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jeannereames · 2 years ago

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Regarding your most recent ask—why do you think Alexander got so violent during the last leg of his campaign? I get he and his men were tired, that he was pissed at them too, but as you pointed out, his behavior in India was so bloodthirsty I can’t even fathom. I just can’t put my head around what could’ve possibly flipped that switch inside of him when, previously, his violence seemed to have served a purpose (understandable, and calculated, not pardonable though of course). In the last years of his life the level of violence was just crazy for no good reason.

Why Alexander became increasingly vicious, especially in India, has been asked by a lot of historians. Unsurprisingly, there are several general categories of answers:

1) He’d come to think of himself as a god and/or suffered increasing megalomania to the point that resistance in any form was met with offended outrage and violence.

1a) He’d proven himself so many times in combat, why were these stupid Indians still resisting? Why couldn’t they just surrender already?

2) He’d been through increasingly brutal guerilla warfare in Baktria and Sogdiana for three years, so when he faced similar resistance in India, he had a very short fuse.

2a) Years of combat and exposure to violence had numbed his sense of compassion, or his ability to see “the enemy” as human. E.g., non-stop war turned him cruel.

3) Indians were sufficiently different that he didn’t regard them with the same sympathy he had granted more familiar populations. If not necessarily full-on Aristotelian racism, it fell into the category of, “It’s harder to feel compassion for people who don’t look like you.’

Our big problem answering is that this question delves into motivation, which is psychological. We can’t plop him on a couch to psychoanalyze. The best we can do is consider what attitudes his culture might have most predisposed him towards.

I don’t give much credence to #1 as I don’t think he believed himself a “living god,” only a hero (Herakles 2.0) who might expect deification upon death—but not while alive. As for “megalomania,” it’s beyond our capacity to diagnose, and perhaps altogether anachronistic.

I do think #1a, #2, #2a, and #3 were all at work to varying degrees.

Alexander was enormously competitive. He wanted a challenge. That’s why he treated Poros so well after the Battle of the Hydaspes. Poros hadn’t run away, and he’d fought a good battle. A pitched battle with a decisive outcome. Alexander didn’t really like sieges. They were long and messy and typically ended badly, even if he won. But a set-piece or pitched battle took less than a day, and it was over. This one in particular ticked all his boxes: talented, brave opponent, clear victory, and his opponent surrendered (didn’t escape).

It wasn’t combat in itself that put him off. It seems to have been the sheer stubbornness of the Indian resistance. If we recall, he was extremely unsympathetic to Gaza and Batis when that city still opposed him despite his victory after a 7-month siege of Tyre. His behavior at Gaza had a clear intimation of: “Dammit! I just took the ‘untakable’ city, why are you resisiting?”

If Alexander liked a challenge, he didn’t like “repeating himself,” so to speak. He had to repeat himself a lot in India, ergo, both #1a and #2 are in effect.

As for #2a and #3, it can be uncomfortable for those fascinated by Alexander to accept he had a vicious side. We want to justify it. “He was brutal to ___ because….” I find myself doing it too. But after a number of conversations with students in my classes on Alexander or Greek warfare, themselves war vets, Alexander the soldier is a reality we can’t ignore.

These vets talked about their process of training—indoctrination—that conditioned new recruits to become part of “the group,” but also to dehumanize “the enemy.” It’s one difference between “soldiers” and “warriors.” There is, I think, a tendency to look down a bit on warrior societies as more “primitive.” Yet in warrior societies, the focus is more on the individual warrior’s bravery and honor. They don’t develop as much same group-think that leads to a smoothly operating war machine…but can also lead to war crimes. Do what you’re told; don’t think about it. The enemy is less-than-human and deserves death and torture.

That’s a broad generalization I don’t want to push too far; some warrior societies were quite insular and violent. But if the training/indoctrination involved in turning out soldiers certainly professionalizes an army—like the Macedonians—it also allows them to engage in a level of atrocity that’s mind-boggling to those outside the system. The longer one fights, the more violence one sees, and that requires a certain disassociation in order to remain sane. One of my former students who left the military and became very left-leaning was unambiguous about the process of numbing soldiers to the need to kill or engage in violence—“even for the guy down in the mailroom.” And of course, part of military separation involves teaching these now-former soldiers to become part of civil society again.

The upshot is that is we can’t dismiss the impact of near-continual violence on Alexander. He’d been in charge of military operations from at least the age of 16, and had probably killed in battle some time before that. In Dancing with the Lion: Becoming, he’s 14; that’s not unreasonable.

Not only did he engage in violence intrinsic to a war machine, but death and violence was intrinsic to daily life in everything from food preparation to religious sacrifice. It’s not that our world is less violent, but that violence these days is segregated, largely by wealth, in a way it just wasn’t then. I go to the grocery and buy my pre-packaged deboned chicken breast, whereas both my grandmothers walked out into the chicken yard, grabbed a chicken, wrung it’s neck, plucked feathers, and only then could get down to the business of cooking it for dinner.

Furthermore, human slavery was endemic. Alexander’s teacher, Aristotle, spoke of slaves as “human animals.” The problem for ancient people was how to explain why some became slaves when others were masters. Simple chance was recognized by some, but far more tried to explain it as the disfavor of the gods, or as some sort of “natural” inferiority (as Aristotle did). It wasn’t the racial slavery of the Atlantic slave trade, but it certainly sowed the seeds.

Thanks to the long shadow of W.W. Tarn, a popular perception persists of Alexander as a proponent of One World politics (Brotherhood of Mankind). Yet Brian Bosworth has shown rather convincingly via officer and political appointments in his latter years, that Alexander grew more cynical about foreign peoples. That doesn’t mean he got more racist exactly, but he grew progressively more distrustful. It might be better to think of him as naïve when he started out, but experience rubbed off that innocence.

As he was un-learning trust, he was also encountering cultures—and landscapes—increasingly alien. I don’t think he ever lost his curiosity, or his basic “approach” attitude to difference. He liked learning about new things and people. But plenty of psychological studies have shown that most of us display increased sympathy towards those who look like us. It’s not that we can’t be sympathetic towards others, but we’re apparently hardwired to care more about people we perceive as “like us.” It’s no doubt linked to survival: protect the family, the tribe. The flip side, of course, is that it’s easier to walk by someone in distress, or to actively harm them, if they’re “not like us.” Alexander’s friendship with Poros shows that he remained able to see The Other as human. But I suspect the cultural and physical differences also made it easier for him to disregard not just Indian suffering, but Baktrian and Sogdian and Persian, as well.

#asks #Alexander the Great #Alexander in India #the violence of Alexander the Great #soldier indoctrination #increasing tolerance for violence among soldiers #violence in the ancient world #Classics #tagamemnon #violence in ancient warfare #violence in daily life in the ancient world

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spiltscribbles · 3 years ago

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Miss you and your marvelous writing!!!! Just a prompt if you’re up to it 😊 exes wolfstar staying friends but sirius gets into a new relationship and he brings his new boo to somewhere he took remus and remus gets sad 😭 but they get back together eventually

Notes: OMFG BABEY! this is so SO beyond precious of you! i adore you to bits! thank you for the sweetness and for this scrumptious angst🥺🥺 i really hope you like it😭😘😘💜

SEND ME A PROMPT | A Reblog means SO SO much! I ADORE YOU💜💜

“He can just be so… So” James pauses right then, takes off his cap with the hand that’s still clutching his baseball bat, and ruffles his hair with the other.

“Un-opinionated,” Remus offers half heartedly as they turn the block to the small coffee shop nearest school, both of them freshly showered after the required morning workouts for Tuesday and Thursdays. It’s the first semester in which Remus has actually joined in on the seven minute track, considering the fact that even despite their crazy contradictory schedules with all the sports and extra curriculars they each had, Sirius always made it a point to buy their ice coffees and drop it off to Remus, sometimes leaving them a quarter of an hour late for first period, or as just a quick drop and dash if one of them had an exam.

It was sweet, considerate. It was Sirius showing how much he cared because he’s never been one for words, even if he would frequently print off the little texts Remus would send him about how Sirius made him feel, and hang it up on the wall besides his bed, along with photos of them and Remus by himself and a few of their other friends too.

But yeah… None of that is really a thing anymore, not the coffees or the texts or the promises of being one another’s always. Not after calling it quits in early January because they knew by August they’d be working with thousands of miles between them and a three hour difference on top of that. It just wouldn’t have been feasible in the long run, and sure— Remus was the one to broach the topic and he knows that Sirius was hesitant about the logical side of it, but sometimes Remus wishes Sirius had fought harder, had argued louder, had wanted Remus more. But that’s a ridiculous expectation, and he had only admitted as much to Lily. And at the end of the day, it was the right choice, because it’s only early May now, and Remus can’t imagine how sick he’ll feel once catching his flight to Berkeley, and they’re steadfastly back in the best friends category of things. He can’t fathom how it would’ve been if they spent all these months and the ones after being together in all those intimate ways, knowing that they’ll be so far apart soon enough.

It was the right decision for the both of them and their friendship.

“Yeah, sure. Let’s go with that,” James says, bringing Remus out of his gloomy contemplations while opening the glass door to Three Broomsticks, sporting a thin smile that he always has on when he’s trying to be kind even when he’s irritated as all get out.

Remus snorts at him, elbow checking his side as he walks past. “Well he’s sharing that dorm with you and Sirius in New Haven, so I guess you’ve got that to look forwards to.”

James’s face pulls into a grimace and their typical barista nods their way, already receiving their orders through the app and sparing them having to wait in the queue. “Maybe Pete’ll grow his own personality in university, yeah?”

“Sure Prongsie,” Remus says, noncommittal as he checks his phone and lies against the windowpane, already exhausted by the morning. “And if he doesn’t, I’m sure Sirius is about to blow his lid any day now.”

“It’s going to be funny as fuck, and you won’t even be there to see the debris,” James counters, sounding pleasant enough even though Remus knows that he’s nearly as pissed off as Sirius is about the decision for him to go back to his home state for undergrad.

“You’ll send pictures though.”

“Of course Moony my old friend,” James jokes, tossing him a wink as they straighten once spotting their coffees being rung up. But as Remus takes a step forwards, he notices that a familiarly tan pair of hands are reaching for them, and when Remus looks up he feels like an idiot for not noticing him sooner. Because there Sirius is, dashing as ever in their school’s maroon blazer and tan pants, and his hair is windblown and shining as it falls midway of the nape of his neck. But Remus doesn’t really have the chance to appreciate just how damn good looking his ex-boyfriend is, rather, he’s more distracted by how Sirius doesn’t even notice him or James as he pivots around and hands over the second cup to a beaming Gideon Prewett. Their heads incline while they exchange a few words that are absolutely impossible to pick up in the crowded cafe before they bump their shoulders together and walk out the opposite door.

And it feels like nothing else watching that exchange— like their was a hammer and pick chipping away at his stupid, weeping heart.

“I think they’re just doing a project together,” James says lowly in Remus’s ear, clapping him on the back in reassurance, and Remus loves him, but he’s not in the mood for false platitudes, feels like there is a ugly, burning fire festering deep in his stomach and making Remus want to hurl all over the wooden floors.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” he replies instead, mild as he discretely picks up his phone again and opens up to the last conversation he had this morning.

R: need intel

L: Say more sexy things to me, lover

R: sirius and Gideon

R: what’s going on there

L: I’ll take a look, dw

Buoyed by Lily’s scary levels of detective skills, Remus returns his phone to his satchel and signals James to follow him to pick up their actual drinks. “C’mon, Flitwick hates it when we’re late.”

“Do you want the good news first, or the bad.” Lily asks Remus later that morning during their shared free period, dropping her bag on the tabletop that they typically commandeer towards the back of Hogwarts’s library, nearest the windows and tucked away by the shelves.

“Is there actually any good news? Or are you just saying that to make me feel better.” Remus asks, single brow cocked as he shuts his history book and tosses it to the side.

“Well your hair looks especially nice today,” she offers with a small smile, sitting besides him and ruffling his curls.

“Thanks, I suppose. But I’d rather just get to it. And don’t sigh at me like that! All long suffering and all.”

Rolling her eyes, Lily gathers her hair into a high pony before turning to Remus fully. “You’re my best friend, I love you more than just about anyone. You know that, right?” Lily asks him, stiff stance relaxing when he nods in turn. “Then understand that I’m saying this from a place of love, but you don’t get to be mad at him, okay. You’re the one who called it off Re, you’re the one who wanted you guys to go back to being friends to avoid that messiness in August. And you know I respect the decision, but also it wasn’t the only one to be had. I mean look at James and I—“

“You’re going to Columbia Lils,” Remus bristles, hates how defensive he’s getting all of a sudden. “That train ride is like two hours and some change at the very most. It’s not the same.”

“You guys could’ve made it work,” she insists, green eyes blazing in the dim light. “He’s crazy about you, and you’re in love with him— Like ass backwards in love. You can’t just cut that off like it’s nothing, damn it, Remus.”

He can feel his own ears reddening and Remus hates it, hates how today had started off so innocuous and now it’s an absolute shit show. Remus hates that Lily is always correct about everything, and hates how Sirius probably is regretting telling Remus he still fully intends to ask him out to prom, and hates how much he loves him— how whenever he looks at Sirius it’s just a deluge of wanting and adoring and regretting and needing to feel his lips against Sirius’s own again like a drug, how he’ll never forget how he tasted like coffee beans and cigarette smoke and the strawberries he ate every morning besides his breakfast. Remus hates it all and he can’t figure out how not to feel like suddenly everything is slipping out of his hands like sand drifting through his fingers.

“He’s probably not that crazy over me anymore considering he’s getting Gideon Prewett coffees now, so maybe it’s the right decision after all.” Is what Remus decides to tell Lily instead of that whirlwind of clashing feelings.

“Oh Christ,” Lily huffs, dropping her head back like she’s asking for strength from the heavens above. “Look, Dorcas tells me that they’ve only been out twice. And Marlene says that it’s nothing intense. Just a movie and then he went to go watch his nephew’s little league game.”

“Oh,” Remus intones, because, no. No he will not start crying like this is some fucking Nicholas Sparks novel, and he’s the wayward lead making all the worst decisions. He’s not going to cry damn it!

He is not a bird, and this is suppose to be happening, and none of this has any real consequence at the end of the day. He and Sirius broke up, and Sirius can go out with whoever he pleases— even if it’s good looking, ginger athletes.

Remus is fine.

“Remus,” Lily gently consoles, lacing her fingers into his own that’s resting on his lap, and squeezing for good measure. “Benjy told Mary, who told me during Calc that Gideon doesn’t expect anything. Sirius told him he’s not looking for anything long term.”

“That’s dumb,” Remus retorts, trying to hold everything in so that Lily doesn’t give him that concerned, doe eyed face of hers, like when he’s spent a week living off of protein bars and double shot espressos preparing for finals. “Gideon’s great, and there on the soccer team together, they would be perfect.”

“Remus, stop.”

“And he’s going to Dartmouth, so he’ll be super close for like weekend excursions and all of that.”

“Remus!”

“The more I think about it, Lils, the more it makes sense. They just fit.”

“Sure, those are all nice attributes,” Lily says, peering up at him disappointedly. “But he’s not you.”

Like a legion of angels singing in the distance, the bell begins to shrill for next period and Remus is spared from giving that statement any mind.

He spends the rest of the week acting as if he hadn’t even seen Sirius that morning whenever around him, and internally analyzing each and every exchange between them, and comparing to them to when he sees Sirius chatting with Gideon. And it’s not fun to say the least. It’s like a flashback to when he was trying to hide his crush on Sirius back in Freshman and most of sophomore year, but somehow worse. It’s worse because Remus had him, had Sirius in all the ways someone could ever want an other. He had Sirius’s languid morning kisses, and Sirius’s bark like laughter. Remus had Sirius being nervous the first time Lyall came for his typical Christmas visit, and Sirius had to try and impress him along with Remus’s mom as more than just the friend he hung around with at school. Remus had Sirius’s gruff voice when they were in bed and getting tangled into one another, and Sirius’s dopey looks in the middle of class when he’d be gazing over at Remus instead of the board. And if Remus is being honest, he knows he still has all those things, but it’s suddenly and searingly clear that some time— sooner rather than later— they’ll all leave, abruptly disappearing and shattering Remus’s world in their wake. Because eventually all of those different facets of Sirius’s won’t be Remus’s anymore— they’ll be Gideon’s or some other boy he meets in New Haven. And Remus can’t even be upset at it, he doesn’t have a claim to any of Sirius anymore, doesn’t get to call any part of him his.

And it’s probably the worst Remus has felt since that first night after their break up, because he’s eating every moment he has with Sirius like he’s famished and Sirius is the last meal he’ll ever know. He wants to memorize every part of him before he can’t have any of it. He wants to unravel every layer of Sirius, and kiss it for the final time, and it’s like saying goodbye a thousand times over, strangling his heart and splintering something desperate deep inside of him.

Like now.

It’s edging on midnight, and they drove up to the lake front near their suburb, with Sirius lying with his head on Remus’s lap and his long, muscled body lying against the tattered blanket beneath them. And his eyes are fluttered shut while the speaker they brought croons out the indie playlist they like most from Spotify.

And Remus can’t help but feel like this is one of their last nights like this, alone and quiet and together without any other specter of some other partner. So he watches him, watches the moonlight pacing over his nose and the high bones of his cheeks and across Sirius’s eyelids too. Remus watches his ink like lashes kissing his skin, and wants to touch the divot of his cupids bow like so many times before while his other hand cards through Sirius’s hair.

And Remus lets himself want Sirius and wonders if he’ll ever stop wanting, craving, loving him.

“I can hear you thinking Moons,” Sirius says, fluttering his eyes open and crunching up before Remus can even respond. “What’s going on?”

“Huh? What do you mean? I’m fine.” Remus all but sputters, folding his knees against his chest and wrapping his arms around them, feeling somehow vulnerable in blistering ways. “Nothing is going on.”

“Pff,” Sirius gives him a pointed look, settles down so that they’re side by side and tries to get Remus to look at him head on. “You’ve been strange all week, Moony.”

“That’s not—“

“And then tonight, you didn’t even tease your ma when she was telling us about that patient who puked all over her shoes.”

“Just tired is all.”

“But had enough energy to smoke half the joint I brought.” Sirius says with a snort, looking frustrated again when Remus didn’t even flinch a smile at the counter. “Remus, talk to me.”

“It’s fine Sirius,” Remus sighs, suddenly remembers how exhausting all their arguments were in the past. How Sirius tries getting him to speak everything in his mind, as if Remus could even put them into words.

“Okay, then tell me why you rejected my offer to go to that Frank Ocean concert. You’re obsessed with him.”

“’S in July,” Remus reminds him lightly, focusses on the way they can see the North star glimmering against the horizon instead.

“And, so?” Sirius asks, sounding more than a bit scathing. “You’re not leaving for another month after that, you trying to cut me off completely by the summer or something?”

“Don’t be an idiot.”

“Don’t be condescending.”

“Sirius, just leave well enough alone. Holy shit.”

“I can leave it alone if you can actually tell me what the fuck is going on with you,” Sirius snaps, standing up now, probably because he always likes using his height advantage on most people whenever he gets all pissy.

“You can be such a prick sometimes, you know that?” Remus snarls at him, following suit and dipping his head back just slightly so that they’re eye to eye. “Not everything is on your schedule, you know that.”

“My schedule!” Sirius’s brows jump to his hairline, and he breaks into that manic laughter that springs up only when he’s so angry he can’t put his thoughts together. “I’m trying to do as much shit with you as possible before you leave, because for some stupid fucking reason I’m going to miss you when your across the fucking country! But yeah, whatever. If you’re actually just sick of me and my presence or what the fuck else, you can just—“

“I would’ve assumed you wanted to go with Gideon,” Remus blurts out, simply unable to hold it back any more, unable to pretend like he’s not suffering a thousand fresh paper cuts every time he even glances Sirius’s way these days. He can’t do this, can’t pretend to just be friends when they were— when they are— so much more than that. “To the concert I mean. I just assumed—“

“No,” Sirius says, seething as he storms up to Remus— close enough that the tips of their noses brush up against each other.

“No? Excuse me?”

“No Remus you don’t get to do this!” Sirius repeats, voice going frayed at the edges as their glances level. “You don’t get to pretend as if I want anyone more than I want— than I’ve always wanted you. And you don’t get to float around for the rest of your life pretending as if this’ll ever change for me. As if you can’t hit me up in fifteen years when I’m married with kids, and ask to get back together, and think that I wouldn’t drop it all for you.”

