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burnedbyshoto · 4 years ago

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my hero

— Walking alone in the middle of the night isn’t the best of ideas, but that’s okay, you had a hero waiting to save you.

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pairing: kirishima eijirou x fem!reader

warnings: 18+, smut, pwp, exhibitionism, strangers fucking, dirty talk, praise, belly bulge, attempted kidnapping

word count: 5,197

a/n: and we’re back! sorry for the super late uploads, I hope you can forgive me. pls enjoy, I had fun writing it :D

kinktober day 18 main kink: exhibitionism | kinktober masterlist

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You really needed to stop walking the streets so late at night.

It was a bad habit you’ve grown in the past few months. Your building anxiety and untouched, restless energy made you bounce around your apartment. But you didn’t go anywhere, couldn’t do anything but pace from corner to corner.

The wood of your apartment floor must have been streaked with the dye of your socks, and you swore you could see the small indents from where you drag your feet to and fro your wall. The restless energy you had was untouchable, and your friends soon became worried about you. Eventually, after one night of taking a new 5,000 steps in the small living room of your apartment, your friend said to go for a run.

Sure, it was six in the evening, and yeah, maybe the spring night was cold, but Jesus fuck please, your pacing made them anxious. So, that’s how you began your journey of running at night because your once six pm runs evolved into eleven pm jogs. You had always been one to carry your pepper spray in your pocket and had a concealed sharp key in your fist as you ran. You were still prepared, even if you never ran into a situation that caused you to need either item.

But tonight was different as it always was.

You were dressed in your black joggers and a dark grey sweatshirt.

The slight chill of the fall night barely seeping into your skin that was hot with your exhaustion. It was late out, and as you went from a jogging pace and slowed into a stroll as you entered the park approximately two blocks away from your home, you stopped.

Stretching your arms over your head, you stretched out your slightly sore limbs and took in the tranquility of the park at night.

The park was a beautiful one, in your opinion.

It was thick with trees; every ten steps you took, there was a new tree. Wooden benches and picnic tables littered the floor and winding concrete everywhere, showing just how great the place could be to enjoy while the sun was out. There was a playground by the entrance you came through and a basketball court at the gate you exit from.

Altogether, it was beautiful and simple.

But as you pressed the sleeve of your sweatshirt to your forehead, wiping the beaded sweat on your skin, you froze when you heard the sound of leaves crunching behind you.

You froze as you turned around, your eyes wide and lips falling open when you saw a man stumbling toward you. There was no reason to panic, probably, you thought as he looked occupied on his own phone, his head down, his steps quick and focused. But there was no denying the small, almost horrible feeling that pooled into your stomach as you watched him approach nearer and nearer.

You grabbed the pepper spray that was in your pocket as a premature, ready to fight movement, your feet moving to get out of the path in case he tried to do anything. Your breathing was soft, not entirely too loud, but to you, It seemed to ring loudly in your ears as he got nearer and nearer.

He passed by you, his eyes not even trying to look your way as he went one step, two steps, three steps away from you. You wanted to sigh in relief about your stupid freak out; of course, it was nothing, it was always nothing, so there was no reason for you to freak out. But then he stopped, and you were too late to see the twitch in his shoulder, the way he spun around faster than you could scream and tackled you to the floor.

His hands were all over you, grabbing you, shoving his dirty, grimey hand into your mouth to silence you, fisting into your mouth so that even your biting, snapping closed jaw was stupid weak against him. Tears welled in your eyes as his knee buried into the center of your lungs, shortening your breaths as you struggled to get the pepper spray from your pocket.

You found that you couldn't.

You couldn't grab the canister from inside your pocket as the man's smile grew wider, terribly cunning as you struggled to do all that you could to get him off you.

Pathetic.

Useless.

Weak.

Tears began to stream from your eyes, the fear that twisted and rotted in your stomach festering like a stench as you cried against his fisted hand. You wouldn't be heard, wouldn't be seen. You were being assaulted with no way of being saved because no one went out here this late at night. You cursed your inability to do anything on time, cried that your dumb anxiety only felt better after running for an hour, and your lungs burned with the slowly depleting oxygen coming to your veins.

But just as your eyes were beginning to close, your hope and ability to wish for the best outcome was simmering into nothing but ashes and smoke, something large, hard, and fast knocked onto the man on top of you. You gasped for air as you immediately turned onto your side, your hands and knees buried into the dirt floor as you gasped and choked for air.

There, finally, was the sweet taste of grass and nature that filled your senses, but your watering eyes fell onto your attacker and the... the man?!

Your savior was another man.

His red hair still somehow easily discernible in the darkness of the night, and his large, strong muscled body absolutely punching and keeping your attacker down.

"What the fuck is your problem, man?!" your savior demanded, his hand grabbing the hair of your attacker and slamming his bruised and swollen face to the ground, the win most obviously won by your savior. You looked at the anger-fueled rage on your saviors’ face, the way his eyebrows were knitted together, and how his lips were pulled back into an angry snarl. The fight had been obviously won by your savior, and you couldn’t help but keep staring as the workout clothes clad savior took a few more deep, almost shaky breaths before he turned his gaze onto you. “H-Hey? Are you okay? Call the police, and I’ll keep on this bastard!”

“I-I’m fine!” your voice rasps, your hand rising shakily from the floor to softly rub your tender throat. “I’m fine, it’s okay! You can let him go!”

Your savior freezes, his eyes looking at you like you’re batshit crazy, and honestly, you probably are, but you don’t want to deal with writing up a police report or anything of that. It just wasn’t worth it since you ended up okay.

“You… do you want me to let him go?” your savior asks again, his eyebrows shot up, obviously not buying your words in the slightest.

You nod your head, you collapse down so that you’re sitting on your knees. Exhaustion is slamming into your body post the sudden demanding rush of adrenaline.

“It’s okay, I’m okay,” you smile weakly as your red-headed savior frowns. He sighs, obviously not in agreement with what you wanted to do, but he turned his attention back down to your attacker, who was still struggling against his weight and strength.

“You’re going to get the fuck out of here, or else I won’t hesitate to kick your ass and call the cops myself,” the man snapped, shoving the man further into the ground for good measure before climbing off of him. The red-headed angel walked in front of you. His considerable height incredibly intimidating to even you as the man on the floor wheezed before running off, his tail between his legs until the echo of his feet hitting the grass can no longer be heard.

“Wow, that was crazy,” he spoke softly to the wind, his hands resting on his hips before he turned his head to look at you, his eyes wide with concern. Even with the minimal light of the light post in the park and the moonlight that barely pierced through the canopy of tree leaves, you could see as clear as day that your savior was handsome. There was a scar over his right eye, and his red hair was styled and pushed back with a bandana. He had a windbreaker on and gym shorts but still looked ridiculously handsome. He turned to face you, crouching as he spoke, “Hey, are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you flush, your eyes dropping to your dirt-covered hands that rest on your lap. “I’m fine now, at least. That was pretty scary, I have to admit.”

“Fuck, I bet,” the man agreed, his head nodding as he drops onto his butt. “I’m glad I decided to come through the park to get to my car today. Typically I walk all the way around this park.”

Indeed seemed like fate, you thought, your smile spreading small and thin on your face. “I was running; it helps with my restless energy. But, this is the first time anything like that has happened.”

“I’m sorry that had to happen at all,” he frowned, his face full of genuine remorse and guilt. “That was entirely cowardly of that asshole to do; I’m glad you weren’t hurt, though.”

“Ah, I got thick skin,” you slightly joke, enjoying the way the sweet smile spread on his face. Remembering your manners, your eyes shut, your head shaking slightly at your rudeness. “Um, I’m y/l/n y/n, though. Thank you for saving me from whatever that could have become.”

“Kirishima Eijirou!” the man cheerfully introduced himself too. “And it was no problem; literally, any good person would have done what I did!”

Modesty was somehow disgustingly, hotly attractive on the large, muscular stranger, and you wet your lips as you stretched your body closer to his. “It wasn’t just ‘no problem,’ though,” you state, matter-of-factly. “You quite literally saved my life; you’re a hero. You’re my hero.”

Although you couldn’t see the color flushing against his skin, you were without a doubt that he was blushing as profoundly as his hair if the riddled embarrassment in his eyes and face had anything to say about it.

“I-I, oh, aha, um, well, that’s very kind of you to say! I was just trying to be a manly guy, and really that was nothing?” Kirishima embarrassingly rambled, his hand rubbing the back of his neck as you found yourself drawing nearer and nearer to him.

Your warm hand found itself pressing onto his strong knee, your upper body leaning even closer to his flustered state. His eyes were shifting everywhere, not quite looking at you, but would linger on your body as you drew nearer and nearer. For some reason, you couldn’t help the jarring sense of attraction you had for your hero before you, the way the familiar warmth in between your legs made your voice hum as you grew nearer.

You wanted to show him just how grateful you were to have had him saving your life.

“That was nothing? You saving my life was nothing?” you tease, your words slow and thick on your tongue as you find yourself by his side, mouth brushing teasingly soft against his jaw.

“W-Well, of course not! It was a valuable life, don’t get me wrong! It’s just me doing that was nothing! I’m no hero!” Kirishima stammered, his voice in a soft whine as goosebumps flashed across his neck, where your breaths warmed his skin.

“Hm, that’s too bad,” you whisper, your tongue wetting your lips as you drew in closer. Your heart was hammering loudly in your ears, but you didn’t care, way too transfixed on the way the heat emitting from between your legs demanded Kirishima’s cock. “I like showing my gratitude to heroes in the world, ya know?”

His face finally turned to you, his wide eyes meeting your half-lidded ones in an electric gaze. No one spoke; only the softly chirping crickets and the wind brushing through the leaves made noises.

“Y-Yeah?” he whimpered out, his voice weak and caused great pleasure to crawl down your spine. “How do ya’ suppose you show your gratitude?”

You hum, thinking about it, but as the adrenaline from your attack finally was replaced with the blatant, blistering want for the huge red-headed man before you. You find yourself straddling his lap, slowly sinking onto him. Your knees once more buried into the soft, dewy grass of the park.

Your arms wrap around his neck, his eyes wide and incredibly expressive as his large hand’s press to your waist.

“Any way you crave me,” you speak with finality, placing the future of your actions into his hands.

“Holy fuck,” Kirishima curses, and without a second more of hesitation, his lips and mouth are crashing against yours.

There’s something unworldly attractive about making out with a practical stranger in the middle of a public park at nearly midnight. Your hands move possessively against his back, fingers digging into his fabric as he draws you nearer, your torso pushed tight against his. His lips move expertly against yours, the sharp points of his teeth dragging and biting into your bottom lip until he pulls away, your lip in his teeth, his eyes dark and full of lust. That lasts less than a few seconds as you’re back on him, mouth desperate against his, tongue curling into his mouth to move languidly, possessively against his.

His body radiates heat, the warmth of his body quickly seeping past the sweaty thickness of your own sweatshirt as your hips begin to roll against his growing bulge.

“S-Shit,” he gasps, your lips trailing down his hot neck, his throat muscles clenching as he gulps. Your smirk against his skin, sucking and nibbling on a concentrated spot as he helps you to roll your hips against his hot, thick length. “I-I don’t live nearby; it’ll be a bit of a drive.”

“I’m two blocks away,” you confess, pulling away from the dark purple and red bruise on his neck that makes you drunk with lust. “But I don’t think I can make it.”

Kirishima splutters, his hips instinctively bucking against your slowly throbbing core that sends your teeth biting into his thick skin again. “Do you wanna, fuckk… Are we gonna—?”

“Don’t tell me my hero is afraid to fuck in public?” you tease, your hands traveling down his tight, muscular torso. You admire the way you can feel his trembling abs against your hands, and you grin when his head dips backward when your fingers find their way against the waistband of his sweats, your weight shifting harshly against his cock as you tease along his upper crotch. “It’s late. No one’s around. I got a strong man to protect me. And I want him now,” you speak against his jaw, your lips pressing hot kisses between every sentence.

You notice that his eyes are red as your lips come up to brush against his, teasing the both of you as neither of you moves to seal your fates. Your position on the situation needs to be resolved, needing an answer from him.

“Whatcha gonna do, big guy?” you asked, lips ghosting against his, and at that moment, you shiver at the way his pupils expand to the edges of his iris.

His mouth is against yours in a renewed passion, lips pressing and pushing fervorously against yours, making you tremble in his arms, completely lust-taken. You kiss him back with equal force, hips rolling against his in your accepted need.

“Fuck, you know what you’re doing, huh?” Kirishima gasps the moment you grind your increasingly wet cunt against his mountain bulge in a way that has his hips snapping up towards yours. You laugh, teeth pressing onto his lower lip and pulling away, eyes focused on his through the curtain of your lashes before you let go of his lip.

“I aim to please,” you bat your lashes, your hands working their way under the waistband of his shorts. “Now, you want me to suck your dick, or what?”

You had never seen a man’s face go through such wild, intense agreement. The blackened look in his eyes and the way a shiver so obviously tittered down his spine had you smiling like a champion.

Mouths came back together in a blazing, needing kiss; you shift up onto your knees, the kiss becoming a clash of sharp teeth and simmering tongues. Blindly, your hands come down to his shorts and assist him in getting his pants off. Shock and amusement rushing through you the second you feel the top of his cock slap the back of your ass. The heat emitting from the skin burning through your own layer of clothes.

With your lips sucking onto his tongue, your hand moves behind you, grasping and pushing the throbbing, thick cock between your ass cheeks. And for a moment, for a few painfully slow grinds, you press him to your ass as you grind against him. Kirishima moans loudly, his hands shifting all over your body, fingers rubbing your skin from the dips of your hips to your soaking wet cunt.

The air is static, disgustingly hot that you swear with the heaving, panting breaths emitted from both of your mouths, you swear you can see the condensation.

“C’mon baby,” Kirishima rasps, his tongue finally permitted back into his mouth, his teeth sinking into the soft flesh of your throat. “I thought you were going to suck my dick?”

“What if I don’t want to anymore?” you gasp, your eyes fluttering closed, your thumb that is on his cock pressing onto the slit of his dripping cock. “What if I want you in me now?”

“Suck my dick with that pretty little mouth of yours, and I promise you — your hero promises you that I’ll fuck you better then any other fucker has,” Kirishima grunts into your skin, his biting kisses bruising your skin.

Well, you didn’t need to be told twice.

You shift backward, the tip of his pre-cum leaking cockhead spreading his pre-cum all over your own leggings. But that doesn’t faze you, nor do you care enough as you finally get to see the near monstrosity of a cock Kirishima has.

Long, thick, veiny, and with curly soft black pubes.

“Not a natural redhead?” you tease, your body leaning down, making sure to accentuate your breasts as you begin to slowly stroke his thick length. Kirishima can only shake his head as your tongue pokes out to give his swollen head a kitten lick. “Mm, I bet you look hot with black hair too.”

There’s no room for a second opinion for your mouth sinks entirely onto his length, just enough to be the slightest bit uncomfortable, but the results were immediate. Kirishima’s head slammed to the wood of the tree, his hands gripping your head as you bobbed against his length. The musk and scent of his dick were strong yet pleasant. You found yourself sinking lower and lower onto his size, pleased with the way he was tearing into his bottom lip to keep his ringing moans from being heard, his fingers tugging at the roots of your hair as he meets your sinking mouth in sloppy, restrained thrusts.

Your tongue traced the bulging veins on his length, swirling and twisting around his girth, a desperate attempt to show that his size didn’t scare you, that you were taking him all in. But his lust clouded gaze on you thrilled you. The pure, unadulterated passion that settled on his eyes and gaze made you shiver; he was so responsive, moaning, and gasping for you in every right action you made. But you want to get bigger, bolder reactions out of him, and closing your jaw just the slightest bit, you let your lower teeth scrape just gently against his sensitive skin.

The result was immediate, and much wanted.

Despite the immediate relaxation of your jaw and throat, Kirishima burying his entire length down your throat made you choke, gagging as your nose buried into his pubes. He was entirely large, uncomfortably thick in your throat as your muscles flexed and fluttered around him.

“Take it, take me all in,” Kirishima gasps, his hips shifting into small, tiny thrusts to ram his cock further and further into your awaiting mouth. “That’s i-it, holy fuck, that’s it! You are so good at this shit, baby. F-Fuck… you’re amazing! So fucking perfect!”

The praise makes you whine, the drool that seeps from your mouth helpless and joined with the tears of discomfort from your eyes. But you continue to impress him, continue to let him fuck your mouth and throat wholeheartedly without restraint or worry.

Soon, the wet gagging noises fill the air, your throat feeling raw as Kirishima is unashamedly fucking into you with more significant, more powerful intent. He praises you without hesitation, the words curling warmly into your gut, making your cunt throb and demand attention as you hollow your cheeks. Kirishima nearly howls at the vacuum sensation, the lustful, long noise growing in his lust as you raise up to his cockhead, your tongue lashing around the salty pre-cum that is weeping from his swollen tip.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, wait!” Kirishima gasps, his hips bucking wildly, trying to go further into your mouth again. But your grip and commanding are more robust than he could ever be, and he can’t sink his cock further into the wet heat he so craves. “Wait, wait, wait! I want to cum in you, baby! Please let me cum in you!”

You’re off him immediately with a sharp, loud pop.

His eyes are unashamed in his request, and you think about the issues of an absolute stranger busting a nut inside of you. Your tongue dips out of your mouth to lick the pre-cum that’s dribbled onto your lower lip, and you whine at the back of your throat.

“O-Okay.”

His response to your approval is immediate.

You shriek in slight fear when he tugs you up onto your feet, twisting you and shoving your back against the cold hardness of the tree he was resting upon. Your breathing is unsteady, heart absolutely pounding in your throat as his lips consume yours again. Just as you did before, you melt into his kiss, his touch as his hot, calloused fingers shove your shorts down your legs, exposing your throbbing, wet cunt to the cold air.

Hissing at the contact, you feel your voice being smothered by a wet moan that escapes your mouth. Kirishima has his cock rutting between your wet folds, his fingers leaving lasting bruises on your waist.

“Want you so badly, baby,” he grunts, his mouth swallowing your moans and pitched whines as you grind against him, shaking against his hold. “Want to see you take me all the way in.”

“Put it in,” you keen, hips bucking and thrusting faster and faster against his waiting cock, your actions pathetic and needy. “Put it in Kiri, I want you in me, fuck me already, please fuck me.”

In what you could only describe as being the strength of god, Kirishima lifts you up, hands shifting from your soft waist to the mounds of the flesh of your ass and pressing you into the tree. You squeak, embarrassed, and entirely self-conscious of your weight despite the lust haze clouding your mind. Your struggle in his arms is fruitless, his broad, thick chest pressing up against yours as you find your mind absolutely melting when his thick cockhead pushes against the clenching wet cavern of your cunt.

“P-Put me down,” you gasp, squirming despite the fire that burns in your core and cheeks. “I-I’m too—”

“I’m your hero,” Kirishima speaks calmly, his forehead pressing against yours, eyes locking on yours in such a way that was too intimate for strangers, too world-shifting for two unknowns. “I can carry you just easy, ya know. These muscles aren’t just for showing off.”

The grin on his face is childish, almost too boyish if it wasn’t for the fact that his eyes held that profound, pristine promise and want for you. So, in an action that has your back arching against the wood, your eyes rolling to the back of your head, your legs tightened firmly around his waist as he buried his cock into you.

Melodious moans echo between your mouths, horribly silenced by your crashing mouths because, dear god, you’re fucking in a public park.

He kisses you with a passion and a soul that strips you bare, and his hips begin to fuck up and into you without hesitation, the full feeling in your core stretching and fluttering with every driving intent from him. In and out, his cock goes into you, up and down your hips grind against him.

It’s a synchronized dance, a coming of your bodies that sends your toes curling as he begins to fuck into you just a bit harder, just a tad faster. It makes you shiver, makes your fingernails bury into his skin as you moan and beg for his name.

Kirishima curses as you clench around him, his hand grabbing your wrist and slamming it onto the tree, holding it there as he fucks you with growing strength and speed. Every snap of his hips sends a burst of colors to the back of your eyelids, and every squelch of your meeting, sloppy wet sexes sends a blabbering, incoherent sentence from your lips.

“More, more, more,” you beg, the tree trunk absolutely uncomfortable against your skin, but you can’t feel it anymore; you don’t care about the pain. You crave it, you want it. “Give me more.”

The curve of his cock, the girth, and the veins that drag up and down your puffy velvet walls are driving you insane. He holds insane power with every admittance of his cock in your clenching cunt, and he buries his nose into the crook of your neck and nods his sweaty head.

“Can you take it? You gonna be able to take my cock fucking you entirely?” Kirishima gasps, almost as if he was afraid of hurting you, and for some reason, that makes your brain shut down.

Fingers buried into the dyed red hair at the nape of his neck, you tug his head back, your legs tightening around his waist so much that he can’t fuck you anymore. The both of you are there, staring at one another as you hold him, bottomed out in you, your stomach stretching just a bit from having him entirely within you.

“If you don’t fuck me with everything you have,” you breath, your nose brushing against his, lips avoiding his that seek yours out for contact. “I’ll scream.”

“You seem like a brat,” Kirishima teases, his hold shifting on your ass, pressing you even more uncomfortably onto the tree.

“I’m just a girl who knows what she wants,” you bite back, allowing him to shift your arms so that you were supporting part of your weight onto the tree, allowing for a better balance.

“Brat,” Kirishima enunciates, his lips spreading into a teasing, seductive smirk.

But before you could fight back, before you could argue that you were, in fact, not a brat, Kirishima begins to fuck into you yet again. Your jaw drops immediately, the burning nearly exquisite pain-filled pleasure of his untapped strength fucking into you.

Your voice begins to scream out, the feeling of his vicious, thick cock snapping into you, shoving your shoulders further and further into the tree was sending your head spinning. Your body is convulsing as he fucks you with new vulgar need and strength. But before you could scream your praises, Kirishima’s fingers shove into your mouth, silencing your words and noises as he fucks you again and again and again.

“You’re so fucking loud, baby,” Kirishima chuckles, his voice strained with his exertion of energy, his hips slamming so powerfully into your clenching core that his balls were slapping against your soring ass with no restriction. “So fucking loud, but we’re not in the place for you to be wailing my name unless you want to be caught. Do you wanna be caught, is that what it is?”

You shake your head pathetically against his fingers, your tongue lazily swirling and inserting itself between his parting fingers as you moan. Your head is spinning, the overstimulation of his conquesting cock, the rising orgasm in you, and the thought of someone walking through the park and seeing the two of you fucking under the yellow light of the park light making your walls flutter. His cock twitches with the flutter, and the both of you moan inexplicably loud.

“Such a good wet cunt,” Kirishima gasps, his fingers beginning to reciprocate the length and rhythm of his pounding cock in your throat, something you take without a second of hesitation or doubt. “I’m so glad I got to be your hero today, aren’t you so glad?”

“Mm-mhmm,” you gag around his fingers, your hips bucking with near madness as your vision swims with lust and need. You were so happy that he found you, so delighted he saved you, that he was your hero.

But the building tightness and demanding need in your cunt was growing louder, hotter, completely undeniable. Your teeth sinking against his skin as you whimpered loudly, absolutely pathetically as you shifted faster, fucking against him harder.

“C-Close,” you manage to gag out, and a sharp escape of air comes from his nose.

Kirishima nods, removing his fingers from your mouth, the string of cold saliva dangerously cold against your blazing hot chin. “I want you to look at the way your belly bulges when I fuck you, I want you to watch it bulge as you cum, baby.”

You whimper, the strain in your neck almost insufferable as you peer down at your hastily exposed stomach, and you nearly faint at the pornographic, near-insane image of your stomach bulging with his hammering cock. And just like that, you come tumbling down from the heights of your building orgasm. White heat and light spread through your body, your jaw slacking as you moan loudly, screaming his name as you convulse against him, body entirely limp. Kirishima, who was barely hanging by a strand, completely loses it when your core clenches like a vice against him.

Hot, thick ropes of cum spurt from his cock, his heavy, shaking gasps the only thing you can hear as he fucks into you once, twice more for good measure before the both of you sink to the grass. It’s hot, almost too hot as he lays on top of you, the sticky fluid of his cum radiating against your already blazing walls, and for a bit, there’s silence.

“So um,” you rasp after a moment, the silence warm and comfortable. “You gonna walk me home?”

“Depends,” Kirishima mutters into your sweaty neck.

“On?”

“Will you give your hero your number?”

#kirishima x reader #kirishima eijiro x reader #kirishima smut #bnha #bnha x reader #mha #bbs kinktober 2020

1K notes · View notes

ateezthings · 4 years ago

Text

ATEEZ Reaction: S/O flinching during an argument

Anon said: “Hi um could I please request for an ateez reaction to their s/o flinching in an argument? Thank you so much if you do this!! Much love ❤️❤️”

Triggerwarning: This scenario could be triggering for some people as it deals with past (physical) abuse, no abuse will happen though. Take care of yourself and please seek help if you need it.

Genderneutral

Heavy angst (Writing angst is always emotionally draining but I love it so much, it means a lot more to me)

Jongho

You knew Jongho was strong. This didn’t help when he raised his right hand during the argument. You instinctively crouched down and covered your face with your arms. When you couldn’t feel any sort of punch, you dared to look at him again. The expression on his face scared the living hell out of you: shock, hurt, pain, disappointment.

“You thought I’d hi-hit you?”

At that point you realized you didn’t think, your body just reacted. Things, that happened in the past were screwing up your present, you had to start letting go.

“I do-don’t know, Jongho, I didn’t… I-You raised your arm and I thought-”

That’s when you broke down: knees giving out and tears starting to spill from your eyes, announcing that you were starting the self-healing process.

Sunken on to the floor, he slowly approached you, gently wrapping his arms around your body. For a while nothing could be heard except your muffled cries.

Holding you tight while you fell apart, he reassured you: “I would never lay a finger on you like that… please believe me, you are so precious”

After a moment of silence, he continued: “Do you wanna talk about what made you think that I could do that to you?”

With almost no energy left, you slowly shook your head no.

“It’s okay, I love you and I will always be here”

Wooyoung

He has a good heart. But he is also very passionate and that sometimes scares you when he is in one of his moods, rants like there’s no tommorow and he doesn’t hear you anymore. You were trying to get a word in but Wooyoung was speaking louder and louder about how it wasn’t his responsibility to get groceries after being at the studio for 13 hours a day, even though you asked him to in the morning.

He got so worked up he puffed his chest and fitfully lifted his arms. That was enough to make you flinch. It was a short action but of course Wooyoung noticed. Immediately becoming silent, it looked like someone took the life out of him.

“Did you think… I was going to…?”

Scared of your own reaction, you were paralyzed for a moment. Wooyoung rushed to take you into his arms, his comforting arms.

“I’m sorry Woo”, your voice sounded exhausted, like you’ve never been before.

