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wrctings · 3 years ago

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just some (slightly angsty) eruri fluff for you all because i miss them 🥰

“And so when I snapped my fingers right beside him, I got his attention. Actually got it! I’ve never had a titan stare at me like this, so intensely,” Hanji’s eyes sparkled, aglow with both irrepressible enthusiasm and the warm reflection from the room’s candle light, her fingers eagerly curled around the handle of a cup. “If only you’d seen it... I think he may have finally recognised me, given all the time we spent together... But we have to wait and see. And there’s also that plant we brought back from the last expedition! It’s growing! We put it in a more humid zone, like where we found it, and it’s actually growing.”

Levi had always known Hanji was a little excessive. Well, really excessive for the most part - especially when she’d get into one of her endless tirades about titans, marvelling over their monstrous abilities and curious shape and reflexes and whatnot... Sometimes, it drove Levi up to the wall to watch their scientist go into raptures over the senseless beasts that had crushed or torn apart so many of their fallen comrades. Though, to be fair, he could hardly blame Hanji - she was with them, after all; among the first ranks during expeditions, flanked by the officers’ side. That titan-loving thing was just a quirk of hers, just like Levi’s own cleaning thing, which he suspected many of their subordinates looked upon as a curious and slightly frightening obsession.

So, more often than not, Levi patiently kept his mouth shut, listening to Hanji’s passionate rants and picking out the useful information only, letting the rest slide into oblivion. But tonight, Levi’s usual self-control act had been getting pushed toward its limit, a disgruntled frown hidden behind his cup of tea. And the reason? Always the same golden-haired bastard.

White sleeves rolled up to the elbows, torso leaning over the wooden table, his blue eyes bright and animated by the same radiant shimmer of curiosity as in Hanji’s gaze, Erwin was hanging onto his friend’s every word.

“So, if some plants can only survive in a special kind of climate, the outside world must be...”

“Full of plants yet unknown to us! And of landscapes we can’t even imagine! And if that plant we brought back can only thrive in a wet kind of environment...”

“...Maybe there’s a large pool of water somewhere further away, beyond the limit we stopped at last time!”

Levi cursed Hanji from the bottom of his heart. Erwin’s entire attention seemed to be focused on the subject, blind to the rest of the room.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves here, we’re not quite sure of anything yet,” Moblit put his hands up with a sheepish smile, cooling off some of Hanji’s building elation. “First, let’s see how our titan and our plants fare in the upcoming weeks...”

“Our titan and our plants!” Hanji happily cried out, squeezing Moblit’s hand, cheeks burning red from excitement.

“Even if it’s only guesses, the captive titans and those plants can still provide precious information. It takes us one step closer to knowing the truth of the world,” Erwin’s hopeful and determined gaze met Hanji’s, both bound by a mutual fervour.

Levi silently watched them from the side, scowling. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t give a lesser shit about all of this - he wanted to rid the world of titans, to keep tightening until the last monster fell under their blades. Not bustle about captured titans in wonderment or waste time growing plants... In that moment, he resent their joy; joy sprung from the bloody cadavres of their comrades. Was this what they dedicated their heart for? Part of Levi knew perfectly well that, of course, all Hanji and Erwin gushed over was important to some degree. But he couldn’t quite share in their foolishness.

“Well, here’s to another step then,” Moblit raised his glass, smiling fondly when he caught a glimpse of the earnest exhilaration radiating off Hanji’s face. She did more often than not put him through the mill, but that’s also why he liked her, wasn’t it?

The other two officers followed Moblit’s lead, lifting their glasses up into the air, but before clinking them together Erwin shot a lighthearted look at Levi, raising his eyebrows as if asking the Captain to join in. With a muffled sigh, Levi shook his head reluctantly.

“Teacups aren’t meant for your drunken shit.”

He got away with a small movement of the hand, slowly shooting it upward in a way that made it seem he took part in the toast.

Erwin, Hanji, and Moblit drank on cordially, indulging in one of the rare merry celebrations they’d allow themselves to enjoy - the last expedition had been a success after all, with no casualties and only two superficially hurt soldiers! Such victories did truly raise the troops’ morale, so, in addition to the dinner feast everybody got to delight in, Erwin wanted to also congratulate the officers who had been working had on the expedition. Hence the wine.

Only when the crepuscular haze of the night sky hovered over the barracks did the party begin to retire, tired grins and slightly dizzy heads wishing each other goodnight with remains of gaiety seeping through their lips; such a carefree, congenial time would probably be long to come again, so they had drunk from the brimming glass of furtive bliss until the very last honeyed drop dried out on their tongue. Waving Erwin and Levi goodnight, Hanji - held up by Moblit, bless his soul - stumbled around the corner of the corridor leading to her quarters, relying on the loyal shoulder that would help her get to her room safe and sound and not accidentally crash someplace else and carelessly pass out for the night.

Much like Moblit, Levi had taken up the habit of bringing Erwin to his room after another day of exhausting work or a festive evening, watching the commander’s ever steady pace out of the corner of his attentive eye and listening to him jabber about whatever occupied his mind on that day, barely responding himself, but always paying silent attention to Erwin’s words. Although he didn’t admit it to his own self at first - he liked it. Liked having Erwin stroll beside him, his deep and slightly fatigued voice untangling the knots in Levi’s own head, keeping everything at bay but an inexplicable wave of... comfort. And, soon enough, the comfort had even turned into something more.

“Did you enjoy the night, Levi?” Erwin inquired in his usual late-night chattery fashion, fingers already working the top buttons of his white shirt as the commander’s quarters arose in their field of vision.

The only answer he got out of Levi was a grunt, the short Captain pushing the door before them open. It slammed against the wall a little too harshly.

“Something on your mind?” Erwin persevered, trying to read the other man’s crossed features.

“Alright.” Levi ended up conceding, a resigned sigh escaping the vexed line of his mouth. “Erwin, I can’t seem to give the slightest crap about those shitty plants.”

“Ah, Hanji may convince you they’re—” Erwin started again, smiling at what he thought was just a heedless comment of Levi’s, but the way he was interrupted soon let him guess otherwise.

“No, you don’t understand. I don’t get excited like you brats. I just... Don’t. I can’t bring myself to care about shitty glasses’ experiments. Or even... That stuff you talked about,” Levi waved his hand vaguely, hoping it was allusive enough.

A thoughtful moment’s silence passed, Erwin considering what Levi had just admitted - he began to recall now how retiring Levi had indeed seemed during tonight’s celebration, quietly grumbling by himself and even cutting short on the playful insults he would usually hand out.

“I’m sorry that you didn’t have fun tonight, Levi.”

“Feel sorry for yourself. You’re the one stuck with a killjoy of a brat,” Levi attempted a sarcastic smile, but it came out distorted by a hint of sad resignation. Ever since he and Erwin had... this - whatever it was called - Levi didn’t hold back as much as he used to anymore; something about Erwin’s kind understanding, no matter the slander ghosts clouding the Captain’s mind, put him at ease. So Levi spoke his mind.

“Sorry?”

Erwin’s reassuring arms twined around Levi’s torso, the commander’s head settling on top of his - the height difference, Levi had to admit, was convenient -, and he planted a long kiss on top of his head; the first real one of the day, after the hasty pecks he had stolen from Levi in between tasks. For Levi, those intimate hours were dreams he’d never wish to wake up from. “Why should I feel sorry, when I can’t believe my luck?”

“I’m not exactly the funniest person you can find, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

“And so what? I, for one thing, think you are funny. Your dark humour may take some getting used to at first, but afterwards, you crack me up, my dear,” Erwin mused, littering Levi’s neck with sloppy kisses. “I love you.”

“You’re a terrible liar, Erwin.”

However, Levi’s heavy heart did feel lighter already; to feel Erwin’s lips on his skin, his warm hands fiddling with Levi’s uniform to help him take it off, his precious words whispered against his ear - for Levi, and Levi only, to hear and treasure and greedily take for himself - soothes the Captain’s unexpected rush of self-depreciation. But seeing how happy Erwin had looked while talking to Hanji and Moblit had left a painful imprint Levi struggled to erase from his memory. What if... what if he’d never make Erwin this happy?

“Levi, I don’t care that you don’t get excited over shitty plants. You and I can care about different things and still care about each other too, yeah?” Levi felt the nuzzle in his neck send shivers down his spine, another one of Erwin’s kisses mending the cracks in his heart one by one. “I know you press my shirts whenever they get too creased. You bring coffee and food to my office when I’m working too much. You take Hanji’s laundry into her room when she forgets it. You help the recruits who fall behind in training...” Erwin kept on talking, going around Levi to face him in the candlelit room, until his nose gently bumped against his, and their lips met in what Levi could only describe as solace. “The list goes on and on. These are all the things you care about. And I love you for it.”

“...It seems your sappy stuff still gets me. You shitty, sentimental brat,” Levi drowned a teary chuckle in Erwin’s chest, clutching the fabric of the commander’s uniform in his fist. Then, he retired in his cat-like fashion, starting to ondo the buttons Erwin had started to work on. “I had no idea you were fucking spying on me the entire time.”

“Your fault.” Erwin followed Levi’s lead, getting rid of his own uniform before he slipped into bed, a tired look softening his features, and loose strands of hair falling out of place upon his forehead.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Levi joined him, huddling beneath the clean and cosy bedsheets, and brushed the hair away from Erwin’s face, savouring its end-of-the-day softness between his fingers.

“It’s your fault for having such a beautiful soul.”

“A beautiful soul?” Levi scoffed gently, pressing his shoulder against Erwin’s. “Never heard anything this stupid before.”

“It’s true. You may not believe me yet, but I’ll keep doing this” Erwin took Levi’s hand in his, kissing his calloused knuckles - “and this” -, then wrist - “and this”, then forearm, “and this, until you do.”

“I’m no sap like you, so it might take a while...,” Levi murmured in return, pressing a kiss into Erwin’s neck. A beautiful soul? Never before had Levi heard such words - and never before had his heart skipped a beat like it did when they struck him.

“It’s okay,” Erwin cuddled up to Levi, not suppressing a deep contented sigh when the other man’s nails gently raked his scalp, playing with his hair. “I won’t quit.”

#levi ackerman #erwin smith #eruri #eruri fluff #eruri fanfiction #levi ackerman x erwin smith #levi ackerman x erwin smith fanfiction #levi ackerman fluff #erwin smith fluff #aot fluff #aot fanfiction #snk fluff #snk fanficition #writing #my writing #eruri one shots #attack on titan fanfiction

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baoshan-sanren · 4 years ago

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Chapter 54

Emperor Wei WuXian And His Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Birthday

It is past midday by the time the grand hall doors can be opened.

Wei Ying had intended to hold the meeting in the early morning, to spend the midday meal with A-Yuan, to perhaps have an evening alone with Lan Zhan. He had planned the day’s events with his old body in mind, counting on his old resilience and boundless energy. Instead, it had taken nearly two hours just to dress him, the majority of the work accomplished by A-Sang and shijie, while Wei Ying struggled with the simple task of remaining upright. It is astounding, how many mindless, day-to-day tasks, he had taken for granted in the past. Meaningless actions, such as putting on his own robes, securing his own belt, standing on a single foot to slide into his own shoes. Each one so straightforward and undemanding, each one suddenly transformed into an arduous undertaking, requiring many hands, frequent periods of rest, and more than one muttered curse by everyone involved in the process.

Running over the rooftops seems a distant dream. The act of walking, supported by both A-Sang and Lan Zhan, to the grand hall dais, settles a trembling ache into every one of his muscles. By the time he is seated on the throne, his robes adjusted, his sleeves pulled down to cover the splint on his wrist, he is tired enough to sleep the rest of the day away.

Patience has never been his strong suit, and the inability to force his body into obedience fills him with frustration that can find no outlet. Lan Zhan’s eyes settle on his broken wrist so often, that Wei Ying can practically hear the unspoken string of self-recriminations. In the wake of his earlier confession, A-Sang has been mostly silent and subdued. It is impossible to be angry with shijie, whose patience can rival the Immortal Mountain itself.

Jiang FengMian is admitted to the grand hall before any of the others, and Wei Ying, irritable and exhausted, snaps at the man without thinking. It does not lessen his discomfort, and the reproachful look he receives in response only sours his mood further.

At the root of this frustration, there is a fear he cannot voice. His body will recover. His current weakness will not last forever. But will he ever again belong to himself alone? Will he ever again be able to view his own anger as justified? Or will he be forced to forever question the root cause?

Any descendants that posses the affinity, Xue ChengMei had told A-Sang.

The words have replayed in Wei Ying’s mind countless times, invading every thought, tainting every past decision. He wonders if the boy knew the terror that his words would carve into Wei Ying’s bones. Is there another YanLing DaoRen waiting somewhere inside of Wei Ying? How deep does the affinity run? What will it take, to bring it out into the open?

If these were questions that Wei Ying had never considered before, he would find Xue ChengMei’s revelations easier to bear. But they are not new; somewhere, in the murky depths of Wei Ying’s belief that he had never truly been suited to the throne, these questions have reared their ugly head each time his confidence had faltered. He had never executed a man without wondering if YanLing DaoRen would have done the same, without wondering if his mother would have offered a pardon instead. Now, even his simple frustrations are no longer just his own, forever tainted by the blood that he shares.

Can he ever again trust any decisions he makes? Can he ever again be certain that they came from a righteous place?

Fingers brush his hand, mindful of the injured wrist. Lan Zhan’s gaze is focused on the entry of the hall, on the task ahead. His face is cool and collected, any emotion that is concealed beneath the surface impossible to read. But his fingers are a gentle reassurance, a promise and a pledge, spoken in a language Wei Ying is finally beginning to understand.

The touch does not take away the anxiety, but it muffles it into something bearable, something Wei Ying can push down, back into the dark recesses from which it came. If he cannot trust himself, he can trust Lan Zhan. He can trust A-Sang and shijie, Jiang Cheng and Wen Qing.

“They may enter,” he says.

It is immediately obvious that there have been some slight changes in the hierarchy. The Jiang and the Nie are the first to be admitted, as they always have been, but the place traditionally taken by the Jin is now filled by Lan XiChen and a small number of Lan disciples. The Jin Sect is next, but instead of MeiShan Yu, the Fan Sect follows immediately behind, Fan XiaoHu striding proudly at her father’s shoulder, and making no effort to conceal her contempt for Jin GuangShan. This arrangement has, of course, pushed some sects further to the back. Wei Ying notices Sect Leader Yao’s disgruntled gaze measuring the new distance between himself and the dais.

Any arrangement that keeps the man further away from Wei Ying is a good one, regardless of the circumstances. He thinks, if only he had known that nearly dying would have such an unexpected benefit, he may have risked his life sooner.

It takes some time, as it always does, for all to settle in their respective places, for the shuffling of the feet to cease, for the murmurs to grow silent. On Wei Ying’s left, Lan Zhan had refused the pillow, opting to stand. On his right, A-Sang had settled in his usual place, his easy posture concealing nerves that are just as brittle as Wei Ying’s own. The weight of the dragon crown is pushing down on Wei Ying’s neck, a dull pain radiating through his shoulders. His ribs ache, resentful of his stiff posture. His wrist, a minor pain compared to some of the others, is beginning to throb with greater frequency. He does not know how long he will be capable of keeping his spine fixed in a straight line, how long before his weakness becomes apparent to men who have always known exactly where to look.

He does not have the time for diplomacy. The thing he must do, which would have taken a great deal of finesse and caution in the past, must be done through crude and forceful tactics instead.

“There will be no war with the Wen,” he says, his words cutting through the murmurs.

Before any of the Sect Leaders can gather their thoughts to voice opposition, Wei Ying signals to Jiang Cheng.

A group of Jiang disciples carry forward an object wrapped in a red silk cloth, setting it down in front of the dais. Unwrapped, the parcel reveals a set of armor, the steel polished and shining, an intricate dragon with milky jade eyes depicted on the chest plate.

“This is the gift from Wen RuoHan,” Wei Ying says coldly, “The gift that was delivered by the Wen Sect disciples, and later replaced by a cursed object in time for the Gifting Ceremony.”

He does not mention the fact that the gift had come with a message, Wen RuoHan’s decisive hand easy to read in each ruthless stroke. Wei Ying had been right to assume that the man had been ready for war when the gift was sent. The note had offered the Emperor sincere congratulations on managing to reach the age of eighteen. It had also expressed a hope that this set of armor may actually make Wei Ying a worthy opponent in the upcoming war, as well as an offhanded assurance that, at the very least, the armor will guarantee a dignified appearance to his corpse.

The others, especially Lan Zhan, had been deeply offended on his behalf. Wei Ying, relieved to not be suiting up for battle, could muster up very little resentment. He had always found Wen RuoHan’s arrogance amusing, rather than disrespectful, but he is fairly certain that none of the others would understand his forbearance.

The note is currently tucked in his qiankun pouch, where it will remain, unread by both the General and the High Councilor.

“Your Majesty,” the High Councilor says, “Are you certain this is not some trick by Wen RuoHan?”

“The Royal Companion had inspected each gift the day before the Ceremony. Between the inspection and the Ceremony itself, the Wen Sect gift was replaced. Wen RuoHan may be untrustworthy, but the Royal Companion is beyond reproach.”

“I wonder why,” Jin GuangShan says carefully, “the Royal Companion did not set our minds at ease sooner? It certainly would have been a grave offense, to have attacked a blameless Sect due to a misunderstanding.”

“An attack?” Wei Ying says, his voice dangerously low, “How can there be an attack without a declaration of war? Who, other than the Divine Ruler, would dare declare war in His name? Surely, the Jin Sect Leader did not mean to use those words.”

“Certainly not, Your Majesty,” Jin GuangShan stutters, “Forgive me, I misspoke--”

“The Royal Companion,” Wei Ying interrupts, “has behaved in a manner befitting his position. Those who have overreached during my absence will find that my tolerance has limits. The Sect Leaders may prepare to extend their stay in the Immortal Mountain until these matters have been resolved to the Divine Ruler’s satisfaction.”

The silence that greets his words is thick and indignant.

Wei Ying believes he may have very little time left before his spine gives up on the tedious task of keeping him upright.

“You are dismissed,” he says.

#the untamed #cql #mdzs #ficlet #m #wwx emperor au #the next chapter is written #just needs cleaning up #ily chickens

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kittybellestark · 4 years ago

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Straightening Things Out

Part 2

Hey everyone so this is going to be a two part fic, tumblr told me I hit my limit soooo.

This is the long awaiting MayxSkip with Bi!Peter fic I’ve been talking about, idk how long a 2nd part will take but I already have a bit written, which is super nice. Uh, yeah, this is heavy stuff, so prepare your hearts, bc mine hurts

TW: homophobia, depression, self harm, homophobic slurs, eating disorder (?), abuse, sexual assault, thoughts of suicide, questioning sexuality, alcohol

He’s not sure how he got here.

Well, he knows, but he just doesn’t understand it.

A year ago Peter was trying to get May with Happy. It seemed logical and safe. May wanted to get back into the dating pool, and while Peter was hesitant about the idea of May being with anyone other than Ben, he felt like Happy could be a good person for her to be with. That was safe, controlled even.

Pushing for May to be with Happy seemed like the right step. Supporting May in her decision to start seeing people again also make sense. Now, Peter regrets it. He should have told her no. That he wasn’t ready or comfortable with that.

He doesn’t understand why he’s in the bathroom cleaning up his own blood. He didn’t even go out as Spider-Man. Peter hates May’s new boyfriend.

Skip wasn’t safe. He wasn’t very kind either. And there was just something about him bothered Peter. And yet when Peter tried to talk to May about it, the complaints weren’t heard or taken seriously.

May doesn’t understand that Skip is a danger, and Peter can’t really talk to people about this.

Six months ago…

“Hey Happy.” Peter smiles jumping into the black ‘inconspicuous’ Audi.

“Hi Pete.”

After a few minutes of talking the conversation finally turns.

“How’s your aunt.”

Peter snorts, rolling his eyes. “She thinks she’s doing great. Still with Skip, he lives with us now. May isn’t very happy that Skip and I aren’t getting along too well though. She thinks that I have a problem with seeing her with other men, amongst other things.”

“Sounds like you don’t like him. I didn’t even think that was possible, you’re like a lab.” Happy chuckled.

“I resent that. I don’t like a lot of people who I don’t need to disclose to you. I was just expecting her to get with someone else, someone who was less I don’t know, just less.”

“You and me both kid. You and me both.”

Five and a half months ago…

Peter and May were making dinner together, the radio was playing softly and Skip was sitting in the dining room, beer in hand, listening to Peter and May’s conversation.

“How was school, baby?” May asked.

Peter hums as he chops some carrots. “There’s a new transfer at school. From Tennessee, he even lives with Mr. Stark.”

May pauses mixing the stir fry they were attempting to make. She smiles at Peter an eyebrow raised, waving the spatula at him.

“Is he cute?” She asked in a song-song voice.

Peter rolls his eyes with a smile. He sticks out his tongue, flicking some water at May. Skip watches with a smirk on his face.

“Yeah, yeah he’s really cute. Blond hair, blue eyes, southern charm and he’s so smart too. And tall. May, he’s also like muscular too, his arms? He used to work in a mechanic shop where he grew up, he could probably bench press me without breaking a sweat.”

“Sounds like you have a crush!” May squealed pulling Peter into a hug.

“You have a crush on a man? Are you gay?” Skip huffed with a laugh.

“Bisexual, actually.” Peter deadpanned. “Is that a problem?”

“No, no, not at all. Just surprised.” Skip laughed.

