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brialavellan · 5 years ago

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It has been 20 years since Inquisitor ‘Manehn Lavellan defeated Corypheus, and 18 years since the Exalted Council. Solas is furthering his plans and so far, all efforts to stop him seem to be in vain….until the Well of Sorrows begins to speak to ‘Manehn once more. Led by ancient magics and beset by enemies from Ferelden and Orlais to Antiva and Tevinter, ‘Manehn must gather allies old and new in a race against time to defeat Solas - at any cost.

(NOW ON AO3)

Chapter 1 || Chapter 2 || Chapter 3 || Chapter 4 || Chapter 5 || Chapter 6 || Chapter 7 || Chapter 8 || Chapter 9 || Chapter 10

CH 11: For the Love of the People

There were no screams.

No cries of warning.

The only sound they heard was the soft whoosh of arrows through open windows, connecting with the head of each victim, their jaws agape in shock as their limp bodies slumped over from their chairs and fell to the floor.

Four elves in black leather armor slung their bows on their backs and crept into the small red-brick house. Briala, in her russet-brown leather armor, weaved her way around the pools of blood and hunched under the table where their victims had been playing a game of cards.

She got on her hands and knees and her eyes scanned the floors and baseboards for any breaks in the pattern, her fingers tapping the wood to feel for anomalies. She noticed a loose spot. She rapped on the wood and the wood echoed back. She pulled out her dagger, wedged it between the wooden boards, and pushed down hard. The wood snapped and revealed another cache filled with pieces of rolled parchment. She gently pulled the scraps of parchment from the small earthen hole and began to sift through each one while her agents meandered around her, checking all ingresses for suspicious intruders or curious visitors. The writing was nearly illegible on all of them but when you put them together, the meaning was clear.

Charter’s codebreakers (with Briala’s assistance) had deciphered the old notes they found on the dead elves at the Divine’s Ascension celebration. The codes had changed since they found the notes on the dead elves, but not by enough. Using the cache of notes that Briala had found in Val Royeaux’s catacombs, Briala and Charter were able to deduce that Fen’harel’s agents used a form of alphabetic substitution, with multiple substitution alphabets. There was a pattern to the changes, a method to the madness. It had to be this way, so that lower level associates did not have to work as feverishly to memorize more alphabets. Keys had to be easily memorized.

And Briala had the latest key.

She did not have to work very hard to translate what she had found. And what she read merely confirmed her suspicions.

They had planned to assassinate Duke Alfonse Blanchard, whose duchy encompassed Emprise de Leon and with whom Briala had a strong trade relationship.

And they had planned to assassinate him tonight.

Had planned.

Until plans changed.

“Duke Blanchard?” one of the elves, a young dark skinned woman with a small afro groaned. “The youngest brother, he is. Last one left. Worked for him as a bard. Paid well. Bit of a tit. But not murder-worthy. Why’d Fen’harel want ‘im dead?”

“Don’t know. Don’t believe in self-appointed gods anyway,” her sibling, a young man with cornrows, said. “Where was he at when Halamshiral burned down, eh? Seems like a god could’ve stopped that, after all.” He chuckled darkly.

“It’s a ploy to weaken the Dales,” Briala said. “Fen’harel’s agents claim to fight for the people but…” she paused, “I know it doesn’t feel like enough, but we didn’t earn what we have through open warfare.”

“It’s stupid to assasinate with stabbing. Too messy,” piped a pale, freckled agent with crimson hair, changing the subject. “And killing the kids too. Come on! That’s just over…well…overkill.”

“So this it for today?” an older, ruddy-faced elven woman with salt-and-pepper curls asked. “Or we’ve got more? I know a Red Jenny in Val Royeaux who could take a peek’n’sneak. Maybe find a few to shoot if she’s not tripping up a nob or two.”

“No, that’s too dangerous,” Briala said. “The rest will go to ground but they weren’t as much of an immediate threat as the one here and the two in Halamshiral. We’ve saved the lives of three allies. We’ve saved the Dales for now. You all did good work here.”

“‘Course we did,” the man in the cornrows said with a grin and earned a ribbing from his sister.

She pointed to the siblings. “Adele, Alain, you’ll come back with me to Emprise du Lion.” she said. “We need to inform Duke Blanchard that we just saved his life.”

She walked up to the other two and handed them each a small roll of parchment. “Crimson and Lily, you will both stay here until I give you more orders. Burn these after you read them. Make sure Fen’harel doesn’t send more agents.”

She paused and took a hard look at the faces of her agents.

“I know it just looks like he is merely trying to weaken my alliances. But he is destroying everything you all have built. We built a home in the Dales, where elves are treated as free men. Where we live on our terms, not as second class citizens, but as equal people, woven within the fabric of Orlais. They are our people, yes. I don’t wish to fight them, but they would destroy what we have crafted over twenty years for a foolish ill-conceived attempt at rebellion that will take as many elven lives as they claim to save. What we have is not perfect, but it’s ours. And I’ll defend what we have to the death.”

All four elves nodded at her words with solemn gratitude. Briala saw no hesitation, no twitch of an eye or biting of lips. They were loyal. So far. But being betrayed had burned her too much and she could not help but feel that she was missing something. Not a key or a code. Fabrication or not, the mystery of the freckled elven man still cast a shadow of doubt.

“There’s no doubt here if you’re looking for it, Marquise,” Crimson said with a smile. “We’ll do what needs to be done. We know you will too.”

————————

The tavern was bustling, near bursting at the seams with the sound of drunken merriment. The type of desperate merriment when you have little to lose, and you lose, and you lose more. So you take what you can, and don’t dare hope for more. This was enough, for now. But Alienage streets still simmered with resentment across Orlais. The undercurrent still sullied the mood of the revelers just enough where they could be dangerous.

Katrina sat at the back of the tavern, tracing the rim of her mug of water. A young elven man with greasy blonde hair in pauper’s clothes approached and slipped her a coin, one that marked him as ally, and leader, of the Val Royeaux cell. All of Solas’s agents worked independently, but all knew Katrina. His lieutenant. His closest confidant (or as close of a confidant as Fen’harel kept). Her will was his. Her position, unassailable. Her dedication, unwavering.

And all of his agents stood in awe before her.

The young man bowed deeply, almost touching his own feet. “Lieutenant, it is a great honor…”

“I don’t ask for honor,” Katrina chastised him. “And you shouldn’t grovel at my feet. You are elven. Have some pride.”

The young man straightened up and cracked his knuckles, “You’re right, of course, my apologies, Lady Katrina,” he said with a raspy Orlesian accent as he took a seat.

“Have you heard the news from Emprise du Leon and Halamshiral?”

“Just minutes ago,” he said, his croaky voice barely managing more than a whisper, “Claudette said there’s not a trace of them left. From any of them. Not even bodies. If that’s true then -”

Katrina stopped him, “They’re dead, Jacques. Briala found them out.”

“Briala…” his voice cracked with disgust. “She plays at revolution, but kills more elves than humans.”

“I remember,” Katrina said. She had told the Inquisition long ago. She warned them that the elf who fancied herself Ambassador was no more than Celene’s pet, barely above a bed warmer. In her eyes, Briala was just a high class courtesan. She would jump into the arms of anyone who could give her the power she grasped for.

“If she knows about them,” Jacques whispered, fidgeting in his seat, “then she knows about the rest of us. She can bring us all down. She -”

“Jacques, just change your codes and watch your backs,” she told him, exasperated, “this is just a minor setback. Nothing more, nothing less. They run around dousing small fires but don’t see the blazing inferno on the horizon. Our leader plays a longer game, beyond their understanding and even beyond ours. You must trust him as he trusts us.”

“Of course, of course, of course,” Jacques said, nodding as he spoke, more so as a prayer than a true affirmation.

“Besides,” Katrina said with an icy smile. “Briala may have power and wealth. But we,” she gestured to the patrons in the crowded tavern. “We have the People.”

Katrina rose from the table and slipped her way through the throng of patrons towards the counter, hoisting herself on top of the counter-top despite the tavern keep’s feeble protest.

“Everyone listen up!” she yelled over the din of drunken patrons, “I want to make a toast to all of us!”

The patrons settled down for just a moment, just long enough to entertain whatever drunken rabble they expected.

“For decades, centuries, millenia, we’ve been pushed around, right?” she started, “We’ve been beat down and told we’re less than nothing. We get treated like dirt, like dregs, by humans! All the damn time!”

The racket began to give way to confused murmuring. A heckler yelled at her to get to the fucking point already.

“But you know what? Humans don’t treat us like that because they hate us. They do it because they’re jealous of us. They do it because they are frightened by us!”

She continued, fire in her chest and her voice in a frenzy.

“We conquered Thedas before they arrived! We rose with Shartan and Andraste and brought the Tevinter Imperium to its knees! Our people have defeated Blights! Our people healed the Breach!”

The confused murmuring gave way to a chorus of righteous pride.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m tired of taking shit! I’m tired of being treated like nothing! No, less than nothing! We are more than the humans could ever dream! And one day, we’re gonna show them!”

The righteous pride gave way to raucous cheering. Katrina raised a closed fist and the rest followed suit, a drunken crescendo singing a single verse.

The elvhen will rise again!

————————

“And here is the hero of our hour, Marquise Briala!” Duke Alfonse Blanchard called out as Briala walked through the stained glass doors of his summer chateau and rushed to greet her, taking her hand and leading her inside, her two agents following behind and giving each other an almost-amused look. “I could not have had a more stalwart ally in these troubled times. And your timing is most impeccable.“

He greeted her in a yellow plaidweave waistcoat with tails that almost touched the floor, burgundy heeled boots, and black breeches with a burgundy stripe down the sides, a style, Briala noted, two seasons out of fashion. She maintained her sweet smile despite her horror. With any other person, these crimes of fashion would be nigh unforgivable but he was so charming, so adept at the Grand Game, that one could almost forgive his gaudy tastes. Without his charm, he would have lost his lands and his head like both of his brothers, who were found to be conspiring with the Venatori twenty years prior.

As the four made their way inside to the large marble-tiled and gilded-golden foyer, a group of lesser nobles crowded around them from a balcony that overlooked the foyer. He did make sure to address Briala, of course, but spoke mainly for the crowd.

“I have long supported the free reign of the Dales and through my connections, we have built a partnership built on equity and mutual trust. It is a triumph for us and for Orlais. May our partnership show a new path forward to all who would witness it. And may we celebrate with a toast!”

He raised his crystal glass and drank deeply. The attendees clapped and drank as well as he finished his soliloquy. Briala noticed his northern partners did not clap as enthusiastically and took smaller sips of their toasts versus his smaller, southern supporters.

Her coalition was holding fast, she noted, but it was still too small. The southern duchys noticed the sea change among the Council of Heralds. They knew as long as the Chantry stood behind their Herald of Andraste, the Herald stood behind Briala, and as long as Celene did not move against any of them that their ascension was assured.

The northern neighbors were not pleased. As Briala was falling out of favor with Celene, her center of power around Val Royeaux and the North was growing increasingly hostile. They were her most ardent supporters in the Civil War. Besides outliers like Ghislain, she had almost no Northern support.

If Celene was trying to undermine the Chantry, that could make some Northern allies rush to her side, since the Grand Enchanter had made sure the Council of Heralds was stacked with those most loyal to her. The Southern partners would then jump at the chance to undermine Celene further and expand their own influence. In that way, Celene was stuck, unable to act against Briala more forcefully. But as Natalie and her ilk sought to undermine the Chantry from within, then Celene’s power would grow.

Enough to rid herself of the meddlesome marquise.

Briala milled around and mingled with the guests for a while, examining each gesture and every syllable spoken, building her list of allies and adversaries, those who she could count on and those she could not. Nobles might bend their knees as she greeted them, but every act was a performance on the world’s greatest stage. Her two agents followed, close enough to protect but far enough away to blend into the scenery, to note what she might miss. On this stage, elves were relegated to minor characters, but her agents, along with many other elves, used their invisibility to their advantage.

Even allyship, now matter how publicly declared, was always conditional among the nobility. Like rats on a sinking ship, her allies would scatter at the first sign of trouble. Even Duke Blanchard’s words, no matter how grand, were empty platitudes even if he did feel personal gratitude.

The only true ally she had ever had, who gave her everything and expected nothing, was ‘Manehn.

“I hope you like hot weather,” the Duke said, beaming as he approached, “The Lady Montilyet has invited all her trading partners to a soiree. The Marquise de Serault, the Duke de Ghislain and several others will be there. I’ll make sure you have an invitation.”

“I’m honored.” Briala said, just loud enough for her words to echo, “I did have an engagement with the Comtesse Cosette of Lydes, but I can postpone that for another date.”

She did not have an engagement with Comtesse Cosette of Lydes. This was a public, retaliatory snubbing, payback for her trying to entrap Briala into an inequitable trade deal six months before and for trying to poison her two fêtes ago. As Briala rose, her status would now fall. The two agents noted the Comtesse’s dismay and slightly smiled at her distress. Lydes might start to submit now, if only to save face.

“And do bring the Herald, of course, would you?” the Duke added after a long pause to witness this spectacle. “She just insisted that the Herald come. And it would be quite splendid to have the Savior of Orlais in attendance, don’t you think?”

Briala nodded with a placid smile. “I do.”

————————

Under cover of a moonless night, ‘Manehn and Davhalla arrived back at the Cathedral, saddle-sore from four days of hard riding. They had traded 20 sovereigns for two riding horses in the nearest trade town outside the Brecilian Forest, and had nearly gotten themselves arrested because the local townspeople could not fathom two Dalish elves that could rub two coppers together, much less two Dalish elves with more money than most there saw in a month.

One of Briala’s people, a courier, met them at the gates with a missive and a somber glance.

“News from Kirkwall,” he said as he pressed the letter into ‘Manehn’s hand. She stared at him for several seconds, shaking the note at him, until he realized his error, took the missive back and broke the seal with both of his hands.

“A riot,” he grimly read from the page, “in the Alienage. Troublemakers set fire. Lots dead, mostly elves. Definitely Fen’harel’s doing.”

‘Manehn’s veins turned to ice and her jaw tightened.

“Your daughter is safe,” he added, seeing ‘Manehn freeze, “She’s with our people. She’ll be back in three days. Four if the currents don’t agree.”

‘Manehn breathed an audible sigh of relief as the courier departed.

“I shouldn’t have kept her alone,” she said, shaking her head and rubbing her temple. “I shouldn’t have even taken her to Kirkwall. I don’t even know what I was thinking, getting her involved in this.”

“She’s nineteen now, ‘Manehn. You can’t keep her sheltered forever,” Davhalla said to her. “She’s learning under guidance, structure and without her risking her life unnecessarily.”

“I’ve done nothing but just put her in danger. Repeatedly. What would’ve happened if she couldn’t banish that demon or if Solas’s people had - ”

“She is a Dreamer. She is the daughter of one of the most influential and powerful elves in Orlais,” Davhalla said grimly. “She is always in danger. She needs to be given the tools to defend herself. She needs to learn how to fight, especially given her eagerness to do so.”

“She shouldn’t have to.”

“None of us should have to, but we do anyway, don’t we?” Davhalla said with a yawn and a stretch of her arms as she walked away towards the Apartments.