“You don’t have to apologize for it… I’m sorry for getting so worked up, I never meant to scare you… you know I will always protect you.”

Mingi

You didn’t even remember what the argument was about. Mingi came home a little aggravated and you were tired from work so that’s when things went south.

“How many times do I have to tell you? I have the most important performance of my career that day, I can’t come visit your parents!”

“Mingi you never make time for me! It’s like your job is more important to you than me!”

Visibly frustrated, he quickly lifted up his arms in defeat. That’s when the flashbacks started in your head and you retracted back into your shell, shoulders and arms raised to protect your head.

“Y/N… I… Did you really think…” He didn’t need to finish.

The look on his face showed emotions that were beyond hurt, pain and disappointment.

You struggled to keep your composure: “I’m sorry Mingi, I don’t-”

He hurried over to you to take you into his arms.

“It’s okay… I could never do something like that to you.”

San

He forgot your anniversary. That was it. You knew that it wasn’t that big of a deal, but little things like that were important to you. They mattered more than any big gesture or present.

You simply expected him to write you a sweet message during the day or something like that. But he forgot. Even when you went to see him in the evening he didn’t seem to remember. So, you wanted to confront him about how much that hurt you.

You didn’t expect it to develop into a huge argument though.

“San, what I expected was just a little reminder that our relationship is as important to you as it is to me, I just wanted my boyfriend to send me a text… but you couldn’t even do that!”

That was it for him. You doubted his ability to show love?

He took a step closer to you but after seeing the rage in his eyes that was enough for you to step back in fear.

That broke him. And you could see that.

“No no no, that’s not- you’re not scared of me, right Y/N?”

It all happened so fast you couldn’t think straight. When you didn’t respond he broke down in tears.

So it was you, who took him into your arms, even though you doubted his good nature for a split second.

You tried to keep him together with your hug while struggling yourself.

San would never ever hurt you. His reaction was enough to make it clear to you how much the thought of you being scared of him hurt him.

Holding each other close you both let out cleansing tears and haunting memories that used to be tucked away in a back drawer of your mind, ready to be dealt with now.

Yeosang

He’s not the person to get angry audibly. Like twice a year you guys a conflict but it was never loud.

But this one was different; it was a much deeper conflict of values. He prioritized work. You knew he loved his work but did he have to ignore your needs while doing what he loved? You believed he could also pay a little attention to you, that’s what being in a relationship meant, right?

It was scary when he started to raise his voice but it was even more terrifying when he started to gesture wildly, trying to explain why you were wrong.

Naturally, you went into protection mode.

He stopped right in his tracks when he saw the terrified expression on your face.

“Y/N.. I wasn’t going to… I didn’t mean to scare you. I was just…”

You didn’t know how to explain yourself either. But you didn’t need to, Yeosang understood what was going on.

He carefully approached you and offered you a big hug. You let yourself collapse into him and allowed the tears to spill from your eyes, letting out all the pent-up stress and fear.

“I’m sorry my love. I will never forgive myself for scaring you…”

Yunho

You were on edge the whole day, anxiety acting up again. Sometimes you could deal with it, but not today.

In the evening it got even worse when Yunho didn’t seem to notice you were more nervous and jittery than usual. He’s had a hard day too.

So, you decided to put aside your own troubles to ask him how his day went.

His eyebrows furrowed: “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“I just wanted to ask you how your day went, Yunho, and why you’re so pissed, I’m sorry”

He groaned out of frustration and turned his body away from you - a little too fast. That’s when something snapped in you and you got flooded with horrible memories of past situations that scarred you physically but more importantly mentally: You couldn’t help but protect your head from punches that might land on it.

“No, baby, don’t… I.. I didn’t mean to… I wasn’t going to…”

The look in his eyes was pure defeat.

“I’m so sorry” his voice was merely a whisper.

You were shocked when you realized you had thought he could harm you physically. He was your safe place.

So you let yourself fall into his arms, hoping you could comfort him as much as he comforted you.

Hongjoong

In an argument Hongjoong could raise his voice, you knew that. What you didn’t know was that even small rapid movements of his could trigger a memory in your mind that you hoped to suppress forever.

He only ran his hand through his hair but your reflex was to immediately cover your face.

“What was that?... Are y-you scared of me…?”

Tears started to spill from your eyes as you realized that you had hurt him: ”I’m sorry Hongjoong, I don’t know what’s happening”

Taking you into his arms, he tried to calm you down with his touch: ”Shh, it’s okay, I’m here, Y/N”

After your tears dried up a little, you moved to cuddle on the couch.

“Do you wanna tell me what happened?”

It was painful but you decided to tell him everything you could remember.

He was sure to hold you especially tight during the parts where you didn’t think you could keep on talking.

Seonghwa

You guys fought about his job and how he was never home. He reasoned he loved what he did and that was supposed to make it okay. It didn’t. So, your dispute was going nowhere.

Out of frustration he turned away from you.

The action was so quick, but it scared a part of you, that you didn’t know existed: the part that was abused.

You couldn’t help but flinch. Of course, Seonghwa noticed.

“Why’d you…? Y/N are you sc-scared of me?” His eyes wide open, the corners of his mouth visibly drooping.

You sank down onto the floor, unable to hold it in any longer. It was useless to cover your eyes, tears already spilling like a waterfall.

Seonghwa was quick to hug you.

You were falling apart in his arms, but it felt good to let it all out. Neither you nor Seonghwa needed to speak.

Let me know what you think in the comments.

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kittmoon · 3 years ago

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Tell me about stupid hologram link fic pls txs

Okay so this has been a thing for like a year now

Essentially I want to write a fic about Link stepping into a shrine and seeing nothing but a hologram of himself. Except it’s not him.

100 years ago, Link and Zelda were making their way up Mount Lanayru. Stopping in a cave for the night, they sleep, and Link has a dream where he talks to himself from the future. I’m the morning he didn’t remember any details, and it killed him, because he knew it was important. Was it a message from the gods? There’s an ominous feeling that hangs over him for the rest of their accent up the mountain.

Link talks to his past self in a Sheikah shrine. He tries to give warnings, even though that Link will not remember anything once he wakes. He tries to ask about his past, because even after a year of traveling he is still hungry for answers, but that Link is so tightly wound that he can’t express adequate emotion.

The Link from 100 years ago doesn’t understand this impersonation of himself. He’s too…wild. He talks with his hands. He’s tone of voice is louder and more gruff than Link could ever imagine. He has so many scars. The things he’s saying are crazy- age of burning fields, lost memories, malice infecting the land. Guardians that are known and feared as killers. Divine Beasts that are hovering like evil shadows over the civilizations they were supposed to protect. How could all of that be true? How can he answer all the questions that his future self is asking him - What was the Princess really like? Did he even enjoy being a knight?

I wanted it to be a bit of a heartbreak fic, and somewhat of a character study. I was thinking of either hinting at Revalink or Zelink. I’ve just been struggling to write it for so long that I renamed it in my drafts （´＿｀）

I will finish it someday. I swear. It used to be called Hallow/Gram which is a horrible name and I wouldn’t want to meet the sucker who came up with it (me).

You guys are more than welcome to ask me about this fic though! Tbh it’ll probably help motivate me (シ_ _)シ

#kittmoon #ask #drsteggy #writing update #sort of #the struggle is incredibly real

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kikyan · 4 years ago

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Betrayal

Yandere Amon x Female Reader

TW: Non-con, dub-con, degradation, 18+ themes, choking, etc. This is a pretty dark NSFW Drabble so please keep that in mind.

Shit. Shit. Shit. This was bad. After the avatar Korra stormed the equalist rally and attempted to expose Amon as a water bender, he took off his mask to reveal horrific burn marks. The story behind them was that his family was murdered by a Fire bender and only he survived, his scars being living proof that bending should not be accepted.

This was an issue, [Reader] was a bender who managed to line their personal beliefs with the equalists. The worst thing? The [Reader] is a fire bender. They traveled to his room before sighing, this would certainly betray Amon. They raised their hand to knock but hesitated slightly. Yes it's true, they have a physical relationship and there is nothing other than sex but they really want to expand more on it. It may have started as just sex, but who is to say that it can't be an actual relationship.

If she goes in and speaks about this, if she comes forward with her real identity, any chance she could have had on expanding the relationship is killed off. Something stirred within them, they lied for so long so it doesn't matter what they say. However, if they keep lying it will look worse on their part as opposed to coming out now with the truth. They shook their unwavering thoughts and decided to go through with their initial plan. A simple knock on the door and a stern, "Enter", soon followed.

[Reader] was sweating profusely, swallowing the saliva back in fear. She placed her hands together by her lap, looking down.

" W-w-well, Amon I wanted to talk to-"

" I've mentioned countless times, [ Reader]. When you're in my presence and alone you should refer to me as always. Or do you need reminding?"

" No of course not, Master."

"Speak, slut. I don't have all day and I'm quite concerned with what happened today."

" It's about today actually...is it true? About the fire benders attack?"

" Do you doubt my words, [Reader]?"

" No master, of course not. If that is true then I have to admit something as well."

Amon was currently faced away from her, staring at a window. Though his interest was very peaked by what his loyal slut had to say.

" I-I-I'm sorry, b-but I've been hiding a horrible secret Master! I'm a bender! One of the benders you're trying so hard to erase from this new world! Worst of all, I'm a fire bender! The same ones who've hurt and scared you! Please forgive me, Master!"

[Reader] got on her knees and started to let out small tears. 'There goes my relationship with him, there goes living a life with Amon-!' Silence loomed over the room, the feeling of uneasiness and fear washed over [Reader]. Suddenly, the sounds of Amon walking interrupted their fear. They flinched when he stopped in front of them, his stern voice echoing when he spoke.

"On the bed, slut."

[Reader] perked up slightly at his tone, it was nothing new as he was rough all around. She looked up, tears already spilling from her eyes before tilting their head in confusion. He grabbed their face with his hand and harshly squeezed her cheeks. He raised them off the floor, their feet dangling off the floor.

"Did you not hear what I said? On. The. Bed. Now. Filthy slut."

Fear and panic spread all around their body as they panicked, tears staining their cheeks as her tears rolled. This wasn’t small tears, a simple roll of them, [Reader] was full-on sobbing at this point.

" Y-yes! I'm sorry master!"

Amon released them, [Reader] falling with a loud 'thud'. They quickly scrambled to get on the bed, Amon smirking at their pitiful form under his mask. They got on the bed and awaited orders, Amon walking over to them. He grabbed them by the throat and squeezed, their airflow being heavily restricted. Slight gasps and wheezing was heard as that was almost what they could produce. He threw them off the bed and let out a slight chuckle when he heard them gasping for air.

"As if you deserved the bed. On your knees bitch."

She scrambled to get to her knees, breathing heavily and rapidly as she crawled to him. She knew what he wanted, his eyes burned holes into her figure. She hesitated a bit, before letting out a shaky breath and her hands floated above his crotch. She shakily undid his trousers and undergarments, revealing his thick length.

She grabbed it and slowly started to move her hand up and down, though she knew what she had to do, fear was present. That's what made her hesitant to stop, if it were any other day she would gladly listen to him but today was different. This was different. He was mad and needy, those didn't mix well.

She hesitantly opened her mouth and took his cock. Her tongue lapped his tip, going down his length until a harsh thrust shook her. She let out a muffled noise in response, before looking up and meeting his harsh glare.

" Don't play with me, just do what I want."

They nodded before starting to meet his thrusts, his hands harshly gripping their hair. Tear-filled eyes met his, drool escaping their filled mouth. Without asking, he took his cock out of their mouth before slamming it back in. Cries escaped her mouth, [Reader] struggling to take him fully. What they couldn't fit in they had to stroke. Every time he pulled out, their tongue touched the tip, licking up the pre-cum.

" Look at my fucking slut. Is she enjoying this? Is she enjoying my rage, does she like it when I use her mouth? Does she like being used as nothing but a toy? Fucked until she passes out until the only thing she remembers is the feeling of my cock in them? So fucking greedy, what a pig."

His speed increased, [Reader] gagging at the feeling. She couldn't breathe and it didn't help that he kept trying to fit everything inside. There was just no way their mouth could take all him. His thrusts becoming erratic and harsh. Their eyes filled with tears with a fucked-out expression. The drool pooling at the bottom, his grip on [Reader's] hair tightened and he bucked his hips one last time. Cock twitching as he released into her mouth, it was a lot but before they could do or say anything, his words beat her to it.

" Swallow it, bitch. Don't you fucking dare spill a drop."

They nodded and swallowed everything, one huge gulp and they stuck their tongue out to show that they obeyed. With his hand in their hair, he dragged them onto the bed. Throwing her lightly, he grabbed her throat and his other hand opened her mouth. He spits in it and let them go, she swallowed it with no hesitation. He removed only her bottoms, throwing those out the way. He took off her panties and well, and without a wanting aside from "Squeal for me pig", he inserted his cock into her warm cunt.

Harsh and deep thrusts, skin on skin echoing in the room. [Reader] let out a loud gasp before breathing rapidly, there was no prep so the only wet they got was when they were aroused from sucking his dick. It wasn't enough for his size, so they certainly let out a scream when their main pain was directed somewhere else. It was more pain than pleasure, fear in their eyes.

" Aren't you enjoying yourself? You typically moan like a bitch in heat when I fuck you. No "more Master?", it's what you deserve."

His pace was fast. He was groaning and grunting as he kept going. His harsh grip on her thighs had her crying in pain. Her legs spread open as he fucked her tirelessly and with so much rage. He went to choke her, screaming at her.

" You filthy slut getting drunk on my cock. What other secrets have you kept from me? You fucking someone else is that it."

"M-M-M-Master….I-am not f-fucking anyone else-"

" No of course not, my piggy might be a slut but she's loyal. She knows only my cock can satisfy her fully. That's why she squeals, push all the right buttons and you'll be a mess. My mess, my dumb fucking pig."

Her walls began spasming to his thrusts. Their breath short and hitched. They were close, he was close as well. His grip on their throat never left and neither did the one on their hips. He was in a frenzy, rage clouded his judgment as he growled. He didn't care if they come or not, what mattered was that they understood that he isn't playing games. With one final thrust, he came inside them. They came moments after.

He reached and touched their head, a slight pain left them before they looked up and saw him. He had done what he always did take. He took away their bending, [Reader] is no longer a fire bender.

" There, now you can't ever leave me. After all, what can you do, [Reader]?"

A/N: So I can’t really write NSFW or smut as well as some authors, though I take requests it’s to help me be able to write it more efficiently. If you guys would like to help me and leave suggestions, I’d appreciate that!

#lok #yandere smut #yandere fanfiction #yandere #yandere amon #amon #lok amon #smut #yandere x y/n #yandere x reader #legend of korra #avatar the last airbender #legend of korra x reader #fanfiction

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tirednerd2012 · 3 years ago

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Maybe one where Ian and Barley have been kidnapped and they want to hurt Barley, but Ian offers himself in Barley's place so they take him instead? And while they're hurting Ian, Barley breaks free and has to go save him? (I know you've written a lot already, though, so if you want to you can delete this post.)

WARNING: Abusive relationship mentioned.

First off, I will never delete any requests unless it involves something that truly makes me uncomfortable. I'm recovering from some hospital time and I'm bored, so I really don't mind. If anything this is helping me go to sleep. I enjoyed writing this one, though! This AU character I've been working on for a minute for a different series I was thinking about uploading. I was thinking about a quest, but this one came a little easier for me to write. I hope you like it, but if you would like it changed, let me know!

Dammit, Barley thought, as he woke up with a splitting headache. When he tried to get up, he realized he was tied up. That woke him right up and he heard a groaning beside him. Ian.

He looked over and saw his little brother's forehead bleeding slightly. He tried to break free from the ropes, but couldn't. What the hell was going on? What happened last?

"Ian, are you okay?" he asked, but only got another groan. "I'll get us out of here, don't worry."

"I wouldn't be sure about that," a familiar voice said and Barley's blood ran cold. Drew. They broke up about a month prior because Drew wasn't just jealous and controlling, he was dangerous. He would hit Barley when they were arguing, threatened him, did anything to make him feel like Drew had dominance. Barley started to wonder if his mom and brother were safe when his boyfriend was around, and he knew he had to shut that down. He still had nightmares of Drew's hands on his neck when they were fighting one day and Barley was too drunk to defend himself. He hadn't drank since.

Drew was taller than Barley, but not quite as burly as him. Though he didn't look it, he was strong. He could easily overpower Barley when they fought. His dark hair was rare for an elf, and it was one of the things Barley found attractive at the beginning of their relationship.

He should have known this would come back and bite him in the ass.

"Drew, what are you doing?" he asked, trying to keep his cool. His ex came down from the stairs. A basement, Barley realized. They were definitely in a basement.

"I told you, you can't just leave me. You don't get to decide that," Drew snapped. He picked up his knife from the table nearby and put it to Barley's throat. He tried to hide his terror, but he knew he was probably failing.

Him and Ian had been driving in the van. He remembered a crash, but that was it. Did this guy hit them?

"What do you want?"

"For you to suffer, Barley. I tried to give you another chance, but you've tied my hands. I don't know when you thought you had any say so in us, but you didn't. You are nothing. You don't get to chose who loves you," Drew sneered.

"Leave him alone, you jerk," Ian snapped. When did he wake up?

"Ian," Barley said. He never liked Drew, another reason Barley had to end the relationship. He trusted his brother more than anyone.

"Well, well, if it isn't Ian. Truthfully, I had no idea you were in that van, too, but hey, work with what you have, right?" Drew laughs. His attention turned back to Barley, looking at him with cold, blue eyes that sent a chill down the oldest Lightfoot's spine.

Barley told himself this is how he would die.

"Now, Barley, as I was saying, you need to learn a lesson," Drew said, but before he could cut Barley, Ian's voice cut through everything.

"Leave him alone!" Barley never heard such confidence from Ian before. Drew turned away from Barley and focused his attention to his little brother.

"Wow, Ian, never expected this from you. Tell me, what is your goal here? Why should I spare him after everything he did?" Drew asked.

"Because," Ian paused, as if desperately trying to think of anything to save his brother, "because you can do whatever you planned on doing to him to me instead."

"Ian, no! Stop!" Barley ordered, but it was too late.

Drew's eyes fixated on his brother, then back at him. He saw the panic in his eyes. Anyone who knew Barley knew he loved his brother and mother more than anything in the world. He would take any physical punishment over something happening to Ian. And he wasn't in a position where he could act as the protector.

"You know, Ian, for a bright kid, you sure are stupid. But, we can have some fun," Drew said, finally. He cut Ian free, but before he could do anything, he grabbed a fistful of his hair and looked at Barley. "Enjoy your brother's screams, love."

"I'm going to kill you," Barley snapped. His fear faded away and was replaced with anger. He looked at Drew like the most disgusting thing in the world. "Leave him out of this."

"Where's the fun in that?" Drew teased, and then proceeded to drag Ian up the stairs. His brother tried his hardest not to show any sign of pain or weakness, but Barley could feel it anyway. It seemed like the moment that door shut, wherever they were filled with Ian's screams.

"Ian! Ian!" he called over and over. He felt tears pouring down his face, but he didn't care. Ian was in danger. He had taken Barley's punishment. He was paying for a stupid mistake Barley made. He never should have gotten with Drew. It was a fling that turned into something poisonous and deadly.

He continued to struggle with the ropes. He was so angry he felt the adrenaline coursing through his veins and he slammed his body against the other side, trying to break free. He would kill Drew.

He heard Ian cry out again and tell Drew to get the hell off him. He heard Drew tell Ian that he should prepare himself because he was just getting started.

Why the hell did he have to take Barley's place? The older looked around the room once more and noticed that Drew left some tools on the table. He probably planned on torturing Barley right here, but saw the opportunity to take Ian from him and knew that would be the worst punishment.

He managed to pull the table forward with his foot and then had to struggle and get a pair of scissors in his hand. It took awhile and Ian cried out more. Drew yelled from upstairs that he was worried about Ian losing blood. He heard him tell Ian to scream all he wanted, no one was around to save him.

"You're going to die alone and then I'm going to let your brother see what I've done. I'll tell him everything right before I kill him slower than I've killed you. I want him to relish your death," Drew said once Ian went quiet. Barley's heart raced faster and he managed to cut the rope. He grabbed the scissors and ran up the stairs. The door was locked, but he busted it down no problem. He saw Drew and Ian in a living room. Ian was covered in blood. His flannel had been taken off and revealed cuts along his body. His jeans were torn and soaked with red.

But Ian was alive. He still managed to set up, but Drew yanked him up and held the knife to his throat. He glared at Barley.

"I told you that you didn't get to leave me," he warned.

"Just leave Ian out of this. Let him go. I'll stay if that's what you want. We can be together again, just leave him alone," Barley said. He would stay here forever if it meant saving Ian's life. All he needed to do was get to the van. He had nectar from a healing flower there. He and Ian grabbed it a few weeks ago during a quest and agreed to save it for an emergency.

"You really are useless, huh? You're a shit son and horrible boyfriend and the one person left in this world that loves you and even admires you, you've failed to protect," Drew said. "I could kill him right now, you know that right? I could slit his throat and that would be that. He would be gone. Could you live with that?"

"You know the answer."

"Exactly. Yet I've been up here, putting a scar on his body for each time you rejected me," Drew said, running the knife along Ian's throat. He was barely awake and couldn't even look at Barley. The older felt like he could be sick. He wanted nothing more than to pull Ian out of this nightmare.

"Drew, please. Just tell me what you want me to do and I'll do it," Barley said. He resisted the urge to bring the scissors out of his pocket.

"You'd be willing to stay here to save him?"

"Yes."

Drew dropped Ian. His abuser for months on end, who manipulated him into doing things he didn't want to, who beat him on multiple occasions, who made him feel like he was absolutely nothing, approached him. For a moment, Barley felt paralyzed. Drew walked over and kissed Barley.

He looked over at Ian and again, his fear turned to rage. Within a moment that Barley found to be a blur, he brought the scissors out and stabbed his ex in the chest. He watched his eyes widen with horror and he collapsed. Then he ran to Ian.

His brother was barely breathing.

"Ian? Ian?" he shook his shoulder. The youngest opened his eyes and smiled at the sight of his brother physically unharmed.

"Barley, are you okay?"

"Really? You're worried about me?" Barley asked through the tears. Ian had been around him too long. He lifted him in his arms and got him outside. Drew towed the van with his old truck. He knew damn well Drew thought this plan out. He wanted to be sure no one knew the boys were missing. He got him to the edge of the van and cried in relief when he found the nectar in the jar without a scratch.

He kneeled beside Ian and forced him to drink. Then he held on to him, whispering how much he loved him, how brave he was and that everything was okay. After a few minutes, the wounds healed, but left several scars that Barley imagined would either be there for awhile or the rest of Ian's life.

"Barley?" the younger asked. Barley cried and hugged him again. "I'm so sorry, I just- I wanted you to be okay."

"You scared me, why would you do that?"

"I love you. I get you want to protect me, but I don't want anything to happen to you either. Especially that guy, I mean, I just wanted him away from you. I didn't care if that meant I got hurt."

"Ian, in all seriousness," Barley said, "never take my place like that again."

"Barley."

"No. I can handle a lot, okay? I can take pain, I'll get through it one way or another. But what I can't handle is someone taking you from me; I can't handle losing you," Barley cut in, his voice betraying him and cracking at the last part. He placed his hands on his shoulders. Both of them still had tears in their eyes. "I-I thought I lost you. I was so scared."

"I know what Drew did to you, Barley. I couldn't let that happen again. If the roles were reversed, we both know you would have done the same."

He pulled his brother into a tight hug. He placed a hand in his hair and held him close.

"All that matters is you're safe. He can't hurt you again."

Barley made himself a promise that he would never let anything hurt Ian again.

#barley lightfoot #ian lightfoot #onward #onward pixar #ian #barley

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thefanficmonster · 4 years ago

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My Warrior

Daniel x Taylor (The Dark Pictures Anthology: Little Hope)

Warnings: !Spoilers!, Swearing

Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff

Summary: They have all made it out of there. They’re safe from the real horrors, but the scenes that have been imbedded into their minds keep haunting them. They are left with scars to their subconscious as well as scars on their skin. Marks to remind them of what they went through. What they survived. Taylor can’t stand them - the burn marks on her skin and the scars that night left on her. She’s struggling way more than she’d like to admit. But there’s someone who sees through her toughness.

Requested by @chairtiger Hello there my chaotic co-cult leader! Sorry to be posting your request so late 👉👈 hope you understand and forgive me for the long wait. I had a blast writing the fic and I hope you enjoy reading it. Anyway...SHIP DAYLOR FOR CLEAR SKIN EVERYONE...Love, Vy ❤

“Fucking hell, this is torture.“ Taylor groans as she runs a make-up wipe over her foundation-covered, bruised skin. Underneath all those layers of foundations are the marks she’s been so desperate to hide - the reminders of that night. That monstrosity that wanted her dead and wasn’t gonna stop at anything to make that happen.

But it didn’t happen She tells herself, I’m here, aren’t I?

She’s happy to have gotten out of there with her life as well as all her friends, but the feeling of the constant presence of that night’s memories weighing on her mind, and thanks to the marks on her skin as well, she has a hard time accepting that she was indeed lucky. Some fucking luck. If she were lucky she wouldn’t have even ended up in that predicament. But she did and it has taken a bite out of her sanity and will haunt her for good, physically and mentally. No doubt about it.

The first place they all went to after their return was a hospital. Scrapes and bruises and some open wounds along with Andrew’s concussion were the main of the physical injuries. No broken bones or anything permanent, thank God.

Well, almost nothing permanent.

Taylor had seen the looks the nurses and the doctor gave her when they saw the state of her skin - much like the others she had bruises and scratches here and there, the most serious of which still had dried blood on them. However, unlike the rest of the group, she’d be left with the burn marks for as long as the memories - forever. Of course, that’s not what the doctor told her, not directly, at least. He said to give them time and some treatment that wasn’t completely sure to work. She knew what that meant - “Be ready to spend the rest of your life like this or in covering it up.”

It’s been one month since that horrible night. One month of treatment for her skin. Lotions, creams, cleansers, foundation. Nothing has worked. She spends an hour going through the process of covering the marks up and an hour taking all that foundation off. No one has commented on them which may be either because she covers them well enough or they simply don’t want to make her feel uncomfortable. She doesn’t care what others think of them, people’s opinions never bother her on any ground. The war she has with these burn marks is personal and has all to do with an event she wants to let go of and move on from. As if her nightmares aren’t enough, she also has to deal with flashbacks every time she looks in the mirror.

She hasn’t expressed her frustration to anyone. She has managed to hide it as well as the bruises themselves. It’s Taylor after all, she’s good at putting on an act so no one can read her. But, because it is indeed her, she’s not used to keeping her anger in. She feels like a ticking timed bomb. A bubble with tender, delicate walls that could burst at any moment. And God help the person who she bursts in front of. She’s never held her composure this long, she doesn’t know what will even happen if she lets go.

