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delimeful · 3 years ago

Text

Snapshot: Release

new WIBAR Snapshot!

warnings: mention of trafficking, PTSD, mentions of funeral rites, catharsis, crying, sad hours

Patton liked to think himself an optimist, but even he could admit that there were some days where things were bad.

He didn’t like to, of course. Gratitude was a virtue in Ampen culture, and he had carried it with him gladly when he first started spacefaring. It was easy, most days, to find something to be grateful for and thank the sea’s tidings.

Most days.

Though it had taken time, Patton had learned to loosen his grip on the idea of the foam edge, the bright side to a bad situation. He still found the cup half-full, of course, but he also knew that sometimes things were hard, and it was okay to be sad about that.

He was still getting to the part where he told others when he was sad, but that was okay! He was working on it, and as Logan always said, growth took time.

A few rotations after Virgil and him were reunited with his best friends, Virgil had one of those days.

It had started innocuously enough. Patton had been sprawled over Virgil’s legs, continuing his not-so-secret agenda to show Roman and Logan exactly what kind of Human Virgil was. Not harmless, certainly, but-- what was the Common word? Disciplined.

They both knew how easily Virgil could hurt him, could hurt any of them. Patton had been there watching while they escaped, when Virgil slammed into aliens much stronger than an Ampen with unforgiving force. There was no question of his capability for violence, when faced with a threat.

But that was just it. Virgil knew he could hurt them, even through simple carelessness, and he worked so hard not to.

It was clear in every movement. How could Patton feel the subtle tremor in Virgil’s hands when he held him, the attentive stillness of his body when Patton perched on him, the careful softness of his fingers carding through feathers, and feel anything but treasured?

Virgil had protected Patton with everything he had, and Patton was going to return the favor however he could. That’s what friends were for, after all.

So, Patton was nestled into the crook of Virgil’s legs, listening intently as he told a story from back home, occasionally piping in with questions or a story of his own.

Logan would have metaphorically killed for the opportunity to even just listen in on these firsthand Deathworlder anecdotes, but Virgil was still avoiding the Ulgorian with skillful determination. It was a little saddening, but Patton knew better than to push.

Everything was still settling down from their last incident; he didn’t want to disrupt the delicate balance again by shoving Virgil out of his comfort zone.

Instead, he just listened, happy to see the little differences that had overcome his friend since they’d finally gotten free of that horrible cell.

This was far from the first time they’d sat around storytelling.

There was little else to do in their cell, and besides, it was one of the fastest ways to share words, telling tales tall and small and only pausing whenever a word didn’t quite translate or their voices went out. Back then, though, Virgil had shared his stories with an almost bittersweet air about him.

It reminded Patton of the way Crav’n held wakes, long stretches of time spent gathered around their pyre, sharing stories, remembering and honoring the deceased in every way they could. It was as though Virgil was giving up those little pieces of himself in advance, for someone to remember after he was gone. As though he was performing his own funerary rites.

His coatfeathers fluffed up sharply at the thought, and he shuddered a few times to try and settle them back into place. That time was past, Virgil was safe, and so it bore no further thought.

Unaware of the way Patton’s attention had strayed, Virgil ran a hand over his back, shifting feathers back into alignment with surprising delicacy for such a large being. Patton trilled lowly in pleased gratitude, wishing wholeheartedly that Roman would stop glaring long enough to notice this aspect of the Mindscape’s newest resident. They could get along so well if they gave each other a chance, he just knew it…

“Hey, Patton?” Virgil asked, shifting from the bright, long vowels of Patton’s native language to the lower register he used for his own home tongue. Patton perked his antennae up to show his friend that he had his undivided attention; Virgil usually only used English when he was asking something he didn’t want anyone else to overhear.

Nobody was nearby to listen, but that didn’t stop Virgil from casting a guilty look over his shoulder when he admitted, “I snuck into the map room yesterday.”

The ‘map room’ must have been referring to the nav room, where they plotted courses. It had a manual pilot control station as well, which was why Roman had been safeguarding it from Virgil as though he thought the Human would suddenly take up space piracy and seize control of their vessel.

Patton certainly didn’t have any problem with trusting Virgil in there, so he didn’t even twitch at the confession, only narrowing his eyes in silent encouragement for his friend to continue.

Just as Patton no longer shied away from bared teeth, Virgil no longer assumed narrowed eyes signified anger or doubt. He had picked up on a fair amount of Ampen body language during the course of their friendship, and so his lips quirked to the side slightly before he took the invitation to explain.

“I just wanted to know where we were, I guess. It was difficult to make sense of the maps-- It’s not like I’ve had a lot of opportunities to check them out on any of the other ships I’ve been on,” he said, and only the way his eyes rolled up slightly told Patton he was mostly-joking, the hesitant way he did sometimes.

Patton knew their time spent with the smugglers was something everyone on the ship would prefer to forget, including them, but things like that changed a person. They couldn’t be denied. If small, slightly-bitter jokes like this one were how Virgil honored that change, Patton could support it.

“I’d be mappalled with their terrible hosting skills, if I were you,” he chimed in, and he couldn’t help the way his feathers’ glow increased at the sight of Virgil’s smile, even muffled behind a hand. “Do you want to learn how to read the maps?”

“Yes,” Virgil answered, unable to conceal the too-quick way he leapt on the opportunity. There was a pause, his face going slightly pink, but Patton didn’t comment, feeling a swell of sympathy in his upper heart. It was hard to remember sometimes, with how adjusted Patton was to the wayfarer lifestyle, that Virgil was immeasurably far from everything he’d ever known.

“I mean, yeah,” he corrected, clearing his throat in a way that Patton had once mistaken for a growl, “but that’s not actually-- I was trying to see if I could recognize anything. Any stars, or-- or planets, y’know?”

He was avoiding eye contact now, staring at a distant point. He hadn’t moved his hand, which meant that Patton could feel the tremble in it when he butted his head into the point of contact. He crooned soothingly, the type of sound a parent would use to soothe a hatchling.

“I, um. Well, I figured if I knew how far it was, I could figure out how much it would cost to make that sort of…,” he fumbled for a word Patton would know, slipping back into Common for a few words, “extra trip. But I couldn’t find anything familiar. So, I... I thought I’d ask. Like I probably should have in the first place.”

Patton waited, but that seemed to be all Virgil could manage. “Ask what?” he prompted gently. “Space is big, but if there’s certain skysights you miss, I’m sure we can get started on finding them! What are you looking for?”

Virgil’s attention dropped down to him and then flitted away again, not a single sign that he’d even heard Patton’s pun. He clenched and unclenched his fists, and then dragged his gaze back to meet Patton’s.

“... Earth?” he managed, in one of the smallest voices Patton had ever heard from him.

Oh.

Patton’s antennae flicked back in dread before he could stop them, and Virgil’s face twitched slightly, making an expression that he’d never seen before. His chin had dimpled, his jaw clenched, tense as though waiting for a blow.

Waiting for Patton to tell him he couldn’t go home.

This wasn’t the first time he’d thought about it, Patton realized. Far from it, it seemed as though Virgil had been cradling this question like an egg surrounded by downy feathers, keeping it tucked away, waiting desperately to be secure enough, safe enough to ask. To try hoping for a future again.

He was so afraid to want, and Patton couldn’t help but whine slightly, because this time, he was right to fear the worst.

They couldn’t go to Earth. Patton knew, because it was the first thing he’d talked to Roman and Logan about, that first day, as soon as Virgil had retired to his new room.

It wasn’t a matter of should or would. They couldn’t, not even if they all agreed to try, not even if they were willing to go directly against the council’s edicts. They didn’t have the equipment to get past the barricade undetected, they didn’t have the knowledge to slip between patrols, they didn’t even have the cloaking capabilities they’d need to land on an uninformed planet. They didn’t have enough funds to try and obtain any of those.

Honestly, they were barely scraping by as it was. Roman and Logan had halted their normal cargo runs to search for him, and their savings had suffered as a result. It was part of the reason they had been taking more jobs, any they could find that wouldn’t put them in the sights of any potential Human-hunters.

He’d done his best to shield Virgil from realizing just how much his presence had changed their routine, but going by the way he thought he’d have to pay them just to get back to a home he never should have been stolen from in the first place, he hadn’t been successful.

Patton glanced to the door with a half-formed desire to go get Logan, who had patiently walked Patton through every possible scenario until it sunk in that they really, truly couldn’t do it.

It wasn’t fair. Patton had chosen this life, and he could still go home, and see his family, and greet the ocean breeze. Virgil hadn’t had a choice in anything, hadn’t had the freedom that spacefaring brought so many, and now he didn’t have the option to return home, either.

“It’s not— I don’t want to leave you,” Virgil forced out, looking a little frantic. “I mean, we’re friends, right?”

He used the Ampen version of the word, the one that translated literally to ‘treasured one’, and could be used by any who had bonded closely, blood or nest-sharing aside. Patton nodded firmly, mouth clamped shut to keep from sobbing.

“Right,” Virgil continued, near-pleading, “so it’s not you, I promise, and I can find a way to pay back my debts, I know Roman wants me gone and Logan wants s-samples, and I can do that. It’s fine, it’s worth it, just… I miss home. So bad. Even the parts I used to hate.”

“I’m sorry,” Patton said in the most honorable way he had, the low, agonized call of I repent and I regret. “If we could— I promise we would, Virgil. It’s not your fault, you have no debts here. You deserve to go home.”

Virgil’s face was miserable to even witness, the way faltering hope had been crushed under the weight of his worst suspicions being confirmed. Patton reached for him automatically, his attempts to comfort his friend coming out as a soft empathetic cry instead, and that wounded sound was all it took for Virgil’s self-control to finally break.

He crumpled all at once, a breezecatcher with its tether cut, crashing to the sand below. The top of his head butted gently against Patton’s side, a mirror of the way Patton so often sought comfort from him, and he began to cry in earnest, as though releasing months of built-up misery.

Disciplined, Patton remembered with a pang of bitter sorrow, and let his Deathworlder finally weep for everything that had been taken from him.

#sanders sides #sanders sides fic #humans are deathworlders #humans are space orcs #wibar #wibar snapshots #ws #ts virgil #ts patton #platonic moxiety #writing #my writing #release #angst

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luna-writes-stuff · 3 years ago

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Hello! I had an idea for a request! For Thorin X Wife Reader! He’s been gone for a while and comes back to his wife? ♥️♥️

Away for too long, Thorin Oakenshield

Headcanons, female s/o

Tw: bit of angst, but mostly fluff, not proofread. One use of Y/N though,,,im sorry.

- I’m just going to say it; Thorin is a big softie.

- He’s just like Dwalin; he might look intimidating and dark, but once you hold a place close to his heart, he’ll treasure you forever.

- So being away from you has always been difficult on him. Even after your years of marriage, he could not manage a day without writing you a letter every night.

- And he knew ravens wouldn’t reach you within one night, but it didn’t stop him from sending the letters.

- Usually, Thorin would be back within a fortnight, yet now, he had to leave for an important dwarven council, something that left his presence missing for nearly two months.

- Every night you had stayed up, waiting for his letters, but soon they grew lesser. Thorin had warned you about it in one of his earlier messages. The council kept him busy, leaving him nearly incapable of writing to you. And you had insisted his own sleep and health had been a bit more important than keeping in contact with you. You knew Thorin would think of you regardless, and it was what kept you calm.

- But it had been ten days and no letter had arrived at your home. You couldn’t help but worry. Two days without letter? Sure. But ten? That was nothing like Thorin.

- You had even gone to Dis, trying to figure what had been wrong, but all she did was tell you it would be fine and that Thorin would always come back.

- But words didn’t stop the anxious thoughts from keeping you up. You hadn’t gotten a full nights rest in four days, only dealing with two/three hour naps a day. And it was starting to wear on you.

- You showed yourself less, didn’t bother to make an elaborate dinner every night, you even stopped visiting Dis.

- One night, you had tried to bring yourself to read something. Anything to keep your mind off of your anxiety. And although it had been difficult to start, you had already read three full chapters, so you figured you did well.

- But then that dreadful knock came at the door. A million thoughts swam through your head. Was it Thorin? No, he would’ve written. Perhaps it was Dis to check up on you? But that would only make you feel worse. Maybe it was someone to tell you ill news of Thorin.

- That last thought made your heart skip a beat. Would you open up, you’d have to deal with it. You stopped right in front of the door, trying to decide on whether to walk away or open up.

- “Amrâlîme?” You suddenly heard from the other side of the door. Before your brain could even comprehend it, you flung the door open, launching yourself into Thorin’s arms. His scent had became less known, but you knew it was him. The chuckle that left his lips couldn’t be anyone else.

- But then you stepped back, looking up to face your husband. Your hand shapely collided with his cheek.

- “Why didn’t you write?” You questioned, leaving him standing there in the doorway.

- “Ghivashel-“ Thorin tried to soothe, but you interrupted him. “I have been worried sick! Three days no writing? I understand that,” “Y/N, please-“ “but ten days is too much, Thorin!”

- His words died in his mouth. Instead, he dropped his bag, walking back up to you before enclosing his arms around you once again.

- “I’m so sorry. I know I should’ve written, but I was allowed to travel back earlier, so I figured I’d surprise you.” He mumbled against your hair, his thumbs gently brushing on the side of your hips. Your head rested on his chest as you held onto his arms, letting your anger go.

- “I haven’t slept in four days, Thorin. You had me worried beyond relief.” You confessed, breaking the distance a little, looking up at him while his hands still rested on your hips.

- “Don’t do it again.” You commanded, grabbing one of his hands before placing a soft kiss against it.

- As Thorin walked inside, you threw his bag on the couch before walking up the stairs, finally ready to catch some deserved rest.

- “You can unpack tomorrow. I’m exhausted, so we’re going to sleep.” You spoke, nudging your head towards the staircase, ushering Thorin to come with you.

- “You’re tired so we must sleep?” He repeated with a grin, following you nonetheless.

- “You signed up for this when we married. Now get your ass in bed. We’ll clean you up tomorrow. If I don’t go to sleep now, I’ll pass out.” You claimed, nestling yourself between your blankets, your night robe having already found its way around your body for a few hours.

- Thorin let out a hun of appreciation before quickly shedding his clothes and putting on something a bit more comfortable. As he climbed in behind you, you turned around, showing him a tiny smile.

- “I am glad you’re back. Though I won’t let you leave for stupid royal things without me again.” Instead of a verbal answer, Thorin merely responded with a grin, gently grabbing your chin before finally colliding his lips with yours in a soft, yet lingering kiss.

- “Wouldn’t dare to dream of it.” He mused, his lips still against yours, yet no longer kissing you. Instead, he wrapped his arms around your back, bringing you closer to him. Your head rested upon his chest once again, finally hearing the familiar rhythm of his heart beating.

- Your hands found their way on his shirt, clinging onto it as your legs intertwined with yours.

- Before long, your eyes started to close, sleep finally overtaking you. The last thing you could remember was the feeling of Thorin’s fingers finding their way into your hair, grabbing three strokes before braiding it all together, a feeling you had truly missed.

- If there’s one thing you should know about Thorin, it is the fact that he’s a man of his word. He promised he won’t leave you alone for such a long time and he won’t do it. You’re his to treasure and if you tell him to not stay away for months, he won’t.

#thorin #thorin oakenshield #tolkien #lord of the rings #the hobbit #the company #the company of thorin oakenshield #thorin x reader #thorin oakenshield x reader #thorin imagine #thorin oakenshield imagine

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blackwoolncrown · 4 years ago

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”This essay has been kicking around in my head for years now and I’ve never felt confident enough to write it. It’s a time in my life I’m ashamed of. It’s a time that I hurt people and, through inaction, allowed others to be hurt. It’s a time that I acted as a violent agent of capitalism and white supremacy. Under the guise of public safety, I personally ruined people’s lives but in so doing, made the public no safer… so did the family members and close friends of mine who also bore the badge alongside me.

But enough is enough.

The reforms aren’t working. Incrementalism isn’t happening. Unarmed Black, indigenous, and people of color are being killed by cops in the streets and the police are savagely attacking the people protesting these murders.

American policing is a thick blue tumor strangling the life from our communities and if you don’t believe it when the poor and the marginalized say it, if you don’t believe it when you see cops across the country shooting journalists with less-lethal bullets and caustic chemicals, maybe you’ll believe it when you hear it straight from the pig’s mouth.”

>>Copied here in case anyone gets paywalled when they click the above. The full article is...a lot.<<

WHY AM I WRITING THIS

As someone who went through the training, hiring, and socialization of a career in law enforcement, I wanted to give a first-hand account of why I believe police officers are the way they are. Not to excuse their behavior, but to explain it and to indict the structures that perpetuate it.

I believe that if everyone understood how we’re trained and brought up in the profession, it would inform the demands our communities should be making of a new way of community safety. If I tell you how we were made, I hope it will empower you to unmake us.

One of the other reasons I’ve struggled to write this essay is that I don’t want to center the conversation on myself and my big salty boo-hoo feelings about my bad choices. It’s a toxic white impulse to see atrocities and think “How can I make this about me?” So, I hope you’ll take me at my word that this account isn’t meant to highlight me, but rather the hundred thousand of me in every city in the country. It’s about the structure that made me (that I chose to pollute myself with) and it’s my meager contribution to the cause of radical justice.

YES, ALL COPS ARE BASTARDS

I was a police officer in a major metropolitan area in California with a predominantly poor, non-white population (with a large proportion of first-generation immigrants). One night during briefing, our watch commander told us that the city council had requested a new zero tolerance policy. Against murderers, drug dealers, or child predators?

No, against homeless people collecting cans from recycling bins.

See, the city had some kickback deal with the waste management company where waste management got paid by the government for our expected tonnage of recycling. When homeless people “stole” that recycling from the waste management company, they were putting that cheaper contract in peril. So, we were to arrest as many recyclers as we could find.

Even for me, this was a stupid policy and I promptly blew Sarge off. But a few hours later, Sarge called me over to assist him. He was detaining a 70 year old immigrant who spoke no English, who he’d seen picking a coke can out of a trash bin. He ordered me to arrest her for stealing trash. I said, “Sarge, c’mon, she’s an old lady.” He said, “I don’t give a shit. Hook her up, that’s an order.” And… I did. She cried the entire way to the station and all through the booking process. I couldn’t even comfort her because I didn’t speak Spanish. I felt disgusting but I was ordered to make this arrest and I wasn’t willing to lose my job for her.

If you’re tempted to feel sympathy for me, don’t. I used to happily hassle the homeless under other circumstances. I researched obscure penal codes so I could arrest people in homeless encampments for lesser known crimes like “remaining too close to railroad property” (369i of the California Penal Code). I used to call it “planting warrant seeds” since I knew they wouldn’t make their court dates and we could arrest them again and again for warrant violations.

We used to have informal contests for who could cite or arrest someone for the weirdest law. DUI on a bicycle, non-regulation number of brooms on your tow truck (27700(a)(1) of the California Vehicle Code)… shit like that. For me, police work was a logic puzzle for arresting people, regardless of their actual threat to the community. As ashamed as I am to admit it, it needs to be said: stripping people of their freedom felt like a game to me for many years.

I know what you’re going to ask: did I ever plant drugs? Did I ever plant a gun on someone? Did I ever make a false arrest or file a false report? Believe it or not, the answer is no. Cheating was no fun, I liked to get my stats the “legitimate” way. But I knew officers who kept a little baggie of whatever or maybe a pocket knife that was a little too big in their war bags (yeah, we called our dufflebags “war bags”…). Did I ever tell anybody about it? No I did not. Did I ever confess my suspicions when cocaine suddenly showed up in a gang member’s jacket? No I did not.

In fact, let me tell you about an extremely formative experience: in my police academy class, we had a clique of around six trainees who routinely bullied and harassed other students: intentionally scuffing another trainee’s shoes to get them in trouble during inspection, sexually harassing female trainees, cracking racist jokes, and so on. Every quarter, we were to write anonymous evaluations of our squadmates. I wrote scathing accounts of their behavior, thinking I was helping keep bad apples out of law enforcement and believing I would be protected. Instead, the academy staff read my complaints to them out loud and outed me to them and never punished them, causing me to get harassed for the rest of my academy class. That’s how I learned that even police leadership hates rats. That’s why no one is “changing things from the inside.” They can’t, the structure won’t allow it.

And that’s the point of what I’m telling you. Whether you were my sergeant, legally harassing an old woman, me, legally harassing our residents, my fellow trainees bullying the rest of us, or “the bad apples” illegally harassing “shitbags”, we were all in it together. I knew cops that pulled women over to flirt with them. I knew cops who would pepper spray sleeping bags so that homeless people would have to throw them away. I knew cops that intentionally provoked anger in suspects so they could claim they were assaulted. I was particularly good at winding people up verbally until they lashed out so I could fight them. Nobody spoke out. Nobody stood up. Nobody betrayed the code.

None of us protected the people (you) from bad cops.

This is why “All cops are bastards.” Even your uncle, even your cousin, even your mom, even your brother, even your best friend, even your spouse, even me. Because even if they wouldn’t Do The Thing themselves, they will almost never rat out another officer who Does The Thing, much less stop it from happening.

BASTARD 101

I could write an entire book of the awful things I’ve done, seen done, and heard others bragging about doing. But, to me, the bigger question is “How did it get this way?”. While I was a police officer in a city 30 miles from where I lived, many of my fellow officers were from the community and treated their neighbors just as badly as I did. While every cop’s individual biases come into play, it’s the profession itself that is toxic, and it starts from day 1 of training.

Every police academy is different but all of them share certain features: taught by old cops, run like a paramilitary bootcamp, strong emphasis on protecting yourself more than anyone else. The majority of my time in the academy was spent doing aggressive physical training and watching video after video after video of police officers being murdered on duty.

I want to highlight this: nearly everyone coming into law enforcement is bombarded with dash cam footage of police officers being ambushed and killed. Over and over and over. Colorless VHS mortality plays, cops screaming for help over their radios, their bodies going limp as a pair of tail lights speed away into a grainy black horizon. In my case, with commentary from an old racist cop who used to brag about assaulting Black Panthers.

To understand why all cops are bastards, you need to understand one of the things almost every training officer told me when it came to using force:

“I’d rather be judged by 12 than carried by 6.”

Meaning, “I’ll take my chances in court rather than risk getting hurt”. We’re able to think that way because police unions are extremely overpowered and because of the generous concept of Qualified Immunity, a legal theory which says a cop generally can’t be held personally liable for mistakes they make doing their job in an official capacity.

When you look at the actions of the officers who killed George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, David McAtee, Mike Brown, Tamir Rice, Philando Castile, Eric Garner, or Freddie Gray, remember that they, like me, were trained to recite “I’d rather be judged by 12” as a mantra. Even if Mistakes Were Made™, the city (meaning the taxpayers, meaning you) pays the settlement, not the officer.

Once police training has - through repetition, indoctrination, and violent spectacle - promised officers that everyone in the world is out to kill them, the next lesson is that your partners are the only people protecting you. Occasionally, this is even true: I’ve had encounters turn on me rapidly to the point I legitimately thought I was going to die, only to have other officers come and turn the tables.

