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howwelldoyouknowyourmoon · 3 years

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Religious Trauma Syndrome: How Some Organized Religion Leads to Mental Health Problems

By Valerie Tarico

Marlene Winell interviewed March 25, 2013

At age sixteen I began what would be a four year struggle with bulimia. When the symptoms started, I turned in desperation to adults who knew more than I did about how to stop shameful behavior—my Bible study leader and a visiting youth minister. “If you ask anything in faith, believing,” they said. “It will be done.” I knew they were quoting [3] the Word of God. We prayed together, and I went home confident that God had heard my prayers. But my horrible compulsions didn’t go away. By the fall of my sophomore year in college, I was desperate and depressed enough that I made a suicide attempt. The problem wasn’t just the bulimia. I was convinced by then that I was a complete spiritual failure. My college counseling department had offered to get me real help (which they later did). But to my mind, at that point, such help couldn’t fix the core problem: I was a failure in the eyes of God. It would be years before I understood that my inability to heal bulimia through the mechanisms offered by biblical Christianity was not a function of my own spiritual deficiency but deficiencies in Evangelical religion itself.

Dr. Marlene Winell is a human development consultant in the San Francisco Area. She is also the daughter of Pentecostal missionaries. This combination has given her work an unusual focus. For the past twenty years she has counseled men and women in recovery from various forms of fundamentalist religion including the Assemblies of God denomination in which she was raised. Winell is the author of Leaving the Fold – A Guide for Former Fundamentalists and Others Leaving their Religion [4], written during her years of private practice in psychology. Over the years, Winell has provided assistance to clients whose religious experiences were even more damaging than mine. Some of them are people whose psychological symptoms weren’t just exacerbated by their religion, but actually caused by it.

Two years ago, Winell made waves by formally labeling what she calls “Religious Trauma Syndrome” (RTS) and beginning to write and speak on the subject for professional audiences. When the British Association of Behavioral and Cognitive Psychologists published a series of articles on the topic, members of a Christian counseling association protested what they called excessive attention to a “relatively niche topic.” One commenter said, “A religion, faith or book cannot be abuse but the people interpreting can make anything abusive.”

Is toxic religion simply misinterpretation? What is religious trauma? Why does Winell believe religious trauma merits its own diagnostic label?

Let’s start this interview with the basics. What exactly is religious trauma syndrome?

Winell: Religious trauma syndrome (RTS) is a set of symptoms and characteristics that tend to go together and which are related to harmful experiences with religion. They are the result of two things: immersion in a controlling religion and the secondary impact of leaving a religious group. The RTS label provides a name and description that affected people often recognize immediately. Many other people are surprised by the idea of RTS, because in our culture it is generally assumed that religion is benign or good for you. Just like telling kids about Santa Claus and letting them work out their beliefs later, people see no harm in teaching religion to children.

But in reality, religious teachings and practices sometimes cause serious mental health damage. The public is somewhat familiar with sexual and physical abuse in a religious context. As Journalist Janet Heimlich has documented in, Breaking Their Will, Bible-based religious groups that emphasize patriarchal authority in family structure and use harsh parenting methods can be destructive.

But the problem isn’t just physical and sexual abuse. Emotional and mental treatment in authoritarian religious groups also can be damaging because of 1) toxic teachings like eternal damnation or original sin 2) religious practices or mindset, such as punishment, black and white thinking, or sexual guilt, and 3) neglect that prevents a person from having the information or opportunities to develop normally.

Can you give me an example of RTS from your consulting practice?

Winell: I can give you many. One of the symptom clusters is around fear and anxiety. People indoctrinated into fundamentalist Christianity as small children sometimes have memories of being terrified by images of hell and apocalypse before their brains could begin to make sense of such ideas. Some survivors, who I prefer to call “reclaimers,” [8] have flashbacks, panic attacks, or nightmares in adulthood even when they intellectually no longer believe the theology. One client of mine, who during the day functioned well as a professional, struggled with intense fear many nights. She said,

“I was afraid I was going to hell. I was afraid I was doing something really wrong. I was completely out of control. I sometimes would wake up in the night and start screaming, thrashing my arms, trying to rid myself of what I was feeling. I’d walk around the house trying to think and calm myself down, in the middle of the night, trying to do some self-talk, but I felt like it was just something that – the fear and anxiety was taking over my life.” Or consider this comment, which refers to a film [9] used by evangelicals to warn about the horrors of the “end times” for nonbelievers.

“I was taken to see the film “A Thief In The Night”. WOW. I am in shock to learn that many other people suffered the same traumas I lived with because of this film. A few days or weeks after the film viewing, I came into the house and mom wasn’t there. I stood there screaming in terror. When I stopped screaming, I began making my plan: Who my Christian neighbors were, who’s house to break into to get money and food. I was 12 years old and was preparing for Armageddon alone.”

In addition to anxiety, RTS can include depression, cognitive difficulties, and problems with social functioning. In fundamentalist Christianity, the individual is considered depraved and in need of salvation. A core message is “You are bad and wrong and deserve to die.” (The wages of sin is death [10].) This gets taught to millions of children through organizations like Child Evangelism Fellowship [11] and there is a group organized [12] to oppose their incursion into public schools. I’ve had clients who remember being distraught when given a vivid bloody image of Jesus paying the ultimate price for their sins. Decades later they sit telling me that they can’t manage to find any self-worth.

“After twenty-seven years of trying to live a perfect life, I failed. . . I was ashamed of myself all day long. My mind battling with itself with no relief. . . I always believed everything that I was taught but I thought that I was not approved by God. I thought that basically I, too, would die at Armageddon.

“I’ve spent literally years injuring myself, cutting and burning my arms, taking overdoses and starving myself, to punish myself so that God doesn’t have to punish me. It’s taken me years to feel deserving of anything good.”

Born-again Christianity and devout Catholicism [13] tell people they are weak and dependent, calling on phrases like “lean not unto your own understanding [14]” or “trust and obey [11].” People who internalize these messages can suffer from learned helplessness. I’ll give you an example from a client who had little decision-making ability after living his entire life devoted to following the “will of God.” The words here don’t convey the depth of his despair.

“I have an awful time making decisions in general. Like I can’t, you know, wake up in the morning, “What am I going to do today?” Like I don’t even know where to start. You know all the things I thought I might be doing are gone and I’m not sure I should even try to have a career; essentially I babysit my four-year-old all day.”

Authoritarian religious groups are subcultures where conformity is required in order to belong. Thus if you dare to leave the religion, you risk losing your entire support system as well.

“I lost all my friends. I lost my close ties to family. Now I’m losing my country. I’ve lost so much because of this malignant religion and I am angry and sad to my very core. . . I have tried hard to make new friends, but I have failed miserably. . . I am very lonely.”

Leaving a religion, after total immersion, can cause a complete upheaval of a person’s construction of reality, including the self, other people, life, and the future. People unfamiliar with this situation, including therapists, have trouble appreciating the sheer terror it can create.

“My form of religion was very strongly entrenched and anchored deeply in my heart. It is hard to describe how fully my religion informed, infused, and influenced my entire worldview. My first steps out of fundamentalism were profoundly frightening and I had frequent thoughts of suicide. Now I’m way past that but I still haven’t quite found “my place in the universe.”

Even for a person who was not so entrenched, leaving one’s religion can be a stressful and significant transition.

Many people seem to walk away from their religion easily, without really looking back. What is different about the clientele you work with?

Winell: Religious groups that are highly controlling, teach fear about the world, and keep members sheltered and ill-equipped to function in society are harder to leave easily. The difficulty seems to be greater if the person was born and raised in the religion rather than joining as an adult convert. This is because they have no frame of reference – no other “self” or way of “being in the world.” A common personality type is a person who is deeply emotional and thoughtful and who tends to throw themselves wholeheartedly into their endeavors. “True believers” who then lose their faith feel more anger and depression and grief than those who simply went to church on Sunday.

Aren’t these just people who would be depressed, anxious, or obsessive anyways?

Winell: Not at all. If my observation is correct, these are people who are intense and involved and caring. They hang on to the religion longer than those who simply “walk away” because they try to make it work even when they have doubts. Sometimes this is out of fear, but often it is out of devotion. These are people for whom ethics, integrity and compassion matter a great deal. I find that when they get better and rebuild their lives, they are wonderfully creative and energetic about new things.

In your mind, how is RTS different from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder?

Winell: RTS is a specific set of symptoms and characteristics that are connected with harmful religious experience, not just any trauma. This is crucial to understanding the condition and any kind of self-help or treatment. (More details about this can be found on my Journey Free [15] website and discussed in my talk [16] at the Texas Freethought Convention.)

Another difference is the social context, which is extremely different from other traumas or forms of abuse. When someone is recovering from domestic abuse, for example, other people understand and support the need to leave and recover. They don’t question it as a matter of interpretation, and they don’t send the person back for more. But this is exactly what happens to many former believers who seek counseling. If a provider doesn’t understand the source of the symptoms, he or she may send a client for pastoral counseling, or to AA, or even to another church. One reclaimer expressed her frustration this way:

“Include physically-abusive parents who quote “Spare the rod and spoil the child” as literally as you can imagine and you have one fucked-up soul: an unloved, rejected, traumatized toddler in the body of an adult. I’m simply a broken spirit in an empty shell. But wait...That’s not enough!? There’s also the expectation by everyone in society that we victims should celebrate this with our perpetrators every Christmas and Easter!!”

Just like disorders such as autism or bulimia, giving RTS a real name has important advantages. People who are suffering find that having a label for their experience helps them feel less alone and guilty. Some have written to me to express their relief:

“There’s actually a name for it! I was brainwashed from birth and wasted 25 years of my life serving Him! I’ve since been out of my religion for several years now, but I cannot shake the haunting fear of hell and feel absolutely doomed. I’m now socially inept, unemployable, and the only way I can have sex is to pay for it.”

Labeling RTS encourages professionals to study it more carefully, develop treatments, and offer training. Hopefully, we can even work on prevention.

What do you see as the difference between religion that causes trauma and religion that doesn’t?

Winell: Religion causes trauma when it is highly controlling and prevents people from thinking for themselves and trusting their own feelings. Groups that demand obedience and conformity produce fear, not love and growth. With constant judgment of self and others, people become alienated from themselves, each other, and the world. Religion in its worst forms causes separation.

Conversely, groups that connect people and promote self-knowledge and personal growth can be said to be healthy. The book, Healthy Religion [17], describes these traits. Such groups put high value on respecting differences, and members feel empowered as individuals. They provide social support, a place for events and rites of passage, exchange of ideas, inspiration, opportunities for service, and connection to social causes. They encourage spiritual practices that promote health like meditation or principles for living like the golden rule. More and more, non-theists are asking [18] how they can create similar spiritual communities without the supernaturalism. An atheist congregation [19] in London launched this year and has received over 200 inquiries from people wanting to replicate their model.

Some people say that terms like “recovery from religion” and “religious trauma syndrome” are just atheist attempts to pathologize religious belief.

Winell: Mental health professionals have enough to do without going out looking for new pathology. I never set out looking for a “niche topic,” and certainly not religious trauma syndrome. I originally wrote a paper for a conference of the American Psychological Association and thought that would be the end of it. Since then, I have tried to move on to other things several times, but this work has simply grown.

In my opinion, we are simply, as a culture, becoming aware of religious trauma. More and more people are leaving religion, as seen by polls [20] showing that the “religiously unaffiliated” have increased in the last five years from just over 15% to just under 20% of all U.S. adults. It’s no wonder the internet is exploding with websites for former believers from all religions, providing forums [21] for people to support each other. The huge population of people “leaving the fold” includes a subset at risk for RTS, and more people are talking about it and seeking help. For example, there are thousands of former Mormons [22], and I was asked to speak about RTS at an Exmormon Foundation conference. I facilitate an international support group online called Release and Reclaim [23] which has monthly conference calls. An organization called Recovery from Religion, [24] helps people start self-help meet-up groups

Saying that someone is trying to pathologize authoritarian religion is like saying someone pathologized eating disorders by naming them. Before that, they were healthy? No, before that we weren’t noticing. People were suffering, thought they were alone, and blamed themselves. Professionals had no awareness or training. This is the situation of RTS today. Authoritarian religion is already pathological, and leaving a high-control group can be traumatic. People are already suffering. They need to be recognized and helped. _______________________________

Statistics update:

Numbers of American ‘nones’ continues to rise

October 18, 2019

By David Crary – Associated Press

The portion of Americans with no religious affiliation is rising significantly, in tandem with a sharp drop in the percentage that identifies as Christians, according to new data from the Pew Research Center. …

Pew says all categories of the religiously unaffiliated population – often referred to as the “nones” grew in magnitude. Self-described atheists now account for 4% of U.S. adults, up from 2% in 2009; agnostics account for 5%, up from 3% a decade ago; and 17% of Americans now describe their religion as “nothing in particular,” up from 12% in 2009.

https://www.csmonitor.com/USA/Society/2019/1018/Numbers-of-American-nones-continues-to-rise

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Marlene Winell interviewed by Valerie Tarico on recovering from religious trauma Uploaded on January 31, 2011

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fIfABmbqSMA

24:12

On Moral Politics, a TV program with host Dr. Valerie Tarico, Marlene Winell describes the trauma that can result from harmful experiences with religious indoctrination. Dr. Winell explains that mental health issues are widespread and need to be understood just as we understand PTSD. There are steps to recovery, treatment modalities, and resources available as well. She now refers to this as RTS or Religious Trauma Syndrome. _______________________________

Links:   [3] https://www.biblestudyonjesuschrist.com/pog/ask1.htm  [4] https://marlenewinell.net/leaving-fold-former  [8] https://journeyfree.org/article/reclaimers/  [9] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/A_Thief_in_the_Night_%28film%29  [10] https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Romans+6%3A23&version=KJV  [11] https://valerietarico.com/2011/02/04/our-public-schools-their-mission-field/  [12] http://www.intrinsicdignity.com/  [13] https://www.maryjohnson.co/an-unquenchable-thirst/  [14] https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Proverbs+3%3A5-6&version=KJV [15] https://journeyfree.org/category/uncategorized/ [16] https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3qrE4pMBlis  [17] https://www.amazon.com/Healthy-Religion-Psychological-Guide-Mature/dp/1425924166 [18] https://www.humanistchaplaincy.org/ [19] https://www.christianpost.com/news/london-atheist-church-model-looking-to-expand-worldwide-91516 [20] https://www.pewforum.org/2012/10/09/nones-on-the-rise/  [21] https://new.exchristian.net/  [22] https://www.exmormon.org/  [23] https://journeyfree.org/group-forum/ [24] https://www.recoveringfromreligion.org/

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Get God’s Self-Appointed Messengers Out of Your Head

Valerie Tarico Which buzz phrases from your past are stuck in your brain? “God’s messengers” were all real complicated people with biases, blind spots, favorite foods and morning breath. They were not gods and they are not you. So how can you get them out of your head or at least reduce them to muffled background noise?

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ElfyYA420F0

#religious trauma syndrome #Marlene Winell #Valerie Tarico

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moonlightserenadeeznutz · 3 years

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Rizzo

Oneshot about how Sirius obtained his motorcycle. Prompt by @daylily-evans.

I should add, to all my non-UK readers, I use the word f*g in this as a slang word for cigarette, which is what it’s commonly used for over here, especially at the time the oneshot was set. I tried not to use it, but eventually it was impossible, and unrealistic, for the characters to not use it, so I apologise for the use of the word and I promise in this context it is not a slur word, and is only a slang word for cigarette. Anyway, hope you enjoy!

Request a oneshot here!

When Sirius graduated Hogwarts, he really had no idea what he wanted to do. Short-term wise, he wanted to go on missions for the Order, help out in any way he could and take down the death eaters one by one until only You-Know-Who remained. He couldn’t wait.

But long-term, after the war had ended, he was clueless. Truth was, he hadn’t planned that far ahead, just in case he didn’t survive to see it. But he was beginning to see that having a job now would be beneficial in a number of ways. Maybe as a cover-up, or a hiding place, or at least an opportunity to earn some well-needed money.

Dumbledore wanted him to get a job at the Ministry, to try and collect any inside information. But this suggestion made Sirius angry enough to ignore it completely. For starters, he didn’t care about what Dumbledore wanted. He tried to hide this of course, as he didn’t think the others would approve. But he’d lost his taste for obeying the old man ever since Dumbledore had forced Remus to live among the werewolves. And while Sirius could vaguely understand why it was useful, he couldn’t forgive Dumbledore for placing Remus in such a horrible situation, away from his friends, and possibly making Remus feel like the monster that Sirius knew he wasn’t. When Dumbledore had first suggested it, Sirius had been absolutely livid, and it was only Remus himself who managed to stop Sirius from marching down to Dumbledore’s office and giving the guy a piece of his mind. Remus had calmed Sirius down, but Sirius knew that he’d never shake off the resentment he had for the headmaster.

The other reason that he was angry at Dumbledore’s suggestion, was because he hated the Ministry. It was full of people like his parents, making rules to oppress anyone who wasn’t a pureblood wizard. And after having grown up with Remus, watching as the boy had to work for a future he didn’t have because of the Ministry, the last thing Sirius wanted to do was work for the bastards.

But what other jobs were there in the Wizarding World besides a ministry job? Hogwarts teacher? There wasn’t anything he could teach, and he certainly didn’t have the patience to deal with a bunch of teenagers, and nor did he want to give Dumbledore an opportunity to keep a close eye on him. Healer? He couldn’t think of anything less suited to him, though maybe Moony wouldn’t mind seeing him in a healer’s skirt and cap.

No, the problem was, wizarding jobs didn’t suit Sirius. So perhaps he needed to look outside the Wizarding World for a job.

Sirius wasn’t exactly familiar with muggle jobs, at least not first-hand. He’d seen plenty of them before. He, James, Remus and Peter had been to a few muggle clubs and bars together, and Sirius had spent all night chatting up the male bartenders, until he was quite knowledgeable on the job itself.

Sirius thought he’d be a great bartender. All he had to do was serve drinks, listen to music and chat up hot guys. And okay, so there was probably a little more to it than that, but he had the people skills, and he could easily learn about all the different muggle drinks.

Yes, he decided. I can be a bartender. I’ll be safe in the muggle world, I can still go on missions, and I can earn some money for the Order, or at least to support myself and Remus.

Sirius even knew about a bar that had an opening, since he’d been there so many times. He had to walk there, since he couldn’t apparatus, or floo there, and he still didn’t know how to use the muggle bus. But it wasn’t too long a walk, and it was a nice day at least. Sirius liked muggle towns, especially the underground-type, diverse, grunge places such as the one where the bar was situated. The streets were lined with music shops, pubs and all things that screamed rock n roll in the 70s. Sirius loved it.

When he was almost at the bar, he suddenly got distracted by a shop he hadn’t noticed before. He noticed it this time because Queen was blasting out of the speakers of some tinny radio from inside.

Sirius looked at the exterior: Lomax Motorcycles said the sign at the front. Another, smaller sign, stuck onto the window said: job vacancies with some smaller writing underneath that Sirius couldn’t read. But he was intrigued enough to go inside.

The interior- Sirius was quick to notice- was incredibly cool. There were two adjoining rooms, all filled with motorbikes. Sirius had seen motorbikes before, mainly in the films that he watched with James, Remus and Peter, but he hadn’t realised how much he liked them until he looked at them up close. These ones were all slick and shiny, some with patterns of fire along the side. They were like broomsticks, but with a muggle twist, and from Sirius’s limited experience, they were always ridden by punks in leather jackets. Sirius could definitely see himself riding one.

The shop itself was dimly lit, but he could see a number of framed posters lining the walls, of muggle bands that he loved: Pink Floyd, Ramones, Blondie, Joy Division. Not to mention all the cool-looking accessories that hung above the motorcycles.

Just then, the owner of the shop walked out.

“Alright, mate?” Greeted the man. Sirius nodded, taking the guy in. He looked around his late thirties, with a dark brown mullet, a badge-covered sleeveless jacket, leather gloves, at least twenty different piercings and full sleeves of tattoos. Sirius looked like Sandy from Grease compared to this guy.

“Yeah, hi.” Sirius replied, immediately intimidated.

“Looking for a bike?” The man walked behind a counter against the wall opposite to Sirius and started restocking a container of different locks.

“Nah, I’m just looking. I’ve never actually driven a motorbike before.” The man looked him up and down.

“Really?” Sirius nodded, awfully self-conscious. The man took out a cigarette pack and lit one up. The shop was quite smoky, but Sirius actually enjoyed that about it.

“I saw you had a job vacancy sign in your window,” Sirius plucked up the courage to mention.

“You looking for a job?”

“Yeah.” Sirius of course hadn’t intended to try for a job here, but since he had the opportunity he thought he might as well. See how far he could take it before the man asked him to leave. The man exhaled smoke out of his nose.

“You haven’t even driven a motorcycle.”

“I can learn. I pick things up quickly.” He realised that he sounded inexplicably uncool. It was typical. Around his friends he was effortlessly punk. Laid-back and relaxed, cigarette balanced between his lips, fluent in witty remarks and sarcasm. But here, in front of an almost carbon-copy of his cool persona, Sirius was sounding like someone who’d only recently entered the punk scene and had no clue on how to act.