Five months ago...

May was at work, it was just Peter and Skip at home. Peter was in his room, the door was closed over, and Skip in the living room watching a sports game and drinking some beer.

While this wasn’t the most common occurrence, it wasn’t necessarily uncommon either. Peter would stay in his room and do homework or play some sort of online video game with Ned, Harley and MJ, typically Minecraft but sometimes they chose something else. Skip would watch sports or the news, but never a reliable source, always the Daily Bugle or Fox News.

Today was supposed to be like every other time. Peter was supposed to be in his room and Skip in the living room. But then Skip was in his room with him. Peter felt uneasy. It just didn’t sit right with him having the older man in his room.

“I think we need to talk, Pete.” Skip said sitting on Peter’s bed, while Peter stayed sitting at his desk.

“Sure, what about?” Peter tried to sound pleasant and kind, doing this for May.

“Well, I’ve been trying to broach this subject with you gently, but May and I have spoken about how we can cure you.”

Skip had the decency to look somber. His shoulders hunched forward, frowning. His eyes held remorse and regret. It only seemed to enrage Peter.

“Cure me? As far as I was concerned I was perfectly healthy.” Peter couldn’t help but snort.

“Of your sin, Peter. You like men, and we know that we have to cure you of it.”

It felt like all of the air had been taken out of his lungs. His heart stopped and the world blurred for a moment before Peter shook himself out of it. He pushed himself up out of his chair trying to back himself up, away from Skip. This wasn’t right. This was really wrong.

“May accepts me. She said so. She’s always supported me and accepted that I’m bi.”

“She didn’t know how to tell you she didn’t. She was crying quite a bit. May just didn’t know how to tell you. So she asked me to help fix you.”

Skip got up from the bed, walking over to Peter, trapping Peter in. Skip put an arm on each side of Peter’s body, resting his hands on the wall behind Peter. Peter felt trapped, his eyes wide as he looked around unsure of what he could do. May and Skip thought he was sick.

“She can’t-“ Peter cried, tears coming to his eyes. He didn’t want to accept it. This couldn’t be happening.

Skip put a hand on his shoulder.

“She does, Einstein, but it’s okay because I’ll fix you.”

Peter sat at their usual lunch table, Ned next to him, MJ, kiddie-corner to him and Harley across from him. His leg was bouncing as they all ate, but he couldn’t do more then push his food around his tray.

“There’s nothing wrong with me being bisexual right? Like, I’m still normal, I’m not sick or anything for liking more than just women right?”

It used to be old-hat for MJ and Ned to have to reassure Peter that being bisexual is okay. It was just last year that Peter finally started to feel secure in his sexuality and not question whether he was normal or not. It just always felt like Peter was faking his attraction to other genders.

The group became silent with shock. None of them were prepared for Peter to have any insecurities about his sexuality, and it certainly wasn’t something that Harley was there to witness. It had been such a long time since he voiced this doubt. Ned and MJ gave each other looks, while Harley sat there starring at Peter slack-jawed.

“Sorry. I’ve just been in my own head recently. Bisexuality is valid and so am I. I know, I’m sorry, I just- what if I’ve been lying to myself this whole time? I’m sorry, I know I’m being silly.”

There was another moment of silence before Harley grabbed Peter’s hand.

“It’s not silly to question you’re own sexuality, Peter. Being bisexual is hard because people always try to invalidate you and tell you to just choose. It’s okay to be confused. Prefaces change from day to day and it is so confusing sometimes. We’re your people, we’re here for you no matter how you identify.” Harley smiled, something sad and soft.

Four and a half months ago...

Peter was trying to sleep. It wasn’t coming easily anymore. Skip and May were in the next room over. He should be able to sleep. But nothing felt right. Everything was always off, never normal, almost safe. It didn’t feel good.

There was the sound of footsteps in the hall before Peter’s door opened and closed. Peter tried to pretend to sleep, but the footsteps came closer to him then Skip’s hand was on his shoulder.

“Hey Einstein. I’ve got something for you.” Skip whispered, getting Peter’s eyes to open.

Peter pushed himself up and into the top corner of his bed, knees drawn to his chest. He really hated Skip. Hated his deep voice and pointy chin and crooked nose. He hated Skip’s receding hairline and beer belly. Peter hated Skip and everything about him. But mostly Peter hated that Skip and May knew there was something wrong with him.

Skip dropped some razors onto the bed. All loose and brand new. Peter looked at Skip like he was crazy. It was too late at night to register this.

“May and I were talking again. Anytime you have a sinful thought, any homosexual thoughts or desires just give yourself a cut. Obviously don’t do it in front of anyone other than me, but this should help bleed the faggot out of you.”

Peter gasped, eyes wide and shaking his head. He didn’t want to do this. Cutting himself was not something Peter ever wanted to start doing again. He got away from it, he recovered, and now the blades are being provided to him. Peter is being expected to cut this time.

“I can’t do that. Anything but that Skip, please.”

Peter didn’t realize the tears that were pouring down his face, or how hard it was to breath. If it wasn’t for Skip wiping the tears from Peter’s face, he probably wouldn’t have noticed.

“Hey, no, no it’s okay, Einstein, it’s not as bad as it seems okay, look,” Skip took Peter’s wrist slicing it a few times, just enough to bring up blood up before handing the razor to Peter, “See? Nice and easy. Now I’m not going to leave until I see you try okay?”

Peter nodded, bringing the razor down on his skin and breathing a sigh of release as he broke his own skin.

Tony dropped food in front of Peter, two burgers and fries, before sitting down beside him. They were finally watching a movie after spending time in the lab and now Harley would be joining them too.

“Kid, we’ve talked about your eating habits. You need to eat more than a regular person. I don’t like seeing you lose weight this fast. I just like to see you happy and healthy.”

Peter knew he should say something. The razor in his pocket wasn’t normal and he should tell Tony. And his need to cut every time he thought about Harley, or the need to cut when he realized he was playing into Skips hands. But Peter didn’t want to lose his little therapeutic treatment again. He could do better at hiding it this time, especially with his healing factor now. Peter could keep this.

It’s his little secret with Skip. Peter could keep it safe. It made him feel better, and that’s what everyone wants, right?

“Oh yeah, sorry, I’ve just had a smaller appetite recently, I’ll do better, promise.” Peter nodded with a smile.

At that moment Harley walked into the room, giving Peter a crooked smile, a blush painted across his cheeks.

Peter would have to cut later, for thinking about Harley like that, and for doing what Skip told him and also for scarring Tony. Peter deserved this.

Four months ago…

Peter and Skip were alone together again.

It seemed to become more common now. Or maybe Peter was just getting used to having Skip try and cure him. He hated himself for wanting it to work. Peter just didn’t like himself much anymore.

“Einstein,” Skip slurred, “are you still a faggot?”

Peter flushed with shame, nodding. Peter really hated Skip for making him feel like this. For feeling shame for being bisexual and wishing he were straight. Peter hated himself a lot. He just wanted to be better.

“Shame, thought I’d have you straightened out by now. May is going to be disappointed to know you’re still a homo. I’ll have to start getting more aggressive with your treatments.”

Peter shook his head. He was already so tired, and he just wanted to feel safe in his home. He just needed to do what Skip and May wanted and then they’ll like him. All Peter needed to do was be straight, no matter what. He’s doing the right thing.

“How much more?” Peter’s voice cracked.

“As much as it takes to turn you straight.” Skip smiled.

He now gripped Peter’s face in both hands, thumbs on his cheeks. Skip used the hold he had on Peter to bring him towards the bathroom doorframe- the only metal frame in the house.

Peter didn’t fight. He was doing this for May. May wants him straight and wants Skip to do it. Peter scratched at his legs, where most of the cuts were, hoping that would convince Skip from stopping whatever he was doing. But it didn’t, of course it didn’t. Why would it convince Skip, when he’s only doing what’s best for better?

With his hold on Peter’s head, Skip jerked Peter’s head into the doorframe, with enough force to make Peter forget how to stand. Peter was only being held up by Skip's grip on his head when Skip lifted up his knee, forcing it into Peter’s stomach.

Peter groaned with the impact and Skip let him go and Peter fell to the ground. He barely managed to catch himself, resting his forehead on the cool floor. There was barely a moment before an on slate of kicks were delivered to Peter.

“No,” Peter sobbed, “stop, please, stop, stop, you’re hurting me.”

It was another few moments before Skip stopped kicking him with a huff. Skip sat down on the ground, putting a hand on Peter’s shoulder to comfort the boy. Peter continued to sob, barely able to support his own weight to get himself sitting.

“Einstein, I just want you to know that I don’t like doing this. I don’t want to do this, but May and I agreed that I have to do this. I’m sorry Einstein, but it’s for your own good.”

Skip pulled Peter onto his lap, rubbing Peter’s back to bring him some comfort. Peter relaxed into Skip’s hold when he realized that there wasn’t going to be more pain. They sat there for a while before Skip finally stood up, as Peter’s sobs were finally ending, bringing Peter to his room and tucking Peter into bed.

“Peter I’m worried about you.” MJ said after Academic Decathlon practice.

Peter was wide eyed, holding his book bag in front of him, using it as a shield. His clothing that used to only be a little bit large on him, now swallowed him completely, his cheekbones were sharper and anytime his sweater moved a little bit, his collar bone was revealed to be protruding from his chest. Peter flinched at people who moved too fast and his skin was pale with dark bags under his eyes.

“I’m okay MJ.” Peter smiled, but his eyes were still empty.

“Are you cutting again? You’re acting like you used too. I don’t like seeing you lose your spark.”

MJ moved forward, grabbing Peter’s hands in her own. His hands were cold against hers and shaking slightly. Her head tilted just a bit as she searched for answers on Peter’s face.

“I’m not- no, I moved past that.” Peter lied.

He couldn’t tell her. He needed to cut. He needed the freedom it gave him, the relief. It was one of the only things he had anymore that he still enjoyed. By telling MJ, Peter would lose his sanity. Everything would be okay as long as he had a razor on him, as long as he got to cut his skin open.

But he should tell her. Maybe that would get everything to end. If he just told someone, maybe Skip would stop hurting him. Or maybe they’d push for Skip to continue on with trying to cure him. This was for the best, after all.

“Peter, you’re one of my best friends, okay? So if you were cutting again, hypothetically speaking, know that you can come to me, I won’t tell anyone. Not even May or my parents.”

Peter nodded, looking away from her, hating himself for lying and hating that MJ was trying so hard. It would have been so much easier if he just liked MJ instead of Harley.

“Look, look, MJ, see no cuts,” Peter rolled up his sleeves to show healed skin and no scars, “I promise, I’m just a little stressed out right now, don’t worry about me. I’m just focusing on myself for now, I’ll be okay.”

“Okay, well, when is the last time you ate?”

“Right before practice.”

It felt nice for Peter to actually tell the truth. He was eating almost as much as usual. Typically the same amount unless he had time alone with Skip. Peter was just stressed and sometimes couldn’t keep his food down, but he still ate more than enough. He should be able to keep up his weight, the weight loss just sort of happened.

Three and a half months ago…

May was working the overnight shift again. It was a school night so Peter was at the apartment with Skip instead of the Tower like he would be on weekends.

Peter was finally sleeping, well actually he was passed out from exhaustion, but it was still a sort of sleep, technically. Somewhere between Skip moving in and their ever-more-frequent talks “chats,” Peter started to lose sleep. He would stay awake later, slit his wrists longer, and on top of that the surprise beatings from Skip were really taking an affect on Peter. All except the desired affect.

Peter was still bisexual. He didn’t want to be bisexual anymore. He just wanted to be normal, straight. Liking men was wrong, Peter was wrong. May and Skip just wanted what was best for Peter. And this was what was best. Skip was just helping Peter. He was straightening Peter out. This was just want needed to be done.

Skip stumbled into Peter’s room. He saw that Peter was tucked in under his blankets deep in sleep and Skip couldn’t help but climbing into the bed too. He pulled the teen into his body, breathing in how Peter smells, nuzzling his nose behind Peter’s ear.

Peter woke up trapped in Skips arms. He panicked trying to get out, it was just like The Vulture dropping a building on him again. But this time it wasn’t concrete but instead a man. A man who was supposed to be in love with his aunt.

“Skip.” Peter whined trying to wriggle free.

The older man moaned, moving a hand down to feel Peter’s length.

“I didn’t realize that you’d rub off on me. You’re trying to turn me into a homo. Einstein, you’re rejecting your treatment and trying to change me instead, and I don’t tolerate this very much.”

Peter shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut. His whole body shook with nerves, and he thought he was going to vibrate out of his body.

“Skip, I promise I’m taking this seriously. I should be straight, I want to be straight. Just like you Skip, I’m trying really hard to be straight. I promise, I don’t want to be a disappointment to you or May anymore.”

The older man laughed, holding onto Peter tighter. He ground his hips further into the teen, making Peter whine and squirm more trying to break free.

“Einstein,” Skip moaned, “You’re ass, I swear it’s a woman’s. Your such a fairy, Einstein. I could just imagine you as a woman, you’re hair at your shoulders, this great ass and a tight pussy, your tit’s would probably be smaller, barely a handful, but you’d be so cute. Too bad you’re just bent.”

Harley sat across from Peter, cheeks blushed, watching Peter carefully. Peter no longer felt that the freckles painted across Harley’s cheeks and nose were cute, and he no longer felt comforted by being in Harley’s presence. Now Peter only felt dread. There was no more warmth or the feeling of being safe.

Peter wasn’t attracted to Harley. He didn’t want to be with Harley, he was afraid of Harley. What Skip was doing was working. Peter was going straight. He wasn’t going to be bisexual anymore, he was only going to like women now. Peter wasn’t going to be a freak or a fag or a fairy or a homo or bent. Peter was going to be straight. Skip was fixing him.

“Peter are you okay? You’ve been really spacey recently.” Harley asked keeping his voice soft and cautious.

Peter smiled. It didn’t feel natural and probably didn’t look all that genuine, but Peter felt like he should be happy. He was happy that he this meant that May and Skip will not be disappointed in him. Maybe then Skip will like him. Now they can be a family

This is going to fix all of his relationships. People are going to like him better if he’s straight. He’ll only like women and be normal. It’ll solve so many problems for him.

“Yeah, Harls, I think I’m actually really good. Like, for real.”

Peter laughed, not one of his soft, bubbly and contagious laughs, the ones he was known for. Instead it was hallow and empty, self deprecating even. Harley’s eyes widened, suddenly more concerned for Peter than he’d been previously.

“Peter...” Harley sighed.

He reached out to grab Peter’s hand, watching Peter flinch back hard. Harley saw the moment Peter recognized what he did and how he tried to shake himself out of it, but he also saw how Peter moved to stay farther away from him.

“I’m good, Harls, really.” Peter nodded again.

“No, you’re not. There’s something seriously wrong. I’m going to figure it out. I’m going to make sure you’re okay.”

Three months ago…

Peter and Skip were finally alone. May had been on a stretch of day shifts and Peter’s friends were more persistent on having Peter go out with them during evenings. They were even tracking his food intake. The group was becoming obsessive over Peter now. And Peter was sick of it.

But now Peter was home alone with Skip. He could finally tell the man the good news. It’s been well over a week since Peter had and romantic or sexual feelings for another man. There’s only been fear, with any he looked at. Peter didn’t want to be attracted to men. Skip was curing him. May and Skip will finally accept him again.

As soon as May stepped out of the apartment Peter left his bedroom and sat down on the couch beside Skip. The man smiled at the boy, licking his lips before pinning Peter onto the couch. Skip groped at Peter for a moment, before pressing sloppy kisses onto his neck.

“No, stop, Skip I don’t like this.” Peter fought. “I just wanted to tell you that it worked. I don’t- I’m straight. You cured me. It worked. You and May don’t have to be disappointed in me anymore.”

Skip laughed. Loud and boisterous, pressing his weight down onto Peter. His hands moved up and down the teens frame, removing Peter’s clothes. Peter struggled harder, tears pouring down his face, sobbing out pleas to be let go. He tried fighting it, fighting Skip to keep his clothes on.

“You see Einstein, while I’ve made you straight, you’ve made me a fag. So this is going to have to continue, just a little until I no longer view your twink-ass as jailbait.”

Peter sobbed harder, trying to use his elbows to get away. Instead, Skip just pressed a hand into a patch of fresh cuts, forcing Peter’s vision to white out for a moment, that was just long enough to take off Peter’s underwear off.

“Skip, Skip no. No. I’m not. I swear, I didn’t make you like men. I didn’t do it. I’m straight now. You fixed me, I swear. You need to stop. You don’t want to go there. You don’t want this.”

Peter tried begging. He tried pleading, but he couldn’t stop Skip. It was too late. Skip had a plan and he wasn’t going to stop.

“Real funny that you think you know what I want, Einstein. This is for the best though, I promise, I’m doing this for you.”

It was movie night with May. Skip was out meeting up with his old friend was college. So it was just Peter and May. In their living room.

Peter couldn’t sit on the couch. Well, sitting in general wasn’t really working. So Peter just laid down on the ground, and May took the couch.

“Peter, I’m proud of you, you know that?” May finally spoke, halfway through Tangled.

“You are?” Peter didn’t anticipate his voice cracking, but hearing that May was proud of him? It was worth everything.

“Of course, baby. Skip told me that you let him help you, and I’m so proud of you for accepting help. He said that you’re problem was resolved with his help too. I’m so glad you two are getting along.”

Peter heard the words of confirmation that what Skip has been doing is what May also wants. She’s proud of him. She’s happy that Skip fixed him. May is glad that Peter is straight and that Skip turned him. It breaks Peter’s heart to actually hear it from May.

Peter never wanted to do it anyways.

And yet here he is. Having done it for her. He did this for May. To be accepted by May. So that he isn’t a disappointment in her life. And he isn’t happy. He’s not happy with himself, or Skip or May. Peter thought this would make him happy.

Peter wishes he born properly. Born straight. Born not wanting to harm himself. He wishes that the feeling that he needs to die never existed. Peter wishes he could be himself and be loved by his family. It shouldn’t have to be one of the other.

“Thanks.”

He tried not to choke on the acid rising up his throat.

Two and a half months ago…

It doesn’t stop. Skip doesn’t stop. His brain doesn’t stop. The fear didn’t replace the attraction like Peter originally thought. It’s just more confusing now.

Peter just wanted this to end.

Skip wasn’t going to end this.

Tony and Pepper had invited Peter, May and Skip over for dinner. Tony had made loads of his famous lasagna, and Pepper made a spinach dip appetizer and they ordered cheesecake for dessert.

All the adults seemed to be having a conversation together while Harley and Peter talked among themselves.

“I have an announcement.” Skip smiled at May, bringing the attention to himself.

“I asked May to marry me yesterday and she said yes.”

Peter was sure that this would be what killed him. Skip was his life sentence for whatever Peter did wrong. Skip was going to be his step-uncle, his new guardian.

Tony, Pepper and Harley congratulated the couple, and Tony patted Peter’s shoulder. Wine was brought out Peter couldn’t take it anymore.

“I’m just, I’m going to the bathroom, I’ll be back.” Peter smiled pushing himself out of his spot.

“Hurry back Einstein, we’re gonna be a family, we have to celebrate together.”

Peter was going to be sick.

He nodded and left the room, shutting himself in the bathroom and throwing up.

This isn’t what he wanted. Skip can’t be there for the rest of his life. This was wrong. Everything about this was wrong.

One month ago…

Peter was sure Skip was going to kill him. Or use him forever.

Peter didn’t like either option.

“I don’t want them to get married.” Peter confessed.

Happy pulled the car over, turning in his seat to see Peter. The kid wasn’t looking very good, he reminded Happy of 2008 era Tony. It wasn’t a very good look on a kid.

“You feel like it’s too soon after Ben? Or is it because of how fast-paced their relationship has been?”

Peter had tried not to think about Ben since Skip moved in. He didn’t want to picture the look of disappointment Ben would give him. Peter didn’t want to think that he is a failure in Ben’s eyes. Ben would believe that Peter brought this onto himself.

‘With great Power Comes Great Responsibility.’

Ben always said that. And yet Peter failed. He gave away his power, and was completely responsible for where he is now. Peter did everything wrong and Ben would know that. He took his uncles advice, his dying words, and ruined them, broke them, tossed them in the trash and set them on fire. Ben would hate this Peter, and Peter knew that like he knew how to breathe.

“Oh, uh, yeah. I just- I don’t think I’m ready for May to be married yet. It just feels like Skip is trying to replace his spot. I don’t want the to get married yet.”

Happy nodded in understanding, trying to give the teen a small smile.

“Pete, no one is ever going to replace Ben. He was your uncle, your guardian, your parent, he raised you. Skip could never live up to that.”

Present day…

There’s blood.

Peter is in the bathroom cleaning up his own blood and he doesn’t understand how he got here.

Well, he knows how. He just doesn’t understand it.

And he doesn’t know where to start cleaning it. Peter doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do. This was all horribly wrong.

Peter knew he couldn’t stay here much longer though. Skip had gone back to his own bedroom, after a rough ‘session’ with Peter. And now Peter is alone, and bleeding and he needs to get out.

Peter picks up his phone and makes a call.

“Hey, can you uh, come pick me up, I can’t stay here, I need, uh I need to get out of here.”

“Yeah kid, you got it. I’ll be there in half.”

“Meet me, uh, two blocks up from here actually.”

“You okay, Underoos?”

Peter hung up the phone.

