by his side.

****************************************

In the morning, you wake up tangled around each other, Santi’s arm wrapped securely around your back and your head settled on his chest. He is still snoring lightly – cutely - when you awake, and so, as the night prior comes flooding back to you, you hastily try to extricate yourself from him; even if his bare skin feels so good against yours that you never want to move. You’re apparently not so subtle- or he’s a helluva light-sleeper – as, just when you pull away, Santi wakes up, quickly rushing to prove his innocence.

“You had a nightmare,” he croaks, still trying to peel his eyes open. “You asked me to- “.

“-I know. I remember,” you reassure, sitting up in bed, the blankets tugged to your chest. Santi shuffles, opting to assume the same position on his own side, mirroring you, rubbing his eyes.

You’re still not sure whether to apologise to him or thank him. Or maybe even to wait for an apology from him? Christ. Maybe all of those things or none of them, who even knows? You mentally spin a wheel and land on a casual “Uh. Thank you, for…. You know.”

“Anytime,” he says, turning his head to the side and looking at you earnestly. As if your bickering -your jealousy and his outburst- is all but forgotten. What’s more, you know that he means it.

Admiringly, your eyes wander over him, enjoying a side of him you’ve never quite seen before. Apparently, he’s even more handsome in the morning, with an even thicker, darkened brush of stubble, his grizzled curls dishevelled, and his swooping eyelids still heavy from sleep. Combined, it gives him a sultry, bedroom look. Feeling an involuntary rush of heat in the pit of you, your gaze drops to his corded neck, where, given the special occasion, he has substituted his dog tags for a silver chain, drawing your gaze down over his smooth, brown chest.

Your skin now cooling in the conditioned air of the room, you long for his body heat again, recalling how it felt to be held by him and wishing you had lingered a little longer while you could. Even with your interrupted sleep last night, you have somehow woken feeling refreshed, as though you had slept unreasonably deeply in his arms, reaching a whole new level of contentment - as though you just fit together, perhaps. As though it comes naturally for you to be held by him, and for him to hold you.

There is a silence and it isn’t awkward exactly; more… pregnant, with possibilities. Possibilities you see brewing with a gentle heat in his eyes. So, tearing yourself abruptly away from that line of thought, you lift your phone up from the nightstand, and note that there isn’t long before your alarms sound anyway.

Operation Wedding Day is go.

That should be enough of a distraction for you, shouldn’t it?

“You ready for this, Best Man?” you ask him, with a gentle quirk of your lips.

“Sure. Are you ready, Maid of Honour?”

Ready. Are you ready?

Thoughts of last night swirl in your head.

Well – as Santi flashes you a tentative, disarming smile, with hooded eyes, you certainly feel like you’re getting there. Like soon you could be ready.

“Sure. Let’s get this show on the road.”

“Atta girl,” he encourages, folding his arms behind his head as you jump out of bed.

You suddenly don’t care that you’re in nothing but your underwear, as you stretch out your body and track towards the bathroom. “I’ll shower first?”

“We’re sharing a bed,” he teases. “Sure you don’t want to share a shower too?”

You scoff, flashing a mischievous smile right back at him. You’ve always had a soft spot for his flirting, but you feel like -after all that transpired last night- you truly see if for what it is now. You realise why it has never felt like he’s pressuring you - not once. He’s simply reminding you, that as soon as you call for him, he’ll be there. That he’s waiting, when you’re ready.

Reminding you, that as soon as your walls drop, he’ll be your fortress.

“I don’t think you’re gonna get quite that lucky this morning, Garcia.”

You do linger in the doorway, just a little longer than necessary though, so that he can get a better look at you. He’d never look without permission – he proved that yesterday, when you were in various states of disarray- but this time, sensing your invitation, his eyes graze over you slowly, keenly. So, when he strategically moves his hands from behind his head to hide the tenting covers, you don’t mind at all.

You smile devilishly as you slip into the bathroom, closing the door behind you. You’re not sure if he will… take care of himself out in the room – how could you know? But, feeling inspired, you certainly do so in the shower, and it’s a pretty great wake-up call before you face the wedding day.

Maybe sharing a room isn’t so bad. Maybe you could even get used to it.

*********************************************

Frankie and Mila get hitched without a hitch.

Santi goes to the ends of the earth to make sure that Frankie has the best day possible- and at some points, he goes even further than that. His speech was moving and flawless, and pretty fucking funny; even if you are a little (or a lot) biased. Not a dry eye in the house, just as you predicted.

The man adores Frankie with his whole heart, and you could barely hold back the glow of admiration as you listened to him, feeling like it might burst from your chest like a beam of gold sunlight. You felt it especially strongly every time his eyes met yours during the course of the speech, and you couldn’t help but smile yourself stupid each time he did so. And, of course, you were overjoyed to see your best friend have the day of her dreams, with the man of her dreams. If you do say so yourself, you think your speech was pretty killer too.

Suffice to say, you ate until your belly was full, loved until your heart hurt, laughed until your sides ached, and danced until your feet ached.

Tonight, unlike last night, you and Santi retire to your shared room at the same time, your arm linked into his, and your shoes carried in your hand to spare your sore feet – there’s a reason you never normally wear shoes like this. Without your heels though, you keep tripping over the hem of your dress almost every few paces, causing you to giggle and Santi to steady you with a warm, rich chuckle, sometimes throwing you an extra hand to assist you.

You look over at him, furtively, as he recounts some of the more choice moments from the day, immensely enjoying the simple pleasure of hearing him talk and smile and laugh. Seeing him happy. Of course, enjoying how he looks too, you have to admit - even more handsome than he did yesterday (somehow) in midnight blue dress pants, and a white, crisp shirt, now tieless. He’s only grown sexier as the evening drew on too, now with a wide open-collar and rolled up sleeves to accommodate all of the dancing; or, at least, as much dancing as his knees could handle, until he’d simply opted to sit to the side and watch you boogie, his eyes apparently transfixed on you and only you - the advances of the other bridesmaids be damned.

There is something that hits different about the way he looked at you today. His admiration shining deeper than usual. Less like a casual lust, and more like something… serious. You’re not sure why you doubted it before, exactly. Why you have been so inordinately afraid that he might hurt you. You broadly figured him for a smash and dash type of man, which is fine, but you have every reason to believe that he wants more with you.

After all, Santi can be deeply and tenaciously loyal. He has dedicated himself to things deeply and unwaveringly several times over in his life. To his country, to his missions, to his morals, to his squad. And there’s something about the way he looked at you today, you think, that suggests he might dedicate himself to you with the same tenacity. Something far deeper than appreciating how you look in this bridesmaid dress (and oh boy do you look hot). It’s more like the way he looks at Frankie. A little different to that, obviously. But you’re realising he looks at you like he’d never let you down. Not even in the smallest of ways. Like he’d rather go to the ends of the earth -or beyond- than do that.

At least… you think so.

You are sure about one thing though. The way he looks at you? It’s thoroughly disarming.

And so, you arrive at your shared room, utterly wiped out from the day (and night), yet still somehow buzzing with an energy. A gentle suffusing heat under your skin as you watch Santi walk inside and kick off his shoes at the end of the bed, before turning back towards you.

You have entered a few paces behind him, after nearly tripping on your gown all over again by the door, but now, you are quite steady on your feet - aside from that slight, nervous tremble in your quaking legs as he looks at you like that. As Santi looks you up and down, eyes skimming over the contours of your dress and hence everywhere it hugs your figure. Evidently, he likes what he sees.

“Wow,” he breathes, his brown eyes shining as if he’s looking at you for the first time that day, even if his gaze has barely left you all night. “I know it’s the bride’s day, but you look fuckin’ smokin’, sweetie.”

“You think so?” you ask humbly, suddenly feeling unreasonably shy. Flustered even.

“Yeah. I think so,” he nods, positively certain. “Shit, you’re so beautiful.”

You look at him. You look at him in a way which suggests an answer in your eyes instead of a question. A clear intention in your body, instead of uncertainty. But he doesn’t push you. He doesn’t assume. He doesn’t make a move. Instead, his mouth tugs up into a lopsided smile, offering you a lazy flash of teeth, and he shoves his thumbs into his belt loops.

“Well, we’re officially off the clock now, so I’m calling it. Well done, Maid of Honour. Think we nailed it? Made a pretty damn good team?”

A smile lights your face. You did. You flowed. You fit. It was easy.

Fuck. It feels so easy. Why had you ever thought this would be hard?

You nibble on your lip, eyeing him with intention, and a hard swallow trails down his throat in response.

“Off the clock, hmm?” you say breathily. “No more titles or duties? Huh. That’s a real shame.”

“How so?” he asks, his eyes devouring you alive, but his body fixed resolutely in place. Transfixed to the spot.

“Because it’s traditional for the Best Man to get with one of the bridesmaids, isn’t it?”

A slow, disbelieving smile inches over his face, and he looks at his feet, a little bashful. “Gross tradition. Kinda sexist,” he says, and your gaze fixates on his full, curving lips. On his hands, poised and broad at his belt.

“So, you don’t want to make out then?” you ask in your most sultry voice, mere breath.

The man huffs out a quick, broken exhale. “Fuck me. You know I do, sweetie. But only if you’re ready.”

Ready. Are you ready?

“Santiago,” you say, with conviction, your eyes dancing between his. “I’m ready.”

Santi searches your face one last time, just to be certain. He’s sure, of course – has been for a long time, but he needs to know that you truly want this. That you want this now. So, he looks at you, and he finds nothing but permission. Even so, after so long, he still can’t quite believe it. He would go to the ends of the earth to keep you safe – or beyond – and, so dammit, he will ask you again.

“C-can I..” he begins, and his voice already sounds choked; hollowed out with need. “Fuck, Princesa, can I kiss you?”

Too long. Too long without moving. Without touching. Too long.

If you were suddenly ready, his kiss becomes even more suddenly overdue.

“You’d better,” you encourage, feeling like vapour. “Unless you want me to do it first.”

With permission granted, you expect him to be on you, with a surge. All at once. But Santi has been patiently waiting for you long enough. He can wait just a little longer, and, when he subtly tips his chin up, ever so slightly, and when he near growls “come here then, honey,” somehow, it is perfect. Somehow, it is a thousand times hotter that he makes you come to him.

You lift the hem of your dress, and you pad delicately towards him, feeling like you are wading through molten honey to get to him, the air thick and sweet.

“That’s it. Come here, baby,” he encourages, with a curl of his index finger beckoning you to him, his voice curling in the pit of you, making you feel weak in the best way possible. Making you feel spent before he’s even done so much as brush you with his hand or his lips.

You close the remaining distance with your steps, the anticipation too much, and your legs feeling so weak from the reckless lust and the light, liquid softness in his eyes. By this point, you are begging for his arms to reach out and clasp you- to hold you up; make you secure and safe in him. You are begging for his lips to sink down on to yours. But he makes you wait, through a few more slow, stretched moments. Makes you inch your mouth closer and closer until your lips are almost skimming his. He makes you wait until you are moaning his name into the air before he has even touched you.

“Santi.”

And, if there’s one thing you know for sure, it’s that when you call for him, he is always there to take care of you.

You know he will take care of you.

With that, his name a plea, he swoops his broad, large hand up until he is holding you, his fingers closing around your jaw and your throat, trailing down your neck. His touch is painfully gentle, but in a way that makes you want him to squeeze, a little harder. In a way that makes you push yourself ever so subtly into his hand. A way that draws a silken moan from deep in your chest, and Santi is moved to dip the pad of his thumb into your mouth, where it meets your wet and willing warmth. When your tongue skims him, humming as you taste his saltiness, that seems to be the final straw, a wrecked groan sounding from his throat, and finally he surges on to your lips, leading with his tongue, thrusting into your open mouth and drinking down every sound and moan he can draw from you, his stubble rough against you. You don’t care if he leaves you raw.

It’s tender, and it’s gentle, but Santi knows all about control, and you can tell he’s holding back. His hands are lethal, and he knows just how to kill you softly; but, you are certain, that if you want more of his power, he’ll give it to you. That he’ll take care of you however you like.

So, he kisses you more deeply, harder, and you go near limp against him until one of his arms wraps at the back of your head and one at the small of your back, making you feel a feeble thing, waning in his arms as his large hands support you. Except; you’re not feeble though. You’re not by a long shot, and you know exactly what you want.

“Santi,” you suspire, letting him walk you back against the wall, pressing his bulging arousal into you as more wrangled sounds and little grunts slip from his parted lips.

“Yeah, baby?” he asks, already sounding wrecked for you.

“There’s only one shower. Wanna share?!”

Even as he releases an endlessly eager, disbelieving breath, his eyes keenly search your face, checking you are ready. He watches, enraptured, as your lips curl into a deliciously sinful smile.

“You know. We don’t have to rush this,” he insists, even as he shivers with need, closing his eyes and biting his lip when you angle your hips to brush the tenting bulge at his crotch, ever so fleetingly, his hips bucking into you immediately in pursuit of more pressure.

“I know,” you say coolly, your body an undercurrent of frenzy, but your mind calm and sure. You push him back, with your palms to his chest, making room for you to about-turn into the bathroom, shimmying off your dress as you go and letting it waft to the floor like a sigh. Looking at him over your shoulder, with lust-blown eyes, you leave Santi stood there, entirely dumbfounded, as you reveal all of yourself to him.

You retreat, but once the water is running you call out to him, wondering where he has got to. “Take a hint, Garcia. If you’re ready? I’m waiting.”

And, he doesn’t waste another second before joining you.

THE END

(BONUS: Outfit inspo, if you wanna imagine him in the suits a lil better 😉)

#santiago garcia x reader #santiago pope garcia x reader #triple frontier #oscar isaac

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stuff-from-the-void-matron · 3 years ago

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-Being The Duke’s Assistant- (3)

(a/n: some people really like this fic lol so here’s another chapter for y’all! also if you want a chapter 4 then please comment and reblog! otherwise I won’t have the motivation to keep writing more! thank you! <3)

–

-Learning About The Lords-

–

You’d seen more of your ex-neighbors since your run in with Vasile Kazloŭ the week previous. Seems word got around the village that you’d not in fact frozen to death or been caught and dragged into the woods by some snarling beast. And you knew a good few of them were just stopping by the Duke’s carriage under the guise of shopping just to see if those rumors were true. Not that you particularly cared what your ex-neighbors did now. If seeing you for whatever reason got them to buy something from the Duke then no skin off your nose.

But today was different. Today the Duke said he’d be educating you on his biggest trade deals. Such deals being the Four Lords of the village. You’ll admit you gulped at hearing that. The four lords were quite notorious to the people of the village. And not for anything good despite what the fanatics would like to think..

Lady Dimitrescu, the mysterious lady who ruled the imposing castle upon the mountain that takes young women in to work but never lets them leave again. There’s a saying in the village that if a girl you know is going to work at Castle Dimitrescu then you should shower her in kisses since you’ll never see her again.

Lady Beneviento, the mysterious veiled doll maker who lives in a shadowy haunted manor that makes all those who enter there see their deceased family members. Seeing visions of the dead drives all who enter there to insanity. Most never leave, but the few who do are never the same as they were upon entering.

Lord Moreau, the monstrous looking recluse who controls the giant killer fish that has swallowed whole more than its fair share of poor fishermen of the village. It terrorized the workers at the Reservoir, devouring men like fish until they’d had enough and abandoned the site. It now sits in decay, waiting for the next fool to wander in.

Lord Heisenberg, the lord who owns the cryptic factory on the very edge of the village, where all the dead villagers bodies are sent and never seen again. Rumor has it that it used to be a coal mine but nobody living from the village has set foot in the rusted structure in decades. But despite this the factory’s smokestacks constantly billow dark soot into the sky.

Every villager knew of the four Lords.

But apparently you were going to be learning more detail on them. Which you admit to not having much of. All you knew is what most every other villager knew. To be wary, be respectful, to pay your tributes, and do not draw attention to yourself otherwise. Those that drew attention were quite often known to draw their last breath.

The Duke it seemed was on good terms with each of the lords, at least you assumed so since he talked about them quite candidly. Not whispering their names in a hushed tone or with any amount of fearful reverence. Actually he talked about them as if they were just fellow business partners he has evening tea with. Which... well as far as you knew, could very well be the truth. But despite the Duke’s blasé outlook you felt yourself tense up when he mentioned how, as his assistant, you would be accompanying him on his future meetings with them, so it was best he told you about them now so you didn’t go in blind. Part of you wanted to just avoid that by not even going into the same building as the four lords. But the Duke squashed that thought by saying he couldn’t very well leave you to sit and twiddle your thumbs in the carriage while he was inside.

Which you supposed you should have seen coming. You were his assistant after all. Where he goes, you go. It’s your whole job. So you steeled your resolve and took solace in knowing that while under the Duke’s protection you would be fine. you weren’t some random villager now thankfully. But even still... seeing the towering Castle Dimitrescu looming in the distance made you queasy. Your mind swam with the stories you’d been told as a child, warning you of what laid in that castle. The carriage drew closer to the imposing structure but you remained straight faced, not wanting to reveal how anxious you were. Plus, if you were being honest? This was all pretty exciting in a way! You’d left the village years ago sure, met lots of new people while you studied abroad. You learned about all the goings on of the world outside your simple village. But all of that paled in comparison to getting to meet the Four Lords.

You hoped you didn’t embarrass yourself..

-0-

While you got closer to the castle the Duke told you about the first Lord, Lady Dimitrescu and House Dimitrescu. Apparently they were famous for their incredible wine. The Duke even admitted to having a bottle of it himself stored away in the back. “For special occasions,” he told you with a smile. You also learned that House Dimitrescu also had their own vineyard where they grew all the grapes that went into the wine they made. He also revealed that there was a ‘rumor’ that Lady Dimitrescu had a very special bottle of wine in her possession, one that has belonged to her family for generations, that was called Sanguis Virginis. And its literal translation is "maiden's blood". The Duke was a touch vague on the wine, but he said that Alcina Dimitrescu has a secret process that enriches the wine’s flavor and gives it a thick bouquet.