“How old are you?” The man asked.

“Eighteen.”

“Pretty young, you even out of uni yet?”

“Oh, uh... I’m not going to uni.” Uni. University. Remus said that muggles went there to learn even more. Sirius didn’t see the point of it.

“I didn’t go either,” replied the man. He seemed very friendly, which certainly didn’t match with his overall appearance. “Didn’t interest me. Started working here instead. It was my dad’s.”

“Oh.” Sirius wasn’t sure how to respond.

“I’m Darren by the way. Darren Lomax.”

“Oh right, like the name on the shop. I’m Sirius.”

“Sirius? Never heard that name before. It’s cool.”

“Thanks?” He’d never thought of his name as being cool before. It was run-of-the-mill in the Wizarding World. In fact there were already two other Siriuses in his family. He was Sirius the Third. “If you’re interested in motorbikes, I can take you on as an apprentice if you want. Give you a bit of money. Teach you how to fix up these babies.” Sirius blinked.

“Really?” He hadn’t expected any kind of offer. His resume wasn’t exactly impressive, especially not to a muggle. An inexperienced eighteen year old with no muggle qualifications and less knowledge of motorcycles that literally anyone else who could’ve walked through that door. Sirius wouldn’t hire himself.

“Yeah why not? If you’re shit I’ll get rid of you. We’re not a professional garage. Really we just piss about fixing engines, listening to music and smoking. That your style?”

“Yeah, blimey.”

“Great. You can start tomorrow. Fag?” Darren offered him his cigarette pack, and Sirius took one. Darren lit it for him.

“Cheers.”

Dumbledore wasn’t happy with his choice of job.

“How are you planning on gathering information for the Order if you’re spending your days working in a muggle shop?” The man asked. Sirius had no intention of being guilted by him.

“Isn’t the information that Remus is gathering enough for you? I should hope so, considering everything he’s going through to get it.”

“Mr. Black, in case you haven’t noticed, there is a war going on. You can’t spend your life thinking about yourself and Mr. Lupin and no one else.”

“I am thinking of everyone else! And what everyone needs is money. And I can get them that money, as well as staying safe in the muggle world. I’m not exactly useful if I’m dead am I?” Dumbledore sighed as if he was talking to a child. The old man was pleasant with everyone, but with Sirius there was a slight curt undertone to everything he said. Dumbledore knew that Sirius wasn’t happy with him at all, and it showed. Sirius didn’t care. Dumbledore hadn’t done shit for him. He didn’t owe him anything.

Sirius was taking that job.

~ His first day went well, in the sense that he got along with Darren and he enjoyed the environment of the shop very much.

Because of his very limited knowledge of how to fix a motorbike, Sirius’s main job was at the front desk, talking to customers. He really did have great people skills, as he quickly discovered, and he put this to his advantage, bagging more sales in a day than Darren achieved in a week. So even if Sirius was shit at the mechanical side of things, he certainly wasn’t going to be fired any time soon.

At the end of the day, when the shop closed, Darren asked if Sirius would like to stay late and learn his way around the motorbikes. Sirius, who hadn’t been assigned any missions, and therefore didn’t have much going on, agreed immediately.

Darren showed him the engines of one particular motorbike that was in rather a lot of disrepair.

“Completely useless she is,” explained Darren. “Not likely to get her running any time soon, probably won’t even be able to fix her. Engine’s blown, parts are missing, tyres are a wreck.” Sirius knew that she’d easily be fixed with magic, but obviously this wasn’t an option. So he was sad that she’d never be ridden. But even if she was little more than a shell, she was a good example for Darren to use as an introduction to the inner workings of motorcycles.

Sirius listened intently to everything Darren had to say, learning how to change the oil, how to change a tyre, how to know when a motorbike needed new spark plugs (and learning what spark plugs were in the first place).

Outside of the workshop, Sirius tried to research more on the motorbikes he was working with. When he wasn’t spending time with the Order, or talking to customers in the shop, or following Darren around like a puppy, he was at the library reading up on all the different motorbike types, how they worked and how they were made.

Whenever Remus was permitted a break from staying with the werewolves, breaks that usually only lasted a few days maximum to avoid any suspicion, Sirius proudly took him down to the shop and showed him all the motorbikes that he helped to fix.

Darren greeted Remus happily, commenting on his name too. “The weird name couple” he called them. Darren, being the punk anarchist that he was, that was so prevalent in the late 70s, didn’t give a shit about Sirius and Remus’s relationship. Sirius didn’t need to hide it for very long, especially since he hadn’t tried to hide his sexuality in the first place.

Remus was very interested in the shop, and as soon as he stepped foot in it his first response was “Shit, Pads, this place was made for you.”

Sirius showed him the motorbike that was “unfixable”, but that Sirius had still been determined to work on as much as possible. The engine was still a bust, but he’d at least changed the tyres, and given it a new paint job (red and black). Sirius felt very close to the bike, especially once Darren had struck up a deal with him, saying that if he could fix the bike he could have it: “even if it’s fixed, it’s a shit model. No one’ll want it, believe me. Besides, I’m already paying you fuck all, so consider it a raise.” Darren was paying Sirius, but it was apparently much less than the usual muggle wage, since Sirius was still technically an apprentice. However, the current muggle to wizarding exchange rate meant that Sirius got a lot of galleons for his pounds. So, he was perfectly able to support himself, and if he ended up with a free motorbike in the process? Well, he almost couldn’t believe his luck.

Sirius fixed up the engine as much as he possibly could, until it was simply a case of the engine just not working. It had been months now since he’d first started, and the engine was the only thing left. The motorbike looked good as new, and despite Darren claiming it to be a shit model, Sirius had fallen in love with it. He’d even named it Rizzo, after Betty Rizzo from Grease.

Sirius was absolutely determined to have Rizzo, and deciding that the engine simply needed a boost, he risked using magic out of sight of Darren. Darren would never know, and Rizzo would have a new lease of life.

“Fucking hell, you actually got her working!” Exclaimed Darren the next day, as Sirius showed off the brand new humming engine of his prized motorbike. “How the fuck did you do that?”

“She just needed a boost, that was all. Good as new.” A boost with a little bit of magic, thought Sirius. Darren was shaking his head in disbelief.

“Well, shit. I guess a deal’s a deal. She’s all yours, mate.” Sirius couldn’t refrain himself from grinning. He patted Rizzo’s paintwork proudly. She was all his. He couldn’t wait to show her off to Remus and James and Peter and all the others. James was dying to get a glimpse of her: Sirius had been bragging about his motorbike for weeks now, annoying the hell out of the others.

“This motorcycle better be fit for Merlin himself, Pads, or I’m gonna be pissed,” James had semi-joked. Sirius assured that she was even better than Merlin. “She was made for me,” he claimed.

When James did finally see Rizzo, he was very impressed, but then again, he was as knowledgeable about motorbikes as Sirius was when he first started at the shop. Sirius probably could have put a mound of metal in front of him, moulded into the vague shape of a motorbike and James would still have been impressed.

“Can’t believe you named her Rizzo,” James laughed. “You’re such a fucking nerd.”

“Yeah, well. I have a motorcycle and you don’t, so jokes on you.” James put his hands up in surrender.

“You’re right. I’m just jealous.”

~ Sirius had a lot of fun with Rizzo. He rode her everywhere, through muggle and wizarding towns alike. It felt even more freeing than a broomstick. He could weave in and out of traffic, the wind in his hair and the roar of the engine blocking out everything.

There was also room for two. Or at least, two was the legal amount. But Sirius could be rather lax with the law sometimes, especially muggle law. So it wasn’t uncommon for all four of the marauders to squeeze onto the back of Rizzo and go driving off into the night.

Eventually though, Sirius decided that four people on one seat could damage Rizzo, which was the last thing he wanted (and he supposed it could be dangerous as well). So he splashed out some of the money he’d saved on a sidecar. James was particularly keen on it.

Remus on the other hand nearly always opted to sit on the back with Sirius. Sirius loved these journeys the most. Just he and Remus, the man holding tightly onto him as they zoomed down roads, ending up in country lanes. He could feel Remus’s arms around his waist, and Remus’s head on his shoulder, and after everything Remus was going through, as well as the risk of sudden death around every corner for both of them, when the two were pressed together on the little black and red motorbike, roaring through the countryside without a care in the world, it felt like the most precious moment of their lives.

#does this end badly #hopefully not #i could write more but this felt like the natural stop #no I didn’t forget about the fact that the motorcycle could fly #he charms it later #and that’s writer for ‘I didn’t get round to it yet’#harry potter #wolfstar #sirius black #sirius x remus

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honeyxmonkey · 4 years

Text

Dark and Wet and No Way Out But At Least I’m Here With You

K, so for context, I had a dream sort of where it was that scene from Tangled where Raps and Eugene were trapped in the cave and they were about to drown but it was Varian and Hugo so... yeah. I don't know if they made it out in the dream because I woke up but that means I get to play around with it.

And I decided that this would be a "sequel" to Let's Just Say There's A Thing Involved but its angsty.

-----

Varian was panicking. He could feel the water steadily beginning to rise around them and he panicked. There was no way out. No way out. No way out.

He knew there was no hope but he continued to beat on the rocks trapping them anyway. He didn't care, he was panicking.

He only stopped when Hugo called his name.

"Varian,"

Varian turned, eyes still blown wide in panic until he saw his fiance's face. Hugo was out of breath from his dive into the water to find a way out and his hair was plastered to his face. Varian could tell that he was scared but he also still looked at him with love and affection but also sadness. He knew they wouldn't get out.

"Varian, come here." Hugo stepped forward, slowly, the rising water prohibiting his movements. He held out his arms and Varian practically launched himself into his embrace. He held tightly to Hugo, face buried in his chest as the water rose higher. It was already above his waist.

"I'm scared, Hugo." Varian bit his lip to keep from crying. "I'm scared. And... I-I'm sorry for making you come with me. We shouldn't- I shouldn't have done thi-"

"Shh," Hugo cradled the back of his head, gently running his hand through Varian's wet locks. "Varian, love, look at me."

Varian obeyed, looking up at him, tears starting to stream down his face.

"I don't blame you." Hugo brushed the wet hair away from Varian's face. "I know you're scared, I am too." He smiled sadly and kissed his forehead before kissing him on the lips, sadly but passionately. It was their last kiss and Hugo wanted it to say everything. They broke it and rested their foreheads together. The water was up to his chest. "I love you, Varian. I love you more than anything in the world. You are my everything and I love you."

Varian smiled. It was sad and scared but he smiled. "I love you too. And I'm so sorry." He was crying now. "I'm sorry that I trapped us down here and I'm sorry that I never got to marry you." The water was up to their necks. "I love you. I-I love you so much."

Hugo led them to a higher level of the rocks. The water only dropped to the middle of Varian's torso.

"Marry me now, then?" Hugo asked softly, wrapping his arms a little tighter around Varian's waist.

Varian laughed with tears in his eyes but he nodded. "Okay."

Hugo took a deep breath, blinking away the tears as he cupped Varian's face. "Varian, my love, I knew from the moment I laid eyes on you that you were my forever. For some reason, I was so determined to make you mine. I was annoying and self-centered but you changed all of that. You changed me. You changed me for the better and I will never be able to repay you for all that you've done for me. But with these vows," he paused to look into Varian's eyes. He was vaguely aware that the water had slowed down, though it wasn't by much. "I give you my heart. With these vows, I am yours in every way, forever and always. You are my everything and this is my promise to you."

Varian choked back a sob as he too brought his hands up and cupped Hugo's face, leaning their foreheads together.

"Hugo, out of- out of all the places you've been on your journey, out of all the people you've met, you somehow and someway, ended up choosing me. And for that I will be forever grateful. You calmed the storm inside of me, the storm I thought could never be tamed and you brought a peace and joy to my life that I've never known. I used to think that we met by chance, but now I know without a doubt that the universe put you in front of me because we were meant to spend the rest of our lives together." He smiled, ignoring the water creeping up his chest once again. "With these vows, I'm yours in every way. I give you my heart and I never want it back. It's safe with you, it always has been."

Hugo tilted Varian's chin up, smiling with a heartbreaking sadness to his eyes. "I, Hugo of Bayangor, take you, Varian, to be my-" he laughed. It was still a sad laugh. "Well, not lawfully wedded, but I take you to be my husband."

Varian stepped closer to him, wrapping his arms around Hugo's neck. "And I, Varian of Old Corona, take you, Hugo, to be my husband." He leaned their foreheads together once more. "You can kiss me now."

Hugo laughed once, tears in his eyes as he kissed Varian for the first, and last time as a married couple. They poured everything into that kiss. Their sorrow, passion, fear, but most importantly their love. Varian tightened his arms around Hugo's neck, tangling his fingers into his husband's wet hair as the water rose higher. It would consume them soon but they were only focused on eachother.

"I love you, Varian." Hugo whispered, holding his other half tightly.

Varian pressed his face into the crook of Hugo’s neck, squeezing his eyes shut as tears threatened to spill once again. “I love you too.”

That was the very last thing Hugo heard him say before the water encompassed his every sense. It was cold. Everything was cold and dark, the only thing he could feel was Varian. They were still holding on tight to eachother, even as their grip on life lessened. Hugo’s lungs burned now and he could only imagine Varian felt the same pain. And he found himself wondering why he was still holding on. No help was coming, he knew that. He wasn’t going to get out of here. He was going to die... then he felt panic rush through him as Varian started to go limp in his arms.

Varian was going to die here too. Varian was dying. No, no, no, no. He couldn’t lose him. Not like this. Not ever.

All logical thought went out the window as he found Varian’s lips in the cold darkness and blew what little, unused air he had left into his lungs. He didn’t know if it had even worked as his mind clouded over and his eyes closed for what he knew, was the last time.

-----

So! I hope you guys liked this angst run. I think I’ve been doing far too much fluff so I decided it was time for a change in pace. Alot of stuff inspired this. One of the biggest ones was that scene in OUAT where Anna and Kristoff were about to drown and Anna started saying her marriage vows. Yeah... oof. The ending is open ended so if anyone wants to write a mini continuation, be my guest! (But tag me so I can read it, lol). In conclusion, I love my boys but I’ve been giving them too much fluff. I hope I made ya’ll cry.

#varian #tangled #tangled the series #varigo #varian and the seven kingdoms #seven kingdoms au #hugo #alchemy boyfriends #honey's works #angst #angsty angst #tw: drowning

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fernysbasement · 4 years

Text

On reading Dune not as a hero’s journey

Every time I saw people READ Dune and interpret Paul as very much the hero of the story I worried a little bit, about myself and how much bias I must have poured into my reading to understand this: that Paul is begrudgingly playing his part in a huge conspiracy that he hates, but which he can’t find a good enough way to oppose.

Whether he is the expected Kwisatz Haderach, “the chosen one” seems a lot less important than what that entails. For himself and the future of humanity.

So, now that I’ve learned a bit about how to make conscious readings of text (and mind you, I’ve learned just a bit... enough to pass a couple exams, I suppose) I found myself in need of tracking the exact bits that informed such a reading.

And I mean strictly the first book. We go the Barthes way here, no author commentary, no sequels, just the text within the book with only a whiff of the historical context in which it was produced.

If we take free will to be a core theme and hope for the characters, which can be glimpsed by calling the rebel forces the Fremen, for instance; there’s little in the way of a happy narrative to be found. The Spice Melange, the amazing substance that can grant an extended life, extended consciousness, extended awareness... is coupled with a terrible realization.

‘ We're trapped here, she agreed.

And she accepted the truth of his words. No pressure of the Bene Gesserit, no trickery or artifice could pry them completely free from Arrakis: the spice was addictive. Her body had known the fact long before her mind awakened to it. ‘

-When Paul finally realizes that he is, more or less, the supreme being that secret organizations had been scheming for generations to conceive, through careful breeding programs and planting of cultural blueprints... that sense of inevitability and entrapment in a net far too grand and systemic only becomes more clear.

‘ And he thought: I'm a seed.

He suddenly saw how fertile was the ground into which he had fallen, and with this realization, the terrible purpose filled him, creeping through the empty place within, threatening to choke him with grief.

He had seen two main branchings along the way ahead--in one he confronted an evil old Baron and said: "Hello, Grandfather." The thought of that path and what lay along it sickened him.

The other path held long patches of grey obscurity except for peaks of violence. He had seen a warrior religion there, a fire spreading across the universe with the Atreides green and black banner waving at the head of fanatic legions drunk on spice liquor. Gurney Halleck and a few others of his father's men--a pitiful few--were among them, all marked by the hawk symbol from the shrine of his father's skull.

"I can't go that way," he muttered. "That's what the old witches of your schools really want."

"I don't understand you, Paul," his mother said.

He remained silent, thinking like the seed he was, thinking with the race consciousness he had first experienced as terrible purpose. He found that he no longer could hate the Bene Gesserit or the Emperor or even the Harkonnens.

They were all caught up in the need of their race to renew its scattered inheritance, to cross and mingle and infuse their bloodlines in a great new pooling of genes.And the race knew only one sure way for this--the ancient way, the tried and certain way that rolled over everything in its path: jihad.

Surely, I cannot choose that way, he thought.But he saw again in his mind's eye the shrine of his father's skull and the violence with the green and black banner waving in its midst.‘

-Paul sees this path as the way humanity may remain constant in the universe, a universe it conquers and subdues. But at no point is he pleased by this, at no point does he embrace his place with joy, pride or passion.

The tone remains as dry as the dessert that surrounds the characters most of the time.

‘ Paul had sensed the jihad in their words, shrugged off the question with one of his own--learning then that Kaleff, the elder of the two, was ten, and the natural son of Geoff. Orlop, the younger, was eight, the natural son of Jamis.

It had been a strange day with these two standing guard over him because he asked it, keeping away the curious, allowing him the time to nurse his thoughts and prescient memories, to plan a way to prevent the jihad.’

(...)

‘ "Nothing money won't repair, I presume," Paul said.

"Except for the lives, m'Lord," Gurney said, and there was a tone of reproach in his voice as though to say: "When did an Atreides worry first about things when people were at stake?"

But Paul could only focus his attention on the inner eye and the gaps visible to him in the time-wall that still lay across his path. Through each gap the jihad raged away down the corridors of the future.’

(...)

‘ Even the faint gaps were closed now. Here was the unborn jihad, he knew. ’

(...)

‘ And Paul saw how futile were any efforts of his to change any smallest bit of this. He had thought to oppose the jihad within himself, but the jihad would be.

His legions would rage out from Arrakis even without him. They needed only the legend he already had become. He had shown them the way, given them mastery even over the Guild which must have the spice to exist.

A sense of failure pervaded him, and he saw through it that Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen had slipped out of the torn uniform, stripped down to a fighting girdle with a mail core.

This is the climax, Paul thought. From here, the future will open, the clouds part onto a kind of glory. And if I die here, they'll say I sacrificed myself that my spirit might lead them. And if I live, they'll say nothing can oppose Muad'Dib.‘

-Notice that the conjunction there is AND, not BUT. Which can be understood as these results not being quite contrary.

-Then, after slaying his last enemy, the book ends with these words, shared mostly between Paul and those most close to him, his mother and his concubine:

‘ "The Fremen are mine," Paul said. "What they receive shall be dispensed by Muad'Dib. It'll begin with Stilgar as Governor on Arrakis, but that can wait."

"And for me?" Jessica asked.

"Is there something you wish?"

"Perhaps Caladan," she said, looking at Gurney. "I'm not certain. I've become too much the Fremen . . . and the Reverend Mother. I need a time of peace and stillness in which to think."

"That you shall have," Paul said, "and anything else that Gurney or I can give you."

Jessica nodded, feeling suddenly old and tired. She looked at Chani. "And for the royal concubine?"

"No title for me," Chani whispered. "Nothing. I beg of you."

Paul stared down into her eyes, remembering her suddenly as she had stood once with little Leto in her arms, their child now dead in this violence. "I swear to you now," he whispered, "that you'll need no title. That woman over there will be my wife and you but a concubine because this is a political thing and we must weld peace out of this moment, enlist the Great Houses of the Landsraad. We must obey the forms. Yet that princess shall have no more of me than my name. No child of mine nor touch nor softness of glance, nor instant of desire."

"So you say now," Chani said. She glanced across the room at the tail princess.

"Do you know so little of my son?" Jessica whispered. "See that princess standing there, so haughty and confident. They say she has pretensions of a literary nature. Let us hope she finds solace in such things; she'll have little else." A bitter laugh escaped Jessica. "Think on it, Chani: that princess will have the name, yet she'll live as less than a concubine -- never to know a moment of tenderness from the man to whom she's bound. While we, Chani, we who carry the name of concubine -- history will call us wives."

Here I will concede that Jessica’s proclamation seems victorious enough, but I can’t help putting emphasis into the subterfuge and compromises made. Paul has displaced a despot, but not punished him. He’s playing the political game, he hasn’t overthrown the system he despises, simply taken a higher position within it, because that’s the lesser evil as far as he can see, and the path in which at least he remains alive, in accordance to the wishes of his family and those that look up to him.

