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garden-ghoul · 6 years ago

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here read my gertrude fanfiction (also on ao3), includes fraught soul-searching and tarot

After they disembark Gertrude leaves Gerard to his own devices. He takes this to mean that he should secure dinner for them both while Gertrude checks into the hotel. He’s too good at teamwork for what he is, and certainly for what Gertrude is. She rather wishes he’d been able to beat it out of himself. She doesn’t like to think of him running errands for Mary. At least he manages stoicism where none of her assistants ever did; where neither of his parents could.

Gerard is so late finding the hotel that she considers going to a convenience store for food, but at nearly midnight he does knock on the door. “Sorry about this,” he says, a little breathless. “I had a hell of a time finding the place.”

He’s lying. Gertrude isn’t sure why.

They eat in silence, and immediately afterward Gerard disappears into the bathroom for a shower that lasts nearly an hour and ends with a gout of steam that rolls out into the room, waking her from her half-sleep. She gives no sign, but only listens to him tiptoeing around the room and sighing.

She wakes up early to have a miserable ‘continental’ breakfast in the hotel lobby, then leaves for the Institute without bothering to wake Gerard. He knows what his task is, and he’s showed good initiative and decision-making in the past. Gertrude needs to put in an appearance, if only to prove that she is still the Archivist, that she is not yet replaceable. She finds a totally unfamiliar set of assistants who look so shocked to see her that it’s quite possible they’ve only heard of her by reputation. She does not go to see Elias. It would be redundant. Rather, she fills her bag with relevant statements compiled by one or another of the assistants and leaves again for Soho. As she’s walking out the door Rosie asks timidly if she’ll be in to work tomorrow; “Perhaps,” says Gertrude.

At the occult shop off Dean Street she finds a young woman who must be an employee talking animatedly with Gerard about tarot. She barely glances up when Gertrude comes in, but Gerard straightens with a vaguely guilty air. She doesn’t even need to do anything to encourage his guilt—he spent over twenty years trying to understand how to please the impossible Mary Keay, and he was quick to attune himself to Gertrude in the same way. It irritates her for no reason she can fathom, despite how useful it makes him. No—for no reason she wants to fathom. Self-deception is an idiot’s tool, and yet Gertrude sometimes finds herself making use of it for the sake of expediency.

“Dekker’s in the back,” Gerard says. “Didn’t want to start without you. I can go and get him if you want.”

“No need. There’s no reason for you to be there. Continue with your games.”

She can feel his sullen irritation burning on the back of her neck as she opens the door marked EMPLOYEES ONLY and slips through. Good. If only he could bring himself to trust her a little bit less: he still thinks he’s somehow different from the assistants she has sacrificed to the hungry mouth of necessity. It always sickens her a bit to betray trust, but when she has to betray him it’s going to be—worse.

Dekker is taking notes on something he’s reading in the storage room. He looks up and smiles at her, and stands to clasp her hand. “Good to see you made it back in one piece.”

“Yes, well, for however long it lasts.”

His smile turns sardonic as he sits again. “Right. That’s exactly what I wanted to talk about.” He slides a piece of blank paper and a pen across the table toward her. She only has to wonder why for a moment before he picks up his own pen and starts drawing a chaotic fractal (spiraling, angular) with no obvious algorithmic origin. Gertrude follows suit with one of her own. She’s now forgotten the name but the thing itself is strikingly memorable, rising and falling, weaving and unweaving itself until every part of it meets in a hungry plexus. She’s drawn it so many times that she sometimes dreams it making itself step by step, a netting in front of the monstrous eye that always watches her.

“This is what I’ve found so far,” says Dekker, gesturing to an open folder in front of him. “Does the Archive in fact have nothing?”

Gertrude doesn’t yet look up from her drawing, because he has paused. “It does, in fact. I have come to believe that any statements taken on it were destroyed immediately. I myself have only taken two, which may mean that witnesses are systematically eliminated.”

“Systematically, but not completely. I’ll draw, you look.”

She puts her pen down to look over what’s in the folder. Three new statements concerning preparation and one concerning the substance of the Rite of the Watcher’s Crown. She skims them intently and nods. “Thank you, Adelard. I should mark the folder as well, while we’re here. Do you have any other news?”

“Hmm,” says Dekker, as Gertrude begins to draw her fractal web on the folder. “No supernatural news. And I’m sure you don’t want to see pictures of my sister’s kids. Very cute, though. Sometimes she brings them in to visit, Paulina dotes on them. I think Gina’s afraid they’ll grow up into witches, though, if they keep playing with cards and crystals.”

Gertrude doesn’t speak or look up. She has nothing to say on the subject. It’s been decades since she had anything she could call a family. This is intentional.

“So I tell her she doesn’t have to bring them here, but she says they love the shop. Spoiled kids.”

Dekker lapses into silence, idly continuing his sharp spirals. She thinks of warning him not to get comfortable drawing fractals without thinking, but he’s a grown man. And in any case she doesn’t need associates who can’t take care of themselves. Getting rid of Michael was practically a public service—

She stops for a moment, caught between human decency and practiced cruelty. In any reasonable value scheme, Michael was worth nothing as a person, less than nothing as a research assistant, and his only value was his ability to get in the way. But a very long time ago Gertrude was taught a different value scheme. Her parents insisted that humans have some kind of inherent worth, and she has been unlearning it ever since. Sometimes she wonders in her father’s voice why she should bother rescuing humanity from its collective fears if all of them are worthless, and she has never found a satisfactory answer. Only that it is something she needs to do.

She finishes the net and stands up, tucking the folder into her bag. “Thank you,” she says again. “Be careful.”

To her relief he puts his pen down as he smiles wryly up at her. “You need that advice more than me, Gertrude. Get on with you.”

He accompanies her out into the shop and looks over the girl’s shoulder where she’s leaning over one of the display cases. “Making friends, Paulina?”

“Shit!” she says, jumping slightly. “Hey, Mr. Dekker. I was just showing Gerry how to read tarot.”

Gerry?

Gertrude raises one eyebrow at him, but he is industriously tapping the deck on the table to align all the edges of the cards. She does not point out that Gerard has known how to read tarot since he was very young. Heaven forbid she should interfere with his flirting.

“I’d like to do a reading for you,” Gerard says. He looks up and makes eye contact, which seems to indicate that this request is important.

“I won’t stop you,” she says.

He shuffles seven times, flamboyantly, and then holds out the deck. She cuts it and he squares the edges on the table again.

When he draws the first card she realizes that the deck is not the Rider-Waite-Smith deck she was expecting. The angel in the sky of Judgment is not a winged humanoid but a wheel of eyes, an ophan. “This is your major concern,” says Gerard. “I don’t have to tell you what that means, do I.”

“No.”

“Your challenges,” says Gerard, flipping the next card. “Eight of cups. Detachment, abandonment of connections. G-d, this is a lot more embarrassing than I was expecting. Er, also symbolizes escapism. So, moving on. Something you need to know. Four of coins, reversed. Normally that means… huh. Material wealth…” For her the card appears upright, and it’s impossible to deny the subject’s striking resemblance to Elias Bouchard. “The crown is… literal. So maybe look for that. And don’t be shy about spending resources to go after it, I guess.”

Gertrude leans forward intently. “Where is it?” she asks. Although as far as she knows tarot is complete nonsense based in apophenia and confirmation bias, she is willing to believe that if anyone can use it for genuine divination it is Gerard.

“Right, this one’s ‘a thing you need in order to progress’.” He pushes the next card into place. “Hah! Oh, I like this deck. I’m sure you’re aware the Devil is usually a metaphor for imprisonment, but in this case he’s also a person.”

“Elias has the crown?”

“No,” says Paulina. Gerard looks around at her in surprise. “Not yet. It’s going to become his, or become real. That’s why it’s reversed. It doesn’t just show who has it, it shows how he has it. And he’s got to do something first.”

“Oh,” says Gerard. “Right, yeah, that makes sense. Pity, though, that we can’t steal it.” Gertrude gestures for him to continue, and he sighs. “Final card. What you’ve got to do.” He places it below the second card. “Four of cups. Play it safe. Wait.”

“No,” says Gertrude, and she flips the next card off the top of the deck, laying it sideways across the four of cups.

He sighs again, longer. “What you’re going to do anyway. Ace of swords. Reveal secrets at any cost.”

“That is a card for how to fail,” says Paulina.

“I have everything I needed,” says Gertrude. “Good-bye, Adelard.” She strides toward the door. Behind her Gerard hastily says goodbye to Paulina, muttering that she should text him, and hurries after Gertrude. Briefly, and for no reason at all, she hates him for assuming that he is required to leave with her.

Gerard catches up to her quickly, but as he often does he walks half a step behind. “She actually did teach me,” he says. “M… Mary never worked out how to use it for anything, she just liked the look of it. Apparently it gives you awful dreams, though. So, looking forward to that.”

“How unfortunate,” says Gertrude. “Especially as I suspect you’ll be using it a lot in the near future.”

#fiction #refuse to start a magnus archives tag #mother-son panicked antagonism time

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skellebonez · 4 years ago

Note

if you still wants prompts, how about 9 with red son after being taken in by tang and pigsy, seeing how they, mk, mei, and sandy all act around each other and being completely bewildered and out of his element around an actually affectionate family dynamic?

I had an idea a while ago about what might have happened if WBS had left one of those wisps that possessed the Bull Clones in DBK after episode 10, something she could use to try to manipulate him much more subtly and from a distance behind the scenes, so I'm gonna play around with a smidgen that here (so this ended up a little long... ok a lot long... SUPER LONG, 2K words). This is set between episode 10 and the Lunar New Year special, a little canon divergence.

How long have you been standing there?

The last few weeks hadn't been easy on anyone, but it hit Red Son harder than anyone else. Everyone had been hurt, physically at least, but Red’s hurt was on a deeper level... he'd thought everything was at least back to the status quo after Xiaotian had fought his possessed father.

He had no idea that the fight would be the catalyst for being forced into leaving his parents.

Oh, he had tried to stay. For a while everything had actually been pretty ok, his father was less cold and one minded on gaining power, but it quickly became apparent that something had gone wrong. He tried to talk reason into his father when he began to lash out at him, a little more every day, but after what had happened last time he couldn’t argue without his chest feeling tight and the words sputtering as they escaped his lips. His mother had tried as well, and she had managed to get through to him for a moment before that familiar blue light shone in his eyes and they realized exactly what had happened.

It was at her urging that he leave after that. For his own protection, she said, and Red didn’t know why that brought up so many conflicting emotions. DBK has fixated on him at the White Bone Spirit’s insistent manipulation, once again latching onto the notion of him being a traitor (and that hurt even more the second time around somehow) and she feared she would not be strong enough on her own to keep DBK from nearly succeeding in what he had failed to do last time. They had agreed on a plan, one that would have PIF playing along and pretending to banish her son so she could try to keep DBK under her watchful gaze while Red Son was at the very least out of harm’s reach.

It hadn’t taken him long to realize that he wasn’t safe anywhere alone. His mother had kept in contact with him at first, back when he tried to stay in his old apartment. DBK had made short work of that plan and Red realized quickly that if his father considered him a traitor and his mother wanted his safety before anything else he would need to swallow his pride and do the one thing he hadn’t planned on trying.

He went to Pigsy’s Noodles and asked for shelter... After he was body slammed by Noodle Boy and his two companions there, naturally. He supposed now that the reaction was relatively warranted.

The first thing they asked him was “How long have you been standing there?” since he was completely soaked in the rain that was pouring outside.

It was the scholar, Tang, who had listened to him most out of anyone. He seemed to be well versed in the stories of the White Bone Spirit and knowing the fight Xiaotian had put up against his father (and seeing the news stories of DBK smashing a random apartment) he was more than willing to give him a chance. Xiaotian had seemed willing to help after a time and once his stomach started growling and he admitted he had not eaten a full meal in over a day (and had been eating the worst meals he had in a while due to always being on edge) while hiding Pigsy had scowled and told him to sit down and wait. It was an awkward silence that fell over everyone.

