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jumbled-messy-confused · 3 days ago

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Flickers of the Past

jumbled_messy_confused

Summary:

A campfire. Shadows. Silence. As exhaustion claims the group, the night carries more than just the weight of the day’s events. In the quiet, bonds are tested, unspoken truths simmer, and a fragile new presence stirs old memories.

Notes:

This story is an AU, based on the first episodes of “Shadow and Bone”, when Alina is still relatively new to the palace. As in each of my stories, Kirigan is a leader, not the villain from the series. Please note that English is not my first language, but I did my best to find most mistakes. (Feel free to point them out to me!). I took certain creative liberties, particularly with the characterization of the main characters but I hope, you will just roll with it. And now have fun! And thank you for reading.

Night had settled heavily over the forest, casting long shadows that stretched like dark fingers across the path. Alina shifted in her saddle, her gaze distant as the cool wind whispered through the trees, carrying with it a chill that went deeper than the evening air. The weight of the day pressed down on her, an ache that refused to be shaken, no matter how many miles they put between themselves and what had transpired. She stole a glance at her companions; they rode in a sombre line, each figure shrouded in the dim light, silent but for the rhythmic clop of hooves. They were close now — one more day’s ride and they would be back at the Little Palace, back to some semblance of safety. But the events of the day had cast a gloom over them all, and the journey home still felt endless. They had passed through a village earlier that day — a haphazard gathering of cottages crouched low against the surrounding fields, barely visible through the morning mist as they had approached. The people had seemed wary at first, eyeing the travellers and their Keftas with suspicion, but that had been nothing new. What Alina hadn’t expected had been the way their expressions had shifted — from suspicion to outright hostility — when they had realized that Grisha walked among them.

She had seen it, felt it — the change had been as sudden and sharp as a blade drawn in secret. Wary glances had become hard stares, the kind that had tracked their every move. People had edged away, but not only out of fear. No, there had been something else. A tension simmering just beneath the surface, a hatred that had felt tangible, oppressive.

As they had led their horses to water and had taken a brief rest, Alina had not been able to shake the feeling that the air around them had thickened. The whispers behind closed doors, the way mothers had pulled their children close, the furtive gestures that had hinted at something lurking, unseen and unspoken... it had gnawed at her. This hadn’t been ordinary disdain for Grisha; this had been something darker, more menacing.

Kirigan’s posture had been steadfast, his face impassive, offering no reaction to the hostility around them. He had probably lived through too many scenes like this one to be fazed by another, yet Alina had noticed the way the others had pressed closer to him, as if his presence might shield them from the crowd’s resentment. She had glanced at Ivan, who had kept a watchful eye on the villagers, observing the crowd constantly, his entire stance taut and ready as though waiting for a fight to break out.

He hadn’t been alone. Fedyor, normally so gentle-hearted, had positioned himself slightly in front of them all, his gaze a mixture of unease and protectiveness. Alina had seen it in his eyes—he had been ready to draw his power if it meant keeping everyone safe. And then, from somewhere behind the cluster of gathered villagers, there had come a piercing scream — high-pitched, desperate. The cry of a child. Alina had turned, heart hammering, as a woman had been shoved forward, clutching a tiny figure to her chest. The woman’s face had been streaked with tears, her eyes wild, darting between the precious bundle in her arms and the crowd pressing around them. In her arms had been a girl, maybe two or three years old, her small body wracked with terrified sobs, her face hidden in her mother’s cloak. The villagers had drawn closer, muttering darkly, accusingly, and Alina had caught snatches of their words — “witch,” “dangerous,” “unnatural.” And when the child’s mother had tried to push them away, begging them to understand, someone had grabbed her by the arm and had yanked her toward the Grisha, her shriek piercing the tense air. Kirigan had stepped forward then, his dark gaze sweeping over the crowd, his presence commanding instant silence. For a moment, no one had moved, the sheer force of his authority rooting them in place. A few had even backed away, unease flickering across their faces, their dread of him palpable. But the stillness had not lasted. Slowly, as though emboldened by the tension simmering in the air, some had begun to recover, their anger and hatred clawing past their fear. Their glances had shifted from Kirigan to the child, and their dread of the girl—of what they believed she might bring—rose, outweighing their apprehension of him. Murmurs had started again, louder now, charged with bitter defiance. A grizzled man at the front had pointed a shaking finger at the child, his voice dripping with disdain. “She made the fire spark last night,” he had spat, his voice filled with anger and disgust. “Just sitting there, waving her hands — she called it forth herself! She’s unnatural, like you!” “She’ll bring ruin to us all,” another one had shouted. “We’ve seen it before. Children like her aren’t like us. We don’t want that kind of filth in our village!” The mother, clinging to her daughter, had tried to argue, insisting that she was just a frightened, innocent child. But her words had fallen on deaf ears. The people had been immovable, driven by a deep-seated dread that had festered over generations. They hadn’t cared about innocence, about youth — they had only seen a threat.

The Grisha had stood frozen, some in shock, others in anger, all held captive by the grotesque scene playing out before them. Ivan had taken a step forward, his hand on his belt, his stance taut with the readiness for violence. Fedyor, hovering next to him, had looked from the distressed mother to the villagers, his expression dark with something uncharacteristically volatile, something barely contained.

But Alina had known there would be no use in confronting them. The anger in these people’s eyes had been a living thing, boiling and cruel, so unyielding that even Kirigan’s intimidating presence had done nothing to sway them. Confrontation would only have made things worse. The villagers would never have seen the child as anything other than a curse, an unwanted burden.

At that moment, the little one had looked up, her face streaked with dirt and tears, her eyes wide and terrified as they had met Kirigan’s. Her small, trembling hands had reached toward him, as if sensing, somehow, that he could protect her.

Kirigan had hesitated, just for a moment, before leaning slightly toward the mother, his voice barely more than a whisper, meant only for her ears. “Come with us to the Little Palace,” he had offered, his tone soft, encouraging. “We will protect you both.”

The woman’s eyes had widened, gratitude flickering through the depths of her despair. Yet, her head had jerked in a sharp, tense shake, the motion rigid with a hopeless resolve, her voice cracking as she had whispered back, “They would never let me go.” For a heartbeat, Kirigan had simply held her gaze, before he had given her a single, sombre nod. Then, with resolute finality, he had extended his arms.

The mother’s tear-streaked face had twisted with anguish, her hands clutching the girl’s little shoulders as she had drawn her close for one last, desperate embrace. Her body had shaken, and eventually, with a shuddering breath, she had pressed her daughter forward into Kirigan’s waiting arms.

Alina had watched, equally stunned and devastated, as the little girl had wrapped her small arms around his neck, her head buried in his shoulder. Without another word Kirigan had turned, his expression unreadable, carrying her away from the crowd. The other Grisha had followed him in silence, their faces set, their steps steady. None of them had lingered. It had been Ivan who had turned away last, his movements rigid with barely checked rage, and Alina had felt his fury as if it had been her own. He had cast one last glance over his shoulder, his look a silent promise that he would remember this place.

They’d ridden for hours in silence, away from the village, each of them wrestling with the sourness left behind. Now, as night closed in, they finally dismounted to make camp, too exhausted to push any further. Tired bodies slumped against packs, and the low murmur of conversations gradually faded into the soft crackling of the flames. The little one was restless, her eyes red from the endless, choked sobs that now turned to cries, hoarse and high-pitched, a raw sound that set everyone further on edge. She shifted from one Grisha to the next, having been fed, been coddled, yet still desperately looking for comfort and finding none, sensing their own unsettled spirits as they tried to calm her. Alina had held her for a while, murmuring soft reassurances and stroking the girl’s dishevelled hair. But the child had only twisted and turned, her small fists tugging at Alina’s sleeve in restless frustration, her sobs escalating. The heart-wrenching wail echoed among the trees, carrying all the confusion, fear, and grief of what had happened. Alina felt the rawness of the sound claw at her own heart, knowing how helpless they all felt, unable to explain, unable to ease her pain.

Genya had taken her next, her soft, skilled hands cradling her with the same care she brought to all things. She had hummed a lullaby, her voice as light and delicate as a breeze, each note carrying a tenderness meant to lull the child into comfort. But the girl’s cries only grew sharper, her body trembling violently with each shuddering breath. Genya’s soft smile wavered, sadness clouding her eyes as the small girl turned her face away, resisting the warm embrace Genya offered. Eventually, with a reluctant sigh, Genya passed her to Fedyor.

Fedyor reached for her with the same warmth he brought into everything he did, his expression deeply compassionate as he took her into his arms. He held her close, rocking her in a slow, soothing rhythm, his voice a low murmur as he whispered soft reassurances meant to calm. He tried everything—gentle words, comforting pats on her back—but her sobs only seemed to deepen. Her little body remained tense, rigid with grief and fear, as though she couldn’t bear to let herself be comforted.

A heartrending mix of hope and helplessness lined Fedyor’s gaze as he looked at her, and then at the others, silently pleading for some answer they couldn’t give. Finally, he glanced to Kirigan, hesitation flickering across his features before he spoke, his voice low, careful. “I could…help her sleep,” he suggested quietly, though a trace of sorrow underlined his words. It was the voice of someone who only wished to spare the little one her pain, his gentle heart breaking with every desperate, shuddering sob.

Kirigan, silent for most of the evening, lifted his head and shook it. “No.” His voice was soft but firm, a quiet command edged with understanding. “She’s been through enough for one day. Let her come to it on her own.” And without another word, he stood up, extending his arms. Fedyor carefully passed the child to the General. Alina watched as Kirigan took her with surprising gentleness, wrapping her in the warmth of his cloak. His movements were calm, deliberate, and so sure it became clear he knew exactly what he was doing. To Alina’s astonishment, the girl didn’t flail or resist this time. Her small, trembling body stilled the moment he cradled her against his chest. She tucked her head against him, her tiny fingers curling instinctively into the fabric of his Kefta. He lowered himself to the ground then, sitting near the fire, leaning back against his saddle with a slow, steady exhale. For a long moment, he did nothing but hold her, his hand a warm, protective weight on her back, the other lightly adjusting the soft folds of his cloak around her. His touch was deliberate, unfailingly gentle, a rare patience radiating from him. All the while he murmured something low, too quiet for Alina to catch, his voice a steady undercurrent of reassurance. The child seemed to melt into him, her ragged sobs softening into faint, hiccupping breaths. A fragile sort of calm settled over her, as though his presence alone was enough to ease the raw edges of her grief and fear.

Alina couldn’t look away. The transformation was almost inexplicable. The little one, who had been inconsolable just moments ago, now nestled closer to Kirigan; it seemed she had finally found a semblance of peace, as if some invisible weight had lifted.

Watching them, Alina’s chest tightened. She couldn’t help but think of the way the child had reached for Kirigan in the village, as if sensing something in him that none of the others could provide. It struck her now how profound that instinct had been.

Does she feel it too? she wondered, remembering her own moments with Kirigan—the strange, magnetic pull she experienced whenever his hand brushed hers, the sense of power and connection that bloomed at his touch. She had never been able to describe it fully, the way it felt as though some part of her had been waiting her whole life to align with his presence.

The child’s sobs had quieted completely now, replaced by the soft, steady rhythm of her breathing. Her tiny fingers still clung to the General, her face nestled against his shoulder.

She knows! The realization settled heavily in Alina's mind. Somehow, even at her young age, the girl seemed to sense the truth of Kirigan’s nature—the vastness of his power, yes, but also the way it seemed to promise protection, solace. She had sought him out instinctively, and now, in his arms, she had finally come to rest. His steady, exhausted presence had soothed her into slumber.

Kirigan’s gaze was fixed on the fire, his expression unreadable as ever, but there was a softness in his posture that Alina had rarely seen. He held the child as though she were a fragile flame he was shielding from the wind. And for the first time since they had left the village, a quiet calm settled over the group.

Shadows danced against the trees, and the guards moved in steady patrols along the forest’s edge, watchful yet silent. Around the camp, a quiet had settled, a shared exhaustion that had seeped into bones and hearts alike. Tired and troubled, the Grisha stared into the fire, its flames holding no answers, only the unsettling echoes of the ugly scenes they had witnessed today in that village. Even though they were miles away now, a sense of unease lingered in the air, as though the hatred they’d left behind still clung to them. Alina couldn’t take her eyes off Kirigan and the little life he held securely in his arms. The girl was oblivious to the world around her, safe in her dreams for now. The rise and fall of her small form seemed oddly peaceful against the man who rarely showed any softness. There was something almost fragile in his expression, a quiet sorrow that Alina hadn’t seen before, as though the events of the day had reopened an old wound. Kirigan’s shoulders were tense, but his arms were wrapped protectively around the child, as though he were shielding her from the night itself.

The strained quiet was broken, unexpectedly, by him. “She’s lucky.” He looked down at the child, a tired peace in his gaze. “This world despises her power, but she won’t be alone. She has us.” He paused, lifting his head slightly, his eyes distant, fixed on the flickering flames. “Countless children have not been so fortunate.” His voice was steady but edged with something darker now. “Too often I’ve seen what happens when help comes too late.”

By now, all eyes had turned to the General. Those who had been lying back had pushed themselves upright, their gazes fixed on him in stunned silence. Everyone sensed that Kirigan’s words were more than a passing reflection.

“The first child I ever tried to rescue was only a little older than her.” The fire’s glow illuminated Kirigan's features, highlighting the sharp angles of his expression. “It was many years ago, before any of you were born; before any Grisha even imagined a place like the Little Palace.” The words were deliberate, unhurried, but there was a weight to them that made Alina’s stomach knot.

“We had no safe place then. No sanctuary, no walls to keep us from the world’s hate. Like all of us, I hid my gift, hoping I wouldn’t be found out, certain it was only a matter of time.”

Alina had always known that life for Grisha outside the Little Palace had been perilous but hearing him describe it this way — this personal— made it feel uncomfortably real. The idea that he, the strongest Grisha alive, had once lived in hiding, forced to conceal his power, was almost impossible to comprehend — and all the more unsettling because of it. She noticed Genya and Ivan exchanging a tense, unsettled glance. It was clear they had never heard Kirigan speak of his past in this way. He was a private man, his silences well-known, respected. The fact that he was sharing this now, here, after the day’s events, was startling.

“I had heard whispers,” he continued, “A child in a village. Cursed, they said. But I knew better. It was clear he was one of us.” Alina felt the foreboding settle like a stone in her chest. “I went immediately. I knew what would happen if I didn’t get there in time. But when I arrived, the soldiers were already there. His parents—beaten until they could barely kneel—were tied and forced to watch as the house was set alight. The villagers stood back, not a word of protest on their lips. They didn’t help. They didn’t intervene. They just… stood there. Most of them silent. But a few even cheering.”

Kirigan’s tone stayed maddeningly even, offering no rise, no fall — just the quiet, unrelenting certainty of someone who knew better than to let emotion interfere. “I didn’t stop to speak. I didn’t waste my time asking for help. I went straight for the house. Around the back, where the flames hadn’t spread as far yet. The fumes were thick, clawing at my throat, the heat so intense I could feel my skin blistering even with the shadows shielding me. But I went in.” Everyone knew, of course, that this story would not end well. The way he had started it — the grim deliberation, the utter lack of reassurance — left no room for hope. And yet Alina clung to it anyway, refusing to let go until there was no choice. She glanced at Genya, whose lip trembled despite her efforts to keep her expression composed. Ivan’s jaw was locked, his hands curled into fists so tight his knuckles had turned white. “The smoke was nearly impenetrable, choking. I found him in a corner, nearly unconscious, barely able to breathe. But he was still alive. I picked him up, wrapped him in my cloak, and ran.” The General’s tone didn’t rise, his control absolute, but Alina felt an involuntary shiver ripple through her. She wrapped her arms tightly around herself, as if shielding against a cold that wasn’t there. “Outside, in the fresh air, he started coughing. He couldn’t help it. And the soldiers… They heard us. They came after us immediately.”

She studied his profile, desperate to discern some flicker of emotion, but his face remained an unyielding mask. “I fled deeper into the forest, weaving between trees and shadows, hoping to lose them in the darkness.” His voice dipped, and just for one moment, there was a glint of something raw beneath the surface. “Back then, I still believed I could spare lives. That I didn’t have to kill to protect someone.” His exhale was sharp, bitter. “I was young—untested. I didn’t yet understand that hate and arrows will always move faster than we can.”

Alina swallowed hard, the bluntness of his words cutting through her like a knife.

No one spoke. The others seemed as frozen as she felt, caught between the horror of his story and the unyielding way he told it. The dread came not from him, but from the silence that surrounded his words, the details he left unsaid.

“The first shot struck me.” One of his hands moved unconsciously to his ribs, as if the memory were a physical thing. “And another. My leg. My side. But I kept going. Then I felt his body jerk against mine. An arrow had found him, too. I didn’t realize at first; he didn’t cry out. He didn’t even make a sound. So I just… kept running. Thinking I could still save him.” There was no flourish in the way he spoke, no dramatics. His words were stark, the details laid bare without embellishment. Yet that simplicity was what made the story so harrowing. Alina’s breathing quickened, shallow and uneven, as if she’d run the same desperate path. Her mind filled with unbidden images: smoke curling through the trees, arrows slicing through the dark, and that helpless child—small, vulnerable, bleeding. “Somehow, I managed to lose them. But when I looked down…” Alina’s throat constricted. She didn’t need to hear him finish the sentence to understand. “I wasn’t a Healer.” There was a tired finality in his words. “I wasn’t enough. He died in my arms.” A tear slipped down her cheek before she even realized she was crying. Yet, she didn’t wipe it away. Her gaze remained fixed on Kirigan, his expression betraying nothing, though the story itself told of a grief too deep to ignore. A heavy silence followed, broken only by the fire’s unrelenting crackle. “I buried him.” His tone was quieter now, but no less composed. “In the forest. Alone. Under a cairn of stones I could barely lift.” He exhaled softly, but it was a sound devoid of relief. “I was too weak to even dig.” He lowered his gaze, his words almost flat, as if recounting the facts of someone else’s life. “I lay there for days. Bleeding. Delirious with fever. Waiting to be found, waiting to die myself.” He shrugged. “But I didn’t. And when I finally got back on my feet, I swore I would use everything I had, every bit of power, to try to stop this from happening again. To try to ensure no other family would burn for what they were.”

In that moment, Alina felt she understood him in a way she hadn’t before. It was clear, this was not an isolated incident, not a single loss. It was only one of many that weighed down their General’s heart, that formed the very armour he carried into battle. Kirigan was not simply protecting them out of duty or even out of love for his people. He was bound to them by the ghosts of those he could not save, by an unbreakable vow born out of grief and purpose alike; she understood now, why he’d fought so hard to create the Little Palace, why he held so fiercely to the idea of a sanctuary. This man had spent more years than any of them could fathom bearing these ghosts, fighting for each child he could save and grieving for each one he could not.

“I still carry his memory.” His gaze remained fixed on the flames. “Every time I saved a child after that, every time I brought one more Grisha to safety, I thought of him. And each time, I hoped that maybe I could stop it from happening again.” When he finally looked down at the girl in his arms, his expression softened. It was not peace, not exactly, but a weariness that seemed to settle deeper into his features. “And I will keep fighting,” he murmured, “until there is nothing left of me. A deep hush settled over the camp, and in the firelight, Alina could see the others’ faces — hollowed, stunned by the bleakness of his words. Genya wiped her cheeks, trying unsuccessfully to conceal how her composure had cracked. Fedyor looked down, his face unbearably sad, Ivan’s fists were clenched, his stance rigid with barely-contained anger.

Alina looked back to the General, then down at the child, asleep in his arms, and felt an unexpected well of emotion rise within her. She couldn’t begin to fathom the weight of his past, but she knew one thing with certainty: whatever darkness he wielded, whatever things he had done in the past, he had done it all to give them a future, to offer them the chance that so many had never had.

They sat in silence for a long time after that, each lost in their own thoughts. Then, gradually, one after the other began to turn in for the night. Genya lay down close to Alina, her face pale, eyes reflecting a deep sorrow as she closed them, trying to find some rest. Ivan settled beside Fedyor, but his gaze lingered on Kirigan for a long moment, a rare glimpse of respect and grief in his usually stoic expression. Finally, he gave into his exhaustion, Fedyor following shortly after.

But Alina couldn’t sleep. Even as the others drifted off, lulled by the weariness of the journey, she stayed awake, watching as the fire burned lower, the shadows on Kirigan’s face deepening; watching as he adjusted his hold on the sleeping girl, carefully pressing his hand to her forehead to check her warmth. For the first time, she wondered just how many nights he had spent like this, staring into flames with the weight of other people's burdens in his arms, gathering strength not from rest, but from some unspoken promise to never give in.

