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vagrantblvrd · 4 years ago

Note

maybe some more superhero content where matt is the tech guy but his super power is actually really great for super villains (he can force apathy on people or something). he is never cleared for field duty because hes really good at computers and look at all the donuts he eats, no way hes going in the field. shit happens and he is and he just wipes the floor with the villan of the week. and everyones like "fluke!" and he keeps doing it. "like its hard" and everyone is :(((( because its matt

Oooh, yes, but also, also. Whilst wandering the wilds of Superpower Wiki I came across Fear Manifestation?

Matt who can see both his and other people’s fears and bring them to life.

Just.

Imagine a wee little Matt Bragg discovering that’s his power?

This sweet little kid, all adorable and the whatnot and idk, maybe he saw a scary movie he was way too damn young to watch.

Or maybe a family member’s watching a horror flick thinking Matt’s asleep. Maybe he’s at a friend’s for a sleepover and one of their family members is watching the horror movie, whatever it is, Matt gets up in the middle of the night for a drink of water and sees this horrible, slavering thing on the screen and he has nightmares about it for ages, right?

Knows it’s not real, tells himself over and over again the way his parents did when they realized what was going on with him. Reminds himself it’s just a movie monster and can’t hurt him. Rubber and plastic and fake fur and fake blood and an actor in a suit, you know?

Same as some of his favorite characters in other movies and shows and nothing to worry about.

Except for that time it was?

Matt at a relative’s house for the weekend/summer and strange place – let’s make a farm with lots of trees and other things to cast strange, spooky shadows at night. Skeletal branches scraping against the glass of the spare room he’s sleeping in and owls and other night birds and animals going about their business and strange and unsettling to a city kid like him.

Has a nightmare about the monster, running, and running and running in the dark woods like in the movie. Stupid kid legs too short, slow, and it’s gaining on him and the last thing he sees before he snaps awake is the monster leaping on him, jaws opened wide and blood on its fangs from its last kill and where are his parents????

Poor, wee little Matt Bragg freaking right the fuck out and stumbling out of bed, steps slowing, faltering when he remembers where he is.

At his grandparent’s farm, miles and miles away from home and the closest city.

Dark spooky woods just beyond the farmyard on one side, cornfields on another. Big old barn behind a vegetable patch, and chickens and so on. Long winding dirt driveway leading to a small road and a couple of miles from the next farm over.

The farmhouse is unfamiliar to him, but he thinks he remembers the way to his grandparent’s bedroom. Knows they won’t be mad at him for waking him even at this late an hour, and even if they were he wouldn’t mind because it’s mean they’re safe, he’s safe.

Only.

The hallway doesn’t look, feel, right when he steps outside his room?

Ceiling too tall and he’s small still, a kid, but it’s not right.

The wallpaper’s different, not the pastel blue with pink roses his grandmother told him his grandfather picked because she loves roses. The light fixtures are different too? Not the polished brass and frosted glass but something colder, harder.

And -

There’s no window overlooking the vegetable patch at the end of the hallway, nothing he recognizes from his grandparent’s farmhouse.

“Oh,” he says, small little voice in a big, dark hallway, “oh, no.”

He does recognize it, because it’s from that movie he knows he wasn’t old enough to see any part of.

The one with the creaky floorboards under his feet and that light further down that flickers like a dying heartbeat.

Glowing red eyes that take form between one and the next.

Red and mean and this low snarl that rolls into a growl.

Click of the monster’s claws on smooth hardwood as it moves toward him, that slow, slow stalk of a predator that’s seen prey and poor, wee little Mat Bragg is frozen to the spot because this can’t be real.

But it is.

Or at least real enough that when the monster snarls again and launches itself down the hall at him he screams bloody murder and runs.

All the way back to the spare room he’s staying in where he slams the door shut and hides in the closet.

Hears it collide with the door, snapping and snarling and clawing at the wood while he curls down into corner of the closet and squeezes his eyes shut hoping it will give up, go away, that it’ll stop.

Claps his hands over his hears and recites the rules to the last game he learned to himself, card game his grandparents taught him before dinner.

He can hear yelling, so he presses his hands to his ears harder, but he can still hear the yelling. And then a gunshot, big, booming thing he recognizes, knows.

And his fear for his grandparents, his grandfather and that shotgun of his, has Matt uncurling, getting to his feet.

Worried about them, and he’s reaching for the doorknob to the closet door when the door to the bedroom slams open. Draws a yelp out of Matt and has him ck backpedaling as footsteps come his way and the closet door is ripped open -

“Matt?”

It’s his grandfather, looking as scared as Matt’s ever seen him, shotgun in his hands and staring at Matt like he can’t believe he’s okay.

And then, okay, and then.

Matt’s grandfather coaxes him out of the closet, promises him it’s safe and Matt believes him because his grandfather’s one of the strongest, toughest people he knows next to his grandmother and mom, and when he steps into the bedroom -

“…”

Because the room is untouched, sure, but the door?

Almost broken in two, clawed in two, huge gaping wounds in the wood where the monster tried to claw its way in.

The hallway beyond is the same Matt remembers from before, pastel blue and pink with touches of yellow and green, and the same light fixtures.

Seems the way he remembers it, normal farmhouse in rural South Carolina, and just.

Yes.

So, that’s how Matt discovers his powers and it’s not something he ever forgets, you know?

Gets worse as he gets older, realizes he can do that but with other people’s fears?

Like.

Slightly older Matt Bragg at school and bullies and this menacing figure with ham-sized fists and a rough voice and angry words and Matt’s bullies look so small next to them?

Things like that, and it’s.

He collects them, too.

Each new one slotting itself into his head, making a new home for themselves and sometimes he wakes up screaming because he’s dreaming someone else’s nightmare, fear.

(If he’s lucky, it stays a dream. Sometimes, though, sometimes they crawl out of his head into the real world and things, people, get hurt.)

Matt’s grandparents talk to his mom, his dad, the take him to specialists who teach him how to control it, because it’s that or lose his damn mind.

So he learns to control it.

Slips up from time to time, because he’s still a kid and feelings are hard, but eventually he learns to adapt.

Gets weird looks from people for being as easy-going as he is, weirdly apathetic sometimes?

But it is what it is.

He ends up working with small superhero teams here and there, a knack for computers and tech and people like him are always in demand, you know?

Superhero teams would be lost with out their techies and support staff and Matt gains a reputation as one of the better ones out there.

Catches the eye of a team in one of them big cities people are always talking about?

“Matt, what the fuck?”

Because Jeremy and old friends from way back. One of the minor league teams Matt worked for and this asshole with the impenetrable skin and bullheaded stubbornness to match. Jeremy’s new team needs another techie seeing as how they’re getting to be a little too much for one poor bastard to look after?

So Matt packs up his belongs and moves to the big city – “You’re impossible,” - and gets a tour from Gavin who’s far too relieved to meet him.

“Oh, thank God, you have no idea what it’s like,” like he really believes that.

(Matt’s known Jeremy for years, if what the asshole’s been telling Matt about his new team is even a little bit true, if they’re all like him in the worst possible ways then yeah, Matt fucking well knows.)

Anyway.

Matt starts working for this new team, big league players as these things go. Fight top-tier supervillains and a whole slew of lesser ones jockeying for position among the worst of the worst.

Have a whole city under their protection and a shiny space station all their own that should be fully repaired by the end of the year.

(Platform for an orbital death-ray in a past life, and Ryan and Trevor are quick to reassure everyone the death-ray is no more. Really, guys. :D?)

Anyway, anyway.

New team and all these new fears taking up residence in Matt’s head, you know?

Hi, hello, and I’ll just be living here now, right next to that monster that still gives you nightmares even now, don’t mind me.

Aside from all that, fears and nightmares living inside his head and all, Matt’s pretty easygoing? Affable.

Learns to put up with Gavin’s shit and loves giving it right back to him, the two of them kindred spirits in the way they sometimes want to throttle their fucking teammates?

Like.

Maybe don’t automatically resort to Heroic Sacrifice when there’s still time to come up with alternatives? Don’t be that asshole, okay? It’s a goddamned downer, and that’s before the funeral.

Should be a little worried (horrified?) at the fact that Gavin has secretly had the entire team and support staff microchipped, but when someone gets abducted or goes MIA it cuts down on the Drama and techie-side dramatically.

(Legal? Probably not, but everyone turns a blind eye to it seeing as how useful it is, and really, if Gavin went supervillain on them? The fact he could pinpoint their exact location whenever he wanted would be the least of their worries, so. Yes.)

Anyway, anyway.

Matt settles into the team incredibly quickly, realizes he likes it there?

Like.

Before all this he was just working a job, no real attachment or sentiment to go along with it. Dealt with some real assholes, all ego and no substance and all that over the years. Good people who stayed silent when they should have used their voices to do good and all that, just about everything you could think of, he’s seen it, dealt with it.

But these assholes?

He’s personally invested in them.

To the point he makes an effort to address their fears, see what he can do because some of them -

It’s not fixing them, not whatever horrifically simplified way of talking about it you’d think, just.

Stuff.

Things.

Something?

Something.

Little pushes here, a pointed question there. Outside perspective, non-judgment and that space their fears have made for themselves in his head...shift.

Go from something truly awful, something that could break a person who never deserved it into something smaller, more manageable.

And then, okay, and then???

All those lesser villains and supervillains, well sometimes one of them has real potential, you know? The makings of greatness, and everyone knows being great doesn’t always equate to being good.

Comes in and picks members of the team off one by one, clever and patient about it. So much so no one realizes it’s a concerted effort until it’s almost too late?

Incidents and accidents and seeming bad luck that takes out their heavy hitters at the start, has them calling on reserve members, has Gavin in the field which is a rare fucking occurrence, and not something the others like to see?

But, again, heavy hitters down for the count or missing altogether and their ranks thinned down to near nothing.

Gavin’s a little like Matt – not the same category regarding their powers, God no, just.

Gets underestimated far too often.

Doesn’t look intimidating like some of the others, isn’t some musclebound brute of a figure or anything, but he’s smart.

Clever.

Enough to know there were things Matt wasn’t saying, those long nights in the base nerve center worrying about the others where they’d talk about powers and such.

Little hypotheticals Matt would propose to counter Gavin’s and just.

Something to what he didn’t say, and anyway, anyway.

There’s a call, trouble in the city their team is sworn to protect and they’re the only two in the base who aren’t badly injured, off on what they all know is another wild goose chase searching for the asshole behind all this hurt.

Just the two of them and Gavin takes out a coin he carries around for some reason.

Ryan knows, though, doesn’t he. Gets this little half-smile when he sees Gavin rolling it across his knuckles and a story Matt’s only heard bits and pieces of from the others.

Trevor’s laugh and a glance up, up, up at wherever that shiny space station is in orbit at the time.

Michael’s heavy sigh and put upon scowl, thumbnail rubbing at at scar on his eyebrow in unconscious habit.

Lindsay fucking losing her shit, wheezing something about fucking idiots and...catsuits?

(Either literal catsuits, which, uh, no thanks? Or the kind that Gavin has hanging up in his closet, puts on when the team goes all-out in training and drag Gavin out even though he’s better suited for shadows and stealth rather than head-on tactics.)

And on and on, and one day, one day Matt will get the whole story out of these assholes.

Gavin takes out that coin of his and gives Matt this little grin, smirk.

Just the two of them in the base’s nerve center, lights down low and dread weighing heavy over all of them.

(Sometimes good doesn’t triumph over evil, sometimes the bad guys win. It’s happened in other cities before, will again because that’s how these things go, isn’t it.)

Gavin flips his coin, hand coming down to cover it before Matt can make out if it’s heads or tails and laughs as he heads to his quarters to suit up.

It’s a thing of theirs, that coin flip.

Loser grabs the coffee, or delivers bad news to an overworked and understandably cranky team. Goes and does the thing no one else wants to, can.

Something shifts in Matt’s head, big and mean and angry. Slavering jaws and glowing red eyes and claws that can tear through steel. (Matt’s seen it.)

“Back in a jiff!” Gavin says, suited up and ready to head into the city (their city) with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes and he’s a goddamned liar because he doesn’t come back, does he?

No he does not, the asshole.

Leaves behind in the dark, all these fears and nightmares in his head.

That monster from his nightmares as a kid? First one he remembers and with him all this time later, less a nightmare and something like a constant...constant.

Something help ground himself when he loses control and can’t tell nightmare from reality and the other way around.

Movie monster made real, and something he’s lived with for a long damn time, learned to make his peace with and all that.

Besides.

He has all these new fears now, doesn’t he? Less fantastical in some ways but no less horrifying to contemplate, because.

This, his team? (Family?) They play a big part of his newest ones.

Still.

No time to think about that, not with some asshole broadcasting some stupid diabolical scheme to the entire city. Cruel and smug and gloating, and Matt’s missing teammates strung up behind him awaiting death by public execution or whatever it is he’s babbling about.

And Matt, okay, Matt.

Doesn’t have a suit or mask to call his own, never really needed one, you know?

Techie like him?

Yeah, no.

No suit, no armor.

Just Matt and a head full of fears and nightmares, and people don’t give him a second glance between good old Matt making his way to the asshole’s lair and the whole city in peril deal.

The ones who do? Hired goons and personal henchmen in matching uniforms? Well, wouldn’t you know what interesting fear they all have?

There are a few you’d expect, dying old and alone and heartbreaking in that respect, but others?

They’re things that step out of the shadows, slither in some cases, with big teeth and claws and the screaming just gets them more excited.

Matt doesn’t kill them, those hired goons and personal henchmen, God no, but they won’t be getting up anytime soon.

(Fear will do that to people, sometimes.)

Works his way up, up, up to a building rooftop and why, Matt wonders, why do they all have to be so goddamned theatrical about this shit?

Anyway, though.

There’s Matt in his hoodie and jeans and worn sneakers he swears he’ll replace soon, really.

There’s Matt, and then there are more hired goons, personal henchmen, and his team, all strung up. The asshole behind this bullshit.

And then, you know, and then.

That nightmare monster that’s been with Matt all these years?

Stalks out of the shadows with its glowing red eyes and sharp fangs and sharp claws.

Stands at Matt’s shoulder, rumbling growl and -

There’s screaming, because there always is, you know?

Big fucking thing like that appearing out of nowhere?

Yeah.

Matt looks up at it, and he knows, he knows, mercy, but in all honesty he’s not really feeling it after all the bullshit this asshole’s put his family through, and yet?

“Try not to kill them,” Matt tells his nightmare monster, and turns his attention to the asshole in the dumb suit.

Smiles when he hears it snarl, rush of displaced air as it races towards the line of stunned hired goons and personal henchmen and then he’s got other things to worry about.

It’s not graceful, not dignified what happens next because Matt doesn’t have the training, skills, the rest of his team does, you know?

At best he’s picked up enough to defend himself if some dick tried to mug him when he’s out and about, but he’s no hand-to-hand specialist. No martial arts master. Nothing fancy like that.

Gets knocked around a little, which, ha, part of his genius plan because fist to cheek and bingo.

“Oh,” Matt says, smiles up at the asshole through bloody teeth. “That’s a nasty fear you have, huh?”

Something about an aching, yawning void, and anger? Voices that claw at the mind, unravel sanity and the poor, stupid bastard who thought he was clever enough to outwit whatever dwells at its heart.

A deal struck out of arrogance and something close to ignorance, and a debt long owed and it shouldn’t exist in their dimension, you know? Impossible, because there are rules, and yet -

It’s the poor stupid bastard’s worst nightmare come to life, and Matt’s powers and there they are.

A furious scream, and clumsy rush like the asshole thinks he can put a stop to his fate if he just kills Matt, but he doesn’t.

Trips, a spot of bad luck or something else, and Matt sidesteps and there’s that aching, yawning void and all that anger.

Swallows him right up before it vanishes, space where it is rippling and warping and Matt has to look away because it isn’t right, how the world works and then it’s gone and it’s just.

Matt and his asshole team scattered about and groaning and unconscious hired goons and personal henchmen and -

“Hey,” Matt says, woozy, exhausted. “Good job.”

Matt’s nightmare monster snorts, tosses its head and fades away.

He feels it settling in the back of his mind as he passes out, familiar weight in the back of his head.

AND THEN.

Everyone collectively loses their shit because what the actual fuck, Matt Bragg?

Matt being like, “So, uh, hey, there’s a thing I forgot to mention?”

And the whole story about his powers comes out and, uh.

The thing where Matt saves the day again and again with his nightmare monster buddy/using some baddie’s fears against them and the others are like “We had that, Matt Bragg” which is a blatant lie as they were about to be lasered in half or whatever, idk.

Yes???

This totally got away from me and I don’t know what I’m doing anymore, but yes???

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

#ragehappy #superpowers au #prompt fills #Anon #uh #yes #hope this is somewhat close to what you wanted???#technically not a fic #vagrant fic #:D???#Anonymous

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pahrak-the-sinnoh-slizer · 4 years ago

Text

A Cowgirl in the King’s Court

(Out on an errand, Akira finds herself accosted by a familiar face. Akiruru oneshot.)

A woman in a suit emerged from the subway entrance, speaking brusquely into her phone. She’s worked at the same law firm for a decade. Finally, she’s been given the opportunity to be made partner, but the coworkers she’s stuck with for this case are such a nuisance they may cost her this shot.

On the other side of the street, two women sat on a park bench arm-in-arm, one repeatedly flipping a coin absent-mindedly while the other simply rested on her shoulder. They’ve been happy together for a long time now, and have begun to think about marriage. But she’s apprehensive, and her partner is so happy she hasn’t even noticed.

A taxi deposited someone on the corner. Their head jerked about as they took in their surroundings, and then they awkwardly ambled down the street. They’ve come to participate in their uncle’s funeral—not that they were ever all that close. It’s the first time in years they’ve seen most of their family, and no matter how hard they think, they have no idea what they’re walking into.

From where she sat, Akira’s gaze slid from one passer-by to the next, envisioning each as a role to be played with their own story, own goals, own struggles. It may not have been especially in-depth, but these brief snapshots of potential characters helped her keep her skills sharp (or, at the very least, helped her stave off boredom).

All the world’s a stage. I mustn’t let any opportunity to improve my skills slip by.

She checked her watch. After taking one last—

“Akira-chan!”

Akira locked up as a pair of arms were thrown around her. A moment later she finally registered the blonde-haired girl who had pounced on her from behind, murmuring, “Otsuki...Aruru?”

Aruru grinned at her. (Akira wasn’t sure she’d ever seen Aruru do anything but smile.) “How lucky running into you! Did I surprise you?”

“...Slightly.” Akira quickly recomposed herself.

Aruru ran around the bench, hopping onto the seat next to Akira. “What brings you here? You’re awfully far from Siegfeld!”

“I came to inspect a potential venue for an upcoming production. Now that that’s done, I thought I might take in my new surroundings.”

“You mean like sightseeing? There’s not much to see in this part of town.”

Akira shook her head. “There is plenty. In a busy place like this, there are countless people to observe.”

“Oh, so you’re people-watching! That sounds so fun! I love to come up with little stories for random people I see, don’t you?”

“...I find it a fruitful exercise, yes.”

“What about her?” Aruru pointed to a woman on the edge of the park, hastily setting up a food cart.

Akira hesitated a moment. …Any opportunity. “She has a passion for cooking, and dreams of opening her own restaurant one day. However, her parents’ financial situation has taken a drastic turn, and that dream seems farther away than ever now that she needs to support them.”

Aruru’s eyes twinkled. “Oooh! I’m sure she’ll find a way to make it!” Turning, she then pointed to an elderly woman scanning shop windows. “She’s the last descendant of a prestigious ninja clan, one that’s been tasked with guarding a cursed katana able to bring untold ruin! Now, she has to find an apprentice to carry on her work, but a rival faction is closing in to make things even harder!”

Akira stared at the woman a moment before looking back to Aruru. Curious…

Still grinning, Aruru said, “Your turn!”

Akira turned her gaze towards the park. “Do you see the person reading next to the fountain? They were a sailor many years ago, and their heart still yearns for adventure on the waves. However, they are not as young as they once were, and soon will have to face the fact they may never set foot on a ship again.”

Bouncing in her seat, Aruru said, “That’s so cool! Oh, and that girl on her phone by the bike rack: she’s an ex-magical girl who’s been called on to defend humanity again, but her new weapons aren’t cutting it! But when her friends are in danger, she reignites the powerful magic sleeping inside, and finally saves the day!”

Akira couldn’t help but chuckle. Aruru looked right at her, eyes somehow growing even brighter, and she did her best to stifle the laugh as she scanned the area.

“Hehe…”

She turned back to find Aruru staring, entire face alight in a smile. Akira blinked. “What?”

“That’s the first time I’ve made you laugh, isn’t it?”

“...I don’t keep track of such things.”

Aruru threw her hands up, as if cheering over her victory. “Well I do! It took a while, but I finally managed to make you laugh! I can’t wait to tell everyone!”

Akira’s gaze drifted up towards the sky. “Hm. I wonder if they’ll believe it?”

Aruru tilted her head as her arms lowered. “Huh? What do you mean?”

“I’m sure they think me stiff and humorless. Not without reason, of course.”

“No way! I mean, you do come across as super-serious, but no one thinks you’re humorless!”

Akira looked back to Aruru, holding her ambiguous expression even in the face of the other girl’s brightness. “...Very curious.”

“Huh?”

She faced forward, her tone sounding very matter-of-fact. “It surprises me that you’re so willing to reach out like this. I would expect everyone from Frontier to hate me.”

Aruru practically leapt back. “What?! Why would we hate you?”

“I dismissed you without a second thought the first time we met. I assumed, based on virtually nothing, that you and your friends did not belong on the stage. I would expect such treatment to be met with resentment.”

Aruru blinked, seeming genuinely confused by her question. “That? I already proved you were wrong, right?”

Akira thought for a moment. Then, she turned to look at Aruru, nodded once, and said, “Yes. You have.”

Aruru smiled brightly. “Then why would I be mad? I’m not gonna hold a grudge for something like that!”

For a few seconds, Akira could only stare at her. Then, turning in an effort to hide the small smirk forming on her face, she said, “Hm…it seems you have a knack for proving my assumptions wrong.” She rose to her feet before she could get a response. “I need to stretch my legs a bit.”

Aruru sprang up immediately. “Okay! Lead the way!”

Akira began walking, Aruru excitedly bouncing around her as she went. She asked about all sorts of things: what Siegfeld was like, what Akira’s favorite food was, if she’d ever seen an UMA. Akira asked a few questions back. The signs and store windows they passed provided plenty to talk about, but Akira was sure that Aruru didn’t truly need the help. She was overflowing—with brilliance, like any proper Stage Girl, but also with passion for every little thing around her, everything she could possibly think of. Akira could feel the pull of that passion. She did not submit to it (a long-standing principle she couldn’t quite remember the reason for at the moment), but she also didn’t fight against it…and that surprised her.

“I think the Abominamole got my point eventually,” Aruru said, taking several unnaturally-long steps ahead. “More importantly, we all got way closer, and we’ve been practicing harder than ever since then! Being a Stage Girl is so much fun! Right, Akira-chan?”

Akira realized they had come to an empty square. The sky had grown dark by now, leaving only the light of the street lamps, reflecting off the fountain at the square’s center like a flame beckoning for the company of moths. Aruru noticed how far ahead she had gone and hopped back to Akira’s side, giggling to herself. That was when Akira began to make sense of it.

“That’s what’s different,” Akira said quietly.

Aruru cocked her head, now walking backwards. “What’s that?”

“I’m lacking experience when it comes to this sort of dynamic. You…” Her steps slowed to a halt. “I’ve spent most of my life focused on nothing but honing my skills. I’ve gone out of my way to be recognized as the best whenever I could. It has served me well; however, when people engage someone like that, there tends to be...distance.”

Aruru stopped as well.

“I don’t much mind it. Normally I don’t even notice it. But you...you approach everyone as an equal, and even I can see the difference. It’s a philosophy I’m not familiar with...but I find it a refreshing one.” She smiled to punctuate the sentiment. “You have my gratitude.”

“Aw, you don’t have to thank me for that!” Aruru said with a grin. “Thank you for hanging out with me today! I’ve been wanting a chance to spend more time with you, I just never figured out how to make it happen. You’ve got such amazing skills, and that intense focus! But I can tell that, no matter how hard you’re working on-stage, you’re always having a blast!”

Akira chuckled. “Of course. The most important thing for a Stage Girl is to love the Stage. But then, you already know that.”

“Yep!” Aruru darted to the side then, leaping onto the rim of the fountain. She pointed skyward and declared, “‘And since I’ve known all along, there’s no way you can stop my plans! I’ve accounted for every possibility!’”

Not missing a beat, Akira stepped forward, slashing an arm through the air. “’That’s where you’re wrong! There’s one secret I’ve never shared with anyone…one I can use to topple your entire operation!’”

Aruru crossed her arms. “’Hah hah! Is that so? No matter! All I have to do is defeat you here, and it will make no difference! Prepare yourself!’”

Akira shifted her stance, raising one hand over her eye. “’Prepare yourself, my nemesis…this is my final contingency!’”

As Aruru prepared to make a move, an electronic chime sounded off. She nearly lost her balance, but she managed to keep her footing with a few awkward flails, giggling from start to finish. Akira checked her phone to find a text from Michiru.

“Hey, where are you? I was sure you’d be done by now—is everything okay?”

Akira quickly replied: “Fine. Just got a little sidetracked. I’ll be back shortly.”

Facing Aruru, she said, “My apologies, but I’ve been summoned back to Siegfeld. We’ll have to pick this up some other time.”

“Oh, okay!” Aruru jumped down and ran over, producing her own phone in the process. “Let’s exchange numbers then! It’ll be way easier to meet back up that way.”

“…Very well.”

“Alright, so what’s yours?”

“It’s…um…” Akira scanned her phone’s home screen, realizing she had completely forgotten where such information was stored. “…Hm…”

After watching her squint at the screen for a few seconds, Aruru held a hand out. “Mind if I take a look?”