The bowl of soup the pig demon placed in front of him was the best looking and smelling thing he had seen in days and he could barely hold himself back from scarfing it down. It was delicious, not that he was ready to admit so out loud. “Perfectly adequate” was what he had said when asked, around a full mouthful of noodles no less. He doubted it fooled anyone.

Though he hadn’t known what to expect when he asked for help, where they would send him or if they would even say yes. He thought maybe he would be sent to stay with Sun Wukong, though that would have been the worst possible outcome given their less than stellar history, or been told to stay with Xiaotian in his cramped tiny apartment. What he hadn’t expected was Pigsy to lead him out by the shoulder with a firm grip toward his and Tang’s apartment.

They’d given him their spare room and an old mattress and a set of rules. No going off on his own for his own safety (though he had a sneaking suspicion they also didn’t fully trust him which was honestly fair). He would work with Xiaotian on his deliveries or in the Noodle Shop (the idea of driving with Noodle Boy all day made him shudder and he hoped he would be set to work in the kitchen instead most days, but he bit his tongue). He could leave only if he stayed with Xiaojiao or Sandy. No catching things on fire (again, fair). Try not to fight with Xiaotian and Xiaojiao too much.

They tried to work out some kind of payment but he knew his father had no idea how bank accounts worked so he assured them he would at least be financially stable.

And things just... fell together somehow.

In time he started calling Xiaotian and Xiaojiao by their names rather than the nicknames he has given them. He found he actually quite liked Xiaotian’s music and driving delivery routes was not as bad as he feared. Xiaojiao had shown him the wonders of street racing (in disguise and the less Pigsy and Tang knew the better) and they bonded over mechanics. He had met Sandy and his many cats and learned that he was both a cat magnet and, according to Sandy, needed anger management (and also bonded with him over mechanics). He’d seen Sun Wukong only once, very briefly and neither saying a word in awkward silence. But somehow he could tell the monkey looked sad as he flew off back to Mount Huaguo.

Soon enough Pigsy had allowed him to help making soup and as it turned out while his own preferences for spicy food weren’t exactly popular with most normal clientele it drew an entire new group of food challengers. Pigsy seemed more than appreciative of this.

Tang, meanwhile, was overjoyed to have someone to talk to about all his stories and scholarly pursuits that wasn’t just Xiaotian and an annoyed (if, Red eventually realized, affectionately so) Pigsy. It was honestly quite fun to discuss topics he knew about and learn things even he had not known, learn how humans had passed down stories of demons he knew long ago, and just enjoy mildly antagonizing Pigsy in good fun.

This was all stuff he almost could have anticipated given what he knew about them all already. What he hadn’t anticipated was how... affectionate they all were.

Oh, some things he expected. Pigsy and Tang constantly being together? That wasn’t much unlike his parents. Xiaojiao grabbing him in hugs and pulling him around? He had seen how she was with others, that seemed in her character. Xiaotian bumping shoulders with him all the time? Much the same. Granted, he flinched every time this happened out of reflex.

But his confusion had started when Pigsy had ruffled Xiaotian’s hair on the first day Red Son worked in the noodle shop. The action baffled him, especially when the other young man swatted away the chef’s hands in annoyance, but there was a smile on his face and a laugh in his voice that belayed that he hadn’t hated the action.

He saw how much Xiaotian and Xiaojiao hugged, threw their arms over their shoulders, playfully punched each other. How Tang would also ruffle their hair and how Pigsy would move Xiaotian with a firm hand to where he needed him to be walking to. How Sandy would just gather everyone up in massive group hugs out of the blue.

He saw how Pigsy sometimes, when no one else watched, gave Tang the free helping of noodles he hassled him for with a smile. How he frowned after Xiaotian as he walked up to his apartment on shaky legs that were tired from a day of work and fighting demons. How Tang and Pigsy would sometimes reach over the counter and hold hands for a second before going back to what they were doing. How one time he had seen Xiaotian and Xiaojiao sitting back to back on his bed when he was sent up to get them and just... enjoy each other’s company.

He heard the nicknames and saw the casual brushes of hands and bumps of shoulders and smiles and gazes and it...

It made him realize how alone he had been with his mother, before his father had returned. How he almost always had Bull Clones for companions as he worked on his machines, how she rarely gave him casual touches of affection. Even after his father had returned she had been somewhat cold to him. His father was far more concerned with opening the box that started all of this, though he did not know how much blame to place on his father’s neglect itself or the influence he was under.

He loved his parents and he was certain they loved him. He had to be certain of that. But he could no longer deny they were not... affectionate.

So when one day Tang had reached out to grab his shoulder he had panicked.

Luckily he hadn’t burned the man, he had jumped back when he felt his hair flaming up, and he apologized profusely (when had he started being apologetic for his actions? maybe he was just afraid they would second guess giving him a chance and kick him out) for almost harming him.

It surprised him even more when Tang apologized and asked if he was the one ok, saying he didn’t mean to startle him and he should have asked before touching him. He honestly didn’t know what to say, staring at the man before Pigsy had managed to get his attention. Again, he apologized, saying he just didn’t expect it and that it was alright. He didn’t care as long as he wasn’t surprised again.

Something changed after that. Every morning when he woke up Tang and Pigsy made it a point to just nudge him in some way after getting his attention. A grip on his shoulder, warm and firm. A nudge on his arm. At first he tensed or flinched just like when Xiaotian or Xiaojiao touched him, but after a while he just... got used to it. Soon their gentle affection didn’t elicit any reaction and after that he realized he was starved for this kind of attention. He wanted more, not much, maybe he could stand his hair being ruffled a bit now.

And so he started to return it. He grabbed Xiaotian’s arm one day to get his attention and the look of surprise and joy on his face told Red that Pigsy and Tang must have told him something. He started sitting closer to him in the tuk-tuk, no longer pushing away when a bump made their shoulders brush together. He sat closer to Xiaojiao when they played video games or worked on blueprints for their rides. He allowed Sandy’s cats to have free reign of him (within reason) and accepted the hugs and nudges the large man had clearly been holding back from him (he was never able to initiate contact first, the other man was too touchy for him to beat him to it).

He started tapping Pigsy on the shoulder at work for his attention. He didn’t sit two seats away from Tang anymore, instead sitting right beside him.

And a few weeks later when Tang reached up to ruffle his hair the same way he did with Xiaotian he paused, looking at Red Son for permission. He nodded his head yes.

He knew why his old rival seemed to like them so much now.

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scully-loves-ruthie · 3 years ago

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I posted 382 times in 2021

18 posts created (5%)

364 posts reblogged (95%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 20.2 posts.

I added 57 tags in 2021

#word - 10 posts

#yeah - 9 posts

#dope - 6 posts

#my fic - 5 posts

#jesus christ - 5 posts

#noice - 5 posts

#xfiles fanfic - 5 posts

#i mean - 4 posts

#hey man - 4 posts

#jesus - 4 posts

Longest Tag: 84 characters

#like don't worry we're all gonna die but here's the aliens you always knew were real

My Top Posts in 2021

YoU'rE NeVeR GoNnA LoVe AnYtHiNg As MuCh As ThE X-FILES

26 notes • Posted 2021-05-13 15:37:04 GMT

Y'all remember when Mulder had a brain disease for like 3 episodes? Shit was wild.

29 notes • Posted 2021-03-27 00:50:09 GMT

And Maggie said, you have to let him go. But I can't she answered, he'll drown...

Drown he did. Everyday releasing his hold on the life raft that was his office desk. Slowly sinking to the bottom of the ocean floor. Looking up, watching the lines collect around her face, only to quickly realize she’d grown a little too used to cracking open his coffin and saying goodnight at the end of the day. He come to notice that small simmer of surprise that slipped into her eyes every morning she’d find him sitting at that desk alive, ravaged from the night before. Another hit of conspiracy, a quick shot of stolen sister, a bump of my father never loved me, one last main line of my mother was a whore. He loved to suffer. Loved to gnaw and chew on the marrow of his tragedy, stick it in his cheeks and save it for later. No, she couldn’t leave him, not when drowning was suddenly feeling so sweet inside of her. She liked plunging into the frozen abyss he left wide open in front of her and yanking him out. Loved watching him hunker down beneath the waves as solitude swirled them around then dropped them on the shore each morning shiny as a shell but just as hollow. It only hurts for a moment when all the air is finally gone. One last breath suffocated and swallowed whole by a fruitless quest and a man who was determined to love a woman to death. Drowning was easy, as long as they did it together.

31 notes • Posted 2021-12-11 22:29:54 GMT

One time he made a bad joke about pms

Hey my dudes (slides back into the fandom like I haven't been MIA for like 2 years, let alone written anything) I've been trying to be more active these days and have even started writing again. I'm answering some very old prompts from my inbox and working on a long bit of something. Anyway, it's good to be back. Hope you like this!

Thump, Thump, Wack! The pounding on the door growing more intense with each hurtle the beast’s body delivers. Mulder's back is pressed firmly against the other side of the door, his dress shoes digging for stability in the burnt orange motel carpet. Scully splayed against him her arms shoving into the door while adding her body weight against his to stop the impending break in. Their foreheads touch as each breath shimmies out of their lips arduous, biting back panic.

“I told you not to go out there Mulder. There’s nothing good waiting for us in the woods at 3am!” She shakes the hair off her brow pressing her body harder against his as the beast on the other side is making haste of the door frame. “Now we’ve got a rabid animal trying to maul us to death all because you had a hunch!”

“I’m pretty sure my hunch was right Scully!” His voice growing panicked and somehow confident at the same time. “I told you there was a werewolf out there, that we just needed to draw him out, and look we did! We just need to hold on a little longer till the sun rises and we’ll be left with the poor son of a bitch who’s cursed with this beastly affliction!”

Crack! The top of the door is splitting.

“Shit.” Scully whispers frantic and strained into the buttons of his dress shirt. “It’s not a werewolf Mulder. It’s some sort of animal, a wolf perhaps, clearly rapid or going through some sort of psychosis, and you went out there and antagonized it!” She pressed harder against his body melding her frame into his just so, the hands of a clock coming together. Sure, this wasn’t the time to be arguing about whether or not it was actually a werewolf, but years of near-death scrapes, and side long glances in the pursuit of greater chaos really afforded them the ability to bicker anywhere.

“You know Scully” He breathes deep pulling loose strands of her hair up from the top of her head with his middle of the night scruff. “I really thought my biggest problem this week was going to be getting ready to watch you surf the crimson wave, but somehow we managed to one up even that great causality.

Snap! The doorframe is almost broken down now. Mulder’s feet scrape and slide beneath him as Scully pushes with everything she’s got to hold the interloper at bay.

“Mulder, I told you I don’t like it when you track my cycle.” Her words spit out through gritted teeth.

Mulder kisses the top of her head as he feels the door shake loose from its hinges. “You and the moon Scully, my two best girls.”

“Don’t call me a girl Muder!” The words fall forward the same time as them, landing unceremoniously on top of the now broken door outside their motel just as the sun begins to streak across the morning sky.

“Sorry, my best lady” He whispers as she lets her body go slack succumbing to the rush of adrenaline from the onslaught and now being full press horizontal on top pf Mulder as they both pant from exhaustion. “My woman.” He laments as he drags his nose across her cheek and rises to his feet. He pulls her up, the two surveying their surroundings for their attacker. Instead, there is no one to be found just the faint sound of howling and crazed laughter on the horizon.

32 notes • Posted 2021-12-07 01:00:41 GMT

Look I'm not gillovny, and I barely go here anymore,but that looks like two people who be fucking.

36 notes • Posted 2021-04-18 21:47:07 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

#my 2021 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review

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seiin-translations · 4 years ago

Text

2.43 S1 Chapter 1.8 - Young Yunichika

8. CONTINUE GAME?

Translation Notes

1. This is just for clarification but Yuni’s just calling this old man “grandpa” as an endearment

Previous || Index || Next

“My my, I see, Itoko-chan…Okay, take care. Ah, Yuni? It’s already time to go? Make sure you don’t forget anything. Today—”

While his mother was on the phone with someone, he run out of the house without saying goodbye and straddled his bike with a force almost like that of a fugitive.

