#i see it more as a feel good found/chosen family for people who are oppressed and find community tohgether

[crunchycrystals]

loved reading house in the cerulean sea but i am uneasy knowing part of the inspiration was residential schools

[rustyvanburace]

Analysis on SMTIV’s Issachar

I wrote up a long analysis on Issachar from Shin Megami Tensei IV, covering his aspirations for wanting to become a Samurai, his myriad struggles, and even a bit of how he’d compare with Walter.

Spoiler warnings for the beginning of SMT IV up to Kiccigiorgi Forest. This is all my own interpretation, of course!

-----

My personal belief is that if Issachar did become a Samurai, I don’t actually see him as becoming "Another Walter". In some ways I actually even think that Walter would clash with him somewhat. And I say this in respect to Issachar's own beliefs and ambitions. As a Samurai, I can see Issachar clinging onto his new role with overwhelming pride and maybe even turning a blind eye of denial to the discrimination within. I can imagine him turn excessively determined to prove himself and even more so in defiance of his growing disillusion. And maybe that would still culminate in him losing himself and becoming vulnerable to demonic influence all the same.

For both good and bad, Issachar has raw emotion. And it's those same emotions that kept both his ambition alive against impossible odds, as well as what ultimately consumed him. Issachar isn't just at odds with the Luxurors' stifling oppression, though that is a large part of it, but also what he idealizes the Samurai to be and his complicated relationships.

So let's analyze Issachar's reason to become a Samurai. At quick glance, it is a means to escape his Casualry status and become a Luxuror. And that is true and something he expresses, but that also doesn't cover all his values nor his complicated anger at his rejection. What’s important is to first consider the value he holds the Samurai to and their perceived role in society.

If you go to the Obelisk before taking the Rite, Issachar comments on each section. And there's a comment there that really stands out. In retelling the founding of the Samurai, the epigraph relates Aquila's heroic deeds and ends by describing today's Samurai as the "cornerstone of our defenses". And it's right afterwards that Issachar starts to daydream in that role. "When I am made a Samurai, then I, too, shall be..."

Issachar doesn't state it outright, but given what the epigraph just described, I take this to mean that he values the Samurai as heroes of justice. Maybe even reveres Aquila. And this reverence would've come to him at an early, impressionable age, when he and Flynn had first gone to the castle on an errand as children and vowed then to become Samurai. Seeing as Issachar is a Casualry from a remote village, I can see him believing the Samurai to be noble heroes who equally come to everyone's aid. This belief would certainly give a lot of hope to a young Casualry and something to aspire to be, especially for one struggling with his own village's expectations.

During the Kiccigiorgi mission, there are a pair of NPCs who are implied to be Issachar's parents (or at least close acquaintances). Yet instead of expressing concern for their son's safety during a crisis, they speak of his absence with contempt -- in sharp contrast to their lauding of Flynn's bravery. Mind, they haven't seen Issachar at all since he left for the Rite. They have no knowledge that he led the Sabbath and embraced the demonic. Their assumption and source of ire is that he has cowardly run off. Maybe even abandoned his duties before all of this even happened. While Flynn is busting his ass to save everyone, where the hell is that lousy Issachar?

If that's their reception towards him during a major crisis, then I don't think they were supportive of his ambitions and efforts either. They may have seen his training as goofing-off from work. Casualries becoming Samurai are almost unheard of, so why waste all his time doing that? It's a fact that a lot of Casualry NPCs early on have simply accepted their lot in life and it's this conformance that creates a divide between the elders and youths. The elders have no interest in the Sabbaths. There are Casualry elders who give God their thanks for their role, who let the Luxurors think for them, and who are too concerned with work than bigger issues.

All that, of course, is rooted with the Luxurors for creating a controlled, oppressive society. Nonetheless, to a Casualry youth who may not have realized that yet and wants more out of life yet is shown no support by their own peers, that is incredibly frustrating. The exchange from Issachar's implied parents is very short, but it paints the picture that Issachar was among those struggling with his own peers on top of the Luxurors. Maybe even at odds with his village at large. And I believe that to be one aspect that encouraged his aspiration to become a heroic Samurai. So that he could bring hope to his village and become someone they could look up to instead of down upon.

At the Gauntlet Ritie, Issachar reassures himself by repeatedly saying "I will become a Samurai... I'm definitely going to be a Samurai...  A Samurai and Luxuror at that..." He chants becoming a Samurai three times and a Luxuror last. It's not that he doesn't want to escape his trade, but that he holds greater value in becoming a Samurai first and what that role signifies. Conversely, there is a NPC during the Rite who, having just been rejected, waves off the whole thing as a dog and pony show. And this is a crucial exchange as it directly counters the heavy significance that Issachar is placing in the Rite. What that NPC is saying is that the Rite and by extension the Samurai aren't actually as grandeur as the early narrative is suggesting.

Then, to be rejected and shortly afterwards discover books that open to new ways of thinking, it's likely that Issachar would've been confronted by the reality that the Samurai are not actually defenders of the people but soldiers who enforce the Luxurors' rule. And if he truly believed the Samurai to be just, noble heroes and aspired to become that, then this revelation would've been a painful one.

So Issachar is struggling with society, his unsupportive family/community, and his beliefs shattered. But there is also a fourth thing going on: his complicated relationship with Flynn. It needs to be said that Issachar, even before being rejected, is not without flaw. He didn't actually have confidence in Flynn’s success despite together vowing to become Samurai. While at the same time that Issachar is reassuring himself, he doesn't extend that same hope to Flynn. He never mentions "we will become Samurai" but consistently "I". He states this could be farewell and thus indirectly hints that Flynn would be the one leaving. And instead of feeling proud that his best friend and fellow Kiccigiorgi Casualry was chosen, his reaction is of appalled shock.

And this all culminates at Kiccigiorgi Forest. Issachar isn't happy to see Flynn to the rescue and responds back sarcastically. He tells him his revelations, but only "I'm telling you this because you're you." He is treating Flynn as stupid, incompetent, and undeserving of becoming a Samurai. At most Flynn is now just another Luxuror dog upholding authority, in contrast to the survivors who laud Flynn's arrival or knew him positively. It's very possible that Issachar is also jealous of that, especially if he was like an older brother to Flynn and helped him out with most things. Like baiting hooks.

I imagine, following his rejection, Issachar must've felt abandoned by Flynn and his future stolen by him. Now Flynn gets to be that heroic Samurai that everyone can look up to. Worse, he may even betray his Casualry roots and forget all about Kiccigiorgi. Issachar essentially expresses that belief during his battle depending on how Flynn responds and it's why he reacts with surprised torment and regret for his actions if Flynn affirms that he is still a Casualry.

Now of course, none of this is actually Flynn's fault nor his intention. Issachar is running on high emotion. Regardless of the Rite though, it still doesn't change the fact that Issachar initially doubted Flynn. Issachar has a selfish side, and that's a good thing actually, as that gives him more nuance and his reaction is honestly a natural one. But he also comes around to overcoming that jealousy at the end and, in his final words, pleads that Flynn becomes that "magnificent Samurai" that he dreamed the Samurai to be.

So having gone through all that -- the oppression, the shattered moral value he placed in the Samurai, his lack of community support and pressure to prove himself, and his future seemingly stolen by his best friend and then abandoned -- it's infuriating. It's soul crushing. Where do you go from there when you have placed your entire worth into one moment that has never guaranteed you a future? Back to the village, alone, that's already disappointed in you? It's little wonder then why he became easy prey to the Black Samurai looking to stoke that anger and why he'd throw everything away. And it's because of those complex emotions and beliefs that I believe Issachar would struggle even as a Samurai.

I believe Issachar's idealization is where he and Walter differ greatly. Walter doesn't revere the Samurai nor does he place his entire worth in being one or upholding their image. He doesn't adopt a heroic or Luxuror identity. Walter also wanted to escape his family trade, but the way he treats the Samurai is much less of a life's goal and more as a pleasantly surprising turn of events. If he were denied, he would've likely sought his own way of escape. I earnestly don't believe that Walter actually aspired or even hoped to become a Samurai. Walter also runs high emotions, but he is still able to reign those in. He is able to hone his anger into a strength as opposed to a vulnerability. And he tends to be a lot more realistic or grounded.

And it's those differences where I think that the idealistic Issachar and realistic Walter would honestly clash. Maybe not necessarily as a heated argument (at least not right away), but as an annoyed or awkward discomfort. In some ways, Issachar actually has more in common with Jonathan insofar as their views of the Samurai.

Now obviously, who knows what would've happened if Issachar did become a Samurai. I do think he would at least be able to cope much better, having finally made it. But I also still believe that his idealized view of the Samurai would begin to crack while still clinging onto those same values. Maybe he would still fall to demonic influence out of despair. Maybe become a resigned, insipid shell of himself. Maybe emboldened to become that noble hero at all costs. Maybe his jealousy of Flynn would even carry on with him. Who really knows? 

But if he did become a Samurai, I cannot see him as "Another Walter" nor would I want him to be.

[shititbe]

Anyway, Peter Parker is Bi, and I Won’t Be Convinced Otherwise.

Firstly, we have to get our bases covered. What exactly is Bi-sexuality? What is sexuality? 

Sexuality is defined as a persons identity in relation to gender(s) they are attracted to. Why is this important? Peter’s sexuality has never been specifically stated in the comics, nor in any other form of media. It’s assumed that he is straight because of his popular relationship with Mary Jane Watson in the comics, and the movies. 

Now that we have a bases for what exactly sexuality is and how it’s defined, let’s go over Peter’s partners. 

Obviously Peter and Mary Jane are a piece of comic book history. They eventually get married, though sadly, during the events of Civil War II (I think, don’t quote me) Peter and Mary Jane sell their marriage to Mephisto in order to save Aunt May

They later had their memories of their marriage restored, they have yet to get back together and it’s been a few issues if I remember correctly. Next we have Peter’s first, and most unfortunate love, Gwen Stacy. 

They dated in high school where she later died. Of course, Peter has dated other people (namely, Black Cat, Betty Brant, Carol Danvers, Anna Maria, Cindy Moon, Lian Tang, and so on). Since we have his known history of heterosexuality out there, we need to move onto another important part of Peter’s Bi-sexuality. An important implication in any media, especially queer media though, and that is the homoerotic subtext. 

Homoerotic subtext is important part of queer culture, a lot of the time it’s used to portray a characters queerness without saying it out (see: Dorian Gray by Oscar Wild or Great Gatsby By Fitz). In current decade, homoerotic subtext is often used for queer baiting or creating more realistic male friendships. 

So what’s the difference between someone creating a health male friendship (or a character comfortable in their heterosexuality) and implying a character is queer? 

Here are some examples of a healthy male character, both with himself and his friendships.  

Clearly he’s just taking the shit, and messing around with Reed. He’s comfortable enough (or as I like to see it, so traumatized because good god this guy has been Spider-Man since he was 15 good god that’s awful. He probably doesn’t care anymore). Here are some examples of Peter a little more than just a straight man shooting the shit. 

This has three meanings. Two of which I will take, one of which is just deeply embarrassing. Despite Peter’s history with humiliating events, I don’t think he would get his own spunk in his eyes. Leaving the other two options, he has experience getting spunk of - some kind - in his eyes, and/or he’s taking the shit again. Which is very likely. 

Kissing a cop? For....no reason? A little not so hetero of you Peter. 

You can practically hear his disappointment in his voice. Also could be read as taking the shit, but why would you. 

Making out with The Thing? Gay. 

This one is the most important. Peter is clearly tired, annoyed by his teammates (see wolverine being wolverine in the corner). Shits on fire, its mid battle, and Peter has the audacity to mutter “I hate men” to himself. The only people I have every heard say this in that was are lgbt and straight women, and lgbt men. This kind of expression only comes from people who date, or deal with men in a completely different world than straight men. Straight men use this phrase as an endearment, “Oh have you seen Bill today, I hate that guy.” “Man Jerry can do so many push-ups, I hate that guy.” Very different language, and implications (I also, obviously don’t know how straight men speak). 

 Now that we’ve gone over our bases, and homoerotic subtext. How else could we gather that Peter Parker is Bi? There are many tropes in media - queer media - that allure to a characters queerness. Like homoerotic subtext, there are ways to tell an audience something without specifically saying it. 

This is a gay wedding Peter went to in the recent comics. I don’t know if any of you have been to a gay wedding recently, but Peters face (the first panel above the wedding) is the same exact face I made at my first gay wedding. It’s the face of excitement for not only the couple, but for yourself. The hope that maybe, you too can actually be in a same-sex relationship. 

I’m also going to allure to queer tropes as stated previously. Such as the real, and fictional trope of lgbt people sticking together. Thousands of years of belittlement and oppression will make groups of people not want to wonder out, and subconsciously look for others like them. 

Johnny Storm (and Wade Wilson since he comes in later but I couldn’t find a picture of the confirmation) is cannon Bi-sexual (Pan-sexual). 

Their friendship is deeply homoerotic as most queer friendships in media and real life are. Johnny flirts with Peter on many occasions (saying his ideal women is a female version of Peter, inviting him over to watch is sex tape, and so on) and of course oh my god they were roommates. 

Some other popular queer tropes are: Found Family, Soulmates, and Enemies to lovers. Because it’s superhero related, this includes the Identity Porn tag as well.  

Peter Parker and Wade Wilson have a famous Love/Hate relationship. I mean, how could you expect anything less when your first meeting with this known mercenary is him throwing your civilian persona out the window of a car. Now, Wade still doesn’t know Peter is Spider-Man in the current run of comics, but that doesn’t make anything about them any less gay. 

For the Found Family Trope: 

Because it’s Peter and Wade, their whole development can be read as Enemies to Friends to Lovers, so I wont bother backing that up because, uh, it speaks for itself. One panel really does to add that cause though 

I’m not going to explain what a free-pass list is.

The Soulmates part I know I have to back up. 

For SoulMates:  

Now this panel requires a little explanation. Wade kills Peter, not knowing he’s Spider-Man. Weasel takes over for Peter (they don’t know its him) so no one suspects he’s dead. Deadpool begins to feel guilty he killed his best buds best bud, so he tries to bring Peter back to life. Losing his stunning good looks (switching back to how he looked before Weapon X making his wife Shiklah estranged (then she married Dracula but thats beside the point)). Spider-Man is Peter’s “true self” or patronus for Harry Potter fans. Wade is stupid and hasn’t connected the dots yet, effectively making him the biggest simp in history. Seriously, who destroys their marriage for the c h a n c e for getting some with their idol? A Simp, that’s who.

Peter forgives Wade for killing him (and for saving him from killing their genetic daughter itsy-bitsy). If someone killed me they better be hot as fuck before I even thing about forgiving them. Ignoring Peter’s super sexy forgiving nature, uh, he’s kinda simping. 

Died in each others arms. Nothing else is needed. 

They’re heartmates. From what I read, the feeling has to be mutual in order for it to work. The witches (long story, comics are hard to explain) that captured deadpool were expecting his wife so they could get the headmistress back. Instead, they got Peter. Basically Heartmates = soulmates but chosen for you instead of chosen by you. 

To conclude my point: 

Thank you for coming to my TED Talk. 

[bokettochild]

We need more Time and Wild bonding

For you, Anon! And also for @1142 who requested the same thing!

Summary: Time sees his family, friends and other loved ones in his boys, but Wild especially is reminding him of himself this morning, and he wants to offer some encouragement to the poor kid.

It's quiet to read alone, listen to this!

Epona’s song drifted through the cool morning air.

The sound brought a smile to Time’s lips as he snuggled closer to the warmth pressed beside him, breathing in the clean morning air and tugging the blanket up higher on his shoulder.

He really didn’t want to wake up.

Although, he didn’t remember opening the bedroom window last-

Wait. They weren’t on the farm! They’d gone to sleep in the forest last night! There was no window to leave open, and no Malon singing or lying beside him. He shoots awake, pulling himself up with the intent of looking around camp, only to have something pull him back down towards the ground.

Looking down, he feels his scarred heart melt. Twilight twitches in his sleep, arms locking around his shoulders, sleepily groans sounding as the lad hangs off him, cold nose pressed to his neck. Tiny, whuffling snores sound from his pup as the younger man nuzzles closer, and he can only chuckle softly and rub his protégé's back lightly as he settled back down to let Twilight sleep.

He is curious who had been singing though.

A single blue eye takes in the camp as he props himself up slightly on his bedroll, careful not to disturb Twilight as he takes in where each of his boys lay.

Legend and Hyrule lay curled into each other, Legend clinging to his protégé while Hyrule’s hands lay buried in his mentor’s silky hair, a smile on the face of the younger and drool on the face of the elder*. Warriors lies close by, sprawled across his bedroll and snoring fit to wake the dead, utterly content and comfortable in the safety of his brothers and proving it with his noise. Opposite the three, Wind and Sky curl close, Sky’s sailcloth and their blankets thrown over the two leaving only Four’s left foot visible from between them.

His pup curls close to his side, one leg thrown over his waist and arms locked tight around his shoulders, holding him in place and preventing him from rising, but the bedroll on his left...

Epona’s song continues to dance through the camp, and Time’s single eye finally falls on Wild, the cook busily scrubbing out his favorite cooking pot on the very edge of camp, the familiar tune dancing off of the young one’s lips, suds rising halfway up his arms and hair thrown back in a messy bun that reminds Time strongly of Lullaby’s own hair when the woman loses patience with it. Decorum be shot, the queen will throw her own hair back with a simple hair tie in front of the whole court, ignoring how it makes her appear and continuing her duties without hair hanging in her face and her neck free from the oppressing heat of its constant curtain.

If ever he doubted that Lullaby and Shiek were the same person, each time he sees his princess behave in such a way, he’s reminded that, different time lines or no, there is still the same fiery spirit and passion for change in his friend that there had always been, and it is something he is happy to see reflected in some of his boys, along with Malon’s stubborn personality and incredible strength and kindness.

Maybe he is looking for the traits of those dearest to his heart in the boys that had pushed their way in. Be it by force or by accident as the hero might be, but it brings him no small joy to see Lullaby in Legend’s sharp glares or in Warriors’ brisk manner when planning. In Hyrule’s swift fingers or Wild’s sharp and calculating eyes. To see her in Four’s dark eyes, always thoughtful, always knowing, or in Sky’s burning passion.

It’s a wonder to see Malon in Wind’s boisterous cheer, and in Twilight’s rolling laughter. To see his wife’s mischief reflected in Wild’s luminescent gaze or her love of life in the way Legend cares for his orchard and animal friends. And the glimpse of unbelievable strength in Four’s easy lifting of weapons as big as himself, or the echo of her in the firm set of Warriors’ shoulders always makes him smile to himself.

There are others at times. Saria in Hyrule’s smile. Kafai in Wild’s laugh. Romani in Wind’s eccentric ideas, Nabooru in Legend’s firm stance and heavily lidded gaze, Navi in Sky’s light scolding and Tatl in Four’s acerbic wit. Glimpses of home and family echo around him, pulling close what reflected it and making them home and safety themselves. And over it all he can hear the winding of tunes that both tore apart and hold together the memories of his youth.

And now, one such tune, one especially close to his heart, one meant only for the Lon family and their famous steeds, dances over the edges of the camp and past the ears of the sleeping heroes as Wild lifts his cooking pot and carries it over to the fire, singing softly with faint and muddled words, many of them wrong, mumbled or tripped over, but sung all the same as food winks into being from the champion’s slate.

“-ne-ver far from home. Epona, Epona, can you hear hmm hmm, singing from in my heart, hmm-hmm-hmm.” Mumbled hums break the words as the champion works over the fire, measuring and stirring. “Something if you’re wandering far away hmm-hmm, listen for this melody calling you! Re-mem-ber that you have something-or-other to complete! I trust hmm hmm hmm hmm hmm hm!”

The muddled version of the song makes him chuckle softly, startling the younger hero into spinning around, the spoon that Sky carved him brandished like a weapon as the champion prepares to defend himself against whatever he thinks may have startled him. Face beet red and growing redder.

“You have a nice singing voice.”

Wild looks instants away from combusting on the spot. “hOW- How long were you awake?”  Gone are the stumbling yet melodious trills of the cook’s voice, instead replaced with a panicked squeak only made worse by his age.

It was like the first time he’d successfully startled Shiek, both of them both still so young that their voices broke under pressure, and the thought makes him smile as he meets the startled child’s gaze.

“Long enough.”

Wild’s ears droop, quivering with shame and embarrassment as the kid’s shoulders hunch up to brush against them, eyes darting down and refusing to meet Time’s as boot scuffs the dirt softly. “I thought you guys- that is- I thought it was-” Cornflower blue glances up, meeting his own for only a second before darting away again. “I thought it was safe.”

Safe? What does the cub- Understanding dawns and he finds himself chuckling low and soft. “I won’t tell if you don’t.”

“It’s not that.” The champion whispers. “I just- I don’t like people...hearing.”

Oh.

Also familiar, also so very familiar. Only this time he doesn’t see his wife or sisters and brothers, or mother or friends in the flushed face of the hero before him.

A squeaky voiced young hero, who’d pulled his cap over his face more times than anyone would guess when looking at his scarred face now, had time and again been encouraged by a darting blue fairy.

“You’ve got a lovely voice Link. No shame, come on!”

Of course, fairies always like hero their Chosen sing, but Time himself had, admittedly, stumbled over notes and keys nearly as badly as his pup still does, but he’d lacked any of Twilight’s playful self-confidence to be able to own up to the harsh squeaks and shrieking chirps that erupted out of him whenever someone else tried to get him to sing, or caught him singing.

He was fine, when Navi was fast asleep or the Kolkiri were half a forest away, or when it had just been himself and Epona, trailing through the dark woods in search of a light he’d have given anything to hear encouraging him to keep trying to raise his voice. It’d been the first time he’d really tried to Sing for his fairy, but it hadn’t done anything but tempt over two fairies who already had their own Chosen, a skullkid who’d pulled him along into a world where his voice had hidden with his face behind mask after mask.

It took Malon catching him singing while at work in the barn before he’d been able to et the guts up to actually try for her, but it’d been worth it when he hadn’t had to fumble with fancy words to ask her to marry him, not when there was a song and a dance just for that that he’d learned for Kafai while in Termina. Malon made his heart sing, but she also made him sing, and while her voice far outdid his own, it always made him happy to hear the two ringing together.

He’d once hoped, once he found out, that he’d one day hear Twilight’s voice rise up with theirs on some starlit evening, but after hearing his pup sing...

He loves Twilight like a son, but heaven forbid he ever force his wife to listen to that tone deaf mess!

Wild though, oh, Malon would love to tempt Wild into singing and guide him along until his voice could ring with hers. The child had the voice of a fairy, ethereal and inhuman, but in a way that made him feel light and airy and almost like he could fly.

“Well...” He wants very much to stand and walk over to Wild, but he was still trapped and Twilight was both a brick and incredibly strong, leaving him trapped until his pup is good and ready to wake up, something he fully believed Wild would prefer to prevent happening for the time being. “I can’t not hear it, Wild.”

“Try?” The kid pleads, eyes wide and face nearly purple from embarrassment.

“It’d be an insult to whoever created the voice to do so!” The words spilled out before he could stop them. He was supposed to reassure the kid, not make him panic more by pressuring him! “That is- Wild, you have the voice of an... I suppose Legend would say “an angel” whatever those really are. To be frank, I wouldn’t choose to forget it if I could.”

“I’m not a good singer.”

“Bullshit.”

The newest hero’s gaze shoots up to meet his own, shock written across scarred features at hearing him swear. “You-”

“Don’t tell Warriors.” He whispers with a wink- blink- whatever, it was meant as a wink, and hopefully Wild would read it as one.

“You swore.” Wild breathes

“And you lied.” He returns. “You’re a good singer. Confident, maybe not, but I thought I heard Maon when I first woke up, and unless you want to tell me that my wife has a poor singing voise-”

“No! Of course not!”

“Settled then.” He smiled. “You’re a good singer.”

The champion stares at him, ears twitching slowly and eyes blinking as he processes the words, before a light scowl pulls at the kid’s scars as he crosses his arms. “It- no!” At the grin he shoots at the kid, Wild whines softly. “Dad!”

Both freeze at that. Or rather, Time blinks repeatedly, shocked, and Wild’s hands fly up to his mouth, eyes wide and horrified.

“I’m sorry!” Wild blurts out, still hiding behind his hands. “I slipped I-”

Laughter, deep and rumbling enough that Twilight is happy grumbling against him in response, sounds through the camp as Time throws his head back. He can’t stop it, but he will embrace it. This is the best morning he’s had in ages and Hylia have him if he doesn’t take a moment to enjoy it! “You’re fine, Cub. I’ve been called much worse than that more than once. Unless of course,” He grins at the young hero, brows pulling down in a mock stare, even if he can’t hold his smile back to be convincing. “You think I’d be a bad one?”

“No! You’re an awesome- You’re going to be-” Wild is somehow redder than he was before and he stomps his foot almost petulantly as he catches on to the laughter that still rumbles in Time’s chest. “Time!”

“I don’t mind.” He rumbles out, and more than anything he wants to walk over and ruffle the kids hair, or wrap him in a hug, but he’s trapped by Twilight, and instead can only lift his free arm in an offer that Wild hesitates to take. He’s almost considering lowering his arm and rescinding his invitation when the champion barrels into his side, face buried in his shoulder as Golden hair fills his vision.

“I hate you.”

“Such disrespect to your father.” Time scolds playfully, gently pinching Wild’s ear and making the champion giggle at the touch. “What will your Mamalon say?”

“Ma-” Wild sits up again, staring down at him in confusion. “Mamalon?”

His lips pull into a smile again, something he’s done more this morning than he has nearly all week. “Something Legend calls her, which I’m stealing because she and I both like it.”

The champion’s eyes trail down to where scarred fingers still tangle into his tunic. “Can I call her that too?”

“Well,” He chuckles. “If I’m your Father Time, I think it’s only fair she’s you Mamalon.” At Wild’s smile he smirks. “Ad she’ll be delighted to learn you already know the family song, if only in part. Her mother wrote that for her you know, and I’m sure she’d love to teach you the rest of it. She taught it to me after all, and I used to sing as poorly as Twilight!”

Wild’s mouth opens and closes a few times as a light blush colors the kid’s cheeks before he shyly nods. “I’d- I think I’d like that.”

“Good.” And breakfast or no, Time thinks the others can wait for a half of a minute to eat after waking up, because if Twilight’s going to pin him down than he’s going to return the favor with his other son.

[lubdubsworld]

Change of Heart ( TaehyungxOC) (Chapter 6)

Pairing : Taehyung x OC Werewolf AU!!

Genre : Romance, Explicit Content.

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3/ Chapter 4/ Chapter 5

[ Summary :

Times are changing.

After years of being oppressed, werewolves are taking a stand against humans , demanding equal rights and fair treatment. Heading the movement is Kim Taehyung, the breathtaking heir to the Kim fortune and one of the few remaining Alpha werewolves in the country. His disdain for the human race is well known and well warranted. They killed his family after all…..

He wants to change the world , to put humans in their place but when his five year old daughter takes a shine to their very human neighbor , maybe he has to start with a change of heart , first.  ]

Warnings : Get ready for the unsexiest sex in the history of sex.  werewolf sex, knotting etc 

You can completely skip this chapter if it makes you uncomfortable . 

Literally nothing happens except that they mate. 

Chapter 6

“Luna is staying with Jimin for a week. Jimin’s sister and her kids are home so he’s sure she’ll be fine.” Taehyung said, when I asked him about the young girl. 

I nodded, slightly disappointed because I loved her and was looking forward to seeing her.

Although I suppose he probably didn’t want her to be around when he was doing....well whatever it was that he intended to do to me. I felt my pulse raise, the first tendrils of fear and panic beginning to weave through my veins. 

“You look terrified.” Taehyung commented mildly, fingers curled gently around my elbow as he led me to where his car was parked. I swallowed.

“I am terrified.” I pointed out.” I have no idea what I just agreed to.”

Taehyung hummed, fumbling with his car key and a second later the lights in a swanky black car , a little bit ahead of us, flashed with a familiar beep. Taehyung’s car looked as expensive as it probably was, black and sleek .

“Is this the car you choose anytime you’re seducing unwilling humans?” I teased. 

 I stared at the glossy metallic finish, the swanky lights that lit up along the car’s sharp and beautiful lines and my eyes caught the small exquisitely detailed silver wolf, carefully mounted on the bonnet. 

“Hmm....no one has been unwilling , so far.” Taehyung’s eyes danced with mischief. 

I rolled my eyes at that, handing over my carry-all bag when he held his hand out for it. 

“This isn’t what I would have chosen for myself.” He moved to open the boot space, lifting the small suitcase I’d packed and stowing it inside carefully.

I stared at him wondering what he was talking about.

“Someone like you...for a mate.” He pointed out and I wondered if he even heard the insult . 

“Someone like me for the rest of your life?” I gave him a dry smile.

He closed the boot sharply, the sound making me jump a little.