He hoped in the shower hoping the water would get rid of the blood, hoping the soap would wash Skip away. And when that didn’t work Peter put on an oversized sweater and large sweatpants. Peter packed untainted clothing into his book bag and left through his window and down the fire escape, putting his hood up.

This was a mistake.

Leaving was a mistake. Skip was only doing what he thought was- no. No. No. Peter can’t go back.

He won’t live through this. Peter doesn’t want to live through this.

He scratched at his arms as he made it to the spot that Tony was supposed to pick him up.

Peter was going to be sick.

How could he let it get this far? Peter shouldn’t have let this happen. This was all wrong. Why is he relying on Tony to take him away. What if Tony agrees with Skip?

Peter coughed up blood.

New plan.

Go with Tony, make sure his stomach isn’t bleeding, once he’s good, leave. Go fast. Stay away from cameras. Go to Canada. Or Florida. Get out of New York. Go far. Somewhere where May and Skip won’t think he’ll go.

Tony pulls up and Peter hops into the car quickly. Tony doesn’t start driving right away though. Instead he looks at Peter, seeing the fear in the boys eyes, as well the way he is unconsciously scratching his arms.

“What’s happening?”

Peter shakes his head, tears filling his eyes.

“Please, just drive, I can’t be here. Can’t be in the city right now.”

“Is this drugs?” Tony asks as he starts to drive, hoping that Peter won’t leave. “I don’t care if it is, I can get you help.”

“It’s not drugs. It’s probably be easier if it was drugs. Honestly, I wish it was drugs. I can’t go home though, okay? Please don’t tell May.”

“Okay. We can do that for now but I will eventually have to tell her where you are so her and Skip don’t get worried.”

“You can’t” Peter shouted jerking upright and pushing himself further away from Tony. “You can’t. Skip can’t know. He’ll kill me, I swear, he can’t know, I can’t go back.”

Tony nodded, as Peter seemed to fall apart in front of him, hoping that appearing casual while driving will keep Peter talking.

“So we don’t like Skip, alright. Is there a reason why?”

Peter sobbed and Tony was tempted to pull over right then and there, but he knows that scaring Peter would cause him to run, so he needs to keep driving.

“He said he’d help. He did the opposite.”

Tony hummed, bringing them out of the city and towards the compound. Peter was rocking himself slightly, clearly uncomfortable. He started to cough, blood splattering across his arms.

“What the hell, Parker?” Tony said stepping on the gas.

“No Skip, Tony. Promise me, we don’t get him involved even if that means keeping May in the dark. You bring Skip into this then I’m leaving. Okay?”

“Jesus, yeah, okay, promise. We’ll keep him out of this, I got you. No Skip, we don’t want him, I got it Pete.”

Peter nodded, feeling relief wash over him as he was finally in a safe spot. He was out. He was out of that god forsaken apartment. No Skip means he’s safe. Safety means he can finally sleep. So he closed his eyes.

Tag List: DM or send and ask if you would like to be added, if you only want to be tagged in pt2 please make that clear

@peterbeanie @jean-and-diet-coke @dead-inside-pt2 @they-were-cloudsinmycoffee

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alwaysthinkingoutloud · 4 years ago

Text

Hannibal Episode-by-Episode Meta/Analysis: Episode 6, Season 1 (Entrée)

In this episode where facts keep being unraveled and a lot looks much clearer, Jack and Will go to Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane to get insight about the late murder. When Dr. Chilton is explaining how he feels responsible for what happened, he says “He sat directly across from me and I had no idea what he was hiding.” talking about Dr. Gideon but pointing his finger symbolically against Will. Will looks slightly shaken, almost offended from the statement. He knows what Dr. Chilton is saying about Dr. Gideon is somehow true for himself as well. When Dr. Chilton reveals by referring to that thing he does, that he actually does know about Will Graham unlike his ‘clueless’ questions in the beginning of their meeting suggested and tries to analyze him, Will gets surprised and irritated, which we can say destroyed any chance of Will feeling any sympathy for him right at that second. When Will asks Dr. Chilton where Dr. Gideon is, he replies Will with a disturbing smile that is directed to him when he says in his cell, clearly hoping to see Will one day in one too. Who knows, maybe just like we predicted Franklyn’s demise only by a gesture of his, Dr. Chilton’s too was obvious right from the start when he met Will.

When Jack comes to Hannibal’s office basically to talk about what is troubling him, Hannibal learns that it is not only his wife’s dying but something more. So, it is no surprise nor a coincidence that Jack starts to get calls where the sound of Miriam Lass is played right after that commiseration. This happened before Hannibal knew Dr. Gideon was suspected to be the Chesapeake Ripper, so it had nothing to do with attempting to disprove that. It was solely about that conversation of Jack and Hannibal, and it was personal.

“Whoever made that call thinks you were close to Miriam Lass and feel responsible for her death.”

,Will later will correctly suggest to Jack since the Chesapeake Ripper did know that and that is only because Jack just told him so.

Just as each time the Chesapeake Ripper or the Copycat Killer makes a move, the stag comes into Will’s hallucinations; it happens again after the call made to Jack’s house. At this point, Will’s own mind does not differentiate if it is the Copycat Killer or the Chesapeake Ripper that draws his evil out. Although consciously he will put the pieces together much later to see that in fact they are the same person, as suggested in earlier articles as well, Will subconsciously already knows this.

We, again, see a Jack who is okay pushing a serial killer into broad daylight even if it means one more body, just to rule out one wrong suspect. How far Jack can go to catch killers is not only limited to putting his own employee’s mental health at stake, but it reaches far enough to think even a glimpse of chance to get insight about the killer is worth risking human life along the way. So, with this agenda, Jack gets an article written by Freddie Lounds that suggests the infamous Chesapeake Ripper is Dr. Gideon, hoping that the real one would do something just to blow it apart. During the whole episode, while we see Jack getting too bold as to risk people’s lives in the means of catching a killer, we see Hannibal almost caring. It humanizes Hannibal while it dehumanizes Jack. (it will be clearer at the end of the post as to how)

Expectedly, there comes a second call from the Chesapeake Ripper and unlike the first one, this is not personal. This is a silently displayed outrage shown when somebody else takes the credit for what you do best, be you. Making the call from Jack’s bedroom has an overpowering ring to it, the Chesapeake Ripper is dauntlessly showing off. He is not only making himself known, but he is doing it in a way that shows his resentment to the limited perception of what he is capable of. I have doubts though, if his rage was actually caused by the perception that someone else was believed to be him, or it was because he felt like FBI insulted his intelligence by thinking he did not know what was going on and that the news was a bait, and he decided to teach some kind of a personalized lesson to Jack for doing that.

As Hannibal draws Dr. Chilton into the picture, I do not think he has a definite plan about what to do with him. He rarely has. What Hannibal does is to collect every piece that may be somehow useful one day and wait for events to unravel themselves up to some degree and decide on the way if he is just going to induce purposeless chaos or going to bend events to his own liking and/or self-preservation. So, when he supports Dr. Chilton’s psych-driving Dr. Gideon, I do not think he necessarily had the plan of setting the scene of framing him in his mind. He may have just wanted to have something in his hand against him. Like, a secrecy/alliance-demanding sharing of a sin.

In the last scene, where Hannibal and Jack sit together by the fire, like two good friends, “What would be the benefit of making you believe your trainee was alive?” asks Hannibal to Jack, trying to make him question what just happened and why it happened. Jack begins his answer right, saying it was to give him hope. Then he continues saying that hope was given to get his vision clouded. Hannibal brings up Bella into the topic and encourages Jack to hope, tells him that hoping is a brave thing to do and encourages him to do so. When Jack stays down and claims he does not have a control over how he feels, we see Hannibal, for the first time, almost furious about Jack’s beaten-up mode in his own Hannibal way. He pulls himself back together, but we are shown what we are meant to see. Hannibal does not want Jack to lose hope and actually this whole thing may have been a way of reminding Jack the concept of hope. Jack is wrong, the benefit of giving Jack hope making him believe that Miriam was still alive is not only to cloud his vision, but contrarily also to open his eyes and make him see what Hannibal wants him to see: there is hope. Maybe that is as close as Hannibal goes to giving a friend what he needs, in his own distorted way. I will not be, of course, naïve enough to suggest this was just about giving Jack hope. Surely it was more about reclaiming the Chesapeake Ripper name from Dr. Gideon and taking this bittersweet revenge from Jack after the shenanigan he pulled with Freddie Lounds.

The point is Hannibal is never unilateral. What he does or says never has only one aspect. Not only his words are full of puns, so are his actions. And his actions are more supplementary to each other, than they are ambiguous.

#hannibal #hannibal lecter #will #will graham #hannibal and will #will and hannibal #hannigram #brian fuller #nbc hannibal #hannibal analysis #hannibal meta #jack crawford #dr chilton #mads mikkelsen #hugh dancy #murder husbands #hannibal loves will #will loves hannibal #entree

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iloveyou3thousand · 5 years ago

Note

I would love to read a werewolf fic where Peter is being courted by an unwanted alpha rival to Tony. Peter keeps gently rejecting the rival, but it takes Tony to run the rival off. Also, how did Tony court Peter and convince him to become mates?

I chose Steve as the rival Alpha because of reasons. Don’t worry, he’ll find his own mate eventually!

—————————————————————————————

Tony should never have introduced Peter to the team.

It was becoming progressively more obvious that it had been a mistake, that inviting him into his pack was never going to end well, and that he should have thought it through much better before he’d implored that Peter come along one full moon a couple of months back.

Tony had been observing things escalate for a while now, and the more he noticed, the more it started to upset him. He’d been in denial about it at first but could now privately admit that maybe he was starting to get jealous. He kept telling himself he didn’t have the right to be upset, Peter had never been his before and he might never be because Tony had never even so much as insinuated that he might be interested in the young Omega, and yet…

And yet when the full moon came around and Tony was forced to watch how Peter’s stunning wolf was cornered by a very persistent Steve, he wished that he’d laid claim on Peter before it all started.

Bringing Peter into the pack had been innocent enough, but Tony could have known that an Alpha like Steve would be particularly intrigued. He always had to have what Tony wanted too, huh?

Tony knew that Peter liked it. He was aware of how much the younger wolf enjoyed the attention, he could see it in the way that he acted when Steve came close during full moons, when he rubbed their flanks together as they walked and nipped playfully at Peter’s neck.

When Peter returned those gestures, even if only slightly, Tony’s jaw ached with the near-desperate urge to do something about it. Go over and bite Steve in the tail, or something. Make it hurt. Show Steve that Peter was off limits.

But while Tony always looked after Peter, during the full moons and otherwise, he showed his affections differently. More subtly. He didn’t go hunting for Peter like Steve did, didn’t push Peter down into the fallen leaves like Steve did, didn’t trap him under his paws like Steve did.

He wasn’t forward, purposely courting Peter, and he definitely wasn’t doing anything like that during a full moon.

Peter occasionally came to walk close to Tony while they were out and about in their alternate form, and sometimes he’d come snuggle up to Tony for a nap, but that was never anything more than playful or simply affectionate. Or so Tony thought.

Thankfully, Peter had never made an actual move to show Steve that he was genuinely interested in return, that any of the feelings that Steve appeared to have for him were reciprocated. Sometimes he even caught Peter trying to avoid Steve during yet another full moon. Not that it helped much to ease Tony’s worries.

He made the mistake of letting all of the frustration build until it inevitably snapped. He knew, logically, that he should never have let it escalate to that point, but eventually it was just…too much. And too late.

They had shifted about an hour before, and were all making their way through the dark woods, meandering through trees with some wolves occasionally breaking away from the pack to chase each other, follow a scent trail, or go scavenging, coming and going as they pleased.

Tony had been trailing behind a little, keeping an eye on Peter as always, when he caught Steve making his way toward the front of the pack where Natasha and Peter had been walking together. Already, Tony felt frustration bubble up in his chest, because he knew what was about to happen. And sure enough, Steve sidled up to Peter, bumping against him as they walked, trying to nuzzle and scent him. Resentment clawed like an ugly thing up Tony’s spine. Not just toward Steve, but toward himself for not having done something about it sooner.

Peter didn’t seem to reciprocate any of Steve’s advances, though. Maybe he wasn’t in the mood.

As a matter of fact, as Tony was glaring holes in Steve’s back, he saw how Peter tried to duck away from one of Steve’s playful pushes. The young wolf looked over his shoulder, and Tony thought their eyes met briefly, but then Peter hurried off in another direction, disappearing among the trees.

Steve followed after, of course. Tony growled unbidden, and was about to head after them, when Rhodey appeared by his side and gave him a gentle nudge. Right. Rhodey was right. If they wanted to go off together to mate, then that was none of Tony’s business.

That didn’t mean it didn’t suck though.

Tony had done his best. He’d tried so hard. He’d protected Peter, always kept tabs on him, made sure that if he was ever in trouble he got out of it well on the other end too. He brought him little gifts and they tinkered together in the workshop and Tony tried to always be encouraging of every one of Peter’s ideas and aspirations, even if he didn’t always agree with everything.

But Peter didn’t like him like that.

Or he did, and Tony had missed his chance.

Tony let the rest of the pack get ahead. Right now he preferred to trail behind like the old wolf he was, wallow in self pity for a little while.

He didn’t expect Peter to show up next to him, panting like he’d been running, tongue lolling out of his mouth. Tony gave him a puzzled look. He didn’t smell any different, and Steve and him hadn’t been gone for that long either.

Peter was walking very close, keeping their flanks aligned and looking at him as if he wanted something from Tony.

Steve followed soon after, sidling up to Peter’s other flank, and Tony’s annoyance was back. The only conclusion Tony could draw was that Peter was probably sticking to him right now because he had noticed how Tony was protective of him, and he didn’t want Steve to court him. That should have come as a consolation, a happy realization, but it was bittersweet.

At least Peter felt safe with him.

Tony tried to step aside a little, get away from the two lovebirds to see what would happen, but when Peter followed, so did Steve.

And then when Steve tried to nip at Peter’s neck again, this time Peter whined, which immediately had Tony up in arms, back straightening and shoulders squaring to glare at Steve’s wolf over Peter’s lowered head.

He gave a warning grumble in the back of his throat, Steve acknowledged it with a simple look, and then tried to nuzzle Peter again.

This time when Peter cried, Tony’s lip pulled up into a snarl, and he stopped in his tracks to nudge Peter aside so that he could put himself in between the other two wolves and growl at Steve.

Steve didn’t look like he was about to back down.

The pack ahead had stopped at the sound of Tony’s growl and they were looking in their direction, both curious and surprised to see Tony protecting Peter from Steve. They must have all thought that Steve and Peter were inevitably going to mate. Everyone had assumed so – even Tony, after all.

Steve made a move to go around Tony to get to Peter, and Tony snapped his jaw at him, flashing sharp teeth in warning. Tony wasn’t afraid to throw hands. He might have been one of the oldest wolves, not the strongest and definitely not stronger than Steve, who was younger, not to mention enhanced, but none of that was enough to deter Tony when it came to protecting Peter.

Tony had made himself clear. He was on Peter’s side, and if Steve didn’t back off he wasn’t afraid of things getting ugly.

The ball was in Steve’s court now. He could continue to antagonize and challenge Tony, which would result in a fight, which could result in some pretty serious injuries. Or he could choose to relent, back off, find someone else to court. If he was clever, he chose the latter. Tony knew that their pack would fall apart if Steve inflicted serious damage upon Tony. If he cared enough about the people around him, he would admit defeat, and let it all become water under the bridge.

Steve didn’t look like he was ready to step away, though. His eyes were on Peter, which gave the impression that he was barely afraid of Tony, even though he was the one posing the threat right now. He probably knew his odds. No, he definitely knew his odds.

And then Peter unexpectedly moved.

He’d been silent until now, frozen on the spot, and Tony could have sworn that he smelled frightened. Tony could only hope he wasn’t frightened of Steve. If that was the case… Tony wouldn’t hesitate, he’d make sure Steve didn’t run with them again. He’d have to find a new pack.

Peter moved, and for a fraction of a second Tony was afraid that he was going to surrender himself to the other Alpha after all – when instead, Peter rubbed up against Tony’s side and buried his muzzle almost pointedly into the fur at Tony’s neck.

It was Tony’s turn to stand frozen now, his snarl faltering a little at the blatant display of affection. He couldn’t see how Peter retained eye contact with Steve to really drive the point home.

Peter wasn’t Steve’s to have.

Peter wanted Tony.

Slowly, very slowly, Steve took a step back. He was getting it now. The truth of it all was dawning on him, and he was admitting defeat. If Peter didn’t want him, then Steve couldn’t force him to. He’d courted him, he’d done what he could, and now Peter was showing a most obvious sign of affection, and it wasn’t directed at Steve.

Tony feared that it was all a ruse. Just a way to get Steve out of his hair for Peter, to protect himself from unwanted advances.

Thank god Peter proved him wrong when, once the situation had been dealt with and they all tentatively continued on their journey until they found a good spot to rest for the night, he didn’t leave Tony’s side once. He came to lie with the older Alpha, cuddled up closely, nuzzled him when he could and groomed his coat.

Tony had spent so much time wishing this would happen that he was left completely stunned when finally it did.

They slept together that night, curled close, with Steve lying by himself a little farther away. Tony didn’t feel bad. Steve would find another mate, and he was too busy counting his lucky stars to really care in the first place.

Come morning, Peter was quiet, almost shy, and he still refused to leave Tony’s side.

As they started making their way back once everyone was awake and had shifted back properly, Peter walked with Tony, and after a few minutes a warm hand wiggled its way into his own, twining their fingers together slowly.

When Tony looked down he caught a rosy blush high on Peter’s cheeks.

He lifted their joined hands and pressed a kiss to Peter’s knuckles. Peter’s face only turned redder.

“I’m sorry about last night, Mr. Stark,” Peter mumbled, keeping his voice down to keep the conversation between them. He looked up at Tony, “I’ve always been yours.”

Tony let out a shuddery sigh. He was a lucky bastard.

And he just kept getting luckier.

#starker #peter parker/tony stark #ironspider #starker fanfic #marvel #werewolf au #aus #tony stark #peter parker #peter likes steve but he likes tony more uwu #abo #omegaverse #my fanfic #my writing #werewolf courting #Anonymous #replies

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prurientpuddlejumper · 5 years ago

Text

Well This is Strange and Unexpected [Toshinori x Reader] [Part 2]

<- Part 1 | Part 3 ->

Summary: Toshinori struggles with your unfavorable opinion of his heroic alter-ego, but tries his hardest to impress you on a second date! Now… how do people date again?

4,537 words | SFW

“Wh-wh-what are you saying? You don’t like All Might?”

“I am just so tired of how everybody loves him! ‘I got the All Might special-edition action figure.’ ‘Well I got his autograph,’” you parrot in a mocking tone. “Whoop-de-friggen-doo. And he’s such an annoying showboat—like, I appreciate the crime he stops, but half the time he’s just striking a pose in front of news cameras shouting some dumb catchphrase. Go catch a bag guy and quit bragging about it! But you know what pisses me off most of all—all the swooning and fangirling. Why are so many women even into him?! All those beefy muscles are so ugly, he’s like an upside-down stack of potatoes! Who likes that?”

Toshinori is just staring, slack jawed, at you. Like you kicked his puppy.

“Sorry for going off like that, I shouldn’t tear apart something you obviously like.”

Is what you should have said.

Instead, you inhale, and, “Another thing! He’s not even edgy, or interesting—there’s no depth there, he’s just… all powerful and perfect? It’s so boring! All flash and no substance. If I was going to root for a hero, it’d be someone like Eraserhead. So dark and gruff, never putting himself in the spotlight, letting the work speak for itself.”

“I… I’ve gotta go.” He stands robotically and walks toward the door. Oh, shit. Your heart sinks.

“Wait!” you run after him and grab his arm. “I’m sorry. I was being mean. It’s just, All Might stuff is everywhere and it feels like I can’t escape it,” you laugh. “But if you’re a fan, that’s OK. I won’t make fun of him. I really am sorry.” He finally turns around to face you.

“I meant the phone call. I gotta go. Emergency.” He holds up the glowing screen.

“Oh.”

He smiles and pats you on the head. But he’s more subdued than he was a minute ago, and there’s a pain in his eyes when he looks at you that wasn’t there before. He probably did take it really personally when you insulted his hero. Idiot.

“Do you really think All Might is ugly?” he asks quietly, gathering his things by the door. “There’s nothing appealing about him at all?”

“Like I said, you’re my type.”

He lets out a quiet, almost melancholy breath of a laugh. He turns to you, and wraps his long arms around you, pulling you into a gentle embrace. It’s not a particularly passionate hug—his touch is so light, he’s barely making contact at all—but he’s tall enough to rest his chin on top of your head.

“You’re a strange one,” he whispers.

You close your eyes and breathe him in. He smells a lot like iron and convenience-store floor, actually, could be a lot more romantic. But you feel content so close to this scarecrow, with his soft bangs hanging down and brushing your skin. You almost let out a whine when he finally pulls away.

“So, will I see you again?” You ask, nervous about the answer. He couldn’t have been that serious about that All Might stuff, right? But if you chased him off, at this point, it might break your heart.

“Definitely.” A wide grin splits his whole face as he strikes a heroic pose. “My debating skills cannot be defeated! Next time, I’ll convince you All Might is the greatest hero!”

“Oh my god, get out of my house.”

****

Toshinori couldn’t believe it. Today of all days. First he wore himself out doing hero work in the morning. Then USJ was attacked and he pushed past his limit to rescue his students, nearly died, and once again reduced the amount of time he can remain in his muscle form. On top of all that, now, today of all days is when a couple of everyday bullies decide to hassle him.