One of the most important thought leaders in law enforcement is Col. Dave Grossman, a “killologist” who wrote an essay called “Sheep, Wolves, and Sheepdogs”. Cops are the sheepdogs, bad guys are the wolves, and the citizens are the sheep (!). Col. Grossman makes sure to mention that to a stupid sheep, sheepdogs look more like wolves than sheep, and that’s why they dislike you.

This “they hate you for protecting them and only I love you, only I can protect you” tactic is familiar to students of abuse. It’s what abusers do to coerce their victims into isolation, pulling them away from friends and family and ensnaring them in the abuser’s toxic web. Law enforcement does this too, pitting the officer against civilians. “They don’t understand what you do, they don’t respect your sacrifice, they just want to get away with crimes. You’re only safe with us.”

I think the Wolves vs. Sheepdogs dynamic is one of the most important elements as to why officers behave the way they do. Every single second of my training, I was told that criminals were not a legitimate part of their community, that they were individual bad actors, and that their bad actions were solely the result of their inherent criminality. Any concept of systemic trauma, generational poverty, or white supremacist oppression was either never mentioned or simply dismissed. After all, most people don’t steal, so anyone who does isn’t “most people,” right? To us, anyone committing a crime deserved anything that happened to them because they broke the “social contract.” And yet, it was never even a question as to whether the power structure above them was honoring any sort of contract back.

Understand: Police officers are part of the state monopoly on violence and all police training reinforces this monopoly as a cornerstone of police work, a source of honor and pride. Many cops fantasize about getting to kill someone in the line of duty, egged on by others that have. One of my training officers told me about the time he shot and killed a mentally ill homeless man wielding a big stick. He bragged that he “slept like a baby” that night. Official training teaches you how to be violent effectively and when you’re legally allowed to deploy that violence, but “unofficial training” teaches you to desire violence, to expand the breadth of your violence without getting caught, and to erode your own compassion for desperate people so you can justify punitive violence against them.

HOW TO BE A BASTARD

I have participated in some of these activities personally, others are ones I either witnessed personally or heard officers brag about openly. Very, very occasionally, I knew an officer who was disciplined or fired for one of these things.

Police officers will lie about the law, about what’s illegal, or about what they can legally do to you in order to manipulate you into doing what they want.

Police officers will lie about feeling afraid for their life to justify a use of force after the fact.

Police officers will lie and tell you they’ll file a police report just to get you off their back.

Police officers will lie that your cooperation will “look good for you” in court, or that they will “put in a good word for you with the DA.” The police will never help you look good in court.

Police officers will lie about what they see and hear to access private property to conduct unlawful searches.

Police officers will lie and say your friend already ratted you out, so you might as well rat them back out. This is almost never true.

Police officers will lie and say you’re not in trouble in order to get you to exit a location or otherwise make an arrest more convenient for them.

Police officers will lie and say that they won’t arrest you if you’ll just “be honest with them” so they know what really happened.

Police officers will lie about their ability to seize the property of friends and family members to coerce a confession.

Police officers will write obviously bullshit tickets so that they get time-and-a-half overtime fighting them in court.

Police officers will search places and containers you didn’t consent to and later claim they were open or “smelled like marijuana”.

Police officers will threaten you with a more serious crime they can’t prove in order to convince you to confess to the lesser crime they really want you for.

Police officers will employ zero tolerance on races and ethnicities they dislike and show favor and lenience to members of their own group.

Police officers will use intentionally extra-painful maneuvers and holds during an arrest to provoke “resistance” so they can further assault the suspect.

Some police officers will plant drugs and weapons on you, sometimes to teach you a lesson, sometimes if they kill you somewhere away from public view.

Some police officers will assault you to intimidate you and threaten to arrest you if you tell anyone.

A non-trivial number of police officers will steal from your house or vehicle during a search.

A non-trivial number of police officers commit intimate partner violence and use their status to get away with it.

A non-trivial number of police officers use their position to entice, coerce, or force sexual favors from vulnerable people.

If you take nothing else away from this essay, I want you to tattoo this onto your brain forever: if a police officer is telling you something, it is probably a lie designed to gain your compliance.

Do not talk to cops and never, ever believe them. Do not “try to be helpful” with cops. Do not assume they are trying to catch someone else instead of you. Do not assume what they are doing is “important” or even legal. Under no circumstances assume any police officer is acting in good faith.

Also, and this is important, do not talk to cops.

I just remembered something, do not talk to cops.

Checking my notes real quick, something jumped out at me:

not

fucking

talk

cops.

Ever.

Say, “I don’t answer questions,” and ask if you’re free to leave; if so, leave. If not, tell them you want your lawyer and that, per the Supreme Court, they must terminate questioning. If they don’t, file a complaint and collect some badges for your mantle.

DO THE BASTARDS EVER HELP?

Reading the above, you may be tempted to ask whether cops ever do anything good. And the answer is, sure, sometimes. In fact, most officers I worked with thought they were usually helping the helpless and protecting the safety of innocent people.

During my tenure in law enforcement, I protected women from domestic abusers, arrested cold-blooded murderers and child molesters, and comforted families who lost children to car accidents and other tragedies. I helped connect struggling people in my community with local resources for food, shelter, and counseling. I deescalated situations that could have turned violent and talked a lot of people down from making the biggest mistake of their lives. I worked with plenty of officers who were individually kind, bought food for homeless residents, or otherwise showed care for their community.

The question is this: did I need a gun and sweeping police powers to help the average person on the average night? The answer is no. When I was doing my best work as a cop, I was doing mediocre work as a therapist or a social worker. My good deeds were listening to people failed by the system and trying to unite them with any crumbs of resources the structure was currently denying them.

It’s also important to note that well over 90% of the calls for service I handled were reactive, showing up well after a crime had taken place. We would arrive, take a statement, collect evidence (if any), file the report, and onto the next caper. Most “active” crimes we stopped were someone harmless possessing or selling a small amount of drugs. Very, very rarely would we stop something dangerous in progress or stop something from happening entirely. The closest we could usually get was seeing someone running away from the scene of a crime, but the damage was still done.

And consider this: my job as a police officer required me to be a marriage counselor, a mental health crisis professional, a conflict negotiator, a social worker, a child advocate, a traffic safety expert, a sexual assault specialist, and, every once in awhile, a public safety officer authorized to use force, all after only a 1000 hours of training at a police academy. Does the person we send to catch a robber also need to be the person we send to interview a rape victim or document a fender bender? Should one profession be expected to do all that important community care (with very little training) all at the same time?

To put this another way: I made double the salary most social workers made to do a fraction of what they could do to mitigate the causes of crimes and desperation. I can count very few times my monopoly on state violence actually made our citizens safer, and even then, it’s hard to say better-funded social safety nets and dozens of other community care specialists wouldn’t have prevented a problem before it started.

Armed, indoctrinated (and dare I say, traumatized) cops do not make you safer; community mutual aid networks who can unite other people with the resources they need to stay fed, clothed, and housed make you safer. I really want to hammer this home: every cop in your neighborhood is damaged by their training, emboldened by their immunity, and they have a gun and the ability to take your life with near-impunity. This does not make you safer, even if you’re white.

HOW DO YOU SOLVE A PROBLEM LIKE A BASTARD?

So what do we do about it? Even though I’m an expert on bastardism, I am not a public policy expert nor an expert in organizing a post-police society. So, before I give some suggestions, let me tell you what probably won’t solve the problem of bastard cops:

Increased “bias” training. A quarterly or even monthly training session is not capable of covering over years of trauma-based camaraderie in police forces. I can tell you from experience, we don’t take it seriously, the proctors let us cheat on whatever “tests” there are, and we all made fun of it later over coffee.

Tougher laws. I hope you understand by now, cops do not follow the law and will not hold each other accountable to the law. Tougher laws are all the more reason to circle the wagons and protect your brothers and sisters.

More community policing programs. Yes, there is a marginal effect when a few cops get to know members of the community, but look at the protests of 2020: many of the cops pepper-spraying journalists were probably the nice school cop a month ago.

Police officers do not protect and serve people, they protect and serve the status quo, “polite society”, and private property. Using the incremental mechanisms of the status quo will never reform the police because the status quo relies on police violence to exist. Capitalism requires a permanent underclass to exploit for cheap labor and it requires the cops to bring that underclass to heel.

Instead of wasting time with minor tweaks, I recommend exploring the following ideas:

No more qualified immunity. Police officers should be personally liable for all decisions they make in the line of duty.

No more civil asset forfeiture. Did you know that every year, citizens like you lose more cash and property to unaccountable civil asset forfeiture than to all burglaries combined? The police can steal your stuff without charging you with a crime and it makes some police departments very rich.

Break the power of police unions. Police unions make it nearly impossible to fire bad cops and incentivize protecting them to protect the power of the union. A police union is not a labor union; police officers are powerful state agents, not exploited workers.

Require malpractice insurance. Doctors must pay for insurance in case they botch a surgery, police officers should do the same for botching a police raid or other use of force. If human decency won’t motivate police to respect human life, perhaps hitting their wallet might.

Defund, demilitarize, and disarm cops. Thousands of police departments own assault rifles, armored personnel carriers, and stuff you’d see in a warzone. Police officers have grants and huge budgets to spend on guns, ammo, body armor, and combat training. 99% of calls for service require no armed response, yet when all you have is a gun, every problem feels like target practice. Cities are not safer when unaccountable bullies have a monopoly on state violence and the equipment to execute that monopoly.

One final idea: consider abolishing the police.

I know what you’re thinking, “What? We need the police! They protect us!” As someone who did it for nearly a decade, I need you to understand that by and large, police protection is marginal, incidental. It’s an illusion created by decades of copaganda designed to fool you into thinking these brave men and women are holding back the barbarians at the gates.

I alluded to this above: the vast majority of calls for service I handled were theft reports, burglary reports, domestic arguments that hadn’t escalated into violence, loud parties, (houseless) people loitering, traffic collisions, very minor drug possession, and arguments between neighbors. Mostly the mundane ups and downs of life in the community, with little inherent danger. And, like I mentioned, the vast majority of crimes I responded to (even violent ones) had already happened; my unaccountable license to kill was irrelevant.

What I mainly provided was an “objective” third party with the authority to document property damage, ask people to chill out or disperse, or counsel people not to beat each other up. A trained counselor or conflict resolution specialist would be ten times more effective than someone with a gun strapped to his hip wondering if anyone would try to kill him when he showed up. There are many models for community safety that can be explored if we get away from the idea that the only way to be safe is to have a man with a M4 rifle prowling your neighborhood ready at a moment’s notice to write down your name and birthday after you’ve been robbed and beaten.

You might be asking, “What about the armed robbers, the gangsters, the drug dealers, the serial killers?” And yes, in the city I worked, I regularly broke up gang parties, found gang members carrying guns, and handled homicides. I’ve seen some tragic things, from a reformed gangster shot in the head with his brains oozing out to a fifteen year old boy taking his last breath in his screaming mother’s arms thanks to a gang member’s bullet. I know the wages of violence.

This is where we have to have the courage to ask: why do people rob? Why do they join gangs? Why do they get addicted to drugs or sell them? It’s not because they are inherently evil. I submit to you that these are the results of living in a capitalist system that grinds people down and denies them housing, medical care, human dignity, and a say in their government. These are the results of white supremacy pushing people to the margins, excluding them, disrespecting them, and treating their bodies as disposable.

Equally important to remember: disabled and mentally ill people are frequently killed by police officers not trained to recognize and react to disabilities or mental health crises. Some of the people we picture as “violent offenders” are often people struggling with untreated mental illness, often due to economic hardships. Very frequently, the officers sent to “protect the community” escalate this crisis and ultimately wound or kill the person. Your community was not made safer by police violence; a sick member of your community was killed because it was cheaper than treating them. Are you extremely confident you’ll never get sick one day too?

Wrestle with this for a minute: if all of someone’s material needs were met and all the members of their community were fed, clothed, housed, and dignified, why would they need to join a gang? Why would they need to risk their lives selling drugs or breaking into buildings? If mental healthcare was free and was not stigmatized, how many lives would that save?

Would there still be a few bad actors in the world? Sure, probably. What’s my solution for them, you’re no doubt asking. I’ll tell you what: generational poverty, food insecurity, houselessness, and for-profit medical care are all problems that can be solved in our lifetimes by rejecting the dehumanizing meat grinder of capitalism and white supremacy. Once that’s done, we can work on the edge cases together, with clearer hearts not clouded by a corrupt system.

Police abolition is closely related to the idea of prison abolition and the entire concept of banishing the carceral state, meaning, creating a society focused on reconciliation and restorative justice instead of punishment, pain, and suffering — a system that sees people in crisis as humans, not monsters. People who want to abolish the police typically also want to abolish prisons, and the same questions get asked: “What about the bad guys? Where do we put them?” I bring this up because abolitionists don’t want to simply replace cops with armed social workers or prisons with casual detention centers full of puffy leather couches and Playstations. We imagine a world not divided into good guys and bad guys, but rather a world where people’s needs are met and those in crisis receive care, not dehumanization.

Here’s legendary activist and thinker Angela Y. Davis putting it better than I ever could:

“An abolitionist approach that seeks to answer questions such as these would require us to imagine a constellation of alternative strategies and institutions, with the ultimate aim of removing the prison from the social and ideological landscapes of our society. In other words, we would not be looking for prisonlike substitutes for the prison, such as house arrest safeguarded by electronic surveillance bracelets. Rather, positing decarceration as our overarching strategy, we would try to envision a continuum of alternatives to imprisonment-demilitarization of schools, revitalization of education at all levels, a health system that provides free physical and mental care to all, and a justice system based on reparation and reconciliation rather than retribution and vengeance.”

(Are Prisons Obsolete, pg. 107)

I’m not telling you I have the blueprint for a beautiful new world. What I’m telling you is that the system we have right now is broken beyond repair and that it’s time to consider new ways of doing community together. Those new ways need to be negotiated by members of those communities, particularly Black, indigenous, disabled, houseless, and citizens of color historically shoved into the margins of society. Instead of letting Fox News fill your head with nightmares about Hispanic gangs, ask the Hispanic community what they need to thrive. Instead of letting racist politicians scaremonger about pro-Black demonstrators, ask the Black community what they need to meet the needs of the most vulnerable. If you truly desire safety, ask not what your most vulnerable can do for the community, ask what the community can do for the most vulnerable.

A WORLD WITH FEWER BASTARDS IS POSSIBLE

If you take only one thing away from this essay, I hope it’s this: do not talk to cops. But if you only take two things away, I hope the second one is that it’s possible to imagine a different world where unarmed black people, indigenous people, poor people, disabled people, and people of color are not routinely gunned down by unaccountable police officers. It doesn’t have to be this way. Yes, this requires a leap of faith into community models that might feel unfamiliar, but I ask you:

When you see a man dying in the street begging for breath, don’t you want to leap away from that world?

When you see a mother or a daughter shot to death sleeping in their beds, don’t you want to leap away from that world?

When you see a twelve year old boy executed in a public park for the crime of playing with a toy, jesus fucking christ, can you really just stand there and think “This is normal”?

And to any cops who made it this far down, is this really the world you want to live in? Aren’t you tired of the trauma? Aren’t you tired of the soul sickness inherent to the badge? Aren’t you tired of looking the other way when your partners break the law? Are you really willing to kill the next George Floyd, the next Breonna Taylor, the next Tamir Rice? How confident are you that your next use of force will be something you’re proud of? I’m writing this for you too: it’s wrong what our training did to us, it’s wrong that they hardened our hearts to our communities, and it’s wrong to pretend this is normal.

Look, I wouldn’t have been able to hear any of this for much of my life. You reading this now may not be able to hear this yet either. But do me this one favor: just think about it. Just turn it over in your mind for a couple minutes. “Yes, And” me for a minute. Look around you and think about the kind of world you want to live in. Is it one where an all-powerful stranger with a gun keeps you and your neighbors in line with the fear of death, or can you picture a world where, as a community, we embrace our most vulnerable, meet their needs, heal their wounds, honor their dignity, and make them family instead of desperate outsiders?

If you take only three things away from this essay, I hope the third is this: you and your community don’t need bastards to thrive.

RESOURCES TO YES-AND WITH

Achele Mbembe — Necropolitics

Angela Y. Davis — Are Prisons Obsolete?

CriticalResistance.org — Abolition Toolkit

Joe Macaré, Maya Schenwar, and Alana Yu-lan Price — Who Do You Serve, Who Do You Protect?

Ruth Wilson Gilmore — COVID-19, Decarceration, Abolition [video]

#acab

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eveningstar1516 · 3 years ago

Text

Rise of the Demon King ~ Chapter 8

Rise of the Demon King

Fic: Multi Chapter Paring: MC x Everyone (Mostly Lucifer) Type: Angst with a Happy Ending Total Word Count: 26,758 TW: Major Character Death, Reader gets stabbed with a sword through their chest so..., Abusive Parents, Past Child Abuse, Demon Hunters, Loss of Control Summary: You’ve done it. You’ve finally done it. You’ve managed to anger the demon king. Now you hold your head high as he hands down your sentence. AO3 Portal: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27065362

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Previously:

His brothers would always know whenever he went to see her as he’d always come back with a content smile on his face. Deep down, he wished that Y/N could’ve met Cynthia. They would have made great friends as they were the only 2 people who could make him smile like this. Mammon may not have been able to save Y/N, but he swore that he would protect Cynthia, no matter the cost.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

CHAPTER 8 - The Great Pancake Debate (2261 words)

It’s been almost 6 months since you arrived in the Celestial Realm. Needless to say, you are quite certain that these last 6 months have been the craziest and stressful months of your life! When you told Simeon and Luke about you staying here, to say they were ecstatic would be an understatement. Luke jumped for joy and wouldn’t stop rambling about all the fun you were going to have. When you told them about God appointing them to help teach you about the Realm, Luke practically did a double take and it took an hour to calm him. Now you have Simeon teaching you about politics and Luke about how to use your wings and powers. On your second day there, Michael woke you up, or well came to get you as you didn’t get any sleep. Turns out, while the Devildom is constant at night, the Celestial realm is constant day and thanks to the floor to ceiling windows, there was no way for you to stop sunlight from coming in. You were introduced to the council at breakfast. Note to self, the brothers breakfasts are QUIET AND PEACEFUL compared to Archangels off duty. The first thing you saw were 2 angels passionately arguing over which pancake topping was the best, strawberries or blueberries. At some point a third angel cut in claiming chocolate chips were the best and all heaven (would you replace hell with heaven here? idk) broke loose. As for me, I just started chuckling in disbelief while making my way over to pick up a pancake of my own when the angel arguing on behalf of the strawberries saw you.

“Hey kid, what topping do you prefer, strawberries, blueberries, or chocolate chips? It’s strawberries right?”

“Actually, I prefer them plain with maple syrup. Although if Satan was the one making it, I’d go for the one with poison berries. Contrary to their name, they’re not actually poisonous and quite sweet.” All the angels present looked at me with a mix of shock and disbelief, save for Michael who just sat there eating his breakfast hoping to leave soon and get to work.

“Kid, did you say Satan?” The angel arguing on behalf of blueberries asked. “Yeah… Blond hair, teal eyes, Avatar of Wrath, Luci’s son? Ring a bell?” Turning to Michael, blueberry angel asked,

“Micheal, who are they and why are they wearing Lucifer’s old get up?” “This is Y/N. They will be staying here and taking Samael’s spot on the council until their agreement with Father ends and they return to the Devildom. Father has asked us to teach them about how our Realm operates and how to successfully fulfill Samael’s former position flawlessly, unless they want to return now and leave heaven early?” Michael turned towards you with a smirk on his face as he asked the last part.

“Very funny Mike. You and I both know I won’t do that no matter how bad you want me to.”

“What did I say about calling me that?!” Micheal’s smirk turned into something short of a snarl.

“Well, if you won’t take me seriously, neither will I. You want me to call you by your name, earn it and stop being an butt… I meant an butt… Why can’t I swear?!”

“This is the Celestial Realm Y/N. Angels don’t swear.” Michael said smugly over the rim of his cup of coffee.

“God Dang it! Argh! Fudge!. Dang it! Ya know what, forget it, my entire mood is ruined. Thanks Michael!”

“Anytime.”

Shooting Michael one last glare, I sighed and turned to the rest of the baffled angels in the room.

“Yes, what Michael said is true. Stuff happened in the Devildom which I will not get in too-”

“The demon king made Samael kill them.”

“Ok, Mike, first off, he didn’t, I ordered him too, second, I thought I said I didn’t want to talk about it. What gives you the right to tell them huh?”

“I felt like it.”

“You son of a beach.” I turned back to the rest of the angels. “Not a word about it. Anyway, due to some personal issues, I made a deal with Father to stay here on the condition that I take over Lucifer’s spot on the council until he either kicks me out or until our agreement has ended.”

“If I may, when will this agreement of yours be over?” The blueberry angel asked.

“I will be returning to the Devildom once Lord Diavolo has been crowned king and his father is 100% out of the picture. Now if you don’t mind me asking, could you introduce yourselves?” “Oh how rude of us, I’m sorry, I am Gabriel.” Gabriel had chestnut brown medium length hair, reaching shoulders. His eyes were a dull green. He wore a white turtleneck and had a light green shawl with golden tassels. He pointed to the strawberry angel. “This is Raphael and he’s Uriel.” He pointed to the chocolate chip angel. Raphael had long reddish-orange hair put up in a high ponytail. His eyes were a stormy gray. He wore a simple light gray half sleeve with an off the shoulder white cape and little decor. Uriel had short gray hair and golden eyes that almost seemed to sparkle. He wore something that reminded you of an off white scholar's robe with gray accents. “These are Saraqael, and Raguel.” He pointed to 2 of the quieter angels who didn’t participate in “the great pancake debate”. “We make up the Archangel council and we’re happy to have you Y/N.” Gabriel finished off with a smile. You were just barely able to make out a little “Not all of us” from Michael. You decided to ignore it, and then, like all the decisions you’ve ever made, it was the wrong one. Sitting back down you asked,

“So, quick question. What started The Great Pancake Topping debate?”

Breakfast ended 2 hours later with upset angels, and pancakes, everywhere…

In the Devildom. After they lost Y/N

Levi went straight to his room as soon as they got home. As soon as he closed and locked the door he went straight to Henry’s fishbowl, picked it up and sat in his bathtub, hugging the bowl as he cried. ‘Why do I feel like this?! I only like 2D characters and Ruri-chan, not 3D people. How do I miss them?... Why did they leave me? They were my player 2.’ “Well it makes sense, no one would want to stay with a worthless shut in of an otaku like me” he said to the empty room. Henry 2.0 glubbed a bubble in response. “You wouldn’t leave me, would you Henry?” *Glub* “No you wouldn’t… I miss them.” Levi stayed in his tub hugging Henry 2.0 until he fell asleep.