Akira felt a shade of reluctance, but handed the device over nonetheless. Aruru swiftly typed into both phones, and in a matter of seconds, she cheerily returned the phone to Akira’s grasp, its screen now showing a new contact labeled “Aruru-chan!”.

That might be too familiar, but…I don’t know how to change it…

“Thanks again, Akira-chan!” Aruru said, fervently waving despite how close the two of them still were. “I’ll text you later! Take care!”

And just like that, she was gone. To her own surprise, Akira felt a bit sad to see her go.

A Stage Girl whose brilliant passion for life fills the hearts of all in her orbit. She’ll never waver in sharing that joy, never let it be taken from her or anyone.

She smiled. Pocketing her phone, she walked off in the direction of the train station.

Otsuki Aruru…I eagerly await the day we perform together.

#Revue Starlight #fanfiction #Yukishiro Akira #Otsuki Aruru #Akiruru

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softbuckismykink · 5 years ago

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Bulletproof Picasso

Okay I know I posted a AU idea about PresidentialSon!Buck here and I said I’m not gonna write it but I lied. Yes I know I can’t help myself when I saw @promptabuddie‘s post^

This was supposed to be posted like weeks ago but life happens. Also this was supposed to be a short one shot but the fic had a mind of its own.

So here’s the basics you need to know about this AU: Bathena adopts Buck as a baby, Buck is a firefighter, and this fills that^ prompt. The rest you gonna find out in the fic itself. Title is in reference to a song by Train of the same title. Also in my head I re-casted Katrina Law as Lena so I’d write her character with justice; Nothing against Rousey but yeah in my version of Lena Bosko is Katrina Law (cause she’s a badass in both H50 and Arrow) just saying.

Warnings: Long ass exposition; Lots of backstories and Buck being ridiculous(ly adorable); Lena is Eddie’s Partner (Secret Service); Likable!Lena;

x-posted to AO3

Summary: Buck did have a knack for coming up with the most ridiculous excuse. So when the President asked him what the hell was he thinking, his answer was perplexing but at the same time not surprising at all.

“Um so I’m trying out the bulletproof vest?” At the blank stares he is getting Buck continued, “Well and what do you know it works! Really five stars will recommend to my police officer friends!”

Am I made of paper 'Cause I tear so easily Am I made of vapor Because I disappear Do I have to have a reason For anything I feel Just be glad I'm real Glad I'm real Am I real?

Buck was knocked down before he even felt a dull throbbing pain on his chest or heard the loud beating of his heart. They said life would flash before your eyes when you are in the brink of death. He guess that’s true because the second that bullet hit his chest he started thinking of what brought him to this very moment.

Robert “Buck” Evan Nash, Jr. pretty much grew up in the public eye. Being the white grandson of the first black president, Samuel Carter, was quite a headline maker. It didn’t matter that at the time of his grandfather’s tenure that Buck is the only son of the only child of the president, the press loved mentioning that particular distinction.

The press never let him forget that he was adopted, making it seem like he is not really a part of the first family because he is different; and if Buck’s parents, Athena and Bobby, were any less loving Buck would have grown up to resent his circumstances. Fortunately for Buck, his parents loved him so much that it only bothered him as much as the birthmark over his left eyebrow bothered him, which is to say almost never. All because both his parents and grandparents were an over protective bunch. They shielded him from the worst that the media reported.

Evan was adopted as a baby. He’d known that fact since he could remember, even before he knew what the word ‘adopt’ really meant. His adoption was deemed controversial, and was met with a lot of scrutiny, seeing that it happened when his grandfather was seeking re-election. Some thought it was just a publicity stunt to gain support for President Carter, but Bobby and Athena was quick to deny such allegations to anyone who dare brought it up.

His parents Robert “Bobby” Evan Nash, Sr., a firefighter, and Athena Nash, a prosecutor, raised him in a small townhouse in west Virginia in attempt to give him a normal life. Well as normal as possible with 24/7 security and routine trips to the White House to visit his grandparents, or as Buck called them Popo and Gigi.

As a kid Buck acted like a little Bobby Nash, dressing up like a firefighter and playing with his trucks, but no one can deny he’s a Mama’s boy. In every public appearance he has as a little child it’s always him clinging closely and tightly to his Mom, Athena Nash. These public appearances were inevitable but they endured it for years while Samuel Carter ran the arguably most powerful country in the modern world.

After his grandfather left the White House when Buck was six, the Nash family of three live a relatively quiet and normal life. Buck’s mom Athena is still a prominent and well-known prosecutor but his dad Bobby is a simple man and made a living as a firefighter. They moved to the west coast in LA where Bobby have a job as a fire captain in LAFD and Athena as Assistant District Attorney of the LA county. The public appearances significantly lessened but not the scrutiny, well at least not in local circles. But Buck need not worry of it all because his parents are zealous in protecting him against the vultures.

Needless to say Buck grew up relatively happy despite the public scrutiny and the circumstances of his adoption. The only instance he remembered being slightly unhappy was when he was ten and his mom was pregnant with his little sister, May. His Dad and Mom were so happy about the new baby, and at first Buck was happy too. That is until one of the mean kids in his elementary school told him that he should get lost already because his ‘fake’ parents are getting rid of him anyways because they are getting their real kid soon and they won’t need him anymore.

Buck went home upset that day but tried not to let it show. Not that he was successful, looking back Buck was pretty sure his parents knew but let him be knowing or rather hoping he’ll come to them himself when he’s ready to share. Just like how he use to as a little child. But this time it was different, because it was the first time some one implied his loving parents, the only ones he’s ever known were not his real ones, that he is not their ‘real’ kid.

So he kept it to himself. He cried himself to sleep only to wake up in the middle of the night. It was when he decided that he had to leave. So Buck wrote a letter to his parents and had his favorite backpack filled with his favorite comics and pop tarts and a bottle of water. He left the goodbye letter to his parents on their fridge. Then he sneak out in the early morning while his parents were asleep.

Dear Mama and Dad Mr. and Mrs. Nash Bobby and Athena,

I want to say thank you for taking care of me and feeding me and giving me a home to stay at. I know I’m not your real kid and I [apriciate] that you [taked] me in like I’m your real kid. I’m really glad you are [finaly] getting your real baby. She is so lucky to have you both. I’ll always love you both. I’ll miss you. But don’t worry about me, I’ll be okay.

Love,

Robert Evan Nash

Buck doesn’t remember much about what happened after sneaking out or how he got to his Uncle Micheal’s house but he remembered sitting in his uncle’s living room when his parents finally found him.

“Robert Evan Nash, Junior!” Buck heard his mom’s stern voice before she even saw her. When he did see her the fist thing she did was hug him so tight. Then pulled away trying to inspect him, for what, Buck couldn’t really tell.

“You had us worried kiddo.” Bucked looked up when he heard his father’s voice noticing the slight frown in the man’s face.

“Don’t you ever run away again, young man, or it’ll be your last!”

“I’m-- Look Ma-- I mean look Athena, Bobby--” Buck started as he pulls away from his mother’s embrace.

“Wait, Bobby, tell me we did not just hear our son call us by our first names?!”

“Don’t call me your son, I’m not your son!” Buck protested in anger which quickly melted once he noticed the devastated look on his parents faces. He could feel the tears forming in his eyes.“You are gonna have your real kid really soon. You guys should focus on her. You don’t need me anymore.”

“And what you think just because we are having ‘our real kid’ we are just gonna forget about that kid we spent a decade loving?! It doesn’t work that way, Evie.”

“I--”

“Son, just because we are having another child doesn’t mean we’ll forget about you. It doesn’t mean we love you any less.”

“It breaks our hearts to think you feel that way. Your father and I love you so much, Evan.”

“You don’t need to leave us because you are afraid we’ll be leaving you behind, because your mother and I, we’ll always be here with you, no matter what.”

“Now you stop this nonsense about you not being our real son okay. Just because I didn’t give birth to you doesn’t make you any less our real child than this one does.” His mother said holding on to her pregnancy bump as she does.

“Your mom is right. You are not any less our son, just like May isn’t any less my daughter because I didn’t father her.”

Evan didn’t understand back then what they meant about that last part. Eventually though they explained to him how his Dad, Bobby, is sterile and so they had to ask Uncle Micheal to be their sperm donor and his Uncle Micheal was May’s biological father. And that doesn’t make his Dad, Bobby any less than May’s real Dad, because he is.

When six years later his parents decided to have another child, this time it was Buck who dealt with his little sister’s feeling of jealousy. He told her what his parents told him six years ago, “May, just because Mama and Dad are having Harry doesn’t mean they love us any less okay?”

“If you say so Buckaroo...”

“I say so, May-bear.” Buck beamed at his little sister, and hugged her tight to reassure her. “Now Popo, Gigi and the troops are gonna be here real soon and you know how Gigi gets, so why don’t you help me clean up and prepare the guest rooms huh?”

Buck was 17 when Harry was born, and unlike May’s birth which his parents surprisingly kept under the radar, Harry’s birth was anything but quiet. It seemed like the whole of America was tuned in to the birth of former President Carter’s grandson. Their family was once again on the forefront of national news. His mom cleverly turned that attention away from their private lives and to her campaigns for issues she deemed necessary to talk about like women’s reproductive rights.

It didn’t take long for Democratic Congressional Campaign Committee to take notice and approach Athena to run for congress. Slowly but surely, Evan’s mom’s popularity grew. Her transition from prosecutor to politician seemed to happen quickly. It took less than ten years before Athena’s running a national campaign.

As his mother fame grew, Buck tried to find his own way in the world. Growing up with Bobby and Athena as his model for success, he knew he’d like to be like them and help people, but in his own way. So Buck traveled around in search of himself. He spent most of his early twenties journeying through South America, doing odd jobs here and there to support himself. For the most part he enjoyed it more than he think he’d enjoy a traditional college experience. He knew though that eventually he have to go back home.

On Buck’s twenty sixth birthday, the first birthday he spent back home with family in the last four years, he announced his plans for the future. They gathered in his grandparent’s place in west Virginia since Popo and Gigi are the ones taking care of Harry and May while Bobby and Athena are going round the country in preparation for his mother’s campaign. The elections won’t happen for another three years in 2020 but his parents are going around to amass support.

“So Ma, and Dad, Popo, and Gigi, May, Harry,” Evan looked at each one of them before announcing “I um, I’ve decided to finally stay stateside permanently this time.”

“That’s great Buck!” Harry beamed. “Finally, we get to see you more.”

“You see me every Thanksgiving, Christmas, and you guys birthdays, that’s like eight times a year.”

“Exactly 8 out of 365. That’s just about 2% of the year.” May argued, pouting at her older brother. “And we never see you on your birthday, Buck.”

“Well I’m here and it’s my birthday so I think--”

“Oh you know what I meant.”

“Yeah I do.” Evan grinned at her. “I just like pointing out your mistakes in logic-”

“Your face is a mistake in logic-”

“Robert Evan! May Ann!”

“But Mama~ Buck started it.” May whined but at her mother’s threatening glare she stopped and glared at her older brother instead, said older brother of course just grinned in triumph at being able to annoy his little sister.

Athena just rolled her eyes at her kids’ antics. Bobby was quick to pick the conversation back up though.

“What are your plans then, son?” Bobby asked. “You want to join me and your Ma? You can help with the campaign, appeal to the young voters.”

“I’d be glad to help with the campaign in anyway I can but I was actually thinking of doing something else.”

“Well what is it that you want to do?” Beatrice prompted and asked when he noticed Evan hesitated on telling them.

“You know you can tell us,” Samuel prodded. “Short of anything criminal, we’ll support whatever it is.”

“Um I want to be a firefighter like Dad, so I’m thinking of completing a fire science degree, I have almost all the general education credits already so I’m thinking that and the fire academy after.”

“Well that’s a good plan.” Bobby approved, smiling at his son, “You moving back to LA then? Cause I just need to tell Carla so the house would be ready for you to move back in.”

“Well actually, um I’m planning to move to Austin.”

“Like Texas?” Buck’s grandpa asked.

“Not like Texas, Popo. In Texas.” Evan said cheekily.

“You don’t even know anyone in Texas, sweetie.” Gigi piped up showing her concern and disbelief. “Where will you even live?”

“Yes I do, Gigi. Remember Carlos, Dad?” Buck asked but didn’t wait for an answer before continuing, “His family moved in Austin like years ago.”

“Who’s Carlos?” his little brother asked.

“Um you don’t know him, Harry. I don’t think even May does. He was my best friend in elementary. Dad and Carlos’ mom used to work together at 118.”

“Carlos? Juanita Reyes’ kid?” His Dad asked finally catching on and remembering the little boy who always tags along with his son after school. “That Carlos?”

“Yes, Dad. We reconnected when we met each other again in Chile. He was visiting family.”

“Oh is he the little boy you used to have a crush on when you were a ten?”

“GIGI!” Evan loudly protested. “I did not-- I never--”

“Oh, don’t deny it now, Robert Evan Reyes.” His mom jokingly chided. “You use to practice signing your name that way.”

“I did not!” Buck protested cheeks blushing. At his mom’s raised Eyebrow of Disbelief ™ he pouted and asked, “How did you even-”

“I know because your dad was so upset. I mean not his regular pissed off I’m gonna punch something upset but baking three different pastries at three o’clock in the morning upset. So I thought it was really something serious. But turns out he found your notebook filled with the name Robert Evan Reyes.” Athena told her story barely suppressing a laugh while she does so. “It was a few months after your disappearing act, and your dad thought you still aren’t convinced enough that we love you and that you wanted nothing to do with us, and that’s why you wanted to change your last name. I had to calm him down explain to him about puppy love and crushes and dream weddings.”

“In my defense,” his dad went on to add, “I never thought about changing my name to my crush’s name when I was a kid so it never occurred to me that it was about Buck’s crush on the boy.”

“Wait Buck, is Carlos your boyfriend now?” Harry asked. “Is that why you’re moving with him instead of with us at Popo’s?”

“No, Carlos is not my boyfriend. He’s a police officer at Austin PD.”

“What does being a cop have to do with a guy being your boyfriend?” May asked challengingly. “Are you saying you wouldn’t date him because he’s a cop? Isn’t that taking the firefighter vs cop rivalry too far?”

“I didn’t mean anything like that. I’m just saying that he isn’t my boyfriend. And that he is a cop. Two different things that are allowed to be unrelated.”

“Sure, they are allowed but you know what isn’t?” Gigi asked, not waiting for a reply before answering her own question. “Lying at this dinner table. I know we never really talked about this but you know me and Popo or your parents don’t care that he’s a guy. We all support gay marriage.”

“Mom!” Athena glared at her mother knowing where she’s trying to take the conversation. “That’s inappropriate.”

“It’s true!”

“That doesn’t make it r--” But whatever Athena was about to say was interrupted by her dad trying to change the conversation.

“Beatrice, don’t you think Buck is too young to think about marriage?”

“No I think not, Samuel.” Beatrice said not allowing her husband to change their topic, leaving Athena to roll her eyes at her and huff while her mom continued to argue her point, “Bobby and Athena were at Buck’s age now when they had him, and they were married for three years before that. Plus you and me are not getting any younger. I’d like to have seen at least one of my great-grandchildren before I go.”

“Okay can everyone please calm down.” Buck shook his head at the adults in the table. “Carlos isn’t my boyfriend anyway so this whole conversation is pointless.”

“So if you are not moving to Texas because of this Carlos guy, why chose Texas at all? If your goal is to be a firefighter, isn’t LA a much better choice?”

“Oh I don’t think Buck would willingly move back to LA, Gigi.” May casually commented.

“And why is that?”

“Well duh, Abby lives there.” Harry answered cheekily, which earned him a glare from his older brother.

“Abby?” Athena voiced the question all the adults in the table seemed to be thinking. Buck looked at his younger siblings, gesturing for them to shut their mouths, hand slashing on the side of his throat.

“Wait Buck, didn’t you ever tell mama and dad about dating Abby Clark?” May asked totally ignoring the non-verbal hints her brother was conveying.

“Clark? Like your high school swim coach, Clark?” Bobby asked remembering his son’s swim coach has the same last name. “I didn’t know Miss Clark has a daughter.”

“It’s not her daug-”

“Her niece perhaps then?”

“Not her niece-”

“No, don’t tell me...” Athena trailed off finally realizing what her oldest trying to tell them, “Robert Evan Nash, Junior!”

“Mama!” Evan parried back with equal fervor. “This is why I never told you guys, I knew you’d be upset!”

“Of course I am upset! That lady is two decades older than you!”

“17 years is not two decades, Ma.” Buck tried to reason.

“You are not really helping your case, son.” Bobby shook his head.

“She was older and in a position of power, Evan. Clearly she used that to take advantage of you.”

“Nothing happened when she was my coach, Ma. It happened after I graduated. I was eighteen, we were together for like six months. I loved her. Or I thought I loved her but she realized she didn’t have time for a relationship. Not with an immature boy and not with her having to take care of her mom. I understood that. Or I told myself I did. We broke up and that’s-”

“When you started running away from your family.” Athena finished his sentence, as her frown deepens.

“I’m not running away from you guys! I’m trying to find myself!”

“In freaking South America!”

“It’s not because of her, Ma!” Buck argued.

“Oh really?!” Athena raised her Eyebrow of Disbelief™ and Buck has no choice but to capitulate.

“Okay, maybe a little,” Buck said but continued to argue his point, “though you can’t deny that it’s a journey I need at that time, regardless of what led to it. Besides I’m back now, this whole conversation about Abby is a moot point, just like the conversation about Carlos.”

“Okay, I say we table this conversation and talk about something else.” Bobby said.

“Oh can we talk about the time Buck um...” Harry trailed off at his older brothers glare before returning it with a mischievous grin, “You know that time he snuck a girl to 118 and stole the ladder truck.”

“Robert Evan Nash Junior!”

“Really you’d think it’s gang-up-on-me-day not my birthday.” Evan grumbled and pouted at them. “I really hate you guys. It’s no wonder I tried to runaway when I was ten.”

“Oh you love us.”

“Yeah, Mama, I do.”

Buck did as he intended, and moved to Austin. He rented the extra room at Carlos’ parent’s house. It used to be a detached garage that they had converted into a studio apartment. He finished his fire science degree in eighteen months and immediately started at his firefighter training. All too soon he was graduating at the fire academy, top of his class.

Evan was just done with his first year of probation at Station 126 when his mother ran and won the democratic primaries. It was a hectic few months between the primaries and the November elections. Buck spent the time he was’t working traveling all over Texas and nearby states campaigning for his Mom. It was tiring but it was all worth it especially when it was announced that his mom won 29 of the 38 electoral votes in the state turning Texas, a republican stronghold since the 80′s, back to a blue state.

He was happy for her because he knows his mom worked hard for it. In turn his family was happy for him for now being a full-pledged firefighter. Every thing was going well for all of them. Especially when his mom unsurprisingly won the elections.

However there is the small issue of having secret service protection conflicting with Buck being able to do his job. He wasn’t too worried though because he figured as an adult son of the president, he could always decline secret service protection. His mom would understand and not force it on him.

Buck didn’t count on how overprotective his dad can be though.

He was glad to finally be home in his apartment in Austin. Three hours of flight from DC to Austin, not to mention the two months spent in campaign tours, exhausted him. He was glad for his mother’s triumph but at the same time he was also glad that the campaign is over and he could go back to his real life. Or so he thought.

After grabbing dinner with Carlos and TK, who picked him up from the airport, Buck was letting himself into his apartment. There was a commotion behind the door which makes Buck suspicious enough that he was about to call Carlos back for backup, only for his front door to open and reveal a unbearably handsome man wearing a cheap black suit, unbearable because no man should be allowed to look that good in a cheap suit especially when that man is clearly invading Buck’s privacy and likely stealing things or something.

“Who the fuck--”

“Evan, language!” his father scolded, appearing behind the good-looking cheap suit guy who stepped aside to let him in the apartment.

“Dad what are you doing here?” Buck asked confused since he knew five hours ago the man was just saying goodbye to him at a private airfield in DC. It took him a moment to realize that the man that he thought was too good looking to be a thief or hoodlum was actually a secret service agent assigned to his Dad.

“I thought Agent Kinard and Perez would be your assigned agents?”

“They are, Tommy is doing a perimeter sweep, Armie went on a food run.”

“So what’s with the new guy then?”

“Buck meet Agent Eddie Diaz.” At the introduction the handsome agent held his hand out for Buck to shake which he automatically reached for, and if Buck felt a tingle ran through him the moment they touch, he didn’t bother acknowledging it since he is too busy frowning at the situation he is finding himself in. Buck is quite sure he wouldn’t like whatever his father is gonna say, “Agent Diaz will be the point man of your security detail. There’s another Agent, Josh Russo, who’s with Tommy doing a perimeter sweep.”

“Dad I told Ma already, no secret service. I can’t do my job with some men in black following me around!”

“Which is why I had carefully chosen agents who would be able to back you up in the field. Agent Diaz served as a Medic in the Army. Agent Bosko who’ll be arriving tomorrow, served in the Navy as Damage Control. And Agent Russo, was former SWAT and has experience in rescue operations. Those jobs would transition well into a firefighting.”

“Dad, I can’t just show up to work go to the Captain and say, hey Cap mind if I bring three tag-a-longs? Don’t worry they are house-trained and all! It doesn’t work that way, Dad!”

“I’ve already talked to the Fire Chief Mulaney and your station’s captain, Owen Strand. They agreed to have one of the agents with you on the field, they would go undercover as part-time hires, and would be assigned to partner up with you. They’ll do 48-hour rotation with you. I had Agent Diaz prepare a schedule to give to your Chief and another to your fire captain.”

“But Dad!”

“No buts, Buck!” Bobby said just as loudly, showing the extent of his worry for his oldest. “We’re just taking your threat profile seriously, son. You are the only one in our family not living in the White House, which means you are the most vulnerable to malicious attacks against your mother. With your job they can even make it look like an accident. I can’t just leave you unprotected. Your mom and I wouldn’t be able to sleep at night, so please don’t fight me on this, son.”

Buck hated that he can’t say no to his Dad. Robert Nash, Sr has always been the overprotective sort. But he’s never one to beg, not until now. Because reality is that Buck is old enough to decline the secret service protection, whether his parents liked it or not. So his dad played dirty and begged, and Buck couldn’t ever say no to that, not when it comes from the man that raised him and loved him unconditionally.

First few calls he went with Agent Diaz were medical calls and while it’s slightly irritating specially when the Agent would somehow it was bearable. Besides TK, whose the Captain’s son and Carlos, Buck’s best friend, no one knew that the three new hire at 126 where undercover Secret service agents assigned to protect Buck. Well no one officially knew but Buck guessed that no one was fooled about who the new hires really were. It’s just no one talked about it.

He’s getting used to having one of the agents always around. Bosko is always sarcastic, Russo is chatty and flirty, and that Diaz is quiet and gloomy. They are not too bad. But it didn’t mean that Buck liked them. In fact one could definitely argue that he hated them, or rather specifically Diaz. With a strength of a raging fire, one could say. The man is just annoyingly controlling, in that it gets to Buck’s nerves.

It came to head when they got a call about a house fire in the ghetto area in Austin, and what turned out to be part of a gang war. They put out the fire pretty quickly but one of the injured gang member has an unexploded grenade embedded to his thigh. They secured the injured young man, who is probably no older than sixteen, in the back of an ambulance but soon discovered that the grenade is some special Vietnam war era grenade and is already missing a pin, hence the slightest movement can and will trigger an explosion. There’s no time to wait for the military expert which is at least 30 minutes out.

“We couldn’t wait for the Bomb squad or the boy would bleed out.” Diaz informed the captain and suggested, “I could go in and securely pull it out, I have the training.”

“I’ll go with Eddie,” Buck volunteered.

“Oka-” the captain was about to agree but was cut off.

“No.” The agent simply said tone commanding no further objection, which Buck of course completely ignored.

“What do you mean no?” Buck challenged.

“I’m gonna have to pull rank Captain Owens.” Diaz said letting the captain know that he isn’t gonna budge on his decision and how he expected things to go. “I would go inside and get that grenade but I wont have Buck with me when I do. It’s too dangerous. Russo is on his way to help with crowd control.” He said the last four words deliberately which Buck understood as code for Russo is there to help with babysitting Buck.

And sure enough Agent Josh Russo arrived in his turnout gear ready to partner up with Buck even when he is not originally part of the crew that answered the call.

“Okay, I’m not gonna waste anymore minute debating this.” Captain Strand shook his head before turning to the rest of his crew, “Anyone else not named Evan Nash willing to go through the hare-brained stunt that Diaz here likes to attempt?”

“Me Cap,” Judd raised his hand to call the captain’s attention to him, “I’ll go with Diaz.”

“Okay Ryder you, run with Diaz!” Strand nodded to his second in command, before turning to the President’s son, “Buck you stay here with Russo, help deal with the crowd!”

Buck silently fumed as they wrapped up at the scene and debriefed the police.

“You!” Buck exclaimed the moment they were all in the fire truck on their way back. It was only him, Cap, Russo and Diaz riding with TK driving the truck, so Buck didn’t bother hiding his anger as he turned to the annoying agent, “What the hell is that?!”

“What?”

“The fucking stunt you pulled with Cap?!”

“Oh you meant me doing my job?” Eddie said dismissing Buck’s anger like it’s irrelevant inconvenience, “You forget that I’m not actually a firefighter, Mr. Nash. I’m a federal agent assigned to keep you alive.”

And Buck has no retort for that but if that’s how the agent want to play it, then Buck would play. So whenever the opportunity to be reckless presents itself Buck would grab it. From free climbing on the side of a cliff with minimal gears, to being the first to every door without waiting for backup. Buck is doing everything to make it hard for Diaz to do his job.

It’s clearly frustrating the Agent every time Buck is being reckless but he’s being mum about it. He endures and backs up what ever hare-brained stunt Buck wanted to pull. That is until Buck took it too far and actually defied a direct order from Captain Owens.

They just responded to a call regarding an old McMansion on fire. When they got there the owners of the house told them that their blind older brother was stuck inside but they couldn’t go in because they didn’t know if their brother deactivated the traps which they said are deadly.