‘Manehn retired to her room, eager to sleep but equally eager to soothe her rattled nerves. She found two servants and had them draw a hot bath while she undid the straps down her arm and across her chest that latched her dagger to her stump and set it on her desk. As the servants heated the water, she lit a candle, grabbed a magnifying glass, and scanned every inch of her blade. The pins that kept it sheathed were wearing, she noted, and the blade was blunting. She would have Dagna take a look at it.

Later.

She would take care of everything later.

She was too tired for racing thoughts and insomnia tonight. Too tired to take the honey wine that she usually needed to put herself to sleep. If only she could pause time, she thought, then maybe she could know peace. Had it really been so long that a spectre did not shadow her? Whether it was the fate of her clan, her people, or all of Thedas, she did not remember a time where she did not carry a burden. Carrying that burden had weathered her as much, if not more, than the mere passage of time.

She sent the servants away, slipped off her clothes and sunk the bath, savoring the slight sizzle on her skin from the hot water as the filth washed away. She slid further into the tub, propped up her feet and leaned her head slightly back until her hair touched the water. If she slipped further down, she thought, if she submerged herself completely, could she stay there? Could she surrender what glimmer of life remained within her?

She pulled herself back up and shuddered as the cool air hit her skin. She would not succumb.

She pulled herself out of her bath, grabbed a towel and headed to bed. She hoped that for this night, she would sleep well.

#briala #oc lavellan #dragon age fic #da fic #dragon age fanfic #fic by brialavellan

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warofshadowstheorder · 4 years ago

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Chapter 06

Bledsoe bolted up on her cot after being startled awake by the wailing siren. She froze, which always happened when she heard a blaring siren, as she was taken back to a time two years ago when she was with the anti-counterfeiting department. She and her team had been investigating a counterfeiting ring operating within the country, and after months of investigation, surveillance, and undercover work, they had discovered the base of operations for the group and were prepared to strike.

Bledsoe and the rest of the strike team were huddled together inside a van a short distance from the sight as the team leader gave out final instructions and made coordinations with local law enforcement for backup, having not informed them of the raid previously as they suspected corruption and worried that someone within the local departments would tip off their target. Once the team leader finished the final brief, the driver quickly moved for the base.

Once the vehicle stopped, the side door opened and the agents, in full body armor, quickly exited and moved to the door of the house serving as the counterfeiters base. As a few agents scattered around the house to cover possible exits, the team leader moved to the front door.

“This is the United States Secret Service,” the team leader bellowed out, “you’re under arrest! Come out with your hands up!” The agents paused and listened for activity, hearing nothing the team leader turned to an agent armed with a shotgun and gestured him forward. The agent moved ahead of the others, with Bledsoe right behind him, and blew the hinges off of the door. The agent then moved aside for Bledsoe to kick down the door and move in.

Her marksmanship already well known at this point, Bledsoe had been selected to move in first and secure the area. She entered and immediately checked every corner of the front room before announcing it clear and moving toward the next portion. The agents had been briefed that the most likely location for the actual operation was the basement, as they moved toward the staircase that would lead them there, the door swung open and two men brandishing submachine guns emerged.

Bledsoe quickly brought them down with three well-placed shots and prepared to move to the door. What none of the agents had seen was the person hiding in the backroom adjacent to the basement staircase. Without moving from his position, he fired two shots at Bledsoe. The counterfeiters had armed themselves with armor-piercing rounds, this became obvious to Bledsoe and the other team members when the fired rounds pierced her vest and exited through her chest.

Bledsoe’s body went cold immediately as her legs gave out and she fell to the ground. Dropping her weapon, she instinctively brought her hands over the exit wounds and began to go into shock. As this happened, she registered some of the sounds around her. She felt herself being dragged by her ankles away from gunfire and fleetingly saw agents moving down the stairs. When she stopped moving, she was outside on top of the grass in the front yard. She could see two agents looking down on her as they removed her vest and reacted dramatically to the sight of her wounds.

Immediately afterwards, she saw the blinking lights and registered the sound of the siren of an ambulance pulling up and shortly thereafter felt hands firmly pressing down on her chest just above where her hands rested. Her lips trembled involuntarily, as if she were shivering, and she became aware of a doctor attempting to communicate with her. She could hear her talking to her, but couldn’t understand any of the words being spoken. Bledsoe tried to respond, but couldn’t. To her immense fear, she began to feel herself drifting away as if falling asleep.

As she began to balck out, she felt a sensation of warmth in her chest and assumed the worst. The last thing she could remember thinking was, “please, not now.”

Bledsoe hated sirens and the memory they conjured, but she was disciplined enough that the freezing only ever lasted a few seconds. She snapped out of her trans and strapped on her shoulder holster before running outside to find out what was going on. Even though night had fallen, the heat and humidity outside were enough to make someone long for winter. The siren drowned out the nerve-wracking sound of the Cicadas, but also weighed heavily on Agent Bledsoe. She made her way to the source of the noise. Despite the uneven terrain and oppressive heat, she was fit enough that running there wasn’t a problem.

The compound was riddled with activity and orders being shouted. Searchlights panned the facility. Doors burst open spilling out armed men running in all directions. The sound of guard dogs barking added to the prevailing environment of pandemonium. It uncomfortably reminded her of the fiasco at the pavilion, she wondered if this sort of thing followed “Clark Kent” everywhere he went. She looked around and saw Taylor running out of the facility holding a handkerchief over his nose.

“Taylor!” she called out running over to him, “What’s going on out here?”

“When did you slip it to him?” Taylor asked removing the handkerchief for a moment to speak.

“Slip who what?” Bledsoe asked genuinely confused.

“When did you slip your friend Clark Kent whatever he used to get out of the cuffs?”

“You mean,” Bledsoe asked amazed and ignoring Taylor’s accusation, “he’s escaped?!”

“Of course he has,” Taylor said again lowering the handkerchief, “wasn’t that your plan the entire time?”

“What’s your problem?!” Bledsoe said frantically, “Just tell me what happened!”

“Not that it matters to the accomplice,” Taylor started, removing and reapplying the handkerchief, “but after his lawyer left I went back in to try to get him to flush out his accomplice…”

“You didn’t waste time asking him about me did you?!” Bledsoe angrily interrupted.

“Believe me it crossed my mind,” Taylor answered spitefully, “but I was trying to get the other assassin. He kept giving me smart mouth answers, so I went over to beat it out of him. The bastard had freed one of his hands and broke my nose before he knocked me out, got the rest of his irons off and made his way out.”

“He broke your nose again?” Bledsoe asked with a hint of a giggle.

“Shut your goddamn mouth bitch!” he said angrily, “and get the hell out of my sight! So help me God, I will see you ousted from the Service if it takes me the rest of my life!”

Taylor’s words pierced Bledsoe to her core. All she could do was stand and spitefully glare at him, her eyes seeming to penetrate his soul. They soon had enough of their confrontation and felt they had more important matters to attend to. Bledsoe turned her back and hustled off into the darkness. Taylor muttered something and hurried off toward the guards securing the entry gate.

Bledsoe stood where she was and looked out at where Taylor had gone. She was no traitor, but she knew Taylor and how determined and stubborn he could be when he had his mind set on something. She had been content with knowing that at least one of the murderers was in custody, but now that he was gone she couldn’t take it. She wasn’t going to just leave and go on suspension. Knowing that she would be a complete wreck under those conditions, she decided that she would leave in the morning as planned, but not before doing a little sightseeing.

“Why can’t we see him?” one of Odin’s pursuers yelled out, “His jumpsuit should be showing up in the light.”

“If he was wearing it,” came a reply, “the guy knocked out his interrogator, broke into the storage locker, and cleared out all his personals. He’s probably back in that all black getup he was wearing.”

Back in the same clothes he wore at the pavilion and clutching an incendiary grenade he had nabbed from the detention facility, Odin disappeared into the shadows as he ran around the perimeter of the facility to the east end opposite the entry gate, throwing off his pursuers long enough to make his way down to the sea.

He surveyed the night sky, taking in the stars and their positions, before looking back at the detention facility. After scanning the shoreline for landmarks, he pulled the pin on the grenade, turned away from the water, and threw the grenade as far as he could before creeping into the water leaving minimal ripples.

“Look over there,” one of the search party members called out after the grenade had detonated, shooting flames into the air, “head for the flames!”

The search party converged to the flames as if they had been moths, but found nothing. Taylor showed up on the scene just after the advanced guard.

“Where is he?!” Taylor asked already knowing the answer.

“You tell me sir,” one Marine said, “we just got here and you know as much as we do about what happened.”

Taylor paused for a moment and scanned the area, looking for any sign of where Odin had gone. He knew the night sky favored the man on the run, so he figured the best thing to do was remove that advantage.

“Tell the choppers to have their lights on,” Taylor barked out, “I want a perimeter set up with a five mile radius from where we’re standing! Do you have generators?”

“Affirmative sir,” a Marine said, “we could have searchlights set up all along the perimeter.”

“Do it!” Taylor instructed, “We’ve got to catch this bastard before he has a chance to get anywhere near a car, boat, or plane. The only way he’s getting off this island is in a shark’s belly or with an armed guard escort.”

“You heard him!” a Marine captain shouted out, “we need a full perimeter with a five-mile radius from here! We need searchlights and generators along there and I want guards and dogs there before I can recite the Corps motto! Move!”

Choppers and jeeps scrambled in all directions. Marines and MPs moved all over the area setting up the perimeter and doing everything humanly possible to catch their mark. Searchlights were set up at several key points along the perimeter that had been established by Taylor and the others in a matter of minutes, and everyone living anywhere near the bay knew that something was going on.

The helicopters continued to swarm around, their lights panning the ground and the silvery surface of water searching anxiously for any sign of life. But it seemed even the scorpions had gone into hiding with all the commotion. Odin had proven himself to be dangerous at the pavilion, and the details of his escape and what he had been able to accomplish prior to leaving the facility left all who knew about him concerned by what else he was capable of.

After the perimeter was set up, MPs and other Marines were sent from the different points and made their way toward the Detention Facility, checking every scrap of ground along the way. No stone was left unturned, and the search continued unrelentingly. Every different spot returned the same result…no trace.

#novel #action-adventure #fantasy #historical fiction

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queerhargreeves · 5 years ago

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This Brother Thing

Diego can’t stop his hand from shaking like how it used to at 18. Like how it used to before Eudora. He’s just tired. So, so tired. He reached down to pick up the syringe once more, wiping it with the alcohol cloth for the 9th time tonight, and resumed the familiar position.

Diego needs help and he gets it from the most unlikely sibling.

WC: 3k+

TW: needles, internalized toxic masculinity, body dysmorphia, body image issues, implied/referenced past child abuse

“Fuckin’ hell.” Diego cursed under his breath, his hand shaking and the bullet wound in his shoulder grounding him from completely losing his tempter with a dull, constant ache.

The man was currently stood shirtless in front of the bathroom mirror. He was clutching the fleshiest part above his hip with his injured arm and held a syringe in his good one. He took another deep breath and attempted the motion again. But not even a moment later the sound of the needle crashing onto the cool tile floor filled the still air in one of the 42 bathrooms - the one closest to his bedroom. It was 11 PM, almost 12, and Diego Hargreeves here almost forgot to do his T shot for the week. To be fair, this wasn’t your average week, even for the ex-superhero.

The pathetic excuse of a father died, his time-traveling brother came back after 17 years of being gone and returned in the teenage body he left in and he learned that said brother lived through the end of the world for ages and became a killer. And the end of the world has this week. But then his other brother was kidnapped, one of the most important women in his life died trying to save him. Diego killed his mother but his mother came back. His brother became a war vet and was gone for ten months. His assumed ordinary sister had powers and slashed his other sisters throat and she almost died in their arms. And his babiest sister almost destroyed the entire world. But then she didn’t. The Hargreeves lived another day as did the rest of the world. Thanks to the help of his now veteran brother who can conjure ghosts to be physical and his brother that’s been dead for years killed assassins that were after him and the rest of his siblings. But that’s all in their past now. Their new version of normal is all seven of them are all living under the same roof again for the time being, just like when they were kids.

So forgive Diego if his weekly testosterone shot happened to slip from his mind, okay? It shouldn’t be, well it never used to be, this damn hard. Not anymore at least. His fear of needles certainly made this weekly process hell at the beginning of his medical transition - this intimate moment in the bathroom he’s been doing since he moved out all those years ago could last up to two hours at a time. Shaky hands, intense staccato heartbeats, and hitched breaths were too common of an occurrence. But then he met Eudora Patch. And everything changed.

The two met during his second semester of the police academy. He admired her from afar for a good while, too scared to approach the woman. Diego was more than content watching this incredible person answer any and all questions with vigor and a spark in her eye. The way she bit on the inside of her lip when a question challenged her, her pencil beating against her notebook, made his heart flutter. If she didn’t understand a concept in class, she was adamant on making sure she figured it out, class and professors be damned. Diego learned how she was more than capable of standing up for herself. Being a black woman in a very male-dominated, whitewashed environment was certainly not the easiest of experiences. She faced comments daily, not just from her peers but from authority figures as well. But Diego knew he was officially head over heels for her when he watched her spit an ignorant 20 something year old out after he made a comment about how “Eudora the explorer” and “go Diego go” were to better suited for a life behind bars than on the field.

And that was how they officially met. Eudora stood up for him and in return, he bought her a coffee.

And then they went out again the next night and the night after that. But before they went on the third night, Diego needed to get something off his chest before he fell any more. He needed to tell her about his identity. Coming out is never something you do once and it doesn’t really get easier.

He practically bolted out of his last class of the week, beelining right to the classroom across the hall to meet up with Eudora. They made it a habit to meet up after class, but this time felt different and he made it quite obvious. If avoiding her for a week wasn’t telling enough, his constant leg bounce, his fingers playing with the fabric of his sweater sleeves, and the gum-chewing at an impressively fast rate was enough. And Eudora, being the quick woman she was, knew that something was up. She sat Diego down on the bench outside and took his hand in hers, reminding him to breathe with exercises she’s learned. She whispered sweet affirmations as she waited for the man in front of her to collect himself. After what seemed like a lifetime, he finally uttered the words.

“I-I’m trans.” The statement hung heavy in the air, the tears threatening to spill out of Diego’s eyes as he stared at his hand in her lap obscuring his vision. Then, a gentle finger tugged his chin up and soft lips met his very own.

“It’s okay.” She said softly, sealing the deal and leaned in for another sweet kiss. The two fell quickly and madly in love after that. Eudora would help Diego with his shots, taking his shaking hands in hers and kissing his knuckles. She kissed the spot of injection before she sterilized the area, and guided both of their hands to the designated area. She never patronized him for his apprehension, not a single time. She knew this vulnerability was hard for him and she was honored that he trusted her enough with something this intimate. Even after every fight and argument, she would never use his vulnerability against him. She was there every week to help if he needed it. And if he didn’t need the extra assistance, she still checked up on him to make sure he got it done.

However, they were two strong, independent people. Quick-witted and rash. They had a tendency to lash out before thinking, their mouths reacting before their brains. They certainly had their good moments. They had wonderful, healing, amazing moments with one another. They had blissful nights of falling asleep in each other's arms as Eudora traced the scars under his pecs after they finished exploring their bodies together for hours. They had long car rides where the two opened up about the most intimate parts of themselves. Then finishing off the ride by belting out 80’s dance songs at the top of their lungs, windows down and hair blowing in the wind. These kinds of nights made it seem like it was them against the world. It was as if these moments would never end.