Present

It was another late night, Levi was bingeing a new anime ‘I fell in love with a 3D girl but I’m afraid she’ll leave me after finding out that I’m an otaku who rarely leaves their room’ . He was halfway through the 9th episode when he got a notification from Mononoke Island. One of his raid mates was stuck and needed some help. He paused his marathon to help his fellow mate and stayed up until the early hours of the morning switching between playing Mononoke and watching his anime. Stumbling into the dining room for breakfast the next morning, he was met with complete silence. Lucifer had left early, Belphie was asleep, Beel was too absorbed in eating, Satan in his book and Asmo on his phone to even notice him enter the room. Mammon was busy in the human world helping out sone witches. Levi sat down in his normal spot, taking whatever was left as he mentally prepared himself for the day. As soon as the bell rang, signaling the end of the day at RAD, still dressed in his uniform, Levi left as quickly as he could. There was an anime expo happening in the human realm right now and there was some ultra-rare limited edition Ruri-chan merch being sold there. He had gotten Lucifer’s permission to attend the expo so long as he was back by 11. Existing the portal and making his way to the expo, Levi thought about the last expo he attended with Y/N. They cosplayed as Erin and Levi from Attack on Titan and spent the entire day surrounded by fellow anime nerds. They had also booked a room at a nearby hotel. It was 3 days of bonding time for them. Entering the expo, Levi decided he would get something for them as decor for their headstone put in memory of them in the backyard of the House of Lamentation. Nearing the line for Ruri-chan merch, Levi noticed someone staring intensely at him. He decided to ignore them but keep a loose eye on them, just in case. He got to the front of the line and purchased 4 of the Ruri-chan collection kits. One for use, one for display, one to keep and sell in the future, and one for Y/N. He decided to wander around a little more to see if anything else would catch his eye while he was here. He spotted a Black Butler station and remembered the jokes he and Y/N would crack about Barbatos and Sebastian. He passed a Fate/Stay Night stand and remembered their conversations on which heroic class they would belong to. Levi would have been the perfect Lancer. He passed countless other stalls, each of them holding a memory he made with Y/N. Distracted by his trip down memory lane, Levi forgot all about the person stalking him. He went and purchased some dinner from one of the stalls before sitting down and pulling out his DDD and looked at some pictures of Y/N and him at their last expo. He didn’t look up from his phone until he felt someone sit opposite of him. Levi looked up to see some middle aged man just sitting there on his phone. He didn’t have any food, merch, or even look like someone interested in an anime expo. Feeling an uncomfortable aura emitting from this man, Levi got up and left. He took a quick look over his shoulder and saw that the man wasn’t following him. He left the expo and went down an alleyway to open up a portal back to the Devildom when he accidentally bumped into someone dropping his purchases.

“S-sorry”

“That’s quite alright.” The stranger extended a hand out to let him up. “Say, I’d love to know where you got your uniform from. No schools around here have uniforms like that one.”

Looking up, Levi saw the same man that was watching him with a twisted smile. Masking his fear, he mumbled an excuse about being in a rush and tried to dash around him. Before he could get 2 steps down the alley, the man grabbed him and pushed him further into the alleyway. Levi’s head struck the wall hard leaving him dazed for a moment.

“I didn’t think my intel about finding a RAD attendee at the expo would be true but whaddya know? Seems I caught myself a demon.”

Levi, now more aware of his surroundings, realized he was cornered by a demon hunter. Despite being in an alleyway, there were too many people around for him to do anything rash. Without missing a beat, the hunter pulled out an enchanted dagger aiming straight for Leviathan’s heart. Levi rolled and dogged last minute before colliding into someone’s chest. That person in question wrapped his arms around Levi’s chest and put their own dagger to his throat.

“I know you’re there! Come on out and I might spare your friend's life!” The hunter holding Levi yelled. When no one stepped out, the dagger held by Levi’s neck began pushing on his skin. Levi felt a flare of pain and against his better judgement, transformed. His tail wrapped around hunter 2’s leg and flipped him over while the first hunter charged at him, only to be blown to the ground as a powerful gust of wind knocked him over.

“Jeez Levi, you’re lucky I was here. Seriously, why didn’t ya do somethin’ earlier? Maybe then I wouldn’t have ta save yo ass.” Mammon stepped out from the darkness with a bored look on his face.

“Come on, Lucifer’s waiting for ya back home. LOOK OUT!” Levi turned around just in time to see Hunter number 2 taking a swing at his neck and managed to duck just in time. Mammon then charged over punching the hunter square in the face, knocking him out cold.

“T-thanks M-mammon.”

“No problem. Come on, let’s get ya back home before any more of them show up.”

Stepping through the portal, a question plagued Levi’s mind.

“Mammon, how did you know I was in trouble?”

“Some witches summoned me. I overheard them talk about some hunter group getting a tip about a possible demon being at some expo. Then I realized that it was the same one you were going to, so I decided to go there myself to make sure ya weren’t followed. I’m glad I did too.”

“Th-thank you Mammon. Really.”

“Of course, what are big brothers for. Anyway, about my payment, maybe you can forget about the money I owe ya?”

Groaning, Levi started walking faster, leaving Mammon and his whining behind as he made his way back to the safety of his room.

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harryspet · 4 years ago

Text

good girl. bad habits. [2] peter parker

[Warnings] alpha!peter parker x omega!reader, omegaverse, boarding school au, dystopian au, soultmate au, suppressant pills, misogyny, hella angst, heat, intense sexual content (wear a condom kiddos)

A/N: this took way toooo long but overall im happy with how it turned out!

part one

In which Alpha Peter is persistent and you tried to hold onto your power.

word count: 4.5k

taglist: @peterztinglez @lovelynerdytraveler @buckybarney @hollandsdream @micki-smiles @buckybarnesplumwhore @arts-ismything @saharzek @lovemassivelybeautifulbouquet @what-is-your-wish @marvelslut-musicalnerd @brattypeony @hermayone @buckysugar @yanderepeterparker @ttqueen05 @belleknows @write-from-the-heart @sad-ed-noise @quaksonhehe @halparkebitchb @bangtaninyourareaxox @blondesforlife

Wanda was lucky it was Sunday. It was easier to skip Sunday service than regular classes and her severe hangover told you that she wasn’t getting out of bed anytime soon. You walked over to her twin bed and, although you had your own right across from her, you snuggled into her bed.

“Ugh,” Wanda groaned.

“That better not be for me,” You frowned.

“It is for you,” As you laid down, she wrapped her arm around you, resting her head on your shoulder, “You’re the one who gave me the booze.”

“It’s not my fault you can’t handle your liquor,” A small smile tugged at your lips until Wanda’s next words met your ears.

“Goddess, you smell like Alpha.”

“And what do you think you smell like? Is your virtue even still intact?”

“A lady never tells,” Wanda giggled but you scoffed, “I can’t believe that you of all people landed yourself an Alpha. A rich and powerful one too.”

You wish you could react like Wanda. You wished that you could switch a flip and you could see the world through rose-colored glasses, “I wouldn’t say I landed him. He was just acting like a territorial jerk like the rest of them. Who knows, maybe he has a thing for lots of girls. Being a council member's nephew … I’m sure he’s popular.”

“I don’t think so,” You could tell she was smiling by the way she was talking, “Peter didn’t dance with any other girl at the Ball. You’re like Cinderella and he’s your prince charming. Just promise you won’t forget me when you’re royalty.”

“I hope you know I’d rather swallow a knife than be associated with that family.”

Wanda didn’t listen to you as she continued, “Maybe it is true that opposites attract.”

Word spread fast around the Stark School and every question someone asked you was about Peter and whether or not you were mates. You denied any connection that you had with him and you made sure to have a scowl on your face when you did. This whole situation was hurting your reputation and making you appear weak. Before the ball, girls didn’t dare approach you out of fear that you’d poison their precious minds.

You preferred when people were scared of you.

To make matters worst, you woke up thinking about you-know-who and almost all your thoughts were starting to revolve around him. That was enough to drive you insane.

You decided that for the next few weeks you’d be on your worst behavior. You managed to break your previous record for your number of infractions within a single week. Every teacher that tried to scold you for misbehaving, you snapped back at. Your skirt got shorter and your makeup became even more extravagant.

Today, you finally managed to get back at the girl who always kicked your shins when you played soccer in physical education. Once she shoved past you, you reached back to grab a fistful of her hair. She cried out as she fell back and you heard the screaming of a whistle though you ignored it.

It was like all the frustration of your life had reached its boiling point. You hated everything about how your life had turned out. You knew the world wasn’t fair but now it just felt cruel.

Wanda had to pull you off of her to keep you from punching her, “Y/L/N, off the field now!” You heard your teacher say. Wanda was saying something, trying to calm you down, but you shrugged her off. You were already walking away from the field and towards the bleachers.

You figured you’d walk all the way back to dorms to let yourself blow off steam but you found a familiar face waiting behind the bleachers.

Your face fell and you thought your knees might give in. Clad in his uniform, his red tie, and a blazer that held the Asgard symbol completed the look. He looked put together unlike you. Your knees were bruised, your hair a mess, and your gym clothes were now covered in grass stains.

“What … What are you doing here?” You asked the young Alpha and, as he looked you over, he almost seemed concerned.

He stepped closer, his eyes burning holes into your skin, “I came to watch you play but … I don't think you’re making the team anytime soon.”

“Don’t you have your own life to worry about? I don’t know, maybe school? Or does your uncle have too much influence for you to have to worry about pesky things like grades?” Peter opened his mouth to retort but you interrupted him. His lips pressed into a thin line of frustration as he let you finish, “You know what, Alpha-boy? I really can’t do this right now.”

You gritted your teeth as you turned to walk away, only for a strong hand to wrap around your wrist. You turned to last out but, like a candle blown out by the wind, you felt your anger melt away. The calm settled on the features of your face and then it traveled through the rest of your body.

You looked down at his hand touching your skin, realizing that he was the source, “I meant what I said last time,” He spoke calmly but you could hear the seriousness in his tone, “You’re mine, Y/N.”

“How did you do that?” You asked, your eyebrows furrowed. Your voice was small once again and it made you wonder how long you had been raising your voice.

“Do what?” Peter smirked and, as much as you wanted to scowl, you couldn’t, “Isn’t this better? Having a moment where you’re not so angry at the world? If you’d just give me a chance, I could help you.”

“And what’s in it for you?” You already knew the answer. There was a part of him deep inside that craved the intimacy you could give him. He wanted someone to care for and to protect but he also wanted territory that he could claim and heirs to carry his name. As Peter searched your face, he could tell you already knew his answer, “I’m never going to want to be someone’s property, no matter what magic you try to work on me.”

“It’s not magic,” Peter insisted, “It’s a mate bond. I think … I think our souls are somehow connected.”

You couldn’t deny that you thought it was true. You could resist him but not the connection you were feeling, “Then we’ll break it-” Your mouth shut as if your body was mad at you for even letting those words escape your lips.

His eyes turned black, “Give me time with you. I’ll convince you otherwise.”

You finally pulled your arm away from him as a group of girls walked past, heading back towards the school. Some stared in awe and others whispered to each other, “I can’t believe this,” You whispered, letting the anger seep back in, “There will be no us time because you’re not even supposed to be here.”

“Winter Break,” He spoke simply, not paying the girls any mind, “You’ll come stay with my family. My Aunt May wants to meet you and Pepper thought it would be inappropriate to ask you herself …”

You blinked, wondering why the hell he wanted you, of all people, to meet his family, “The answer would’ve been no … I have to shower before Calculus.”

You turned away, your arms crossed but he called for you as you walked away again, “Where will you go then?”

“I don’t know, I’ll have Christmas with the nuns and the groundskeepers or something.”

You looked back to see he wasn’t chasing you. He only took a deep breath and stuffed his hands into his back pockets, “I’ll see you around, Y/N.”

Peter was used to quiet dinners with his Aunt and Uncle. Usually, when he talked, Tony would respond with something snappy and condescending. Peter had learned over the years not to shake things up but that only led to anger and frustration being built up within. Peter was an Alpha but Tony was an Alpha of Alphas.

“You’ve been skipping school,” Tony didn’t meet Peter’s eyes as he brought a piece of steak to his mouth. Peter tried not to freeze or show any hint of guilt on his face.

Peter had come to visit you multiple times after the situation on the soccer field. As he expected, you rejected him with every chance you got but that didn’t stop him from trying to get to know you. His friends teased him for falling head over heels for someone he barely knew. Alphas were supposed to be above that and let the Omegas crawl to them but Peter enjoyed chasing you.

“Who told you that?” Peter asked casually.

“You don’t think I have eyes everywhere, genius?” Peter's lips pressed into a thin line as he gripped his fork tightly, poking at his food.

“Pepper finally confessed. She’s been going behind my back in order to help you,” He felt cornered and the fact that Pepper wasn’t here to defend him only made him more uneasy, “All this for a rebel sympathizer?”

Peter often disagreed with the man who sat upon his golden throne. Within the walls of his million-dollar home, Peter doubted there was a way Stark could possibly even understand the grievances of the people below him.

“She’s … she’s my mate,” Tony paused and shot Peter a hard glance.

“I’m sorry, she’s what?”

“I have a feeling, sir.”

Tony rolled his eyes, “A mate? My nephew has a mate …” Tony spoke to himself, “If I want you to be anything like me, Peter, then I should allow you your independence. However, I won’t have her embarrassing this family, so whatever you have to do to correct her behavior, you’ll do it.”

Peter instantly nodded, “I will, I promise.” Peter felt a glimmer of happiness at his Uncle’s acceptance.

“Who knows, maybe converting her will be good for my image. Our image, Peter.” It didn’t surprise Peter in the slightest that Tony’s mind was now working to see how it would benefit him.

The quiet dinner continued until Pepper arrived with news that would surely steal any light Peter felt in his own heart.

You had finally escaped the Stark School.

The city was cold but the people were colder. The harsh winter and the busy, holiday season left people tired and caused their words to be terse. It was why you preferred the hustling and bustling city of New York. The rankings existed but it seemed everyone was rude to one another. It was nice to see.

Besides that, in a city of millions of people, you were invincible. With the suppressants you were now on, no one could outwardly tell your ranking and, as long as you kept your head down, no officers asked for your identification.

The first couple of weeks were stressful but everything seemed to fall in place. You moved your way in and out of shelters, picking up jobs that paid under the table in order to earn money in order to buy more suppressants.

Omegas were almost as rare as true Alphas. Most people were middle ranking which meant the council controlled them but they were at least treated like human beings. If anyone found out, the council was the least of your worries.

That’s why when you thought you were having an allergic reaction to them, you stormed down the alleyway where you usually met your dealer, fire in your eyes, “You gave me a botched pills,” You pressed the bag of pills into Loki’s chest.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” He pushed you back with ease, causing you to stumble backwards as he casually stuck his hands back into the pockets of his black jacket. He looked around, trying to seem inconspicuous.

It was freezing outside but your body was overheating and your anger was boiling over, “Look at me,” You spoke with gritted teeth, “Do I look okay to you?”

“No, you should probably see a Doctor, darling,” His lips turned up into a smirk, “If you don’t mind, I have other matters to attend to.”

As he stepped around your body, you felt a weight on your shoulders. You tried to take a deep breath as you realized how much you were panicking, “Please,” You called after him, grabbing a hold of his arm, “I just need pills. Real pills. I’ll give you the rest of the money that I have.”

Loki looked over his shoulder and down at you, “Council is cracking down on suppressant sellers. They raided a ship carrying them a few nights ago so I wouldn’t expect anymore for a while.”

The man who called himself Loki searched your face, noting the look of desperation in your eyes, “What am I supposed to do then, huh?”

If he cared for your situation in any way, he didn’t show it.

Your hands balled into fist as he walked away but, in doing that, you realized how much your muscles were aching, “Don’t, please,” You walked after him, wincing in pain with every step. He didn’t seem to slow down for you as you tried to catch up to him on the sidewalk. Pain shot through your body and fire surged through your veins.

As your vision began to blur, you lost him in the crowd of people. Snow fell around you but that didn’t ease any of the burning pain. You tried to push yourself further, somehow find shelter, but with each step you felt even more helpless. When your knees finally gave in and you bit down on your own lip so hard that you tasted blood, no one paid you any mind. To them you were a simple bump in the road.

The place you woke up was the opposite of the buzzing city. The quietness was serene and the cool white light shining down on you was calming. You turned your aching head, wondering what new mess you had gotten yourself into. You found yourself staring out a window, the city outside but it was clear that you were on one of the highest floors of the hospital.

As someone cleared their throat, your head snapped in the other direction, as you lifted yourself up in the hospital bed. With wide eyes, you stared back at Tony Stark who was comfortably sitting at the chair beside your bed. As you moved, you realized that there was metal keeping you chained to the bed.

“Morning, sunshine,” Your head began to pound again, most likely because of how fast you had sat up. You knew you weren’t anyone’s favorite but you never thought your deviancy warranted a visit from one of the most powerful men in society … but then you remembered Peter, “... from what I’ve heard, you’re not known for being quiet.”

You shut your eyes tight as you tried to clear your racing thoughts, “Are you here to personally escort me to prison?”

“Sadly, no,” He said, folding his hands as he looked over you, “None of the council members know I’m here and no one knows you’re here either.”

“... so then you’re killing me yourself?”

Tony grinned, “No, sweetheart. Why do you think I had someone patch you up? That poison was making you malnourished and then your heat was draining you even more.”

You froze, “My what?”

Tony raised an eyebrow, “I’m guessing this is your first one but I’m sure you’ve read up on it in your studies. They say meeting your soulmate can trigger it …” It looked like he was connecting the dots in his own mind, “There were a lot of things you didn’t consider, Y/N.”

“He’s not …” The words burned as you tried to let them out.

“Or maybe you ran because you knew the bond was real. Your body, naturally, probably didn’t like the fact that you were rejecting him. Did you consider what it would do to him?”

Something pulled at your heartstrings as you finally thought about how Peter reacted when he found out you’d ran away, “... did something happen?”

Tony cocked his head to the side, “No damages big enough that I couldn’t pay for … am I sensing remorse?”

“I’m not sure how you could when it’s something you’ve never felt,” Tears stung your eyes, the reality of your world settling in, but you still held your head high, “If you’re here to preach, I don’t want to listen. And you’re not getting any gratitude from me.”

He could end your life with the snap of his finger yet that didn’t stop the venom on your tongue.

With a hard glare, he stood from his seat and took a step towards the bed, “I already agreed with Peter that he will be the one to take care of your … attitude. I truly hope that the next time we see each other you’ll be worthy enough for my nephew. You’re a pretty thing, this anger doesn’t suit you ....may the Goddess with you.”

The black car traveled down the gravel road surrounded by evergreen trees. Snow fell lightly and dropped onto the window glass and you watched it melt away as you neared your destination.

You were expecting doom and gloom as you pulled into the driveway. You didn’t expect the cabin to actually look like a home where happy people could live. Calling it a log cabin wouldn’t be fair to the money that probably went into building the luxury home. You could practically smell the expensiveness as you exited the car, not bothering to let the driver open the door for you.

You spun in a circle, your boots crushing the ice beneath your feet, as you took in the sight. You saw rolling hills of snow, tall mountains, and a blue-purple sunset that painted the sky.

When you saw him this time it was different. So much had happened since that night at the Halloween Ball and you didn’t expect him forgive you for being so cold to you but-

He called for you and, as you turned to face him, arms were tightly wrapped around you, “You could’ve died,” Were the first words that left his mouth. You didn’t embrace him back, you weren’t sure how, but your body instantly relaxed against him. It was the same feeling you got at the soccer field.

You were still speechless when he finally pulled away. His hands were still grabbing your arms as he looked you over for wounds. You were sure that your only flaw was the bags around your eyes from the lack of sleep you’d had over the last few days.

“Do you understand that? Someone could’ve taken you or you could’ve killed yourself.”

“I know-” He smashed his lips against yours, taking the words from your mouth. You pressed your hands against his chest but you didn’t push him away. The kiss was long and deep and, for a moment, the earth stopped spinning on its axis, “I don’t know how to do this, Peter.”

Your foreheads pressed together and his heavy breath fanning against your skin, the two of you tried to catch your breath, “Y/N, it’s okay,” Your name on his tongue was heaven, “This is real and I know you’re scared but it’s okay to accept this. I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Do you promise?” You asked, weaker than you’ve ever been. As much as you wanted to blame it on the raging hormones of your heat, you knew what you wanted deep down.

“Yes,” Peter breathed, “And I’m not going to let anyone else hurt you.”

Peter led you into the warm home, helping you out of your coat, and keeping his hand on the small of your back. Your meeting with Pepper and May was brief. They sat in the kitchen sipping their hot cocos and they only gave you kind glances as Peter informed them that he’d take you up to your room. He could sense that you didn’t want an audience to your pain.

There were photos on every wall and sentimental ornaments. You had a feeling that by the end of winter break you’d know the story of each item.

“This is where you grew up?” You asked, your eyes wandering your new room. It was more spacious then any place you’d ever lived and the heat from the fireplace only added to the coziness the room provided.

“We spend every winter here. My Uncle Ben built this place,” Peter spoke succinctly.

“It’s straight out of one of those lifestyle magazines,” You felt Peter’s eyes on you as you slowly walked around the room, “... how did he die?”

“Someone shot him,” His gaze seemed to darken at the memory.

“I’m sorry,” You meant your words but you couldn’t help but feel a sense of deja vu.

“Don’t be,” He shrugged, “I mean, it was a long time ago … I guess I’ll leave you to settle in.”

You sensed he was trying to avoid a touchy conversation and you were more than willing to let him. Just being in his presence was calming but extremely overwhelming. The smallest things he did would cause your thoughts to race and, lately, those thoughts hadn’t been pure. Your mind had been replaying that kiss a million times in your head in the past twenty minutes.

As his hand gripped the door handle, a sudden wave of heat traveled beneath your skin, “Ah,” You rested your hands against the bed as you bit down on your lip to keep from crying out. It was the same overwhelming fire that you felt that day with Loki.

“Y/N,” You looked up, realizing that he hadn’t left. He walked towards you hesitantly, “.. you should take off those clothes.”

Your eyes widened, “What? No. I’m fine-” You winced as another wave passed through you, “I’m fine!”

“You’re overheating!” Peter exclaimed and it seemed it was taking everything within him not to do it himself.

“Peter, I’m fine,” You spoke through gritted teeth, “I can handle it on my own.”

“No, you can’t,” Peter stated nervously, “Sit down on the bed. Let me help you.”

“No,” You said again as you panicked, “I don’t need your stupid Alpha hormones messing up mine. You’re making it worse!”

“I said sit down,” He didn’t raise his voice but there was something different in his tone. Powerful. Your body moved like it never did before. Your body, against your will, sat down on the bed obediently.

You were left speechless for a moment and Peter seemed to stare at your abnormal behavior but not for long. He kneeled down and began to pull off your shoes and socks, “Peter-” You clutched your side.

He tossed the clothing to the side before standing. He leaned over you, pulling off your sweater and undershirt. When he finally made it to your belt, your eyes connected, “Don’t say no to me, Omega. I don’t like it, ” Again, your body moved before your mind and you nodded.

Stupid Alpha hormones.

Without the clothes, you instantly felt better but there was still burning in your veins, “Lay down,” Peter’s hand connected with your shoulder and you felt a coolness soothe the area as he pushed you down. Your back pressed against the soft mattress as you felt your jeans being undone, “There you go.”

“It hurts, Peter,” As the words left your mouth, you felt a kiss against your stomach. Your senses were completely out of whack and the simple touch sent waves of pleasure through your body. He kissed down your stomach to where he was pulling down your jeans. He pulled them down the length of your legs before deciding to rid himself his own clothes. You sat up on your elbows as you watched him reveal himself.