Buck, of course rushed in as soon as they got the brief not even bothering to wait for Captain’s order and also ignoring the summons to fall back insisting that he got it.

“What the hell is that?!” Eddie shouted as soon as Buck got out of the booby trapped house that’s now entirely on fire. Fire carrying the victim he saved and handing him off to the paramedics.

“That’s me doing my job, Diaz!”

“You want to be reckless?! Do you actually have a death wish?! IS that it?! You want to fucking die?”

“And what is it to you huh?!”

“Dying is easy Buck, living is harder.”

“And why are you telling me this?”

“What you think dying makes you a martyr? A hero?! It doesn’t! It makes you dead! It would make your parents miserable! Your siblings would miss you! And me? I’ll be the schmuck that got you killed so think about that for once.”

Buck was cowed by the uncharacteristic anger displayed by the normally unflappable agent. He realized he was being a brat, that Agent Diaz was only doing his job and while he’s being a reckless brat that could get himself and his crew killed if he continued with the stunts he kept pulling just to annoy the agent. He resolve to make it up with the agent later. But right now Buck allowed himself to wallow in guilt.

Buck felt even more guilty when later at the end of their shift it was the agent who approached him first to apologize.

“Sorry I yelled at you earlier,” Eddie said as he hands out a blueberry muffin and a chocolate-banana muffin, “Here the owner of that burned downed McMansion sent these. I don’t know what flavor you liked.”

“Thanks I actually liked both.” Buck said as he accepted the treats. “Look I’m sorry for being a brat and annoying you with my recklessness.”

“No, I get it okay. You are retaliating because of the stunt I pulled with Captain Strand and the kid with the grenade. I get that. Which is why I let yo do what ever you want, but really you need top stop trying to get yourself killed. If you wanted to annoy me there are other safer ways to do it.”

Buck tamp down on the urge to be sarcastic and ask what those ways are. Instead he offered a reluctant smile and asked, “Okay what about a compromise, I’ll stop being a reckless brat, if you stop being a controlling jackass?”

“What about you stop being a reckless brat and I continue doing my job?” Eddie smirked. And fuck it if Buck didn’t like the way the man looked when he did that. So irritatingly sexy.

Buck’s fucking screwed and not in a fun way.

“Where’s Eddie?” Buck asked as soon as he opened his door and not seeing Agent Diaz as he expected.

“Hello Agent Bosko, how are you doing today? How’s you cat?” Agent Bosko said sarcastically imitating Buck before answering her own question, in a fake overly pleasant voice.“Oh why sir, thanks for asking. I’m fine, Binky is fine.”

“Sorry Agent I didn’t mean to be abrupt but really where is Diaz?”

“He called in today, obviously since I’m here but not that you seem to care.”

“I’m just-- Agent Diaz isn’t one to miss a shift so I was wondering what happened.”

“He has a family emergency, his son is in the hospital, pneumonia.” Agent Bosko explained.

“Is the kid okay?” Buck asked not even bothering to hide his worries.

“Chris is stable but they are keeping him for observation.” Buck wanted to ask more, which Agent Bosko clearly noticed so she graciously offered, “Hey since it’s your day off today, if you wanted we could visit them.”

Buck of course readily agreed, so he quickly changed into and piled into the black SUV. As customary, Buck took the backseat passenger side, another protocol that the agents are unwilling to compromise on.

“So, how’s your cat, Binky is it you said?” Buck tried breaking the awkward silence in the car.

“I don’t have a cat.” Agent Bosko replied smirking at the rearview mirror. “Which is what I’m saying. I mean I know we are not friends or anything but you don’t have to push us away either. I mean, unless something huge happened, at the very least you’d be stuck with us for at least four years, but most likely with how popular your mom’s approval rating, it will be likely eight years. The least you could do is know a little something about us, like for example I don’t have a cat.”

“Okay. You are right, so tell me about you.” Buck said, relenting. And so Lena and him filled the forty-five minute ride to hospital with idle chatter about How Lena got into thee service, Buck’s time in South America, and all the secret service gossip Lena heard about from other agents.

Arriving at the St. Francis Children’s Hospital. Agent Bosko lead him straight to the elevators, obviously knowing where to go. Buck guessed she’d been here before. When “Okay Diaz is on room 310, just go on in I’ll wait here.”

“Agent Diaz,” Buck announced his presence as soon as he entered the room.

“Sir!” Diaz stood up surprised at sudden intrusion.

“At ease, or whatever Navy slang you guys use,” Buck smirked.

“I was in the Army, not Navy.” Buck heard Eddie grumble under his breath but outwardly ignoring it, though inside he is quietly cheering at having annoyed the older man.

“And who do we have here?” Buck smiled at the curly head little boy, sitting in the hospital bed with a nasal cannula helping him breathe.

“Um this is my son, Christopher.”

“You’re Mr. Evan Nash! Best Firefighter out of Firehouse 126! Your mama is President Athena Nash. And your Grandpa is President Samuel Carter.” Christopher recited the facts, amazed but suddenly his face turned serious as he looked to his dad accusingly, “Wait Dad, you said I’m not dying!”

“What?” Eddie asked suddenly alarmed and panicking, “Why son are you feeling weak, or nauseous? Can you breathe? You know what let me get a doc-” Eddie turned to leave but a hand clutched tightly on the sleeve of his shirt. And it broke Buck’s heart to see the tears in the kid’s eyes, he was about to offer to be the one to get the doctor when the boy spoke again, stopping him in his tracks.

“I thought you said I’m not dying so we can’t really submit those Make a- ‘ish forms I fi-filled out but Mr. Evan Nash is he-ere and so I got my wish granted, which means I’m dying.” It took a moment for the kid’s words to sink in but as soon as Buck understood what’s happening he moved to comfort the boy.

“Hey, Hey Buddie don’t cry okay? You are not dying.” Buck said as he sat down on the edge of the kid’s bed and reach out to wipe the young boy’s tears away. “I’m just here to make sure your Dad isn’t playing hooky.”

“Hooky?”

“You know trying to get out of work to do something fun.”

“Is he in trouble now?” The little boy asked giggling at the idea of his father in trouble.

“Well yes! He is, but mostly because he didn’t tell me he’s spending the day with the most awesome kid in all of Austin!”

“Yeah silly daddy, he should have told you, I am the awesomest, Mr. Nash!”

“Tell you what, call me Buck, all my friends call me Buck.”

“Okay, Buck.” The boy beamed at him and Buck can’t help but beam back.

Meeting Eddie’s son endeared the agent more to him. Christopher is unlike any kid he ever met before, and Buck met a lot, having volunteered at Children’s Hospital around the country. It has nothing to do with the kid’s cheery attitude because that quirk isn’t at all unique to Chris. It’s more to do with the almost instant connection he has with Chris. Evan can’t explain it but the moment he met the little boy he felt a tug on a string he didn’t even know was tethered to his heart.

From then on whenever possible, Buck likes to tag along the Diaz Boys. Whenever Buck’s day off coincides with the days that Agent Diaz has to protect him, Buck always insisted that they spent it with Christopher, playing video games. And whenever Buck’s day off coincides with the Agent Diaz’s day off Buck insists on going to the local park or a zoo, dragging both Agents Bosko and Russo with them as additional protection. Which Buck didn’t think is really necessary but Eddie insisted.

In the two months that Eddie Diaz was protecting Buck, Agent Diaz slowly went from the unbearably handsome cheap suit guy, to most annoying and controlling work partner, to someone who Buck wouldn’t hesitate to think of as family.

This realization came to him at a charity gala that him mom invited them to. It was an early evening event and was for once kid-friendly so Buck invited the Diaz boys to attend it with him. Eddie was of course reluctant since he knew that he'll be working as protective detail and wouldn't have time to take care of his son. Buck insisted that he could take care of Christopher plus his little brother and Denny, the Vice President's son, both of whom were around Christopher's age, would be there and it's a good learning experience for Chris. Plus Chris would get to meet the President, and that he already promised Chris he'll tour him around the White house, so really Eddie has no choice.

Buck was looking to where his siblings, Denny and Chris were seated. Then to his Dad having a lively discussion with his Mom, and his grandparents dragging Eddie from his post to ask him Buck don't even have a clue. Seeing both hisDiaz boys fitting so well with his family makes his heart ache. He can't deny it to himself anymore, he sees both Eddie and Chris as family. Buck would really do anything for family, and would protect them at all cost.

So when Buck saw Agent Diaz leaping into action to protect his mother, it’s not even a conscious decision for him to leap in front of them both and push them down. It’s such automatic reflex that he didn’t even realized he moved at all until he felt something hit the wide lapel of his suit. The force of the hit knocking him off his feet.

Bright flashes lights brought Buck to the consciousness. He could feel a dull aching on his chest. Slowly but surely he regained enough awareness to recognize Agent Diaz hovering over him and talking on his earpiece.

“Picasso is down. I repeat Picasso is down I need an immediate med evac--”

#buddie #but only a hint #Bathena #bathena adopts buck

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canadiankazz · 6 years ago

Text

The Sixth Time - An L.A. by Night Fanfic

Seeing as how his sanctum is currently off-limits, Annabelle invites Jasper over to her place. He gets a little bold during feeding again and they talk about the Blood Bond.

L.A. By Night Alternative Universe where Jasper has been feeding from Annabelle for several weeks/months and they have developed a Blood Bond. SPOILERS for the end of Campaign 1 including the one-shots. This was written before Season 2, Episode 4.

It’s worth reading the rest of the series before this part.

The Entire ‘Feeds From’ Master List Can be Found Here

I lay no claim to owning any of the characters involved.

As always, special thanks to @cravatfiend for the support, feedback and encouragement during the writing of the drafts. Special love to @gokaiyellow for their additional input and for being as patient as they can, and to @fluffy-wookiees because it was our conversation about Blood Bonds that inspired the main chunk of this fic. Thank you to everyone else who has enjoyed this series so far.

Also posted to the author’s Ao3.

First published Feb. 11, 2019.

The Sixth Time Jasper Fed From Annabelle

Jasper was trying to read in bed, but he was having difficulty concentrating. He could hear his newest prisoner from the Ivory Tower ranting and raving from all the way across his sanctum. In the month previous, Baron Abrams had secretly managed to acquire Nelli's sire, Chaz Price. Chaz had then been placed in Jasper's possession for safekeeping until the Barons and the Prince and whoever else in charge of Kindred politics in California worked out their political arguments.

Chaz was currently calling Jasper every insult under the sun and moon, but Jasper was doing his best to ignore it. This had been going on more or less since he had woken Chaz up from his staked Torpor in his cage. He had heard it all before, from Tara, and from others. It was better to let Chaz get it all out of his system now. Jasper didn't know how long he was to keep him here. It had already been weeks. It could be months, it could be years. Jasper hoped it wouldn’t be decades.

Jasper put down his book, which was about famous ghosts from around Hollywood, and sighed. It wasn't Chaz's insults that were distracting him, not really. It was an odd feeling of loneliness. Before Chaz, his sanctum had been relatively quiet, save for the times when Annabelle had come over. Jasper reached down off the side of the bed furthest from the door and found the small plastic tea light candle he had hidden down there, out of sight behind one of the bed legs. He brought it up and flicked the little switch on the bottom to turn on the fake flame. It flickered dimly. The button battery that powered it was slowly dying.

He missed her, he realised. On a night like this, he might have called her to come over and hang out. They might have watched a movie. She might let him feed off her. He licked his fangs at the memories he had of biting into her flesh, of tasting her powerful Brujah Vitae, and of the sounds she made as the endorphins brought on by the Kiss clouded her brain and made her body react in rather interesting ways.

His phone buzzed with a text message. He looked at the screen. It was Annabelle, texting him privately, away from the group coterie chat. He smiled. She had been thinking of him too. Was it her emotions he was feeling, mixed with his own? Their Blood Bond had faded somewhat since their last encounter many weeks ago, but if Jasper concentrated, he could feel where Annabelle was in the city, and was sure that if she were in any great danger or emotional state, he would know about it.

“I had a dream about you yesterday,” Annabelle's message read.

Jasper dreamed about her all the time, but he hadn't ever told her about it. He wasn't surprised she had been dreaming about him too.

“What happened in it?” He inquired.

“You were feeding from me.”

Jasper smirked. He could envision Annabelle blushing while she was typing that.

“Where?” he asked, both meaning where on her body, and also a location for them both to be in. He had only ever fed from her in his sanctum, but with Chaz here under his secret lock and key, Annabelle wasn't allowed back in.

“Everywhere,” was Annabelle's reply. Jasper chuckled.

“Did you have a favourite place?” he asked. He wasn't usually this much of a texter, but he didn't want Chaz to hear him making any calls.

“Neck.” Again, Jasper could picture Annabelle blushing.

“Mine too,” he replied truthfully. He sighed a little to himself. His hunger was under control at the moment, thanks to the elder Toreador still cursing him out in his cage, but feeding from his prisoner and feeding from Annabelle were two totally different things. Annabelle wanted him to bite her. She enjoyed it almost as much as he did. Sometimes, he thought she enjoyed it more than him, especially when she used Blush of Life while he bit her. He hesitated a very long moment, before texting her again. “I miss you.”

“I miss you too.”

He blinked at her reply, not sure how to respond.

Annabelle didn't send him another message for a long time. He briefly thought that she might be done for the night, but he was wrong.

“Elle is going out of town this weekend to visit her parents,” Annabelle told him. “And Mark is still away.”

He waited without replying. Annabelle was typing another message, erasing it, and re-wording it. He knew what she was going to ask him, and was about to pre-emptively inquire about it when her message finally got through.

“Would you like to come over on Saturday?”

He did. He very much wanted to spend the weekend with her, at her place. They hadn't seen a lot of each other in a long time. He had also never been inside her house, and had to admit he was curious.

Still, there was something inside him that made him hesitate in his reply. It wasn't Chaz. Chaz could sit a few days on his own, and Jasper would make sure he fed him before he left.

No, it was something else, something more intimate. Jasper knew that if he did go, the weekend was likely to turn into another feeding date, and likely an extended one at that. He doubted either of them would be able to help themselves, strong though their willpower was. If Annabelle did let him bite her again, their Blood Bond would redevelop and strengthen. This wasn't necessarily a bad thing, but it still made him a little nervous. There was ever growing tension between the Anarchs and the Camarilla these nights, and if, somehow, the Camarilla worked out that Jasper was holding Chaz captive, they could use Annabelle to get to him. He had already promised himself that any Kindred who hurt Annabelle would not last the night if Jasper were able to get to them. He also knew that Annabelle could definitely handle herself in a fight. But she was also still a Neonite, having been Kindred for less than a year, and the Camarilla was home to many very powerful vampires who could take her apart quite easily if they wanted to.

Jasper's phone buzzed again. Annabelle had sent him a single question mark, waiting for his reply.

It was dangerous, and he knew he shouldn’t, but damn it... he wanted to. He had already admitted that he missed her. It was already too late to deny his growing feelings, beyond just the bond with her blood.

“Yes, I would,” he texted her. “What time?”

He could picture her smiling, her pretty face lit up both with the light from her phone, and the joy and anticipation she got from his reply.

“11:00 Sat.” she replied.

“See you then,” Jasper promised.

Annabelle sent him a smiley face. He didn't return it, but he smiled physically.

Saturday night came and Jasper arrived completely unseen to Annabelle's door. He had taken every precaution he could think of to secure his haven and the prisoner inside it. He wanted to enjoy this weekend without having to worry, though it would always be on the back of his mind. He found that he wasn't as nervous about visiting Annabelle at her home as he thought he might be. His Beast was getting excited though. He could feel it in his chest and throat. He growled at it, closing his eyes and counting to ten. He hadn't lost control with Annabelle on one of their dates yet, and he wasn't about to.

He knocked, letting himself become visible as he interacted with the door. He pulled his hood down lower over his face, just in case someone from another house was watching. He didn't have long to wait. Annabelle flung the door open and greeted him happily.

“Jasper, hey!”

He smiled at her. “Hi.”

“Come in.” She beckoned him into the warm interior of the home and he stepped over the threshold. She closed the door behind them. He instantly found himself glancing around, taking in the space.

Annabelle led him through to a tiny living room. There was one bookshelf full of books, one full of DVDs and Blu-Rays and another full of CD's. Jasper found himself drawn to them. He tilted his head to read the covers and cases.

Annabelle watched him with a little amused smile. “How have you been?”

“Oh you know... “ he shrugged. “Same as ever.”

She gave him a flat look. “Don't be mysterious with me, Jasper.”

He gave her a little half smile. “I've been pretty good.”

“Yeah? Me too.”

There was something unsaid between them. It was easier, sometimes, to say things like “I've missed you” over text rather than out loud.

Jasper sat on a sofa. It was second hand, inexpensive student furniture, but he felt at home with that. In fact, a lot of Annabelle's place reminded him of his own, except she had a lot more stuff. Photos of Annabelle, Mark and Elleanore together, knick-knacks, Anime figures, even the odd stuffed animal were everywhere. The room was neat and cluttered at the same time. There was a framed Les Miserables poster on the wall that made him smile. There was also a lot of vampire media, mostly shoved into one corner. Books and DVDs and Blu-Rays about Dracula, Underworld, Anne Rice, and more. He shook his head a little when he saw that.

“How's your new... guest?” Annabelle asked.

“A pain in the ass,” Jasper said. “I was glad you invited me over.”

“You know... I still don't approve of all that,” she said with a frown.

“Yeah... I know, but when you change the world, I won't keep anyone in a cage ever again.”

Annabelle's jaw tightened a little and she searched his face for any sign he was making fun of her. She couldn’t see any. “Right. Well...” she sighed. “Would you like to finish watching Hellsing?”

They had left off part way through the second to last episode. Jasper grinned. “Yes, please.”

They sat next to each other on the sofa as they watched the OVA on Annabelle's small flat screen TV. Gradually, so gradually neither of them were aware of it, they got closer and closer to each other. Soon, they were touching hands, then a hand was on a knee. By the end of it, they were leaning against each other and neither of them minded. The epic religious choir music that played over the final end credits made Jasper smile. Annabelle noticed.

“What's that look for?” she asked him

“This music is awesome.”

“It is pretty cool,” she agreed. “This is your thing?”

“Oh yeah. It reminds me of O, Fortuna.”

Annabelle giggled. “You're such a dramatic goth.”

Jasper snorted and shrugged. “Well...”

“Don't you deny it!”

“I wasn't going to!” he said defensibly, but with a smile.

A quiet settled between them. Annabelle bit her lip and touched his hand. “Would you like a tour?”

“Sure,” Jasper said.

Annabelle got up and showed Jasper around. It didn't take long in the small house. Living room, kitchen, bath, laundry, bedrooms. The room Annabelle slept in felt so very much like her that Jasper couldn’t help but smile. Anime, band posters and little love notes from her partners decorated the walls. There were some clothes stacked on a chair by a desk covered in textbooks and old protest fliers. Her window had a large, thick blanket covering it, duck-taped securely to the wall with multiple layers. Jasper eyed this critically. Annabelle followed his gaze.

“Oh, that's very secure, don't worry,” she assured him.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I mean, it hasn't fallen down yet. Just don't pull on it too hard.”

Jasper scowled, not reassured. He didn't feel like he should have to tell Annabelle how dangerous something like that could be.

“Jasper, it's okay,” Annabelle said again. “The blind is down on the other side. The blanket's just for extra security. Besides... I'm still here, aren't I?”

He licked his fangs, thinking this over. Annabelle swallowed.

“Okay,” he relented reluctantly.

“Um... besides, look at this!” Annabelle stepped towards her bed, which was quite a lot wider than Jasper's. “Look at how big my bed is,” she teased, waving her hands like a girl on The Price is Right. “It can fit two, sometimes three people in it!”

Jasper snickered. “Very impressive,” he admitted.

Annabelle sat on the bed, playfully bouncing a few times. Her smile was infectious. “I almost can't believe you're here,” she told him. “I almost can't picture you in a home like this.”

He shrugged and sat on the bed next to her. “Well... I was, sort of. A long time ago.” He sighed and looked around again, remembering.

Annabelle's smile faded. She hadn't meant to dig up sad, old memories of the life he had to leave behind, but she didn't. “Jasper, I'm sorry.”

His brow furrowed a little and he looked at her, his thoughts snapped out of whatever he had been remembering. “Why?”

“I feel sometimes like... maybe I'm a little insensitive to that fact that... I still kind of have my old life, a bit, and you don't. And I'm sorry. I don't mean to be insensitive.”

“It's okay,” he said quietly. “I know you don't mean to, but sometimes it is a little like... you know... check your privilege.” He smirked a little.

She smirked a little too.

He wanted to change the subject and, feeling bold, took her hand in his. “So... what else did you have planned for this weekend?” Jasper turned her hand over palm-up and ran a faint line over her wrist with his cold, pale thumb. He had bitten her there before and he was deliberately trying to remind her of that. It worked. He felt her shiver, just a tiny bit, and she swallowed again.

“Um... well...” her voice cracked. She cleared her throat. “I did think that we could... feed, if you wanted to.”

“I've missed someone giving me permission,” he admitted to her. “It makes me feel a little less horrible, sometimes.”

“Oh, Jasper...” Annabelle bit her lower lip, her heat breaking a little. “I don't think you're horrible.”

“I am a little though.” He knew there was no denying that, but he wasn't particularly sad about it. It was a fact.

“Well... not here, you're not,” Annabelle insisted. “Here, you have permission.”

He showed his fangs when he smiled. “Thank you.” He stroked her wrist again. He couldn’t feel her pulse, not yet, but he imagined it might be getting a little faster if it could.

“It's been a while,” Jasper said after a moment of silence. “Where would you... like me to begin?”

Again, Annabelle smiled like she would have turned scarlet. “Wherever you want,” she said quietly. He voice was a little breathy. Already, her body was reminding her of the experience to come. The bite – the Kiss – was a taboo pleasure that she couldn’t achieve with her boyfriend and girlfriend, although she had tried. Of course, sex with them was good. It always had been. But this... whatever she and Jasper had was something different, something more... well, the only thing Annabelle could think to describe it was vampiric. It felt wrong but oh, so very good at the same time.

For Jasper, it was the most intimate he had allowed himself to be with someone in five years. He did not count his other feedings from Kindred as being anything like this. With them, it had been a necessary thing, or so he told himself. Though he enjoyed the taste of terror and he enjoyed toying with Camarilla assholes, being with Annabelle and being willingly offered her blood was something he found himself enjoying far more.

“Neck?” Jasper asked.

Annabelle's free hand went to the collar of her T-shirt, which was much higher than that of the tank tops she had worn previously when he had bitten her throat. “I'll get blood on my shirt,” she mumbled.

“If you don't want blood on your shirt, take it off,” Jasper told her, surprising himself with the bold words. He was mildly surprised again when she did what he requested. He thought she might have said no, but she didn't. The shirt hit the bedroom floor. She wasn't wearing the lacy bra he had seen before, but he liked the way this one went with her skin tone. He found himself staring and looked away. He heard Annabelle chuckle.

“It's okay,” she said. She sounded nervous, but excited. “Are you okay?”

He looked at her again and swallowed. Was this not everything he wanted? He had repressed that side of him long ago due to the Nosferatu curse, but Annabelle was bringing it out in him again. She didn't care that he was a Nosferatu. She was happy to be with him. Jasper nodded. “It's just been a while,” he mumbled.

She scooted away, back onto the bed and gave him an inviting look. “It'll come back to you.”

He followed her up the bed and lay next to her. The extra space was nice, but he didn’t want to admit it out loud.

“You know...” he said, with a pause to touch his tongue to his fangs, “If someone had told me four or five years ago that this is where I would end up one day, I would have thought someone was playing a cruel joke on me.”

Annabelle smiled at him. “Lucky you then, I guess.”

Jasper chuckled. “Yeah.” He hesitantly reached out to touch her shoulder, trailing his fingers up to her neck and Annabelle leaned into his touch. This made him feel bolder. It reminded him that he was wanted. His hand lingered over her pulse point and he blinked in amazement when he felt her activate Blush of Life. Like magic, her skin warmed and he could feel the quick but steady pulse in her neck. Annabelle sighed and fidgeted a little. His hand was deathly cold.

Jasper thought he should say something, but nothing was imminently coming to mind. He shifted, leaning over her a little. His fangs itched and his Beast growled. Her warm, inviting skin and the delicious Vitae under it were temptingly close. When he did open his mouth to speak, his voice was a snarl.

“May I?”

Annabelle shivered at the growl. Her skin erupted into goosebumps. Already, she was turned on. Her body remembered the pleasure he had brought her in the past. “Yes,” Annabelle breathed.

Slowly, as if to drag out every moment, Jasper slid his long, sharp fangs into her flesh. Again, he had gone for the spot where her neck met her shoulder. Annabelle let out a gasp and a whimper at the pain of it. Her body tensed and she found herself gripping a pillow. She could feel Jasper's tongue on her skin. He shifted again a little and she felt him place a hand on her opposite shoulder to the one he was biting and slowly trail it downwards over her body right as the ecstasy hit her.

Annabelle let out a long, soft moan of arousal as the pleasure slowly crawled across her body. Jasper's hand trailed down over her bra, over her breast, and settled on her ribs. He could taste the lust in her blood. He only wanted to take a little bit at the moment, just a sample. They had all weekend, after all. Annabelle trembled and squirmed beneath him. Her grip on the pillow tightened. She was biting back another moan or cry of pleasure. His Beast was almost purring inside him, listening to her heavy breathing and tasting her desire. It wanted more, it always wanted more, but Jasper had to hold back.

Annabelle sighed as he lifted his fangs away from her. She hadn't quite reached the climax her body had been heading towards, but she was shaking with the anticipation of it. She was about to say something, but she felt Jasper's cold tongue dip south of her collarbone and lick up a warm drop of Vitae that had begun to run slowly downwards. His hand found hers that had been clutching the pillow and, without saying anything, he brought it down to her crotch. She was wearing jeans, and she was aware of how restrictive they were currently feeling. Jasper pressed Annabelle's hand to the oh-so-sensitive area that was begging to be touched between her legs and give her neck wound another little suck.