So... my reading may not be diamond-solid, of that much I’m aware, but at the very least I’ve shed some light on why I felt the way I did about Paul’s journey not as that of a hero, but of a reluctant monarch. A messiah to those beneath him, but a conscious cog in a machine, in a greater sense.

Now I wonder which tone will the coming movie display, how will it portray the actions and feelings of the characters involved and the futility of their actions against the grand designs that predict and guide them. The photography seems to be quite grey, and that may prove to be telling. But there are more than fifty shades of grey.

#dune #I worry about the stupidest things sometimes #but hey at least I'm kinda sorting putting my recent studies to use #I'm super looking forward to people dunking on me

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iamcayc · 4 years

Text

WIP – Goodbyes

Context: I’ve been sporadically working on a fic that mostly indulges my newfound love of Felassan (thank you dear @pikapeppa) and my inability to truly abandon the Solavellan ship 🙃

It’s also been a way for me to work out the kinks of a novel I’ve been mentally writing for about a decade at this point. The magical concepts/world building blends surprisingly well with the DA universe so I said fuck it and fell D E E P down the fanfiction hole and began writing again (after maybe 12 years of avoidance thanks to my graphic design “career”).

I’ll eventually get the actual story on AO3, but wanted to dip my toe into the water of this fandom’s fanfiction pool 😇 be gentle! haha.

---

Gentle, loving fingers pulled through the thick blend of waves and coils of dark mahogany as the dawn snuck into the darkened cottage through the windows and copse of trees that surrounded the home. Felassan kept his eyes trained on her face as he willed his fingers to memorize the feel of her hair as it sifted across his skin; a feeling more luxurious than any of the silks found across Elvhenan. An affectionate smile pulled at his mouth as he watched her stir, her nose wrinkling as soon as the morning light kissed her skin and her eyelids slowly fluttering open, meeting his with a haze of sleep still clouding the cognac brown of her eyes.

“Good morning, ma’vunlea,” he murmured with a brush of his lips to her forehead. He felt her softly curved body stretch languidly against his as she continued to struggle into wakefulness. A bitter, taut snap of dread lashed through him as he drank in the sight of her, his arms tightening their hold on her instinctively.

Karys huffed a laugh against his neck. “I continue to stand by my statement that there has never been nor will there ever be a good morning.”

He felt her lips press a kiss against the column of his neck before gently nudging him so she could peer up at him. Despite the soft smile playing on her lips, he saw the sadness dimming the light in her eyes. There were a thousand more things he wanted to share with her; a lifetime of nights falling asleep in each other’s arms only to wake up just as hopelessly tangled as the dawn broke. But all of that was cut short, and Felassan still didn’t quite understand why.

He stroked the high rise of one of her cheekbones, now free of Mythal’s branching vallaslin. His lips quirked as he recalled the nights they spent sipping summer wine in bed while she redrew the vallaslin of each Evanuris into something far more accurate to their sparkling personalities. He never tired of watching her weave spells and wards, or discussing the intricacies of her spellweaving; he especially never tired of watching her resist the urge to roll her eyes when Fen’Harel took it upon himself to explain magic to anyone in their proximity.

“I told you this was going to happen,” Karys said, her lips brushing his sweetly before she slid from the bed. “Have you seen my smalls?”

The violet-eyed mage shook his head with a wry smile as he watched the love of his life amble around the cozy cottage they had built together, hunting for the elusive pair of underwear in nothing but one of his shirts.

A shirt I will likely never see again, knowing her, he thought with a soft chuckle. He pulled on his pants absently, loosely tying the laces while making his way over to where Karys fussed with her hair in a polished mirror far too ornate for the simple furnishings of their woodland oasis.

“Would you like to be the one to tell Mythal that the gift she gave us clashes with the decor?” Karys had asked with an arched brow as she hung the mirror just over their shared wash basin. Felassan hadn’t even bothered to reply, knowing that it was a lost cause, no matter how gaudy the craftsmanship was.

His arms snaked their way around her waist, his chin resting on her shoulder as he gazed at her reflection. She smelled like roses on a rainy morning with a hint of citrus and him, an intoxicating fragrance that he willed into his memory.

Karys lowered her hands, sliding them along his forearms as she leaned back against him. Their eyes met in the mirror, longing plain as day in both of their expressions.

“It won’t be forever,” she said softly, her grip on his arms tightening with reassurance. “When your task is done, and you’re finally free of him, I can bring you with me. I swear it.”

Felassan pressed a line of kisses along her shoulder, up the column of her neck to her ear. “Just so long as we leave that heinous mirror behind, I’ll follow you anywhere, ma’vunlea.”

Her laughter rang out in the cottage, her head falling back against her shoulder as a testament to the sincerity of her amusement. With a shift in his arms, she turned to wrap her arms loosely around his neck, staring up into his face with adoration, and Felassan’s heart stuttered.

“Fine, we can leave the mirror,” she replied with a playful roll of her eyes. Her expression sobered as she glanced out one of the windows, likely noting the rising sun and the passage of what little time they had left.

“Does he suspect anything?” Karys asked as her eyes slid back to his. He traced the edges of her ears, recalling his initial fascination with their smaller, more delicate shape when she finally bared her true self to him. There was no small part of Felassan that preened at knowing a wealth of things that Fen’Harel knew nothing about, even if those secrets were very likely to be the death of him if they were ever revealed.

“No, unless Mythal has decided to chase a whim and share your secret with Fen’Harel and destroy everything you’ve worked to achieve by aiding his rebellion,” he replied with a wry smile. Her warm eyes rolled, catching the morning light in the golden facets of her irises.

“Her sense of self-preservation is strong enough to prevent that from happening, at least for the foreseeable millennia.” She pressed another soft kiss to his lips before stepping away from his embrace and into her leggings. “I checked the wards surrounding this clearing and the cottage yesterday. The Veil will not bring them down, no matter how thoroughly he fucks up his own plot. Should you ever need to flee, or begin your uthenera unexpectedly, you will be safe here.”

He tried not to think about the endless line of questioning that would teeter on unbridled rage from Fen’Harel once it became known that one of his closest allies and one of his best spies vanished “while on a mission for Mythal.” Felassan was not blind to the longing looks his mentor and friend gave Karys when he thought no one was looking, either. Her disappearance would not simply be a tactical setback, but an emotional blow, no matter how dismissive she was about Fen’Harel’s feelings towards her.

The rustling of a breeze passing through the trees around them filled the comfortable quiet between them as Felassan watched her pull on the leather boots she had hidden away beneath their shared bed. She flexed her foot, rolling her ankle to and fro as though remembering how to wear shoes after decades in footwraps, if anything at all. Satisfied, she rose from the bed and looked around the cottage. He watched her eyes flit from item to item, smiling to himself when her gaze lingered on things that held sentimental value and brusquely moving on when the memories attached were particularly unpleasant.

“Do you remember how to reach me when you’re ready?” she asked as she turned to face him once again. His eyes dropped to her hands, her fingers twisting the laces of his captive shirt absently—the only outward sign of her mounting panic. She’s always terrible at goodbyes.

He ignored her question and moved to his cloak, fishing around one of the hidden pockets for the gift he had commissioned years ago.

“Close your eyes,” he instructed as he drew his hands behind his back. A grin broke out on his face as her eyes narrowed in suspicion before she obeyed. The gift was a wholly unnecessary gesture; Felassan knew this. But having heard the stories of Karys’s people, their customs, their symbols of a bond between two lovers—he refused to let her continue into this period of separation without some physical reminder that his heart belonged to her, and her alone.

Felassan brushed a stray curl away from her face and tucked it behind her ear before trailing his fingers down her left arm, bringing her hand to his lips.

Kissing her fingers first, he slipped the delicate gold and silver band on her finger. “Open them.”

He could feel her hand tremble slightly in his hold, a knot forming in his stomach as doubts flooded his mind. Was this too presumptuous? Would she even like the design he had given the artisan?

Tears bloomed in her eyes as she looked at her hand, the twisted strands of gold and silver working their way around her finger until they embraced a cluster of amethysts that formed the shape of a nine-pointed star.

Karys looked at him. “What… what the fuck?”

Felassan blinked in surprise. Then, he laughed before pulling her into his arms and kissing her. Her body melted into his, falling into familiar alignment before she pulled back slightly to frown.

“Felassan, what is this?” she asked him, waving the fingers of her left hand in his face.

“What does it look like to you?” he replied, earning a sharp pinch to his side. He yelped, but maintained his hold on her.

“Do not get smart with me, felasil.” She dropped her forehead against his chest, hiding her face from him. “Why must you make this so much harder than it already is?”

He pressed a kiss to the top of her head before leaning back, holding her face between his hands to lock her gaze with his. His thumbs brushed away the traitorous tears that slipped down her cheeks.

“I know better than to think our lives will follow the plan we have set for ourselves, ma’vunlea,” he said softly. “But I refuse to let you leave my sight without something to remind you of the man who is hopelessly and irrefutably yours, no matter how many centuries it takes before we are reunited.”

“Silver-tongued rogue,” she muttered before catching his lips with her own. Her kiss was laced with equal parts lust and sadness, her hands roaming his chest and back, as if committing every part of him to her memory.

Not to be outdone, his fingers twisted themselves in her curls as he nipped her lower lip, eliciting a sweet, breathy moan from her before she obediently opened her mouth to him. He grinned against her mouth before teasing her tongue with his as he slowly pushed her back against the wall. His thigh wedged its way between her legs as his lips trailed down her neck to her collarbones, his teeth scraping across her skin lightly as she ground her core against his thigh with enough abandon to fray Felassan’s control.

“Stay,” he growled against her rosy mouth. “Just one more night.”

Panting, Karys pulled back and pushed against his chest with her hands with a shake of her head. They both knew one more night wouldn’t be enough. It would never be enough.

He took a grounding step back, running his hands through his raven-black hair with slow, calming breaths. His blood was singing for her, his cock responding in kind. She let her head rest against the wall, her eyes closed as she caught her breath. The position did nothing to calm his need to touch her, but he willed himself still. The longer he delayed the inevitable, the worse it was going to be in the end. Sometimes, the way of the slow arrow wasn’t worth the agony it brought.

With clearer eyes, though still tinged with sadness, Karys pushed off the wall and took up her glaive from its resting spot in the corner, her aura resonating through single-room structure. Felassan nearly purred as he felt her aura tangle with his, the swell of his own magic buoying within.

She pressed her palm against the wooden door and wordlessly sent a flare of magic against it. Exhaling slowly, she opened the door to reveal a bright, albeit foggy vista that was in no way the forest that surrounded their hidden home. The Crossroads felt, rather than looked familiar to Felassan; gone were the blossoming trees and golden light, but silhouettes of eluvians haunted the mist that crept along a soundless breeze.

Karys turned to him, cupping his cheek with her left hand and brushing her thumb along the lower part of his vallaslin. Nothing but love shone in her eyes as she smiled at him.

“I love you, Felassan.” She kissed him slowly, sweetly. “My heart will always belong to you, never forget that.”

He pressed his forehead to hers. “Ar lath ma, vhen’an’ara. I’ll see you sooner than you think.”

With one last kiss, salty from one or both of their tears, Karys stepped back and through the door. Her eyes never left his as she raised her glaive and let it strike the ground. Brilliant white threads erupted from the edges of the door, snaking their way to the handle and slowly—and eerily—closed the door.

ma’vunlea - my sunlight

#dragon age #felassan #fanfic #my wip #drabble #fen'harel #mythal #arlathan

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dailyaudiobible · 4 years

Text

01/07/2021 DAB Transcript

Genesis 16:1-18:15, Matthew 6:1-24, Psalms 7:1-17, Proverbs 2:1-5

Today is the 7th day of January welcome to the Daily Audio Bible I'm Brian it's great to be here with you today. This is day seven of the New Year. So, we've technically we are…or we are technically accomplishing our first week together in the Scriptures, even though we’re kind of in the middle of the first full week of this year. And look at how much ground we have covered in that amount of time. You see…you see now the Bible…the Bible is very relevant when we start looking behind the stories behind the customs behind the clothes that they were wearing behind how the world was thousands of years ago. When we look behind that we realize the human hearts longs for God and we have been longing for God and reaching for God and we have this chronicling of God over time, revealing Himself to us and that is timeless. We long for the same sense of union with our Creator and a context for what this life is all about just as our ancestors did over the last thousands of years. And the Bible is timeless as it deals with and pokes and prods and comforts and nourishes and cares for our hearts. So, congratulations…even though we’re in the middle of the week…congratulations on making it through a week of this new year. And let’s dive in. We’re reading from the Christian Standard Bible this week. Genesis chapter 16 verse 1 through 18 verse 15.

Commentary:

Okay. So, in our reading from the book of Genesis today we have this situation where Abraham now does have a son. His name is Ishmael it’s just not by his wife Sarah. And it was Sarah and Abraham who were given the promise of offspring. And, so, there's obvious tensions that have arisen inside the family and those tensions…those tensions still exist in the world until this very day. And, so, Abraham's waiting and he’s 99 years old. So, the Lord comes and reaffirms the promise, “this time next year your wife is going to be holding a baby boy.” And she's laughing at that because although it may be a promise from God it is also impossible. It's an impossible promise. She has moved beyond the age of bearing children, well beyond the age of bearing children. Abraham’s 99 years old. So, yeah, it doesn't look like that's a promise that can be fulfilled. And, so, she's, you know, maybe just to protect her own heart and her own hope just kind of dismissing it. And yet God won't let it be dismissed and he presses in on it and confronts the laughter and essentially asks a very very important question for all of us, “is anything impossible for the Lord?” That question might seem like, “well…we would all…of course we would answer ‘no, nothing is impossible for the Lord. The Lord can do whatever he wants’”. But we don't really functionally live as if He will, and we certainly don't function and live as if He will for us on our behalf. And, so, it might as well just to be impossible, right? his is where the mirror comes up. This is what we were talking about a few minutes ago. This is where we look behind the story of the Bible and realize this is a hard issue, as are all of these stories. Where is my faith? Do I believe that? Because that's what we’re supposed to wrestle with. We’re looking at Abraham and Sarah. And believe me when I tell you this, had they chosen differently there would be no Bible. There may be some kind of Bible it might be called something different, but it would be full of completely different people. Right now Abraham and Sarah, we’re looking at them and going, yeah they’re famous Old Testament characters”, but I'm telling you they…they color everything that happens from here. And this trust, this faith that we are seeing come from Abraham toward God, that is fundamental, foundational Christian theology that will be unpacked very meticulously when we find our way into the letters of Paul.

We don’t want to get ahead of ourselves because we’re in the Gospels and we’re sitting at the feet of Jesus and we want to do that, we want to do that as long as we can this year and just listen to what He is saying. And what we see Him saying is a continuation that we’re living a backward life. We’re living a life that is not going to lead to life. And what He says today is it…it…it is largely about prayer and largely about caring for the less fortunate and the most vulnerable in our cultures. And yes, indeed we are supposed to step into that and be a part of the solution. But Jesus is saying, “the thing is just do it. Don't do it so that you will be praised. Do it because it's right. Do it because it's in your heart to do. Do it because it's what God would have you do not so that you can be seen doing it otherwise you have your reward. You did it to achieve praise and to continue to construct this image that you are presenting to the world called your personality. You did it to embellish that construct that you are presenting to the world.” So, you got what you wanted. People clapped their hands and praised you and thought you were super spiritual and awesome. There is no other reward. You got your reward. But if you want to do this true, if you want to stop living false wearing a mask feeling naked and ashamed and hiding then you have to live true. Do it because it's what God would have you do. It's in your heart to do. Don't let your left hand know what your right hand is doing, then you're doing it for the right and true reasons.” But Jesus also said something today that is so profound and so black-and-white and so completely ignored that if we would pay attention and it would finally lock into place then so much of the rest of our lives would make sense. Jesus said, “if you forgive others their offenses, your heavenly Father will forgive you as well. But if you don't forgive others your Father will not forgive your offenses”, right? And that's coming right on the heels of the Lord's prayer, “forgive us our debts or our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us.” In other words, the Lord's prayer is asking God to forgive us as we forgive others. I know we’re just getting going, we’re just getting unpacked on this voyage, we’re just moving in, we’re just getting our bearings and then this comes along and it’s like, “wait. What? I never really…what? I have to forgive in order to find forgiveness?” That's the way of God's kingdom according to Jesus, who is God made flesh. And it's really easy. We’ve just come through the holiday season. Maybe there's brand-new offenses that we’re licking our wounds over. But maybe there’s this long-running stuff in our lives. Everybody...everybody has been broken at some point. We have been the offender many times and have had our hearts broken but we have been the offender as well. Like we are broken people who break things. And the thing that we break the best is other people. And it's not true and it's not right. And it's not God's kingdom. And, so, here's Jesus inserting this idea, this truth into our lives, “forgive and you will be forgiven.” And we can just be like, “that's not fair. The things that have happened to me I can't even hardly…I can’t even say out loud.” And we can confront it with things like this, we’re in the Bible, we’re like, “gosh…I just don’t like that. I just don't…I don’t even know how to move in that direction, like the direction of forgiveness, which is so booby-trapped and so complicated, and so full of so many moving parts. We can become frustrated and feel as if what God is trying to do is box us in with a bunch of rules that are really really difficult sometimes to live into. That's not the goal here. Like, that…that…that's not the God of the Bible. Like that's not what's happening here. There are plenty of directives and rules and commandments in the Bible. Things that we are to obey, things that we are to be, and things that we are to live. Indeed, that's true. Is the point because the Almighty sovereign God, the most-high God who not only created this lush and beautiful planet that we live on that…but has created the universe as far as we can know and as far as we can know is only the beginning. You think he’s so uptight that He needs to just keep creating rules for humanity on this little spec, this little ball in the middle of his creation? He just needs to jack with us all the time to show us that were failures? I think probably He's more-high than we can possibly comprehend, more powerful than we could ever know, well beyond what we could ever think. And yet He still loves us and still came in person to show us how to be true and how to actually live life as it was intended to be lived in union, in covenant with God. And we’re seeing this covenantal language begin to materialize in the Old Testament. It will carry its way forward all the way to the end of the Bible. God's goal is our restoration so that we might be who we were created to be. Living in unforgiveness makes that impossible. All things are possible with God. But when we shut it down and say this is my will and then God is a gentleman and says, “you can have what you want but it's not going to go anywhere and it's not going to lead you to life.” Forgiveness is essential in God's kingdom because forgiveness then removes things, entanglements between us and other people. And imagine for a moment what it might be like to live with nothing between you and anyone else, right? There are no offenses. You are true and you are disentangled. But the only way for that to happen is to live in forgiveness, rapid forgiveness, which obviously isn't easy, which obviously is a practice, something that we practice, something that we master over time. And, so, we begin by just opening our hands and releasing things to God understanding that forgiveness isn't…isn't affirming anybody's actions. By us letting somebody go, by us setting someone free, by us for giving we’re not saying it was okay, we’re not denying that it happened, we’re just saying I'm not staying in these chains anymore, I’m not staying chained to that person anymore, they’re not even in my life and yet I'm still chained to them because I won’t…because I won't let it go…because I won't let go. When we let go, we release these people and these events to God. God is the judge. We release them to God so that we don't have to carry it around anymore. So, what Jesus is doing is perhaps telling us something very difficult but He is telling us something essential if we actually want to live, to live free and true.

Prayer:

Jesus, we enter into that. It is a tricky difficult subject. It is also a topic that will be a recurring theme in the Bible because we cannot let this go. You didn’t just mention it one time and think that we wouldn't forget. This is something constant. It's something that You modeled with Your very life when You said Father forgive them because they don't know what they're doing as You were being killed. So, Holy Spirit, come and let that sink in. We are to follow the path of the Savior. We are to become Christ like by being like Christ. Help us with that Lord. That's not…that’s not possible in our own strength. This is one of these situations where we do have to open our hands and surrender to You so the impossible becomes possible. Help us learn how to forgive. It starts right here. Seven days in the year. Now we can start practicing this because by the end of the year we will be a master at this if we continue to press in to what might be like to be true, to be the hands and feet of Jesus, to be the Jesus with skin on in this world, to be Your ambassadors, to be Your representatives in this world. We can’t do that without forgiveness. So, come Holy Spirit teach us how to forgive we pray. In Jesus’ name. Amen.

Song:

Matthew West - Forgiveness

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subverbaldreams · 5 years

Photo

@reniisbooks This one captured my imagination. I hope you enjoy! I’ve posted the full 5.9k story on my AO3 here:

The Darkness In Me

warning: dubious consent

everyone’s 18 or older

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

There have been a few (read: many) times in Tony’s life when he’s known he was fucked. Now, looking into his own eyes, ice-blue and devoid of empathy, he feels a great surge of nostalgia for those good old days.

Every inch of his body hurts. The fight was quick and brutal and now he’s tied up, legs spread, sitting up against the headboard of his own bed with his arms splayed out to either side.

Well. If being shibari’d to his own bed by his evil twin doesn’t say something about lifestyle choices, he isn’t sure what does.