But they also had equally as world-shattering, soul-crushing moments. They had nights where they only saw red, both of them quick to react to the other’s fractured egos. Especially when Diego got himself kicked out of the academy. There were plenty of eyes rolled and slamming of doors, conversations left with a bitter taste in their mouths and hearts. There were hurtful words thrown around that had the capacity to cut right through the other as fast as one of Diego’s knives, if not faster. They knew how to hurt each other. And they did hurt one another. But they also loved each other. The two of them continued to play this song and dance for years and years.

But that song was over. Dance finished. Eudora was gone. And she wasn’t coming back.

And now Diego can’t stop his hand from shaking like how it used to at 18. Like how it used to before Eudora. He’s just tired. So, so tired. He reached down to pick up the syringe once more, wiping it with the alcohol cloth for the 9th time so far, and resumed the familiar position.

He took a quick sharp inhale and squeezed his eyes shut. But as quick as that inhale was, the exhale was even quicker. It came out as a strangled groan and the syringe clattered against the floor once more.

“God fucking dammit!” Diego choked out louder than he realized and clenched his fists tight, willing them to stop shaking. He couldn’t stand himself, couldn’t stand how he is no longer able to even take care of himself right now. He should be past this. But he didn’t have Eudora to talk him down. He didn’t have her kind voice and gentle grip to help nor her nagging texts anymore. He didn’t have anyone.

“Oh, my bad. I-”

Diego whipped around in one swift motion, now eye to eye with his biggest brother. He was dressed in a thin grey long sleeve shirt and pajama pants. Oh yeah, his brother who was almost killed on a mission and was injected with Chimpanzee DNA to survive and is now three times the size of a normal human. The brother who had his body horribly mutilated without his consent by their poor excuse for a father.

“Sorry, didn’t realize this was occupied. I can, uh…” Luther trailed off and Diego watched as Luther took in the sight in front of him. Syringe on the floor, Testosterone bottle of to the side, and his brother in near hysterics and barely keeping it together. He looked as if he would fall apart at the softest breeze of wind.

“I-I-I,” Diego quickly snapped his mouth shut, jaw clenching and fists continuing to shake at his sides at an ever faster degree. He threw his head back and burning holes at the ceiling with his eyes, trying his best to regain some sort of composure. Luther didn’t need to see him like this - didn’t need to see him weak. Pathetic, inadequate Number Two.

“Hey, no Di,” Luther started as he softly closed the door behind him, “It’s okay.” He commented with a voice that Diego doesn’t think he’s heard before. At least not in a very, very long time.

“You’re okay… It’s okay.” He gently placed his hand on his shoulder and gave it a light squeeze, desperately hoping Diego believed him even if he wasn’t the best at comforting other people. But Luther didn’t miss the way his brother’s muscled stiffened under his touch. That broke his heart even more.

Luther was also tired. He didn’t want to do this anymore - the fighting and ugly comments. The two were always trying to one-up the other, trying to “out man” and assert their dominance. They have been doing it for the last 20+ years, or as long as their number rankings have been enforced. It was their idea of normal. But if looking death in the eye for the hundredth and most catastrophically devastating time taught Luther anything, it’s that all this petty stuff is useless. He loved his family. He loved Diego.

“I can help. Is...is that alright Diego?” Luther asked cautiously, not wanting to over step any more boundaries than he already has. He eyed Diego for any sort of reaction, which he was not rewarded with. He took a deep breath and removed his hand from his shoulder in the hopes that giving him some space would help.

“It’s not a big deal, I promise. We’ve...we’ve been through a lot, haven’t we?” That earned a small shrug from Diego which Luther considered progress from the almost catatonic state he’s been in since he’s walked in.

“I, uh. After you came out I looked into this sort of stuff.” He paused and took a seat at the edge of the bathtub, “I researched anything I could at the library about trans related stuff, testosterone, surgery, passing, binding. After you left... I made sure Pogo sent you enough money for your transition and stuff. I watched videos of trans people documenting their transition. I’m not an expert by any means but it did help me understand you better. I know trans people have a high rate of...of hurting themselves.” Diego finally met Luther’s eyes, which Luther considered the biggest win yet and he decided to continue. He was already this far off, might as well. Apparently, this whole communicating thing works.

“I want you to know I never thought less of you because of this. And same with your stutter,” Luther added, knowing that was yet another thing Reginald and his brother berated himself constantly for, “You’ve always been unapologetically yourself. You knew who you were such a young age and you always stood up for what you believe in. And that made us butt heads a lot and I’m sorry about that. You weren’t blinded like I was. I have so much respect for you, you know? I want to be better at this brother thing.” Luther sighed and wrung his hands together.

“I-I’m also sorry I made that comment about your job. You’re definitely a lot better at this whole being a ‘real grown-up’ thing than I am.”

And that earned a snort from Diego which Luther couldn’t help but smile at that. The anxious pit in his stomach lightened.

“You’re already getting better at this brother th...th-” Diego stopped for a moment, eyes locked with Luther. And he didn’t see a trace of judgment or a hint of mockery. All he saw was patience. “Thing.”

Luther gave a small nod, a faint smile ghosted on his lips.

“And I meant it when I said I can help you with your shot.”

“I-”

“I know you’re capable of doing it yourself. But with your gunshot wound and everything that’s happened this week...it’s okay. To accept some help I mean.” Luther couldn’t help but hold his breath ever so slightly. This was more emotions and vulnerability they’ve shared in the last 10 minutes than the pair has shared over the last 29 years.

“O...Okay. You can - you can help.” Diego finally spoke after a moment. His voice shook as he still sounded cautious, but the act of him letting Luther do this for him alone spoke enough for the bigger man.

A wave of relief washed over Luther as he stood and gave Diego’s good shoulder another squeeze. He bent down and picked up the syringe on the floor and carefully placed it down on the bathtub next to him. He quickly opened the cabinets next to Diego’s head.

“Should probably sterilize this one more time,” Luther said as he grabbed a cotton swab and alcohol. In a few swift motions, he managed to dab the alcohol onto the swab and placed the items back in the cabinet. Wordlessly, he picked up the syringe and cleaned the needle as well as the area above Diego’s skin. If Luther didn’t know where to inject the red fingerprint marks on his skin certainly helped plenty.

He washed his hands before picking up the needle again and dropped down to his knees to get a better angle. He had his left hand on the area above Diego’s hip and the syringe in his right hand. Being 6’5 didn’t make this an easy angle, but he was willing to do whatever he needed to do to make this go as smoothly as possible for his brother.

“Okay, I’m gonna touch you now,” Luther warned gently placed his hands around the area so he didn’t jump at the contact. Diego looked down for a moment and nodded, braced himself with still shaking hands.

“I’m going to count down from three and go for it at one. Sound good?” Luther watched as his brother gulped, eyes squeezed shut. But still no answer.

“If you can’t say yes or no, can you give me either a nod or a shake of the head?” He pressed gently.

Diego took a deep sigh, and another one, before finally nodding.

“Okay, here we go.” Luther raised the syringe right above the flesh he grasped between his fingers.

“Three, t-” Luther quickly injected the syringe before he could even finish the word, pushed down at the plunger, and just as quick as it started he pulled the sucker out.

“Okay!” Luther breathed out, getting up from his spot on the floor and finding the needle cap and putting it back on.

“You did good, Di.” He gave the shorter man a soft smile and an affirmative nod.

Diego finally breathed out the air he didn’t even realize he was holding. He stared down at the injection site without saying a word before pulling the rest of his shorts up. Not a drop of blood. He didn’t even feel a pinch.

He finally looked back at Luther, his blue eyes and smile comforting his residual nerves. He opened his mouth for a second before shutting it once more. He gave a small shake of his head and wasted no time in wrapping his good arm around his blonde brother.

Luther let out a tiny squeak, his arms hovering above his brother's shoulders in the air. He couldn’t help but flinch at the sudden touch, not used to anyone wanting to get this close to his new body. He wasn’t a fan of this new body so why would anyone else be?

“If-If it’s okay for me, it’s okay for y...you too, Lu.” Diego muffled into his shoulder, tightening his grip to show him as such. It’s okay. It’s okay.

Luther relaxed ever so slightly and let himself be held. He slowly dropped his arms and wrapped them gently around Diego, careful not to justle his hurt arm.

This? This felt nice, foreign as it is. He loved his brother. And his brother loved him. They were taught that emotions were a weakness. They were taught that intimacy and vulnerability are things that deserved to be shunned - something they should be ashamed of. But this new, radical concept of trying to rebuild their relationships as a family is the best thing that has ever happened in their lives. The Hargreeves are going to be

#diego hargreeves #trans diego hargreeves #luther hargreeves #luther protection squad #luther positivity #the umbrella academy #the umbrella academy fic #fanfiction #tua

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randomguywithwords · 5 years ago

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As The Dust Settles: Chapter 9 (Dabi X Geten Slowburn)

Previous Chapters: 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1

Geten barged into the room.

Trumpet eyed her through his tinted glasses. “Apocrypha. To what do I owe the pleasure?” He said coolly.

“I know about Takame. Why is he under me, why do I not know about him, and what do you and Skeptic know that I don’t?” She slammed the door behind her.

“So many questions. Ever the curious one, aren’t you?” Trumpet got up from his chair, sighing. “To answer them: Shigaraki made the call, not me, to assign him to your squad. You might not have known because you’ve simply been becoming more nearsighted. Losing your touch, perhaps?”

“No meta ability was listed on the database. Takame’s was omitted. It’s not you, nor Skeptic’s, to oversee this mistake, is it?” She pushed on with her questioning.

“We’re all flawed. Do pardon my error, won’t you? And it is my error, not Chikazoku’s. Leave him out of this.” Putting his hand on his heart, he gave a bow towards her. She balled her fist at this mockery.

“Your theatrics might work on the masses, politician, but not on me. We both know why you’re hiding him – them, from me.” She growled.

“Then I have no need to explain them to you.” Trumpet pushed his glasses up, fixating her with a cool stare.

“You’re trying to remove me from my position, aren’t you?” The words burst from her mouth in her fury, and desperation. She needed to hear the affirmation, even though she knew that it was mutual knowledge.

She wanted him to say yes, but no – he laughed, the sound of glee melting her hardened glare.

“So afraid...so, so afraid,” He said. “You must be mistaken, Apocrypha. I’m simply protecting them. For their safety.”

“From me?”

“Yes…” A flicker of annoyance passed over his face before he smiled ruefully once more. “From you.”

The silence that followed only heated the tension in the room.

Kill him. Quickly. He’s threatening you. She would have, but she recalled what Dabi had said about Shigaraki. Would she be punished if she killed Trumpet right now?

He’s lying. Dabi. Shigaraki. Trumpet. They’re all deceiving me.

She raised her right arm.

Trumpet immediately swung his right arm forward. A band on his wrist expanded and morphed into…

As Geten brandished her icicles at the politician, she found a gun aimed directly at her forehead.

“Bastard.” She whispered. “Guns aren’t part of meta abilities. This violates what we stand for.”

“I don’t take chances.” Trumpet’s eyes were narrowed. “I had Skeptic make one for me. After all, my meta ability has no effect on you.”

“Also, what do we stand for, Apocrypha? What is becoming of our army, now that our supreme leader is dethroned, and in his place, a boy?” He continued, his voice rising, cadence building. “While we establish a new army from the old, and pretend that order is present, I don’t see the same within us lieutenants. Then again, I never did even when Re-destro was in power.” He rested a finger on the trigger.

“If you kill me,” Geten blurted out, her heart thumping against her chest, “Shigaraki will kill you. Will you take that chance?”

One second passed. “No,” he answered. Then he enunciated his next words, as clear as her ice. “Leave.”

Geten stared at Trumpet the same way she would stare at a wolf. Her expression was like iron, as was his. His gaze bore into her. Show no weakness, she told herself.

She took a step backwards.

She wasn’t afraid. She knew she had the same amount of leverage as he did. One discreet movement of her fingers, and he would be impaled against the wall. The same could be said about her. One step back.

She was not afraid. Trumpet had never killed a man before, much less fought. She was the highest ranking soldier in the Front. He would never pull the trigger. He was bluffing. One step back.

She had never been afraid of Trumpet. The man cowered behind his cannon fodder and meat shields, barking orders to them, while she fought with a vengeance and had seen blood spilt a thousand times. He’d probably vomit at the sight of a corpse. One. Step. Back.

Her fingers felt for the door handle, grasping blindly. Had she even blinked once the whole time?

His hand is shaking. He’s going to shoot! She screamed at herself, her skin prickling upon sensing danger. Alarm bells rang in her head. But she forced her hand to stay. She kept staring at him.

His face remained impassive throughout. The politician had perfected his mask, but Geten saw through it. He was panicky, terrified of her power and superiority over him. That made him unstable. He was not a calm assassin, but a boy wielding a gun. It made him dangerous.

She found the doorknob. She paused. Will the creaking startle him? Will he shoot? Put up a wall, damn it. She kept her hand steady.

The door opened. She took a last step back and moved to the left in a swift motion. There was no loud bang. No pain in her chest. What did it even feel like to be shot? She began to walk in that direction, her legs moving faster than her mind could tell it to.

She walked, her pace brisker than normal. Her heart was beating...her hands were shaking, her legs felt as though they were liquefying, but she didn’t make a sound nor stop walking.

Finally, she turned the corner. She collapsed on the floor and exhaled the breath she had been carrying. The breath came out in a horrid gasp, with tears spilling down her face. She quickly looked to the left and right. No one.

Placing a hand on her heart, she took deep breaths, breathing as though she had resurfaced on land after an eternity underwater.

Then she pulled herself against the corridor wall, tucking her knees towards her, and permitted herself to sob into them.

She thought, I’m scared. God, I’m scared.

...

Why?

–––––

The crimson feather at the top of the corridor where Geten was vibrated with the most minute of movements, relaying the sounds back to the winged hero, who was walking right below Apocrypha. He listened to her.

Hm, guess she’s afraid of guns. Problem solved, he joked with himself. The humour went sour at the thought of whose expense it was at, as well as the controlled sobs that both dampened his mood and confused him.

He’d marked Apocrypha as one of the more dangerous soldiers on his list, having heard of the sheer power of her quirk from other Deika residents and from Twice. He had rattled on about how she had unleashed a massive glacier that killed both friend and foe during the battle, in order to eliminate his army of clones. Bubaigawara had said it as one of his jokes – Hawks assumed – that he had both cried and laughed at, and while Hawks had chuckled in return, a chill went down his spine at the thought of such a soldier fighting the heroes.

She had seemed so merciless and – to his disgruntlement at the unintentional pun – cold, that hearing her cry was odd. Why was she crying? If he was to believe the stories surrounding this mysterious figure under a hood, Apocrypha had faced hundreds or thousands in combat and probably looked death in the eye many times, something he himself could attest to.

And now here she was, just a few metres above him, sobbing in what he assumed was fear. He was tempted to ask her, but decided against it. Doing so would either stoke more animosity or suspicion. As far as she knew, he was on the League of Villains, the group she considered an enemy.