What was she going to say after ‘today’? “Today, do your best as well?” “Today, I’ll go cheer you on as well?” I don’t want to hear either of those sentences.

July 27. Today was the second day of the tournament where four matches, consisting of two semifinals, the playoffs for third place and the finals, would be taking place. The first semifinal match started at nine-thirty. They planned to gather at Monshiro Station and go to Suzumu City together by train to arrive at the venue.

He stood on his bike as he pedaled on the road to the station. However, the further he got away from home, the more his pedaling speed slowed, and he started to wobble left and right before finally zigzagging uselessly across the full width of the road.

A horn sounded. When he looked back, he saw a small tractor approaching from behind.

“Oh, if it isn’t Bon. Be careful!”

An old man wearing a straw hat over the scarf that covered his head stared closely at him with sullen eyes from the driver’s seat and said in a slow, hoarse voice.

“Sorry, grandpa!” (1)

He brought his bike close to the guardrail and the tractor overtook him at a sluggish speed. The paint on the guardrail had mostly peeled off and some spots were obviously bent, as the elderly scraped against them in their agricultural vehicles. It made one nervous about whether or not they were starting to lose their driving skills.

The road that continued straight ahead was surrounded by, as far as the eye could see, paddy fields, paddy fields, paddy fields. The verdant sea of rice swayed in the summer breeze.

How about I ride my bike straight into a paddy and twist my ankle? An injury or something where I can’t walk today because it hurts too bad but it’s completely healed tomorrow, where it’s just the right amount and not exaggerated…He was in such a negative mood that thoughts like those passed through his mind. He quite honestly wished that he could be barred from the game for some unavoidable reason rather than possibly showing such unsightly behavior like yesterday.

Because…if we have Haijima, then we can probably win anyways even if you stand scarecrows in the other positions.

He didn’t speak a word to Haijima after the match yesterday. Other than the advisor, none of the team members attempted to approach Haijima, only glancing at him like they were looking at a grotesque thing disguised as a person. He could see a clear gulf emerging between Haijima and themselves. The differences in their experience and ability as well as their language existed from the beginning, but usually they were hidden like gutters buried in the snow. As soon as they got on top of one by some momentum and put their weight on it, they lost balance and were reminded of its existence along with the pain.

I don’t feel like I can be in a match with him today. I don’t wanna go…That was all he could think about as he meandered around on his bike again. He even felt a slight stomach ache. I haven’t had something I wanted to avoid so badly it made my stomach hurt since early elementary school. Better yet, if I end up having appendicitis, then it’ll be that “unavoidable reason” thing…

Seeing a motorcycle approach from ahead, he let out a “Hmm?” and stopped zigzagging around. The motorcycle seemed to have noticed him as well, and it decelerated to a stop. Kuroba also stopped his bike and put his foot on the ground.

“Oh, it’s been a while since I’ve seen your face.”

It was Yorimichi, looking like a textbook example of a summertime delinquent with his helmet with worn-out paint, Hawaiian shirt, shorts, and flip-flops. In the summer of his third-year of high school, he had completely developed the presence that came with age and experience. With his tanned face, perhaps from going to the sea, and stubble, he didn’t look like a high schooler no matter how you look at it.

“Yori-chan…”

Not knowing what attitude to take, he had a hopelessly half-hearted look on his face. They barely talked since March, and it had been about a month since he saw his face.

“You’re not tanned at all, eh. Ain’t it summer vacation?”

“Ah, yeah, all I’ve been doing is practicing in the gym, so I’ve got no time to tan.”

“Volleyball’s a pasty sport, eh. Oh, I thought you had a game today. Mm? Didn’t they say it was yesterday?”

“The game was, uh, yesterday, but…Anyways, why are you coming from the station?” The fact that he came from the opposite direction of his house was questionable, but it was also unusual for Yorimichi to be active this early in the morning.

“I’ve been staying at a friend’s place, but I got called back in the morning. They said Itoko got hurt yesterday?”

“Huh…I didn’t hear anything about that? You’re kidding, right? She came to cheer us on yesterday too…”

Come to think of it, didn’t his mother mention Itoko’s name on the phone earlier? He didn’t pay attention to it at the time because he wanted to get out of the house before anyone said anything, but was that a call with Itoko’s mother?

“How did she get hurt? Is it bad?”

“Didn’t hear the details, but apparently they didn’t call the ambulance, so it probably wasn’t a big deal. You can come over if you’re worried? Oh, don’t you have practice now?”

“Huh? Aah…”

Making a vague reply, he looked at the enamel bag on his back. He could have said, “We won yesterday, so we have another game today,” but he was at a loss for an answer for some reason.

“What’s wrong? If you’re coming, it’s faster to leave your bike and ride on this.”

Yorimichi gestured to the tandem seat of Komashi-gou with his chin.

He promised to Haijima before spring break that he would refrain from hanging out with Yorimichi.

Riding tandem on a motorcycle would be out of the question for him. It’ll be a problem for the team if we got into an accident—

The bubbles of antagonism floated up from the bog that had accumulated in the bottom of his heart.

In the end, he’s playing volleyball for himself alone. Why do I need to faithfully keep a promise with someone like that?

⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆

Yesterday morning, when she was riding her bike to the station, triumphantly holding up that “Spread your wings! Kuroba UNIVERSE!” flag that she had spent all night completing, the flag got caught in the wind and she lost her balance. Of course it would be dangerous to pedal your bike with something like that fluttering around. There was a fool who had already fell yesterday just when Kuroba was thinking “I wanna get stuck in a rice paddy and twist my ankle.” At night, the swelling had gotten worse, and his aunt panicked so much that she called Yorimichi home, but as it turned out, it was just a sprain.

There were literal twists and turns before they heard that whole story. Because when they went to Yorimichi’s house, they found a note that said, “I’m going to the clinic,” so they immediately rode there on the motorcycle, and when they got to the clinic, they were told that she must be at the orthopedic clinic because she hadn’t come there, and when they went to the orthopedic clinic, they were told that she had just left, so they ended up going back home again and was able to meet up with Itoko and the others. They had pointlessly gone around town.

Itoko was sitting on the tatami chair in the first floor living room, stretching out her bandaged right foot out on the tatami. In the alcove behind her, the “Spread your wings! Kuroba UNIVERSE!” was displayed like a scroll of appreciation. Kuroba’s face stiffened, and he started to take down the flag.

“Ah, what are you doing to my hard work!”

“Are you dumb? If you hadn’t spent your time on this and came to the first round, you wouldn’t have fell, and the game would have been more fun.”

“You’re talking like the second round wasn’t fun.”

“Well, that’s, you know…”

He trailed off weakly and averted his gaze. The phone in the hallway started ringing. “Onii-chan, get the phone!” His aunt’s voice came from the kitchen. A door on the second floor slammed open, and then Yorimichi’s rough footsteps descended. “Don’t push me around, old hag. Going crazy and calling me back just for an ankle sprain.” “It’s your fault for wandering around right after summer vacation and not coming home at all.” In this house, the mother who called the oldest son “Onii-chan” and the little sister called him “Yorimichi” without any honorifics.

He sat in seiza on the edge of the tatami, crammed the flag behind his butt, and clenched his fists on top of his lap.

“…Was it fun? Watching it.”

This was the first time he was asking someone about their thoughts on yesterday’s game. He didn’t want to be talked about at home, so he avoided as much contact with his family as possible last night and this morning.

“You want to talk about Haijima, don’t you, Yuni. I don’t know anything about volleyball, but that kid looked really out of place yesterday. I was having a little trouble cheering you guys on.”

“Right? There’s something wrong with that guy, don’t you think? Volleyball’s something you play with a team. I know he’s super good, but he’s fatally bad at reading the room.”

Feeling as though he got what he wanted, Kuroba subconsciously gathered strength and put his weight on his knees. However, Itoko, with a somewhat indifferent look on her face, tilted her head to the side.

“Read the room, huh… How did you want him to read it? Did you want him to cut corners to suit you guys’ level, then lose the game and laugh like idiots together about what a shame it was?”

“It’s, it’s not like that…”

The Haijima who cut corners to match the level of others as well as the Haijima who laughed like an idiot when they lost were both creatures who he found creepy and didn’t want approaching him in their own right. That’s not what I meant, but there are probably other ways to do it…What other ways? Did I think it was natural for Haijima to come up with something I couldn’t think of? Honestly, was there anything else Haijima, who only has talent in volleyball, could have done in that situation…?

“That’s a girl thing.”

“What?”

He darted her eyes about and asked back. Maybe her foot was aching or something, because Itoko bent forward and languidly rubbed her ankle.

“Girls usually do things like matching to everyone’s pace so they won’t stand out, or being modest by saying they have no confidence in themselves for things they actually are confident in. I do it too. But boys don’t play those kinds of superficial games, it’s just, like, instinct I guess? …I thought you could understand each other, but I guess that was just my own ideals... Yuni, when you’re doing club activities, you look like you’re having so much fun, and I was admiring you guys by myself and getting so excited, thinking that boys are so incredible, and I was so enthusiastic that I even made that flag, but now I’m so embarrassed I wanna die… Thank goodness it’s summer vacation… I wouldn’t be able to go to school…”

Her face, which was turned downwards like she wanted to sink into her knees, was bright red.

If only he had done a good enough job at yesterday’s second round that would let Itoko proudly fly her flag and freely cheer them on, she would not be so embarrassed like she was now. He felt sorry and had no words words to say to her. It wasn’t Haijima’s fault that the atmosphere of the match went off the rails. He was painfully aware that it was his own pathetic predicament that caused Haijima to play like that.

“Hmm? Why do you guys look so down? Something happen?”

Yorimichi’s large frame appeared at the entrance to the living room. If he wasn’t careful, he’d scrape his head against the lintel, so he bent down slightly while holding up the phone handset.

“It’s getting pretty funny. All our relatives cleaning out the ditch right now. Our family phone tree is working pretty well.”

“Cleaning out the ditch? Did something fall in?”

“Yeah, apparently the Bon of the head house fell in,” he said while grinning like a brat who had just thought of a prank. Itoko cheekily pointed at a stunned Kuroba and said, “You’ve been sleep talking since morning. If you want the head house’s Bon, he’s right here.” She was thoroughly cruel to Yorimichi, a complete change from her meek and gentle attitude.

“You abandoned your bike at the paddy fields.”

“I left it…but I didn’t let it fall into the fields. How old do you think I am?” It was a path that only acquaintances took anyways, so there was no chance of a bike thief. And so he left his bike on the roadside where he met Yorimichi, thinking he could go and get it later.

“Your club advisor called you at home. You have a match today? Why didn’t you say anything?”

“…Ah.”

The stories finally connected. Even though he had left home a long time ago, he didn’t show up at the meeting place, his bike was abandoned on the way there, the only witness was his senile but worried relative, and there was nothing but rice paddies around… Though because he wasn’t a kindergartener by any count, they must have thought it was weird for a third year middle school boy to get caught in them.

Looking at the clock on the wall, it was past nine-twenty-five. The match started at—nine-thirty.

“Yuni…”

Itoko’s voice lowered. Her anger-filled gaze stung the side of his face.

“I can’t believe this, but are you skipping your match? No wonder you’re so relaxed…I can’t believe this. You’re the worst.”

Kuroba could only groan. He didn’t fall into a rice paddy or had appendicitis, but luckily, if he didn’t feel like he had an “unavoidable reason,” now he did.

“Please go immediately.”

“You, you say that, but it’s not like I’ll make it in time since it’s in five minutes, and since Haijima’s there…”

Itoko stood up indignantly, startling both him and Yorimichi. “O-oi, your foot.” Without even trying to protect her sprained ankle, she grabbed Kuroba’s bag and lifted it over her head with the look of a demon.

“Men are always making all kinds of excuses…”

“Oi?”

Yorimichi ducked just in time as a bag flew over his head into the hallway.