Alina shivered, pulling her cloak tighter around her shoulders, yet still she could not tear her gaze from him, could not quiet the thoughts that stirred in her mind. She had seen him as a leader, a protector, but now, watching him hold this abandoned child with a tenderness she would have never expected, she glimpsed a man worn down by a thousand battles, both within and without, whose strength was not unbreakable but resilient.

The hours crept by, and the cold of the night seeped through every layer, wrapping itself around the camp like a relentless tide. Alina still lay awake on her bedroll, shivering. But it wasn’t just the chill that made her feel so raw, so unable to find peace. Her gaze settled on the General again, who had finally succumbed to sleep. A few minutes earlier, he had leaned back, closing his eyes.

Now he lay on his bedroll, his long form stretched out, his head resting at an awkward angle. The girl in his arms was wrapped securely in his cloak and blanket, leaving him with only his Kefta against the biting wind; even now, he cradled her protectively, shielding her from the harshness of the world with everything he had left to give.

In the dim, flickering light, Alina could see how pale he had become. The shadows beneath his eyes were deeper than ever, and the firelight accentuated the hollowness there, betraying the toll that countless battles and unending burdens had exacted. His usual power and authority were replaced with a quiet weariness, an almost boyish vulnerability. When he was awake, Kirigan’s presence commanded every room, his gaze sharp and intimidating, his every move calculated strength. Now, he lay there, stripped of that intensity, but there was still a fragile grace to him. A tremor then ran through his frame, subtle at first, but as Alina watched, she realized he was shivering. More and more, betraying just how deeply the cold had seeped into his bones. The sight pierced her; Kirigan, who seemed impervious to weakness, was so utterly spent right now that the cold which he usually seemed immune to, had begun to take its toll. He gave so much to all of them—without question, without hesitation—and now, seeing him like this, so defenceless, she felt a fierce need to give something back.

Her fingers tightened on her blanket, and she was just about to get up when the faint rustle of fabric drew her attention. Fedyor was rising, slow and deliberate, careful not to wake Ivan beside him. But his eyes—his eyes, wide and full of quiet determination—betrayed the truth. He had been watching, waiting, just as she had. She observed him silently, noting the uncertainty in his posture, the way he hesitated as if debating whether to intrude on his General’s vulnerable moment. But concern overruled hesitation. He picked up his thick blanket and approached, stopping just beside Kirigan.

The unguarded worry in Fedyor’s eyes made Alina’s chest tighten. He looked down at Kirigan’s trembling form, at the way his shoulders curled inward as though warding off the chill. Wordlessly, he draped the thick blanket over the freezing man’s shoulders and the child in his arms. His hands moved carefully, tucking the edges close around them, smoothing out the fabric as if it might somehow soften the weight Kirigan carried. His fingers lingered for a moment on Kirigan’s shoulder, a touch that was neither casual nor accidental. It was a silent promise, an unspoken vow of loyalty — a reminder that even the strongest needed someone to watch over them.

Kirigan stirred faintly, a soft, almost inaudible sigh escaping his lips. His eyes fluttered open for the briefest moment, meeting Fedyor’s gaze. There was no sharpness in his expression, only a quiet weariness and perhaps a hint of surprise. “Can’t have the little one getting cold,” Fedyor whispered, his voice warm, low, and edged with a tenderness rarely spoken aloud. A faint smile ghosted across Kirigan’s lips — tired, genuine, and grateful. It lasted only a moment before exhaustion reclaimed him, his eyelids closing once more. The tension in his body softened, his shivering began to subside.

As Fedyor straightened, another sound caught Alina’s attention. Ivan obviously was watching too, his eyes reflecting the low firelight. He shifted and lifted his own blanket, a wordless invitation for Fedyor. The exchange was brief but spoke volumes; there was a depth of care, of shared understanding, that needed no elaboration. Fedyor moved back, sliding beneath the cover beside Ivan, who drew him close without hesitation.

Next, a flicker of movement near the fire’s edge drew her attention. Genya shifted in her place, her vivid red hair catching the light as she turned. Her eyes, wide awake and full of warmth and something like melancholy, met Alina’s. Then, she turned and without a word, she reached out and squeezed Fedyor’s hand. The connection rippled through them all, uniting them in a way no words ever could. They were all here, all sleepless, each of them unable to find rest after what the General had shared with them — after what he had revealed of himself and the endless battle he waged.

Alina’s gaze lingered on Kirigan once more. The shadows of exhaustion would not vanish overnight, but for now, he was warmer, protected, watched over by those who cared as fiercely for him as he cared for them. Sleep still wouldn’t come, but for the first time that night, the weight of unease began to ease. The quiet settled over the camp like a gentle tide, and even Kirigan seemed to have found a moment’s respite, his breathing slower, the burden of the past lightened—if only for a brief time.

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waywardsalt · 10 months ago

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Can you please tell more about your redeemed Bellum that hangs around with the main cast in post-canon? Or, like, your hum!Bellum ideas in general?

Ooooh, I have a lot I could say about Bellum. I'll go a bit off this ask and just talk about him in the context of post-ph and some other aus, since he's fun and because most of them share the common thread of him being in human form often. This will probably be messy, but I'll divide it into sections to force myself to stick to one topic at once to keep this from devolving into what might as well be a transcript of a discord dms infodump.

(there should be a keep reading just under here- there are a few thousand words under the cut- if it's lower than it should be then idk, even while drafting this i had issues with it moving further down than i put it)

Human Bellum Basics (mostly design stuff)

It's less of a human Bellum au sort of thing, and more like a design for what if Bellum had a human form that he could change into. Kind of like Oshus having his human form while actually being a whale, it's the idea that Bellum can switch between his human form and his demon form at will, and I have spent... way, way too long trying to figure out this design.

I can't quite remember why I decided to give Bellum a human form (could've been anything from doing it for the hell of it to for shipping purposes) and it took AGES to decide on his final design.

Describing it would take a few paragraphs, so there's art! Commission pieces by @roskii specifically, he's great, he did great, check him out. (i dont know how to make these smaller :)))))) enjoy)

Half of it is directly taken from his demon design, he keeps the tentacles (not always present, he manifests them at will and tend to have much less reach when he's human), his eye, his teeth, his hair color (kind of), and half of it is more... brought in by ideas related to Bellum in general, with some vague references to that demon design; specifically him being scarred all over is a mixture of the idea of him as a violent and almost warlike creature, while also vaguely referencing the markings on his demon body (in the earliest drawing I ever did of a human Bellum design, he did just straight-up have those markings. That picture no longer exists, I'm sure).

As a basic reference, I suppose, in the second image, the character to the right of Bellum (Damien Fletcher) is an oc of mine, and therefore a character I designed (totally worth mentioning tho that with both Damien and Bellum while I did technically design them and gave roskii my notes for how they look, he also took some small liberties with their designs and... ugh theyre great im keeping them), so those two could provide some insight to my character design sensibilities, even if they're just a small fraction of the (mental) character designs I have.

Bellum is made up of pieces of his canonical design, pieces that I think make sense considering what we know about him, and just pieces of other character designs. He has more or less the same haircut as Joker/the protagonist from Persona 5. His hair has been like that for a while, but seeing Joker's hair helped me figure out specifically what I wanted.

It's been... hard, trying to give him a humanoid design, I've seen a bunch of other human Bellum designs, looked at other Zelda characters with both human and inhuman forms, took inspiration for what I could do and how and what parts could be carried over. His hair is easy to explain, it literally is meant to look like he does as a demon. Easy. It is absolutely directly inspired by that bitch from Tokyo Ghoul. I'm not looking up the character name I don't care about Tokyo Ghoul.

I keep him having sharp teeth, I've transposed those markings on his bodies as being scars (which I'll elaborate a little more on later), kept his eye and that he only has one main eye (there is nothing under the eyepatch. It's just smooth. If you've seen The Goonies, it's like what's going on with One-Eyed Willy. That's probably where I got it from tbh), the yellow and black color scheme is further kept with a yellow tank top-esque shirt and black pants and boots, and while they're not constantly present he still has access to his tentacles.

He's not human, just pretending to be.

Leading me to some other little details, such as his lack of ears. And nails. And. Other things not visible that he didn't bother with. He pretends to be human, but doesn't care enough to look truly human- though he can pass as human. When he does bother to actually look human, he does have nails and ears, and changes his eye to a human one, with a color of choice. He goes by 'Warren' when actually pretending to be human. It doesn't mean anything in particular it's just a play on how 'bellum' is latin for 'war'. But, most of the time, he's not really trying. A sense of lack of real care is something I try to communicate with his humanoid design, hence him having generally baggy and plain clothes.

The 'war' thing about his character I think is decently expressed in game with him having an army of sorts with the phantoms and him just coming off as sort of violent but strategic. He also seems very scrappy, mostly attacks with direct contact including just straight up running into Link, and seems to put a lot of stock into sheer force and just fucking killing you at any cost after a certain point, but seems genuinely wary and cornered once someone is shown to be capable of actually posing an actual threat. I like the idea of human Bellum being a bit of a brawler in a sense, fighting with his bare hands and just being incredibly violent when he fights like a human, really only breaking out his more supernatural abilities when he just wants to get shit over with.

Part of the fun with Bellum is that there isn't much to him, so I'm taking a lot of liberties with him. His loose clothes are something that won't really get in the way of him fighting and do the bare minimum, and the boots he wears have metal toes for just a bit of extra ways to hurt people. He's built but still soft in places, not intended to be a muscular as Damien, he's intentionally designed his own human form to be a bit unassuming, so I've kept that he's made of a lot of circular shapes, his face is meant to be a bit of a round shape, his hair gives a round shape, and though he's fairly tall (he and Damien are 6 feet tall btw Linebeck throws off every post-ph cast height comparison) I think of him being a bit... small? If that makes sense? His clothes help with that, they're slightly oversized, and his posture isn't great; He's a bit like a delinquent, starting fights intentionally for the sake of violence and putting little effort into his appearance.

His scars are technically cosmetic. They aren't results of injuries; technically nothing but the Phantom Sword and things like it can hurt him. His scars are references to the markings on his demon body, and just further reflection of him being a creature all about violence and conflict. They aren't totally consistent between the times he uses his human form, but some of the bigger ones are, most notably the scar across his face.

I'll be honest. My earliest human Bellum designs were some Tumblr sexyman shit and I've been trying to ditch that SO BAD ever since. I think I've done well. The scar across his face is a big one. An added imperfection, a massive facial blemish that isn't really conventionally great to look at. His nose specifically has been though some development stages, at first I kept switching between different full nose shapes, then brought in the facial scar and decided that he'd be missing a chunk of that nose, then, decided, fuck it! I can't decide on a nose shape, so he gets no nose at all. I think it works pretty well and I like it.

I really tried to get in a lot of his personality to the design, and I don't want to go into all of it in this section, so just keep in mind that a lot of his design has been influenced by the way I've decided to write him, and some stuff I've already mentioned might be made a little clearer when I get into that. As a quick aside, he's pale partially because I've intentionally made him look halfway similar to Link, and partially because I figure he does not get a lot of sun; you literally meet him in what is effectively a basement, and from the way he operates, probably hasn't made himself seen in a while by the time the events of the game happen. He can't get sunburns, but, as he cannot change a lot of extremely major things about his human form, he can't manually change his skin tone in a major way, and it's likely that when he was considerably younger and newer and spent time in the sun, his skin tone would be closer to Oshus's, so a bit more tan.

In the Context of Phantom Hourglass and Post-PH

Moving swiftly on, as there is pretty much no real info about Bellum's background, I have taken matters into my own hands and decided a lot of it for myself in headcanon; Bellum is technically Oshus's son. Not in the traditional sense, but he was created by Oshus and can very much be considered his child, and to an extent, Ciela, Leaf, and Neri are all also Oshus's kids due to them being created by him (yea even considering Ciela calling him 'grandpa', in her and my defense she lost her memories and he is old as a human), therefore making (in some terms) Bellum to be Oshus's son and the brother of the three spirits. I think it's an interesting dynamic, to have Oshus be the one responsible for Bellum's existence, and for the three spirits you travel with and help you defeat Bellum to be closely related to him.

Oshus himself (when you get the hourglass in ph) says that the sand of hours is made of force gems of the ocean king (whatever... that wording means)- which then suggests that at the end of the day, all sands of hours are derived from the power of the ocean king, and Bellum dissolves into that sand at the end of the game, and I am standing in front of a wild-looking conspiracy cork board trying to piece this all together. I find it interesting if Oshus was the one who created Bellum before he created the three spirits.

(This is a topic for another post/fic but Leaf and Neri were neglected so bad in ph and it would be interesting to see more of how they feel abt Ciela before she gets her memories back and how they feel abt... anything else ig. I think they're neat, too, and I like tying the spirits together with Bellum in this way)

In Phantom Hourglass, it's strongly suggested (mostly through dialogue) that it's been a decent amount of time since Bellum defeated Oshus and took over the Temple of the Ocean King and created the Ghost Ship (though I suppose it could be possible that the Ghost Ship's existence precedes Bellum taking over that temple and defeating Oshus), but things across that sea are relatively calm, despite the new influx of monsters and the Ghost Ship making most people too afraid to sail. No one knows it's Bellum, though, and people do know about the Ocean King, so I wonder if Bellum is known about at all by the general public, or is a being that's more or less completely unknown? My personal theory is that he's vaguely known in some sense, as an obscure deity, and that he was behind the collapse of the Cobble Kingdom, since they were aligned with the Ocean King and Bellum appears to be his direct enemy and would likely then target the allies of his enemy.

Bellum seems to do a lot of behind the scenes stuff, never been seen until the end of the game and not even being mentioned until halfway through. As I think I've said before, he's practically won by the time he comes across Link and Tetra, the Ghost Ship going out and collecting people for him while he sits at the bottom of the temple and drains anyone who might be heading directly for him. He doesn't even seem to concerned about hunting Oshus down for good, and I suspect he likely doesn't even know about Ciela being split apart, so (asides from my idea that gods/spirits/stuff like that only being able to be sealed away, only properly killed under certain circumstances) I bet there's a level of confidence that he's got things under tight enough wraps that he's good to do whatever he wants.

Aaaand then he panics when he realizes how much of a wrench in his plans Link is, throwing two sea monsters at him and causing earthquakes, he's a procrastinator, I think. That, or he underestimated this kid. Both are very possible. Either way, it's interesting to look at what he's done and caused, hiding away the spirits and beating back the Ocean King, taking over his temple, creating the Ghost Ship to roam indefinitely, screwing with the Yook and wiping out pretty much all of the Isle of Ember, and likely being the reason behind the increased number of monsters. If you really look into it, while most characters don't really seem to realize, things are kind of fucked at the start of Phantom Hourglass, and it's interesting how Oshus himself seems powerless and even dissuades Link from giving it a shot, even if he secretly wants him to go and handle things.

With my idea of Bellum being a sort of technical relative to Oshus and the spirits, it opens up a handful of new avenues for motivation beyond just being after securing control and a steady stream of prey, I enjoy the idea of it being a matter of him becoming more and more ambitious, far beyond the station he was created for; going off of his name and ability to create phantoms, I imagine Oshus created him specifically to be warlike, perhaps initially with the intention of having him as a more violent protector of the realm, maybe to keep monsters in check or maybe just as a secondary deity for the world of the ocean king; I'll admit, I'm still a little foggy on what Bellum would've been initially created for, the spirits are easy to figure out, but I do figure it was something not as passive as just representing something, I imagine it as a deliberate opposite to Oshus himself to account for his weaknesses. Either way, I figure a part of Bellum's motivation involves him wanting more than he was given access to by Oshus, and deciding to fully wage war against him in a sense. The short and silly version is that Bellum is Oshus' shitty disowned son. Oshus isn't entirely innocent in whatever I decide caused Bellum to turn on him and the spirits, but Bellum does suck: that is important. The Cobble Kingdom looks like it's been destroyed for a while, I figure that was Bellum's first major target when he started outwardly going after Oshus and hunting the humans of the realm.

In Post-PH, he's the group's pet evil squid on a very very very short leash until he starts behaving himself and having a character arc.

Effectively, Bellum doesn't die at the end of Phantom Hourglass, instead being broken down into the sand of hours he's made of and being sealed inside the Phantom Sword- after all, after the final boss, the sand Bellum turns into goes into the Phantom Sword. I imagine that the Phantom Sword, after breaking and restoring Oshus, turns into the hourglass for Link to keep, while Oshus and the spirits keep the remaining sands, therefore keeping a hold of Bellum. (A bit like Oshus just being left alone after Bellum defeating him, they can't really kill Bellum so they just keep an eye on him while he's in a weakened state) They kind of just keep him prisoner at the bottom of the Temple for a bit, and Oshus finally decides to send him to Link's world as a punishment, since he's at his weakest and Oshus wants to get him to learn some lesson, it's a work in progress. Bellum is grounded in Post-PH.

It's basically that 'the villain when you unlock him as a playable character' bit, where he's quite a bit weaker than he is in Phantom Hourglass, though mostly for the sake of keeping things balanced, so Bellum can't break everything for everyone. He's still powerful, he still accesses his demon form, can't be conventionally killed or injured, and move through walls and turn people to stone, the whole deal, it's just that his demon form's size is impacted (i hc that the size of his demon form can be manipulated at will, but the largest size is dependent of how much power/stored life force he has. he's small at the start of post-ph, but his human form isnt impacted at all. i imagine that for beings like oshus and bellum, their human form is a like a 'low power mode' kinda thing) So Bellum is the Post-PH crew's fourth member, the swabbie on the ship and pet sea monster when they need it and when he has the energy for it.

Bellum is kept mostly in line by a vague fear of Link and his general fear, respect, and curiosity about Linebeck. Linebeck is usually the one holding onto Bellum's leash. Bellum is decently civil with the group from the start, since he's weak and unable to return home until Oshus permits it or he gathers enough power to make that trip, and works mostly as a fighter- when he wants to. The earliest limitation I came up for him, since he's the member with the highest chance of breaking things, is that he will just straight-up choose not to help. He decides he's busy, decides it's not his problem, or other limitations, such as his involvement likely to cause more problems that they solve, since he's rather destructive when fighting.

He's the least sociable most of the time, for obvious reasons, but can pretend, and has the least... casual skills to offer to the group, hence why he gets stuck as swabbie (also general disrespect/as a punishment for the ph thing) and it takes a while for him to properly warm up to the rest of the group. He and Linebeck start off on decent terms and get closer through them just initially trusting each other, he and Link take the longest to get used to each other for... obvious reasons, it takes a lot of fighting together and seeing that they can rely on each other and they learn to be decent with each other just by existing in the same space, and things with Damien start off half decent, Damien was not present during Phantom Hourglass (obviously) and doesn't have the full context of how much he sucks, but it starts decent, gets worse when he learns what happened, and then gets good again because Damien's kind of amiable in general and sees that Linebeck thinks he's fine.

SO! To actually address your question about him being 'redeemed'- he does have a bit of an arc that I'm still mentally workshopping. He isn't entirely redeemed, as the group's general morality is a big off-kilter when Link isn't looking or is willing to get a little gray with things, and there's not really a whooooole lot of atonement Bellum can do in terms of the volume of bullshit he pulled in the past. It's less him atoning or w/e for the bullshit he's done, that's not entirely feasible, it's more him just. being forced to Be Decent and learn some actual kindness and think about more than just his own survival, he's essentially forced to actually appreciate life and the world, it's more him actually... experiencing the world for a reason other than consumption and war and conflict and doing what he's been told, he's effectively just on this long voyage with Linebeck, Link, and Damien, going with them from island to island and seeing what's up. I'm going to try and keep empathy out of it, so he's not really relating on a visceral level, more just choosing to be kind and take gentler paths to solving problems and interacting with others. He's also the group gremlin.

The way I write Bellum is definitionally inspired by other characters, Power from Chainsaw Man comes to mind in how he has a kind of shitty brat attitude at times, he'd fling vegetables across the room because he's a piece of shit who likes live meat. He's got his shitty messy delinquent loser side, where he causes problems and acts like some asshole teenager, and he's got his more serious, calm, almost professional seeming side that reminds the group that he's a few centuries old at the least and practically a god in his own right; generally outside of Post-PH I would pick one of these two sides to focus on for aus, but in Post-PH I need to figure out how the two of them work with how Bellum generally operates.

He's interested in Linebeck and initially decides to go along because he wants to figure him out, but grows to enjoy the rest of the group and that curiosity expands to involve the world as a whole; he experiences things like art and music, where he can't just brute-force his way into a satisfactory outcome and has to learn and find his own style, he reads books and listens to stories and sees the different ways humans live on the seas and I want his arc to, in some part, be about him just finding meaning in the world beyond what he does to secure survival, and the other members of the group introduce him to those other facets of life that he has access to, has had access to. The other part is the group getting Bellum to see most living things as more than just prey for him to hunt and consume, but that generally goes hand in hand with the prior point, as he actually enjoys life and figures out what he likes beyond the basic things he was created for.