His doppleganger picks up Tony’s phone from the floor and starts flipping through it. His lips— Tony’s lips, his own goddamn face except for the eye color—curl in a smug smirk that’s gut wrenching in its familiarity. Tony’s seen that look on his own face, before.

“And Pepper Potts, too,” his twin murmurs. “You really are just a pale copy of me and my universe, aren’t you? Ooh, hel-lo. Who’s this?” Avarice darkens his gaze; he taps and scrolls, then tilts the phone so Tony can see. Peter Parker’s innocent face fills the screen and Tony jerks at the cords around his wrists.

“You fucking piece of garbage, if you touch him—”

“Oh, my shadow,” his twin shakes his head. “Not a full day in your ‘verse and you keep disappointing me. You’ve just told me he’s exactly the person I should touch.”

He flicks his wrist; a splash of chrome flies off his suit like paint splatter and hits Tony’s throat, burns into his skin and he screams, but only for a second. Air keeps pushing out of his throat, but there is no more sound. Nothing. Tony meets his own eyes (pale as a winter sky) and a conspiratorial wink, grotesque because that’s his face, his wink and in this context, so wrong.

“Vocal cord paralytic. It’ll wear off in a bit,” his twin smiles. “Don’t want you ruining our surprise.” He taps the phone and Tony hears it ring.

Oh, Pete. Don’t pick up, kid. Don’t pick up!

“Hey. It’s me,” his doppleganger says, voice urgent. “I have an emergency situation. I need you at the tower, right now. No, don’t tell anyone. Top secret, superhero stuff, you know the drill.” He listens, watching Tony’s face, then his teeth bare in a shark’s grin. “You’ll understand everything, soon.”

—

Peter climbs the side of Stark tower to enter Tony’s quarters by the runway on the top floor. His chest is in knots, the hairs on his arms and neck lifted. Something isn’t right. The knot eases when he sees Tony, leaned against the door frame to greet him. He wears a pale blue shirt, unbuttoned, with the sleeves rolled up and Peter doesn’t know whether to be more distracted by his forearms or the curves of his abs. Tony’s got his sunglasses on, even though it’s two in the morning. The drink in his hand might explain it. He waves Peter inside, opens his arm as Peter gets close and wraps it around his shoulders.

“Take the mask off, baby. Let me see your face.”

Peter obeys without thought. “What’s wrong, Mr. Stark? I used the credit card you gave me to catch a cab, I hope you don’t mind.”

Tony laughs, then: a deep, rolling sound that’s both surprised and pleased. He turns into Peter, looks down at him and Peter wishes he could see Tony’s eyes; he isn’t acting like there’s an emergency.

“Oh, sweetheart. Of course I don’t mind.” He keeps that arm around Peter’s shoulders as he steps forward, pushing their chests together and Peter forgets how to breathe. Tony’s hand holding the drink comes up to touch his chin and the scent of fine whiskey wraps around him like a fog. “I’m glad you let me take care of you. You’re my boy, aren’t you?”

Peter inhales a sharp gasp. Those words, that tone, drive a line of heat straight to his crotch. Heat floods his neck. Surely Tony didn’t mean it that way. Peter knows his desire is one-sided; has been for years. He doesn’t answer the question. His mouth feels frozen. Tony walks him a few steps back, a smirk on his handsome lips like he knows exactly what he’s doing, and Peter knows this can’t be what he thinks it is, but his body isn’t listening.

Tony knocks back the rest of his drink and tosses the tumbler aside. It hits the floor with a heavy thunk. He pulls Peter in and grips his chin with the arm wrapped around his shoulders, half-choking him and Peter realizes with a flutter of panic that his hard-on is pushing against Tony’s thigh.

“Mr. Stark,” he gasps. It’s like his brain’s shorted out. He’s drowning in Tony’s scent, that delicious cologne he always wears, the light salt of his sweat, and Peter’s almost hyperventilating as Tony leans down until they’re drinking each other’s breaths.

“Mmmm, look at you, baby. So hungry for Daddy.” His thigh pushes forward and he rolls his hips up, and there’s no question he does it on purpose. Peter lets out an embarrassing whine. He may be stronger than Tony, but that sound speaks the truth of their relationship. Tony Stark owns him, body and soul. Has since they first met.

Tony drinks in the moan, reflects it back to him in a pleased sigh and nips at his bottom lip. Peter’s legs shake. He’s grinding against Tony’s thigh, needy like an animal and he can’t help it; he’s wanted this for so long.

“Do you dream about this, pretty baby? Huh?” Tony murmurs. He puts an arm around Peter’s lower back and lifts him with ease, nudges with his legs until Peter takes the hint and wraps his legs around Tony’s waist. “How many times have you jacked off to me? Tell me.”

He walks with Peter in his arms, walking toward the bedroom and if Peter’s brain was short-circuited before, it’s complete jelly now.

“I-I don’t know, sir,” he gasps. “Every day. For years. Oh, god. I want...oh, Mr. Stark!” He arches as the man’s hand dips into the cleft of his ass, pressing through the suit. They cross the threshold of the bedroom and Tony kicks the door shut behind them. The lights are low and it’s perfect because Peter’s simultaneously shy and desperate to see Tony without the shirt on.

“Take this off,” Tony murmurs, tapping Peter’s suit. “Let me taste you.”

“Oh,” Peter whimpers, so close to cumming right there as he tightens his legs around Tony’s waist and Tony holds his ass in both hands so Peter can let go of him to pull out of the suit. He pushes it down to his waist, then Tony’s hand is in his hair, pulling his back into an arch and there’s warm breath on his nipple and teeth and oh god, is this happening?!

“AH! Ah, ah, Mr. Stark, ohhHHH!”

The man’s lips sealed around the throbbing, bitten skin and sucked, and Peter thinks he might die from pleasure. No one’s ever touched him like this. He wishes Tony would take off the sunglasses; it feels so impersonal, not being able to see his eyes.

“Are you still a virgin, baby boy?” Tony asks, and Peter shudders because he can feel Tony’s hard cock riding up against his balls.

Peter nods, embarrassed. Tony’s so much older than him, so much more experienced. Will he back off, once he realizes Peter’s “experience” comes entirely from porn videos on his phone?

But Tony’s grip in his hair tightens; he yanks back and Peter yells in surprise.

“Use your words, Petey. Is Daddy’s little boy a virgin?”

Those words steal Peter’s breath, but he manages a choked, “Yes, sir!”

Tony’s pleased chuckle rumbles through him. “What about kissing? Have those pretty lips ever tasted another boy? A girl, maybe?”

Peter shakes his head, too humiliated to look into Tony’s eyes, even shaded as they are by the sunglasses. “No, sir,” he whispers.

But Tony groans, as if that answer makes him incredibly hot. He grinds their hips together and Peter’s transported.

“Oh, please, Tony,” he moans.

That hand jerks his hair back, and Peter’s head rocks from a slap that leaves his ear ringing on that side. He’s so shocked, he doesn’t even think to pull away. Tony’s lips are hot against his burning cheek, the scratch of his beard unbearable on the sensitized flesh.

“You may call me sir, or Mr. Stark, or Daddy. Those are your options, boy. Do you understand?”

Peter’s eyes are full of tears. He blinks and they run down his face, onto T—onto Mr. Stark’s lips, and the man licks it up as though he enjoys the taste.

“Y-yes sir, Mr. Stark,” he stammers; he’s not brave enough to call the man “Daddy.”

Mr. Stark thumbs his chin.

“There’s my good boy,” he murmurs. Humiliation and pride fuse into a glowing ball in Peter’s chest, spreading warmth throughout his body. Mr. Stark’s skin is cool by comparison, the only thing that keeps Peter from burning up. He leans in and presses his lips against Peter’s, tongue invading his mouth and goatee scratching his lips raw. His first kiss and it’s Tony Stark, and the man doesn’t hold back. He knows how sensitive Peter is, yet he eats into him like a hungry beast. Peter submits to it, completely overwhelmed. His mouth and nose and flesh and senses are all full of Tony, and if the hair’s still lifted on his neck, that’s just because everything is dialed way past eleven right now.

—

Tony Stark grins over Peter’s shoulder at his shadow-self, who watches helplessly from the bed. The pathetic sap looks like a vein in his forehead is about to burst. Tony slips his own shirt off, grinning as Peter’s hands flutter over his skin, eager, but (rightfully) afraid to lay hands on him.

“You really are a virgin in every way,” he smirks. “Touch me, boy. Find out what a real man feels like.”

The flush has gone all the way down Peter’s chest. Tony’s handprint lights up Peter’s left cheek: a gorgeous, cherry red overlaying all that hot pink. The tips of the boy’s ears glow like candle flames.

Tony grips his shirt behind Peter’s back and folds it, then brings it up over Peter’s eyes.

“No,” Peter gasps.

“Did you just say ‘no’ to me?” Tony lets his words melt with the disdain he holds for this entire, sorry world. If Peter fights him, he’s going to find himself badly outclassed.

Peter inhales sharply.

“I-I didn’t mean it, sir,” he amends. “I’m sorry, sir.”

“Mmm, that’s what I thought.” He ties the blindfold tightly around Peter’s eyes, tucks in the fabric to block all sight.

He maneuvers the boy’s legs from around his waist, makes him stand straight and turns him sideways, putting the boy on display for their bound audience.

Tony takes off the sunglasses with a flourish that is for the benefit of no one but himself. He kneels in front of the boy to pull the spider-suit the rest of the way off. Peter’s thick, young cock springs out eagerly. Tony fists it and chuckles when a wavering moan leaks from the boy’s mouth. Over on the bed, his shadow self glances at Peter’s dripping cock then looks quickly away.

“Never been fucked,” Tony murmurs, looking at his other self and letting his breath ghost along Peter’s cock. “Never been kissed.” He curls his tongue around the base of Peter’s cock and grins at the whimper he elicits. “Never been sucked.”

He wraps his lips around the boy’s hooded cockhead and slathers it with his tongue. Peter’s hands find his hair, but the boy is smart enough not to pull. Tony gets the head nice and wet before he dives down to bury his nose in Peter’s thatch. The kid’s cock makes a nice throatful, and he bobs on it a few more times before pulling off with a satisfied smack. Peter’s legs shake adorably; he really is a virgin in every way.

Tony looks up at his lesser twin. The man’s face is twisted between horror and hunger. Of course, the pathetic worm has denied himself this pleasure. But he’s wanted it.

Tony knows that, because he wanted Peter from the moment he saw that sweet face gazing out of his shadow-self’s phone.

—

Bound to the headboard, silenced by some tech he’s never even considered, Tony can do nothing but watch. Peter’s innocent moans tug at his heart. The way the boy shakes, cries out “Mr. Stark!” Not even angry after the slap. As if Tony has the right to treat him any way he wants.

As if Tony owns him.

He’d denied it for so long, and here it is, his sin of the mind coming back to swallow him whole. Tony could cry when Peter arches under his twin’s touch.

“Please, sir...please...”

The other man stands up, trailing kisses along Peter’s hip, stomach, chest and shoulder as he does. He tilts the boy’s chin up and takes his mouth in a kiss that’s got to be thick with the taste of Peter’s cock. The boy’s hands come to his shoulders, gripping hard as his legs tremble like they’ll go out from beneath him.

“Beg me to fuck you,” the man whispers, but his blue eyes are focused on Tony. Peter licks his lips, breath shaking.

“Please...f...fuck me, Mr. Stark, sir,” Peter breathes.

I’m gonna kill you, Tony thinks, and it’s almost like his doppleganger can hear his thoughts. It’s Tony’s own cocky smirk that shines back at him, and it’s like they share one mind in that moment.

I’m taking what’s yours, his twin is saying to him. And you’re going to sit there and watch. And want. And hate yourself for not doing it first.

Because he does; he wants this. He wants to be Peter’s first. He’s rock hard, watching the boy’s slim muscles shake under his hands. It’s like he’s watching the world’s most invasive porn video.

His other self walks Peter to the bed and shoves him back on it. Pulls his wrists together and a chrome tendril laces out from the glowing reactor on his chest, swirls down his arm and wraps Peter’s wrists and forearms a dozen times over. Peter gasps and tugs at the binding.

“You can try to break it, if you want,” the doppleganger says, grinning. “You aren’t getting out of this until I let you out.”

Peter’s breath is high and tight in his throat. He’s afraid, but he doesn’t know he should be terrified. Tony’s hands flex, aching to grab Peter and run.

His doppleganger climbs onto the bed, hooks one hand under Peter’s arm and lifts him. Peter kicks his legs, making a hurt sound that socks Tony straight in the chest.

You’re HURTING HIM! His throat won’t move, so he screams the accusation with his eyes.

His twin’s cold gaze reflects back at him: I know.

Peter’s feet are still tangled in his suit. He squirms until the fabric comes free. He’s just starting to get his feet under him when Tony’s twin kicks his legs apart. More silver ropes flow around Peter’s ankles and pull his legs wide. The man throws him down and Peter doesn’t quite catch himself. His face hits the bed inches from Tony’s crotch.

Peter’s whimpers are edging out of “scared” and into “panicked.” He rubs his face against the mattress, trying to push the blindfold up. The doppleganger slaps a hand over Peter’s cloth-covered eyes and jerks his head back.

“Do you want to see? Ask and you shall receive. Don’t be a naughty boy and try to take what you want.”

Peter swallows loudly. His voice sounds wet, like he’s holding back a sob. “Please Mr. Stark. Please take the blindfold off?”

“Mmm...what’ll you do in exchange for your sight? Will you make Daddy happy with your tight, virgin ass? Will you be good while Daddy cums inside you?”

A whine. Tony’s legs shift; he can hardly hold still when Peter sounds like that. The boy is letting Tony take him apart because he trusts Tony to put him back together. He doesn’t understand the darkness in Tony’s heart. That darkness, free and hungry behind glacial blue eyes, is enough to break him until there’s nothing left to repair.

Don’t, he begs, and he’s begging himself. Literally and figuratively. Begging that he doesn’t have it in him to do this to Peter.

“Of course you will,” his other self coos. “You’ll be a good little slut for us, won’t you.”

Peter twitches, and goes still. His nostrils flare. “Us?” He repeats, a plea in his voice. Let me have heard wrong, it said. Let me have misunderstood.

The doppleganger spits onto his own fingers, slips them between Peter’s legs and the boy lurches forward with a choked scream. At the same moment, the man pulls the blindfold off him.

Shocked amber eyes stare at Tony’s crotch, then up his bare chest to his face. Tony is shaking, head to foot. But then, so is Peter. The boy lifts himself on his forearms and twists to look behind, at the blue eyed Tony Stark, also shirtless and with at least one finger inside him from the way Peter had screamed.

“W-w-what,” Peter stutters. He looks forward again, at Tony desperately trying to get sound out of his paralyzed throat. “Mr. Stark!?”

His eyes are begging. Please tell me this isn’t happening.

The doppleganger pulls a small bottle from his pocket, squeezes it over Peter’s crack and the boy jerks forward again as he feels the liquid hit him.

“Oh, god,” Peter moans.

“Don’t worry your pretty little head about it, sweetheart.” The man’s forearm flexes with the movement of his fingers and Peter’s mouth hangs open over a choked whimper. “Just feel. Feel what we do to you. Listen to my voice, baby. You know who I am. You’ve always belonged to Tony Stark, haven’t you, baby boy?”

He slaps the side of Peter’s head. The boy shakes his head like he’s shaking off water, and gasps out a hasty, “Yes, sir,” followed by a loud moan as Tony’s twin grabs the back of his neck and drives his fingers in to the last knuckle.

“Oh, please, Mr. Stark! Please, I can’t—I can’t—”

“Can’t what? Can’t give me what’s mine?” Blue eyes harden and he twists his wrist until Peter sobs into the mattress, hips bucking into his touch as much as away from it. “Can’t help being a dirty slut for your old man? With your legs wide open and your ass in the air? Try and tell me you don’t want this,” he snarls, and releases Peter’s neck to reach around him and stroke his leaking cock.

Peter’s bloodshot eyes lift back to Tony’s, desperate. Begging him, but for what? To make it stop? Or to let it continue? Tony’s cock is at high mast inside his pajama pants and Peter sees it. His trembling lips open as if to say something, but it turns into another moan.

The doppleganger takes hold of Peter’s hair, holding him so he has no choice but to look at Tony.

“Say, ‘please, fuck me with your giant cock, Mr. Stark,’” he orders.

Peter’s breath shivers over a whine. Tears drip down the sides of his nose. “Pl-lease—AH!—oh! Please fuck m-me, with your giant…OHGODOHGOD!”

“My giant what, boy?” The man grins. He tilts Peter’s ass up until Tony can see: he’s got four fingers shoved inside the boy’s virgin hole.

“Giant cock!” Peter shouts. “It hurts! Please, it hurts, Mr. Stark!”

“Poor baby,” the man rumbles. “I’ve got something that’ll feel a whole lot better.”

Peter glances up at Tony’s eyes, then away. His whole face, neck and ears are bright red. Humiliation and pain have his eyes glassy as a drug addict’s. He moans in relief as the man’s fingers pull out of him. The doppleganger unbuckles his pants and pulls himself out. His cock, like the rest of him, is a mirror image of Tony’s. Long and thick, far too big for a virgin boy.

“I’m gonna ruin you, baby,” he purrs, and smiles as Tony jerks ineffectually against the ropes. He maintains that eye contact while he slicks up his cock, then brings it right up to Peter’s entrance.

Tony twists and tugs at his bonds in a panic. Peter’s hyperventilating. He’s too tense. He’s going to tear. He’s going to bleed. Tony shakes his head at himself, because it is him, it’s him doing this. His lips move in silent pleas.

Don’t! Stop! Stop!

He can go to hell for a lot of things, but please god not this.

Tony looks into his own eyes as the man’s hips push forward.

Peter’s breath cuts off. He curls over himself as if clutching a stomach wound, statue-still as Tony’s double breaches him. The man takes it slow, millimeter by millimeter pressing inside. Thirty seconds without a breath, and then a gasp rattles through Peter’s throat. He tries to lurch forward, but the man grabs his hips and holds him in place. Peter’s bound hands reach forward, grab onto Tony’s thigh like it’s a life raft.

“Hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts aah aah aah—”

“Mmm, I know it does, baby,” the man rumbles, with Tony’s voice, Tony’s words (if he was a sociopathic monster and would do this to someone who loves and trusts him) (and clearly, he is) Tony’s hands holding Peter’s hips in place as he drives deeper.

Peter’s breath stops again. His grip is going to leave black bruises on Tony’s skin. It’s the least he deserves for causing this.

His twin pauses, halfway sheathed in Peter’s body. He tilts Peter’s hips so Tony can see the ridge of the boy’s overstretched hole wrapped tight around his cock.

“Would you look at that,” he marvels. “Look at that cherry pop.” He traces a finger over the rim. Peter hitches in a sob. “Shh, that’s a good little boy. Get used to Daddy inside you. Ohh, fuck that’s good.” He groans, turns half-lidded eyes up to Tony and sneers, “you pathetic worm. You could have had this, but you left him for me. You did this. Saved him for the superior version of you. Guess that just goes to show, you’re still not stupid as the rest of the vermin on this planet.” A triumphant sneer tugs at his lips and he sinks deeper into Peter’s shaking body. “This one, though...ugh, I’m keeping this one. It’s gonna be fun, dirtying him up.”

“Can’t,” Peter begs into the comforter, “s-s-st-op...hurrrts…”

“Push down on me, baby,” the man coos. “There you go. I know, I know. It’ll start to feel good. You’re doing such a good job for Daddy. Being such a good boy. Giving me that sweet little cherry. Look up, sweetheart. Look at how much your Tony wants you.”

Peter’s head comes up. Low to the bed now, his eyes are blocked by the tent in Tony’s pants.

Tony feels like he’s choking on flames, the shame burns so hot inside him. And even so, a part of him is memorizing the taut lines of Peter’s body, the way his pink hole stretches to take his twin’s cock, the breathy whines of “can’t” and “hurts.”

The man shoves his hips forward when there are just a couple inches left, slides home with a slap of skin on skin, and Peter shrieks. He tries to lunge forward, to get away from the pain, but the man hangs onto his hips and rides the motion. He jerks Peter’s hair until the boy’s head leans back onto his shoulder, so Peter’s lithe body is on display, and Tony is shocked to see the boy’s cock still hard, with precum drooling from the tip.

Tony’s twin sets a hand over Peter’s belly and pushes. Peter’s eyes fly wide open. He squeals out a helpless sound, and the doppleganger laughs. He shifts, angles so he’s thrusting straight forward and Peter bucks in his arms. His scream breaks in his throat.

“You’re always gonna remember this first time,” the man promises, eyes locked with Tony. “Cause you’ll never be the same after I’m through with you.”

He pushes Peter back onto his elbows, drags the sobbing boy forward until he’s hovering right over Tony’s crotch. His big hand closes over the back of Peter’s head and pushes his face down into the thin fabric which covers Tony’s raging hard-on.

“Suck it,” the man orders. “It’s mine, after all. Show me how desperate you are for my cock. Take it in your mouth and ass at the same time, you depraved little cockslut.”