His gaze was intense, lush lips twisted in a frown.

“A human ...for the rest of my life.” He corrected. I felt a pang of hurt at that. It was somehow worse, knowing that I was just interchangeable with every other human of his acquaintance . He moved closer to me, reaching past me to touch the sensor on his key to the door. 

The door opened when he touched the handle, arms brushing my body as he leaned in close to me  and I flinched back instinctively..

He gave me a look. 

“Sorry...I’m just a little on edge.” 

He sighed.

“I won’t hurt you.” His voice was steady and firm , his gaze calm and soothing as he stared at me and for the millionth time, I found myself utterly enthralled by his beauty. The perfect , sharp as a blade jawline, flawless skin and sharp, bewitching eyes. 

“I think.... you know that’s a lie.” I smiled a little. He had the good grace to look a little contrite. He stepped back a bit to give me space to get in. 

“It’s not a lie.” 

I tilted my head and stared at him.

“Really? You’re telling me a human mating a wolf isn’t going to do a number on the human? ” 

Taehyung frowned, thick eyebrows furrowing. 

“It’s not going to leave any permanent damage.” 

I let out a slightly strangled laugh.

“How comforting!” 

Taehyung shrugged. 

“ It is how it is. Mating is..... an ancient ritual. Something that we’ve been doing for centuries. At the heart of it, it is something animalistic and feral because it isn’t the human part of me that’s going to be involved. And my wolf isn’t familiar with being gentle. I can’t promise he won’t hurt you but I can promise that I will help fix what he breaks.”

  What he breaks, I thought with a slightly hysterical flash of trepidation. His wolf was going to break ....what exactly?

He must’ve caught the look on my face.

“I think I could have worded that better.” He muttered. 

My tongue felt like sandpaper in my mouth.

“I’m just wondering if perhaps , a week from now,  I’m going to prefer being shot in the shoulder, to having sex with you.” I croaked out. 

His lips quirked at that.

“Not unless being shot in the shoulder gave you multiple orgasms.....no.” His eyes flashed red, boring holes into mine and my lips parted in a soft gasp. 

Arousal shot straight through my center, hot and heavy and I felt the blood rush to my face so abruptly that I was momentarily lightheaded. Feeling a bit like there was steam gushing out of my ears, I dropped my gaze away from him, down to his knees and then turned away, face flaming. 

I moved to the open door, ready to climb in hide but Taehyung moved quickly, gripping my arm and pulling me around till I crashed into his chest. 

“Tae-” I broke off when he reached out to gently cup my face, thumb brushing across my lower lip in a gentle caress. 

“You’re beautiful.” He whispered, smiling gently, “  I find you incredibly desirable and I intend to show you that when you’re in my bed. The fact that my wolf also approves of you will only make the whole thing more enjoyable for you. Trust me, I’ve never had any complaints before.” 

Certain that I was probably the same shade as a ripe tomato, I yanked my hand away from him, turning around and stumbling to the door. I got into the car quickly, slamming the door shut. I could hear him chuckling lightly outside as he finished putting away the rest of my bags. 

I tugged on the seatbelt with shaky fingers, trying not to overthink. I felt torn, confused. Like he was toying with me. He was so carefully vague about what he wanted and what he felt , it was impossible to understand him. I watched the seat belt click into place and the sat back to stare straight ahead. 

The driver’s door opened and Taehyung climbed in, powering the vehicle and slipping his belt on in one smooth move before letting his fingers play across the backlit dashboard. Soft music began crooning through the speakers and he carefully adjust the mirrors manually before gripping the steering wheel and carefully easing the care out of the parking lot.

“We’ll pick up a few supplies on the way.” He commented mildly. 

“Supplies?” 

“Medical supplies.” 

I felt my pulse jump again.

“I’m beginning to regret this immensely.” I whispered, fingers digging into my thigh as I willed myself to not scream. 

Taehyung turned to give me a look.

“you do know, I’d have to bite you, right?” 

I felt my jaw come unhinged.

“I...you... what?!” 

Taehyung groaned. 

“please don’t freak out. “ H’s voice deepened, probably in an attempt to be soothing, “ It’s just a small bite. It won’t be that deep or anything but it will leave a mark. It’s supposed to. Kind of a sign that you’re mated.”

I stared at him , dread pooling in the pit of my stomach and making me feel mildly nauseous. 

“Would it.. Would i... ?” I couldn’t even finish it. 

Taehyung looked confused for a second and then his face went completely blank.

“No.” He said shortly. 

“No, I -?”

“No, you won’t turn into a fucking werewolf, Jesus Christ” He snapped furiously,” Do you really think I’m gonna turn you into a were without your fucking consent? “ 

I felt myself sinking back into the plush leather seat in the face of his anger. 

The air was heavy with a tense silence for  a few minutes and then he sighed loudly, breath leaving him in an exhale.

“I’m.... I’m sorry. I know this is frightening for you and I’m grateful that you’re here. I want... Fuck. I want to make this... good for you. And if not good at least ...bearable. “ 

I stared down at my shoes. 

“I’m just... I feel scared because I don’t know what I’m walking into.” 

I looked up when the car slowed down and I noticed he was pulling into the parking lot of an all night mart of some  kind. I watched as he carefully pulled in between two smaller cars .

“You wanna come in with me? Or would you rather wait here?” He asked casually. 

“I’ll...I’ll stay here.”

He hummed and kept the air conditioner and the music running , moving out of the car . I watched him leave , his tall suave figure earning him dazzled looks from the people in the parking lot. 

I watched as nearly every single woman in the place ogled him, taking in the perfectly tailored slacks, the silk shirt and his striking good looks. He looked a little rakish today, having run a  hand through his hair earlier and even from a distance, there was no doubting that he was one of the most gorgeous men in the entire country. 

And no one in their right mind would think he was anything but an alpha, I thought balefully, watching the way he stalked across the tarmac, his gait predatory and focused. People stepped out of his way instinctively. No one met his gaze head on and I knew exactly why.

Staring at Taehyung was like staring down an apex predator. 

Even the dumbest of men wouldn’t be dumb enough to provoke someone who looked like  that. 

 i caught my own reflection in the mirror and felt myself shrink in on myself. 

I wasn’t ugly. 

Far from it.

 I could even be beautiful if I had a couple of hours and access to some good beauty products. But I wasn’t werewolf level beautiful. I couldn’t think of a single quality in me that would qualify me to be Kim Taehyung’s significant other. I remembered the model he had been dating, Ji hyun. She had been so beautiful. Tall and lissome with perfectly sculpted features. 

in what world could I compete with that?

 And What about.... the emotional connection?

 I groaned at the very though of it. 

Love was such an abstract thing to define but I wasn’t a cynic. I could imagine myself being in love with Taehyung, falling for him and in fact, I was pretty sure that I was already half way there already. 

I had wanted him to be interested in me when he had asked me to look after Luna. Had wanted that hot and heavy gaze on me, had wanted him to touch me,  with  less than pure intentions. But it had still  been just  a crush, albeit a big one.

Back then,  I had convinced myself to forget about it because of the sheer impossibility of it ever happening. But now, my traitorous heart was beginning to whisper little phrases of hope at me. 

 What if he likes you too....

What if he fell in love with you too....

I had to tamp down that voice before it grew any louder, I thought miserably. Did I not remember how he had looked, when he’d asked me to come with him? Like he was being held at gunpoint? 

The door clicked open again and I blinked. Taehyung opened the rear door and tossed a few bags on the seat there before the slamming the door shut and climbing in next to me. 

“I’ve asked the house keeper to stock the pantry and get the rooms cleaned. The staff won’t be around for a week so I would have to make sure it doesn’t get too filthy.” 

“I can help... to cook and clean.” I said quickly.

He hesitated before smirking a little. 

There was something feral in the smile, something lewd and suggestive and I felt myself blushing although I had no idea why. 

“What? Why are you looking at me that way....”

He shrugged.

“I just think its cute that you think that.” 

I frowned, not at all sure what he was implying.

“What does that even mean? What am I thinking that’s so ridiculous.?” 

“It cute that you think that you can still move around after getting fucked by an alpha werewolf on his rut. “ His eyes fairly danced with amusement and I felt my jaw drop.

“You- That's- “ I was momentarily incoherent with how much his words had scrambled my brain, “ ... ...How dare you!” I finished in a hash whisper. 

He laughed out loud at that. 

“I’m supposed to be selling this whole mating thing to you . I think I’m doing a bad job of it.” He shook his head, before starting the engine again. 

I didn’t reply, my cheeks hurting from the effort it took not to scream. 

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

I held the bags carefully, while a couple of young men carried over my suitcases into the elevator. Taehyung was leaning on the counter at the reception desk and the girl behind the desk was making moon-eyes at him. 

"Mr. Kim, we’ve already spoken to the other residents. The penthouse suit if off limits for the rest of the week as you requested. Your daughter’s nanny was here earlier and she said she’ll bring Luna back when you ask her to.”

Taehyung nodded.

“Excellent. This is my fiance, Yoon Mi Rae.” He said casually and I flushed at the phrase. 

“Oh, fiance?” The woman made no effort to hide the disappointment and disbelief on her face. I smiled weakly.

“Yes. Surprised?” He chuckled and I frowned when the girl laughed too.

“Never thought you would go for a human, Tae.” She tilted her head . 

The nickname surprised me. So they were close, then?

“ Sometimes life surprises you that way.” 

I sighed, turning away at the words. I tamped down the urge to yell at him that I didn’t particularly savor the thought of being mated to him either. That given a choice I would rather be with a man who actually  wanted  me. 

But that wasn’t why I had agreed to this whole thing was it? Taehyung’s cause was bigger than both of us. My father was doing something illegal and damaging and he had to be stopped. 

That was what this was about. 

If I lost sight of that bigger picture and focused on the little things, then I would likely be miserable for a long long time. 

Little things like the fact that Taehyung had absolute no interest in falling in love with a human. 

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

The apartment was spacious and decorated s tastefully that I couldn’t help but stop and stare. It was very obvious that Taehyung had painstakingly picked the decor out himself. A few Van Gogh paintings hung on one of the walls and the entire living space was done in muted tones of beige and also colors of rich mahogany brown with lush red and maroon trinkets for relief. 

Taehyung directed the med to leave the suitcases in the master bedroom and then once they left, he carefully closed the door behind them.

I heard the sound of the lock clicking in place and slowly, the dread from earlier returned. 

“Do you drink?” Taehyung asked casually, shrugging out of his jacket and tossing it on the couch., I watched him move to the massive fridge in the kitchen, and felt my lips trembling a bit.

“Just- Just water.” I said softly. 

He grabbed a few bottles of water and carefully poured me a glass. He looked up then and his gaze caught mine. 

Feeling incredibly vulnerable, I merely stared back. 

“Are you hungry?” He asked gently. 

I shook my head. 

He nodded, stepping out from behind the counter and walking over , holding out the glass of water. I took it from him cautiously and took a sip. 

“We need to talk about this. I don’t... I don’t want you to be blindsided by anything that happens tomorrow. “

 Tomorrow. 

“Okay. I’m listening. “ I took a few more sips of the water and he carefully took the glass from me. 

I moved to sit on the couch but he stopped me with a hand to my arm. 

“Do you dance?” He said casually. 

I blinked.

“Dance?”

He smiled and snapped his fingers a couple of times. 

I gasped when the lights in the living space dimmed down not turning off entirely but bathing the entire room in hues of gold . The light made him look ten times more enthralling and the soft smile on his face made me want to weep. If I had been half in love earlier, I’d certainly fallen the entire way down in that damned smile. 

“I think you should get used to my body first.” He smiled and stepped closer, gently wrapping one arm around my waist before grabbing my wrist and guiding it to his shoulder. I curled my fingers tentatively, feeling my pulse pound at the smoothness of the silk and the underlying strength of his muscles. I brushed my fingers gently against his shoulder blades, stroking down to his pecs and stopping when my palm rested right over his heart. 

“You like that?” He smiled, “ Because I certainly do” and there was no hint of teasing there, just genuine pleasure and in the face of such honestly, I couldn’t help but blush. 

“You’re.... big.” I finished , feeling my face flame. 

He nodded. 

“I am. Everywhere. its probably going to be a bit of a problem for you later.” He smiled and pulled a small square remote from his pocket. 

Music began to spill into the air from the speakers and I laughed at the song.

“ I was made for loving you”  Tori Kelly’s beautiful voice crooned and I shook my head.

“You are good at this, Alpha Kim.” I said softly. “Is this the part where your conquests begin taking off their clothes?” 

He hummed and began to move, one hand curving around my waist and the other lightly resting on my back. I swayed with him, enjoying the gentle intimacy.

“I actually prefer doing that myself.” He smirked and I nodded, relaxing a bit. Taehyung was likeable, not an asshole by any stretch of the imagination and surprisingly humble considering the kind of wealth he had at his disposal. 

I liked him deeply and while it was obvious he thought he had to handle me like fine china, the truth was I wasn’t even half as scared as I ought to have been. 

“You’re pretty calm now. You were..... very would up earlier.” I pointed out.

He hummed,  his fingers tracing up and down my back before resting at the base of my spine, thumb gentle as it stroked my skin through the fabric of my dress. 

“I can control it easier because you’re right here. My wolf is calm because you’re in my arms. And my rut probably won’t start till I’m ... well , for a few hours at least. “ 

I nodded.

“How do you know its starting?” I asked, curious.

He gave me a grin.

“Oh trust me you’ll know.” He muttered, pulling me slightly closer till I was pressed right up against his body, hips pressing into me gently. I felt the hard press of his erection and even with the layers of fabric between us I could tell how well endowed he was  and I stilled, backing away a little. 

“I’m.... Sorry, I...” I whispered.

But he grabbed my wrists, tugging me back gently.  

“Don’t apologize. Its alright.  You need to get used to me. Like this, I can watch how you react and back off when I want but later...I may not be that coherent. I just want you be comfortable before we start anything. “ He said softly, fingers fluttering down to link with mine. 

“Are you saying you won’t stop if i ask you to?” 

Taehyung hesitated.

“No...if you’re actually hurting or in danger , I’ll know and I will stop. But my wolf probably won’t stop if its just you getting cold feet and you aren’t in any real danger from me. “ 

I looked away, not feeling very reassured. The bigger picture, I reminded myself. I wasn’t here for a good time. I was here because he needed me and not the other way around. 

Taehyung took my silence for disapproval and gently touched my face, eyes wide with apology. 

“I’m sorry.” He said calmly, “ Wolves have....different moral codes and that's probably why its incredibly rare for a wolf to mate with a human.”

“What do you think happened with us?” I asked him, “ You obviously need a were in your life. So why did your wolf pick me?”

He didn’t reply. 

“Is this permanent?” 

“For me, yes. For you, no.”

“What does that mean?” 

“When you leave here , you can go back to your old life. You can probably meet another guy and get married if you want. I however would not be able to have another relationship...” 

I felt my jaw drop.

“That’s....” i began but he shook his head. 

“It’s alright. I’m not a huge fan of relationships. I have my work and Luna. My life is complete as is.” 

There was nothing much to say to that. 

“You wanna go to bed now?” He asked quietly . 

I smiled at how nervous he looked.

“Lead the way.” 

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

Taehyung’s bedroom was almost surgical suite clean and also incredibly huge. The large four poster bed had huge ornate frames and I felt my eyes redden when I saw the handcuffs neatly cuffed to the lowest rung.

Taehyung followed my gaze and smiled.

“Ah. Thats just a precaution.” 

“you want to put me in handcuffs?” i blurted out and he laughed.

“No...I’ll be the one in the handcuffs. When I’m knotting you, my claws are going to pop and I don’t want to hurt you accidentally. The handcuffs will make sure that my hands stay off you.” 

“Okay.... “

He moved around the room, casually fixing the lights , turning most of them off and leaving only a couple of lamps near the bed on. 

“Would you like to shower?” He prompted. “ I bought... well, there's a nightgown in the bathroom that you could wear. Only if you want to .... No pressure.”

Nightgown?

I nodded and moved to the attached bath .

“the towels are in the cupboard.” He called out behind me when I closed the door. 

I stared around at the bathroom which was almost as large as the living space. A bathtub stood in the corner and it looked large enough to hold three people comfortably. A shower stall stood on the left and I quickly stripped out of my clothes and moved to the shower. 

The buttons took a little time for me to figure them out but the hot water on my body was a welcome relief. The water helped loosen my muscles and the slight twinge in my shoulder was almost fully gone. 

I wrapped myself in a fluffy towel and noticed the white box , tied together with a satin ribbon. I opened it carefully half expecting something scandalous.

It wasn’t. 

I pulled out the plain white cotton nightgown, and it looked especially fragile. 

Confused but willing to indulge him, I slipped it on quickly, brushing my teeth and fluffing my hair before stepping out. 

Taehyung was half naked on the bed and I froze near the bathroom. He was wearing just a pair of boxers which did nothing to hide his arousal. 

“You alright , sweetheart?” He said gently and the nickname made my teeth hurt. 

“Umm...yeah. So...we’re just doing this then?” 

“I think its starting...” He said tiredly. 

I startled.

“You said... I thought it was tomorrow..?”

“Guess the guy doesn’t wanna wait that long.” Taehyung muttered tiredly and his eyes flashed red. 

But it didn’t fade back to chestnut brown, the way it usually did.

Instead the irises stayed red, like a ruby , glinting across the distance between us as he stared me down. . 

I could feel the hysteric fear beginning to build and I fought to keep it down. It was okay... He was an Alpha and so his eyes flashed red... that’s all. Jungkook’s eyes had flashed red plenty of times when we were together. 

“Come here.” He patted his lap. 

“Okay. “ I squeaked. 

Feet leaden, I walked over to the bed , climbing over carefully and then scooting across the clean white sheets to reach him. i stayed kneeling near him. 

He was staring at me expectantly.

“Oh, you want me to sit there?” I pointed at his lap.

He looked amused. 

“If it isn’t too much of a bother.” He said primly.  

 Stop acting like its your first time.

I yelled at myself internally before throwing one leg over his thighs, raising myself up to hover over him. Taehyung grabbed the back of my thighs. gripping me hard through the flimsy night gown and yanked me forward till I was seated right on his hardness. 

I grabbed his shoulders to steady myself, staring down into his red eyes as he smiled, a slow calculating grin.

"You're beautiful. I had more than my fair share of dirty dreams about you when we first met." He confessed softly, and I felt pleasure bloom inside me at the shallow compliment. Whatever, no compliment was bad if it came from a guy like Taehyung. 

“I’m sure anyone who meets you has the same compulsion,” I pointed out and he chuckled. 

“I wanted to talk to you about tonight. It isn’t because I want to scare you but because I don’t want to blindside you when it happens. Humans aren’t built to take a knot. They just aren’t. I’m going to go out on a limb and say you haven’t tried anything ....along those lines before?” He asked carefully. 

I shook my head.

“The only were I’ve slept with is Jungkook and he never-”

Taehyung snarled, so sudden and uncalled for that I nearly toppled over. A ripping sound near my waist made me balk, and I stared down at my side, where one incredibly sharp claw had popped , tearing cleanly through the fabric of the nightgown. 

“fuck... I’m sorry... Are you okay?” He whispered urgently, the claw retracting and I could only cling to him, shaking a bit.

“Um....” I stared at him and there was a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead like he’d run a mile. I realized he was struggling to control his wolf, eyes flashing red intermittently. “ Are you alright, Tae?” I asked him, pressing a palm to his chest . He grabbed my wrist before pressing a kiss to the inside of it. 

Taehyung gave me a strangled smile.

“Perhaps, you shouldn’t mention other wolves you’ve slept with when you’re with me,” He suggested and I felt my head swim. 

“Okay. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. I’ve always thought possessiveness is a pathetic thing to feel for someone but unfortunately as an alpha it pretty much defines my wolf.” He grimaced. 

I reached out, carefully tracing my thumb across his forehead, dabbing up a bit of the sweat gathered there before wiping it on my gown.

“I’m sure you have other redeeming qualities.” I shrugged , grinning and he smiled in return, hands coming up to gently cup my face leading me down for a soft kiss.

The pillowy softness of his lips completely threw me off and I moaned into the kiss, one arm hooking around his neck so I could kiss him better. He tasted heady and minty and altogether delicious, tongue tracing the seam of my lips before slipping in.

There was something incredibly gentle about how he kissed, so at odds with how he behaved when he let his wolf take over and the dichotomy of it was so fascinating to me. 

Kim Taehyung with his soft subtly seductive words, his gentle touches and patient kisses was also Alpha Kim, the wolf with ruby red eyes, blood lust and violence in his gaze when he was threatened. 

When he pulled back I was panting and almost in a trance. 

“I wanted to help you get through tonight without being too hurt. Is that okay?” 

I gave him a bemused smile.

“No, I’d rather you put me through immense pain.” I said drily. 

His eyes narrowed at the sarcasm, and he lightly spanked my thigh. I flinched at the sharp pain, gone before I could fully process it but the delicious heat from the impact stayed, thrumming under my skin. 

“Vixen.” He growled.

I quieted down, watching him expectantly. 

“Why don’t you lie down?” He gave my hips a small squeeze. 

I quickly climbed off him, sinking into the mattress and carefully lying down . 

“I’ll be back. Give me a second.” 

I watched as he carefully climbed off the bed , my gaze drawn to his naked back, the strong width of his shoulders and the way it tapered to his waist. The silk of his boxers left nothing to the imagination and I had to look away, gripping the sheets and breathing evenly through my nose just to curb the urge to whimper. 

Muscle memory is a hell of a thing, I thought desperately, feeling my thighs begin to tingle. Naked man, dim lighting and bed equaled sex in my mind and my body was responding easily to the atmosphere and Taehyung’s gorgeous body was just an added bonus. 

He grabbed something from the cupboard and a bottle from the dresser and I stared, curious as he made his way over. 

“Have you ever dabbled with ....bdsm?” He asked casually , tossing the bottle up and catching it easily.  I stared at his long , long fingers, the way they looked, gripping the surface. 

I felt myself flush from the top of my head all the way down to the soles of my feet. 

“Uh... A couple of times. I was really young.” I said hastily. “ He was...uh..well he was older and...”

“Don’t worry about it. I just didn’t want you to get scared. You’ve been in subspace then?” He was making his way over and I could feel nervousness build. It took a me a second to process what he’d just asked. 

I hesitated. 

“It... I was too scared to fully let go..” I admitted. “ I fall easily and it terrified me because I didn’t fully trust him .” 

Taehyung hummed, moving closer to me and carefully placing a strip of black cloth on the pillow next to my head. He dropped the bottle on the mattress and knelt on the edge, next to me, stroking the hair back from my face and smiling.  

“I understand. Do you  feel that way with me, too? If you do, we can think of some other way to do this. “ 

I felt my eyes flutter shut at the gentle touch of his fingers. 

“I trust you.” I said softly.

He nodded.

“It’s nothing intense , I swear. I just want to blindfold you. And then maybe a little bit of impact play...i noticed you liked that....” His lips quirked. 

I blushed , nodding. He picked up the dark strip of cloth, stretched it between his fingers, testing the give of the material. 

“The blindfold is going to help keep you grounded. No distractions, yeah? I want you to follow my voice and feel my touch, don’t think about anything else ....is that clear?” 

I nodded.

“Words, angel.” He said gently. 

My toes curled at the endearment. 

“Uh... Yes.” 

“Yes, sir.” He corrected gently. 

I felt my body run hot and cold all at once, lips parting and throat going dry. 

“S-Sorry?”

Taehyung chuckled gently and I jumped when he gently placed the blindfold over my eyes, the world dissolving in black before me as he carefully tied the strip behind . 

Once it was secured, I felt the gentle touch of his finger across my cheeks.

“It’s not just about you tonight, is it, pet?” His voice had dipped lower, the drawl more pronounced. “ Don’t you think I deserve to feel good too?” 

I almost sat up , nervous and jittery because I couldn’t see him and I startled when cool hands gripped my waist and shoulder, holding me down.

“What’s wrong, angel?” 

I swallowed.

“Nothing.. I... I’m sorry. “

“Colour?”

I blanked out for a second.

“Red for stop, yellow if you want me to slow down and green if you’re okay to continue, angel.” He said gently.

I nodded again. 

“Words, angel. I need you to use your words at all times.” 

“Yes...” I whispered.

“Yes?” He prompted. 

“Yes sir.” I answered quietly.

“Good girl.” He whispered and I felt the light touch of his lips against mine. I felt my breathing even out at the gentle caress. Fingers fluttered over my hand and I felt him gently loosen my grip on the sheets. 

He gripped my wrist gently and moved it over my shoulder.

“I want your hand over your shoulder at all times. Can you do that for me? If you can’t , I can restrain them for you.” 

I was already moving them down almost unconsciously. He hummed, pulling my wrist back up and I flushed. I wasn’t going to be able to do that. 

“Please ..tie them up for me.” I whispered. 

He didn’t reply and I felt him move away , my body suddenly cold from his absence , and I took deep steadying breaths. I felt myself relaxing against the covers, lips parting as I stopped trying to hold my hands up, just letting them rest on the pillows , limbs loose. 

The touch of something silky to my wrists, made me jump, but fingers pressed my hips, stroking gently.

“Shush....its okay , baby. Let me just take care of you, yeah?” Taehyung’s voice came from right near my ear and I exhaled.

“Yes sir.” I whispered and he laughed softly, the sound mellifluous against my lobe. 

“Now you’re learning. ” He pressed another kiss to the corner of my mouth, lips slightly wet and forceful as he breathed , “ Good girl.”  and I felt the words all over me, like euphoria in my veins, spreading to every part of me.

 It was blissful, the way warmth spread through me, my limbs going lax as I felt him carefully tie my wrists to the bed post, the thought if tugging on them didn’t even cross my mind.

 All I wanted to do was to stay here forever, my head clear and thoughts practically nonexistent. It was like nothing existed, except for the endless dark I was in and the touch of his fingers on me. The music of his voice as he whispered praise against my skin. 

I felt bereft when he moved away but he was back before I could fully miss him. 

“I’m going to touch you baby.....Going to make you feel good. Is that okay?”

“Yes sir.”

“Perfect.”

I heard the pop of a bottle opening.

I felt the bed dip as he climbed on, kneeling near my legs. 

A few seconds later, fingers lightly gripped my ankle, warm and smooth.  lifting my foot up and placing it on his lap. 

My lips parted in a filthy moan when he dug his fingertips into my ankle, smoothing out the skin and pain blossomed where he squeezed, the muscles protesting as he gently massaged the knots away. 

“I’m going to get familiar with your body first.... wanna know what makes you feel good.” 

“Okay Tae....” I breathed out.

A sharp spank on my thigh made me jolt in surprise and I gasped, heat licking its way up my leg and making me clench my thighs together . The pain was sharp and stinging and it made my eyes water just a bit.

“That’s not what you’re supposed to call me, is it pet?” He sounded annoyed and I felt myself scrambling to apologize. 

“No..I’m sorry ... sir.. I’m...”

“I’m being very patient with you , pet. Next time, I won’t stop with one.” 

I nodded before quickly remembering.

“Yes sir.”

He hummed and went back to massaging my feet, first one then the other. I relaxed against the pillows, feeling my eyes grow heavy as he worked his magic on me and time became insignificant.

I didn’t know how long I’d laid there and it was only when his hands moved up, past my knee, across my thighs and then closer my inner thighs that I began to come to myself. 

“Can I take your panties off baby....” He whispered, voice hoarse.

I was breathing through my mouth, slightly dizzy. 

“Yes, sir.” I whispered. Fingers hooked on the edged of the fabric, tugging my underwear down and off me swiftly. Somehow everything inside me shifted when I felt him against my skin. The soothing pleasure disappeared, replaced by apprehension . 

“Beautiful .” He whispered and I swallowed, nervous and scared.

I opened my mouth to speak but the words wouldn’t come.

“What’s wrong angel? You alright?” He asked urgently. 

I swallowed again.

“I’m...Sir... I... what are you... I want...” I couldn’t get my thoughts in order and the panic rose again. 

“Its okay baby... tell me what’s wrong?” He whispered gently, and I bit my lips. 

“Red.... I... I’m not... I can’t ....”

He moved away at once and a second later, the blindfold came off . i blinked at the dim light and Taehyung was kneeling right next to me, worry clouding his eyes .

“You okay?” He whispered. 

“Can you ....on top of me? I’m just.. I feel so cold.” I whispered. 

Taehyung smiled, wide before nodding. 

“That’s fine. Anything for you...” 

The next second, I felt him move on top of me, hot and warm, heavy and firm and solid as he pressed into me. I wanted to touch him, to reach out and grip him and anchor myself because I felt like I was about to float away. 

“Should I take the restraints' off?, “ Taehyung read my mind so swiftly , it left me reeling. “  Do you wanna touch me?” He whispered and I nodded. 

“Okay... as you wish baby...we’re doing it your way... okay?” 

“Okay...sir.”