Annabelle's body bucked with that blessed, cursed release she had been seeking. He kept her hand pressed to her jeans and his mouth on her neck to catch any more drips and to keep her climax going as long as it could. He could feel her fingers moving involuntarily against herself, trapped under his own. The scream Annabelle had been fighting back escaped through her clenched teeth.

Jasper tenderly licked her wound closed and drew back from her a little bit, including pulling his hand away from hers. Annabelle's body curled into a slight foetal position as she trembled in the aftershocks. He could her her cursing to herself under her breath. Jasper stroked her arm, smiling to himself. That had been a spur of the moment idea, but he liked the results.

Annabelle's face was bright red when she looked at him. He tried and failed to look innocent.

“What?” he asked.

Annabelle clenched her jaw, but smiled at him. “You... that...”

“Yes?”

She playfully punched his chest. He fell back onto the bed in mock pain. “Ow.”

“Sorry,” she mumbled. She snuggled up to him and he put an arm around her near naked torso.

“I still don't know what that was for,” he chided.

“Yeah, you do.” Her pulse was still slightly fast. Her hips squirmed a little.

“How are you feeling?” He knew the answer, but wanted her to say it.

“Good,” Annabelle sighed in contentment. “You have a way of making me feel so good...”

He stroked her shoulder in little circles. His white fingers contrasted dramatically with her skin tone. “Not too hungry?”

“I'm alright.”

“Good.”

“That... thing you were talking about a while ago...” Annabelle said, “where you feel my emotions... that's still a thing, right?”

“Yeah, that's still a thing,” he said softly, still stroking her shoulder. He could feel them now, the bond newly refreshed after having faded somewhat the past several weeks.

“What am I feeling now?”

“Happy,” Jasper smirked. “And you're still a little surprised at yourself because you never thought that this would happen.” He gestured to the two of them, snuggling on Annabelle's bed. “I feel the same way.”

He heard Annabelle exhale as she smiled. Her body was so warm against his. Part of him loved it. Another part of him was reminded how repulsive his body must be in comparison to hers. He tried to ignore that.

“Is there a name for that... feeling emotions thing?” Annabelle asked.

“I think it's a Blood Bond.” Jasper replied.

“Oh... that sounds kind of nice.”

“Mmm... but it isn't always.”

She tilted her face to give him a curious look.

Jasper considered for a few seconds how to explain it. “You know about ghouls?”

She frowned but nodded. “Yeah...”

“What are they?” He knew, but was testing her.

“They're people who have drunk vampire blood and become slaves. It sounds awful,” Annabelle said.

“It can be, but it can be useful for the vampire, especially if they have few morals about ordering people around and removing their free will. So... if that's what happens when a human drinks vampire blood, what do you think happens if another Kindred does it, beyond the feeling emotions thing?”

“Do... they become a slave as well?” Annabelle asked, mild horror creeping into her voice and in her expression.

“That can happen,” Jasper said gently, honestly. He sighed. “You giving your blood to me... gives you power over me, potentially, especially because we've done it so often, and because we've almost always done it right from the source, as it were.”

“So... I could give you an order right now... and you'd have to obey it?” Annabelle looked slightly terrified.

Jasper nodded.

“Oh, my God...” Annabelle said slowly. She hugged him a little tighter. “I would never, ever do that to you.”

“I know,” he said softly.

“Ever,” Annabelle insisted. The idea of taking away his free will chilled her.

“I know,” he repeated. “I trust you, Annabelle. You're one of the very few Kindred whom I trust, because I know that you'd never make me do anything against my will...” He sighed again. “Unlike some others I could mention,” he growled to himself.

“What? When? Who?”

“Do you recall me doing anything that seemed a little wild and out of character several months ago? Maybe something a little wacky in front of a big crowd?” Jasper sounded annoyed at the memory.

Annabelle gasped as it hit her. “The Succubus Club?”

Jasper growled and nodded.

“The dancing?”

“That was Victoria Ashe,” he said, his voice several degrees rougher in anger. “She made me do that.”

“But... you looked...”

“Like I was enjoying it? Yeah, because at the time, I was. I was lucky that she didn't order me to do something really horrific. If she had told me to try to kill you, I probably would have.”

Annabelle tensed in anger. “That... woman!” She had her own growl now. “And Nelli was all buddy-buddy with her!”

“Toreadors are like that. They have a certain way of making people love them, and want to do what they ask. It's like when Victor orders people to forget things, and they do. It's how they operate. Don't be mad at Nelli... or do, I don't care.”

“I'm sorry I laughed at you, and applauded,” Annabelle said, remembering her reactions to seeing him moonwalk on that dance floor.

“It's okay.”

“Is that a Blood Bond? Did she...” Annabelle didn't want to finish the question.

“No,” Jasper assured her, and he sounded grateful. “No, she didn't give me her blood.” He stroked her arm and her side, trying to soothe her a little. He could tell she was getting riled up, that her inner rebel wanting to put the boot into the rich elite was emerging. There was a time and a place for that, which was not here and now.

“I'd stake her so hard if I could,” Annabelle mumbled into Jasper's lean chest. He smiled.

“You do that, Annabelle. If you ever see her again, you do that.”

“Damn right, I will.”

They were quiet for a few moments, with Jasper gently stroking her smooth skin. She was still warm. It could last a long while, if she wanted it to. “You know... going back to the Blood Bond thing...” Jasper said quietly. “The way you and I have been doing it, letting me bite you... it would be very frowned upon by most Kindred society.” He grinned. “We've been very naughty, you and I.”

Annabelle snorted. She didn't have a very high opinion of what most Kindred society thought. “You mean they don't do it like this?”

“No. Going right from the vein is a little taboo.” He drifted a hand up to her neck and she wriggled a little.

“How do they do it then?”

“Cutting, apparently. Dripping blood into mouths, that kind of thing.” Annabelle could feel him shrug a little.

“Like at the end of Hellsing?”

“Yeah.”

Annabelle's brow furrowed. She found herself playing with a buckle on his chest. She didn't know where he had found hoodies with buckles. “How do you know that?”

“I asked Eva.”

Annabelle's frown deepened. “Did you tell her about us?”

“No. I just asked her about the details of how Blood Bonding works. If she suspects anything, it's because... well, the Tremere have many mysterious ways of finding things out.” He caught himself smiling at that. He had a certain admiration for the Tremere.

Annabelle relaxed a little. She didn't mind Eva, despite any magic she had done on her in the past. She was mysterious, but seemed to be in Jasper's favour. “Oh. Okay.”

They were quiet again, comfortably cuddling. Everything Jasper had just told Annabelle about Blood Bonds was turning around and around in her mind. It gave her a degree of anxiety, but she believed the fact that Jasper trusted her so sincerely was an honour.

“Jasper?” She asked softly.

“Yes?”

“Do you... mind being Blood Bonded to me?”

He gave her a comforting little squeeze. “No.”

“Are you sure? That's not just my magic Vitae talking, is it?”

Jasper chuckled. “Yes, I'm sure. If I did mind... we wouldn't have had another date after that time when I was hit by a truck.”

“Oh.” She remembered the evening he was referencing well. She had been so very worried about him when she found out, and that worry had turned into terror when he didn't answer her calls or texts. Despite his efforts of healing, he had still been extremely badly hurt when she finally found him, and Annabelle was happy she found him when she did. The potential consequences of what could have happened if she hadn't were too scary to consider. She also wished she had been there to have prevented the incidence from happening in the first place. That night was the first time she had let Jasper feed from her neck. Every other time before that had been from her wrist. It was a big move, she knew, but she wanted it. It felt better to her, somehow. They had shared his bed for the first time afterwards. “Was that when the... Bond happened?”

“I think so, yeah,” Jasper said.

“Ah.”

“Yeah,” Jasper sighed.

“But it doesn't have to be a bad thing?” Annabelle confirmed. “The Blood Bond?”

Jasper shook his head. “No, it doesn't. Don't worry about me if I mind it or not. If I ever do want to... I can just keep away from you for a little while and that'll weaken it.”

“Oh, that's why I haven't seen you in a long time!”

“Yeah. That and... ya know... my guest.” Jasper smiled sharply.

“Uh-huh.”

“But there is a silver lining, of sorts,” Jasper explained. “If you are in trouble, and need me, I will feel it. You can summon me, wish I was there, and I'll feel it and come to you.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah. Now... you can see how another Kindred might abuse that power...” he paused to let Annabelle picture it, “but I trust you to not abuse it.” He gave the top of her head a little nuzzle.

“Right. I get it.” She smiled. “Thank you for trusting me with this, Jasper.”

“Thank you for letting me feed from you,” he replied.

“You're welcome.”

They spent the rest of the night chatting and watching bad reality TV on Annabelle's computer. When the sun rose and they felt the need to retire, they fell asleep spooning on Annabelle's large bed. The city of Los Angeles moved on around them, but they were content and dead to the world.

#la by night #l.a. by night #vampire the masquerade #fanfic #fanfiction #jasper/annabelle #blood bond #times jasper fed from annabelle

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bugheadfamily · 6 years ago

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Bughead Family Discord Member Spotlight

This week the spotlight is on Cat ( @shibbycat ), our newest admin! Click the read more link below to get to know our member!

Spotlight by Mila, @jughead-jones | Graphic by Katie, @betty-cooper

Cat | @shibbycat

Name: Cat

Age: I’m old enough to own a Sega Genesis bought in a store the year it was released, and yes. I still play it.

Location: Northern Italy for the time being, but I’m prone to moving quite bit.

Any other languages aside from English people can contact you in?: I can do some conversational Spanish, and I can have Eric (my husband) tell me what you’re saying in Russian.

Favourite Riverdale characters and ships?: What gave you the impression that I like Riverdale or its ships? JK. Shockingly, I’m all about that Bughead. ALL about it. I care about most of the characters & their successes/failures… with Betty, Jughead, Veronica & Cheryl in the lead.

Favourite moments from S1 & S2?: Wow. Talk about a Sophie’s Choice. Here goes nothing. I legit yelled at my screen during The Look in 1x02, “omG. IT’S HAPPENING.” My childhood ship was exhumed. Best day. The dynamic between Jughead & FP in 1x07 rang particularly true to me. I also took away that Jughead talks about Jellybean like she’s his kid, not his sister. It guts me every single time. The end bit where Betty & Jughead walk away together really demonstrated how close they already were as a couple. Bonus for that being the scene where it clicks with Archie his two best friends were 5000% together, & their friendships was never going to be the same. It’s a small moment but I love it. Picking one thing from Season 2??? Co-Presidents. The absolute equality in their relationship was so perfectly on point here for me. The support and respect for one another was on display in blinking neon lights. WAIT. The hospital scene. I can’t leave it off. Jughead “I’ll never stop loving you” Jones almost gets murdered & only feels bad about not being there for Betty. All that matters to Betty is Jughead getting better. Plus, down-the-face kisses. I can’t with these two.

What are your hopes for S3?: I’m really hoping to see more of a focus on the friendships. I want to see them all work together in general & specifically, to defeat Hiram. We got to see an entire season of Hiram doing nothing but succeeding in his various nefarious causes & successfully pitting Bughead/Varchie against one another. Seeing his takedown at the hands of those whose lives & relationships he thought destroyed as they’re instead working together? Yes. Very yes. I’m of course beyond stoked for the Bughead Detective Agency & them working/growing together in their relationship & lives. Some actual fun times would be great to see. Yano, ones that don’t end in someone getting murdered or going to jail.

Other fandoms you’re into?: Besides Riverdale, I only exist in lurker status (thanks anxiety!) for fandoms, but I lurk(ed) super hard in Harry Potter (Except that I’ve totally written terrible HP fic. Really happy no one’s going to read this to know that), Reylo, Doctor Who, & Sherlock.

What are some of your favourite movies/TV?: Besides the obvious, just about everything Disney touches owns my pocketbook, dedication & continued attention. Parks & Rec, The Office (both UK & US), Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Gilmore Girls, Doctor Who, Star Trek: TNG, & Sherlock are all shows I can watch on repeat. I’m not even going to start on non-Disney movies, because I’ll be here all day.

Favourite books?: This is literally the most difficult question to answer, because books are life. I’m going to keep it brief & say “Harry Potter.” They changed my life, they saved my life, & they’re always there to welcome me home.

Favourite bands/musicians?: Favorites are so hard. I like a little something from most genres of music, but I can never turn off classic Elton John, BSB (I had full plans to marry Kevin as an 11 year old), Linkin Park, John Williams, Lady GaGa, Guns n Roses, The Killers, or Queen. Big picture wise, I’m particularly attached to Classic Rock, practically anything 80s, late 90s/early 2000s pop (I still know all the choreo to Bye Bye Bye & Oops... I Did It Again), The Great American Songbook, classical music, popular songs converted classical arrangements, and I’m a sucker for 1960s/70s R&B/soul. Long story short, I make a lot of playlists.

If you could live in any fictional world which one would you choose and why?: Harry Potter for sure. Wands which choose you. Broomsticks which get released like new car models. Owls which deliver mail anywhere. Portkeys/Apparating/Brooms/Floo powder making travel dirt cheap/free. Butterbeer & Pumpkin Juice. If it’s not clear, I’m really into Harry Potter. OH. I also did a HP LARP a few years ago in a Polish castle, & it was the greatest thing EVER.

Favourite food?: Oh food. How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. Seriously. I travel around just to eat. Limiting to one kind? Mexican food. I could eat it everyday.

Favourite season?: Fall/winter. First of all, I like to wear a GRIP of layers. I’m also a big fan of being lazy & putting a beanie on over my unstyled (often unbrushed) hair. I’m also VERY into Halloween & Christmas. I decorate for both with gusto. Christmas goes up in my house the same day it does at Disneyland: 10 November. I’m also obsessed with Christmas Markets. So many quality Halloween/Christmas films too! I have an entire list of mandatory watches every year.

Favourite plant?: Really large sunflowers with the dark red/deep orange petals. Their seeds also demonstrate the Fibonacci sequence, and I’m a human who believes math is the most beautiful thing in the entire world.

Favourite scent?: There’s something magical smelling about old books for me. I also really enjoy the way rain smells on dry pavement when it first starts falling.

Favourite colour?: It’s been purple ever since I learned how the Phoenicians made it when I was 9.

Favourite animal?: Cats. All kinds & sizes...except Sphynxes. & unicorns. Are you a night owl, an early bird, or a vampire?: Night owl/early bird. The insomnia is strong with this one.

Place you want to visit?: I’ve been lucky enough to check a lot of places off my “must see” list, but Madagascar is still a life goal. OH! & to visit every single Disney park around the world.

Do you have pets? If you do, tell us a little about them: Ah! Something I LOVE talking about. I have 3 incredibly spoiled cat children who want to cuddle all the time. That’s right. Cat loves cats. They’re all rescues, Maine Coons, and little characters to be sure. Their names are Dorcas, Knick Knack, & Elmo. We’ve had Dorky for 10 years and Elmo & Knick Knack for 9 years. Knick Knack likes to walk on a leash & paws at the door for his walk. Dorcas plays fetch with toy mice, and Elmo likes to cuddle so hard Eric is genuinely worried I’ll be suffocated by his snuggles.

Tell us a little about yourself?: My grandma once told me that I’ve always known exactly who I am, even as a child, and I’ve let that sense-of-self guide me (not always to greatness mind you) every day. I’m an introvert with fairly crippling anxiety & depression, and I simply don’t care who knows it. If me being upfront about it can help anyone, I’m happy to do it. I’m hypercritical of myself & what I put out into the world. Being frank, honest, and sarcastic are how I say “hello,” but I’m also a firm believer in “don’t say something rude just to say something rude.” Tact is key. Encouraging people to find their own happiness & fulfillment in life are things which bring me joy. Likewise, I’d do pretty much anything for a friend, & if there’s something I can do to help them/help someone in their journey to find happiness in life, I want to do it. Uuuummm, I laugh so hard I cry a lot, and my eyeliner runs. It always makes people think I’ve been crying for real & filled with emotions. It’s awkward. I guess I’m creative? I like woodworking, pyrography, crafting, and making nerd stuff through those mediums.

Fun or weird fact about you?: I entered my wedding reception to “The Imperial March.” It’s safe to say I’ve been a wee bit obsessed with Star Wars for longer than my Sega Genesis is old.

This is the ninth instalment of Bughead Family’s Member Spotlight series. Each week, a member’s url is selected through a randomizer and they will be featured in a spotlight post. In order to participate, please join the Bughead Discord (more information found here). Thank you.

#bughead #riverdale #bughead family discord #member spotlight #bugheadfamily

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acsversace-news · 7 years ago

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Let’s just get this out of the way upfront, since the comparison is inevitable: The Assassination of Gianni Versace doesn’t quite reach the heights of The People vs. O.J. Simpson. But so what?

The second season of FX’s American Crime Story was never going to be as richly textured as the first, if only because Simpson’s “trial of the century” was so much more significant as a cultural event. The verdict was a defining American moment, the kind where you remember where you were when you heard it. So through no fault of its own, Versace never really stood a chance against its Emmy-winning ACS sibling. And yet, on its own merits, Versace makes for addictive, phenomenal television. I was hooked from the opening scene, in which director Ryan Murphy and series writer Tom Rob Smith dispense with the titular murder, getting it out of the way early before working their way backwards, tracing how this tragic crime came to pass.

Much like how the first season of ACS wasn’t really about O.J. Simpson, neither is the second season really about Italian fashion designer Gianni Versace. Instead, it inverts the first season’s formula and shifts its focus from the courtroom to the crime spree and the man behind it, Andrew Cunanan. This creative choice isn’t necessarily what I was expecting given Versace‘s marketing materials, which from the very start, have trumpeted the casting of Edgar Ramirez as Gianni and Penelope Cruz as Donatella. And yet it proves to be a wise decision, since to be honest, the power struggle within the House of Versace isn’t half as interesting as the walking question mark that is Cunanan.

So let’s talk about the actual star of the show, Darren Criss. I know Criss is a big TV star thanks to Murphy’s earlier hit Glee, and he has two million Twitter followers and he’s a very famous guy. But I’m a professional entertainment consumer and I’d never seen him in anything before (though I almost rented Girl Most Likely once), so as far as I was concerned, he felt completely new to me, as I imagine he will to a lot of people who didn’t watch Glee. I suspect that those who did watch it won’t recognize ‘Blaine’ once they see Criss covered in blood, a crazed look in his empty eyes. He’s simply excellent here as Cunanan, a gay serial killer in the vein of Matt Damon’s talented Mr. Ripley, but of course, this manipulative sociopath with a 147 IQ is hardly a work of fiction. Criss is absolutely chilling here, and there’s a haunting sadness to his carefully calibrated breakout performance. I can’t say enough about Criss’ work, which will force you to look at the actor in a completely different light.

As for Versace, he’s reduced to a supporting character in his own story, not that I’m arguing, given how satisfying all of the Cunanan scenes are. In fact, the episodes that solely focus on Andrew are the best of the bunch, and the Versace thread tends to interrupt their momentum. Ramirez is magnetic as the formidable fashion designer, but he also plays Versace with a certain softness that serves as a nice antidote to Cunanan’s craziness. You really believe Ramirez and Cruz could be siblings when Gianni and Donatella spar over her role in his budding empire. You can see Donatella is tired of living in her brother’s shadow and eager to carve out her own identity within the fashion world, and Gianni sees this as well, offering her up to the cameras in an attempt to placate her ego. Ricky Martin plays the third wheel of this co-dependent relationship, Gianni’s longtime partner Antonio D’Amico, and while the pop singer does a fine job, their relationship is just dressing on the Cunanan salad.

The series endeavors to depict Versace and Cunanan as two men on opposite ends of a spectrum. Versace came from nothing and built his life into something of meaning. Cunanan had a reasonably happy childhood, and yet, his life quickly fell apart once he struck out on his own. That parallel is reflected in one of the episode titles, “Creator/Destroyer,” which presents the men as two sides of the same ruthlessly ambitious coin. The difference between them is that while Cunanan desperately wanted to lead the life of luxury that Versace enjoyed and most people only read about in magazines, he wasn’t willing to put in any of the hard work to actually earn it.

Cunanan may have been added to the FBI’s Most Wanted list prior to the Versace murder, but he didn’t become infamous until he killed the fashion designer, relegating the rest of his victims to “other” status. That’s how they’re initially presented, too, since we don’t get to know what these people meant to Andrew until after we’ve learned he’s killed them, so it’s not until later that we come to understand how and why Cunanan could’ve done what he did. That’s if you can understand the killer’s warped thinking to begin with, given his knack for telling tall tales. The more lies Cunanan tells his friends, the more we realize he’s lying to himself, and he has no idea of who he really is anymore. He has lost his own sense of identity, drifting from one to the next as he zigzags his way across the country towards Versace’s opulent home in South Beach. For Cunanan, the greatest sin is to be boring and forgotten. Told all his life that he’s someone special, he’s stunned when others don’t see it, and Criss plays those moments of rejection quite beautifully.

The fourth episode of the season introduces Cunanan’s former lover, David Madson (hugely talented Australian actor Cody Fern, a real find) and David’s current beau, Jeffrey Trail (AHS alum Finn Wittrock), and you can’t underestimate their roles in this story, as the latter was Andrew’s first victim, the one who launched his multi-state crime spree. Trail gets his own half-episode (pointedly titled “Don’t Ask Don’t Tell”) dedicated to the (mis)treatment of gays in the military, and while this statement of a subplot adds some context to how authorities (including the cops chasing Cunanan) regarded homosexuals 25 years ago, it also feels a bit shoehorned in. Like, what does this really have to do with Versace or Cunanan? ACS tries to make that connection, using cultural homophobia to explain law enforcement’s delayed search for Cunanan, but it feels a bit forced, though it’s clearly something that interested Murphy in the first place.

Versace is much more successful when it drills down into who Cunanan is, at least as much as one can, given the fact that the guy was a complete cypher of an human being — a gifted chameleon, if you will. A people pleaser, he could be whatever, and whoever, his friends/lovers/targets wanted him to be. That was his skill, if you will. The ability to adapt to any situation… though he also had a need for control. He cared how things looked to other people, and what they thought of him. Of course, to fully understand a man, you have to know where he comes from, and the series soars when it turns its lens on Andrew’s family, particularly his father, Modesto. Filipino actor Jon Jon Briones is utterly fantastic as Andrew’s father, who doted on his precocious child, whom he considered more special than his other kids. You can also see where Andrew might’ve learned his smooth-talking criminal behavior, as Modesto was a stockbroker who bilked people out of their money and abandoned his family when the feds came calling, fleeing back to the Philippines.

The rest of the cast is uniformly excellent from top to bottom. Mike Farrell and Judith Light are both incredible as slain Chicago real estate developer Lee Miglin and his wife, Marilyn. When Miglin’s body is discovered, no one has to tell her what happened — she knows right away, her worst fears confirmed. Edouard Holdener also deserves praise as young Andrew, and Max Greenfield is unrecognizable in the second episode, which offers a reminder of what he can do with the right part.

This disturbing character study is based on Maureen Orth’s book Vulgar Favors, and in addition to Murphy, its directors include Gwyneth Horder-Payton, Nelson Cragg, Daniel Minahan (check out his directorial debut Series 7: The Contenders) and Matt Bomer, though costumer designer Lou Eyrich and production designer Judy Becker deserve equal praise for their lavish contributions.

I might as well use this space to address the recent controversy surrounding the series, which according to the Versace family, is unauthorized and full of inaccuracies.

“The Versace family has neither authorized nor had any involvement whatsoever in the forthcoming TV series about the death of Mr. Gianni Versace,” the family said in a statement. “Since Versace did not authorize the book on which it is partly based nor has it taken part in the writing of the screenplay, this TV series should only be considered as a work of fiction.”

I completely appreciate why they would be concerned about the series’ depiction of Gianni, and particularly his health, I wouldn’t describe the series as a work of fiction, though I’d acknowledge that surely, there must be small fictions within the show. Still, I didn’t watch FX’s Simpson series like it was Ezra Edelman’s O.J. documentary, and I’m not taking The Assassination of Gianni Versace as gospel, either. Yes, it’s based on a bestselling non-fiction book, but as a regular viewer of crime shows, I’m fully aware that Tom Rob Smith is allowed some degree of artistic license in bringing that book to the small screen.

I imagine that can be hard to comprehend when you’re as close to the story as the Versace family is, but if they take a step back — and I don’t even know if they’ve actually seen the series they’ve been so quick to criticize — they’d see there’s really no reason to be concerned. Gianni is depicted as a strong leader, one aware of his mortality and a better man for it. The producers, and Ramirez especially, treat him with the utmost respect, and once the Versace family sees the full series, I think their biggest issue will be with how the show sort of manipulates the audience into having sympathy for Andrew, more than it will be about the depiction of Gianni, which is generous and loving.

“There’s always this question of when you’re making and writing this kind of material – you feel like you want to support the fundamental truths. And you are going to get some of the details wrong, or you’re going to have to fill in a gap at some point, where you don’t have access to the reality. I think the only way you are allowed to do that is if you’re supporting the bigger truth… I’m sure there are points where they could correct some of the smaller details, but I think the bigger picture is that this is a figure that we’re celebrating and a figure that we all fell in love with,” Smith said at FX’s TCA panel, noting that that ultimately, “the show is full of love for him.”

He isn’t lying, nor is trying to justify why Cunanan killed, as the fact that he was gay is ultimately besides the point. This show is about a guy who wanted what another man had but didn’t have the skills or tools to get it, so he figured the only way to achieve the immortality he craved was by robbing one of his icons of his mortality, thus ensuring both would live forever, together, in the annals of history. I don’t care how much of this actually happened and how much is artistic license on Smith’s part. All I care about is whether or not it’s entertaining, and on that front, Versace delivers.

This is a fascinating story about the making of a serial killer. A murderer finding his voice. It marks Tom Rob Smith as a major writer to watch, and Darren Criss as a force to be reckoned with. He delivers one of the most terrifying serial killer performance since Christian Bale starred in American Psycho, though Cunanan also reminded me, at times, of The Tooth Fairy from Manhunter and the serial killer in Copycat.

