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deadbiwrites · 5 years ago

Note

a video of supergirl grabbing lena luthor's ass starts circulating and it's very embarrassing for sc but extremely funny to their friends

(I am SO sorry. Where do these hide? Why do I never see them? How long has this been here?!

Anyways, have some cute nonsense!)

The day starts like any other, honestly.

Like, sure, Kara’s never thrilled when she wakes up 20 minutes late and has to use superspeed to get through her morning routine and into the office on time, but it happens regularly enough that she’s just sort of used to it by now. Like, the sky is blue, the grass is green, she manages time poorly. Whatever.

But she does get to work on time, with just enough to spare that she can make a brief detour to Nia’s desk for the coffee her protege has already bought for her, thank her profusely (with perhaps minor promising of firstborn children), and slip into the morning meeting just as Snapper, James, and Lena start handing out assignments for the day.

“Well, well, good of you to join us, Ponytail. Let me guess, a family emergency kept you out all night again?”

‘I mean, that Abraxian wasn’t my family, technically, but someone’s family, so…’ “Something like that. Sorry.”

Lena catches her eye and quirks a brow in question, but Kara just shrugs easily and sips her coffee, pulling a silly face at her friend when Snapper’s attention moves away from her. When her eyes uncross, she can tell Lena is fighting not to laugh, eyes sparking with mirth as she bites her lip. Kara takes another sip of coffee, feeling a bit smug that she can get Lena to smile without even having to say anything to her. That’s real talent, right there.

Especially since Lena has to stand up at the front with James, who has been by turns cold, dejected, and surly toward her since their breakup (a big, real, final one) a few weeks prior. Lena had said that the whole thing was a mistake, that she should’ve never gone for it in the first place because she’d been right the first time- they’d had some chemistry, after all, but it certainly wasn’t compatible long-term.

Which… Kara can certainly relate. Like, a lot.

Especially about the whole… James being kind of wounded about it part. That part had really sucked- when he’d done it with Kara, who he’d gone on like, a date with, it’d resulted in him deciding to become a vigilante. Rao only knows what he’ll do when it’s someone he dated on and off for over a year...

“Ponytail!”

Kara jumps, realizing too late that her wandering attention hasn’t gone unnoticed. “Yes, sir?”

Snapper rolls his eyes. “Great, now that you’ve stopped orbiting Saturn, you wanna go get that article started?”

Kara’s eyes widen slightly in a panic as she realizes that she has no idea what he’s talking about. “Uh…” Behind his back, Lena catches her eye and nods subtly. Thank Rao. “Yes. I super do.”

Lena snorts, James sighs deeply, and the meeting is adjourned.

“So what exactly am I supposed to be doing today?” Kara asks Lena as they stroll out of the conference room together.

“Well unfortunately for you, you have to interview a big-time CEO. You have a meeting scheduled with her in three hours.”

“You?” Kara asks hopefully.

“You’re very sweet,” Lena chuckles. “No, Elena Watts. She’s a real estate developer, and she runs a nonprofit organization for homeless youth. It’s one of the articles we’re doing for next month’s spread. Contrary to popular belief, Cat and I weren’t the only women with high-profile jobs in this city. ”

“Oh, that’s pretty cool! Have you met her?”

“Not personally, no, but I have donated to her charity- it’s a very good cause, especially the outreach they do with queer youth.”

Kara elbows Lena gently. “You’re such a softie.”

“Mmm, maybe. But if you tell anyone, you’re fired.”

Kara clutches a hand to her chest, feigning horror. “Why Miss Luthor, what a blatant abuse of power!”

Lena shrugs. “I’m a Luthor, darling, I have to keep up appearances somehow.”

“Ouch,” Kara laughs. “See you at lunch?”

“Only if lunch includes a milkshake- I have a teleconference with both boards today. Unless you feel like joining me?”

“Wow, well as fun as that sounds, I’m gonna go do literally anything else.” Her comms crackle to life, alerting her of a hostage situation downtown, and Kara sighs. So much for a work day. “Alright, well, I’m, um, gonna go… see what I can find on Elena Watts. Maybe over another cup of coffee at Noonan’s.” She widens her eyes a bit, trying her best to convey that she’s going to be on Super-duty for a little while.

Thankfully, Lena picks up on it and grins. “You just want sticky buns.”

“Lena, I always want sticky buns. They’re like, my second favorite thing to eat.”

“Oh? What’s the first?” Lena asks, voice just a bit lower than usual.

Kara opens her mouth and closes it, flushing slightly as she averts her gaze and adjusts the laptop bag on her shoulder. Stuff like that has been happening more and more, and she’s not 100% sure what to do about it. Because on the one hand, it makes her stomach do flips and tie up in knots and makes her brain do this… staticky thing where nothing filters in or out, just a pleasant buzz of how funny and smart Lena is and how much Kara likes hanging out with her and being flirted with (because that’s definitely what’s been happening, even if neither of them is really ready to address it) and just generally looking at Lena.... who is currently biting her lip and grinning up at Kara, and that buzz makes her kinda dumb, which is just really unhelpful. But on the other hand, it’s also kinda awesome and Kara really enjoys it, and-

“Kara?”

She spaced out again. Crap.

“Um. What time are you free for lunch?”

Lena sighs, seeming slightly disappointed that Kara isn’t flirting back at the moment (and thank Rao Lena can’t read minds), but she smiles back easily enough as they step off of the elevator. “I should be done by two.”

Feeling emboldened, Kara turns so she’s walking backwards in front of Lena and grins. “It’s a date,” she says with a grin, ducking forward to press a quick “friendly” kiss high on Lena’s cheek. She whirls and jogs out the double doors, leaving Lena smiling exasperatedly after her.

It is genuinely baffling to Kara that people still commit crimes in National City. It’s not even an ego thing, really, since Kara tries to keep herself humble (even when she manages to wrap up a hostage situation within twenty seconds of arriving on-scene without injuring any of the criminals or damaging the building too badly). Like, yeah, she gets that there’s a certain element of crazies who just sorta gravitate to places with a local hero, the big-bads who have their own suits and geek-toys and abilities. Them, Kara gets. Kinda sorta. But the regular ones, who are armed with like, pistols? Or knives? Just regular man made stuff without even the benefit of magic or kryptonite or something?

Why?

She’s sure that if she asked, Lena would have some sort of statistical thing about large cities and poverty and all sorts of other factors that would end up making Kara feel like a jerk for being uncharitable to the criminal element of her city, but at the moment she’s mostly too annoyed by the fact that she has to spend her weekdays chasing them around instead of chasing stories.

Once all the hostages are freed and the cops secure the scene, Kara departs, flying into the alley behind Noonan’s and changing into her regular clothes before she heads inside to do a bit of research before her meeting with Elena Watts in a few hours (just because she’d used it as a cover doesn’t mean it was a bad idea…). She finds her favorite little two-person booth tucked into a quiet corner, plugs in her laptop, and gets to work, asking the waitress to please keep both the coffee and the sticky buns coming.

She gets a surprising amount done by the time she needs to leave for the interview, having a good foundation for what she wants to write and who Elena Watts is.

Ms. Watts turns out to be a pretty nice lady around Eliza’s age, if a bit busy and distracted by the steady flow of people in and out of her office. She answers all Kara’s questions with aplomb, happy to elaborate on most every point and eager to draw attention to the rising issue of homelessness among children and teens in the US.

“When I was young, my dad lost his job at the auto plant. It was supposed to be a temporary layoff, but the factory never reopened. We ended up losing the house, and we lived so far from our extended family that staying with them wasn’t much of an option. We lived in our SUV for six months, sleeping at shelters every now and again, if we could find one that allowed families to stay together. We showered at the local YMCA. Five people and a dog, living and sleeping in an old station wagon- even now, it sounds ridiculous. Eventually, we got back on our feet, but I never forgot that. It was just six months, but it was- and remains- the scariest, most uncertain time in my entire life, and it shaped me in a lot of ways I didn’t expect. And there are kids and families who do that for years. I just want to help them the way I wish that someone had been able to help us.”

At the end of the interview, Kara thanks her profusely for her time and for sharing her story before hurrying off to CatCo to type up a draft for Snapper (“What’s wrong with you, Ponytail, why is everything you bring me sappy and sentimental?”), which she finishes an outline of just in time to send it off before running to Big Belly and L-Corp for lunch with Lena.

She greets the newest in a series of secretaries (Anna? Amy? Ava? Lena’s really missing Jess, these days, but from what she’s told Kara, Jess is kicking butt in her new role as VP of Operations and will probably take over for the COO when he retires in a few years), and the girl waves her in distractedly.

And that’s when Kara’s day goes from normal to not, because inside the office are two masked men holding a stone-faced Lena at gunpoint on her balcony and demanding… something, probably. Kara’s a bit distracted by the loaded gun aimed at Lena’s head.

“Hey!” she yells, attracting both their attention. They whirl on her and Lena’s eyes widen in alarm, and Kara suddenly realizes three things- 1) she’s in her Kara Danvers clothes, not the supersuit, 2) she can’t speed into the suit now that they’re both looking at her, and 3) she has no plan.

Crap.

“Who the hell are you?!” one of them demands.

Kara… doesn’t have a good or snappy answer for that, and instead does the only thing she can think of- she throws the large milkshakes she’s carrying at them as hard as she can.

Which, in retrospect, is too hard, apparently because while yes, it is both funny and gratifying to see two grown men get absolutely leveled by a tasty dairy treat to the face, the one closest to Lena manages to elbow her in such a way that she falls backwards over the rail with an instinctual scream that makes Kara’s heart fly into her throat. She whips off her glasses, and by the time she’s out the window and speeding toward Lena’s flailing form, the suit is materialized. She gets under Lena, catching her carefully and dropping a bit further before slowing down (because she’s been made aware that when she doesn’t, the people she’s saving may as well be hitting the pavement), finally coasting to a stop about 20 feet from the ground.

Lena’s face is screwed up in a forced sort of focus, her hands clutching tightly at Kara’s shoulders and cape as she holds her breath.

“Are you okay?” Kara asks quietly.

Lena swallows thickly and nods, eyes still firmly closed. “I’m alright. Thank you- I’ll admit, I wasn’t quite sure how to get out of that one.”

“What was that? What did they want?”

Lena cracks an eye open. “Oh. you know, just my quarterly assassination attempt. I think my mother was starting to miss me, so she wanted to reach out.”

Kara snorts. “That really shouldn’t be funny.”

“Maybe not, but here we are.” Lena shifts a bit in Kara’s arms, cheeks a bit flushed from the adrenaline rush, and clears her throat. “Not to be rude, Supergirl, but do you think that perhaps we could continue this conversation… on the ground?”

“Oh. Oh! Yeah, sorry. I forgot we were, uh, flying.”

Lena chuckles as they ascend slowly back up to her office. “You forgot you were flying?”

Kara shrugs with an easy smile. “I guess you have that effect on me.”

Lena huffs a laugh against Kara’s neck, eyes squeezed shut again. They alight on the balcony, finding the two men still unconscious, covered in Kara and Lena’s lunch. Lena sighs as Kara sets her down, pinching the bridge of her nose. “What a mess.”

“Yeah, sorry, I sorta… panicked.”

“I was so looking forward to a milkshake too…” Lena laments playfully.

“Well, then I have good news and bad news,” Kara says. She reaches out and gently wipes a bit of her own chocolate shake from Lena’s cheek with the pad of her thumb, tucking it into her mouth on instinct to get a taste of it. “The good news is, you do, in fact, have some shake on you!”

“Whats the bad news?”

“Also that you have some shake on you.” Kara laughs, gathering the two men in her arms and hefting them a bit so they’re easier to carry. “I’ll get you another one. Be right back.”

She drops the men at the police station with a brief explanation before flying back into the office. Lena hands over her discarded glasses with a wry grin.

“I figured you’d need these before the police arrive.” She’s putting on a brave front, but she’s clearly still more than a bit rattled, if her too-bright eyes and thundering heartbeat are anything to go by. Kara steps closer and opens her arms in invitation, and Lena doesn’t hesitate to step into them. “Thank you,” Lena says fervently, tucking her face into Kara’s shoulder and wrapping her arms tight around Kara’s waist.

“Always,” Kara promises, daring to press a reassuring kiss to Lena’s temple (and getting a bit of Lena’s strawberry shake for her troubles) before wrapping her up even tighter in her arms. “Are you actually okay?”

“I mean, my fear of heights has been reaffirmed,” Lena jokes, “but aside from that, I’m not hurt.”

“Good. I don’t like, love people pointing guns at you. Just so you know.”

“I’m not a fan either, for the record,” Lena drawls, burrowing even closer. “Even though I know you’ll save me, it still puts a damper on my day.”

Kara huffs a laugh. “Same.”

They stay like that for a few minutes, until Lena’s calmed down enough to stop shaking and calls her assistant (Audra, apparently) in, telling her what’d happened and that the police would be arriving shortly to take her and Kara’s statements, and please advise the security team to let them up discreetly. After the cops arrive, it’s a blur of questions, and Kara has to concentrate on telling the story of how she’d panicked and thrown the milkshakes at the men, and one of them had knocked Lena over the balcony (all true), and Kara had yelled for Supergirl, who had knocked the men out on her way to Lena (also technically mostly true. Technically. Mostly.). The police are sure to tell Kara that next time, she shouldn’t throw things at people with guns, and also to tell them both how lucky they are that Supergirl had shown up when she did.

“She’s always there when I need her,” Lena agrees, throwing a sly wink over the officer’s shoulder at Kara.

Kara just shakes her head and smiles. Even almost dying isn’t enough to make Lena not flirt with her. The woman is truly a marvel.

Kara’s comms crackle again, accompanied by Alex’s custom ringtone on her cell, and after assuring the police that she has no issue with giving another statement if they need her to later, hurries over to the DEO (making a quick stop in the back alley to change into her suit).

When Kara arrives, she’s told that J’onn and Alex are waiting for her in the Directors’ offices. She makes her way there, waving to the agents and scientists she knows. But it’s very weird, because every time one of them sees her, they start giggling before quickly hurrying off in the opposite direction. Like, literally everyone is whispering and pointing and giggling, and it’s giving Kara such visceral flashbacks to high school that it’s all she can do to not check her cape for a taped on sign that says ‘Kick me’ or ‘Freak’.

(Kids are mean.)

By the time Kara gets to her destination, she’s fully paranoid, sure that someone’s playing a prank on her, somehow, and that everyone but her is in on the joke. She opens the door with more force than intended and catches it just before the handle puts a hole in the wall, throwing Alex and J’onn a sheepish smile. She closes the door extra gently and leans against it heavily. J’onn and Alex just stare at her, looking thoroughly unimpressed.

“Busy day, Supergirl?” Alex asks, and after half a lifetime of spending time with her, Kara recognizes that she, too, is trying not to laugh.

Kara’s had enough. “Okay, do I have something on my face? Or on the suit? Is someone messing with me?”

J’onn’s brow furrows. “No.”

“Then what’s the deal? Why is the entire DEO like… laughing at me? Did someone accidentally vent the lab fumes out into the main hub again?”

“No.”

“Did someone see me crash into that billboard last week?”

J’onn’s frown deepens. “What?”

“No,” Alex answers.

“Then why is everyone laughing at me?!”

“I mean, if I had to guess, I’d say it’s because of that,” Alex muses, nodding toward the big TV on the wall beside Kara.

She steps back to watch the news coverage of her dealing with the hostage situation this morning and frowns. “What, those guys? That was routine, what’s so funny about tha-”

“No, no, not that. That,” Alex clarifies, cranking up the volume.

“...reports are saying that the CEO of L-Corp, Lena Luthor, experienced an attempt on her life early this afternoon. Sources claim that she fell from a considerable height-”

“Hey, she was pushed,” Kara corrects.

“Shh!”

“...caught by Supergirl, who may have gotten a little… familiar with her.”

And there’s a video (clearly recorded on a cell phone but not the worst quality Kara’s ever seen) of Kara catching Lena and slowing to a stop above the sidewalk, of them talking quietly, of Kara’s hand definitely on Lena’s-

“Oh. Oh no.”

“Oh yes,” Alex drawls, clicking the TV off with relish, a large, evil-big-sister grin spreading across her face. “Congratulations, Supergirl- the world just watched you grope Lena Luthor’s ass.”

“But I’m not- I wasn’t groping, I was catching! My hands weren’t… If it was groping, I’d be all up on her, and I wasn’t!”

“Camera begs to differ. It’s already trending on Twitter in National CIty.”

Kara puts her head in her hands and groans. “Why?! I was trying to save her!”

“You were definitely trying to save part of her,” Alex agrees. “Granted, it’s a very nice part...”

Kara’s head pops up, and she shoots Alex a look that’s between a pout and a glare. “You’re not helping.”

Alex feigns confusion. “Am I supposed to be helping?”

“Alright, enough,” J’onn cuts in before Kara can retort. “We just wanted you to be aware. I don’t think that this is going to be taken for anything more than it is- a humorous moment in the middle of a successful rescue. You shouldn’t worry about the press.”

And truth be told, Kara isn't worried about the press- she’s worried about the fact that she’s going to have to face Lena after this. Lena, who she knows for a fact has google alerts set for herself, Kara Danvers, and Supergirl, a gesture which is normally actually sweet and kind but is right now definitely gonna bite her in the-

“Okay! So, is that all?”

Alex blinks, looks over at J’onn, and shrugs. “I mean, yeah. Try not to make a habit of groping your crush when you’re in the suit.”

“I wasn’t groping her-”

Alex grins. “So you admit you have a crush? Interesting…”

“Alex!”

J’onn’s prediction is mostly right- no one seems to be taking the shots of her grabbi- saving Lena as anything other than a funny blip of a moment in their coverage of it.

He was wrong about the sheer scale. The clip had gone totally viral in a matter of hours, and seemingly every major network in the country has run the clip at least once as a bit of filler-fluff, and almost every major network anchor (including the ones at CatCo, the traitors) has made at least a passing joke about Supergirl being ‘Super-Handsy'.

Which means that Kara is very late getting back to Lena’s office with replacement food. But like, she’s been busy, okay? It’s not like she’s avoiding Lena, or something, because she’s embarrassed- which she isn’t, because she didn’t do anything bad or wrong and-

Anyways, it’s well past sunset by the time Kara gets to Lena’s office door again. She hesitates outside it for just a moment before shouldering the door open and knocking tentatively.

Lena’s attention jerks from whatever she’d been absorbed in to Kara, and a relieved smile blooms across her face. “Hey there.”

Kara finds herself equally relieved to not experience a repeat performance of earlier scary situations. “Hi,” Kara says, unable to resist smiling back. She raises the bags and cup carrier. “I bring grease and milkshakes. Again.”

“Oh thank god, I’m starving,” Lena says, rolling her chair away from her desk and rising into a deep and probably much-needed stretch. Kara very determinedly does not stare at the slight sliver of soft tummy that appears between her blouse and skirt at the motion. “I’ve been staring at this screen for several hours. And Sam called to yell at me- she says hello, by the way- she and Ruby are in town next weekend.”

“Good!” Kara crosses the room to the couch as Lena does, easily spreading out the veritable buffet of fast food she’d brought over the coffee table. “I mean, not good that she yelled at you, or that you’re still at work, Miss Luthor,” she says pointedly, receiving only an unapologetic shrug in response. “But good that, um-”

“I get it,” Lena chuckles, resting a hand lightly on Kara’s knee and boy, if that doesn’t make Kara’s brain go fuzzy and dumb again… “Thank you, for checking in.”

“Of course I was gonna check on you, Lena,” Kara huffs. “Plus, I know you probably didn’t get lunch, so…”

Lena hums around a mouthful of burger, chewing until she can politely speak again. “Well it’s delicious. Did you make it yourself?” she teases with a sly grin.

“Oh, yeah, totally. Slaved away over a hot stove for this- I just wrapped it in Big Belly wrappers so you wouldn’t feel bad about it.”

“Very clever.” Lena pops the lid off of her milkshake and drags a fry through it (an advanced culinary delicacy Kara had horrified her with initially but had eventually become a bit of a guilty pleasure). “Although I have to say, traditionally you’d have to buy me dinner before you grabbed my ass.”

Kara chokes on a pickle. “Oh no,” she groans, dropping the burger onto the wrapper on the table and dropping her very red face into her hands as Lena laughs beside her. She peers out from between her fingers. “I am so sorry, I was just worried about you hitting the pavement and like, catching you in the least jarring way and I wasn’t paying attention to where my hands were and I didn’t even notice until I got back to the DEO and-”

“Well I have so say, I feel a bit offended that you didn’t even realize you were copping a feel...” When the only response is another groan and a deep flush spreading from Kara’s neck to the tips of her ears, Lena relents. “Kara, Kara, it’s fine!” she laughs, pulling Kara’s hands away from her face and giving them a grounding squeeze. “Nia’s been sending me memes about it all day, which has improved my mood significantly. On the grand scale of fallout from assassination attempts, this one was at least funny.”

“I know that’s supposed to be comforting, but all it makes me wanna do is wrap you in bubble wrap forever,” Kara informs her.

“Pass on that. But seriously, don’t worry about it- I know it wasn’t on purpose- unfortunately for me, you’re too noble to do something like that,” Lena laments playfully.

And whether it’s the knowledge that Lena is not, in fact, upset, the overall weirdness that has been this day, or this delicious burger fueling it, Kara feels a bit emboldened. “Hey Lena…”

“Yes?”

“What if I wanted to grab your butt? Just, y’know, as a hypothetical. For future reference.”

Lena quirks a brow at her, fighting a smile as she contemplates this. “Hmm. Strictly hypothetically?”

Kara scoots a bit closer on the couch. “Sure.”

“Well, you’ve already bought me dinner…”

“And lunch, technically. Even if I gave it to the bad guys.”

“True. Plus you saved my life, so that gets you some points, probably.”

Kara pauses in her sly scooching. “Oh, hey, wait, no, that’s not-”

“Kidding, Kara. I know you’d never use that to your advantage. I, however, have determined that strong moral fibre and nobility do, in fact, earn you more points, which is my choice on the matter and you get absolutely no say in it.”

“Oh. Um, alright, I think.”

Lena stares off into the middle distance, tapping her forefinger thoughtfully against her chin. Finally she shrugs. “Yes, I think you’re fulfilled the prerequisites for a bit of grab-ass today.”

Kara snorts, Lena laughs, and soon enough Kara takes her up on the offer.

“Hey Kara, remember that time you grabbed Lena’s ass and it made international news?” Nia asks around a mouthful of mushu pork.

“You mean last week? Yes, I remember,” Kara drawls. Beside her/halfway sitting on her lap, Lena snorts.

“That was the best.”

Alex glares. “Um, excuse you, no. No it was not. I had to sift through so much thirsting over my sister on like, every social media platform. It was the worst day of my life.”

Brainy’s brow furrows. “Surely that cannot be correct, Alex. Statistically speaking-”

Alex holds up a hand, cutting him off. “Trauma can’t be measured, Brainy.”

Kelly chuckles and presses a consoling kiss to Alex’s cheek, and it makes the tough agent melt into a doe-eyed puddle of mush that Kara snorts. And she says they’re gross... Kara sneaks a glance at Lena from the corner of her eye, and she catches Lena looking at her. She leans close and jostles her gently as she drops her head onto Lena’ shoulder. “We’re never gonna live that down, are we?”

“Probably not.”

“We have the worst friends.” When this elicits nothing but a chuckle, Kara tips her head back to see Lena still looking at her, a soft smile playing at her mouth and shining in her eyes. And like, this whole thing they’re doing is new, with the kissing and the actual dates and the... everything else. But the thing where Kara catches Lena looking at her and she doesn’t look away? That freakin’ knocks her out, every single time. “Hey,” she manages.

Lena grins down at her. “Hi.”

So yeah. Maybe the initial circumstances weren’t ideal, and she doesn’t love the mockery that’s been heaped upon her by all of her friends and loved ones (including Winn, who’d sent a missive from the future that literally just said ‘LOL’). But the fact is, Kara muses as she surges up just enough to kiss the corner of Lena’s mouth, that she doesn’t regret a thing.

#supercorp #prompts!#asks open #ask response #supergirl fanfic #kara x lena #humor #idiots #international news about idiots #kara danvers #lena luthor #i'm also deeply sorry that this is so long on mobile #i swear there's a read more that's supposed to be there #but alas

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angelic-bee-enthusiast · 4 years ago

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Hope you'll enjoy it... It's just a short fic, but I wanted to write something a little bit more light-hearted for a change, hope it worked adhajks. It's canon compliant up until Jack's birth, then it diverges., though that's not really important. Again, I'm fairly new to this and still learning, so it may be a little bit ooc, I still need to figure out how to write each of them! ca. 1,1k, post-canon, domestic idiots, background toddler!Jack

Yes, he once led armies and was one of Heaven's best strategists. Yes, he is an Angel of the Lord, a celestial being unfathomable to the human mind. Yes, he is currently partaking in a heated discussion with Dean about which is the best bed to get for his toddler in the middle of an IKEA.

