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kadeu · 3 years

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THE DECK; OCTOBER 2024

Sweet breeze! Good riddance summer. Now, usually we adore the summer season, the fashion, the events, the lively shows and all the trouble the socialites get up to. And yes, the fashion was there but eyepatches in the heat are not ideal. Our beloved socialites flocked to the beach and we have enough tales of drunken debauchery yes, and even those who remained in the city with their enchanted blocks of ice and selective guest lists, we still have heard the deeds. But the heat, something about this summer’s heat, made it not as enjoyable.

Speaking of the beach, there is mourning up in the highranked hills of Diamonds. Once Kings, demoted in scandal to Jacks, the Sobongs have met rough waters while enjoying what was supposed to be a calming row out to sea in Umibe. Their staff reported that, “the once peaceful seas suddenly became enraged as if a Tempest beset it and pulled them under.” The Sobong fortune is now up in the air as the only true heir, their son Korain, has long been presumed dead. Korain's only heir is none other than Ace of Diamonds Moon Ara, but sources say the Sobong's will doesn't name their estranged granddaughter at all.

It is rather fortunate though, inheriting a vast sum, especially when one half of the marital income pool couldn’t even afford box seats at the other’s place of employment. We wonder just how much money is in that estate. Enough to kill for? Only time will tell.

In Hearts, once jeweler to the elite facecards yet now blacklisted from those circles, Lee Hyeonju seems to be looking from Hearts for a way into Diamonds. Formerly disgraced now reinstated Academy Professor Parker Luke, seems to have accepted the advances of Hyeonju and has been spotted every night for two whole weeks within his apartment. Sources close to both men say that Hyeonju has been giving the professor the royal treatment in hopes he sponsors his defection!

Whispers throughout Heart society say that the Ace of Hearts, once an avid patron of Hyeonju’s has refused his service in lieu of newly popular Fae artisans. The Ace’s mood as of late is unreadable on that topic, but sources say Hyeonju has been barred from his presence and that has other highrankers and artisans have been following suit, preferring to not gain the Ace’s disfavor. This has lead to instability in Hyeonju’s prospects in Hearts. No wonder he is looking to flee to Diamonds.

But he’s not the only one out of favor in Hearts. Ex-courtesan turned restaurant owner, Meesong Nari has been seen without her usual entourage of Zuihuo guards and attendants. Rumor has it she has been kicked from that mansion she was gifted and the Clan favor mark is gone from her arm. Not sure what she did to separate herself from that protection and comfort but we are sure all those bridges she burned ascending in the ranks will happily revisit her. They tell us as kids right? What goes up must come down. Watch your back Nari.

THE TENSION BETWEEN CLUBS AND SPADES;

Amidst the growing tensions between Clubs and Spades, Ace of Clubs Mallick Sai Shah, held the opening for his Hunter’s Lair. It seems it was mostly a hit, with fights breaking out away from the venue, not in it! One club said, “it’s better to just enjoy things now than wait for whatever comes next,” and we’re considering stitching it on tunics and selling them as aid relief! Business owners suffering from Spade mandated ban through the Joker found it hard to mingle and feast while their own stores suffered. Worse, a gag order was in place against all negative comments on Spades. We sense a lot of fake smiles and grumblings over bread but can’t confirm as we were refused an exclusive invite to report the event!

Still, as an unbiased news source, we gladly accepted the request for a sit down with Ace Shah to address the actions taken in his faction. Our reporter braved the streets of Clubs to give a completely impartial interview.

How has it been as an Ace? The jump from low ranker to sitting atop the faction must be hard.

Hard? Surprising and unexpected would be the words I would use to describe how this whole situation feels. I used to be a highranker after all and making my way up to even higher ranks before a tragedy struck me, was that an unknown fact?

But you’ve never been Ace? How is that jump?

No, never been. The title itself is not omnipotent, it has its limitations and brings forth unwanted attention that stands in the way of the current progress we wish to bring to the faction. But it's an important role even if only in word, one has to still use it respectably. But the short answer is the jump is still happening. Ask again in a few years when I've landed where it takes me.

How did you think of the Club council? Is it true you were inspired by the Diamond council?

I didn’t think of the Club council, it was a meeting of minds, I wouldn’t have been able to have any council at all if it was only my contribution going into the making of said council. While I have a deep respect for Diamonds and how they tend to go about their politics, I can’t say I was thinking about them when the idea came to be, I was more concerned on how it would affect Clubs in general and how it would be accepted within the faction. But I can now see why they have one, it has its benefits and I applaud them for having the idea to immediately instill it in their system.

How many people really support you as ex-resistance? Can we even believe you’ve left the criminal enterprise?

I can’t possibly begin to tell who truly supports me as ex-resistance or not, but so far I haven’t had anyone personally challenge me in the faction so in this case I think that means even through reticence people might just believe in the good I want for this faction.

That’s definitely a tough one, all I can say is I was young, hurt and I made mistakes. If I can be forgiven for them then I will be happy, if not I will understand. However, to be judged for the mistakes of your pasts when you’ve recognized them and clearly show that you’ve completely turned away from them, that’s an unfortunate way to see the world or the people around us if you ask me. But yes, to your question, you can believe that I’ve left the criminal enterprise.

I suppose you maintain your innocence in the killing and raid on spade? If you didn’t do it then who is behind such a foul act?

I absolutely do, I had nothing to do with the unfortunate incident even if allegations brought forth the information that some key evidence might link me to it. My hands are clean and I can’t even begin to think of who would be behind this. But whoever it is, the council has decided to lead an investigation into the matter because it’s not just my name and reputation that is on the line, it is also the honor of this faction that will be yet again tarnished. If you find any more clues before we do, I’m certain you’ll pass the message to the rest of the city, won’t you?

Of course! So you suppose you are being framed? Why would anyone frame an already known murderer?

I don’t take lightly to being called a murderer, but if that’s a title I have to wear for ridding the faction of an Ace who cared none for the lives of the people he wanted to lead to an unending civil war and unrest, then there’s not much I can do about it. But yes, I’m being framed, because of the criminal enterprise’s affiliation I had in the past and the label of murderer I have on my back. I mean, wouldn’t you say it’s easier to believe that I would be the one behind someone’s death and demise considering those two demeaning factors? It’s even a little unfair to not see how blatantly obvious they went about it.

You must know, the Academy was attacked a few years ago with your resistance taking ownership. Were you not involved?

The resistance I was part of and that I do not own, you mean? I did hear of it when the incident occurred. I was not involved and I found it disheartening. I'm against attacking innocents and causing the loss of innocent lives.

We’ve heard that your people were harassing Spades in your faction? Our sources say, ‘Urine and feces were tossed on a patron in a popular tavern for saying ‘Spades should be respected.’ Should Spades not be respected?

I’ve had no time to hear these rumors but of course Spades should be respected. Everyone deserves respect for that matter, tossing urine and feces doesn’t seem like a respectful action taken either. But if this rumor is true I can simply apologize for the mistreatment and ask that less impulsive measures are taken in the future because, as you can see, I don’t have any means to control anyone to stop tragedies from occurring. If I did you wouldn’t be here as no shipment would have been ambushed and no lives would have been lost. Unfortunate, isn’t it?

This Ace of Clubs only brings more questions when questions are asked. He made it clear to our interviewer that the resistance was a mistake he made in youth and he acknowledges them as all as criminals. He even seemed scared to admit the inspiration for the council he created in Clubs. Maybe those on his council are the real danger here. ‘A meeting of minds’ he claims, but it sounds more like he was coerced by darker agents. We’re certain this council is filled with the same resistance criminals he is trying so hard to claim he has separated himself from.

And yet he proclaims his innocence, insists he is being framed. In round about words he points to some conspiracy with no proof of innocence offered. And where is this council if they are unified in their ruling? Should they not have joined this interview to show their unified cause? The future of Clubs is bound to be as blood soaked under this Ace as the last. At least that Ace stood solidly on one point without a questionable background and motive.

His unwillingness to out other vagrants that would no doubt bring that peace to the faction like he claims to want, make his alleged innocence and investigation a joke. Our own investigation finds King of Clubs, Wainwright Rook, with high suspicion for the fight that broke out in his tavern. There a Spade had feces and urine thrown on them which led to a brawl that left the very foundation of the tavern with a cracked that travelled up the building. Yet Ace Shah acts ignorant of it. No wonder Spades must do their own investigation.

In Spades, they are increasing drills and the policing of their border. We wonder if an invasion will come soon. Whispers amongst their ranks lean to disdain for the Club Council. Refugees who chose to leave the safety of Spades were met at the border with medical personnel and fighters as if the Club Council thought that Spades were abusing those they rescued during the terror of the war between their last Ace and the new one and his resistance criminals. The council passing suspicion to Spades who have done more for their corner of the city is laughable.

Well, at least the weather is cooling down. Hopefully that eases some of the tensions. The weather is predicted to be far more comfortable though still a bit warmer for the season. We’re calling it a second attempt at summer.

NOW PLAYING AT THE PALACE;

Fresh from the mind of director Ace Moon Ara, comes a gruesome tale of lost love and revenge. With intense, dark themes, The Palace recommends not bringing children to this production and reminds all of it’s patrons that the theater is NOT responsible for the adverse affects the production may have on younger minds or weak stomachs.

The Fiendish Barber of Kadeu

Evil Judge Turpin (Budrelda Beryl) lusts for the beautiful wife of a simple barber, Benjamin Barker (Adrian!). In order to claim the beautiful woman for herself, Turpin frames the barber, and has him transported to a far away prison for a crime he did not commit. Returning after 15 years and calling himself Sweeney Todd - the new name given to him by the fiend he managed to conscript, the now-mad man vows revenge, applying his razor to unlucky customers and shuttling the bodies down to Mrs. Lovett (played by Ara’s protégé from Wing Theatrics), who uses them in her meat-pie shop. Though many fall to his blade, he will not be satisfied until he slits Turpin's throat.

Its a wonderful start to the fall season, our reporters loved their screening but warn of its hauntingly good effects.

#the deck;#lrpg

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gotnofucks · 4 years

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Congruence

Written for @holylulusworld 10k follows challenge!

Pairing: Stephen Strange x Reader, Loki x Reader

Trope: Love Triangle

Summary: Stephen and Loki want you. You are confused. Wong is an angsty person.

Words: 4.5k

Warnings: None? Strong language, I think. Fluff and bad English (not my first language)

A/N: This is my first time writing something like this so please bear with me. Also, I’m a sucker for happy endings so…yeah.

MASTERLIST

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Wong was losing his fucking mind. He was one more broken vase away from cursing in Vedic Sanskrit and spent every hour cursing Thor for sending his miscreant brother to live at the New York Sanctum. He could have gone to Hong Kong, or maybe London where he would have fit right in with that English accent. But no! He had to send him here in New York with Wong and Stephen and you.

You had been living at the sanctum for only two months when Thor literally dropped Loki here. Wong and Stephen had been sitting in the living room when the ceiling cracked open and someone fell from the sky with a resounding THUD. Loki had looked up from the floor with utter contempt in his face at his brother who landed solidly on his feet.

“Hey there, doctor!” Thor bellowed, patting Stephen roughly on the shoulder and gave Wong a bear hug.

The sorcerers had stared at the two Asgardians with absolute shock on their faces until Wong exploded.

“Can you please for fucks sake use the door like a normal person!? Every time you are here you break something! The ceiling for god’s sake! Do you have any idea how much time and effort it takes to repair that?”

Thor looked at the ceiling with no remorse while his brother dusted himself off.

“Can’t you just, you know, reverse time with the stone and fix it?” Thor asked, taking a seat without being offered one.

“What are you doing here? And why, if I may ask, is your brother here?” Stephen asked rolling his eyes. Thor made the occasional stop at the Sanctum from time to time just for the fun of it. Banner bet him 10 bucks it has a lot to do with Wong being recently single, Stephen disagrees and says its because their kitchen is always stocked with Pop Tarts.

“Ah, you can keep my brother” Thor said nonchalantly, stretching his legs out and being comfy in his chair.

“Excuse me? Who the hell do you think you are, trying to treat me like an object?” Loki spat.

Before Thor could retort, Stephen banged his hand on the table. “I have no plans to keep your brother, Odinson. Pray, take him and leave. And while you’re at it, put some money on the table for the ceiling. We may have magic, but we don’t use it to put splintered wood back together.”

“You must keep him doctor, for the good of the nine realms.” Thor said, raising his hands slightly in resignation.

“Have you started another war already?” Wong asked curiously, eyeing the God of Mischief who looked about ready to stab his brother.

“He hasn’t, yet. But I’m leaving Midgard for some time and Valkyrie doesn’t want him around. They will end up killing each other by the end of the week. He’s got magic, you can make use of him here. Hell, make him fix that ceiling.” Thor said.

Loki was seething at having been treated like a naughty child while the adults talked around him. They hadn’t let him utter a word in his defense and he doubted it would matter if they did hear him out. Whatever, he didn’t want to stay with Valkyrie either. Before Thor dragged him here, he’d switched all her alcohol with fruit juice. She would be spitting fire for days and he was safer here. And so, it was decided that Loki would stay at the sanctum until Thor returned. What he would do here remains to be seen. Stephen wasn’t pleased with the situation, but he’d rather Loki stay here than cause some other world ending event that would drag him and other Avengers out to clean up his mess later.

You were in the library when this weird turn of events was happening, so you hadn’t had the chance to meet Loki yet. You were a new recruit at the sanctum, chosen personally by Wong who felt they needed more than just two sorcerers to protect this place. Until then you were under training with both of them and were still getting your feel of this space. You had so far met no one other than your two mentors so you were rightfully surprised to stumble on man wearing green cape and eating your cereal in the kitchen. You stopped in your tracks and looked at him curiously while he did the same, chewing slowly.

“Y/n meet Loki. He’ll be staying with us for some time”, Wong said as ways of introduction. Wong adored you since he saw you in Kamartaj and had you brought here as soon as your preliminary training there was over. You were still very young, only in your 20s, so you brought with yourself a light and life that had previously been lacking in this sacred place. Ever since you came here, the sanctum had flower vases in almost every room and soft music could be heard at odd times. You didn’t take long to adjust to your life in New York and often forced both Stephen and Wong to eat something other than take out. You laughed and smiled and brought with yourself a woman’s touch to this dreary place. Wong wasn’t the only one affected. Stephen, who had initially been very against the idea of another sorcerer in the sanctum warmed up to you quick enough. So warm in fact that Wong could almost call it affection.

“Hi Loki, does your cape float too?” You asked and sat across him, pouring some cereal and milk into your bowl. Loki stopped eating and bent his head a little to the side, curious.

“It doesn’t.” He said at last.

“That sucks, I love flying cloaks. Stephen’s cloak – I call it Levi – loves to take me on rides. If your cape were a sentient too, maybe they could have been friends. Everyone should have friends, even clothes.”

Loki was looking at you with a small, amused smile.

“I can enchant it for a few hours; however, it won’t remain animated forever.” Loki said. He didn’t like talking to strangers, but you were so sweet, so unafraid of him that it pleased him. You had no awkwardness when you spoke, and no note of hatred in your voice, something that didn’t happen often in his conversations with people.

Your eyes brightened and you launched into a discussion about animation enchantments, something that the masters at Kamartaj had steered clear off. They were very adamant about how to use magic, and walking furniture was somewhere they drew the line. Loki’s magic was very different to yours and it fascinated you. This was how Stephen found you, deep in conversation with an amused Loki who looked at you softly. He scowled.

“What’s happening here?”, he asked, coming to stand behind you.

“Did you know it’s possible to morph your body in someone else’s completely? Solid illusions!”, you prattled on.

“Of course, I know, I just don’t use it.” Stephen said and took the seat beside you.

“You never said! You’ll teach me?” Your eyes were bright as you asked this, and it was with great restraint Stephen shook his head and said no. He found it difficult denying you anything and if he ever admitted it to himself, he would say he’s fond of you. Very fond.

Your face fell at his denial.

“You won’t teach me? Why?”

“Some magic is too advanced for you right now. We’ll build it up and maybe someday I’ll teach you, although I’m not fond of it. Some magic is just…silly.”

Loki was looking at your exchange with a small smirk and as you lowered your face in dejection, he leaned forward to rest his elbows on the table and looked straight at you.

“I can teach you.” He said and watched your eyebrows raise before a small smile formed on them. You looked happy until you remembered your mentor sitting beside you and looked at him with a forlorn expression. Stephen’s hands clenched and he resisted the urge to mash Loki’s face in his cereal.

“Like hell you would! I’m her instructor and the only thing you’re doing is staying out of trouble.” Stephen said, one hand leaning over the back of your chair, a gesture not lost on Loki.

“Didn’t Thor say I could be of help here? Well, this is it. I could help teach Y/n and we can compare notes on our magic. Wouldn’t you like that, Y/n?” Loki asked you in a sweet voice and you nodded eagerly, eyes pleading with Stephen to agree. You looked so earnest, so willing to learn, that Stephen couldn’t find it in himself to say no. He wanted to, he wanted to shout that he will teach you all you needed to know and more, that he is someone you can rely on. But he simply said yes.

Throughout this whole conversation, Wong, who was busy cooking hadn’t said a thing but if the stiffness in his shoulders was to go by, he was not a happy man. He knew some shit was about to go down, and lord did he not want to be a part of it.

From that day, what happened in the Sanctum was something Wong could only call an over glorified dick-measuring contest between Stephen and Loki. They did all but whip their tools out and boink each other on the head with it.

It started from little things like teaching you something new and praising you about it. You loved to have your work being acknowledged and would blush a deep red at being praised. Loki had fumed for hours watching you and Stephen work and you giggling with a red face as Stephen told you what a good job you had done. In retaliation, Loki started teaching you enchantments and when you got them right, he would pat your hand and tell you that you were a good girl. That blush, and the glare he received from Stephen was a treat.

It didn’t stop with academics. The men started vying for your attention in the kitchen, each trying their hardest to win you over with more and more complicated dishes. Wong put his foot down when Loki made a Nutella sandwich that was a foot high and dripped with toasted marshmallows that took hours to scrub off. Stephen had laughed outrageously when Wong scolded Loki, telling him to clean up his mess and if he ever did something like this again, he’ll be using his toothbrush to clean the sanctum. Stephen stopped laughing however when Wong turned to him with a spatula in his hand. “And you! You’re banned from cooking too. I can’t go shopping every day to get you ingredients because you want to make Y/n pastries and pies and stupid Turkish delights three times a day. Out of my kitchen! Now!”

The antics continued, more often than naught resulting in skirmishes between the two men which in turn resulted in a lot of broken vases, furniture, and in some rare events, bones. They fought over who you spent more time with, smiled wider at, and laughed harder at. It drove Wong crazy, an unfortunate bystander to the playground tricks of two boys fighting over a toy. But you were more than a toy, that he could tell.

You weren’t oblivious to what was happening. You were young, not naïve and so you spent your days very amused. You didn’t mind this attention, far from it in fact. Two very handsome and powerful men, for reasons best known to them, were trying their best to impress you. It made you giddy and feel wanted, but also confused because while you weren’t in love with either of them, you didn’t think you’d be able to choose one when the time came for it. Surely, they can’t keep doing this forever and will one day give you the ultimatum to make a choice. You dreaded that day because with each passing day, with each sweet gesture and praise, with each hug lasting a little longer and each eye contact being a little hotter, you were reminded that with choosing one you would lose the other. That didn’t seem like the happy ending you wanted.

