#i will never be able to make everyone understand that & fic is equally character-focused as /

[devondespresso]

i will not dedicate hours to explaining that & pairings are not the lower-focus version of romantic pairings, i will not dedicate hours to explaining that & pairings are not the less important version of romantic pairings, i will NOT--

[fozmeadows]

race & culture in fandom

For the past decade, English language fanwriting culture post the days of LiveJournal and Strikethrough has been hugely shaped by a handful of megafandoms that exploded across AO3 and tumblr – I’m talking Supernatural, Teen Wolf, Dr Who, the MCU, Harry Potter, Star Wars, BBC Sherlock – which have all been overwhelmingly white. I don’t mean in terms of the fans themselves, although whiteness also figures prominently in said fandoms: I mean that the source materials themselves feature very few POC, and the ones who are there tended to be done dirty by the creators.

Periodically, this has led POC in fandom to point out, extremely reasonably, that even where non-white characters do get central roles in various media properties, they’re often overlooked by fandom at large, such that the popular focus stays primarily on the white characters. Sometimes this happened (it was argued) because the POC characters were secondary to begin with and as such attracted less fan devotion (although this has never stopped fandoms from picking a random white gremlin from the background cast and elevating them to the status of Fave); at other times, however, there has been a clear trend of sidelining POC leads in favour of white alternatives (as per Finn, Poe and Rose Tico being edged out in Star Wars shipping by Hux, Kylo and Rey). I mention this, not to demonize individuals whose preferred ships happen to involve white characters, but to point out the collective impact these trends can have on POC in fandom spaces: it’s not bad to ship what you ship, but that doesn’t mean there’s no utility in analysing what’s popular and why through a racial lens.

All this being so, it feels increasingly salient that fanwriting culture as exists right now developed under the influence and in the shadow of these white-dominated fandoms – specifically, the taboo against criticizing or critiquing fics for any reason. Certainly, there’s a hell of a lot of value to Don’t Like, Don’t Read as a general policy, especially when it comes to the darker, kinkier side of ficwriting, and whether the context is professional or recreational, offering someone direct, unsolicited feedback on their writing style is a dick move. But on the flipside, the anti-criticism culture in fanwriting has consistently worked against fans of colour who speak out about racist tropes, fan ignorance and hurtful portrayals of living cultures. Voicing anything negative about works created for free is seen as violating a core rule of ficwriting culture – but as that culture has been foundationally shaped by white fandoms, white characters and, overwhelmingly, white ideas about what’s allowed and what isn’t, we ought to consider that all critical contexts are not created equal.

Right now, the rise of C-drama (and K-drama, and J-drama) fandoms is seeing a surge of white creators – myself included – writing fics for fandoms in which no white people exist, and where the cultural context which informs the canon is different to western norms. Which isn’t to say that no popular fandoms focused on POC have existed before now – K-pop RPF and anime fandoms, for example, have been big for a while. But with the success of The Untamed, more western fans are investing in stories whose plots, references, characterization and settings are so fundamentally rooted in real Chinese history and living Chinese culture that it’s not really possible to write around it. And yet, inevitably, too many in fandom are trying to do just that, treating respect for Chinese culture or an attempt to understand it as optional extras – because surely, fandom shouldn’t feel like work. If you’re writing something for free, on your own time, for your own pleasure, why should anyone else get to demand that you research the subject matter first?

Because it matters, is the short answer. Because race and culture are not made-up things like lightsabers and werewolves that you can alter, mock or misunderstand without the risk of hurting or marginalizing actual real people – and because, quite frankly, we already know that fandom is capable of drawing lines in the sand where it chooses. When Brony culture first reared its head (hah), the online fandom for My Little Pony – which, like the other fandoms we’re discussing here, is overwhelmingly female – was initially welcoming. It felt like progress, that so many straight men could identify with such a feminine show; a potential sign that maybe, we were finally leaving the era of mainstream hypermasculine fandom bullshit behind, at least in this one arena. And then, in pretty much the blink of an eye, things got overwhelmingly bad. Artists drawing hardcorn porn didn’t tag their works as adult, leading to those images flooding the public search results for a children’s show. Women were edged out of their own spaces. Bronies got aggressive, posting harsh, ugly criticism of artists whose gijinka interpretations of the Mane Six as humans were deemed insufficiently fuckable.

The resulting fandom conflict was deeply unpleasant, but in the end, the verdict was laid down loud and clear: if you cannot comport yourself like a decent fucking person – if your base mode of engagement within a fandom is to coopt it from the original audience and declare it newly cool only because you’re into it now; if you do not, at the very least, attempt to understand and respect the original context so as to engage appropriately (in this case, by acknowledging that the media you’re consuming was foundational to many women who were there before you and is still consumed by minors, and tagging your goddamn porn) – then the rest of fandom will treat you like a social biohazard, and rightly so.

Here’s the thing, fellow white people: when it comes to C-drama fandoms and other non-white, non-western properties? We are the Bronies.

Not, I hasten to add, in terms of toxic fuckery – though if we don’t get our collective shit together, I’m not taking that darkest timeline off the table. What I mean is that, by virtue of the whiteminding which, both consciously and unconsciously, has shaped current fan culture, particularly in terms of ficwriting conventions, we’re collectively acting as though we’re the primary audience for narratives that weren’t actually made with us in mind, being hostile dicks to Chinese and Chinese diaspora fans when they take the time to point out what we’re getting wrong. We’re bristling because we’ve conceived of ficwriting as a place wherein No Criticism Occurs without questioning how this culture, while valuable in some respects, also serves to uphold, excuse and perpetuate microaggresions and other forms of racism, lashing out or falling back on passive aggression when POC, quite understandably, talk about how they’re sick and tired of our bullshit.

An analogy: one of the most helpful and important tags on AO3 is the one for homophobia, not just because it allows readers to brace for or opt out of reading content they might find distressing, but because it lets the reader know that the writer knows what homophobia is, and is employing it deliberately. When this concept is tagged, I – like many others – often feel more able to read about it than I do when it crops up in untagged works of commercial fiction, film or TV, because I don’t have to worry that the author thinks what they’re depicting is okay. I can say definitively, “yes, the author knows this is messed up, but has elected to tell a messed up story, a fact that will be obvious to anyone who reads this,” instead of worrying that someone will see a fucked up story blind and think “oh, I guess that’s fine.” The contextual framing matters, is the point – which is why it’s so jarring and unpleasant on those rare occasions when I do stumble on a fic whose author has legitimately mistaken homophobic microaggressions for cute banter. This is why, in a ficwriting culture that otherwise aggressively dislikes criticism, the request to tag for a certain thing – while still sometimes fraught – is generally permitted: it helps everyone to have a good time and to curate their fan experience appropriately.

But when white and/or western fans fail to educate ourselves about race, culture and the history of other countries and proceed to deploy that ignorance in our writing, we’re not tagging for racism as a thing we’ve explored deliberately; we’re just being ignorant at best and hateful at worst, which means fans of colour don’t know to avoid or brace for the content of those works until they get hit in the face with microaggresions and/or outright racism. Instead, the burden is placed on them to navigate a minefield not of their creation: which fans can be trusted to write respectfully? Who, if they make an error, will listen and apologise if the error is explained? Who, if lived experience, personal translations or cultural insights are shared, can be counted on to acknowledge those contributions rather than taking sole credit? Too often, fans of colour are being made to feel like guests in their own house, while white fans act like a tone-policing HOA.

Point being: fandom and ficwriting cultures as they currently exist badly need to confront the implicit acceptance of racism and cultural bias that underlies a lot of community rules about engagement and criticism, and that needs to start with white and western fans. We don’t want to be the new Bronies, guys. We need to do better.  

[bigskydreaming]

#when i read about tim i often kind of come to the idea that he's relatively self centered#and that can be both a flaw and a strength#but he doesn't often consider other people's feelings and circumstances#like when dick made damian robin he didn't really consider the situation from anyone else's view#or in his origin story#he doesn't seem to consider how dick would feel about hearing how tim was affected by dick's parents' death#or with the spyral situation#or in regards to him earning robin#and its pretty consistent in fandom characterization even if a lot of writers don't seem to be aware of it#its interesting cause i think its something i think he has in common with bruce#its honestly a surprisingly consistent thing from what i see#and it can be a strength to#it can absolutely lead to some confidence and self actualization#as well as being able commit to fixing something and working hard at it#because you believe you can and don't think anyone else can/will do it via @emenerd

Y’know, what’s interesting to me about these points is the fact that like.....Tim having tendencies towards self-centeredness is actually something that COMPLETELY makes sense and can be quite sympathetic in light of his backstory of having neglectful parents.

In an age of armchair diagnosticians eager to label anyone who expresses a controversial viewpoint while centering themselves as an example, as like, having a narcissistic personality disorder (and with the loaded implication that this makes them a bad person even if its true, instead of just....having a disorder, yay weaponizable ableism) like, it can be important to add in distinctions that even tendencies that share overlap with a lot of things born of entitlement, etc....aren’t always necessarily proof of that.

For instance, in Tim’s case, an overemphasis on himself and his own position in situations and arguments can very reasonably be attributed as a coping mechanism he developed in an attempt to acknowledge and address self-esteem issues he sees himself as having, DUE to parental neglect.

Its not that he thinks he’s the most important person in the room, necessarily, its that he spent so many years not even being considered a person in the room, that now he OVERCOMPENSATES on his own behalf, in an attempt to remind himself that no, his opinion and feelings and situations do matter.....and because he like most of the Bat-characters has a tendency towards hyper-fixating on a problem they’re trying to address, this can also understandably create a kind of tunnel vision. Where he’s so busy focusing on what he’s diagnosed as an actual issue he has that he’s trying to address or make up for, in order to build up his self-esteem....that he neglects to keep everyone around him equally centered in his interactions with them, and remember that like, they have their own issues and ignoring that to focus entirely on his own runs the risk of negatively impacting them in the exact same way he’s still learning to cope with having been negatively impacted in his development as a child.

None of this makes him a bad person, or is stuff that can’t be addressed and developed just by paying the appropriate attention to it and his interactions.

SO the issue I tend to more often have....

Is with how often in fandom and fanon we hear references to Tim’s neglect and emotional abuse and how this impacted him.....much in the same way we see Jason and Cass and Damian and Dick’s various forms of abuse and the developmental impact it had on them....

BUT there tends to then be a disconnect, IMO, because that acknowledgment of the WHAT of Tim’s neglect and abuse and the HOW it hurt him.....isn’t often followed up by an examination/awareness of how it also SHAPED him.....at least, not compared to how discussions/fics about say, Jason’s abuse tend to point out the latter as much as the former.

And this is a big part of my gripe with the ways abuse is centered and tackled as a topic in fics and fandom discussions, because its so often capitalized upon as a defense or shield for a character from criticism, stuff like that.....without ever actually EXPLORING the topic itself, or the FULLNESS of the impact it can have.

But only in regards to some characters.

What I mean is like....we see a lot of focus on Jason’s childhood abuse, yeah? And this often is then connected through headcanons, meta and fics to various aspects of Jason’s characterization as a teenager, and as an adult as well.....with a tendency towards anger or violence, abrasive personality, etc. Don’t get me wrong, its usually presented as such in a SYMPATHETIC light, especially when raised by fans of Jason themselves.....but his abuse is very much present and centered in fics and discussions as something that not only impacted him and made him suffer, but something that actually shaped him to varying degrees as well....with a lot of focus then in fics of him as an adult, like, paid to him going to therapy and unpacking his childhood abuse in an effort to WORK on these aspects of himself that make his present day life harder or less healthy than he’d like it to be. The issue of how his abuse lent itself to various behaviorisms is raised in order to address various byproducts of his abuse as FLAWS that he seeks to eliminate, in order to make himself happier and make himself someone that people want to be around more.

And again, don’t get me wrong - for the most part, this is a GOOD thing. The caveat here is just a personal dislike I have for how often these narratives smack of a kind of saviorism, and act like it was only through the grace of Bruce and becoming part of the Batfam that Jason’s ever afforded the opportunity to better himself as a person. I dislike the hell out of this because it not only pairs all too well with a lot of classist shit, it feeds into the singular narrative we’re so often presented with by media about abused kids: the myth of the victim being destined to become a victimizer, it all being an inevitable cycle. The reason this myth is so easily perpetuated is the exact reason I’m so critical of the saviorism in a lot of abused-Jason fics.....people can very easily fall into the trap of assuming that abused kids are likely to grow up to be abusers because they never have anyone to TEACH them that abuse is wrong, or to lead by healthy example. 

The harm of this perception is that it kinda throws under the bus every kid who never lucks out and gets a Bruce Wayne style savior swooping in to not only save them from their abusive environs, but TEACH them that they deserved better and that abuse is wrong. 

Because its like, uh, the thing is, plenty of abused kids who never get a personal mentor or savior figure are fully capable of figuring out for themselves that they deserve better and that people hurting them is wrong, because it makes them feel bad and they don’t like that? 

Many abused kids don’t grow up in a media vacuum where they simply have no access to glimpses of lives different from their own.....we see kids having happier, healthier family lives on TV or in books and are able to figure out that society overall thinks that’s what family is SUPPOSED to look like, and its ours that is the aberration? 

The very fact that we’re taught or have it instilled in us by abusive parents that like, we’re not to bring up instances or examples of our abuse to teachers or friends, that its a SECRET, is like, usually a dead giveaway that there’s something WRONG with it that we’re being instructed - and enforced with abusive consequences - to keep from alerting others to....like, this is basically a blaring siren to a lot of us that no, what’s happening to us ISN’T normal and acceptable, and that’s literally WHY the parent we’re afraid of is so insistent on us keeping the facts of it hidden? 

And so like, tons of abused kids figure out for ourselves the difference between right or wrong, based off nothing more than our own feelings about things and a desire to not be like the people who make us feel miserable - like, never underestimate the power of spite to like, keep a kid from growing up doing the same thing to others that was done to them, lol. 

But point being, lots of kids never get a Bruce Wayne figure to take them away from their abuse and also teach them that they never deserved it and how not to pass the hurt forward by doing the same things to others. And its kinda condescending as fuck that we so often see narratives that take it as so obvious it barely merits commenting on, that like, ‘of COURSE abused kids grow up to become abusers if they don’t have someone else step in and show them a better way’....mmm, no. Fuck that. But you get what I mean.

So like, its a mixed bag. Its a good thing, to see Jason-centric stories that show him addressing his childhood and seeking just a more fuller, happier, healthier life for himself. Its a less great thing to see this narrative presented as all encompassing, with it never being raised that no, Jason actually could figure out he deserved better and how to treat people in ways he’d want to be treated even without a billionaire guardian angel.....NOT because the narrative wherein someone helps an abused kid figure out what was wrong about how they were treated is like, NEVER valid....but rather it just becomes a problem when looked at as a data point against the larger tapestry of fandom-wide works....and noticing that this specific narrative is pretty much the ONLY one raised or treated as valid. With it just being ASSUMED to be the natural course of events and characters, rather than just....the direction society overall has their perceptions of abuse steered towards due to a singular and constantly reinforced abuse narrative shown to us in media.

And the way this all plays back into my point about Tim and what took me down this road in general.....

Is that disconnect I was talking about, lies specifically in HOW Tim is often acknowledged and regarded as an abuse survivor due to his emotional abuse and neglect......with this abuse and its impact on HIM often taking center stage, much the way Jason’s abuse and its impact takes center stage in his narratives.....

BUT with a key difference being that while a lot of Jason’s narratives go on to denote the specific ways his abuse helped SHAPE him and his interactions with others, and raise and address the ways in which he can better himself and his relationships by unpacking all of this openly....

Most of the stories about Tim’s abuse/neglect tend to just STOP at the awareness of its existence and impact on him. Never taking it that one step further to examine how those specific forms of abuse could have additionally SHAPED him....in ways that sometimes negatively impact those around him and his own loved ones, even if this is completely unintentional on his part. The difference, the disconnect, lies solely in how rarely its ever acknowledged that Tim’s own upbringing can and does play directly into how he interacts with people later on in life.....and in ways that he’s fully capable of addressing and bettering himself so as to be happier and healthier just in his own life, and in his relationships, as someone others want to be around.

Aaaaand once you actually examine or consider WHY there’s this discrepancy between the full ramifications of Tim’s abuse and that which various siblings of his underwent, when there’s full agreement that what he did go through absolutely can be termed abusive as well....like, its the implications of what about Tim makes him more naturally resistant or whatever to being shaped by his abuse in ways that have actual negative impact on others in his life, whereas the same isn’t true of say, Jason.....that’s when the red flags start to go up for me, and the unintended subtext starts to get Less Than Stellar, IMO.

Anyway. Just food for thought on the subject of Tim, his upbringing, the various impacts this had on not JUST him but also on how he interacts with others, and ways in which all of this compares and contrasts with how the subject of abuse is raised and depicted in regards to other Batkids.

[mira--mira]

Madara and Hashirama for the ask meme 👀

Hashirama

What I love about them:

I really love Hashirama's stubborn optimism. I say "stubborn" here bc I think after a certain point of pain in misery in someone's everyday life, in some way it is a choice to remain optimistic despite that suffering. I don't characterize Hashirama as constantly happy and he can recognize the more realistic/pessimistic possibilities, he just refuses to accept them. I have it in my notes for OoT but haven't worked it in verbatim but Madara would call him "ruthlessly optimistic " and while that's tinged with Madara's own bias, I think it fits quite well.

What I hate about them:

Hashirama is stubbornly optimistic LOL. It's a double-edged sword and I think by the time he reached adulthood in a canon setting, Hashirama was so desperate for there to be peace he maintained his "everything will work out" attitude when he otherwise shouldn't have. There were the concerns with Madara and the Uchiha, his own brothers views that he certainly should have recognized could become a problem, and, after depending on when Tobirama took on students/how old they were, the possibility of biases being passed down and a Danzo like figure coming to power. However this was not Hashirama's responsibility alone to fix. I don't think, despite his love, Hashirama alone could have kept Madara in a village that hated him and a clan that distrusted him. Tobirama was an adult and let his own bias pass under a veil of "logic" and passed that, either intentionally or unintentionally down to his students. None of this is Hashirama's fault, but I think part of the canon story being a tragedy was he was blinded by a bright, hopeful future that he failed to see the early signs right in front of him.

Favorite Moment/Quote:

"To me, Madara was like a gift from the divine."

Even thinking about it makes me melt. It's so sweet and really emphasizes how much Madara means to him. 🥺

What I would like to see more focus on:

In fics? Hashirama's mental health and how his childhood affected him. Most of the long fics I've read focus on Madara. Which I understand, Madara has an arc into becoming a villain while Hashirama is just kinda "there" and it's easy for him to fulfill a support role to helping Madara in canon Au fics. A sort of unshakeable, always optimistic stone for Madara to depend on and stop his downward spiral into villainy. But, what makes hashimada so great for me is that Madara and Hashirama are equals. There will be times one falters and needs to depend on the other, and they're capable of giving each other that support. It'd also be great to see Hashirama struggle yet continue to choose optimism and compassion time after time because that feels more weighty and important than an eternally optimistic characterization that never wavers.

Headcanon wise...this isn't something I've found but desperately want to see (and will come up in all of my own aus) is the connection between the god tree and the god of shinobi who's famed ninjutsu is wood release and who's cells can be used for everything under the sun and are specifically needed to control the gedo statue / ten-tails. 👀 Look when I got back into Naruto and only vaguely knew about the war arc plot I thought Kishimoto was Doing Something with that. He was not. I am.

What I would like to see less focus on:

This is pretty much mentioned above but Hashirama as mainly a support for Madara rather than getting his own (non romantic) arcs in long canon Au fics. Headcanon wise, this is such a small nitpick, but Hashirama constantly being the one described as warm whereas Madara is cold. The big tree can *retain* heat, but he pales in comparison to Madara's ability to *generate* heat.

Favorite pairing with:

Hashimada (Hashirama x Madara)

No one should be surprised. I can wax prose about this for days but it's about ultimately finding someone else in a terrible world that *understands* you that you can grow with and support. I'm a sucker for friends to lovers and battle couples so guess what's right up my alley?

Favorite friendship:

Canon/BoaF- Hashirama & Mito

I know Madara & Mito is more popular, and I do love their dynamic but christ Hashirama needs friends outside Madara and Tobirama and I think they'd be good friends. Canon!Mito would provide a good level-headed perspective and wouldn't have the messy, complicated history like the three founders have together and it'd be good for Hashirama to get a break from that. BoaF!Mito and Hashirama are cousins their relationship eventually progresses to a sibling-like bond. They’re quite protective of each other and gossip endlessly together. Mito’s not as good as gardening, but they do it together and incorporate Uzumaki sealing techniques for certain houseplant decorations. Mito also might know about Madara 👀 

OoT-Hashirama & Sakura or Hashirama & Sai

His and Sakura's relationship is p similar to how I would characterize his and Mito's but with the added hilarity of Sakura being his "student" yet having 0 deference for him once they actually get to the "teaching" part (surprise: Hashirama's most uttered lines are "you do the thing, you know the thing, you know you just...do it. The thing. Madara "translates" a lot of their sessions.) Hashirama and Sai antagonize each other constantly and he *will* tease Sai into oblivion as any older brother would. Tobirama never reacted to Hashirama's mischief in ~fun~ ways and he felt bad about messing with Itama, who was even more emotional than he was and Kawarama, who hero-worshipped him. Sai is the perfect "if anyone messes with you I will personally make them regret being born yet *I* will tease you mercilessly to my hearts content" kind of little brother.

NOTP:

Hashitobi (Hashirama x Tobirama)

I don't do incest. At all. Even "non-incest" aus where they aren't technically related squick me out.

Favorite headcanon:

Hashirama can Speak to the trees.

Either humorously or seriously, I love this kinda, sorta, maybe not quite human power.

.

.

Madara

What I love about them:

Madara is kind and does his best to do what he thinks is right. The “kind” point is a lot of Hashirama talking/flashbacks and the “good” intention behind the Infinite Tsukuyomi. Making everyone a “winner” in the dreamworld, while absolutely insane and full of holes, is odd for a villain’s motivation. His role in the war arc is mostly focused on watching him wreck absolutely everyone he comes into contact with but I love Hashirama’s flashbacks and the glimpses of kid!Madara we get. Madara believed in his philosophy from a lifetime of pain that ended in him losing everything and being manipulated but he was still seeking a way to “help” the most people he could. He’s such a rich character that makes it easy to want to imagine other what-if scenarios where things turned out just a bit differently.

What I hate about them:

Madara takes all responsibility onto himself. This is more speculation because we don’t get Madara’s POV of his childhood or any significant scenes with the clan. However, I think this is one of the primary roots of most of Madara’s problems. If he blamed himself for mistakes that weren’t technically his, he could get into a cycle where he only blames himself and doesn’t seek help/support when he should have and purposefully reduces his support circle because he becomes paranoid that he won’t be able to protect them. A smaller issue that is both about Madara and not is he didn’t fall victim to the Talk no Jutsu, but was Madara aware of what was happening when he was possessed(?) by Kaguya? I forgot but if he wasn’t...I don’t think he’d agree Hashirama’s way was the right way at the end, merely his way was wrong. Because, in Madara’s point of view, the village may have been “better” (used very loosely) than becoming food/power for an alien goddess but it wasn’t good. It wasn’t the solution. Hashirama saying they were both wrong in some way saved the scene but Madara still jumped back to Hashirama’s dream being the right one too quickly imo. 

Favorite Moment/Quote:

“What are you going to do about the second [meteor] Onoki?” 

I’m sorry, that was just hilarious. We see this man slaughter an entire division and drop a meteor from the sky...two kages desperately try to stop it and it looks like they managed to succeed and he just...cool. What about the second? Really cemented Madara is Here and he is Dramatic. A close second fav is him flying across the battlefield to confront Hashirama only for the “I’ll deal with you later” line. 

What I would like to see more focus on:

I really love it when fics fill in the blanks of Madara’s childhood/his time with the Uchiha so that’s always a plus for me. The other thing is Hashirama calls Madara a “fundamentally kind man” and according to Tobirama the Uchiha feel love “too deeply” so I like fics that do focus on these aspects of Madara’s personality while staying true to his prickly demeanor. For headcanons I love, love, love exploring kekkei genkai/ninjutsu/genjutsu and how they individually affect people/clans. Digging deeper so that “fire affinity” means constantly running hot/pushing into possibly having fire resistance/unable to distinguish “too hot” / or even affinity acting like a secondary blood type so even if two people had AB blood if one had a water affinity and the other fire their blood would be incompatible. Also the mundane ways powers can be used (I have some Ideas for non-combat genjustu applications that the Uchiha use and those will come up in OoT 👀)

What I would like to see less focus on:

This again kinda ties into the Hashirama segments, but Madara completely depending on Hashirama and Hashirama alone for happiness. Especially in long AUs where he’s still in Konoha but has a poor relationship with the Uchiha. That’s fine starting out! But if the fic ends or doesn’t seriously work on improving that relationship it just sits a bit weird with me bc I don’t think Madara could be truly happy in that situation. (NSFW start) The other thing I see commonly is Madara is extremely passive/submissive in bed with Hashirama which is...weird to me? There’s also a reoccurring thing where he doesn’t have a lot of experience but Hashirama does and this leads to embarrassment and the aforementioned passive/submissiveness. I understand lack of experience can be embarrassing and I do believe Madara could be embarrassed, but instead of withdrawing into himself I think he’d push through it with something close to bravado and his usual single-minded intensity, for better or worse. I do think Madara usually bottoms in his and Hashirama’s relationship but both of them are as enthusiastic about sex as they are fighting and neither is especially submissive or dominant. (NSFW end)

Favorite pairing with:

Hashimada (Hashirama x Madara)

See absolutely everything else 😂 

Favorite friendship:

Canon/BoaF- Madara & Naori or Madara & Hikkaku 

I really like focusing on the Uchiha clan and exploring the dynamics within it. We get nothing about Madara’s early life outside of Hashirama so this is almost completely speculation. For the angst of canon, I like Madara being close to his clan only to lose them after his friendship with Hashirama is revealed bc he awakened his sharingan over Hashirama and that can’t be easily hidden. For BoaF, a large part of it is exploring the clans’ cultures before they made the village so this necessitates actually fleshing out said clans. Naori and Izuna are v similar in personality and both live to prank Madara and annoy him, but they hardly ever team up bc they start squabbling amongst themselves. Hikakku is stoic and calm in contrast to Naori’s mania and Madara’s intensity but he keeps track of every little favor and Madara dreads the day he’ll act on them because he knows it’ll result in something embarrassing for him. But like all BoaF!Uchiha, they’re fiercely protective of one another and you really don’t want to insult the wrong person. 

OoT - Madara & Naruto or Madara & Sai

I really Madara and Naruto’s dynamic, it’s very entertaining and fun for me to write and they’re both positive influences on each other. Madara gets more people to smother with his brand of affection and Naruto gets early recognition and training. Their weird non-training shenanigans (coupon collecting, gaming, etc.) also is p amusing. Madara and Sai have a similar relationship but I really like writing theirs from Sai’s POV bc he insists that he doesn’t feel close/like when Madara treats him like a little brother when he really does. 