"Cas, man, I'm sure he'll be happy with whatever choice you make. He's three, and I don't think he has that big of an opinion on interior design. However, I personally think the one looking like a car is the best one," Dean argues, not even trying to hide his distaste for Cas' choice - a simple wooden frame.

"Not everyone is as fond of cars as you are, Dean. I know you think it's 'lame', but we could paint the bed on our own, that way Jack would have something a little bit more personal," Cas answers, hoping to finally reason with the other man.

"Didn't know you were much of an artist," Dean simply replies.

"Well, actually, I hoped you would do most of the painting, maybe add some little bees or flowers?" I saw the drawing you did of me for the bestiary - you're really good at it."

Obviously, Cas knows the hunter is shy when it comes to his artistic talents. It's something a lot of people don't even know about him.

As expected, Dean blushes immediately. Scratching his neck, he mumbles something that suspiciously sound like 'didn't know you saw that'.

Sighing, Cas continues nevertheless. "So, can we please just take that one and leave? Sam and Eileen have been alone with Jack for hours now, they'll need a break sometime soon."

"Dude, they can watch the kid for half a day - I've taken care of Sammy's sorry ass since I was four, they'll handle a Thursday afternoon. Besides, when we're already here, don't you wanna get something for your own room, too? Just something a little more homey than the standard bunker stuff," Dean responds far more cheerfully than he's been just minutes before, though there's also another, underlying question on his mind.

Ever since Jack was born, Cas started to spend more time and the bunker, but of course, there have also been times he had to leave, together with Jack, to protect him. Thankfully, everything calmed down the last couple of months after their last big fight ended, and even though Cas has been living with them ever since, Dean feels like the Angel doesn't see the bunker as his own home, too. The older Winchester wants to change that, first, to make his best friend feel welcome, secondly, to keep Cas from leaving.

It's selfish, Dean tells himself, wanting to keep his friend close at all times. Additionally, his non-existent self-worth supplies that Cas, a celestial warrior as old as creation, could certainly do a lot better than a broken 40-something-year old. Trapped in his self-deprecating thoughts, Dean, at first, doesn't even realize Cas asked him a question.

"Oh...I didn't know this was actually my room?", Cas retorts shyly, blue eyes now avoiding his gaze.

Gobsmacked, Dean stares at him, trying to figure out if that was a joke. It had to be a joke, right? Doesn't Cas know how important he is to them? Crap, they really need to get that into his thick skull ('Maybe if you used your words for once, he'd know it', another, unhelpful voice inside his head condescendingly points out).

"Buddy, you gotta be kidding me. Yes, obviously it's your room, dumbass. You know we like having you around just because you're you, right? Not only in live-or-die situations or when we need your help," Dean chooses his next words carefully, admitting he cares doesn't come easy to him after all. "I want you to stay, you gotta know that."

It's as close as he ever came saying that three words that have been laying on the tip of his tongue for years now. Suddenly, it's Cas time to turn slightly red, despite angelic control over his body.

"I'm sorry, I didn't really... not like that, anyway. Thank you for telling me," the Angel softly murmurs.

After that, it takes Dean a second to notice that he's been pulled into a tight hug, then another second to return the gesture.

In the corner of his eyes, the hunter sees that an older lady is watching them, smiling friendly. They embrace each other a little bit longer than it may be strictly platonically acceptable, but who cares? Dean doesn't. After they've parted, the woman starts approaching them.

"Please forgive me for interrupting, but I just wanted to say, you two really make a lovely couple! It's not often you can feel the love radiating off of strangers," she compliments the two men.

While Cas' initial reaction is mostly confusion, Dean feels like he's just been slapped. No even knowing what he's going to say, he opens his mouth and closes it again, only for a rushed 'Thank you?' to come out.

Nodding, and giving each of them one last smile, she returns to her own shopping cart.

Cas must have caught up to the situation now, because he doesn't let Dean off to easy.

"You could have corrected her," the Angel sates, a hint of curiosity behind it.

"Oh...yes, I guess I could've. I mean correct her, because - because we're not actually together. But I didn't."

The hunter is internally begging himself to stop at this point, never before having felt a desire that strong to just shut up. He doesn't even know why he said it, but maybe talking about their home and their... Cas' kid, the domesticity of it, made Dean's meticulously crafted walls crumble.

Squinting, and most likely seeing right through Dean's babbling, Cas decides to casually drop another bomb at him.

"You know, I don't mind you... not correcting people," he tentatively approaches the subject.

"You, uhm, you don't?" Dean asks, eyes huge enough to really earn him the nickname squirrel.

Cas doesn't know where he suddenly, after more than a decade, gets the courage from, but he reaches for Dean's hand, who lets him.

They're staring in each other's eyes, as if they could decipher what the other thinks just by looking hard enough. Finally, his expression soft and full of no longer hidden adoration and love, Cas whispers, "No, I really don't."

Something melts inside Dean, seeing his Angel like that, hearing the words he never thought he'd hear.

"Then let's get this stupid bed and head home, I think our plans for today just have changed," Dean grins like he hasn't in a really, really long time.

#destiel ficlet #angelicbee.fanfic #kashmircastiel #cillabee #userdainty #userstarry #seraphlm #chocolatecakecas #smiledean #cosmiccas #rainbowscas #usersila #offbeattraxx #gardenercas #rambleoncas

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drarrymybeloved · 4 years ago

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a gift for @isamijoo as part of the Wheel of Drarry Mini Exchange🥰💞thank you to @curlyy-hair-dont-care for the beta!

wc: 1.7k | rating: G

Not All Heroes Wear Capes, But Mine Sure Does

Draco Malfoy, Editor in Chief of Witch Weekly Magazine, eyes his watch and then the stack of paperwork on his desk. He knows he should stay and get through at least half the pile before lunch, but there is also a photoshoot going on in Studio B right this very second that he wouldn’t mind overseeing. Only because the photoshoot is such an important project for the magazine. Not because of the presence of a certain someone at said photoshoot, not at all.

I’m the Editor in Chief of the damn magazine and I can go wherever I like, he decides. He nods his head as if confirming his own thoughts and exits his office to head towards the studio.

Draco had begun working at the offices of Witch Weekly soon after he finished his community service sentence. Starting as a lowly clerk, his ability to charm and enamour as needed, had him slowly but surely climbing the ranks.

Now, at twenty-five, Draco is the youngest Editor in Chief in the history of Witch Weekly. Soon after his promotion, he had recruited Pansy as a columnist and Blaise as a photographer, both of whom are involved in today’s shoot.

And what a shoot it is, Draco thinks with more than a little satisfaction. Featuring the Golden Trio, the rest of the Weasley clan minus Percy who was “just too busy to make it”, Seamus Finnegan, Dean Thomas, Neville Longbottom, Luna Lovegood, the Patil twins, and Lavender Brown, it’s going to be printed as a special edition with all proceeds going to the War Orphan’s Trust. Incidentally, it’s also one of the most— if not the most— star-studded spread in the magazine’s history. Blaise will photograph all the volunteers in various costumes and get-ups, while Pansy will interview them on the side.

When the idea was first proposed, Draco had been sceptical. While the others were less recalcitrant, Potter was well-known for his dislike of modelling of any kind. He hated being in front of a camera, and everybody in the press corps knew it. Without Potter, the venture wouldn’t necessarily fail, but it would definitely not generate as much profit. Draco had meant to ask formally, perhaps through an official letter bearing the magazine’s seal. Instead, he found himself asking Potter at the weekly inter-house pub night, a tradition started in eighth year that— inexplicably— continued well past Hogwarts. Surprisingly, Potter had agreed with minimal fuss. He wasn’t happy about it, but he had agreed nonetheless.

Reaching the studio door, Draco takes a moment to brush non-existent dirt off his suit jacket and straighten his already straight tie, before pushing open the door. There are a fair amount of people milling around, talking and laughing. He can see Weasley, Finnegan and Thomas near the refreshments table. Charlie Weasley is talking animatedly with Luna while Longbottom listens with a bemused expression. Ginerva and George are slowly turning singular strands of Hermione’s hair purple as she talks passionately with Lavender. The Patil twins are having their makeup done, and Bill Weasley is being interviewed by Pansy.

Draco takes all this in with a cursory glance, his attention instantly drawn towards the man currently posing for the camera, like a compass finding true north.

Harry Potter stands in front of the camera, wearing a gladiator’s skirt cinched with a belt adorned with a golden lion, a red cape adorning his broad shoulders. A sheathed sword hangs at his waist. On his feet are black leather sandals, the straps of which rope around his muscular calves. Without his trademark glasses, his eyes look impossibly brighter. His bronze skin practically gleams under the lights. Presumably, someone had applied oil on him at some point. Draco hastily pushes away all thoughts of hands and oil and Potter out of his mind. Potter’s hair looks artfully tousled instead of its usual mess— a near-miraculous feat if you ask Draco. He makes a mental note to jot down the name of the hair stylist for future photoshoots. The thought is there and then gone because just then, Potter draws the sword hanging at his waist, and Merlin and Morgana, Draco was not prepared to see Harry bloody Potter looking like a hero out of a Greek legend.

Draco lets out an involuntary whimper.

“Hello, Draco.”

Draco quickly snaps his gaze away from Potter to find Hermione looking at him with an amused expression. The purple streaks are gone from her hair— she’d probably known what Ginerva and George were up to the whole time. Meanwhile, Draco had been so busy ogling Potter, he hadn’t even seen Hermione approach him. He flushes faintly and attempts to sound like the Editor in Chief of a major publication rather than what he actually feels like— a schoolboy with a pash. “Hello, Hermione. I hope everything is going smoothly?”

Hermione grins. “Yes, it’s all been rather fun actually. Reminds me a bit of Sunday lunch at the Burrow, what with so many people around.”

“Good, that’s good to hear,” Draco says distractedly, attention already straying back to Potter.

“Harry’s looking rather good, isn’t he?” Hermione asks nonchalantly, following Draco’s gaze.

“What? Oh, yes, yes of course. Now that you mention it, he is. That is, I mean, the stylists did a brilliant job. Especially with his hair, it usually looks like a bird's nest,” Draco lets out a strained chuckle, his cheeks burning. He never should have come down here. Merlin.

Hermione presses her lips together, her eyes bright with amusement. “You should tell him that yourself, he’ll like it,” she gestures behind Draco.

Draco turns, and sure enough, Potter’s coming off the set towards them. He doesn’t even stop to change into regular clothes, for fucks sake. How is one supposed to hold a conversation with him looking like that?

“I’ll leave you two to it then, got some catching up to do with Parvati,” Hermione says, grinning wickedly. Before Draco can say another word, she’s already gone.

Cursing internally, he turns to face Potter, determined to keep his attention on Potter’s face and his face only. Not that that’s not distracting enough. Pushing the unhelpful thought away, Draco opens his mouth to greet Potter. What comes out is, “That’s quite a get-up you’ve got going on.”

Oh joy, already off to an excellent start. Draco cringes internally but forces himself to smile in what he hopes is a pleasant manner.

Potter laughs sheepishly. “Yeah, I do feel pretty ridiculous in all this. They’ve even strapped a bloody sword on me. I barely know how to handle it.”

“Looked like you were doing alright, actually,” Draco says before his mind can catch up with his mouth.

“Oh, er, thanks Draco,” Potter smiles bashfully, bringing his hand up to ruffle his hair. Draco’s eyes helplessly follow the flex of his bicep.

Snapping back to attention, he grasps for something other than Potter’s sword-wielding skills to talk about.

"I have to say though, I was quite surprised when you agreed to this. It's no secret you dislike photoshoots immensely," is what he lands on. It’s something he’s been wondering about and he wouldn’t mind knowing what made Potter agree to do this.

“Yeah, I don’t much like being treated as if I’m some celebrity and I’ve never been good in front of a camera. I would have said no but well…” he trails off, looking at Draco intently. “You’re the one who asked, so,” Potter shrugs as if that clears everything up.

Draco blinks. In a dazzling display of eloquence, he says, "What?"

Potter flushes, but he looks determined. "I agreed to do this because I know this photoshoot is important to you. Not just this shoot, the magazine as a whole. I know that you’ve worked hard to make it into something much more than just another gossip rag. So, um, you know, I did it for you,” he rubs the back of his neck, his face flushed crimson. “It also helps that it’s for charity,” he adds, chuckling awkwardly.

Draco gapes. “But...why?” he manages, bewildered.

“Draco,” Potter huffs. “Because I care about you. As in, I have feelings for you. I thought you would have guessed by now, it’s not like I’m great at subtlety. Pretty much everyone else knows,” he smiles nervously.

Oh. Oh.

“You have feelings for— wait, everyone knows?” Draco demands. “And no one thought to tell me?” He hates his friends, really truly despises them all.

Potter’s eyes crinkle with the force of his smile. “Wait so, what are you saying?”

Draco rolls his eyes, attempting to sound cool and collected even though he feels practically giddy. “I’m saying, Potter, that I have had “feelings for you” as you put it, for an embarrassingly long time. And everyone knows,” he says, cheeks pinking. “Well, everyone except you, apparently,” he amends.

Potter laughs delightedly. “To be fair, you didn’t catch on to my feelings for you either.”

“We’re rather ridiculous, aren’t we?” Draco says, laughing ruefully.

“Well, we’re both in the know now, so how about we go for a celebratory dinner?” Potter asks, eyes bright.

“Good idea,” Draco says, attempting— and failing— to keep a straight face.

“Potter!” Pansy’s voice cuts across the room.

“Time for your interview it seems,” Draco says.

“Yeah, although I do have some questions for her myself,” Potter says, squinting at Pansy.

“Oh, I will absolutely be having words with her. And Hermione,” Draco huffs.

Potter smiles at him, and it’s such a wide, unrestrained thing, Draco’s heart misses a beat. “I’ll see you after, then?” he asks.

Draco nods, smile softening. “Pick me up at seven, you already know the address.”

Potter flashes him one last smile before walking towards Pansy’s corner.

Draco watches him go with what is most definitely a besotted smile on his face before turning around to leave. His steps falter when he sees all of their friends staring at him, expressions torn between unbridled glee and despair. He frowns— until he catches sight of Ron glumly handing over a handful of Galleons to a triumphant George.

“You absolute pillocks, did you place bets on Harry and me?” he asks in disbelief.

“It’s a lucrative business,” George winks.

“Sorry Draco,” Lavender says, not looking sorry at all as she pockets the coins Padma grudgingly hands her.

“I hate you all,” Draco informs them cheerfully as he heads towards the hallway, professionalism be damned. He hears them laughing as he steps into the hallway, but he’s too elated to be properly pissed off at their machinations. He’ll get back at all of them soon enough, but for now he has a stack of paperwork to finish— he can’t be late for his date after all.

read on ao3

#am i posting this solely bc i got excited about making a banner?#yes. yes i am #drarry #drarry fic #wheel of drarry mini exchange #fluff and humor #ty to the microfic discord for enabling me😌

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deliciousdetectivestranger · 4 years ago

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Summary: When Clave-in-Exile and Downworld answer Seelie Court's request to meet, Ash Morgenstern is declared as King of Seelie but he is challenged by Kit Herondale who announces his legacy. As the boys duel for the crown, secrets start coming to light. But will all these secrets be welcomed?

Known Secrets are Revealed

The mundanes of New York could tell something unnatural was happening in the city. Everyone was keeping track of the thick tension which had settled the city as the fog surrounded England during the Industrial Revolution, anytime now it would happen.

What they didn’t know was that it had begun a long time ago. For weeks New York was being shrouded deeply by the Warlock, Nephilim, and Fae wards. A few hours ago, the parley of Seelie Court had arrived in Central Park with the Seelie Queen herself at the centre. They had been greeted by the Clave-in-Exile, Werewolves, Vampires, Warlocks, Unseelie Court, and Wild Hunt. Confusion had spread through the lower ranks of both sides at such a huge and varied receiving party. It wasn’t as if a war was in talks or were the Nephilim still ruminating over the parley conducted by Horace Dearborn and Oban of Unseelie Court had resulted in the majority of Nephilim leaving their beloved Idris to Cohort.

Even though Alec Lightwood-Bane was now the Consul his ability to put up with bullshit was still low. He had refused the talk, talk, talk, and do no work attitude of the Clave. This was a difficult beginning for them. He was not going to make it impossible by allowing his shadowhunters to whine, refusing to do what was expected, and just being unhelpful to spite others. With Diego Rocio Rosales as the Inquisitor, his load had lessened a lot.

When the Seelie Court had requested the parley Nephilim and the Downworlders had instantly gone on high alert. After all, it was Seelie Court that had aided Sebastian Morgenstern and his Endarkened and they had never apologised. These days the Shadow World trusted the Unseelie Court which had been kept hidden and the tales of its cruelty reaching young ears but had transformed greatly under the rule of Kieran Kingson. The Unseelie Court participating in the change with immense enthusiasm as they too had been exhausted from living their lives like that.

Of Course, the beautiful but treacherous Seelie Court had shown their cards one by one but to their eternal frustration their opponents were completely nonchalant about it, some even appeared bored, something which their dramatic souls just couldn’t bear. The knowledge that Seelie Court and the cohort were in cahoots was a surprise. Though for years now they had been aware that the CohortChort had been watching them, all thanks to the spying done by the ghost of Livia Blackthorn in March 2013. Though the only people who truly knew from where the information had come up were Livia, her twin brother Tiberius Blackthorn (then a centurion in training), Christopher Herondale (the Lost Herondale), and Magnus Bane (the High Warlock of Brooklyn). Magnus had declared that they couldn’t tell the truth as it will endanger Livvy along with Kit and Ty, who had tried and failed to do the necromancy, but one day in the future Livvy would get the credit she deserved while Kit and Ty would be punished for the punishment they had in store.

Janus and Ash Morgenstern were also not a shock. Janus when he had tried to spy on the AU version of himself and his friends had also kissed Clary Fairchild. She had later teased her fiancée of his odd behaviour earlier the evening but had received a negative. Suspicious the couple had discussed this with their friends and had wondered if someone was taking their obsession towards Clary and Jace towards a higher disgusting and concerning level ore this was an atrocious prank. But they were unable to draw out his motives until Maia Roberts had complained that one of her werewolves had been missing for days and they hadn’t been able to find her. Thanks to Magnus’ magic they had found her dead body and of a fae boy who had been identified to be of Unseelie Court. It had worried them greatly but not much as Alec who had recognised the couple from an outing with his family. When Emma Carstairs and Julian Blackthorn had visited the New York Institute as the last stop for their Travel Year, they had concluded that this Jace was Jace Herondale but from Thule. He had been Sebastian Morgenstern’s right hand, someone who after seeing and participating in the unending massacre of his world had lost his sanity and was a danger to them. And if Jace of Thule was here then Ash Morgenstern might be here as well.

What had shocked them was the betrayal of Lily Chen and her Vampires. After the Seelie Queen had removed the oblivion placed on her she had remembered her promise to Janus of Information in return for Raphael Santiago of Thule. Lily with a heavy heart and guilty conscience had aided the Seelie Court.

The Seelie Queen indicated towards her son and said, “By my blood, he is the heir to Seelie, by his father, Sebastian Morgenstern’s blood, he is a shadowhunter, by Lilith, the Mother of Warlocks’ Blood, he has been blessed by the Fallen Angels, and by the Unseelie King Arawn’s experiments, he holds many gifts. I am here to announce his rulership and to should anyone present know of any reason that Ash should not be the King, speak now, or forever hold your peace.”

“We should hire her to conduct our wedding ceremony,” Simon Lewis Lovelace muttered.

Isabelle Lightwood nodded her assent. “With fair folk arranging our wedding it will be bold, beautiful, and dangerous.”

“Not unlike both of you.” Cristina Mendoza Rosales pointed out. The couple shared a smile, ignoring the exasperated looks sent by their friends.

Drusilla Blackthorn hearing this exchange added her own two cents, “You guys should make themes for each program. The wedding ceremony will be of shadowhunter style of course but have the reception in Star Wars theme” Jace groaned. “And how about the rehearsal in the horror theme. You’ll start a new trend.”

“Why horror theme? To depict the horrors of marriage?” Thais Pedroso questioned her friend and received a stink eye for her sarcasm and lack of support to Dru’s schemes. Emma and Jace could sympathise with her for having parabatais who never appreciated their grand plans.

Alec ignoring the childish squabbling taking place behind him spoke out, “I gather that you want your son to be the King but what of Ash? What does he want?”

Silence fell in the park. No one had expected this. Ash Morgenstern was the son of Sebastian Morgenstern and Seelie Queen, grandson of Valentine Morgenstern, would of course be a discriminating, bloodthirsty, power-hungry character. But at Alec’s question, they all had to agree that they were being biased. Once upon a time, Downworld had stood against Nephilim and also to the different factions of Downworlders, Shadowhunters too had butchered them kept their remains as trophies in their houses, even today their Vampire alleys had turned out to be traitors so, no they couldn’t say that they knew anything about Ash Morgenstern.

Ash eyed Alec, a golden metal band hid his forehead, his face blank but his Fairchild green eyes were of a predator honed by the years of captivity in Unseelie Court, surviving in Thule from his own AU father and of the politics in Seelie Court where honeyed tongues had poison and beautiful faces hid grotesque personalities.

“I request you, Consul, to not try to create a rift in between my mother and me. If there had to be a rift it would have appeared years ago. I have heard a lot about you from the rumours and from Janus who had you as a parabatai but knows nothing about you. You are a stranger and why should I believe a stranger’s word over those who are dear to me?”

“Well, I’ll thank the angel that you’ve thoroughly understood the basic instructions given to children.” Kit Herondale said. “At least we won’t have a Snow-White situation on our hand.”

Titters could be heard as the tension slightly lowered.

“Watch it, boy!” Janus growled. “Your sanity ought to be questioned for making merry of such important occasion.”

The Seelie Queen frowned as she stared at Kit. She didn't see any kind of resemblance between him and Jace Herondale then why did he look so familiar?

Kit rolled his eyes. The blasé persona achieved after spending years at Shadow Market, the tumultuous times in which his Nephilim heritage had revealed and of course the Herondale he was made a striking combination, hiding a brilliantly sharp mind which could see through every single of actions of his enemies.

“You were born sometime before 2009. You should be in 3rd grade now not going on and declaring yourself as King. Have you even completed today’s homework? You are spoiling your son too much, your majesty. He will turn out like Draco Malfoy like this.”

Laughter was clear this time. Ash’s lip curled at the comment. Someone *cough*Simon*cough* even did an improvised ‘My mother will hear about this.’

“He is right.” Ty Blackthorn spoke up. “His age by Fair Folk standard and by ours presents an anomaly. You can’t expect us to see this as anything more than a farce.”

Kit beamed at him before recalling himself. Ty didn’t even spare him a glance.

Livvy who was floating in the middle of both of them fell to her knees and held her hands above her. Glancing at the sky she beseeched, “Grant me the serenity, Raziel . . . this is turning worse by the moment.”

At that, both boys glared at her.

“Ty, the question is not about age but maturity.” Ty’s boyfriend Anush Joshi said.

“Yeah. But we do need to come up with something for this. What if tomorrow Ash calls us to announce he is making his child the ruler? Fae do age rather strangely. Surely there must be something to do.” Mark Blackthorn crowed.

Hong Yeon Woo of Seoul Institute raised replied, “Due to the unique age calculating system used in my country, Koreans consider a year in the womb as counting towards their age, so every one is one year old at birth. Everyone gets one year added to their Korean age on New Year's Day. But internationally it’s bothersome.”

“In Romania, many old families consider their members one year older each time their birthdays come up.” Casimir Munteanu of Craiova Institute answered.

“See? We need to do something about this. Truly mundanes always have answers to any kind of situations.” Mark gleefully said. “And we shouldn’t hesitate to take their lead. We already have Nephilim currency with our Consul on it.”

Alec groaned. Those had been truly trying times.

“In case the nonsense is finished, Consul either swear your allegiance or we shall have to drench this park from Summer to Autumn,” Janus called out.

The threat didn’t go unheard. Clary and Julian felt sick at this horrible implication to their painting. Kit exchanged a look with Tessa and Jem. They both were concerned but Tessa gave Kit a determined nod and Jem squeezed his shoulder supportively. There was no doubt in them for him only love and trust.