“You know, disgrace isn’t that bad, once you’ve settled into it,” Andrew tells one of his victims. Well Andrew Cunanan may go down in infamy as a disgrace, but The Assassination of Gianni Versace is anything but.

TB gives it an A.

#acs versace #review #article #the tracking board #january 2018

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brooklynislandgirl · 7 years ago

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Role-Play Cheat Sheet

Want new-and-exciting plots for your character? Long to reach out to more of your followers, but don’t know where to start? Fear not! Fill out this form and give your RP partners both present and future all the of juicy jumping off points they need to help you get your characters acquainted. Be sure to tag the players whose characters YOU want more cues to interact with, and repost, don’t reblog! Feel free to add or remove sections as you see fit. Template here.

mun name: Turtle {or ya know, D also works} ooc contact: Inbox, IMs, if we’re mutuals and you really want to chat ask for my Discord and/or Skype

Who the heck is my muse anyway? Elizabeth Riley is a nurse. Nothing special, nothing unusual on the surface. Scratch deep enough and you’ll find a woman of uncanny ability. Mage, mutant, witch. There are many names for her kind, but she tries to keep her abilities the best kept secret outside of where Jimmy Hoffa is buried. She is also the sister of Sam ‘Falcon’ Wilson’s former wingman, Andrew Riley.

She exists quietly in the shadow of people much more exotic than herself, that quiet voice of calm in the dead of night, the hand that holds someone else’s and gets them through.

Points of interest:

Beth is...soft. She is sweet. She is gentle. She treats everyone like a long lost friend and has an uncanny knack for understanding what a person needs on a soul deep level. She’s quick to laugh and offer succor. She’s far smarter than she lets on but has never once judged someone for any reason. She’s well off, could live off family money if she chose to, but is a hard worker. She has nerves of steel and doesn’t frighten easy. She’s lived many lives across innumerable centuries. Never quite the same, she’s always been small and delicate and dusky. The only thing she’s retained in all of her incarnations are her eyes, those wide and lovely pools of green with a hint of a honey gold to them. Whether a powered individual or not, and across her verses, one thing that remains a constant is Beth has Auditory Processing Disorder, a learning disability. Also known as Central Auditory Processing Disorder, individuals with Auditory Processing Disorder (APD) do not recognize subtle differences between sounds in words, even when the sounds are loud and clear enough to be heard. They can also find it difficult to tell where sounds are coming from, to make sense of the order of sounds, or to block out competing background noises. Symptoms include: difficulty processing and remembering language-related tasks but may have no trouble interpreting or recalling non-verbal environmental sounds, music, etc. May process thoughts and ideas slowly and have difficulty explaining them. Misspells and mispronounces similar-sounding words or omits syllables; confuses similar-sounding words (celery/salary; belt/built; three/free; jab/job; bash/batch) May be confused by figurative language (metaphor, similes) or misunderstand puns and jokes; interprets words too literally. Often is distracted by background sounds/noises. Finds it difficult to stay focused on or remember a verbal presentation or lecture. May misinterpret or have difficulty remembering oral directions; difficulty following directions in a series. Has difficulty comprehending complex sentence structure or rapid speech “Ignores” people, especially if engrossed Says “What?” a lot, even when she has heard much of what was said.

She’s also a terrible cook and can scorch water.

The most terrifying thing about Beth...is...you see that shadow there? Just a few feet to her left? Darker and colder than the rest? That feels like the chill of the early grave and robs you of your breath just thinking about? Yes, that one. If you look close enough, you’ll see the outline of a man. Tall and predatory. A lethal grace. If you’re lucky, that is all you’ll ever see. If you’re unlucky, you’ll come to find out his woman is NOT your playtoy, and he’ll teach you the error of your ways.

What they’ve been up to recently:

Saving the world, one soul at a time.

Where to find them:

Mostly in New York: In Manhattan {WoD/Main verse}: Saint Vincent’s where she works regular hours and on call. {Defenders} In Hell’s Kitchen: She, along with her partner, an EMT who is also gifted, she runs a free clinic. No questions asked. ~Various AUs~ {Legend} London: A small pub in the East End called The Sole Trader, as owned by Mr. Ronnie Kray. {shifts across various eras...from the 1940s through Modern day, but she’s rarely found beyond Ron’s company} {Xmen} A supporter, believer and general trash-panda of Magneto, Beth wants nothing more but to live in a world where she doesn’t have to fear people because she’s a gifted individual. {MI-5/Spooks} The Hospital of Saints John and Elizabeth {which she finds funny}. {Hawaii-50} Beth’s life took a turn unexpectedly in which she gave up her career in medicine for one in law enforcement, in which she became a rookie under Danny Williams in New Jersey. They were partnered for many years before he took a transfer to be with his daughter, and beth eventually followed in his footsteps, finally returning ‘home’ to Oahu. She currently is an officer with HPD and likes to surf on the weekends. {Agents of Shield} Beth became a SHIELD asset and medic for various teams under the watchful eye of “Uncle” Phil Coulson. Her supervisor, Vivian Harrison isn’t quite sure she’s cut out for the job and there’s often conflict because of her...peculiarities. {Stranger Things} Beth’s father and brother have recently come to rescue/employ of Hawkins Laboratory, leaving the neglected teen-age girl to pretty much raise herself. {Supernatural} A good and decent witch who lives in the hills of Appalachia. She might be dirt poor and illiterate but has a heart of gold. {Peaky Blinders} Set in the 1940s, Beth is a little Romani woman poised to set the world on fire. {The Stepney Mob} The whisper of witch or avenging ghost is quickly hushed in the confines of the Blind Pig and maybe only Davy Lloyd knows the truth {always up for new AUs or places for her to be!}

Current plans:

Doing her job, saving people when he allows her to. Hopefully, saving him from himself.

Desired interactions:

She’s the avenging angel of the down-trodden and ill-spirited, and will patch anyone up for any reason. She is currently also the head of the James Buchanan Barnes protection detail and will kill a bitch for looking at him cross-wise. She’s usually quite reasonable when it comes to playing well with others and can in fact bend over backwards to accommodate rp.

{I’d kill to have a Phil Coulson or other AoS character to play with, I’d love to have a Frank Castle, and I just really wanna make new friends and murder them. With feels. Because murder is wrong. >.>}

Offered interactions:

See all of the above. If questions remain, feel free to msg Turtlemun and we’ll work something out.

Anything else? I like grapes. I drink coffee. I know too many things. A particular note: @brooklynislandgirl is Beth’s blog and my main rp ground. Super-selectively there is a blog for Andrew Riley {her brother and Sam Wilson’s former wingman} which I might share if you ask nicely but keep in mind has to be very canon divergent. Beth also comes with a host of npcs which currently consist of: Ian Barrie of the Firm {Legend} Chauffer/Knife-Wielding Scot/Confident and Loyal to Ron Kray Dmitri Woźniak: Black Market Dealer/Conspiracy Theorist Quothe Ravenchenko: Were-raven and general bane of your existance, what doesn’t say the N word, and will absolutely get whatever you need, whenever you need in one scene change or less. Father Vincent Dafaux: Catholic Priest and Celestial Chorus Mage, nominal leader of the Latch Key Saints cabal. He runs numerous safe houses, keeps his church and rectory open at all hours, and supplies a daily Soup Kitchen and Tent City in Bay Ridge, Brooklyn. Lucien “Luc” Toussaint: A med-school drop out and current EMT with the FDNY out of Bed-Stuy. Originally from Tangipahoa Parrish, Louisianna.

@rxsmyers

Tagging: @lilxlionxman, @ronmanmob, @multi-mused, @reclaimedasset, @jerseysass, @hoouna, @morgansmornings, @drifting-anarchist, @magnetician @lokitheliesmith, @tattoosandmusclecars, @loneshelby @theregoesthebellhop, @thegreatmariahgatsby, @daddylcnglegs @nctcricus, @leslie-holt, @exanimax, @madteddyrp, @bluebxmfing, @bourbonstreetdevil, @thegloriannaobreen, @therapardalis, @thedarcydichotomy, @therealgamble, @lucxsnorth, @leomcleod, @hands-cf-fate, @punishmentismyjob anyone else who wants, just tag me back <3

#meme goodness #This only took about a million years

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mutantsrisingrpg · 5 years ago

Photo

Congratulations NOEL! You’ve been accepted as TETHYS.

Noel, your application for Tethys blew me away! I could really feel everything she’s gone through in her life. You not only laid out her motivations, but showed us where they came from, making her such as well-rounded character. I also loved your expanded connection to Nana, and how it also plays into those motivations you mentioned from the very beginning of your application! Everything was just so interconnected and I can’t say how much I loved this app enough.

Welcome to Mutants Rising! Please read the checklist and submit your account within 24 hours.

Out of Character Information:

NAME/ALIAS: It’s me, Noel!

(All OOC info same as last app.)

In Character Information:

DESIRED ROLE: Abigail Imani GENDER/PRONOUNS: Cis Female, She/her

DETAILS & ANALYSIS:

The thing is, she would have made an excellent underboss.

It was the job her parents had been, unknowingly, raising her for her whole life. Planning. Delegation. Discretion. Seeing the whole picture, and smoothing out any potential situations before they can arise. Clearing the way for the boss to do everything that needs to be done. She’s the supports to the house, the artist’s patron, the one in the shadows that makes the world go. Bosses can dream and plot and weave dreams of grandeur, but the underbosses— those are the ones with the real power, feet on the ground at street-level bringing the vision to fruition.

Because she’s clever, yes. A big-picture sort of woman with a natural talent for riddles and puzzles, honed to a razor-sharp intelligence through her years of rigorous academia, and the twisted competitive streak within her own family tree. Abigail is the competent-yet-approachable co-worker who pours you tea when you need to vent, leans forward in her chair with a practiced hmm of sympathy as she pretends the gears aren’t turning in her mind already, plotting three moves ahead of anyone else in the room. She’s the laugh at the party that turns heads, open as a child in it’s delight, a hand on the back of the right stranger’s arm. A knack for securing the right stranger’s affection. Life is a game and she isn’t afraid to play it, driven by equal parts amusement and ferocious, chilling ambition. It just happens that her current job involves playing people, but luckily for the Kings it’s a role she’s been practicing for since birth.

Characteristics: Witty, dry-humored, scholarly, knows how to be manipulative when she needs to be, warm, gentle, intuitive, clever, disciplined, morally gray, ambitious, curious, nurturing, teasing, charming, ruthless, plotting, observant, intense, with a tendency towards excess. At constant play between artifice and reality, both inside and out-- untangling what she actually desires, and what ambitions exist just to fill a deeper emptiness.

BIO:

I. BLIND CLEAVAGE: an invisible separation between layers of paint, between the paint and ground, or between the ground and support.

Money, power, and discipline was the Imani family religion, and as the eldest child of three, it was Abigail’s job from birth to set the standards for all future offspring and achievements. Her parents’ love could be measured like currency, a clear and traceable transaction. Good grades meant kisses on the forehead, and her mother’s hands running through her hair as she drifted to sleep. Missed cello practice meant distance, an empty coldness worse than shouting, worse than the pain of studying all night or practicing with her épée until her hands cramped.

But more than the pain of failure was clear fact that ambition just suited her. She flourished under pressure, loved the new challenges unlocked by each achievement. She soaked up praise like sunbeams and laughed in the face of her competition, surprised and delighted by the adrenaline of being pushed further than she knew she could go.

And as for her parents, well— she knew there was something wrong with their love. That for all their congratulatory doting and spoiling her, it wasn’t the unconditional love of the mothers and fathers on TV. But wasn’t this better? To pour out love on demand, like honey from a pitcher, to ensure it as surely as any other exchange of currency. Love as sure as life insurance, or the math equations in her schoolbooks. It was a simple thing, being loved like this, and as long as she kept being herself— her best self, the glowing, golden firstborn of the Imani family line— she would be loved forever.

II. CONSOLIDATION: addition of an adhesive or consolidant to friable, powdery original material, such as water-damaged plaster or rotten wood.

College was a revelation. For one thing, it was space- glorious, liberating distance from the all-seeing eyes of her parents, and all the siblings and cousins she could be measured against and found wanting. She didn’t realise how suffocating the pressure was until it was gone, and she was left so suddenly weightless-- untethered, without direction, almost frighteningly so. For the first time, the micro-management of her parents hovering above her wasn’t there to tell her what to do, what to want. There was no one and nothing to measure up against but her own expectations. Luckily, it turned out she had plenty enough of those. She’d inherited more than her parent’s curly, dark hair, her mother’s intense eyes. She found that, alone with her own whims, what she wanted more than anything was the same she’d always been pointed towards-- power. It just happened to come in a different form than would have been expected for her.

From a young age, Abigail had known about the Kings. Exposure to the finer things meant exposure to the rumors about how one may or may not have procured such items-- or lost them. The Kings were a dark fairytale of her youth, in her imagination as pirates who dealt only with the priceless and beautiful, and she was determined to make herself so valuable they wouldn’t be able to turn her away. Art history was the obvious choice of study, leading to post-graduate work in conservation at the Courtauld Institute of Art, and then a few years under the tutelage of a master conservator in Florence. Freelance was where the money was, but that wasn’t the sort of power she put much care in, even after she’d been long-disowned by her family for deviating from the path they’d laid out for her. Instead, she wedged herself thoroughly into international institutions of culture, jumping countries and jobs until she landed herself right where she’d wanted to be. Two steps below the director of conservation in the painting department of the Art Institute of Chicago, high enough to know the movements within the museum, what was being acquired and when and by whom, but out of direct spotlight and scrutiny. She made friends with the right people, the ones who ‘knew a person who knew a person who heard...’, those who were most used to being overlooked and overworked, and required a surprisingly small amount of positive attention paid to them before they’d crack like eggs, spilling their secrets.

Abigail was never scouted by the Kings; she found them. She bided her time until she had something truly magnificent to share, a photocopy of a stolen freight schedule, a handful of key codes and something about a newly unearthed Cy Twombly in mint condition. She delivered the information with a polite smile that betrayed nothing of how much she had worked for this moment, and waited patiently for Benjamin Granger to hand her everything she’d ever wanted.

III. MAROUFLAGE - the process of adhering a painting to a rigid auxiliary support panel.

In another life Abigail fulfills her full destiny, living as the shining, ruby-laden sword to Benjamin’s kingly crown. This is not that life. It is a sick sort of world where her type of power makes her most useful for either the second-highest ranking within the gang, or the very lowest. It’s a long way to fall, and not one she had ever seen coming, not in the years she’d spent risking everything for the Kings.

Of course she accepts her appointment with grace, bowing to Benjamin’s authority with a smile, not betraying the cogs turning fiercely in her mind. She swallows down the shame of working well below her abilities and does damn good work, determined to keep up appearances. If she is to work her way up the gang, she’s not going to let any cracks show that could be leveraged against her down the line, not when the competition between her and Nana allows for no mistakes. In the meantime she will wait, letting the new game unfold with its new turns and new terms, patient and unassuming as she watches for her next move.

EXPANDED CONNECTIONS:

NANA YAMADA: When it came down to it, Abigail missing the chance at underboss wasn’t about being not good enough, or not valuable enough-- It was about being not as good as Nana. Sure, no one had flat-out said as much, but everyone knew it had been between the two of them in the end. Nana’s power was more aggressive, offensive, less (in Abigail’s opinion) refined, less finessed, but similar enough that the two had naturally fallen into competition.

From day one they were two sides of the same, cerebral coin, which gave them the ability to push each other to the limits of their abilities and powers, but also to bring out the worst in each other. On occasion the competition became vicious, and things were done and said that can never be taken back. However, after it’s all over they still need to find a way to work together to function at their jobs, Abigail feeding Nana the information they need to move forward and Nana telling Abigail where to point their attention for future reconaissance. Fundamentally, they are two orbiting bodies equally as at odds with each other as they are inextricably intertwined, which is such an interesting tension to balance!

(Also, frenemiessssss.)

EXTRA: N/A (though I’m working on a headcanons list to share eventually!)

ANYTHING ELSE: N/A

#accepted #accepted: tethys

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stephicness · 8 years ago

Text

PROTOCOL -- Android!AU (Ravus Nox Fleuret x Reader)

So after discussing it and asking her about it, @chocobro-hijinks allowed me to write for her Android!AU! :D Particular for Ravus’s part within it as the Aeternia Build combat android. It was super fun to write, and I’m super pleased with how it’s turning out! It got pretty lengthy though, so I actually was hoping to write more parts for this since most of this writing was exposition to introduce the relationship of RAV N0X and the reader character. So for now, I’m introducing their bond a bit more. Then in the future, I’ll probably write some more of those steamy bits. c; Because I have plans when working with this AU. *rubs hands evilly together*

Again, thank you for letting me write with this headcanon, Hijinks! Your headcanons are a blessing to the world...! QUQ

Also, tagging @di-fantastica and @itshaejinju. Because both heard that I was writing this up, and they wanted to read more of it. c:

“You know… I should probably do something about that.” You couldn’t help but sort of stand there in your place next to the blond-haired maintenance android. For only living in this house for about a year, you definitely had your own series of accidents within the house. You dropped a glass at one point on the hard-wood floor in the kitchen, resulting in some scuffs on the floor. The painting you had on the wall had fallen and took out a tiny chunk of plaster from your wall – easy to cover up with said fallen painting, now crooked. You broke the house curtain at one point when your Aurum model maintenance droid, Cindy, decided that her newfound revelation on how to make your car safer to drive was much more important than giving you the time to, you know, shower. Little accidents here and there.

But there were also some big accidents, particularly in the black stain that appeared as if it was the silhouette of a man. Just sort of sprawled over your light grey carpet and consuming it with remnants of oil and transmission fluids. At least, that’s what Cindy had told you it was. It smelt sort of odd, so you wouldn’t have been surprised if some old juice or something had gotten into the mix of it all. People had a knack for spilling things in this house, after all. You shifted your gaze aside. Yup… People sure did…

“I heard milk gets out a lot of stains. Do you think it’ll work for oil too, Cindy?”

Cindy shook her head in response. “My software tells me how to change oil in cars though. Maybe we can change the oil in the carpet.”

“No… That won’t do me much…” You let out a sigh, putting your hands on her hips as you hung your head to the right. “I’ll just have to save up and order new carpet or something… Or maybe I can put a rug over it. Order a fancy rug and stuff. A floor mat…” You glanced over at Cindy, who seemed to eye at you with her glowing green gaze. That kind of look only meant one thing. You let out a sigh and shrugged. “If it’s a rug I can put decals on, I will.”

You heard a happy chime come from her before you flicked your wrist at her and directed her on her way to the garage so she could resume her work. Her and her decals…

You hummed to yourself before you turned around and eyed the kitchen. Speaking of things that leave behind body-shaped oil prints, the one thing that you knew did such a thing was currently in the there. At least, you hoped he still was. The strange thing about adopting another droid like this one was that, unlike Cindy, you had a challenging time figuring out how to trigger his protocols properly. It seemed that all his commands were based upon how he reacted to things. Not so much of you telling him what to do. Highly-independent, which was great, since you often found yourself busy with a good majority of things in your own life than to take care of another android. Repairing the Aeternia build android was already hard enough as it was – especially since you lost days of sleep and a brutal amount of money that you could be making working on tech repairs and doing support like you have been… Well, actually, it was more of Cindy pushing you out of the way to do it and then you taking credit since you keep your Aurum model from overworking itself. Somehow…

But this RAV N0X model was intriguing, to say the least. You and Cindy did some research on the android model, and apparently there were two builds of it: the Fleuret build and the Aeternia build. Cindy told you that the Fleuret model is used as mostly a record-keeper. In the same like as the LUNA N0X Prototypes, the RAV N0X was supposed to be a mediator model that most political officials could use as a type of personal bodyguard and personal assistant. But it wasn’t until the Aeternia build that he was revamped into a type of war machine. He was skilled in combat tactics of all types – supposedly infused with a blade of his own with his arm. Too bad you weren’t able to see it in person, for the RAV’s system performed an automatic shut-up, nearly electrocuting you and nearly frying Cindy’s system after she tried to pull you away from him.

There was one person who managed to record footage of an Aeternia model during a combat demonstration of the build’s features. But the video end in was the model malfunctioning, beginning to lash out and nearly killing the CEO of Lucis Enterprises. It wasn’t until it began to find itself being threatened than it attempted to trigger its Ring command, ultimately resulting in its form combusting into flames due to malfunctions. It was scary, and apparently, most of the Aeternia models were discontinued and extremely rare after that.

Strange to know that you had one of these ‘aggressive’ models standing in your kitchen with a scowl directed at your toaster. You raised your eyebrow at him, stepping closer to him to look around the pillar of a being at the bright red toaster on the countertop.

“Uh… Is it toasting anything for you?”

You jolted when you noticed him suddenly snap his gaze onto you. His body didn’t move at all. Just his head, almost as if his entire head would have been thrown off his body with how fast he moved. If you weren’t alert from that gesture alone, the fact that your toaster, microwave, and fridge began to glitch out proved that the android certainly was. The toaster gave an awful buzzing noise that caused your ears to ring, the microwave beeped aggressively as if all of its buttons were being hit at once, and your fridge began to vomit out ice without you even touching it. It wasn’t until you held your hands up, showing the fact that you were disarmed that the android dropped his aggressive gaze, expression softening only for a moment before twisting into a frown before he looked forward again. At least he knew that hands up meant that you wouldn’t do anything to hurt him.

“I am sorry.” You noticed his eyebrows furrowing, as if pained to apologize to begin with. “I am still not familiar with the sound of your voice.”

“Even after I kept shouting for you to shut down when we first met and you didn’t?” He grew quiet, a silence showing just how bothered the android was by your statement. For a military build, he sure was sensitive. “Sorry… If you want, we can definitely talk more and, you know, make you more used to hearing me?”

“Why?” He turned towards you once again. “Idle conversation is unnecessary in order to active my defensive grid.”

“It’s a bonding thing, you know? Like…” You had to pause for a moment as you thought, putting your hands on your sides as you rested against the countertops to think. “You know how you have a voice recognition software that triggers your command network, right?” He gives a small nod in response. “Well, usually it registers it as a command from someone with access to your interface. But I don’t really have access to it, so I’ll improvise.” You grinned up at the android, who merely furrowed his eyebrows at you in return. “The more you hear my voice, the more you’ll recognize that it’s me! That way, whenever I do need you for something, then you can just recognize my voice and come running if you need to.”

It started to make more sense to the RAV N0X model, and you knew that he was processing the information with the way his eyes glinted with a blue sheen and the fact that he was nodding at your words. He looked so focused on making sure the information stayed intact in his data bank that you couldn’t up but grin wider. Cute the way he pressed his lips tighter when he processed the newfound information given to him. The programmers did a lot to make him look so realistic – probably to better infiltrate areas as a military robot. He closes his eyes for a moment, sealing the information into his databank before he looked back down at you. The glow in his eyes were gone and replaced with a more relaxed expression. “I will accept your voice recognition technique. It seems as if it would be the most beneficial to aid in my efforts to protect you.

You hummed and crossed your arms over your chest as you pursed your lips together. “To be honest…? I don’t really need someone protecting me. Unless they’re making sure I eat… And that I don’t drop another box of parts on my foot. I could use someone to talk to though. Cindy’s no fun when she gets busy working. Likes to talk to herself more than she likes talking to me.”

“I can see why she does not enjoy talking with you.”

You felt your smile falter a bit as you stared at him. Did he just call you boring to talk to…? Rude. For a military-grade android, he sure had a lot of snark with him. Before you could open your mouth to scold him for the comment, he had turned on his heel and begun to walk away. You blinked in response and followed him. “Hey! Where are you going?” You stopped in the living room as you watched him move over towards the window. He sort of just… Stood there, causing you to stare at him for a good moment before you shuffled over to his side. “Uh… You okay?”

“Yes.”

“…Was there something outside that seemed interesting?”

“No. I am merely residing here for the best vantage point to survey the area.” He turned his head down to look at you, like a watchtower whose spotlight had just located a fugitive. “You claim that you wished to talk to someone. Thus, I shall listen as I make sure your home is secure.”

You stared at him for a good long moment, your eyes squinting at him before you pointed over your shoulder to the couch. “You could sit, you know. Like, there isn’t going to be anyone running through my window any time soon. Unless it’s you, that is.” You chuckled at your own joke, but it soon died out at the unamused gaze that fixated itself on you. Right… He didn’t really have a joke code in him. Or a laugh track either. You clicked your tongue and grit your teeth in a forced smile. “Or you could just stand there. Whatever you want to do.”

“Would you prefer it if I sat on the couch?”

“Would you prefer to sit?” He seemed taken aback, eyes flashing the slightest bit in reaction to your counter question. His lips began to press together, twisted a bit into a frown as he had to turn away from you. You tilted his head. Was he that bothered by the question? You snuck around the Aeternia prototype, trying to catch his gaze again. “Well? I said you could do whatever you want to, so you’re more than welcome to sit and make yourself comfortable.”

He still avoided your gaze, but you were persistent and kept moving yourself to wherever he had turned his head. “I will do as you command me.”

“I’m not going to command you. I don’t have the authorization to do that, so you can pick.”

“That is not in my programming-“

“But you can still make snarky comments about how boring I am to talk to without me telling you.” Again, his eyes widened before he looked down at you, hands on your hips as you smirked at him. Ha! You got him there. He frowned down at you, turning his head before he reluctantly pulled himself from his place by the window and flopped down onto the couch, posture erect – almost as if he was extremely uncomfortable about either sitting on the couch or having to command himself to do such. Probably both. But you gave a fist pump to yourself in victory before you walked over and sat down on the opposite end of the couch from him, legs pulled up and crossing over each other as you grabbed the remote and turned on the TV. “See? Sitting on the couch isn’t so bad!”