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Loki was at his wit’s end and knee deep in books and ancient relics. He had scrounged every storeroom and tome trying to find what he wanted to no avail. His hair was disheveled from running his hands through it too many times and he wished you would braid it like you’d done a couple nights ago. What had begun simply as an amusing prank to show up Stephen Strange ended up being a true gamble in the game of love. He didn’t really expect to start liking you like this. Sure, you were different, and he acknowledged that fact within minutes of meeting you. But he didn’t know that he would seriously start considering his intentions towards you. At most he had hoped he would find a friend in you, but he didn’t just want to be a friend anymore. He wanted you with your tinkling laugh and ability to cast spells far above your level. He wanted to see you defend him against Thor and to tell you stories of Asgard as you took a walk through New Asgard by his side. He wanted you so bad and he’d be damned if that red cloak wearing second rate wizard took you from him.

“What in the world are you doing?” Wong asked as he entered Loki’s room to find it strewn with books and odd ornaments. Loki was sitting on the floor looking quite frustrated, and well, a little pathetic.

“I can’t find it. I’ve searched almost every book and every relic you have here. I can’t find it!” Loki moaned. Wong didn’t know what he was looking for, but he felt a small spark of pity for the god.

“What are you looking for?”

“Aladdin’s lamp”

There was a pregnant pause in the room.

“Excuse me?”

“Aladdin’s lamp. Y/n was talking about how Strange’s cloak – Levi as she calls it – would have loved having the flying carpet as his friend. And I asked her about this carpet, and she told me it belonged to the Genie who came out of Aladdin’s lamp when rubbed. I want that lamp so I can ask this Genie fellow to loan me his carpet”

It was a tough battle between laughing and patting the god on his head like a small child. Wong fought the impulse to do either and sat down on a chair after depositing the books on it on the table. “You won’t find it here”, he told Loki whose head shot up at this.

“Why not? Is it at some other sanctum? London?”

“It’s…nowhere.”, Wong said and raised a hand to stop Loki from interrupting. “Aladdin is a fictional story, so is the lamp and the genie and the carpet. Y/n loves reading about them and watching the movie adaptations. She likes to see how morals have interpreted magic.”

Loki’s mouth dropped open and for a moment he looked about ready to cry for having wasted so many hours searching for something that didn’t exist. Then, he miraculously started laughing.

“Norns! This woman drives me up a wall! She mentions one thing and I just want to do that for her. I’m not even mad at her or myself, just disappointed that I’ll have to search for something else to get her now. What the hell happened to me?”

Wong looked at a man who was very nearly, if not already in love with you. He didn’t like Loki very much, but he didn’t want this man to go through a heart break either. He would have to talk to you, soon.

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Stephen fancied himself a step ahead of Loki because he had known you a little bit longer, but if he was being honest, there wasn’t much to go by. His insecurities had a lot to do with that, for he believed you would prefer Loki, a handsome man over a scarred man like him. But you had never mentioned anything about his slightly trembling hands. You had taken to his life without a hitch and so seamlessly blended into a routine with him, Stephen felt like you had always been a part of his life. He couldn’t remember when you’d started helping him tie his robes, or necktie when the occasion called for it. He couldn’t remember when he’d started eating home cooked meals instead of takeout at the deli Wong preferred. One day he was living without you, and the other you had taken over every aspect of his life and made it ten times as beautiful. He didn’t know if he could go back to living life as he did before you, and he’d be damned if some green-bean god tried to take you away from him.

“I am going to regret asking this but what are you trying to do?”, Wong asked Stephen who was standing in the middle of his meditation room holding his cloak. Well, holding might not be the correct term. Dancing…with his cloak.

“I am teaching Levi how to waltz”, Stephen said and continued to guide the piece of fabric through the leg movements. Wong watched this with morbid fascination before sputtering incredulously.

“Why?”

“Y/n loves to waltz and as I don’t always have enough time to indulge her, I’m teaching my cloak how to do it so it can keep her company. You’ll do that won’t you, Levi?”

To Wong’s utter astonishment the cloak seemed to nod and was almost elegant in his movements. For a good few minutes Wong watched this scene before sighing. Smitten, both of them. Absolutely wrapped around your finger and most definitely on their way to fall in love. Stephen was his best friend and he looked so happy since you got here, it warmed Wong’s heart to finally see Stephen smile and be genuinely happy.

He really really needed to talk to you and ask you whom you planned to be with, if any of them at all. This is exactly the sort of drama Wong hated and he was sure no matter what you said, someone was going to get their heart broken.

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You were going to do it. You were going to do it today and tell them your decision because you couldn’t take it anymore. The hostility between Loki and Stephen was getting on your nerves and you couldn’t spend a minute in one’s company before being interrupted by the other. In the end, you just left them both, hence losing the joy of both their presence. And poor Wong. You could see him trying to summon courage for what you knew was going to be a very uncomfortable talk. The past few months Loki had lived here had been the best and worst months of your life. But now that things were starting to affect not just your friendship but also your academics (because both your instructors ended up attacking each other and spent two days in the sick bay), you needed to make a choice. So, you did what you did best and got to baking.

“It smells like Valhalla here, Y/n”, Loki said as he watched you work.

“Why won’t you let us see what you’re making?” Stephen asked, trying to look around you but you glared at him and he sat down again.

“Will you both for god’s sake ask the important question? Why the hell are we wearing these outfits?” Wong grumbled.

You looked at the three men seated around the table in Harry Potter robes, each holding a handmade wand and pointy hat you’d forced them to wear. They had protested and whined (I’m not a witch for Norn’s sake!) but had given in easier than you thought. You really did have them wrapped around your little finger.

“Could you wait for like two minutes? This needs to be perfect!” You chirped and got back to your tray.

“I’m too old to be doing cosplay”, Wong said with a huff.

“Shut up”

It took you another ten minutes to perfect your stuff, a tray lined with identical muffins with Hogwarts logo and the sorting hat on top. Picking it up you sat it down on the table before the three men and then sat down yourself.

“These are the sorting muffins but with a twist”, you declared. Loki looked on with interest. He’d watched and read all the Harry Potter books and movies at your behest.

“I hate this, and I hate twists. The last time I saw a twist was when this one-”, Wong pointed at Stephen “-annoyed a cosmic being into accepting defeat. I still get nightmares about that”

“Oh, don’t be so dull Wong. These are compatibility muffins. We don’t need sorting, we’re already sorted. You are obviously a Ravenclaw because you’re the librarian, Stephen is of course Gryffindor because Levi is red, similarly Loki is Slytherin because that cape is definitely a Slytherin green. And I am a Hufflepuff because I am the best.” Your speech did not have the jubilant response you expected, and you crossed your arm with a deep disappointed sigh. Stereotypical as your sorting had been you expected something more than blank faces.

“So, what are these muffins for?”, Stephen asked.

“We all take one and see what color filling we find. The person whose house we get, that’s the person we’re most compatible with.” Now you had your expected response. Both Loki and Stephen sat at attention eyeing the muffins critically, trying their hardest to guess which one had the yellow icing in the middle. Beside them Wong groaned and facepalmed. Of all the ways for you to choose a partner, trust you to play a game of luck involving a children’s fantasy book. He was regretting putting that talk off now.

“So, if I get blue…” Loki trailed off

“Yeah, you and Wong can go make out in the corner” You answered. “But of course, Wong must get green too you know, or you’d have to find another Ravenclaw. Consent is important after all”

It was the dumbest shit you had ever come up with. You knew it, everyone else knew it. But if this was how it was supposed to go so be it. Everyone ignored Wong’s complain of ruining a good desert and set out to choose their most perfect muffin. They were all identical to the last crumb, and it took an annoyingly large amount of time for both your suitors to choose their pieces. After they had deliberated and finally chosen their muffins, you casually selected one and motioned for Wong to do the same.

Finally, with muffins in all your hands and eyes full of anticipation and trepidation, you all took a bite.

Stephen’s face broke out in a grin as he showed off his bitten muffin with a yellow center. That smile however turned into a frown as Loki showed a yellow centered muffin too. Wong, feeling utterly stupid showed his red centered muffin and then all eyes turned to you. With a straight face you turned your muffin and-

“Motherfucker!”, Wong cried and with his head in his hands began laughing and crying simultaneously. Loki and Stephen looked stunned, staring open mouthed at the two-colored center of your muffin. Red and green.

“What?” They both said.

“I can’t choose. I just can’t. That’s not who I am.” You said and looked them both straight in the eye, hoping they’ll see reason in what you’re saying. “How do you choose between two people who love so much? You can’t quantify that feeling, you can never tell if its greater for someone or not. Call me a coward or a bitch, I don’t care. This is the truth. I love you Stephen. I love all your music references and stupid movies you make me watch. And I love you Loki, with that English accent and your horrible cooking. I love you both and I am here if you’ll have me. This is what I can offer you, because I sure as hell can’t break either of yours heart.”

You didn’t know what was going to happen. You hadn’t exactly meant to drop the L-word, but well, it was true. You couldn’t break their hearts, so you put the ball in their court and allowed them to break yours instead. It was much better than going through with the pain of choosing one of them, especially when your heart beats simultaneously for two. You braced yourself for rejection, because sharing a person you love is never easy. But if you have to share it with a person you hate, well, its almost impossible.

Loki and Stephen looked at you and then at each other. They seemed to be having some sort of wordless conversation and the longer they remained silent, the more you felt like you’d made a mistake and lost them both. Finally, they nodded at each other and then looked at you.

“I hate this second-rate wizard”

“I hate you too, green puny god”

“But we love you more.”

You blinked once and then again. It took a minute to register what they said but then you were flying and the next second you were in their arms, one man at your front while the other at your back. Sobs whacked your small body as the tension of past few months left you in your lovers’ embrace and you could finally breath easy. You pulled away and looked up with a tear stained face at Loki and Stephen, a watery smile that they reciprocated.

“So, we can finally have sex now after months of violent foreplay”, you remarked making them both laugh and pull you in their arms again. This was it. This was your safe space, your heaven.

Wong was forgotten as the three embraced and he was as baffled as he had ever been. Only you could have pulled off something so crazy. He was so glad he almost joined the group hug himself. No more broken furniture, no more shouting and no more messy kitchens. Life could go back to normal. As soon as he said that thunder rumbled outside and the ceiling cracked, depositing Thor in front of them wearing his armor and red cape.

“What’s happening here?” He boomed, looking around as if he hasn’t just vandalized their home again.

“You’re such a Gryffindor!” You cried, still delirious with joy and hugged Thor who had till now never met you. “I need to shave my whole body!” And saying this you ran away leaving the men staring at your back.

“Who’s that? And what’s a Gryffindor?” Thor asked, sitting at the kitchen table, and stretching his legs. He spotted the muffins and picked one up, taking a huge chunk out. It was blue from within. Both Loki and Stephen turned to look at a red-faced Wong who was cursing in Sanskrit.

“Looks like Banner was right. I owe him 10 bucks”, Stephen laughed.

#lulu's 10k follower challenge #stephen strange x reader #loki x reader #stephen x reader #dr strange x reader #love triangle #loki x you #stephen strange x you #stephen x reader x loki

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glimmerglanger · 4 years

Note

So I’ve been plagued by this since I read mirror AU. For your spice week, how would you feel about obikin sex with an audience? Can be purely for pleasure or a ritual thing or an accident, but like, thinking of Anakin staking a claim in front of Cody in agaptfaa may have awoken something in me? Ditto prime Anakin and mirror Anakin with either Obi-Wan. I know Obes would think it riduculous/primitive but maybe find it hot anyway?

Anonymous said:

hmm this isn’t particularly spicy on its own but it can be added to a spicy september fic? like ur prompts are the ice cream and this ask is the extra toppings haha. but like obi wan’s pale skin being marked up with finger shaped bruises and hickeys and his own flush? bonus points if he’s ‘pleasantly sore’ 🥺

Mmmmm, I like these ideas very, very much! I went with ritual sex with an audience because I’m legitimately so, so weak for that. Marking ended up fitting in very well with this particular plot bunny. Hey, if we’re staking a claim…. No reason for half measures. Established relationship set during the Clone Wars (close to the end, with Anakin’s mental state being frayed).