Before Alec could say anything, Kit interrupted. “We won’t swear our allegiance.” His joking demeanour had vanished. “For I do have a reason why Ash shouldn’t be King.”

Everyone looked at him curiously. The Seelie Queen got a sinking feeling as she once again looked at Kit.

“To join their Courts together Seelie Queen and Unseelie King made a truce that the child born through their union would inherit both the Courts. They had a girl named Auraline, the First Heir. The king who wanted a son was displeased but still kept her away from the Queen who was incensed to be parted from her daughter. Then there was a prophecy that the First Heir upon reaching their full power all the Faerie would fall under shadow. The King was enraged and the Queen was terrified. The war between the Courts grew even more fierce as the people thought that the First Heir was cursed. Auraline who had never even asked for the powers or the prophecy scared for her life escaped to the mortal world which she found beautiful. The Unseelie King however did send Riders of Mannan after her. She visited the Shadow Market where Downworlders and Mundanes unaware of her birth never called her cursed. Decades later she fell in love with a magician at Shadow Market known as Roland the Astonishing. He too had a secret of his own. As they both confessed how they were wished dead for crimes, not of their own they decided to run away together. Auraline through her Faerie powers made sure that Roland lived longer than most mortals. They had a child together and then finally even Auraline’s powers couldn’t keep death away from Roland. When Roland died, Auraline chose to be with him.”

One could hear the leaves rustle from the breeze as the parley intently heard Kit. The Seelie Queen was expressionless but internally her heart ached at the injustice done to her daughter. Jace and Clary wondered why Kit knew First Heir’s story in such detail. Mother Hawthorn connected the dots and as she looked at Kit, all she could remember were the rumours of when he had been found in LA’s Shadow Market where he had been kept hidden and not long after had left with the couple who had visited her years ago. He hadn’t been seen since then. He too had been forced into hiding just like Auraline. She was just glad that the love between Kit and the couple was real. It was what Auraline had deserved and thankfully Kit had received.

Kit continued, “Auraline’s child had a child. And so it went. There is still a First Heir in the world.”

In unison, the parley gasped.

“Tobias Herondale and Eva Blackthorn’s child, Ephriam was secretly taken to safety by Catarina Loss before the unfair justice of Tobias’ crime was carried out by the Clave. The line from Ephriam is known as the Lost Herondale. His grandson was Roland Loss. For those who don’t get it, he was also known as Roland the Astonishing.”

Kit’s last comment undoubtedly made things clear to all. And panic started to replace the tension. ‘What now?’ was the biggest question in everyone’s mind.

“The First Heir Line and the Lost Herondale have intertwined ages ago. Hunted by the Riders of Mannan, unwanted by their people, shunned by the Courts and the Nephilim, they found their refuge in the Shadow Markets.”

Hypatia Vex, Juliette the Queen of Bueno Aires Shadow Market, Mother Hawthorn along with other Shadow Market denizens couldn’t help but smile.

“I am Christopher Jonathan Herondale. I am the Lost Herondale and the First Heir of Faerie.”

At once shouting began from both sides of the parley. Confusion, fury ran rampant. One thing was in agreement that they all had been blindsided.

Kit looked unconcerned though his hand was on his double-aged straight sword. Tessa and Jem shifted into a battle stance. Emma and Julian slowly inched towards Kit. Magnus, Catarina, and Ragnor added wards in front of Kit. Kieran made a motion and the Unseelie guards split in two one surrounding Kieran and the other unsurely moved towards Kit. Cristina and Mark though didn’t move from beside Kieran. Livvy hovered above Kit but not before shooting him a betrayed look, which her younger sister was sporting too. Helen and Aline standing beside moved to shield them.

Out of the corner of his eye Kit saw that Ty was unsurprised. “I have been wondering how you made the Riders’ horses disappear that day in the Brocelind Forest.” He answered at Kit’s questioning look. Livvy and Dru shifted their glares to him.

"You did hit one of the riders with your slingshot." Kit spoke as he remembered.

Alec, Jace, Clary, Isabelle, and Simon couldn’t decide which one of them was more shocked, especially considering Magnus was unsurprised. Jaime Rocio Rosales standing beside his brother couldn’t deny that Kit was really and truly intriguing. That day in the LA institute’s library he had given Eternidad to Cristina, Mark, and Kieran, he was curious about the boy who was distinctly not a Blackthorn yet he fit in them just like Kieran. It was later when he had visited Diego in New York, he had learned who that boy was.

A growl interrupted the noise. It was Janus. He barked to Kit, “Where is the proof? How do we know you aren’t lying?”

Jace cut in, “How do we know you and Ash aren’t some faerie illusions forcing us to do your bidding”.

As Janus glowered at him, all Jace could think was how close he had come to share this man’s fate. He grabbed Clary’s hand, his palms sweaty but she only smiled at him and squeezed his hand.

Ash’s voice brokered their attention. “Then Christopher, why don’t you and I duel for the crown?”

“Well Asher, I find it difficult to finish my daily chores, there is no way I am going to shoulder the burden of ruling a realm.”

Anush goggled at him, Jaime choked, Julian nodded prompting an amused smile from Emma, Livvy and Dru facepalmed, Ty, smiled a little, Jace was ready to make a smartass comment was silenced by Alec and Clary.

“We will duel Christopher. Duel to death for the crown.” Ash snarled. His eyes narrowed at Kit.

The parley wondered what would be the outcome. They couldn’t decide between Ash and Kit both scions of important Fae ancestry but shadowhunter blood ran through their veins as well. The Seelie Queen was trying to gather her wits. She was not fond of Nephilim and definitely not of Herondales but she couldn’t ignore how Kit bore such a strong resemblance to her Auraline. Absently she wondered if the magic they had done on Auraline had passed down to Kit as well.

Kit tilted his head and after thinking for a moment sighed and nodded. Panic and excitement ran through the parley. The Seelie Queen and the Downworlders and shadowhunters who knew Kit started speaking at once. Only Jem and Tessa were quiet. They squeezed his shoulder and then stared directly at Ash.

Both blonde boys moved towards each other effectively silencing the parley. They drew out their swords and circled each other. Finally, Kit stepped at him.

“He shouldn’t have made the first move.” Jace concernedly said.

Janus chuckled at Kit’s impatience and inexperience.

But as Ash moved to block it was clear that Kit had feinted throwing him off guard and moving closer to the Seelie prince. Kit’s blade was about to slice Ash’s side but using faerie speed Ash swiftly moved. Kit circled Ash so he was always at his back, the latter after few moments stopped turning.

“Christopher’s fighting style is unique,” Anush noted. Ty observed Kit and wondered if he was mixing Mundane, Shadowhunter, and Downworlder styles.

When Kit lunged at Ash who readily parried him and moved so he could end the distance in them and draw him in a space where he could control Kit. Ash started moving faster, his moves rougher, all his blows landing heavily on Kit.

It was clear to viewers that though Kit fought unusually he did lack Ash’s training and experience as well as his savagery not to mention stamina.

Bored and smiling a smile sported by his grandfather and parents Ash moved to land a fatal blow on a panting Kit but he sidestepped just like Ash had done earlier. Ash couldn��t stop himself in midmotion and Kit moved closer, when he hit Ash’s hand with his sword’s hilt. Ash winced and that time was enough for Kit to twist his hand, remove the blade from it. Reeling him in Kit sild Ash’s sword at the back of Seelie prince’s neck and then pointed his sword at his throat.

Once again silence reigned as Kit panted and Ash stared at him wide-eyed. They could hear Janus cursing, Emma and Jace whooping, and Simon cheering, “That’s our Aragorn.”

Kit raised an eyebrow at Ash who had no way to move without getting his head chopped off. But Ash was not just a shadowhunter he bore many more powers which Seelie Queen had advertised when she had introduced him. So, he raised his hands and blasted Kit with a huge fire of darkness.

Screams erupted as Kit slammed against a tree and fell on his stomach unmoving. Before anyone could move to help him, Janus barked orders and Seelie forces surrounded Ash and Kit, but they did look reluctant. While they didn’t like Kit for the First Heir prophecy, taking orders from Janus who didn't have a speck of Fae blood in him irked them.

Ash leisurely walked towards Kit and picked up both swords. As he reached Kit, he prodded Kit with his foot further infuriating Kit’s friends and allies. But Kit made no move to get up. Ash’s brow furrowed and taunted Kit, “What happened? Ran out of your tricks? This was a duel for the crown of Seelie, it was never going to be of just our swordsmanship prowess. Powers are also to be tested but you didn’t use them. Either you can’t use them or the shadowhunter blood ran true and the First Heir doesn’t have powers. Well, which one is it?”.

There was no answer. Ash got on his and hit Kit with his sword’s hilt on his shoulder. He turned towards Janus moved towards them. Just then Ash heard a moan and turned towards the sound. Hidden by the Seelie guards who had their backs to the boys, Ash leaned over Kit so no one in the parley could see when Kit’s blue eyes opened and he grabbed Ash’s wrist tightly, a smirk on his lips.

Everyone looked away when a blinding white flash lit Central Park. When they finally regained their sights, terror filled them as they realised that Ash and Kit had disappeared.

Hello everyone, I hope you'll enjoy this. Please don't hesitate to leave feedback and constructive criticism. If anyone wants to be added to the taglist or removed from it, inform me.

taglist: @immortal-enemies @khaleesiofalicante @radisv @dark-artifices-only @beclynn-herondale @herondaletessa @chibi-tsukiko @ask-the-shadow-world @allysbookshit @themimsyborogove @kit-and-ty-fic-recs @hardlymatters @ithurielkeepsgettingkidnapped @shadowhunting-hooligans @pjo-tsc-trc-otherthingstoo @the-blackdale @kitandtyarelife @merry-thieves

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itsclydebitches · 4 years ago

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To expand on your previous ask, it doesn’t help that main representative of the suffering Mantle was that racist drunk asshole. Seriously, they cut to this guy MULTIPLE TIMES across multiple eps, like we’re supposed to care about a dude who should’ve been a one scene character Weiss beats the shit out of. Idea: keep Forest alive and have HIM be the representative, say what you will about him, but it would give his character depth and not give focus to an unsympathetic jackass.

Right? Absolutely agree about the drunk dude and that Forest could have been that representative, but as it stands, he actually functions as further evidence against the “Ironwood is oppressing Mantle” argument:

Forest takes issue with how Ironwood exploits Mantle for resources, and though he’s entirely justified in that view given the limited information he has, we as the audience know post his introduction that Ironwood is attempting to stop Salem, which is... incredibly important. We likewise know that Ruby knows his plan won’t work — further stretching that responsibility. Forest’s perspective is uninformed, as is Ironwood’s. Forest doesn’t know that Ironwood is trying to keep him safe, Ironwood doesn’t know that his measures won’t work, Ruby does know and actively keeps that information from him... so why are we, the informed party here, mad at Ironwood for trying to do a good thing while unknowingly limited by an ally? The audience should understand that Forest’s perspective isn’t reliable here.

Forest, in his ignorance, simplifies these issues down to unhelpful extremes. As his wiki puts it, “He apparently had somewhat of a tendency to over-exaggerate matters, calling James Ironwood's rule over Mantle a ‘tyranny.’” Looking at the volume as a whole, it’s clear the takeaway should be, “Forest is rightfully angry at the state of his city, but doesn’t understand the situation well enough to acknowledge its nuances, let alone accurately apply blame. He possessing a black and white view that doesn’t fit into RWBY’s gray world.”

For all his anger at Ironwood, Forest spends just as much time criticizing Weiss. As a character he draws attention to the fact that Ironwood is not acting solo here: Mantle is also dealing with the corrupt Schnee manipulating the city for his own gain. The rest of the story — Jacques is cheating his way onto the Council, Jacques is teaming up with Watts, Jacques only wants to eliminate the embargo for his own wealth, Jacques’ actions lead to the loss of heat — supports the takeaways that a) This is not “Ironwood’s tyranny” and b) Even though Ironwood has made decisions that hurt Mantle alongside Jacques’ decisions, the difference is that Ironwood’s is in the city’s long-term interests (and, again, are made with inaccurate information).

Forest is an avid supporter of Robyn. I get that a lot of the fandom wants to ignore these points, but Robyn is still the ‘hero’ who tried to get Ironwood to spill all his secrets in front of Jacques, went behind Ironwood’s back with Blake and Yang before playing at his ally, stole Amity resources without (apparently) doing anything with them, and took Tyrian’s side in the ‘Yeah, let’s fight’ debate. Forest’s status as her follower does not look good by the end of the Volume.

Forest is promptly murdered by Tyrian after he leaves the airship. One of the perspectives Volume 7 insists on trying to promote is ‘Ironwood is unhinged in his paranoia about Salem and thus can’t be trusted to make good decisions,’ yet the story itself ignores that he is, at every turn, proven right. Putting aside the major stuff like ‘Salem’s subordinates did break into Atlas just like I said they might’ and ‘I couldn’t, in fact, trust my allies even though I hoped I could,’ this moment tells the audience early on that all of Ironwood’s worries are established facts. ‘You’re too obsessed with the idea that Salem’s subordinates might harm your people. Chill out,’ the story says. ‘Salem’s subordinates are murdering your people in creepy allies,’ the story also says. That second point severely undermines the first.

We start the volume with Forest telling us that Ironwood is tyrannical and we end the volume with Oscar telling him he’s as bad as Salem... but everything we’re shown contradicts this. Forest is a crucial piece of that. If you want your audience to come away believing that this man is needlessly hurting Mantle via measures that are far too extreme, don’t show us a man unintentionally hurting Mantle for incredibly good reasons via measures that are, in the end, not extreme enough. Volume 7 insists very strongly that Ironwood’s choices go too far — stop taking resources, get your army out of the streets, trust more people - but at every turn we’re shown how the supposedly extreme measures weren’t extreme enough to prevent things like two separate Salem groups sneaking into the city, Tyrian murdering numerous people, Ironwood’s allies betraying him, etc. The characters encourage Ironwood to stop taking precautionary measures while the villains actively blow through the few he’s managed to put up. Forest was never an example of Ironwood’s antagonist nature. Forest was an example of a struggling, ignorant populace who paid the price because the heroes haven’t yet managed to do even more.

#rwby #mymetas #Anonymous

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canyouhearthelight · 4 years ago

Text

The Miys, Ch. 103

This chapter was, honestly, a complete an total delight to write. I wanted to take an opportunity to work more with a character who has gotten very little ‘screen’ time: Sam. He’s one of two characters on the autism spectrum (please correct me if that isn’t the right term?) who are based on actual people who I’ve been acquainted with. I’ve admittedly shied away from writing much of Sam or Derek, largely because I have been scared into flop-sweats at the possibility that I will misrepresent autistic people. Even though I was acquainted with the real life versions of both Sam and Derek, that was nearly a decade ago and memory is fickle.

However. In an effort to do better all the way around with the characters I am writing, I found podcasts of people on the spectrum talking about what makes them unique, how they feel about being autistic, and what they consider good representation. And then I took a deep breath and wrote this chapter. It is the first, but I don’t want it to be the only. Turns out? Sam is a REALLY neat dude (I think)!

Finally, finally, I had a day off from work and crises. Tyche planned to spend the day baking, Antoine was booked solid with appointments after taking his ‘sabbatical’ to help Xiomara, and everyone else in my life was currently either teaching or attending Galactic Core classes this shift. The single exception was Conor, who currently was serving his volunteer shift in the aeroponics lab.

Because of this, I was currently making my way down there, steak and beer pie in hand, to surprise him with lunch. A happy humming trailed behind me, both from the newfound free time on my hands and the fact that Hujylsogox technology meant I wasn’t burning my hands while carrying the food for more than five seconds. In fact, forty-five minutes later, the pastry was still hot, my hands were still cool, and I was paging for entry into the lab with a note that I was carrying food, just in case any poisonous plants were out.

It was one time I forgot, and fortunately it only upset Conor’s stomach and wasn’t fatal.

Shortly, the door slid open to reveal - Sam, not Conor. “Hey,” I grinned, recovering quickly. “I didn’t know you’d be down here right now, or I would have brought you lunch, too.” Trying to be less awkward, I gently rocked the pie in my hands. “I’m sure Conor doesn’t mind sharing though?”

Sam smiled in return and stepped back. “It smells like beer,” he replied. “But thank you.”

“The alcohol cooks out?” I tried, caught between being polite and being pushy.

To my somewhat relief, he shook his head. “Yeast,” he pointed out, wrinkling his nose and sticking his tongue out slightly. “Not a fan.”

Couldn’t exactly blame him, since I didn’t drink beer for a similar reason. “Next time, I’ll check if you’re going to be here, and bring you lunch too.”

“Sophia,” he started to admonish, before affixing me with a wordless stare.

Ugh. Apparently, I wasn’t quite free of my own awkwardness. “I just feel like I should bring food for everyone I know and not just Conor,” I tried to explain. “Where I grew up, it’s rude to bring food for only one person.”

“I eat,” he replied, waving vaguely.

It took a few moments to realize that I completely misunderstood the gesture. He wasn’t waving without meaning at all.

“Are those tomatoes!?” I gasped. “And that’s baby butter lettuce… Cucumbers!? You have cucumbers!?”

“Baby ones,” Sam grinned proudly just as Conor came in.

“Thought I heard your voice,” he laughed before tipping my face up for a kiss. “Sam showing off his salad again?”

I forced a glare and gently poked my partner in the chest. “Tomatoes. Conor. You did not tell me there were fresh tomatoes.”

Conor laughed, but Sam was the one to reply. “They just turned ripe today. You can have them if you want?”

“Oh, gosh,” I gasped, no small amount of wistfulness in my words. “Sam, I was joking. Just teasing him, I promise. I wasn’t seriously mad, and please don’t give these to me because you thought I was upset. I’m not. It was a joke.” Trying to compose myself, I forced a hand through my hair. “Did you grow these?”

He nodded, excited. “In soil we think will be like the soil on Von. As a test, to see if they taste different.”

My head, neck, and eyebrows all shot up. “Are they safe to eat?”

“These are, yes. The earlier ones, we weren’t sure, so Conor couldn’t tell you about them.”

“Sam, seriously. These aren’t my tomatoes. They belong to everyone, so thank you for being careful and not letting anyone eat them until you were sure.”

“I know you want a tomato, Sophia.” Without hesitation, he reached out and plucked three from a nearby plant. “If all three of us eat one, to test the flavor, then they can’t be ‘your’ tomatoes, right?”

Conor shook me gently. “He has a point, love. These are the first batch that ripened and tested safe for humans. Sam’s probably eaten his weight in them, but I don’t think any other people have tried them.”

Sam looked down, trying to hide his ear-splitting smile. “They taste really good.”

With a sigh of defeat, I looked at the dark red berry in my hand. My curiosity instantly took over. “These look like zebra tomatoes, kind of.”

Sam’s face lit up, while Conor was still studying the one he had. “They’re a cross! A black zebra tomato and a Cherokee chocolate tomato, modified to be grape sized!” He popped his into his mouth, crushing it happily. “Not very acidic, but the soil also gives them more of a mineral flavor.”

Fascinated, all hesitation left my body as I shoved the fruit into my mouth. The first bite was an explosion, part familiar acidic taste, part something that I could only describe as ‘red’, and something… almost stony. Not in texture, but in flavor. It wasn’t something I had ever experienced with a tomato, but -

“Wine,” I murmured. “It’s.. stony, like a wine. New Zealand white, actually, with the volcanic soil… That’s…”

“It’s clean,” Conor interjected. Chewing thoughtfully, he continued. “That mineral taste keeps it from lingering in your mouth. I bet I could eat one of these tomatoes and bite a piece of cake right after without the flavors crossing.”

Sam replied, but it was so quiet I couldn’t hear him. When I asked him to repeat himself, he turned his face toward me with his eyes closed, hands grasping nervously. “I like to dip them in Nutella,” he enunciated loudly.

OH.

The idea of ‘tomatoes and Nutella’ made me draw up short, but then I thought over what Sam had said. He didn’t say he liked tomatoes, in general, in hazelnut spread, he said he liked these tomatoes dipped in it. And Conor’s point about eating one and then a bite of cake echoed through my mind. Nodding firmly, I tried to telegraph my confidence in Sam as hard as I could, lifting my chin far enough to make my neck itch. “Well then. You know these tomatoes better than anyone, and have eaten more than anyone. I would like to try these in Nutella, if you have three more ripe ones?”

Sam’s eyes snapped open briefly before he snatched three of the fattest little tomatoes he could find. Eagerly, he yanked open a random drawer and revealed a hidden container of the spread. “I’ll have to hide it again, Conor eats it on everything,” he confessed before swiping the tomatoes through like they were strawberries, leaving a neat little curl of chocolate and hazelnut on each one.

Taking the one offered to me gingerly, I had to admit I felt intrigued. The deftness Sam used to dip them told me that this wasn’t only something he’d tried, it was how he enjoyed these the most. Before Conor could get over the concept of chocolate and hazelnut on a tomato, I popped my treat in my mouth to satisfy my curiosity.

Holy. Fiendish. Shit. I almost choked on the amount of saliva that filled my mouth. That was incredible, if I was being brutally honest. I never would have tried it with a tomato grown in Terran soil, but… hell. This was a whole new thing. “Sam,” I choked out as I desperately tried to keep from shouting. “You’re….. That’s brilliant.” The flavor was like chocolate, hazelnuts, strawberry, and orange, washed down with a good wine. “I think you just converted me to Nutella.”

Conor gaped, which only made Sam laugh harder. “Sophia,” Conor sputtered. “Do you mean to tell me that you hate Nutella so much that experimental tomatoes are what convinced you? I feel like I don’t know you at all, suddenly.”

“Yeah, no,” I confirmed. “This is probably the first time I’ve liked it in my life.”

“I want a divorce.”

“We aren’t even married,” I pointed out, before realizing that Sam was getting incredibly upset. “Annnnnd we can’t make that joke, babe.” Making sure Conor saw me glancing at Sam, I clarified. “Sam, that’s just a joke. Conor wouldn’t break up with me over Nutella any more than Maverick broke up with me because I like spicy food. But we - “ I elbowed Conor just hard enough to get his attention without making him choke on his second tomato, “won’t joke like that again. I’m sorry.”

Hesitantly, Sam nodded before wrinkling his nose. “You do like really spicy food.”

“I do,” I confirmed. “And Maverick does not. So, I make him food that isn’t as spicy. And, just like that, I don’t eat Nutella, and Conor doesn’t make me.”

Narrowing his eyes, Sam turned to Conor. “Is that why you always steal mine?”

Conor nodded sheepishly. “I’m sorry, mate. I’m really bad about that, aren’t I?”

“It’s free, Conor,” Sam pointed emphatically to the wall. “From the console.”

“Does that mean you’re mad?”

“It means stop leaving empty containers in my drawer. If you eat the last of it, at least get me more. Geez!”

“So, you aren’t mad?”

“I’m mad about the empty containers,” Sam scowled. “There is nothing nice about coming to work with all this fruit” he gestured expansively “and having nothing to dip it in.”

Conor opened his mouth to reply, but closed it just as quickly.

“He’s got a point,” I added, knowing I was entirely unhelpful. “I mean, what if I made meatloaf and no mashed potatoes? Or gravy? No either?”

His head snapped toward me, his expression horrified. “Sophia, what in the…. You would never expect someone to -” Without prompting, he cut himself off. “Ah, shit. I’ve been an arse, haven’t I?”

“You have been a complete donkey,” Sam intoned seriously. Then, with a smirk, he added, “I think you owe me pickles.”

Conor groaned at that. Sam loved pickles, but only specific kinds. Predictably, my boyfriend’s face pivoted to leverage his most beseeching expression at me.

Unfazed, I shook my head. “Nope. I’m not the one who ate his snack topping. I’ll give you the recipe, and you can make the pickles.”

“Love…”

“Taking his Nutella and not replacing it is rude, and you know how I feel about rude people.” I examined my nails closely. “And you are perfectly capable of getting whole radishes and matchstick carrots from the console, but nice try.”

“Brussels sprouts, too, please,” Sam asked politely.

All I could do with such a request was nod firmly. “And the brussels sprouts.”

“I don’t even like - “

“They aren’t for you,” I pointed out. “Although, I’m sure Maverick will appreciate it if you make a double batch of the radishes.”

“And Derek likes the brussels sprouts,” Sam pointed out.

When Conor sank to the floor with a groan, neither of us could restrain our laughter. Who knew that ill-gotten chocolate led to pickling your worst enemies? Then again, I guess Conor was about to find that out the hard way.