He can't fall back on just smashing through everything or creating phantoms, since he's far too weak to do either effectively at the start, and I intend to just force Bellum into basically just being a human character with some unusually powerful magic at his fingertips, first just wanting to build himself back up to what he was in Phantom Hourglass, then just getting to see things in a new light. I'm not sure how to explain it or even what I'll want to do when I get to it, but that's the general gist of his arc, I think.

Other than that, he's just the fourth members of the crew with a serious knowledge of... a lot of things as a centuries-old demon and the hardest hitter in the group who can't and won't cook for shit and kind of just learns to actually live without constantly gunning for those bare necessities long after he's gotten them. I don't want it to be 'he learns to be human' because he... isn't human, but just him appreciating life and seeing some value in it, especially as something with as much power as Bellum, it's a bit messy and I'm still figuring it out, but I've got the general direction figured out.

Bellum is effectively the ship's best defender, and ends up fitting into the group as a friend and with his own specific role with the other individual members of the group. Linebeck kind of kickstarts his arc for him and connects with him the most and Bellum generally stays the closest with him, but Damien and Link help him see other little corners of life, as well as other characters he has to interact with, and I think I want Bellum's side of the story to have the most outstanding mundane-ity to it- there's absolutely meant to be a slice-of-life aspect to Post-PH, but I want the biggest points of Bellum's arc to be comparably the most mundane. It's the little things with him. The others have little things, too, but... I'm not sure how to express the difference, but I promise there is a difference.

Outside of Post-PH, though, when Bellum is present in a big way, his arc either tackles a similar idea in a different way, is just about something entirely different, or he doesn't have an arc at all, either due to not being a big enough part of the story or just straight up not being present.

In the Context of AUs

Bellum is only present in a handful of aus, either fully present as a character, halfway present, or just being referenced. When he is present in an au, he's usually some kind of major character, and he's notable in the crimson king au, the space au, the murder mystery au, and the horror au and one of my 'ruined hyrule' aus. (the horror and ruined hyrule au will be put together for this bc bellum's role in both are very similar) (for reference, here's my au explanation post)

In the horror au and ruined hyrule au, Bellum serves juuuust about the same role, just with different capabilities, contexts, all of that, but it's more or less the same thing. He's frequently present, but usually not acknowledged, and is very close to Linebeck in both, and the two of them pretty much rely on each other to live due to circumstances out of their control; they didn't really go into this whole thing liking each other, but have been more or less forced to become each other's friends due to proximity and just. Needing the others' presence in order to survive. In both, Bellum usually is a character who knows more than the others, but doesn't bother sharing that information since it's either not totally relevant or he just doesn't want to, and he tends to be protective of Linebeck, half because he needs him in order to live, half just because he's ended up liking him. (there is. more to say. but since i may actually write one of these aus [likely ruined hyrule bc the horror one has to be visual and it is VERY plotless rn] i'm not gonna go into much more depth since it would require spoilers lol)

Can't say a whole lot about the space au, either, since the story of that one is still a work in progress, and Bellum isn't particularly a major character, though he is important to some B-plot stuff. Without digging up too much world building and background and general story stuff and important plot bits, he's got a fairly close relationship to Linebeck in this au, as a general beneficiary and friend, and he actually tends to mind his own business and just wants to hold his own position; he's not really antagonistic or anything, but definitionally morally dubious even if he doesn't really directly do a whole lot.

In the Crimson King au, though, Bellum is one of the main characters, and a bit different than in ph-related stuff. He spends a lot of time in his human form, only switching to his little demon form a handful of times, and usually just for fun. He plays the role of Linebeck's closest friend and beneficiary, practically being the reason why Linebeck is able to do any of the things he does in the story, helping him from behind the scenes at times and balancing that business with Linebeck with his more outward appearance as a mostly normal guy working for the person who runs his section of the city... who also happens to be him. The vague politics in this au would take a bit to explain in full, but Bellum in this au spends a lot of time keeping his actual identity under wraps, the basic premise being that he's decided to integrate himself into current mortal society like a normal person to see what trouble he can cause, how he could sustain himself while keeping things stable, and to see just how far he can go- essentially, the only danger he faces is if others figure out what he is, but even then, he knows he could very easily cut his losses and go back to what he's done best.

He's not very active in the main plot, mostly giving Linebeck assignments and pulling strings behind the scenes in order to help and keep him safe, but Bellum does occasionally meddle directly in Linebeck's situation whenever it relates to him, when he needs something extra done, or, later in the story, when he gets a bit worried about Linebeck. His general arc is essentially him owning up to the fact that he does, in fact, care about Linebeck's well-being. Crimson King Bellum is fun, because he can't really just be 'violent demon', and I just like the supporting role I've got him in. He's Linebeck's rich friend who hires him to kill people for him. It's fun.

How I Like to Write Him With Linebeck

Of course, Bellum is going to have stuff with Linebeck, both in aus and in post-ph. Bellum has interactions and relationships with other characters, but the dynamic(s) with Linebeck tend to be the most diverse and important.

With aus: There’s usually a general sense that Bellum is above Linebeck, both in the power sense and in the sense that he’s typically his boss or in charge of him, but in a handful they are on equal footing (specifically, the modern school one, where they’re just classmates.)- the most common dynamic is usually along the lines of Bellum hiring Linebeck to kill people for him. Bellum is typically someone that provides Linebeck with things like payment or equipment or safety- in the Crimson King au, he gives Linebeck a fair amount of money, and supplies his equipment and gives him a place to live when he does jobs for him.

I like to imagine there's a level of... recognition? Not empathy, trying to keep that to a minimum... He's almost gentle with Linebeck, and is uncharacteristically merciful towards him. In post-ph, Linebeck survives being possessed and this marks him as notable to Bellum, since most people he possess die very soon after being released, so he's initially motivated by curiosity and a desire to observe Linebeck when he acts less violently- that curiosity is the biggest reason why he's cordial with Linebeck across my aus as well.

With Phantom Hourglass-centric stuff (which is what I'll mostly just talk about here, since it's kind of the 'base' for all other Bellum and Linebeck stuff I do), Linebeck and Bellum start on halfway decent terms, I'm planning a Bellumbeck fic sometime in the future, which is a bit less focused on that actual fight and more on whatever's going on between Linebeck and Bellum. I'm still trying to pin down exactly what I want with Linebeck and Bellum's dynamic.

I’ve fallen back into shipping them, (Still iffy on ship name lmfao, Bellumbeck is taken by the game and ‘Linebellum’ is lame imo, so I’ve been sticking with just ‘bellum x linebeck’) but it’s not really typically romantic/sexual, though there are some aspects of both, it’s still kind of abstract and easier to define with example stuff rather than just trying to explain it in a concise paragraph.

They both go out of their way to effectively research each other before properly meeting, starting as just trying to find advantageous information, but eventually just doing research out of curiosity, especially on Linebeck’s end, hunting down any material that so much as alludes to Bellum while Oshus refuses to say anything extra on the topic. They have a mutual interest and curiosity about each other.

With Bellum, its a similar curiosity with how Linebeck survives being possessed, and a general interest in him as a person, as Bellum doesn't really care much about the world beyond how it can serve him, but felt the need to look into Linebeck. A lot of the time, Bellum starts with the intention of exploiting Linebeck in some way, then ends up actually caring about him, he usually goes through variations of the same arc regarding Linebeck. It works with Linebeck for me since I tend to read and write him as fairly morally gray, so he's more willing to reciprocate Bellum.

(There's also the whole bit with Linebeck being kind of a monsterfucker and having a thing for being tied up and just a handful of like. sexual stuff on Linebeck's end, but we're talking about Bellum's perspective here we can't be focusing on Linebeck)

Bellum primarily operates with survival on the mind, and at odds with anything that might get in his way, and secondarily treats mortal creatures as something to study. When his attempt to use Linebeck fails, he shifts to that studying, and therefore has some respect for him due to his survival. They both focus quite a lot on survival, and don't have the most interest in making connections, seeing most relationships as transactional. They understand each other; Bellum sees Linebeck's mind when possessing him, and therefore knows a great deal about him.

There are similarities between them; not-great relationships with their fathers, a strong desire for survival at any cost, generally low empathy and a habit of mostly viewing others for how they can be used, curiosity about anatomy, a higher tolerance for things like blood, gore, things that would likely make others squeamish, they both hate Ciela...

(As an aside to that last one, an idea I've decided to integrate into my ph stuff and may touch on in a future fic is that Linebeck calling Ciela 'sparkles' gives her a strong sense of deja-vu before she gets all of her memories back; it's something Bellum would call her, when he was more cordial with the other spirits)

Bellum hangs around on the ship, and he hangs around Linebeck the most, to the point of being annoying, but learns what boundaries are and ends up respecting them decently. I lean more into... things just working out, Bellum more or less being put in a situation where he chooses to change things up and be a bit kinder, starting with the guy he's decided was the catalyst for all of this.

He gets along well enough with Damien (damien ends up in that shipping, too, considering that he's already dating linebeck by the time bellum sorts his own feelings out, so in post-ph, bellum ends up being a sort of on-and-off polycule member), he is eventually friendly with Link, often because Linebeck likes him as well. It takes a very long time for he and Link to warm up to each other, so they'll likely end up in situations where they must rely on each other at the start of things.

Bellum is… very not used to social stuff or acting human, and isn’t even very used to his human form at the start, so he does spend that time with Linebeck while he figures things out, as well. Linebeck's not the best role model for decent social interaction, especially since he works on dismantling his own mask and figuring himself out for a bit at the start of post-ph, but he's the only person Bellum tolerates and respects at that start.

Bellum eventually gets roped into helping Linebeck cook, follows him around for ship maintenance, watches him patch up wounds, and just ends up as a crew member that can kind of fill any basic role, but he’s not making it much further than swabbie.

I haven’t actually written a ton of interaction between them yet, but what I have written always comes off as casual, almost humorous, they joke around with each other and Bellum is detached and unserious at times, but very capable of switching to dead seriousness. A lot of the time, Linebeck tends to take things more seriously at face value, but Bellum is more prone to joking around due to the fact that very few consequences mean anything to him.

He and Linebeck are typically close in one sense or another in most things where they're included, and I generally consider all dynamics between them to fall under the ship umbrella, because I don't consider it strictly romantic (though it usually ends up being vaguely like that), just more that there's some kind of intimacy between them at some point. It's a relationship whose dynamic I think is interesting given the... lack of actual interaction between them, but with just enough interesting conclusions that can be drawn.

I guess it's similar to the general stuff I have about Bellum, kind of just scraping ideas together from canon and then following whatever threads can be connected to them, while trying to make sure it still has roots in that canon. It's similar to my personal 'design philosophy' or whatever for my aus.

I've also considered making their relationship parasitic in someway, as a sort of homage/callback/reference to their canonical relationship, but it's not entirely a direction I really want to go in, and I feel like some aus get decently close.

Final Points

I think Bellum's really neat, so considering the general lack of information or depth to him, I've been playing with expanded ideas and building up my own ideas for him, specific within the context of Phantom Hourglass and a post-ph setting, while many of my other ideas with him tend to then derive from that.

His (human) design is one I've spent a very long time figuring out, trying to mix his demon design in with more human traits, trying to keep him distinctive without getting too complicated, and trying to have that design represent him decently with a fair bit of reasoning behind a lot of that design. It's something Bellum himself controls to a certain degree, so it's in a bit of a crossroads between portraying him based on his character, and being something he uses to come off as generally innocuous.

I've got a decent idea of what Bellum's whole deal is in Phantom Hourglass and afterwards, and I use him in a fair number of aus, often in tangent with Linebeck, whom I often give him some kind of intimate relationship, be it romantic or some other form of closeness, based off of ideas for ways they would interact and why.

Bellum's fun! He's fun as he is, and he's fun to build off of and develop further than what we see in the game. And giving him the ability to shift into a humanoid shape gives even more room to play around in. I don't know when I first came up with the idea, but I've had ideas for a human form Bellum for quite some time now, I've just only recently really started solidifying a lot of it. Even between the time when I got the ask and finished it, I came up with new ideas.

But for now, these are the broad strokes! Not just about post-ph humanoid Bellum, just about my ideas for him in general, though it all really relates back to that one in particular, honestly.

He's surprisingly fun to speculate about! I didn't really expect Bellum to end up as one of my favorite LoZ characters, but I guess any character can end up as your favorite if you spend enough time thinking about him. At the end of the day I think he's funky, and he's fun to use in a post-ph setting.

#asks #goopi-e #bellum #long post #salty talks #linebeck #he's important <3 #phantom hourglass #post ph #i have like no excuse for why this took so long. initially it was bc i was waiting on that bellum commission but then like #the day i wrote this (+ the prior) tag i bought and played fallout new vegas for a few hours. it fell in with my other writing projects lol #i think rn myb iggest issue w/ post ph is that everyone seems to revolve around linebeck a bit much #idk if thats. terrible a breaker i mean hes their captain hes kinda the main character he's the one link (heh) between all of them #bellum probably has the biggest arc bc hes the shittiest at the start and everyone is already kinda partway through one #like i think links is gonna be abt him disconnecting from being a hero and just enjoying life on his own terms and doing non hero things #linebecks is uh. trauma recovery. among other things. like everyone has trauma recovery as a part of it but linebecks is the big one #damiens is... man idk hes just There i think his is gonna have smth to do with his relationship w/ linebeck and the others #damien is just some fucking dude hes not too terribly traumatized or has this huge place in the world he's jsut some trans guy #it kinda sucks that a lot of the stuff i think up for him relates to linebeck like i want him to have his own thing but i made him too...#hes too ok with things!!!!! hes just some fucking guy!!!! maybe i can have him just figure out his place in this larger world hes exploring #anyways bellum needs to be nerfed in a handful of different ways bc otherwise hes a get out of jail free card in a lot of contexts #ughhh this took too long im sorry but i just kept coming up with new stuff id practically classify this as a fic #this took a while to plan and this fucking thing is also so long and it still doesnt really cover everything #not even bc i havent fully figured out what i want to do with him like theres just stuff im uncertain on how to explain in a concise manner #the whole thing between link n bellum is kinda simple. they hate each other and then have to work together and decide that theyre decent #damien is just. pleasant most of the time. so hes kinda chill with bellum. he's had experience with minor gods n deities #his weird thing is that he is technically normal but he is on good terms with a lot of supernatural/godly beings #theres def a lot of random minor gods n spirits n supernatural creatures all over the great sea with the absence of larger gods' influence #kinda lost the point of the og ask so i hope thats ok

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toastess-with-the-mostess · 1 year ago

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Let's Rewind! Toast watches Voltron: Defender of The Universe (1984)

I now have access to pretty much every animated version of Voltron and now after around 7 years of being a Voltron fan and amateur archivist, I'm finally sitting down to watch (or rewatch) every Voltron show to see how it's grown over its legacy, starting with Dotu!

Season 1, Episode 1 - Space Explorers Captured

Starting off strong, the intro is pretty cool in my eyes, no wonder this was burned into so many kids heads when it was airing It also reminds me of Danny Phantom and how the backstory was in the opening, same thing here to get into the action lol

It's Hunk and Keith! NOT, the first shots we "see" of them aren't actually them! It's reused footage from Vehicle Voltron of the characters Jeff and Rocky, you can tell by the uniforms (and y'know faces)! This feeds my hc that the boys originally were part of the explorer though >:D

I love the way this art style, or like any 80s-90s anime, draws space, it's so pretty like CMON Also, I never realized that the boys got to Arus WHILE it was being taken over, I swear I remembered that Arus was already a wasteland so-to-speak by the time they got there

GOD SVEN'S DOPEY ACCENT IS SO NICE TO HEAR, I'VE MISSED IT SO MUCH I did notice that the city destruction image was later reused for Balto, which in the original GoLion anime is from Earth's destruction! NOT THE EIFFEL TOWER JUST BEING DESTROYED WHILE KEITH IS SAYING THE ARUSIANS GOT TO SAFETY MY GOD I KNOW TOO MUCH

First look at the pilots! Very 80s from what I think the vibe is, but also very personalized! Knowing their character traits, it fits them pretty well for the most part

"This isn't the first time [the team] has been in a tight spot" NOT THE FIRST TIME, YOU SAY? INCH RESTING

"[There was a legend that a castle of lions] held the secret of the super robot Voltron, Voltron could save them" YOU'RE PUTTING YOUR FAITH IN A LEGEND THAT MAY NOT EXIST?? LIKE EVENTUALLY THEY'RE RIGHT BUT OOOOO IS THE GARRISON USELESS, ESPECIALLY BECAUSE THEY ONLY SENT A TEAM OF FIVE INTO AN ACTIVE HOSTILE TAKE OVER ignoring the fact that they said they were too far to help anyway

The team literally got captured and yet the dialogue they chose was "we need to eject, it's better than crash landing, let's go!" ??? I think this was reused dialogue from episode 2 that they just plugged in

What a rad design for a villain, like he looks so fucking cool. I generally forget that he's reptilian almost vs his barbie doll looking son Maybe the subspecies of Drule he's a part of is reptilian! Holy shit Zarkon's eyes started flickering, is this guy cybernetic too??

PIDGE'S SQUEAKY TOY VOICE IS STILL SO FUNNY TO ME AND IT'S EVEN BETTER BECAUSE HIS VA (Neil Ross) ONLY TOSSED IT OUT FOR SHITS AND GIGGLES BUT THE PRODUCERS LOVED IT SO MUCH THEY FUCKIN KEPT IT

My god is the voice acting funny, Commander Yorak's weak grunt when slashing at slaves is everything

The Doomites are VERY different looking compared to Zarkon or even Lotor, probably another subspecies of the Drule race This time they look kind of batty? Yeah, that's it

I wonder what era their clothing is inspired by, obviously there's some creative liberty, but a lot of these clothes scream nobility to me also screams clowns but shhh lol

"What should we name this new robeast your Majesty?" "Uhhh Blue" Really had no creativity with this robeasts name guys

More really cool alien designs, I have to remember I can let loose when designing other species lol

Oh interesting, I thought the team fought alongside the rest of the slaves in the ring but Zarkon saved em for last Also, the fact that the guys were legitimately branded is insane, the dialogue makes it seem like they were all separated for it, but I refuse to think they'd let any of each other get taken away for it also they're called tattoos not brand, definitely censorship

ah yes Pidge's mad hops. Knowing he's from Balto, this is just telling me that my high gravity hc for the planet was right because there are only a few but very specific reasons why he'd be able to do that and being human ain't one of em

"Ugly virds" -Sven again some of these line deliveries are so funny, like every single one of svens just makes me laugh

the sound effects for Pidge jumping back down is also peak comedy oisndv

Lance's sass is always welcomed on this blog omg, the moody tendency is showing from his GoLion counterpart

"We're space explorers and we need space!" CATCH ME CRYING MYSELF TO SLEEP, THERE'S A REASON WHY THAT'S ON THE DESC OF MY BLOG NOW

If you hear laughing it's me LMAO

But actually, though, they're being treated kind of well in terms of being captured. The team never fights in the arena and when they're pretending to sleep as the guards are coming to take them over they just leave them be and reason that the boys will fight better tomorrow

those are some weak ass bars if Hunk can bend them

[Lance hands Keith a rock] "Don't miss" my humor is broken, and I'm laughing too much at a simple line

Hunk being afraid of heights is such a human characteristic to give him, and I mean that like it really feels like he's a person by giving him something that lots of people find silly or even relatable! (like me ha)

Their plan to escape was going level by level down with rope, except Keith fucking GETS DOWN WITHOUT THE ROPE It's ok, they hitched a ride ON A GIANT FLESH EATING BIRD THAT SWOOPS AT THEM

Hunk slips off his bird and reaches for PIDGE OF ALL PEOPLE TO GRAB HIM, but somehow that doesn't dislocate the poor boy's shoulder and they both go PLUMMETING TO THE GROUND AND SOMEHOW SURVIVE THE FALL Hunk lands in a pile of bones which OW and Pidge BOUNCES OFF THE GROUND BECAUSE OF HOW HARD HE HIT IT if that doesn't kill em, fucking nothing will good god Everyone else lands fine though, bastards lmao

Keith is Catholic™️ confirmed

Animal lover Keith over here being kind to mega vultures "I'll alvays think they're veutiful" -Sven You literally just called them ugly but ok

PIDGE'S KAZOO PANTING I CANNOT LMAOO They're running in formation (kinda), how cute!

