#of humanity' than to explain why neutral intentions hurt if they allow my rights to be taken.

[the-trans-dragon]

Rendered inert by the crushing of fear of doing things with mediocre skills rather than with precise perfection and efficiency -> Rendered inert hesitant by the realization that I am being Very Visibly Autistic by doing things with precise perfection and efficiency -> just accepting that everyone is looking at me and thinking "oh my god, I didn't know we had THAT kind of weirdo in our community. We need to make that kind of person illegal" which *isn't true* but it's way easier to cope with, than trying to to convince myself that most people are neutral and busy being the protagonist of their own lives and not thinking about writing a memoir titled "This Fucker Is Ruining My Life By Existing Near Me: Plotting Their Demise"

Haha sorry that was just gonna be silly and lighthearted but i lost my way and ended up in Brain Troubles Land <3

[marauderundercover]

Taking Chances Chapter 3: Happy Little Accidents (Identities)

Prev

AO3

@maribat-bdbwm

Marinette stared at the man in front of her, trying not to let her jaw drop. Sure she’d seen pictures of Bruce Wayne last night, Adrien made sure she was well educated on the man’s less than ideal fashion choices. But his choice of a sharp suit or his eyes that too closely matched hers weren’t why her jaw dropped. No, her jaw dropped because-

“Batman!” She says, in a wonderful moment of word association added to the man’s height and build. Mr. Wayne’s eyebrow quirks up and Marinette’s face instantly turns bright red as she hears the snickers of her classmates around her. Marinette immediately wishes that they would have left her and gone back to the bus without her, but no such luck. Instead they got to see her embarrass herself in front of her bio dad for the first time. Not that they knew that, but still. It was the principle of the thing. 

“I-” Mr. Wayne starts, but she cuts him off. 

“Oh, no, oh my god, I’m- no, I’m so, so sorry. I just, you’re- and you- and well yesterday, um, so I just, you seemed really familiar and I saw Batman yesterday so I said it and I shouldn't have and I'm so sorry I'm just freaking out cause my bi- ohhhhh….I mean-” Marinette rambles on, her blush darkening as she tries and fails to let out a coherent sentence in front of the man. She’s mercifully saved by the sharp blare of an akuma alert, the phones of every one of her classmates blaring at the same time. Mr. Wayne and the other employees in the lobby of Wayne Enterprises look confused, but Marinette is relieved. 

“What-” Mr. Wayne tries to ask, but is cut off yet again. 

“Oh well that’s not good gotta go call Paris-bye!” She yells, rushing away from the group and towards the bathrooms. She groans at the look Kaalki give her when she opens her purse. 

“That was a disaster.” They say simply with an unamused face. Marinette groans again. 

“Please don’t remind me. Tikki, spots on! Tikki, Kaalki, unify!” Marinette yells before calling a portal and falling into Paris, the awkward situation pushed to the back of her mind while she pours her focus into her Ladybug duties. 

---

Bruce Wayne was confused. And worried. But mostly confused. Or, the confusion overweighed the worry until he asked about the alarm on the French class’ phones. That’s when the worry began to take center stage. A supervillian? In Paris? For almost two years? Why was the League not informed? 

“Um, would you like to watch the battle, Monsieur Wayne?” A blonde boy asks, holding his phone out and rubbing the back of his neck in a nervous fashion. Bruce studies the boy for a moment and recognizes him as the one who hugged Miss Dupain Cheng the day prior. His daughter. Who is currently living in a city with a supervillain and no League intervention. Nodding, Bruce takes the phone and watches the battle, his horror growing. There was one hero, rushing around the scene, one of her pigtails singed and soot covering her face. What the hell kind of villain was this? And why did the hero look so small? Bruce flinches as the hero, Ladybug the comments called her, is thrown against a building roughly. He waits with baited breath until she stands back up, her face set in a grimace before she went on the offense with a vengenace. 

“Who is this villain? I’ve never heard of them?” Bruce asks Adrien, not bothering to look away from the fight. 

“I don’t know this one’s name, Akumas all have different names and powers.” Adrien replies. Bruce’ gaze snaps up to meet Adrien’s as his blood runs cold. All. As in, multiple. 

“How many villains?” He asks, thankful that his newly discovered daughter is currently in Gotham instead of Paris, a sentiment he never expected with the crime rates of his beloved city. 

“Oh, there’s only one villain. Hawkmoth. Akumas are just people who’ve had a bad day.” Adrien explains as if it’s a simple concept. 

“And what does that mean?” Bruce asks, feeling frustration creep into his neutral posture. 

“It means that what you’re seeing right now is a normal citizen who’s being controlled. Hawkmoth…. He has the power to control anyone who shows an extreme negative emotion. Heartbreak, anger, sadness, lonelines, anything negative can be used against you. We, Paris that is, don’t blame those who were akumatized. They can’t even remember what they did when they were under his control. It wouldn’t be fair to hold them accountable.” Adrien explains, and Bruce can’t help the feeling of complete and total helplessness that rushes over him. If he went to Paris, even with the intention of helping the hero in order to protect his daughter, he could become an even bigger obstacle. He could hurt her. He could hurt others. 

“Is that why the Justice League isn’t there?” Bruce asks, slightly amused at Adrien’s face rapidly changing from understanding to shocked. 

“I-um, probably? If you want more information, miraculousparis.org or the Ladyblog would be your best places for information.” Adrien offers. Bruce nods, mentally making a note to check out those sites later. 

“Very well. Thank you. I hope the rest of your trip to Gotham is enjoyable.” Bruce says, careful not to slip into a threatening tone. The boy hadn’t done anything to him, and while he might want to play the protective father, he knew it wasn’t his right. Not yet, anyways. Now he had a supervillain to destroy from behind the scenes. 

---

Opening a portal into her hotel room, Marinette sighs tiredly. The battle had been tiring, especially since she was on her own. Chat Noir had some kind of trip that he couldn’t get out of and had aplogized endlessly for it. She had reassured him that she could do it, but now… she knew she could do it but she really missed her partner. Letting both transformations drop, she sighs, relieved that the odd number of girls in their class allowed her to have her own room. Until a gasp filled her ears. She instantly shifts into a fighting position, shoulders tense as she stares at-

“Adrien?!” She yells in shock and confusion. What was he doing? In her hotel room? Without her? How did he even get a key? How was she supposed to explain this? Well, he did know the basics from his time as Aspik but-

“But you’re Multimouse!” Adrien yells before clapping his hand over his mouth, his cheeks instantly turning red. Marinette’s eyes widen. 

“How do you know about that?” She asks, panic rushing through her system. 

“Oh my god.” Adrien says, his eyes widening as he glances from Marinette to Tikki and back again. “Oh my god.”

“Please don’t tell anyone! I know you don’t owe me anything, but I just really don’t know if I can handle being the center of attention and then my family would be in danger and I know they wouldn’t approve because it’s dangerous and I-”

“THE TWO GIRLS I HAVE A CRUSH ON ARE THE SAME GIRL?” Adrien says, his eyes wide as he cuts off her rambling. 

“I- wait what?” Marinette sputters, completely shocked at this turn of events. 

“Well I’ve had a crush on Ladybug for forever and then like a month ago, I was talking to Plagg about how mad it made me that people weren’t listening to you and how hurt you were by the whole high road advice which was, honestly, not my best moment. And somehow, I started ranting about how pretty your eyes are and how kind and amazing you are and so then Plagg told me that that’s a crush, and I thought he was wrong. Until I saw you the next day and realized that he was right but then I felt bad because I felt like I was betraying Ladybug by having a crush on you instead, but Ladybug is you. Which makes sense, now that I think about it and-” Adrien’s cut off by Marinette covering his mouth with her hand, desperate to get him to stop talking. 

“Plagg?” She asks, jumping back from him as the Kwami flies out from Adrien’s pocket. 

“Good job kid, you broke pigtails.” He says, gesturing at Marinette who suddenly felt like the human version of the windows error screen. Could this trip get any weirder?

Next

Tag List: @vixen-uchiha @liquid-luck-00 @stainedglassm @jayjayspixiepop @jjmjjktth @mizzy-pop @trippingovermyfeet @queenz-z @thepaceperson @iloontjeboontje @waiting247 @laurcad123 @when-no-wings-do-broomsticks 

[stop-breaking-my-heart-telltale]

hi I’m here to review the Clementine comic. it’s not good.

Does this even need an introduction? You know why I’ve gathered you all here today. You know the comic exists, and you probably know that it’s not great and we’re all upset about it. 

Myself included. I am not okay. At all. 

Skybound could’ve literally spit in my face and I’d come out feeling better than I did reading this comic, because this comic is an insult to the original Telltale games and Clementine as a character. 

This comic is a fancy fanfic. Glorified fanfiction. It’s not canon, and Skybound and Tillie can pretend that it is, but it’s not. Bold of them to assume we’d just accept this from people who didn’t work on the original games and never wrote for Clementine before, and based on this comic alone, any chance of us taking it seriously is gone. 

I’m gonna go through every single page, every panel, of this comic and give you my review. So I guess if you’re worried about spoilers [though at this point why would you?] then be warned, spoilers for the entire comic ahead. 

I also wanna add that I have nothing against Tillie Walden. I know a lot of dingdongs are harassing her on insta over this comic and that’s not okay. You telling her how much you hate her isn’t going to change anything. If anything, you keep being assholes to her and she’s just gonna block everything out, even things simply critiquing her work in hopes that it helps her improve. 

You’re allowed to be upset about the comic and share your feelings about it, but don’t take it out on the actual human being like that. Besides, like I’ve said before, if Tillie wasn’t gonna make the comic, Skybound would’ve found someone else to do. This was coming no matter what because Skybound wants that coin. 

That being said, I’m not going to hold back my opinions on this comic. Skybound and Tillie made this comic, they put it out there and asked for money for it, therefore I’m allowed to explain why it’s garbage as well as ponder over the questionable intent and whether or not Tillie actually has played these games. Y’know, it’s like how I have nothing against Kent, but sometimes he says things I disagree with and well, y’know how it goes. 

Alright, this is gonna be long, so let’s go--

The first few shots we get are of the school, two people sleeping, and Clementine’s empty bed. Nothing super note-worthy, we have no idea who is sleeping in the beds, it’s just there to establish that it’s early and everyone’s still asleep. 

The drawing of the school looks fine? Not super accurate, but I can give it a pass since it’s a few years later, I assume. What I can’t give a pass is how you managed to already mess up on the first page of your comic. 

Because..... why are you implying that Clementine’s room is upstairs? First of all, seems kinda dumb to put Clem, who has only one leg and has to walk with crutches, upstairs. Also, if you’ve played TFS and paid any attention to where her room is actually located [the dorms] then you’d know there isn’t any stairs leading to their floor. It’s the side building next to the admin building, you walk through the door, go down the hall, take a left and their dorm is right there sooo..... 

Oh right, it’s probably done this way so that we can have such a suspenseful moment where Clementine is sneaking out while the others are asleep and her foot makes a creeeeeeakk that could wake everyone up, thwarting her plans of abandoning everyone quietly so she doesn’t have to deal with any consequences. 

Because yeah, Clementine is sneaking out with all of her supplies because apparently, she’s been planning an escape from this place for a while. 

And just look at how gosh darn happy she is about it. You can’t see or hear me, but know that I’m laughing. Don’t worry, I will talk about her abandoning everyone later.

But first, I have a gripe with Clementine's design in this comic. It doesn’t look like her. This art of her right here is the most accurate we get throughout all 12 pages, and it’s the best looking, too. 

Moving on, she slams the door shut while this walker changes faces and hair between panels, so that’s cool. I will say, I like the idea of the Ericson crew putting spikes on the door. That’s fun. 

Though Clementine slamming the door shut while trying to sneak out seems counter productive but it fits with the theme this comic has of inconsistency, so it works. 

Next we have Clementine going to what I believe is the fishing shack by the river, and she’s going through some things that she’s stashed away, telling us that she’s been planning this escape for a while. 

Oh good, she has a map. Well at least now she won’t get lost out there in the woods while she makes her escape... also that last panel with her profile.... why does it look so funny? Like this page of the comic doesn’t look too bad, but there is something off putting about her eye there and how she has zero expression. 

And it turns out that rustle was a walker, and Clementine is super inconvenienced by this and gives us our first piece of witty dialogue.

Yeah you dumb walker, can’t you see Clementine is busy running away from home and abandoning all of her loved ones without a single goodbye so she doesn’t have to witness the consequences of her selfish actions?? Gosh, so rude.

Just a heads up, the dialogue in this comic is stilted, emotionless, and bland. The words have no flow, no charm, and never feel like they should be coming out of Clementine’s mouth. Then again, the upcoming graphic novels this is tied to are for young adult/middle graders so I guess we have to dumb everything down so their baby brains can process it. 

.....Why does her face look like that? Also, interesting that she decided to move her ponytail to the other side of her head.... which is a thing that happens throughout this comic, her hair will randomly change sides. 

I believe it’s a metaphor for her changing and inconsistent personality. 

So yeah, Clementine is just making off with the supplies she gathered [I’m sure Ericson doesn’t need ‘em anyway] and she’s just so gosh darn annoyed at all these small inconveniences bothering her.... because it’s just too early for this. 

.....Again, why does her face look like that?

I’m sorry, like I get it, Tillie’s style is supposed to be purposely messy yet minimal but it doesn’t work. When you do a comic in a more messy style, usually it has charm and heart put into it. Effort goes into the messy look, and when things are minimal, that usually means more clean, yeah? So you put them together and just..... that is nothing resembling Clementine’s face. 

Can we just--

Look at canon Clementine’s face. Look at the way her eyebrows are shapes, how wide her eyes are with her eye lashes. The dirt on her skin, the lines-- there is so much personality in her features. It doesn’t matter if she’s wearing a neutral expression or she’s expressing anger or joy or sorrow or whatever. 

Now, is it fair to compare a model of Clem from the games to the Clem in this comic? Well, I assume that if Tillie is doing this comic, she would use references from the game to ensure that Clementine is recognizable, especially now that she’s no longer wearing her signature hat. 

So why does she look like this? Why do I look at these drawings of her face and see nothing but a pair of eyes, a nose, and a mouth? You might as well draw me a simple smiley face. And I get that it’s a comic, and it’s a lot of work to draw the same character over and over again and you gotta cut corners somewhere, but maybe put some effort into the close up shots of her face so that we can actually see it’s her? 

Other fan artists have made comics in their styles that shine bright with Clementine’s personality, so what happened here? 

Anyway, surprise..... it’s not a walker annoying Clementine. 

........Why does AJ look like that??? I’m sorry, I hate to do the same thing I just did but--

Just because you put Clementine’s hat on AJ that doesn’t automatically make it him. I just.... wow. This feels like there wasn’t a single reference involved, like if someone gave Tillie a basic description of AJ and she just did this. 

But appearances aside, what is AJ saying? He says that he knew it, that Clementine’s leaving and I cannot stand this dialogue. It’s unnatural. Again, I know you wanna dumb it down for all of us because I guess we dumb.... but this conversation does not feel natural. 

“I knew it. You’re leaving.” “AJ....” “I’m coming.”

Even if you changed it to, “I’m coming with you.” it would sound more natural. Hell, he doesn’t even question WHY she’s leaving, he just stands there like “I’m coming” like??? I’m sorry, have you ever heard a single word this murder baby has said? I assume you have because I assume you actually played TFS, right? Soooo.... what happened here?

.....whY DO THEIR FACES LOOK LIEK THAT KSAJDLKJAS:LKDJLKASJD:L--

So now we’re getting into it.... into the bullshit. 

Clementine tells AJ to go back to the school, and AJ says that she wasn’t even going to say goodbye..... and then more bad dialogue that sound unnatural when you try to fucking read it. 

First off.... AJ’s reaction to Clementine attempting to leave is barely anything. Again, I hate to keep questioning if you actually played TFS, but AJ would throw a fucking fit if he caught Clementine out here ALONE like this, attempting to leave. 

And then he says “Like last time? You were going to come back?” this sentence makes my brain hurt. I just.... “Like last time, right? You’re coming back?” UGH

Wow, I feel nothing. 

I’m sitting here watching these two imposters with fucked up faces who are supposed to be Clementine and AJ and I feel nothing. 

I’m not even going to comment on the faces anymore. You can see it. You know. 

So yeah... AJ tells her the #1 rule, and reminds her that she promised.

Y’know.... she promised that she would never leave him again? Remember? At the McCarroll ranch? That flashback that was in TFS? The one you would watch if you played the game? 

Why is she looking straight at me when she should be looking at AJ as she says this? Is this Clementine’s way of telling me she’s sorry for what a shitty direction this is taking? I wouldn’t know because her face isn’t doing anything. Just because you draw a couple of tears that doesn’t mean I’m feeling the emotional heartbreak you’re attempting to convey. 

I don’t have enough middle fingers for this.

Well, my hat’s off to you. Ya did it. Ya fucked up everything single part of Clementine’s character in the span of two pages, I’m almost impressed. 

First off, the baby thing is weird. Why is she calling him that? She’s never called him that, which you should know.

Second, she’s not happy and that’s why she’s leaving. Clementine isn’t happy, and AJ can’t make her happy. Ericson can’t make her happy. So she’s going to go out on the road to.... what, be unhappy by herself? 

I’m sorry, but apparently we need a few reminders here of who Clementine is, because this isn’t her. 

This is Clementine. 

Clementine fought for years to find a home, something she hasn’t had since she was an eight-year-old girl before the apocalypse. The motor-inn wasn’t a home, the cabin wasn’t home, the ski-lodge, Howe’s, Wellington, Richmond, Prescott, none of them were home. 

She struggled for years, dealing with trauma after trauma while out on the road. She went from group to group, watching people she cared about die and she was powerless to do anything about it. Whenever she let her guard down and become comfortable, it bit in her in the ass and left her heartbroken.

She was there when AJ was born. She grew close to Rebecca while she was pregnant, she let herself do that even after everything she went through with Christa. Clementine had a bond with AJ even before he was born, and after Rebecca died, she did what she could to keep him safe, despite play choice. 

She cried when she thought AJ died and when she found him in that car again. She swore to protect him, to raise him right and love him. All they had was each other. 

And when she joined the new frontier and AJ got sick, she risked everything to save him and she was devastated when they took him away from her. When she found out he was alive, she is willing to go as far as helping Lingard overdose [INJECTING HIM HERSELF IF SHE HAS TO] to figure out his location. She did shitty things to find him, she killed people at McCarroll Ranch to find him again. 

Clementine raised him and he is her family, do you understand that? She went to hell and back for him, she taught him how to protect himself, and even though she made mistakes she sacrificed everything for him. She promised him that they would have a home of their own one day, she talked about how much she wished for a world where she didn’t have to worry about fighting and killing and AJ could just be a happy kid. 

She fought for Ericson, she watched her friends die or become mutilated by someone from her past. She allowed herself to be vulnerable enough to pursue a romantic relationship with Louis or Violet because she felt safe with them, felt safe at Ericson because it’s their home now. 

And when Clementine was bit, she thought she was going to die but she still fought to make sure AJ would be safe and happy without her and it was heartbreaking. She’s dying and the only thing she cares about is AJ. Not herself, not what’s going to happen to her after she dies or turns... no, she tries to make AJ smile again, she makes sure he remembers the rules, and she tells him that she loves him. 

Then he cuts off her leg, and she survives. AJ saved her fucking life, and she got to wake up at home and live to see her family again. She got to push AJ on a tire swing, she got to eat a hot meal and laugh with her friends, she got to make plans with her lover/best friend for what’s next for Ericson, and she got to talk to AJ and tell him the truth... and she asked him if she did a good job, and he’s honest with her right back. 

Hell, she tells him to keep her hat. Her iconic hat. The one thing she has left of her father, possibly her more cherished item. She lets him keep it. 

The last time we see Clementine, she’s happy. She’s sitting on the steps by herself, staring at her family with such fondness in her eyes and a smile on her face because she finally did it. She finally found a home where she can breathe. She has a bed to sleep in, she has AJ with her, she has a boyfriend/girlfriend who loves her and who she loves back, she has friends she can rely on. 

Clementine smiles, and lets out a small laugh. 

She doesn’t have to run anymore. 

And now you have the balls to tell me that AJ and Ericson don’t make Clementine happy anymore. 

She abandons everything to go back out on the road again, and that’s proof enough for me that you don’t understand a damn thing about Clementine or her journey. 

“ I don't even know the person I'm talking about... It's like all we have in common is the same name.” 

....Anyway.

Wow, Clementine found a car and kept is stashed. How lazy and convenient for this bullshit plot. 

And this is the part where I have to tell this comic to fuck off. 

What, you think if you throw in an incredibly inaccurate flashback next to a current pair of hugging Clem and AJ that I’ll feel anything but anger? That flashback is a slap to the face. It’s snowing, but the only time we’ve seen snow is in S2 when AJ was a literal new born, so why is he that big? Is that supposed to be from ANF because that ALSO doesn’t look like that AJ, and that’s not the outfit Clementine had on... AND there was no snow. This is cheap and meaningless. 

Any fan of the series who has played through the games could tell you this. 

So.... AJ runs into the woods and then we get this garbage.

This comic is awful. It misses the point of everything TFS, and the rest of the series, stood for. There is no heart here. I feel no happiness in reading it, and I don’t detect any passion behind it. It’s a lifeless comic that retcons everything in order to throw AJ away and start fresh with a new adventure for Clementine that makes no sense because the cow isn’t profitable unless it’s milked. 

This isn’t canon, and it won’t ever be canon, and honestly? At this point, I have no faith in the graphic novel trilogy. It will take a lot to do a turn around from this, and I don’t even know if that’s possible. 

Again, to reiterate, I don’t have anything personal against Tillie Walden herself. She’s just doing her job, and from what I’ve seen of her as a person, she seems like a sweetheart. I don’t want anyone giving her shit because I think the comic isn’t good or that you agree with me. All of my anger is directed at the comic itself, her work, not specifically her.... and a little bit at Skybound, because they’re the reason this is even a thing in the first place. 

So yeah.... there ya have it. 

[mypoisonedvine]

Deliverance (Demon!August Walker x Angel!Reader)

for the shared prompt also being filled by: @penwieldingdreamer @ladyreapermc @hnryycvll @toomanystoriessolittletime @yoursecretsmutblog @onceiwasanun​

Word Count: 4.4k

Rating: Explicit

You were never very good at reading people's intentions.  You had always been taught to see the good in people-- wasn't that supposed to be your job?

Well, perhaps it wasn't anymore.  You'd given everything you had to become a guardian angel and you'd lost it all.  Your assigned mortal had trusted the wrong person, so you trusted him, too.  You knew he was troubled but she always went back to him and you gave him the benefit of the doubt because it was easier and it seemed like the heavenly thing to do, at the time.

"Protecting people is not so simple," Mīkhāʼēl explained.  "It requires a discerning instinct."

"But I was just trying to be good!  I wanted to trust him, and believe he could change!"

He sighed and crossed his arms.  "Some people can't be trusted, and certainly can't be changed."

"I thought that second chances were integral to our philosophy," you defended.  "Forgiveness.  Sympathy.  Turning the other cheek."

"And how many times did she turn her cheek before he killed her, huh?  How many chances did she give him?" he barked.  You slumped into your chair in humiliation.  You'd let her die, it was your fault.  "What do you think it is we do here, Angel?  What do you think your role is in all this?"

You shrugged nervously.

"You don't know?"

You looked down.  This was humiliating, and Mīkhāʼēl had always scared you a bit.

"Allow me to make it abundantly clear," he frowned.  "We are at war.  What we do is warfare.  Heaven is not operating against a neutral landscape.  We are fighting, daily, against the forces of Hell.  It is an active, not passive, duty to protect and guide humanity.  It requires the use of force, even violence."

You jumped up in protest.  "Violence?!  But… but that's evil--!"

He grabbed you suddenly, and your words stopped with a yelp.  "Don't you understand?" he hissed. "Good is weak, it is defenseless.  Evil is the only way to protect what is good."

That was how you ended up suspended and stuck in the human world for a week as punishment.  You weren’t sure if you would still be a guardian angel when you got back, but at this point you were just focused on getting back, regardless of what would be waiting for you there.  Being mortal felt very uncomfortable.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” a deep and velvety voice asked from behind you.  You turned with a gasp to see a striking man-- tall, muscular, unnervingly handsome-- looking at you with confusion and sympathy.

“Oh, it’s-- it’s nothing,” you stammered, looking away.

“Well, when I see a beautiful woman crying all alone at night, it’s hardly nothing to me,” he replied, sitting down next to you.  You smiled and rubbed the back of your neck.  

“Oh, well I--” you began, but he interrupted you.

“What’s your name, darling?”

For the first time in a while, you had no idea how to answer.  You figured that he wouldn’t respond well to an ancient name, in a language that didn’t exist-- in a language that never existed.

“Uh…” you mumbled. “Angel.  My name is Angel.” He grinned.  “That’s perfect.”

~

How you ended up in his apartment, leaning against his wall and waiting for him to brew you a coffee, you couldn’t really remember.  Well, you could remember-- he asked you, you said yes, he drove you in an automobile-- but the reasoning behind the actions was impossible to explain.  On every level, this seemed like a bad idea.  And yet, your instincts told you to trust him, that he was safe.  His eyes were so kind, and his touch was gentle and occasional.

You told him you were crying because you’d lost your job but you left it at that.  Somehow he knew the perfect thing to say, exactly how to comfort you.  His hand rubbed your arm and you felt comforted, but you also knew there was more to this than just a stranger being friendly.

“Let me know if there’s anything I could do to help,” he smiled sweetly, looking at you with those eyes that made your whole body hypersensitive.

You found your gaze trailing his body, appreciating one of God’s finer creations.  When it met his eyes again, he was looking at you a little differently, a little more hunger in his expression.

“Is there… something I can do for you?” he asked, his voice a little lower.  He stepped closer, making you feel cornered against the wall, but your heart fluttered.

“Yes,” you answered quietly.

“What is it?”

“I…”

Sex was a tricky one.  Something so pure, so inherently good in its nature, one of the most beautiful parts of creation… and somehow it seemed to be involved in so many varieties of sin.  You shivered to imagine something precious being corrupted by evil.

“I can’t say,” you murmured.

“Just ask,” he cooed.  “If you want something from me, all you have to do is ask.”

“August,” you sighed, giving in to your primal urge, “touch me, please.”

He smiled.  “You are so beautiful,” he cooed as his fingers slipped down your stomach and lifted the hem of your dress.

“Oh, I--”

“Shh,” he soothed, “this will feel good, I promise.”

“I’ve never--”

“I know,” he smiled, “it’s alright.”

His warm fingers delicately traced a line over your underwear and you shivered.  Such a simple touch and you were already melting into him,

“O-oh my,” you gasped.  He hummed lowly and slipped the fabric aside, finding your lips wet and warm.

Instantly his fingers found a spot that made your knees shake and your mouth fall slack.  He smiled and pressed against it harder; your hands flew up to grasp his shoulders.