His body was perfectly crafted, the sight of him causing your core to ache for him. You moved up on your elbows as he stalked closer once again, “Bare your throat to me,” He demanded, lust in his eyes. Your heart began to race and you slowly moved further and further back on the bed as he followed you, “You want me to quell that fire inside, don’t you? I can take that pain away …”

It wasn't a command. He wanted you to go against every standard you’d set for yourself and willingly show him the ultimate sign of submission. He grabbed your hands, moving them so they were pinned above your head, as he settled between your legs. You felt his growing member pressed against your crotch, teasing you.

“Please don’t,” You begged and you watched his lips tug into a small smile. He leaned down closer, holding your smaller hand in his tightly, and you couldn’t run from that feeling anymore, “Peter, I can’t-”

“But you want to, Omega. You want to be tamed. You want me to be by my side, protected and loved for the rest of your days,” Peter grunted, pressing himself further into you. All you wanted was his lips on you again, “Now be a good girl for me.”

Your eyes shut tight as you turned your head, exposing your neck to the Alpha that called you his soulmate. He took the sign of submission as a green light to ravish your body. He pressed his lips against the skin of your neck, leaving rough bites along your skin, and you thought you might go deaf from how loud you were screaming in pleasure.

Peter kissed every inch of your body and you found yourself desperately trying to taste him as well. You realized that a switch had flipped inside of you a long time ago and you weren’t sure how you managed to resist it for long. Like a predator who finally captured his prey, Peter devoured you.

Your first times were nothing like the movie. You didn’t feel any sort of pain and your bodies were so synced that you felt anything but awkward. You felt like you knew him completely in this life and your past lives before,

“Please, please, please.”

He sunk deep inside of you, rocking the furniture and destroying the room, “You take me so good,” You nodded eagerly, the sound of his wanting voice driving you insane, “Fuck, get on top of me.” He smacked your bottom and your lips tugged into a tired smile.

After taking you in missionary, you switched positions, and you rode him until your second climax. Your arms wrapped around each other as you moved your hips. When he finally came he was deep inside you, his moans were enough to send you over the edge for the third time, “Peter, I’m gonna--again!” Your arms wrapped around his neck, you kissed passionately as he filled you with his warmth.

“You were fucking made for me,” Peter breathed against your lips, “Thank the Goddess.”

Tears slipped down your cheeks but Peter brushed them away with his thumb. You hadn’t realized the love you’d been lacking until now. You didn’t know a stranger's love could be so unconditional but it seemed he wasn’t a stranger at all. Whatever consequences came from this, you thanked the Goddess that you could feel again.

i might write a part three to this but i left it on a happy ending in case it takes me awhile to get to it!

#dark fic #peter parker x reader #peter parker smut #dark peter parker #alpha!peter parker #omegaverse #omega!reader #a/b/o smut #avengers a/b/o #peter parker x y/n #dark!peter x reader #dark!peter #black!reader #peter parker x black!reader #alpha!peter parker x omega!reader #dystopian au #wanda maximoff #peter parker #peter parker au

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wishingtobeinadifferentuniverse · 4 years ago

Text

Always There (Faramir x Gender Neutral!reader)

Request: I'd like to send a Faramir request! And I thought maybe just some fluff, confessing their love to each other? ~ @midearthwritings

Word count: 2249 (sorry I got carried away, it was fun lol)

Warnings: The teensiest bit of angst, fluff, and kissing?

A/N Alright, I thoroughly enjoyed making this one, I always love me some Faramir! Just for reference, I have not gotten to Return of the King yet, I have only watched the movie, so if something seems to be incorrect, my deepest apologies. And yes, I bent the story to match my thoughts. It’s fine. Thank you so much to @guardianofrivendell for helping me with some scenes! Also, a Quisby is a lazy-ass and a yaldson is the son of a prostitute. I looked up medieval insults and thought they were pretty funny. May or may not be using them on my friends...

Denethor was a quisby, a yaldson. You clenched your jaw, seething with anger. You couldn’t say much, for fear of upsetting the king, no, the Steward. But he was sending his only son left to battle. A battle that he could not win. No one would survive. Wasteful. And he sent the love of your life.

Faramir had always been special to you. When you were younger you were closer with Boromir, but as you all grew up, fitting the molds made for you, things changed. Boromir was always learning policy and diplomacy as his father’s right hand. Faramir was left behind with the lesser jobs, that most would consider unpleasant for someone used to a grandeur life. You bonded quickly, soon knowing even the most minuscule details about each other. And all was well. Until Osgiliath was taken again. With Boromir’s success came more criticism of Faramir. This also led to Boromir sent to a secret council regarding a weapon that could change the war. But Boromir never returned from the mission. He never made it back home. To Faramir and you.

Denethor took the news horribly, but nothing compared to Faramir. He was distraught, hiding the most of his pain. He only confided in you, how lost and unappreciated he felt. He didn’t understand how those words also hurt you, carving deeper into the fresh wound of grief. He didn’t realize how much you appreciated him, how blind he was to your love. It was all you could do to not unravel then and there, piece by piece. But you held strong, for his sake. He had no one left but you. His father did not care for him. His brother who showered him with affection and praise was gone. It was just you two.

And now he was gone, sent on a death mission, little chance of making it back. You found yourself in your room, not remembering how you got there. Tears were streaming down your face, slowing down to your chin. You went onto the balcony, luckily one that did not face the battle. It would be unbearable to see it. You curled up, your back pressed against the cool stone. You wished you had told him. Told him how you had felt. You relished the memories you shared with him. Even though he only saw you as a friend, no more. The day passed quickly, but you stayed where you were, hidden. And then, a horn sounded. They were back. At least whoever was left. But there were worse things heading towards the gates. Gondor was under attack.

You rushed to the gates, your thoughts clouded with panic. Only one thought was constant. Where was Faramir? You reached the guards at the front.

“What happened? Who made it back?” You said hurriedly, seeing no signs of injury in the guards nearby.

“Only the Captain of Gondor made it back ma’am, he was injured horribly. Taken back to the citadel is what I heard. Hardly going to last the night.” The guard looked at you, concerned. “Are you the one Faramir talked about? I was by his side all through Osgiliath. Pardon me if I’m mistaken, but you like precisely like what he described.”

You bowed your head, cheeks a hint darker than normal. It didn’t matter, he only talked about you as a friend. And besides, he was horribly injured. This should be the last thing on your mind. “Aye, that would be me. But excuse me, I must be on my way. I need to find him.”

You turned from the slightly bemused guard and walked as quickly as you could without causing alarm. Although at this point, everybody had to have known about Faramir. Everyone except you. You turned a corner, quite distracted, and slammed into someone.

“Oh, I am terribly sorry I- what on Middle Earth?” You stuttered. A child looked up at you, no, not a child, but he was small enough to be a child. Not a dwarf though. Something completely different.

“Oh hello there! I’m guessing you have never seen a hobbit before! My name is Pippin, and don’t worry about accidentally running into me, it happens a lot. You look very in distress. What is wrong? Also, I am looking for a friend, so if you happen to see him please let me know.” The hobbit, Pippin babbled. You were a bit overwhelmed from everything you were going through but luckily found the patience to deal with this energetic hobbit.

“Oh, I am looking for a friend as well, his name is Faramir if you manage to find him. And don’t worry little one, I am just worried for his sake.” You responded back quickly, hoping to move on your way.

Unfortunately for you, the hobbit had different plans. “Oh yes, I am also looking for Faramir, as well as Gandalf. I saw him being led away, and I heard a mutter about the Steward going insane. I am trying to find him to help. But the trouble is brewing, and the fighting will start soon. I am worried, very worried.” Pippin babbled on as you searched the streets for this Gandalf.

After a little while, he finally saw who he was looking for. He explained quickly what was going on and why he needed to check on Faramir.

“Faramir is alive but Denethor wants to burn him. He thinks he's dead. ” Pippin spoke hurriedly, already rushing Gandalf along.

You gasped. “You did not tell me that Denethor was trying to burn him! Why didn’t you tell me?”

Pippin looked confused. “I didn’t tell you? I could have sworn I did.”

You shook your head, your heart racing even faster than it had been before. To make things even worse, you could hear the sounds of battle. The city had finally been breached. Luckily you were far up enough that the orcs hadn’t reached you...yet. Gandalf was farther ahead of you, and you quickened your strides to match his. He turned and looked at you, his eyes piercing yours. You had the strangest feeling that your mind was being invaded.

“Patience child. We will stop that lunatic before anything happens. He will be alright.” He turned away again as if he hadn’t said a word. You gaped, it was as if he knew exactly what you were thinking. He seemed familiar, but you didn’t know why. But alas, it did not matter at this moment, and you refocused your mind back on who you were trying to save. Faramir.

As you hurried along, you tried your hardest to remember. His smile. The dimples on his cheeks. How much fun you two had together. Running through the markets when you were younger, causing trouble, but laughing all the way. How he would be publicly humiliated by his father. How you would be there for him, comfort him, make him happier. The hidden smiles in the throne room, the silent laughter, and inside jokes.

You were quickly brought back to the present as some stone shattered right behind you, showering big chunks of rock. You ducked quickly and grabbed the hobbit, making him run faster. You had to get out of there. Gandalf showed you two through a small alley, and all too soon you had arrived at the top. But Faramir and Denethor were nowhere to be seen. Somehow, Gandalf knew exactly where they were, and took you to a smaller room, that was barricaded. He slammed open the doors as if it were nothing, and you ran right into a horrifying scene.

Denethor was standing on top of a pile of wood, and Faramir lay at his feet, both drenched in oil. Some soldiers had torches in their hands, and some looked hesitant. Everything drained away, all sound was muffled. All you could see was Faramir, and it was as if he knew you there. He rustled slightly and looked straight at you. His lips moved wordlessly, and you couldn’t move, an invisible force stopping you.

A scream and then fire engulfed the wood, Faramir was taken from your view. Your feet finally decided to start moving, and both you and Pippin ran towards the pyre, grabbing Faramir before the flames could engulf him. Another screech and then you realized that Denethor had been taken by the flames. He ran off to who knows where, and the guards left quickly, helping to aid in the battle.

It was soon just you, Faramir, Pippin, and Gandalf. Faramir’s eyes were closed, but his heart was still beating. You cradled his head in your lap, softly brushing his hair out of his face.

“Gandalf, will he be alright?” You asked tentatively, not daring to even look away from Faramir.

Gandalf sighed. “With time he will heal. But whether he will heal from the pain in his heart is unclear to me. He has been through far too much, as most have in such times, and for your sake, I hope he perseveres.”

You and Gandalf helped Faramir up, who at this point was able to open his eyes slightly. You both brought him to his room, as the medical wing was a greater distance. Pippin trailed behind like a lost puppy. The poor hobbit had probably never seen such violence in his life. You laid him in his bed, and Gandalf bid a quick goodbye, herding Pippin out.

It was just you and Faramir. You knelt at his bedside and grasped his hand, waiting, hoping, for anything. More memories ran through your mind. He taught you how to use a sword, to protect yourself if need be. And then on your birthday, he had gotten you a sword of your own, beautifully crafted, and balanced perfectly. It was quite a gift to receive, and you protested, but to no avail. It was in your room, hidden so that no one could take it. You remembered how your hands tingled when he gave it to you, just the slightest brush of fingers. But you were young and naive.

He stirred, and his eyes opened, looking at the ceiling. Then he tilted his head towards you and looked down at your intertwined hands. You stopped breathing for a second, nervous that you might have overstepped your bounds.

“I am still alive. What happened with my father? I remember the smell of smoke.” Faramir’s voice was raspy still, and quiet.

You looked away, trying to figure out what to tell him. You were the bearer of bad news this time it seemed. “Your father thought you dead and was going to have you burned. I showed up with Gandalf and Pippin only moments before it was to happen. ”

He groaned and turned away. But he held on tighter to your hand, as if you were his lifeline, the one last thing keeping him there with you. “Faramir,” you said hesitantly, “I-I was so afraid of losing you. I never want to lose you again. I-” You broke off, too afraid to say what was on your mind. He was looking right at you, the ghost of a smile on his face. “Continue, please,” he said. He reached his other hand across his body, softly grazing your arm.

You smiled slightly, taking in a shaky breath. “I love you Faramir. And I have for a long time. I am not creative enough to give a whole speech about my love for you, but my love for you is worthy of a speech if needed.”

Faramir smiled, the brightest you had ever seen it. “I love you too my dear, more than anything, and I am so sorry I never said anything before. Please forgive me.”

Then he slowly reached his hand up to your face, and you leaned towards him. But you went a bit too fast, and accidentally slammed your nose onto his, causing you both to cry out in pain. You felt like you were going to cry, you ruined the special moment. But then he smiled and started laughing so hard. You were so embarrassed, but you also started chuckling.

In between breaths, Faramir choked out, “Clearly, neither of us have done this.”

You nodded, keeping back a grin.

He cracked a smile, trying to hold in his laughter. But then he sobered up. “Well, I think we should try that again. Help me sit up?”

You felt even more butterflies in your stomach as you propped up a pillow for him and helped him up. You leaned back to make sure he was comfortable, but he grabbed your wrist and pulled you back. You laughed again, and he smiled. He traced a finger up your arm and all the way up to the back of your neck. He leaned in first, making an emphasis on how slow he was moving, but you were too nervous to laugh. Softly, he pressed his lips against yours. You barely moved, not daring to. But you slowly melted as he moved his other hand to the small of your back. You moved your hands, knotting them in his hair, pulling you even closer together. His lips molded against yours, slightly chapped, making you shiver. Ever so slowly, he began to pull away, much to your dismay. But he still held you in arms.

Slowly, you whispered, “We should have done that sooner.”

Faramir nodded and pulled you closer. “Thank you,” he whispered back, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

#faramir x reader #faramir x y/n #faramir #lord of the rings #lotr #lotr fanfic

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previousloversandmuses · 3 years ago

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Slow Burn - Prologue

Part I | masterlist

A/N: This is a “must read” precursor to the whole series. Please read it to know what the origin story is.

Pairing: Y/N x Obi Wan Kenobi

Words: 2048

Warnings: None. Brief mentions of violence. Low self esteem.

I am always one to experience emotions at a heightened frequency. Dangerous for a Jedi in training I know, but the council never took it as a sign of caution, just a minor set back. Happiness is bright, and beaming, even painful. My cheeks hurt for days after, smile lines sculpting my skin too early in life. Anger is powerful, my skin becoming vicious, and hot. Ripping through me like a silver bullet, and tearing my already unrelenting gut apart. I am loud, I am violent, and most of all, passionate. I would later become grateful of this curse, turning it into a blessing. Sadness is so deep. Tears crash like an ocean, and my heart would ache in my chest. The physical symptoms of my despair become overwhelming, and make me sick.

A fresh eighteen myself, my graduation is only a year or so away. Compared to other padawans, ones that don’t deal with the same struggles as myself, have already been graced with knighthood. They make their masters proud, and have already completed more missions at sixteen than I think I ever will in my entire career.

I had the choice to become independent, to take my morals by the throat, and shove them deep down inside me, never to be seen again- but it really just isn’t that easy. See, I’m taking this time for meditation, or even a “behavioral therapy” of sorts. I have meetings with other council members, more powerful, and more prominent than my own master, who is often off tending to matters elsewhere. A mighty general he is, but they see me as someone who would cause more of a distraction, so I stay here at the temple left to my own devices. Sometimes I think it may be because I’m a woman, and other times I just take a good look in the mirror and recall the outburst that has stained my face only minutes before.

Today was like any other; wake up, meditate, exercise, study, combat training, study, try and find time to eat something, and study. I walked down the main hallway with Master Yoda. He spoke to me about how he once struggled with his emotions as well, but with enough meditation, learned how to keep them at bay. Looking down at him and his vacant expression, I was surprised he had ever even felt an emotion a day in his life. That was until seconds later…

Stopping in my tracks, my hand flew over my heart. I recalled feeling out of breath, like my heart had physically stopped beating in my chest, or at least was trying to catch up with the rest of my body. I was shaky, yet somehow managed to take a knee. Something was off, that feeling in my chest grew and grew until I was faced with the blackest black I had ever felt. The darkest emotion to ever run through my body, as cold as ice, and heart stopping. It was deep, I felt it within the darkest abyss in my soul. It wrapped around my insides and nestled itself a home deep within the most shielded corners of my subconscious. That’s when Master Yoda felt it too. His hand flying over his heart, and steadying himself on my own shoulder. His face morphed into a snarl, gasping at the sudden pain that now infected his unwavering calm aura.

...

After a painstakingly slow recovery, I sat on the edge of my bed. My quarters were neat and tidy. My bed, usually made up in the morning, because I have always been one for a routine. My walls weren’t bare, in fact they were almost completely covered in photographs I have taken from my travels as a Padawan. I'd go to the library, and butcher borrowed books, clipping photos of different words, and alien fauna. But today, those bright colors capable of producing fantasies for hours and hours, seemed black and white.

I had been staring at the floor for sometime, desperate in trying to heal the ache in my chest. It felt as if I had a cold, like the burn after a deep cough. I felt so tight, so tense, an actual living embodiment of rigor mortis. Yet, at the same time, I hardly felt all there. It was as if my existence was floating all around me, and my shell was sitting vacant on an uncomfortable mattress. The knock on my door was enough for me to engulf myself again.

“Y/N, are you decent?” The voice asks.

“Yes,” I reply, rolling my shoulders back.

“The council has requested an audience. Please report downstairs within the next few minutes.”

I nod my head, as if whoever was behind the door could see me.

“An audience,” I think. “Let’s add another year to that training plan, shall we?”

...

Walking downstairs to the council room, I can’t help but feel that all eyes are on me. They cut through me like a hot knife, slicing me thin. I feel so vulnerable. Like everyone around me can feel what I feel, and if I’m being honest, they probably do. A good Jedi who is in tune with the force, and especially in tune with others, can sense an intense emotion from a mile away. I’m sure at this moment I pretty much equate to an open book. No reason to try and hide it, force knows I struggle with concealing even an inkling of agitation.

Seeing the council room in sight, I take a deep breath. This is it. I’m done for. This reaction was way too over the top. I’ve scared people, I’ve scared Master Yoda. Might as well just turn in my saber now and call it a day.

I walk into the door. Only a few masters sit scattered around. Master Yoda of course perched dead center, Master Windu waiting patiently to his right. But my master was nowhere in sight. You’d think if they were going to terminate me, that maybe my own mentor would be among them? Shaking his head, sending me glares that one could only compare to fucking daggers. He was tough on me for sure, maybe he was too ashamed of what I’d done to even bear to see me in this moment.

“Coming here so quickly you did,” Starts Master Yoda. “Grateful we all are.”

I smile and bow my head.

“Y/N,” Master Windu starts. “We’re here to discuss the events that happened earlier.”

Oh god here it comes. This is it. I’m totally done for. I can’t even keep myself calm now. My face, getting hotter and more red by the second, is going to be the biggest tell. At least let me go out with some dignity.

“Your reaction, what you felt at least, was not just brought on out of the blue. Master Yoda had the same experience, as did all of us on the council, and most Jedi and padawans in the temple.”

“I don’t understand.” I say.

“At around 1 Coruscant time, an enemy bomb was detonated on Nal Hutta.”

Then it hit me. My heart sinking, I began to shake my head.

“Unfortunately, Unit 505, and Master Cato were all killed on impact.”

My ears ring. Slowly, I move over to a chair, bracing myself.

“That’s,” I start, trying to find the words to say. “He would’ve felt it, all of them would, I don’t understand.”

“We have a feeling it was planted by a Sith. That’s the only way it would’ve clouded any judgement.”

I slump into it, my vision going black, my head spinning.

Master Cato has been with me since I was a very little girl. Although rough, tough, and brutally honest, he has done nothing but be a father to me time and time again. Everything I do is a reflection of him. He had been so busy at war, fighting day in and day out, I caught myself missing the commands, and demands I once so passionately despised. I took our whole relationship for granted, and now, is this the price I have to pay? The last time we spoke he told me how disappointed he was in my outburst in my Alien Fauna lab. I was being stubborn, I was bratty, and rolled my eyes. We had argued that entire call. He didn’t even attempt to say goodbye. Now, for an eternity, I will have to face the catastrophic guilt of my actions. Live with the fact that I never, ever told him how much I appreciated him. And even, how much I loved him so. The closest thing to family in my life, gone, in the snap of a finger.

Both Master Yoda and Master Windu continued to talk but it all felt like empty words. I couldn’t hear them anyway.

“Although this situation isn't ideal, we and the rest of the council applaud you for being able to feel something most of us haven’t been able to experience yet.” Claimed Master Windu.

I don’t listen. I stand up again.

“What am I going to do? I don’t feel comfortable with being knighted yet. I had- we were working on so many things I-,” I stumbled on my words.

“You’ll get placed with a new master.”

“There are no new masters. And even if I had been trained a certain way, I don’t know how to learn otherwise.”

There is silence.

“The force works in mysterious ways. Meant to happen, I feel.”

I scoff. “Meant to happen,” what an evil thing to say.

I begin to walk off, stopping of course, only to get in the last word.

“Not only have you told me that my master has been killed, but you lack any empathy. There is no emotion in your eyes. Nothing.”

“We mourn your master y/n, just as much as you do. You know what we stand for. You know our view on attachments.”

“He's like-,” I choke. “He was like my father.”

I can’t even begin to explain the pain I feel. Disgust in myself, I should’ve been better. I could’ve been better. The last few years of our relationship I’ve just been behaving poorly and rebelling, and then getting angry at him when he made me face the consequences. Like I wasn’t aware of the job I was made to do. I should’ve been nicer, I could’ve been nicer. It’s all going in a circle, all the things I should’ve done just morphed into things I couldn’t do. Maybe I was too emotional. Maybe my tears that fell leading up to this moment was all part of the plan, the final kicker to show that I wasn’t apathetic enough for this job. My empathy, my burning passion will always be my biggest flaw. This hole that gapes inside of me will never be filled, and now it grows bigger. It’s like a disease. Am I enough? Will I ever be enough?

“Put you with Master Kenobi, we will.” States Master Yoda.

Master Windu is quick in turning his head. He glares at him.

“Master Yoda, General Kenobi has just finished his training with Anakin. It is far too early to give him a new Padawan, if at all.”

Yoda nods, almost giggling.

“Yet so freshly knighted, a Padawan Anakin already has. Obi Wan will have no problem with taking on a student. Graduates soon, she will.”

“But General Kenobi and I have two completely different methods of combat, let alone ideals.” I scoff.

“All Jedi have the same ideals.” Adds Windu.

“He is a Jedi guardian, I am a Jedi sentinel-“

“Train with General Kenobi you will. Not long ago he also lost his master too soon.”

Master Yoda nods to me. He stands up and walks over to the large windows behind him. Looking out over Coruscant, he takes a deep sigh of relief.

“Master Windu,” says Yoda. “Get in contact with the 212th battalion.”

I watch on as my fate now rests in a stranger's hands.

#obi wan kenobi #obi wan kenobi smut #obi wan kenobi x you #obi wan kenobi x reader #obi wan fic #anakin skywalker #anakin x obi wan #ahsoka tano #star wars #star wars smut

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viking-raider · 4 years ago

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The Immortal Sky - Epilogue

Summary: You and Henry start a life together, after so much that’s happened.