This is NOT SAFE FOR WIZARDS. No real warnings beyond that. We’ve wrapped up Spicy September Week with this fic! I hope you all enjoyed it! Thanks for all the wonderful prompts! I’ll be posting all the fics over on ao3 to make sure they don’t get lost etc. Hope everyone has a great rest of the week, time for me to get back to prepping for Whumptober!

~~~~~~~

They landed on Tuls on a clear, cool morning, with frost across the ground. Technically, Anakin wasn’t even supposed to be on the mission, but he’d been working with the 212th when Obi-Wan’s orders came through and…

Well. They’d had enough things go wrong for Jedi sent on solo missions from the Senate. He’d decided he ought to tag along, and Obi-Wan hadn’t protested. They’d even had some time to sleep, on the flight to Tuls. Anakin had hoped they might have time for a bit more than sleep, but Obi-Wan had still been recovering from...whatever the kriff had happened to him over Raydonia.

Anakin took one look at the fading bruises all down his ribs, and lost the urge to press the issue. It was more than enough to hold Obi-Wan close while they slept, to pour healing energy down into his skin, hoping to ease as much of the damage as he could.

By the time they arrived on Tuls, most of the marks had faded away. Obi-Wan had stretched that morning, when he woke, and looked down at his side with a surprise written all over his expression. “Feeling better?” Anakin had asked, dropping a kiss against his ribs, and Obi-Wan had smiled at him, looking soft and still mussed from sleep.

But that had been earlier, when it was just them. Obi-Wan looked nothing but professional as they set foot on Tuls soil, met by an entire delegation of tired, stooped humanoids, who looked at them and said, “Thank goodness you have finally arrived, Jedi. There is no longer much time.”

“I’m sorry,” Obi-Wan said, after the Tuls delegation had hurried them along, out of the cold and into a finally appointed meeting chamber. There was a fire crackling in a large hearth along one wall, which was a relief. There was a bitter chill in the air, which seemed odd. Anakin was almost sure Obi-Wan had said that it was supposed to be late spring on the planet. “I was not informed we were on a time-table, but you mentioned--”

“We are very late to bring the spring,” an older man said, rising heavily from a chair by the fire. He was solidly built - Anakin guessed he’d probably been all muscle, once. Time had added a healthy girth around his waist. He wore a crown of dark stone cut through with pale lines.

Obi-Wan glanced at Anakin, and Anakin shrugged. Obi-Wan looked back at the man and said, “And you… require our help, to bring the spring?”

The man nodded. He said, “Forgive my manners. I am King Urtus. And, yes. We need your help, specifically, Master Jedi.” Anakin could feel the relief radiating off of all of these people, even as their leader spoke.

“Ah,” Obi-Wan said, shifting around, loosening his shoulders in a little movement that Anakin wasn’t sure anyone else would identify as the first step towards a fight. “May I ask why? I’ve not heard of such assistance being required before.”

Urtus grimaced, looked to the side, and spat into the fire. “We did not need outside assistance. Not before the Separatist attacked us. The Keeper of Seasons was killed in the attack. Her apprentice…” He gestured to a boy standing to one side; the kid looked to be in his early teens. “Is not yet of age to bring the spring.”

“I think…” Obi-Wan said, as a creeping feeling ran down Anakin’s back, “that you ought to tell us, exactly, how one brings the spring, here on Tuls.”

“Are you serious?” Anakin said, after Urtus finished explaining exactly what it was they wanted Obi-Wan to do. He felt a prickle across his shoulders as everyone in the room turned to look at him, including Obi-Wan, who raised an eyebrow for good measure.

“We are quite serious,” Urtus said, as though he had not just suggested that - that Obi-Wan come down to some - some kind of ritual chamber and take off all his clothes and--

“Getting kr -- engaging in intercourse doesn’t make the seasons change,” Anakin said, feeling his cheeks getting far too warm. He, abruptly, didn’t like the way any of the people in the room were looking at Obi-Wan.

Urtus shrugged. “It ever has on Tuls,” he said.

Anakin looked at Obi-Wan, hoping for support on how mad the entire suggestion was. He got a shrug, instead, and a thoughtful look, as Obi-Wan said, “I can feel the Force flowing through the core of this world. It is possible the seasons have become tied to… rituals, of a sort. And carnal relations are often tied to the advent of spring.”

Sometimes Anakin wanted to shake him. Not everything had to be a science project.

Urtus cleared his throat, before Anakin could point out that now was not the time to get curious about the ecosystem of some new world. “Please,” Urtus said. “It should be nearly summer now. We beg for your assistance with this matter.”

“Why does this have to be Obi-Wan?” Anakin asked, shifting to put himself between them and Obi-Wan, just in case they got grabby.

“We can feel his connection to the Force,” Urtus said, straightening and meeting Anakin’s gaze for the first time. “The planet responds to him, already.” Anakin figured he’d have to take Urtus’ word for that.

And Anakin knew damn well there was no way Obi-Wan was actually going to decline. He’d be full of concern about the fate of the planet and the safety of these people and if it meant him getting fucked on an altar to set things to rights, then so be it. So, it wasn’t much of a surprise when Obi-Wan said, “Of course, I will assist in any way I can.”

Urtus sagged with relief. Anakin felt the emotion vibrating through the rest of the crowd, and fine, he supposed they could make this work. He could help and they’d just get this over with, and-- Urtus said, “We will prepare you and arrange the melee immediately, then.”

The back of Anakin’s neck prickled, even as Obi-Wan asked, “Melee?”

Urtus nodded. “Indeed. To determine who shall have the right to assist you. So you may remove winter’s veil and bring the spring.”

Anakin tightened his grip on Obi-Wan’s arm; he felt Obi-Wan’s emotions shift, some hint of worry entering his feelings for the first time. None of it came through in Obi-Wan’s tone when he said, “Surely, I select who has the...right?”

Urtus shook his heavy head, making a deep humming sound. “No. It must be whoever is touched most deeply by winter, as decided by the Force,” he said, “it has ever been thus.”

Anakin looked over the crowd in the room. He really disliked the way they were eying Obi-Wan, and wondered, if he picked Obi-Wan up and bolted, what his odds were of getting to the ship. Probably not high, if Obi-Wan decided to fight him. Which he almost certainly would.

Anakin blew out a breath, instead, and said, “Is anyone allowed to join this melee, then?” Because, kriff, if it was a fight they wanted… Well. He was more than happy to give it to them.

In the end, the Tuls were agreeable to the idea of Anakin joining the melee. He had no idea what they meant by ‘touched by winter’ and he didn’t really care. He was taken to a chamber to prepare with all the rest of the entrants, while Obi-Wan was spirited off elsewhere. They were only to use weapons with blunted edges, apparently, but that was fine. Anakin had long ago learned how to fight with whatever was to hand.

He cracked his neck side to side, selected a weapon that fitted his hand, and waited, ignoring the chatter around the rest of the room.

It seemed to take an age and a half before the doors were opened again and they were led out, across a frozen expanse of ground, and into a small entryway, directly into the earth. It was dark inside, and warmer. There were steps, leading down, and Anakin followed the figure in front of him, flexing his fingers in and out until they, finally, reached the bottom.

They were… in a large, open space, ringed with seats stretching upward, many of them filled. The walls glowed, faintly. Anakin barely noticed any of that, because, in the center of the… well, the arena, there was a familiar figure.

Someone had taken Obi-Wan’s tunics and left him wearing…pieces of white fabric, tied in bands around his body. His eyes and mouth were both wrapped. There were more bindings around his arms and hands. He was standing in front of a tall lump of stone. Anakin assumed, with a hot lurch of his gut, that this was the altar.

Which meant the Tuls fully expected someone to fuck Obi-Wan right there in the center of this arena and, well. There was no way Anakin was going to let anyone else touch him. He took a breath, adjusted his grip on his weapon, and waited while Urtus made some kind of speech that he didn’t care about.

He shifted his weight from foot to foot, waiting for the moment when the melee started, and then springing into action. The Tuls were determined, he had to give them that. And they seemed to have decided that they didn’t actually care who won the right, as long as it wasn’t him.

They swarmed him, and Anakin snarled. Even with numbers, they were not a match, and he knew it. They had not a fraction of the practice and experience he’d gained, and he knocked them aside, one after another.

One almost cracked him over the back of the head with a cudgel, only to slip on nothing a moment before the blow could land, falling into one of his fellows, instead, and Anakin half-laughed at the feeling of Obi-Wan’s presence against his skin.

The Tuls woman in front of him balked at his laughter, and Anakin took the opportunity to elbow her in the gut, listening to the sound she made as she folded up, flinging himself back into the fight. There was no real strategy to it, it was nothing but a brawl, fierce and vicious, devolving, finally, into a bare knuckled scrap between the last contenders.

Anakin had something of an advantage in that area, and grinned fiercely at the sound his fist made hitting the jaw of the last Tuls standing between him and Obi-Wan. The man had a half a head of height on Anakin, but went over backwards with a satisfying thump.

Anakin stood, for a moment, in the midst of the groaning fallen, breathing hard. His clothes were torn and bloody, he noted. He throbbed from a dozen different places, wounds aching. He tasted copper on his tongue and turned his head to the side, spitting, even as drums started around the room.

He distantly remembered being told about the drums, and grinned, because they meant he’d won.

He met Urtus’ eyes across the arena, nodded, and stalked towards the center of the space. Obi-Wan hadn’t moved, standing there still as a statue. There were, Anakin noticed, as he got closer, clothes wrapped around his knees and ankles, too. His feet were bare on the stone and there were strange tendrils of light winding away from him, out through the stone.

Anakin decided he didn’t care about the light, right at that moment. His blood burned in his veins, his gut full of fire from the battle. He was already hard, when he stopped in front of Obi-Wan and reached out, grabbing the wrap around his eyes and pulling it away.

Obi-Wan blinked open his eyes, so clear and blue, and did not look surprised to find Anakin before him. Anakin grabbed the wrap over his mouth, hoping he was doing an adequate job removing winter’s veil, and Obi-Wan said, quietly, something tense in his expression, just for a moment, “I knew it would be you.”

Anakin shivered and could not stop himself from sliding a hand back into Obi-Wan’s hair and leaning closer, kissing his mouth, aware he was leaving smears of blood behind and - and liking it, liking the way it marked Obi-Wan’s clean, perfect skin. “I think I had some help,” he murmured, against Obi-Wan’s mouth, and felt Obi-Wan smile.

“Maybe a little,” Obi-Wan agreed, and Anakin kissed him again, pleased to know it had been him Obi-Wan wanted with him, here in the middle of an arena, here at this crude altar.

It made his pulse beat faster, instructions for what he was supposed to do jumbling together in his head. The Tuls had been specific about some things, but it was hard to focus on what they’d wanted. He’d needed to - to take Obi-Wan out of these bindings, definitely.

Anakin could do that, He kept one hand in Obi-Wan’s hair, aware of all the eyes on them. He expected a prickle of anxiety across his nerves, he even anticipated, in a flash of worry, that he would not be able to maintain his current state of interest, not while knowing so many people were watching.

But these people had thought they could have Obi-Wan. Thought they could just use him for their ritual. And he, abruptly, quite liked the idea of showing them all just how wrong they were. He slid his mouth to Obi-Wan’s neck, nipping at the skin and then sucking, hearing Obi-Wan make a loud, surprised sound.

He slid his other hand down, tearing at the white wrappings, careless and rough. He just wanted them off.

“The altar,” Obi-Wan ground out, his hands freed to come up, to grip at Anakin, pulling him closer. “We need to--the stone is Force-reactive, we need to be on--”

Anakin got the idea. The altar was the size of a large table, rising directly out of the floor. It came up to his thighs, he noted, even as he pulled the last of the wrappings away, grabbed Obi-Wan’s thighs, and lifted him.

The stone lit up beneath Obi-Wan, when Anakin turned and put him down on the altar. Veins of color shot through it, so bright they were almost blinding. A murmur went up through the crowd, relief and joy, but Anakin barely noted it.

Obi-Wan lit up, as well, and that was far more interesting. Trails of light stretched under his skin, glowing. He looked like something out of a dream, something magical. But then, he always had. Anakin groaned and crawled onto the altar, falling forward to kiss him, hands all over his skin, warm and soft and perfect.

He left behind smears of blood, marks that showed where he’d touched, and groaned at the sight of it. Everyone on Tuls had wanted Obi-Wan, but he was the only one who got to have this, the only one who got to touch, and he wanted, suddenly and fiercely, for them all to know it.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan panted, tugging at the closures on Anakin’s tunics. They were hanging off of him already, and Anakin yanked the outer tunic off, tossing it aside. He cared little about the under tunic; it wasn’t in his way. He slid a hand down, curled his fingers around Obi-Wan’s cock, and watched the light beneath him shift, spreading away from the altar, out across the arena.

Obi-Wan’s hands clenched at his belt. He made a sound, thick and pleasure-drunk, as Anakin stroked him, setting a fast, brutal pace. He had not patience within him, at the moment, he just wanted. Wanted to watch Obi-Wan’s eyes flutter, wanted everyone in the arena to see what he got to do.

He bent forward, kissing Obi-Wan deep and filthy, the drums pounding around them, almost drowning out the sound Obi-Wan made when he spilled all over Anakin’s fingers.

“Force,” Obi-Wan panted, and Anakin grinned, rubbing his fingers together and considering. They’d not given him anything to ease the way. He shrugged, decided to make do, and slid his fingers back, between Obi-Wan’s legs.

He found Obi-Wan slick already, slick enough to slide two fingers in at once, and the revelation punched a groan out of him. “I thought,” Obi-wan gasped, deliciously flushed and glowing, “I’d better, ah, be ready.”

Anakin nodded. He felt quite beyond words, aching with so much want it felt hard to think. He wanted, so badly, to stretch out over Obi-Wan like this, to touch his glowing skin and let all the Tuls see how good he could make Obi-Wan feel, show them his beauty, the light of him--

The Tuls had warned them both that they might be...affected by the ritual. Anakin was willing to blame the hot jump of his pulse on whatever the kriff the Force was currently doing, whatever was making Obi-Wan light up, the glow off of his skin chasing away all the shadows in Anakin’s head, leaving him… singularly focused.

The urge to make everyone see swallowed him. Anakin took another kiss, hard, and then rocked onto his heels, batting Obi-Wan’s hands away - he’d gotten Anakin’s slacks open, that was more than good enough - and gripped at Obi-Wan’s hip.

Obi-Wan made a thick sound, surprised, when Anakin dragged his fingers out. His gasped beautifully, his skin all aglow, brighter spots of light at his freckles. Anakin ran a hand over his chest, awed, and then settled his hands, pulling Obi-Wan’s hips just so, gripping tight.

He heard the sound Obi-Wan made over the drums when he pushed in. Around them, the light started picking up colors, purples and pinks and blues, greens, spreading around the room, spreading across Obi-Wan’s skin, like an aurora, a celestial event, right in front of him.

Anakin jolted at the feeling of being in him. It was always amazing; he could have happily fucked Obi-Wan for the rest of his life, but-- Sinking into him on the altar felt like something else, the sensation spreading out to each nerve, clearing his head, leaving nothing but want and need and desire behind.

Anakin needed to fuck him, needed to drive into him, needing to make him gasp and cry out. Anakin gripped him, hard, keeping a hold on him, knowing he was leaving marks behind and - and liking it. He wanted marks, his marks, all over Obi-Wan’s skin, wanted everyone on Tuls and all the other worlds in the galaxy to know that Obi-Wan was--

Obi-Wan’s trembled, light spreading out from him, through the stone, the colors getting brighter, sharper. And Anakin wanted everyone to see, deeply. Force, he loved the way Obi-Wan looked when he was getting fucked, loved the way Obi-Wan’s mouth got soft, the way he flushed all across his cheeks and down his throat.

Every inch of him was beautiful, and Anakin groaned, driving into him as the light curled and flowed around them. He wished he had another hand, to curl around Obi-Wan’s cock, and in that moment saw no reason not to utilize the Force.

Obi-Wan jerked, full-bodied, when Anakin curled tendrils of the Force against his skin, pressure and sensation. Anakin thought he heard his name - it was hard to tell, the drums had gotten louder and his blood was pounding in his ears - and he took it as encouragement.

It felt like encouragement, through Obi-Wan’s emotions, overspilling into Anakin’s head.

He touched and touched and groaned when he felt Obi-Wan quake, come spilling across their skin and the altar and--and something shifted in the air around them, in the presence of the Force through the room. Anakin felt like lightning grounded down through his spine, pleasure and primal want swimming up through him.

He lost himself, for a moment, aware of nothing but pleasure, but needing to fuck into Obi-Wan, desperately, but the sheer joy of spilling within him. Anakin groaned, cock pulsing, and slumped forward, over Obi-Wan’s glowing form.

He held Obi-Wan - almost limp - and buried his face against Obi-Wan’s throat. He sucked hungry kisses against the skin, wanting to leave more marks, wanting to stain the pale flesh, wanting to leave no room for doubt that Obi-Wan was--

Was breathing shakily, trembles moving through him.

Anakin swallowed, hard, wrestling back control of all his riotous wants. He was aware, distantly, of cheering and the brilliant lights filling the chamber. But that all felt far away as he stroked a hand comfortingly across Obi-Wan’s stomach, pressing softer kisses to his skin, and holding him, there on the altar.

He managed to ask, as he got his breath back, “You think that did it?”

Obi-Wan laughed, tilting his head further to the side in what Anakin took as an invitation, and said, “Darling, you may have overshot us right into summer.”

#obikin #glimmer replies #ask me anything #Spicy September Week #public ritual sex #marking #spicy #not safe for wizards #established relationship #seriously thank everyone for all the prompts and support through this week #i was very nervous about doing so many spicy fics #i still remember that comment i got about my writing being good even if the sex is bad #so #thank you all of you #see you next year for another spicy week?#or maybe we'll do one in the spring #WHO KNOWS

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qrovidcore · 4 years

Text

hey what’s up tumblr i’ve now seen hbo’s watchmen all the way through Three Fucking Times and i very well may go for a fourth if given an excuse whoops and apparently i can’t stop thinking about Laurie’s joke in She Was Killed By Space Junk, no i’m not the first person to analyze this and i’m sure i won’t be the last but i sure do have some Thoughts^TM, so here’s some meta let’s go.

major spoilers ahead for the entire series:

Hey, it’s me again. I’ve got a joke. Stop me if you’ve heard this one. There’s this guy, he’s a bricklayer. He’s really good at it. He’s a real master of his craft. Because he’s precise. Every brick has its place. Anyway this guy has a daughter and he’s gonna teach her to be a bricklayer because after all, all a man has is his legacy. So dad decides to build a barbecue in the backyard. He does the math. He figures out exactly what he needs and he shows the daughter how to do everything. Step by step. And when he finishes, it’s a beauty. It’s a perfect barbecue. Just the way he drew it in blueprints. Only one problem. There’s a brick left over. One single brick. The guy freaks out. He must have done something wrong. He’s gonna have to start all over again. So he picks up his sledgehammer to knock the thing to pieces and his daughter suddenly says ‘daddy wait! I have an idea.’ She picks up the orphan brick and throws it up into the air as high as she can. And then…shit. Messed it up.

Okay forget that joke. Can I tell you another one?

As I said, I’m not the first to break down that Laurie is referring to specific people who have an influence on the story, there’s plenty of meta posts online that’ll say the same thing. I just think this is a Really Clever way to introduce us to her, to the major players in this story, and to the events from the comic that are going to end up being referenced. Anyhow, the bricklayer here is The Comedian. Laurie’s father. I’ll get back to this and how it connects later, but given that one of Watchmen’s major themes is the concept of legacy - who carries it and how, and what happens when that legacy is painful - this is a neat little hook into that idea. Laurie’s dad’s legacy. What she’s done with it, what she’s going to do with it, how she feels about it. Again, coming back to that.

Okay. Forget the brick. New joke. Three heroes die and they all show up at the pearly gates. God’s there and he’s going to decide what their eternal fate shall be: heaven or hell. Our first hero is dressed up like a big owl. God says to him “I gifted you the ability to make fantastic inventions. What did you do with this amazing talent?” Owl guy says “I made this really awesome flying ship and lots of cool outfits and weapons so I could bring peace to the city.” God asks, “So how many people did you kill?” Owl guy seems offended. He says “Zero. I didn’t take a single life.” God frowns. “Sorry owl guy, your heart’s in the right place but you’re just too soft.” God snaps his fingers and the hero goes to hell.

I'm not super into the comic so it took me a while to get that she's referencing Nite Owl. I think this is strange since he doesn't appear in the show himself, whereas everyone else she talks about does, but I suppose it gives a more rounded-out view of the different approaches to heroism, and what exactly constitutes it, and also ties in another one of the original Minutemen. They did cut this over her arrest of Mr. Shadow in the bank, which makes me wonder about his role and why he appeared, and I still find it strange that this part of the joke wasn't about someone who had more of a presence in the show. (Though that being said, DC making fun of Batman, their own big-ticket character? 10/10 thank you for this).

Where was I? The pearly gates await our next hero in line for Almighty judgment. Our hero number two is confident he can game this out because that’s his God-given talent: smarts. Some might even say he’s the smartest man in the world. “So what did you do with that big brain I gave you?” asks God. “As a matter of fact, I saved humanity, ”says Smarty Pants. “Well how’d you do that,” asks God.” “Well I dropped a giant alien squid on New York and everybody was so afraid of it they stopped being afraid of each other.” “OK,” says God. “How many people did you kill?” Smarty Pants smiles. “Three million, give or take. But you can’t make an omelet without breaking a couple of eggs. “Christ,” God says. “You’re a fucking monster.” “Am not,” says Smarty Pants. God snaps his fingers and our hero goes to hell.

