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ultimatetrashyfanfic · 3 years ago

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Wooow, first time writing a fic for this fandom. I’m stupidly nervous. Also I only just finished SDR2 so I’m just gonna make this a Non-Despair AU in case there’s any big events in the next canon games I don’t know about yet. Plus i want everybody to be alive and well (chapter four hurt). This is also the first time in years I’ve written any fanfiction, so forgive me if I’m rusty. I do love this pairing. Can be taken romantically or platonic in this one (as this isn’t my only ship for Hajime so I tried to keep it ambiguous). - Circle

Also posted to AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/33332596

Warning: sickfic, descriptions of vomiting (I don’t go into much detail), nightmares/general anxiety.

Kazuichi was the only person Hajime knew with a worse sleep schedule than his own. For months he hadn’t realised - everybody had their own space on the island and Hajime was occupied enough with his own fatigue - but as Fuyuhiko saw how much Kazuichi grew to trust and confide in Hajime, he reported the issue.

“He’s like a fucking baby,” Fuyuhiko muttered bitterly. “If he gets tinkering on something he’ll be at it for days without sleeping. You gotta make sure he doesn’t overdo it. I can’t babysit that dumbass by myself.”

Hajime nodded, letting the insults sail over his head. Fuyuhiko may swear and yell and tell everyone over and over that Kazuichi and Hajime and Akane were the bane of his existence, but he was really the closest thing their group had to a mum friend.

“I’ll keep an eye out,” Hajime promised. It was an easy enough job. At least it gave him something to do. Whenever Hajime found himself unable to sleep now, he’d go hunting for Kazuichi. More often than not he’d be at the airport, dismantling or building things as the mood struck him, and all Hajime had to do was hook his collar and ignore the whining as he dragged his friend away to bed.

But that night was different. Hajime could sense it the second he walked into the airport. Since the other students rarely went in there, Kazuichi had taken over the space, scattering bits of parts and machines in various stages of completion. But he wasn’t hunched over with a fiddly screwdriver or hidden underneath some big contraption with only his legs visible. He was sitting against a large machine, resting his head against the cool metal, his thumb rubbing at the motor oil embedded under his bitten fingernails.

That was concerning. Kazuichi was never still. He was forever biting his fingernails or twirling his wrench idly in his hands or messing with the pockets on his jumpsuit, dragging the zips up and down over and over. It used to drive Hajime mad, but after knowing Kazuichi for so long Hajime could recognise it as a nervous response and he knew not to complain about it.

Because kazuichi was fragile. Not physically - he could easily haul heavy engine parts around and didn’t buckle when Akane jumped on his back - but it was pretty easy to upset him. When Fuyuhiko had started mocking Kazuichi over his obsession with Sonia - “you gotta bully the shitty behaviours out of people, Hajime.” - it had led to Kazuichi knocking at Hajime’s cottage in the middle of the night, tearfully asking him why Fuyuhiko hated him.

Sometimes Hajime really wished they had an Ultimate Therapist on the island.

So now, looking across the abandoned airport to Kazuichi behaving in a very not-Kazuichi way, Hajime proceeded with caution. He made sure to step purposefully, his footsteps loud on the linoleum floor; he’d once surprised Kazuichi from behind and almost received a wrench to his temple… as well as a burst eardrum from the screaming.

Kazuichi looked up, hastily fumbling with his glasses and shoving them into his pocket. He hated anyone seeing him wear them, so Hajime knew not to comment.

Usually Kazuichi’s face brightened when he saw any of his friends, but now his smile was wary, reserved. “Hey, Hajime,” he said, his voice thick with fatigue.

“When was the last time you slept?” Hajime asked bluntly. “Or ate?”

Kazuichi turned back to face the hunk of metal beside him (unidentifiable to Hajime), though he still didn’t start tinkering. “Not hungry.”

“That doesn’t answer my question at all.”

“I slept yesterday. I think… It’s Monday, right?”

Hajime sighed heavily and hooked the collar of Kazuichi’s jumpsuit with his fingers. “Come on, get up. Bedtime. You’re not even doing anything.”

“Mmn. Can’t seem to focus tonight.”

“That’s because you’re exhausted. Go to bed.”

“Okay! Jeez, man, you’re acting like my mother,” Kazuichi whined, sounding more like himself.

The pair walked out into the cool night air together, Hajime taking hold of Kazuichi’s sleeve when he stumbled. Just how long had he been awake? He was acting like a zombie.

“Fuyuhiko said you weren’t sleeping,” Hajime grumbled. “You should take better care of yourself.”

“Fuyuhiko said it? So why did he make you come get me? Are you sure he doesn’t hate me?” Souda pressed.

“Yes, I’m sure. I told you, he was only harsh because he wanted you to leave poor Sonia alone.”

“Well. I have been, haven’t I?” he muttered.

Hajime assumed that was meant to be a rhetorical question, but it came out like Kazuichi was looking for reassurance. It hadn’t occurred to him how often Souda seemed to do that, as if he was worried anything he said would elicit a bad reaction.

“I’ve even been nice to Gundham,” Kazuichi said, much more irritably. “Though that’s a damn uphill battle, Hajime, I’m telling you. I don’t know what the hell he’s talking about half the time.”

Hajime snorted. Watching Souda trying to interact with Gundham was becoming a running joke between the other students now. There was always a five second pause when Gundham finished talking before Kazuichi could reply, his face contorted as he hastily tried to translate.

“You’ll get used to Gundham. I didn’t understand him much at first either.” Hajime frowned as Kazuichi wrapped his arms around himself, shivering. “Are you cold?”

“I’m freezing. Maybe I do need to sleep better. I’m not feeling so good…” He stumbled again as they went across the uneven boardwalk to the cabins, bumping Hajime’s shoulder.

Hajime caught hold of him instinctively - then paused for a second. He quickly cupped both hands over Kazuichi’s cheeks.

“H-Hajime?!” Souda reeled back so fast he almost toppled right off the platform. “What the hell are you doing?”

“You have a fever, Kazuichi,” Hajime groaned. “You’re burning up. That’s why you don’t feel good.”

“I do?” Souda cupped his own cheeks contemplatively. “Huh. That makes sense. I couldn’t focus properly all evening.”

Hajime sighed heavily. Souda could be so oblivious at times it was hard to believe he was so talented with his machines. He seemed so much more confident when he spoke about that stuff. When he’d started getting closer to Kazuichi, Hajime once asked about some little mechanical toy Souda was making - and Souda’s face had just lit up. He talked Hajime’s ear off for a good fifteen minutes about every little piece of the toy and how it worked. Hajime didn’t understand the majority of it, but he always made sure to ask Kazuichi about his various projects after that. Souda was delighted every time, his words tripping over each other with excitement and his eyes shining like beacons. For a second Hajime wondered if that was how it felt to be Sonia.

“Well, you’d better come with me for now,” Hajime said. “I know you don’t have any first aid supplies in your cabin, and we don’t need Mikan to tell us you have some standard virus. I’ve got painkillers and fever reducers.” Hajime held onto Kazuichi by the elbow, guiding him along to the correct cabin. He seemed beyond argument. He flopped onto Hajime’s bed as soon as they went inside, curling onto his side and closing his eyes.

Hajime hovered over him, feeling a pang of anxiety. He wasn’t used to caring for any sick people except Nagito, and caring for Nagito was a wholly bizarre experience all around. Hajime had never seen anybody swing so wildly between self-deprecating, passive aggressive and strangely clingy when he was forced to babysit a sick Nagito. Hajime figured Kazuichi might fall into the clingy category.

Hajime grabbed fever reducers from the bathroom cabinet and went to crouch beside his bed, shaking Kazuichi’s shoulder. Maybe it was the fever or the several days without sleep, but Kazuichi already seemed to be breathing deeper. There was a red flush across both his cheekbones, garishly bright against his pink hair. Hajime checked his forehead again; it was burning.

“Hey, dude, wake up. You’ve gotta take some medicine and go back to your own cabin,” Hajime said, shaking Kazuichi’s shoulder harder. Kazuichi whined irritably, reaching out a clumsy hand without opening his eyes. He managed to find Hajime’s face and tried to shove him away weakly.

“Kazuichi!” Hajime caught hold of his wrist, sighing. “You have motor oil on your hands. Look, I don’t care if you don’t want to take medicine, but go sleep in your own cabin. This happens to be my bed.”

Kazuichi didn’t move, breathing deeply. Hajime wasn’t sure if he was actually sleeping or just ignoring him.

“I kissed Sonia,” Hajime lied.

No response. Hm. Maybe Kazuichi really was asleep.

Well, what was Hajime meant to do now? He didn’t feel mean enough to boot his sick friend off the bed. He supposed he could go stay in Souda’s room, but he didn’t know where his key was, and he didn’t want to go rifling through Kazuichi’s pockets for it while he was sleeping - and maybe Souda needed somebody with him in case his fever got worse. Fevers could turn nasty, right? Not that Hajime would be any use, but he could go get Mikan.

Sighing resignedly, Hajime went to the unoccupied side of his bed, lying back to back with Kazuichi. Most of the bedsheets were trapped under his sick companion no matter now Hajime yanked them, but Souda was so hot Hajime was soon uncomfortably warm. The sleeping boy was taking up a lot of the bed too; he had Kazuichi’s hair in his face and elbows jabbing his ribs no matter what sleeping position Hajime tried. He sighed again. “You’re an utter pain to deal with, Kazuichi,” he mumbled into his pillow. “You need to take care of yourself before you get really sick.”