Still, it seemed that the MLA was no longer her home either. Hawks knew Apocrypha no longer followed Re-destro, albeit she still subscribed to the beliefs of the latter’s father. She said as much during that contemplation of hers. He shook his head. Poor girl.

And judging from her earlier interaction with one of the other lieutenants, Hanabata, he doubted her loyalties lied with anyone in particular. In essence, she was blindly following a path she had been misled into in the first place.

Perhaps, and this was a far-fetched idea, even to himself, if he could convince her to join him, the heroes would have a powerful ally when the fight came. Still, his mission was unchanged, and she was not on his list of priorities.

It was someone else within the PLF.

–––––

3/6/20 Update: Because of the retcon I edited this chapter.

#bnha #mha #bnha fanfic #bnha fanfiction #mha fanfic #mha fanfiction #bnha dabi #mha dabi #bnha geten #mha geten #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #dabiten #dabi x geten #dabixgeten #geten #ATDS

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sarriane · 5 years ago

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it's interesting to see so much meta about 'the timeless children,' still, and considering all of the reviews, kneejerk reactions, criticism, love, hate, anger... it just makes me come back to the idea of how it's an attempt to restructure and recenter the show. whether it's a bad or good attempt is one fandom is never going to agree on (fandom never agrees on anything). but every little piece i see about it, every reaction kind of brings to light how it both suceeded and failed.

there's so much in the racial + gender dynamics to pull apart, places where they failed, places where they did well. i think it's the problem with a show that is still so white and so dominated by men, that while they're making an effort towards diversity, there's so many fatal missteps. things in the script that seemed innoculous in another circumstance are entirely changed when you add in identity factors.

(why would you cast a south asian actor and then put him in a nazi uniform? while it's great they cast an actor of color in a classic role, one who was clearly the perfect choice, it's also an unfortunate consequence that we now see the familiar racist image of a man of color "menacing" a white woman. thanks.)

it's not a problem limited to dr who, either -- i remember when kelly sue deconnick finished her run on her first volume of captain marvel, the villain was a genius scientist, and a woman of color. one fan commented (paraphrased): 'hey, i finally saw myself in your comic book - and i was the bad guy.' i remember KSD said something like "i thought all representation was good representation?" and she noted it, and i did too. again and again, we see this: creators in positions of privilege trying to provide representation, but falling short because of the racism, and misogyny, and bigotry they haven't unlearned.

and it's not easy. i certainly don't know how to write a story about a villain of color and a white woman and avoid any pitfalls -- perhaps the solution is to leave those stories to people who are actually from those racial backgrounds, or have those identities. but how to do that when the people in power making casting + writing decisions are white men? obviously, dr who needs more people of color working in it. it needs more women's voices, more queer voices. but even that's not a solution. RTD and JNT definitely didn't have eras free of homophibia and transphobia.

(we get this shit with queer-coding, too, which is why i've never advocated for doctor/master to become canon. i will happily read a million fics exploring the relationship, but i don't want to see the master portrayed as a predatory gay, thanks. and i don't want to see the doctor portrayed as a man caught in an abusive relationship, eventually ending with him literally keeping his romantic interest locked up and isolated while he tries to reform/brainwash her. i'm not into warden/prisoner porn, thx.)

i'm still working on my ideas about how/why doctor who has been irrevocably changed by 'the timeless children,' because the reviews aren't all bad. there are very much people who feel seen. in my opinion, it's very very difficult to take a show that's centered around england and turn it into a post-colonial narrative. dr who has hosted a variety of political opinions over the years, and so has the doctor (don't fucking @ me about kill the moon). in 2020, it's hard to continue to write the story of the doctor as a voice for the repressed when he's an old white man from a planet of "lords," that are a bunch of other old white men. at some point, it's another goddamn white savior narrative with a mansplainer at the center. (note that whittaker's casting does not solve this, but at least it's a start, i suppose? ugh, give us more jo martin!!)

so, the doctor is a woman now, and she has a history where she has been victimized, but she's overcome that. the knowledge of that does not victimize or martyr her, it allows the doctor to recenter herself in the narrative as a voice for the oppressed because she's been there.

i wish i could say that the show treated the jo martin incarnation with the respect she deserved, but even then, she's once again the Wise Old Black Woman trope. she goes from her character in 'fugitive of the judoon,' a doctor in her own adventure who refuses to let another co-opt her story, to a literal support character, the good angel on the doctor's shoulder reminding her who she is. and while it's nice to see a black woman doctor affirm who the doctor is -- she's affirming it to a white doctor. she's a prop. it's such a devastating waste of the character.

'the timeless children' reminds me a lot of captain marvel, and i think some of its failures are in that thirteen is not a Big Damn Hero. it's difficult to suddenly turn the privileged renegade into the timeless child, but also push the classic idea of: "should we trust the doctor?" because we shouldn't! she isn't a superhero. she isn't carol danvers, she has never had a history of fighting for everything she has - everything was handed to the doctor, including when he took the TARDIS and ran away. there's a note in an essay someone wrote in the 70's about 'the deadly assassin,' that showing us gallifrey takes the "who" out of "doctor who." for as much as the 'timeless children' tried to reclaim that, some of the questions it leaves us about the doctor are not pretty. especially when she lets an old, kind man die in her place (and grandpa joe from derry girls, for shame).

(on a wider note, in 50 yrs, will media criticism talk about the period of third/arguably fourth wave feminism in scifi? where white blonde women were treated like science experiments so empires could be built on their backs? but they refused victimhood and became heroines, standing up for those who canmt protect theirselves? which is great, except for the "white, blonde" element and the fact that this narrative, if it becomes a trend, is literally coopting parts of african american history.)

i hate that i have to settle for what we have, because i think media can always be better, and we deserve better, and they should try better. i've seen it said before that doctor who can't break down barriers, since it's a kids' show that airs before 8pm and has to be centrist enough to appeal to a wide audience. i think that sentiment is a little naive of what science fiction actually is and does. whatever the case, it seems clear to me that the next season of doctor who needs to involve more people of color in the cast + crew, and more women, and more queer folks. and it makes me aware of something much more in my control - that i've seen very few responses to the episode from fans of color. and i'm really not sure how to find these voices and amplify them, other than to follow and reblog, and listen.

i hope one day to reform these thoughts into something resembling proper media criticism, but i think it will take time, and revisiting old and new who, and probably seeing how the next special treats the reveals from 'the timeless children.' i've got so many thoughts about s12 and gender and race and the writing's almost "colorblind" approach to it all, and i never expected this to get longer than a paragraph long rant. there's just too much to talk about.

#dw #sarah has thoughts

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ichigopanhpff · 5 years ago

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BNHA Fic: Blink! Ch. 15

Read Ch. 14 | Masterlist

SPOILER ALERT: More character development time!

Warnings: Bullying theme, mild violence.

Full backstory time with Ren! There’s not much S4 spoiler stuff here.

The six first years unceremoniously filed in and stood around as Ren gently closed her door to her room. Their attention was briefly distracted by the box in the middle of the floor.

“Senpai, what’s this?” Uraraka asked, eyeing the packed item.

“Something to show later. Please, sit,” she requested. Spacing was a little cramped but they all managed to give one another enough room to move about. Ren settled in between Asui and Kirishima, inhaled a deep breath and hovered her palm over her chest.

“I just… need a moment,” she mumbled out. “Nerves.”

“Take all the time you need,” Kirishima consoled with kind red eyes looking her way.

Another short beat of silence went by, her uneasiness settled little by little.

“This goes without saying, but I’m telling you all this in confidence,” Ren affirmed with seriousness. “So whatever’s been said here stays here. You’re in my circle of trust now.”

The group nodded solemnly before she continued.

“As I told you some of you before, Chisaki Kai killed my dad and brother when I was eight while I was still living in California...” she reiterated. Bakugou and Todoroki’s faces showed surprise when hearing that statement. “He found out my dad was a double agent working for the U.S. and Japanese government.”

“So your name–” Todoroki unconsciously blurted out, already knowing what she was going to say. Ren looked up at the group with clear eyes.

“My name before I moved to Japan was Remy Hayes-Takahiro,” she exposed. “My dad was Takahiro Rennosuke.”

“Takahiro Rennosuke?” Midoriya questioned. “He doesn’t sound familiar at all.”

“That’s because the government here and in America redacted all the documents pertaining it,” she revealed. “Including our hyphenated family name. He wasn’t a well-known hero, per se, and was more of a government agent who had a great reputation with his codename, Spectre.”

“But why would they do that?” Kirishima asked.

“The case he was working on was tracking leads on quirk-boosters and find out what he could on the rumored quirk nullifiers. His objective was to build a relationship with a high-profile buyer and seller; like a middleman of sorts,” she explained. “The goal was to uproot them and shut down the entire chain. I’m sure he’s even worked with FatGum at one point. There were only a handful of people on his team who were aware of this sting and wasn’t on any official documents.”

“It was a black operation then,” Bakugou summarized. “If anyone caught wind of it, lots of people’s lives would be compromised.”

“Exactly.” She took a short breath before continuing. “Not long after the op started, he’d been put in contact with Chisaki Kai and started making a name for himself as ‘Kuronuma Isamu.’ Can’t get any bigger than that, right? I’m sure he had to do things he wasn’t proud of while undercover. I remember seeing his face being void of emotions whenever he came home for a few days; It was like a bit of his soul died.”

“What was your dad’s quirk?” Todoroki asked.

“’Invisible Man’. The perfect quirk for covert missions and assassinations,” she robotically answered. “I’ve inherited a small part of it, but I can’t will myself to disappear completely like he did. Mine is more dependent on light refractions and how I can blend myself to the space like camouflage.”

Feeling her emotions start to bubble up talking about her dad, she wiped the lower half of her face with her hand and rolled her lips in. Asui placed a comforting hand on the small of Ren’s back.

“Take a breath, ribbit,” she soothed. “We know this is hard for you.”

She softly nodded and gave a thankful look to the frog-like girl and lightly breathed through her nose.

“When he was close to completing the mission, someone leaked his identity to one of Chisaki’s men in his officer’s circle.” She gritted her teeth in anger. “And just like that, the whole operation was abandoned and all his contacts went dark. A year’s worth of work completely gone. None of the higher-ups could do anything about it. They just… let him take the fall.”

A single tear dropped down on the floor. She hastily wiped the trail away and sniffled. Ren was using everything she had to hold back the pain throbbing in her heart.

“The Hassaikai found out where we lived, who we were, everything...” Her voice was barely a whisper now and swallowed hard. “My dad hurried back that night and told us what happened. We packed what we could to escape, but they were just too fast.”

Her whole body visibly shook and hugged herself. Ren tried calming herself down with loud, shuddering breaths through her mouth to get through the rest of the story as tears freely streamed down her cheeks.

“They burned our house to try to smoke us out...” She struggled to speak through her hiccups. “My dad and brother, Jun, who was only eleven at the time, stayed behind to fight them off. I tried to grab his hand to come with me, but… I froze in fear. I couldn’t do anything and he was right within my reach...”

By now, Ren had completely broken down and covered her face with her hands, palms moist from the uncontrollable tears pouring out.

“If only I wasn’t so timid and scared then... If only I had more willpower to reach my hand out… he’d still be alive,” Ren whimpered through her broken sobs. “All he did was look back, flashing a scared smile at me while crying himself. He said… ‘I’ll be fine. Because I’m a hero.’”

The deafening silence rung out in the room while she breathlessly sobbed to the point of hyperventilating and coughing. Everyone got misty-eyed and wiped them away save for Bakugou and Todoroki, who gave her a softened sympathetic glance. Were they in her position at that young of an age, what would they have done? Would they fight or listen to their parents?

The six gave her a chance to calm down before finishing the story. Ren looked back up with wet eyes and a completely red nose with discharge trying to leak out.

“All I remember was hearing gunshots after my mom grabbed me and ran out,” she continued between her hiccups and swallowed hard. “And from the corner of my eye, I saw Chisaki going after her. Even though I was scared to death... My body moved on its own and I managed to at least push her away to safety as he grabbed me instead...”

She slowly pulled down the collar of her thin sweater along with her bra strap, revealing a faded hand-like shaped scar on her left shoulder and looked away in shame. Their breaths audibly hitched in their dry throats. Uraraka clasped her mouth with both her hands. Midoriya’s breathing shook with nervousness as his eyes widened.

“He used Overhaul on me…” She paused, vividly remembering the smell of iron from her blood and searing white hot sensation. It was like being branded as livestock. Pieces of her flesh stripped away cell by cell in front of her very eyes. The pain after was like raking a fiery barbed wire doused in rubbing alcohol on an open and extremely tender wound.

“The doctors said it was nothing short of a miracle I still had a functioning arm after all the surgeries to fix the muscular and nerve damage…”

Her shaky right hand pulled the collar back up and adjusted it, lightly squeezing her marred shoulder.

“I always thought this scar was the physical embodiment of my sin and I hated myself for it. A small part of me hoped once I got Chisaki, it’d disappear for good… But he’ll always be a part of me no matter what. Just like Eri…”

Ren’s gaze briefly met Midoriya’s look of grief before closing her eyes.

“… What happened after?” the freckled boy managed to squeeze his words out through the dark and thick atmosphere.

“The cops and firefighters showed up, but most of the big players of Hassaikai got away. I was in and out of consciousness from the pain. All I could make out through blurry eyes was my mom screaming for help and putting pressure on my shoulder so I wouldn’t bleed out. While we were in the hospital recovering, a whole investigation happened with local law enforcement. And then, it was all over the news...” Ren trailed off and closed her eyes.

“Takahiro Rennosuke under the alias ‘Kuronuma Isamu’ got labeled as a dirty government agent who was bribed with laundered money from quirk-boosting drug sales. That was their way in keeping their hands clean. After that, the bullying at school started…”

Her eyes soon turned lifeless upon remembering these dark memories as her heart went numb.

“People who I thought were my friends stayed away. They called me ‘Scummy Remy’ and thought I was dirty like my dad; some even said I should’ve died in the fire,” she bitterly spat out. “Classmates threw away my books, wrote all over my desk… One kid with a lava quirk melted away my gym uniform and sneakers… The teachers didn’t even bother to hide their disgust. Somewhere along the way, I believed those words and stopped going to school.”

Feeling her legs lose feeling from sitting cross-legged, she adjusted her body and hugged her knees. Midoriya subtly gripped his fists just a little tighter with a pained expression, empathizing how it felt to be treated as lower than a human being because of things outside their control.

He’s reminded once more how cruel the world could really be. Bakugou glanced over at his childhood friend and looked back, feeling ashamed at his past self.

“My mom was getting ostracized at work too, but she at least had a few good people in her corner to get through it. Even after everything, she was trying her best with me, but nothing worked. And I’ve made her cry so many times because of it…”

Ren’s eyes reflected guilt and regret, letting out an audible sigh.

“After the “investigation” wrapped up, my dad’s boss dared come to the safe house we were staying at. She greeted him a firm slap to the face and cursed him out. That was the first time I’ve ever seen her extremely angry.”

She let out a wry chuckle from that memory, her eyes unfocused.

“Aside from the usual ‘my condolences’ bullshit, he came to deliver us a proposal from the higher ups: Start over in Japan under an asylum claim. That was their make good with us. The only trade-off was we don’t exist. Victoria and Remy Hayes-Takahiro never existed. At that point, we had no more cards to play nor did we have anything else to lose. So my mom agreed.”