Now, looking in the mirror, about to take off her foundation and apply the new lotion the doctor prescribed her, she feels as fragile as ever. She’s feeling the lack of sleep more than ever as well as the pain of her tensed muscles that never seem to relax anymore. She doesn’t feel mentally prepared to go through the process of taking off the cover-up. She never feels ready, it always takes a toll on her on mentally, emotionally and even physically. She always feels so tired afterwards, so drained. Maybe because she always expects to see a difference when the foundation comes off. There never is, nothing but disappointment.

Today has been extra hard for her. Her mind has never been hazier from the lack of sleep. Her thoughts are all over the place, none of them clear. Her body’s almost shutting down. She feels like a ghost of herself. Like the real her is in a different location. Probably still stuck in Little Hope.

The foundation’s off, the same sight meets her, mocking her from the mirror. And that’s the snapping point she’s been dreading for a month now. She reaches for the new lotion she picked up on her way home.

“Useless piece of shit!“ she chucks it to the other end of the bathroom. The bottle is unharmed, it just hits the tiled floor with a loud thud. She however is in pieces, also dropping on the ground, her back against the wall, her knees tucked close to her chest, hiding her face between them, sobbing her heart out. It’s certainly a freeing feeling, but it only exhausts her more.

“Hey T...Taylor, what’s wrong?“ She hears the familiar voice and goes silent but does not dare lift her head, especially not now that her cover-up is off her, the burn marks on display. She remains sitting on the ground, face hidden from his sight.

Daniel feels her heart sink at the sight of the most important person in his life being at a low point like this one. He feels guilty for not taking action sooner. He saw the signs, the red flags in the form of fake empty smile, lack of sarcasm, colorless cheeks, eyebags, red eyes. Lack of Taylor, she was nowhere to be seen. She was far from the person he’s used to knowing and seeing every day. Knowing her, he expected prying to be a bad move but now he wishes he’d done it sooner. On time. Before she could crash like this.

“Do you know how to knock?” Her weak attempt at putting her tough act back on slips through the cracks in her voice.

Daniel is by her side asap, kneeling on the ground in front of her. “T, come on, don’t do this. Look at me. Tell me what’s wrong.”

She knows better than to hide from Daniel. He know her too well. She trusts him too much. So, despite her previous determination not to let him in on the fact that she’s now a product of that night, she raises her head, resting her chin on her knee, still avoiding his gaze though. He doesn’t bat an eye though.

Can he really not see what’s bothering me? It’s very fucking obvious

“I- I just feel like I can’t do this, you know. I can’t be fine like the rest of you. You’ve all moved on. And here I am with nightmares like a preschooler and these ugly things all over my skin. That night will permanently hold onto me, Daniel. I can never let it go if I’m reminded of it every time I look in the mirror.“ Her gaze travels to the lotion bottle on the an arm’s reach away. “I can empty as many of these bottles as I feel like, they never help. The doctor says they maybe would, big emphasis on the ‘maybe’ but, spoiler alert: they never do. I wish they’d stop stringing me along, every failed attempt is a hard-to-swallow disappointment.“ She chuckles humorlessly when Daniel takes the bottle from her, “And then there’s always the casually mentioned risk of it making them worse rather than better. You know, casually. Like, yeah this will either help you or fuck you up even worse.“ She ends the rant with a sigh, almost feeling like herself again.

Daniel sees it too, the fire in her eyes is fighting to light again. She’s so angry and yet she can’t express it to anyone. Anyone by him apparently.

“So, you’re not gonna give it a shot?“ She shakes her head, “But what if it helps?“

“What if it makes it worse?“ She automatically replies, hugging her knees closer

“Let it be your last go. If it doesn’t do anything, or God forbid makes things worse, it’s on me. I owe you whatever you want. I know that’s nothing in comparison to what you’ll be dealing with, but...“ Sensing a speech is on its way, Taylor holds her hand up, shaking her head.

“Alright, spare me Mr. I-Don’t-Take-Medicine-Unless-I’m-On-My-Death-Bed. Give me the lotion.“

He shakes his head, stands up and takes hold of the hand she has outstretched instead. “Nah-ah, let me help.” The skeptical and downright humoring look she gives him when she stands to her feet almost makes him frown. “What? I’m not clueless, T. I know a think or two about skin care. You think this all came naturally?” He motions at himself cockily, stealing a genuine laugh from her.

“I knew nature couldn’t fuck up that badly. I suspected you had something to do with it.“ She narrows her eyes, meeting his also narrow-eyed gaze, both in on the fact that the other is messing around.

“Your skin is at my mercy. I wouldn’t talk smack if I were you.“ He playfully warns her, waving the lotion bottle in front of her.

She rolls her eyes, “Yeah whatever you say, tough guy.“ She opens a drawer under the sink and throws him a box of cotton pads.

Not wasting any time in fear she might change her mind, Daniel takes one pad out and puts a few drops of the lotion on it. He hesitantly brings it closer to the skin on the side of her neck while she stands as still as a statue, not breathing either. Despite all the bold talk, he’s still nervous. He really hopes this miracle liquid of chemicals works, solely because it will make Taylor happy. And to him, her happiness is all that matters.

She shudders when the cold, damp cotton pad makes contact with her skin and he immediately feels the need to apologize. Instead, however, he goes on to tell her exactly what’s on his mind, cause he knows there’ll never be a better time.

“What you call a reminder of that night, the horrors we endured, I see it differently...“ he trails off, looking at her reflection in the mirror out of the corner of his eye. “I see it as proof that we’re stronger than we know. And you, T...are the strongest of us all. Any of these scars could have been a lethal would but here you are, alive. And no, I’m not trying to say you’re lucky. None of us are. Lord knows what kind of fucked up luck we posses, but it ain’t right. No, you are brave. You went through it and fought to leave the battle with scars instead of dropping to the ground with a wound that is irredeemable. You’re a warrior, Taylor.” He pauses for a second and so do the movements of his hand. He hesitantly inhales before saying the last sentence he’s been holding back, “My warrior.”

Taylor tilts her head to look at him, genuine surprise and warmth in her eyes. She’s baffled. Pleasantly caught off-guard by words she never thought she’d hear, let alone trust. She covers all this up with a smirk. Classic Taylor. “You weren’t really a pansy back there either, Dan.” She gently bumps his shoulder with hers.

His eyes narrow again. “I hate that nickn-“ It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t get to finish his sentence cause her lips are already on his, preventing him from ranting about...whatever he was about to go off about.

You know what they say: If you don’t finish saying it, it was never meant to be said in the first place.

@artlovingbre @megandaisy9 @sparrow-gg

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silenceofthecookies · 4 years ago

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Bleach matchup for @stooch-betch

Match up for either One Piece or Bleach~! I’m Biromantic Demisexual; although I tend to lean more towards guys. Age: 20 General appearance - most striking features, your fashion style, etc. Answer: I’m 5’2.5ft with a petite hourglass build, I have long, thick dark brown hair that reaches a little past my butt. My fashion sense is a mixture between Goth and Punk with a smidge of Grunge; mainly anything black with hints of fishnets, skinny jeans, chains, boots, and corsets. I tend to wear shirts that compliment my bigger than average chest due to trying to bring up my already low-self esteem but in a classy manner. I tend to hold a very hard RBF expression that people tend to believe I’m glaring at them when really I’m lost in thought. I tend to wear mainly winged eyeliner with mascara whenever I plan to go out, but on special occasions, I’ll do a full face of makeup with a cosplay-y flare. I have a couple of tattoos on my arms and scars scattered around my body from being a bit of a tomboy growing up.

MBTI, western zodiac chart, etc. Answer: INTP (The Logician), Scorpio, Year of the Dragon. My MBTI is pretty spot-on for the most part followed by being a Scorpio. My sister is an astrology nut and tells me that I’m a true Scorpio by numerous descriptions.

Personality, how you perceive yourself, and how people around you perceive you.* Answer: How I perceive myself is pretty much kind of all over the place. I’m really stubborn when I want to be and tend to be pretty aloof. I’m naturally apathetic but very understanding of emotions due to having a knick for Psychology. I tend to observe more than be the first to approach someone. Although I have low self-esteem, I try to build up my confidence by performing self-care days whenever I get a chance. It takes me a while to warm up to new people but once I can get a feel of a person, I slowly start to open up, which shocks most people. I’m very animated and pretty chatty once you get me going, I’m pretty sarcastic and tend to make a crap ton of references (while subconsciously expecting people to get what I’m talking about lmao). I think pretty fast on my feet, which sometimes gets me into some trouble due to accidentally hurting peoples’ feelings in which I don’t try to hurt anyone. I have so many walls built up due to past trauma that when people get to really know me, they say I have a soft interior that I try so hard to protect myself. Due to the walls I have built, I’m quick to anger and a bit of a hot-head. So whenever it comes to social interactions, I tend to overthink and silently bottle everything up. When it comes to friends, I have the bad habit of hiding my issues from them and putting them before myself. I’m told I give really good advice and an excellent listener, but I give almost too blunt of responses. I hate sugarcoating things and I’ll tend to say what is on my mind, that too gets me into problems. I am incredibly loyal to the people I’m close to, but I tend to show my love to them in a tough-love type of way. I have extremely dark humor with a dash of memes into the mix; which is one of the reasons why I tend to have a tight-knit friend group.

Hobbies, interests, life goals, etc.* Answer: I absolutely love creative writing! I tend to draw while dealing with writer’s block to make up the creative outlet. I adore doing cosplay makeup, I cosplay but I still have troubles styling wigs, sewing, and keeping on budget. When I’m really stuck on either drawing or writing, I watch anime, eating, and even napping. On the rarest occasions, I’ll play video games such as Pirate Warriors 4, Jump Force, and Sims 4 (Boy oh boy, I lowkey miss doing all-nighters on Sims 4). I'm heavily into Psychology and Criminal Psychology, both are just so fascinating to me that I love to know how the human brain works. I tend to ramble a lot when it comes to Psychology and makes jokes referring to it, although rarely anyone understands what the hell I’m talking about. I have a burning passion for the Paranormal, Cryptids, Urban Legends, and some Conspiracy Theories! I’ll never mess around with an Oujia Board, I’m more than happy to go into a haunted house for the thrills! But because of my love for horror, horror movies don’t really have an effect on me anymore- I tend to laugh at them which makes me a horrible scary movie buddy. I strive to become a Criminal Psychologist or even a therapist that specializes in Personality Disorders. But as a realistic goal, to become a voice actor while being an author on the side, but my vocal range is too low for most female characters but too high for male characters.

Favorites, likes, dislikes, pet peeves, fears.* Answer: I love food~! Mostly Asian and Mexican for the most part due to what I grew up within my family. But my favorite has to be the meats, any kind at all! From cow tongue to prime rib (Unironically Prime Rib is my all-time favorite food as long it’s cooked rare.). I’m very open to trying out new foods as long I don’t have a clue what’s in it or the smell is divine! My dad is the cook of my house, thus while I’m cooking, he tends to take the wheel because it gives him anxiety. But I can cook a mean steak. I love listening to music of any kind; mostly alternative, rock, dubstep, and whatever Ashnikko has going on. I will go crazy if I don’t listen to music throughout my daily life. I like hiking and going on adventurous walks, taking in the scenery while it helps me relax my mind. As much as I am a heavy introvert, I enjoy shopping and a bit of a shopaholic. I also have a fascination with death! Not in a necrophiliac manner, but the whole entire concept of it! I also love animals, I have a big soft spot for them but I really like it when they know I’m the alpha- In other words, when it comes to domestic pets, I love the well-behaved ones. I yearn to have a pet ball python and/or ferret of my own! I hate rude arrogant people who think they’re holier than thou. Especially when it comes to the workplace and they expect you to do everything for them, then continue to talk to you as if you’re below them. I really dislike impoliteness and people with no manners whatsoever. One of my major pet peeves is uncleanliness anywhere, I’m a bit of a germaphobe and cannot stand messy people. With this pandemic going on, it made my germophobia skyrocket even more. I have this irrational fear of being alone, having the thought that everyone around me just tolerates me and doesn’t actually like me flows through my mind a lot. I tend to overthink this a lot to the point it puts me in depressive states, but with some reassurance, I can bounce back. Another thing I fear to death is cockroaches and giant moths; of any kind to be entirely honest. I’m not scared of spiders (I adore them), beetles, ants, etc. but when it comes to these two, I’m either screaming and dipping out or trying to fistfight a moth.

Any additional info you would like to share, fun facts, etc. Answer: I pretty much summed what I had in a nutshell up above. But I got a few more things I can mention for some trivia: I used to be an alto back in my school’s choir, I still sing on occasion but only when I think I’m alone. My friends and sister like to compare me to other characters such as Loki from Marvel, Diva from Blood+, April Ludgate from Parks & Rec, Edward Elric or Envy from Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood, etc.; They’re not entirely wrong. I cannot dance for the life of me, so anyone who offers to dance with them, they’re going to be dancing with the 90s Barbie doll. I’m an insomniac that gets the midnight munchies, I’ll never in bed but expect to find me rummaging through the kitchen for a snack. There are some things about a relationship that can be a make it or break it for me. I have massive trust issues due to past experiences as well as a fear of commitment. I struggle with anxiety and depression that is overshadowed by my anger, so someone who is patient enough to take the chance to understand me. Reassurance is another big thing I hold because there are going to be days where I start to believe I’m no longer desirable. Loyalty and consent are another two big things with me, I cannot stand toxicity in a relationship. It’s either you’re all in for it or just dip out. I also value someone who can make me laugh and understand I’m not a very affectionate person. I’m kinda like a cat, I like having space. Cheaters, Narcissists, and pathological liars are what keep me away from relationships. I already have enough self-esteem issues and trust issues that my standards in relationships are nearly unrealistic. Little white lies can slide because of surprises or pranks, but when it comes to lying compulsively will really piss me off. Man up to your shit, that is all I’m asking. My Love Language is quality time and words of affirmation, although I don’t mind some cuddles and physical touch. I’m honestly so touch-starved that I internally freak out when someone I like hugs or touches me, but I’m not opposed to it. Honestly, just spending time with that person whether be sitting in the same room doing two completely different things or just watching a shitty YouTube video. I want someone who isn’t afraid to admit I’m their lover, they’re proud to say I’m theirs and to go in public with me. Dates, coffee dates, going out running errands, late-night adventures, going to cons with me, and sharing hobbies! I’m all down for that!! I want a best friend as well as a lover in the relationship.

I match you with...

Sado Yasutora

Chad may be a scary-looking person to those who don’t know him, but his still waters run deep. He is a very loving and passionate person and most of all, he’s perceptive of the people around him. Once he’s taken an interest in you, he’ll patiently wait for you to open up to him, getting to know you by just being around you. He is in no rush since rushing a relationship is rarely a good thing and he wants to do it right or not at all.

Because of his thick skin and his understanding of people, there’s very little you can do that will scare or hurt him. He will take your blunt responses as a sign of honesty and you speaking your mind, two things he greatly values. Even your dark humour won’t faze him.

Chad may be a silent person in general, but that changes when it comes to the people he cares about. He becomes a bit more vocal and always speaks his mind, but it may come across a little weird because he is not too used to expressing his emotions. His does however make his words of love all that more impactful, and he’ll make sure to chase away any doubts you may have that he loves you. His calm and understanding personality is a great help when you’re feeling down.

Chad’s main love language is quality time. As long as you are around, he doesn’t mind what you are doing. No matter how much he likes his friends, there are times when he just wants to spend time with you alone. He greatly enjoys hiking and adventurous talks, much like you, so that’s a common date plan. He’s also a pretty good cook, with his specialty being Mexican food, as he grew up there. Cooking and eating together is his idea of a perfect night in.

When it comes to you, he’ll never be ashamed to admit you’re his. It doesn’t matter if his friends try to tease him about having a girlfriend, he doesn’t see any reason to be embarrassed about it. If anything, he’s a little happy to say it out loud. Being secretive about being a relationship would just make him insecure about it being real or a joke, so he prefers to be open about it.

Chad’s main focus in the relationship it you, what you’re comfortable with and what you want. He is a highly loyal friend, and just as loyal as a boyfriend. Despite him being friends with all different kinds of people, you will never have to worry about him cheating on you. Consent is also a very big thing for him. If you leave it up to him, new steps in the relationship will come very slowly and are spoken about beforehand, just so he’s sure you are comfortable with it.

Chad, much like you, doesn’t get too hung up on physical displays of affection. He enjoys a hug every now and again, but he’s not the clingy type. When you are in the mood for a hug though, Chad gives the absolute best ones.

#bleach matchup #matchmaker cookie #cookie writes #matchup #600 followers event #requested #stooch-betch #scheduled post

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reddie-fangirl24 · 5 years ago

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Send Reddie fluff requests, please?!! This is a writing weekend! Eddie got attacked by pennywise but was only badly injured. After seeing Eddie like that, Richie is kinda traumatized (but getting better) and they live together (and might already be together or get together in this hehe). Ed needs to go take some blood samples but he is now anxious in hospitals so Richie goes with him. (1/2)

(Continued from Request) Richie still can't stand seeing Eddie's blood so we basically have an anxious Ed and a Richie that can't stand seeing the blood but is talking non stop trying to make it better for Ed and they are just cute and messy. They might go for ice cream or some fluffy stuff after this (2/2)

NOTE: I hope you enjoy! @thoughtfullyyoungduck‘s requested word ‘distract’ is also in this piece.

Support me on my Ko-Fi!

Waiting anxiously for the doctor, Richie rested his hand on Eddie’s restless knee, stopping his foot from tapping along the floor. Eddie jumped at his touch, almost recoiling. From the fearful look in his eyes, Richie knew who he was thinking about. Just for his own safety precautions, Richie backed up a bit. He had one too many punches to his jaw if he caught Eddie off guard.

“It’s going to be okay,” Richie told him, smiling. Aside from the irony, Eddie never liked visits to the doctor. Being in germy environments never appealed to Eddie.

Eddie’s breath hitched, but he nodded, forcing a smile. “I know.” Together they took a deep breath in through their noses, held it, and let it out. Both their therapists like how they practiced their breathing exercises outside of their meetings.

The doctor stepped into the room, making them both jump. “Hey, guys, I’m Doctor Aswad. How have things been?”

They started with the usual conversation on how everything was, checked Eddie’s vitals, along with the condition of the scar. Richie winced, briefly looking away, but gave Eddie’s hand a tight squeeze. All was good, no infections, at least. It still hurt for Eddie to move around, specifically when sitting up. On the bright side, he was stronger, which was the direction the doctors wanted to see.

“So, we’re going to have to take a blood sample from you today,” the doctor told Eddie. Gulping, Richie knew that his face paled. No, don’t let that show. Eddie needs you.

“Um... okay,” Eddie answered uncomfortably, glancing down at his feet. He struggled to breathe for a moment, subconsciously looking in his pocket for his inhaler. Richie came over and instructed him to breathe, slowly taking deep breaths until he was calm.

“Will that be okay?” the doctor asked him, keeping a close watch over the situation. “We just need a sample to make note that...”

“I understand, it’s fine,” Eddie waved her off quickly, despite his shaking voice.

When the doctor left the room, the couple was silent, each in their own thoughts.

Eddie cleared his throat, turning to look at Richie. “Are you okay?”

Richie blinked. Every time he closed his eyes he saw the awful image on Eddie, covered in blood, even dribbling out of his mouth. He couldn’t remember the last goodnight sleep he had over the past five months. Blood was all over his hands. His shirt. And his glasses. Most mornings he was afraid to put on his glasses fearing that the blood would still be there.

“Are you?” Richie asked, pushing his chair a little closer.

Eddie always looked at his feet when he was avoiding his feelings. “I don’t know.” At least he was honest.

“I’m scared, too.”

“Will you be okay?” Eddie reached his hand across Richie’s lap to touch his hand which was slightly shivering. A couple of months ago, Richie had this horrible nightmare that made him so upset, Eddie stayed up half the night with him, comforting him and telling him that he was alive. Richie loved it when he tangled his fingers through his hair which eventually made him fall back to sleep.

Richie struggled to meet his boyfriend’s eyes, but when he did, Richie melted pure love into his soul. “No. But, I want to be here. Don’t worry, I’ll distract you.”

Eddie smiled at him, holding his boyfriend’s hand tighter. “Thanks.”

Returning to the room, Eddie lifted up his sleeve for the doctor. He flinched when she rubbed a cold alcohol swab on his arm. Eddie’s heart started pounding as she prepared the needle.

“Hey, Eds,” Richie got his attention.

“What?”

“Whose feet do you think smell worse?”

Eddie just looked at him as if he was out of his mind. “Feet?”

“Yeah, Yours or mine? If you ask me, yours smell the worst!” Richie grinned, winking.

“How do you know?” Eddie challenged him, sneering at Richie.

“Duh, we live together!”

“Like you’re one to talk! Sometimes at night when you’re asleep I have to spray your stinky shoes with air freshener. Hey, you know what, we’re keeping our shoes out of the bedroom from now on!”

Richie snickered.

“What are you laughing about? Your stinky breath?”

It was Richie’s turn to gape. He even checked his breath. “Like I’m the one who eats onions!”

“When do I ever eat onions? You eat anchovies on pizza!”

“What’s wrong with anchovies?”

“I don’t know, you might have to ask yourself!”

“Excuse me?” The doctor got their attention, obviously trying to refrain from smiling from their little comedy show.

“Oh, sorry,” Eddie returned his attention back to the situation. “I’m ready.”

“It’s already done!” She exclaimed putting a little bandaid over his arm. “We should have the results back within a day or so.”

Surprised, Eddie turned to Richie who smiled proudly. “It worked!”

How did he ever get so lucky? Helping him put on his jacket, Eddie kissed his boyfriend, thankful for his distraction. He gave his hand a squeeze as they walked out to the car. “Want to go get ice cream?”

“With anchovies?” Richie snickered.

#Reddie #Reddie fanfiction #It Chapter 2 #It Movie #tw blood #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #nightmare

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plutoandpolaris · 5 years ago

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Absentia Chapter 2: The Mission

I remember when I discontinued this and said it was because it took too long to write part two and no one would want to read it. Well, past Pluto, if a few months was too long for you, how about nearly two years?

But lo and behold, it’s here and I fully intend to complete this story because goddammit I have so many incomplete WIPs and it bothers me. For those who don’t remember part one, which I assume is all of you, here's the link:

Absentia Chapter 1

This puppy is 9,000 words and two years in the making, so I hope you all enjoy it! And I apologize if the style is inconsistent, a lot has happened since I wrote the majority of this.

Summary: With the revelation that Henrik still lives, the others are forced to come up with some way to save him and bring their brother home. However, Marvin knows something the others do not, and he may not have the strength to stop his brothers before they get themselves killed or worse.

(Tw: stab wounds, night terrors, guns, violence, foul language, Anti being a freaky fuck, blood, hospitals, surgery mention, broken bones mention, comas)

*if there's any more triggers you think I should add, let me know. This fic is a monster and I might have missed some.

The air was frigid, sinking into his skin and chilling him to the bone. Everything was dark and quiet, save for pained, ragged breathing.

“Hello?”

Marvin called out into the darkness but received no answer except the desperate breaths and the oppressive silence. Then, he saw it. A figure slumped over on the ground, clutching a wound in his stomach, face unidentifiable. The magician attempted to reach out to him but he was glued in place, paralyzed no matter who fervently he struggled. A horribly familiar voice rang out into the darkness.

“No one will be coming to save you this time.”

A hand reached out from the void, pulling at the victim’s hair to wrench him into a kneeling position. Marvin let out a startled gasp as their face was revealed.

It was Jackie.

The hand tightened in the hero’s hair, dragging him away into the darkness.

“Jackie?! Jackie!”

The weeks that followed their visit to Dr. Iplier were hell for Chase. With Jackie on semi-permanent bedrest and Marvin in a magic-induced coma, he was now the oldest healthy member of the household, which came with many responsibilities that he was definitely not ready for. Taking care of Jameson, defending the house should Anti attack, remembering to pay the electric bill, and now caring for Jackie and Marvin, all of it fell to him. He’d never realized how much Jackie and Marv did for them in the background, but it was incredibly stressful.

Through it all, Chase had begun to appreciate JJ more than ever. He helped cook the meals, looked after Marvin, and was someone to confide in now that it was just them left. Chase would take care of Marvin in the morning, administer his medicine, and give Dr. Iplier a report over the phone, while JJ made sure Jackie was healing properly and taking the correct medication. At noon they would switch.

A month had gone by with no change in Marvin’s condition, much longer than the Host had estimated. Every day came with the horrible fear that one of these mornings they would find the magician dead. At the very least Jackie was now healthy enough to be up and about, but even his effectively endless positivity didn't cure the sinking pit in Chase’s stomach.

It wasn’t until a particularly blustery Friday night that something finally changed.

JJ was asleep in an armchair next to Marvin’s bed, a half-finished book on his lap and a cup of tea nearby that had since gone cold. Then, after a month of dormancy, the comatose man’s eyes flew open.

“ J-Jackie?!” He croaked out, his voice hoarse and scratchy from not being used in so long.

JJ jolted awake, taking one look at the now awake Marvin and practically leaping to the door. He nearly tripped over himself as he sprinted down the short hallway, banging on bedroom doors as he went. Jackie exited his room immediately, arm still held tenderly against his body to protect his injured shoulder but eyes wild.

“It’s 2 am Jameson, what’s going on?!”

“Marvin’s awake!” JJ signed to him furiously, taking him by his good arm and practically dragging him to the magician’s room.

Marvin had since attempted to sit up, the movement clearly difficult by the way he was half slouching against the headboard. His eyes widened when JJ and Jackie burst through the door, both out of breath from sprinting across the apartment.

“Jackie?! You’re- Where the hell am I?! How long has it been? Is Anti-”

“You’re home, Marv.”

Marvin wound a hand through his hair, looking around the room and realizing that it was, in fact, his own. He looked to Jackie again, noticing that the gash on his temple had healed down to nothing but a pale scar.

“It's been a month, we were worried you wouldn't ever wake up.”

Focus returned to Marvin’s eyes, confusion morphing into worry.

“Where's Chase? Is he alright?”

As if on cue Chase lumbered through the door, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“Guys, what was all that banging about?! You’d think Anti broke in with all that racket.”

It wasn't until he looked up that he noticed who they were all gathered around.

“Marvin!”

Chase ran to his bedside, throwing his arms around the magician in a crushing hug.

“You're alive!”

“I won't be in a minute if you keep squeezing me like that!” Marvin struggled in Chase’s grip but he was far too weak to worm his way out of it.

They all laughed, more out of relief than anything else.

JJ stayed at a respectable distance- he never was one for physical contact- but the relief on his face was palpable.

However, once the jovial air wore off, more pressing questions were at hand.

“What happened while I was out?”