“Am I sitting incorrectly…?” You glanced over to the android as you stared at your legs. You were wearing nothing more than a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, so having him stare at your legs so intensely was… Well, that was really uncomfortable. You looked down at your legs then back at Ravus. Before you could reach out and swat his gaze away, you noticed that he began to adjust himself. The worn-out couch squeaked a bit as he began to pull his heavy-plated legs up onto the couch, crossing them in the same manner you did and attempting to imitate the same slouched posture you had. It wasn’t successful since he looked stiff and rigid, but his glowing eyes still recorded the position for further reference. “Humans are quite flexible if they can retain this position for extended periods of time.”

“It’s easier when your legs aren’t plated with armor too.” You grinned over at the awkward android before you leaned back and turned towards the TV to relax.

Man… This was the first time in a while since you’ve actually had the chance to rest. You spent the past month or so trying to reassemble what had been missing from the RAV N0X prototype, and it was a month of tedious work and neglect of your freelance business’s activities. Cindy’s been enthusiastic about taking over some of the jobs and tasks while you had dedicated your time in repairing the android, but you felt as if you could be doing more right now. But once Cindy starts a job, she refuses to leave it unfinished. And with her having taken all the jobs for a while… Well, the most that you could do was sit on the couch with the prototype android as you stared at the G.Ladio advertisements that constantly flooded the television screen.

“Are they marketing humans in mass quantities?” The android’s curious tone got you to look over at him, watching and taking note of how fixated he was at the TV screen with how bright his eyes glowed. “This… Is another Android model?”

“Yeah. It’s the Sweet Line of the G.Ladio’s.”

“They do not appear combat ready. Why is that one not properly fitted with ballistic resistant armor?”

“That’s because they aren’t meant for combat. They’re companion bots.”

“As in rehabilitation?”

“Uh… Not exactly.” You had to squint a bit at the TV screen, imagines of the G.Ladio androids having blissful and intimate moments with the actresses on the commercial. How was the RAV N0X not comprehending the fact that holding hands doesn’t mean that they’re about ready to fight? Did he really not understand that there were other androids mean for companionship and to cure loneliness? You looked back at the android, who seemed more concentrated and befuddled than before. “You okay there…?”

“They… Are meant for recreational coitus?”

That... Was a weird way to phrase it, but you shrugged. “Sure. Let’s go with that. But they do more than just that, I guess. They help cure loneliness too, you know?”

“Databases suggest that loneliness is neither a sickness or a disease.”

You shook your head and chuckled. “No, it’s not. I mean... Like, if you don’t have someone who loves you and wants to be with you all the time, then you get a G.Ladio to keep you company and make you feel wanted and loved.” You shrugged a bit at the thought of it. You’ve spent a long time by yourself until you had the Aurum model – had Cindy – gifted to you after you started your business last year. But even then, Cindy was mostly just there to help you with your work, occasionally meandering from the garage and into the house to give you reports and stick a few decals to the fridge. Beyond that, it was just you.

“Would you wish for a companion such as the G.Ladio model…?”

A hum came from you as you tilted your head. You had thought once before about getting a G.Ladio, but the idea of having something programmed to like you was really strange to you. If anything, that would only make you feel lonelier, knowing you had to program something to show you how much someone cared about you. You’d rather feel lonely on your own than to feel lonely around other people. That, and after having serviced a good number of G.Ladio models sent to your shop, you would much rather not have to deal with anything with that intense of an activity level. Just five minutes of that until Cindy had to wrestle the beast from you was enough to make you wish that vibrating attachments would never be pushed anywhere they shouldn’t be ever again. You rubbed your cheek as your eye twitched a bit. That thing gave you a black-eye for a month that you’d never forget. Asshole android and his over-sized attachment…

You ended up letting out a sigh and as you shook your head. “No. It’s not my kind of thing. It’s kinda like having a prisoner, you know? I’d rather have someone stay because they want to stay. Not because they have to.”

“What about Aurum Model C1DN33? Does she stay because she wishes to?”

“I don’t know. If she doesn’t want to stay, I don’t blame her though, to be honest. She’s welcome to come and go if she wants. I don’t want to stop her. Or you either.” The two of you grew quiet, the TV more of a faint mumbling as you felt your mind wander a bit. Yeah… It’s nicer to be alone for now and just wait for someone who wanted to stay. Cindy was nice, but if she was going to develop the sentience to one day want to use her programs and skills elsewhere, she was free to make the choice. At least, you hoped Cindy knew that, despite her running on a Virtual Intelligence network. Just as you hoped that the RAV N0X did too. You did your part to help repair him, so he was more than welcome to go find his owner once again as his return command would dictate.

And yet, you found yourself with a cold hand gently brushing over the top of your knuckles. You looked down at your hand, the metal mechanical arm had reached out and gently begin to lock its digits between your fingers to lace them together. You found yourself blinking in surprise as you looked up. The android had moved closer to you, taking your hand into his own as his soft expression peered into your own confused one. And wow… He was really close to you. You could see the detailed texture in the silicon flesh allied to his exterior, as if he had tiny pore, freckles slashed over his skin, and the softest heterochromatic gaze that locked onto yours. Your cheeks reddened at the sight, but you were unable to look away from him. Wow…

It was as if he was unable to process his voice to communicate for a moment, words glitching slightly before he spoke quietly to you. “I will stay at your side, just as I have sworn to you. The recorded 1008 hours of repair is not forgotten, and I will attempt to keep it in my mind to reciprocate my gratitude.”

“But… Is that what you want to do?”

The prototype gave a small nod, adjusting your hands to where your fingers locked together, palm to metal palm. “I suppose it is. I will command myself to protect and serve you, my liege.”

You pursed your lips for a moment and shook your head. “No… Don’t call me ‘my liege.’ That sounds really weird. Just call me by my first name or something.” He gave a firm nod in response, eyes flashing blue to lock in the information. Though that did bring up an interesting question… You had given Cindy her name because of her model and functioning, but the RAV N0X Aeternia was such a complicated machine that having to call it that over and over again would really be a mouthful. “Is there something that I get to call you? Something that you like or are really responsive to?”

“Information and encrypted files stored in my databank suggest that there is a directive command that proves to be 99.342% effective in activating my reaction protocol and command list. A ‘name’ as you might refer to it as.” He was quiet for a good long moment, his grip growing a bit tighter as if bothered by the question again. But soon, his grip loosened before his head slowly moved up and down in a nod. You could have sworn his eyes flashed again. But unlike its usual blue flash, both eyes had glowed violet. A blink of an eye though before they reverted to their heterochromatic colors. Perhaps it was just an illusion or something... “This ‘name’ will only be affective to my commands if you are the one calling me by it.”

“Wait, so you’re overriding your system and giving me admin access?” Perhaps that wasn’t the words he’d use so simply, but he gave a nod. You sat up a bit, hand still laced with his as he adjusted yourself and faced him on the couch. “Okay then. Tell me: what’s your name?”

The surreal violet glow in the android’s eyes before was not as surreal as when he turned his gaze towards you again, leaning closer as he tucked a bit of your hair behind your ear and whispered quietly into your ear. You found your cheeks flaring up even more, body tensing a bit as you could hear the digitized voice whisper by your ear. A name simple and blissful, and one that made your heart skip a beat from just the way the android had said it.

“Ravus.” You looked at the android as he pulled his face away from yours to consider your eyes once again. “My name… Is Ravus.”

You slowly began to nod, your smile growing bigger as your mind repeated the name over and over again. “A pleasure to properly me you then, Ravus.”

Ravus’s eyes lit up with a soft blue glow, lips gently curling at the corner as he nodded back to you in return. “And a pleasure to serve you as well.”

#stephic writings #final fantasy xv #ffxv #ravus nox fleuret #cindy aurum #ravus x reader #android au #fanfiction #chocobro-hijinks #aaaaaaaah!#got the first part done!#definitely gotta keep writing for this headcanon because it's just too damn good #*screams*#i really like hijinks' headcanons...!#you should go follow them if you haven't gotten the chance to yet #*ugly sobbing*#i really like ravus

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legault · 8 years ago

Text

Collateral Damage

Chapters: 1/1 Wordcount: 15,217 Fandom: Fire Emblem Fates Rating: Teen and Up Warnings: Temporary Character Death, Mild Violence Relationships: Xanlow (Xander/Laslow), various background relationships Characters: Xander, Laslow, Odin, various other members of the Nohrian royalty with cameos by Ryoma and Saizo Additional Tags: Mild Canon Divergence, Grief, Revelations Route, Near Future, Post-Canon, Character Study

Summary: Xander does not realize the depths of his feelings for Laslow until it is too late.

Fill for @dorkpatroller for the @xanlow-exchange for the prompt “I thought you were dead”

Also read on AO3!

“If, after the war, I were to go somewhere. Somewhere far away... If you never saw me again... Would you be angry? Would you be able to forgive me for abandoning you?”

“...Yes. I would.”

Xander had never expected Laslow to stay with him forever, had been prepared to lose him someday.

“Oh? Truly?”

“It is not your company I require. Only that you continue to draw breath. I just want you to ensure you live. Whatever your true name or appearance.”

What he had not prepared for was losing Laslow, not to a happy life in another world, but to a lonely death of the fields of battle.

Xander had long since become inured to the thought of killing, even killing people who in all likelihood had done nothing but wrong except being in an army that wasn’t Nohr’s. It was part of his job as a prince and a warrior, and he found neither delight not sorrow in the deaths of the men and women he struck down with his sword.

He barely registered the bite of his sword into flesh until he came upon the sniper who may or may not have killed Laslow. Before he brings Seigfried down, Xander makes eye contact with the man, who looks small and powerless under Xander’s imposing figure. He sees terror in the man’s eyes, but behind the fear he is sure he sees recognition, which Xander takes as acknowledgement that this is the man who, with one arrow, cut off his right hand and a piece of his heart.

It’s very possible that this is not the man who shot Laslow, that the fearful recognition in his eyes is simply terror at facing the man who has been fighting as if possessed, following in the wake of a woman who is all the more dangerous because she is not possessed.

But there is no doubt in Xander’s mind that this is the man, or at least there would be no doubt if there was anything in Xander’s mind other than waves of wordless emotions, raw and overwhelming.

The sniper had only shot Laslow once, but Xander strikes him, two, three, ten times, every thunk of blade into the already-dead man’s flesh a cry of rage.

He keeps stabbing, hacking, slashing until he feels a hand on his shoulder and Camilla’s voice.

“Xander. It’s over. He’s dead.” Xander is not sure if she’s talking about Laslow or the sniper but either way she is right, he is the prince of Nohr and right now he is covered in blood and…oh, is he crying? With a note of curiosity as if this mourning prince is someone other than himself, Xander realizes that he is weeping.

The news has obviously spread to the rest of the group. Peri is bawling, the type of tears that are loud and uncomfortable for both the cryer and everyone around them. Corrin looks pained; he has worked so hard thus far to keep from losing a single member of their army and now…now they’ve lost one, and even though it’s not Corrin’s fault, the burden lays heavily on him. It’s frankly miraculous that it’s taken this long for them to see their first casualty. It was only a matter of time, but Xander wishes that Laslow had not been the one taken.

Elise throws herself at him, clinging to him as her tears mix with the blood on his armor. Laslow had been well-loved by most of the group, in spite of-or perhaps because of-his incessant flirting.

Everything since Laslow fell has seemed like a bad dream, but what drives it home that this is his reality is seeing Odin standing frozen, looking shell-shocked and for the first time ever, completely silent.

Several other members of the army are clustered into groups, crying or murmuring and looking nervously at Xander, uncomfortable with his lack of composure.

Elise’s clinging arms bring him back to earth, ground him in the reality that he is there even if Laslow is not and there is an army of people who look to him for guidance.

Xander takes a deep breath, tightens his arm around Elise, and speaks.

“Remember,” he says, voice frustratingly hoarse. “We are still at war, and in war, sacrifices are inevitable. Laslow is not the first soldier, retainer, or friend that I have lost.”

Xander’s voice breaks, along with his heart, but he soldiers on. “He is not the first, but gods willing, he will be the last. Laslow fought for the same reason we all fight: for peace in Nohr, in Hoshido, in Cyrkensia, in Valla, in every corner of the continent. I for one will be fighting all the harder to honor Laslow’s sacrifice, and I hope you all will do the same.”

Xander inhales, a deep, shuddering breath. “There will be time later,” he exhales, breath flowing out of him like tears, “for grieving. But for now, we must continue on, and right now, we need to make camp so everyone can sleep.”

Xander feels exhaustion seeping into his bones and he casts a pleading glance at Corrin and Ryoma. Luckily they understand, and they start to gather everyone up, Ryoma rallying the Hoshidans and Corrin rallying everyone else as Xander tries his hardest to remain upright.

As they set up camp, more somberly than they ever have before, Ryoma comes over and clasps him on the shoulder.

“I’m sorry.” He says, kind without being overly emotional in the way that Xander hates. “I did not know Laslow well, but I know that if I lost one of my retainers, I would be beside myself.”

“Well, it’s not my first time losing a retainer, I’m almost an expert by now.” Xander smiles mirthless my. “I hope it is not something you ever have to experience.”

“And I hope this is the last time for you.” Ryoma squeezes his shoulder and leaves, and Xander is thankful, both for the comfort and for the fact that Ryoma did not try to linger.

Xander retreats to his tent and shuts the door. He had Laslow’s personal belongings brought to him; right now, they’re sitting in the corner of the tent, calling to him.

But still, he hesitates. Laslow claimed to wear his hear on his sleeve, but he kept his secrets close and had a surprising number of them. Even though Xander longed to know exactly where Laslow came from, why he had a unique accent and even more unique style of swordplay, he did not ask. Laslow’s job was to support him, protect him, and stay by his side; unlike some royals, Xander had no illusions that his retainers belonged to him, body and mind.

If he looked through Laslow’s belongings, it would feel final; Laslow would truly be gone. But that was only irrational sentimentality. Death is already final, and Laslow is not here to be angry with him.

Compared to his comparisons, Laslow has very few belongings. Odin is a hoarder, of weapons and assorted miscellany; he names everything and once it is named, he refuses to part with it. Selena is a compulsive shopper, spending her entire salary on clothes and knick-knacks from every tiny town and major city they pass through.

(“I have to buy it.” She insists. “I need a souvenir to remember this place by.”

“My darling, you don’t need to buy half the continent. If you’re that worried about forgetting, I’ll bring you back here after this dreadful war is over.” Camilla promises, laughing.

“Oh, yes…” Selena’s face suddenly darkens. “After the war…”)

Laslow’s cloths are the first thing he finds, and well, if he thought this was going to be quick, he was dead wrong. Every piece of clothing smells like Laslow, who always smells of the cologne he wears too much of-rich, spicy, and entirely too aggressive for Nohrian tastes. Xander had always told him that he needed to wear less because he smelled like the inside of a soothsayer’s tent, but now he buries his face in the shirt in his hands and closes his eyes, tries to clear his mind enough that for a moment, he can pretend that Laslow isn’t gone.

A small bottle falls out of the shirt he’s holding, and Xander can’t help laughing. Laslow always brought small bottles of cologne and hair gel with him, even on long military missions.

(“A ladies man must always be prepared, milord.” Laslow had said in response to Xander’s incredulous look at his packed belongings. “As with any skill, flirting must be practiced constantly. Do you know what it would do for my reputation if I were to be caught looking ungroomed?”

“I wish you put half as much energy into training as you do into flirting.” Xander sighed, knowing this was an argument he would never win. “It doesn’t matter how nice you look if you die in battle.”

“I have no intention of dying, in battle or otherwise.” Laslow assures him. “I would never break the hearts of the lovely ladies of Nohr by dying.”

“Or me, Laslow.” Xander reminds him. “Strange as you are, I would be very upset if you were to die.”

“Of course, milord.” Laslow replies, voice almost imperceptibly rougher. “I have no desire to break your heart either.”

It does not sound like a joke and Xander does not treat it as one. “Then don’t, Laslow.”)

Xander dabs a bit of what he thinks is Laslow’s cologne on his wrist, furrows his brow when it stains his skin grey.

He inspects the bottle and sniffs his wrist, concluding that this is most definitely not cologne, but the color of grey is familiar somehow. Suddenly a familiar picture of Laslow laughing at him, too merry to be truly insolent, pops into his head and he realizes why the color is familiar.

“Hair dye.” He breathes. “Laslow, you fiend. What else were you hiding from me?”

He’s always suspected that Laslow had woven his personality together from a combination of innocuous truths, necessary lies, and half-lies that later turned into truths. Laslow is a terrible liar, but a fantastic secret keeper. Xander could always tell when Laslow is lying, but could never intimidate, wheedle, or pry the truth out of him.

Going through Laslow’s things suddenly becomes much more urgent, and Xander resolves to devote his whole evening to it. And if he happens to cry a little, in an entirely unprincely fashion, well, at least no one will be around to see it.

Laslow’s clothes are almost as colorful as Laslow himself, and it takes a long time to go through them because everything Xander picks up overwhelms him with memories.

This is Laslow’s favorite shirt, the one looks like a puffy quilt strapped around the body with two leather strips.

(“I just don’t understand it.” Xander says, staring at Laslow’s shirt like its a puzzle to solve.

“I’m disappointed, milord.” Laslow feigns shock. “I was told that you were fashionable for a crown prince, but you don’t even appreciate the style of shirt that’s all the rage in my hometown.”

“I’m not saying it’s not fashionable, I’m saying it makes you look like a puff pastry.”

Laslow smiles crookedly, cocks one eyebrow. “Milord, are you saying that I look…delectable?”

Xander snorts, “If that is the kind of line you use on the village ladies, I can see why you get rejected so often.”)

And this is the formal shirt in Nohrian style that Xander had given him to wear to formal functions. Why Laslow brought it with him to Valla is beyond him, since Laslow always complained about having to wear it.

(“Do I really have to wear this?” Laslow looks personally offended by the garment in his hand.

“Only for meetings with the King, formal dinners, things like that.” Laslow looks like he’s about to protest, but Xander cuts him off. “You already barely act like a proper royal retainer and I usually don’t make so. Could you please do this one thing for me?”

Laslow sighs, grudgingly acquiescing. “But it’s so dowdy! What will it to to my reputation as a ladykiller?”

“Trust me, that shirt could not hurt your reputation any more than your pickup lines already have. Stop being such a dandy.”

“Says the man who wears a frilly cravat into battle.” Laslow retorts.)

And this is…an outfit that Xander has never seen before. It’s made of light gauzy fabric and looks vaguely similar to a Cyrkensian dancer’s outfit, if they made Cyrkensian dancers outfits for men. The clothes themselves are simple; light, loose black pants mad of silky, almost translucent material and a black vest with intricate gold embroidery around the edges. Packed in a box underneath are a number of accessories, all in gold: wristbands and anklets, a slender belt, a pair of hoops with large spikes running along the edge connected by a length of fabric, a heavy looking necklace, and a single hoop earring.

Xander tries to picture Laslow wearing the outfit, but cannot get a clear picture in his mind. If he focuses, he can imagine the pieces: the vest, the belt, the wristbands. But when he tries to put everything together, the image slips away, and a fresh wave of grief hits him when he realizes that Laslow is gone and he will never get the chance to piece together the full image.

He quickly packs everything away, except for the hoop earring, which he tucks into his breast pocket. Xander had told Ryoma that he was almost an expert at losing retainers, and while it wasn’t quite at that level, he had developed a few rituals to honor his fallen retainers, one of which was wearing a token of theirs on a cord around his neck.

At present, he only had two; a ring, and a charm.

The ring was the family crest of one of his first retainers, who had been the only child of a prominent family. His family had hoped his appointment as Xander’s retainer would ensure the legacy of their family name; instead, the line had ended with him on a barren field just shy of the Hoshidan border. Xander feels the weight of it always, lying flush on the skin above his heart, heavy with the weight of generations that will never be born.

The charm is a small flat stone, washed smooth by the river where his second retainer had collected it when she was a child. She had etched symbols into both sides, symbols for protection and longevity that she had been taught by her grandmother, who had been a mystic and a healer. The charm had not done its job, had not protected her, and Xander wears it now, not for protection, but for remembrance.

Tomorrow, he resolves, he will find a string somewhere around camp, and Laslow’s earring will join the other tokens, the third and, gods willing, the last tribute necklace that Xander has to make.

Heart heavy and eyes damp, he continues to look through Laslow’s things, taking time to run his hands over every object, as if he can soak up any residual traces of Laslow left from the last time he touched them. It is painful, and he considers putting Laslow’s belongings aside, but the prospect of not having a task to focus his attention on is terrifying, so he does not.

As he continues his inspection, Xander turns away several visitors: first Camilla with her smothering comfort, then Corrin with his quiet pity. He sends Elise away as well, but eats the food she brings because he has no wish to make her cry any more today. Leo, bless him, seems to understand that Xander wants to be alone because he does not come try to comfort him. Peri, Elise tells him, insisted on joining the hunting party that caught their dinner and is now insisting on personally butchering all the animals that will be their breakfast.

The day passes without him noticing, and evening finds him thumbing through a leather notebook filled with words in Laslow’s handwriting but in a script that Xander has never seen before when he hears someone calling “Knock knock!” from behind the flap of his tent. Knocking before entering is a Nohrian custom, but it only works if there is a door to knock on. At tents, most normal people simply announce themselves and ask to be let in.

He yanks the flap back, ready to snap at whoever it is, because his heartstrings are pulled taught like a bowstring and tear ducts are sore from overexertion and he has already been interrupted too many times by people who don’t understand that he’s too proud to be vulnerable around other people so he’d rather grieve alone.

Xander is surprised enough to see Odin there that he forgets to yell at him, although in retrospect, it explains the strange greeting. Odin is quite a sight, hair wild and eyes red, holding a bottle of liquor in one hand and wearing what appears to be Niles’ cloak.

“Ah, Milord! Pardon the interruption, but I have spent the afternoon grieving my fallen comrade and after my eyes had run dry of manly tears, I realized that as Laslow’s liege, your sense of loss may be overwhelming. As Laslow’s bosom companion, I have come offering companionship.” Odin says, never one to speak briefly when a speech is possible.

Odin’s voice, like his appearance, is slightly off. “And liquor!” He adds, raising the bottle and his voice. “Let us drown our sorrows in the sweet embrace of intoxication!”

Xander pulls him inside, suspecting that Odin may already be in the embrace of intoxication. Normally he would send him back to Leo to deal with, but Odin is probably the only other person who feels the loss of Laslow as keenly as he does, if not more.

Odin collapses ungracefully to the floor by Xander’s hearthstone and sheds his cloak to reveal yet another cloak, one that looks a lot like one of his brother’s.

“Odin, is that Leo’s cloak?”

Odin inspects the cloak as if he is surprised to find himself wearing it. “Ah, indeed it is! Milord Leo is such a noble master, the only one that the great Odin Dark could ever call his liege. He insisted that I wear it, so I don’t 'Catch my death wandering around half naked in the cold like the idiot that I am.’”

“Yes, that sounds like Leo.” Xander sighs. “Well, alright then. Let me join you in...the bosom of lady liquor, or whatever it is you said.”

“Milord, there’s hope for you yet as a wordsmith!” Odin passes him the bottle and Xander drinks deeply. In general, he prefers wine or not to drink at all, but the burn of the liquor feels appropriate.

Odin, meanwhile, is inspecting the cloak that he took off when he first entered the tent, looking confused. “When did I get two cloaks?”

“You came in wearing them both.” Xander reminds him.

“Ah yes!” Odin exclaims, remembering. “Niles made me take his cloak as well because we’ve already lost one retainer today and he doesn’t feel like losing another to something as banal as the cold. A noble gesture, but today Odin Dark’s heart is so cold from grief that the freezing wind cannot make it any colder.”

“I didn’t take Niles for the caretaking type.” Xander comments, deliberately putting off talking about Laslow until he is a little drunker.

“Most people don’t, but I have discovered his hidden potential! Behind his wicked tongue beats a chivalrous and noble heart.” Odin reaches for the bottle, takes a long swig, and returns it to Xander. “Although that is not to say that his wicked tongue does not have it’s uses.”

Xander does not drink very often, and his head is starting to feel slightly light, which he thinks it is time to bring up Laslow.

“Not that I am not grateful for...Lady Liquor here, Odin, but I am curious why you came to me. Why not seek the comfort of Leo and Niles, whom I understand you have an...intimate relationship with?” Xander finds himself asking.

Ok, perhaps it is almost time to bring up Laslow. He wants desperately to talk about Laslow, but is also desperately scared, and Odin’s strange relationships are a much safer topic.

“My bond with Milord Leo and Niles is indeed a bond for the ages, a bond that the bards will surely sing about for eons to come, a bond that is consummated in spirit, mind, and yes, in body.” Odin flushes a deeper red. “But how did you come to know about our bond?”

“Laslow read your diary.” Xander replies easily, seeing no reason to lie as Laslow is not here to get angry with him.

“Laslow, you dastard!” Odin exclaims, much louder than is appropriate. “You beautiful, noble dastard.” Odin’s breath hitches as he chokes back a sob. “I cannot believe that he is gone.”

“I cannot either.” Xander says.

They sit in silence for several moments, passing the bottle back and forth until Xander finds it empty. He peers inside it, as if he can will more drink into being with his gaze, and Odin pulls another bottle out of his robe.

“I chose to come to you,” Odin says, passing Xander the fresh bottle. “Because you are the only other person in this world who loved Laslow as much as I did.”

“Mmm.” Xander says nothing, because he has never thought of it in those terms, but he supposes that it is true.

They drink in silence, passing the bottle back and forth until it is almost empty. Xander feels lightheaded, feels sleepy, feels like he’s not quite here, which is preferable to being here, because Laslow is not here. He picks up the handwritten notebook he was looking at earlier and flips through it idly, staring at the words he cannot read.

Odin’s eyes flicker towards the movement of Xander’s hands, grow wide when they land upon the book that Xander is holding.

“Is that Inigo’s diary?” He exclaims, speech just on the edge of slurring.

“Who is Inigo?” Xander asks in reply, confused.