Oh they really are all trained Sven and Keith knock out some guards with kicks Lance straight up tosses one without a sweat Hunk is also kicking but he's taking more down by himself AND PIDGE STARTS CHOKING A GUY OUT FROM BEHIND 10/10 would love to see more hand-to-hand combat

Straight up murdered a few guards by taking off in the slave ship, but shh they're robots it doesn't matter AND THEN THEY DESTROY PART OF THE CASTLE WHILE TAKING OFF AMAZING

Pidge sees a lion statue with a castle behind it and immediately just solves part of the legend that really shouldn't be a legend, the part with the castle anyway

So the team knows of the legend, meaning they were sent on a wild goose chase for basically nothing except that they did FIND IT Fun.

I think it's funny that they're describing Voltron before the split as a defender of justice but in GoLion he was literally the most egotistical bitch that after taking down basically everyone in a fight to prove his strength he got nerfed into those five lions

Episode over! Looks like I'm doing one episode per post with how much I'm talking lol That's all the time I have tonight for the rewind, but tomorrow I have a lot more free time, so maybe I can get like 2 more episodes at the very least

#Let's Rewind!#voltron #80s voltron #voltron defender of the universe #voltron dotu #toast talks #im going in order btw #so dotu then vv then v3d then vf and finally vld #then the original animes for voltron #beastking golion and armored fleat dairugger xv #this is gonna take a loooong time

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bellatrixobsessed1 · 9 months ago

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Hands And Teeth

Summary: No one has ever managed to punch Icy before. Icy is intrigued by Lysa's sheer audacity.

Not smut but still steamy.

For those who don't know who Lysa is, she's this witch (I love me a good background character);

Icy touches the corner of her mouth. Her fingers come away with blood. She stares at it for a moment, it is a good visual to accompany the sting and throb. The corner of her mouth, the very same one that bleeds, curves into a smirk.

She can’t explain it but she throws her head back and laughs.

She cackles.

No one has ever punched her before. Nobody who had managed to land a hit anyhow. She supposes that it was bound to happen eventually, she has a very punchable personality if she did say so.

It is exhilarating, really.

The witch who’d done it stares at her, mouth agape. No doubt Lysa thinks that she is the one who should be cackling.

By all means she should be.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Lysa spits.

And Icy has no answer for her. She didn’t have one for the last person either. She has an itch for pain be it her own or someone else’s and Lysa–the hot-headed, impulsive, furious woman she is—is perfect for scratching that itch.

She leans in closer and cups Lysa’s chin in her hand. “I’d say that whatever it is, it’s the same thing that’s wrong with you.” She brings her lips just shy of the other witch’s ear. Just close enough for her to feel cool breaths upon it. Lysa shudders and Icy trails her pointer across the witch’s cheek. Lysa inhales sharply and Icy draws back.

Lysa grabs her by the collar. The pale blue cloth of her shirt is bunched tight in her fist. “You can’t just do that!”

“Do what?” Icy quirks a brow. But she already knows. She’d like to hear it out loud though.

“Leave me hanging like that.”

Icy shrugs. She does it all the time. She has made her rounds in Cloud Tower’s halls, has given herself a pretty solid reputation. Several reputations of several varieties. The sort of reputations that most people seek to avoid.

She hooks her finger around Lysa’s belt loop and pulls the witch closer. “Well we wouldn’t want that, now would we?” Her nose brushes against Lysa’s. She can smell leather and hairspray. The hairspray, she could smell from down the block. She imagines that it had probably taken a whole can of it and a half a gallon of hair gel to lock those liberty spikes in place. Icy has never been particularly into the punk scene; could never stand the loud, speedy drum beats nor those tone def vocals and chaotic rhythms of the music. Was always annoyed by the abrasive personalities and impulsive shenanigans.

The punk cliques at Cloud Tower have always been sloppy and disorderly. They leave beer cans scattered around the campus yard and cigarette smoke and litter in the hallways. She’d had to drag Stormy out of that corner of Cloud Tower kicking and screaming.

Of course the punks are boundlessly better than the emo kids with their whining and the scene kids with their eye burning colors. Icy would certainly take a punk over a perky little pastel goth any day.

Icy supposes that she is in the mood to rattle the status quo some. She lets her lips brush upon Lysa’s. Tastes the cigarettes on her breath.

Lysa, wholly unappreciative of a slow and tantalizing build up, licks the blood from the corner of Icy’s mouth and bites down on her lower lip. Icy rolls her eyes. But of course, the punks are brash and quick. She shouldn’t have expected any different. The other witch’s lip ring bites into her own lip but with much less of a sting than Lysa’s teeth do.

She deepens the kiss suckling at the blood as Icy curls her fingers into the woman’s hair. The texture is stiff and makes Icy wonder if the witch had used glue instead of hair gel. The thought makes her cringe; if anyone got near her silky locks with a bottle of glue there would be hell to pay.

Satisfied, Lysa throws her head back and takes a deep breath, at once she practically shoves Icy away.

“Is that any way to treat a senior witch?” Icy mutters, folding her arms across her chest.

“I’ll treat anyone any which way I damn well please.” Lysa scoffs, breathlessly. The chains on her chunky studded bracelet clink.

Icy shrugs. “Don’t get the wrong idea.” She leans in again and presses her lips to Lysa’s neck. She feels the witch’s hands on her waist. “You only get as far as I let you get.” She guides those hands down to her hips. “Luckily for you, I’d like to put on a little show, give Cloud Tower something to talk about for a while.”

Lysa sniffs. “Attention whore.”

“Among other things, yes.” She agrees. “I’ll help you get your fifteen minutes, you can borrow them from me.”

“I’m going to punch you in the face again.” Lysa grumbles.

“I thought that we were past foreplay.”

Lysa gives her a good swat. “You’re the worst.”

“Which is exactly why you shoved your tongue down my throat.”

“Perhaps it is.” The witch slips her hand under Icy’s shirt.

Icy lets her graze her breast, those long nails leaving a searing red scratch on her sensitive skin. She tsks and takes hold of Lysa’s wrist. “I don’t think so.” She clicks her tongue. “I require a bit of pampering first. Court me.”

“Punching you in the face was part of my mating ritual.”

“A good start, but…” she gives another shrug. “I’m not impressed.”

Lysa stuffs her hands into her pockets and props herself up against the brick wall. “Bullshit!” She fishes a lighter out of her pocket. “You were having a great time.” More to herself she mutters, “way too happy about it.”

Icy smirks. “Perhaps I’ll let you do it again some time.” She can picture the woman’s hands wrapped around her neck. Can imagine red marks left by them. She can visualize cuts and bruises; a tongue to lap at the blood and lips to kiss the bruises. “I’ll probably let you do it again some time.” Probably after midterms. She’d actually like to graduate with her master’s degree. She can’t imagine that Darcy and Stormy would take well to her interrupting their studies either.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Lysa asks.

Icy shrugs once more. “You’ve piqued my interest, Lysa. Bloom is intriguing…” and to think of how much gossip that would inspire is tantalizing. “But you…” she hums. “Punks aren’t usually my taste but they sure are funner than fairies. And trad goths can be so dull sometimes.”

Lysa rolls her eyes. “You’re aggravatingly pretious and you take these subcultures so seriously, it looks stupid.”

Icy chuckles. Oh yes, she will almost definitely let this one get closer.

#Winx #Winx Club #Winx Icy #Winx Lysa #Icy/Lysa #Fanfiction #One Shot

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chyirly · 2 years ago

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Hey~~ it hasn't been that long but...

I had been drawing on my stick notes and the base I had drawn was feminine, and seeing as I literally only have male oc’s, I had to figure out which character to draw, and then it escalated from there.

Yes, I did take a photo and then draw lnieart over it digitally, I probably should do it more because then my actually art style might push through.

So witness the beauty, grace, and awesomeness of the ROTTMNT Females, some of them.

The ladies!!

Aren't they just great? April had actually been the first one I drew, then Cassandra, and then Sunita, I would have named them ‘The Lesbians’ because of how often they are shipped together.

But then I decided to change it the females, but they aren't exactly the only females in the show, not that the image above shows all of them, so I added Karai and Bag Mama.

Front and center is Karai, the simplest to draw and even simpler to color. The reference image I originally intended to use the kind of made me question myself, but after grabbing a different image, things got better.

This is the second time I've drawn her, but she still takes place as the hardest to draw, I mean what is going on with her hair. If you need any more info, look at the previous post.

I will be honest, a few creative liberties were taken with Cassandra, such as her face being more angular to match Casey Jr. Her eyes were actually colored so that they somewhat matched the Armor/Shredder.

Despite not being the hardest to draw, Sunita gave me the most complications, like her headband and her cloaking brooch. Her eyes were colored to be a reference to her actually being a slime/yokai.

April, the first, the person who's literally done everything, and the one whose glasses brought me great pain. She was the quickest to draw and color, even though her clothing design did create some complications. For some weird reason she's the one you can see the clearest without zooming in.

#rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt #rottmnt fanart #tmnt #tmnt fanart #rottmnt karai #tmnt karai #rottmnt big mama #tmnt big mama #rottmnt cassandra jones #tmnt cassandra jones #rottmnt sunita #tmnt sunita #rottmnt april #tmnt april

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zyuna-arts · 1 year ago

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#SHINONHYBRID | POKEMON HYBRIDS

A really fun challenge I enjoyed! Will probably do more in the future (:

Arranged from descending order of the latest to earliest prompts I did. Soul Crier (last image) was done using audience suggestions while the rest were randomiser suggestions.

I like the colour scheme of Glow Blades most and felt that its sheath is wooden instead of metal since it lost its Steel typing. Valiant Spikes was the most challenging to draw but the one I personally enjoyed most from the suggestions. Cosmic Prick is a pun on 'cosmic creep' and I was uncomfortable drawing it lol, it just feels creepy like some alien Elvis Presley but that was the intention. Death Glider was an interesting one as I had to figure out how to incorporate Klinklang without it looking too weird and took its second face, making it look like a 'clown''. Initially gave Jet Dancer the wand from Delphox but it looked out of place and replaced it with the ear tufts instead to push the silhouette. Soul Crier reminded me of a Gumball character which lowkey creeped me out... I always found that show to be uncanny valley hahah

Template: 1. Head: 2. Body: 3. Legs: 4. Tail: 5. Arms/wings: 6. Colour/pattern: 7. Bonus feature of your choice:

Process: - Suggestions either given by audience or generated by a randomiser (I used randompokemon.com) - Each suggestion matched chronologically with the #shinonhybrid template (eg. First suggestion is Pikachu for Head, second suggestion is Bidoof for Body) - Bonus suggestion is an attribute of your choice (eg. pattern, horns, tail) - If a pokemon doesn't have a certain feature, I swap it with the next suggestion that does (eg. Trapinch lands on Tail, but Trapinch doesn't have a tail) - Some artistic liberty is taken like altered proportions so the hybrid isn't a literal copy+paste of body parts - Primary type is determined by the most dominant type among all suggestions. Secondary typing may be by personal choice. Type icons from Legends Arceus, set in an alternate dimension - Name follows the Paradox Pokemon naming convention - Description is a brief summary of what I think the hybrid's behaviour can be based on appearance & attributes of origin pokemon

SOCIALS: Linktree

Art © zyuna

(DON’T REPOST/USE MY ART & OCS)

#zyuna arts #shinonhybrid #pokemon #pokehybrid #fakemon #art backlog

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hamliet · 2 years ago

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Why Michael is Important as Folk

Or really, a character analysis of Michael Novotny, one of Queer as Folk’s best characters whose friendship with Brian is deeply important, and without whom Brian/Justin wouldn’t work nearly so well. I said what I said.

I’ve seen a lot of Takes that seem to view Michael (and sometimes Lindsay too) as an obstacle standing in the way of Brian and Justin, and I just don’t think the writing supports this. If anything, for Michael especially, he’s an integral part of what makes Brian and Justin work as characters and as a relationship.

Michael helps Brian and Justin grow towards one another. His character pushes them together. He does this in a number of ways, but the most flagrant way throughout all five seasons is through all three of them acting as mirrors to each other. They all reflect different aspects of one another, showing the reality of how each of them needs to grow as well as the possibilities of who they can become. Only through this three-way reflection of each other’s flaws and dreams do Brian, Michael, and Justin grow into the men they want to be.

The three-way foiling also embodies the delicate tension of the motif of fantasy vs reality in QaF. This motif is most clearly present in Michael’s arc and challenges (fitting, because Michael is the narrator). Michael’s name may be a reference to Peter Pan, which Queer as Folk frequently references with Brian as Peter and Lindsay as Wendy. Michael Darling is Wendy’s littlest brother, and the one who starts to forget what life back in London is like as he spends more and more time in the fantastical world of Neverland. (Intentional or not, I don’t know, but it’s an interesting bit of trivia regardless.) Michael Darling is actually based on a real person, Michael Llewelyn Davies, who was probably gay, and died a tragic death at a young age (20) alongside his likely lover. (Davies’ siblings believed the pair committed suicide together.) But instead of dying in this story, Michael Novotny, Brian Kinney, and Justin Taylor all live and grow.

Season One: Justin as the Inner Child

Season 1 is really the only season where Michael deliberately tries to come between Brian and Justin, but the irony is that he ultimately needs Justin in his life just as much as Brian does (albeit in a different way).

When Season 1 opens, Brian and Michael have been kind of stuck for years in a sort of prolonged adolescence. Justin enters their lives as an actual adolescent and thereby shines a light on how exactly both Brian and Michael need to grow. Their adult lives aren’t exactly fantasy lives, but neither of them are able to admit it.

Brian, despite seemingly having a successful career and social life to go and appearing to go after everything he wants without a care, actually isn’t really good at pursuing what he wants. His life of sex and partying is pretty much a fantasy to dull the reality of a nightmarish childhood.

Meanwhile, Michael clings to the fantasy of Brian one day loving him at the expense of the reality that Brian does love him--just not romantically. Frankly, the reason Brian doesn’t ever sleep with Michael is because he loves him: that would be too much, too close for Brian, and he’d then push Michael away and Michael would actually go because Michael doesn’t demand things. Brian doesn’t want to lose Michael, so he doesn’t cross this line.

As for Justin, he claims that what he really wants is Brian, which he does. But he also has a fantastical notion of what that means--dates, boyfriends, romance. He describes Brian to Daphne using rather fantastical language, and Michael even comments that Justin’s taken artistic liberties when he draws Brian. However, unlike Brian and Michael up until that point, Justin digs in and commits to what he really wants:

Brian: Look, I don’t believe in love. I believe in fucking. It’s honest, it’s efficient. You get in and out with a maximum of pleasure, and a minimum of bullshit. Love is something that straight people tell themselves they’re in, so they can get laid. Then they end up hurting each other, because it was all based on lies to begin with. If that’s what you want, then go and find yourself a pretty little girl, and get married.

Justin: That’s not what I want. I want you.

Justin wants Brian, no matter what that means. He unapologetically goes after what he wants, and in doing so drags Michael and Brian along. In this, Justin is the key that unlocks Brian’s and Michael’s ability to develop and evolve. After all, Brian tells Justin that Justin can see him in his dreams, and Justin says okay, but let’s make that dream reality.

In terms of literary archetypes, Justin is Brian’s inner child. The “inner child” is a Jungian concept (and as always with Jung, his ideas are better applied to patterns in literature than real life psychology). The inner child represents a person’s younger self, a purity in a sense, a divinity--but also the traumatized part of us that, childishly, assumes it’s our fault that our traumas occur. Sometimes it’s even called the “wonder child” (which is literally what Michael calls Justin in the very first episode: “boy wonder”).

In every adult there lurks a child— an eternal child, something that is always becoming, is never completed, and calls for unceasing care, attention, and education. That is the part of the personality which wants to develop and become whole (Collected Works of Jung Vol. 17)

It’s symbolic that Brian has sex with Justin in Michael’s childhood bedroom. Terrified that his mom knows he’s gay, Justin flees towards Michael’s house--exactly what Brian used to do when his family was a nightmare growing up. Justin snoops through Michael’s bedroom, looking at photos of Michael and Brian as kids. Brian shows up for him, and in a sort of retread of the story of how Brian and Michael jerked each other off as kids (but Michael never got off), this time Justin gets Brian off in the same room. Michael is then furious at Brian:

Michael: You can fuck him at your place, you can fuck him in his gym class, you can fuck him at the zoo, but you cannot fuck him in my mother’s house--in my room!

But, the reason this seemingly-cringe scene works so well is because Justin is also Michael’s inner child; after all, he moves into Michael’s old bedroom, and Michael moves in with David--two events that are thematically paralleled. You see, despite Debbie et al thinking Michael has “a real chance with David,” he doesn’t. Why? Because David doesn’t love Michael for Michael--he loves the idea of Michael. Which? Is precisely what Michael loves about Brian.

Now, I don’t mean to suggest that Michael doesn’t know or love the real Brian. He does. But he clings to the idealization of Brian over the reality, which in turn prevents Michael from growing up. Through Michael’s failed relationship with David, he’s confronted with his own flaws in regards to his relationship with his best friend, and his ideas about love. Once he faces this in himself, he’s able to actually show up for Brian when he needs it, as a true friend.

The inner child is “healed” in Jungian works by grieving the loss of innocence, by appreciating the value of a childlike kindness. It’s not healed by looking at ti with contempt and telling it to grow. It starts to heal with Brian when he decides to make his inner child happy and go to prom with Justin. It starts to heal for Michael when he sits with Brian and grieves with him after their inner child is wounded and possibly dying in Justin.

Season Two: Brian as the Hero

Season 2 contains the most meta melding of fantasy and reality in the story: Michael and Justin’s team-up to create a gay superhero comic, which mirrors their real lives. But real life is messier than glossy comic books. Heroes are complicated.

Both of them choose Brian as their basis for Rage, because he’s their hero. Of course, Brian hates himself, so doesn’t react well, but the reality is... Brian has been their hero. But any hero has to face challenges to be able to become said hero.

Michael: I was thinking that Rage save some other kid's life after he was bashed...

Justin: I think it's a great idea.

Michael: You do? I mean, it's awfully personal.

Justin: The best art usually really is. Besides, I wanna talk about it. The trouble is no one would ever listen. They all pretend it didn't happen.

Michael: Now, here is your chance.

Justin: And it could be how Rage meets the love of his life.

Michael: I thought Rage didn’t believe in love.

Justin: We’ll let him think that.

[They smile]

In their creation and writing of Rage, we can see the differences in how Michael and Justin approach fantasy, reality, and their relationships with Brian. Justin’s name in the comics is just JT (his real life initials), symbolizing again his determination to bring the fantasy into reality.

In contrast, Michael’s is Zephyr, a completely fantastical name (also potentially an allusion to Zephyr the Greek god whom some legends say kills a man named Hyacinthus via hitting him in the head with a discus out of jealousy for Hyacinthus choosing to love Apollo, the god of the sun (sunshine, anyone?) over him; Apollo resurrects Hyacinthus and Hyacinthus achieves immortality and all is well). Michael is more willing to swallow the fantasy in some ways and in others, not so much. Plus, as mentioned earlier, Michael’s arc is about growing from a jealous, immature kid with a crush and into a supportive, loving friend to both Brian and Justin.

When Brian pisses on the drawing of himself as Rage, Michael and Justin’s reactions show us what they each bring to Brian. Michael accepts Brian as he is, as does Justin. But what makes Justin different is that he knows Brian can be better, and pushes Brian to grow (this is why, romantically, Michael and Brian would never work, but Michael and Ben work really well). Michael is a lot more willing to let things slide. But if Brian is actually to be a hero (which he becomes in season 3), he’s gotta be pushed.

Michael: I guess even a superhero can morph into a jerk.

Justin: Don't tell me you're gonna forgive him.

Michael: Who said that?

Justin: Knowing you guys’ dysfunctional history, you’d put up with anything... All this time I was fooling myself, thinking he loves me.

Michael: He does love you. You saw his face this morning. We could have removed his teeth with pliers and he would have let us.

Justin: Maybe we should have. He deserves it.

Michael: Well, now we know Rage's fatal weakness, and it's not kryptonite.

Through this conversation we see that Justin forces Michael to grow as well. Michael tells Justin, firstly, that Brian loves him (something he would not have said in the first season), and acknowledges his friend’s weakness, the weakness he’s always known was there: Brian is human. Brian wants to be loved just as much as every other person. And he states it directly to Justin, and then goes on to back Justin up when they demand an apology from Brian.

Brian: What I did was immature, childish, and addictive. It was an act of cruelty because of irrational fears and unfounded--jealousy. If I were you I've never speak to me again.

Justin: That's better.

Michael: It's really good.