***

When he approached the spot where he left his bike, he saw minitrucks parked parallel to the shoulder of the road. His relatives, with rakes and sticks in their hands, were standing in the rice paddies, scratching around in the mud with desperate looks on their faces. The mood there was like they had decided that the Bon of the head house was going to rise up as a drowned body. In the shadow of Yorimichi’s back, Kuroba pulled his helmet low over his eyes and shrank his body.

Thanks to the group of trucks forming a shield, they could pass by without being noticed. Right when he breathed a sigh of relief, the Komashi-gou slowed down and his nose bumped into Yorimichi’s back.

“Yo-Yori-chan?”

With Kuroba clinging to his back, Yorimichi turned around and, unbelievably, shouted loudly.

“Everyone, I’m taking Bon’s bike back to the main house!”

“Eh…oh, Bon! You’re okay!”

“What!?”

Their relatives all raised their faces in astonishment. Yorimichi laughed at them mockingly and started taking off at full throttle. Kuroba, who almost got thrown off, clung to Yorimichi’s torso, but didn’t feel like he was alive anyhow.

“W-w-what will we do if they get mad at us!? W-what will happen to me if I go home today…?”

I’m not in a position to complain because I brought it all onto myself with my actions, but…I wanna leave home and escape somewhere…

The Komashi-gou could bring him all the way to the competition venue, but he was just about to catch the train to the city, so he decided to get dropped off at the station. He wasn’t sure if he could make it to the venue at ten-thirty. It had been one hour since the start time for the semifinals—if it got carried over into a third set, then he might be able to make it just in time, but they probably wouldn’t let him get out there without warming up. If they won, they would be in the finals, and even if they lost, there was still a chance he could play in the third-place deciders. I’ll probably have to kneel down on the ground at least. Apologizing to Sensei, and everyone on the team, and Haijima…is aggravating, but…

“…Hey, Yori-chan…do you remember talking about how the guys from Haijima’s old school were bashing him online?”

He asked as his face got hit by Yorimichi’s Hawaiian shirt that was filling with the wind.

“Hmm? Yeah.”

He could hear the indifferent response from between the noisy clattering and thumping sounds that hit his ears. Even Yorimichi himself, who had used that information to rile up Haijima, scorned it as a petty way to do things. Would I be hated if I confessed…? But the feeling of a foreign object being stuck in his throat was agonizing, and he couldn’t help but spit it out.

“I did the same thing last night…”

Last night, he had phone conversations with several of his teammates. Some calls came from them and some came from himself. “That definitely puts me off.” “It feels like you’re playing the match alone when he does that.” There was something comforting about complaining to each other in that way. He felt comforted in being able to confirm that it wasn’t that he was the only one who was intolerant or narrow-minded, and that everyone felt the same. Perhaps the same group psychology that was at work in the people who posted bad things about Haijima online was at the root of it. When everyone shared their frustrations, it made them feel a little better.

It would make Itoko disappointed, but—the invigorating community of men who could “understand each other like it was natural instinct” that she admired only existed in sports manga or battle manga.

The wind was so loud that he didn’t know if Yorimichi responded or not. Maybe he was trying to make himself feel better by thinking that he had repented by telling Yorimichi. That made him feel even more cowardly, and Kuroba couldn’t say it a second time.

⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆

When Kuroba came running at ten-twenty-five, the semifinals were over a long time ago. He couldn’t believe it when he heard that they lost the match in straight sets in less than forty minutes of match time.

“But we have Haijima! Like yesterday…”

“Are you an idiot?” His advisor flatly brushed him aside. “It’s true that we’re a team based around Haijima, but it’s not like we can win with him alone. There’s a rule in volleyball that one person can’t touch the ball twice in a row, right? Don’t you know that? Want me to lend you the rulebook?”

Kuroba sullenly hung his head. It was Haijima who did that off-putting play that could have overturned the base premise of volleyball yesterday…

“Didn’t you talk to Haijima yesterday, good grief…Haijima said that yesterday’s high-handed way of doing things was like a surprise attack, and that he knew what he was doing. He said that no matter how you look at it, it won’t work today. He said that as long you could recover, we could win…”

“Haijima did…?”

“A guy like that acts calm and composed, even if you weren’t here, but…it looks like that happened in the middle of the first set. I had a feeling something was wrong, but his face never changed even once…Oh, oh, Haijima, you ready to go?”

He tensed up at the advisor’s voice, a conditioned reflex.

Haijima appeared slowly from the back of the dim hallway. He was dressed in the Monshiro Middle School jersey pants and a white T-shirt, his enamel bag was slung over his shoulder, and he must have just washed his hair, since his bangs were wet. The middle finger of his left hand was lightly pressed against his side with his ring finger supporting it, and there was tape winded around it.

It seemed that he had dislocated his left hand’s middle finger.

Because Monshiro, which had an injured player in the semifinals, didn’t have enough reserve members, they withdrew from the third-place deciders. In spite of getting fourth place in the prefecturals, an outstanding achievement that would be carved into the history of Monshiro Middle School’s athletic clubs, it ended in a way they couldn’t be proud of at all. At the same time Kuroba arrived, the advisor had dismissed the club members on site and was about to accompany Haijima to the hospital.

They could have just waited for Kuroba to arrive until just before the start of the third-place deciders. However, the advisor decided to withdraw from the game as soon as possible, because he concluded that even if Kuroba was able to make it and the team had enough members, they wouldn’t be able to play a game worthy of the third-place deciders with Haijima in a non-functioning state. They could do the semifinals without Kuroba, but the team was fundamentally unsustainable without Haijima.

Haijima raised his gaze that was tending slightly downwards. As soon as he recognized Kuroba, his narrow eyes widened a little. His lips opened thinly as he was about to assemble some words. Kuroba clenched his teeth, wondering if he was going to punch him.

However, Haijima only gave a small sigh, like he was exhausted, and then cast down his eyes again. …His eyes are red? Don’t tell me he was crying?

“…What. So you’re alive…”

He spat out in a low voice. He sounded a bit nasal. Dislocations were an integral part of volleyball, something Kuroba had yet to experience, but he had heard that the pain was enough to make one cry. Or was he frustrated that he lost? He wondered if he had ever cried in frustration before. He didn’t think so. …He felt somewhat guilty that he couldn’t understand a single thing about Haijima’s pain.

“When did I die?”

Even though he should have first apologized for skipping the game, but he couldn’t get the word “Sorry” out. He responded jokingly in spite of himself, but got no reaction. Haijima silently walked past the advisor and ignored his confused voice calling out to his back with “Haijima, that’s not the way to the taxi.” He passed Kuroba without making eye contact with him.

Their shoulders brushed. It was Haijima, not Kuroba, who staggered.

The March incident suddenly flashed across his mind. It vividly reminded him of when Haijima became like a lifeless doll that had its important circuits fried after he was knocked down by Yorimichi—

Oh…

The signs matched up in his head, and he was aghast at himself for making such a stupid joke. For Haijima, the life or death of his teammate wasn’t something he could joke about. It must have been engraved into him as a trauma. He didn’t know the details, but apparently someone on his team attempted suicide because of Haijima.

Don’t tell me he was seriously afraid of that while I was reluctantly tossing around reasons to skip…

“Hai…”

When he suddenly turned back at Haijima’s leaving back, he heard his voice.

“I know what your ‘judgement’ of me is. It’s enough…”

Haijima’s voice was hoarse, so difficult to hear that it was hard to believe it came from him.

He couldn’t come up with anything to say right away. He should have run after him, took his arm and said “You’re wrong,” but his feet were stuck to the ground and he couldn’t move.

Even if he tried to deny it, he actually did them. The mean and cowardly act of calling around and badmouthing him behind his back. The childish act of skipping because he didn’t want to be in a match with him. While coolly declaring that “I’ll make up my own judgement about you,” he ended up making Haijima feel the same way he had in his previous school.

Even though he wasn’t wearing headphones like when he first transferred, there was a hard shell being put around his back, and he couldn’t find a gap to call out to him through. Ah…why am I even recalling this now? Haijima hasn’t brought that bag with his old school’s emblem on it since who-knows-when.

We’re going backwards.

…No way, it’s over? That’s it? It was only then that he realized that there would be no more opportunities to recover. Why hadn’t I thought of that until now? The third-year middle school summer tournament only comes once. It’s our first and last tournament. Why didn’t I value each minute and second and engrave them into my heart? We’re just going to end this with this letdown of an ending where we withdrew from the third-place deciders—.

He felt like time was suddenly zipping by at a dizzying speed, and he stepped on the ground with both feet to keep from falling.

I don’t want it to end here.

I still—still want to play volleyball with Haijima.

Previous || Index || Next

#2.43: Seiin Koukou Danshi Volley-bu #2.43 book 1 #2.43 translation

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slashingdisneypasta · 4 years ago

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Frason AS Nygmobblebot

Just Ed and Oz thing’s I think correlate rather nicely with Freddy and Jason. For fun.

Jason is Penguin because he’s arguably the most popular Slasher (Who doesn't look at a hockey mask now and think at some level about horror??), was close with his parents / mother (Pamela is a composition of Gertrude and Fish) and is pretty cute some most of the time. Also! Sex appeal doesnt work on either of them (Referring to Ivy's perfume not working on Oz)

And Freddy is Riddler because they’re both bastards who are extra and theatrical. And *cough* they both killed their first romantic partner. I think the same way, too??

As far as Oz being the more experienced killer, F13 did come out 4 years before ANOES, and strictly speaking, Jason was out of 'normal' society a looooong time before Freddy entered the dream realm. (Jason: 11 years old when he started living in the forest. In fact, Oz was so cute and timid in the first season that you could call him a 'Baby' penguin. Or 'child' penguin, like what Jason was // Freddy: 26-7 when he died. You could consider the time Freddy was secrely jilling kids in the basement akin to Ed's season two 'Villain Puberty')

Okay, on to fun stuff! XD

Penguins sassiness: Jason making the 'Talking' hand gesture at Freddy during an interview.

Olga / Roy (Maybe?) *About Jason's relationship with /towards Freddy*: "I dont understand why Jason likes him so much."

Jason befriends a ferral racoon and names it Freddy. (= Oz getting a doggo and calling it Edward)

Jason communicates that Freddy’s hat is stupid and Freddy gets overly defensive. “wHAT?!”

Penguins / Jason: *When Freddy gets far too close* (Then you know) You're standing too close. (*Or in Jasons language: Flinging Freddy across camp*)

Okay, the part in Gotham when Riddler loses his smarts and 'befriends' (Manipulates) Butch / Solomon Grundy into being his friend and protecting him so he doesnt get killed by criminals in the city because he knows that without his brains, he will be an easy target for people that already hate him and want him dead? In this version, Freddy (Who is stuck in the real world in a mortal form) manipulates Bubba, Jasons non-blood brother, the same way because he's big, 'dumb' and easy to control with some 'kindness' and a smile; Freddy uses Bubba for protection from other Horror Villains LIKE Jason who he antagonised when he was powerful, by telling him that they're friends. Does that make sense? XD Aha

At this time when Freddy is stuck in the real world, he he finds the perfect living for himself by starring an underground, illegal fight club with Bubba as his star fighter. Freddy often dresses up as Jason and mocks him.

Okay moving on completely from that.

Um?? Riddler / Freddy setting up a whole horrible delusion of Penguin / Jason’s parent coming back to life and tormenting him?? Sounds pretty familiar.

Jason actually believing he’s sane after all the electroshock therapy and stuff in Arkham (Or whatever our Horror Villain equivalent is. Hell?) like ‘Oh I am sane- I have a certificate!!’ and Freddy knows damn well his crazy ass is a pyschopath like ‘I’m... sane? Are you sure about that?’

Okay, Freddy actually thinking he suceeded in killing Jason finally, and then proceeding to have a hallucinatory bisexual panic because Jason’s gone and now he has no ‘worthy’ enemies.

(Alice can be Lucius!)

-jaSON GETS A LITTLE ADOPTED SON LIKE MARTIN. MAYBE BRAHMS??

Riddler! Making! Oz! The paper! Penguin! What I'm saying is mayyyybe Freddy can repair Jason's machete or something?