Just as you felt a mysterious pressure building in your gut, you felt him moving and opened your eyes to see him drop to his knees in front of you.  Before you could ask what he was doing, he was pulling down your underwear to your thighs, slipping his head under your skirt, and licking a stripe right through your folds.

“Ohhh,” you groaned, your head falling back against the wall

"You taste like heaven," he praised as he popped up from between your legs.  

"You have no idea," you sighed as he got back to work.

His tongue did incredible things to you, while his hands roamed your legs and thighs and ass with patience yet insistence.

“Oh, August, r-right there,” you instructed, a hand grabbing his hair and pulling unintentionally.  He moaned against you, sucking harder on your bud until you were sure you were going to reach this clandestine peak any moment now--

He stood up suddenly, pulling you into a deep kiss.  You tasted yourself on him and it made you feel a little dizzy.

He stepped back and you found yourself leaning in to chase the kiss, and you blushed when you realized how needy you had become.  He watched you with heavy eyes as he unclasped his belt and opened his trousers.

"Oh!" you gasped when you saw his cock.  It was… more than you'd bargained for, to say the least.

"I know," he grinned.  "What can I say?  I'm blessed."

You fought the urge to correct him.  That was not the sort of blessing your department provided.

He guided your hand to the member and you wondered why you weren’t trying to pull away.  Your delicate fingers wrapped around him and he gasped a bit, as did you.  It was so hard, and yet it was smooth and soft and hot in your hands.

He moved you by your wrist so your hand massaged his length, his head falling back a bit as his hips began to thrust into your grip.  

“Yeah, stroke it, just like that,” he praised, moving against you a bit faster.

“Is… is it good?” you asked nervously.

“Yes,” he sighed, “so good-- you’re doing so good for me, Angel.”

His eyes shot open suddenly, and he leaned in, caging you against the wall, his lips ghosting over your ear.

“I want to be inside you,” he whispered.  “I need to be inside you.”

You gasped, feeling arousal surge into your core.

“I… I don’t think it’ll fit,” you admitted.  He chuckled.

“I’ll make it fit,” he soothed, his voice making the hairs on the back of your neck stand alert.

He carried you to his bed, laying you down after removing your dress delicately, like he was revealing a classical painting from behind a curtain.

His own clothes were shed so quickly that you barely had time to register the perfectly chiseled form of his chest before he was hovering over you, his limbs caging you in, his hips dangerously close to yours.

“You are so perfect,” he sighed.

“I… I doubt that,” you deflected.

His hands ran all over your body, taking a little extra time at your breasts and thighs, the latter of which he spread apart, staring at your sex as he grasped his cock and began to move forward to plunge into you.

“August!” you protested, though you weren’t sure what exactly you would say if he stopped.  It didn’t matter, because he didn’t, roughly pressing the head of his cock into you.  There was a burn, a sting, and you yelped.

“Damn,” he grinned, “so tight.  Fuck.  Really, really fuckin’ tight.”

“August, it’s-- hnng-- it’s too big,” you whimpered.

“You can take it,” he encouraged.  “You’re such a good girl.  Be a good girl and take it.”

He pushed further in and you winced as your body stretched beyond what you thought was possible.  You were so wet, so eager, and yet there was resistance.

“S-slow down,” you begged.

“You’ve almost got it, baby, you’ve almost got all of me.  Fuck, you feel so good.”

He felt good, too, and his words of praise certainly encouraged your body and mind as he pressed the last inch in and buried himself completely.

"Oh god," he groaned as he bottomed out inside you, and you really hated that.

“August,” you mewled.

“Say my name again,” he demanded.

“A-august,” you stuttered.  He moaned and pulled back-- you sighed at the relief, only for him to slam back into you.  You choked and nearly screamed as he did it again, and again, and again.

“So perfect,” he cooed, “so good for me.”

“It hurts,” you whined, your fingers digging into the skin of his shoulders.

“It’s gonna feel good, baby, it’s gonna feel so good, just hold on a little longer--”

His hand slipped down and massaged that little bud between your legs again, and your back arched.  The pleasure mixed with the pain and suddenly the two became indistinguishable.

“Oh, oh August,” you moaned.  He laughed a little, darkly, looking down at you.

“Feels good now, doesn’t it?”

“Y-yes,” you admitted, feeling a little guilty as heat burned your cheeks.

“Fuck,” he moaned, “gonna make you feel so good, Angel.”

His cock was pressing against every part of your insides, stretching you in a way that you could finally appreciate-- so fulfilling, so powerful.  He reached deeper into you than you knew you could go, and it nearly hurt but mainly you were focused on the pleasure, on the way you couldn’t help but clench and tighten around him.

“God, baby,” he sighed, “that’s amazing.  You’re amazing.”

All too quickly, that pressure was building again.  You just knew that if he kept going, you could glimpse something so powerful, something that would change everything.

“Yes, yes, oh--” you gasped, “don’t stop, August.”

“I won’t, Angel,” he cooed, “I won’t stop, I promise.”

“I’m gonna-- oh--”

“Go ahead,” he encouraged, “let go.  Come for me.”

Your eyes screwed shut as your back arched; your whole body was alight with a crackling energy that emanated from where your bodies were connected and shot all the way to your fingers and toes, which curled and tightened.

How could this be wrong, when it felt so wonderfully right?  How could this be anything but good?

~

“How was your time on Earth?” Mīkhāʼēl asked.

“Uh, enlightening,” you chuckled.

“Yes, mortality can be quite taxing,” he nodded.  “But hopefully you’ve learned your lesson.  You’re holy again, but you’re on probation.  You need to learn to appreciate your place in all this.”

“And what, exactly, is my place in all this?”

“A pawn.”

You slumped into your seat.  “Right.”

“It’s warfare.  I’m not sure what you thought it was we did here, but you’re about to find it abundantly clear.”

Your eyes went wide.  “How so?”

“We recently captured a demon-- an enemy of God and all that is good in His world.  We need information from him in order to prevent more destruction and corruption.”

“So, an interview?”

He laughed a little, his head dropping into his hands.  “Oh, you really don’t understand the enemy at all.  But you will.”  Mīkhāʼēl looked up and glared at you.  “You’re going to interrogate him.”

“Wha-- me?”

“It’s the safest way for you to see one up close.  He’s restrained, he can’t hurt you unless you let him out.  Uh, don’t do that, obviously.”

“Of course.”

“You need to appreciate how evil they are.  You need to see what we’re up against.”

“O-okay.”

Mīkhāʼēl led you to a level of the heavens you’d never seen before-- a dungeon.  It was dark and damp in a way totally opposite to the rest of this place you’d always called home.  It disturbed you that this even existed.

He took you down a hallway only to shove you into a room, slamming the big stone door behind you.  It was dark, lit only by torch sconces, and you could only barely make out the shape of a chained creature against the wall.

“Angel,” he greeted with a low and gravelly voice.  You froze.  

“...August?”

“One of a few names of mine, yes,” he answered.

You turned, and gasped when you saw him.  He had been tortured thoroughly, it seemed.  Chains wrapped around his body and held him back against the wall where his hulking form cast a shadow over blood-spattered stone.  Cuts and burns littered his skin, and even with a blackened eye and a swollen lip, he looked as beautiful as ever.  He looked less human than before, though.  You couldn’t tell if his skin was redder and darker in this form, or if it was just the dim lighting and blood.  

He looked at you and gave you a weak but devilish smile… literally.  “Fancy seeing you here.”

“Oh my god,” you groaned, crushed under the weight of what you had done.  Of course it would come back to bite you.

“You’re allowed to say that?” 

You winced.  “I’m not supposed to, no.”

“You’re learning how fun it is to break the rules.”

You looked away, rubbing your arm nervously.  “When we met before,” you awkwardly recalled, “did you… know?”

“Know you were an Angel?  No,” he answered.  “I sensed your purity; I came, I saw, I conquered-- it’s sort of my modus operandi.”

You shuddered.

“This,” he grinned, “is a lovely surprise.  The wings suit you, by the way.”

“You looked better before,” you grimaced.  

“Don’t care for the horns?” “I meant that you’re beaten and bloodied and bound.”

“Oh, so you do care for the horns,” he winked.  “They always do.”

They.  How terrible.  You were such a fool to think that there was anything special or meaningful about what had happened in the human world that day.  

“So,” he started, “you’re here to torture me, yeah?”

“I… suppose so, yes,” you shifted nervously.

“So, what’s the plan?  They’ve got a whole menagerie of toys over there,” he motioned with his head.  You didn’t even want to look at the bloodied tools.

“I want to bless you,” you offered instead.  He hissed.

“Sounds painful.”

“It will be, at first,” you admitted, “but maybe you can be saved.”

He laughed a little at that, but his exhaustion was apparent.

“Or,” you proposed instead, “I could just carve the tetragrammaton into your chest.”

“Ooh, creative,” he sighed. “I’ll take the blessing, thank you.”

As you stepped closer, you could see that he was breathing quickly.  He looked afraid.  Perhaps others enjoyed this feeling of invoking fear in others, but you did not.  

A phial of holy water was tied to the cords at your waist, and he squirmed against the chains as he watched you untie and uncork it.

“In the name of the Father,” you began; each droplet of water instantly steamed as it hit his skin, and you watched his face as each impact brought a strong initial reaction but the pain faded quickly. “And the Son,” another flick of water, “and the Holy Spirit,” one final spray.

He grunted a little but shut his eyes as he fought the pain.

“Still a demon?” you asked nervously.  His eyes were still shut but he laughed a little. 

“That was nothing,” he chuckled.  “The real torture is seeing you right there and being chained up.  The things I would do to be able to touch you right now.”

“You can’t seriously tell me that you got off on being burned with holy water.”

“Got off?  Not even close,” he frowned.  “But there was certainly a physical reaction.  Look for yourself.”

He moved his hips a little and you caught the shape of his erection against his trousers in the corner of your eye before you looked away.

“Aw, don’t be shy,” he smiled, “you’ve seen it before.”

“Don’t remind me,” you shuddered.

His gaze made your whole body feel warm, and tingly, and a bit nauseous.

“I can smell your doubt,” August cooed, “among other things.” “Doubt is a natural step on the journey of faith,” you answered clinically. 

“Yes, it’s certainly my favorite,” he grinned.

“Exploiting people at their most vulnerable-- how twisted,” you shook your head.

“Darling, that’s what you people do,” he grimaced.  “My job has always been to help people do what’s good for them.” “At the cost of what’s good for others,” you added.  He shrugged with a half-smile.  

“If everyone looks out for themselves, they put each other in their place.”

“Please stop trying to explain your Satanic philosophy as if it is logical or right in any way,” you frowned.

“Okay, but tell me this: how does me, chained to a wall and tortured, fit into your Heavenly philosophy?”

You considered that, looking away and trying not to notice him staring at you.  You weren’t sure what inspired you to do it, but you stepped forward and loosened his chains until he was able to let his arms rest at his sides again.  He sighed with relief, and looked down at you.  You realized you were standing too close to him, but you were unable to step away.

He hummed as he scanned your body with his gaze.  “I know exactly what you’re going through,” he purred, reaching out to you.  “You’re beginning to wonder how the proprietors of ‘good’ can do things that are so evil,” he continued, his fingers beginning to trail down your stomach, “and how something so evil,” his fingers reached between your legs, “can feel so good.”

Your head fell back with a gasp as he did that thing with his fingers that made your body melt into his touch.

“You can’t… we can’t…” you mumbled, but couldn’t finish the thought.

“What’s your plan to stop me, Angel?  Will you smite me back to Hell?”

“N-no,” you answered, “then you’d be free.”

“Ah, can’t pull the wool over your eyes,” he praised.  

Like all sin, you weren’t sure how you ended up in the thick of it, but suddenly your ears were filled with the sound of jingling chains as you were straddling his lap, your robe tattered and tossed aside, riding him while he growled and pulled you closer.

“God, you are perfect,” he groaned.

All you could do was moan and throw your head back as his length speared you so perfectly.

When you heard the shifting of metal, at first you assumed it was his chains, or maybe a sconce falling off the wall from the force of him fucking you so brutally.  It wasn’t until it was far too late that you realized it was the opening of the door as Mīkhāʼēl re-entered. 

You tried to jump up and run away, as if there was any chance at plausible deniability at this point, but August held you tighter, wrapping his arm around your neck until you were nearly choking.

Mīkhāʼēl’s look of shock quickly morphed to disgust, contempt, and rage.

“You defile an angel, demon!” he bellowed.  August just grinned, black eyes sparkling in the firelight.

“This isn’t-- I didn’t mean-- he made me--”

Instantly, Mīkhāʼēl’s hand was around your throat, and his eyes burned through you with a hot white heat.

“Do not bear false witness, Angel,” he growled, his voice echoing across the stone.  The place where his skin was on yours started to crackle and sizzle as you felt the holy fire of judgment consume you.

“No, please!” you begged, reaching for him, but it was too late: you were already falling, already tumbling into nothingness, already feeling the emptiness overtake you as you were plunged from grace, to mortality, to exile.

You came to against a stone floor, aware only of the darkness that surrounded you and the ache on your back where you were hypersensitive to your lack of wings.  This was much worse than your time as a mortal in the human world.  You must have still had some holiness at that point-- maybe just the inherent holiness that came with being a part of God’s creation rather than stranded outside of it-- because now you were sore and aching and your sense of balance was all wrong as you tried to stand up.  

“Hello?” you called into the darkness, immediately hating how weak you sounded.

Suddenly the darkness shifted, and there was August, no longer chained, still horned and black-eyed, bearing little burns on his chest from where you had hit him with the holy water.

“Come with me,” he offered, extending a hand to you.  You shied away but he grabbed you and pulled you into him.  

“Are you going to hurt me?”

“When have I ever done that?” he asked, and you were too busy being dragged forward to answer.

Suddenly there was a door, and he was opening it, and you were in some sort of hallway.  The smell of brimstone hit you first, then the heat.  Hungry eyes devoured you from every direction, and you shivered under their glares.

You forced your eyes closed as you stepped forward and repeated a prayer quietly to yourself.  “Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of Death, I shall fear no evil, for Thou art with me.”

"Your god can't reach this place," August informed you.  You opened your eyes, your mantra interrupted.  

"He can do anything," you frowned.  "He could retrieve me if He wanted."

"Well, then he must not want to."

You looked away and crossed your arms.

At the end of a hall was a door, and August motioned to it: “this is my bedroom.  Dinner is in an hour,” he explained coolly.  “Your clothes are laid out for you on our bed.” “You can’t dress me up,” you frowned, “and you can’t make me share a bed with you.”

“We’ll discuss this after we eat,” he replied sharply, 

The dress was… not the sort of thing you were used to wearing.  Black, revealing, heavy with beading and other vain decorations.

You were just thankful it covered the new scars on your back.

August was waiting for you in the dining room.  His table was overflowing with more food than you’d seen perhaps in all your life combined.  Fruits, meats, enough cakes and desserts to kill a grown man.  All this abundance made even more unavoidable the fact that it was just you and him alone in the room.

"The Lord sets a table before me in the presence of mine enemies," you smirked.

“I’m not your enemy,” he corrected. “I’m the only person sticking up for you right now.”

“You’re holding me captive.”

“You have nowhere else to go.  You know I didn’t bring you here, right?  You were cast down.  If it weren’t for me, you’d be up to your eyes in the ‘weeping and gnashing of teeth’ stuff right now.”

“So I’m supposed to just ignore what you are?” 

He stood up and pulled you into him, forcing you to look into his eyes.

“And what am I, exactly?”

"You're an incubus.  You seduce people, feed on their sin.  It's filthy, it's… awful."

"Aww, Angel, are you jealous?” he purred as he leaned down to ghost his lips over your neck. “You shouldn't be.  You're more than enough to sustain me.  Just say the word and I'm yours-- I'll never seduce another.  You're all I need, Angel, you're all I want."  

"Lead me not into temptation," you whispered to yourself as your eyes fluttered shut.

"Stop praying," he murmured against your skin, "He can't hear you.  He's not here.  I'm here."

You felt the heavy fabric of your dress being lifted as the skirt ran up your legs.  And there he was, running his fingers over your slit, gasping at the wetness he found there.

“Oh, Angel,” he moaned right beside your ear.

“I… I have a name, you know,” you pointed out.

“I’d rather not burn my tongue on your language, but thank you for the heads up.”

“You just like reminding yourself that I’m an angel,” you frowned.

“I like reminding myself that you used to be an angel,” he hissed.

Your gut twisted and you felt your eyes start to burn with tears.  You had lost everything for this.  For him.  And of course it was a mistake, the worst mistake you would ever make, but now that the deed was done, you only had two options: keep the thing you’d given up your spot in Heaven for, or run away and be left with well and truly nothing.

The choice, while cruel, was obvious.

“August,” you whimpered.

“Yes, Angel?” he answered with an expectant look.

“Make love to me,” you requested in a weak voice.

“Oh, darling,” he grinned, his teeth sharp and glistening in the light of the fire, "I'm not going to make love to you.  I'm going to devour you."

[my-writings-and-musings]

Here's a commission from an absolutely wonderful person, with Drift and a human reader going from the start of their friendship to becoming Amica Endura, and being ridiculously cute and sweet all the way. 

You'd been confused by the term at first, like you had with all Cybertronian phrases upon initially hearing them, but this one had been different in a way that didn't feel right.

Mostly because it sounded suspiciously like an insult.

Though the group of bots hadn't appeared to be especially troublesome, you had still seen Drift flinch when they'd referred to him as a Carnicon. That reaction alone had stirred immediate concern on your part, but their less than friendly tone and the sense of trouble they carried had made you act on the spot. Though the offending crewmembers had been gone by the time you managed to climb down the ladder attached to your designated lunch table, you'd still made it a point to hurry across the floor towards the lonely ninja bot, hoping that perhaps you'd just misunderstood what had transpired. Maybe the word was a nickname he hadn't heard in a while?  Distracted as you were just trying to avoid getting stepped on by the other bots moving about the room, such optimism was still obviously hopeless even to you. Drift had looked wounded by the comment.

"Hey, Drift! Down here, hello!"

Waving your arms for added effect, you called up to the bot as soon as you reached the floor beside his chair. Though somewhat out of breath, you had practiced getting the attention of much taller beings enough times to make elevating your voice quite easy, and you were noticed quickly. Raising his helm in a flash, Drift looked down to the floor with surprise that turned to a soft smile when he recognized you. A hand was offered to lift you as had become customary amongst the crew. 

"Hey, Y/N! Finish your lunch so soon?" He asked casually, all traces of his unpleasant encounter already wiped from his face. Hopping off his palm and onto the table, you had to sadly note the half eaten meal of his own sitting on a tray, untouched since he'd been called that word. The neatly organised arrangement of  energon cuts and various metals prepared as tasty little morsels was his usual lunch, something you knew because its sushi like appearance had stuck in your mind, especially do to how quickly he always finished it and the delighted mood with which he did so. Something must have indeed been wrong for it to be pushed aside and ignored.

"Yeah! I just wanted to come over, and..." Words failed you at the realization you hadn't actually planned upon what to say, or even how to go about saying it, despite your desire to help. All you'd wanted was to check up on him as swiftly as possible, and due to the distance involved there hadn't been time to think of a tactful way to accomplish that. Perhaps you should just be honest and not beat around the bush? Drift was a bot who could appreciate good intentions, if nothing else. Finding your courage, you ignored your somewhat rapid heartbeat to look up at him, smiling softly and adjusting your stance in a way you prayed came across as reassurance. "Well, honestly, I saw that group of bots go by and... I don't like to assume, but I wanted to make sure they didn't give you a hard time."

"Oh, those guys?"

His tone was casual, but even he couldn't hide the hurt that flashed in his optics. Clearly, and unfortunately, your instincts had been right on target. 

"Nah, they're just... Some mechs are a bit abrasive is all, it's how they socialize." He said, politely dismissing your concerns with fake sincerity that might have worked if you didn't know him as well as you did. Though not especially close, you'd spent enough time with him to learn he tried to play peacemaker on the ship, something made quite difficult by the past many crewmembers refused to let him forget. Somehow the particular variety of pain he earned from such a predicament was very easy to recognize. You could hear it in every halting word, and because of that you had to fight to keep your expression neutral as he worked his way through an explanation probably improvised on the spot. "I've been developing a more open energy flow in casual environments. It allows me to connect with others on a deeper level, but can make me a tad more... vulnerable, to such unexpected encounters."

Hearing the pain hidden just below the surface of his voice, you can't help but feel a protective stir in your heart, regardless of the fact Drift towers over you and is an experienced combat veteran. Size and strength clearly aren't keeping him safe from bullies, and you can't bear to think of him suffering that pain in silence. Perhaps it isn't your place, but leaving him to endure even another minute just isn't an option. Sitting down on the table, you keep your worry to yourself and speak plainly, one equal to another.  "It wasn't so much them, as what they said that seemed to bother you." 

Seeing him deflate a bit makes further conversation almost impossible, but you push forward with your question. "That word, Carnicon, was it an insult?"

"No." He replies, curtly but not aggressive as he looks down at the hands he's folded atop the table. Worried you might have crossed some cultural boundary, despite all but whispering the word in question to lessen its blow, you're relieved when he seems to decide against further deflection. Stroking his thumb over the back of his palm, he is open but not quite unguarded in his tone as he starts to explain. "Well, not in most situations. Carnicon is an older term for Cybertronians built to hunt or engage in combat with purely biological weapons; like claws or venom."

Now at least marginally caught up, though still uncertain how such a word could ever be used against someone, you gently encouraged him to continue when he paused. "But... in other situations?"

"Some look down on bots bearing features that are ascribed to Carnicons. Thus, the name is often levied at those with "beastly" attributes, such as tails, horns, or..." Momentarily worried he'd paused because the topic had indeed proved too much, you were too caught up in the sad implications of the explanation to notice it hardly applied to him in the slightest. It was only when he brought a hand to his chin that the pieces started to click. Tilting his helm, he opened his mouth just enough for you to catch sight of four incredibly pointed tips, all in the same spots as your own canines. Everything made a terribly sad kind of sense by the time he closed his mouth and returned his sad gaze to you with a single word. 

"Fangs."

Heartache barreled past your defenses to show on your face in the form of an unrestrained frown, one that almost weighed you down under a dense kind of sadness you'd never experienced. Bots kept surprising you with the downright absurd forms of bigotry found on Cybertron, but this... You didn't even know how to begin processing it. This poor bot may have made some bad choices in the past, but he's worked tirelessly to be better, and the whole time you've known him he's been nothing but kind. More than kind, in fact. Drift is practically smiling every time he sees you. To think he has to endure exclusion for his past, on top of harassment for a physical trait that's impossibly harmless, you find yourself wishing wistfully you were large enough to embrace him. A reassuring smile on his face makes you ache more.

"Although I'm not a Carnicon, the fact that a number of my dentae are unusually sharp in a manner some might compare to those commonly found in Carnicons has occasionally resulted in... heckling." At the last word he cracks, and for the first time his fake unaffected front is completely ineffective, allowing you to see the pain that's almost overflowing just below the surface. Such a sight makes you certain you'll never be able to unsee his suffering again. Suddenly you understand him on a deeper level, as if this little incident has made something click into perfect place. You've never felt more determined to comfort someone than you do as he tries to continue. "But I'm quite accustomed to all of the reactions I provoke, Y/N! It does not bother me. Thank you for your concern though, I hope this feature does not perturb you."

A wonderful burst of clarity nearly makes you laugh, if only because being so caught up actually made you forget something about yourself, but you channel that energy into a bolstering smile as you scoot closer on the table.

"Why would it do that? I've got them too."

Optics going blank, it looked as if his processor had crashed like an old PC before he utters two quiet words.

"Come again?"

Tilting your own head, you gently pull your mouth open and push your lip back to reveal your own canines, all of which extend far enough that all he has to do is squint before his expression brightens in realization. Tapping the pointy tip, you let go to enable yourself to talk once again. Seeing him watch your face a little more intently as you speak is oddly endearing. "See? All humans have these teeth, they're called "canines", but mine are extra big and sharp. It's called Macrodontia." 

"I... I never noticed..." He replied after a pause, speaking softly as his processor works over what you've just shared with him. There's hesitation holding back an obvious buzz of excitement, as if he doesn't want to take a risk and believe he's finally found someone who understands, or is worried you might be offput by the true level of his excitement. Equally concerned about not overwhelming him or overstepping, you reply using a casual tone to mask your eagerness to connect with him.

"As small as I am, no one here has." You say matter of factly, briefly wondering if any unpleasant sentiment would have been directed your way if your size didn't hide the feature. Flashbacks of taunts on Earth are overwritten by self admonishment, as you know for a fact nothing you've endured could ever compare to what he faces on a daily basis in terms of sheer isolation. No doubt the teeth also play into bot's assumptions on his "aggressive" nature too. Not wanting to make the moment about yourself, but also determined to let him know you would never do to him what others have done to you, you're left fumbling between what feels like two conflicting ideals. "Sometimes people made fun of me for it on Earth, so I... I know it's not the same as what you face, so I don't want to say I "understand" how you feel or anything, but-"

"Y/N... I think you do. A lot more than most." He says, not so much interrupting as reassuring you that the backpedaling isn't necessary. Letting out a breath you didn't know you'd been holding, the warm satisfaction of being able to help someone in a trying moment settled over your heart with a kind of fuzzy giddiness. There's a renewed brightness in his optics as he looks to you without shame and speaks openly. "Thank you for sharing this with me, and I assure you I won't tell a soul. But if anyone ever does find out, and gives you trouble..."

There's a gentle fade to silence as you lay a tiny hand on his.

"It doesn't have to be secret. I'm not ashamed of the way I am, especially considering who I share the look with." You say, and the effect is so profound his smile actually appears to brighten before the rest of his expression.

"I'll still be here for you, just as you've been here for me."

"Consider the feeling mutual."

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

"Then there's this particular blade; do you see how it doesn't have any sharpened edge?"

Due to your size, you could probably see the finer details of the weapon even more clearly than your friend did, and thus the total lack of serrated sides was quite apparent. Thankfully the missing edge also made it easier to observe the features Drift was describing while he held the blade out for you to see, as you could get quite close without having to worry about excessive caution. It didn't hurt that you also wanted to observe as much detail as possible. Following along with him had taught you amazing things, and he actually seemed to grow more enthusiastic when you were attentive.

"Yeah! It's all just tapered to a point, like a stake." You said, sitting casually on the floor amongst the neatly arranged armory of swords and daggers of incredible variety. From the way Drift is gleefully chatting from his own spot in front of you, one might have thought he was discussing something more akin to collectibles than weapons of war, but this behavior had become so normal to you that the oddness didn't even register. As far as you were concerned, he was simply a friend sharing something he was passionate about. Seeing him smile so brightly made it even better.

"Precisely! This style is very unique; it's meant for close combat, either as a last resort in a sword fight or a single strike for assassination." He said, holding up the blade and flipping it elegantly over his palm. Optics almost shining with delight, he spoke so enthusiastically you could see his sharpened dentae peeking through every smile, which he only allowed to happen when he felt truly comfortable. Before you knew it your own cheeks were pushing up in an absolutely beaming grin, one enthusiastic enough to show your own little fangs as well. Seeing Drift this... free just stirred a kind of warm happiness in your heart you didn't know was possible. It seemed to only happen in select moments, but it was definitely becoming more frequent the longer you two were friends, and it was hard to miss how his happiest days seemed to occur only in your presence...