Remus’s heart begins to thud, loud and painful against his ribcage, and his lungs feel like they might collapse the instant Remus let’s the tears swimming in his eyes sprinkle out. “Sirius, I ca—“

“I’ve been in love with you since before we were suppose to mean what that meant, damn it, Remus! And you’re the one who called it off!”

“It was the right decision.” Remus croaks out, plunging his hands into his hoodie’s pockets, doesn’t want Sirius to see the way they’re shaking.

“”For you. The right decision for you.” Sirius presses, his gray eyes dark underneath the stars. “And you know I’d do anything you wanted of me, but you don’t get to be mad at the ways I cope. And you sure as fuck don’t get to be jealous of fucking Gideon Prewett, as if he can hold a match to you.”

“Oh.” Is all Remus can gather to say, peering back down at his shoes and pressing together his lips, feels the most lost he ever has while around Sirius. “I love you too, you know that. You know I love you so much that it hurts sometimes— That was never the problem.”

Sirius makes a strangled sound deep in his throat, and the next second, Remus can’t feel the warmth of his body besides him because Sirius is darting over to the cusp of the lake and kicking at a rock. “Fuck, Remus. You can’t just say that, all right! You can’t because none of this is fair, or okay. And I fucking hate it and I hate this and—“

“Maybe we can try,” Remus says, quiet but unshaken. And he watches as Sirius slowly turns back around, face scrunched up in utter confusion, but eyes glittering with something like hope. “I love you Sirius, and you love me. And Lily’s right, fucking hell she’s so right. I can’t just turn it off, okay. I’ve tried and I’ve tried, but I can’t. I can’t be around you and not want every part of you. But I also can’t let myself stay away from you. So let’s try, and it’s probably a stupid difficult decision, and we’re going to be frustrated and we’re going to miss one another but I know there’s going to be no one I want more and I think you migh— Oof.”

Remus can’t continue rattling off any of the reasons why they should get back together, because Sirius is somehow magically popping up in front of him— his large hands cupping against Remus’s jawline and his thin lips crashing against him, and Remus can only wrap his arms around Sirius’s torso and give him back all he’s pushing forwards.

And it might’ve been a minute or an hour that past, but Sirius is pulling back with a face that looks lighter in ways Remus hasn’t seen on him since the breakup all those months ago. “I’d literally agree to anything if it means we can stay together, Moony. Absolutely anything.”

Remus feels the strain against the apples of his cheeks as he beams at him at the sound of the oath. “Yeah, me too Padfoot. Always and forever, it’s you.”

My Other Wolfstar FIC💜

#WOLFSTAR #REMUS LUPIN #SIRIUS BLACK #SIRIUSXREMUS #REMUSXSIRIUS #WOLFSTAR ANGST #WOLFSTAR FLUFF #THE HARRY POTTER SERIES #HARRY POTTER SERIES #MARAUDERS #SPILT INK #I AM A MESS #I HATE ME LMFAO

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literaryspinster · 2 years ago

Text

1000 Word Preview: SITW Ch 11

Working Summary: As Dick and Kory grow closer and Rachel begins to open up, Dick attempts to stay a step ahead of the precinct. Meanwhile, a new threat targets someone from Dick’s past.

Reposting because I decided to split the planned events of Ch. 11 into two chapters, for the sake of pacing and my own sanity. Ch. 11 should be posted in its entirety tomorrow or the next day, unless something comes up, and Ch. 12 should follow about a week or two later. Until then, enjoy this tidbit!

Once the panic starts to wear off, drowning can be quite a pleasant way to die, or so he’s heard. The thought crosses his mind while edging on minute three in the deep end. Searching her glowing, half human body with every part of his.

It’s about studying her, finding her spots, the ones that make her fists tighten in his hair and the bubbles shoot up with her sharp exhalations. She gets a little closer every time he skims his lips across the space below her belly button, or sucks on her nipples while she fucks him with her hand. Then there’s the part of her that’s far more foreign to him, the beautiful and strange part that he can’t even begin to fathom, 1000 scales, 1000 secrets.

It feels dangerous to want her this badly, as if it’s beyond either of their control. But the simple fact is, just a day ago, it felt like there was a very real chance that he’d lose her, that the answer to saving her wouldn’t be nearly so simple as it was. It’s not just passion driving him to hang on a few seconds longer, it’s relief, it's gratitude.

The second they met he knew that he wanted her in his life, that it would be so much better with her in it. But it felt stupid and delusional then. Now it feels sensible, even inevitable, because she’s here and she’s the most magnificent thing he’s ever touched. Just three more seconds, just five more, just a lifetime.

Unfortunately, he’s only a man. He has to breathe sometime.

He rises with the reluctance of leaving a warm bed on the most bitterly cold morning, faces the stars, inhales deeply and finds her beneath the surface again, returning to her. They start to make out while the water sways her hair around, enveloping him in glowing red locks, shutting the rest of the world out. Should he be worried? Is feeling this much all at once certain to destroy him? The thought only lasts half a second, then he’s squeezing her tighter, kissing her deeper, letting her love him.

He rocks decisively against the place where her smooth skin meets her slippery scales, noticing once getting her properly worked up, her nerves seem to spark like wicks when he touches her there just right.

He pulls away from her kiss only so he can see the faces she makes while he moves, The way she bites her lip, how her eyes squeeze shut, like she’s barely hanging on. He only wishes he could talk her through it, the way he would if she were in his bed right now.

God you’re so fucking beautiful like this.

Three minutes must be approaching again, because his lungs are getting tight, but he can’t stop now, she’s so close. He starts to lose speed, strength, the smoothness of his rhythm diminishing with each climbing second, his desperation mounting. She must sense his struggle, because her eyes peek open to see his fraught expression. Before he can silently protest she swims them both up.

“Don’t stop, please,” she cries, and oh to be able to hear her voice while she falls apart, it’s just the final push he needs to go as fast and hard as she requires in those final seconds. Her back is against the side of the pool and his forehead is buried in the crook of her neck as he finishes her, hearing her orgasmic siren song in his ear.

It’s how the next hour goes, taking turns above and below. Searching her, letting her search him. Fucking her mouth while he breaks for air, her beautiful hair twisting and curling around his fingers. Making her come three times with the sheer force of his curiosity, kissing, laughing, reminding himself again that this isn’t some fever dream. He could do this until the sun rises.

****

When he learned the truth about Konstantin, about Kory, he thought immediately about quitting, letting the precinct run itself in circles and the case go cold. But with the amount of evidence already collected, it’s only a matter of time before they connect everything to her. The only way to keep that from happening is to remain with the investigation as long as it takes for them to run out of gas on the whole thing, create the circles for them to run in.

Even before he met Kory, he was exactly the type of man to have no qualms about committing blatant obstruction if it meant keeping someone he cared about from harm. His interest in detective work has never had much to do with respect for the law, after all, it came more from a romantic childhood fascination with roguish private eyes like Sherlock Holmes and Hercule Poirot. It came from a thirst for work that would allow him to use his impressive mind in nigh infinite ways. The pay would be trash, but it wasn’t like he ever needed the money anyway.

The reality, however, has been both less and more than everything he expected; more paperwork, more screen time, more phone calls, more ptsd (at least in his short lived NYPD days), and far less of anything resembling intellectual stimuli. There’s a formula for everything, a mind numbing, bureaucratic process. But the good thing about knowing that process in this particular situation, is knowing how to outsmart it.

For one, the digital footage from Sunnyside grocery is 100 percent tamperable, although it requires marginal hacking skills to erase the evidence. If he’s going to destabilize a three-minute gap from the footage, then the same effort has to be completed on the store's end and the precinct’s end too. Luckily, Sunnyside’s digital security isn’t exactly The Pentagon, and with his virtual private network, it would take resources lightyears outside of the precinct’s paygrade to trace the tampering back to him, not that they’ll find any reason to attempt to in the first place.

It’s not like in the movies, stones are so often left completely unturned by the police. And the very reason this particular department relies on him is because none of them ever wanted to do any of this themselves, it’s completely at odds with their initial aspirations of wholesome, friendly, cat-saving, parade waving, small vacation town life.

#dick grayson #kory anders #titans #dickkory #dickkory fanfic

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anfie-in-the-box · 3 years ago

Text

Dreamtale_Not_Found

Notes

Remember this thing I wrote out of the blue for Aftermare Week by @bluepalleteuniverse? Well, now the story truly begins!

Warnings: depression; a bit of manipulation, guilt-tripping, and an overall mean attitude of a random villager towards both Nightmare and Dream; not a panic attack, exactly, but definitely something similar.

Do tell me if there's anything I missed!

。。。

A negligible shift

Nightmare is done. He needs a change. Something. Anything. Please.

He sits between the roots of the Tree, hugging himself with both hands, chin on the knees. The position gets awkward, uncomfortable, but he doesn't have it in himself to move. He's drained.

He's fearful, uneasy with the deepest pain that never ends, but he's also empty. That's how it feels, at least. It's a void that nothing can fill, not even anxiety and doubts that have Nightmare in their cruel cold claws. The way misery blooms in the emptiness of his being is so alluring though, so mesmerising. Nightmare lets himself drown in the feeling. Nightmare never fights it, like he never fought the villagers, neither verbally nor physically. He's weak, isn't he?

But he isn’t evil. He's not. Can't be.

Right?

These thoughts break him more than any of the villagers ever could. Nightmare doesn’t know who he is anymore, and that makes it so much more frightening. He can't bear it. He's not brave, and he's not strong.

His hands are trembling. His whole body is trembling, Nightmare notices belatedly. His vision is blurred, too; he's crying again. He can't help it, useless even against his own tears.

Nightmare hugs himself tighter, so tight it almost hurts.

Can it be that the villagers are right? Were right all along?

No, no, no. Please, no. He doesn't want to be evil. He doesn't want to be a freak. It's supposed to count, right? He tries, he really does. It must count.

If only Nightmare could find a way to prove himself. Abruptly, he stops hugging himself, both hands limp by his sides. Does he even deserve this poor attempt of comfort? Is he really what the villagers say, a useless, stupid, good for nothing villain?

No!

The tears keep flowing down his cheekbones. He doesn't hiccup, doesn't sob, doesn't tremble anymore.

He's drained. Done.

He really, really needs to change something. Or something to change — and wouldn't that be perfect?

Too good to be true.

His fingers touch the grass beneath him, and the trunk of the Tree is solid as ever, always there to rely on.

Nightmare tilts his head back. Just then, he sees the apples. Black, but also some golden.

Maybe... Just maybe, but...

He'd need to stay alone for that though. Dream consistently declines any help requests from the villagers, seemingly determined to never leave, but he’s just too kind, there’s bound to be someone he can’t say no to. It’s a matter of time. And waiting is fine by Nightmare, now that he has a plan. He’s not wasting his time anymore; instead, he’s being patient, ready to take the first chance he gets. It’s a smart move. Besides, the reward will be worth it.

Tired, Nightmare wipes the tears with his sleeve and makes himself as comfortable as possible, resting beside the Tree’s rough trunk. If he’s lucky, he’ll even drowse and nap a little.

。。。

Ironically, an opportunity comes up later that day.

Nightmare doesn’t remember falling asleep, but he must have at some point since some noise wakes him up. When his head gets clearer, Nightmare realises it’s two voices, one his brother’s and the other only distantly familiar. A villager, then.

“Please, don’t talk so loudly,” Dream pleads in a small voice. “Nightmare is sleeping.”

How Dream always manages to be so caring and gentle is beyond Nightmare’s understanding. His little brother doesn’t deserve all that. Luckily, Nightmare knows what to do. Currently, he just has to keep listening intently, and it’ll be better if they think he’s still asleep. So no movement or sound. Nightmare’s good at that, he likes to think.

“Of course that useless garbage is sleeping in the middle of the day. But who cares!” the villager says, clearly irritated. They do lower their voice, though, if only to please Dream a little. “We need your help, and you can’t sit this one out!”

Dream sounds tired and somewhat hurt when he replies, “I’m so sorry if my brother upset you, but please, don’t talk about him that way.” Only when the villager mutters a “Yeah, whatever” that Nightmare barely hears from his position on the other side of the Tree, Dream continues. “Can you tell me what’s so important you think I need to leave the Tree?”

“Took you long enough to ask! Some guardian you are!” the villager huffs. “Just so you know, Ava is so sick she’s dying, it’s getting worse, and we’ve tried everything, but nothing helps! There’s no cure but the golden apples. It’s our last hope.” They insist, not giving Dream a moment to hesitate, “Come on! Do you really want us to lose Ava just because you decided to be stubborn?”

Nightmare tenses. He knows exactly how much of a bleeding heart his brother is. No chance he’s turning this one down; not when it’s a matter of life and death. He’s coming to the aid if only this one time. Meanwhile, Nightmare can set his plan in motion — prove himself worthy and good. Everything’s going to be fine. Everything’s going to get better. Finally.

Despite himself, Nightmare smiles. However, he keeps his sockets shut, just in case Dream decides to check on him before going to the village. He will go, without a doubt.

And indeed, Dream gasps, terrified, “Oh my gosh! I’m so sorry to hear it! Of course, I’ll help poor Ava!” Then, there are steps and rustling, quiet huffs, and at last, this specific sound of a fruit being picked from the Tree. Nightmare knows that sound, although he’s never done it himself. Nobody asked for a black apple, after all. Nobody wanted it.

Nobody wanted him.

But now, that’s alright. He’ll just show everyone that he can take care of the golden apples, too. Everyone loves them, and they will love him as well. It’s so easy, Nightmare just cannot fathom how he hadn’t come up with it before.

For a few seconds, there’s a pause.

“What are you waiting for? You got the apple, now let’s go!” the villager hurries. Suddenly, the steps sound much closer to Nightmare, and he’s been ready for that, it’s exactly the reason why he never opened his eyes, then why does he jerk?

Luckily, it doesn’t give his act away. Dream sighs and whispers, ever so softly, “I’ll be right back, brother. Sleep tight.” He goes away and says a bit louder, worry evident in his voice, “Let’s go. I really hope we’ll arrive in time...”

If the villager replies, Nightmare doesn’t hear it. He counts to a hundred five times, just to be sure, and gets up only after that.

This is his chance to make the tables turn.

。。。

For a minute, he simply stands there, looking at the Tree, his chest heavy with anticipation. His gaze is fixed on a single golden apple, the nearest to him. The one he’s going to pick and keep from harm all by himself.

While Nightmare stares at the apple, a strange feeling arises in his entire being. It’s light and unobtrusive, but also comprehensive. He’d try to identify it if he had more time, he thinks. As it is, he can’t quite put a finger on it right away and so just lets it be.

It’s getting late, Nightmare notices. The sky darkens steadily, the sun already gone. Pinks and purples linger on the horizon, and for the first time in a while, Nightmare finds himself appreciating the view. It’s been so long since he last enjoyed... anything, really. Everything except for misery and pain has become dull, faded. Being able to drink in the sight now, suddenly thrilled by that fleeting moment between day and night, relishing in the cool breeze...

Nightmare forces himself to look away. He has a plan to execute, and Dream might come back any minute. His brother is nice, but... he doesn’t understand. He wouldn’t even if Nightmare explained. So he has to do this alone.

Not like it’s the first time anyway.

Deepest sadness and utter hopelessness creep back into Nightmare’s mind and heart, but before they take hold of him, little guardian decisively comes closer to the Tree and reaches for a golden apple, the one he’d chosen before.

A moment stretches to what seems a tiny eternity. That’s what it feels like to Nightmare, who freezes, terrified. His hand trembles. The apple is so close, one slight movement and he’ll have it, feel its surface. Is it warm or cool? Nightmare wonders, distantly. Is it soft or hard?

After a long, long pause — one that lasts barely a minute, Nightmare’s mind knows, but his heart doesn’t believe it, — his hand withdraws. He holds it with his other hand against his chest, aching all of a sudden.

What’s wrong with him? Why can’t he do this? He’s a guardian just like Dream, who’s done this plenty of times! It’s so simple! It should be simple.

But his body refuses to cooperate. He’s shuddering, so anxious and afraid it’s suffocating. No wonder his chest hurts.

Tears prick the corners of Nightmare’s sockets.

Come on! Why can’t he move? Just why?

It’s not fair. This might be his only chance. Dream made an exception today, sure, but it’s not every day someone is on the verge of dying. He’s going to come back, and stay beside the Tree like a good guardian he is, and nothing’s going to change.

Filled with despair and fear, Nightmare tries one last time, putting all effort he can into stretching out his hand.

It doesn’t work. His body doesn’t work, not properly, anyway.

What’s even happening?

Just then, Nightmare hears familiar footsteps from behind. The sound makes something in him snap. The pain in his chest, the tension in his body, the feelings in his heart, and the thoughts in his mind — everything dissipates, leaving him tired and empty.

And — oh.

Nightmare sees now. That light feeling was hope. And it’s gone.

“Nightmare!” Dream calls out, not quite close yet but already explaining himself. “Sorry I left when you were sleeping, I hope you weren’t too worried when you woke up all alone... I didn’t mean to take so long or to take any time at all, but it was urgent and you don’t sleep much, so I...”

Utterly exhausted, Nightmare shrugs his brother off with a quiet “It’s fine” and, when Dream abruptly stops talking, goes away to the other side of the Tree.

Leave it up to him to not do a single thing right.

Of course, it’s all in vain. Pointless and futile.

He’ll just sleep.

。。。

Only that night, Nightmare tosses and turns restlessly.

As energy beings, they don’t exactly need sleep, so for Nightmare, it’s more of a way to escape than anything. Being awake means thinking and feeling, while sleep, although it seems to last just for a moment without dreams Nightmare’s only read about, gifts him a blessing of unconsciousness. When he sleeps, it’s almost like time and space cease to exist.

Almost like he ceases to exist.

It’s sweet and alluring. It’s also terrifying.

But none of this matters anymore, because, after that incident, even light sleep just won’t come. It’s called insomnia, Nightmare thinks.

Something did change after all. For the worse, that is.

It really could have been funny, but after a week of long, long days and nights Nightmare’s forced to spend wallowing in his misery, he can’t find it in himself to laugh.

Tired.

He’s so very tired.

。。。

Credits:

Undertale © Toby Fox

Dreamtale © jokublog

Read English version on ao3

Read Russian version on ficbook or fanficus (to be added)

。。。

Notes

This story is canon compliant, which means Nightmare is six years old at the moment of the (absence of the) Apple incident. But because he never got corrupted, he has a chance to grow up, and that he will do. His meeting with Geno will happen years later, when Nightmare is an adult.

It will become obvious as the story progresses, but I felt the need to clarify right now. Maybe I'll remove this part of the notes later.

Also, since we don't know about Dreamtale as much as I'd like, I'm trying to fill in the gaps. All places and characters mentioned are my version of Dreamtale, except for Dream, Nightmare, Nim/the Tree of Feelings, and Neil. That makes Ava just a random name to make the dialogue feel personal.

Feel free to let me know what you think if you'd like!

。。。

Navigation

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#anfie writes #dreamtale not found fic #nightmare!sans #passive nightmare sans #dream!sans #dreamtale #undertale #utmv #aftermare #I can't believe I forgot the ship tag (x

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melanielocke · 3 years ago

Text

Lost in the Shadows - Chapter 14

AO3

Taglist: @nott-the-best @foxglove-airmid @alastair-esfandiyar-carstairs1 @justanormaldemon @styxdrawings @ipromiseiwillwrite

Alastair had been about to change for bed when Thomas entered his bedroom, holding his pajama bottoms in his hands. Thomas himself had intended to wish him good night and then go home. But when he saw Alastair, he drowned in his dark eyes like a starving man, and he wanted nothing more than to kiss him again. It couldn’t hurt to stay a little longer, could it? Alastair invited him in, Thomas could hardly refuse.

After a while, they’d stopped kissing to talk while they lay on the bed together, both fully clothed, but their bodies close. Thomas still couldn’t quite fathom that he was here, with Alastair, kissing him. He couldn’t quite believe it was real and Alastair wanted him. He couldn’t even describe how he was feeling right now, flustered and warm, yet shivering at the same time.

‘I love how you ask before you kiss me or touch me,’ Alastair said. ‘It’s not always easy for me to be touched. I still want you to keep asking, at least for now. I like it when you touch me though.’

Thomas hand rested on Alastair’s side, Alastair had placed it there himself. Thomas was starting to suspect that Alastair was very sensitive to touch. It was easy to get a response out of him, and Alastair was looking for just the right amount of pressure in just the right place.