After that he began talking about the second Lord, Lady Beneviento and House Beneviento. The Duke spoke with a sad tone here, saying the Beneviento family slowly fell apart a long time ago. One by one the family members disappeared. And the current head of the household, Donna Beneviento, had a sister when she was a child, Claudia. But Claudia grew ill and passed away, causing her parents to grow depressed and soon after take their own lives, leaving poor Donna alone. The Duke knows Donna to be very kind, but also very lonely. She’s an incredibly skilled doll maker, even better than her father had been when he was alive. But she has trouble speaking with people without the aid of the doll friend, Angie, that her father gifted her as a little girl. He warned you that Angie could be a bit of a troublemaker, chuckling as he did.

Then came the third Lord, Salvatore Moreau of House Moreau. You raised an eyebrow when you noticed the small hint of revulsion in the Duke’s voice as he spoke about this lord. It seems that Moreau was... an odd one. The Duke tried to speak kindly of the man but even he, with his usual jovial outlook, couldn’t hide the slight way he cringed as he explained Moreau’s history. It seemed he had been a sailor at some point, and the very last of his family line, but some years ago he’d... changed physically to the point where he avoided people. He hid himself at the Reservoir his family owned and scarcely stepped foot outside of it. And after one too many... accidents there the workers abandoned the place, leaving Moreau alone to wallow in his self pity. The Duke warned you that Moreau did not look... human. And he asked you to please not stare at the man. He wouldn’t appreciate it, surely.

And then the final Lord, Karl Heisenberg of House Heisenberg. The Duke warned you that despite Lord Heisenberg’s rather casual sounding attitude, the man was quite harsh. And his factory was incredibly dangerous. He warned you to never stray from his side while there, for your own safety. You gulped but nodded as he continued. It seems the Heisenberg factory was a coal mining factory. You discovered that the Lord was an engineer, but the Duke revealed that he’d been known to tinker with things other than machines as well. That ominous note made your stomach drop. But you felt your anxiety lift a bit when the Duke told you that he was Lord Heisenberg’s supplier for a certain machine part he needs in bulk, so the man knew not to upset him. So you would be fine.

“But I think we’ll have to cut our conversation short, it seems we’ve arrived at Castle Dimitrescu,” the Duke said in a cheery tone you weren’t matching.

‘For any god listening to me... let us be alright,’ you thought helplessly.

-0-

#resident evil village #resident evil viii #resident evil 8 #resident evil the duke #resident evil the duke x reader #The Duke x Reader

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johnkrrasinski · 4 years ago

Text

𝙞𝙣𝙫𝙞𝙨𝙞𝙗𝙡𝙚 𝙨𝙩𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜

Chapter 2: bad was the blood

full masterlist // series masterlist // commission open // support my work

Pairings: bucky barnes x reader

Word Count: 4,376

Summary: blessed with telepathic abilities since birth, you were captured by HYDRA and turned into one of their weapons to kill. after the blip, you were pardoned by the government and you were obliged to check up with dr. raynor everyday which you had no clue would lead you to the one soul you’d been waiting for.

Warnings: SMUT!! (18+) angst, mentions of anxiety, nightmares, murders.

A/N: this series is dedicated to the lovely @ohmickeyhenry who commissioned this story and developed the concept. thank you for trusting me with your story. i sincerely hope you like it.

It had been a week since you and Bucky reunited and ever since that night, you and him were practically inseparable. Your bedroom was next to his and each night, he always came to yours to catch up on things and some nights, your conversation would go so deep that he would find himself waking up in your bed when the sun rises. He’d always leave your bed slowly to go into his room so that he wouldn’t wake you.

Each night he sleeps next to you, his nightmare became less intense. They still haunted him but they were vague, it was as if the faces of his victims become blurry and the echoes become whispers. One night, Bucky came back home from a small mission late and by the time he arrived at the compound, you were already asleep. Bucky knew the passcode to your door so he could let himself in anytime. He typed in those numbers and slowly opened the door and he smiled at the view of you sleeping peacefully. He would watch you sleep all night if he could, but he was exhausted and so were you, so he left you alone to rest.

Beads of sweat rolled down your skin as the cold air sent shivers down your spine. You watched the emotions in Natasha’s eyes vanished, as if her soul left her body and that’s left was the vessel. Sam, Tony and Bruce stood there like statues, waiting for your order. They had one thing in common with Natasha and that was the void of emotion. You felt a sense of pride in turning the Avengers into lifeless soldiers. They were at your mercy, you could command them to destroy the entire world with only a whisper.

Then you felt a cold grip on your arm, “Y/N… Why are you doing this?” Those steel blue eyes held so much pain in them as if he had just been betrayed by the person he trusted the most. “Stop this now! This isn’t you.” Bucky pleaded.

“Stand back soldier, or you are next.”

“No, I won’t let you do this to our friends.”

“Stand back. I will not ask you once again,” you warned him without a hint of uncertainty.

“Stop this, now or I will.” Bucky opposed.

“Very well,” with merely a glare, you activated the soldier you once knew. Years ago in the cold bunker of Hydra, ready to murder with a single order.

“готов подчиниться.”

You watched his blue eyes turned to ice, imitating his infamous name. You smirked and leaned close to his ear, “welcome back, soldier.”

You thrashed your body in your sheets and woke up with a loud scream. You thought you were doing well but the nightmare returned. You were doing what you dreaded again to your friends, the people you considered your family now. You sat up in your bed and sobbed until you heard Bucky opened your door with a concerned gaze. “Y/N, are you okay…?” He didn’t hesitate in running to you and sat next to you on your bed.

“I didn’t mean to, I- I never meant to hurt anyone…” You sobbed against Bucky’s chest as he wrapped his arm around you. His flesh arm held your head close to where his heart was beating and he tried to calm you down by stroking your hair and shushed you. He didn't know what you meant by that and he had many questions to ask but he understood better than anyone that in this state, integrating you would only cause more damage, so he let you cry it all out and comfort you in every way he could.

“It’s okay, y/n. I’m here, it’s going to be okay.”

You cried as you laid on Bucky’s chest until exhaustion took you over. You didn’t remember when you both began to drift away but as Bucky was sleeping, he saw visions of you doing heinous things to people, innocent souls who were held against their wills. He heard their screams and their pleas, but they weren’t looking at him, they were looking at… Her. Bucky had never seen her gaze so cold. Then he was transported into another scene… The place where HYDRA used to store him. It was one of the Russian Armed Forces, Vasily Karpov who was in charge of him during his Winter Soldier years.

Bucky remembered every second he spent trapped in the chair as he was given his orders. But this time, it was her strapped on that chair, screaming in agony. He watched him spelling out the activation words, they were different than his but just as effective. Bucky tried to reach her out, wanting to punch all those men and get her out of there but somehow his feet were stuck in place.

As the last word was uttered, he watched the woman he had slowly fallen in love with disappeared, replaced by a soulless soldier who was ready to kill anything that stood in her way. Bucky woke up to faint echoes of his name being called, “Bucky…” And slowly, he began to come back to life, and he saw her face, still the woman he knew, not the soldier in his dream, looming over him. “Did you see it?”

Bucky instantly sat up as he stared at her, “you were one of the winter soldiers. You were there.”

You nodded, “I was… They never referred to me as the winter soldier, however, I was treated just the same as you were. I had the same purpose as you.”

“How come you never told me?” His gaze was soft, he didn’t sound disappointed or betrayed, he just sounded… Worried.

“I couldn’t… I just didn’t know where to begin. I didn’t want to ruin what we had so I figured, if I left you first, I wouldn’t have to hurt you too and I was afraid that if you found out, you’d never look at me the same.”

“Sweetheart, we are both haunted by the same things. I’d never hate you for what you did. Don’t you think I didn’t have the same fears before? We’ll get through this together, I promise.” He held your face in his hands, the contrast of temperature in both of his hands was somehow soothing you, reminding you that he was once just as peccable as you were.

“But I don’t trust myself, Bucky. Someone could find the book and if they say the words, I could hurt people again… I could hurt you too. And I don’t know if I would ever come back.”

“I won’t let that happen, I promise you. I couldn’t trust my own mind too until I went to Wakanda and they fixed me. They removed the winter soldier program and now I’m free.”

“Is that… Possible?”

“Yes, I’ll explain everything in the morning but, right now, we need to rest.”

“Okay…” you were feeling rather drowsy, not only physically but emotionally too. It was never easy to unravel such shame and remorse.

Bucky laid back and opened his arm for you to sneak under it. You placed your head on his chest, feeling safe and sound being so close to him. Bucky’s fingers tangled with your hair as he kissed your forehead. “Promise you’ll be here when I wake up?”

“I promise,” he whispered.

The sound of his steady heartbeat lulled you to sleep.

The next morning, Bucky and you had breakfast together. It was early, the dawn had just begun, and some of the Avengers were out for a run or still asleep. You and Bucky had some alone time in the kitchen and you were thankful for the brief moment of solitude.

“So, what I said last night…” Bucky initiated the conversation as he put his coffee mug on the table. “I really think our best option is to go to Wakanda, y/n. They’ve got the best medical equipment, the people are extremely smart, they’ll take care of you. Just like they took care of me.”

“What makes you think they want to treat me, Buck? I mean, they took you in because the king and Steve made an agreement, but they have no idea who I am and even if they do, they don’t owe me anything.”

“The Wakandans may be resourceful and independent, but they are generous people too. I’ll call Ayo and sort everything out. They can spare me a few more favours.”

“If they agree to treat me, I only wanna go if you go too. I don’t wanna be alone in a country I’ve never been to before, Buck. I’m not familiar with their culture, I don’t speak their language, I don’t wanna fuck it up, you know?”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be there with you every step of the way. I promise.”

“Why are you so good to me?”

“Because you’re the only good thing that happened to me in the past seventy years.”

You never believed in butterflies, but you swore in that moment, the whole damn zoo went nuts. Bucky had a way to make you feel loved and cherished, and you were falling fast. You just hoped that he’d be there to catch you.

The sincerity in his eyes made you smile like you never had before. Looking back, the only times you had ever genuinely smiled was because of Bucky. His texts, his face, his touches, they were your newfound grace. Bucky told you that you were the only good thing that happened to him in the past seventy years, but so was he to you. Was it possible for two fucked up people who had done heinous things to find such love? You could only hope that nothing would come in the way of that.

Wakanda was a breath of fresh air. Figuratively and literally. You loved New York, no matter what, it would always be your home. However, Wakanda could definitely give New York a run for its money. The air was free out of pollutions from vehicles, everywhere you look, the landscape was filled with scenic greenery and not to mention the futuristic architectures yet deeply rooted in their culture. The people were welcoming and kind, yet they were not to be crossed over.

When you and Bucky first landed, the king himself, T’Challa with Okoye and Ayo by his sides welcomed you. It was intimidating to be in their presence, yet you were fascinated by how graceful they were. You were hoping that your anxiety wouldn’t make you do something dumb or stupid in front of them so as soon as you were out of the quinjet that Sam was flying, you bowed in front of the king. “We don’t do that here…” T’Challa declared.

You swore you could pass out from embarrassment. Bucky chuckled when you straightened your pose. T’Challa shook hands with Bucky like they were old friends, so did he with Sam. Bucky had been communicating with Ayo regarding your visit today so he didn’t have to explain why you were there anymore. They led you to Shuri’s lab where the miracle occurs.

When she saw you, she was nothing like you expected. She was younger than you but she seemed so ahead of you. She seemed so ahead of everyone in the room. She was bright and had an effervescent personality. The lab was unlike anything you’d ever seen, even Tony’s lab in the compound wasn’t as swanky as this one. Shuri’s lab had equipment you didn't even know existed.

She greeted you both, “welcome back Sergeant Barnes, and who’s your girlfriend?” her bluntness caught you off guard.

“Princess, this is y/n and y/n this is Princess Shuri. King T’challa’s younger sister. She was the one who fixed me eight years ago.”

“Hi Princess, it’s an honour.” You shook her hands.

“Welcome. Now let’s get you comfortable so we can take a look inside your brain, yeah?”

Now here you were, sitting in front of a burning yule log, the fire illuminated your face in the dead of the night. Ayo was standing across you, watching you with her spear ready but she trusted you, regardless. Bucky sat next to you, close enough to reassure you that he wasn’t going to let anything happen to you or anyone.

“It’s gonna work, y/n. I promise.”

“What if it doesn’t? How will you bring me back?”

“Shuri would know what to do. I was sceptical of my own mind too at first, but I turned out fine. Better, even. You’re in good hands.”

“If she comes back, and you can’t stop her, promise me you’ll put her out, even if it kills me.”

“Y/N…” He looked wounded, how could he possibly do such a thing to the woman he loved?

“James! I can’t hurt anyone else anymore, and worse, if I hurt you, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.”

He nodded, though his heart was saying otherwise. “Okay, I promise.”

The tears in your eyes crawled down your cheeks and he held you close in the hut you’d been sharing with him. He kissed your hair like he would when he comforted you. The hut was simple and far away from the modern life you were used to in the compound or in New York, but you loved the tranquillity and simplicity of it. Some nights where Bucky and you would lie together, warming each other up, wearing nothing but customary clothes, you’d quietly think, you could get used to this. The simple life, with Bucky. Just you and him, and the rest of the world fade into the background. You wondered, could you still have it? That life? Or was it just wishful thinking? Right now, you could only hope that you’d be released from the demons of your past, that still lived in your head.

“I’ll be here, doll.” Bucky whispered and held your hand until the very last second.

“I won’t let you hurt anyone, Y/N. We successfully removed the winter soldier programs from James’ mind like rotten fur, you have nothing to worry.”

You nodded, “okay Ayo… I’m ready.”

You inhaled and stared at your own feet. The soil seemed like a great distraction at that moment. You wished you could hold Bucky’s hand but you didn’t want to look like a scared little baby. Then you heard it, Ayo’s assured voice spelling out the first codeword and the tension in your body rose. You trembled from the cold air, preparing yourself for the worst to happen as she uttered the next one. With each word, the fear in your veins amplified, thinking that any second now you were going to be a passenger in your own body and the demon that lived within you was going to take over.

But as Ayo uttered the last word, you were still there. You remembered your name, you remember where you were, you remembered the people around you and why you were there. You didn’t feel paralyzed, but rather alive. Freed from chains. You couldn’t believe it, you were never one to believe in miracles but that night, you did.

“You’re free, y/n.” Ayo smile like a proud mother.

“I’m free…” You repeated her words as if you were trying to convince yourself that it’s true.

She nodded, and you looked at Bucky who couldn’t hold himself back from wrapping his arms around you as he kissed your temple. “Oh, baby….” You could hear the genuine happiness in his voice and the shape of his lips forming a smile against you.

“You are both free,” Ayo declared.

You looked into his blue eyes that were gleaming with joy and love for only you. In that moment, you wished you had your phone with you so you could capture the priceless look on his face. You knew he was happy for you, however, you felt like you were celebrating his happiness instead. Maybe that’s what true love really is, celebrating each other’s happiness.

He grabbed your face and kissed you so deeply, taking your breath away. You could taste the saltiness of your tears cascaded down to your lips, but it was okay because you could feel Bucky’s soft lips against yours too and it was all you needed.

You held hands with Bucky, walking down to your shared hut, never wanting to untangle yourself from each other. Each night in Wakanda was an entire voyage itself. The scintillating stars in the sky and the quietness was paradise. You could see why Bucky adored Wakanda so much, everything about this country is perfect.

You laid on Bucky’s chest, playing with his dog tag. Even while sleeping, he never took it off. “I can’t believe I’m finally free…” you whispered.

Bucky looked down at you, “believe it doll, you deserve it.”

You sat up and leaned on your elbow, looking at him, “Thank you for getting me here and for being with me through it all. You’re amazing, Bucky.”

“No, doll, that is you. You’re one of the strongest people I know and I admire that.” Bucky sat up and he stared into your eyes as he strokes your cheek with his thumb.

In that moment, there was a sudden urge to have him in a way you hadn’t had. You didn’t care about anything else, you just needed to feel every inch of him, and you needed him to feel every inch of you. You slammed your lips onto his, taking Bucky by surprise yet he leaned into it. Bucky grabbed your arse, pushing your body closer to him, despite the nonexistent gap between you. Bucky licked your bottom lip, and you took his cue as parting them, allowing his tongue to take over your mouth.

You stopped for a second to gasp for air, and you closed your eyes, letting Bucky take the wheel. Bucky moved his flesh hand to your hair, holding a fistful of it to your face in place. Then when he felt like he needed more, Bucky moved his hands to your thighs, lifting you onto his thighs, then he shifted his body around so that he was on top of you and you were lying on the pillow.

Bucky was still kissing you until he started moving his kisses down to your chin, then to your jaw then to your neck, the spot that he knew would elicit a sound of you. Bucky might’ve been over a hundred years old and he hadn’t been intimate with anyone since 1945 but he still remembered how he used to make a woman scream for his name and he wasn’t going to waste that talent.

Bucky lifted the hem of the tank top you were sleeping in and you raised your hands to make it easier for him to get rid of it. This was the first time Bucky had seen you naked, you were always sleeping in clothes next to him, whether it’s a tank top and super short shorts, you were always covered. But now, you were all bare and you were slightly nervous because you hadn’t let anyone see you like this since you were captured by HYDRA.

Chills ran down your spine from the crisp air, but it was also because of the way Bucky was ogling you. You could see how dilated his pupils are, overshadowing the blue. “You’re fucking gorgeous,” he breathed.