GOD YES PLEASE DRAG OZYMANDIAS. GET THIS FUCKER’S ASS. Though the line that’s sticking out to me here is “You can’t make an omelet without breaking a couple of eggs.” Watchmen’s got an egg motif - and that’s an entire post on its own - and wow this is a place to drop it. I find it interesting that it’s given to Adrien here. Especially since it comes back later, when Will tells Angela that that’s what Jon said in justification of giving his life to stop the 7th K/Cyclops and Trieu. Eggs are used for a lot of things, but this line ties the motif solidly to a value of life here - how Adrien is the way he is because he refuses to value other peoples’, and maybe how Jon is the way he is because, when you can see the future laid out before you and live knowing how you’re going to die, how do you learn to value your own?

Okay. We’re down to the nitty gritty now. One hero left. God cracks his knuckles ready to administer the final reckoning. Now Hero Number 3 is pretty much a god himself. So for the sake of telling them apart, he’s blue and he likes to stroll around with his dick hanging out. He can teleport, he can see into the future, he blows shit up. He’s got actual superpowers. Regular God asks Blue God what have you done with these gifts?” Blue God says “I fell in love with a woman, I walked across the sun, and then I fell in love with another woman. I won the Vietnam War. But mostly I just stopped giving a shit about humanity.” God sighs. “Do I even need to ask how many people you’ve killed?” Blue guy shrugs. “A live body and a dead body have the same number of particles so it doesn’t matter. And it doesn’t matter how I answer your question because I know you’re sending me to hell.” “How do you know that?” asks God. Blue God sounds very sad when he softly says “Because I’m already there.” And so, a mere piston in the inevitable of time and space God does what he did and will do. He snaps his fingers and the hero goes to hell.

And now, we’ve got Jon. Dr. Manhattan. It's a neat moment of insight into his actions, motives, and how those are perceived by others (namely Laurie), and it's a nice thread of introduction to his previous actions to drop for audiences who haven't read the comics (actually, I can make this point about Adrien’s part of the joke too). Especially because most of what we get of Jon in-show is his relationship with Angela, his entire character arc really revolves around her and we don't see him portrayed as the contentious, unfeeling figure the world sees him as. So this sort of contrast between him as a figure and him as a person is very telling, doubly so coming from someone who it's clear knew him. And I really appreciate that there’s just as much stiffness as there is warmth to the Jon we the audience see - he’s kind, he’s loving, but he’s also very matter-of-fact and deterministic, and that bit of characterization really spans the gap between these two versions of him.

And so it’s been a long day at the pearly gates. All the heroes have gone to hell. His work done, God’s packing up to go home and then he notices someone waiting. But it’s not a hero, it’s just a woman. “Where did you come from?” asks God. “Oh I was just standing behind those other guys the whole time, you just didn’t see me.” “Did I give you a talent,” God asks. “No, none to speak of,” says the woman. God gives her a good long look. “I’m so sorry. I’m embarrassed. Seriously, this almost never happens but I don’t know who you are.” And the woman looks at God and she quietly says “I’m the little girl who threw the brick in the air.” And a sound from above, something falling: the brick. God looks up but it’s too late. He never saw it coming. It hits him so hard, his brains shoot out his nose. Game over. He’s dead. And where does God go when he dies? He goes to hell.

Into some Thoughts^TM that I haven’t seen anyone theorize yet(?): I think God is meant to be Lady Trieu, and even if Laurie wouldn’t know this yet that’s some brilliant fucking foreshadowing. It's not as exact, but enough parallels are there that I think they're purposeful. It makes Trieu out as the ultimate judge of everyone - and in a way, she is. She sees herself as the most deserving of power of everyone, and it's her who kills Dr. Manhattan - sends him to hell, you could say, and he knows she's going to do it. It also hints at how she's going to die too, crushed by her machine falling from the sky like the brick, because she didn't expect anyone would be capable of stopping her. And where does God go when he dies? He goes to hell. Trieu isn't ultimately above the others, and she's subject to their justice as they are to hers.

Fitting too that Laurie is involved with the plan to stop Trieu, since, as I said I’d come back to, the girl who threw the brick is Laurie herself. Her depiction of herself in this way is representative, perhaps, of Laure's own feelings on vigilantism and what justice is, and that she's the force that's going to bring down these overblown personalities and their many incorrect uses of their abilities. Given this, it's interesting to think how the "failed" joke at the beginning connects, given that Laurie's dad is the bricklayer, and he's definitely... not a good person, or at least not in this continuity. But I wonder if it's indicative of what Laurie mentions about her parents training her up to do vigilante stuff (especially since she’s based in part(?) on a member of the Minutemen from the comic), and how she feels about her father and his work. If the brick is symbolic of his work as a vigilante, is Laurie throwing the brick in the air, and ultimately taking down the threat at the top, meant to indicate how she sees herself using what she learned from him, or - maybe and - a disrespect for his work based on her justified hatred of him?

Roll on snare drum. Curtains. Good joke.

#god hi i guess i'm watchmen posting now #i am so sorry #i doubt watchmen is a thing that needs my thoughts but unfortunately i am hyperfixing and i have way too many of them #am i posting this because i want to draw something based on this with trieu as god? mayhaps but it's way too fucking long so we'll see #i may also be posting this for my partner despite his not being on this hellsite #bc i was trying to explain this to him at like 3 in the morning last night while actively falling asleep so #aaaaaanyhow #hbo watchmen #the paranoid android speaks!

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typewriterghcst · 4 years

Text

Title: In the TV Light Rating: G-ish tbh Characters: The Cat King, Natori, Haru, and a bit of Natoru at the end Pairings: None except for mentions of Lune and Yuki, but I hope you’re prepared for a tender heart-to-heart where one of the participants is the Cat King. Summary: Not one to be appeased by flimsy substitutions when he really wants something, the Cat King drags a protesting Natori into the human world sometime after midnight in the hopes of obtaining a midnight snack worth getting out of bed for. Notes: Written for the TCR 2020 Birthday Bash. I mean. Mostly. It actually first began life as a response to being given the one-word prompt “Glow.” Which at the time I had intended to be a reference to the glow of the convenience store lights on pavement or something pretentiously poetic like that lmao i’ve also decided to go ahead and split this enormous rambling fic into pieces in the interest of making it more. uh. Accessible. however, there may be erratically. Long periods of time in between updates, aha rip

Chapter 1: In Which Haru Makes A Questionable Decision

Natori’s face is pressed against one of his paws. Rather uncomfortably, he should add, as it’s a gesture that anyone who wears glasses will tell you is difficult to pull off without some vexing little issues, feline or not. After a moment or two of this private mourning for the nap he’d been at least absently looking forward to, he finally lifts his head again so that he can look his Issue in the grinning, odd-eyed face. The king is waiting for his answer. No doubt he’s already convinced himself it will be a favorable one, despite Natori’s show of exasperation. If not immediately, then… eventually.

Frustrated with the swell of helplessness that washes over him at this prospect, Natori turns his attention instead to the window, inadvertently looking out over the mess of still-crumbled tower, stone and rubble. He supposes it might count as a grounding, a ruined emblem to remind him why Claudius must have this voice of reason.

When he does reply, it’s with the long-suffering tone of an overworked schoolmarm.

"...You want me to organize another official procession into the human world— and at such alarmingly short notice, I might add— just so you can, if I have this right..." Here Natori's deadpan gaze falls directly on his royal employer's (ex? royal employer's?) hopeful, oblivious face, and he prays he looks just as judgmental as he's about to sound, "...pick up a bag of chips or two..?"

To both his relief and everlasting resignation, the Cat King only snorts at this prospect, or perhaps its ridiculous (but no less accurate) wording, but he does at least step back a bit, wobbling heavily on one foot and waving one paw in overconfidence at the same time. "Nah, babe— forget all that frilly procession baloney. This cat ain't the king anymore, is he? Not on paper, anyway. I say we just ollie on out there, grab what we want, come back, and eat like—” he snorts again, "—kings."

And, then, before Natori can protest again, unimpressed by the other cat's... joke, he continues, head canted, one eye squinted just so that he looks playfully critical of his ex-advisor's apparent poor memory. "And you know me, Natty— I ain't about that bag of chips life. Heh."

The Cat King snorts again, gaze drawn to his paw as he does. "...For all the walking I'm about to endure for it, you know it's gonna be oden or bust."

"Your Majesty, please, to— for you to travel in such a way—! It's—! I-It's.." Natori's objections fade when his old friend looks him in the eye, expression molded into what one would be forgiven for reading as wholly blank were it not for the underpinning of steel mixed in with the ennui. He sees it then— how nothing he says is going to hold any weight, how there is no way for him to make the king understand just how remarkably—! Immature! Unseemly! The Cat King is an old man, a retired one, at that, who is in the process of passing on his crown and livelihood to his more capable son, but he's certainly not supposed to ostensibly sneak out of his own lavish home like a delinquent teenager now that the pressure is off him! ...Is he?

The king is smiling widely at him again— the same smile he's always sported whenever he's gotten his way, or known he was about to get his way, and Natori— steels himself! He huffs; his eyes narrow. He's not defeated just yet!

"...But it must be after midnight in the human world right now." Ah. That came out fainter than he intended. Shoot.

More frustrating still, the king adds a peace sign to his goofy smile.

"Don't worry about it, babe. I had a plan for that all along."

&&&

"...This is your plan..."

"This is the plan, babe."

They are lingering outside a familiar home in the human world, perched solidly atop the fence surrounding it. A street lamp down the way they came flickers. Natori turns from that omen and instead regards the modest house with no small amount of dubious chagrin. Yet his companion only chuckles at his overt lack of confidence.

"Your Majesty, I— what on Earth makes you think Miss Haru is going to be willing to assist you in this venture?" Natori doesn't say as such, but her indignant disdain toward the Cat King after his, er, less-than-eloquent proposal had seemed quite clear to him.

"Because I'm the king."

"I quite clearly recall you saying you're not the king anymore, Si—"

"I'm the king," the Cat King repeats, more firmly this time, "And if she pulls a favor for me, that means she has me in her debt, right? Who could say no to that, uhh?"

Ah. That feels like a trap. Natori bites his tongue, but he's far from placated. This is not going to go the way his employer has envisioned it to in his head. Haru, he imagines, cares little for playing nice with the king and his... eccentricities, and an eventual confrontation between the two seems obvious to the bespectacled cat. Acting as the battered neutral party between two stubborn forces of nature is a far cry from how Natori would prefer to spend his late night, but he supposes there are few other cats as practiced as he is at the balancing act.

"Come on, time's a-wastin’—"

Without any other warning, his employer suddenly hops off the fence, disappearing within the cattails that are still growing in the yard (much to Natori's utter bafflement, at least, so Haru surely can't blame them for that), and takes off.

"Wait—!"

"Well, hurry up!"

By the time Natori catches up to his king, he's already practically glued to what Natori guesses is Haru's bedroom window. Her lights are off, which is to be expected, given the time. He catches only the smallest glimpse of the lump snuggled under the comforter before he's distracted by the king's less than courteous attempt at waking the poor girl— an open-palmed smack on the glass of her window, muted only slightly by his plush fur. To Natori's horror, the king raises his paw to try again, but he somehow manages to stop him before he gets the chance.

"Your Majesty, plea—"

"It worked!"

Indeed, it has. A quick glance back to the window before the two of them reveals that Haru (her face at least, the rest of her still cocooned within her duvet like a caterpillar) has emerged from under the covers and caught sight of the pair of cats currently sitting on her window sill as though they own the thing (...and at least one of them most certainly is the type to think so). And, Natori notes, she's regarding them in much the same way one might a forgotten four-month-old bento at the back of the fridge. That's about all the information he has time to absorb before cold, hard glass collides with his glasses and nose (vaguely, he's aware also of the surprised feline yowl that erupts from the king somewhere beside him).

He comes to seconds later on all fours, once again buried in the sea of cattails that at the moment constitutes Haru's family's yard. Haru herself is leaning nearly halfway out the now open window, pointing out at the two of them accusingly.

"What are you doing here?!" She hisses.

The Cat King pops up from out of his unintentional hiding spot among the tall brush, arms outstretched as if he has any right to be indignant, or perhaps is trying to placate an affronted ex.

"C'mon, babe, what'd I do to deserve that kinda greeting..?"

Natori, still crouched somewhere to the side of his king, can only stare up at Haru's form in the window. She seems to be reluctant to raise her voice, which he supposes is reasonable enough. Meanwhile, an inner voice of his own sees fit to mention to him that he must look like something of a helpless bystander, if not a pitifully frightened kitten, and it's that realization which ultimately tugs him to his full height.

"Don't go acting like you don't know! I almost died because of you!"

"But you didn't!"

"That's not the point!"

Natori distracts the king with a soft tap to the arm.

"...Sire, perhaps it might help defuse the situation if you politely tell her why you've come to... er, visit her..? Politely," he adds again for good measure.

The Cat King is silent for a good moment or two, purring to himself, but finally he nods in approval.

"Good idea, Natty. There's no telling how long we'll be here otherwise."

"...politely..." Natori echoes faintly as he moves away, almost certain his advice will prove too demanding for the king to follow.

Haru, for her part, has at least receded from hanging halfway out the window and instead stands with her arms tightly crossed, looking back and forth between the two with an expression that promises great adversity should they try anything shifty, and for just a brief moment, Natori finds himself struck by a difference he can't quite put a time-frame to. She's quite an image removed from the shrinking violet he'd first spied hiding behind her front drive's stone pillar.

It’s a wonder the change hadn’t registered as a more permanent shift in confidence to him before now.

As if she hadn’t just impulsively knocked the two of them off the very same ledge upon merely spying them sitting there, the Cat King clambers up the side of Haru’s house, depositing himself right onto her window sill like a particularly large and unkempt robin and making himself at home all over again. Haru herself looks less than pleased with this development, but the fact she hasn’t shut her window and gone back to bed seems a good sign to Natori. After a moment of hesitation, he eventually follows his old friend.

"'Kay, here's the thing, babe—"

Natori opens his mouth to nervously correct the king's… vernacular as he arrives, but in the end merely closes it again, thinking better of it. By this point it's just a nervous tic, not a true term of romantic endearment. Otherwise, he'd refrain from referring to Natori himself in such a way. (...wouldn't he? Well, he doesn’t have time to puzzle that one out.)

"—human food is delish, right? But some of us don't have the right, ehhh, savoir-faire to get it for ourselves. Get it? We hafta ask for help. And that's where you come in, babe."

And then, silence. Haru’s previously crossed arms have loosened, and she seems to be trapped somewhere between quizzical and skeptical.

“...that’s really all you want?”

“Would I lie? A king’s word is gold, babe.”

Haru looks from him to Natori, and the old cat struggles valiantly to keep a straight face and not allow even a shred of doubt in the king’s honesty show. Finally, some of the hard suspicion in her expression starts to fade, though a softer relative is still left behind in the form of uncertainty. When her gaze moves back to the king, it seems she has but one question left.

“Why do you need any help? Lune managed to get a gift for Yuki all by himself.”

To Natori’s surprise, the king then copies Haru’s gesture from just seconds before and looks to him, though in his case it’s with rather striking naivete (striking in its apparent authenticity, if nothing else), as if he’s waiting for an explanation on that mystery himself. Somewhere, an old, exasperated resignation creeps over Natori… Mm. Claudius has always been only too eager to leave the truly arduous questions to him, hasn’t he? Still, he answers readily enough, shoving that unexpected rise of resentment down into the depths from whence it came.

“I’m afraid Prince Lune is something of a— ah, special case. He’s quite well-known in the Cat Kingdom for spending a surprising amount of time in the human world.” Something he now realizes was likely Yuki’s influence. “It’s not at all a difficult stretch of the imagination to presume he must have cultivated a number of hospitable bonds here in the process.”

“Lune’s a networker,” the Cat King adds proudly.

“Unfortunately, well, we haven’t quite had that same opportunity,” Natori finishes. Were he more truthful, he might add that he and the king perhaps have relied a little too heavily on Natoru’s ingrained street smarts in the case of traversing the human world in the past. Haru at least appears amused by this explanation.

“...so, what you’re saying is you’re a couple of clueless, old tourists, is that it?” She eventually deadpans.

“Ha! That’s not a bad way to look at it, babe.” And yet, in a faint pout, the king eventually also adds, “I’m not that old.”

Haru’s brow rises. “No?”

“Natty’s older than I am.”

“Sire—”

“Well, that I’m not surprised by.”

The Cat King turns to survey him before Natori can get another word out. “I thought he was carrying his age pretty good myself.”

That actually gets a small laugh out of Haru, though it’s quickly stifled. Natori, meanwhile, can’t help but feel at least a little like the two are ganging up on him.

“No, King, that’s not what I meant.”

This friendly banter seems to be the last of the encouragement necessary to get through her defenses. Shifting her weight to her other foot, gaze drawn to the night sky in thought, she concedes. At least. Slightly.

“Alright… if it’s just a matter of some snacks…” She murmurs first to herself. “But that’s all! I’m not letting you rope me into some harebrained marriage scheme again, understand?”

The Cat King is already rubbing his paws together in anticipation of his beloved convenience store oden, but he at least remembers to nod in agreement.

“Sure, sure, babe. No funny business. Cross my heart.”

“And stop calling me babe.”

#the cat returns

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just-horrible-things · 5 years

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Loiral and Marcus - Recapture - 7.i

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Loiral runs at the breakneck pace that only outright terror permits. He is acutely aware of the gravel giving under his imperfectly-fitted boots, stealing his momentum. His hand moves to the sword on his hip. Not fast enough. He’s sure it won’t be fast enough.

Several paces in, he realises he has to decide where he’s going. Away is not good enough. He can hear the human’s deep voice ringing out in sonorous incantation behind him.

The next wagon down -- some of the mercenaries are still in there. They made a pact. Technically for outside the city -- but maybe they’ll help him fight. He can’t face Marcus alone, he knows that much.

His skin tingles with the distinctive touch of magic against his back. He doesn’t have time to wonder what the spell might be or whether it’s taken hold. He flings himself up onto the back of the wagon and dives through the unlaced doorflap -- breaking line of sight -- before the surfacer priest can cast anything worse.

“Enemy!” he yells, “Incoming!” “Oi!” one of the duergar snaps, standing up, “Your feuds are no business of ours.” “No feud,” Loiral half-lies, jumping up onto the table and eyeballing his chances of making it through and out the front without anyone grabbing him for bolting past them. “What other kind--” the duergar starts. But they are interrupted as the wagon shakes under the human’s considerable armoured weight.

The door is torn open hard enough that the canvas rips. The towering man has to stoop to enter. His broad frame seems to fill the entire space. Loiral skips backwards, heels knocking plates aside, as a single stride brings Marcus within striking range.

The mercenaries are on their feet, hollering and drawing blades. They might not want any part of Loiral’s trouble, but he’s brought it to them and they’ll definitely fight to save their own skins. Marcus shows no hesitation in coming at them with steel.

There are goblins on the table with Loiral. He doesn’t know if he can flee, so he lunges forwards instead. These are the best odds he’ll get. A duergar axe has caught the rapier in a parry, and in the brief moment of stillness Loiral hopes to land a solid strike on Marcus’ extended arm. His aim is true, but the armour turns the blade away.

He’s saved from a counter-attack by one of the goblins charging in. The creature brushes recklessly close across Loiral’s side, barking a guttural battle-cry. Marcus blocks its sword with one armoured forearm, knocks it off balance, and follows through with a gauntleted fist to the face.

Fueled by desperation, Loiral lunges again, hoping that the goblin doesn’t try to come up between his legs as he steps over it. He can’t afford to give ground. Fighting here at the edge of the table negates a little of the human’s height advantage - though not his reach. Their swords meet with the same bone-shaking force Loiral remembers. He already has a knife in his off-hand, aiming for the underarm. But his momentum isn’t enough. His strike lands short and screeches across the breastplate instead.

Marcus’ fist clips the side of his head as he jumps back, making his eyes water and his ears ring. He narrowly avoids colliding with the second goblin. Distracted, the creature botches a parry, and the rapier takes it in the throat.

The duergar are faring a little better. Marcus treats their axes as more of a threat than the swords. A particularly vicious swing makes him step back, buying Loiral enough time to find his footing and blink his vision clear.

Gods and devils, he hasn’t even left a scratch on the armour.

How is he supposed to fight this?

Again he thinks of running. But with an ally on either side, is he ever likely to get better odds? He levels his sword, and looks for an opening.