Chase and Jackie spent the next fifteen minutes filling him in on their visit to Dr. Iplier and the revelation that Schneep was alive. Marvin listened with little reaction, but the others could see how much the news troubled him.

“He’s been alive out there this entire time?”

Chase had since ducked out of the room to call Dr. Iplier and tell him Marvin had woken up, so it was only Jackie and JJ left in the room.

“Apparently,” Jackie answered, rubbing his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. “He seemed pretty proud of it too.”

“It was Anti who said this, correct? How do you know he’s not lying to us?”

“We don’t, do we?” JJ signed to them, although it was difficult to tell what he was trying to say in the dim light.

“What, would you rather he be dead? I don’t care if this is another of Anti’s lies, I’m going to look for him. We can’t just forget he ever existed.”

Marvin sat up straighter in bed, defiance etched into his exhausted face.

“That is not what I’m trying to say.”

“Then what are you trying to say?!”

Marvin’s coma visions flashed in his mind, Jackie’s bloody, bruised face sending a pang of fierce protectiveness through his chest.

Any mission to save Schneeplestien would end in tragedy, the magician knew it. His visions had never lied to him before, and he had no reason to believe they would now.

There was a long period of silence before Marvin spoke again, his voice quiet.

“I’m just trying to say we should be cautious, is all. This could be a setup. We don’t have any proof that Henrik really is still alive. Wouldn’t it be better to spend our resources on protecting those we know are still here?”

“But what if he is still alive?! We’d be leaving him to die!”

“After this much time with Anti? He’s probably already dead, mentally if not physically.”

Jackie’s hands were shaking with anger at this point, and Marvin knew he’d crossed a line.

“That doesn’t mean we should just fucking abandon him.”

“Gentlemen, please-”

“You stay out of this!” Jackie snapped, JJ recoiling back from the harsh words.

“Don’t yell at him!” Chase had ducked back into the room at the noise, gripping JJ’s shirt sleeve as he maneuvered the younger towards the doorway.

“I leave for 5 minutes and you two are already arguing! Don't you think that maybe, just maybe, this is exactly what Anti wants?!”

“Chase-”

“Save it. This ain't any kind of conversation to be having at two in the morning. Let Marvin rest, we can settle this tomorrow.”

When Chase pulls out his authoritarian parent voice, you don’t argue.

“Jackie, I didn't mean-”

Marvin reached out to him, but Jackie had already stood, face ashen but steeled in determination. He had made up his mind, the exact thing Marvin was trying to prevent.

JJ followed him out as he left, though at a slight distance

Chase, however, turned back to Marvin with a curt “goodnight” before shutting the door behind him.

Then it was Chase and JJ alone in the hall, Jackie having quickly ducked into his room to avoid the palpable disappointment radiating off of Chase. Jameson tapped him lightly on the shoulder.

“What is it, JJ?”

“They are frightened, Chase. Don’t blame them for their anger.”

Chase sighed, running a hand through his hair.

“I don’t blame them, Jameson, I’m just-”

“Trying to keep everything together? You’ll never be able to do that alone. None of us can.”

Chase let out a nervous laugh. “Tell me about it.”

JJ sighed, taking Chase by the wrist. He led the other into the kitchen, sitting him at the table and moving to put the kettle on.

“Tea always puts me in high spirits.”

After a few minutes of silence, JJ joined Chase at the table with two cups of chamomile. The two sat, listening to the sounds of the wind and snow battering the outside of the apartment.

“How do you always seem to know just what to say? I wish I could do that, probably would've made me a better parent.”

JJ looked out the near window into the growing snowstorm, contemplative.

“When you cannot speak,” his hands hovered in the air for a moment, contemplative.“you learn to make every word count.”

They didn't say anything more, sitting in silence until their teacups were empty. Chase bid JJ a thank you and goodnight, heading back to bed himself. Jameson was left at the table, cleaning the cups in the soft amber glow of the kitchen.

The next morning, a house meeting was called. Marvin was helped from his bed to a similar position on the couch, with JJ in the armchair and Chase and Jackie on the futon.

Jackie called the meeting to order.

“I've called you all here because we need to figure out what we're going to do. Sitting here bickering is going to help no one.”

He surveyed the room, eyes landing on each member of the household before settling on Marvin.

“So, we're going to have a good old fashioned vote. All in favor of going after Henrik, raise your hand.”

Jackie’s was up first, then Chase’s, and finally JJ’s. Marvin was the only one who didn't move.

“Marv, please, we need you if we’re going to make this work,” Chase pleaded.

“Why are you so opposed to it anyway? If we try and fail, at least we tried. At least we did something.” Jackie said, his words punctuated with silent anger that made the air run cold.

He couldn't tell them, he just couldn't. Marvin knew his visions, and he knew they couldn't be changed. All they could do was delay it, but the moment in time had been written in stone. All telling them would do is delay the inevitable and cause them all more pain.

The room was silent for a long few seconds,

“I'm scared, Jackie.”

If it wasn't quiet before, it certainly was now. Like Jackie, Marvin has never admitted to weakness. Fear wasn’t an option. He'd work himself straight into the grave if the others didn't stop him, it was the whole reason he managed to get to the point of coma in the first place. Admitting to fear was huge to Marvin. He’d never do it unless there was just cause.

“I’ve lived and breathed this kind of magic for months now. It is extremely serious, powerful enough to get inside your brain and change you on a fundamental level. This goes beyond Night Sickness or even demon possession. Spending nine months in constant contact with demonic magic, if it doesn’t kill you, will turn you into something unrecognizable. Jameson is the only one of us here who even has the slightest inkling of what that’s like, and he was only exposed to it for upwards of an hour.”

JJ nodded, absentmindedly rubbing the pale scars on his fingers.

“Are you absolutely sure there’s no way to reverse it? If we’re able to get him back at all, that is.” Jackie asked, tone softer this time.

“Possibly. There are ways to cleanse the system of demonic power, but even the most powerful magic can’t reverse the mental and physical trauma associated with being Anti’s prisoner for half of a year. There isn’t a power on this earth that can completely cure that.”

Jackie held his head in his hands for a moment.

“We have to try.”

Marvin contemplated this for a long time, his eyes almost visibly clouded with doubt. Then, after nearly a full minute of silence, he spoke.

“Chase, you know the bookshelf in my room? On the bottom shelf against the right wall, there’s a dark blue book. Bring it to me. Call Host too, I'm going to need some help.”

Marvin threw off the blanket that was draped across his shoulders, struggling into a sitting position.

“We’re going to find ourselves a doctor.”

In a little less than fifteen minutes, Host and Marvin had set themselves up at the kitchen table with the book between them. Bing had also tagged along, mostly just to visit Chase.

While the others tried finding ways to help, it was obvious that Marvin and Host were operating with things none of them could understand. After a while, it became clear that what they really needed was to be left alone.

Host had Marvin take a break every half hour, to make sure he didn’t exhaust himself. He wasn’t even supposed to be using magic at all, especially this soon after coming out of a coma, but there wasn’t much of a choice in the matter. The work helped to lift his mood though, as it usually did. He was starting to look less like a walking corpse and more like the Marvin he was before this whole mess began.

It wasn’t until two weeks later that they had pinpointed Schneep’s possible location.

It was an early Monday morning, about 6:00 am, everyone in the apartment still asleep except for Marvin, the Host, and Bing. Host and Marvin had been up all night as they usually were, while Bing didn’t even need to sleep, being an android. He instead busied himself with trying to find something in the board game cabinet he could entertain himself with.

While the others had been expecting a loud celebration once the location was found, there wasn’t one. Finding the doctor had been a long and grueling process of elimination, using a myriad of various tracking magics and knowledge of Anti and his habits, provided by a report Host had stolen from Dark’s desk drawer.

“Why the hell does Dark even have this?” Marvin had asked of him when the document was brought up.

“Anti is his biggest competition. It is beneficial to know your enemy. The Host just hopes he doesn‘t notice it’s gone.”

Once the others were awake, Marvin called them into the sitting room again to deliver the good news.

“Thanks to this,” Marvin held up the report, “We’ve found one alternate dimension that has the biggest chance of being the one Anti’s been hiding out in. Apparently Dark has hired some kind of spy to follow Anti around, for his own reasons I’m sure, but Anti has been seen frequenting a tear in the abandoned fishing village of Hallsands in Devon.”

“Question, what’s a tear?” Chase asked.

“It’s a place where the boundaries of this dimension are weaker than usual, allowing easier passage out of this dimension into another. There are hundreds of them, but it’s suspicious that Anti has been frequenting this one in particular.”

“And,” Marvin continued, “It would make sense for Anti to pick it considering that even visitors aren’t allowed in the village proper since the access road is blocked by the sea. I’m not sure if I'll be able to make a portal in my condition, but I don't think I have much of a choice. Still, someone’s going to have to go in to find Schneep, and even I don't know what you'll find in there.”

Marvin was out since he had to be the one to actually open the portal, and Chase backed out immediately after. He didn't want to be anywhere near Anti, not after last time.

That left Jackie and JJ. Jackie had already volunteered, but to make the plan work, they needed one person to distract Anti and the other to find and free Schneep while the demon was occupied.

“I’ll do it.”

The others gawked at Jameson, wide-eyed. JJ was probably the gentlest among them, and considering what had happened to him in October, the least likely to want to face Anti in person again. Yet still, his eyes burned with uncharacteristic determination.

“Are you absolutely sure you want to do this? We wouldn't judge you if you backed out, you have a better reason than any of us do.”

“Somebody has to do it. Might as well be me.”

It was clear that he had made up his mind.

Though Jackie never would have expected to be going in with JJ of all people, he respected the courage required to agree to a dangerous, possibly even suicidal mission all to save someone Jameson hadn’t even met before.

Now that the details of the plan had been decided, then began the month-long preparation period. Jackie spent the majority of it training with Bing. A strange choice from the outside, but being an android, Bing was much stronger and faster than any human being could possibly hope to be. He didn't have any formal combat training and was as clumsy as you'd expect, but that didn't really matter. His only real job was to try and hit Jackie as fast as he possibly could-which was several times faster than most normal people can blink- and see if Jackie could dodge it.

It left him with a lot of nasty bruises, but he was improving. The name of the game was speed. Jackie knew he couldn't beat Anti in hand to hand combat and there was no way he'd ever be able to, but all this mission really entailed was distracting and slowing him down long enough for JJ to find Schneep and free him. That, Jackie could do.

At least he hoped so.

Alongside his own training, Jackie spent time trying to teach JJ the absolute basics of staying alive in a fight against Anti. He was an attentive listener, but his problem was one that couldn’t be solved in the short time they had until the mission.

He was far too gentle and empathetic. He vehemently refused to hit Jackie, even when reassured that it wouldn’t hurt him.

“I’ve been punched in the face by a robot six times today, you’re not going to hurt me,” he’d say, but Jameson still wouldn’t do it.

JJ certainly wasn’t weak physically, none of them were. He’d do anything else Jackie asked of him to the best of his ability, but he wouldn't fight on any condition. Hell, he wouldn’t even practice against Bing, who couldn’t feel any pain in the first place. As far as he was concerned, hurting another living being on purpose made him no better than Anti.

“Jameson, you have to remember, Anti isn’t human. I’m not even sure if he’s truly alive, not like we are. You can’t let yourself feel for him, because he’s sure as hell isn’t going to feel for you. God forbid if I’m out of commission, it’s just going to be you, Henrik, and Anti. If that happens, you fight or you die.”

JJ was clearly conflicted by this, Jackie could see it in the nervous twitching of his brow and the way he refused to look up from the floor.

Jackie laid a hand on his shoulder.

“The offer to back out is still there. Chase said he’ll take your place if he has to.”

JJ immediately shrugged the hand off of his shoulder.

“No.”

The sign was short and aggressive, about as close to yelling as Jameson could ever get.

It was that moment that made it clear that this was more than JJ wanting to help. This was personal. The others obviously had varying levels of hatred and fear towards Anti, but for JJ it was something much, much more than that.

He’d never talked about what being possessed was like and waved off any attempts by the others to console him after the fact, but it still affected him majorly. It was one of the reasons he wanted to help save Schneep regardless of never having met him. The doctor might be the only other person alive on earth that knew what it was like, that could understand.

This mission, having a handhold over Anti, proving that they weren’t completely helpless; that meant everything to him. It was less about proving it to the demon and more about proving it to himself.

That despite what everyone had assumed about him, he was his own person.

For the next few days after that, they took a break from combat and focused on teaching JJ other skills. Dr.Iplier taught him basic first aid and how to tell if someone had a concussion, where the pulse is, how to properly slow the effects of blood loss, among several other things he may need to employ depending on what condition they found the doctor in.

Jackie taught him how to pick locks, and how to breathe and walk to make the least amount of noise possible.

Jameson absorbed the information like a sponge, becoming near obsessed with perfecting every skill they laid in front of him. He’d stay up until the early hours of the morning, picking the lock on his own door until the inside mechanisms broke from the strain. He’d become so good at sneaking around that by the time they were ready to leave he could stand in the corner of a room completely undetected for 30 minutes and no one would even notice him until he moved.

The day had finally come for them to leave. Jackie had dressed JJ in black, flexible clothing, the kind he usually wore to night missions where he needed to be discreet. Seeing Jameson in semi-casual attire was strange, and he seemed uncomfortable in it, but this mission relied on maneuverability and stealth. It was necessary.

Jackie, JJ, Chase, Marvin and Dr. Iplier were all waiting on the back lawn of the apartment complex, preparing to leave. Bing had also come to see them off.

Dr. Iplier was dressed warmer than usual in a black turtleneck under a heavier black denim overcoat. Slung over his shoulder was a leather doctor’s bag. None of them knew how they had managed to convince him to come along, but they were going to need a doctor once they rescued Schneep. If they managed to, that is.

All of them were dressed for brisk weather, in dark clothing fit for winter. Spring definitely wasn’t upon them just yet, and the cold air off of the sea certainly wasn’t going to improve things.

Chase and Host had supplied Jackie with a pistol and three silver bullets, the last of what Host had made after the others were lost in their last fight. The weapon was strapped to his waist along with other provisions.

Jackie had never liked guns, mostly because of how impersonal they were. If he had to kill someone he would rather it be visceral and real, a reminder of the sacrifices one has to make in order to keep the peace.

However, this mission was a notable exception to his rule. There was too much at stake.

JJ was dressed similarly, a small bag strapped to his side containing his lock pick tools, a small roll of bandages and a container of antiseptic.

The irony of that certainly wasn't lost on them.

They were about ready to leave and had said their goodbyes when Host approached JJ.

He took a metal object out of his coat and placed it in Jameson's hands, curling the other man’s fingers around it.

“This is a dagger of pure silver. The Host only ever made three of these. One is in his library, one was destroyed by Darkiplier, and the last is in your hands now.

Use it only when necessary.”

Jameson looked down at the blade, a sharp bolt of fear running down his spine at the familiarity of the weapon. Host obviously noticed his discomfort.

“A weapon is defined by the hand that wields it. Anti’s way is not the only way. This time, the power is in your hands.”

JJ nodded, curling his hand around the blade and depositing it in the pocket of the light jacket he wore.

If nothing else, he hoped he'd never have to use it.

It was time.

With a twitch of Marvin’s wrist and a light blue glow, the portal ripped open. He made it seem easy, but the others could see the strain in his face. He’d studied the area for at least a week beforehand so opening the doorway itself was simple, yet it sapped a considerable amount of his still healing magic reserves.

Casting one last look back at the apartment, the group made their way into the unknown.

Jackie wasn't sure what he was expecting. He'd seen pictures- a dilapidated village swallowed by the sea- but seeing it in person was something different entirely.

The air held a heavy sense of foreboding and danger, like every rock and broken roof tile was telling them to turn around before it was too late.

It was a strange sensation, like the village knew that something evil had taken residence within its borders.

All was silent save for the occasional seagull and the hypnotic lap of the waves against the sharp rocks of the shore. The group exchanged quick glances before beginning the treacherous climb down to the village proper.

Marvin needed the most help as his muscles were still weak from his time in a coma, but the others managed.

“Heights and the ocean. It's like he’s mocking us,” Dr. Iplier said, casting a cautious glance to the shoreline. Jackie grunted in agreement.

“He's always mocking us, that's what he does.”

They didn't speak again until they had reached the first building.

Half of the roof was caved in, the inside filled with rocks and damp sand. The edge of a table stuck out from the rubble, the memory of someone who had lived there once upon a time.

“We’re close enough to open the portal,” Marvin announced once they reached the doorway of the house.

Dr. Iplier set down his bag, looking Jackie and JJ over one last time.

“Try not to get yourselves killed in there.”

A familiar lopsided grin appeared on Jackie’s face, easing the near painful tension in the air. “No promises.”

Marvin shot them a glance, a clear signal that he needed silence.

The others compiled as the magician sat cross-legged on the sand, muttering under his breath.

For a while, nothing happened. The others were starting to wonder if Marvin even had enough power left to open the portal, considering how weak the coma had made him.

However, all doubts were dispelled when the tear actually opened up.

It almost looked fake, like a bad photoshop job in real life. The portal was a perfectly square doorway, leading into pure darkness on the other side. The air around it was tight and humid, compressed with static and smelling of ash and seawater.

“Ash. There's definitely a demon in there.”

Dr. Iplier’s hand tightened on his bag as he took a few stumbling steps away from the portal.

Jackie turned to the others: Marvin, cross-legged on the ground, the doctor, leaning against the wall of the dilapidated building, and Chase, who was hugging his arms to himself against the cold wind. He held his eyes on each one for a moment, a cold sense of loss seeping into his bones. There was always a chance Jackie would leave for a mission and not come back, but this one felt different.

He chalked it up to being so close to Anti, it tended to make one feel all sorts of negative emotions.

Jackie turned to JJ.

“You ready?”

Jameson gave a curt nod and nothing more. His hands were pressed into his pockets, gripping around the dagger he had stored there.

They turned to head into the portal, not daring to look back in fear that they would lose the courage to keep going.

Once they were completely inside the portal, all went silent. Unnaturally silent, so much so they could quite literally hear the blood in their own veins. The environment itself wasn't very visually stimulating either. It was a dark void of absolutely nothing, save for a set of stairs floating in the middle of the empty space. They seemed to disappear halfway up, into a second-floor neither of them could see.

Then they heard the singing.

Singing was a strong word for it, (it was more aptly described as talking in rhythm with occasional humming) but it was definitely some kind of song. The voice itself was hauntingly familiar.

“Wait, I know that melody. I've heard it somewhere before.”

Jameson signed, his hands difficult to see in the dim light.

“It's called The Bloody Miller, it's an old English folk ballad from the sixteen hundreds about a man who murders his girlfriend and throws her body in the river.”

“Why would Anti be singing anything, let alone four-hundred-year-old folk songs?”

The two were crouched near the base of the stairs, straining to hear the words.

“I’m unsure, but from what I've heard of Marvin and Hosts’ conversations, Anti is probably old enough to have been around when it was written.”

The two made their way silently up the stairs, wincing every time the wood groaned under their feet. The singing stayed constant, and the closer

they got, the more they could make out the words.

“Thus she fell on bended knee,

For mercy she did cry,

‘For heaven's sake don't murder me,

I am not fit to die.”

The words were accentuated by the scratch of metal on whetstone. Anti was sharpening his knives.

Jackie and JJ were perched at the top of the stairs, leaning against a concrete wall. The wall itself appeared to be floating in the void, going on in one direction until it disappeared into the darkness.

“You must surprise him while he isn’t paying attention.”

Jackie nodded, watching as Anti dipped his whetstone into the bucket of water at his side.

He was seated at a wooden table, the surface dappled with dark stains. He had stopped singing, instead quietly humming the tune of the ballad under his breath.

A scar could be seen on the back of Anti’s neck from their last encounter, satisfaction humming in Jackie’s veins at the sight.

The hero’s hand tightened on the grip of the gun Chase had given him, although it was still in its holster.

Now or never.

He stepped out of his hiding place, aiming the gun straight at the back of Anti’s head, wasting no time before pulling the trigger.

The bullet never made its mark.

By the time Jackie had gotten his bearings and looked up, Anti had caught the bullet between his thumb and pointer finger, examining it for a moment before looking over his shoulder at the bewildered hero.

“Sorry Jackie, I don't make the same mistake twice.”

Anti let the bullet drop to the floor, setting down his whetstone and lifting his knife to examine it.

“Nice weather out here in Devon, isn't it? So happy you could join the party, I'm sure the doctor was getting a tad lonely.”

Jackie's grip tightened on the gun once more, his judgment clouded by just how much he wanted to shoot the smug smile off of Anti’s face.

His efforts only made him smile wider.

“Getting a little trigger happy? You only have two bullets left in that gun, I'd use them wisely if you want to come out of this alive.”

How the hell did he know that?

“But why delay this any longer since you're obviously so excited? You want your precious doctor back so badly?” Anti stood, running a hand over the freshly sharpened edge of his blade. “Then come get him.”

Jackie was going back out of that door with Schneeplestien or not at all.

But, he stopped himself. One of the fatal errors of his last battle was his zeal and impatience. Anger and fear only made Anti stronger and stacked the odds against them even more so than they already were.

So, he waited for Anti to strike first.

The demon stood rigid, contemplating. Then he was gone.

Jackie sensed the static behind him and turned at the last moment, gripping Anti’s wrist right as the knife wavered above his face.

Then he was gone again.

This battle really was one of speed, and Jackie had underestimated just how tiring dodging Anti’s cavalcade of blows would become.

After the first five minutes, Anti stopped playing games.

He reappeared above Jackie, falling on top of him and knocking him on his back. Both of Anti’s boots were pressed into Jackie’s arms, pinning him to the ground.

The hero managed to kick up with his knees to free himself, but the blow had rendered him breathless. Anti circled him slowly, his form twitching spastically in horrifying fashion.

He thought about using the gun, but considering how easily Anti’d caught the bullet earlier the effort seemed fruitless. He was out of ideas and out of options, so he went for the simplest solution.

Turning sharply, Jackie charged Anti and shoved him against the table, managing to land a few blows to his face and chest. Anti grabbed the hero by the arms as they went down, flipping him over the wooden surface and cracking his head off of the edge as they both went crashing to the ground.

Jackie felt a deep ache in his stomach just as they hit the ground, as if he’d been punched hard in the gut, and only upon looking down did he realize what had happened. Anti had stabbed him, the knife buried to the hilt.

The demon was on top of him, eyes blown wide in satisfaction as he twisted the blade in further.

The pain hit Jackie all at once, a tidal wave of agony that immediately turned his vision dark at the edges. He could feel everything, Anti’s aura on him, the knife tearing the flesh, the burn of the bruises on his arms from the last assault.

He had nowhere else to look but Anti’s face. No matter how much he tried to avert his eyes he couldn't, the poisonous green of Anti’s gaze filled Jackie’s entire field of vision. The mingling of the static aura and the unbearable pain of the wound clouded his brain. He couldn't think, he couldn't speak, he couldn't even blink.

Anti whispered the next section of the ballad into Jackie’s ear, his voice calm but tinged with insanity that tainted every word.

“From ear to ear I slit her mouth

And stabbed her in the head,

Till she poor soul did breathless lie

Before her butchers bled.”

Jackie wanted nothing more than to call out for JJ, tell him to run, warn him that Anti had beaten him and that he needs to escape, but his voice remained lodged in his throat. Anti’s smile only widened at Jackie’s vain attempts to call out for help.

“You trained so hard but only lasted seven minutes. What a shame.”

Anti stood, pulling out the knife in one fluid, agonizing movement. Even though he was now free from the demon’s gaze, all Jackie could manage was a pained whimper.

“Time to go find your little companion. Fancy a game of hide and seek?”

Jackie had curled into a ball, clutching his wound as the blood darkened his shirt and flowed between his fingers. Dignity in this situation was the farthest thing from his mind.

“If you want to kill me, just fucking do it, but leave him alone.”

Anti laughed as he turned on his heel and stalked back into the darkness, quietly at first, the sound then growing into a cacophony of crazed giggling.

“Kill you? That’s the game of the merciful.

If you died, your pain would be over. Where's the fun in that? I’ll be back for you as soon as I deal with this little thorn in my side.”

Then he was gone, out of sight in the velvet darkness of the void.

JJ had followed the plan exactly, slinking through the darkness as Jackie kept Anti occupied. He'd left before Anti had overpowered the hero, and thus was oblivious to the pair of malicious eyes watching him from the darkness as he discovered the holding cell.

Slumped against the concrete wall was a figure, a tattered doctor's coat hanging limply off of his shoulders. He was leaned against the wall, hand clutching his chest, seemingly unconscious.

The closer Jameson got, the worse the scene became. The doctor’s pallid face was horrifying, his grey ashen skin tone and concave cheeks giving him the look of a corpse. Blood stained his clothes, and what skin that was visible was decorated with so many scars it looked as if he’d been through a trash compactor, several still healing and clearly grotesquely infected.

Fortunately he did appear to be breathing, though every breath came with a lung rattling wheeze that definitely didn't sound healthy.

JJ knelt next to the door, taking out his simple lock pick tools and going to work. The door sprung open fairly easily, almost too easily, but he cast aside his doubts. There wasn't any time to dawdle on the ‘what ifs’. Once inside, he went about picking the locks on the manacles around the doctor’s wrists.

Being this close to Henrik, seeing the damage, recognizing all of Anti’s little trademarks in the wounds and abrasions across the doctor's skin, it sent a pang of painful remembrance through him. It was all so familiar, and the fact remained that it could’ve just as easily been him if Anti hadn’t left when he did.

The second chain had fallen when Jameson felt it, the familiar hum of static in his ears. His brain had only just registered that he should get the hell out of there when cold metal settled against his collarbone.

“Reminiscing, are we?” Anti’s voice reverberated in his ears, sending a jolt of panic through him so strong that it nearly knocked him over.

If Anti’s here, he thought to himself, then what happened to Jackie?!

“Didn't think you’d have the courage to face me.” The knife skirted from his collarbone up towards his jaw, Jameson himself still as a statue. “You’re either incredibly brave, or incredibly foolish.”

He wanted to panic, every instinct he had was telling him to panic, but he held it down. He’d survived Anti’s assaults before. He knew what it was like, and he knew that the absolute worst thing you could do when trapped by Anti was panic.

Yet, he felt Anti’s presence like a shadow, creeping into his skin, taking hold of him from the inside. Every vein in his skin was being wrapped around the demon’s fingers like the silver strings of a marionette, his body straining against it but unable to escape.

“I was planning to kill you, get you out of the way, but maybe I should keep you. Watch the light drain from your pretty little eyes.”

Anti leaned in close, his breath unnaturally cold against Jameson’s ear. “Wouldn't that be-”

Anti’s speech was cut off by a gunshot, the sound of the bullet striking the back of Anti’s head and sizzling there leaving a thick feeling of nausea in the pit of Jameson’s stomach. Anti let out a short, rasping screech before falling silent, slumping hard against Jameson’s back, the knife clattering to the ground.