Bucky continued his lecherous act, kissing down your chest then to your right nipple, swirling his tongue around like a lollipop while his other hand toyed with your left breast. You arched your back as you shut your eyes, letting him do whatever he wanted to you. You whimpered, needing more of him. “Bucky…”

He wanted to taste more of you so he trailed kisses down your stomach, waking up the butterflies inside until he was breathing to your core. Even in the darkness, he could see how your wetness glistens. He wrapped his arms in each of your thighs and spread them apart for him to dive in. He could tell you were feeling a little shy but he made sure to make you feel otherwise by kissing the insides of your thighs, telling you, “I bet you taste real sweet, darling…”

His words made you open your eyes and looked down at him, between your things. He smirked mischievously at your reaction. Then he dipped into your core, licking a stripe up to your clit, making you moan out his name. The way his stubble burnt your delicate flesh made you want to close your thighs however, Bucky held them firmly in place. He savoured every drop, devouring you like a famished man. Your thighs trembled around him and you bit your lip trying to surpass the moans. The slurping sounds that he made were sinful.

Then he shoved two of his fingers inside you, scissoring you open for him. You gasped, the intrusion shocked you, causing you to open your eyes and look down at his act. “Oh God, Buck, I’m fucking close…”

He dipped down again, savouring more juices flowing out of you. “Shh, I know doll, let go. I got you.” He continued his assault on your cunt until you felt the bubble in your belly exploded, making you see stars. You had forgotten the pleasure of chasing your orgasm until Bucky reminded you. Bucky swallowed every drop you released, not wanting to waste anything. He stayed there until you had nothing more to give.

Bucky rose from between your thighs, kissing you passionately and you could taste yourself on his tongue. It was so fucking debauched yet you fucking loved it. You wrap your arms around his neck and run your hands through his hair, messing it up and he looked so fucking sexy.

“I want you Bucky, please fill me up,” you pleaded in between makeout.

“You want this doll? You want me?” He knew what you desired, he just wanted to make sure one last time before you go all the way so you wouldn’t regret it in the morning.“

“Yes Bucky, I want all of you… Only you.”

“I got you, sweetheart.” Bucky grabbed your hands and put them above your head. He pulled back to take off his pants, freeing his cock out of his boxer. To say Bucky was packing light would be a massive lie. He was long and thick, not to mention he was painfully hard. You really didn’t expect it. You had thought about it and you guessed he was more on the lengthy side yet, he seemed to surprise you more and more every time.

Bucky saw the way you stared at it and he smirked at your reaction. “Like what you see, doll?” He stroked the shaft, getting it ready to plunge into you.

You bit your lip as your chest heaved at the licentious scene, “can I taste it?”

Bucky scoffed and shook his head while still stroking himself, “not tonight, doll. But I’ll hold your word.” He crawled back up to your body and you spread your legs apart to make room for him, you maintained eye contact as he held both of your hands that were still above your head. You could feel the nudge of the tip of his cock on your bud, making your toes curl, “are you ready?” he asked.

“Yes…” you practically whined. “Please, take me.”

Without a second thought, Bucky pushed himself inside you, slowly yet you could feel every inch of him stretching your walls open and you threw your head back, the friction caused your head to spin. You cried out his name as you tightened your grip on his hands, needing to hold onto something.

Bucky grunted when he was fully inside and he took a moment to hide his face in your neck, “ah, fucking hell, doll. You feel amazing.”

“Move Bucky, please…” you pleaded after you adjusted to him being inside you.

Bucky began to move slowly, started with shallow thrusts, pulling back a bit then pushed it back inside. When you didn’t show any signs of resistance, he began to pick up the pace and it made your moans grow louder. “Oh, fuck…” you cursed due to the sensation. “Faster, Buck…”

Your wish is Bucky’s command, he did as you asked and he was enjoying more and more of it. You lifted your legs higher on his waist, locking them there for dear life. You wailed as his cock impaled you, forgetting that there were probably kids sleeping around your hut but you were too clouded with pleasure to worry about that. The onslaught caused you to clench around him and your coil tightened. Knowing you won’t last much longer, Bucky detached his flesh hand from yours and moved it down to your clit, rubbing it in circles over and over again and you plummeted into bliss, electricity ran through your veins as you hit your peak, releasing yourself all over him.

Bucky kept thrusting, seeing the way your face contorted in satisfaction because of him and how your walls tightened around him threw him off the edge, causing him to reach his own orgasm. He spilt himself inside you, finishing with shallow thrusts until every drop was stored. “Ah, fuck…” He groaned.

Bucky laid on top of you while still staying inside you. You loved the intimacy of being this close to him, honestly, you wouldn’t mind staying in this position until dawn. Both of you tried to gain control over your breathing as you were completely spent. Once he regained composure, he pulled himself out of you and laid next to you.

“That was…”

“Fucking amazing? Yeah…” Bucky completed that sentence as he held you in his arms and kissed your forehead.

“You were amazing, doll.” He continued.

“I haven’t had sex since… Well, since as long as I can remember.”

“Me too, doll. You are my first since everything that happened.”

“You are mine, too.”

For a few seconds, you just stared at each other lovingly with satisfaction plastered all over your faces. You relished in each others’ warmth, despite the hut reeking of sweat and smell of sex, you found comfort in each other, putting both of you to sleep.

tags; @ohmickeyhenry @suitofvibraniumarmor @themaddies-obx @beminetokeep @bluemoon-icecream-blog @bluemoon-icecream @harprs @thefridgeismybestie @abitofeverythingg @wolfonthemoonwatchestvshows @julimelodi @bookscoffeandotherstuff @tanyaherondale @artisancowbells @ferxaniti @intothesoul @hallecarey1 @buckybarnesplumwhore @thefallenbibliophilequote @andiyholly @emizla @capxwinter @jevans2 @alwaysreadingimagineschick @swtltlmrvlgrl @extremelyblackandwhite

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes series #bucky barnes au #sebastian stan fanfic #sebastian stan #sebastian stan imagine #bucky barnes imagine #sebastian stan series #sebastian stan one shot #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan smut #sebastian stan angst #sebastian stan fluff

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simonsrosebud · 4 years ago

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the one where someone doesn’t know who kevin day is, pt. 3

part one two four five

kevin has a talk with them the next morning before practice. or more of just him storming into the lounge and going off. the four freshman are there, too, but he doesn’t quite care.

“dalton isn’t fucked up like the rest of us! there’s a reason i didn’t want any of you meeting or even knowing about him and it’s not because i hadn’t fucking come out yet. he’s not a fox, and he’s not even thea. he’s not involved with exy, he doesn’t know about riko and me and the moriyama’s and the rest! there’s a lot of shit he doesn’t know about yet and none of you had the right throwing it all out in the air last night just to have a fucking laugh. tell me, was it funny? was it fucking funny getting him shitfaced just to get some answers and take the piss?!”

dan stands, and kevin holds a hand out. she looks to andrew, but his silence sides him with kevin. “kevin, we were just trying to-“

“you have no excuses, dan. none of you do. you were trying to make a fool of me and my boyfriend for nothing. and now, i have to go cure his curiosity of the things you all said.” and he storms out.

wymack doesn’t stop him. if anything, he looks mad at those left. “the fuck did you do to him to make him skip practice?! you realize that’s never happened so long as he’s lived, right?! we don’t have protocol for the day kevin skips exy.”

meanwhile, dalton doesn’t actually have that many questions. the numbing of alcohol for a face tattoo is understandable, especially knowing that kevin’s sober and therefore must have had a problem. the cracker dust he asks about just because he doesn’t know what it is- he doesn’t like it, but trusts kevin that he’s done with it. he’s seen the scar along kevin’s hand, he already assumed it was from a surgery. the edgar allen thing was too vague for him to be curious about, but he does ask- not about, the father comment, but if he’s okay about it. kevin tells him this much; that he transferred from edgar allen to palmetto because he’d known for a few years that wymack was his father, and that he didn’t have the courage to tell him until last year.

kevin thanks the gods that dalton doesn’t ask about or seem to remember any mention of the yakuza.

they’re at kevin’s suite because he knows they’ll have a few hours by themselves with everyone at the stadium, but only an hour in there’s knocking on the door. dalton has his lips on kevin’s- he’d just said how he likes having access to his “real smile”. “gonna get it?” kevin shakes his head. the knocking starts again.

“come on, kevin! we’re sorry! just open up for a second!”

kevin knows dalton likes when he speaks french, so he sighs and kisses him before whispering, “i hate them all.”

dan is at his door with matt and allison in tow. “what do you want?”

“to apologize.” kevin raises his eyebrows. “look, we take the piss a lot and you never seemed to be visibly affected by it, so we didn’t realize that last night was upsetting you until you left.”

“you said never have i ever seen kevin have a meltdown. why do you think you’ve seen that? because i’m a toddler? you know what i’ve had my reasons.” riko. the moriyamas.

“i know. look, we don’t want to give you excuses. i-i don’t have an explanation. you’ve always kind of let us take the piss without saying anything, and we took it too far, especially last night. andrew looked like he wanted to kill nicky for the yakuza comment, but neil talked to him about it before we went to the stadium this morning,” she whispers the last part because she’s not stupid, and kevin huffs.

matt jumps in. “we wanna make it up to you, man. you’ve obviously hid him from us for a reason and we proved you right.” kevin honestly wants to get back to dalton and he wants it to just be over with. “bring him to the winter banquet, we’ll be nice. if anyone says anything i’ll punch em. neil will chew em out.”

kevin grimaces. the ravens will be at the banquet. it’s in just over a month, the second week of december. he’ll have to tell dalton some things by then. and he might have to say something to the public.

he doesn’t tell him anything. not yet, at least. he still has three weeks until the banquet- he hasn’t even asked dalton yet. he starts to like away games a little more than before, though. he gets dalton a little postcard from every new state they go to. he tapes them all to one of the walls of his room.

he’s on the phone with dalton at an airport general store, even, when he gets interrupted by two girls. he puts on his press smile before he even notices. “hold on, d.”

he doesn’t love fan interactions.

when they leave, dalton asks him with amusement if he’s got fans now, and kevin kind of decides he should probably tell him some more about his life because jesus, does he have fans. he needs to tell him about he and riko. what they were, what they were to fans of exy, what kevin was to fans of exy. what kevin was to riko- without involving the yakuza.

but he doesn’t, because dalton never brings up the topic of “fans” again.

he doesn’t tell him until a week later, when he wakes up from a nightmare.

dalton’s leaning over him, speaking, but all kevin sees is riko riko riko. it takes all of two seconds for dalton to back off.

“hey, hey, it’s me, it’s dalton. you’re safe, you’re in my apartment. no one else is here, i promise.”

kevin’s breathing so hard, dalton flicks the lamp on and he just crumbles. he sits up and presses his hands over his eyes, “i’m sorry.”

“can i touch you?” he nods. dalton’s sitting at his side, cross legged, and gently pulls kevin’s hands off his eyes. “you don’t have to be sorry. i know there’s shit in here,” he lightly lifts his hands to hold kevin’s face and taps his temple with a finger, “i don’t need to know what it is, just know you don’t have to apologize for it, and know you’re safe.”

kevin nods and twists to hug him. and dalton wraps his arms securely around kevin’s back. he presses a kiss to the top of his head and mumbles “c’mere” to prompt kevin into climbing into his lap.

dalton slides his fingers through kevin’s hair and it’s just so soothing, it nearly puts him to sleep. and when dalton lays back down kevin stays wrapped around him with his cheek pressed to his chest.

when kevin wakes up it’s to find they’ve switched positions overnight. dalton’s got his arm lazily draped over kevin’s waist, almost holding him close like a pillow. his ankle is thrown over kevin’s, and his head is pressed into the back of kevin’s neck.

kevin doesn’t want to move. in fact, he stays so still so as to not wake dalton, that when he stirs kevin just shushes him and pulls dalton’s arm back around him. he holds his hand close to his chest.

dalton’s not stupid. he knows kevin’s awake and nuzzles himself closer. “you like being cuddled.”

“you’re the one doing it, not me.” but he definitely tilts further into the pillow to expose his neck when dalton starts kissing up the side.

“you like being the little spoon.” and pushes himself up over kevin. “you like when you’re on the bottom, kev.” he kisses him deep into the mattress despite morning breath, and noses down his neck. “i like it.”

kevin tugs at dalton’s hair. “and what… what about it?”

ahaha. aha. sex.

anyway.

he tells dalton everything afterwards. he leaves out the yakuza part, and the fact of neil’s past, because that’s another monster. but he tells him the rest. who his mother is and why he’s such a big deal in the exy world; why he really left edgar allen and came to the foxes; the tattoo that’s buried under his chess piece and what it meant. what his relationship with riko was really like, and everything about their past and the abuse he endured.

and he fills him in on what triggers him because of that: small pitch black rooms, confined spaces without an easy way out, holding his hand too tight, the mention of riko moriyama, a lot of other things.

and dalton stays.

so kevin asks him to the banquet. when he says yes, he asks wymack for help arranging an interview. there are enough people and press lingering outside the exy banquets, and he’d like to hold his boyfriend’s hand on the way in this year.

it’s scheduled to be live the morning before the banquet. it’s with sophie silletti for espn college exy, and she posts about it as soon as it’s booked.

kevin sits with her. it’s nothing like kathy ferdinand. they talk strictly about exy and eventually, with his pre-approved questions, she brings up thea’s team’s most recent game. “and forgive me if i’m wrong, but you and thea muldani split recently, yes?”

kevin nods. “back in may, i’d say. we’re still friendly, i have the utmost respect towards her. in the end it just didn’t work out.” i haven’t talked to her in months.

sophie nods. “everything happens for a reason, i’d like to think.”

“of course. it wouldn’t have led me elsewhere.”

“is that hinting at something? i feel we don’t normally talk about this, but does kevin day have someone new in his love life?”

kevin palms are sweating. he hopes his face isn’t red with nerves. “i do, actually. i won’t say anything about him for his own privacy” i don’t want the public’s prying eyes “but we’ve been together for a bit, now.”

sophie is grinning, she feigns surprise. “i heard you say him, did i not? anything else to tell us?”

he keeps his smile easy, but he can feel the worry in the back of his head telling himself they can see right through it. “if you’re asking, then sure. i’m a bisexual man, so yes, my partner is also a man. this is the first time i’ve ever announced it to the public, actually.” as if that wasn’t the whole point of today.

“at least your fangirls can keep their hopes up, then, yeah? still got a 50/50 shot! and i’ve got to say, i feel honored you trusted me and my show with a milestone like this. coming out certainly is a big deal, or at least nerve wracking! how do you feel?” she laughs. “is it like a weight lifted from your shoulders?”

“i was never too stressed about it.” lies. “some will hate, sure, but my job is the game. if my fans are true then this won’t change that. speaking of,” and then it’s back to exy.

wymack drives them back to palmetto, and when they’re close enough he says, “i’m proud of you for doing that.”

“thanks.”

“where am i dropping you off?”

kevin knows andrew and neil probably watched the interview, and he doesn’t feel like dealing with whatever they’ve got to say about it. so wymack drops him at dalton’s who hugs him as soon as he opens the door.

“you watched?”

“of course.” he kisses his cheek.

all posts/updates relating to this au can be found in the “OC: dalton miller” tag!

extra content

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pi-cat000 · 3 years ago

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BNHA: Kakashi dimension hops crossover (1)

Summary: Kakashi gets dumbed into the My Hero Academia universe through random plot devise.

Characters: Kakashi Hatake

Fandoms: My Hero Academia and Naruto

WARNINGS: Mentions of violence/injury

Inspired by Unforeseen Mayhem by Aerugonian

Here is their tumblr (all their work is so good)

(NEXT)

...

Kakashi thinks he might have died. He remembers the flash of steel and Obito’s face or maybe it had been Madara. His memory of the events leading up to the attack are hazy after receiving one too many hits to the head. What he does remember is the slowly spinning, hypnotic red of a Sharingan, and the quick build-up then explosion of chakra.

Then there was excruciating pain in his left eye and…darkness…

…

Kakashi opens his remaining, usable eye to gaze up at tall angled structures that stretch into a grey overcast sky. He can’t feel the left side of his face, his limbs are numb and unresponsive, and there is the damp of blood soaking through his hair. The bone-deep ache of chakra exhaustion is so all-encompassing that he can barely lift his hand let alone stop the bleeding. Around him, there are several people yelling in shock and surprise. Civilians he vaguely notes as he clings to consciousness. There is no sign of Madera, Obito or any of Kakashi’s allies for that matter.

When his vision dims for a second time he thinks that this, this would be his last breath. Alone, severely injured, in a foreign location and with only civilians as help? It was a death sentence.

He is wrong in the end.

…

Kakashi wakes up in a strange hospital bed surrounded by the strangest people he has ever seen. He also wakes up covered in bandages, his more serious injures either treated or in various stages of recovery.

The air is dry with a distinct lack of chakra. It is something he would usually only see in a prison cell made to contain dangerous shinobi in which chakra draining fuinjutsu arrays were applied to the walls and floor. There are no fuinjutsu arrays here. This is not a prison cell. For one, there is a large window. Secondly, there is a constant stream of doctors, nurses and other patients moving in, out and around the building. Finally, the door to the room is not locked. It doesn’t even have a lock.

After memorising the comings and goings of the people working in the strange hospital, he takes some time to scout. Even while injured and drained of chakra, he has enough skill and experience to avoid the workers and other sickly people he shares his room with.

The world outside his window is one of cement, concrete and brick, with tall imposing structures covered in reflective glass standing higher than any building he has seen before. The closest point of comparison he has are the buildings in the Hidden-Rain and Stone villages but even those are a loose approximation. The hospital is both similar to Konoha’s main hospital, abet a lot bigger and full of strange equipment and technology. The people, despite their lack of chakra, display odd and inconstant abilities, techniques and physical deformities. One of the doctors has a lizard tail and he catches a glimpse of a man with a wooden block for a head. He sees a woman heal a cut with a simple hand wave. Either he is in an unusually elaborate and detailed genjutsu or he is very far away from Kohoha.

Everything is so odd and strange that he is well and truly stumped, leaving him with nothing else to do but quickly return to his hospital room. At least the weird chakra-less people are non-hostiles and willing to provide much needed medical attention. Though he is, as of yet, uncertain about the purpose or motive behind said medical attention seeing as he was a complete unknown to them.