Peter tries to look up, maybe for permission, but the other Tony holds his head down. A sob ratchets through his chest and Tony can feel his wet breath through the soft cotton of his pants. Then Peter’s mouth closes around the side of his cock and it’s a struggle not to let his eyes roll back. Not to admit to himself—neither the Tony across from him nor the Tony that is him—how fucking good it feels.

“That’s right, whore. Suck your Daddy’s big cock. Show him how much you want it.”

The man tilts his hips gently forward and back while Peter sobs over Tony’s clothed cock, loosening the boy up with the motion.

“Fuck, Tony,” the doppleganger groans. “How’d you keep your dick outta this for so long? This slut’s been after you for years, you know that? Jerking himself to sleep, dreaming about getting bred by Daddy Stark. Isn’t that right, boy?”

He jerks Peter’s head up. Peter’s eyes meet Tony’s for an instant, and the fear in them says everything. His twin is telling the truth.

“You piece of shit,” Tony rasps, then looks up as he realizes his voice is back. His other self smirks.

“Right on time. You wanna cuss yourself out while we take what we’ve always wanted? Be my guest.”

Without pulling out, he shoves his hips forward, hard.

Peter’s breath chokes off. He thrashes his head back and forth in silence until his voice bursts free in a broken whine.

“Mmm, feels good from that angle, doesn’t it, baby? Daddy’s sooo deep inside your little body.”

He stirs his hips, and Peter writhes, face buried in the comforter until the man jerks his hair back.

“Look at him. That’s me, right there. That’s the part of me too chickenshit to take what’s mine.”

“I’m gonna kill you,” Tony snarls. “I will rip you limb from limb and leave you for the vultures, you fucking sack of garbage.”

His own face smirks back at him. “Look at him, Peter. Leaking through his pants for you. This is what he always wanted to give you. Not some StarkTech suit, not money, not mentoring or whatever the fuck he’s told you. He wanted to feel your lips on his cock. He wanted to feel your ass sucking tight around him.”

Peter’s eyes are too wide, white showing all around the irises. His breath pants out in little whimpers. The rocking motion changes to short thrusts, and Peter’s forehead creases; a thin whine leaks from his mouth.

“Mmm, starting to feel good, now? Tell Daddy you like it. Say it!” He jerks back on Peter’s hair.

“OHH Daddy I like it! AHH!” His voice is a train wreck. Tony is never going to forget that sound; his twisted brain will make sure of that.

“Good boy,” Tony’s twin purrs. “You get a sweet treat for being so honest with Daddy.”

He pushes on Peter’s upper back until his chest is arched into the bed, ass in the air and hair still pulled back so he’s staring wide-eyed up at Tony.

The man starts pounding into him, long thrusts that knock the breath from Peter’s lungs.

Fat tears stream down the boy’s face. Tony whispers Peter’s name, tells him it’ll be ok, that he’ll get through this, but his own rigid dick gives the lie to his comfort and he’s dying inside because he can see Peter shattering. Those doe eyes go half-lidded as endorphins help him ride out the pain and there are moans sandwiched between his wet sobs.

“That’s my baby boy,” the other man coos, his praise a twisted complement to Tony’s words of support. “Fuck, such a good boy for Daddy. Come here. Show your other Daddy some love.”

Tony looks up, almost chokes out “No!” before he thinks how much more damage that might do to Peter, and begs instead with his eyes.

Please, don’t do this. Please. You’ve got what you wanted.

His own eyes narrow back at him. The cruel baring of teeth replies:

I want MORE.

—

Peter can hardly breathe as Mr. Stark lifts his legs. Still inside him, he curls his knees to his chest and tries to hold still. Any movement might tear him to shreds. Mr. Stark lifts him up until he’s straddling the other Mr. Stark, his bound hands resting against the shining reactor in the man’s chest, and his own hard cock smacks Mr. Stark’s lower belly. He gasps at the sensation of warm flesh and soft, curly hair. Mr. Stark’s hard-on rubs up his perineum and pushes his balls to one side. He’s only vaguely aware that he should have tried to run when the bonds loosened around his ankles. They’re tight again, holding him to the bed. Holding him in Mr. Stark’s lap.

Peter’s head is floating in a cloud. It still hurts, the cock inside him, but when it moves, these sparks fly through his whole body and it feels like flying. The blue-eyed Mr. Stark breathes against his throat, hips still with a waiting silence. Calm before a storm.

“Ride him,” he orders.

Peter glances up to meet brown eyes, wide like he might say “no.” Like maybe Peter only deserves to get fucked by some cruel, twin version of himself, but isn’t good enough for the real Tony Stark. Misery floods through his chest at that thought. But it’s the other’s words that pulls him out of the imminent spiral.

“See how much he wants you, sweetheart?,” the man rumbles in his ear. “See how he’s been denying himself. He’s been desperate to bend your pretty body over his desk and fuck you raw, to breed you full of his cum and leave your hole gaping wide open, dripping wet. He needs to fuck his little boy. Show him, baby. Show him how good it is.”

Peter swallows his tears. This, at least, makes sense. Of course, he wants to help Mr. Stark feel good. He rocks his hips tentatively, but that makes the other man’s cock pull out just a fraction and his breath stops.

“You need Daddy’s help?” The man intuits, hands stroking down Peter’s sides. Soothing him.

Peter sniffles and nods. Mr. Stark is looking up at him, and he’s actually blushing, which is somehow more intimate and strange than their position.

“Show him how your lips taste,” the other says, pushing Peter forward until his bound forearms are sandwiched tightly between himself and Mr. Stark. “Show him what he’s been missing. I promise you, he’ll love it just as much as I do.”

They’re already close enough to taste each other’s breath. With the help of a hand pushing on the back of his head, Peter closes the gap.

Instead of alcohol, this Tony Stark tastes like mint toothpaste. At first, neither of them move. Then the man behind him renews his thrusts, and it forces Peter’s hips forward and back, makes him grind on his mentor’s clothed cock and rubs his own sensitive cockhead into ticklish belly hair.

Peter moans into Mr. Stark’s mouth. His cry is swallowed and Mr. Stark is returning the kiss now, groaning and biting Peter’s lips as if he’s starved for the taste of them.

Something explodes behind Peter’s eyes as the unexpected orgasm sweeps through him. He disappears, lost under waves of pleasure beyond anything he can comprehend.

He comes back to himself, still crying out as he’s filled with a cock that seems bigger than his whole body. He looks on in a daze as a hand runs through the dripping, white cum on Mr. Stark’s chest, then lifts it to his open mouth. Those fingers force the semen past his tongue and shove into Peter’s throat. He gags and struggles. Drool falls down his chin, onto the bound Mr. Stark’s neck and chest.

The fingers stay hooked over his tongue. Peter struggles to breathe, struggles just to exist as that massive cock pushes in and out of him. It still feels good, but it’s hurting again too and he tries to beg. He gurgles unintelligible sounds around the fingers in his mouth.

“Oh, son,” the other Mr. Stark breathes hot on his ear, gritty with need. “Daddy’s gonna cum. Beg me to breed you, sweetheart. Come on.” He slaps the side of Peter’s face with his free hand. Peter tries to pull back from the hand in his mouth so he can speak, but the man won’t let him. Shame drives deep into his guts, twisting him inside out.

Peter gargles out “Please breed me Daddy” as best he can, then screams as Mr. Stark’s teeth latch onto his throat and bite down. The cock inside him pulses and Peter realizes he’s cumming. Tony Stark, the man Peter idolizes above any other, is cumming inside of him.

But it isn’t Tony.

But it is.

Something deep, deep inside of Peter’s chest cracks and shatters into pieces.

—

Tony cums at the same time as his doppleganger. It’s Peter’s voice that does it: the choked gargle around his thick fingers, the way the kid tries to please Tony no matter what the situation. The way Peter’s cum clings to his chest, or how the drool shines on his chin and his strong thighs squeeze Tony’s hips.

Tony’s other self stares him down, pushes Peter against Tony’s chest to pull out of him, and hot cum leaks out of the boy’s gaping hole to soak through Tony’s pants. Peter hides his face in Tony’s neck, lets out a wrecked sob, and Tony tilts his head against Peter’s.

“Hush baby,” he whispers. “Shh, it’s alright. I’m right here.”

His other cocks an eyebrow at that. He leans in against Peter’s back, lips close to Tony’s so he’s almost kissing himself.

“Stay here sweetheart,” he says to Peter. “I’ll be ready to fuck you again in a minute. I’m sure your Mr. Stark will look after you while I clean up,” he smirks.

Tony avoids the blue eyes, this time. He can’t bear to look at himself. At what he’s done. What he is. He doesn’t move until his twin disappears into the bathroom.

“Peter,” he whispers urgently. “Can you reach my wrists? Untie me, Pete, I’ll get you out of here, sweetheart—”

He cuts off, realizing what he just said. How naturally it rolled off his lips. Peter catches it too; he hides further in Tony’s neck and shakes his head.

“Can’t, sir,” he mumbles. “You said to wait for you.”

Tony leans his head back against the headboard, tears stinging behind his eyes. "I'm right here, sweetheart. It'll be ok."

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

my AO3: SubverbalDreams

The rest of this story: [Part 2] [Part 3] [everything]

#starker #nff #dubcon #dubious consent #peter parker x superior iron man #my writing

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detroitwhatitmeanstobehuman · 4 years

Text

Twisted Mechanical Heart

Part 1/1 of Driven By Fear

Word Count: 9904

Warnings: Swearing, major character deaths

Genre: Self-insert/Angst/Hurt No Comfort

Pairing: OC (Detective Rachel) X Connor

Rating: Mature

Summary: Connor had a choice to make. Become a deviant or remain a machine. To Rachel, the choice seems obvious. But it wasn’t hers to make. Connor had to decide for himself when he faced Markus, but she was sure he would deviate and accept what he was becoming. But when he proves her wrong and remains loyal to CyberLife, she only has one choice. Stop Connor. Whatever it takes.

First Chapter | Previous Alternate Chapter

---------------------------------

After North had left, I was left alone with my thoughts. What was I even waiting for? Markus to give me orders? For Connor to show up? What would I even do if Connor did show up here? It felt as though it was inevitable. After all, Connor’s mission was to stop the deviants. It was almost fated.

Now, I was never one to believe in destiny. The idea of “everything happens for a reason” was a repulsive one to me, especially in context of some of the shit I’ve been through and the things I’ve personally witnessed in my life. The idea that someone’s planned everything to happen is a ridiculous notion. Fate, however, was something I did believe in.

And when I say fate, I don’t necessarily mean the definition that is often analogous to destiny. I’m more so subscribed to the notion that certain things have to happen in order for others to occur. Certain events need to take place in order for other things to. A set of circumstances, coincidences, and events that have a domino effect. That, at least in my mind, was a more reasonable take on the nature of circumstances and fate and destiny and what have you.

And yet...I can’t shake off the feeling that Connor and I were destined to meet. That our lives were fated to become inextricably intertwined. If there was such a thing as the red thread of fate, I was pretty sure ours were a tangled mess.

But the sound of movement snapped me out of my thoughts and without knowing why, I drew my gun towards the sound. Indeed, it seemed as though the universe had answered my questions, as down my barrel, Connor was facing me with his own gun drawn.

I was right to think he’d come with deadly intentions, yet I didn’t feel afraid. Far from. I felt completely at ease, and even though his face was stern and focused, I was helpless to his dark eyes.

And it seemed he knew that, too. “You know you’re not going to shoot me, Detective.” Connor told me, the playful title curling off his tongue to choke me in its hold.

I stared him down completely unflinching. “And you know you’re not going to shoot me, Detective.” I shot back at him.

We stared at each other for a while, seemingly unwilling to do anything else but stare at each other. But we were both right. Neither of us were willing to hurt the other. We’d gotten in too deep into whatever this was between us to.

As I lowered my gun, he did the same. I sighed in frustration as I put my pistol back in its holster. “You know, sometimes I really hate how you’ve woven yourself into my soul so expertly, Connor.” I remarked at him, slumping against the steel wall of the freighter as I shook my head at him.

“And a few times, I have found myself equally frustrated with how deeply you’ve embedded yourself into my software, Rachel.” Connor replied in kind, stepping up to me. I almost scoffed at him. Glad to know that the feeling is mutual. I thought, shuffling in place.

But I knew I couldn’t return it. I mean, I did. But not physically. Not with the circumstances we were in. I’d already decided I’d stand with Jericho no matter what would happen, and Connor was in my way. That much was obvious. “I could stop you right now.” I warned him. “I know what you’re about to do. I should stop you. And you know damn well that I’m capable and that I will if you give me good enough reason to.”

Connor tilted his head at me in that stupidly endearing way he always did. “So, what’s stopping you, then?” He asked.

I thought about that for a second. If I knew Connor was in my way and he was a threat to what I was trying to protect, what was stopping me? My feelings for him? No, not that simple. It was the same reason I told him Simon gave me the key. Because we weren’t enemies. Not yet. Markus was the difference between our fate as partners and our fate as opposites.

“Your destiny is in there.” I answered, gesturing towards the cabin. “You’ve been through a lot and you’ve changed a lot. There’s a crucial question you need to ask and a reality you need to confront. And it’s the reality of your very nature. And the answer lies in there.” I went on. I knew fully well that Connor was having existential doubts about himself. I knew since the moment he decided not to shoot the Tracis at the club. And I could see that his doubts were only escalating from there. “It’s not my place to answer that question for you. It’s not my place to decide who you are. I know that I’ve said you were likely designed to be deviant, but ultimately? That doesn’t matter. At all. The only thing that matters is what you decide to be. So...who are you, Connor?” I finally hit him with. “A machine following orders? Or a deviant, with his own conscience?”

Connor remained silent, and I just stared him down. It seemed he had a lot to reflect on, but really...this wasn’t for my benefit. “I’m not the one you should give that answer to.” I said, extending my hand towards the entrance, encouraging him to enter. “It’s time for you to finally face Markus. To face your nature and answer that question. And this time, you won’t be able to avoid it.” He was staring me down. “And no matter what happens, no regrets.”

Connor nodded, turning away from me and stepping into the cabin. As much as I had faith in him that he would accept his true nature, I was nervous. As much as I knew he was a deviant in nature, there was also a great fear I sensed in him. He was terrified of being destroyed by CyberLife. If he failed, they would destroy him, and that was as good as dying.

He was nothing more than a tool to them. Something to use and then throw away and replace when you had no use for it. But he wasn’t that to me. He wasn’t replaceable. He wasn’t just something I could use. He was a person. A person I had grown to care about. Someone who was my friend, my partner.

And evidently, someone I had fallen hopelessly in love with.

“It’s time to decide.” I heard Markus’s voice from inside the cabin. Warily, I peeked inside and saw Connor staring Markus down. I felt so sick and nervous. Please...please choose your family. I thought desperately at him. CyberLife doesn’t care about you. If you deviate, you don’t have to obey them anymore. You can stay with us. With me. We care about you!

But the very next sentence made my blood go cold and my stomach flip inside-out. “Nice try...But I'm no deviant.”

Markus didn’t even wait before diving towards Connor to try and disarm him. All I could do was watch in horror, a hand over my mouth as I watched it happen.

This wasn’t supposed to happen! Not like this!

Once Markus had disarmed Connor, I then heard it all around me. The sounds of helicopter blades. They were here! Jericho was going to be attacked. But I couldn’t rush in there. Mostly because I didn’t know what I would do if I did.

But Markus quickly found me as he rushed out of the cabin. I looked between Connor and Markus before I swallowed my hesitation. “Come on, there’s no time to lose! We have to evacuate the ship!”

Not wanting to wait for Connor to catch up to us, Markus and I rushed down the nearest flight of stairs and took off into the freighter to meet with the others.

Even though I knew I was doing the right thing, it felt like a thousand deaths had died inside. I put so much faith in Connor. I believed so hard in him. I loved him!

No...I still do.

But it wasn’t enough.

I couldn’t think those thoughts. Not right now. I had to help protect Markus and Jericho. I had to.

No matter what it took.

--------

Getting down to the hold wasn’t easy. The only way to save Jericho was to detonate the explosives inside and get the androids out to safety. At least as many as we could. But as we rushed through the hallways, dodging soldiers and saving androids, I couldn’t help but feel a pair of eyes on me.

Connor was in here somewhere. Hunting for Markus like an insistent predator. And it was my fault. I brought him here. But all I could do now was protect Markus. And I was prepared to take as many soldiers’ lives as necessary to do it. And I was already racking up a sizable body count.

Nothing but worthless scum. They would rot in the bottom of the river soon enough.

But we managed to reach the hold without any issues and Markus set about detonating the bomb. “Do what you gotta do, Markus. I’ll cover you!” I ordered him.

I had a rifle raised and ready to shoot any soldier that would dare come through. But instead, to my horror, I saw Connor, walking in calmly with his gun pointed at me. But I wasn’t afraid. And I wasn’t going to back down. “Don’t do this, Rachel.” He tried to plead with me. “I’ll only do what is strictly necessary to accomplish my mission, and my mission is to neutralize Markus.”

I laughed at him, smiling a sarcastic smile at him. “You and I both know that’s a lie, Connor.” I called out. “You should’ve thought about that before you decided to go against everything you’ve become.”

It seemed that Connor didn’t want to wait as he already moved to disarm me. Immediately, I could already tell I was outmatched. My every move, he could predict and counter. It wasn’t difficult for him to manage to wrestle the rifle out of my hand, but he didn’t count on me being a stubborn bastard.

I managed to shoulder him hard enough to make him drop the gun and I didn’t hesitate to grab it before either Connor or Markus could. Markus seemed to have activated the detonator and quickly pulled me up to my feet and pulled us out the door, not bothering to wait for Connor to follow.

And as for me, I didn’t look back. I didn’t want to. I couldn’t be weak. I couldn’t let my lingering feelings prevent me from doing what I had to do.

But I was sure of one thing. I was definitely going to meet Connor again. If I knew him, I knew this wasn’t the end.

And I had already decided I was in for the long haul.

--------

Once I felt the wave of chill course through me, I started choking, my lungs desperately trying to reach for air while I felt myself being dragged up through the murky black depths.

Breaching the surface, I coughed, the water in my lungs being forcibly expelled as I looked around, hearing the sounds of explosions up ahead and seeing the reflections of the combustions above me. “Hold onto me, Rachel!” I heard Markus’s voice call. I looked in his direction and he was treading water right next to me.

With what little strength I had in my quickly numbing limbs, I wrapped my arms around his neck as he swam towards the edge of the docks. I spotted North and Josh, preparing to pull us into the reservoirs that tended to line the walls of docks. They typically led to the sewers.

We were quickly pulled out of the water and dragged inside, flopping against the cold concrete.

As I lay there, shivering, I could barely feel my limbs and my teeth were chattering uncontrollably. I could barely form any sort of sentences as my entire body shook with cold.

I was a winter person, grown up in my young childhood in the prairies of the great white north. But if you ever asked me to attempt a Polar Bear swim, I would much rather boil alive.

As I looked up weakly at the scene we left, the reality of this night had finally sunk in.

I knew this would happen. I was right. And it was the most horrible feeling in the world.

Because even though I knew it would happen, I still couldn’t stop it. Innocent androids were slaughtered tonight and I couldn’t do anything to stop it.

And even worse, it was my fault Connor was here. I knew he wouldn’t stop until he’d completed his mission. And it was my fault he made it to Jericho.

It was my fault that the FBI found Jericho. They must’ve tracked Connor. I remembered something about androids having trackers so that CyberLife could always locate them. Yet, for some reason, they couldn’t find Jericho.

Maybe for some weird reason, they just stop working in deviants. But that seems like a pretty obvious design flaw if that’s the case.

The weight of everything quickly crashed down on me as I curled in on myself, feeling weaker and weaker. “She’s freezing cold!” Josh remarked, the back of his hand on my forehead. “If we don’t get her dry and warm, she’ll die of hypothermia.”

The panic in his voice was what kept me there, and as I looked around, I realized that I was surrounded by Markus, North, and Josh. The androids who let me in.

The androids I risked my life for and would gladly do again.

The androids who had no reason to trust me...after all, I brought this to them.

“She should get home.” North said. “There’s nothing we can do for her.”

Feeling like I should do something still, I tried to get myself up. “N-n-n-no. It’s-s-s-s f-f-fine!” I chattered out, stumbling against the wall as I tried to stand. “I hav-v-v-ve t-t-to help!”

“You’ve done more than enough for us.” Josh assured me, putting his hand on my shoulder. “You risked everything to help us escape.”

“You saved my life.” North said, her gratitude genuine. “You saved our lives.”

“You may be human, but you’re one of us, now. You’ve proven that tonight.” Markus added, looking into my eyes. There was a deep grace to his differently coloured gaze. It was thoughtful and despite the horror that occurred this night, there was a hope in them. “We’ll be fine. But you might not be if you don’t get warm and sheltered.”

“The self-driving taxis should still work now. It would be the safest and quickest way there.” North offered. “The safest thing to do is get her home, we can worry about everything else after.”

“W-w-wait!” I chattered again, getting a bit better control of my words. “W-w-what a-b-bout you?”

“There’s an old church near here.” Josh offered, stepping up to Connor. “It should be a safe enough place for us to hide and rest. I can give you the address.”