Marcus towers over the squat duergar, and in the cramped space they don’t have enough room to flank him properly. Loiral recognises the tactics duergar always use against larger creatures - they’re aiming predominantly for the knees, hoping to drop him to their level. The best thing Loiral can do to help is to keep that sword high. So he aims for the face. Maybe he can even manage to get between helmet and gorget or through the face-plate. At the very least, he can play distracton.

Swipe, lunge, void, lunge, parry, riposte. He can’t spare much attention to monitor his allies’ swings. Three against one and Marcus is on the defensive, but he’s still a threat. Loiral lands a couple of hits but none of them with the strength he’d like, and none of them get past the plate steel. Three against one and they still haven’t drawn blood. The human moves like a master. Loiral is beginning to despair.

Then at last Marcus grunts and staggers. Loiral’s heart leaps. There’s an axe buried in the surfacer’s calf. Loiral presses the attack eagerly.

But Marcus catches his sword in one hand, and throws it to the side violently enough that Loiral is pulled with it, losing his balance and staggering off the table into the way of one duergar.

Anticipating a lethal follow-up, Loiral dives forwards, rolls, and comes up clumsily against the canvas. He finds his feet just in time to see Marcus boot one of the duergar squarely in the face. And then blood sprays as the rapier is driven through the unfortunate mercenary’s chest.

They aren’t going to win this fight.

So Loiral bolts.

Back out through the torn-open doorway and he hits the ground running. Maybe the surviving stranger will buy him precious seconds.

He runs for the line of stables, hoping to lose himself amongst the buildings and the noise. But there’s at least a hundred metres of open ground between him and the uncertain safety of that cover.

Behind him he hears another death-scream, and then heavy footfalls in pursuit.

He sprints flat out, but the human is faster. The footfalls get louder and nearer with every step, closing his narrow lead.

He’s not going to make it. He can almost feel the razor-sharp blade slipping between his ribs. Or a heavy hand closing on the back of his maille, yanking him off his feet yet again.

He’s not going to make it.

Loiral jumps left and spins, hoping to catch the man off-guard with a desperate swipe. His options are running out and the tide of panic is rising, choking rational thought into silence.

His judgement is poor, and his slash is easily avoided. He back-pedals, sword pointed at the human’s face, desperate to defend himself. “I won’t!” he shouts breathlessly, “I’ll fight and I’ll die!” Panic panic panic pounds his pulse in his chest.

Marcus’ response is in no language Loiral speaks. He recognises the cadence of prayer and leaps forwards again, hoping to break the priest’s concentration. But he’s not quite close enough. His skin stings as the magic slams through his defences and into his core. He jumps back --

-- but --

-- he doesn’t.

Nothing happens.

He’s frozen.

Panic has him trying to thrash like an animal caught in a snare but he doesn’t move. His muscles are unresponsive. He’s stopped stock still in an unsteady stance, limbs trembling. His lungs suck in quick, automatic breaths but he can’t even control that, can’t will himself to breathe more deeply. All he can move is his eyes, staring in stark terror as Marcus closes the remaining distance in a single stride.

One enormous hand grabs his wrist with painful force, while the other takes his sword by the blade and twists, effortlessly ripping it from Loiral’s unresponsive fingers. The sword is tossed aside and his other wrist is pulled forwards. One hand is sufficient to encircle both and yank them above his head.

Loiral isn’t sure if the magic releases him then, or if sheer terror gives him the will to break out of its grip. Either way it’s much too late.

He twists and struggles, trying every trick he knows but he can’t break free. The human is impossibly strong and his wrists are held too high. It’s like tugging against steel cuffs. He screams obscenities and kicks wildly.

“You are mine, drow,” Marcus snarls. “Did you think you could escape me?” His grip tightens until Loiral is keening in pain, feeling the bones grind against each other. He’s yanked roughly off his feet, swinging from his wrists. His legs come up reflexively, kicking out against his captor, but his boots find only polished metal and he finds himself scrabbling ineffectually for purchase.

Marcus’ fist strikes him solidly in the gut. The maille links provide no defence against the impact. The second blow drives up beneath his sternum and knocks the breath from his lungs. Loiral’s struggles become more frantic and less coordinated. He can’t breathe to shout insults. He can’t break the vice-like grip.

The world lurches as he’s swung sideways and then down. Impact is a jolt through his bones, a flare of pain along the left side of his body. While vision is still snapping back into place, a massive hand grabs his face with crushing force and slams his head back against the stone. The world is white, then black, then blurred and swimming. He still can’t breathe and the animal terror of suffocation only compounds the splitting pain in his skull.

Another full-body impact, and all he feels is the white-black flash of redoubled pain in his skull. Then the grip on his wrists releases and for a moment he is falling before the world reorients and he’s on the ground, twisting wildly in panic. His arms come up to try and cover his head, but there’s a sharp, tearing pain in his abdomen and he curls up around it. Was he kicked or stabbed? And the pain keeps coming.

“Last time.” -- the words are distant and distorted, punctuated by pain -- “I gave you a choice. You. Chose. To. Submit. This time.” -- Loiral can’t tell which way is up, can’t shield his face or gut -- “I will show you.” -- pain and terror and the taste of blood -- “That choice. Is. A. Luxury. You cannot run from me.” -- ribs crack, breath is a distorted whine -- “You cannot hide from me.” -- hot bright unbearable pain in knee and skull and knee again -- “You cannot stand against me.” -- pain fear pain -- “You. Are. Mine.”

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tsarisfanfiction · 4 years

Text

Discomfort (Tales From The Heart)

Fandom: One Piece Rating: Gen Warnings: none Characters: Shachi, Law, Heart Pirates

Shachi blinked a couple of times, dislodging his shades to surreptitiously rub at his eyes. They were itching slightly, not uncommon when the lighting was a little too bright.

"You okay?" Penguin asked him, walking besides him on the way to the mess hall for dinner. Shachi nodded.

"Just the same old," he reassured him with a grin, readjusting his shades before letting his hands fall back to his sides. Penguin sighed heavily, and he knew his nakama was fighting the urge to try and convince him yet again to go to Law and get his eyes healed. Shachi hastened his pace slightly, enough to remind Penguin that he didn't want to hear it, and lazily slid onto the bench in the mess room, mouth watering at the sight of the food their cook was dutifully serving up.

Dinner was, as always, a raucous affair. Still slightly distracted by his eyes, Shachi didn't join in as much as he usually would, instead finding himself nursing a small headache as he munched his way through the fish on his plate. His lack of a contribution drew the attention of his captain, who approached him quietly between courses.

"Is something wrong?" Law inquired. Shachi just shrugged.

"Same old," he admitted. "My eyes are being too sensitive right now. I'll go hide in the dark for a while after dinner." Law sighed, and Shachi knew he was fighting the same urge as Penguin to point out that he could and would heal him, if Shachi would only say yes. Eventually, he nodded with a despairing sigh and returned to his seat, watching Clione and Bepo compete to see who could eat more clams with a fond smile on his face. Nobody was surprised when Bepo won, triumphantly munching on his latest serving while Clione groaned miserably from where he'd slumped over the table.

The headache wasn't getting any better – if anything it was getting worse – so Shachi slipped out of the room as soon as he finished his dessert to a gentle pat on the back from Penguin and headed to the infirmary, seeking something to dull the headache. A basic painkiller was all he needed, and after locating it he threw it back, drowning it with a glass of water.

The pain didn't dull immediately, unusually, but Shachi simply shrugged it off, no longer concerned after drinking the medicine as he staggered his way back to the room, gradually becoming less steady on his feet. He couldn't pinpoint a reason for his exhaustion, but as he stumbled through the threshold into the room he shared with Penguin he decided it didn't matter anymore. The room was dark but warm, and he scrambled up to his bunk, choosing to flop face down, burying his face in his arms as he waited for the medicine to kick in and kill his headache.

His bed was warm, much warmer than usual, but they had been submerged for quite some time, so Shachi just wriggled out of his boiler suit as best he could and chucked it onto the floor to deal with later, if Penguin didn't get there first. Penguin would probably get there first. He shifted, trying to get comfortable against the headache that was still worsening –had he got the dose wrong? – and biting out a groan as his shades slipped away and clattered to the floor.

That settled it. He'd move later. Penguin, blessed underappreciated Penguin, would pick them up for him. His eyes hurt too much, despite their now dark environment, for Shachi to want to move, and what had started off as a mild headache had morphed into something akin to a sledgehammer pounding at the inside of his brain. A whine of discomfort escaped him, and the idea that maybe this was serious vaguely occurred to him.

He considered the pros and cons of finding Law – or anyone who could then locate Law on his behalf – as best his pounding head was willing to manage. Pros: treatment. His head would stop feeling as though that blasted Apoo was having a party inside it. Cons: Law would get worried. The younger man didn't need that stress. Also that required moving, and Shachi got the distinct impression that moving would not be a good idea as faint traces of nausea decided to join the fun.

Letting out a whimper, which he regretted as the sound of it reverberated though his head, he surprised himself with a yawn. He didn't recall being tired before dinner, but sleeping would stop the pain so he didn't fight it, snuggling down against his bed, which felt harder than usual, and closing his eyes, sleepily taking his hat off and resting it by his head.

There was a soft thud, as if something had fallen, and Shachi shifted slightly, burying his face more solidly in his arms. Penguin could pick up whatever that had been, he decided as he yawned again, closing his eyes as sleep took him, whisking him away from the world of insistent headaches and mild nausea.

He didn't notice his body beginning to slide sideways, nor did the sudden impact with the floor wake him.

Instead, hushed voices woke him, and he opened his eyes to see nothing. Something lay firmly over his eyes – a bandage, questing fingers discovered – and he realised that the bed he was lying in was soft, far softer than the bed he had fallen asleep in. He still had a splitting headache, which was odd because the discomfort in his eyes had gone, probably due to the bandages firmly shielding them from any light at all.

The nausea hadn't gone either, an overpowering sensation crawling up his throat and he retched, reflexively trying to turn onto his side. His limbs didn't respond, weak and quivering but unmoving, and somewhere behind the headache panic set in, low and simmering but there. He retched again, and gentle hands turned him onto his side. His unresponsive limbs were shifted around, until his body remained on his side without support.

"What's wrong with him?" one of the voices asked, quiet but not enough to prevent his headache protesting.

"Captain's looking into it, but-" another replied, cut off as Shachi's body decided to expel his dinner, spasming outside of his control. "Shachi?"

He attempted to complain, both at the headache and his lack of ability to move, only for his tongue to flail uselessly in his mouth, producing a sound that was more syllables than words.

"He's getting worse," a third voice pointed out, too shrill for Shachi's liking, as someone wiped his mouth gently. "What is this?"

"Poison," a sharp voice cut across the room. Even in his state, Shachi recognised his captain's voice. A hand rested on Shachi's cheek gently. "Can you hear me, Shachi?"

"Nrgh," was the closest Shachi's tongue would let him get to a confirmation, but as Law's thumb brushed his hair back gently he realised Law had understood regardless.

"I'm going to remove the poison now," Law told him quietly. "Hold on."

There was little else Shachi could do except wait, a pathetic whimper forcing its way past his lips as he felt Law's Room envelope him and the surgery begin. He wasn't aware enough, with his headache, trembling limbs and nausea, to tell how long it lasted before Law's hand returned to his cheek.

"Shachi," his captain said again, and he shifted, feeling no better than before his captain's treatment. "The poison's gone now, it's just some of the symptoms left. Bear with it." Shachi breathed out shakily, still thoroughly miserable but noticing somewhere that the nausea had gone. An improvement at least.

"Who did this?" he heard someone demand, wincing at the volume but now aware enough to recognise Penguin's furious voice.

"No-one," Law told them, his hand not moving from Shachi's cheek. Shachi was glad, drawing comfort from the simple touch as he listened as best he could to his captain's explanation of how he'd managed to get himself poisoned.

A plant.

If Shachi had felt better, he'd have laughed. He even remembered the stupid thing, brushing up against his hand on the island they'd just left. The idea that it had been poisonous had never crossed his mind, which was naïve when he thought about it. After all, it was the Grand Line.

"Sleep it off," Law told him gently. "I'd give you a dose of sleeping medicine, except you apparently helped yourself to it earlier, so you'll have to manage without."

Shachi had no recollection of touching the sleeping pills. All he'd taken was a painkiller… oh.

"That wasn't my bed, was it?" he murmured, closing his eyes (not that it made any difference with the bandages over his eyes) and relaxing into what he realised belatedly was an infirmary bed.

"No," Law said, sounding half exasperated, half amused as his hand disappeared from Shachi's cheek and a sheet was pulled over him. "That was one of the fuel tanks."

#one piece #one piece fanfiction #heart pirates #tales from the heart #tsari writes fanfiction #trafalgar law #shachi #poison

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fourdaysofrain · 5 years

Text

In a Flash

Summary: Peter sees a familiar face during patrol.

(Post-Far From Home, ignores the end credits scene)

Read on AO3

Peter Parker was standing in a cemetery.

It’s not the first cemetery he’s been in. He’s had experience with grieving, of course. His Aunt May and Uncle Ben helped him process the death of his parents, and then his Aunt May alone helped him with the death of his uncle. Even before that, he was brought to the funeral of his great-grandfather before he was old enough to realize why everyone was crying.

But now, he stood in front of the grave of Tony Stark. It was bare, with dirt that hadn’t yet begun to grow grass. Peter slowly leaned down and placed a single white carnation against the gravestone.

“Mr. Stark, I–” his words caught in his throat, countless unsaid feelings floating just out of his reach.

Peter kept taking slow, deep breaths. He didn’t plan anything to say, he had hoped it would come to him in the moment. He settled for just looking solidly at the dirt, too afraid of the finality of seeing the name engraved in the stone.

He watched as a small spider slowly stalked through the ground. Another unearthed right behind it. And another to the left. Peter tried to shift backward, but his shoes were glued to the earth beneath him. He couldn’t even look away.

He saw the dirt shift almost imperceptibly. And then it continued to shake, a mound forming in the center.

A gauntlet burst out, one that was too achingly familiar. Peter wanted to move, to run away, to do anything, but he couldn’t even blink. He was trapped to watch as the rotting carcass of Tony Stark pulled itself out of its grave and grabbed him, pulling him down into the earth.

If you were good enough, maybe Tony would still be alive.

Peter slowly slid his window open, not wanting to disturb Ned, who was still snoring loudly underneath a pile of blankets. They had yet another sleepover last night, both still too afraid to sleep comfortably alone. They both passed out to Ned’s laptop almost judgmentally showing the “Are you still watching?” screen from Netflix.

Peter had nightmares about Tony’s death even before he sacrificed himself to save the world. But after Mysterio, they were happening more and more frequently. Thankfully, he was able to wake up without screaming now. He cringed as he remembered the first couple weeks when he would feel Aunt May softly rubbing his back as he sobbed himself awake. But tonight, he just needed some fresh air to calm down. Sticking to the outside of his bedroom, he double-checked that his suit was sealed correctly, and then put his mask on.

“Hey Karen, how’s your night going?” he asked casually.

“Good evening Peter. Your heart rate seems to be elevated, is there anything I can do to help?” Karen’s voice cut cleanly through the dull sounds of the city at night.

“Uh- no, no I don’t think so, I just need to swing around for a while. You know.”

“Of course, Peter. Would you like me to play your patrol playlist on Spotify?”

“No, that’s okay, Karen. Thank you though.”

“I’m here if you need me.”

Peter took a deep breath before jumping from the wall and falling to the ground below. He felt the rush of wind around him and waited as long as he could before shooting a web and pulling himself back into the air.

He tried not to think about when Karen would offer to call Mr. Stark on nights like these. She would read his fast heartbeat, figure out he had a nightmare, and Mr. Stark would call him with a lazy excuse about needing his opinion on a project. They would end up talking for so long he’d forget what the nightmare was even about. Or, Mr. Stark would get an alert that he was using the suit past curfew, and he’d get an angry phone call on his display. The current lack of supervision was almost oppressive, some nights. Aunt May was always willing to help him, but she had no way of knowing what he did after he went to bed each night. Happy kept in touch with him, of course, and he was able to get some information from the suit, but he didn’t even know the half of all the protocols Mr. Stark made. Peter himself was only barely starting to scratch the surface.

The first time he went out patrolling after Mr. Stark di- after the blip, he got stabbed. It was nothing he hadn’t seen before, he just needed to get to the MedBay. Karen had innocently asked if he wanted to call Mr. Stark, and he broke. He was barely able to tell her to call Happy instead. The next day, he went through her code with Ned and removed any reference to him. The next month, he put it all back in, and slowly struggled through telling her the story of how he saved the universe.

The night progressed slowly. He swung from building to building, no end destination in mind. The beating of his heart eventually slowed to match the steady rhythm of his swings. He finally ended up on the roof of a nearby building to take a break before going back home. He wasn’t keeping track of how much time had passed since he left, and he wanted to get home before sunrise.

The hair on his arms stood up, and he got a short burst of adrenaline. Something was wrong.

“Karen, what’s happening?” he whispered.

“There seems to be a mugging happening in the alleyway to your right,” Karen responded.

“Thanks, Karen. I’ll check it out.”

He slowly peered over the edge of the building to get a read on the mugging. There were three men surrounding someone who was cowering against the end of the alleyway. He couldn’t see any weapons out, but that didn’t mean there were none.

“Hey Karen, activate enhanced reconnaissance mode. Let me hear what they’re saying.”

“On it, Peter.”

A small rectangle appears over them in his mask’s display and magnifies his vision.

“C’mon kid, just fork it over and no one gets hurt,” a gruff voice said.

The reply consisted of mostly whimpers and heavy breathing.

“Dude, if he’s not gonna just give it to us, we’re gonna have to take it,” a second voice grunted.

Peter decided this was a good time to jump in. He dropped slowly down to the ground, making sure to remember Nat’s advice about landing on his toes so he didn’t alert the muggers.

“Thing like that must cost a pretty penny, eh? Not like your daddy can’t just get you a new one, with how much you were runnin’ your mouth back there,” the third voice finally chimed in, a small flick of his wrist revealing a switchblade.

Peter took one more slow, deep breath before intervening, putting on the Spider-Man persona like an old leather glove.

“Hey, guys! Looks like you’re all having fun, but unfortunately, I gotta break this up.”

When the three criminals turned around, Peter shot a web at the third’s hand that held the blade to pin it to the wall. His hand instinctively opened, and the switchblade fell to the ground. One of the remaining two dove for it.

“Oh no you don’t,” Peter shot a web over the knife to make it unreachable, “don’t you guys have more than one of these? That’s poor planning on your part.” He shot a web across the torso of the third, who was trying to pry his hand free. He was pinned to the side of the alleyway. Now he just had two to worry about.

They were both moving towards him aggressively. He threw a web grenade at the side of the alley, and when it detonated it threw the two of them to the opposite side. All three of them were stuck to the wall in some way or another. He could handle petty criminals like these in his sleep. He mumbled a quick reminder to Karen to alert the local precinct and got a short confirmation in return.

The person at the end of the alley was still curled up in the fetal position. All he could see was the top of a very gelled hairstyle. He shot a quick web over each of the mugger’s mouths before starting to approach the victim.

“Hey guy, or uh- person! Don’t worry, these things happen all the time. Are you hurt? Do you need help?” Peter could hear a staccato rhythm of quick, sharp breaths underneath the muffled yelling of the muggers as he got closer. He slowly crouched and put a hand on the person’s shoulder, when they yelped and started to run out of the alleyway. Peter froze for a beat and then lightly jogged after them.

“Hey! Hey, you can’t just run away! I know it’s kind of scary but I want to make sure you’re okay!” Peter called as he caught up. It didn’t take long, but they were able to make it out of the alleyway. At least he didn’t have to keep looking at the wild eyes of the three men webbed to the walls. Peter grabbed their shoulder again and they whipped around.

“Hey, do you have anyone I can call for–” he froze. It was Flash. He just saved his high school bully from a group of muggers.

“Holy shit!” Flash exclaimed, eyes wide.

“Hey, hey, hey. The bad guys are gone now, it’s just you and me.” Peter tried to sympathize with him, being in danger for the first time can be a big shock.

“Jes- Jesus Christ! They could have killed me!”

“They didn’t though, you’re good, they’re stuck back there for a couple of hours.” Peter awkwardly motioned to the alley before trying to find a natural position for his arms.

Flash let out a huge sigh and slumped against the wall of the adjacent building. Peter looked at him and sighed in turn while he wondered how to proceed. Sure, Flash gives him a lot of shit in school, but it’s not like he was irredeemable. Peter also knew that he was a huge fan of Spider-Man, and he didn’t want to ruin that.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Flash looked at him with a start.

“Are you Spider-Man?” he yelped.

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, I am.” No, these are my pajamas.