After some consideration, Kakashi decides to wait. He has no idea how he ended up in the place aside from a loose theory that involved his still healing Kamui Sharingan. Additionally, there was no use trying to get back home with stab wounds, his leg broken, his ribs cracked, his shoulder muscles torn and his chakra levels so pathetically low that he’d probably kill himself if he tried.

He takes solace in the fact that his presence, while probably missed to some extent- he likes to think so anyway- wouldn’t impact the outcome of any major conflict. With Naruto’s stubbornness and Sakura’s tenacity, home would be waiting for him, even if he took a bit of time getting there.

…

After a week of information gathering -ie pretending to be unconscious and listening to conversations- Kakashi concludes that the people operating the hospital are relatively harmless. They seem to be under the mistaken impression that Kakashi is a citizen of their village and thus automatically entitled to medical attention. This is despite his lack of identification or history with the place. Such a thing would never happen in Konoha as even civilians were carefully monitored and tracked. Without identification or relatives/friends to vouch for them, a civilian would more likely be thrown out of the village than given what was surely resource-consuming medical treatment. It is lucky for him that there are apparently so many civilians in this village that their shinobi-equivalent forces couldn’t properly keep track of them all. Another point in favour of it not being any sort of hidden-village or any place he was familiar with.

“Oh, thank goodness!” Says the greying, middle-aged man in a white coat as he approaches Kakashi's bed, “You’re finally awake. How do you feel.”

“Ah…a bit tired,” Kakashi plasters on a confused smile, raising his undamaged hand to rub the back of his head, hunching his shoulders for good measure. The perfect image of a disoriented patient.

“What happened? Where am I?”

There was only so much he could achieve be pretending to be unconscious and snooping around at night. It was time to get a real feel for residents of this strange place and figure out his next move. This meant integrating into the local culture.

“No need to worry. You’re in Hosu General Hospital and you’re well on your way to recovery,” A nod and the doctor moves forward to stand beside his bed, “A little drowsiness is a normal side effect of the pain medication we have you on. Now, if I may have your name?”

“Kakashi.” If they hadn’t recognised the Sharingan when they had bandaged it up, then they most likely wouldn’t recognise his name either.

“Well, Kakashi,” The man says with no hint of acknowledgement, “My name is Wada Yasutoki and I’m here to make sure you are recovering properly. Can you tell me if you are feeling any discomfort or pain at the moment?”

“Hmmm…my arm and leg?”

“Would you be able to rate it on a scale of 1 to 10?”

Kakashi thinks for a second and shrugs, “3.” Honestly, he only notices the pain when he’s consciously paying attention.

Another nod and Doctor Wada fusses about, examining the bandages around his shoulder and then his leg, “Well, they seem to be healing as well as any broken limb, maybe even a bit faster. And the stab wound near your chest is almost completely gone.” A thoughtful hum follows the statement. “If not for your left eye I would say you had a healing or regeneration quirk…hmmm…maybe a passive healing factor linked to your quirk…?” Wada looks to him, waiting for confirmation and Kakashi shrugs. From his nightly snooping he knows that ‘quirk’ is the term for the bloodline ability things the people here had.

The Doctor doesn’t press the matter instead asking, “Is there any discomfort in the left side of your face?”

“No.” Kakashi doesn’t want the people here touching his eye any more than necessary. The fact that it is draining charka at its usual sluggish rate was a sign that it was, at least, somewhat functional and that’s good enough for him. He guesses he should be thankful for landing in a place with medicine advanced enough to save it.

“You had us concerned when you didn’t wake after we saw to all your injuries,” The Doctor continues, “Your left eye took quite a bit of damage and we were worried that there might have been some sort of brain injury. If you feel dizzy, lightheaded or confused please, do not hesitate to call a nurse.”

The man shakes his head and sighs, “Now, I understand if you want a bit of space after going through such a traumatic event but if you could provide any details concerning the predicament that ended with you so badly injured it would be a great help to the investigation.”

Kakashi gives a faked confused hum and smiles apologetically, “Sorry Doctor Wada. I'm having trouble remembering much of anything really.”

“Nothing? No details about the potential assailant at all. What they look like? Their quirk?”

“No. Where is Hosu General Hospital by the way?”

His bland expression obviously causes his doctor some concern as he is subjected to a penlight being shone in his uncovered eye.

“It is located in Hosu City, a ward of Tokyo. Where is the last place you remember being?”

The names mean nothing to him. Kakashi schools his features into one of complete confusion, “I don’t remember.”

It’s not even a lie this time.

After the admission, Doctor Wada only grows more concerned and Kakashi is subjected to many reassurances that it is completely normal to forget a few things after a brain injury and that he shouldn’t worry himself too much. The level of comforting and reassuring is a bit much if he is being honest. Never before has he longed for the cold frowns of Konoha’s medic-nin.

“I’ll have to schedule you in for an MRI. If you’re having trouble recalling basic facts alongside your long-term memories, then there might a serious problem.” The older man finally concludes, having run through an extensive list of questions regarding Kakashi’s history all of which he answers with vague half-truths. Where did he grow up? Somewhere with a lot of trees. Did he have any close relatives? He thinks they might have died when he was little. What does he do for a living? Commission work. Did he have any colleagues? He doesn’t know where they are. So on and so forth.

“It’s a shame your ID and phone were missing when they found you. Stolen by the bastard who put you in this situation no doubt,” the Doctor sighs again, “We might have been able to track down your records. Oh well, we’ll do our best with what we have.”

Kakashi doesn’t speak, pretending to be deep in thought. Mentally, he pats himself on the back for an infiltration gone surprisingly well considering his lack of preparation and the flakiness of the ‘sorry I don’t remember my backstory’ excuse.

“I don’t suppose you remember anything about your quirk,” the doctor asks, “Ocular quirks can have odd effects on brain activity and ability to process information. It might give us a place to start.”

From what he had seen, ‘quirks’ tended to have a specific function but he is still trying to figure out their limits. All he knew for sure was that none of them used chakra.

“It’s called the Sharingan.” He offers to see what the doctor does with the information, “I don’t remember much else about it.”

“Hmmm, ‘copy wheel eye’…it’s a descriptive name at least. Maybe a quirk that deals with memorisation or information recall. I will see if I can find it on the Quirk Registry. Hopefully, that will be enough. ”

Kakashi nods loosely in agreement, filing away the fact that there was a Quirk Registry for later contemplation.

(NEXT)

#bnha #bnha fanfic #mha #hatake kakashi #hero killer arc #crossover fic #dimension travel AU #culture shock #boku no academia #naruto #kakashi headcanons

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maemi324 · 4 years ago

Text

Mafia

Hey there friends! It’s been a hot minute since I’ve actually posted something.

Let me just say, Happy Holidays! I hope you are having a wonderful and safe holiday.

This fic was inspired and written for @butterscotchbaku and @in-this-house-we-stan-izuku based on some requests I had written in, as well as just ideas passed back and forth.

I hope you two are having a wonderful day and may that continue into the new year! Thank you for all you’ve written and done!

Pairing: Izuku/Fem.Reader

Warnings: mentioned beatings, mentioned assault but nothing described in detail. all very vague. uhh violence, or hinted at violence. Edited only by me, so i may have missed something.

I think that’s it.

I hope you two enjoy this!

Cigarette smoke hung heavily in the room, walls filled with generic knickknacks and warm colored walls gave the meeting a false sense of pleasantness. To any unsuspecting person, this was any other meeting room, one long table with rounded edges and somewhat padded chairs, the head of the table having the one most plush.

Hell, even the people occupying them would have anyone turning up their nose in disinterest. Nothing but business men and women in dark, smart looking suits.

But you knew better. Sitting at the head was the infamous Izuku Midoriya, known under the name of Deku, direct descendent of the greatest Mafia leader Japan had ever seen; All Might.

And here you sat, comfortably in Izuku’s lap, your temple pressed against his neck as you listened to his voice rumble on towards the other members. You were hardly paying attention to what was being said as you glanced around the room to the others.

Katsuki Bakugou- Dynamite, or TNT if you were feeling particularly cheeky. He was head of interrogation, finding out who knew what and definitely had too many ways of making people talk, and only one sure fire way of keeping them quiet.

Todoroki Shouto- Bakugou’s counter in interrogation. He was mainly there to keep Bakugou from killing every target. He could control his temper, sure, but Todoroki added a sense of cold unease to their targets. He was effective against the folks who didn’t rise to Bakugou’s jabs and threats. He tapped the ashes of his cigarette into the small dish provided.

Kirishima Eijirou- Red Riot-another strong man and a third in the interrogation squad. He kept Bakugou from grousing the entire time, as well as leveling the two tempers in the group. Though he was a strong man, he was also incredibly sweet. You recalled that, while dealing with some unsavory characters that had children- typically rescuing the children at the other parents pleading- Red Riot was a favorite with them, his bright smile and charm keeping them distracted as Bakugou and Todoroki dealt with the problem.

Iida- Ingenium-was the getaway driver, best out of the best. He somehow always managed to get them out as quickly as possible while still following the law. It made losing the police all the easier. Ochaco Uraraka, or Uravity, was the treasurer, in charge of keeping account of all of the mafia’s funds, who owed them money and why. For more problematic clients, she was a stickler down to the very last penny.

There were others, but those were just the ones in the room at the moment. You sighed softly, adjusting in Izuku’s lap. Someone at the end of the table was pleading for something. You could tell by the unimpressed glare on Izuku’s face that it was going south for whoever this was- a blond man with an inferiority complex for certain.

You glanced down at your left hand, engagement ring shimmering brightly despite the warm fluorescent lights. It wasn’t very large, an emerald surrounded by diamonds. He’d only given it to you a few days ago. On a rare day, you were able to go out with him in public-the benefit of a mask and some contacts while on the job- you had decided to flit about a few museums. The ring caught your eye immediately, the prized possession of some rich so and so, dating back who knows how long in their family.

Maybe it was because of how brightly it matched your lovers eyes, but the ring called to you. You didn’t mention a peep to your lover however. You knew he would have taken it right then and there. You rather liked coming to this museum, with added security after a robbery, you would have to frequent it less.

Your lovestruck fool of a man decided to do it anyway. He’d said that the plan went off without a hitch, though the smudges of dirt and a bit of blood- not his own- said otherwise. At the time, you had to question why, sure he’d robbed plenty of other places, gifts for trips that took longer than expected, but a place that you favored going?

“I’m just crazy about you doll, You deserve the best of the best. The way you eyed that ring, I knew there’d be nothing else that would be more perfect for you. But, it’s not just because you fancied it that I got it for you. We’re together, we always will be...but I want to make it more official. I wanna be yours forever, and I want you to be mine. What do you say doll? Marry me?”

You couldn’t say yes fast enough.

A gentle nudge to your shoulder brought you out of your daze. You looked up to the love of your life.

“What do you think dollface? What should we do with Monama?”

You sat up in his lap, watching as the blond shivered in his spot, a smirk on your fiance’s face hidden by his fist as he leaned against it.

“Monama, what is it he did again?”

“Well Doll, he owes us money. He swears he’s good for it, but this is the third time he hasn’t been good for it.What should we do with this foolish, foolish man?”

Monama...ah yes now you remembered him! A little wanna be Mafia leader who went under when he ran out of money. He placed bets with other rival gangs against Deku, proclaiming that not only could he and his group get it done, but get it done better.

There were times when they had, though just barely. It was hardly enough to keep a betting pool aimed against Deku however. Everyone but him seemed to know it. The overconfidence in his group and underestimating Deku lead to his downfall when Deku pulled off an impossible mission without even having to undo his tie.

When these gangs came to collect, he begged Deku to allow him and his group safety, help paying off the debt. Deku agreed, but in return, he had a year to earn the money back, only adding interest when the blond began getting too cocky.

“I just need a little more time! A day, give me a day!” he pleaded, voice shrill and desperate.

You winced, brows scrunched in annoyance.

Honestly, you didn’t care for Monama, and weren’t all too excited for his continued presence in the gang. You looked down at your nails idly.

“Have Dynamite follow him for a day then. If whatever magic he seems to think he can pull off, doesn’t in fact pull off, then he can have fun beating the change out of him. Or, whoever he’s seeing to get the money can pay it” You figured, even though he’d be annoyed at the idea of tailing that worm, Bakugou would have a good time beating it out of him.

Izuku gave Bakugou a look, who only snarled in response. A tilt of his head and Bakugou got up from his chair, footsteps heavy as he grabbed Monama by the arm, “Let’s get this over with you pathetic extra,” rolling his eyes as Moana sagged in slight relief, gratitude spilling from his lips.

Izuku held up a hand, “Let Red Riot escort him out for now. We have some business that you’d like to be here for I’m sure”

Bakugou’s eyes widened a fraction, a grin making its way onto his face as he shoved Monama towards Kirishima.

As Bakugou took his seat and Kirishima exited with Monama in tow, another man entered the room, a small man with purple hair. You recognized him as Mineta’s father. His son’s invention, a sticky substance that rendered anything in its grip as good as stuck, was what kept him in the group. What had him on thin ice however, was his treatment of the women in the group, all things he learned from his father. Izuku left Iida to beat it out of him however he saw fit. All it would take is one more strike.

His father, however, was all out of strikes. The way he leered at you and the other girls had you all walking on eggshells around him. You only came forward to Izuku about it after you and the others had confided in one another. He had groped at you after a party the gang had thrown. It was the first and last time he’d ever made a physical move towards you.

You could feel the man's lecherous eyes on you, making you lean into Izuku, his body blocking the man's gaze.

While you told him your story, Izuku’s face had remained calm, though the cup he had been holding shattered into thousands of pieces. He knew there were rumors about the senior, but to have it be found out as fact, and not just rumors from other gangs... He was furious, you knew that, and you knew somehow, someway, that Minoru senior would pay.

“Doll, why don’t you go talk to YaoMomo about wedding dresses, hm?” You nodded your head, though hesitant to leave the safety and comfort of his lap. You knew you were safe with Izuku by your side, but that didn’t mean you were comfortable passing by this...Disgusting being. His gaze softened and he hooked his arm around yours, escorting you personally towards the door.

Izuku tilted your head into a sweet kiss, his thumb rubbing comforting circles onto your side.

Izuku opened the door for you, but before you left, he kissed you again, deeper, sweeping away the sickly feeling of being watched with his tongue as it danced with yours, one hand cupping your jaw to pull you close.

He pulled away all too soon for your tastes, hand leaving your jaw, “Actually, maybe talk with her about the cake too, this may take a bit...” he turned away from you, eyes turning cold and jaded as the door closed.

“It’s about to get ugly in here”

#my hero academia #izuku midoriya #izuku midoriya x reader #uraraka ochaco #bnha iida #todoroki shouto #bnha kirishima #katsuki bakugou #bnha #bnha all might #monoma neito #mha minoru #momo yaoyorozu #Mafia au #bnha mafia au #villain deku #maemiwritesbnha

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veliseraptor · 3 years ago

Note

So this is in NO WAY PRESSURING, get to this whenever you're bored and have nothing better to do, but I (have still not watched The Untamed) would love to hear any disorganized rambles around your fic 'Punitive Measures', like your thoughts while writing it, how you view Xue Yang's fight/flight/freeze instinct, and/or where you would take the plot if you ever came back to it (again, not pressuring, I'm not asking for a sequel, I'm asking for director's commentary. Also I know the mysterious flute was implying Wei Wuxian, I know that much and not much more.) It's a really fun, quick fic that I enjoy reading through while I keep circling around your longer, more intimidating stories. I aspire to write like you.

oh boy, well, I don't know that I ever have nothing to do but here I am answering this ask anyway, because I like talking about my fic even if I get self-conscious about it.

this entire fic falls solidly into the genre of fic I write that is legitimately just “I’m gonna fuck up this character I love because it’ll be fun and I love to do that” and then just kinda...went for it. actually harder than I was initially planning! my vague sense of what I was going to do with this fic didn’t have Xue Yang down an eye at the end of it.

but when inspiration strikes, what’s a girl to do, etc.

I actually thought recently about writing a sequel to this fic (or, well, continuing into the AU it started, more like) because the concept of Wei Wuxian and Xue Yang being bloodthirsty vengeance brethren is a very good one for me, personally, and at the point their paths would be intersecting in this AU a more plausible one than it would be at pretty much any other time (I would argue, at least in CQLverse). And that’s where I think this would be going. Because Xue Yang would see Wei Wuxian, in his bloodiest frame of mind, powered up with a gorgeous flute of bad vibes and go “fuck yes” even if he wasn’t in a place where he really needed the help.

The question I had was whether Wei Wuxian would be interested in accepting company, and I feel like Xue Yang on that front could be convincing. And the way that the latter would both enable and egg on all the former’s darkest fantasies and impulses...I’m just saying, Wen Chao and everyone he has ever known is in for a very bad time, possibly even worse than they already were.

I invite you to picture in this AU the part where Jiang Cheng and Lan Wangji find not just darker and edgier Wei Wuxian at the end of their scavenger hunt but darker and edgier Wei Wuxian with a friend. A familiar friend! Now down an eye and practically picking his teeth with Wen Chao’s finger bones. :D

since you asked for disorganized rambling I went back to reread and I’ll give you some director’s commentary on a few things

And he’d kind of hoped Wen Ruohan would be too busy figuring out how to deal with his brewing war to dedicate much attention to looking for one absent retainer. And even if he did, Xue Yang had sort of figured that finding him would fall to Wen Chao, who’d probably struggle to find his own ass with two hands.

kicking off this director’s commentary with Xue Yang’s brutal assessment of the competency of Wen Chao.

tbh one of my favorite things about CQL’s involving Xue Yang in the whole Sunshot storyline, despite the merry hell it plays with timeline stuff later, is how obviously little regard Xue Yang has for the Wens, even when they’re at the height of their power. He shows Wen Ruohan himself very little respect, and I can’t imagine anyone else getting more (except maybe Wen Qing, because Wen Qing is competent and if nothing else Xue Yang can respect competency).

and he just like. ditches them. walks out! promises to deliver very powerful magical artifact, and then gets what he wants and is like “smell ya later, peace” and they never catch him.

that’s just a kind of gutsiness and casual disregard for very powerful people that I really both love and respect about Xue Yang. and also that he has in common with Xiao Xingchen, tbh. and Song Lan (though him I think to a slightly lesser degree, partly because he has a little more tact and sense of societal norms as something relevant to be thinking about)! they can all vibe on that.