But this applies to Michael as well: he realizes Brian is just like him. They have the same weakness Michael struggled with throughout season 1: jealousy. Thus, the power difference between them erodes. They share many things--including flaws. He doesn’t have to reach up to Brian anymore, and he can even pull Brian up at times. In fact, part of the reason Brian can face his own jealousy is because he’s seen Michael overcome it by now working with Justin

Part of the reason Michael is able to accept it this time--that he shouldn’t always just accept and can push Brian to grow--is because of Michael’s own personal struggles in season 2. The best people are still, well, people, and therefore flawed and in need of forgiveness. Earlier in the season, Michael had accept this about himself too: that he’s not always a good person. He can be cowardly, and he rejects Ben quite cruelly (really hurting Ben), and has to apologize to and grovel to get back together with Ben after. Because of this, he can accept that while he can be a jerk, he can also still be worthy of love--and has to promise to do better and live up to being better. Only after Michael accepts this challenge to grow can he be in a mature relationship of his own. (He’ll also have to accept that Ben can be a jerk, and still be worthy of love.) So Michael’s already been doing the work.

Michael can face his flaws because people like Justin and Ben forgive him, and because he can forgive others. The season ends, however, with Justin cliff-diving into his own encounter with his flaws, an encounter that will end up evening out the playing field in his and Brian’s relationship as well.

Season Three: Illuminating the Unconscious

Or, the season where Michael starts off at his most assholish but it’s all for the greater good.

The ironic aspect of Michael and Justin working together resulting in jealousy from Brian is that, well, at the launch of said project, Brian gets dumped. Justin leaves Brian for Ethan, who is literally all of Justin’s worst traits personified in what he assumed was an ultimate fantasy romance.

True to form, Brian then delves into deep, deep, deep denial. He’s always been expecting Justin to leave him. Michael is the character who provokes Brian into showing how much he cares--no, not in a calculated, deliberate way, but he does it all the same. Michael does this by showing how much he cares about Brian, even if he is a jerk himself about it.

Michael: Can you believe the nerve... I told him to stay the fuck out of our lives!

Brian: Why’d you do that?

Michael: After what he did?

Brian: He didn’t do anything. We were never happily married; he was always free to go, and so was I.

Michael: You’re just saying that. He’s a selfish little shit.

Brian: Be quiet, Michael.

Michael: He used you, he took from you, and he never gave back a thing.

Brian: I said be quiet!

Michael: And this is the thanks you get for saving his life? If you ask me, it wasn’t worth it. You might as well have just left him lying there--

[Brian punches Michael]

This is a rotten thing to say, no defense possible. Did Michael deserve to get punched for saying something so horrible? Absolutely. To be fair, which of us has not said something terrible about a friend’s ex who hurt them? ( ＾▽＾)っ✂╰⋃╯Still, this was just... below the belt.

What Michael says, though, provides several revelations for Brian and for Michael.

For Brian, the punch wakes Brian up to the reality that he could lose Michael, and he doesn’t want to. Brian apologizes and finally admits in a roundabout way that he loves Michael:

Michael: You never hit me before!... But I guess after what I said, I deserved it. You must really love him.

Brian I told him from day one, I don't believe in love, I believe in --

Michael: Fucking, yeah, I know.

Brian: Except for you, of course.

Michael's horrendous comment also shows Brian that Michael believes Brian deserves to be loved, which is something Brian struggles to believe. Brian's punch also demonstrates that Brian hates himself immensely, and doesn’t really want people to side with him. He’s still a hurting, self-loathing child who doesn’t think he deserved to be born. Michael ironically brings this out of the unconscious and into reality by being shitty out of his love for Brian (love is never inherently not selfish).

But, you gotta fight for love if you really want said love. That’s part of being a hero. Brian goes on to do this in subtle ways in season 3, like continuing to honor his commitment to pay for Justin’s college, which in turn inspires Justin to honor his commitment to work on Rage with Michael. Brian is also later able to give Justin a path back after his encounter with his worst self because Michael has helped Brian do this, and Brian has helped Michael do it as well. That’s why right after confirming he loves Michael, Brian tells Michael he wants Michael to “make up with [Justin]”.

So that’s what the punching scene does for Brian’s character arc. What does it do for Michael’s? Well, it gives Michael a consequence that brings him back to the messy reality where superheroes can be jerks--and sidekicks can be assholes.

The reality is that they can’t ever go back to the time before Justin, nor should they. Just because something hurts doesn’t mean it should never have happened--an important lesson for Michael going forward. Brian still loves Justin despite how badly Justin hurt him, and he will still love Michael despite the terrible thing Michael said.

Michael doesn’t get off scot-free from his cruelty either, nor should he. The narrative calls Michael out by having his own partner say something similarly cruel to him:

Ben: ... Sometimes I just think...

Michael: What? Sometimes you just think what?

Ben: That it might just be easier to be with someone who's positive.

In Michael’s struggle with Ben this season, he starts to move beyond his initial understanding in season 2 and truly live the messy reality that people are flawed and that, even when hurting, cruelty fixes nothing.

But back to the point of Michael’s terrible comments about Justin--what does it offer Justin? Justin never hears it, after all. But what it offers is that it clues the audience in to what Justin’s arc in the third season is all about.

No excuses for cruelty, again, but Michael is the only character who doesn’t excuse Justin for hurting Brian. This is a good thing for Justin’s growth, because Justin needs to face himself. Lindsay, Debbie, everyone--they excuse Justin when they shouldn’t. Now, I know I’ve said myself Brian was absolutely pushing Justin away and it wasn’t surprising Justin chose Ethan at the time, but that doesn’t make it okay or not hurtful to Brian. You’ve got to take responsibility for your own actions.

After all, Justin is the one who sets the rules for their open relationship, but also the one who repeatedly breaks them. He’s the one who chose Ethan at an event set up to celebrate Brian, which humiliated Brian.

As mentioned earlier, Ethan is the ultimate fantasy boyfriend--over-the-top romantic, loves art, incredibly talented and passionate... but he also lies and cheats and makes promises he can’t keep. Like, who else does that sound like?

After being with Ethan and then finding himself cheated on, Justin realizes that while Ethan always said he loved him, he never loved Justin more than his music. As flawed as Brian’s love is--and it is--Brian keeps proving he loves Justin even after Justin leaves him. Brian’s actions mean more than Ethan’s pretty words.

Brian is reality, while Ethan is fantasy. That doesn’t mean Brian can’t be better at showing he loves Justin (he can), but it does mean there’s an actual foundation there that there is not with Ethan.

Brian and Justin finally get back together after a conversation about their mistakes, not solely their strengths. They then work together as equal partners in Justin’s art campaign against Stockwell and Brian’s plot to capture the Dumpster Killer.

Season Four: Michael as the Reconciler

In the latter third of season 3, Michael again chooses a fantastical possibility over reality when he worries obsessively over the unborn child he has with Melanie, while literally wanting to turn an actual breathing, hurting human child (Hunter) out on the streets. But in the end, Michael overcomes this, risking it all to run away and protect Hunter from his abusive mother--the thing he was never able to do for Brian when Brian’s parents were abusing him during their childhood. Thereby Hunter becomes a sort of inner child for Michael as well, symbolizing his break with Brian--not in a bad sense, but in the sense of growing into his own person.

In season 4, Michael gets to show how he’s grown. He’s healed the inner child with Hunter, and continues to help his friends as they struggle with their own inner child issues: Brian with whether or not he deserved to be born (deciding to be treated for cancer or let himself die), and Justin with whether or not he should have died in Chris’s attack (via refusing to let Chris steal more of his future by not killing Chris).

In a reverse of Michael tattling on Justin to Brian in season 2, he tattles on Brian to Justin (I mean, I’m using the word “tattle” but don’t mean to imply it’s immature, because it’s not). Michael reminds Justin (who here has the right to be hurt, because Brian was at his absolute worst as a non-defined, nonconventional boyfriend after his cancer diagnosis) of who Brian is. Two steps forward towards vulnerability, then a jump back.

Michael brings Justin and Brian together again instead of trying to wedge them apart. He gives Justin the perspective he needs to go back there and take care of Brian, and the courage to show Brian the same kind of love Justin’s mother showed him in season 1, when, as Debbie tells Jennifer:

Debbie: ...the truth is, the thing [Justin]’s the most afraid of, even more than his dad finding out and beating the shit out of him, is that you will stop loving him.

This is not to say Brian and Justin, Brian and Michael, or Michael and Justin are 1=1 parallels to Jennifer’s love for Justin, but instead to say that the comparison with a mother’s love shows a maturation of all three of these relationships.

They choose to live and continue despite the obstacle course that is life, and despite the injuries they carry. In fact, the reason all three of them can continue is because of each other, which is most perfectly displayed in the finale of season 4.

Michael and Justin both try to warn Brian to face reality: his body’s not in any shape to handle the bike ride. Brian, true to form, does not care. When reality sets in and Brian breaks his collarbone yet still insists on continuing, Michael sets in to help him along. Even when reality is crushing, if they help each other, they can achieve the impossible. Loving relationships make a little magic, bring a little fantasy to our world.

At the end of the race, Justin waits for Brian over the finish line, but Brian needs Michael to get there. The metaphor is clear: Justin is endgame. But Brian would never get there if it were not for Michael.

Season Five: Michael, Brian, and Justin as Fully Realized Individuals

Come season 5, Michael, Ben, and Hunter move to the suburbs. Michael’s reality is what Brian sees as a fantasy, and Brian doesn’t respect it. He lashes out at Michael for Michael’s life looking differently than Brian’s own, and panics when Justin’s desire to have a domestic life becomes more and more apparent. He blames Michael for it, trying to see Michael as the problem. But as Michael tells him, the problem is Brian:

Brian: You infected him, with your petty, bourgeois, mediocre, conformist, assimilationist life! Thanks to you he's got visions - babies, weddings, white picket fences - dancing in his blond little head.

Michael: And you think I put them there?

Brian: Before you and your husband tied the noose around your necks he was perfectly happy! But now, he's a defector, just like the rest of you!

Michael: He was never perfectly happy! Waiting for years for you to say "I love you, you're the only one I want."

Brian: That's not who I am!

Michael: Don't we all know!

The reality is, as has been clear to any viewer of the series, that Justin has always wanted these things. Like, he’s talked about it since the first season.

Here, Michael stands up to Brian and says no, he cannot project Justin’s desires onto Michael. They are Justin’s, and if Brian wants to be with Justin, Brian has to decide what to do on his own. That’s what it means to be an adult. Justin, too, needs to think about what he wants.

Of course, it all comes to a head when Babylon--the safe haven--gets bombed and Michael almost dies. Brian rushes into Babylon to save Justin. Justin is the one who brings up that he can’t find Michael, and only then do we realize Michael’s been gravely wounded. Brian tries to donate blood to save Michael, but he’s not able to.

Through what happened to Michael, Brian finally gets the courage to tell Justin what he has never said in direct words to Michael: I love you. Out of fear of almost losing Michael, Brian then proposes to Justin, but neither of them are quiiite ready for that yet. However, I’ve talked extensively about Season 5 before, and how the ending is more to symbolize Brian and Justin being fully alive than anything else, and imo a happy ending for Brian and Justin was clearly implied to the point where it’s barely implied.

Yet again, we can look to Michael and his relationship with Brian as part of this implication. They may be on different paths at the time. Accepting this is also part of growing up--leaving your egocentric, childish beliefs behind. Yet still, the thumpa-thumpa continues, and they’ll continue to meet and celebrate life together with their other loved ones, too.

Michael: Some things aren’t meant to change.

I don’t think this line was ever about Brian’s hedonistic lifestyle necessarily, but instead about the core love that binds the relationships in the show--Justin and Brian’s included. Time won’t change their love. They will always love each other. Even if they part ways for a bit, they’ll always find their way back to each other. It’s been true for Brian and Michael, Michael and Ben, Blake and Ted, Emmett even dances with an old high school pal of his; it’ll be true for Justin and Brian as well.

Love might be a fantasy in some ways--it’s an ideal. The reality is that love is an awkward path to follow, full of potholes and debris and steep climbs. But the story of Queer as Folk suggests that love, no matter how hard it is, is the only way to grow and navigate the difficult reality of life.

Thereby, reality and fantasy aren’t actually two binaries. It was never about reality vs. fantasy, but instead about integrating reality and fantasy--because we all hope for a better life each day, despite the quagmire and disappointments and injustice of daily life. Through our friendships, romantic relationships, parental ones, we bring that divine magic into the world.

#michael novotny #qaf meta #queer as folk us #queer as folk meta #queer as folk #qaf 2000 #britin #brian kinney #justin taylor #ben bruckner #hunter montgomery #hunter novotny-bruckner #qaf analysis #ethan gold

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nightsart · 2 years ago

Photo

I did some design sheets for the non-OC toon characters + their OC family members in the Tooniverse and decided to post them :) a few liberties are taken (ie most characters not wearing gloves or shoes because i hate drawing them) but their designs are generally adapted from canon appearances! They’re mostly actors in the Tooniverse, so I’ve also written out what their personalities are like off-screen under the cut :)

Here’s Mortimer, Pete, and Fanny! Fanny’s here because I didn’t know what other characters to stick her with, no other reason.

Mortimer Slicker - Took his last name from the “Mr. Slicker” character in the old old Mickey comics, who was likely Mortimer’s predecessor in terms of character design. Didn’t want him to have the same last name as Mickey and Minnie. Mortimer is still kind of smarmy, but he’s not the sexist sleezeball he is in the shorts he appears in. If you look at his appearance in the “Maybe I’m a Maze” Mickey Mouse Funhouse episode, you can actually get a pretty good idea of how he acts off screen in the Tooniverse. He’s actually Mickey’s brother in law (his sister married Mickey’s sister) and that’s how they met in the first place- Mickey then offered him the spot on the upcoming “Mickey’s Rival” short they were gonna be filming. In the Tooniverse he’s actually a horse-mouse hybrid to explain his long nose and ears, since rat toons don’t exist.

Peter Percival Jr. - Peter Percival Sr. is actually the “Pete” that would appear in Oswald’s old shorts, his father. Yoinked “Percival” from the comics. Like his dad, he was born without his left foot, but that’s never stopped him. Toon tech is advanced enough he could probably get a more realistic prosthetic, but he likes his peg. Off camera he behaves a lot like Buford from Phineas and Ferb- weird and still maybe kind of aggressive, but not an out right jackass. Him and Mortimer are best friends, (And later they get together as a couple) and they’re both inspired by their appearance in the modern Mickey Mouse shorts.

Francine “Fanny” Cottontail - Oswald’s former love interest on his show- not his ex. She was simply an actor trying to get into the industry so she could be a director. I didn’t want to entirely erase her, but I like my Ostensias and didn’t want to mess with that in any way, so this seemed like a good solution! She’s actually the one that encouraged Ortensia to replace her on the show, and then she took up the role of director when the one they had threw a hissy fit about the idea of Oswald suddenly switching love interests. Sassy, kind of crude, honest, but loyal, she’s one of Oswald and Ortensia’s closest friends, having helped them sneak around the unapproving J.P. Whiskers many a time. She’s still a director over at Disney now, and usually works on House of Mouse (which runs for much longer in the Tooniverse) and the modern Mickey shorts. She loves to play match maker.

#mortimer mouse #pete the cat #fanny cottontail #toontown rewritten #toontown #Fanny and Clarabelle are probably besties i can see them both being SUPER into gossip LOL #Fanny actually helped matchmake Mortimer and Pete too #mortimer was anxious about his crush and fanny went snooping for him

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youbloodymadgenius · 3 years ago

Text

Ivarello (Modern!Ivar x reader) Chapter 1

Moodboard by @quantumlocked310

Ivarello’s masterpost here

A/N: This is my entry for @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie 500 Followers Fairy Tale Challenge. It's a retelling of Cinderella. Congrats again, darling 💖

A huge thank you to @mrsalwayswrite, who's a great beta reader and an even greater cheerleader 😂

A massive thank you to @quantumlocked310, @vikingstrash and @serasvictoria. Thank you for agreeing to collaborate and for sharing your talent with me. Your moodboards are beyond amazing 🤩

In this story, Sigurd is alive. Ragnar and Aslaug are dead, but Lagertha didn't kill her. I took a lot of liberties with the show, I hope you won't mind.

Unlike the tale, there will be no magic involved. Not everything will be realistic, however. It's a fayritale, after all!

Let me know if you want to be tagged 😊

Summary: Orphaned five years ago, Ivar and his brothers have been living with Lagertha ever since. Now 16 years old, he wants to attend Harald's traditional Midsummer party, but obstacles stand in his way.

Warnings: description of car crash; orphaned kids; Sigurd being Sigurd; OOC characters.

Words: 1806

Additional note: I'm afraid I'll disappoint some of you. No more newspapers... The articles defined the setting of the story. From now on, it'll be a regular fic.

Hope you enjoy it nevertheless 🙂

🛡⚔️🛡

June 2021

Ivar yawns, rubbing his eyes, when he suddenly hears the front door open. The next moment, Ubbe shouts, "Hey baby bro, we're home!"

Slightly confused, Ivar looks at the time on his computer. Stunned, he blinks repeatedly, shakes his head and checks the time again, now looking at his watch. "Guess I lost track of time," he mumbles as he realizes it's really 5:30 pm. He clears his throat. "I'm coming!"

Yawning once more, he wheels to the kitchen. Hvitserk waves at him with one hand as Ubbe greets him with a grin and Sigurd... Well, Sigurd ignores him, as usual.

"Hello boys!" Lagertha smiles as she also enters the kitchen. "Did you go to the beach this afternoon?" It's a rethorical question, since sand can be seen on the tanned skin of his brothers, shirtless and wearing only swimming shorts.

When she looks down at him, her smile becomes softer. "Ivar, you seem tired. Did you work all day long?"

He nods, glad that for once she called him by his first name and not by one of those stupid nicknames that she likes but that make his skin crawl.

"Yep," he shrugs without smiling back, "I made good progress. The new version of your website is almost done. It could probably be online by the end of the week."

His stepmom flashes him a beaming smile. "Great, thanks!"

The conversation then moves on to the subject that everyone in Kattegat has been talking about for the last few days: the midsummer party thrown by their neighbor Harald Hårfager. Every June, it is Kattegat's not-to-be-missed event, to which every resident hopes to be invited.

Lagertha is invited every year, yet rarely attends; his brothers wouldn't miss it, not in a million years; Ivar never went.

He listens with half an ear as his brothers prattle on about the upcoming party, while taking a seat at the large, wooden kitchen table on which Lagertha has just put cakes and drinks.

"What are you going to wear?"

"Do you think Marit will attend this year?"

"Hopefully the music will be better than last year."

"Can't be as bad! What was the name of that reggae band?"

For a fleeting moment, Ivar entertains the thought of attending as well. Not that he's dying to, but… Sometimes, he feels a little bit like Cinderella in this house.

Don't get him wrong, it's not that bad.

First, his stepmom is not–

Wait, wait, wait, is Lagertha technically his stepmom? He's not sure. After all, she wasn't when his parents were alive, she was just his father's first wife. Anyway, she may be his guardian now, but he sees her as his stepmom and he honestly doesn’t give a shit if it's a little weird.

Where was he? Oh yes, Cinderella.

So obviously, Lagertha is not a wicked, haughty and abusive stepmom like this Lady Tremaine of the fairytale.

Actually, even if it pisses him off to admit it, she's pretty nice, patient and composed. Does he love her? Let's not exaggerate – he doesn't. She may love him though, which is a little bit uncanny, if he's being honest. He was the favorite son of her nemesis. Shouldn't she hate him? He would, if the situation was reversed.

The truth is, when he was younger, he tried, he really tried to hate her, blaming her for everything and anything. When too much pain prevented him from sleeping, he let his imagination run wild. There, bound to his bed of suffering, he could see Lagertha cutting the brakes on his mother's car, causing her crash, causing her death.

Of course, even then, he knew deep down that Lagertha had not killed his mother; that the story he told himself was just the product of his endless nights of insomnia. But what can he say? He needed this. Because blaming Lagertha rather than admitting that his beloved mother was at fault – by being distracted, or by falling asleep, he'll never know – was easier for the heartbroken boy he was.

Anyway... So yes, Lagertha is definitely not an evil stepmother like Cinderella's.

Also, he doesn't sleep on a sorry garret, on a wretched straw bed either.

Actually, he has a very large room on the main floor, with a king-size memory foam bed, a walk-in – well, a wheel-in for his case – closet and his own, huge bathroom, fully equipped for his special needs.

Sure, the bathroom and the dressing room were already there when his parents were alive; however, the memory foam mattress had been Lagertha's idea.

Anyway... So yes, he can't exactly complain about his sleeping conditions, unlike Cinderella.

And obviously, he's not forced into servitude.

Actually, one might think so, but no, he's not. Sure, sometimes he works for his stepmom, like today. But so do his brothers. When she had taken them in, she was a powerful businesswoman, working twelve to fourteen hours a day. Once she had become their guardian, she had rearranged her working time and learned to delegate; but even so, she had often run out of time. Therefore, it had seemed normal to them – yes, even to him – to help her out, each of them according to their skills and abilities.