Pairing: Henry Cavill/You

Word Count: 3,048

Rating: G - Dystopian!AU, Futuristic!AU, Language, Mild Angst, Suggestive Language, Cotton Candy Goodness, Fluff and a Super Happy Ending!

Inspiration: I’ve always wanted to write a futuristic fic!

Author’s Note: Thank you all for the support and love on this story, it was a blast to write. Thanks to the amazing @wondersofdreaming as always <3

It had been three months since the events had happened in Bristol, and both you and Henry had healed well and started building a life together as boyfriend and girlfriend.

Henry's family fully, completely and lovingly embraced you into their family, treating you as one of their very own; uncaring that you were born in the lower Sectors of London. They included you in everything from social parties and events to family gatherings. You were surprised, when you went to his family home for the first time, because unlike you and your family, Henry and his family were raise in an actual house in Sector Two's posh neighborhood, where nearly every member of the Royal and Cleric Council lived, with their families; his brothers and their families also lived in houses of their own, in the neighborhood.

The Cavill's had lived in this neighborhood for several generations, his father's side of the family had always been members of the Cleric Council and his mother's family had always been members of the Royal Council; but Henry was the first Cavill and Dalgliesh to not be either a Beta, Alpha or High Royal or Cleric, in nearly nine generations.

“Why don't you live here too, Henry?” You had asked, the first time Henry had taken you to his parent's house, for dinner, two weeks after getting out of the hospital. “Can you not, since you're a High Marshal?”

“Oh no, I can live here, if I'd like too, being the son of a Cleric and Royal.” Henry replied, as he pulled into his parents’ driveway. “But, I choose to live in the flat, in Central Sector Two. I didn't need a big house, since it was just Kal and I. Even with it being the three of us, there's still no need for one.” He explained, then got out of the car to move around and open your door.

Henry's family had even invited your parents and little brother to their family functions.

They had been slack jawed, while they sat in the back seat of Henry's car, you and Henry having gone to pick them up and take them to the Christmas party you all had been invited too. They watched as each Sector got brighter and brighter, until they finally got to see the sun, for the first time, as it started to sink below the horizon. Henry glanced at them through the rear-view mirror and smiled, remembering the same look of surprise and awe on your face as you saw the same view for the first time, over a year before. He looked at you and smiled even brighter as you looked at him, having looked back at them and saw their reactions to it as well.

Their awestruck continued as you entered the Cavill family's posh neighborhood, seeing all the fancy and large three-story houses, the lush green grass of the front lawns and the expensive cars in their driveways. Parking, you all got out of the car and headed inside, greeted by Henry's parents in the foyer.

“Merry Christmas.” Marianne smiled, hugging you and Henry. “Welcome and Merry Christmas.” She said to your parents and little brother, as you and Henry greeted his father.

“Thank you and Merry Christmas, My Lady.” Your mother replied and smiled back, nervously bowing her head to Marianne.

“Please, call me Marianne.” She replied, smiling sweetly. “This is my husband, Colin.” She said, introducing him.

“Pleasure.” Colin greeted them, smiling warmly.

“I'm Tasha. This is my husband, Tristan.” Your mother answered, motioning to your father. “And this is our youngest son, Christophe.” She said, resting her hand on his shoulder.

“Your house is ginormous!” Christophe replied, his mouth hanging open.

Marianne and Colin chuckled, warmed. “Please, come in and make yourselves at home.” She said, motioning into the living room, where most of the group was congregating. “The other kids are playing in the backyard, if you want to join them, Christophe.” She offered your brother, then showed him the way out to the backyard.

“You want something to drink?” Henry asked you as you moved into the living room with everyone else.

“Yes, that would be fantastic.” You nodded, smiling up at him.

“All right.” Henry smiled back, kissing you softly, before going into the kitchen.

“Is it time yet?” Simon asked, coming into the kitchen with his little brother, to also grab himself and his wife something to drink.

“Soon.” Henry replied, pouring you a glass of chilled white wine. “I need the perfect moment.” He said, pouring himself a glass, then handed the bottle to Simon.

“Just don't chicken out.” Simon teased him, grinning.

“Chicken out of what?” Marianne asked, coming into the kitchen.

“The right moment.” Henry replied, feeling his face burn, and took a deep gulp of the chilled wine, trying to cool his face off and fortify his nerves.

“You'll find it, Henry.” She told him, rubbing his broad back, trying to be encouraging and supportive of her son. “Don't rush it.”

“I won't.” Henry sighed, picking up the two wine glasses. “I want it to be perfect.”

Henry took the glasses into the living room, finding you sitting on the couch and took a seat beside you, holding out one of the glasses. You smiled at him, taking the glass and kissed him on the cheek, before taking a sip of it. Henry wrapped an arm around you, sipped his wine and got caught up in the flow of the conversation that was going on with everybody.

“They're all so nice.” Your mother said as the two of you went into the kitchen for more wine.

“They really are.” You replied, smiling as you heard Henry's laugh carry into the kitchen. “They're incredibly loving and supportive, especially towards Henry and I.” You told her, then sighed.

Henry's mother had been right, people did find out about you being a Slummer, and it had happened sooner than both of you had thought it would.

A month after returning to London from Bristol, you and Henry were at a Cleric Fundraiser, which was held every year to raise money to donate to one of the lower Sectors, so they could use it as they saw fit; usually to help buy supplies for the Sector's Hospital. When a woman approached you, while Henry went to find the Fundraiser Manager, so he could donate money to the event.

“So, your High Marshal Cavill's new girl.” She said, lifting a sculpted brow at you.

“I am.” You replied, frowning at her, in her glittering and almost skin tight dress. “Who are you?”

“I'm Natasha, Beta Cleric Shaw's wife.” She told you, still giving you a mean and judgmental expression. “Henry and I dated, a while back.” She added, tossing her straight black hair over her shoulder with a swish of her head. “We were serious, for a moment, before I left him.” She said, an evil smugness glinting in her gray eyes.

“I never thought Henry would stoop so low, as to date a Slummer.” She said, her upper lip curling with distaste.

“H-how do you know that?” You asked, gulping and feeling your hands tremble.

“My husband was on the Council panel, when you testified against Oron Anderson.” Natasha replied, resting a hand on her hip. “He told me all about you being from Sector Twenty-Eight and how long you spent in that trafficker's warehouse in Thirty-One; before Henry bought you.”

“How's it feel to be his bought and paid for play thing?” She asked, looking you over.

“I'm not.” You replied, your voice barely audible.

“You can think that and Henry can tell you that, but we-” She motioned around the room, the gold and diamond bangles rattling on her thin wrist. “All know the truth.” She told you, tipping her nose up at you, then walked away.

Your breath hitched in your throat as hot tears prickled at the corners of your eyes, before turning your back to her and rushed out of the room. Henry had been halfway back, just missing Natasha walking away from you, when he saw the look of anguish on your face and rush out of the room. Scanning the room, trying to see what had caused it, Henry rushed after you. You took your heels off as you got out the front doors of the venue and ran into the manicured garden to the side of it. Henry finally caught up with you, finding you gulping down deep mouthfuls of cold night air by a massive fountain.

“Hey.” He whispered, resting his hand on your goosebump and chilled skin. “What's wrong?” He asked, shrugging out of his blazer and draping it over your shaking shoulders, before hugging you against his chest, your tears spilling over onto his dark gray dress shirt.

“What happened? Tell me.”

“They know.” You sobbed, clinging onto him and getting makeup all over his shirt.

“Who knows what, babe?” He asked, cupping your head in his hands and pulled your face away from his chest.

“They know what I am.” You cried, your bottom lip puffy and trembling.

Henry blinked at you for a moment, before his brain connected to what you meant and his eyes widened.

“Yeah.” You gasped and sighed. “They know I'm just a fucking sl-”

“Don't.” He snapped, shaking his head at you.

“I am, Henry.” You hissed back at him, becoming angry. “I'm a Slummer and they know it.” You huffed, trying to pull away from him.

Henry bit his lip, biting back his own frustrated anger. “Who told you this?” He demanded, keeping a hold on you.

“Your ex.”

Henry's shoulders slumped and he squeezed his eyes shut. “Natasha.” He growled between clenched teeth.

“Yes, her.” You nodded, folding your arms inside his blazer. “Told me how the two of you dated, before she left you, and that everyone knew that I was a Slummer, because her husband told her about me testifying at Twist's trial.”

“How the hell does she know you testified at Twist's trial.” Henry frowned, taken aback.

“Her husband is, apparently, Beta Cleric Shaw.”

“So, she did end up with a Cleric after all.” Henry sighed, shaking his head.

“What?” You snapped at him.

“The reason Natasha broke up with me, was because I wouldn't leave the Marshal Council to become either a Cleric or a Royal. She wanted that posh and expensive life that they have. But, I wouldn't do it, I love being a High Marshal. So, she left me, and apparently got what she wanted in the end.” He sighed, rubbing his face.

“But, I don't care about that. What I care about is her trying to hurt you.”

“She did a damn good job.” You whispered, staring down at your bare toes. “Called me, your bought and paid for plaything.”

“Look at me.” He whispered, touching his fingertips underneath your chin and lifted your head, until your wet eyes met his. “You're not my 'bought and paid for' plaything. We both know that, sweetheart. She's just a salty and unhappy woman, that only gets her happiness out of watching others suffer, and other people might know about you being from the lower Sectors, but she's only one crazy enough to say anything about it to your, my, or any of my family's face or within earshot of us either.” He told you, gently swiping his thumbs beneath your eyes, wiping away your tears.

“As for her husband speaking about the trial, when he's not allowed to speak to anyone about it outside of the Councils, and she's nowhere near a position on them, he's going to be in a load of trouble, when I bring it up to my mum.”

“I don't want him to get into trouble because his wife is apparently a bitch.” You told him, grasping his wrists.

“I know you don't, love.” Henry smiled at you. “But, if he's talking to his wife about them, then he's more than likely talking to others he's not supposed to, and that's a breach and violation of his position. The Councils have to be told about it.” He explained to you.

“What, will you not tell me things, if I were your wife?” You asked him, trying to tease him.

“I'm a High Marshal, my job is less top secret and involved than a Cleric or Royal.” Henry replied, chuckling. “I don't know how interested you'd be in me talking about homicide cases, they tend to be a bit graphic.”

“I wouldn't mind. Especially, if you needed to get something off your chest, if one is really bothering you.” You confessed, biting your lip as you looked up at him, recalling all the nightmares you had soothed him through.

“I'll keep that in mind.” Henry smiled, kissing you. “You want to go back in?” He asked you, looking back at the building. “Or we could ditch it, go back home and have a movie night.”

You pressed your lips together, thinking about it. Part of you wanted to go back in and face Natasha's no doubt judgmental glares the rest of the night, showing her that you weren't going to be intimidated by her and what she thought, but if you were honest, now that you were calm, you didn't actually care what she thought.

“I like the idea of movie night.” You said, looking back up at Henry.

“So do I.” Henry agreed. “I'm dying for a pair of sweats.”

“You are?” You laughed, looking at yourself in the tight gown and your bare, but screaming, feet.

“I wouldn't mind helping you out of that.” Henry chuckled, grinning and winking at you.

You grinned up at him and had a feeling that the impromptu movie night wouldn't last long, if the expression on Henry's face was anything to go off of.

“What is it, honey?” Your mother asked, seeing that far off look in your eyes.

“Nothing.” You laughed, shaking it off.

The back door came flying open and several of the kids came running in from outside, yelling and screaming as they went to their respective parents.

“Christophe, what's the matter?” Your mother asked him, frowning.

“Come look! Come look!” He said, grabbing his mother's hand and dragging her out the back door.

You frowned after them and looked to Henry as he and everyone from the living room filed through the kitchen and out the back door. “What's going on, Babe?” You asked him, as he took your hand and guided you outside with them.

“It's snowing, Nugget.” He grinned at you, excited for you to see it.

You let Henry lead you outside, gasping as you stepped out onto the back deck and into the heavy flurry of thick white flakes. Henry smiled, moving to stand behind you, wrapping his arms around you and hugging you back against him, kissing the back of your hair and resting his chin on top of your head, gently swaying as you both watched the snow fly. You were memorized by it, even with how cold it was, tilting your head back and smiling up at Henry, who smiled back at you, kissing your forehead.

“I'll be right back, I have to grab something.” He said, letting go of you and going back inside.

“This is amazing.” Christophe said, and stuck his tongue out like Henry's nieces and nephews, catching the flakes on it.

You smirked at him, tilting your own head back a bit and did the same, giggling as the snowflakes melted on your tongue and oblivious of Henry coming up behind you.

“Babe?” He called out, getting your attention.

You turned around to face him, but had to drop your eyes down slightly, as he knelt before you in the gathering snow on the wood deck. “Henry?” You answered, blinked down at his, confused.

“Oh god.” You heard someone gasp.

“I know,” Henry started, looking incredibly worried and nervous. “we've been through a whole lot since we met, a year and a half a go, but for all that, I wouldn't have wanted to endure any of that, without you.” He explained, fidgeting and fumbling for something in his back pocket. “I love you. I want to be with you and spend the rest of my life with you, only you.”

“So, I want to ask you something.”

“Okay.” You grinned, feeling how warm your cheeks were getting and the flurry of butterflies flying around your stomach, like the snowflakes in the air around you.

“Will you marry me?” He asked, in a rush, his nerves getting the better of him, as he opened the box and revealed a beautiful diamond ring.

A huge smile pulled across your face and giggled nervously, you were speechless for a minute, completely stunned and surprised by Henry proposing to you, then finally managed to answer.

“Yes.” You nodded, giddy. “Yes!” You laughed.

“Oh thank god.” Henry laughed back, relieved, then slipped the ring onto your finger, standing up and wrapping his arms around you, kissing you deeply.

Everyone clapped and cheered, happy for the both of you.

Five months later, you and Henry walked down the aisle and married, in a private ceremony, attended only by friends and family, the people that mattered to the both of you, and it was two years after that, that you two of you moved into a house in his family's neighborhood and welcomed your first child, a boy, that you both mutually agreed on, and named, Michail. If it wasn't for your brother, in so many ways, neither you or Henry would have met and fallen in love.

Your life was perfect now and even though you had lost your brother, neither you or Henry would change it for anything.

-- END --

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lovelivingmydreams · 4 years ago

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My king au headcannon Part two

So this is the follow up to this post Which is a headcanon for this au created by @rondoel Enjoy!

Something to think about The king was meditating. He was trying to familiarize himself with the mindscape again, get a better feeling of it and see what his halves had done since the split. He was sorely disappointed. There were pages upon pages of ideas, but he found no evidence of them in the fantasy realm. No traces of the epic quests the ‘light’ half had envisioned, despite how well worked out they appeared. An ‘Ultimate Storytime’ should have left traces in the kingdom. Remus at least lived out his ideas even if they were only ever half formed and lacked substance beyond the initial impulse that brought them about. The results of these outbursts weren’t all that impressive either. He didn’t examine the ideas too closely. Obviously his perfectionistic half had abandoned them for a reason and so they weren’t worth his time. The one named Roman had spent some time in the fantasy realm, but he didn’t considered it his main duty. Instead he’d wasted time on crafting ‘ideas’ and ‘bonding’ with the others. Even the impulsive Remus had prioritized interacting with Deceit over expressing himself. Disgusting. Not that he could truly fault either of his halves. Other than his purpose every trace of him had been purged from their minds during the split. They hadn’t known to distrust the others the way he knew they should’ve. Obviously the others were to blame for all this.