"Oh, and then there's this one!"

You startled as he pulled out a similiar but far more elegant blade seemingly from nowhere, moving so swiftly the fine edge made a whistle as it cut through the very air, but as he began to gush about the particular nature of this weapon you settled back in to listen eagerly. Truthfully you could sit here and let him talk through every weapon he'd ever owned. Being his friend was a reward in itself that you enjoyed each day.

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

For the sake of the bot working so diligently, you tried to avoid moving in any significant way, going so far as to take shallow breaths whenever possible. It was resulting in rather minimal oxygen intake, but you saw it as worth it due to how little you disturbed his concentration. Unfortunately your metabolism really didn't approve of the sacrifice.

Thankfully, Drift had become familiar enough with human biology and you in general to notice just as you were starting to get dizzy.

"Y/N?" He prompted, getting you to crack your eyes open just a notch to look at him. Still unwilling to risk his work, you willed up the tiniest hint of air through your throat to respond without moving your mouth.

"Mm?"

A blurry smile came through your narrowly parted eyelids, his sense of reasurance shining bright despite the limited view you had as he spoke softly. "You can relax, I can do this fine with you moving a little."

Opening your eyes all the way, the words admittedly acted as a switch for your lungs, which sucked in a deep breath through your nose to catch up with your deficit. Relieved and feeling a little silly, you took a few more quick inhales as he paused his painting of your face. Apparently you'd been much closer to passing out than you'd realized... When dizziness finally faded away, you looked back to him with a sheepish smile and a permissive look for him to continue. Drift smiled right back and lifted the tiny brush again with another little reminder. 

"But even if I were having a problem, you staying conscious is more important than not smudging paint."

"Sorry, just don't want to mess up your hard work." You replied, now content to breathe normally but still doing your best to stay motionless atop his desk. The sentiment seemed to touch him, as there was a hint of a delay in his next brushstroke, but a little merry flash in his optics. Being appreciated in anything was still quite new for him, after all. Even with you his list of true friends remained sadly short. 

"Painting these symbols is just as much about the process as the result. Taking the time to get it right, even fixing little details, is all part of it." He murmured as the tiniest touch of a miniscule brush flicked under your right eye, his voice expressing his focus until he pulled back and relaxed with a quip. "Plus, you're actually doing better than I'm used to. Rodimus is always so twitchy when we try this."

A tiny snort of laughter escaped you at the image of a frustrated Lost Light captain getting antsy in a chair. "I can believe it."

There was an unusually long pause as Drift seemed to survey his work, mouth pressing into a thin line before he held up a bot sized mirror and looked at you with an expression just barely restraining hope for approval.

"Here, want to see so far?"

There was no need to exaggerate; you loved it. A part of you wished the intricate red could be permanent due to how beautiful it looked on your features, especially with how perfect the symbols were at accentuating what you liked most about your appearance. Tilting your head from side to side, you admired the expert craftsmanship with a smile impossible to hide, and were emphatic in expressing your thoughts.

"Drift, it looks amazing!"

"I'm glad..." He said on a sigh of relief, backtracking under the guise of a fake cough moments later. "I'm glad you like it! These patterns and colors are a very pure expression of friendship, so getting them right is... Yeah."

Seeing him so vulnerable pulled out the same desire to comfort him that had started your relationship, though unlike then you were totally certain now as you laid a proportionally tiny hand on his. "Marks or no marks, you're still my best friend."

Despite how casual the words left your lips, he looked just as touched as he'd been at your initial interaction in the canteen, and seemed quite affected as he lowered the mirror and replied. "You mean it?"

"Always." Came your automatic response.

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

The Lost Light, being as massive as it was, had a wealth of rooms including viewing decks up for grabs at any given time. With one wall consisting almost entirely of windows to view the beauty of the cosmos, and plenty of space to set up furniture or whatever else one might need, they were a naturally popular choice for social gatherings. While some in ideal positions had become more sought after than others, they were plentiful enough that any given bot had no need to worry about being unable to find a space for any occasion. Thus they were perfect for gatherings of any size at any time for all who called the ship home.

Despite the ease of procuring such a space on demand, however, Drift had been quite insistent on the specific one he'd rushed you towards without warning. Accustomed to his often sporadic ideas, you'd happily let him carry your tiny form in his broad arms when he promised explanations would be coming. Admittedly the fact that he'd appeared nervous had given you some pause though...

Until you'd actually seen the viewing deck and what he'd arranged within.

Framed almost as if by hand, a brilliant red cloud of space dust sparkled in the infinite blackness beyond, giving the room a soft glow akin to a warm fire or a fantastic sunset. Spectralism heralded such a color as one of friendship and eternal bonds, and as you took in the recently arranged decorations around the room that made a brilliant kind of sense. From the gem studded light strings wound about the ceiling, to the crystalline flowers flanking the door, and the little table in the center draped in fabric to look somewhat like an altar, it's clear the whole room has become a Spectralist symbol of true companionship. With everything you two have been through together, you have a good feeling as to why. It's so touching you actually have to fight the urge to cry.

"I spent so long getting everything ready, the nebula kind of snuck up on me..." He said bashfully, still holding you in his hands as he walked forward with a little sigh. The story painted a clear image in your head of a studiously decorating bot looking up to be surprised by a giant anomaly in space, as if it was a guest arriving earlier than it was supposed to, and you had to chuckle at his adorable nature. "But I don't want to miss it, so I hope you'll forgive me if things aren't perfect. The backdrop is just too important."

Certain as you were about the purpose of all this, you still decided to open with a question, letting your friend take the lead with you as support. "What is it the backdrop for?"

"I think you know, but..." He said, smiling through significant nerves despite how clear it was you were fully on board. For all of his progress, the poor bot was still easily overwhelmed by doubt. The fact that he'd made this attempt all on his own, even with obvious anxiety every step of the way, made you proud as much as you were touched by his gesture. Approaching the little table, he set you down on it with a deep ventilation. Something quite positive but weighty needed to come off his chest.

"You've only been in my life a little while, yet every day our friendship has gotten stronger, Y/N. You're one of the few people who can look past my mistakes, and you remind me why I want to be better in the first place. I want to let you know how truly I value your companionship."

Though he spoke quickly, enough that he clearly had memorized the words and worried about saying every one, you were absolutely touched near to the point of tears. He'd spoken about Amica Endura in the past, particularly as of late when he'd dropped not so subtle tests to gauge your feelings on the topic, but nothing could have prepared you for him actually requesting such a thing of you. It was the deepest expression of platonic love known to his kind, meant for friendships that endured through their seemingly endless lifetimes. To be considered worthy of such a thing simply made your heart feel like bursting with gratitude.

Lowering his voice a tad, as if to separate his next sentence from everything else, he offered you a hand and smiled softly but warmly in the delicate light.

"If... If you're okay with it... I'd like to become Amica Endura. I know you mentioned the idea sounded good, and that I'm you're best friend, but I just want to check." He said, speaking so tenderly you might have forgotten he was multiple times your own height. Happier than you could convey in words, you nodded and had to sniffle back some tears. To think of the suffering this bot had endured, the exclusion and bullying he went through every day, yet still he found the strength to be so kind... What were the odds a little human would end up meaning so much to him? At your dotting of tears, he tenderly tilted your chin upwards. "Y/N?"

"Sorry, just... You know I can be a sap." You said through a laughing sob, brushing away the wetness from your eyes to see him clearly when you spoke next. Holding one of his digits, you put your heart and soul into every word. It felt somewhat akin to baring a spark of your own. "But I do want to be Amica, for real. You're my best friend and I want that to be forever."

There was an immediate dampness in his optics, but he pushed it back with a few quick cycles of his shutters. Putting on the most wobbly of smiles, he lifted both hands and had you lay your own atop his digits, the closest the two of you could get to clasping them together. "Okay, I... I just hold your hands, say some words, and then you say "today, tomorrow, and always" after I do. Got it?" 

Nodding, you watched in awe as he leaned back and opened his spark casing, revealing the brilliant glow of his essence to blend with the soft light already present, making it look like a miniature star was flaring in his chest. Cycling another vent, he looked into your eyes as he began.

"I bid you stand in the glow of my spark, so that you may feel the heat of my words and know them to be true."

The fact that the words were meant to be purely allegorical didn't make them any less powerful. You really could feel warmth from him, but almost on a different level than you'd ever experienced before, as if your happiness and his were filling the air between you. Perhaps the Spectralist beliefs about color connecting to emotion was true in ways you hadn't expected. Light from the cosmic cloud outside almost seemed to give his words the backdrop they needed to truly connect as he wanted, allowing every one to go straight to your heart and fill it with all the warmth and love he felt for you every day. 

"I invite you to receive my light and in doing so become my Amica Endura—from now until forever." 

You squeezed his hands softly as he hiccuped just a little, encouraging him to continue, and his voice broke a tad as he did.

"Y/N, for your empathy... As you are to me, may I be to you—today, tomorrow, and always."

A bit of coaxing was needed when it was your turn, not because you were hesitant but rather due to how difficult speech was while emotions overflowed your heart. Shamelessly sniffling and letting happy tears fall down a beaming smile, you took a deep breath at his soft look of reasurance. He trusted you to take your time in this. 

"Today, tomorrow, and always." You said to seal the bond, meaning it with every fiber of your tiny being to stand by this bot to the end of your days. The two of you had met by chance, had started to bond over the littlest of moments, and now you were here. It was more perfect than things often went for anyone. Yet there was no need to question the how or why, especially when it led to a friendship as pure as this one. As he closed his spark chamber, you felt residual warmth in the air like the lingering of an embrace.

Which became a very real one when he scooped you up for a hug that was wordlessly agreed upon. Unable to wrap your arms around him at all, you settled for holding them wide and letting him press you close, feeling the smoothness of his heated armor as it hummed with life. Despite being as tiny as you were, it seemed quite apparent the hug was as powerful for him as it was for you. Tiny, happy sobs occasionally bounced his shoulders like little hiccups. It was a moment you could have lived in forever.

When he parted to give you a grin so genuine it confidently displayed his sharpened dentae, you did the same, unable to believe such little things could have the most wonderful of outcomes.

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[virlath]

The Dread Wolf

Some speculation on Solas’ dread wolf form (Tevinter Nights spoilers below)

All around us was light and color, a dizzying array of the magic that makes up the world of spirits, and it swirled around the Tevinter mage and his ritual knife as though he were the eye of a hurricane. Something huge trembled around us—a spirit so great that it shook parts of the Fade I had always considered to be neutral, devoid of life—and high overhead, where the Black City shadowed the sky, I heard a great booming roar.

But before the Tevinter mage could complete his ritual, the Dread Wolf arrived.

It was no elf, no mortal mage. It was a beast unlike any I had ever seen. Lupine in appearance, but the size of a high dragon, with shaggy spiked hide and six burning eyes like a pride demon, and it came to us on wings of fire that resolved themselves into a horde of lesser demons as the Dread Wolf landed before us.

-Dragon Age Tevinter Nights 

So, I’ve been thinking about Solas’ dread wolf form, and what it it means /entails.

In Tevinter Nights, the Dread Wolf appears from the fade to stop the Mortalitasi’s blood magic ritual.

Based on the Mortalitasi’s story, I theorise the terrifying Dread Wolf form is Solas himself and not a separate entity like Nightmare serving Corypheus. 

===

First, the backstory

Personally, I think there is a lot of strong evidence Solas was originally some kind of spirit before manifesting as a physical, mortal elf. He doesn’t identify strongly with people and elves, saying to the Inquisitor he only thinks of himself as “me”. His only friends are spirits, and he has spent a lot of time justifying to himself why spirits should be considered people. He gets very passionate about this topic if you walk into his rhetoric on the matter.

Solas understands spirits because I think he was one to begin with. There have been hints that the ancient elves used spirits and bound them to their will. It would explain why Solas is so against using spirits and twisting them against their nature.

While we might visit the Fade, it is his natural home, and the spirits there serve him gladly.

After the events of Trespasser, and the events in Tevinter Nights, I think Solas has taken the form of the six-eyed wolf to reside in the fade physically. I presume this is advantageous for him so he can ensure his ritual to tear down the veil completes successfully. Using the dread wolf form allows him to build up his terrifying image  while also scaring away mages and spirits from disrupting his plans. 

We already know with the anchor he would have been able to walk the fade physically. With Mythal’s power now within him, there is nothing stopping him from living there permanently. Instead of shape shifting into a dragon like the evanuris however, Solas shapeshifts into a massive reptilian wolf. 

I don’t think the wolf form is a separate entity, nor do I think this wolf form is a spirit serving him like Nightmare was serving Corypheus.

Solas may have many parallels to Corypheus but using a spirit or even a person as one half of his persona is not his MO. Solas only relies on himself- he wants to be the one in control at all times. He may rely on spirits to help with whatever tasks he needs to carry out, but I don’t think he would ever rely on a spirit so much so it formed one half of his dread wolf image.

===

The Dread Wolf of the Fade

Now I think Solas’ origin/spirit self is important, because it will play a part in how we truly see him, and thus, form how we redeem or stop (”kill”) him.

Around the start of DA:I, he says:

The fade reflects the mind of the living. If you expect a spirit of wisdom to be a pride demon, it will adapt. And if your mind is free of corrupting influences? If you understand the nature of the spirit? They can be fast friends.

I don’t think his physical/fade form is like anything we have seen in any previous games or lore before. He says himself, the ancient elven gods weren’t truly gods but “mages”, or "something this age has not yet seen”. I don’t think he’s an abomination like Anders, but closer to a spirit that has manifested and evolved like Cole, over millenia. If so maybe the term demon is more appropriate to describe his form (and to be clear, I think Solas is definitely not a simple spirit but something much more - he says himself in dialogue with Cole “I am not a spirit, and sometimes it is hard to remember such simple truths). 

What Solas has is the understanding and kinship of spirits coupled with the physicality of a mortal body. He can walk the fade and affect the minds of others through dreams. If you remember Feynriel in DA2, it was said a dreamer abomination would be extraordinarily powerful and they would be able to affect the dreams of others. Perhaps Solas is a bit like Feynriel except he *is* the only entity- rather than possessing someone, he is the sole physical manifestation of his demon self. When he is in the fade, he can shapeshift into his wolf form by using the fear inspired by his Dread Wolf persona, much like Nightmare can.

Whatever you know of this mage, put it aside. Whether he is truly the Dread Wolf of elven myth, I cannot say—it is not uncommon for powerful spirits to be worshipped as gods, as the Avvar do. But whatever fear the name of the Dread Wolf carries, he has earned. While we might visit the Fade, it is his natural home, and the spirits there serve him gladly. They whisper in my dreams now, accusing me of crimes I never committed and promising vengeance if my wards fail. A weaker mage would be dead already, or mad.

And as clear as the Dread Wolf’s anger at what we had done—the Mortalitasi binding spirits he considered his own, the Tevinter mage using forbidden blood magic—was the feeling that we had disrupted his own work.

He intends something for the Fade, and if he wants the idol, then whatever he intends will be terrible.

This is why Solas positions himself as this big scary wolf demon to begin with. He wants people to be afraid of him because he can use their fear against them.

If our protagonist gets the chance to see him as a person or even a friend, they will see him in the fade for who he truly is- someone who at the end of the day, is a morally grey person with "good” intentions. And if they see him as a big bad wolf who wants worldwide destruction, he can use that fear to feed his wolf form as well.

This is where it’s important to note the distinction between humans and spirits. In Cole’s personal quest, spirits forgive by simply “forgetting”. Contrast this to physical beings, who forgive by working through pain and accepting it. I think DA4 will feature a pretty big existential crisis for Solas - where (hopefully) we can steer him towards the path of being a morally grey physical being, or the one track minded spirit intent on fulfilling his personal destiny at all costs.

Solas vs. himself

If you look at the murals and tarot cards in DA:I, he and the wolf are in sync with each other. Benevelont, looming, scary, confident, prideful, terrifying. In all the Inquisition artworks, he is in a position of control, actively using the Dread Wolf persona to carry out his actions.

Contrast this to the teaser mural, where the wolf has literally turned it’s back on Solas. Meanwhile, Solas stands his ground with his hand outstretched against the evanuris (the semicircles), the idol, and the wolf all at once.

In Trespasser, if Cole is made more a spirit he says this:

“When this is done, I will slip back safely, a spirit. Someone is hurting. He needs me to remember who he is.”

I think he is most definitely referring to Solas in this case.

Cole knows way more about Solas than he lets on throughout the game, and in a way, he has access to the bigger picture which we can only speculate on. This is why, when you say you want to kill Solas at the end of Trespasser, Cole greatly disapproves. It’s also why so many spirits willingly serve the dread wolf in the fade. Solas’ actions are clearly beneficial for the spirits of the fade, but whether or not he accounts for people in reality will be up to our own personal choices in game.

The more Solas takes on the form of the Dread Wolf and the more he resides in the fade physically, the more of his mortal self he will forget. It’s just the nature of being “part spirit”.  If spirits encounter information they don’t want to process or understand, they simply forget. His inner struggle is the part that wants to be a spirit vs. the part that has mortal ties and emotions based in reality. This is why when he says “I will never forget you” to a romanced Lavellan, it is so significant, and so tragic.

"Wisdom knows enduring is pain. He hurts for her, another of many he couldn't save. He carries necessary deaths." (this quote refers to his spirit of wisdom friend in his personal quest)  

If Solas wanted to, he probably could simply forget. He did after all, make Cole forget “They sleep, masked in a mirror, hiding, hurting, and to wake them... (Gasps.) Where did it go?”

Him choosing to remember the pain is what differentiates him from any conventional spirit.

This is ultimately how I think Solas’ arc will culminate in DA4.

Will Solas inevitably lose control of his Dread Wolf persona and take up the mantle of the uncontrollable, power mad villain he swore he never was? 

Or can we get him to realise the more human side to him, the side that accepts and deals with pain and mistakes and regret- the side that believes in the right of “all free willed beings to exist”?

[sloppy-butcher]

Lost in the Woods

Dwight Fairfield X Killer!Reader

Notes: i’ve been meaning to write my first survivor x reader fanfic and i wanted it to be specifically for dwight, so when @highdwightofmylife posted an April calendar thing i knew that i couldn’t resist. i won’t be partaking of the whole event but i will be doing the days/ characters that i love. call me bais, idc >:) as always, the reader will remain gender-neutral with their killer-specific abilities also remaining as ambiguous as possible. the only thing that will be known about the reader is that they are much taller than dwight. much

may dwight bring you hope and comfort in the darkness <3

word count: 3273

TW: mentions of death

The overpowering whispering of the black hole that lay before your feet sang loudly through your head. Its words unintelligible, its existence unexplainable. And yet there it was. The Hatch was what the others called it but to you, it was the coward's way out. Not in the sense that it allowed those who didn’t work, through sweat, blood, and terror, for their lives to escape scot-free but because it always left someone behind. And right now, you knew exactly who that unlucky, forgotten soul was.

You could have closed it, slammed your foot to the floor and seal the lid of the underground tunnel for the remainder of the trial until you found your last victim. An easy win on your half. But something stopped you. Something always stopped you. And that something was always that last survivor. You sigh and begin to step away from the hatch, taking long, confident strides to a certain location where you knew he would be hiding. He was predictable, stubborn in this mundane and stupid ways. The grass of the Macmillan Estate crunched under your feet but other than that, the world around you was silent, still and empty of watchful eyes. No one would see what you were about to do, no one would know, save for yourself and the man still desperately hiding away in a red locker.  

You made your way to the building near the edge of the realm and approached the only place he could be hiding in. Your eyes locked on to the object and even as you made the clear indication that you knew exactly where he was, the man remained inside. You halted outside the large cabinet and you could hear his muffled breathing, he was in there and he was still clinging to the fleeting and hopeless belief that you hadn’t found him. You waited a moment longer, giving him one last chance to jump out and accept his fate but after he showed no sign of budging you reached out and yanked the door open.

Before you cowered a man clad in a dirty, bloody shirt and black pants. His glasses slipped ever so slightly to the side of his face and his tie hung limp and defeated around his neck. He was a poor sight indeed. He let out a surprised and terrified shriek as you revealed him to the cast of the moonlight and he instinctively raised his hands to weakly defend himself against you. But you made no move to grab him. You let your arms fall to your sides and you slowly let your breath exit your mouth in a deep and low sigh. He was still tense and wary, eyeing you with orbs of complete animalistic fear and unease. You relented and stepped back, allowing him space to try and relax, or at least attempt to regain some composure. You forcibly released the tension in your shoulders and tried to make yourself look somehow smaller and less threatening to the shivering man.

It took a few moments but after looking you up and down, watching your hands for the slightest hint of aggression and taking note of your lack of interest to attack him, he slowly dropped his hands and tried his best to calm his racing heart. You allowed him a few more minutes of silence to take in your form and your intentions to not hurt him before you flicked your head to the side as an indication for him to follow you. You turned and began to lead him to the Hatch. He hesitantly followed you, walking behind you in your imposing shadow. You were so much bigger than him, powerful and terrifying. He had seen you rip apart human bodies like tissue-paper, drinking in their blood as if it was water after a drought. You were the thing in the night which he should fear, the monster of legend and the face he has grown to instinctively run from. Yet here you were, soft and quiet leading him as if he was a friend, most probably, to his escape. Just like all the times before.

“They all left me again, didn’t they?” Dwight’s voice was quiet but carried across the desolate area to your ears perfectly. You could hear the brokenness in his tone. You nodded your head gently without saying a word. Casting an eye over your shoulder you could see Dwight’s demeanor somehow shrink to be even smaller than it was already was. He was always the one left behind by the others. How pathetic. How sad. It was strange to watch him interact with the other survivors, him always trying so hard to protect them, guide them, be their leader, their rock to lean on in their dire times. If you weren’t already so destroyed and devoid of emotion you would have been swayed by his motivational speeches and inspirational gestures but in your current state, all you could see was a tired and despairing man. He had his moments of greatness, instances when he would be the man he tried beyond anything to portray. However, most of the time he was the timid and scared boy he truly was.

You had watched him crumble to the floor many times, delving into a hysteric state of horror and dread, no longer a man but an unthinking animal on the precipice of slaughter. And each time he would be alone. He always stood by the others, risking life and limb for them and in return they leave him in the dust, locked in a room with a killer and no way out. It was pathetic, they were pathetic and he was pathetic for always letting them use him as a doormat.

“Why do you always try so hard Dwight?” You made sure to keep your voice low, afraid that by raising it, it would frighten the man away. He jumped slightly at the sound and began to fidget with his fingers, unsure of how to answer your question. “The others,” you continued eyes forward and stride small, allowing for the shorter one to keep pace with you. “I’ve seen how you try to protect them. You guide them and yet they always leave you behind. Do you learn anything? Or are you just stupid?” You were way harsher than you intended to be, your lack of everyday human interaction leaving your conversation skills with something to be desired. You internally cringed and quickly passed him a glance to see if he had taken offense to your words. The man’s eyes were downward and everything about him sagged with bleakness. You normally weren’t one to be so emotional but something about the man always made you buckle.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean it like-”‘

“I can’t stop,” Dwight interjected, his voice louder than you had expected, “I-I won’t stop. I like helping others. I know what it is like to be forgotten and abandoned. Even if they don’t reciprocate it, I will always help them because if I don’t then I’m no better than...” There was a pause.

“Then someone like me?” You stopped and turned to face him. He froze and stared up at you in terror. But there was something else in his eyes. Not just fear. Not just worry or anxiety. But also mild conviction. It was as if a sudden flame was lit inside him like he had been preparing and waiting for this exact moment to happen. He looked alive and some part of you wanted to keep him that way.

“But you’re not like the others!” You were taken aback by his loud and explosive outburst but you were intrigued. You raised an eyebrow signaling him to continue and explain himself. You expected him to avoid your gaze but instead, he rose up to meet you with a surge of strength and confidence. “You’re not like the others. You... I can’t explain it but you’re different. Forgive me if I’m overstepping my boundaries but I've seen how you operate. The look in your eyes and your expression. There's something there I just don’t know... what it is.” Dwight quietened down and lowered his eyes to the floor at your feet.

“I still get terrified of you. Paralyzed by fear and all the adrenaline in the moment makes me lose my mind but when I stop and really look at you, I see something I don’t see in the others.” The fog swirled around and drifted in the space between the two of you. If there were crickets in this realm of shadow and nightmares, then they would have been the only creatures making noise.

“You don’t even know me, Dwight”. There was a sadness in your tone, your shell unwillingly crumbling under the gaze of the nervous man before you. He had some kind of spell over you and you had no control over it. Maybe it was subconscious pity or maybe he reminded you of someone you knew in your previous life. Whatever it was, Dwight was the one with all the power right now and for a brief second, it scared you. It wasn’t his job to care for you or pity you or see you as a person or…

“I’m not someone you can save Dwight.” Your voice was now only above a whisper, breathless and surprisingly gentle. What was he doing to you? Why were you always so nice to him? So lenient with your rules and merciful with your torture. He always made you hesitate and that hesitation is going to come back and bite you in the ass one of these days. Maybe today was one of those days. “Don’t try to save me Dwight. Because I will treat you the same way everyone else does.” You took a step closer to him and he quickly raised his brown eyes up to yours. You were so much bigger than him, he felt a twinge of fear as you loomed him but it fizzled out when Dwight caught the look in your eyes. There it was. That unexplainable thing he always sees in you. Was is sympathy? Remorse? No. Neither. But…

“I will treat you like everyone else.” You said again, deeper and with a hint of forced malice in your words. “Except I will leave you bleeding or dead.” There was another long stretch of silence between you two, so thick that it could be cut with a knife.  For once Dwight didn’t shy away from the situation, he stood tall and faced you head-on. You had to give it to him, he was strong when he needed to be. In a very unexpected move, Dwight took a step closer to you and held your stare firm in his own.

“I don’t care. You have… done this for me so many times before. Spared me and guided me to the hatch. I’ve told you my name and you’ve told me yours. You’re nothing like the other killers. There’s something to you, and I…I…” Suddenly he faded. His confidence seeped out of him in an instant and for a second you feared he wouldn’t finish his thought. You wanted to press him to continue, a desperate pleading part of your once-human self begging for the man to rescue some part of you, to look inside and find a sliver of goodness and of something worthwhile. But the rest of you didn’t move, didn’t make a noise and didn’t show any sign of your internal struggle. Dwight took a deep breath, closing his eyes as he did so as if trying to mentally prepare himself for a grueling task. He let out the air through his mouth and in one swift sentence proclaimed, “I want to get to know you better. I want to see you outside!” Dwight’s face flushed while yours remained shocked and stone-like. Why on Earth would he want to meet you outside a trial? You were so cruel to him? So vile and twisted. A monster. And he was so good and kind and he had the gentlest eyes and the softest hands and… You were brought out of your thoughts when Dwight began to babble with embarrassment and throw his hands up.