“You’ve saved me before.” Peter didn’t want to give anything about his identity away.

“When?”

“I was in the Washington Monument when the elevator broke. Part of an academic decathlon team, if you know what that is.”

“Oh yeah, I remember that. Were you the guy who tried to save the trophy before himself?” C’mon, just because he was helping him didn’t mean he couldn’t make a little fun of him.

Flash gave a dry chuckle.

“Yeah, I guess that was me.”

Peter hummed in response, wondering how he could end this conversation quickly.

“You also stole my dad’s car.”

Peter’s gaze quickly snapped back to Flash, but he didn’t sound angry. He just sounded… sad.

“I’m really sorry, you were the first person I–”

“Don’t apologize,” Flash interrupted, “That was the first time in a long time that my father paid any attention to me.”

The statement hung heavily in the air between them as Flash’s breaths started to even out.

“Y’know,” Flash started, “I swear I’ve heard your voice before, Spider-Man.”

Oh shit. Peter felt his blood turn to ice. He knew he should have made a voice modulator, but he kept putting it off. All the ones that Mr. Stark had made him were over-the-top and dramatic, just like the man himself.

“Voices are weird like that, huh? You just said we met before anyways, so…” He tried to subtly deepen his voice.

“You just changed it, you sounded different before.”

“Listen, Flash, it’s not a big deal.”

“How do you know my name? You said it while you stole the car, too.”

Double shit.

“I– Someone said it in the Washington Monument, and I remembered it because it’s a cool nickname?” Peter squeaked out, hoping Flash would be blinded by the compliment.

“Are you spying on me? Is this because of what Father did? I know he’s rich, but he’s not worth all this trouble. Because if you hold me hostage, it’s not like he’ll give you anything. And he’s not available, anyways. I tried calling him when those thugs tried to get my phone, but I only have the model early because he paid for an exclusive prototype. If you want it, just take it, they weren’t lying when–”

“Woah woah woah, hey,” Peter cut him off before he ran out of oxygen, “I’m not spying on you, don’t worry.” Flash’s fear turned to anger. He pushed off the wall and got into Peter’s personal space.

“Then tell me how you know my name, Spider-Shit. And why you sound so familiar. I’m just tired of no one listening to me.”

“It’s not a big deal, don’t worry. I’m just going to leave now.”

“I’ll show you a big deal”

Then it happened. Before Peter could lean away, Flash grabbed the top of his mask and pulled.

Peter stilled, cursing his supposed Peter tingle. He kept eye contact with Flash, blinking a few times to let his eyes adjust to the change in brightness.

Flash was frozen, his mouth in an almost perfect “O.” He stuttered a few times, not knowing what to say first.

“I– You– Wh–”

Peter’s inner conscious was swinging between fight and flight like a metronome on meth. Eventually, it stopped on one.

“Bye Flash. The cops are already coming, you can leave,” he said grimly. Before Flash could form a coherent sentence, Peter jumped off a nearby streetlight to gain momentum and grabbed his mask from Flash’s hand with a web as he used his other hand to swing from a nearby building. He quickly put it on before getting out of Flash’s line of sight, turning his head to see him staring right at him.

“Shit,” Peter murmured.

—

Peter was able to get back to his bedroom before anyone woke up. He changed back into his hand-me-down pajamas and booted up his laptop. There was no way he’d go back to sleep now. Thankfully he didn’t have to see Flash until Monday, and it was still Saturday.

He checked the clock. Scratch that– Sunday. He sighed and rubbed his face. He had no clue how he was going to face Flash knowing he was Spider-Man. He checked Spider-Man’s mentions on Twitter and Instagram, but there wasn’t anything online about his identity yet. That was a good sign, at least. The only people who weren’t superheroes or part of Mr. Fury’s group that knew his identity were May, Ned, and MJ. And Liz’s dad, but he figured it out last year and nothing has happened yet. He really didn’t want to add anyone else. Flash knowing was… manageable, as long as he didn’t tell anyone else. He decided to just mindlessly browse Twitter while he waited for the rest of the world to wake up.

—

“Are you sure I can’t miss a day?” Peter groaned out from underneath his pillow. Sunday went by too fast. He managed to not let it slip that Flash found out his identity to Ned or May, but it still sat like a stone deep in his stomach.

“Peter, superheroes don’t get sick, you already miss so many classes. Ned’ll be here soon, chop-chop!” May yelled from the kitchen, no doubt trying to get the coffee maker to work.

Peter stretched his spine before quickly throwing on the cleanest looking clothes he could find on his floor and made it to the front door just as Ned was knocking, being sure to grab his wrapped up lunch and snacks from the counter before he left.

“Bye May, love you!” He yelled behind him as he walked out, locking the door behind him.

Peter and Ned walked to school together, like always. Ned was talking about LEGO’s new Avenger Tower set when the secret bubbled up into Peter’s throat. He made sure no one was around, and then interrupted Ned.

“Flash saw me in the suit!” He said harshly.

“What? When?” Ned looked at Peter with the same wide-eyed look that he always has when talking about his extracurricular activities.

“During our sleepover, I went out after you fell asleep and I stopped some people who were mugging Flash and then he took my mask off and I just left and now we’re going to see him in school and he’s probably already told everyone!”

“Why did you let him take off your mask!”

“I don’t know it just happened!”

“I thought you had your Peter tingle?” Ned acted out his words, waving his fingers near his temple.

“Stop calling it that, I’m freaking out right now, man!”

“It’ll be fine Peter, we can figure this out together. Does May know?”

“No I didn’t tell her, are you crazy? She already hates Flash, this would just give her an actual reason to go murder him!” There was only one adult he would feel comfortable telling, and he was six feet underground somewhere upstate.

“Okay, just… Deep breaths. We can figure this out.”

Peter and Ned’s conversation kept ping-ponging between the two for the rest of their walk. Eventually, they reached their lockers.

“Ned, we have chemistry first period with him! What’ll I do?” Peter said, sounding more like a strangled cat than a teenager.

“Guy in the chair, I’ll figure something out. I can cause a distraction whenever you need. I’ll just drop all my stuff onto the floor, just give me the signal,” Ned said pointedly, grabbing an extra textbook he doesn’t need from his locker.

“I don’t see how that will help,” Peter hissed at Ned before they walked to class.

—

Flash was already in his seat and had a crowd of students around his desk.

“I was scared out of my mind, when all of a sudden–” Flash’s eyes snapped to Peter and he choked on his words for a second. He cleared his throat before anyone listening to him noticed and returned his attention back to the group around him– “Spider-Man came in. He just wiped the floor with these guys, it was awesome. I got to see it all happen five feet away.”

Peter tried to keep his face as neutral as possible as he watched Flash from across the room. Ned, meanwhile, was looking visibly anxious as he fiddled with his stack of textbooks put purposefully near the edge of the desk.

“After he was done and all the guys were stuck to the wall, he just swung away, probably off to save more people’s lives,” Flash finally looked up from the small group of students and made eye contact with Peter as he finished his story, “I wasn’t even able to say thank you.”

Peter let out a breath he wasn’t aware he was holding.

Peter nodded slowly.

Flash nodded back.

And if either of them noticed Flash started calling him Peter, they wouldn’t tell.

#spiderman #spider-man #ffh #endgame #fanfic #art writes #irondad #hooueh #mcu

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gentlemanmcbitch · 6 years

Text

An extensive look at the BNHA traitor theory

Alright, here we go. I don’t know what motivated me to do this but I’m diving all the way in. I’m going to assume two things before we start:

Shigaraki knows who the traitor is, and they aren’t reporting directly to All for One.

The traitor has been the traitor the entire time--since USJ. They didn’t become the traitor later on.

So, right off the bat, we know that after Bakugo gets kidnapped and the heroes launch their counterattack, the bar hideout where he’s being held is pretty undefended, and the arrival of the heroes is unexpected, but at the Nomu Factory, All for One is waiting patiently for their arrival, knowing full well they would be there. The only reason the heroes even knew the factory was there was from the tracker Yaoyorozu and Awase put on the Nomu. So, in order to tell the League, the traitor had to have known about that tracker. So, our starting list is the following:

The Hideout Raid Team that conducted the attack, consisting of Tsukauchi, All Might, Endeavor, Best Jeanist, Edgeshot, Gang Orca, Kamui Woods, Mt. Lady, Tiger, and Gran Torino

Awase (The Class B student who welded the tracker onto the Nomu)

Everyone in class 1-A EXCEPT Hagakure, Jiro, and Bakugo

Why not Hagakure, Jiro and Bakugo? Well, the existence of the tracker is revealed to the class when they’re visiting Midoriya in the hospital after the training camp arc.

Hagakure and Jiro aren’t here because they were unconscious recovering from Mustard’s gas, and Bakugo isn’t here because he was kidnapped. So, none of them could have known about the tracker, so they aren’t the traitor.

Also, going back to the Hideout Raid Team, everybody except All Might and Tiger are definitely not the traitor, since there’s no way they could have known the location of the training camp. All Might and Tiger also can’t be the traitor, since Tiger doesn’t actually work at U.A. (so he couldn’t have known about USJ) and it makes no sense for All Might to be working for the organization whose main goal is to kill him.

So basically, the traitor has to be a student. Let’s narrow that down by figuring out who clearly isn’t the traitor and work backwards.

Midoriya: No explanation should really be needed. He’s the main character. Obviously not him. Let’s move on.

Kirishima, Iida, and Todoroki: each one of these characters has gotten a spotlight where we’ve been able to see their own thoughts, inner monologue, and perspective on being a hero, removing them from the list (anime-only people, Kirishima’s moment will come pretty early into Season 4).

Yaoyorozu: She was the creator of the tracker that allowed the pros to find the League and take down All for One. Unless she was in real deep cover and meant for that to be a trap (which is way too risky for the League to attempt), she can’t be the traitor.

Awase: Yeah, he may have known about the tracker, but there’s no acceptable way he could have known when class 1-A would have been at USJ, or that All Might would have been there either. Also, he’s a really minor character and if he was the traitor, it wouldn’t have any emotional pull.

Tokoyami: He was originally going to be kidnapped along with Bakugo, although Mr. Compress says that was a spur-of-the-moment decision on his part.

If you were to make the argument that Mr. Compress doesn’t/didn’t know who the traitor was (which is a valid one), his Quirk is also way too difficult to control for the League to consider using him.

Tsuyu: I feel like a lot of people overlook this detail since Tsuyu is one of the more popular traitor candidates, but assuming Shigaraki knows who the traitor is, there’s no way it can be her. Why?

Because if not for Aizawa intervening and erasing Shigaraki’s Quirk just in time, he would have absolutely killed her during the USJ fight. There’s no way that Shigaraki would have killed the League’s one source of information in the event that things went wrong. And if it was more of a tying-up-loose-ends kind of thing if Shigaraki was being REAL cocky, she probably would have stopped working for them once she learned how expendable she was.

Mineta: No. Just no. I think Horikoshi is self-aware enough that he wouldn’t make the pervert comic relief character the traitor, since that would have the exact opposite of whatever action he wanted.

So, now things get hazy. The rest of the suspects don’t have anything solidly eliminating them from the list, so in theory, any one could be the traitor. However, some have evidence supporting their being the traitor and some do not, and since I think Horikoshi is a good enough writer to put some clues in beforehand, I’m going to say that Ashido, Sero, Koda, Sato, and Ojiro aren’t the traitor because there isn’t any evidence saying they aren’t, but also none saying they are. Also, they’re all minor characters where the reveal wouldn’t really be that big.

So, we’re down to four: Uraraka, Aoyama, Shoji, and Kaminari. I’m going to go over the supporting evidence and the contradictory evidence for each one, give my take, and then let you decide for yourself.

Aoyama

Support: To start, he was mysteriously absent during the USJ, and when asked about it, he claimed it was a secret. Also, there was the short storyline of him spying on Midoriya like a big fucking creep.

Contradiction: Of course, he was allegedly spelling out cryptic messages in cheese because Midoriya’s Quirk doesn’t suit his body and Aoyama felt a kinship in that, but that is a pretty half-assed explanation. Of course, if he was the traitor he could have not made himself known at all, and his messages (both the cheese saying “I know” and his carving in the rock, which is a French phrase meaning “still waters run deep”) imply that he himself is not the traitor. To top it all off, during the training camp arc, he could have easily not fired at Mr. Compress and nobody would have known he was there or thought it suspicious. But he did.

I don’t think he is, personally, but I do think he knows something, and it’s odd how cryptic he’s being about it.

Kaminari

Support: Kaminari’s Quirk would have been perfect for jamming the transmission signal at USJ, and it’s very well-suited for secretly communicating with the league. It’s also possible he’s faking his dumb mode to lull his classmates into a false sense of security.

Contradiction: The signal jamming could have just as easily been done by, you know, the other electric-powered villain who was at USJ and trying to kill Kaminari. Also, even if the dumb mode is fake, the guy’s not very smart. He didn’t know he would be at the training camp if he failed the final exam, so if he was the traitor, he would have passed to ensure he could send the league their location.

Kaminari to me is the weakest theory, despite it being by far the most popular. Every argument that’s made is really situational, and there’s no solid evidence in favor of it being him. I will say though, out of these four it’d probably make for the best fight.

Shoji

Support: For one, Shoji is the most mysterious character of the bunch. We’ve never seen his actual face because he’s always wearing that mask. He’s also much more powerful then the series really gives him credit for: his stats show an A in power, a B in Technique and Cooperativeness, and a C in Intelligence. He’s got the potential to be a powerful, prominent character, especially since his Quirk has no known limits, and yet he isn’t. We’ve never even seen him fight, but we do know he’s strong enough to hold his own against an out-of-control Dark Shadow, although we don’t know for how long. Speaking of his Quirk, out of these four his is the most well-suited for being a spy, since he can listen in or watch people from a distance. Despite these incredible observation skills, though, he conveniently doesn’t notice Bakugo and Tokoyami getting kidnapped by Mr. Compress during the training camp arc, even though he was right in front of them. Also, he’s suspiciously absent during the hot springs scene at the training camp. On top of all of that, his dorm room has pretty much nothing in it.

He claims this is due to being a minimalist, but it could be so that he can pack up and leave on a moment’s notice.

Contradiction: He’s a pretty minor character, and unless he got some more screentime, a reveal with him as the traitor wouldn’t be very big and emotional. Aside from that, though, there really isn’t that much by way of protecting him.

If I was looking at things totally objectively, I’d say Shoji is the traitor. However, BNHA is a story, and from a storytelling standpoint, the next one makes much more sense.

Uraraka

Support: To start, we know that Uraraka’s main motivation as a hero is money. It’s money for a worthy cause, to help her family, but she could easily get that money from being bankrolled by the League of Villains. Also, she clearly isn’t as sweet and innocent as she lets on, something that really only Bakugo has picked up on, it seems.

And lastly, because from a storytelling standpoint, it makes so much sense. Think about it. What would be more devastating than to have the first friend Midoriya ever made to be the one who inevitably betrays him? It’s perfectly horrible, and it would turn the BNHA world on its head.

Contradiction: Her Quirk isn’t really good for being a spy, and she does save Midoriya’s life when she easily could have just let him die during the entrance exam, but maybe that was out of debt to him for saving hers.

Anyway, if you ask me, it’s Uraraka. If you have anything you want to add to the discussion or an argument you want to make against something I said, tell me! We all want to find out the truth.

#bnha #bnha traitor theory #bnha spoilers #mha #mha traitor theory #mha spoilers #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #uraraka traitor #shoji traitor #kaminari traitor #aoyama traitor

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rex101111 · 5 years

Text

Ch'io mi scordi di te?

Remember all those ideas/hopes about Aria/ being playable in the next Guilty Gear game I posted? Well, combine that with a short scene by @mystech-master and you get this little thing I whipped up in about two days. It’s super angsty and I hope you like it!

A monster stands in the dark of her mind, it is a giant of metal and fire and blood, and she feels red hot fear dig a trench through her gut at the sight of it. Her mind expands, feels far away, and in walks a person. Or half of one, half of her.

The half-person turns to her with a broken smile, waves to her, before walking to the monster, placing a hand on the monster's chest. Slowly, the monster shrinks from a giant to about the size of the half-person, and then it is not a monster.

Her two halves now stand there, in the dark, facing each other without a word. The half that was-is-will be-a monster raises its own hand to mirror the first half. As soon as the fingers touch the other's chest, a sharp, bright light splits her mind into a thousand shards, a million memories.

Running from the orphanage with nothing but her lightly stuffed and battered back pack.

Sitting at a desk working over her thesis.

Meeting Fredrick Bulsara at a café on campus, whistling the Queen song he was humming under his breath as he waited for his order.

Asuka R. Kreutz cursing her out in German as she laughs at some joke she made.

The day the Gear Project was announced, standing shoulder to shoulder with two people she would give her life for.

Coughing blood into her palm while she worked on Backyard research.

Schematics for a suit, a suit to explore the Backyard, an idea, a stupid idea, her idea. Their idea.

Walking away from Fredrick, refusing to listen to his pleas to stop, please, you don't know what you're doing! She does know, of course she does, how could she not?

Arguing with Asuka over data, what it means, what they could do with it, she calls him an idiot.

Fredrick crying at her bedside while she was eaten from the inside out.

Asuka on the other side of a glass tube, tears going down his determined face.

Death. Fire. Fear. Destroy. Destroy. DESTROY. DESTROY!

ALL OF THEM. EVERY SINGLE ONE. DESTROY!

FIRE. A SCOWL. Fredrick. Doesn't know, doesn't recognize her. She can only be glad that he doesn't. Death is soft and quiet and she holds it with both hands.

A sword, a death, fire, another death. And another, and another, and another. Over and over, from a thousand different eyes. Forever.

I-no chasing after her (but not her), Raven healing her leg, Fredrick (bigger and older and sadder and hurt and scared and different but still) watching her as she explains all she can, Asuka (thinner and sorry and wiser and quiet but still) sending her off with a promise and a hope.

A giant, a monster, a will, light.

Nothing.

Aria Hale wakes to the smell of disinfectant and the sound of flickering florescent lights from outside the room. Her head is pounding, her world is spinning, and she is, miracle of miracles, alive.

She swallows what little spit she has in her dry throat, coughs, and then rasps the first sound she makes with her own voice in little over a century, "what the fuck?"

The nurse, who she did not see in the room, is very startled, drops her clipboard, and runs out the door screaming for a doctor.

Aria blinks at the swinging door, then looks back up at the off white ceiling, "what the fuck", she repeats, just as confused, but this time with a weary smile.

-_-_-_-_-

By the time the doctor showed up, the world stopped spinning long enough to gather herself more solidly. She is Aria Hale, over a century ago she died, and now she's alive again.

Between that death and right now a million memories bounce around in her head and give her a migraine, but somehow she manages to make sense of them all, or at least most. The doctor fills her in once he checks her eyes and gives her a plastic cup filled with water.

She's been in the hospital for about six days now, she's in Illyria, and her medical bill is being paid by king Kisuke. She will stay in the hospital for a few more days, just to be safe, and then she's free to go where she pleases.

She smiles tiredly at the doctor, some young man barely out of his scrubs whose name she doesn't catch, and thanks him. She doesn't tell him she doesn't really have anywhere to go as he leaves the room. Doesn't tell him the name Kisuke barely means anything to her, or at least doesn't mean what it means to him.

To her it means lightning and an army, some figure cutting down her soldiers as he streaks across battlefields.

And your son-in-law. A melodic voice, like that of a child, adds from somewhere deep in her heart and she smiles incredulously. She rubs her eyes as she remembers Dizzy, and Ky, and all the things Jack-O knew and now she needs to know if she intends to make full use of this life she's been given.

Life. Alive. She's alive. The concept is numb in her mind, unreal. Her heart thumps lazily in her ribcage, her lungs expand and contract as she takes a breath and sighs. She feels the uncomfortable itch of the hospital gown covering her form, her long hair (she’ll need to cut it, she never liked her hair that long) splayed over the pillow and tickling the back of her neck.

It doesn't make sense, strictly speaking, that she is here, on this bed, alive and fine and waiting for shitty hospital food. It was almost yesterday, to her, that she was wasting away on another hospital bed, miles from where she is right now, hooked up to tubes and wires and patiently waiting for the dull, burning pain to go away so she could sleep.

She remembers accepting death, readying herself for it, bracing herself by holding on to Fredrick's hand as the world grew cold.

But, now, here she is, alive and fine and with a sore throat and a splitting headache.

It's almost overwhelming, but only barely not, just within her reach to understand it, which only makes it more unreal. That it was that easy in the end. One moment she was dead, the next she was alive, and in between those moments a century somehow wedged itself in and she needs to play catch up, simple, straightforward, and too damn much.

It's whiplash and jetlag both at once, her head is pounding and her eyes aren't used to the light and she just wants someone in this hospital to do their job and give her an aspirin or something. Or maybe just pump her full of morphine so she could stop having this existential crisis at 4 in the afternoon.