‘I didn’t realize it’d be so important,’ Thomas said. ‘I know in movies people rarely ask to kiss someone, it just sort of happens. Usually when both people want it and apparently they knew that all along. But in real life you’re not always that sure and I felt too awkward, had no idea what you were expecting or if you even wanted to feel my lips. So I figured I’d ask.’

Alastair pushed a lock of soft dark hair out of his face. ‘I guess that’s what happens in most relationships. People just kiss when they feel the other wants it. But I feel like people often overestimate how well they read others, and might wrongfully assume consent.

I’ve heard people complain that asking makes it not sexy, which is stupid because there are very sexy ways to ask for consent.’

Thomas turned very red when Alastair said that, his face burning. He stroke Alastair’s cheek with his thumb. ‘I can’t wait for what you’ll come up with. Have you done that before?’

Thomas then realized, of course, Alastair only had one ex and that had been someone who had mistreated him. Asking about that would be hurtful and he didn’t think Alastair would want to talk about that. Oh shit, had he done the wrong thing already? Thomas was positively freaking out by the time Alastair answered.

‘No I haven’t,’ Alastair admitted. ‘I never really took the initiative since it was always about his wants and desires and I was expected to just follow along. I never realized how important it was to me until you asked to kiss me. It can be difficult, being touched, but it’s much better when I know someone cares if I want it or not.’

In the end, Thomas felt like it was a bit too early for a sleepover. He wasn’t sure Alastair would be comfortable, and the idea of sleeping next to someone else was still foreign to Thomas. He decided it was time to go back to his parents.

‘Will you be there tomorrow morning?’ he asked. ‘Even if we can’t go into the woods.’

‘Of course,’ Alastair said. ‘Same time as always.’

Thomas slept peacefully that night and when he woke up the next morning, he didn’t remember what he’d dreamt, or if he’d dreamt at all. He checked his phone and realized it was eleven already. That couldn’t be true, so Thomas checked again, but the numbers on the clock hadn’t changed. Startled, Thomas got up quickly and got dressed in the first clean clothes he could find. He’d asked Alastair to come here, and considering Alastair consistently woke early, he must have arrived here several hours ago. Thomas would eat quickly, and then go to the Herondales and apologize. He dressed and quickly made his way to the kitchen. Alastair was still there, sitting at the table with his parents in conversation.

‘Morning, sleepyhead,’ Alastair said with a grin when he noticed Thomas.

‘Alastair, I’m so sorry,’ Thomas said.

Alastair shrugged, sipping from a cup of coffee. ‘I take it you needed to sleep. I don’t blame you, I wish I had that ability.’

‘I do feel very energetic and rested,’ Thomas admitted. ‘So maybe it was necessary. I only just woke up.’

Alastair frowned. ‘Energetic and rested, huh? What does that feel like?’

Thomas grabbed some bread and spread some plant based butter on it before putting it in the toaster. ‘I don’t know. Like, not tired, feeling like I can easily do whatever I want to today. You know, when you slept well and are ready to face the day and take on whatever comes onto your path.’

‘I don’t know, that sounds fake,’ Alastair said.

Thomas looked Alastair in the eye. ‘You’ve never felt rested and energetic?’

‘Not really. I just can’t imagine people being rested or energetic. I can’t remember feeling that way and I always figured people were all just in different stages of tiredness. Then of course, under late stage capitalism that’s probably true.’

Thomas knew trauma was exhausting, he’d read a little about it since coming here and had found that fatigue was common. Of course, being tired was hardly specific for PTSD and could be a symptom of nearly everything, and he guessed overall it was common. But could Alastair truly not imagine not being tired?

‘Maybe if you slept better, you’d feel rested too,’ Thomas suggested.

‘You’ve been having trouble sleeping, Alastair?’ his father asked, some concern written over his face.

‘Oh, just the usual. Nightmares, waking up several times a night, then waking up early and giving up on sleep.’

‘You had another nightmare?’ Thomas asked.

Alastair shrugged. ‘I have nightmares nearly every night. I’ve gotten used to it, and tonight wasn’t particularly bad. But even on the rare occasion I sleep long and don’t have nightmares, I don’t feel rested when I wake up.’

‘Fatigue builds up,’ his mother said. ‘One good night won’t make up for that many bad ones. Best you could do is discuss it with your doctor, but I know nightmares like you have are difficult to combat.’

Thomas wished there was something he could do to help with that, but he suspected it was a very complex problem and there was little he could do beyond comforting Alastair when he needed it.

‘Cordelia wants to see us, by the way,’ Alastair said. ‘She’s been texting me for over an hour, but I decided to wait for you to wake up.’

‘Oh, in that case I’ll hurry,’ Thomas said and he quickly finished his breakfast.

He and Alastair left to walk back to the manor. Would Cordelia be very upset about him sleeping late? What would she want to see them for?

‘I’m really sorry I slept in,’ Thomas said. ‘Was it very awkward with my parents?’

‘No, it was alright,’ Alastair said.

Thomas was glad to hear it, he liked seeing how well Alastair seemed to get along with his parents. With Barbara’s boyfriend Oliver, it had taken some time for his father to warm up to him, possibly because Oliver had been the first time any of them had dated and his father had freaked out a little by how fast they were all growing up. Then there’d been Augustus, Eugenia’s creepy ex, whom his parents hadn’t liked at all. They’d kept quiet out of respect for Genie’s wishes, but were proven right when she discovered Augustus had cheated on her.

‘They seem to like you,’ Thomas said.

Alastair shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I think they like that I have a useful ability, and that I will do what it takes to save your life than they like me.’

Thomas frowned. That didn’t sound like his parents at all. Being protective was one thing, but they wouldn’t And hadn’t Alastair opened up to his father about his past lately? ‘Did they say that?’

‘No, not really,’ Alastair said. ‘But it’s sort of obvious, isn’t it? They are scared they’re going to lose you, and I am willing to do whatever it takes to save you.’

Thomas wasn’t sure what to make of what Alastair was saying. ‘Those are not mutually exclusive, are they? My parents can genuinely like you, but also be glad you’re willing to help save me.’

Alastair didn’t say anything.

‘What did they talk to you about this morning?’ Thomas asked, genuinely confused.

‘They wanted to know all about university, and how my first year went. I didn’t realize your father was a politician.’

Thomas wondered what was going on inside Alastair’s head, but wasn’t sure if he should press on the issue. Did Alastair not think people could genuinely like him? How did he conclude his parents only liked his willingness to save Thomas when they asked him about his life?

‘He’s on the city council,’ Thomas confirmed.

‘Yes, he said that,’ Alastair said. ‘I think he’s decently leftist, although there’s room for improvement.’

Thomas frowned. ‘In what sense?’

‘He seems a bit moderate leftist still.’ Alastair shrugged. ‘Very much seeking to improve within the system, when really we should be tearing down the system and start over. There’s always room to move farther to the left. But your father seems open to suggestions.’

‘You’re not regretting your decision to stop studying politics?’ Thomas asked.

‘No. I still think sociology is going to be a better fit. I’d much rather do research and write the blueprint for a better, not capitalist society in peace than argue with people about it,’ Alastair said. ‘I like the theory, writing out the arguments and coming up with solutions that are overlooked by others. I’ve always hated debate.’

‘We had to do some debating in school,’ Thomas said. ‘I can’t say I hated it, but I never cared for it either.’

‘I had a complicated stance towards debate in school,’ said Alastair. ‘Mainly because we always had these stances that I don’t think should be up for debate at all. Being against human rights for certain marginalized groups of people is not a valid stance and teachers should not pretend it is. But when the stances were interesting, I did like researching, writing out the arguments. Of course, debate in school is also pretty much acting out the discussion, which I’ve never quite understood.’

Thomas wondered if there were any specific stances he was referring to, but before he could ask they arrived at the Herondale manor. Cordelia immediately dragged them inside when she spotted the two of them. ‘You are so late!’ she scolded.

‘I just woke up,’ Thomas said. ‘What was so urgent?’

‘That girl visited me last night,’ Cordelia said when they were all sitting. ‘Grace.’

‘Who is Grace?’ asked Alastair. ‘Am I missing something?’

‘That girl we saw with Tatiana,’ Cordelia explained, gesturing wildly. ‘She came to my room last night. When I woke up, she was sitting in my chair.’

Thomas remembered Lucie mentioning her name was Grace after following Jesse, but didn’t know anything else about her.

‘That sounds terrifying,’ Thomas offered. ‘Are you alright?’

‘She came to me to ask for help,’ Cordelia continued. ‘Tatiana is controlling her and the only way we can free her is by finding her skin.’

Thomas wasn’t sure he was following. ‘And that’s not on her? You mean her literal skin?’

‘I am definitely missing something here,’ Alastair added. ‘That, or my sister is not explaining this very well.’

Cordelia groaned. ‘She’s a selkie. Siren. Something in between. She has the song powers of a siren, but like a selkie she becomes a seal and can come to shore and turn human. In the process she sheds her skin, which she needs to return to the sea. Tatiana has enchanted it and hidden it somewhere, and as long as Tatiana has it Grace is under her control. She asked me to retrieve her skin for her.’

Thomas frowned. ‘Where is her skin?’

‘Somewhere in the woods,’ Cordelia said. ‘Guarded. She said that if we do not free her, she can make us do anything and so we won’t stand a chance against Tatiana.’

Thomas remembered the ruins from yesterday. The trapdoor neither of them had been able to open. Could that be where the skin was hidden? They hadn’t translated the script yet either. He took out his phone and searched the picture. Taking pictures of the supernatural was very confusing in Thomas’ experience. Sometimes he took pictures of something he could see, only for it to not appear on the photograph. Other times, the picture showed what was really going on. And every once in a while, someone without the sight would take a picture of something they could not see and later while going through their pictures realize there was something strange there. People often thought such pictures were hoaxes, but according to his mother sometimes people really caught something on camera. Yesterday, he hadn’t gotten lucky. The picture of the inscription was gone. Instead, there was a picture of some shrubs Thomas did not remember taking. The picture of the corpse was gone too, replaced by a vague picture of the ground.

‘Alastair, do you have any pictures from the ruins?’ Thomas asked.

Alastair went through his phone. ‘Apparently my camera didn’t agree with the supernatural,’ Alastair said. ‘Only forest pictures I do not remember taking. If we want to go over what we saw, my memory will have to do. This does confirm though, that the ruins themselves are part of something supernatural.’

They spent the next few hours going over Alastair’s memory and copying the script onto a piece of paper. Thomas guessed it was exhausting for Alastair, bringing all of them there, because once they had the whole script on paper, he collapsed onto the couch under Lucie’s Lilo and Stitch blanket. Thomas couldn’t help but think he looked adorable. His eyes were closed, and although Thomas didn’t think he was asleep, he seemed at peace.

Thomas decided to leave him for a while, Alastair had said he’d slept badly last night. Perhaps he could get some more rest. Instead he helped Lucie and Cordelia with the translation. Although he didn’t speak the language of the inscription, Thomas had always been good with languages and he went into it as if it were a puzzle he could solve, first translating the letters into something he could understand and then looking up what it meant and finally turning the words into sentences that made sense.

When Alastair got up from the couch and joined them, they were done with the translation.

‘Did you get anything?’ Alastair asked.

‘Yes,’ Cordelia said. ‘This is interesting.’

Welcome to the land in between

Halfway to the thief of Souls

Here you can guard whichever you do not want found

But every puzzle has an answer and every lock has a key

And beware, for if you stay too long there will be no way back

Your soul will be forfeit

‘A land in between,’ Lucie mused. ‘In between what?’

‘Halfway to the thief of Souls,’ Alastair said. ‘I think that means in between our world and what belongs to this thief creature. I’ve never heard of the thief of souls though.’

‘I have,’ Cordelia said. ‘In my dream, a washer woman appeared and told me to beware the thief of souls.’

Alastair frowned. ‘When did this happen? Last night?’

Cordelia shook her head. ‘No, the night before.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ Alastair asked, concerned.

‘Because you were in the woods for most of the day, and when we found you we’d just killed a werewolf and you were injured. I didn’t want to stress you out more.’

‘You didn’t want to stress me?’ Alastair asked, raising his voice. ‘You think ignoring the problem, or keeping it from me will make it go away? You cannot keep such things from me!’

Cordelia looked like she was about to say something in response, but changed her mind. ‘I’m sorry, dâdâsh. I simply had not seen an opportunity, and then I forgot about it. That was all.’

Alastair seemed to calm down, and Thomas guessed it was best to leave it at that. Alastair was protective of his younger sister, just like Thomas’ older sisters were of him, and he understood, but he also knew it could be frustrating. Thomas sometimes hated how easily he understood everyone’s perspective in such conflicts.

‘Alright, yesterday we somehow made our way into the in between land, those ruins,’ Thomas said. ‘And if we stay too long, there will be no way back. How did we get there?’

‘I think these places in between appear and disappear all over the globe,’ Alastair said. ‘Perhaps it is possible to summon or control where or how it appears, but I am not sure. So these stories of people getting trapped in the woods somehow.’

‘They are trapped in that other realm instead,’ Lucie exclaimed. ‘That boy in the lake, whatever he was sucked into was limited only to the lake so he could not swim out. And Jesse was trapped in the woods in another realm, and that’s why he saw no one looking for him and why no one found him until he’d died.’

‘Thief of souls sounds like a powerful entity,’ Alastair mused. ‘The kind someone like Benedict Lightwood might have struck a deal with. And the name implies his price would be a soul.’

‘There are all kinds of stories of people selling their soul for power,’ Lucie said. ‘But in this case, it seems like it’s someone else’s soul that is bartered away. How do you imagine that works?’

‘I suspect he won’t take just anyone,’ Alastair said. ‘I do not think Benedict Lightwood would have chosen to sacrifice his wife if a random stranger would suffice.’

Thomas frowned, had Benedict Lightwood chosen to sacrifice his wife? The way his father told the story, he must have assumed her death was an unintended consequence, that he might not have been aware of the consequences. But perhaps his father had been too kind in that assumption.

‘The washer woman said something to me about Benedict’s blood, so he might desire a relative,’ Thomas said. ‘And a spouse must have also sufficed.’

‘Someone important to you,’ Alastair said. ‘Although how important could a grandson he never met have been?’

‘He turned into a monster, didn’t he?’ Lucie asked. ‘Does anyone know why that happened? Is that also because of this thief of souls creature?’

Thomas has assumed that was another part of the whole price for magic. But if someone wanted him to trade souls for magic, why transform him into a monster? That would mean the supply would stop. According to his father, Benedict had made deals with several entities though, and there were plenty of ways that could have gone wrong. Perhaps something else had turned him into that monster.

‘No,’ Thomas said. ‘My father had no idea. Perhaps Tatiana knows more since she has access to all his journals and we don’t.’

Thomas wondered why there were no libraries or resources related to the supernatural. Too few people knew about it, he guessed. People sometimes traded information among each other, but no one kept track of everything. Many with the sight either believed they were crazy, or tried to stay away from the supernatural and live a normal life. Thomas couldn’t blame them. But it was difficult that there was nowhere they could find answers, except asking people with some experience in the hopes they’d encountered something similar. His father had been unable to contact uncle Gabriel the past few days.

‘I do not think we can count on getting those journals from Tatiana unless we steal them,’ Alastair said. ‘I think we can now be certain that she is our enemy. My best guess, she wants to bring back her son from the dead and does not care what it takes.’

‘We need to go back into the woods,’ Lucie said. ‘I think there’s more to be found in these ruins. Based on what Grace told Cordelia, that must be where the skin is hidden.’

‘Grace mentioned something about her skin being in the land in between,’ Cordelia added. ‘This must be it.’

Alastair stared at his sister. ‘You do realize we might end up trapped in another world with no way back?’

‘I’ll go,’ Thomas offered. ‘If we fail, I’ll end up trapped there anyway.’

‘Not on your own, you won’t,’ Alastair said. ‘If you must go, I’ll join you.’

Thomas sighed, he should have seen that coming, even if the point in him going was that if they failed, he would be dead anyway.

‘I must come too,’ Cordelia added. ‘We’ll need cortana in case we run into anything else that tries to kill us.’

‘I’m not going to sit here alone,’ Lucie said crossly.

Cordelia looked at her friend with fondness. Thomas wondered, did she feel about Lucie as Lucie felt for her? Thomas was usually observant when it came to people’s feelings, but Cordelia and Lucie were such close friends he struggled to tell the difference.

‘It’s going to be very dangerous, Lucie,’ she said. ‘I’m not sure there are any ghosts there for you to talk to, whereas we need my sword and Alastair’s memory. Thinking about it, perhaps it is better if Thomas stays too.’

‘I have the sight,’ Thomas protested. ‘And I don’t want to stay behind.’

‘Well, me neither,’ Lucie said. ‘If you’re going, so am I. If you want to stop me you’re going to have to tie me up here.’

Alastair gazed at the ceiling as if he was considering the option. Thomas knew Cordelia made a point, and he didn’t want to put Lucie in danger, but he also knew Lucie was one of the few people who could match his stubbornness, and realistically, they weren’t going to stop her.

Thomas sighed. ‘I see you intend to Herondale to the fullest today, Lucie. So, we’ll all go take a walk into the woods, find the ruins, and retrieve that girl’s skin?’

‘I thought we’d discussed none of you are going into the woods.’

They all turned around to see Will had walked into the room. He looked amused. ‘It seems you are all much like me when I was young,’ Will mused. ‘I must say it is very irritating.’

‘I’m your daughter,’ Lucie said. ‘What did you expect would happen?’

Will shrugged. ‘Well, you could have been more like your mother, but it appears you do indeed intend to Herondale to the fullest. I suppose someone has to keep the family tradition alive.’

‘You’re not going to stop us?’ Lucie asked.

‘Oh no, I definitely intend to,’ Will said.

#Thomas Lightwood #Alastair Carstairs #Cordelia Carstairs #Lucie Herondale #Thomastair #Lucelia #the last hours #fanfiction #fic

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asphyxiateher · 3 years ago

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Only Monsters Come Out at Night *Chapter Update*

Chapter 7: The Devil Within Summary: Desdemona has been neglecting her health ever since she murdered her best friend but when the three women she's been bonded to come for a visit, she finds out all sorts of vital information that strengthens the bond she shares with them. Bela has a plan that may or may not piss off her mother but she swears it's for the good of their family. A/N: Thank you all so much for your patience and overwhelming support! I originally intended to end this book with this chapter but with all the comments I've been receiving, I've enjoyed fleshing out my characters even more and adding more to the story than I intended and I love how its turning out so much! I should have more time to work on this story next week since I requested some much needed time off from work. Anyway, please enjoy and thank you all again!

Desdemona doesn’t know how long it’s been since the incident with Veronica occurred. Ever since it happened, she had been plagued with guilt that eats away at the core of her soul and it seemed impossible to want to do or think about anything else. All she wanted to do these days was linger in the shadows and let the darkness consume her. Her mind is slipping away into nothing, her body slowly deteriorating because she refused to eat, and all she had left was the promise of death as she barely held onto life by a breath. Veronica’s lifeless eyes still haunted Desdemona every time she tried to close her eyes and it made her feel sick to her stomach all over again when she replayed the events of that fateful night. She tossed and turned as the images of Bela, Cassandra, and Daniela feasting upon her best friend’s corpse played in her mind, praising her for the kill as they did so, and the guilt churned within her even more. She wanted to be punished for killing her best friend, she deserved to die and so she lay in the room Alcina transferred her to and decided to rot alone where nobody could see her. Lady Dimitrescu’s daughters assumed that a change of environment would alter Desdemona’s self-destructive behavior, so they moved her to the room next to Bela’s since it was spacious enough to enjoy her other hobbies. Alcina and her daughters soon realized that their human plaything still refused to take care of herself properly and Alcina warned her daughters that if they did not do anything about it soon, Mother Miranda would have another vessel for her ungodly experimentations. This would explain the frequent visitation from all three girls, but today’s visit somehow felt different to Desdemona when she felt their presence outside of her door.

Desdemona sighs when she hears the familiar knocking on the door, a surprise to her at first since Alcina’s daughters didn’t embody politeness. The door swings open and Bela is the first face she sees as always, her sisters following her the moment she steps in and drops off a tray of food. Daniela used to tease her about the untouched trays of food they would walk into but now it was a little worrying. The last thing any of them wanted to do was to put down their favorite human plaything. Cassandra’s eyes linger on the untouched trays of food building up in the corner and rolls her eyes but refused to make a comment in case she offended her pet.