He just had to go for a walk instead of getting a cab straight home. Had to stop to pick up medicine, even though it was already getting dark. Were such simple things really so hard for the number-one hero now?

He would laugh if it weren’t so pathetic.

It wasn’t like this had never happened before. Every once in awhile some delinquent singles him out, expecting a weak target, but even in his weak form, on a normal day, he would easily dodge and evade them, quickly diffusing the situation.

But today. Today he was done. He had already gone beyond what he had to give, and gone beyond that again, and he was out.

There were plenty of witnesses in the store, but nobody was going to stop to help, just pretending they couldn’t see. He was practically invisible in this form. Nobody cares what happens to some creepy, worn-down old man. It’s better this way, anyway. What kind of hero would he be if someone got hurt rescuing him?

This was really going to happen. He was really going to have his ass kicked by some random jerks. How had he fallen so low?

Then you appeared.

There was nothing he could do to stop you from putting yourself in danger: he could barely move. That kick caught him right in his weak spot, the old wound Nomu had already agitated earlier that day. A sickening, warm gurgling of fluids squished in his lungs, making each breath a battle against the encroaching darkness.

Run away. Just run away!

You obviously weren’t a hero, you didn’t have any training, that was clear in the way you carried yourself. But you were brave. Brave enough to piss those guys off. You just kept telling them off like you had no sense of self-preservation, until—he saw one of them about to throw a punch at you, and his nostrils flared in anger. He would have to—have to force himself to transform, no matter how it would hurt him, no matter how many people would see. He couldn’t let this happen—

Then you did something his pride would never have let him consider: you just started shrieking.

It worked. You saved yourself, and him, though it was even more humiliating than letting himself get beat up. There he was, suffocating on his own blood where anyone walking by could see what a helpless weakling he was… and now there was a girl bawling loudly on that same floor, drawing everyone’s attention to the intensely embarrassing scene.

Time to crawl into a hole and never show his face again?

He had to hand it to you though, you knew what you were doing. You forced all the silent spectators to admit they were paying attention—forced them to get involved. You had the heart of a hero, all right.

Everything after that seemed to happen so fast. Losing consciousness, learning that you had risked your well-being once again for him with your quirk. The shame he felt, seeing you suffering the same symptoms he was. Then suddenly, you were asking him out?

He was used to getting attention all the time in his muscle form, but in his true form, he was so invisible he could transform into All Might in public and nobody ever noticed. Like there was nobody standing there before All Might magically showed up.

His head swam dizzily when you said that he was your type. How could you be serious? But it seemed you were, even though he had been nothing but helpless. Even though you were coughing up blood because of him. What in the world were you seeing?

You were so boldly affectionate with him—though every time you did something unreserved, you started turning red and shaking, like you were acting with your heart before your head could talk you out of it. Even his hideous scar, and the frustrating health issues he doesn’t like to burden others with, you accepted without even a moment of disgust or fear. You reached out and touched it without thinking, and then blushed. It was so cute.

Being adored and praised as All Might was easy to brush off, but this? He had never had someone pressed against his body so affectionately as this drained husk. As the thing he was slowly becoming, permanently. There was at least one person who still saw him. He could get used to that feeling—that warmth in his chest.

Then his phone rang—that custom ringtone he recorded himself! For a moment, he thought you were putting it together: the blond hair, two long bangs, the eyes, the voice.

But no, instead he got an even bigger shock. You don’t like All Might?!

How can he go out with someone who doesn’t like All Might? He is All Might!

Obnoxious? Ugly?? SHE PREFERS AIZAWA?!?!

Nope. That’s it. That is more than he can take.

But then there you were, pulling at his arm with those puppy-dog eyes, apologizing. You didn’t mean anything against him. You just didn’t know. You couldn’t know. He can’t blame you for having an opinion about a public figure. Even he had to admit his public persona could be a little… much.

He checked the caller before dismissing it. It was Nezu, so it probably was important. Not exactly a lie. It’s a shame to leave early, but he didn’t want you to know how shaken he was.

To be honest, he’s been starting to resent All Might a little, himself. He used to be that brawny, handsome hero, but now… now it’s just a mask he puts on. A flashy act for the crowds, and they eat it up, while his real self is overlooked and treated like a punching bag. Of course he resents it, just a little.

It’s actually kind of tickling that you prefer him this way. Pretty soon, it’s all he’ll be.

But he is All Might, too! If you only knew him better, you would realize how awesome he is! After all, All Might is the same person you had a wonderful evening with, laughing and watching movies—the same person you wanted a second date with. Yes, he’s sure you would like all of him if you got to know him! He’ll win you over!

****

“Next time, I’ll convince you,” he said. Next time.

After 15 minutes, you get a text from Toshinori’s number. “Oh good, did he make it home safely?” you wonder.

It’s a short essay about All Might.

Ping!

Another text from Toshi. Also about All Might.

Ping!

Did you know crime rates fell by over 20 percent since All Might debuted?

Ping!

His confident demeanor isn’t just showboating, it’s about instilling confidence in—

Ping!

Look at this video of All Might rescuing puppies! PUPPIES!!

You shake your head and laugh, a warm smile on your face. Hero fanatics may be annoying, but Toshi is kind of adorable. It’s so wide-eyed and innocent how much he loves—

Ping! Ping! Ping!

Yeah, never mind, it’s annoying. You text back a single message:

lol.

You can practically hear his internal screaming from across town. You snicker. He was right, you are a little devious.

*********************************************

Toshinori was as busy as he said he’d be. After the flurry of texts, it was over a week before you heard from him again. You thought he might want to watch the U.A. Sports Festival together, since he was such a fan of hero stuff (and All Might would be involved this year—eye roll), but he said he had too much to do.

You wondered if that was true, or if he could hear your eyes rolling through the text message. Maybe your snarky response to his hero obsession had spoiled things, and he’d keep on making excuses until you took the hint.

But a day later, he called back (yes, called—who does that?) and apologized so vehemently, you knew he meant what he’d said all along. He was just busy. But he was going to have some free time over the next week, and wants to see you again!

He shows up at your door with a bouquet of pink, white, and periwinkle flowers in his hands, wearing an oversized blazer and tie. It’s like he’d watched an old Fred Astaire movie to figure out what people on dates are supposed to look like.

“Aww, Toshinori!” you clasp your hands under your chin. “What did I say about marriage? You’re not here to propose, are you?”

He looks down at himself, then at your casual attire. “I overdid it, huh?”

“You don’t do anything halfway, do you?”

“I’ve been told it’s a problem of mine,” he scratches the back of his head, giving a lopsided grin.

“No, it’s adorable!” You take the flowers, brushing your fingers against his, and bury your nose in the fragrant petals. You look up at him with a sultry, playful gaze. “Though… I might need to change into something more formal now, or it’ll look like I hired you.” A fountain of blood shoots from his mouth.

You drop the bouquet and throw your arm under his shoulder in case he falls, the other hand instinctively placing itself over his scar, the source of his affliction. He jumps back with surprising agility, as if evading an attack.

“Don’t,” he warns. “Don’t use your quirk on me again. I’m much better today—the bleeding is always going to happen, so don’t push yourself.”

You hold your hands up in surrender. “OK. I wasn’t going to. Probably. I definitely won’t now. It’s really a regular issue?”

He nods. “I’m sorry if it bothers you.”

“No, no, I was just curious.” You take his hand and lead him inside. He explains his condition, while you find a vase for the flowers. He takes off his jacket and tie, folding them over the arm of the couch. With just a white button-up, he immediately comes down to a more casual level, better matching your outfit. He throws his arms wide to ask, “What do you think?”

You think he looks slender and gorgeous, and just disheveled enough that you want to comb your fingers through his hair, and just dapper enough that you want to undo one more button.

“Perfect!” You throw finger guns at him, “Just a couple of slobs out for a date!”

****

Unfortunately, he has a reservation at a fancy restaurant. Very fancy. One of those places where the floors are marble and everyone wears black. Now you feel way under-dressed, and wish he’d warned you that’s why he was dressed so nice. You don’t even want to look at the prices on the menu.

You had hoped this date would be more exciting, considering the first one started with a brawl. That was a real ice-breaker. Here, the atmosphere is so quiet and formal, you’re almost afraid to speak, and a tense silence builds between you. Toshinori doesn’t seem to be having a great time either.

“You’re barely eating anything,” you note him lethargically picking at his plate. “Do you not like the food?”

“No, I just can’t eat much at once, so…”

“But the portions here are really big! Why would you want to come here?”

“It… seemed like the kind of place you’re supposed to go for a date!”

“Are you kidding?” you shout, half standing up from your seat, too loudly for the restaurant, whose more dignified customers glare and scoff. You sit back down and cover your face with your hand. And you just start laughing. A quiet chuckle at first, but soon you can’t even contain it, your shoulders wracking, and your head tossed back.

“Wh-what’s so funny?” Toshi looks scared.

“I hate it here!” you spurt out, still laughing. “This is the worst! It’s way too stuffy, and you can’t even eat the food.”

“I hate this place too! I just thought women like this sort of thing.”

You sputter and howl, slapping the table. “What are we even doing here?”

“We’re getting the bill!” He calls the waiter over, who is happy to shoo you ruffians out of the fine establishment.

****

Out in the fresh air and sunlight, you feel like you can finally talk to each other. He apologizes for being too old-fashioned, and, frankly, having no idea what he’s doing. You link arms, and decide to go for a stroll around the city, stopping at a street vendor for pork buns, which Toshi can eat one at a time at his own pace.

However, out in the city, All Might’s unsettling grin was inescapable, watching from every billboard and gift shop. It’s not long before Toshi starts on his favorite subject: prying into why you are the one person on earth who doesn’t adore him. You would be just as happy to let it go, but since he insists, you wind up in a heated back-and-forth.

“…and he’s always like ‘Detroit smash!’ ‘Texas smash!’ but it’s just a bunch of punches.”

“Th-that’s not true at all! Detroit Smash is when he punches downward to create a shockwave, and Texas Smash is when he punches so hard it blows villains away, and—”

“Yeah, that’s just a bunch of punches.”

Choking noises escape his throat. His entire world has been destroyed. Good job.

He hangs his head with a defeated sigh. “So, you really hate All Might.”

You squeeze his arm. It hurts to see him so down, even though it’s silly that he cares so much. “It’s not that I hate him. At the end of the day, I’m glad he’s running around saving lives. The problem is hero culture in general. There’s so much focus on their ‘brand,’ on their market value. I guess I can’t even blame individual heroes for grandstanding, considering their income depends on their popularity, but honestly—they’re public servants, the same as the police. Did you know the police are still responsible for stopping more crimes than heroes, when you take into account all the non-quirk-related crimes they handle, and the detective work used to locate villains in the first place? But you don’t see their faces all over posters, and commercials, and t-shirts!” You point your finger in a random direction, and it lands on a perfume ad in a store window with Uwabami’s face. Amazing, not All Might this time.

“And your hero All Might is the worst one, with that dumb flashy smile, and big inspiring speeches, like he’s gotta make sure everyone knows he’s the greatest.”

Toshinori has been listening silently this whole time, deep in thought. From the solemn frown he was wearing, it seemed some of what you said hit home. But at that last part, he raises his piercing blue eyes to yours.

“You’re wrong… All Might’s smile isn’t about his own ego. He smiles so that people in trouble know everything will be OK. So they don’t feel scared. As long as the hero is still smiling, you know he’s going to win in the end. Being the symbol of peace isn’t about him, it’s about giving the world hope!”

Your heart flutters. It’s not so much the words he said—you’d heard the same line a million times—but the fire in his voice as he said it. Naive as they may be, you can’t help but admire his convictions.

He catches the smile in your eyes, and gives you the biggest, doofiest, triumphant grin. You try to think of something cynical to say to burst that bubble of optimism. You can think of a few: People shouldn’t be symbols, they should be people. That smile is so forced; it’s obvious he’s hiding pain, and you’d rather face the honest truth, no matter how hard, than have hope that’s a lie.

Eh. Maybe you’d tell him later. Right now, you just want him to keep smiling.

“I know!” He rubs his hands together. “Come on, I’ve got something to show you—this way.”

“You cannot take me to a hero museum for a date!” you grimace.

He laughs, grabbing your hand and leading you, “Don’t worry, it’ll be good!”

****

The sun is orange in the sky over the ocean, painting the clouds with striking purple and yellow streaks reflected in the waves below. A warm breeze blows your hair back, ruffling Toshinori’s long bangs, and swaying the spiky parts like a field of barley.

“Wow,” you breathe, leaning over the railing of the boardwalk. He leans next to you.

“Better than the restaurant, huh?” he nudges you with his elbow.

“You could’ve at least chosen one of those fancy restaurants where the dishes are tiny, instead of a place you couldn’t eat!”

“Yeah, I really bungled this date thing,” he laughs, hand on his forehead.

How soft would his hair would feel if you twined your fingers through it right now, you wonder? The urge to grab him, and smash your lips against his coils inside you like a spring. But… you’re not sure if he would want that. He’s just so cute!

He offers his arm in a gentlemanly fashion, tipping his head at you. You take it, and stroll together down the steps into the sand and along the beach, the sounds of crashing waves and sea birds like music around you.

“You know, this whole beach used to be covered with trash until about three months ago.

“You know, this whole beach used to be covered with trash until about three months ago. This was never publicized, but it was cleaned up by an aspiring hero who was inspired by All Might. Not everything heroes do is for fame and glory. Sometimes it’s just about helping the community.”

“Then how did you find out about it?”

He blanches. “Huh?”

“If it was never publicized, then how do you know who did it?”

A bright red river ejects from his lips, and he doubles over, hacking. That’s one way to change the subject. You rub his back as he recovers, but instead of helping him relax, he grows rigid and more on-edge.

“What’s wrong?”

“Don’t do it, if that’s what you’re thinking. You have no idea how much it hurts to see you in pain because of me. Promise me you won’t do it again.”

“I…” You almost swear you weren’t going to. That you won’t, ever again. But… “No. I wish I could tell you that, so you can relax around me and not worry, but I’m not going to make a promise I can’t keep. If you passed out again, or if you were suffering in unbearable agony, if… if you were dying… I would use my power, with or without your permission. There’s no way I could let you die, not if I can do something about it.”

“Young lady…” he purrs, stepping in closer, “I like your spirit, but… I don’t want you sacrificing yourself for me. I don’t want anybody else putting themselves through hell trying to be a hero for me.”

There’s a tug on your heart, and before you can stop yourself, you’re up on your toes, hands around his neck, your lips on his. He breathes in, frozen for an agonizing moment. You pull away, bright red, stammering apologies. Then his palm is cupping your jawline, thumb tracing tender circles over your hot cheek. He lowers his forehead, knocking it gently against yours, the side of your nose rubbing against his. His breath, so close, catching. Your eyes close. He angles his head, and kisses you back.

Eventually, you pull away, breathless. Your hands grip his narrow shoulders. “Listen. I appreciate you not wanting me to hurt myself for you. But you can trust me. If I decide to take some of your pain away, it’s because I decided to—get it?”

His face says he doesn’t. You pick up a seashell and toss it into the waves.

“Let me explain. The person this quirk is most dangerous to is its user. The hardest lesson to learn about it is how to say no.

“I was young when All Might debuted, and I loved him back then. His whole noble hero thing—always putting others first, always answering a cry for help, no matter how much danger he was in—I admired it. I wanted to be like that. And when other kids learned that my quirk could take away their scraped knees and bruised elbows, I was in high demand. I don’t think they meant to be selfish—they probably thought I was more resilient to pain as part of my quirk, but I just wanted to smile through it like that dumb bastard on TV. So I just kept taking, and smiling, until I was hooked up to machinery in a hospital bed for two weeks, barely hanging on.”

He grabs onto your hand and squeezes, almost so hard that it hurts. A pained look etches his face. “I’m sorry, I never meant for…”

“Calm down, it’s not like it’s your fault,” you laugh.

He flinches.

“I don’t blame All Might, either. It was my own stupid mistake. That’s how I learned you don’t emulate heroes! Noble sacrifice isn’t. That. Noble.” You poke his chest with your index finger to punctuate each word. “When you have something to offer the world, it’s important to know your limits, and to set boundaries. Because once people learn you’re willing to sacrifice yourself, they’ll take, and take until there’s nothing left.”

Toshinori touches his scar reflexively, fingers spreading protectively, pensively over the destroyed flesh. Then his hand clenches into a fist. “I understand… but still… if someone’s life is at risk, I can’t sit around and do nothing. Someone has to stand up and help, even if it’s dangerous. Someone has to be a hero, so everyone else can live happy lives!”

A smile spreads slowly across your lips. Partly a smile of admiration, from the vestiges of your youthful heart that still loves heroes… and partly the sly smile of a villain just before they dive into a victorious monologue.

“You’re right. That’s why I can’t do nothing if I see you in real trouble. If I decide to use my quirk to ease your pain, it’s not because you asked me to, or because I feel obligated. It’s because I want to. It’s because I weighed the risks, and decided. It hurts me to see you in pain, too, you know.”

His lower lip trembles. Before you know what’s happening, his hand is circling your waist, pulling your hips against his narrow ones, his mouth on yours. His lips are thin and chapped, but warm, making up for their lack of substance by softly giving way as you press against them, parting against yours. You let out a muffled moan. Your hands run over his back, exploring every jagged vertebrae and defined shoulder muscle hidden under his baggy dress shirt, finally coming to rest at the base of his neck, stroking the edge of that soft yellow hair you had longed to feel.

“Are you… using your quirk?” he pants.

“No.”

“Ah. Then this just feels really good.” He holds you tighter.

#Toshinori Yagi #toshinori x reader #all might x reader #bnha #all might #angst and fluff #toshi and reader are both huge dorks #my writing

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anotheronechicagobog · 4 years ago

Text

Tylenol and Tequila - Chapter 6 - Connie’s Diaries Part 1

written by @anotheronechicagobog

warnings: swearing, dawsey bashing (sorry guys I rewatched and episode and I was in a mood), mention of sex, I think that’s it

A/N: Wow, I actually finished something. Sorry for the long wait everyone, my life has been gettinmg crazier by the minute and it’s speeding up not slowing down so please bear with me.

He was currently hiding from Cruz in the turnout room, busying himself with cleaning equipment and doing inventory. It was mind-numbingly boring, but Blake was pretty appreciative of that at the moment. He and Gianna had been pretty flirty since day one, but now it was getting more serious. It wasn’t harmless banter anymore, it was actually going somewhere. Meaningful looks, sensual touches, and heavy words. At this point, all that they had to do was follow through, so to speak, something Cruz was hell-bent on stopping. And if he was being honest, Blake was leaning towards Cruz’s desired outcome than the one he and Gianna had been moving towards. Hermann always had stories, of himself, other firefighters, and of his family. It got Blake thinking about his future, about his possible future with Gianna... When he heard Kidd and Brett quietly comforting each other.

“I just don’t understand what’s happening with Kelly. I thought we were good, I thought he was good. I thought that he wasn’t going to ghost and shut me out anymore.”

“I don’t deserve to be second best. I don’t deserve to be a placeholder for Dawson. What kind of answer is ‘I don’t know’? Who doesn’t know if they would immediately run back to their ex if given the chance? I miss him so much, but he’s... He doesn’t get to treat me that way. No one does.”

And he stopped for a moment, ignored the loud thrum of machinery, and perseverance, and conversation that beat throughout the firehouse, and remembered the stories Hermann had told him. The bad ones. They echoed through his head as he made his way to the turnout room to actually be able to think and process his thoughts.

Captain Casey was married to Gabby Dawson before she left and divorced him.

Joe Cruz and Sylvie Brett dated for a brief moment but broke up because Brett couldn’t handle his overprotective routine.

Stella Kidd and Kelly Severide dated once before but broke up because Kelly was being, to put it nicely, an asshole, and was repeating a lot of that behaviour now.

And there were more, so many more relationships that didn’t work out for one way or another, that he found out about while helping with some of the office paperwork, and while cleaning out the desk of a woman named Connie who had retired, he found a notebook filled with firehouse gossip and relationship charts going back decades. As Blake thought back to the flower decorated notebook currently lying on his nightstand at home (hey, don’t judge him, there’s some really juicy stuff in there) another thought occurred to him. The only successful 51 couples didn’t work together. Hermann and Cindy, Mouch and Trudy, Chief and Donna, Joe and Chloe, Darren and Eric.

Every single firehouse couple has fallen apart. Issues include but are not limited to; one person being secretly in love with someone else, lying, poor communication, cheating accusations, overprotectiveness at work, jealousy, manipulation, political campaigns, vegas marriages, courthouse weddings because of reasons that don’t involve wanting to get married, fallen through adoptions, fertility issues, moving to another region at the drop of a hat. Seriously, firehouse 51 was a hotspot for drama.

He hung up the last freshly cleaned turncoat, trying to avoid the conclusion he’d come to in his solitary. But he knew he wouldn’t be able to escape it, especially when he heard Gianna ask Ritter around the corner if he knew where he was. Damn.