“You chose ‘Ren’ as your new name...” Todoroki assumed.

The pink haired girl softly nodded and placed her hand over her heart.

“To keep my dad alive through me.”

“Did they ever find the person who leaked the information?” Bakugou asked.

“From what I was able to find out, that agent was found dead in a ditch four days later. By whose hands, it’s anybody’s guess.”

“’Find out?’” Uraraka questioned.

“Open the box.”

Midoriya and Kirishima reached in and took out the ledger notebook, bound old photographs and the framed family photo of the four of them.

“After the dust settled with the legalities and our citizenship, I did my own investigation,” she divulged and proceeded to tell them the entire story of her childhood escapades and run-in with Eraserhead, Fourth Kind and Gang Orca.

“I can’t believe you called Aizawa-sensei a ‘mophead’,” the spiky red-head snickered and covered his mouth from laughing, despite the gloomy atmosphere. “That’s pretty amazing.”

“I’m sure Tomoe and Seri filled in the blanks with how we met then?”

“The general idea of it, yeah,” Midoriya replied softly.

“Then fill me in,” Bakugou butted in. “I wasn’t there.”

While the group busied themselves with conversation and sifted through her relics, Ren excused herself to clean up in the bathroom. Huffing a heavy breath, she pulled her head up and stared at herself in the mirror after flipping the light switch on.

Her hair was completely disheveled like she just rolled out of bed; her hazel-green eyes were bloodshot, red and puffy from all the crying. A dry crust of fresh discharge coated the bottom of her nose; the tip was completely red with matching blotches scattered across her fair skin. The scar on her shoulder was peeking out of the slouchy sweater she was wearing.

In short, she looked like hell and then some.

Turning the faucet on, she waited for the water to get warm enough to splash it on her face a few times. Feeling satisfied with the amount of wetness, she killed the running water and blindly felt for her hanging face towel to wipe the droplets off. Sighing again, she checked herself once more to make sure she was semi-presentable again to her guests outside.

Making her way back to her spot, Ren let out a light groan as she sat back down. A steady but comfortable silence filled the void as the group thumbed through the old ledger book. Kirishima slowly went through the photos one by one.

“You really didn’t hold back,” Bakugou was impressed with her meticulousness and carefully flipped the pages. “You even got down the schedules of each group’s patrol around their turf.”

“I was going to use that when I was old enough to stay out late to tail them.”

She unconsciously reached out to grab the frame of her family photo off of the floor and cradled it with her hands, something she used to not be able to do. The emotional weight of it was too heavy for her to lift before. Even touching it would make her shake violently back then.

But having seen through this to the end, her heart felt a lot lighter. Uraraka and Asui peered over her shoulders to see four people sitting in front of a house on the small front lawn, smiling at the camera. Her dad was a tall and lanky man with jet black hair wearing casual clothing, her mom with the same hair color as Ren leaning on his shoulder. Her brother had their dad’s hair but their mom’s smile. He and the younger form of herself linked arms, grinning ear to ear.

It was a home and family that no longer existed nor could she go back to.

“What kind of person was your brother?” Asui enquired. Being the oldest sibling in her family, she sincerely empathized with her upperclassman’s story.

“Jun was… stubborn, but patient and kindhearted,” she remembered with a small smile on her lips. “He was competitive, but never boastful. And had a strong sense of justice. His presence was always there to reassure people.”

Ren’s face softened at the memory and fresh as if it happened seconds ago.

“I was actually scared of my quirk when it first manifested because I couldn’t control it,” she revealed. “I was in the middle of my piano class one day and next thing I knew, I was in the middle of a busy street in California scared out of my mind and crying my eyes out in front of strangers.”

The pink haired girl paused briefly and covered the lower half of her face, cringing from embarrassment.

“Jun heard what happened and comforted me after I got home. While he did that, he told me something to help me control Flicker; I still use it today.”

“And that is?” Midoriya asked.

“‘Find a point and mark it your home.’”

“So what was his quirk?” Uraraka asked.

“He could generate a sonic-scream with his voice that could double as sonar. Drove my mom nuts whenever he sang or yelled excitedly.”

“That sounds like a really cool one,” Kirishima remarked. “He would’ve made an awesome hero.”

“If he was alive today, he’d probably be a sidekick to someone.”

Asui and Uraraka analyzed the photo and focused on her parents.

“You really do look like your dad,” Uraraka noticed. “Especially your nose.”

“I’ve been told that,” she let out a small chuckle with a matching smile. “I got my mom’s eyes and temper though.”

“Is it that bad?” Todoroki asked.

“It’s pretty bad,” Midoriya and Kirishima both firmly stated. Ren promptly face palmed, remembering what happened at the briefing at Nighteye’s agency and groaned.

“She went off on a pro-hero,” the green-haired boy squeaked out. “In English. I thought they were gonna kick us out.”

“The guy was pretty much puttin’ us down and calling us extra luggage,” Kirishima defended. “Senpai verbally tore him a new one.”

“We made good though,” Ren casually tossed that fact in there.

Bakugou was impressed and let out a smirk. “Never thought you had it in you, considering how timid you were with me.”

“That was my poor attempt in trying to be polite,” she deadpanned.

“I smelled that bullshit from a mile away,” the spiky blond boy retorted as she pressed her lips down into a fine line.

“So what are you going to do with all this stuff now?” Midoriya asked, gesturing to the contents.

Ren stared at it in deep thought and suddenly blurted out, “Burn it.”

“What?!” they all exclaimed.

“Heh, now you’re speakin’ my lingo,” the explosive boy encouraged with a wide grin and excited red eyes.

“But you put so much effort into—” Asui tried to reason, only to be cut off.

“It was my anger and sorrow I put into this.” She placed a hand on top of the ledger and stroked the aged leather cover with her thumb. “It’s given me nothing but lingering bad memories. And it’s served its purpose. Let the past stay in the past.”

“Are you sure though?” Todoroki calmly asked. “They may have been bad memories, but they made you into who you are today.”

“If I leave it here, someone might find it and I’d get in trouble,” she reasoned. “No one knows this exists except the ones I’ve told and those three pro-heroes.”

A heavy sigh emitted from their noses as they stared at the scattered items. They knew she was right and felt they weren’t at a place where they could argue with her.

“If you’re sure… I’ll help you burn it,” the bi-coloured haired boy finally spoke up. He looked at his left hand and back to Ren. “Just let me know when.”

She gave a soft, thankful nod in his direction and let out a loud breath.

“I loaded some pretty heavy stuff on you guys, didn’t I?” The corner of her lips curved upward in a lopsided direction and rubbed the back of her neck.

“Not exactly relaxing weekend talk, if that’s what you mean,” Kirishima chimed in with an awkward smile and scratched the back of his head.

“You asked for it,” she light-heartedly noted.

“I did, didn’t I?” the spiky red-head sheepishly replied with a toothy grin.

With the room getting stuffy with the amount of people in there, she opened the door only to see eavesdroppers piled on top of one another with protruding limbs. One of them looked up and revealed Kaminari’s face.

“O-oh, h-heeeeyyyy, senpai,” he timidly stuttered out as he met the livid death glare of their resident advisor. “Fancy seein’ you here.” The others shuffled below him as a means to escape, revealing Ashido and Sero.

Midoriya, Kirishima, and Uraraka’s face had shock written all over it, while Bakugou’s exasperated expression had him groan aloud. Todoroki and Asui, as always, were stoic. Ren immediately slammed her fist into her palm, audibly cracking her knuckles.

“How much did you hear?” she growled out through gritted teeth.

The group stammered and froze in fear.

“HOW. MUCH.” She repeated in a much harsher tone.

“From when you started crying?” the electric blond boy squeaked out.

“Fuck,” she hissed out in English.

“Oh no,” Kirishima blurted out.

“’Oh no?’” the group repeated with a look of extreme fear reflecting in their eyes.

“You… might want to run now,” Uraraka quietly suggested. “I’ll pray for your safety.”

“Now, w-wait a moment please,” Ashido stammered out and held an arm out, trying to crawl backwards. “We only did this because we got worried.”

“Not my problem,” she raged on. “I’m sure your parents taught you better than this.”

The infuriated pink-haired girl glowered down at the perpetrators, looking like a demon with a grin to match her current persona.

“This is what I do to nosy people.”

And that was when class 1-A knew the full extent of the Takahiro Special when the three member of the Bakusquad showed up in the common room the next day with scattered bandages and gauze all over their face and limbs.

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mako-neexu · 6 years ago

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Sweet ebony lies

(Dazai was tired. Emotionally and mentally. It's taking a toll on him and this time... He finally snapped)

This song inspired me, and it really suits Dazai, or at least that's what I think. Btw this is part one! So idk this may be triggering to some of you, the warning is Dazai himself. So be careful. I realized the Ada couch is in somewhere the agency so just imagine that the couch is near Kunikida and atsu's desk.

okaaaay hope you enjoyed this thing I wrote. To be posted on ao3 once part two is out.

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

How boring.

How utterly boring.

Dazai shifts his position in the couch and wills himself to slumber. There was the rustle of paper and clothing, his co-workers talked to each other, discussed the cases and their lives, they smiled softly at one another. He presses his cheek further into the couch.

He can't sleep.

Dazai turns to Kunikida and emits the most annoying groan he's ever uttered to agitate the blonde. "Dazai, if you're bored, there's always paperwork at your desk." He said without so much a glance as he continued to type. Atsushi worriedly cast a mouthed 'Are you okay, Dazai-san?'

The brunette smiled, practiced and wooden, and gave an affirmative nod. Atsushi's dichromatic eyes lingered on him before turning back to his work. The Tanizaki twins were out delivering a package to a client, while Ranpo-kun lazily flipped through the cases, trying to find something that would suit his interest. There was Yosano-sensei inside her clinic, probably formulating her new method of... 'healing'. Dazai inwardly shudders at the thought.

Kenji-kun seemed to be watering a plant near Haruno-san's desk, thoroughly enamored judging by the sparkle in his eyes.

And Kyouka-chan...

He senses the former assassin standing behind the brown couch. Cautious, he looks at her with wide curious eyes and sits up properly. Smiling at the girl and pats the seat beside him.

"What'cha need Kyouka-chan?" He keeps his voice light and cheerful.

The girl walks around the couch, with Dazai following her body language, breathing, heartbeat, steps, and gaze. He notices something not right. It's in the way she carries herself. It may look like her day-to-day personality but his keen eye had picked up something.

The girl stands in front of him, her blue eyes filled with light but the longer she stared, the more things were bound to go in...the opposite way.

The other agency members looked their way, out of curiosity and...weird foreboding. Kyouka stood in front of Dazai who feigned an innocent curious look.

The girl finally speaks up, "You are Dazai Osamu."

It was deathly silent for a moment. Even the outside seemed to mute itself.

Dazai was about to laugh and ruffle her blue hair when she said once more.

"Demon Prodigy of Port Mafia."

The atmosphere seemed to drop to below the freezing point. The tension was thick and even a needle could break it. Ranpo stopped looking at the cases and peered at them with interest. Although his eyes seemed to convey something akin to worry.

"You were the Right Hand man of a Mafia Boss."

"Ahahaha, Kyouka-chan~ don't tease me like that~" While the brunette said this, he stood up and patted Kyouka's hair. Readying himself to leave before it's too late. His back was turned to most of the agency. His breath hitched, though it wasn't audible, the lines in his coat and stature said so. He stopped walking. In the midst of it all, Yosano was outside her clinic, sitting beside Ranpo and she watched as the event unfolds. The twins were somehow back, silent like a cat. The fear and rapid heartbeats dominating everything present.

Dazai's eyes glinted dangerously.

"You killed a thousand people."

Her sandals clacked, signifying that she took a step forward.

"You were associated with international crimes."

There was a creak - Atsushi's office chair - and his voice was shaky, "Kyouka-cha-"

"You were the one who brought the Port Mafia to it's golden age; the 'Dark Era'." Kyouka clenched her fists and her knuckles became white.

"Your records hold more blood than anyone else's."

Kunikida was about to stop the girl from saying anymore, when she pressed on. Nobody seemed determined to stop her.

Not when the atmosphere was getting heavy by the second.

"You were the heir to take the Port Mafia Boss’ place."

Ranpo at this point had to do something. He had to stop this before it all crashes down to hell. He was still too oppressed by the mood that settled on the agency. Too dumbstruck to move or speak.

"The other half of the vicious underground duo, Soukoku."

Kunikida choked in disbelief, and hesitantly stared at the back of his partner. "D-dazai?"

Atsushi and the other members were stunned too. Save for Ranpo who was trying to figure out something, and Yosano watching them as if they were on the verge of falling into a cliff.

"You nearly killed a person during the Guild's catastrophe."

That hit the mark.

In the slowest possible means, did Dazai turn around, his bangs covering his eyes.

The girl was slightly trembling - fear - etched in her bones and muscles.

She had uttered things no child nor adult should say to a murderer. Former or not.

The sunlight seems to have vanished, replaced with a darkness that Dazai was giving off.

Death was whispering and snickering at her. Laughing at her fate and her useless limbs. She was glued to the spot.

Like a prey caught in a predator's trap.

She couldn't see his eyes. But it's better that way. The horrors were always reflected on that eye. She doesn't want those eyes staring at her with a hue only a real demon could possess.

Every step was equal to a knife lightly dragging itself on the skin.

Every sound was the tick-tick-ticking of a watch's countdown to death.

Dazai stops in front of the girl and raises his hand.

"O-oi, Daza-"

"D-dazai-s-"

"Stop, Daza-"

His hand lands itself on Kyouka's shoulder.

"Fufufufufufu..."

He laughs. And laughs like a fool.

Everyone was dumbstruck.

"E-e-ehh?!?!??!"

Atsushi and the Tanizaki twins sighed in relief, easing themselves from the tension to focus on their tasks. Kunikida was still frozen, processing just what happened before huffing and muttered insults at the brunette. It continued for a moment more...

"Hahahaahahaha!!!"

Ranpo re-adjusts his glasses and furrows his eyebrows. "This is wrong..." He continues to stare at the brunette laughing and cradling himself. Ranpo can't really see his eyes, but he knows that the tone of his laugh was only becoming detached and cold by the minute

Yosano's breath quickened and this...

This is not a good sign.

She has only seen a situation like this once. It all happened gruesomely decades ago. The fear rooted her to the spot and she began shaking, "R-r-ran...po...k-k-kun..."

Dazai had been laughing for more than a minute now. It was beginning to sound hysterical and mad. This laugh was the kind of forced and frantic. A fail to catch a breath, and it all comes out. The girl slowly backed away in growing unadulterated fear and understanding. She ran and hid behind Kunikida, who was beginning to be creeped out as well.

The tension was back, but, if possible, even more darker and sinister.

"D-dazai-san, please calm down..." But it was drowned under the laughs from his mentor.

An aura was settling in the agency, belonging to a creature one cannot begin to fathom.

"Oi, Dazai! What's the matter with you?!" The blonde man began making his way towards his partner. A clenched fist ready to snap him out.

It took Ranpo a glance at Yosano to finally understand the situation.