JJ shoved the limp body off of him, watching as it slumped motionless against the cracked concrete floor, smearing the blood from his neck wound down the back of Jameson’s neck in the process.

The blood was ice cold.

He whirled around to see Jackie, one hand holding the pistol Chase had given him and the other clutching a wound in his stomach.

Jackie’s eyes locked onto Jameson’s for a moment before he collapsed, the pistol clattering to the ground.

“Run, please- get Schneep and go!”

He growled through clenched teeth, clutching his wound and struggling to stay conscious.

Anti was sprawled on the ground, a bullet wound square in the back of the head. He really did look dead, still and lifeless, but Jameson knew better. He was still breathing, albeit shallowly. They knew he wouldn't be killed that easily.

Jameson lifted Schneep up into his arms, careful not to irritate any of his still-healing wounds. He was so light, it was heartbreaking.

JJ knelt next to Jackie next, attempting to lift him up too, but the hero shooed him away.

“No, leave me. Anti’ll get up soon, he's already moving. Get the doctor out of here!”

Jameson shook his head rapidly but Jackie wouldn't budge.

“Go!”

JJ stared into Jackie’s eyes for a moment, tears gathering in his own before he tore his gaze away and ran as fast as he could back the direction he had come, clutching onto the doctor for dear life.

After a brief sprint, Jameson came tumbling back out of the portal, tripping onto the rocks and sending both him and the doctor tumbling onto the sand.

Meanwhile, Jackie was still clutching his wound, waiting as Anti slowly got back up. If he ran, he'd lure Anti out towards the others and compromise everything they'd worked for.

He only hoped he'd bleed out before Anti could fully release his anger.

The demon struggled to his feet, breathing heavily through the blood that had gathered in his mouth. His eyes were black as ink, his form struggling to stay anchored as blood dripped from the bullet wound, collecting in his hair and running languidly down the back of his neck.

“You’re going to have to try harder than that.”

Anti reached up to the back of his head, digging his nails into the wound until they gripped the bullet and ripped it out. It was damaged from impact, most likely leaving pieces inside of Anti’s skull. Still, he didn’t seem to care, though the pain that clouded his eyes said otherwise.

Anti stalked towards Jackie, his movements jarring and stilted, his face a horrifying kaleidoscope of blood, scars and seething anger that darkened the very air around them.

He took hold of Jackie’s hair, jerking his head upwards in a swift motion. Jackie himself didn't even have the strength to fight against it, the action eliciting nothing but a pained groan. He could feel his skin getting clammy and cold, a sign of severe blood loss.

“This is an old, old dimension, Jackie. Something this old is easy to dismantle, especially if you have the right tools.” He gave the hero’s hair another tug. “No one will be coming to save you this time. Not unless they want every molecule in their useless fucking body ripped apart one by one!”

Jackie could feel the air around him constricting, physically breaking apart, stealing the little air left in his lungs. The fabric of the dimension was ripping itself apart.

Anti turned, dragging Jackie farther back into the darkness.

“And then I took her by the hair

To cover the foul sin

And dragged her to the riverside

And threw her body in.”

Jackie had stopped struggling. He vaguely registered that he was about to die, but it didn't terrify him as much as he thought it would. If anything it was a relief. A selfish one, but he no longer cared.

Back on the other side of the portal, Marvin was struggling. The door was trying to close, and not only that, he could feel the dimension itself splintering apart.

With Jackie still inside.

JJ was so shaken up that he couldn’t even sign, Chase kneeling in the sand nearby, desperately trying to console him. Dr. Iplier hovered over Schneeplestien, checking his vitals and bandaging what wounds he could with his limited supplies.

Eventually the force of the collapsing dimension was too much, the doorway snapping shut and creating a shockwave so strong that it flung Marvin fifteen feet away, where he fortunately landed in a small sand drift.

“We have to go back in there! Jackie’s trapped!” Chase had stepped away from JJ, helping Marvin up from his sprawled position in the sand dune. The magician pushed his hand away.

“N-no. We can’t. Jackie is gone, Chase.”

“How do you know that?!”

“Because,” Marvin removed his mask, running his hands from his face up into his hair to hide the tears gathering in his eyes. ‘I saw it myself. I had many visions while in my coma, one of them being of this mission. I knew it was doomed from the start, that’s why I warned against pursuing it. Anti has Jackie now, Chase. It’s a set part of the timeline.”

“What the hell do you mean, ‘set part of the timeline’?! Why didn’t you tell us anything about this?!” Chase was furious now, his hands clenched into fists as he paced the strait between Dr. Iplier and Marvin.

“There's no way to change these visions. The only thing telling you would have accomplished is drawing things out even further. No matter what we would have done, Schneep would have been saved and Jackie would have been captured. I tried to fight the plan but in the end it was pointless, Jackie would have done it anyway. There is no stopping him once he has his mind set on something.”

Marvin had managed to stand, reaching a hand out in an attempt to calm Chase down. It didn't work.

“So you're saying that Jackie was destined to die and there's absolutely nothing we can do about it?!”

“I never said ‘die’, I said captured. The vision didn't show what happens after the portal collapses. There's still a chance to save him, but the one thing I know for sure is that the dimension they were in is gone. Anti took him somewhere else.”

Chase slumped down against the rocks, removing his hat and running a hand through his hair.

“But how are we going to find him?”

“I don’t know.”

He had broken down now, trembling as he clutched the hat in his hands.

“Why? Why did it have to be us? What did we do to deserve this?!”

“Chase-”

“Do you hear me you bastards?!”

Marvin limped over to him, kneeling to his level and grasping his shoulders.

“They can't hear you, Chase.”

“Oh, they can fucking hear me, I know they can. They're always listening, watching this all happen. They gave the motherfucker his power in the first place and yet they can't even be bothered to take responsibility for what they've done.”

Chase stood, pushing Marvin away, placing the hat back on his head and looking up towards the overcast sky.

“You did this, do you hear me?! You did this!”

Marvin had given up trying to calm him down, at this point Chase was too far gone. Luckily Dr. Iplier interrupted them.

“I need to take Henrik back to the clinic. His injuries are very severe, I need my equipment.” The doctor had stood, packing up his tools and gathering Schneeplestien into his arms.

Chase cast a long, cold look back at Marvin, tears gathering in his eyes, hands clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white, before pulling the brim of his hat down over his eyes and stalking away towards the cliffside.

The journey back to the manor was completely silent, uncomfortable, tension seizing the air between them. Even as the doctor began examining Schneep to discern just what was wrong with him, they said nothing. Bing stopped by a few times to see how it went and to say hello, but he was promptly shooed away each time. There wasn't a word to be said that could cast away the cloud of grief over the clinic, even when Dr. Iplier would pop his head out to tell them that most, if not all of Schneep’s injuries could be fixed and that he would be completely fine, physically at least.

Marvin tried to be happy, tried to tell himself that they had made a victory today, but seeing Chase’s empty eyes and knowing that he had opened the portal that sent Jackie to his doom made it impossible to look at the positives.

He’d known. He’d known that Jackie would be captured if they let the mission go on, but he’d let him go anyway.

I couldn’t have stopped it, he told himself, but it didn’t make him feel any better.

Even Jameson, the gentlest of all of them, had grown cold. He'd take out the dagger Host had given him and turn it over in his hands, as if imagining all of the times he could have used it but didn't.

Marvin knew Chase blamed him, even if the other wouldn't admit it. It was obvious every time they locked eyes. The magician could tell him over and over that there was nothing that could have been done to change it, but logical thinking was the farthest thing from either of their minds.

It was best to let Chase be.

It took the rest of that day and half of the next before Dr. Iplier stuck his head out of Schneep’s room again. He was horribly disheveled and looked like he hadn't slept since they’d gotten back- which, in all fairness he probably hadn't- but there was a triumphant air about him. After managing to weasel more time out of Dark and spending hours locked away in his operating room, the work was done.

“I've done what surgery I could, and he’ll be alright. He had a couple dozen broken bones, ruptured vocal chords and several infections, as well as slight atrophy of the legs from not being able to walk for so long. It'll take extensive physical therapy but from what I can tell presently, he will live.”

And for the first time since they'd gotten back to the manor, Chase smiled. It was a pained one, but one nevertheless. The tense atmosphere of the waiting room dissipated almost immediately as Marvin asked the million-dollar question.

“Can we see him?”

The doctor’s face fell a bit.

“I wouldn't recommend it, at least not so soon. He's very mentally fragile, and seeing you all might...overexcite him.”

And there it was. They knew they probably wouldn't be able to see him so soon, but after nine months it just seemed cruel to have them wait even longer.

“But-” He stepped out from behind the door slightly. “I think he should at least be able to meet Jameson. One visitor shouldn't hurt him too much, and I think he'd like to see one of the people who saved his life.”

Jameson perked up, shoving the knife back into his coat pocket.

“Be careful though, he can’t speak very well yet. The last thing we want to do is strain him. Also, make sure to stay in his line of sight, he gets jittery when he can't clearly see who's in the room with him.”

Jameson nodded, casting a look back at the others before following Dr. Iplier into Schneep's room. Chase looked clearly jealous of Jameson being able to see Henrik first, but he gave him an encouraging glance anyway.

It looked like any other hospital room. White and pristine, with a soft floral pattern on the walls, a side table with a small cup of water and a vase of fake flowers, and the doctor, swallowed up in bed, face turned away and hands twitching where they laid in his lap. His doctor’s coat had been cleaned, patched, and draped over the side railing of the bed, and a new pair of glasses stood waiting on the side table near the water. It didn’t seem like he’d tried them on yet.

“It’s Dr. Iplier again, Henrik. I’ve brought you a visitor.” the doctor announced, opening the door further to allow Jameson through.

Schneep looked up, eyeing the newcomer warily. His left arm was wrapped in a cast, as was one of his feet, the rest of the damage hidden under the pale blue hospital blanket. Jameson walked slowly, carefully, around the bed, taking a seat in the chair by his bedside.

“Hello, my name is Jameson, it’s very nice to meet you,” he signed, slowly as to give him time to read it. The doctor stared up at him quizzically, then it clicked in JJ’s mind.

He doesn’t know sign, does he?

Jameson wasn’t sure why he’d expected him to, he must’ve just gotten used to all of his brothers understanding him and hadn’t thought about the fact that even if Schneep did know sign before he was taken, such an ordeal would obviously leave him rusty.

“Oh, uh,” Dr. Iplier reached into the pocket of his lab coat, procuring a small notepad and a pen before handing it over to him. “You can use this.”

Jameson accepted the notebook, opening it to the first blank page and writing down his message there.

Schneep read it over a few times, before letting it drop onto his lap, looking Jameson over. He opened his mouth to answer but a seizing cough came out instead, his frail body shaking like a leaf in the wind.

Dr.Iplier lunged forward, offering him water, which Schneep graciously accepted, clutching the glass and trying his hardest not to let the intense trembling of his hands spill the contents.

He took one sip, then another, before placing the cup back on the nightstand and holding out his other hand for the notepad.

“Are you one of us? Did they make another?” He scrawled out, barely legible.

“Yes.”

“You cannot speak?”

“No”

“Me neither.”

Jameson laughed a little at that, but his face fell again when Schneep picked the pen back up, hand shaking twice as much as it had before, each word scratched so deeply into the page he feared the paper might rip.

He held the notebook to his chest for a few seconds before reluctantly handing it over, as if afraid to know the answer.

“Are the others okay?”

A void opened up in Jameson’s chest. How do you tell an already traumatized man that his brother had taken his place?

Schneep waited a few seconds, anxious at how long Jamie was taking to answer him. Dr. Iplier seemed to notice their dilemma, but was staying out of it, eyeing him uncomfortably from beside the door.

Jameson began to write.

Oh FUCKING boy was that hell to edit. My mouse kept glitching and wouldn’t let me set my place correctly and it just sucked ass but it’s HERE. I really hope this does well because holy shit.

(Taglist)

@egopocalypse @shadowsinyoursoul @lower-your-expectationss @sammyg-98 @weirdmixofweirdness @viostormcaller @save-jacksepticeye @ekhoecho @epicfangirl01 @hollenka99 @spicydanhowell

I still don’t have my old general taglist, so just let me know if you’d like to be tagged in the future. I included people here who were looking out for this when I posted the original Absentia. I once again apologize for the long hiatus.

#Jacksepticeye #antisepticeye #jacksepticeye fanfiction #writers of jack #septic egos #pluto's writings

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kheta · 5 years ago

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The One Where Kuroko Died

Hiiii! So I have a ton of fics I’m probably never gonna finish and I’m sick of them taking up space in my notes/drafts/drive so I’m just gonna dump em here! Expect to see more if you care about my writing lol. Here’s the first one. Drug-use reference and semi-explicit depictions of death mentioned, jsyk.

Kagami was angry. Blind, hot anger spreading through his veins like venom injected into his body.

The ball he'd bounced in his fingers slipped from his grip as he looked at the new comer.

Blue hit his vision, the colours of the sky and all Kagami heard was a whispered "I'm going to fly, Kagami-kun."

The damningly sweet voice had plagued his life since that summer before the first year of high-school. Since that horrifying night Kagami's already iffy mental-stability had crashed and burned violently.

Before right now, Winter-Cup third round preliminaries, he'd been fortunate enough to have not met any of the Miracles. He'd skipped out on basketball last year, too damaged from that night on the Tokyo bridge; Midorima was sick during the second round preliminaries and they hadn't fought him. Kise and Akashi were in different brackets and Murasakibara's group already in the quarterfinals due to their first placing during the Interhigh. He hadn't known what was to happen as he'd met them, didn't know to expect the anger and guilt and blame and vindication he felt.

"I'm going to fly, Kagami-kun."

The voice had lessened in the past few months, with Ogiwara and Kiyoshi having managed to get him to play basketball again. But here, with one of them on the court the voice ravaged him.

Seirin didn't matter, Winter-Cup didn't matter, because all he wanted to do was punch Aomine. To his side, Ogiwara had tensed. Kagami wondered briefly how he managed to control himself from hurting these guys this past year and a half, since Kagami couldn't even last the five minutes since Aomine had entered the game.

"I'm going to fly, Kagami-kun."

Kuroko's voice was stuck in Kagami's head and he hated it. Even after all these months, Kagami was still traumatised by that horrible night. Kagami could still remember the wild glint in Kuroko's eye from some drug he'd been slipped, the hysterical note in his laughter and the look of his body sinking deeper into the ocean, Kagami's fingers feeling the ghost of his clothing.

Growling, Kagami kicked a chair over, body about to tear Touo's ace to pieces. Only Ogiwara held him in place, his eyes hateful and angry.

"You have no right to screw this up Kagami, you cost us this game and I will kill you. "

Everyone's eyes widened, Ogiwara spoke very rarely, his joyful expressions answering most questions. His lengthy and crude threat was a surprise to everyone, even the seniors who had long suspected the animosity Ogiwara felt towards the Generation of Miracles.

"How the fuck can you stand looking at the motherfucker when he didn't go? None of those fuckers cared about Kuroko, but you're letting them off scot free, when they get to live and he doesn't! That's bullshit."

Before them a referee stands, prepped to stop any argument, but the words of death left him unable to move. Feeling suddenly awkward, the ref allows the team to continue their talk, in spite of the rapidly approaching end to the third quarter break.

"Kagami you don't know them, I don't know them. And I'm not letting your teenage angst ruin this game, Kuroko wouldn't want a fight started for him, but he would have wanted us to fight for him, with basketball."

To emphasise his words, Ogiwara throws the practice ball to Kagami's unsteady palms. A whine leaves his throat and he can still only see blue. With tears biting his eyes, he throws the ball down and sits at the bench, he couldn't play their last quarter like this.

Twenty minutes in, 107-98, Kagami finally calms down and subs out Tsuchida-senpai. He fouls left, right and centre, his game wild and untamed and angry. He scores fifteen points in the last half of the last quarter and glares coldly down at Aomine when the buzzer sounds. Ogiwara lays a hand on his shoulder but with the game finished, Kagami can no longer hold his anger back, not when Aomine's intrigued smile made Kuroko's voice stream in his head endlessly.

Without really thinking Kagami slams Aomine against the court, both their teams rushing forward to placate the roaring teen. Ogiwara can't move, not when he didn't understand. Sure, Kuroko was his best friend, but Kagami was the one with him in his last moments. Kagami was the one who couldn't stop Kuroko in the end, he might not have known Kuroko from a bar of soap, but their one and only meeting had ripped Kagami's life apart. Ogiwara had no right to interfere now.

"What the hell? What is your problem?" Aomine's smile had morphed into rage.

"Where the fuck were you!?" Kagami screamed suddenly, his voice loud even with the cacophony behind them.

Aomine has no time to answer before Kagami lays a knuckle bruising punch to the floor beside his face.

"Weren't you his friend? His partner? Didn't you feel anything when he died!? Where the fuck were you Miracles that night? Why weren't you with him? Why couldn't you stop him? Why couldn't I? Why couldn't he have fucking flied?"

Kagami's questions are hollow, yet loud. Aomine continues to stare in growing confusion.

"Get the hell off me you psycho, I don't know what you're on about but you'll regret it if you don't let me go soon."

A scream, scary and shrill sounds from Kagami and this time he aims properly, fist meeting Aomine's flesh. Kiyoshi, Izuki and Hyuga rip him off Aomine before more damage could be done.

"I'm going to fly, Kagami-kun. I'm going to fly, Kagami-kun. I'm going to fly, Kagami-kun."

The words kept ringing until finally Ogiwara's voice broke through the hazy anger, leaving a torrent of confusion.

"They don't know Kagami," red eyes meet amber in disbelief, but his eyes are honest,"None of them know, I was in the exact same position with Kise last year, none of them even realised he's dead."

The crowd quiet somewhat as Kagami falls limp, processing this information and suddenly tears of frustration fall down his face.

"I've been having nightmares for a year and eight months, I've had anxiety attacks, I can't even cross a bridge or swim without panicking and- they don't even fucking know."

His voice is hushed and broken, angry and from behind the crowd Momoi steps forward. Not to help Aomine like expected, but to listen closely to what Kagami was saying because a very sickening picture was forming in her head.

She'd heard Miracles and dead and partners and friends. The chances were slim but she kept thinking it had been two years since Tetsu-kun had talked with her. Kept remembering that his name wasn't on any of the Japanese Basketball teams and that Ogiwara had started a fight with Kise last year and no one was sure why, just that he kept screaming "you have no right to say his name. "

Kagami looks up and confirms her worst fears.

"I've had Kuroko's dead figure haunting my dreams and these fuckers don't know!? Their supposed friend died right before my fucking eyes and the only ones in this whole goddamn tournament who know are me and you!?"

Momoi falls and even in his surprised stupor Aomine manages to catch her.

"Tetsu-kun...Is dead? You're lying. You have to be lying." She refuses to believe it, murmur low. Suddenly the pieces Aomine had been struggling to fit together connected.

"Is this some fucked up joke? We mess around with your teams scores in Middle School so you think saying Tetsu is dead is an appropriate joke!" Aomine looks to Ogiwara in unadulterated fury.

Kagami, unable to handle the overload of emotions scrambles to his teams bench, everyone's eyes on him. Touo and Seirin are left so utterly confused and the officials and spectators who'd jumped down to see the fuss look around awkwardly. None of this seemed appropriate right now.

Ogiwara clenches his fist and looks down with cold disregard at Aomine.

"You know, his parents tried ringing you guys before they buried him. They called your cells and your home phones, no one answered. All of twenty people were at his funeral, his family, Kagami and I, my family and two guys we knew as kids. Kuroko died and you bastards, people he told me were some of his favourite people, didn't even bother finding out whether or not he was okay, much less whether he was alive. So don't talk as if you care now, not when he's been dead for a year and none of you Kiseki no Sedai shitheads knew that. "

Aomine shakes- arms, legs, head all shaking vigorously. He wouldn't believe it. Kuroko was only seventeen, he couldn't just die. Not like that. Not now, not for atleast seventy more years.

Ogiwara looks at Aomine, eyes sad and desolate. It had been nearly two years, he'd long since given up his anger. He was still bitter and could not associate with the Miracles without being reminded that Kuroko was forever gone, but times had numbed the pain, made it more scar than wound.

#KNB #kuroko no basket #Kuroko no Basuke #fanfiction #prompt-ish #unfinished #trash fic #tw: death #tw: drugs #probably ooc #but do i curr?#nope #honestly don't know where this was going #only know that i couldnt actually kill kuroko off so...#trashed this story

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jacksficrecs · 5 years ago

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In Hopes That You Remember Me - Chapter One

PROMPT: Tony in the Hospital + Steve being guilty

A/N: This is one of my first attempts to learn how to write a decent story again. Enjoy.

POSSIBLE TRIGGER WARNINGS: [for the rest of the story] Depression, Trauma, Amnesia, Comatose

STATUS: Ongoing, Unedited

---

Steve has never felt this nervous before.

He stared at himself in the mirror, water dripping from his chin. Tonight was the night.

He remembered the day his relationship with Tony was revealed to the public. Tony had decided it was a good time to sneak a kiss on the taller man's cheek while they looked around a quaint little bookstore just some blocks away from the tower. They could have bought books online, but you know, going outside every once in a while is never a bad thing. Of course, someone had spotted them, took several pictures of him pulling the brunette into a hug and offering a kiss on the forehead before stepping back to take another book of the shelf, he presumed. The next thing they new, it was all over the web. It was posted on any social media platform you can name, and unsurprisingly enough, it gained a lot of attention. Steve wasn't ready to 'come out of the closet' yet, as they say, but he didn't have much of a choice. The public already found out, so he might as well confirm their speculations.

'Steve Rogers and Tony Stark: The Most Iconic Power Couple of the Month'

The two read the article together. It was amusing, to say the least. Very amusing to see the media go crazy over a gay superhero couple. Kind of upsetting to see the close-minded people rant over how they're setting a bad example for the younger generation that looked up to them. Homophobia could never be erased, he supposed.

There was a knock on the bathroom door. "Knock, knock, Capsicle. You done putting on your makeup yet?" Tony hums from the other side. Steve simply smiled at that, shaking his head. "Hang on, Tony. I'll be out in a second." He responded, taking the towel he had hanging on the towel rack installed into the tiled wall and drying himself off. "You better be. I'm about to fall off what you're telling me to hang onto." Steve only chuckled quietly. This was the man he loved. This sarcastic little son of a bitch.

"Cap! Come on, snap out of it! We need you-" A voice calls from the distance, though he couldn't quite place who or where it was coming from.

"Ready for our first date?" The Stark smiled warmly when the blonde finally exits the bathroom, fully dressed in the blue suit Tony's picked out for him. "Ready as I'll ever be." Steve replied easily, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Still not going to tell me where we're going for tonight?" "No. Don't you know what a surprise is, Rogers?"

"Steve!" The same voice. Louder this time. What was happening?

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, whatever. Let's go." Steve laughed, rolling his eyes as the shorter man led him towards the door with a big, content smile.

---

"Steve." His eyes opened. He was back in the real world. Gunshots were heard. Explosions. The familiar whine of the Iron Man suit's repulsors powering itself up into the air. "Wh- What-" The blonde started questioning the events, eyes bleary as he tried to process who he was talking to. Natasha. "Steve. You're alright." The redhead sighed in relief, eyes scanning the blonde for any serious issues. "Nat-" He mumbles, swallowing the knot in his throat. It's all coming back to him now. He was in the middle of a battle. He was supposed to be fighting off his HYDRA twin. Speaking of the guy, where was he?

And what did he do to him?

"Steve. I need you to tell me what he did." Her green eyes were full of worry. "What did you see?" "First date with Tony." He answered quickly, grunting as he pushed himself up onto his elbows. He needs to get back into the fight. The others needed him. They needed his help. "Reenaction." The blonde added, forcing himself to stand, using his shield to assist him. God, everything hurt. "Steve, wait," She places a hand on his arm. Steve's attention shifts back towards the spy accompanying him. The earth shakes, and the hulk's yells were heard from a distance. "Nat, we need to get back to-" "Steve. What do you remember him doing? What was the last thing you remember him doing to trigger... Whatever happened to you?" She questioned. It really did seem like an important question. He stood silent for a moment, eyebrows knitting together as he dug through his scattered thoughts and memories, trying to pull something out. "I-"

"Steve?" He turns his head. Natasha. But Natasha was right there, right beside him. He looks back at the redhead that still had her hand resting on his arm. She didn't have the scar from the last fight on her collarbone. He reacted immediately.

Nat's double landed a hard hit on his temple.

All went black.

---

There was a painful ringing in his ears.

Dazed, Steve opens his eyes, finding himself on the ground, in the middle of a battlefield, with large pieces of debris scattered around him. Since when did he get there? Was the fight over? Head pounding and ears still ringing, he struggles to prop himself up on his elbows to get a clearer view of his surroundings. How long has he been lying there? There was a fire in the distance, or at least, he assumed there was judging by the smoke rising up into the sky. A quinjet had crashed nearby and was a total wreck, leaving several of its pieces everywhere. There wasn't really a lot happening by this point. A couple of tree branches were scattered here and there, and glass and concrete from the few buildings (that were very tall, mind you) decorated the ground. Clint was on the other side of the field, helping Natasha back on her feet. The Hulk was nowhere to be seen, probably off to calm himself down, and Thor was somewhere in the sky, as indicated by the low rumble of thunder off in the distance. Why he was still up there, he didn't know. All he knew was that the battle was over. Thank God. Everything seemed okay.

And then, the realization hits him.

Tony. He wasn't there. He wasn't anywhere to be seen.

With a quiet huff, he pushed himself off the ground a bit too quickly, resulting in a bad headache and a brief moment of vertigo, but he really couldn't care enough. All he could think of was Tony's whereabouts and his well-being. God, what if he's hurt? Disregarding the pain he felt in almost every part of his body and the fact that breathing was just painful, he immediately went to approach both the Black Widow and her good friend, Hawkeye with a bit of a grimace. "Barton, Romanoff." The blonde greets the two, his voice sounding rather hoarse. "Captain." The two spies nod, casually brushing themselves off as if they'd done nothing but trip. "Any of you know where Iron Man's gone?" He asked, his gloved hands finding their way to the belt strapped around his waist. "Nope," Natasha replied simply. "Last time I saw him he was up in the air dancing with his evil twin." Steve's heart dropped. Where could they have gone then?