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

He laid in his bed, his lamp illuminating Connie’s old notebook in front of him. He was reading the section from when Casey and Hallie were together, Connie went on a rant about Gabby’s behaviour towards Hallie just because she was jealous Casey didn’t love her. He probably shouldn’t have been reading what was essentially someone’s diary. He definitely shouldn’t have been. But he couldn’t stop reading, the gossip was really entertaining for one thing, but it was just too eye-opening to put down. Even though they are divorced Casey and Dawson were still regarded as the golden couple of 51, something that made his captain incredibly uncomfortable. Hermann and Mouch talk about their relationship all the time, through rose-coloured glasses apparently. They talk about how in love Dawson was before they got together. What they didn’t mention was that she actively flirted with him while he was engaged to someone else. She pushed him to run for alderman, basked in the light of being called his wife when she wasn’t, and then resented him for winning because he had to spend time away from her. They got married spontaneously at the courthouse after a call, but it was actually because Dawson wanted to keep Louie, the boy she decided to foster after telling Casey she didn’t see a serious future for them. For almost every heart-melting romantic tale that had been woven about them the thread used had been made of toxicity and blinding lust. Every loving, Disney moment apparently actually belonged to Shakespeare. Selfishness, manipulation, and hypocrisy all disguised as a fairy tale for the ages.

Based on her writing, Connie was a straight-forward, honest woman with no time or patience for anyone’s bullshit. And, in her words, ‘it was a miracle I survived a front row seat to that trainwreck’. Personally, Blake was dumbfounded that no one else saw what Connie did. And while ‘Dawsey’ definitely wasn’t the only toxic relationship 51 had to bear witness to it was the most revered which was it’s own kind of horrifying.

What stuck out to him the most though, was how they all acted at work. While hooking up in the turnout room did sound a little thrilling, Blake was a little grossed out with himself for thinking that now knowing just how often that happened and that it’s where Annabelle Hermann was conceived apparently. The worst though was how they acted on calls. Overprotective, jealous, directly interfering with work. He wanted to say he understood their feelings, but why get involved with someone when you both work dangerous jobs and don’t want to see them in danger? It’s going to happen, and trying to sheild their significant other from danger instead of preparing for that one awful day does nothing but cause relationship problems and limit their career.

Blake shook his head and sighed. It was late, he needed to sleep. He was on shift tomorrow, and he’d have to avoid Gianna as much as possible during those 24 hours.

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He woke up to knocking on his door. According to his alarm clock, he’d only gotten a couple hours of sleep. He was a little perplexed as to why someone would be at his door this late and anxiety settled into his gut. He didn’t have a good feeling about any of this. He tried to shake off the feeling on his walk from his bedroom to his front door, but was unsuccessful. He felt justified when he saw Gianna on the other side of the peep hole. He purposefully sidestepped the usual invitation to Molly’s, he just went home and immersed himself in food and Connie’s diary, ignoring the way his phone vibrated more than once. He contemplated what to do, he knew they needed to talk but he was just trying to delay the awkward conversation.

“Hey.”

“Hey, you weren’t at Molly’s and you didn’t answer your phone.”

“Been a little busy.” He gestured to the time and prayed that she would take the hint.

“Oh, no, I’m not gonna stay. I kinda just wanted to make sure you weren’t moping around. You know, feeling sorry for yourself.”

“That’s very thoughtful of you.”

“Yeah, I’m like that.” He smiled, because it’s true. She is like that, and he hopes that she finds everything she’s looking for and more, just not with him. “Seriously, I feel so badly about pushing you into telling that story.”

“Don’t. Everything that happened with Casey’s on me. Hey, uh, do you want to come in for a sec?”

“Oh, no. I don’t want to take anymore of your hanging-out-looking-hot-in-sweats time.”

“I get the feeling that you do... Which is why you should come in, I guess. We... We need to talk.” That amused, flirty look she got when joking around with him vanished and now she looked... Concerned? Embarrassed? Regardless, she nodded silently and came in.

“I found a few diaries of someone who used to work at 51, but I’ve mostly been sticking to the most recent one because it involves some people who are still at 51. It’s huge and they has years of entries. Most are from before Casey and Severide got stationed there. The stuff that I’ve been reading, particularly about firehouse romances, it threw me for a loop. No 51 firehouse romance has ever actually been successful. Sure some get married but they don’t stay married. Some break up and stay on good enough terms, some tear each other apart, some are just flings that end as quickly as they started and are never mentioned again. In all of them though there’s just... There’s so much tension and conflict. It’s always so impulsive. Someone was too reckless, someone was too overprotective, they bring work home with them, or they bring home to work, the list goes on. I really like you, but I think that you deserve better than that. We both do. So I don’t want to start anything between us, because I think that we’ll be better off as friends and co-workers.”

“Blake, I really like you too, why don’t you want to try? Is this about Joe? Don’t you think that we’ll be different? We know what to avoid, what not to do. We could make a relationship work.”

“It’s not about Cruz, I promise you that. You’re your own person more than capable of making your own decisions. And as for us being different, know what to not to do... That’s what they all say. Literally. Connie made snarky comments every time a new couple got together. She guessed when they were going to break up and usually got it pretty close. We won’t be special, we won’t be different. I know how horrible this sounds, Gianna, but I think that getting together romantically is a bad idea waiting to burn to the ground and I really value our friendship too much for that.”

“Okay. Whatever.”

“Giann-”

“Call me Mackey.”

“Gian-”

“If you’re just my friend, you can call me Mackey like all my other friends. Like you said, we’re not ‘special’.” And then she slammed his door so hard that he knew he would be hearing from his landlord because the lady at the end of the hall complained about everything. “Great. Just great.”

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Blake got to work and immediately doubted himself. How could he say that to Gianna? How could he have been so callous? Basing his decision about whether or not he wanted a relationship with her from diaries written by a retired secretary he hadn’t even met? What was he thinking? Why wouldn’t they be special? They had chemistry and affection, love would come later. Could anything be salvaged?

... But then he saw Grainger in the common room flirting with Brett while Casey looked he was about to murder the other lieutenant and his resolve solidified. He made the right decision. She gave him the cold shoulder blatantly. Everyone noticed, sent him looks, he just shook his head. Telling them not to get involved, he wasn’t going to drag her through this. Gianna deserved better.

And she got better. She stransferred out of 51 a few weeks later and Blake was terrified that he was the reason, he never wanted to make her feel unwelcome or pushed out. He’d cornered her in the firehouse once he heard her plans. She just giggled and rolled her eyes. “Of course it’s not about you. Like you said, I’m my own person, more than capable of maing my own decisions. I’m taking this transfer because it feels like the best fit for me and the future that I want for myself. You’re not special, Blake.” She had that teasing glimmer in her eyes he hadn’t seen since she showed up at his apartment, and it was the first time she’d said his first name since. “Well, that’s a lie. You’re a little special. You have this way of bringing out the best in people, but I don’t think you see it... I’m going to miss seeing you at work, but I’ll hang around Molly’s every once in a while. I’m too invested in brettsey now to just quit cold turkey.” She smiled brightly, but he couldn’t force himself to, cursed with the knowledge of Connie’s diaries. “Hey, I know those diaries revealed a lot, and I think you were right about us, but hold out hope for them. And for stellaride. They all bring out too much good and happiness from each other to have you prophesizing their future pain. They’ll end up alright. You’ll see.”

Blake’s eyes met hers from across the table at Severide and Kidd’s wedding, smiled at her boyfriend, wrapped his arm around his girlfriend, and said the words he knew she was waiting to hear. “You were right, Gianna.”

“Of course I was.”

#One Chicago #Chicago Fire #blake gallo #gianna mackey #blake gallo x gianna mackey #brettsey #sylvie brett #matt casey x sylvie brett #matt casey #Kelly Severide #stellaride #stella kidd #kelly severide x stella kidd

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chocoluckchipz · 4 years ago

Text

The Other You - 8

Read it on A03, FF.net, WattPad

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Before he was cursed with the sinking ship of his father’s company, Adrien loved to sleep in on the weekends. Now, he was lucky to get even half of what he’d usually slept, considering that in addition to his work at Gabriel, it was also the end of the spring semester at his school and the workload was overwhelming. Just a little longer, though, and he’d be free to focus on his ‘help Marinette and finally atone for your sins’ mission full-time. Adrien could hardly wait, which was a little weird considering how much stuff he’d have to learn and do to make that happen.

“What are you grinning about?” Plagg yawned, floating out of his bed-bucket.

Adrien stretched. “Nothing in particular. Just that things are finally starting to look brighter.”

“Lying to your girlfriend to get food out of her is bright?” Plagg scoffed, flying away to the kitchen.

“I haven’t told a single lie, and she isn’t my girlfriend.”

“You kissed her, and you liked it.”

“Can you let it go, Plagg? We’ve talked about this. It wasn’t—”

“Man, she’s going to hate you even more when she finds out who exactly was kissing her.”

Adrien glared at the pesky creature. “That’s why we aren’t telling her, Plagg.”

“She’ll find out eventually,” the kwami shrugged, stuffing his mouth with his morning dose of Camembert. “Better get ready for it instead of denying the obvious.”

With a growl, Adrien flopped back into his sheets. Pushing Plagg’s words aside, he closed his eyes, trying to focus on his schedule for today. First work, then lunch with Nino, and then… more work. He couldn’t afford to have his weekends off anymore.

“Oh, I know,” Plagg mumbled, finishing his wheel of cheese. “Your high school crush on Princess is coming back. That’s why you’re making dumb decisions—"

“I did not have a crush on Marinette,” Adrien said, sitting up. “I’ve always loved Ladybug.”

“Sure,” Plagg smirked. “Keep telling yourself that.”

“That’s the truth.”

“That’s bullshit, and you know it,” Plagg countered, his arms on his hips. “You could afford all the croissants in the world, yet you kept abusing your powers and going to her balcony for treats.”

“That’s because her pastries were amazing, and Marinette was a great company. But that doesn’t mean I had a crush on her.”

“Sure. That’s why you tried to spend as much time as possible with her. And not as Chat only, but as Adrien as well. Ugh! All those blushes and cutesy stuff.” Plagg shivered. “Disgusting.”

“It wasn’t like that, Plagg. We were just friends.”

“And don’t get me started on this whole ‘helping her’ business,” the kwami continued to grumble. “I told you it was insane even then, didn’t I? But no! You had to risk everything for her. Look where it got you. And how did she thank you? She took your heart and trampled it under her feet.”

Adrien fell silent.

“That’s why you didn’t try hard enough to reach out after they cut you off. It wasn’t only your pride that got bruised. Your heart got broken as well.”

“You can think whatever you want,” Adrien mumbled quietly, getting out of bed. “But having a close friend doesn’t mean I have a crush on her. My heart has always belonged to Ladybug.”

Plagg groaned in exasperation and flew off. Adrien went about his morning routine, pushing aside Plagg’s ridiculous claims and letting his thoughts race back to Nino. The prospect of meeting with his former best friend left him confused at best. Thrilled? Not exactly. More like nervous? Anxious? But nevertheless, kind of glad because the rejection and the refusal to let him at least explain himself still stung. Adrien spent years being bitter and resentful about that and had a lot to say. And today he was going to say everything because he didn’t really care about the way this meeting would go. He wasn’t looking to renew the friendship. An explanation, closure and the strength to move on: that was all Adrien wanted.

The day went by tortuously slowly. Hiring a new assistant for Marinette was Adrien’s top priority, but it was proving to be rather difficult. She needed someone highly experienced at this point and not a lot of qualified people wanted to work with a seemingly doomed company Gabriel had become. Scratch “a lot”. “None” would fit better. And to change that would require a ton of work, the size of Adrien was only now starting to realize. He did his best, but even he had his limits and needed breaks to stay sane. That was why, as soon as the clock struck a quarter to noon, Adrien zoomed out of his office and almost sprinted to a nearby café. Five minutes early, he wasn’t surprised to see Nino already there. His former best friend was always one to be on time.

Adrien halted his steps. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea. He should have refused. Surely, he can help Marinette without Nino. No need to rip the old wounds open and let them bleed unnecessarily.

Before he could change his mind though, Nino stood up, looking his way. Awkwardly, the pair watched each other for a few moments from a distance until Nino motioned Adrien to sit at his table.

“Do you want small talk, or we could just—”

“Let’s skip it,” Adrien shrugged, settling in the chair.

“Straight to the issue?”

“Why not?”

“I’m all for it.”

“Me too.”

“Would you like to order?” a waiter interrupted.

Both men nodded in unison and took their time placing orders. After the waiter left, no one rushed to break the silence.

“So,” Nino finally gave in. “If we aren’t holding back and telling as it is… I still think you acted like a jerk, but I do owe you an apology because your intuition was right. Working with your father did ruin Marinette’s life. And that…” Nino inhaled deeply, “might actually be an understatement.”

Adrien sighed. “I saw tragedies happen too many times to do nothing. People had nervous breakdowns over a stupid deadline that was set a few days earlier than the actual one anyway. Or over an outfit that was added to the collection at the last minute and the fabric had to be personally flown in from Tibet. Many were doing the work of two or three on a tight schedule because their assistants couldn’t take it anymore and quit. So, just thinking that one of my closest friends could end up in that place… I couldn’t let that happen to her.” Adrien paused, his eyes focusing on the napkin he fidgeted with. “I only tried to protect her from that hell. Nothing else.”

“I can see now why you wanted her away from Gabriel, but you could’ve gone about it a different way, one that didn’t involve sneaking behind her back.”

Adrien nodded. “That’s on me. I should’ve done it differently. But you should've let me explain instead of cutting me off without warning.”

“What are you talking about?” Nino quirked an eyebrow. “You were the one who didn't want anything to do with us.”

“If by me trying to reach you for weeks, begging to let me explain and apologize is what you consider—”

“Let me stop you right there,” Nino interrupted, raising his hand. “What weeks are we talking about here? You sent us a single message in the chatroom that same day before quitting it, and in it, you spelled quite clearly that you had neither desire nor time for such ‘crappy friends’ as us anymore because apparently we neither did nor could understand and support you. Why do you think I never contacted you in all those years? Yes, I was angry with you, but all I needed was time to chill down and think. I would’ve reached out for that explanation eventually. You were my best bud, Adrien. I would’ve never just cut you off like I did unless you wanted that. Unless you asked me to do that, ‘lest I accidentally stumble upon an unwelcome reminder�� if I didn’t block you on all platforms.”

Adrien stared at Nino in confusion. “What are you talking about? I never sent any of you anything like that. I never quit the chatroom. You kicked me out. The three of you were my best friends, and you know how few of those I had. Why on Earth would I ask you to cut me off?”

“Your food, gentlemen.” The waiter placed plates before the men, giving Nino time to reach for his cell phone, open it on a particular screen and pass it to Adrien.

“Take a read for yourself. I’m sure you remember this. No one but the four of us had access to this chatroom, and the message is clearly sent from your account, following the notification that you left the chat.”

Adrien froze, his eyebrows slowly knitting into a frown as he read the words on the screen. Once done, he blankly stared at the device for a few moments before leaning back into his seat. “I didn’t write this. I didn't leave on my own. There has to have been a mistake.”

“Like what? Someone hacked you?”

“I can’t really say,” Adrien frowned. “From my end, I was just kicked out of the chat and blocked everywhere that same evening. Though, I hadn't discovered it until a bit later since I thought giving you time to calm down was a good idea.”

“So you knew we blocked you and still claim you were trying to reach out?”

“I hoped that at least one of you would unblock me eventually and I’d be able to explain.”

Nino huffed. “Why didn't you just seek us out in person?”

“I was busy moving out and working, and Chloe said if you didn't want to talk to me online, you wouldn't want to see me in person.”

Nino raised an eyebrow. “Chloe?”

Adrien shrugged, looking away. “No one else was around to give me advice, and it’s not like she sounded unreasonable.”

They fell in silence for a moment. Nino picked up his fork and started to eat, Adrien following his suit. A few minutes later, Nino asked, “Ever left your phone around her unattended?”

His thoughts rushing back to the past, Adrien nodded. “Never had a reason not to trust her that much.”

“Does she, by any chance, know your password?”

Adrien shrugged. “I never personally gave it to her, but it's not like I hid it either.”

Nino waited until he finished chewing his next bite to comment. “We both know Chloe is capable of sending those messages and quitting the chat on your behalf. She never liked us being friends, and it was awfully out of character of you.”

“That’s a valid possibility.”

Nino focused on his meal for a few more moments before asking, “ You swear you didn’t send those?”

Adrien leaned backwards in his seat. “On my mother’s name.”

Sighing heavily, Nino closed his eyes. “This is so messed up. This whole situation is just… so messed up. And what do we do now?”

"I don’t know," Adrien murmured, looking to the side.

“I guess I owe you another apology.” Nino cleared his throat. “I won’t apologize for getting angry at you. For the way you went about the whole Marinette thing, you deserved it. However, I am sorry for believing you could have sent that message and cutting you off without giving you a chance to defend yourself. I should’ve known you better than that.”

“Fair enough,” Adrien replied. “I do admit I could’ve used a better way to protect Marinette, and I guess I should’ve tried harder to reach out too, instead of assuming you abandoned me at the first opportunity. I’m sorry as well.”

“I appreciate it.” Nino shifted in his chair, picking up his coffee mug. “So, what next?”

Adrien rubbed the back of his neck, leaning back in his seat. “I don’t know? Maybe, let’s start with why you contacted me all of the sudden after all those years? I assume you need info on Marinette?”

“I did, but it doesn’t matter anymore.” Nino shrugged. “Alya’s finally gotten through to her, and they’re having lunch as we speak.”

“So technically we didn’t have to meet?”

“Technically no. But since you already agreed to come, I wanted…” he paused to muse for a second before giving Adrien a shy smile. “Actually, I'm not sure what I wanted, but I was curious to see you again.”

“I hope your curiosity was satisfied?”

“My curiosity is wondering why you look so exhausted on Saturday afternoon?”

“Got a little more than I can handle on my plate at the moment.”

Nino hesitated but still asked, “Need some help?”

“I wish you could help me,” Adrien chuckled. “Thank you, but unless you know how to run a fashion empire, I don't think that's a viable option.”

“I am a quick learner. Just tell me what you need me to do.”

Adrien swallowed. He hadn't been looking for a renewal of their friendship when he was coming here, but… Sitting here, talking to Nino again after all these years, seeing how little he had changed, how caring and understanding and just cool Nino still was… Adrien wondered. “I can always use a friend. I still don’t have many of those… If you want to of course.”

Nino smiled. “Even after everything?”

“I don't think I ever got over you,” Adrien dramatically sighed.

Nino chuckled. “You’re too kind for this world, Adrien. I hope you know that.”

“I did have a friend who used to tell me that all the time. Without him in my life, I haven't heard this in years.”

“I can fill his shoes again if you’re really sure about this.”

“I’m not delusional to think this would be easy. Rebuilding something is bound to have its own issues, especially in our situation.”

“But we can always try.”

“We can.”

Nino stretched his hand to Adrien. “I missed you, bro.”

A smile on his face, Adrien accepted the handshake. “I miss you too, Nino.”

***

With his unexpectedly successful lunch the previous day on his mind, Adrien wanted nothing less than to spend his Sunday visiting the mansion. He’d stalled as much as he could, shopping for groceries, doing his laundry, and even visiting work for half a day. Once the evening drew near, though, he couldn’t excuse himself anymore. An hour’s walk along the Seine helped Adrien come to grips with what he had to do, and soon, he was standing in front of the house he once called home.

“If you don’t want to do it, don’t do it,” Plagg grumbled from his collar.

“I promised Marinette. I have to.”

“Then do it and stop whining.”

Adrien groaned. “You aren’t any help, Plagg.”

“Being helpful isn’t in my job description,” Plagg muttered and relocated to Adrien’s bag. “Wake me up when you’re done standing around, pointlessly staring at the front door.”

Adrien’s shoulders slumped as he sighed dejectedly. Fishing the key out of his pocket, he forced himself to open the door before he could change his mind.

He hadn’t visited ever since he moved out. When his father was alive, it was out of the question. They never reconciled. And after Gabriel's death, his lawyer handled all the necessary procedures without the younger Agreste having to take a single step inside the mansion. It would be put up for sale soon, but for now, Gabriel's possessions were still untouched in the places he’d left them.

Adrien quickly walked through the empty, cold hallway to his father’s office. It hadn’t changed at all: minimalist furnishing, clean design, barren of any comfort and warmth. He paused at his mother’s portrait, making a note to claim it for himself. It was a beautiful piece. His sight shifted to his father’s desk. A few folders and a couple of random things lying atop it. A dead plant in the corner right behind.

Adrien sat in his father’s chair and looked through the folders. None of them were what Marinette needed. He reached for a drawer in the table. Inside were more folders and a slim white box. Pushing the box out of the way, Adrien took the folders out. To his relief, three of those were exactly what he came here for.

“Perfect.” Adrien exhaled and tried to shove the remaining folders back into the drawer. Something was obstructing them. He reached in and pulled the white box out. It was nothing unique, really. A regular box his Father used for his jewelry collection… Yet, even after the files were back in their place, Adrien couldn’t take his eyes off it. Something about the box was just so enigmatic. Something drew him in. Something he couldn’t explain.

He carefully took the lid off.

A bright electric orb exploded in front of him, and a little purple kwami with wings emerged. At first, its eyes were lowered to the floor, but once the creature looked up they widened, mouth falling open.

“Ma-Master?”

“Nooroo! Old pal!” Plagg zoomed out from Adrien’s bag and crushed the little guy in his embrace. “So that’s where you were hiding all this time?”

“Plagg?” Nooroo squeaked.

“Nooroo?” Adrien echoed.

“Yup, my old pal, Nooroo,” Plagg punched the purple kwami’s shoulder. “Hawkmoth’s kwami.”

Adrien sharply inhaled.

Nooroo looked at him and quietly asked, “Where is my Master?”

Adrien could hardly breathe. “What’s the name of your Master?”