“I-I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean anything by that! I just… I was-” Dwight’s rambling was cut off by your loud and booming laughter. He looked up at you and felt the ground rumble as you closed your eyes and laughed at the utter ridiculousness of the whole situation.  For a moment Dwight forgot what you were, your ability to kill and maim people pushed out of his mind as he saw before him a person double over with laughter. You were a person to him, misguided but still able to be salvaged. Dwight watched as you straightened yourself and, with a smile on your lips, you turned to him. Suddenly Dwight felt very hot and he felt weak in his knees. But it wasn’t fear that was making him feel this powerless, it was something else. Something thus far unexplainable.

“Dwight.” You said through pants of giggles, taking a hand and brushing away a tear from your eye. “Are you asking me on a date?” Dwight’s eyes widened but after realizing you were joking with him decided to play along.

“I mean,” he put a hand behind his head and the other on his hip, trying to look cool in a posture that portrayed his debonair personality. “I don’t know the area very well but I’m sure we can find ourselves a nice restaurant or something.” You couldn’t help but grin at the idiot.

“Very well.” You finally stood back up to your full height and brought back your composure. Dwight dropped his arms, afraid he might have said something wrong. You passed him one last cheeky look. “As long as you are paying for dinner.”

 ~

You waited on the edge of your realm, the cold wind of the forest sweeping through the trees and bringing with scent of the wood. You had been waiting for a while now, and you were starting to get worried. There was still no sign of Dwight, you couldn’t smell him or sense his approach. For a fleeting moment, you feared you might have been stood up when suddenly you had the urge to go into the forest. Something beyond the darkness called to you and you knew you had to follow it. Your instincts have yet to fail you so in an instant you bolted into the mist and moonlight.

There was an unknown urgency in your running. Whatever was calling to you was in dire need and you knew you hadn’t a moment to waste. Your feet moved on their own, taking you down pathways and through trees seemingly without direction until eventually, you found him. Dwight. You halted, your eyes taking in his shaking form hiding in a bush with his handclasp tightly over his mouth. He barely turned to look at you before you were already by his side. Your hands hovered over his trembling shoulders, wary to touch him and hurt him any further. Your mouth opened to ask him if he was alright when there was a crunch in the grass in front of you.

You snapped your head towards the noise and was greeted by the killer known as The Ghost face. His shoulders seemed to shake as he chuckled and edged closer to Dwight’s position. The smaller man stalked towards you, like a smaller wolf would approach the bigger one, eager for the kill yet cautious of the other killer. He knew Dwight was there but stayed away because now you were here. You straightened up, standing to your fullest and glared at the other. He froze, unsure. Nothing was spoken but he got the message. Back off lest he die. Ghost face’s gaze seemed to linger between you and the bush before slowly slinking off to whatever hole he crawled out of. You made sure he left before lowering yourself to Dwight’s level. He had tears in his eyes and his hands were white with fear.  You felt something swell within your chest.

“I-I’m sorry.” He managed to wheeze out in-between gasps of breaths. “H-He followed me. And I-I panicked. I didn’t mean to…” You couldn’t handle it anymore and very hesitantly placed your large hand on his shoulder 

“No. No.” You tried your best to soothe him, your voice uncharacteristically soft and tender. He had you under his control again and you were once again helpless to stop it. “No Dwight. I should apologize. I asked you to come out here to meet me. If anything it’s my fault, I shouldn’t of - “. You were abruptly cut off when two arms wrapped themselves around your neck. You froze under his touch but Dwight didn’t let go. All he wanted to do was hold onto you, show his appreciation for you through his actions. He was also so scared and you were so solid, warm and big. He had never touched you before and he hoped it wasn’t the last time. His mind finally caught up with his body and he quickly retreated back.

Dwight’s face burned red with embarrassment and he was glad for the darkness to hide his flushed cheeks. But when he caught sight of your face he stopped. You were still yet there was this sort of pleading to you. Your eyes were wide, not from disgust or disrespect, but from shock. Your mouth hung open like a fish and Dwight was afraid he had somehow broken you when very quietly you whispered, “Again. Hold me… Again.” He didn’t need to be told twice. His arms snaked their way around your neck and he happily buried his head under your chin. He felt you breathing and although no words were exchange he knew what you were thinking.

“You’re not all bad,” Dwight mumbled into your skin making you shiver. “You deserve to try again.” He felt you shake around him and he held you tighter. Our own hands finally began to wind themselves around him in return until you were both wrapped in each other embrace.

“You are too kind Dwight.” Your chest rumbled as you spoke making Dwight unconsciously hum along with you. The heat from your body was making his glasses fog up. “This can only end badly. For the both of us.” He waited a moment before slowly nodding. He had accepted his fate the moment he decided to ask for your name. You felt his hands twitch as they waited for your answer. After a second you sighed and closed your eyes, leaning into his dirty brown hair.

“Hold me tighter Dwight.” Dwight realized then what that something was that made you special. He saw your humanity, even as you massacred and broke the bones of the innocent, Dwight saw you; a scared, lost person afraid in the dark never to be saved. Dwight saw himself in you, alone in the woods abandoned by everyone. But he had the power now. He had the power to make you feel not so alone and he was going to try his damndest to be there for you. That is if you would have him. By the way, you clung to him, your nails tearing small holes into his shirt, Dwight already knew your answer.

He wasn’t a strong man by any means, by in moments of need he pulls through and proves to everyone that he is worth attention and you are worth saving.

[nickyneshwrites]

Cold Chapter 3

Bold=???

He was pacing around in front of his desk flicking his blade around in one hand, mumbling to himself, and fidgeting with his phone in the other hand. Shizuo still was nowhere to be found and Izaya was desperate. He had heard whispers of his possible location but had come up short everywhere he looked.

If this kept up he was going to raze every single gang in the city to find his lover, pathetic humans, and their opinions are damned!

He stopped flicking his knife looking at the glinting blade and in a moment of complete frustration threw it, it stayed stuck in his office wall. Then he felt and heard his phone ring and quickly pushed the knife from his mind. 

“Yes hello. . .What about him?. . .Where are you?! . . .Skip the pleasantries Shiki,                            Where.Are.You . . . I swear if I have to listen to you-! . . I’ll be there in fifteen minutes!”

 

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

The blonde monster needed to go, not that it wasn't fun having Orihara flustered but it wasn't nearly enough fun to keep the raging monster in his company.

Not only had he injured six of his men he’d torn up a whole room and had to be moved to a more… accommodating environment. This was just getting out of hand. 

Shiki sighed, then let his mind wander. A lot of this seemed strange, for one Orihara was showing an unusually open amount of interest in Heiwajima, normally he at least tried to feign disinterest, earlier the pure worry in his voice was clear as day.

Listening to the grunting and squeaking happening in the room over was now setting him on edge even more, as he lingered on the fact that the only thing keeping the blonde man firmly tied to the bed was a ridiculous amount of tranquilizer and thick chains. 

The doctor who he had asked to look after the blonde was certain in his methods of detaining the crazed man but it was in Shiki’s opinion that he was seriously underestimating the strength of one of Ikebukuro's most notorious men. 

He goes over to the door and the grunting stops. Upon opening the door he sees the blonde laying still, eyes still open he keeps a good distance away from the man in case he decides to lunge but it soon becomes obvious that he is in some sort of unconscious daze. 

He looks to see if he's still breathing and finds that he is and sighs, good he really couldn't deal with Orihara going rouge again. 

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

He was swimming in it, all the self-doubt, the fear of hurting others, the complete overwhelming. . . 

“Sh. . .n”

Despair! Admit it for you know it's the truth, all of the love you hold is fake and you only push your pathetic existence upon those around you!

He wanted to deny it but he couldn't, his strength was a tool of destruction that would eventually drag all of those he holds dear to their doom. 

Blackened tendrils crept up his subconscious submerging him deeper in their viscous fear dragging up all the truths he tried to keep hidden in himself. 

A figure stands before him with an obscured face and it speaks directly to him in a hushed voice.

“-Ch. . .an”

The love you share is false, admit it! You took advantage of the hate you shared and shaped it into a twisted form of love that you've disillusioned yourself into believing.

He tried to escape to deny all of what he was hearing but it was too late he could no longer breathe and the darkness had taken hold devouring all his light.

"S-h. . .uo!"

Yes accept it, then return to your lie no but know no matter how much you run or you brush me away. Know I will still be there.

The figure leaves in black wisps and silence reigns in his consciousness. 

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

Izaya enters a building at the back end of Shinjuku, normally he would care to know just what it is that goes on in a place like this but right now he doesn’t. 

All he wants is to find Shizuo to grab hold of his brute and bring him to his flat and keep him there so something like this doesn’t happen again. He’d always known the moment he lost control of his Shizu-chan bad things would happen. He just never assumed it would be to the stupid brute himself. 

He walks down a flight of stairs and is met with a tall door, he knocks three times then waits.

“ O-orihara-same, welcome uh, Shiki-dono is w-waiting in the lower level.” 

A small man stands behind the door in front of Izaya, and as the informant gives him the once over it's obvious the man is scared. Izaya's usual mask of aloofness has melted into one of neutrality and the man is right to question his safety with such a gaze aimed at him.

Once they get moving Izaya takes time to notice that the man is in a lab coat and that the area they’ve walked to looks quite similar to an underground clinic. 

The creaking of bed frames, the sound of heart monitors, and the distinct smell of bleach are the next things to assault his senses and he starts to get anxious. It seems Shiki has more going on under the city than he was privy to… 

This just means there's something for him to look into after this whole situation is solved.  

Once they pass through that area he is led to a door to the side and it takes all of a second for Izaya to understand what he's looking at, he doesn't like it and before the meek man can open the door to the room, a blade is pressed to his back. 

“Ne doctor-Kun, I've followed you here without complaint because you told me you were leading me to Shiki-dono so could you explain to me why I'm being brought to the interrogation room?” 

His tone was pleasant but the danger was clear and the knife pressed in the smaller man's back was sending a very clear message. He was frozen in place trying to find his voice while not fainting from all the stress, he was not prepared for this at all. 

“Sh-s-s-sh-iki-dono is in the t-this room, the patient is there too after he d-deemed them too danger-rous to leave out in the main building! Please don't hurt me I was ju-”

The black imposing door is opened and the doctor crashes to the floor, passes Shiki, and immediately scrambles away from the violent man he was forced to meet. 

“S-Shiki-dono your g-guest is here and with that, I think I should take my l-leave!”  

Izay has long since stopped listening to the blubbering idiot and passes only a glance at Shiki before he walks by him and cautions a look around the room behind the Awakusu-kai member, and he sees him laid up there, his Shizu-chan!

“Shiki-dono knows how to treat his guests so whatever this is should also have an explanation, right? A reasonable explanation that will explain why it was necessary to chain an injured Shizuo to a bed, right?!”

He wasn't pointing his knife at anyone despite the strong urges to attack though his breathing was giving away the obvious distress? Anger? Or maybe even fear he was feeling.

This situation was exactly what Shiki was trying to avoid, he has every intention to pass Heiwajima over to Orihara but he was sure to the tense man it didn't look that way. He takes a step back to sit in the chair in the corner and looks straight at the informant, he knows he has to play this right or things could blow out of proportion and he's not in the mood for the melodrama.

“He’s simply restrained for his safety and that of my men, this room was the best for such a situation, and seeing as we couldn't get him to calm down this was the best I could arrange, he’s under a strong tranquilizer and has been showing strong signs of mental distress”

At this point, Izaya has heard what he wants and is moving towards the bed, as he approaches he notices that Shizuo's eyes are wide open but is seemingly unresponsive. He touches the blonde's arm and can't help the intake of breath he makes when he feels how cold he is to the touch.

“Shizu-Chan comes on I know you’re stronger than whatever this is…” 

Izaya pockets the knife he's still holding and moves to grab onto the blonde's shoulder, he pulls on the chains there loosening them as much as he can.

“That isn't a good idea Orihara-san, he isn’t very stable and I don't think disturbing him in this state will not end well”

But again Izaya wasn’t listening, he just kept pulling and calling for the blonde getting lost in a haze of frustration as he rasped out his desperate call. 

“Shizu-chan please you're not allowed to fall to anyone but me, wake up. Come on Shizu-chan I can even buy you those ridiculously sweet milkshakes you like just … Wake up Shizuo!”

He sounded close to tears and Shiki sat in shock at the display in front of him, the whole situation was kind of surreal. He was sure he had a good guess as to what the nature of their relationship was behind closed doors but this type of emotional response was more than he expected coming from the normally supercilious informant. 

 Then from behind the trembling back of the smaller man he saw it, the moment heiwajima eyes came back into focus but still holding that crazed spark. 

“I-izaya?” 

There was a moment of silence as his eyes and Izayas met like they were trying to talk through them to push forward the pain they each had to endure.

And in one act of utter relief, Izaya kisses the blonde, hard and passionate and desperate with all the pent-up energy he'd built up being released in the only way he could think to communicate. 

He doesn't even hear as the chains are broken and fall to the ground with a heavy thump. But he does feel the blonde's hands pull at his fur coat and he sees the tears trickle down the fractured man's cheek.

A tired moan ripples through the kiss and Izaya retreats leaving a thin line of saliva connecting their mouths, his breathing is haggard and it takes him awhile 

to calm down. He looks over his tired lover, Shizuo's normal bartender uniform ruined, now a tattered and stained shirt and ripped pants with his sunglasses nowhere to be seen. 

“I’m sorry Izaya! I’m sorry I’m like this -this monst-i c-cant its just - i-i-I’m sorry! Im wrong were wrong I’m sorry so sorry sorry so much I-I-I-i”

Shiki leave the room he’s heard enough and decides he doesn’t need to know what else is going to be said, he’s given the informant what he wanted and as far as he’s concerned he’s done his job.

It’s up to Oriharta to fix the obviously damaged Heiwajima and to that he wishes him all the luck.

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

It’s been 2 days since Izaya brought Shizuo back to his flat, it's been quiet. Once Shizuo was showered and fed all Izaya wanted to do was hold onto his blond and never let go but he never came in fact he seemed to want to keep as much space as possible. Shifting from any type of contact Izaya initiated and spending hours at a time in the guest room instead of their shared bedroom.

The body that once housed his loud and lively lover was cold and distant. And when he wasn’t hiding, Izaya caught glimpses of a crazed fear in the blondes eyes, and he so wanted to help, to put this whole issue to rest and go back to how things were before his disappearance but it seemed impossible when the blond was so distant.

Shizuo's sitting on the sofa silently looking out at Izaya's unfinished game of chess, he doesn't really understand what about it had him quite so entranced but it was 

better than seeing the hurt in Izaya's eyes when he looked at him. He’s standing in the doorway even now just looking; probably weighing how much trouble it would be worth to keep someone as useless as himself just sitting around. 

He hears him let out a sigh from the door frame and steels himself as he comes and sits next to him.

“Shizu-Chan look at me, we need to talk ” 

Shizuo did as he was told. 

“You need time I get that but you need to at some point tell me what it is that you need me to do to help you. I care ok, when you disappeared I went looking everywhere, I found the bastards who attacked you that day and tried my damndest to make them pay. And as much as it hurts me to sit here spouting sentimental trash it hurts more to see you so… so broken, I love you so please just tell me what's wrong Shizuo”

And how could Shizuo ignore how sincere he sounded, those uttered words his name falling from the lips he’d spent years chasing? He shuffled over to the smaller man who was obviously giving him space and rested his head on Izaya's lap. Izaya didn’t really do anything at first but then he started running his fingers through the blonde locks soothingly. 

“Just don't leave me”

The words travelled the silent room and seemed to be made more real by the silence and while no reply was made, the gentle way in which fingers caressed the taller man's cheeks were enough to make him know they were acknowledged.

A promise made in tranquility only truly believed by one of them.

[paradise-of-guilty-pleasures]

Shattered Reflections

[Helsa RP- Fanfic]

Fandom: Frozen

Genre: Post-Frozen/ Canon Divergence - Hurt/Comfort, Drama, Romance

Pairing(s): Hans/Elsa, Kristoff/Anna

Prince Hans is a mirror at heart, but wishes to shatter his reflections and correct his past mistakes. He returns to Arendelle, willingly surrendering himself to Queen Elsa's judgement. Uncovering truths, unforeseen circumstances and a bit of je ne sais quoi, bring the Ice Queen and the Mirror Prince together in a way neither of them would have imagined.

A/N:

(( This is a collaborative RP Fic written by lovely fellow Helsa shipper FOW and myself. We RP for fun and just wanted wanted to share this story with fellow shippers, especially all my lovely shipper buddies over in the Helsa Discord Server. Long live the Province of Helsa! Thank you, Beta Reader Friends, your help is much appreciated. Hope you enjoy~ ))

--

Chapter 1. Double Jeopardy

He refused to mention what had brought him back. In fact, for the most part, he outright refused to speak.

Hans stepped into the throne room with shackles on his wrists, standing tall regardless, and walking without a fight with the Arendelle guards. His ship had been flying the Southern Isles flag, but the other crew members on his boat claimed no affiliation, and gladly handed over both Hans and his horse. Hans was stripped of his sword and a journal he kept on him, with half the pages torn out and the other half blank, but otherwise nothing suspicious was found on him. He entered the room in his warmer blue coat with the motif after the waves reminding all that he was a man of the Isles, and he was an Admiral as well -or at least had been, once-. He had said nothing the entire way, only doing as the guards asked, and coming in without a fight to meet the Queen for sentencing. His expression remained neutral, as if he were elsewhere entirely. It couldn't be further from the truth, but very little of him spoke truths.

"Your Highness, we've brought in that Prince from the Isles. The ship was quick to give him and his horse up, and claimed no affiliation with him. We've told them to stay where they are until released but didn't see fit to bring them in." The Captain of the Guard explained. "He had half a journal, a pen, and a sword with him, and put up no argument to us taking him in. No argument or word about anything so far, actually." The Guard couldn't help but glance back with an irritable look toward Hans, clearly he would rather have had him hanged than keep him in Arendelle, at least then he wouldn't be more concerned about the safety of the Queen. As much as the guards valued human life, they valued their Queen staying alive more than the life of a man who attempted to kill them. One could hardly blame them. Hans just watched impassively, waiting to be addressed.

Even with the warning of the unauthorized ship (flying the Southern Isles Flag) approaching her fjord, it had not prepared her enough for his entrance. She thought the chances of the ship actually carrying him would be quite slim, since she thought the Isles wouldn't be foolish enough to strain their relationship further than the state it was left in, after the fiasco with their 13th Prince. Even with the slim chance, the unannounced vessel was still strange and made her extra cautious, she ordered the Guard to go investigate and to be ready for anything.

She really thought she would never have to lay her eyes on the auburn haired Prince ever again, so when he actually entered the throne room accompanied by the Guard her heart sank into my stomach, and almost forgot how to breathe. She was overrun with emotions, but anger was at the forefront of all of them. As the men approached her right hand clenched into a fist over her lap, her long fingernails burying themselves into her palm. She had regained the ability to breath as the men stopped in front of her, she was trying her hardest to keep her breath steady. She looked at the Prince straight in the eyes as the Captain explained, anger was boiling inside her but determined not to show it, she was Queen and she had to keep her composure no matter what (especially knowing what negative feelings did to her powers). Even if she wished to lash out at him, she believed if she gave him any kind emotional response, even if that emotion was anger, it would show him weakness and that was something she was NOT willing to show him and especially not in front of her Guard.

As the Captain finished explaining, Elsa closed her eyes for a long second, accompanied by deep breath for composure, she was determined to remain regal.

"Thank You, Captain,"she said with a nod, as she turned to look at him.

Elsa's piercing blue eyes turned back to the emerald ones of the cuffed man in front of her. She fought to keep her eyes from narrowing more into a glare.

She raised her chin up high.

She carefully contemplated the words she'd use before even parting her lips to speak.

"Prince Hans Westergaard of the Southern Isles," the name felt vile as it rolled off her tongue for time for the first time, but had managed to say it in a neutral tone, instead of the venomous one she wished she could spew. "What game do you think your playing returning to Arendelle like this?"

Hans seemed to think just as much about his response, as if this were a game of chess and it was his move.

"No games, per se." His finally speaking almost startled the guards, especially since he hadn't spoken yet. "Perhaps a very distinct lack of games, in fact. A lot of truth was missed, I am here to provide if asked. Elsewise, I am simply here. Dungeon filler or, perhaps, for the noose. Whatever pleases her Majesty. I would only ask that my horse be treated well. I only brought him for the companionship on aboard the ship. The men aboard the ship were only hired to carry me and put the flag up, wouldn't want to appear without warning." He made a clear effort to keep his voice and posture entirely neutral. No coronation charm or wit, no smooth manipulations via expressions. He was working at neutrality in its totality.

"My apologies for having carried a sword, It is only a cheap copy, it would break swiftly and isn't sharp. In the Isles it's traditional for a man to carry one, but not common to break one. it's purely decoration. For traditional gestures and the like. Such as the traditional gesture of surrender." He held up his hands to remind all in sundry that he had immediately surrendered himself.

'Provide if asked?' what would she or Arendelle ever need from him she thought as he spoke. Dungeon? Noose? Horse? Surrender? There were so many times that she wished to interrupt him as he spoke, to ask more questions, but she did her Queenly duty and listened to the end.

She knew why he was here (at least what he wanted her to believe), but she still didn't quite understand the how yet. She had given him back to the Isles so that they would deal with him as they saw fit, she doubted that they allow the man that had tarnished their reputation with her kingdom to return just like that. He must have surely escaped.

So out of all questions brewing in her head after what he had told her, the biggest question, the one that'd been floating in her head since before he'd spoken had yet to be answered, so she asked:

"Does the Isles know you're here Prince Hans?"

Hans considered the question. "They are aware that I am not on the Isles. I didn't inform them where I was going. I am a man of the sea, being on a boat is not unusual for me. I was advised against it, but I will accept whatever Arendelle throws my way, and the Isles remains unrelated. This is purely me acting on my own behalf. Had I not been who I am, I'd have been hanged in the isles, but I was stripped of my admiralty and am a prince in name only." He assured. He seemed aware he was speaking too much, and stopped, waiting for her response.

"Prince Hans, I thought it was very clear that I already made my decision regarding your treason," Her tone more callous then she would have liked. "The Isles would do to you as they saw fit and it seems they have done that stripping you of your title, so I don't see why you insisted on returning to Arendelle in such a spectacle."

She had no desire of dealing then and she strongly wished not to be dealing with him now. His mere presence shook her to her core, and she didn't even want to think of her beloved younger sister Anna crossing paths with this man again.

Her patience was wearing thin, and her powers continued raging inside her from the moment she laid eyes on him. Even now with Elsa having more control over her powers (her fingertips no longer accidentally freezing everything), her discomfort with the green-eyed man standing before her had turned the Throne room air frigid, almost cold enough to see her breath as she exhaled.

Hans was silent for a long moment. He seemed to be searching for his words, and for once was at a loss.

"I will ask a question..." He said quietly.

"If I had kissed Anna and it had failed, if I had been the perfect fiancee, if I hadn't gotten involved beyond delivering blankets. What would have happened?" He seemed genuinely uncertain.

"Anna always spoke as if it was her fault things happened. But then when she came back, it was 'Elsa struck me with her powers', suddenly, you were the villain of this story. 'True love's kiss' was what she believed in, but no matter what my intentions were, and they were good intentions initially, I knew it wouldn't work. Kiss or no, she'd have been dead just the same, so I made sure she couldn't blame herself again." Hans seemed genuinely pained to admit it.

He put his hands up and cringed back a little. "It sounds bad, and it is. My lack of love is not excused. But I am not a fool, your Majesty. The line of the crown doesn't work the way I pretended. I was never under that delusion. But it was easier to hate a treasoner, than to let you be the villain. Had I stayed out of it- Where would you have been? Out on the fjord, your sister dead and you wishing you were? My intentions in marriage were never bad. What they were, however, is... no longer important." He almost seemed to break his neutrality, but he quickly forced it back onto his face.

"I will not insult you with lies. I am, at heart, a mirror. I reflect others, either as they are or as they need to see. I change with my company. I have to be careful when I want to avoid that. I have no desire to lie to you further." Yet, that still didn't explain why he was there, did it? Or was it that simple desire to explain the truth?

He was afraid to continue speaking. He spoke too much already. He felt useless. A burden again. He would wait until spoken to, he supposed. He had no desire to incur her wrath.

His question had caught her off guard. Elsa's hands began to tremble as he spoke. A knot began forming on her throat.

Even if his 'good' intentions were a lie, there was truth in his words that stung her. It was true that he had not given his sister a true love's kiss and left her locked in a room to die, but he was right the person to blame for Anna's predicament was none other than herself. She was the one to have struck her beloved sister with a frozen heart, even if it was by accident.

Elsa could feel a stinging in her eyes. Hans was right, had Anna Frozen that day she truly would have been the villain, killing the sole person she swore to protect. He was also right that had that happened she would no longer have the will to live.

Hans truly was a mirror because the question he had risen were all fears she kept locked deep within her heart. And now that those fears had been exposed out loud by him, it made her heart sink, threatening tears to her eyes. She hated that his words had such an effect on her, she had been fuming with anger moments ago and now overwhelming heartache was thrown into the mix.

Her breath was unsteady, the large lump in her throat making it harder to breathe.

She moved her hands to the arms of the chair to support herself and keep them steady from the shaking.

She opened her mouth to speak, but felt her words lost and lodged in her throat. There was a long moment of silence. Elsa took a deep sigh trying to find her voice again. She had been so lost in her thoughts that she didn't even know what question she was supposed to answer, so she asked her own question instead.

Her mouth was dry, but she managed to regain her voice even if was meeker than before.

" Are you trying to make believe that you made yourself some sort a sacrificial pawn?"

Hans shrugged a bit, and nodded. "Nobody died. It was the best of all possible outcomes, though unexpected. I was simply hoping that anger would overshadow sorrow. The fact that nobody died was an unexpectedly wonderful outcome." Yet his face and tone remained entirely neutral, because he was still doing his best to put a sheet over the mirror, to hide the reflections and stop his imitating.

"I fully expected to hang for my crimes, and I was not afraid of that. Sailors, you know, are very good with knots and ropes." He looked at his hands and fidgeted, pretending to be very interested in the gesture. The truth of it was implied, but he wouldn't say it out loud.

"My initial intentions were simply... to not be in the Isles. I don't like my home country. If I married, I thought I would have a good reason to avoid it. And there was Anna, desperate to give and receive love, feeling like she had never been listened to. So I listened, and gave attention. I'm good at giving people what they want to see. I hoped that in time I would learn to love, I didn't expect it to be so necessary so quickly. But, mirrored emotions feel like real ones. My enthusiastic proposal wasn't pre-planned. If it was, I'd have brought a ring, or at least given her my signet ring from the Isles. There was a brief period that I considered that, but then the fjord froze and we had other, more pressing matters. If I truly wanted to take over Arendelle, I'd have brought a host of land soldiers. A crown can only be taken by military might, but that was never my plan. Not really. It was so easy to believe, though, wasn't it? I'm a very good actor. Sometimes I almost fool myself." He seemed lost in his own thoughts even as he spoke.