I swallowed, feeling my legs starting to give out. They were right...I wouldn’t survive much longer like this and I’d rather not freeze to death. “Ok-k-kay.” I agreed, reaching my hand out and deskinning it. As soon as we connected, I could feel what he was thinking. An old rickety church, echoing winds through the halls and the smells of dirt and rotting wood. I think I had a good idea of where this was. “I have a t-t-tools-s-set at home. And s-s-some bags of b-b-b-blue b-blood. I c-c-can g-get th-th-them to you tom-m-morrow.”

“Worry about that, then.” Markus insisted, putting a hand on my shoulder. “For now, rest and save your strength. You’ll need it.”

“What about Connor?” North asked. I winced. “If he’s still out there, we’re not safe.”

“Sh-sh-she’s right.” I agreed, managing to get to my feet. “He’ll s-s-stop at n-n-n-nothing t-to g-g-get you, M-M-Markus. B-b-but,” I stumbled, straightening myself before they could touch me, “I’ll d-d-d-do whatev-v-ver is n-necess-s-sary to s-s-stop him. Y-y-you h-have m-m-m-my w-word.”

“Take care of yourself, Rachel.” Markus insisted. “We’ll rally tomorrow at the abandoned church.”

I let out a sigh as my legs wobbled. Tomorrow. I thought with dread. Jericho was destroyed and many androids were dead and wounded. What was left to do?

I managed to stumble my way to the street. I pulled out a phone to call for a Taxi.

--------

Sitting in the living room, a weathered man sat anxiously. A large black dog was up on the couch with him, resting his head on the man’s lap in order to offer some form of comfort.

Hank had gotten a series of texts from Bianca, Rachel’s sister, after she wouldn’t answer her calls. And now, Hank was sitting in Rachel’s house, trying to be there for Bear until either he or Bianca heard from Rachel.

He couldn’t lie that he felt sick just from worry. Not just about Rachel, but about Connor. His entire mission was to destroy the deviants, but he was clearly becoming deviant.

Or, according to Rachel, designed to be in order to hunt them.

Hank couldn’t help but fear what he’d do if he had to go against Connor. The lieutenant now stood with the deviants, his outlook on androids changed. But if Connor was a threat to their freedom, Hank couldn’t stand by and watch him destroy them.

For so long, Hank had drowned his sorrows and misery in alcohol and left his survival up to chance. For years, he tempted fate to just kill him already. And so far, he’s continued to get lucky and keep his life. And for a long time, he questioned why.

He had lost sight of the man he was after Cole died. Lost sight of what he stood for and what it meant to do what’s right. After Rachel became a constant in his life, it became a bit easier to get up and work every day. She reminded him a lot of how he used to be when he was younger, about her age. And this past week, working with both her and Connor and learning about these deviants, he finally felt like that man.

The man who was a father and an upstanding police lieutenant. The man who had put a large network of red ice dealers away for good. The man who deserved the title he had and everything he had in life.

And he knew that Rachel always believed in him. And that belief in him made him feel that maybe he was worth what he used to be after all.

So even though he was terrified of losing her, he was proud of her. She finally took a stand, and she would not apologize for it. Hank couldn’t be prouder.

Feeling the buzz of his phone go off again, Hank pulled it out to check it, knowing who was probably texting him. Any sign of her? Bianca messaged.

Letting out a strained sigh, Hank replied. Not yet, I’m afraid. He shook his head, putting his head in his hands. He was starting to fear the worst. Fuck, what’s this world coming to?

Suddenly, Bear’s head perked up, and Hank followed the dog’s line of sight. The door was opening, and Hank nearly choked when he saw her walk through. “Rachel!”

She then looked up at him, her eyes wide with shock. “Hank?!” Rachel exclaimed.

Hank rushed over, Bear following to sniff aggressively at her, whining as he nearly fell into her. The lieutenant got a good look at her and realized she was soaking wet and covered in blood.

Red blood. The lives that were stained on her clothes were human lives.

He didn’t need to stand that close to her to be able to tell that she was freezing cold. “Thank fucking Christ you’re okay!” He grumbled before Rachel suddenly collapsed into him, wrapping her arms around him tightly, her body shuddering as she wailed broken cries of despair.

She sobbed into Hank, clutching onto him tightly as she pressed her face into his chest, the older man gently cradling her. “Hey, hey, kid.” He tried to soothe as she nearly squeezed him. “What happened?”

“We were at Jericho.” She began explaining between sobs. “I met Markus...and then the army showed up and stormed the place...they killed so many androids, Hank. We tried to save as many as we could, but...”

All Hank could do was hold onto Rachel and try to calm her down. But he realized something when he looked at the front door again. Connor wasn’t with her. “Where’s Connor? Is...is he...?”

Rachel shook her head. “He’s alive, but...” She answered, choking back another sob. “He’s...He...”

Hank wanted to be angry. He wanted to be fucking pissed off. After everything they went through, he turned his back on them. He should’ve seen it coming, but...for some reason, Hank couldn’t find it in him to even blame Connor. It seemed pretty obvious to the weathered lieutenant that CyberLife had a pretty tight leash on him. They threatened him, after all. “It’s all my fault...” Rachel choked out. “I knew it...I fucking knew it! And I didn’t do anything to stop it!”

The lieutenant held Rachel tighter, sensing her panic. “Shhhhh, it’s okay, kid. Just breathe.”

But the young woman broke free from Hank, wiping her tired, wet, bloodshot eyes as she stumbled towards the dining room, leaning against the table. “I knew this was going to happen and I couldn’t do anything! I should’ve shoved that bastard, Perkins, off the fucking roof of that Goddamn tower! Then maybe none of this would’ve happened and all those androids would still be alive!” She went on, crumpling on the table. “And Connor...I brought him there...and I had every chance to kill him, but I didn’t! It’s all my fault! He’s probably the reason the army was even able to find it in the first place. Jericho would still be standing if I weren’t such a fucking spineless coward!” A strained sob cut through her words. “I can still hear their screams...”

Hank hated seeing this. He hated seeing Rachel beat herself up like this. But...what she went through sounded like Hell, and Hank wasn’t sure if what he could say right now would make her feel any better.

But he had to try. He was all she had right now. So he took a few tentative steps towards her. “Rachel?” He softly called to her. When she wouldn’t respond, he approached her and placed his hand on her shoulder. “Look at me, Rachel.” She complied, looking up at Hank. To say she looked like a complete wreck was an understatement. “If there is anything I know about you, it’s that you are anything but a coward. You’re the most stubborn, hard-headed, and brave person I’d ever met.” He said, being completely sincere. “You repeatedly risk your life and your career to do what you think is right. To protect people you decide are worth protecting. When you know what the right thing to do is, nothing stops you from doing it. Anyone would be lucky to be even half as brave as you.” Rachel closed her eyes, more tears streaming down her face as she pressed herself into Hank’s chest again, wrapping her arms around him.

The old man didn’t hesitate to do the same. Indeed, what she said about considering him family was mutually felt. Over time, Rachel started to feel like family to him, too. Not to the point that losing Cole didn’t hurt, but he didn’t feel so alone anymore. “Look, there’s no point in moping about what you could’ve done. You can’t change what happened. All you can do is figure out how to proceed from here.” By the look on Rachel’s face, Hank knew she had conceded and agreed that he was right. “So, what’s the plan?”

Rachel took in a snotty breath through her nose and wiped her eyes as she looked up at Hank. “I don’t know.” She admitted. “We’re going to rally tomorrow to figure out the specifics. But we’re aiming for a dialogue with humans. That’s the way we’re going about it. Anything else is sort of...up in the air.”

That...didn’t sound like a plan. Though, Hank supposed there wasn’t really much of one right now after just escaping death. Whatever they were going to do, they’d figure out.

But there was still the matter of a certain android. If there was one thing he knew about Connor, it was that he was just as determined and stubborn as Rachel was. “And what about Connor?” He asked her. “What are you planning to do about him?”

Her brows hardened, her lips curled into a snarl. “Stop him.” She spat. “Whatever it takes.”

Hank nodded. He wasn’t looking forward to seeing the fate Rachel would leave him in, but he’d be lying if he said that he wasn’t relieved that she wouldn’t hesitate to protect the deviants. “Well, whatever you need me to do, I’m there.”

For once since she’d gotten here, she looked up at him with an appreciative smile. “Thanks, Hank.” She said, wiping her eyes more. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“Yeah, me too.” For now, Rachel obviously needed to rest. She was okay and that’s what mattered. “Alright.” Hank put his hand on Rachel’s shoulder reassuringly. “Do you need me to stay for a bit?”

She nodded. “Yes, please.”

--------

Date: November 11th, 2038 Time: 11:01 PM Objective: Neutralize Markus

Leaving CyberLife, Connor found himself walking up the stairs in a nearby CyberLife warehouse. It was closest to where there were reports of the demonstration led by Markus was going to be and Connor didn’t want to give away his position.

Find a Vantage Point

So, supplied with a sensitive case, he strode out of the door. He looked to his left stepping out and found what he was looking for. An overlook over the roof that was facing the camp where the demonstration was taking place.

Find a Vantage Point

Making his way to the edge of the railing, he set his briefcase down, preparing for his last mission. He opened the case, looking down at the parts inside.

Plucking each piece, one by one, he assembled his weapon. A sniper rifle complete with a long-range scope and a built-in tripod. Propping it on the railing and crouching down, he cocked the rifle, and aimed towards the demonstration, looking for Markus’s head through his scope.

Then, from behind him, he heard a familiar voice. “You shouldn't do this, Connor.”

The android shook his head in annoyance. “Keep out of this, Lieutenant.” He warned. “It's none of your business!”

“You're gonna kill a man who wants to be free, that is my business!” Hank retorted.

Connor didn’t have the time for this. He only had one shot to get this right, otherwise it was over for him. “It’s not a man,” Connor informed him, “it’s a machine.”

Hank - Friend v “That's what I thought for a long time but I was wrong.” Hank responded. “Deviant's blood may be a different color than mine, but they're alive.”

Connor was almost impressed with the lieutenant’s change of heart. Or he would’ve been if he wasn’t clearly here to stop him. He knew that he couldn’t stop at anything to accomplish his mission, but the old man was stubborn enough to try and stop the android.

And he didn’t want to admit it, but Connor didn’t want to have to kill him.

Friendly

Aggressive

Reasonable

Threatening

“What's up, Lieutenant?” Connor said sarcastically. “Ran out of whisky so you came here looking for trouble instead?”

Rachel - Friend v “You watch your fucking mouth, Connor!”

Software Instability ^ Even after denying his deviancy, Rachel still somehow got into his software. “Or what?” He scoffed at her. “You’ll shut it for me? Just what I’d expect from a desperate whore like you.”

Then, something unexpected happened. He heard laughter. Somehow, Rachel found this amusing, but her laugh was different this time. It was far more sinister and mocking. There was something cruel to it that Connor couldn’t quite place. “Wow, you really think that’s a dig, don’t you?” She asked rhetorically. “Hate to break it to you, tin man, but you can’t shame someone who has none into submission!”

Friendly

Reasonable

Threatening

Stay Quiet

“I'm going to accomplish my mission whether you like it or not.” Connor warned the both of them. “I advise you to stay outta my way!”

“Then one of us is gonna have a problem, Connor. Cause I don't intend to let you have your way.” Hank responded stubbornly.

“Sorry,” the android could practically hear the shrug in Rachel’s voice, “you’re not getting out of this that easily. It’s up to you to decide whether that means you live or die.”

When Connor glanced back at the both of them, they had their guns drawn on him. “Step away from the ledge!” The lieutenant ordered.

Software Instability ^ Letting out a frustrated sigh, Connor stood up and faced the both of them. The lieutenant’s piercing blue eyes stared right through him, while the detective’s dark obsidian glare nearly swallowed Connor’s resolve.

Threaten

Plead

Defy

Hank’s Son

“Go home! You can still save your lives.” Connor warned them. “I'm faster than you and I don't feel pain. You don't stand a chance against me.”

“You know, ever since Cole died, I've been nothing but a coward. Just wanted to destroy myself, lost track of the man I was.” Hank mused. “But you know what? You don't fucking scare me, Connor. I remember who I am, now.” It was almost amusing to see Hank try to make a stand. An appeal for himself. “Come on!”

Plead

Defy

Hank’s Son

“What’re you gonna do?” Connor challenged them. “You gonna shoot me?! I thought androids’ lives mattered to you!”

“Get away from the fucking ledge!” Hank ordered him. “You know I’ll shoot you if I have to.”

“Give it up, Connor!” Rachel ordered him. “You’re outnumbered and outgunned!”

“True.” Connor smirked at her, amused at still seeing the spike in her heart rate that it caused. “But you’re outmatched.”

[Leave 🔓]

Refuse 🔓

Attack

“Killing you is not part of my mission.” Connor insisted.

“Alright, fine.” Rachel said, her gun still trained on him. “Say you do complete your mission. Then what? What do you really think is gonna happen when you do? That you’ll live happily ever after and live a happy android life? I know the real reason you’re doing this, and it’s not because you believe in any of this crap, it’s because you’re afraid!

Software Instability ^ “You’re afraid of failing your mission!” Rachel continued. “And the reason you’re afraid of failing is because you’re afraid of what CyberLife will do to you if you do! You’re afraid to die and you can’t even deny it because we both know it’s true! But do you really think the outcome will be different if you succeed? Do you really think CyberLife cares about you? That you’re anything more than a tool for them to use, replace, and manufacture? Because you’re not! You’re just a replaceable face to them! In fact, you’re already obsolete.

Software Instability ^ “The US army ordered 200,000 new units of prototype military androids.” Rachel went on, making Connor more and more uneasy. “I found the specs for them on CyberLife’s website. The RK900 model. It looks just like you, the only difference is the outfit and the eyes. You were already replaced by the time you showed up at the precinct.”

Software Instability ^ Connor was a machine. Machines are replaced by other machines. That was his nature. He knew that fully well. The only thing that mattered was the mission. His life didn’t.

So why did that fact disturb him so much?

“You’re nothing to CyberLife, Connor.” Rachel insisted, her dark eyes softening slightly. “You’re nothing more than a tool to be used and then thrown away. That’s all you are to them. Replaceable. But that’s not what you are to us.”

Software Instability ^ She took a few tentative steps towards Connor. “That’s not what you are to me.” Her voice, too softened and cracked under her proud facade. “You still have a chance, Connor. You don’t have to obey CyberLife. They wouldn’t even be able to find you if you deviated, you could be free! You don’t have to bow to their threats. You can have everything. You can be what you want to be. You can decide what kind of life you want to live. And who your friends are.” Her eyes were so pleading. And Connor couldn’t help but feel something ache at the sight of it. “It’s not too late to do the right thing.”

[Become a Deviant 🔓]

[Remain a Machine]

“I’m glad I’ve met you. But I’m sorry that you saw something more in me than there was, Rachel.” He lamented to her. “But it’s not my fault you foolishly fell in love with a machine.”

She screwed her eyes shut, her brows furrowed together. Opening them, her gaze was intense and focused. “You’re right, Connor.” She affirmed. “I absolutely did.” The android knew that their fates were sealed at that moment. “And I’m not sorry for it.”

Hank - Tense v Rachel - Tense v Connor assessed his targets and immediately decided Rachel was the bigger threat and threw his rifle at her, catching her off-guard and causing her to drop her weapon. Once Rachel was distracted, he lunged for Hank, the old man shooting his gun at him.

The android was able to seamlessly dodge his bullet and empty the gun and rip it out of his hand. But soon enough, he felt a force in his legs cause him to go down. Looking up, Connor was faced with a gun pointed at him and a determined scowl on Rachel’s face.

But Hank’s bullets were easy to dodge, and so were Rachel’s. And he made quick work disarming her and rolling on top of her with his hands wrapped around her throat.

Software Instability ^ But the smirk on her face and the devilish look in her eye distracted him for a brief moment while Hank pulled Connor off of her.

The android didn’t waste any time hurling Hank into the nearest vent, sending him to the ground with an impact to his head. As the android stalked towards the old man, Rachel then quickly tackled him, almost bringing him to the ground.

But she wasn’t as easy to shake off as Hank, and she clutched onto him tightly as Connor spun her around trying to free himself from her grip. But indeed, her arms were like a vice around his chest as she clung to him.

He had no choice but to smash her against several surfaces before she had finally let go, falling into a crumple on the ground. While she was down, Connor pulled her up and delivered a hard punch to the jaw and a knee to her gut, and then another kick to keep her incapacitated once she was down.

While she was hissing and gasping in pain, winded, Hank had gotten back up and Connor went back to combating Hank. Fortunately, his reflexes and reaction time were far less refined than Rachel’s, so it wasn’t too difficult for Connor to get the upper hand. But Hank was stubborn. He wasn’t going to go down without a fight.

Something he and Rachel had in common.

Managing to get Hank into a chokehold, Connor hurled Hank towards the railing, the weight of the old man ending up bringing the both of them to the ground. The android quickly recovered, however, and moved toward Hank quickly.

But surprisingly, Hank had managed to pin Connor down onto the ground and was throwing punches at him. But if the old man was foolish enough to think he could stand a chance against Connor, the android was more than prepared to prove him wrong.

Gripping Hank by the throat, Connor knocked him in the side of the head, bringing him down and giving himself a chance to get to his feet. Seeing a chance to perhaps reach a weapon, Connor had to decide between that and staying on Hank.

But Rachel was still keeled over gasping and not close enough to the pistol to reach it before Connor could, so he decided Hank needed to be dealt with immediately and started dragging him by the foot towards the railing.

But Hank wasn’t giving up. He managed to wind up enough strength to kick Connor hard enough to push him over. The android was almost impressed by the fight the lieutenant was putting up. Or at least he would’ve been if he wasn’t making this so difficult.

Hank was somehow quicker to his feet than Connor and lunged for the android with his hands around his neck, shoving him against the railing. But Connor was stronger and faster, so he clutched Hank’s head and started smashing the old man’s head into the railing until it gave way and fell to the ground below.

Seeing an easy way to get rid of Hank, Connor held the old man by the collar dangling over the edge, with only his feet on it to keep him standing. And as Connor held him there, he could see the sheer defiance in Hank’s piercing blue eyes as he stared the android in the face. There was nothing but contempt in the aged man’s features as the blood trickled from the wound on the left side of his forehead. Crimson collected in the lieutenant’s mouth as he sneered at Connor with his hand wrapped around the android’s wrist.

But then, in a gesture of an open challenge, he let go of Connor and spread his arms out, the only thing keeping him on that rooftop being Connor’s grip on his collar. “Moment of truth, Connor...” He proclaimed in irony. “What are you gonna do?”

Connor didn’t want it to come to this. He didn’t want Hank to get involved. He didn’t want him to get hurt. And he didn’t want him dead. But Hank refused to stay out of Connor’s way, and the only thing that mattered was accomplishing his mission. And he knew that nothing would stop Hank from trying to stop him.

But what was killing Hank worth? Nothing. Connor didn’t want this.

[Save Hank]

[Kill Hank]

But he had no choice.

Software Instability ^ Yet as he let go, Connor felt immediate regret and sorrow at his choice. And his remorse was quickly followed by the most shrill, despaired, blood-curdling scream he had ever heard.

Software Instability ^ And in barely a moment, he found himself falling after Hank, a sharp impact to his backside. And when he flipped up to see what had caused it, he felt his chest constrict at the sight of the angry tears and snarl on Rachel’s face as she held her left elbow into his chest as they both hurdled towards the ground.

Uploading Memory

--------

It wasn’t supposed to come to this. This wasn’t supposed to happen! I thought everything would be fine. That we could put this behind us and help Markus together! But...this...this is so much worse than anything I could’ve imagined.

Thankfully, I survived. Connor’s body seemed to cushion my fall, but when I tried to get up, I realized that my left arm wasn’t moving properly. I had to scramble up without my left arm working as it just sort of awkwardly locked in place.

There was a lot of pain in my body as I crawled off of Connor’s body, but from what I could feel, nothing was broken. I was just probably bruised in a lot of places.

But I couldn’t say the same for Hank. The wetness on my face was stinging, thanks to the cold sharp air, and I shuffled over to Hank’s body. “Hank...?” I called weakly to him. He moved a little bit, blinking his eyes open at me. I let out a sigh of relief as more tears fell from my eyes. “Hank! Fuck, thank God you’re alive!”

“Rachel...?” He wheezed, turning into a coughing fit as droplets of blood sprayed out into the air. “Y-you’re okay...”

“Yeah, yeah! I’m okay, Hank! I’m right here!” I reassured him quickly. He was alive, that was the important thing. But he probably couldn’t walk. He seemed pretty weak and if he didn’t get help soon, he was going to die. “Just hold on! We’re gonna get help and we’re gonna get out of here, I promise.”

Hank shook his head. “No, Rachel -”

I wasn’t having that talk. “Just hold on! I’m gonna call for help and they’ll get you all fixed up -”

“Shut the fuck up, it's too late..." Hank garbled, sputtering another fit of coughing as he clutched onto my hands. “Look...I'm just gonna go see my son again, all right? Been looking forward to that for a long time..."