“You can call me Tae....” He  said warmly and I felt myself relax a bit more. He pulled on the restraints quickly and my wrists dropped to the bed t once, my shoulder beginning to throb a little but even the pain was muted, barely there. 

He massaged my wrists gently, pressed a kiss to them and I felt affection bloom inside me along with regret. 

“I’m sorry...” I whispered.

Taehyung glanced at me in surprise and shook his head.

The first time isn’t going to be perfect. It happens.” He kissed me again, gently but firmly, fingers fluttering down my waist .

“First time?” I grinned. “ Wow I didn’t know I was your first, Alpha Kim.” 

“First time with each other , brat.” He lightly spanked my hips and I yelped.

“I’m beginning to think, this whole spanking thing is more for you, than me...” I wrinkled my nose.

Taehyung grinned.

“I prefer paddles and whips actually. “ He said coolly and I felt my heart leap to my throat. 

“I-”

“Don’t worry... only with  absolutely willing partners.” He winked.

And then he groaned, eyes flashing red. 

“Fuck....” He groaned. 

“What’s wrong...?” I whispered, worried. 

“Can I touch you... I think... It’s ... My wolf... “ He muttered and I smiled wrapping both arms around his next and drawing him down for a kiss. 

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

“Is this okay....? Fuck...” Taehyung grunted and I keened as his fingers slipped in deeper, stroking and searching and I blinked away tears, face pressed into the pillow as I lay face down on the bed. Taehyung was on me, finger fucking me so well that I’d already cum twice and now my limbs weren’t functioning at all. 

“Okay...just please....” I groaned when another finger traced my entrance and a sob got wrenched out of me when he dipped it in lightly.

“Doing so well for me baby, taking my fingers so well... Can’t wait to see you wrapped around my knot....gonna claim you and fuck you so well, my pretty , pretty pet...” He pushed the fourth finger in and the stretch made me wail. 

Taehyung had a filthy , filthy mouth and everything he said made me want to cry. The stretch of four fingers was too much and I had to grit my teeth, breathe through my mouth just to stay in my senses. I took deep shuddering breaths, willing myself not to start sobbing. 

“I’m so sorry... “ He kept apologizing, alternating the push and pull of his fingers with wet, messy kisses along my shoulder. I groaned , eyes heavy as I tried to stay conscious.

“..’s too much...” I slurred, my eyes wet with tears and lashes damp. 

“Just a bit more... I don’t wanna hurt you when I... when we ... please baby...just hold on a little yeah...” Taehyung sounded desperate.

I sobbed out in protest when his fingers went in deeper, cleaving my insides and trying to make room where there was none. It went on for a few minutes and then his thumb was brushing my clit, lightly , barely a brush and I was cumming again, clamping around his fingers so hard that I felt like I was crumbling on the inside.

“Okay.... “ Taehyung kept his fingers inside me, soothing me through the tremors., “ I think... It’s okay... I think this should work.” He pressed one last kiss to my shoulder and I made to turn over but he held my shoulders down. 

“Let’s do it like this, angel.... It’ll hurt less.” He whispered and then he was pulling his fingers out , spreading my thighs apart so he could lie in between and I whimpered at the emptiness, feeling like I’d stepped right off a cliff , but before I could hit bottom and shatter, he was on me, grounding me, gripping me tight as he pressed his hardness against me.

“You ready?” He whispered.

I managed a weak nod and a second later he pushed in .

It felt a little like being stabbed straight through, only a million times more pleasurable. 

And then he was gripping my waist, lifting me up and moving me till I was on all fours, staring at the rungs of his four poster bed. He moved his hips gently, pulling out just a bit before pushing back in and I felt my eyes roll back in my head. 

He was so fucking big even the four fingers felt like too little of a stretch. 

His hands came around to grasp the lower rung of the bed. 

“Put the handcuffs on me .” He said from behind me and I exhaled harshly, trying not to collapse into the bed as I fumbled with the metal restraints. My head felt heavy, my body thrumming with adrenaline and exhaustion and I could feel the messy wetness between my thighs, dripping down the length of my legs and pooling on the soft white sheets. 

When the handcuffs had locked both his wrists in place he shuddered behind me. He was so big inside me that I couldn’t even clench down on him, my inner walls stretched so wide around him that I felt like I was inch away from coming apart.

“We’re doing this... any last wishes?” 

I smiled despite myself , shaking my head.

“Is it too late to say I don’t put out on the first date?” I choked out and his laughter, warm and inviting flooded my senses, a better aphrodisiac than the hour long foreplay he’d subjected me to. 

“Is it too early to say that I want to do this to you, everyday for the rest of our lives.” He whispered and I felt my eyes widen in shock, the confession so unexpected that I actually nearly pulled away from him. 

But before I could fully relish what I’d just heard, he was gripping the bed hard and pulling out before shoving right back in. 

“Oh, God...” I choked out as he fucked into me, each thrust carefully sharp and strong. He had insane control over his hips, the steady staccato of his body hitting the back of my thigh, loud and incessant in the quiet darkness. 

“Touch yourself for me baby..... come on make yourself cum so I can make you mine...” He said harshly and I felt the warm wetness of his lips against my shoulder, kissing and leaving wet trails as he mouthed at the skin there.....and I slipped a finger between my legs , rubbing lightly at my clit , my body screaming in protest because I had long fallen over the edge of overstimulation and this was just too much , too fast now. But I kept my eyes closed, listening to his voice as I gently rubbed circles on the swollen nub at my entrance and when I felt my orgasm hit, my eyes flew open.

“Tae, I’m....” I began , raising my head as I began to clamp down on him . My eyes widened as the hands in front of me transformed, claws popping out from each finger , razor sharp and deadly. 

I closed my eyes in terror, a scream getting torn out of me just as Taehyung growled behind me, pushing hard inside me, going deeper than I thought was even possible. The lips at my shoulder moved, pulling back and my eyes flew open in shock when twin pricks of pain bloomed on the junction between my neck and shoulder. 

Fear broke through the adrenaline fueled mess of pleasure in my head and I whimpered when he sank his fangs into me, teeth breaking skin without any effort and the hot, warm wetness of my blood as it gushed out of the tear. as right. 

Humans did not belong with wolves because this...this was just so effing painful.

And then before I could fully recover from the pain of the bite, I felt him shifting inside me. And then somehow he seemed to be getting bigger, inside me. 

“I’m so sorry , baby.” Taehyung whispered, “ Can you get the  handcuffs.?”

I pulled on the safety in the handcuff and he pulled his hands away, gripping my waist and lightly turning me over till I was on my side, panting as he stayed inside me . We lay there, staring at the side wall, him spooning me as he struggled to stay still inside me, because everytime he moved, I whimpered. 

“Just a few minutes.... I... I can’t pull out for a few minutes.” He whispered, now licking away at the blood on the bite mark and I couldn’t bring myself to respond because it felt a little like I was being split into two. 

“How... how much bigger are you going to get?” I choked out , vaguely aware that he was still cumming inside me that there was so much of it that it was beginning to drip out of me.

Taehyung didn’t reply and I closed my eyes. 

The pain was building , now, steady and sure, slowly replacing the pleasure and I wondered briefly if I should have gotten drunk for this. But Taehyung had been very adamant about me being sober. 

I flinched when he shifted a little.

“So that’s it then ? We’re werewolf married now?” I choked out.

Taehyung chuckled.

“Yes, we’re werewolf married.” He said gently and moved to touch my face but the movement jostled him inside me and I let out a low keen of pain. Taehyung froze. 

“Does it hurt too bad?” he asked worriedly.

I grimaced.

“Not the most pleasant wedding I’ve been to.....But definitely prefer it to getting shot though.” I choked out and he laughed,  stilling quickly when I whined at the movement. 

“I’m sorry. Don’t worry...Once I can move, i’ll get you the pain killers and I’ll clean the bite mark too. It’s not too bad. Don’t think you’ll need stitches even. “ 

I blinked back tears as the pain intensified steadily. 

I felt my eyes grow heavy , exhaustion slowly seeping in along with the pain.

“I think... I’m gonna pass out.” I whispered. 

Taehyung kissed me gently.

“That’s probably your body offering you some respite. You should probably take it up on that offer.  “ He whispered and I couldn’t even muster a smile. 

Instead I closed my eyes and let the darkness wash over me. 

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

Author’s Note : Did I really just write 7k of bad porn ?  Why yes...yes I did. 

Also poor taehyung, my baby really tried to make it good for her :’( 

As always comments are love <3 Please show me more love <3 I’m needy.....

[colehasapen]

(ONE SHOT) you’ve got to run far from all you’ve ever known  STAR WARS

Febuwhump no.3 - Imprisonment

A03

As he’s carried through the oppressive halls of the Star Destroyer, Rex’s entire body aches and his stomach rolls. His head is fuzzy, the result of the stunner that had taken him down, and his chest aches where the Purge Trooper had tackled him.

He had been on Felucia, following a potential lead on Bly’s location, when he’d run into the trooper in black. He’s only heard rumours of Purge Troopers, of Stormtroopers so elite that they’d earned their own classification and higher quality weapons. Made to specifically hunt Jedi survivors, Purge Troopers were well known for never leaving survivors, and for fighting until they couldn’t fight anymore. They were rarely ever seen among the rank and file, only given the most dangerous of missions, and they were rumoured to be among the best of the clones.

Rex had been tracking any leads he could, to rescue any vode possible, but even after five years, it seemed like an impossible task. He’d gotten both Gregor and Wolffe out, but neither had had an activated chip, too damaged by the head trauma they’d received during the Clone Wars, but neither were in a good place to run missions. He had gone to Cut, had helped him remove his own and take his family deeper into hiding so that the Empire couldn’t find them. He knows that Clone Force 99 is free, he exchanges encrypted comms with Echo on a regular basis, but they never meet up, unwilling to lead possible tails to each other. Rex’s strength had been his anonymity; the Empire thought him dead, that he’d died with the rest of his men when the ship went down, and his face was simply that of another clone if he kept his hair disguised. It allowed him to sneak behind lines and collect intelligence to pass on to the fledgling Rebellion, because no one was looking for him. He had heard a passing rumour of Bly possibly being on Felucia, being on the planet where his Jedi had been killed, and Rex had acted as quickly as he could; he’d known what was going on between Bly and his General during the War, knew that the Commander didn’t just think of her as a General, and he knew that if he didn’t find him fast enough, there likely wouldn’t be anything  to save.

He had been right. He’d found Bly, found him where he knew Bly would have wanted to be, and he’d kneeled in front of those two graves and begged for forgiveness. For not being fast enough, for not listening to Fives, for not being there. The rumours had been right; Bly had been on Felucia, but he was already gone.

Someone had gone through the trouble of burying both the Jedi and the Commander, had known Bly well enough to know that he’d want to be buried with his Jedi, and Rex had wondered how long it could have possibly been - how the rumours could have been sparked.

Then he’d picked up Bly’s bucket, intent on giving his  ori’vod   one final  kov’nyn while he said his Remembrances, and he’d seen the blinking light of an activated signal.

Someone had staged it. Someone had known that a free clone would come looking if a signal was picked up, and had planted a trap at the same time as they buried Rex’s brother.

He hadn’t even had time to pull out his blasters before the Purge Trooper had been bearing down on him.

Rex doesn’t know how long he’s been unconscious since the trooper stunned him, he doesn’t know  why he was taken alive, all he knows is that there are stun cuffs humming around his wrists and the Purge Trooper has him slung effortlessly over his shoulder like he were nothing more than a sack of tubers. Rex is almost a little offended; he knows he’s lost weight since starting his hunt, knows that he hasn’t had the chance to eat the way that his metabolism demands when he’s not on Seelos where Gregor can fuss over him and shove food that tastes like ash down his throat - he has no doubt that his brother can cook, and cook well, but Rex just doesn’t have the energy to taste what he makes, just goes through the motions of chewing and swallowing to make Gregor happy and reduce Wolffe’s stress - but he hadn’t thought he’d lost enough mass to make it easy on the clone carrying him. He’s slung over a surprisingly soft pauldron, staring foggily down at the Purge Trooper’s swaying kama, and he wonders if he knows this trooper, wonders if he could knock the bucket off and place their face.

Maybe he could sway them away from the chip’s programming.

“Commander.” A voice Rex doesn’t recognize, can’t see, says, and the Purge Trooper pauses, gait skipping slightly. “What are you doing?”

“I’ve captured a traitor to the Empire, Sir.” The Purge Trooper says drolly, like they were annoyed at the interruption. “I’m taking the clone to the brig, so that it can be transferred to Kamino for repairs and reconditioning.”

Rex’s stomach drops, heart fluttering in fear. If he was taken back to Kamino, the Longnecks would put the chip back in his head, and everything that made him  Rex  would be gone again. Panic flares in his mind like a heavy fog, threatening to drown him with the memories of staring down his blaster at Ahsoka’s scared face and not recognizing her as his  vod’ika and Commander. He hadn’t seen her as anything but a target, someone to execute - a traitor, not even a person, and if he hadn’t warned her before being dragged under in that split second of horrified realization that Fives had been right, then she’d likely be dead.

“Trooper,” The Purge Trooper’s superior sounds annoyed, like they were dealing with a child that kept bringing feral animals into their bed. It’s almost the exact tone of voice Rex had to use when Tup had tried to slip a  ‘therapy animal’  onto the  Resolute. “You know your orders. Any rogue clone is to be  executed, not detained. If you continue to ignore regulations, I’ll have no choice but to have you returned for retraining.” The Imperial sighs, sounding tired. “I’ve already been far too lenient with your…  defectiveness … because of your skills.”

“CT-7567 is an exemplary soldier, sir, and can be put to use once repairs are complete.” The Purge Trooper argues, and Rex lets out a punchy little breath of shock where he’s still playing dead on the trooper’s shoulder. “He’s one of the best, General.”

  They know who he is.

“And  that’s  what you claimed the last time.” The Imp growls, “Right before CT-9021 destroyed itself  and  the transport it was on. That wasn’t even the first time either. Execute the clone and dispose of it, it’s  my position on the line if I allow your defect to cause any more damage to the Empire.”

The Purge Trooper’s entire body shudders at the order, and Rex’s hands clench against the other clone’s thigh. There’s a stun baton hanging off of the trooper’s hip, if he could reach it, Rex could possibly try to fight his way out of the situation he’s found himself in. But there’s an entire cruiser between him and escape, a cruiser he doesn’t know how to navigate with an unknown amount of Stormtrooper, of which is an unknown percentage of chipped vode, and there’s active stuff cuffs around his wrists.

“Sir, the Empire would lose a powerful asset-”

“CC-2224,  execute the traitor.”

Rex jolts, and it’s not just because he’s been dropped unceremoniously onto the floor. His head is ringing, his chest aches from the harsh landing so soon after taking on a fully armoured Purge Trooper, but all he can think is that it’s  Cody .

Codycodycody  - he’s here, he was just holding Rex. He had Cody within his grasp, after five years of desperately searching for him, looking for any sign that his  ori’vod had survived Order 66. Cody had been collecting unchipped clones, bringing them back to the Empire despite his orders to kill them. The big brother that had found Rex hidden away from the eyes of the Kaminoans all those years ago is still there, still thinking underneath the thrall of the chip, still trying to protect any  vod he could, just like how he had once promised to protect Rex from decommissioning.

Cody is staring down at him from behind the glowing red visor of a Purge Trooper, Rex can see the reflection of his wide eyes in the glossy black of his armour. He barely notices the blaster being leveled at him, too caught up with desperately trying to see his brother underneath the unfamiliar helmet.

“Cody.” His voice breaks -  gods, it must have been Cody who buried Bly, Cody who was probably one of the few people who truly understood the position Bly had found himself in when he’d fallen in love with someone he could never have. Clad in armour so different from those that Cody had chosen, had so lovingly painted to represent a part of him that the Longnecks would have never allowed, Cody just stares back. “Cody - it’s  you.” He’s almost too relieved to see him to feel the fear of his imminent execution. “You’re  alive.” Rex’s voice is bordering on reverent, but he can’t bring himself to care. It had been five years since he had last seen his brother. “Force - I’ve been looking everywhere for you -” he lets out a faint laugh, “- of course  you would be the one to find me instead.” His eyes flicker down momentarily, to look at the blaster aimed for his chest, shaking faintly, and a bitterly sad smile lifts his lips. “Well. I doubt this is the meeting either of us had in mind.” Rex raises his gaze once more to the expressionless helmet his brother was wearing, face illuminated in crimson.

If he were going to die, he’d rather it be looking into Cody’s eyes.

“It’s okay, Cody.” He soothes, “It’s okay. It’s not you - I don’t blame you.” Cody’s body shivers, “I love you,  ori’vod.”

Cody’s entire body jerks, twists, and Rex’s acceptance falls away to shock as his brother swings around to face the Imperial in white. The blaster fires, and the General drops, a smoking hole in their chest, their expression a dying mask of stunned confusion.

“Cody?”

“-execute the traitor.” Cody’s mumble is barely audible through his bucket, as his shaking hands fumble to throw his blaster as far away as possible. “Execute the traitor to the Empire. CT-7567 is an asset the Empire can’t lose.” He jerks again, movement punchy, as he moves towards Rex now and wordlessly lifts him to his feet. “How many - how many - how many are traitors?”

“Cody?” Rex repeats, stunned, as his brother hauls him through the halls, “What the kriff was  that?”

“General Medenhall was a traitor to the Empire.” Cody mutters, voice frantic. “Putting his own needs above those of the Empire. CT-7567 is an asset the Empire can’t lose. He had too much control on the ship. The others are traitors too.” Rex doesn’t even think that Cody is talking to him, wonders if Cody had ever been talking to him. It sounds like he’s trying to convince himself of his words - or trying to convince the chip.

“Cody you mad genius.” Rex says in numb shock, joy blooming in his chest.

Cody was fighting the chip.

“Good soldiers follow orders.” Cody hisses, grip tightening on Rex’s elbow to the point that it was almost painful, giving him a faint shake, and Rex gets the message to shut up and let his brother concentrate on the chip in his head. He shuts his mouth and lets his older brother drag him through the halls. “My orders were to execute the traitor. General Medenhall was the traitor. The asset needs to be secured.”

No Stormtrooper they pass looks twice at them, none of them seem to pick up that their General had just been killed and that the Purge Trooper that they all carefully don’t look at is muttering to himself. None of them seem to notice that he’s imprisoned in his own mind, fighting desperately against the chains. None of them seem to care that he’s dragging a prisoner behind him to Force knows where.

None of them stop them from reaching the shuttle bay, none of them stop them as Cody leads him onto a ship and closes the ramp behind them.

“Holy kriff Cody.” Rex whispers in awe, “You always were too competent for anyone’s good.”

Cody shakes his head, releasing his arm, but he doesn’t step away. Quivering hands grip at a black helmet, and Cody sways momentarily before he’s ripping off the Purge Trooper bucket and throwing it against the floor with enough force to make it bounce away from them with the sound of cracking plastoid.

For the first time in five years, Rex gets to see his brother’s face.

He looks younger than Rex now, his face is less lined by age, somehow, like he had actually aged  only the five years a natborn would have, but his temples have started to gray. It’s still his brother’s face, still the face that had haunted Rex’s nightmares for the last five years, when he hadn’t known if his brother was alive or dead. His scar is even more faded than it had been the last time he had seen him, had been given the chance to heal, the stress lines still etched into his forehead from scowling at datapads too often.

It really is Cody.

Dark wetness drips from his brother’s nose, tracing across the pained scowl twisting his lips, and his eyes look bloodshot, and Rex wonders how much pain his  ori’vod is in from fighting against his chip and its programming.

Fuck, he doesn’t know if Cody can fly in this state.

His gaze slides to the shock baton at his brother’s waist once more.

Slowly, making sure not to alert him, Rex reaches, curls his fingers around the hilt, and before Cody can react, he’s sliding it free. He activates it quickly, and, with an apologetic wince, the former Captain presses the sparking weapon against the unprotected patch of his brother’s side. Cody is seizing up immediately. He instinctively tries to pull away, but Rex follows. He blocks out the garbled noises of agony his brother releases, ignores the tears tracing through the grime on both of their faces, and he holds it there until Cody slumps, twitching, but blissfully unconscious.

“Sorry, brother.” Rex whispers, fumbling through his brother’s belt until he finds the key to his cuffs, and he’s barely aware of swapping them onto Cody’s wrists instead, as a last resort if he woke up while they were flying. “Sorry.”

Dead to the world, but no longer under the fist of the Empire, Cody doesn’t answer.

Taglist: @a-mediocre-succulent @yellowisharo @spoofymcgee @roseofalderaan @everything-or-anything @bellablue42 @tumceteri-fratres

[true-blue-megamind]

FAN THEORY THURSDAY – Why Did Metroman Retire?

Happy Almost-Friday, everyone! And even though Minion threatens to smother everything he cooks in old Limburger cheese each time I say it: SPOILER WARNING!

Yes, I know, it’s three a.m. and it’s technically Friday, but I’m still calling this Thursday night, and there’s nothing you can do about it.

Okay, let’s be honest, Metroman is a character who seems, on the surface, to require little explanation in the film Megamind. He’s only present in the beginning and end, and we spend half the movie believing he’s dead, and we learn that Metroman has done something almost unheard of among superheroes: he’s chosen to retire. The question is: why? There is a tendency to think that he's simply a spoiled rich boy who, (in his social life, at least,) does what he wants without regard for others, but is that really fair? Or could there be other possible reasons? Well, let’s take a look at a few fan theories that may explain why he chose to abandon heroism for a music career.

Metroman Didn’t Want to Be a Hero

Although he’s clearly based on—and perhaps even poking a little fun at—the Man of Steel, Metroman was no Superman. (I mean, okay, he was technically a super-man, since he had strength, speed, and powers far beyond what a human would possess.) Except, here’s the thing: he’s not a carbon copy of the Man of Steel; Metroman and Superman have completely different lives and personalities. This remains true despite the fact that they share a similar origin—that of being aliens from a dead planet—and identical powers—including laser-vision and flight. Even their code names are comparable. However, if we look deeper, it becomes obvious that Metroman and Superman are two very different characters.

Superman is all about being an upstanding hero. Although he can be annoyingly persnickety, and sometimes displays nearly oppressively unyielding strictures about right and wrong, one thing you can say about the Man of Steel is that he’s generally integral. He is exactly what his public image portrays him to be: a Good Guy through and through. The same isn’t true of Metroman, and in some ways that makes him a more complex and interesting character.

The childhoods of the two heroes are extremely different. As I’ve mentioned in Why Was Megamind Raised in Prison, when a boy, Metroman was a bully, not only making young Megamind an outsider and the object of everything from teasing to physical attacks, but also inspiring other students to do the same. Superman, on the other hand, far from being a bully was bullied by Pete Ross. Rather than using his powers against others, he was too responsible and good-hearted to use them even against Pete Ross. Metroman is adopted by super-wealthy parents, and is essentially a trust-fund baby, while Superman was adopted by a farm family. He grows up with a good work ethic and hometown values. Indeed, this economic discrepancy continues into adulthood. As far as we can tell, Metroman doesn’t need to work and has no job outside being a superhero. Superman, conversely, has to earn a living as a journalist. Finally, in the majority of comics, Superman avoids most public appearances, unless he feels they serve some beneficial social purpose. Indeed, he goes to great lengths to keep his identity a secret and avoid the public eye as much as possible. The first time we see Metroman in the film, however, he is basking in a crowd’s adoration at the dedication of a museum in his honor. Indeed, in the original script, then called Mastermind, Metroman’s real identity seems to be widely known. (In case you’re wondering, this is where the name Wayne Smith, commonly used in the fandom, originates from.) So, we see that these character are actually very different: one is a hero strictly for the greater good, and the other, while he certainly does a lot of good things, is also in it for the fame.

This may seem like I’m being harsh toward poor Wayne Smith, but his flaws do not, in fact, make him a bad person. The issue is that we’re comparing him to Superman who, while still certainly imperfect, is intended to be a better-than-average person in every way, including moral. Make no mistake, Metro City’s former hero isn’t any sort of villain; what he is is normal. If we’re honest, most of us would be pleased by wide-spread accolades and honors. He reacts to positive fame the same way nearly anyone would because, at his heart, he’s really just a typical guy. That is the material point: Wayne Smith really only wants to be an average citizen—a music star, perhaps, but still a relatively ordinary person. In that way, he and Megamind are alike: they both desire, more than nearly anything else, to be normal. The key difference is that Megamind’s sincere and driving concern for his city also makes him ideal for becoming a hero. (You can learn more about this particular fan theory in The Warden and in Megamind and Identity.)

So, why did Wayne Smith become a Defender in the first place, then? Again, I’ve briefly touched on this in previous posts, but it appears likely that Metroman was pushed into heroism just as much as Megamind was pushed into supervillainy. Because he was a bully with superpowers, it’s likely that adults around him realized something had to be done about Wayne. Otherwise he was a danger. So, they constructed an environment—the Li’l Gifted School—where he could be conditioned to seek the praise of others as well as to fight Megamind, who had been singled out as his future nemesis. (In fact, that conditioning is probably why he opted for a career that would put him on stage, aside from a probable love of music.)

Because the path chosen for Megamind involved more hardships and pain, it’s easy to forget that Metroman was in essentially the exact same plight. However, the fact remains that these were both children, and they were both being coerced into perceived destinies they didn’t want. Neither of them were given a choice and, in the end, both of them cast off the expectations pressed upon them to become the people they really wanted to be. The difference is that, because of our natural biases, Megamind’s rise to Defender of Metro City seems more noteworthy than Metroman’s step into Mr. Average Joe. The truth, however, is that both characters were basically doing the same thing: being true to themselves.

Metroman May Have Had Health Concerns

We know Megamind and Metroman are close to the same age—although the latter appears to be about a year rather than days old when he lands on Earth—but what that age is is open to supposition. We know, however, that they are almost certainly in their thirties, probably in their mid- to late-thirties. (Take a look at How Old is Megamind for more information about that.) However, we can see that Wayne is already going gray around the temples. Of course, some people’s genetics simply cause them to go gray earlier, and that’s certainly a possibility, but one fan theory suggest there may be more going on. The idea has been put forward that Wayne’s super-speed may be having an adverse effect on him, forcing his body to work overtime to keep up. The resulting physical stress could be making him age prematurely.

That’s not the only factor to consider. As hard as heroism may have been on his body, the effects on Metroman’s mind would have been even greater. Before the events in the movie, Metro City’s authorities—and, indeed, all its citizens—became too reliant upon their superhuman hero, and as a result that hero was run ragged. That isn’t a mere hypothesis. A scene that was storyboarded but never included in the final film makes Metroman’s plight perfectly clear. We see him being called from one end of the city to the other for everything from a massive explosion to an old lady needing help opening a jar. Keep in mind that, when hearing a cry for assistance, the hero would likely be unable to tell who truly needed him urgently and who was simply making unnecessary demands, thus he would have to rush to every call he heard. Even the city’s law enforcement seems to take him for granted, refusing to take criminals he just hand-delivered to jail because they’re on lunch break. The cumulative effect is that Metroman looks nearly frantic with stress.

This is important because, aside from the obvious mental and emotional concerns, this sort of stress accelerates aging as well. According to an article in the Huffington Post, when glycation and telomere shortening, as well as the over-oxidation, are caused by enduring heightened stress for prolonged periods of time, it can result not only in graying hair and premature wrinkles, but heart trouble as well. Even the memory can be affected, as one study by the University of Wisconsin found that stress can age a person’s brain up to four years faster than normal, and contribute to cognitive problems later in life. (The study was part of a presentation—you have no idea how badly I wanted to write that word in all-caps—and is thus currently unpublished, but information about it can be found in an article from Over Sixty.)

Metroman Retired for the Good of Everybody

As you can see, in a strange way, having a super-powered Defender was actually crippling Metro City. In fact, it may be truly damaging to the local infrastructure and official organizations. Youtuber Olaf Scholtens, in his video Megamind: Power and Identity, uses the metaphor of an airplane manufacturer to explain what’s going on. (If you’ve read my own post Megamind and Identity, you’ve seen this before.) Engineers and factories put a lot of effort and expense into making certain aircraft are as safe as possible, but what would happen if they felt they could confidently assume a superhero would simply catch any plane that crashed, saving everyone on board? Safety standards would probably become far more lax, and people might be in far more danger as a result. Given the way that nearly everyone in Metro City seems to assume Metroman will always save the day, it’s possible that, within the urban area, the same thing could be happening with things like building code enforcement, large construction projects, and even public safety measures. Bridges might not be properly built, fire hazards might not be addressed, and, given the blasé attitudes of the cops in the storyboard, law enforcement officers might not even be bothering to keep an eye on things. By retiring, Metroman forced the city to become more self-sufficient again.