"I do apologize for upsetting you so. I won't ask for forgiveness, though. I don't believe I deserve that." A bit of personality leaked into his apology, and he stopped, raising a hand to his mouth and quell the mimicry. Still, the apology read in his eyes.

She wasn't expecting an apology especially one NOT followed by pleas for forgiveness.

Elsa was uncertain whether to take his words as fact or fiction created in order to doubt his villainy, the only thing she was certain of was that he was indeed a good actor.

Yet those eyes, his green gleaming eyes, always made her want to believe in his sincerity, since they seemed to be the only part of him that truly reflected himself.

She brought her right hand across her face holding her temples for a brief moment, before also accidentally letting out a deep sigh.

She finally spoke again this time more firmly than the last. "Frankly, Prince Hans...I'm uncertain if I can take any of your words as truth against your actions during my coronation," she paused. "I can not determine whether or not you are trying to deceive me and Arendelle once again." she pursed her lips. "I do believe the best course of action is to have you returned to the Southern Isles."

Hans faltered, and shifted on the spot. He seemed visibly uncomfortable, but he also seemed hesitant to speak. He wasn't neutral, but he didn't seem to notice that. If anything, it read as anxiety and uncertainty.

"I suppose I don't know what I expected." He admitted quietly, and offered a polite bow.

"As her Majesty decrees." He assured, unwilling to argue. But after a moment, he smiled a little, a dry and humorless joke at his own expense.

"Everyone worried about your icy heart, or the affliction of Anna's. But it was mine that caused everything, if unwillingly. Is that poetic irony?" He pushed his sense of humor back down, though it was perhaps a struggle.

"Perhaps someday I'll find a way to atone, and write to you. Would you read the letters?" But he offered his hands back to the guards. He didn't expect her to answer that question. He was ready to be taken away. He wished it had gone another way, but he had been wishing that from the start, and wishes were no currency of use in his world.

"Wait," Elsa let slip out. His mention of letters, had brought her mind to the journal the Captain of the Guard had mentioned Hans possessed upon his arrival. She had put it out of mind, too preoccupied with the man's mere presence to question it, when he arrived, but now it piqued her curiosity. "Captain, you mentioned the Prince had a journal on him when you detained him, correct? I would like to examine it myself," She didn't know why she asked for his belongings now, but maybe there was something to them the guards had missed.

"His sword also." She wanted to make sure it was truly a prop like he stated.

The Guard and Hans both seemed perplexed, but both shrugged, and the Guard send up one of his men with the items.

As had been claimed, the journal was a leather bound book, half the pages torn out, and the other half blank. Some semblance of old letters could be seen on close examination, suggesting that it was written in before, but it was difficult to make out what any of them would have been. It appeared to be a perfectly ordinary journal, whatever the case, with little but a few stray ink drips of note.

The sword was also more or less as described. It could be removed from its scabbard, and it could look very much like a sword, but it rattled with shaken even slightly, the hilt wobbled, and one could see the shoddy patches of steel. While there was heft, the thing barely seemed ready to support its own weight, and the edge was near too dull to cut a mild cheese. Only the hilt looked good, and even that had tarnish from the sea spray.

"In the Isles tradition, that sword belongs to you. I've surrendered it in apology for its unjust use. I will not have another sword unless gifted back by Arendelle, which I don't expect to happen. The Isles is known for its grim humor, and its love of swords in ceremony." Hans provided, like an encyclopedia, though he didn't sound like his forced neutrality. It was hard to say what tone he did have. Wistfulness? Faraway thoughtfulness? Perhaps fondness, but not for the sword. And certainly not for the Isles, by the way he spoke of them.

Elsa had tried to remain serious though out the interrogation of 13th Prince, but there was something about this silly surrender sword that almost made her laugh. Especially when he said that wobbly thing belonged to her now. She covered mouth with her hand to hide her amusement, but quickly coughed and regained her composure.

Nothing much was gained from the examination of his belongings other than a slight slip of humor and a question.

"You said you no longer desired to lie to me, may I ask what was in the torn pages?"

He noticed the humor and smiled grimly. "It's a shade better I suppose than presenting the shards from the bottom of the fjord, if they could be found." For the cheap copy was only meant as a ceremonial stand-in for the real thing, which Hans had broken in the events of Arendelle.

He thought about his answer a moment. "It's a journal, it depends on how far back. I might have written about Arendelle in the earlier pages, the interest in visiting. Daily notes about my travels, thoughts and feelings. I kept up on it while... returned to the Isles," There was an odd way he phrased that, and a slight flick of his eyes suggesting he didn't want to go into what his return was like. "The latest pages were mostly worry about my ill-fated adventure here. It is my custom to write my thoughts and feelings in my journal, then immediately burn the pages as I finish writing them, so no-one can read them. There is very little privacy in the Isles, between nosy maids, a mother who wants to be involved in everyone else's business, and twelve brothers who just love to pick on younger siblings. I quickly learned that anything worth thinking is worth keeping to oneself. I've learned to guard my tongue and silence my footsteps no matter where I go."

He paused to think a moment. "Have you ever placed a mirror in front of a mirror, and stood between the two? The result is an endless hallway, moving forever onward until the path becomes too curved or too dark to see. Mirrors in front of mirrors are a strange thing, and echoes of mirrors just as cursed. I try to avoid mirrors and echoes where I can. The irony is that I love the sea, where the water is an infinite mirror where sound always echoes. ...I'm sorry, you didn't ask, I can't imagine my waxing poetic to be interesting."

It was quite the contrary actually, though Elsa wouldn't admit to the Prince. In his moment of waxing poetry she was certain she could see his true self trying to seep out, and she was curious to see more of it.

With a deep sigh Elsa took a long moment to stop and just process everything that had happened in the throne room thus far.

Against her better judgement of returning him back to the Southern Isles, as she initially decreed, another idea crossed her mind.

"I know I've said the best course of action was to return you to the Southern Isles," she paused for a moment, questioning if she should continue with this outlandish idea. "...I have a proposition for you, if you wish to accept, you will be allowed asylum in Arendelle, in the Dungeon, of course, but it's the best I can offer."

Elsa got off her throne with his journal in hand. She stood an arms length away from him and looked him straight eyes.

"If you continue to write your thoughts and feelings like in this journal," she raised the journal high in her hand. "and allow me to read it, then I grant you permission to stay."

Elsa wasn't sure what'd come over her to grant Hans another chance. Maybe it was the anxious look that crossed his face when she suggested returning him to the Isles. Could it have been because he truly did keep her from becoming the villain of her story? Maybe he was no sacrificial pawn, but he had stopped her up at the North Mountain. Or maybe she just wished to be a merciful Queen and allow even the 13th Prince an opportunity to atone for what he did. Whatever the reason, a second chance was offered nonetheless and whether or not he chose to take it was all up to him.

Hans seemed hopeful at the initial change, if surprised. He didn't bother to hide that. But when she held the journal and suggested she read his thoughts, he hesitated, and his hands curled in his shackles. Perhaps he hesitated a bit too long. He almost seemed to reconsider the Isles, in spite of claiming he hated it there. But slowly, his hand uncurled again, and he opened it, offering to take the journal back again.

"I owe you that much. I accept your gracious offer, your Majesty." He gave a slight bow, but seemed perplexed, perhaps uncertain. No doubt his journals would be as guarded as his tongue- but he occasionally did have those moments of waxing poetic. Maybe some of his personality would slip through.

His expression slowly turned to a poorly-hidden wry smile.

"Just remember, your Majesty. I'm a sailor. Not everything I write may be suitable for a lady's eyes." He did have a sense of humor, even if he tried to hide it sometimes. He certainly knew his colorful language, and who said he didn't use it from time to time?

Elsa rolled her eyes at his comment, maybe she was starting to regret her decision already, but what was done was done.

[mystery-star]

Threshold of Space - Chapter 7 Assumptions

Pairing: Spock x OC

Warnings: swearing, bullying, allusions to sex, slight violence, angst, slight PTSD

Words: 6775

All Parts: 

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 |  Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | Chapter 16

If you want to be added to the taglist let me know!

Please do not repost my work on other sites or platforms!

-

Much to her annoyance, Nicole kept assuring her that Pavel was the right man for her and she was sure that probably half of the Academy now thought she was with Pavel. But somehow Carissa was glad that no one knew the truth.

When the day was finally over, Carissa was halfway in the library when she realized that her boyfriend must be waiting for her. So she turned around to meet him outside as they had agreed. To her surprise, Spock was nowhere to be seen. Someone knocked into her from behind and she almost fell over

“Oh sorry” she had to bite back a groan when she heard Oliver Moore’s voice. “Didn’t see you there”

“No problem, nothing happened”

“That’s good. Just imagine your Russian boyfriend would have needed to come and punish me… Suddenly Bennett isn’t good enough anymore, huh?”

“Leave me alone”

“Or are you fucking two at the same time? Naughty. What would poor old Professor Bennett say if he knew you’re replacing him with a younger one?” she snorted and looked away “Hey” he shoved her “I asked you something”

“Just go away”

“What if not? Will I get into trouble with one of your boyfriends, huh?” he tore her bag away and threw it on the ground

“Just because you don’t have anyone doesn’t mean you need to need to make fun of me. I bet you’re just jealous.” he glared at her

“Take that back, you whore”

“Only if you say you’re sorry”

“I’ll make sure that you will be sorry” he quickly grabbed her and without thinking, Carissa kicked him between the legs

“Let go of me!”

“Only when you apologize!” he turned her around that her back faced him and painfully twisted her arm upwards

“Stop, you’re hurting me”

“Hey uh, what you’re doing?” another cadet asked “Cut the crap”

“Piss off or you’re next” Oliver snarled and the other male did exactly that. “And you apologize and I might be gentle with you”

“What is going on here?” they were approached by a professor and to Carissa’s dismay it was Moore’s uncle.

“She attacked me and I had to defend myself, uncle” Oliver lied.

“Is that so, Wiley?”

“I uh… did not attack him. I might have said something that offended him and then he… ahhh” she cried out when Oliver twisted her arm even more.

“That’s enough, Oliver, you’re breaking her arm. You don’t want to get into trouble because of her” luckily her classmate listened and let go of her. Instantly she rubbed her arm and felt tears in her eyes. “As for you, Wiley, you’ll come with me”

“Sir, I-I did not do anything wrong. I was just standing here when he accidentally bumped into me and started taunting and insulting me about my boyfriend. I told him that just because he has no one, there is no reason to make fun of me. And then he lost it”

“You kicked me between the legs”

“As I see it, this was only a method to defend herself” Carissa felt a smile on her face when she recognized the voice. The other males turned around to the Vulcan behind them

“What would you know about this incident?” the older Professor spat

“I was- as you humans would say- lucky enough, to observe the last part of Cadet Moore and Wiley’s controversy from afar. Which is why I have seen with my own eyes that the first act of violence emanated from Cadet Moore whereupon Cadet Wiley unsuccessfully tried to break free from him”

“Well maybe, Spock, you should let me handle this since you’re not a professor anymore. So get lost and don’t intrude in other people’s business”

“I take it you know of a Vulcan’s aversion to violence so I could not walk by as if nothing had happened. Now that I am involved in this matter I refuse to leave until it is cleared up” he crossed his arms Carissa’s mouth twisted into a smile.

“Is that really necessary?”

“I believe I have made my position clear to you or would you like me to repeat my previous words?”

“I would like you to let me handle that matter alone!”

“Then allow me to assist you and officiate as a witness and neutral judge”

“Don’t you have anywhere else to go?” by now, a group of students was already watching their discussion with great interest. “I’m sure a man who’s as smart as you has a lot of things to do”

“That is correct and right now it is my task to elucidate the incidents of earlier. I am sure that you can profit from my intellect” Carissa bit her lip to not burst out with laughter.

“Are you calling me incompetent?”

“That would be a rushed and probably untrue conclusion. I merely referred to the obvious fact that your brain is second to mine” also Professor Moore now crossed his arms and glared at the taller Vulcan.

“Why don’t you just go back to where you came from? Oh wait, you can’t. Your planet was destroyed. Whoever it was, I’d like to thank them, they have freed the galaxy from a great plague” this was going to end badly, Carissa knew that. “I’m sure you only landed here because the Vulcans didn’t want you. But know what? No one wants you here either…”

“Professor Moore, let us not forget the reason we are here is the controversy between Cadet Moore and Wiley”

“What? Are you not willing to talk about your planet? Or the fact you don’t belong anywhere? Does it make you feel sad? Or does it not even bother you? After all Vulcans don’t feel, am I right?”

“The motive of your resentment towards me is unknown to me”

“Oh come on, Spock, strain your Vulcan brain a little”

“If this is a reference to the fact that I have taken your position as professor for the first and second year cadets, I can assure you that it was never my intention to… how do you say? Hurt your pride. Besides, if this is the case I do believe that we should rather discuss this in private”

“Why? Are you afraid you could lose a debate in front of everyone?”

“Since afraid is referring to an emotion I can assure you that this is not the case” Carissa didn’t like this at all but she had no idea what she was supposed to do and hoped another Professor would interfere.

“At least that explains why you’ve never made yourself any friends…”

“Contrary to your belief I have friends. I am just careful enough to choose them wisely”

“Come on, Spock, we both know that’s not true. You don’t have any friends. You will always be alone, no one wants you”

“Vulcans do not lie. Besides, we had better discuss this in private because I am most certain that our dispute is upsetting the cadets”

“What do you know of feelings?”

“Professor Moore, I do not know when our conversation got out of control but I would like to come back to the actual matter”

“Oh I can tell you when it got out of control. The moment you decided to show up and felt the need to assume an air of superiority” he poked his finger into Spock’s chest who only cocked up an eyebrow.

“Uhh” Carissa said “I really don’t mean to take sides… but the reason we are here is because of Oliver and me”

“Fine, you’re free to leave”

“But uncle, she attacked me”

“This is at odds with the truth, Cadet Moore”

“Are you calling my nephew a liar?”

“I am simply pointing out the fact that his statement is not consistent with my observation” which was, as Carissa knew, a very formal way of saying ‘yes’ for Spock anyway.

“Well Spock, I officially give a damn about your observation, your opinion or your help. Cadet Wiley, Oliver, we’re going to my office”

“If I recall correctly, Professor Moore, you have allowed Cadet Wiley to leave”

“I changed my mind because you distracted me from what I was doing”

“I will allow myself to speak my mind”

“Oh do that Spock, it’s not like you ever hold yourself back…”

“I cannot help but note that you are willing to believe whatever your nephew is telling you”

“Are you implying that I am playing favorites? This is impudent” to everyone’s surprise he hit the Vulcan square in the face.

“Go get him” Oliver hissed. Everyone was looking at Spock, waiting for his reaction.

“I do not imply things, I only word my observations and thoughts”

“What is going on here?” Carissa turned around to see Professor Bennett coming towards them “What are you doing, Professor Moore, Commander Spock?”

“We were simply having a discussion between two old colleagues. Didn’t we, Spock?” he nudged his side with his elbow.

“Unfortunately, I beg to differ”

“Is that so?” Bennett turned at Carissa “Cadet Wiley, could you please tell me what is going on here, seeing as they are not capable of doing so?”

“Oh err…” she found herself telling what had happened since Oliver had bumped into her, feeling embarrassed with everyone looking at her

“Fine. I suggest we forget everything that has happened. Cadet Wiley, Cadet Moore, you both apologize to each other and consider it done” then he glanced at the two officers “And the same applies for you two. You should know better than to being a squabble in public. You’re supposed to be a role model…”

“Oliver, I am sorry about my comment”

“And I’m sorry too…” he looked down and leant closer “that you’re a whore. You’ll pay Wiley” then he walked away, directly followed by his uncle after he threw a last glance at Spock. Bennett ushered the other cadets away before he left too. Carissa slowly rubbed her arm and looked down

“Are you hurt, Carissa?”

“No I’m fine, Spock, thanks” she whispered, not wanting to look at him.

“I apologize for my behavior, I did not want to attract attention”

“I said I’m fine” she repeated and picked up her bag.

“Carissa, I cannot bring you to my apartment now because there is something I need to do first”

“Oh okay. I guess I’ll wait in the library” to be honest, she was glad to hear that because she didn’t want the other cadets to see how she left the campus with Spock. At least not right now.

“Then I will come and meet you there when I am finished” she nodded

“See you later” she went back inside and walked to the library, sitting down next to Nicole

“Hey, I thought you’d be leaving with your boyfriend” she said, nudging her side

“He’s got stuff to do right now. I’ll wait here”

“Does that mean Pavel’s coming here?” she only sighed and realized that now Nicole would learn the truth if she wanted or not.

“Nicole, Pavel is not my boyfriend”

“What? Why? I mean why didn’t you tell me? Who is it then? I really don’t know anyone else from the Enterprise really who come into question. Lieutenant Sulu maybe?” Carissa said nothing again “Alright, you leave me no choice” she typed something into her PADD “Let’s see who else is serving on the bridge of the Enterprise… Captain Kirk, Commander Spock, Lieutenant Chapin, Lieutenant 0718 what the hell? Is that an android? Good that were all males. Okay, let’s break this down and see who we can exclude. We already said that it can’t be Kirk and I suppose you’re not dating someone called 0718 and we all know that you can’t honestly have a relationship with a Vulcan unless you’re one too. So that leaves Chapin and Sulu. Hmm… I’ve got absolutely no idea who this Chapin is, so I suppose you don’t know him either. As for Sulu, I think he’s more you’re type. Oh come on, Carissa, show me at least some reaction…”

“Nicole, please stop” Carissa sighed

“Then tell me who it is”

“You’ll see him when he comes here, isn’t that enough?”

“No, I can’t focus now”

“Well once you know you’ll be asking questions anyway…”

“Fine alright… just tell me, is he among the ones I already listed or not?”

“Yes, you mentioned him”

“So it is Sulu?” a cadet opposite them cleared her throat

“I heard he’s gay”

“What? Sulu?”

“Alright it is Chapin then… probably”

“But who is this Chapin?” the other cadet asked. Great, now even strangers were interested in her love life.

“I don’t know. Carissa, you tell me?”

“What do I know?”

“Ahh you’re trying to talk yourself out of it…”

“Nicole, you’ve already spent the whole day claiming I was with Pavel and it turned out it wasn’t the case.”

“Wait, was that a hint that it isn’t Chapin?”

“Yes it was” the other cadet said, got up and took a seat on Nicole’s other side “Show me the list… it has to be someone else then. Are you even sure it’s a man?”

“Yes. She said it’s a boyfriend. I still believe it’s Kirk somehow, given your history. Wait a second, didn’t you say he was on the Vengeance with you? Maybe he’s asked you then? Oh yes, that would be typically Kirk to ask you in the middle of a fight”

“Yes but I don’t know what you mean with keeping quiet about her but I imagine that Kirk would not do that”

“Damn, you’re right… hey, what’s your name?”

“Alisha”

“What year are you in?”

“Second”

“Oh okay. I’m Nicole and that’s Carissa. We’re third years”

“Nice to meet you” Carissa only murmured in agreement.

“But hey, what about the Commander?”

“He’s Vulcan, remember?”

“Oh right, I forgot”

“Guys I’d really love to do some homework right now. You’ll see him anyway and I know that I’ll be getting thousands of questions tomorrow…”

“Okay. I’ll drop this now. But tomorrow, you are in for a looooong questioning. And I still think it’s Pavel…” Carissa chuckled and focused on her work again, yet she couldn’t concentrate as she wanted because she was curious how her friend would react upon seeing her boyfriend. After all she had excluded him from the list almost immediately Two hours passed and suddenly she got a feeling that Spock had forgotten about her. Meanwhile also Nicole was starting to think that “You know, if I wasn’t so curious who it is I would’ve long gone to get dinner”

“Actually I’m hungry too…”

“But if we both leave he won’t know where you are. I mean you must have told him to meet you here?”

“Yeah”

“And what if you tell me who it is and when he comes here, I can tell him you’re in the canteen? Or maybe you’re back by the time he arrives…” Alisha said. Somehow Carissa wasn’t too happy to tell someone she didn’t really know but since she had no idea how long it would take her boyfriend to get here she decided it was better to eat something now. So she gave a nod and leaned towards Alisha to whisper the name in her ear. Her eyes widened “What? No way! How’s that even possible? I want to be there when you answer the questions!”

“What? Who is it?” Nicole insisted “Tell me”

“Although I’d like to see your face… it is only Carissa’s decision”

“Oh Cassie please”

“I told you you’d see him…” she grinned as she got ready to leave.

“Okay I’ll just guess again. Alisha seemed surprise, so it’s probably someone we don’t expect… so definitely not Pavel” she packed her things as well. “Shit, it has to be Kirk… somehow… maybe he just wants to protect you by not telling everyone that you’re with him… Or it’s Sulu. Maybe he’s just bisexual” on the way to the canteen Nicole kept rambling about the whole matter but luckily she became silent once they reached the canteen and stood in the queue to get their dinner. “Let’s go here” Nicole said, walking past her and sat at a table near the entrance so that she could face it. The brunette shrugged and took a seat opposite her. She had the impression that Nicole wasn’t actually focused on the food and only stared at the entrance. Every time someone entered, there was a curious mien on her face and Carissa’s head shot around. It mostly were cadets, sometimes teachers. After a while she didn’t even turn around anymore. Suddenly Nicole’s jaw dropped and she raised her eyebrows, then she shook her head “Ah never mind”

“What?” Carissa asked, turning around again.

“Our dear old friend Professor Pointy-ear just entered. But whatever he’s doing at the Academy, he must have gotten hungry” now she could indeed spot her boyfriend talking to one of the cooks who didn’t seem very pleased. Once he had his plate, he walked straight past them to sit at the next table. Carissa frowned. Of course, he probably didn’t want to sit with her in public but it still hurt that he acted as if he had not even seen her. She glanced past her friend and stared at Spock who at least nodded at her now. At this she couldn’t help but smile as she looked back to her plate. With a frown, Nicole turned around and shrugged “What’s up with you? One second you look like you’re about to shoot laser from your eyes, the next moment you’re as happy as a lark” she only shrugged and cleared her throat “You know…” Nicole suddenly said “I am starting to believe he forgot about you”

“No he hasn’t”

“What makes you so sure about that?”

“I just know him” she said

“Yes you’re right. He’d first need to go to the library, find Alisha, get told that we’re here. And only then he can come here”

“Yeah” she chuckled.

“Did he tell you what he had to do?”

“No”

“That’s bad because otherwise you could have go looking for him”

“He will find me” Carissa said. Nicole gave a shrug

“So… what is he like?”

“Who?”

“Who do you think? Your boyfriend of course”

“Nicole, I promised to tell you tomorrow”

“Yeah but you don’t have to tell me who it is now. Just tell me what he is like”

“I’d rather not discuss that now”

“Why not?”

“Be-because” she glanced to Spock again who was working something on a PADD. Her friend followed her gaze

“Oh, right Vulcan’s hearing. But hey, I doubt he cares anyway. What does he know of love? They surely only do arranged marriages, I mean that’s most logical.”

“Nicole, please… not now” she buried her head in her hands.

“Cadet Summer, I would like to inform you that your statement about arranged marriages among Vulcans might be true for most of us but there are certain individuals who are in a relationship which is indeed based on the feeling of love”

“A-are you talking to me?” Nicole stuttered turning back to Spock who had looked at from his PADD

“Indeed I am, seeing as there is no other Cadet Summer who made a statement about Vulcan relationships”

“Look, Professor… Commander, I am sorry, I didn’t mean to insult you” she turned back to Carissa “Damn, you were right that wasn’t a good idea…”

“In contrary, I did not interpret your statement as an insult. However, I would like to express my apologies for interrupting your conversation but I was sensing your friend’s discomfort at your words”

“Well uh, thanks then” Nicole said “Come on, let’s go it’s getting far too awkward here” she hissed

“It was not my intention to cause you incommodity through my intervention, so please allow me to clarify the matter”

“Clarify? What the hell’s that supposed to mean?” Nicole muttered as Spock got up and took a seat next to Carissa.

“After it has occurred to me that you were urging Carissa to tell you about her relationship I found that I could not sit and watch from afar since it was causing her discomfort that traces back to my omission to let her know I am sympathetic to not keeping our relationship secret anymore” Carissa looked at him in surprise. He really was okay with her friends knowing?

“And simply said this means?” Nicole said with a frown then her face lit up “Wait! You-you’re not… oh fuck. How? How did that happen?” the brunette chuckled

“It’s a long story and you said we can discuss this tomorrow”

“Yeah I guess I need some time to… digest that. I must admit, I would have expected everything… but not that. Well, something tells me it was kinda obvious but still…”

“Your friend seems to be quite confused”

“She is. She’s spent the whole day thinking I was dating Pavel Chekov and even viewed a list of the Enterprise’s crewmembers who work on the bridge to find out who else it could be”

“Then I apologize for not having told you more clearly that you may let your friends know. I thought you would come to this conclusion when I offered to meet you at the Academy today where cadets would inevitably see us together”

“Well uh, I kind of thought that but I wasn’t sure if you’re really okay with it. I wanted to ask you first”

“But seeing as our relationship does not need to be kept secret anymore I figured that you would realize I had nothing against you letting your friends know”

“Well that’s sorted out now. Thanks for stepping in, I wouldn’t have known how to break it to Nicole”

“Are you referring to the fact that you were puzzled as which words you should use or the fact that you could not foresee her reaction?”

“Both, I guess” she giggled.

“Okay” Nicole said “My brain’s tired, I’ve got zero idea what you have been talking about but uh… if you want me to leave I can go”

“Please, feel free to remain with us”

“Alright. And I know I promised no questions today… but from what I just saw you two are really close. I mean you only got together a couple of days ago and somehow that’s disturbing me.  He’s Vulcan after all and well… I don’t think they’re um… yeah. And I’m probably not making much sense right now”

“Your argumentation is indeed missing important parts but the overall question can be filtered out”

“Yeah at least if you’re question is why we act like we’ve known each other for a long time?”

“Yes, you don’t seem like a couple that just got together, and he is Vulcan after all, I don’t think they are like that in the beginning” Carissa looked at Spock

“Do you mind if I tell her the truth? I mean everything about us?”

“It would be illogical to not do so and lie especially since Nicole is starting to making conclusions herself already”

“But do you want her to know?”

“I know that it is your wish to tell your friend everything and therefore I could not ask a lie of you. Besides, I will have to tell my friends about us as well, thus I have to accept the fact that the truth cannot be kept secret”

“Okay” Carissa nodded

“Wait, you’re able to understand that? Was that a yes or a no?”

“Technically it was neither” Carissa said “He tried to say that it has to be but as I understand it, he actually is okay with it” she glanced at her boyfriend who confirmed.

“Isn’t that… I don’t know, annoying to interpret all those messages all the time?”

“You get used to it. Plus, I’ve figured out a system. It’s usually the last sentence that counts because that’s the conclusion of what he said”

“Ah that makes sense”

“Anyway, to answer your question… but you need to promise me that you won’t tell anyone else, okay?”