NOTP:

Madatobi (Madara x Tobirama)

Logically, I know why this pairing is popular. Fanfic is saturated with the enemies to lovers trope yet emotionally I Do Not Understand it. Personally, I don’t enjoy toxic relationships, to read or write. And, to me, that’s what a close canon Madara and Tobirama pairing would be. Tobirama tried to convince Hashirama to kill him, he killed Izuna, even if it was in war, and I don’t think Madara could or would get over that. If Tobirama has similar attitudes about the Uchiha it makes it worse. AUs exist to rewrite this, of course, but I still don’t enjoy their romantic chemistry. At best, I like Tobirama and Madara as reluctant frenemies who insult each other and try to one-up each other. 

Favorite headcanon:

Madara is fire proof. 

I have a whole rant about this in OoT’s author notes 😂 Sasuke’s Amaterasu should have been a serious threat when it hit him. Instead the man just lets his clothes fall off then kicks their asses. He’s fire proof.

.

In response to the ask game:

[plumoh]

[Yuumori] tethering touch

Rating: G

Word count: 1846

Summary: “Sherlock's soft and long fingers don't shake in the slightest when he touches William's hair, brushing aside uneven bangs that were covering the scar of his eye.” A touch, no words, and trust. / pre-chapter 57.

Note: AO3 link. The fic is set right before chapter 57, during the timeskip, and was written before the release of chapter 62.

The window is open.

A carriage drives at a brisk pace and causes someone to hurl half-shouted insults at it, probably due to its close proximity to the sidewalk. A dog barks, terrified, while its owner murmurs reassurances. The cries of children running around and playing games travel from one street to another, clear and innocent.

The wind blows gently against the thin curtains; the weather is nice, a good day to take a walk and enjoy tea outside to relax.

The second chair at the table scrapes on the wooden floor, and Sherlock winces as he lets himself drop into it without grace. He at least had the forethought to put his mug of coffee on the table beforehand; William wouldn’t have cleaned the stains for the third time in as many days.

“It’s too early for chairs to make that much noise,” Sherlock mutters.

“Perhaps yanking on a chair without lifting it from the floor isn’t the right way to sit,” William says, the corner of his lips curling upwards.

Sherlock shrugs, his face giving no hint of a change in behavior in the foreseeable future. William thinks he can manage watching chairs being poorly treated for a while longer, since a month or two are meaningless compared to three years of cohabitation.

“Did you leave the window open all night?” William asks, glancing at the slightly damp ledge that got rained on during the night.

“I smoked too much last night, I figured it wouldn’t be pleasant to walk into the living room with that stench in the morning.”

It tugs at William’s heart, a gentle grip that can turn forceful any time. No matter how long he spends observing Sherlock, no matter what truths and secrets they’ve told each other, one way or another William finds himself always, always surprised at small gestures and reasonings that make up Sherlock’s strange character. He’s grown over these past three years—they both have, though not everyone would be satisfied with whom they’ve become, most likely. But they are the only judges of themselves, uncaring of the opinion of others.

But it is unlike Sherlock to forget something as basic as opening the window when he smokes. William stares at him, searching for a sign of discomfort or doubt that wasn’t apparent the night before. There is a small crease between Sherlock’s brows, pinching his face into an expression of both focus and concern that hardly belongs on these cocky features allowing nobody to think he’s hesitant.

William brings his cup of tea to his lips, carefully, biding his time.

“I was under the impression your habits have improved, and that you have been smoking less in the last few months,” William says. “Did you get enough sleep this week? We could re-institute our nightly games of chess, if it helps you relax.”

Sherlock, mirroring William in a deliberate and casual gesture, sips his coffee and stays silent. His gaze never leaves William’s, assessing and critical, like he’s expecting to be teared open from the inside out if he lets too many emotions slip through his fake calmness. William smiles at the thought behind his cup.

"Of course, I don't believe that losing to me every night would give you the desired effect. Your brilliant mind needs rest, too."

"You have a way with words that makes me wonder if I should be amazed or frustrated, Liam."

Sherlock puts down his mug and sighs deeply, throwing his head back and staring at the ceiling. William places his cup on its saucer, and gets up. He pushes back his chair like he's handling something precious, his gaze focused on where his feet are and what his hands are gripping to avoid stumbling, then he makes his way around the table to stand next to Sherlock. Sherlock cuts a glance at him, half-sprawled on his chair and half-stiff with unnecessary worry.

"I'm not saying this lightly, when I suggest you should let your mind rest," William says in a low voice. "You are filling your head with cumbersome thoughts that have no reason to exist in the first place."

William doesn’t understand why the air is so heavy with doubt this morning, so stifling when they’ve agreed on the plan a long time ago already. Being overwhelmed with the panicked need to back down at the last second before the act is not an option permitted in the life they’ve chosen to live; they go through with their decisions and succeed. Failure is rarely brought onto the table, because they can’t afford to fail.

Sherlock’s body relaxes ever the slightest upon hearing William’s words.

“You’re right,” Sherlock whispers. “I just have to act like I always do.”

William smiles. “I’m sure three years aren’t long enough for you to forget how to act around your brother and the MI6. You’re still the same.”

Wild, unpredictable and straightforward Sherlock Holmes—a person that slips through people’s fingers when they think they have him in their palms, someone that uses flamboyant methods to get out of unpleasant situations. His words are sharp and awkward in their honesty, grazing at skins without the intention of hurting, but he’s too earnest. William is nothing like Sherlock at all, from their opposite dressing styles to their obvious different way of thinking, and yet.

And yet, William shares half of his mind with Sherlock, and Sherlock listens to him.

William slides a hand on Sherlock’s shoulder, feathery-like touch leaving behind trails of phantom strokes. He smoothes a wrinkle here, dusts off a spot there, then pulls lightly on the shirt’s collar, prying it open easily without a tie holding it together. The underlying message doesn't go unnoticed, judging by Sherlock's soft laugh. When he looks at Sherlock’s face, William finds hawk eyes watching him with rapt attention, scrutinizing him like he’s harboring all the unresolved wonders of the world.

“Well, mostly the same,” Sherlock points out with a grin. “My tie’s in the bedroom. I’ll get it later.”

“You will make a lasting impression, I’m sure.”

“Yes, reappearing three years later with a tie strangling me will do that.”

A laugh escapes William’s throat, and Sherlock keeps looking at him like he will never tire of watching the blooming of roses. Sherlock shouldn't make this kind of expression; he should know better than to let such naked feelings dance on his face and in his eyes, hiding none of the bizarre, fiery affection he's nurtured over the years for William. It's a dangerous train of thought that William lets fester in a corner of his mind without doing much about it—maybe when it fully takes root and can't be plucked off anymore, then William will acknowledge it and will no longer run away.

Sherlock wrenches his gaze away and glances at the table. William follows his movements and watches him pick up the abandoned black eyepatch next to the tea pot, pinching it gently by the thin strap.

There are no words exchanged. William withdraws his hand from Sherlock's collar, and Sherlock rises on his feet with a smile. His soft and long fingers don't shake in the slightest when he touches William's hair, brushing aside uneven bangs that were covering the scar of his eye. The scar is an ugly thing, a mess of tissue and discolored skin surrounding the hole where his eye should be, but they've never been one to flinch at the physical manifestations of the cruel trials of life. There is warmth oozing from this gesture, as quick as it is intense. The two of them are not people who are used to the touch of others, preferring the cold and grounding sensation of a weapon held in their hands. In spite of it, William closes his good eye.

It's permission as much as it is curiosity. How long will they keep doing this, allowing small acts of service and reveling in the peace they bring, without ever addressing the meaning behind them? William isn't one to let anyone stand so close to him, at a distance where any threat is invisible and any counter-attack is ill-timed. Sherlock could grab him by the sides of his head and hurt him, and William wouldn't be able to stop him. In another world, where their shared future is written in stone, it could have happened. They could have been facing each other like this, silent as a tomb, following the script of a justice punishing all criminals equally, one of them delivering it and the other accepting it.

But it isn't that harsh and implacable reality. In the world they live in, William feels the eyepatch placed over his eye, the two ends of the strap traveling behind his head to be tied together. Never once does he stop sensing the warmth of Sherlock and his hands. They are close enough they can hear each other's heartbeat; one second passes, then two, and then three, and Sherlock's fingers are still in William's hair. A careful and tender pressure, a steady touch he savors.

"I could do this with my eyes closed," Sherlock says quietly.

He slowly, slowly extracts his fingers from William's hair and lets one hand linger on his cheek. William opens his eye, already knowing what he'd find staring back at him. Sherlock has always been unable to hide his emotions, even in his touch.

"That's good to know," William replies just as calmly. "You can be my two eyes, as well."

"I'm anything you want me to be, anyway."

Sometimes, Sherlock's words are so honest they are hard to parse. Abrasive, frank and sincere—how did such a man end up with someone like William? He caught him, and he's not letting go.

"You are too trusting," William settles on saying.

Sherlock grins. "I trust you as much as you trust me, Liam. Don't forget that."

"That is assuming you know how far my trust in you extends."

"That's because I do know. You haven't left yet."

William chuckles. Bold words coming from a shameless person.

"I suppose I haven't, no," William agrees.

William lifts a hand, and in turn, he cards his fingers through Sherlock's hair, much longer than it was when they first met. He makes it more presentable, less wild, smoothly. Sherlock's eyes are locked on his, like he has nowhere else to look.

Small acts of service that punctuate their shared life, charged with significance they cherish without uttering a word.

"Finish breakfast and go retrieve your tie, Sherly. It's almost time for you to go," William tells him.

"Yeah, yeah, I'll do that. You should get ready too."

They came back to England and are continuing their fight. It leaves no room for hesitation.

William drops his hand. Sherlock does too and smiles at him, and if it were yet another universe, where he isn't a coward, William would have kissed him.

But not yet—this isn't the right time yet. The way they look after each other is enough, for now, and William will protect it, until they are ready.

[neon-junkie]

Duality - Chpts 1,2&3

Summary: There's a handful of things you hate, like the men who continue to pester you at the Saloon after you've told them no, or the way strangers look at you when you decide to wear pants. But the one thing you hate that most is Micah Bell. But if you hate him so much, then why are you allowing him to wrap his hand around your neck as he grinds his crotch down against yours? Is he using you? or are you using him?

Pairing: Micah Bell x f!Reader

Word Count: 8837 (ongoing work) 

Rating: NSFW Warnings: Depictions of Violence (Reader is fine)

Tags: Dead Dove: Do not eat, Fights/Arguments, Slow burn, Hate sex, Enemies with benefits, Enemies to lovers, Pity sex, Vaginal sex, Outdoor sex, Creampies, Blood kink, Knives, Choking, Breath play, Rough/Manhandling, Heists & Robberies, Nipple sucking/licking, Making out, Sloppy kisses, Dirty talking, Grinding.

Notes: This fic was inspired by the gang of children that recently decided to start hurdling abuse at me simply because I enjoy Micah character. If he bad then why he make my pussy go brr?? I ain't ever gonna stop writing for him, somebody's gotta love the ratman so I guess I'll volunteer as tribute. This piece is inspired by @deputytrash​ and their work called ‘Micah Bell is a Rat Bastard,’ that I can’t actually link here because Tumblr hates links:))) so please go stalk them for the original fic. shoutout to all the other Micah fuckers out there; we're kinda fucked up but hey, we ain't hurting anybody<3

[Chapter 4]

Some men are born with the purest of hearts; they're full of good intentions, kindness, willingness to help others. They want to see the world go round, they enjoy watching the days go by with their loved ones around them. They want nothing more than love and equality, happiness for everyone, and they strive to achieve that. Those men, such as Arthur, are ones that you obviously enjoy for such reasons, and you enjoy watching them on the sideline, smiling at the way they make everyone happy. You've tried dating those men before and something felt... off about them, almost fake; you wish to enjoy such relationships with the purest of men, but you've never been able to sit in that saddle comfortably. The leather smells off and something constantly jabs at your tailbone. It's fine, honestly, to not sit comfortably in that saddle. Others can enjoy those men, ones who deserve them, ones who are just as pure and wholesome as those men they seek out. You're happy for them, you enjoy seeing them enjoy each others company, they really do deserve it. Only that leaves you with the problem of 'who the hell am I meant to fall for?' There are others who are sometimes split down the middle, with good and bad intentions, men such as Dutch who eventually crack under so much pressure, as expected. But these men have never really taken your fancy either. You curse the Gods for creating you with no intentions to seek out those pure of heart, or even slightly pure of heart. Why can't you be considered normal? You're a good person, yet you don't long for someone as good as you. 