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#the miys #found family #autistic representation I hope #humans are weird #tw: food #food cw #humans are space orcs #earth space australians #humans are space fae #hfy #science fiction #sci fi #scifi #original science fiction #original sci fi #my writing #original writing

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clean-bands-dirty-stories · 4 years ago

Text

Unhelpful ~ S.E.

A/n: Tried not to get too triggering with this for my own sake, so I hope it still delivered the characters

Request: “...Could you do a book on Samuel Emerson, Where her mother hate Samuel, and doesn't want her to see him but Y/N meets him when he does his Shakespearean plays, and he walks with him until her mother sees him with Y/N and there is a really big argument with her mum, and Samuel's dad joins in and then it doesn't help at all.” by @disneyqueenpixar63 (for some reason it won’t let me tag you, so I’ll just message it to you when I’m done)

Word Count: 1700+

MASTERLIST

Love was hard enough without life and difficult parents getting involved. It was hard enough when you had to struggle for food and to keep your place in your home, let alone trying to fit some sort of romance in the spare moments there were between the panic and sleepless nights worrying and handling the pressure of a dad that was more a burden than anything.

It was hard enough to live with a mother who could never approve of your even if you were perfect, let alone trying to get her to approve of a boy as well. It showed when Y/n brought her boyfriend Samuel home. He'd needed a moment away from home and Y/n had been confident her place would have been better. Her mother had quickly dashed that idea by running Sam out and spending hours and hours after he was gone screaming at Y/n for anything she could think of. It didn't matter that Y/n and Sam weren't having sex, or that they'd been sitting int he living room and in plain sight and just talking and obviously not up to anything questionable at all. Y/n had made the decision to give her heart to Samuel Emerson, so her mother disapproved and she was having absolutely none of it.

That, of course, didn't stop them from seeing each other. They'd avoided Sam's dad knowing about Y/n thus far and were keeping it that way. They wanted their parents part of their relationship as little as possible - especially after Y/n's mom's reaction.

So they were apart at nights, unless they snuck out to meet in secret, which was rare and only in dire circumstances when one absolutely had enough and needed the other. Most of the time they met when Sam was performing. It was where they had first met, so it felt fittingly poetic to do so again and again when they were supposed to be banned from doing it at all. Y/n was in a similar situation that Sam was in, except her mother wasn't addicted to alcohol but men. Thankfully the men came with money, but not enough to keep them fed, so Y/n spent time doing small jobs like mowing lawns and babysitting and dog walking. It was a celebration when she'd turned 15 and had been able to get a job at the car wash. All these things helped her to stay out of her house as much as possible and earn money to pay for food and even save some. Her mom handled the rent at the very least.

After Y/n got off her shift, Sam was wrapping up his performances as the sun began to set and the traffic died down and it was therefore useless to perform. There was no crowd. So, he waited for Y/n and then they'd walk home together. Or, as far home as they could get without being seen. Sam had gotten used to taking an alternate path as not to pass by Y/n's house. They'd at first found it amusing that he had walked past her house on his way home every single day without even knowing the other existed, but now it was just annoying and inconvenient and another thing on a long list of things that had been ruined for them by their parents.

Today, Y/n was having a rough day. She was more relieved than usual to end her day, but only because it meant seeing Sam again. That short walk was most of their interaction, though if Sam could pull off taking a break from performing when it was Y/n's break they would often take lunch together as well. Recently they hadn't been able to pull that off and they'd had to rush home a lot because Y/n's mom was needy and Sam's dad was irritable. Tonight though, they took their time.

They defied their parents the best way they could: despite everything, they allowed themselves to be happy. They walked and they held hands and they enjoyed the cool night air and they just talked and nothing could stop them.

Perhaps that was why Sam missed his turn. Maybe that's why he got too far, walking too long with his girlfriend without realizing where he was and just letting his feet take him down the path both his mind and heart wanted to take. The path that he had taken for years, memorizing as a second nature. The path that would give him more time with Y/n, which is what he wanted more than anything.

The walk ended abruptly when Y/n's mother saw the pair walking up to the hose, smiling and holding hands. She wasn't just impossible to get approval from - she was also bitter. She was the kind of woman who saw other people being happy where she was miserable and refused to tolerate it. Usually she just had to walk away. Today, she could lash out.

"Y/n." The world of light shattered for Y/n when she heard her mother's voice. Any good feeling she had withered and weeds of terror grew in their place.

Slowly the young girl looked over to the woman who had birthed her, and Sam watched with a terrible feeling in his chest as Y/n's face drained of color and her hand clung to his like if she let go, she would be pulled into oblivion still kicking. He wanted to make that smile come back to her face but... he knew first hand that lashing out at a nasty parent only got worse results. So he stayed quiet and vowed to make it up to her tomorrow. Perhaps he'd go a bit longer and perform her favorite poem so she could hear it.

That was tomorrow though. Tonight was already bad, and it had only just begun.

"Mom." She swallowed, blinking as she tried to orient herself. "Hello."

The woman's eyes narrowed. "Hello?" There was a threat to her voice that made Sam seize. The teenagers clung to each other, unsure how to undo this disaster. "I told you, Y/n. I TOLD YOU-" She began to approach them, shoving a finger in Y/n's chest so hard that Y/n had to take a step back, wincing from pain. The girl's free hand rose to rub the spot. "What did I tell you?"

Y/n looked at Sam for answers and then saw the boy breaking down. She saw the fear that had been taught to him by situations just like this with a much more dangerous man involved. She saw his fear and helplessness and she felt herself switch from cowering to protective. She stepped forward, drawing the attention to her and away from Sam. "You told me not to see Sam. Why? You never told me why."

"Because he's a boy," Her mother spit. It obviously wasn't the real reason, but as Y/n's mother had been trained to hate men after a life of being only abused by them, it wasn't far from one of the truths she believed at least.

"Sam is different," Y/n insisted. When her mother went to talk, she spoke louder. "He's different! And I know I'm young and it probably won't last because nothing ever does with our stupid species, but he's a good boy and he likes me and I like him and I think I've denied myself of things I want long enough. He makes me happy, and why would I stop that? Just because in the future we might break up?"

The older woman considered that. "I'm just trying to protect you."

"Protect me from what?" Y/n demanded. "Failure?"

"Precisely," the woman responded firmly.

Y/n rolled her eyes. That was not the correct response. Her mother got visibly agitated, but Y/n wasn't done yet. "Well it's not a guaranteed failure, and if you stop me from that then you also stop me from possible success. I'm allowed to make my own mistakes."

The woman scoffed. "Oh, so now you know everything? PLEASE forgive me for trying to guide and love and protect you." Her eyes drifted to Sam and then light with an emotion that Y/n didn't like. "Look at how much he's changed you already. Look at you acting all big and tough and putting on a show for a little boy who can't even defend you. Look at him cower! He's pathetic!"

Their voices had elevated enough that lights had begun turning on. In the distant Y/n heard Sam whimper and it was just enough to draw her attention to what was behind her mother's shoulder.

A man who was unmistakably Mr. Emerson. And from the sway in his path as he walked, he was intoxicated. Y/n made herself bigger as best she could, shielding both adults from the boy who had migrated behind her at this point.

"You talking about my son?" His voice was low and gruff and already aggressive.

"Dad-" Sam began, but he was cut off by Y/n's mother.

"What if I am?" She sneered. "I can't believe this boy you raised is such a coward. Aren't you ashamed of yourself for raising such a wimp? What kind of man raises such a child, who can't even stand up for a girl he's stupid enough to stay with even though I've told her not to be around him. He's okay with the action but not the consequences. He'll never be a man like that."

Sam's dad did not seem pleased by that. "You want to blame me for how he turned out?" He scoffed. "Parents can only do so much. Not my fault if he can't speak up. Though with the likes of you, you're not worth his time and effort."

Very soon, it escalated. Soon it became too much and Y/n turned to Sam and pulled him after her, running off into the darkness.

Tonight they'd be together. On the streets perhaps, but neither could go back to those houses where more arguments would ensue. If they came back tomorrow instead, they wouldn't have to deal with the anger. Their parents would have calmed and after the argument, Y/n's mom might have even moved on and lost interest and let Y/n make her mistakes or whatever. Things would be different tomorrow. Different than tonight.

It was worth sleeping on the streets for one night, so they did. Wrapped in each other's arms, it was far less than it would have been int heir houses, or alone. They could be okay with this. After all, it wasn't anything new. Just another day, another problem. One of many they would handle together.

#samuel emerson #thomas brodie sangster #thomas sangster #my left hand man #phantom halo #samuel emerson imagine #samuel emerson x reader #thomas sangster x reader #thomas sangster imagine #thomas brodie sangster imagine #thomas brodie sangster x reader #my left hand man imagine #phantom halo imagine #phantom halo x reader #my left hand man x reader

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fairydust-stuff · 4 years ago

Text

Banana Fish Buffy the vampire Slayer crossover Special! Instead of Fox ,Dino hires a different predator to bring him Ash a decision him and everyone involved quickly come to regret.

Angelus walks into Lee Manor whistling still covered in blood he’s wearing a green neck scarf. the hushed voices of the two teenage boys seated on the sofa fade to silence.

“ Now you boys wouldn’t happen to be plotting would you, I wouldn't want to wake up tied to the bed with someone holding lighter fluid over me. Though it was a good effort, Yue. Even you did just exceed at pissing me off” Angelus added cheerfully.

“ You know what they say, third times the charm” Yut Lung’s tone is deceptively pleasant. “ I’m guessing by your new accessory Papa Dino is no more”

“ The old man was so annoying, Capture Ash Lynx blah blah blah I understand being obsessed with a blond superhero but if your not good at breaking people hand the whip to someone who knows how to use it,” Angelus said with annoyance. “ Don’t get me wrong some of his ideas were good but the execution D minus for effort.”

They’ve been holding each other he can smell it on them how adorable he’s glad he decided to keep Sing around after all. The two of them are much more fun as a set.

“ Shit you‘re in a good mood that’s never good” Sing looks uneasy.

Angelus plants himself between the two of them and stretches himself out one hand by each of their shoulders. “ Go to channel eight” this is directed at Sing The fourteen-year-old picks up the remote and flips the tv on.

Yut Lung has already started on the wine like a good little sixteen-year-old alcoholic. Angelus has contemplated getting rid of every bottle in the mansion just to see him go through withdrawal symptoms but has decided it’s not worth the risk of the kid possibly dying. Besides he’s got a million other ways to make him suffer. “ The Christen killer seems to have struck again the body of a blond eighteen-year-old boy crucified and turned upside down as a clear mockery of the Christen Faith”

Yut Lung scoffs “ What does this have to do with anything?”

“ Keep watching Yuey,” Angelus says in a cheerful voice.

“ the boy has been identified as Ash Lynx former gang leader”

Angelus looks over Sing’s face pales and Yut Lung’s face is clouded disbelief. The vampire shuts the tv off. “ Guess who finally bagged a Lynx” he gloats.

“ No, he’s not really dead…..he’s just playing a trick” Yut Lung mumbles standing up “ That’s just some random boy you picked up off the streets”

Angelus fixes a look of false sympathy on his face “ No I’m afraid it’s not” He grabs Yut Lung’s elbow and turns him so he’s forced to meet his eyes. “ Cinderella is never going to the ball again” then he pulls out one green eye from his pocket.

The head of the Lee family crumples to the floor a high-pitched anguished sound emerges from his throat. Angelus drinks the sight in deeply its hard to get a satisfying reaction from the kid. So when he hits that sweet spot it is euphoric.

“ Kill me” it’s not even screamed just a weak plea for mercy from a severely depressed teenage boy.

“ Nah! you don’t get to die” Angelus tilts his chin up so he’s looking up at him like some sort of God. Its fitting Angelus does control his fate. “ I don’t get why your so eager to go, you’d just burn in Hell for an eternity” truthfully Angelus isn’t sure of that considering the Chinese have a different belief system someone up there might decide reincarnation is more fitting for this wreck of a boy which would undo all his hard work. Now to deliver the finishing blow “ Like, Ash is”

Yut Lung runs out of the room chocking back sobs with anyone else Angelus would think he broke them but the boy had surprised him before. Even posing Blanca’s dead body in a reenactment of Judas’s suicide and offering his actual bloody heart to Yut Lung hadn’t been the devastating blow he thought it would be. Sure the kid was upset judging by his attempted seduce and burn him alive attempt but Angelus had aimed for curl up and whimper, not revenge.

“Just leave him alone you shit!” Sing lost his temper

“I normally don’t finish other’s art projects but his face is poetry and that body is an unfinished canvas. I’m going to craft the sloppy mess they left behind into something agonizingly beautiful” Angelus gloats “ A little side project while I wait to start working on my passion project”

“ Who’s your passion project” Sing asks

Ah, Sing hitting on what truly matters, Angelus thinks with some fondness. “Let’s have some fun, you're going to introduce me to Ash’s group,” the vampire says instead.

“ What the hell makes you think I’d do that?” Sing demands

Angelus just turns and walks up the stairs and up to the bedroom.” Oh Yuey come out and play!” he says in a sing-song voice Sing shot out dragon fang honestly what a ridiculously childish name, Angelus dodged his weapon with a laugh. He can hear Yut lung’s sharp breaths on the other side of the door before he opens it the kids hugging his knees in the middle of that big bed. Hair half out of his braid. Angelus stalks over and runs a hand over the boy’s leg feeling a slight tremble. Angelus contemplates Does he want to feel him up just to show he can or leave burns on the tender skin of those legs?

“ Haven’t you tormented me enough?” it's almost a whisper

“ Hey blame Sing, for choosing Eiji over you again”

“ You bastard! That’s not what’s happening!” Sing protested he’s caught up and he lands a punch on Angelus the vampire blocks and tosses him to the floor. Angulus slides a hand into his pocket. “ I’ll do it, I’ll do it just leave him alone!” the younger boy pleads.

“Really, Sing I had the lighter ready and everything. He’s so fickle” Angelus complained to Yut Lung “ Ah well we’ll play another day” he promises. The vampire blows the boy on the bed a kiss as he leaves with Sing he turns to Yut Lung’s bodyguards “ Watch him make sure he doesn’t die” they nod their human faces vamping out…

“I kinda miss how he was before, trying not to be clingy while wanting to grab onto me, so desperate” Angelus smirks. The two of them are standing on the New York subway.

“ You love the sound of your own voice” Sing observes.

“I was trapped by that nauseating soul, for years. It had me rescuing puppies, puppies! I used to nail those to people’s doors. Think Yut Lung would be upset if I nailed a dog to his door?” Angelus asked “ You are asking me for ways to torment my leader?” Sing demanded incredulously “ Oh right you have a crush don’t you” Angelus laughed. “ I keep forgetting that cause of the whole betrayal thing” “ He was the one working with Dino my cousin’s murderer” Sing argued

“ You think Yue wasn’t plotting against him?” Angelus chuckled “ Maybe that’s why I like you two. Years of do-gooder pep rallies and the constant we help the helpless rah rah rah. And your all hell with it! Your still both gooey in the middle but I’m going to fix that” he promises, vamping out and advancing on one of the homeless people near the back. He had after all missed breakfast.

Sing was looking rather pale by the time he got off the subway Angelus fixed his leather jacket “ I look good right, no blood on the mouth?” he asked “ Now remember only good things or I’ll be paying your pretty cousin Nadia a visit. Maybe I’ll grab of a few your guys as a midday snack” ...

“ We don’t talk to the police” they’ve been incredibly unhelpful,” says the handsome blond man before him who must be Max Lobo. He looks haggard and worn Angelus is pleased with how big an effect his actions have had on the group.

“ I’m a private detective” Angelus pulls out one of the Angel Investigations business cards he’d stolen. “ Sing told me you might need some help catching this mad artist”

“ You mean sicko with a god complex” Ibe retorts.

Sing laughs, he'll pay for that later Angelus thinks. He’s about to draw on some of his Angel speeches the soul makes him act like such a….His thoughts are frozen at the sight of a baby faced nineteen years old with an athletic build and big eyes. This must be Ash’s, Eiji the one he was sorry for not being able to protect. “ I’m sorry, I’m not usually up this late” his voice is hoarse and his eyes are red-rimmed.

“ This is detective Angel he’s a friend of Sing’s,” Ibe says. “ Oh, I’ll make you some tea,” The boy says quickly hurrying to the kitchen and starting up the pot. “ Its the least, I can do for a friend of Sings”

“ Some tea would be nice” Angelus comments. Eiji prepares tea for all three of them.

“ My condolences about your lover” the vampire lies.

“ Thank you, Ash had his flaws but...he didn’t deserve” Eiji pauses

“ I want to bring this man to justice but I need your help. Can you describe everything you saw that night every detail?” Angelus says in a smooth professional voice.

Eiji recites in a dull tone how he found Ash’s body its secretly quite fun for Angelus pretending he was unclear and asking for him to repeat himself, demanding more gory details.

“ that’s enough Ibe,” says harshly noting Eiji’s face.

“ Its necessary for the investigation” Angelus replies “ Its best to pry while every detail is fresh in his mind” he wants to laugh at how easily Eiji defends him as he continues tugging at the fraying threads of the boy’s grief. After the questioning Angelus leaves them the card and promises to keep in touch.

Eiji is sickeningly good, putting his feels on the backburner for the sake of others. He reeks of insecurity and doubt and despite his grief, there’s still a sparkle of naive hope in him. Also, something tells him the boys never been touched, considering Ash’s hang-ups about sex. Angelus normally finds these things not so appealing in boys but there’s such a girlish feel to this boy despite his athleticism that Angelus finds himself wanting to ruin and consume him. The way he would Drucilla or Buffy and the way the gangs in New York latch onto him like lost puppies. Angelus likes the idea of snuffing out the little light they’ve found in the dark world they live in. “ Wait here, Sing I’ve got to get something from the store”...

“ You shouldn’t get too attached to that” Sing comments as Yut Lung snuggles the kitten on his lap. the boy’s laughing at the little licks from the sandpaper tongue Angelus scoops up the kitten which cries out in terror and snaps its little neck. “ Why did you?” the boy yells

“ Present for your enemy Eiji” Angelus commented. “ But it didn’t have anything to do with it!” Yut Lung argues “ Neither did your brother’s children” Angelus returned. “It’s fun to kill defenseless things that can’t fight back right Yue?” he taunts stroking the dead kitten…

Angelus shoves Yut Lung down and receives a dark look “ Your not still mad about the little furball” he taunts. The boy remains silent

“ I’m sure you’ll add it to your list of things to avenge. Angelus runs his tongue along the boy’s wrist contemplatively. “ That’s the problem with you Eastern type everything has to be avenged or its dishonor” the vampire mocks brushing the boy’s neck lightly with his mouth.

“ If your smart you’ll kill me now” Yut Lung warns.

“ But your so cute and helpless” Angelus lifts the quipo slowly and runs his tongue along Yut Lung’s thigh he vamps out and bites down a cry escapes the boy under him. He licks the blood savoring the taste god its been too long. Yut Lung’s silent hatred makes it sweeter. Then the phone rings “ Yes!” he snaps “ Angel I….m... sorry….for…” the shaky voice on the other end is music to his ears. “ Eji what’s wrong?” he fakes concern “ Someone nailed a...a kitten to my door” the Japanese boy managed to get out.

“ Where are you” Angelus clamps a hand on Yut Lung’s ankle just missing as the boy rolls off the bed and makes a break for it. “ I’m staying with a friend,” Eiji says. “ Alright, I’ll be there first thing tomorrow night at eight” Angelus slams down the phone. “ So you're in the mood to play tonight are you Yuey?” the vampire walks into the hall scenting the air “ Alright, let's play hide and seek” he starts walking the halls “ 1, 2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9” he stops in front of the bathroom door the scent of blood and fear so strong he can almost taste it “ 10” he whisks the door open only to get shoved backward by a long-haired boy into a bathtub of holy water!...

It took Angelous a whole day to heal with the damage a whole day. He had to reschedule with his masterpiece and by that time Yut Lung was long gone. How the hell he managed to slip by his former vampiric bodyguards the former Scourge of Europe had no clue. Sing seemed to have not come back as well which meant those two had planned this. Angelus bet his little boyfriend smuggled him the holy water. When he got his hands on them both ...

“ So you think it’s the same guy who killed your boyfriend?” Angelus asked

“ What other fucker could it be!” Eiji snapped “ Sorry”

“It’s ok you’ve had a bad night. Eiji, I get the impression you're not telling me everything. Do you others to get hurt because you failed to cooperate?” Angelus asked

“ Papa Dino, he didn’t like Ash. We think he may have hired someone to get rid of all of us” Eiji interjects.

Yes me, Angelus thinks to himself not that it went well for the Godfather wannabe or his cohorts. “ Is there anyone else who may wish you harm?” Angelus asked “ Yut Lung Lee,” Eiji says.

“ Isn’t Hau Lee the current head of the Lee clan?” Angelus asked with phony surprise

“ They have a secret seventh brother” Eiji makes a face.

“ I take it your not fond of him” So the feud goes both ways.

“ Even so he’s been silent for weeks” Eiji comments “ And what happened last night. He’s cruel but even he wouldn’t do something like that” Angelus asks a few more questions “ Dam is it nine already” he commented.

“ How about I make you some dinner? It's the least I can do” Eiji offers.

“ You are not looking to break any stereotypes ” Angelus teased.

“ I can still spit in your meal” Eiji jokes. While dining on fish and vegetables the two converse.

“ So what you do besides catch scary serial killers?” Eiji asked “ I like ballet, I draw, I read, love the classics” Angelus admits. “ You” though he already knows photography and pole vaulting. He’s done his research or rather Yut Lung did and was always ready to complain about Eiji Okumura.

Eiji’s face crumples and he starts crying right there on the table. Angelus pulls him into a hug “ Thank….you…..I’m sorry...i” Eiji breaks off. “ Ash, he also loved the classics ”

“ its, fine let it all out’ The vampire soothing I can't believe I’m saying this cheesy crap, you better be worth it Angelus thought. “ I understand what you’re going through…..I lost my whole family to a killer” Yes, me I ripped their throats out.

Eiji’s horrified expression makes Angelus struggle to control himself. “ I’m so sorry, is that why you became a detective?” Eiji asked

“ I’m not a good person Eiji, I’ve done terrible things to deal with my grief” Angelus channels the soul and broods.

“ You're not a bad person,” Eiji tells him softly but with conviction. “ You should stay away from me” Angelus gets up and leaves the house smirking when he’s out of view…

The vampire sits across from the round-faced Japanese boy. The boy has circles under his eyes and the expression on his face resembles that of a lost puppy rather than that of a human. After weeks of ghosting him, dodging his calls Angelus has pulled I don’t want to but now I’m going to tell you the absolute truth ruse. He agreed to meet with Eiji to clear things up and damn he should win an Oscar.

In the meantime, he’s been trying to find his slippery teenage duo. He knows Yut Lung has safe houses all over New York due to his family’s activities well-stocked with weapons, medical and most likely staff furthermore absolutely no invitation inside. Last time he had the advantage of being invited in while attending a meeting with Golzine. Yut Lung had been low key furious when he found out about the vampire thing and how Dino had knowingly let one into his home. He can’t even use Sings guys because they appear to have disappeared as well.

“ First mafia and trafficking now demons! The worlds turning darker every time I turn around” there’s bitterness in his young voice. “ And without Ash….” he gulps and tears start to pour from his eyes. “ I’m so….r...r..y i” “ He meant a lot to you it's understandable you miss him” Angelus takes his hand “ And I’m going to help find whoever killed Ash” he vowed. “ For now I hear the gooseberry pie is to die for”

Eiji opens his mouth but the two of them are interrupted by two Asian men wheeling in a dinner cart. They were young clean-cut and wearing waiter uniforms. “ Order of flaymonyong?” one of them asked “ I’m sorry you have the wrong table, we haven’t even ordered yet,” Eiji says. One of the men reaches for the silver dish lid the vampire feels annoyed “ Look he said you had the wrong table so why…….”

The guys whisked the lid off to reveal a flamethrower. Eiji knocks the vampire out of the way the blast just misses them. The other waiters rush forward also Chinese he notices. Two of them tackle Eiji pinning him to the ground he trashes and bucks. The guy with the flamethrower fires it up again but this time the vampire is ready throwing his shoulder against the fragile human as hard as possible. The sound of something snapping makes him grin. The other Chinese men advance the vampire beckons them forward. “ So how much were you Bruce Lee wannabees paid to die?” he taunts

Two of them pull out their super soaker guns and aim holy water! Angelus snarls with rage and pain his shoulder sizzling. “ Angel, Eiji’s managed to get free and takes the other blasts for him getting utterly soaked. The vampire reaches past him for the hand which he crashes then grabbing the pained man uses him to smack into the other guy knocking them both down. Then he swipes a knife from the table and does three quick slices and two neck snaps. “ Why doesn’t that bastard leave me alone? Ash is gone! What does he want?” Eiji yells “ Go in the kitchen and call Ibe and Max to come and get you” The vampire orders. “ I’m going to make sure that’s all of them” he added. Eiji opens his mouth “ Go!” Angelus snarls. Once Eiji is gone the vampire pulls one of the dead men’s cell phones out of his pocket. He calms and puts Eijji in a taxi promising to continue this tomorrow...