“Sure”

“Alright, the thing is, we did not actually come together on Sunday… at least not for the first time. We have been together before and we separated”

“Wait, so one year ago… after the mission at Vulcan… the boyfriend that broke up with you…. was him?”

“Yes” Nicole glared at the Vulcan

“Consider yourself lucky she didn’t tell me the truth back then. Because I would have beaten you senseless, professor or not. Do you have any idea what it did to her? You left her when she needed you the most”

“It is good to see that you are such a loyal and supportive friend and I believe I am much obliged to you for taking care of her when I have made a mistake”

“That was sort of an apology and a thank you”

“Apology accepted and you’re welcome. God Carissa, I just hope I’ll never be alone with him. I mean I need you as translator” Carissa chuckled

“Sure. Maybe we can spend some time together this week? I mean after I’ve told you everything” she looked at Nicole who gave a fierce nod “Unless you don’t want that”

“I believe it would be advantageous to hold such a meeting because something is telling me that your friend is determined to assure herself of your happiness with me”

“Great. Shall we find a date right now?”

“Why not?”

-oO0Oo-

Somehow Carissa was quite glad when she they had finished eating and she left the Academy with Spock

“I’m sorry I didn’t wait in the library. But we were hungry and I didn’t know when you’d come”

“There is no need to apologize, after all you had let Cadet Baker know about your whereabouts so that I was able to find you”

“You’re right. Is your apartment far?”

“No, it is a walk of 8 minutes and 48 seconds”

“That’s really not much” they walked the greater part of the way in silence. Once they arrived, Blacky came to greet her and Spock told her that she could have his room. “And what about you, where will you sleep? You don’t have a couch or something like that”

“I think I will be able to find an occupation during the night”

“You’re planning on staying awake? No, you’re not doing that because of me. You know what, I’m going back to the Academy to get myself a sleeping bag and then I just sleep on the floor”

“I am in favor of your first idea but I will not allow you to spend the night on the floor”

“Fine then I’ll get you a sleeping bag for the floor”

“Carissa, I believe I am capable of organizing a sleeping bag myself”

“But not today”

“Then I will spend this first night awake. This will not be any problem for me, I promise you that”

“Fine, if you insist… would you mind if I use your shower and get changed?”

“Not at all” after her shower, she put on her new pajama and joined Spock in his kitchen. “The thought that you must have lost your PADD when the USS Vengeance collided with your dorm tower has just occurred to me”

“Oh yeah. But I’ll get a new one from the Academy in a couple of days. Besides, maybe the data can be saved somehow or something from my private PADD.”

“How do you get by until then? I am sure that Starfleet Command expects your report in the course of the week and you will need a PADD to file it”

“I’m sure I’ll find a solution”

“I believe I have found one”

“Which one?”

“I can lend you the PADD I have used during my times of teaching at the Academy”

“But don’t you need that?”

“No, I have received a new one when I resigned to become First Officer onboard the Enterprise”

“Oh, okay. That would be nice”

“If you give me your password I will be able to retrieve your data for you as well”

“Really? I’ll have everything?”

“Maybe not everything. Only what is saved on the Campus server”

“That will be almost everything then. Can you also retrieve my conversations, messages and all?”

“I will try to save as much as I can”

“Thanks, you’re the best!” she kissed his cheek and sat down on the second chair. Blacky jumped into her lap and she started stroking his fur. “And thanks for having me here and looking after Blacky yesterday. It really means a lot to me”

“I must admit, it is indeed pleasant to have you at my apartment, even if it only is temporary and I would like you to… make yourself at home, as you would say” she chuckled

“Believe me, you don’t want to have me behaving like I behave at home” he raised an eyebrow “And speaking of making myself at home… I uh… don’t want to keep you from your evening routine and all. I mean, you don’t need to spend all the time with me if you don’t want to”

“I usually only am here in order to eat, finish work, mediate or sleep”

“Oh well… that explains the furnishing and decoration. Or rather lack thereof. No offense”

“None taken. Is there any routine that you have in the evening?”

“Not really. I mean, I ate at the Academy, went to my dorm and got ready for bed. Sometimes I did some homework, something for myself or talked to Nicole or we played a game before we went to bed”

“If you are interested, I own both a Two- and Three-dimensional chess board”

“Oh hell I suck at 3D chess, you know that. But we can play the other one. With advantages for me of course” since Spock was much better at chess than her, they always agreed that she was allowed a certain advantage like two moves instead of one or that Spock had less pieces. Yet, she had never won, and it was quite frustrating to know that she couldn’t win even if she had advantages. He got up and retrieved everything, setting it down on the table

“Which convenience do you wish today?”

“Uh… can I get your pawns?”

“This would only hinder you from getting your other figures into the middle of the board. May I suggest that your pawns can be reused once when I captured them instead?”

“Alright but you still don’t get your pawns” they put the figures on the board and started playing. By now she already knew his strategy a little and sometimes she could tell when he set up a trap. Not even ten minutes later her king was already in check “Damn” she muttered and after she quickly moved him out of the way

“If I were you I would reconsider that move” Spock only said. She frowned and put the king back, staring at the figures as if they’d tell her the solution. In the end she couldn’t see anything she could do (except for sacrificing her Queen by capturing the knight that held the king in check) so she just moved her king to another square where he was safe. For the next two moves, Carissa had the feeling to have escaped a Check Mate, but four moves later it happened

“What did I do wrong?”

“You should have sacrificed your Queen to rid yourself of my knight, seeing as this was the only way to save your king in the long term”

“But-but… I can’t plan ahead that much… besides, I think the whole purpose of the game is ridiculous… you have to deliberately sacrifice your other figures just to save the king. That’s not fair, it’s not what you’d do in real life. Besides, the king just is a real pussy and doesn’t even deserve to be that important” she crossed her arms and let out a huff. “I’ll organize another game, one where you need luck as well to win, then at least I don’t feel so stupid when I lose because I know it wasn’t just because I’m a bad player”

“You are not a bad player, Carissa. Of course, you could optimize your strategy but you have much improved your performance since our very first game”

“So I’m not a complete failure?”

“Absolutely not. I am certain that you could beat the Captain if you exerted yourself”

“That’s nice to know. Seems like I need to play chess with another human again because you’re right, we’re no match to you or a computer… but I’m gonna get a game of luck anyway and we’ll play that too” he cocked up an eyebrow “Yes I know you don’t believe in luck but you’ll see that you need luck to win a dice game or whatever”

“And do you think it would make you feel better even if you know that you won merely by luck?”

“Yes it would” she muttered and let out a yawn

“Would you like to go to bed?”

“Maybe” she mumbled and got up “Oh err. I guess I should warn you that I’ll probably get nightmares. And since this is a unfamiliar place it can be that I totally freak out even when I wake up” she looked down in embarrassment “It might be silly, but I used to have a bunny plushie, which I had since my childhood and whenever something like that happened, I could just cuddle him and it calmed me down. But-but it was in my dorm and now it’s gone”

“Would you describe my odor as soothing and familiar?”

“I-I guess so. Why?” he got up and pulled off his shirt, handing it to her

“Then I am certain that this will help you” she glanced at him before sniffing his clothes and she felt a smile on her face.

“I’m sure it will. Thank you” she placed a kiss on his cheek “Guess I’ll go then” she mumbled

“Carissa, wait”

“Huh?”

“If you wish me to retrieve your data on my old PADD for you I require your password”

“Oh sure. I’ll write it down” she got a piece of paper from her school supplies and wrote it down “Thank you and good night. Or do you need anything from your room?”

“No, I have everything that I need. Good night, Carissa” she went to the bedroom and closed the door after she made sure that Blacky was inside as well.

-oO0Oo-

Of course she had been right about the nightmares and she awoke with a jolt. Instantly, she her hand was feeling for her plushie and she gasped when she didn’t find it. When she remembered what had happened to it she felt tears in her eyes. Trying to distract herself, she threw a glance at the time on her alarm clock. 2.55 AM. Although it was dark she was sure to have seen a silhouette moving in the corner of the room. A second she considered calling her parents, when she remembered that they weren’t here. She took a deep breath.

“I’m fine. I’m safe” she told herself and buried her head back in the pillow her fingers digging into the blanket after pulling it up halfway over her face. Suddenly she remembered Spock’s shirt which she pressed against her chest and curled herself up around it, holding onto it like it was her life ring. Tears were in her eyes and before she knew it, she was silently sobbing because of her dream. There was a strange sound that alerted her and she only wished to be back home or at least in her dorm. When she heard a knock at the door she shot up, frantically looking if there was a place to hide. On the other hand, would someone who wanted her evil knock? When she heard Spock calling her name she breathed out in relief and sobbed his in return. The door opened, her boyfriend entered and took a seat on the bed. Instantly she scrambled up and wrapped her arms around him, nestling against him as close as she could

“Am I right to assume that a nightmare has unsettled you?”

“Yes”

“Do you think it would help if you told me about it?”

“I can do that” she sniffed “I don’t remember everything… but I was at the Academy with Nicole and I guess it was Alisha… they left and I wanted to do something else. That’s when I saw A-admiral Marcus. And he was shaking hands with someone. I-I think it was Nero. They talked and somehow I couldn’t hear them but I knew that they wanted to destroy the Enterprise. So I tried to leave and warn you, but they saw me and dragged me onto a ship’s bridge. I guess it was the Vengeance. Nero set up a transmission and I saw the Enterprise. Marcus told me that he only wanted to know who my boyfriend was and they’d let the Enterprise go. But I couldn’t tell them and one of them said that there is nothing I could do to save you – I mean the Enterprise – and the Vengeance started firing on you and we all were driven towards a black hole. Nicole and Blacky were on that other ship as well. I-I tried to tell Nero and Marcus to stop it and told them what they wanted to know but they said it was too late now and-and I could do nothing except watch how you all died. Then I was back at the Academy and everyone kept asking where Nicole is, so I tried to lie and say she went home be-because I had the hope you would all return somehow. Then we were told that Admiral Marcus was dead and I was blamed for it because the Vengeance crashed and I was on the ship at the time. So I had to go to a trial which was led by Khan and he threatened to kill me if I lied. And I guess then I woke up” he said nothing for a while

“I do not have much experience with nightmares but I believe it could help if you list everything that was illogical or could not happen in any case” she sniffed and did as he said

“I guess it’s better” she said after she was done “But Spock. Can-can you stay here for a while and distract me? Tell me anything that has nothing to do with this”

“The illustration of the giraffes on your nightclothes is inaccurate”

“Why that?”

“Their tongue should be blue rather than pink and the tip is not round but pointy” she felt his forefinger stroking over one of the giraffes on her pajama trousers

“I’ve heard about the blue tongue before” she said “But I think pink fits the color of the cloth and the giraffes better. Besides it’s cute. Just look at their eyes. Or the ones that are cuddling” she looked down and pointed at two giraffes who’s necks where touching.

“As a matter of fact they are engaged in a combat that is supposed to establish dominance”

“What?”

“This is a ritual known under the name ‘low intensify necking’ in which the males rub their necks against each other and the one that has a more secure stand wins”

“Oh” she let out a small giggle “Do you think we should tell the manufacturers about this?”

“I can imagine they would not be pleased to hear of this”

“Hmm. Well we can take care of the tongue ourselves… we can just color them with a blue pen. And then I’ll take a red pen and draw a heart above the fighting ones so that it looks like they’re in love anyway” she mumbled as she leaned her head back against his chest and placed a hand over his heart.

“If the accuracy of the illustrations is that important to you I will see to it that you receive the writing supplies you asked for”

“No, it’s fine. I was joking. But you better not try and make the changes while I’m asleep” she chuckled “Because if you do, I’m gonna draw on your face while you’re asleep” a yawn left her mouth “Did I ever tell you how glad I am to have you?”

“You have made hints in that direction before” his hand started stroking her head and she instantly felt calming down.

“If you do what with Blacky he starts purring”

“I have made that discovery yesterday evening”

“A pity I missed that”

-

Next Chapter

[bladekindeyewear]

Freed up some time, actually!  Gonna blog the new pages of HS^2.  Liveblogging resume...

FYI, the post I glimpsed that alerted me to the fact that new pages exist had a translucent screenshot of Brain Ghost Dirk on it, so I know that at least is in store for me.  Makes sense; a way to involve Dirk’s voice obnoxiously heavily even when he’s too far away to narrate.  And ties into this... chapter(?) name, of course.  Chapters, huh?

> CHAPTER 1. Ghostflusters

God. Damnit.

Could we NOT???  No?

Fuck you, Dirk.  I blame you for this.

So we have greenery, a can-city and Sburb-legal human house mix... some sorta cow-looking thing from far away in the front yard...

The void resounds. Space seizes and warps as the bounds of relevance erode away to nothing but the wishful nostalgia of times passed. There is a hole in the middle of the universe, and it is hungry.

All very literally true.

But the denizens of this particular iteration of Earth C don’t know it. All of this is just business as fucking usual for a planet plagued by war, continuous inclement ghost weather, and the general malaise of being absolutely severed from canon.

--oh, FUCK.  This isn’t the new planet, this is Candy timeline Earth.  I didn’t wanna come back here!  :C

I guess that explains most of the content warnings.  Except fucking ALCOHOLISM.  Gee, thanks for adding THAT to the Candy timeline, as if it wasn’t fucked over enough!!!  Bluh.

I thought the closing lines of the Epilogue were that after RoboDave, Aradia and alt!Callie dove out of the Candyverse inside the singularity, the black-hole timelines and Dirk’s presumably-still-”relevant” nonsense weren’t going to collide with each other again?  So... why are we seeing this?  Is there going to be MORE influence like that, and the ending line was just fancy-talk?  Is it just an irrelevant little follow-up to Candy to show things turning out okay or pseudo-okay, like an epilogue to the epilogue?  Or is some of this Dirk nonsense presumably within the bounds of some sort of canon going to still have some last bit of influence on this so-called non-canon timeline?

That last one would make sense, given that it echoes how Homestuck^2′s dubious canonicity would still have definite influence on fanworks outside of canon.  Right?

Let me pull that last line from the epilogues again--

...where’s the Epilogues’ log, this is getting kind of hard to find with all their reorganization... fuck, I had to guess at the URL even.  Here we go, the last page of Meat...

The hole leaves behind an absence in the sky so calm that continuing to call it a sky wouldn’t seem to do it justice. It’s a perfectly neutral expanse into which anything one can imagine might be summoned. And for a while, anything was. But not anymore. Where the hole gaped just moments ago, there now exists an imaginary line.

Above this line resides all that matters. Below exists all else. Never again the twain shall meet.

...Right.  This implies that Canon and Non-Canon shall never meet again.  BOTH ways.  Doesn’t quite gel with the fact that we’re cutting back here--

Oh.

This is about Jake and Brain Ghost Dirk isn’t it.  I noticed his name down further on the page.  THAT’S why we’re cutting back here.

So, Canon and Non-Canon aren’t exactly meeting... not for anything relevant, anyway.  But we’re using Candy Jake’s visibility of Brain Ghost Dirk to get a better idea of Dirk’s broader self and plans through a splinter of him?  While getting another glimpse into how the post-epilogue Candy timeline is going for our, er... “curiosity”?  Is that it?

Hm.  I guess that doesn’t count as the twain “meeting”... I’ll just keep reading now.

They spend their days absorbed in the petty and pointless pursuits of “having jobs” and “raising families” and “falling in love”.

Is this Dirk’s narrator voice?  This sounds like something the current megalomaniacal Dirk would say.

I’m not going to quote the rest of the text’s further reminders of how Jane has been made into an absolutely fucked-over asshole in every timeline except the one where she grew old to open a Joke shop, adopt Dad, die, get prototyped and timeline-doubled, then mysteriously disappear from any mention in the Epilogues as if the Sprites were just forgotten about completely eventually.

> (==>)

Oooh, using the less-relevance-surrounding-parens that were used on retconned ghost!Vriska back in Homestuck proper to denote our presence in the non-canon Candy timeline? How handy!

Not a far-away cow, then.

John has been an incredible pal, opening up his home to Jake and his son on such short notice, and even offering him a pair of pants, as well as a shirt that he has so far neglected to put on.

Alright, that got a chuckle from me.

John’s house doesn’t have air conditioning.

What the flying fuck.

...Ah, John’s been away patching things up with Roxy some more, I presume.

It, like the rest of his assets, is in her name. She’d seen to that as soon as they were married.

Life players and assets, huh?  Always gotta be hoggin’ em.

He hasn’t seen much of Tavros today either, but that’s not unusual. He’s probably out with his kismesis, the one he thinks Jake doesn’t know about.

Huh.  Maybe Candy’s young Vriska?  Couldn’t get the real Tavros with your main self, so your alternate nigh-clone self settled with a human by the same name?  Or one of the other kids we heard of from this ‘verse..?

> (==>)

Jake’s hot man-bod cropped out of this image to avoid titillating my readers too much.

(Tumblr keeps jumping back to the top of my post after I add images and I keep thinking the title reads “Ghostfuckers”.)

Jake washes the dirt out from under his fingernails, and his eyes fall on the bottle still sitting on the counter. John had opened it, but together they’d barely touched the stuff. Jake had promised him and Tavvy he’d dry up his act and all, but... well.

God damnit.  If this is still Dirk-voiced narration -- I’m not sure it can be, now I think about it, as he’s supposed to be “out of range” or something, unless non-canon is just malleable like that, which wouldnt be surprising (or Dirk’s splinter’s presence allows it) -- he could literally be inducing or writing in Jake’s drinking problem just to hurt him more.  You can’t really put an overstep that assholish past Prince Dirk the way he’s gotten to be.

There was another ask in my inbox insisting that Dirk wasn’t going to stay the true villain here, if only as some sort of karmic revenge for declaring his self-importance... but I still don’t think that’s the case.  For one, Dirk HASN’T declared himself the villain... he still can’t see how fucked-up and unjustified his trampling over of everyone’s wills IS.  Shadows of recognition... but not really.  He really honestly believes he has the fucking RIGHT to do what he’s doing.

(Which is, incidentally -- to answer another ask -- why there’s basically NO chance that Rose has some sort of control or recognition of her situation under the surface, and is playing Dirk, as another person hopefully surmised.  No.  She really IS being unknowingly steered away from personal growth and recognition of the thought-control she’s under... because nothing less could feel as horrible to us.)

Part of the entire POINT of Homestuck and its Riddle was to show that these crazy kids, if they put their wills to it, always had the potential to be the literal Gods of the world around them.  That when ordinary people grasp the will and drive to shape the world around them, they can turn everything back from the brink of destruction... or vice versa.  Thus, it’s only appropriate that a player from this game could become a villain more disgusting than any we’d imagined in the series so far.  What he’s been doing -- writing twisted sorrow directly into the lives and experiences of those around him, nurturing their worst, most power-hungry tendencies (Rose) and deceiving them more directly than Doc Scratch (who was PART Dirk) ever did, making a JOKE of their free will in a more terribly direct way than ANY have been shown onscreen to do?? It IS, and is MEANT to be, the worst we have EVER seen in Homestuck.  Not as clumsy and from-the-outside as Lord English, but just as blatantly direct.  Not as easy to ignore or mistake as Doc Scratch’s horrible, intentional Prince-of-Hearty worsening of the players, instead just as impossible to gloss-over as it is to bear witness to.  That very TITLE, “Prince of Heart”, can embody the very ANTITHESIS of the Ultimate Riddle itself, robbing EVERYONE of their ability to shape not just the world around them, but even so much as themselves or their very thoughts.  When used the way Dirk is using it RIGHT NOW, anyway.  And his ambition is to impose this on all of Paradox Space.

There COULD be another villain, later.  But I can’t imagine a single one more appropriate.  And Andrew’s just the type to use one of the Striders, both practically self-inserts of parts of his personality and presence, as that ultimate villain to be overcome in a story about escaping Canon, too.

Turning his ex into an alcoholic just for his own self-satisfaction?  In a side timeline where Jake didn’t even try a relationship with him again and finally had a chance to grow up happy in SOME universe?  I wouldn’t put it past him, and you shouldn’t either.

Moving on.

> (==>)

Eugh.  I just... don’t want to think about him being an alcoholic on TOP of everything else.  As if there wasn’t enough to deal with in Candy already.

> (==>)

Hm?

> (==>)

The jungle air is heavy, humid, and familiar. Twenty years on and the thick drag into his lungs settles on him in a blanket of nostalgia, reassuring in its discomfort.

Hm.  Is this his fantasy, or a view of him in another timeline?

He is deeper in the jungle than he’d ever venture in his waking hours. There were places on his island that not even his Gran would tread, and she’d been the bravest person he’d ever known.

Hmm.  So he even knows it’s a dream, but is still in control...

Jake doesn’t recognize anything. The jungle of his dreams is wild and unknown, and there are things moving in the dense undergrowth.

...Hhhuh.  Still not sure what to think of this yet.

A sudden wind thrashes the canopy. There are pine needles in his mouth. There aren’t any pine needles in the jungle.

Very Dream, then.

> (==>)

--Yup.

> (==>)

Yoink--

> (==>)

JAKE: Yes you are i know that much. I saw your body! I carried your coffin chock full of all those stupid fucking swords! DIRK: Nope. JAKE: Dont nope me mister!

They would pile all those shitty swords into his coffin, yeah.

Anyway, now to see how much Prince Dirk is in this Dirk.  And if he’s in one mind with himself or has the slightest chance of feeling rebellious.

JAKE: I know a dead dirk when i see one! DIRK: Sure you do. But that wasn’t me. Are you really surprised to find out I got a couple of spares? JAKE: So what youre saying is you arent my dirk. DIRK: ...That is a whole ‘nother conversation that we really don’t have time for, pertaining to exactly who or what ‘your dirk’ actually constitutes. DIRK: Do you mean the Dirk from your timeline? DIRK: Then yes, that Dirk is dead. DIRK: If you mean the Dirk that you fucked and then ghosted, no, I’m not your Dirk. DIRK: If you mean the Dirk that you felt closest to, that you really knew--

...well, this Dirk still knows how to be a presumptuous, pushy creep.  :(

JAKE: Ahhh! Brain ghost dirk! DIRK: In the ghosty flesh. JAKE: Crumbs bro where have you been? JAKE: I could have used someone on my side! JAKE: You just disappeared one day without even the odd toodaloo to mark your passing! DIRK: That isn’t strictly true. I did disappear, but it was in a catastrophic blaze of hope-drenched pathos. I even threw out a couple one-liners. DIRK: But you wouldn’t remember that. JAKE: Because...it was a different dirk? DIRK: No, a different Jake.

Hhhuh.  So in the claymation-reproduced Lord English stagefight -- or, maybe more likely, the pre-retcon Aranea-induced Game Over timeline -- he was too washed out by hopesplosions to manifest properly?

DIRK: Until recently there’s been a shortage of ambient narrative relevance for Dirks, since one particular motherfucker has been sucking it all up like a thirsty little twink at his first interspecies rave.

Hm!  So Prince Dirk has been making it so other splinters of himself have really limited ability to influence, huh?  Guess that’s a sort of price for the narrative-hijacking power he’s attained.  Wonder how this Dirk really feels about that.

> (==>)

--Pff.  He’s certainly not shy about letting Jake know he shouldn’t trust him, though!  That’s a good sign.

I’ll split the post here for a bit.  Seems we’re about halfway through this upd8 from the look of the log.

[quirkfics]

to love in the dark

word count: 3.5k

warnings: smut, oral, implied demisexuality, fluff, established relationship

pairing: Shinji Nishiya/Kamui Woods x Reader (gender neutral)

author’s note: I had to re-write the same 3 paragraphs like 8 times, you guys!! It just kept.. not working?? Something didn’t click with the rest of it, or I was getting off topic or he tried to make it Too Emotional shush, Kamui Woods, just enjoy that hanky-panky dangit but despite this and injuries. Perseverance.

Frankly, he's a little bit eerie. It's not his quirk, not exactly. Quirks run from the absolutely mundane to frighteningly atrocious, and Nishiya's quirk registers, in your mind, anyway, as fairy tale. He's surreal, you decide. In his hero costume, as Kamui Woods, he is a solid presence, if still a stoic one, but out of it? Shinji Nishiya could vanish into the dark woods, leaving nothing behind but the creaking of branches and a sigh on the wind. Part of you will always wonder if that is why he spends so much time in costume. Saving the helpless, lending any aid possible- the never-ending rush of reaching one more person does not allow for self reflection. At that point in time, Shinji Nishiya has vanished. Even Kamui barely exists, nothing more than a body with the will to keep others breathing. It will always make you scared for him, and... This is the problem, really. With loving a hero. 