That, however, may not have been the only problem Metroman was trying to solve. Remember the whole discussion about the former Defender’s school boy bullying and the apparent conspiracy to turn one boy into a hero and the other into a supervillain? It’s possible Wayne may have felt remorse for the former and found out about the latter. Having battled Megamind so much in the past, he also may have realized that the blue man never actually hurt anyone, and in fact went out of his way to stage their confrontations in abandoned places. (Again, you can read more about that in both Megamind and Identity and The Warden.) It may be that Metroman real “brilliant plan” wasn’t simply to fake his death, but in doing so to prod Megamind into becoming a hero and thus accepted by society.

There is an alternative theory, put forward in a Reddit post, that Megamind and Metroman’s parents may have known one another, and may have sent both children to Earth with the intention of them becoming a dynamic duo, fighting evil together with Megamind as the brains and Metroman as the brawn. This could have been what Megamind’s father meant when he told his son: “You are destined for greatness.” While there is very little support for this in the movie, it would explain why, in the vast cosmos, both of the young survivors were sent not only to the same planet, but even to the same city.

Whatever the reason may have been, one thing is certain: there certainly is some evidence that Metroman intended his one-time nemesis to become a hero. One of his lines, after Roxanne and Megamind discover he’s still alive, supports this. You know the one. “If there’s bad, good will rise up against it. It’s taken me a long time to find my calling; now it’s time you find yours.” Then, of course, there is another line, when Music Man is watching his former enemy take the role of Defender of Metro City: “way to go, Little Buddy. I knew you had it in you.”

If Metroman really did purposefully help Megamind step into heroism, that could also explain why he didn’t stop Megamind from taking over the city—perhaps he trusted the blue man not to harm anyone and to eventually come to his senses—as well as why he refuses to overtly help defeat Titan. He does, however, clearly subtly assist Megamind, as the latter almost certainly went back to Wayne’s hideout to scan his appearance and voice into the holowatch. All of this together makes it seem quite plausible that Metroman not only wanted to retire, but also wanted the blue man to take his place.

Megamind and Metroman by White-Night-56 on Deviant Art

Maybe this means that, now that Megamind is the Defender of Metro City, he and Music Man occasionally get together to commiserate over the more difficult aspects of being a superhero and joke about the old days.

It’s also quite possible that all of these fan theories could be true. The film Megamind is, among other things, surprisingly subtle, complex, and subversive for an animated movie. Every time I dive deep into some aspect or other of the plot, I am once again impressed by the amount of thought and detail that went into this work. No wonder Megamind—and its characters—have so many dedicated fans.

[tomurasprincess]

Wraith’s Touch (Yandere Ghost Shigaraki x Reader)

Pairing: Shigaraki x Reader Triggers: Noncon, dubcon, somnophilia, voyeurism, choking, death, yandere. This is seriously dark, so beware. Word Count: 8.5k Note: I blame Cadence for making me thirsty for this idea.

~~~~

There was something creepy about the house, you thought, for what felt like the 50th time today.  It was a large, sprawling Victorian style estate, an old house even by your grandmother’s standards.  She had lived there alone for years and had refused to move, and she never would tell you why.  

You had stayed there before on summer break, when you were a teenager.  Although you always adored your grandmother, something about the house itself was unsettling.  You felt like you were being constantly watched, felt like things would move around in places where you did not think you had moved them.  You thought you saw shadows out of the corners of your eyes, heard strange voices in the middle of the night.

Your grandmother insisted nothing was wrong, that you were simply being paranoid and that she had never experienced anything like what you were describing.  You tried very hard to believe her, but it was hard to do that when you saw the worried look in her eyes, the tremble in her voice when she tried to say everything was okay.  Ultimately, she made an excuse of you needing to leave quickly, that something had come up.  So you had found somewhere else and hadn’t really seen her much after that.

She had died unexpectedly around a month ago, and with no other family to inherit her house and belongings, you were the one chosen to handle everything.  You hadn’t been quite as close to your grandmother since that summer at her house, a fact that you bitterly resented now.  But anytime you had tried to make plans to come visit, she would always tell you she was too busy and that you’d find another time to get together.

And now you were being willed her house, the one that had so many good memories of your grandmother, but also many unsettling ones.  You wish you could be going back to the house in better circumstances.

You lived 2 hours away from where the house was, and it made no sense to continue to stay there and make the drive every day as you sorted through everything in the house.  You had broken your lease, explaining about the death, and although your landlord wasn’t happy, he at least wasn’t angry.  

Now you are standing outside with a moving van, reminiscing about your past in this house. You sigh and shake your head, before going around to open the back of the van.  Your belongings all fit into one small van, since you didn’t have a ton of room in your old apartment. You had left a few things, mostly old furniture, back at the apartment for other people to take if they wanted.  This house was huge, and had enough furniture that you wouldn’t need all of your old stuff.

You grab a few boxes from the back of the van and walk to the front door before setting them aside to pull out the keys from your pocket.  You take a deep breath before putting the key in the lock and turning it, stepping into the house for the first time in several years.  

The feeling of being watched has not gone away since you were last here, the entire entryway feeling just a bit too claustrophobic. The air temperature of the house is cold, your breath puffing out in white clouds. Great, you think to yourself, I bet the air conditioning and heating unit is broken.  Will have to remember to call a repairman tomorrow.

You let out a sigh and pick the boxes back up, carrying them into the house. You tried to be efficient with the packing, marking all of the boxes according to what room they went on.  These boxes all went to whatever room you would choose as your bedroom.

Your grandmother’s room was technically the master bedroom of the house, but you don’t feel comfortable sleeping in there.  So you go down the hall from where her old bedroom was located, and open up the door to where you used to stay.  

The room was very similar looking to when you were there before, all the knick knacks and personal items still displayed around the room. The bed was neatly made, and the dresser still had a few small items of clothing that you had forgotten from when you left.

The one difference about the room was how oppressive the air is.  It seems to beat down on you, making the room feel like it’s closing in.   You had experienced some weird feelings in the house before, but never anything like this. You’re being ridiculous, you scold yourself. This is just a house, and you’re simply missing your grandma.

You shake your head at your thoughts and place the boxes down in the room, before turning around and walking to the door.  

As you reach for the doorknob, you hear a strange noise. You whirl your head around, looking through the room again but you see nothing.  Old houses make strange noises, you reason with yourself.

And yet you could have sworn it sounded like soft laughter.

~~~~

You collapse in an exhausted heap on the couch. You have finished moving and unpacking the boxes containing your own stuff, and you have started to go through your grandmother’s.

You haven’t even fully re-explored the house yet, and you still have so much to go through. It is much too large for you to consider living in permanently, and you intend to simply sell the house and buy a more modest one with the money from the sale and your inheritance.

But your grandmother had lived here for years, and the house had the accumulation of all that time of collecting items and knick knacks. It was going to take so long for you to go through everything, sorting what to keep and what to sell.

You want to get through this as quickly as possible. The house remains unsettling, and it only seemed to get worse. The atmosphere was still so heavy, almost like a physical presence beating down on you.  

The air conditioning and heating repairmen had shown up, only to find nothing wrong. But the house still had strange cold spots throughout, with no explanation for it.

You see shadows out of the corner of your eye, shadows that look people shaped. But when you turn your head around, you see nothing.

Sometimes you think you hear voices, laughter, coming from the dark places deep within the house. It is terrifying, despite how much you try to convince yourself that it’s just the noises of an old house settling.

The final straw was when you were standing on your tiptoes, trying to reach a box from a high shelf. You almost had it when you heard it. A soft whisper in your ear, one that almost sounded like the word “mine.”  And then a cold caress, wrapping around your waist.

You startled so hard that you pulled the box entirely off the shelf, leaving it to fall to the floor and smash the contents into pieces. It scared you down to the bones, despite your efforts to rationalize it, to make logical sense of it.

You are so scared, in fact, that you have invited your pro-hero friend to stay the night. He laughed at your fears, promising there was nothing wrong, and that he would be glad to stay with you.

You always had a bit of a crush on him, but it had never amounted to anything.  He was busy with his pro-hero job, and you lived a bit too far away for the two of you to see much of each other.

You’re pulled out of your thoughts by a knock on the door. Finally, you think, he’s running late. You hurry to the door and open it to the face of your friend. He smiles and holds out fast food.

“I figured you were hungry,” he says, before walking into the house.

“I owe you,” you reply, “this house is creepier than I remember.”

“There's nothing wrong, you’re just a scaredy cat with a weak quirk. That’s why I’m here.”

You roll your eyes at his arrogance about his quirk, as you lead him to the room you’ve been using as the living area.

A few hours later, and you find yourself feeling just a bit better about everything.  Nothing has happened since your friend arrived, and even the atmosphere has gotten less heavy.  You’re both curled up on the couch, stuffed full of food and talking about mindless topics. You’re starting to feel just a bit silly about the whole thing, and you tell him so.

“I told you so,” he chuckles, “anyone would go a bit stir crazy in this house.  Plus, you’re still grieving.”

“Yeah, that’s true.”  You’re surprised when he scoots closer to you and puts an arm around you, and even more surprised when he grabs your chin to pull you in for a kiss.  

You stiffen up for a single second, before melting into the kiss, scooting even closer to him as he wraps his arm around you.

He pulls you into his lap so that he can settle you in between his legs, deepening the kiss as you wrap your arms around him to tangle your hands into his hair.

He grabs your hips, pushing you down onto the hardness you can feel in his pants. The friction of it has you gasping and grinding down harder, trying to get friction on your clit.

He reaches down to the hem of your shirt, pulling it off of you before kissing a line down the column of your neck and occasionally sucking at the skin.  

You are just starting to get into when it abruptly stops. You glance down at him only to see his eyes blown wide open, staring at something behind you. You turn around to look and see an antique mirror.

You’re about to ask him what’s wrong when he lets out a scream and shoves you off his lap. You land on the floor in a dazed heap. “Oh god, the mirror, look at the mirror!,” his voice comes out in a purely panicked tone.

You glance back and still see only a mirror. “It’s just a mirror, I don’t see anything.”

“...you don’t see him?”

“See who? You’re not making any sense!”

“There’s a man,”  he whispers in a low tone, like he thought the man would hear him, “and he looks so pissed.”

“You just saw a shadow of something,” you try to soothe him, “there’s nothing there.”

“HE’S THERE.” You jump as his voice suddenly gets louder. “Oh fuck, he’s…!”  His voice rises into a scream before cutting off. He turns around and starts to run.

You jump up from the floor to follow him and try to calm him back down, but you discover he’s gone already as you see the front door wide open. “So much for the big, tough hero,” you mutter to yourself.

You walk back to the living room to take one last look at the mirror. You still see nothing, and yet a shiver runs down your back as you feel like someone is staring at you. And that someone is darkly amused.

~~~~

You wake up slowly, rolling over onto your other side with full intention of falling back to sleep. But you realize something feels weird. Everything feels hazy, like this is no longer your world.  You open your eyes and look around, only to be shocked by what you see.

Your bedroom is entirely different.  It simultaneously looks newer than the room you went to sleep in, but also significantly more old fashioned.  Like you were shot back into the past of the house.

The room feels heavy and oppressive, and you feel the telltale weight of someone watching you that you’ve felt ever since you came back to the house.  This time though, the energy feels eager, gleefully malicious.  Like it’s won something.

You startle a bit when you notice another significant difference to the room.  There is no door.  No windows.  The places where they’re supposed to be are nothing but blank walls.  No way out of this room.

It’s with that discovery that the realization finally hits you.  A dream, you think, I’m simply dreaming.  A vivid dream, you reason with yourself, but still ultimately a dream.  You relax a bit with this knowledge, until a shimmer appears beside you.  

You spin your head around in time to see a man materialize out of nowhere, right beside the bed.  He is on the tall side, with light blue hair that almost appears silver and eyes that are a striking red.  He’s wearing black jeans and a black hoodie, with red shoes.  He has his hands stuffed into his hoodie pocket, although for some reason his pinkies are sticking out of the side of the pocket. He looks strangely indistinct, blurry around the edges, almost as if he’s see-through and not truly part of this world.

You glance up into his red eyes and are frightened by what you see in their depths.  There’s a darkness there, a terrible obsession you can barely even comprehend. Just a dream, you remind yourself, whoever this is can’t do anything.

“Just a dream, huh?”  His face breaks out into a smirk.  Your heart drops into your stomach as you realize he read your mind.  Of course he can read your mind, you reprimand yourself, this is your own dream in your own head.

“Does this feel like a dream?”  He reaches towards you, ice cold fingers trailing up your arm and leaving goosebumps in their wake.  It feels incredibly real, and you shiver a bit at the contact.  You wonder why you’re dreaming about someone you have never met.  And why it feels like you know this man anyway, on a deep level beyond anything you have ever felt.

“Because you do know me.”  His fingers slide even further up your arm, reaching your face.  He grabs your chin and leans in.  

You try to pull away from his hand, to shake your head no, but he simply tightens his grip. “You’re wrong, I don’t know you,” you hiss out, “so I don’t even know why I’m dreaming about you.”

“My name is Tomura Shigaraki.” The name strikes a cord within you, as if you knew it already, as if you’ve waited your whole life simply to hear it again. “And I have waited for you for a long time.”

He leans in to capture your lips with his own, surprising you with how cold his mouth is as he forces his tongue into your mouth before you can protest.  It’s a sloppy, possessive kiss, more about claiming than any sense of romance.  He pulls away from the kiss. 

“You’re here because you belong to me,” he whispers, only to begin kissing down your jawline, planting open mouth kisses down your neck.  “And you have been from the second I saw you.”

He licks and bites at your collarbones, before finally getting to the point where your nightshirt covers your skin.  He grabs the front with his hand, and you watch in horror as it begins to turn to ash, flecks of it flying away.  You notice he used all five of his fingers, and suddenly realize why he had been keeping his pinkies up.

He goes further down, kissing and licking down your chest, before getting to your breasts.  He kneads one in his hand, pinching the nipple between his fingers, before taking the other nipple into his mouth and sucking.  He switches off, taking the other nipple into his mouth also, sucking and twisting them until they’re both hard.  

He reaches for your pajama pants, grabbing and decaying them like he did your top.  You wear no bra or panties for bed, so you’re left bare and exposed to him.  He chuckles darkly as his fingers run lower, swiping down your folds.  “You’re so wet for me, pet,” he purrs into your ear, “it seems you missed me just as much as I missed you.”  You feel like you should be embarrassed, but it seems silly to be embarrassed in your own dream.

He laughs before leaning back just enough to pull his hoodie over his head, tossing it aside.  His pants and shoes follow quickly, and you can’t help but glance down.  He is impressively thick, and already painfully hard, a bead of pre-cum already at the tip.

If this is a dream, you reason with yourself, then there’s really nothing wrong enjoying this, now is there?  A smirk graces Shigaraki’s face.  “You’re right, pet,” he coos, “it’s just a dream, so enjoy the pleasure.”

He grabs your thighs tightly, this time with his middle fingers raised, squeezing down so hard that you know there would be bruises if this wasn’t a dream.  He spreads them apart roughly, before glancing down to look at your now exposed pussy.  Now you do feel embarrassment, squirming a bit to try and close your legs, but he only digs his fingers even harder into the skin of your thighs.

“Don’t try to hide from me,” he growls in warning, before diving into your pussy with his tongue.  He licks all the way up your folds, taking a hand and spreading them apart.  He pushes his tongue up into your passage, tongue fucking you as his nose nudges against your clit and causing you to squirm.  

“Please,” you whine, as you push into him harder, seeking more stimulation, which he’s quick to give to you.  

He wastes no time collecting your slick with two of his fingers, pushing them into you roughly.  The cold of his fingers inside of you causes you to gasp. He takes your clit into his mouth, sucking as his tongue presses down hard on it.  You let out a mewl, feeling your end approaching fast.  It’s like everything feels so much sharper in this dream, as if you feel even more than usual.  

He curves his fingers up, brushing against that spongy spot inside of you, and that’s enough to push you over the edge. You gasp as you clench down hard around his fingers, and Shigaraki doesn’t stop his relentless movements.  He continues to suck your clit through your orgasm, tasting your release on his tongue as his fingers drill into your now soaking pussy.  He coaxes you into a second directly after your first, causing you to squeal and go limp as your head falls back onto your pillow.

“Such a good girl for me.” He sits up with a dark smile on his face.  “But since we’re so familiar with each other now, why don’t you call me Tomura?”  You lift your head up and glance at him, but he’s simply giving you a neutral look while waiting for your response.  You see no harm in it, so you shrug.  “I guess I can do that.”

His eyes flash as he hears you agree, and a smile crosses his face.  “Good, because I want that name to be the one you scream once I’m inside of you.”  You shiver at his words, excitement rising up in you.  Sad that it’s been so long since you’ve gotten laid that you’re excited for dream sex, you muse to yourself.  You hear a snicker from beside you and choose to ignore it.

You feel the bed sink down a little, as Tomura climbs into bed with you.  He puts one hand on each side of your head, straddling you on the bed.  You are surprised to see that he looks more solid, less as if you can see all the way through him.  

He leans down to claim your mouth again, this kiss no less passionate than the last one.  He kisses you as if he means to dominate your mouth with his own, hand coming up to tighten slightly on your throat.

He nudges your legs a bit further apart with his thigh before settling himself fully in between them.  He reaches between your bodies to pump his painfully hard cock in his fist, rubbing it up your soaking folds to nudge against your tender clit.  “Tell me you want it, pet,” he whispers in your ear.  

You let out a loud whine, trying to grind yourself down on his cock.  He responds by grabbing your waist tightly, holding you firmly in place.  “I can stay here forever until you beg,” a dark look crosses his face, “what about you?”

You whimper and push against his hold, still trying to impale yourself on him to get some relief for your aching pussy.  “You’re so needy.”  He leans down to nip at your neck, causing you to lift up your chin to give him better access. “I can help you with that.”  He begins to suck on your skin, hard enough that it would leave hickies in any other circumstance.

He reaches down to your soaked folds, collecting your juices and using them to rub tight circles across your clit.  You let out a moan of pleasure at finally getting his fingers where you want them.  You let out a long, plaintive whine when he stops suddenly. “Please,” you finally open your mouth to say.

“Please, what,” he smirks, “I don’t know what you want unless you tell me.”

“Please touch me again,” you try to rub yourself against his fingers to get more stimulation. He completely pulls away, only to start trailing his fingers down your thigh.  “Is this where you want to be touched?”

“No,” you plead, “please touch my pussy.  I need you to fuck me.”

His hand continues to trail down your thighs, further away from your heated core.  “Hmm, do you think that’s good enough, pet?”  

You wrack your brain for what answer he is looking for, before finally settling on “please Tomura, I want you.”  For a second, his gaze turns satisfied, calculating, and his shape seems to get even more solid than it was earlier.  

You start to wonder why, before he begins to push his length into you, as cold as the rest of him. Then all thoughts are lost by the startling feeling of the cold against your warm walls, the contrast feeling amazing inside of you.  You let out a loud mewl at his thickness stretching your pussy out, as he sinks inch by inch inside you.  

He lets out a groan of pleasure as he fully sheathes himself inside you, giving a slight pause to kiss down your neck and allow you to adjust to his size.  He begins at a slow pace, until he feels you wrap your legs around his back, trying to get him to move faster inside of you.  “I need more, Tomura, please,” you beg. 

“Who am I to deny you when you beg so cutely,” he chuckles as his pace increases, hips slamming against yours.  He leans down to nibble and bite at your nipples as he tweaks the other one between his fingers, alternating between them.  

He reaches one hand between your body to start rubbing your clit, causing you to clench hard around his length.  “Fuck, you’re tight,” he curses under his breath as he continues to move inside you.

He lifts your hips up a bit to change angle as he continues to slam into you, seeking that spot that he knows will make you come undone around his cock.  The sound of skin slapping against skin and your gasps and moans fill the room.  

He reaches down to grip your neck without even slowing his pace inside you, still in that same hold he’s been using, with his middle finger raised from your neck. “Admit that you’re mine,” he growls darkly. Your eyes widen at the possessiveness in his tone, a sliver of unease running down your back.  You shake your head no, only for him to slam into you all the way to the cervix, pleasure and pain warring inside you.

You begin to feel the room get colder, dropping degree after degree and causing you to shiver from the cold. His grin turns menacing as he puts more pressure on your neck, making it hard to breathe but not enough to cut your air off completely.  “Say it,” he hisses, “tell me you’re mine.” One hand of yours flies up to his, intending to try and pry him off.  The room starts to spin from lack of oxygen, and you beat your fist against his chest.  

He loosens his grip just enough for you to take a huge gasping breath of air.  When you say nothing, he moves to put his hands back around your neck.  “Wait” you shout.  He pauses, his expression turning predatory as he waits for your next words.  

Even if this is simply a dream, you can feel the sense of danger from admitting this.  You don’t know where this certainty comes from, but you can feel it down to your bones.  But you also feel the danger of not admitting it.  The two desires war within you, fighting to be the victor.

“I’m yours, Tomura,” you breathed out.  His red eyes flash with delight, with a sense of dark triumph that makes you instantly regret your decision to say the words.  

“Finally,” he snarled as his hips begin to snap into you again. He is even harder and rougher than before, his hands gripping you tightly as he fucks you with wild abandon.  Two fingers reach down to press hard on your clit and you feel another orgasm approaching quickly.

“I want you to say my name as you cum around my cock,” he growls as he changes his angle slightly, the new position causing you to let out a wail as you tighten hard on his cock and dig your heels into his back.  

“Fuck, Tomura” you cry out, as liquid fire courses through you.  His hips stutter at the feeling of your pussy fluttering around his cock, and he reaches his own end, cold seed flooding into your womb.  

You both lay there for a second, trying to catch your breath, when you hear the distant sound of an alarm blaring.  He lets out a dangerous growl, clutching you to his chest as if he could prevent the alarm from taking you away from him.  “You won’t be getting away from me much longer,” is the last thing you hear before you wake up.

~~~~

You sit bolt upright in bed gasping, still throbbing from the remnants of an orgasm. Your eyes dart around the room, looking for Tomura, only to find nothing.  The room is empty, looking the same as it did before you went to sleep.  The doors and windows are back, and the suffocating presence you felt before has lessened.  

God, that was one intense dream.  You had never had such a lucid dream before, one that felt so completely real that it was hard to come to terms with it now that you are awake.  You roll over to turn your blaring alarm off and wince in pain. You feel strangely sore, as if you slept wrong in the night.  Feeling sweaty and gross, you let out a deep sigh and get up to take a shower.  

After your shower, you go back into your bedroom to get dressed.  You glance at the floor length mirror as you walk past, before doing a double take and turning back around to look again.  You startle a bit when you see that your neck is covered in bruises and hickies.  You think back to your friend during your makeout session the other night, and mentally curse him for getting too rough.  

But as you glance down, you also see handprints on the side of both of your hips.  You stare at them for a long time, trying to place what happened.  The asshole grabbed me pretty hard when he threw me off him the other night, you reason.  He obviously must have been too rough, and you resolve to admonish him later on the whole incident.  You give a silent nod to yourself, confident in your reasoning.

If only you could forget that the handprint bruises have a single finger not visible on your skin.

~~~~

That day passes uneventfully, although you can’t stop thinking of the dream you had.  Or the bruises on your neck.  Or the handprints with only 4 fingers.  You know you’re being ridiculous, that you have a logical explanation for the whole thing.  But that doesn’t stop the anxiety, the worry, from building up in you.

You are also unable to reach your friend in order to give him the chewing out that he is desperately owed.  You can’t figure out if he’s ignoring you, or just busy, but you’re getting absolutely no response.  

You resolve to work on the house more, to distract yourself. You are still going from room to room, organizing things, separating things into keep piles, donation piles, and trash piles. You have finally worked your way into your grandma’s office and library, a place you were never able to go into before.

You stare in wonder the first time you go through those doors, unable to figure out where to look first.  The room is huge, and filled with floor to ceiling books. An ornate, antique looking desk sits in the back of the room, and the windows to the left side of the desk let in the sunlight so that the room doesn’t feel overly dark.

I really wish she had let me come in here before, you think, because this room is absolutely amazing.  And then reality hits you, as you let out a groan. It’s also going to take me forever to look through all this.

You venture around the library and see a varied mix of books.  There is everything from classic literature and non-fiction textbooks to romance and murder mysteries.  But then you come to a strange section, closest to her desk. It’s full of books about witchcraft and spells, ghosts and demons, books with titles you can’t even begin to understand and that only hurt your head to try.  It’s confusing to you why your grandma would even have some of these books, but you suppose she has a little of everything in this library.  

You head to the desk, sitting down in the chair before opening up the drawers. Sitting in the top of the first drawer you open are two things. One is a plain spiral bound notebook. The other is a book about ghosts.  Specifically, about how to banish them.  The book has clearly been well used, the spine well broken in and several bookmarks still inside.

You pause for a second before opening the notebook to the first page. In it, you find a detailed recounting of the malevolent spirit living within the house. Your own grandma’s account. You can barely comprehend everything, so many details and actions taken.

And then you come across the entry around the time of your visit years ago. You read about your grandma’s fear of you being there. The increasing obsession the ghost, Tomura Shigaraki, had of you. And her final decision to send you back, away from the ghost.

This information answers some questions and raises so many more. Your grandma was a witch. Ghosts and spirits exist. And one is obsessed with you. So obsessed, in fact, that your grandma feared for you to the point that she barely had anything to do with you after that.  You wonder if she felt that staying away from you was for your own protection.

You pick the book up about banishment, hoping to find more answers, and open it to one of the bookmarks.  Inside is a detailed banishment and saging ritual, used to weaken ghosts.  Turning a few pages back, you look to see if it mentions what signs you should be watching for, any hints that you have a ghost obsessed with you. You don’t doubt what you read from your grandma, but a part of you is still in denial, hoping that this is all an elaborate story.

You finally find the correct page and do some reading.  Unexplained sounds and feelings, check. Seeing things that aren’t there, check.  Your heart stops for a second at the next section.  Strange and intense dreams, including ones of a sexual nature.  Definite check.  Unexplained marks and bruises on your body.

You stop reading at that point, thinking back to the dream.  The bruises. Those handprints.  The raised fingers.  You feel a chill run down your spine, the room getting noticeably colder.  No matter how much you try to rationalize it, something feels off about the whole thing.  You turn the page back to the description of the saging, and it looks easy enough for you to handle.  And really, what can it hurt?

~~~~

You glance around at the circle of objects you had laid out around you.  You feel like you should be feeling very silly right now.  But you just don’t.  There is this sense of impending doom you have in your bones, and yet not enough to blatantly run from the house.  You have obligations here, a responsibility to your grandma.  Even if this is you being silly, it will hopefully give you peace of mind.

You had found plenty of sage and salt in one of your grandmother’s cupboards. You had opened up the majority of the windows that could actually be opened so that energy could leave, and also to air the house out from the sage. You had laid out and started lighting some white candles throughout the house.  And you had a bowl to catch the ash from the burning sage stick, and another bowl filled with salt.

You read in the book that you needed to light the sage and walk from room to room with it, spreading the smoke around and paying special attention to outer walls of the house where negative energy could come in.  The book also said that spreading a line of salt around entryways and windows also helped to keep things out.  

You decide to start in your bedroom, since that’s where the most extreme of the incidents happened.  You have candles lit and salt laid in there already, so all you need is to light the sage and say the words.

As you go to grab the lighter, the lights of the house start to flicker, and the atmosphere in the air grows heavy and intense.  You feel like someone is staring right into you, all the way down to your soul, and that they are not pleased.  The entire house seems to take on a life of its own, as if furious with what you’re about to do.

Before you have a chance to panic, you light the sage.  You move all the way around the room, holding the sage up to the corners of the room, and you feel the pressure lessen just a bit. "I cast the circle thrice about to keep the evil spirits out,” you begin to say, in as powerful of a voice as you can muster.  

You leave the bedroom, going room to room in the upstairs part of the house, making sure no part is untouched.  “Earth, Wind, Fire and Sea.”  The furious stare is lessening and the house itself seems to be settling.

Finally, you make your way downstairs to the front entrance, the last place of the house that you haven’t gone through.  You spread the smoke of the sage around this area as well, before finally saying the words to close things out.  “As I will so, mote it be!"  You put the sage out.

It feels like everything stops all at once. You hear an anguished scream coming from the living room, and you quickly rush that way. In the mirror your friend saw him in before, you now see him too.

He’s wearing the same outfit he was in your dream, but there is no sense of the smug, triumphant man you felt. Instead, he looks furious. Clawing at the inside of the mirror like he is in pain. And then he suddenly starts to fade, getting more and more see through until he finally vanishes entirely.  

And then suddenly, the house feels like a house again. No presence, no pressure, no eyes feeling like they’re watching you.  You breathe a sigh of relief as you realize that it worked.  The house has never felt so light, so clear the entire time you’ve been here.

It seems to have taken a lot out of you however, leaving you feeling exhausted and hungry. You quickly make something to eat before heading to bed.