They took Jiangzai. Well. One of the Wen disciples took Jiangzai in the stomach and Xue Yang didn’t get it back.

this isn’t an important line or anything. I just like it a lot.

Wen Chao gestured again and he went down in a hail of fists and feet. Xue Yang tucked his chin down to protect his throat, curled his hands into his chest, and drew up his knees to guard his stomach.

He knew how this worked. Sure, it’d been a while since someone had beat him like this, but the lessons stuck. It was almost boring, really. If Wen Chao was going to play torture games then he could at least do Xue Yang the favor of trying to be creative.

He checked out the part of his brain that registered pain as anything other than a thing that was happening and focused instead on opportunities. Weaknesses in his assailants. Escape routes. Getting away would be the first thing. Nice if he could take a piece of Wen Chao with him on the way out - arm, or maybe even a head - but the priority was freedom and survival.

okay, this I feel like cuts into some of what you were talking about regarding Xue Yang’s fight/flight instinct, and also a lot of what if, I was feeling pretentious, I feel like this fic is digging into on a level under “what if I just tortured Xue Yang a whole bunch,” which is something about the relationship Xue Yang has to (a) pain and (b) his own body. Specifically, the relative indifference he has toward both. Or...not indifference, exactly, because it’s not like he’s enjoying himself, it still hurts. It’s just...expected.

unremarkable.

which is a lot of what I was trying to convey with Xue Yang’s narration during the whole torture sequence, with the commentary on methodology and how things are mundane or boring, because the suffering itself is mundane! as far as Xue Yang is concerned that’s exactly what suffering is! other peoples’, for sure, which is part of why it doesn’t matter, but also his own.

the world hurts and that’s just how it is and you learn how to cope with that. pain as...a thing that [is] happening.

I also, since you mentioned the fight/flight instinct, think a lot about how Xue Yang is, while he’s very proud and very stubborn, absolutely not someone to pick fights (in general) that he knows he can’t win. Xue Yang will almost always be on the side of “run and come back another day” over “stand and fight when all is lost.” survival, first and foremost.

which feeds into the weird paradox that I kind of hint toward at the end of this fic about Xue Yang as someone who has a definite death drive, who is profoundly obsessed with his own death in a lot of ways, and simultaneously is attached to staying alive above pretty much all else.

“Snap and snarl all you want,” he said. “You’re not going anywhere. And the only part of you I need intact is your tongue, so you can tell me where you hid the Yin Metal you promised. Everything else is optional.”

A prickle of fear rolled down Xue Yang’s spine and he flicked it away, baring his teeth.

I actually do think that, even before they get around to hand-specific trauma, permanent mutilation is one of those things that still scares Xue Yang. which is a short list! there isn’t much that actually either gets to or scares him, but I think the prospect of (further) mutilation does, because I think Xue Yang is very...acutely aware of the fact that his physical capability is a major factor in what has kept him alive and what, in all likelihood, is going to keep him alive moving forward. anything that threatens that capability, that limits him in terms of strength or mobility or otherwise has a disabling effect, is consequently going to be a short road to death, and Xue Yang would much rather die painfully fighting than die as a consequence of not being able to take care of himself.

for Xue Yang, the idea of a return to the kind of helplessness that is tied to his trauma is one of the worst possible prospects to contemplate. in my head this is exacerbated further by the fact that I figure Xue Yang didn’t get much if any medical care post hand incident, meaning that the recovery period was absolutely nightmarish and a whole stretch of time beyond the event itself where Xue Yang was struggling to survive because he’d been damaged.

in some ways I think that period of time probably did more to shape Xue Yang than the moment itself.

Wen Chao grabbed one of the branding irons from a disciple’s belt and pressed it to his stomach. That hurt. More. He clamped his back teeth together so he didn’t make any sound, absorbed the burn, owned it. His. You only hurt if you were alive. And anything you survived made you stronger.

Not that this was actually going to make him stronger. It was probably just going to make him dead. But then again, the worse this went the more resentment he’d have built up. He could use that. Would.

Dead didn’t have to mean finished.

obviously this is pulled almost direct from what Wei Wuxian himself says to Wen Chao. deliberate echoes based on character parallels! we love those.

and yeah, again here about Xue Yang and his relationship to pain, but in a less mundane way this time where it’s about pain as a tool, pain as something he can use. which is another thing about coping, I think - when pain and suffering are a regular part of your life, one way to deal with that can be to convert it into having some kind of purpose or benefit.

which in this case it definitely can. Xue Yang is definitely someone who, I think, has thought a lot about trying to arrange it so he becomes a ghost after he dies. or at least has thought a lot about what he’d do after dying to the person who killed him.

and when you’re a necromancer by trade death really isn’t the end of the line anymore, just the start of a something new. Xue Yang’s relationship to life itself: about as jacked up as his relationships in general.

He felt the snap of bone in his teeth. Pain shooting up the side of his hand, all the way to his wrist, and Xue Yang couldn’t keep himself still enough not to try to wrench himself away. He swallowed his scream and turned it into a laugh. It was funny, wasn’t it? Funny, that he was back here, again. It wasn’t as bad, though. He knew how to take pain, how to breathe it in, make it part of himself, later turn it outwards magnified tenfold. They were old friends. Practically lovers.

two things here:

1. the thread throughout this fic of Xue Yang making things funny so he can deal with them, here brought to you by reliving trauma! because it’s funny! right? laugh about it! just fucking hilarious.

I have a thing about characters basically deciding for themselves to make very unfunny situations funny because it makes them less awful.

2. and look, now he can deal with it better this time! he’s Learned. :) :) :)

Everything splintered. Splintered like bones under a wheel, and first thing he tried to struggle to get away but that just hurt worse and then old old old instincts kicked in and he went still, limp, dead.

“Did he faint?”

Someone nudged him with their foot. One part of him roared to grab that foot and rip it off along with the leg it was attached to. Immediately the same thing that’d made him play dead told him to wait.

at an end point where fighting is impossible and running is also impossible, the only thing left to do is play dead and wait it out. this is very much, in my head, a reversion to a tactic Xue Yang hasn’t used in a very long time and does not want to be using now, because it is absolutely the recourse of the extraordinarily helpless with no way out.

which he has been! and is now, but he really really really doesn’t want to be. Xue Yang has built his life around not being that, ever again.

but here it’s not a move he makes planning to turn it around the way he does, not at first. he gets there, but when he first does it I think it is literally just instinct that goes enough is enough and shuts down.

Wen Chao, Wen Chao, Xue Yang thought. My body’s going to give out before I do.

someone should remind me at some point maybe (or not) to write something coherent about my Xue Yang vs. his own body thoughts. specifically the way that, while Xue Yang is very physical and very grounded, I think he has a somewhat antagonistic relationship with his own body, actually. not completely! he definitely respects what it can do for him! but I think he also treats it a little as a slightly separate entity that’s capable of betraying him rather than as a fully integrated part of himself.

not always! but it’s a little bit there. this idea that sometimes his body, and its capacity to be hurt or damaged, is a weakness that he’d like to be able to forgo entirely, if only it wouldn’t mean losing all the good things about having a body. and that’s present here in this line, for me, where he thinks about himself and his body as slightly separate, and his body as something weaker than its Xue Yang core.

#hope that was enough rambling for you anon jesus christ #confessions of a frustrated writer #i don't even know what to tag this #anonymous #conversating

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siennahrobek · 3 years ago

Text

Ahsoka couldn’t stop staring at him.

Vaguely, she knew some things about her lineage, although honestly, it always had felt like it was just her, Anakin and Obi-Wan. She knew a man named Qui-Gon Jinn had been Obi-Wan’s master, and that Anakin sometimes wouldn’t shut up about that guy. She knew that Count Dooku was Master Jinn’s, which was just so weird to think about, especially him being part of their lineage. Or supposed to be. It made some sense, on some level, she supposed, because Dooku had kept complimenting Master Obi-Wan, and she had even heard that the man tried to turn her grandmaster. It sounded ridiculous, Master Obi-Wan ever leaving the Order.

Master Obi-Wan didn’t talk about his own master that much. Apparently, he hadn’t even met Count Dooku until he had left the Jedi and the war was about to start. Anakin had only known Qui-Gon for something of a week and didn’t know him that well, despite the way he talked about him, one would have thought that he was not only Anakin’s hero but also knew him for a long time. She supposed it made sense that Qui-Gon would have had other padawans before her own grandmaster, he had achieved the rank of master and was around the age of sixty by the time he had died.

If Master Obi-Wan knew about Qui-Gon’s other padawans, he didn’t really say anything. Although then again, they had been in the middle of the war. There was not a lot of time for that sort of thing.

She wondered if Master Obi-Wan knew about Feemor.

Somehow, she kind of doubted it.

Ahsoka and Feemor had been sequestered in one of the rooms in the Healing Halls, as the glue on his cut was drying and she was trying to get her mind back in working order. She hadn’t answered him when he said he was Master Obi-Wan’s brother. She had just stared at him for a moment before completely changing the subject. He seemed to get a hint of some kind and didn’t pursue it. He told her that Rex was either prepping for or in the middle of a surgery, that it wouldn’t take very long as it was a rather straightforward and short surgery and explained a little more about the chips that had been in the clones’ heads. It made her sick. If Rex or any one of the 322nd had gotten those orders during flight…if Master Obi-Wan hadn’t warned her…she didn’t want to think what would have happened.

The fact that Commander Cody had attacked Master Obi-Wan seemed insane enough.

She wasn’t thinking of Anakin when she spoke again, and it had been nearly half an hour. There had to be something more to that. Perhaps he had a chip in his brain. Ahsoka couldn’t even imagine a thought on why Anakin would murder children without being forced.

“What do we do now?”

Feemor looked up at her, but he didn’t seem to have an answer. She figured he would suggest going back to the fight. It was a horrifying choice, she didn’t want to fight anyone, much less the 501st. They were her family too.

“We prepare,” a new voice replied, calm and stern.

Both Jedi glanced over. Rex was in his blacks, standing tall with a bandage slapped on the side of his head where the incision must have been. He looked scared and tired but determined.

“What do you mean?” Ahsoka asked.

“They have the near entirety of the 501st legion,” Rex pointed out, grimly. “Even with defensive positions and the defense of the Temple itself, the Jedi can’t hold out forever, especially with most of their warriors being out in the field with the rest of the troopers.”

“Evacuation,” Feemor pointed out, stroking his chin as he glanced at the floor in thought. Ahsoka stared, as it was rather reminiscent of Master Obi-Wan with the same action. “When Obi-Wan contacted Kamino before the battle started, he mentioned that we may have to flee. He also mentioned it when he talked to one of the troopers in the 212th, warning them about communications. I think he was certain we would have to. And I think he is right.”

Rex nodded, even though he had shot Master Feemor a look Ahsoka couldn’t identify. “Us three aren’t going to be a lot of help in the battle itself. We have to trust the leaders who are doing it for the moment to keep the others at bay. But we can get a head start on preparations for evacuation.”

“Obi-Wan’s 212th knows,” Feemor added, gesturing above them. “They are blocking all communications so they can’t get Orders. From what we can gather, the chips are activated when the Sith Lord says certain things and then can be activated if a clone trooper is near an activated chip of another. So right now, the 212th is relatively safe. The only problem is, I don’t think we will be able to contact them. If they followed Obi-Wan’s instructions, there is only one clone with communications, and I don’t think he will accept anything from anyone but Obi-Wan.”

“Let me guess,” Rex said in some sort of tone that was a mix of amused and flat. “Waxer or Boil.”

Feemor blinked. “Uh…Boil I think.”

“Knew it,” Rex muttered with a faint smirk. Given an odd glimpse, Rex just shrugged. “Pretty sure those two are General Kenobi’s favorites.”

“We should contact Jesse and the 332nd,” Ahsoka added, quickly. She already got up from her cot, a little dizzy, but continued to move. “We may still be able to save them.”

Feemor shrugged. “Alright. I’m sure Master Healer Che would be okay with us using her office for a holocall,” he continued, following Ahsoka into standing. Without another word, he turned towards the door. It took a few minutes to find her office – Ahsoka didn’t really know off the top of her head, but they did.

Ahsoka clicked in the number for her ship, Jesse and Echo’s forms popping up in the signature holo blue. “Commander!” Jesse greeted. “You just took a shuttle and hightailed it out of here. What happened? Were you going after Maul? You should have brought back up!”

Feemor glanced at the young togruta. “No. I didn’t go after Maul. Jesse, have you gotten any communications from anyone planet side?”

“No, sir. We blocked communications like you ordered. We weren’t entirely sure what you wanted after you left,” he admitted. “What is happening?”

“No, you did good,” Ahsoka assured. “There is a lot going on down here. I don’t have a lot of information but there are chips in every trooper’s head’s and the Sith has been using that to brainwash them into killing Jedi.”

Both Jesse and Echo’s face fell as they stared at her wide-eyed. “Tup.”

“Yes.”

“Fives was right then,” Jesse whispered.

“It appears so,” Ahsoka replied mournfully. “It seems the orders are transferred verbally from a single source and then passed on as one chip is activated, they all do according to proximity.”

“We need to get them out,” Echo hissed.

“I agree but things are…bad down here.”

“Bad?” Echo questioned, warily.

Ahsoka hesitated but Feemor answered for her. “The 501st legion is laying siege on the Temple, killing Jedi.”

No one said a word for a long minute.

Feemor continued, speaking in the silence. Ahsoka didn’t know what to say, how could she? “We are going to be evacuating once we can press the troopers back and have an opening. You need to be ready to flee when it happens. I’m very sorry but if you stay, the Sith will enslave you.”

“I understand, sir,” Echo’s voice was quiet and soft. “We will be ready for your communications and ready to come down and help if necessary.”

“Thank you, troopers,” Feemor replied. “We wanted to warn you about this before anything happens. A lot of soldiers are activated but please, don’t give away your location. We can’t help your brothers without a plan, and we don’t have enough people to do anything yet.”

“Understood, sir,” Jesse muttered.

“We have to go,” Ahsoka finally chimed in. “I will contact you soon.”

The holo blinked out. “I know that was hard, Ahsoka,” Feemor said quietly. “And we will save as many as we can.”

“We have supposedly been trying to do that for the entire war,” Ahsoka grumbled bitterly.

Rex came to the rescue. “We should move.”

“We should rescue Anakin.”

Feemor’s head snapped so fast, both nearly thought he would break it. “Save him?” he asked, with emphasis. Rex tried to get them through the door and out of the office. He mostly succeeded. “What does he need saving from, Ahsoka?”

“I think he might be chipped,” she replied, a bit defensively.

“You think he might be chipped.” Feemor echoed, flatly.

It appeared Rex didn’t really know where he was leading the two Jedi, but all he knew is that he needed to get them moving.

“Yes,” Ahsoka pouted, her lip curling. “He was my master. I know him. He would never do something like this.”

“He is leading a massacre on the Temple, against the Jedi, against his family,” Feemor added. Rex shoots an uneasy glance at the both of them, slowly working through the halls.

“He wouldn’t… there must be some explanation.”

“What possible explanation could there be for this?”

“You don’t know him!” Ahsoka snapped.

“You’re right. I don’t,” Feemor agreed, fighting to remain calm. Tensions too high would do them no good, even she knew that. But she was frustrated, and this was much all too difficult for her to understand or wrap her head around. It didn’t make any sense. “But I don’t need to right now. I saw him lead the siege on the Temple. I saw him cut down Jedi like they were nothing. You and I both saw him murder a defenseless youngling and young padawan. They were children,” he pointed out, bluntly. There was no sugar-coating the truth. Rex’s jaw clenched as he looked behind at the two of them again. Feemor shook his head and his voice softened. “This is what it means to be a Jedi, putting others’ lives above that of one, above oneself. You didn’t see the look on Obi-Wan’s face when he had to fight Anakin.”

Ahsoka stared at him, her feet moving without her even noticing.

“He knew,” Feemor shook his head softly. “And it was tearing him up inside. You don’t have to trust me or take my word for it, but you should trust Obi-Wan. He does know Anakin. Better than you.”

She hated that he was right; that if anyone knew Anakin, it would be Master Obi-Wan. He raised Anakin since he was young. But that didn’t mean she wanted to believe it. There was nothing to be said for a few moments before Rex stopped in his tracks and the two jedi nearly ran into him. “What is it?” Ahsoka asked.

“Do you hear that?”

Once they settled into silence, they could hear faint banging against a door. The three of them ran down the halls towards the sound. It became apparent once they got closer, the door moving as someone was throwing themselves at it, furniture and debris blockading it. They all looked at each other curiously. As Feemor and Ahsoka used the Force to move the debris, Rex readied his blasters. The two Jedi swung to the sides of the hall, just out of sight. As the door unlocked and opened, several troopers fell out.

“Good soldiers follow orders,” one of them mumbled.

Rex narrowed his eyes, slamming the butt of one of his guns hard against him, knocking him out. Feemor and Ahsoka ran into the brief fray as well, Ahsoka tangling around one of them to knock him unconscious while Feemor sent a wave of a force suggestion to the others.

“These are 501st,” Rex realized.

“The Jedi have been trying to trap them instead of kill,” Feemor answered. “We should get them to the Healing Halls to get their chips removed. Perhaps they can give us some information on how to stop the attack.”

Ahsoka didn’t look at him for a moment but quickly hooked her arms underneath a body to move it. Rex and Feemor had an easier time but eventually, they had gotten the troopers to the medical rooms. Ahsoka didn’t leave their side as Feemor found a med droid free and practically pushed the droid over.