Hajime, though sure he’d never be able to even doze in this situation, must have slept at some point, because he woke with a start to find the bed shaking so violently he almost toppled off it. In his drowsy state Hajime wondered for a second if the island had any seismic activity, but the earthquake seemed confined to the bed alone. He sat up and fumbled to turn on the bedside lamp, rubbed the sleep from his eyes and turned to his sleeping friend.

Kazuichi was shaking violently, curled into a foetal position. His face had bleached several shades whiter and his fists were clenched tight, crumpling the bedsheets. His brow was furrowed and he made intermittent whines in the back of his throat, barely audible. Whatever dream was playing in his feverish head, it clearly wasn’t a pleasant one.

“Kazuichi,” Hajime called, shaking the sleeping man’s shoulder. Hajime could feel the heat radiating through Kazuichi’s clothes. “Come on, man, wake up.”

When he received no response, he shook harder, momentarily panicked. It was a mistake. Kazuichi jolted awake with a scream, the momentum sending him tumbling right off the bed onto the floor. He banged his head hard on the skirting board.

“Shit! Fuck, Souda, are you okay?” Hajime cried, hurrying over to Kazuichi. Souda scrambled backwards in a panic, clonking his head all over again when he hit the wall. His eyes hadn’t focused yet and he was breathing far too quickly. Hajime was starting to think he really should fetch Mikan.

“Kazuichi, it’s just me. Hajime. You know, your…” He paused, cringing. Only Kazuichi ever called them by that dumb name. “Your soul friend.”

Kazuichi looked up, locking eyes with Hajime. He didn’t stop shaking, but his breathing calmed slightly. For what felt like several minutes, both boys stared helplessly at each, unsure what to do or say. Souda swallowed thickly and finally whispered in a hoarse, rasping voice, “I’m gonna puke.”

“What?” That certainly broke Hajime out of the awkward staring contest. He grabbed hold of Souda by the wrist and yanked him across the bedroom to the bathroom, shoving him firmly towards the toilet. He turned to leave - he didn’t want to witness any of that - when something snagged onto the back of his shirt.

“Are you serious?” Hajime groaned. Souda felt too nauseated to dare opening his mouth, but he tugged insistently at Hajime’s shirt.

Hajime paused. Part of him - maybe even most of him - really wanted to brush Kazuichi’s hand away and flee the room before anything gross started happening. But Souda looked so… pathetic, sitting there trying not to vomit, still shaky and tearful from the nightmare, his hair tangled across his sweaty face.

Damn it. Hajime shouldn’t have looked at him.

“Fine, fine,” he sighed, kneeling beside Souda on the bathroom floor. He hastily gathered Kazuichi’s messy hair away from his face as the sick boy leaned further over the toilet. “You owe me big time for this. Especially when I end up catching this from you.”

Grumbling aside, Hajime stayed, managing not to complain or pull too many faces when Kazuichi was vomiting. He focused on holding Souda’s hair out of the way, glad he had one job he could manage. This comforting thing was way out of his depth. Souda kept one hand reaching backwards to clasp Hajime’s shirt, as if he didn’t quite trust him not to run away.

When the retching finally tapered off, Hajime released Souda’s hair and reached up to flush the toilet, grimacing. “Better?”

Kazuichi made a noise between a whine and a sob, head resting on the toilet seat.

“Well, at least it’s over. I’m gonna go grab you some water, okay?”

He stood up, but Kazuichi hastily lifted his head, looking outraged. “You’re leaving me? I could be dying here!”

“You’re not dying, Souda. Honestly, sometimes I think you should’ve been Ultimate Drama Queen.”

“Stay with me.” Kazuichi shuffled away from the toilet and latched onto Hajime leg.

“Souda, it will take me literally thirty seconds to grab a bottle of water. Now get off.” Hajime tried to yank his leg free, but Souda had a strong grip, even when ill.

“Nope. Don’t leave.”

Hajime sighed heavily. “Then get up and come back to the bed.”

Souda slumped down onto the cool linoleum floor, making sure to keep his arms around Hajime’s ankle. “Don’t wanna move. Everything hurts.”

“Oh, for fuck sake!” Hajime tried to pull Souda up himself, but Souda let his body go limp, sprawling across the bathroom floor, and Hajime couldn’t lift him up when he was dead weight like that.

“You know that’s exactly what toddlers do when they don’t want you picking them up,” Hajime snapped. Honestly, this was almost as bad as Nagito. Why did everybody mess with him when they were sick?

“I can see why. It’s very effective,” Kazuichi muttered.

“I could just leave, you know. Just say fuck it and let you lie there on your own.”

“Don’t.” The jesting tone had disappeared from Souda’s voice. He looked close to tears again, flat on his back and staring up at Hajime pleadingly.

Hajime tried to hold onto his frustration, but he couldn’t. Not with Kazuichi looking at him like that. He sighed and sat on the floor beside Souda, putting a hand on his forehead. “You’re burning up.”

“Keep your hand there,” Kazuichi mumbled. “It’s cold.”

“Fine. But if you let me leave I could get you a cold cloth for your head.”

“Noooo…”

“Okay, okay.” Hajime paused. Souda’s eyelids were drooping again. If he wanted to ask, Hajime had to do it quickly. “Hey, Kazuichi..?”

“Mn?”

“What happened? Earlier, I mean.”

“I puked.”

“No, you dope. Earlier than that. When you woke up. You seemed really terrified. Were you dreaming?” Hajime was already regretting asking. Kazuichi was sick and over-emotional. They were sitting on the bathroom floor, for God’s sake. Nothing good could come of emotional conversations on a bathroom floor.

There was another silence, so long Hajime checked to see if Kazuichi had dozed off. His eyes were wide open now, staring at the ceiling. “It was just a dream. That’s all.”

“Do you remember what it was about?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Kazuichi mumbled.

Hajime sighed. “Look, it’s fine if you don’t want to talk about it. But it clearly freaked you out really bad. If there’s something you’re worried about or something that’s scaring you, I can-“ Hajime stopped as Kazuichi sat up abruptly. He kept his face turned to the wall, but Hajime heard the sniffles, saw his shoulders start shaking.

“Fuck,” Hajime muttered helplessly. “Kazuichi, I’m sorry. I’ll just be quiet. You don’t have to tell me anything. I’m messing this all up, I’m such a fucking idiot sometimes.”

“I’m a fucking idiot,” Kazuichi sobbed. “So stupid I still dream about him! Why can’t he just go away!” He went on talking, but he was howling too hard for Hajime to understand. He’d seen Souda cry countless times before, but this was different somehow. This wasn’t just wailing because some girl he liked had turned him down. This was raw, painful terror.

“Hey hey, calm down! You’re gonna make yourself sick again,” Hajime said, trying hard to keep the panic out of his own voice. He took hold of Kazuichi’s wrists, pulling him gently away from the wall. He’d meant to lay Souda down in the same position as before, but Souda instantly fell against Hajime’s chest, practically knocking him over.

“Right. Um. You’re okay. You’re safe here,” Hajime mumbled, patting his sobbing friend awkwardly. He wasn’t used to embracing people. It felt strange and unnatural but not unpleasant - and Souda clearly needed a hug more than anything else right now. “Souda, breathe. It’s okay. You’re safe. The fever is probably making it worse. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked about the nightmare.”

“Home,” Kazuichi gasped.

“Huh?”

“I was dreaming about being back at home.”

Oh God. Where was that Ultimate Therapist again? Hajime didn’t know how to handle this. He couldn’t sort his own problems, let alone anyone else’s. “Oooh. Okay. Shit. Your dad..? You mentioned him once before.”

“Don’t. Don’t talk about it.”

“Okay. Sorry. So your dream was a memory? When he… hurt you?” Hajime guessed.

The sobbing, which had been gradually calming, quickly returned to near-hyperventilating.

“Sorry, sorry. Breathe, okay?” Hajime’s own heart was thumping hard. This was way more than he could handle. “Look… You’re away from there. He’s literally across an ocean. It’s just me and you here. Because you usurped my bed tonight.”

Kazuichi gave a snort that could’ve been a laugh. “It’s not… not usually this bad,” he said, his voice still jerky with sobs. “I-I can handle it on my own. The nightmares.”

“Fevers make nightmares worse. I think. I’d have to check with Mikan,” Hajime said. “But at least you were here this time.” He was surprised to find he really meant that. He couldn’t bear to think of Souda dealing with all that on his own.

They sat in silence for a long time, until Souda’s sobs died down to sniffles, his head still resting on Hajime’s chest. The front of Hajime’s shirt was now damp with tears and snot, and Souda’s feverish body was like a furnace, but he didn’t suggest they move. After a long time he found he’d wound his arms around Kazuichi’s shoulders.

“Are you still awake?” Hajime whispered eventually.

“Mn. Barely…”

“Listen, this is important. If you have dreams like that any other night, you can come over here. If you want. Just knock hard so I wake up.”

Kazuichi shifted in his arms to look at Hajime’s face. “You don’t have to do that. Don’t feel like you’re stuck with me.”

“Maybe I don’t mind being stuck with you,” Hajime retorted.

A ghost of a smile flickered across Kazuichi’s face, though he was still red and tear-stained. “Then you’re fucking crazy.”