Instead, those who have only ever walked the darker path take your fancy. Those men who have no good intentions in them, who only look out for themselves and sometimes (but rarely) the few people closest to them, if you're stupid enough to get close to them, to begin with. You enjoy the challenge, you enjoy taming the beast, being the one person that someone so wild can trust. It's a generic trope that you've read in romance novels where the princess falls for the villain, but they always seem to have the happiest of endings? and the stories themselves are so juicy, so rich and full of layers. The generic happy couple trope gets so boring, nothing to read into. But if you're given a story about a well-layered villain who softens out within time then you'll eat said story off the dirt if you have to, it's always so rich and fulfilling, though you never expected to end up in one. "Which book are you reading today?" Mary-Beth asks you as she joins you on the beach, leaning back against the log you're leaning against. You do miss sitting on the cliff at Horseshoe Overlook, peering up at the landscape whenever your eyes need a break from being so engulfed in whatever book you were reading. But there's something just as good as looking out at the water, hearing the waves lapping against the shore as you read, enjoying the river breeze on a hot Lemoyne day. "The same as last time, that one centered around the villain," you tell her, your eyes momentarily peeking up to watch as she sits down beside you. "Still? Oh, you and your dark fiction," Mary-Beth replies with a laugh. She'd given your book that nickname after you explained the plot to her. Mary-Beth, as wholesome and pure as she is, couldn't quite understand why you'd get so engulfed in a book where the princess falls for the villain, completely ignoring the stud hero and running off with the bad guy instead. After explaining how layered the villain was, and how his actions were the result of past trauma, she somewhat understood but decided that she's happy with her sappy romance novels. That's understandable, your taste isn't for everyone, and you'd both agreed on that. "Like I said, I just find it more interesting," you reply, your eyes trailing over to the landscape. "Which book have you got?" you ask. "Oh, the same still. I've almost finished it! The poor man in it has finally been turned away from that woman, though they're both in love," she replies. "But from what you've told me, she's not exactly... the best person in the world?" you ask. "I guess not. Maybe I am into a little bit of dark fiction then, hm?" Mary-Beth questions with a soft laugh, finally opening her book to pick up from where she left off. "Maybe-" you begin to speak, but the sound of shouting draws your attention back to camp. You and Mary-Beth peer over your shoulders to watch the commotion in the distance. Ugh. It's Micah again, screaming at Bill for being so kind to the poor dog Jack had found, Cain. He's hollering away, something about not being soft on strays, that they'll only follow you around for food, whatever. You try to hold in your laughter when Micah does the last thing you'd expect, literally barking at Bill before storming off. "That man sure is evil," Mary-Beth comments. "I still ain't sure why Dutch allows him to follow us around, a bit like Cain really," she frowns, turning her gaze away. "He is, funny that he can't see just how much of a dog he is," you laugh along, returning your focus back to your book. "Has he bothered you again recently?" she questions, knowing that your last run-in with him was only a few days ago. "No, he ain't spoke to me, he ain't even looked at me." "Good, probably because he's still got that black eye you gave him," Mary-Beth replies, trying to hold back on her laughter. "Well, he did deserve it." Micah had pestered you a few days ago, stirring up some shit simply because he was bored. You were sat by yourself in camp, playing a solo game of solitaire whilst the wind was quiet, your cards not blowing away for once. He waltzed over, as always, looking like he owned the place; he only acts that way because he sucks up to Dutch, a bit of a teachers' pet, though he's definitely never stepped foot in a school. "Hey," Micah says to you. Well, you were unsure if he was speaking to you as your head was down, focused on the cards, so Micah quickly snapped when you didn't reply. "I said hey. You deaf?" he asks, lightly tapping the back of your shoulder. You let out a long sigh as you roll your eyes and look up. "I didn't know you were speaking to me, Micah," you reply. "Well, who else would I be speaking to, doll? There ain't anyone else around here," Micah says with a laugh, waving his hands about to gesture that nobody was nearby. "I can see that now," you sigh. You begin to put your cards away, knowing that if Micah's here then there's no way you'll be able to play this game in peace. Whatever, you were stumped anyway, considering calling this game quits, and Micahs appearance had encouraged you to do so. "What're you doing?" Micah questions. "I was playing solitaire," you reply, shuffling the cards back together and returning them to their container, an old mints tin that you found fits the cards much better than their old paper box. "And why have you packed up, hm? Is it 'cause I'm here?" Micah asks, knowing the answer. "It is," you say as you stand and put the tin in your pocket, beginning to walk off. The last person you ever want to talk to is Micah, but it seems he really wants to talk to you as he begins to follow you. "Where're you going? I ain't that bad. I know we don't exactly get along but you can't fault me for trying to right these wrongs with you," Micah begins, playing the white knight card as always, batting his lashes as if he hasn't made a handful of remarks towards you in the past, ensuring there's a thick barrier between the two of you. "I ain't interested in making friends with you, Micah. Now leave me be," you snap back, picking up the pace as you storm past Dutch's tent, hoping he'd pick up on the small commotion but his head is buried deep in his current Evelyn Miller book. "Such mean words coming from such a pretty face," Micah pouts, still on your trail, letting out his generic laugh. "Wouldn't you rather have friends than enemies?" "I'd rather have nothing to do with you, Micah," you tell him as you come to a halt, stopping in the dead center of camp. If Micah won't leave you alone then hopefully someone will step in, as their eyes had begun to peer over to the commotion; even Dutch has put his book down. "Easy there, sweetheart," Micah coos with his generic laugh. He goes to speak again but you're quick to cut him off. "I ain't your sweetheart, Micah. Quit calling me those names," you huff. "Of course, you ain't. I like a bit of fire in my women but you're just a bit too reckless for my taste," Micah tells you, his tone slowly turning to frustrated. He's quit the innocent act, lowering his hands as he had them raised as he followed you throughout the camp. If he can't win you over then he'll ensure you never even slightly consider him a friend, beginning to insult you to burn whatever was left of that bridge. "Good, I'd hate to be your taste. What an unlucky woman she must be for the likes of you to have eyes on her." Micah lets out another laugh as he takes a step closer to you, a little too close, and you're quick to cut him off before he can open his mouth. "Back off, Micah. Don't you try and get close to me," you order him. "Why not, hm? You scared someone is finally gonna put a woman like you back in her-" That's enough. Without hesitation, you clench your fist and swing for that vermin of a man, if you can even be kind enough to call him a man to begin with. You were aiming for his nose but hit his cheekbone instead, which is just as good as his eye had swollen up from the impact. Micah stumbled back and hit the ground with the most satisfying thud you'd ever heard, the sound still making you smile whenever you think about it. You didn't stick around much after that, burning the image of Micah lying on the floor clutching his eye into your memory before turning heel and marching off, wandering off into the trees so you could cool yourself off and devilishly admire your bruised knuckles. You refused to bandage them up, even after Charles had practically begged you, but you were eager to show off your trophy, even flaunting it at Micah from a distance whenever he came into your line of sight. His eyes hadn't met yours since, but you could feel his burning glare on you whenever you two were within ten feet of each other. You'd even overheard him attempting to bitch about you to Kieran, who simply nodded along to prevent himself from getting pulled into this mess. Needless to say, you and Micah do not get along. There's a handful of camp members that don't get along, but your burning hatred for each other seems to stand out the most. You're always eager to step in whenever Micahs attempting to chew someone's ear off, and he always gives you that same laugh as he attempts to mock you, but he often turns heel and storms away, calling you a bitch or whatever petty insult he has on his mind. But since that interaction, Micah has stayed well clear of you. Dutch probably told him to stop pestering you after you'd almost knocked his lights out, though you doubt that as Dutch ended up doing something that only seemed to make your 'friendship' worse. ----------- Another day, another dollar, or whatever the civilized phrase is. It's a quote you've heard within towns and cities, something bosses drill into the minds of their workers to stop them from realizing that they're being used as workhorses for less than pennies. At least out here you can work on your own terms, your only boss is Dutch and he always ensures that everybody gets a fair cut. Why slave away in a factory when you can rob some folk that needs robbing and make a few hundred off them? Dutch has a heist planned for you today, one that he says needs a woman touch. Karen is the only other gunwoman in the camp but Dutch has told you that she's a little too reckless for the job. Dutch knows that Sadie is also a gunwoman but she's still in mourning, arguing with Pearson every so often, but she isn't ready to step up to that rank yet.  "And that's why I need you for this job. It's genric and old fashioned of us, but there's a payroll heading up into Rhodes and I was thinking you could play the damsel in distress, hunched over at the roadside, pouting sweetly as you ask them for a ride into town," Dutch tells you outside his tent, a week or so after your last run-in with Micah.  "And if they don't stop?" you question.  "Why would they not stop? A pretty lady such as yourself asking for a ride? When they're already heading that way? They must be some cold-hearted folk in order to turn down such a simple request," Dutch explains.  "What will you and the others be doing?"  "We'll be hiding nearby, waiting for that opportunity to rob them. Once you're on board then they should hand over the cash, I don't see why they'd want a poor innocent woman to be hurt. Hosea will be waiting in Rhodes to bring you back to camp, and you won't need your guns for the job. A kind, working woman such as yourself wouldn't carry them anyway," Dutch replies with a grin, stubbing out his cigar with the toe of his shoes.  The plan seems simple enough, and what have you got to lose? So, you agree to the heist, heading into your tent so you can change your appearance to look like the average working woman. You dress in a simple skirt and shirt, your hair neat and your makeup simple, just how the women in Rhodes dress.  Arthur gives you a ride to the location, your horse staying back at camp, as well as your guns. You feel a little uneasy heading out of camp without them, but the boys are hiding behind what's left of a wall nearby. You overheard Arthur protesting with Dutch, saying they shouldn't be robbing folk so close to camp, but Dutch assured them that this would be fine.  Dutch has brought along Arthur and Lenny, and unfortunately, Micah, who still hasn't spoken a word to you, but his eye is now unfortunately better. Dutch didn't even mention to you that Micah would be coming along, seeing as your paths weren't meant to cross. This was meant to be a simple holdup job after all, only this gang seems to be cursed as things always go wrong.  You're walking along the road, acting as if you're exhausted. The sound of a wagon approaching can be heard, and you peer over your shoulder to see it coming into view. You begin to wave your arms, signaling for them to stop, and thankfully, they do.  "Are you alright, Miss?" one of the men questions, the one driving the wagon. There are two more men on horseback behind them, not many guns for a wagon that's carrying payroll.  "I do apologize to ask such a request but my horse bucked me a while back, I'm only trying to head into town. Are you heading that way? Would you be able to give me a ride?" you question. You play out the usual body language, slouched shoulders, batting your lashes, and pouting your bottom lip. This is a mans world, after all, but you know exactly how to play the game. The driver and the shotgun speak to themselves quietly, clearly bickering about the fact that they're carrying payroll, but they eventually come to an agreement.  "You're welcome to climb on the back of one of the horses, though we can't let you on the wagon, Miss," he replies. Well, that's good enough, at least you're still somewhat of a hostage. "Oh, thank you! I really appreciate it!" you smile sweetly, heading over to the nearest hired gunmen and climbing on the back, loosely holding onto his shirt as you get comfortable on the horse's rear.  They return to their journey, barely making it a few meters down the road when one of those slimy Lemoyne Raiders appears from behind a boulder and attempts to hold them at gunpoint. Your eyes peer over to where the gang is hiding and thankfully, Dutch steps in, one gun pointed at the driver and the other at the rival gang member. You're still unsure on what Lemoyne Raiders are. Inbred? Wannabe military? Either way, they're stupid enough to fire without warning, and completely miss Dutch, though Dutch doesn't miss him. The plan goes to shit and you're caught in the middle of the gang war, your gang and the Lemoyne Raiders fighting each other, as well as the wagon.  The gunman that you were holding onto slouches over his saddle, a bullet ripping through his side, thankfully missing you. You think Arthur had shot him, but either way, you're pushing his body off and stealing his horse, riding out from the commotion. What help are you now without your guns? It's best that you run away and fast. As you near the camp, you notice a small group of white hats approaching round the bend - lawmen, so you decide to keep riding forward towards Braithwait Manor, dipping off into the trees before they can notice you. You'll find somewhere to hide out until nightfall, riding through the thick forest until you find a shack down south, close to Shady Belle, but far enough from the commotion so the law shouldn't tread down here.  The stolen horse is hitched by a tree and you're about to head inside, but the sound of hooves approaching startles you. You hide behind the tree, not providing much cover, but hopefully enough so you can decide how to approach the incoming stranger. If it's a lawman then you can simply burst into tears whilst saying that the horse bolted and you couldn't steer it up into Rhodes, and if it's a fellow gang member then you'll be fine. Well, it is a gang member, just you were hoping for anybody but Micah. He slows Baylock to a halt as you come into his line of sight, stepping out from behind the tree looking like an angry kitten.  "You alright?" Micah asks, swinging his leg over the saddle and hopping off his mount.  "Go away, go find somewhere else to hide. Shoo," you wave your hands at him, only making Micah laugh instead. "What's a matter? Can't I hide here with you?" he questions as he approaches you.  "No, you can't. Go bother someone else, you're the last person I'd ever want to hide from the law with," you huff. Micah isn't budging, he continues to approach you until he's stood in front of you, grinning from ear to ear as he lets out that awful chuckle of his.  "You don't mean that. Besides, how're you gonna defend yourself without your guns, huh?" Micah questions, resting his hands on his gunbelt. "Well, you know that I can swing a punch, can't you, Micah?" you tease, giving him a smug smile which wipes the grin off his face, turning into a frown.  "And here I was just tryna look out for you. Nasty thing, aren't you?" Micah spits.  "I am, and I ain't welcoming to you, Micah," you huff again, resting your hands on your hips.  "Now, I'm gettin' real sick of the way you talk to me, girl. I ain't been nothin' but nice to you," Micah tuts, taking another step towards you. He's pressed up far too close to your chest, puffing his own out as his icy blue eyes scowl into yours. "You may be a big girl in the eyes of Dutch, but you ain't to me."  "I don't care, Micah. I don't need your approval, nor your company, so scram!"  This time, Micah goes for you, reaching out to grip ahold of your arm. He takes a firm grasp of you but before you can find out what he was planning on doing, you're pushing him away, shoving him back by the chest. He stumbles backwards but doesn't slump to the ground, catching his own fall as he glares at you. His death glare makes your face turn sour and you begin to foresee that one of you isn't going to make it back to camp. Micah lunges for you again, grabbing onto your shoulders as he begins to try and tackle you to the ground. You manage to shove him off and land a punch to the same cheekbone, only it's not enough to stop him. He continues to fight you, eventually managing to shove you to the floor. He tries to climb onto you, attempting to pin you to the ground but you land a swift kick to his baby balls. He lets out a choke as his body goes limp and you jump at the opportunity to shove him onto his back, pinning him down instead.  Micah attempts to grab onto you but you're quick, taking his own knife from its holster and pinning it beneath Micahs chin. He stops, freezing up and removing his hands from you, lying in the dirt with his swollen eye locked onto yours. There's silence, no words spoken from either of you, just heavy panting and the sound of the trees rustling. Micah licks his lips, tasting the blood that has trailed down from his nose, and eventually speaks.  "Go on, girl. Do it," he tells you, his Adam's apple bouncing against the blade as he speaks. You don't reply, so Micah jumps down your throat again. "I said do it! Show me what a big girl you are," he says with a laugh. "If I am to kill you then I'd rather do it with my bare hands," you spit at him, pressing the knife sharply on his neck. From the way Micah attempts to flinch back, you're certain you've managed to cut him. Good, he deserves it.  "Do it then. Go on, get rid of me already. Just do everyone a favour," Micah replies, his hands raising yet again, doing that generic innocent pose even as he has a knife held to his throat. As much as you'd love to, you know the consequences for killing other camp members. You could say he died in combat but Dutch knows that Micah can take on a bunch of Lemoyne Raiders with his eyes closed. Plus, it's far too suspicious for you to be the one breaking the 'bad' news. But you might as well scare some sense into Micah, maybe choke him unconscious then bail back to camp before he can wake. Hopefully, he'll finally get it into his thick skull to stay away from you, though you doubt it, but at least you'll have fun.  You remove Micahs own knife from his neck, stabbing it into the earth beside his head. He watches you with wide eyes, attempting to look at his knife but you grip onto his throat. You know how to choke someone to death, and you know how to choke someone unconscious, so you go for the second option and tighten your grip under his jawline, avoiding his windpipe so that he doesn't stop breathing.  He lets out a choked exhale as you begin jabbing your fingers into his throat, pushing more than hard enough to eventually knock his lights out. You know you look a mess, covered in dirt with scruffed up hair, a glare on your face that could easily kill a man; Micah looks up at you through half-lidded eyes, keeping his gaze locked onto yours as he attempts to breathe. You can hear the pressure on his throat with every breath, his lips remaining parted, blood still trickling from his nose, and his eye swelling up more by the second. His clothes are just as dirty as yours, his hat has fallen off his head a long time ago, his white pants are almost brown from rolling in the dirt, and his red shirt is missing a few buttons from where you've grabbed him.  Micahs parted lips quickly turn into a grin as his eyes begin to fall shut. You've never seen him pull a face like this, but he looks... pleasurable. He somehow has enough energy to reach up and grip onto the waistband of your skirt, trailing his fingertips along the band before settling each hand firmly on your hips. He's... enjoying this, isn't he? Your thoughts are confirmed when Micah opens his eyes again; his pupils are blown, wide and full of lust, gazing up at you like a piece of meat, ready to pounce on you (if he could.) You want to feel sick. Why don't you feel sick? Why isn't your stomach turning at the sight of Micah taking pleasure in your attempt to kill him? You push down harder on his neck, wishing you were gripping onto his windpipe instead. His smile eventually fades away, his eyes rolling shut as he lets out slower muffled breaths. His grip on your hips falls limp and you know he's finally unconscious.  This was meant to be the part where you run, heading back to camp before he can wake, praying he never even looks at you ever again. But you remove your hand from his throat, noticing how his body twitches as he begins to breaths properly again, and using the same hand that you just choked him with, you land a harsh slap right across his face. It's loud and sharp enough that it echoes throughout the forest, startling the horses and scaring a few birds away. You instantly regret your decision, your hand throbbing from how hard you slapped him, but the way Micah jolts awake gives you a sickly satisfaction.  He begins coughing, propping himself up on his elbows as he attempts to catch his breath. You don't move off him, sitting back on your knees, his legs beneath yours, watching in delight as he returns to the conscious word. Micah lies back down, his deep breaths eventually turning into a chuckle as his eyes meet yours.  "I knew you were just like me," Micah says with a sniff, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. His nose is still bleeding, turning his moustache red, and now his cheek as he's smeared his own blood across his face. "I knew you were sick..." he laughs.  "I ain't sick, Micah," you frown.  "If you ain't then you won't enjoy this-"  Micah somehow has enough energy to flip your bodies over, pinning you down to the ground, narrowly missing his knife that is still jabbed into the dirt. You attempt to push him off, trying to kick him in the balls again but he's pinned you down as well as you had pinned him down. He does exactly what you feared he'd do, wrapping his own rough hand around your neck, pressing on those spots under your jawline that you unfortunately enjoy.  You try and fight it, attempting to gulp down air, attempting to push him off. But the more you fight him, the more he holds you down, and the more you find yourself enjoying it.  "Give in to it, sweetheart. Just let it happen," he tells you, the words that you didn't want to hear, but only because they're sickly yet tempting.  Micah adjusts his grip and finally hits the nail in the coffin, your mind turning cloudy, the blood pulsating through your brain. That feeling in your stomach begins to burn, trailing down your body and making your pussy clench. You hate this man so much, yet you're allowing him to do this to you. "Atta girl," Micah praises you as you stop fighting him, letting your eyes shut and your mouth part.  You're weak enough for Micah to shift his weight, parting your thighs with his knees and sitting between them after he bunches your skirt up. One hand remains on your neck whilst the under sneaks underneath your waist, pulling your hips up onto his knees. His crotch pushes against yours, his hand trailing over your clothed thigh, moving up to your knee as he adjusts your legs so they're wrapped around his waist. For some reason, you cross your ankles, only encouraging him to grind his crotch against yours, rutting his hard-on against your pussy.  The mewl that escapes your lips is definitely accidental, but Micah tilts his head up to let out a hum of approval as he watches the colour continue to drain from your face. "Such a pretty sound coming from that pretty face of yours. You're goin' pale tho, darlin'. Least you ain't still spittin' venom at me," Micah smirks. The blood from his nose drips down onto your own face, painting your cheek, and the sight of his blood on you makes his pupils turn wide again, licking his lips as he finally removes his hand from your throat.  You gasp, gulping down air, letting out a few coughs as you manage to fill your lungs back up. Micah barely gives you enough time to come back to reality before he's crashing his lips against yours, pinning your hands on either side of your head, grinding his crotch down hard against yours. You let out a whimper as he manages to brush his crotch perfectly against your clit, making him chuckle against your lips as he kisses you. Are you kissing him back? Unfortunately so, but only because the taste of his blood on his lips is making your arousal grow, and he's grinding against you far too perfectly to ignore.  You eventually lap away at his blood, his nosebleed finally coming to a halt, and the feeling of his prickly moustache becomes more and more prominent. It's far too annoying for you to make out with him and ignore it, and it eventually irritates you to a point that you break the kiss.  "What'cha stopping for?" Micah pouts, halting his grinding for the moment. "Your 'stache is too long, it's itchy," you tell him.  "Well, I'll make sure it's trimmed for next time," Micah replies as he rolls his eyes. "There ain't gonna be a next time, Micah," you scowl back.  "Oh, that so?" Micah chuckles, doubting your claim. "Well, I'll just have to make this worthwhile," he informs you.  Micah moves his hands off your wrists, sitting up on his knees and pulling his knife out of the ground. He wipes the dirt off on his jeans then grips onto your undergarments, pulling the fabric away from your skin so he can slice down the crotch, ripping apart the garment and leaving a large hole right in the middle of them. "Micah!" you snap as you sit up on your elbows. "I'll buy you a new pair," Micah monotonously replies, a large lack of sympathy in his voice. You could have sworn he rolled his eyes as well. He holsters his knife and rips apart the hole even more, almost ripping the garment in two, exposing your pussy for his pleasure. Micah hums in appreciation as he gazes at the sight, pushing your thighs apart as he dips his head down and spits onto your folds. You'd be lying if you said you didn't enjoy it, and Micah picks up on the glisten in your eyes as he straightens his back up and begins to unfasten his pants, leaving his gunbelt on the ground beside you.  Micah pulls out his cock, an average looking one, rock hard and flushed pink at the tip. You're surprised that his pubes are neatly trimmed, just as dirty blonde as his hair, but he keeps his pubes neater for whatever reason. He ruts his cock over your folds, slicking himself up with his spit and your juices; to say you aren't wet is also a lie, you've been soaking the second he put his hand around your throat.  Micah finally pushes into you, slow and steady, letting out an "ooh" once he's fully sheathed inside of you. "It's always tighter if I don't finger you," he comments, licking his lips as he moves his hands underneath each knee, spreading your legs apart as far as he wants. Why are you allowing this man to fuck you? You're not sure, though you don't regret it, especially when he begins to thrust into you, surprising you with the way he rolls his hips, the tip of his cock hitting that spot inside of you with every thrust. If someone had told you this morning that you'd end up spending the evening with Micah Bell thrusting inside of you, after the two of you had had a fight and ended up aroused by it, then you probably would have punched them too after informing them that they're drunk. But here you are, allowing Micah to fuck you senseless, pounding you into the dirt as he lets out surprisingly pleasant sounds. "Shit!" you gasp as Micah shifts his weight, moving his hands off your knees to wrap around your waist. He pulls you up into his lap, lifting your ass off the floor and angling your body perfectly so he's directly hitting your g-spot with every roll of his hips. Micah's fucking you like a rabbit, fast and unforgiving, eager to make your walls tighten around him so he can fill you up with his cum.  Micah begins to bare his teeth, hissing through them as he pounds you. You're a moaning mess beneath him, not holding back on the volume of your moans as nobody is nearby, and your volume level is filling Micahs ego more and more by the second. "That's a good girl," he tells you, his hazy eyes meeting yours. "I always knew you'd be a good fuck, the feisty ones always are," he chuckles.  You roll your eyes at his comment, making him laugh instead. Ugh. That stupid laugh of his, the one he always drags out only because he knows it gets on everyone's nerves. You think fast, moving one hand back onto his throat to cut that dreadful sound out. His lips remain parted, slightly smiling as he continues to fuck you, enjoying that irritated glisten to your eyes. You tighten your grip on his throat, forcing a choked moan from Micahs lips. Micah's already hunched over you but you pull him down to your level, speaking right against his lips as you order him to "fuck me harder." "With pleasure," Micah manages to reply, gasping and straightening his back the second you let go of his throat. Micah keeps one arm underneath your waist, holding you firmly on his lap, whilst the other moves between your legs. His hand rests on your stomach, his thumb moving down to begin massaging your clit, flicking the bud in circles, his cock throbbing every time your muscles begin to shake. He's returned to letting out moans, followed by the occasional grunt through gritted teeth. You've seen Micah come undone before, you've seen that feral look in his eyes as he loses his cool and guns down an army of people. But this? This was a different look, just as feral but fueled by a mixture of lust and spite. Is he just using you for a fuck? Yes, but you're doing the same with him. And do you think you'll end up fucking him again? Possibly, but only if you can watch the life drain from his face again. It's sickeningly arousing, but Micah seems to enjoy it too. "You're gonna make me cum," you sigh, your thigh muscles beginning to shake, your eyes scrunching shut as your head rolls back in the dirt. "I know," Micah confidently replies, rubbing his thumb even firmer against your clit. What a cocky piece of shit, though you admire the confidence. You can't believe you're moaning his name as you orgasm, panting and shaking, wrapping your legs even tighter around Micahs waist as he pushes his cock deep inside of you and earns his own release. His hands grip onto your hips, his forehead eventually slumping on your chest as he pants and groans, filling you up with god knows how many months worth of cum, maybe longer, depending on whoever else has been stupid enough to sleep with him.  Micah eventually straightens his back and pulls out of you, letting your legs slip from around his waist as you untangle your body from his. He looks debauched, his hair and clothes scruffy and dirty, not to mention the dried blood smeared across his face and moustache. You're certain you look just as bad, spending your evening rolling about in the dirt with the man you hate the most. Hate? Or hated? as you somewhat like the sight of Micah like this. Maybe you could tolerate him under these terms, and only under these terms. You attempt to sort your appearance out as you stand up, stretching your legs, hearing your knees click after being bent for so long. Micah does the same as he pulls himself up, tucking his cock away then picking his hat up. He whistles for Baylock who had wandered off into the forest, probably not wanting to be around... that. The horse you'd stolen has managed to unhitch itself and disappear, and you honestly don't blame them, but that means the only way back is hitching a ride off Micah or walking for an hour.  "Looks like you're riding with me," Micah tells you. "I don't want to be seen trailing into camp with you, not when we both look like this," you tell him as he mounts Baylock.  "How's about I drop you off on the edge of camp then spend a few hours away? Would that make you happy?" Micah offers, holding out his hand at the same time.  "It would," you tell him, swatting his hand away and climbing up onto Baylock on your own terms. "So, you'll let me fuck you but won't even take my hand?" Micah chuckles as he clicks his tongue, letting Baylock go at a soft pace as you ride side-saddle.  "Yep, and don't forget that you owe me new underwear," you remind him.  "Oh, I won't forget to buy you some new panties, Miss. I'll buy you a whole set of lingerie if it means I get to cut it off your body," Micah teases but you know he's serious.  "If that's what you want," you reply with a shrug.  "You'd let me?" he questions, peering over his shoulder at you.  "I would," you reply. For some reason, you lick your thumb and attempt to wipe some of the dried blood from his cheek. Maybe the sight bothers you, but Micah doesn't seem to mind as he lets you clean him up, his eyes occasionally flicking onto the road.  "You wanna give me a kiss when you're done with cleaning me up?" Micah asks with a smirk.  "No," you frown, pushing his face away from yours. He laughs as he looks forward, returning his focus back to driving.  You and Micah don't speak another word on the short journey back, apart from a "thanks," from you as you slide off Baylock. He drops you on the edge of the forest, letting you walk down the path back into Clemens Point. You manage to sneak back into the camp; the only person who saw you in your state was Charles who simply said "I won't ask," when you gave him a look that said 'please don't.'  You feel much better once you've cleaned yourself up and got cozy in bed, though your body aches from fucking in the dirt, and you're almost certain you're going to have bruises around your neck by the time morning is here. But the fresh memory of having hate sex with Micah only seems to arouse you again; just like Micah said, you are sick, just as sick as him. But if this unspoken arrangement is a good way of letting out anger then why not continue it?  --------------- It's been a week since your accidental encounter with Micah. He's still not replaced your underwear, nor has he spoken a word to you, but you've picked up on those disgustingly arousing glances he sends you from across the camp. You've been tempted to chew his ear out about not paying you back yet, but he's not been in camp often, and when he has been in camp, it's been during the day and around others. The bastard knows what he's doing, and he definitely knows that you're still angry that he hasn't repaid you yet. You've been assigned guard duty tonight, doing lap after lap around the outskirts of the camp until 3am, which is when you can tap Bill awake and send him on his way to take over. Well, 3am is here and that's exactly what you're doing, prodding Bill awake and handing him the shotgun.  You somehow didn't notice that Baylock had appeared amongst the horses, but you do notice that distinct white hat on the edge of camp. Micahs stood on the beach, looking out at the water with his arms crossed, a cigarette between his fingers. Finally, the opportunity to chew his ear off. You stroll over, ensuring nobody else is awake, not wanting to question why you're eagerly approaching the man you despise.  "Micah," you greet as you stand next to him.  "There she is, just the girl I was looking for," Micah greets you as he exhales his cigarette smoke.  "You ain't looking for me, Micah. You're stood here having a smoke," you roll your eyes.  "I was hoping I would have fucked that attitude out of you. Seems I ain't fucked you hard enough," he says with a laugh. You peer over your shoulder, reminding yourself that nobody is awake, nor nearby, but you don't want to risk your chances. "We don't talk about that in camp, alright?" you threaten. "Fine, whatever you want," Micah shakes his head as he finishes off his cigarette, flicking it onto the floor and stomping it out. You're about to begin questioning him on your missing underwear but he begins to walk off, heading further along the beach.  "Where are you going?" you scowl as you follow him.  "Over here so I can sit down. Was gonna ask if you're joining me but it seems you are," he says with a laugh, leaning back against a large boulder. You frown at him but settle beside him, turning your attention to him again.  "I only came over here to ask you-"  "-s'on your bedroll," Micah tells you.  "What?" you question.  "That new underwear I promised, I've just placed it on your bedroll whilst you were on guard duty. Plus a little something extra to make up for how long you've waited for it," Micah answers, his eyes fixated on the water.  "Hmm..." you ponder, unsure if you believe him.  "What? Don't you trust me?" Micah questions as he finally looks over at you.  "Not at all," you scowl again.  "Well, you'll see that I'm telling the truth sooner or later. Go check now if you want, I don't care," he shrugs.  You stare at him again, trying to look for any signs of lying, but he gives you none; his nose doesn't twitch, his eyes stay glued to yours, he doesn't rub the back of his neck. Micah is probably telling the truth, knowing that you'll whack him over the head with a bottle next time you see him if he lies to you.  "See, told you I ain't lying," Micah snickers as he looks back out over the water. You don't reply, you just lean back against the rock and turn your attention to the landscape. Your brows remain furrowed, arms loosely crossed, enjoying the sound of the waves lapping against the shore, the moonlight only just providing enough light as you're far enough from camp.  A few minutes pass and Micah turns his attention back to you. "Why're you still here?" he bluntly asks.  "I ain't sure, I'm going to bed," you shrug. You begin to stand, barely getting off your ass when Micah reaches out and grabs you by the waist, pulling you back down onto his lap with a slight thud. "What do you want?" you snap, picking his hands off your waist in disgust, making him laugh at the sight.  "Just wanted to spend some quality time with my favourite camp member," he replies, though you're unsure if he's being sarcastic. "Well, you ain't my favourite," you huff.  "Always so feisty towards me, ain'tcha? What's wrong? You still hate me even after you let me fuck you?" Micah questions with a throaty laugh, grinning from ear to ear.  "I hate you even more now," you tell him, shuffling about on his lap until you're straddling him, one leg on either side of his hips, your chests almost touching.  "That'd explain why you've just got comfortable on my lap rather than walking away," Micah chuckles again, knowing he's damn well in the right. He slips his hat off his head, placing it on the ground beside him, not wanting it to get in the way. You let out a sigh as you roll your eyes. "Ain't I allowed to just take some attention from you, Micah?" you question, batting your lashes and removing the frown from your face.  "You're allowed to take whatever you want from me, s'long as I get something in return," Micah tells you as he wraps his arms loosely around your waist. "So it's agreed? That we'll just... enjoy this pity sex? But only because it lets off some steam," you place the offer down, finally trying to decide on this agreement.  "It is agreed, sweetheart. You can call it pity sex or whatever else you want, but maybe I'll just fuck you so good that you'll end up likin' me?" Micah chuckles, pulling you onto his lap more as he speaks to you in a husk tone. "I ain't your sweetheart and I ain't ever gonna like you, Micah Bell," you spit. "Sure you ain't," he grins. So, this is what it's come to. You're sleeping with the enemy, pity fucking the man you hate the most, allowing him to pry into your private life and between your legs just for a little bit of satisfaction. Do you care? No. Should you care? Probably. But you're getting pleasure, finally, after waiting for so long. The gang is always on the move, running from the law and whoever else is chasing you, depending on where you are and who you've pissed off. You've flirted with other gang members before but it's never escalated anywhere, so if sleeping with Micah means you'll finally stop humping your pillow every night then why not?  And maybe you can fuck some sense into him, maybe a bit of kindness of basic respect? You doubt it, but it'd be nice. A life where Micah isn't chaotic would be perfect, or one where he entirely didn't exist. But this is the way the world currently is, so you'll just have to make do with what you've got.  You're still going to bark back at him whenever he kicks up a fuss in camp. If anything, you're eager to put him in his place. Maybe you can punish him every time he steps out of line? Maybe this... enemies with benefits, or whatever you want to call it, could whip Micah into shape and prevent him from being such an annoyance towards everyone. Probably not, but you can still hope.  Micah tightens his grip around your waist as he lets out a pleasing hum, tugging you down to his level so he can kiss you. You're reluctant as his moustache was so irritating last time, but to your surprise, Micah has trimmed it to prevent the irritation, his 'stache brushing against your upper lip rather than prickling it. Micahs kisses are a lot more tender this time, not covered in blood and heavy breathing, not battling for dominance whilst both your minds are hazy from all that choking. Micah moves one hand up to entangle his fingers in your hair, cupping the back of your head.  Your lips soon slide open, your tongue greeting Micahs. He bites your bottom lip softly, letting the skin slowly slip from his grasp before kissing you again, earning himself a soft moan as you shuffle onto his lap more. Things are slowly turning heated, Micahs kisses getting sloppier yet firmer by the second, drawing more moans and whimpers from your lips as he continues to make out with you.  You pray that nobody has woken up, not wanting them to see... this. How would you attempt to explain this? Could you say you tripped and fell into Micah after not seeing him sat there, and you'd just accidentally kissed him on the way down? Could you say this way a new way of fighting, to show him what he's missing out on if he'd just be a good boy? Yeah, those excuses are rubbish. But you're sure you'd hear anyone approaching, not unless they're stealthy.  Micah moves his hands to your chest, unbuttoning your shirt, stopping at your lower ribs. He breaks the kiss so he can pull your shirt open, cupping each of your breasts and leaning his head into them. His mouth latches onto one of your nipples, sucking at it surprisingly gently, flicking his tongue over the nub, tenderly kissing it. His hand massages them, kneading them softly. Micah moves onto your other nipple, repeating the process, sucking on your tits as he lets out a satisfying hum.  "I ain't sure what my favourite part of you is, these things, or that nasty bite of yours," Micah says with a soft laugh between kisses. "Oh, you have such a way with words," you roll your eyes. "You know, I think we'd get along much better if you'd just tease me with these things in camp," Micah replies, returning his focus to your breasts. "I'll remember that in the future," you say, making a mental note. Maybe you could find a way to manipulate him? Using your womanly charm to tame this beast? It's a push but it's worth a try. He continues to suck at them, making your arousal grow, and you know he's getting aroused as you can feel it pressed against your thigh. Micah moves off your breasts and gently pulls your head down, enjoying another kiss, still tender, not the style you expected a man such as Micah to have.  Micah breaks the kiss, urging you off him. "Now, come on. Before I start thinkin' with my dick and fuck you right in the middle of camp. But you'd like that, wouldn't you, you whore?" he questions, buttoning up your shirt for you.  "You admit to thinking with your dick, yet I'm the whore?" you smirk, pointing out the flaw to his logic.  "Real smart, ain'tcha girl?" Micah mocks, shooing you off his lap once your shirt is fastened. Micah stands first, pulling you up afterward. His hand lingers for a little too long in yours, though you don't move your hand away either. He begins walking with you back to camp, readjusting his hat as he walks. Micah dips before you approach camp, not wanting to risk anybody latching onto your agreement. Thankfully, nobody is awake, but you head straight to your tent anyway. You fasten the tent flaps behind you, lighting your lantern, and begin getting ready for bed. You notice the tailor box on your cot and open it up, revealing the replacement underwear, as well as the 'little something extra' that Micah had promised you. It's a full set of lingerie, an expensive-looking set too, a frilly white chemise, corset, and stockings. The chemise is definitely that short for a reason; you wonder what Micah's planning, though he did say that he wanted to cut it off you. You hope to at least get some use out of it before he does that.

[iturbide]

More character meme stuff for you. Since Lyon is back on my mind thanks to the new banner, can I hear your thoughts on him please?

Also Ashe please.

You know, with him as the 4-star focus this was not what I was expecting this morning:

So I am all on board with Lyon

How do I feel about this character?

Lyon gets me right in the heart.  Just...his whole story is tragic, when you really think about it.  This young man who is himself intelligent, talented, and capable, but who feels inadequate next to his dearest friends that he loves with all his heart, who feels the crushing pressure of responsibility for his people and his country in the wake of his father’s death and knowing that disaster will soon strike, who falls specifically because he was trying to find a way to prove his worth and save everyone and ended up being manipulated by an unfathomable power.  His kindness and compassion, both admirable traits in and of themselves, ended up becoming a fatal weakness when they allowed Fomortiis the foothold he needed to take hold of Lyon, and from there every good and kind and noble aspect of him ended up twisted beyond recognition.

There’s something about characters with crippling inferiority complexes that draws me in.  I end up feeling deeply for them, wanting the best for them, hoping they’ll succeed and cheering when they’re able to acknowledge and accept their own personal worth...or mourning when they’re not only unable to overcome their self-doubt, but end up becoming victims when it’s exploited by outside forces.  Takumi hits me in very similar ways, especially for Conquest, but Lyon’s story is really heartbreaking for how we see the monster Fomortiis makes of him specifically through the eyes of his dearest friends.

Who do I ship this character with romantically?

I...don’t know actually.  I’m not super familiar with Sacred Stones on the whole, so I’m not really familiar with who would be possible or reasonable.  I know that Eirika and Ephraim are both popular partners for him, and there’s definitely an appeal to both of those options, but I don’t know if I prefer one or the other, if there might be someone else out there who’d be good for him, or if I even want to ship him at all so much as give him a chance to find his own happiness for himself.

Who is my brOTP for this character?

Eirika and Ephraim, definitely.  Regardless of the romantic side, his friendship with those two is absolutely integral to him and I love the idea of their friendship and how multifaceted it is, fueling both his love for them and his jealousy of them in equal measure.  I’m also really keen on the idea of him being friends with Knoll, since Knoll wants to restore Grado specifically because he wants it to become the nation Lyon truly wanted to make; that says a lot to me personally about the relationship they had, and how much Knoll admired Lyon (especially since he canonically disappears as soon as that work is finished).

What’s my Unpopular Opinion™ about this character?

Are there popular Lyon opinions?  I haven’t played Sacred Stones in years at this point: I vaguely recall borrowing it from a friend and I’m reasonably sure I played it through, but the only record I have of it is in some old unfinished fic bits living on an old computer that are directly related to that playthrough. 

How popular is the opinion that Lyon’s story is pretty much perfect?  Because from everything I’ve seen and read it honestly sounds like they handled his arc perfectly, from his motivations to his downfall.

What’s one thing I wish would have happened with this character in canon?

This is kind of a tough one because I don’t really know Sacred Stones all that well as a game.  My memories are very fuzzy and mostly involve realizing that Myrrh’s dragonstone had limited durability which meant I couldn’t use her in every battle and I was sad about it because dragon girl.  I guess if there’s anything...from what I understand, Lyon is recruitable in some side dungeon if you manage to beat this outrageous hardmode three times?  And yet he has no supports or dialogue.  Like.  What’s even the point if the party doesn’t get to talk to him?  Either don’t make him recruitable or put in dialogue because after everything that happened it’s a crime not to have him say a word.

And also Ashe because I love him

How do I feel about this character?

Ashe is absolutely one of the stand-out characters in the Blue Lions roster and the game on the whole, in my opinion.  His story is honestly fascinating: from a normal commoner kid with siblings and loving parents to an orphan stealing to ensure that he and his siblings could survive on the streets to the adopted child of a minor Kingdom noble with aspirations to be a knight and then back to an orphan thanks to Rhea who’s forced to fight for the Empire depending on your route.  That’s an absolutely wild ride.