The phone starts ringing, just as he arrives outside his fancy new apartment.

“ Gao?” a soft-spoken young voice comes through.

“ Hello, Angel investigations home of the no fun do-gooders” The vampire smirks.

The sharp exhale on the other end was worth it “ You survived” the boy says calmly. Angelus hears Sings outraged cry in the background.

“ Yut Lung Lee, I’m not gay but that voice of yours does things to me,” the vampire said obnoxiously. “ The rest of you isn’t too far from my fantasies either”

“ Funny, you appear in my fantasies most often as a charred corpse or a stain on the street” Yut Lung said with false sweetness. “ That bastard better keep you out of his fantasies!” Sing again. “ Yue, I’m glad you called” the vampire exclaims “ I need some of your venom spewing cynicism” he pauses “ Three hours with the Japanese boy scout. I swear, I saved Ash from picket fence purgatory!” he complained “You don’t get to say his name, Angelus!” Yut Lung spat

“ Go back to LA to Sunny whatever or even go pillage in the Caribbean Islands. Leave Ash’s Japanese boy alone and leave New York, this is your last warning” Yut Lung’s voice is cold.

Angelus laughs “ Your so obsessed with him you’d try to protect someone you can't stand because he’s the last piece of Ash you have left. God you're delightfully pathetic” “ Maybe but I will average Ash Lynx” Yut Lungs tone is ice “ Yuey you got damseled by the New York underworld's favorite hostage.” the vampire said with contempt. “ By all means take your best shot, I love a good Comedy.” “ How are your burns?” Yut Lung taunts

“ I’ll let you know as I’m slowly taking my revenge,” Angelus says smoothly.

“ You think you can do anything to me that hasn’t already been done,” Yut Lung says sardonically.

“It’s not the act, its all in the performance.” He pauses “I could trail burns down those wanton thighs of yours or maybe I’ll be nice enough to respect the ancient Chinese tradition of footbinding. I like the idea of mutilating those pretty feet of yours.”

Then he hung up and reaches for a pile of rough sketches he’d been working on. “ Your leading man is dead so your mine for the taking, the both of you” he pauses “ First which one of your friends do I kill next” he closes his eyes and selects one of his pictures. Then he hears footsteps turning around he sees a dark-haired woman. “ Hello, Dru” Angelus grinned. “ Do it, Daddy! Make the envious Moon weep until he no longer glows. He’ll taste of fresh lemons and pomegranates” Drucilla says excitedly.

“ Oh i’ll get to our succulent femmefatale eventually now I’m focused on another. Now let’s see who I can nab for dinner” his face vamps out...

“ Another dead end,” Eiji says looking exhausted The two of them combing through the crime photos. It’s not his finest work Angelus admits but he’s still proud of it. Then there’s a knock on the door Angel opens to reveal a man with red hair. “ Charlie?” Eiji says then the color drains from his face at the man’s expression “ No no not anymore I can’t take it!” he insists. “ I’m sorry Eiji,” Charlie says...

“ He always believed in me he used to say I could be a little more selfish,” Eiji says in a dry whisper. “ I was never the type to go for things but Ibe always…..how many more”

The boy doesn’t talk much after that during their outing which suits Angelus fine he’s not after the boy for his stimulating conversation skills. The excuse was he wanted to cheer Eiji up but honestly, its because Drucilla told him “the Moon was angry and stick and straw houses would fall” So Angelus is not surprised to see his house blown to rubble in a fiery explosion nor is he surprised to see three of Yut Lung’s men armed with stakes in case his vampire healing spared him said fiery death. They were here to finish the job. They took one look at healthy alive smiling Angelus and ran for it, unfortunately, he’s with Eiji so he can't rip off their limbs and mail them back to their leaders.

Eiji looks at him after a long thoughtful moment of silence“ I’m sorry you got dragged into this, I’m dropping the case” “ What?” Angelus demanded “It’s too dangerous for you to be around me, here’s some money for a hotel I’m sorry!” Eiji leaves. Dam it that brat ruined his plans Angelus is furious. He’s interrupted by humming he turns to see Drucilla “ Shhhh Miss Edith Daddy is very cross” the vampire chides her doll. “ Come on Dru let's grab a bite in Chinatown ” Angelus vamps out…

Angelus gets a call from Eiji two days later “ Angel, Yut Lung contacted me he says he’s got evidence on who killed Ash. He wants to meet in Central Park”

Angelus grins “ You think it's a trap?” Well, it is but not for Eiji. The little whore is using himself as bait, but if Angelus plays his cards right then he should be able to grab Yut Lung and use him as a hostage to get an invite from Sing. Of course, there’s still Eiji to worry about. Then Angelus comes up with a solution.

“ I need you to come with me just in case, please” Eiji pleads.

“ Of course” Angelus hangs up the phone and turns to Drucilla “ What do you say Dru ready to go to the park?”...

“ You made it,” Yut Lung says standing there.

If Eiji is soft cuddles in the morning Yut Lung is the dirty polaroid stashed secretly in a man’s drawer Angelus muses. Ash may not have been drawn to him like Eiji but the vampire bets he still a small hold on the boy. Yut Lung is all dressed up when they meet him makeup applied, hair done up its like he wants to be taken. It's like he’s living breathing art even his movements are fluid, every step a light tease.

Still, Angelus is going to bind those feet, the air of challenge in those delicate movements gets under his skin.

“ I was worried I’d have to draw you a map” a taunt on those red lips.

“ No tricks Yut Lung where’s the evidence?” Eiji asks

“ Right here” Yut Lung takes out a gun and puts bullet after bullet into Angelus. The vampire crazed with pain doesn’t realize he’s backing up into a tree until he hits it a familiar sharp object sails towards him and the vampire finds himself wrapped up in strings a familiar sharp object penetrating his stomach. Sing swings down from the branches.

“ You think you got me, oh Dru!” he calls the vampiress bursts from her four hours ago hiding spot and grabs Yut Lung pressing her nails to his throat. “ Aaand he doesn’t make it to first base” Angelus taunts. " Though he has been around the field a few times"

“Another one!” Sing exclaims

“ Sing kill him!” Yut Lung ordered.

Drucilla smiled “ Shhhh you used to be a dolly made of sugar to hide the taste of arsenic when you kissed the lizards. You burned the wicked Dragons. Even though you were too late to save the princess before they made her all red.”

Yut Lung gapes at her “ How do you know?”

Drucilla strokes his hair softly and for a moment she seems almost lucid“ My mummy is dead too, daddy name with his teeth like needles. The wolf came to the door but he dressed in the skin of a priest.” she laughs “ We’ll make you all red too. You don’t have to smile when Daddy makes you part you’re legs. We’ll be brides together, I'll carry you under the stars” She promises.

“ Like hell, you will!” Sing exclaimed

Drucilla looks at him and laughs “ Hades and Persephone will ride off with the Moon. The mountain Lion crushed beneath their feet.” she taunts.

“ Isn’t she wonderful? this is Drucilla my masterpiece” Angelus brags.

“ You mean she used to be human” Sing said in horror.

“ And sane and pure and oh so good. She was going to be a nun and declare her vows to God” Angelus said mockingly.

“ You hurt her, you broke her, you took her dam sanity” Yut Lung looks like he wants to rip the vampires’ eyes out with his bare nails.

“ I was going to do the same to you both” Angelus croons.

“ I won’t let that happen,” says Eiji pointing a gun at Drucilla.

“ Daddy who is this?” Drucilla asked in confusion

“ Just Eiji he was the other one I was focused on” Angelus wants to get on with things. “ I can’t see you ” Then Drucilla had a look of realization and lunges for Eiji. the boy fires a gun straight through her head which doesn’t kill her but causes her to scream. Sing moves and shoves a stake through her heart.

“ Not supposed to be here …..” then she turns to dust.

Angelus feels her loss not the loss of a man for his lover but an artist for his greatest work. Angelus breaks through Sing’s flimsy strings furiously. Yut Lung attacks Angelus pins his wrists “ Tonight doesn’t seem to be working out for you Yuey maybe if I give you a rousing cheer!” then he groans as a bullet pieces his chest. Yut Lung slips a needle under his skin and Angelus feels his body flop to the ground.

Then he sees the smoking gun. “ Eiji how could you, I thought we were friends” Eiji flashes him, his middle finger.

“ Congratulations you finally caught on after what a month” Angelus sneered.

“ Why couldn’t you have paralyzed his mouth too Yue?” Sing groans

“ He needed to have some awareness, for personal satisfaction,” Yut Lung says. “ I’ve contacted the Council we have a few minutes”

“ Even when taking out someone for the safety of the community you can’t stop being a sadistic bastard” Eiji complained.

“ He was going to give me locus feet” Yut Lung argued.

“ You fucking bastard!” Sing raged.

“ I’m going to do even more until those feet are completely useless” Angelus vows.

Both Sing and Yut Lung shiver. “ I’ll teach Sing all the wonderful things I learned in Tibet”

“ How could I have thought you were here to help me?” Eiji says with disgust

“Because Eiji if there was a first place for the biggest idiot you’d win the grand prize. I’d rather be back in Hell then continue to hang out with you” Angelus informs him.

“ Why did you?” Eiji asked

“ Because I wanted to taint, and corrupt you in every way,” the vampire says. “ I wanted you spread out on my sheets but you were so hung up on Ash, you friend-zoned me, me!” “ Clearly a bad choice on his part,” said Yut Lung sarcastically

“ You killed Ibe and Ash as a part of some sick game to hurt me” Eiji spat.

“ You were going to be my comeback piece,” Angelus said.

“ This pretentious fuck thinks he’s an artist,” said Sing with an eye roll.

“ So what did finally light a red dot in your empty noggin?” Angelus taunted

“ Yut Lung I realized he wasn’t trying to kill me but you. He wouldn’t do that unless. I went to Max and we did some investigating of our own. Three people saw you the night of Ibe’s murder with red hands. They were just too scared. I contacted Sing and Yut Lung and the three of us made this plan” Eiji said.

“ Enough talk” Yut Lung says with a nod

Sing goes up the tree to retrieve something.

“ You think the Watchers council can hold me?” Angelus laughs

“ They won’t have a chance to try” Yut Lung pulls out a stake and Sing comes back with a Jar. “ You want to do the honors Eiji chan, he wronged you the most” Angelus doesn’t register until seconds before Eiji holds the stake over his heart “ This is for Ash and everyone you ever raped, tortured or killed” Yut Lung holds the jar under him and Eiji drives the stake deep...

Angelus looks at the familiar fiery cubicle “ You know you guys could have redecorated since last I was here” the door opens and a familiar blond boy with green eyes walks through the door.

“ Are you a demonic projection or the real thing?” Angelus asked

Bastard!” a punch sails directly into his gut.

“ Hi, Ash got the guys upstairs really give you a reprieve to torment me.?” Angelus asked curiously “ I’m flattered”

“ This is my torment every sick thing I did for Dino I have to do for them. He’s a fan of my dam work!” Ash sounds beyond self-loathing

“ Yep definitely in Hell! I work my undead ass off sticking it God and humanity in general only to get passed over for some seventeen-year-old hack!” Angelus complained, “ So what Whips, chains, crabs ?”

“ Time to explain why you fucked up” Ash smirked. “ Drucilla never saw Eiji”

“ Come on your telling me your damsel was the difference between me winning or dying him?” Angelus exclaimed incredulously

“ Yut Lung was a mixed bag among the powers that be. Half the people upstairs wanted to put him on Hell’s legislator and be done with it especially after the Lee family slaughter. The other half debated he deserved a chance. In the end, it was love that saved him, Lang Lui his mom caught word and advocated on her little boy's behalf. She’s quite the pistole over on the other side and was smart enough to drum up enough favors for this day” Ash laughed.

“ We got it wrong Angelus, Eiji wasn’t meant to be saved he was meant to guide and protect others.”

Angelus processes this “ Those goodie two shoes used me!” he raged

“ Yut Lung and Eiji hated each other. Worse Sing was left torn between them. You were the nudge all three of them needed to become a united front. It was what the powers hoped for.” Ash grins “ There going to save so many people and its all because of you”

Angelus feels utterly horrified.

“ And it gets better you see Angelus just because you choose evil doesn’t mean good was done with you. You had more chances than any of us and you blew them!” Ash spits

“ I have no soul,” Angelus said in a well duh voice.

“ Neither did Darla or Spike heck Drucilla could've gotten redemption maybe if you hadn’t used her one last time. You robbed that girl of so much! Even with a soul, You were never serious about helping anyone; it was always about Buffy or the Shanshu prophecy or appeasing your own guilt. That’s why when you lost that guilt it was fucking party time” Ash hissed.

“ Are you torturing me or yourself?” Angelus mocks

“ I’m just getting to the good part,” the blond says sweetly “ See every act of evil you did brought out some good”

“How?” Angelus demands

“It’s funny you did so much good as a murderous psychopath because the face of your inhumanity brought out the compassion, kindness, strength of those who didn’t even know they had it” Ash finished.

“ Oh god no please no more just no more!” Angelus’s mind is reeling all that work, all that planning.

“ And guess what? we have an eternity to go over all of the ripples you created in the lives of others while souled and not. I’m talking about every sinner and saint and all of the good they did throughout their lives and how they influenced others. Welcome back to Hell you piece of shit. I’m the new management. I'm here to make sure your stay is as unpleasant as possible. So today lets start with all the nice laws that got passed because of you and Darla’s rampages!” Ash says in a cutesy voice.

Angelus lets out a wail of anguished despair that echoes throughout all of hell. The end

#banana fish #buffy the vampire slayer #Eiji Okumura #ash lynx #sing soo ling #yut lung lee #asheiji #yuesing #angelus #drucillia #Angelus/Eiji one sided #Angelus/Yut Lung implications #yut lung/sing #Yut/Sing/Eiji team up #angelus needs to kill instead of tormenting

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edettethegreat · 4 years ago

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BONUS ROUND (aka part 1.5)- Some additional things for staging King Lear so that Edmund is 100% more sympathetic

Part 1

Due to the fact that the audience needs to be told things via physical action makes this job of mine (ie making Edmund more sympathetic) (that I definitely did not have to do) a whole lot more difficult.

I gotta add in some more stage directions to really push the points I’m going for. So that even the dumbest audience member will get my point.

Casting/ Costumes

-Curan, who I have previously decided is the Captain Edmund talks to later, has red hair. Like, a bright shade of red. Since it’s not a common hair color, the audience will be able to recognize that the same servant is now the captain.

- regarding Cornwall’s costume- This is a very valid example of what I was trying to describe (but like- plus a black jacket)

-Edgar and Gloucester have a very strong family resemblance to each other. Edmund does not. In fact, Edmund looks almost nothing like them. (For example, if Edgar and Gloucester have dark brown hair, Edmund would have light blond hair.) (I know, I know- that’s not necessarily how genetics work. BUT. That’s also not not how genetics work.)

-EXCEPT. Now hear me out because I’m right. Hear me out. This is good. Edmund and Gloucester share the same, very distinctive, eye color. So that when Gloucester’s eyes get stabbed out, it’s also severing the one strand of a connection he had with Edmund. ✨Symbolism!✨

ACT 1 SCENE 1

-At the start of the scene, the stage already has people on it. It’s like. A party kinda but not really? It’s a royal event- a bunch of noblepeople would be there. The Door (TM) (and by now (assuming you read part 1) you should know that The Door (TM) is one of my favorite set pieces here) is on the stage towards the middle in the back.

-you can see Gloucester, Kent, and Edmund walking towards it, ie to enter and join the other guests in the room. There is no wall between “behind” the door and in front of it. Only an implied wall created by how the set is set up. So you can still see them.

Here’s a not-so-helpful illustration:

I do recognize how unhelpful that illustration is. I’m sorry.

-As they approach the door, Gloucester pauses, waiting. Kent stands behind him- waiting to see what he’s waiting for. As you’ve guessed by now, this Earl of Gloucester is waiting for his bastard son to open the door for him. (Headcanon that Gloucester treats Edmund like a servant 99% of the time. Headcanon that Edmund would rather be a servant, because at least servants can quit their jobs.)

-Edmund opens it. Kent’s just like “what- what just happened?”. But Gloucester enters, and Edmund seems to be waiting for him to enter as well, and so he does. (It was this, combined with everything I wrote in Part 1, that makes Kent ask “Is not this your son, my lord?”, ie ??he’s not a servant tho?? Why, Gloucester?? Why are you like this??)

-As I mentioned earlier (I think- Unless I was just planning on mentioning it, and I didn’t actually get around to doing so) (I don’t exactly write these things in order), Extras are already on stage. The whole stage has a “ah yes this is an upper class event. The people here are all fancy rich people” vibe.

-As Gloucester has his epic conversation with Kent, other less high ranking noblemen stand around them as well. They don’t say anything or join in- probably because they’re less higher ranking.I know nothing about the hierarchy of English nobility, but let’s just say that Gloucester and Kent are pretty high ranking people.

-anyway the only purpose of doing that is for the “make Gloucester 100% more of a jerk” aspect of this.

-ie, he’s not just insulting Edmund in private, or in front of a close friend of his. He’s insulting him in public, in front of all the random noblemen.

-everything else I wrote in Part 1 about this scene stays the same.

ACT 1 SCENE 2

-Edmund stands by the desk as he talks to Edgar. (As you’d remember from part 1, he was sitting at the desk as he started his 2nd soliloquy).

-at “Some villain hath done me wrong!” Edgar slams his hands down on the desk. Edmund backs away as he says his lines “That’s my fear....”. He sees that Edgar is really angry (yeah, no kidding.), and is like “oh.... oh he would not hesitate to kill me with his bare hands at the moment.”

ACT 2 SCENE 1

-at “and of my land?..... loyal and natural boy, I’ll work the means to make thee capable”, Gloucester is still facing away from Edmund/ not looking at him. He motions vaguely to him at the words “loyal and natural..”. The line is said in a way making it clear that by it he’s actually saying “well Edgar’s not a valid heir to my stuff anymore, what’ll I do with my land??.... ah, I guess Edmund will have to get them. Oh well.”

ACT 2 SCENE 2

-Not exactly a stage direction, but a second reason for why “his” in the sentence “no more, perchance, does mine, nor his, nor hers” is referring to Gloucester and not Edmund: Kent’s response to this is “I have seen better faces in my time”, so “his” can’t be Edmund, since practically the first thing Kent says about Edmund in Act 1 Scene 1 is “hmmm yes that is a Nice Looking person”

-I’m revising what I said in part 1 (mainly just about where Edmund is standing on stage/ where everyone is standing on stage)- I’m changing this scene to be more in favor of @suits-of-woe’s Cornwall Theory. (HEY PEOPLE, GO READ THE CORNWALL THEORY. I don’t just link it here for fun- I link it so you all can go read it)

-SO

-just to reiterate what I said last time about this scene- Edmund enters to break up Kent and Oswald’s fight with a sword (more specifically- Edgar’s two handed sword that he just used to fight Edgar and stab himself with). His arm is wounded from that one time about two seconds ago when he stabbed it. It’s been bandaged. He’s holding the sword well enough, but it’s clear that he wouldn’t be able to actually fight anyone with it.

-NOW MOVING ON TO NEW STUFF

-at “..come, I’ll flesh ye..”, Kent draws his sword and challenges Edmund. (Wait. His sword’s already drawn, right? Ok then nevermind, he just challenges Edmund.)

-Gloucester, Cornwall, and Regan Enter, and walk a bit onto the stage.

-At “Weapons! Arms! What’s the matter here??”, Gloucester notices the fight and takes like 5 steps away from it. It’s clear that he’s like “nope nope nope not dealing with this today-”

-Regan stays where she is. She’s not particularly scared of the fight, and knows that neither Kent nor Oswald would dare injure her, considering she’s literally the king’s daughter.

-Cornwall, however, at his lines of “Keep peace, upon your lives! He dies that strikes again!” moves to stand in between Edmund and Cornwall- ie facing Cornwall, in a way that would be protecting Edmund. He also is confident neither Kent nor Oswald would hurt him- he’s higher ranking than both of them.

(Illustrated for your convenience) (Scribbled out Edmund bc I didn’t know how tall to make him)

-Cornwall can see clearly that Edmund is in no condition to fight (at least not with a two handed sword). As the next few lines are said, Cornwall takes the sword from Edmund, in a “don’t worry about this- I got this” sort of way. He gently pushes Edmund towards where Gloucester and Regan are standing- in the same sort of way; showing “hey. I’ll deal with this. It’s not your job to defend us. Go chill with the rest of The Group.”

ACT 3 SCENE 3

-remember when I said Gloucester is angry in this scene?

-yeah well I gotta really push that point using some ✨stage directions✨ rather than just “Gloucester yells a lot”

-ANYWAY

-The Door (TM) is turned sideways for this scene, and Gloucester and Edmund enter from the side of the stage

Here’s a totally helpful illustration

-Gloucester is clearly angry, Edmund is Hiding His Emotions (TM).

-Gloucester starts his lines while he grabs the doorknob and forcefully opening the door. As Gloucester storms on to the main part of the stage, he slams the door behind him, right before Edmund could walk through it after him. Because of course, Gloucester has to forget that Edmund exists at lest once a scene. Edmund stands outside the door for a sec, as if saying “......wow.”. Then he enters and joins Gloucester inside.

ACT 5 SCENE 3

-As Albany says “Half blooded fellow, yes!”, last time I wrote that Edmund is momentarily surprised, then glares at him. This time I’m here to change this a bit-

At first I was picturing it like This:

But then I was like, “no,, that won’t make Edmund 100% more sympathetic- that would only make him like 65% more sympathetic.”

-anyway, we gotta raise Albany’s aggression level. Because if they’re equally aggressive to each other The Audience might just. Not get it. They won’t get that we’re out here trying our hardest to make ya sympathize with Edmund.

-So. And Hear me out. Because this DOES have a point. I’m gonna get to it. So to raise Albany’s aggression levels here, Albany grabs Edmund’s tie or jabot (whatever neck piece the costume has. I don’t care how historically accurate the costumes are) and pulls him towards him (in like. An aggressive Way.) He lets go as soon as he finishes saying that one line- he only did it to prove he was serious about challenging Edmund. Either way, he did It in a more pulling forward motion than a grabbing on motion, and so now Edmund is standing on the other side of Albany. (Was this basically just a way for me to change where Edmund is standing? Maybe.)

-now that Edmund is standing on the other side of Albany, the scene continues as I wrote it out in part 1- ie Edmund glares at Albany. Except Albany is no longer standing in front of him (ie facing him).

Here’s an illustration to help out-

So far, Edmund never glared at anyone (or showed his anger in general) straight to a person’s face. He always only lets his mask fall when he’s alone or when the subject of his anger can’t see him. So now it’s more consistent- their positions on the stage changed so that Edmund can still glare at Albany, and also doesn’t have to drop his act.

-AND THAT’S IT-

(-FOR NOW-)

#King lear #shakespeare #I am trying here #I am making an attempt

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dettiot · 5 years ago

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Fic: Anakin vs. the Feelings

Title: Anakin vs. the Feelings Author: dettiot Summary: Anakin tries to cope with how he feels for Padme as their mission shifts.

Notes: Written for Anidala Week 2020, Day 7: Free Day. This is set just after my story Don’t Freak Out, which was a gender-swapped fusion of Star Wars and Chuck. I have a bit of a recap at the start of this fic, but if you’re not very familiar with Chuck, you might want to give the first story a read before this one. Find it on AO3 or on Tumblr!

XXX

Hi, I’m Padme, and here’s some things you might need to know.

My life is filled with spies, car chases, computer-stealing ninjas and me saving the day. You see, everything changed when I got an email from my college best friend, Sabe. I thought she was an accountant from Connecticut--but Sabe had been working for the CIA when she stole a whole bunch of government secrets. Big, important secrets. Really scary, nasty, you-get-killed-for-having-them secrets. Next thing I know, these super secrets are downloaded into my brain. Which means every moment of my life is in danger.

Fortunately, the CIA sent their best agent to protect me: Anakin Skywalker.