So, while Hvitserk almost always does the grocery shopping, while Sigurd vacuums and does the laundry, while Ubbe mows the lawn and trim the bushes, he, Ivar, runs her company's website and sometimes even does the accounting. And since he loves computers and numbers, it's not exactly a problem.

Anyway... So yes, he's not a slave in this house. Unlike Cinderella.

So, yes, to sum it up, he can't really complain and he's by far not Cinderella. And he knows it.

But... Yes, there's a but...

Sometimes, he feels trapped, as poor Cinderella must have felt.

Sometimes he feels like a spectator of a life he doesn't belong to.

Sure, he doesn't have to be homeschooled – but gods, he's glad he is. The reasons for him to be continuously bullied by classmates are endless. The simplest ones being: he is a cripple, an orphan, the son of a dead mob boss, the smartest one in the whole damn school, let alone his class. Take your pick. It's no fun, no fun at all. Being home alone is preferable to that alternative.

Therefore, barely leaving the house except for medical appointments, he has no friends. He doesn't do sports either – obviously – and yeah, he lives a lonely life, filled with video games and Netflix series. And he's okay with that. Well, most of the time.

Sure, his brothers, or at least Ubbe and Hvitserk, always try to include him as much as possible. But the truth is that because of his legs, there are many, many things he just can't do.

And the other truth, the less pleasant one, is that he partially did that to himself. He cut himself off from a world that hurt him, yet he still misses this world sometimes. At times, he blames himself. Because his life, honestly, is hardly what you would call a life, is it? Not when you're sixteen.

That's why sometimes, like now, he feels this longing, almost a need, to live. To really, truly, fully live. And that's why, for a brief moment, lulled by the light chitchat of his brothers, he considers attending Harald's midsummer party.

But he knows better. This life is not for him, never has been, never will be.

And so, shaking his head, he chases the thought away and, placing his hands on his push rims, he's about to leave the kitchen while the incessant babbling of his brothers goes on.

"I can't wait."

"Don't tell me! As every year, the most beautiful girls of Kattegat will be there."

"Remember that burger food truck? Best burgers ever!"

"I've heard Y/N would be attending this year."

"There'll be booze and girls! Sounds like Valh–"

Wait. His mind goes blank.

Fuck.

What? Did he hear right?

As he replays his brother's words in his head, it's like there's an earthquake happening inside of him.

Fuck.

He stops breathing. Blinks, then clamps his eyes shut.

Fuck.

When he finally manages to draw air into his lungs, he swallows loudly before asking in a weird, high-pitched voice, his heart pounding in his chest, "What– What did you say, brother?"

Hvitserk turns his head toward him and shrugs. "I just said there'll be boo–"

"No, not you!" Ivar snaps at his brother, pointing his pointer finger at Ubbe. "You, what did you fucking say?" Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Lagertha frowning – 'no curse words in this house, boys'– and even if he barely contains an eye roll, he still mouths a quick 'sorry' at her before rewording his question, impatience coursing through him. "What did you say, dear brother? Who did you say would attend?"

Stunned, Ubbe looks at him with wide eyes. "Y/N? I said Y/N would come. That's what I heard anyway. She's Harald's niece. She was here once, right? Remember her, baby bro, huh?"

But Ivar is no longer listening, the blood draining from his face. Y/N... Y/N... Fuck. Finally. Fucking finally. After so long... He may see you again. Wow.

I'll go! I'll fucking go!

He barely contains the words, suddenly acutely aware of the deafening silence in the room, his brothers shamelessly staring at him.

With her brows furrowed and her lips turned downward in a slight frown, Lagertha takes two steps forwards before crouching down in front of him. "Are you all right, sweetie? You're a little pale."

He barely hears when Sigurd giggles, "A little pale? He's greener than an alien!"

Lagertha shoots Sigurd a dirty look and then gently cups Ivar's cheek. "Do you know her, Ivar? Do you know Y/N?"

Overwhelmed, self-conscious, freaked out, caught off-guard, he doesn't know how to respond. Should he tell the truth? Should he lie? His brothers will mock him, for sure. What is the point of telling the truth? What good would it do? On the other hand, he could really use some advice. Yeah. Sure. Advice from Sigurd. Just the thought of it is enough to make him sick. Fuck, what is he going to do?

Rushed words are out of his mouth before he can even gather his thoughts. "No. No. I don't. I mean, yes, I think I do but–" He's being pathetic and he hates it. So after a sharp intake of breath, he shakes his head and eventually replies in a flat, calm voice, the white lie rolling off his tongue. "I know her, but I thought Ubbe was talking about someone else. Sorry."

With these words, he hastily leaves the room, his eyes riveted on his knees, his heart still drumming in his chest.

Y/N. Fuck.

🛡⚔️🛡

Ivar's taglist: @waiting4inspiration @honestsycrets @lisinfleur @saldelys @gearhead66 @inforapound @readsalot73 @milkkygirls @xbellaxcarolinax @shannygoatgruff @zuxiezendler @hecohansen31 @lonewolf471 @fuckindiva @tgrrose @didiintheblog @peachyboneless @pieces-by-me @funmadnessandbadassvikings @ethereallysimple @destynelseclipsa @cocovikings23 @xceafh @mrsalwayswrite @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie @pomegranates-and-blood @jadelynlace @grimeundglow @quantumlocked310 @alexhandersen-marcoilsoe-fandom

Ivarello's taglist: @not-another-viking-fanfic-blog @hashimily @prepare4trouble @supernaturalvikingwhore @funmadnessandbadassvikings

#ivar #modern ivar #modern!ivar #modern-ivar #modern ivar x reader #modern!ivar x reader #ivar x reader #ivar the boneless #ivar ragnarsson #ivar imagine #ivar fic #ivar fanfic #ivar fanfiction #ivar vikings #vikings ivar #cherrypie’s500 #fairytale retelling #ivarello

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ironwoman359 · 3 years ago

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You Don’t Own Me (You Don’t Even Know Me)

Chapter 4

Navigation: Ch.1, Ch.2, Ch.3, Ch.4, Ch.5, Ch.6

Summary: As the son of a Baron, Roman Sanders always knew that when he married, it would be due to a political arrangement rather than true love. Still, when he is sent away to marry an older, more powerful Earl, he is determined to make the best of his situation. Despite the Earl’s indifference towards him, Roman forges ahead and prepares to become the best husband he can possibly be, making new friends along the way. But when his fiancé’s demeanor turns from cold to cruel, Roman must shift all of his focus to survival, and find a way out of his marriage before it’s too late.

Ships: Logince, side Moxiety and Dukeceit

Content Warnings (overall): arranged marriage, abuse, attempted sexual assault, murder, poisoning, character death, hurt/comfort, angst Chapter 4 Warnings: possessive behavior, verbal and physical abuse, angst, allusions to abuse and murder

Word Count: 4067

Read on AO3: here!

A/N: Co-written with @5-falsehoods-phonated, check out his masterlist here and check out mine here!

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“And when I tried to get down, Remus spooked the pony and it bolted, with me still clinging to the saddle for dear life.”

Virgil snorted, then immediately brought his hand up to cover his smile.

“You wound me!” Roman said dramatically, placing a hand on his chest. “Eight-year-old me was certain that his life was going to end, and you’re laughing?”

“I can’t help that the mental image of you dangling off the saddle of a pony and screaming your head off is the funniest thing I’ve seen all week,” Virgil replied.

“Be nice, Virgil!” Patton scolded, even as he fought back giggles of his own. “I’m sure it was very scary at the time!”

“You’re telling me,” Roman agreed. “I wouldn’t set foot near the stables for a month.”

“I can’t believe that after all that you somehow grew up to be a competent rider,” Virgil said.

“Well, I probably wouldn’t have if it weren’t for my older brother Remy. He started taking me with him when he went out on his rides; I felt a lot safer riding double with him than I did by myself.”

“Your brothers sound wonderful,” Patton said, smiling.

“Oh, they’re the absolute worst,” Roman said. “But also I love them more than anyone.”

“I hope we’ll get to meet them at the wedding!”

Roman’s smile went brittle around the edges, and he forced himself to nod.

“I hope so too,” he said quietly.

Patton’s brow wrinkled, and Roman knew that look, that was Patton’s “I’m worried about you” look, and as much as he had come to view Patton and Virgil as his friends, he wasn’t sure if he was ready to get into the whole “my twin brother ran away from home to escape noble life and I haven’t seen him in years and might never see him again” topic with them just yet.

“Well this has been great,” Virgil cut in suddenly. “But it’s getting close to midday; I need to get back to work, and you need to get to your little lunch date.”

“Excuse you, it is a perfectly professional business meeting!” Roman protested, and Virgil rolled his eyes.

“Sure it is. That’s why you meet with Logan every single day and always perk up or get this silly smile on your face whenever you mention something that he said, most of which has nothing to do with business.”

Roman gave Virgil a deadpan look. “Do you really want me to retaliate right now?” he asked, glancing pointedly at Patton.

Virgil’s cheeks flushed pink, and he waved Roman away.

“Go on, then!” he said. “Go have your perfectly professional business meeting.”

“I will!” Roman said primly, but as he stood to leave, he shot Virgil a grateful smile, and Virgil nodded in return.

After parting with Patton at the house’s entrance, Roman made the short trek down to the library alone. He hadn’t been sure how he would manage living at the Howard Estate at first, but his life had settled into a predictable yet comfortable routine since the engagement banquet.

Patton brought breakfast to his room every morning, and after Roman insisted several times that he preferred the company, Patton now stayed to eat with him most mornings. After breakfast, Roman changed into his riding clothes and the two headed down to the stables together, where Virgil was waiting for them with Angel. Roman took his morning ride, and Patton and Virgil did whatever it was they liked to do when they were alone together.

When he returned, Roman helped Virgil groom Angel, and the three of them often fell into easy conversation with one another. At midday, Roman took his lunch in the library with Logan, and he spent the afternoons on his own, exploring the mansion or indulging in his creative hobbies. All in all, his days were mostly pleasant, until dinnertime, of course.

His nightly dinner with Lord Howard was, to his disappointment, the most boring and uncomfortable part of Roman’s day. It became clear to Roman after a few attempts of engaging with his fiance that Lord Howard wasn’t even slightly interested in talking with him; what he wanted was somebody to talk at. Roman sat, night after night, and listened to the earl rant about frustrating business partners, idiotic city officials, and even tiny annoyances like a scuff on his boot or a fly in his office. It was difficult to not feel like an emotional punching bag, and Roman always left dinner exhausted from playing the polite, doting fiance that Lord Howard expected him to be.

Roman stepped into the library, and smiled when he saw Logan sitting at a table beneath a window, the afternoon sun casting golden beams of light through his long hair.

At least there were more positives than negatives to living at this estate.

“Ah, Roman,” Logan said, smiling as he approached. “Excellent timing, I was just beginning to review my weekly report for Lord Howard. Would you care to assist me?”

“Always,” Roman said, sitting down across from him.

They poured over the receipts and summaries and work orders together, and Roman couldn’t help but marvel at the sheer amount of work that Logan did every single day.

“Honestly, Logan, you do almost too much for the earl. Especially considering what he pays you.”

Roman had seen the payroll receipts for all the staff, and he couldn’t help but be a little insulted on the servants’ behalf. One of the ways Lord Howard kept costs down was clearly at the expense of his staff.

“While I may agree with your sentiment, the fact of the matter is that if I did not do all this, the estate would fall apart,” Logan said. “And regardless of any...personal feelings about his lordship, there are far too many people who depend on him and his estate for me to consider stopping.”

Logan paused, frowning as he scanned a document, then sighed.

“For instance, his lordship neglected to sign off on a shipment of new armor to the city guard, despite my reminding him to do so three times in the last week.”

He scrawled something along the bottom of the document and set it aside, and Roman raised an eyebrow.

“Was that Lord Howard’s name you just wrote?”

Logan fiddled with his glasses, and he glanced around the room before answering. “This is...not the first time that his lordship has neglected his duties on what he perceives to be minor issues. I, uh...take the liberty of correcting such oversights for him.”

“You can forge his handwriting?” Roman translated, and Logan nodded sheepishly. “That’s amazing!”

Logan blinked, looking up at Roman in clear surprise. “I...it is?”

“Are you kidding me?” Roman exclaimed. “Of course it is...you’re so talented, Logan, really. I’m not exaggerating when I say you’re wasted as a secretary.”

“Oh...well, thank you, Roman,” Logan said, his cheeks flushing slightly pink. “I must admit, you also have far more potential than his lordship would care to acknowledge.”

“I’ll get him to see sense soon,” Roman insisted. “Then maybe together, we can make some real changes around here!”

“I wish I shared your optimism,” Logan said with a sigh. “But I am glad to share your company, at least.”

It was Roman’s turn to blush, but before he could think of a reply, the sound of footsteps caught his attention, and he looked up to see Patton approaching their table.

“Sorry for interrupting, Kiddos, but I’ve been asked to fetch Roman here and get him ready.”

“Get me ready?” Roman asked, and Patton nodded.

“His lordship requests your presence at a business meeting he has in an hour with other estate holders. I’ve been instructed to dress you for the event and bring you to his lordship.”

Roman forced down the twinge of discomfort in the back of his mind at the earl choosing an outfit for him like he was some sort of doll, and grinned as he got to his feet.

“You see, Logan?” he said. “This is our chance!”

“If it is a meeting with other nobility, then I’m afraid I won’t be present,” Logan said. “Lord Howard does not wish for...commoners to be present at such negotiations. He instructs me on what measures need to be taken afterwards.”

“That’ll be the first thing we change then, once I make him see reason,” Roman said. “You’ll see, this is going to be the start of something great!”

“I hope you are right,” Logan said with a small smile. “Good luck, Roman.”

“Thank you, Logan,” Roman said as he followed Patton out of the library.

I’ll certainly need it.

--- --- ---

Roman fidgeted uncomfortably in his chair, shooting a glance over to the earl to make sure he hadn’t noticed. The silky fabric that his pants were made of stuck uncomfortably to his skin and made his legs itch horribly, but he had been in similar attire before and had had plenty of practice in the art of keeping his poise while screaming internally. Thankfully, even though he was seated right next to Lord Howard, he had yet to draw his attention. Howard had been too occupied bragging about his various business exports for most of the meeting to pay much attention to him.

Even through his discomfort, Roman had been learning a lot about his fiance, dutifully keeping mental notes on everything he heard, from which parts of land he had inherited to which ones he had bought or negotiated into owning. Overseas businesses and local investments both let his power reach farther than one might first suspect, and all that put together was what kept the Howard Estate with its acres of land, sprawling mansion and extensive grounds and highly specialized staff all running smoothly.

It was a lot to manage, so it made sense that Lord Howard had Logan figure out most of the work and only signed off on the most important things himself. Having someone as competent as Logan run things in the background so the true estate head could make the actual appearances as the business leader was a strategy many nobles used to keep their properties under control.

Craning his neck to look up at his fiance from his lower seat, Roman furrowed his brow in thought. He wondered just how much Logan did that the earl never saw anything about until he reaped the benefits of it. Sure, Logan was extremely capable, but relying entirely on one person to manage everything seemed a bit foolhardy to Roman.

Tuning back into the conversation, Roman perked up as another lord gestured stiffly at a stack of documents in front of him, smooth calculation clear in his tone of voice. Negotiations were something Roman had always prided himself in handling, and handling well. He had often spoken circles around his own father in their practice debates, and it was rare that Roman participated in a discussion without gaining something in his own favor.

As neither party at the moment looked particularly stressed, Roman figured with a slight twinge of disappointment that such measures shouldn’t be needed this time. He would have liked to show off just a bit and make Lord Howard see what a useful asset he could actually be in their marriage, but he supposed that could wait until a more appropriate opportunity.

“I have most of the influence in this field anyway. Signing your bit of land over to me now would cause fewer problems for you in the future; especially if I don’t have to take it by force when I’m looking to expand.” Punctuating his statement with a firm tap to the papers, the opposing lord sat back with a satisfied smirk.

The icy glare Lord Howard fixed him with was enough to wipe the smirk fully off his face, however, and he tilted back slightly as the earl leaned forward to fold his hands smoothly in front of him.

“I’m not in the habit of signing away what’s rightfully mine, Lord Rilken, Baron of Vilvik.”

Roman flinched slightly at the way he practically spat the other man’s title…a title he shared, and had never once felt insecure about until this very moment. The way he spoke to these men, these people in positions of power, like they were nothing but dirt to be brushed off his own much more impressive riches- it was enough to make Roman want to run all the way back to his own estate and beg for another way, plead to wait for someone else to ask for his hand or to find someone himself. He stiffened in his seat and shook the irrational thoughts away.

No, this is how one played the game when negotiating important matters. Put up a cold and intimidating front until the other person backed down or bent to your own suggestions. If anything, Lord Howard's act was admirable; it almost immediately shut down any arguments, even if it hardly held any semblance of tact. Realizing this would be a good opportunity to show his skills, Roman leaned forward and placed his own hands on the table in front of him, gaining the attention of the opposing business owners quickly.

“It might prove advantageous to you both to simply form a partnership and share the land and business potential it holds. With as much power as the both of you hold over this branch, you’d be able to expand much faster and reap more benefits than you would if you spent all of your time attempting to take control over the others’ sections.” Pleased with himself, Roman glanced over to Lord Howard, expecting at least to have impressed him since he hadn’t really had the time to explain all that he had been trained in and what he could bring to the estate with their union.

However, as he met Lord Howard’s eyes, ice ran through his veins. The earl was glaring, staring him down like a particularly resilient bug that he could hardly wait to smash beneath a steel-toed boot. The room went so quiet that Roman could swear that the other nobles were holding their breath, and glancing around in his peripherals, he saw everyone sitting around the table gawking at him as if he’d just committed high treason. Had he really said something so wrong? Was this not what was customary, nay, expected behavior of the soon to be co-owner of the estate? Shrinking down slightly as his ears burned red, he finally lowered his eyes as the earl turned away. Roman heard him take a deep breath before saying in a deliberately controlled voice:

“You must forgive my fiance, he hails from a country estate you see; he isn’t accustomed to the way things work here yet. If you would be so kind as to excuse us for just a moment so that I may explain a few things?” Not waiting for an answer, the earl stood and held out his hand for Roman to take. “If you would step into the hall with me, dearest?”

Recognizing the order under the request, Roman stood quickly and took Lord Howard’s hand, wincing at how tightly he was gripped and practically dragged out of the room. The door was opened just a bit too forcefully to calm his nerves in the slightest and he watched as Lord Howard seemed to barely refrain from slamming it back closed, instead closing it with deliberate calm before whirling around to face him and jerking his hand out of Roman’s to tower before him.

“Let me make this perfectly clear, you do not speak out of turn in these meetings. You do not speak above me or-”

“But I didn’t! I was only-” Roman didn’t register what the dull smacking sound echoing in his ears and making them ring was until pain bloomed and spread from his lower jaw to his entire cheek. Raising his hand to his face in disbelief, he felt a bit of wetness and looked to see blood on his fingertips. Fear and horror twisted in his gut as he realized one of Lord Howard’s rings must have caught on his cheek and opened a cut. His jaw ached and his teeth felt numb; the blow had been hard enough to rattle them in his skull. Romans looked up and flinched as he saw Howard’s hand still raised to strike should he choose to speak again, and he shrunk in on himself in an attempt to seem too small to expend more energy on.

“You,” The earl spat, “do not speak above me, or make suggestions on my behalf. You are not here to offer up useless opinions that were not asked for or needed. You were brought into that room to sit obediently and look pretty on my arm and that is the full extent that your role will ever be. Have I made myself clear?”

Roman hesitated for just a second too long, and Lord Howard reached down to grip his chin, tipping his head so he had no choice but to look his assailant directly in the eyes. “My dear, I believe I asked you a question, and I expect an answer.”

Biting back a whimper Roman nodded as much as he could with his face trapped in the steely grip. “Yes my lord, I understand perfectly. I apologize for overstepping, it won’t happen again.”

The answer, as demeaning as it had felt to say, seemed to appease the still seething man, and Howard dropped his chin and stepped back with a wolfish smile.

“Very good, see to it that it doesn’t. Now, I believe we’ve been here long enough. If you’re done blubbering, you may join me.”

Startling a bit at the choice of phrasing, Roman hesitantly reached up to touch his face, wincing as he realized there was more than just blood on his cheeks. Taking a deep breath, he carefully wiped the tears away before plastering on a small smile and moving to stand just behind the earl. He was loath to go back into the room like this, humiliation and blood reddening his cheeks, but he didn’t dare speak up for fear of more punishment. As Lord Howard opened the door and moved back to his place at the head of the table, he hardly spared Roman another glance, and Roman had no choice but to meekly follow.