Some organisation like the Court of Owls (Maybe a group who are hell bent om destroying all Slashers) put a chip in Freddys brain so they can control him and have him do large-scale terrible things to other Slashers (Instead of the bit where the Riddler is made to bomb the hospital place) because who would believe that Freddy didnt do that on his own accord? He would.

Them working together to get out of Court Of Owls Jail / Hell (Like they were gonna in one of the proposed FVSJ 2 plots with Pinhead involved). They agree on an hour of grace period where they wont try and kill each other, so that they can successfully get out... but of course they both try to skip to the killing bit... multiple times.

Antagonizing each other like literal children in said Court Of Owls Jail / Hell.

Jerome is Michael- the third part of the 3 main Gotham / Horror villains who both Jason and Freddy are both, understandably, a bit concerned about and decide to work together to try and get rid of him.

(This picture: Swap their positions cuz Jason large and Freddy hands-on about things)

(This picture: Jason / Penguin is of course the sort of more composed one when death comes from above and Freddy / Riddler is prepared to push Jason in front of him like a human shield)

Finding out Barbara / Tiffany (Dont have amothe colour for her unfortunately) is having a baby:

Jason: *Signing* So who's the lucky father??

Freddy: *Silence, thinking: Oh Jesus fucking christ a child*

Jason being around Michael much more then Freddy ever has (In fandom).

This picture: Swap the expressions / Reactions. Jason is panicked, slughtly concerned and terrified and Freddy is disgusted / horrified by Tiffany going into labor.

Omg XD Penguin having Victor freeze Riddler and keeping him in the Ice Lounge: Jason maybe keeping Freddy's head at the end of FVSJ (If you are to assume Jason won that and that Freddy is now just some kinda conscious zombie head now) and using it as like, an annoying paperweight or audible decoration. Out of pure spite. We know Jason has it in him- he might not be as mischievious as Michael is, but he's absolutely got it in him.

#Frason #Freddy Vs Jason #Freddy Krueger #Freddy x Jason #Jason Voorhees #Freddy Krueger x Jason Voorhees #Nygmobblepot #crack #Frason as Nygmobblepot

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imagine-loki · 5 years ago

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Loki's Daughter

TITLE: Loki’s Daughter CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter 4: Healing

AUTHOR: traveling-classicist ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine Avengers: Endgame AU Loki that gets away with tesseract has been using it to explore the universe. During his adventures, he comes across a little girl with developing but oppressed magical abilities. Intrigued (and subconsciously lonely) Loki keeps her around.

RATING: Fic: M for triggering content; this chap: PG-13 (it’s mostly fluff)

AO3 Link: Here NOTES/WARNINGS: Nothing special for this chapter. It’s pretty fluffy, honestly. Enjoy!

A heavy feeling of dread began to fall over Loki. He had no idea how he would save Kuna. He had no food for her. He supposed he could melt some snow and ice for water, but he would need a container to put it in. He sat down cross-legged and concentrated his seidr on his pocketverse. He was sure he must have saved a pot or pan or bowl or something over the centuries and tucked it away in there. He imagined a pot in his mind, focusing hard on the thought.

Before him, a gold-plated but dented pan appeared in his hands. He chuckled as he remembered why he had hidden this Asgardian dish in his pocket. Nearly a thousand years ago, when he and Thor were children themselves, they had been playing around in the palace near the kitchens.

The chefs and servants hated them being down there because they were always causing a ruckus. One particular cook despised Loki. She hated Loki more because he would pinch apple tarts fresh off the trays and Thor would tattle on him. She would chase Loki away, wielding this, her favorite cooking pan, and Thor would get an apple tart as a treat for telling on him.

He remembered one day, he and Thor were messing around in the kitchens again and being chased by old Igassok – Loki called her ‘Iggy’ and she hated it. She had seen Loki, not Thor, which is why she was following after him, thinking he was down there stealing again.

The brothers both hid in the washroom, behind some barrels holding soap powders and water. Despite her obvious hatred for Loki, they both thought that being chased by her was a fun game. Like being chased by some hulking frost giant with a great club.

She burst into the washroom. The two boys flattened out against the floor behind the barrels. Her heavy footsteps crossed the room. Loki could see her shadow on the floor in the light of the doorway. She walked up to the great washbasin which was filled to the brim with dirty water and dishes.

“Hmm,” she muttered. “Must be seeing things.”

She turned and left the room. They could hear her asking the other servants outside if they’d seen anything. Thor had gotten them all flogged so many times for tattling to father whenever he caught them stealing some of the Palace’s food, that they wouldn’t tell Iggy anything against either of the princes, even if she smacked them upside the head with her pan.

The princes let out their breath and laughed at the old woman as her voice faded away into the next room. Now stuck in the washroom for at least a few minutes while Iggy did a lap around the kitchens, they stared at each other.

“What now?” Loki asked Thor.

He shook his head. “Don’t know.” Looking around, his eyes landed on the pile of dishes above them. Thor smiled at his brother.

“Truth or dare?”

Loki smiled back. “Sure.”

“You first,” Thor said.

Loki was taken aback. His brother never let him go first at anything.

“Truth,” he said, cautiously.

“Why are you so scared of Iggy?”

“That’s easy! She beats me with her pan all the time and father never believes me!”

“You’re just a baby,” Thor teased and quickly followed with, “Okay, my turn. Dare.”

“I am not a baby,” Loki said. “That thing is made of celestial copper! It hurts! She’s already put a dent in it with my head. I still have the bump, look!” He tried to show his brother.

“Whatever,” Thor said, flippantly. “Dare me.”

“Um,” Loki looked around, trying to think of something mean to dare his brother to do to get back at him. He smiled, cunningly. “Fine, then,” he said. “I dare you to steal Iggy’s pan.”

Thor gasped and then smiled dastardly, happily taking up the dare to rob that old hag. Loki grinned. If Thor pulled it off, he would have done something bad and Loki could tell mother on him. That would get him in trouble for sure. On top of it, Iggy wouldn’t have that old pan to beat him with anymore.

“I accept,” Thor said, haughtily.

“Alright, then. Go get it.”

“Fine, I will.”

“Fine, I’ll be in my room.”

“Fine.”

They both snuck out of the room. Loki made a beeline for then nearest exit while Thor made his way through the kitchen after Iggy. Loki had no doubt that his brother would get the pan. He had his ways of convincing people to do what he wanted. Loki was going to sit and wait for his plan to take effect.

Half an hour later, Thor returned to their room with the pan.

“See,” he said, showing Loki. “I told you.”

“Well done,” Loki said, taking it from him.

Thor grinned at him and then bolted out the door, flying down the hallway.

“Father! Father! Loki stole Iggasok’s pan from the kitchens!” he screamed as he fled down the hallway.

Loki panicked. He looked around the room for a place to hide the pan. Maybe, if father couldn’t find the evidence, he would abandon any punishment he could think of for his youngest son. Loki scrambled around the room, testing the best hiding spots but found nothing good enough.

Then, he remembered his mother teaching him about pocketverses. She had only shown him once how to do it. He had had trouble accessing the pocket ever since. After becoming frustrated with it, he just abandoned it. But now, he needed it more than ever. No one, not even the Allfather, could access someone else’s pocketverse. This was his answer, but he was running out of time.

It wouldn’t take long for Thor to reach the court chambers and rouse their father from some meeting with dusty, old men to punish Loki. He plopped down on the floor, pan in hand, and thought with all his might for it to disappear. He moved his hands in the circular motion mother had showed him, but it didn’t work.

Panicking, he tried again and again. He could hear footsteps approaching the doorway. He knew telling the truth would not save him. The truth meant telling father they were down in the kitchens where they should not have been, antagonizing Iggy. The truth meant telling father they were playing some silly game instead of studying or sparring in the courtyard. The truth meant telling father that Loki had tried to get Thor in trouble.

He concentrated as hard as he could, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Go away, go away,” he muttered, making the circular gesture over and over again.

“Loki?” Odin called from the doorway.

His eyes opened. The pan was gone. It wasn’t in his lap anymore. He looked up at his father. Thor was standing by his side, beaming.

“Yes, father?” Loki said, trying to act calm.

“Were you down in the kitchens?” he asked, gruffly. “Did you steal Iggasok’s pan?”

“No, father. I’ve been in here all afternoon…” he said, trying to act as innocent as possible. “I’ve been reading.”

“Is that so?” his father asked, raising the brow above his golden eyepatch.

“Yes, sire. I’ve been reading about dragons today. Did you know that thousands of planet systems have dragons?” he stalled. “And - and there are hundreds, if not thousands, of different species on each planet? That has to be billions of types of dragons all over the universe!”

“Mmm, yes, I suppose so,” Odin muttered. He wasn’t listening to him. Loki watched as his icy, blue eye searched the room. He walked in and passed Loki on the floor. He opened the hamper and looked inside but found nothing. “Where’s your book?” he asked, continuing to interrogate Loki.

“Oh, it’s over here,” Loki said. Thankfully, it wasn’t a complete lie. He loved reading The Natural History of Dragons. It was one of his favorites. He picked it up from the bedside table and brought it to his father.

Odin took it from him and flipped through the pages, but he wasn’t looking at them. He was looking for another place Loki could have hidden the stolen pan. Thor was pretending to play with his toy warriors in the corner.

Odin closed the book and shoved it into Loki’s chest, striding over to the box where they put their toys. Thor looked pleased. He caught Loki’s eyes as their father’s back was turned and stuck out his tongue at him. Loki made an ugly face back at him.

“Loki,” his mother said from the doorway. Her sudden appearance made him jump. Odin straightened up from the toybox, letting the lid fall. “Don’t make faces at your brother,” she said. It wasn’t much of a scold as a reminder.

“Sorry, mother,” Loki said, looking down at his feet.

“Did you lose something in the toybox, my love?” she addressed Odin. He turned and looked at her, weighing his own options. Did he risk antagonizing a mother’s wrath for such a minor fault of Loki’s or simply drop the subject?

“Mmm, no,” he grumbled and walked by, striding out the door to return to his business. Thor’s jaw dropped in bewilderment at his father’s quick abandonment of Loki’s juryless trial and sweet punishment.

“Thor, darling, close your mouth. It’s not very princely of you,” Frigga said with smirk at her eldest son. She looked down at Loki and winked at him. He looked back at Thor and grinned. It felt so good to see Thor’s plan be thwarted. And even if Loki’s hadn’t gone exactly as planned, he had still silently won this round against his brother.

Loki chuckled to himself as he stared at the pan in his hands in the diamond cave. The fondness of the memory was quickly overtaken by a hollow feeling in Loki’s chest. Now, his brother and father wanted nothing to do but kill him or lock him away. And he would probably never see his mother again.

He shook his head and stood, pan in hand. He looked down at Kuna. He hoped he could quickly get outside and back again without her waking. He waved his hand at the candlelight above, commanding it to stay put this time as he walked through the passageway. He dipped the pan into the snow that had built up nearest the entrance. He didn’t dare try to go out into the open again, lest those snowmen still be guarding the entrance. Taking a small handful of snow for himself, he tasted it, ensuring that there was a zero percent alcohol content this time.

Satisfied, he returned to Kuna. He sat a few meters away from her and put the pan on the floor. The snow began to melt immediately from the warmth of the floor, but Loki would have preferred to boil it first. He conjured up some old linens and pieces of blank parchment from his pocket and built a small fire, this time without blowing himself up in the process.

Once the fire was crackling, he set the pan over it, careful not to snuff it out. He stared into the flames for a while as he waited for the water to boil. He glanced over at Kuna. Rising to his feet, he carefully picked her up and brought her closer to the fire.

She did not wake this time. He watched her chest. There was no movement for a moment and Loki felt a pang of panic and then guilt. Then, her chest rose in a long but shallow breath. She did not have much time. He concentrated once more and tried to summon any sort of food from his pocket, but his hands came up empty.

He dropped his hands in his lap. How was he going to nurse her back to health without any food? He closed his eyes. He needed something to heal her but he had nothing. He was not trained in healing magic, relying more on potions and ingredients or his healing factor for himself in the past. As he sat there, thinking, he felt something cool fall into his hands and opened his eyes. The bottle of blood he had extracted from the kapka on Torileena glinted in his hands.