The surgeries were quick and efficient; it didn’t take much.

When the first soldier came to not a couple of minutes later, he had immediately burst into tears which quickly turned into full out sobbing. Rex looked a little shocked but knelt at the soldier’s side. “Hey, it’s okay, you’re okay now,” he tried to comfort him. It was to little prevail, as the trooper just kept crying into his hands, his shoulders shuddering and his chest heaving heavily. Feemor reached out towards his presence and projected better feelings. Calm, safe, peace. It only helped a little, as it was enough that the trooper could get himself to speak.

“We thought we could trust him,” the trooper let out, gritting his teeth. He was quaking near violently, trying to gasp in breath. “We thought he cared. About us…but…he…he doesn’t.”

“What are you talking about?”

“What is your name, trooper,” Feemor approached and asked, quietly.

“CT-.”

“Your name,” Feemor urged, softly.

“Impulse, sir,” the soldier responded, trying to keep down his cries. The tears still came but the sobs had died down.

“Hello Impulse, my name is Feemor. Can you tell us what you mean?” he asked, keeping his voice soft, although the jedi was fairly certain he knew who the trooper was speaking of.

“General Skywalker,” Impulse winced. “He…he led us on the Temple. We just killed everyone. No one is safe.”

Ahsoka’s face twisted. “He may be chipped or something, like you. We don’t know what is going on,” she tried, quiet and gentle.

The trooper stared at her, wide-eyed. “He was so angry when the Jedi put down ray shields at the doors and he couldn’t get in quietly. And when the jedi there spoke, he got frustrated and lashed out. He took my brother’s head clean off. He was just…just standing there! No one could do anything, no one even could even flinch! His head and helmet rolled to my feet. He was my batchmate, my best friend!”

Rex put a hand on the trooper’s shoulder and muttered quiet apologies but everyone could see his body became as stiff as a board. Ahsoka was nearly in tears as she stepped back, wide-eyed and horrified and Feemor stood up and ushered her away and out of sight of the two soldiers. She shook her head again and again. “It’s not possible.” She sounded more like she was talking to herself than anyone else, trying to convince herself that it couldn't be true. How could it be true?

“We don’t know what is going on yet,” Feemor assured but even he knew he didn’t sound very convinced. Ahsoka was fighting everything. From what she had learned, the chipped clones had been trapped inside themselves, unable to do much of anything outside of orders. Unable to express or speak when wanting too. Anakin seemed to be the opposite. But how could what she knew of Anakin be so wrong? “Is there anyone you can speak to for any insights or answers?”

“Padme,” Ahsoka replied, in realization.

Feemor’s eyes narrowed, confused. “Who?”

“Senator Padme Amidala,” Ahsoka repeated. “She’s a friend to the jedi and Anakin’s friend.”

She said friend like it meant something different. Ahsoka was pretty sure he understood what she meant. Ahsoka bounced back into Che’s office, the older master on her heels. She clicked in another number, but it took a few moments for the youthful face of the Senator to pop up. Her expression washed away into something of relief and joy when she saw Ahsoka. “Ahsoka!” she greeted.

“Padme,” Ahsoka smiled. “I have a lot to ask you and I’m not sure if I have much time.”

Her face turned to confusion. “What do you mean?”

“I’m on Coruscant-.”

“You are? Have you seen Anakin?”

Ahsoka frowned. “You don’t know where he is?”

“He has been acting stressed for the past couple of days. Obi-Wan has seen it too, he came to visit me about him the morning before he left to Utapau. Anakin has been under a lot of stress and having nightmares…I don’t know…”

“Nightmares about what?”

Padme hesitated.

“You can tell me.”

“I’m pregnant, Ahsoka.”

Although Feemor was off screen, he and Ahsoka exchanged looks. He wasn’t nearly surprised as Ahsoka thought he should have been. Did he know?

“He’s been having nightmares about me dying in childbirth,” Padme confessed. “He said he had found a way to save me, even though I told him I wasn’t going to die in childbirth. The likelihood of that, here, is…well, it doesn’t happen. Ahsoka, are you alright? It looks like there is smoke and fire coming from the Temple.”

Ahsoka glanced down. How to explain this. “The clones are chipped and brainwashed. They are leading an attack on the Temple.”

Padme gasped. “How? Why?!”

“The Sith have control over them,” Ahsoka’s eyes darkened at the thought. “But…that’s not all. Padme, Anakin is leading them. He is killing Jedi, masters, Guards…younglings.”

Padme’s eyes widened. “That is impossible, he would never do such a thing. You’re wrong. He wouldn’t, he couldn’t!”

Ahsoka couldn’t meet her eyes, but Feemor caught hers, a silent question passing between them. She steadied herself and looked back up. “I’ve seen him killing younglings,” she whispered, voice hoarse. “I…he’s turned to the Dark Side.”

The Senator just stared. And stared some more.

“My apologies, Ahsoka, someone is at the door. I must take my leave,” her voice was just a bit wavering, but she somehow kept a straight face. Ahsoka opened her mouth to try and stop her, but Padme interrupted her with little emotion aside from a strained voice. “I will call you later.”

Without anything else, she turned off the call.

Ahsoka swallowed. “I have a bad feeling about this.”

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secret-engima · 4 years ago

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So I started RWBY (thanks for that, it’s all from you), and I gotta say I love Yang. So are there any Dragon!Yang rambles you have? What about lunweiss too?

It’s been a while since I enjoyed a show like this, it’s nice

Hi!!! Welcome aboard!! And not to taint your opinions but just- idk I feel obligated to warn you that while I 100% recommend V1-V5, V6 is emotionally hard (and has plot points I am Not Happy With) and V7 is just ... a train wreck. A wonderfully animated, woefully badly written train wreck. And I’ve yet to watch v8 so I have no idea what’s going on THERE beyond Oscar being a Suffering Sunshine Boi.

But yes! Headcanons!!!! Also apologies for any spoilers I mention for the show in these? I don’t know where you are in the show and I’ve already talked a lot of spoilers I’m sure XD.

Dragon Yang:

-Yang is excited to go to Beacon actually. Nervous and dreading it, but excited. She’s learned over the two years since returning to Remnant how to manage her strength and limit her lethality, how to hide the worst of her ... odd behaviors. She wants to make new friends, and she’s hoping to see Velvet there (Yang transfers to Velvet’s combat school in this AU and makes friends with her by accident). But she’s also dreading the “living in dorms with strangers” thing.

-Then she learns Ruby is getting to join early and she oscillates between HECK YES SIBLING TEAM HERE WE COME to MY BABY SISTER IS NOT READY FOR THIS. PROTECC. Of course, she’s been training Ruby these last two years too, because she’s afraid of her own strength but she’s more afraid of Ruby being unprepared for the dangers of the world. Ruby will never be a STELLAR hand to hand but she can fight mean and run away and her parkour skills have reached ninja levels even without her Semblance.

-Now she just has to get on the same team as her sister.

-She’s honestly ... highly amused by the initiation exam? Like- yeah sure fling the DRAGON SLAYER off a CLIFF and expect her to be alarmed. Psh.

-She means to track down Ruby and is will on her way to doing so when she runs into Blake first. That’s ... a little annoying. She doesn’t even know this girl’s name (Yang never dragged Ruby off to make friends during the pre-initiation sleepover thing in this AU) but it’s not Blake’s fault so.

-Also, on the note of Blake lemme just sidetrack to point out something interesting in Yang’s mentality. She can tell the moment she smells Blake that Blake is a Faunus.

-She still doesn’t think of her as a Faunus. Because- to Yang, she genuinely doesn’t .... really understand the difference between Faunus and human? To her everyone is human, some of them just have extra bits and more useful senses. And this is a TOTALLY UNCONSCIOUS MENTALITY from back when she was living on Earthland. Because in Earthland, people can look really, really weird (especially in the magic community) and yet they are all still called “humans” and are still treated perfectly normal. Like this girl from canon Fairy Tail show-

That tail and those ears are 100% real, they move and react like actual limbs in the anime, but they weren’t always THERE. When that character was teeny, she looked like a “normal” human, but her magic is feline oriented and so over the years those traits GREW on her. And literally NO ONE BATS AN EYE IN THE SHOW. Not even the people who knew her when she was tiny non-cat human child. She’s far from the only example, but she’s the easiest to think of especially in regards to the Faunus thing.

-So yeah, Yang smells feline traits on Blake and just- doesn’t even react. Doesn’t mention it to anyone because her brain skips right over “cat ears = Faunus” in this world and goes straight to “ah yes, my new 100% nonmagical human teammates. My Sister, Ice Child, and Girl With Decent Hearing Thank Goodness”.

-So while Blake thinks she’s keeping her Faunus traits a secret from her whole team, her partner Yang is just vibing off to the side, perfectly aware that Blake has cat ears but still thinking of her and every other Faunus as regular ol’ humans.

-Yang doesn’t abandon Ruby at the entrance to Beacon either, so Weiss made a ... bad impression on Yang very quickly for yelling at Ruby’s sister for an accident. Yang shut that whole thing down pretty fast, but Ruby was still feeling humiliated and nervous and Weiss was prickly and embarrassed by Yang’s blunt opinions.

-Yeah it’s a good thing they can bond via Nevermore killing because otherwise this team would be way more dysfunctional than it is in the first few days.

-Yang has mixed opinions on Team JNPR. It is painfully clear Jaune has no idea what he’s doing, but frankly she has her hands full with her own team atm and no time to try to gently bully this boy into proper training. She makes a note to do it later. Pyrrha smells lonely and she’s a sweetheart. Nora is wayyyy to prone to getting into Yang’s (and everyone’s) personal space. Ren is nice. He has manners and he smells of tea.

-There’s a scene early on where this guy called Cardin bullies Velvet for her ears by grabbing them and pulling them and I’ve never like how none of the main characters or anyone else try to hELP.

-Ergo, when that scene happens, Yang promptly gets up, twists Cardin’s wrist so that he lets Velvet’s ear go, then picks him up by the back of his shirt and flings him right through the farthest cafeteria window she can aim at from this angle. When his team of fellow bullies take it poorly, she proceeds to throw them through other windows.

-Her only defense when taken to the Headmaster’s office to face down Glynda and a very bemused Ozpin is that 1. at least she didn’t break their jaws or bones like she did the first time she caught someone bullying Velvet, 2. Professor Goodwitch can fix the windows with telekinesis to it’s not like the school was actually damaged and 3. if the Headmaster can fling people off cliffs for initiations, she can fling people through windows for being moronic bullies that needed spanking when they were five and spoiled but never got it.

-Goodwitch is not amused. Ozpin, on the other hand, is highly amused by trying not to show it. Yang can smell it and sense it in his magic tho.

-Yang, later in the dorms, more to herself then anyone, “So Velvet was born with one more pair of ears than most humans have, that’s no reason to be a jerk. I mean come on, he was born with a dumb face but I left him alone until he made the first move.”

-Blake: *vague staticky brain noises of confusion* “She’s ... a Faunus.”

-Yang: Gesundheit.

-Yang meeting Ironwood is gonna be-

-Fun.

-Because she first meets him in v2/v3 when he shows up for the Vytal Festival and brings an army with him and it makes Yang’s instincts SCREECH. This is OZPIN’S territory and this random general man is stomping all over it, bringing his army with him like some kind of power statement and she is immediately ready to Throw Hands with this man on Ozpin’s behalf just out of PRINCIPLE. So when she goes up to visit him at one point and finds Ironwood already there, she ignores the conversation she interrupted by arriving, points at Ironwood and goes, “Is this guy bothering you, Headmaster? Should I through him out the window? Or down the elevator shaft?”

-Ironwood is stunned that a student just- SAYS THAT. Ozpin, who has already gotten to know Yang enough to know that her social default setting is “subtle as a brick that’s been dunked in gasoline and set on fire”, sighs, “I’m fine, Yang. This is General Ironwood from Atlas.”

-Yang clicks her tongue and cracks her knuckles, “I know who he is, he’s the guy who showed up and cluttered up your skies with those rattling junk heaps he calls an army. It’s why I asked if you wanted me to throw him.”

-Ironwood, truly aghast, “Excuse me?”

-(ngl I DO like Ironwood and feel like they did his character dirty in v7 and likely v8 but, especially in v2/v3 he does have a bit of a arrogance problem)

Lunweiss:

-Weiss probably confuses so many people at Beacon. She is a Schnee, so while people are expecting some measure of dignity they are also expecting snobbery or brattiness and instead she’s just- the sweetest, mildest person under her reserve?

-Jaune still has a huge crush on her, she firmly but gently informs him that she’s just not interested. When he is slow to take the hint she gets upset, but that just means she withdraws in on herself.

-Yang, activating her Big Sister instincts: Yo, Jaune. I like you, you’re a good friend. But if you don’t drop it then I’m going to drop kick you off the top of Beacon Tower.

-Jaune: o.o yes ma’am.

-Lunweiss has had ... something of a deprived childhood in both lives. I don’t mean physically, because of course as Oracle and then as Heiress she had the best clothes and finest foods, but just- in the ordinary Teenage Life Experience. Things like video games and board games, carnival food, shopping with friends- she doesn’t have any real experiences like that? So obviously, as soon as Team RWBY realizes this (aka the day they’re lounging around the dorm and Luna asks what “these” are, “these” being Yang’s and Ruby’s collection of video games), they set out to do All The Fun Things with Weiss. Even Blake gets in on it when she comes to the somewhat stunning realization that the life experience even she, the Faunus activist, took for granted, is stuff Weiss has only ever heard of distantly in books and film.

-Weiss, bemusedly attempting to play a video game while Yang and Ruby lean on either shoulder and coach her on the buttons: ...What is the purpose of this?

-Ruby: *initiates lore dump about the video game plot and characters and emotional story beats*

-Yang, yanking Ruby’s hood over her head so she sputters to a stop: To unwind and have fun with friends.

-Weiss: I thought that was what ‘sleepover night’ was for?

-Ruby: People can do more than one ‘fun’ activity, Weiss.

At one point Blake reluctantly takes Weiss book shopping because Ruby, as Team Leader, has organized an entire schedule of “who does what fun thing with Weiss” and this was hers: So this is my favorite book store, the fiction genres are that way, non-fiction is that way, and comics are over there.

Weiss: *looks incredibly, hopelessly lost* Ummmmm

Blake: ... let’s start simple. What kind of books did you read as a kid?

Weiss, a little helplessly: whatever the tutors my father hired deemed proper for my education at the time and whatever books I could sneak out of the library without being caught and told to put them back because they were either “too young” for me, “too old”, or “not proper for a young lady of my standing”. Grandfather had a lot of books that my father put in that latter category and eventually he just- locked the doors to the library entirely and bought a new copy of whatever my teachers or tutors said I needed.

Blake: *listens to this and slowly has an internal crisis that the ‘spoiled’ Schnee heiress has never been allowed to read her own choice of books aka Blake’s favorite childhood activity*

Blake, a little desperately: Are there any books you remember enjoying as a child? Even if they were assigned?

Weiss combs through her memories, decides that’s not productive, and goes all the way back to her Luna lifetime before tentatively admitting: I ... enjoyed reading mythology and other tales set in historical eras with little evidence of being actually true, but entertaining nonetheless, especially since they often had a moral component woven in.

Blake runs that through her internal Weiss Translator: Fairy tales. You like fairy tales. Okay, I can work with that.

#SE asks #florafaunanfandoms asks #Secret Engima Rambles #Dragon Yang verse #One in a Hundred verse #look #rwby is GREAT up until v5 and i recommend it #everything after that is optional #and should be watched with caution #v7 is rwby; the naruto level plot edition #no i will not change my mind

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redstaratmorning · 4 years ago

Text

Headcanons and Musings of Pirate-y And Plunderous Proportions: Astarion Says What

Synopsis: Random musings and ramblings regarding and spawning from the differences between how Astarion says just one word, depending on your choices—“What?” This got very long and touches not only on Astarion’s difference in presentation in aforementioned moment, but also some discussion-thoughts to chuck onto the dashboard regarding some other elements of Astarion’s content thus far in Early Access, and some thoughts to add onto others’ speculations and wonderings (I did not save sources so pardon the lack of proper citation, oops. We’re going informal here anyway.) Spoilers for Chapter 1 BG3 scenes, plot, etc, under the cut in case someone hasn’t filtered out the tags. Trigger warning/content warning: some discussion of heavy topics is mentioned and explored, including starvation, abuse/torture, and trauma. Other topics of note for summarization include speculation on Astarion’s largely unknown as-of-early-access background and a touch of his possible pre-vampire morality leanings, possible mental state/trauma reaction in a couple of scenes, and vague speculation on Larian’s gameplan for Astarion’s arc ending. Gather thy party and venture forward, for here be dragons and lots o’ text, matey! [/stereotypical pirate accent]

“What?” Just that one word, between the goblin party and the tiefling party. If Larian keeps the body language and tone presentation more or less where it’s at now in Early Access, they are worlds apart and delightfully up for interpretation of just what’s going on in our favorite vampire spawn’s head. This won’t be an in-depth post about all the tonal and body language differences, just picking out a few due to personal constraints (ie too broke to buy this game currently.) Edit: And also a lot of other thoughts and ramblings tacked on, lol. On the one hand we have him at the goblin party, where he seems much more superficially comfortable there, knows what’s going on and knows what to expect—it feels like he’s done this kind of scene a hundred times before. The comfort of familiarity. Did Cazador throw “parties”, much like how he “invited” Astarion to dine with him? I wouldn’t be surprised if he mingled at regular dinner parties either before his turning, or perhaps after when he’s ordered to hunt for Cazador’s evening repast. I doubt the goblin party has anything as potentially horrific as what Cazador would have lined up on the nightly basis, which is why Astarion isn’t aggro’d: he’s in a position of power at this party after all, not a powerless one. A conquering hero, as he describes the MC. A Precarious position, as it turns out.