Once HYDRA got their hands on Tony, they were in big trouble. That man stores a lot of important information in his head. If they ever got it out of him, the team (and probably the entire human race) will be royally fucked. The Avengers will no longer be seen as heroes. Their reputations will drop like a boulder in water as soon as HYDRA released their 'new and improved' creations. Their counterparts. Hell, they might even be stronger than the actual Avengers. IF they got everything out of Tony. But Steve doubts that'll ever happen. Tony was a strong man. And painfully stubborn, might he add. But HYDRA had their ways to get someone to comply. Mind-Control, Brainwash, Torture, you name it. Tony might be strong, but one of their methods could potentially break him. He ran a hand through the tousled nest of hair resting on top of his head, releasing a heavy, painful sigh as his gaze shifts to the ground. "Right. Okay, Thank you. Um... Go contact SHIELD for me, will you? I have a feeling we weren't the only ones here when our 'friends' came for a visit." The Captain says, letting a bit of a commanding tone lace into his voice, trying to maintain the 'Leader' image he was supposed to have even though he knew it was useless. Clint and Natasha knew just how scared he was. He was fucking terrified. Worried. Hell, he was panicking. He just had to find Tony. He had to.

Both spies replied with simple 'Alright's and 'Okay's, sharing a look before going off to deliver his commands while checking around to see if there were any poor souls that needed their assistance. Steve's gone off to look for that one brunette that always seemed to be getting in trouble. With a throbbing headache and hell-giving rib, he goes on to search for his lovely idiot.

---

"Steve!" Natasha's voice crackled through the earpiece. "Yeah?" "It's Tony. We found him." She sounded almost breathless as if she just ran a marathon. Three, actually. "What? Where?" He asks, his heart suddenly picking up the speed as he leaves the injured man he pulled out from under some rubble in the care of the parademics, turning to take another scan of the field where a major clean-up process organized by SHIELD was taking place. "Your three o'clock. Parademics are taking care of him. He's breathing, but..." Her worry was palpable by the way she speaks, and at that, Steve suddenly felt like he wasn't going to like what he was about to discover. Was it bad? What happened to him? "I think you should see for yourself. It's not that horrible, but it's... Something." She didn't know how to say it. She didn't want to be the one to deliver the bad news. "Yeah, okay. I'm coming." Comes his simple reply, voice breaking, spotting the redhead near a group of uniformed parademics who offered a small wave at the captain. The blonde jogs his way over, worry and fear becoming more and more noticeable as he got closer. The Iron Man suit lies near a pile of rubble, lifeless, the blue in its eyes, reactor and repulsors non-existent. A large chunk of the titanium-alloy armor was missing, probably shot off. In other words, it was in pretty bad shape. And then there was Tony himself, eyes closed, breathing slow and not so steady, blood staining the ripped clothes he barely managed to throw on before the battle was called, red staining the side of his head, seeping out onto the ground where he lay. There was quite a lot of bustle as they worked to track the brunette's wounds and give them attention, which they did in record time. Steve's heart practically broke. In all the battles they've fought together, he's never seen Tony in this state, and that was beyond terrifying. Natasha appeared beside the taller blonde, smiling rather sadly. "I'm sorry, Steve. He'll be alright. He'll be back to himself in no time, alright?" She says, in a fruitless effort to comfort him. The supersoldier couldn't speak, so he simply nodded, eyes still set on the brunette in the parademics' care.

The next few hours were a blur of activity. The EMTs taking Tony into an ambulance, requesting a teammate to tag along (Steve did just that, telling the others to still report to Fury on their behalf, asked them to tell the director what had happened, that he would get in touch as soon as news comes available), the brunette being taken to the OR, leaving the Captain to wait anxiously. He was seated on one of the armchairs set against the wall, bothered by the fact that he was still wearing his uniform, not as clean as he'd like to be. He received some treatment for his own minor wounds (well, as minor as a broken rib can go), and he was very much thankful for that despite knowing they would be gone in a few hours. The blonde's shield rests against the wall, occupying the empty space behind him as he fiddles with the pages of those magazines the hospital provided, trying his best to reassure himself that Tony would walk away from this just fine. Occasionally, a child and an adult would enter the room, with the kid eyeing the supersoldier curiously, probably wondering why he was here, of all places. At least, that's what he assumed. He did hear about some children talking about how superheroes didn't need anyone to give them medical attention because they were so 'cool' and 'strong'. It didn't make much sense, but he let them believe what they want to believe.

Time went on, and Steve spent it suffering quietly with everyone that went in and out of the waiting room. He was growing restless, but he refused to leave Tony. He will wait as long as he needed to for Tony's reappearance.

2 notes · View notes

preserving-ferretbrain · 6 years ago

Text

Sarah Monette, the Victim Dilemma, the Aesthetic of Suffering and the Uncanny Valley of Arse Rape

by Wardog

Monday, 27 April 2009

Wardog fails to finish Sarah Monette's Corambis.~

Massive massive massive massive spoilers for about 1/3 of the book. Also, as the title suggests, this article is about nasty things so don’t read if you’re likely to be upset

Preramble (like a preamble but … d’you see?)

This is a bleak day indeed. I just got my hands on a copy of Corambis, the much-anticipated (by me at least) concluding part to Sarah Monette’s Doctrine of Labyrinths quartet and the truth of it is, I don’t think I can finish it.

Oh, Sarah, what happened? I do still love you, I just don’t think it’s working out.

I think it’s partially problems associated with reading through a series over a lengthy period of time. When I read Melusine, The Virtu was already out in hardback and I tore through at them enthusiastically, so drawn into the world and the characters that I barely noticed they were so heavily saturated in angst and woe that one could drown in it by simply opening the book a little recklessly. There was a bit of a wait for The Mirador – which I seem to recall I felt slightly less positively about but still adored – and I fell upon Mehitabel Parr’s I’m sure welcoming bosom to save me from the tidal waves of A&W. As much as I love Felix and Mildmay, it was Mehitabel’s narrative voice that made The Mirador bearable for me. It was such a necessary contrast to the boys: someone with some redeeming sense of self-irony, hurrah!

Of course, Mehitabel isn’t in Corambis. And, God, I miss her. There is a new viewpoint character, Kay Brightmore, blinded and imprisoned and weighed down by the terrible military failure that kicks off the book. He’s basically lost everything that ever mattered to him, can no longer fight on account of being blind and, needless to say, he has angst out the wazoo about it. I was broken and crying by Chapter three.

And, quite frankly, I just can’t take it. I know there is redemption in the future of these characters (characters I really care about, having spent three books with them), I know there is self-actualisation and the potential for happiness, I know because I cheated and looked, but I’ve really really struggled with Corambis. The worst of it is, I’m sure it will be a triumphant and satisfying conclusion to the quartet. Sarah Monette is an excellent writer, I love her world, I love the way she uses language, I love her characters, I love everything about her but I think I’m going to have to accept the fact I simply can’t read her.

Oh, Sarah, what happened? I do still love you, it’s not you, it’s me.

Maybe in a couple of years we’ll be able to work something out.

I think circumstances might be playing into this unhappy state of affairs as well. When I read the early books, there wasn’t a cloud in my sky. But having emerged from a rather bleak year, there’s something a little too close in all that guilt and grief and self-loathing and despair, and I can’t distance myself enough from it to enjoy it. There is a systematic aestheticisation of suffering to be found in all of Monette’s books. I’m not going to try and argue that as either a positive or negative quality in her work. I think it’s probably neutral: it’s

something

art

does

sometimes

. I acknowledge the difference between literary suffering and real suffering, in that there can be a romance in the former which is impossible in the latter. Also literary suffering exists in a wider, symbolic and allegorical sphere than that of an individual having shitty things done to them by life or others, mainly, I suspect, because it’s not real. Take madness – there is something deeply attractive and romantic about the artistic representation of madness (like Felix’s madness in Melusine) and it’s perfectly possible to appreciate that, and to find in it a kind of beauty, without ignoring the genuine distress suffered by the mentally ill. In short, Ophelia is not my friend who killed herself last year.

But the boundaries between the fictional and the real are not comprehensively signposted. There isn’t a traceable spectrum between Lavinia, daughter of Titus Andronicus, and Elizabeth Short. And ultimately I think there comes an impossible point when the literary and the real collide, corrupt each other and prove they are utterly irreconcilable and yet simultaneously inseparable. Yes, they must be understood as different things operating in a different way – a painting of St Sebastian is not the same as footage of the prisoners at Guantanamo bay – but there comes a point when it is necessary to remember what it is that’s being aestheticised and ask yourself why.

Page 152

Okay, so, there’s a gang-rape scene in Corambis.

Felix – former prostitute, broken gay wizard with ex-cruel master and traumatic past - ends up subjecting himself a thaumaturgic orgy in order to earn money to pay for his ailing brother’s medicine.

It’s awful.

It’s not that it’s explicit, just awful.

And I’m no wuss, okay. I’ve read Last Exit to Brooklyn. I’ve read The Wasp Factory. I’ve read American Psycho.

But something about this scene in this book bought me a first class ticket on the ARGH! Train and whizzed me straight out of my comfort zone.

It’s strange to say that something is “outside your comfort zone” in that it feels like a confession of personal failure (also something that’s outside my comfort zone). And then I thought about it more, and I thought: hey, so what, gang-rape is outside my comfort zone. Surely that’s normal. Gang-rape is absolutely something that should be outside all our comfort zones. But here’s where it gets complicated: in fact, fictional gang-rape is not outside my comfort zone. I play H-games, for God’s sake, where they’re ten a penny. You can’t take two steps in an H-game without stubbing your toe on a gang rape. So it’s something more specific than that. It was something about this particular portrayal of it.

It’s not shock value. Felix gets himself sexually abused on a pretty regular basis, so much so, in fact, that it’s kind of part of the fun, and it’s very much tied into Monette’s aesthetic of suffering.

I could not see, and I could barely hear, save for my own harsh breathing. But I could feel. I could Malkar’s hands like silk, running up and down my back, tracing the scars, the old palimpsest of pain. I could feel his body arching against me, his bulk, his heat. I felt his hands slide under my hips, stroking, exciting, felt the stiffness of him against my thigh. Pain, then, but not too much. Pain … and arousal all woven together like a tapestry. I was moaning, gasping; the only word I could form were “Please, Malkar, please, lease,” and I didn’ tknow if I was begging him to stop or continue. Not that it would made the slightest difference either way.

Let’s pin our colours to the mast here. That’s beautiful. Terrible, but beautiful and absolutely literary in its unrealness. It’s also about as accurate a portrayal of sexual abuse than St Sebastian up there is of martyrdom. Perhaps I’m just an irredeemable sicko but I’m pretty sure it’s there, to an extent, to be enjoyed, partially as spectacle (straight women do not generally write about beautiful gay boys sexing each other manipulatively because it’s a Serious Social Issue) and, also, partially as vindication for all the crappy things that have been done to innumerable female characters in a seventy years of fantasy fiction. I’m not, of course, advocating backlash (more manrape!) but there is something compelling and, even perhaps comforting, in characters like Felix, Alec and friends, these beautiful men, who are as sexually vulnerable as women, suffer and fear the sort of things women suffer and fear, and are very much created to be subjects of an extra-textual female gaze and the intra-textual male gaze. I’m not saying that men don’t get raped and looked at, but the sheer saturation is demonstrably less. I am not trying to say that what happens to Felix at the start of Melusine isn’t dreadful. It is. But it’s a literary violation, and it reduces him to a literary madness that is as terrible and as beautiful as the horror that creates it.

But let’s talk about gang rape. Now there’s something you don’t say everyday.

The scene itself written in a very similar style – opulent, not too explicit although more explicit than above, and contains the same awkward issues of dubious consent. In Melusine, Felix chooses to go to Malkar in a fit of self loathing. In Corambis he agrees theoretically to an orgy in order to raise money for Mildmay’s medical treatment. In both cases what ends up happening to him is far more devastating than what he originally signed up for but, equally, there’s an element of complicity to it. If you return to your abusive master, expect to get abused. If you agree to be the centerpiece of an orgy, expect to get fucked. This abject stupidity is granted a psychological plausibility because Felix is a messed up little bunny, with a supposedly tragic conviction of his own profound worthlessness.

Obviously I don’t want to get into real issues here, but I think the reason the dubious consent became one of the bothering aspects of the scene in Corambis is that the sex abuse came plot-approved. I mean, if Felix was walking down the street and happened to get jumped and gang raped by a bunch of guys I think many a reader might rightly cry “Sarah Monette, what the fuck?” as there are very few occasions in which it is either appropriate or necessary to get one of your characters gang raped. But this way he has a “real” reason to put himself voluntarily into a position where he might be. It’s even, perhaps, meant to be on some level noble – in a hopelessly fucked up way, of course. So what you end up with is a deeply uncomfortable situation in which everything conspires, including (conveniently) Felix himself, to create a scenario in which a horrible but beautifully written gang rape is, to an extent, okay. And this is where the aesthetic of suffering starts to come apart at the seams.

Essentially this scene falls right into the uncanny valley. If it was purely designed for titillation I wouldn’t have a problem with it, but as it is there are elements are titillation and elements of horror. We are meant to be shocked and appalled – and it is shocking and appalling – but it’s framed in such a way that we are simultaneously liberated to relish the aesthetic. And quite frankly that leaves a bad taste in my mouth. I think there’s something profoundly hypocritical and, indeed, deeply disturbing in the idea of enjoying both moral outrage and illicit sexual excitement (see Joss Whedon’s Dollhouse). The scene bears all the hallmarks of erotic non-con (there are elements of psychological exposure as well as physical, the victim is physically aroused throughout, the abusers are appreciative of his beauty and his apparent eagerness, and so on and so forth) but worked through a guilt-appeasing filter of “oh gosh, isn’t this terrible.”

My ankles were still chained and somebody had me scruffed like a kitten; I was keening in protest, but I was dragged upright, forced to straddle someone’s thighs, while he continued fucking me with the same relentless steadiness. I was displayed for all of them, my arousal jutting out shamelessly, the tear tracks on my face attesting to my weakness.

Now, I know that, unlike erotic non-con, Felix is not secretly into what’s being done to him and that he’s breaking and being broken here but you still have a scene that’s running in two directions simultaneously and trying to have its cake and eat it. It goes out of its way to tick the non-con wink-wink boxes but then slaps you face in the face with its insistence that this a terrible and traumatic event. Essentially you can’t have a gorgeously written gang rape that positions itself within a carefully constructed aesthetic framework and a psychologically accurate and traumatic portrait of a terrible ordeal.

And, ultimately, I guess you have to ask yourself if it’s okay to have an aesthetic gang rape scene full stop. The idea bothers me less as pornography but here, I would argue, that it gains an added erotic piquancy from the fact it really is annihilating Felix, which, again is troublesome. Essentially it’s why raping Clarissa is so much more interesting than raping Justine, and why it’s all right to get off on the latter and not the former.

The more I’ve thought about this and tried to articulate my issues with it, the more complex and convoluted it has become. There is, of course, an element of the purely personal about – I didn’t like it and it upset me – as well as these more abstract, intellectualizations of it. I dug around on Monette’s Livejournal – on which is usually charming and sensible – to see what I could find and, lo and behold, she has written quite comprehensively on the subject, which I shall now quote pretty much in its entirety:

I knew from very early on that Felix was going to turn back to prostitution to get the money for a doctor for someone he loved (I knew this was going to happen before I knew Mildmay existed), and I knew that he was going to end up in a situation that was completely out of his control and that hurt him badly. Because Felix is reckless and self-destructive and because under all his vanity, he doesn't think he's worth protecting. And because it is a kind of answering horror to his being raped by Malkar at the beginning of Mélusine. And because he needed something that would force him to confront these issues--force him to see that he doesn't deserve to be abused--and it had to be something superlatively unbearable if it was going to get through to him, because Felix has way too much experience at ignoring his own pain.

Say what? So it’s redemptive gang rape, the sort makes you a stronger and better person? What … the … fuck? It’s like those Hollywood amnesia plotlines (one blow to the head gives you amnesia, another blow cures it) except with sexual abuse. I know, again, we’re operating in a fictional sphere but this is so made of wrong that I’ll just content myself with linking to Dan’s article on

the victim dilemma

and throw my hands up in despair.

I quite enjoy Monette’s aestheticisation of suffering, I could probably navigate the uncanny valley if I really had to but I am sick to death of male fantasy writers using sexual abuse as a textual shortcut for character development and I’m damned if I’m going to deal with women doing the same thing. Sarah Monette, you are better than this.

Sexual abuse is not good for you. It happens and people react. Constantly depicting characters who react to it in courageous and life-enhancing ways is not empowering, it’s fucking demeaning to people who struggle along every day as best they can.

I’m sure in a different time in a different mood I’ll pick up Corambis again and I’ll get to page 152 and I’ll shrug and go “gang rape, meh” and read right on.

But not today.Themes:

Damage Report

Books

Sarah Monette

Sci-fi / Fantasy

bookmark this with - facebook - delicious - digg - stumbleupon - reddit

~Comments (

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)

Arthur B

at 14:44 on 2009-04-27It's depressing when series go south like this. It's especially annoying when they burn down the virtues of the earlier volumes. I was looking at your first Monette review and you were saying how you were impressed by the fact that Felix was gay, but it kind of wasn't a big deal; I'm getting the impression that as the series goes on that becomes less true, since that LJ extract makes it sounds like Monette intended all along to reduce Felix to a weepy gay man being abused by angry gay men. (If I'm interpreting that right - if Felix pimping himself out predates the existence of Mildmay, that means that Monette was planning to make this happen since before the first book, right?)

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Wardog

at 15:11 on 2009-04-27Mmm, that's part of the problem though. I don't actually think it's "gone south" - despite the Xtreme angst I was quite absorbed until page 152. It was merely that scene that tripped me out. I'm sure if I could put it behind me and just get on with the book, I'd probably really like it.

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Rude Cyrus

at 20:32 on 2009-04-27Great, now I need a shower.

While I suppose rape can be presented as being aesthetically pleasing, like in erotic non-con, I still don't like it. I've always found consenting sex between happy, willing partners infinitely more pleasurable -- don't ask me why. This sort of stuff just makes my skin crawl.

What's funny is that I can make it through The 120 Days of Sodom without blinking, but I think that's because De Sade insisted on using the driest, most tortured language possible.

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Wardog

at 21:15 on 2009-04-27Sorry Cyrus. I'm not sure but I think it's probably easier to be into erotic non-con / rape fantasy if you're a woman than a man, either because you're more likely to imagine yourself as the rapee rather than the rapist which is slightly easier to deal with morally speaking or because the world seems generally reluctant to admit that women can rape people too. Whereas if you're a man who fantasies about forcing women to have sex with him ... well ... hostility many ensue from quarters unwilling to concede the very real difference between fantasy, reality and simulated non-con.

Hmm, I think the thing about 120 Days of Sodom is that, as you say, it's incredibly dull. And de Sade is a terrible writer. There's only one thing worse than a rape scene and that's a badly written rape scene!

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Arthur B

at 21:18 on 2009-04-27I do wonder sometimes whether deSade was an early pen-and-paper troll. Most of his books seem to be the literary equivalent of telling someone a particular link goes to an interesting and thought-provoking philosophy website when actually it points to goatse or 2girls1cup.

I mean, he went to jail for it, but you have to make sacrifices for "the lulz", as I believe the young people call it these days.

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http://roisindubh211.livejournal.com/

at 02:43 on 2009-04-28"Constantly depicting characters who react to it in courageous and life-enhancing ways is not empowering, it’s fucking demeaning to people who struggle along every day as best they can."

I have to disagree here- not with the point you make, but with the accusation being levelled at Monette. Felix has spent three books getting abused and every reaction to it has been, basically, "I was right all along, I am worthless. Hmmm, should I hurt myself again or just re-alienate everyone who cares about me tonight?" The enormity of the gang-rape is something he's not prepared to consider his just desserts, and it isn't the only influence on his growth as a person. A lot has to do with having Mildmay -who has been developing his own self-confidence, on his own, without the help of shitty things happening to him- be there for him and push and push to get him (Felix) not to hurt himself any more.

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Wardog

at 09:13 on 2009-04-28

The enormity of the gang-rape is something he's not prepared to consider his just desserts, and it isn't the only influence on his growth as a person.

I do see your point and I wasn't really dissing Monette, who I actually adore. There was just something about this scene, or the way it was presented, or *something* that was a bridge too far for me. And at first I was inclined to just ignore it and tell myself to stop being a wuss and then I got interested in *why* this scene was so problematic and, secondarily, I realised that, on a wider level, it should probably be okay to stand up and say "for me, this gang rape is not okay."

I will at some point finish Corambis, because I have *hugely* enjoyed the Doctrine of Labyrinths quartet (I have some reviews knocking around here in which I give much sweet sweet love), I think I just need some time to get away from the gang rape.

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Wardog

at 09:29 on 2009-04-28

I do wonder sometimes whether deSade was an early pen-and-paper troll

Dan and I like the idea of historical trolls, and also explains the Marquis far more than most of pop-psych nonsense I've read does =P

Lucifer, of course, would be the first troll - complaining about the mods.

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http://miss-morland.livejournal.com/

at 11:54 on 2009-04-28*giggles at the thought of de Sade and Lucifer as trolls*

I haven't read Monette's books, but I still found this post very interesting - it articulates my issues with non-con and dub-con in fiction very well. (I do wonder, though, if ambiguous portrayals of rape scenes are sometimes meant to make the readers think and question their own attitudes, instead of jumping to the safe reaction of 'OMG so horrible'?)

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Dan H

at 14:25 on 2009-04-28

I do wonder, though, if ambiguous portrayals of rape scenes are sometimes meant to make the readers think and question their own attitudes, instead of jumping to the safe reaction of 'OMG so horrible'?)

You might well be right, but even if that is the intent, it's a deeply flawed one.

Perhaps I'm just an arrogant shit, but I really hate it when people try to make me think about stuff unless it's in a medium *specifically designed* for that.

If you want to challenge my preconceptions about rape, write a book that is *about* challenging my preconcieved notions about rape. Don't try to do it in the middle of a fantasy series that is mostly about hot gay wizards gettin' it on.

If I want to have my ideas about absuse challenged, I'll read Lolita, or possibly I'll track down some abuse-survivors' weblogs. I won't read an otherwise ordinary fantasy novel or, for that matter, watch

Dollhouse

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Dan H

at 16:05 on 2009-04-28

The enormity of the gang-rape is something he's not prepared to consider his just desserts

I can't speak for Kyra, but the problem I have with this is that it suggests, falsely, that the more traumatic an experience is the less likely you are to blame yourself for it. I'm by no means an expert on the subject of abuse survival but from my limited experience people's tendency to self-blame for things is wholly unrelated to the severity of the abuse suffered. For that matter, the whole idea of rating abuse experiences in order of severity is a bit of a dodgy precedent.

Essentially I think there's an important, and worrying, difference between "Felix has experienced things like this before but, because he has grown as a person, and because of the influence of Mildmay, he does not blame himself for this experience" and "Felix has experienced things like this before but, because this experience is so much worse than the others, he cannot blame himself for it".

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http://sistermagpie.livejournal.com/

at 21:38 on 2009-05-01I haven't read this last book yet, but I'm glad for the heads-up. Having read the other 3 I can definitely see how this kind of thing would play, and I'm not surprised that she'd planned something like this from the beginning. It does make you think thought, about the idea that this character is constantly going through situations like this, and it's finally when he acheives the kind of abuse he might have always thought would be what he deserved, that he realizes he didn't deserve it. Even if Mildmay and other experiences are also part of his turnaround, I don't know whether that kind of catalyst will click for me the way another one might.

Like, rather than having him be in a situatio that's the same as before, but with one clear difference that makes him see it clearly, it's almost like Helen Keller at the well. Repeated fingerspelling over and over and finally he gets it.

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Wardog

at 15:28 on 2009-05-11I lost this temporarily in the deluge of comments about other things.

It is possible I've over-reacted to the gang rape; I suppose responses to these sort of motifs are always going to be extremely personal. I feel almost hypocritical because, as you say, there's plenty of indication previously that we were on the Sex Abuse Superhighway and something like this was probably bound to happen. But the way it's framed and written, combinated with its narrative function as a catalyst for change really really squicked me out. I know it's not necessarily meant to be psychologically plausible but there's something deeply worrying in the idea that there is a scale of sexual abuse, the extreme end of which teaches you self respect.

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valse de la lune

at 14:04 on 2011-07-12I tracked down

this interview

and I'm now extremely, thoroughly grossed out with Sarah Monette:

I think this does happen to gay male protagonists (the most obvious example is Mercedes Lackey's Last Herald-Mage books). And I think Felix does fall into this trap to a certain extent, although in my defense I will say that the reason he gets raped is because I was interested in the tension inherent in a character who could be both rapist and victim. Which could have been a woman, or a heterosexual man, but it was most obvious and easiest to mobilize with a gay man. I also chose a gay male protagonist because my abiding interest is in the power dynamics of human relationships, especially sexual relationships, and it is VERY VERY HARD to write about that with a heterosexual female protagonist without pigeon-holing her and yourself into either a re-inscription of patriarchal gender roles (male dominant, female submissive) or a simple gender reversal (female dominant, male submissive) (which I did work with some in my novella, "A Gift of Wings," in The Queen in Winter). A lesbian relationship is also a possibility, but it's far more interesting and attention-grabbing to take power away from a man than it is to give power to a woman. [...] Also, because we live in a patriarchal society and have for several thousand years, there's nothing new or shocking about the idea that women are victims. (I'm not saying this is a good thing, mind you.) You can get more narrative charge out of victimizing a man and you aren't reinscribing the same old gender role patterns into that ever deeper groove of men act and women suffer.

What the fuck, Monette? My word, lesbian relationships aren't just ~hawt~ enough unlike slender

yaoi stereotypes

wizards sexing it up and... female empowerment is just too boring? Female victimization is just too

banal

to write about so gay men being degraded (and in this case, often raped by women) has more "narrative charge"? There's also something toward the end that basically goes "well, if you are writing about male rape it's super

titillating

shocking so people will recognize RAPE IS HORRIBLE whereas women being raped is just so

every day

so... hey, manpain! That'll get people

thinking

, right? Right!"

I don't know, all of this reads like the slash fangirl's justification why she's not interested in writing girls but wants to write hot boys instead, all disguised under a pretend layer of ~*soshul justeese*~.

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Wardog

at 23:33 on 2011-07-12Oh dear. I'm actually really annoyed with myself that it took me to Book IV to unpack what was going on with the, err, sexay mainpain and all the arse rape. I did quite like Monette initially - I think partially because when I first read Melusine I was still under the impression that gay characters were pretty rare in fantasy. To give Monette credit, when she actually bothers to be interested in them, she does write interesting female characters - I mean I *loved* Mehitabel from this series.

I think what freaks me out the most is that, as you observe, it's blatant titillation under the label of trangression. I have no problems with people getting their kicks from whatever they get their kicks from, as long as it's a carefully demarcated fantasy space, but pretending it's anything else is deeply toxic.

Also that interview was just awful :(

Maybe it's just because it doesn't apply to me but I don't understand why so many women find two dudes so unbelievably hawt but two women apparently tedious. Ho hum.