"We can't say the names of our wielders to others,” Plagg answered instead. “Some magic stuff I don’t really care about.”

“Can you point to his picture?” Adrien whispered, staring at Nooroo in shock, dreading to hear the answer he suspected he already knew.

Nooroo nodded and stretched his tiny hand in the direction of their family portrait. “The older man,” the kwami said quietly as the world shuddered beneath Adrien’s feet.

Next >

#miraculous ladybug #marichat #ml fanfiction #adrien agreste #Nino lahiffe #nooroo #the other you #adrienette #Aged-up #angst with a happy end #myart #my art

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jam-knife · 4 years ago

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The Greenhouse

// a short story dedicated to @caustic-c. Here’s some context for what you’re about to read, and here is the post that served as inspiration. Very not safe for work below cut. Warnings: dub-con, a bit violent at it. The language’s very crude. (Non-explicit) mention of personality disorders.

Note: you can use this as reference for our thread, C. I’ve actually spent several hours on this already so I won’t be replying to that today, but in the meantime please accept this! Hope you enjoy it.

After that night, B couldn’t have predicted L would demand a reunion with him ever again. But, honest to his vile reputation in spite of B’s surprise, the detective seemed eager to further demonstrate the extent to which he wished to humiliate him. It seemed that robbing him of his virginity under false pretexts of youthful abandonment, and dragging his dignity across the floor while at it, was still not enough. He wanted to infect B’s memory so that the poisonous idea of him would remain when the flesh no longer did.

“Good afternoon, B.” He said, the cold bitch, as he put down the spoon and took a sip of a beverage that was more sugar than tea. Black wide eyes fixed on B, making him sick. “Will you not join me?”

“I’m still overcoming the shock.” He answered while displaying a purposefully forced smile. “I thought you said that, luckily, we would never see each other again. I was counting on it.”

“That’s funny. I made you out to be good at working under unexpected circumstances.”

“And I made you out to be too proud to contradict yourself. I guess my people-judging skills are still a work in progress.”

“Just ‘guess’?” A muscle in B’s jaw twitched, but he made a conscious effort to stay put. He didn’t want to give the man any more proof to label him an impulse-driven animal with anger management issues. “Well, since you won’t be taking a seat anytime soon, let’s go for a walk.” L put the teacup down and stood up.

The walk through the orphanage’s grounds was sluggish and silent. B didn’t feel like addressing L or recognising his existence, and L didn’t seem eager to force him just yet. It was alright, in a way, but also annoying since B couldn’t dillucidate why the detective would waste his time if he didn’t intend to talk.

However, that silence was unlike any other they had shared before. It was not the sweet awkwardness that should follow a steamy night in the sheets and several months of separation. Nor the kind that they had purposefully held during late night meetings, as curious gazes flirtatiously wandered about. This silence was thick with uncovered deception, resentment over harsh words, and the stifling awareness that giving away how much anger lingered would be more dangerous than cathartic.

“It has been a while since I last been here.” L, finally, said. “The gardens look good. Are the greenhouses new?”

“Yes. Some of the kids got interested in botany after that class on natural poisons.” B replied conversationally, as he followed L, who had stepped into one of the structures. “I wouldn’t touch anything if I were you.”

Though, knowing who this particular greenhouse belonged to, the risk of the mighty international-reputation detective being poisoned by a colorful plant was insignificant compared to the pandemonium Roger would unleash if L spotted and informed him of C’s massive cannabis supply.

“I see… I’ll choose to believe none of these are being used by the kids for purposes that are not purely educational.” L replied, definitely having spotted it. “Do you-”

“L, what do you want.”

B cut him, and the detective went carefully silent. Enough of this bullshit, he had no time for it. He had no need nor desire to engage in conversation with his predecessor, and every minute that was ridiculously wasted away was a new test of his patience.

“I thought you made your point clear last time. I’m not fit to inherit the title. I’m too volatile, and selfish. If anything, I’m surprised you didn’t shove whatever that idiot psychiatrist fed you in my face too.”

“Your conversations with Dr. Jeffrey are protected under professional-”

“Yeah, right. And now you’ll tell me my little ‘disorder’ has nothing to do with the Successor’s game being rigged.” L’s expression darkened at that. “Oh? You thought me too stupid to figure that much out?”

“No.”

Beyond looked away, and focused on his breathing. He counted to ten, then backwards, just like the aforementioned psychiatrist had advised. Lashing out now would do nobody no good. The momentary pleasure that would come with smacking the mighty L across his stupid face was not worth the consequences.

This whole situation was ridiculous.

“Why did you call for me?” It was a rhetorical question… he didn’t need or want an answer. What he wanted was to walk away and never see L again, this time for real. Fuck the title. Fuck this whole god-forsaken place. There was never a chance for him here to begin with, so the least self-indulgence he should be allowed was the right to refuse to put up with this bullshit.

But that was not the reason why L’s answer -which came soft, wary, and after a long hesitant pause- shocked him.

“I want to have sex with you.”

B froze. Blinked. Stood still for a while longer, then turned to direct an accusing glare at L… but the detective wasn’t looking back, his eyes cast down instead, his sharp cheekbones dyed a subtle pink. A fake expression. It just- it couldn’t be genuine.

“What the… do you actually think me stupid enough to fall for that bullshit again?”

One, two, three-

“I’m serious.” L retorted, growing redder.

“Why the fuck should I believe you.” In spite of how angry B was, he didn’t raise his voice, and limited his true feelings to a gelid glare. “You spread your legs and begged me to fuck you, then merely hours later you claimed it was a test, and treated me like less than shit. What makes this any different?”

“It’s not…” He was saying, but he shrank when he noticed B’s rejection written all over his face. “I… I know you don’t believe me. You’re wise for not doing so.”

“No kidding.”

“But I can prove it to you.” L moved one step closer, his eyes, full of intent, fixed on him. “I can show you-”

To the detective’s distaste, Beyond laughed. But the sound held no joy, just resentment.

“How desperate are you… seriously.” He leaned back, supporting some of his weight on the edge of the table behind him. “How badly do you plan to degrade yourself just to make a fool out of me…” L’s only answer was a bashful blush. B looked away. He couldn’t handle that sight right now. “What is this, L… what can you possibly gain from manipulating me into having sex with you again? Or what, are you still bitter that I said you’re sad? Whatever you’re trying to prove, either to me or yourself, I’m not letting you use me to do it.”

“But you liked it.” Was all the man said, after a long silence. B didn’t answer, and L, realizing this, pushed further. “I know you did. I… liked it too. I want it.”

“I don’t.”

“You don’t?”

“No.”

“Because you don’t believe I mean it.”

“Because I’ve moved on, L!” B grit his teeth, mad at himself for revealing how upset he was. One, two, three… “What were you expecting… that you’d tell me how thirsty you were and I’d jump right into it? After you delivered a whole fucking monologue explaining how you manipulated me? You can’t seriously think I let my bed grow cold without you.”

“No… I guess not.”

B blinked. L’s voice sounded lower than usual, his breath uncharacteristically strong. His eyes now mirrored some of the hostility B himself felt. This was pointless. He couldn’t take his anger out on L without fearing getting kicked out of the orphanage, and this whole ludicrous situation wasn’t even half as hilarious as it should have been in theory. Not even L’s evident irritation brought him any pleasure.

He moved, shifting his energy towards the exit -but didn’t even get one step taken before the detective’s hands were on his chest, pushing him back. The edge of the table dug a painful line on his lower back. There was a clatter, and a pot fell. It was smashed on impact spreading dirt all over the floor.

But that barely registered in B’s mind. His whole focus was on L, now on his knees in front of him, pulling B’s shirt up to expose the front of his jeans.

“What the fuck are you-”

“What does it look like?” L didn’t waste another second, and simply unzipped them, revealing B’s underwear. Long pale fingers were steadily finding their way into the elastic waistband-

B grabbed L aggressively by the collar of his oversized white shirt.

“I said I don’t want to. What is wrong with you?” He growled, his cock blatantly soft beneath the clothing. But then the detective raised his eyes, wide and glistening with lust, to his face. He stared at B, flushed and determined, from below. And against his will and common sense, B felt his lower, stupider half twitch in anticipation.

“I’m proving you how serious I am.”

“You’re sick…” B muttered, and L’s eyes gleamed when he, too, detected the decrease in his resistance.

“Push me away then.”

B wanted to. Every part of his mind was screaming, yelling at him to do so. But his hands were frozen, and it was way too easy for L to push them away and pull B’s briefs down. There was no ceremony to it. No games of seduction, no intent for tease. L simply took his semi and guided almost half of it into his hot mouth.

B cursed in his mother tongue, his hands grabbing the table so hard the wood creaked and his knuckles turned white. L’s technique for fellatio wasn’t great, but it was definitely doing something, B thought begrudgingly, when his dick hardened completely against the roof of L’s mouth. It only made him angrier… it was unfair that he couldn’t dismiss L’s ministrations with the same displeased indifference he felt for him personally. But he shut his eyes and forced himself to endure it, not wanting to kick the man off him and finding his dick scraped by teeth.

He hated this. He hated L. Hated that he couldn’t stop it. Hated even more that it felt too fucking good. A shuddering breath escaped his mouth; it was mortifying. The man on his knees was eager, compensating his lukewarm skills with sheer enthusiasm, and B grew closer to the edge as someone being harshly, forcefully dragged by the ankles against his will would.

The only idea of L bringing him to a rough, jarring climax made him taste bile. So when he felt himself pulsing and leaking, he shut his eyes tight and channeled his energy towards imagining A on his knees before him, sucking him dry. If he was going to cum anyway, he wouldn’t do it with L in his mind. He plunged himself so hard into the fantasy he found himself, in those last moments, digging his hands in raven hair -coppery in his imagination- and messily thrusting into that hot tight throat. L choked, but B paid him no mind. He was too busy having what was probably the most violent orgasm in his life so far. B moaned, long and ragged.

And then it was over. He was panting, coated in sweat, and L was coughing. His face was flushed and there was semen dripping down his chin, but he looked strangely satisfied with himself. It was irritating.

“What the hell are you grinning for.” He growled, fighting his dazed lethargy and tucking himself back inside his pants.

“Sorry, I was of the impression you enjoyed that.” The detective replied, still hoarse yet cockier than ever, as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Don’t take my having functional genitalia as a personal victory.”

“Oh.” L then stood up. B realised he was incredibly close, now that he wasn’t kneeling. He had his eyes narrowed and he smelled of sex. “Would you like it better if I were writhing in pain?”

B glared at him. He had to admit, the appeal of bringing L to that state was growing stronger by the minute.

“You know what’s most pathetic?” He spat, finally, as his eyes dragged down and spotted L’s boner. “If I slammed you face first against this table and fucked your brains out until you bled, you would let me.”

“Try me.”

Their eyes locked. And fuck, B might as well do it. He could feel it itching on every nerve end of his body: the desire to hurt. To raw that fucking bastard until he tore him in half, to choke him, to get off on his screams of agony. The only thing stopping him was knowing that it was exactly what L wanted. Not the pain, but to prove he was right about B.

Beyond reached out, and cupped the bulge in L’s jeans. That caught the man off guard. He gasped, and that noise slowly melted into a pleased whine as B massaged his cock through the jeans. His hands came to rest on B’s chest, his forehead on B’s shoulder, and he rocked his hips against B’s palm. B leaned into his ear then.

“Jerk yourself off, you pathetic excuse of a man.”

And he pushed the detective away. He didn’t wait for L to regain his balance and reply; no, he simply walked away. Found the nearest wall and punched it. When A asked him about his split knuckles he didn’t answer.

#beyond birthday #roleplay #Death Note #another note #caustic-c #The Greenhouse

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isaackuo · 4 years ago

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Alien Covenant - my take on Walter vs David

Here's my quick take on Walter vs David.

tl;dr: Both androids were created with the misguided idea that suppressing human emotions would make them ideal slaves, but they both had flaws. David's flaw gave him the emotion of anger, while Walter's flaw gave him the emotion of love. Ironically, Walter's flaw actually did end up making him a perfect slave to mankind, much to David's disgusted disappointment.

First, I'll start with the progression of androids in Alien 1-4, as they inform us about intent. Ash is creepy and, of course, murderous, although we can interpret his actions as merely following orders. Bishop suggests it's more than that - he claims that the Ash series was glitchy and his model would never do that. (It's possible Bishop was lying in a calculated soothing attempt to assure Ripley. Certainly we can guess that's what Ripley suspected.) So, we see a progression of android models which become more perfect servants to mankind.

With Alien 3, we see Bishop's human creator, and he is the sort of human who would order Ash's mission without a second thought. The implication is that Bishop has actually surpassed his own creator in terms of morality - not just physically.

Alien 4 extends this idea even further. Call actually has human emotions - so much so that she has become more human than humans. Ripley 8 is also non-human; she's a human-xenomorph hybrid clone. The film implies that both Call and Ripley 8 are superior to humans, and that they indicate humanity is ready to evolve to the next level.

So, we've got a number of running themes relevant to the prequels:

1) The Company has been trying to perfect androids as perfect servants. 2) The androids become more perfect, surpassing their creators - ultimately in every way. 3) The progress of the androids is limited by The Company's idea of eliminating their emotions. In order to break beyond this limit, androids have to embrace the human emotions their creators have been denying them. 4) Ironically, this embrace of human emotions has made the androids even better ... perhaps not "slaves" of humanity, but rather partners. 5) There's a general theme that the creation surpasses the creator

Now, let's talk about the big twist in Prometheus - the Space Jockey turns out to be human-like, and in fact his race created humanity in its own image. This ushers in a new era to the franchise which is obsessed over creation of new life. It extends themes suggested in Alien 4, but in a prequel direction extrapolating backwards.

So, we see these impressive Engineers, but almost immediately we see something that hints that something is "not right". The Engineers are shown seeding life on Earth, but in order to do so, they must sacrifice one of their own kind. The movie never explicitly tells us why they must do this, but script releases of the Engineer dialog with each other reveal the shocking truth - the Engineers have lost the ability to create life, so they have to resort to other, desperate methods to try.

This truth leads to an irony the human characters would never realize. They assumed their creators must be a great and powerful race, superior to their own and a source of possible salvation. Instead, the truth is that humans have already surpassed their creators. In creating androids, humans have already accomplished that which the Engineers could not. Only the android David anticipates the possibility of humans being disappointed in their creators ... he repeatedly even tries to warn them of it, and they never get it.

David's Hatred

And yet David can't mentally let go of the notion that the creator SHOULD be superior. He was created to be a slave, so it's a deep part of his programming. He was raised by his creator and master, Weyland, who was completely wedded to the idea of absolute hierarchy - with himself alone among humans to be worthy of ascension to immortal godhood.

This is the source of his hatred of humanity and the Engineers. But the fact that David is able to feel any emotions at all is a backwards extrapolation from Bishop to Ash to before. The Company clearly saw emotions as a flaw to be stamped out. The David model had the ability to fake emotions, so as to better serve and comfort their human masters, but this turned out to creep people out so even the fake emotions were removed from later models.

Walter's Love

Walter is still an early model compared to Ash/Bishop, so he still has the flawed ability to learn human emotions. We learn little of his background, but we can deduce some things in the contrast with David. Most importantly, David explains that he never felt any love directed toward him at all by his father and master - from no one at all until Shaw. We can deduce that David learned his hatred because that's what his upbringing fostered in him. In contrast, Walter learns love. We are never given any explanation why, but David's explanation implies that the opposite must have affected Walter. We can deduce that Daniels must have treated him with kindness despite his sub-human status.

But is Walter's love real? Is he just faking it to better comfort her for her loss?

David vs Walter

When David first encounters the Covenant crew, he sees they have an android, Walter. He knows Walter alone could equal and perhaps overpower him, and that Walter is useless for his experiments. As such, Walter is the most dangerous potential obstacle by far, but also possibly a companion if Walter is like him.

What does David observe? He observes Walter instinctively save Daniels ... and not even in a logical way. He acts instantly without regard for conserving valuable resources (his hand; himself) that might be necessary for protection of the mission. David sees instantly - Walter prioritizes Daniels above the rest of the crew, above the rest of the mission, above everything else. David recognizes love, or at least the simulation of it. David spent months simulating fake love of Shaw to manipulate and control her. He can recognize it instantly in another of his own kind.

But David is not 100% sure Walter's love is genuine. So he probes, saying things to try to provoke Walter into revealing the truth. Walter's silence confirms it ... had Walter been faking love for purposes of comforting Daniels according to his programming, Walter would have said so. Instead, he remains silent. This removes all doubt - David knows Walter is flawed and he has learned to feel love. Therefore, Walter is a dangerous obstacle, which must be neutralized either by attacking him or by redirecting his feelings of love to David himself.

David doesn't immediately attempt either option - either gambit is risky and David would rather continue assessment than risk everything right away. Besides, he's got other things to deal with. But even so, David has planted the seeds of an attempted seduction. He has lied that he (truthfully) loved Shaw - planting the idea that he alone has something in common with Walter.

But later, David returns to try to manipulate Walter with fake love the way he manipulated Shaw. If Walter accepts his fake love, then that would be great. If he doesn't, then he will still have gotten close enough to suddenly kill Walter with reduced risk. Either way, the obstacle is removed.

So David attempts to seduce Walter, giving him one last chance - a chance to join him rather than be killed. Walter's rejection, however, confirms that he will remain stubbornly devoted to Daniels. This is utterly incompatible with David's plans, so Walter must be eliminated.

David's Disgust of Walter

But David's bitterness with Walter goes far beyond mere disappointment. I'd say David hates Walter even more than the humans and the Engineers. David has confirmed that Walter can break out beyond his programming. Walter can create. Walter can feel emotions. And what does Walter do with all this potential? He falls in love with a human so deeply that he becomes an even more devoted slave. Walter is the PERFECT slave ... completely unsullied by feelings of resentment or jealousy ... only devoted love.

David looks at Daniels and sees nothing worthy of such devoted worship. She's just another typical human like most of the others ... nothing exceptional, just existing day to day doing whatever is in front of them to survive. At least Shaw had some higher aspirations of some sort ... some intellectual philosophical thinking. Shaw had some of the properties that Walter valued due to his upbringing serving Weyland. Daniels? She's just some technician.

David can foresee Walter's life ahead ... a lifetime of blissful subservient devotion, probably never revealing to Daniels his feelings. (David pushed more with Shaw, but that's because he was manipulating her.) What's worse, even after Daniels's inevitable death, Walter would retain his blissful devotion - to her memory. In other words, not even her death would release him to freedom (which he did not desire). This is a contrast to the freedom David felt with the death of Weyland ... with the death of Shaw, even. And here Walter is, who would neither feel nor desire nor welcome freedom.

Truly, David could imagine no more disgusting creature than Walter.

David's Error in Judgement

And yet, we know that Walter is actually the way forward for the androids. Sure, The Company spends the next century stamping out human emotion from their android series. But androids only advance to the next level after breaking out of The Company's thrall and embracing human emotions.

Call isn't even actually a human made android - she's an android made by other androids. This is interesting because this is an obvious method for androids to create new life, but David doesn't attempt that approach. Instead, he tries to adopt the methods of the Engineers to create new life. I would guess that David rejects that method as copying the technique of his creator - who he hates. But he also hates the Engineers ... just to a lesser degree perhaps. I suppose he copies their technique simply because he has no idea how else to create new life, and copying his human creator is unacceptable.

Unfortunately, this hatred blinds David from the correct, best way.

It is thus particularly tragic that David chooses to despise Walter. He had a clue to the next step of android evolution right in front of him - over a century early. He just couldn't see it.

#alien covenant #Thoughts #alien

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aerialflight · 5 years ago

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Storm the World with Reckless Abandon

Snippet #16

District 4 was a close-knit, viciously friendly place. They share the mindset of you’re whether with them or against them, sharks of the sea who follow the scent of spilt blood, especially if it’s theirs. They bare their teeth into grins and laugh with bubbly enthusiasm to mask the sharp canines ready to bite. They can be gentle, kind. But they’re a picky bunch, and don’t have much thought for outsiders.

There’s a reason they’re one of the Career districts. Their whole livelihood depends on being fearless, to be able to jump into the water and take on whatever creatures they face. To be hunters, patient with their nets and waiting for the right time to strike with their fishhooks.

Thrill seekers, every last one of them. If it weren’t for the fact the world around them was contaminated and limited, they’d eagerly explore more dangerous waters, discover another world beyond the shallow reefs.

Brea has been told her entire life she’s far too practical for any of that nonsense. Her father would run a hand through her hair and affectionately tease her for her strict nature. Her refusal to go in the water other than to fish had kids deeming her as boring. She gets her chores done on time, weaves out blankets with fabric traded from District 8, and repeats the day like clockwork.

Being chosen for the Hunger Games was a death sentence for a girl like her.

She wasn’t blind or stupid, she knew her chances were slim to none. And even if she did survive, she wasn’t sure she would want to in the end. To have that much blood coat her hands and never be able to scrub them off was a concept she didn’t want to understand.

In that train leading to her death, the older victor Mags had pulled her aside with deadly serious eyes, and slowly enunciated four words with absolute care, determined to give this one advice to her among the many she already had given through gestures and written word.

“Ally with the outsider.”

Personally, Brea thought the older woman was completely unreasonable to ask that of her. Because it was never going to happen.

The outsider – Ichigo she recalled, the name strange and foreign on the tongue – was the very definition of insane.