Odin face morphs into a look of panic. “Oh, Inigo is...Inigo is a character in a book! The book is called...Inigo’s Diary! It was Laslow’s favorite book from our childhood.”

It’s a truly terrible lie, but Odin looks pleased.

“Odin.” Xander says, not having any of it. “Was Laslow’s real name Inigo?”

Odin’s pleased expression falls away, face pale. “Why would you ask that?”

“Laslow once told me that he bears a false name and a false appearance.” Xander fixes Odin with the stern look he adopts when he’s acting as Xander, Prince of Nohr and he wants to be obeyed. “I’ll ask again. Is Inigo Laslow’s true name?”

The look seems to work, because Odin sighs and gives in. “Yes.”

“Inigo.” Xander repeats, testing the name out, feeling it on his tongue. “Inigo. Laslow. Inigo.”

The name is strange to his ears and on his lips, but it feels true, and another piece slots into place in the puzzle that is Laslow.

“Inigo of the Indigo Skies.” Odin says, voice sounding far away. “The false name thing really messed me up. Laslow of the Indigo Skies really doesn’t have the same ring to it.”

“You could try Laslow of the Azure Skies.” Xander suggests, lightheaded from the alcohol and the revelations.

“I did.” Odin laughs bitterly. “But he didn’t like it. Said he preferred Indigo Skies.”

“Wait, did Laslow-” Xander stops himself, confused over which name to use, “Did Inigo really change his appearance when he came here?”

Odin snorts. “Inigo is a silver-tongued scoundrel. His claims of a false appearance are greatly over-exaggerated. All he did was dye his hair.”

“I know,” Xander says. “I found his hair dye.”

“Of course you did. I can tell that you found his cologne as well.”

Xander flushes. He may have dabbed a little bit of Laslow’s cologne on his neck earlier, after making sure that this time, it was really cologne. He also may have teared up a little bit when the scent first his his nose, but Odin didn’t need to know that.

“So what color was Laslow’s hair originally?” Xander asks, changing the subject.

“I’m not sure I should tell you.” Odin says.

“What if I ordered you to tell me as the Crown Prince of Nohr?”

“Well, it’s a good thing I’m not a citizen of Nohr.”

“No, but you are fucking the younger prince of Nohr, and I think that makes you close enough.”

Odin’s mouth, already open for a retort, snaps shut, teeth clicking audibly. “I think,” He says, swaying gently. “I think you’ve had enough to drink.”

“I think we both have.” Xander agrees, trying not to slur his words. “Anyway, I think I’ve lost the bottle.”

“It’s gone?” Odin exclaims. “How can it be gone when it was just here moments ago?”

Xander thinks that he could say the same thing about Laslow, and when he meets Odin’s eyes, he knows that they’re thinking about the same person.

“Pink.” Odin says. “Inigo’s hair was pink, like his mother’s.”

“That would suit him.” Xander says, trying to picture it.

“It did.”

“Odin, would you tell me more about Laslow? About Inigo?” Xander asks.

“I would be honored to share that information with you, milord. But only,” Odin shakes his finger at Xander. “On one condition.”

“What is that?” Xander asks, looking at Odin’s finger rather than his eyes.

“Entrust to me the care and keeping of the sacred keepsake that you hold in your princely hands.” When Xander looks confused, Odin adds, “Give me Inigo’s diary. You can’t read it anyway, it’s in our native language.”

Xander considers the offer. “If I give it to you, will you tell me what he wrote in it?”

"Odin Dark can make no promises as to that. I cannot betray the confidence of a man who was closer to me than a brother.” Odin says. “However, I will share my stories of the exploits of Odin Dark and Inigo of the Indigo Skies.”

Xander considers arguing, but thinks better of it, passes the book to Odin. Laslow had his secrets in life, and he deserves to have them in death. Besides, Odin is right; he cannot read the diary and keeping the knowledge from Odin, who could read it, would be cruel.

Odin’s face light up when Xander gives him the book, and he immediately begins flipping through it, glancing at page after page. His face is nothing but raw emotion, pain and love and nostalgia wrapped up into one.

“No matter what world we were in, or what evils we faced.” Odin says quietly, looking at the book. “Inigo was the one person who was always by my side.”

Xander does not know how to respond to that, but he is saved from thinking of a response by a voice outside his tent.

“Brother.” He hears Leo saying, voice weary. “I’ve come to collect my retainer. I hope he hasn’t been a bother to you.”

Xander opens the tent flap to find Leo and Niles, standing outside.

“Not at all, Leo.” Xander assures him. “In fact, he’s been quite a comfort. We’ve been...bonding.”

“If by bonding you mean drinking, then I can tell.” Niles remarks, looking past Xander.

Leo give Niles a look and Niles clarifies, “I’m talking about Odin, not about your noble brother.”

As if on cue, Odin all but throws himself at Leo, who looks embarrassed at the fact that his older brother is seeing such a display of affection.

Xander, for his part, finds it sweet, although it does send a pang of loneliness through him to see his brother together with his two retainers when Xander himself has had that privilege wrenched away from him.

“Odin, didn’t you have two cloaks when you left?” Niles asks Odin.

“Odin Dark does not remember such trivial things as the whereabouts of garments!”

“Of course you wouldn’t, you barely wear clothes anyway.” Niles mutters. “Prince Xander, could I trouble you to look for an extra cloak in your tent? It happens to be mine, and this wretch is obviously not going to return it to me.”

“Of course.” Xander retrieves the cloak for Niles, who, for all his grumbling, immediately wraps Odin in it. Xander has never quite understood Niles, never understood his personality or why on earth his straitlaced brother had chosen a petty thief as his retainer, but Niles’ devotion to Leo had convinced Xander of the soundness of his morals, and his tenderness towards Odin only confirmed his impression.

“Thank you for keeping me company, Odin Dark.” Xander says. “I hope that we can do this again in better circumstances.”

Odin gives a vague hand wave of affirmation, either drunker than Xander realized or acting drunker in the company of Leo and Niles. “Likewise, Prince Xander.” Odin says, slurring his words significantly more than he had minutes earlier.

“I think we need to get him to bed.” Leo says, looking at Odin with exasperation and barely concealed fondness before turning a concerned gaze to Xander. “Will you be alright being alone, Xander?”

“Yes.” Xander says, and he hopes that it is the truth. “Thank you, brother. Goodnight.”

He closes the door before Leo can insist that he needs company, and listens to their footsteps as they walk away. He can hear their voices mingling, Odin’s loud and emphatic, Niles’ smooth and dryly amused, Leo’s warm and level. Images of himself listening indulgently to Peri and Laslow’s chatter spring unbidden into his mind, and he can feel the tug of longing in his chest like a physical pain. He has never given much thought to his siblings’ retainers before beyond observing them to ensure that they will do their job adequately, but he hopes now that Leo appreciates what a gift it is to have both Odin and Niles by his side.

Xander finds the bottle he’d hidden from Odin, downs the rest of it in three gulps, and falls asleep in his clothes.

His sleep is restless and his dreams are chilling. He finds himself on the edge of a cliff, with Laslow hanging on to the edge, about to fall if not for the grip of his fingertips.

“Laslow, take my hand!” Dream-Xander calls, voice desperate, hand outstretched.

Dream-Laslow looks at him, amazingly unafraid for someone about to fall off a cliff.

“That’s not my name.” He says, and lets go, disappearing into the void.

Xander wakes with a start, covered in sweat. He’s had these dreams before, about Laslow or Peri or one of his siblings dying, but this one is worse because when he wakes up, Laslow is still gone, this time for good.

It is still dark outside and will be for many hours, but Xander does not go back to sleep.

Xander has lost retainers before, but it does not mean he is good at dealing with grief. After the loss of his first retainers, he had sworn to never lose another retainer in a fit of naive passion, and his grief at the loss of Laslow intermingles with anger at himself for letting it happen.

His earlier losses did teach him that a prince does not have the luxury of experiencing grief in slow, healthy stages that lead to healing, and he does not try. Rather, he experiences all of the stages at once and his grief settles into his bones and festers like an open wound throughout the rest of the war.

Frankly, Xander does not remember many specifics from the rest of their struggle against Anankos. He knows that they won, and he knows that they won partially because of him, and partially in spite of him. As Leo tells it, he and Peri tended to clear half a battlefield in a matter of moments, and then the rest of the army had to catch up to them before they were overwhelmed by the other half of the enemy forces. Xander is not proud of his actions or of the fact that his rashness endangered his family and comrades, but the rush of battle drowned out everything else, drowned out his pain and grief and his guilt, as well as any curiosity about the revelations that they uncovered along the way.

Off the battlefield, Corrin assures him, he carried himself with dignity and led as well as he could be expected to, considering the circumstances. Xander reflects that they are lucky that being a leader had been beaten into him from a young age enough that he could do it on autopilot, and if he faltered he had Ryoma and Corrin to step up and support him.

In the moment, every day had been a struggle, but looking back, he does not recall almost any moment between Laslow’s death and his own coronation with any sort of clarity. It is a shameful admission, but grief had made him remiss in his duty, his focus brought back only by the cold weight of his father’s crown on his head. It is ugly and ill-fitting, but it reminds him that he has a country to lead and cannot continue to limp through life like a wounded dog.

Bit by bit, Xander returns to the world of the living. Being the king is strange, although it is a role he has been preparing for since birth. And it keeps him busy; there are political advisers to meet, citizen requests to hear, diplomats to impress, soldiers to lead, and that is just the beginning. He thought that he was prepared, but suddenly every single person in the country of Nohr is depending on him, and he feels the responsibility keenly.

On occasions he is not surprised that his father went crazy after years on the throne.

Xander is well suited for the role, but he cannot say that he enjoys it. As a child Xander had resented the restrictions that being a prince had put on his life and freedom, but that was nothing compared to the life of a king. The sudden war and even more sudden peace with Hoshido in addition to Garon’s death had destabilized Nohr. Within less than a year of assuming the throne, he finds ihimself facing countless attacks on his character and right to the throne, two assassination attempts, one attempted coup, three small and one not-so-small peasant uprisings, and several small raids by their neighbors to the north.

At times, Xander longs to return to the time before Corrin was kidnapped by Nohr, before it had become evident that his father was not his father (but not too much earlier, not before Laslow, Odin, and Selena had appeared at court). But these times always pass, eclipsed by fifty different pressing issues, and Xander bears his burden stoicly and patiently.

“Xander, you’re too stressed.” Camilla tells him. “You’re strong, but even strong men have their limits. You need an outlet or I’m afraid you’re going to explode.”

“It’s fine, Camilla. I have an outlet.”

Camilla looks at him skeptically. “Who?” She asks, voice dripping with disbelief.

“What? No one.” Xander furrows his brow. “Wait, when you said outlet, you meant…sexually?”

Camilla looks at him like he is the stupidest person she’s ever met. To be fair, he might be. “Of course. I have Beruka and- I have Beruka. Leo has both his retainers. You had Laslow.”

“Laslow? No, Laslow wasn’t…we weren’t…” Xander struggles to find the words, unable to give voice to what she is implying. “Laslow liked women.”

Camilla rolls her eyes. “So does Leo, and he’s fucking both his retainers.”

“Does everybody know about that?”

“Everyone who’s looking. So not many. Don’t change the subject Xander, I’m even more concerned now. You’re under more stress than ever before and you have nowhere to release it.” She pats his shoulder like she used to do when they were children. “Think about it, brother.”

Xander does think about it, thinks about it and dismisses it. Sex just seems unappealing, and from a political standpoint, dangerous. A king is expected to have mistresses, but he is also expected to have a wife first, and although being king of Nohr has dictated every part of his life, he is not willing to give it that.

It is different for Leo and Camilla because they were not the king. Besides, their lovers are also their retainers, whose loyalty is first to them, then to Nohr, even if it was supposed to be the other way around. Perhaps if he had wanted to take Peri to bed, it would be acceptable, but neither he nor Peri found that idea appealing, Xander uninterested in women and Peri uninterested in activities that did not end in death.

If Laslow were still alive, then perhaps…

The thought occurrs to him often, and every time he pushes it aside. There is no use speculating about what might have been. Besides, he would not have been satisfied with having Laslow as an illicit lover, would want him as a partner in all things, and with Xander’s kingship and Laslow’s plans to return home to another world, that simply could not happen.

Xander may not have a lover to help him release his tension, but he has adapted to constantly being tense, and he copes in other ways.

When there are no military operations for him to head, he trains with Peri, using real weapons and real force until someone draws blood, at which point he knocks her sword to the ground in order to save them both. Peri has always fought like a woman possessed, and after she draws blood, she cannot be held responsible for following through to its logical conclusion.

Xander has no desire to die at her hands, so as soon as someone bleeds they trade their real weapons for wooden practice swords and alternate sparring and decimating training dummies until their muscles ache.

Sometimes after training, Peri will cry and Xander will hold her, her tears mingling with their sweat and occasionally, blood.

“It’s not fair!” She blubbers, and Xander understands who she is talking about, agrees wholeheartedly.

Xander never asks Peri to be quiet or to stop crying, simply lets her wail until she has no more tears to cry. He himself does not cry around others, only in his own rooms and even then rarely. It is not that he does not want to cry, but rather that he feels that he is wound so tightly that if he lets himself go, even just a little bit, he may unravel completely, falling to the floor in teardop-shaped pieces until all that is left is a puddle.

When he feels like crying, over Laslow or over the stress of his position or both, he invites Odin to his chambers and they drink together and talk about Laslow. Xander calls him Laslow and Odin calls him Inigo, and they share stories of his exploits and laugh instead of crying.

Before Laslow’s death, Xander and Odin had not been close, but their shared loss had created a strong bond between them. It grows stronger when one day Selena disappears from court and does not return, even after Camilla and Beruka take to the skies to try to retrieve her. Camilla is inconsolable and Beruka is silent as always, but her silence is one of sadness and rage.

Odin is not angry, but Selena’s departure gives rise to new lines along his forehead and around his eyes, evidence of brows furrowed in worry or discontent.

“The passage to this world was opened to us by a powerful sage from our world.” Odin explains, too tired for flowery speech. “He said that the process was taxing for him, and he could only do it twice. Once for us to leave, and once to return. He gave us a charm that would let us signal him to let him know when to reopen the portal. Selena kept it, because she did not trust us. Whether she didn’t trust us not to use it to leave her behind or not to die and lose it, she never said.”

“Yesterday, she told me that she was going home, asked if I was coming with her. I told her that I was not ready, asked her to wait.” Odin continues, pursing his lips. “She refused, told me that she was not going to wait until one of us is killed in this world like Laslow was. There were...harsh words exchanged, and it appears that she chose to leave without me.”

“Where is she going?” Xander asks. He does not want Odin to leave him too, but he cannot wish anyone trapped in a world they did not chose. “Could you catch up to her before she returns?”

“The place where the portal will open is a long way from here, but she had a head start.” Odin shakes his head. “Besides, I think we both knew that I didn’t really want to leave.”

Selena’s departure has a ripple effect, and for a time Camilla and Leo barely speak, Camilla unable to forgive Leo for Selena leaving her while Odin stayed. Odin, for his part, visits Xander even more often. With Selena gone and Laslow dead, Xander is the only person who Odin can talk to about his homeland.

“Selena and I were never bosom companions,” Odin says, resentment tinging his voice. “However, she was the only living soul who shares the firsthand knowledge of the glorious land of our birth.”

Odin begins to tell Xander more about Ylisse, although most of his stories involve Laslow. Odin tells him stories from their childhood together, from their adolescence, of their escape from a fallen world, of reuniting with versions of their parents who were not yet their parents. It is almost unbelievable, but Odin is a good storyteller, and Xander cannot help but be drawn in.

Xander notices that all of Odin’s stories conveniently omit Selena, but he does not bring it up.

On Laslow’s birthday, the first since his death, Odin and Xander shirk their duties for a full evening and pay tribute to Laslow in the ways of their homeland. In Nohr, it is customary to pour ale on the ground to honor fallen comrades who have returned to the earth, and Odin and Xander do so, pouring Laslow’s favorite ale from a nearby tavern into the earth in the far corner of the Nohrian gardens, where Odin tells him Laslow used to go to practice dancing.

In Ylisse, Odin tells him, every region has their own customs, but in the dark timeline that he and Laslow had been born into, he and his friends had created their own traditions to honor their dead parents, writing wishes and memories of the deceased on paper and setting it aflame. Odin invites Xander to join in, and Xander writes I’m sorry you did not get the chance to grow old. and I hope that you are smiling, wherever you are. Odin writes something in his native language and does not offer to translate.

They cast their slips into the fireplace in Xander’s chambers, and as the papers curl up and burn, Odin chants something softly in a language that Xander does not understand.

Afterwards, Odin translates an entry from Laslow’s diary for him. Odin rarely shares anything that Laslow wrote, but this is a special occasion, and he makes an exception, reading part of the entry that Laslow had written on his birthday the year prior.

It is so interesting to celebrate birthdays the Nohrian way. I feel as if I have grown quite accustomed (perhaps a bit too much so) to the Nohrian way of life, but celebrations always remind me of my past. It was very funny to see Odin confuse the lyrics to the Nohrian birthday song! We don’t sing any songs to celebrate birthdays in Ylisse, so of course he wouldn’t know them. Luckily, the Nohrians all think Odin is strange anyway, so he can get away with much more than I can and no one will think twice about it.

Even though I feel quite homesick thinking about the pastries mother used to make on my birthday back home, the day was quite nice overall. Xander gave me the day off from my duties, although the free time came with the stipulation that I spend it with him rather than going off to the tavern to “terrorize the local ladies,” in his words. He seemed rather awkward about it, which is endearing. I do not mind having to spend the day with him; in fact, it is a privilege. I can get rejected by women any time, but I do not often get the chance to spend time with my liege in that manner.

It appears that Xander did not think about what to do beyond spending time together, and he looked quite embarrassed when I brought it up. He is so proper and composed all the time, so it is quite rewarding to see him flustered! I have often wondered what he would look like if I tried one of my pick-up lines on him-as a joke, of course. But alas, as much as I long to see him blush, I do not think that would be a good idea.

But I am getting distracted. Since Xander seemed to have no plans, I asked him to teach me how to play chess. He seemed amazed that I did not know how, but I couldn’t tell him that we don’t have chess in my homeworld. Instead, I claimed that I don’t have a head for games and never learned, which is true. I am terrible at games, unlike Odin, the lucky bastard. Chess is not entirely dissimilar to some games we play back home, but I have always been abysmal at those too. I cannot say that I will ever be good at chess, but seeing Xander try to maintain his patience in the face of my ineptitude was quite touching.

After we played, Xander gave me some small gifts. My favorite among them is an earring that looks like the horn of an animal. Very few Nohrian men have pierced ears, so most of the earrings they sell here are very feminine. I can’t imagine how Xander came to acquire this one, because I’ve never seen anything like it. It is simple, but obviously high quality, and not to flatter myself, but I think it suits me quite well.

Xander also gave me another one of those hideous shirts that he claims are fashionable here in Nohr. If those are fashionable, then Nohr does not understand what fashion is. Of course I will wear it because it is a gift from my lord, but I may choose to wear it at a time when not many ladies are there to see me. I swear, sometimes I wonder if milord does not want me to have any success with the women of Nohr...

The only bad thing about the day is that it reminded me of how increasingly torn I have become. I miss my mother and father dearly, as well as my friends and companions back in Ylisse, but I feel more and more reluctant at the idea of parting with Nohr, and I must admit it is because I serve a fine liege. I suspect Odin and Selena feels the same way, although we have never discussed it. Well, I suspect Selena feels the same way; I know Odin does, given the intimate nature of his relationship with his liege and his fellow retainer.

Ha. It is funny that despite the nature of Odin’s relationship with his liege, I am still reluctant to let him know of the deep and growing fondness that I have for my own...

Odin closes the book and there are a million questions that Xander wants to ask, but he is afraid of some of the answers, so he chooses a safe one.

“Did Laslow refer to you as Odin even in his journal?”

“No,” Odin says. “But since I am relaying the tale, I have the right to call myself what I please. When I entered this world, I shed my old name and became Odin Dark, because I am consumed by the darkness inside my soul!”

“Sounds about right.” Xander says. “Does the darkness in your soul also command you to wear almost no clothes?”

"You are lucky that you are the king of Nohr. Most who dare to mock Odin Dark do not live to tell the tale!”

Xander laughs, and Odin joins in, and for a moment Xander almost imagines he can hear Laslow laughing with them.

That night Xander dreams of Laslow, and for once it is a good dream. Usually his dreams of Laslow are wrong somehow; if he looks like he did in life, his voice is unfamiliar. If his voice is familiar, his hair or his eyes are a different color. If everything else is right, then the way that dream-Laslow moves will be subtly wrong. Xander thinks that perhaps hearing Odin tell him things about Inigo may confuse him, every new piece of information revealing more about Inigo while obscuring something about Laslow. They are the same person, but sometimes it is hard to remember how they fit together. Xander finds that he is beginning to find it hard to picture Laslow as he was in life, and he fears that someday he will not be able to call up a memory of Laslow, will be left only with Odin’s stories.

But that night, that night Xander dreams of Laslow, wearing the shirt that Xander gave him, playing chess badly and laughing about it. In this dream Laslow does not die, and Xander does not want to wake up.

As months go by, Xander begins to finally adjust to being king of Nohr. His position no longer fits him loosely like his father’s coat did when he was a child playing dress-up; rather, it fits him as snugly as his armor and he wears it with as much confidence. It may not thrill him like the heat of battle, or fulfill him like leading his men into battle can, but he was born the crown prince of Nohr and with that came sacrifices that he did not choose to make; as with justice, he has come to terms with the realization that fulfillment is not for him.

The only part of kingship that does not eventually click into place is the fact that he only has one retainer. Xander had always anticipated that when he became king, it would be with Peri to his left and Laslow to his right. He feels Laslow’s loss as keenly as he felt his presence, and it knocks him off balance. When they first placed the crown on his head, the weight of it almost brought him to his knees.

When Xander first began to study swordplay at the tender young age of six, his teacher was a grizzled knight who was a veteran of one war and countless smaller skirmishes. He had lost his dominant right hand years ago, and rather than retiring he learned how to fight with his left and went on to defeat hundreds of men who had the advantage of two hands.

Xander, still too young to fully understand social conventions about what was acceptable to ask, had immediately peppered him with questions about what it was like to lose a limb.

“Does it hurt?” Xander asked, eyes wide. “Can I see the stump? Did you see the bone when it got cut off?”

“You ask too many questions, kid-...I mean, Prince.” The man had replied, gruff but patient, holding out his right arm to show Xander.

It was not much too look at, just skin and a long scar where they had sewn the wound together. Xander could not articulate why, but it made him uneasy, more because of what was not there than because of what was.

“To answer your other question, no, it doesn’t hurt much nowadays. Although it hurt like a b-...hurt like a dog when it happened.” He told Xander, shaking his head slightly. “But sometimes, when I first wake up or when I forget that it happened, I can feel my hand as if it’s still there. I can flex my fingers, I can make a fist, I can feel the cool morning air. It feels so real that sometimes I don’t remember that it’s gone until I try to pick something up. It hurts then, sometimes, but that may just be disappointment.”

It’s unsettling to see the distant look in the older man’s eyes, and Xander almost regrets asking.

He hadn’t been able to fully comprehend what the man was talking about back then, but now he thinks he understands. Sometimes when his mind is caught up elsewhere and too busy to feel the Laslow-shaped hold in his life, he forgets that Laslow is gone. He’ll find himself walking towards Laslow’s old chambers, a story that he wants to tell him fresh on his mind.

Of course, when he opens the doors, Laslow is not there. No one is there, because the rooms are meant for one of Xander’s retainers and Xander has not chosen a replacement, refuses to choose another retainer to fight and die for him.

Phantom limb pain is what his swordplay teacher had called the sensation he had described. Physically, Xander has all of his limbs, but he cannot shake the feeling of phantom Laslow pain.

He invokes the same comparison when Leo advises him to choose another retainer.

“Brother, I know that you still mourn Laslow, but you should take another retainer.” Leo tells him, eminently practical. “You’re the king of Nohr now, and it is customary to have two retainers, not to mention safer.”

“I appreciate your concern Leo, but this is not your choice to make.” He has only been king for a matter of weeks, but he has already perfected his royal decree voice, reasonable and utterly firm. “If Odin or Niles died, would you be able to replace them?”

“That is irrelevant, as they aren’t dead and I am not the king of Nohr. ” Leo sounds as indifferent as ever, but he looks unsettled. “Unless they are relevant to our kingdom, I do not deal in hypotheticals.”

Leo has never been able to admit that he is wrong, so Xander does not make him.

“If a person loses their right hand, the stump may heal but the hand never grows back.” Xander says. “Thank you for looking out for me, but I know what I am doing.”

Leo nods, and turns to go. Before he reaches the door, he hesitates, turns back to face Xander.

“Xander.” Leo starts, choosing his words carefully. “I hope you know that I am here for you, not as a prince supporting a king, but as a brother supporting a brother.”

Xander crosses the distance between them and embraces him. Leo tenses for a moment before returning the embrace and Xander realizes that it has been years since they last hugged.

Six months after the war, Xander receives an invitation delivered personally by Kaze to Ryoma’s wedding to Orochi. Xander knows marriages are supposed to be happy occasions, but he can’t help feeling like he should offer his condolences.

The wedding is big news in Hoshido, Kaze tells them, smile slightly pinched, and Ryoma hopes they they can all attend.

“That’s strange.” Camilla says as soon as Kaze leaves the room. “I’m almost certain that Orochi and Kagero are lovers. Or at least they were when we were fighting together.”

“It’s a political marriage.” Leo says. “Obviously.”

“Orochi is only the former retainer of his stepmother. What political benefit does marrying her have?” Camilla wonders.

“Ryoma is young and somewhat impulsive.” Xander reasons. “Orochi was Queen Mikoto’s retainer, and she was a much loved ruler. Perhaps the people of Hoshido feel that Orochi’s experience at court can help Ryoma mature and rule with wisdom.”

“Or maybe it’s just a cover-up for some illicit relationship that would ruin Ryoma if it got out.” Leo adds.