Sitting down, Roman realized most of the people at the table were staring at him like one would a fresh kill, their expressions a mixture of pity and approval while they averted their eyes. Sinking down even lower as the meeting resumed, he realized this was to be the second part of his punishment. He was to learn and remember his role as Lord Howard’s betrothed and eventual husband. Sit still and look pretty, step a toe out of line and be punished, and make sure everyone in the room knew that the power held over him was just as absolute as the power the earl held over everything else.

“I’m pleased to know some people still know how to keep common folk in line. Truly, the disrespect-” Roman’s ears rang as someone close by whispered to another just loud enough for him to overhear, making him want to sink down even lower and let the floor swallow him.

The meeting continued on for what seemed like forever, but unlike before, Roman didn’t absorb a single word of what was said. The voices of the other lords washed over him as he sat as still as he could, hands clenched in his lap to keep them from trembling. When at last Lord Howard stood, Roman almost stood up next to him, but caught himself just in time and sent a questioning glance up at his fiance.

Lord Howard’s lips curled into a smile, and he held his arm out to Roman in invitation. Roman swallowed down his revulsion and stood, slipping his arm into the earl’s and schooling his face into a pretty smile. Lord Howard covered Roman’s hand with his own, and Roman’s skin burned at the touch.

“Well gentlemen, this concludes our discussion for the day, I do thank you all for coming.”

One by one the nobles stood, nodding to Lord Howard as they filed out of the room. Roman’s cheeks heated as several of them swept their eyes over him as they passed, their gazes lingering on the bruise blooming on his face. When at last, every one of them was gone, Lord Howard turned his attention to Roman, all false pleasantries gone from his expression.

“I trust that after today, any...confusion about your role here has been cleared up?” he asked, his voice low and dangerous.

“Yes, my lord,” Roman whispered, and the earl smiled.

“Good. Now go clean yourself up. Dinner is at seven o’clock sharp, and I expect you to look presentable.”

“Yes, my lord,” Roman repeated, and as soon as Lord Howard dropped his arm, he practically bolted from the room.

He hurried through the corridors of the mansion, head down and eyes stinging. When he finally reached his room, he all but slammed the door behind him, and collapsed to the floor, his shoulders shaking as he released the sob he’d been holding back for the past hour.

He let himself cry, for how long, he wasn’t sure, not only for the sting on his cheek and the shame that came with it, but for every doubt, every grief, every pain that he’d pushed down and bottled up over the past month.

After everything he’d been through, everything he’d sacrificed, was this really his fate? Chained forever to a man who only saw him as something to own, to display, to use...

Roman lifted his head slowly.

“Remember all that we've taught you, and you'll do fine."

His father had taught him everything he knew about business, about politics, about matters of the state. He knew how to act with decorum, how to spot an opportunity, and how to charm a room while negotiating, all thanks to his father’s teachings.

But now, with tears running down his face and a bruise blossoming on his cheek, he remembered another set of lessons.

Lessons his mother had given him as a teenager, after time had run its course and he was no longer the slightly awkward, gangly kid he had once been.

“You’ve grown into a handsome young man,” his mother had said to him on his eighteenth birthday. “Your father believes that when you are married, it will be purely for political reasons. You need to know that this may not be the case.”

Roman had tried to forget the lessons his mother had passed down to him, had told himself that he would never need them...but here he was, sobbing on the floor, the first of what he knew would be many marks on his skin if he didn’t tread carefully.

Roman learned everything he knew about running an estate from his father, but he learned everything about acting from his mother. Thanks to her, he knew how to conceal his emotions, how to smile when his stomach rolled over and how to sigh when his skin burned. He knew how to mold himself into the perfect husband, because if he did not let himself be molded he would find himself broken before it was too late.

“Too late for what, mother?” the younger him had asked, eyes wide and horrified, and she’d smiled in a way he’d never seen before.

“Did I ever tell you the story of how your grandfather died?”

Roman knew what situations were most likely to result in “accidents,” what weapons were easily concealed and what poisons were difficult to detect. He knew how to pluck a nose hair to bring tears to his eyes and slap his cheeks so they appeared flushed. He knew how to appear calm and collected when he was suffering, and how to appear stricken with grief when all he felt was relief.

He had been preparing for marriage his whole life...every kind of marriage. And now that he knew the kind of husband that Lord Howard really wanted, he knew exactly what kind of husband he was going to be.

Even if he wouldn’t be one for very long.

--- --- ---

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#sanders sides #ts fanfic #sanders sides fanfiction #roman sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #virgil sanders #logince #moxiety #you don't own me #my writing #abuse tw

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aburstoflightpdf · 3 years ago

Note

“Go touch some grass.” Nicole I’m crying lmao. But for real Robbe stans be like “we can call out BA and girl squad but I draw the line when you call out my fav white boy”

i'm so happy you sent this because I've been wanting to say something all fucking day and have (again) felt like i was being too mean or harsh which is super ironic all things considered but fuck it. ok before i start, i do love robbe, and even though I'm committed to not wasting anymore time in this show, he'll probably always be one of my favorite isaks. i'm not ashamed or embarrassed to admit that, and I don't think people who love robbe should feel bad about liking him because despite all of the horrible writing decisions made in regards to his character, he still managed to be, imo, one of the kinder, likable characters of the show. we're suppsed to root for him in his season, and we're supposed to be fond of him afterward. there's absolutely nothing wrong with that.

that being said, robbe's still racist, as are all of the white characters, sander and milan included, because the writers are racist. there was never going to be a version of this scene where robbe empathizes with yasmina because the writers don't empathize with her. that's what I was saying earlier this week with suggestion that people tone down their thirst for a robbe scene, because I knew it would end up like this. you can't expect a show that has repeatedly shown that they have zero regard for people of color, their characters and fans alike, to do a scene in which a white character is supposed to comfort a character of color with any sort of grace because they don't believe that a white person would do that because they, as white men, wouldn't do it. i think that's what frustrates me most about all this talk of robbe being ooc, because its like, when have we ever seen him confront racism. the thing with kato wasn't about her being a racist, it was about her getting them into a car wreck (and even then y'all still made it about robbe and sander, but i digress.) hell, the only friend of color that he has is moyo, and we all know how the writers feel about him. it was 100% unfounded to believe that robbe would be able to comfort yasmina or give her any sort of clarity because he's still white! on a show written by white racists! as uncomfortable as it may be to hear, this is the "real robbe" because this is the robbe written by and given depth to by his creators. fanon robbe does not exist outside of tumblr and ao3 (as with fanon moyo, jens, zoë, senne, and basically any other character that we've taken the liberty to reconstruct in the image of what they could be as opposed to what they are.) just because its a truth that you're unhappy with doesn't make it not true, and attempting to excuse this by saying it wasn't actually him isn't going to make the scene magically go away, or make what you want him to have said be what he actually said. all its doing is further ostracizing the people of color and muslims in the fandom, and reminding us, once again, that your inability to project on to your favorite white character is more important than like. literal racism and islamophobia.

and one more thing because i know how y'all are, i'm not going to check because like I said, i'm fully done, but i'm sure that there will be a least a few snarky responses to this post talking about how people are reading too much into the scene and how we should just let people enjoy things and that you're only here to see yasmina happy at the end and I just want to say two things. one, yasmina's happiness is forever going to be compromised because, at least in the context of the canon of this show, its going to require her to at least forgive, if not apologize to people who have done nothing but make her life a living hell for 10 weeks. and two, being ~emotionally distanced~ from racism is not the flex that you think it is.

#wtfock

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wiypt-writes · 4 years ago

Text

Stark Spangled Rebirth

Chapter 3: You Look Taller

Summary: Steve is transformed into the world’s first Super Soldier, but after a bomb is detonated in the SSR lab, he is soon putting his new found strength to the test.

Warnings: Bad Language words.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC Katie Stark

Word Count- 7.5k ish

A/N: I might have taken a few liberties here with the way things worked in the Army in the 40s but, let’s face it, no more than the MCU did! Any mistakes are my own. I’ll probably spot them once posted but, whatever!

This series is my contribution of sorts to the CATF 10 Year Anniversary Challenge.

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar Katie Stark and the other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

SSR Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Chapter 2

Steve didn’t sleep a wink that night. His mind was in overdrive, his body spiking with just about as many contrasting emotions one could possibly feel all at once. Excitement, fear, pride, concern, uncertainty, determination…and then there were his thoughts about Katie and what they’d done last night. He was conflicted about that as well. On the one hand it had been so wrong, to have rubbed one another to release through their clothes, without even courting so to speak. It went against everything his Ma had taught him about treating a dame with respect, instead he’d gone head and behaved just like Bucky normally did when he paraded around in his uniform, using it to pick up any woman he could.

But on the other, nothing had ever felt so damned right to him before in his life.

He still couldn’t quite believe it, although the evidence it had happened was plain to see in his pants which he’d hastily changed and hidden in the bottom of his trunk. What he was having trouble processing was why. Why a dame like that had picked a guy like him. He still wasn’t completely convinced she wasn’t acting out of pity. Pity that he was about to undergo some transformation and had never been touched that way before.

But then she’d admitted that she hadn’t either. “What was it you said about waiting for the right partner?”

Maybe she did actually feel something for him. And whilst it hadn’t been the most conventional beginning, perhaps it might morph into something else?

With a groan he shook his head, who was he kidding? It was June, 1943 and they were in the middle of a war. He was about to be injected with some kind of serum that was either going to turn him into a soldier with enhanced capabilities or…well, he didn’t want to think about the 'or'. Either way, he knew what should be at the forefront of his mind, and a relationship with Katie Stark was not it.

He went about his morning routine as normal. Thanks to the SSR’s programme being covert, most people on the base completely ignored him as usual, which suited him fine. The last thing he wanted was people asking him questions about how he was feeling, because he simply didn’t know. This time, once he was dressed he ensured all his belongings were packed ready to be taken to his new barracks, wherever they were going to be and no sooner had he done that the door opened and he snapped to attention, saluting the soldier that had arrived along with Agent Carter.

“Hello Steve," she smiled at him.

“Good morning, Ma’am.” He said, his hand, dropping to his side and he relaxed as she instructed him to be at ease.

“Are you ready?” She asked.

“As I’ll ever be.”

“Good, follow me then.”

Grabbing his hat he headed after her, walking in silence through the camp, his eyes focussed directly ahead. Eventually he was led around to the main office buildings, outside of which a car was waiting. Peggy walked around one side where the driver opened the door for her and Steve snapped himself out of his thoughts and climbed into the other side, shutting the door behind him.

The two or so hour drive from New Jersey to their destination was quiet. Agent Carter made a little small talk, but for the most she was silent or conversing with the driver. That said, it seemed to fly by in comparison to when he had taken the trip the other way a little under a week ago. As he glanced at the buildings passing them by, one by one they started to get familiar.

“I know this neighborhood," Steve said absentmindedly as he looked out of the window. “I got beat up in that alley.” He continued watching his finger pointing out of the window, his eyebrows raised as he spotted another familiar landmark, “and that parking lot.” Another pause as his head dropped slightly, eyes on his hands which were clasped on his lap, “and behind that diner.”

“Did you have something against running away?” Peggy asked and Steve took a deep breath, shaking his head as he remembered his Ma’s words to him.

“You start running they’ll never let you stop.” He explained, once more glancing out of the window, “You stand up, push back. Can’t say no forever, right?” He gave a shrug and once more his eyes fell to his hands. He stared at them, and the longer he stared the more he thought back.

Hands that had last night traced the soft curves of Agent Stark’s hips, breasts. The vision coming in so clear, nearly like a picture show and it caused him to swallow a little, his throat and mouth feeling dry and he couldn’t help but wish that it was Katie in the car with him, not Agent Carter. Whilst the pretty, British woman sat on the seat beside him had always been pleasant enough to him, there was something about Katie that just kept him grounded if there ever were a word to describe the way she made him feel. He never once felt jittery in her presence yet now, as he sat there being quizzed on something that was actually quite personal, he was starting to feel a little angsty.

“I know a little of what that’s like. To have every door shut in your face.” Peggy spoke gently as she looked at him and Steve met her gaze for a second before she looked forward once more, and his mind strayed back to something Katie had said last night.

“Yeah, I guess so.” He looked down at his hands. “Katie…I mean Agent Stark told me about how people weren’t exactly open to the pair of you joining the SSR or the Army.”

“She did?” Agent Carter looked at him, her brown drawing ever so slightly into a frown.

Steve nodded, “last night.” And no sooner had the words left his mouth his eyes widened as he realised he’d outed the fact Katie had come to his barracks. Peggy looked at him, an immaculately shaped brow arched slightly, rouged lips curling up into a smirk at one side as Steve began to babble out an excuse. “She came to check on me, along with Dr Erskine. I mean, well, just as he was leaving that is. There was…we just…”

“You don’t need to explain. What you and Agent Stark do is nothing to do with me,” Peggy shook her head, the corner of her lips twitching as Steve hastily looked away, out of the window, his cheeks burning. “I do know one thing though...."

“What’s that?” Steve’s head whipped round to look at her.

“She’s soft on you.” Peggy replied simply “That’s why she’s been torn ever since you got picked to be our candidate.”

“Torn?”

“In case it goes wrong.” Peggy shrugged, "Or you change in more ways than physically which means you’re no longer the man she…” Peggy trailed off, licking her lips taking a deep breath before she continued “…the man she clearly cares for.”

Steve met her eyes for a second before he looked away, his stomach now twisting in knots that had nothing to do with the procedure he was about to undergo. But the warmth and excitement he had initially felt at what Peggy had said died all too fast because of course it would be just his luck to finally meet a gal that enjoyed his company, liked him for who he was, a gal who he felt comfortable with and attracted to, just as he was about to undergo whatever the hell this procedure entailed before he shipped off to goodness knows where.

Fate was a cruel mistress sometimes.

The rest of the journey passed in silence, and it wasn’t long before the car pulled up at the side of a fairly busy street and Steve frowned, following Agent Carter’s lead, climbing out of the vehicle. He took a quick look around. There were plenty of people on the sidewalks in the summer sun, going about their everyday business, none paying him any attention.

“This way.” Agent Carter spoke and he spun to follow her, taking a look up at the fairly non-descript shop called ‘Brooklyn Antiques’ which she was leading him towards.

“What are we doing here?” he asked.

“Follow me.” Peggy completely ignored his question and instead walked into the shop, Steve behind her, placing his hat on his head. The bell above the door rang as Peggy pushed it open, Steve pausing to shut it behind him as Agent Carter strolled into the dimly lit, crowded shop. It smelt of old leather, wax and furniture polish and was crammed full of all sorts of intriguing items that Steve would normally have found fascinating.

But as it stood he was just plain confused.

Peggy stopped still as an old woman with grey hair, clad in a floaty dress and a pink cardigan emerged through a set of heavy drapes and stopped, smiling at them both. “Wonderful Weather this morning, aint it?” she spoke.

“Yes, but I always carry an umbrella.” Peggy replied.

At her words the woman gave an almost in perceptible nod and moved to the desk which held the cash register. Steve heard a faint buzz and then Peggy gently gestured once more for him to follow her. He did so as she walked through the drapes the woman had emerged from into a crowded store room of sorts which held photos, heavy gilded frames, basically everything his Ma would have labelled junk. He stopped besides Peggy as she looked at a huge book shelf which covered nearly the entire back wall and then to his absolute astonishment the book shelf simply opened towards him revealing that it was actually a set of solid steel doors.

Steve’s mouth dropped open as he was now facing a huge corridor which was in use by a number of military and medical staff walking by. Agent Carter stepped in and he did the same, following her down, glancing every so often to his side at the Military Police Officers and soldiers, trying to figure out how the hell all of this was hidden from public sight on the outside. Eventually they reached a set of double doors which were pulled open and Steve found himself on the mezzanine balcony of a huge circular room filled with machinery, some kind of pod in the middle of the chamber he was looking over. It was full of doctors and technicians, all dressed in white lab coats and the entire room fell silent as everyone looked up at him. He immediately spotted Katie, stood by Dr Erskine. His eyes locked onto hers and even from the distance he was away he could see they were shining in the light of the lab.

Agent Carter took a deep breath and tuned to her right, Steve hastily following her down the metal steps to the lower part of the chamber. He strode over to where Dr Erskine was waiting, file in hand besides Katie who smiled at him.

“Hi.” She said gently and he smiled back at her, swallowing a little as his attention turned to Dr Erskine as the doctor spoke.

“Good morning.” He smiled, shaking Steve’s hand when suddenly a camera flashed as a photographer who Steve hadn’t noticed snapped a shot, causing Steve to blink a little. “Please, not now.” Erskine protested and the photographer made a hasty retreat, ushered away by Peggy as she followed him from the chamber, directing him away from the equipment and up the stairs to the side.

Steve turned to his right, looking at the pod, his eyes roving all the dials and the various components, his chest expanding as he took a deep breath.

“Are you ready?” Katie asked softly and Steve nodded his head, turning back to her.

“Good.” Erskine spoke. “Take off your shirt, your tie and your hat.”

“Maybe the hat first.” Katie quipped, pointing out the order Erskine had said the clothing items in was a little awry and Erskine looked at her, sarcastically. She met his stare with an equally sassy one of her own, a cheeky grin on her face as she shrugged.

Steve did as he was told, handing his items of clothing off to a nurse who smiled, taking it away before Erskine directed Steve up the steps to the left of the pod. He climbed up, shuffled around slightly as Katie watched him lay down, his head on the leather headrest at the top.

“Comfortable?” Katie asked him.

“It’s a little big.” Steve joked, smiling and she gave a soft chuckle, reaching out to touch his arm. Her hand was surprisingly warm and she left it there for just long enough before she pulled back as Erskine appeared by her side, smiling. “You save me any of that schnapps?” Steve looked at him.

“Not as much as I should have.” Erskine almost grimaced, “sorry. Next time” at that he stepped back. “Mr. Stark, how are your levels?”

Steve glanced to his left and for the first time caught a glimpse of Katie’s brother up close as he strode towards them, clad in a smart pair of slacks, white shirt, tie and waistcoat.

“Levels at 100%.” Howard replied as he stopped besides his sister, taking a look at Steve. Now they were side by side, the resemblance between the two was clear to see. Same nose, cheekbones, but Katie’s hair was a lighter shade, her eyes a warm, striking green where Howard’s were a deep brown.

“Good.” Erskine turned away as Howards eyes roved over Steve a little.

“We may dim half the lights in Brooklyn, but we are ready,” Howard smiled, “as we’ll ever be.”

“He’s not a damned fish in a bowl, Howie.” Katie nudged her brother as he was still staring at Steve. Howard turned to face her, his eyebrow arched, before he gave Steve one last look and headed off towards some kind of machine in the far corner of the room.

“Ass.” Katie shook her head before she glanced at Steve. “Are you sure you wanna do this?” She dropped her voice, “If you’re having any…” “I’m not.” Steve shook his head.

“Okay.” She took a deep breath, and for a second looked as though she was going to say something else but she was interrupted by Erskine.

“Agent Stark? Don’t you think you would be more comfortable in the booth?”

“Oh, erm, yeah, of course. Sorry.” She nodded and turned once more to look back at Steve. Again, she made to say something, but clearly decided against it. Instead she reached out, gave his hand a soft squeeze before she walked away. Steve watched her go and, as she approached the stairs, she stopped and looked back at him, her face softening once more into an almost shy little smile before she turned away again.

Steve’s head rolled back round, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. His heart was racing now, and he wasn’t quite sure whether that was all down to the procedure or the fact that her hand on his had jolted another memory of their time together the previous night. Luckily, before he had time to dwell on it too much, there was a loud booming noise as Erskine loudly tapped a microphone.

“Do you hear me? Is this on?” Satisfied that it was, the doctor turned and looked up at the small group gathered to watch in the glass walled room on the level above the atrium. “Ladies and gentlemen, today we take not another step towards annihilation, but the first step on the path to peace.”

As Erskine spoke two nurses pulled down the large rectangular shaped pads at either side of the chamber, laying them flush to Steve’s chest.

“We begin with a series of micro injections into the subjects major muscle groups. The serum infusion will cause immediate cellular change.” Erskine continued as the nurses retrieved the vials of blue coloured liquid, slotting them into the appropriate receptacles along the side of the chamber by Steve’s hips. “And then to stimulate growth, the subject will be saturated with Vita-Rays.”

Erskine walked back to Steve’s side as a nurse approached him with a syringe. She inserted it into Steve’s shoulder and he closed his eyes, taking a deep breath as she pulled the needle out of his skin.

“That wasn’t so bad.” Steve spoke, pleasantly surprised at how easy that had been. He wasn’t a huge fan of needles, having spent most of his childhood one way or another being stabbed by them for his various ailments, but he’d learned to cope with them.