Your rambling thoughts escape when you blink, as if they're caught on the sudden gust of wind, and you half expect them to be reality. You expect to find him gone - nothing more than your mind playing tricks with the shadows of the trees, swaying in the wind - but he's still there. Now, though, after having been standing about for so long, you have his attention. You start walking, smiling sheepishly. "Here to see me?" He asks, when you reach him, as if he expects your answer to be different. The breeze tugs at the floppy hat he wears, and just this once, you wish it would carry it away, or lift it, just so, if only so you could see the smile that you hear in his voice. "Only the trees, of course," you tease as you offer him your hand. Nishiya takes it, gentle wooden fingers lacing with yours, before the both of you start walking into the forest. Neither of you speak, not at first. No matter how many times the two of you return here, he exudes a sense of reverence when you first begin to wander the trails, and you're always loathe to interrupt it. It isn't until his steps begin to drag, his attention caught by a new sapling, that you speak. "Needed a day off?" You're not expecting an answer right away, not when he's let go of your hand so he can kneel to better see the sapling. You don't mind his long pauses - he's simply processing his response, mulling over words a bit longer than others - but he's fast today. Or, perhaps, he expected this line of questioning. "I did, yes, but it isn't so much that I needed rest, as your companionship." Nishiya touches the soil at the saplings roots, fingertip pressing gently, before he stands and brushes his hands together, apparently finished. The sentiment, while not the strangest thing to happen in his company, is still all too surprising. Heat zips up your spine, leaving you sweltering beneath the collar of your shirt. Nishiya, the unobservant lout, walks on, and doesn't seem to notice that you're not beside him until he reaches for your hand again, wooden fingers grasping awkwardly at empty air.  He turns, murmuring your name, voice tinged with worry. You try and imagine the look on his face, the downward curl of lips you've yearned to kiss - but you can't quite focus on it. "Ah- s'nothing, just..." You trail off into an awkward silence, hurrying forward to slip your hand into his. You smile, hoping it will assuage his concern, ready to continue the small hike through the wilderness, but now Nishiya is the one hesitating. "Nishiya?" You prompt, stroking your thumb against his fingers. "I've a question," he suddenly blurts, turning his hand in yours to still all movement. He's steady, methodical, taking both of your hands in his and becoming so utterly immobile that you're reminded of a tree settling after a particularly strong gust of wind. You wait, silent, but there's a hitch in his breathing that has you biting at your bottom lip, wondering what exactly he's going to ask that's made him so cautious. Part of you hopes- you're dating, after all, you have been for quite a while, long enough that you feel you've a claim to the word love - but- "You've been so patient with me. With my work. With my... Perhaps this is long past due, but would you let me kiss you?" He tilts his head, not enough for you to get a full look at his face, but you catch the gleam of his eyes. Eyes you've seen through his mask a hundred times before, though never with his pupils blown or a stutter in his breathing. Your heart thunders inside your rib cage. "I would be delighted, Nishiya," and you're surprised, really, that you're able to get the words out so clearly. You have a thousand questions - why now's, and what changed or even reassurances that you don't need it, but you want it. You really, really do. He releases one of your hands, moving to push the brim of his hat up and you can't help it, you look away. There's a small rustling noise as Nishiya pulls his scarf away from his chin, his lips, but you still don't look. You just can't. You close your eyes, breathing out, and relax subtly when he shifts, reaching to place his wooden palm against your jaw, curling to cup your cheek. "Thank you," he whispers, and he's so close, a nose brushing yours, breath warm against your skin. "For not- for-" You think, maybe, that he's thanking you for keeping your eyes closed and you're vividly reminded of Psyche, and Eros, and only being allowed to love in the dark. His lips are warm and smooth, and slow against yours, his fingers sliding from your jaw to curl around the back of your neck. It's a silent query, closer? But he doesn't urge you, doesn't need to. You willingly step into his space, kissing him just a bit harder, a bit longer, and then nearly open your eyes in surprise when he gasps against your lips. A shudder runs through his frame as your tongue touches his lips - and then you hear shouting in the distance. You turn your face away, gasping for air, but Nishiya is frozen, arms still looped around you. You desperately want to see. Instead you laugh, and the sound is rough and not even close to the noises you'd like to be making. You reach, half-blind as you stare at the trees further up the path, and push the brim of his hat back down as the shouts get louder, both angry and frightened. "I think your aid might be required, Nishiya." It finally prompts him into action, as well as a flurry of muttered apologies and promises, but you barely hear them. He kissed you. Nishiya kissed you, and you're not sure you'll be able to function until he comes and retrieves you from the woods. --- For about three days, you're convinced it will be awkward. That you'll see him again and Nishiya will pretend it never happened. Or perhaps he'll simply open his door, hat and scarf and mask-less, the next time you come over. Okay, you're fairly sure he won't do that, but he could, and human curiosity is the worst. In the end, it's neither, because Nishiya is the one to show up at your place, late on the fourth evening. He's in wrinkled civilian clothing, his ever present scarf, and a hat sporting a moth-eaten brim, his shoulders hunched and posture radiating weariness, clutching at a bag that you're fairly sure holds his hero costume. "I apologize," he groans, once you've helped settle him on your couch. "I was told to head straight home after Recovery Girl- but you were closer, and I-" His hand spasms in yours, nervous. It's ridiculous, what he can do to you, just stumbling over words of attempted affection. "I missed you, too," you murmur, heart soaring with emotion. It's too bad that you have little time for it. "I caught that bit about Recovery Girl, though, and I think you need to get in bed." "I'll leave soon, it's-" "Nishiya. I meant my bed. You're in no state to drive anywhere." For a moment there is nothing but silence, and you fear you may have overstepped. You have only the barest knowledge about the additional things he requires due to his quirk and have a sudden silly worry that he may need soil or UV lamps or- "I- would appreciate that. And, if I'm not being presumptuous… your company, perhaps?" You can't tell if he's looking at you. It's likely that he only means for rest, obviously. Because he's recovering and just doesn't want to put you out of your own bed, but you can't help the silly smile you direct at the ceiling. "Of course," you reply, subtly attempting to punch the air in triumph. He chuckles though, and that means he saw your stupid grin and fist pump, so you just turn on your heel, intent on hiding in the bedroom with the excuse of straightening up. --- You're woken up, for the second time, by Nishiya shifting awkwardly on the other side of the bed. Sleepy and unthinking, you reach out, intending to pat the sheets and ask if he'd like to cuddle, when your hand brushes his bare shoulder instead. The texture of him, some strange combination of polished wood and the soft give of skin, has you freezing. "Nishiya?" You mumble, as he adopts that strange tree-like stillness once more. "I woke you?" He asks, voice rough with sleep. You stroke, curiously, just once, over the curve of his shoulder before you pull away. You haven't asked, and he's obviously having trouble sleeping- but Nishiya catches your hand, turning slowly to face you in the dark. "I don't mind," you whisper. "But yes. Are you.. still hurting?" Nishiya had never actually explained or shown the extent of his injuries, though his being awake could be due to any number of things. Maybe he wasn't fond of the mattress firmness, or, well, you'd never asked whether he needed UV lights. (Though that particular thought has you cringing, and you're not actually sure you want to be that blunt about it.) Nishiya takes his time answering, lacing his fingers with yours. "No," he says slowly, his tone almost questioning. "I simply can't stop thinking of-" He blows out a breath, as if exasperated with himself. "I seem to be incapable of being upfront with you. I keep thinking of the day we kissed. That... That I'd like to do more than just that." You can't help but smile into your pillow, cautiously beginning to move closer, just in case he changes his mind. Nishiya's fingers tense in yours, but he mirrors your movements when he realizes what you're doing, until the both of you have your legs tangled together, faces close enough to brush. "Now?" You can't help but ask, leaning forward and searching in the dark to press the tip of your nose against his. Nishiya hums, unlacing your fingers so he can slide his hand up your forearm. "Yes. Yes, if you'd like." You close the distance between you, pressing your lips to his and then sighing against his mouth as his arm slips around your torso, holding you close.  It's all too easy to lose sense of time when surrounded by so much sensation, to forego speech when his mouth is willingly opening to yours, when his fingers are pressing into your skin and his teeth catch at your bottom lip - you've dreamed about this, but the real thing is leaving your dreams in the dust. You pull back, shuddering when Nishiya's lips move to your throat, but you can't let yourself get too distracted now, or you'll never stop. "Let me- oh," you arch when Nishiya's palm skims up and over your hip, fingers curling underneath the edge of your shirt. "I - let me know if you don't like-" Nishiya's trail of kisses slows, though he doesn't pull away. "Am I rushing this?" He asks, voice soft, still once more. “I've been too for-” “No!” You exclaim, clutching at him before he can move away. “I've felt like I'm rushing you, not the other way around. We just haven't exactly discussed this much and-” you breathe out with a small laugh. “I've been thinking about you for months, Nishiya. I just didn't want to push or make you feel like you had to do something. I'm happy as we are, even if you don't want to.” Nishiya laughs too, but punctuates it by capturing your mouth with another breath-stealing kiss. He ends it with a sigh, but doesn't pull away. “It sounds as if we've both been overthinking this, hm? It.. takes me some time, yes, but.. With you, yes. I want this.” He shifts, reaching up so his fingertips can brush over the shell of your ear. The touch makes you shiver, and relief and desire mingle in a flood. "More kissing?" You suggest, trying not to focus too hard on the shadow of him in the dark room. You're still curious, of course, but the thought of waking and seeing his face in morning sunshine is more tempting than turning on the lights. Right now, you'd rather be touching. "Please," Nishiya murmurs, cupping your jaw to pull you back to him. His lips are that same soft-smoothness as his shoulder, heating quickly as you both adjust and tease, but when you nip at his lower lip, he just feels like skin. He murmurs your name, barely more than a whisper, but everything is so loud, amplified in the heavy darkness. The sheets and blankets shift, and the longer you make out, the messier it sounds. Between the smacking lips and Nishiya's heavy breathing, you're so touch-drunk that his sudden tug of you half on top of him barely registers. "I feel so selfish," he says, hands straying down to curl around the back of your thighs. "Wanting you this much," he clarifies. His tone, the way his fingers press- it's like he wants to keep the feeling a secret. "Mm." You tilt your head, moving to kiss his neck, absolutely reveling in how good all of this feels. "Then I am being selfish. I want you to keep touching me like this. I want you to keep telling me how much you want me." Nishiya huffs, but doesn't speak. His hands stroke up your thighs until they're cupping your ass, pulling you as close as he possibly can. The hard line of him brushes against your stomach before you're settled against him, knees on either side of his legs, and you have to breathe out, extra slow, for how badly you want to touch him. With your hands, with your mouth - you can't focus well enough to decide whether you him inside you or whether you want to be in him, and you aren't sure if either of you will actually get that far, but - it's most definitely a conversation you'd like to have later. For a short period of time though, you forget about speaking. Nishiya shudders, hips arching up to rut against you, and you're both too eager to find a rhythm, to keep up the friction, to take off your clothes. It isn't until you're both gasping that Nishiya puts a halt to it, hurriedly sitting up and pulling you carefully with him, to keep himself from coming. "That good?" You ask, breathless, still half splayed across his lap, trying to balance yourself by curling a hand around one of his shoulders. "Yes," he says, tone brooking no argument. "It's not- I've done this very rarely," he confesses, leaning forward until your foreheads are pressed together, still trying to calm himself. "It's always been difficult, unless.." Nishiya sighs, almost embarrassed, before he presses a smooth, wooden palm to your heart. Feelings, you think. He'd explained it before you'd begun to date, how his sexuality and libido were tied up in his emotions, in trust, in friendship- how many people had simply declared him picky without actually listening to him. You cover his hand with yours, turning your head until you capture him with another kiss. Nishiya relaxes into it, groaning when you reach between the both of you, fingers slipping beneath his pajama bottoms, to curl your fingers around his dick. You break the kiss, trying to keep up the motion you're making, but you wish you could stop and just listen to his gasping breath. "I want to make this easy for you," you murmur, squeezing him a slight bit tighter. "You know how I feel, Nishiya. How I've felt for a while." He shudders again, letting you set the pace, but his shoulders are growing more tense by the second. He gasps, suddenly grabbing onto your wrist as he spills himself over you. His control breaks. It isn't Nishiya's hand, but a mini lacquered-chain-prison that has snaked around your wrist, halting your movement. It's mildly startling, but the texture of the wood, and the quick.. shift back into his typical phalanges is so fast that you barely have time to process it. "Sorry," he pants. "I didn't- I couldn't control it for a moment. I'm sorry, it was ju-" If you wanted, if you let him, you know that he would draw back into himself. He's so private about his face, about Kamui Woods and the ghostly Shinji Nishiya being so utterly separate, that any kind of slip has had him pulling away in the past. You don't want that, especially not now. "I don't mind, Nishiya," you say. "I'm not going to lie and say it wasn't a surprise, but you didn't hurt me in the slightest. And... Well, knowing I made you lose control is rather gratifying." Nishiya laughs, leaning forward until his forehead is resting against yours. His breathing is still evening out, and your hand is stilled covered in come, but this is all you could have wanted and more. He gropes behind him, grabbing the shirt he'd first worn to bed, lost sometime after you'd gone to sleep, to wipe your hand and himself mildly clean before it soaks into his pants. "I'd like to touch you,” he breathes, tossing the shirt to the side before his hand is idly stroking down your thigh. His touch is reverent, wanting and so thrilling that you just barely stop yourself from grabbing his hand and putting it where you'd really like to be touched. You're not going to rush him, no matter how on edge you feel, eager for every brush of skin. You flop back on the bed, letting Nishiya arrange your legs, tensing when you feel his breath against your stomach and his hand between your thighs, almost too gentle. You almost laugh, because it tickles, but you don't want him to take it the wrong way. You close your mouth, lips pressed together tightly. Thankfully, his touch becomes bolder as his mouth travels down, and the weight of it, palm warm and mouth wonderfully wet- "Nishiya," you say, breathing out shakily as he works you over. He's slow, steady, and every press of his tongue and flex of his fingers has your hips trembling, trying not to thrust, trying not to be overwhelmed by it all. His mouth closes, sucking and you have to cover your face with your hands, or risk reaching down to pull his hair. "Fuck, that is - you are-" You leave off trying to speak, the pressure of an orgasm building, hot and tight and aching. "Close, I'm close, your mouth and the way you-" You gasp when he speeds his pace, not by much, but then he makes a soft "Mmm," noise against you and you can't hold it back anymore. You think you might be babbling, telling him how good it feels, how good it feels with him specifically, the way he moves, the noises he makes. Your hips do rise off the bed now, just barely, but the weight of Nishiya, the way he's laying between your legs, mouth and hand still moving, keeps you in place. And that tight burst of orgasm is making you shake, breath coming fast while Nishiya slows and finally stops. You still can't see him, it's still too dark with your curtains closed and the morning sun hours away, but you think he might be smiling. He sounds pleased with himself when he speaks anyway. "That good, hm?" He asks, mirroring your earlier question, and you laugh. Nishiya crawls up to lay beside you, pulling you close into his arms. "The best," you murmur. You're tempted to ask if he'd like to do more, but the slow stroke of his hands on you, the warmth of him pressed close and the boneless feeling of afterglow has you so relaxed that you may fall asleep soon. "Nishiya?" You whisper, drowsy, trying to fight it. "Mhmm?" "Be here.. in the morning?" You yawn, eyes closed, but you still hear his reply, clear and fond: "I don't want to be anywhere else."

[mst3kproject]

Elves (1989)

Christmas is a weird holiday.  We all talk about joy and generosity and love, while it’s actually a season full of stress, greed, and hate.  We hate our politically incorrect grandparents, we hate our in-laws asking why we’re not pregnant yet, we hate the expense, we hate the crowds, we hate the traffic, and most of all we hate anybody who doesn’t partake in this flaming bag of holiday. Partly because how dare they actually relax and enjoy the season while we go festively mad, but mostly because we’re white people and we just hate everybody.

That brings us to Elves, a Christmas movie about Nazis.

Three ditzes meet in the woods for a dark ritual in which they officially swear off Christmas.  In the process one of them cuts herself – the blood falls on the ground and naturally awakens some primal horror sleeping below. It follows her home in a POV shot, and then we spend a little time getting to know Kirsten and her abusive family. There’s her German grandfather who slaps her around and enforces weird rules, her mother who steals her money and drowns her cat, and her perverted little brother who spies on her in the shower. All right, these people definitely need to die.  Bring on the evil elves!

But no, instead we follow her to work at the department store, where she gets hit on by a drunken Santa Claus.  This guy at least dies quickly, stabbed to death by the elf while trying to do a line of coke without getting it in his beard (is this a Santa Claus and Coca Cola joke?  I hope so).  Later, the evil elf digs up the body of the cat and leaves it on Kirsten’s windowsill, which gets Herr Grandpa thinking.  He meets up with some of his old Nazi friends, and learns that after forty years, their terrible plot is finally coming to fruition.  It seems that Kirsten is the last pure Aryan virgin, who is destined to mate with the evil elf on Christmas Eve and give birth to the Antichrist!

Are you going wait, what the fuck? at this point?  Don’t worry, so am I, and this is only the first third of the movie.

Meanwhile, we’ve also been following a homeless guy who gets hired to replace the murdered Santa Claus and decides to play detective.  The girls invite some of their boyfriends for an orgy sleepover in the department store, but the boys are killed by Herr Grandpa’s Nazi buddies who are here to offer Kirsten to the elf.  Replacement Santa saves Kirsten herself but her girlfriends get killed, and the elf (and the Nazis) decide to follow her home.  Herr Grandpa tries to atone for the mistakes of his past while Replacement Santa consults some scholars to find out what’s up with the Nazi Rape Elf.  The elf was the product of genetic engineering.  Kirsten was the product of incest between her mother and grandfather. A car blows up for some reason.  The elf has a gun.  My brain hurts.

The upshot is that with Herr Grandpa dead and Santa Claus neutralized, it looks like Kirsten’s got to save herself.  I don’t give that good odds.

There’s quite a bit of foul language and a few boobs in this movie that MST3K would have had to cut or cover, but it would have been worth it because god damn this movie is bad.  The summary above probably makes it sound weird and incoherent but trust me, it’s a vast improvement on actually having to watch this thing.  There is no entertainment value here whatsoever.  Thirty minutes in I felt like I’d already been watching it all day. Not even my incredulity that I was watching a Christmas movie about a Nazi Rape Elf could carry me through it.  This is the Manos: the Hands of Fate of Christmas movies.

Most of the time you can barely tell what’s going on.  An awful lot of important scenes take place in various levels of darkness, and then they pile the distorted elf-cam on top of that.  There are bits where you can’t hear the dialogue and when you can it doesn’t make any sense.  The characters aren’t likable and nobody can act – the nearest thing to an exception is the Santa Claus guy.  The character seems like a really decent person who doesn’t need to get involved in this but does, simply because it’s the right thing to do.  Dan Haggerty occasionally tries to give a performance, but mostly he just stumbles through the film in the same dead-eyed how did it ever come to this? haze as Graham Greene in Atlantic Rim.

Kirsten and her two friends are annoying bimbos.  The friends’ names are Brooke and Amy but I don’t remember which one is which… one of them’s the horny one and the other one is the stupid one, and that’s the extent of their personalities.  Maybe they’re both horny and stupid.  Their boyfriends are absolute assholes, who are thankfully only on screen for thirty seconds total before they get killed.  Kirsten’s mom is a sadistic bitch (I guess at least she’s got a reason), her bother’s a brat, and the bad guys are a bunch of German accents distinguishable only by the fact that Herr Grandpa is in a wheelchair.

The elf is made of disconnected puppet parts so ugly and immobile they almost wouldn’t be out of place in Troll II.  It moves about as fast as the Creeping Terror and kills people by stabbing them repeatedly with a fruit knife.  There is nothing remotely threatening or scary about it.  The only emotion it inspires in me is an urge to punt it across the room.  It looks like a cheap, shitty Hallowe’en decoration that isn’t sure how it wandered into this cheap, shitty Christmas movie.

Every so often the movie tries to be funny, but it never succeeds.  The thing with the tape on the door seems like it’s setting up a wacky misunderstanding, but it’s a joke without a punchline.  The guy explaining the history of Nazi Rape Elves while his children sit there waiting for him to carve the turkey is probably supposed to be a joke, but again, it never goes far enough to get a laugh. The closest we get is with little details that are often more clever than funny, like Santa and his coke – or my favourite, a shot of a rack of guns with a sign that says gift ideas for mom.

I understand the urge to make a Christmas-themed horror movie.  Christmas is, frankly, just begging to be ironically subverted, and plenty of film-makers have tried to rise to the challenge.  Not all of them have succeeded, but Elves doesn’t even try.  A movie that has, say, a serial killer dressed as Santa Claus (examples are numerous) is commentary.  It’s saying something about how we tell children to put complete trust in a guy in a weird outfit who breaks into our houses every year. The Christmas imagery in Elves is completely irrelevant.  If this were a movie about one of Santa’s elves snapping and killing people, it could be about holiday stress and taking advantage of the working class.  It’s not.

The movie can’t even keep its own mythology straight.  One of the scholars tells us that the elves were on Noah’s ark and are supernatural beings that have been around since the beginning of time – that’s why the offspring of an elf and a human will be the Antichrist, and why it must be conceived on Christmas Eve.  The other one says the elves were genetically engineered by the Nazis to be the fathers of the master race… so which is it?  The fact that Kirsten has had visions and the elf is so desperate to get the deed done before midnight speaks for version one, while some of the stuff the Nazis say seems to point to version two.  If this ambiguity is intentional, they could have made that way clearer.  The elf draws a rune by each of its victims but these don’t seem to serve any purpose besides being creepy and giving Santa Claus a clue.

I think some symbolism may be intended by having the guy investigating all this be a department store Santa Claus.  Santa Claus is a lover of children and a giver of gifts.  When he catches the girls sneaking into the store after hours, he allows them to stay and have their fun as long as they don’t steal anything – this might metaphorically be considered a gift for good children.  Later he gives another gift, when he passes the ‘elfstone’ to the little brother to pass on to Kirsten.  This isn’t really developed enough to accomplish anything, though.  It’s more of a motif than an actual theme.

And of course, there’s the ‘it’s not over!’ ending, where the credits begin to roll over a shot of a fetus.  What?  There was definitely no rape scene in the movie, nor any implication that one had occurred and the film-makers, showing more restraint than usual, didn’t show it. While Kirsten waited injured in the woods for her brother to bring her the elfstone, the elf was distracted eating a toad.  Did it impregnate her by passing a hand over her stomach, like the guy in Abraxas: Guardian of the Universe?

Man, do I ever hate this movie.  What a boring, stupid waste of my time.  Who makes something like this?  Who decides to put the words Nazi Rape Elf in that order and then thinks the result would make a good Christmas movie?  I dug this piece of shit up in search of something to watch and review besides The Star Wars Holiday special and I’m actually sorry I did.  I’m not even joking.  Elves is that fucking bad.

[kiruuuuu]

Tachanka/Vigil oneshot in which Tachanka is sensible and an upstanding member of society. (Rating E, filth and depravity, dubcon, humiliation? all the good stuff basically, ~3.2k words) - written for @blitznbandit  IN EXCHANGE FOR THIS BEAUTY

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Tachanka is a reasonable man. He knows what to expect from life, knows his limits and knows how to stay in control – of himself, his temper, most situations. He’s practical, independent, realistic and doesn’t give a damn about what people think; he’s being paid to protect civilians, not to care. Some people give him shit for it, most don’t dare, it’s all the same to him. He values loyalty higher than friendship because friends might still stab you in the back, though a mix is unsurprisingly ideal: people who will protect him with their lives despite what they think of him are good company though his boys are the best company, sticking to him like glue and family and blood brothers for no other reason than they belong. The blind devotion is not something he could explain.

Regardless, he’s not a passionate man. Overwhelming emotions are biased and justice needs to be devoid of emotions, objective, neutral or else it’s not fair, cannot claim to be just. It’s a principle that follows him throughout his life, guides his social interactions and colours his relationships that have always been benefit-oriented, pragmatic, sensible. Mind games are not for him, he’s brutally honest to a fault and makes his intentions clear. The ones who can appreciate that in him have proven excellent partners.

And then there’s this young Korean with his nervous smiles and restless hands and he fucking pisses Tachanka off. It’s like he was raised in a barn, never learned to speak up, make eye contact or behave like a goddamn normal human being. Just seeing him in the first week after he joins Rainbow is enough to spark Tachanka's anger and during a briefing, he snaps, has had enough of Vigil hovering uncertainly in the background and barks at him to sit the fuck down and not be such a nuisance. Oh, and how he comes to regret this loss of composure the very next second.

Because Vigil’s eyes go wide, he freezes for a heartbeat before almost throwing himself onto the next available chair, visibly shaken and intimidated, avoids looking at Tachanka and oh.

That’s interesting. The boy is scared of him.

The realisation is too delicious to ignore. Vigil probably dreads interacting with most of the other operators, that much is clear, yet Tachanka has never seen him react this fast or obey without question. He decides to test his theory by snapping at him a few more times, giving more and more ridiculous orders that the boy carries out quietly and without even telling on him and it’s… he can’t lie to himself, it gives him ideas. If he’s very honest, he wants to hold him down and fuck him until he can’t walk and this is surprising. Because Tachanka is not a passionate man. He doesn’t let himself be swayed by whimsical notions, flights of fancy.

Tachanka is a reasonable man. He’s a generous lover and demands explicit consent. He’s not lacking in options usually, so why attempt to take what isn’t his? He has a type: self-sufficient, confident, preferably his age, composed and experienced in bed. He rarely strays from the tried and tested formula, everything else just begs for trouble.

So why is he grabbing this infuriating Korean boy by the collar and stuffing him into the supply closet again? He really should stop this before it gets out of hand. “You’d look so pretty gagging on my cock”, he tells Vigil without meaning to and no, who is he kidding, the sight would be delectable.

And then the moment of truth happens. Because while Vigil still looks terrified, he sinks down to his knees and puts his hands on Tachanka's belt, biting his lip and eyelids fluttering nervously. Tachanka has trouble believing what he sees but he’s not one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

The whole affair is messy, Vigil has really no idea of what he’s doing, drools all over himself and chokes repeatedly yet he’s astonishingly determined, uses his hands and tries to swallow as much of Tachanka's dick as he can, allows him to push his head forwards, at some point just grips Tachanka's thighs and holds on for dear life as he thrusts into his mouth not as deeply as he’d like to. Tachanka comes with a loud groan, unloading first down Vigil’s throat and then on his face while he’s coughing. He was right though. He does look extremely pretty.

“What am I supposed to do with you?”, he grumbles, wipes some of his come off Vigil’s brow and pushes his finger between the wet and swollen lips. The young man merely sucks on it, looks up at him, wordless yet calmer than Tachanka has ever seen him outside of a mission. He makes a decision. This lost soul needs guidance.

.

Two fingers hooked into the already tight collar, ready to pull if necessary, Tachanka muses on how quickly his pet has improved. He’s sitting on his bed, Vigil on the floor between his legs, obediently lapping and sucking at him, still struggling to fit all of Tachanka's length into his throat but a sharp tug on the leather between his fingers convinces Vigil to at least try. His mouth is a wet heat of which Tachanka can’t get enough, his lips silky and his chokes music to his ears. “You’re such an eager little slut”, he murmurs because Vigil is and in response the young man glances up at him, perpetually worrying about whether he’s doing it right, some pride sneaking in whenever Tachanka lets out a pleased groan. “Go deeper. You know how I like it.”

He couldn’t even say how often they’ve done this by now, Tachanka dragging the Korean to his room at the end of the day, demanding things some of which worry even him in quiet moments and Vigil obeying for reasons unknown, ready to learn and readier to hand himself over to Tachanka completely. The power his words and gestures hold is intoxicating, the rush he feels when Vigil silently obliges addicting – he can’t get enough of the shy gazes, the occasional hesitation, the complete and utter submission. A tongue slides over the underside of his cock and he growls, so Vigil does it again and holds his breath when Tachanka pulls him in and holds him there, enjoying the tight heat of the Korean’s throat working around him as Vigil tries to swallow.

This is one of his favourite parts, together with the way Vigil shudders around his thick fingers on the occasions Tachanka feels generous enough and preps him himself: he can see tears forming in the corners of Vigil’s eyes, desperation seeping in as the need for air increases and yet he keeps perfectly still, for some reason trusting Tachanka not to go overboard. “You’re the perfect plaything”, Tachanka says, “you wouldn’t even care if you passed out, eh? Die happily as long as my dick’s anywhere inside you.”

For obvious reasons, Vigil doesn’t answer but Tachanka notices movement in his peripheral vision where there should be none. Mercilessly, he drags Vigil off his length and barks at him while he’s gasping and gulping in air: “Who told you you could touch yourself?” He kicks the offending hand away from the Korean’s crotch, earns a whine and presses his sole against the weeping erection, makes Vigil’s eyes widen and his hips actually buck into Tachanka's foot even though the pressure can’t be comfortable. “Keep your fucking hands off your useless dick, it’s not like you’re ever going to fuck anything with it anymore.”

Vigil is too far gone already, there’s this reckless glint in his eyes that means Tachanka can basically do whatever he wants, say whatever comes to mind – in this state, he’s malleable, gives himself up completely and Tachanka has to admit he capitalises on this. The first few times, it took a while for the younger man to reach this state, nowadays his own fingers up his ass and Tachanka's cock down his throat already do the trick. With reddened cheeks, he pulls his fingers out and uses that hand to support himself, leans back while the other wraps around Tachanka's foot, keeping it in place as he grinds his hips against it, moaning wantonly. He reminds Tachanka of a dog in heat, desperate for any stimulation, begging to be allowed to mate.