Ashe could have been a really tragic character who leans heavy on the sympathy, but he doesn’t.  While there are undeniably tragic elements to his story, especially in the Academy Phase as we’re forced to fight his adoptive father on Rhea’s orders and steal the only parental figure he has (you find him in the cathedral a lot after that, for understandable reasons -- his crisis of faith must be monumental), he never gives up his aspirations to the kind of knight they write stories about.  This is a kid who has resorted to thievery frequently in the past, and his goal in life is to rise up from that low point in his life and become a shining paragon of chivalry and virtue helping the people.  And he puts his money where his mouth is, too: call him gullible, call him naive, but when he sees someone in a bind -- even a thief, claiming he’s been reduced to that to buy medicine for an ailing child -- he always helps out as best he can.  He doesn’t look down on people for their worst moments: he tries to lift them up so they can reach better ones, the same way he was lifted up by Lonato.  With his kindness and his compassion and his earnest ambition, I think he has an excellent chance of succeeding and becoming a knight of story and song.

Who do I ship this character with romantically?

TRICK QUESTION once again, I do not have any ships for Ashe.  I don’t have ships for most of the Three Houses kids, and while I love Ashe dearly, none of his supports really grabbed me romantically.  If I had to pick anyone, it would probably be Caspar, because their Supports are stellar: despite how rough the C is, the B turns it all around on its head and makes both of them realize that they were both being way too serious about the whole thing, and the A is sheer perfection as they realize they’ve both been spoiling the cat silly.  The idea of them going on endless adventures together, balancing each other and bringing out the best in one another, is so charming to me, and I could easily see them as lifelong partners.

Who is my brOTP for this character?

PETRA.  I love their Support chain so much and the fact that in their paired endcard she literally creates a whole order of knights in Brigid specifically to help him fulfill his lifelong ambition?  Get yourself a friend like that wow.  Also Annette: I love their Support chain and how even though the both of them are so scared of that very unsettling tower, he still goes and braves it a second time for just to find a treasure that she dropped in their initial flight.  That’s just so sweet okay I love how they get along and how close they are as friends and how they’ll pull out all the stops for one another.  Also, I have a major soft spot for his supports with Dedue because Ashe and Dedue cooking together is excellent (and also his supports with Felix are so charming and definitely show Felix in a better light once the B rolls around).

What’s my Unpopular Opinion™ about this character?

Okay so I think I got this one from @anankos but Ashe is really skilled with a knife.  Sure, everybody loves to gush about the precious cinnamon roll, but he can and will cut you if he has to; old habits die hard and he probably has a knife on him at all times just in case he gets in a tight spot, either where he can’t use or doesn’t have his bow.  Ordinarily he would use it for things like hunting and cooking as required, but he’s definitely used it as a cutpurse, and under pressure he will use it to stab someone if it will give him a chance at survival he otherwise wouldn’t have.  Don’t mess with the kid basically.

What’s one thing I wish would have happened with this character in canon?

This is so small and so minor but I wish we could have seen more of his emotional journey after the loss of Lonato.  I know it’s a really early game event, but given that certain supports can be locked until certain narrative points (like Leonie and Byleth’s B, which focuses directly on the aftermath of Jeralt’s death), I think it would have been beneficial to have shown the impact that death made on him, especially in regards to his view on the church.  Having supports with Seteth could have been great, too, especially given some of his views on the Church as a whole.

Give Me a Character  

[zaritarazi]

002 with mixen <3

002 | send me a ship and I will tell you:

when i started shipping it: okay so i went deep into my archives and i found my first mixen gifset, here, from october 26, 2016. it is then followed by this gifset from october 28, 2016, a complete stroke of genius i’d forgotten about. and HERE is the first post i made about them while watching legends, also from october 28th, 2016. i’m assuming that the clip of her trying to kill him was released as a preview which is why the gifset predates the text post. so then in november 2016 is good it’s not really ramped up yet and then we get the chicago way and that, in a lot of ways, changed my life? for the better? unclear. am i being sarcastic? also unclear. there’s just so much about it that did me in. first the “i’m clyde that’s bonnie” because s3 of dusk had JUST ended and that was a RAW fucking nerve. just the exact shit i was looking for. the scene where mick puts his finger to his lips while looking at amaya’s mouth and you just know he’s internally like i am... going to hell. i am GOING to hell. amaya kissing him on the CHEEK? [mick’s certainty of going to hell intensifies] and the real piece de resistance was len descending from the ceiling shrieking in gay rage like. that’s what really solidified mick’s relationship with amaya to me: he was willing to defend her to literally, literally his husband. he says amaya is his ONLY friend because leonard is GONE, implying that amaya is len’s EQUAL in mick’s eyes. mick is a complex character and he’s actually very sensitive but when we had him in season 1, he came as a packaged set with len. and he grew and formed new relationships and listen we all know i can and will ship mick with anyone dominic purcell this is a threat but amaya is, in canon, not just implied by dominic’s choices for the character, the time where mick is declaring his affection for someone out loud. and i also want to reflect on like. leonard, be he real or be he a figment of mick’s mind, despite being WILDLY jealous of amaya, had one goal in that episode: to keep mick alive. like mick was so reckless in season two and with amaya he seems to finally almost want to... pull back? he tells leonard “i’ll be dead like you” which says he isn’t objecting to the idea of being dead, but that amaya is giving him something that makes life exciting, and he’d rather have that than fall into his old self-preservation instincts. you can MARK that mick starts trying to die less after the chicago way until len comes back in the world war i episode.  like i guess i started shipping mixen when they became the epitome of “god said love your enemy so i obeyed her and i loved myself” are you HAPPY? is this what you WANTED? 

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my thoughts: you accidentally had a baby with him. i am the reason he is able to feel love. we are not the same

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what makes me happy about them: as much as i’ve focused on amaya’s positive impact on mick i want to emphasize that this is a two way street because mick is someone who taught amaya to embrace herself and what makes her happy. amaya has so much pressure riding on her shoulders and mick is never deterred by it. amaya has always been brilliant beautiful incredible etc but when we first meet her in s2 she is so tightly wound and she is so in the mold of what she thinks she needs to be and what she thinks the legacy of the anansi totem requires of her and when she’s around mick she realizes she can be... amaya. just amaya. like did she say to mick “what would a criminal do” because she was being horny on main? yes. but she also did it because she was genuinely open to learning how he saw the world. like it’s truly incredible that amaya meets mick and in the span of 30 minutes is like actually, mick is the most interesting and enticing person i have ever met and  [mick’s certainty of going to hell intensifies] but actually there are just little things they do even when they don’t like each other that show a certain level of respect- mick tells amaya he’s not an idiot and amaya tells him not to call her “girlie” so amaya actually spends the rest of their relationship uplifting mick’s ideas and his accomplishments and mick POINTEDLY never gives amaya a nickname. the nickname one is especially funny bc i geniunely think she just didn’t like “girlie” and may have been fine with a different nickname but like. the fact that mick remembers to NOT give her a nickname EVER when everyone else gets one? the way he paid attention to amaya and respected what she was saying? the way they could be open with each other? like okay they weren’t canon-canon but a part of me is glad bc. this ship was originally marc’s idea and what is legends s2 if not phil and marc fighting for control of the story like the one ring? if marc had been allowed to make them romantic i fear he would’ve done his normal bullshit that he does with his couples where basically mick never changes in a positive way and keeps chipping away at parts of amaya until she feels like she is at “his level” and then he essentially takes over the rest of the parts of her life he hadn’t already taken control of and just, disgusting. like let me be clear on mick rory’s worst day he is still a better person than oliver queen on his best day i don’t care if he’s roasting people alive he is STILL a better person. but with that relationship choice being taken out of marc’s hands, we instead get a relationship where amaya offers mick the starting blocks to build himself UP, and he takes them and is able to keep building himself even without fully relying on her. when he tells her in season 3 “we’ve all done things we’re not proud of” and she just brightens so immediately, and the same thing happens in the pirate episode - and he is able to do these things for her because he let her help him, but did not make her his only lifeline. the person mick is in s3 onward is a person he feels better about being because amaya has always seen good in him and like. not to be dramatic but i am literally, literally crumbling into ash as we speak

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what makes me sad about them: FROM SEASON 4 ONWARD SHE ISN’T THERE ANYMORE AND MICK IS JUST LEFT WITH ALL THE FUCKING EMOTIONS SHE MADE HIM FEEL AND THE WAYS SHE HELPED HIM AND ALL HE CAN DO IS TRY TO KEEP HER ALIVE, IN HIS MIND AT LEAST, BY HELPING PEOPLE (CHARLIE AND MONA) THE WAY AMAYA HELPED HIM. 

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things done in fanfic that annoys me: i have no issue with mixen being in fic with OTHER ships but to my fucking detriment it always seems to be a secondary pairing in captain canary fics and like 1. hate crime 2. mick is a bisexual he can have a husband and a wife he can have them at the same time he can have them at separate times but if you’re writing capcan i’m assuming you have a heterosexual agenda and i want that kept away from ships i like at ALL times

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things I look for in fanfic: a genuine understanding of mick’s character. he can be kind of tricky to strike a balance with but you can just tell when he’s being written too aggressively or when he’s being written just as too much of a bastard or a former criminal and like, i also look for amaya not being helpless and emotional bc quite frankly mick is way more expressive emotionally than amaya and it is so vital that this is understood. also if it’s sad i like to read it and then cry myself to sleep

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who i’d be comfortable them ending up with, if not each other: OKAY FINE nate for either. nate for both! final ot3 of nate/amaya/mick is good, pure, canon supported, and legally required. but also amaya with zari 1.0 and mick with ray or, honestly? zari 2.0. DON’T @ ME

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My happily ever after for them: they just get to like. live life together. mick takes in ese as one of his own and amaya does the same for lita and they have a 3rd child together that’s in the bible look it up but like. not giving up the time traveling life and the heroics and the adventures fully but being a family even when their kids grow up and they can be old together even if it’s them popping on and off the waverider sometimes together sometimes they do their own thing always put the kids first and sure mick has 22 wonderful years on amaya but he’s on a timeship he can wait for her to catch up so they can get old-old together. also nate is there romantically, sexually, raising the children, let’s have mick and nate make a fourth child, this is absolutely non-negotiable

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who is the big spoon/little spoon: amaya is AGGRESSIVELY the little spoon. like flinging herself into mick’s arms and like HOLD ME and mick just reflexively wrapping his arms around her bc she small. sof. smells nice. pretty

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what is their favorite non-sexual activity: amaya like why be having not-sex when you could be having sex? and mick like i don’t know. sleeping? photography? long drives? (it’s long drives & going to museums don’t @ me)

[elyvorg]

Speaking of bonus content for Still a Hero, how about some mini summarised scenes of things that happen in the aftermath of the fic? I sometimes think about the interactions Kaito, Shuichi and Maki might have with other characters as their lives begin to go back to something like normal, and some of these ideas have solidified enough to be Definitely How It Happens in my head at this point, so you might as well consider these canon in the fic’s universe.

(Some of this would just work as an epilogue to the general UTDP cult takedown AU even outside of the fic, but most of the scenes are centred around Kaito and what he went through in the fic specifically.)

Telling loved ones

One of the first things for them to do, once the chaos has died down and they’re able to, is let their loved ones know that they’re safe. They had to cut all communication with everyone else and basically disappear for the week-or-so they were on the run.

The first person Shuichi tells is Kaede, of course, whom he’s equally as close to as Kaito. He felt really guilty having just left her out of this whole cult investigation thing, even before he went on the run, but she didn’t know the truth about Maki, so he had to. And then he had to just disappear without telling her despite knowing how much she’d worry, in order to keep her safe and out of things. (If she’d come with them, she’d have been in exactly the same position as Kaito – they might have tortured her, too.)

Then he tells his uncle, who knew he was working on some kind of big, somewhat dangerous case but didn’t know the details and also would have been worried sick and fearing the worst when he suddenly vanished.

Shuichi’s parents, meanwhile… weren’t worrying about him at all. They didn’t even realise he’d been missing. He’s basically used to that kind of thing from them by now, but it still stings.

  Maki doesn’t have anyone to tell. She doesn’t have any family, and her only close friends from Hope’s Peak are Shuichi and Kaito themselves. Meanwhile, of course the orphanage staff (the decent ones who weren’t secretly cult members that have since been arrested) already know what happened, not that they would have been precisely worried about Maki’s whereabouts anyway.

She’s fine with that, though, just so long as it’s over and the kids are safe. It’s not a big deal. She’s used to not having anyone worry about her.

But… a few days after it’s over, she finds herself getting messages from other Hope’s Peak schoolmates, people she’d only really thought of as acquaintances and not friends, saying things to the effect of, “I don’t really know what happened, but I’m glad to hear you’re safe, I was worried when I heard you and your friends were missing!”

That… that means a lot.

  Kaito tells his grandparents he’s safe, of course, but at first he doesn’t really want them to know about the part where their precious only grandson was tortured. Since they’re getting more frail in their old age, and since he’s Kaito, he kind of feels more like it’s meant to be his job to protect them at this point, and so aren’t they better off not knowing?

Shuichi and Maki talk him into telling them, though. Even if they’re older, they’re still effectively Kaito’s parents in a way that most grandparents usually aren’t, so it’s still their job to look after him when things are hard and he needs support. (And Shuichi kind of doesn’t quite have that, and Maki of course never did, so Kaito shouldn’t waste what he’s got.)

Kaito concedes the point and lets his grandparents know after all. When he sees them again, he ends up crying into their shoulders and feeling kind of like he did when he was a kid and his parents had just died – but that’s okay, right? That’s what his grandparents are there for.

His grandparents also make sure to let him know (just like they always do) how proud of him they are. Their grandson is the bravest hero in the whole wide world.

Shuichi and Maki are here for this, but they’re just standing back and watching, since they don’t really feel like this moment is about them. Except then Kaito’s grandparents invite them into the hug anyway – because they’re Kaito’s family too, aren’t they?

Kaito is taken aback for a moment as he hears this, only to continue sobbing with emotion as this becomes a big group hug with him in the middle. Yeah. They are.

(Maki and Shuichi – especially Maki – are more moved by this than they can put into words.)

  Kaede

Shuichi first just reassures Kaede he’s safe over the phone in a hurry while everything’s still kind of chaotic, but he promises to tell her the full story later in person. Before he visits her to do so, he has to ask his friends for permission to tell certain parts of it.

Maki needs to be okay with Kaede knowing about the assassin thing, of course. That’s her secret to keep, and it’s not Shuichi’s place to tell anyone if she’s not comfortable with it.

Now that the cult no longer exists, and knowing that Shuichi trusts Kaede, Maki can finally just about feel safe with others knowing. Shuichi reassures her that he’s sure Kaede won’t think less of her, not once she understands why Maki became an assassin and what she went through.

While he’s explaining everything to Kaede, Shuichi begins this part with “Maki’s an assassin—” but then he stops himself. “No, that’s wrong. She was an assassin. But not any more.”

He also asks Kaito beforehand to make sure he’s okay with Kaede knowing about the whole torture thing. That’s not precisely a secret, but it’s still something Shuichi feels he shouldn’t go telling just anyone unless Kaito’s comfortable with it, since it’s something he needs to deal with at his own pace.

Kaito’s fine with it, though. He trusts Kaede, and he knows that what he went through is nothing to be ashamed of. It’s still pretty early days for him in terms of properly processing it all, but he doesn’t want to run away from it. If Kaede’s getting told the story, she should know the whole story.

Despite Kaede’s initial “oh my god, is he okay?” upon hearing this part, she’s not really at all surprised to hear that Kaito is okay – or, well, as relatively okay as anyone can be expected to be under the circumstances. That sounds just like the Kaito she’s seen and has heard so much about from Shuichi. She goes on to comment that he really is amazing and must care about his friends so much.

Shuichi passes this onto Kaito, because he deserves to hear it. The more people who react to what Kaito went through by being impressed and proud alongside their concern, rather than just seeing him as a pitiable victim, the more it helps everything he learned really sink in for him.

  The birthday hero (plus more Kaede)

Remember how Kaito internally protested at one point during the fic that he’s “almost nineteen”? There was a small element there of him trying to puff himself up and feel bigger than he is – but it’s also not so unreasonable for him to have thought of it that way rather than just calling himself eighteen, because his birthday was only like a week or two away. Shuichi’s investigation of the cult began soon after they graduated, and Japanese graduations happen in March, while Kaito’s birthday is in April.

So Kaito’s birthday comes around while he’s still quite early on in his recovery from everything that happened. Not that that makes him any less determined to celebrate it, of course – and Shuichi and Maki make a point of making it not just a celebration of Kaito’s birthday, but also a celebration of the fact that they all got through that hell alive and safe, and of what an amazing hero Kaito is. (Naturally, Kaito then amends that to be what amazing heroes they all are.)

It’s a pretty small party, mind you. Kaito’s still pretty badly injured, and he doesn’t feel super comfortable having large amounts of people he doesn’t know that well ask probing questions and fuss over him. But one of the few people he does invite is Kaede, because Shuichi’s close to her and she’s been told about everything that happened.

Naturally, Kaede offers to play a few pieces for the occasion and asks Shuichi what Kaito would like to hear – a piano arrangement of one of his favourites from the Planets suite, maybe?

Shuichi suggests something else instead. Kaito hasn’t talked in too much detail yet about what he went through psychologically, but Shuichi’s pieced together some stuff from comments Kaito’s made here and there. So he asks Kaede to play something that evokes the image of heroes – not heroes just easily succeeding without any effort, but heroes fighting through hardships and struggling and feeling like they might not make it, yet still never giving up and managing to do what matters in the end.

Kaede, being Kaede, is able to find just the right piece. She plays it at Kaito’s party while focusing on evoking that particular mood from it like she’s so good at doing… and by the end of her performance, Kaito is in tears.

Kaede’s used to literally moving people to tears with her playing, but that wasn’t quite what she aiming for this time. Given she knows about what happened to Kaito, she’s worried she might have upset him and apologises, as does Shuichi, because this was his idea—

But, no, that’s not it at all. Kaito really, really loved her performance – and it really helped. He’s so overwhelmed with emotion and gratitude that he kind of wants to hug her right now, so he hesitantly asks her if he can do so.

She’s happy to oblige (albeit carefully, because Kaito’s ribs are still a mess). There’s no reason she wouldn’t be – nothing suggests Kaede is hug-averse in general, and here, Kaito is someone she trusts and admires and who really looks like he needs a hug in this moment. Of course she’d be okay with it.

Shuichi watches them hugging while telling each other how amazing they are (because of course they would) and is suddenly overcome with bewildered frustration. “How are you two not already friends? How have you both been two of my best friends for three years and somehow not become friends with each other?”

Kaito and Kaede both pull out of the hug and look at him and are equally bewildered about this. It is quickly concluded that, yeah, they should be friends.

Kaede, being Kaede, declares that this means she should be closer friends with Maki now too. They were somewhat friendly acquaintances already thanks to Kaede just wanting to be friends with all of her classmates, but with Maki having to hide the assassin thing from her, they could never be especially close. But now there’s no reason not to, right?

Maki pretends to be indifferent, but really she’s kind of touched. She’s still not used to the idea that people could ever want to be her friend even after learning the truth about her (Kaito and Shuichi always felt like exceptions, due to Kaito’s ridiculous stubbornness and Shuichi being a fellow sidekick)… but it’s a good feeling.

So Kaede is there for not just Shuichi but for all of them, as a helpful outside perspective on the trauma the three of them went through together. And also as a friend to just relax with when they want to forget about everything that happened and feel like things are normal again.

  Ryoma

Sooner or later, Kaito happens to think about Ryoma again for the first time since his hero epiphany – and he promptly and immediately feels like a giant idiot for how undeservedly harsh he was on the guy for the three years they were classmates. Of course it’s not Ryoma’s fault that he’s suffering and struggling with stuff, and Kaito should never have expected him to just deal with it all on his own like it’s nothing!

So as soon as he can after he realises this, Kaito goes to visit Ryoma in prison and apologises for having been that way. He adds that, while he knows he’s not exactly the best option since his track record with Ryoma isn’t something he’s proud of – and it looks like Ryoma’s already got something of a support network going now with former classmates visiting him, which is great! – he’s here to listen if Ryoma ever wants to talk. And he really will listen this time, he promises.

Ryoma is honestly kind of bewildered. He never even particularly noticed Kaito’s harshness, or cared that much about it when he did (since his self-loathing would have made him feel like it was deserved anyway). While Ryoma was always a Really Big Deal to Kaito, Kaito was kind of just another classmate to Ryoma – one who happened to have once been a fan of his, but not really a source of mental strife at all.

(Kaito really wasn’t quite as harsh on Ryoma as he feels like he was, either. Most of the negativity was just in his head, and he only occasionally lashed out and actually voiced it for Ryoma to hear.)

Because Ryoma is so perceptive, he picks up on the fact that Kaito coming to apologise like this seems to be more for his own sake than for Ryoma’s. And now that Kaito’s getting better at actually talking about his issues, he willingly admits that, yeah, that kind of might be true, huh.

Ryoma is also perceptive enough that he noticed that Kaito’s injured, so, despite prefacing it with the comment that this is probably unsolicited of him (his new friends’ nosiness is rubbing off on him, huh), he asks if that has anything to do with this.

Kaito admits that it kinda does and explains the gist of what happened to him – which it turns out Ryoma can kind of relate to, since he has some of his own experience with shitty evil organisations that ruin people’s lives. Maybe this spurs him to actually tell Kaito a bit of what he went through as well, and they find themselves beginning to properly understand each other for the first time.

Ryoma ends the visit by offering that he’s always here if Kaito needs to talk. And… yeah. Kaito might take him up on that sometime.

(Ryoma is Good.)

  Harumi

At some point, Maki, Shuichi and Kaito get invited to come and visit Maki’s orphanage by some of the remaining non-cultist staff members working there. This is mostly because Harumi, the girl who was about to be scouted as Maki’s replacement, really wants to see them.

Harumi was aware to some extent of what she was being scouted for. It had to have been so terrifying for her to know what was going to happen to her with no way of getting herself out of it, not even sure who she could safely ask for help, if anyone. But then suddenly she hears that that’s not going to happen after all, that Maki and two of her friends took down the cult and saved her from that horrible fate. They’re her heroes – so of course she wants to meet them and thank them in person!

The three of them already knew they were heroes in taking down the cult – Kaito makes sure to remind them (and himself) of that regularly – but being thanked by an actual person that they tangibly saved, seeing the huge smile on Harumi’s face, really helps it feel real. Everything they went through, no matter how awful, was worth it for this.

During her big adorable emotional thanks, Harumi gives each of them a hug. Not knowing she shouldn’t, she happens to hug Kaito a little too tightly considering his ribs still aren’t healed, and he can’t help but let out a small gasp of pain despite his best efforts.

Harumi notices that she accidentally hurt him and apologises; he tries to brush it off, but…

“Did… did those people hurt you? The bad ones, who were gonna hurt me?”

Kaito insists even harder that it’s nothing, she doesn’t gotta worry about any of that stuff, everything’s fine now—

“You don’t have to lie to make me feel better, you know. I’m not a kid. I know what they were gonna do to me. …S-Some of it, anyway.”

It strikes Kaito just how much Harumi reminds him of Maki Roll. Kids in this orphanage really must have to grow up so fast, huh.

“You’re right. My bad for treating you like a kid.” He pauses and glances away. “…Yeah, they hurt me. Real bad.”

(Shuichi and Maki Roll are letting him do the talking here, but around this point, Maki Roll quietly takes his hand and squeezes it. He’s kind of glad for that; remembering it still isn’t easy.)

“Were you scared?”

Kaito fights the instinct to tell her no, that fear that he might not be her hero any more if she learns the truth still present (but much quieter than before). But no, he knows how it works now; he can help her understand, too. “Y-Yeah. I was scared as hell. But—”

“But you never gave up, right?”

Kaito stares at her in bewilderment. “Huh? How do you know that?”

She looks at him like it’s the most obvious thing. “Because you’re a hero! Even when they’re hurting or scared, heroes don’t give up no matter what!”

Dumbfounded, Kaito reflects on the fact that this ten-year-old has a far better grasp on this concept than he ever did until he was almost nineteen.

Man, she really is one hell of a kid. She’s gonna go far.

[aye-write]

Summary: Research student Isla Reid has been fascinated with the legend of the Kildonian Chessmen - a trio of mythical Pokemon rumoured to have lived centuries ago on the remote region of Kildo - for as long as she can remember. So, when a museum exhibit on the Chessmen is set to open in Kildo’s Hydrogate City, coinciding with her independent research project, she packs herself and her trusty partner Furret onto the long ferry journey bound for this new region.

However, when she arrives in Kildo, thoughts of her research, new friends, and an entire Pokedex’s worth of new Pokemon, are quickly dashed. Kildo is a troubled place, beset by natural disasters and fierce rivalries among its people. Isla suddenly finds herself at the centre of a centuries-old plot to invoke the wrath of the Chessmen, and is set on a race against time to stop them, before it spells destruction for the entire region.

Other Links: Read it on Ao3!

Tags: OC Pokemon journey, OC region, Fakemon region, bisexual main character, found family, ace main character.

If you are not interested in these posts, especially as I know Pokemon journeyfic is fairly niche, please blacklist the tag #Checkmate. Most of the story will be put under a Readmore anyway!

Author’s Note: If you’re interested in more information, exclusive updates, character art, and teasers for this fic, please consider following its sister tumblr @kildo-pokedex! 

This was another chonker chapter at 4.5k that I didn’t anticipate being this long at all! The joys of plantsing, eh? I had hoped to reveal the starters this chapter, but that’s being bumped to next update. In the meantime, please enjoy the reveal of Brootser, and the partial reveals of Weldeon, Ampster and Coastrot!

*****

Chapter Three

Despite everything, night rolled over the Whispering Pine Croft.

After hours battling insomnia, Isla stole downstairs not long after the clock in the hallway chimed midnight. Goosepimples erupted on her skin, the air chilling her to the core. Clicking on the floor lamp, she cast her gaze around the living room. A rickety bookshelf took up most of one wall, covered in dust and trinkets. It didn’t take her long to strike gold.  

The Etymological Dictionary of Old Kildonian, 1981 Edition.

Sitting at the old coffee table, she spread out her books and copies of the Old Kildonian script until there wasn’t an inch of space left. Then she opened the dictionary and started to read. She read, moving between dictionary and text, until her eyes strained in the dim light of the lamp, and the words on the page turned into incomprehensible squiggles. Just keep going, she told herself, as she marked off another decoded word. Just keep going. Just keep going. Just keep—

“Isla?”

Isla slammed the book shut. The noise seemed to echo forever in the quiet of the living room. The intruder snapped on the main light and Isla blinked foolishly as everything illuminated around her. It was Blair at the door, swaddled in an enormous red dressing gown and a pinched look on his face.

“What are you doing down here?” he asked, pulling his dressing gown tighter. “You’ll catch your death of cold.”

“I’m… I’m not doing anything,” Isla said, trying to collect the papers together, position her body over them, anything to hide them from sight.  

“Really? You look like a student trying to panic revise a whole subject the night before an exam,” he chuckled, plopping himself in the seat opposite. “Come on. What’s up?”