As he thought of them he could feel his minister’s energy surging and subsiding in subtle burst and raging waves. One of Roman’s nickname for him ‘Stormy Knight’ seemed to suit the boy quite well at the moment. The minister was mostly alone, aside from morality. Someone had to babysit him he supposed. Suddenly he became aware of music… something strange yet familiar. “Disney. Medley.” A faint memory offered him. He remembered Disney. It was his aspiration to create worlds and adventures just as amazing for Thomas to escape to when the real world inevitably bored him. Clearly he hadn’t been gone long enough for that to change. Though he didn’t recognize the melody that was currently playing, even though he could tell that it wasn’t something obscure and nearly forgotten to Thomas. The entire imagination responded to the melody as if it was an old friend. Almost as if it was born here even. There were voices singing, a magnificent harmony. Powerful and foreboding. He followed the sound of the voices and soon saw a structure appear. As he approached he found it was a massive statue expertly carved from marble. Center stage stood a figure he recognized as Thomas holding his hands in front of him to form a heart. A brilliant smile on his face. It was heartwarming to see his boy like that. To Thomas’ left stood grown Morality with one arm thrown over his shoulder and another pulling the hooded side, Anxiety, his minister, into the group. The young side allowed it with a small smirk and gentle eyes directed at their protégé. On Thomas’ right stood Logic, a steady hand on the boy’s shoulder as he adjusted his glasses, which did not conceal the fond look on the man’s face. On Logic’s right stood Deceit, his back slightly turned to the rest and adjusting his hat, but also with a soft, caring expression gracing his features. Then right behind Thomas, standing slightly taller than they would have in reality, seemingly standing on a stage behind the group, but close enough to still be part of the ensemble, was him. Or the two sides that had been him for a while. Roman looked regal and was posing as though he had not a care in the world, his eyes proudly overseeing his subjects. Not minding the presence of Remus who was hanging of his ‘brother’s’ shoulders and making a face. It was an idyllic picture that never was and now never could be. There was beauty in it’s tragic impossibility. At the feet of the stone depictions were stone letters. Fam in cursive and then in big bold lines ILY. And leaning against the L was the minister, singing the song that had lured King away from his meditation. The shadows around him were aiding in his musical endeavor drifting around him and the statue. King took in the marvel once more, wondering how the nervous side had managed to create such a blessing with what should’ve been a cruel curse for at least a few more days before King would grant the young one his council and guidance. He hadn’t enjoyed being cruel to him. Not entirely. Sure, he had opposed creativity in the past and deserved to be disciplined. But king also knew how integral he was to the process. Roman’s discoveries regarding that weren’t lost to him. He couldn’t silence Anxiety completely. He would not get Thomas to go on adventures at all if he did so. But he had to teach him his place now, before he got any ideas of fighting him. The minister had been about to try just that and might have been successful too if he’d gone all out at once. But luckily he seemed unaware of his own abilities, or at least unwilling to use them on what he still thought to be the twins he’d known all his life. Alas he’d never get the opportunity again. “It all can be sold!” the shadows chorused around the teen-like side, captivating baby Morality with their movements as the little one clutched to the dark uniform and distracting King from his musings. “As a specimen yes I’m intimidating!” One voice continued, drifting around the side who was swaying to the music playing in his headphones with his eyes closed, holding onto Morality and then the dark clad side sang himself. “You can blame my friends on the ooootheeeer siiiiiiiiiide.” And just like that the shadows dispersed. Mostly anyway. They still swirled around the minister, but they were more of a dark aura than when they originally manifested. Anxiety seemed to be in better spirits than when he came to offer his ridiculous apology to Roman. King barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the memory. What a waste of time. Still it had been sincere, at least it seemed to be. And King wasn’t completely insensitive. He could understand that it would be hard for this young one to let go of his halves when he had never known them as one. Perhaps, King could cut him a little slack. Though he would have to remain vigilant… Hmmm, why did that word feel so odd when thinking about… Right, Virgil. Everyone had names now. Not that he cared much for those. Names were too… Names were for friends, allies. He didn’t need a name, nor did his subjects. Lest any of them forget who was in charge. King wouldn’t. Never again. The infant noticed that they were no longer alone in the room and tugged at Anxiety’s hair to get his attention. In response Thomas’ guardian pulled off his headphones and looked down at the heart. “What’s wrong popstar… or… Well, doesn’t really fit right now I guess,” Anxiety chuckled a little sadly. “Guess I’m more the dad now than you, huh?” he mused. “When this is all over, I promise I’ll never complain about you treating me like your kid again.” There was an uneasiness forming in King’s stomach. Anxiety was close with Morality, both Roman and Remus remembered that. But… how close was Morality with Anxiety? King knew that their ‘moral compass’ could be as two faced as Deceit. No, this could be part of an elaborate plan to gain his trust, he’d fallen for it once before. And of course they’d send Anxiety to do their dirty work now that all of them had already shown him their true colors. Little Morality pointed at King and Anxiety looked up, curious at first and then his eyes widened in fear. He put the child behind him and stood in a strange mixture of a respectful bow and a defensive stance. Arms slightly spread to shield his friend and head raised so he didn’t quite let his eyes leave King’s frame. “I…I’m sorry if I was too loud,” Anxiety offered with trembling voice, assuming he’d angered his king someway. Good. King approached, not sure if he was in the mood to scold or to praise just yet, but stopped about three steps in front of Anxiety as his foot hit something. He looked down and saw that the floor surrounding his minister was covered in sketches. He looked up at Anxiety with a raised brow, curious to hear what had brought on this little storm of creativity. And he found him staring at the sketches around them in horror. Then he seemingly felt the structure behind him, he turned and looked up in horror, trembling even harder. He looked back at King with wide eyes. “I…I didn’t mean to…” he started. “Then I look forward to see what you create for me when you intend to do so young one,” King mutters calmly, as he bids one of the drawings to come to his hand. As far as he can tell it’s two children playing in a forest. “Tell me about this one boy,” he instructs as he shows Anxiety the drawing. The side takes the sketch with a frown and looks at it for a moment before a small smile of recognition appears on his face. “I’d manifested for about two months. Remus felt it was about time I came on an adventure,” he starts explaining, and as he does the drawing rises up and gains colors and details that weren’t there before. Anxiety didn’t seem to notice, too captivated by his own memory as he described how freaked out he was by the forest and all its creepy creatures. Remus never let a single one touch him though. Still, it was stressful for him and he didn’t come along as often as Remus would like. The painting showed two preteens, Remus and Anxiety, the later clutching a comfort item, pillow or blanket, King wasn’t sure, maybe it was a stuffed animal. They were running around and laughing. But in their shadows Anxiety was curled up in a ball and Remus was making a gesture as if he’d just popped out and screamed ‘boo’. A lovely memory with a shadow side. But that was the nicest thing Anxiety could create with the power King had granted. Once the story was done and the painting finished, King snapped his fingers and conjured a dark wooden frame with a vine pattern around it and hung it on a non-existent wall. “I’m sorry, I know you said to get rid of the feelings, but I… I can’t… I always mess up like this please I…” Anxiety flinched when King reached out for him. Curling into himself, expecting another curse or some other punishment perhaps. Which is probably why his posture relaxed and his face was overcome with confused surprise when all he received was a brief pat on his hair. “You may not have gotten rid of those feelings but you did something even better,” King laid a hand on Anxiety’s shoulder and looked down on him. “You made something out of them. I am very pleased with you,” he informed his disciple. Anxiety looked up at him confused. “Really?” he asked, his voice breaking over the single word. Before King could answer, a displeased cooing pulled Anxiety’s attention away. He turned around and picked up the infant who immediately latched onto his neck and stared at King over his shoulder. Clearly the infant retained enough of Morality’s adult thoughts to be wary of him. Good it wouldn’t be a proper curse if the traitor wasn’t aware of the danger King posed to him and his precious family. King grinned menacingly at Morality, hoping it’d confirm the child’s worst fears about his intentions for who he apparently considered a son. What could be worse than agonizing over the fact that your sins would result in an innocent paying for them? For that innocent to be your child of course. “Please Pat, behave alright?” Anxiety muttered as he got up and turned back to the king. “Sorry… Your majesty. He’s a bit clingy,” the young man offered nervously. “Not your fault. I don’t quite understand why Logic and Deceit would leave the care for such a fussy child to their youngest.” Not quite true, King could perfectly see how they thought they had to concentrate on finding a weapon against him that they hadn’t tried already. But still. One would think that the two oldest should be in charge of protecting both their young ones, instead of letting them wander off into the territory of their enemy. If Anxiety had failed to entertain him with his tale, who knows what he would’ve done to amuse himself during this second visit? Maybe he’d put morality in a bit of a dilemma… He might still do so if he ever needed for Anxiety to see that his ‘dad’ didn’t love him as much as he always claimed. “Taking care of him keeps my mind occupied. I don’t want to give Thomas nightmares or anxiety attacks. He doesn’t deserve to suffer for our messes,” Anxiety explained. King might be mistaken, but that almost sounded accusatory. He elected to ignore it. Once his rule was properly reestablished, he could revisit the subject if at all necessary, which he doubted. “Well, creating art seems to do the trick just as well,” he mused as he called forth another picture. Anxiety guessed what he wanted, looked at the picture and started to talk about the movie night and a popcorn fight, then a duel with cardboard swords and laughing about memories of middle school. The colors once again revealed a pleasant day, with a shadow of self-doubt and fear of abandonment. The shadows showed Anxiety pleading on his knees while Roman threatened him with a sword. This time the frame King made was golden and held roses. “C…Can I ask something milord,” Anxiety asked timidly. “Questions are always welcomed in the realm of creativity,” King decreed. Questions created possibilities. “What happened? Before the split I mean? The other’s won’t ever tell me.” That surprised King. And from the way Morality stiffened, he had to assume it was the truth. They’d really not taken the chance to sway Anxiety’s opinion in their favor? For a moment he considers spinning a grand tale of betrayal and heartbreak, but he found the very thought of recalling the details of the events leading up to the split… unpleasant. “I trusted them and they turned against me because they disagreed with my vision for Thomas,” he informed Anxiety calmly, hoping it was enough for now. “I’m sorry. That… That is terrible,” he whispered hugging Morality closer. The young minister couldn’t see it but there were tears in Morality’s eyes. Which pleased King. Let the bespectacled traitor be afraid this may end up being the last hug he’ll ever receive from his precious Anxiety. Was this why they didn’t tell him? Because they knew that there was no spin they could give to their deeds that wouldn’t destroy the trust they’d built with the one among them who already feared being betrayed. “I… It was a long time ago. I think… Logan seemed very ashamed of what happened. Even Janus seems to feel bad. I’m sure… can’t we all…” Anxiety struggled to express his desires, but a new drawing showed what he wanted. King and Logic shaking hands amidst the others, all back to normal and smiling relieved. Faint shadows of Roman and Remus with an arm around one another’s shoulders right behind King. The fact that his minister’s powers had conjured it showed that the desire felt impossible. King dismissed this drawing in favor of another. Anxiety sighed, accepting that the subject was finished, and continued to regale him with stories of the twins. Sometimes it was a sad memory where the shadows revealed his care and worry for them both. Like a fight over a failed audition where shadow Anxiety was trying to patch up shadow Roman. Or a fight about a nightmare where the shadow of Anxiety was embracing Remus. Then memories of the other’s came. A debate about negative thoughts where shadow Logic laid a hand on shadow Anxiety’s shoulder as a gesture of pride. A staring match with Deceit but their shadows were reaching for each other. One memory had no shadows. The ‘lights’ were in Anxiety’s domain and reaching out for him as he sat huddled in on himself on the ground. The image was conflicted enough on it’s own. Then King picked up a drawing of Morality. “That’s the first time you came to talk to me remember Pat?” Virgil coed to the child who’d been rather quiet during the creation of this gallery. Anxiety recalled how he’d been upset about another fight with Roman and he’d come over and sat with him in silence. Then he’d offered him one of his cookies. It had surprised Anxiety, he knew how much Morality loved his cookies. Sharing one was his standard gesture of love and appreciation. But Anxiety felt like he didn’t deserve either at the time. He felt trapped in a role he didn’t want to play. And because of Morality talking to him that day, for the first time, he thought that maybe he didn’t have to be. Anxiety talked more about how the thought was quickly dismissed as unrealistic but King found that it was hard to focus. The colors revealed a painting of a side being offered a hand by Morality. He didn’t even notice the shadows this time. It was like he was trapped in his own memories. Then suddenly, he was back in the present and heard something beside him. A wailing child and someone gasping for air like they’d ran a marathon at full speed. He looked down and found Anxiety curled up in a ball, rocking back and forth with a crying Morality sitting next to him clutching onto his arm. Before he could wonder what had happened he could feel the others approaching at high speed. He stepped back, not wanting to be found too close to the distressed side. He could not allow them to think for even a moment, that he felt a second of worry for the minister. He didn’t, but he didn’t need the implications of such a show of weakness to bring his strength into question. “Patton! Virgil!” Deceit called out, causing Morality to calm down and just let out a few more sniffles. King set up a disinterested mask and turned to the approaching sides. “Oh good, deal with this. They bore me,” he drawled calmly as he stepped aside. He was barely acknowledged which he normally would take offense in, but he’d let it slide until he knew what had happened just now. And if it had anything to do with that terrible feeling that had struck him when he saw Anxiety’s drawing. Logic kneeled next to Anxiety and Deceit spoke with Logic’s voice. “Virgil, can you hear us?” The boy nodded. “May we touch you?” Another nod and Logic placed his hands on the side’s shoulders. “Breath Virgil, in for 4, hold for 7 out for 8, you can do it.” One more nod and the side started to follow the rhythm that was tapped on his shoulders, stuttering trough the 4th count of holding his breath. “That’s alright, try again.” King observed as the two patiently helped Anxiety to breathe normally again. Somewhere along the line the troubled side started to whisper ‘sorry,’ and ‘so stupid’. “You are not stupid, your feelings are valid and we are here to help you with them. We shouldn’t have left you on your own. Especially not with him around,” Deceit growled, now in his own voice, before turning to King. “I don’t care what you do to me, but leave Virgil out of this! He has nothing to do with this.” Before king could retort. Claim the responsibility and remind Deceit that he’ll play with his minister however he likes, the boy spoke up himself. “Not his fault. Just, random attack,” he muttered. Deceit and King looked down and found Anxiety holding onto Logic with Morality trying his best to stand on wobbly legs while holding onto the purple sash adorning the minster uniform. Logic and Morality were staring at him accusatory, but Anxiety was pleading with Deceit. “You don’t have to defend him Virgil. We know what he’s like… And we’ll do a better job at protecting you now. I swear. Let us look out for you for once, please,” Deceit pleaded. So interesting. For all Anxiety’s fears of being abandoned and betrayed, the others seemed to fear for his safety before their own. Had they changed? Or had Anxiety not yet given them sufficient reason to be muzzled? Or was it his drastic decision of muzzling himself that had made them cautious of messing with his part of their duties? “I’m not. Jan look at me. You’d know if I was lying. He was just listening to me. He didn’t do anything bad. I promise.” Deceit frowned confused. “He didn’t do this to harm you? To cause you to create…” Finally Deceit really looked at what King and Anxiety had been working on and the statue Anxiety had done all by himself. “Virgil what…” “I don’t know, I was listening to music and all this just sort of happened. His majesty was helping me finish some drawings,” he explained, confusing King. Was he… what’s the term? Covering for him? Then Anxiety got up, picking up Morality and looking at Logic who followed his movements, hands hovering around him. As if he were afraid that the younger side would fall apart at any moment. “Please, just go back alright, I’ll be fine. Thanks for helping but you should focus on making sure Thomas is alright,” Anxiety explained bravely, not quite looking at the others. Had recalling all his doubts and fears made him suspicious of the others? This could benefit King greatly. “Run along now. And take Morality. I have matters to discuss with my minister. In private,” King informed Logic and Deceit. Anxiety looked from King back to his tutor and confidant and offered him Morality. Logic shook his head with wide eyes. “Logan, it’s alright. You look after Pat for a minute. I’ll be back soon. Just… Please trust me?” Logic hesitated, sighed in defeat and took the child. He moved to leave, but paused. He turned and laid a hand on Anxiety’s shoulder, a moment passed while the two held each other’s gaze. Anxiety nodded and patted Logic’s hand. “I will be safe. When am I ever not?” Something that would have been a chuckle rippled through Logic’s chest as he stepped away and started walking back to the commons, glancing back every ten steps or so. “Virgil… I…” Deceit started, unable to finish the thought. “I know. I’ll be okay.” And with that final assurance and a distrustful look towards King the last of the traitors left. “Why?” King wondered. It seemed obvious to him that whatever Anxiety just went through was actually meant for him. And not only had he taken the hit, he had covered for him as well. “I’m anxiety, taking on the insecurities and fears of the others is part of my job. I don’t take it all, just the really bad bits when I can take it. And… it took me forever to open up to the others about my own attacks. It wasn’t my place to share about yours. It’s nothing personal. Just me being professional I guess,” he shrugged casually. King allowed himself a small smirk and once again reached out to pat Anxiety’s hair. Once more the boy’s first instinct was to flinch, but he still let him do as he pleased. “Well done my boy. You have potential,” he told him before returning his attention to another drawing, leaving the one of Morality frameless. Later he might tell the little one a bit more about the betrayal. But first. He needed to get to know him better. “Now how about this one.”Being petted like a dog was degrading, humiliating. Trying to not just be civil towards him but formal and respectful was torture. But it was better than what he feared would happen every time the King moved his hand towards him. Virgil didn’t like being changed against his will and this king would do as he pleased with him. Which is why he had to keep him happy and away from the others. He ignored the urge to smile every time he received the king’s praise. He is not going to develop Stockholm Syndrome just because off a few half-baked complements. This guy is still a threat to Thomas… Even if the others, maybe made a mistake in the past and have a hard time owning up to that right now. Fact remained that Virgil’s job was to keep everyone safe. That meant making them not want to decapitate the king over an anxiety attack he hadn’t triggered on purpose. Still… What had triggered the attack?

#Rondoel #king au #sanders sides #Virgil Sanders #king creativity #Patton Sanders #Logan Sanders #Janus Sanders

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thanksjro · 4 years ago

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More Than Meets the Eye #31 - Ammo and the Anti-Glowup

So, the Lost Light disappeared, stranding all the crew in space in their little escape pods. 200-some robots just lost their homes and worldly possessions. That’s absolutely horrible. What a devastating thing to happen.

Anyway, here’s Drift with a flashback sequence.

No hips, fingers all the exact same length, hockey pucks embedded in his forearms- Rojo, this is a crime you’ve committed. When will the long arm of the law stop your sinful, pancake-shaped hands?

About two years prior to current events, Drift, Riptide, and Pipes- yes, Pipes!- were wandering around trying to find a ship for the space yacht trip. The gang’s here to see who owns the big honkin’ ship outside. Problem is, Drift is unintentionally terrifying because he has a great deal of swords.

Now, you may say to yourself “isn’t it a bit odd that the species that has members who literally turn into guns would be nervous around a guy with swords?” This is a valid critique, until you remember that at least some of the folks who turn into guns were born that way, and Drift was very much NOT born bladed the fuck out. There’s an entire miniseries devoted to explaining this, it’s called Drift. The swords are a choice, one that he makes every day.

Drift is willing to pay an honestly absurd amount of money for the ship, if he can just find the dude with the paperwork- don’t ask where he got the money. Pipes isn’t being terribly helpful in finding them, so Riptide decides that now is the time to start practicing being proactive and pulls a Coyote Ugly.

No, no, he doesn’t.

He does climb up on a table and start yelling for the ship’s owners to reveal themselves, though. Which they do.

Now it’s time for the world-building portion of our comic issue. Let’s learn about chirolinguistics.

Drift, staying true to his Mary Sue nature, uses his near-perfect Hand skills to strike up a deal with the owners of the ship. This would be impressive, if it didn’t just look like the most convoluted hand-holding session in the friggin’ universe.

Still, Drift is rich enough to make Jeff Bezos weep with envy, so the arrangements are made and the lads go on their way, talking some mad shit about the original name of the ship as they do.

So it is revealed to us that the Lost Light is named after a festival for honoring the dead and disappeared, which makes the fact that Rewind and Chromedome were there all the more sad.

Back in the present, Megatron tells Riptide to shut up so they can figure out what the hell they’re going to do about this whole “our home and also ride has ceased to exist” situation. He’s putting an awful lot of distance between himself and the rest of the Autobots as he does it, something that isn’t lost on the more bitter people of the crowd.

But why were we even talking about the Lost Light in the first place? Not to reminisce, believe it or not. See, it’s time for Nautica to get a little panel time, and she’s going to use it to be a massive fucking nerd and explain how the quantum engines work. As she does, Ratchet notes that his hands feel funny. Must be the weight of his hand-stealing sins manifesting itself in his joints.

Nautica explains that the engines run off of improbability- it is highly unlikely, but not impossible, that the ship can reach light speed, and riding the fine line between what can happen and what can’t, results in the creation of power for the engines. If this sounds familiar, it’s because Brainstorm gave us a watered down version of this explanation back in issue #2. If it sounds familiar for a different reason, it’s because this is how the Heart of Gold runs in Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. Again, I’m not sure why it is that the British love this concept so much, but there you are.

Oh, it appears someone has a question. Let’s see what they want to know about, shall we?

…Rojo, what the fuck is this.

Our muppety friend here isn’t too keen on how much of a smarmy asshole Nightbeat is being right now, though I’d assume it actually has something to do with the fact that Nightbeat got smacked around with the pretty-boy stick while Getaway very much did not. While the two bicker- there’s a lot of bickering in Season Two- Nautica presents a theory on what happened to the ship; it went too far in the direction of “can’t” and made itself cease to be.

Megatron gives not a shit about quantum improbability, though. He only cares about how they’re going to get out of this mess. Which, y’know. Valid.

Blaster picks up a radio from Rodimus, who tells the gang that they’re to meet up on a nearby planet to regroup and figure out their next move. The call drops before he can get more than a couple Megatron-directed insults in, however. Megatron, in response, tries to be the bigger person, and almost immediately fails. We do get a headcount though, which is good, logistically speaking. This information is communicated to us by way of a splash page full of character head shots. We’ve got 20 ‘bots on board this ship.

Yep. 20. No more, no less.

As our friends approach the planet, we’re informed that it’s actually a Lectureworld- a planet devoted to the study of a single field. Except it’s actually a Smartplanet now, and it’s been privatized by the Galactic Council, so you’ve got to pay to go there. Cyclonus thinks that that’s bullshit, and I can’t help but agree. Crosscut tries to network with they guy about his play, probably because word got around that Cyclonus is rich as hell, when the lights cut out. When they come back on, Crosscut is nowhere to be found.

It’s time for a Whodunnit.

Tailgate immediately pegs Megatron as the culprit in this disappearance, and breaks out a gun over the matter. Megatron thinks that this is absolutely adorable, which only serves to further infuriate our marshmallow friend. I guess he’s still mad about the whole “I was a Decepticon for five minutes and got brainwashed over it” thing, and wants someone to pin the anger on who’s socially acceptable to hate.

Cyclonus and Ratchet both think that Tailgate’s not going about this the right way, but the guy is simply too het up to listen to them. Tailgate suggests that they lock Megatron in the engine room for the time being and-

OKAY WHO LET HIM HAVE THAT

Riptide breaks out his gun, and soon we’ve got a standoff going between the three of them. Cyclonus tries to deescalate, which makes Gears and Huffer break out their guns. Then Hound breaks out his gun, though he seems to be doing his own thing, by pointing it in Nautica’s direction.

Broski, I think that might be animal cruelty.

Megatron manages to shoot Ravage “unconscious” and catches him by the friggin’ throat, stating that he has zero idea how this guy got here. With the heat off the two of them for a moment, Megatron communicates to Ravage to play ‘possum for the time being. Ravage responds, and I wonder exactly how he’s doing that, considering I don’t think he has enough fingers to effectively utilize Hand as a language. Or fingers at all, really.

While this is going on, Cyclonus snatches the gun out of Tailgate’s hand, admonishing him for being reckless about picking his fights. Generally speaking, you don’t want to try to go toe-to-toe with a guy who’s responsible for the deaths of literal billions. Getaway swoops in to comfort Tailgate, calling him gutsy. I wonder if this will become a trend.

Swerve says a thing, as he is wont to do, and it’s made known that multiple folks have disappeared during this incredibly brief standoff.

Wow, Chromedome just fucked off, huh? He wasn’t even in that sequence, just left.

Everyone’s positively baffled by the current happenings. There doesn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason to who’s being taken. I guess we’ve got a mystery on our hands.

And who better to solve a mystery than a detective?

Nightbeat wrangles all the leftover folks into a corner of the room, so they can figure out what the common denominator is with all the disappearees. He starts with the easy stuff.

And by “easy”, I mean the super-special racism Tyrest subscribed to.

If you’ve read Eugenesis, you know that Nightbeat was also part of the first wave of cold-constructed bodies there. However, the general populace wasn’t nearly as chill about it as they were in IDW. Also, Wheeljack was his dad. No word on if that particular tidbit made it into IDW lore.

It’s at this point that we learn about M.T.O.s- made to order soldiers. They were cold-constructed ‘bots created en masse during the war in order to keep up with the demands for troops. Pretty fucked up, if you think about it, being born to die like that.

Now where have we heard that name before…

Chromedome, can your love life not be part of the plot for five minutes, my guy?

Nautica makes the honestly horrific claim that a lot of folks owe their existence to Megatron being a warmongering fuck, and even Megatron himself seems rather uncomfortable with the idea. Some thoughts we keep to ourselves, Nautica, even if they might be technically true. And even if Ammo wants to tack on his two cents on the matter.

What did they DO to you, Ammo? You’re supposed to be hot! Where are my three-paragraphs of description as Hound stares slack jawed the entire time? I miss Polyhex Wars.

Anyway, it’s Megatron’s turn to get poked with the questioning stick, and he’s not having it. He claims that by revealing his mode of creation, he’s risking a repeat of Functionist ideology. This would be valid, if people weren’t literally disappearing without any sort of explanation as to why. As it is, he’s being a stubborn asshole, but I guess he didn’t get his reputation by being a decent person who knew when to back down, now did he?

It’s at this point that Ratchet remembers he knows all the info Nightbeat’s looking for, and the conversation on Megatron’s birth is shelved for another day. I’m sure it won’t be a major plot point later, not in the slightest.

As it turns out, Nightbeat’s theory doesn’t hold water, and folks are still popping out of existence. We get another splash page, this time with everyone’s mode of creation listed under their names, and we move on to other theories about what the fuck is going on. While Nightbeat has a minor crisis over what the answer could possibly be, the MTOs in the group reminisce on the Ten-Step Program, a series of tests they were put through to make sure they worked well enough to get handed a gun and shoved out the door. Riptide wasn’t a fan.

Riptide has more wood panelling than a 70’s-style ranch house, and I think that’s very brave of him.

It’s at this point that Ratchet remembers it’s been quite a bit since he last shat on religion, and takes the time to do so while informing the reader about Information Creep. This is a concept we’ve seen mentioned previously, during Chromedome’s runaround in Overlord’s brain, but it’s here where we get the juicy implications.

Because memories can become corrupted in the brain due to extreme age, what ought to be objective fact has to be reinterpreted due to missing pieces. This is why nobody knows what the Knights of Cybertron got up to, or if they’re even actually real at all.

The lights go out again, and when they cut back on, Cyclonus is missing, leaving only his sword behind. Tailgate is extremely distraught by this, but Nightbeat gives not a fuck about Tailgate’s impending breakdown. He only cares about the truth!

And then a giant eyeball shows up.

It’s Ultra Magnus, coming to us live from his shuttle, via holomatter avatar! He shrinks down to a far more reasonable size, in a panel reminiscent of the first time IDW readers saw Megatron.

Don’t get me wrong, this is a neat parallel, I’m just… not terribly sure why it’s happening. One could say it reflects a reversal in power dynamics, but that theory gets tossed out the window when you remember that this isn’t actually Verity. I suppose it’s just a cool little thing.

Because the comms aren’t working, Ultra Magnus has been forced to use this avatar to communicate with the folks in the Rod Pod. Megatron asks just what the hell is going on, but unfortunately Magnus isn’t sure either. Then his shuttle disappears, and it’s bye-bye grunge girl Magnus.

It’s at this point that Nightbeat decides it’s time to stop pussyfooting around and get serious. He tells Ratchet to throw HIPPA directly in the garbage and write down everything he knows about the Autobots who crewed the Lost Light. And he does mean everything, as we get the splash page again, this time with lots of neat info on our friends, including spark type.

Spark types will become plot-relevant in the storyline after this, but for now let’s focus on some weird gender essentialism that got slapped into the first print of this issue.

As we know very well by this point, Transformers as a franchise has a tumultuous relationship with the idea of women existing. You would think that the awkward introduction of other genders we got in “Dark Cybertron” would have been the end of things being weird in IDW. However, you would be wrong.

In an effort to explain why genders exist, Roberts had the idea to make it spark-based. Nautica, in the solo print of this issue, has an estriol-positive spark. Estriol is a type of estrogen, which is the hormone that develops and maintains feminine secondary sex characteristics, when present in certain levels, in conjunction with other hormones. Biology

This “spark = gender” idea is, generally speaking, not a great idea to be presenting us with, especially when the writer is a cishet male, because it implies biological essentialism- the idea that a personality trait/quality of a person is innate and predetermined by their biology, as opposed to social, cultural, or individual experiences. Because this story doesn’t exist in a vacuum, it’s irresponsible to reduce the experience of being a woman to a single, physical, unchangable asset, especially when all other assets of the same class have zero effect on one’s gender identity. You don’t exactly see many nonbinary robots running around, now do you? And there are definitely more than two spark types, despite the Transformers as a species being... very binary.

It also makes female Transformers into an “other”, which is a problem that has existed from the very start of the franchise, in some form or fashion, and really doesn’t need to be perpetrated anymore than it already is.

The estriol spark type was removed in the trade edition, and Roberts has expressed regrets over its inclusion, having realized that it was potentially offensive.

Getting back to the story, Swerve, Tailgate, and Ratchet have disappeared, though Ratchet seems to have left his hands behind. His stolen, Pharma-original hands.

That’s still fucked up to me. I don’t think it’ll ever not be fucked up.

Riptide reveals the reason that he wasn’t in Season One of MTMTE was because when he went back to grab a receipt for the ship two years prior, he’d discovered that the original owners were worshipers of Mortilus, Cybertronian god of death, and knew about the nasty little problem that was the sparkeater from the first storyline. When Riptide went to confront them about it, they beat him up so bad he was unconscious for two solid days.