His toes push against the dark head and Vigil’s breath hitches. His lips are shiny from spit and precum, the black collar a tasteful contrast to his pale skin and Tachanka wants to destroy him. He never stopped irritating the Russian, his social skills have barely improved over time and he steadfastly refuses to open up about his demons. Still. They don’t need to talk while Tachanka fucks him.

“Get on the bed”, he orders with a last push of his foot before he withdraws it and Vigil scrambles to do so, crawls onto the sheets on his hands and knees, grips the fabric in anticipation but Tachanka is not having it. He’s used to Vigil’s habit of trying to conceal his face, so he kneels behind him, takes a moment to appreciate the view of his inviting hole, his erection pointing down, his strong legs and muscled back before he brings down his hand on one of the round buttocks forcefully and with a loud smack that makes Vigil jolt, gasp and look back at him hurt and confused. “Turn around, you’re not going to hide from me. I want to see what a whore you are.”

The Korean’s expression turns conflicted and he even starts to protest: “But – I don’t –”

Another slap, this one harder and leaving behind an extremely satisfying red handprint. Tachanka knows that the younger man likes the pain, sometimes is even sloppy in his preparation on purpose so he can feel it more keenly; Tachanka always notices and never holds back. “Don’t make me punish you.” Predictably, Vigil chews on his lower lip a little longer so Tachanka spanks him another time, hitting the same patch of skin that must be tender by now but at least it convinces Vigil to lie down on his back, legs spread and visibly embarrassed. “I’m not going to hold back for you.”

The younger man nods, the blush deepening, so Tachanka lubes up his throbbing cock, scoots closer and hooks Vigil’s legs over his shoulders unceremoniously. He knows Vigil hates this position, feels exposed, he reads it in the way he avoids eye contact and tenses up. Tachanka guides his tip with one hand, lines it up and pushes into the waiting ring of muscle, increases the force when he feels resistance, hears Vigil utter a strangled moan. His limbs relax, his face goes slack and he’s utterly lost now, drowning under Tachanka and revelling in the feeling of being filled. Tachanka is familiar with it, has seen it countless times before and never gets tired of it, just like he never tires of the tightness that encompasses him right now, clenches around him and soothes his need.

Once he’s bottomed out, he pauses to examine the Korean under him, cheeks pink and a thin sheen of sweat covering his body, returning his gaze dazedly. “I wonder what that colleague of yours would say if she saw you like this”, he ponders out loud and though most of his words are lost on Vigil in this state, these ones penetrate the fog in his mind, induce a slight panic Tachanka whole-heartedly enjoys. “Impaled on my cock, begging for it, shameless. Hm? What do you think she’d say?”

He doesn’t give Vigil any opportunity to answer, instead pulls out almost all the way and slams back in, forcing another moan out of Vigil’s abused throat that he likes so much he does it again straight away. The walls of Vigil’s insides accommodate him effortlessly, he was thorough today, probably anticipating Tachanka's impatience and urge to inflict discomfort – Vigil is not bad at reading his moods. Maybe he should really keep him.

The pace he sets is brutal but nothing the younger man can’t handle, his nails digging into creamy thighs as his hips snap forward again and again, his shaft driving into the willing body that’s really quite pleasing to look at, Tachanka has to admit. Vigil’s got a lot going for him. Most of all he’s tight and compliant, allows himself to be bossed around and Tachanka finds himself wondering how far he’ll actually go. “You think I should invite someone to watch?”, he grunts, his words emphasised by hard thrusts, the sounds of skin slapping against skin filling the space between them, “I bet my boys would appreciate the sight.”

He can feel Vigil clench around him, added stimulation to the already heady sensation of shagging him raw that’s starting to cloud his mind, lust pulsing through his body. He indulges in the fantasy, imagines Kapkan lazily jerking off to the two of them, egging Tachanka on, Fuze impatiently grabbing one of Vigil’s hands so he can fuck his fist. On a whim, he stops, pulls out his cock and forces Vigil’s knees almost down to his head, displaying his hungry entrance for his viewing pleasure and teases the rim with the tip of his erection, the touch electrifying and the effect on the younger man just as intended.

Vigil’s eyes are wide and wild and almost black, mouth gaping open in shock, his hands scrabbling for purchase, digging into Tachanka's hips, trying to get him to continue, despairing and frantic and oh so lovely. “What do you want? Use your words, kid.” He drags his shaft along the entrance and can’t suppress a smirk at how the Korean trembles at the feeling.

“I need –” He’s gasping like a fish out of water, usually Tachanka doesn’t stop once he’s started the merciless pummelling, only today he craves seeing Vigil squirm. “Please, please, just –” A helpless groan claws its way out of his throat as Tachanka forces his thick head back inside, feeling the sphincter contract around him, only to withdraw yet again. “Tachanka”, Vigil whines and he almost can’t resist the sudden urge to slam back home upon hearing his name, instead he keeps dipping his tip in slowly.

“We could share you”, he continues and watches the Korean writhe under him, roll his hips into nothing, his neglected penis dripping precum, “your hole can take a beating. The boys can pass you around and you’d still be gagging for my cock, even filled with their cum you’d come begging.” The friction is overwhelming, his control waning. He can’t keep this up for much longer but he wants to hear Vigil admit to how much he’s come to rely on Tachanka.

“Yes”, Vigil whispers and nods his head eagerly, “yes, please.”

“Please what?” The younger man is conflicted, embarrassed, so Tachanka unhurriedly slides in all the way, forcing him to inhale deeply and stretch uncomfortably, still folded in half. “Look at me, you dirty slut.”

The younger man struggles to oblige and shudders as Tachanka pulls out once more, leaving him empty and gaping. “Tachanka.” His voice is quiet, broken, pleading. “Take me. I need you.”

It’s good enough. He growls and snaps his hips forward, breaching him and reaching deep into Vigil’s insides, satisfying the primal desire pulsing in his groin. Again his thrusts are merciless, his mind still toying with the idea of whoring Vigil out, watching idly as his boys stuff him on both ends, culminating in him dominating the younger man, using their cum as lube and marking him with his teeth, scratching him up so he doesn’t forget to whom he belongs, at whose mercy he ultimately is.

His hips are moving on their own, fast and so hard Vigil has to relinquish his hold on the bedsheets to grip the headboard, moaning in ecstasy and sinking deep into his almost spiritual state of pleasure with which Tachanka is intimately familiar. He himself makes no attempts to suppress any noises either, grunting and groaning at the feel of velvety heat around his cock, muscles convulsing around him, pleasure building up with each sharp thrust.

“Don’t come before I do”, he pants and Vigil understands, wraps a hand around his twitching shaft and pumps himself in time with Tachanka's thrusts, aiming to time his orgasm to the one that’s fast approaching in the Russian, inevitable and quicker than usual, a result of the mental image of Kapkan humping Vigil with a blissful look on his face while Glaz kneels over his face and feeds a blushing Vigil his cock in small movements. He could probably genuinely convince Kapkan to join them – Vigil himself needs no coercion, Tachanka's word alone is enough. That, or he just jams his fingers up his ass and massages him until the Korean doesn’t care about anything anymore.

The tightness is becoming too much: now that Vigil’s jerking himself, he contracts even more around Tachanka's girth, sucking him in greedily. Tachanka decides he doesn’t look out of it enough and adjusts the angle, points his thrusts upwards and drags his cock over Vigil’s prostate which earns him a strangled gasp and an even tighter passageway, so he keeps at it, making the Korean tremble and keen, hears himself moan at the increased friction.

He is pushed over the edge when Vigil cries his name, his actual name, the syllables foreign on his tongue and the pronunciation wrong but Tachanka's dick quite obviously doesn’t care. With a last thrust, he slams into the Korean and stays there, shoots his sperm into his guts and feels Vigil come around him, clamp down in waves as he shivers and spurts come all over himself, both of them lost in their own orgasm. Tachanka feels pure bliss, all tension and stress drained out of him, sweet relief the only thing that remains. He lets Vigil’s insides milk him, extract every last bit of viscous liquid out of him, then he withdraws.

For a few moments, he basks in the afterglow, relaxes his limbs and admires the utterly fucked out mess before him. Vigil is still catching his breath, avoiding Tachanka's gaze and trying to cross his legs to hide his shame but Tachanka spreads them, strokes his thigh with one hand and touches the pad of a finger on the other to the abused hole, making Vigil jump. Curiously, he pushes in, feels the muscle grip it tightly, feels his own warm semen inside, swats Vigil’s hand away as he tries to interfere, discomfort written clearly in his expression. It’s tempting.

“Maybe I should really get someone else to fuck you before I do”, he muses. Surprisingly, it’s not all trepidation on the Korean’s face at this, he believes to have spotted something else too. Excitement.

Thinking about it, maybe he shouldn’t share Vigil after all. Others might want to corrupt him, he should protect him from possibly negative influences. After all, Tachanka is a reasonable man.

[cyb-by-lang]

OSF AU - All the Little Children (8/?)

Part 8: In which everyone is confused, killing intent backwash is a thing, and Isobu is a Squirtle.

Content warnings: Coarse language, death threats.

In the months since he met her, Sabo had never seen Fū look so afraid. She didn’t shake like that even when confronting the Lord of the Forest or brainstorming with them on how to take on Gramps for the next round. She smiled like Luffy did, all bright sunshine and blue seas on a cloudless day. She didn’t even seem afraid of Bluejam, or of his father, and Sabo had found himself expecting her to stay solid even when the situation changed over and over again.

It was like trying to stand his ground on sand.

Then Sabo looked sidelong at Gaara, mentally revising his thinking. No, sand was about as steady as rock at this point. It was just that Fū was looking at the woman on top of the trash heap like she was the worst kind of pirate or maybe a monster in human form.

“Keisuke?” Gaara asked, and the woman nodded just like she had after Naruto addressed her. “When did you get here? How?”

“And what took you so long?” Naruto wanted to know.

Keisuke or Kei-sensei or whoever she was held up one hand and, instead of answering their questions, just asked, “Naruto, which one of them tried to kill you?”

“We’ve got it handled,” Naruto said, though Sabo saw him immediately looked to Bluejam and Outlook. Naruto wasn’t a great liar, but he was usually better than that.

The woman made a neutral noise. Then, “Gaara?”

Gaara glanced between Kei and the captive pirates and guards, then crossed his arms over his chest. The sand that he’d been holding everyone with started to wisp away, but he didn’t stop blocking his captives’ eyes and ears.

“Very well,” she said, to the general lack of response. With deceptive ease, she stood and made her slow, disinterested way down the trash heap. She never stumbled or paused, simply taking step after step down to the real ground. “Naruto, Gaara, please take your friends and leave. I’ll deal with this situation.”

Sabo froze. The way she said it, this woman was as cold a killer as Bluejam’s pirates were. As detached as Outlook. It was just pointed at people who’d kill his brothers and his friends instead. And now the people who had been trying to hurt his family were the ones in danger, and yet…

“Kei-sensei…” Sabo blinked as Naruto gripped his shoulder. “Don’t kill them.”

She paused in the act of drawing one of her swords, even as her pet turtle rolled to meet and greet the other monsters. “Why?”

Sabo stepped back, out of Naruto’s grip, and Luffy latched onto him with both arms. Across from him, Ace grabbed Fū’s wrist and dragged her along as they started to retreat. Sabo couldn’t quite tear his eyes away from Naruto and his…bodyguard, as the two of them stood in front of the people who’d once held all the power. People who were now at the mercy of a woman’s whim, just the same as they’d held their lives before.

Sabo swallowed.

“I’ll tell you later,” Naruto said to the woman, “but it’s important.”

After a painfully long pause, the woman finally nodded. “Go, Naruto.”

Naruto set his jaw, just like Ace would, but he listened. Gaara abandoned his attempts to restrain anybody once they had all gotten out of sight, or at least Sabo thought so. Before long, they were running right out of Gray Terminal, with nobody following them at all. Even the usual crowd of beggars and poor people who stuck to this area had long since abandoned it, sensing trouble. It wasn’t hard to tell that they probably had better survival instincts than anyone who would spend time near that woman.

They were in the forest by the time it happened.

The only warning any of them got was a muffled “Oh shi–” from Naruto, and then Sabo’s world collapsed.

It felt—it felt like being underwater and cold and insignificant, choking on nothing while his lungs froze in a half-taken breath. Sabo hit the ground, Luffy landing on him, but he hardly felt it. He had to get away, get away—

And then Naruto grabbed his wrist and pinched. “Ow!”

“Hey!” barked Ace, as Gaara pulled on his ear. He flailed with his pipe, but only struck Gaara’s sand shield. “Hands off!”

“Sorry,” Naruto said, letting go of Sabo’s wrist, “but usually this kinda stuff needs pain so you can block it out.”

Fū was stretching Luffy’s face, to limited effect. “Wake up, Luffy! It’s just a–um…”

“Wh-what was it?” Sabo stammered, unable to stop himself from clinging to Luffy even so. “That—that didn’t feel like…”

“It’s killing intent,” Gaara explained, which wasn’t much of an explanation at all. He’d let Ace go, at least, but his sand was still distinctly not on the ground like it was supposed to be. Or in the gourd on his back. He looked spooked. “I didn’t know she could do that.”

“Kei-sensei was really pissed off.” Naruto frowned. “Usually she aims better than that.”

Sabo shuddered. He didn’t want to know what it would be like if someone that scary was on the verge of losing control, and yet heard himself asking, “What’s she gonna do? Naruto, you’re the one who knows her…”

Naruto grimaced. “Um…”

“She said she’d leave them alive,” Ace recalled, still looking unnerved under his usual mask of bravado.

“You’d be amazed what you can live through,” Fū mumbled, shivering. Her hands shook as she reached back over her head and pried Chōmei out of his resting place on her back. Then, mid-motion, she froze in place.

Chōmei’s voice said, in a slightly peevish tone, “Fū, it’s safe to lift me out. Isobu just wants to be able to see.”

Fū shrieked like she’d been set on fire, scrambling out of her backpack straps and tossing it to the ground in a blind panic. She brushed frantically at her back and hair, but Chōmei just wriggled slowly out of the backpack before turning to allow the next passenger out.

When it unrolled from its armadillo-like ball, Sabo recognized its green-gray shape. It was the same shelled creature that had been on the woman’s lap earlier.

“Hey, Isobu,” Naruto said, greeting the little monster without a hint of fear.

“Naruto,” it said, nodding. “Where did Yang Kurama and Shukaku go?”

“We’re right here, Three-Tails,” said a voice from Gaara’s direction.

After a few seconds, Naruto’s orange fox monster companion surfaced from the mass of Gaara’s sand, followed shortly by the weird raccoon. The fox shook out the sand, then stalked over to the misplaced rock turtle and said, “What took you so long to get here?”

“Don’t yell at Isobu for things he can’t help,” Chōmei said, bristling all the way down to his tail stubs. “Not everyone is lucky enough to end up in the same spot.”

“He can swim,” Shukaku grumbled, his tail lashing.

“And did you honestly expect him to leave his partner behind? Really, now,” Chōmei huffed.

“I can speak for myself,” Isobu complained.

“That’s great and all, but seriously what the fuck was that?!” Ace demanded, breaking into their little war council. Of animals the size of bread boxes. Ace made a flailing gesture in the general direction of Gray Terminal. “Who the hell was that woman? What are you all doing here? And why is Fū so freaked out?!”

“I’m not freaked out!” Fū protested, though she was still shaking.

“Fū is brave…” Luffy trailed off. Then he shook his head. “Fū isn’t afraid of anything!”

Fū latched onto that thought for dear life. “That’s right!”

Ace rolled his eyes. “Naruto.”

“Kei-sensei has a really bad reputation,” Naruto admitted, sitting back on his heels right next to the monster huddle. “But she aims it at people who’re trying to kill me and people around me. She’s not as scary as she acted back there.”

“Normal people,” Fū muttered fervently, “don’t get ‘flee on sight’ orders.”

“So did my dad,” Naruto said, unbothered. “And he’s Kei-sensei’s teacher, so… It’s kinda expected.”

Fū looked away, her knuckles white as she crossed her arms.

“Your dad?” Luffy piped up. “Who’s he? Is he like the Pirate King?”

Ace tensed, though Sabo wasn’t sure anyone but him noticed.

Naruto shrugged. “Doubt it.” As Yang Kurama climbed up onto Naruto’s shoulder, he added, “Let’s just get out of here. Even if there’s no one out here, this place doesn’t feel right.”

“But we didn’t get the stuff to repair our place,” Sabo mumbled. No, once Outlook had showed up, they’d forgotten everything. While the treehouse wasn’t unstable or anything, they couldn’t keep the wind out…

“Then we can take you to ours,” Gaara rasped, before the sand reared up and they were already on their way.

It was the worst ride ever. Though Sabo had seen Fū fly and knew she could do it pretty fast, even she seemed unhappy with the weaving path Gaara chose for them as they shot through the forest. Gaara didn’t care, obviously, and Naruto and Luffy and Ace all looked like they were actually enjoying themselves (if reluctantly), Sabo felt his stomach roll and leaned back against Fū in the hopes that her lack of sensitivity would wear off on him.

[oumakokichi]

Ohhh can I ask what do you like about kiibo? He's one of my faves but I don't see many people talk about him

I absolutely would love the chance to talk about Kiiboagain! The biggest piece of meta I got to write on him was quite a long timeago, and it really is a shame that people don’t talk about him as much. It’snot as if he’s unpopular, exactly, but it seems like most people are onlyinterested in the “cute robot” aspect rather than the things Kiiboactually represents in the game and the things he accomplishes in Chapter 6.

Obviously I’ll be discussing Chapters 5 and 6 prettyin-depth, so there’ll be massive spoilers for the whole game. Please only readif you’re comfortable with that!

I think part of the main reason why there’s so littlediscussion about Kiibo is because his main time to shine doesn’t really comeuntil Chapter 5. I myself didn’t particularly have an opinion on him one way orthe other before that. Similar to Tsumugi, he stays mostly on the back-burner inall the previous chapters. He’s certainly level-headed and reasonable duringthe trials, but he’s very much on the outskirts of things, never part of eitherthe friendships or conflicts the other characters are having with each other.

Thankfully though, ndrv3 does much better than itspredecessors (in my opinion) of giving most of the characters a more fair andeven amount of screen time. Characters who received their fair share ofdevelopment in earlier chapters and then passed away aren’t around by Chapter5, so that allowed Kiibo to finally take the stage and receive a lot more focusafter five chapters of mostly only being brought up to either say somethinguseful to the trial or get robo-bullied.

Chapter 5 is the first opportunity we have to reallyinteract with Kiibo in a plot context, not counting FTEs. While it’s somethingthat was alluded to plenty in the other chapters, Chapter 5 finally reallyhighlights exactly how much Kiibo questions his own existence as it’s viewed byeveryone else. In a game all about how “lies become reality” and “perception iseverything,” he’s genuinely worried over the thought that others perceive himas little more than just “The Robot™” despite all his efforts to ask that theytreat him as one of the group.

Kiibo wants to be regarded as an individual, not a machineor a wacky exaggerated trope, even if that’s what the other characters keeptrying to delegate him to. Even if he can’t be human, per se, he’d at leastlike to be thought of as someone who’s not out of the ordinary. That’s part ofwhy he hates the mecha genre so much, in fact.

If he had his way, he’d honestly prefer to be an ordinaryhigh school student, just like the rest of them—and that, in a game where manyof the characters prefer talent and competitionand excelling above all else, is interesting. It’s not often that normalcy isany of the character’s desired goal; more often, it’s a curse that they’retrying to escape from. But it works well as a theme for Kiibo because being arobot is something he has literally no control over, something that arguablydoesn’t even count as a “talent” in the first place.

Kiibo is so desperate to settle the matter of how he’sperceived that he’s in fact almost reckless with it. He actually volunteers tolie under the press in order to see whether the sensor on it will detect him asa “human” or an “object.” When Ouma gives the group the electric hammers Miumade for him, explaining that they work on machines and electronics but not onpeople, Kiibo actually contemplates using one on himself in order to test howMiu actually saw him—something Ouma advises against, since if it turns out hewas regarded as a machine and not a person, his circuits would completely fry.

These things are, of course, not uncommon to robotcharacters in fiction. They’re themes that have been done before, but I ratherlike the serious twist things take with Kiibo’s self-perception anyway inChapter 5. It adds a level of understanding to the reason why he’s been so onthe outskirts of the group; unlike Tsumugi, who keeps herself on the outskirtsbecause she purposely wants to be an observer, Kiibo has simply felt excludedfrom the start and always will feel excluded,on some level. I feel for these kinds of characters deeply, and that’s probablythe point at which I went from being neutral about him to quite liking him.

The fact that he was actually the most objective and fairestcharacter in the Chapter 5 trial earned him huge points, too. That was where hetruly began showing some of his protagonist potential, in my opinion. Assomeone who wants to be treated fairly and “like one of the group,” it reallydoes speak volumes to Kiibo’s character that he honestly, 100% believes thateveryone else should receive that kind of fair and equal treatment, too. Evensomeone like Ouma, who was being viewed in almost entirely antagonistic termsby the rest of the group and who they believed to be a literal “Junko 2.0.”

Even after using the Hope’s Peak remember light, Kiibo wasthe only one in the group who actually wanted to talk to Ouma, rather thanMomota in Chapter 5. He went to the machinery bay with the intention of seeingif he could have a face-to-face talk with him instead of having to rely on theentire dr1-style “let’s talk down the big bad villain from despair” plan thatthey had set for the next day. I still wonder what would’ve actually happenedif he’d managed to convince Ouma to let him in to talk, too—he didn’t succeedbecause Maki was already in the machinery bay at the time, but I feel likethings could’ve turned out drastically different if he’d managed to talk withOuma for himself.

That fair objectivity of Kiibo’s is one of my favoritequalities, moreso since it’s something that seems to be natural and inherent tohim, rather than something Tsumugi oranyone else programmed into his character. It’s so distinctly… well, I’mlooking for a good comparison and I keep coming back to Hufflepuff. Fair,hard-working, earnest, and unbelievably loyal, both to the people he caresabout and what he believes in—these are all traits that embody Kiibo as acharacter.

While these traits are definitely positive things, they canalso be unbelievably scary when carried to their full potential. After losinghis ahoge and severing his connection with the ndrv3 audience, Kiibo finallyhas an opportunity to think for himself and make his own decisions, without anyinterruptions or subconscious urges not to do so. And he’s the only character after Chapter 5 who looksat Momota and Ouma’s sacrifice, and decides to put a stop to the killing gameonce and for all, with his own two hands.

This is a cold, ruthless decision coming from a characterwho has looked at all the options as fairly as possible and determined that thekilling game will not stop unless he takes this course of action. When Kiibomade up his mind to end everything himself once and for all was pretty much thepoint where I went from just liking him to lovinghim. Stripped away of the audience’s interference or Tsumugi’s plans for him,Kiibo is someone who at his core was not entirely dissimilar to Ouma—if anything,he was even more willing to make sacrifices than Ouma was, because Kiibo was absolutely willing to blow up the wholeschool and everyone in it by sunrise if Saihara couldn’t find any other way ofstopping the killing game by exposing the truth.

This reflects a loyalty to his ideals and to the sacrificesMomota and Ouma left behind that goes very, very deep. I have a huge soft spotfor loyal characters, moreso loyal characters who do questionable things forthe sake of their loyalty—Juzo and Mukuro are both super high on my characterranking for that exact reason. Kiibo’s unwavering decision to do anything ittook to end the killing game made him incredibly likable for me, especiallysince, in the end… he was right. It turned out that blowing up Saishuu Academyand giving the audience an ending that was neither hope nor despair was theonly possible way to break the cycle of “hope vs. despair” that had been goingon for 53 seasons.

Once the trial begins and Kiibo has his ahoge and his linkwith the audience restored, Chapter 6 is a journey of him stepping into theprotagonist role at first, saying all the wrong things and falling into all thewrong pitfalls of the “hope vs. despair” cycle, and acting every bit the sortof Naegi-like, inspirational, hope-giving protagonist that Tsumugi set him upto be. Just as Ouma was very much set up by Tsumugi to be “despair,” aJunko-like figure to take the fall in her original plans, Kiibo was set up verysimilarly to be “hope.”

But “hope” within the killing game, especially “hope” asTsumugi wanted it to reflect the Hope’s Peak arc, is a false hope. All it doesis enable the same cycle to keep repeating. And that’s something Saihara pointsout, touching on the fact that the ndrv3 audience arguably wants to see “hope”even more than “despair,” as “hope” is heavily implied to be the choice thatkept winning the most in the past 53 seasons of the killing game.

Like Ouma, Kiibo rejects his intended role in the end, andthat’s exactly what I love about him the most, I think. Despite being someonewho was set up to be a puppet on a string every step of the way, Kiibo rejectedthat “hope” and instead was willing to stand with everyone and lay down hislife in order to end the killing game. Even though he had every reason to keeparguing, even though his “inner voice” kept telling him that “hope” was theright choice, he ignored all of that and instead consciously chose to tryending the killing game once again.

There’s also the matter of Kiibo’s self-sacrificing streak amile wide, which is something I always wind up falling for in DR characters andsomething that inevitably hurts me, since they always die. Characters whosacrifice themselves for the sake of others’ happiness do not get to have agood time in DR, ever. And Kiibo’s sacrifice at the end of the game goes soun-commented on most of the time, because Saihara and the others assume that itwas more the outside world’s doing.

But looking back at the final execution, at Kiibo’s concernas he saw Saihara and the other survivors under the rubble, and the slight smileon his face as he flew up higher to the dome to self-destruct in order to givethem all a chance to live on, I can’t help but feel that it was Kiibo’s doing,rather than the audience’s directly. Some small part of Kiibo still left inthere wanted more than anything for the rest of them to have a chance atliving.

In the end, the will to live on is the smallest and mostgenuine form of hope that there is, in my opinion at least. The “hope” thatTeam DR and the killing game audience wanted was false, but Kiibo was notmistaken about wanting there to at least be some way for Saihara and the othersurvivors to keep living. In a game featuring many, many suicidal and depressedcharacters, Kiibo is ultimately the one that presents them with the opportunityto keep living, so that they don’t haveto sacrifice their lives. Even if the road ahead of them is bound to be harshand painful, he wanted them to have the option to walk down it in the firstplace and to be able to find a reason, any reason, to keep living.

This has gotten pretty long so I’ll leave it for now, but I’mglad I had the chance to talk about Kiibo because he’s honestly such a goodcharacter. The last two chapters of ndrv3 succeeded in making him go from acharacter I was completely neutral about to one of my absolute favorite DRcharacters of all-time—because contrary to how he seemed initially, he wound upbeing one of the best subversions of Naegi’s original character and the entireHope’s Peak arc.

Thank you both for asking! I’m always glad to meet morepeople who really like Kiibo, so this was fun!