•••••••••

He wished to tell the president to help Dazai, but that thought was trashed a long time ago, reassured that nothing will happen.

But he didn't care, now he is paying the price.

Everything ends here.

In a blur of adrenaline and blood. 'All that is lost will never return.'

In the back of his mind, he laughs bitterly as a scythe-like smile and the glint of a silvery moon object descends upon him.

#dazai osamu #summary: kyouka wants to confirm some stuff with dazai _the whole ada was did not notice dazai's behaviour as the years passed by he was #suffering from his mistakes and his past so when kyouka brought it up he snapped #the ending of part one will be clear once part two is posted #fic #practice #armed detective agency #mentions of blood #part two will explain everything

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wackygoofball · 6 years ago

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Wacky’s Brooding Box

Okay.

Here is the thing.

We are only a few hours away from the next episode. And I am barely containing my HYPE right now.

Okay.

That was a lie.

I never contain my HYPE.

But that’s not the point. The point is that I have some fanfic-y thoughts I want to share with you that are likely wishful thinking for what awaits us JB-wise in this and the final episode. I have many more headcanons of that sort, but those are the ones I am now putting in this little box here.

I will lock those headcanons inside the box and below the cut. These are all scenarios I would dig to see, and whatever doesn’t happen... I will try to make fanfiction, I suppose. If I somehow unbreak my fanfiction bones. If at least one of them turns out true... I will get a crystal ball.

1) Brienne somehow learns about Bronn having been tasked with assassinating Jaime and Tyrion. Perhaps Podrick knows from Tyrion that Bronn showed up again, but Tyrion instructed Pod not to tell anyone. But since when can Ser Son keep anything from Ser Mom for long, right? Tables turn when we see Bronn the next time, drinking himself silly at an inn close to Winterfell. Pod comes in and they have conversation - only for Brienne to come up from behind and honor Bronn with the same kind treatment he gave to Tyrion. If she breaks his nose for real, she gets extra cookies. Brienne quickly disarms him and makes it clear that she is not like Tyrion, not like Jaime, she is not here to negotiate or play castle-swap. It’s either that he does as she says or she will end him. Bronn is pissed but impressed, makes jokes about Jaime's cock being magical if someone goes that far to get it back or something to that effect. It turns out that Brienne has a new plan, which involves taking Bronn to King’s Landing with her as he has knowledge of the passageways underneath King’s Landing, as can be assumed after he led Jaime down there to meet up with Tyrion. I would just about die to have a roadtrip moment of Bronn having the giggles about JB finally having done it, though things would likely turn serious soon. I keep having that mental image of Brienne telling him that she pities him for being so alone in the world that he can’t seem to care for anyone or anything beside himself, how his life is devoid of meaning and how he will die alone no matter what castle he comes to own. Since I still have that headcanon that Bronn will choose to die an honorable death in the capacity of actually risking his life for his friends (Jaime and Tyrion are really the people he could care about even if he says and acts like he is the only one who matters to himself) or perhaps for Brienne now.

2) We zoom in on Winterfell. Brienne tries to distract herself from her anger and sadness by training excessively with Pod. She barely talks, grits her teeth a lot. Maybe Sansa watches from the balcony, looking a bit concerned or at the very least troubled. Then the IMPOSSIBLE happens. Pod lands a hit for the first time because Brienne is distracted. Podrick has a total WTF moment ("When did I become so strong? What power was I given by the Seven? What is happening??? Did I just kill her??? Ser Mommmm?"). He starts to fuss and apologizes to her as Brienne straightens back up. She tells him there is no need, then excuses herself and storms off.

3) possibly in connection to 2) if Jaime did indeed put a bun in that oven (I think he did), we see Brienne puking somewhere, or hear her, we can fill in the blanks on our own, thank you. Then either ENTER Gilly going like "oh, girl, I know the feeling, it'll pass once you are a bit further along with the pregnancy". Brienne stares at her as wide-eyed as ever , thinking "the lady is mad" or ENTER Dadvos showing concern for Brienne (I really kind of want them to have another scene because they have a twisted history together and ever since the whole honorable man and just woman, I have my headcanons, so many of them). Brienne tries to brush it off but soon realization dawns on her that, yup, there is a Braime Bun. 4) Sansa tells Brienne that Bran wants to talk to her. Brienne goes to see him and he drops some truthbombs. This ould be a number of things, scenarios my brain is currently favoring: a) Bran reveals he had another conversation with Jaime before he left wherein he told him that "you will have a child, but it isn't the Queen's" which made Jaime connect the dots that Brienne already was pregnant with his child whereas Cersei actually was not, doubling the angst for him to put her at risk; b) Bran tells her something along the lines of what he told Jon, that Brienne has to make a choice about where she wants to go moving forward as she has an important role to play in all this, which may or may not cement her crucial role to endgame; c) he reveals to her that he drove Aerys mad to bring Jaime to where he was to even things out between them, basically, how he had to set it all up for Jaime to be right where he is now, that he has to bring everyone to where they are needed and that Brienne now also has to decide where she wants to be, though whatever choice she makes “will come with great sacrifice;” d) he drops a massive hint towards the YMB(Q) being about Brienne in an even more overt way; e) some talk about East and West united, f) Bran repeating to her "Nothing's more hateful than failing to protect the one you love” to Brienne.

5) Brienne readies the horse for herself (similar to how we saw Jaime ready his before he left), we see her taking a moment to hold on tight to Oathkeeper or we zoom in on it, to affirm that she's holding on to her bond with Jaime through the twin swords; ENTER Pod asking her what she is doing. If he opens with "Ser" or "M'lady Ser" he gets extra points. Brienne tells him that she will be leaving for King’s Landing. If Pod got the clue that she may be with child (if that's the scenario we are rolling with), he may express concern about her going alone, arguing that he as her squire should come with her. Even if not with the bun going on, he may still insist on doing that because he is a good squire and she raised him well. Brienne then touches him in a very soft kind of way and tells him that she needs him to stay here, that she trusts him with her promise to Lady Catelyn now to protect Sansa from harm. "There's nothing I can teach you anymore, Podrick." Something like that. She then rides off to kick that lovely man with golden hand in the balls and make him come home.

6) Alternatively, I could see Sansa and Brienne having honest conversation about the status of her oaths and her staying at Winterfell. Brienne may express fear that Sansa would not understand why she'd want to go after Jaime, just that she does, showing that she is more adult than most others, arguing that Brienne doesn't have to stay to know her protected, hinting at the fact that Pod is more than capable as she trained him well.

7) Brienne actually doesn't head straight to KL but meets up with Selwyn or a commander of Tarth forces (maybe a kind of Goodwin character). Big reveal is that she wrote to her father to request help before she left Winterfell. I mean, they have soldiers right? I want to see more of those??? I bet they kick ass??? I would just love it if Brienne commanding Vale soldiers would now bring her one step closer to doing the same for her own people/troops. It would so neatly fit with her arc about finally taking up on her position as only living heir to her House. This could well be incorpated with Bronn being dragged along and Brienne basically not just planning a rescue mission for Jaime but also to protect his finest act by getting people out of the Red Keep and to safety by enabling evacuation protocols.

8) If there is such a thing as a father-daughter reunion between Selwyn and Brienne at some point (not necessarily before going to King’s Landing), I just want him to say how much she's changed upon first seeing her. Gah.

9) After Brienne is normally always the one to ask “what are you doing?” I kind of want Jaime to now say that to her upon seeing her wind up at King’s Landing.

10) I can still see a fakeout death scenario for either one of them. Since they were so heavy on misdirecting us with regards to Jaime’s fate, I start to think that maybe it’s really Brienne. She didn’t have a stand-alone near-death experience ever since the bearpit and the fight with the Hound. The rest was more regular battles that left us little second-guessing. At Winterfell against the living dead, eveyone could have been gone any minute, so that hardly shed the light on her (not that this episode shed much light *nudge* *nudge* Long Night *nudge*). Like, I was personally very fearful we would lose Pod that episode because they gave him the song and all those things, but she momentarily lost Jaime. Now the show’s dropped the idea of “you don’t have to die with your sister, Jaime” which is why I think that is precisely what is not happening. Otherwise it’s extremely... oddly... straight-forward. Plain. Point being, in the BatB trajectory, we are now at the point where Belle leaves for her home to be with her family, only to be held off by her evil sisters who are jealous of her. The Beast “dies” as a result of that neglect, but awakens/is reborn when Belle returns and professes her love for the Beast, and the curse is broken. In that part of the story, Jaime is Belle and Brienne is the Beast. So it may be that this is the time when we are led to believe that Brienne died, and Jaime will believe that she died, just that she didn’t. “Who wants to die defending a Lannister?” Big foreshadowing right there from all the way to their first encounters. So I can see her coming to King’s Landing and saving Jaime, only to nearly get killed herself, or leaving Jaime under the belief that she may be dead, only to then reveal that she is not. He still has to say the magic l-word, after all.

Anyway. Those are some broody thoughts for Wacky’s broody box. Thanks for your attention.

#got spoilers #jaime x brienne #jaime lannister #brienne of tarth #wacky rambles

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cataclysme-noire · 7 years ago

Text

Name of the Game

Summary: You have two choices. Either beat Hawkmoth and win PHENOM, or die.

Also unofficially called the video game AU (by me).

This story is Adrienette/Ladynoir.

Find it on AO3

Marinette sighed as she placed the helmet back on her head and pulled the VR screen into place. Powering it on with a flick of the switch, she leaned her body back in her gaming chair and focused her mind as she launched PHENOM.

She felt the familiar pulling in her gut and the burst of adrenaline as she fell from the sky and dropped to the middle of the park. The soft grass buckled against the hard landing of her feet. She straightened her knees and began to look around.

She only had an hour to get in and get Kim. His mother was very specific that he needed to be returned from the PHENOM world in an hour or Marinette would not be getting paid.

Glancing to the left and to the right, her black hair fell in her face and she frowned. Black hair wouldn’t do. Marinette walked across the grassy clearing of the park to the nearest store. As the door opened and she stepped inside, a customization window popped up after a PHENOMbot fed her some stale dialogue about whatever shop it was. Perfect she thought, grinning.

Using the allowance of NOM-Coins she had been given for this mission, she elected to change her hair to blonde, and added length into a long ponytail. She also purchased a 10NC tan to mask her normally pale and freckled countenance. Kim’s type was Chloé, Marinette remembered. The closer she could make herself appear to the stuck-up blonde, the more success she would have. This would be a job she would finish in fifteen minutes.

Changing her clothes to something more form-fitting and, dare she think it, sexy, Marinette’s PHENOM persona reflected in the mirror looked just as unlike her as she could get. A devious smirk crossed her lightly made up lips. She made a few expressions in the mirror, pouting her lips this way and widening her eyes just so to convey surprise.

Thankfully she hadn’t had to purchase much as far as cosmetic enhancement. She knew she was cute, and she already owned a few makeup packs in her inventory.

The blonde hair and tan skin would be enough to confuse Kim. He’s a simple man.

Satisfied with the stranger staring back at her in the mirror, she left the customization shop.

The heels she wore clacked noisily against the cobblestones ground, and she had to be careful where she stepped to avoid the heel sinking between the poorly animated ground. Agreste and the PHENOM team had a lot of strengths, but some of their background work was shoddy, she thought.

Heading straight for the track field, knowing that Kim would be there flexing his pre-purchased muscles for equally enhanced women, she pushed her shoulders back. If there was anything Marinette had learned, it was that boys her age were so distracted by a confident beautiful woman.

They would let their guard down enough for her to grab them and drag them back to reality out of the PHENOM. She would collect the checks and game coins from their parents, they would be grounded for weeks, and she would be living pretty until another kid got stuck there for too long.

Being a virtual reality “assassin” of sorts had its downfalls, and one of which was how shallow and sad it really was.Marinette loved the opportunities it provided her monetarily, don’t get her wrong, but she felt a little sorry for those boys. Their own lives were so grossly unfulfilling, they had to buy enhancers for personality and looks instead of trying to create it out in the real world.

She reached the top of the bleachers and slunk down the concrete steps until she was pressed suggestively against the fence. She saw Kim, along with a few others she recognized, and she let out a low wolf-whistle.

“Hey there, soldier. Care to spend some time with me?” she intoned in a breathy, nasal voice. None the wiser, Kim’s persona started strutting toward her and she tried hard not to laugh as he climbed the stairs to her position. He honestly thought he was God’s gift to the world.

She turned her body just so it would appear he was backing her into the fence. She knew his kind of guy. The one that loved to feel power over women. He shot a wide smile her way. “Don’t mind if I do, gorgeous.” He brought a (slightly sweaty) hand up to her face to brush a few flyaways from her tanned cheek. “Let’s take a walk and get away from these other clowns. Kim doesn’t like to share his toys.”

Fighting the urge to roll her eyes and pretend to vomit from disgust at his comments, she nodded prettily. He placed his hand on her lower back and he escorted her back up the bleachers, his palm sticking to the satin of her dress. She simpered up toward him on the brisk walk to the park, the sun beginning to dim behind them in the sky.

The sunset bled hues of orange and yellow, the light flickering off the nearby chrome buildings in a beautiful display. Marinette kept her focus on that and not on the male chattering to himself at her side. Once they reached the park, they chose a bench a little off the path in a secluded area. The light filtered through the trees.

“So, what’s a lady like you doing out here?”

“I just wanted to see the man I’ve heard so many people talk about. You look even stronger than they say!” She giggled to emphasize her point, widening her eyes dramatically.

He smirked and flexed his biceps, wiggling his eyebrows. “I am pretty impressive.” She coyly glanced away, and then back at him. “Y’know...the girls also say...no, I’m too embarrassed!”

“What? It’s okay, I won’t make fun of you. You can tell me.”

“Well...they say you’re a good kisser, and I was wondering if you were better at that, too.” She looked up at him from underneath her eyelashes, fluttering them and biting her lip briefly, before flashing her eyes to his lips, and then returning to make eye contact.

He grinned. “Let’s find out.”

Internally, she smirked. This was too easy! As he was leaning in and closing his eyes, she pretended to follow suit. Just before their lips made contact, Kim heard a snapping sound. His eyes jolted open and he looked at the cool metal encircling his wrist. The short chain connected it to her wrist.

It took him five whole seconds to realize what was happening. Marinette knew because she counted. The expletive he let out as he jumped up and tried to break free of the handcuff was hilarious. Marinette quickly changed shoes in her inventory while he jumped around. Instead of the impractical heels that were there moments before, she was wearing her heavy combat boots.

She began stomping back to the middle of the park, large man in tow yelling at her. It was a normal Thursday night for her.

“Damn it, Marinette! Why? Every single time!”

She smiled. “I don’t know, Kim. Why do you make it so easy?”

“I hate you.”

“I know.”

Reaching the main point at the fountain, Marinette pulled them both back to their reality. She opened her eyes in her room and pulled the helmet off her head, glad to be out of the PHENOM for the night. Her phone lit up seconds later, signalling the payment from her mission was received. Kim was going to be grounded for a week.

She slowly stretched her aching limbs and rolled her tense neck. It had been a long day and pretending to romance Kim- as lucrative as it was- was not her idea of a good time. Checking the time, Marinette saw it only took her 17 minutes. She was good at her job. Or...her freelance services she lent out to disgruntled parents. Technically, what she did wasn’t legal in terms of game rules. But it paid well to cheat the system, and she was smart enough to do it.