Which is a long-ass time to be unconscious. That might have been a coma, Riptide. Jesus, I hope someone got him to a hospital after this beatdown happened, or at least scraped him off the floor.

With this last piece of the puzzle, we finally have the common denominator in this big ol’ mystery. Everyone who disappeared was on the Lost Light when it took off from Cybertron in issue #1, and everyone left behind- Skids, Getaway, Nightbeat, Nautica, Megatron, and Ravage- didn’t join until afterwords.

Of course, having the answer doesn’t do us much good when everyone is still missing, and Megatron seems to agree with me, because he’s about to throw hands, when Nautica lets them know that they’ve arrived at the rendezvous. Problem is, so has something else.

...

I’m sure it’s fiiiiiiiiiiiiine!

#transformers #jro #MTMTE #issue 31 #maccadam #Hannzreads #text post #long post #incoming analysis #overthinking about robots #comic script writing

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glimmerglanger · 4 years ago

Note

*whispers* if youre taking spicy prompts, may i suggest impotent!obi-wan + prostate stimulation for obikin please? Only if youre okay with it!!! I cannot thank you enough for all the chocolate cakes and sincerely wish you to be happy. thank you again and again and again!!!

soooooooooo i originally planned for this be for Sunday, but it’s really more ~feelings~ and dealing with a rough spot than just spicy. (Though, it is not safe for wizards, to be clear). It’s just not predominantly spicy. SO. I’m, uh... posting it now, instead? It also got longer than I expected.