Circling back to that one word though, the way he says “what” in that scene after he propositions the MC and the MC picks the “Maybe. If you say please” line feels like Astarion’s response could be interpreted as pretty abrupt. On guard, perhaps, squaring up, offended, even perhaps lowkey challenging/hostile. Expressing social displeasure and possibly staring down the MC mayhaps? Could be, especially if Astarion’s body language remains as it is rigged now in-scene with that step forward, his shoulders shifting, the lack of a smile, that assessing glare, all combined with that flat tone of voice. The animation could just be temporary and subject to change, but if it does end up as more or less the final version of that moment’s depiction, it’s pretty interesting as a shift. I’d read it as potentially “not actually truly comfortable in this situation, just familiar and numb to it all”, especially when combined with some of his other earlier potential lines at the goblin party, such as the following: Astarion: So, what are we drinking to? Other than a pile of corpses. MC: That’s not funny. Astarion: Oh don’t be so sour - It’s a party. You did what you had to. Don’t be ashamed that you did it well. MC: I wish things had turned out differently. Astarion: And I wish I was drinking out of the skulls of everyone who’s ever wronged me. Life is tough. Although that’s not to say we can’t have a little fun. This supports the whole “has been through his personal hell and has adapted to survive it albeit not unscathed” story Larian seems to be going for with him quite nicely in the little tells and details. A sort of “take what joy you can even amidst the dark situation surrounding us” trauma-induced adaptation, coupled together with actual enjoyment on his part for killing. It’d be easy to say Astarion is moreso in his element at the goblin party, and to a degree he is—it’s one he is well practiced with in his current mindset. Compare now how he acts at the tiefling party—we can all agree he’s not having a good time, our friendly neighborhood vampire sulking in particular over the fact that “there’s a worm in [his] brain, [he’s] surrounded by idiots, and all [he] has to drink is wine that tastes like vinegar.” But the delightful thing is he’s complaining so vividly about it. The wine likely is worse at the tiefling party, seeing as they’re refugees, and the goblins had previously captured a duke whom they likely stole loot from and under orders from Minthara et al stored said goods elsewhere for a later date (likely some of said goods were consumed at the party if it happened. Edit: Shadowheart’s drunk dialogue at the goblin party mentions the goblin’s wine there being good, poor dear. Fascinating hints at her story and character in that scene though.) This is assuming Astarion is drinking wine at the goblin party, of course. He may very well be drinking something red and full-bodied there, just not made from grapes. But even in his complaints and presentation, he seems arguably more relaxed and less on guard compared to his demeanor at the goblin party. Let’s be honest, he doesn’t view goblins as equals or stimulating company judging by his various voice lines expressing his disdain, distrust and overall low opinion of them as vermin among other things. The fact that he’s willing to call the tiefling refugees idiots while in earshot of them? Definitely doesn’t respect them as a group—though he has a less negatively opined line regarding them earlier on if the caged goblin (Sazza) is killed,—which is not surprising given that MC and company at the time of the party just saved them from certain death. Astarion’s reaction however also reads as potentially at ease enough to say what he’s thinking. He’s not going to get murdered for saying so, and there aren’t any punishing power games at play with the refugees and do-gooders he’s found himself surrounded by. There aren’t any hedonistic shenanigans going on and the drinks are terrible, so it’s not an entertaining party for him, but one could make an argument that Astarion might actually be feeling more secure or at least less threatened-as-is/was-his-accepted-ongoing-norm there. Which might mean he’s feeling quite out of place, or even just not...entirely engaged with what’s going on around him and even within him as far as emotional states go. Would he casually pull the same stunt at the goblin party? If you’re a bastard to him, yes, but that’s not in the same emotional vein as his dialogue during the tiefling party at all. Loyalty from the goblins is fickle, the goblins worship the Absolute and those that are chosen by the Absolute—so long as said Chosen remain powerful enough to subjugate them and is in favor. Astarion knows this kind of power structure well: ruling by fear and power. With the tieflings? It’s not superiors-and-subordinates, it’s just...people. People celebrating surviving an event that could’ve very well and most likely would’ve ended in their deaths. Will he get to celebrate like that one day? That could very well be a painful and bleak thing to consider, and not something he wants to contemplate as of yet, based on his dialogue lines that demonstrate his fear of Cazador. How’s he supposed to get lost in the fun and revelry if the wine doesn’t even taste good to him? I don’t know wines, but I’m guessing from what little I do know and what I’ve read of flavor descriptors for wines hyped as good, it might actually be bad wine based on the adjective “sharp” when mixed with the rest of the description if the MC takes a sip. Sharp seems to suggest too many tannins, or maybe improper storage so the wine actually did turn to taste a bit more like vinegar, or maybe not enough sugar in the grapes used, perhaps? To be fair, I do believe there’s a non-conversation line somewhere of Astarion’s regarding solid food tasting terrible to him, but I can’t verify that so a pinch of salt there. Still, if his taste buds are aligned with regular living mortal ones for wine at least, RIP Astarion, he’s stuck with a terrible drink for the foreseeable night. Unless, of course, you know. ;D Compared to the tieflings, the goblins as a whole? As a group they’re a scraped together army of pillagers hungry for destruction and spoils. They don’t have ANY loyalty to you—in addition to being willing to betray you via murder immediately despite working with them when Sazza first brings you back to meet Minthara, there’s also when Minthara potentially opts to try to kill you post-goblin-party. If you persuade her not to, Minthara does mention “do not return to the goblin camp, as far as they were concerned you were destined to die tonight.” This is not a group to get chummy with, obviously. Doesn’t say good things about the Absolute’s followers in general, either, or the Absolute depending on if Minthara’s being honest about the Absolute intending that the MC dies after razing the grove. Minthara could just be lying to serve her own ends and is out to destroy any rivals for the Absolute’s favor, after all, I can’t verify that from dialogue exploration at present. So it’s not surprising that this is not a group Astarion is going to let his guard down around I’m sure, or around an MC that sided with the goblins, because fortunes can shift like the wind in a scene like that, and I think his utter lack of surprise at Minthara trying to kill you all (whether or not the MC had a romp with her) is potentially spawned because he recognizes this fact. He’s been here before, in another time, another place, with different faces, but he’s seen this play before. And the MC is just another face for the same old role of a player in this rat race for power when they side with the goblins, aren’t they? The difference this time though is: will they succeed and make it to the top? Is Astarion betting on the winning horse, or not? Far less reason and far more motivation to not be emotionally invested in anyone or anything around him because it’s survival of the fittest, and the most ruthless will be the ones who win—the MC just reinforced that perspective for Astarion, in slaughtering the tieflings. But Astarion isn’t fully corrupted yet, despite however much Cazador has twisted and tormented him so. Isn’t it fascinating, that the MC, one of the first people Astarion can actually interact with relatively freely without Cazador’s puppeteering influence hanging over him quite so acutely, is someone who might very well and very likely will have a huge impact on how Astarion develops and sees the world? For better or for worse, the MC will shape all the companions’ futures and perspectives it seems, depending on their choices. On a meta note, isn’t that thrillingly fascinating and engaging work by Larian Studios? Bravo, honestly. Continuing, for Astarion this could very well just feel like a better but complimentary and thematically continuous segment of the nightmare that is his existence under Cazador as it goes on: he’s a vampire now, and the world is only ever a power struggle between the strong and the weak, and he knows better than to ever be weak again. Kindness and virtue belonged to Before. Before he died, before he turned, before he was taken. Those are things in stories and fairy tales now, that belong to other people, other places and times, other lives—things that belong to the living, not the undead. Sentimentality, more universally-accepted morality, all of those Good™-aligned or softer feelings can feel like they have no place in his world now, on this darker path. But he knows what they are, not just in theory I think, but also perhaps knowing from memory and experience, however distant and faint. The way he speaks on many occasions has subtext that could very well suggest he wasn’t without a better side through implication and emotion. Which is not to say I think he was a shining paragon of virtue before he died—guessing based off of the dev team’s writing of him so far, I’m expecting nuanced and complex but ultimately very human (or elf if you’re being fantasy-based technical) morality with both merits and flaws, for polarizing opinions in the fandom. That being said, I’m holding off judgment on what kind of person he was before he was turned for now despite reading about pre-early-access, preliminary ideas the dev team had for his background. The reason I’m waiting to see what the dev team puts into the game for his backstory of Before, is because some of his datamined lines could be taken in a couple of different ways, and some of his emotional responses as is currently don’t track as truly Machiavellian or I’d say malevolent in nature for manipulation or otherwise. Granted, not all Evil™ acts stem from intentions to be malevolent. Sometimes people do evil both in-game and in life without really intending to, or recognizing that they do, nor seeing the harm they have caused or will cause (I’m looking at you, Mayrina.) Manipulative yes, but so far it’s looked like it’s for defensive purposes in a world that is out to hurt or kill him if given any opportunity whatsoever. Personally I actually wouldn’t even say he’s been really manipulative at all, but your mileage may vary. He lies because he’s afraid you’re going to murder him for being a vampire, and because he doesn’t want to reveal the cause of two centuries’ worth of trauma to someone he just met and likely can’t predict if they’re emotionally safe for him to interact with. Note: “emotionally safe” does not necessarily denote being sympathetic here, so much as “will their response cause me pain in some fashion?” from Astarion’s point of view, which does not necessarily require the MC to be mean to him though obviously that wouldn’t help. We touch upon why sympathy can hurt later on in this essay. And why would he expect sympathy in the other instance, regarding revealing that he’s a vampire? How often would we not murder strange vampires we just met in DND-worlds? Is that not a common response and practice in Faerun for the most part? They’re on the list of acceptable prey for a monster hunter to be kidnapped and taken to who knows what fate (probably nothing good we’re sure), and who would come rescue them? In all actuality: No one. If he wasn’t a companion he’d easily just be one more random encounter to kill—as he and all the companions are in the right circumstances, *cough cough* like when sacrificing anyone to Boooal *cough.* Astarion’s had little cracked moments where he seems to be showing genuine vulnerability, and I’d say he likely displays real genuine emotion plenty of times, just not all the time. While the vulnerable moments could be a ploy, were he the type to actually be fully acting, I’m disinclined to bet that he’d act in the way he does during those moments if he planned them out or even improvised. It could be a mix of both, where it’s both true but also an act of manipulation. Were it the last option, that would require more exploration of his character in various situations to determine imo. I still doubt that though. I think he’s a little too raw and real in his pain, anger, and aggression to say he’s being malevolently manipulative at the end of the day, at least thus far in chapter one. The MC’s choices may change and influence that, on the Evil™ route. I’ve been following some of the fantastic dash discussions on Astarion’s reaction to when the MC tries to comfort him (because of course I have, I’m here for BG3 content and Astarion content especially, aren’t we all here for the same party in his tag? Also hello fellow Astarion stans! :D I hope everyone’s having a good day), and if some of these datamined lines from Pjenn’s blog post are actually implemented and kept as canonical [link], specifically the ones Astarion says regarding heroes, I do think it ties in very strongly with some of what other folks have said regarding his recoiling reaction. Copy-pasted the potential dialogue lines of interest below: Astarion: Heroes. |said with disgust| Astarion: Heroes had two centuries to save me from my torture, but not one came knocking. Astarion: The strong had two centuries to pluck me from torture, but no one came. No, it was the mind flayers that rescued me. Astarion: I spent centuries as the victim of a corrupt man. It was the mind flayers that plucked me away from that. I very much enjoyed all the takes on Astarion’s potential motivations in his response, and I do want to chuck another idea into the fray that supports the vein of ideas that have him being truly afraid and then angry at the MC in that scene, with the speculation including those possible hero lines above as influence. Specifically, I’d like to bring in an outside comparison to part of Molly Grue’s reaction to seeing the Unicorn from The Last Unicorn animated movie for the first time, transcribed below: The Unicorn: I’m here now. Molly: [Bitter laugh] Oh? And where were you twenty years ago? Ten years ago? Where were you when I was new? When I was one of those innocent, young maidens you always come to? How dare you. How DARE you come to me now, when I am this. [begins to cry, heartbroken] Consider Astarion being shown kindness when he is now away from Cazador, not fully free or safe yet but not currently actively fully suffering Cazador’s torment all up close and personal. Consider that only on that very night before he was snatched up by the mindflayers, which might’ve been anywhere from only a day to a handful of days before this conversation about his nightmare, he was going out to falsely smile and lure some innocent—(“No innocents. You have my word.”)—or perhaps not so innocent, beautiful soul back to Cazador’s mansion to very likely die or be turned. How often must he do so? Is it every night he is ordered to go out and condemn someone else to that unfortunate fate? Do you think Cazador killed them cleanly? Quickly? Why would he, instead of agonizingly grinding out any last traces of sympathy his spawn might have through the guilt that they are the ones who “choose” who suffers and likely dies at Cazador’s hands that night? To give the illusion of choice is one abuse/torture tactic that can be used to break a soul that we see often in games: choose who suffers or dies. Cazador is unquestionably a personality who enjoys the psychological aspect of tormenting his victims, as evidenced by giving Astarion the “choice” to be either flayed or to “dine” on a rotting, dead rat, as well as other mentions of how he puts thought into torturing those around him. Astarion is still so fresh from his torment,—torment that is still technically on-going with the very real threats of resuming once more—he is emotionally bleeding enough arterial blood at the seams to fill a sea. His actions, words, and emotions so often metaphorically smell of blood, and not because he’s a vampire and the traditional role of a vampire being a predator among humanoids ironically enough, but because being a vampire spawn means Cazador. And Cazador means horror. Astarion has survived, yes, and it’s been hell. He’s still in hell, because he isn’t free yet. Not truly. It’s a desperate gasp of air, this taste of freedom, to dream that he could be free of Cazador. Imagine his feelings when he’s now in something like freedom, a reminder of what could be, what his life might’ve and likely was like once upon a time, an uncertain here-and-now where he has the possibility—just a possibility, and an unlikely one at that for most ordinary or less-than-ordinary people, not a certainty—of being free, and he’s just admitted to the horror that is Cazador. Admitted in this moment how much Cazador frightens him, how much just the thought of Cazador frightens him, how much the possibility he might be sent back to his master and having his previous tormented existence resumed truly frightens him. And the MC reaches out in sympathy. In acknowledgement that what Astarion has been through is horrifying. To look at this horror and say it is pain, and terror, and awful, that it isn’t normal. It isn’t something to ignore. It isn’t something to pretend is just everyday same old, same old, to numb and take off the edge as much as one can. That Astarion’s pain and fear aren’t to be sought out for entertainment or at best to be willfully neglected in an act of malice. That stark moment of contrast, like night and day, could bring the pain of two hundred years crashing down inside his head, all compressed into one moment. Feelings he tried so hard to survive through, ignore perhaps, suppress: fear, helplessness, loneliness, misery, anger, sorrow, hatred, pain, anxiety, distress, need. Memories, of so many instances that hurt in that moment and then continued to hurt for so long afterwards. How much must it hurt him, wound him, to lift his head for air and have a perspective outside of his suffering that is sympathetic...but knowing that nobody came to save him. That perhaps, no one ever will, if he loses this so-called freedom and is dragged back under. That those that care, cannot help you. And that those that can help, do not care. Why would anyone help him at this point after all? He’s a vampire spawn. A classically defined monster in the eyes of society, and he knows it. (”I’m not some monster!” / ”At best, I was sure you’d say no. More likely you’d ram a stake through my ribs.”) He must have been truly desperate in his starvation to chance anyone finding out he’s a vampire in the party. Not surprising, he can’t rest at the end of the day like the other companions can. He has to expend extra energy at that point to find food discreetly after fighting all day, and subpar food at that. (”Animal blood tastes like muck.” verification needed, it’s a conversational line in some branch of the morning-after he asks to bite the MC the first time) He’s not eating breakfast, snacks or lunch during the day, and he isn’t guaranteed to find food while hunting in the woods. Game might be scarce, he can be wounded or exhausted after a long day of fighting, and he wasn’t starting out in the peak of health to begin with either. He is a vampire spawn yes and apparently can take down large game such as boars to drain them, but that is a rough existence to condemn anyone to mechanically speaking. He knows what he’s risking, regardless of his int stat. But he takes that risk anyway. The character who is so survival driven, risking a very high likelihood of expulsion at best or death as the much-more-likely worst outcome of this attempt? His bite isn’t painless, and pain can wake a person up readily enough if they aren’t a deep sleeper, and how deep a sleeper are most people when in an uncertain and unfamiliar wilderness, potentially while hungry and cold, with the fretting fear of a agonizing death looming over their head? Even accounting for a lack of mental clarity from hunger and exhaustion and other factors, I find it deeply unlikely that Astarion is unaware of how big a risk he’s taking with the odds are stacked against him, rogue class or not. And even if he’s just thrown out of the group? He’s alone. Vulnerable. A target to be hunted by a much bigger, meaner predator. One that won’t kill him quickly, we can guess. His odds are much lower, on his own. Specifically his odds of not being dragged back to Cazador...assuming the MC doesn’t just turn him over to Gandrel. How terrifying is it to imagine that your suffering will never end, to be told it will never end, and then you are reminded of what it is like to not suffer for a time. To have felt the painful hope that maybe there is a possibility that you could escape an existence of torment...but knowing you very well might not? It is desperately bleak. It is no great leap of the imagination to hear Astarion saying—(or more likely thinking because this would be terribly vulnerable...but he might say something when pushed because he’s so full of sharp edges and bleeding insides still)—something similar to Molly Grue’s line in his own fashion, is it? Astarion: “[Bitterly laughing, mockingly so. As he speaks his tone breaks, an edge of raw, desperate hysteria slipping through, attached to centuries of pain turned to anger] And where were you two hundred years ago? A hundred years ago? Where were you when I still desperately thought in the deepest parts of my heart that someone might come? When I still had hope? Astarion: [his voice turns low and venomous, raising in volume and accusation before finishing with a break on the final word “this”, a tonal admittance of how distraught and self-aware he is of what he’s had to do, of what he’s had to become to survive] How dare you. How DARE you say this to me now, when I am this.” (the above lines are entirely fictional and are not from any in-game, data-mined, or otherwise official source or content) He’s been made to do so many terrible