“It’s not crazy to want to be your friend, Souda. So will you ask me for help next time you dream something like that? Please?”

Kazuichi wound his arms around Hajime’s middle and squeezed so hard it made Hajime gasp. “Okay. I’ll come get you.” He paused. “Thanks, Hajime.”

Kazuichi fell asleep soon after, still pinning Hajime to the bathroom floor with his weight. And though Hajime would moan about how sore and stiff he was the next morning, he was still glad Souda came to him for help. Just about.

#danganronpa 2 #danganronpa #my writing #kazuichi soda #hajime hinata #dr emeto #emeto tw #emeto #dr sickfic #sickfic #fever #writing #our writing #mod circle

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arnoldjaime13 · 4 years ago

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Blog Tour- BETRAYER by @ANConway With An Excerpt & #Giveaway! @RockstarBkTours

I am thrilled to be hosting a spot on the BETRAYER by Nicole Conway Blog Tour hosted by Rockstar Book Tours. Check out my post and make sure to enter the giveaway!

About The Book:

Title: BETRAYER (The Dragonrider Heritage #2)

Author: Nicole Conway

Pub. Date: February 23, 2020

Publisher: Broadfeather Books

Formats: Paperback, eBook, Audiobook

Pages: 352

Find it: Goodreads, Amazon, Kindle, B&N, TBD, Bookshop.org

Read for FREE with a Kindle Unlimited Membership!

The darkest secrets of Murdoc’s violent past may be their last hope.

As pressure mounts to find the Tibran witch, Devana, Thatcher and his companions struggle to regroup after discovering Phillip’s bitter betrayal. Forced into hiding while they await a new plan of attack from Prince Judan's network of spies, tensions rise and threaten to tear their company apart. Murdoc knows every second they linger risks another attack from the vicious Ulfrangar Assassins or Phillip, but Reigh is determined to stay and await new instructions.

With two of his closest friends now locked in a battle of wills, Thatcher is caught in the middle—until a surprise assault by the Ulfrangar drags him into the darkest depths of their brutal order. Faced with a life-and-death race against time, Murdoc is the only one who might be able to save him now. But for Murdoc, taking up an assassin’s blade again to fight the same order that trained him will also mean facing the worst demons of his past.

Can Murdoc finally rise above his bloody past and save his only friend? Or does destiny have a new path in store for an assassin-turned-hero?

About Book 1:

Title: HUNTER (The Dragonrider Heritage #1)

Author: Nicole Conway

Pub. Date: November 24, 2020

Publisher: Broadfeather Books

Formats: Paperback, eBook, Audiobook

Pages: 352

Find it: Goodreads, Amazon, Kindle, Audible, B&N, TBD, Bookshop.org

Read for FREE with a Kindle Unlimited Membership!

One boy must earn the trust of a blind dragon and hunt down an elusive sorceress before she can rekindle the war that nearly destroyed their world.

As the Kingdom of Maldobar emerges victorious from the brutal invasion of the Tibran Empire, much of the land is left in utter ruin. With his home destroyed and family gone, 16-year-old Thatcher Renley has no one left to turn to. And when he’s mistaken for a Tibran soldier and banished to a wartime prison camp, Thatcher knows his only hope for freedom lies in appealing to Queen Jenna directly.

But getting out of the prison camp might be the least of his worries— especially after he stumbles across a feral dragon locked in an iron cell.

As far as dragons go, Fornax is a lost cause. The battle that killed his rider also left him blind and too aggressive for any knight to control. But Thatcher can’t deny feeling drawn to the beast. Does he have what it takes to calm Fornax and join the proud ranks of Maldobar’s dragonriders? Only time will tell. And with a bloodthirsty Tibran witch threatening to rekindle the chaos of war, everyone’s time may be running out.

Excerpt

PART ONE

Murdoc

Chapter One

Thatcher Renley was, by far, the biggest idiot I had ever met in my entire life—and that’s saying something, because I’d also met Prince Reigh Farrow. He was in a close second. But at least he had enough common sense to know that this so-called hunt Queen Jenna and Jaevid Broadfeather had sent us on was essentially a glorified suicide mission. We were charging straight into a fight with a largely unknown Tibran witch, armed with only fragments of information about her abilities and location. And if that weren’t enough, there were only three competent fighters among our group—dragons included.

Granted, Reigh could manage decently against common enemies. He’d apparently been trained in combat by the Gray Elves, and their scouts had recently improved in their fighting ability. They must’ve stumbled across someone with an actual brain who was now training their scouts and warriors. Knowing that, Reigh had probably held his own fairly well in Luntharda. But we were a long way from the wild jungle, and sooner or later, that temper of his was going to cost him.

Phoebe was … well. Hmm. Perplexing, I guess. She fluttered around with her mad storm of red curls flying, bubbling like an excited child about the projects she was working on, and radiating a relentless optimism that sort of made me sick to my stomach after a while. Not that she annoyed me, really. It was just strange to be around someone that persistently happy all the time. Happiness wasn’t something I’d had much experience with.

Which brings me back to the biggest moron of them all who, unfortunately, was now both my primary concern and the bane of my existence. Thatcher was astronomically stupid. Honestly, it was staggering he’d survived as long as he had without someone following him around, smacking his hand whenever he was about to try something dangerous. He’d volunteered for this mission without having any combat training of any kind. He was a farrier’s son, for crying out loud, and was essentially the human personification of a dandelion puff. Short, scrawny, wide-eyed, and baby-faced—he didn’t have a prayer of surviving this mess unless someone watched over him constantly.

How, by all the Gods and Fates, I had wound up being that person was still beyond my understanding.

Ugh. Fine, fine. I’d done it by choice, I suppose. Sort of, anyway. I mean, sure, I could have left him there in that alleyway in Thornbend to die along with most of the other peasants and villagers. Maybe that would’ve been kinder in the long run—especially if we were all soaring toward a gruesome death right now. Still, in that moment, with all the world swallowed up in flames and that pitiful kid on the ground at my feet, I’d looked into his eyes as he spoke to me, offering me a different path I’d craved for so long. And I’d realized … no one had ever talked to me that way before. Like I was someone and not something. No one had ever treated me that way. No one had ever looked at me and regarded me like … a person.

So, I’d made a rash and irrevocable decision. A mistake, probably. But then again, I’d been swallowing back hopes of escaping that life—the life of an Ulfrangar assassin—for as long as I could remember. That night in Thornbend had been my first real opportunity. The only catch was, of course, keeping the baby-faced kid who kept calling me “friend” alive, too.

Thatcher treated everyone that way, though. It’s like there was no room in his mind for the possibility that a person really could be evil. Shocking, considering the vacant way he stared at me sometimes—like you could pass a twig through his ear and it would come out the other side and not hit anything in between.

At first, I’d just assumed he was incredibly sheltered or naïve. Maybe he was. But after our experience with Phoebe, finding out that she had been a Tibran, I’d expected him to reject her entirely. Anyone else probably would have. Whether out of shame or fear, she’d kept that information from everyone.

But Thatcher had insisted on helping her. He’d forgiven her without a second thought. He was stupid, yes. But he was also far kinder than anyone could ever deserve.

Least of all me.

He still called me his friend like it was nothing. He laughed and chatted with me as though he genuinely enjoyed my company and wanted me around. He kept chasing after me whenever I tried to put some safe distance between us. Didn’t he get it? Couldn’t he sense it at all? I was not a good person. I never had been. I’d accepted a long time ago that no matter where I went or what I did, the pack—the Ulfrangar—would always own me. They’d carved their mark upon my soul from the very beginning and nothing could erase it. Deep down, I would always be one of them.

Even now, sitting behind Reigh astride his lithe green dragon, the weight of their presence crushed down over my body from every side. They were everywhere and nowhere. They moved in shadow, lived in anonymity, and thrived on the constant stream of the world’s darkest secrets. There was no place I could hide, nowhere I could go that they wouldn’t be able to reach.

The more I thought about it, the harder it was to justify why I’d let Jaevid set me free—even if I knew the answer already. Because of Thatcher, the idiot. No one seemed to know what he’d done to provoke Devana and her new monstrous minion, Phillip. Maybe nothing. And honestly, I didn’t care. It didn’t matter. They wouldn’t put a hand on him if I had anything to say about it. He’d called me a friend—someone who was like a brother to him—and that was enough. It was more than anyone else had ever done for me my entire life.

We cruised, riding the strong winds coming in from the sea along the eastern coastline. The tower of Eastwatch faded behind us, and far below, small villages and towns dotted the hills. Most were a safe distance from the steep cliffs that dropped into the toiling dark ocean—places where wild dragons liked to nest. But the farther we flew to the north, the more the cliffs gave way to rocky beaches. Fishing towns were built right up against the banks amidst the clusters of odd, hexagonal basalt columns and massive trunks of washed-up driftwood from Luntharda’s giant trees.

Dayrise stood just a few miles inland, stretching all the way to the sea where a large port was packed tight with big merchant ships. The vessels cruised in from the open sea, white sails puffed and banners fluttering high as flocks of seagulls chased them in. Most were probably owned by merchants happy to be sailing their trade routes again now that the Tibran war was over.

Not that I’d ever been to Dayrise myself, honestly. The Ulfrangar network spanned far beyond Maldobar’s borders, but the territory I’d been assigned to work was back down on the southern tip of the kingdom. I’d never had any reason to journey this far north.