“Don’t be so cynical!” Elise scolds. “Maybe they’re in love. Marriage is a beautiful thing and we should celebrate that our friend is getting married.”

“Speaking of which, dear brother,” Camilla turns to Xander. “Have you considered when you are going to marry?”

“Never.” Xander says, voice surer than he feels.

Leo looks concerned. “Good luck with that, brother.” He says, halfway between skepticism and sincerity.

Political marriages are nothing unusual in Hoshido or Nohr, but Xander holds out the tiniest bit of hope that Ryoma is marrying for love. He and Orochi make a strange pair, but he desperately wants Ryoma to defy the everpresent specter of marriage as a political tool that’s been hanging over him since childhood.

The marriage is surprisingly soon, which only adds to Xander’s curiosity about the reason for their marriage. They have just enough time to arrange for adequate security both in Nohr and with the Nohrian siblings. Technically, they shouldn’t all leave Nohr at the same time, but none of them are willing to miss the wedding. (“Are you excited to see Takumi?” Elise asks Leo. “I anticipate that we will bicker constantly.” Leo smiles, wickedly. “I am looking forward to it immensely.”)

Traditionally, they should leave at least one of their retainers in Nohr in their stead, but none of the retainers really inspire confidence in the Nohrian people, so instead they Leave Gunter and an army of political advisors in charge and hope for the best.

It is strange to be back in Hoshido for the first time since Ryoma’s coronation. The country appears to be thriving, and Xander feels yet another pang of guilt about the devastation his father’s actions and his own compliance had wreaked upon Hoshido and its people.

Although he and Ryoma are very different people, they bonded during the war over their similar feelings of duty and pride as crown princes of their respective country, and Ryoma invites Xander to dine with him privately the night that they arrive.

They eat a simple meal in Ryoma’s quarters, which are spacious and painfully messy. They talk about life at their respective courts, commiserate about the boring political events they are forced to endure, and compare assassination attempts. Xander does not broach the topic of Ryoma’s impending marriage, waiting for Ryoma to bring it up, but Ryoma ever does.

Instead, Ryoma hits on the one topic that Xander does not want to discuss.

“Have you chosen another retainer yet?”

“No.” Xander says, hoping that will shut down the conversation.

It doesn’t.

“How are you coping with your loss? I cannot imagine running Hoshido without both Saizo and Kagero, without either of them I would be dead twice over.”

“So, are you looking forward to married life?” Xander changes the subject abruptly.

Ryoma looks uncomfortable. “Of course. Orochi is a fine woman and she will be a fine queen.”

Luckily, the awkward atmosphere is interrupted by Saizo entering.

“Milord,” He says, not sparing a single glance at Xander. “I apologize for interrupting, but the new archduke of Izumo has just arrived and is asking for you.”

“Thank you Saizo.” Ryoma glances at Xander apologetically. “I am sorry that our dinner must be cut short, and I hope that we can continue this conversation later. Saizo, could you bring me my gloves?”

“I already did, milord.”

Saizo procures the gloves, but instead of handing them to Ryoma, he puts them on Ryoma’s hands himself, handling them with a tenderness Xander did not think Saizo was capable of. Just before Saizo draws his hands away, Ryoma clasps them in his own, briefly, and Xander feels suddenly like he is intruding upon an intimate moment.

“Your marriage is a sham.” He finds himself saying.

Ryoma and Saizo tense as one, suddenly very aware that Xander is still in the room. Xander thinks that it must be his imagination, but he thinks he sees sparks crackling along Saizo’s skin.

Ryoma raises a hand, and Saizo steps back, crackling in the air subsiding.

“I thought that you, of all people, would understand.” Ryoma says, words hard.

“I thought that I would as well.” Xander replies. “Perhaps if Laslow were still alive, I would have.”

They stare at each other for several moments, no one moving.

Finally Xander breaks the silence. “I’m sorry, my friend. That was uncalled for. There is no shame in what you are doing, and it is not my place to judge. I let me personal injuries cloud my judgement.”

Ryoma relaxes, although Saizo remains taut as a bowstring. “Saizo, tell the archduke that I will be with him shortly.”

“Milord.” Saizo bows and disappears, but not before sharing an intense look with Ryoma.

“You’re right. My marriage is a sham, but what can I do?” Ryoma says. “Hoshido is in a more tenuous position than it has been for years, and many people still doubt my ability to rule. If I were to publicly take my retainer as a lover, it would throw the country into chaos. Hoshido is still a conservative country in many way.”

“I understand.” Xander begins, but Ryoma holds up a hand, silencing him.

“I feel the need to explain myself. Please.” He says. “Orochi is a close friend good choice for the queen due to her ties to Mikoto and her experience in court. She is also Kagero’s lover. I do not know how the castle is laid out in Nohr, but my retainers have chambers adjoining to mine. In public Orochi and I will be King and Queen, but in private we can return to our true partners.”

“Your statement cut me because it rang true. This marriage is a political arrangement, and I feel guilty for it because Saizo, Orochi, and Kagero are all making sacrifices for me.”

“And what of you?” Xander asks. “What of the sacrifice that you are making?”

“I never had a choice about whether to make that sacrifice.” Ryoma answers. “But the three of them did, and they chose to do so for me. I must honor their sacrifice by ruling Hoshido well, without resentment for my situation.”

“My friend,” Xander says. “I think you may have eclipsed me in wisdom.”

Ryoma laughs. “I wouldn’t go that far. Now, I must go speak with the archduke, but I hope to speak with you again later. Maybe we can steal some time to spar. I miss sparring against partners of your caliber.”

Xander smiles. “I look forward to it.”

Although Xander is now a king, he still finds his outlet on the battlefield. Logically speaking, the king of Nohr should not ride on the front lines with his men; to be sure, Garon never did. But Xander rationalizes that a good kind leads his men by example, on the battlefield and in the capitol. Besides, as long as at least one of the Nohrian siblings remain safely at court, there shouldn’t be a problem. He has three siblings for a reason, and if he did not get to swing his sword in a real battle from time to time, he might explode.

Battles are the only time that Xander can pretend that he is simply Xander and not the king of Nohr, and he treasures them accordingly. To be fair, he is conflicted about the fact that he feels the most at ease when his actions are taking the lives of others, but at this point, he has so much baggage that he could unpack but chooses not to that adding a little bit more is no big deal.

This time it is a group of mercenaries who have been trying to incite a peasant rebellion in the south of Nohr. Xander dislikes peasant rebellions the most, because more often than not the rebels have a reason for their discontent, and he feels guilty for striking them down. He has tried diplomacy several times, but every time it has failed. Perhaps it is Garon’s legacy haunting him, as Garon had given the common people no cause to trust the word of a king, or perhaps it is Xander’s own failings. Regardless, the fact remains that words had failed and they had chosen to resort to raising their weapons against their own people.

Even in a battle like this, where Xander knows their cause is unjust, he cannot help but feel as if he can think more clearly than he can at any other time. The mercenary group is strong, and fighting them is a worthy challenge. If Xander frees his mind from the circumstances of their battle, it is simply exhilarating. It is an art form, leaving your cares behind, and Xander has worked to perfect it. As he rides, he narrows his focus, until only his sword, his horse, and his target remain in his view. And it works; he is a terror on the battlefield, not because he is the king of Nohr, but because he is a skilled swordsman in his own right, and much more fearless than he has any right to be. He cuts a swathe through their ranks, Peri carving out a parallel line, gleeful in her bloodlust.

Suddenly, Xander sees a ghost.

Most of the mercenaries have fallen or fled, but one of the ones who remain fights in a familiar style, light glinting off a sword he thought he’d never see again.

Xander’s brain continues to operate on autopilot, but rather than bear down on this man with his sword, he finds himself lowering Seigfried as he races towards the man, dismounting to get a closer look.

The man’s eyes widen as Xander rushes towards him and he barely has time to lower his sword before Xander is upon him, crushing him in a hard embrace. The point of Laslow’s sword nicks his thigh, and Xander welcomes the pain because it means that he is not dreaming.

“Laslow!” Xander exclaims, voice hoarse. “I thought you were dead.”

Still shocked, Laslow tentatively puts his arms around Xander in return. “For a while, I thought I was too.”

Xander pulls back, hands on Laslow’s arms, inspecting his face to ensure that it is real. “Laslow, Inigo, how did you survive? What are you doing now? Why didn’t you come back to me? I mean, back to the capital”

Laslow answers with a question of his own. “What did you just call me?”

Xander is confused for a moment. He has become so used to Laslow being dead, of calling him Laslow and Inigo and speaking freely about him because he is not there to object that he did not realize that he had used two names. “What?”

“Milord. You called me Inigo.” Laslow grips Xander’s biceps hard, scared without knowing exactly why.

“Oh. So I did. I apologize Laslow, I was just so shocked to see you...alive.” Xander pauses for a moment, caught up in staring at Laslow’s face, feeling his skin under his hands, warm and very much alive. “We can talk about everything back in the capital.”

Laslow would like nothing more than to return with Xander, to never leave Xander’s side, but he finds himself saying. “Milord, I am under contract.”

“With this mercenary group?” When Laslow nods, Xander chuckles darkly. “Laslow, I believe that Peri is releasing you from your contract right now.”

Laslow looks around, suddenly aware of the bloodshed happening around their reunion. Almost all of mercenaries are dead or gone, the few remaining about to be dispatched by the Nohrian forces. Laslow should feel grief at the deaths of his recent travelling companions, but all he can do is sag into Xander’s arms.

Xander holds him upright, arms tightening around him in concern. “Laslow, are you alright?”

Laslow nods weakly, into Xander’s chest. “I am now, milord.”

Xander’s brain is a mess and his heart is threatening to jump out of his chest, but he manages to get himself and Laslow onto his horse and return to the rest of the Nohrian forces. Laslow appears to be almost in shock, and Xander feels almost the same, still not entirely convinced that this is not an apparition.

“You’re not dead.” He finds himself repeating. “You’re not dead, Laslow.”

“No,” Laslow says. “At least, not last time I checked.”

When they reach the main forces, they are quickly surrounded by Nohrian soldiers who are confused about why their king dismounted and embraced an enemy soldier. Many of them recognize Laslow, and murmurs of shock and confusion run through the ranks.

“Enough.” Xander says, raising his voice and using his most regal tone. “Now is not the time for gossip. Now is the time to set up camp, and tomorrow we will return to the palace.”

His men quickly set about erecting tents and unpacking supplies, but the air of curiosity remains. Xander keeps Laslow by his side as he oversees their work, hand resting lightly on his back as if to reassure himself that Laslow will not disappear.

When Xander’s tent is set up, he pulls Laslow inside and sets about lighting a fire, struggling to light the kindling as he struggles to figure out what to say. He’s spent over a year now talking to and about Laslow in his head, and yet now with Laslow here, he feels as if he is talking to a stranger.

The kindling catches and Xander seats himself on the ground next to Laslow. He tries to start a sentence three times, before finally managing a, “How?”

“Well,” Laslow begins, and the voice is so familiar that Xander almost cries. “It turns out that the bottomless canyon is not the only canyon that does not kill the people who fall into it. I still don’t know exactly what happened when I fell, only that I came to in a strange and distant part of Valla, badly injured and completely lost.”

“I probably would have died of blood loss if a travelling merchant had not happened to find me. He took me back to his village and I spent months there recovering. It seems that the arrow that hit me had some sort of poison on it. I did not die, but I was wracked with fever for weeks and very weak for weeks after that. I spent days on a cot, hallucinating and, it appeared to the Vallites, speaking in tongues.” Laslow pauses. “You called me Inigo, so I’m assuming that you know that I’m originally from somewhere much further than I claimed, and we speak a different language there.”

Xander nods. “Odin told me.”

“I guessed as much. I suppose I’m glad, because that means I don’t have to figure out how to tell you I’m from another world.” Laslow continues his story. “I spent several more months in Valla, working as a mercenary to repay my debt to the family who took care of me when I was sick and to save money to journey back to Nohr. Unfortunately, most Vallites don’t know how to leave Valla, and it took quite some effort to figure out how to return. I eventually found my way back aboveground, but at a place very far away from the Nohrian capital, so I joined up with this mercenary group to earn money and travel in the right direction. I was trying to make my way back to you, milord, but I did not expect that our meeting would be on the battlefield.”

“Neither did I, Laslow.” Xander says, unconsciously moving closer to Laslow. “But I also did not expect to meet you at all.”

“I hope that it was a good surprise?” Laslow’s voice is teasing, but also just the slightest bit uncertain, as if he is unsure how to behave around Xander.

“Of course it is, it’s just...” Xander pauses, trying to think of how to say what he is thinking. “You don’t know how long I have grieved for you, Laslow. I do not blame you for it, but I wish that I had been spared that grief.”

“I’m sorry.” Laslow says. “I wish you had been as well.”

“There is nothing that you need to apologize for.” Xander says. “As long as you do not die on me again now that I have you back.”

“I don’t plan on it.” Laslow says. “So tell me, milord. What has happened in my absence?”

“Well, obviously, I am the king of Nohr. The kingdom is at peace, relatively speaking. Odin and I are friends now, and he’s told me several embarrassing stories about your childhood. Selena has disappeared and Camilla has not chosen another retainer.” Xander looks at Laslow. “I have not chosen a new retainer either.”

“Milord, are...” Laslow hesitates. “Are you married?”

“No.” Xander says. “I remain entirely unmarried.”

“Good.” Laslow says.

Xander raises an eyebrow and Laslow trips over his words. “I mean, it would be strange if you were married because that would be a big difference! I am glad to see the world has only changed but so much in my absence.”

Xander thinks, but does not say, that his world had changed, but it has changed around Laslow’s absence, the future reshaping itself around the hole in his life that Laslow had occupied.

They have an extra tent, several extra tents, but Xander does not mention them and Laslow does not ask. Laslow sleeps in Xander’s bedroll and Xander lies in the extra bedroll, not sleeping because he feels too full, and is halfway convinced that if he falls asleep Laslow will not be there when he wakes up.

Laslow is there when he wakes up. He is there to say good morning and there when they eat a quick breakfast together, there to help Xander pack up his tent. Evidence would suggest that he is not, in fact, going to disappear again, but Xander is not taking any chances.

“I don’t think you’ve let Laslow out of your sight since he came back.” Peri tells them, still ecstatic about his reappearance.

“Had I?” Xander says, ignoring Laslow’s curious look. “I hadn’t noticed.”

He had noticed, and he does not plan to let Laslow out of his sight. Luckily, Laslow seems to have the same idea, and he trails Xander like a shadow, does not protest when Xander suggests they share a horse on the ride back to the castle.

As they ride, Xander is torn between wanting to say everything and not knowing what to say, and he falls somewhere in the middle, asking questions seemingly out of nowhere.

“Laslow.” He says, trying to sound casual despite the thick tension that has been in the air since he first saw Laslow. “Why did you come back?”

“At first,” Laslow sighs, and Xander feels it where Laslow’s back is pressed against his chest. “I was not sure that I would. I always knew I had to choose between who would mourn my loss: my family in Ylisse or my comrades in Nohr. My apparent death seemed to make that decision for me, as you were already under the assumption that I was dead.”

“When I finally left Valla, I traveled first to the place where Odin, Selena, and I planned to meet to return to our world. As luck would have it, I ran into Selena.”

“How was she?” Xander asks. “Did she realize that she broke my sister’s heart?”

Laslow nods. “She knows, and it broke her own heart as well.”

“Then why did she leave?” Xander has never understood Selena, and he does not expect that he will start now, but he owes it to Camilla to ask.

“Selena is...complicated. She felt that it was her duty to return home, and sacrificing her own feelings to do so would prove her worth. I think she also believed that if she stayed, Camilla would have eventually gotten tired of her, but if she leaved, Camilla would never forget her.” Laslow shakes his head. “Selena has always had strange ideas about the workings of the human heart.”

“Odin told me that he and Selena fought before she left, because he refused to go with her.”

“Yes. She was angry because he made the choice that she wished she could make, and in doing so, left her to bear the burden of returning with bad news alone. But by the time I found her, her anger had burned itself out.”

“And you,” Xander pauses, presses on. “you planned to go with her?”

“Yes.” Laslow says. “If I was already presumed dead in Nohr, I thought it would be simpler, and that I would not have to make the choice that weighed so heavily on Selena and Odin. But then Selena told me how deeply my death had affected you. She said that you had not chosen a new retainer, and although you were a good king, it seemed as if some part of you had been taken away.”

Laslow sounds tentative, afraid that Xander is going to deny it.

Xander does not. “She spoke truly.”

“Well,” Laslow pauses to gather his thoughts. “faced with the final chance to make my own decision, I found myself unable to go, unable to...leave you.”

Xander says nothing, tightens his arms around Laslow’s waist.

“Selena agreed to tell Odin’s and my parents that we were alive and well, working in the service of noble masters. And I turned away from one home and headed towards another.”

“Thank you.” Xander says, not specifying what he is thanking Laslow for because there are too many things.

The tension leaves Laslow’s shoulders and they ride in silence the rest of the way.

When they return, his siblings are waiting to welcome him home with their retainers. They have barely ridden into view when they hear a great booming shout and see a figure racing towards him.

“Odin!” Laslow shouts in return, and Xander urges the horse forward to meet them.

As soon as Laslow dismounts, Odin flies at him, knocking him to the ground in a fierce embrace.

“In- Laslow of the indigo skies!” Odin exclaims, “I have always thought I was the chosen one, but it is you who have returned from the cold embrace of death! You are truly the chosen one!”

In a quieter voice, he adds, “I missed you, buddy.”

“I missed you too, Odin.” Laslow says, smiling so wide it looks like his face might break.

Murmurs of astonishment and excitement come from the onlookers, and Xander looks up just in time to see Camilla’s eyes flash as she turns away and walks into the castle, Beruka on her heels.

It stings, but Xander does not blame her. He has regained a retainer he thought he had lost, and she had lost a retainer she thought she would always have. As with all wounds, it will heal with time.

The rest of the day is a whirlwind of excitement and joyous reunions. Elise cajoles the chefs into cooking an impromptu feast in Laslow’s honor, and Xander only just manages to talk her out of holding an impromptu ball.

The majority of the castle gets incredibly drunk at dinner, and just as Odin begins another one of his stories of valor and achievement, Laslow tugs on Xander’s sleeve and asks if they can slip away. Xander, relieved, agrees.

The combination of the readily flowing alcohol and Odin’s antics mean that almost no one notices them leave, save Leo, who nods his approval.

They return to Xander’s chambers and Xander is suddenly very aware that he has no plan and is no idea what is going on. He is saved from having to figure it out when he notices Laslow staring at the corner of his room that has been devoted to Laslow’s belongings since his “death.”

“You kept my things.” Laslow says, looking surprised.

“I did.” Xander says, embarrassed. “Although I thought you were dead, but I could not bear to dispose of your belongings, so I kept them in my chambers. I apologize for the invasion of your privacy.”

“There is nothing to apologize for, Milord.” Laslow says, smiling. “As long as I can have them back now that I am alive again.”

“Of course.”

Laslow walks over to inspect his things, sifting through the clothing and trinkets.

“Milord,” Laslow says, concerned. “Did there happen to be a book with my belongings?”

“Ah.” Xander replies, reluctant to give him the answer. “Yes. I may have given that to Odin. I could not read it anyway and he was very insistent.”

Laslow peers at him, assessing whether he is telling the truth. “Very well, I will have to take it up with him in that case. Did he happen to translate any of it for you?”

“Almost none.” Xander reassures him. “Only a small part about how ugly the shirt I gave you for your birthday was.”

Laslow flushes. “Ah, well. I may have been exaggerating slightly. It’s a very nice shirt.”

“Nohrians are not known for their fashion sense, Laslow.” Xander says, amused. “I am not offended.”

Laslow continues to take stock of his belongings, comes upon the half-empty bottle of cologne. “Milord, do you know why my cologne appears to have been used?”

“I have no idea.” Xander lies, utterly unconvincing.

Laslow laughs merrily, pulls out something black and shimmery.

“Oh.” He gasps. “You have my dancer’s outfit.”

“Yes.” Xander says. “To be honest, I did not realize it was yours at first, but Odin told me it was typical for male dancers in your homeland. He said that he has never seen you wear it though, and has never seen you dance.”

“Nobody in this world has ever seen me dance, and very few in my home world.” Laslow says, staring transfixed at the fabric.

“May I see?” The words are out of Xander’s mouth before he can think them through, and he immediately wishes he could take them back.

Laslow jerks his gaze from the clothes to Xander’s face, shocked. “What?”

“I’m sorry Laslow, I know that dancing is very personal to you, I did not mean to make you uncomfortable by asking you to share that with me.” Xander desperately tries to backpedal. “I apologize for the request; it was rash, and you may disregard it.”

“No.” Laslow shakes his head, suddenly determined. “No, I want to show you. Wait here.”

Laslow disappears into Xander’s washroom and Xander is suddenly filled with anticipation, excitement, fear, and a feeling that he cannot name.

After a few minutes, Laslow emerges, hands twitching as if it is an effort not to cover himself and Xander drinks him in. He is a beautiful sight; the softness of the outfit accentuates his slender lines without taking away from his strength. The fact that the outfit is revealing highlights the tones muscles of his arms and chest, and Xander is utterly transfixed.

“There was an earring that went with it.” Laslow says, fidgeting. “But I couldn’t find it.”

Xander is not sure he remembers what an earring is, his entire mind filled with nothing but Laslow. “Even without it, you look...” He pauses, searching for the right word. “ravishing.” He finishes, and Laslow’s blush spreads from his cheeks down to his neck.

“Thank you, milord.” Laslow says. “Ummm, I usually dance without music, if that is alright with you?”

Xander sits on the edge of his bed, unable to take his eyes off Laslow. “Whatever makes you most comfortable.”

“Well, I’d be most comfortable if you closed your eyes, but I suppose that would defeat the purpose.” Laslow laughs nervously. “Ok. Here I go.”

He starts moving slowly, the only sound his footfalls on Xander’s floor and the swishing of the fabric. His style of dancing is unlike any dancers Xander has seen from Nohr, Cyrkensia, Hoshido, or anywhere else on the continent. He barely notices that there is no music, mesmerized by every spin and twirl.

Like his costume, Laslow’s dancing combines his softness and his strength, and as he watches, Xander feels like he is seeing Laslow clearly for the first time, all the things he knows and has learned about Laslow and Inigo falling into place with every flick of Laslow’s wrists. As Laslow dances, he feels a fierce surge of protectiveness and pride and love for the man in front of him, strong enough to take his breath away.

Laslow finishes his dance, standing in his final pose in the middle of Xander’s floor, breathing hard and utterly vulnerable as the confidence he had while dancing flows out of him, replaced by nervous hope.

“What,” Laslow stops, catches his breath. “What did you think?”

As if he is not in full possession of his own body, Xander rises, crosses the distance between them in two large steps, cups Laslow’s cheeks with his hands, feeling the heat of his blush under his palms.

“You,” Xander says, voice rough and low. “are the most beautiful thing I have ever laid eyes on.”

Laslow’s breath hitches, any reply he might have given silenced as Xander kisses him with all the force of a tidal wave.

Laslow kisses back, clinging to Xander like he is a lifeline, like he is afraid that this is a dream that he is about to wake up from.

“Why me?” Laslow manages between kisses, as Xander pulls him back onto the bed.

“Because,” Xander starts, pauses to kiss Laslow again, long and deep. “Losing you showed me that you are the one person I cannot bear to lose.”

“You never will.” Laslow promises, rashly and earnestly, and kisses him again.

Xander does not know how long they kiss, because there is too much kissing to do to waste time with thinking. He kisses Laslow’s forehead, his nose, his neck, and when Laslow laughs at how that tickles, he kisses the dimples that appear before moving back to his lips. Xander thinks, recklessly, that he could kiss Laslow for hundreds of years, one year for every day that he thought Laslow was dead, and still not grow tired of it.

Laslow’s hands reach for his shirt buttons and he asks, “May I?”

Xander nods permission and Laslow divests him of his shirt in record time, running his hands over Xander’s chest and abs with an air of almost reverence.

In their questing, Laslow’s hands find Xander’s necklaces. “Is this my earring?” He whispers in Xander’s ear, lips brushing his ear with every word.

“Yes,” Xander says, too giddy to be embarrassed, helping Laslow shrug off his vest. “I wore it to keep your memory close to my heart. Do you want it back?”

“No,” Laslow says, running his finger over the earring and the skin underneath, cool metal contrasting with warm flesh. “I like the thought of you keeping me close.”

“I fully intend to keep you,” Xander pulls Laslow down so he is lying on top of him, steals another kiss, “incredibly close from this point on. And when I do give you a ring, I want it to be special, not me returning your own earring to you.”

Laslow props himself up with his arms, looking down at Xander. “Milord, you take my breath away.”

Laslow’s bangs fall into his eyes and Xander reaches up, gently pushes them back. “Call me Xander, Laslow.”

“Xander,” Laslow breathes softly. “You take my breath away.”

Laslow leans down to kiss him again and Xander flips him onto his back, kisses a line down his chest and loses himself in Laslow’s quiet gasps and soft hands tangled in his hair.

Later, when they are lying together, naked and satiated, Laslow nestled in the crook of Xander’s arm, Laslow asks, in a small voice. “Do you want me to leave now? I can go back to my own chambers.”

Xander looks at Laslow in disbelief, pull him closer. “Laslow, I do not want you to leave ever.”

“Oh? Truly?” Laslow’s hair is a mess, voice hoarse and pupils blown, and he is the most beautiful thing Xander has ever laid eyes on.

“I told you once that it is not your company I require. Only that you continue to draw breath.” Xander says. “I still do not require your company, but I must admit that selfishly, my greatest desire is that you never leave my side again.”

“In that case,” Laslow says, lazily curling his fingers around the earring lying on Xander’s chest. “I assure you that I never will.”

#xanlow exchange 2017 #xanlow #xanlas #fire emblem #fire emblem fates #fe fates #fe fic #my fic #xander #laslow

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