“That’s it!” he said and flinched, covering his mouth with his hand and looking at Kuna. She did not stir. He sighed, relieved.

He conjured his alembic, a mortar and pestle, and the kapka claws he had taken as well. Kuna’s moron masters had said they could both be used to create healing potions. Loki just had to make a refined composite of the two.

The water was boiling now. He took it from the fire and set it aside to cool. He poured the blood into the alembic and set it on its stand. Using the mortar and pestle, he ground the claws into a powder. For good measure, he conjured up some hawk feathers he had plucked from a very angry mother hawk and placed them in the mortar to grind in with them. The feathers were well known throughout the Realms for their healing properties.

He added the powder to the alembic with a small amount of water and attached the tube to it, angling it into another small vial to catch the composite. He waited. Slowly, the mixture began to bubble in the green glass base. It turned a rather gross shade of yellow. The vapors traveled up the spout and condensed in the bulb above it. The little droplets traveled down the tube and began to fill the container with the newly distilled mixture.

When the vial was full and all the mixture had been distilled, he took it over to Kuna. Gently propping up her head in his hand, he tried to wake her to drink the potion.

“Kuna,” he spoke softly. “Kuna?” Her eyes opened a little. “Here, I need you to drink this, it will make you feel better. No alcohol this time… I hope,” he added.

He tipped the vial to her lips and she drank from it. She swallowed a bit and made a sour face, pushing the vial away. It tasted awful; like rotten meat.

“I know it doesn’t taste very good, but you have to drink all of it.” Loki coaxed her with it again. She frowned but gave in and drank the rest in one big gulp.

“Agh!” Kuna gagged on the liquid but swallowed hard. Her whole body shuddered at the horrible taste. She tried not to heave. She did not want to get sick again. She closed her eyes and waited for the sensation to pass.

She felt a warmth begin to emanate through her body from her tummy. She closed her eyes and concentrated on this strange feeling. It traveled up from her chest, down her arms to her fingers and down from heart to her legs then toes. It felt good. Really good. Like she was being hugged by golden light.

“Mmm,” she breathed. A smile spread across her face. She did not want the feeling to stop.

“How do you feel, Kuna?” Loki asked her. He had been watching her, studying her for any signs of a negative reaction.

“I feel really, really good,” she said, slowly. Her eyes were still closed. Loki couldn’t help but smile back.

“Good,” he said. He was relieved.

“What was that?” Kuna asked. “It tasted really bad.”

“I’m sorry about the taste,” Loki replied. “Do you remember the kapka blood and claws I took from Torileena?”

Kuna gasped. “Are you a maker?”

“Uh. Um. I don’t know what that is. But I do have some skill as an alchemist. I just mixed up a little potion to heal you. I’m glad it worked so well.”

“Woah,” she said, quietly. No maker had ever paid any mind to her. “Thank you, sir.”

“Kuna, you don’t have to call me ‘sir’, remember? You can call me Loki.”

She smiled and looked down at her hands. Loki moved closer to her. He wanted to see if the bruises and cuts on her arms had healed as well. Out of habit, her body tensed. “May I see?” he asked, softly.

Her eyes darted around, unsure of what he meant. He gently took her arm and looked at the place where the chains had dug into her skin. The potion did seem to heal her wounds. The bruises had turned brown and yellow from the deep purples and blues they had been before. The cuts were scabbed and nearly healed. Even the chafing around her neck and wrists and ankles had diminished. He smiled at his work.

“Do these feel better?” he asked her, still examining them. He saw a small, silver scar peeking out of the top of the back of her shirt. He went to pull it down but she tore away.

“Y- Yes, si–, I mean, Loki. They feel b—better,” she stammered.

He turned his head. “Kuna, are you hurt somewhere else? Can I take off your shirt to see?”

She shook her head hard. “No, no, please, Loki,” she said, hugging herself and pulling her shirt over her knees and legs.

“Alright, alright, I won’t. You’re sure you’re not hurt?”

“No, sir. I’m not. I feel so much better. I’ve never felt this good before.”

“Well, alright, then,” he said. He was concerned about these scars he had seen but he did not want to push her. She was terrified of him still, he could see that. And why shouldn’t she be? She may not have seen it but he had been very close to killing her only a few hours prior.

“Well, why don’t you lie down and sleep for a while. You’ll need rest while that potion takes its full effect.”

“It gets better?” she asked in amazement.

Loki chuckled. “Yes, it does. Now, lay down.”

He conjured up another blanket for her and gave it to her. She made herself comfortable by the fire, curling up like a dog. She was nearly asleep when the wind howled loudly against the outside of the cave, creating horrifying, ghoulish echoes in the cavern. She jumped and ran over to Loki, curling up beside his leg.

He scooted over a little. “It’s fine,” he said, dismissively. “It’s just the wind outside.”

“Not the snowmen?”

“No, not the snowmen. At least, I don’t think so,” he replied.

Kuna was terrified. She looked up at Loki, wondering if he really thought it was the snowmen back to get them. He was no longer blue like he was before. His skin had returned to its normal, pale color.

“Loki?”

“Yes?”

“Why were you blue before?”

Loki’s expression fell flat. He did not wish to answer this question. It had taken him hours to completely shut out the voice in his head. He had built a brick wall around the locked pit in his mind to keep him in and now he could hear the echoes of his laugh once more.

“It’s no business of yours,” he said, gruffly.

“Oh,” Kuna flinched at his tone. “I’m sorry, Loki. I—I,” she trailed off. She didn’t mean to upset him.

She made herself comfortable beside him. He had moved a foot or so away from her but his proximity made her feel safer. She wrapped herself up in the blanket and fell asleep.

Loki looked down at his hands. He should not have spoken to her that way. It wasn’t her fault. He should have been thanking her. If it weren’t for her, he’d probably been killed by the snowmen.

He was perplexed by her. He could still feel her magic in his own aura. He knew she had magic but she had been quick to dismiss it before. However, the spell she had used to destroy the snowmen was certainly powerful. Her reaction to it was what puzzled him the most. The painful howl that came from her still echoed in his ears.

In young ones her age, magic could manifest itself in strange ways, like making objects move without touching them; finding things you thought you’d lost; making things disappear and reappear without trying; those sorts of things. But what she had exhibited was far more powerful than simple parlor magic.

His mother had been quick to notice Loki’s aptitude early on and helped him foster his abilities using seidr. Thor had had some aptitude with magic too, but Odin had seen that his abilities would be better concentrated with the use of an enchanted weapon. Thus, he had the dwarves forge Mjölnir for him for when he came of age.

Loki, on the other hand, trained with his mother and learned to control his abilities and focus them with seidr - a magical system of spells, runes, and incantations - that allowed Loki the ability to have full mastery of his powers. He preferred seidr to weapons-based magic. The weapons were nice and all, but he preferred the flexibility of seidr. He did not have to have some fancy weapon to control his powers. He could use them whenever and wherever he wanted.

Frigga had tried to teach Thor in seidr, but he had no interest in it. He spent those lessons swinging his enchanted toy hammer around, electrifying the air and making his and his mother’s hair stand up straight. Eventually, Frigga gave up and let Odin teach Thor with the hammer and focused her lessons on Loki. He had loved those lessons. Just him and his mother practicing magic together.

Loki dozed a little, leaning back against the wall of the cave. He would wake for a moment, ensure Kuna was alright and that they were still alone, before dozing off again. After several hours, Kuna began to stir. She sat up in her blanket and yawned.

“How do you feel?” Loki asked, half-expecting her to be hungover.

“I feel good,” she said. She seemed confused and surprised. “I feel really good.”

“Hmm,” Loki said, impressed by her resilience and his alchemical prowess. “Good,” he added. He made a mental note that kapka blood mixed with its claws and hawk feathers cured hangovers as well as made a decent healing potion.

Kuna looked around at the diamond cave. She liked how the walls and columns sparkled in the firelight. The shadows of the crystalline stalactites and stalagmites danced on the walls. Loki followed her gaze.

“Pretty incredible, huh?” he said. She nodded in awe.

“Does this mean we’re rich?” she asked and then corrected herself, “I – I mean does this mean you’re rich?”

Loki considered her question. He hadn’t really thought about it. On Asgard, and many of the other Nine Realms, diamonds were so abundant, they were hardly considered valuable. Only the stupidest of Midgardians had fallen for their people’s own ploy of giving them a price beyond their true value.

“Do you think they’re worth something?” he asked her.

She stared at him in consternation. Who would think that diamonds weren’t valuable? Was she wrong? Was it a trick question?

“Well…” she said. “I think they are. Master Machaluci said his was the biggest in the whole universe. He put it in his chest, right here,” – she pointed at a spot below the collar on her neck to show him – “so everyone would see it and know that he was richer than them.”

Loki chuckled a little. It sounded like her home-system was made up with beings a lot like the Midgardians he had come to despise.

“Was he wrong?” she asked.

“Well, I guess it depends on how your world, or worlds, rather, were formed,” he explained. “Where I come from, diamonds are like little pebbles on the street. They’re everywhere. On some of the other realms, they’ve been buried for a few million years but their perfectly discoverable with good equipment. I suppose we could take a few of these and jump to the next world to find out.”

Kuna felt sick to her stomach at the thought of doing that again. Upon thinking of her stomach, it growled ferociously. The pains of hunger fled through her body. She wanted to fall over. She put her hands on her tummy and groaned.

“I could get you something to eat there,” Loki said. “It won’t be a big jump, I promise. We can see the planet from outside.”

“Really?” she asked.

“Mmm hmm,” he said, nodding.

He stood and walked over to a low hanging stalactite. He inhaled through his nose and blew out hard through his mouth and struck the diamond with the butt of his palm. A crack burst through the diamond and a chunk twice the size of his head fell away with a thud that echoed around the room.

Kuna was in awe at Loki’s strength. He picked up the chunk of diamond and made it disappear. Kuna’s eyes widened. He had done that magic before. He smirked at her.

“Come on. Let’s get out of here. I despise snow planets” he said.

She hopped to her feet. She was no longer dizzy or tired. She thought this was the best she had felt in her whole life. Loki picked up the blanket and stored it away. Stamping out the fire, he cast another candlelight into the air, and it followed them as they walked.

“If it turns out the people on the next planet over think this is the most valuable thing in the world, we know where to come back,” he explained. Kuna trotted along beside him. They stopped in the icy room.

“Look up there,” Loki said, pointing at the hole in the ceiling. “See that planet up there? See the little lights on it? That means there are civilized people there.”

“Oh.”

“Well,” Loki added. “Civilized enough to have harnessed electricity for themselves. The Midgardians have only just done that, and I would hardly call them civilized.”

Kuna had no idea what he was talking about, but he sounded like he knew what he was talking about, so she just nodded. He looked down at her.

“Ready?”

She grabbed his leg and held on tight.

“Good, we’ll do it from in here. I don’t think either of us want to go back outside with those snowmen,” he said. Kuna shook her head. That was the last thing she wanted to do.

Loki concentrated on the tesseract’s energy, “Do what I want this time,” he said, aloud.

Kuna heard him and looked up, confused. Had she not done something right? He didn’t look at her. Clouds of blue vapor swirled around them and they disappeared.

Reappearing on the other side, it was dark there too. Loki looked up at the sky and laughed.

“Ha!” he laughed. “Look at that! See? There’s the snowball planet.” He pointed at a place in the sky. Kuna followed the end of his finger with her eyes. It was hard for her to see it immediately but when her eyes focused, she could just make out a perfectly circular orb hovering in front of the stars. It was completely dark and the only way she knew it was there was from how it blocked out the stars behind it.

She looked back up at Loki. She was still a little disturbed by his comment. “Did—” she hesitated to ask, fearing his reaction. “Did I do something wrong?”

“Hmm?” Loki asked, looking down at her. “Oh! No, no. I wasn’t talking to you. Don’t worry.”

Kuna was a little worried. Who else was he speaking too? She was the only one with him, right?