Good, you think to yourself as you walk up the stairs to your bedroom. Whatever this was is over now and I can finally finish things here in peace.  He’s gone.

~~~~

You wake up slowly, feeling strangely weak and groggy.  Something feels wrong, and you try to pinpoint what it is. You recall doing the saging ritual, feeling like it worked, before fixing yourself some quick dinner and heading to bed.  Everything seemed fine when you went to sleep.

You try to get up, to look around, but you find that you can’t move at all.  Panic hits as you try desperately to move something, anything.  But you are completely paralyzed.  Your head throbs and the room seems to spin the harder you try to move.

You attempt to slow your breathing, to concentrate and think through your situation, and then you notice it.  You went to sleep curled up on your side, as usual, but you’re not laying like that anymore.  You’re on all fours on the bed, head pressed down against the mattress, back arching upwards.  

You feel movement from behind you, and you find that you are able to lift your head just enough to glance back.  Instinctively, you know what you’re going to see.  Who you’re going to see.

Dawning horror rises in you as your fears are confirmed, that the movement behind you is coming from the man of your dream, Tomura Shigaraki, and that he is buried to the hilt inside you.  You make a strangled noise in the back of your throat as you feel yourself clenching around the hard cock that is stretching you out.

“Ah, finally awake?  Took you long enough, he chuckles maliciously.  “The man of your dream, huh?” He pulls all the way out of you, only to slam roughly back in, wrenching a scream from you.  “Sounds so romantic.”  

He leans in to whisper a question into your ear.  “Want to know a secret?”  You want so badly to tell him no, to wake up from this nightmare, but you know there is no option.

“It was never a dream, my little plaything.”  His tone is so full of sinister glee that you find yourself shivering.

You feel overwhelmed that this has already happened once before, that you were too stupid to realize it was never simply a dream.  

He grabs your hips roughly and begins to set a slow pace inside you.  “Don’t act like you didn’t enjoy it,” he hisses out, “like you didn’t beg me to fuck you.”

Shame burns your face, and you bury your face into the pillow to try and hide your sobs.  But Shigaraki simply coils his fingers inside your hair and jerks backwards.  The action forces your back to arch, his cock burying even deeper inside you.

Despite yourself, you feel heat pooling in your core from his rough handling and the feeling of his thick cock sliding against your inner walls.  

You let out a broken moan as he speeds up, his hips snapping into your backside, balls smacking against your clit and filling the room with the wet noises of skin slapping against skin.  A coil inside you is building, and you want more than anything to squirm away.  But there is no give in whatever power he has you under, and you’re forced to simply take the pleasure.  

He runs a cold hand up and down your back, digging nails into the skin as the other hand trails around to where your bodies are joined.  He begins to furiously rub your clit, tight and fast circles that leave you gasping and gripping at the bed sheets under your hands.  

You feel your juices dripping from you, drenching his cock and making it easy for him to slide in and out of your quivering cunt.  Being unable to move is only heightening all of your other senses, and you can feel every vein on the cock inside you.

You feel yourself rapidly tightening up, your orgasm quickly approaching. You let out a loud whine as you find yourself pushing back against him, seeking more friction in spite of yourself.  

“You’re about to cum, aren’t you?” He barks out a laugh. “Do it then, cum all over my cock.”

At his words, you instantly cum hard, as if your body is obeying his command. He fucks you through your orgasm before pulling out and flipping you over.

He pulls you into his lap before entering you again as your pussy is still fluttering around his cock. This new position lets him thrust up into you, the new angle causing him to slam into a spot inside you that has you seeing stars.

His pace doesn’t even slow as he begins to kiss at your neck, nipping and sucking hard as he leaves bruises down the column of your neck. His fingers begin to stroke your aching clit yet again, and you let out a shameless moan.

“Please stop,” you whimper, “too sensitive.”  You feel wrung out, the room seeming to spin just a bit, and you’re not sure how much more you can take.

He ignores you, gripping your hips to hold you in place as he pounds into you. You glance down at the cock disappearing inside you, and you flush with embarrassment as you see that his length is glistening with your juices.

His pace becomes erratic, thrusts starting to stutter, and you know that he’s getting close too. “Mine, mine, mine,” he chants as he finally finishes inside you with a loud groan. The feeling of cold spreading through your core is enough to push you over yet again, and you collapse against his shoulder in sheer exhaustion.

Tears run down your face as you ask him the question you’ve been wondering. “I thought I banished you.”

His chest rumbles with his laughter. “No, little plaything. Your grandmother was a powerful witch and knew what she was doing.”  You stiffen up at his words.

He leans down to lick at the shell of your ear. “You, however, are weak and know nothing.”

“But then, why did you…” you trail off as it finally hits you. You let out a choked sob. “You were faking it.”

He simply smirked at you. You suddenly can’t breathe. The room is spinning even more, your head feeling like it’s going to split open. You push away from him and are surprised when he lets you.

You back away slowly, grabbing your pajamas from the floor and throwing them on. You keep an eye on him the entire time, but he doesn’t move. He simply looks at you.

You don’t know why he’s simply letting you and you don’t care. You turn around and start running.

Fuck the house, you thought, fuck your stuff, fuck everything.  You have to get out while you still can.  You don’t know what else Shigaraki will do to you if you stay.  And...your poor grandmother.  Now you know why she never moved out of the house. She stayed here for years to protect people, to protect you.

You don’t take time to pack things.  In a blind panic, you run through the hallways of the house, down the stairs, making a beeline to the door.  The headache you were feeling from before intensifies.  As you make it to the final stair, a wave of weakness and dizziness overcomes you.  You barely keep yourself upright as you grip the banister.  You push yourself to the wall, using it to prop yourself up, as you take two more steps.

But the weakness is too much, and your knees buckle.  You fall to the floor hard, the room spinning around you wildly.  Oh god, what’s wrong with me?  You begin to panic, trying to take huge gulps of air, but breathing has become so hard.

You can’t let this stop you from getting out of the house, you have to get out now. You roll yourself over onto your stomach, determined to drag yourself to the door if need be.

And then you see him.  Shigaraki.  He appears more solid than earlier, leaning against a doorframe with the biggest triumphant smirk you have ever seen on his face.

“Not feeling so good, are we?”

You freeze in your quest to drag yourself up as you stare at him.  He begins to walk towards you, slowly, deliberately, Making you feel like prey.  Like you’re being hunted

“What did you do to me?” you whisper in fear.  You know deep down what is happening to you, but you don’t truly want to admit it.  Want to be in denial.  Want him to tell you nothing is wrong.

He lets out a twisted laugh, ignoring your question entirely.  “Do you know how boring it was, with nothing but that pathetic old woman to keep me company for years?  She was just familiar enough with poltergeists to guard against me, but not enough to banish me entirely.”

You had no idea your grandmother knew anything at all about spirits until you found all those books in her library, read her notes.  You certainly hadn’t.

“But then you showed up at her doorstep, needing a place to stay. You intrigued me from the start.  A naive little thing who had no idea what she was stepping into. And your grandmother knew that. She knew I was becoming obsessed. That I wanted to corrupt you.”

Corrupt you, you think dimly, thinking of the event just earlier. The one that started your mad dash to get out of the house.  Waking up and being unable to move. Held down by his power and forced to feel pleasure you didn’t want as he took you. You shiver at the thought, revulsion and lust warring with each other.

“That’s why she sent you away from me. And that’s why I killed her.”

It feels like your heart stops beating for a second. Tears start flowing from your eyes and running down your face.  “...You killed her?  She died because of me?” 

Your muscles cramp harshly, causing you to let out a sharp gasp of pain.  You try to scoot back from the malignant ghost that is approaching you, the murderous ghost that took the last of your family from you. But you’re too tired and too dizzy to manage it.  You lay your head back against the floor.

“Yeah, I killed her,”  he lets out a harsh laugh. “And yeah, that’s why she died. I warned her of the consequences of what would happen if she didn’t bring you back.  She didn’t listen.”

A haze is descending over your eyes. Everything is becoming distant, except for Shigaraki’s form, his voice, his words.

“And then, after what I did to get you back here, you were going to try and get rid of me,” he growls in a low, dangerous tone.  “You don’t seem to understand that you belong to me.”

He approaches where you lay, immobilized, unable to do anything but watch as he slowly sits down on the floor beside you.  He reaches over, grabbing your body and situating it into his lap in a princess carry.  

Your muscles convulse, your head spins, and you find yourself whimpering from the pain.  He grins as he runs his fingers through your hair, making his way down your jawline to cup your face.  

“You’re dying, little pet.  And quickly, at that.  The things you can find in old houses is truly amazing.  Like the arsenic I found in a forgotten corner of the basement.”

Your veins turn to ice, the haze clouding your mind lifting just a bit.  The terror pushes all other emotions out, as if you’re a being of pure fear and panic, as if you’ve never known anything else.  

Your eyes widen and you try to shake your head, before the dizziness forces you to stop.  “No no no, please no.  Please tell me you’re joking, trying to scare me.”

He huffs out a soft laugh. “Would I joke about this?  It’s true. I sensed you might do something stupid and I was right. I slipped the poison into your food after you tried to weaken me.”

You try to push away, to get out of his arms, but you’re too weak. He simply puts a bit more pressure into his hold to keep you in place. The mere effort is enough to leave you panting for breath.

“What do you mean to accomplish?  If I’m dead…”. Your stomach cramps again, harder this time, and your sentence cuts out in a pained gasp.

He gives a truly wicked laugh, and his lips curl up in a smirk. “If you’re dead, you’re trapped here. Just like I am.”

More tears roll down your face. “I don’t wanna die,” you whimper, “and I don’t want to be stuck here with you.”  It’s hard to keep your eyes open any more. They begin to slowly close as the room darkens.

He shifts you further into his lap, stroking his hands through your hair and kissing the tears running down your face. The gentle gesture is so at odds with the fact that he’s the one killing you.

“You have no choice in the matter,” he chuckles, “it’s happening whether you want it or not. It was only a matter of time anyway, you just sped up my timeline.”

Your muscles begin to seize up, and seeking some sort of comfort from the pain, you turn your head into the chest of your murderer. “I hate you,” you whimper, before grasping his hoodie, burying your face into it to muffle your crying.

His arms wrap around you more solidly, hand coming around the back of your head to cradle it.  “That’s okay, pet. I have all the time in the world to make you love me.”  The last thing you hear before your eyes close for the final time is Shigaraki whispering in your ear “after all, we’ll be together forever.”

~~~~ 

Tag: @monst, @secondhand-trash, @animewh0re, @thewheezingwyvern, @legend-of-frost, @mothwithteeth​, @mhafanfics19​, @kazooli​, @lildreamer93​, @yaoyorozuwrites​, @dee-madwriter​

[beckydoesthings]

various fics of hxl that i adore reading! this list is quite lengthy, but feel free to message me if you have any questions!

*will continue to be updated. also, if i mistagged you, i apologize, i do not know how to tumblr*

Love Is a Rebellious Bird

E | 134k | @100percentsassy and gloria_andrews

AU in which the boys still make music. Louis is the concertmaster of the London Symphony Orchestra, Harry is the New! and Exciting! interim conductor/ex-cello prodigy who "has made Mozart cool again" according to Esquire Magazine (Louis hates him immediately, which is definitely why he internet stalked him in his dark bedroom late at night that one time), and Niall is the best. Zayn and Liam are around too.

Don't hum Bolero.

i think this tickled every bone of my musical self and also made me cry (are you seeing a theme here??) one of the first fics i fell in love with and one i keep coming back to.

Collision

E | 226k | @tequiladimples

Mythology/Fairytale!AU in which Louis is a dainty fairy with a temper who wants to be intimidating and Harry hurts people. Naturally, they hate each other.

(Featuring Liam, the big and not-so-bad wolf who’s got a thing for humans, Zayn, a human with supernaturally good looks, and Niall, the cupid who just wants his job to be easier.)

the world building in this one is insanity - so much good mythology mixed in and it made me screech with joy. i think i can firmly say that i did not expect where the plot went, but that made the story so much better.

Flour and Chocolate

M | 145k | @danosphere91

It was nice, for a bakery he supposed.

Then he approached the display cabinet.

And the foreboding slammed into him. Because every product had letters next to it. Letters. GF, DF, V, O, VGN.

What. The. Fuck?

Lifting his eyes to the chalkboard menu spread across the back wall Louis felt physically ill. ‘Gluten-free’, ‘organic’, ‘vegan’, ‘paleo’, ‘dair-…’ Wait, what the fuck was a paleo? He had entered some hipster-trash establishment and it was more than time to get out.

OR

Louis is a single dad and Harry works at the newly opened bakery down the street.

the miscommunication in this fic is SO REAL and makes for a good read. the rest of the flour and chocolate series is also fantastic. i thoroughly enjoyed both the ziam and ed/niall arcs that bring the whole story together.

run away home

E | 106k | @hattalove

Louis stands, in the middle of a clearing with his hands in his pockets, and stares. This boy—God, this gorgeous, gorgeous boy. He seems so clumsy, confused at the best of times, but there’s a wisdom about him as he speaks, a maturity that belies his age.

Louis is hopelessly, wildly attracted to him.

or, louis is a successful jockey down on his luck, struggling to get his life back on track after an injury. harry has a horse, a house fit for a prince, and a broken heart.

it takes them a while to figure out that they need each other.

this makes my inner horse girl extraordinarily happy - even if i don’t know anything about horse racing. louis’ story in this is beautiful and makes the whole piece worth a read.

waiting for the tides to meet

E | 60k | @nauticalleeds

Louis lets out a deep breath, thinking about Harry’s soulmate. Thinking about how Harry’s soulmate is probably as beautiful as Harry, some person that Louis cannot compare to, and how the universe has chosen them to be Harry’s. Fuck the universe. “Fuck you,” he calls out to the universe. He’s aware of how crazy he sounds.

Maybe he is crazy, with how he’s falling for Harry. And fuck that, too.

Soulmate AU. Everyone is born with heterochromia — one eye is their own eye colour, while the other is the colour of their soulmate's. It's only when they meet their soulmate for the first time that their own eyes match properly. After a hazy night at a frat party, Louis wakes up to blue eyes and the shocking realization that he had met his soulmate, without any sober recollection. Seven years pass where Louis comes to terms with the fact that he'll never know who his soulmate is. Then one fated summer, a beautiful green-eyed photographer arrives at Louis' workplace, with promises of endless laughter and a familiar feeling in Louis' heart.

Featuring a lovely cup of OT5, a road trip down the coast, and a scene where Harry eats a whole head of lettuce. Don't ask why.

gorgeous soulmate AU that gives me summer cruising vibes. worth the read for the lettuce scene alone (i kid, i kid)

Do Not Go Gentle

E | 70k | @afirethatcannotdie

“This is all a game to you, isn’t it? Well, it’s not for me. This is a real life or death situation,” Louis says, spitting the words at him. “And I just don’t think you’re cut out for it.”

For a moment, they stare at each other in complete silence. Harry can feel his blood thrumming between his ears, can see Louis glaring at him, feels red-hot anger. And then all he feels, oppressively and desperately, is lust.

Suddenly Louis is surging up to him to press his lips against Harry’s. Harry walks the two of them backwards, pressing Louis back against the door. Louis oomphs in surprise and brings his hands under Harry’s scrub top, scratching at his lower back.

“Lock — oh — lock the… fucking door,” Louis mutters.

When Harry Styles starts his first day as a surgical intern, he expects a lot of things: to treat patients, to observe a surgery, to feel a bit overwhelmed. What he definitely doesn't expect, however, is that the handsome guy he kicked out of his bed this morning is also an intern.

A Grey’s Anatomy AU where tensions are high, Harry and Louis are hooking up in secret, and no one has time for love. Or do they?

okay i’ve watched maybe 3 episodes of Gray’s Anatomy, but i feel like this encompasses the vibe of the show: medical stuff with a hefty dose of angst and sexual tension

Falling For Me Won’t Be A Mistake

M | 58k | @all-these-larrythings

Harry is married to his job and so overworked that he doesn't know how to stop. All it takes is a forced Hawaiian get-a-away, the warm tropical breeze of the island, and the most beautiful, elusive man he's ever seen to make him remember what living is like outside of work. Well, that, and the little souvenir he accidentally takes home with him.

one of my favorite mpreg fics so if that’s not your cup of tea, then don’t read it. i love surgeon harry with a vengeance, but honestly Gems and Niall are iconic in this one.

Watching the World Fall

E | 11k | @crazyupsetter why won’t it let me tag :(

This segment has been going on long enough that Louis knows what’s coming before James starts in on it, trying to sell him on something he knows that Louis wouldn’t normally be buying. But there’s four cameras surrounding him, and an audience watching him expectantly, so if Louis wants to continue convincing people that he’s doing just fine, he’s going to have to go along with it.

“We have a whole host of single men backstage waiting to meet you, Louis,” James tells him. “We want to help you find love tonight, on Late Late Live Tinder. Is this okay? Do you want to play?”

It actually kind of makes sense that his first date after the break-up is going to be just as public as said break-up. Something like coming full circle.

“Alright, James,” Louis agrees, hopping down off his stool.

“Okay, come down to the stage,” James says. Louis can’t even tell whether the excitement in his voice is genuine or not. “Right now, come on down!”

i have a soft spot the size of Antarctica for Late Late AU fics (we stan James Corden) and for exes to lovers so this checks all the boxes.

autumn leaves

E | 27k | @suspendrs

“Brave?” Harry frowns, caught off guard. “No, not particularly.”

“You seem brave,” Louis decides, pushing off the wall and stepping on the butt of his cigarette. “You are strong, and you are not mean. That’s good,” he assures, touching Harry’s arm gently.

“Thank you, but that’s not true,” Harry smiles ruefully. “I’m really not anything special.”

Or, Harry is an American soldier in France during World War II, and Louis is a French waiter that doesn't mean to fall in love with him.

love love french AUs and while this one isn’t sunshine and rainbows, it’s a beautiful yet heart wrenching piece. warning for period typical homophobia

caught up in your love affair

NR | 8k | @disgruntledkittenface

“And the corgis took to you straightaway,” Harry remarks.

“That’s true,” Louis chuckles.

 “I’ve spent the last 29 years being barked at,” Harry deadpans, jerking his hand toward Louis, “this one walks in, absolutely nothing.”

Louis outright giggles at that, saying, “They were just lying on my feet during tea.”

“Wagging tails,” Harry says, shaking his head.

“It’s because they don’t understand flirting,” Louis tells him, “you can’t charm them the way you do everyone else.”

Royal AU. Prince Harry announces his engagement to Louis Tomlinson in an interview with longtime friend and BBC host Nick Grimshaw. Inspired by Prince Harry and Meghan Markle.

just. 8k of royal fluff. that’s literally it and i adore it so much.

Apples Always Fall (As I Do For You)

M | 54k | @rainbowsandgucci

”Due to unforeseen circumstances, help is needed here at the orchard for the impending apple season. Looking for someone able to start within the next week or two at the most, is willing to do whatever miscellaneous tasks are needed, such as picking & packing apples, running the cash register, and other handywork that may need to be done. Must be good with customers, and able to lift up to 50lbs. Help will be needed until at the least the end of October. Please contact the number found on this page, or come out to the orchard and ask for Harry. All the love xx” --- Louis is staying at his Aunt's farm in a small town in Minnesota for four months. To deal with the boredom that sets in a week into his stay, he starts working at the local apple orchard, owned by twenty six year old Harry Styles. Louis quickly finds himself falling in love with the orchard, and he finds a family in Harry's friends Niall, Liam, and Zayn. He also starts to fall in love with Harry. Falling in love with him turns out to be the easy part.

i never thought i would enjoy an apple orchard fic?? but it’s so good?? farmer harry makes me laugh to think about, but the heartbreak in this fic is so. real.

Mine Would Be You

E | 114k | @crinkle-eyed-boo

Louis blinks his eyes open, his eyelids fluttering as the room swims around him. He takes several gulps of beer once he confirms that he’s definitely not hallucinating, that the very first portrait Harry Styles ever painted of him is hanging on that wall.

Louis stares at the wall, his heart jackrabbiting in his chest as he realizes that there’s not just one painting of him, there’s five, the portraits lined up like they’re some sort of storyboard depicting the rise and fall of his deepest love. His greatest heartache. A pain that cut him so deep that he left the fucking country, severing all ties with his life in New York, now suddenly surrounding him as if he’d never left.

Fucking shit motherfucker fuck.

Louis returns to New York City five years after he left it – and the love of his life – behind. He didn't intend to see Harry again, but fate has a funny way of pulling them together, whether they like it or not. After making a begrudging truce, they both start to wonder: Would it be so bad if history repeated itself?

exes to lovers drama but make it extra sad. the fact that we see so many facets to this story just makes it all the more painful, yet beautiful. this fic also reminds me of how much i love one mister niall horan.

One for Luck

E | 96k | @leavingonatrain

The very first time Louis remembers hearing Harry Styles' deep, deep voice, he's just won gold at the World Equestrian Games and he's officially back on Great Britain's Olympic team. He's also three sheets to the wind, drunk on victory and champagne, and there's a gorgeous boy whispering in his ear. Life's grand.

(AU: Louis and Harry are professional riders on the British Olympic team.)

again, i know nothing about horses, but i like to pretend i do for the sake of this fic. it’s beautiful, it’s smutty what else could you ask for?

Nothing But You On My Mind

E | 83k | @absoloutenonsense

Louis Tomlinson is a PR manager hired to improve the image of royal bad-boy Prince Harry Styles. Unfortunately for him, that means being faced with the Prince's constant innuendos, incessant dirty jokes, and relentless flirting. Louis just wants to make it to Princess Gemma's coronation; once she's crowned Queen, his contract is up and he never has to see the Prince again.

i absolutely. definitely. sobbed tears at this fic. it’s just so beautifully painful to read. don’t want to spoil anything, but this is a must.

Adore You

M | 67k | @isthatyoularry

“We invited our new acquaintances from uptown. You’ve simply got to meet their oldest son!” said his mother with a flourish, and suddenly it became abundantly clear as to why his parents had so adamantly demanded he join them in Deansville for the entirety of the summer.

Against his wishes, Harry spends the holidays at his family’s summer estate, and is reluctantly pulled into a courtship he didn’t ask for. Harry doesn’t want to get married, but Louis does. They don’t fit, but then again they really, really do.

Vaguely set in the 1920’s. Headpieces, jazz, fashionable canes, and flapper dresses, and that.

i strongly relate to harry in this one! one of my favorite historical AUs and honestly i love the thought of louis in well fitting suits.

leave it to the breeze

E | 81k | @hattalove

Louis couldn’t be prouder of his bake, but there’s something—there’s something. Something about Harry Styles and the earnest way he measures, pours, mixes, scrapes. Something about the tip of his tongue poking out of his mouth as he knocks the air out of his batter.

or a great british bake off au in which louis cares about winning and winning only, harry is made of sunshine and rainbow sprinkles, and niall sticks his nose into other people's business. also featuring liam as louis's best friend-slash-concerned mother, and zayn as a macaron connoisseur.

i. love. the. great british baking show. baking + h&l is amazing. and another reminder as to why niall is the absolute best.

Paint The Sky With Stars

M | 62k | @icanhazzalou grrr let me tag

On 10 April 1912, Harry Styles boards the finest ship the world has ever seen. Still grieving the death of their mother, he and his sister are being sent to America to live with a callous uncle who cares more about his business connections than family. Harry prepares himself for a long, disappointing voyage alone in his stateroom.

Louis Tomlinson has borrowed and saved, and finally has enough to purchase a Third Class ticket to America. With all of his belongings in a single ruck sack, he boards the Titanic filled with hope for a brighter future. Never one to sit still, he can’t resist exploring the massive ship, and soon goes sneaking into First Class in a stolen steward’s uniform.

By a twist of fate, Louis finds himself in Harry’s stateroom, entranced by the most attractive man he’s ever laid eyes on. He keeps returning day after day, even if he doesn’t understand what it is about Harry that continues pulling him in. That’s all right; Louis has a week to figure it out, and Harry is plenty willing to help.

Except they don’t have a week. They have four days. Because on 15 April, their entire world will be turned upside down.

Or, the historically accurate Titanic AU with a happy ending.

gorgeous historical fic that’s so accurate and painstakingly written. i keep coming back to it!

When It’s Late At Night

M | 25k | @all-these-larrythings

Louis has zero interest in an ex-boybander turned solo artist when his appearance on the show gets announced, but that's exactly who he gets stuck with when Harry Styles shows up at the Late Late show to promote the release of his debut album. For an entire fucking week.

Or

The Late Late prompt that we all need to get through this excruciatingly hard time.

remember when i said i love Late Late AUs? yeah. i love that louis gives absolutely zero shits in this fic until he gives all the shits.

Chasing Empty Spaces

E | 79k | @domestic-harry

The year is 1934 and Harry Styles was to inherent the largest tobacco firm in the south. His parents have picked out the “perfect” girl for him to marry and he has the privilege of receiving the highest education possible. The problem was, Harry hadn’t realized he didn’t actually want any part of that future until he met a mechanic named, Louis Tomlinson.

gorgeous historical AU that goes through Harry’s struggle with his sexuality wonderfully. this one also made me cry.

Resist Everything Except Temptation

E | 100k | @domestic-harry

The lethargic sound of heels clicking against wood resonated across the sea. Footsteps descended the staircase, every assured step creating a menacing aura as it grew closer. Perspiration gathered along Louis’ palms as the rhythmic sound halted in front of him.

“Captain,” Malik greeted.

Louis watched out of his peripheral as Malik’s boots shuffled back a few steps. Sweat matted the hair along the nape of Louis’ neck as he waited for something to happen. He felt as if a sharp blade was twisting his gut as the silence became tangible. There was a metallic slide of a sword being pulled out of its sheath, the sound startling Louis out of his cocoon of sterile shock. His shoulders jumped as the tip of a blade flattened underneath his jaw. Louis’ distorted reflection stared back at him in the polished metal. Engraved rose petals twisted his appearance as they crawled up the length of the sword. The sword lifted and took Louis’ chin with it.

Standing in front of Louis was Captain Styles.

OR

The one where Louis is the commodore's son who is forced to become a part of Harry's crew when he is captured.

love this pirate AU that’s got one badass gemma styles. also, harry as a super cool pirate in gorgeous clothes makes me super happy!

i’ll make this feel like home

E | 49k

Harry to groans himself and then takes a deep breath. “Okay, well. Here’s the thing. I peed on a stick.”

Louis isn’t able to get more than a shocked “What!” out before Harry’s steamrolling on.

“I peed on a stick and it says it’s positive, but you always prattle on about how it’s best to go to the doctor’s before you get excited, you know to confirm it because sometimes hormones are off or you have like a tumor or some shit and get false positives and what if I’m dying and-”

“You’re pregnant?!” Louis shouts out, stomach dropping as the words leave his mouth.

“Um, yeah… maybe.”

[the one where Louis' hopelessly in love with his best mate... who just happens to be pregnant with another man's baby.]

baby momma harry with hot mess!Louis is a recipe for disaster, but this one has plenty of fluff to make up for it.

Hands Clasped Tight

E | 44k | @afirethatcannotdie

“What am I looking at here?” Harry asks.

“This, my friends, is a ‘proof’ Instagram account, run by your students,” Liam announces.

“It’s got all this stuff about how the two of you are together,” Niall adds.

“I heard about that,” says one of the math teachers. “Confiscated a kid’s phone today when they were looking at it. I have to say, the evidence that you’re dating is pretty damning.”

“Really,” Louis says dryly. “Do you think being married for three years might have something to do with it?”

Or the one where Harry and Louis are high school teachers and their students have been playing matchmaker for over a year. Little do they know, Harry and Louis are already married.

love love teacher harry and louis that’s mostly funny fluff with a little angst. just a teeny amount. reminds me of my own experiences with meddling students haha.

*updated 2/16/21*

[sanktaleksander]

What about, the prompt number three for Brank? *Puppy eyes*

I’m sorry this took forever but I really loved writing this even when I wasn’t making much progress. I hope you enjoy it!

Brank + 3. touching foreheads

Read on ao3

Billy hated hospitals. He hated everything about them, from all the people always coming and going, the oppressive and glaring fluorescent lights overhead to the constant lack of quiet, be it from the sounds of beeping machines or humming equipment or just the constant sound of conversation. Even the smell, so bracingly potent in its cleanliness seemed to put him on edge. It probably didn’t bother most people, but everything about this place made Billy uncomfortable and ill at ease from the moment he knew he’d have to go inside. Places like this, any clinical setting really, reminded him too much of his past, especially around the time he’d found his mother, practically on life support after she’d nearly drugged herself into oblivion one too many times. The place she was in now still made him uncomfortable, as though he could smell the scent of people’s suffering just from entering the building. Just one more reason he preferred not to see her.

Today though, today he was here for a different reason and if it had been for any other reason, he probably wouldn’t have come simply to avoid stepping foot in another hospital. But he wasn’t here for a friend or even a family member, he was here for someone far more important than either of those designations. 