��Tsk, tsk, Desdemona, what shall we ever do with you? We are attempting to accommodate your needs yet you spit in our faces when we demonstrate kindness. That’s quite unfair.” Bela says with a frown as she gives Desdemona a once over, her brows furrowing when she realized the human’s condition was starting to worsen a little.

Desdemona exhales and closes her eyes for a moment before she slowly turns to face all three women. She wants to be furious. She wants to scream at them, throw something in their faces and make them feel small and insignificant but nothing can drown out the sorrow that has swallowed her whole. She opens her mouth to speak but the extreme thirst she feels burning in the back of her throat causes her voice to crack and it seemed nearly impossible to form words because of it.

Cassandra notices how dry her lips are, so she picks up the goblet of water from the tray and walks over to Desdemona’s prone form on the floor. She had been annoyed with the mild inconveniences her pet’s behavior had created but now she was legitimately concerned for her well-being, a concept that had seemed foreign to her. Cassandra loved and cared for her sisters but to care for mortals and the other people Alcina preferred the company of outside of family was beyond her. Still, she felt the need to show Desdemona tough love because she cared.

She kneels on the floor beside the smaller girl and roughly yanks her by the collar so she could force the human to sit upright. Desdemona doesn’t fight it, but she isn’t happy about being touched when she just wants to lay in this room to die. She wonders why they don’t just move on to the next best thing when she is just a passing interest anyway. Her mind is quieted when Cassandra tilts her head and gently compels Desdemona to sip the water continuously. “This is an improvement, Desdemona. As much as I would personally enjoy forcing this water down your gullet, you are in a fragile state and I would hate to break you, pretty thing. Why do you humans neglect self-care so much? I will never understand how you mortals function like this.” Cassandra tells the smaller girl, an arm now wrapping around her waist possessively as she pulls her tighter against her chest. Bela looks mildly annoyed by the action but doesn’t say anything.

“You will never understand, I’m sorry to say. If you’ve never experienced grief so great that it feels like a tidal wave of pure misery coming down on you, and you suddenly feel yourself being pulled to the bottomless depths of despair that it becomes difficult for you to try and come up for air, so rather than fight the inevitable you let yourself sink because it’s easier to accept your fate, then you will never fully comprehend what I’m going through.” Desdemona replies quietly, taking a few moments in between sips to speak.

Daniela eyes her curiously after she says this and then her eyes flick over to her eldest sister, who seems to have pulled out Desdemona’s phone before she decides to kneel beside Desdemona as well. The rambunctious sibling didn’t want to feel left out so she decides to sit herself on the floor next to her pet, her head resting on Desdemona’s shoulder as one of her hands gripped the younger girl’s thigh. Desdemona was too weak to fight her off but the dark whispers in her mind were soothing her, reminding her that Daniela’s touch was supposed to be comforting. It didn’t matter how depressed she was over the fact that she killed her best friend in order to save Daniela’s life; the bond she shared with all of them made her feel at ease at the same time and this stirred conflicting emotions within her.

“Help us understand you, Desdemona. Why can’t you seem to move on from this moral dilemma of yours?” Bela asked, showing the other girl her phone and on the screen were all the photos she had taken with friends, family, and strangers she had met at bars and work. The one picture Desdemona couldn’t take her eyes off of was the picture she and Veronica had taken when they were in middle school. Veronica had just gotten her braces and Desdemona was going through her awkward Hot Topic phase and once again, tears began to well up at the fond memories she had with the girl she had betrayed and murdered in cold blood. Veronica Joss was the best friend she had ever had in her life and Desdemona killed her. How could she ever move on from that?

“You don’t get it and you never will. V was my ride or die, and I betrayed her to save your sister’s life. I haven’t known any of you for more than three weeks and the girl whose corpse you desecrated was somebody I had known since I was a little girl. We fought with each other, we loved each other, and we made each other stronger through the years. She was there for me when I came out to my parents as a lesbian, which apparently isn’t a big deal over here, but it was huge for me where I come from and where I come from, stupid people protest bakeries that sell gay pride cookies but defend a cake decorator’s decision to deny gay people service just because of who they love! Veronica kicked a girl’s ass for me when she tried to touch me when I wasn’t ready to be touched. I destroyed a guy’s car with spray paint, my keys, and glitter when he cheated on her with someone she thought was her friend. Veronica put her life on hold when I became depressed our senior year of high school and helped me overcome one of the worst phases of my life. I graduated because of her and you know what I did to repay her for her years of friendship and unwavering loyalty? I fucking killed her and for WHAT!?” Desdemona yells out, angry tears now spilling out uncontrollably. She has the urge to shove Daniela off of her because her presence was now overwhelming, her presence a reminder that Veronica was dead and there was nothing she could do to bring her back. She glances over at Daniela and her heart stops at the sight of Alcina’s youngest looking down at her with a sad smile on her face, almost as if she looked…remorseful. She feels their connection vibrate with an emotion she can’t seem to place, and it makes her uncomfortable because she knows she has every right to be enraged but looking into Daniela’s glowing yellow eyes, guilt quickly takes over.

Bela doesn’t look bored but the neutral expression on her face bothered Desdemona a bit. Cassandra had the decency to look away for a moment although she was certain it was because Cassandra still didn’t fathom why she felt so strongly about the way things went down recently.

“You are the first human to ever share their experiences with us, you know. When we first met, you were driving me and my sisters wild with a lust we had never known before. We intended to kill you at some point but when we tasted you and you shared with us gifts that no one had ever given to us before, you unknowingly created a bond I know that you can feel. We feel what you feel and it is foreign to us, and I’m sure you can say the same about what you’re feeling whenever you’re near us. I…would, however, like to know more about you, I find myself completely enthralled by your history. The bond between us is growing stronger and I must confess, I’m enjoying the slow development of our relationship immensely.” Bela admits hesitantly as she points to pictures on the phone that she finds interesting.

Desdemona blinks at the revelation. They were all homicidal maniacs that reveled in the misery of others. They killed people for either fun or sustenance and here they were telling her how fond they were of her! The absolute nerve of them all! She should tell them off, attempt to run away and get maimed by Lady Alcina Dimitrescu or something! She shouldn’t put up with any of this, not after she killed Veronica in favor of Daniela. Why can’t she summon the willpower to do the things she wanted to do instead of listening to the stupid dark whispers that have completely numbed out whatever rational thoughts she had left?

“Why do you care? I have nothing to live for anymore; I lost the only people that ever mattered to me, and I just don’t have the strength to carry on anymore. I should bore you, waste your time, and possibly piss you off until you finally snap and kill me like you wanted to. Why jump through all these hoops just because you’re lonely and you don’t understand how friendships or romantic relationships work? Why don’t you kill me already?” Desdemona presses. She’s disappointed that this doesn’t elicit a reaction out of Bela but both Daniela and Cassandra are now paying close attention to how they’re interacting with one another.

Bela smiles at that so she puts down the phone to pull out a journal from her satchel that she brought with her. She carefully hands it over to Desdemona and Desdemona raises her eyebrow at the fact that the journal clearly belongs to her mother.

“Why are you giving me this?”

“I want to tell you a story but it involves my mother and how we were created. You may think that we don’t know what love is but we do. We come from drastically different backgrounds, we’re not even the same species, but we have something in common, Desdemona Hawthorne. I want you to listen and pay close attention because we don’t get attached to mortals or form deep bonds with just anyone; you are special to us, Little One and by me sharing our history, we will strengthen our bond and we will have a better understanding of each other. Our love will truly stand the test of time of that I can assure you.” Bela replies before launching into the tale of the four lords of the region, Alcina’s origins, and Mother Miranda’s history and why she continued to experiment on unwilling specimens in the region. Cassandra pitched in when she could. Daniela surprisingly contributed to the conversation more with her knowledge of the Four Lords; she wholeheartedly spoke about Donna Beneviento while she spoke about the other two lords of the region with great distaste. As Desdemona listened to their tales, she found herself eager to learn more, especially when Bela spoke about Miranda with a bitter tone to her voice. There was clearly a rift between her mother and this Miranda figure and Bela made it clear that Alcina looked up to the other woman. There was something to the way Alcina’s daughters frowned whenever Miranda’s name was mentioned and Desdemona herself felt the bond between all of them quiver with fear when they explained the nature of Miranda’s experimentations.

This woman was going to great lengths just to revive her dead daughter, and it did not matter how often she failed, she kept going. Even with Alcina aiding Mother Miranda, Bela suspected that Miranda would throw them all under the metaphorical bus just to cover her tracks.

“You don’t trust Mother Miranda, do you? When she released the lycans on the villagers, it sounds like you think she’s ready to sacrifice the only capable people that have been useful to her if it meant saving her own ass. Why do you feel that way?” Desdemona finally asked when the oppressive silence that followed her tales became too much to endure.

This information she learned…it was tremendous. Just one look at Lady Dimitrescu, and Desdemona wouldn’t have pegged her for a jazz musician or a winemaker, but she was all of that and more. Despite Alcina��s wicked nature and the cruel way she treated her servants, it astounded Desdemona that none of the girls were biologically hers yet she adopted all three of them when she formed a bond with them. If Desdemona were to be perfectly honest, she didn’t think Alcina was capable of love but…her overprotective nature of the girls made sense. While none of the murders or horrifying way they process their wine using maiden blood were in any way justifiable, they were apex predators at the top of the food chain doing what they must in order to maintain survival. They were no ordinary family, but the dynamics were the same and Desdemona can see by the way Bela holds her mother in high regard that they clearly know what love is.

“No, I do not trust Mother Miranda and I fear for my mother’s safety. When your group stumbled upon the village while we were out scouting for leftovers, we were ready to kill you all and have our way with you thinking you had been sent by Miranda to dispatch my mother. It turned out you were foreigners from another land, complete strangers to us and the other lords and the relief I felt knowing that you never even met the revered cult leader of the village was immeasurable. She’s incredibly dangerous, Desdemona, and no matter how often I tell my mother that we ought to cut our ties with her, she will not heed my warnings. While my mother is powerful, she cannot take Miranda on alone and the only other lord we can possibly convince to side with us is Donna Beneviento.” Bela finishes, feeding a spoonful of soup into Desdemona’s mouth. Desdemona didn’t realize how long she’d been distracted but her stomach felt full and looking down, Bela had been feeding her the entire time they had been talking. She was flabbergasted at how they were able to coax her into eating again after starving herself for a few days and she didn’t even notice that it had been happening the entire time. The dark whispers in her mind are telling her to calm herself, that her mistresses were taking care of her in her time of need and that she needed to be grateful. Desdemona obliged, surprisingly, and willfully took another sip of her water that Cassandra had at the ready for her.

When Desdemona slowly breathes in and out, there’s a renewed energy she hadn’t felt in days and the other women must have felt that sudden spark as well through their shared bond when they all turned to look at her.

“Well done, sister, look who’s back. There’s that familiar glow of yours that I’ve grown to love so much.” Cassandra says chuckling. She pushes aside Desdemona’s hair to reveal her collarbone and plants a gentle kiss on the exposed skin.

Daniela excitedly cups Desdemona’s chin and forcefully turns her head to the side so she could kiss her. It was sloppy and a little wet but Desdemona found herself kissing the other woman back just as enthusiastically. Daniela pulls away giggling but pouts when Bela stands up, pulling Desdemona to her feet as well. Bela delicately plays with Desdemona’s fingers for a moment before she raises a hand to cup Desdemona’s cheek. Once again, Desdemona’s inner turmoil from before has vanished and she leans into the touch, causing Bela to smirk. The blonde woman pulls Desdemona closer to her and presses a kiss to her lips, a kiss that leaves Desdemona wanting more. She had wanted nothing to do with them after recent events but here she was letting them touch and kiss her like they didn’t tear Veronica’s corpse apart after she had killed her.

Thinking back on her best friend’s death, Desdemona attempts to step away from Bela but the eldest sister kept her in place and hugged her closely. Because of the height difference, Desdemona’s head fell just a bit under Bela’s breasts and this made it easier for Bela to stroke her hair and whisper sweet nothings to her as if her pretty words could erase her horrendous actions. Maybe it was due to the fact that their bond was strengthening but Desdemona was starting to feel more at ease as her mind once again begins to slip away into nothing.

No longer could she resist the call of Lady Dimitrescu’s daughters whenever they were near her and the inner voice in her head that protested their actions was silenced, dulled, and ignored. In that moment, she wanted nothing more than to please them and to do whatever was asked of her. The traumatizing memory of Veronica’s death was starting to fade away as happiness begins to seep in the longer she remained in Bela’s arms. Desdemona was losing herself, no longer willing to fight the women she was now bonded to and there was nothing she could do about it. She wanted nothing more than to be embraced and loved by Alcina and her daughters as the feeling of being needed and wanted by these exquisite creatures overpowered everything else in her life. They chose her, she was their chosen one, and nothing could top that.

When Desdemona sighs and slightly pulls away from Bela, she looks up at Bela adoringly, a stark contrast to how she’d been behaving and treating them from earlier before, and Bela looks relieved. She leans down and kisses Desdemona, her arm encircling her waist as she dips her to kiss her even more deeply. When they break apart, Bela smiles at Desdemona and notices the glazed look in her eyes.

“You’re changing, Little One. Until the time comes for your final transformation, we’ll need to keep our wits about us. Either we’ll assist Mother Miranda in finding another vessel to revive her daughter or we’ll be taking her on with hopefully one of the other Lords on mother’s side. Daniela, I need you to write a letter to Donna Beneviento and invite her over for a wine tasting, I’m sure that woman could use company right now. Cassandra, take our dear little Desdemona and clean her up in the bath. We need her presentable as we propose our ideas to our dear friend Donna. We cannot risk Mother overhearing our plans.” Bela says as she passes a dazed and confused Desdemona over to Cassandra. “Do you truly think Donna will be able to help us in any shape or form? I think going behind mother’s back is truly a disastrous idea.” Cassandra tells Bela as she carefully lifts Desdemona and carries her bridal style.

“We cannot risk Miranda betraying our mother first. She’s become reckless as of late and there’s no telling what that woman is capable of. She destroyed the village using the lycans, who’s to say she isn’t planning on sacrificing us all for her own benefit? Either we find a successful vessel or we prepare ourselves to fight; Desdemona’s transformation is nearly complete and we’re going to need her if we plan on luring more people out here.” “What are you going to be doing while we make preparations, Bela?”

“I’m going to make a few inquisitive phone calls to the innkeeper that led our beloved Desdemona over to us. As much as I would love to see Mother put down Miranda once and for all, it would be easier to lure in more victims with great potential. I do not want to see our family fall, not after all we’ve been through and not after we’ve found a loving companion to keep with us. I…love Desdemona, I would like to continue exploring these new feelings with her but not with Miranda behaving the way she has been as of late. You may not see the danger behind her actions, but I do and I will not stand for it.” Bela says determinedly, as she runs her fingers through Desdemona’s thick tresses. Desdemona had fallen asleep in Cassandra’s arms, an effect of the drug she had slipped into her food. They needed to make their case presentable, and Donna’s input would be invaluable, even if she disagreed with their actions. There’s no way Miranda’s actions weren’t suspicious to anybody else so she had to see for herself if the other lords were continuing to follow Miranda’s orders blindly. She loathed to think so little of her own mother, but Alcina’s been trying to prove herself to the other woman for so long that Bela thinks the the effort just wasn’t worth it anymore. They were going to present another vessel to Miranda and if the ritual failed, then they would plan their attack. However, if this next vessel somehow succeeded in reviving Miranda’s daughter, then they could finally cut their ties with the woman and live on peacefully in their castle away from all the bullshit politics. Bela just wanted her family to remain safe, and with Desdemona now bonded to them as their fledgling, Bela had a lot to lose should their plan fail but she was now more determined than ever to make sure their plan worked. She’d never known love outside of family before but this connection with Desdemona opened her up to a whole new world of feelings waiting to be explored and she wasn’t going to lose that. Not now, not ever.

#resident evil village #resident evil 8 #RE8 Village #RE8 #mine #only monsters come out at night #chapter update #chapter 7 #bela dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu #cassandra dimitrescu #Alcina Dimitrescu #bela dimitrescu x ofc #daniela dimitrescu x ofc #cassandra dimitrescu x ofc #Lady Dimitrescu's daughters

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stop-breaking-my-heart-telltale · 4 years ago

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[that’s just what the cold really is]

Sometimes I wake up at one o’clock in the morning to drink some tea and write a briolet oneshot.

Don’t ask why because I don’t know what this is either.

Read on AO3

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Frost kisses the glass, starting from the wooden frame and spreading across the window. Violet stares past the ice, allowing her mind to clear itself, content to exist and be. How long has she sat there, cross-legged on her desk, watching the stillness of the night? Who knows. Long enough for her nose to become cold enough it stung to breathe through it.

Pressing a finger against the foggy glass, Violet glides it across to draw two eyes and a smile. Dumb and lopsided, she thinks, before smearing away one of the eyes.

With a sigh, Violet climbs off the desk, stiff muscles wincing as her bare feet hit the hardwood floors, so cold it almost hurts to walk.

Another sleepless night in the beginnings of winter, not an unusual occurrence these days. Not when thoughts of the undead and loved ones long lost haunt the most inner workings of her mind, and not when the cold irritates her eye to the point where she could just rub it better.

If only she could put some pressure on it, warm it up enough to be uncomfortably comfortable, but the healing process for the loss of an eyeball is apparently a long and agonizing one. Possibly more so than the actual removal itself, though that’s debatable-- Violet doesn’t have nightmares about healing.

No, these days she still has nightmares about a cell much colder than her dorm, about disfigured faces holding her down as she struggles, spitting more curses than pleas. Lilly’s smug voice echoes in her ear from far away and a woman with a cold, dead stare hovers over her, knife in hand as she commands her to stay still.

Violet reaches her arm out to grab the bar belonging to the top bunk of her bed, the metal cold enough to burn her fingertips. She lets her hand drag along it as she makes her way closer to the door. She wouldn’t want to accidentally walk too close and stub her toe again.

The hallway’s just as dark and still, and it occurs to her that it might be dangerous to walk around here barefoot. Sure, the school’s clearer than it’s ever been thanks to Ruby putting her foot down about everyone being a bunch of pigs, but that doesn’t mean Violet won’t step on a missed piece of glass or a tracked in rock.

Does that scare her enough to turn around and head back into the forlorn darkness of her dorm to try and get some sleep?

Violet makes it down the hall with ease, keeping a hand dragging along to wall to steady her. Not that she really needs to do that. It’s not like she’s completely blind. She still has one eye that’s as good as new, but having only one good eye makes for some poor depth perception most of the time.

The outside chill cuts right through the thin material of her shirt, sinking down into her bones to bring involuntary tremors through her limbs. Rubbing her arms in an attempt to warm them, she ventures into the yard, setting her sight on the stairs leading into the admin building.

She doubts anyone will be in the music room tonight, though she is a little hopeful that Louis might be there. She’d enjoy a song or two tonight, she thinks. He could always was make her laugh, and perhaps that’s what she needed right now.

Louis has his fair share of sleepless nights, and like her, he wanders out here to the music room. Work out frustrations by ‘tickling the ivories,’ as he puts it, or to comfort himself after a bad dream. Violet just hopes that if he’s here tonight that he’s alone. While she enjoys the company of both Louis and Clementine, the two of them being in there together at this time of night probably wouldn’t be the most innocent outing. Violet’s lone eye can only unsee so many things.

“Jesus,” she curses. A particularly harsh gust of wind nearly knocks her down as she climbs the stairs. “Yeah, great, thanks for that.”

Well, if they are in there together, at least they aren’t freezing their asses off.

Violet glares up at the sky, wrinkling her nose at the thought.

Hell, even if they’re both back at the dorms, they’re still warmer together than Violet is out here by herself. Everyone who remains in their bed is warmer than her. Probably.

Her face softens, gaze falling down to the steps beneath her.

Maybe cold nights exist as a reason to drawer people closer to one another, to seek and feel the natural warmth only they could provide. Except what does that mean for those who are cold but lonely? Maybe that’s just what the cold really is, Violet thinks.

Loneliness. Huh.

Shit.

Maybe it’s her pride or the fact that she’s never felt weaker than she has the past six or so months after escaping the delta’s clutch, leaving her eye with them. Fronting that she’s tougher than she really is made her feel better, acting as though she’s content being alone or that she doesn’t need to rely on others for help even if she knows it’s bullshit.

Doing this always bit her in the ass on nights just like this one.