Too bad it didn’t make me feel the least bit more secure.

A glimmer caught my eye far in the distance off our right side—the tell-tale flash of sunlight over glossy scales. A dragon. He was far off, maybe three miles on our tail, and had been since we left Eastwatch. From so far away, I couldn’t tell much else. Maybe it was just a security escort from the dragonriders keeping an eye on us from afar. Maybe it was a curious wild drake that’d caught wind of the dragoness in our group and was interested in her. I didn’t know.

And when it came to being followed, I hated not knowing.

The sight of those faraway scale flashes and the faint shape of great dark wings flapping put a pang of dread like a cold iron spike in my gut. I looked away and set my teeth against the rush of adrenaline that made my skin tingle and my heart pound like mad. I’d have to mention it to the others eventually. But not yet. I needed more information, first. To be sure this wasn’t some arrangement Jaevid had put in place because, well, he now knew what I was. He had every reason to be concerned and to want to keep a close eye on things.

Or on me, rather.

Reigh started our descent as we neared the city’s outer limits. I had no idea where we were supposed to go or who Jaevid Broadfeather had waiting for us. Hopefully not another noble with an estate we might accidentally burn down. Well, sort of accidentally, anyway. And technically we hadn’t been the one doing the burning, but I digress. Whatever. Burned is burned, I suppose.

Unlike Eastwatch, the city of Dayrise wasn’t one visited by dragonriders on military orders on a regular basis. There was no towering spire meant to house soldiers and mounts looming over the rooftops, and no high city walls topped with battlements. Not that we got any strange looks as our dragons circled outside the city’s outer limits. In fact, there were more than a dozen sizable inns crowded around the main roads leading in and out of the city’s tightly packed streets. Many of them were flanked by massive barns two or three stories tall intended to house dragons.

Reigh chose one closer to the port on the western side of the city and guided his green dragoness into a smooth landing. She cupped her wings and stretched out her hind legs, landing on the grass as elegantly as a swan on a pond.

Thatcher’s much larger orange drake landed next to us, shaking his black-horned head and puffing unhappy snorts through his nose. The dragon curled his long, striped tail around his legs and bristled, small ears turned back as those milky green eyes darted around.

I frowned. Thatcher trusted that beast wholeheartedly. But I’d seen it drag him across the horizon like caught prey once already. Thatcher had been lucky to walk away from that ordeal—luckier than anyone else seemed to want to acknowledge.

“Let’s get Vexi and Fornax settled here and find our contact,” Reigh called back to me as he straightened in the saddle. He pulled off his helmet, nearly slapping me in the face with the end of his long, sweaty braid in the process.

“This is an old city,” I muttered as I studied the road ahead that led into the narrow cobblestone streets. “Places like this tend to be dangerous after dark, and there’s only a few hours of daylight left. We should go quickly.”

He unbuckled and dismounted first, then stood sorting through his saddlebags while I climbed down. “I agree. Which is why I’m leaving you in charge of this.” Reigh took out a small drawstring purse, poured a few gold coins into his palm then tied it shut again and tossed it in my direction. “Our contact is supposed to meet us at the sign for the Crosswall Docks. They’re probably already waiting on us. Think you can find it? Taverns with dragon accommodations are harder to come by here, and we need to keep a low profile—meaning, we stay away from the ones farther into the city. So, I’ll settle up for the dragons here and meet you there.”

The purse jangled when I caught it, as though there were still quite a few coins tucked away inside. “You expect that to take a while? We need to stay together.” It wouldn’t take that long, of course. I knew that as well as he did—meaning he had another motive for wanting a few minutes alone.

“I’ve got some letters to send back to Luntharda. Shouldn’t take me more than an hour,” he replied, bowing his head to hide his face as he crammed the handful of coins into his pocket. Reigh’s emotions ran so close to the surface, it was ridiculously easy to read him even with his face angled away. Judging by the scarlet color his ears were turning, these must have been personal letters. Letters to a girl, most likely. Love letters. Ugh.

He would’ve made a terrible assassin.

“And who is it that I’m supposedly looking for at the docks?” I pocketed the bag of coins and ran a hand through my hair, trying in vain to get it out of my eyes. Months away from my former life had allowed it to grow out longer than it’d ever been before. I’d have to fix that soon.

Reigh’s expression scrunched as though he were trying to think—emphasis on trying. Complex thought didn’t seem to be one of his stronger qualities. “He didn’t say specifically. Just that we’re looking for another Broadfeather. His brother, probably. I can’t recall his first name, but I met him briefly after the war ended.”

“If we go on ahead, how do you intend to find us later?” I arched an eyebrow.

He shrugged. “Looking for someone named Broadfeather at Crosswall Docks? That’s plenty to go on. I’m sure someone can point me in the right direction.”

Fair point. A last name like that was one people generally remembered, after all.

“Did you see all the ships?” a sing-song voice chimed suddenly. Phoebe practically fluttered over to stand beside me, her red curls bobbing around her and her big, blue eyes shimmering with excitement. “Aren’t they beautiful? Can we go see them up close?”

Reigh’s entire demeanor soured as he stood straighter. “Didn’t see enough of them while you were sailing around with the Tibrans, conquering other kingdoms and slaughtering their people?” He growled every word through his teeth as he leered down at her.

She shrank back some, almost like she might duck behind me if he made a move toward her. “O-Oh, um, well, no. I mean, yes, I did have to sail with them. But Lord Argonox didn’t allow me to leave my cell or go up onto the deck during—” She stopped short and went quiet. Her brows drew together as she flicked speedy, nervous glances around everyone. “I-I’m sorry,” she stammered at last, as though she couldn’t think of anything else to say.

Reigh didn’t respond. Instead, he glowered down at her with his mouth mashed into a tight frown. His light amber eyes flashed with a mixture of wrath and what I could only guess was withheld terror.

I’d seen that look before from my Ulfrangar handler whenever I’d challenged or defied him, as though for the briefest instant he wasn’t sure if he should hold his ground or flee. And while I could sympathize to a degree—after all, Phoebe had apparently been the one in charge of all the magical experimentation for the Tibran Empire—she was about as threatening as a freshly-cut daisy on her own. She probably weighed seventy pounds to his one hundred and fifty or so.

Awkward silence hung in the air until Thatcher drifted over to join us, sporting his usual, blissfully vacant grin. “Are we staying here for the night?” he asked cheerily. “I’ve never stayed at an inn before. I thought Jaevid had arranged for us to stay with someone in the city?”

With a tight sigh, Reigh spun on a heel and gestured for Thatcher to follow him. “He did, but we’ve got to get the dragons settled and I’m betting yours will need extra assistance. So, come with me. Murdoc, you can take her and find our host. We’ll catch up.”

Phoebe didn’t say a word for a long time as she followed along close beside me. Lugging her bag of gear over my shoulder, I tried not to look her way more than necessary. According to Thatcher, I gave the impression that I was glaring whenever I stared at someone for too long. No need to make it worse.

Besides, one glance was all it took. The distant fogginess in her eyes as she stared down at the sidewalk put an uncomfortable tightness in my chest. I should say something, right? That was the normal thing to do. Wasn’t it? Gods and Fates, how was I supposed to know what normal was?

“You should stop apologizing,” I blurted before I could change my mind. My tone came out much harsher than I intended, as usual. Curse it all. I should have kept my mouth shut. Silence was always safer.

Phoebe tripped over an uneven stone. She staggered, and I snapped my free hand out. I seized her arm to hold her steady.

She let out a scream. Not a surprised little yelp—a real, primal, utterly terrified scream. Phoebe went completely stiff in my grasp, blinking up at me with her entire body trembling.

What? Why would she look at me like that—like I was about to do something terrible to her? I’d never raised a hand to her. Was it because she knew I was an Ulfrangar now?

Before I could ask or even say a word, her entire expression suddenly went blank again. Her body relaxed and she glanced around, seeming confused for a moment. “O-Oh! Murdoc! I-I guess you startled me.” She blinked up at me, face flushing almost as red as her hair. The forced, twitchy smile on her lips looked almost painful. “I’m so sor—um, I mean, thank you.”

I slowly let her go. “I … I didn’t mean stop apologizing in general. I meant stop apologizing to Reigh.”

Phoebe swallowed hard. Shifting her weight from one foot to the other, she fidgeted with the embroidered hem of her long tunic as her mouth scrunched up. “I, um, well, I mean he is right to hate me. I did—”

“I know what you did,” I interrupted as I began walking again. “Most everyone does now, right? But Queen Jenna forgave you. The Court of Crowns absolved you. You’ve apologized to everyone over and over, including Reigh. You’ve made changes to your life to become something better now. No one can ask any more of you than that.”

“But he still hates me, doesn’t he? He’d probably kill me if you and Thatcher weren’t here.” She trotted to catch up and fall in step next to me like before.

“There’s nothing you can do about that. You can’t change your past or erase what you’ve done. And because of that, some people will always hate you. Even if you do everything right from now on, it still won’t matter to them. They will never be able to see you as anything more than what you were,” I tried to explain without biting every bitter word through my teeth. “But that doesn’t mean you should go on groveling for forgiveness. You’ve done your part. Forgiving you is Reigh’s problem now. So let it go.”

She didn’t respond right away. For a few more blocks, she followed along in total silence while we wound our way through the city’s narrow streets toward the sea. Then I felt the pressure of her wide, blue-eyed gaze on me again. It hit me like the glare of the sun, making my skin tingle. “Aren’t you afraid that people won’t forgive you for being an Ulfrangar?”