Before she could spiral down further a knock on the door jars her to attention, "Ms. Hale? Is it alright to come in?" The voice of her doctor floats from the other side of the door, the tone is kind but it is sudden and rubs against her tired and recently resurrected ears like sandpaper and she has to bite her lip to control her reaction to it, "you have visitors."

She breaths in through her nose and out through her mouth and manages to work her face into a facsimile of a welcoming smile as she turns to the voice, "yes, please come in." Her heart belatedly picks up its rhythm at the thought of who might be on the other side as the door opens, she clenches her fists to stop it, it's been a century, if he cared enough to see her she would have seen him by now.

She was right to curb her enthusiasm, as the person who follows the doctor into her room isn't who she hoped. "Ms. Hale." Ky Kisuke bows his head politely at her as the doctor steps aside from him before leaving him with Aria, a pleasant tilt to his lips as he looked at her, "it's good to see you awake."

Aria can't help the tired laugh that jumps out, she almost makes a comment about wakefulness being overrated, but bites her tongue to stop it and instead shakes her head fondly at the young man. "Thank you for the concern, Sir Kisuke, but I'm surprised at how quickly you showed up, I just woke up about an hour ago!"

"We told the hospital to call us as soon as you did." A second voice calls out gently from behind the king, and a lump lodged itself firmly in Aria's throat as Dizzy brushes past her husband to sit by her bedside, face welcoming and warm as she took her hand. "I wanted to meet you as soon as I could…mother."

There. Right there. That word right there brought the full and utter absurdity of her situation into perspective for Aria; mother. She's a mother, this woman in front of her is her child, hers and Fredrick's, a child with her eyes and the curve of her nose and Fredrick's chin and ears, a child with wings and a tail. It is ridiculous and absurd and her heart is struggling to take it all in.

But Dizzy is not a child at all, there was a childhood she missed, a life Aria abandoned and did not care for and yet her she was, a woman fully grown, with a husband and child of her own and a household she needs to worry about. All of that over her head and yet here Dizzy was, taking time out of her day to hold the hand of a woman who is a century too late to be her mother and that she barely knows and that she should by all accounts either hate or resent but instead she holds her hand tenderly yet firmly with a smile.

A century ago she died with nothing to her name but an ill-fated science project that would kill millions as a legacy, today she lays on a hospital bed while her daughter and son-in-law smile at her, glad to be talking to her and glad she is alive and here.

She didn't earn this, none of this. People, people who she loved and loved her but still other people, decided that she deserved all of this. Later, when she acclimates and finds her footing this idea will leave a bad taste in her mouth. Right now? Her daughter is holding her hand and smiling and telling her she wants to know her, and her heart damn near bursts.

She wants to say that, to tell Dizzy how happy she is at this moment that everything starts to click together for her, to promise her she will try to make up for lost time even though she has never known herself to be nearly so maternal, because she is alive despite the odds and that thought makes her so ecstatic that she doesn't know what to do with herself.

Instead, she takes Dizzy's hand in both of her own and controls her voice just enough to smile wetly at her daughter, "well," she started once she could gather some composure, "let's talk!" Her face stretched into a smile so wide it hurt but she did not care, "what do you want to know about me?"

The smile Dizzy sends her way is blinding. "Everything."

-_-_-_-_-

They talk for hours, in-between catching up on her life and Aria's, Dizzy fills her in on the basics of, well, everything she should know about Illyria. Sorry, The United Kingdoms of Illyria. The languages, the holidays, what café is worth a damn near her home.

This is also around the time she finds out she'll be staying with Dizzy and her husband until she can settle herself elsewhere, however long that would take her. The concept surprises her and fills her with an odd sort of anxiety. She is used to living on her own, in her cozy little apartment near the Gear Project complex.

A tiny little three room affair with a half assed kitchen, creaky bed, and barely working shower, but still hers. Hers and long, long gone, probably buried under tons of rubble and a century's worth of dust and God knows what else.

She still recognizes the necessity of the gesture, she has no money, no home, and no fucking clue how to get a job or if any of her three degrees are still any good after all these years. She swallows the indignation at being dependent on someone else and thanks Dizzy as warmly as she can manage.

The mundane details of her daughters' life serve as an anchor, give her a base to stand on where she could find something familiar in a world so changed by time and war and death it might as well be an alien plant. Some things don't change, no matter how much time passes, and that idea is the biggest comfort she has managed so far.

Something distracts her though. Ky, while he participated in the conversation, adding his own little asides whenever Dizzy said something that he felt needing expanding or simply whenever he wanted to make her blush or smile, he seemed occupied by something. Every so often, and more frequently as time wore on, he would steal a glance at the door, his eyes narrowing for a moment before he looked back at them.

Aria wanted to ask him what he was looking at, but decided he would tell her in his own time and she would just enjoy her daughters' company until he does. She didn't have to wait long though, in the middle of Aria telling Dizzy about her undergraduate work for her B. S. (which was indeed, as she told her daughter, BS), Ky heaved a sigh of frustration and shoved the door to her room open with no small amount of force and stomped out.

Before Aria could ask if it was something she said, Ky came back, face annoyed, and holding a large, muscular man by the scruff of his shirt as he dragged him into the room. It takes her a moment to parse who it is, and when she does the grip on Dizzy's hand goes limp.

Fredrick Bulsara, taller then she remembers and more solidly built then she thought he could ever possibly be, looks at her with conflicted eyes and his mouth in a severe line. Her mind went blank, and then it was stuffed to bursting with things she wanted to say, either way she found her mouth refused to work. All she could manage is a wide eyed look as she clenched her thin blanket between her fingers.

Her daughter seemed more on the ball though, thankfully, and quickly rose from her chair, "we'll finish our talk tomorrow, okay mom?" Dizzy calling her mom was just enough of a shock to get her to nod a bit dumbly before Dizzy walked to her husband, leveling a rather interesting look at her father on the way, "you two have a lot of catching up to do as well, right?"

Fredrick, who probably weighs twice as much as Dizzy and is pure rippling muscle (that Aria was not staring at what are you talking about), nods quickly in assentation, bordering on the frantic.

The King of Illyria and his wife exited the room, and left Aria Hale and Fredrick Bulsara to stare awkwardly at each other like teenagers on a first date. Aria remembers that their actual first date wasn't nearly this awkward, the memory is fuzzy but she distinctly remembers it including a movie and burgers for dinner, she thinks the movie was-

"Star Wars."

"Huh?"

"Star Wars, we saw episode 4 on our first date, you thought Harrison Ford looked like a shaved jackal."

So, she said that out loud, but, not being one to let a slip trip her up, she straightened her back and glared at him, "yeah? Well you thought Carrie Fisher had sweet rolls taped to her head."

"We all make mistakes."

They stare at each other after that, that flippant comment striking a spot they both weren't guarding. After a moment, the tension leaves both of their shoulders, and Aria feels a sad smile curve her lips, "good afternoon, Fredrick."

After a moment he shuffles his feet to sit at the chair Dizzy occupied before, every muscle in his body relaxing into an exhausted heap as he slumps on the back rest. He levels a tired smile at her to meet her own, the edges of his mouth don't reach his eyes but neither do hers, and mutters, "afternoon."

As if a century hadn't passed since the last time they were like this, as if they both hadn't died in one way or another, they sat there in front of each other for a moment and exchanged greetings. Like they were having lunch to discuss work, or the weather.

She has a maelstrom of questions for him, how did he survive this long without crumbling under the pressure, did he ever think anything like this could ever happen? Did he think Asuka's robe and hood outfit looked as ridiculous as she did?

Instead of all of those question, she found herself sputtering out a laugh, laughing a bit louder as she caught the confused look in his eyes, "Sol Badguy?" She managed to get out between a chuckle or two, "seriously? You couldn't think of a better alias then Sol Fucking Badguy?"

Fredrick blinked owlishly at her for a long moment before crossing his arms and huffing, "sounded cool at the time…"

"A reference to a Queen song nobody gave a shit about for close to two hundred years sounded cool to you?"

He barked out a laugh, "well you got the reference didn't you?" She burst out laughing again, unable to answer, "well, you and Asuka…"

And she was gone, laughing so loudly she was practically screaming. That was so stupid, so absurd, so ridicules! So Fredrick. That was so Fredrick Bulsara it nearly hurt to think about, this is the guy who spent four straight nights cramming for his theoretical physics finals in senior year, after blowing it off for months, by holing himself in his dorm with literally every single book the professor even referenced during the year.

He got a B-, he was so angry he nearly choked her out when she said it could have been worse.

"You are the most preposterous man I have ever met; you know that?" She managed finally, wiping a tear from her eyes as she leaned back on her pillow, "I swear the only thing that changed is your biceps," she smirks, "is that what you were doing while I was taking my week long nap, pumping iron like some dumb jock?"

If he noticed the bite she paired with the question, he didn't show it, simply shrugging, "gotta keep fit these days, can't exactly go into a lap anymore." She clicked her tongue and shook her head, and he went on. "Besides, you can thank Asuka for most of these things, Gear DNA has some perks."

She pointed a leer at him from under her bangs, "I'll say, never knew Asuka was into that kinda thing, learn something new…"

"Funny…" He muttered quietly, but he placed his hands behind his head, and made a show of flexing his arms, dragging another chuckle out of her, "forgot your sense of humor was this brutal, Aria," he grumbled, though with a hint of affection, "…I missed it."

Her heart leaps into her throat. She doesn't know why that, that simple little phrase is what finally pushes her to her limit. The idea that he missed her, even after all this time, after all the death he's seen and all the lives he's saved, the idea that he missed something as small as her sense of humor, it was overwhelming in a way she couldn’t describe.

Like a Century and a half didn't pass, like they haven't been torn apart until barely anything of who they were remained, like she was never sick and there were never any Gears and they were just shooting the shit on campus between lectures, like it was only yesterday and the world was still okay.

But it wasn't. None of this was okay, not a single scrap of it.

Everything she had ever known, every person she had ever so much as crossed on the street, gone, all of it gone. It was a miracle she could still speak the same language as the people around her, nobody knew who she was or what she had accomplished.

She was one of the head engineers of the Gear Project, she worked her ass off for close to 15 years in college with a shitty job and no family to make something of herself and gain that position. She stood shoulder to shoulder with two of the greatest minds of her generation and made their absurd ideas work.

And no one even remembered her name. In the grand history of the world she was just another nameless drone that worked with That Man to destroy the world, less than a foot note, less than a reference.

Less than nothing.

But, she had a family now. She came into this world with nothing but a name and now she had a home waiting for her, somewhere. A home with a daughter who wanted to know her, a grandson who was excited to meet her, a son-in-law that looked at her child with love and care.

And she still had Fredrick and Asuka. But only barely, but still they hung on, somehow, and they were all alive, somehow, and every pragmatic inch of her wanted that to be enough, and it just might be, eventually.

But right now, she feels so very, crushingly alone.

She got a life she did not earn, that she did not deserve, that she can barely use, that she almost doesn't want.

But she wants to be happy, almost out of spite. She wants to want this life that she got back, she wants that so desperately she can hardly breath.

"Aria?"

She looks up at Fredrick, worry etched on his face, his hands hovering near her like he doesn't know what to do with them, like he ever knew at all without her telling him, he was always a little awkward around her, just considerate enough to hesitate so he could get instruction, part of the reason she fell in love, all those years ago.

"Fredrick…"

Except that was over a century ago, for him, when to her he's still that hard headed jack ass who banged his head on a project until it played by his rules. But what is she to him? A memory he half remembers? A shadow he could never let go of? Is she still Aria? Or is she Jack-O? Valentine?

Justice?

He puts a hand on her cheek, brushing away tears she only now notices, "c'mon…" he mutters helplessly, "you know I'm fucking useless when you start crying."

She launches herself at him with little warning, wrapping her arms around his neck with a wrenching sob, relief and happiness and anger and helplessness and endless other emotions she can barely recognize churning in her gut and bursting out of her throat without restraint.

He crushes her to his chest as she wails, and she hangs on for dear life, her heart is bursting open and her head is screaming with the million memories of the monster and the half person and she prays she can find herself somewhere in between.

"Thank you…"

She almost doesn't hear the mutter from behind her sobbing, she presses her ear to his throat, partly to hear him and partly to anchor herself to his heartbeat.

"Thank you for coming back…"

If she was foolish, she would believe he was chocked up himself as he held her a little tighter. She hugs him tighter still and hopes he understands.

The sun dipped into the horizon by inches from the window behind her, the light slowly but surely fading away. The world sunk into the dark, where only she and Fredrick remained, clutching tightly at each other with all their might.

In a few hours, Aria Hale would officially be alive again for a whole full week.

The thought pulls a smile out of her that stretches from ear to ear, the rumble of Fredrick's chest as he laughs in incredulous joy when she tells him she wants to celebrate with hamburgers, her face still stuck to his sternum, makes the smile stretch even wider.

#Guilty Gear #Aria Hale #Sol Badguy #stuff rex wrote #Arias and ballads

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pilferingapples · 6 years

Text

Les Mis BBC: First Episode First Impression

Well, the actors are as excellent as I hoped they would be!

Cut for Spoilers or whatever term applies here

I really really really wanted to be wrong in all my misgivings about this series. I wanted to be blown out of the water by the whole thing, and have to make repentant posts about the error of my ways.

Alas, this is not a Repentant Post.

I liked some things! The set and scenery and props were all genuinely lovely. I enjoyed the animals everywhere? and the nigh-omnipresent beggars in Paris? Nicely done! And I really, genuinely, appreciate the constant background French; I know just enough to recognize it when I hear it and it does add something to the atmosphere of the piece.

The actors! What great performances! I want it clear that NOTHING I have to say in the way of character critique is down to them. Oyelowo is as good as I’d hoped he’d be, and that is saying a lot; Collins is doing a wonderful job with Fantine’s shyness and defiant hope; and the bit-part characters like Magloire and Nicolette are really standout.

I really appreciate the inclusion of the Pontmercy Family situation, and Gillenormand being placed in this first episode makes his social relevance more clear IMO; he feels less like random comic relief than he sometimes can. Really, the whole Pontmercy-Gillenormand family conflict is a standout in the episode; Gillenormand’s emotional manipulation of Tiny Marius and general domestic tyrannizing was very effectively shown (the scene with the toy soldiers!!!), and my heart was broken all over for Marius and for Georges. And Tholomyes is an amazingly perfect skeezeball; his PUA approach is clear and skin-crawling from the start.

*** Real quick Basic Plot Rundown: this episode covers roughly the era from Waterloo to Fantine being abandoned by Tholomyes. I say roughly because it weirdly changes the timeline of Fantine’s life to sync up more with Valjean’s;he gets released and goes through the silver theft with the Bishop when she’s getting dumped. The issue with that is of course that in the book Fantine is dumped in 1817 (the year 1817, when it was 1817); Cosette should just about be getting born around the year of Napoleon’s defeat and Valjean’s release, and now I guess she’s about a year old? This doesn’t necessarily have to be a big issue for chronology if the show’s just going to have Fantine and Cosette suffer for an extra two years (though: D:D:D:D: ) , and heaven knows Hugo is shifty on personal timelines, but...Les Mis *does* have certain unavoidable historical events it has to sync up with, so I’ll see how it plays out.

Besides Valjean’s last little while in prison and Fantine’s courtship and abandonment, this first episode covers the Georges-Gillenormand-Marius family situation, with Georges limping home from Waterloo only to be refused access to his son. The show cuts between the three ongoing stories so they all progress more or less in sync. We get far enough along to see Georges watching his son in church without Gillenormand knowing (thanks to Nicolette, who’s the only woman in the Gillenormand house so far), Fantine holding Cosette in their apartment and wondering what they’re going to do after Tholomyes leaves them, and Valjean curled up in the road after robbing Petit Gervais.

Okay, Actual Commentary time! Please assume a Personal Opinion disclaimer for things after this point:P

***

Several of the people I was watching with felt the constant cutting between scenes was jarring or hard to follow; I don’t know if that was the issue but I do think, overall, it just didn’t work as well as it might have. The individual scenes were very brief and the constant bouncing back and forth prevented them from building up any emotional momentum. I think..conceptually, I can see where it would be interesting to twine Valjean, Fantine, and Georges together, in many ways, but none of that thematic connection really came through either (Maybe most disappointingly to me, Valjean’s family is never mentioned, so the potential to connect all three of them as families torn apart by social inequality is lost). It really felt like just Three People Having a Bad Time in France. it really is hard to follow, because it starts to feel...kinda dull , just a collection of sad anecdotes for no purpose.

The dialogue doesn’t help. When the show leans heavily on Hugo’s writing (sadly, mostly with Tholomyes) , it’s fine, of course. But the original dialogue is clunky, pedantic, and weirdly flat throughout--and utterly lacking in nuance. It just aggressively clunks at points.

Valjean and Javert suffer the most for this. Javert basically states aloud his share of the Confrontation while lecturing a bound Valjean for ...reasons?? It’s never really clear. But hey, here you go, Valjean, have Javert’s entire backstory! ( I should say that Oyelowo almost sells it. He is incredible , and does a great job making Javert feel both his adamant self and humanly affected by the world around him. Just. some of this dialogue. Geez.) This is also one of those episodes with a weirdly more unpleasant Valjean; he doesn’t assault the Bishop, but he does much more consciously rob Petit Gervais, laughing as he scares the kid away and grinning as he first examines the coin. He also just...yells at people a lot? and argues with the Bishop and asserts his hatred of mankind very bluntly. I found it hard to believe this Valjean had any of the original’s internalized self-hatred or sense of being lower than a dog; he seems solidly outraged by his treatment, and confident of the injustice of it all. Which is definitely fair and all, but just...isn’t quite Valjean.

(Also, as I mentioned above, we don’t really get any of his pre-prison backstory; not an unusual adaptational move, but it sure doesn’t add anything to his motivation.) He seems both more casually violent and less emotionally deep than I’d expect a Valjean to be; I can’t believe , at least not yet, that he’s actually felt the Bishop’s forgiveness as a challenge in any way, even though the Gervais scene ends with him curled in the road--it just doesn’t feel connected.

Fantine does get more time--unfortunately, and unavoidably, much of that involves Felix:P . There’s also some brief conversation with Favourite about the general situation of grisettes. I think it’s a good addition, and puts in some useful context. (That said, I’m deeply uneasy about the attempt to portray Fantine and Favourite as actual friends-so much of Fantine’s story comes from her being really truly isolated. If she’d had real friends to help in the crunch, it would change things-- and if she thinks Favourite is a real friend and then Favourite fades on her, that’s even worse than canon and makes Favourite worse than in canon. Hence, Unease.)

Visually, there’s ..I won’t say nothing wrong, and certainly I can have fun for ages going over the details of this or that outfit or hairstyle (and I really do find the weird combos of Looks to be very distracting; if I knew less about the period it wouldn’t be,no doubt, but I do know a lot about How It Should Look and the fact that it doesn’t Quite sometimes makes it all feel like it’s happening in a generic Fantasy 19C) . But there’s no BIG thing wrong, it’s...fine?

It’s just ... it’s just fine. There’s no particular strong visual feel to it, nothing really striking-- unless you count the weird 60s-Acid-flashback-looking timeskip moment. It really does feel like LM 2012 in its more visually striking moments, and outside of that, it’s just very much a competently filmed period drama made in the last ten years--but that’s all. Without the specific characters, I don’t think there’s a single frame of it I’d recognize as being necessarily Les Mis and not any other random BBC Period Drama.

I guess this is really my problem with the characters and the story too-- it’s...Fine, it’s technically there , but too often there’s no sense of depth or specificity to it. Part of it’s the dialogue, part of it’s the weird pacing/ story jumps , part of it is because no one ever seems to be given a moment to respond-(Fantine crying for all of thirty seconds after being abandoned before the show decides we need her up and talking and dry-eyed was really actively jarring to me)--

There are a hundred little details I could go through but the overall effect for me was just a whole lot of Underwhelming. Yeah, there’s the Pee Scene and the (correct and fitting) visceral discomfort of Everything About Tholomyes (he ,at least, really is a Triumph of Skeeze). But the real problem so far is just that it feels like a visual outline of a story; it’s not pulling together into feeling like a lived world. It’s not taking my heart, even though, despite my surface grousing, I really want it to. It’s here, it’s fine, it’s Whatever; but all my really strong emotional reactions either Cringing or Cooing (over the very excellent babies). My heart didn’t break but the once, with Tiny Marius, and it really really should have been in pieces by the end of the episode.