[montage of Anakin wearing a tuxedo, charming a woman at a cocktail party, taking out six bad guys effortlessly, looking at Padme and smiling]

Yeah, I know.

The NSA sent their best agent, too: Ben Kenobi.

[montage of Ben cleaning weapons, arguing with a roomful of terrorists, giving Padme a blank, judging look]

Yeah, he’s . . . he’s not so nice.

XXX

“You know this isn’t going to work.”

Heaving a sigh, Anakin Skywalker, CIA Agent, did his best not to think about all the ways he could kill Ben Kenobi without breaking a sweat.

It was a long list. Which gave him enough time to actually come up with some good reasons to counter Kenobi’s negativity.

“Look, it’s just as easy to bring Dr. Zarnow here as it is to take Padme to him,” Anakin said. “The Ring is crawling all over D.C., looking for Sabe. This way, we keep Padme off their radar.”

“That’s fairly cold, sacrificing the woman you used to be in love with,” Kenobi observed, an eyebrow going up as Anakin shifted his feet. “Because you weren’t just partners with Sabe, after all.”

It was true: he wasn’t just partners with Sabe. But . . . they hadn’t been much more than partners in a long, long time.

“Sabe betrayed the CIA by stealing the Intersect,” Anakin said, gathering some papers so he could hide his face from Kenobi’s piercing stare. “ Padme is a civilian. And a good person. She helped save General Stanfield when she didn’t have to. And all she’s asking is that we let her stay with her friends and family. It seemed like a fair trade-off to me.”

Kenobi tutted. “Intelligence agencies generally aren’t interested in fairness. But Yoda agreed with your crazy plan, so I’ll back you.”

“Thanks,” Anakin said, holding the papers against his chest, his arms folded over them.

“Don’t thank me. I’m just doing my job.”

The tone of Kenobi’s voice made it clear he thought Anakin wasn’t, which annoyed the hell out of him. But he had spent a long, long time holding his emotions in--and he wasn’t going to stop now.

So when Kenobi saw he hadn’t gotten a reaction, he grunted softly and left their quasi-office, also known as the home theater room at the Buy More.

He was probably going to his hotel, sharpening some knives or something. Not that Anakin didn’t have his own weapons to take care of, but . . .

Sinking down on the sofa, Anakin dropped the papers on the coffee table and leaned back, trying to get his thoughts straight.

His thoughts and his emotions.

If there was an agent he thought would turn out to be a traitor, Sabe wouldn’t have been his pick. She was smart, determined, dedicated. But also guarded, secretive, and slightly too prone to violence.

But even if she was a traitor, he wouldn’t have expected her to draw an innocent person into her web. But that was what Padme was: innocent.

It bothered him, seeing Padme involved in all this. Anakin couldn’t remember the last time he had so much contact with a civilian. He would have thought it would be boring. Grating. He had long ago accepted that his job meant sacrifice, meant keeping people safe so they could go about their normal, everyday lives.

But spending time with Padme . . . it wasn’t boring. There was something about her--a glow. She looked like Sabe, just shorter, but she was also so different from Sabe.

She was the last person he could imagine fitting into his life of secrets and shifting loyalties. He hoped Dr. Zarnow would be able to get the Intersect out of Padme’s head, so her life could go back to normal.

And he would be back to his normal life, traveling all over the world and kicking ass and . . .

Anakin shook his head. That was what he wanted: to get the hell out of Burbank and back to work.

XXX

There was something about Dr. Zarnow that Anakin didn’t like. The man came off as too glib. But it didn’t really matter what Anakin thought of him--not as long as he could extract the Intersect from Padme’s mind.

He stood at the Nerd Herd desk with Kenobi and Zarnow, listening to Padme and watching her on the cameras as she went through the testing to confirm the presence of the Intersect. Which seemed stupid to Anakin, but he hadn’t been asked.

“Amazing,” Zarnow breathed out. “The amount of data inside her head . . . how has she not injured herself?”

Injured herself? What? The Intersect was supposed to be safe--before Sabe had stolen it, it had been slated for implementation. Would the CIA and NSA endanger an agent by frying their brain?

And did that mean that Padme could--

Giving himself a bit of a shake, Anakin said, “So you can remove the Intersect from the subject’s mind?”

“Oh, yes. Quite easily. As soon as tomorrow night.”

Anakin looked at Kenobi, who nodded. “All right,” Anakin said, looking at Zarnow. “Agent Kenobi will take you back to your hotel. We’ll pick you up tomorrow night at ten.”

“Agree,” the doctor said, shaking Anakin’s hand before Kenobi escorted him out.

As he watched them walk away, he wondered at the strange feeling he had. What made him not trust Zarnow? There was absolutely nothing to say the doctor wasn’t to be trusted, but Anakin couldn’t help it. Sometimes, you just had to work on a gut feeling. It was what made him trust Kenobi, even though they barely agreed on anything.

It was his gut that made him trust Padme.

His eyes were drawn to the video screen, watching Padme. She was rubbing her temples, her shoulders hunched. When her hands fell from her face, it was easy to see the strain from the flashes.

The last thing he should be doing was staring at Padme, letting her hurt, when he should be taking her home and putting her mind at ease. After all, she would be excited to know that soon, this nightmare would be over for her. She could be safe, her loved ones would be safe, and she would never again have to think about Agent Anakin Skywalker.

And why did that make something inside him twist?

Shoving all the unhelpful emotions aside, Anakin stepped over to the home theater room. “Okay?”

Padme nodded, her face pale. “Yeah . . . did I do all right?”

“You did great,” Anakin said, reassuring her. “In fact, Dr. Zarnow thinks by this time tomorrow, you’ll be free of the Intersect.”

“Really? Wow,” Padme said softly, her soft brown eyes locked on his for a long moment before she looked away.

What was going through her mind? Gratitude, probably. Relief.

Or . . . could she be sad about an end to all of this? Seeing the last of him?

A sarcastic voice inside his head snorted. “Yeah, right, Skywalker.”

“This is a good thing,” Anakin said, not sure whether he was trying to make her feel better or himself.

“Yeah--yeah, of course,” Padme said. “Um, what time? Sola wanted to have dinner as a family. And . . .”

Anakin looked at her, noticing how she was gnawing a little on her lower lip. “What is it?” he asked softly, lowering his head a little to be closer to her.

“She said I should invite you,” Padme said, looking up at him. “I mean--I can tell her you can’t make it--”

“No,” Anakin interrupted quickly. “I can be there. I mean, I have to eat, and--and I’ll have to pick you up anyway, so . . .”

A soft, dazzling, disbelieving smile lit up Padme’s whole face. “Really?”

He had to swallow before he could reply. “Really.”

“Oh, thank you! I mean, I know you’ll be leaving as soon as the Intersect is out of my head, but it’s made Sola really happy to think I’m dating someone,” Padme said. “And she’s kinda mad that Jar-Jar had met you even before she heard about you. You’re saving my life.”

“No problem,” Anakin said, leading Padme out of the store and to his Porsche.

Padme kept chattering as he drove her home. Anakin stayed silent, trying to figure out the odd feeling going through him. It wasn’t until he was nearly to his hotel that he realized what it was.

Sadness.

XXX

Grimacing, Anakin used the toe of his boot to push aside a burned clump of metal and plastic, then turned to look at the remains of a late-model sedan.

“You’re sure Zarnow was in the car?”

“Security cameras show him driving away from his hotel in this car,” Kenobi said, drawing up beside Anakin. “Looks like the good doctor wanted to do some sightseeing and ran off the road.”

“But why?” Anakin asked, not really talking to Kenobi. He walked around the burned-out car, moving past crime scene techs. He nearly stepped on another piece of plastic, but something made him stop at the last moment.

“Kenobi!” he said, crouching down and pulling out a pen to push at the object.

“A cell phone?” Kenobi asked from behind and above him.

Anakin nodded, turning over the phone. “How much you want to bet there’s explosive residue on this?”

“No bet,” Kenobi said, folding his arms over his chest. “I never bet on a sure thing. So someone wanted to kill Zarnow.”

“Looks like it,” Anakin said, before his head jerked up to meet Kenobi’s eyes. “Padme.”

Kenobi’s eyes widened, and then in one movement, they each began running towards their cars.

XXX

When Padme opened the door of the apartment she shared with Sola and her husband, her eyes widened. “Anakin!”

“Hi, hi, sorry I’m late!” he said quickly, leaning down and kissing her cheek. He held the bouquet of flowers in his hand out to her. “These are for you. I brought wine, too.”

“Oh . . . thanks,” she said, still looking surprised. She put her hand on his chest and pushed him out of the apartment a few steps. “I thought, with the doctor being dead--” she whispered, glancing back towards her sister and brother-in-law. “I thought you weren’t coming,” she said.

“I’ll explain later,” Anakin said, desperate to get her inside. To get her under cover, away from anyone with a sniper rifle who wanted to take her out.

His stomach had been churning for the last hour, ever since he realized that anyone who killed Zarnow might want to move against Padme. Making himself stop at his hotel and change into a suit and button-down shirt, getting flowers and wine--doing everything to play the part of a boyfriend meeting her family--had been agony. Because whenever he thought of Padme with a hole between her eyes . . .

Padme looked confused, but she rolled with the punches. “All right. Come on in and meet everyone.”

Nodding, Anakin rested his hand on Padme’s back, feeling her warmth through her soft dress. He stepped inside the apartment, feeling instantly welcomed. Padme’s sister, Sola, and her husband Darred were both nice people. Jar-Jar was a little strange, but he was Padme’s best friend.

It all felt so . . . normal. Passing over the bottle of wine, exchanging small talk with Darred, watching Sola and Padme talk in the kitchen. Padme’s cheeks flushed at whatever her sister said, and Anakin wondered what they were talking about.

A knock on the door made Anakin tense. Darred called out cheerfully, “I’ve got it!” and had the door open before Anakin could get into position. He relaxed slightly when he saw Kenobi, although he still felt a spike of annoyance at the older man not trusting him to protect Pamde adequately.

“Hello there!” Kenobi said with a genial smile. “I’m Ben, a coworker of Padme’s. She invited me over for dinner, and I brought one of my famous chocolate souffles for the occasion.”

Anakin blinked. Well, he hadn’t seen that coming.

“C’mon in!” Darred said brightly. “Any friend of Padme’s, etc. etc. I’m Darred, Padme’s brother-in-law. That’s Anakin, her boyfriend, although as if you don’t know! Padme talks about him all the time, am I right?”

“All the time,” Kenobi agreed, smirking at Anakin.

He gripped his glass of wine tightly and tried not to blow his cover.

“And right over here is Sola, the light of my life,” Darred said, introducing Kenobi to her. “This is one of Padme’s coworkers, babe.”

“What are you doin’ here, Ben?” Jar-Jar asked, sounding suspicious.

“Oh!” Padme said loudly. “Silly me. I forgot I invited Ben. Let me take that souffle from you--doesn’t it smell great?--and we’ll get you some wine.”

And here he thought Padme could roll with the punches. She certainly was thrown by Kenobi’s arrival. Although Anakin couldn’t blame her for that--he would be confused by Kenobi just showing up, too. Especially with how he was acting.

Somehow, they all got through dinner, souffle and all. All too soon, Sola shooed Padme out of the apartment, telling her to walk Anakin to his car.

Echo Park was quiet as they stepped out into the courtyard. “So what happens now?” Padme asked him as soon as the door closed behind them.

“I don’t know,” Anakin said with a sigh. “Dr. Zarnow was the only one who could remove the Intersect.”

Padme scuffed the toe of her flat against the ground. “So . . . is it time for the bunker?”

“No, Padme,” he said, turning to face her. “I’ll figure something out. Something that will let you stay here. I promise.”

In the moonlight, her eyes were luminous. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

Anakin opened his mouth, wanting to make all kinds of promises to her. Promises that went against everything he thought he wanted.

But then he felt a sting against his neck. Padme’s eyes widened, and then she lifted a hand to her neck. “What . . .?” she slurred.

There was just enough time to see her hand drop, revealing a tranquilizer dart in her neck, before Anakin felt the same drug run through his system. Then his eyes closed and everything went dark.

XXX

If there was one thing Anakin Skywalker hated, it was waking up after being drugged.

Correction: waking up after being drugged and finding himself chained up.

Grimacing at the cuffs around his wrists, Anakin yanked again, trying to break the chain loose from the ceiling. But it was no good: this setup was solid. And the cuffs were latched so tightly around his wrists, he didn’t think breaking his thumbs would let him get free.

He ran his hands up the chains, then jumped, bringing his feet up. If he could brace against the ceiling, he could definitely get the chains loose . . .

But even at just over six feet tall, his legs weren’t long enough for him to reach the ceiling.

His curse was muffled, thanks to the duct tape over his mouth. Anakin dropped back to the ground and made his peace with waiting.

Padme!

The thought of her made the last fog of the tranquilizer clear his mind. Looking around quickly, Anakin realized she wasn’t here. There weren't any other restraints in view, so . . . where was she?

Anakin yanked again on his chains, trying to get free. He had to find her--he had to protect her!

It felt like the chains were looser, but before he could try again, the door of the dark warehouse slid open, revealing a small woman in a soft dress.

“Padme!” he barked against the duct tape. “What are you doing here?”

And why was he talking with the gag over his mouth? Maybe it was how angry he was at her being here. Because what the hell was she thinking?

She hurried up to him. “I know, I know, just shut up!” She reached up for the edge of the duct tape and winced. “Sorry!”

Then she yanked the tape off cleanly.

He grimaced at the sticky residue and the pain, then shook his head. “What are you thinking?” he hissed. “Go home!”

“No!” Padme said. “When I woke up, I flashed--Dr. Zarnow has been working with North Korea. He faked his death to throw you and Kenobi off the scent.”

“So he could take you and sell you to the highest bidder!” Anakin said angrily, glaring at Padme. “And so you came running after me?”

Padme glowered back at him. “I had to! You were in trouble!”

God, her desire to protect people was going to get her killed!

“I can take care of myself,” he said firmly. “Before Zarnow or anyone else shows you, you’re going back to the car. That’s an order, Padme.”

“Good thing I don’t take orders from you!” Padme said. A sound from outside made them both look in that direction, then Padme gave him an apologetic look. She plastered the duct tape back over his mouth before he could say anything more.

It was wrong to be . . . a little bit impressed, right? To admire how strong and determined she was, even when she was doing incredibly idiotic things?

She looked around and found a rusty crowbar, then hurried over to one side of the door, crouching in the shadows. He could see her readying the crowbar, even as he mentally tried to tell her to run, to get out of here.

And then Kenobi stepped through the door and Padme lifted her weapon to strike, only to stop just in time. “Kenobi!” she cried.

“Yes, yes, it’s me,” he said, holstering his gun. “C’mon. I’ve got Zarnow locked up in the car. We gotta get out of here.”

Kenobi showed no problem with yanking the duct tape off Anakin’s mouth. The older man smirked at him. “Nice job, bein’ bait.”

Anakin shook his head. “Thanks, I guess. How did you find me in the first place?”

“Trackers in the souffle,” Kenobi said. He reached up, wrapping his hands around the chains. “On three.”

Together, they pulled the chains free and within a few moments, they were all in Kenobi’s SUV, Zarnow unconscious, bound and gagged in the back seat.

Rubbing a hand over his face, Anakin looked back at Padme. “Are you all right?”

She nodded. “I’m fine. Kenobi found me, and then we found you. He took care of Zarnow while I looked for you.”

“I can’t believe you brought her with you,” Anakin grumbled to Kenobi.

“And leave her passed out in the courtyard? She woke up in the car on the way,” Kenobi grumbled right back. “Not my fault she’s got a scary-fast recovery period for such a little shrimp.”

“I’m right here, you know,” Padme said in annoyance.

Anakin turned in his seat to really look at her. “Yes, you are. But it was luck alone that allowed everything to work out. If this arrangement is going to continue, you have to listen to Kenobi and I.”

Padme’s eyes flashed. “Or you could teach me how to take care of myself.”

What? There was no way Padme could defend herself. She was so small, so soft . . .

“It’s not the worst idea,” Kenobi said.

“Kenobi!” Anakin said in shock, staring at the NSA agent. “You can’t be serious.”

“And why can’t he be serious?” Padme asked, sounding hurt. “No one would expect me to know what to do in a fight.”

Kenobi nodded as he parked outside the apartment complex. “She’s right. Being a damsel in distress only works in fairy tales.” He looked back at Padme. “We won’t go easy on you.”

She lifted her chin, her jaw set. “Give me your worst.”

“I haven’t agreed to this!” Anakin protested. “And I doubt Yoda will agree, either.”

“Then we won’t tell him,” Kenobi said smugly. “C’mon, Skywalker--afraid that the girl will kick your ass?”

Anakin grimaced. He could care less about Padme, or any woman, beating him in a fight. But Padme . . . she wasn’t cut out for this. She was normal, a civilian. She shouldn’t have to defend her life with punches and kicks.

But then he looked at her. At the hope in her eyes, at the courage in her face and body. And he knew he couldn’t stand in her way.

He had a feeling he would never be able to tell her no.

It was another strange, unique feeling that Padme brought out in him.

With a sigh, Anakin nodded. “All right.”

Padme’s face lit up with one of those smiles he would kill to get. “Thank you! Thank you!”

“All right,” Kenobi interjected. “Get inside. It’s late. See you tomorrow, Amidala.”

She gave them both another bright smile before hopping out of the car and hurrying into her apartment.

“This isn’t the right thing to do,” Anakin said quietly.

“It isn’t the right thing for you,” Kenobi corrected. “But then, it doesn’t matter what either of us want--it’s about what she wants,” he said.

And Anakin couldn’t argue with Kenobi on that.

He would do everything in his power to give Padme what she wanted. No matter what it was--he wanted to give her everything.

Even if it broke his heart to do so.

End.

#anidalaweek2020 #anidala #star wars #chuck #nbchuck #padme amidala #anakin skywalker #obi-wan kenobi

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theolddarkmachine · 5 years ago

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Imaginary- Chapter Seven

Midoriya Izuku’s life was turned upside by fate.

Eri’s life was turned upside down by circumstance.

And Bakugou Katsuki is about to learn that even imaginary friends need to grow up.

Also on AO3

A/N: Nothing really to say today. This one tried to kick my but I told myself I had to get it out before I could start FFVIIR, which really worked for kicking my own ass into gear XD hope y’all like since we are officially past the “can Izuku see Katsuki 🤔” hurdle lol

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

Dropping his arm across the back of the couch behind Eri’s head, Izuku keeps his eyes forward on the current candy colored cartoon on the TV’s screen. It’s an old one, at least by Eri’s standards, but it seems to have captured her attention all the same with its brightly colored heroes fighting the doom and gloom of villains.

Shifting his gaze to the corner of his eye, Izuku sneaks a glance at the small girl beside him as she watches. Hands folded around a small mug of juice, mirroring the way he’s holding his own coffee, he notes the way her attention is rapt on the television even as her mouth is downturned into a small pout.

It had been almost a week since she had mentioned Kacchan going missing, and just two short days since she’d finally stopped asking Izuku if he’d seen him. That would have given him some small hope that she was getting over the loss of her imaginary friend if it wasn’t for the stubborn look of discontent that still clung to her features.

At first, he’d tried treading lightly, avoiding any proverbial landmines that might exacerbate things, but that had only proven harder and harder to do as Eri continued to act downtrodden.

So he did the only thing he could think to do, and turned to his mother for advice.

Well, Izuku, there isn’t much you can do. Even you had needed some time when your imaginary friend had disappeared.

Thus, time was what he was giving. And if he just happened to fill that time with Saturday morning cartoons, flavored with his own parental worry, then so be it.

“Daddy Izuku?” Eri’s voice is still gruff with sleep as she speaks, turning her attention away from the television to look up at him with wide eyes. Izuku feels a sharp stab at the center of his chest as he notices they way they’re a little watery.

“What is it, Eri?” He asks, words a soft shade of concern. There’s a brief flicker of doubt that dances across her features as she worries her lip between her teeth before speaking once more.

“Do you think Kacchan doesn’t want to be my friend anymore?”

Her question is said so quietly, barely a hush, but it lands like a cleaver. Swallowing down the sudden heartbreak that’s sharp and bitter at the back of his tongue, Izuku carefully takes her mug and moves forward to set both his and hers on the coffee table before them before pulling her into his lap.

“I don’t think anyone could not want to be your friend,” he says, trying to sound assuring as he gives her a small squeeze. Holding her close for a moment, he continues, “but if he doesn’t, then I’ll kick his ass.”

That earns him a peal of wavering laughter as Eri twists in his hold so she’s facing him before throwing her small arms around his neck.

“That’s a bad word!” She giggles.

“Yes it is, which is why you shouldn’t say it,” Izuku hums, a small smile curling the edges of his mouth as he feels her return the squeeze. It isn’t much by way of reassurance, but he hopes that it at least means she’ll be okay.

“You going to be okay while I take a shower?” He asks, still holding her close. Eri’s answering nod brushes against his shoulder.

“If you need anything—” Izuku starts before getting cutoff by her leaning back, fixing him with a bright smile as she finishes his sentence.

“Just holler!”

“Good girl,” he praises, giving her a quick peck on the cheek and earning another giggle. Gently lifting her off of his lap, Izuku places her back on the couch where she had been sitting.

Eyes roaming across the room with his shift, they pause on the corner wall and the framed pictures that decorate it. Gold and ruby colors his vision as he feels his expression change into something steely.

“And if anyone knocks?” He asks, tone brusque as he leans forward to grab his mug and stand.

“Don’t answer the door no matter what!” Eri says, repeating the words like a learned mantra as she raises her arms in front of her like an ‘x’.

“That’s my girl,” Izuku says, turning over his shoulder and walking toward the kitchen. Mouth cracking wide with a yawn, he drops the empty cup into the metallic sink. The bright sound of porcelain against the metallic surface clatters around the kitchen, filling the otherwise quiet space with the loud sound.

It’s lost on him, though, as a spark of sunlit gold draws his attention outside.

Bakugou Katsuki.

The name rolls through his mind as Izuku sees the blonde standing outside their gate, just as he had that very first time he’d seen him.

His breath catches in his throat, held by the clutch of deja vu as he watches the man stare at the house with his mouth downturned, thought buried deep in the divot between his eyebrows.

With more force than necessary, Izuku pushes away from the counter, quickly rounding the corner and rushing out the front door without even bothering with shoes. The cool morning air sends goosebumps racing down his bare arms, and a jolt of cold rockets through the soles of his feet as they meet the pavement of his doorstep.

A near opaque puff of breath clouds Izuku’s vision as the door slams shut behind him, cutting through the early morning quiet. It causes the blonde’s attention to snap down to him, the gilded light of his hair cutting through the haze of Izuku’s thoughts as his ruby gaze captures his own emerald one.

Holding Bakugou’s stare with a hardened one, Izuku feels the racing heat, thick and heady like a wildfire, as it builds itself in the space that stands between them. Schooling his features into something stern, he watches with piqued interest as Bakugou’s twists into a weird shape of shock and rage.

For just a moment, Izuku wonders if maybe angry was just the blonde’s default.

“You’re starting to make me wonder if I should be worried about you,” he hears himself say, though he can’t recall ever having the thought to speak in the first place. It isn’t lost on him how harsh his tone sounds, and maybe later he’ll take the time to feel bad about it.

A visible roll of apprehension bristles through Bakugou as he leans into the gate separating him from the yard. Hands bracing along the metal grate, Izuku can’t help but notice the way the skin of his knuckles goes white with his grasp.

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?” He growls, mouth twisting into a challenging sneer. Even with his own hands fisting at his sides at the defiance, Izuku’s mind stupidly supplies the unhelpful observation that Bakugou is attractive.

Made of sharp, strong lines and with eyes the strangest shade of fire, he looks like the kind of challenge that makes heat pool deep in his stomach.

Now wasn’t the time to get caught up in all that, though.

“What are you?” Izuku asks, finally unsticking his tongue from the roof of his mouth. Eyes widening in an almost comical way, Bakugou pushes impossibly closer to the gate as if he might be able to push through the metal by sheer force of will.

“What—”

“Yakuza?” Izuku cuts him off, more to himself than anything. It only serves to turn Bakugou’s look of sour contempt into one of bright confusion as he continues to stare at him. The sunlight illuminates his gaze, and a stray thought swirls itself around Izuku’s mind wondering if his eyes would look like rubies if he moved closer.

“Do I look like fucking yakuza?” Bakugou asks, and it’s just shy of humored now. A feather shock of electricity drags down Izuku’s spine at the sound of his dry laugh.