I paused at a corner before a broad, open square. In the center, a white stone fountain sprayed ribbons of water around the bust of a man in battle armor. He stood tall and proud, his eyes seemingly focused right on me, with a helmet under his arm while his other hand rested on the pommel of the sword belted at his hip. A dragonrider, most likely. But not one I recognized.

“That’s different. I don’t expect them to forgive me, so it would be pointless to ask for it,” I confessed as I held the statue’s frozen gaze. “The people who know what I’ve done could never truly forgive me. Like King Jace. And the ones who don’t understand only offer their forgiveness because they don’t know any better.” I flicked a look down at her. “Like Thatcher.”

Her mouth scrunched into a dissatisfied little frown. “What about Lord Jaevid, then? He knows, doesn’t he?”

I couldn’t keep the irony from my tone. “No. Not really. He’s gotten a small taste of it, so now he’s suspicious. But he doesn’t understand the extent of what I am.”

“Well, I forgive you, Murdoc,” Phoebe announced, a rebellious crease in her brow. “So which am I, then? Someone who understands? Or someone who doesn’t?”

I had to think about that.

The Tibran Empire had paid hefty sums to hire out Ulfrangar assassins and spies throughout the war. Phoebe had probably seen others like me before, if only in passing. She’d certainly seen all of the evil and unbridled cruelty that could come from a man like Argonox. In fact, she had probably witnessed and experienced more of it than even she could remember. But did she really comprehend what I was? What I’d done to survive up to this point?

“Could you forgive Argonox?” I countered. “Or any of the soldiers who were in charge of keeping you obedient? What about the ones who put those marks on your skin?”

Her face slowly drained of color. “B-But you didn’t do tha—”

“I’m no different from them,” I cut her off quickly. “You strip away the emblems and the banners, the flags and the creeds, and you’re left with the same thing. At its roots, evil is evil, and it doesn’t matter what you dress it up in. That’s why deep down, I’ll always be what the Ulfrangar made me. I’ll carry their darkness in me until the day I die.”

“You really think that?” Her voice was hardly more than a whisper. “You truly believe you’re evil like Lord Argonox was?”

I set my jaw and looked away. No matter how I turned the words in my head, none of them sounded right. I couldn’t bring myself to answer. It wouldn’t matter anyway. Clearly, she couldn’t understand. We were nothing alike. Phoebe hadn’t chosen to become a Tibran. She hadn’t chosen to do all of the things Argonox had forced her to do. But there had been moments in my life, a few vile moments steeped in malice and blood, when I had. I could have rebelled then. I could have let the Ulfrangar kill me for my defiance and ended it there. But instead … I’d accepted that fate. Wanted it. Thrived on it.

Sometimes, I’d even enjoyed it.

That was the part of myself King Jace would never trust—the part Reigh, Thatcher, Jaevid, and Phoebe should have been disgusted by. But they didn’t know.

And I had no idea how to tell them.

About Nicole:

Nicole is an award-winning, #1 international bestselling author from North Alabama. With a passion for relatable, authentic characters and exciting, fast-paced plots, Nicole is best known for her series, THE DRAGONRIDER CHRONICLES. Other published works include THE DRAGONRIDER LEGACY SERIES, SPIRITS OF CHAOS SERIES, MAD MAGIC SAGA, and THE DRAGONRIDER HERITAGE SERIES (Coming Winter 2020).

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ducklettwrites · 5 years ago

Text

31 Days of Fanfic: Day 3 “Not By Blood”

Day 3 prompt: Family

Title: Not By Blood

Now available on ao3

Fandom: Fire Emblem: Three Houses

In which Sylvain wants a big brother.

Rating: Teen and Up. Warning: scenes describing and implying child abuse (both physically and verbally)

Characters: Glenn Fraldarius (fire emblem), Sylvain Jose Gautier (fire emblem)

Pairings: n/a

Author’s Notes: This one is late, and long. Probably the longest one I’ll write for this challenge. I’ve had this planned for a bit, and I greatly underestimated how difficult it would be to translate into words. Now just to say, this fic does deal heavily in themes of child abuse (both verbally and physically). Please be warned. Also, this fic is not ship. Glenn is approximately 15, and Sylvain is approximately 9 (the fact that at this point, Glenn was canonically engaged to a 7 year old greatly disturbs me wtf IS??).

They are Felix’s friends, and you need to treat them with respect.

A fact that his father was quick to remind him of whenever other noble houses were around. Truthfully Glenn had nothing against them, they were only children of course. That didn’t mean they weren’t annoying or tiresome. He was glad that Felix could keep them away from him, occupied with some game they played or whatever. Still, it didn’t hurt to be safe and keep yourself in a position away from their antics.

The training grounds were precisely where Glenn could be to get away. Surely any sensible child knew that running in the same area as arrows flying or swords swinging was not to be attempted. The only company he had to worry about was the mature adults. Though thinking a talk from Count Galatea about his future marriage did little to put him at ease on that front. Nor did the sudden feeling that he was being watched.

Attempting to ignore the feeling, he pushed through more forms, pausing between swings to bury his discomfort. Finding it becoming harder to breathe, he whipped around to face the person so keen on interrupting him. He intended on telling them off, giving them a piece of his mind, or something.

Looking at him with a sense of childlike innocence was the red-haired lanky Gautier child. Glenn found himself tongue tied. Despite his frustration, he knew the verbal lashing that came with yelling at a child, particularly the child of a neighboring house. Racking his brain to find what to say, he chose his words carefully.

“You really shouldn’t be out here.” He said slowly. “You could get hurt.” He hoped that by phrasing it as if he cared would soften whatever yelling came from correcting another man’s child.

Gautier’s child seemed unphased by his words, and simply stared back with an expression mixed of confusion and amusement. This, greatly unsettled Glenn, who was only getting more unnerved by the child’s continued presence. Luckily, he didn’t have to put up with him for long.

“Sylvain? Sylvain come on!” His brother’s voice called for the lost child from the group. Sylvain Gautier did not hesitate in rushing off to rejoin the others, only stealing one last glance in Glenn’s direction before disappearing from the grounds.

Glenn was alone once again, but that did little to calm his nerves. He told himself it didn’t mean anything. Gautier's child was just a foolish little one who wandered too far from the group. Surely nothing would come of this, surely.

Border meetings were hell. Several hours of listening to his father speak with the leader of their closest neighboring territory, and Margrave Gautier loved hear himself talk. He hoped no one would be offended that he excused himself to stretch his legs. He especially hoped no one had seen he had already fallen asleep at this meeting, dozing off some time ago only to awake and find the Margrave still talking.

He yawned and stretched, he knew this was all part of the game of nobles. With a sigh, he tried to keep his mind clear, moving through the halls of the family home. He knew he’d have to return to the meeting eventually, but he wanted to try and force himself awake first.

Passing several murals and paintings on the walls, he tried to remember what each had represented, who the portraits were of, anything to stay awake. Slowly he becomes aware of something, someone else watching him. Small footsteps moved quickly to keep up with Glenn’s increasing strides. Finding it impossible to outmaneuver his small stalker, he turned around to face them.

Sylvain Gautier was panting slightly, out of breath. Messy red hair hung over his eyes as he gripped the wall, taking small deep breaths.

This time Glenn found it difficult to hold his tongue. “What do you want?” he said in a regrettably snappish tone.

He thought he saw the child flinch, but tried to ignore it. “Was… wondering… what you were… doing.” Sylvain said between shallow breaths. “Thought… you were… suppose to still be in with… my father.”

Shit. Right. Everything he said would get back to Margrave Gautier, and that’s exactly the drama that his family needed right now was for the kid to squeal. For the sake of not pissing off their neighboring house, Glenn pushed down his annoyance.

“Apologies. And I am.” He adopted a softer, calmer voice through gritted teeth. “I just thought I’d take a quick walk.”

“Are the meetings… you know… boring?” Sylvain was getting better control over his breath now.

Glenn nearly snorted. “Come again?”

“Father says I’ll have to start going soon.” Sylvain explained “He says I need to start taking responsibility as a leader, but they sound boring. I don’t want to sit and watch grown ups talk.”

Neither do I kid. Glenn tried to keep himself from smiling. Another thing he didn’t need was to be blamed as a bad influence. “They’re important.” he forced himself to say eventually.

Sylvain sighed dramatically. “But why though? Can’t they just agree to work together and get it over with?”

It was getting harder to hide his amusement. “It’s not just agreeing that they need to do. It’s tactics and plans to make sure there isn’t an invasion.”

“I guess you’re right.” Sylvain said stretching his arms over his head. “When I take over my house, I’m going to make the meetings fun.”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I look forward to it.” Glenn managed to give a bemused smile.

Sylvain was practically beaming in response. It unsettled Glenn slightly but he did his best to hide it, at the very least he would hopefully be out of trouble.

“Sylvain?” His brother’s voice shook him out of the trance he found himself slipping into.

Sylvain turned toward where Felix was calling, but hesitated. Switching glances between Glenn and his companion, clearing waiting for something.

“Go on, Sylvain.” Glenn gently shooed his brother’s friend toward his general location.

Sylvain still hesitated.

“We can continue talking later.” He could kick himself for his words.

Finally satisfied, Sylvain ran off. “Coming Felix!” Glenn heard him yell as he dashed away.