Loki looked up again. “Ah! Look there,” he pointed. “A city.”

#Loki #God of Mischief #Father #Others #Submitted fic #submission #traveling-classicist #Loki's Daughter #chapter 4

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bellamyblake · 5 years ago

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I hope you don't mind the asks 🙈 quarantined and bored. What's your favorite bellarke au and headcanons about it?

I don’t mind them. Thank you.

Well I like the soldier!AUs a lot, the figher!bellamy nurse!clarke a lot! Those are my favorite. I also love canon divergent fics and I love writing them. I love hurt!bell and Clarke freaking out over him, those are my faves. I love kid!fics too.

For the solider things I usually have that in my head:

I like thinking of him as a leader of his own team, a badass sergeant while she’s a medic who recently joined their squad.

They have a hate/love relationship going. He doesn’t like her, because she’s the daughter of a really famous army general Jake Griffin, but he has to respect her because he died in battle when she was 13 years old.

Still, he finds her privileged.

He loves his team and his fellow soldiers and he does his best to protect them.

They start bonding only when Jasper gets hurt and Bellamy brings him over to the med tent all panicked and scared and she saves his life. He thanks her and after that when she comes to join the team for dinner, he doesn’t antagonize her or leave the table right away.

They start talking, getting to know each other, he knows it’s dangerous but he allows himself his one thing because he’s never been selfish.

He tells her he joined the army at 18 when he finished school and was to go to college, but instead he found out his sister had cancer, so he joined in to use the money to pay for her treatment.

On his second year away, his mom got in a car accident and died. She was on her way to his sister who was undergoing a surgery at the hospital.

He never forgave himself for not being there for her funeral and his sister, who was on the road to recovery, never forgave him for joining the army and sacrificing himself instead of being home with her and his mom.

He had no one now, last time he talked to his sister was six months ago when he found out she had been in remission for three months and she never told him.

She had a boyfriend who proposed and she must’ve probably already been married. His only family was the guys in the squad, he didn’t plan on quitting the army-he’d keep going but Clarke had the feeling it was more of a suicide mission than anything.

She joined because she wanted to escape her mother’s shadow hanging over her in the hospital where she was doing her residency.

She wanted to do more and her dad had always told her how precious and needed medics are in war. She did this to honor him.

From then on they became friends, actually something more than that but they knew they couldn’t cross that line, not on the job anyway.

One day when she’s close to her contract expiring, he gets hurt really bad.

There’s a fight in a town nearby and they sent almost half of their platoon.

They bring him back on a stretcher, barely alive, her hands tremble as she tries to cover the holes in his body.

He makes it, just barely but he does. Still, he loses a leg in the process and goes home before her.

She’s only a week late, rushing to the hospital there, finding him trying to get up on his crutches though his ribs were still broken and his head was wrapped in a tight bandage.

She doesn’t renew her contract. Instead she finds a job in the hospital in his hometown.

He struggles to be in a wheelchair until he gets his prosthesis and when he does, he thinks he can miraculously start fixing his old mom’s house.

He can’t.

But he doesn’t give up. He still tries his best and she helps. She actually likes manual work and them bickering over how she hammers a nail.

Miller, Jasper, Monty and Roan, they all come back six months later, retiring from the army.

They start living together just a month later.

In six months he proposes. In a year she’s pregnant. They marry in May, just a month before their son Gus comes to the world.

He finds Octavia only another year later and is nervous to meet her in a diner with Clarke on the seat next to him and Gus in his lap. When she comes in, he tenses, tears threaten to spill in his eyes.

But when she finds his eyes, she is not angry or mad. There’s only hope and warmth there.

And as she watches them, Clarke’s heart fills with joy and she thinks that this is more than she ever hoped for.

#answered #bellarke fanfiction #bellarke #thank you for asking #this sucks im sorry #my head is a mess tonight #Anonymous

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nightwingshero · 4 years ago

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Full bingo angst answers for Wren please! 💋💕

Thank you, baby!!! Kinda hitting it where it hurts today, huh?

TW: Mentions of self-harm, alcohol abuse, and child loss...just kinda...it’s angsty. Sorry guys.

💙 What would your OCs last words be (or if they’ve died what were their last words)? What were their final moments like? How did they die?

Probably...man, knowing Wren, she’s gonna go down fighting and defending a loved one. She...Wren will use her Wrath to draw the attention to herself, even if she knew it was a battle she wouldn’t win--sacrificing herself to give the other person a chance. Her last words...would be deep and meaningful, something that would hit hard. She would either quote something with a deep meaning or something so pure from the heart...I could also see her saying “Free...I’m finally free.” Or maybe being excited to see her mom again.

💧 What’s the worst pain your OC has ever been in? Mental or physical? What was the cause of this?

That’s a toss up between her father blaming her for her mother’s death/being mentally and emotionally abusive or the car accident and losing the baby. Both had Wren spiraling in very different ways, both still giving her nightmares to the point of insomnia some nights. Then also losing John later in life. It hits her hard to know that her life partner died sacrificing himself for their son, and that he’s just...gone. It’s hard for her to bounce back from it.

🔷 Has your OC ever had to leave something behind or abandon something they didn’t want to? Have they ever had this happen to them? How has this effected them over the years?

There’s a locket, a gold locket with a tree on it, that her mother used to wear before she died. It was one of the things she held onto dearly after her mom died, because it was pretty much all she had. Her father got rid of most of Lily’s things, including the piano, and so Wren clung to it through her childhood, drawing strength from it. It “mysteriously” disappeared after her father found out about it, just a few days before she left for college. In turn, she stole her mother’s ashes to scatter them, but it still haunts Wren. It had a picture of the two of them together.

🔵 Has your OC lived through any particularly traumatic events? Does this event (or events) still effect them or have they tried to bury it? Is there a reason why this event is so traumatic for them?

JFC, where to even begin? Honestly, the cards are stacked against her in the worst way, I feel for her. The biggest ones would be abusive childhood, losing her mom, unhealthy relationship with college professor, the horrible car accident, the drinking problem that followed...Wren tries her best with it, truly. It still effects her, mostly through panic attacks (triggers) and her nightmares. She will fall into depressive episodes as well. Most of the time, she will bury it though, like, she’s guarded--if you’ve been through some shit, you could probably pick up on it, you know? But with anyone else, you can’t tell. She hides it well.

❄️ What is (one of) their biggest regrets or biggest mistake they’ve made? Is there anything they can do to fix this or is it so far gone there’s no point anymore? Is this something they dwell on a lot?

Wren...Wren is on the path of learning what she can and can’t control, and it’s...going as well as it can, because she has such a control issue. She tries to tell herself to not dwell on the things she can’t control...but the thing with Wren is that she needs to feel in control. The biggest ones would be the college professor and the path she took after the car accident. Wren hates giving parts of herself for it to be taken for granted or advantage of. She also sees the alcoholic chapter in her life was a little too close to her father than she cares to admit. But well...you can’t fix the past.

💦 Does your OC have any self destructive habits? Addictions? Urges? What is the cause of these or the reason for them?

Wren used to have a drinking problem, mostly because of an emotional thing versus having to have alcohol. She just used it as an outlet, but most of the time, it just lowered her walls and made her more emotional in a self-destructive manner--depressive, angry, and antagonizing. She would start fights, which is why she got in trouble and got her shit together. Wren internalizes too damn much, overthinking and jumping to conclusions based on her own observations because she’s not one to trust someone else’s intentions or words. While Wren isn’t judgmental, she’s very open minded and accepting--she can be quick to judge in cases where you’ve invoked her wrath. Did some shit when you were young? Who hasn’t, I still care and accept you. You just crossed and betrayed me? I’m going to make it my personal goal to make life hell for you-- She also has a tendency to use her wrath to push people away and then close off, hurting them both in the process.

🌊 What is your OC like at their most depressive? In the middle of a breakdown? Having a panic attack? What are they like with dealing with anxiety and stress?

Wren during a panic attack starts with her not being able to formulate actual coherent sentences because her mind is going so damn fast, and her hands shake. Her muscles will stiffen, making her super tense and she shuts down mentally. Most of the time, she will curl up on the ground (in the corner of a room, etc) with her legs hugged to her chest, forehead against her knees. Mostly to hide her face and to make herself as small as possible and to provide herself some sort of comfort (sometimes she’ll grip her hair, too). If someone catches it (if they know what to even look for), they can intercept and help kinda deter it. But Wren internalizes, closes herself even more, buys a ton of whiskey or wine, and just sits with her dark feelings. They consume her easily, which is why she usually tries not to drink when she’s down, it makes it too easy to spiral. Wren handles stress the best she can, but she internalizes that too. Anything negative has a chance of coming out in the form of wrath, so she can be a bit...yeah.

☄️ Does your OC struggle with their emotions and trauma? Do they find it easier to open up to strangers or those close to them if at all? Do they tend to hide their pain from everyone?

Wren struggles hard. Like, she has a harder time coming to terms or understanding the why behind everything, and has a constant struggle with her desire to change what happened that her emotions and traumas don’t fully get resolved. She’s so desperate to be free of it, but there are times where she’s holding her own self prisoner for it due to guilt and heartbreak. She will never open up to strangers, she doesn’t trust people easily, you have to have earned your way close to her before she’s confiding in you. She hides her pain (or tries to) from everyone, including herself. You have to actively pursue Wren and be supportive consistently for that to spill from her mouth.

📘 Write a sad journal entry, an unsent letter or short sad drabble. + bonus, give a theme!

A piece from Wren’s journal while going through therapy:

"I wish...it starts off normal, and it’s inconceivably misleading, but it draws me in anyway. Then...then its sneaking up on me, so before I know it, I’m in the deep-end, drowning in something dark and sticky, feeling as if it will become my second skin and suffocate me in the process. That’s when I start to hyperventilate, desperate and clawing to find the surface, but I can’t. I start crying, my chest constricting in panic. I turn...I turn and I see an open door, the inside is even blacker than what’s around me and I slowly start getting pulled back into it...and he just watches--laughing and taunting. I cry more, because there’s nothing else to do. Until the hand...it grabs me and yanks me back...I wake up then, screaming and panicking before the door slams shut. I take a shower once I wake up, because I can feel the hand, I feel the darkness on my skin. I don’t sleep most nights. Not anymore.”

🔹 Does your OC have any scars? What are the stories behind them? Do they have any mental scars? Talk about the effects of their trauma in general on their day to day life.

*Nervous Laughter* Scars....alright...so, Wren growing up would often resort to self-harm to cope, unfortunately. She avoided her wrists and opted for her inner thighs, aiming to hide the marks better. Once hitting college, she moved on from it, until the car accident. She started again once she spiraled, even using it a bit as she stopped drinking. It didn’t happen too often, just in major low points. She dropped it completely after she started going to therapy, learning to try and find healthier coping mechanisms. Wren’s traumas come out daily in the form of her having to be in control of herself and situation at all time. She’s the one driving, she makes her own choices, she sits on the outside in booths at diners and whatnot, having the option to leave when she wants. Wren hates feeling trapped and is super claustrophobic because her dad would lock her in the basement or her room for hours at a time. She buys a Jeep so she has the option to remove the top and the doors, everything in on her terms. You don’t touch her unless she wants you to, you don’t come visit her space unless she wants you to. Things like that.

#deputy wren blake #my ocs #answered #risenlucifer

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jasontoddiefor · 5 years ago

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Title: Under your wings

Summary: Jason didn’t have black wings as massive as the ones attached to his back. They kind of looked like the wings he’d always wanted to have, but most certainly wouldn’t get. When Jason got resurrected, his wings weren't red anymore.

AN: For the batfam discord’s @thursday-batfam-prompts Wings

When Jason woke up again, the first thing that disturbed him was the weight on his back. His wings weren’t that heavy. Of course, they had gained some weight with them slowly reaching maturity and their full wingspan. Alfred had said to give it another year before-

Before-

What-

Where was he? What had happened? Where was Bruce, he wanted to go home, he wanted his Dad, why didn’t the laughing stop!?

“Breathe, child.”

Jason could hardly see anything through the haze. Vague figures. A hand.