It’s silent within the admin building, so it’s safe to conclude that Louis isn’t here.

She’d never admit her disappointment aloud, but that doesn’t stop the feeling from tugging at her gut. She really hoped he’d be here, hoped they could talk for a while. For as loud and obnoxious as Louis could be, he could listen just as well, be just as quiet and sincere. It’s stupid now to think that she once thought him incapable of serious, deep conversation, not that she ever gave him much of a chance. Not that he gave her much of a chance, either.

Just a couple of dumbasses, she thinks. Oh well.

Violet turns the corner to see the door to the music room wide open, inviting her in. Moonlight leaks in through the curtain slits, reflecting off the floor and the old piano. Strangely, it doesn’t feel as cold in here. At least, not as much as it is outside, or even in the hallway.

She approaches the piano, contemplating if she should sit down. She has no idea how to play, nor does she have any desire to. Resting a hand on the worn-out wood, she curiously admires the inner workings of the piano with all its strings and doohickeys.

Louis offered to teach her once, and she told him that piano music sucks. He never made another offer.

“Vi?”

Violet nearly jumps a foot in the air.

Whipping around, she finds Brody curled up on the couch with a thin blanket over her leg and a mug in hand, wide eyes gazing up at her.

“Shit, sorry,” Brody apologizes, setting her mug on the table beside the armrest. “Didn’t mean to startle you. Just didn’t think you saw me and I didn’t want to be, well, creepin’ over here without ya knowin.’”

Violet presses a hand against her frantic heart, taking a deep breath and nodding.

“No, yeah, definitely didn’t see you. Y’know,” she motions to the patch over her eye, “blind spot.”

Brody seems to stiffen up, but gives an unsure nod, face falling as she glances down at her hands. She stretches out her legs, making like she’s going to stand but changes her mind.

Violet frowns, silently scolding herself.

“What’re you doin’ up?” Brody finally asks.

Violet gives a halfhearted shrug.

“Can’t sleep. Obviously.”

“Your eye?”

“Among other things.”

Brody nods once more, and Violet can’t help but stare at her, even though Brody can probably feel it. Even from here, and with her vision impairment, Brody’s scare is harshly prominent against her more delicate features. Right above her brow, long and discolored now, fully healed.

Violet almost scoffs aloud. Fucking Marlon. She hopes he’s freezing his ass off living down in the old train station now. After what he did to Brody, after finding out what he did to Minnie and Sophie, they kicked him out of Ericson. And even after everything with the raiders, after Marlon helped them escape the boat before it exploded, he’s still not welcome here.

Well, more so Marlon decided it’d be in everyone’s best interest if he didn’t live at Ericson anymore, instead settling in the train station so that he was close enough if they ever needed him. Everyone agreed, even Louis. That was a surprise, but he agreed that Marlon being here with them wouldn’t work anymore, and maybe knowing where Marlon was and that he was safe helped Louis be content with the decision.

Violet’s just glad she doesn’t have to see him every day, and that he’s far away from Brody, but even gone he’s left marks all over this school... all over Brody’s face.

“What about you?” Violet asks to break the awkward pause. “Can’t sleep either?”

“Nah,” Brody finally looks at her, tucking a wild strand of hair behind her ear. Bedhead, Violet thinks. Funny. “Tossin’ and turnin’ don’t suit me. If I’m gonna be awake, I might as well be outta bed and doin’ something.”

“Something like sitting in the dark like a weirdo?”

That gets a small smile from Brody.

“Yeah, somethin’ like that,” she says. “Just wanted some tea and a change of scenery. Wasn’t expecting company...” she trails off, but keeps her gaze on Violet as she quietly adds, “but it’s a welcome surprise.”

Violet almost smiles despite herself, having to bite the inside of her cheek.

Ever since they lost the twins, things have been rocky with Brody. After Clementine and AJ showed up, Violet felt for the first time in a so long that her friendship with Brody was salvageable, that maybe they could be close again. Clementine forced her to see what was really bothering her about Brody and why things were so shitty between them, and Violet found herself wanting to fix it.

Then the truth Marlon and Brody were hiding from them came out, and Violet was beyond pissed. Even with Brody lying in bed, bandages wrapped around her head and her skin sticky and pale, Violet hated her.

Yeah, hated her. Hated her for lying to her face for over a year, for keeping that secret to hide her and Marlon’s guilt, for trying to grow close with her knowing what she had done.

Violet never fathomed that she’d ever forgive Brody, but then Brody healed and could explain everything.

Then the raiders attacked, and she and Brody were taken away, forced to share a cell on the raider’s boat. When Violet failed to cooperate, and they... well, Brody was the one to hold her, sob into her shoulder from within that cell.

Suddenly, a lot of things didn’t seem to matter anymore.

“You want some tea?” Brody offers, holding up her own mug. “It’s minty.”

“No, no...” Violet shakes her head, shifting her weight from one leg to the other.

“It’ll warm ya up. Can see ya shakin’ from over here.”

“Maybe I like the cold.”

“No one likes the cold.”

“Maybe I do.”

Brody rolls her eyes, throwing the blanket off and standing. Over by the fireplace, she lights a match to ignite her makeshift warmer to boil more water.

Violet abandons the piano, finding a place on the opposite side of the couch as Brody wanders about the room, humming to herself. She comes back with another blanket, this one heavier. Violet accepts gratefully, covering her body up to her chin.

Brody hands her to streaming mug, the scent of warm mint clearing her senses. Violet can’t help but groan after taking a sip, the heat spreading through her body.

“Good?”

“It’s okay,” Violet lies. ”I guess.”

Brody smiles. Violet wonders how close she’ll sit now that she’s here, but Brody doesn’t move to do so. Instead, she grabs one of the candles off the piano, flicking a match to light it. Violet raises a brow up at her, which Brody meets with a playful shrug.

“it’s cold,” she says simply, setting the candle down on the small round table.

Violet can’t help it. She laughs. That makes Brody smile.

Her laughter dies when the couch dips with Brody’s weight beside her.

“C’mon,” Brody grins, tugging at the comforter. “Don’t be a hog.”

Violet doesn’t bother putting up a fight, lifting the blanket to let Brody scoot closer. Shoulder to shoulder, they get comfortable.

“Y’know what I miss?” Brody asks.

“Summer?”

“No-- well, actually yes, I do miss summer, but that’s not what I was gonna say,” she brings her long legs us, tucking them beneath her. This makes her lean more into Violet and it takes all her concentration to not spill hot tea over her hands. “I was thinkin’ that I miss jerky.”

“Jerky?”

“Yeah. I used to go on these trips once a year with my dad to see my grandpa. Was always just to two of us, and we’d be on the road for hours, but we’d stop at this gas station-- the same one every time, and he’d get us these long sticks of spicy jerky that you could barely chew without feelin’ like ya were gonna break a tooth.”

“Gross,” Violet wrinkles her nose. “Ever break a tooth?”

“Nah, not really. Sure made my jaw sore by the time I was finished, though. Take ya about an hour to get through the whole thing properly. But Daddy said that was the point. Ya gotta chew it long enough to get all the flavor outta it, otherwise, it’s just a waste.”

“He couldn’t’ve brought you a hotdog or something?”

“You ever have a hotdog from a gas stop?” Brody makes a gagging noise. “Wouldn’t be surprised if those things were made of roadkill off the highway.”

“How’s that any different than what we eat now?” Violet asks, teasing. “It’s just in stew form instead.”

“I’ll tell him you compared his famous stew to flea-bitten roadkill.”

“Do it,” Violet challenges with a smirk, setting her tea aside. “I can take him.”

Brody snorts out a laugh, hand flying up to cover her mouth to muffle the outburst, managing an, “Oh god,” out.

Once Brody gets a hold of herself, Violet says, “Never had jerky like that. Though I didn’t go on many road trips.”

“We could go on one,” Brody suggests lightly, nudging her. “Get away from here, go find a beach somewhere and sit in the sun.”

“Only if I get to drive.”

Brody, a soft smile tugging at her lips, wraps an arm around Violet’s shoulders to pull her close, gently rubbing more heat into her arm.

Despite the heaviness in Violet’s stomach, it flutters at the feeling of her body pressed against Brody’s. She hesitates, but eventually leans into the warmth of her side, resting her head in the crook of Brody’s neck while slipping her arms around her waist.

“Can’t tell anyone we’re goin,’ though,” Brody mumbles. “I’m not spending days in a car with Louis and his singalongs.”

“Twenty-five bottles of beers on the wall, twenty-five bottles of beer-”

“Oh god.”

“-take one down--”

“No!”

“-pass it around-”

Brody’s hand presses over Violet’s mouth to silence her, all while the both of them laugh together. For the first time that night, Violet doesn’t feel a single chill prick at her skin. She pulls Brody’s hand from her face, holding it in her own. When Brody doesn’t pull away, she takes a risk in lacing their fingers together.

Brody squeezes her hand back in approval.

The laughter dies down. Brody pulls the blanket closer over them, and together they sit for a while.

Just as Violet’s eye begins to droop shut, the fatigue finally hitting her, Brody’s lips press against her forehead. Violet thinks to turn her head up to kiss Brody back, really kiss her, but doesn’t.

Too tired, too comfortable, too warm.

Violet allows sleep to take her.

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drop-of-infinity · 4 years ago

Text

Destiel fic time again, this part is about season 9

Chapter one

Chapter two

Chapter three

Chapter four

Chapter five

<><><><><><><><><>

Chapter 6: season 9

I Think I’m Going To Like It Here

{“Whatever you did, or didn’t do, it doesn’t matter. We’ll work it out. Please, man, I need you here.” Dean’s fear for Sam is all-consuming, almost. Underneath the desperation and worry, there’s a tightness in his chest that’s removed from it. Heartache, he realizes. If only Cas would show up. Where the hell are you?

{“Hello?”

“Dean.” Cas had been human before, but the way it heightened his emotions was still frightening. Hearing Dean’s voice was breathing and drowning and dying, and Cas struggled to keep his mind on that task at hand. He wasn’t sure how long pay phones lasted. His newly necessary heart beat hard enough that he wondered if Dean could hear it on the other end of the line.

I’m No Angel

{“Cas? Cas!” Dean cups his angel’s face, cradling it. Cas is gone. Cas is gone, Dean was too late, and he never got to-to tell him, to hug him, to say sorry. To perform all those little touches he held himself back from on a daily basis. Dean is so consumed by grief, regret, and a bone-deep ache that he barely notices Ezekiel moving towards Cas. And then-suddenly, miraculously-“Dean?” Cas is sitting up, he’s alive, he’s okay. “Hey, hey! ...yeah.” Dean can hear his own voice cracking but he doesn’t care because Cas is alive and he has a second chance. His relief is so strong he momentarily forgets to keep his hands reigned in, and they go straight to Cas, touching, stroking. The feeling that prickles in his fingers where he touches the former angel is addicting, but it brings him back to himself a little, and he forces himself to pull away. He almost doesn’t manage it, but he locks his hands at his sides and orders them to stay there. Cas is okay. He’s okay, and everything else will be too.

{“Dean you know I always appreciate our talks. And our time together.” Cas was finding that he quite liked honesty. Dean hadn’t been complimented nearly enough in his life, and- “listen buddy, um. You can’t stay.” Cas stopped thinking. He stopped breathing too, for a second, until he remembered that he has to now. Can’t stay? So... Sam and Dean didn’t want him now that he was human. Dean really hadn’t cared about him beyond his powers, and now that he was no longer useful to them, he had to go. Just like his first family, heaven. They only cared about Cas as a tool in a machine. He’d thought Dean was different. His chest felt tight and achy, almost shattered. Heartbreak, he thought dimly. That’s why they call it that.

Heaven Can’t Wait

{“Hello to you too, Cas. How are you?”

“I am... busy.” Cas had been worried Dean wouldn’t even pick up, and couldn’t fathom why he was asking about him. He was giving Dean a case, was being useful, because... because why? The voice of Naomi had never really left his head, even though she was dead. It had manifested as... this. Because then maybe he’ll want you again? Face it Castiel, he never cared. He never will. Despite all this, Cas’s heart still soared hearing Dean’s voice. He missed him fiercely. Stupid magnified, unearned human feelings.

{“That sounds like a real case, I should be there.”

“No no no man, that’s not necessary. I got this one covered.” As Dean watched Cas, unseen from behind the Impala, he told himself that he didn’t want Sam there because of Ezekiel. No, it had nothing to do with the way he was hopelessly pining for the fallen angel he was currently gazing at from across the street. Nothing at all. Stop acting like a teenage stalker, he scolded himself. You’re an adult. Just... talk to him.

{“What are you doing here?” Cas stared at Dean, and ignored his heart, which was suddenly yelling at him to throw himself over the counter and... he didn’t even know what. Dean had always been amazing, soul and all, but he had just kicked Cas out of the only home he’d ever hoped to know and yet... still beautiful. Cas gripped the counter tightly. He is... what was the expression? Screwed.

{“It’s different now Dean, everything feels... different.”

“You’re right.”

Cas could get hurt now. He could get killed. He was human, and he wasn’t a hunter, and Dean needed to keep him safe. But also... everything feels different? Did that mean... Dean always assumed angels couldn’t feel or want certain things... but now Cas was... did that mean he could... but even if he did... Dean shut himself down. It didn’t matter if Cas’s emotions were on the same spectrum as his now, they were never going to be on the same end. The dude had a date in a couple hours after all. Still... Dean decided he could at least let himself think it. He tried not to, for the most part, these days it just hurt. “You stay safe. Go on that date, y’know, live a normal life.” “Okay.” “...well?” “I need a ride.” In the end, Dean couldn’t have stopped himself from thinking it. I love you.

{“Alright that’s far enough.” Dean tried to keep the blush off his face. Here was Cas, shirt unbuttoned in his passenger seat, about to go on a date with someone else. Dean could stop him, he was sure of it. He could tell him to come with him to hunt, he could literally just drive away, he could straight up lean over and kiss him. But no. That wasn’t what Cas wanted, and he deserved to be happy more than anyone.

{“I’m sorry I told you to go.” Cas had picked up on something, overnight at the motel they got. Dean still cared about him. He saw it in the way he watched him, in the way he talked. Against all odds, Dean cared about him as a human. But he still couldn’t go back to the bunker. Cas didn’t know what to think, so he just felt.

Road Trip

{“Look at you all suited up and back in the game” “I-I um. I came as soon as soon as you called.” Cas was an angel again, so he didn’t understand why he-why his vessel still got so flustered when Dean complimented him. Was that a normal emotion? There were a million other things he should be worrying about, and he is reminded of a similar situation years ago. Different song, same old dance.

{“You were stupid for the right reasons.”

“Yeah, like that matters.”

“It does. Sometimes that’s all that matters.” And god, Dean loves this grumpy angel. It hits so suddenly sometimes, it knocks the breath out of him. Suddenly he believes they can get Sam back, because Cas does. Cas isn’t giving up on Dean. He thinks maybe he never will, and that’s enough. That’s everything.

{“So you’re saying we’re both a couple of dumbasses?”

“I prefer the word trusting. Less dumb, less ass.” Dean cracks a smile, and it’s tiny but it’s like the sunrise. Time seems to stop. The king of hell is in the other room sticking needles into Sam’s head, but Cas still managed to make Dean smile. And there it is, the dizzying, chest tightening head rush that he gets when Dean... well, when Dean does almost anything. It’s not even a surprise when the word pops into his head. It’s been there for a long time, at least since Naomi made him murder Dean over and over, waiting for its chance. Cas doesn’t even know why this is the moment, but he looks at Dean’s shaky grin and beautiful soul and lets it happen. Oh, he thinks. I’m in love with him.

Stairway To Heaven

{“We gave you our trust. Don’t lose it over one man.” Cas looks at Hannah. One of his most valuable soldiers, someone he thought was becoming his friend. He glances at the faces of the other angels, his army. He led and they followed, they had trusted him to get them through this. Then he looked at Dean. His best friend, his family, the love of his long and immortal life. In the end, it wasn’t a difficult decision. “No. I can’t.”

{“You really believe we three will be enough?”

“We always have been.” For the first time in a long time, Dean finds himself thinking they have a chance. Looking at Cas’s smile-Cas, who just gave up an entire army to save Dean-he knows they’ll be okay.

Do You Believe in Miracles?

{“For what again? Oh that’s right. To save Dean Winchester. That was your goal right? I mean you draped yourself in the flag of heaven but ultimately it was all about saving one human.” Cas glares right back at Metatron. I would do it again, he thinks rebelliously. I would do it all again. Metatron is still talking. “Well guess what? He’s dead too.” Cas feels his heart fall through the floor. Dean can’t be gone, not after everything. He can’t.

{Dean’s eyes are black now, and he couldn’t care less. No more flying for him. The Michael sword has fallen so far.

{Cas has fallen in every way that matters, and he understands it now. He’s not an angel, he’s not human, he’s just himself. And he needs to get Dean back.

As Cas’s grace fades and the mark of Cain on Dean demands blood, they are both consumed by things out of their control. It’s not the first time and it won’t be the last.

#supernatural #destiel #spn #deancas #castiel #supernatural thoughts #spn thoughts #spn season 9 #supernatural season 9 #destiel fic #deancas fic #deancas fanfic #destiel fanfic #destiel fanfiction #deancas fanfiction

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ddarker-dreams · 5 years ago

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I love your writing! ❤️ Yandere starter #26 “I always get what I want” w/ Overhaul, please! 😊

Your hands currently rest on your thighs, tightly pressed into fists. Your nails were pressing so harshly into the soft flesh of your palm that it stung, but the pain helped ground you in reality. It was all you could think to do at this point and time.

All you can hear is your own heartbeat. It pounds loudly, reverberating in your chest. The rest of the world feels unknown to you, nothing but a blur going by in the window next to you. Even the stars were covered up by low hanging clouds, there was nothing to bring you comfort.

Cuts and bruises smear your entire being. A mantra of self deprecation has looped in your mind, constantly looking back and wondering what you could’ve done better. It took months of planning. Even more will power and strength to execute. With less than moral decisions, you finally were able to wrestle yourself from Overhaul’s crushing grip.

That was around a day or so ago, if you had to guess. You ran from the secluded building he had you occupy when the moon was in the sky, running in the forest surrounding it towards the North star. It was the best plan you could pull together, but it wasn’t enough in the end.

An hour ago, it came to your attention that you were being chased.

Multiple lackeys that worked under Overhaul, most likely. It didn’t matter who they were. What mattered is that he was going to find you soon, and you couldn’t even fathom the punishments instilled upon you for your transgressions towards him.

Your body had already begun to shut down at that point. Adrenaline was fleeting, soon being replaced by horror. Breathing shallow, head dizzy, and unsure of your future. To make matters worse, you had tripped on tree roots too many times to count; moonlight not enough to illuminate paths ahead of you.

If you were at full health, you could’ve put up a better fight. But your body was in no condition to fully utilize your quirk, and they were gaining on you fast. Much to your own shame, you had to surrender yourself to them as they ganged up on you.

The worst part was the wait. They communicated to their boss that you had been located, along with your current location. Time was cruel and slow, moving at a snail’s pace after that point. Eventually, a black, unmarked car drove up.

You didn’t even need to look up to know it was him.

His inhuman gaze piercing your own, eyes running over your brutalized physical appearance. He said nothing to you, but ordered you to be drug into his car.

And here you were now. Consumed by anxiety and regret, a foot apart from your tormentor who hasn’t spoken to you. You knew better than to beg for forgiveness, he’d hear nothing of it. So you opted on saying nothing. All you had where your own thoughts and overwhelming fear.

That was until now.

“The moment we get home, you are to shower. Understand?”

His tone is menacing, unflinchingly dominant. You can’t even fathom the level of hell you landed yourself into, chewing on your lip to alleviate some of the anxiety.

“I understand.”

Your response is barely audible, but it must’ve been good enough. Working up a bit of courage, your eyes shift in his direction. He was currently resting his head on his fist, his elbow on the car’s window.

It would’ve been better if he was outwardly upset. Even the most watchful eyes would have a difficult time telling what Chisaki was feeling. His stoic visage always stayed the same, no matter the circumstances.

“You will be receiving a physical tomorrow. From this point forward, I’ll have to carefully monitor your condition to see that you properly heal.”

“I understand.”

At your response, a hint of a reaction sparks. He looks over towards you, seat belt squeaking at the shift in position.

“What have you consumed in the last twenty-four hours?” he demands. A bead of sweat forms on your temple, as you don’t want to make matters worse than they already are.