“No,” he answers truthfully, finally stepping forward off the front step and onto the paved pathway to the gate. The biting chill beats back the sudden warmth of his skin.

“You look more like some common thug.”

A growl, pitched low and menacing, rips through Bakugou’s throat as he throws the gate open, stomping loudly into the front yard and stopping just a few feet from where Izuku stood. His breath stalls in his chest as he realizes the blonde is a just tall enough for him to need to tilt his head up to meet his gaze.

“Oi!” He snaps, pointing an accusatory finger at Izuku. “Who the fuck are you calling a thug, you stupid nerd? I’m an upstanding citizen!”

Izuku’s answering laugh is bright and genuine, and only serves to push Bakugou’s scowl deeper.

“Some upstanding citizen you are, staring at peoples houses and occasionally breaking in.”

Echoing the blonde’s own statement from their first meeting, Izuku watches as Bakugou drops his hand to shove it deep into his front pocket.

“Yeah, well some fucking cop you are standing outside looking like you just got done with a roll in the hay,” he shoots back, dragging his burning ember stare down Izuku’s frame. Starting from his ruffled bedhead, and lower to linger where his old threadbare tank pulls across his chest, before raking along his low slung plaid pajama pants.

Heat bleeds across Izuku’s cheeks and burns across his chest as Bakugou’s gaze springs back up to meet his once more. Lost for words, he feels his mouth open and close around the million of things he can’t think to say.

His silence is met by Bakugou’s confrontational look, turning the moment into a standoff that turns the air alive with buzzing electricity.

“Kacchan!” Eri’s voice splits the tension, sending it fluttering away like confetti caught in a breeze as Izuku turns just in time to see her small frame rocket out the front door.

Kacchan? But isn’t that—

“Eri!” Izuku shouts, fingers just missing her shoulder as she runs by and launches herself at Bakugou. Confusion muddles his thoughts, slowing them to a crawl as he watches the way Bakugou seems to catch her on reflex.

His expression, seemingly stuck in a hardened state, softens as he drops down to her level and ruffles her hair.

“Hey, brat,” Izuku hears him say, and something about the fond tone his voice adopts lights anger at the tips of his nerves. Closing the distance between them, he scoops Eri up before taking two steps back.

“How the fuck do you know my daughter?” He snaps, meeting Bakugou’s scowl with his own as he ignores the way Eri squirms in protest.

Pointed silence is his only answer as Bakugou stands to level their glares.

“Let me rephrase,” Izuku says, feet shifting into a steady stance as his free hand pulls upward in a fist. “You’re going to tell me how you know my daughter, before I have to make you.”

A dangerous smirk curls along Bakugou’s lips as he starts to shift to mirror his pose.

“Daddy Izuku!” Eri’s voice pitches high as she pushes back against his shoulder to look at his face. Mouth twisted in a petulant pout, it would be cute if Izuku wasn’t so focused on the tense man before them. A strange expression twists his features, pinching his brows together as if he’s searching for what to say.

A snarl already prepped on the back of his tongue, Izuku opens his mouth around another demand when he feels Eri’s small hands grab at the sides of his face. Vision filling with her steady look, he finds himself on the receiving end of her stern gaze.

“Kacchan is my friend! We met at daycare!” She huffs, keeping her look of childish intimidation on him. The statement pushes confusion deep between his brows as he flicks his eyes between Eri and Bakugou.

Letting her small hands fall away from his face, Eri finally smiles, as if trying to reassure him.

Brain circling around her words, Izuku finally fixes his attention on the blonde, whose mouth hangs slight unhinged around a silent sound.

“Why didn’t you just say so from the start?” Izuku asks, suspicion hanging off the ends of his words. He doesn’t have a reason not to believe Eri, but that doesn’t do much for the distrust buzzing around in the cage of his ribs.

Time crawls as he waits for anything from Bakugou when the blonde finally settles back into a normal standing position and scratches at the back of his head.

“Kinda hard to have a conversation when your face is shoved into carpet,” he says gruffly, as if the words are being pulled from within him by force. His crimson gaze flicks to the ground at Izuku’s feet as he speaks, and if he didn’t wear the same look of bitter confrontation, Izuku would think that maybe he was being sheepish.

“Told you I was sorry about that,” Izuku grumbles, heat brushing over his cheeks once more as Eri squirms in his hold. Setting her down, he continues, “ we don’t do too well with strangers around here.”

“Yeah, you said that before,” Bakugou huffs, snapping his stare back up just in time to recapture Izuku’s. It lands like a punch to the center of his chest as it sends his breath rushing out of him on the back of a sharp gasp. Freezing him in place, Izuku isn’t sure if he’ll be able to breathe again until suddenly Bakugou looks down.

Before him, Eri grabs his hand.

“Let’s have juice!” She says excitedly, grin wide and blinding. Something close to panic skitters wearily across Bakugou’s face, and when he meets Izuku’s gaze again, it’s with a silent question and plea. It’s a cresting wave that washes away the lingering burn in Izuku’s lungs as he finally sucks in a cooling breath and smiles.

“Why don’t you come inside for some coffee or something,” he asks, reframing Eri’s exclamation into an invitation.

Looking between the two Midoriyas, Bakugou seems to deflate, finally nodding slightly.

“Okay,” he says quietly, causing Eri to cheer. Dipping his chin in genial acknowledgement, Izuku tries to ignore the way his heart kicks up in double time as he turns away, heading back inside as Eri pulls Bakugou along behind him.

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

#bkdk #bakudeku #bakugou katsuki #midoriya izuku #AS OF THIS CHAPTER THINGS WILL REALLY START TO GET GOING #IM SORRY I DID MENTION THIS WAS A SLOWBURN RIGHT?

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chaoskirin · 5 years ago

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Up until this point, I have resisted from commenting on what's been going on, save for within a blog that's followed by a handful of people.

Unfortunately, it's come to a point where the harassment has gotten to be too much, and I feel it's best that more people are aware of what's going on.

Earlier this year, I had a medical issue which caused my medication to stop metabolizing, causing the worst symptoms of BPD to manifest. Unfortunately, this causes "splitting." Without going into detail about what that means, I will say that I was quite harsh, and that's putting it lightly. I was suicidal and leaned too heavily on two people I had come to trust, and while one of them suggested the suicide lifeline, I resisted talking to anyone for a long time. As I explained to her, in the past I was the subject of forced hospitalization, and I feared contacting the lifeline would cause me to be institutionalized again.

I made a mistake. I accept full responsibility for dumping my problems on them. It wasn’t fair. It was painful and no apology I make will ever be enough. They ultimately made the decision to cut ties with me, which I had a hard time accepting, but ultimately realized it had to be done for their own health. I respect that.

However, within a couple days, one of them posted a cryptic post aimed at me that essentially accused me of being abusive to minors. Please note that the people I was leaning on were not minors.

I had not posted anything publicly until that point, however, I did feel the need to defend myself against that. In order to get away from these people, I had moved to a new blog, followed at that point by 19 people. I knew my response would not be far-reaching, but admittedly I did hope that the one who made the post directed at me would see it. I felt it was my right to defend myself, and so I responded accordingly, in public, rather than try to circumvent the block.

Notably, one tactic bullies use to claim their innocence is to state that the person defending themselves is actually the one doing the bullying. This actually happened within the last couple days, but I still maintain that anyone being harassed or bullied should absolutely take a stand. Ignoring bullies does not make them go away. And I want to stress that up until that point, I only responded in my blog when one of them made a post directed at me. They weren't content to block me and leave it alone. They continued to instigate.

In the following week's therapy section, my therapist encouraged me that instead of responding directly, I should instead write small snippets of prose (since I'd told her I enjoyed writing) focusing on how I felt instead of on the people involved. I ended up writing two of them, each around 300 words. The first involved sound sensitivity, and the second was about how I was trying to find a new way to dig myself out of the hole I'd dug myself into. The second one was especially important to me because we'd been discussing new pathways of thinking, and I thought the metaphor was clever.

Neither prose piece was about the other people involved, nor did they make any mention of them.

The next day, two people posted long, public letters containing half truths about their version of what happened. They released incredibly private information with which I'd trusted them, and the letters were extremely abusive. The posts used language usually reserved for speaking about r*pe and p*d*philia, contained internet buzzwords regarding abuse and manipulation, and one person backed up their posts with "a friend told me this is manipulative."

Not only were these letters fairly hyperbolic, but they never once gave any reason behind my actions. They didn't state that I was sick, that I was struggling, that I was in treatment, that I had already apologized for my part, nor that the past couple weeks before they blocked me (and after I started treatment) had been much improved--some of which was directly because of their intervention. They painted me as a purposely manipulative, abusive person, and allowed the many followers who read them to form the worst conclusions possible. These letters were both reblogged by the third person.

The shorter of the two letters contained a fairly clear threat.

As a result of this, I got several messages to both my blogs. Some were from people who didn't know the whole story and didn't bother to get my side, and others were anonymous. One friend told me never to contact her again. Prior to that, we'd been on good terms. One of the anons told me to kill myself, and another contained a thinly-veiled threat on my person. As a result, I have been using a proxy on the internet to prevent people from finding me. I have been blocked by people who I'd previously had no problems with.

I stopped posting to my main blog (this one) and password-locked the other one.

Several weeks later, I created a new blog in which to post for myself and for other people with BPD. This blog's purpose was to help me work through the fear and trauma, and so I could discuss with my therapist what I was thinking and what I was working through. In this blog, I addressed the false statements made in the abusive posts as well as acknowledging my part and my intent to improve. This was the only method I had to defend myself. Because many of the posts were BPD related and I thought my research would be helpful, I eventually un-password protected the blog. At this point, I see no reason to hide it. You can find it here: @boredliondisorder

The people I intended to get away from found the new blog, which I had not advertised, and started posting responses to it in their own blogs. These responses were cryptic and unhelpful and accusatory. When such posts were made, I would often get abusive anonymous messages, which would prompt me to look at the other blogs to see what they had posted.

On a personal, somewhat emotional note, I'm not sure why these people believed they had the right to post those letters and subsequent attacks with absolutely no response from me. Of course I was going to address them. I didn't block these people; they blocked me. I respected that by not contacting them directly, while maintaining my right to defend myself. They made it clear that they wanted no more contact with me while at the same time making sure to read everything I posted. Their directed posts seemed to be made in the spirit of hoping I would see them and reply.

Because I installed an IP tracker on my blogs to deal with anonymous messages, I also noticed they were checking my blog daily.

Constantly checking up on me and trying to keep tabs on what I'm doing when I'm trying to work through trauma and move on is crossing a line.

This has continued for a while.

Recently, one of them posted that if I didn't want them watching my blog, I should delete it and create a new url. Please note again that I had already done that several weeks before, but they followed me to the new blog. I'm still not sure how they managed that outside a tag search for BPD-related topics. Which would mean they were constantly searching certain tags to see if I'd created a new blog.

I'm not sure why I should allow myself to be harassed into deleting my blog and re-making it every time they choose to search out and find me. I have left them alone; the onus is now on them to do the same.

An important note: People have been attacked, doxed, killed, and have been forced to move from their homes and into hiding due to internet-based harassment. Most notably in the video game industry, Anita Sarkeesian was targeted by an online video game-centered group. And because this harassment campaign was posted in a popular location, many people saw it, and many people responded to it to the point where even the people standing up to defend her were getting threats of being r*ped or killed. Places where Sarkeesian was scheduled to speak received bomb threats and she had to cancel.

Three people had a problem with me and decided to make it public. It should have been handled privately. Not because of my ego or pride, but because one of the people involved has over 5000 followers and some of them have more militant ideals of how to handle things. It hasn't just become a post here or a post there--one of this person's followers, or multiple followers, has taken it upon themselves to attack me. Because of this, I have to use a VPN. My family have had to deal with the fallout from this as well.

I have been afraid up until this point to defend myself, because these people crafted those letters almost perfectly. They ensured through omission of fact that no one would stand up for me. I am not asking people to stand up for me now, but I AM asking everyone to stop harassing me over this, because you are operating on half a story. It needs to stop.

I don't think you are bad people, but I honestly don't think that you realize how far-reaching your actions have been. To quote one of the letters, "Do you know what you've done to me? Do you actually get it?" Because I don't think you do. You had to deal with someone severely mentally unstable, and that wasn't fair to you. But in contrast, I am living in fear for my life, and this will affect me for years to come.

I did not want to post this. But the harassment has to stop. It is going to stop.

To anyone reading this, don't destroy the message by sending anonymous hate. If you know who these people are, remember that this post is only one side of the story. Take their side into consideration as well and draw your own conclusions. This cycle of abuse has to end.

#personal #please don't reblog #not bestiary

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jamesbucksiclebarnes · 5 years ago

Photo

Rating: Mature - Heavy Violence, Language.

Chapter List: [1] | [2] | [3] | [4] | [5] | [6]

[AO3 Link] | [Fic Page]

SERIES SUMMARY:

"Not human. She was not human. They all knew it. Could almost feel it, but couldn't make sense of it. That was why they were afraid. Not because of what she used to be Before. But because of what she was now."

Having found herself serving as the right-hand to the Governor for too long, Synnove le Jacques does her best to make things right with the people of the Prison. Stuck beside her partner in crime, her irritatingly obnoxious and hideously problematic best friend, Merle, she does her best to fight back against the monster she has let the Governor become.

CHAPTER TITLE: The Hand That Fed and Fed

We had been walking in absolute silence for almost an hour before I heard the unmistakable crack echo from somewhere in the distance.

I could tell by the way Daryl suddenly stopped in front of me that he’d heard it, too. He turned his head to look at Merle and I over his shoulder, brows furrowed beneath the strands of hair hanging over his face.

“Was that –“

His question was cut off by the sudden, rapid sound of gunfire in the distance. We all spat out a curse before taking off in the direction of the sound, the same direction I imagined the prison was in. With my hands still bound, I had to pay close attention to where I stepped, which hindered my speed enough that I was only able to barely overtake Daryl. Usually, I was faster than any and all humans in the vicinity by quite a decent margin, but I’d almost made a habit of purposefully slowing myself down to not appear weirder than they all already thought I was. Now, however, I’d thrown caution to the wind.

Merle knew I was fast. He knew I could see and hear things almost five times better than he could. And he knew I was strong – stronger than my leanly muscled body should have allowed me to be. At this point, I think he’d just accepted it. After all, it had been the reason I’d saved his ass so many times.

Daryl, though. I didn’t know how he’d handle it, but I also knew it would crush him if anything happened to his friends at the prison. So, I didn’t hold myself back. Not on purpose. Not this time.

I broke through the tree line almost a full thirty seconds before they did. The sight that awaited me brought me to a slow halt. Biters had infested the grounds inside the fence, having wondered in through the broken gate. A familiar truck sat upon the grassy hill inside the fence, one I recognised from the Governor’s stash of vehicles. It was one of the biter trucks.

I surveyed the situation as quickly as I could, my gaze catching the movement by the side of the prison fence, where the outline of a familiar figure caught my eye. Rick was pushed up against the wire, struggling against the group of biters currently making a move to surround him. He didn’t have a weapon.

Daryl broke free of the forest and stuttered to a shocked halt beside me.

I reached down without looking and pulled the bowie knife from his belt, ignoring his yelp of protest as I kicked off once again, sprinting across the grassy plane towards Rick. Mere moments before I reached him, I felt an arrow blaze past me. It buried itself in the forehead of one of the biters surrounding the sheriff.

I got the one standing next to it, leaping up and burying Daryl’s bowie knife into the top of its skull. Even with my bound hands, I made short work of the next three before Daryl and Merle both arrived to help take out the other five or so.

Rick looked between the three of us, nodding at each in turn before reaching out and grabbing Daryl’s shoulder in relief.

It was a touching moment, brief though it was.

Rick looked at each of us, his face drenched with sweat and his eyes holding an intense, near crazed look as he turned to peer through the fence.

The field beyond was lost, taken now by the dead as they mindlessly shuffled through the untrimmed grass, the sounds of their moans drawing more of their kind in through the ruined gate. Both Daryl and Rick remained standing before the fence, gripping onto the wire, glaring hatefully at the creatures that now walked on their land.

I took a step back, looking at Merle with a tight frown. This had been something I had suggested to Philip, once, long ago. It had been intended to be a scare tactic more than a means for extermination. However, that had been back near the beginning. When we had all been concerned about the possibility of another community rising up nearby and wanting what we had.

Rick barely looked in our direction as he began walking, along the fence line and toward the side of the prison. Apparently, there was an alternative entrance. Daryl followed along behind him dutifully. Merle and I exchanged one more look before silently deciding to do the same.

When we arrived by the door, a rusted metal thing that looked as if it would be more at home on Alcatraz than in the midst of Georgia, Rick turned so fast on his heel, his boot literally kicked up a cloud of dust.

Instantly, I lifted my hands. Both were coated in biter blood and I still had Daryl’s bowie knife gripped loosely in my left hand. “Hey, I know you don’t want us here,” I quickly said, hoping to get a word in before Merle opened his big, stupid mouth to say something aggressively unhelpful. “And I understand why – I do. But neither of us has anywhere else to go.”

Rick cocked his head slightly to the side and surveyed me from head to toe, eyes narrowed in thought. His dark hair stuck to the skin of his creased forehead, beads of sweat sting clinging to the strands.

I sensed Merle taking a step forwards and quickly side stepped in front of him, effectively placing myself between he and Rick. “This is your place,” I continued quickly, keeping my tone perfectly polite. “We understand that. We respect it. It’s your call to do with us what you will. Want us to leave? We’ll go. Want us to stay and pull our weight? We’ll clear that field single-handedly.” I paused, considering my words and, before I could think better of it, opened my mouth once again. “Well, I mean. He’ll do it single-handedly. I have two.”

Merle grumbled something particularly unfriendly under his breath.

Rick’s demeanour seemed to shift slightly. He straightened, pulling his shoulders back as if he’d been slouching this entire time, and took a deep breath. The edges of those bright, crystalline blue eyes of his seem to loosen, no longer narrowed in my direction with unveiled suspicion. One side of his mouth turned down at the corners in a lopsided frown as he weighed his decision.

From beside him, Daryl took a shuffling step forwards, looking at his friend with a troubled expression. “Come on, man. They said they’d help.”

Rick barely even acknowledged him, too caught up in his own thoughts.

“I know it isn’t ideal,” I tried, giving the sheriff a slight smile. “Having both Merle and I here might make things… uncomfortable for a little while. But, I can assure you we will both –” I glanced over my shoulder pointedly at Merle before looking back to Rick “– make an effort to keep the peace.”

His gaze never once strayed from either Merle or I, his body almost rigid as he took in a long, steadying breath and pursed his lips in thought. A few tense moments of silence passed before, finally, he nodded.

It was slight and barely discernible, and he definitely didn’t stick around to further clarify, turning immediately to open the door and storm inside. I took it.

With an arrogant grin flashed in Merle’s direction, I began to follow the tense sheriff inside the prison walls. Merle himself was thankfully too relieved to even make a smartass remark – a miracle in and of itself.

We could stay. We weren’t exactly welcomed, but we could stay. And that was good enough for me.

#####

I should have known there’d be a downside.

A cage. Why I hadn’t seen Rick throwing Merle and I into a cell whilst he deliberated amongst his people was beyond me. I mean, it was prison. It was literally built for people like Merle and I. We’d slept the night on an uncomfortable concrete bench and neither of our moods were particularly better for it, but at least we’d had a roof over our heads.

The main room of the cellblock itself was made up of a series of circular tables and benches. A grated mezzanine ran along the side and back walls, ending with a pair of metal stairs on either end, and overlooking the cell built into the corner of the room beside the concrete stairs that lead up to the entryway.

It was from that cell tucked into the corner that Merle and I watched the remaining members of Rick’s group, where they were gathered a few feet away in the block’s main hall of cells. They were gearing up – as best they could with their limited resources.

Merle and I spoke in soft voices between ourselves, debating the numerous means the Governor would likely use to attack the prison next. He, of course, believed the Governor would come crashing through their one remaining gate and light up the place with all the firepower we had oh-so-generously gifted him with, killing everyone caught in the crossfire. I disagreed. He was a rash fool at times, that was true, and my grasp on the reality of his mindset was not what it had once been, but I had taught him a lot during our time together. The capacity to think like a sly, cunning assassin was buried barely an inch deep in that rotting mind of his.

He wouldn’t come crashing through their doors. Not yet, anyway. He still had an opportunity to manipulate this situation in his favour. Either to fix it and become the diplomatic hero, or to provoke it until he truly made villains of these people, enabling him to become the warrior hero.

It was difficult to discuss in depth, though, considering half my attention was divided between Merle and the conversation going on between Rick and the others. Their raised voices had effectively shut both Merle and I up, our nosey asses almost instantly tuning in to the unfolding argument.

No one particularly wanted either Merle or I there, which was understandable, but their main source of tension came from the undecided notion of what to do next. Leave or stay? Their group was split between the two.

They argued for a few more minutes before Merle felt the need to make an input. Because, really, whenever didn’t he?

“Better to live like rats,” he remarked, from behind his cell wall. Unironically.

“You got a better idea?” Rick asked, cocking a dark brow.

“Yeah,” Merle responded. “We should have slid out of here last night and lived to fight another day.”

I slowly rose from my sitting position, coming to stand beside him to look out through the wire wall before me at the group of people down the hall.

“But we lost that window, didn’t we?” Merle continued. “What do you think, Jacques? Reckon he got scouts on every road out of this place by now?”

“Likely,” I answered with a curt nod.

“We ain’t scared of that prick,” came Daryl’s voice from the second story row of cells. He was bending over the railing to look at us.

“Ya’ll should be,” Merle snorted, wrapping his fingers through holes in the mesh wire door of our cage. “That truck through the fence thing? That’s just him ringing the doorbell.”

I cringed slightly, knowing my part in that making the shadow of guilt begin to crawl up my throat.

“We might have some thick walls to hide behind, but he’s got the guns and he’s got the numbers,” Merle continued.

It was true and I nodded my agreement, mind racing with theories. “If he was smart,” I chimed in, leaning against the wire wall beside Merle. “All he’d have to do was take the high ground. Starve us out.”

The likelihood he’d think to wait us out was low to say the least, but it was worth saying. He’d never had much patience but guns and would-be soldiers? He certainly had those aplenty.

And we’d been the ones to give them to him.

“Hell,” Merle snorted after a moment of tense silence had settled. “Ya’ll should just be glad she’s here with me.” He jerked his head at me. “If he’d had her too, you’d all already be dead.”

I elbowed him in the ribs. Had he really needed to say that? Now everyone was looking at me.

“Can we put him in the other cellblock?” Maggie asked tautly.

“No,” Daryl answered. “He’s got a point.”

Maggie didn’t like that response – not that I really blamed her. She whirled around to face us, pointing a finger in our direction with a fierce scowl. “This is all you! You started this!”

From above her, at the beginning of the stairs, a thin blonde girl shouted, “What difference does it make whose fault it is?”

I concurred. We were all stuck in the same prison now, both literally and figuratively.

“What should we do?” asked the dainty woman with short, silver hair. Her voice was at odds with her appearance, stronger and clearer than her timid appearance claimed she was.

“I said we should leave,” the one-legged man sitting on the bottom of the staircase said harshly. “Now Axel’s dead. We can’t just sit here.”

Rick lifted a hand to rub his jaw before turning, pulling open the gate separating the hall and the main room and striding out toward the exit. The old man, clambering up onto his one good foot, a pair of old metal crutches tucked beneath his arms, began to follow him.

“Get back here!” he yelled, making half of us jump in surprise at the harshness of his voice.

After a brief moment of stunned silence, the young, dark-haired boy trailed after them, leaving six-and-a-half of the group behind.

I say six-and-a-half, you see, because, a little box by the edge of the staircase, I had learnt barely a few moments ago, contained a baby. An actual, tiny, newborn baby. It had given me such a shock when I’d heard the little one cooing in the middle of the night that I’d literally been unable to fall asleep. The young blonde girl, whose name I was pretty sure started with a “B”, had carried her down from the second story, bouncing her along in an attempt to calm her back down into a soft sleep. I’d been able to see her little face poking out from the edge of her pale pink blanket in the dim moonlight. She was a cute thing, content and pink-cheeked. I can’t believe Daryl hadn’t mentioned her. Had I known, I might have fought harder to go back with them when they had all been arguing by the roadside. We had children in Woodbury, that was true, and the idea that they could potentially get caught in the crossfire between Rick and the Governor made my heart ache. The youngest was four, a tiny little thing named Gretta. Gretta could run. A newborn baby could not.

Everyone seemed confused as to what to do next. Their aimless shuffling about reminded me of the biters.