Isla sighed. What was the point in lying? “I’m just trying to make some sense of these texts.”

Blair glanced at the clock above the fireplace. “At half two in the morning?”

“I couldn’t sleep. This presentation is doing my head in.” When Blair frowned, she added, “My supervisor asked me to update them with all the “progress” I’ve mad so far. Of course, I haven’t made any yet.”

“So, you’re trying to decode all these old books with…. an out-of-date Kildonian dictionary?”

“I found it in the bookcase. I thought it might help.”

“I’m pretty sure that book is older than me. Please don’t tell me you’re taking it word-by-word.”

“More or less.”

“You’ll be there months trying to sort all that lot.”

“I don’t have any other choice,” Isla’s voice cracked. “Everyone is hounding me. I can’t let this come undone. They’ll pull approval of my project and fail me if I don’t keep jumping through all their hoops.”

“Why is the legend of the Chessmen so important to you?”

Isla hesitated. It was an innocent enough question, but the thought of answering it felt like ripping her chest open and exposing the beating heart underneath. “Well...” she started, cringing at how stupid it all sounded in her head. “When I was little, I was kinda lonely. I didn’t have siblings. Or friends, really,”

Blair made a sympathetic noise.

“No, it’s okay. I wasn’t that bothered by it,” Isla lied. “But because I didn’t have many friends, I naturally leant towards books instead. And I loved fiction, like adventure stories and that, but I felt so much more connected to things that were actually real.”

Blair nodded. “Understandable.”

“Anyway, one Christmas, I got this book. I think it was called Myths and Legends of the Pokemon World and it had all the origin stories of all the legendary Pokemon from like… every region in the world. God, I ate up every single story - how Arceus created the world, the theory that all Pokemon came from Mew in some way, how Groudon and Kyogre created the land and sea. I was absolutely hooked. Then, right at the end, there were a couple of small articles devoted to a place called Kildo.”

“Typical,” Blair muttered. “Always playing second fiddle to the big guns.”

“The book explained a little bit about the legend of the Chessmen. I was just… amazed at how these Pokemon brought humans these gifts of technology and arts and whatnot and how advanced the region was for its time. And then when I read what happened next, well… I just wanted to know why. Why did the Chessmen take away what they gave the humans?  What happened to them after they became dormant? I was obsessed. When I was younger, I had this stupid dream that I would like… Oh, it sounds so cheesy now, but… like solve the mystery of what happened all those years ago.”

“It’s not cheesy, Isla. Dreams are never cheesy.”

Isla bit the inside of her cheek. “I know that. It’s just… well, this legend has been everything to me for years. I’m not bigheaded enough now to think someone like me could ever solve it. But I’d love to find something. Even if it’s just standing in the same place these Pokemon stood once, all those years ago. But now it feels like it’s slipping away from me. I won’t be able to do anything unless I get these texts translated.”

“They’re well-known texts, right? Haven’t they already been translated?”

“The only translations that exist are locked behind online paywalls,” Isla sighed. “Not exactly within my budget. The originals were family owned. I suppose you can’t blame them for wanting them kept safe.”

“Could the university not pay for you to access them?”

“Not my department. They already think the project isn’t worth the time. They’re usually into social changes, modern day life, that sort of thing. Mythology doesn’t get a look in. Even though I changed my project a bit – focusing more on how the mythology influences modern life, with the Chessmen more of like a case study – the department still don’t want much to do with it.”

“Well, that’s their loss. Your project sounds fascinating just from what I’ve seen of it.”

“This little bit you’ve seen might end up being all it ever amounts to. With Nana Morag in the hospital, my options for translations are limited, and these old texts are all I have to help me piece together where the Chessmen might be.”

Silence unfurled around them. Isla stared down at her lap, her legs shaking and her mouth dry. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d ever talked so much about herself and she found that she couldn’t quite bring herself to look Blair in the eye.

“I think I might know someone.”

Isla pricked her head up. “Really?” she said, hope throbbing in her chest.

“I have a friend who lives in Inverbrook. It’s not a huge city, but they do have a subsect of Tideburgh University there. He’s doing a Masters in Language and mentioned being involved with an elective on Old Kildonian. I can contact him for you. He might be able to help.”

Something surged through Isla like she’d just taken a shot of adrenaline. “Oh, Blair, thank you! That’s amazing!”

“No guarantees, of course!” he said, spreading his hands hastily. “He might not know enough of it to be a proper help. But he may be able to put you in touch with some other folks who can help, if that makes sense.”

“It does. A lot of sense. Thank you again.” Isla paused. “Where is Inverbrook?”

“Pretty much directly south of here. About forty odd miles or so. Following routes 29 through 26 pretty much leads you right there. Public transport is crap, though, so you’re better walking most of it. Shouldn’t take much more than a couple of days if you’re…”

He paused. Isla knew what he wanted to say. If you’re fit. Women like her weren’t supposed to be fit. And even though the thought of days of walking filled her with equal parts apprehension and dread, she forced a look of determination onto her face.

“Don’t worry,” she said. “I can handle it.”

**

Isla shared the news that she would be leaving in the morning as they sat down at the kitchen table. Kenneth and Skye stayed quiet, barely reacting to the news, but Rhona’s face crumpled.

“Oh, chick, are you sure?”

“I think it’s probably for the best,” Isla said. “I don’t want to be a burden, especially with you guys having your hands full with the croft and Nana Morag being ill. Having a guest is too much on top of everything. I really do appreciate everything you’ve all done, but I think it’s best that I head towards Inverbrook and start my research properly.”

A strange expression passed over Rhona’s face, one that Isla couldn’t make sense of. For several terrifying moments, she thought she’d offended her.

“You wouldn’t be a burden on us, Isla,” Rhona eventually said, her eyes brimming. “We’d happily have you here for as long as you want. It’s been lovely having you.”

Isla felt something in her heart buckle.

“We do understand that your studies have to come first. But… you said you wanted to go to Inverbrook?”

“Yes. Blair is going to put me in touch with a friend of his there that might be able to help me with some translations.”

“It might not be as easy as you think, chick. I’ve just been watching the local news. There was flooding down south. The river that goes through Route 27, which connects Port Glen to Inverbrook, burst its banks. The whole route is submerged. No-one can go through. It’s completely impassable.”

**

You wouldn’t have said the entire of Port Glen had only just recently been battered by a storm, Isla thought, as she set off down towards the harbour after a filling breakfast. The morning sky pinkened gently, like a mother’s embrace, and golden threads of sun drifted through soft, watercolour clouds. A cool wind kept the worst of the heat at bay as she walked. All in all, it was a fairly pleasant experience. Well, as pleasant an experience as walking would ever be.

It was Rhona that had suggested trying the ferry. She couldn’t be sure what passenger routes they ran from Port Glen, or if they only did international and goods shipments, but it was a better option than waiting the potential weeks for the Inverbrook route to be cleared or taking the (extremely) long way around the whole region.

Breathing heavily and sweating despite the brisk ocean breeze, Isla stopped to catch her breath as she arrived at the harbour. She cast her gaze around hopefully. It was quiet. Too quiet. Not a good sign in the least.  Aside from the occasional sailor pacing the docks, and the sharp, cutting cry of seabirds, the place was still and silent.

The thought of asking someone to help sent panic crashing through her like waves in a storm, but there was no other choice. The best option rested with a nearby sailor, busily looping ropes and picking apart complicated knots. A Pokemon stood at his side. Squat, muscular, with short brown fur, flecked with white, and cut into a stout triangle pattern, it was another one that Isla didn’t recognise. Every now and again, the sailor tossed it a particularly difficult-looking knot of rope, which the Pokemon expertly shredded with sharp, curved claws.

“Brootser, the Pelting Pokemon. The evolved form of Brogue. With incredibly sharp claws and powerful jaws, Brootser are highly aggressive and territorial. Even against much stronger foes, it won’t back down easily,” her Pokedex chirruped.

Isla’s hand tightened around Soba’s Pokeball as she read more details. A Fighting type. A second evolution. Being a Furret, Soba wouldn’t stand much chance in a fair fight, much less an unfair one. While she did generally feel more comfortable approaching a fellow Pokemon owner, she probably could have stood to pick one with a less terrifying partner.

All the same, she approached the sailor, keeping herself primed like a coiled spring. “Excuse me? I was wondering if you could help me with something?”

The sailor had a strong, lined face, but he didn’t seem anywhere near as intimidating when he relaxed into a smile. “Sure,” he boomed. “What can I do for you?”

“Are there going to be any sailings from this port in the next few days? Anywhere that lands near Inverbrook?”

The Brootser, distracted from its work with the knots, pressed its wet nose against Isla’s hand. Isla let out an involuntary squeak.

“Brootser, stop that!” the sailor said firmly. “Sorry, miss. He’s obsessed with leather. Have you got leather in your handbag or anything? Your shoes? I swear, he can sniff it out within a mile. I have to keep him distracted at work otherwise he’d never leave people alone. Here, Brootser, go and do this for me.”

The sailor tossed a section of rope a few feet down the docks. The Brootser growled, a deep throaty rumble, before dropping to all fours and pursuing. Within moments, the rope was ripped to little more than fibres.

Isla searched for something to say. She eventually settled on, “He’s cute.”

“He’s a menace is what he is,” the sailor said, wiping his brow. “Anyway, you were asking about the ferries? Unfortunately, the passenger ferry was badly damaged in that storm two nights ago and won’t be running any routes for a while.”

“How long is a while?” Isla asked nervously.

“We’re waiting for some metal workers to come down from Hydrogate. They’re delayed because their Weldeon team were exhausted after a big job in the ironworks. Currently we’re looking at about a week.”

“A week?”

“I’m afraid so. If you go to reception and leave your details, they’ll be able to contact you as soon as we know when the sailings will be going ahead.”

“Aren’t there any other options?”

The sailor considered. “Not here. But if you’re set on sailing and you could get to Dewbrae Town, I think they’re still running sailings.”

“Where’s Dewbrae Town? Is it close?”

“It’s up past Aberdrip City, which is an hour’s drive north of here. Then you have to pass through Aberdrip Forest and that brings you out just at Dewbrae. Maybe a couple of days walking if you keep a steady pace,” he paused, and Isla felt his eyes rake her body. “Maybe a couple more. But, if you’re in a hurry, it’s better than waiting around here. Everything’s very up in the air at the moment.”

Isla thanked the sailor, trying to ignore the heavy feeling that came over her. Why was this so difficult? She’d encountered disaster at every turn so far and, in her darkest moments, she couldn’t deny wondering if it was even worth it to keep going. Nana Morag ill, no passage to Inverbrook through Route 27, no ferry from the Port Glen docks, now she had to go all the way to Dewbrae – wherever that was – on nothing more than a possibility?

But what could she do? What other options did she have?

Rhona would know what to do, Isla decided. She had a way of sorting things out, an uncanny level-headedness her own mother didn’t have. That’s what she’d do. She’d head back to the croft and take stock of the situation. She started walking, thoughts whirling through her head like the flapping of birds’ wings. Maybe there was another way to Inverbrook. They knew the region better than she ever would. Maybe they could—

“WIIIIING!”

Isla gasped and swore as her foot trod on something soft. With a gust of cold air, the offending thing burst upwards and pain erupted at the top of her head. Sharp, pointed talons dug into her scalp and she yelped in pain.

“Gull! Gull!” her assailant screeched; each squawk accompanied by a swift peck to the head.

Isla’s hands closed around her attacker’s soft wriggling body. With all her might, she tore it from her head and tossed it as far as she could manage. But the Pokemon swooped back into the air, seemingly unharmed, fixing Isla with a glare that sent a tremble down her spine.

“Gull! Wingull!” it shrieked.

Recognition dropped into Isla’s belly like a stone. It was a Kildonian Wingull. The same Kildonian Wingull that had attacked Rhona the day Isla got off the ferry. At least, it certainly looked like the same one – she could hardly call herself an expert on them – but it was roughly the same size and had the same high-pitched squawk. And didn’t the Pokedex say that Kildonian Wingull only attacked people who had food? Isla didn’t have a single crumb on her. So what other motive could it possibly have for attacking her?

Isla reached for the Pokeball at her waist, panicked fingers scrabbling for the catch. But the Wingull screeched again, diving into a tackle.  The impact came low in her stomach, knocking the air from her lungs and leaving her doubled over. The second blow sent her off-balance and stumbling, eventually crashing to the ground where the pain came in sharp spikes. With a fury of feathers, the Pokemon ripped Isla’s bag away from her.

“Hey!” She wheezed. “There’s nothing in there for you!”

Her protests were rewarded with a face full of frigid water.

By the time Isla had sluiced the water from her face, the Wingull had unhooked the bag’s clasp and was digging around in her things. Hairbrush and deodorant were both ignored, the coin purse in the shape of a Quagsire got an inquisitive gnaw but ultimately left in favour of a pen, which lasted a whole thirty seconds until it splintered and was promptly spat back out.

Every inhale felt like she was being stabbed underneath the ribs, but she still forced herself to move. “Leave my things alone! There’s no food in there!”

Wingull had wriggled itself right into the bottom of the bag and had pulled out an old emergency kit that Isla had nearly forgotten about. Most of the items had already been used or dumped over the years she’d had it, leaving only a couple of travel sized Potions, a Repel Kit, and a Poke Doll, wrapped up in a worn-out bag. The Wingull squawked indignantly and decapitated the doll in one fell swoop. Then it turned back on the travel bag, scraping around and tearing at it with its beak.  

Something dropped out. Isla’s heart plummeted to somewhere near her feet.

It was a Pokeball. An old Pokeball scratched and grimy with age. A Pokeball that Isla had all but forgotten about ever since she made the decision to train just Soba all those years ago. A Pokeball that was now right in the Kildonian Wingull’s line of sight.

She saw it happening before it actually did. The hungry Wingull viewed the Pokeball as nothing more than a shiny, tasty snack. It darted forward, opened its beak wide, and engulfed the old capsule. Isla prayed that the ten year old ball would turn out to be too old to work anymore, and the worst thing to happen would be the Wingull hacking it back up again. But the Pokeball made a shrill shiiing noise as it made contact with Wingull’s beak, and the Pokemon disappeared in a flash of blue light.

The Pokeball shook. Once. Twice. Three times. Then it was still.

And Isla had caught a Kildonian Wingull.

**

Isla told the story of her accidental Wingull capture to an appreciative audience when she got back from the docks. And then again over sandwiches at lunchtime. While Soba curled up in the corner next to the radiator, oblivious to this new teammate, Isla released Wingull for the nerve-wracking job of introductions and feeding time. Rhona’s eyebrows rose so high that they practically disappeared into her hairline, but she didn’t protest.

“I can’t believe it’s the same one,” Rhona said, eyeing her half-eaten sandwich she was planning on saving for later. “Most try their luck once and then move on.”

“I think it’s young,” Blair said, lifting its wing to get a better look. “Perhaps separated from its mum too early. Maybe it doesn’t know any better.”

“I didn’t mean to catch it,” Isla sighed. “I’d forgotten all about that old Pokeball. We were always told to carry an extra one or two, even if we never intended to catch Pokemon, like for emergencies and that.”

“It must have been starving if it thought a Pokeball was food. Or maybe just exceptionally stupid.”

“Jury’s out on that one,” Isla said, as the Wingull pecked at a Tauros shaped pepper shaker.

“Kildonian Wingull are incredibly food oriented,” Blair lifted his plate to avoid the Pokemon’s frantically flapping wings. “Most of the bird Pokemon around here are.”

“Why is that?”

“Competition. Because there’s so many, they all compete for the same natural resources. That’s part of why people think Wingull adapted for Kildo the way they did. They couldn’t compete for most of the natural food, so they evolved to take food from humans instead. Problem is, they end up thinking all food is fair game. Hey, watch it! No! That’s mine!”

Isla suppressed a chuckle as Wingull lunged for the crusts on Blair’s sandwiches. In the kerfuffle of squawking and feathers, Isla looked over at Skye, who hadn’t said a word through the entire of lunch. Her face was screwed up.

“Skye? Are you alright?” Isla asked.

Skye made an odd strangling noise, pushed herself back from the chair, and ran for the stairs, each one thudding under her feet. A moment later, a door slammed.

“Did I say something wrong?” Isla said, horrified.

“No, not at all,” Rhona said, rescuing a glass of juice that had been upended when Skye left the table. “She’s just a bit upset. We were supposed to be going up to meet Professor Spruce tomorrow to get her trainer’s license and first Pokemon. But because Nana Morag is in hospital, I have to be here in case something comes up on short notice, and I just can’t spare the time to take Skye up to Aberdrip City. She’ll only be delayed for a few days, but the poor lass was so looking forward to it. Especially when she’s had to wait so much longer than everyone else.”

“Why’s that?”

It was only after she asked the question that she considered it might have been rude. Or none of her business. Too late to save herself now, though. Rhona’s face tightened, her mouth puckering like she was sucking on a sour lemon.

“Sorry,” Isla looked down at the table. “I shouldn’t be nosy.”

The kitchen fell quiet. Rhona let out a deep, juddering exhale and sat back down, folding her hands into her lap, the kitchen suddenly feeling about ten degrees colder. Isla took a sip of water, her mouth and throat turning to chalk.

“Skye had childhood cancer.” The words didn’t even get a chance to settle before they were tumbling out again, like Rhona was trying to get them all out at once. Like they couldn’t hurt her as much that way. “She spent most of her childhood in hospital with leukaemia.”

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.” Once again Isla found herself cursing both her mother and herself for not bothering to find any of this information out beforehand.

Rhona shook her head. “It’s alright, chick. We don’t talk about it much. Besides, she’s been in remission for a year now. But she’s missed out on so much school and she gets tired so easily.”

There was nothing Isla could say that would be enough. She had to settle for, “I’m sorry to hear that…” and hope Rhona could somehow understand just how much she meant it.

“There was a time when she was being treated that she became very low and very depressed. It was frightening. I’ve never been so worried in all my life. We were scared she was just… giving up. Then, one day, they had some Pokemon trainers visit the hospital. A lot of children there would never be able to go out training. Some wouldn’t even… you know, live to see their next birthday.”

Rhona’s voice wavered. Blair put his hand over hers and squeezed. “Easy, Mum. Don’t go upsetting yourself now.”

“One of the trainers was assigned to Skye,” Rhona continued. “But she was so quiet and so withdrawn that we didn’t think the trainer could get through to her. The trainer had this Pokemon with her – Ampster, I think it was – and it was like a light turned on behind Skye’s eyes when she saw it. I saw glimpses of my daughter again. This trainer stayed with her for hours. Just talking. She’s wanted to be a Pokemon trainer ever since. And I hate that so many things keep getting in her way.”

Rhona sunk her head into her hands. Her shoulders quivered.

Isla felt terrible. No wonder Skye had been quiet during the whole of lunch. How stupid had she been? Skye was being kept from her dream of being a Pokemon trainer and she’d waltzed into their kitchen showing off a Pokemon she hadn’t even meant to catch? It made Isla’s toes curl just thinking about it.

“Could Skye not make the journey on her own?” she asked.

“No,” Rhona lifted her head again, looking pale even at the thought. “She’s not fit enough. We were going to rent a car and drive her, but…”

“Could I take her?”

The offer slipped past Isla’s lips before she knew what she was doing. Rhona looked at her in mild shock, her mouth slowly gaping open.

“I mean, I’ll be passing through Aberdrip anyway!” Isla continued. “One of the sailors said I could get the ferry from Dewbrae Town which is just past Aberdrip, right?. I could take her along with me.”

“Gosh, that’s very kind of you, chick. And I’m sure Skye would love it,” Rhona said, nervously glancing at the stairs. “But I’m not comfortable with her making the trip back on her own. Or even just the amount of walking she’d have to do.”

“I could go with them,” Blair said.

Rhona looked at her son like she’d only just remembered he existed. “What’s that, honey?”

“I could go with them,” he repeated. “We could put Skye on Coastrot. That’s my partner Pokemon,” he added for Isla’s benefit. “He’s strong enough to carry her and we can keep her nicely bundled up. Then once Isla heads off to Dewbrae, I can take Skye back.”

“I don’t know,” Rhona said. “We need you here too.”

“Mum, it’s a day. Maybe two, tops, if we let Skye rest overnight. You and Dad can manage that long, right? You could ask a couple of the lads from the market to pitch in if you really need to. I’m sure they’d work for a hot pie and some cash in hand. And you don’t need to worry about us. We won’t do anything silly. We’ll just get Skye her Pokemon, check in for the night, see Isla off to Dewbrae the next morning and head back ourselves. Easy-peasy!”

Rhona still didn’t look convinced. “It’s such a long way, though. She’s not been away overnight in such a long time.”

“It’s a few hours of travelling, Mum. You said it yourself, Skye’s already missed out on so much. It might not feel like much for us, but for Skye, it’s her whole life. One delay after the other. And with everything the way it is right now, what if there’s just more delays? More reasons not to take her? You have to let her.”

Rhona went very quiet, her face pale.

“I’ll look after her, Mum,” Blair said. “She needs this.”

“I know you will. And I know she does,” Rhona heaved a sigh. “She’s not my little baby anymore. She’s growing up.”

“I’d like to go.”

Everyone jumped at the voice that came in from the doorway. Rhona wiped her eyes. “Oh, Skye, honey, sorry. I didn’t hear you come down. Are you okay?”

“I think I can do it,” Skye ignored her mother’s question. Her voice was louder this time, but still hesitant, like she was testing out its limits. “I want to go get my Pokemon and I’d like Blair and Coastrot to take me. And Isla,” she added, and Isla felt a smile curve onto her face. “If that’s okay with you?”

Silence widened like a chasm between mother and daughter and for one horrible moment, Isla half-expected Rhona to turn away, to start shouting, to deny her flat out. But then tears spilled out of Rhona’s eyes and her whole face softened.

“Yes, honey,” Rhona said, her voice little more than a whisper. “Yes, that’ll be okay with me.”

As they hugged, Isla felt a stray tear prick at the corner of her eye. The emotion surprised her. Yes, it was touching to see a mother and daughter hug and reconcile, but something told her it went deeper. As she looked out at the dying sky, strewn with deepening orange and slicks of black, something unsettled itself in her heart.

Tomorrow she would be leaving Port Glen. Tomorrow she would leave behind a family unit where she felt accepted. Tomorrow she would start her journey to Inverbrook.

She didn’t know which one felt scarier.

[gallickingun]

I hope you don't mind me asking... How did you get followers? I want to start my own blog but I want to make sure I can reach audiences I want to reach. I don't have any friends who know I write, and honestly I'm not sure I'd want them to read my works anyway. I get embarrassed easily. It's much easier for me to talk to someone that I don't have a face for. Does that make sense? Probably not. But how did you start your adventure here?

I want to preface this with follower count can make sense, or it can’t. I’ve made friends with some of the most amazing, most talented writers who have less than a thousand followers. I’ve made friends with amazing, talented writers who have thousands of followers. I genuinely don’t know how to trick the algorithm into listening to you, haha, but just know that numbers don’t equal talent; popularity does not always equal skill. So please, even if you don’t have the high follower count of someone else, don’t let it discourage you from writing! Everyone starts somewhere, and everyone grows differently. 

But, I’ve found that it all depends on who you write for, what you write, and how often you write. 

Who you write for: Bakugou is one of the most popular characters. I truly didn’t know this when I entered the fandom, but it was really what got me started on the upward climb. I’m by no means a big blogger, lol, but I know that writing for Bakugou was what helped me out initially. He was originally the only character who I could write for because he was my favorite and I hadn’t really gotten too far into the show. I think the same goes for other fandoms - if you write for the more popular characters, who have more content in demand because they have more fans, you’re more likely to gain more followers. 

DISCLAIMER: Do not let this keep you from writing for other characters who are less popular, if you prefer to write for them. Content is needed for all characters! I am desperate for some Sugawara content, but he’s not one of the more popular characters that people write for (see: Kuroo, Ushiwaka, Bokuto, Oikawa, Iwa, and Akaashi). If we only focus on the popular characters, the ones that get us the most growth, but those aren’t the characters we love, the content can seem disingenuous, if that makes sense. I got lucky by Bakugou being my favorite. But like, when I try to push out Kaminari content, I find that it’s a real struggle for me because I don’t necessarily vibe with Kaminari as a character. The same goes in reverse. If the minor characters have your heart, but you try to force out content for the popular characters, it can be tough to write and come across like you don’t really want to write it. Write who you want to write! 

What you write: This is a really big deal right now, but I’m just gonna say it lol. NSFW gets more notes. I don’t say that to force you into writing NSFW content - I actually had never read/written NSFW content until this past March, and I’m 22, going on 23. Originally, when I decided to start writing, I wanted to be NSFW-free, but some stuff changed in life and in writing and I chose to make the change.

Also, I’ve found for each fandom, different things are more prevalent. For instance, the BNHA fandom seems to do a lot of AU’s and full length fics, but the Haikyuu!! fandom seems to do more traditional works that follow canon and then the content itself is mostly headcanons and short scenarios. I think you have to find what works for you and write it to the best of your ability. I suck at headcanons, I’ve never really been able to do them and they stress me out. So I stick to full length fics. I know this means I’ll do better in one fandom versus the other, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to start only doing headcanons just because it’s what’s popular. 

DISCLAIMER: This does NOT mean that just because someone wrote 10k words of smut, that it’s better or more involved than your 10k words of fluff/angst/domestic/etc. writing. Unfortunately, there are horn dogs out there who are especially touch starved during quarantine. It doesn’t make anyone better or worse because they choose to write about being naked versus being clothed. Please don’t let this discourage you from writing SFW-only writing, as there are tons of people out there who are just as desperate for some comfort fics about cuddling completely clothed. 

How often you write: When I first started, I had a lot more time on my hands and was able to pump out content much quicker. I grew pretty rapidly in a short period of time because I was able to consistently put out content. Since I’ve gotten more busy and my mental illness has reared it’s ugly head, I’ve not been able to write as much and I can tell my follower count growth had tapered off. But the pace in which you post content generally helps increase your follower count, because people know that you will continuously feed them with the goods! Sometimes it might be good to set a schedule so others know when you’ll be posting - say a new fic every Friday? Or sometimes it can be good to keep your followers engaged with thirst posts (SFW or NSFW), or specific nights where you do events that focus on a certain character or genre. 

DISCLAIMER: DO NOT FORCE YOURSELF TO PUSH OUT CONTENT. Please be aware within your own self what your limits are. Just because one writer can sit at home and push out tons of short scenarios and drabbles during the day, but you can’t, doesn’t mean either of you are doing anything wrong. It just means that one person has a different availability than you. I don’t really do thirst posts a ton in the same respect that others do them, because I know that I’ll want to write a whole fic out of the couple of sentences that my followers might send in. However, there are many others within the fandom that can respond with a few paragraphs that take a few minutes to type out. It doesn’t mean that they’re better than me and I’m a horrible writer, it just means that in this area, they’re more skilled or have more time. 