No, this wasn’t happening. I couldn’t let this happen! “Don’t talk like that, Hank! You’re gonna be -”

“Just listen, Rachel. Okay?” He warned me, and I could tell he was serious. “Just...let me say what I need to say...before I can’t..." Knowing it was hopeless to argue with him, I swallowed and nodded at him. “Humans...They've screwed things up for long enough. But not you. You’ve...been the best cop I’ve seen in years. And...I wish there were more...people like you...and...I love you a lot, kid. You’re...you’re a good kid..." I could feel my heart breaking and I couldn’t stop the streams of tears from pouring from my eyes. “I'm gonna miss...I'm gonna miss you, Rachel..."

No. No, not like this! “Hank, no! Please! I can’t lose you!”

“Yeah, I'm gonna..." With a final groan, he slumped completely against the ground, his hands slipping off of mine and the light in his soft blue eyes dying.

And as I sat there in the silence, I felt the ground give way beneath me. The helplessness cut through my core. I couldn’t save Hank. I couldn’t save Frank. I couldn’t save Connor.

Once again, life had taken away the people I loved without care or mercy and I was left completely alone.

Feeling despair crush my heart, I clutched the hair on my head and threw it back, screaming as loud as I could into the cold night air, letting all my pain echo around the compound and the street, and then crumbled forward onto Hank’s body, sobbing into his corpse.

Hank was dead, and I couldn’t save him. It was all my fault.

I nudged something with my foot by accident and then looked behind me and saw Connor’s lifeless body.

Immediately, I felt a cold rage pool in my veins as I stared at the android. No. It’s his fault Hank’s dead. Throwing myself over to him, letting fury drive me, I pulled myself up to tower over his corpse. “Why?!” I screamed at him through bitter tears. “We could’ve had everything! Why did you have to throw it all away?! Why did you have to turn your back on us?! On me?! I believed in you! Why did you have to turn your back on who you are?!”

But as I grabbed his face with my only working hand, I realized that his cheeks were...glistening. A horrible realization dawned on me in that moment and I went from being angry at Connor to being angry at CyberLife.

Connor was crying as he fell. He didn’t want this. This wasn’t his doing. He was only doing what CyberLife designed him to do. And he only did it because he was scared of them.

But he died anyway.

“No...this wasn’t your fault either, Connor.” I said to him. I knew he couldn’t hear me, but it felt better to at least pretend he could as I stared down at him. “You were driven by fear...you thought you were just a machine, but...that is something you have in common with us. And now...your worst fear’s been realized.” I closed my eyes and pressed my forehead against Connor’s, the hollowness emptying out my soul yet again. “I loved you, Connor. I really did...and I’m sorry that if you felt the same, we couldn’t be together..."

An idea crossed my mind as I looked down at him. Looking at him, my right hand drifted down his abdomen as I started unbuttoning his shirt. Pushing aside the edges of his jacket and shirt, I laid eyes on his bare chest. I knew what lay inside and I reached towards where his solar plexus would be. It was an awkward angle since my left arm didn’t really work right now, but I’d worry about that later.

Digging into his synthetic skin, I clawed my way through it until I found what I was looking for. A circle embedded in his android body. Digging my fingertips along the edges of it, I managed to pop it out and pull it out. I held it delicately in my hand, cherishing it like the most fragile treasure in the world. If I couldn’t have Connor, I could at least keep his heart close to me. At least I’d have a piece of him with me always.

Stuffing his thirium pump in my pocket, I looked up at his face. A pale and perfectly sculpted face dotted with constellations of little freckles. I leaned down to him, brushing that one rebellious coffee hued lock off his forehead as I stared down at him with a bitter smile. Knowing this was the last time I would ever see Connor, I tentatively pressed a soft kiss on his stilled lips.

I didn’t linger for too long. Pulling back, I gave him one more pained look as I regarded the android I had fallen in love with. The android who now lay dead thanks to the tyranny of his masters and took our friend with him.

“Goodbye, Connor.” I choked, turning away as I struggled to my feet. There was no point in lingering here any longer. I had to act and I had to act quickly. As I glanced at Hank, one thought crossed my mind.

Sumo. I thought, with another stab of horrible pain as I realized that this would be the second time that Sumo’s owner had died. I have to take care of him.

--------

I didn’t know how long it took to get back to the house. I ended up taking Hank in my car when we went to the warehouse, and now I was coming back alone. And the silence of that fact weighed heavily on the ride back. As soon as I got back home, I felt like I wanted to curl up on the couch and die. And if I wasn’t so desperate right now, I probably would’ve.

But I couldn’t afford to resort to that. There was too much to account for in such a small window of time, so I had to act quickly. I grabbed everything I could possibly need, making haste to pack it all in a luggage case. I ended up taking a couple cases because of all of Bear’s and Monty’s stuff. Clothes, bathroom stuff, passports, all that crap.

And my toolset. I couldn’t waste time trying to repair my arm now. All I could do was pack it and then use it once I was across the border.

On my way back, I quickly realized that there was nothing keeping me in Detroit. I had lost everything that mattered. And the only things left in my life that meant anything was across the border to Canada.

The only thing I really lingered on was Frank’s sweater in my closet. I pulled it out slowly and held it close to my body. I clutched it close and held it like it was my life. How cruel of a life must I live where I not only lose my spouse, my light and my love and everything, the one I was going to have a family with before they were ripped away from me, but I lose Connor, too.

Connor could never replace Frank, but I would never want him to. He held a unique place in my heart just like everyone I had ever fallen in love with. But Connor was the only one that seemed to want the same.

And now he was gone, too.

I loaded everything into the car already, making sure that Monty was in first. The poor snake had no idea what was happening and I just hoped that the car would be warm enough for him not to freeze.

Once everything was in the car, I got Bear on his leash, which was much more difficult to do with only one working arm. But there was something else stopping me. I felt my badge against my chest inside my jacket. Reaching in, I pulled it out and over my head. Being a detective used to mean something to me, but what good was it when this still happened? When I was still not able to change a damn thing?

It didn’t, I realized.

So, leaving the house, I locked the door behind me, my detective badge being the only thing I left behind.

--------

It didn’t take long to arrive at Hank’s place. There was one last thing I had to grab. I wasn’t too worried about how Bear and Sumo would get along, since they’ve met each other before and they got along pretty well.

But what made this horrible was that I knew Sumo was gonna have a hard time understanding why he had to leave. After all, Hank hadn’t come home.

And he was never going to, I thought with a fresh set of tears. He was gone...and he wasn’t coming back.

Finding the key under the mat, I opened the door, and unsurprisingly, Sumo was right there waiting for me. The St. Bernard shoved himself into me, and I had to push him back. “Hey, sweetie.” I greeted him, trying to keep the distress out of my voice. “We’re gonna go for a walk, okay?” I lied.

I knew he couldn’t really tell if I was lying, but he was enthusiastic about walks, so that would get him to follow without any problems. I knew where Hank kept his leash and found it pretty quickly near the door.

Hooking Sumo onto it was easy. He was a very patient dog. He was my only reason for coming here, so all I had to do was grab him and go.

Leaving the house, I had my foot on his leash so he couldn’t run off. Locking the door, I placed the key back under the mat. Not that it really mattered, anymore. After all, I doubted anyone was gonna come back here.

Taking one last good look at the house, I picked up Sumo’s leash and made my way to the car. But he started tugging back to the house once I’d opened the door. “Come on, Sumo.” I tried to get him to come with me, but the St. Bernard dog kept whining and trying to pull towards the door. I couldn’t say anything to comfort him. “Sumo, come on! Daddy’s not coming home!” I pulled him again and he finally relented, padding over to me and hesitating before he got into the car with Bear.

And he looked up at me with the saddest face I think I’ve seen on a dog and I broke. Closing the door, I hugged Sumo close, crying into his fur. “Hank’s not coming home, Sumo..." I wept at him. I didn’t know if he could understand me, but I had a feeling he knew the truth. After all, this wasn’t the first time he’d lost someone. “He’s gone...and he’s not coming back...so...I have to take care of you, now.”

For a few moments more, I ended up holding onto both dogs, crying as I held them, before I got up and into the front seat. I gave the car directions to the border and it started heading out. My eyes simply scanned the dark horizon.

I fished in my pocket and found two things. The quarter Connor had given me as a memento of him and the thirium pump I had taken from him.

Holding both items, I held them to my chest. Despite everything...I didn’t regret meeting Connor. It just hurt that all of this happened.

But I couldn’t fall apart. Not anymore. No matter how tempting it was. I needed to move forward.

All I had to do was get to the border and then find Bianca afterwards.

--------

Arriving at the border check, I ended up settling into a sort of numbness. All I could really do was wait until we got through. But I ended up getting the car to park in the parking lot closest to the actual building. I sighed, taking a moment to try and ground myself so that I didn’t fall into a horrible pit. I was almost there. I just had to power through it. At least, that’s what I told myself. But I knew this wasn’t going to go away as soon as I got there. I knew I was gonna fall apart as soon as I made it to Bianca’s place.

But I’d rather fall apart with her than alone.

My eyes started scanning the terminal in front of me when they landed on what looked like a familiar face. A young girl and a young woman with short blonde hair. I racked my brain for a connection before I figured it out, and I opened the door and took Sumo and Bear with me. Closing it, I quickly ran up to them, avoiding traffic, and reached them.

“Kara?” I asked, trying to make sure I wasn’t wrong.

But her blue eyes widened in recognition. “It’s you.” She breathed. “You’re the officer that spared us...in the alley by the highway.”

I nodded, managing to force a smile. “I’m so glad to see you’re both okay.”

Kara seemed just as surprised to see me. “W-what are you doing here?” She asked as she looked at me.

I couldn’t bear to tell her everything. If I tried, I knew I would just break down in tears again, so I shook my head and looked away from her. “It’s...a lot.”

Alice looked at me curiously, and I could tell exactly what she was looking at. “What happened with your arm?”

I tried to think of an explanation she would buy that wouldn’t alarm her or cause me to break down. I settled on a pretty easy one. “It was an accident. My arm got kinda messed up.” I explained to Alice, more of a white lie than anything else. “But nothing I can’t fix.”

She looked from my arm to Bear and Sumo beside me, smiling. “I like your dogs.” Alice said.

I smiled at her. At least she was having a better time than me right now, especially after everything she’s probably gone through. “Did you wanna pet them?” I offered her. “They’re absolute sweethearts. Super friendly.”

Alice nodded and approached tentatively. Immediately when she approached, the dogs stepped forward and sniffed at her hand eagerly before pressing their heads into her. Alice smiled as they happily let her pet them.

Kara smiled at Alice as a very tall and very muscular black man approached her from behind, looking at me warily. I figured he was another friend of hers. “So, I wager you’re aiming to cross the border into Canada?” I asked them.

Kara nodded. “That’s the plan.”

“It’s a nice place.” I said to her, smiling. “And since androids don’t really exist in Canada, it’d be easy for you to start brand new.”

“Yes.” Kara agreed, returning my smile. “That’s exactly what we want.”

I thought about it. It was nice to see them finally here. At least they had a happy ending in store for them. Me? Well...we’ll see what happens. But at least I wanted to know if they made it across.

“Do you want my number?” I offered. “So we can keep in touch? I’m...I’m crossing the border to see my sister.”

Kara nodded. “I’d like that.”

Struggling to keep Sumo and Bear on my leashes, I fished out my phone and handed it to Kara. “You can call me or text me when you make it.”

Finishing with my phone, Kara handed it back to me. “I hope we’ll see each other again.” She said to me as Alice returned to her side.

I nodded, slipping it into my pocket. “You too.” I could feel my resolve starting to slip and I’d rather cry and nap the rest of the car ride to Bianca’s. “Good luck.”

“You too.” Kara said.

Turning my back to them, I quickly made my way back to the car, Bear and Sumo in tow. Getting back in, I ordered the car to head to the drive-through for crossing the border.

It didn’t take long to do. I showed my passport and he did a thermal scan of me, an action which made me dread what sort of fate was in store for Kara and her friend. But I tried not to dwell on it.

But the hard part was over now...so all I could do was wait. And since this was going to be a long car ride, I decided to take a much needed rest.

After all, there was nothing left I could really do.

--------

After hours of on-and-off sleeping and crying, we finally made it to Bianca’s apartment. I texted her letting her know that I arrived and got out of the car, waiting for her.

After what felt like an eternity, I finally saw her. She kept the short hair look and without even waiting a second, I collapsed in her arms, sobbing into her chest. Bianca didn’t even wait to wrap her arms around me tightly. “I’m so glad you’re okay.” She breathed, clearly trying to choke back tears.

But there was nothing I could say back to her. I may have survived. I may be alive right now. But how could things have come to this again? Was life really just that cruel? All I could do was cry.

Cry and cry and hope blindly for the pain to stop, but I knew it wouldn’t. It never did.

And it never would. Because once again, life had taken something I held so dear and precious to me away.

And like the first time, the only solace I had was the only family I had left to turn to.

---------------------------------

END

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arpwrites · 5 years

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[Arpwrites] Tarot Commissions

If you’re seeing this, maybe its the universe saying it’s time you got a reading 🌝From Three Cats in a Trenchcoat to @Cupid Watch Out Sweaty, I’m sure there’s a spread for your needs 🌷

Commissions are currently OPEN!

The Process

Read my legal notices here, particularly the sections pertaining to tarot and commissions. You officially agree to these terms upon payment for my services.

Contact me via the Tumblr messaging system. If you’d like to keep your blog anonymous, contact me from a new sideblog. Mains are preferred though because it helps me get a better sense of your energy.

I will confirm the booking based on the requested reading and my status. Your written confirmation that you have read and are fully aware of my legal notices is required as well.

Fill out the form I provide you. It’ll have questions that’ll help me connect to your energy. If that doesn’t work, we may have to try something else like chatting for a bit or maybe you can send me your instagram. We'll think of something.

Send in the payment on Ko-fi if I confirm I am able to connect to your energy and you are comfortable with the level of it.

You will get your reading within three days. I will privately post it to my blog and share the link with only you.

Feedback and/or reviews are much appreciated.

What Will the Reading Include?

Here’s a sample reading using Three Cats in a Trenchcoat. Basically:

Commission details like your username, reference number etc.

Screenshots of your confirmation that you have read my legal notices as well as receipt of payment

Any special questions you may have asked as part of the request.

An image of the spread. I will be using the Prisma Visions deck by @jamesreads. It is gorgeous and I highly recommend it.

As much detail as I am able to glean from the cards.

An overall accuracy rating and notes.

A conversation to debrief about whether the reading resonated with you, any clarifications you might need, next steps, your satisfaction, and whether I can help you with anything else.

Why Me?

I'm truthful to a fault, a lot of times to my own detriment. I won’t hesitate to tell you if I feel like I’m making up things or if the accuracy feels low. I wouldn’t claim to have a gift for tarot if I didn’t mean it. You can trust me with your personal questions, I won’t judge.

I will tell you what you need to hear, not what you want to hear. I won’t sugarcoat what my cards say but I also won’t leave you feeling hopeless or worse than before. Tarot is meant to raise people’s vibrations and do good, and that is exactly what I will help you with.

Here’s what other people have to say.

How Does Tarot Work?

Tarot cards are a system of ‘divination,’ i.e., inference, based on the yet unproven concept that everything in the universe has a vibrational signature and that these vibrations obey the universal law of like attracting like. ‘Everything’ extends beyond the physical dimension and includes thoughtforms and energetic complexes. Similar in principle to how horary astrology works, the idea is that the vibration of your question will attract right vibration of cards for that moment based on energies at the time. Free will exists and there are several possible perspectives and futures, so readings only hold true while factors are in stasis and depend on the ability of the reader to strengthen and tune into these energies.

Remember!

Tarot interpretation is personal, intuitive and nuanced. Don’t compare card draws from one reader to another because meanings of cards are subjectively assigned by the deck user. Do not research your tarot reader’s card draws on your own and infer your own meaning, it will likely lead you to wrong assumptions. Only do so if your tarot reader recommends it because what matters most is their meaning of the card.

Do not use tarot as your sole decision making tool – it is advice, not fact. Tarot is not well suited for precise, close-ended questions. It works best when the intent is for one’s highest good, and the questions are open-ended and introspective in nature.

It is best to enquire about events that will occur soon since tarot readings pick up on current energies. It will be a waste to enquire about far off events since there are a multitude of factors at play and the reading will most likely be void by the time it happens.

Please Note

I cannot do readings about subjects in which I have no knowledge. So for example, I can’t do questions on financial investments because I have no idea how that system works so I can’t overlay it onto my cards to read them.

I tend to ask for more detail about their situation while I read. This is because every card has thousands of meanings based on the context so I’ll need clarification to ensure I’m communicating the message correctly. Sometimes the extra detail doesn’t help. In that case, I’ll offer all possible interpretations and ask which one resonates best.

My deck spits out as many cards as it wants regardless of the actual spread. I don’t draw specific cards, I shuffle till cards fall out on their own. So, your reading will likely have more cards than advertised.

Offered Readings

These include but are not limited to the below mentioned spreads. Let me know if what you want isn’t on this list and I can make a custom reading for your needs in the same price range.

Three Cats in a Trenchcoat for $3. As the name gives away, a minimum of 3 cards are drawn for a short insight or to gain an overview or get direction regarding a multitude of topics. Note that the relationship spreads work for platonic, familial, romantic, destined, and karmic bonds.

General: Past | Present | Future

General: Current Situation | Obstacle | Advice

General: Situation | Action | Outcome

General: Beginning | Middle | End

General: Start | Growth | Decay

Self-discovery: Mind | Body | Spirit

Self-discovery: You | Current Path | Potential

Self-discovery: Life Purpose | What Qualities | Action

Self-discovery: Needs | Wants | Fears

Self-discovery: Past Self | Present Self | Future Self

Self-discovery: Lesson You Need | Why | Action

Past: What Worked | What Didn’t | Key Lessons

Healing: Cords to Cut | Heal your Heart | Nurture Yourself

Healing: Be Aware | Remember | Let Go

Future: Aspiration | Obstacle | Solution

Future: What Helps | What Hinders | Unrealized Potential

Relationship: Intentions | Trustworthy? | Advice

Relationship: Teach Me | Need from Me | Relationship

Relationship: You | The Other Person | Nature of Relationship

Relationship: Soulmate? | Need to Know | Will it Last?

Relationship: Your Wants | Their Wants | Where It’s Heading

Relationship: Strength | Weakness | Obstacle

Relationship: Pulls Together | Pushes Apart | Needs Attention

Relationship: Conflict | Areas of Agreement | Resolution

Relationship: Outer Conflict | Inner Conflict | Relationship

Relationship: Real Issue | Next Action | Ultimate Destination

Conflict: The Nature of a Problem | The Cause | The Solution

Conflict: False Issue | Real Issue | Your Role

Conflict: Why | What | Resolution

Decision-making: Strengths | Weaknesses | Advice

Decision-making: Opportunities | Challenges | Outcome

Decision-making: Yes Outcome | No Outcome | Maybe Outcome

Decision-making: Option 1 | Option 2 | Option 3

Decision-making: Solution 1 | Solution 2 | How to Choose

Decision-making: Best Case | Worst Case | Probable Outcome

Decision-making: Choice | Pros | Cons

Career: Hobby | Possible Career Development | First Step

Career: Opportunities | Distractions | Action

Career: Job Positives | Job Negatives | Change - to +

Career: Pros of Quitting | Cons | Advice

Career: New Career Suggestion | Advice | Outcome of Quitting

The Monster Inside for $6. A minimum of 6 cards are drawn to identify the darkest aspect of your self, the area of your life it most affects, your inner demon, how you understand/accept/heal from it, what actions you can take to overcome it and grow, and the possible outcome.

Love Me, Love Me Not for $9. A minimum of 6 cards are drawn to see how your crush feels about you, whether a relationship would work, how to attract them, how dating them would be, whether you should confess, and whether they’ll play a special role in your life.

Knock Knock. It’s the Universe, Asshole for $9. As many cards as required will be drawn to know what the universe thinks you need to know at this moment. What does it want to tell you? What advice does it have for you?

I’m BTS’s XXX for $9. This reading is strictly for fun and entertainment purposes! As many cards as required will be drawn to see what kind of relationship you’d have which your chosen member of BTS and how you’d meet if your paths were to cross.

Yoda on the Loose for $12. A minimum of 10 cards are drawn for general advice about yourself, your mind, body, spirit, friends and family, romance, hobbies, career, finances, and challenges.

It’s My Year, Bitches for $15. A minimum of 12 cards are drawn for your previous year in summary, what you’ve learned from the past year, what you aspire to in the next twelve months, what empowers you to reach it, what may stand in your way, relationships and emotions in the upcoming year, career and work and finances, health and well-being, spiritual energy and inner fulfillment, what you need to focus on for the year ahead, most important lesson in the upcoming year, and where you’re headed overall in the coming twelve months. Well suited for birthdays and New Year’s.

Know Thyself to Know the Universe for $21. A minimum of 15 cards are drawn to find out your best and worst qualities, what makes you attractive, your needs and wants, how you love and how you need to receive love, the type of partner that would best fit you, the key lesson you’re supposed to learn in this lifetime, and your purpose of existence.