“U-um… just a bottle of water. I lost it at some point.” you murmur dejectedly, breaking away from his penetrating stare. Silently, you hope that your answer is enough to satisfy him.

When it came to your health, Overhaul is overbearing to a degree most doctors would scoff out. You’re not excited for all the future medical procedures and shots he no doubt had in store for you. It wouldn’t come as a surprise to you if he already set them up.

“Tell me, [First]. What were you thinking?” His tone is dangerous, a sensitive topic forthcoming. An uneasy sigh leaves your lips as exhaustion hits you all at once, wanting nothing more than to sleep and be far away from him.

He narrows his eyes at you, taking your silence as an insult. “Answer me.”

“There’s nothing I can say that you’ll accept.” you truthfully admit, eyes heavy. Your mind was already wondering, unable to form coherent thoughts. The adrenaline was all but gone, leaving you vulnerably tired.

“You’re right, it makes no sense after all. I’ve given you everything you need to be safe and in good health. Why you would reject this is beyond me.” he attempts to rationalize to you, but you feel irritation beginning to grow. Your eyebrows furrow at his words.

Was he really that unaware of himself?!

“Overhaul–” he winces at the usage of his Villain name, preferring when you used his name. “–I don’t want this. I want to live like I used to. I want my life back from you.”

It was a stupid thing to say, there’s no denying it. But as exhaustion overwhelms every part of your being, your ability to control your tongue has begun to slip away along with your patience.

“Hm… so that’s how you see it.” he responds, devoid of emotion. He closes his eyes for a moment, rubbing circles into his temple.

“You are a troublesome one after all,” he expresses, before reopening his eyes. “It’d be in our best interest if you accept things how they are. These childish actions are unbecoming of you.”

You grit your teeth, numerous curses towards the male next to you in your mind.

“Even so,” he begins, a hint of amusement present. His golden eyes flash, and he starts to move closer to you. Your eyes widen at the predatory movement, and his hand harshly grips your face; forcing you to look at him.

His gloves feel cool against your flushed skin. All of this was just to intimidate you, but by god was it working. Before you can even struggle, you’re taken aback by the sheer intensity in his eyes. You shiver as he maintains eye contact with you, unblinking.

“It’d only be easier for you that way. Regardless of how you decide to behave…” he trails off, pausing momentarily. You can’t see his mouth, but you know he’s smirking.

“I always get what I want.”

#overhaul x reader #yandere overhaul #kai chisaki x reader #chisaki kai x reader #overhaul imagines #yandere x you #yandere x reader #yandere imagines #bnha imagines #bnha x reader #my stuff #fun fact this guy's voice actor voices one of my favs #i love kazama chikage #answered

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ghoulgeists · 4 years ago

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I HAVE QUESTIONS!!! ABOUT FLINT!!!! a lot so have fun :D 4, 9, 10, 12 :) 13, 14, 17, 23, 27, 42, 44, 50, 56, 57, 59 (i think i asked this before but i forgot the answer lol), 61, 63, 67 !! also i ask about seaweed boy !! 3, 5 lol, 11, 18, 21, 30, 40, 44, 51, 59, 61, 64 !!! and a few for cadma !! 11, 19, 30, 36, 48, 53, 64, 69

UM HEWWO?!?!? THATS A LOT OF QUESTIONS! I am so excited to answer these...

Answers are under the cut! This will be... Long

Flint

4. If they could learn one spell that isn’t available to them at present, which spell would it be?

Magic in their setting is a little different, and these questions are dnd centric, but I think I can still answer this! Flint would probably be VERY interested in divination magic, of any kind. So spells that could divine futures, locate objects, or show hidden things.

9. Do they care about their appearance? How much effort do they put into presentation?

In public, appearance is a top priority. They mingle with plenty of people whenever they can, and it's important to them that they give others a good first impression, so Flint's grooming is off the charts compared to most people.

When they're crawling around in the ancient dust of a tomb, however, the way they look isn't nearly as important as grabbing as many valuable burial goods as they can!

10. How often do they lie? What situations cause them to be dishonest?

Flint's no saint, and lies plenty enough to prove it. Most of the time it's white lies to spare feelings or to get out of doing something, but the bigger lies come when people probe about their past. It's pretty obvious they don't want people to know about who they used to be, and the bigger the secret the bigger the lie they tell to keep others off their tail.

12. Have they ever been in love?

Plenty of times! Enough to count on a few hands. It's infatuation that strikes them most often, but they have been serious on occasion too.

13. What do they dislike about themself? Why?

They dislike how weak they can often be, as well as how easy it is to take advantage of them sometimes. It drives them to take the easy way out of difficult situations no matter the cost.

14. What is something they love about themself?

They love their body! All the little details from the way their hair curls, the blue of their eyes, their stature, etc. They're very comfortable, proud, and happy being themselves!

I think this is the first character I've ever made who wouldn't want to change anything about their body for any reason :'D

17. What do they dream about, when their dreams are their own?

Beyond gold and riches, they dream about travelling to destinations both new and old, discovery, and about what stories they'll tell when they're old.

23. How do they feel about nicknames, titles, or labels that have been given to them? How do they feel about their name?

Nicknames are encouraged, but only between close friends and significant others! They don't have any titles or labels because they're not quite that infamous. Everyone who knows them refers to them by their first name, and that's what they're comfortable with because it's what they're used to!

As for how they feel about their name, they don't have strong opinions either way. It's the name they grew up with so they can't just toss it aside, but it has bad things attached to it as well. I'd say they think it's a ledger of all their (mis)deeds, and that's about it.

27. How do they mourn?

They carry on. But they swear to do better.

42. What are three words they would use to describe themself?

Confident, gorgeous, and amicable!

44. What do they need to learn?

To stop sticking their nose into trouble.

50. Can they sing? Can they dance?

Yes, Flint can sing and sings often! They will occasionally busk for lodging funds if they are ever scarce a few dollars, and have a very soothing voice that ensures at least a few people will toss them some coins. As for dancing, it's not something they're interested in, but you could always coax it out of them you can promise you'll be a good dance partner :)c

56. What animal do they most relate to?

Probably a dog? Fiercely loyal and trusting, but with a good nose (figuratively) for who they should let in on their vulnerabilities to.

57. What makes them angry?

Injustice, and the ideology that law and order outweighs the importance of the human condition.

59. What is a quiet passion of theirs?

While not exactly quiet, they have a passion for music! Singing and playing the guitar is one of their favourite pastimes.

61. What kind of flower would they choose to pick from a meadow?

This is impractical, and they also aren't exactly found in meadows, but they would go for sunflowers. Something big and bold and bright!

63. What fight has scared them the most?

They haven't gotten there yet in the story I'm building around them, but any fight where someone almost dies and they're powerless to help is always terrifying! :^)

67. What makes them laugh?

Clever jokes, outrageous stories, and the thrill that comes from doing something dangerously stupid and getting away with it.

Tangle

3. What is their goal right now?

Two things: serve their unfathomable god to the best of their abilities, and get sweet, delicious revenge on the fishermen that almost killed him. The former is his current priority, because he knows he has plenty of years to hunt down his would-be murderers. Revenge is a dish to be savored :3c

5. Do they follow a higher power? What are their thoughts on divinity?

Before he met his patron the only thing he was concerned about was surviving. There's no time for gods when you're eking out a poor life in some nowhere village, after all!

After meeting his patron, there is honestly nothing in this world he could devote more time and attention to. So their relationship with higher powers and divinity etc all are attached by one string to a single entity!

11. What skills are they proficient in? Why?

Arcana, religion, and insight for obvious reasons! However he's also proficient in intimidation, because while he may look like a sweet boy he's actually kind of creepy (in an insane cultist kind of way), and that's sufficiently off putting enough that he can be rather intimidating.

18. Do they see themself as a leader or a follower?

lmao… definitely a follower.

21. Do they follow their head, their heart, or their body?

HMMM, I am not too sure about this yet, but probably his heart! He seems like he would be easily emotionally driven.

30. What do they seek out from others?

Open-mindedness! People who would be -cough- willingtosubmittotheoldgods -cough- -cough- I mean, people who won't judge him for his faith.

40. Do they enjoy poetry?

Nope! Not that he's had any exposure to the arts, though. I guess it would be more accurate to say he doesn't have an opinion :'D

44. What do they need to learn?

That he's not special, and his devotion to his god means barely a thing. He has in his mind this idea that he's some kind of glorious, special vessel through which his patron does its dark bidding, but in reality he's just a pile of meat labeled "minion." Until he learns that awful truth, he's got an ego about his position.

51. What is the most beautiful thing in the world, for them?

The rotten bones of shipwrecks stuck deep in the sand. They're a good source of materials, a home for the night, and they make lovely silhouettes against stormy seas.

59. What is a quiet passion of theirs?

It's done out of necessity, but they enjoy sewing up and mending clothes!

61. What kind of flower would they choose to pick from a meadow?

Nothing specific, just any bud or bloom he can find :'D

64. Do they value mercy or justice more?

Probably justice! Although he's indifferent to things that happen to others, he is technically seeking justice for what happened to him, in his own… special way.

Cadma

11. What skills are they proficient in? why?

Athletics, performance and acrobatics because he's an active, swole boi! As well as that he's proficient in stealth and slight of hand because he is a smooth criminal, and he's also proficient in religion for a reason I cannot fathom or remember the reason for.

19. What haunts them? What doesn’t?

Like most of my characters… the past lol… specifically, the people he's abandoned on a whim, and more pressingly his former captain, who kind of wants to spill his guts :')

What doesn't haunt him is his decisions to leave. In every instance he's left people he's found himself in a grander adventure, and he's thankful and at peace with those life decisions!

Essentially, he has the mentality that people only stay in your life for part of the journey. There’s no such thing as a lifelong partner or friend, so while he does remember people he’s left behind he thinks that charting his own course in life is more important that unbreakable bonds.

30. What do they seek out from others?

Damn good company! If you're an interesting person in any capacity Cadma will probably take a shine to you. He can't stand a stagnant lifestyle, and wants to surround himself with people who will bring adventure into his life.

36. What’s a secret they’ve kept?

It's not exactly a huge secret or anything, and anyone with eyes can tell because he has scales, but Cadma is very hush hush about his dragon ancestry and blood. It's caused him no end of troubles and he'd really rather people see him as a person rather than the inheritor of a rare bloodline.

48. What do they see in their future?

Adventure, and lots of it. Maybe a couple near death experiences too, which he is not so keen on but it comes with the job :')

53. Which is more frightening to them: day or night?

Night. Visibility is low and it's too quiet. Fires burn too bright. You have to let your guard down eventually.

It's not a fun time.

64. Do they value mercy or justice more?

Definitely mercy! Cadma believes in second chances, and sometimes thirds. He's needed his fair share of them, so everyone else deserves chances too

69. How would they describe their party members?

Good fun and better friends! He's never been with people so easy to latch onto emotionally, and MAN is he attached to them…

---

Thank you so much for the ask, ilu!! It's so much fun talking about my characters, I love them a lot and the opportunity to get it off my chest has been really nice uwu

I am still accepting asks! And I finally have a page with links to my character's tags, in case anyone wants to peruse!

pwease... talk to me...

#ask #ask meme #sydney-jielin #flint locke #cadma #tangle #ilusm....#wild weast

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duhragonball · 5 years ago

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The 10 Best Episodes of Dragon Ball and DBZ

Back in October I wrote up a list of the ten worst episodes of Dragon Ball, and I always meant to go back and do a ten best list to go with it. Well it’s the last Sunday of the year and I got nothing better to do, so I’m gonna knock that out today.

Honestly, I’m not sure which one of these was tougher to do. The main reason I made a worst list was because I noticed a small handful of episodes I just didn’t like, and I realized that even with a show I like this much, there had to be at least ten stinkers, so I liked the challenge of picking them out. On the other hand, picking the ten best episodes is like finding really good pieces of hay in an awesome haystack. And I’m a horse, so I’m already super-into hay. This analogy is getting tortured, so I’ll just move on.

Honorable Mention: Dragon Ball Z Episode 125.

I think the fandom has unanimously agreed that this is the all-time best episode of Dragon Ball, but it didn’t feel right putting it in my list. I don’t know if that’s because I sincerely believe it’s the 11th best episode, or because I just don’t want a predictable choice taking up space on my list. That’s how Dragon Ball rolls sometimes. Past a point, you can’t tell if you’re liking something ironically, or just plain liking it.

Without question, this is the all-time best filler episode. We all know the tale: Goku and Piccolo are busy training for the upcoming Androids battle, but Chi-Chi is sick of them not helping around the house, so she wants them to take driver’s ed so they can drive her to the grocery once in a while. Well, mostly Goku, but Piccolo somehow gets roped into it too. Honestly, I don’t think he really needed to go through with this. He pouts like Chi-Chi made him do this somehow, but she was clearly only interested in getting Goku licensed up. I think he just sort of invited himself into this situation because he wanted to feel like part of the family.

Anyway, the boys dress up in stupid/awesome civilian clothes, and somehow manage to be great at driving and terrible at driving at the same time. It’s a very zen kind of show. Also there’s a smidgen of Vegebul goodness, and Icarus shows up for no apparent reason, so there’s something for everyone.

10. Dragon Ball Z Episode 120

This the one where Future Trunks kills Mecha Frieza. There’s no shortage of fans who think reviving Frieza in the 2010′s was worth it, but for my money, nothing they do with the character can possibly top his (first) death scene.

Leading up to this episode, everyone just assumed that Goku killed Frieza on Namek, but he survived, got rebuilt as a cyborg, and invaded Earth for revenge. The implication is that Goku will have to fight an even stronger version of his greatest foe, except he’s nowhere to be found, and no one else stands a chance of holding the line until Goku can arrive.

But then the story ups the ante again by having a totally new character show up, turn Super Saiyan, and shrug off Frieza’s attacks like they’re nothing. When he finally attacks Frieza, he whips out a cool-looking ki blast, and that turns out to just be a feint. No, his real attack is a simple swing of an ordinary sword, which cuts Frieza in half like he’s made out of butter.

Meanwhile, all the major characters are standing on the sidelines wondering what the hell is going on here. There’s a Super Saiyan besides Goku? Aren’t all the Saiyans extinct? Where did this new guy come from, and how did he even know to be here?

It’s a brilliant episode, because it serves as a coda to the menace of Frieza that loomed large over the previous 119 episodes of Z, and it also serves as a prelude to the next 75 episodes, which promises a crisis far beyond anything that’s come before. But it also works as a stand-alone story. Frieza’s body tells the story of why he wants revenge on the Super Saiyan, and when Trunks reveals that there’s more than one Super Saiyan, he completely self-destructs. He goes from the tyrant of the universe to just another corpse in a matter of minutes. It’s amazing to watch.

9. Dragon Ball Episode 67

Strictly speaking, Goku’s assault on the Red Ribbon Army base is three episodes, so maybe it’s gauche to include one and not the others, but this one is the climax of the Red Ribbon’s downfall, so I think it stands out.

By this point, Goku’s already entered the RRA headquarters, and is just having his way with the place. Episode 66 was full of guys trying to shoot him, but he just kicks all their asses and moves on. Staff Officer Black has finally realized what they should have accepted from the beginning: that Goku is too strong for them to defeat by force. But Commander Red can’t quite bring himself to give up the fight. Maybe it’s because so much of his identity is tied into the Red Ribbon’s supposed invincibility, or he just can’t fathom how a small boy can do all these things.

I think what really hurts his pride is when his soldiers start deserting en masse. Before, he could keep them in line because of the Red Ribbon’s fearsome reputation, but that’s over now, whether he believes it or not. When Colonel Violet loots his treasure vault, not even bothering to disable the security cameras, he has to know that it’s all over.

Then we find out that he only wanted the Dragon Balls so that he could make a wish to become taller, and Black is horrified. He wasted all those lives and resources for something as petty and selfish as that? What makes this episode so great is how the world around them is crashing down, and they’re arguing over a plan that’ll never happen anyway. And Red absolutely doesn’t get why Black would think his wish was stupid. He’s like “Um, you need to check your tall privilege?” And Black shoots him in the face because he’s just done.

But this episode’s not done, because once Red is out of the picture, Black sort of loses it and tries to fight Goku for possession of the Dragon Balls. It’s really amazing character development, because Black was the calm, collected center of the Red Ribbon Army, but then he just flips out, forgetting all the lessons his comrades learned the hard way. The lure of the Dragon Balls is just too seductive for him to give up.

Also, Colonel Violet is super cute.

8. Dragon Ball Z Episode 135

A few episodes before this one, Vegeta debuted his own Super Saiyan transformation, and kicked the shit out of Android 19. It was a big deal, because up to that point, Goku and Trunks were the only Super Saiyans, implying that jerks like Vegeta couldn’t do it. It was also a big deal because it was assumed up to that point that the androids might just be unbeatable, and Vegeta clobbered one of them in a single episode.

But that episode didn’t make the list, because this one is far more important. Here, Vegeta tries to press his luck by challenging the even stronger Android 18, even though everyone else tries to tell him this is a terrible idea. What follows is one of the coolest fights in the series, and the best classic Dragon Ball battle to feature a woman. For a while it looks pretty even, but then 18 reveals she was hustling Vegeta the whole time, and defeats him with no trouble at all.

Why is this such a big moment? For one thing, it’s the next step in deconstructing the Super Saiyan Legend. Vegeta had already proven that you don’t have to be a good person to turn into a Super Saiyan, and that it’s not just a once-in-a-millennium thing. Here, he proves that Super Saiyans aren’t as invincible as he liked to believe. We’d already seen Goku lose to Android 19, but he was sick at the time. Trunks was no match for he androids in his own timeline, but those battles had happened off-screen. This is a much more visceral demonstration. You’ve got the Saiyan Prince, in perfect health, fresh as a daisy, comfortably transformed, and it doesn’t do him a damn bit of good. 18 breaks his arm like it’s not even hard.

For Vegeta, this was a big deal, because it finally cemented the fact that there is no finish line. From his first appearance, he seemed convinced that he could become the supreme being in his universe, simply by killing Frieza, becoming immortal, or transforming into a Super Saiyan. Here, he thinks he’s finally pulled it off, only to lose even more decisively than ever before.

7. Dragon Ball Episode 99

I debated whether to go with this one or Episode 101, where Tien finally beats Goku to win the 22nd Tenkaichi Budokai, but I think this episode deserves the nod. The Goku/Tien championship bout spanned several episodes, but this is the one where Tien finally decides that he’d rather win the title than avenge Tao Pai Pai.

Let me back up a bit here. Goku (seemingly) killed Tao in a prior episode, and Tao was the brother of the Crane Hermit, Tien’s master. So going into this fight, Tien was planning to defeat Goku, win the championship, and then kill Goku in front of the live audience, just to get that extra bit of revenge. But once the fight actually got rolling, Tien began to develop a begrudging respect for Goku’s talent, and then this episode happens, where Tien starts winning, and Goku accuses him of cheating. Tien doesn’t know what he’s talking about at first, until he realizes that the Crane Hermit is using Chiaotzu’s psychic powers to paralyze Goku at key moments.

Once he figures it out, he tells them to stop, since he wants to prove his own superiority, but Crane just wants Goku to die, title or no title. He orders Tien to stop clowning and kill Goku at once, but Tien refuses, and turns his back on the life of an assassin. Chiaotzu does the same, since he was enjoying the match before all the interference started. Crane flips out, but Roshi Kamehameha’s him out of the stadium, allowing Tien and Goku to finally fight without any outside interference.

Tien’s first order of business is to let Goku have a bunch of free shots, in order to make up for all the hits Tien got in while Chiaotzu was cheating. Then he grows four arms, because he still wants to kick Goku’s ass, even if he doesn’t hate him anymore.

Tien’s reform isn’t unique in the series, but I think his particular transformation is very neatly accomplished, inside this one episode, during a single epic battle. Like so many other characters, he figures out that revenge, power, and bloodlust are hollow pursuits compared to the thrill of pushing your own limits through the sacred art of gonzo anime violence. Being a bad guy isn’t just morally shameful, it’s downright boring. Piccolo and Vegeta would eventually learn the same lesson, but it never gets spelled out quite as eloquently as it does in this episode. Also, Launch tries to kill Chiaotzu with a giant cartoon mallet.

6. Dragon Ball Episode 147

On the other hand, you’ve got this episode from the 23rd Tenkaichi Budokai, where Piccolo doesn’t learn a damned thing, except how to take an epic beating.