“Marinette? Could you come downstairs? You have a visitor.” Her mother’s muffled voice came through the floor. She stood from her chair and opened her door. The hall light shone off the hardwood flooring, and she squinted.

Plodding down the stairs, one socked foot after the other, she rounded into the kitchen. Her eyes first caught sight of her parents with a bit of apprehension and nerves in their eyes. Glancing further around the space, she could see why.

Sitting at her dining room table was a man roughly as large as her father, but with a less gentle face. And in front of that man, whom she presumed to be a bodyguard, was Gabriel Agreste. As in, founder and C.E.O. of Agreste technologies and creator of the PHENOM system and all offshoots. As in, probably the third most successful technological giant of modern times, behind people like Bill Gates and Steve Jobs. As in, her parents’ boss.

She balked nervously. “Um...Mr. Agreste...what brings you here?”

He stared at her, no emotion present in his gaze from behind red-framed horn rimmed glasses. “Miss Marinette, was it?” She nodded. “I have been informed that you have been engaged in...the bringing of persons back from inside the PHENOM beta.”

Her cool expression belayed the terror in her mind. I messed up. My parents are fired. They’re sending me to prison. How can I talk my way out of this. Think, Marinette, think!

She opened her mouth to speak but was silenced with a raised palm. “Do not presume to lie to me, Miss Dupain-Cheng. I am aware of your activities as a rogue of the system and have been for some time. But that is precisely why I am here. Your services are required. Now, before I tell you what I need, let me be clear: what I am divulging is of the utmost top-secret. If you tell anyone- and I do mean any person at all outside of this house, you will be pulled immediately from PHENOM, banned for life, and your parents will no longer have jobs. Do you understand?”

The weight of the world was suddenly dropped on Marinette’s shoulders, but she affirmed again with a nod, not trusting her voice. “I need you to bring someone back. Someone who has been stuck for a while. His body in this world has been stuck in a coma, and I fear that if we don’t get him back to reality soon, he will die.”

She sucked in a breath. She had never heard of that happening before.

Still, her curiosity got the better of her. “Who, sir?”

“My son, Adrien.”

Find it on AO3

#name of the game #video game au #miraculous #miraculous ladybug #Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug and Cat Noir #tales of ladybug and cat noir #tales of Ladybug and Chat noir #miraculous: tales of ladybug and chat noir #adrien agreste #ml adrien #adrien x marinette #adrienette #ml marinette #Marinette Dupain-Cheng #ladybug and chat noir #Ladybug and Chat Noir Transformations #ladynoir

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ranger-of-estel · 7 years ago

Text

Legends of Rogue One: Chap 5

Leonard prepares to take the shot that will complete his mission, but is it worth the damage it will cause? Sara comes face to face with the man who abandoned her, and with exactly what the Alliance intended for her family.

Read it on AO3

Time to Choose a Side

Leonard hated the rain, hated being in wet clothes, and most of all hated trying to traverse wet rocks. But here he was, doing exactly that while following the younger pilot. He noticed the young man stumble, and the almost limp as he walked. Leonard had heard Ra’s al Ghul was prone to taking more extreme measures. It’s why he’d been split from the Alliance in the first place. If they got through this he would have to inquire about his injuries, learn exactly what Ra’s and his men had done to leave him in the daze like state they’d found him.

Finally they reached the higher ground that Jax had insisted on, and the pair knelt between a couple large rocks. Leonard fished a pair of binoculars from his bag, peering across the canyon to the landing pad. There was a host of stormtroopers, and a number of other nervous looking men. He offered the device to the other man, “Do you see Quinten Lance out there?”

While Jax looked Len reached into his bag, removing his gun and checking it over once more. “That’s him,” Jax stated, offering the binoculars back. “That’s him, that’s Quinten.” He motioned toward the building, “He’s in the dark suit.”

Wiping rain from his eyes Leonard looked through them again. Just outside the doors to the building was a group of five men dressed completely in white. They stood in a crescent around the man in darker clothes. But the uniform was not the only difference; he stood more confidently, and in a stance familiar to any soldier. But it nagged at the back of his mind as to why they were on the platform. This wasn’t the place to give a speech or commands. And even if it was some strange form of punishment the stormtroopers shouldn’t be there.

Before he could ask about it he noticed light reflecting off the rock, and looking back saw an escort coming in. Immediately he pushed Jackson down, bending over beside him in hopes of blending into the rock face. Only raising once the ship began its decent onto the landing pad. If he was lucky maybe Quinten Lance wouldn’t be the only target he could hit. His attention returned to his weapon, taking only a moment to motion back down the way they had come. “Go back and get us a ride out of here.”

“Why? What are you doing?” He asked, leaning closer to Len. “You said we were just going to have a look.”

“I’m here,” he motioned toward the platform. “I’m looking. Now go!” he growled. For a moment they just stared one another down, and then the pilot turned to leave. It took longer than he liked to get in a position to shoot from, but the slick rocks made it hard to settle his gun. He blinked away raindrops and lowered with his eye to the scope. Quinten had moved to stand in a place mostly blocked by transmitters, and while not impossible the shot was more of a risk than Leonard liked.

He could also see the man who had disembarked the Imperial ship. White uniform and cape, confident gate, this must be Director Darhk; if Len got off more than one shot that would be his second target. But for now he would wait for Lance to move. He watched as the other scientists lined up, and saw the black trooper escort of Darhk raise their weapons. And then Quinten darted in front of his men, throwing out his arms and staying the onslaught of phaser fire. The other men now blocked Leonard’s shot entirely, and his body was beginning to ache as the cold rain seeped through his clothes completely. That little voice in the back of his mind was back again. Asking why a man who was evil, was worthy of assassination, would put his life on the line for his subordinates. Didn’t that seem more like the actions of a good man? A man who deserved a chance to defend himself?

And then Quinten stepped forward, and Leonard had a crystal-clear shot. Headshot, quick, clean, mission accomplished. He released a slow exhale, finger coming to rest against the trigger, applying the slightest of pressure. And then he thought of Sara. Of the way she would crumble, the absolute loss of hope for seeing what was left of her family that he would inflict. He thought of how she would look at him, broken trust and likely fury. He thought of tears on her cheeks, and a rifle pointed to his chest. And with an uneven breath he pulled back, allowing the rifle to rest on its side. If they survived this he would pay steeply, but he would not take the one thing Sara clung to away.

He grabbed the binoculars once more, watching as gunfire lit the landing, scientists falling dead. Darhk hit Quinten hard across the face, knocking him to the ground and putting more weight behind Sara’s theory that her father was part of the Rebellion after all. He was about to pick up his weapon, aiming for the director this time, when he saw her. Movement on the edge of the landing. Zooming in revealed Sara, moving behind boxes and equipment. Len swore under his breath.

“Leonard,” Gideon’s voice startled him, and he quickly reached for his com. “Can you hear me?”

“I’m here,” He felt a small rush of relief. “You got communications working.”

“Affirmative,” She replied, “But we have a small problem.” She added hesitantly, “There’s an Alliance squadron approaching. You need to clear the-“

‘No no no!” he exclaimed, “Tell them to hold off! Sara’s on that platform!” he snaps, real fear rushing through him for the first time in years.

Sara crept closer, ducking from one set of boxes to the next. She was close enough to see them clearly now; the man in white who still haunted her dreams, and the one who was only a shadow of the father she remembered. They were kneeling, she could hear voices but was to far to make out exact words, when the alarms began to sound.

She saw the lights, the sillouettes of X-wings in the rain. They were coming straight toward the landing; and her body launched into the familiar realm of fight or flight. She knew there was no time to run, and she’d be seen if she tried for the building. Instead she hunkered down against the nearest container, watching red streak the sky and feeling vibrations from the impacts behind her.

“Return fire! To your stations!” she heard a voice command. “Get our fighters in the air now!” The man in white was up, pointing and giving orders as the black troopers scampered toward the docked ship.

The rebellion fighters passed by, and she knew there was only a small window to act, to rescue Quinten. It was risky, Saw would have scolded such a rash plan, but she’d come this far. So she stood, running several paces forward and putting as much power behind her voice as she could muster. “Father!”

She saw him turn, eyes widening slightly before he began to move. But she also saw the flash of silver as the man in white raised his weapon, and she turned to level her own at his chest. The fighters returned then, and the explosion from the missile knocked all of them back. There was a flash of pain as her head collided with the rock; then darkness. Sound returned first, people shouting all around her. Then she felt the cold rain against her skin, the aching along her right side and back where she’d hit the platform. Forcing her eyes open she struggled to her hands and knees, beginning to crawl. The shouting became muffled as she watched hanger door to the ship close, survivors all tucked inside. The ship turned, and the force of the thrusters sent Sara sliding back across the wet metal. Hands thrown wildly for purchase.

She managed to catch some broken metal piping as she fell through a hole on the platform. The rebar cut into the skin of her palms, but she hardly noticed. With a struggle she pulled herself up, then rose shakily to her feet. She stumbled toward the prone form of her father, legs giving out as she dropped at his side.

“Daddy,” she whimpered, reaching up to cradle his face in her hands. “Daddy it’s me, it’s Sara”

His eyes slowly focused on her, “Sara?” she just nodded, feeling the tears well in her eyes. “Canary”

She almost smiles, thumbs rubbing gently against his cheeks. “I’ve seen your message. The hologram to Ra’s, I saw it.” She’s not sure what else to say, How to overcome the barriers now resting between them.

His mouth opens and shuts several times before finally he’s able to form words. “It must be destroyed.”

She nods again, “I know, I know. And we will.”

“Sara,” he lifts one hand, fingertips tracing against her cheek. “My babygirl, look at you.” He blinks against the rain. “I have so much to tell you. So much you should know.” His voice wains toward the end, hand sliding back to his side. “So…much…” His eyes drift shut, a slow, agonizing breath passing his lips. And then he goes still in her arms.

“Daddy?” she shakes him slightly, “No, come on.” She shakes harder, “You can’t do this to me!” she brings a fist down on his chest weakly. Tears coming faster as she cradles his head to her chest. “Daddy….”

She hears weapons fire behind her, but ignores it. She’s failed, death may be a mercy. “Sara,” Leonard drops down on one knee beside her, “Come on, we have to go.”

She looks up at him, and thinks that there’s understanding in his eyes. Some kindness she cannot place. “We can’t leave him,” she replies, wiping rain from her father’s cheek.

Leonard grabs her arm, all traces of tenderness fading. “Listen to me,” he states, waiting until she looks up to continue. “He’s gone.”

“I can’t leave him,” she repeats,

“Move, Sara!” He growls, grabbing the back of her jacket and pulling her. “If we stay here we’ll end up joining him.” He adds, giving one last tug as she rises to her feet. One hand remains on her shoulder, guiding her forward. A group of storm troopers advance, but are wiped out in rapid succession before them. Sara knows without looking back that Mick must be covering from a distance. Len takes out several more himself, pushing Sara across a small bridge before him. She allows the other man to guide her, mind numb and unable to process more than her next step.

Her father was gone. Before he could explain himself, before she could tell him how angry and hurt she was. Before she could ask about her mother, about the man in white, about why he’d abandoned her. She wouldn’t get to try and mend their broken relationship, or find forgiveness after what had been done. She was broken, sad and angry all at once.

But then a ship was dropping into a small opening before them, Jax standing just inside the cargo bay as he motioned them aboard. “Come on, hurry!”

Chap 4 (x)

#Legends of Rogue One #My fic #Captain Canary #Chapter 5 #Time to Choose a Side #Sorry this is so late

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sass-and-stilettos · 8 years ago

Text

“Making New Mistakes”

the-archer-princess

Chapter 4

@sass-and-stilettos

Romantic Snow Queen, FTL AU

The war with George’s kingdom came quickly and Snow White was now Regina’s most senior soldier. She went out armed as an archer so not in full plate but with the armored gauntlet that was now becoming a trademark.

She was brave and a skilled fighter. But her relationship with the Queen made her a target for the increasingly desperate George and after one battle she was brought back on a stretcher with a nasty sword wound. One made with a sword that wouldn’t allow magic to heal it.

sass-and-stilettos

The queen worried every time her captain went out, anxiety gnawing at her until she saw Snow returning victorious. Most times Regina was at least nearby, if not overseeing the battle and providing magical support. During this battle she had stayed back at camp, as they had received intelligence that she would be an especial target of George’s forces. There had even been talk of assassins. Snow had used a mixture of threatening and cajoling to get her to remain behind, and she’d finally relented, but now she was regretting that decision as she paced around her tent.

Time passed with little word yet from the battle. That could either be very good or very bad. Her anxiety was proven warranted when the captain was carried in, unconscious and her uniform soaked in blood. Regina rushed immediately to her side, calling the magic into her hands to heal the wounds. Nothing happened. Dumbfounded, she scrabbled at Snow’s clothing, pulling it aside so that she could actually see the damage and tried again. Still nothing. Growling to herself, she called for a physician.

The healer did what he could, staunching the bleeding and closing up the wound. Then, after giving a few instructions to the impatient queen, he left to attend to other of the injured.

Regina sat by the bed they’d laid Snow out on and took hold of her hand, smoothing her hair back from her clammy brow. “Don’t you leave me,” she muttered. “Do you hear me, Snow? I won’t lose you too!” She leaned over to place a soft kiss on Snow’s lips.

the-archer-princess

A few hours later one of Snow’s lieutenants came to the Queen. There had been a group of knights who seemed to go determinedly straight for the captain. Several had been cut down but he gave her the sword that had wounded Snow. It had engraving in the metal. Elvish. A blade whose wounds magic could not heal.

“One of the prisoners said that the King George had shown them one of the old wanted posters and promised that whoever killed her would be the heir to his kingdom.”

The plot hadn’t been to kill Regina at all. It had been to hurt her heart.

And Snow was holding on behind her. The healer said that it would be up to the Princess if she made it or not.

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Regina looked at the blade, knowing it for what it was, of course. So that was why her magic hadn’t worked. She stood as the lieutenant spoke to her, turning the blade over and over in her hand. Red was gathering on the edge of her vision, the words from the man heard and understood, but she was already slipping into the familiar darkness.

In a low, dangerous voice, she asked the solider if the man who had wounded Snow was among the prisoners. A tight, feral smile was the response when he affirmed that the man was. “Take me to him…”

The screams echoed through the camp. All of her soldiers that could busy themselves and keep out of the way did so. The queen was in a rage and when the queen was in a rage, people died. They didn’t always die very quickly, as George’s soldier found out. At last the screaming ended, the camp went back to usual, and Regina returned to her vigil next to Snow, all of the blood magically scourged from her clothing.

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Snow was developing a fever and her dreams were unsettled. She was running from something. Someone. Always running. Once she’d half opened her eyes and saw Regina and she was even more unsettled.

The war of course went on and George attempted to use the paralysis of the Queen’s forces to press his advantage. The healers told her that they would know if the captain would live when the fever broke.

It hadn’t yet. And she was having nightmares of running from Regina.

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The queen did everything she could to keep Snow comfortable, forsaking rest to make sure that she was cared for. Since she couldn’t use magic to heal her, she used it instead to transport them back to her castle. There were more people to help and more resources at her disposal there.