Billy had taken care of everything personally as soon as he’d been given word. He’d made sure the room was the biggest and best available, had only the best staff on duty with more just a call away if need be and he was sure he could have a jet waiting and ready in under 30 minutes if shit suddenly decided to hit the fan, which Billy always assumed it would even if it never really did. It was the soldier in him he supposed, always having to be prepared for the worst case scenario. He’d learned a long time ago that it paid to have all your bases covered and he was definitely a man with the means to do exactly that.

The ride in the elevator was excruciating, both because of such an enclosed space and the length of time it took to move up several floors even though in actuality it probably wasn’t any time at all. Mostly though, it was because of the series of knots that had formed in the pit of Billy’s stomach, starting the second he got the call. After that, he’d started ringing contact after contact to get everything in place here before ultimately making the trip here himself.

Finally, Billy reached the correct floor and found it blessedly less crowded and a bit quieter, mostly because Billy had demanded the best and was willing to fork over the cash for a bit of privacy. Still, his heart sped up as he made his way down the hall, his expensive Louis Vuitton’s echoing against the tile with every step. 

There was a rather broad man in a black suit standing in front of the door at the end of the hall. His arms were crossed over his chest and his gaze steely. If he was listening to the chatter he was surely hearing from his earpiece, it registered no change in his expression. Billy didn’t have to say a word, the man knew who he was just from sight alone and immediately stepped aside, opening the door and allowing Billy to enter before closing it once he was inside. 

The room was silent except for the steady sounds of the machines that were inescapable in a hospital. It was a rather large space for a hospital room, with an oversized couch and several chairs, some decent wallpaper, and windows that overlooked the city. 

“You didn’t have to do all this.”

Billy had avoided looking at the man sitting in the hospital bed until then, exhaling a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding when he finally managed a look. His eyes landed on the other man’s face, saw the myriad of cuts on his body, some deep enough to require stitches while others were simply bandaged. Not that Billy could see most of his body, just his face, and arms, the rest covered by a gown and the thin blanket that had been placed over him. Still, Billy could see the beginnings of bruises along with other abrasions. He worried about the injuries that he knew he couldn’t see.

It took a moment for him to find his voice as he took everything in. “It’s you. For anyone else, I wouldn’t have but you’re not anyone else.” 

“So I’m royalty now, huh?” Frank’s voice sounded rough and more than a bit tired, but just the sound of it made Billy’s heart beat faster, even as he remained rooted to the spot, still taking in the state of the other man. Leave it to Frank to try and make light of his current situation.

Billy sighed softly then, taking a step toward the bed. “You act like I should’ve done nothing.”

“It’s really not that big of a deal, Bill. Whatever happens to me isn’t your fault.”

“But you could’ve died!” Billy burst out, drawing back a second later, trying not to let his emotions get the better of him. “We’re all going to die sooner or later. You’re still making more out of this than you should be.” Frank insisted. Billy let out a noise of disgust. “Oh spare me that bullshit. Just because we’re all going to kick it one day doesn’t mean we should just act like we have no control over our lives. We shouldn’t just let shit happen as it may, paying no mind to our own safety, just asking for the universe to come and off us.” He shook his head before meeting Frank’s gaze. “Is that what you want? Do you have some sort of fucking death wish that you haven’t told me about?”

Frank scoffed. “You know it’s not like that. I do what I do because I have to, because nobody else will. You know it’s a little more dangerous than some office job.”

“I do but you’re not an untrained idiot who decided to do this for his own jollies either! Would it really be so hard to be a little more careful? Every day I wake up and wonder if this is the day I’m gonna get a call that someone found your maimed corpse in some burnt out warehouse!” Billy was trying so hard to rein in his feelings but this was Frank and nobody else got to him quite like he did and it didn’t help that Frank didn’t seem to understand why Billy would go to such lengths just to make sure he was okay. 

“And so what if I end up dead, Bill? You’d be fine, you’ve got everything anyone could possibly want and if you don’t, you’re more than capable of paying someone to get what you want. The whole fucking world is in the palm of your hand. Compared to all that, why do I even matter?” Frank asked him, watching Billy with almost curious eyes, unused to seeing the other man this way. For a long moment Billy stood silent. His gaze had moved from Frank to somewhere on the floor, but it soon returned to his face and Frank wasn’t sure he quite understood the emotion he saw playing in Billy’s eyes when everything about him was normally so guarded. 

“Don’t you get it?” Billy finally asked him. “Don’t you understand that without you, I’ve got nothing? No family, no friends, or at least none that matter anyway. I’ve got the money and the high powered job and everything that comes with that but none of that matters if you’re not here. How am I just supposed to fucking go on without you, huh? How am I supposed to move on and act like everything is okay knowing damn well I’m never gonna see you again?!” Billy demanded, his voice rising as he began to pace, not knowing what else to do with himself. 

Frank found himself unsure of what to say. It hurt him to see Billy like this, to see him so clearly unhappy when he was usually so calm and practically unflappable in any situation. When they’d been overseas, he’d been a lethal sniper because of his ability to remain in control at all times besides having a perfect shot. He was even like that when they were deep in a firefight. Billy could handle anything. Frank couldn’t remember a time when he’d seen him like this. 

“Bill...I-I don’t…” He couldn’t seem to find the right words.

Billy had crossed to the other side of the room where the windows were, now leaning his hands against the ledge beneath the glass, his eyes trained on the view of the city outside.

“Sometimes...Sometimes I think about trying to convince you to go away with me, to give up all of this, this life you’ve chosen. I think about convincing you to let me take you away from here, off to anywhere in the world that we could want to go as long as it got us out of here and I’d never have to worry about losing you again. We could just disappear, never have to worry about anything anymore. I don’t care about where we’d end up, as long as we’re together.” Billy sighed heavily then, shoulders sagging. “But I know there’s no point in asking. I know I could never get you to agree to it. I may not be able to live without you, but that doesn’t mean you feel the same way about me.”

Frank had never heard Billy speak like that, never understood just how much he cared, not really. He’d always done such a good job of hiding his emotions, but perhaps this time had been one close call too many for Billy. 

“Bill, fuck, I’m sorry. I guess I didn’t realize how you felt. I’m so used to not caring too much about my own survival that I assumed if I was gone, maybe you would be sad, but that it wouldn’t mean nearly as much as it clearly would.” He swallowed, finding a lump had formed in his throat. “But that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t be lost without you.” Frank managed, his voice much softer now. “I know how important you are to me but I don’t think I’ve been showing it, not nearly enough. I didn’t realize how my own disregard for myself would affect you.” 

Frank’s eyes stayed on the other man as he remained in place by the window, not saying a word. He couldn’t help worrying that Billy wouldn’t say anything else and that he would simply walk out. Frank didn’t want that, didn’t want there to be this tension between them. 

“Bill? Will you come over here? Please? So I can stop looking at your back?” 

For a long moment, Billy still didn’t move. But eventually, he straightened and turned, approaching the bed. Frank recognized the expression on Billy’s face, one he was very much familiar with, the calm, cold look of detachment Billy kept up around nearly everyone and almost all the time. Frank was one of the few people around which he could let that mask disappear and allowed himself to really feel things, but usually only if they were alone. Frank didn’t take offense to Billy refusing to do that now, knowing that the coldness was just his response to his control slipping earlier. It was a defense mechanism for Billy, one he relied on, a sort of self-preservation against rejection or unwanted pain, something he’d been forced to learn from years of being used and having his wants disregarded by people he thought he could trust. He didn’t know how else to handle emotionally charged situations where feelings mattered more than anything else. For Billy, he’d much rather storm a fortified bunker than try to navigate his own feelings. 

Frank wasn’t quite like that, but he understood well enough and he honestly wasn’t much better considering the emotion of his that he was most familiar with was rage. 

But the good thing was that he was also one of the few people who could coax Billy into letting his guard down after he’d thrown every wall back up. It wasn’t always easy, but it seemed Billy responded to him in ways he just didn’t with other people. 

Frank pushed himself up in the bed so he was sitting better, so he could try and get Billy to meet his gaze. “You mean everything to me, you know that?” It wasn’t easy for him to say these things out loud, but they needed to be said and at least they were alone. “I never say it and I clearly don’t show it enough but you’re all I’ve got, Bill. I know I’d never make it if you were gone but I never realized that you would feel the same way about me.” He exhaled a deep sigh, looking down at his hands, the knuckles wrapped up as they’d been split and bloody when he came in. “You’re the only one who even remotely understands the shit that goes on in my head. I don’t have to act like I’m something I’m not with you. You don’t look at me the way some people do, like I’m a ticking bomb they don’t know how to defuse. You’re the only person I know that won’t let me down…” He looked up, surprised when he found Billy’s eyes on him. 

The look in Billy’s eyes was unreadable, those dark eyes revealing little though Frank felt like Billy was studying every bit of him, as though he were peering into Frank himself, picking up on all the things the other man had left unsaid. 

Frank didn’t move when Billy stepped closer, didn’t shy away when the other man carefully reached to touch his cheek despite having several cuts on that part of his face. He didn’t care honestly, he wasn’t afraid of Billy in any sense, but he definitely wasn’t going to pull away now, not when he saw the way Billy’s expression changed. Those eyes were no longer distant, instead, they were now watching Frank in a way he couldn’t quite describe, though he found this look familiar. He’d seen glimpses of it when Billy thought Frank hadn’t been paying attention, only for it to disappear as soon as he realized that Frank had noticed. Frank wasn’t entirely sure what it meant, but he didn’t look away, leaning into Billy’s hand as the man’s thumb brushed over his cheek. Billy so rarely gave out affection, not that Frank was much different, but it was even rarer that Frank received affection nowadays from anyone so he relished it while he could, the look in Billy’s eyes making him feel things he thought he’d long since left behind.

Frank had been so caught up in trying to piece together the thoughts going on behind Billy’s expression that he didn’t even register when the other man moved, not until Billy was already kissing him, almost hesitant at first. For a moment Frank froze, his surprise immobilizing him until his brain came back online and he registered just how good all this felt, from the warmth of Bill’s lips against his own, how unbelievably soft those lips were, to the hands that were now framing his face, cradling his cheeks with the utmost care. 

Frank hadn’t kissed anyone in a long time, enough that he couldn’t even pinpoint the last time in his mind, but he couldn’t recall any of his past experiences making him feel like this, that despite his multitude of injuries, all he could feel was how good kissing Billy felt. 

His bandaged hands reached forward, grabbing handfuls of Billy’s suit to try and tug him closer as he leaned in, kissing Billy back, not expecting the swell of emotion that rose up inside. It felt this was something he’d been waiting to happen for years, like Frank’s whole world suddenly made sense in a way it never had before. 

When they parted, Billy didn’t go far, resting their heads together as his thumbs continued to stroke over Frank’s cheeks. “You’re it for me, Frankie. If you’re gone, then I might as well go with you. If you’re not here, then nothing else really matters.” 

Those words hit Frank especially hard, the look on Billy’s face that he’d been trying to understand beginning to make a lot more sense. “I’m not going anywhere.” He promised softly, reaching up to gather Billy’s hands in his own, pressing his lips to the other man’s knuckles. “I won’t do that to you, Bill, I’m not gonna leave you.” He leaned up and Billy didn’t hesitate, meeting him in the middle to kiss him again as Frank squeezed his hands. 

For a moment they remained that way, neither in much hurry to move. But when they did separate, Frank briefly worried that Billy would change his mind and act as though none of that had just happened. But much the opposite happened.

Billy slipped out of his suit jacket and for a second Frank didn’t understand why, not until the other man returned to the side of the bed and Frank quickly understood what he was silently asking for, even if Billy couldn’t bring himself to voice the words. This wasn’t unusual either, they always seemed to be on the same page about almost everything. 

Frank carefully shifted himself on the bed, moving his body to one side in order to leave enough room for the other man’s long frame. It wasn’t easy and it took a good bit for both of them to get comfortable, minding the wires and tubes attached to Frank as well as his numerous injuries. But soon Billy was tucked under Frank’s chin, a careful arm secured across his torso, his head resting so he could hear the other man’s heart beat. 

Frank wrapped an arm around Billy, nuzzling his nose into the softness of his hair before pressing a kiss to the top of his head. Billy responded by lifting his head to press a kiss beneath the curve of Frank’s jaw. 

“You don’t ever have to be without me if you don’t want to be, okay?” Frank’s fingers traced down over Billy’s arm. “I’m yours if you’ll have me.” 

“Yeah?” Billy responded, “You sure about that?” 

“More sure than I’ve been about anything in quite a long time.” Frank tightened his hold on Billy, tugging him impossibly closer. “I know what I’m asking for, Bill. I know you and I know everything that comes along with you. But you know me too and you know all the bullshit I’ve got hanging on me, always going on inside my head. If you can accept all that and take me anyway, then I know I can do the same for you. I just wish I’d made this decision a long time ago.” 

Billy said nothing for several minutes, listening to Frank’s heart and the steady sound of his breathing. He’d avoided shit like this for years, refusing to let anyone get close enough to be with him like this unless it was some sort of fling and those never lasted long. He’d always moved on eventually. But Frank was different. Frank had been his one constant since they’d met and he was the only person to look every horrible thing about Billy straight in the face and not flinch, not even a little. And if they were going to get to have more moments like this, then wasn’t that all he’d ever wanted all along? No one had ever touched him like this, wanted him like this. If Frank wanted him, would it really be so bad to let Frank have him when he wanted Frank just the same?

This time when Billy lifted his head, he made sure he met Frank’s gaze, looking into those brown eyes that he had always found so welcoming whenever they were on him. “You and me, huh? This mean you’re gonna propose too?”

Frank’s face broke out in a smile at that, one that made his laugh lines come out and his eyes light up. “Whatever you want, sweetheart. I’d be content to spend the rest of my life making you happy.” 

Billy had to kiss him again when he said that, sure this would be just one of many more to come. And as he once again made himself comfortable in Frank’s arms, Billy found himself at ease inside a hospital for the first time in his life. Funny how being with that right person could change things completely.

[goatsandgangsters]

so what is grishaverse? i could just google it, but i kind of want to hear it from a fan

hello yes! happy to help! I also love to be categorized as a fan here because the reality is that these books have been loitering on my to-read list for several years until netflix forced my hand and I was like “o fuk, o shit, I gotta read those now” and then tore through binge-reading/absolutely devouring them over the past couple months (and I’m not normally a media-binger, but man, these books go FAST and they hook ya) and now Am Love It Very Much

Non-spoilery lore summary of where things start out: Set in a fantasy world based on tsarist/19th-century Russia. Some people—called Grisha—have powers. Everywhere else in the world, Grisha are oppressed, but In Fantasy Russia they’re now warily tolerated as a useful military branch. There are three broad categories of Grisha types, which are basically “medical school but make it magic” (people whose power is either to Fuck Shit Up in your body or to heal it), “long ago the four three nations lived together in harmony” (airbenders, waterbenders, firebenders), and “extreme DIY crafting” (they make/invent stuff real good). However, Our Protagonist discovers she has the rare Grisha power of being able to summon sunlight. Which is particularly useful when your war-torn country is cut off from its only coastline by A Giant Enormous Area Of Total and Absolute Darkness That Monsters Live In. /CUE DRAMATIC MUSIC

You’ve got POWERS! You’ve got HISTORICALLY-INSPIRED-YET-DISTINCTLY-FANTASY AESTHETICS! You’ve got POLITICAL INTRIGUE and WAR! You’ve got HEISTS and CRIMES! You’ve got FANTASY ANALOGIES FOR REAL-WORLD OPPRESSION! You’ve got some really great CHARACTERS! It’s fun, it’s fast, it’s absorbing.

Book series structure: There are a couple different sets of books set within the Grishaverse. The first is a trilogy (“the grisha trilogy”)—the first book of which is called Shadow and Bone, from which the Netflix adaptation draws its name. That’s a three-book series focused on the aforementioned sunlight protagonist. THEN there is another duology of books (which are six of crows and crooked kingdom), which is set in the same universe, but focuses on an entirely different set of characters, with an entirely different storyline, in a different/neighboring country from Fantasy Russia, and also it’s set slightly after the first trilogy. Book-wise, they’re very much separate entities. While the trilogy has sort of a “you’re the chosen one, save your country” vibe with big political players, the duology has more of a “be gay, do crime” vibe that’s more gritty with gang of found family do a heist. (Tho if you’re looking at content that’s on my blog, I’ve only reblogged trilogy-focused posts because I am Not Yet Done With The Duology Books.) I have to respect an author who creates a sandbox and then doesn’t want to stop playing in it, because that’s probably exactly what I would do too.

TV adaptation structure: the SHOW, which is called Shadow and Bone and which drops on Netflix in a couple weeks, is combining both of those sets of books into one plotline, even though they are very much separate in the books. It seems like they’re planning to follow the plot of the first (trilogy) book pretty closely, while weaving in the characters from the duology as more of a prequel to their own books. So it’ll be interesting to see how they do that, because they’re fusing together these different stories into one.

So that’s why the use of “grishaverse” is useful because you have these multiple sets of stories that take place within the same world but that focus on different things and different people in different places—but that will be woven together more fully in the upcoming adaptation—so it’s a useful catch-all term for The World This Is Set In 

If you’re intrigued by the show but reasonably can’t commit to binge-reading an entire book series in the span of the next two weeks, it DOES seem like it’s designed to be enjoyable to both book fans and to people who are totally brand new to the world. That said, even though I just dumped a lot of info on you about trilogies and duologies (and those five aren’t even the entirety of books published within this world but I wanted to stick to the Key Info), the books and the world are actually super accessible. The pacing is fast, so I found them to be quick reads. The world-building is presented in a way that’s really clear and digestible; I never felt thrown into something huge that I didn’t understand, which can happen with some fantasy series. While the world itself is broad and sweeping, the way these stories are told and the way they unfold felt like something that I could jump immediately into without any foreknowledge and immediately feel like I understood what was going on. I literally osmosis’d ZERO THINGS about the series(es?) when I started reading—and I didn’t even read the blurb on the back!—but it was a really accessible and easy world to enter into.

Also, I did NOT expect to get as totally hooked as I did. But the timing has been really fun for me actually, because I get to absolutely devour this fun, engaging book series and then immediately I’ll get to revisit it in a different way when the show drops!

[alpaca-writes]

Mystics, Chapter 12

When Arch becomes hired on at Mystics by the strange shopkeeper Lyrem Nomadus, everything seems to be going well- in fact, their life nearly becomes perfection. Soon enough, however, Arch realizes that perhaps not everything is as perfect as it seems….

Directory: [chapter one] [chapter two] [chapter three] [chapter four] [chapter five] [chapter six] [chapter seven] [chapter eight] [chapter nine] [chapter ten] [chapter eleven]

Tag list: @myst-in-the-mirror, @livingforthewhump

CW: memory whump, psychological whump, noncon touching (nonsexual), swearing. torture mention, car accident mention

CHAPTER TWELVE: THE FUTURE IS UNCERTAIN

        Store meeting. 8pm tonight. –

        “And, send.” Lyrem muttered to himself, then sighed. He laid his elbow against the countertop, staring mindlessly at his phone and drank the last sip of his coffee before throwing it into the trash bin beside him. The shapeshifter was in the alley, waiting for their cue. All Lyrem needed now, was Arch. A slight flittering sound alerted him to a new text.

        Omw.

        Perfect. Everything was in motion. Everything was going to work out. Arch needed a little more push. Just a slight nudge to keep them interested in working for him. The farther they went, the harder it would be to return to innocence. He couldn’t allow them the chance to turn away. He needed to awaken their memories naturally. He needed them to be lost in their fury. He needed them to take that extra step- he needed them to kill. And who better to help them to do that than-

        The front door flew open in a rage. Lyrem was faced with a version of himself blazoning with passionate anger. His eyes were red, his face was pink. He looked as though…

        “What happened to you?” He asked himself. The other Lyrem wiped a stray unstoppable tear from his face.

        “Oh, you’ll fucking find out!” He shouted. He travelled through the store and directly entered the employee washroom. He remained in there for several minutes before emerging with his face rinsed but still tender. He announced to his other self, still in a fit. “I’m taking the SUV.”

        The present Lyrem raised a brow, then returned to staring at his texts. It wasn’t often that he dared cross himself within a time-stream.

        “Just don’t crash the damn thing.” He hollered, but his future self was already gone through the back.

        -----

        The Labyrinth.

        Arch had only ever heard of it.

        What they knew was simply that it was a place of emptiness. It was a place where nothing existed. A place where suffering, joy, life and death ceased to be. It was also a place that stole you from the world. A step into the depths of the Labyrinth and you’d be forgotten to all. Forgotten to the whole world- except for the very one who had tossed you in. Even on Earth, the Labyrinth would ensure you’d never exist there either- not even in a memory. It wasn’t like simple Latin blood magic. This was a loss to endure forever.

        Now, they saw it, and it was much less impressive than they expected. Lyrem had propped open the back door as Arch held onto the man’s body- or the person they were to assume was the man. But… Arch knew better than to believe everything they heard. They were reminded of the policeman, Grenn, and what he had said a week ago-

        “How does a guy walk away from a car crash with a Bowie stuck in his leg?”

        At the time, it wasn’t as important to know how the man got away, as much as it was important to find him. Lyrem seemed sure that they had found him, but Arch wasn’t so sure- especially not after they leaned into his right leg. There wasn’t anything remotely close to a reaction from him. The knife was buried at lease two inches into his leg, of that, Arch was certain; and no one could heal from that in a week. The Labyrinth wouldn’t be pleasant, certainly, but at least they weren’t about to kill an innocent man.

        “Well?” Lyrem touted, “What are you waiting for?”

        Arch looked up and down the empty alleyway. Usually, Lyrem’s vehicle would be blocking the view of the street from the alley’s entrance, but it wasn’t around tonight. Maybe it was at a mechanics’; maybe Arch would get lucky.

        “Nothing,” they said, dismally. They propped the man up, who was now completely unconscious from a second well-placed blow to the head, and kicked him forward into the darkness.

        Lyrem closed the door after the shapeshifter.

        “I am proud of you, Arch,” he said, but this time, it sounded skeptical. Like he was testing them. He could see the change in their demeanour and he measured what this new version of Arch might mean for him.

        “That wasn’t the man, was it?” They postulated. Lyrem squirmed under their gaze. He nodded apologetically, and gave a half smile.

        “Too clever for your own good,” he praised warmly. Approaching, he clasped his hands together.  “You caught me. That was not the Man- though you certainly put him in his place, didn’t you? The Labyrinth… I would choose death over the Labyrinth a hundred times over if given a choice. Quite diabolical of you to choose the Labyrinth.”

        Arch stepped backward, nearly tripping over their own feet to do so. Lyrem regarded their movement keenly, and furrowed his brows.

        “What’s wrong, Arch?”

        “Nothing,” they mumbled, looking away, towards the door. “What… was he? Why did he look like the man?”

        “Oh,” Lyrem realized. “He is a shapeshifter. Hard beings to find, I will admit but for this particular job, he did just perfect. Well worth the expense I think.”

        Arch squinted their eyes at Lyrem, who was so comfortable with the idea of tossing people away.

        “So, he was like you?” Arch alleged tentatively. “A… a monster?”

         Lyrem stepped forward at the accusation, towering himself over the kid that he regarded so highly. A sharp betrayal stung him in the chest. He had almost forgotten that his future self had visited him to retrieve the SUV. He may finally know exactly what set him off into such a fury.

        “Say that again.”

        Arch stammered and stumbled over their words, their hands finding their way to their pocket where their phone was missing, but the mace, thankfully, remained. Lyrem stopped them with a finger to their lips, resulting in an upsetting silence from Arch.

        “I am not a monster,” he stated. “What I am is a bestower of great gifts. I gave you dominance and power over those who have oppressed you and you would lower me to the tier of a shapeshifter- a monster?”

        Arch was shaking now, unable to move any further away, and too fearful to object to his statements.

        “You promised me your life, your devotion to this work that I do. Arch, if I am truly a monster in your eyes, then you need not fear me any more than the one that stares back at you from a mirror.”

        Lyrem lowered his fingers, and took a deep breath.

        “I will forgive you, Arch. I will forgive you because I care about you, and because you did something very difficult for me today.” Lyrem raised his arm again, setting a hand on their shoulder. “And I suspect you are still trying to remember everything that you and I have done together. So… I apologize if this experience was… rattling.”

        “My…” Arch mumbled, still stricken with a sense of danger that was overwhelming them, reason and all. “My mom… she warned me…”

        The memories were fading… They were fading quickly. But their mom… their mom?... told them… somebody told them not to trust this man. The man with the gem shop. The man who forced them to work late. The man who taught them what power truly was.

        This was the man they feared. And they feared him more than anything else in the world.

        The lid of the mace hit the alleyway’s pavement, rolling into a gutter of the road. The hiss of the spray and the following spewed insults, were enough of a distraction for Arch to run into the street after they had thrown the emptied canister into the old man’s face. The only thing screaming in their mind was the knowledge that they had to return home and not Lyrem’s well chosen words that echoed down to them as he followed them at a slower pace to the sidewalk.

        “YOU UNGRATEFUL WRETCH!”

        Arch flew down the many streets, pushing past the evening street-walkers if needed. Their legs fought them the whole way; still recovering from the bruises from the crash and their back still feeling the panging effects from the whiplash that caused a near-constant aching. For now, they couldn’t care less. They needed to get home. They needed to be safe. They needed…

        For whatever reason, a visual of Hugh Grant and Drew Barrymore popped into their head. There was something about it that was wrong. There was something missing. Someone missing. Who was telling them about that ridiculous movie, again?

        Who would be waiting for them at the house? They thought.

        Maleficent. That stupid cat.

        People lived with other people though, didn’t they? Families. They realized. That was what it was called. They had one of those. Human families. Siblings and grandparents and fathers and…

        They reached the end of their block, their own face worn from the fears of that night and exhausted from everything that had been revealed to them. They weren’t a monster… They couldn’t be.

        They were Arch. They were a stupid high school student who had a part-time job. They had friends... they had little hobbies… they failed Spanish class.

        They also tortured Kyle. They flayed his skin so that Lyrem could dry them and use them as paper for certain macabre spell work.

        The more they ran with the knowledge of what they had done and who they had hurt, the harder it was to continue… the easier it was to give up. Their knees buckled, hitting the sidewalk pavement with force. Out of breath, and feeling nauseous, Arch’s forehead met the hot ground next; their arms and hands curled around their head as they threatened to pull their own hair out as a means of distraction from their horrible reality.

        “There you are…”

        Arch gulped, and merely wept, soaking the sidewalk in a small spot where their face was supported only by their forearms. They felt a firm grasp pulling them up by the elbow, and they succumbed to its demands. Their knees were torn into by stray pebbles, tossed on from the boulevards- some were still small enough to remain stuck beneath their there, leaving specks of red across their skin.

        “Wh-where…” Arch started to say- though they didn’t entirely know what they were trying to ask as a fog of grief and anger and fear poured over them. “Where’s… my…”

        It was exhausting, trying to remember exactly what was so wrong- why they couldn’t stand to be around Lyrem right now- and despite their best efforts to pull away, he dutifully remained by their side as they walked the rest of the street together. Slowly they arrived at the front door of the house.  

         Maleficent sat there at the top of the porch, waiting; her blue eyes peering judgmentally at the kid as they found their way up the stairs. A long grey tail swept from side to side lazily, then she proceeded to lick herself.

        Lyrem closed them into the house; the scent of burning paper filling it. He had lit a small fire in the living room and stacked several small Rubbermaid containers beside it- one of which, sitting on the raised slate hearth was half empty.

        The futon was roughly shoved back into the form of a couch. Bags of clothing in multiple colours remained by the door, as well as a stack of math and chemistry texts with haphazardly strewn loose-leaf papers.

        He sat Arch down on the futon as he laid a hand on their back. Gently, he caressed them and pulled a warm fleece throw over their lap. Arch curled into it, and watched the fire burn, engulfing the last memories of the people they thought of as family. Lyrem return to stoking it. He picked through some photos and papers from the open bin, allowing Arch to watch as he tossed them to the flames.

        Arch found themselves drifting into a deep dreamless sleep. With a pillow under their head and the room growing too warm, Lyrem studied them fondly as he continued to shove their past into the flames. Over an hour later, he closed the lid on the one of the last bins. He would return to burning those papers and photos another time. He pushed the little metal bar to close the flue on the fire, and shut the door on it as it groaned like a horn.

        “You rang…?”

        Lyrem turned around, seeing Paimon, he scoffed. Then held a finger to his lips to keep the demon quiet until he shooed him into the kitchen. Lyrem started the kettle on the stove. Paimon looked from the couch and then back to Lyrem warily, and then opened his mouth.

        “Don’t say it,” Lyrem interjected. Paimon looked slightly offended.

        “I was going to say that our lawyer has their papers ready,” Paimon replied with an innocent conjecture. Removing his tall hat, he placed it on the small worn wooden table. Lyrem nodded, and he continued. “But also, that you are getting too close.”