This episode is just wall-to-wall nuts. Piccolo blows up the entire city where the tournament is being held, and that’s just for openers. Tien uses his Ki-ko-ho to make a foxhole for the others to hide in, and Launch kicks Kami into it when he doesn’t jump in right away.

Piccolo’s city-busting blast was intended to finish off Goku, but it doesn’t even scratch the lovable bastard, and it just gives Goku and opening to pound the ever-loving crap out of Big Green. Goku just goes sickhouse on him, in one of the most satisfying and well-animated sequences in the whole series. And to add insult to injury, he continues to play by the tournament rules. Once he has Piccolo laid out where the ring used to be, he asks for a ten count.

And that turns out to be a huge mistake, as Piccolo has enough juice left to zap him with a mouth blast at the last second. The attack leaves a baseball-sized hole in Goku’s pec, and Piccolo just starts stomping on the wound. Worse, he’s still strong enough that no one else can come to Goku’s rescue.

And then, just when Goku looks to be finished, he gets back up anyway, still looking to win this battle. Is he overconfident or just stupid? Neither actually, as he has the whole fight under control, as the next episode reveals.

5. Dragon Ball Z Episode 281

Oh mannnn, this episode ruuuules. One of my pet peeves with this fandom is people crapping on the Buu Saga, simply for coming at the tail end of this franchise. It’s bullshit, just like how Star Wars purists act like Empire Strikes Back is the best movie ever made and Return of the Jedi is a cinematic bowel movement. They’re both good, you just lost interest before the series ended.

The Buu arc isn’t my favorite, but it’s balls-to-the-wall awesome, and when I was making this list I had a hard time picking a favorite episode from the Kid Buu fight. It’s just such a beautiful battle, packed with story and character development. I can’t blame viewers for getting burnt out on Dragon Ball if they watched the preceding 433 episodes first, but to say these episodes are bad is just flat-out wrong.

Anyway, I went with 281, which features the tail end of Goku’s solo effort against Kid Buu. Vegeta steps into give Goku a pep talk, and Goku admits that he can’t gather enough power to blow Buu away. To do that, he’ll need a full minute to charge his ki, and Vegeta offers to buy him that minute, even though he’s weaker than Goku and doesn’t stand a chance against Buu by himself.

What follows is a solid ten minutes of Vegeta getting clobbered, but he keeps getting back up and forcing himself to find new ways to play for time. He doesn’t try to beat Buu, because he knows he can’t. Instead, he keeps him busy, and psyches him out so he won’t bother Goku while he charges up.

What makes this work is that it’s the counterpoint to Episode 133, seen earlier on this list. Then, Vegeta thought his Super Saiyan form made him a guaranteed winner. Now, he’s using Super Saiyan 2 in a desperate bid to just hold the line until an even stronger fighter can make his own last-ditch effort to win. Vegeta’s fighting for a chance at victory, and it’s a slim chance at that. One of my favorite things about this episode is how tragic it is. By Episode 282, it becomes clear that Goku’s plan was never going to work, so Vegeta’s efforts were in vain. But he doesn’t seem to mind much, because at least he got to throw down against Kid Buu and see exactly how long he could hold out.

4. Dragon Ball Z Episode 184

This is the one where Gohan finally snaps and turns into a Super Saiyan 2, but when you put it like that, it seems so pedestrian.

From his first appearance in Episode 1 of DBZ, Gohan was shown to have hidden potential, which was gradually brought out over the course of the series. By the time the Cell Games rolled around, it was sort of implied that he had finally realized that full potential. Goku trained him to be a Super Saiyan like himself, and how much higher could he possibly get than that?

But Goku’s secret plan was for Gohan to fight Cell, and if he got in a pinch, Gohan would then tap into the same hidden potential he used to turn the tables on the Saiyans and Frieza. Goku’s theory was that if he trained Gohan to be a Super Saiyan, then any power boost Gohan experienced during the fight would rachet him up to an even higher level never seen before.

This suited Cell just fine, so he pooped out an army of mini-Cells to torture the Z-Fighters until Gohan’s rage pushed him into this higher level. And that’s what this episode is all about, except it doesn’t really work. The Cell Juniors clobber the heroes from pillar to post, but Gohan doesn’t change, and he doesn’t know how to make himself change. Then Android 16 has an idea to talk him through it, and he convinces Mr. Satan to toss his severed head over to Gohan to he can make his speech. Cell stomps on 16′s head in an impulsive act of cruelty, and then then “Unmei no Hi - Tmasahii Vs. Tamashii” starts playing.

This is a huge moment in the series, not only because of the advent of Super Saiyan 2 and the turning of the tide in the Cell Games, but also because it marks the fufillment of the promise of Gohan’s character. We all knew he would become something great, and now it finally comes into focus.

But this episode also gets high marks for how all the other characters are handled. Goku’s “foolproof” plan collapses, and he’s forced to apologize while they all get beaten down; Android 16 sacrifices himself after already losing his body; Mr. Satan does what little he can, proving that he’s more than just a gloryhound; and Cell seems to have second thoughts once he finally gets a glimpse at Gohan’s hidden power.

3. Dragon Ball Z Episode 94

Maybe it would make more sense to pick the episode where Goku turns Super Saiyan for the first time, but I think the false-finish that precedes it deserves the spot. I’ll try to explain.

There’s really three things going on in this one. First, Goku’s trying to assemble a Spirit Bomb powerful enough to kill Frieza. In the previous episode, Frieza finally noticed what he was up to, and he decided to kill Goku before he could use the bomb. But the bomb still isn’t big enough, so Goku needs more time.

Second, Piccolo has jumped in to keep Frieza busy long enough for Goku to get the time he needs. Much of this episode is Frieza beating up on a defenseless Piccolo, and then Krillin and Gohan jump in too. It’s just awesome seeing all these guys throw everything they can into this effort.

Third, there’s a filler subplot featuring the dead Z-Fighters on King Kai’s planet fighting the dead Ginyu Force members. It’s goofy, and kind of inconsequential, but it’s fun. I just like seeing the whole gang getting to worth together in the same episode.

So when Goku finally deploys the Spirit Bomb and Frieza finds himself overwhelmed, it really feels like a team effort. King Kai reports that Frieza’s been beaten, and this inspires Yamcha and the others to put the Ginyus away for keeps. On Namek, only Krillin and Gohan are left standing after the Spirit Bomb explodes, and they wonder if Goku and Piccolo could have survived.

I won’t sugar-coat it, a lot of DBZ episodes go pretty light on plot points. So when you get one like this, with so many things going on all at once, and so many characters joining in, and so much suspense and drama, it really clicks. This would have been a brilliant finale to the Frieza Saga, and the icing on the cake is that it’s all for naught. Frieza’s fine in the next episode, which is all-the-more frustrating because of how satisfying this episode was.

2. Dragon Ball Z Episode 179

Huh, I got a lot of Androids/Cell episodes on this list. It’s almost like the Androids/Cell arc is the best one and it rules over all. Nah, that can’t be it.

This is the high-water mark of the Goku/Cell fight, which the whole series had been building to since Cell was first introduced some thirty-odd episodes earlier. Here’s the new big-bad final boss, the next Frieza, essentially, so naturally it’s going to be up to Goku to put him down in a 19-episode brawl. Only that’s not what happens. Goku goes into the Cell Games admitting that he’s no match for Cell, but he wants to fight the guy anyway. No one understands what he’s planning, but he seems pretty upbeat for a guy who expects to lose.

The fight itself only goes four episodes. The first is a feeling-out process, the second is mostly Cell showboating, but in this third episode, they really go at it. The animation is beautifully handled by Keisuke Masunaga. He’d supervised a handful of episodes before this, but this one is the first action-heavy episode, truly serving as a demonstration of what he could do.

Plotwise, there isn’t a whole lot to say. The battle goes pretty evenly here, and the main appeal is that all the other characters are still trying to figure out what Goku’s strategy is. He said he couldn’t win, and yet he’s hanging in there with Cell, so what’s the deal? You might think Goku’s aiming to win on a technicality, using Cell’s own rules against him, except Cell enjoys the fight so much that he blows up his own ring to prevent any chance of an out-of-bounds finish. From here, the Cell Games can only end by surrender or death.

So then Goku goes up into the air and tries a Kamehameha, similar to the one Cell used earlier in the battle. Cell thinks it’s a bluff, since he knows he can dodge it, and from that steep an angle, Goku would just end up hitting the Earth and destroying it. But Goku doesn’t blink, and just when Cell isn’t sure what’s going to happen, Goku teleports right in front of him and unloads the Kamehameha into his face at pointblank range.

It’s another false finish. Cell survives, but he has to grow back his head and arms first. But for a moment, it looks like this was Goku’s big plan. He knew he couldn’t outpower Cell, so he out-finessed him by using the Instant Transmission to get past his guard. And you know, if the ring hadn’t been destroyed, maybe this would have worked. Goku could have tossed Cell’s decaptitated body out of bounds and Cell would have regenerated to find himself outside the ring. I always wonder what he would have done in that scenario. I mean, Cell’s kind of a sore loser, but he seems to respect clever ploys, and the tournament was his idea.

Anyway, Cell rules, this episode is wall-to-wall action, and the Warp Kamehameha is the best move in Budokai 2.

1. Dragon Ball Z Episode 31

Personally, I find the Saiyans Saga to be slightly overrated, but dammit, this episode has just about everything. I’d go so far as to say that when people praise the Saiyans Saga, they’re really only thinking back to this one episode, or maybe five of the best episodes that include this one.

Here’s the deal: Vegeta has invaded Earth and all of the Z-Fighters are dead or badly hurt. Only Goku is left to stop this guy, and he’s armed with the Kai-o-ken technique, a power multiplier as effective as it is risky. King Kai warned Goku never to go beyond a double Kai-o-ken, because anything more than that could cripple his own body. But he tried that in the previous episode, and Vegeta laughed it off. So in this episode, Goku reluctantly goes for a Kai-o-ken times three.

And for a few glorious minutes, Vegeta gets completely wrecked. Goku just picks him apart with hit after hit after hit. It’s enough to humble Vegeta and it’s enough to draw blood, but it doesn’t actually put the guy down. Instead, Vegeta becomes so outraged that he flips out and tries to destroy the entire planet with his finisher, the Galick Gun. This leaves no choice for Goku to keep using the Kai-o-ken times three, and he’s gotta fire a Kamehameha to block Vegeta’s shot.

And when that turns out to be too weak to push back Vegeta’s attack, Goku is forced to turn it up even higher and use a four times Kai-o-ken. So now we’re beyond anything King Kai had imagined when he taught him the technique. It works, and Goku manages to shoot Vegeta into space, but his body is terribly banged up from the effort.

Which is a real shame, because Vegeta manages to save himself from being blasted into space, and he’s still got enough juice to pull his own trump card: turning into a giant ape! Saiyans need a full moon to do this, and Piccolo helpfully destroyed the moon before Vegteta’s arrival, but that doesn’t matter, because Vegeta can make his own artificial moonlight with a special ki technique! So the episode ends with an exhausted Goku staring at a hundred-foot tall Vegeta-ape.

And hopefully I’ve made my point. You’ve got three big BIG moments in the series here. Goku’s Kai-o-ken X3 offensive against Vegeta was what made their rivalry. Before that, Vegeta never came close to sweating Goku, and afterward, every time Vegeta thought back on their battle, this was the part he remembered. The Galick Gun/Kamehameha beam struggle was an iconic moment all by itself, and it’s the standard by which all other beam struggles are judged. And then you’ve got Vegeta using the fake moon trick and turning into a giant ape, setting the stage for the final leg of the battle. Any one of these things would earn a spot on this list, but DBZ #31 has all three. It’s gotta take the top spot. It’s just gotta.

There’s a lot of really great episodes I didn’t cover. I’m a big fan of the Pikkon episodes, and the one where 16 fights Cell is a personal fave, and the Vegito episodes are awesome too. But there’s only so much room at the top. I bet I could have a completely different list in a couple years’ time. In conclusion, Dragon Ball fucking rules.

#dragon ball #2019dbliveblog #top ten best episodes #frieza #goku #piccolo #trunks #vegeta #cell #perfect cell #gohan #majin buu #tien #android 18 #commander red #staff officer black

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distortingbones · 5 years ago

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relistening to a guest for mr spider and i'm really struck by the parallels between jon and martin's upbringings-- martin's mother resented him because he reminded her of his father (who she despised), while jon's grandmother resented him because he reminded her of his parents (who she loved & mourned). both jon and martin carry a similar trauma, but because of that difference (hatred vs mourning) they present in very different ways.

keep reading for a big chunk of analysis of how this has affected them/their relationship throughout the podcast, as well as it what it means for current events in canon.

more than anything, martin wants to distance himself from his father by becoming someone worthy of love, or, failing that, someone who people overlook. (better to be invisible than to be hated, he figures.) he structures his whole public-facing self around being a trustworthy, kind, caring person.

he first develops feelings for jon while jon is mistreating him (season 1) because he sees jon as somebody who is in need of love and affection. he can bring jon tea, check in on him throughout the day, and jon gives him very little acknowledgment in return. although it would be a stretch to call jon abusive, this still mirrors martin's parents' relationship, where his mother was the victim and his father the abuser. if martin plays the role of the person offering care and jon doesn't reciprocate, then in their unequal relationship, martin is unequivocally placed into his mother's role. martin gets to be the giver, and he is satisfied that this means he is not acting out the role of his father.

sure, jon still dislikes him, but that's because martin is "annoying and incompetent" (in quotes because it's obviously not true), never because jon thinks martin is a bad or abusive person. to martin, that's what's important. it's part of why he's so horrified when jon accuses martin of lying to him (and committing murder) in season 2. martin suddenly realizes that jon sees him as someone who is manipulative and capable of doing great harm, and that's martin's worst nightmare. up until this point, martin has continued to care for jon, no matter how awful and paranoid jon gets, because to martin it's not about how jon treats him, it's about how he perceives him. (ultimately martin gets better at sticking up for himself, but this is his headspace during season 2.)

this is also part of why martin finds the lonely so compelling. without other people around, he doesn’t have to worry about how he is perceived, because there’s no one there to perceive him. he doesn’t have to worry about being a bad or abusive person, because there’s nobody else around to abuse. nothing hurts in the lonely, because martin’s primary source of anxiety and internal conflict is finally lifted. when jon rescues martin from the lonely, martin says, “i see you,” and comes back to himself. but really, it’s the fact that jon sees martin that saves him. in that moment, martin is sure that jon loves him, that jon sees him as somebody who is worth saving, sees him as somebody who brings goodness into the world. martin feels fully and completely seen by jon, and he is overwhelmed with relief and joy that the person jon sees is good.

okay, what about jon, you ask?

jon is desperate to live up to his parents, who his grandmother mourned. much like martin, he yearns to be “good enough”. however, while for martin “good enough” means "not being abusive”, jon’s goalpost is invisible and constantly out of reach. martin at least had a model of how not to behave (like his father), but jon didn’t. even if he had tried to imitate his parents, it would never have fixed the hole in his grandmother’s heart. it’s impossible for the living to measure up to the dead, because our memory of the dead is both fixed and idealized.

jon internalizes that he needs to be more, better, but he’s never really sure how so he just criticizes every aspect of himself. he’s constantly comparing himself to others, but even when the comparison is favorable he still doesn’t feel good enough.

(big sidenote: i have adhd and headcanon jon as adhd because he displays a number of symptoms, and it’s really common for people with adhd to develop a deep feeling of unworthiness. we grow up with authority figures telling us we’re not “living up to our potential”, as we alternate between hyperfixating and losing focus completely. for example, i was often chastised as a kid because i read YA fantasy novels voraciously, but sometimes struggled in school because i refused to read anything that didn’t hold my immediate interest. guess who else read nonstop but wouldn’t read anything he deemed boring?? jonathan jarchivist sims. i’d be willing to bet he developed a serious unworthiness complex from authority figures asking why he couldn’t apply himself to [x thing] the same way he did to his interests.)

he works himself to the bone trying to be the best archivist that he can, but of course elias really screwed him over by giving him a job that he’s not actually qualified for and doesn’t know how to do which even further degrades his already paltry sense of self-worth. he projects this fear of incompetence onto martin, which is why he criticizes martin so harshly. even if jon’s not great at his job, at least he can say he’s better than martin. for someone who constantly compares himself to others, this is at least a small source of comfort.

when martin shows kindness to jon in season 1, jon brushes it off, because he thinks love is something that has to be earned. at this point jon feels deeply unworthy-- he’s in way over his head with work, and is terrified by the eye watching him give statements-- so he thinks martin doesn’t have any reason to care for him, which means that martin’s affection for him is not valid. in season 2 jon even suspects martin has ulterior motives, because he can’t fathom why anyone would genuinely want to give him love.

this post will expand into even more of a monster if i if get into all the times that jon puts himself down for things he can’t control (it wasn’t stupid to break the table alright, he was doing his best). he also consistently internalizes the criticism of others even when that criticism is unfair/cruel (look at what happened with tim in season 3, or when his coworkers discovered that he was feeding on people, etc etc etc). jon is way too willing to believe that he is a bad, stupid, evil person.

he’s also always going above and beyond to prove himself. again, countless examples, but like the dude literally charged into the buried to save daisy just because he thought it might be possible to rescue her. she’s not really his friend at that point (in fact she tried to kill him), and also he’s not at all responsible for her entrapment. but he thinks it would be the right thing to do, and so he does it, and damn the consequences.

he says if he dies, the world just loses another monster. but also, his parents died and they were the ones his grandmother loved, so maybe if he dies doing what’s right then maybe he’ll finally be good enough too.

anyway, by season 4, martin is effectively gone, and this is when jon’s feelings for him really start to show. (you can probably argue that his love for martin was evident earlier, but i personally think this is when jon becomes actually aware of how he feels.) the primary model of love jon saw growing up was the mournful, longing love his grandmother felt for his dead parents. he wasn’t taught how to love somebody who’s there with you, but he does know what it’s like to love somebody who’s gone. he begins to not just want to be “good enough” in general, but also specifically good enough for martin. (i.e. it’s martin’s reaction to jon feeding on strangers that really makes jon feel ashamed.)

when jon follows martin into the lonely, elias tells him flat-out that he will likely not return. jon doesn’t hesitate-- after all, he’s well-versed in taking enormous risks to save others, and this is for martin, to whom he so desperately wants to prove himself. it’s only once he finds martin that jon finally feel worthy of his love, and allow himself to accept it.

when martin says “i see you” and begins to come back to himself, jon knows he succeeded, that he proved himself, that he is worthy of love. and martin knows that jon loves him and thinks martin’s worth saving. in that moment, they don’t just love each other, they both feel loved, something that seemed almost impossible for these two traumatized men.

and it would be such a beautiful wrap if that was where it ended, right? but instead the eyepocalypse happened and we have to deal with all the messiness that is season 5.

so, jon was manipulated into ending the world as we know it, and the guilt from that undoes the tenuous scrap of self-worth he developed via saving martin. he’s thrust into a position where he doesn’t think it’s even possible for him to be good again, let alone good enough. the only morally pure thing that he can think of to do is to use his power to protect martin, the man he loves, which is why he’s so emotionally paralyzed at the beginning of season 5. he can be good enough within the confines of their cabin, he can keep martin safe there, but out in the world ruled by fears he knows that there’s no way to be the perfect person he so desperately wants to be.

he ultimately agrees to go try to stop the fearpocalypse because he knows it’s the right thing to do, and jon has never, ever shied away from doing the right thing, no matter how dangerous. but he’s forced to make a lot of messy, difficult decisions out there-- he feeds off people’s fear to keep himself going, he murders not!sasha, he will certainly have to kill even more. as far as jon’s concerned, he’s crossed the line permanently. there is no way he is ever, ever going to be “good enough” again, after the choices he’s made. it doesn’t matter if he’s doing the best he can, or if he makes a net positive impact, or even whether or not events are his fault, he’s proven that he’s not perfect so he will never believe he is good enough.

meanwhile, martin comes into season 5 feeling rather empowered. even after all the effort he spent pushing people away in season 4, jon loves him, and that makes martin feel pretty confident that he’s a good person. he has a solid sense of self-worth, which means it’s easier for him to act and make tough decisions.

he also has a less rigid view of morality than jon does (despite generally being nicer). he sees the entities and their avatars as creatures who abuse others and cause harm, much like his father. if he could have hurt his father to save his mother, you know he would have, and he’s wiling to murder in order to save innocents. also, because he’s secure in his belief that he’s a good person (thanks in large part to jon being such a loving boyfriend), martin is less likely to scrutinize his own actions the way jon does. martin is making choices based on what feels right, what he thinks will have the greatest net positive outcome, while jon just sees every single harmful thing he does as another item in the pile of reasons that he’s not good enough. jon looks at his actions individually, while martin looks at them holistically.

anyway, right now they’re functioning. despite his absolutely annihilated self-worth, jon is still able to find an anchoring purpose in the fact that he can use his eye power to defend martin. martin is able to move forward and act because he has the warmth and confidence of knowing jon loves him.

it wouldn’t take much to break them, though.

if martin died or was lost to a power, jon would absolutely crumble and lose all direction.

if jon stopped loving martin and told martin that he was a bad person, martin would absolutely crumble and lose all self-worth.

that’s what makes annabelle cane’s interest in martin so worrying. right now, martin is confident enough that her call doesn’t really phase him, he just hangs up on her. but if martin were to give in and join the web, it could ruin everything. jon would feel like he’d failed martin, and, knowing jon’s stance on avatars, martin might feel that jon thought he was evil. they would both fall apart completely and lose themselves to the entities they serve.