It was torture watching Snow toss and turn, listening to her rave and beg in her delirium. Especially when she looked right at her and became worse. George had wanted to hurt her heart, and he’d succeeded.

She spent almost all her time speaking in soft tones to her captain, telling her anything and everything, hoping that her words would eventually strike a positive chord instead of a negative one. Since George was still pressing in, there were daily war councils. Regina’s rage during those was simmering hotly, barely kept under control. When all was said and done, he would regret targeting Snow. The queen vowed it.

She was just returning from a council when one of her maids scurried up to tell her that Snow’s fever seemed to be breaking. Regina hurried to her side.

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Snow opened her eyes in the Queen’s chambers under a pile of furs and she smiled when she saw Regina. It was the first time she’d smiled when her eyes were open and she saw her since the wound. She tried to sit up but groaned and lay back down.

“The… battle? Did we win? Sorry… stupid… caught a blade.”

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The smile released the pressure in Regina’s chest, making her feel the lightest that she had since Snow was brought to her. She squeezed the captain’s hand and pressed her back down in the mattress.

“We won. George sent men to kill you, not me. I intend to make him pay heavily for that.” She leaned to place a kiss on her forehead. “It’s so good to see you awake.”

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Snow frowned a bit trying to process the information but she wasn’t quite that coherent yet. She lay back at Regina’s urging and smiled again. “You were worried….”

The idea of Regina worrying over her made Snow smile. She had the strange thought that it was worth it to know that Regina would worry about her.

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“Yes, of course I was.” She brushed her fingers down Snow’s cheek and adopted a teasing tone to mask the fact that she was holding back tears. “If I lose you, where am I going to find such a skilled replacement for the captain of my guards?”

They shared a smile and Regina really wanted to gather Snow up in her arms, but she didn’t want to hurt her. She settled for gentle caresses. “I thought I was going to lose you,” she whispered.

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“You aren’t going to like this scar as much as the other one.” She teased lightly. Regina’s fondness for the dagger scar from one of the Black Knights was something that Snow had started to find charming.

She tilted her head, “Thank you for being here instead of off on a rampage to avenge me. Waking up to you is … nice.”

She reached over and gave Regina a weak squeeze.

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“No, I’m not,” she agreed. The old scar was, at its core, a show of Regina’s power and that’s why she was so drawn to it. This one would be quite the opposite. But…it would be a reminder. To both of them, perhaps.

“I needed to know that you were safe. There will be time to take care of George later. ” Regina didn’t bother to tell Snow that the soldier who had stabbed her had already suffered an agonising death. She might find out from her men later, but for now, she didn’t need to know.

“Maybe you should wake up to me more often?” She watched Snow’s eyes for her reaction to the offer.

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“Any scar you survive is a good scar…” She said quietly. She tried to pretend she didn’t know what Regina would do to George. She was just glad that she had stayed long enough to be human with her.

She raised an eyebrow. They didn’t sleep together out of Regina’s choice. Fear of being vulnerable. Of intimacy. But she gave her a slightly loopy smile.

“I’d like that. Any chance to see you in the morning light… Are you sure?”

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“You just focus on surviving it, alright Captain?” She said in a mock stern voice. The healers had said that Snow should recover if she survived the fever, but there were always things that could go wrong and magic wouldn’t fix them. The queen didn’t want to take any chances.

She had to smile at the look of happiness that came in response to the offer. Was she sure? A little part of her was still afraid, but it was drowned out by the part that not only wanted to let Snow in, but also saw such an arrangement as a way to protect her from further harm.

“I’m sure.”

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She made a vague gesture that might have been a salute, “Yes, my Queen. I’ll be sure to survive because you ordered me too.”

Snow was just glad to be alive herself and to have a moment like this. Regina gave so few of them that they were special and she wanted to savor them. “I love you. Do you know that?”

The gesture to let her in made her incredibly happy.

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Snow’s vaguely attempted salute drew a laugh from the queen, and a soft kiss. “Very good. If only all of my soldiers could obey so well.”

When Snow told her that she loved her, the words touched more deeply than they had before. Regina kept her tone light, but it was obvious that there was strong emotion buried underneath, “I think you may have mentioned it once.”

She lifted Snow’s hand to place a kiss on it. “I love you too, Snow.”

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She looked at her eyes, “Win the war… don’t let him destroy your heart in the victory.” She said quietly. She knew Regina. Knew that as soon as it looked like she was out of the woods there would be blood even if she didn’t know about the prisoner.

“You are better than that.”

She squeezed her hand after the kiss.

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“Don’t worry yourself about my heart.” Regina didn’t see that another murder, or even a few, would make a substantial difference either way, and George absolutely deserved whatever fate she’d serve him. To target the queen was one thing. To deliberately go after Snow was quite another. There wasn’t room for the captain to talk her out of her course of action, so she didn’t say anything more about it.

“Is there anything I can get for you?” she asked instead. “Are you thirsty? Hungry? I could have the servants bring broth.”

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Snow’s were a little sad. She knew she’d done no good there but didn’t argue. Instead she embraced the caretaking. “Both… thirsty and hungry. Broth sounds good i’m not sure I could sit up to drink it. I’m afraid I wont be doing anything energetic in your bed for a bit…”

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Regina chuckled at the last statement. “That’s alright. We’ll make up for it when you’re well enough. As for whether you can sit up, we’ll see what we can manage.” After giving Snow’s hand a final squeeze, the queen rose and went to see about organising food, then returned to the bed. “Shall we see if we can prop you up?” Her tone was businesslike, but a hint of worry showed at the corner of her eyes, not as hidden as she probably thought.

(fade on Regina helping Snow to eat)

#making new mistakes #vault post #romantic Snow Queen #time travel au

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loveyou914 · 8 years ago

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Ten Spring Reads to Feed your Heart and Mind

March sent me over the moon, April has started out sad but, I’m turning to May with a hopeful heart and loaded with good reads. I’ve come to share with you my list of 10 books I’m reading in Spring 2017. I’m especially excited because some of the books on list are written by friends. And I want you to come with me on this ride. I know, I know. Reading is a solo sport but it would be fun to read these together. Then we can chat about them here on my Facebook page.

The Complete Works of Florence Scovel Shinn — I’m all about bringing the positive, empowering thinking, and evolving. When my dear friend shared the quote: “Nothing but fear and doubt stands between a woman and every desire of her heart” I knew I had to read this one. Then, it came in the mail as a gift and I was like yup, meant to be read by me!

Florence Scovel Shinn taught generations of readers how to live richer, fuller lives with her four empowering classics: The Game of Life and How to Play It; Your Word Is Your Wand; The Secret Door to Success; and The Power of the Spoken Word. This volume collects all four of those works, offering a wealth of affirmations and real-life success stories

Because some like a heart stealing read

Love Me Now — One of the true joys of being a writer is writing and publishing along with your friends. Love me Now is very special to me because it was written by my friend and critique partner, Cate Tayler. I read an earlier version of this story. It’s sweet, sexy romance that yanks at your heartstrings. I can’t wait to read the final version.

Calista Markatos is failing miserably at saving her family’s Greek diner. Without a miracle, her parents will lose everything. And it’s all the fault of a land developer whose big ideas are destroying her family’s livelihood.

Driven by guilt over his brother’s death, Miles Gardner plays the role of dutiful son. But he rebels against his father’s choice of a bride. A fake engagement can help him avoid the marriage trap. All he has to do is convince the Greek goddess to go along with his plan.

She doesn’t have to like him to pretend to love him. Thirty days later, they’ll both get exactly what they want—and maybe something they didn’t know they needed.

Under her Skin –

In Adriana Anders’ story, Ivan thought the world was through giving him second chances. Hell, who was he kidding—he wasn’t good enough for them anyway. And he certainly wasn’t good enough for her.

But the moment Uma walked into his life, Ivan knew he had to put all that crap aside and do everything he could to help. She was like nothing he’d ever known. Beautiful, lost, alone, she had the kind of sad eyes that were just begging for someone to save her…

…and despite his rough exterior, despite the nasty rumors, despite all the bad decisions following him around like the strays he couldn’t help but rescue, Ivan was nothing but willing to be the kind of man she needed.

Yeah, he’d thought the world was through giving him second chances. Until she came into his life. Until she changed everything. Until he realized he would do anything, fight anyone, tear the world apart if it only meant saving her.

And some like a hot read

The Mitus Touch

— Stoni Alexander Wealth manager Brigit Farnay despises Colton Mitus. And with good reason. He ripped away her family’s company during the most painful time in her life. Forced to work with him, she can’t deny that Colton is gorgeous, brilliant, commanding. And the enemy. Her traitorous body craves his touch every moment of every day. And then she finds out about the erotic games he plays…

Corporate raider Colton Mitus is success and power personified. He demands control in the boardroom and in the bedroom. So he shouldn’t be tempted by the newest member of the Mitus team. But he is. Brigit challenges him and frustrates him, but also quiets the demons that haunt him, especially as she agrees to be drawn into his secret, sinful world.

The most lucrative deal of Colton’s career places Brigit’s family’s company in jeopardy. When old enemies return hell-bent on ruining him, Brigit is the only person who can save him. But she’s been keeping secrets that could destroy everything…

Familiar Strangers

— Sanco Singleton Jr’s story of love, betrayal, sex and dominance will have you glued to your eBook reader of choice. Executive Vice President Alex Nicole Winston is done with love. After an abusive marriage and miscarriage, Alex has reinvented herself as a dominating boss in both the boardroom and bedroom. Now married to a man who adores her, Alex refuses to give love another chance. She has vowed to never be vulnerable again, and for her love is vulnerability. She cheats, unapologetically, and uses sex to control anyone she wants. However, there is one person who cannot be controlled and he is back with a vengeance.

Alex’s best friend, Reese, is a closeted bi-sexual who hides his sexuality from everyone, including his wife. Reese seemingly has it all, but he’s not satisfied. His search for satisfaction will lead him down a path of sex, love, betrayal, and blackmail.

Together friends Alex and Reese will prove that sometimes those we are the closest to are nothing more than familiar strangers.

Dirty Filthy Boy — In Magda Alexander’s steamy story, Bad boy quarterback Ty Mathews has it all–money, women,

fame. On the gridiron, he vanquishes defenses with his golden arm. Off the field, it’s another part of his anatomy that gets all the glory. And deservedly so, for what he doesn’t know about women hasn’t been written. Except for MacKenna Perkins.

The rookie reporter wants nothing to do with him. After all, she was hired to cover women’s and social issues for her local Chicago newspaper, not deal with a cocky football player. But when the sports reporter falls ill, she’s asked to interview a wide receiver. Since she knows next to nothing about football, predictably she fails at it. Until Ty Mathews volunteers his services.

With her job on the line, she accepts his offer. Too late, she realizes her unruly heart’s not listening to her head. In no time at all, she’s in his bed, doing all those dirty, filthy things he likes to do. But soon secrets surface about his past. Secrets that may destroy his future. And MacKenna must decide if the price she pays for the story is worth a broken heart

No Good Dead — i love bad boys . . . in books, that is! That’s why I can’t wait to dig into Dana Volney’s first novel in her Bad To Be Good series.

I’ll kill you if you touch her. Able Blood on my hands isn’t anything new. I’ve been killing my whole life and it’s not protecting the innocent type bullsh*t either. I do it because I want to. Because I can. Nothing can stop me from getting what I want. Except her. Teagan My sister died protecting others, she gave the ultimate sacrifice for our country. Now I’ll catch the murderer who did it. Except I’m the one who gets caught. The web of lies that is being spun around me is increasing and I can’t stop it. I need help. I need him.

Able and Teagan must decide if an assassin and a do-gooder can overcome their pasts to build a future. One in which they both survive.

Others want to be transported back in time

Night Song — Beverly Jenkins’ story has been on my TBR list for a while now. I can’t wait to meet Cara and Chase.

A Traitorous Heart . . .

Cara Lee Henson knows no soldier can be trusted to stay in one place—and that includes handsome Sergeant Chase Jefferson of the Tenth Cavalry. Dallying with the dashing man in blue could cost the pretty, independent Kansas schoolteacher her job and her reputation. So, Cara is determined to repel Chase’s advances—even though her aloof facade barely masks her smoldering desire.

A Blazing Passion . . .

Never before has Chase longed for a woman the way he ached for lovely Cara Lee. The strong-willed ebony beauty, however, will not surrender easily. But with tender words and soulful caresses, Chase intends to conquer the reluctant schoolmarm’s misgivings—and teach her how to love fully, sensuously . . . and forever.

But some just want the read to scare the snot out of them

The Eyewitness

– Nancy C. Weeks — Maryland PD forensic scientist Emersyn D’Azzo has an explosive past with her father’s younger, sexy partner, Detective Alec Pearce. Then an ill-timed kiss destroys the thin line of trust between her and her dad, just before tragedy strikes and someone guns down her father.

The fatal bullet turns out to be tied to the ongoing spree of random sniper kills across the state, but Emersyn knows this wasn’t a random act of violence and is determined to find the killer.

To do so, she’ll need to rely on help from Alec, whom she doesn’t quite trust but just can’t resist. When they discover a connection to a decades-old disappearance of a college student, their investigation takes a deadly twist. Can they learn to trust each other with their hearts to save their lives?

Dead Silence — Last but certainly not least on my spring read list is New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author Brenda Novak’s first book in her Stillwater Trilogy.

There’s a body buried behind a Mississippi farmhouse Grace Montgomery knows who it is, and she knows why it happened. She was only thirteen the night it all went wrong. And now, like then, she has no choice but to keep her mouth shut.

Grace left the town of Stillwater thirteen years ago, trying to forget, trying to make good. As an assistant D.A. in Jackson, she’s finally achieved the success that was supposed to change her life. But it hasn’t—so she’s come back to confront her own history. Which means returning to the farmhouse now owned by her brother and facing the people of Stillwater, a number of whom suspect the truth.

Widower Kennedy Archer is one of those people. He’s running for mayor and needs to stay as far away from Grace as possible. And yet…she’s an enigma he can’t resist. Even though her enemies are close to finding out what really happened—and that could ruin them both.

Wait! Don’t go, there’s one more, I can’t leave my baby out!

Boss —

Determined to avoid the violence that claimed her family and friends, Carissa Elliott flees her hometown with a dangerous plan. She has proof that mafia boss Calum DeMateo killed her father—now she just has to catch him. To do so, she’ll have to transform herself from small-town ingénue to New York crime boss.

When her path crosses with Alec McLean, the sexy stranger with whom she once shared a steamy nightclub kiss, things take an unexpected turn. Alec heads his family’s criminal organization, the kind of made man Carissa should want nothing to do with. But he also has a plan to take down Calum, and the flames that flicker between them are irresistible.

Will their vengeful quests jeopardize their chance at lasting love?

Whew that was close . . . Tell me, what are you planning to read this summer? Do you want to join me in reading these awesome authors? Let me know!

Ten Spring Reads to Feed your Heart and Mind was originally published on J. L. Lora

#adriana anders #amreading #Beverly Jenkins #books #brenda novak #cate tayler #dana volney #Florence Scovel Shinn #J. L. Lora #Magda Alexander #Nancy C. Weeks #read #reading #romance #Sanco Singleton Jr #Stoni Alexander

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