I’m of course going to keep watching, as much of it as I can find a way to see; it’s Les Mis and I really am impressed with the actors. Maybe next episode, when the various stories start to come together a little, it’ll all feel more solid and more memorable. Right now, though, I’m sitting at a solid “ meh” about it.

#Les Mis BBC Talk #Les Mis BBC Spoilers #Long Post #Les Mis BBC Salt #this is not the Fun Outrage Post some people are probably wanting #it's an Actual Considered Reaction post #but Lighthearted Outrage shall no doubt be very present again soon:P

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artificialqueens · 6 years

Text

Beneath Her Branches (Rajalaska) - Albatross

AN: A nymph is stirred from her long sleep to find her wooded home gone and her tree one of the few that still remain standing in the new park. Although it very different scenery than what she was used to, there’s still something in her new surroundings that manages to catch her eye.

There are notes in the AO3 version about different endings for a second part I’m probably never gonna write but wanted to share anyway as well as an update about future postings. Bottom line is that it might be a bit longer between postings because of my general lack of motivation to write right now.

She wasn’t sure why one particular human caught her attention in the first place. So many people passed by her tree every day; some she saw only once while others would reappear more frequently. Being mostly immortal, she’s seen a lot of them walking by or sitting beneath her branches during her lifetime. They hardly warranted any special attention. In fact most of the time she just slept inside her cozy little home. It was tiring living in this state sometimes. It was like having multiple eyes that could see everything around her yet she was powerless to interact with it all. Not that she particularly wanted to…There was no reason to. Human’s lives were so short…Why get attached?

It was easier just to fall asleep and only wake up when the noise around her became too loud to ignore. Over her life there had been sporadic bursts of activity but hardly any of it seemed to last more than a few years. Often times it was people traveling through the area on their way to a more distant land or they just needed somewhere to rest for the night. One time a family had built their home not too far from the woods her tree stood in and she would occasionally find their children playing amongst her branches. But in an instant they were gone and within a few decades the final remnants of the house had fallen to pieces as well. After that it quiet and all too familiar to return to a deep slumber. Then like a growing rumble she heard the activity picking up again. At first she solidly refused to wake up, strongly believing they would move on before too long but after a few years the noise utterly refused to die down and slowly she was aroused into a wakeful state once more.

She was very much disturbed when she opened her eyes to find that wooded area she loved so much was no longer in sight. Instead there were rolling plains of grass as far as she could see, a stark contrast to the formerly leaf-littered forest floor she grown accustomed to. Only a few other trees remained in the area, scattered throughout the “protected” space that had come to be known as a “park”. Most of her friends, if you could call them that, were long gone. After their trees were stripped away there was no reason for them to stay around.

They moved on to find new homes somewhere else far away from human activity.

It was a trend all too familiar with nymphs nowadays. The humans that had moved into their land needed to make homes so they would cut down the nymph’s trees for lumber or tinder. That had been fine at first, there was an abundance of trees to go around but as the humans’ population increased, the available homes for the nymphs steadily declined.

She had been lucky; her home had never been touched in all the time she lived there. It still stood in exactly the same spot as it had when it first sprouted all those centuries ago. But the same couldn’t be said for most of her neighbors.

She never really noticed how alone she was until most everyone was gone. Though other nymphs still continued to live in this area, they were few and far between. She wondered if she should move on as well but nothing was threatening her home at the moment so would it even be worth it to try? She wasn’t even entirely sure how she could detach herself from her tree. No one had ever explained it before and she never tried more than twice with very little success.

So for now she let things be and remained at peace. It was noisier, sure, but as long as the tree was safe, how much could she complain?

The humans that she saw now were so varied; so many different shapes, sizes and colors. Some bright and vibrant, others dull and muted. It was fascinating. But none ever really captured her interest for very long. It was rare for her to see the same one more than a handful of times…until one day there came a woman who was different. The nymph swore she had seen this person before but perhaps she was imagining it. The long hair was certainly a striking feature; it shone like sunlight as it floated with the light breeze that passed through the busy park. Her body was long and lean like a young tree but it still seemed to contain a hidden strength…And her laughter…it echoed throughout the open space so much that other humans would turn to find the source as soon as they heard it.

That was what caught the nymph’s attention more than once.

Usually the laughter was elicited while she was with her companions. There were many the nymph came to recognize as the young woman’s friends but only a few would repeatedly walk along the paved paths with her. One was more frequently spotted than others. Blonde as well with even fairer skin; she seemed to make the bubbly young woman smile more easily than the others, even convince her to lower her guard more readily. The pair would loiter in the area longer than anyone else in the hopes that they could could make that moment last just a second more.

A few times the pair even laid beneath her tree’s branches as they chatted away or ate a small meal. Occasionally they would share a kiss that seemed to linger in a way that made the nymph long to be able to touch something solid herself.

They just looked so happy…At least for awhile.

The nymph wasn’t sure how long it had been since she first took notice of them.

Years?

A few months?

Or perhaps only a few weeks…Regardless, that bliss was eventually broken. Previously the two seemed inseparable but more often it became just the younger woman, ‘Alaska’ as she heard her being called, walking around on her own. She seemed content enough to be alone but the nymph couldn’t help but to wonder why she had become so solitary all of a sudden.

There was a long absence of the other woman but one day she was finally back at Alaska’s side as they sat on a nearby bench. There was still something off when compared to the last time she saw them together; they never seemed to sit as close together any more nor hold hands as often but it was nice to see Alaska happy once again. The nymph supposed they were no longer pair-bonded anymore but it was a relief they could still enjoy each other’s company. So many other humans seemed incapable of spending time with one another after they had separated but thankfully these two were quite different.

The nymph loved seeing Alaska smile.

She felt quite honored that this young woman seemed to have chosen her tree as her favorite spot in the park. Whether it be with friends or by herself, more often than not she’d come to rest here and either sit against the tree itself or somewhere else very close by. In the summer months she would read beneath the branches or relax in the shade. In the winter she’d sit on the bench if it had cleared from snow or just lean against the tree’s side as she stood and watched all of the other visitors to the park pass by.

It was a peaceful and tranquil life. One the nymph was happy to experience even if the absence of her companion raised a sense of longing and misery she had never known before.

The only thing she wished she could change was the fact she was unable to interact with Alaska even in the tiniest way. The woman was no more aware of her existence than she was of any other invisible being living in the park. The nymph longed just to be able to feel the warmth from Alaska’s skin as she touched the tree’s bark or feel her body vibrating as she clutched one of the lower branches for support while she shook with laughter…Or even just to talk to her once and thank her for being such an unknowing but faithful friend all this time. The brief moments where their lives intersected meant the world to the nymph and she would gladly trade all of the magic she possessed just to relive those moments once more.

Her life had somehow become more fulfilling since the day Alaska first came to sit by her side and spend a few hours of her life watching the world from their secluded spot by the hill.

******

Seasons passed by in the blink of an eye but the nymph could always count on Alaska to return back to this spot. Winter was the hardest for her; the cold would drive Alaska away for weeks on end but once the weather began to warm up, Alaska would come bouncing down the pathway once more with a book in tow the cycle would begin again.

On one particular afternoon in late spring, their routine began just as it would any other day. Alaska had arrived sometime around noon and read quietly as she leant against the trunk of the tree. The nymph was watching over her as always; studying the way her eyes would grow soft as she read certain passages, listened as she laughed quietly to herself like she hadn’t read this book several times over already.

The nymph was content to live in this moment forever.

But as the blue sky began grow grey and overcast, Alaska decided to pack up her belongings about mid-afternoon. As she returned everything to her bag, a passing jogger shouted up a friendly warning towards her, “You might want to head home soon; its gonna start raining in a few minutes!”

“Thanks,” she called back cheerfully, “I was just about to leave right now!”

With that the jogger gave her a quick nod of the head and continued down the path towards the park’s entrance. Alaska must have been distracted by the interruption because she hadn’t noticed her book still laying against the tree’s roots as she slung her bag over her shoulder and started to make her way back onto the paved walkway.

A moment of panic seized the nymph as she realized the mistake. That book was certainly one of Alaska’s favorites considering how many times she’d seen her reading it from cover to cover. If it were left out in the coming storm it likely wouldn’t survive the onslaught of rain…But Alaska was unaware that it was missing from her bag. She still strolled happily down the gentle hill without a care in world.

Using every ounce of strength she could muster, the nymph struggled to break free from her tree if only for a few seconds. It felt like she was uprooting her very home yet she knew the tree had not budged even an inch. There was a horrifying moment where she wondered if all of her effort was even working or if she would be quick enough to catch Alaska’s attention but then like a sudden moment of clarity she felt a freedom she had never experienced before. With a surprisingly loud and melodic voice she called out in alarm, “Wait! Alaska!”

The young woman spun around in confusion and almost instantly her jaw dropped in wonder. She took a step back to balance herself but after that she seemed to remain frozen to her spot on the ground. The nymph wondered what she might look like; she knew the lower half of her body was still contained within the tree but the upper half as she broke free seemed to be almost human in shape. When she looked down through her newly limited eyesight, she saw that she had the same hands as humans do; her new skin was a light brown and almost matching the color of her younger branches. But as to what her face must look like, she had no clue. At least she didn’t seem to be too terrifying to look at as Alaska wasn’t inclined to scream in fright. If anything she just seemed to be in a state of shock at the scene unfolding before her.

Hurriedly picking up the book, the nymph tore herself entirely from the tree and rushed over to the shell-shocked woman.

“You forgot this,” she explained urgently.

“Thanks…” Alaska replied in a small, stunned voice as her eyes raked over the now flesh and blood creature that had suddenly emerged from the tree she had only moments ago sat under. Her cheeks were beginning to burn a bright red but she felt helpless to look anywhere else even as she accepted the paperback being held out to her.

The nymph knew she ought to try and reconnect herself with her home as quickly as possible but now that she finally had the chance, she just couldn’t let it slip from her grasp. She had no clue how long this form would last but she had to tell Alaska something before the opportunity was gone. Gently clasping Alaska’s free hand between her own, the nymph stated with absolute adoration, “Thank you.”

“Um…for what?” the blonde asked in confusion.

“I’ve seen you sitting here so many times,” the nymph admitted softly, “I’ve seen more of your life than what you’d probably want anyone to see but…So many people have passed through here over the years without even looking at my tree but you…you noticed me.”

Taking a step closer, the nymph felt her face heating up but to her relief Alaska didn’t try to withdraw or move away. The thought never seemed to cross her mind as she stared up with innocent doe-eyes to the creature hovering so close to her in a way few others had.

Continuing on, the nymph explained, “You’ve stopped and sat next to me. You’ve laid against my trunk as you read your book and slept beneath my branches when the heat of the summer sun became too much…For so long I’ve stood here silently, watching as other beings like me have been torn away from their homes and forced to move on. I considered following the same path more than once but when I saw you…you helped to push that thought out of my mind.”

Carefully cupping the young woman’s cheek, the nymph stated gratefully, “In all the time I’ve seen you here, you’ve never tried to invade nature like it owed you something. You simply dwelled in it and appreciated it for what it was; something beautiful and free. I’ve never gotten the chance to speak like this before to anyone but I’ve wanted to say this to you for the longest time. I’ve wanted to thank you for choosing to spend time here and for letting me say…'Hi, I’m Raja…and thank you for seeing me…even before you knew I was here.’”

#rpdr fanfiction #hinted shalaska #alaska x raja #raja gemini #alaska thunderfuck #sharon needles #fluff #mythology #nymph au #au #albatross #lesbian au

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flowerslut · 6 years

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Rosalie x Alice Prompt: spring

A/N: I… am so sorry for this prompt. I know you probably wanted fluff but I’m a dumb bitch with a bad brain who defaults to angst when I’m left to my own devices and I SWEAR I didn’t mean for this to be as dark or depressing as it is but! Here we are! Again I’m so sorry I can write you something else if you want but here’s a sad Rosalie x Alice that doubles as a character study kind of? God I’m sorry I hope you like it please don’t be afraid to send more prompts in the future!

Daylilies

Alice knows things most people don’t.

That’s typically because Alice sees things no one else can. With her sight, comes knowledge. With her sight, she navigates the world with an expert eye. With her sight, she sees things.

It’s difficult to keep a secret with a mind-reader in the house. It’s impossible to keep one from Alice.

She knows that if you only stop to enjoy the view twice you can make it from Spokane to Clearwater in only five and a half hours. And if it takes you longer it means something’s keeping you from home.

She knows how close they are to losing Edward every day. His mind changes with every ring of the chimes that adjourn Esme’s garden. His loneliness is like a cage, and she does not wonder, she knows that unless they end up in Washington within the next decade, he’ll disappear.

She knows that despite their fragility, the human body can withstand incredible conditions. She knows that it takes about five minutes after the heart stops before the brain follows suit, and she knows that once she takes three or four deep gulps, humans usually stop fighting.

She knows that despite his supposedly clean record, Carlisle has caused more death than any of them, except maybe Jasper. (It’s a close call.) She sees the death of his patients before he does, and she knows how often he is at fault, even when he is unaware. He saves more than his human colleagues, but Alice sees that some still slip by the blind spots in his perfect senses.

She knows that humans are more likely to die in a car accident than a natural disaster and can’t help but marvel when they scatter like animals at the sight of mother nature’s wrath. She can’t quite predict the weather more than two months out, but if she thinks about it long enough, she can usually figure it out.

She knows that sometimes Jasper plans his slip ups. Tedium wears away at a patchwork of willpower and distracted daydreams morph into decisions. They aren’t made on purpose; not always. But Alice usually sees it before it happens. Usually, she lets it.

She knows that people can usually justify anything to themselves. She knows that cognitive dissonance isn’t a genetic trait—and none of them are really related to begin with—but it seems to run in their misfit family.

She knows that Emmett, more than anything, wants to see more of the world. Sometimes she sees him travelling. He’s usually alone. His eyes are always red.

She knows that a wildfire can spread as fast as a human can run and she knows that usually they fall victim to the fumes before they can get very far. A biological mercy, Alice thinks of it, as they usually are rendered unconscious before the flames eat away at their delicate flesh.

She knows that the South Canyon fires that ravaged Colorado two years ago weren’t caused by lightning. Esme lights the place full of candles every night, and sometimes Alice worries.

She knows that daylilies are the easiest flower to grow, nearly relentless despite their environment. She knows Rosalie doesn’t hate them like she claims, but despises the memories they haunt her with. They’re perennials, meaning they grow back every year, but Rosalie digs them up and replants them along with everything else either way.

Alice knows its a way to control something. That nurturing and cultivating the life of these plants is a balm for the misery she feels at her own mortality being beyond her control.

Rosalie always disposes of the weeds, messily, in the trash can of Carlisle’s office. He never once says anything about it. He considers telling her to stop once, after a long, miserable shift, before deciding against it.

It nearly saves his damn life. But Alice keeps that to herself.

Alice plants roses in the garden one year.

They’re the only plant Rosalie doesn’t destroy for the five years they live there.

She knows that, like most insects, butterflies have no heart. Just an open circulatory system of blood and guts. And she knows just how much weight the butterfly effect has on the world around them, how their entire existence has been left up to chance. How their reality is a concept nearly out of their control.

But Alice was gifted a way to cheat reality. A way to control what others will never see.

So she collects things. Visions. Knowledge. Secrets. Until she’s sure that she knows these people—this checkered family she found herself—better than they know themselves. But their secrets are for her to keep, not to share.

And Alice has her secrets as well.

She keeps to herself how, in her opinion, Jasper’s red eyes look better on him. She never talks about how often she sees glimpses of Edward, kneeling before a trio of thrones, begging for death. She is sure to look away when Esme stares too long at the fireplace and every year she gifts Emmett plane tickets for him and Rosalie. She let’s Carlisle think he’s doing his best and is sympathetic when his methods are inadequate.

Alice leaves daylilies on Carlisle’s desk when he loses patients sometimes. She doesn’t need to wonder if he knows how she only does it when his failed patients are young, blonde women. She knows he recognizes the pattern. He never says anything.

She keeps to herself the way she knows how Rosalie’s anger is not a one-way path. Alice sees the complexities that lie in the blonde woman’s rage and knows that there is so much she wishes she could do.

Alice sees herself kissed and killed in equal amounts in Rosalie’s future. Alice knows the way the woman’s lips taste and feels the smoothness of the expanse of her bare back, despite only seeing it in her mind. Glimpses of possibilities she knows will never come to fruition.

She also knows the way Rosalie’s hands feel around her neck, and the pain of torn limbs and fresh bites across her own small body. Venom swapped by rage, not by lust.

Alice sees thousands of possibilities between Rosalie and herself, always cut cold by the rage of shame and misery of reality.

Alice ignores the gazes that linger, the daydreams that edge a bit close to decisions, and the casual, affectionate, yet rare, embraces she’s gifted with—and Rosalie’s hugs are always a precious gift.

Winter is the hardest of months when it comes around. The garden dies, Rosalie’s distraction ends, and the visions where Alice is kissed are traded for the ones where she’s hurt. It’s a fine line that she travels as she witnesses the future flicker between the two. Passion is the line and it’s usually shame or want that tips it one way or the other.

There is one moment in ‘92 when Rosalie almost acts. It is summer and they travel north for a hunt and there is snow and Rosalie is actually laughing and genuinely happy and they throw snow and chase one another and relish in the joy of their own momentary childishness and suddenly Alice sees it.

A kiss. Stripped clothing. Fast actions. Faster regret. Cold shoulders. They return. Rose disappears two days later.

Alice turns and runs the moment that vision comes to her, leaving Rosalie in the snow, her laughter dying the moment she sees Alice’s abandonment, realizing what she must’ve seen, knowing the rejection instantly.

But even though Alice knows more than most, Alice still knows fear. And when she sees the family she searched decades for—the one she stitched together with promises of happiness and the guarantee of eventual ease—falling apart at the seams, she panics.

A world of possibilities lay in her mind and at her feet, but Alice’s secret is that she is a coward, and Alice cherishes the comfort of the routine her fake family has fallen into, so Alice ignores the hollow ache of her heart that doesn’t even beat at the distance that solidly roots itself in her mind that she fears will last for years.

Rosalie comes home three days later with a story that Edward will see right through and Alice will never refute.

So Alice keeps herself busy. Content. She draws and designs and shops and celebrates. Her joy is organic and her optimism is real. And it’s perhaps the fact that there is nearly nothing she can not figure out that she’s allowed the capacity to feel the way she does.

But Rosalie is there, and often Alice lets her mind wander, and lets the visions flow, and hates herself for entertaining the idea of a future that can never be.

Because Alice can have Rosalie. It would be easy. But if Alice has Rosalie, she loses everything else.

And Alice is a coward.

When spring arrives, Rosalie plants her garden, visions continue to dance through her mind, and Alice simply exists.

Ten years later, Rosalie lets Alice play with her hair again. She weaves daylilies through the braids and their futures intertwine once more.

#alice x rosalie #rosalie x alice #twilight saga #twilight fanfiction #again im so sorry for the angst

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