Also, don’t be afraid to tag people and send out DMs! I promise your writer idols are not nearly as scary as you think they are. And they’re probably just as excited to get a DM from you as you are to talk to them! I was really hesitant to reach out to anyone before, because I never really did much chatting in other fandoms, but the anime fandoms I’ve been apart of have been very kind and welcoming, and helpful! I made some of my closest friends because I tagged them in my works or I joined a server with them in it, or I read their stuff and reached out to them to fangirl over it. Don’t be afraid to reach out, even if you just keep the conversation focused on your writing, it’ll still be worth it in the end! The worst thing that could happen is they don’t reply or the conversation fizzles out. Either way, you will have made a connection, and blasted one another with some serotonin.

Remember to take breaks. Take a hiatus every once and a while! Take some time for yourself to recharge. If this begins to feel like a job, like an obligation, and you feel yourself dragging your feet just to put out content, please step back and reevaluate. This is a hobby, it’s supposed to be fun. Once it stops being fun, take a breather and reassess what you’re doing. Sometimes this means closing requests, sometimes this means opening requests, sometimes this means participating in collab fics, sometimes this means disconnecting entirely. This is just tumblr, in the end, and you should be able to take care of yourself first rather than pinning yourself into a corner to try and post content for the sake of your followers. In the end, everyone wants you to be happy and healthy, so you can put your best foot forward in life and in your hobbies. So please, for the love of everything, take a break every now and then. Disconnect, recharge, and regroup. 

I also had a blog before this one, my main, so I’ve been on tumblr for eight year prior to this. I’m not going to even claim that I begin to understand how this hellsite works, but I will say that I’ve been writing on here for a while now, since way back to my band blog days. Eventually you just write what you want to write, and chat with your followers and your friends, and you’ll grow organically. When you start to pressure yourself over it, it can become like a cloud looming over you, and then when you don’t perform up to your preset standards, it might be a little disappointing. Follower milestones are cool to want to achieve and celebrate, but don’t pour all your focus into them. For the most part, I use milestones for celebration events to give back to my followers, or to set goals for myself like opening commissions! But they don’t determine my worth as a writer, because sometimes the tumblr algorithm is more giving to some rather than others.

Whew, this was a doozy. But I hope it helped! Some of these answers might come off a little crass, but I’m just trying to be honest. Don’t let anything deter you from doing whatever the hell you wanna do.

You wanna write that rarepair? DO IT. You wanna write character x character? DO IT. You wanna write about your Original Characters? DO IT. 

Whatever it is you want to do, do it! And have a helluva time doing it 💕

[the-odd-job]

When the Heart Is Yearning - Chapter 1: Death’s Doorstep

Rating: Explicit Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Major Character Death Category: General Fandom: Transformers > Merformers Characters: Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, Bluestreak, Original Characters Relationships: None Additional Tags: Captivity, Captive Mers, Aquariums, Aliens, Alien Planet, Post-Partum, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Incest, Codependency, Hermaphrodites, Starvation, Self-Starvation, Drowning, Suicide, Injuries, Murder, Euthanasia, Hurt No Comfort, Graphic Emaciation, Forced Feeding, Minor Character Death Words for Chapter: 6678

Direct continuation of Nature Calls. An alternative outcome of the fic; for a slightly happier version you can check out Fading Light.

This is not a happy fic in any shape or form. Please, please, PLEASE heed the tags. There's an actual image at the end, that I drew, that is not any more happy than the rest of the fic, and to which the warning tags also apply. This isn't just graphically descriptive of certain things, there's actual visual material to go with it.

Proceed with caution, I beg of you.

And if I missed any tags, please say so and I'll add them at once.

“Please come back.”

He’d whispered that plea into the emptiness of the tank, with no one but his newborn pups there to hear him. How desperately he’d wished Sunstreaker was there, yearning for it with his whole being… He just wanted the presence, the support Sunstreaker had promised him and that he knew his brother would also give him.

He wanted to disappear into Sunstreaker’s embrace and just for a moment forget about everything else. Pretend everything was fine.

Just long enough that he could get himself together.

Because he was a mess right now, even Sideswipe could recognize that much through said mess.

He cried, and he cried, and he cried, his face in his palms, his shoulders shaking. It was hard to breathe.

And the babes, oh Primus. The babes were there, and they would have needed him. That thought didn’t help, the everyone is asking far too much from me feeling weighing down on him and stealing all of his strength, emotional as well as physical.

And all the while the babes waited, because there wasn’t much else they could do. One continued to sit on his tail; he could feel it moving every now and then.

The other one kept laying next to him, frighteningly still.

He didn’t know how long they all spent like that, the babes patiently waiting and him shattering into tiny little pieces he wasn’t sure he would ever be able to pick up and put back together again. Time, as a concept, completely eluded him when he was already so preoccupied, even though the thought that he needed to see to the pups, right now was wrecking the back of his mind.

It didn’t help.

Nothing helped.

He just wanted Sunstreaker. Sunstreaker was rock solid when he was there for him. Sunstreaker didn’t bend or break.

The same couldn’t be said for him, now.

The lights had begun to dim when Sideswipe finally managed to calm his breathing, little by little. It took a while from that to pry his hands away from his face and finally… Acknowledge what had happened.

Accept it.

He had pups to look after now. They needed him. It wasn’t just about himself anymore.

And it didn’t matter how the pups had come to be or who their sire was. That didn’t change things.

It didn’t change the fact he wanted to be a good carrier for them—as good as he could be in the circumstances. As good as he could be despite the fact they lived within four solid walls that he’d never left since the day they’d brought him here.

He didn’t want to think about the alternative, the wild. It was pointless. It would only make him hurt more.

So he didn’t allow those thoughts foothold.

Accept it. Maybe they wouldn’t keep the babes here forever—although he could only hope they didn’t take them away right away—but even if they didn’t, what his babes would see once they left was likely just another tank not so different from this one.

If he knew the humans any.

It was something he just had to live with. It wouldn’t change things no matter how he dreamed of a way out, an escape, or however much he raged against their captors. He’d done a lot of both when he was younger.

It hadn’t changed anything. It wouldn’t change anything.

He wouldn’t teach his babes anything about the wild. There would be nothing for them to yearn for when they wouldn’t know of anything else—of anything better. 

That decision, it… Calmed him. He had a course of action he could follow.

Just as long as Sunstreaker allowed him. He wasn’t sure what his brother would think, and as the sire of the pups, he… He had say too.

But maybe he could convince him into agreeing with him, even if Sunstreaker was against it at the beginning.

Just as soon as they returned Sunstreaker.

He’d have to wait for that. In the meantime he had pups to look after, and after a deep breath Sideswipe finally gave his attention to them. He smiled at the one still on his tail, where it had probably sat and stared at him through all the hours he’d completely failed at being the mother they needed.

But he didn’t attend to it first. Its sibling was his first concern, and carefully, so as to not jostle the more active pup, he reached to the side and grabbed and lifted the little one laying on the (luckily) warm floor.

It made a little noise at the handling, and Sideswipe felt a surge of relief at the fact it was at least still alive. He brought it up for inspection, wiping a careful thumb over its little cheek.

It was lax in his hold, but at the contact it opened its eyes. They were the same orange hue as its sibling’s, as he’d expected.

Sideswipe smiled at it too, and got a blink for his trouble.

The secondborn wasn’t smaller than the firstborn, but something was different about them for the first one to be so alert, and this one… Weak, somehow. 

He’d have to keep a special eye on it. Make sure-

...Make sure the fact its sire was also his brother hadn’t adversely affected it.

Sideswipe brought the babe closer to his face and snapped the umbilical cord between his teeth. Once the pup was free, he let go of it, and to his pleasure the little one did start swimming. Or using its swim bladder, rather, because it sort of just… Floated there.

Sideswipe chuckled before gently pushing it aside and picking up its sibling. The process was repeated on the stronger pup too, and then they were both ready to swim on their own.

There were no dangers in the tank, so Sideswipe left them to it while he started to clean up the mess birthing them had left behind. The placenta was neatly disposed of, although he could do little about the blood still in the water.

Normally he would’ve just- No, no, there was no point in thinking about normal. This was his normal. Their normal.

He pushed those thoughts aside studiously before he returned his attention to the babes. They were practicing their swimming techniques by following him around, and the stronger one was helping its sibling along when it struggled under its own strength.

Warmth bloomed in his chest and Sideswipe couldn’t help his smile. It was good to see them working together already.

...Not that there was any reason why they would’ve needed teamplay, because- No, those were forbidden thoughts too.

Sideswipe shook his head to chase them away and focused back on the present and the babes. He would need to keep them entertained.

And once Sunstreaker got back… Maybe things would start to be alright then.

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

He waited. The season met its end, though he wouldn’t have been surprised if the humans didn’t know that right away. At least they didn’t bring Sunstreaker back then.

So he waited a little longer, and played with the pups, made sure they had something to do when they were awake, and curled up with them on the floor of the tank when they tired and needed a rest. The secondborn was still the one quicker to tire, but it was gaining strength.

It came to be a week or so after the end of the season. They still hadn’t brought Sunstreaker back. Sideswipe began to worry.

Two weeks. It still wasn’t too unusual. Sometimes they separated them for weeks at a time, when they fought badly enough and needed time to recover.

But they hadn’t fought. The only reason they had moved Sunstreaker seemed to have been the season, and things were long past that.

Why didn’t they bring Sunstreaker back?

Three weeks, nothing.

Four weeks. Still nothing.

Six weeks. He held onto hope.

Two months.

The pups were growing nicely and were about equal now, the secondborn having bridged the gap between them much to Sideswipe’s relief. But it was hard to focus on that. Really, really hard.

It was hard to keep his thoughts from Sunstreaker and the question that ate at his mind day and night.

Why hadn’t they brought Sunstreaker back yet?

He couldn’t keep still anymore. He was always fidgeting. The pups were copying him, turning restless even though there was no way for them to understand what was happening.

They couldn’t understand the growing fear that they had no intentions of returning Sunstreaker. They’d never met him.

Never met their sire.

Was this them punishing them for what happened? It had been the humans’ own damn fault! If they hadn’t-

If they’d just left them in the ocean, none of this would have happened.

But he didn’t want to think about that.

Yet the alternative was to think about Sunstreaker and feel the fear constrict his chest. Whether he yearned for the wild or his brother, he couldn’t seem to not want for something more than what he was given. 

But was it too much to ask that Sunstreaker was here with him? They’d spent their whole lives together. What had changed?

The pups? Was it because of the pups? The mating? That thing they had done that had had results neither of them had wanted? He couldn’t think of any other reason. It was the only thing that had changed.

Three months.

Half a year.

They weren’t going to bring Sunstreaker back, were they? 

The pups were growing, and Sideswipe should have been proud of that fact. They were active and strong, flitting around the tank without a single worry on their minds.

It had been right to never tell them about the world outside the tank. They’d adapted to this life in the way babes picked things up so fast. Malleable, easy to teach.

They were used to this life, now. They didn’t know of anything else. They’d never even met mers other than their sibling and carrier.

But they should have met their sire.

And all the thoughts relating to that one were what made Sideswipe despair, what kept him from being happy with his pups’ progress.

He wasn’t alone, but he felt so lonely.

The one thing he’d had for his whole life wasn’t there anymore. Sunstreaker wasn’t there anymore.

He didn’t know what to do.

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

He didn’t get used to it. He had thought that maybe with time he would, that he could put Sunstreaker behind him, just… Accept he was no longer a part of his life.

But he couldn’t. How could he have? Sunstreaker had been the most important thing in his life since the beginning of their time, always there. He loved his brother, more than anything. More than he loved the pups, as much as he cared about them too.

They were the only thing he had left of Sunstreaker. And they looked so much like him. Every time he looked at them, he could see his brother in them—in their features, in their colors, in their fins. Someone might have argued that they looked like Sideswipe too, that he and Sunstreaker had always looked very alike, but all Sideswipe could see was Sunstreaker.

They were all he had. And for them he put up a smile even when he felt he had no reason to smile.

He missed Sunstreaker so much. He couldn’t get under, over, or around that.

He just missed him.

It made his very core ache, made him feel so lost even though there was nothing to get lost in here. It was a simple life. Swim, practice taking orders from humans, swim some more.

Eat.

He hadn’t really had an appetite. 

He’d let the pups have his portion more often than not. He wasn’t sure if the humans had noticed at first, but they did nothing about it in the beginning.

But he started losing weight. Sideswipe could tell that much as his tail slimmed down until you could almost make out the muscles beneath the scaled skin.

That wasn’t supposed to happen.

But he didn’t really have an appetite. 

That was when the humans started to go out of their way to get him to eat. They’d try to offer the fish directly to him, and when he simply handed it onward to one of the pups, they had him come out of water and onto the platform where they would try feed him.

He didn’t really have an appetite, though.

So he’d turn his head away and refuse, sometimes turning around entirely and just slipping back into the water before he was given the permission to do so.

There were always the treats that came as a reward for doing the tricks they wanted from him. They had him doing more tricks than usual to have more reasons to reward him.

Eventually he stopped eating those, too. 

His weight kept dropping.

That was when the force feeding started.

They brought him on land with a call that he stupidly obeyed, even though he had no other reason to do so than sheer boredom and wanting any excuse to break the monotony. He hopped out of the water onto the platform, and moved further from the water’s edge when they beckoned him forward. 

It wasn’t that unusual for them to direct his arms behind his back and tie them together at the wrists. They did that sometimes, when they didn’t trust him to not act up during this or that. Sideswipe didn’t fret over it even as he tested the bonds, only to find them solid enough.

Needles? Also not too unusual. Sometimes they gathered blood from him, sometimes they injected something into him. It happened.

So Sideswipe laid there on the cold floor, barely flinching when the needle pierced his skin.

The humans waited around for a while, as did Sideswipe to see what they’d done this time. When he began to feel a little drowsy, he had a pretty good idea of what that something was.

Sedatives. Not enough to knock him out entirely, but enough to make him placid.

He rested his head against the floor, blinking as his thoughts started to run sluggishly. Somewhere at the back of his mind he wondered what it had been for this time.

He didn’t need to wait long for an answer. Hazily he followed as the humans moved around in his field of vision, until they stepped up to him and caught his head. He growled lowly at the handling, but they knew he wasn’t Sunstreaker.

Sunstreaker would’ve tried to bite their damn hands off.

Sunstreaker…

He was distracted from the path his thoughts started to take when someone stuck their fingers into his mouth. He barely had the time to wonder about it before his mouth was already pried open, and wedged that way for good measure.

That was when his good temper ran out. Sideswipe flailed, trying to move away and get the damn thing out of his mouth, tugging on his bound arms-

But they were prepared for his struggles. There were enough of them to pin his head and shoulders into immobility, and do the same to his tail. Normally that might not have been enough, but normally he wasn’t fighting just to get his body to move. His coordination was gone, each of his thoughts clouded.

It didn’t stop him from knowing he did not want anything to do with whatever they were about to do to him.

That thought was only further confirmed when they held his head still and slipped something into his mouth. They didn’t stop there though, oh no. The damn thing was carefully directed into his esophagus; he could feel it crawling further and further down into his chest.

He tried to pull away, to bite, to knock off the humans holding him, but it was no good. There were too many, his mouth was held open, and he was too out of it to put up a real fight.

That didn’t mean he wanted to admit defeat or make the process any easier on them. So he continued to struggle, in vain, even as the tube slipped further and further down until it met his stomach.

That was when they stopped that part of it, apparently satisfied. Sideswipe tried to swallow on reflex, to move the blockage in his throat up, or down, or really any damn direction that wasn’t stuck in his food pipe. The feeling was horrid, but they wouldn’t let him do anything about it. 

Sideswipe wheezed, feeling his heart beat several times faster than it was supposed to. He wouldn’t have said he was scared, but anger was definitely rising as it often did when the humans decided to do something particularly outlandish. He had no purchase to act on it, though. His arms stayed stuck behind his back and the humans kept a tight hold of him.

And the tube wouldn’t budge.

He hadn’t wanted to guess for its purpose and likely get it wrong, but when one of the humans approached his head with a container of some sort of sludge, Sideswipe tensed.

He didn’t particularly fancy being right about this one thing, but when that human proceeded to force the slurry down the tube, all the way to his stomach… He was right.

If he wasn’t going to eat, they were apparently going to feed him whether he liked it or not.

Resignation sank into his bones and made him finally still, closing his eyes and letting the humans do as they pleased—they were going to do it anyway, weren’t they?—while he tried to fight back the discomfort of having something stuck in his throat, of feeling something enter his stomach without input from him.

It wasn’t much that they forced into him. It was over faster than he would’ve expected; before long they were already carefully pulling the tube back out. Sideswipe pulled his head back when it had almost cleared his throat, and surprisingly they let him.

The tube slipped out entirely, to great relief from him, and the wedge was quickly removed too. He gasped and would’ve wanted to rub at his sore throat if it wasn’t for the fact they still had his arms tied. They fixed that soon enough too, though. They unbound his arms, and in the same breath gave him the permission to return back to the water.

Like he wouldn’t have done that anyway.

Still a little uncoordinated, Sideswipe got his arms beneath himself and turned around, whacking one of the newer humans with his tail as he did. They crashed into the supplies behind them to audible distress from the others, but Sideswipe didn’t stay to see what happened.

He pulled himself to the platform’s edge and fell over it into the welcoming water. His pups were immediately upon him, distressed by what they had witnessed. They had been taught to suffer through several procedures without putting up too much of a fuss, but never… That.  

“Carrier! Are you okay? What did they do? Why did they do that for?” came the anxious questions as they circled around him, laid their little hands on him to assure themselves he was still in one piece.

And Sideswipe didn’t know what to tell them. Didn’t know how to say he missed someone they didn’t even know so dearly that his will to do anything was wavering—that eating was just one of many things he didn’t really want to do.

That his fasting would have eventually weakened him, if the humans hadn’t decided they didn’t want him in poor health. 

That if he had continued undisturbed long enough, he would have died.

But that wasn’t what he had wanted to do. He didn’t want to leave the babes. He just…

Primus, he missed Sunstreaker so much. 

He still didn’t want to eat, but neither did he want a repeat of what the humans had done. So he made a point to eat, a little bit.

Not enough. It was barely a week before he was called from the water again, before the whole process was repeated again, before the pups were distressed all over again.

So he ate a little bit more.

Still not enough. Again they did it, but he could’ve never told when they called him out of the water for it, and when it was for completely unrelated things. 

So he went, and they held him down and forced more of their sludge into his stomach.

He ate even more after that, just to avoid having to go through it yet again. This time he found the balance. He still didn’t eat as much as he once had, but…

He ate enough to keep the humans satisfied.

He ate enough to keep the babes from having to see that particular thing even one more time.

That would do.

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

The babes grew so much, so fast, just like they were supposed to. The time to call them pups came and went. Soon they were already yearlings, lanky and awkward but full of life and desire to learn. 

But yearlings meant the onset of the season, once again. They were too young to participate.

Sideswipe wasn’t.

They all felt the call, even if he was the only one with the need attached to it. Even the babes were swimming restlessly this time of the year, something in them telling them to go to places they had never seen—didn’t even know existed.

They didn’t know what to do with that feeling, but then neither did Sideswipe. There was no available outlet for it except to swim, swim, and swim, circling the tank in a never ending loop. So that was what they all did. It was their first lesson on the mating season, too, although Sideswipe was careful to leave everything he told vague.

To not hint at the existence of the ocean.

They didn’t need to know any more than what was necessary to explain what was right in front of their noses. He had to lie a little bit, too, to explain away the apparent need to go somewhere.

Say it was nothing big.

Make no mention of the Gathering.

Sideswipe grit his teeth and bore the season, complete with its need and the ever constant frustration. He had no other option. The babes were too young, and…

If Sunstreaker was here, he wouldn’t have wanted to be in the same tank with him. Not during the season, not after what happened during that first one they were old enough to participate in.

Except that was a lie, wasn’t it? If having Sunstreaker here during the season was the tradeoff to having Sunstreaker around at all, he would never say no.

Even if the tradeoff was a repeat of what had given a beginning to the babes…

He still wouldn’t have said no.

There was no privacy in the tank, but when Sideswipe sequestered himself into one corner, the babes gave him space to bury his face into his hands and give in to the awful distance he felt from Sunstreaker.

He missed him so much. Missed his scent, all but gone from the tank, the room.

Missed his voice, rough and handsome.

Missed the sight of him, now only a shadow of it left in the babes.

Missed his temper, his deadpan sense of humor, the way he’d wrapped him into his arms whenever things felt tough.

Why had they never brought him back?

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

The years ran by with little change. The babes grew, the humans continued to “teach” them things, Sideswipe continued to eat the minimum required for them to leave him alone.

His body wasn’t the same anymore. He felt weaker than before. Not hungry, per se, but not quite energetic as he had when he had still eaten like he was supposed to.

When Sunstreaker had still been here.

When he’d still held onto hope that they would eventually reunite them. 

The babes didn’t need him anymore, hadn’t for a long time. The humans still kept them together, and the babes didn’t know any better.

Sideswipe knew. Sideswipe knew they should have parted ways already.

But there wasn’t the option.

He wondered about it, sometimes. Had they removed Sunstreaker because they had wanted to keep the babes and thought things would’ve been too cramped with all four of them there? Dammit, it had been too cramped with just two of them. What difference did it make if there were two pups in there too?

If everything being cramped would’ve been the cost of having Sunstreaker here, he would’ve accepted it in a heartbeat.

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

It was into the fourth year after the babes were born that things finally changed, although Sideswipe wasn’t sure if he would have wanted that change or not. One day they just came and… Took the babes.

The two were first called out of the water, which wasn’t at all unusual and Sideswipe hadn’t paid it much mind. He continued to swim around leisurely.

But time went on and on, and yet the babes hadn’t returned to the water. Eventually worry had him peeking out of the water onto the platform where they were supposed to be, which was the only place they could’ve been outside of the water, but…

They weren’t there.

They just weren’t.

He didn’t even have it in himself to panic. It wasn’t hard to guess what had happened.

Humans. Humans had happened.

And Sideswipe doubted they would ever return, either.

He let himself sink to the bottom of the tank where he wrapped his arms around himself and gave in to the sorrow and loneliness that hit him like a physical weight, made it feel like someone was crushing his chest. Made every breath hurt. Made his eyes burn. 

What little he had had left of Sunstreaker… The things they had made together.

His babes.

They hadn’t even been allowed a goodbye.

Not even a goodbye...

Why did he feel like he’d been here before?

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

He’d been alone in the tank before. That wasn’t new.

But that hadn’t happened in years. Him and the babes hadn’t fought like him and Sunstreaker had; there had never been a need to separate them.

That barely mattered, though. It had never been any better even when it had happened more frequently. He had never wanted to be alone, not even after he and Sunstreaker had had their worse fights. What mer didn’t yearn for company? It wasn’t natural to be alone.

And there had always been that uncertainty of if they’d ever even see each other again. They always had, eventually.

Until they hadn’t. 

The babes had always been a distraction, something to keep his mind occupied and away from all of the more negative thoughts.

Now, there was no one and nothing to save him.

And the thoughts came, unbidden, relentless. Nights were the hardest. During the days he could never forget he was under the watchful eye of the humans, never allowed true privacy. It gave him what he needed to keep it at least mostly together.

At night, there were none around, and no reason to pretend he was okay. At night he found himself curled up on the empty floor of the tank, sleepless, his mind rewinding the days where he’d still had his brother around. They’d fought and they’d made mistakes, but that paled in comparison to the companionship they had each offered. The love, the acceptance, the understanding.

All taken from him.

Just like that.

There was no more laughter, no chasing each other around. No jokes, no conversation.

Now not even the babes were here. Where had they been taken, he wondered, and knew he’d never find out. They’d just disappeared from his life, just like Sunstreaker had.

He couldn’t understand it. He tried, tried to think of some reasoning for the humans’ behavior, but nothing other than cruelty came to mind. Why would they have acted so otherwise? First left him to take care of newborns alone, and then, when those newborns had grown, taken them too?

Leave him alone again?

He couldn’t understand it.

He stopped eating, again. The humans tried their tricks, again. He ignored their attempts, again.

They shoved a tube down his throat, again.

He didn’t swim much anymore. More often than not he was sitting next to the one window of the tank, passing the time by watching the humans moving around on the other side of it. Tall humans, short humans. Adults and pups, if he understood it right.

He wondered if they were free to go where they wanted to, or if they were similarly trapped as he was.

They watched him in return, but he could ignore it by now.

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

He didn’t need to be alone for even two weeks, though. Sideswipe left his vantage point next to the window to investigate when there was a ruckus from the platform, breaking the water to take a look.

His eyes widened when he saw the shape of another mer. Not Sunstreaker, not the babes, that much was immediately obvious from the grey scales, but it was… Another of his kind.

Why? Why had they taken everyone he’d had before, only to bring in someone completely new?

Not that he was entirely opposed to this development. Even strangers were better than being alone. Strangers were potential friends.

He dove back under and settled to wait for the humans to be over with the transfer, and most likely for the other mer to work the sedatives out of their system. He doubted they’d handled him much without those.

It didn’t take too long. Soon enough the mer was slipping into the water, shaking himself off once he was underwater.

Then he had a look around, saw Sideswipe, and immediately waved at him enthusiastically. “Oh, hello! I didn’t know if there would be anyone else, but I’m really, really happy there is, you know, being alone sucks so much. Have you been alone? I don’t see anyone else… How long were you alone? You don’t have to be so anymore though! I swear I’m good company, and I hope we can get to know each other. Oh, I’m Bluestreak!”

Sideswipe cracked a smile at the litany aimed at him. There wasn’t a single speck of blue on the other mer though, aside from his eyes. He was shades of grey with accents of red, and yet, “You can call me Blue, everyone does.”

“Alright, Blue,” Sideswipe said, swimming closer slowly. Bluestreak didn’t seem to mind the approach though, his demeanor was just so… Cheerful.

It reminded him of himself. Or of what he had been like… Way back when. “I’m Sideswipe.”

“Sideswipe! That’s a really nice name, I like it, and it’s really nice to meet you-”

The mer had a mouth on him. Sideswipe didn’t mind, though. It broke the quiet and kept his mind distracted, and Bluestreak was nice. Incredibly chatty, but that didn’t make him any less nice. He was kind, thoughtful in his own way, and funny without even trying to be.

Their conversations weren’t all one-sided, either. Sure, Bluestreak did most of the talking, but Sideswipe got in a question here and there, little things that he pieced together to build an image of Bluestreak’s life and history.

He was captive born. He’d never seen the ocean, only heard of it.

And Sideswipe’s chest tightened. That was his pups. They were about the same age too, still a few years from sexual maturity.

He had no maternal feelings for Bluestreak, he was well past the age of needing anyone to hen over him, but… He became something like a friend pretty quickly.

He still couldn’t forget, though. Bluestreak was no replacement to Sunstreaker.

The two didn’t even compare. They were nothing alike.

And he missed his brother. He wanted his brother.

It had been years, and he still

Just

Wanted

Sunstreaker.

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

“Who’s Sunstreaker? You sometimes… Talk about him in your sleep.”

Sideswipe flinched when Bluestreak approached him with that question. He’d gone back to sitting by the window, his tail curled under him. Bluestreak liked to stop his swimming to come talk to him pretty often.

But as much as they’d talked, Sideswipe hadn’t told much about himself, and Bluestreak had never pried.