        Lyrem pulled himself away from the cupboard; a tin of hot chocolate powder in his hand, he considered using it as a bludgeoning instrument- but even if he had something more weaponized, Paimon wouldn’t have felt a thing. He was a demon, after all.

         “All Arch has to do is sign and your debts will become their debts. You won’t ever have to worry about what you owe- well until you make another ridiculous deal, that is.”

        “Keeping Maria alive was not a ridiculous deal,” Lyrem said. He pulled three mugs out of the cupboard, filling them with spoonfuls of the powder. Now they only needed to wait for the water to boil.

        “My apologies,” Paimon instilled a silence into the room. Absently he sifted through the mail with Charlotte’s name sprawled over it. Insurance payment reminders, some neighbourhood notices, and list of seemingly random addresses she had penned out over the phone one day, they all sat in a heap. “Their mother, then?”

        Lyrem accepted the shame with dignity and crossed his arms as he leaned into the fridge.

“It had to be done. Arch is too easily influenced by them,” He spoke simply. “Thank you again for providing me with another doorway. It took a lot of energy… I may need to devour a heart or two before I replenish my strength.”

“Have you considered that you might be getting in a little over your head?”

Lyrem shook it. “No. I- I am not in over my head, Paimon. My head is still well above the waterline, thank you very much.”

Paimon smoothed his beard to the end and regarded the man skeptically.

“So, you will still allow Arch to sign?”

Lyrem blinked, his lashes fluttering bit as he thought of his answer. Then he scowled.

“They already said they would sign. I am sure that if Arch cares about me, and cares about the work ahead of them, that they will make the right decision for themselves.”

“And if they make the wrong decision?” Paimon postulated.

Lyrem fell silent just in time for the kettle to scream out with a high whistle. He shut off the stove, and picked it up. Filling the three mugs and giving them a stir, he passed one to Paimon, then moved to the living room.

With a light nudge, Arch awoke to the smell of the warm chocolate sugar and accepted the cup as they sat up. Wrapping their blanket around their shoulders, Lyrem asked.

“Are you feeling better, now?”

Arch nodded, brushing away some dried tears. Past Lyrem’s head of grey, the light was on in the kitchen with the demon in black sitting there still. He caught their gaze and held it carefully. Arch waved.

Paimon nodded back with a slight sideways grin.

“What’s Paimon doing here?” they asked, whispering to Lyrem.

Good. They remembered Paimon.

“He’s just here to catch up, that’s all.” Lyrem left them to their own devices on the couch and returned to the kitchen table as he retrieved his own comforting mug and held onto it with both hands as if the simple act could warm his rapidly cooling heart.

‘Let them enjoy their prom- their graduation. One last night out with their friends.” Lyrem was asking- no, pleading more than telling.

“Immediately after. I don’t want you to be running around any longer with this target on your back. It makes me… uneasy.” Paimon adjusted in his seat. “You and I still have much to do.”

“Yes. Yes, I know.” Lyrem sipped on his hot chocolate as his hazel eyes glazed over from thoughts that were perhaps too deep for his own good.

[bccrsk]

#protectAdora2020

Felt cute, thought I'd post this analysis I wrote a while ago, but I held off because of screenshots, but now I'm too busy to do that soooo.......have fun reading :D -----

The tragedies of Adora's character are rooted in the concepts of identity and choice and what it means to love and accept yourself. You can even say Adora's identity crisis closely parallels that of say, a young queer person from an oppressive background struggling to embrace their sexuality and who they are. 

One of the first facets of Adora's identity is chipped away when she realizes the Horde is evil. She has a rude awakening that the people she knew, the people she looked up to, her family, have all been lying to her. Everything she'd known in her life up to this point was a lie. Because she loves Catra so profoundly, she assumes when she tells Catra the 'truth' that she will turn tail and run away with Adora. When Catra does not and reveals that she knew all along what the Horde was doing, it rips another piece of her identity away. In her mind, her best friend isn't who she thought, and it hurts. In Promise, she gets a glimmer of hope, but their trauma and memories tear them apart because Light Hope wanted Adora to let go of Catra. To activate the Heart, you can't have a heart. Even then, Adora's never fully let go. Note that Adora had no choice but to grow up in the Horde— it's all she's ever known yet her dedication to morals and ideals are so powerful she's able to defect without thinking of the person she loves the most. "I had no choice— I couldn't go back," she says. Ironically, this is one of the few times Adora actually did make a choice, and in her mind, later on, it blew up in her face.

Another piece of Adora's identity is broken away when she learns the truth about her origins: she is not of Etheria; Adora had a family, and she was taken from them without choice. Learning this devastates her for two reasons: 1) people have lied to her again, and 2) she feels robbed of a life that could have been because she never wanted to be a hero. We see this in how she tries intimidating Shadow Weaver— "Tell me the truth, for once." One thing that sticks out in this scene is when SW says, "or perhaps you would have preferred the comfort of lies." SW raised Adora, and she knows how dedicated Adora was to the Horde when she did not see the truth. Adora saw how Catra was treated and yet did not believe the Horde was evil again because, in the Horde, you don't get to form an opinion or identity— you are a soldier and nothing more. The only foundation to build herself on was a higher purpose/goal, which was to free Etheria from the Princesses. So yea, when Shadow Weaver tells her the truth and when Light Hope confirms that SW was, for once, not lying, she's at a loss. The few times people actually tell her the truth are plagued with drastic consequences. She's so demoralized that she chooses to venture to the Crimson Waste, a place known for being barren, deadly and somewhere no one visits willingly. When Huntara betrayed her, Adora was so devastated because it was finally her chance to get answers for herself— to not have to rely on others to reveal her destiny. Then she gets kidnapped, it all goes to shit, and everyone is sad (aka me). 

Adora learning she had been robbed of a chance for a happy life devastates her. You can see this clearly when she screams at Light Hope, "Don't I get a choice?" to which Light Hope responds— "You do not get to choose. You are chosen." Recall when Mara says, "I never wanted to be a hero,"—Adora, at this point, is in the exact same boat. She never wanted to be a hero; she was living up to expectations thrust upon her. She was doing what people thought she should be doing. None of this was her choice. She never wanted to leave Catra. She never asked for this.  Catra describes Adora as "earnest, naive, ridiculously easy to manipulate," and the fact that Catra herself pointed this out shows just how well anyone who really knows Adora can work her. Adora's impulsive nature is also positively reinforced throughout the series— she finds the sword, defects and is rewarded with new friends, a new home, and a life she never dreamed she could have. 

Adora's abuse had such lasting impact because it preyed on her naivety and dedication to her morals and ideals; she must do this to serve the greater good, she must be useful or else what good is she? It damaged her psyche so negatively that even Razz comments, "You ran into the woods and asked the first old lady you saw what you should do." Ironically enough, when she punches Catra in the portal, she says, "You made your choice— now live with it!" When you really think about it, though, did they really get to make any choices based on what they wanted? Yes, Adora chose to defect, yes Catra pulled the lever. But is that what they wanted? Earlier on in the portal episode, she comments, "Catra, this can't be what you wanted!" The thing is, even Adora doesn't know what she wants at this point; Adora is doing what she thinks she should be doing because Light Hope bent the truth. Which brings me to...

The final piece of her identity that's chipped away is when she learns the truth about the Heart of Etheria— that she was not chosen to be a savior but to be the key to a superweapon whose sole purpose is destroying worlds in the name of 'peace.' This piece shattering comes to a head when she, for the first time, defies her predetermined destiny. She essentially breaks her sense of duty because, in Mara's words, "you can save the world we love." This is intentional; Mara could have said, "you can save Etheria!" but she instead chose to go for the heart. It's because of this love, not factions, or artificial ideals that she's able to overpower all the magic on Etheria. 

While this may seem extreme given that she's lost in the past against less threatening enemies, it actually makes perfect sense. When Mara tells Adora the truth about the Heart, she says Adora "will be more powerful than they ever planned." We get the first hint of this on Beast Island when she overpowers her fears and insecurities to save her friends, who she loves. The second glimpse we get of this is when she overwhelms Light Hope and even gives Light Hope enough strength to defy her own programming— all because Light Hope loved Mara. And when she awakens the She-Ra within, it will be because she loves you-know-who (NOT VOLDEMORT). 

I'm going to take a brief tangent, now—think about where Adora was raised: the Horde. Now think about how she left everything behind because she realizes the Horde is evil and found the Sword of Protection— aka a First One's artifact. Now think about how she left everything behind to become She-Ra for the 'greater good.' Think about Adora's reaction when she found out she was a First One. Now think about how the First Ones turned out to be not such good people after all. Next, go ahead and think about how Adora is going to grapple with the fact that the ideologies of the place she was born and the place she was raised in completely clash with her own. Though we know She-Ra isn't actually a nefarious being, Adora does not. In Adora's mind, if the First Ones made the Sword and the Sword is She-Ra, then that means She-Ra, Adora, was the villain all along. To top it off, in the Horde, she was always in the spotlight, a centerpiece made for greatness, just like when she was She-Ra. You'll bring peace and order to Etheria, Adora— you are Etheria's champion, Adora, but by the way, when we mean peace, we totally mean destroying everything. That's not gonna ruin anything, right?

Does this hurt yet? Cause it's about to get worse! Now combine everything you just read with Adora's hero complex— everything is my fault. She needs to feel useful to feel like she's worth existing, but what happens when two core parts of her identity are the reasons why there's so much turmoil on Etheria? What happens when, though obviously untrue, she feels like she does make everything worse? Remember when Light Hope told her that her friends get hurt whenever she's around? Remember when Glimmer first called her a heartless destroyer in the pilot? Remember how that came full circle, and Glimmer later blamed Adora for Angella's death? Yea, it's not going to be good, chief. And she sacrificed everything and everyone for the Sword— in a way, the Sword represents Adora, and she willingly destroys it to save everyone else. Adora breaks herself to save the world. Mara, Adora—it all ends the same. Hurts, doesn't it? 

So now that the sword is broken, her relationship with Catra seems irreparable, and Glimmer's been taken by an ominous alien warlord, what should she do? You can tell her spirit is at its lowest point by the composition of the scene: she's alone and small in a dark void, with nothing but broken pieces at her feet. She stares at these broken pieces with heartbreak; this is all a metaphor for her current state of mind and how she is processing everything. She is also realizing, or will realize, that all of this heartache that she's suffered in the name of the 'greater good' was for a lie; she sacrificed everything, gave up her heart, for a lie. 

When she sees Bow afterward, she seemingly hardens her resolve. At this point, however, this resolve is a facade— Adora is terrified, she no longer has a purpose, She-Ra is gone. How is she going to be useful without the sword? She's going to save the universe, but how? In S1E9, when she had to rescue Bow and Glimmer from the Horde, Angella asks her, "How are you going to do that?" In the season four finale, Bow expresses the same doubt— 'what are we gonna do?' When Angella asked her, the first thing Adora did was put on a brave face. Then, however, we see the beginnings of a breakdown; she buries her face in her hands and begins sobbing silently. Of course, the other princesses unite, and they save the day. 

Adora's identity is completely shattered at this point except for one thing: her attachments. Her love. And while Adora herself thinks some of these attachments are broken, the truth is that they aren't. Glimmer obviously still cares. Catra has always cared— it's why she went to such extremes. Her attachments, her heart will become her new compass— not her ideals. When she tries leaving everyone for the greater good, Swift Wind reminds Adora that her friends need her, that they've always needed her. Then she has a moment— she says, "I didn't choose to become She-Ra to fulfill some destiny. My attachments, my friends, are a part of who I am." This will come full circle, especially because of her fight with Glimmer, a fresh wound. Adora's self-worth is tied to what she can do for others, their expectations and Glimmer blaming Adora for her mother's death takes a significant toll on her self-esteem. At this point, Adora (and her hero complex) is probably thinking that this is all her fault and she needs to fix it, which is what she tries doing in Hero, only to learn that Etheria is a weapon, etc. 

There's good news, though; the only way now is up. Adora will only pick herself back up, will only awaken her She-Ra powers within when she chooses to believe in herself and when she chooses what she fights for. Razz will have a big part in this since she always seems to come to Adora at some of her lowest points. S1E3 will come full circle because Razz tells Adora that she must decide for herself what is right. And an essential piece of Adora coming to believe in herself and deciding what she fights for will be Catra. In essence, she's the only person that truly knew Adora before she became She-Ra, and Adora, no matter how messed up their relationship grew, loves Catra with all her heart. The tragedy behind their relationship is that their love is so strong— but the actual thread holding it together was (hehe)...shadow weaved. They were torn apart by lies and misunderstandings and the tragic Scapegoat vs. Golden Child dynamic. 

To conclude, Adora's character arc is so tragic because it deals with the fallout and consequences of a life-altering identity crisis. For many people in the LGBT+ community, that is a very relatable thing. I'd also like to add that Catra's journey parallels Adora's in how facets of her identity heavily influenced by the Horde are chipped away piece by piece until, again, Catra makes a choice of her own to save Glimmer. In the past, Adora and Catra were always brought back to each other, not by free will, but external influences. They were torn apart by deception, manipulation, misunderstandings. Now that their hearts are broken in such a way that each half finally fits with the other, now that the infected pieces of the past are gone, they'll learn the truth. Adora and Catra will find their way home when they both choose each other because of love and trust, and when they acknowledge that love. This new bond, this promise, won't be out of survival; this promise will be out of true love, out of two halves of a heart finding their way home and becoming whole again. 

It's beautiful and compelling storytelling not just for individual characters on parallel journeys to self-actualization and finally believing in themselves and their own choices, but for showing two young women on the cusp of adulthood—both who were abused in different ways that molded their worldview, who have different skill sets, who complement each other like light and darkness—learning to love themselves and recognize their love for one another. Like fire and ice, night and day, good and evil, neither can exist without the other. They are a core part of each other's identity. And the fact that the finale episode is most likely called "Heart"? Can it get any more obvious?

Also, fuck Shadow Weaver.

[theradioghost]

some recs for my podcast mutuals who are burnt out on horror & sad plot stuff

aka I’ve been seeing a few flavors of people exhausted by several of the most popular podcasts around here being pretty dark right now & I have attempted to put together a tasting menu of some stuff I think might help alleviate that burnout (& which also deserves some more love)

1. I'm okay with stuff that’s still on the dark or macabre side, I'd just like something that isn’t 100% characters I care about suffering horribly all the time, maybe some laughs in there

The Beef and Dairy Network: Like a seriously disturbing body horror podcast, except British satirical comedy! About cows! You kind of have to listen to it to get what’s going on tbqh it’s nearly impossible to explain but if you like horror and are just tired of being depressed about it maybe try this one. NOT for the easily nauseated.

Wooden Overcoats: black comedy sitcom about two rival funeral homes on a small island, one run by The Most Perfect Man On Earth (tm) and the other run by two misanthropic twins with a knack for disaster (and their hypercompetent assistant (and a mouse who wants to be an author)). this one is about watching the protagonist suffer horribly all the time but like, this time it’s usually a lot funnier and honestly he deserves it

Death by Dying: (so far very short) dark comedy about the resident obituary writer of idyllic Crestfall, Idaho, who sets out to tell the stories of how the town’s residents died and ends up uncovering a lot of other things, like conspiracies, and man-eating cats, and a poet’s vanishing childhood home, and what his friend the Angel of Death isn’t telling him about what’s in the dark woods. has very strong ASOUE or Pushing Daisies vibes, that sort of dark whimsy and really distinct narrative voice

Arden: “true crime” comedy-ish mystery podcast feat. two of the best bickering hosts anywhere and a whole third host called homoerotic tension, trying to solve a decade-old Hollywood mystery. secretly a shakespeare adaptation. one of the hosts is michelle agresti. an airline run by killer robots is involved, somehow. it’s a perfect storm

2. I’m good with some plot and higher stakes, but I need something more kind and hopeful right now:

Middle:Below: 10-minute episodes about a man who travels between the worlds of the living and the dead to solve the problems of restless ghosts, and the three friends he does it with -- a ghost, a cat, and a writer. their tagline is “remember: bad things will happen.” this is basically a lie, this show is extremely sweet

Alba Salix: high fantasy medical workplace comedy about hospital staff in a fairytale-ish kingdom, namely one grouchy witch, one distracted fairy, and one extremely disgruntled teenager sentenced to community service. also comes with the miniseries The Axe And Crown, which is about a gay troll bartender, his clueless landlord, and his bombastic niece, and also is one of the most heartfelt touching pieces of audio fiction I’ve ever heard?

Dark Ages: also a high fantasy workplace comedy, but in this one the dysfunctional cast work at a magical natural history museum, which thanks to recent events is now hosting the mythical Dark Lord on top of all the usual problems caused by their complete incompetency.

Solutions to Problems: a sci-fi relationship advice show feat. human host Janet and alien host Loaf. also feat. banter, illegal time travel, what to do when the AI that controls the air you breathe is your on-again-off-again girlfriend, and how to avoid your many spouses when they insist you need to come back to the homeworld and spend some time with your spawn.

Victoriocity: steampunk buddy-comedy mystery show, in which misanthropic detective Archibald Fleet (aka Tom Crowley but he’s grouchy this time) and intrepid newbie journalist Clara Entwhistle (aka an absolute ray of sunshine) uncover some Secret Plots within the government of a very different victorian london. if you like the “opposing personalities come to care deeply about one another as friends” trope this one is for you

Inn Between: not an actual play, but a show about the developing relationships of a party of RPG-esque adventurers as they rest at the inn between campaigns. you don’t see the adventures, just the crew growing closer and learning about one another in their moments of peace.

The Strange Case of Starship Iris: sci-fi adventure about a stranded biologist and a ragtag crew of smugglers who set out to resist an authoritarian government, solve a mystery, and prevent a second human-alien war. as far as I can tell their plan for accomplishing this is to be as funny, gay, and adorable as possible, and to dismantle oppressive systems via the power of found family tropes. also via the power of linguistics.

3. just give me the fluffiest, funniest, sweetest, most relaxed, lowest-stakes thing you have:

Everything is Alive: meditative, deeply touching show where Guy From Public Radio holds interviews with inanimate objects. the interviews are super genuine and beautiful and I think they’re improvised, or at least they sound very natural? for people who want to be profoundly moved by a can of generic brand cola (you may not know but you are one of those people)

Standard Docking Procedure: a self-described “hopepunk” scifi sitcom about a group of employees on a space station, dealing with the little daily misadventures of difficult tourists, traffic control disasters, nonexistent love lives, and each other. Has an explicitly stated purpose of staying happy, lighthearted, and comforting.

Love and Luck: tied for absolute most heartwarming audio drama in existence. the story of the relationship between two Australian men, told through voicemail messages, as they fall in love, start a cafe, build a supportive and loving local queer community of close-knit friends and chosen family who help one another through thick and thin, and also find out that they can do magic apparently (IMPORTANT NOTE: there are some darker events and themes tackled in the plot starting around the latter half of the first season, but the focus of the story itself is always on how people support and help one another through trauma and difficulty, and the explicitly stated core premise of the show is that every character will have a happy ending and be okay.)

Quid Pro Euro: Look Around You-esque satire of old 80s and 90s instructional tapes where Felix Trench tells you what the European Union will look like in the far-off year of 2000. I don’t know anything about the European Union but I cackle like a witch when I listen to this

The Cryptonaturalist: I know you’ve seen his tweets. well it’s that but a podcast. just a man with an extremely nice voice talking about fantastical creatures like salamanders that swim through parking lot asphalt or foxes that roam the shelves of libraries at night. in between he reads poetry and generally talks about nature in the most beautiful way you could imagine. this show feels like a peaceful walk in the woods.

The Hidden Almanac: a podcast made 90% out of gentle fantasy worldbuilding, as a somewhat grumpy man in a plague doctor mask tells you about the history of his world and distributes gardening advice. has an immense archive of four-minute long episodes. it’s best to listen in order, because there is continuity, and be aware that about the first year or so has dropped off most feeds. written and performed by much-loved fantasy writer and artist Ursula Vernon and her husband Kevin.

Startripper!!: the other forerunner for most heartwarming audio drama in existence. seriously, you cannot imagine how much joy Startripper!! will bring into your life. it’s just the travelogue of one little alien with a heart full of enthusiasm and love setting out to see the universe and making friends along the way with just about everyone he meets, including his extremely loveable spaceship AI. I really mean it. listen to this show if you listen to nothing else.

Cabin Pressure: BBC radio workplace comedy about the dysfunctional crew of the world’s smallest airline. not only utterly hilarious but will tug on your heartstrings more than you could possibly imagine (this does not look at first like a found family story but it so very much is). warning for bendytoots cucumberpatch but like, in the one and only valid role he’s ever played. you definitely cannot find this show by searching its name on the Internet Archive.

[worryinglyinnocent]

Fic: Days to Change a Lifetime

AU-gust Day Six: Hospital AU Fandom: Once Upon A Time Pairing: Rumbelle

Rated: T

Content Warning: Cancer, character death, terminal illness.

Summary: Mr Gold has a chance encounter with Belle French in the palliative ward, and they get to know each other over the last few days of her life.

Note: As you can probably tell from the summary, this does not have a happy ending.

Days to Change a Lifetime

Gold had always hated hospitals, and he could not for the life of him figure out how his chosen profession had led him to spend so much time in them. When he had decided to become a lawyer, he had reckoned on spending his entire working life in an office. He had not anticipated so many hospital visits. He had definitely not envisaged spending quite so much time in hospice units and palliative care wards.

He was a victim of his own success in a way, having gained a reputation for being good at handling cases involving wills, living wills and medical power of attorney, which was why, on this particular fateful Friday afternoon, he had found himself once more in a palliative care ward. That was how he met her. 

Belle.

He wasn’t sure that he would have noticed her if she had not been looking directly at him and he hadn’t seen that she had the most brilliant blue eyes he’d ever witnessed. Despite her pallor and the dark circles under her eyes, and the gauntness of her face where her illness had taken its toll, her eyes were still bright and mesmerising. 

The second thing that he noticed about her was that she was so comparatively young. Death didn’t discriminate, he knew that, but the patients he met on this type of ward in these types of grim circumstances tended to be a little older.

The third thing that he noticed was that she was alone. Most people had someone by their side during these final days, but she was on her own, and there was no evidence that she had ever had visitors. There were no personal touches in her room, no signs of the life that she’d led. She seemed so desolate, lying there in an impersonal room with no company, and that was what kept him arrested in her doorway, both of them looking at each other and both of them waiting for the next step to be taken. 

“Hi,” he said eventually. 

She smiled. “Hi.”

“Do you…” God, he was making a fool of himself and he’d probably have a nurse telling him to move along and stop disturbing the patients in a minute. “Would you like some company for a bit?”

“That would be lovely, thank you.” She paused. “Don’t you have your own family here though?”

Gold shook his head. “No, I’m a lawyer. I have a client here, but the meeting is over now.” He came into the room and sat down in the chair beside the bed, feeling more awkward now than he had done when he had been hovering outside. It had been a spur of the moment offer and now he had no idea what they were supposed to talk about. How did one go about starting a casual conversation with a dying woman?

“My name’s Belle.”

“Everyone calls me Gold.”

“Nice to meet you, Gold. It’s bone cancer, by the way. It’s in my spine and inoperable. Just thought I’d get that out there to save you wondering but not wanting to ask personal questions. You look like a gentleman like that.”

“Right. Thank you.” They sat in silence for a few minutes as Gold digested this, no knowing whether it had made things more or less awkward. The silence was companionable at least, and there was no huge rush to fill it. Perhaps, for Belle, knowing that she wasn’t alone was enough.

Presently she spoke. “So, you’re not from round here either?”

“Pardon?”

“Your accent. Scotland, right?”

Gold nodded. “Yes, although I haven’t lived there for over forty years.”

“It’s impressive that you’ve managed to keep your accent all this time. I’ve only been here eight years and I’m already picking up a twang.” 

Belle laughed, and it was good to hear it in such oppressive settings. Sometimes Gold felt that laughter was almost forbidden in these places, as if laughing and making the best and happiest time of the bleak situation was somehow not taking it seriously enough. Belle’s laugh was genuine and musical, and it was the most cheerful thing that Gold had heard in this area of the hospital on all his recent visits. 

“You’re from Australia originally, yes?”

“Right on the money. I grew up in Melbourne. I decided that I wanted to see the world, but then I fell in love with Boston and I ended up staying here. What about you? If you’ve been here for so long then I take it you didn’t have much choice in coming to America.”

“No, I came with my father. I was seven.”

“Do you ever want to go back?” There was a wistful tone in Belle’s voice, a yearning for a home that was now unreachable however much she might not have missed it before. 

“Not really. I was so young when I left, and I have no family there. My entire life is here in Boston. What about you? You must have more ties there.”

He didn’t want to ask about her family, not when she clearly didn’t have anyone here in Boston with her right now. 

Belle sighed. “It’s not so much the people I miss as the places. All the memories from my childhood, places where I used to get ice cream and stuff. I guess you just sort of get nostalgic sometimes, especially when it’s out of reach.”

Gold definitely wasn’t going to ask about her family now, and he wondered where to turn the conversation. Luckily, Belle seemed more than happy for him to talk about himself.

“How did you get into law? And specifically, law that takes you into palliative wards?”

He told her the story of how he had got into his particular line almost by accident, and he was amazed by how animatedly she listened, taking everything in and showing a genuine interest in something that most conversation partners decried as horrifically dull. 

“What about you?” he said eventually. “What do you do?”

It was strange to use the present tense when she clearly wasn’t doing anything and wouldn’t be doing it again in the future, but framing it as if everything was already over seemed callous, rubbing it in her face that her life was nearing its end and far before its time. As much as he did not like spending time in hospitals, and as much as his non-medical clients and colleagues might accuse him of harshness, he had picked up a lot in terms of tact. 

“I’m a librarian. I’ve always loved books. I think I love them more than people sometimes. Honestly, that’s been one of the things that’s annoyed me most about being in here. I can’t concentrate to read; the drugs make the words swim. Don’t get me wrong, I love the fact that the drugs take away the pain, but I’d really like to be able to read.”

Gold looked at the book resting on the nightstand. 

“Her Handsome Hero. I’ve never read it, what’s it about?”

“Oh, it’s my absolute favourite. You’d probably hate it, it’s full of romance and melodrama, but it’s a good adventure story too. There’s this young boy named Gideon, who discovers that he’s part of a prophecy and destined to be a great hero who’ll save the trapped princess.”

It certainly didn’t sound like Gold’s type of book, but it was good to see Belle so excited about it.

“I could read to you if you like.” Where was this offer coming from? He’d only just met the woman and she was going to think he was completely weird if he carried on in this vein. 

“Would you?” She took the book and held it out to him. “You probably think it’s silly, I mean, I’ve read it so many times that I can probably recite it word for word, but it never fails to transport me.”

Gold opened the first page of the book and began to read. He had no appointments for the rest of the afternoon; he could stay here until the nurses kicked him out if Belle wanted him to, and he found that he didn’t mind that prospect at all. 

He had read through the first chapter and was getting quite invested in the story when he looked up and saw that Belle had dropped off to sleep. Quietly, Gold closed the book and placed it on the nightstand, making to move away and leave her in peace. He was at the doorway when she spoke, her voice soft and sleepy.

“Will you come again?” she asked. “It’s really nice to have company.”

Gold nodded, although Belle’s eyes were still closed. “Of course.”

X

“They’re beautiful, thank you!”

Gold only realised once he had entered the room that he had nowhere to put down the large bunch of sunflowers that he had brought with him, and he stood there holding them awkwardly for a while until a passing nurse took pity on him and went to fetch a vase. 

“Well, everyone else has them, and I didn’t want you to be the odd one out. I thought that they might give you something a bit more interesting to look at.”

Belle nodded. “Yeah, I have to say that I’m not thrilled with the colour scheme in here.” She looked around at the teal walls. “Why is it always teal? Did a paint manufacturer overdo an order once and all the hospitals in the country decided to take advantage?”

“Definitely.” Gold sat down in the chair beside the bed, and he was surprised when Belle reached out and squeezed his hand. Her fingers were bony and there was not a lot of strength in her grip, but he squeezed back, being gifted with Belle’s wonderful smile in return. When she smiled, it was easy to forget just how ill she was. 

She stayed holding his hand for a long time whilst they talked, until she finally let go and Gold felt almost bereft. Belle picked up the book. 

“Would you read another chapter, please? I really like listening to your voice; you read aloud well.”

Gold took the book from her. “It would be my pleasure.”

They got into a routine over the next week or so. Gold would visit Belle in an afternoon and read to her until she fell asleep. Sometimes that took longer than others; there were occasions where he’d barely got a page or two in before she was back in an exhausted slumber, but sometimes they made it through a couple of chapters. It was one of Belle’s better afternoons when it happened. 

Gold didn’t know what had made him stop reading in the middle of a sentence, other than the look in Belle’s eyes. She was watching him, rather than staring off into the middle distance as she did so many times, imagining the events of the story unfolding in front of her.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

Belle shook her head with a smile. “Nothing. I think you like this book a lot more than you let on, you know.”