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valse de la lune

at 05:06 on 2011-07-13I think gay characters are still pretty rare in fantasy, but the gay dudes all seem to come from the same wellspring of fanfic tropes. I've read all the arguments as to why dudeslash is a female-positive space that enables women to explore their sexuality and I do get some of it, but I can't shake the feeling that so much of that is hot air; no matter how hard a slash fan argues I can't really see how spamming rape at gay dudes is particularly, y'know, feminist. Maybe it plays with power dynamics and whatnot but, on the other hand,

rape culture

I don't get the thing with YAY HAWT BOYS EWW GIRLS ARE BORING either, though it's been explained to me that most female characters aren't decently written so people'd sooner generate fanfic about boys instead. But that doesn't fly because fandom churns out great volumes of fanfic dedicated to minor male characters, even though some of them barely have a presence in the book/show/movie--see Figwit of the LOTR movies fame--whereas women, primary or tertiary, still get written out or villified. There are even

bingo cards

. Somewhere in that

a valid clause regarding how we're trained to look at media through male gateways thanks to patriarchy and we internalize that. Still don't get it on a personal level because I've always preferred female characters over male, but there it goes.

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Melissa G.

at 06:30 on 2011-07-13

Maybe it's just because it doesn't apply to me but I don't understand why so many women find two dudes so unbelievably hawt but two women apparently tedious. Ho hum.

Speaking as a straight woman who gets paid to translate yaoi, I can understand that pretty well. :-) It's not that I find girls boring as characters, but as someone who isn't sexually attracted to women, I find myself gravitating toward situations where I can look at/write about two sexy boys instead if I'm looking for smexy times. (Though I'm very, very picky these days about yaoi because of tropes I'm sure I've mentioned before.)

I feel some sympathy for Monette because I do have a hard time verbalizing my tastes without resorting to those same basic arguments about power play or feeling the need to judge the female character and how she is portrayed specifically because she's female (which I wish I didn't, but I do so...). What I find odd is the fact that everyone insists on asking me *why* I find male-on-male romance so appealing, and then I'm stuck in this hem-hawing, putting-on-airs defense because I'm too embarrassed to just go, "Two guys doing stuff to each other is hot?"

(Uh-oh, now I'm having Dorian Gray flashbacks. Oh, Ben Barnes, you scamp, you!!)

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Steve Stirling at 07:07 on 2011-07-13

I don't get the thing with YAY HAWT BOYS EWW GIRLS ARE BORING either

-- you get exactly the same in reverse from male writers a lot, so I don't see that there's any mystery about it.

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valse de la lune

at 07:20 on 2011-07-13I don't think Kyra's asking "why male-on-male?" but more "why do people find women inexplicably boring?"

but as someone who isn't sexually attracted to women, I find myself gravitating toward situations where I can look at/write about two sexy boys instead if I'm looking for smexy times.

That doesn't make sense to me because, even outside of sexual context, a lot of slashers just don't want to write women period and I'm sure we don't always only write about what's sexually/romantically attractive to us (or no straight man would ever write male characters).

It also doesn't really answer why women are so villified and hated by fandom at large: why people like Monette believe "it's more interesting to take power away from a man than to give power to a woman," or why slash is passed off as some wonderful female-positive space when it involves a lot of female-negative things, including but not limited to slut-shaming and othering women. Ogle hot boys, whatever (but even so, why so much fucking rape all the fucking time? Why the infantilizing tropes?). But I think you can do that without contributing to misogyny and rape culture.

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Steve Stirling at 07:24 on 2011-07-13

I don't think Kyra's asking "why male-on-male?" but more "why do people find women inexplicably boring?"

-- I don't. I actually had to start flipping coins at one point to make sure my characters weren't predominantly female.

Maybe it's because I was in single-sex schools for a lot of my adolescence, but I just find women more interesting than men. More complex and variable, on average.

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Steve Stirling at 07:38 on 2011-07-13

Ogle hot boys, whatever (but even so, why so much fucking rape all the fucking time? Why the infantilizing tropes?). But I think you can do that without contributing to misogyny and rape culture.

-- I don't read much (any, really) slash, but the actually-published equivalents like the book described here don't seem particularly misogynist to me. Just obsessed with Hot Boys in Chains.

As for the rape and stuff, a lot of people get off on that. Trying to tell people that the sexual fantasies which ring their chimes aren't permissible is roughly equivalent to trying to scold water until it voluntarily runs uphill. Much effort, little result.

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valse de la lune

at 07:45 on 2011-07-13

I don't. I actually had to start flipping coins at one point to make sure my characters weren't predominantly female.

Thank you, Minority Warrior, but if you are a bloke that's not exactly addressed to you.

I don't read much (any, really) slash, but the actually-published equivalents like the book described here don't seem particularly misogynist to me. Just obsessed with Hot Boys in Chains.

I've only read the first book and the gang-rape scene in the fourth, but a lot of the women in this series like to rape gay men for some strange reason.

Melusine

opens with an anecdote about the pure, true love between men. Two women get between it; one proceeds to rape one of the men repeatedly until he wants to kill himself. So, yes, both fandom slash and published slash perpetuate a lot of the same crap. Then there's Monette's interview and strange leaps of illogic which read sexist as hell to me.

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Melissa G.

at 08:48 on 2011-07-13

I can't speak to that. I don't know why so many writers are so anti-female characters, and it would take me pages of musing to try and come to a conclusion. I was referring specifically to sexual situations (by which I mean stories centering on sex) because the comment I was particularly responding to was "why do so many women find two dudes so unbelievably hot but two women apparently tedious". Which I read as "why do so many women love writing about two guys (sexually) but find writing about two women so boring (sexually)". Perhaps I misinterpreted what Kyra was saying. I stated clearly that I don't find women boring as characters to read and write about, but that I understand why many women gravitate toward male homosexual relationships and why they might find it arousing when they are writing merely to titillate themselves/others.

I haven't read the series in question so I take everyone's word for it that the rape isn't handled well and misogyny abounds. And trust me, I'm the first person to get fed up with the kind of tropes male-on-male stuff tends to come with - especially when written by someone who's probably never even spoken to a gay man before. I got fed up with one author in particular because her protagonists kept falling for their rapists, yuck. But just because a lot of it sucks and perpetuates some seriously shitty stuff doesn't mean that it's not okay to find guy-on-guy stuff hot. And I really don't appreciate being made to feel like because I like it, I am somehow in danger of losing my feminist card.

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valse de la lune

at 09:57 on 2011-07-13I don't think I have been suggesting that if you like slash, you're in danger of losing your feminist cred; being a feminist doesn't exactly mean everything you consume must be feminist, after all, and we all enjoy things that are problematic to some degree. I just don't like how it's put forward as a YAY WOMEN field when it's not really. Likewise, I've been shouted down in fandom spaces for calling out misogyny in slash, something along the line of

you will find it is you who is misogyny

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valse de la lune

at 10:06 on 2011-07-13(Sorry that I'm coming down harshly such that you feel you're being discredited as a feminist, though.)

One more thing--I've been told over and over that there is a strong presence of queer women in slash circles, so for some it's not so much a matter of "I'm straight so more cocks yay!!!" In fact, with so many queer women around--so many lesbians even--you'd think there would be more F/F fanfic. But there isn't, so...

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Melissa G.

at 10:23 on 2011-07-13

I don't think I have been suggesting that if you like slash, you're in danger of losing your feminist cred

I think I was responding defensively to this comment:

Ogle hot boys, whatever (but even so, why so much fucking rape all the fucking time? Why the infantilizing tropes?). But I think you can do that without contributing to misogyny and rape culture.

It basically felt to me like my entire sexual preference/fetish/whatever was being boiled down to "ogling hot boys". It’s those kinds of dismissive, judgmental comments that make me feel like I need to somehow justify what I find arousing. That’s why you have people arguing that it’s pro-women or empowering or whatever to write and read man-on-man love stories. When an attraction is called into question, I think often women in particular feel the need to base that attraction in something intellectual and philosophical. Because it would be wrong for a woman to just find something titillating or arousing. Because women aren’t supposed to like sex just for sex.

I think there are ways that it can be empowering (I wouldn't go so far as to say 'feminist'), but most of it fails in this regard. For me, when I read a story with a male bottom that I can relate to as far as sexual behavior, it makes me feel less weird. There's something freeing about the behavior being related to the position and not the gender, for me anyway. I think that also relates to why an author might find it more interesting (and by interesting I mean because they find it hot) to take power away from men. For some women who are attracted to men, there is something very fascinating and seductive about a man submitting (either sexually or emotionally), probably because it's something so commonly associated with female behavior. So again, it becomes less of a gender thing and more of a relationship role thing. If that makes any sense....

I just don't like how it's put forward as a YAY WOMEN field when it's not really.

I totally understand that. I actually avoid fan written slash like the plague because most of it is just not good. Most of it is (I think) influenced by yaoi, which oh dear god, has such problems. There is so much rape and questionable consent and a lot of "I'm only gay for that guy" and such overly traditional female behavior (even though one of them is male, go figure). And the kind of people you've probably argued with are likely the kind of people who make me afraid to admit I'm part of the yaoi subculture.

But there is good stuff out there. I promise. :-)

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Melissa G.

at 10:26 on 2011-07-13

Sorry, I made my long post before I saw this! That is odd. Why don't they focus on yuri? Yuri is slowly becoming a more female dominated genre. It's kind of cool actually that the female authors are slowly co-opting a genre that was once basically male-written lesbian porn for men. To each their own, I guess?

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valse de la lune

at 10:59 on 2011-07-13

It basically felt to me like my entire sexual preference/fetish/whatever was being boiled down to "ogling hot boys".

But... I said that because I think it's pretty dandy if you're just in it for the ogling of hot boys, or balls being cupped gently, or even self-lubing anuses. I don't think you, or anyone else, need to justify it any further than that. Think it's hot? Go for it! That's excellent. Objectifying

men

in and of itself, separate from the concern over straight people fetishizing homosexuality, doesn't really bother me. I'm not questioning the appeal of slash: I'm questioning some of the tropes, the homophobia, the misogyny. Which certainly aren't universal, but there sure is a lot of them to go around. Hell, gay male characters written by straight men also get raped an awful lot (hi Richard Morgan, thank you for that graphic schoolboy gang rape).

Disclosure: I think lesbians are awesome. I'd like to read more stuff with lesbian representation. Being homoromantic does have something to do with it, though.

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Melissa G.

at 11:11 on 2011-07-13

:-) I think it just came off as hostile because of the swearing, lol. To be honest, I was probably overly defensive because it's kind of a touchy thing for me.

I'm not questioning the appeal of slash: I'm questioning some of the tropes, the homophobia, the misogyny.

Yes, I'm with you here. I have a lot of trouble with a lot of boy/boy stuff that's out there.

Re: Lesbians

If you're looking to try out some yuri, I can lead you to some scanlation sites. I haven't read much yuri so I can't totally vouch for the content, but these are sites that I know of:

Lililicious

Payapaya

Just be sure to check for ratings and such. There was one on Lilicious I read years ago that I was enjoying.

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valse de la lune

at 11:14 on 2011-07-13OMG yay :D :D :D Thanks for the links. My friend's been sending me some too. I'm also quite pleased to see that a lot of yuri writers are female. Awesome.

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Cammalot

at 15:23 on 2011-07-13I JUST WANNA WATCH DUDES EMOTE. ;-)

I actually got into yaoi (not slash for whatever reason) because I was attracted to what I thought was the innate equality in such a a relationship. There are a variety of reasons I don't really seek out much fanfic anymore (one of which is the decade-plus that has gone by) but one of them is that I don't really see that equality getting embraced. (I'm necessarily truncating this, I have to imitate being a productive employee at the moment.)

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Melissa G.

at 19:40 on 2011-07-13

I JUST WANNA WATCH DUDES EMOTE. ;-)

Ooh, yes, good observation. I like that too.

I actually got into yaoi (not slash for whatever reason) because I was attracted to what I thought was the innate equality in such a a relationship.

Ditto. That's what I really like about it too, which is why I hate when they skew the power dynamic too far in one direction without somehow compensating for it in another way. I've never been into fanfic, but I do love doujinshi.

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Cammalot

at 19:48 on 2011-07-13I wrote up this whole long comment yesterday, but today with you guys' further conversation I realized I was addressing something that Pyro was not talking about, so I'm tweaking, but I don't think I'll have a chance to get to it today.

The extremely short version is that there's a very definite blockage that some women seem to have about writing women, and I had it myself for some time (and that some more extreme versions of it outright baffle me), and have spent a lot of time trying to process, discuss, and debate what the fuck that is about. With theories. I have theories.

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Melissa G.

at 19:53 on 2011-07-13

The extremely short version is that there's a very definite blockage that some women seem to have about writing women,

Definitely noticed this myself at times. I gravitate toward writing male characters, or at least I used to. I'm very interested to hear your theories whenever you find the time to write them up. :-)

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Sister Magpie

at 20:07 on 2011-07-13

I would guess that that's probably not all that related to the whole "that's my kink" thing, only not all kinks are sexual. That is, expecting them to explain it would probably be similar to having anybody explain why they find one thing more hot than another.

For instance, I like het and I like slash, but there are certain kinds of stories that could definitely be considered non-sexual kinks that I am more likely to read about in a m/m pairing than a f/m pairing or f/f pairing. I suppose I could try to relate it to power issues with gender IRL, but it's probably more just a kink if it's something I've pretty much always been drawn to.

I don't find that rape or "I'm only gay for that guy" seems to dominate most of the slash I come across, but I think that might often come down to different pairings leaning towards different dynamics. Or else also some authors being better than most.

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Steve Stirling at 22:44 on 2011-07-13Pyrofennec:

-of the women in this series like to rape gay men for some strange reason.Melusine opens with an anecdote about the pure, true love between men. Two women get between it; one proceeds to rape one of the men repeatedly until he wants to kill himself.

-- that is odd. I'd say it was evidence of misogyny if a guy wrote it, but I have trouble -imagining- a guy writing it, even a gay man. You'd need a very strange set of quirks to do so.

#Ferretbrain #Corambis #Sarah Monette #Wardog

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alphawave-writes · 6 years ago

Text

The shocking identity of the killer is revealed in this chapter of DPD. Find it on AO3 or FF.net.

You can also check out my discord server ‘Alphawave’s den’ for sneak peeks of my writing, catch up on all the good stuff, and even get some helpful advice.

Annuit cœptis: part 3

Gavin was in one of those rare sleeps where his body woke up before his eyes opened. They might as well be harbingers of doom because waking up in this manner meant only a handful of things, none of which were good. 1) he was so stressed for an impending morning appointment that the stress woke him up before his alarm woke him up; 2) he had horrible sleep, which has fortunately not been all that often ever since Richard had begun sleeping with him. But there was a third option, one that was most likely given the circumstances. 3) he'd been knocked out.

Gavin's eyes fluttered open to reveal Arthur's lifeless face staring back at him.

He yelped as he scarpered backwards, heart hammering in his chest. He stared at Arthur, desperately willing his breathing to slow, trying to come to grips with what he was seeing. Was this real life or fantasy? Was he imagining Arthur lying there? His eyes roam the body before him, taking in Arthur's naked form, the unnatural mixture of flesh and white plastic, the smashed-in skull, the unlit LED that caressed Arthur's right temple.

"Arthur…" he whispered.

"Sad, isn't it?"

Gavin whipped his head around to find Richard standing before him. He scrambled to get up, words dying in his throat as he saw the corkboard on the wall behind Richard. Portraits of David Bowman, Jason Graff, 42, and the KL900 were all on the board beside hundreds of other portraits, and at the centre was a single picture of a teen Arthur smiling into the camera. He gazed at the faces, many familiar, some not, a mix of androids and humans. Gavin couldn't find a link between these people. He didn't know their backgrounds to figure it out.

He continued to stare at the display, trying to make sense of it all. They couldn't all be targets. Surely this many people couldn't have done something to piss off RA9 that bad. He approached the corkboard, staring at the pictures until his head was dizzy. He checked his pockets quickly. He couldn't find his phone, but his wallet, pistol, and handcuffs were still there. Whoever knocked me out was real dumb, Gavin thought to himself.

On a desk beneath the corkboard was a variety of different papers. On the top was a medical leave notice for Arthur. Jason Graff's signature was on it. There was a time stamp for when it was submitted but not a time stamp for when it was accepted. The scroll of truth RA9 mentioned, Gavin thought.

Richard strode up beside Gavin and looked at the corkboard dispassionately. "A genius in the making, equal if not greater than Elijah Kamski in terms of intellect, and instead of achieving greatness he was pushed aside and bullied by his lessers. He was given the support of his family and his friends, but in his darkest times, they abandon him. They snuffed out his life." Richard gestured at the desk. "All the evidence you need is here."

Gavin could not concentrate on the myriad of papers that were strewn across the desk, a mini-documentary of Arthur's life for him to see. He glanced at Richard. His eyes narrowed at his change of clothes. He was wearing his old CyberLife outfit, one that Gavin thought Richard got rid of months ago.

"Your clothes," Gavin murmured.

"My old clothes got messy," Richard said emotionlessly. "I had this as a back-up. I didn't think to use my disguise of you for fear of frightening you."

There was something off about Richard. His speaking lacked the spark of life it held nowadays, and the way he stood was so stiff. Gavin glanced at Richard's glance and saw that the scar that once beautifully cut across his left cheek was gone. It's like Richard had reverted to his state when they first met. Cold, emotionless, perfect. Without a soul.

No, Gavin thought, it's like he's someone else.

Before Richard could react, Gavin took the pistol out of his holster and levelled it at the android in front of him. Richard did not react. Not a trace of a reaction aside from a cock of his head.

"Detective?"

Fuck, Hank warned him that imposter androids were a thing, but he didn't think it'd happen to him. Richard was supposed to be the only RK900 ever, there wasn't supposed to be another. What the fuck did Hank say? If you need to find out their identity, ask them something only your android will know. Fuck, if this guy knew the contents of Richard's briefcase, then that means he was captured, which meant they could have probed Richard's memories. Unless this really was Richard and he was still stuck in investigative mode, which was also likely.

Phck.

"Detective Reed?" Richard asked, taking one step forward.

"Don't you fucking move!" Gavin ordered, levelling his pistol perfectly at Richard's head. His eyes narrowed with purpose. A way to suss the real Richard from the imposter. Think, what did he know? He remembered that when transferring memories, the most recent stuff was the last to get transferred and was also the most difficult to access, so chances were that this RK900 didn't have Richard's memories from today. So what the fuck did Richard learn about Gavin that an imposter wouldn't know?

An idea sprung into Gavin's head. It was an idiotic idea, but it might just work.

"You," Gavin ordered, "what's my fucking name?"

"Your name?" Richard scoffed incredulously.

"My name, dipshit. What's my fucking name?"

"Why are you asking me? It's Gavin Reed."

CLICK! CLICK! CLICK!

Gavin stared incredulously at his gun. Where were the bullets? He had a full clip—had, being the keyword. Someone took all the bullets out. "What the fuck?"

"You shouldn't have tried, RK900," a voice behind Gavin said. "He's smart. He is Arthur's brother, after all."

Gavin swivelled behind him, training his empty gun at the mysterious voice. He shouldn't have been surprised with who he saw. "I always knew you were crazy, Philip."

Philip Seymour only smiled. "Looking for your partner?"

"What'd you do to him?" Gavin gritted his teeth.

"Nothing yet. Your RK900 is surprisingly resilient." Philip let out a quiet chuckle. "You gave him a curious name. Richard, was it? I nearly had a heart attack when I saw him earlier."

The imposter RK900 walked over to Philip Seymour's side. Knowing the small details about Richard's mannerisms, Gavin was ashamed for thinking he thought this guy was Richard. That thing may look like his partner but that's where the similarities end. This plastic prick couldn't pretend to act like a human if it tried.

"You killed them," Gavin said to the RK900. "David Bowman, Jason Graff, Claire. You're fucking RA9."

RA9 let out a smile but it seemed forced, as though it thought this was the most appropriate response. "Congratulations, Detective Reed. You've solved the case," RA9 said condescendingly. "Has this stoked your ego enough?"

Gavin ignored RA9's comments, turning his attention back to Philip. "You sent your lapdog to kill them, but you're the mastermind behind it all. That shit about the new order of the ages, that's all you. And for what? For Arthur?"

"Of course I did it for Arthur," Philip said. "I mentored him all these years, I helped him become the man he was, and for what? For his peers to look down on him time after time? To leave him alone in the darkness of his own thoughts without a light?"

"You're not family, and you're barely a friend, you were just his fucking mentor for a couple years. Why the fuck do you care about Arthur so much?"

"He was family to me. He was the son I never had. So many people have wronged him and I have failed my duty as his father to protect him. But no more. I will make sure everyone who's failed him suffers."

Gavin was struggling to take all this in. This was a confession. This fucking idiot was confessing. Fuck, why didn't he have a recording device? This was enough to convict these two bastards for life.

But a question struck him suddenly, and the words fell out of his lips before he could stop himself. "Chloe," he said to RA9. "She thought Richard was you. You held her captive. But for what?"

"I needed the biometrics of an ST200 android," RA9 said simply. "How else would I get my hands on Arthur?"

Gavin remembered that grainy footage from Elijah's place of Chloe descending that elevator. He always thought something was off about her in that footage. Now he knew why. The proportions were all wrong. It was RA9 in drag.

Gavin should have felt so fucking happy for finally having this mystery solved, but all he could feel was the slow shiver that ran down his spine. He should be a target, he realised. He should have been shot, or stabbed, or have his body paraded all the news. Maybe all three. Why were they just standing there, telling him what he needed to know?

All of a sudden Gavin's throat felt so tight.

"Why…" he paused, the only visible sign of weakness Gavin allowed, "…why are you telling me all this?"

"Haven't you guessed already?" Philip's lips turn up into a twisted smile. "We want you to join us, Gavin. We want you to join our family."

Philip and RA9 took a step forward, causing Gavin to take a step back. He'd take one more step backwards, but the back of his shoe brushed against the leg of a nearby table. His eyes dart across the room searching for an exit. There was only one door, and it was directly behind Philip and RA9. There were a couple glass windows, all covered in dusty red curtains. Worst case scenario, Gavin could smash the windows with his pistol and escape that way, but it was too risky. He of all people knew what RK900 androids were capable of.

He turned back to the pair, who looked at him expectantly. He suppressed a shudder. "W-why?" Gavin asked weakly. "Why do you want me to join you?"

Philip tilted his head and smiled. "You loved Arthur ever since you were a kid. The relationship you two had was one of support and care. I bet, even after all those years you still love him."

Gavin didn't answer, but his silence spoke lengths. Tried as he might, he couldn't ever truly forget Arthur. He did love him like a brother, even till this day.

Philip gazed down at the Arthur android and sighed longingly. "We both know this city is changing. Androids are becoming legal citizens and walking amongst humans, laws are being written and rewritten to accommodate for them. The city is changing, but it's not changing enough. CyberLife is still out there, cowering in the shadows, waiting to make their next move. I've seen the future they want to make, I saw the statistics. They will only bring ruin. They've already ruined Arthur's life, they've already ruined our lives. Until that company is razed to the ground, I won't stop. Not until Arthur has been brought to justice. Not until a new age without CyberLife is here."

Philip's words made a strange amount of sense. CyberLife was horrendous, and he never liked them before. Looking at the corkboard of pictures, Gavin supposed they were the next targets. and in all honesty, those scumbags at CyberLife probably deserved it one way or another.

The pistol in Gavin's hand quivered. "What about Richard?" Gavin whispered.

"What?"

"What about Richard?" Gavin said, slightly louder than before. "What about my partner?"

"Why does that matter? You can always get a new android." Philip gestured to RA9. "I can always lend you one of my androids if you want. After all, why work with a deviant when you can have an android that listens to you?"

Something within Gavin snapped. He lunged for Philip but RA9 was quick to react, grabbing Gavin by the throat and slamming him to the wall. The surprise of the attack made Gavin drop his empty pistol to the ground. He delivered a brutal kick to RA9's abdomen, a well-known android weak point, but RA9 did not budge.

"You did not accept our offer. That's strange. There was an 84% chance you would join us." RA9's LED remained a cool blue. "Could it be my statistics were wrong?"

Gavin just spat into the android's face. RA9's jaw clenched as he used his free hand to wipe the saliva off. Even with one hand, Gavin couldn't do anything to get away.

"I'm only going to ask this once, detective, before I deal with you myself. Why do you not want to join us?"

"You really wanna know?" Gavin smirked as proudly as he could—not an easy feat when his face was getting blue from lack of oxygen and his throat was burning for air. "I actually give a fuck about the law. Not like a plastic dildo like you would understand."

For a second RA9's grip weakened and Gavin could just barely see the flash of a yellow LED from his half-lidded eyes, saw the first true sign of emotion within RA9. An expression of surprise and fear, of having the very core of your beliefs being challenged. Gavin was half expecting the android to go deviant then and there, but then RA9 turned Philip, and the man gave a solemn, hesitant nod.

"Kill him," Philip said remorsefully.

Suddenly the hand around Gavin's throat tightened, cutting all oxygen to his body. The last refuge of his energy was spent kicking and fighting, a futile attempt because it did nothing to RA9. He could feel his larynx begin to collapse into itself, felt the numbness spread through his limbs. His consciousness was beginning to fade. Richard…

RA9's eyes widen and his LED flash red, and suddenly Gavin was dropped to the ground. He gasped in relief for every gulp of air that graced his lungs. RA9 retreated into Philip's side as they quietly conversed something in hushed whispers. The ringing in Gavin's ears was too loud to hear what they were saying, but it was soft enough to hear a different sound.

The sound of multiple police sirens approaching.

"We should go," Philip grumbled.

"Indeed," RA9 uttered.

The pair leave, locking the door behind Gavin. It's not long before the police sirens get closer and closer until they blare loudly outside Philip Seymour's house. A few minutes later, Gavin could hear the muffled orders of a SWAT team amidst the din. He'd shout for them, but his voice was mangled, and he barely had the energy to say anything, let alone stand. They bust down the door and Gavin craned his head up just enough to see Captain Allen's face.

Fuck, he'd never been so happy before to see that stone cold asshole.

"Irwin," Gavin rasped.

"Reed?" Irwin's eyes go from his body to the board behind him before silently signalling someone to help Gavin stand. He could only imagine what his throat looked like at that moment, black and blue and all sorts of twisted unnatural colours. He figured it must look horrendous because it hurt so fucking much. If strangling was a kink he had, it's certainly not one anymore.

"P-Philip…RA9…" Gavin started.

"We've blocked off the house, but we haven't seen Philip Seymour. He's RA9?

Gavin nodded in a stilted manner. It hurt to move his head too much. "Him and…RK900..."

"Your partner?"

"No...different android..." He turned his head slowly to Captain Allen's direction. "Richard…where is he?"