However, his relief was short lived.

“That was penicillin.” Erskine looked at him and Steve felt not only apprehension creeping back into his system, but a deep embarrassment at being so dumb as to think it would be that simple.

Erskine then cleared his throat and spoke once more to the others in the room. “Serum infusion beginning in five, four…” at that two further pads like the one on his chest lowered, cuffing his arms a little “…three, two…” Erskine gently patted Steve’s shoulder “…one.”

Steve felt the sharp cone-like spikes of the pads attached to his body piercing his skin and he could actually feel the serum as it flowed into his body. It was cold, like he’d dipped each limb into an icy lake, and the shock of it forced his eyes wide open.

“Now, Mr. Stark,” he heard Erskine say and, after a second or two he felt the pod move into an upright positions, the sides and top parts enclosing him inside. He gave a snort as he realised that the glass screen at the front, designed for whoever was in here to be able to see out of was a good 6 inches too high.

Steve took a deep breath and then there was a little knock on the outside of the capsule.

“Steven, can you hear me?” Erskine asked.

“It’s probably too late to go to the bathroom, right?” Steve joked, making light of what was happening, the sweat already beading on his brow. And, if he was honest, he probably could have happily peed right then, more out of nerves than anything else.

“We will proceed.” Steve heard Erskine say and then a few seconds later the capsule he was in was flooded with a warm light, as the Vita Rays were turned on.

“That’s ten percent.” Steve could hear Howard’s voice. “Twenty percent. Thirty…that’s forty percent.”

As the count increased so did the intensity of the light and heat. What started off feeling like a pleasant dose of summer sun was rapidly becoming unbearable. Even the brightest sunlight he’d ever been in on Coney Island during the summer was nothing compared to this. He skin felt like it was on fire.

“That’s fifty percent. Sixty. Seventy.”

Despite his best attempts, the burning was simply too much and Steve couldn’t keep the yell of pain from bursting out of his mouth any longer as the vita rays washed over him. He was hot, hotter than he had ever been before. His skin was bubbling almost as if his blood was boiling similar to a kettle of water. He was vaguely aware of voices outside the chamber and herd Katie’s loud yell as it rang around the air.

“Shut it down.”

Erskine’s voice hit his ears as the doctor banged on the chamber he was in “Steven!”

“You heard her, shut it down!” Agent Carter’s voice was clear and then he heard Erskine once more as the Doctor frantically shouted.

“Kill the reactor, Mr. Stark! Turn it off! Kill it! Kill the reactor!”

“No, don’t!” Steve yelled back, finally finding his voice. There was no way he was quitting, not after he’d come this far. He could take this. Pain was nothing, he felt it every day of his damned life. “I can do this!”

Famous last words. The heat increased, the pain increased, it was too much. Every muscle in his body was searing in agony and it felt like someone was lancing him with red hot needles over and over again…

But then suddenly it went dark. The pain was gone, the heat was gone and all Steve could feel now was an overwhelming sense of calm and tiredness even, like he’d just been on another one of those damned runs with the unit. His chest was heaving as he gulped in air, his head falling to the side as panted, waiting for his body to recover. After waiting, for what seemed like forever but was in reality mere seconds, he heard Erskine call out to Howard again and then the doors to the pod opened, the cool air hitting Steve’s perspiring skin.

He stumbled out of the pod supported by two people, he had no idea who, as his eyes were screwed shut, his head bowed as he took deep gulps of air. His legs felt heavy and he was a little unbalanced, as if his centre of gravity had changed somewhat, but as he took a shaky step forward he noticed how clear his chest was. His breathing wasn’t wheezy in the slightest and with every breath he took he felt stronger, less lightheaded. All in all, despite feeling completely overwhelmed he felt good.

“I did it.” He panted a little, his eyes still closed as he took a shaky step forward.

“Yeah, yeah. I think we did it.” Erskine’s voice came from his right, followed by Howard’s from his left which was laced with pride.

“We actually did it.”

“How do you feel?” Another familiar voice spoke and with a deep breath he straightened up and looked down at Katie before he glanced around the chamber and realised that for the first time in his life he was looking down at people.

“Taller.” He answered a little facetiously, glancing at Katie as she reached out to touch his chest, swallowing a little as she hastily withdrew her hand.

“You look taller.” She handed him a T-shirt she took off another member of the nursing staff. Steve took it with a thanks and moved to pull it over his head, his breathing finally evening out and he turned to face a doctor who approached him a little nervously.

“Mr. Rogers, we just need to-“

But whatever it was that they needed Steve never found out as at that point there was a loud explosion from the room over the atrium, showering them in glass. Instinctively, Steve pulled Katie towards him, curling his body around hers to shield her from the debris before he stood up tall as he heard Erskine yelling.

“Stop him!”

Then there was a gun shot and, as he wheeled round, he saw Erksine drop to the floor. Katie pushed past Steve whipping a gun from her hip taking aim as the culprit ran up the stairs with the two female agents in persuit.

Steve knelt beside Erskine, his eyes locking onto the doctor's as he struggled for air. Erskine opened his mouth, but shut it again, and Steve realised from the blood that was pooling around the doctors body, there was nothing he could do. Erskine raised his right hand, and simply prodded Steve’s chest gently, right above his heart, similar to the way he’d pointed at him the night before.

“Not a perfect soldier, but a good man…”

The words echoed in Steve’s brain as he watched Erskine’s eyes close as his head rolled to the right, his breathing stopped. Steve took a deep breath of his own and felt another heat radiating through his body, this one out and out anger as he raised his head slowly to look at the stairs the suspect had run up mere moments ago. His jaw clenching he sprang to his feet and ran off, taking the steps two at a time.

As he sprinted through the facility he could hear gunshots and explosions from the street and as he emerged into the street he saw the woman from earlier led on the floor, not moving, a wound to her chest. Vaulting over her he saw Katie to his left tending to someone who was down on the sidewalk, whilst Agent Carter was stood in the road, un-moving, arm raised as she shot at a Yellow Taxi which was driving straight for them. He threw himself at Peggy, taking her out of the path of danger as the car sped past

“I had him!” Agent Carter said with an air of annoyance as they both climbed to their feet.

“Sorry!” Steve yelled as he started to run after the car, surprised momentarily at the way his legs just seemed to move with little or no effort, covering far more ground than he was used to. He picked up the pace, tracking the car as he went, taking a short cut down a road to his left. But he was going too fast and, as he rounded a corner, he lost control over his new power and crashed straight through the window of a Bridal Wear store, taking out the display. He jumped back up, straight onto the street, tossing another apology over his shoulder as he cut down a narrow alleyway with a chainmail fence at the bottom.

The fence was ten feet tall, easily, and Steve picked up speed a little more with the aim of jumping as high up it as he could get before scrambling over the top, but as he took off from the floor he realised that he was going to clear it. He was going to clear a ten foot fucking fence.

Tucking his legs up, he landed easily and ran out onto a street full of cars, his hands held up, protests of “woah, whoa, whoa” slipping form his mouth automatically as they all skidded to a stop trying to avoid him. He spun to his left, spotted the cab and continued his chase as it weaved itself in and out of the traffic.

He was gaining on it now and he dug a little deeper, realising he had a lot more energy in his tank, his bare feet slapping the wet concrete of the ground. As he drew closer to the car he knew that the only way to get the vehicle to stop was by getting inside it, and to do that he needed to physically get hold of it first of all. An idea suddenly came to him as he saw a car in front of him and he approached he hopped up onto the trunk then the roof, and then to the car in front before jumping onto the back of a truck. With a final leap he flung himself at the yellow taxi landing flat on the roof, his hands gripping either side of the sills above the doors as it began to sharply weave side to side. It took a sharp turn to the left, then right, then left again, forcing Steve to adjust his hold as it tore down a narrow street before emerging on the road which led to the pier. This gave Steve a little time to steady himself and he rose tentatively onto his hands and knees before there was a loud bang and a bullet shot through the roof of the car. Another few shots came, Steve dodging them all as he slid down the side of the car, wrenching the passenger door open. But before he could climb in, the man shot at him, meaning Steve had to let go with his right arm to avoid taking the bullet straight in the chest, but by shooting at him, his target had taken his eyes off the road, meaning he hadn’t noticed the two trucks emerging in front of him. The taxi crashed straight into them and flipped over sideways, beginning to roll and Steve let go, tumbling forward onto the floor before he came to a stop.

Steve rose to his feet and headed forwards as his target crawled from the car. He watched as the man stood, pointing his gun towards Steve and shot, missing him, the various people screaming as the gun went off. Steve picked up the door of the car which was lying in the road and held it in front of him as the man shot twice, the second bullet coming through the door and grazing the left hand side of Steve’s abdomen. As he peered round the side of the door he noticed that the man had now taken a young boy hostage, his arm pinned around his chest as he dragged him backwards, the boy’s mother screaming and begging for him to stop. Steve tossed the door to the side, following him, his right hand clutching at the wound to his left.

“Get back!” The man warned with the boy dangling in his arms as he backed away. Steve dodged another bullet, flattening himself against the wall. The man ran off towards the dockside and Steve followed using a large iron buoy as shield from another incoming shot. He hastily followed, keeping his back to the damp brick of the shipping company building, and as he peered round the arch he saw the man raise his gun and press the barrel to the boys head.

Steve’s blood ran cold, “wait, don’t! Don’t!” He protested, approaching with his arms up. At that the man pointed the gun at Steve and pulled the trigger, Steve automatically flinching as he awaited the shot that never came because the gun was empty. As he had nothing else to do, the hostile dragged the boy towards the side of the docks and Steve realised what he was intending to do.

“No! Don’t!”, but it was too late. With a shove the kid went flying into the water and the man turned, sprinting away. Steve ran to the edge to see the kid treading water, looking up at him.

“Go get him! I can swim!”

Decision made, Steve sprinted after his target who had disappeared, but as he ran he noticed to the right in the water some kind of sleek, black submarine pulling away. With a spring off the edge Steve dove into the icy, cold water, swimming in the vessel's slipstream. Whether the sub wasn’t going that fast, or if it was his ability to simply swim faster, Steve had no idea, but he caught it easily, punching straight through into the cockpit, flooding it with water. He then wrenched the canopy open and pulled the man sharply upwards sending him flying straight out of the surface and onto the cold stone of the dockside where he landed with a thud.

Steve followed quickly, climbing a set of steps out of the water and as the man got up, Steve saw the flash of a blade in his hand. With a reflex that was purely automatic, he dodged out of the way aiming a kick to the man’s chin which sent him sprawling backwards. The knife flew from his hand, but so did a familiar vial which Steve suddenly realised was full of Erskine’s serum. It shattered on the floor, the blue liquid pooling on the damp cobbles as Steve gripped the lapels of the man’s jacket, pulling him harshly forwards.

“Who the hell are you?” He demanded.

“The first of many," the man spoke in a thick accent. “Cut off one head-” at that he popped a tooth loose and swallowed it, looking at Steve, his jaw set, “-two more shall take its place.”

Steve frowned, perplexed as none of that made any sense, until he spoke again, through the foam that had now started to bubble from his mouth.

“Hail HYDRA!”

With that the man gave a little grunt, his pupils completely dilated as he grew heavy and limp in Steve’s grip. Steve let go, the body falling to the ground as he straightened up, his chest heaving as he stared at the dead man on the floor.

Steve couldn’t help the disappointment flooding his system at the fact he hadn’t managed to capture him alive. But that said, whilst he hadn’t managed to find out who he was exactly, he now knew who he was working for and at least they’d managed to stop the serum from falling into the wrong hands.

The serum.

At that Steve glanced down at his hands, which were both significantly larger, then to his forearms where the muscles flexed as he opened and closed his fists. With everything that had happened he hadn’t had chance to appreciate the extent to which the procedure had actually enhanced him. He’d run with a speed he had never thought possible, his lungs had stretched to a capacity that now, he thought about it, stunned him, his ability to swim the way he had, leap, the pure athleticism he had displayed in that short ten minute chase was astonishing.

His hands flew to his stomach to find a hard set of abs, his fingers tracing the definition of the planes of muscle under the wet t-shirt which clung to his body. His hands moved upwards almost tentatively, reaching the hard curve of his pecs and it was at that point a voiced broke through his stunned thoughts.

“Steve!”

He looked up to see Agent Stark running towards him. Behind her, Agent Carter and a few other soldiers and police officers were working to keep the now assembled crowd on the pier back. “Are you okay? You’re bleeding.”

Steve glanced down at his shirt and noticed for the first time the blood on the white material. He shook his head.

“He shot me but it's just a graze, I’m fine.” He jerked his head towards the guy on the ground by his feet. “More than can be said for him…”

She glanced down at the body on the floor, blinking as if she was seeing the dead man for the first time before she dropped to her knees, her fingers pressing into his neck checking for a pulse.

“Did he drown?”

“No.” Steve said, and he quickly explained about the submarine and pulling the man from the water. As he explained about the vial of serum, he saw Katie’s eyes flick to the broken glass on the floor before her face darted back to Steve as he told her about the man having loosened his tooth and bit something. “I’m not sure what it was but…”

“He bit something?” Katie’s entire face changed into a look of shock, her eyes darting side to side as she wrenched the guys mouth open, her fingers jamming straight inside.

Steve grimaced. “What…”

“Son of a bitch.” she pulled her hand back and knelt back on her heels, wiping her hands very ungracefully on the side of her skirt.

“I’m not…”

“Cyanide capsule.” She sighed, “a lot of the intelligence organisations provide them to their undercover agents and they keep them hidden in a false tooth. If you’re caught, you can effectively kill yourself before you’re taken and, well…”

“Tortured?” Steve finished for her. Katie took a deep breath and shrugged.

“Questioned was the word I was going to use but…” she shrugged, looking around. “He was clearly a Nazi Spy.”

Steve looked at her, nodding. “He was HYDRA.”

“HYDRA?”

“Heil HYDRA.” Steve looked down at the dead man, “last thing he said before he died.”

Katie bit her lip, “fuck,” she mumbled, before she looked up at Steve. “Sorry, just, well Erskine warned Phillips not to be complacent about Schmidt but Phillips was adamant that Hitler was the big threat.” She bowed her head a little, her shoulders slumping and Steve took a deep breath as he realised that the Doctor was no longer with them having died in his arms little over ten minutes ago. It left him feeling hollow, sick even and from the looks of it Katie was feeling just as bad.

But now wasn’t the time.

“I err…” Steve cleared his throat a little, composing himself. “I’m not following? Why did Erskine differentiate? I mean, I thought HYDRA were Hitler’s deep science organisation?”

Katie glanced down once more before she turned her pretty face back to Steve, “Yes, they are. But Erskine always said Schmidt had ambitions beyond Hitler’s. Something Peggy backed up from her time undercover.”

At that point she made to stand and automatically Steve offered her his hand. She took it and he made to pull her up, but with his new strength he was far more forceful than he had meant to be and she gave a little yelp of surprise as she was jerked straight into his chest.

“Easy Soldier.” She gasped, her hands falling to his biceps as she steadied herself.

“Sorry," he hastily apologised, his own hands settling gently on either side of her ribcage, the rough tweed of her uniform jacket prickly under the pads of his fingers. “I’m not used to…” He trailed off as he realised that not only was he looking down at her now, but his new large frame completely dwarfed hers.

“Don’t worry about it.” Her voice was equally breathy as his, her eyes still on his face and she gave him a little smile before she moved one hand upwards, gently cupping his cheek, almost as if she was checking something, which to be fair, she might have been. Steve had no idea what he looked like, he hadn’t seen a mirror yet. The only parts of him he’d managed to get a glimpse at so far were his arms and legs.

What he did know was that her touch was blazing on his skin, more than it had been the night before. He could hear her breathing too, and he could see every single detail on her face and her eyes. Not only were they green, but they were the most gorgeous shade of green he had ever seen in his life. He could see the dots of brown speckled throughout and the slight ring of amber surrounding her irises, reminding him of the sun. Full of warmth and power….

“Hey, you okay?” Katie frowned.

“Yeah, erm, I just, I can see better.” Steve replied simply, as her hand gently curled in on itself as she dropped it to her side. “Has it…” he began to ask and Katie smiled, shaking her head.

“Still handsome.” She smiled, and Steve felt his neck flush with heat again before a voice cut through their moment.

“Did you get it?” Colonel Phillips was striding towards them. Katie moved back from Steve, turning towards her Superior, steeling her composure.

“No,” she shook her head, before gesturing to the shattered vial on the floor.

“Shit.” Phillips exclaimed with a groan.

“But neither did they.” Katie looked at him, before she turned to look at Steve once more, “And there is one upside to all this…”

“Don’t you dare tell me to look on the Brightside, Stark.” Phillips glared at her as she took a deep breath, realising her head, chin jutting defiantly towards him.

“At least we know it works," she said simply.

Phillips looked at her, then to Steve, before he gave a snort. “One isn’t enough.”

Steve inhaled deeply, his frustration mounting but it was Agent Stark that spoke next.

“Well, one is all you’ve got. I suggest you start treating him with a little more respect seeing as he just chased down a damned HYDRA operative through twelve blocks of Brooklyn, pulled him out of some underwater craft and took a bullet for his troubles.”

Phillips’ jaw twitched at the way he was being spoken to and Steve grimaced slightly in anticipation of the incoming dressing down Katie was going to get, but it never arrived.

“HYDRA?” Phillips blinked and Kate nodded.

“Yes, Sir.”

The man took a deep breath and then turned to Steve, his eyes travelling up and down his body “Rogers, you hurt?”

“No, Sir.”

Philips inhaled again and then turned to Peggy “Agent Carter, I want a recovery unit down here for this so called underwater craft. You two…” he spun back to face Steve and Katie, “back to the lab so the Medical Team can assess you. If you are truly the only super soldier I’m getting, then the last thing I want is you to drop dead of complications.”

“That means he cares," Katie looked up at Steve who glanced at her as he saw a smile tug at her lips.

“You’re gettin’ on my nerves,” Phillips pointed at her, before he gave her a filthy look and turned to leave.

“Is it authority in general you got a problem with or just him?” Steve asked after a moment or two and Katie let out a little chuckle.

“Believe it or not I actually like Chester.” She smiled, “I just enjoy irritating him more. Come on, we’re attracting a bit of a crowd so…” She gently squeezed his hand before she began walking the same way Colonel Philips had done a few moments before, Steve following, pausing slightly as he felt a tug on the side of his T-shirt. He stopped and turned to find the kid who he’d last seen bobbing up and down in the muggy water of the docks grinning up at him.

“That was swell!” The kid laughed and Steve raised his eyebrows.

“That’s not exactly the word I would use…”

“No, but the way you ran and jumped in and then threw him outta the water like BAM!” The kid smirked and Steve felt his neck growing warm at the praise, raising a hand to rub at the back of his neck. “What’s your name, Mister?”

“Err Steve.”

“Marty!” A voiced called and the boy turned, Steve following his gaze to see a woman who had been stood talking to a police officer, hastily making her way over. “Come on.”

“Ma’am.” Steve greeted her as she stopped in front of him, taking a breath.

“You saved him.” She said, her voice cracking.

“Oh, no, I…”

“Thank you,” she stood on her toes and kissed Steve’s cheek before she dropped an arm round her son’s shoulders and turned him away, gently talking to him.

Steve stood stock still for a moment, swallowing, before he turned to see Katie watching him, her eyebrow arched a little, smile spread across her pretty face.

“A regular superhero,” she teased and Steve rolled his eyes at her as he fell into step besides her.

“Hardly.” He scoffed, “I’m just a kid from Brooklyn.”

Katie stopped and turned to face him, shaking her head, “you still don’t get it do you?”

“Get what?” He frowned as she began to walk again.

“How many other kids from Brooklyn do you know that would have just done what you did?”

“Well its hardly a fair comparison is it?” Steve pointed out as they walked down the side of the building, Katie nodding to Agent Carter as they passed “How many others do you know that just got converted into…well, a Super Soldier or whatever the hell they’re calling me?”

“You had no idea what that serum had done, other than make you taller,” Katie shot back as they moved back towards the entrance of the pier. “But you took off after that guy, without so much as a second thought for your safety.”

“I just did what anyone would have done.” He sighed, a little uncomfortable at her praise.

She stopped at the side of a black car and turned to face him, her face soft, “no, you did what that kid from Brooklyn would have done.” Her eyes remained locked onto his before they were interrupted by an Army official who handed Steve a blanket. He took it with a thanks, wrapping it around his shoulders, despite the fact that he didn’t feel cold in the slightest, in fact he felt a pretty strong sense of warmth.

And as he watched Katie climb into the car he was pretty sure that wasn’t solely attributable to Erskine’s serum which was now coursing through his veins.

**** Chapter 4

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