I could hear the distant sound of Rick’s voice filtering in through the upper windows and spent a few moments attempting to tune into it, but it was just out of my range. The warmth of the mid-day sun upon the brick walls began to filter into the small, enclosed room. I loved the heat, thrived in it. But something about being stuck inside a cage, watching the heat waves distorting the concrete by feet made me begin to feel uncomfortable. I wasn’t claustrophobic in the least, but I wasn’t exactly made for captivity, either.

My leather jacket was beginning to choke me.

I lifted up my hands to undo the zip, pulling the sleeves free from my heavily tattooed arms and tossing it against the wall. It struck the concrete with a somewhat amusing sound before falling atop the bench that ran along the wall and flopping over it, onto the floor. The air caressed the bare skin left exposed by my black tank. I rolled my shoulder, my neck, and lifted my arms up to stretch.

God, I needed to get out of this cage.

As I lowered my arms, twisting back around to find Merle sneering at me, I felt the sensation of prying eyes off to my right. Before I could strike Merle across the back of the head, my attention was turned, and I caught Daryl’s eye mere seconds before he had a chance to jerkily avert his gaze. The red tint to his cheeks and the way he shuffled uncomfortably in his place, sitting upon one of the steps in the centre of the hall of cells, made me chuckle slightly under my breath.

Until I caught a second eye.

The timid-looking woman with grey hair had been partway through a hushed conversation with the younger Dixon, only to pause mid-word when she caught his gaze slipping elsewhere. She had followed his line of sight and was now surveying me from top to bottom with her eyes narrowed, more in thought than in suspicion. In fact, it was almost calculating.

I turned away.

#####

We were freed a short time later by the old man.

He didn’t speak to us, merely pulled a set of keys from his belt loop once he’d returned and unlocked the door before turning and hobbling back over to the row of cells, lowering himself down on one of the steps once again. The door between the main room and the cells was pushed closed behind him by Maggie.

So, we were free of one cage, only to be locked into another.

Whatever. It was their place and I had said I’d respect whatever means they felt they needed to take to be safe.

Unfortunately, this had given Merle quite a lot of room to make a nuisance of himself. He’d begun rummaging through their belongings almost immediately. I followed along behind him, more-so to keep him from doing anything too out of order, but also out of my own sense of curiosity.

They didn’t have much. Some old cans, a pot or two, and a handful of old milk cartons for water. A small collection of baby formula was tucked away inside one of the cupboards beneath the metallic shelving unit. My heart constricted at the sight of it. How long would that last them? Would they be able to prepare it on the road if they were forced to leave?

I shook my head to knock that train of thought off its tracks.

“You think they’ll make it?” Merle asked after a long stretch of silence. He was partway through trying to bend a piece of broken metal from the side of the staircase at the back of the room.

“Don’t know,” I answered honestly. “But I think they’ve gotten this far for a reason.”

Merle’s snort morphed into a grunt as he tried to pull at the sharp rod of metal to no avail. It was still partially welded onto the side of the step. With a sigh, I stepped forward and shooed him away. He gave me an agitated look before shuffling dejectedly to the side and allowing me to take his place.

“How do you know it ain’t just luck?” Merle responded, watching with his arms crossed over his chest as I reached out to grab the shard of metal.

“Because,” I began, turning to look at him as I pulled the rod downwards, snapping it from its welding with a satisfying sound. “I saw this prison before they got here. It was overrun. They cleared it out.”

Merle’s face was a mixture of frustration and exasperation as I handed him the snapped piece of metal, but he took it with a shake of his head. I knew it irritated him that my strength surpassed his. It played on his male ego so much that he constantly tried to outdo me whenever he was given the opportunity. One time, he’d even challenged me to an arm wrestle.

I’d almost broken his arm.

“Then why’re they shittin’ their pants about that damn field?” Merle asked, grabbing the roll of duct-tape from the top of the shelving unit beside us and making his way back toward the cell we’d been freed from. “You and I would have a damn party out there.”

“You might, maybe,” I responded, following behind him with a grin. “I’d be too busy constantly saving your ass while you frolicked around, wondering why it was so damn easy.”

Merle paused mid-step to turn and look at me, brows furrowed. “Frolicked? Do I look like a damn fairy-boy to you?”

I blinked once at his choice of words, trying to hide my ironic grin before shaking my head once and stepping past him. Now that the cage door was open, the claustrophobic feeling I’d had was gone as I sat atop the concrete bench, pushing myself up into the corner where the wire wall met brick.

Merle took a seat next to me, putting his leg up and resting the metallic contraption on his forearm against his thigh. He put the piece of metal in his mouth – gross – as he began to line the metal in duct-tape, preparing to secure the sharp point where his hand used to be.

I was about to open my mouth to make a smartass comment when the door to the cellblock slammed open. Rick came waltzing back in, barely giving us a side-ways glance as he made his way back to the hall of cells where his people were still milling about.

He reached into the cell closest to the opened gate and pulled out a hunting rifle, handing it to Maggie. “Take watch,” he ordered. “Eyes open. Head down.”

She gave him a nod and left the building without question.

Rick continued toward the others, a hand on his hip as he announced, “Fields filled with walkers. I didn’t see any snipers out there, but we’ll keep Maggie on watch.”

Daryl made his way down from the second story mezzanine. “I’ll get up in the guard tower. Take out half these walkers, give these guys a chance to fix the fence.”

Michonne, who had been given much more leeway than either Merle or I, stood by the stair railing with her hands in the pockets of her tight jeans. “We could use some of the cars to put the bus in place.”

The old man, whose name I’d learnt from listening in was Hershel, stepped up beside Rick. “We can’t access the field without burning through our bullets.”

“So, we’re trapped here?” Glenn asked angrily.

I glanced sideways at Merle, wondering if their hushed voices were reaching his plainly human ears, but he was too invested in building his new toy to give me the slightest of hints one way or the other. Part of me was tempted to tell them to just let Merle and I out there. After all, the only one of them that actually seemed to care about our wellbeing was Daryl – and I say “our” loosely, considering the younger Dixon hadn’t exactly made his opinion of me quite clear. It made sense for them to send us, the disposable ones, out into that field to clear as many biters as we could before getting devoured. Not that we would, but from their point of view, it was a logical conclusion to draw.

I turned my head slightly to the side, tuning back into the conversation whilst also keeping half an eye on Merle and the pointy thing in his hand.

“There’s barely any food or ammo,” Glenn continued, growing more and more agitated as his words went on.

Daryl shrugged. “Been here before. We’ll be alright.”

“That was when it was just us!” Glenn’s voice was rising in volume. “Before there were snakes in the nest!”

Daryl’s head twisted to look at him, eyes narrowed in a near feral glare. “Man, we gotta go through this again?” he asked with a growl. “Merle and Jacques are stayin’. They’re with us now.” With a curled lip snarl, he turned away from Glenn and began to climb the staircase two steps at a time. “Get used to it. All ya’ll.”

Glenn watched him go for a moment before stepping up closer to Rick, voice low, no more than a hiss. “Seriously, Rick. I don’t think Merle living here is really gonna fly.”

“I can’t kick him out,” Rick responded, just as aggressively.

“I wouldn’t ask you to live with Shane after he tried to kill you,” Glenn spat.

That seemed to make Rick instantly uncomfortable. I watched him shuffle from foot to foot as he tried to process the best way to respond, though the old man, who had stepped up beside Glenn, beat him to it.

“Merle has military experience,” Hershel said softly. “And the girl’s proven herself to be capable.”

Glenn turned to look at him with a scowl.

“He may be erratic, and she may be unpredictable, but I wouldn’t underestimate their sense of loyalty. Merle, to his brother, and hers, to him.”

Seemingly ignoring Hershel’s wise words, Glenn turned back to look at Rick, his body language making it look as if he were about ready to enter into a fever. “What if we solve both problems at once?” he asked intensely. “Deliver Merle to the Governor. Bargaining chip. Give him his traitor, maybe declare a truce.”

I had to hold back a snort. If, after everything he’d witnessed the other night, he truly believed the Governor would honour any sort of agreement made between the Prison and Woodbury, he was a fool. This was more than just a territory dispute now. It was personal to him. He wouldn’t accept any half measures.

“You think the girl would just accept that?” Rick was asking, though his voice was low enough that I could only barely hear it over the sounds of Hershel’s crutches against the floor.

The old man was making his way over to us.

“We’d have to take her, too,” Rick hissed. “You think she deserves that?”

Glenn didn’t respond right away, giving Rick enough time to press it further, though whatever he said was lost as Hershel’s form took up the doorway to our cell.

My body tensed slightly without my provocation.

Merle glanced up, the old man’s proximity breaking through his focus. He’d made pretty good progress on the arm, having almost solidified the sharp metal at the tip of his stub with duct-tape.

“You’re the farmer,” Merle said in way of greeting, looking the old man up and down. “Hershel.”

Hershel smiled slightly and stepped further into the cell, lowering himself down onto the concrete bench to my left with a grunt. “And you’re the black sheep,” he responded without judgement. “Merle.”

He turned his attention to me, the kind eyes and soft smile he gave enabling my tensed muscles to relax and loosen. It had been a long time since I’d been treated with unmotivated kindness. I knew that was partially my own fault, due to my somewhat aggressive personality, but it was still nice to see a pure, good natured kindness in a stranger’s eyes when he looked upon me, instead of the judgemental, perverted, or scornful looks I often received.

“You’re… Jack, was it?” the old man asked politely.

“Jacques,” I answered, inflecting the French pronunciation with a grin. “Synnove le Jacques.”

Hershel’s smile widened beneath his unruly white beard. “That’s a pretty name. Interesting.”

I breathed out a small chuckle. “My, uh, Mother. She had a pretty strong ancestry back to the Vikings – hence the Synnove. And my… Her husband, he was from a French family. So… le Jacques.”

Speaking of my adoptive parents had always been a sensitive subject for me. It made me uncomfortable at the best of times and miserable at the worst.

Hershel nodded along. If he noticed the way I somewhat stumbled over the mention of my adoptive father, he didn’t let on. “And where are you from?” he asked, though it sounded as if he already knew the answer.

It wasn’t hard to guess, after all. My accent was still quite strong, even after I’d spent the last few years surrounded by Americans. “Australia,” I answered, anyway, with a small, sad smile.

“Your parents, too?”

“Yeah. They were.”

Hershel’s smile dropped slightly. “I take it they are no longer with us?”

“Haven’t been for more than a decade,” I answered simply.

He gave me that soft, apologetic look most folks gave when you informed them that your parents had died when you were young. “I’m sorry to hear.”

My shoulders rose in a half-hearted shrug and I averted my gaze. Even after all these years, it was still difficult for me to talk about my adoptive parents. Speaking about my biological ones wasn’t much better, either. The subject was a sore spot and Merle knew me well enough to push the old man into a different conversation.

“How’d you lose it?” he asked, jerking his head toward Hershel’s missing leg.

The old man’s smile returned slightly, though it was somewhat sad as he looked down at the stub below his knee. “I was bit.”

“Bit?” Merle echoed, blinking once in surprise. “Hack it off yourself?”

I felt myself cringing at the thought.

“No,” Hershel answered, leaning back against the metal wall behind him. “Rick did.”

“Awfully kind of him,” Merle said with a condescending snort.

I gave him a side-eye that he promptly ignored.

Hershel didn’t seem bothered by it, though. “He saved my life,” he said with a soft, patient tone.

My respect for him grew. Being patient whilst holding a conversation with Merle was akin to walking on water in my book.

Merle snorted at Hershel’s response, but the old man merely leant forward and looked at him.

“He gave me more time with my girls,” he stated simply. “Gave the both of you more time with each other, and you with your brother.” He leant back again. “Can’t put a price on that.”

“Can’t put a price on anything, anymore,” Merle muttered to himself as he averted his gaze from the old man and stared down at the haphazardly designed metal on his forearm.

I watched him silently for a moment with a frown whilst Hershel reached into the inner pocket of his jacket. The sounds of fabric against skin was oddly stark in the settling silence. Glancing back toward the old man, I watched him pull a small, pocket-sized black book from the inside of his jacket lining and bring it to rest upon in his lap.

I’d never been a religious person – how could I and still do what I do? – but I knew a bible when I saw one.

“I found this in one of the cells,” Hershel said softly to neither of us in particular. “Lost more than the Good Book there for a while. Lost my way.” He took a long, steadying breath before using his forefinger to pull the book open, looking down at the small text with a small, content smile on his lips. “And if your right hand offends you, cut it off, cast it from you, for it is profitable that one of your members should perish –“

“– And not that thy whole body should be cast into hell,” Merle finished for the man, looking up at him with a smug smirk. “Matthew 5:29 and 30.”

Hershel looked a little taken aback by Merle’s reciting and I found myself chuckling under my breath.

That man was, indeed, full of surprises.

“Woodbury had a damn fine library,” he explained, his tone much lighter than it had been before. “One of the only things I miss about it.”

“Hot showers,” I remarked, looking to the ceiling with a dreamy look on my face.

Merle clicked his tongue. “Oh, hell yeah.”

“Fresh apples. Oh, and how could we forget, Roger’s moonshine?”

Merle let out a chuckle at that. “That was some damn fine mix.”

We grinned at one another silently for a moment before I looked up at Hershel and saw the slight frown pulling down his bushy white brows. The disapproval in his eyes almost made me feel guilty. I understood, of course. Reminiscing about a life we’d lost wouldn’t serve anyone.

“Too bad about that megalomaniac, though, huh?” I added with a light-hearted shrug. “Those bastards ruin everything.”

The wide grin on Merle’s face faded much quicker than I would have liked as he turned and gave me a perplexed look of contemplation. Hershel and I both waited silently, watching the wheels in his head turn as his frown deepened.

“He’ll be gunning for you,” Merle said to me after a moment. “You know that, don’t you? He’s gotta take out the biggest threat first.”

I met his gaze evenly. “I’d say he’d know better than to try, but these days he has more ego than sense.”

It was a possibility I’d known to expect. The Governor knew too much about me. He knew of my previous profession; knew of the things I was capable of. He’d witnessed it himself, both outside the gates and within, during Game Night. Since we had begun the admittedly somewhat twisted weekly tradition, I’d remained undefeated. I was quick, strong, and trained to kill. At the beginning, my lethality had unnerved Philip, but the Governor had seen the advantages of having someone like me by his side. Saw it as his greatest weapon.

Now, I was his greatest concern.

He knew, if I were so inclined, I could get into Woodbury undetected and move through the town like a ghost in the shadows. He knew I could easily scale the side of the town hall and reach his window. And he knew, better than almost anyone, that I could certainly find a new home for a knife in the base of his throat.

It stood to reason that he would plan to eliminate me from the board as soon as possible. After all, I’d been the one that taught him to always target the biggest threat first.

“I’ll deal with what comes,” I stated lightly, giving Merle what I hoped was a confident smile. “Always do.”

Merle nodded, giving me a lingering look that almost seemed like concern before turning back to Hershel. “I’ll be next,” he guessed. “Michonne, my brother. Then your girls. Glenn, Carl, the baby, whoever the hell else is left. He’ll save Rick for last, so he can watch his family and friends die ugly. That’s the kind of man you’re dealing with.”

I nodded along with a deep sigh, feeling the warmth of shame begin to build in the pit of my stomach. It disturbed me more than words could express that I had served under the Governor’s rule for as long as I had, as if I’d been too comfortable in my little slice of his world to wake up and see what he had really become. As if, suddenly, I’d blinked and the man standing before me was no longer the soft-hearted Phil I’d known since the beginning.

When had he become “the Governor” to me? At what point had I even stopped calling him by his name? I should have stopped myself then. I should have known better. I’d been trained to know better. When had I lost my damn sight?

It was the not knowing that irritated me the most. There was a moment, somewhere in time, that I had actively chosen to ignore the red flags in favour of my own safety and comfort.

The army men by the roadside should have been the moment I left. When he ordered us to gun them down, and we’d obeyed with little thought. Sure, when I’d noticed one of them had survived, partially hidden behind their truck, I’d done my best to save him – told him to run and tried to distract the Governor so he wouldn’t notice. But he had. And the moment he spotted him, he turned and lifted his hand, shooting the boy in the back. There had been no emotion on his face, no hesitation. A simple and smooth execution.

I’d seen it, then. As if waking from a trance. Seen that something about this man before me was… corrupted.

I remembered feeling a dull sense of regret. Guilt for being the one that had taught him to shoot, that had enabled his violent streak purely for my own benefit. That was when I should have left. But I’d somehow convinced myself that it was a one-off happenstance, that no one else other than Martinez even remotely took my concerns seriously, so surely it was all in my head, right?

But since that day, I had been unable to look at him the same. Every move he made, every word he spoke, I began to analyse. And then, that night with Glenn and Maggie…

If I had left that day by the roadside, Maggie never would have had to live through that. And I hated myself for it.

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tarotmum13 · 6 years ago

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Tarot Lessons for Beginners - Part 3

Hello my lovely students! It's your Friendly Neighbourhood Tarot-Teacher again...

Time to take our lessons to the next level. For those of you who are late to the party, here is a link to part 2, which in turn includes a link to part 1, so you can start at the beginning and study at your own pace:

https://tarotmum13.wordpress.com/2019/01/07/tarot-lessons-for-beginners-part-2/

Today we will be talking Spreads and exercises that will increase your confidence and familiarity with your cards.

One of the simplest and most helpful practices for any Tarot Reader is that of drawing a card for the day. You can use this exercise in different ways.

You can just pull one card every day that you want to study further. You can really think about all the different meanings this card can embody, Google the card to look at different artist's interpretations and different meanings attached to it, making notes of any information you find interesting or that feels true to you. This card can be drawn at any time of the day, whenever suits you most.

Or, you can pull a card in the morning, intended to represent the energy for that day, any lessons to be learned, things to watch out for etc. Then you can reflect on that card in the evening and write down how this card's energy may have been present during the day.

Or you can pull a card in the evening and try to see if this card can be used to gain further insight in the events that took place that day. There is no right or wrong way to use this exercise so go with what feels most helpful to you.

For example : My card of the day might have been the 6 of Cups - during that day I might need to get something from my Mum's attic and come accross an old box of photgraphs. Because I remember the card I pulled earlier, I decide to take this box downstairs and spend some time reminiscing with my Mum about my childhood. In the process of doing this I may feel closer to my Mum or even learn to see some of my daughter's behaviours in a different light as I am reminded of my own thoughts and feelings as a child.

It can be very helpful to keep a note of your daily draws - this can help you reflect, see patterns and even make you aware of certain Stalker Cards, cards that keep cropping up and that have a particular message or lesson for you! All through 2018 I kept getting the 4 of Swords popping up to remind me to use my energy appropriately and rest up when I could to avoid falling deeper in to the bottomless pit that is Chronic Fatigue...

At times when you want to ask the Tarot for more specific advice and guidance you may want to use a Spread. Please don't think this needs to be a complicated process with an esthetically pleasing outcome! A spread can be anything from just one or two cards, pulled with intent to answer a very specific question, to a full Celtic Cross consisting of 10 cards. You may pull as many or as few cards as you like but remember: more is not necessarily better!

The 3 card spread is one of the most versatile spreads that can be adapted to your specific needs and can give you a wealth of information! It is important when laying out a spread that you decide beforehand which questions you will ask, and which card will represent what answer. The clearer you are on this, the more informative and easy to read your answers will be! A muddled spread will lead to erratic, unhelpful replies as your cards reflect your unordered mind.

Here are some helpful subjects for your 3 card spread:

Past/Present/Future

Past Life/Current Life/Future Life

Me/Spirit Guide/How to Connect

Me/My Partner/Our Relationship

My Hopes and Dreams/How to take a step towards fulfilling them/What is Holding me back?

Weakness/Strength/Guidance

Mind/Body/Spirit

Situation/Lesson/Advice

What to Embrace/What to Let Go/What to Develop

How I see Myself/How Others See Me/Who I Truly Am

Seed/Water/Bloom

Thoughts/Words/Actions

Problem/What to Do/What not to Do

Dreams/Fears/Reality

Problem/Cause/Solution

Pro/Con/Best Action

As you can see, the possibilities are endless! If, at any time, you feel a card is not clear to you, you may pull a clarifier to receive more insight in to that particular aspect.

Another helpful thing to do is to look at the card at the bottom of your deck, known as the Shadow Card, as this card may reflect a hidden part of information, something you haven't thought of or have been ignoring but should be brought in to the light.

The best kind of questions to ask the Tarot are open-ended, empowering questions. Can you ask yes/no questions? Of course you can! But usually it will be more helpful for instance to understand WHY something is or is not going to happen and what YOU (or your querent) can do to get closer to the desired outcome. Therefore, the most helpful questions are those starting with words like Why? How? Who? What? Where? Or even When?... rather than Will I? Or Can I?

For example, asking "Will I find Love" might get a resounding "yes!" in the shape of The Sun card... but how much information does this really give you?

Had you asked "How can I open myself up to finding Love?" you may have received the Ace of Cups, telling you to make sure your Cup is full of Love for yourself first, so that you can pour from it freely and in doing so attract Love in return. Or you could ask "When will Love come in to my Life" and Tarot may show you the 3 of Swords, to let you know that you will find another love once you have given yourself the time and opportunity to heal from a previous heartache or betrayal.

The following are examples of clear, open-ended, empowering questions that will allow you to adjust your course in life and to gain a deeper understanding of how you can help yourself (or others) to get to where you want to be:

What Blessings in my life am I not seeing?

How can I move past this difficult period in my life?

What can I learn from this situation?

Where can I find the inspiration I need to complete this project?

What can I do to support my partner at this time?

Who can I turn to for help with this issue?

What is the best course of action to take at this moment in time?

Maybe you have already been practising on other people aside from yourself. Great! There is absolutely no need for you to wait until you are a proficient, confident Tarot Reader who doesn't need to glance at card meanings to interpret a Spread. As long as you are letting people know that you are still learning, it can be very helpful to get feedback from friends, family or even strangers, when you practise your reading skills.

But not everyone feels confident or has the opportunity to do this! Not to worry, you can still do readings for others. Just read for your pets! Or, pick a fictional character, from a book, film or fairytale, and do a spread for them! The great thing here is that, since you are familiar with their story, you can immediately check the accuracy of your reading!

Here you can find the story of Disney's Mulan as an example:

Mulan is trying to find where she fits in - she transforms herself and leaves her home behind to set out on a quest - she learns how to handle herself in battle - she is wounded and loses the affection of the one she loves - but she finds a way to rise above this heartache, saving herself as well as the Emperor in the process - she ends up a truer version of herself and learns that she can be accepted and loved for who she is.

An exercise to help you gain a deeper, more personal, understanding of your card meanings beyond the descriptions found in guidebooks or online, is to attach something of meaning to each of your cards (or just the cards you struggle to remember!). This could be anything from a favourite quote, a song, a poem, a painting or an excerpt from a book.

For example: The 6 of Swords, usually represented by a character with a child being ferried accross a body of water. To me, this card brings to mind a scene from the book The Mists of Avalon, where the High Priestess Viviane is taking her ward Morgaine to the Isle of Avalon (or Morgaine taking Nimue later in the story). This helps me to give some soul to the card in question. The 6 of Swords represents receiving help to get out of an undesirable situation or to be brought closer to your true purpose in life. Both of these children are being brought to Avalon to be trained as Priestess to the Goddess and they could never have reached the Isle without an experienced Priestess calling down the mists through which Avalon can be entered. In the same vain, I may associate The Ace of Swords with Excalibur, the sword given to Arthur to ensure he has the Blessing and Protection of the Old Gods of Avalon in battle.

Can you think of any card that brings to mind a scene to help you remember the power in that particular card? Have a ponder...

You may also choose to rename your card, give it a subtitle if you please, so that the name reflects the true meaning that card represents to you personally. "Death" for instance can become "Mortality" or "Transformation", "Temperance" can be renamed "Mediation", the "4 of Wands" can be "Stability", the "7 of Swords" may be better known as "Slyness" to you...

Attaching these names to your cards may help you get to the essence of the card and remember the meaning more easily. But remember that these meanings are fluid, and can change according to the situation you are reading for or even the deck you are using! The artists' depiction may influence how you feel about a particular card - always follow your gut instinct!

I hope you will enjoy practising your readings.

In the next part we will look in to how to get even more information from your spreads by looking at basic numerology and card interactions.

I will also put out an adendum to these lessons with some key words and phrases for card interpretations, for those of you who find that helpful. See you soon!

Xxx

#tarot lessons for beginners #daily draw #stalker cards #shadow card #3 card spread #tarot questions #reading for fictional characters #renaming your cards

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