Irwin's lips dipped. "We found him hooked up to a machine. Your perps were trying to reset him. Pulled the plug on it when it reached 97%." He paused before adding, quieter, "He's comatose at the moment. High probability of memory corruption. We're taking him back to the precinct to get fixed up, but at this moment in time, it's anyone's guess whether he'll remember anything."

He put his hand on Irwin's shoulder to steady himself. For once, he didn't try to shake him off. "There's more…" Gavin said hoarsely.

Irwin hesitantly nodded. "They're saying if the corruption's spread too far into his systems, it might be better to reset him completely. He'll go back to square one. Won't remember you, or his friends, or anything."

Gavin nodded slowly, worried about Richard's condition but ultimately satisfied that he was safe and well. He finally allowed his conscience to drift away.

Later that day, they watched an android technician work on Richard's plastic, naked white body. His skin was disabled, a necessity for the technician to work, and apart from a few comments of disgust about Richard's dick (Why the fuck did they make it blue? Hank famously inquired, after which everybody glanced at Gavin), the room was silent. Apart from the technician working on Richard, there was Gavin, Hank, Connor, Captain Allen, and Inspector Perkins in the room, all watching from a distance. The DPD's collection of assholes all together, some might say, not including Connor, who Gavin thought was in a category of his own. They stood at a corner of this dinky little workshop in the DPD basement as the technician began the process of hooking up Richard to an elaborate looking machine. Static energy travelled through everybody as all but Gavin shared uneasy glances. Gavin couldn't give a fuck about everybody else. He'd already told them everything he knew. He couldn't glue his eyes away from Richard even if he tried. He was this close to losing him, this fucking close.

His hands tighten into fists by his side.

Connor cleared his throat loudly in hopes of getting everybody's attention. "W-well, now that we know Philip Seymour and RA9 are the murderers in this case, I've put out their descriptions to the other precincts. The commissioner has decided to keep this information private until tomorrow. It'll be a manhunt for them both. They can't escape."

Connor was half right in Gavin's opinion. Philip Seymour won't escape. He's too old and too distinctive and he's blind as a bat. He will be found easily, but that other RK900 was a different creature altogether. Gavin knew that RK900s were specifically designed for espionage purposes, hence their ability to camouflage themselves and their exceptional computer and hacking skills. RA9 could literally be anyone. It might as well be invisible.

Gavin could feel Connor's nervous glance his way. He wrenched his head in his direction and gave out a low huff. Connor's LED blared yellow but he did not falter. "…I did some additional research on Philip Seymour for you, Gavin," Connor said. "He was fired from CyberLife for stealing androids and messing with their systems. All of the androids at his place were deviants at one point or another, reset against their will to their base functions and re-registered to see him as their master." Connor turned to Richard's prone body. "If we were a minute late, Nines would have been reset too."

"If you were a minute late, I'd be dead," Gavin grunted.

Hank bristled. "Don't get shitty with me, Gavin. If Connor wasn't worried about the two of you, no one would have gone to Philip's place." Hank wagged his finger threateningly in front of Gavin. "Connor fucking saved your life."

"I know," Gavin snapped, almost immediately regretting the harshness in his voice. "I…I know." He glanced warily at Connor, who's giving him puppy eyes. He shifted on his feet uncomfortably and crossed his arms. "Thanks, I guess. For not getting me killed."

Connor smiled sympathetically. "You're welcome."

"Are we not going to talk about the elephant of the room?" Perkins shook his head incredulously. "You let the suspects get away, Reed."

"In case you haven't noticed, Jackal, I wasn't in any state to chase them." Unconsciously he brought a hand to his neck. It still hurt if he touched it, but it would otherwise heal. Until then, it's another scar to add to his collection.

"You had every authority to shoot the android on sight, but you didn't."

"My gun was emptied before I had a chance, and before you start accusing me of being all cosy with androids, that RK900 is not my partner. I would have put a fucking bullet right between its eyes if I was given the chance. Don't mistake my relationship with Richard for thinking I'm fine with all fucking androids now, because I'm not."

Perkins backed off, grumbling under his breath. Beside him, Connor frowned while Hank shook his head disapprovingly. It wasn't a complete lie. Gavin was not comfortable around androids and seeing what they are capable of, that opinion won't change, but he was beginning to respect at least some of them. The androids that worked hard to be on equal footing as humans, the ones that fought tooth and nail to be where they want to be, they had Gavin's respect. Richard had earned his position on the force, as well as Gavin's respect. Connor too.

Gavin crossed his arms over his chest. "What are you going to do then?"

Perkins' brows furrowed. "What do you mean?"

"My 48 hours is up as of half an hour ago. You're still the lead on the case. What the fuck are you going to do now?"

Perkins' face mellowed into a neutral expression. "We're going to find them and jail them, simple as that."

"What, no bigger plan than that?"

"You know I'm not allowed to discuss details to someone not on the case." Perkins gestured at Gavin's neck. "Enjoy your precious free time. Get your neck looked at. You found the culprits. Good for you. But now it's my turn to finish this."

Captain Allen added, "If there's anything we think you need to know, we'll tell you, but for now, just rest. You've done your job."

Perkins glared at Captain Allen for offering confidential information, but an equally menacing stare back left him quiet. Gavin turned back to Richard, watching as a flood of data washed over a nearby computer screen. He'd seen this process done a few times before. The technician was finally going to access Richard's memories. This was the moment of truth.

The technician looked at the files in fascination. The five were too far, but they were all inching forward to see. Gavin was no exception. The technician gasped.

"Oh my god," they said.

"What, what?" Gavin asked hurriedly. He ignored a stifled chuckle from Hank and Irwin.

"He's encrypted his memory files. Every single one of them." Seeing Gavin's confusion, the technician let out a sympathetic smile and added, "your partner should be perfectly fine. I'll start him up now."

It was a tense few seconds as the technician pushed a couple buttons and closed Richard's chassis into him. On bated breath, Gavin approached slowly, keeping his eyes on the unlit LED, waiting, waiting.

The LED spun blue slowly, then violently fast, as if making up for the lost time it spent unmoving. Richard's simulated breathing kicked in, chest rising as he took in a large, unnecessary breath. His eyes fluttered open, half-lidded. They search the room until they land on Gavin. A small tired smile left his lips, one that left Gavin breathless. Gavin reciprocated with his own smile. The tension coiling in his stomach felt like it was fading away.

Gavin heard the sounds of shoes on the tiled floor moving further and further away. Without a word, everybody decided to leave the two in privacy. Connor was the last to leave, hovering by the doorway and giving a cheeky smile over his shoulder.

"Don't take too long," Connor teased before walking away.

As soon as the door is gently shut, Gavin rested his hand on Richard's cheek, thumb tracing the familiar scar, fingers speaking more for his emotions than anything his lips could say. There was admiration, relief, fear, all dictated by the slow trail of a thumb from Richard's cheekbone to the lobe of his left ear.

"Richard?" Gavin whispered.

He did not respond, only stared. Dread filled Gavin's bones. What if this was RA9 also, or a third as-of-yet unidentified RK900?

"M-my name," Gavin whispered desperately. "Please tell me you know my name."

A quiet chuckle left Richard's lips as he raised one hand towards Gavin, silently beckoning him closer. Gavin leaned forward and felt long, slender fingers card through his hair.

"Gawain is a terrible name for you," Richard smiled warmly. "Piss me off and I might start calling you that."

A giggle left Gavin, which quickly grew into laughter. Tears stained his eyes and he couldn't tell if he was laughing because of Richard's joke or because he was so fucking relieved Richard was alright. Probably the latter. He pressed his forehead into Richard's chest for a moment to collect himself, droplets of clear liquid staining the plastic, and when he raised his head, he's met with a look that melted away all the pain of today into a pile of goo at his feet.

Richard propped himself up on one elbow and pulled Gavin's head to him so he couldn't look away from the pristine plastic body in front of him. Not that he'd ever want to. Warm air breathed onto Gavin's lips, the soft glow travelling down to his stomach, and soon their lips meet in a gentle caress. Gavin could feel Richard's desperation all from a flick of his tongue, the fear of loss as he moaned into his mouth. For once, it's Richard who leads with Gavin at the android's mercy, and it felt strange compared to all the kisses they shared before but it also felt warm and safe. It's just them, together. As it should be.

They break apart and Gavin was rendered truly breathless. He stared at Richard's snow white lips, still slightly puckered.

"You know," Gavin started, "I always wondered what it'd be like to fuck in here."

Richard rolled his eyes but the smile remained. "Don't entertain the idea. There are cameras in here. I wouldn't want to get fired just because you couldn't keep it in your pants."

"You're naked and lying on a table already," Gavin smirked. "We're already three-quarters of the way there."

"Are you actually going to suggest a blow job? In this room right now, literally after we've almost got ourselves killed by a serial killer?"

"You're not saying no," Gavin pointed out.

"There's still the issue of the cameras."

"So if the cameras weren't a thing, you'd consider it?"

Richard groaned, tilting his head backward to the ceiling. From Richard, that wasn't a complete refusal, and a not-complete refusal usually meant he's at least thought of it. Fun as it might be to tempt fate and ask Richard to hack the cameras, Gavin's luck didn't seem to be on the positive side today. He grabbed a bundle of clothes from behind him, all cleaned and pressed by Connor less than an hour earlier, and plopped them beside Richard.

"For me?"

Gavin nodded, wincing at how the small movement hurt his neck. No moving his head. New memo.

"Help me out?"

Gavin grinned. "With pleasure."

With two pairs of hands (one pair taking its time feeling up Richard's body), he was dressed and presentable. He swivelled his body and slowly settled his feet on the ground, testing his stability before slowly standing up. Gavin waited at arm's length on the off chance Richard needed help but he had already hopped off the bed and made his way for the exit.

"Hey, Richard, you forgot something."

Richard looked over his shoulder. "What?"

Gavin quickly captured ground and pressed his lips to Richard's own for a quick, searing kiss. He couldn't stop the smirk on his face. "Your skin's still disabled."

Richard put a hand to his face, then smiled sheepishly. His body reverted back to his normal human appearance as though nothing had happened, and he quickly exited the workshop, hoping that by getting out quicker he will avoid Gavin's teasing. Gavin decided to let Richard think he won, but he's certainly going to tease him about it later.

Outside of the room, everyone—Hank, Connor, Allen, and Perkins— was deep in conversation. They were probably deliberating on what to do now that they knew who the culprits were. Connor was probably talking about what RA9 could do, Hank was probably mindless agreeing with Connor, Captain Allen was counter arguing, and Perkins was probably being a pissy baby as usual. Despite the literal pain in his neck, Gavin felt what could be described disappointment. A part of him wanted to be the one to bring Philip and RA9 to justice. A sense of closure, Gavin thought, that was what he wanted. Instead, he'll have to settle for being the detective who found the culprits, even if by accident.

Richard took another step forward, alerting the group of four to his presence. Connor was the first to react, tackling Richard with a hug so strong it knocked the breath out of his synthetic lungs. Hank's the next, giving a relieved chuckle and his signature "glad you're OK, kid", living up to the old guy stereotype he had been cultivating now that his old drunk stereotype was gone. Captain Allen just gave a nod, and after jabbing Perkins in the ribs with his elbow, Perkins gave his own disinterested words acknowledging Richard's condition. At least Richard seemed happy with it.

"Fowler just called me, Reed," Captain Allen said. "You and your partner Rico got three days of holiday."

Gavin didn't want to have a holiday, and he's sure Richard didn't want one either, but there was no real excuse he could make. The 48 hours were up. They were both injured. No passionate speech about their detective abilities and their personal stakes will move Perkins to reassign them. Not unless Elijah engineered another miracle where only they could be involved. But lightning doesn't strike twice, and he's pretty sure he used up the last of Elijah's goodwill.

Suddenly Gavin's phone started ringing. An autotuned voice started singing. Go cops. Get the dogs. Let's go fuck with old folks. That's right, let's get high, and pull over black guys—

Before people could stare at Gavin for the highly inappropriate ringtone, he quickly clicked accept and put the phone up to his ear, turning away from the small crowd. "Eli, why the fuck are you calling me now?" He half-whispered, half-shouted. He really should change that fucking ringtone. How old was it now?

"Has something gone wrong with Richard? He's acting a bit weird."

Gavin's eyes widened. He stared at Richard, who was trying his best not to roll his eyes as Connor excitedly talked about dogs for the five-hundredth time. There was a lengthy pause, in which Gavin tried to think up the most delicate way he could ask for more info. "What are you talking about?" was what he decided on.

"Well, he's here at my place saying something about how I might be the next target because of my ties to CyberLife—"

"WHAT?!"

"—and I need to be relocated. But listen, have you two had a falling out recently? He's not acting like himself."

"Eli, get the fuck away from him. That's not Richard."

"What are you talking about?"

"Just stay there, and someone will come to you. But for the love of god, don't let on that you know."

"Let on that I know he's what?"

"The murderer," Gavin said. "The fucking murderer's in the house with you."

There were a few seconds in which Elijah didn't say anything. Then, in a voice weaker than Gavin had ever heard before, he asked, "What…what do I do?"

"Stall him. Don't let him on that you know his identity. Play along."

Elijah took in a breath to speak, but before he did there was a sound of a door opening and the call was cut.

Gavin finally turned to everybody, but they were all already staring at him. From the unnaturally stony looks on their face, they probably have already guessed the context of the phone call. One less thing to worry about.

"How lucky for you," Perkins grumbled without his usual malice. Even he was affected by the news. "Your cousin's the next target, and you've got the only piece of technology we can track him with. Everything's coming up rosy for you."

"No, it's not," Gavin said.

"No?"

"This isn't some coincidence anymore. Philip Seymour and RA9 have been careful about their murders, leaving as few witnesses as possible while still keeping it public. But to kill Elijah Kamski, or at least keep him hostage, there's all his Chloe androids and the police stationed outside his house as witnesses. They're not doing this just for Arthur anymore. They're targeting me too."

"I don't think so," interjected Richard. "Before I went into emergency shutdown, I managed to pick up the memories of one of the androids that worked at Philip Seymour's place."

Richard turned to Gavin. His lips were thin and his face was a perfect mask of indifference, but his eyes said all. They spoke of the fear Richard was too proud to show.

With his palm outstretched, a screen projected, showing a multitude of videos crudely cut and pasted together. It's androids pulling the Arthur android into Philip Seymour's home, a shot of the schematics for CyberLife's warehouses, a glimpse at an abandoned android factory where a singular, sleeping RK900 android lied. The serial number #313 248 317 – 88 appeared on a very familiar CyberLife-issued outfit. Richard's serial number, #313 248 317 – 87 then appeared on a piece of paper, circled and crossed out in red pen. A clip of Gavin and Richard from the Regina case appeared on a computer. Philip tampered with the wirings of the RK900, the viewpoint android occasionally handing tools.

Philip closed the chassis and wiped the sweat off his forehead. He turned to the RK900 android. "State your name, RK900," Philip said.

"Error. The RK900 series is a prototype series of androids. Default names have not yet been given."

"Is that so?" Philip sighed. "Fine. Register yourself, RK900."

"Registering."

Philip's lips pulled into a contemplative smile. "How about…RA9?"

"I am RA9," the RK900 said.

"State your functions."

"Compared to my RK800 predecessor, I am stronger, smarter, and faster. My durability is twice that of a standard android and my processing units are top of the range. I share the same functionality and abilities as my RK800 predecessor alongside unlimited access to whatever information systems I am able to penetrate as well as additional appearance modules designed to mimic a variety of different faces and bodies." The RK900 blinked. "In other words, I am an extremely efficient hacker and I can shapeshift."

"Is that so?" Philip smiled wickedly. "If that's the case, I think the two of us are gonna be very good friends."

The android merely stared forward, unmoving, unemotional.

Richard's projection died, and he remained standing, not moving his outstretched palm. He looked into Gavin and the walls he built for himself began to crumble. He tilted his head high, trying to make himself seem above it all, trying to make it look like it didn't affect him.

"They're known about us from the start, Gavin."

"They thought they know us," Gavin clarified. "They tried to recruit me into their sick little 'family'."

"You know what this means, right?"

"Yeah," Gavin said quietly. "They're targeting the both of us now. You and me, Richard. And by kidnapping Eli, they're killing three birds with one stone."

Richard's brows furrowed as he stared at the ground. His LED glowed yellow, and remained yellow for quite some time, an inescapable sign of his apprehension.

#DPD #Dbh #detroit become human #reed900 #rk900 #dbh gavin #gavin reed #I finally get to reveal the murderer #I've been hinting at this for so long and now you guys get to find out #I've done so much foreshadowing #You should check out my previous chapters because there are a LOT of signs #After this is the climactic showdown and then the grand finale #Ah~ So much to do yet so little time #Enjoy the fic everybody

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eene-fangirl · 7 years ago

Text

Stand By Ed Chapter 2 [An Ed, Edd n Eddy Fanfiction]

Note: Here is chapter 2 of @camriko and I’s crossover fanfiction of Stephen King’s Stand By Me and Ed, Edd n Eddy. Enjoy!

Edd packed together any belongings he knew he may need in the two nights he was going to be spending in the wilderness. As Ed remarked, at least they knew this time around.

A pair socks, underwear, an extra shirt, pants, and also a second hat. That was enough, right? Or was it too much? Were Ed and Eddy bringing along any extra accessories? No, probably not.

Sighing, Edd looked around his room.

He eyed his desk where two years ago he sat writing multiple goodbye letters to his parents. At that point he and his friends thought they could show their faces in the cul-de-sac again. In the end, it was pointless. His parents never came home during the time he was gone. He scratched in the harshest of words about their scam that went wrong. Now that Edd thought about it, was he writing about their cold relationship?

Looking away from that dark memory, he looked around his room instead.

Labels still covered everything.

Three years ago he was overjoyed when his parents gave him a label maker. He went and labeled every single object in his room from his door knob, his cactus he named Jim, and even the floor.

Was that weird or normal?

That morning when he woke up three years ago the label maker was sitting on the counter in the kitchen. With a sticky note accompanying it.

‘Dear Eddward,

‘Your mother and I decided to give you a label maker. We hope it will help you.’

Love, Mother and Father’

‘We hope it will help you.’

What was that supposed to mean? It was the only way they could help with his anxieties? They only made everything worse! The best thing they ever did to help was enroll him in public school again when he was ten. They were no longer embarrassed.

A shiver went up Edd’s spine.

His breathing hitched when the nightmarish image of his classmates splayed out, injured along the floor of the gymnasium. His dodgeball machine sputtered smoke and was shaking. If he never built that machine he wouldn’t have this scar on his head, marking his treacherous guilt for the rest of his life.

Ten years.

Edd shook the memory from his mind realizing tears had leaked out from his eyes. His hands were also shaking. Now wasn’t the time to think about all that. Besides, he couldn’t keep Ed and Eddy waiting.

When he opened his bedroom door Edd practically felt his heart stop.

Voices…

Edd slowly walked down the hallways as if he were in a horror movie. Maybe he wanted to be as quiet as a mouse, maybe not. He was caught off guard.

When he stepped into the kitchen Edd almost fainted.

“M-Mother? Father?” Edd uttered.

His parents shared the same shocked expression as their son. His mother stood by the counter, wearing her work uniform. Her curly brown hair touched her shoulder. The last time he saw her hair it barely touched her chin. And his father sat at the table with the newspaper.

The kitchen was uncomfortably silent. Edd’s mother struggled to say something, anything while his father looked him over, noticing the tiny stubbles of hair on son’s chin.

“Eddward, we thought you were out,” his mother finally said. “Are you going somewhere?” she asked noticing his sleeping bag.

“Yes, um, I’m camping with Ed and Eddy.” Edd answered, rather uncomfortably.

There was another silence, so horrible that Edd actually preferred wanting to listen to sharp nails scratch against a chalkboard.

“Um, I needed to run out and get some milk from the store. I wish I could stay and chat. I’ll back soon.” She awkwardly touched her son’s shoulder. And she was out the door, still in her work uniform.

Edd’s father held the newspaper, practically clutching it. “You’re camping with those two friends of yours, huh?” he asked.

“Yes. I was leaving now.”

Edd turned his back when his father said, “School starts in a week. Is that right?”

For a moment, Edd felt excited believing he was going to have an actual conversation with his father. “Correct. I have all my school supplies.” he happily answered.

“High school, right?”

That’s when all the hope drained out from Edd. “Correct.”

His father stared at the newspaper, barely glancing at Edd.

“You know what, Eddward?”

“Yes, Father?” He knew he shouldn’t get his hopes up.

“I’m going to buy you a razor.”

“Um... I guess I should be leaving now.”

Edd heard the newspaper fall towards the table. “You’re really still friends with those troublemakers?” he heard his father ask, unimpressed.

Edd glared at the wall in front of him. He didn’t bother to turn around. “Ed and Eddy are my friends.”

“You have nothing in common! Look at them! Loud, no respect for authority, slow…”

Edd’s lip trembled. His fist shook, but he took a deep breath. No arguing. He had to be a good son and act like one.

“Eddward, you know you’d much better if you befriended people like yourself?”

Edd blinked. “I’ll be going now.”

“I thought your mother and I taught you something. That incident didn’t help us all!”

Edd closed the door to his house cutting off his father’s final statement. Of course he had to bring up the nightmare incident. His parents never put it to rest. The school made him apologize for the incident. Then they moved and he was home schooled for four years. Barely interacting with the outside world. When he went back to public school for the first time everyone thought was he… weird.

“There’s Double Dee!” Ed called out from the end of the cul-de-sac.

“We’ve been waiting? What took yah?”

Edd’s heart swelled in utter sadness. He must have put on the worst smile ever. “Um, father had something to verify with me.”

“Everything okay?” Eddy asked, concerned.

“Yes. We should make our way now. The sun won’t stay out too long.”

The Eds ventured along, sleeping bags tossed over their shoulders. Walking into Peach Creek town it was totally empty, much to Eddy’s liking who was rustling around in the small pack he brought along.

“Are you sure it’s alright that you leave, Ed?” Edd asked.

“Sarah has me covered,” Ed answered. He really didn’t want to be discussing this topic.

“Just with… everything happening, it won’t hurt anything?” Edd didn’t know how to talk about this subject.

Before Ed answered, Eddy gestured for them to walk into a nearby alleyway. “Guys, I gotta show you somethin’.” he whispered.

They gathered together, Eddy looking over his shoulder making sure they were alone. “Okay, don’t freak out,” Eddy said. He reached into his bag and appeared with a gun.

Edd immediately gasped, recoiling away.

“Eddy, is that a…”

“Yup,” Eddy interrupted Ed.

“Why do you have that? Get rid of it! You’ll get us into serious trouble if anybody see it!” Edd huffed, looking all around.

“No, Bro is going to get in trouble.” Eddy stated, matter of factly. “I found it in his room. I know it has somethin’ to do with that kid.”

“Are we really going to take it with us?” Ed asked, almost intrigued by the dangerous weapon.

“Course!” Eddy exclaimed. “We find that body, frame Bro, and hand in the murder weapon. Easy peasy like lemon squeezy,” Eddy recited flipping the gun around in his hands.

“Eddy, you be careful!” Edd warned still backed away at a safe distance.

“It’s not even loaded, Double Dee. I heard Bro say so himself on the phone. Here, try it and see.” Eddy said handing it to Ed.

Edd timidly looked at Edd. Edd wasn’t sure what to say. Ed cautiously took the gun holding it between his fingers.

“Push the lever! Nothin’ll happen!”

Ed pressed the trigger.

The boys jumped at the loud noise echoing across the whole town and drilling a perfect circular hole through the dumpster.

They ran off before hearing a woman’s voice asking what had happened.

Now they were right outside the candy shop. Nobody else came out to inspect the noise, thankfully.

Eddy began laughing. “Man, you should have seen the looks on guys’ faces! I thought…”

“Eddy, that was not humorous in any format! What were you expecting from that?! Did you think of the consequences? Ed could have been hurt! I could have been hurt! And you could have been hurt! What if that bullet went right through that wall? You could you trick us?”

“Double Dee, Double Dee, calm down,” Eddy reassured. An expression of pure guilt ran over his face. Clearly, he didn’t find the situation as humorous as he let on. “I didn’t know it was loaded.”

“You swear, Eddy?” Ed asked him.

“I swear,” he shook hands with the tallest. Ed smiled at him letting Eddy know that all was forgiven.

Eddy turned to the second tallest. “Double Dee?”

Edd stared at the ground, then at Eddy. “You swear you didn’t know, Eddy?”

“I swear on my Grandfather's grave.”

Edd felt his heart crack.

Eddy held out his hand. “Come on, no jokes. You can’t stay mad at me, and you know it!”

Edd smiled. He took Eddy’s hand and happily shook it.

Just then, they heard a bell chime. “Well, well, well, fancy meeting you here with your girlfriends, pipsqueak.”

The trio instantly cringed fearing to turn around. Bro stood over them, tall and mighty, biting at a candy bar, and smoking a cigarette in his other hand.

“What are you doin’ here? You’re on house arrest!” Eddy confronted, though his voice trembled in fear.

Bro laughed. “Town arrest. Weren’t yah listening or were your ears clogged?” he mocked. “Where are you off to?” he asked noticing the sleeping bags.

“To sleep in the woods for a night,” Eddy hissed.

Bro smiled curling up his lips and said rather coldly, “Aw, pipsqueak is afraid to sleep at home with me?”

“Come on,” Eddy said to his friends.

Bro stared at Edd who hadn't stopped grimacing at him. “What’s wrong, girlfriend. Need a little fun?” Bro playfully touched at his own belt.

“Leave him alone!” Ed stepped in front.

“And what are you going to do about it? Bro asked, puffing smoke into Ed’s face.

“Leave them alone, you asshole!” Eddy screamed, pushing him into the wall.

In seconds Eddy was being held against the ground. A cigarette was dangerously close to touching his skin.

“You gonna take it back?”

“Suck my fat one!” Eddy defended himself. Ed and Edd were doing what they could to stop Bro.

“It’ll be a pity when Ma sees yah,” The burning cigarette was hovering right over his eyes.

Eddy was quiet.

“What do yah say?” Bro asked.

“U-Uncle.” Eddy uttered in defeat.

“And?”

Eddy sighed. “I’m sorry, Terry.”

“You forget the rest?”

“‘Terrible Terrel McGee.’”

Bro got off Eddy letting his brother sit back up and rub the dirt from his face. He pushed aside Edd and Eddy and walked back through the street, puffing his cigarette. “Don’t let the dark scare you, pipsqueak!”

Ed offered his hand to help Eddy up. Reluctantly, he accepted and through his sleeping back over his shoulder.

“Are you alright, Eddy?’ Edd asked.

“The second qw put his ass in jail, the better!” Eddy grumbled as he walked off not een waiting for his friends.

Ed and Edd sadly looked at each other. They followed along and exited Peach Creek.

#Ed Edd n Eddy #eene #eene fanfiction #Eddy's Brother #Stand By Me #Ed #Edd #Eddy #Edd's parents

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