Bluestreak knew he had been born in the wild, but he didn’t know about Sunstreaker, or about… What had gone down between them.

He didn’t know about the babes.

And he’d been in no hurry to broach any of those topics.

So Sideswipe wrapped his arms a little tighter around himself and resolutely stared out the window. “No one.”

Bluestreak was uncharastically quiet for a moment, and Sideswipe thought he’d maybe hurt his feelings a little. Then came a quiet, “Oh. Okay,” before Sideswipe could feel Bluestreak swimming away.

He didn’t want to hurt him, but neither did he want to talk about Sunstreaker.

Sunstreaker was his memory to keep.

And only a memory.

Sideswipe hung his head and let the emotions come like a tidal wave.

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

He still didn’t eat. He knew Bluestreak had noticed his thin tail the moment they’d met, but he never asked about it before he witnessed the first time the humans shoved some more food down his throat.

Then he asked, horrified by what he had seen. Humans had never treated him like that.

Of course they hadn’t. Maybe it was just Sideswipe they liked to torment.

He hadn’t had the answers that time, or any of the times afterwards. His food pipe had nearly grown numb to the treatment with how often it happened. He didn’t fight it anymore.

But they couldn’t feed him often enough to make a full difference. His tail kept getting thinner. Bluestreak was getting worried, fussing over him every and now and then and begging him to eat something.

Sideswipe ignored it. He sat by the window and ignored it.

Bluestreak was a good companion, there was nothing with that. But… He still wasn’t who he wanted.

He only wanted Sunstreaker.

He’d held on for years for the babes. He’d never wanted them to see anything they couldn’t forget. He’d taken care of them longer than what was natural.

Hadn’t he deserved a break?

Bluestreak wasn’t enough. He would never be enough.

He couldn’t get over Sunstreaker.

He’d pretended for the sake of the babes, he really had. He’d tried his best for them, just like Sunstreaker had said they would.

But Sunstreaker had meant they would do their best together.

Except they hadn’t. They hadn’t been given the chance. He’d been left to do his best alone, and he’d tried. 

He’d tried so hard.

And now he was tired. He had been all the time, really, but now... 

He had no reason to hide it anymore. Bluestreak didn’t matter to that extent. Bluestreak was happy. He didn’t know of anything else; he would continue to be happy through everything the humans did to him.

Sideswipe knew of something better. He’d had that something better, if just for a fleeting moment. He’d been able to withstand losing it all with Sunstreaker by his side. They’d faced the unknown together, had each other’s backs every step of the way. 

Not anymore.

Bluestreak might’ve been there, but he still felt alone. Without Sunstreaker, he suspected he always would. 

He wouldn’t have ever known how much his brother meant to him if they hadn’t taken him from him, and he’d have been glad never knowing. 

He didn’t have an appetite. He didn’t eat. They kept forcing him to ingest things when it suited them. 

Sideswipe started throwing it back up as soon as he was back in the water.

They kept trying. He kept expelling it, every time.

They grew frustrated, desperate, but what could they do? Keep him on land with his mouth closed until he’d digested it? That would have taken far too long.

They wouldn’t give up.

Sideswipe thought that maybe he had. He still rebelled against the humans in the way he could, but… There was a weight in his limbs that didn’t come just from lack of nutrition.

There was a weight in his heart that never went away. A pain. An old would that had never gotten the chance to close. He’d covered it up, that’s all.

He didn’t want to anymore. He was tired. So, so tired. 

He didn’t want to keep going. He didn’t want to keep trying.

So he sat by his window. He kept throwing up everything they tried to feed him. The pace at which his body changed shape quickened. Fat reserves were eaten away. He was slim, so slim, and not in a healthy way.

He knew that.

He kept doing what he did. 

He stopped answering the humans’ calls.

He sat by his window, even when a curtain was drawn on the other side of it, hiding him and the tank from view. He suspected it was because of him. Who wanted to watch a slowly dying mer?

And that was what he was doing.

Day by day he could feel his strength waning. Day by day he wouldn’t move. Day by day he would compare his reflection to what he had looked like in another lifetime. His cheekbones had always been sharp, but now his face was beyond that. It was gaunt: cheeks caved in entirely, eyes sunken into their sockets.

He’d had broad shoulders, a muscular chest. Just like Sunstreaker. He’d always been happy with the way he looked. How they both looked.

You could see his ribs, now. Count every single one of them. His shoulders were all but gone, nothing but shriveled bumps holding his arms in place.

His arms, once so strong, it was hard to lift them now. His elbows were sticking out, as were the bones in his wrists, hands. Everything was sticking out, everything was thin enough to wrap his hand around and have his thumb touch the rest of his fingers.

His hips were gone. There was no muscle left, barely any left in his entire tail. It was no good for swimming anymore. He’d pick at his tail fin in the lack of anything better to do.

His fins. They’d always been ragged, but now they were ragged enough to barely exist. His abdomen had practically caved in. There was almost nothing left of his colors, they were so muted.

He looked terrible. There was no pride left.

And he hurt. He hurt inside and out, in his body, in his emotions, in his heart and mind.

But there was also relief. The humans hadn’t been able to get to him, not at the bottom of the tank. They hadn’t managed to reverse things with their tubes, and now they couldn’t even try.

He knew he didn’t have long anymore. 

Sideswipe smiled, and he felt it. Felt how it was the most genuine expression of happiness he’d displayed in long, long years. 

His heart was beating an off rhythm. Sideswipe lifted a hand and pressed it against his withered chest, feeling its beat against his palm. Bluestreak sensed the change in him and swam over—sat next to him, wrapped his arm around him, pulled him into his side.

Sideswipe slumped against the healthy body, letting his head rest on the smaller mer’s shoulder.

Bluestreak had stopped asking. He’d stopped trying to convince him to fight on.

Sideswipe was grateful. It was too late to say it, but he laid a hand on Bluestreak’s tail, and Bluestreak covered it with his own.

Maybe that was all that was needed.

He closed his eyes and felt, heard the way his heart began to skip beats, fluttering in his chest unevenly.

But he was happy. He didn’t know where Sunstreaker was, but he wouldn’t have to go on without him anymore.

He could rest.

And if there was an afterlife, maybe they would meet again there.

I wanna scream Is this a dream? How could this happen Happen to me? This isn't fair This nightmare This kind of torture I just can't bear I want you here I want you here

— Plumb - I Want You here

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

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2

[mothercetrion]

Falling

Summary: Takeda has started to date one of the members of his new team. Hanzo is more than thrilled to hear all about it.

Characters: Takeda Takahashi, Scorpion (Hanzo Hasashi); mentioned Jacqui Briggs

Word Count: 1615

Request: “hanzo listening encouragingly to takeda gush abt jacqui for the requests please? :)”

first fic of 2020 is for you, anon!!! enjoy :) (warning: hanzo mentions harumi for like 5 seconds and its kinda sad but i promise this whole thing is very sweet)

———

It was Takeda’s first visit to the Shirai Ryu garden since deciding to join a team with the Special Forces. He had spoken to Hanzo whenever he came to the base for any reason, neglecting to meet all of his team but one single time, and it had been so hectic in the recent weeks that Takeda had not been able to find the time to see Hanzo.

He arrived during the evening, when training had winded down for the day and all members of the Shirai Ryu were doing as they pleased. Upon arriving, he waved at many that he recognized, but he urged all of them to keep his arrival quiet. He wanted to surprise Hanzo with his visit, so keeping everyone quiet was important. All members were quick to oblige and pointed to the back garden, where Hanzo was meditating.

With silent steps, Takeda stepped through the garden and spotted Hanzo nearly immediately. He was visible through the doorway of a building, kneeling on the floor. His back was to Takeda, but he heard footsteps and rose to his feet. Takeda could not help but smile when he stepped out of the building and through the doorway, staring at Takeda in shock.

“Can I join you, sir?” Takeda called, his smile growing.

Hanzo did not reply with words, but his actions were telling enough. He showed a rare grin and walked down the steps of the building, and he approached Takeda with quick steps and opened his arms. A hug. A rare hug. Takeda was quick to take up on the offer, and happiness filled him instantly. “I’ve missed you, Master Hasashi,” he said kindly.

“And I have equally missed you, Takeda.” Hanzo ended the hug and held Takeda by his shoulders, his grin remaining. “I see your schedule has allowed a visit. I want to hear everything about the Special Forces over tea.”

And that is exactly what happened. Hanzo set up some tea in the garden, where they sat and prepared their tea. After Takeda made his own, Hanzo looked at him with a small smile. “I hope that Cage has given you proper training. I will be displeased otherwise.”

Takeda shook his head. “Oh, no, he has. He’s a great mentor. He has his wisecracks, of course.”

Hanzo shook his head. “It would not be Cage without them.” Hanzo gathered his own ingredients and began his preparations. “So run by me one more time who is on your team. I have already met Cassandra and have known her for an extremely long time.”

“She told me that she knew who you were,” Takeda mentioned, taking a sip of his tea. “She’s taken on a leadership position because of General Blade.”

“Is she performing well?”

“Absolutely.” Takeda laughed to himself. “She butts heads with someone in the group. Kung Jin, he’s the other boy that isn’t me.”

Hanzo thought for a moment before nodding. “I remember him vaguely. He reminds me of his uncle. I have heard a large number of rumors about their respective egos.”

“Jin has earned his to an extent. He joined the Shaolin later than most members, but he’s really good with a bow and hand-to-hand kombat. He’s definitely my best friend.” Takeda smiled. “You need to meet him. He’s great once you get to know him.”

“I have no doubts.” Hanzo took a drink of his tea and thought back. “I know there is another, but… I neglect to remember her name.”

“Oh, that’s… that’s Jacqui. Jacqueline Sonya Briggs. I know you like formalities.” Takeda could feel himself begin to blush at the thought of her.

Hanzo noted his lack of immediate explanation for who she was. He then noticed Takeda’s blushing, and his smile became mischievous. “Oh, heavens… do not tell me you like this girl?”

Takeda instantly shook his head. “Oh, no! No… No, liking her would distract me from my team. No way, Master Hasashi.”

Hanzo looked at him knowingly, and Takeda huffed. “Okay… Maybe I like this girl. Maybe.”

“I can always see your true feelings, Takeda,” Hanzo said. “If I recall, she is Jackson Briggs’s daughter, yes?”

“She is.” Takeda tilted his head. “You guys were revived at the same time, right?”

“We were,” Hanzo confirmed. “I have made contact with him, but not much. I have neglected to meet her.” He gave Takeda a small smile. “Do you have a photo of her? I know Cage gave you some sort of phone.”

“Yeah, hold on.” Takeda pulled his phone out of his uniform pocket and grinned upon unlocking it. “Perfect timing! She sent me a Snap on Snapchat.”

“A…” Hanzo hesitated a bit. “A Snap? What’s that?”

Takeda was confused for a moment before laughing. “It’s a social media thing, Master Hasashi. I’m on it with my whole team so we can communicate if we so desire.” He opened the app and showed it to Hanzo briefly. “We mostly just send pictures back and forth to one another. There are filters that can give us, ah… cat ears and big eyes and stuff. All in good fun.”

Hanzo nodded knowingly. “I see. What did she send you?”

Takeda swiped over and opened her message. He felt his breath leave his lungs at the sight of a sweet mirror selfie and a grin. The caption read, “Tell Master Hasashi that I said hello!” There was a heart at the end of the caption.

“She… She sent me a photo of herself.” Takeda turned his phone around so Hanzo could see. “She says hello.”

Hanzo admired the photo for a moment before smiling. “She is beautiful. Also…” He leaned a little closer to the phone. “Why is there a heart next to her name?”

Takeda immediately retracted his phone and inspected it. Sure enough, her name in his Snapchat had a heart next to it. He forgot he did that.

“Uh…” Takeda pocketed his phone with a nervous laugh. “Master Hasashi, I can explain—”

Hanzo chuckled softly. “No need. You two are…” He waved a hand around. “…together, are you not? And you waited until you saw me in person to share the news?”

Takeda smiled sheepishly. “You got me, Master Hasashi. I figured telling you during a brief visit would be rude. I wanted to wait until I had a chance to visit.”

“I understand. Congratulations to you both.” Hanzo took another drink of his tea and put it to the side. “It cannot have been too long.”

“Nearly six weeks,” Takeda confirmed. “Not long, but… still a great time.”

“Wonderful. The first few weeks are very thrilling. It is all about new and exciting things. The euphoria that comes with a newly-birthed relationship is often unmatched.” Hanzo rested his elbows on the table. “Tell me all about her, Takeda. What is she like?”

“She has done stuff involving the Special Forces a lot longer than I have. She and Cassie are childhood best friends, and she sees Mr. Cage and General Blade as family. She whoops me in sparring a lot, but… it’s good training.” Takeda felt himself smiling even wider as he described her. “She’s tough as nails. She gets focused on training, and it’s the only thing on her mind for days. She gets up and goes on a run every single morning, and I’ve gone running with her, and she leaves me breathless… for multiple reasons, not just because she’s faster than me.”

Hanzo could not help but chuckle as Takeda went on. “She is so smart, Master Hasashi. She knows about… vehicles, farm life, taking care of animals, math, history. I can ask her any question, and she knows the answer to it. She even knows about the Shirai Ryu’s history and the Lin Kuei’s history and realm history and… everything. She has common sense as well, and she can think logically in any situation to keep our team safe.” Takeda sighed happily as he thought. “She has a great sense of humor. She is great at comforting people and has the biggest heart of anyone I know. She’s stunning from her head to her toes. She makes me excited to try new things and go to new places, and we get to do those things together.” His cheeks reddened in a blush. “She makes me feel things I have never felt before, Master Hasashi. It is too early to call it love, but… I feel phenomenal about where this is going.”

Hanzo shook his head with a content smile. “I have never seen you gush so heavily about anything, Takeda. This is… This is very exciting.” His smile faded a tad. “I trust that you will bring her to meet me properly. She… She reminds me of the woman I married, and I mean that in the kindest way. Headstrong, a big heart, beyond her years in wisdom. I need to meet Jacqueline in person.”

Takeda felt his chest tighten with emotion. “Absolutely. Mr. Cage will probably give us a few days off soon… I will bring her by here.”

“Excellent. I will offer tea when she visits.” Hanzo continued to smile as he thought about the day they would properly meet. “Does she… Does she like tea? Would she accept if I offered her tea?”

Takeda laughed. “Yes! She loves tea. She drinks it at least once a day. She would love it if she received tea from you.”

Hanzo sighed in relief. “Good. Her happiness is of high importance to me. After all, she needs to stick around, so you remain this happy always.”

The two grinned at each other and laughed. Takeda was glad that he visited the garden that day.

[bigskydreaming]

I’m literally in love with the way you write Dick and Jason’s dynamic

Thanks, glad to hear that! Personal preferences aside, I honestly do think it just opens up SO many more potential stories if you go with the idea that they did have a brotherly relationship before Jason died, just they didnt get together around Bruce because Dick was still hoping Bruce would make the first move in reaching out to him. Rather than just stick with the usual assumption that because it wasn’t seen on the page, they had barely any interactions and both resented each other for various reasons.

But those reasons all trace back to Bruce, and if you look at them as two people who are united by the common experience of being fish out of water, adapting to the same environment after coming from DRAMATICALLY different origins, able to connect over that and understand each other in a way nobody else really can because nobody else has ever really had to straddle two worlds as definitively as Dick and Jason had to in their formative years....

Like, the big sticking point for me in the Dick vs Jason: The Grudge theory was just that....at the end of the day, these are two boys who grew up with very few loved ones to start with, or having had to deal with the loss of those loved ones.....

But one way or another......are these two specific characters really ones that make sense as wanting to reject the possibility of more family?

They’re connected through Bruce, like it or not, that was never going to change even from before they ever met......and the idea that Dick Grayson and Jason Todd would each be content to waste literal YEARS never even TRYING to connect with the person who was probably most like him and who by all accounts was already his brother in most ways just by way of Bruce...not even to see if maybe they COULD actually be brothers? To have family beyond just Bruce and Alfred? 

Me @ every fic or headcanon that says Dick had Only Child Syndrome and resented Jason because of that: right because Dick Grayson of all people is anti-family. He’s full up with that one guy whose legal guardianship of him has been expired for a couple years and who he hasn’t spoken to since long before then.....nah, why would he want any more or any other family beyond that?

I mean, I absolutely believe that Dick was upset and hurt that Bruce adopted Jason while he’d never even offered to adopt Dick......but Dick has never been one to pass around blame instead of focusing it on its true point of origin. That’s his and Bruce’s issue. And honestly, there are TONS of reasons for Dick to be upset about that, without making it about Jason at all. 

There’s literally no reason for Dick to take it out on Jason ever, if his biggest issue or grievance is that like....it feels like Bruce was just so done with Dick and considered him so out of his life, something like “just added a new kid to the family” didn’t seem like relevant information he should pass on to Dick despite the tenseness between them. When you have to find out from the NEWS that your old family unit just full on up and adopted this kid you’ve never heard of before now without even so much as a phone call.....there’s plenty of cause to feel like this is a message that you’re not really considered part of that family unit anymore, so why would you need to know?

Or like, the fact that Bruce didn’t consider hey I’m thinking of adding another kid to my family that consists of me and the kid I’m so afraid to tell I think of him as a son in case he doesn’t feel the same way, that I’ve sat back and let things get this bad between us and fester.....hey maybe before I issue adoption papers for a second kid, I should think about putting in an equivalent effort at fixing things with my first kid first?

Or why not write Bruce thinking: “Hey if I can’t even fix things with the kid I raised for almost a decade and think of as my own no matter how long its been since I talked to him.....what on Earth makes me think I’m qualified to take on a SECOND child?”

Like....Bruce was the one who held all the power and all the options, Dick had no other option but to go along with whatever Bruce decided Bruce was going to do, and neither did Jason really.....so there’s no real reason in my head that should be a point of contention between them or a reason to resent each other instead of just stressing to them the importance of having significant family ties beyond just Bruce because history clearly showed even at that point that best intentions aside, the man is fallible.

If anything, that should have been common ground!

I think there was like, an initial negative reaction of maybe one night, the first time they met and Dick even though he was prepared for it still had to adjust to the reality of actually seeing this stranger he was irrevocably connected to now by both his names, even if neither was technically his anymore....like to actually SEE him standing there in his old role....that’s gonna hit anybody hard.

But he also would have clearly been able to see that whatever else he may have been, this twelve year old Robin was still a kid, and one who hadn’t had a lot of time to ever be a kid in the first place.....which again, instant camaraderie, because boy could Dick relate.....remember, Dick may have had a happy childhood with his parents before they were murdered but it was also a childhood where he WORKED. He loves being an acrobat, he loved being in the show, but that didn’t mean that it wasn’t WORK, that his childhood didn’t consist of training as long and as regularly as any adult acrobat while everyone else his age was running around playing outside and making friends. And after Bruce took Dick in, most of Dick’s free time was spent being Robin, training as Robin, etc?

Which IMO would have made him take one look at this kid in his old costume, literally standing where he had once stood, stepping into his old shoes.....and I think Dick’s real honest reaction once he brushed aside any kneejerk feeling of pain or bitterness the way he brushes aside all the physical pain he feels when out as Nightwing but refuses to let get in the way of him doing what he has to, doing what’s right....

Nah, Dick would have taken one look at this tiny kid full of fire and bravado but also so clearly eager to please, to be praised, to be told he was doing a good job and even without that he was worth something, his life had value, the world was better just because he existed......

And I think Dick’s bitterness about the situation would have crystallized into him resentfully thinking well B’s not exactly the best about dishing out affection or praise so I’m gonna make sure this little Mini-Me standing there in my old colors looking just as young and small as I must have looked then even if I didn’t realize it at the time....I’m gonna make sure I keep him supplied with a steady diet of “Nice Words and Gestures That Kids Should Grow Up Receiving Regularly.”

Dick has always been a firm believer that the best way to make sure something gets done is to do it yourself.

So yeah, I honestly do think that back during those days, Dick and Jason were thick as thieves when their schedules allowed for it, with it being simultaneously painful and unspoken that they had to like....work around Bruce’s presence so Dick could avoid him, but somewhat softened by the challenge and thrill of two brothers scheming to pull one over on the Big Bad Batdad every time the older brother wanted to take the little brother to go somewhere or do something, like, even just to spoil him rotten.

Cuz really....isn’t that a lot more interesting than ‘oh they barely ever even met back then and it wasn’t great, that’s it, the end’? There’s so much you could do with even just that, from them sneaking Jason out for a fun adventure that’s layered with just a hint of poignant angst because of the unspoken why of him needing to sneak out instead of them just saying hey Bruce, we need some bro time, Jason’s hanging with me this weekend? Or you dial up the angst and layer it with lightness or literally anything between those two points on a spectrum.

There’s so much Secret History potential buried back in those years....adventures they had together and never told anyone about, secrets shared between brothers they never shared elsewhere.....maybe Dick opening up to Jason more than he usually likes to, but here felt it might be the only way to get Jason to do the same, with Dick thus offering up some painful tidbit from his past that he never told even Bruce or Alfred for some reason, if he thinks Jason’s upset about something and needs to vent but will just keep insisting he’s fine unless Dick leads by example and goes first.

There’s so much potential for in-jokes that only the two of them know and everyone else is ENDLESSLY curious about, because everyone always forgets that those two have so much history because it was literally kept out of sight, out of mind, so they could keep it free of the friction that was bound to come of adding Bruce to the mix before their father cleared the air with his eldest first.

So its an easy thing to forget about or overlook, especially since it rarely comes up....but everytime it does rear its head via some private joke only they know or a reference to some event back then that everyone else is kept boxed out of having any context for....that’s the kind of stuff that would drive a family of detectives craszy, because they want to know! What’s the joke??

And yet its likely they’d never ask, because as curious as they are to hear about the mysterious missing years of the first two Wayne children, back when there was literally nobody else present to ask for details.....they never can figure out HOW to ask those questions, not when they’re equally aware of the swiftly hidden expressions of pain or bitterness that flash across the two eldests’ faces after each unearthing of some long-buried treasure they shared between them. Unable to ever escape the fact that each of those treasured moments would forever be followed with an inevitable reminder of why there were so few of those moments, in the end. 

Why those years ended far earlier than they should have, and why their reunion upon Jason’s return was hindered and complicated by Dick’s obligation to other siblings Jason hurt while dealing with Pit after-effects and the lack of a strong support system while swayed to League sympathies...

And of course, ultimately there’s the reality that after the Adventures of Young Dick and Tiny Jason were cancelled far ahead of schedule, and that several year long intermission....by the time everything else was gotten out of the way, the stars of those earlier adventures were as long gone as the adventures themselves. Dick and Jason were both entirely different people by now.....still containing within each of them enough of who they were back then that those memories are kept carefully protected and hidden away, all the more valuable for how few and sparse they are, and how rarely they’re brought out to look at and enjoy.....

But with those vaults buried deeply enough within who Dick and Jason both are these days, that there’s a lot of blood and loss and pain you have to cut through just to reach that vault. There’s no retrieving anything from it without a cost. A cost worth paying, given that they can’t help themselves from calling back to it every now and then, even though they know the inevitable result is going to be end negative and not end positive. But still high enough to give them pause before actually doing so....holding back sometimes so the toll is doled out sparingly and over time. Getting greedy and trying to bring out/back/up too much too fast is far more daunting than either can afford to pay at the moment.

So that’s how I like to view the two of them and their dynamic back during and because of those early years before Jason’s death. Bittersweet and shaded by nostalgia.....temptation and warning both, in how much they want to revisit it but how much they fear ruining what they’ve managed to cobble together now by bringing the past too much into the light, comparing past and present too clearly and risking that being reminded too strongly of the brothers they were back then, will just make it impossible to ever be content with anything but that bond replicated in full and they’re not sure it can be, are both too afraid too much has happened since then and trying too hard, putting too much pressure on the dynamic they’ve built now could risk shattering the relative fragile bond completely.

Pretty much everything I write with the two of them, unless I specifically state otherwise via context, is generally written through that lens, with me viewing that as the backstory for their dynamic that I’m running with.

[youremeimyou]

The Lesser Gods of Bangtanis(pt.1)

Introduction - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 

pairings: Kim Taehyung x reader, Jeon Jungkook x reader, OT7(this fic is about all of the boys’ characters, not just ‘Y/Nxsomeone’ focused) genre: angst, fluff, comedy, adventure.. - fantasy au, medieval au, magic au, royal au word count: 4k warnings: brief violance?(just some combat and sword fighting stuff)

Description: Princess Y/N, who holds the fate of her people on her shoulders arrives at the kingdom of Bangtanis, that is the home of our mighty heroes. What will the destiny of our heroes be, when she brings along a threat called dark magic and a little bit of love with her?

A/N: (To understand the characters and where the story stands, it’s best to read “introduction” before this one.) I can’t believe how much I enjoyed writing this.. This will be a series about all of our boys in an adventure with Y/N. I hope you’ll like it. I’m actually very nervous about this cuz it’s different than what I’ve written before. Any feedback is appreciated and encouraged, please let me know what you think. Enjoy!

It was nearly evening and the sun was threatening to dissappear under the hills but another boring lesson of Dynasties History was still going on in the study hall. And Taehyung was imprisoned alongside these stuck up dukes and duchesses. He couldn't wait to get out of there. The worst part was he could never understand why these young people pretended to be interested in kingdom afairs while they could just live their lives to the fullest.

As he stared outside the window he spotted his best friend and companion, the court jester Park Jimin, taking a stroll towards the city with two beautiful women on either sides of him. Oh, he had to be there. Or else he'd lose the bet the jester and himself had made to win over two hearts at once. He quickly got out of his seat and made lots of rattling sounds while doing so. As a result, all eyes in the room turned to him, questioning stares came from everyone including the elderly teacher. Taehyung was confident, he had a way with people to help himself get out of trouble.

"Lord Taehyung, I'm sure you have a good reason to disturb the study like this?" questioned the teacher with a non-approving look on his face. Taehyung spoke back with an equally smug comment as he walked towards the exit.

"My, of course I do, Instructor Seong. But I couldn't possibly say what it is."

The old man was baffled like everyone else in the room. Enjoying the attention, Taehyung continued.

"You see, I'm not supposed to talk about matters of the kingdom anywhere I like. Therefore I have to get to the throne room immediately to complete an important task."

Now every other young royal with a rank in there looked at him with envy. Everyone knew he was the favorite of the king. He was the only one among young royals that was informed about government business. So, everyone wanted to either be him or be with him. But his careless attitude made these other nobles despise him. And he loved it.

The teacher couldn't say much to stop him and the poor old man knew it. So, instead of trying to discipline him like he would with other students he settled for a sigh.

"I suppose we shouldn't expect your quick return to the lesson, my lord?"

"Well, as much as I love learning this subject I'm afraid duty comes first, instructor. At least my friends here are lucky to be staying." Taehyung said, barely able to keep his laughter in and walked out shorty after.

All was going well until he turned around the corner and came across the one person he couldn't fool, King Namjoon.

"Taehyung? Good, come join us."

"My lord, I actually-"

"Aren't you supposed to be in the study hall? It has only been a moment since I sent men to come get you."