He sighed, and began walking back to the tactics room. At least the kid had no reason to squeal, and worst case scenario, he could avoid a child for a few days.

He yelled as the training dummy lost another limb. He was breathing heavier than he cared to admit. He wiped off his sword, preparing for the next strike. Training was a natural way to handle frustration, and boy was it relieving pretending the dummies were any number of stressful people. His father and future father-in-law were the bane of his existence. How the hell was he suppose to think about marriage right now? He would be moving out with his posting soon to patrol along the border. And hell, she was only seven. How the hell was he suppose to love her when she didn’t even know what love was?

Another swing and the dummy lost its head. Glenn stood breathing over the lifeless replica. How soon would he be seeing the real thing? A knot turned in his stomach and he pushed the thought aside. Combat was not to be feared, it was a natural part of being a knight. Glenn reminded himself of how much he wanted it, how much he worked for it, and the feeling subsided. With a sigh, he collected the training dummy and walked back to the edge of the grounds. He would get yelled at to be more careful with them from the maid, but he didn’t care.

Dropping the pieces off near the exit he noticed one of the training swords had been taken. He didn’t have to look far to find its procurer. On the other end of the training grounds, against the light of the setting sun, Sylvain was moving back and forth with the trainer in hand. Every so often, landing an imaginary jab against his imaginary assailant and laughing.

Glenn sighed, and began to move to retrieve the wooden sword to place among the others.

Sylvain had not noticed Glenn until he was nearly upon him. Strangely, the child’s face turned white when he spotted Glenn and he froze. They exchanged looks for a few moments, Sylvain looking like a deer about to be shot between the eyes, before Glenn once again pushed closer. Except each step Glenn made forward, Sylvain moved back.

Not in the mood for games, Glenn dove to grab the wooden sword. Sylvain, however, was small and quick, and backed out of his reach before he could retrieve it. He wasn’t however, well balanced, as he landed in the dirt. Glenn made another move to get the sword, and Sylvain crawled once again out of reach.

Running out of patience, he went for a third grab of the sword. Sylvain dodged him again, but just barely, and dodging did cost him. Glenn was now standing over him and he had no way to slip out.

“I’m sorry.” Sylvain whimpered. He had dropped the sword and adopted a defensive stance, raising his arms over his face and cowering. “I’m sorry sorry sorry.” he was practically chanting the words over and over.

Glenn stood over him, confused. It was as if he was expecting to be hurt. Looking closer at the child’s arms, he could see portions exposed from rolled up sleeves and his heart sank. Cuts, bruises, partially healed, and definitely intentional lined the child’s forearm up to his wrist. He had suspected Margrave Gautier to not be one to spare the rod, but surely a nobleman knew not to damage a part so exposed lest it draw attention.

He pushed his distaste for the Margrave aside, extending his hand out to the cowering Gautier child. It took Sylvain several seconds to realize there was no immediate attack and to lower his arms. It took him longer to realize the outstretched hand was in fact, for him, and was not meant as a threat. He faltered when taking the hand and cautiously pushed himself to his feet. With Sylvain on his feet, Glenn bent down to pick up the training sword.

“I apologize for scaring you.” he said catching Sylvain’s gaze as he stood back up, the child had been crying.

“I should have just said I needed the training sword instead of trying to chase it from you.” Glenn continued.

Sylvain rubbed his eyes with his sleeve, and remained silent.

“If it would make it up to you, I can show you how to properly do that move you were working on. It took me awhile to get good at it too.”

“You’d do that?” Sylvain’s voice was weak, and on the verge of breaking.

“It’s the least I can do to make up for it.” Glenn handed the trainer back to Sylvain and drew his own sword. “Now, when you step forward, you move your arm like this.”

He continued practicing with the Gautier child until dark, and he had to admit the child was a fast learner. Though the injuries still bothered him. He would need to discuss it with his father at a later time.

He had been gone for several weeks. The mission lasting much longer than originally anticipated. He never knew how great it would feel to step into his own home again. The relief of being home was brought short as all his other responsibilities caught back up to him. Marriage, politics, training. It was the combat on the homefront.

Glenn wandered through the halls and stopped near the exit leading to the training grounds. It was getting late, but he could not go to sleep now. One or two forms wouldn’t hurt he told himself, pushing out to the open range. The moonlight illuminated shadows of the field. The blackness of night was eerily calming as he drew his sword.

Movement caught his eye from the edge of the ground. Clearly late night practice had not been an idea for him alone. He didn't need to take more than one guess who had come for late night practice.

Sylvain was moving back and forth, trainer in hand, still practicing the form Glenn had shown him all that time ago. He silently admitted the kid had basically mastered it, a high achievement considering Felix was still working on the basics. Though as Glenn watched, he felt something in him tighten. Not every time, but on occasion, when the form called for the arm to extend, Sylvain would wince ever so slightly. It wasn't until he actually dropped the training weapon that Glenn felt the knot in his stomach again.

He had implored his father to look into the matter before he left, on why Felix's friend always seemed reluctant to leave and why he shied away from certain contact or grew nervous when you raised your voice at him. Rodrigue had sighed and promised he could approach the subject, but not promise results. Sylvain was not his child, afterall, and it was not his business how the Margrave handled his child.

It seemed nearly three months later, progress still had not been made. Glenn had to push down his anger, he would talk to his father later. Until then, he would get to the bottom of it as best he could.

"Impressive. You're doing quite well." He did his best to keep from immediately scaring the child as he strode toward him.

Sylvain turned around to face him, surprised. "Thank you!" He called back, practically glowing from the unexpected praise.

"Have you been practicing that one move the entire time?" Glenn was now standing over him, trying to keep his tone even and not arouse suspicion.

"Father says I should be practicing with lances, but I really like the sword." Sylvain jabbed forward with the weapon, striking his imaginary opponent in the ribs. "So I've been splitting it up, lances with father, and swords here."

So he's keeping secrets from him. "Is there any reason your father doesn't want you to learn swords?"

"They're unnecessary." Sylvain made another strike. "I'll be using the family relic, there's no reason to waste time learning the sword." The words were clearly not his own, but one of a prideful parental figure. "But I try to ignore him, I need to learn as much as possib-ah-"

Sylvain had extended his arm only to recoil in pain. Pulling back quickly to cradle the injury, Glenn could hear the child silently cursing to himself.

"Are... you hurt?" Again, Glenn tried to keep his voice even and concerned.

"It's nothing." His voice was barely audible. "It should've healed by now."

Glenn was starting to feel his anger rising. "Can I see it?"

"It's really nothing."

Don't raise your voice, stay calm. "I just want to see, I did learn some healing magic from the knights."

Sylvain hesitated, but eventually pulled up the sleeve with a shaky hand. Glenn's heart dropped. It was quite obvious the arm had been broken, and the bruised outline of a handprint made it clear this was no accident. He tried to breathe, let the white magic flow through his fingertips like he was taught as he ran them down the forearm.

"Who did this to you?" It was getting harder for Glenn to mask his anger.

"It's not important." Sylvain began to shake beneath Glenn's touch.

"If someone is hurting you, it is important." He stopped the flow of magic, but did not fully release Sylvain's arm. "This wasn't an accident, Sylvain. Someone did this to you on purpose and wanted to hurt you. So, who did this to you?"

He watched the fear rise in the child's eyes. "It's really not important." He repeated.

"Sylvain, it is important." He could feel himself getting frustrated. "Who did this to you?"

"It's not important."

"Who did this to you?"

"It's not important!" Sylvain nearly shouted the response before attempting to pull his arm away.

Glenn's grip tightened. "Who did this to you?" He shouted back, keeping Sylvain close.

Fuck. The effect was immediate. Sylvain let out a panicked screech before successfully pulling away from Glenn. He wasted no time sprinting as far as he could. Glenn debated on chasing him, but ultimately decided against it. He had terrified the kid enough for one night.

His father had rebuked him for scaring Felix’s friends but nothing more. No mention of the injury, not one word on the child’s treatment. When Glenn brought it up, he was dismissed. It was not his child, he could not interfere. It was terrible, but it could not be changed.

What’s worse is that the kid didn’t even come near him anymore. In fact, Sylvain seemed to give the entire Fradarius clan a wide berth. During border meetings, he was actively avoiding seeing, speaking, or otherwise interacting with anyone. As troubled as Glenn was of the situation, he could not deny that his brother had taken it worse. Felix had, more than once, made him aware that he was the one to ruin his friendship with the Gautier child. Glenn didn’t even bother to argue or defend himself. It would be useless trying to explain what was happening to an eight year old.

To add more shit to the fire, seeing the Gautier clan enter the Fraldarius estate, Sylvain looked the worst he’d ever been. Jumpy, ragged, worn, and so so tired. This kid was suffering, and no one was bothering to cover it up. Someone was getting away with this, and no one, not especially the child’s father, seemed to care.

Glenn hated to admit defeat, it was criminal that this was allowed to continue as it did, but he did admit to a feeling of hopelessness. He had not been able to get the child to admit to wrongdoing on anyone’s part, and now it seemed he had ruined the chance for the subject to be brought up again.

He sighed, pulling himself out of a drowsy haze that was sitting through another lecture by Margrave Gautier on border security. He would wake himself with training, then go to bed, then rise for another long discussion tomorrow. Such is the life of a noble. He pushed out the door to the setting sun.