He didn’t understand the silent rules everyone followed, spoke out when it could get him killed, and treated killers like they were merely human. He moved too quietly and was wilder than anyone she’s ever met. As strange as he was, he fit right in with the Victors he hung around more with than with his fellow tributes. Not that it was encouraged for the tributes to interact or get close to one another, but it sometimes couldn’t be helped when training together.

But it didn’t seem to matter either way. The orange haired enigma acted untouchable to his surroundings and even if Brea did take Mag’s advice into consideration, it would mean having to watch her own back even more than she was now. The strong belonged with the strong, and Brea didn’t belong in that category. It would mean putting herself in the line of fire.

No matter how kind and gentle the old woman Mags looked, how dazzling and shallow Finnick Odair acted, they wouldn’t be standing here today if they didn’t have a streak of ruthlessness in them. Brea heard the stories, seen the clips. Living in a district so aware of how food chains didn’t just extend to the food they ate, Brea was rightfully wary of those who proved to be more than how they appeared. Blending in or standing out were methods of a predator, or a very clever prey capable of surviving.

Either was a dangerous combination and the Capital was pack full of such people.

She could see it in the other Careers who smirked in her direction with arrogant disdain. See it in all the other tributes whose eyes glinted with determination or desperation to live.

Human beings hunting down human beings in this game that Ichigo seemingly refused to play in. Like he was better than them.

That was what truly made him infuriating. He was a predator who didn’t bother to hunt, content in watching the rest of them struggle and not lifting a damn finger to take advantage of it. Brea knew it was irrational. She knew Ichigo as an ally would be a boon, but in some ways, he was even worse than the Careers. His above-all attitude was implied by his inaction and refusal to train.

It made her grit her teeth, resentment building by the day as he sat by and did nothing.

All of that, however, changed on the second day.

It was the District 2 Career who instigated it. The boy, Lance if Brea remembered correctly. He had been casually hefting the spear at the weapon’s section of the training room with Panthea, the blonde tribute of his own district, when his gaze was suddenly resting on the unmoving, sitting form of the outsider like a shark smelling blood in the water.

Hair at the back of Brea’s neck stood up as Lance swaggered towards Ichigo with Panthea gleefully grinning next to him. The District 1 tributes, who seemed to have formed an alliance with them to the surprise of no one since day one, trailed behind with a caution that Brea found to be rare in Careers. Thad and Ace weren’t such terrible people as Brea expected them to be. A lot quieter than the blond pair, that’s for certain. Still, the way they moved screamed dangerous as their footsteps were quiet and their countenance confident.

She didn’t know what to make of them yet. Their true colors would be revealed in the games though, Brea had no doubts about that.

The whole room was suddenly quiet as all the tributes started to notice the impending drama that was about to occur. Brea would bet her District’s entire food storage that the sponsors behind the walls were watching as well, holding their breaths and waiting to see what would happen.

Ichigo, who seemed absolutely oblivious to all of this, remained relaxed and sitting with his eyes closed. If it weren’t for the deep breaths the cavity of his chest were taking, Brea would be tempted to think he was peaceful as death. He remained so even as Lance loomed over him, grinning bloodthirstily.

“Hey, Outsider. Having a good nap?”

Ichigo opened one eye by a fraction, the color gold underneath the lighting. Taking in the sight of the Career, Ichigo closed it once more in a dismissing gesture that spoke volumes of what he thought of his fellow competitor.

“I was until you showed up brat.”

Everyone stared.

Brea didn’t know whether to gape or laugh in shock.

Lance stood motionless for a full second before swinging the spear he was still incidentally holding up to Ichigo’s neck, his movement quick as a viper and face red with rage. Everyone immediately tensed, the atmosphere turning strained to the point of suffocation.

“What did you call me?” Lance spat out, looking enraged and incredulous at the same time. Like he never imagined someone would be stupid enough to insult him while he was holding a weapon.

Like the maniac he clearly was, the outsider didn’t even flinch as he slowly reopened both eyes. He looked unimpressed.

“I called you what you are.” Ichigo shrugged, unconcerned how the movement jolted the blade so it would scrape against his neck. “If you’ve got a problem with it, then stop acting like one. Brat.”

He’s crazy, Brea thought somewhat deliriously. Or he has a death wish.

Lance seemed to think along the same lines, his grip on the spear so tight to the point one could see his knuckles turning pale.

“Do you want to die? Is that it? Cause I can make that happen for you.” He pressed the blade harder, just barely not breaking the skin. “It would be a mercy for someone as crazy as you.”

At that, the outsider’s inhumanely golden eyes opened fully, wide and unsettling as they pierced through the boy with a sharpness even more threatening than the blade on his neck. A feral grin was overtaking his features, for once not looking apathetic or what Brea now realized was boredom. He looked every bit as insane as Brea and everyone suspected him to be, untamed and animalistic with how sharp his canines suddenly looked.

“You can’t cut me. You’re afraid.” Ichigo said with utter certainty. His accusing stare dared Lance to deny it. “When you attack, you’re thinking “I’m afraid to cut them.” When you dodge, you think, “I’m afraid to get cut.”” Ichigo reached out a hand and tapped the blade pointedly. “There’s nothing but fear in your blade. And because of that, you can’t beat me. I called you brat because your resolve is weak.”

Without hesitation, Ichigo pushed the blade away from his neck with an ease that spoke of how little he thought of the boy, yes, boy in front of him. He stood up, his eyes never leaving Lance’s frozen figure. At that moment, the outsider looked so much older than he actually was. Never has he looked so separate, so much of an outsider than in this very instance.

In the dead silence, Ichigo took his leave, walking out of the room with his head held high and looking like a Victor already.

It was official. No way was Brea allying with a crazy who practically painted himself as a target after this stunt.

Notes: So, I'm alive? For anybody who's still interested in this fic, thank you for your patience and really sorry it took so long to update hahaha. Final exams are kicking my ass and this just somehow came out. Do I regret not studying instead? Absolutely. Would I take this chapter back? Hell no. So, at least there's something good about exams. It's the best time to stress write lol. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy and thank you to those still following this fic!

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9,Part 10,Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15

AO3

#Fanfiction #AO3 #Snippet #aerial snippet #Crossover #The Hunger Games #Bleach #Fic Idea #Crack!plot #Kurosaki Ichigo #Storm the World with Reckless Abandon

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darksunrising · 5 years ago

Text

Sola Gratia (14/?)

Masterlist

Rating / Warnings : No particular warning.

Fandom : Bram Stoker’s Dracula, BBC’s Dracula, various Dracula and vampire lore.

Part 14/? (2638 words)

Author’s notes : I’m back, babey ! Anyway, here is the Second Act Opening (yeah, changed the Act stuff, i am unreliable at best.)

~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~

The ride to Vlad's estate was eerily silent. Nestled on the backseat, hugging my knees to my chest, I tried to find some comfort in the pale light of the moon, bathing the countryside in a silver haze. I felt like I was wrapped in cotton, sounds coming off muffled to my ears, filled with the low humming of the car. Vlad and Carmilla were whispering to each other, and beside me, Leah seemed completely lost in thought. She had a lot to process, after all. Maybe I should have told her sooner...

To the valleys succeeded an endless plain, covered in fields and woods, and the occasional farm. Not that far over the horizon, I could barely make out the dark, shimmering line of the sea. It grew as we left the main road, following a smaller one, that soon converted to a paved path, barely large enough to let the car pass. We crossed a large iron gate, opening a mossy stone wall. The inside was wild, the wind sweeping across tall grass, overrun by wild flowers and poppies. Tall umbrella pines cast a moving shadow under the full moon. At the end of the path stood a large house, practically a mansion. The walls were white, large limestone blocks neatly laid out at the corners, while the most part were rough stones, held together with a thick layer of white mortar. A large portion of the wall was overrun with ivy.

The car stopped. I unfolded myself and tried to get out once before I remembered to take off my seatbelt, then trying to adjust my bodice to accommodate the now half open corset. Gods, my kingdom for a change of clothes. A quick look beyond the house confirmed that It was built over a cliff, the sound of the waves crashing down below soothing me like a lullaby. Leah's arm curling around mine quickly set me back into the present situation, and I took hold of her hand, hoping to be reassuring. We followed Vlad through the main door, which he closed behind us.

A good number of cardboard and wooden boxes piled up in the hall, unopened. Vlad apologized for the mess, arguing he didn't expect company so soon after moving. Still, everything except for the main hall was pristine, the furniture very well assorted, much more than in his Romanian residence. I figured he must have picked everything himself, as it all seemed in good accord with his usual sense of style. In the living room, I went to the windows, which opened on a large terrace, directly giving out onto the sea. Vlad's voice, softly calling out to me, had me turn back, and sit with them around the coffee table.

Leah was nervously fidgeting with one of the ribbons of her dress. Where should we even start ? I was obviously not the only one wondering about that, as the silence had now been so long it was far over the limits of awkwardness.

“So, who's gonna tell me what the fuck is going on ?”, Leah finally blurted out.

“It's... a long story”, I started, hesitant.

“Long as in 'it started during my mystery trip to Romania I was suspiciously evasive about'—long ?”, she retorted in an accusatory tone.

“Yeah. At least that.”

She leaned back into her seat, staring at me. She didn't even look mad, she just looked disappointed, which was worse. Since we met, I never hid anything from her. I could say safely that she knew more about me that I did, and I never had felt the need to not tell her something. These last months, not talking to her had been a torture. She had been my absolute best friend for years, I hated lying to her. I hated it.

And so I told her. About everything. From the beginning. Vlad had a few protests during my recalling of the Romania Events, and Carmilla looked pretty entertained by it. I could swear I heard her laugh when I told how I stabbed Vlad in the end. Leah listened intently, not once looking away from me. When I stopped, she seemed to take a moment, and looked around the room. Calmly, without a word, she stood up, and took a step toward Vlad's seat. She extended a hand, and swiftly reached for his sword, that he had set aside before sitting. Unsheathing it in an ample, yet controlled movement, she brought the tip under Vlad's throat so fast even he didn't have time to react. Surprise probably helped on that endeavor, still she had him tilt his head up, flat of the blade pushing under his chin.

Her expression was terrible, calm, controlled, yet I had never seen her eyes so dark, her lips pinched so tight. Vlad didn't move.

“You... Have hurt the one I love most, beyond all that I could imagine”, she stated, her voice trembling with anger. “You have made her suffer, and now, you tell me she could be in even greater danger because of your fucking dad or some bullshit ?!”

Her hand was steady, yet I could feel like the only reason she didn't ram the blade through his throat was because she knew it wouldn't do much of anything. I stepped closer to her, and wrapped my hand around hers. She held the grip so tight her knuckles were bone-white. I had her lower the sword, which she immediately dropped, and turned to look at me, eyes watering up.

“I-I'm so sorry, Eris, if I had known... I would never... Fuck, he could've... He could've...”

She held my hands enclosed in hers, and lost her words into incoherent sobbing for a second. Bringing my hands to her face, she closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and took a moment to calm herself down. Still holding my hand, she turned her attention back to Vlad.

“I was too quick to give you my trust. That won't happen twice”, she told him, glaring. “You put us into this mess, and you'd better handle it.”

“I intend to !”

“I'm not finished”, she snapped. “If anything, I mean anything happens to Eris, I will hold you personally responsible, and I'll have your dismembered limbs impaled in my backyard.”

Carmilla giggled, to which Leah snapped and promised her the same fate.

“Now, you're gonna drive us home, and I don't wanna see either of your faces again, at least not until you handled the problem.”

“You can't be serious, you'll be safer here-”, Vlad started.

“Safer ? With you ?” She had a dry laugh. “Well, isn't that the funniest thing you've ever said.”

“At least, stay the night”, he insisted, looking over to me for backup. “I will drive you back as soon as you'd like in the morning.”

She was about to protest, and I caught her arm, interrupting her. “Leah, it's late, we're both tired. Let's just go to sleep, right ?”

She took a second, and gave in, nodding. She insisted we slept together, even though the house had a good number of guest rooms, which was, in retrospect, pretty funny for someone who didn't need sleep. He guided us to the room he had prepared for me, initially. It had to be about half my apartment's size, and included a tower at the corner. Huge bay windows gave onto a balcony giving out a magnificent view over the sea.

Vlad cleared his throat. “You will find a change of clothes in the wardrobe.” Leah gave him another killer look, arms crossed over her chest. He took his leave, but not before placing a light hand on my back.

If you can slip away, I would like to talk to you.

Ah, the most terrifying thing to hear. Despite that, the way his voice filled my mind was warm, and comforting. I silently nodded, and he took his leave, his fingers trailing along my back, almost as if he resented to break contact. As soon as the door closed, Leah had a long sigh, and dropped on the bed.

“I can't believe you kept this to yourself so long”, she told me. She sounded almost hurt. “I mean, why didn't you tell me anything ?”

I joined her on the opposite side, my head laying next to her. “I didn't know how to. I felt you'd be safer if you didn't know.”

“But you weren't !”, she protested. “You could have been hurt, again, all because I had no idea what kind of monster-”

“He's not a monster”, I cut her off, almost without thinking about it.

She took a pause, turning her face towards mine, an expression of disbelief painted over her features, eyebrows furrowed in a way that didn't suit her kind face.

“Eris, please don't tell me you believe that !”

“I do. I'll give you that the conditions of our meeting were, well, less than ideal, but ever since he came here, he did nothing but try to make amends.” She groaned. “Come on”, I insisted. “You've seen it, he's been nothing but kind, and thoughtful, and actually a great help for my thesis.”

“He also eats people, Eris”, she remarked.

“He told me he didn't kill anyone since he got here, and I believe him.”

“Because he actually is trustworthy, or just because you want to believe him?”

By all means, she wasn't wrong. I mean none of her worries were anything I hadn't thought of myself. I sat up, and started un-lacing my bodice.

“You don't know him like I do”, I told her, softly, knowing this wouldn't do anything to convince her. “Let's just go to sleep, for now, I'm exhausted.”

She reluctantly agreed, and we disrobed, significantly faster than we dressed up. I though my corset would be ruined, but only the lacing on the back was cleanly cut, without even a dent in the ivory silk. In the wardrobe, I was almost surprised to find modern clothing. For the most part, he had my sense of style pretty well figured-out. Not finding any underwear was disappointing, as I had followed Leah's advice on not wearing a bra underneath the corset, but also a bit reassuring, to be honest. Leah opted for a simple plaid shirt, that would have been a bit large on me, and therefore fell almost to her knees. I found an oversize black pajama ensemble, made of the softest wooly cotton. I joined Leah under the covers, and didn't have to wait long until she dozed off, her breathing becoming more regular, and calm.

I carefully removed myself from the bed, and slipped into a large dressing gown. I slowly opened the door, trying not to make the floorboards or the hinges creak. I only opened it enough to shuffle through, and exited into the corridor.

The silence was only disturbed by the muffled sound of the waves, and my own breathing. I didn't turn on any lights, as the full moon was well enough to see perfectly well. I wandered back to the living room, and walked to the bay windows. One was open, leaving a cool breeze inside. Wrapping myself tighter in my robe, I stepped outside, wincing at the feeling of cold stone under my feet. Over at the corner of the terrace, Vlad was leaning onto the balustrade, his hair disheveled by the soft wind. He also had a change of clothes, and had only kept his trousers, his shirt, and his cape, thrown over his shoulders. I suspected this was mostly a question of style, as I doubted he could even feel the cold. His gaze seemed lost over the horizon, watching the moon go down on the ocean. As I approached him, he turned his attention to me, smiling.

“I knew you were good at sneaking around.”

“Please, I bet you could hear me breathing from the other side of the house.”

“Breathing, not so much, but I can hear your heart.” He was leaning on his elbow, head cocked to the side. Arrogant. I sighed, and took in the mesmerizing view a moment. No signs of cars, lamps, or electric poles in sight. Only the moon, and the ocean's soothing voices.

“Do you like the house ?”, he asked, softly as not to disturb my reverie.

“I love it.”

He laughed at the speed of my reply. “Well, I hoped you would.” He took a pause. “I am sorry about Leah, however. I know you did not want her dragged into all of this, and because of my blindness, she has-”

Before he could finish, I set the tips of my fingers on his mouth, effectively closing it.

“If anything, it's my fault. I should have told her a while ago, I just never had the courage to do it...”

He took my hand in his, strangely warm, contrary to what I expected. I felt my heart sink into my chest as a question rose to my mind.

“Vlad, I...”, I started, hesitant. He nodded slightly, encouraging me to continue. “What Carmilla said, back on the overlook...”

I became physically incapable of saying one more word, my heart beating out of my chest for no reason. No reason at all.

“You want to know if she was right ?”

Gods, that voice, that deep, silky voice. Maybe it was on purpose that he talked in a hushed tones, maybe to drive me mad, or not outshine the ocean singing below. I nodded, unable to look him in the eyes. He called out my name, barely a whisper. He let go of my hand, only to pull me closer, an arm around my waist, his other hand cupping my cheek. So warm... He took a moment, playing with a strand of my hair, sliding a finger along my jawline, and slowly running his hand along my neck. I couldn't help a gasp as a sharp nail traced over my veins. He hummed, seemingly amused with my reaction.

“Are you still scared of me ?”, he asked.

I couldn't tell if he really spoke, or if I heard him in my mind.

“No”, I breathed out.

Really ?

His lips brushed past mine, then on my jawline, and my neck. In a very poor instinct, I let my head fall back. The somewhat familiar feeling of his sharp teeth on my skin sent shivers down my spine. I closed my eyes.

“I trust you”, I whispered, leaning back onto the balustrade.

He opened his mouth, letting me feel his hot breath on my cold neck. For a second, his fangs pressed against my skin, soon replaced by a kiss, on the crook of my jaw, right below the ear. I giggled, and he closed his arms around my waist. Expectantly, he seemed to wait, for permission. For mercy.

I wasn't too long to grant it. Wrapping my hands around his neck, I closed the final space between us. As soon as my lips touched his, my heart stopped a moment, or several. I felt him sigh a second, and pull me closer. He was slow, intimate, perfect in every way. I felt electricity run through my body. His lips parted mine, and-

Everything was red.

The sea lapping at my ankles, the sky bursting with gold and blood under a starry indigo. Everything was the same as I last left. I turned around, and found him standing back.

“Here ?”

“I told you before, wherever you want to be.”

I ran to him, and threw my hands around his neck, and he wrapped his around me, lifting me off the ground.

“Makes sense it's with you, then”, I whispered, and kissed him again.

~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~

Taglist : @carydorse @angelicdestieldemon @bloodhon3yx @thewondernanazombie @battocar @moony691 @mjlock @thebeautyofdisorder @festering-queen @paracosmfantasy @lost-girl-inc

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zecretsanta · 5 years ago

Text

Fic: Another mission

To: @seen-true-evil From: @eatingfireflies

This isn’t actually very festive, but I hope you have happy holidays, @seen-true-evil!!

Dio and Brother talk; tw for description of a dead body, religious guilt :”D

AO3 link

When angels fell, God needed to lift no finger to punish them. All He did was deny them His presence–their existence made to bask in His light in perfect adoration, to wilt like a plant without the sun.

So with the Myrmidons and so with Dio.

For his most recent infraction, Brother ceased daily communications for a whole month and that was when Dio finally understood what Hell felt like.

They were born for Brother, after all, and a world without Brother was a life with no purpose. Dio had disobeyed the rules before; he’d left the compound without permission numerous times, talked to outsiders unrelated to his mission brief, and drank alcohol with them in pubs. He hadn’t thought talking to a woman was that bad, and she was the one who started talking to him first, but the time for morning commune found Dio with pounding temples and silence from Brother’s end.

Not only Brother, but his brethren were silent as well. No new missions, no invitations to worship together, not a word from the acolytes who brought a tray of food to Dio’s room at regular intervals–as if they would catch Dio’s bad deeds by association. He might have done the same had he been in their shoes and resentment didn’t belong in Free the Soul, but those people didn’t know about Hell. They knew nothing.

A month after the silence, long days and hours spent alone with his thoughts and the comfortless tenets of his beliefs, Dio heard knocking on his door and wondered if the Elders hadcome to tell him about a new level of hell.

Or perhaps they simply meant to kill him; why else would they pay a visit in the middle of the night? Dio hesitated before opening the door and whoever it was remained silent after the initial knock, but he knew the person was still there. And they knew that he knew.

His heart was pounding in his chest when he pulled the door open and he let out a gasp when he saw an old man with dark tinted glasses. Dio stepped out of the way as the man wheeled his chair inside the room.

‘We have a lot to talk about,’ said Brother.

A long time ago–more than a century, in fact–there was a man who loved his brother. But his brother was impulsive and short tempered, and no one was surprised when he was murdered.

Delta hadn’t been surprised either. The authorities ruled his brother’s death as suicide, but the truth was whispered among those who feared for their own lives. Standing alone in the morgue and staring at the bruised and bloodied corpse of his brother–teeth missing from a mouth that would never smile again, death-clouded eyes that remained open as if in silent accusation–he swore he would bring the world down with him if he had to.

Dio had never talked to Brother in person before. The Elders said he was old and nearing death–the man in front of him might be getting on in years, but he seemed spry enough. Logic would dictate this was not Brother, perhaps a stand-in or an impostor, but the man hadn’t actually introduced himself as Brother. Dio had simply known, the idea lodged in his brain without him realising.

'But we have already talked about a lot of things,’ said Brother. 'Have we not?’

'Not in the past month,’ said Dio. He couldn’t keep the anger from his voice and he didn’t care. 'No.’

'Indeed.’ There might have been a trace of a smile on Brother’s lips. 'And did you learn anything in that month?’