He couldn’t hear and he was choking on his own thoughts.

“Sleep a little longer, child.”

The next time Jason woke up, he didn’t freak out. There was no point to panicking about confusing dreams, was there?

Instead, Jason settled on inspecting his surroundings. To his right, Jason could see a lot of medical equipment. Tubes and measuring of all kinds seemed to take up most of the space. On his left, curtains covered a window. The sound of birds and people running around shouting in Arabic reached his ears. Bruce had gotten him started on lessons and that language came to him much easier than the Russian had learned before it.

Jason had a lot of dreams that were just filled with him waking up somewhere he didn’t know. According to Barbara, they were a sign of wanderlust. It fitted that a kid from Crime Alley wanted to go out and see the world. It was rare though that his dreams were as lucid as they were now.

Curious, he threw off the blanket. Jason wanted out and explore the world around himself. Of all the things to hold him back, from terrifying monsters to whatever weirdness he could dream up, Jason didn’t expect bandaged wings.

His wings were enormous for his size, making him look ridiculous. He knew he’d grow into his wingspan, but a kid that was on the short end of the spectrum with bright red wings? Yeah, needless to say, he had heard the whispers (or shouts) at school and hadn’t been impressed. In between all the rich kids with their perfectly regular and average browns, grays and blacks, red wings stood out like nothing else. His wings weren’t any help on patrol either. Coloring them dark took ages. Bruce never had to color his already pitch-black wings, but Jason hadn’t been as fortunate. And trying to get the dye out again? Even worse. It took hours with water if Jason didn’t have the actual dye remover on hand.

As annoyed as Jason was with his wings though, he took good care of them, which was why the bandages were the first surprise.

Their size the second, and their color the third.

Jason didn’t have black wings as massive as the ones attached to his back. They kind of looked like the wings he’d always wanted to have, but most certainly wouldn’t get.

The door to his room opened. The person he saw step into it wasn’t someone he expected his subconsciousness to dream up.

“Talia?” Jason asked. “Huh, alright.”

Talia mustered him, her dark green wings pressed to her back like she expected someone to leap for them. Bruce did that too when he got too wary, or when he was dosed with Fear Gas. Jason had spent most of his childhood before he had been adopted with his wings close to his body.

You could tell a lot about people from the way they held them.

Then, Talia frowned and her expression shifted to worry and pity.

“Oh, Jason,” she said. She sounded kind. Motherly. “Don’t you remember?”

The Joker laughed. Time froze.

The world kept spinning.

Jason had died and the world had kept moving.

Training took ages. First, Jason had to regain muscle mass, then he had to learn how to adjust to his new wings.

And new wings they were indeed. Jason’s own had been too damaged and couldn’t be saved, so Talia had ensured Jason would receive a different pair. Wing transplantations had been done successfully only a handful of times, but access to a Lazarus Pit apparently made it a lot more manageable.

“Whose wings are they?” Jason asked only once.

“Yours,” Talia replied.

Jason stopped with his training exercises to observe her. “I meant before.”

She didn’t even bother to look away from her paperwork. The sheets were strange, covered in colors and neat lines.

“They belong to a strong man, and if not broken, they will always keep you in the sky. They’re yours.”

Jason didn’t speak up again.

Above him, the stars of the night sky were hidden away behind clouds while below him, the streets were mostly desolate. Jason adjusted his lenses, focused on his target. Then he jumped down from the building, unfurling his wings completely.

I look like him, Jason would think later when watching and deleting the security tapes. Crashing down on the disgusting excuse of a human being, Jason appeared as a vengeful terror of massive black wings.

Good.

“I need one of your feathers,” Talia said. “Preferably the biggest you have.”

Jason stopped polishing his guns to face her. “Why?”

“Because I asked you to, so?”

Jason rolled his eyes. “Fine. Just take whatever.”

He returned to his previous task, but sat op straight for better access, as Talia made her way around him. She mustered the feathers, softly moved her hands over them, before coming to a stop.

“This one,” she said and pulled at it so that Jason could feel which one she would take. “Brace yourself.”

Jason barely felt the pain. Truthfully speaking, he hardly got any kind of feedback from the wings. He could control them just fine, but the connection felt dulled.

“Thank you, Jason.”

“No problem,” he replied. “I’ll be leaving for Gotham tomorrow.”

“I know. I hope you’ll find what you seek there.”

Jason didn’t.

The new Robin was small and his wingspan frankly speaking pathetic. Barbara’s wings had been broken and her title had been taken by a small predator. There was another girl with bright wings she would have been better off with covering and Dick’s wings, of course, were obsessively clean and cared for as they had always been.

Bruce’s wings were smaller than he remembered. But then again, Jason wasn’t as short, young and naïve as he had been. Naturally, Batman wasn’t as grand as Jason had recalled.

As he had never been.

Talia asked him to come back and Jason refused. It would be too much like admitting defeat. Instead, he carved out his own territory, stayed away from the Bats. This was still his city and nothing short of death could make him leave, and even that hadn’t really stuck the last time.

It started with a call. One foolish, irritating call Jason hadn’t wanted to answer. He didn’t particularly hate the rest of the Bats anymore, and if they needed back up, he was there. Gotham wouldn’t suffer because of him or their incompetence.

Besides, it was Tim who had called.

Usually, Robin didn’t interact with him. Whether that was because Dick had told him off or because of their history, Jason didn’t know. He didn’t care either. He most certainly wasn’t curious why Tim had such a problem with Jason’s wings especially. Whenever he saw Jason, his eyes kept flickering to his wings and it didn’t annoy Jason at all.

Whatsoever.

Okay, maybe it did.

Jason had grown fond of his dark feathers. It wasn’t terribly hard when they were precisely what he had always wanted to have.

Either way, Tim calling, sounding seconds away from a panic attack and asking Jason to come to the Cave ASAP wasn’t something he was going to ignore out of anger.

What Jason expected to find was a crisis that would throw all of Gotham into disarrange.

Not a child with Talia’s green eyes and Bruce’s frown, waving a familiar feather in Bruce’s face while Tim sat at the other end of the Cave with Alfred by his side.

“What the hell?”

Bruce stood up straight, his cape concealing his wings.

“Jason,” Bruce said. If Bruce was surprised to see him, he didn’t show. “Did you know?”

Jason bit down on his rage. “Know what?”

“About Damian. Talia’s son.”

“And yours,” the child, Damian, added rather hot-headedly. His black wings twitched. “I have your feather as proof. Mother gave it to me.”

“This is not proof,” Tim hissed. “That’s just a stupid feather and Talia couldn’t have given you any of Bruce’s either way.”

“Stop talking to me, Drake. This is a conversation between father and son-“

“My name is Wayne, you damned brat-“

“Enough.”

Jason was getting a headache and if not for the fact that there was Talia’s son standing just a few meters away from him, he would have turned around on his heels and walked away again.

“Don’t antagonize each other.”

“But-“ Damian protested, only to stop talking when Bruce shot him a look.

“I don’t doubt that you are my son, but Tim is right. This feather isn’t mine.”

“But it looks like yours! I saw the photos of your wings. It’s the right color and shape, it even has the dark gray markings at the end. Mother said your wings were completely gray as a child and that’s the only leftover from it. Don’t call me a liar.”

Fighting crime was exhausting. You didn’t get much sleep, your body ached all over (except those times you were so full of pain killers, you couldn’t even tell when you got a new wound or if you were Jason and in general didn’t feel much of anything anymore) and every time you tried to fall asleep, either your nightmares or another gruesome murder would wake you up.

They all got tired, but Jason couldn’t think of a time Bruce had ever emitted such an aura of defeat.

“I’m not calling you liar, Damian. But the fact is that the feather can’t be mine. It cannot have been plucked from them.”

Damian’s face flushed in anger and desperation, perhaps. Your parents’ feathers, the ones they gave you willingly once you lost your last baby downs were something special. Jason had treasured Catherine’s, his real mother who had loved him until she couldn’t anymore, and Bruce’s like nothing else.

“Why not?”

“I don’t have wings anymore, Damian. I lost them a while ago when Bane took over Gotham.”

Jason felt like throwing up.

“Mother said Bane broke your spine and Lady Shiva trained you afterward to take back the city.”

They belong to a strong man, and if not broken, they will always keep you in the sky.

“That he did too.”

“But I saw your wings!”

“Fake. It would have been too suspicious if Bruce Wayne lost his wings at the same time as Batman.”

Jason liked to flare his wings when he left, make himself look bigger than he actually was, but right now he didn’t dare to move his no, no they weren’t they never them even an inch away from his body as he turned around and stormed outside.

Nobody would follow him.

They had bigger problems.

It wasn’t Bruce that tracked him down months later (because Bruce was dead, killed by a monster too big for grounded humans. Maybe, if he had been able to fly-) or Tim, who had disappeared with a bang to go on a never-ending search.

He had expected the little brat, coming to him for answers maybe, or Dick once he realized he wasn’t cut out for this Gotham anymore. Jason hardly knew the new Batgirl and he had never even spoken a word to Cassandra.

Somehow, despite her Big Brother-like presence, Jason had never accounted for Barbara.

“Your safe house isn’t very accessible,” she said and moved inside his apartment.

Of course, it wasn’t accessible. It was a cheap shithole in Crime Alley – what did she expect.

“What do you want?”

Jason used to adore Barbara. When he had first met her, she had been energetic and funny, told Batman off and thought Dick was an idiot. She had been bright and every ‘no’ was a challenge.

He couldn’t claim that he knew this version of her. She had calmed down, or maybe just grown as world-weary as the rest of them.

“We tried to find Bruce’s wings after Bane cut them off,” she said, going straight to business and delving right into Jason’s nightmares.

“I don’t want to hear it.”

Barbara pushed up her glasses. “I think you need to.”

He could stop her if he wanted to. He doubted that any regular thugs could provide a challenge, her wheelchair didn’t look like standard either and he wouldn’t be surprised to learn that she had hidden all kinds of small gadgets in there. The edges of Barbara’s wings were covered in light steel like those of many police officers. A hit from those hurt immensely.

However, Jason had trained to take down the Batman (lifetimes ago it felt like) and Oracle, while undoubtedly smarter, couldn’t fight like him.

“He took them as a trophy and while Tim and Alfred rushed to Bruce’s aid, I kept my eyes on them. I lost them while they were in Gotham still. We assumed that Bane had hidden them, but perhaps had lost them as well instead.”

“I didn’t know.”

His defense sounded weak in his own ears. He had known that the wings sewn to his back hadn’t been the wings of the closest dead body Talia could find. Every action had meaning for her, every cruel gift well-meant wasn’t just efficient but a puzzle to solve.

He should have insisted. He should have kept asking.

“When I woke up, really as myself and not full of rage or catatonic, they were already there. Talia meant well, she only wanted to help.”

Barbara kept silent for a while, let her gaze drift to the blood on the ground, the guns on the table and the take-out food on the mattress. Jason hadn’t been handling things well in the last weeks.

“In winter,” she spoke up suddenly, “when Dick and I were young, Bruce used to cover us with his wings on observation missions because we, young and stupid, refused to put on the ugly winter uniforms. The two of us could fit right beneath one wing with still so much space left over.”

Jason remembered that. Bruce always covered Jason with his wings every time he felt like he had an excuse for it. There was no word to describe the warmth Jason had felt then.

“What do you want, Oracle?”

Barbara crossed her arms, still the perfect picture of resistance.

“I need you to come home and work with us. We’re missing three of our heavy hitters and Dick’s busy trying to reign in Damian half the time they’re on patrol. You feel ashamed of these wings? Then do something worthwhile with them. I need to be able to count on you and I need you to actually cover us. This city’s never been alright when even one of us is gone.”

Alright. Okay.

Jason could understand desperation. You didn’t claw your way out of your coffin simply because you felt like it. He could do this.

He had to.

#Jason todd #bruce wayne #tim drake #dc #dc comics #batman #Barbara gordon #talia al ghul #fanfic #prompts

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lokis-daughter-fic · 5 years ago

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Loki’s Daughter Chapter 4: Healing