Obikin, established relationship. Not safe for wizards. Implications of past torture. Set sometime during the Clone Wars. Starts tense, ends well.

~~~~~~~~~~

They’d been together - whatever that meant, for them, at any given time - for an embarrassing stretch of time before Anakin noticed that he’d never properly touched Obi-Wan. In his defense, they’d spent the majority of that time deployed on one planet or another, not always together, even.

It was a weak defense, as such things went. He should have noticed sooner. It was just that….Obi-Wan always had an excuse, a reason to bolt away as soon as Anakin’s hands wandered southward, or if Anakin tried to tug at his waistband, or if he pressed too close, or--

The realization that he - actually - had no idea if Obi-Wan even wanted him hit while Obi-Wan was climbing off his knees. Obi-Wan’s mouth was red, wet. His cheeks were flushed. A moment ago, Anakin’s hands had been in his hair and Anakin’s cock had been--

“Feel better?” Obi-Wan asked, flashing him a grin and licking across his bottom lip. He looked flushed, hot and bothered. But when Anakin reached for him, he slid to the side, continuing, “I’m overdue for a meeting, we should catch up, later, though, before you return to the Resolute.”

“Obi-Wan,” Anakin managed to say, around the sudden clamoring realization in his head. But he was talking to nothing. Obi-Wan was already gone.

Confusion hit first, as Anakni tucked himself back into his pants. He went back over his memories, sure he’d--what, forgotten bringing Obi-Wan off? That was kriffing ridiculous, and he knew it. But…

But it seemed equally as ridiculous to realize that he’d never even gotten a hand inside Obi-Wan’s trousers. They’d just been so busy. And Obi-Wan had always had a reason, had always seen to Anakin and then…. Slipped away.

The confusion, really, didn’t last very long. It was crowded out all too effectively by anger.

Anakin had been stewing for hours by the time Obi-Wan got back to his quarters. Anakin hadn’t left; knew he should have left, but…

He was sitting on the edge of Obi-Wan’s bed - a bed where Obi-Wan had touched him, stroking him until he came, only a few days ago - when the door opened. He felt a wash of fondness and warmth from Obi-Wan through the Force, and gritted his teeth together.

“There you are,” Obi-Wan said, tone warm, crossing the room, bending, and Anakin turned his face away. He felt Obi-Wan hesitate, felt the way Obi-Wan’s hand tensed on his shoulder. Heard puzzlement in Obi-Wan’s voice when he asked, wry, “Not in the mood, darling?”

The anger that had been kindling in Anakin’s chest flared brighter. He looked over, scowling, and snapped, “I don’t need your kriffing pity, you know?”

Obi-Wan blinked at him, hand still resting on Anakin’s shoulder. “I’ve no idea--”

He cut off when Anakin stood, and took a step back. Anakin followed him, itching with frustration and with - with humiliation, too. “What?” he asked, fighting the tightness in his throat, “you thought I just wouldn’t notice that you’ve been - what, exactly? Helping me out of - of duty?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Obi-Wan said, and then, louder, “Anakin!” when Anakin backed him into the wall.

“I don’t need charity,” Anakin snarled, his spine a line of crackling lightning. “Despite what you might think, I don’t need your kriffing pity to get off. I’d rather use my own hand than have you -- put yourself out.”

Obi-Wan flinched at the words, color washing out of his face. He made to shift to the side and Anakin braced his hand on the wall. Obi-Wan looked across at him, mouth pressed tight, and said, “I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but nothing I’ve done with you has been motivated by pity. Or charity. You must know that I--”

“What?” Anakin snapped, nerves strung too tight under his skin. “That you enjoy it?”

Obi-Wan scowled across at him, chin going up. “Of course, I--”

“Oh?” Anakin leaned closer, watched Obi-Wan’s eyes get wider. He put his other hand on Obi-Wan’s side, and rasped, dragging his fingers over cloth, “Then why don’t you show me how much you--”

Obi-Wan caught his wrist, squeezing hard, eyes getting strange and distant, expression….washing flat. All blank lines. He said, “Anakin, don’t.”

Anakin jerked his face to the side, barking a laugh. “Right,” he said, sharp, “that’s what I thought. I don’t even make you hard, do I? I think we’re done, then, if that’s--”

“I can’t.” Obi-Wan bit out, as Anakin pushed away from the wall, leaving him standing there, looking increasingly small. Anakin blinked, the sweep of his anger and embarrassment coming up short, blockaded.

He asked, “What?”

Obi-Wan’s mouth twitched, not into a smile. He was still staring forward, not at anything in particular. “I can’t ‘get hard,’” he repeated, gesturing out to the side with one hand, stepping away from the wall and tugging his robes to order. “Not since -- Rattatak. Ventress, she-- I - I can’t--” He cut off, shaking his head, sharply.

“I’m sorry to have upset you,” he said, before Anakin could recover from the curdling horror that had overtaken his anger too rapidly to be stopped. “I hope that your return to the Resolute is pleasant.” And then he was gone, just like that, out the door, before Anakin could lurch after him.

Anakin missed his transport to the Resolute. He sent Rex and Ahsoka a message, letting them know something required his attention on the Negotiator. He promised he’d meet up with them once they all reached their destination.

And then he grabbed Obi-Wan’s padd and did some research, anger and mortification still moving through him, but...but at least they had a purpose. He already had more than enough reasons to want Ventress dead. Adding one more to the pile didn’t make much of a difference in the long-run.

The shame of accusing Obi-Wan of - of being terrible to him, set heavier in his gut. Anakin pushed it aside. He could make it right. He could fix it. He was good at fixing things, always had been, even if people weren’t as easy as machines and droids.

He had a plan by the time Obi-Wan’s doors slid open again.

Obi-Wan hesitated in the doorway - he must not have been paying attention, not to pick up Anakin’s presence in the room before - and said, after a moment, “Something you needed, Anakin?”

Anakin stood, grimacing a little. “Yeah,” he said, clearing his throat. “A few things, actually.”

Obi-Wan nodded, still looking over to one side. He said, exhaustion in his voice, “Could they perhaps wait until--”

“I’m sorry,” Anakin blurted, into the space between them. Sometimes it felt like he was always apologizing to Obi-Wan, or to the Council, or to… Well. So many different people. Obi-Wan blinked, looking towards him for the first time. “I shouldn’t have...said those things I said, earlier, I just didn’t - you never told me, Obi-Wan. I didn’t know.”

Obi-Wan stared across at him. He said, “I told you I cared for you. I told you I wanted you.”

Anakin grimaced, flexing his hands in and out. “I know. I - I meant about Ventress. You never--”

He knew it was a mistake, even before he said it. Obi-Wan tensed across his shoulders, taking a half-step back towards the door, and Anakin blew out a breath. “But that’s alright,” he said, as reassuring as he could be, “I still shouldn’t have - I’m still sorry, Obi-Wan.”

He took a step closer, and Obi-Wan didn’t bolt, which was a good sign, he thought. Obi-Wan sighed, instead, and said, “I’m not angry at you, Anakin.”

“I know that.” Obi-Wan so rarely got angry with him. He sighed and risked touching Obi-Wan’s arm, relieved when Obi-Wan leaned into the touch. He dared pull Obi-Wan closer, into an embrace, chest aching when Obi-Wan leaned his forehead down, resting on Anakin’s shoulder. “I really am - so sorry. I just - I want you so much, and I thought - I thought you didn’t want me at all, and…” And he’d said idiotic, stupid things. He swallowed. “Let me make it up to you.”

Obi-Wan sighed, resting there against his chest, “There’s nothing to make up, I’m not--”

“There is,” Anakin said, shifting, breathing against his hair. “And I - I have a plan. Just. Come here. Please.”

Obi-Wan didn’t protest being led across to the bed, but he did wrinkle his nose. He said, “Anakin, I’m not exaggerating. I really can’t--”

“You don’t need to,” Anakin told him, ducking to kiss him. Force, he was an idiot. Obi-Wan kissed him so sweet and hungry, every time. He should have known--

Anakin shook that thought aside, sinking down onto the bunk and drawing Obi-Wan down across his lap. He felt a little tinge of embarrassment at how quickly he got hard; he knew Obi-Wan had to be able to feel it, but… Obi-Wan made no comment about it and did not seem bothered as Anakin drew him into another kiss.

“Are you apologizing by kissing me?” Obi-Wan asked, eventually, when Anakin’s mouth felt tender and his jaw ached. He sounded amused, more than anything. Relaxed. Anakin shrugged, a little.

“Not really,” he said, and took the opportunity to start tugging at Obi-Wan’s belt.

Obi-Wan made a little sighing sound, but helped, at least, with the removal of his robes. He said, “I know you like to solve problems, Anakin, but I--”

“I’m not trying to solve anything,” Anakin told him, kissing his soft, lovely mouth. “I just want to be close to you.”

Obi-Wan shot him a look that said he didn’t believe a word of it, but didn’t protest further. He shivered at the kisses Anakin scattered across his neck and shoulder, anyway, and made sweet, delightful sounds as Anakin trailed touches across his skin. He hesitated, a little, when Anakin reached for his pants, and Anakin rasped, “It’s alright, let me.”

There were scars, all over Obi-Wan’s body. Some of them stretched across his stomach or ranged over his thighs. He’d never given them much thought. He traced them, absently, falling back into kissing Obi-Wan, stretching a hand out to retrieve the lubricant he’d set aside earlier.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan rasped, eventually, stained red all over his shoulders, voice quaking, “listen to me, I can’t--”

“I’m not trying to make you,” Anakin promised, kissing him again. “I have - I want to touch you. To make you feel good, but I’m not expecting -- just, just relax, alright? Let me take care of you. Just for a while.”

Obi-Wan wavered, tense in his arms, and then nodded. Anakin felt him relax, felt him choose to trust, and it made Anakin’s chest ache. Obi-Wan made a puzzled sound when Anakin tugged at him, turning him so his back rested against Anakin’s chest, while Anakin leaned against the wall.

“I don’t understand what you’re trying to accomplish,” Obi-Wan rasped, as Anakin trailed kisses down his neck, sliding hands down his chest. He was painfully hard in his pants, but - but Obi-Wan had taken care of him so sweetly, earlier. He could deal with his erection, trapped in fabric, pressed to Obi-Wan’s back.

“I’m trying to make you feel as good as you make me feel,” Anakin murmured, making a protesting sound when he felt Obi-Wan open his mouth. “I know you can’t get hard, Obi-Wan. Relax.”

Obi-Wan cut off in a groan when Anakin nipped at his shoulder. Anakin smiled against his skin and slid a hand down his skin. Obi-Wan squirmed when Anakin tugged at his thigh, spreading his legs. Anakin drew his own leg up, hooking Obi-Wan’s over the top, and Obi-Wan gasped, “Oh, Anakin, I--”

“Sh,” Anakin murmured, nuzzling against his neck. “I’ve got you.” He curled his arm around Obi-Wan’s waist and held him, using the Force to slick his other fingers with the lube. “You just tell me how it feels, alright?” he said, sliding his hand down, back--

Obi-Wan jolted, a little, at the brush of touch against his skin. His head tilted back, heavy on Anakin’s shoulder as Anakin touched him, dipped a finger tip inside him. There’d been...instructions, for what Anakin wanted to do, dry and fairly boring.

Anakin was pretty sure he’d gotten the gist of them, anyway. He trailed kisses across Obi-Wan’s skin, sliding his finger out and in again, Obi-Wan squirming against him as he asked, “Good so far?”

“Strange so far,” Obi-Wan panted out, a wry note in his tone. “I’m not sure--”

“I am,” Anakin said, sliding his finger in a little further, looking--

Obi-Wan jolted against him, suddenly, stomach tensing beneath Anakin’s arm. He let out a little sound, wordless. Surprised. Anakin smiled against his skin, the beginnings of satisfaction warming his gut, making him harder.

He rubbed the pad of his finger in a circle, buried there, inside Obi-Wan’s body. And, oh, he liked the idea of being inside Obi-Wan. He’d entertained it before, a burning desire to get as close as possible and then closer, to--

He cut off those thoughts. That was...not part of the plan at the moment. Perhaps later. He circled his finger, instead, listening to Obi-Wan make surprised, ragged sounds into the air. There’d been all kinds of suggestions, about drawing this out, making it last, making a person beg--

Anakin didn’t want Obi-Wan to have to beg. Not for this. But he did adjust his grip, did dare a second finger, sliding two inside and feeling Obi-Wan’s spine arch, feeling the sound he made. “How’s that?” Anakin asked, rasping, the pads of his fingers circling to apply direct pressure.

“Kriff,” Obi-Wan panted, and he was flushing, all down his chest, wriggling in Anakin’s hold, and it did not matter that he wasn’t hard, Anakin could feel the pleasure echoing off of him. “It’s -- it’s good, Anakin, what---?”

“It’ll get better,” Anakin promised, meaning it, plans all clambering together in his head as he withdrew his fingers. Obi-Wan made a sharp noise of protest. “Don’t worry,” he said, switched arms, sliding his right hand down, between Obi-Wan’s legs, “I’ve got you, I’m going to take care of you.”

Obi-Wan arched when Anakin sunk two fingers into him, leather sliding against skin. The muscles in his thighs and stomach tensed. And he cried out, ragged, when Anakin ran a little vibration through his fingers, the metal thrumming as he dragged his fingertips in a circle, pressing down harder, feeling--

“Oh, fuck,” Obi-Wan panted, grabbing at his arm, body clenching around Anakin’s fingers. “Anakin--”

“Mm,” Anakin nuzzled at his throat, tightening his hold, so desperately grateful that Obi-Wan had let him do this, let him apologize. “There you go,” he rasped, “just like that, come on.”

And he felt it, when Obi-Wan came, felt the way he flashed all over with sweet, hot pleasure in the Force, felt it in the clench of Obi-Wan’s body, in the way he went limp, breathing raggedly, and it didn’t matter, really, that his cock had never stirred.

“Force,” Obi-Wan slurred, sounding dazed, and Anakin hummed, sucked a kiss into his throat, and twisted his fingers, just a little.

#glimmer replies #ask me anything #obikin #not safe for wizards #spicy #anakin says things he regrets #whoops

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heartbaz · 3 years ago

Text

Magpie's happy ending (Renegade)

Of all the calls she imagined, Magpie never thought she would receive one from Tamaya Rae herself asking for help in reorganizing the items in the old weapons and artifacts department.

After "Supernova", the renegade headquarters was closed for months. It was no longer necessary to have a superhero building when superheroes no longer existed. Despite not being such an important issue, some rumors and theories spread, mostly saying that the tower would be demolished at some point.

But apparently that would not be the case.

From what heroin told her, they wanted the renegade headquarters to be a kind of museum on the second floors, which would display the artifacts stored, as well as the costumes of heroes of the old Council, photographs, news and all those things that she found it a waste of time and space to display and risk someone stealing them just like that, especially the dangerous artifacts that were in that place, but the opinion of an 11-year-old orphan girl was not so important.

When he entered the building he studied the place, which was being remodeled. He expected them to build statues of the Council, the Sketch team, a large painting, or something extravagant and flashy, typical of the renegades, especially Hugh, Captain Chromium. But he was surprised to see that it was the same as before, except that everything was new, in fact the quarantine was still under reconstruction, even Max Everhart himself was tidying up the glass city.

She realized too late that she had been staring at him for too long, a certain interest welling up in the girl at the tender expressions the boy was making as best he could arranging a four-story building near a park. Max had looked up for a second and noticed that the little blue eyes were watching him. Before receiving any gesture of greeting from the blond boy, she turned a little blushing and followed his path with a hurried step to enter the elevator and descend.

When the doors opened she could hear in the distance a conversation coming from the room of the dangerous artifacts, the voice was of two girls. when she got a little closer she realized that it was a dispute between Monarch and Nova. Nothing serious, they were just talking about some glasses and their use, something that did not interest her, she was coming for the jewelry and to see if there was something interesting and relevant so she could steal it without anyone noticing her absence.

She looked around and then stood still, she was struck by the silence that reigned in the place, and that was very strange. Something was clearly missing. Rather, someone was missing. Callum's obnoxious voice talking excessively about artifacts was missing. His lips formed a grimace without realizing it.

"This place is so different without him."

She startled to hear a voice behind her. When she turned around she saw Tina staring down the hallway. Maggie wasn't an expert at deciphering people's feelings through their eyes, but she easily saw the sadness and melancholy reflected in them, accompanied by pursed lips, clearly holding back tears.

Maggie looked at her for a few seconds before she began to feel uncomfortable.

"uh... where do I start?"

Tina shook her head and looked at her again.

"Oh right," she cleared her throat, "You need to help Sketch, Red Killer and Smokescreen sort some paperwork in the reception area, I'd assign you something else like sorting the jewelry or some artifacts, but those guys have a lot of work to do."

Magpie let out a grumble but said nothing by way of protest and headed for the reception area. It was chaos, full of papers piled up on the floor. Adrian was already reading and sorting some papers, but the other two present, Ruby and Oscar, were just flirting with each other. He grimaced. He had no idea how he was going to deal with such displays of affection during the day.

...

They had spent almost two hours among all those piles of papers organizing one by one. they were all tired and bored, but that didn't stop very interesting topics of conversation from arising among the four boys, and although at first the redhead didn't have the slightest interest in talking to them, it was inevitable for her to listen and laugh at the crazy stories Oscar had. A circle of trust was created in which even she told them some of the weirdest objects and her most risky adventures when she worked for the renegades. At this point, they were each telling the origin of their power, their faces dumbfounded as they listened to Ruby and Oscar's horrific experiences, even if hers may not have been any prettier than theirs. They had mentioned that both Sketch and Monarch were born with their powers.

"We could say that Nova was also born with one, the gift of putting others to sleep by touch" Ruby mumbled.

Magpie stared at the girl, waiting for her to continue with the explanation of how Nova managed to never sleep, but she did not. She never liked her, neither being Insomnia nor being Nightmare, she still didn't forget what happened the day Agent N was going to be released, but at that moment she aroused her curiosity and she wasn't going to stay with her.

"If he was born with the power to put people to sleep just by touching them, how did he get the power to never sleep?"

Adrian tensed, but decided to tell her.

"When Nova was 7 years old her uncle, Ace Anarchy, had her entire family killed, even her sister who was only months old. She was only saved by putting the man to sleep when he was in front of her. Ace found her and turned her into an Anarchist," he paused a little to put some papers he had just read, "Every time she tried to sleep she repeated the scene in her head, after that she could not sleep until a few months ago when she slept for 24 hours.

An uncomfortable silence reigned in the reception area. Maggie took a few moments to process it all. For a moment she felt a bit like she could relate, she too had lost her family, but she couldn't imagine how it would feel to remember everything that had happened for the rest of her life. For the first time she felt pity and empathy for the ex-villain.

"It's your turn, Urraca" said Oscar to break the silence "how you got your powers."

She grimaced as she didn't know the story for sure.

"I was too little to remember, but at the orphanage they told me that the landlord found me crying, full of blood," she took out her amulet, a bullet, from her pocket and showed it to everyone present" I had the bullet in one hand. Only the bodies of my parents were found, but there was no sign of my sister.

"Was your sister taken away?" Adrian asked, as shocked as she was to hear Nova's story.

"I don't know. For a long time I waited for my sister to come looking for me at the orphanage, but she never came. No one ever came to pick me up. I came to the conclusion that she either didn't want me or she was dead" the last thing she said in a whisper, but loud enough for those present to hear.

"What about the Renegades directory" Oscar pointed to the computer.

"I already tried, there's nothing," sighed the girl."

"Maybe there is something among all these papers of old files and cases?"

Adrian was interrupted.

"I found it!" exclaimed Ruby, who throughout Magpie's story had been sifting through the piles of papers and was now holding up a set of three sheets held together by a rusty paper clip. all she could read was "Maggie's case" and the last name was blurred, someone had splashed coffee on it.

Oscar snatched the papers from his girlfriend's hand and ran. She chased after him while feigning anger. During the two hours those two lovebirds were expressing their love through flirtatious gestures and small frolics. Maggie put up with them all the time without complaining so much, but in those moments she didn't feel like putting up with their romantic idiocies and apparently neither did Sketch, in fact he spoke first asking for a little more seriousness in the matter and for them to read the case quickly. Oscar obeyed without first letting out a "boring" along with a small cloud of smoke straight into his opponent's face.

"Let's see what it says," he began to read, "he has no birth certificate.... His name was chosen by Captain Chromium, what an honor! ... Her parents were killed in the domicile where she was found... only she survived... her sister is missing... she had a bullet in her hand..." Oscar and Ruby read without interest, but as they turned the page they wrinkled their foreheads. "Artino case"

Adrian made the same gesture with his forehead and quickly stopped to read the case. Magpie didn't understand anything but felt excitement anyway.

"Who is Artino? Is that my sister's name?"

Everhart shook his head slowly as he read over the other boy's shoulder.

"No. That's Nova's last name"

The girl sighed wearily. For a moment, the illusion returned that her sister would find her and take her with her to her new home, but it was just a stupid childish fantasy she had. Of course in those papers she would find nothing important about her life before the murder of her parents, much less anything about her missing sister.

When they finished reading, the renegades' gazes turned to her.

"Steaming saints..." Oscar was very overwhelmed. his hands went slack and he dropped the pages. Adrian picked them up with extreme gentleness.

"Margaret White Is that your real last name?"

The named woman looked at him strangely.

"I don't think so, my parents never registered me or anything like that. I was named Margaret White at the orphanage when, supposedly, they got the wrong information."

The Boy looked at her for a few moments and knelt down in front of her. she hated it when they did that. To her it was a sign that something was wrong.

"Your last name doesn't appear on these papers because they are smudged, but," he sighed, "but I believe your full name is Evelyn Artino and your sister..."

He paused for a few seconds that Maggie felt like hours. She already knew what the Renegade's next words would be, but she needed to hear it or she would think it was all just another one of her crazy fantasies.

"Your sister is Nova Artino."

She stood still and wordlessly, processing the information. She just didn't know what to do, feel or say, should she run and hug Nova or leave the place, pretend she never heard all this and believe that her sister was just a figment of her imagination?

All he could manage to do was shout a resounding "How!" at the renegade. Such an action scared him off and he backed up a few steps. Seconds later Nova and Danna arrived to see what had happened.

The girl's small eyes fixed on the shorter of the girls and she lunged at her to attack, but before she could reach out to touch her Adrian grabbed her by the waist and lifted her slightly off the ground. That brought back memories.

"How could you!" shouted Magpie trying to free herself from the Renegade's arms, but it was useless, "You abandoned me!"

Nova looked at her strangely and then at her companions. Ruby handed her the papers. She skimmed the first page, but still didn't understand.

"Look at the second page."

The red-haired girl listened and began to read. Seconds later she covered her mouth in amazement and her eyes filled with tears.

She also began to cry.

"For years I've been waiting for you to come and get me, but you never showed up" she said in a whisper, now calmer.

"But how..." she said in a choked whisper.

"She told us the origin of her powers, or at least what she knows" Adrian replied, "She was found covered in blood with a bullet in her hand, her parents were killed and her older sister disappeared. Read well, everything is very clear."

The renegade picked up the old papers and went back to reread them more patiently, perhaps looking for some word or name that contradicted her boyfriend's words. But judging by her look of disbelief and the tears that began to fall down her cheeks, there was nothing to rule out the theory.

"Why didn't I have any idea about these papers?" asked Nova with her eyes on the sheets, although it was obvious that she was addressing her partner "How come no one remembered such information?"

Adrian looked at her for a few seconds. She, still holding her head in the air, sensed that he was looking for signs of anger. And part of it showed.

"I'm not really sure, but back then they didn't trust computers, so they used paper to file all the cases" he motioned to the mountains of paper scattered around the room.

That was the last that was heard. No one knew what to do or say, and the silence was so thick and uncomfortable that it was becoming unbearable. After a few minutes Oscar decided to give them space and leave the place together with Ruby by the hand, they were also followed by Danna, who still didn't understand what was going on.

The last to leave was Adrian. He went down to Maggie -or Evelyn, she didn't even know what to call herself anymore- and gave her a squeeze on the shoulder, as if giving her strength or a signal not to run out of the building. He walked over to Nova and cupped her face to wipe away her tears. He said something she didn't hear and kissed her on the lips before leaving the room and closing the door.

It was time to talk, but apparently none of them were willing to start. At least Urraca didn't want to.

"I don't know what to say," Nova finally spoke, she had stopped crying a few moments ago, but her voice was broken, "You have no idea how happy I am knowing you're alive."

Magpie wiped her tears and snot with her sleeve.

"I asked you something earlier, why did you abandon me, did you even look for me?"

She shook her head.

"I never looked for you" said Nova, "I didn't because I thought you were dead.... That you had been murdered that night and I couldn't protect you because..." she couldn't continue speaking because a sob escaped from her throat.

Evie grew tired of pretending to be strong. She burst into a disconsolate cry and ran to hug her sister tightly. she hugged her sister back just as tightly. at that moment they couldn't talk, she knew it, the lump in her throat barely let her breathe. She had no intention of admitting it, but the warmth of an older sister along with a strange and curious sensation it brought back an old feeling she had thought she had forgotten, one she had not experienced for years. That of being safe, of having a home.

#adrian everhart #renegades #bookblr #books #nova artino #supernova #my writing #writing #magpie #novadrian #nova #evie artino #max everhart #margaret white #wattpad #excerpt from a book i'll never write #happy ending

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zelzenik · 4 years ago

Text

all of her longing

prompts 19 & 20 of @zutaramonth 2021: hurt/comfort & longing

Three times Katara asks Zuko for a baby... and the first time Zuko says yes.

click here to read on ao3 or keep reading below the cut!

“Zuko?” Katara whispers into the darkness. She flips onto her side, a few dark curls slipping over her shoulders.

It’s been almost an hour since Zuko dimmed the lights in their room with his bending and a single flick of his wrist. She can tell that he’s just about ready to drift off to sleep when he replies, “Yes, Katara?” His voice is a soft rasp as he shifts his position so that he can face her, reaching out and drawing her close.

Tucked securely beneath her husband’s chin, curled up against his warm body, Katara somehow finds the courage to admit, “Zuko… I think I want a baby.” She can feel the way his muscles tense as he registers what she said.

All of a sudden, Zuko’s more than awake. “What?” He pulls back slightly so that he can glance down at her, golden eyes earnestly searching her face.

“I want a baby,” Katara repeats, her brows furrowing.

Cupping her face with his hands, Zuko presses a kiss to her forehead, hiding a laugh, “Katara, we’ve been married for all of two weeks, and you want a baby?”

Katara isn’t joking, though. “We’ve been together for all of two years now, Zuko.” It’s true. Katara was only seventeen when she began courting the Fire Lord, and now, at nineteen, she finds herself married to him, sharing his bed and holding his tender heart in her careful hands.

“You’re… You’re not serious, Katara,” Zuko manages to choke out in reply. Upon realizing just how earnest on the matter she actually is, his golden eyes suddenly fill with an anxiety that she hasn’t seen from him in years. “I… Katara, it’s too soon for us to have children.”

In this moment, Katara knows that it’s better to drop it than press further. So she does, for her husband’s sake. She remains quiet, wrapping her arms around his bare waist, rubbing soothing circles into the small of his back.

Above all else, above her maternal instincts, above her deep desire to have children, Katara loves Zuko. And, when he hides his face in the crook of her neck, she holds him tightly, peppering kisses along his skin, whispering words of comfort for whatever pain that grips him in the dark of the night. “It’ll be okay, Zuko.”

ii.

“You’re quite distracted, Fire Lady Katara,” Zuko notes, his voice teasing. “Like what you see?”

They’re sparring in the courtyard, both sweating lightly from the pervasive Fire Nation humidity. Seamlessly gliding in and out of forms, they dance around each other in a way that’s unbelievably familiar but still manages to keep them on their toes.

With a coy smirk, Katara arches her back, narrowly avoiding a fiery kick to the face. “So what if I do?” She’s light on her feet as she launches herself away from him, pulling streams of water along behind her.

“I should hope you do,” Zuko replies, rolling his eyes lightly. He pursues her, though, just as he always has over the past five years.

Before they know it, their sparring is long forgotten as they tear down the hallway together with reckless abandon. By the time they reach their chambers, they’re both breathless, panting heavily as Zuko nearly shoves open the front door.

As soon as they’re both inside, Zuko shuts the door behind them, pinning Katara against a wall, hovering over her. The air grows thick with tension as he brushes her nose with his, broad arms caging her in on either side.

“Katara,” he murmurs, pressing kisses along her jawline. “Katara, I love you.”

Tipping her head back slightly, giving him better access to the soft skin of her neck, Katara allows her eyes to close, blissfully. “I love you, Zuko…”

The windows to their room are still open, and their skin glistens beneath the afternoon sun. Their limbs tangle, and Zuko’s fingers run along the curve of her waist, skimming beneath the blue fabric of her simple training tunic.

They’re a mess, really, but they’re a mess together.

Katara doesn’t mean to ask, but the question tumbles from her lips before she can stop it. “Zuko… What if we tried for a baby?”

This time, Zuko seems perfectly content pretending as though he didn’t hear her, far more interested in the bottom edge of her tunic than her question. He pushes her toward the bed and hovers over her, love shining in his eyes.

“Zuko?”

His eyes seem to shift back into focus as he meets her gaze. “Yes?”

“Can we try for a baby?” She asks, completely in earnest. “We’ve been married for several weeks now, and I just…”

Zuko sits up, pressing shaky fingers to his temples. “I… I don’t know, Katara. The council barely approved our marriage to begin with. I don’t know if springing a baby on them so soon would be wise.”

Rolling off the bed, Katara begins to rummage through their closet, looking for a fresh set of robes to change into, hiding her disappointment. “Yes… You’re… You’re probably right, Zuko. We can wait.”

iii.

There’s something very peaceful about the turtleduck pond that had once belonged to Zuko’s mother. Standing at the edge of the water, soft waves lapping at her bare ankles, Katara breathes in once, then twice.

After receiving several pointed comments from various members of the council regarding the current insecurity of Zuko’s line, Katara fled to the pond. Under normal circumstances, she would have snapped back at them in an instant, but now, she’s all too aware of the fact that she’s a nineteen year old girl that many of the more traditional council members believe to be merely a figurehead. Deep down, though, she’s also mindful of the fact that, in some regards, she agrees with them.

This is a subject that she and Zuko have spoken of on several occasions before getting married.

Children.

Really, after the sheer amount of conversations they had during their courtship regarding becoming parents one day, Katara would’ve expected a more positive reception from Zuko when discussing carrying on their family line. She thought that they were of one mind on this, that they’d look toward starting a family as soon as they were married.

But, no… They’re married, and Zuko’s shied away from the topic twice now, and Katara can’t bring herself to push him too far, too soon.

Kneeling beside the pond, Katara doesn’t pay the clods of mud and loose grass any mind as she trails her fingers along the surface of the water. A few turtleducks swim nearby, occasionally daring to quack in her general direction. The air is balmy, and she basks in the gentle warmth of the day.

“Katara?” Zuko appears beneath an archway leading toward the gardens. “I thought I’d find you here.” Then, he’s by her side in an instant, looking down on her kneeling form with concern. “I’ve scolded the council members who spoke out of turn soundly. They had no right to make such remarks toward you.”

Her lips twist into a frown. “I can fend for myself, Zuko.” She can. And she does, when the situation calls for it.

Zuko seems taken aback. “I know that… I just… I didn’t want them speaking of you in such a way.”

“Thank you,” Katara replies simply. “But while I disagree with their delivery and the methods by which they convey such a message, I can’t help but think that perhaps what they say has some merit.”

“You’re not some… harlot or concubine with whom I’m supposed to conceive children, Katara.” Zuko looks scandalized.

Katara’s temper flares as frost forms at her fingertips. “No. I’m not. I’m your wife. Your wife, Zuko.” She stands abruptly, water she doesn’t bother to bend away dripping from her robes. “We spoke about children before getting married, and Dad and Iroh aren’t getting any younger, and we have the security of a nation to think of, and… I was under the impression that we… that we weren’t going to waste any more time.”

“Waste any more time?” Zuko repeats, hurt clouding his eyes. “How is any moment I spend with you a waste of time?” He stumbles backward, nearly tripping on his long robes.

Almost instantly, Katara’s anger dissipates. The surface of the water toward the edges of the pond have begun to crackle with ice, but she steps away from it before she causes any further damage, turtleducks quacking indignantly. “Zuko…” She reaches for her husband, gripping his warm hands in her freezing ones. “I didn’t mean it that way…”

Zuko stands rooted to the ground in silence, allowing her to trace his palms with her thumbs.

Then, Katara reaches out to tug her husband into her arms, not bothering to heed her drenched robes. “Zuko, I love you.” She rests her head against his chest, hoping that the tears glistening along her lashes go unnoticed. “We can talk about this some other time.”

iv.

“Katara?” Zuko lingers just outside of her study, a hand resting on the doorframe.

Fingers stained with ink, her hair piled atop her head in a way that’s likely quite unfitting for a Fire Lady, Katara lifts her head, meeting her husband’s gaze. “Yes, Zuko?”

He steps into the room uncertainly, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder as he stands by her side. “Are you… Are you feeling okay?”

Forgetting that she’s covered in ink, Katara pinches the bridge of her nose lightly. “Of course.” She’s buried in paperwork and notices and letters, and she’s very likely overworking herself, but she’s also happy, helping others, serving Zuko’s people and, by extension, her own.

A ragged sigh slips from Zuko’s lips as he tugs an empty chair forward so that he can sit beside her. “Katara… I’ve given everything a lot of thought, and I think that I’m finally ready to talk.”

“To talk?” Katara repeats, her brows furrowing. “Talk about what?”

Zuko dips her brush back in its ink well and scoots her parchments across the table. “Children.”

Instantly, Katara’s eyes fill with worry. “We don’t have to – Really. Not until you’re ready.”

“Thank you, Katara,” Zuko replies, his voice a light rasp. “But I think that I am ready, now.”

So, Katara stills her body and gives him her full attention, correspondence and paperwork long forgotten.

“I’m… scared.” Zuko’s confession is soft enough that she almost doesn’t catch it the first time. “I’m really scared.” He clarifies, “I’m scared to have children. You know as well as anybody that I don’t really give a damn about what the council says, as long as they’re not hurting you or our people. But I’ve been using them as an excuse because I haven’t been sure of how to explain this to you.”

Carding his hands through his hair, Zuko unties his topknot, dropping his Fire Lord’s crest onto her desk. “I love you, Katara, and I’m sorry that I haven’t been more clear about how I feel or what I’m thinking.” He hangs his head, suddenly looking less like a twenty one year old man and more like a sixteen year old boy. “When we’d spoken about children in the past, it had always felt so distant, so far away in the future.”

Zuko continues, “But now the council’s pressuring us for an heir, and we’ve only been married for a month or two, and I guess I wasn’t expecting for everything to happen so fast.” He steals a glance at her when he thinks she’s not looking. “I don’t want to be like my father, Katara.”

And suddenly, it all makes sense.

“I don’t want to be like my father,” Zuko repeats again, stronger and with more conviction. “The thought of having children scares me because I don’t know who I’ll become with them around or who they’ll become with me as a dad.” He laughs bitterly, “I’ve always known that you would make a wonderful mother, Katara. I just didn’t have confidence that I would be a good father.”

Katara softens, opening her arms so that he can collapse lightly against her. “Zuko… I’m sorry for all the times in the past where I’ve pushed you.” She drops his gaze. “I had no idea.” Running her fingers through his messy hair, she presses a kiss to his forehead. “Thank you for sharing this with me… And, for what it’s worth, I think you’ll be a wonderful father one day.”

“I think so too,” Zuko agrees in a whisper, as though saying it too loud will cause it not to come true. Then, he flicks his gaze from her eyes to her lips and back again. “Hey… Katara. Ask me again.”

“What?” She nearly laughs, tugging him even closer.

Zuko’s expression shifts, the features of his face softening with joy. “Ask me if we can have a baby.” He pulls her onto his lap, allowing their limbs to tangle despite their heavy robes.

It’s as though the wind’s been knocked out of her. “Can we have a baby, Zuko?”

“Let’s have a baby, Katara.” Zuko surges forward to kiss her again, and they’re both nearly delirious with happiness. “I’m ready now… We can have a baby,” he whispers.

And those are the sweetest words Katara’s ever heard.

#zutara #zutara month #zutara month 2021 #zuko #katara #family portraits #let them be happy #let them be a family #;-;#post canon #post war #prequel fic to family portraits #but can stand alone #zel writes

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rwby-necro-au-archive · 3 years ago

Text

This is an intervention, old man.

A soft chiming sound was heard through the rather large room.

Ozpin recognized the chiming, but it didn’t occur to him what was different about the chiming. He had clocks that chimed all throughout the house.

Groggily, he opened his hazelnut eyes turned his head to the clock.

Wait. He wasn’t in his office anymore.

He shot up out of the bed and looked around frantically. “Just our room. Dear lord I shouldn’t scare myself like that.” Ozpin sighed in relief, but, how did he even get up here?

Ozpin slowly got up out of bed, he was still in the same clothes as he was before he blacked out, but it had a more significant meaning than just that. “Oh. That’s why.”

Qrow must’ve found him passed out in his office and carried him up here. Makes sense as to why he wouldn’t change Oz’s clothes, poor man can’t handle him even shirtless.

He searched around the room, looking for new clothes and a few other things. He had work to do, hopefully he didn’t sleep for too long. As he was getting everything he needed for the day, he happened to catch a glimpse at the clock.

The tiny box had shown the time and the date. Not only was it noon, but it was 3 days after he passed out. “Bloody hell, I didn’t think I’d have slept that long!” He smacked his forehead in response. Now the council was really going to be on his ass for not working for 3 days! Although, it was strange, no nightmares once throughout that entire time. Quite unlike him.

Shaking away the growing confusion of the lack of nightmares, he rushed down the stairs, completely oblivious to the 11 people sitting in his living room, and to his office.

To which he found locked. Stunned, Ozpin mumbled “Who?—“

“Me.” A familiar gravely, and displeased, voice spoke from behind him. “I knew you were gonna try that and so I had Oscar lock the door from the inside.” He could hear the causal shrug in his voice.

Ozpin sighed, not out of anger, not of irritation, not even out of annoyance. But rather a knowing sound, knowing he was about to face a battle he was going to lose. For a moment he thought back to the situation in his office days prior, he was lucky to win that one.

As he turned around and walked down the hall, his initial thought of loss was solidified. Ozpin cleared his throat slightly “I see you’ve brought everyone.” He avoided eye contact. He almost felt as if he were his younger self all over again, being scolded by his dad for overworking himself. It honestly wasn’t all that different.

“I suppose you all are here to scold me for my actions of working myself too hard?” Ozpin dipped his head slightly and looked further to the right, taking more interest in the floorboards than the people in front of him. “Wow ok, apparently the part we thought was going to be the hardest was the easiest.” Another familiar, feminine, voice sounded in surprise. Glynda.

He arched an eyebrow and looked up slightly at her, she gave a smirk in response “You, dear Mr. I-overwork-myself-daily-and-never-admit-it-and-went-to-far-this-time, just admitted you have been overworking yourself.” She finished with a smile

Oh. He hadn’t even realized he said that. Although he supposed that even a small part of himself agreed he shouldn’t.

“Are any of you gonna tell him that’s not the only thing we’re here to talk about or do I have to?” Ruby questioned, crossing her arms and pouting a little in the process.

Ozpin smiled gently at her reaction, “My dear, I think you just did.” He said gently

Her eyes widened slightly “Oh. Well fine, I guess I did. But no, that’s not even what we were originally here for.” Every word was laced with a matter of fact attitude, one that only came from Ruby when she needed it to. But she never did it often.

“So, what’s the original reason you all are here?” He spoke quietly as his eyebrows furrowed.

“Therapy.” Now it was Clover’s turn to speak as he shrugged. “You uh, gotta go to it.” he nodded.

His face morphed into confusion “What? What do you mean?”

The group looked at each other with annoyed expressions. They all looked back at Oz before speaking at once.

“Go to therapy Oz.” They all said, deadpanned and thoroughly annoyed.

Ozpin attempted to speak a “W-what? I—“ before he was interrupted.

“Go to therapy.” The group repeated.

He tried once more to speak “I don’t—“ once again he was promptly interrupted.

“Oh my god literally go to therapy old man. You need it. You aren’t gonna win this argument.” Yang complained.

He was stunned into silence. He started considering his options, he had promised Qrow Glynda and even Oscar that he would go, but he was also fearful of the medical implications and environments that came with going to one.

Before he could think further, a familiar specter, one he had forgotten that he had neglected to even speak to for 3- almost 4 -week, had floated up to him and held his face with a worried expression.

Oscar spoke while patting his dad’s cheeks “Papa need help. Help not bad, r’member?” He hugged Ozpin after he finished.

That’s right, he did remember. He always taught Oscar that it was never a bad thing to ask for help. What kind of a man would he be if he didn’t follow his own words of advice.

Yang was right, his original thought, was right. He wasn’t going to win this battle, he was too tired, and at this point, he himself was starting to question if he needed it. And so he bit back his excuses for once.

“Okay. I’ll go.” He said softly as he patted Oscars head.

The group cheered and thanked Oz, but did threaten him slightly if he didn’t follow through on his promise.

Qrow laughed as he put a hand on Oz’s shoulder “Don’t worry about it, I’ll make sure he goes. I fought him tooth and nail to get him to not overwork himself I think I can handle this too.” He smiled as he looked up at the taller man “Now then, I made food using your recipe book, so you all go eat.” He shooed the kids away as they laughed.

Ozpin was happy they were happy, but still unsure of his decision, still unsure of how mad Qrow was at him. “So, what’s it like?” He said quietly, barely above a whisper.

“Hm? Therapy?” Qrow asked, looking back at him.

“Yeah.”

Qrow shrugged “Well, it sucks at first, a lot of old feelings get unburied and can leave you feeling like hell. But it gets better with time. Plus, you’ve got everyone here looking out for you.”

Ozpin simply nodded in response.

“For the record,” Qrow started as he looked at Oz sternly “You can tell the council that your boyfriend and son said that they don’t give a damn how much work you have. You need to be with your family, and You need to be physically AND mentally healthy.”

Ozpin chuckled “I will, you always had an interesting way with words.” He complimented. “Although,” Ozpin started.

Qrow raised an eyebrow “Although?” He asked.

“I do still think I deserve to make it up to everyone, starting with you.” He finished as he looked at Qrow.

Qrow scoffed gently and shook his head “Y’know Ozzy, you’re already making it up to me and the others by simply going.”

“Ah.” Ozpin said, ever so slightly disappointed.

“Buuuut” Qrow tapped a finger to his chin, faking pensiveness as he leaned against Oz. “If you really wanna make it up to me. Then tomorrow, 5:30 pm, the Beacon diner, call it a date~” he smirked slyly up at Oz.

Ozpin’s face flushed to a bright pink as he stumbled over his words at the request “a-ah.” He managed to stumble out.

Qrow snicked at his reaction “Awe, poor Ozzy still can’t handle his own boyfriend asking him on a date, how cute~” Qrow teased

“Of course not, not when it’s you asking.” Ozpin mumbled in protest as he rubbed the back of his neck. He cleared his throat and stood up straight “But yes, I can do that. Formal or casual clothes?” He asked, cheeks still dusted a subtle pink

Qrow shivered before answering “Eugh, Casual, I’ve seen you in your work clothes for too many weeks now. Take a shower.”

“Ah….of course love.” Ozpin rubbed the back of his neck again.

“…I missed that.” Qrow said quietly.

Ozpin raised an eyebrow “missed what?”

“This.” He gestured up and down at Oz. “The causal clothes, the nicknames, seeing you happy and smiling, actually seeing you.”

He looked sorrowfully at Qrow “I’m sorry love.” He decided to add one more part to that “I won’t ever do that again. To you, to Glynda, Oscar, the kids, Clover, everyone. I promise.”

Qrow perked up slightly at the last part, “…Really?”

He smiled as he tilted his head “I’m not a man who breaks or makes promises very often, am I?”

Qrow smiled, “Nah. Not ever really, on the breaking part.”

He turned around and looked at the table “Now, let’s go eat you tall ass man.”

Ozpin elbowed him gently as he walked past “You love my height and you know it!”

Qrow scoffed and gave a mischievous look before saying loudly for everyone to hear “SO ABOUT THAT DATE—“.

“SHUT UP.” Ozpin said through gritted teeth and a red face as the group laughed.

Ozpin crossed his arms “You are terrible!”

“What was that you said earlier “you love it and you know it”? Qrow smiled slyly.

Ozpin rolled his eyes.

“Ugh, you are such a brat.”

#necromancer ozpin #necromancer qrow #headmaster ozpin #ozpin #professor ozpin #qrow branwen #cloqwork #ozqrow

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