“Well, I don’t dislike it. It’s really not my style, but it’s not bad.”

“You say that every day.”

“It’s still true every day.”

Belle laughed, although there was a lot less power in it than there had been at the beginning of their acquaintance. Gold’s stomach churned; he didn’t want to think about that. 

“You know, I think it will grow on you.”

They fell into silence for a moment, just watching each other. Belle’s tongue darted out to lick her dry lips, and Gold found himself leaning in a little closer. She gave a little nod of encouragement, and he pressed his lips against hers. It was a soft kiss, dry and chaste, but it was given and received in something a little more than just friendship. 

Belle smiled as he broke away, a tired but happy smile. 

“Maybe no more for today,” she said, glancing at the book. “Tomorrow?”

Gold nodded. “Till tomorrow.”

X

Although Gold had known to expect it from the moment that he had first met Belle, and although he’d been feeling a deep sense of foreboding ever since their kiss, it did not stop him being completely unprepared for walking into the hospital that next afternoon and finding Belle’s room empty. 

“Mr Gold?”

He turned, ashen and unable to speak, to find the nurse who took care of Belle most often hovering behind him. Her Handsome Hero was clutched against her chest, and she held it out. 

“She wanted you to have this.”

They’d only got halfway through the story, and even though he’d admitted several times that it was definitely not his type of book, Gold wanted to know how it ended. He took it from the nurse, picking up the note that fell out. 

Dear Gold,

Astrid is writing this for me as my hands are shaking too much. I hope you enjoy the rest of the story, despite your reservations about the romance. 

Thank you so much for being here these last few days. You made me remember what it is to feel alive. Please don’t lose sight of that.

All my love and best wishes,

Belle

[aion-rsa]

How Science Fiction’s Ensemble Stories Humanize Space

https://ift.tt/eA8V8J

A close-knit crew of wildly different people ride around on a spaceship having adventures. If you’re a sci-fi fan, there are very good odds that this synopsis describes one of your hooks into the genre. That crew might be a dysfunctional band of space criminals and revolutionaries, or a clean cut team of scientists, diplomats and soldiers serving a galactic Space UN, but there is a core appeal to this set up across the genre.

“Ensemble crews are one of the quickest and most powerful ways to forge a found family.  A foundational example for me was Blake’s 7,” says Paul Cornell, who has written stories for the Star Trek: Year Five comic series among his many speculative fiction credits. “They haven’t been recruited, they have relative degrees of distance from the cause, they’ve been flung together.  The most important thing is that they’re all very different people.”

These Are the Voyages…

It’s a formula that has been repeated over and over for about as long as there has been science fiction on television—starting with the likes of Star Trek and Blake’s 7, through the boom in “planet of the week” style TV in the 90s and 00s with Farscape and Firefly, to more recent stories like Dark Matter, The Expanse, Killjoys, and the Guardians of the Galaxy films. Most recently Sky’s Intergalactic, and the Korean movie Space Sweepers have been carrying the standard, while last month saw people diving back into the world of Mass Effect with Mass Effect Legendary Edition. While Commander Sheppard is ostensibly the protagonist of the video game trilogy, few would argue that it’s anything other than the ensemble of the Normandy crew that keeps people coming back.

As science fiction author Charlie Jane Anders points out, it’s not hard to see the appeal of a family of likeable characters, kept in close quarters by the confines of their ship, and sent into stories of adventure.

“I love how fun this particular strand of space opera is, and how much warmth and humour the characters tend to have,” Anders says. “These stories have in common a kind of swashbuckling adventure spirit and a love of problem-solving and resourcefulness. And I think the ‘found family’ element is a big part of it, since these characters are always cooped up on a tiny ship together and having to rely on each other.”

Over the years the Star Wars franchise has delivered a number of mismatched spaceship crews, from various ensembles to have crewed the Millennium Falcon, to the band of rebels in Rogue One, to the crew of the Ghost in Star Wars: Rebels.

That energy was one of the inspirations for Laura Lam and Elizabeth May, the writers behind Seven Devils and its upcoming sequel, Seven Mercies. In Seven Devils, a team of very different women come together aboard a starship stolen from an oppressive, galaxy-spanning empire, clashing with each other as much as the regime they are fighting. 

“So many of these stories are what we grew up with, and they were definitely influences. The scrappy people trying to make a living or rebel against a higher power, or the slick luxury communism of Star Trek,” says Lam. “What’s great and terrible about space is how you are often stuck on a ship with people, for better or worse. That isolation can breed really interesting character conflict and deep bonds. You have to have your crew’s back, otherwise space or alien plants are too large or dangerous [to survive].”

While the “Seven” duology is very much inspired by this genre of space adventure, it also brings these stories’ underlying political themes to the surface.

“What I enjoy most about space operas is taking contemporary socio-cultural and political issues and exploring them through a different lens,” says May. “I love to think of them in terms of exploration, analogous to ships navigating the vastness of a sea. And on journeys that long, with only the ocean and saltwater (space) around you, things become fraught. Yes, these are tales of survival, but they’re also tales of what it means to question the world around you. Aside from the cultural questions that [premise] raises, it opens possibilities for conflict, character bonding, and worldbuilding.”

In Yudhanjaya Wijeratne’s novel, The Salvage Crew, his ensemble don’t spend long on their ship. In the opening scene, they are plummeting through the atmosphere of an alien planet in a drop-pod piloted by an AI who is also the book’s narrator. But the book shares that sense of characters who need to stick close together in the face of a large and dangerous universe.

“What did I like about [space team stories]? Well, always the sense of wonder that the scale brought me: the feeling that Earth, and all our bickering, was just a tiny speck of dust – what Sagan called ‘the pale blue dot’ – and out there was an entire universe waiting to be explored,” Wijeratne says. “I treasured the darkness, as well: the darkness of the void, the tragedy of people in confined spaces, and a terror of the deep that only the deep sea brings me. It wasn’t the family attitude: it was more the constraints and the clever plays within terrifyingly close constraints. There’s a kind of grim, lunatic nihilism you need for those situations, and I loved seeing that.”

When asked for their favourite examples of the genre, one name kept coming up. Wijeratne, Anders, Lam, and May all recommended the Wayfarers books by Becky Chambers. The first in the series, A Long Way to a Small Angry Planet, concerns the crew not of an elite space naval vessel, or a renegade crew of space criminals, but of a ship that lays hyperspace tunnels for other, more glamorous ships to travel through. This job of space road-laying is one that I can only recall seeing once before, much more catastrophically, in the Vogon Constructor Fleet of Hitchhiker’s Guide the Galaxy. A Long Way to a Small Angry Planet is a very different tale, however.

May tells us, “It’s a quieter space tale, a novel that feels very much like a warm hug. I love it with all my heart.”

Chambers doesn’t hold back when describing the impact this genre had on her growing up.

“I can’t remember life without these stories,” she says. “TNG first aired when I was three years old, and I watched Trek every week with my family until Voyager wrapped when I was sixteen. I can recite most of the original Star Wars trilogy word for word while I’m watching the movies, and I binged Farscape like my life depended on it when I was in college. This storytelling tradition is so much a part of my fabric that I have a hard time articulating what it is I like about it so much. It’s just a part of me, at this point. These stories are fun, full stop. They’re exciting. They can break your heart and crack you up in equal measure. They’re about small little clusters of people doing extraordinary things within an impossibly vast and beautiful universe. Everything about my work is rooted here. I can’t imagine who I’d be without these stories.”

The Unchosen Ones

Perhaps a big part of the appeal of these stories is that they are about an ensemble of people, each with their own stories and goals and perspectives. It can be refreshing where science fiction and fantasy frequently centre stories of “the Chosen One”, be it a slayer, boy wizard, or Jedi who is the person the narrative happens to. While Chosen One stories will frequently have a wide supporting cast, the emphasis for those other characters is frequently on the “supporting”.

“I very intentionally wanted to do something other than a ‘chosen one’ story with Wayfarers. I’m not sure I can speak to any broader trend in this regard, but with my own work, I really wanted to make it clear that the universe belongs to everybody in equal measure,” Chambers says. “Space opera is so often the realm of heroes and royalty, and I love those stories, but there’s a parallel there to how we think about space in the real world. Astronauts are and have always been an exceptional few. I wanted to shift the narrative and make it clear that we all have a place out there, and that even the most everyday people have stories worth telling.”

It’s an increasingly popular perspective. Perhaps it’s telling that one of the most recent Star Trek spin-offs, Lower Decks, focuses not on the super-heroic bridge crew, but the underlings and red shirts that do their dirty work, and that in turn echoes the ultra-meta John Scalzi novel, Redshirts.

Charlie Jane Anders’ recently released young adult novel, Victories Greater Than Death is a story that starts off with an almost archetypical “Chosen One” premise. The story’s protagonist, Tina, is an ordinary teenage girl, but is also the hidden clone of the hero of a terrible alien war. But as the story progresses, it evolves into something much more like an ensemble space adventure.

“I was definitely thinking about that a lot in this book in particular,” Anders says. “Tina keeps thinking of the other earth kids as a distraction from her heroic destiny or as people she needs to protect. Her friend Rachael is the one who keeps pushing for them to become a family and finally gets through to Tina.”

Seven Devils (and its upcoming sequel, Seven Mercies) is also a story that tries to focus on the exact people who would never be considered “chosen” or who have wilfully turned away from their destiny.

“I do like that most of them [the characters] are those the Tholosians wrote off as unimportant–people to be used for their bodies, and not encouraged to use their minds,” Lam says. “And Eris’s journey turning away from the life chosen for her and choosing her own, but having to wrangle with what she still did for the Empire before she did, makes her a very interesting character to write. In many ways, she was complicit, and she’s not sure she’ll ever be able to atone.”

Wijeratne also argues that an ensemble story is in many ways more true to life.

“Rarely in life do you find this Randian John Galt type, this solo hero that changes the world by themselves; more often you find a group of people with similar interests, covering for each other, propping each other up,” he says. “It’s how we humans, as a species, have evolved. Our strength is not in our individual prowess, but in the fact that three people working together can take down a mammoth, and a thousand people working together can raise a monument to eternity.”

While there are certainly themes and kinds of story that are more suited to ensemble storytelling, May points out that there is plenty of room for both kinds of story.

“Having written books that explore both, I find that Chosen One narratives are often stories of duty, obligation, and self-discovery,” she says. “Ensemble narratives often involve themes of acceptance and friendship bonds. To me, these serve different narrative functions and ask separate questions.”

A Space of Their Own

The spaceship-crews-on-adventures subgenre is one of the major pillars of science fiction as a whole, with the trope codifier, Star Trek, being likely one of the first names that comes to mind when you think of the genre. This means that the writers working within the subgenre are not only heavily influenced by what came before, they are also in conversation, and sometimes argument with it.

Paul Cornell is a huge Star Trek fan, and has written for the characters before. His upcoming novella, Rosebud, features the quite Star Trek-ish scenario of a crew of AIs, some formerly humans, some not, investigating an anomaly. It’s a story that very much intersects with the ideals of Star Trek.

“Rosebud is about a crew who are meant to believe in something, but no longer really do,” Cornell says. “They’re a bunch of digital beings with varying origins, some of whom were once human, some of whom weren’t.  There’s a conflict under the surface that nobody’s talking about, and when they encounter, in a very Trek way, an anomalous object, it’s actually a catalyst for their lives changing enormously.  I’m a huge fan of the Trek ethos.  I like good law, good civilisation, civil structures that do actually allow everyone to live their best lives, and Rosebud is about how far we’ve got from that, and a passion for getting back to that path.”

Other stories more explicitly react against the more dated or normative conventions in the genre. Seven Devils, for instance, both calls out and subverts the very male demographics of a lot of these stories.

“For a lot of ensemble casts, you get the token woman (Guardians of the Galaxy, for example) and until recently, things were fairly heteronormative,” Lam says. “So we basically wanted to turn things around and have a gang of mostly queer women being the ones to save the universe. We also went hard on critiquing imperialism and monarchies with too much power.”

Indeed, the “space exploration” that is the cornerstone of much of the genre, is an idea deeply rooted in a colonialist, and often racist tradition.

I’ve written my own space ensemble story, an ongoing series of four “planet of the week” style novellas, Fermi’s Progress. One of my concerns with the genre is how often the hero spaceship will turn up at a “primitive” planet, then overthrow a dictator, or teach the women about this human concept called “love”, or otherwise solve the local’s century’s old, deeply rooted societal problems in half-an-hour and change in a way that felt extremely “white colonialists going out and fixing the universe”.

My solution was simple. In Fermi’s Progress, the crew’s prototype spaceship has an experimental FTL drive that unfortunately vaporises every planet they visit as they fly away. It’s a device that riffs off the “overturn a planet’s government then never mention them again” trope of planet-of-the-week stories, keeps the ship and crew moving, and leaves the reader in no doubt as to whether or not these “explorers” are beneficial to the places they visit.

Of course, not every effort to engage with these issues needs to be so dramatic.

“Since I tend to view space operas in terms of uncharted exploration, it’s crucial that the text addresses or confronts power issues in its various forms: who has it, who suffers from it, how is it wielded?” May says. “And sometimes those questions have extraordinarily messy and complicated answers in ways that do not fit neatly with ‘good team overthrows evil empire.’ One of the things I wanted to address was this idea of ‘rebels are the good guys.’ Who gets to be a good person? Who else pays the price for morality? In Seven Devils, the character of Eris ends up doing the dirty, violent work of the rebellion so the others can sleep at night–so that they can feel they’ve made moral and ethical choices. And for that same work, she’s also judged more harshly by those in the rebellion who get to have clear consciences because of her actions.”

“I had particular beef with the homogeneity,” says Wijeratne. “An entire planet where x race was of an identical sentiment? Pfft. At the same time, this naive optimism, that people can work together on a planetary scale to set up institutions and megastructures without enormous amounts of politics and clashes. I was most frustrated with this in Clarke’s work. [Rendezvous with] Rama in particular: it just didn’t compute with what I knew of people.”

As a consequence of the genre’s colonialist roots—not to mention the nature of most real spaceflight programmes—space in these stories can feel like an extremely militarised space. Even a gang of misfits, fugitives and renegades like the Farscape cast features at least a couple of trained soldiers at any one time.

“I didn’t want my characters to be just redshirts or ensigns, who get ordered around and seldom get to take much initiative,” Anders points out. “And I was interested in exploring the notion that a space force organized by non-humans might have very different ideas about hierarchy and might not have concepts like ‘chain of command’. I tried not to fall unthinkingly into the military tropes that Trek, in particular, is prone to.”

Chambers was also driven by a desire to show people who were working in space without wearing a uniform.

“I wanted to tell space stories that weren’t about war or military politics,” she explains. “These things exist in the Wayfarers universe, and I personally love watching a space battle as much as anybody, but I think it’s sad if the only stories we tell about the future are those that focus on new and inventive ways of killing each other.  Human experience is so much broader than that, and we are allowed to imagine more.”

Getting the Band Together

Writing a story built around an ensemble, rather than a single main character, brings its own challenges with it. In many ways, creating a central protagonist is easy. The story has to happen to somebody. Creating an ensemble can be tricker. Each character needs to feel like they’re the protagonist of their own story, but also the cast is in many ways a tool box for the writer to bring different perspectives and methods to bear on the issue at the centre of their story. Different writers take very different approaches to how they put that toolbox together.

“I had some types I wanted to play with, and I was consciously allowing myself to go a little wild, so they get to push against the walls of my own comfort zone,” Cornell says of the AI crew in Rosebud.  “I created a group of very different people, tried them against each other, and edited them toward the most interesting conflicts that suited my theme.”

Anders also went through various iterations in assembling her cast of characters for Victories Greater Than Death.

“I went through a huge process of trial and error, figuring out exactly how many Earth characters I wanted in the book and how to introduce them,” she says. “I wanted characters who had their own reason for being there and who would either challenge Tina or represent a different viewpoint somehow. I think that’s usually how you get an interesting ensemble, by trying to have different viewpoints in the mix.”

In writing Fermi’s Progress, I very much tried to cut the crew from whole cloth, thinking of them primarily as a flying argument. Thinking about the original Star Trek crew, most of the stories are driven by the ongoing debate between Spock’s pragmatism, McCoy’s emotions, and Kirk’s sense of duty, and so the Fermi’s crew was written to have a number of perspectives that would be able to argue interestingly about the different things they would encounter.

Others, however, focus strongly on the individual characters before looking at how they fit together.

“I gravitate much more toward writing multiple POVs than sticking with just one. Character dynamics are catnip to me, and I love to play with them from all angles. But building each character is a very individual sort of process,” Chambers says. “I want each of them to feel like a whole person, and I’m struggling to think of any I’ve created to complete another. I just spend some time with a character all on their own, then start making them talk to each other — first in pairs, then in larger groups. I shuffle those combinations around until everybody comes alive.”

In writing Seven Devils, May and Lam began with a core pair of characters, then built outwards.

“El [Lam] and I each started with a single character we wanted to explore,” May recalls. “For me, it was Eris, who also had the benefit of being an exploration of thorny issues of morality. Eris’ natural foil was Clo–conceived of by El–who believes in the goodness of the rebellion. From there, our cast expanded as different aspects of imperial oppression that we wanted to address: colonial expansion via the military, brainwashing, the use of artificial intelligence. Each character provides a unique perspective of how the Empire in Seven Devils functions and how it crushes autonomy and self-determination.”

“We started with Eris and Clo,” Lam agrees. “Eris is sort of like Princess Leia if she and Luke had been raised by Darth Vader but she realised the Empire was evil and faked her own death to join the rebellion. Clo has elements of Luke in that she grew up on a backwater planet where things go wrong, but it was overpopulated versus wide open desert with a few moons. She also just has a lot more fury and rage that doesn’t always go in the right direction. Then we created the other three women they meet later in the narrative, and did a combination of using archetypes as jumping off points (courtesan, mercenary, genius hacker) but taking great care crafting their backstories and motivations and how they all related to each other.”

Ensuring that every character has their own story to be the protagonist of is something you can trace right back through the genre- particularly with series like Farscape, Firefly, and the more recent Intergalactic, where the crews often feels thrown together by circumstance and the characters are very much pursuing their own goals.

Balancing all of these different perspectives and voices is the real trick, especially if you want to avoid slipping back into the set-up of a star protagonist and their backing singers.

“This was a bit of a struggle, especially in a book with a single pov,” Anders says. “In the end all I could do was give each character their own goals and ideals that aren’t just an extension of Tina’s. It really helps if people have agendas that aren’t just related to the main plot.”

“We have five point of view characters and seven in the sequel, and it was definitely a challenge,” Lam admits. “For the first book, we started with just Eris and Clo until the reader was situated, and then added in the other three. We gave each character their own arc and problem to solve, and essentially asked ourselves ‘if [X] was the protagonist, what would they journey be?’ Which is useful to ask of any character, especially the villains!”

Chambers has a surprisingly practical solution to the problem: colour-coded post-it notes.

“Some characters will naturally have more weight in the story than others, but I do try to balance it out,” Chambers says. “One of the practical tricks I find helpful is colour-coding post-it notes by POV character, then mapping out all the chapters in the book on the wall. That makes it very easy to see who the dominant voices are, and I can adjust from there as needed.”

A Ship with Character

One cast member these stories all have in common is the ship they travel in. Sometimes the ship is a literal character in itself, such as the organic ship Moya in Farscape, but even when not actually sentient, the ship will help set the tone for the entire story, whether it’s the sweeping lines and luxurious interiors of the Enterprise D, or the cosy, hand-painted communal kitchen of Serenity. When describing the Fermi in my own story, I made it a mix of real and hypothetical space technology, and pure nonsense, in a way that felt like the story’s mission statement.

Seven Devils’ stolen imperial ship, “Zelus”, likewise reflected the themes of the book.

“Our ship is called Zelus, and it begins as a symbol of Empire but gradually becomes a home,” Lam says. “They took it back for themselves, which I think mirrors a lot of what the characters are trying to do.” 

The same was true of the “Indomitable”, the ship Tina would inherit in Victories Greater Than Death.

“The main thing I needed from the Indomitable was to be a slightly run down ship on its own, far from any backup,” Anders says. “I did have a lot of fun coming up with all the ways the ship’s systems work. In the second book I introduce a starship that is a little more idiosyncratic, let’s say.”

For Cornell, the spaceship at the heart of Rosebud was an extension of the characters themselves, almost literally.

“It’s a kind of magical space, in that the interior is largely digital, and reflects the personalities of the crew,” he says. “There’s an interesting gap between the ship’s interior and the real world, and to go explore the artefact, our crew have to pick physical bodies to do it in.  Their choices of physical body again tell us something about who they are.”

“My background is in theater, so I am always thinking about what kind of ‘set’ I’m working with,” Chambers tells us. “Colour, lighting, props, and stage layout are very important to me. I want these to feel like real, lived-in environments, but they also communicate a lot to the reader about who the people within these spaces are. Kizzy’s workspace tells a completely different story than, say, Roveg’s shuttle, or Pepper’s house. I spend a lot of time mulling over what sorts of comforts each character likes to keep around them, what food they like to have on hand, and so on. These kinds of details are crucial for painting a full picture.”

Stellar Dynamics

When he was writing the cast of The Salvage Crew, Wijeratne fleshed out his characters by focusing on how they relate to one another.

“My cast tends to be more of ‘what’s the most interesting mix I can bring to this situation, where’s the tragedy, and where’s the comedy?’ I go through a bit of an iterative process –  I come up with one stand-out attribute for the character that makes sense given the world I’m about to throw them into,” he says. “Then the question is: what’s a secondary quirk, or part of their nature, that makes them work well with the others, or is somehow critical? What’s a tertiary facet to them that really rubs the others the wrong way?

“Then I take those quirks and go back to the other characters, and ask why do they respond to these things? What about their backstory makes them sympathize with one thing and want to pummel the other into dust? By the time this back-and-forth is complete, I’ve got enough that the characters feel like they really do have shit to get done in this world, and really do have some beef with each other.  They have backstory and things they react to really badly and situations they’re going to thrive in.”

In The Salvage Crew, this included Simon a geologist who crew up plugged into a PVP MMORPG and who hasn’t really adjusted to the real world, Anna, a wartime medic who has PTSD around blood, and Milo, who is a decent all-arounder, but has problems with authority, particular women in authority.

In the best-loved stories of this sub-genre, it’s not just the strong characters, but the relationships between those characters that people love. Spock and McCoy, Geordi and Data, Jayne and Book working out together in Firefly. Even in the protagonist-heavy Mass Effect, some of the best character moments don’t involve Shepard, but are the character interactions you eavesdrop or walk in on while wandering around the Normandy.

“I think we’ve all experienced being flung together with a group of workmates, and nobody asking us if we like everyone there,” Cornell says. “And how the smallest quirks of personality can come to mean everything over several centuries.”

Getting those relationships to feel organic and natural is the real trick, and it can take endless writing and rewriting to get there. 

“For me, it’s usually a lot of gold-farming,” Anders says. “I will write a dozen scenes of characters hanging out or dealing with stuff, and then pick two or three of them to include in the book. I can’t write relationships unless I’ve spent a lot of time with them.”

Often it’s a question of balancing conflict and camaraderie among the group.

“It’s easy to want to go straight to banter between characters, which is a massive benefit of ensemble casts. But I also think it’s essential that they have moments of conflict,” says May. “Not just drama for drama’s sake, but in any friendship group, boundaries often have to be established and re-established. Sometimes those boundaries come from past traumas, and taking moments to explore those not only adds dimensionality, but shows how the character unit itself functions.”

For May and Lam it helped that their ensemble cast was being written by an ensemble itself.

“Having both of us work on them really helped them come to life,” Lam says. “Their voices were easier to differentiate because we’d often take the lead on a certain character. So if I wrote a Clo chapter, I didn’t always know how exactly Eris might react in her next chapter, or Elizabeth might change Eris’s dialogue in that initial Clo scene to better fit what was coming up. As co-writers, we were in conversation with each other as much as the characters, and that’s quite fun. We tend to work at different times of the day, so I’d load up the manuscript in the morning and wonder what’s happened next to our crew during the night and read to find out. We also did a lot of work on everyone’s past, so we knew what they wanted, what they feared, what lies about themselves they believed, how they might change and grow through the story as a result of meeting each other, and therefore the characters tended to develop more organically on the page.”

For Wijeratne, the thing that really brings the characters’ relationships into focus is a crisis, and it’s true. Across these stories, more often than not you want your space team to be working together against a common challenge, not obsessed with in-fighting among themselves.

“The skeleton of what you saw was the output of an algorithm. A series of Markov chains generating events, playing on the fact that humans are extraordinarily good at seeing patterns in random noise,” Wijeratne says. “But the skeleton needs skin and muscle, and that’s more or less drawn from the kind of high-stress situations that I’ve been a part of: flood relief efforts, factchecking and investigating in the face of terrorism and bombings, even minor stuff like being in Interact projects with people I really didn’t want to be working with. I find that there are make-or-break moments in how people respond to adversity: either they draw together, and realize they can get over their minor differences, or they cry havoc and let loose the dogs of war.”

Found Family

Whether we’re talking about Starfleet officers, browncoats, rebel scum or galaxy guardians, these crews are rarely just colleagues or even teammates. They are family.

“I think it goes back to many space operas ultimately being survival tales: whether that’s surviving in the vastness of space or against an imperial oppressor,” May says. “These stories bring unrelated characters closer together in a way that goes beyond the bonds of blood. ‘Found family’ is a powerful bond predicated on acceptance and respect rather than duty.”

It’s a topic at the heart of Seven Devils, set in a galaxy where the regime in power has done all it can to eliminate the concept of “Family”, but Lam also believes the found family is something extremely important to marginalised groups.

“In ours, the Tholosians have done their best to erase the concept of family entirely–most people are grown in vats and assigned their jobs from birth. You might feel some sort of sibling bond with your soldier cohort, perhaps, but most people don’t have parents,” Lam says. “Rebellion is incredibly difficult, as your very mind has been coded to be obedient and obey. So those who have managed to overcome that did so with incredible difficulty, and found each other and bonded among what they had in common. You see it in our world as well of course–the marginalised tend to be drawn to each other for support they might not find elsewhere, and the bonds are just as deep or deeper than family you’re related to by blood (just look at drag families, where you have a drag mother or daughter, for example).”

“Found family is definitely a strong narrative thread,” Wijeratne agrees. “I think it stems from an incredibly persistent process in our lives – in human lives: we grow up, we outgrow the people we are born among, and we go out into the world to find our tribe, so to speak. And this is a critical part of maturity, of striking out on out own, of becoming comfortable with who we are and realizing who we’ll be happy to battle alongside and who we’d rather kick in the meat and potatoes.

“Space, of course, is such a perfect physical representation of this process. What greater ‘going out’ is there than in leaving aside the stale-but-certain comfort of the space station or planet and striking out for the depths? What better idea of finding a family than settling in with a crew? And what better embodiment of freedom than a void where only light can touch you, but even then after years?”

Of course, the “Found Family” isn’t exclusive to spaceship crews. It’s a theme that we see everywhere from superhero movies to sitcoms, reflecting some of the bigger social shifts happening in the real world. As Cornell points out, one of the very first spaceship ensembles shows, Lost in Space, was based around a far more traditional family.

“I think one of the big, central parameters of change in the modern world is the move from biological family being the most important thing to found family being the most important, the result of a series of generation gaps caused by technological, ecological and societal change happening so fast that generations now get left behind,” Cornell says. “So all our stories now have found family in them, and we can’t imagine taking old family into space.  The new Lost in Space, for example, had to consciously wrestle with that.  And even in the original, there’s a reason the found family of Billy and Dr. Smith is the most interesting relationship.  It’s the only one where we don’t immediately know what the rules are meant to be.” 

To make a huge generalisation, that sense of “not immediately knowing what the rules are meant to be” might be the key to the genre’s appeal. After all, if your space exploration is closer to the ideals of the Star Trek model than they are to Eddie Izzard’s “Flag” sketch, then it’s about entering an alien environment where you don’t know the rules. If there are aliens, your space heroes will be trying to reach out and understand them. But for the writer, whether those aliens are humanoids with funny foreheads or jellyfish that only talk in the third person, the aliens will still be, behind however many layers of disguise, human. We really struggle to imagine what it’s like to be anything else. Perhaps our spaceship crew’s efforts in communicating with and understanding those aliens is reflected in their efforts to understand each other.

Seven Devils, by Elizabeth May and Laura Lam, is out now, as is The Salvage Crew by Yudhanjaya Wijeratne, Victories Greater Than Death by Charlie Jane Anders, and A Long Way to a Small Angry Planet by Becky Chambers. Rosebud, by Paul Cornell, will be out in April 2022.

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The first two parts of Chris Farnell’s serial, Fermi’s Progress, Dyson’s Fear and Descartesmageddon, are also out now, or the season pass for all four novellas is for sale at Scarlet Ferret.

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