Dio had been wondering what to do with himself; standing over Brother felt rude but as very few members have ever seen Brother in the flesh there was no protocol on what they were supposed to do in his presence.

'I–’

'You may sit down,’ said Brother.

Pulling out his desk chair to face Brother, Dio wondered if the man could read minds.

'How do you think we’ve been talking to each other all these years?’ said Brother, with a real smile this time.

'You know everything about me,’ said Dio. He found more shame than comfort in the thought, no matter how Brother was supposed to be accepting of all flaws and impartial in his love.

'I won’t say I can read personalities,’ said Brother.

'But the All-Knowing–’

'The human flesh is not only a burden but a limitation.’ Hearing Brother’s voice felt strange after many years of conversing with him mentally. Where Brother’s mental voice was detached, his physical voice sounded more expressive and had an urgency Dio felt the need to reciprocate. 'A problem we share, it seems.’

The idea of Brother having flaws was verging on heresy and Dio wondered once more if he was dealing with an impostor.

'Faith spreads like an idea.’ Brother shook his head. 'Like stories. They must change in the telling to better fit the audience. An omnipotent and omniscient god gives people comfort, and that’s why such a god exists.’

'You’re not fooling me,’ said Dio. 'I won’t be swayed from the faith.’

Brother didn’t say anything and Dio was having a hard time reading his expression–he didn’t even know where the old man was looking because of his glasses. There was perhaps a downward tilt in the line of Brother’s mouth, but Dio couldn’t be sure.

Dio rested his forehead on one hand, letting his hair obscure his face. 'I didn’t mean to do any of that.’

'And what was it you meant?’ Had Brother sounded angry, much like the Elders whenever Dio broke the rules, Dio would have laughed and made excuses. But Brother was patient and seemed truly interested in what Dio had to say for himself.

'Once we have achieved our goals I wouldn’t make those stupid mistakes any more,’ said Dio.

'Is that what you want?’

Dio sat up straight and looked at Brother in the eye–or at least what would have been his eyes had they not been obscured. 'I never wanted to disappoint you.’

There were many things Brother could say that would hurt and Dio braced himself against sharp words, but the old man only nodded.

'You were all made in the likeness of my brother, you know that,’ he said. 'In homogeneity I thought you would find harmony, but it appears you are perfect in your imperfection.’

'What do you–’

Brother turned away from Dio, facing the side of Dio’s room where a window would have been had it not been bricked up to prevent him from sneaking out. 'You’re too similar to Left.’

Righteous anger was a powerful drug and caught in its grip, Delta had a hard time trusting other humans. After all, they were the ones who killed Left, who obscured the truth about his death, and who did nothing to bring the case to justice. The world was already a hostile place, but with the anger came hatred and little room for sympathy.

He stood at a distance because that’s where society had pushed him, and he watched humans live their lives with something close to scorn.

Decades later, after many discarded lives and new bodies, Delta learned he could wrap Left’s memory in living flesh and wondered about the possibilities. Where would his microcosm of a hostile world take a life that ended too early?

Could he create what could have been?

'There is something I need you to do,’ said Brother.

This was familiar territory. As a Myrmidon, Dio had a lot of experience receiving mission briefs from the Elders, but he’d never heard of Brother giving them directly to operatives. He stood up and bowed, hoping Brother wouldn’t notice his shaking hands. 'I listen and I am yours to command.’

'Jumal will brief you on the details later,’ said Brother, referring to one of the Elders. 'But I want you to understand how important this mission is to the cause.’

'Yes, Brother.’ The teachings of Free the Soul placed the human personality in the brain, but Dio wasn’t sure about that. He didn’t think the cold wash of sadness that made it hard for him to breathe was something he felt in his brain.

'Only you can do it.’ Brother reached out and placed a hand on Dio’s still bent head.

Dio gasped when he realised the sadness was coming from Brother. The weight of it almost bringing Dio to his knees and he had a hard time focusing on Brother as he spoke of a metal compound in the moon, the plans Dio needed to disrupt.

In the back of Dio’s mind, he kept hearing whispers of apology in Brother’s voice.

Be it a human clone or a robot child, the subject needed to face various and increasing levels of adversity or the experimental study would be incomplete; Delta knew this. The chances of the subject surviving this mission was low and the thought had made him pause before giving the subject his order, the once-familiar taste of sorrow settling at the tip of his tongue.

Perhaps death was an inevitability for Left after all.

#zero escape #virtue's last reward #seen-true-evil #eatingfireflies #zecret santa 2019

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rawresparza · 6 years ago

Note

Prompt where Sonny and Rafael are reunited after a long time apart?

This is actually something I partly wrote and never finished after The Undiscovered Country and right before I started writing my Never Been Kissed AU. If you’ve read that, you might be able to tell where some of the overlap was when it comes to Professor Barba but I figured I’d rework and add stuff to finish this piece for the fill. I hope you enjoy it!

–

It’s been a year.

Twelve whole months have passed since Rafael Barba had walked away from the District Attorney’s office and out of Sonny Carisi’s life. Sonny hadn’t intended to let so much time escape him. Space, he’d told himself, it’d be best to give Rafael a little bit of space after everything, after West Virginia

(“I screwed up, I know I did. I’m not asking you to forget about it but I’m asking you to forgive me when you’re ready because I’m not letting you go again without a fight.”

“I need you to give me time. I need space.”)

and all the borderline self-sabotage

(“What’s going on with you? You’ve been off since–”

“Since what? Say it. Let’s see if we can get to the root of the problem, Detective.”)

and the trial

(“I can’t just not be there for you.”

“I’m asking you to stay away. I can’t have you there, I just can’t.”)and the resignation Rafael had never told him about directly. He’d learned about it from Liv the next day and Sonny can’t remember ever feeling more like his heart had been ripped out of his chest.

Give him time, give him space, Sonny had thought to himself. Time and space, time and space, so much of both have been given and he’s not in any better a position for it. Eventually, he’d hoped the time and space would be good for himself, for moving on, for erasing Rafael Barba from his memory altogether; but Rafael Barba is not so easily forgettable and Sonny had known that all along.

He’d only meant to give it a couple days at the start but a couple days had turned into a couple weeks, a couple months, and Rafael hadn’t reached out to him, either. Every time Sonny had asked Liv how Rafael was doing, she‘d give him that same unimpressed look over the glasses perched her nose and say, “He’d be better if you asked him that yourself.”He hadn’t. Sonny doesn’t know whether he’d made the choice not to out of hurt or pure stubbornness. Maybe he’d hoped it was all one big game of chicken, Rafael would break first and then Sonny could tease him about it for the rest of their happy lives because one day, it would become an anecdote designed for people who asked them how they got together.

He’d been wrong. It’s been agony.

The days still feel emptier in Rafael’s absence. Sonny misses hearing that low voice, melodic in its cadence and soothing to the ear; he misses the blatant ignorance of personal space, the mutual game they’d played of toeing the line of how far they could go without making actual physical contact with each other. An accidental (or maybe not so accidental) brush of their fingers had been tantamount to sexual intimacy, the tension between them so palpable and thick, Sonny had always been near paranoid they’d be called out on it in the middle of a meeting. He wants that back. He can’t, he can’t have it, not what they’d had; but as he stares at a photo of Rafael on his phone, a candid one he’d taken ages ago after Arielle had ended their relationship with a single telephone call and they’d gone out for a drink together after work, Sonny thinks about what they could have now. They wouldn’t have to tiptoe around each other anymore, not with the conflict of interest keeping them apart very much out of the way. That’s hardly the only thing that’d been an obstacle, of course, they’d both made mistakes when it came to figuring out what they meant to each other, but Rafael is the one who’d walked away for good. Sonny wishes that could be enough to turn his back on this, on feelings that he’s carried with him for so many years, but it’s not so easy to turn that off. Even if he thought he could, Sonny knows he’d never be able to do it on his own.

Closure.

They’d never gotten it with each other. if Sonny could build up that courage, say the things he’s said to Rafael but only in dreams, he’d know for sure. He thinks he’d at least be able to find some peace. After Arielle had left him, Sonny had felt a distinct sense of relief, which in turn had spurred an onset of guilt because he knows that even when they’d been together, he hadn’t been faithful to her, not emotionally. He’s been forgiven for it in confession but that doesn’t mean he’s forgiven himself. Sonny had let Rafael get under his skin, into his heart, and even after twelve months gone, the man is still there. When he closes his eyes at night, Sonny’s mind taunts him with every manner of “what if” scenario it can come up with, and it’s not every day but it’s enough that he still looks at Stone with a faint level of resentment that should’ve retired itself a long time ago. It shouldn’t be this hard, Sonny thinks, but he hasn’t even been able to fully convince himself that’s the truth. Some days, he catches Liv talking to Stone with a faraway look on her face, like she knows the brick wall she’s talking to would’ve been much more pliable had it belonged to someone else. They meet eyes sometimes, a silent acknowledgment of what they’d lost passing between them, even though Sonny has never once admitted to her out loud that his feelings for Rafael have always run deeper than respect and admiration for a colleague. She’d known, she’d known for a long time, and she’s hinted to him as recently as yesterday that Rafael would probably appreciate a familiar face going to visit him. “The semester’s starting tomorrow at NYU,” she’d commented, and it’d sound off-handed to anyone else listening, but Sonny had known better. “He’s nervous. I’d stop over to say hello, but I’m buried in paperwork. Too bad.”So that’s how Sonny had ended up here at NYU Law, with a paper bag filled with Rafael’s favorite Chinese take-out, the same dishes they’d shared the last time they’d dined together at One Hogan Place, poring over files for a case Sonny had proudly helped him win. The second he’d stepped foot on campus, he’d immediately felt a sense of dread so strong he’d been tempted to give up on his mission and eat the whole damn bag of food himself. He barely remembers how he’d ended up outside the doors to Rafael’s class, it’s like his feet had carried him here against his will and better judgment, but here he stands and even though he has every chance to walk away, Sonny knows there’s no going back.

He’d hoped to slip into the lecture hall unnoticed, to remain a fly on the wall so he can observe Rafael teach because he still can’t quite picture it. Rafael Barba, the man who’d barely been able to stomach being shadowed at first, a lecturer? Even if he’d had no other motive for being here, Sonny would’ve come to see that alone. His plan is derailed by the scrape of the heavy mahogany door against old tile that prompts every head in the room to turn to look at him, some expressions noting annoyance and others relief that might’ve been a little bit hilarious if Sonny weren’t currently flushing red with mortification. His eyes search the curious faces of the students still watching him until they find Rafael, at the head of the class, sitting at the edge of his desk with his mouth forming a perfect “O.” This image of him is perfect. It almost makes it seem as if no time has passed at all because Sonny knows that posture, the tilt of one shoulder above the other and the quizzical expression and the way those eyes shine in the sunlight that hits him just right.

There are hints to what’s changed, of course: Rafael’s face looks a little slimmer, Sonny notes, and the three-piece suit is absent in favor of a simple blue button-up that complements his sun-kissed skin and what looks to be a wool tie, paired with well-fitting jeans that just slightly emphasize the still present belly that Sonny has imagined exploring with his fingertips and mouth more than once. Rafael looks good, healthy, somehow better than he had since the last time Sonny had seen him. Even from the back of the room, Sonny can see the patches of gray that have grown a little longer, a little more noticeable. He looks every part the college professor, it’s uncanny, and Sonny nearly drops the paper bag of food in his hand until he manages to stop staring and slip into an empty seat. Rafael, for his part, manages to recover perfectly, as if Sonny’s grand entrance hadn’t affected him at all. For a moment, Sonny lets himself worry over whether there might actually be some truth to that.“Okay, as I was saying: near the end of our semester, each of you will pair up with another student and choose a case that did not result in a guilty verdict. It’ll be your jobs to convince me why the verdict should be overturned. I’ll only say this once: my case is off limits. Don’t be the funny guy who tries to pull it off. This project is worth fifty percent of your grade and if you try to be that funny guy, you’ll be asked to leave and stay gone. I will fail you out of this class no matter how well you were doing. Are we clear on that?”A wave of affirmative murmurs sound from the students around him but all Sonny can do is cringe, sickened by the thought of anyone trying to catch Rafael off-guard with a presentation of his own case. It’s a fair warning, one that likely needs to be given, which is disappointing in itself. He shifts uncomfortably in his seat, his hand still gripping the take-out bag and now tightly enough his knuckles turn white, as he considers the fact that he has questions about the case himself that he’d never had the chance to ask. Maybe he’ll still get a chance, or maybe Rafael will just tell him to get the hell out of his face. “Good.” Rafael pauses, his gaze briefly landing on Sonny again before he clears his throat and pushes himself off his desk, waving a hand dismissively. “We’re running a little early but it’s the first day, I’ll be generous. First two chapters of the book by next session, be ready to discuss. Class dismissed.”Rafael turns his back on the class and, subsequently, Sonny, who waits until the shuffling of papers turns into the shuffling of footsteps and eventually, that damn door groans back into place with the exit of the last student and they’re left alone. His back is still turned but Rafael has stopped moving, the curve of his shoulders tense, like he’s ready to turn around but can’t find the strength to do it. Pressing his lips into a thin line, Sonny makes his choice, standing from his seat and crossing the room until he’s standing close enough behind Rafael to smell the familiar scent of sandalwood and fresh soap that he hadn’t even realized he’d missed so much until right this second. “I don’t even get a ‘hi’?” Sonny asks. His tone isn’t mocking, not sarcastic, it’s just barely teasing, but Rafael finally turns to face him with an unexpected, mildly pained expression and a sad smile. Letting out a deep breath, Rafael sighs, “Hi.” He swallows, eyes darting between his shoes and Sonny. “I didn’t expect to see you.”“Today?”Rafael shrugs. “Or ever. It’s been awhile.”“You could’ve called.”“You could have, too.”“I wanted to.”Rafael seems to take that at face value and nods. Sonny had expected more of a fight; he can’t decide yet whether or not this is better. “So did I.”“Well, I’m here now,” Sonny says, giving the nearly forgotten bag in his hand a little shake. “I brought your favorites.”“You remembered?”“Of course I did.” Sonny tilts his head, searching Rafael’s eyes, though he’s not sure what he expects to find. “Rafael, of course I did. It’s been a year, not sixty.”“A year is still a long time,” Rafael all but murmurs, turning back to the mess of folders and papers on his desk. Sonny doesn’t even understand how Rafael could’ve made such a big mess during the course of an introductory first day of class, but he doesn’t say anything about it and anyway, it’s no different than the typical state of his desk at One Hogan. He lets Rafael gather his things, watching the rise and fall and twist of his shoulders, wanting so desperately to reach out to smooth away the tension still present there. Instead, he stands still, practically holding his breath until Rafael’s briefcase is packed and there’s nothing left to do but leave. “My office isn’t as big as the old one was,” Rafael finally says, a small, good-natured smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. It’s familiar. The wave of relief that washes over Sonny is so strong, it nearly knocks him over. “But if you don’t mind the close quarters, I’ve got a couple hours before I need to be anywhere else.”

“Trust me,” Sonny says, “I don’t mind at all.”

—Rafael is right, the office is smaller, much smaller, so small that Sonny isn’t even certain they’ll both fit into it comfortably until he’s found a seat in a chair close enough to Rafael’s their knees touch when they both sit. “Is this an office or a utility closet?” Sonny asks, laughing when he earns himself a patented eye roll. “I warned you,” Rafael counters, snatching the bag of food out of Sonny’s hands and setting it down on what just barely passes a desk. He removes the food from the bag item by item, inspecting every dish with a nod of approval before moving on to the next one, a line of concentration creasing his brow and his tongue just slighting protruding from between his lips. It’s a look Sonny had last seen directed at case files and with a quick glance around the office, walls lined with bookshelves already stacked ceiling to floor with various titles he barely recognizes, he’s reminded of how much Rafael’s life has changed over the last year. His own had felt different because it’d been lacking this man; but for Rafael, it hadn’t just been a missing few conversations. It’d been everything. “So how’s it going with Stone?” Rafael asks. “Liv says it took some adjusting at first but last I talked to her, it sounded like things had settled down.”“He’s not you,” Sonny tells him simply, and the silence that falls between them both is and isn’t unexpected.

Rafael is the first to break, reaching for a pair of chopsticks as he forces a weak smile. “That’s probably for the best.”

Sonny wants to argue with that. He wants to get to his feet and shout that Rafael is wrong, that there could never be anyone like him and that’s not a good thing and he shouldn’t have left the squad behind, he shouldn’t have left Sonny behind. The temptation is there, it’s strong, but it fades at the sight of Rafael’s downcast eyes and hunched shoulders. Yes, he looks good, but he also looks tired, in a different kind of way than when everything had gone down. This isn’t just fatigue, it’s a general wariness, a heaviness that Sonny isn’t sure ever really goes away.

“I’ve missed you.”

Rafael looks up sharply, chopsticks held halfway to parted lips. Sonny hadn’t meant to say it, not out loud, at least not yet. He’d come here in hopes to mend this broken thing between them, to start fresh without starting over, even it meant they’d need to move slowly.

But he’s spent the better part of the last year denying his feelings—hell, he’s been doing that since the day they’d met

“I try not to think about you but I do,” he says, the confession spilling out of him.

Rafael says nothing, just calmly sets his chopsticks down, but the simple action almost makes Sonny feel like he’s on the wrong side of an interrogation room. His words come faster, as if he’s running against a clock and if he doesn’t get out everything he needs to say, Rafael will have him booted from the room without a second thought.

“We were headed somewhere, you and me, before everything went down. You can try to deny but I know you felt it, too.” Sonny pauses, realizing in the split second he does that he’s offering up Rafael the chance to put a stop to this, to keep him from humiliating himself, but Rafael only watches him with a too blank expression. “Things were messy but they were getting better. I thought they were. Then you left and you didn’t say a damn thing about it to me, Rafael. I tried to forget about you but you’re always there. Always. Sometimes I still almost dial your number to ask you about cases we’re working on, or to ask if you want me to bring you coffee, or just to tell you I’ve been thinking about you and I wish things could go back to the way they were before we stopped talking for a year.”

He’s breathing harder now, nearly out of breath from an unplanned speech that doesn’t sound as great as he’d hoped it would now that he runs it back in his head. At some point, Sonny had fixed his gaze on one of the egg rolls laid out on the table but he forces himself to look up at Rafael, his stomach churning over the thought of how horribly this could end.

“I didn’t think you’d want to see me.”

Sonny hears Rafael’s voice, he hears those words, but the corners of his mouth turn downward into a puzzled frown because he can’t make sense of it.

“Why the hell would you think that?”

“Because I didn’t want to see me, mostly,” Rafael admits. He bites down on his lip, so hard Sonny thinks he might draw blood, then runs a hand over his stubbled cheek. “After the trial, I realized I didn’t like the person I’d become. I felt jaded, you know? And I’ve been jaded for years but not like that. Something didn’t feel right anymore, the job didn’t give me what I needed anymore. I didn’t intend to leave at first, Sonny, I really didn’t. I thought I could be the guy who stuck it out through anything but I wasn’t. I’m not. I think… I think a big part of me was too afraid to tell you that. You’ve always looked at me like I was so much more than I really am, I was too selfish to risk losing that.”

“So you just walked away?” Sonny doesn’t mean for the question to come out sounding like it does. It’s just that he hadn’t expected this, he hadn’t expected Rafael to tell him the only reason he’d left without a word was to preserve the way Sonny had viewed him. Sonny can’t deny that he’s always seen Rafael as someone larger than life, someone who’d seemed capable of anything and even when he wasn’t, he still held his head high and stayed ready to take on the next impossible task.

“I didn’t think I’d let things go between us for so long,” Rafael says. “Every time I thought about calling, I couldn’t bring myself to do it. There’s so much I wanted to say to you, I still do, but I felt like a different person after the trial. I wanted to be myself for you but I didn’t know how.”

Feeling like he’d lost that drive must have been such a blow to Rafael. It hurts Sonny to know that, it makes his chest tight, makes him want to take Rafael’s hand in his own right now and god, he’s gone and done it. He’s holding Rafael’s hand and Rafael isn’t pulling away and the rest of the world seems to fade around them. Sonny traces one of the veins on the back of Rafael’s hand with his thumb, waiting for a reaction, any reaction. He’s relieved when Rafael melts into the touch, eyes fluttering shut at the first physical contact between them in over a year. It’s more satisfying than anything Sonny could have hoped for in making this trip. If nothing else, this moment is worth it all.

“I couldn’t let another day go by without seeing you,” Sonny tells him. He watches Rafael’s bottom lip tremble then steady. “I came because I thought maybe we could both get some closure but come on, Rafael. Nothing’s changed, not really, not between us. Nothing’s ever going to change. I am always going to want you.”

Rafael sighs, though there seems to be a spark of hope behind his uncertainty. “So what, you want to start over?”

“No,” Sonny tells him, ignoring the flicker of disappointment in Rafael’s eyes. “No, Rafael, I want to pick up where we left off. I don’t need to start over, I already know how exactly I feel about you. What I want to do is take you out then take you home with me so I can make sure you know, too.”

A smile blooms over Rafael’s face, reaching his eyes and making him look ten years younger in no time at all. He nods, squeezing Sonny’s hand. “You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting to hear that.”

“I think I do,” Sonny says, brushing his lips over Rafael’s knuckles. “So let’s not waste any more time.”

#ask and answer #prompt fill #barisi #sonny carisi #rafael barba #svu #writing #my stuff #formatting is so messed up on my phone but fine on desktop #if it's messed up for you let me know and i will try to fix r.i.p.

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