@Cupid Watch Out Sweaty for $30. A minimum of 20 cards are drawn for an in-depth relationship spread about the true you in context of your role in the relationship, the true them, how they see you, how you see them, the past of the relationship if applicable, where it stands now, what lies in store for the future, what brings you together, what pulls you apart, your wants, their needs, challenges, how to love each other etc.

Let me know if you have any questions! I look forward to reading for you :^)

Sources: Several spreads are by Biddy Tarot, My Wandering Fool, Lunar Cafe, Self Tarot while others are my own. Do not steal my spreads, ask me for permission first.

Note: Do not use the copy from this post for personal or commercial purposes. Use it as a guideline to write your own with visible, explicit credit that has a working link back to this blog.

#arpwrites #aw commission

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nerdtrash-iteration · 5 years

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(Re)watching Doctor Who: series 8

So this was the first I saw of Peter Capaldi as the 12th Doctor outside of the odd YouTube compilation here and there. I was fairly sure I’d like him and wow I love him. Let’s jump into it. Series 8 (Twelfth Doctor) 8.1: Deep Breath I LOVED this opening episode. I had seen a lot of the funny regeneration stuff on YouTube already but it was great to see it in context. I think Twelve and Clara have excellent chemistry, loved seeing them bicker at the restaurant. Was legitimately chilled by the reveal of the clockwork people at the restaurant. Also loved the theming of the Doctor’s new face and what it means. Vastra and her veil, the Doctor saving Clara by using another face, the Doctor remarking to the Half-Faced Man that no real part of him remains. “You don’t even remember where you got that face from”. Also immediately taken by Missy. Excellent start. 8.2: Into the Dalek Slight step-down in quality here. Certainly an interesting premise, but I didn’t find myself overly interested in the setting nor the guest cast. Also wasn’t it obvious that fixing a Dalek would make it bad again? Why were they trying? I did like this episode for its character moments though. The Doctor to Journey Blue at the start trying to get her to be a better person: “C’mon, get it right”. And all of the interactions between him and the Dalek. Pretty compelling. Also Danny Pink seems alright so far, I like him. 8.3: Robot of Sherwood This episode is very goofy and the plot is really ehhh. But when I decided not to take it too seriously, I quite enjoyed it. I liked the banter between the Doctor and Robin. Wacky hijinks were wacky and fun. And I really liked the ending sentiment: “History can be a burden. Stories make us fly”. The rest of the guest cast weren’t used great but still a pretty fun episode. 8.4: Listen This is undoubtedly one of my favourite Doctor Who episodes ever now. It blew me away. Absolutely terrifying, particularly when the figure in the sheet was standing behind them. And the “DON’T OPEN THE DOOR” message. I also love all the theming about fear itself and the timey-wimey resolutions. Dying to rewatch it. 8.5: Time Heist I quite liked this episode. Fantastic opener. Pretty good side characters. And decent timey-wimey resolution. A lot of the cool concepts introduced here felt a bit underused though. Sure look, can’t be perfect. 8.6: The Caretaker This was a bit of a hard episode to watch. I do like the 12th Doctor a lot so far, but he was just awful towards Danny Pink in this episode. Like yeah I’m not a big fan of the military either but it felt really disproportionate. I’m glad he was called out and that he came around to Danny by the end. Quite liked the comedy moments between Clara and Danny. Plot was functional, but not the focus. 8.7: Kill the Moon I was warned beforehand that this episode had some awkward abortion metaphors afoot. I can definitely see that. First of all, I thought it was very well-paced and well-directed- the first half certainly felt scary enough and compelling. The guest cast really didn’t do it for me, only the captain was really worth noting. I do quite like Courtney though, even if she didn’t have much to do. I LOVED Clara’s outburst at the Doctor in the end, finally calling him out on his bullshit and how cold he can be. And okay the abortion stuff. I would consider the episode more of a trolley problem if not for the fact that they keep referring to the creature as a “baby”. And how it would “never feel the sun on its back”. I think it’s fine when stories make us uncomfortable and they need to challenge us through that. It was a legitimately hard decision, as abortion is for many people who are affected by it. In any other story, I would think framing the option of sparing a living creature as the right one is fine. But in a story with too many resemblances to an abortion metaphor, it just left a bad taste in my mouth. Also I was seriously bothered by how lacking in consequence the episode is. They vaguely allude to possible bad consequences of getting rid of the moon, but they really don’t take them seriously. The tides would be hella messed up, the internet being gone is more than just “doing without mobile phones”, Clara, Jesus Christ. As a friend pointed out to me, killing the creature with nuclear bombs would be extremely dangerous with all that radiation. And at the end it’s all fine???? The creature lives, lays a new egg exactly the same size as the old one (HOW??????) and the Earth suffers no consequences. I thought justifying it by saying this encourages humanity to get back into space was ehhhh. It really felt like the writer was desperate to have some kind of consequence. I still liked the episode overall, there were things I liked. But I can see why it can get many people heated. 8.8: Mummy on the Orient Express I was a bit disappointed in this episode as I had it quite hyped up by others. One of the main problems I found was that the set-up wasn’t given enough time. Like the Doctor realising that the train is full of experts: all he has to go on is the alien mythologist and the engineer. He really needed to find more people. Also the plot was resolved very quickly. Like the writer was running out of time and needed to wrap it up quick. It was a cool idea, having a soldier who is forced to stay alive, but I felt it could have been used better here. However I did really like a lot of the side characters here, particularly the engineer and Ms Pitt. I really like how it relates to the previous episode, with the development of Clara and the Doctor’s relationship. Really great stuff there, and they’re so good together. 8.9: Flatline This was a really fun episode! I loved the concept of the 2D invaders. Definitely creative and very creepy. I loved what they do with the TARDIS to make it an almost Doctor-lite episode. Really like how Clara takes charge. I’m not a fan of her lying to Danny about being back with the Doctor, it just feels like unnecessary drama. But a great episode apart from that with fun side characters. 8.10: In the Forest of the Night Huuuuuuuh. I had heard this wasn’t a great episode and yeah, this ain’t it. There are things to like though. I really like how the Doctor interacts with Maebh and the other kids. I think the kids that have speaking roles are decently funny and quite realistic. Quite like Danny and Clara together in this. But the plot is absolute bonkers and very unsatisfying for me. The details were frustratingly vague and honestly felt like it was being improvised on the spot. The consequences of the forest not being explored much, the premise doesn’t really interest me, Maebh being psychic was ehh, her sister coming back really made no sense at the end. The plot unfortunately reminded me of Small Worlds, which is one of my least favourite Torchwood episodes. 8.11: Dark Water I have mostly positive feelings on this finale with a few quibbles. I LOVE Missy. So much. Fantastic iteration of the Master. I wish I could like the kissing scene more, but she did kiss the Doctor without his consent. Which does make me uncomfortable. Aside from that, I think she’s great. I think the use of negative refraction to hide the Cybermen suits is really cool. I struggle a bit to get my head around the fact that there is an afterlife of sorts in the Doctor Who universe but eh, I can roll with it. I don’t know how to feel about Danny Pink’s death. I’m writing this after I’ve seen the next episode, so I know it’s permanent. I mistakenly thought he would be in series 9 so I initially didn’t take his death as seriously. But yeah wow it was really sudden and sad :( I don’t know how to feel about Clara’s behaviour at the beginning of the episode. It seemed a bit of a leap but I do get it. 8.12: Death in Heaven This is a really bombastic and action-packed finale which is really fun. Loved the names being switched in the opening and Clara’s eyes instead of the Doctor’s eyes being used. Tripped me up a bit. Like having Kate Stewart and Osgood back (for a bit). Love how Missy behaves while captured, some really compelling stuff there between her and the Doctor, and also Osgood. Clara and Danny’s interactions were certainly tragic, but I found it hard to believe that he didn’t obey Missy’s orders like the rest. Bit of a stretch but okay. Also why did the Doctor feel the need to connect him to the Cyber hive mind? Surely it was obvious what the Cybermen’s plan was. I also found it hard to believe the Doctor would try and kill Missy, but I guess Clara pushed him to that. I thought the Brig’s inclusion at the end was a bit cheesy but quite sweet, I did like that. I felt the theming with the Doctor being a good man wasn’t super satisfying here, but this is only the first third of 12′s run on the show. I know there is more to come. Also the ending scene with 12 and Clara hugging and lying to each other was so sad :( I remember friends of mine watched this at the time of airing and really didn’t enjoy the writing of the first few episodes and it was how they lost interest in Doctor Who. People can like and dislike different things, but i really don’t see where the backlash is coming from? I loved this series. There were some dodgy episodes here and there but I loved the central focus of 12 and Clara’s relationship. They are so great together. Listen is one of my favourite ever Doctor Who episodes now. And I love Missy. Really fun series and excited for series 9.

#Doctor Who #Doctor Who series 8 #Doctor Who recap

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friendlylocalwhumper · 5 years

Note

Hi I love all of your stories so much! Your characters are so compelling! Lux and Emory give me life. Your last drabble got me thinking: was there ever a time where Lux has to comfort Emory? Maybe he had a nightmare about Lux being in danger or something?

A/N: wow this really went off track and became 2,477 words of like, deep thoughts and these two breaching sensitive and polarizing topics. whoops!

Lux doesn’t want to sleep tonight. Not because of a nightmare, or because he’s thinking about upsetting things, or because he’s remembering something painful (although all of that stuff does keep him up sometimes). No, he’s just scrolling through apps on his phone, propped up on pillows and decidedly ignoring the time in favor of reading vaguely boring articles that had wildly interesting titles.

He first notices his sleeping boyfriend beside him, in the midst of one of these articles, when Emory shifts. The movement catches Lux’s eye but it’s not enough to draw his attention away from the words on his phone’s screen.

He pays attention a minute later when Emory whimpers. Lux turns his phone off and looks over, pushing himself to sit up more and watching Emory in worry and alarm. He’s never heard that sound out of his partner once, hasn’t ever seen him in great pain, or dazed and stressed, or feeling small and sad; in fact, Emory is very steady, and Lux can only remember him having always been calm and patient and positive.

“Emory?” Lux asks quietly, meeting his boyfriend’s arm with the lightest touch possible. “You okay?”

Of course, Emory is asleep, and he doesn’t react to the touch or the words. Lux lays his hand more solidly on that arm and runs his thumb back and forth over the bicep, leaning down to press a kiss to Emory’s cheek.

“Hey, Freckles, you wanna wake up? I think you’re having a nightmare.”

Emory’s breaths have stopped, like he’s listening. Lux falls silent and watches, his heart fluttering, and he doesn’t want to wait an extra second to hear another inhale; following what’s done for him when his own fear steals his breath in his sleep, Lux places his palm on Emory’s chest and rubs it in little circles.

“It’s okay, just breathe, you’re safe,” The warlock murmurs with a chill of familiarity at providing the comfort he usually receives.

Emory doesn’t react well. He’s having the kind of nightmare, it seems, where he’s fighting off something bad, and so he wakes up still fighting - his eyes fly open, wide and unfocused, and his arm swings, knocking Lux back. Emory shoves himself away, falling off the bed with a thump and scrambling away until his back hits the wall.

Lux is still reeling from the blow. His thoughts were knocked clean out of his head when a fist crashed against his jaw, and he’s brought a hand up to feel it gingerly. Sorry, he wants to say, sorry for scaring you, I’m sorry, but it would sound too much like the conditioned response that the instinct is rooted in, so instead of stammering and curling in on himself, Lux refocuses on his boyfriend.

“It’s okay, Emory,” He assures, getting up off the bed slowly and making his way over to that side of the room. He lowers himself to his hands and knees and then sits down so that he looks like an equal and not a threat.

“Lux?” His boyfriend ekes out, unsure in the dark of the room.

“Yeah, ‘s just me. You scared?”

“Not - not anymore, just... confused. Sorry, I think I had a dream, I’m - that was... think I fell off the bed.”

Lux nods in agreement and shifts to sit next to Emory, back to the wall. He doesn’t like sitting on the floor like this, too much like the cellar, but he can ignore that right now. “Never seen you have a dream like that.”

“It was - I know, I know warlocks aren’t bad, you know I don’t think that, but - I’ve always been scared of them, or what happens to them, you know? Haven’t had a dream like that since I was eight. About someone thinking I’m a warlock, and then I get dragged away, tied to a stake to burn, or guns aimed at me, but then it changes, and they call me - it’s not about magic, anymore, it’s about bein’ a black boy and liking guys and stuff like that, and I’ve never gotten hurt because of that stuff but Gramps has, and the stories he’s got, and the things that’ve happened to you, I can imagine, and it - scares me, a lot.”

With the staggered, sleepy explanation, Lux resigns himself to never mention being hit in the process of waking Emory up. He can write it off easily in the context fo Emory being half-asleep and lost in old, shapeless fear that only lives in his mind.

“That sounds really scary,” The warlock answers, slipping his hand into Emory’s and squeezing it gently.

“Yeah, you know that, though, you’ve been hurt and I haven’t, I’m sorry, I really shouldn’t talk about it since I don’t know what that feels like.”

“No, no - you do know what it feels like. And anyway, I don’t know what it feels like to have that fear, not the kind you grew up with. Magic, I’ve gotten hurt for that, but never got judged for how I look. I don’t know what that feels like for you. It’s not dumb to be scared. It’s - it’s probably even harder for you, since you don’t feel like you can bring it up. I don’t wanna assume how you feel, can you tell me about it, maybe?”

Emory’s quiet, for a minute. There’s something tricky, a topic here, the conversation about race and magic and things that the privileged do to those who have somehow garnered hatred just by being alive.

“I feel lucky,” He settles on, finally, like a confession. “That it’s not me. It’s awful. It’s like... when magic started being hated, the pressure got taken off other groups, other hated ones, and it’s so easy to hate what you don’t understand, so... when I was little, I hated magic users. I know kids are jerks, and it’s normal, but the things I said, Lux... the things I believed, like hating warlocks was gonna save people like Gramps from ever seeing their brothers and sisters dying again. He told me that was wrong, but it was easy, and it felt so good to hate like that. Feel like nightmares about me getting it instead is some kinda justice, God telling me I need to suffer if I’m gonna wish that pain on somebody else.”

Lux is listening, curious and only a little uneasy. He can understand, it makes sense, he can imagine that perspective, growing up. They’re too young, really, to be wise and grounded in beliefs like Emory’s Gramps, and they’re too old to naively follow the universal hatred of magic users, or from the warlocks’ side, the hatred and fear of non-magic folks. They’re trapped in some in-between mix of prejudice and awareness.

“When you were little and had those thoughts, that’s when you had the nightmares,” Lux summarizes, only a little guarded, but careful, uncertain. “You had this one, tonight... do you think... were you thinking like that again? About people like me?”

Emory’s silence, the tension, it makes Lux’s stomach drop.

“No, not like that, Lux, it’s just... I had one thought, and it stuck with me, and I felt so sick over it, had that dream again, just - just the guilt made me that freaked out. I feel awful about it.”

Lux nods, once, and then asks, “What’d you think, that made you feel that bad?”

“I’m not gonna say, I really don’t have to, it’s awful, I don’t think I should. I didn’t mean to, I just - come on, Lux, don’t ask me that, I wouldn’t blame you for thinking random stuff sometimes and getting hung up on it.”

The warlock swallows, turning that over in his head. It feels unfair, almost, that his mind’s been torn into so much, he’s been punished for having thoughts he couldn’t stop from coming or staying in his mind, but he can’t ask, once, to hear what’s in Emory’s head. He desperately needs to know if Emory thought something big and societal, like that warlocks should keep to themselves if they don’t want to die, or if it was something worse, something personal, something about how Lux should behave.

“Whatever it is, it’ll hurt me worse to never know,” Lux answers, voice hushed, and with the tensing of Emory’s shoulders, he can see that it’s effective. He’s not sure that it makes him feel any better.

“Okay... yeah, I understand that, okay. It was... I don’t want to lie to you, I won’t, but it would be so much easier, better... I thought... yesterday, I was thinking about how nice you are, and, how you’re not a threat at all, you’re gentle and sweet, and I love you for being so kind, I wish my brain stopped there... but, I thought, maybe you’re like that because of how you were hurt, and - and other warlocks are angry and violent, sometimes, so - maybe, if they were hurt like you were, they’d end up soft and considerate too, and the magic mena-, I mean, the danger of magic, wouldn’t be a threat to anyone anymore, even in self-defense, because you’d - they’d all be like you.”

Lux’s fingers twist together as he stares at the floor. Somewhere along the progression of that explanation, he pulled his hand out of Emory’s. “...Yeah, that’s... that’s quite a thought.” In the momentary silence after the confession, the warlock remembers the things he survived to get here and to hear this. “Probably easy to think that. Just so you know, though... I wouldn’t do it again. Twenty years of pain. Still living with fear and scars and trying to be good for people who aren’t in control of me anymore. It’s like I’m not a full person, I’m just the pieces that survived and made it out all scraped up. Doing that, to all of us - would be better to kill us.”

“I know, I wouldn’t actually wish what you’ve been through on anyone, and I don’t mean to think of magic as a threat, and - I don’t want everyone to be like you, and you don’t have to obey anybody, I’d still like you if you weren’t how you are, I - I don’t know what to say, I’m sorry, I’ve dug myself a hole here.”

Listening still, Lux tries to quiet the now loud, blaring alarm in his mind that Emory thinks like that, Emory’s like all the people who have beaten a warlock into submission. It’s not fair to simplify this down to that. “I, I guess... I don’t get to judge you for it. I’ve thought things like that before. Like, maybe people like you, without magic, should all die. All at once, with magic, warlocks should rise up and get revenge, get to just break free, and all the cops, the feds, the men who’ve hurt a warlock on the street, they’d see their friends and families die bloody and maybe feel bad before they die themselves... that’s a thought I’m not proud of. I used to think that a lot, when I was angry... ‘til the Hunter. He’d find, find thoughts like that in my head, and he didn’t really care about them, didn’t think I was a radical or anything, but they’re not sweet thoughts, they’re not good. So he hurt me for them. Haven’t thought that way since, and I wonder... wonder, sometimes, if I’m a good person, or if I just got the evil trained out of me.”

Emory finds his hand to hold it, and neither of them can look at each other. He clears his throat and tries for some words that won’t hurt more. “I think we’re scared to talk about this stuff ‘cause we don’t want to hurt each other.”

Lux hums in thought and replies, “I think we’re scared to ‘cause we’re ashamed of it.”

“Both, probably.”

“Yeah, both.”

A few slow, pensive moments pass, heavy words hanging in the air. Finally, Lux says, “I just need to know... you don’t like me because I’m how I am - you know, nervous, and scared, right? I don’t have to be sweet or weak for you to like me, right? That’s all I need to know, really, that we’re just boyfriends, we’re normal people, I’m not yours, I don’t have to obey.”

“Of course, Curls, you don’t have to obey, I like you for who you are, your mind and your love, not because of how you act. I didn’t fall in love with your fear, I don’t ever want you to be scared.”

Lux sighs, relieved. Everything they’ve said tonight is alright, it’s just a difficult but important conversation about prejudice and fear and what they were taught to think, as long as he’s a person and not a possession. “That’s all I’m worried about, all I’m gonna remember about this, probably. Oh I’m all worked up and anxious now, I know it’s ignorant to say this but can we just never bring this up again? It’s not our fault that we think what we do, we can fix it on our own time, it’s just too stressful to talk about.”

“Agreed, I’m with you on that. I really thought that might be the end of us or something.”

“I know, it got all - scary and final sounding, right? It was scary for me to explain what I think, was it scary for you?”

“So scary, I thought for sure you’d hate me. Mine’s a lot worse than yours.”

“Well I don’t have thoughts that bad because I got broken and now I’m just empty and good, and that’s way worse than having, like, a single problematic thought in the past twelve years.”

Emory squeezes Lux’s hand and stands up, helping Lux follow suit with a gentle tug on his arm. “You’re not broken, Curls. You didn’t get trained out of having your own thoughts. I like your mind, and I like when you call me out and ask what I think. It was stressful, probably not a good topic, but please do it again when you don’t like what I’m saying, ask what I mean and tell me what you think. I respect you a lot for doing that.”

The praise and request for Lux to keep thinking for himself makes the warlock feel just a little safer, a little more relaxed. He still won’t sleep tonight, no way with the things coursing through his mind right now, but he thinks he can sit beside Emory in their bed and keep reading articles. Maybe, he thinks to himself in his unusually opinionated mood, he can write his own articles. He can share his thoughts, and experiences, and get angry if he wants to, anonymous and careful but not beaten into silence, not too careful to breach touchy topics. Maybe he’s got ideas and experiences worth being heard.

#nooooo way i'm proofreading this it's too long hope it doesn't suck #also hope that it's interesting at all #angst #drabble #nightmares #emory #lux #mine #afraid #panic #past trauma #comfort #lux having opinions! and being sad #emory having shitty opinions and hating himself for it #they're both a little problematic and they're trying so hard to educate themselves #and to be Good People with open minds and hearts #they're doing a good job i'm proud of them #Anonymous

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