To his surprise, and horror, he was not alone in the training grounds. Despite how shit Sylvain looked, and honestly must have felt he was doing his best to push through a rigorous practice routine. It was a lance, not a sword, that he had in his hands and was forcing through the same motion over and over again.

He didn’t need to step out far for the child to notice him. Right away, he stopped practicing and was beginning to gather up equipment to leave, all while not looking at Glenn directly. It would be a lie to say it didn’t hurt, even if just a little.

“Before you go” Glenn began to speak, “I’d like to apologize for… for what happened. I really don’t know what to say other than I’m sorry. You don’t have to forgive me, but if you could not let what happened affect your opinion on Felix. He does miss you…”

Sylvain’s back was turned to Glenn, so he couldn’t see the child’s face. It was sudden as he fell to the ground and pulled himself into a ball. He broke into sobs and didn’t even try to run away when Glenn moved closer to him and sat down at his side.

Thankfully, one too many situations like this with Felix had prepared Glenn for how to act. He extended his arm, and pulled Sylvain closer, rubbing soothing circles on his back as he gently shushed him. Though not immediate, the rhythmic patterns began to take effect and Sylvain began to calm down, taking deep breaths between sobs.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Glenn asked, this time determined to sound and stay sounding gentle.

He could feel Sylvain shake his head against his chest.

“Talking does sometimes help, if you can.”

“I’m scared, I don’t want to die.” the child’s words were sobering to say the least.

“You’re afraid… of dying?”

A nod.

Goddess. This kid wasn’t even ten. “Can I ask? About what we were talking about last time, are you afraid of someone hurting you? Someone like your father perhaps?”

Sylvain pulled back from his grasp to look at him in the eyes. “Father? No, he would never hurt me.”

“If he doesn’t, then who does?” Glenn was genuinely confused now.

The child buried his face back in his chest, and muttered something inaudible.

“What was that?”

“I said Mik.” Sylvain repeated, loud enough to hear this time.

“Who’s-?”

“Mik is my older brother.”

Now he was really confused. The Margrave didn’t talk about any other child. The only child besides Sylvain had, to his memory, died right before...oh.

“He’s the worst, and I hate him.”

“He’s the one who hurts you? Doesn’t your father stop him?”

“Well, yeah. Father never lets Mik go unpunished.” Sylvain had now situated himself away from Glenn’s chest and was looking down. “But Mik says that whatever Father does, he’ll do twice that to me, and he means it. I try not to get Father involved if I don’t have to.”

“And this has been going on for how long?”

“Forever. Mik has never liked me.” Sylvain sighed. “I don’t know what I did. It’s not my fault I have a crest and he doesn’t. I tell him that and he doesn’t believe me. I tell him I’m not scared of him, and he laughs at me.” He was getting worked up now. “And it’s not my fault that when I take over, the best thing he could do is be another soldier in my army and die.”

Fuck. No way was this a simple case of sibling rivalry and no way were these words entirely Sylvain’s.

“And that…” His voice dropped low. “That’s why I wanted to spend time with you.”

“Me?” Glenn asked, shocked. “Why me?”

“Because Felix says you’re the best brother ever.”

“Felix must be mistaken. I’m a terrible brother.”

“No you’re not.” Sylvain turned to him and now wore a very serious expression. “You’re a great brother. You don’t get mad when I watch you train, you let me ask questions, and you apologize.” He was getting excited again. “And not only that, but you show me how to do forms and you don’t say mean things when I practice.”

That was just me showing basic decency.

“And you’ve never called me dumb or weak or lazy.” Sylvain continued. “Or told me to die, or threw me down the stairs, or pinned me to a wall.”

The fact the kid continued to pull examples was making Glenn feel sick.

“...Or threw me in a well. Or put a knife to my throat and tell me how I should just do everyone a favor and kill myself.” He stopped, letting go of the energy and sighing. “And I thought… I thought you could be my brother too.”

“You want me to be your brother?” He tried to hide his surprise.

“Yeah.” Sylvain was speaking so soft now. “Felix told me how great it was to have a brother like you, I thought you could be my brother too.”

He could only guess that having a brother like that would make him look like the greatest brother in the world. The fact that he was only treating him with basic respect and decency didn’t matter to this kid, it was kindness he was unaccustomed to from the one who was suppose to fill a role similar to Glenn. He wondered how much praise Felix really needed to give for this kid to come to the conclusion of how he ranked compared to other brothers in the world. Still that didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things.

“Sure.” Glenn finally said. “I’ll be your brother.”

Sylvain’s face lit up, and he pulled Glenn in for an immediate hug. Glenn sighed, pulling the child closer. He knew he wouldn’t be able to protect him from his own brother, but maybe. Just maybe he could soften the blow of having the worst brother in the world by acting like the best.

#31 days of fanfic #fe #fire emblem #3h #fe3h #sylvain jose gautier #glenn fraldarius #tw child abuse #tw verbal abuse #tw physical abuse #i saw a headcanon someone had where glenn basically adopted sylvain as a little brother and i couldnt help but think of that #aka can we not gloss over how fucked up 3h is like holy shit

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thoughts-needing-release · 7 years ago

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To Peter, From Shadow

To Peter, I’m sorry I ran away again, I know you hate it when I do that. I know I’ve done this before, and I don’t mean it personally. I won’t just stop with an apology, I owe you an explanation, As to why I actually do this purposefully. Let me address you for a moment; put yourself in my shoes. I’m a dark, intangible copy of you, never permanent. I appear whenever the spotlight is on you, when the sun smiles upon you, Either in front of you, behind you, or adjacent. As much as we are part of one another, sometimes it doesn’t feel good To be constantly ignored for you, especially when I’m literally always with you. It hurts more than you know, and that’s why sometimes I decide To take matters into my own hands and to try something new. So I run. I go somewhere far where you cannot see, I fly alone, to catch a breath of fresh air. I’d need to be separated from you for a while, Just to examine myself and see how I would fare. I know you probably can’t understand, and I don’t blame you. I don’t think you ever thought I had the capacity to feel The way that I do, so let me help but comparing myself to you, Maybe you’ll see through my eyes, this ordeal. Sometimes I would want a guide, a constant companion. I could never expect that from you, it’s not what you’re meant to be for me. So I’d fly away to find my own Tinkerbell, Even if for a short while, for I too believe in fairies. Look at your Lost Boys, your closest friends, forever a support, Whether you’re having fun, or fighting a horrendous battle. Should I not search for those same kinds of brothers? To find helpers with a similar mettle? You never thought that maybe I too had my own nemesis, My own version of your Hook, the bane of my existence. I escape so I can fight him off, for only I can face my demons, Eventually I know I can do it, with some determination and persistence. Did you ever think that maybe I needed a Wendy? Someone who looked at me and saw potential I could never dream of? If there was the slightest chance of you finding her again, Believe me, even you would fly swifter than a dove. So you see, there is more to me than you could know. I am indeed a part of you, but I am also me, not you. That’s why sometimes, when you expect to see me, You’ll find I would have disappeared, out of the blue. It’s a shame that you look for me when you find I’m not there, Making it obvious that it’s expected of me to never leave. But sometimes even the most constant figures in your life Would need to take a step back, would need a reprieve. But don’t worry, the distance will never be permanent. No matter how far I go, I will always come back. You don’t need a sewing needle to attach me to you, Ultimately, it is me you will never lack. I hope this made things clearer for you, And also that maybe you can understand me better. I hope that you and I will nurture our bond Through the writing of this letter. From Shadow

#poetry #fairy tale #seperation #loss #finding yourself #adventure #peter pan #own writing #poets on tumblr #writing #thoughts spilled

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entergamingxp · 5 years ago

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Cyberpunk 2077 got delayed, so I made it in Fallout 4 instead • Eurogamer.net

By early January, I’d noticed something strange was happening to me. Grimes, La Roux and synthwave groups like Magic Sword had entered my music playlists. I’d finally watched Blade Runner for the first time, and was scrolling through galleries of the late Syd Mead’s brilliant cityscapes. I’d even bought Neuromancer and added it to my pile of books I will definitely get around to reading.

It was all in anticipation of one game originally due to arrive in April: CD Projekt Red’s Cyberpunk 2077. Yet as we all know, that release date is no longer happening, and Cyberpunk 2077 has been shunted back to September. So what was I to do with all that leftover cyberpunk energy?

I could have continued my media binge, but that’s hard to maintain for eight months – and I was eager for some gameplay. As my editor later mentioned, I could have just bought Deus Ex. Yet something far more radical had already entered my mind.

What if I recreated Cyberpunk 2077… with mods in Fallout 4?

If you’re looking to mod Cyberpunk into any game, Fallout 4 is a good pick: many of its assets already have a run-down techy feel, albeit perpetually stuck in the ’50s rather than the ’80s. Unsurprisingly there’s already a number of Cyberpunk 2077-themed mods available – but I wanted to see just how far I could push Fallout 4 to resemble the experience shown in the Cyberpunk 2077 gameplay demo videos, which meant looking at mechanics and even small details like the HUD.

I resolved to keep modding until I broke either the game, the computer, or myself. Two weeks later, I’ve managed to produce something resembling a cyberpunk experience within Fallout 4 – although the process was somewhat messy.