things, even just based off of the few lines we have heard in early access he’s been through so much horror. An hour of torture, a day, a month is so incredibly long. It can have such lasting impact on a person—PTSD, as we know it in this day and age. A year? Five years, ten, twenty, fifty, a hundred? An elf he may be, but from a human perspective...he’s been tortured for lifetimes. Even as an elf, two hundred years is a long time. More than long enough to seriously alter how someone’s brain works—people are both amazingly resilient, but also so incredibly fragile. Cazador has had all this time to play with Astarion’s brain, honestly I find it impressive Astarion has any sense of self left after all this time. That he’s still driven to survive, that he still feels anything at all. (”It doesn’t look broken. But then again, none of us do.”) It doesn’t surprise me that he’s intensely bitter when encountering the “paladins” of Tyr—(ie Anders and company if you know who I mean—and was that a Dragon Age 2 reference? If not that is an amazing coincidence with the whole Anders-Justice-Vengeance-Demon thing there)—if the MC asks something to the tune of “Don’t you wish someone had helped you when you needed it?” Oh. Oh that had to be a painful question for him. Astarion had his basic needs denied and abused, to ask if he wished that someone had helped him when he needed that and more, and no one came? Why was he denied but the paladins get help? Why does he have to be the hero when no one came for him, when no one very well might come for him when he might still very well be in dire straits in the near future? I can see the possible desire to inspire sympathy intended in the question from the MC, but it can be so utterly without sympathy to ask that in some contexts, and in Astarion’s case it is. He was being abused and controlled without any way out—Anders and his cohorts opted into the deal with Zariel for personal reasons, not as far as I know under threat of imminent death, and they are relatively capable of fulfilling their end of the bargain barring their current injuries at the time. They certainly have more freedom of choice than Astarion and other vampire spawn ever did, and they were not being tortured right then and there. Warlocks, referring to Anders and co., might even have the option to get out of deals, a la Wyll’s personal questline hook thus far. Astarion can’t get out of his servitude from Cazador. Cazador holds all the cards, makes all the decisions, has all of the power. To compare Astarion’s situation to his face with that of the “paladins”? I’m surprised he wasn’t spitting fury, honestly. They still have normal elements to their day to day life, despite their devil’s deal. They are not being tormented on the daily—yet. They are not in hell—yet. They can get out. They have the possibility. A possibility Astarion didn’t—until now. And isn’t that the most fucked up thing, that it wasn’t a force of Good™ that saved him, but an even bigger monster than Cazador himself? He was saved—by mindflayers, intending some fate that was likely worse for him than before. Even when the Absolute’s hand begins to be revealed in all this, he is still a pawn among monstrous masters. What heroes there are in the world, won’t come for him. They never did before, and they didn’t now. Heroes are for other people, for realities aside from his own. They are for other people, living Other lives. Not his life. Forces of Good™ swooping in to save the day, to correct the wrongs of the world and to make things Right™ just isn’t his normal. Not anymore, if ever it was. His normal was warped by Cazador a long time ago. Is it a stretch of the imagination that if Cazador twisted “dinner” to be a choice between consuming a rotting, putrid rat corpse or being flayed on a nightly basis, turning “poetry” into the memory of a “sonnet” carved into Astarion’s back with a razor over the course of an entire night full of Astarion’s own pained screams? Is it hard to imagine that Cazador also took pleasure in turning other ordinary situations one might encounter in normal life into nightmare versions as well for Astarion and his other spawn? One illithid mind-power option shows Cazador controlling Astarion by holding his chin, though without any further context. Cazador wouldn’t have had to do more than that to invoke terror, after a certain point in time. It seems highly unlikely the gesture wasn’t followed up with more pain, though. Perhaps in that moment when he speaks of his nightmare in the first conversation and the MC reaches out to him in sympathy...Astarion was reminded of something. Multiple somethings, multiple moments, when Cazador reached out to him oh so casually, and it ended in pain and terror. The way the camera is framed as of the current time in early access, the way he flinches away crying “No!” so quiet and low, his eyes wide and staring just so, how he goes so far as to pull back almost entirely out of frame and the camera slowly pans to follow him? Perhaps that is just a stand-in scene, but as it is, even now, it emphasizes that he is I would argue genuinely afraid, and reflexively responding in what is likely his first opportunity to freely respond to his traumatically induced fear. The first opportunity where he wasn’t supernaturally compelled to do exactly as Cazador ordered him to, the first opportunity where he was likely not going to be tormented further for expressing his fear, for having his main tormentor laugh and delight in his distress. The first instance where he for a split second let his guard down, and didn’t expect to be hurt—until the MC reached for him, echoing possible memories of what happened last time someone (Cazador) did that. It’s not Cazador reaching for him. But...it is not Cazador. He doesn’t have to worry about Cazador hurting him right that second, but...will the MC hurt him, like Cazador did? Will they make it look like they’re going to help him, that he can trust them, and then betray him? (”How can you be so cruel?” / “It [Raphael playing games] reminds me of Cazador, taunting his slaves with hope when he knew the game was rigged.”) But they scared him. They scared him, and perhaps for a moment he was back there, in another time and place, where he knows, where he remembers, vividly, perhaps even recently, what normally would have happened to him. And how dare they make him feel that. (“I can do without reliving that particular night, thank you.” [Nightmare about Cazador dialogue, a separate scene if you miss the insight check from the first post-nightmare camp discussion I believe.]) He’s so raw and upset, both aggressive and defensive when he speaks about his nightmares in quite a few of his lines, asking and waiting to explain just why his nightmares are truly so terrifying, especially in the second-nightmare conversation. The way he speaks there, and in other scenes, makes me very disinclined to interpret him as actively intending evil in general so much as having been shaped to be ruthless through a centuries-long trial by fire that he isn’t free and clear of yet. Based off of how he reacts on more than one occasion, I’m personally inclined to take a leaf from Wyll’s book and say I do think he has more than just potential to be good. “Good™” being relative of course to his situation and undead-life—Astarion has GREAT potential as a character to explore not only what it means to be Evil™ aligned, but also what people on the meta perceive as evil, as well as what prejudices we may carry from that labeling. He is I think very much an excellent walking morality test and ironically a mirror for the player’s character. What kind of person is the MC, in how they treat and interact with him. He is a complicated and morally-entangled character, and it is so very easy to only read him in the here and now within the stark, daylight context of societal’s average norms without looking at the very real, very recent nightmarish Twilight Zone reality he’s lived in that echoes through his words and story thus far. It’s a marvelous bit of echoing reality and real life here by Larian, truth be told: how do you tell people about your life, when it’s been a ceaseless, unending nightmare? With smiles, witticisms, and the occasional polished lie that bleeds out pain, for some folks anyway, including Astarion. He says he’s having more fun at the goblin party, but at the tiefling party? That’s probably the first time he’s been at a normal party where he hasn’t had to obey and fear Cazador’s orders and inevitable torment during or afterwards. That’s the first time in his entire undead existence when he’s been in a social situation like this without being afraid, hurt, or manipulated. It’s not a fun party on its own by his standards, but it is a safe party for him. In a way though, safety can be boring. A luxury, yes, but in this case? For him, boring. And boring...might very well be irritating, in an anxiety-turned-irritation fashion, because he’s not being tormented right this very moment. He should be finding something to enjoy, because in his normal everyday routine? In the day to day that he would expect, that his subconscious expects out of habit? Opportunity for any form of enjoyment must be rare indeed, twisted and tainted by Cazador’s ever looming shadow over every minute of Astarion’s vampiric existence so far. It could be anxiety-inducing, to not seek pleasure or some form of happiness or comfort while there is opportunity for it, in what one perceives as a respite from constant, on-going suffering. (”Why do you insist on exhuming the past?” - when you ask about his past in camp, after you know he’s a vampire. An unpleasant reminder of an unpleasant past, why would he want to dwell on it? He has enough pain to last him multiple lifetimes. Literally.) From the deep, deep depths of prolonged suffering, it can potentially take a great deal more intensity of sensation to feel anything at all, let alone something approaching happiness. (”For the first time in two hundred years, I felt happy.” [presumed Astarion-origin line after drinking from a sleeping companion] / “I feel strong. I feel...happy!” [after MC succeeds in persuading Astarion to stop drinking from their neck after giving him permission to do so.]) This isn’t even taking into consideration how vampirism might have impacted Astarion’s psychology on a metabolic/biochemical level, so to speak. Where Larian goes with that is still to be determined, though my money’s on they give him more a murderous edge and natural inclination—not unlike a Beast-lite version of bloodlust from Vampire: The Masquerade— but still keep his core traits very much human rather than supernaturally-alien/2D-cut-out-monstrous. (Or elvhen, if we’re being fantasy-world-linguistically technical here again.) Touching on the matter of monstrous behavior though...It is a powerfully understated moment of casual cruelty that Larian allows the MC to decide once and once only, if Astarion may also drink from people or only animals. It’s so fitting I don’t believe it to be coincidence that he was a magistrate in his backstory—isn’t the MC passing a judgement too on him, a sentence to change his life for the foreseeable future, possibly forever without realizing or perhaps not caring about the full extent of their actions? And one cannot forget Wyll’s comment about the rat diet. Oh, can you not hear the resonating parallel real life pain from how those ignorant of another’s hurts might unintentionally mock the person and hurt them so? How some might apply their own morality from their own life experiences, without looking at the full extent of the consequences of their actions? A life and perspective that more likely has never been tested under the lash and upon the rack of some of life’s worst possible realities? Even if Wyll and the MC don’t mean to be, it is so very, very cruel. It is beautifully painful, Abdirak and the goddess Loviatar would be proud. (”My mind is finally clear. I feel strong. I feel...happy!”) To be denied not just better food, but the ability to think clearly, to feel well, the actuality of being happy as a norm? It is so very hollow an existence to feel so constantly weak of both body and mind, and oh isn’t it just the richest thing, that an MC might echo Cazador’s choice and power over Astarion thusly? It’s enough to make one laugh an Evil Laugh™ of appreciation at just how unthinkingly, horribly cruel a person can potentially be while playing a Good™ character. This is actually a level of genius on Larian’s part that I wonder how many in the audience will actually look at and appreciate the subtle horror of. The horror that we do this too, in real life, sometimes without ever knowing the seemingly small, far-reaching ripples of harm an unthinking phrase or comment can do when we don’t take another’s reality into consideration—that we don’t know what it is we don’t know. It is a fine piece of storytelling, to offer up a story with so many facets to reflect upon. It’s so beautifully crafted that Astarion speaks and dresses like a noble, that he can so easily be perceived as a person of privilege at first glance should one merely look at some of his surface behaviors and inclinations—remnant trappings of his distant past most likely, from once upon a time. It’s a delightful reveal and subversion that he, I think we can safely say, isn’t that. Perhaps he was, once, but he isn’t at this point in his life, not anymore. Appearances are deceiving, and doesn’t that just tie so nicely right into some of Astarion’s potential themes and behaviors? The lies that crack open as truth and pain come bleeding out from underneath? I do wonder how many of Larian’s audience have known hunger—and not known when the next meal will happen, what it might be, if it will have strings attached? The kind of hunger that follows you everywhere, that roots down into your bones and hollows out a home there forever more? It changes how a person sees things, how they act, how they think, even when they’re removed from being hungry all the time. One doesn’t need to be skin and bones to feel like one is starving constantly,—(I very much enjoy that headcanon just to clarify, I’m not intending to throw shade in any of this or future rambling)—to be kept on a hollow diet of empty calories that are enough to keep your heart pumping, but your body struggles because it doesn’t have the nutrients it needs in the amounts it needs? To feel your mind fog over with exhaustion and blanketed despair, a primal and low level desperation whittled down into a tired and numb, anxious background static from adrenal fatigue? Miscellaneous aches, pains and problems that seem unrelated but in reality, if only you knew, were because your body can’t function the way it should ideally, because you don’t have what you truly need? A very real problem in real life, for far too many people. And oh, the beautiful, casual, so very human monstrousness Larian lets us exercise here, knowing or unknowing. It is such a powerful, understated cluster of ideas. And I think Larian knew—someone on the dev team did their homework on both traditional starvation but also what one might call masked-starvation as no doubt other tumblr folks have also speculated, just based off of what we’ve seen and because of that Happy buff Astarion gets when he uses his Vampiric Bite ability in combat. It fits right into his whole theme of “what makes a monster and what makes a man?” (Sing the bells of Notre Dame~♪) But not necessarily asking that question only of him. Rather, asking it also of the MC. This fits into the game’s whole theme with the tadpoles, the choice of using the power and turning into “Something More Beautiful” as Minthara put it, of taking the darker path, it all fits so very well. I just want to applaud this because it’s not a major story-beat moment. It’s a companion-side-quest moment. It’s going to be for the most part seen as a combat-game-mechanic and head-canon defining moment, deciding if Astarion may feed on people or not. I doubt we’d see Larian actually changing Astarion’s demeanor much in how he delivers lines with a “allowed to drink people blood” code flag, as cool as that might be. It very well could factor into later outcomes but for voice acting I doubt they’ll make an entire second/third/etc set of each line spawning from that one seemingly small choice. It makes me very hopeful that Larian can handle such weighty themes so deftly thus far—we’ll have to wait and see if they can stick the landing once the game is finished, but boy oh boy their nuance and delivery so far is strong as steel and sharp as a double-edged sword right out of the gate. The studio is in a fantastic position to explore and to challenge people’s thoughts and ideas regarding character builds like Astarion’s imo, depending on how the dev team chooses to play it out. Seeing some of Gale and Shadowheart’s dialogue trees from the goblin party, I have high hopes that the dev team will allow a great deal of exploration and flexibility all across the moral spectrums, not only allowing us the option to drag the more seen-as-good-aligned characters down paths of moral corruption,—(note: I’m including Shadowheart in more neutral-ish territory for now but the fact that she seems to feel emotionally ill—guilty, one could say—at the goblin party and is busy trying to get drunk to drown that feeling out suggests to me she Definitely does have a more good-aligned moral compass to a nuanced degree)—but also the chance to drag more seen-as-evil-aligned characters along the path to more traditionally good endings and persuade them to see the benefits of playing nice with others per more classic Good™ societal rules (subjectively speaking ofc.) But Larian is also in a very precarious place too—speaking strictly of just the one character as the focus of this essay, Astarion resonates very easily through that very real fear, pain, anger, bitterness and so many other emotions as a result of what he has survived, is still surviving through, and struggling against: trauma. How bitter indeed would it be should a character—that people with very deep, real pain can relate to—not get at least the option for a well-crafted, hopeful and merciful epilogue? Oh the sympathetic pain that Larian could reap could be pain of the very worst kind, if they condemn him to only death and darkness with bleak endings that lack nuance and care. I’ve seen some posts where people worry about Astarion not potentially having a good ending, with possible unspoken implications that he might be railroaded into betraying the MC. I’d like to say that I think a lot of his subtext, even looking at the instances where he lies and the datamined details of the voice-acting-directions, would run counter to railroading him to only ever betraying the MC. I think straight betrayal is going to run as mostly antithetical to his core themes in a way. He might betray your MC—but it will likely be because the MC betrayed him first in a myriad of small ways, or in a big way. Approval-rating-system based choices are a very real possibility too, separately or as a part of the equation naturally, in addition to your major in-game choices. That would also include the scenario of betrayal through using the tadpole powers enough to be mind-controlled into having no will of his own, much like the other characters, including the MC. I do think we have plenty of good, solid reason to be very hopeful that he will have a possible good continuation—not ending. A continuation where he manages to free himself from Cazador with the help of his companions or perhaps dare he even say friends, manages to begin the process of healing the immediate pains of his trauma and learning how to truly live with all that he’s been through and all that he’s done, to have the possibility of not only living but living both happily and well for the most part? Who knows what else Larian Studios might have in the works for him and the other companions, as well as the MC and the story of Baldur’s Gate 3. But good outcomes for all seems like it very likely could happen, for all of the companions. His wiki page’s summary tagline hook in particular offers up that implied promise from the developers to the audience, I would say, “Astarion prowled the night as a vampire spawn for centuries, serving a sadistic master until he was snatched away. Now he can walk in the light, but can he leave his wicked past behind?” What that promise is, varies from creator to creator. In this case, based on the wording, I would say that potentially implies a satisfyingly well-crafted and engaging story wherein we find out and determine if the answer to that question is yes or no, and in a DND-based RPG full of choices that have an impact on the people and world around you? In a game genre that has a history of multiple, varied endings for your companions based on how you play? That checks out. Larian so far has been handling things admirably well in my opinion, and I’m willing to invest emotionally in this story they’re telling with the trust that they will deliver a good continuation and conclusion. But on the off-chance that somehow Astarion’s endings all turn out painful and tragic on the meta for the fanbase, that the associated intentional or unintentional messages wound and grieve those who recognize and resonate most strongly with the pains he has felt? On that off-chance, in that instance where we are left bereft and disappointed because of what happened to him or any of the companions or the story itself should somehow things go awry, then it would be your right to ask Larian the very same question Astarion asked you once: How can you be so cruel?

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #spoilers #bg3 spoilers #Astarion #character study #long post #very long post #eXtreme rambling ahoy #speculation #congrats if you can read this all #totally understandable if it's too much text tho #it's long enough and rambly enough that it wandered away from the limits I intended #because I have FEELINGS about this gremlin vampire man #cackles madly #maybe the vampire will stop haunting my brain for a bit now #I have other things to do #aside from writing long contemplation pieces #prepare the angst-grapple-hooks crewmates #why yes I'm going to make silly jokes about pirates and sailing and the like #no I do not have any depth to my knowledge base about such things #I just like their hats man #arr #also not looking to make anyone feel bad or invalidate their hcs or opinions #just want good vibes for all #and more cakes for all #metaphorically speaking #the cake is not a lie tho #well #metaphorically it's not a lie

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