#the magnus archives #jonmartin #magpod #tma meta #magnuspod #tma #my meta #i didn't mean to write all of this i just paused the episode to make a post and then i spent like an hour writing #i hope somebody reads this and enjoys it haha #tma spoilers

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futuristicallyspeedyparadise · 5 years ago

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Insecure (Zhao Zi x Jack story)

Zhao Zi knew he was being a little irrational.

There was no reason to doubt Jack.

None.

Yet, watching Jack smile at the supermarket cashier boy was making his stomach twist in knots.

Zhao Zi was crouched down behind a pyramid of canned fruit. Clutching on to a can of peaches, he watched Jack pick up his bagged items, give the cashier a final grin and head off towards the exit. Hurriedly, he stepped away from the cans—surprising the person who had been examining them—paid for his items and began his journey home.

He hadn’t realized he would run into Jack at the supermarket. Zhao Zi had stopped to grab some ingredients to see if he could convince Jack to make dessert tonight; he had a sweet tooth today. When he had first spotted his boyfriend, he immediately began to walk towards him, grin in place. However, he stopped abruptly when he watched Jack laugh at something the cashier said.

At first, Zhao Zi hadn’t understood the heavy anchor that had suddenly dropped onto his chest. Nor did he understand the flash of irritability that had sparked. He didn’t understand why it made him angry to see Jack’s genuine smile given to someone else so freely.

After all, Zhao Zi had the privilege to know Jack beyond a four-minute encounter. He was a witness to Jack’s bedhead and sleepy morning smiles; heard the redhead’s hysterical laughter when they got into their tickle battles; felt his warmth and knew the softness of his lips. Zhao Zi came home to Jack every day, the redhead usually waiting for him with open arms and a cooked meal. He liked coming home to the man, feeling for the first time in a while that he had a family.

It had taken a little bit to get used to having Jack in his life and to grow comfortable with his affection and desire for him. It had only been a year ago that he had finally owned up to his feelings for Jack. Faced with the thought of never being able to see him again, Zhao Zi had quickly come to realize that the very thought of Jack slipping away from his life—as quickly as he had come—made the air leave his chest.

The night that he had asked Jack to stay fundamentally changed everything. At first, Zhao Zi had been a bit shy. When Jack moved in, he didn’t really initiate any physical intimacy and preferred for Jack to take the lead on such matters. His ears and cheeks usually burned after the heavy make-outs they often had in front of the television after dinner. No matter what they were watching, Jack would inevitably pull Zhao Zi onto his lap, bringing the smaller man to straddle his lap, and spent the next half hour exploring his mouth.

Zhao Zi had never fathomed how good it felt to be wanted.

When he got home from the supermarket, Jack had not yet arrived. He had told Zhao Zi in the morning that he would be running a couple of errands and would therefore be late.

Zhao Zi put away the items he had bought to make dessert and then headed upstairs to their bedroom. The room was brilliantly lit, the setting sun casting an orange glow across the space. He walked over to the dresser and grabbed the first t-shirt he saw. Zhao Zi liked to be comfortable; he believed that one of the best moments of the day was when he was finally able to shed the layers of clothes and slip into something simple and breathable. The t-shirt he had grabbed was Jack’s. It fell slightly big on him and covered his boxer-briefs.

Zhao Zi put his day clothes into the laundry basket and sat at his window seat. He brought his legs up to his chest, wrapped his arms around them, and lay his chin on his knees, staring down towards his front yard.

He had taken up wearing Jack’s shirts some time ago, enjoying how loose they were while lounging around the house. The first time he had worn them, Jack had come home and had immediately taken him to bed.

Zhao Zi remembered the moment clearly; he had watched Jack enter his yard from the window, heard his soft footsteps on the stairs, always agile and graceful, and had watched him cross their bedroom threshold. Jack had looked tired—he spent a lot of his free time consulting on gang murder cases now—but the moment he had looked at Zhao Zi and took in what he was wearing, the sleep swept from his eyes only to be replaced by something more carnal. He crossed the room, pulling Zhao Zi to him, and plundered his mouth. His hands dove into Zhao’s Zi’s hair and he kissed him deeply, almost desperately. Zhao Zi remembered the waves of pleasure and happiness that surged when Jack had moaned into his mouth and whispered, “I can’t believe your mine.”

This past year had been the happiest time in his life. Despite the initial bumps in the rode in which Zhao Zi had learned to slowly trust his heart, together they had built a comfortable home. They were a family and Zhao Zi couldn’t help but smile at the thought of it. Yet, he couldn’t stop himself from feeling trepidation. Was there such a thing as being too happy? How long would it last?

Hearing the keys downstairs, Zhao Zi stood from the window seat and raced down to meet his boyfriend. Jack stepped into the kitchen and turned his head to watch Zhao Zi’s hurried approach. He grinned, taking in Zhao Zi’s outfit. Placing the groceries on the counter, he turned his full attention to Zhao Zi, grabbing him by the hips and pulling him in to press their bodies together.

“Hey, shorty,” Jack murmured. He leant down to kiss Zhao Zi. “I missed you.”

Zhao Zi melted into the embrace. When Jack began to pull back, Zhao Zi reached up to hold his head in place, and captured his lips again. Was it possible that he had done something extraordinary in another life? It wasn’t possible for him to have deserved this. The privilege it was to feel so good and so safe in Jack’s arms.

He felt heat pooling as Jack moaned into the kiss and reached down to pick him up. Zhao Zi wrapped his legs around Jack’s waist as he was placed on the edge of the kitchen counter. Jack ran his fingers up Zhao Zi’s thighs and Zhao Zi shivered, a trail of goosebumps having been left in Jack’s wake.

Finally, he pulled back and looked at Jack whose gaze had gone heavy-lidded with pleasure.

“To what do I owe such a pleasant welcome?”

Zhao Zi blushed and averted his eyes. “I missed you.”

Jack grinned.

“Do you want to eat now or later,” he said nodding towards the groceries he left on the counter.

“Now!”

“Alright then,” Jack chuckled and started to move away to begin prepping the meal. But Zhao Zi couldn’t let him go. He trapped Jack in between his legs and prevented him from moving.

Jack quirked an eyebrow.

“Do you want to eat food, or did you desire something else to eat?”

Zhao Zi blushed.

“I…” he stammered but couldn’t get out a response. Why was it so difficult to speak?

Jack’s teasing smile softened, and his eyebrows knitted together. He brought one of the hands that had settled on Zhao Zi’s thighs up to his face, caressing it softly. “What’s wrong, Li An?”

“You don’t…like anyone else, right?”

Jack’s smile faltered.

“What I mean to say is…I’m…I’m the only one you look at, right? Like this?”

Jack frowned.

“Where is this coming from?”

Zhao Zi sighed. He felt stupid and insecure and stupid for feeling so insecure.

“I went to the supermarket today. I saw you there…with the cashier…and I…the way you smiled at him…I don’t know…I didn’t like it.”

His statement was met with silence.

He peeked upwards and saw the grin on Jack’s face.

“What are you smiling at!” He huffed, getting ready to extricate himself from their embrace and storm off upstairs.

“You’re jealous.” Jack stated matter-of-factly, his grin widening even more. “You’re so jealous.”

“I’m not jealous! It’s just—”

“You are!”

“No! I’m not…I just—”

“C’mon, shorty. You can admit it.”

“It’s…I…You’re mine!” Zhao Zi finally blurted out. Then in a small voice, “Right?”

Jack’s grin softened and he pushed his forehead against Zhao Zi’s. “You’re right. I’m yours. Only yours, Zhao Zi. I don’t look at anyone else this way. I don’t want anyone else.”

Zhao Zi didn’t know how to respond. Somewhere in the back of his mind he already knew Jack was his. That despite being a liar throughout his life and a man of different faces, Jack would not lie to him. Not about this. And that his worries were stemming from an insecurity much deeper, and pervasive inside himself.

“I’m sorry,” Zhao Zi muttered.

Jack shook his head and brought a hand to Zhao Zi’s chin. He waited until Zhao Zi looked at him.

“Zhao Li An, I like you. I stayed here because of you. A year after that decision, I am still so fascinated by you. Still attracted to you. That hasn’t changed. It won’t.”

Jack nuzzled his nose. “OK?”

Zhao Zi smiled.

“OK.”

Also posted on AO3

#jack x zhao zi #zhao zi x jack #history 3: 圈套 #fanfiction #history3圈套 #history 3

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artificialqueens · 5 years ago

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i know (rajila) - queenraja

A/N: please don’t ask me to describe what this is i wrote it at 5am this morning with no sleep, didn’t sleep until i finished 2k of angst, and there’s been no edit. basically, raja & manila current day at some sort of event ft. angst bc i am That Bitch.

this is my second (2nd) time writing rpf & my first time writing in the drag race fandom, so please be kind. i only started watching drag race last week, so i’m definitely not the expert, but i have binged tons of content. please let me know what you think & leave some feedback, i’d really appreciate it!

content warning!!! angst like whoa, explicit language, mentions of anorexia & self harm, just general some darker depression themes ( aka i project what’s new )

love, ant <3

“Fuck!”

Sworn to a frustrated reflection, staring blankly back at her in the mirror, and, unfortunately, overheard by a passing Manila in the hall. Her footsteps went unheard on the cement ground despite their loud echoing, which stilled quickly at the outburst, pausing just beyond the doorway to peak in and see what had caused it.

The culprit? A shaking hand, bearing the weight of a mascara wand that had slipped and missed, and stabbed just down below, where cheekbones gave way to softer skin, darker skin where sleepless nights pooled.

Raja bore her teeth together, and shoved hair- grey, she reminded herself- out of her face as she bent over, closer to the mirror, close enough that breath could fog, taking a napkin to begin to scrub. Here, the foundation didn’t cover wrinkles, pressed from years of smiling and crying and laughing- mostly crying. So close, she could see the way fat seemed to cling to her bones, underneath her jaw that was becoming less and less defined, and she’d fucked up the contour on her stupid crooked nose and-

“You’re going to make yourself bleed.” Raja froze, tissue hovered just over her cheek from where she’d been wiping, and while she didn’t move, she dared to flick her eyes up to where Manila entered now, revealing her hiding place.

There was no response, just a silence that hung for a moment, and Raja couldn’t figure why. It could’ve been a joke. Easily, she could’ve cracked a smile at her old friend, and stood up, and greeted her. Manila was fully dressed; a 50’s polka dot hoop skirt, as put together as always, and not a stitch out of place. They had hours to go until the filming started, and yet, she looked ready to pounce in front of the audience in a heartbeat. Raja exhaled, looked back to the tissue, which had successfully pilled up with balls of mascara, foundation, paper from the rubbing.

“You don’t go through this many years of drag without getting thick skin,” she responded, trying for a joke at least, still facing the mirror.

“I mean, look how red you’ve made your skin,” Manila ignored her, speaking quietly, coming to her side. They weren’t touching, but they could’ve been. Manila’s perfectly manicured nails hovered just above a thin, tattoo’d arm, as if asking her to oblige, her eyes not leaving Raja’s face for a second.

Raja straightened her back slightly, eyes focused again on the mirror, on Manila’s face, so perfect, watching her. Giving her the time of day. It sank so deep in her chest, past her heart, past her ribs, that for a moment, she thought she could barely breathe, she might choke on it. Her own nails, black and chipped, a bit, clutched tighter at the tissue in her hand.

“It’s alright,” she assured, just over a whisper. “I just forgot what I was doing for a second.”

Raja didn’t know what she was arguing against. That she hadn’t done it on purpose? Did Manila believe that? That she had wanted to-? One flick up at Manila’s face in the mirror, at painted brows that had furrowed down, and Raja knew the answer. Manila’s hand made the rest of the painstaking journey down to Raja’s skin, and her palm was so warm, so soothing, so comforting.

Raja forced another exhale out. Well, she hadn’t, had she? There was no reason to be worried, was there?

“Sit down,” Manila gestured decisively to the stool, tucked away under the dressing room counter with her other hand, and then ventured a smile. “Let’s get your face finished, girl. You can’t go out looking like that.”

“I can-“

“Sit down.” And it wasn’t an option, anymore.

Raja’s eyebrows arched high, and she nodded, breaking away from the solace of Manila’s presence just long enough to drag the stool out, and sit, obediently in front of her, waiting. Manila didn’t even hesitate, leaning in with all the poise and practice of a professional, foundation cream gliding over the area that Raja had scrubbed away. For a moment, Raja let herself relax, let her eyes close patiently; but shoulders remained tight, and upright, and elegance of a model, someone who was always a model.

After a heartbeat, as she turned to cap the foundation cream, Manila spoke: “So, you wanna talk about it?”

“No.”

“Well, we’re gonna talk about it.”

She began to sponge away at Raja’s face, gentle, firm. Raja hardly even managed a sigh, that constricted feeling returning, swelling up in her throat, in her chest. Lucky she had her eyes closed.

She knew she shouldn’t let her face break, not while Manila was working; she knew she shouldn’t let even a sign of anything pull through. It was unprofessional, it was selfish, it was stupid. Her eyebrows still pinched together, though, to keep everything together, like duct tape on a dam. Immediately, that feeling began to burn, and she felt it strangle in her voice as she said, again: “No.”

Movements stopped on her face; it was unprofessional to move, she thought, she was a model, she knew she shouldn’t have broken, she shouldn’t have ruined it. Instead she felt fingers move tenderly to her jawline, a startling feeling that nearly made her jump.

“Raja, hey,” Manila’s voice came through again, so quiet, so soft, so… so worried. Raja didn’t open her eyes, feeling the tightness only worsen. It was selfish to make Manila- her friend- worry about her, to do all this. She was a winner, wasn’t she? She was supposed to do all this on her own, she shouldn’t need help, she shouldn’t need anything. Manila tried again, her voice even softer, fingers lifting Raja’s face up- and she didn’t know she’d even dropped it down. “Hey, look at me.”

For a moment, she couldn’t. She was too afraid of letting the tears spill through if she did, and then they would have to start over again- no, wait. That was stupid, to assume that Manila would even still want to help her. She would have to start over again. She was afraid of opening her eyes and seeing nothing but frustration, but anger at her actions.

But that pleading voice fought through, a cutting knife that told her not to disappoint, not to upset Manila. She blinked open dark eyes, shining bright from tears she tried, and failed, to fight away. And there was Manila, looking down at her with all the adoration, and patience, and worry in the world. “Hey,” Manila repeated, breathed, her hand not leaving Raja’s face for even a second.

They weren’t supposed to do this. Manila was quirky, and funny, and out of the box, and loud, and annoying, but never in a bad way. Raja was out of this world, and introverted, but extroverted, and every contradiction, and eccentric. They didn’t do serious. Not even when they were a bottle and a half deep into Barefoot Pink Moscato on a Wednesday night. Not ever. Yet here she was, crying practically in Manila’s arms for no reason that she could fathom, and Manila was standing for it.

“I’m sorry,” she managed as soon as she could, the feeling of tears looking underneath her chin, just above her Adam’s apple.

“No.”

“But I am-“ Manila cut her off by kneeling before her- and, oh, God, Raja could only think of her look, how she needed to be careful about the dress, please don’t tear it- moving her hands to rest on Raja’s stocking-covered knees, instead, as light as a butterfly.

“Girl.” Manila gave a little shake of her head, then, as if throwing away that idea, and spoke again, much gentler. “Raja. You have nothing to be sorry for. You never do.”

It felt, then, like a truck had slammed into her, and Raja was still catching her breath; if she had it, she would’ve argued back, but Manila wasn’t done.

“You don’t owe anyone else anything else. You already proved yourself by winning,” Raja’s mouth opened but Manila held up a finger to silence her, “No, listen to me. You’ve proved yourself once and you’ve proved yourself a thousand times after that. You don’t owe anyone anything of yourself. The only person you owe an apology to is yourself. You’re the only one still judging you. Everyone else here-“

She stopped, then, letting her lips part into a smile. “Everyone else here who matters, that is, already knows who you are, and what you can do. They don’t care, Raja.” Her hands came up to Raja’s arms, then, as if begging, pleading. “They don’t care.”

Silence sat over them, like an overcast cloud as Raja tried to swallow all of her friend’s words back, only managing a desperate: “Manila…”

But Manila stood to full height, then, hand resting on Raja’s head, her words even more distressed. “Let yourself rest, Raja, please. Please.“

Delicate, polished fingers moved, naturally, almost, through Raja’s hair, long strands parting as she moved from temple to the base of her neck. As if instinctively, Raja couldn’t help but be drawn forward, as if intuitively pulled towards Manila’s presence, towards her touch. It felt more like a command in a second, and before Raja could protest, she was being pulled into a hug, pressed into soft fabric of Manila’s dress, just above her belly buttons, both of her firm arms wrapped around Raja’s head. “Manila, the makeup,” she whispered, into the dark warmth, her shoulders still stiff, still tense, and not letting up for a second. “Your dress-” “Shut up,” came the tight response, and for a second, past her own tears, and past her own simmering doubts, if Raja listened carefully enough, she might have heard the slight crack in Manila’s voice. “I don’t care about my dress.” Her lips came down to Raja’s scalp, bent over her in a protective stance. For a moment, just a brush, just a taste of a kiss pressed over Raja’s skin. Her fingers continued to stroke through, up and down her neck, the base of her skull, responding to every shudder of a sob that wracked through her body. But you should, Raja’s head ached. We go on stage in an hour, in front of hundreds of people, you should care. The dress matters, I don’t.

“I care about you,” Manila continued, spoken against her skin, sighed like a prayer, a silent longing; perhaps if she said it with enough power, enough conviction, enough love, it could be believed. I don’t, Raja retaliated. Manila didn’t let up, not letting go of her for a second, holding all of the pieces of Raja inside of her slender arms and holding her tight, together. “I care about you. Not about my stupid dress, or makeup getting on it, or if your mascara isn’t perfect, or if you cry in front of me. I don’t care about that. Only about you. I…”

It became evident for the first time that Raja was not the only one crying. Manila took in a hitched breath, struggling for a moment past her ribs to gather up the breath to continue, swallowing hard and fighting through it. She spoke when Raja felt her own words stolen away, blinking into the fabric of her stomach, her face hot and wet and refusing to release everything for even a moment. “Raja, I,” that same hesitation clenched in her chest again, and this time Raja felt it, pulling back with tear raw cheeks to meet a reflection, Manila’s face wearing the same anguish, the same desperation.

The weight of the situation began to sink over them, years of friendship inflating to fill the tiny space between them, and with all the strength that she could muster, Raja moved one thumb up, swiping away one black-stained tear from Manila’s cheek, swiping it away with the twitch of a smile over her unpainted lips. Manila’s touch faded from her hair, sliding to her shoulders, to her elbows as Raja’s arms reached up to Manila’s face instead, framing contoured cheekbones. Tears slipped over the back of her hands, as she stroked the apple of Manila’s cheeks.

Raja nodded, wordless for a moment as she fished out the ability to speak from the pit of her chest, deep within her heart. “I know.” Manila’s tears twisted into a laugh, tightening on her elbows. “Do you?”

Another nod, another wipe of tears still flowing. She hardly even noticed her own, their shining, red-lined eyes meeting in the middle as she breathed in, and out, and spoke:

“I love you, too.”

#rpdr fanfiction #raja gemini #manila luzon #rajila #angst #hurt/comfort #queenraja #tw mentions of eating disorder #tw mentions of self harm #concrit welcome #but if there's any grammatical mistakes don't tell me I'm an English major I just wrote this on my phone at 5 am oKAY #submission

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