Taehyung was surprised to hear that. He only said those things back there as an excuse to go out to the city. He didn't know the king actually needed him.

"What's the matter my lord? You seem concerned."

"You'll see once we get to the throne room."

When they entered the great hall that was the throne room, Taehyung spotted the royal advisors Kim Seokjin, Jung Hoseok and Min Yoongi, already discussing what seemed to be an important issue. The commanders and high-ranking knights of the army were also gathered there.

King Namjoon went next to his advisors to hear their reports and Taehyung listened from the other side of the table as they informed the king about the coming of a princess. Min Yoongi leaned in towards the king after that and spoke in a low voice.

"Why have you brought the kid again?" he asked while looking at Taehyung.

"I wasn't kidding when I told you I'm preparing him for the throne, my friend." the king replied as silently.

Taehyung couldn't understand what all the fuss was about. Everyone seemed to be worried.

"My lords, if I may interrupt. What's so concerning about a princess coming to visit?"

Yoongi shook his head in disapproval while Hoseok explained.

"It's not a visit. We've recieved word from this princess that her home was envaded by the creatures of the night. She managed to escape but her family was left behind. She seeks our help. For shelter and more importantly, for an initiative to take back her lands."

The creatures of the night were beings born from dark magic that were thought to be terminated ages ago during the Dark War. Everyone knew it as a myth. But dark magic was real. And after the war the use of magic altogether wasn't common as it used to be. Some kingdoms forbid it and some, like Bangtanis controlled the practise of it to not let dark magic rise. Only a few experts in the palace were allowed to conduct magic in Bangtanis. And every one of them answered to the head sorceror, Jung Hoseok.

"Who is the poor princess?" asked Taehyung, understanding that the issue was a most troubling one.

"Y/N is her name." The answer came from Kim Seokjin. "I remember her from when she was little. She was here once with her father, a mighty king who came to sign a treaty with the former Lord of Bangtanis. This news upset me for I had become very fond of that king and his family back then."

Princess Y/N.. Taehyung thought he remembered her too, from when they were kids.

King Namjoon spoke up after moments of thinking.

"Dark magic is too dangerous of a threath to expose our kingdom to."

Min Yoongi added, "I agree my lord. It'd be unwise to get involved. I'm afraid there isn't much we can do to help."

"But the princess and her company cannot make it to another kingdom without getting caught. Even if they did, no one else would accept them. We'd be condemning them to death." Jung Hoseok objected.

The king looked troubled. Kim Namjoon was a man of honour, the best ruler Bangtanis ever had. Turning his back to people in need wasn't something he was keen to do. But the risk on the other hand was very big.

"When will they arrive?" the king asked.

"The letter said they'd be here most probably at first light, tomorrow. It also said they ran out of food and supplies."

Taehyung hated politics mainly for this reason. A few men in a room were arguing on what to do when actual lives were in danger.

"My king, may I have a word in private?" he decided to try and get the king to help these people. The king and Taehyung moved away from the table and started talking with low voices.

"My lord, we have to help them-"

"Taehyung, you're a young prince. You may not understand the consequences of such an attempt against this curse of dark magic."

"Hyung.." Taehyung exhaled desperately. "You're a young king, aren't you? But you've achived so much because of your good heart. What does your heart tell you?" he appealed to the kind side of the king, trusting on their brotherly bond that Namjoon wouldn't consider his words disrespectful.

"What do you suggest?"

"I wouldn't know much of what to do regarding fighting dark magic. But can't we at least grant them shelter for the time being?"

King Namjoon walked back to his advisors and announced his decision.

"We will accept them when they arrive, attend to their needs and help them recover from what they've been through. We're not deciding on anything else until we talk with the princess about the details. And that's final."

So began the preparations for the arrival of the princess. A troop of knights was formed and given the task of meeting Princess Y/N on the borders and guiding her company safely into the kingdom.

After the meeting, Taehyung decided to go down to the city to clear his mind of troubles, as he always did. Big responsibilities were his greatest fear, so he felt he quickly needed to get rid of them by doing reckless things. Besides, the princess wouldn't be arriving until tomorrow, he had plenty of time before being given more tasks.

Right when he entered his favorite tavern, he spotted Park Jimin, surrounded by even more than two women this time. Though, all over the jester would be a better term to say about the ladies. He made his way to them and interrupted without a care.

"Isn't it too early for this kind of entertainment?"

The jester rejoiced as he heard the voice of his best friend. From where he was sitting, he reached an arm to grab the prince by his shirt and pulled him closer without disturbing his lady friends.

"Glad you could join us. I think it's safe to say that I won the bet, dear mate."

Prince Taehyung cleared his throat with a deep grunting sound which captured the women's notice and made them realize who he was. Three of the five quickly went to him giving him all their attention. It made Taehyung smirk at Jimin. The jester sighed in defeat, kindly sending the women away.

"You're right, too early for that."

The two rascals spent the evening playing games and gambling. Only when it was deep into the night that they decided to get out of there and slowly head back to the castle.

As they were passing through the now closed mart, they heard sounds coming from the other side of the road. Too dark to decipher who, Taehyung saw two figures, one big and one small. The bigger seemed to be approching the smaller in a hurry. As the boys got closer to them they could see it was a man about to attack a woman.

Rushing towards them they stopped in shock when she grabbed her attacker by the wrist, twisted him around and landed a strong kick on his back. When the attacker tried to get back up from the ground where he was knocked down to, the girl took out a sword from inside her cloak and pointed it theatheningly on his neck.

When she heard the two boys arriving, she quickly used the back of her weapon to knock out the attacker and aimed it towards the boys after that.

"Woah, woah relax. We won't harm you." Taehyung said.

"You couldn't even if you tried."

The boys gave each other a quick look with cocked eyebrows. That was one wicked young woman.

"Who are you? I hope you're not drunk fools like this one right here. Otherwise your fate will be the same as him."

"We should be asking you the same thing." Taehyung said back.

Sensing her discomfort growing, Jimin spoke up to let her know they were friendly.

"I'm the court jester and he's a prince of the Kim Dynasty that rule here. What about you?"

"I'm a simple villager."

"Who owns a quality sword?" Taehyung spat back. Jimin tried reasoning again.

"Well you see, my friend and I sort of know every women of this village but we don't know you, so.."

The girl let out a huff in response to their arrogant faces after that comment.

"I'm not from this kingdom, I just arrived here." She slowly lowered her sword, seeing that they looked harmless and were unarmed but still held a tight grip on it, just in case. And since they've moved closer, Taehyung had a chance to get a better look on her face.

"Well then, since you're a traveller from another kingdom, what's your business here?" Taehyung asked.

"My business is not your concern."

"Oh but I think it is, princess."

Both the jester and the girl looked surprised.

"I don't like pet names-"

"It's your title, Y/N. I never forget a face. And you still have the scar on the corner of your eye."

Taehyung was now standing right in front of the very much confused princess whose cover was blown unexpectedly early.

"How do you know that?" was all she could manage to ask.

"I'm Kim Taehyung."

Taehyung? Who- wait. Prince Kim Taehyung? That prince? Oh no.. the princess thought while the memory flooded back to her. The boy who gave her that scar, playing sword fighting with sticks as kids.

"And what does that supposed to mean to me?" She played it off like she didn't know.

Taehyung slightly tilted his head in dissappointment as Jimin spoke.

"You two have a history?"

"She was here once before, for sometime. We were kids but still.. Kind of hurts that you don't remember, Princess Y/N."

Jimin secretly smiled at the ground, understanding she was pretending. Taehyung decided to let it go for now and try to figure out what was happening.

"Where is your company? And you were supposed to arrive in the morning."

"I will. I mean my double will."

"You have a double?"

"It's a means of safety. They're looking everywhere for me. Not just those creatures but also bounty hunters, too. Everyone expects me to travel with company. But that's my double. Try to think of it as acting, if you can. I made her memorize every line she needed to."

"I am an actor princess. The concept is familiar, thank you. But how in the world is travelling all by yourself in the dark is safer?"

"As you've witnessed, I can take care of myself. And I have a mission of my own. But you say you’re an actor? Please don't tell me you're an actor, pretending to be a prince right now."

Taehyung's mouth dropped open a little bit in response to her snarky remark. When he realised she was being sarcastic, he settled for just rolling his eyes. Jimin was enjoying this bickering between the two, even though he didn't know what exactly was happening. It was rare to see Taehyung not being able to get his way with a woman for the first time.

"What mission?"

Y/N wasn't planning on getting exposed as the princess this early. But she had to admit, getting help from people like them that knew this city and its people would be better than going at it alone.

"My father told me to find the head of the Jeon family. He said it was crucial for our salvation."

Jeon family weren't nobles but they were known to be great warriors among the people. Jimin knew of them. So he informed the confused prince.

"It must be the father of that Jungkook kid. The one who saved you from a beating once, when you cheated while playing dice, remember?"

The prince remembered but thought he was hardly a kid. Sure, he must've been a bit younger but he was more bulked up than both the prince and the jester.

"What would they have to do with this?"

"I don’t know yet but my father was very specific. Now, do you know where they live?"

“I do. We’ll take you.” Jimin offered, understanding the subject to be important. Taehyung on the other hand looked at him in surprise for knowing.

“Well, I walked Jungkook’s sister home a few times.” Jimin winked as the prince and the princess rolled their eyes.

When they arrived at the said family’s door, Taehyung made his hand into a fist and moved it to slam the door. The princess was quick enough to catch it before he could.

“What do you think you’re doing?” She whisper-shouted at the surprised prince.

“Knocking?”

“That’s not knocking. That’s punching the door. And it’s the middle of the night, we can’t startle people like that.” 

Taehyung was quick to response. “Fine. I’ll let you do it the girly way, then. The lady way..” he said and looked at her closely to observe her reaction in order to figure out if she still disliked being called a lady as much as when they were kids. 

“I’ll do it the nice way, Prince Rude.” Taehyung smirked for his success in making her annoyed.

“Is he always this dim-witted?” She directed the question to the jester who tried to hide his laugh but failed, enjoying this too much. And with that, Taehyung’s smirk was replaced with gritted teeth. 

The princess gently knocked at the door a few times. When no one answered for a while, she knocked.. a little harder. Taehyung didn’t miss the opportunity to retort, of course.

“So much for the nice way..”

As Y/N glared at him, the door slowly opened up to reveal a young woman in her night gown. “Who are you-” she stopped when she spotted the jester at the back. “Jimin?”

Jimin could only smile awkwardly back at Jungkook’s sister who looked at him like she was ready to hit him. “Why are you here?”

“Apologies for disturbing you at this hour. I’m Kim Taehyung from the palace. We’re here on important business.” Taehyung adressed the girl in the politest way possible and the princess noted how his demeanour changed in front of a beautiful girl.

“Prince Taehyung? I’m so sorry, my lord. Of course you must be. How can I help?” The girl’s whole demeanour changed, too and all her attention was now locked on the prince. Y/N crossed her arms and started talking.

“You know little lady, it’s dangerous to answer the door to strangers at night. Especially when dressed like that.” In all fairness, her gown was a bit short. The prince looked at Y/N questioningly.

“I’m just saying. You’re lucky we’re harmless but next time, better bring a knife-”

Jimin finally cut in.

“Look, I know it’s late but this is very important. We need to speak to your father, right now.”

She granted them entrance and woke her parents up, explaining who the visitors were. Jungkook’s father immediately remembered the young princess. From the time her family visited Bangtanis, years ago.

“Princess.. It must be an urgent matter for you to come here at this hour. But I must say, I’m glad to see you all grown up. I bet your father is very proud.”

His words made Y/N a little sad for they made her remember her father’s current condition.

“My father was the one to tell me to find you. He’s being held prisoner by the creatures of the night.”

“What? The creatures of the night? But how-”

“We don’t know. All I know is that my father told me you could help us fight this dark magic. Please.. I’m desperate.” 

Taehyung could see the worry on the princess’ face for her family and kingdom. This must’ve been hard for her. Even though she was obviously skilled and brave, she was still young. He thought her strength was admirable.

Just then, a young man with messy hair and messy bed clothes came out of one of the rooms at the back. 

“What’s all the noise abou-” his eyes connected with the princess’.

Y/N? He thought. Was it really her? The princess he met fifteen years ago and couldn’t really forget about was sitting on the couch at his home?

His father had introduced the princess to him when they were kids. 

“What’s your name, then?”

“It’s Jungkook, my lady.”

“You don’t need to call me that. Call me Y/N and I'll call you Guk.”

“But my father said you were a princess.”

“That doesn’t matter. We’re both kids and we’re equal. Let’s be friends.”

That was how she stole Jungkook’s heart as a kid. Jungkook himself was surprised to remember all of that and to instantly recognize her. 

His sister spoke up to break the silence that took over after his entrance.

“Sorry, that’s my older brother Jungkook. He doesn’t like to be woken up.”

“Jungkook, come here and sit down.” His father beckoned him.

“This is Princess Y/N. You two have actually met when you were children.”

He knew that. But looking at her face, Y/N didn’t seem like she remembered to him.

“She’s in dire need of our help. Her home is invaded by dark magic. I will gather some-” he coughed while looking at Taehyung before continuing. “rather skilled men tomorrow and you will do everything you can to ready them for battle.”

Jungkook looked confused. “If they’re skilled, why do you need me to ready them, father?”

“They’re not skilled like that, son. You’ll see later.” He turned to the princess once more. “I don’t know if you already have, but you should speak to King Namjoon, princess. I have a group of men that can be of help, like I said. But having the knights of Bangtanis in on your fight would also be of great help. And maybe Prince Taehyung can help you convince the king.”

Taehyung nodded.

“I’m scheduled to meet with him in the morning, which probably will come soon. So we should head out to the palace but I want to talk about the details of what you’re preparing, later.”

“Of course. I will inform my son about everything and have him come find you later to explain it in length. You see, I’ve grown old.” 

Jungkook’s father laughed bitterly and Jungkook shook his head from side to side at what he said.

“But you can trust my son. Just as your father has directed you to me, I’m directing you to him.”

Jungkook and Y/N’s eyes met and she gave him a quick, tired but hopeful smile.

“Thank you all for agreeing to help.” she said.

Jungkook’s father smiled at her. “I owe your father a big debt. He has helped me and my friends in the past. Now we’ll return the favor.”

The walk from the village to the castle was a long one and morning had arrived even before Y/N, Taehyung and Jimin arrived at the gates. The princess guessed her double to be in the throne room already, as scheduled.

The princess was visibly struggling to even walk for she had been on foot for a long journey and hadn't slept for quite some time. Moreover, consently being on the edge, looking over her shoulder and waiting for someone, something to sneak in and grab her took quite the toll on her. Coming here undercover was a key factor to her mission but travelling all alone had been harder than imagined.

As they made their way to meet the king, Jimin parted ways with them. Jesters weren't supposed to be involved in such matters. He would be learning everything from Taehyung later, of course.

"This is it." The prince pointed at the door as they arrived.

"Great. I'm about to meet the king but I must look like a mess." Y/N said with a sigh. Taehyung didn't think so. For someone who had been roaming the wilderness, he thought the princess looked rather.. well, lovely.

He then pulled her to the corner away from the guards at the door and spoke to her in a low voice.

"So, how do you want to do this? You know, you're double is probably in there."

"You're right. Just introduce me as a villager bringing news of a problem on the outskirts or something."

"Good thinking. You certainly look the part." He teased and managed to get a death stare from her.

"Just let me do the talking. Otherwise they might not believe you when you claim to be the actual princess."

Guards let them pass without question. Taehyung was a prince of the ruling dynasty after all. The meeting inside seemed to have come to a conclusion.

"That's the double?"

"Yes."

Taehyung looked at the double. Then, at the princess. More like stared at the princess, really. Taking in all her features, he'd admit to maybe having been a little mesmerized.

"She looks nothing like you. You look much more.."

He stopped. Got out of the daze he was in and changed what he was about to say to something different.

"...colder."

Y/N scoffed.

"You're quite the charmer aren't you?"

He flattened his lips together to contain a smile and then grabbed her by the arm to bring her to the king as unnoticed as possible. But the people in the room slowly turned heads their way one by one. Y/N was starting to feel a bit nervous, afraid of compromising the task. And Taehyung could feel her body stiffen next to his. He spoke in a volume only she could hear.

"Don't worry. Everyone thinks your double is the princess. They're just not used to being disturbed at an event like this. Especially by dowdy looking people like yourself."

And his reassurance and sarcasm worked in getting her to relax.

The advisors of the king took action after seeing Taehyung. Kim Seokjin quickly stepped towards them while Jung Hoseok started to kindly lead the people in the room outside, stating the meeting over.

Taehyung thought Seokjin would be angry with him for not attending the meeting.

"Hyung, I know I'm late but before you start scolding me, this is-"

"Princess Y/N?" Seokjin was almost sure but he had to ask first. And Taehyung was initially shocked but thought if he remembered the princess, so could Seokjin. Seokjin was older at that time, after all.

"Yes, that's me but please keep it down. Also, how did you know?"

"I was the prince who was assigned to see after you and your father back when you visited for the treaty."

"The one who took me to see that play?"

"With me!" Taehyung cut in. "I was there, too. You do remember me, don't you?"

Y/N kept talking without acknowledging his little comment.

"How did the meeting go?"

"Your double was wonderful, don't worry. She almost had me fooled! Now, let's have you meet the king."

"I believe it'd be better if everyone else left before I reveal myself."

"Those are the king's advisors Min Yoongi and Jung Hoseok. King Namjoon wouldn't decide on anything without their counsel."

"But they're very young. Normally all advisors are old men."

"Our king is young, too."

They explained the situation to the king and Y/N told them everything that had happened to her. Then she asked for their help, almost beggingly.

"Princess, first of all I'm really sorry for all you've been through. We've been trying to figure out what we can do to help. Unfortunetely, sending my men to fight a force they have no experience with is not a great option. We've settled with your double on helping your company recover from the dreadful journey for now." King Namjoon stated.

"I understand your reluctance. I know creatures of the night are quite terrifying. I've witnessed that first hand. But I cannot hide here forever. I must try to free my kingdom, with an army or by myself... We thank you for giving us shelter, no matter what your decision will be about lending us a fighting force."

Taehyung felt so helpless and he couldn't imagine how Y/N was feeling. Coming all this way and not even getting an actual answer. He hoped whatever the Jeons had planned would turn out to be good.

They assigned Taehyung to attend to the princess, to help her keep her indentity a secret as she preferred. And Taehyung would carry information between the two parties. After that, Hoseok convinced Y/N to get some rest for the time being.

"I'll take her to her chambers. Which one did you have prepared?" Taehyung asked.

"Well, her double was escorted to her assigned chambers. We should quickly have another one readied." Jung Hoseok said in a hurry. They weren't exactly prepared for two princesses.

"No. Maybe I shouldn't accomodate inside the castle. It's crucial that I don't get discovered."

Min Yoongi had an idea. "There's an empty cottage out in the village. It used to be my home. Prince Taehyung can take you there. And he will stay with you. We'll have knights securing the cottage from afar. How does that sound?"

"Perfect. Thank you for your understanding."

The duo left the throne room and started making their way to the said cottage.

"Why does a village house belong to an advisor of the king?" Y/N was curious. First the advisors turned out to be young and now she learned one of them used to live outside of the castle. Bangtanis was full of surprises.

"Min Yoongi isn't royal born. He was an orphan who King Namjoon befriended as a kid. He made sure the cottage would stay there even after moving in the castle. By the way, I don't suppose the beds will be comfortable so thanks for that, princess."

"You're welcome to leave me after we get there. In fact, I encourage you to." Y/N spat back.

"You already said you think it's perfect. Admit it, you can't wait to catch me alone."

"Keep dreaming, Prince Smug."

Neither of them knew just how much their destinies were intertwined. Taehyung somehow had a feeling, though. A feeling that made him want to stick close by.

...

A/N: to be continued haha..

[et-lesailes]

the summer at vlyvalle // chapter one

featuring: bryce langley (chris evans in fierce people, 2005) x reader

summary: you are bryce langley’s best friend as well as the love of his life, and he, yours. your two families live in the large, wealthy estate in vyvalle, new jersey owned by his grandfather; your family has been business partners with his family for some time now, and therefore, you and bryce were practically raised together. both of you grew up incredibly rich and privileged, though humble and grounded-- however, there has always been something slightly off about bryce’s mind and the way he thinks. you are the only one who sees this side of him, yet you still can’t help but love him, hoping that you can help him become someone more stable and healthy. when a new neighbor moves in for the summer, you can’t help but suspect that bryce’s interactions with him aren’t completely innocent, but he always manages to convince your more hopeful and optimistic side otherwise. 

story themes: romance, drama/angst, psychology, semi dark!fic 

chapter themes: ** TRIGGER WARNING. mentions of rape and mental illness

word count: approx 1400

taglist: @quant-um-fizzx, @thefvcker-tucker

note: as you’ll probably be able to tell, this story is highly based off the movie Fierce People, and while some events in it are involved in the movie as well, some are also added in from my own imagination-- especially concerning bryce’s character. if you’ve seen it, you know it’s a pretty dark movie, and so this story will have dark themes as well-- please don’t read if you feel you will get triggered. however, i will keep this story pretty short, and so the chapters will be a little short too! please let me know if you’d like to be tagged in upcoming chapters.

Your eyes flickered over your best friend’s face as his deep blue ones were completely fixated on the video he had borrowed from the new neighbor next door; Bryce had been talking about Finn Earl for quite some time now, and while his words expressed that he loved the kid and that his interest in anthropology was fascinating, you knew better than to fully trust the positivity emanating from Bryce’s sharp tongue. He may have been all laughs and smiles when telling you about the conversations he and Finn would share, but after years of growing up with him, practically being raised beside him-- you could see far beyond the surface when it came to Bryce Langley. You could see the darkness that would take over his hues when he thought nobody was looking, you could feel it. You could pick up on the undertones in his voice that were completely concealed to anyone else, even his own sister. While others found awe and joy in watching how passionate he became about a subject, you knew it was not so alluring as it seemed. 

Bryce Langley did not simply develop passions, he developed obsessions.

And yet, he did not scare you in the least. You knew what he was capable of. In fact, you were one of the only people in his entire life that knew, and this was why the man was not behind bars for using his gun to put his own father in a coma.

Perhaps you were equally as messed up to remain by his side, but you believed you could help him. And to an extent, you were right. Bryce seemed to calm down when he was around you, and while he may have found a little too much comfort and dependence on you at times, you figured that was better than him being completely independent and eventually going off the rails entirely. 

His brain fascinated you. Was that messed up, too? The way he analyzed situations, how he interpreted others’ actions, how his mind reached solutions-- you could not wrap your head around how someone so brilliant could also be so delusional, so rash. He needed help, and you knew his rich and privileged family would never give it to him considering their money and image were far more important, and so you had taken it upon yourself from a young age to be Bryce’s anchor. 

“God. Christ. This is- this is just so fucking fascinating, babe, come over here and look at this.” Bryce gestured for you to join him on the couch, his eyes still glued to the screen. Standing up from your seat at the table where you had been reading, you set the book down and came over to stand behind the couch, eyes studying the screen with interest. Bryce had told you that Finn’s father was an anthropologist studying a South American tribe called the Ishkanani, and he had also told you how violent and savage these people were. You barely bit your lip as you watched, seeing a rather vicious, bloody fight unfold between two warriors of the tribe-- you were not weak hearted, but you looked away to look down at him instead, more interested to see what those beautiful blue eyes would tell you. You recognized the look instantly; he was absorbed, he was sucked in, this was officially the beginning of his newest obsession and it did not look promising.

He suddenly grabbed your hands and pulled your arms down on either side of him so that they were wrapped around him, looking up at you with a smile so damn pure and excited that you really, really wanted to believe he was simply a former anthropology student, interested in learning about a new topic. This was what any other person would have seen, anyways. But you knew the unfortunate truth, because deep in those sparkling eyes was wickedness, and you hated that it was a part of him. 

“What do you think is interesting about it?” you asked softly, leaning in to kiss his cheek. He laughed and pulled your face back, turning his head to kiss your lips. “What’s not interesting about it? I mean, look at them. They just-- they just fuckin’ take what they want, when they want it. Isn’t that how it should be? We’re so weak as a society these days, if we focused more on power and strength then the people who truly deserve high status would get it. Wouldn’t that be more fair?”

You inhaled sharply but knew better than to start an argument with him; when he got into moods like this, it was important to be calm and patient. Humming thoughtfully, you moved to sit next to him on the couch, running your fingers over his bicep. “You told me that rape is a common theme with this tribe. That they rape their opponents to make them feel humiliated, to empower them.” Arching an eyebrow, you reached up to run your fingers through his hair. “Do you really think it’s necessary to go that far?”

“Well, I mean, sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do, right? How else will they learn their lesson?” 

You bit your lip harshly, somewhat looking away. You knew he was only like this because of how damn mentally unstable he was, of how erratic his brain was. It was terrifying sometimes, but if you pushed him away, it would only make it worse. He needed to learn, and if you were the only one willing to teach, then so be it.

“How would you feel if somebody did that to me? What would you do?” you asked softly, looking back up at him. He blinked before immediately frowning, growling, “I’d fuck them up, that’s what I’d fuckin’ do. You’re mine, nobody touches you.”

“What if I did something really bad, though? What if I hurt someone really bad, and that’s what they were doing to punish me?”

“It doesn’t fucking matter, babe, I’d still beat them to shit. I’m always going to protect you, you know that.”

“So you don’t think I deserve to be raped, even if I, like, really fucked up?”

“Of course not, what kind of question is--”

“Then why should other people deserve to be raped?”

He barely bit on his lip as he frowned. “It’s not the same-” he started to say, then paused, now looking deeper in thought. Yes, perhaps this was a concept that most could understand, perhaps it seemed like common sense. But you knew Bryce’s brain had always been different. Even when he was a child, he had a strange sense of humor, strange interests-- you weren’t sure if you had ever seen the man feel guilt. When you were younger, you had gotten quite easily frustrated with him. You couldn’t believe some of the things he said, the thoughts he had-- it absolutely baffled you. However, he truly was a scholar, an intellectual. He had made remarkable grades throughout his entire school life, and he excelled in philosophical and anthropological debates, despite how messed up his mind could be. It was as you grew older that you realized there was hope for him yet; he just needed guidance. Didn’t everyone, even if it was to different extents?

You could practically see his mind working, the gears whirring. A scholar like him could not simply accept the elementary argument “it’s not the same thing”, which was why he had cut himself off in the middle of saying it. He pondered for a few more moments before slowly sighing, looking down as he ran his hands through his hair. “Fuck. Okay, I-- maybe, maybe you’re right.” He spoke lowly, and you couldn’t help but feel pride that he was able to think himself out of what could have been the start of a dangerous obsession-- maybe he really was getting better. 

At least, that was what you thought, especially as he pulled you in to give you a sweet, seemingly apologetic kiss, his tongue sliding out to lovingly wrap around yours as his hands pulled you onto the comfort of his lap. The rest of your lazy Sunday afternoon consisted of kisses pressed all over your bare skin, hands feeling every inch of your body, your own fingers tangled through his soft hair as his eyes practically pierced through yours, shining with nothing but love and admiration.