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Things very nearly failed at the first hurdle. Dystopian, neon-drenched cities have formed the backbone of nearly every cyberpunk narrative (perhaps too often) and I simply wouldn’t be able to start my project without one. Unfortunately this was also the most protracted part of the process. Most Fallout 4 location mods require a large set of additional mods to work, and my first pick – a massive Blade Runner tribute overhaul for Hangman’s Alley – had a required mod list so vast (with many now removed) that I couldn’t get it working. Instead, I went for something a little smaller called Blade Runner Avenue. Look, there were no Cyberpunk 2077 cities, so just ignore the Tyrel sign.

It was still a headache, requiring about 22 plugins, a script extender and the Transfer Settlements mod to import it – and even then the mod’s in-game blueprint threw up several more mods required to provide assets. Yet eventually I found myself standing in a bog as a city assembled itself before my very eyes. It’s not a massive space, but the mod does a great job of recreating a grim corporate feel with towering skyscrapers and shopfronts, along with a claustrophobic market space and a detective-style apartment. To make it all moodier, I used Darker Nights to plunge mini Night City into permanent gloom.

Alas, the struggle wasn’t yet over: various plants and debris were clipping through from the marshland below, and this was really throwing off the vibe. I went around weed-picking most through console commands and a mod called Scrap Everything – but the trees became the bane of my existence, defying my every attempt to uproot them. According to the internet, many of Fallout 4’s trees are essentially baked into the game world (via precombines) and are thus incredibly difficult to remove. Dead trees: welcome to cyberpunk.

I can’t list all the plugin mods as there were so many, but if you’re thinking of recreating this, you can find them by following the links for all the mods named in this article.

City complete, it was time for character customisation. Aside from an unfortunate incident where my character lost her eyes, this was pretty smooth sailing. I wanted the player-character to resemble female V, and I tried my best with the Fallout 4 character creator to produce something that didn’t look like an irradiated potato. With the help of mods I recreated the golden glowing eyes shown in the first Cyberpunk 2077 demo, along with surface wiring and an edgier hairdo. Then it was a matter of slapping on as much black eyeliner as I wore in my early teens.

The most Cyberpunk 2077 thing in this entire mod collection, of course, is the fabulous CROSS_77 Samurai jacket, which comes with gloves, an outfit and a demonic holographic headpiece (which I removed to prevent it hiding the face I made). Coupled with a holographic pipboy complete with cyber sounds, the look was good to go. Or almost, as I still had to find some weapons to make V armed and dangerous.

V2.0.

Based on the weapons shown in Cyberpunk 2077’s 2018 gameplay demo, an easy pick was the Gun GS Cyberpunk pistol, which is similar to the Militech weapon V uses and can be modded to have automatic fire and a glow sight. I wanted to give her a full arsenal, so I installed a Vector and modded it with a suppressor, along with a Cryolance weapon that resembled the shotgun. I’m not sure energy weapons are particularly cyberpunk, but it looks convincing when given three barrels.

It’s all very well looking the part, but I wanted to see what V could actually do. This is where I had to get really creative. One of the abilities shown in the demos is that V can scan enemies with her eyes to outline them, so I found a mod that highlights enemies at the touch of a button. Self-Guided Sniper Bullets let me install targeting computers on some guns, which aside from being ridiculously overpowered, also resembled the smart gun from the 2018 demo – even if the bullets didn’t have the same satisfying curved trajectory. I did attempt to make the bullets a little flashier with a tracer mod.

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Cyberpunk wouldn’t be cyberpunk without the ability to hack things, and thankfully Fallout 4 already has something close to that with the Robotics Expert perk. In the vanilla game, you have to sneak up on a robot to hack it – but jlauzon’s Robotics Expert Overhaul lets you do this remotely mid-combat, and also hack turrets.

By far the most satisfying ability I added, however, was Bullet Time – which allowed me to produce those awesome slow-motion moments akin to Cyberpunk 2077’s Kereznikov ability (usable after taking a reflex booster drug). Fallout 4 does have something similar in the form of Jet, but that drug slows down everything and can’t be toggled on and off. In light of this I felt Bullet Time – which drains AP but can be used in shorter bursts – was a better fit. Conveniently, the ability also allowed me to change direction mid-air, and concentrate my fire on enemies’ legs – two features also shown in the 2018 demo.

Wheeeee!

Yet I particularly wanted a post-human element where abilities were tied to body implants, and two mods fit the bill well: CROSS Pre-War Cybernetics and Cybernetic Implantation Laboratory. The former has more of a focus on building exoskeletons, but allowed me to craft something similar to the strengthened arms in the 2019 demo (I opted to add electrocution for the video because, well, it looked cool).

The implants mod, meanwhile, is more typically cyberpunk as the technology is integrated into the player’s body. It also allows you to construct your own implants lab, which introduces some elements of realism by making you conduct research and wait in-between operations. More importantly, it’s got a fantastic implant called the Subcutaneous Micro-Relay, effectively a short-distance teleport. This was pretty much the closest I could get to V’s enhanced movement which allows her to jump forwards in a flash. Although, being honest, I did abuse this new-found power as a method to get down from the flat. There were no stairs.

After an unsuccessful scout for mantis blades and a Johnny Silverhand companion, I moved on to the finer details. I recreated the slanted HUD with a Cyberpunk 2077 UI preset mod, changing the colour to pink-red and adding a bunch of widgets. Sure, it isn’t strictly like Cyberpunk 2077’s HUD – but a cluttered interface is definitely in the cyberpunk spirit. Next up was floating damage, which I tweaked to somewhat resemble the combat text in Cyberpunk 2077, even if it lingers a little long in the air. To put the cherry on top, I also installed a custom radio mod and popped in some intense synthwave music to play while I was fighting.

Maybe not an exact replica, but close enough.

Finally, I was ready to start work on a combat demo to display all these features. If only I knew what was to come.

Getting Fallout 4’s NPCs to behave is an absolute nightmare. After initially using re-textured synths as enemies – which fell apart easily or turned invisible if I used a Courser – I settled on the Rust Devils faction, a mixture of robots and humans. To demonstrate the hacking ability, I needed to place a turret, but it took an age to prevent it from immediately mowing down the other enemies (a problem eventually solved with console commands). The turret also mysteriously caused some enemies to run away – something you can still see in the combat demo if you keep a close eye on the first robot. Hacking the turret to override it, meanwhile, was too powerful to show in the demo as it simply flattened everyone.

The combat demo also had a performative element, and I had to get to grips with the new mechanics, time myself with the music, and make the whole thing look relatively natural. I also cannot tell you how many times I broke my legs when teleporting downstairs.

To make matters more complicated, by this point I’d installed so many mods that some of them had finally started breaking. I was able to hold the creaking build together by reshuffling the load order and reinstalling some mods, and somehow, I ended up with a finished combat demo. But that was only half the battle, as I also wanted to create a peaceful city population – and they weren’t exactly compliant.

Please stop watching telly.

It turns out that simply spawning in settlers doesn’t exactly work, and after installing Better Settlers, I found myself with a modern but completely stationary population. Not good, not bustling. I discovered I had to invite each individual to the settlement to get them to move – and only through giving settlers specific animations and freezing them at their workstations was I able to create an even halfway-convincing city. This did not stop them doing stupid things such as walking into walls, falling under the settlement, or mysteriously teleporting upstairs to sleep in the apartment bed. Despite my best efforts to disable the AI with console commands, they’d often still bonk me on the head when I pickpocketed their ugly leather armour. And, though I’d artificially increased the number of settlers to reach a population of 47, there came a point where this started to make the game unstable.

Frankly, it was a minor miracle that all the mods worked together, with only a few crashes and one alarming incident where I couldn’t stop the camera spinning after an INI file edit. By the time I was finished, I’d tried out over 100 mods – many of which didn’t make the final cut due to technical issues. I’d also spent hours problem-solving my way around Fallout 4’s strange rules. Here’s an example: rather than simply giving myself the Robotics Expert perk, I had to instead add perk points then manually select it in the perks menu so it would actually work.

While it may have somewhat looked the part (and the new mechanics were immensely satisfying), there were limits to what I could do. Apart from the cursed AI, I was also missing a narrative, interactivity and Cyberpunk’s RPG elements – thus making the whole thing flashy but rather shallow. I’d like to think the actual Cyberpunk 2077 will go beyond fetishising retrofuturism into exploring deeper themes – although that’s a criticism frequently levelled at cyberpunk works.

In many ways, I think the process of creating the project was possibly more cyberpunk than the end result. As worded by Dani Cavallaro, cyberpunk integrates “hyperefficient structures of high technology with the anarchy of street subcultures”. While the modding community isn’t exactly a street gang, I think it can absolutely be defined as a subculture – one that exists largely online, publicly distributes and collaborates on work, and retools high-tech commercial products to suit its own needs (often beyond the original creator’s intentions). So mod creators are pretty cyberpunk in my book – as was my own quest to transform Fallout into Cyberpunk and push it to the absolute limit. My struggle to control Fallout 4’s rebellious AI and prevent them performing human actions also felt ominously appropriate. Maybe, having placed them in such a dystopian and hopeless world, I was the bad guy?

from EnterGamingXP https://entergamingxp.com/2020/02/cyberpunk-2077-got-delayed-so-i-made-it-in-fallout-4-instead-%e2%80%a2-eurogamer-net/?utm_source=rss&utm_medium=rss&utm_campaign=cyberpunk-2077-got-delayed-so-i-made-it-in-fallout-4-instead-%25e2%2580%25a2-eurogamer-net

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